As he puts on the mail coif Edmund pondered on how had he gotten dragged into all of this. Here he stands, in a full set of armor, padded chausses with an over layer of mail and knee plates, gambeson that has seen better days, a mail hauberk and beaten brown brigandine. He holds the kettle helmet with a strong grip, his anxiety is almost palpable as the mail links of his armor rattled in anticipation inside the pavilion.
Robert pushes aside the canvas to step in, letting in the sound of the commoners roaring for a spectacle. He was a broad-shouldered man, not there to fight, as opposed to Edmund, he was wearing a crimson doublet, the silver buttons gleaming in the dim light and haziness of the barracks, deep brown trousers with charcoal black boots made of calfskin, which the apprentice now standing in from of him helped craft. He glances at the frightened cobbler’s apprentice and projects loudly enough to be heard:
“Lad, are you ready for this? I know this is a lot to take in, but trust me -I’ve trained you personally and, with the time given to us, I believe you can do this. You have to.”
“I think I am, gods, why me of all people? I can’t stand waiting any longer. Let’s do this!” exclaimed Edmund, trying to muster up the courage and face the task.
As both of them leave the pavilion, Edmund is stunned by the sunlight and the crowd, it was just a few hours after noon. At the center of the lot is a wooden barrier at chest level height, mud and dry straws covering the ground of the fighting set. “This is where its going to happen” Edmund thinks to himself. The left side and center, behind the fence, is where all the commoners are standing, some of them cheering for Edmund, yet most of them fawning over the lords of this fiefdom, over fear of retaliation or an opportunity to get in their good graces.
Robert hands Edmund a dark brown heater shield with no coat of arms, Edmund was of no noble origins therefore his shield should be plain, he is also handed a war hammer, while Robert pressed the handle into the apprentice’s right hand. “This is a great tool, we trained with this more than the swords and axes, it will work better against a noble’s armor.” he said, encouraging the cobbler turned fighter.
Edmund goes under the wooden barriers of the battle arena, and slowly walk to the center, takes a turn to the right and faces the nobles and burghers sitting on the grandstand, waiting for the announcement from the herald.
As the sound of the trumpet fades out, the herald begins the announcement:
“Hear ye, hear ye! We are gathered here today for a trial by combat, as demanded by the defendant, Edmund of Wheatfield - a cobbler of the farming lands. He stands accused of grievous negligence against Lord Phillip, son of our Lord Reginald.
While hunting in the company of noble diplomats, Lord Phillip suffered a falter of his footing due to a faulty pair of riding boots. Having been harmed both in body and dignity by such treacherous craft! Lord Phillip requested compensation for such offenses, he requested the cobbler’s apprentice to have his right hand removed! However, as it is the law, the defendant invoked his ancient right and demanded for a trial by combat. The date was set to be as soon as Phillips feet healed up, and today we stand here to witness the result! Shall Edmund win, by his opponent yielding or incapacity of his opponent, the matter shall be settled and he will be free from the accusation. Should our noble Lord Phillip prevail, Edmund shall forfeit his right hand and be cast as pariah from these lands!”
The herald steps back as he finishes the announcement, silence fell over the arena and grandstand, only the crackling of the fire pits could be heard. Edmund sees Phillip walking up to the center of the arena to await for the signal to fight, barely a man, about the same age as Edmund, around 19 years of age, a smaller frame but covered by steel plate and a mail underneath, this was an armor only fit for a noble, in his hands he held a longsword, the elegant weapon of nobility, he strolled with confidence, not a sliver of doubt about the outcome. “I hope this is just dumb arrogance” thought Edmund, who stood only an inch or two taller than the noble.
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The trumpets blared announcing the start of the affair. Phillip moved first, he takes a step forward and lunges his sword from the top to a diagonal slash from the left, the cobbler still gathering his wits only have time to move his shield in the direction, the noble is adamant on winning, he swings again, from the bottom right upwards, this caught Edmunds shield and he lost balance, Philip readjusts and thrusts his sword on Edmunds left shoulder, one of the weak points of his protection, the sword penetrates a few centimeters on his mail sleeve, drawing blood. The crowd explodes in excitement, Edmund has been hurt and blood starts dripping from his arm and elbow down onto the muddy field. The cobbler seems to snap out of his fear and frozen state, he stumbles back a step or two, readjusts his shield and bangs the hammer against it, taunting Phillip, praying he takes the bait. Phillip lunges once again, eager to draw more blood and finish the fight, Edmund side steps to the right, deflects the thrust with his shield and swings the hammer down on Phillip’s head, missing it by a few inches and hitting his left shoulder instead, denting his pauldron, in frustration Edmund shoves Phillip forward, sending the noble stumbling into the churned mud. The crowd went silent, and for the first time Edmund felt he stood a chance. Phillip struggles to get up, the mud has been softened by the past few rains, and for anyone observing, this didn’t look very noble and gracious at all, Reginald looked down and his lips expressed disgust, his son has been hit and pushed down by the commoner. All dirtied up, Phillips frustration is apparent, he screams and rushes forward, Edmund swings laterally, the noble dodges it and thrusts his sword against the cobblers left inner thigh, “This is for messing my feet!” exclaims Phillip, Edmund shoves him with the shield in pain, as his left shoulder has been pierced a few moments ago, steps back, now in excruciating pain, his left side is mostly useless, both arm and leg hurt. “I can’t stall this any longer or I’ll bleed out” assessed Edmund. “Get him Edmund, remember what we trained under the Oak tree!” exclaimed Robert, who was dead silent before, but now fearing for the young man’s life. Edmund knew exactly what to do. Edmund dropped the shield, letting it clatter into the mud to lure Phillip in, “Does this yokel have a death wish? So be it!” Phillip thought his anger blinding him. The noble took a step forward and lunged once again with a thrust to the neck, by now Edmund has caught his timing, the cobbler jerked his head to the right as the blade hissed past his ear. Before Phillip could retract the weapon, Edmund grabs it by the cross guard, and hits Phillip on the forearm with the hammer, a loud crack is heard and a muffled thud of a sword hitting the mud. Edmund didn’t stop, he swung again, catching the left side of Phillip’s bascinet with a deafening clank, Phillip dropped to his knees, concussed and reeling. Before the hammer could fall a third time, the noble shrieked in desperation.
“ I Yield! I Yield!”
Edmund let the hammer drop from his hand, as the adrenaline began to drain, his head felt light, he sank one knee at Phillips side, not out of grace, but from pure exhaustion. Two drunken peasants from the crowd started chanting “Cobbler! Cobbler! Cobbler!”, soon others joined in. Across the grandstand Lord Reginald sat still as a statue, his face a mask of disgust. Edmund may have saved his hand but he wounded the pride of a powerful noble family. He won the trial but his troubles were far from over.
A few physicians rush by to attend to the injured noble, while Robert rushes in with his friend physician to assess Edmund, “You’ve done good lad,” Robert said, his voice bright with relief. “Honestly I thought you’d leave this place short of a hand.”
The physician investigated his punctures, poking at the torn mail. With a sigh of relief he looked up. “These are not superficial, and they have bled more than I’d like, but the bone is untouched. We’ll have to clean him up and apply boiled water, vinegar and a bit of sage. He’ll have to rest for a few days to avoid making it worse. But overall he’ll recover fully” Edmund barely heard the words, but the tone told him enough: he would live. He felt Robert’s heavy hand on his shoulder - the same hand that had handed him the war hammer earlier. Robert had promised him that if he won, he would take the cobbler under his wing and train him further. As they led him away from the cheering crowd and cold, silent stare of Lord Reginald, Edmund realized his life as a cobbler was over.
