Knights Magi (Book 4) (38 page)

“But they aren’t moving forward, either,” continued the Spellmonger.  “That gives us time to build strength, prepare a defense, and determine what their goals are.  None of which requires the two of you.  So for the next few weeks, until Midsummer, at least, you will be in Sire Cei’s charge.  But you won’t be staying here,” he added.  “My newest apprentice finds you . . .
distracting.
  No, don’t worry, I’ll deal with her, but for now it would be more convenient if you were away from Sevendor Castle while you learned knighthood.”

“So where?”

“My estate,” Sire Cei said, dreamily.  “Cargwenyn.  We leave in the morning.”

They made the peaceful journey back to the tiny estate Sire Cei had won at last year’s tournament at the Chepstan Spring Fair discussing chivalry in general, the older knight using the time to lecture them about the codes of ethics and warfare that were the basis of the military class.  Once they were at Cargwenyn, however, his manner changed from lecturer to administrator. 

Tyndal was impressed with the man’s versatility.  He seemed to fit as naturally into the role of country knight of a small estate as he had castellan of a busy castle.  He had greeted his pregnant wife - whom he had also won at the tournament - Lady Estret, in the yard of the small manor with a gentle grace and obvious affection that was so vulnerable that it made Tyndal blush to watch. 

Then he had tended to his estate’s business immediately afterward, consulting with his steward about important matters before returning his attention to his two young charges.  And he had done all of it without seeming overwhelmed by the varied nature of his duties.  Indeed, he made that the point of one of their first official lessons.

“The role of a knight in our society is manifold,” Sire Cei explained to them after luncheon in the manor’s “great” hall.  “At once a warrior and a landowner, an administrator and leader of men, knighthood requires a tremendous amount of responsibility to do well.  And a lot of training and observation of good chivalric examples . . . which the two of you unfortunately lack. 

“We’re quick studies,” Tyndal assured him.

“There are some things that cannot be learned from a book, Sir Tyndal,” the older knight said, pouring wine for each of them.  “Ten thousand rules of social behavior and responsibility, mostly unwritten.  Usually a squire picks them up in service to a knight over the course of years.  The Magelord has invested me with the responsibility of . . . shortening that period for you.  Considerably.”

“And just what does that entail?” asked Rondal, suspiciously.

“Whatever I decide it entails,” Sire Cei replied, dryly.  “Everything a knight does,
and how he does it, has meaning and purpose.  For instance, the fact that I am serving you wine has meaning.”

“It means I need a drink!” Tyndal agreed.

“It means . . . that this is a serious discussion,” Rondal guessed.

“More,” Sire Cei explained as he swirled the wine around in the opaque glass goblet.  “Wine is a luxury, which requires a sophisticated and well-run estate to cultivate, produce, ship, and sell it.  It only grows better with age, and the older the vintage, the higher the quality - a suitable symbol for a hereditary class.

“Ale, mead and spirits have different meanings, but when a senior gentleman pours wine for two juniors in rank, it indicates that he is giving them instruction or orders, and that especial note should be taken.”

“That’s what wine means?” Tyndal frowned.  That seemed . . . complicated for a mere beverage.

“Not just the wine . . . the wine
in context
of the situation.  If I was your peer, instead of senior, then the nature and tone of the discussion would change.  This is the way our society has determined a senior noble instruct junior nobles.  If there were oaths of fealty involved, then the context changes . . . and so does the meaning of the service.”

“But . . . why?” Tyndal asked.  “Why should wine signify . . . well, anything?”

“Something must,” Sire Cei explained.  “Such social cues enrich our conversation, as they are invested in meaning.  And wine is a pleasant enough drink for the meaning.

“If we were having ale, however, then the context changes.  Our social ranks are removed with ale.  As it is more common and less expensive, so does the context of our conversation change to a less-formal nature.  It would not be proper to discuss weighty matters over ale.  A couple of comrades from the wars, however, can drink over ales.  We can talk about our wives, our children, our homes . . . but rarely about our definite plans.  Nor would I give you serious instruction over ale.  Things all men, from duke to cowherd share in common.”

“How about mead?” Tyndal asked with a grin.  “Or spirits?”

“Mead is for celebrations, thank goodness,” Sire Cei said, looking up toward the honeycomb heraldry he had won with his tiny fief.   A great deal of his revenue came from those who brewed mead, and he had invested greatly in building a meadery on his fief in fulfillment of his charter.  “A bride and groom are supposed to take seven bottles on their honeymoon, and not return until they are all empty, if the union is to be
fruitful.  A man toasts his love with mead, or a dear friend – an intimate friend.  He drinks to the health of a babe or a marriage.  In death, mead is signifies mourning and sorrow.  A girl’s first bleeding or a boy’s entrance into a trade or profession.  Blessing a new home is also appropriate for mead.”

“And spirits?” asked Rondal, curious.

“Business, mostly,” Cei said.  He was not partial to spirits himself.  “And some men do not hesitate to use the courage from the flask to make bold propositions.  And foolish ones,” the knight reminded.  “Domains have been lost due to a man being too overcome with spirits and making a rash decision over his life.  And in battle, a sip of spirits in the company of gentlemen is considered fortifying, a sign of mutual respect.  Or a way to raise morale, particularly if a senior ranked officer does so with his juniors.”

“I remember some at Timberwatch who . . . respected each other a lot,” snorted Tyndal.

“In some cases spirits can drive away the pain and grief of war,” admitted Sire Cei, sadly.  “My own father sought such refuge, and paid the price.  But we were discussing the customs of wine.”

“What about tea?” Ronald asked. 

Tyndal looked disgusted.  “Tea?  Who the hells cares about tea?”

“Your brother knight makes a point,” Sire Cei agreed.  “Offering tea is a sign of hospitality and warmth, accepting it a sign of friendship.  That is true in peasant’s hut or king’s castle.  And offering milk to a grown man would be an insult, lest he requested it.  It would be appropriate to a maid of sufficient youth.”

“This . . . is confusing,” Tyndal said.

“No, it’s not,” Rondal grumbled.  “It’s not just what is being shared, but by whom.  And where and when.  The drink is secondary to the meaning,” he ventured. 

“Of course, it’s all so clear to me know,” Tyndal said, sarcastically.

“Exactly, Sir Rondal,” Sire Cei approved.  “They are all part of a knight’s understanding of the world.”

“So drinking wine in the afternoon would be a different meaning than drinking wine at night?”

“Yes.  And the context changes depending upon whether food is involved, and what kind.  On feast days, wine is celebratory, a complement to the food.  On ordinary days, drinking wine is a way to honor a guest.  And while either wine or mead can be drunk as the stirrup cup in parting, wine signifies a more formal character, while mead a more personal. 

“The rules change if the drink is between a man and a woman, too, and their relationships of course must be taken into account.  If a member of the clergy is present, the rules change again as does the context.  Discussing gentleman’s humor in the presence of a priestess of Trygg while drinking wine would be improper, especially before sundown.  Drinking spirits with the same earthsister at midnight, however, would be an appropriate time to share such jests.  And hear a few in return.”

“So why must a knight know all of this?” Rondal asked. 

“It is part of his station . . . not because he drinks wine when he is supposed to, but because he does so and
understands why
.   Hospitality is a noble virtue that all knights should exhibit.  Knowing those . . . ciphers helps smooth relations between gentlemen, and allows much of import to go unsaid.”

“It seems to be no more than a method for someone to find offense,” Rondal said, suspiciously. 

“Such things have happened,” admitted Cei.  “A wise man – and wisdom is another chivalric virtue – knows how to avoid such things by applying yet other social rules.  Also context-dependent.  A good knight will be adept at avoiding them in the first place.  But if circumstance and fortune place him in such a position, he will do what needs to be done.  Remember, a knight is a warrior, first and foremost.”

“A warrior with wine,” Tyndal snickered.

“There are many kinds of battles, and wine is but another arrow in your quiver.   What a man might gain by the sword he may well lose by the cup, if he is incautious.”

“About . . . gaining by the sword,” Tyndal began, slowly.  “Just what are a knight’s duties, responsibilities . . . and liabilities in
conquering
someone?”

Sire Cei smirked.  “Ambitiously planning your empire, are you?”

“Well, is that not the right of any knight?” asked Rondal.  “The right to challenge possession in combat?”

“Ambition is good in a young knight, but without support from a good liege, going around and randomly attacking someone else’s property is rarely a wise idea.  Such errantry exists, as some lords feel that if a man can conquer, he is strong enough to hold it and will be therefore a better vassal than his predecessor. 

“Other times they take great offense.  Often with hundreds of men-at-arms.  If you plan on conquering a domain, Sir Tyndal, you had best be prepared to fight to keep it.  If your neighbors do not attack you, your predecessor nearly always has relatives.  And even if you should prevail, you may well find your new lands very difficult to rule.”

“Like the troubles Master Minalan is having,” Rondal observed.

“In that context, it is Magelord Minalan,” reminded Sire Cei.  “He holds those lands and rules them on the basis of his nobility, not his profession.”

“I see,” Tyndal frowned.  “But if I wanted to raise an army and take them away from him – theoretically – ”

“Then I prophesize that Magelord Minalan would kick your arse until your nose bled . . .
theoretically
speaking,” pronounced Rondal.

“And raising an army is not as easy as it sounds.  Many a knight has beggared himself hiring men for conquest, and afterward ended up a sellsword himself to pay off the debt.  Raising an army of peasants is possible, of course . . . but doing so is rarely seen in a favorable light by your peers.”

“Peasant uprisings,” nodded Rondal, sagely.

“Dead peasants,” corrected Sire Cei.  “A man who falls to a sword cannot plow a field or clip a sheep.  A knight who is not capable of conquering a domain by attracting real fighting men to his cause is rarely worthy of such rule, history shows.  Oft the best conquerors make the poorest rulers.  Such men are better suited to selling their swords in service of more powerful men, rather than inflict their poor rule on some poor peasantry.

“And of course there is the legality – if a proper Writ of Conquest is not submitted to the Kingdom, then the King can order you deposed and the original owner or his heirs restored.  If you wish to contend with a Royal Army the likes of the one Count Salgo is building, I wish you luck.  And I pray we meet again in the afterlife.”

“I . . . see,” Tyndal said, scratching his chin.

“I hope you do,” Sire Cei said, sternly.  “Such conquests should never be entered into lightly, for the cost of war is dear to all.  A knight should be prepared for battle, always, but never lust for it so much that he destroys more than he gains. His honor most of all.“

“And a domain that can be easily conquered is likely not worth the price,” Rondal observed.  “No offense, Sire Cei, but should someone wish to conquer it . . .”

“Then they will face the wrath of my liege . . . and kin to my lady wife,” Sire Cei grinned.  “As his son holds one of my neighboring domains, and his son-in-law another, I feel secure enough not to invest in fortifying my tiny fief.  Besides,” he chuckled, “whomever would risk such retribution would win a poor prize.  It may be a lovely place, but it is hardly lucrative.  Bees make poor tenants.”

“But not all knights are landholders,” Rondal pointed out.  “You weren’t, until you won the Chepstan Fair tournament.”

“True, Sir Rondal,” agreed Sire Cei.  “The difference between ‘sir’ and ‘sire.’  There are many landless knights, oft younger sons of poorer houses who have the training and skills to rule a domain, in theory, but lack the patrimony to do so.  Usually they take honorable service with a higher-ranked lord, for as you know there is much involved with the management of estates. 

“I served as deputy castellan for Lord Mieyor, in Ganz, before Sire Koucey took me to service under old Sir Gindon.  When the old knight took ill, Sire Koucey gave me the opportunity, and then found little reason to change.”