Medieval Master Swordsmen(444)

Sian began swinging the basket around as if fighting for his life. “Behold, bad men,” he said, swinging the basket so close to Derica’s head that she had to duck. “Beware of my wrath!”

Derica took hold of Aneirin’s hand, pulling her gently out of the way so she would not be struck by the flying basket. “All hail, Sir Sian of the Dark Woods.”

Sian liked that name. Derica had come up with it one night when the young boy was expressing his desire to be the greatest knight in all the land. He paused in his basket swinging and bowed stiffly.

“I shall marry you when I am a knight.”

Derica cocked an eyebrow. “I think that I shall be a bit old for you, but your offer is most flattering.”

The boy suddenly looked very serious. He slipped his cold little hand into Derica’s. “But who will take care of you?”

Derica had flashes of the man with the sandy-copper hair, straining with body and soul to remember who he was. In her heart, she already knew. “My husband will, when he finds me.”

Sian looked confused. “Mam says he is bad for what he did to you. I will kill him if he tries to hurt you.”

Derica stroked his dark head. “I am very fortunate to have a protector such as you. But he is my husband, and if he comes for me, I must go with him. I belong to him.”

Sian didn’t agree with her but he didn’t know what to say. Aneirin looked frightened. Up ahead, Mair was leading them off the road and into some trees. Derica and the children followed. On the other side of a thin line of trees lay a large pond, swamped with too much water. Mair paused at the edge, and when Derica and the children reached her, she put her hand in the water up to the elbow, fished around, and came up with a handful of wet, red berries.

“Come on, help me,” she encouraged them.

Soon, they were all harvesting the wet fruit from the swampy water. At Mair’s urging, Derica popped one in her mouth and was delighted with the strong bitter-sweet flavor. They swept the edge of the pond until their baskets were full and their hands were freezing and wet. Derica dried off Sian’s hands, while Mair dried off Aneirin’s.

The children’s teeth were chattering with cold, but they were thrilled with their booty, dancing around with the catch of red berries. As Derica bent over to pick up the little scarf that Sian had dropped, the little boy gleefully swung his basket around and hit her on the back. Derica pitched forward, unable to stop herself from ramming head-first into the decomposing tree directly behind her. Stars flashed before her eyes before everything went suddenly dark.

She hadn’t been out very long, perhaps a few moments. Derica blinked her eyes, gazing up at Sian and Mair’s worried faces. She put a hand up to her bruised forehead, struggling to sit.

“Are ye well?” Mair was beside herself with horror at what her son had done.

Derica nodded unsteadily. “I… I think so.”

Sian, over the shock of having accidentally hit her, began to wail and Derica comforted him. “There, there,” she hugged him. “I am fine. Do not be troubled.”

“I am sorry, Bryndalyn,” he sniffed.

Derica’s expression slowly changed, as if a spark of flame slowly bloomed within her mind. She rubbed her forehead again, a weary smile on her lips.

“That’s not my name,” she said softly.

Sian’s tears faded and he looked at her, confused. Mair, too, looked surprised. “It is not?”

Derica closed her eyes briefly, suddenly remembering everything in a waterfall of memories and feelings. They had been struggling to come through for several days and the knock on the head was apparently all she had needed. Her smile broadened as if the most wonderful thing in the world had just happened.

“My name is the Lady Derica de Rosa le Mon,” she said, restraining her excitement lest she frighten the children with it. “My husband is Sir Garren le Mon, sworn to King Richard and vassal of William Marshal.”

Mair squeezed her arm. “So ye do remember now.”

Derica nodded. “I do.” She hugged Sian tightly. “My thanks to you, Sian, for causing me to hit my head. ‘Twas the best gift you could have given me.”

The little boy was glad he was not in trouble, happy his friend was so joyful. But something occurred to him out of all the fuss and joy going on. “Your husband is a knight?”

Derica nodded, remembering the man with the sandy-copper hair and thrilled to remember every last detail about him. “He is a great knight,” she said quietly. “And he did not beat me and throw me in the river. I was too close to the edge and slipped in. The bruises were from my fall.”

“Ye recollect the fall that brought ye to us?” Mair asked. “Do ye also remember where ye’re from?”