Author's note: Thanks for such an encouraging response to "A Knight's Duty". Comments are most welcome. Following is another episode in the lives of Sir Derrick and his young charges. This story contains corporal punishment of a child. If this, or the subject of spanking offends you, or if you are not of legal adult age, please do not read. ~Trayth.
John sighed to himself as the sun began its descent behind the mountains. The sky turned from brilliant blue to shades of orange and red, gently urging him to do what he already knew he must.
"Never let the sun set on guilt or anger, John. It festers in your mind and distracts you from more important things in life." His knight's words fluttered around him as if they were autumn leaves floating in the breeze.
It has been seven years to the day since John came to Sir Derrick's household, frightened, lonely, newly orphaned and newly made page to the knight. Seven years or seven hundred, John would never forget that day and the new start of a life he almost lost.
John was of gentle birth, his father a knight and in fealty to Sir Derrick for as long as John remembered. He hardly knew the man who commanded so much respect from his father, but Sir Derrick had a way of always being where he was needed most. John adored his father and knew he would grow to be just like him, skilled with sword and lance, kind, brave. His mother was the gentlest woman he ever knew and he loved her with all his heart. But the sickness claimed both of his parents, his father dying hardly three days after his mother. The servants had all fled, fearful of what ravages the disease brought, and left John alone during those last long days. The local priest, alerted by gossip, found the boy dabbing his deceased father's forehead with a cool cloth, trying to revive him.
John had miraculously shown no sign of the illness that took his parents, but no one wanted to take any chances with their own lives. Everyone kept their distance from the boy while his parents' affairs were put in order. At Sir Derrick's own order, the manor John grew up in, its fields and stables were burned to the ground in hopes of stopping the spread of the unidentified disease. No one knew what would become of John. The only son of an only son, he had no known living relatives, and no one dared take the boy into their own home.
The funeral took place at mid-day, smoke from the destroyed manor hanging in the breeze. John was not permitted to take anything from the manor before its stone walls were torn down and torches were set to the rest. Even the clothes he wore were given to him by the priest. His father's sword, his mother's weaving, his toy horse, were all as dead as his parents. John watched his life go up in smoke. He was supposed to grow up to be a knight and serve the king. He was supposed to be brave like his father. He was supposed to ride a great horse and defend the land and those who held it. There was no way now for him to follow that path, and John felt as if he may as well have died with his parents.
He remembered little else of that day but Derrick's strong hand on his shoulder as he fought to hold back his tears. "You are coming to live with me." Derrick had told him, as if he were buying a loaf of bread. John was led to Derrick's horse and lifted onto the saddle, the knight easing himself into place behind the boy. The massive arms held him close, as they made their way back to Gryphon's Leap, the huge manor house that was home to Sir Derrick and his household. John was shown to a room and told it was now his. He marveled at the huge bed, the rich drapes and carpet. A servant helped him bathe, brought him new clothes and a hot meal, and John wondered why the man was not afraid of him like everyone else had been.
John spent the afternoon wandering the halls of the manor, getting lost, and finding his way again. He watched squires being trained in the stable yard by several knights, and even caught a glimpse of Sir Derrick, sword drawn, showing a boy much older than John how to defend against a spear attack.
That evening, John sat on his bed, yawning hugely. He wanted to sleep but was too tired, too sad, too frightened and too exhilarated to let himself close his eyes for long. He was cold despite the fire burning in the fireplace, and more lonely than he ever imagined possible. Hours passed as he stared at the shadows dancing on his walls from the light of the candles at his bedside. The manor grew eerily quiet as the night progressed, and John wondered if he were left alone in the world yet again. He started at the knock on his door, and wanted to hide under the bed when Sir Derrick entered the room.
"You've had a very difficult day. You should be sleeping, and here you are- not even in night clothes yet." Derrick gently chided the boy as he built the fire to a cheery blaze and pulled a sleeping shirt out of the chest of drawers. Before John knew it, his face was washed, clothes folded neatly on the bench at the foot of his bed, and soft sheets smoothed under his chin. He stared up at Sir Derrick, still not certain of how he came to be here.
"This must all be very confusing." The knight seemed to be reading John's mind. "I was a good friend of your father's, and he to me." The statement brought tears to John's eyes, and Derrick gently wiped away the few that trickled down his cheeks.
"Your father asked me to take you into my household as a page when you were old enough. We had thought to wait until next year, but given your turn of circumstances, I think we should begin your training a bit early." John's eyes widened at the knight's words, and he could hardly believe his ears. Perhaps his hope of being a knight someday did not die with his father.
"I want you to understand though, this is not going to be easy. You will have a lot of responsibilities for a boy so young. Perhaps you will choose not to stay here. You will be welcome at the local monastery if you prefer, but I hope you will stay here." John remained quiet as Derrick spoke. "I will train you as a page and then as my squire. You will be knighted someday, if you wish it and are willing to work hard." John nodded his head so furiously that Derrick thought it would bounce right off his neck.
"I do want to stay here, sir! I want to be your page and learn to be a knight." Derrick smiled down at the boy and shook his head gently, encouraging John to consider carefully what he was saying.
"I want you to think about this John. This is going to be hard work. If you choose to stay, you will continue to learn to ride a horse, you will be trained in the use of weapons and educated well. You will responsible for tending to my gear as well as any other chores I give you. There are many rules to learn, and I am very strict. If you disobey me or behave poorly, you will be punished." Derrick patted the side of John's bottom for emphasis.
"You will also be well cared for and well loved. I know I can not replace your father, but I will care for you as if you are my own son." The tears brimming John's eyes swelled over and he choked back a sob. Derrick gathered the boy into his firm arms and held him while he cried, gently rocking back and forth. He missed the boy's father and his mother too. He could only imagine the pain such a young boy must feel at such a severe loss. John cried until he exhausted himself, but he still could not let himself sleep. Derrick remained with him, soothing the tears, rubbing his back, whispering comfort through the pain. He poured a little wine into a goblet and diluted it with water, then held the cup to John's lips. The boy drank without argument, and several minutes later began to calm down. He was finally lulled to sleep by Derrick's calming tones and a few more sips of wine.
John smiled to himself as the sun continued to set, bringing the first shades of night to the dimming sky. Sir Derrick had been true to his word. He raised John as his own son. Loved him, laughed with him, had pillow fights with him as a small boy. Absolutely blistered his bottom when needed, encouraged and taught, challenged and nurtured far more often than punished. John missed his parents, and anniversaries and other special remembrances made the missing harder. He had a happy life though, and the closeness he felt with Derrick was beyond price. He tried to be a good squire to his knight, and felt he was mostly successful. There were some moments though, that seemed to wipe out all of the good efforts he made. He had one of those moments today, and as the falling sun brought on the night, it also brought on an increased sense of urgency to confess his fault to Sir Derrick. He mounted his horse and trotted off toward Gryphon's Leap, reassuring himself he would survive the night, remembering other times he confessed some misdeed at the feet of his knight and father.
It had truly been an accident. The little boy John had only stopped his chores for a few minutes to play with a wooden practice sword left in the training yard. The shaft of wood was nearly as long as John was tall, but he tried with all his seven year old might to wield it as he saw his father wield a sword. Suddenly, he was a valiant knight battling a savage monster that threatened to devour the village. He didn't even realize the practice sword had left his hand until he heard the crash of glass. John panicked at the sound, knowing full well that the leaded glass in the entrance to the kitchen must now be in a million pieces. Only a month in Derrick's service and already causing trouble. He would be sent away now for certain.
John ran to his room where he hid until he was called to dinner for the second time in ten minutes. He presented himself quietly, nodded to Sir Derrick, and took his place at the table. Other boys also in Sir Derrick's service ate and laughed companionably. John was the youngest of them and had a difficult time finding any friends among the older boys. He studied Sir Derrick's face, trying to guess whether the knight knew of his misdeed in the practice yard, but there was no sign. The meal passed as usual until the head servant led a boy a few years older than John to Derrick's side, pulling him by the ear.
"Go on." The servant prodded the boy, whose eyes filled with rebellion.
"Sir, I am very sorry for breaking the window. I will be more careful in the future. Please forgive me." His words sounded practiced and forced. John thought he could see the boy gritting his teeth as he spoke. The servant instructed the boy to draw down his trousers and show his buttocks to the knight. The boy did as he was told, and the servant announced that 12 strokes with the heavy cane were administered as punishment for the child's clumsiness.
"I would have gone easier on him Sir, but he insisted on saying he didn't break the window even though we found him picking up the glass with the practice sword in his hand. I know you don't abide lying." John's heart raced and he grew cold with fear at what he was seeing. Some of the other boys snickered behind their napkins at the serving boy's fate while Derrick scolded the boy for not telling the truth in the first place. Before he knew what he was doing, John slammed his napkin down on his plate and jumped to his feet.
"NO!!!" His shout echoed about the room, suddenly quiet at his outburst. Tears filled his eyes and a part of John tried to get him to sit down and be quiet. The other part of him, perhaps less reasoned but certainly more honorable, led him to his knight's chair, where he fell to his knees. Derrick began to tell his young page to return to his seat when he noticed tears pricking at the boy's eyes.
"What is the meaning of this, John?" Derrick's voice was calm but commanding.
"It wasn't him! He didn't break the window, Sir!" The servant guffawed at John's interference and reminded his master that the child was caught red handed. The thoroughly chastised boy looked at John with wide eyes, and the other boys at the table snickered even more.
"It was me, Sir! I did it! I broke the window while playing with the practice sword. I was the one. Not him." John blurted out his confession, only to be rewarded with an explosion of laughter from the other boys, and the protests from the servant that John could not possibly have been responsible for the damage. He was too small to be able to even hold a practice sword. Humiliated, John ran from the room, chased by the booming voice of Derrick telling the others to quiet down. He sprinted to his quarters and sorted through his drawers, looking for clothing he wore for messy work. He knew he would have to leave this place for being so naughty, and since he came with nothing more than the clothes on his back, he would leave the same way. He was changing into his more worn clothes when he heard a knock at the door. Sir Derrick entered and walked to the bed, taking a seat quietly.
"It can be very hard to have a man-to-man talk with all of the others at the table. I thought you would like to finish what you were trying to tell me." Derrick pulled the boy to sit next to him, and John hung his head, ashamed.
"I did it, Sir." John's whispered, choking back his tears. "I broke the window. It was an accident, Sir, but I got so scared that I ran away." The boy lost his battle with his emotions and a few tears slipped down his cheeks. "I...I didn't m-mean for any-one-else to g-get p-punished f-for what I d-did." Derrick wrapped his arm around the boy's shoulder and encouraged him to keep talking. "It was my fault. And now that b-boy got b-b-beaten for something he di-didn't do, and that's my fault too." John cried heartily into Derrick's shirt and the knight rubbed his hand through the raven hair.
"Why didn't you come to me when you broke the window, John?" Derrick offered firm but comfortable encouragement to the boy.
"B-be-c-cause they s-said y-you would s-send me a-a-waaay if I ever did anything b-b-aad. And I-I-I want to stay w-w-ith you." John stammered through his tears.
"The other boys told you that?" Derrick allowed a hint of anger in his words. John nodded, wiping snot off his face with his shirt sleeve. Derrick tugged at the clothing and asked "Is that why you're wearing this? To run away in?" And again, John nodded. Derrick sighed, partially angry with the other boys for being so cruel as to play on a young boy's fears, and partially frustrated at how to convince his young charge that this is his home. He pulled John to his feet and stood the boy in front of him, firm fingers lifting the boy's chin to meet his knight's eyes.
"John, you are a member of this family. I will not send you away for any reason, and certainly not for breaking a window. When you make a mistake, I expect you to tell me about it and not try to hide it. You are going to be punished for breaking the window and for not confessing it to me. You are NOT leaving this manor. You are not going anywhere at all but back to your studies in the morning. Is that clear young man?" He gently shook John to punctuate his point, and the boy nodded.
The stern knight drew down John's trousers and underclothes and pulled the boy across his knee. John's heart pounded in his ears as what was about to happen dawned on him. He had not been spanked more than a few times in his life, and then by no one other than his father, and usually over his clothes. Derrick raised his hand and slapped John's small bottom over and over again, each swat echoing around the room, until John could not hold still from the pain. John squirmed and wiggled, trying to evade the painful swats, but Derrick held him firmly in place. John heaved out his cries and begged for Derrick's forgiveness, trying with all his might to take what he had coming, but failing miserably.
Derrick lifted the boy off of his lap instructed him to lie on his bed, on his stomach. The knight went to the nearby window, took his belt knife and sliced a switch off of a tree branch, then went back to the bed where John waited obediently. John was almost oblivious to the switch in his knight's hand. Derrick studied the small, bared bottom in front of him, assuring himself that no serious harm had been done so far.
"If you would have told me that you broke the window when it happened, your punishment would be over now. Since you did not tell me, and since someone else was blamed for your error, you will be punished more severely. Stick your bottom up a bit." When John obeyed, Derrick ended his lecture with six stinging swipes of the switch across John's buttocks, and John, surprisingly, held his position throughout the punishment. Derrick left the boy standing in the corner, crying, striped bottom still bare, while he went to reprimand the other boys for scaring the young page. When he returned to John's room, the other boys confined to their beds for he night, John was introduced to the remaining part of the ritual that followed punishment in this household. The still sniffling boy was led to his bed, draped over Derrick's knee, and given twelve hard swats on his very bare bottom with the knight's very bare hand. Then cool cloths were applied to the burning bottom, and soothing ointment rubbed in to ease the pain. John was tucked into bed, still crying softly, assured once again that all was forgiven.
The memory was so old, but as fresh in the now senior squire John's mind as the day it happened. Many thrashings followed that one, and John grew to appreciate if to still fear the ritual. He knew where he belonged. He knew he was loved, and he knew better than to dodge responsibility for an error, no matter how minor. The older boys made fun of him for days after that confession, taunting that he was foolish to confess when someone else had already been blamed. No one would have known John was the guilty party. But John did know. He knew he respected his knight too much to mislead him or lie. He knew he had Derrick's respect for his honesty. And that was worth a thousand thrashings.
Night continued to settle all around John as he raced back to Gryphon's Leap. He quickly stabled his horse and made sure it was comfortable for the night, then rushed to his quarters. It was the same room as that first day, rich with heavy furnishings and thick rugs. John sighed as he remembered that day, and moved purposefully to the window embrasure. He stepped on the shards of broken glass struck from the window frame above as he picked up the wooden practice sword, and wondered to himself if he was ever going to learn. He reached past the window opening to the tree outside and used his belt knife to cut a sturdy switch from its branches. He looked once again to the pile of broken glass on the carpeted floor, and left to make his way downstairs to the dinner table.
Three long tables held Derrick's staff, the knights, squires, pages, and ladies of the household, each enjoying their meal and the company of those near them. Five boys sat at a table with Sir Derrick, this time John the oldest of the bunch. They all looked up at him as he approached the table, switch in hand. He carefully placed the switch on the table in front of Derrick. The other boys- Conal, Michael, Richard, Blaine, and Seth did not know the details of what they were seeing, but they understood the gesture and were grateful they were not in John's place. The younger boys even whimpered a bit at the site of the switch, and John reassured them that it was not for them.
"Sir? May I speak with you after supper? There is something I need to discuss with you." Derrick eyed the switch, then John, and nodded.
"Of course, John. In the mean time," Derrick nodded toward John's place at the table, "have a seat while you still can. Your meal is getting cold." John squeezed in at Derrick's right, next to Conal, neither resenting nor dreading what the rest of the evening would bring. Derrick and John nodded knowingly at each other during the meal, the other boys chattering among themselves. It was true that John missed what death had taken from him all those years ago. He was also very glad for those other things that life had brought him as if to make up for the loss. John was happy and content with his life, for the most part. At least until after supper tonight.