count was showing such concern for me.
My face must have revealed my caution, for he said quietly, ‘Also, about what happened at the baths this afternoon, I apologize if I alarmed you.’
‘It’s nothing I want to talk about,’ I replied stiffly, feeling clumsy and ungracious even as I said it.
The count, clearly not a person who allowed a moment’s awkwardness to deflect him, pressed on.
‘Now you’ve got a war horse, you’ll need weapons to go with it. I’ve arranged with the seneschal to collect whatever we require from the royal armoury. He’s sending a clerk to meet us there, so let’s go before he changes his mind.’
We set out across the palace grounds, striding at such a rapid pace that Osric with his lameness had difficulty in keeping up with us.
‘The king is being very generous to me,’ I said.
‘Think nothing of it. He owns vast estates, and his tenants supply all that his household requires.’
I recalled the shipment of live eels hauled for hundreds of miles across country.
‘Even swords and armour?’
‘Especially swords and armour, and the soldiers to go with them,’ said Hroudland firmly. ‘When my uncle launches a campaign, everyone is obliged to contribute to his armed host, whether he’s a count or abbot or a lowly freeman with just a cottage and two cows.’
‘That must take a lot of organization.’ I had been wondering how the Franks came to dominate less purposeful nations.
The count was dismissive.
‘A swarm of inky clerks keep endless lists of everything from beds and mattresses to spare sets of harness and carts. The chief nobles are obliged to hold stockpiles of material whether it’s barrels of wine or bundles of firewood.’
On the far side of the royal precinct we arrived before a substantial building of cut stone with barred windows that I would have mistaken for a prison. A small, unsmiling man with the guarded look of a store clerk was waiting outside in the evening sunshine, holding his wax tablet and a bunch of keys on a large ring. He had two attendants with him.
‘Good afternoon, my lord,’ he said to Hroudland. ‘I understand you wish to take away a full set of weapons for a cavalryman.’
‘Indeed, I do. I will select the items myself,’ answered Hroudland curtly.
‘The law requires me to remind you that any arms that are issued must remain within the kingdom. They cannot be loaned or sold abroad.’
‘I know, I know,’ said the count testily. ‘The weapons are for my companion here. I can vouch for him.’
The clerk unlocked a stout wooden door and led us inside and I saw at once the orderly hand of the ledger- keepers. The armoury was arranged in sections. Nearest were the projectile weapons — javelins, bows, bundles of arrows. Beyond them stood stack after stack of spears, neatly sub-divided according to length and weight, as pikes for foot soldiers or lances for cavalry. Next came edged weapons — swords, axes and daggers. Finally there was the defensive equipment with rows of wooden shields and a small pile of helmets and some body armour.
Hroudland walked slowly along the array of weaponry. Quickly he found me a lance and a couple of javelins. He rejected an axe as unnecessary and picked out a plain shield with an iron boss which he said needed a new leather strap. The clerk made a note on his tablet and said it would be provided. Finding the right armoured jacket took longer. The metal plates sewn to the fabric made the garment very stiff and restricted the wearer’s movement unless the fit was correct. The choice of helmets was very limited — the clerk made cautionary noises about how expensive they were — and Hroudland reluctantly agreed to take one under which I had to wear thick wool and leather skull cap. A pair of heavy gauntlets completed the outfit. By then the two attendants had their arms full of my war gear.
‘Now for the most important item — his sword,’ announced Hroudland.
We were escorted to the farthest corner of the armoury where a dozen swords were racked. Hroudland scanned the selection with a critical eye.
‘Is that all you’ve got?’ he demanded.
‘Fine craftsmanship, every single one of them,’ said the clerk primly.
Hroudland reached out and removed a sword from the rack.
‘Antique!’ he announced, hefting it in his hand.
He held it out to me.
‘Look, Patch, the edges of the blade run parallel almost to the tip. That makes a sword heavy and awkward to use.’
The clerk bridled.
‘A fine weapon nevertheless.’
‘But no use to my friend here,’ retorted the count, replacing the weapon. ‘I’ve heard that you’ve got one of those new Ingelrii swords here.’
There was a distinct intake of breath by the store keeper.
‘Not a genuine Ingelrii,’ he said.
‘Let me be the judge of that,’ said the count.
Reluctantly, the clerk went to a large wooden chest, unlocked it, and lifted out a long item wrapped in cloth. I could smell oil.
‘This is it,’ he said, handing the object to Hroudland.
The count unwrapped the oiled cloth and revealed a sword, its blade the length of my arm. I was disappointed. From the clerk’s behaviour I had expected something much more spectacular, perhaps a glittering blade and a handle encrusted with jewels. Instead I saw a workaday weapon with a plain iron handle. The only decoration was a small, insignificant crystal set into the triangular pommel.
Hrouldland swung the sword through the air, testing its balance. Then he examined the blade closely.
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘This is not an Ingelrii blade. He would have signed it.’
The clerk gave a self-satisfied smile.
‘As I told you. We received the sword as a tithe payment from one of the Burgundian monasteries. We have no idea who was the swordsmith.’
The count whipped the sword through the air, and then said, ‘It’s not an Ingelrii. But it’s as good. We’ll take it.’
‘I do not have the authority to let it out of the armoury,’ snapped the storekeeper.
Hroudland fixed him with a glare.
‘Would you like me to raise the subject with my uncle?’
‘No, no. That won’t be necessary.’ The man was clearly unhappy with the arrangement.
Hroudland put the sword hilt in my hand.
‘Now, Patch, how does that feel?’
I swung the sword tentatively in a small arc. It was remarkably light and well balanced.
‘Note the difference in the blade, Patch,’ Hroudland said. ‘It tapers all the way to the point. That makes the weapon an extension to your arm. Also the quality of the steel is exceptional.’ He peered inside the sword chest. ‘I see there is a scabbard and baldrick to go with it,’ he said.
Knowing he was beaten, the clerk nodded to one of the attendants and the sword’s fittings were added to our collection.
Hroudland was looking pleased with himself as we walked back down the length of the armoury.
‘I should have driven a harder bargain with you, Patch. That sword is unique. You’ll have to find a name for it.’
‘A name?’
He laughed.
‘Every really good sword has its own name. Mine is Durendal, “the enduring one”. The king presented it to me personally, a great honour. He has its twin, Joyeuse.’
I rather doubted that I would ever be enough of a warrior to wield a famous sword, and was about to say that ‘Joyful’ was a strange name for a deadly weapon, when I was distracted by Osric calling out, ‘Master, this would be useful.’
