A Knight's Last Quest

1

Rodsworth woke with a pain in his chest that would have crippled a normal man; a man who hadn't crusaded to the Holy Land and served God and country for nigh on four decades. But Rodsworth was far from a normal man. The cramped cottage he shared with his wife Eraldine was decorated with trophies and gifts from kings and sultans, tributes to his justice and bravery. 2

As he stood, a dry sigh escaped his lips and a wrinkled hand massaged his aching chest. For the last two years he woke with the same pain, the same nausea and fatigue. Rodsworth was old, and because he was old, he could no longer continue as a protector of peace and freedom. He had been decommissioned, abandoned as it were, by all those he had held dear and now lived out the last days of his life on a personal quest in a quiet village north of Dover. Rodsworth had accomplished great things since his knighthood began. A successful Crusade was under his belt as well as countless escorts of Popes, bishops, and, of course, kings and queens. Once Rodsworth had been handpicked to lead a force against the treacherous Scots years ago, and had returned with the head of the leader and an unquenchable fire in his heart. 3

All of that is gone now. Rodsworth thought. A distant memory to be lost in time. To Rodsworth, the only missing piece to his life was the completion of a knight's true quest. Some perhaps would stress a Crusade as the epitome of knighthood, but Rodsworth knew better. The essence of a knight's existence was to rescue a damsel in distress. 4

It was this driving dream that kept Rodsworth from losing all form of sanity and cowering in the fields with the cows. Throughout the dreary days in the village, Rodsworth daydreamed of a young virgin princess alone and afraid in a dark tower. He would smile as he saw himself, clad in brilliant armor, galloping across the treeless hills to rescue her. The fantasies kept his spirit from decay, but when they were over and Rodsworth was forced to return to his tedious life, Rodsworth felt as if he would never again be happy. 5

As Rodsworth stood in his room he pleaded with the armor in his wardrobe to leap from its hiding place and cover him in mythical splendor once more. 6

Just once more, Rodsworth begged, his head looking up, through the ceiling to the white clouds and beyond. 7

The smell of bacon and eggs filled the small hall outside his room and he heard his wife humming in the kitchen. His head started to ache and he muttered something about ‘peace and quiet'. A plate of breakfast sat on the table, awaiting him, and as he sat in the creaking chair, Eraldine turned and smiled. Her skin was weathered and smelled of dirt from the garden and clover blossoms. Ocean blue sparkled in her eyes and though her face was wrinkled and her hair silver, traces of youthful beauty broke through as sun shining through a stained glass window. She nodded as she did every day and wiped her hands on a soiled apron. Rodsworth didn't return the smile, but scraped his fork on the plate, scratching at the tender eggs. 8

"And how was your sleep, dear?" Eraldine whispered, her fingers darting to each shoulder and then to her stomach in the familiar cross. 9

Rodsworth despised early morning conversation. "Sleep is sleep." 10

The rest of the morning neither said a word. When their eyes would meet Eraldine would flash a quick smile and open her mouth to speak, but Rodsworth's frown dissuaded any conversation. 11

Finally Rodsworth stood and wiped the food from his mouth. His chair toppled to the floor and Eraldine jumped in surprise. 12

"Where are you headed this morning, Rodsworth?" Eraldine asked. It was a rhetorical question, for both of them knew the only place Rodsworth ever went besides the cottage was town. 13

Rodsworth spun on his heel and stared at her as one would a stray dog barking in the streets. "Town." He grunted. "The only place I go is town." Rodsworth snatched his cane from near the door and walked into the crisp morning. Dust fell from the walls and ceiling as he slammed the door behind him. Rodsworth stopped halfway down the lane, listening for what he thought were sobs escaping through the cracked windows of the cottage. Hearing nothing, he shrugged his shoulders and hobbled toward the ping of anvils and the din of the market, ignoring his wife who stood gazing longingly from the doorway. 14

A slight breeze blew from the north, swaying the grass in a hypnotic motion. Rodsworth smiled at several travelers, most of them merchants but there were a few noblemen, guarded closely by stout lads in gleaming armor. The town was unusually quiet today and Rodsworth wondered if some affair was being held in Cross Lake, a larger city just to the south. He passed the blacksmith and waved at Roger. Several ladies passed and Rodsworth bowed low and bid them a good day. They stared at him and giggled, more out of mockery than flattery. Rodsworth grinned like a boy at a feast as he saw the town's tavern looming in front of him. The smell of stale ale and body sweat drifted through the doorway and Rodsworth stood for a moment, transfixed in its unusual beauty. A yearning in his stomach grew stronger and Rodsworth knew it was time for a drink. 15

The interior was musty and dark. Several minutes passed before Rodsworth's eyes adjusted to the dimness. Near the door were several coats and knapsacks. Making sure no one was looking, Rodsworth slid his cane behind them all, as far into the corner as he could reach and with a tall, confident swagger, walked to the nearest full table. An empty chair sat alongside four athletic youngsters and Rodsworth swooped in like a hawk after a field mouse. The youths stared at the aged intruder disbelief. Rodsworth glanced at each young, tired face and smiled. The smallest of the men spoke first, his hair fiery orange and reached down to his chin in a scraggly beard. 16

"Awful early for you here ain't it old timer?" 17

The others smirked and Rodsworth stared at the jester. "I've been places around the earth where the only time they drink is in the morning and the only thing they drink is camel's blood. I've served under men who require you to drink till your belly's bursting just to prove your worth your salt." Rodsworth nodded at a barmaid, who filled a rusty mug with thick ale. "I've been drinking longer than you've been breathing, and as a knight, I should know more than most on the subject of alcohol." 18

Rodsworth smiled as the expressions on the young men's faces turned from mockery to disbelief at the sound of the holy word. As the barmaid set the mug down, Rodsworth grabbed her hand. 19

"A gracious knight of the King thanks you and bids you a grand day. You have my blessing." 20

The barmaid cocked an eyebrow and grunted. Rodsworth ignored her as she muttered her way outside. The barmaids rarely played along with his charades, but never would they dream of revealing his lies. After all, he was knight. 21

The oldest of the lot threw out his hand. "Name's Willem, and these here are me mates Philip and Horace. The smart ass is Lars, but don't pay him no mind." 22

Rodsworth shook his hand, face beaming and heart alive with memories of royal introductions and nervous apologies. Lars looked at the ground and elbowed Willem in the ribs. Rodsworth took a drink, hiding his distaste of strong drink with a smile and a cough. "Where you lads headed?" 23

"North. The Scots are tryin' to revolt again and the King said he'd pay anyone who fights." Willem said. 24

"Besides, beats back home. Doin' nothing drives a many insane." Philip whispered, keeping his eyes on his plate, away from Rodsworth. 25

You have no idea boy. Rodsworth thought, nodding his head.26

"What about you, sir? Are you on business?" Lars asked between a mouthful of ham and a gulp of ale. The others glared at him and looked down in embarrassment. 27

"Actually, I am. I've been on a quest for years now." Rodsworth leaned back in his chair and stretched. Suddenly he stopped and stared at each boy. "You wouldn't be spies sent to thwart my efforts, would you? The last ones they sent returned home with far more than tea and crumpets on their mind." 28

Immediately the friends stuttered a reply, mixing words and phrases, each drowning out the others, and when Rodsworth raised his hand they all fell silent. The power sent chills up his spine; slivers of memories of the days spent in great halls in the company of nobles and lords. 29

"I meant it light boys, meant it light. Wouldn't have made it very far if I was a poor judge of character would I?" Rodsworth smiled. "I'm looking for a damsel." 30

At this statement, even Lars was speechless and his fork clanked to the floor. Willem finally responded, asking the question that was undoubtedly on all their minds."What sort of damsel?" 31

"I am seeking one whose hope has faded to a flickering candle in the winds of despair and treachery. One whose fair hair covers a lonely heart, and who waits till forever for someone to save her from a hellish prison." Rodsworth paused for dramatic effect, but also to catch his breath. His heart pounded in his chest, excitement filled his veins. "I'm looking for a damsel in distress." 32

The boys were again awestruck and Rodsworth soaked in their undivided respect and attention. He heard whispers and laughter from among the barmaids, but shrugged it off as female foolishness. 33

"Is there anything we could do, your Honor?" Willem asked. The others nodded in unison, each nearly falling out of their rickety chairs. 34

"I'm afraid not, young friends-although, during your travels, should you hear of such a damsel, I would be obliged if you would let me know at once." Rodsworth said before draining his glass of the last bubble of froth. 35

"Of course, sir, you have our word." Willem said solemnly as if he addressed a widow at her husband's deathbed. Lars was far less formal and asked yet another question. 36

"Wait, how are we gonna find you if you're looking for a damsel?" The two silent boys nodded and Willem withheld his elbow as he paused to think. Rodsworth also paused, as if working out a masterful plan full of stealth and secret messages. Finally he leaned forward, keeping his voice to a hushed whisper. 37

"On your way home from Scotland, stop by this very inn, at this very time." Rodsworth pounded his long, bony finger on the table in front of the boys' studious faces. "I will be waiting." 38

With that, Rodsworth stood from the table, gave a stiff bow in the direction of the barmaids, and walked out the door, making sure to grab his cane from the corner. 39

The village was unusually quiet for such a sunny day. After a quick trip to the market, which only offered one booth boasting a measly variety of vegetables, Rodsworth found himself, sore, tired, and cross. He turned onto the main street, dodging cart ruts and patches of mud. Suddenly, a group of children bolted from a nearby alleyway, each carrying a wooden sword. Rodsworth shook his head as the rambunctious kids leapt in every available puddle and disappeared down the street in screams of victory over an invisible foe. 40

On his way past the bakery, a familiar voice called from inside the dimly lit shop."G-day to yah Rodsworth!" 41

Rodsworth managed a smile and bowed low to the robust woman who appeared in the wide doorway. Her face was red and puffy and her body plump, yet strong and firm. Fiery hair fell to her broad shoulders and a dirty sleeve rose to wipe the sweat from her brow. Perhaps she had been a beauty in youth, but age and hard labor had taken their toll, not to mention the constant presence of freshly baked bread and croissants. Nevertheless, Rodsworth resumed his air as the protector of virgins, tucking his cane under his arm as if it were a shining blade, stained red with the blood of dragons and sorcerers. 42

"And a marvelous morning it is Madame Bernice." Liar. Rodsworth thought, but continued, undaunted by his depression and the steady ache in his chest. "I trust the children are well?" 43

Rodsworth knew the answer, for it had been her offspring rushing through the streets like banshees from a priest, yet he knew the question would flatter the mother of seven. After her husband died from the plague, her children were her pride and joy. Personally, Rodsworth thought them useless brats but knew voicing such an opinion to anyone but Eraldine would cast a shadow on his brilliant reputation. 44

The baker's wife threw a hand up in mock protest. "Oh they're fine; ‘spect they're out raisin' hell in town, same's always. Kids will be kids." A deep guffaw escaped the crooked teeth and suddenly Rodsworth's head throbbed. 45

"Too true, Madame, too true." He said. 46

"Would yah like to come in and rest, Rodsworth? I just finished a fresh batch of bagels. They're for the sheriff, but I'm sure he won't miss a few nibbles here and there." The laugh returned, shaking every inch of the woman's frame. Rodsworth raised a hand to his temple and closed his eyes. 47

I regret to have to deny your generosity, but I must tend to my Eraldine. She has come across a bit of a fever." 48

A disappointed look came over Bernice, as if the mention of a spouse reiterated her status as a widow. "Very well, give my regards to your wife." With a wave she returned to the heat of the ovens and the emptiness of another evening alone. 49

Rodsworth continued walking at once, eager to put as much distance between him and the chatty widow. Today he wished his cottage was ten miles from the village rather than one. And to think it started out so good. Those three lads were quite impressed. ‘Your honor'-at least there are some who still respect the way of the cross. Yet, Rodsworth was not surprised at the days happenings. In fact, it was exactly like any other of his mundane trips to town. There were always those in the tavern who listened eagerly to his stories and quest plans, and just like every other day he grew suddenly tired of the people and screaming children. Yesterday it had been Richard, the blacksmith, who had delayed his trip home, and the day before that Gill from the town sentry. Now, as usual, Rodsworth was on his way home as irritable and exhausted as ever. 50

As he neared his house he saw a trickle of smoke puffing from the chimney and scowled as he saw Eraldine weeding around his garden. She saw him and smiled, her dirty hands up in an eager wave. Rodsworth hobbled faster, his hands at his sides and with a grunt, bursted through the door. 51

The cottage was warm and smelled of cabbage and ham. Looking around, Rodsworth caught no sign of lunch. He threw his cane on the ground and was about preparing to shout when Eraldine slid through the door behind him. 52

"I'm sorry. I thought we'd eat outside today, dear. It's so beautiful out." Her voice was an apologetic whisper and her delicate hands held plates of steaming food. Rodsworth glanced at the food and back at Eraldine. "I don't want to eat outside. The sun hurts my head. You know that." 53

Eraldine's blue eyes stared at the floor as she traced lines in the dirt with her shoe. "Very well, I made your favorite. Cabbage and ham-just like our wedding feast." Her mouth quivered into a brilliant smile. "You do know what day it is don't you?" 54

Rodsworth was silent but his stomach wrenched a low rumble, making Eraldine giggle softly. "I'm not hungry." Rodsworth said bluntly, and marched to his bedroom. It was a lie. He was starving, but he had expected food to be on the table, ready to eat. He had told her a thousand times to have it ready when he got home. She'll never get it unless I force her to. Rodsworth thought, staving off the feelings of guilt that were threatening to make him regret his reaction. He limped to the bed and collapsed on the firm mattress. 55

Thoughts of a tall tower in a haunted forest carried him into a deep sleep and it was nigh on sundown before he woke to the sound of hushed whispers outside his window. Rodsworth sat up and listened intently, careful not to make a sound that would block out the voices. 56

"Well, you know he was by the tavern today; said something to a table full of youngsters, you know how he gets." 57

Rodsworth recognized the first voice as one of the barmaids at the inn. Eraldine replied between the soft swishes of a broom on the stone walk. "He can be very demanding, especially if something is troubling him." 58

Rodsworth threw the blankets from his weak legs and staggered to the window, ignoring the burning in his chest. His face was determined and hints of a deep rage deepened his stare and added jagged lines to his forehead. Cowards. Talking about a man of my status behind my back. Cowards the lot of them. 59

The homemade curtains flapped in the breeze and with a crash, Rodsworth tore them from the wall and stuck his head into the evening air. 60

The barmaids face was a blend of shock and confusion and Eraldine looked up from her sweeping and smiled. "Hello dear. We were just disc-." 61

Rodsworth interrupted her with a string of curses, the exertion turning his face a deep red. "I know what you cowards were talking about and I have never known a more backstabbing, treacherous-". 62

"Rodsworth! We were-." Eraldine pleaded but Rodsworth refused to let her defend herself. 63

"Silence perfidious snake! I see your loyalties lie with a whore rather than your provider and protector." 64

The barmaid gasped at the accusation and Eraldine shot her an apologetic glance. 65

"Conspirators are not welcome here wench. I will be sure and never forget this-" Rodsworth's rantings were cut short by a shout from the road. 66

"Sir Rodsworth!" It was Willem and his friends. Their horses were heavily laden with supplies and trotting slowly behind their masters. Immediately Rodsworth's countenance changed and he hailed a polite greeting. 67

"G'even young gents! What brings you so far from the town?" 68

"We travel better at night and decided now was as good a time as any to get started." Willem shouted. Lars leapt onto his horse and called to the house. "What business does a knight have in a disheveled cottage? Is everything alright?" Rodsworth cursed the boys suspicions under his breath and was relieved to see Willem reprimand his young friend with a slap to the back of the head. Roger, the fatter of the silent ones, changed the subject with a brief farewell. The other boys nodded and waved before mounting their horses. As they were riding away, Lars spun his horse and sprinted toward the cottage. Rodsworth's throat tightened, afraid the boy would inquire more into the issue of the cottage and bewildered women. 69

When Lars was about ten yards from the house, he reined his horse. "The sheriff stopped by just after you left and said something about bandits on the road. He demanded to know our destination; even searched our bags-seemed real upset. Anyway, thought you oughtta know-being a fellow traveler and all." With a farewell salute and a strong kick, Lars galloped across the yard, hurdled the picket fence, and sprinted after his comrades. 70

Rodsworth stared after him, his mind convincing his eager spirit he was in no condition to ride after them, no matter how desperate the desire. The barmaid sighed and looked at Eraldine who was facing the house, her eyes buried in her hands. The barmaid made an effort to go to her but Rodsworth scowled and shook his head firmly. "Let her be." 71

The tall grass parted in the wake of the barmaids dress and lay trampled under her aggravated steps. She risked a look back and muttered a prayer for her friend left behind. Rodsworth watched her leave and retreated back into his room, glancing once more at the trembling frame of his wife. The dull ache in his chest broke his thought and he gazed longingly at the suit of armor hanging across the room. The cool metal shone like polished glass in the purple sunlight drifting through the window. The pain in his chest worsened as he made his way toward it, and by the time he reached the wall his chest heaved and his arm hung numbly at his side. As his calloused fingers slid across the breastplate, he gasped. In the reflection he saw a hearty youth, eyes blue and as endless as the sea, equally as wild and alive. In his arms was a woman more beautiful than any he'd seen and yet Rodsworth knew her identity in a second. Her smile had greeted him every morning and her blue eyes brimmed with energy and love for the heroic knight who held her. Their eyes met, followed instantly by their lips. Rodsworth turned to the window, hearing the breath of quiet sobs from the yard. He didn't know the last time he had cried, but as he stood in his darkening room, the echoes of love fresh on his mind, tears poured from his tired eyes and fell at his feet. With the pain in his chest now unbearable, Rodsworth raised his hand to the setting sun visible through the window and begged for the energy to speak another word to his dear Eraldine. 72

And so, with the memory of his forgotten wife fresh on his mind, Sir Rodsworth of York crumbled to the ground, lifeless and broken, full of the realization that the damsel in greatest need was in front of his eyes his whole life. 73