Lending dignity to a vulgar brawl
Reims, 1080
“Mauvoisin - what kind of dumb @*!^& name is that?” the large knight sneered. “You from Switzerland, you @*!^&ing pansy? Or did your mother do the dirty with some visiting Swiss @*!^&?”
Hermant stood by the side of the tavern, watching the drunken knight gesticulate at him - only a few yards away. Hermant was a tall, fine figure of a man but had a kind of sickly pallor which together with his elegant manner of dress suggested a strange, almost consumptive vulnerability. His tormentor - the large knight - was as tall as Hermant, but had a ruddy complexion encouraged by drink and his dominant body language signalled a man capable of great violence.
The large knight was enjoying himself, cheered on by a score of brawny retainers. Only one of Hermant’s men was with him, his squire - a timid looking youngster of only sixteen, who seemed to be clinging to Hermant. Whether Hermant was shielding the squire or the squire was restraining Hermant, it was hard to tell. The rest of the tavern watched the scene warily, but without much interest - obviously, they had seen the large knight hold sway in this fashion before.
The large knight laughed at the approval he was receiving from his men and buoyed on by Hermant’s lack of response, continued his invective: “Lake Mauvoisin in Switzerland, isn’t it? I bet you used to piss in that when you were a kid, did you, you little @*!^&? And then I wager you let your mother drink from the Lake too, eh? You dirty little Swiss @*!^&.”
Hermant waved his hand casually to the side, as if brushing off a lazy fly. The large knight laughed again and turned to receive more applause from his retainers about his great wit. He was only dimly aware of an incoming rush of sound and from the corner of his eye, caught a blur of motion. Hermant had leapt across and grabbed his tormentor, the violence of the attack sending them both hurtling through the tavern, scattering tables, stools and patrons in all directions.
The large knight’s retainers were on their feet. One pinned the Hermant’s young squire and the rest moved menacingly towards the duo that was now rolling round the floor, fists and legs flying.
Suddenly a third knight emerged from the gloom at the back of the tavern to intercept the retainers. He was younger than either of the two brawlers, but had scars on his face that revealed no lack of experience with combat. The scarred knight moved confidently, holding up his hand to the large knight’s retainers.
“Steady lads, let’s not do anything too hasty…” the scarred knight warned.
“Gaeten.” one of the retainers said with a mix of irritation and respect: “This is not your fight - stand aside.”
Gaeten’s face was relaxed and he gestured lightly to the two combatants still rolling round the tavern behind him, locked in a struggle that showed no signs of being quickly resolved: “Lieutenant, it looks like your liege does not need your help. It’s a fair fight. What say you, I buy you all another round?”
The large knight’s lieutenant looked unsure - he had a score of armed men behind him; Gaeten seemed to be alone. There was a crash behind Gaeten and a woman screamed. Gaeten looked at the lieutenant earnestly, gesturing down with his hands: “Wait” and then ran to the back of the bar.
The two brawlers had somehow become separated and the large knight had drawn his sword and was whirling it around the tavern in a rampage. Hermant - unable to draw his blade in time - tried to fend off the blows with whatever furniture was to hand. A serving maid was cowering in fear, the large knight’s twirling blade sending air blowing through her hair.
Gaeten ran to the maid, and pulled her safely behind him. The rampaging large knight strode past and almost imperceptibly Gaeten stuck out his leg to trip up the marauder. For the second time that evening, the large knight was sent sprawling across the tavern. Gaeten moved quickly to bring the maid to safety behind the bar.
In his absence, the large knight’s retainers had been released from their quandary and now were surrounding Hermant, lifting him up and pinning his arms while others helped the large knight get to his feet and retrieve his sword. The belligerent knight ignored Gaeten - his eyes had only been on Hermant and he had been unaware of any of Gaeten’s subtle interventions. He strode towards the captured Hermant.
“Now you @*!^&ing Swiss @*!^&, we’re going to show you some real French hospitality.” Helpless, Hermant looked at the knight with a kind of bemused contempt and then spat a large gobbet of phlegm into his enemy's face. The large knight roared in anger and drew back his sword arm, about to strike.
Gaeten seized the sword arm and spun the large knight round - “Steady, Sir Pierre - you’ve had a little too much to drink. Let’s not do anything we will regret in the morning.”
Pierre, the large knight, took a few moments to understand that the situation had changed. “Gaeten - you know this @*!^&?”
Gaeten looked at Hermant. He had never seen the outsider before and his identity was completely unknown. “Of course, he’s an old friend of the Duc’s - here on some official business or other. You probably don’t want to annoy the Duc by running through his official guest.”
Pierre seemed visibly to deflate. His tensed sword arm dropped. He fired a vicious look at Hermant, who cast back a sickly smile. “You @*!^&!” Pierre spat at Hermant. “Better hope your business goes well with the Duc or you’ll be all mine when you leave.”
Pierre’s retainers released Hermant, who looked casually at Pierre. “When my business with the Duc is over, do look me up. By then you might have sobered enough to be able to take me without needing twenty of your men.”
Pierre seemed to grow larger and started to move, but felt Gaeten’s arm on his shoulder.“Sir Pierre, I offered your men the next round. Please see that they get it and put it on my tab. I need to talk urgently with our guest.”
At that Gaeten quickly hurried Hermant out of the tavern. When they had reached a safe distance, Gaeten stopped. “Please forgive Sir Pierre, his manners are deplorable but he fights well and France needs every blade at this hour.”
Hermant looked impassively and said coldly: “No, France is in the state she is precisely because of men such as Sir Pierre.” Then he managed to break free from his reverie and a semblance of humanity entered into his voice: “I am sorry, kind knight, I have not thanked you for your aid in there. I am Hermant Mauvoisin and I am in your debt.”
“Hermant Mauvoisin?” Gaeten asked with surprise. “I am Gaeten de Rethel - you wrote to me about joining a company of knights.”
Hermant’s eyes lit up: “Ah, brother knight! It is well met indeed!”
“But why are you in Reims?”
“Well, you said that you needed to consult your Duc for permission to join the company. I wanted to make sure the consultations went in my, err, our, favour. I am so glad your Duc agreed to be a patron of the Order and that you will be joining us. After tonight’s display, I cannot think of a man I would rather have at my side!”
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