Sir Osis
If Sir Osis got into the habit of never leaving his quarters, he might as well have been any worthless beggar. Sir Osis was a knight, and a knight had a job to do.
He made himself presentable, put on his armor, and told the stable-boy to get his horse ready. Alphonse had been a gift from Queen Justinia years ago and was the finest horse Sir Osis had ever had the pleasure of riding, although, being only ten hands, Alphonse was only a horse in the sense that he was some sort of equine.
After a few minutes of breathing in the fragrance of horse and kicking dandelions to make the seeds fly, the stable-boy came out leading a white pony which had a perpetual expression of stink-eye. Sir Osis thanked him before mounting the pony.
“Come along, Alphonse! There is much work to be done!” he said with a kick to Alphonse’s sides. Alphonse began to lumber into the courtyard with all the speed of a drunken butterfly. The extra speed must have been due to Sir Osis’s naturally motivating voice.
Eventually he came out of the gate and into the lower castle where the village was. Here was the blacksmith, the weaver, the tailor, the church, and any nice thing you would expect from a respectable village except for a brothel. As his lord did not allow that within his walls, the brothel was set up immediately in front of and to the left of the outermost gate.
As he rode through the village, when he was not attempting to cut an imposing figure, he was noticing something strange. He saw no pickpocketing, witnessed no bar fights, and met no old ladies needing help with their cats. Heck, ol’ Jeremiah wasn’t even disturbing the peace with senile shouting today.
Yet, Sir Osis had gone out today determined to protect the village, defend the honor of women, and all those knightly things, and that he would do. He decided to go to one of the merchant stalls and ask if there was trouble of any sort. Merchants had a tendency to learn about these things at a speed rivalled only by old women, after all.
Sir Osis saw a merchant known as Andrew selling a carpet to the butcher’s wife and approached him, “I trust you’ve been having a good morning, Andrew.”
“Wait your—oh. It’s you, sir,” Andrew said, stiffening.
“Yes, I have decided to come out and see if there was any trouble brewing that I could put a stop to this fine morn.”
“No, sir, but we would do well to keep it that way.”
Sir Osis dismounted and leaned on the stall. “Are you certain of this?”
“I am, and could you—Sarah! I’ll give you a special price for your—well, she’s gone now….” Andrew muttered something unintelligible, took a deep breath, and turned to look Sir Osis directly in the eye. “I have just recalled that the miller was experiencing some trouble with rats. Mayhap you could find it within your kind and merciful self to rid him of them.”
“Andrew, rats are an important part of the natural world. To eliminate rats would be to starve the hawks and the snakes. You have to learn to think of consequences before you say such things.”
Andrew looked as if he was going to say something, but he changed his mind and just nodded. “I shall try, sir. Now, I did think of something you may be interested in. There’s a merchant caravan passing through to the next town, and I hear they also have the daughter of some lord or another with them. Now, they are not going far, but in light of the recent increase in banditry on that road, I doubt they would object if you offered some extra protection.” He shrugged. “Maybe you could have a vacation afterwards too. You would certainly deserve one after all the hard work you have been putting in.”
“Hmmm, you know. That is a worthy idea! I am indebted to you for your help today.”
“Don’t even think of it. You should probably make haste. They shall not be here long.”
Sir Osis mounted Alphonse and rode at a speed that would put a pregnant housefly to shame to go find the caravan master.
When Sir Osis found the him, he was buying some flour from the miller. He was a short, leather-skinned man dressed in simple but well-made clothing and carried himself as one who had spent his life learning of his own inferiority.
“Are you the master of the caravan that is passing through?” he asked, dismounting.
“Aye, good sir. The name’s John,” he answered with a polite bow.
“Osis of the Liver. I heard you are in need of protection and have come to offer my services.”
“I would be most grateful to you, Sir Osis. What measure of payment be ye expecting?”
“I’ll accept no payment, goodman. It is my sworn duty to protect the innocent from such dangers as present themselves upon the road,” he said with a heroic pose. It helped that the innocent included a noble lady. Talk about brownie points.
“Well then, can you leave at noon?”
That gave him around an hour and a half to prepare. That would totally work. “I shall meet thee before noon!” he said, swinging his leg over the pony. “Come along, Alphonse.”
John the caravan master watched bewildered as Alphonse plodded along majestically.
***
Just as he promised, Sir Osis arrived a few minutes before noon with his sword sharpened and his bladder emptied. The caravan was on the smaller sidee, and, aside from the single covered carriage, lightly guarded. Evidently the bit about precious cargo was slightly exaggerated, unless the crown jewels were hidden in the saddlebag of one of the mules. Still, the caravan’s small size probably made for an even more enticing target for bandits.
“Ten minutes, everyone!” the caravan master cried. One merchant who had decided to try to sell some of his stock here began hastily packing his things. Sir Osis decided this would be a good time to introduce himself to the lady who he had learned was Marian, daughter of Lord Feithid.
He rode over to the carriage and bowed while atop his horse. Alphonse nearly fell over, but quickly recovered. He was a good horse. The lord’s daughter was a plump girl with a very bored expression and made no acknowledgement of Sir Osis, save a slight wave of the hand.
“I trust your travels have gone well so far, Lady Feithid.”
“Uh-huuuh.”
He chose to take that as the affirmative and continued, “I shall be providing you with some extra protection for the remainder of your journey, as these roads can be very treacherous.”
“Sure.”
“If you need anything at all—”
“Got it. Get you and that pony away from me. I’m trying to daydream about Scuzzi in peace.”
He stared in shock a moment before hesitantly asking, “Scuzzi, milady?”
“The Danish skald. Gosh, old people. He’s so ruggedly handsome, yet he smells so good….How could you not have heard of him?! Go stab some children or whatever ye uncultured brutes do!”
“Forgive me, milady.” Sir Osis rode away from the carriage, attempting to determine whether that conversation could be called a success or a failure. After much contemplation, he determined it a success.
After another hour, the caravan master finally got everyone ready to go, and they set off on their way. It was unfortunate that they had not left in the morning, but the days were long in spring.
The smell of cool mud and the sounds of the carts and the birds were a lullaby to Sir Osis, and he had to make up a little story in his head about a robin fighting a war against a rattlesnake army to entertain himself. He should have been a skald or a bard himself, because the story was so entertaining that he did not notice a man walking out into the middle of the road in front of them and drawing a bow.
The group came to a halt, and the guards drew closer to the carriage. Sir Osis readied his hand to draw his sword and looked into the trees. He couldn’t see anybody else, but if there were, things could get very bad.
“Hand over the goods, and drop your weapons, and nobody will get hurt” the highwayman said.
“I’ll drop them in Hell!” One of the guards screamed before charging him. His words proved prophesy when he was stopped with an arrow through his neck. With the bandit having to draw and aim again, this was perhaps a good opportunity to take him out, or there was the option to wait for another opportunity, perhaps while he was assisting in the handing over of goods.
He made himself presentable, put on his armor, and told the stable-boy to get his horse ready. Alphonse had been a gift from Queen Justinia years ago and was the finest horse Sir Osis had ever had the pleasure of riding, although, being only ten hands, Alphonse was only a horse in the sense that he was some sort of equine.
After a few minutes of breathing in the fragrance of horse and kicking dandelions to make the seeds fly, the stable-boy came out leading a white pony which had a perpetual expression of stink-eye. Sir Osis thanked him before mounting the pony.
“Come along, Alphonse! There is much work to be done!” he said with a kick to Alphonse’s sides. Alphonse began to lumber into the courtyard with all the speed of a drunken butterfly. The extra speed must have been due to Sir Osis’s naturally motivating voice.
Eventually he came out of the gate and into the lower castle where the village was. Here was the blacksmith, the weaver, the tailor, the church, and any nice thing you would expect from a respectable village except for a brothel. As his lord did not allow that within his walls, the brothel was set up immediately in front of and to the left of the outermost gate.
As he rode through the village, when he was not attempting to cut an imposing figure, he was noticing something strange. He saw no pickpocketing, witnessed no bar fights, and met no old ladies needing help with their cats. Heck, ol’ Jeremiah wasn’t even disturbing the peace with senile shouting today.
Yet, Sir Osis had gone out today determined to protect the village, defend the honor of women, and all those knightly things, and that he would do. He decided to go to one of the merchant stalls and ask if there was trouble of any sort. Merchants had a tendency to learn about these things at a speed rivalled only by old women, after all.
Sir Osis saw a merchant known as Andrew selling a carpet to the butcher’s wife and approached him, “I trust you’ve been having a good morning, Andrew.”
“Wait your—oh. It’s you, sir,” Andrew said, stiffening.
“Yes, I have decided to come out and see if there was any trouble brewing that I could put a stop to this fine morn.”
“No, sir, but we would do well to keep it that way.”
Sir Osis dismounted and leaned on the stall. “Are you certain of this?”
“I am, and could you—Sarah! I’ll give you a special price for your—well, she’s gone now….” Andrew muttered something unintelligible, took a deep breath, and turned to look Sir Osis directly in the eye. “I have just recalled that the miller was experiencing some trouble with rats. Mayhap you could find it within your kind and merciful self to rid him of them.”
“Andrew, rats are an important part of the natural world. To eliminate rats would be to starve the hawks and the snakes. You have to learn to think of consequences before you say such things.”
Andrew looked as if he was going to say something, but he changed his mind and just nodded. “I shall try, sir. Now, I did think of something you may be interested in. There’s a merchant caravan passing through to the next town, and I hear they also have the daughter of some lord or another with them. Now, they are not going far, but in light of the recent increase in banditry on that road, I doubt they would object if you offered some extra protection.” He shrugged. “Maybe you could have a vacation afterwards too. You would certainly deserve one after all the hard work you have been putting in.”
“Hmmm, you know. That is a worthy idea! I am indebted to you for your help today.”
“Don’t even think of it. You should probably make haste. They shall not be here long.”
Sir Osis mounted Alphonse and rode at a speed that would put a pregnant housefly to shame to go find the caravan master.
When Sir Osis found the him, he was buying some flour from the miller. He was a short, leather-skinned man dressed in simple but well-made clothing and carried himself as one who had spent his life learning of his own inferiority.
“Are you the master of the caravan that is passing through?” he asked, dismounting.
“Aye, good sir. The name’s John,” he answered with a polite bow.
“Osis of the Liver. I heard you are in need of protection and have come to offer my services.”
“I would be most grateful to you, Sir Osis. What measure of payment be ye expecting?”
“I’ll accept no payment, goodman. It is my sworn duty to protect the innocent from such dangers as present themselves upon the road,” he said with a heroic pose. It helped that the innocent included a noble lady. Talk about brownie points.
“Well then, can you leave at noon?”
That gave him around an hour and a half to prepare. That would totally work. “I shall meet thee before noon!” he said, swinging his leg over the pony. “Come along, Alphonse.”
John the caravan master watched bewildered as Alphonse plodded along majestically.
***
Just as he promised, Sir Osis arrived a few minutes before noon with his sword sharpened and his bladder emptied. The caravan was on the smaller sidee, and, aside from the single covered carriage, lightly guarded. Evidently the bit about precious cargo was slightly exaggerated, unless the crown jewels were hidden in the saddlebag of one of the mules. Still, the caravan’s small size probably made for an even more enticing target for bandits.
“Ten minutes, everyone!” the caravan master cried. One merchant who had decided to try to sell some of his stock here began hastily packing his things. Sir Osis decided this would be a good time to introduce himself to the lady who he had learned was Marian, daughter of Lord Feithid.
He rode over to the carriage and bowed while atop his horse. Alphonse nearly fell over, but quickly recovered. He was a good horse. The lord’s daughter was a plump girl with a very bored expression and made no acknowledgement of Sir Osis, save a slight wave of the hand.
“I trust your travels have gone well so far, Lady Feithid.”
“Uh-huuuh.”
He chose to take that as the affirmative and continued, “I shall be providing you with some extra protection for the remainder of your journey, as these roads can be very treacherous.”
“Sure.”
“If you need anything at all—”
“Got it. Get you and that pony away from me. I’m trying to daydream about Scuzzi in peace.”
He stared in shock a moment before hesitantly asking, “Scuzzi, milady?”
“The Danish skald. Gosh, old people. He’s so ruggedly handsome, yet he smells so good….How could you not have heard of him?! Go stab some children or whatever ye uncultured brutes do!”
“Forgive me, milady.” Sir Osis rode away from the carriage, attempting to determine whether that conversation could be called a success or a failure. After much contemplation, he determined it a success.
After another hour, the caravan master finally got everyone ready to go, and they set off on their way. It was unfortunate that they had not left in the morning, but the days were long in spring.
The smell of cool mud and the sounds of the carts and the birds were a lullaby to Sir Osis, and he had to make up a little story in his head about a robin fighting a war against a rattlesnake army to entertain himself. He should have been a skald or a bard himself, because the story was so entertaining that he did not notice a man walking out into the middle of the road in front of them and drawing a bow.
The group came to a halt, and the guards drew closer to the carriage. Sir Osis readied his hand to draw his sword and looked into the trees. He couldn’t see anybody else, but if there were, things could get very bad.
“Hand over the goods, and drop your weapons, and nobody will get hurt” the highwayman said.
“I’ll drop them in Hell!” One of the guards screamed before charging him. His words proved prophesy when he was stopped with an arrow through his neck. With the bandit having to draw and aim again, this was perhaps a good opportunity to take him out, or there was the option to wait for another opportunity, perhaps while he was assisting in the handing over of goods.