Author's note: Thank you or your continued enthusiasm with these stories of Sir Derrick and his household. Comments are always welcome, as are suggestions for future story lines. ~Trayth
Seven year-old John raced through the field, terrified. The decomposed body of his father, possessed of some evil, chased him through his dreams, through the fields and pens of the manor he grew up in before his parents died, through the forests and across the streams so familiar to him. He tried to scream, to call for help, but no sound came from his mouth. The faster he tried to run, the heavier his legs got. He tried to hide, only to be found by the horrific monster clawing to reach him, huddled in the hollow of a tree.
John woke with a jolt, sweat drenched and scared nearly out of his skin. The nightmare stayed with him, even while awake. His father bearing witness to every fault, every mistake John made, every lapse of responsibility, every seven year-old blunder. Page to Sir Derrick for nearly six months, John had settled into the routine of living at Gryphon's Leap. He tried his best to do what Sir Derrick asked, but still did not have much sense of closeness to the man. The dream came a few months ago, infrequently at first, but more often now. Several nights a week he found himself running terrified from the man who used to bounce him on broad shoulders, galloping through the woods like a great steed.
John burrowed under the covers, shivering with fright. The scent of urine and damp sheets told him he wet the bed again. He did almost every time the dream came. He tore off his damp sleeping shirt, pulled dry blankets off his bed and curled up in the chair by the fire, trying to stay awake. The night lumbered on, the keep silent and still but for the monsters lurking in the dark corners of John's room. Sunrise came far too slowly, and John left the safety of the chair to dress only after the day was fully light.
He left his soiled linens and clothing at the door to be washed, and made his way to the great hall for breakfast. The older pages and squires that served Sir Derrick were already there, as was the knight. Derrick smiled at John as he came to the table, gently scolding him for being late again. John murmured his apologies and sat quietly, picking at his food. This was not going to be a good day.
Half way through the morning, John was summoned to Derrick's study. The laundress had told Derrick that this was the third time this week John had left soiled bed linens to be washed. Derrick assured John that he was not in trouble and these things happen to young boys from time to time. He encouraged the John to talk to him about anything that might be bothering him, but John just shrugged. He wanted to tell Derrick about the dreams, but something held him back. Derrick took John into his lap and felt the boy's forehead. He had no fever, but Derrick knew something was wrong. John seemed tired all the time lately, and hardly ate anything. He was getting careless with his chores, and the boys' tutor had reported John has been daydreaming during lessons. Derrick was a patient man. He would wait. These things had a way of sorting themselves out with time. He sighed as he watched John leave the room, wishing the boy would trust him more, wondering if the bond he felt growing between them was anything more than his imagination.
That evening, John settled into bed as Derrick tucked the fresh sheets around his chin. The knight smiled gently down at the boy.
"It's cold tonight. Are you warm enough?" John nodded and turned to his side, away from Derrick. Tears sprung up in his eyes and he dreaded going to sleep. He did not want Derrick to see the fear in his eyes. The knight placed a heavy hand on the young boy's shoulder and sighed.
"Sleep well, son. I'll be in my rooms early tonight if you need anything." John nodded again, and again remained silent as a tear ran over the bridge of his nose, into the down pillow.
Derrick left his page alone, door ajar and lanterns out, fire in the fireplace casting dancing shadows on the walls of the room. John burrowed deep in his bed, hiding from the dreams that haunted his sleep. For the third night in a row, they found him anyway.
Derrick retired to his rooms early, listening for any sounds coming from John's room down the hall. The night was still young, but the child was tucked into bed nearly two hours ago. Derrick checked on him twice to find the boy restless in his sleep, settling down again when the knight rubbed his back for a few minutes. Worry threatened in the back of Derrick's mind, but he kept telling himself the boy was safe. Nothing could harm him inside these walls. Derrick went to look in on the boy one last time before going to sleep himself, to hear John whimpering in his bed. When Derrick entered the room, he could see the boy jerking and flailing as if having a nightmare, and he would not rouse when shaken. Derrick picked him up to hold him in his lap, but John started awake, tears streaming down his face. Before Derrick could react, John ran from the room, crying and screaming as if he were being chased by the devil himself.
Derrick chased the boy down the hall, calling his name, trying to wake him from whatever dream was scaring him so. Doors to bedrooms occupied by his other pages and squires sprung open at the commotion and Derrick shouted at them to go back to bed. The knight's blood froze in his veins when he saw John run up the stairs that led to the roof. He was three stories up, and would surely be killed if he fell from such height. He tried to remain calm as he pursued the boy, fearing for the worst.
He found John on the roof of the keep, huddled near a wall, shivering and crying. It was starting to snow and Derrick wished he had thought to bring a blanket to wrap his young charge in. He approached John slowly, murmuring soft words of comfort that went unheard. When John saw the tall figure approaching, he jumped up to dart over the wall. Derrick's heart nearly stopped beating when John slipped on some ice, thankfully, before he managed to skitter over the wall. John screamed as Derrick scooped him up, pummeling the knight with his small fists. Derrick mused to himself that John certainly had a lot of fight in him for such a young child. If this were any indicator of how fierce he would be on the battlefield, the king would surely have a formidable knight in his arsenal. He carried the sobbing, thrashing child back to his private quarters, trying unsuccessfully to comfort the boy. He changed him into a clean sleeping shirt, the one he wore damp from urine and snow. John never did rouse from his dream, but it apparently ran its course, and the child slept quietly in his knight's arms as he rocked him before the fire. Derrick took John back to his own room and confirmed the boy had wet his bed again. This certainly explained that mystery, if only Derrick knew what was frightening John so. He called a servant to change the bedding while he continued to rock the boy in his arms. A few minutes later, John snuggled into his bed as if nothing had happened.
The next morning, John felt as if he spent the night running from demons, but remembered nothing of his nightmare or of the chase he gave Derrick. He appeared at the breakfast table late again, again gently reprimanded by his knight for his tardiness. The meal passed without incident- a deception of what the rest of the day would bring.
John bickered and whined all day, about anything and everything. He was getting on the other boys' nerves, and they were certainly getting on his. Tempers remained remarkably in check for the morning, but Derrick reprimanded John and two of the other boys for bickering over lunch. Any remaining hope for a peaceful afternoon was soon lost. Derrick was called away from his work to go to the training yard at late afternoon, only to find the blacksmith scolding one of Derrick's squires and John holding a cloth to a bloody nose. The yard was strewn with practice weapons, overturned benches and water barrels, and John's clothes were torn and muddy. Even the squire who was nearly two heads taller than John had mud all over his clothes.
"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir." The smith shifted slightly.
"It's alright Roland. It looks like there was good reason to disturb me." He pegged each boy with a stern glare.
"These two had a bit of a scuffle. I broke it up before too much trouble came of it, but they were pretty heated up about whatever the matter was." Derrick's squire was finding his boots to be remarkably fascinating to look at, and Derrick had to clear his throat twice before the boy looked at him.
"What happened, Evan?" The squire shifted from one foot to the other, trying to figure out how to tell his knight he actually got into a fight with the youngest page in the household.
"It was YOUR fault!" John accused, and Derrick silenced him with a glare. John was hardly phased by the silent reprimand, but went back to quietly nurse his bloody nose.
"It was not." Evan replied with very little enthusiasm, pleading with his eyes for Derrick to get him out of this mess.
"I asked you a question, young man." Derrick's words were harsh, and Evan bowed his head.
"We were cleaning the training yard, sir." The squire searched for the right words, hoping for a miracle, or at least a good distraction. "andhehitme" was added in little more than a whisper. The bruise growing on the boy's left cheek added at least some credibility to his claim.
"YOU STARTED IT!" John yelled as he jumped up from the bench. Before Derrick could intervene, John walloped a hard kick to Evan's shin, and the older boy yelped and looked every bit like he would have slugged the page if the knight were not there. Derrick caught John by his collar and jerked him away from Evan, landing a heavy swat to the young boy's backside.
"That is enough. Both of you. Evan, go to Cook and get some cold compresses for your cheek and shin, then go to my study. And you, young man" he gave John a shake, "will clean up this mess and go to your room until I send for you." Evan bowed respectfully to his knight as he left. Derrick remained briefly to see that John began setting up the overturned benches. Derrick asked the blacksmith to dismiss John to his room when he looked as if he had calmed down some. The smith laughed lightly and commented that John certainly had a lot of spunk crammed into his small frame. Remembering the night before, Sir Derrick could not argue the point.
John pouted and stomped around the yard as he picked up buckets, benches, and weapons. When the smith finally let him go, John trudged past Sir Derrick's study on his way to his room. He hardly cared about the sound of a well used leather strap being applied to a squire's bare bottom. Evan was only getting what he deserved, John told himself. It served him right for being such a bully.
John had fallen asleep when the servant finally came to summon him to Sir Derrick's study. His feet felt heavy as he plodded down the stairs, not quite awake. He knocked on the door and Derrick ordered him into the room. He went to his master's desk, head bowed and shoulders slumped.
"Evan told me you started the fight with him because he called you a name." Derrick went straight to the point. John shrugged and said nothing.
"John." Derrick lifted the boy's chin. "What happened? Did you hit Evan first?" Again, John shrugged his shoulders and kept his silence. The knight was determined not to lose patience with the boy. He scooped John up in his arms and sat in a big leather covered chair in front of the roaring fire. He rocked slightly, stroking the back of John's head.
"I know something is bothering you John. It would be best for you to tell me what it is." He continued to soothe the boy, but John would not accept the comfort.
"Nothing is wrong. I'm fine." John stated through a clenched jaw.
"Then you attacked Evan for calling you a baby and teasing you about wetting your bed. For no better reason than that?" Again, the shrug. This time, Derrick's response was to flip John over his knee, and yank down his trousers. John gasped but did not struggle.
"John, you have been in a bad temper for days." The first swat fell without warning.
"You are not attending to your studies," Swat Swat Swat
"You are not eating" Swat Swat Swat,
"You are being disrespectful to the staff" Swat Swat SWAT SWAT SWAT,
"You are not going to bed when you are told" SWAT SWAT SWAT
"You are not finishing your chores" SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT!!!
"And now you are fighting with the other boys." SWAT SWAT SWAT SWAT, the spanks fell again and again until the anger and fear John had bottled up inside began to shake loose. Tears sprung from his eyes against his will, and Derrick continued to redden the bare seven-year old behind. John began to struggle, feebly at first then in earnest when the fire building in his bottom would not subside. Derrick continued to spank and spank, watching John struggle emotionally as well as physically. He willed the boy to break down and cry, to sob out his hurt and confide in Derrick about what was hurting him so, but John would not do it. Derrick sighed and reached for a small paddle sitting next to the chair. He applied several sharp swats to John's wiggling bottom before the boy even had a chance to react to the first.
"Owww! Oh owwwch! Ohhhhh!" John began to cry out, but Derrick continued the paddling, smacking every inch of the upturned bottom.
"Oh! Oh s-sir! I'm s-sorry! Owww ohhh! Auuuuh." The punishment continued despite his cries and John's bottom was red and hot.
"P-please s-sir! Oh no more p-please!" Derrick ignored the pleas, determined to force John to talk about what was bothering him so much.
"Oww oh d-daaddy I'm sor-ry I'm sor-ry please stop. Please!" John lost all control of himself and begged for his punishment to end. Derrick was pleased at the apparent break through with John's shift to "daddy". Maybe now they would get whatever this problem that is frightening the child sorted out. The knight delivered five more hearty smacks before he stopped, John wracked with sobs, limp over Derrick's knee. He dropped the paddle and rubbed John's back gently while the boy cried himself out.
"Are you ready to talk to me now, John? Or do you need some more spanking?" John gasped and promised to tell Derrick anything if he would just not swat him again. Derrick eased John onto his lap, cuddling him against the pain and fear, gently rubbing the sore bottom. John latched onto the knight's tunic and cried, different tears than those the spanking brought.
"I'm s-sor-ry, sir." John cried while Derrick stroked his back.
"What are you sorry about, John?" He wiped a dozen tears from the boy's cheek and John swallowed hard.
"I'm sorry for being so bad lately." John bowed his head, unsure of what to say next. "I haven't been doing anything right and I've been mean to everyone." Derrick kissed the top of John's head and encouraged him to continue.
"I j-just haven't been able to sleep very good." John hiccuped and rested his head against Derrick's chest. Derrick responded by wrapping his arms warmly around the boy. "I keep having bad dreams and they scare me s-so much. I c-can't sleep after. I'm so tired and really grumpy. I'm sorry. I'm trying to be good. I'm s-sorry, sir." John yawned widely as if to prove his point, and snuggled closer to Derrick's chest.
"Tell me about the dream John." The page shook his head "no" and Derrick repeated the command.
"Please, sir! I don't want to!" John shook his head again. Derrick leaned the boy over, exposing his already sore bottom, and swatted him hard once more. John screeched and burst into tears.
"You may not decide what to do in this situation John. I asked you to tell me about the dream, and I expect you to obey me." John nodded through his tears and hugged close to Derrick.
"But it's s-so s-scary suh-sir." He buried his face in the knight's tunic, trying to figure out how to start and what to say. Slowly, through sobs and stutters and false starts, John wove the story of his dream. The sheer terror at being chased and horrified by what used to be his own father, the secret feelings of guilt for not dying with him or being able to save him, the even deeper secret anger with his parents for leaving him alone. Derrick hugged the boy close as he cried out his pain, reassuring, caressing, and bragging to John about how brave he has been through all of his loss. Derrick sat his page down in the leather chair and brought a basin of warm water and soft cloths. He washed John's face and straightened his clothes, continuing to bolster and reassure him that his parent's death was not his fault. Derrick also instructed the boy in other ways to deal with his feelings, emphasizing that fighting and neglecting himself were not acceptable. John nodded his understanding and, Derrick sent him back to his room to think more about how he will handle his fear in the future.
Half an hour later, Derrick knocked on the door to John's room, and was invited in by a much subdued young man. John asked to sit in Derrick's lap for awhile, and quietly apologized for his behavior of the last several days as he cuddled close to the man. Derrick encouraged him to bring his troubles to the knight so they could be worked out, rather than struggling with them by himself. John promised he would, and hugged Derrick's neck.
Sir Derrick frowned a bit, and reminded John that they were not quite finished with the business of his discipline earlier. John nodded, knowing what was coming next. He slid off Derrick's lap, scrunching up his face as the trip made his bottom hurt more. He lowered his trousers and underclothes, and obediently climbed back over his knight's knee. Derrick was merciful and swatted him only lightly 12 times, officially ending the punishment that started in his study. John sniffed back a few tears and curled up on his bed. He tried to hold still while cool cloths were placed over his throbbing bottom, and sighed as the sting began to ease. Derrick massaged cooling ointment into John's buttocks to help healing and reduce pain. John never understood this part, as it hurt nearly as much as the spanking until the ointment began to numb his bottom slightly. He drifted off to sleep, snuggled in his bed, only somewhat afraid of what his dreams would bring.
As night deepened in the keep, John was once again trapped by the nightmare of his father. He woke with a start, again sweaty and cold with fear, not certain that his nightmare was just a dream. Shadows flickering on the walls of his room announced danger in every corner, and John hid under his covers. A wolf howl in the distance shoved him out from his sanctuary and threw him down the hall to Derrick's rooms. He ran into the large bedroom, flew under the covers, and huddled up close to his knight. Derrick woke when he sensed someone in the room, and practically felt John fly through the air into the bed. He smiled and wrapped his arms around the boy, offering protection against the monsters of his young mind. John drifted back to sleep, feeling truly safe for the first time in months. The first steps of what was to become a strong bond between the two were finally truly taken.