Post by ubiquitous on Sept 3, 2009 13:20:46 GMT 10
A Day in the Life of a Training Master
by Lisafer
Lord Raoul gave me an assignment – possibly because he questioned my manners and I, in response, tartly pointed out that I never got to study to be a knight and learn from the refined manners of our sophisticated training masters. Therefore, I was instructed to spend one day in the footsteps of Lord Wyldon of Cavall. I don’t know if our illustrious training master’s impeccable manners rubbed off on me in only one day – but I found the experience to be illuminating.
I was told by Lord Raoul and Lord Wyldon to be on the wall before dawn. “And not a moment later,” the training master said, his serious brown eyes boring into mine. As my lord isn’t known for being patient with swooning women, I swallowed thickly and agreed. I did not want to disappoint, so I was there ten minutes before him, wearing the simple clothes he had given me the evening before and rubbing the sleepiness from my eyes. I didn’t have a moment to even greet him because he was suddenly off at a brisk run. Now, in my youth I was a decent runner, but when I was nearing the halfway point on the wall and felt like the stones beneath me would soon have my face implanted upon them, he passed me on his return of the same path and told me to widen my stride and breathe regularly. I followed his advice and performed much better, but by the time he finished his morning jaunt I was doubled over against a merlon, clutching a stitch in my side. He failed to hold back a derisive snort and sent me to the bath, saying that he would meet me in his office at the first bell.
So, freshly bathed (with perhaps just a dab of perfume to impress), I waded through a sea of young boys who were heading to the pages’ mess and reached my lord’s office. It’s a sensible room – though if one looks carefully she can see evidence of the man under the sparseness. He has a medal (the Order of the King ) propped up next to his stationary and inkwell - a memento from saving the younger royals during the Immortals War. A small bookshelf holds titles such as A Revised Study of Ancient Combat: Necessary Techniques for Surviving a World with Immortals by Sir Myles of Olau (with a tongue-in-cheek personal dedication, I might add). One might also note that Lord Wyldon trusts his severity rather than locks or mage-spells to keep people out of his desk. Given that I would be with him only one day, and being fully aware that what Lord Raoul doesn’t know can’t hurt him, I took a moment to snoop. In the top drawer of his desk, my lord keeps a log of offenses – punishments for various pages. The name “Nealan of Queenscove” led the list by far. In the drawer beneath that I saw a large pile of correspondence from Cavall, tied up in a pretty green silk ribbon and smelling of a lady’s perfume. Alas, I could not get much further than that because a kindly sparrow flitted in, twittering a sharp warning. (Remind me to send a thank you letter to Keladry of Mindelan later this week.)
Lord Wyldon entered, bearing fruit for our morning meal. He said that the pages took their breakfasts and lunches without him in the mess hall – he wanted to give them at two meals where they could be reckless, foolish boys. But once the next bell rang, we would be off to the practice yards.
While I was not able to learn etiquette in the form of a lesson from my lord, I discovered how he trains the pages in the nature of obedience. Morning training sessions seems to be a rigorous exercise in nearly getting oneself killed. They practiced hand-to-hand combat with Lord Wyldon’s associates (while he watched), then progressed to staffs. He was much more involved in this, barking out orders and changing routines and swapping out partners. The pages, I noticed, were quick to jump when Lord Wyldon made a command. I received a stern glare when I off-hand commented that I thought it strange that my lord never demonstrated staffs (a question taken up quickly be the afore-mentioned Page Nealan, who was not hushed by his friends quickly enough to dodge a promise of punishment). But my lord did exhibit his skills in archery, and I was appropriately impressed. The young pages looked on him with admiration – even those who quite clearly did not want to – until he barked at them to continue with the technique he had demonstrated. After archery they proceeded to various tricks with their horses – simple riding, trick riding, tilting. This was the best place to see glimpses of the training master’s anger; he generally held it in check, but with each pass that the Mindelan girl did correctly, his frown deepened. Perhaps Lord Raoul should consider a day shadowing the training master, so he can learn the manners that keep a leader from taunting his underlings.
The pages were then sent to bathe, and I remained in the yards with Lord Wyldon. He met with Sergeant Ezeko and the Shang warriors to discuss the day’s training. They made plans for the following day’s lessons – he wanted to introduce a few new concepts in their hand-to-hand fighting. Then he excused himself and took his midday meal in his office. Usually, he told me as I trailed after him, he preferred to dine in his quarters and review the correspondence from home (I held back a snicker, imagining him dreamy-eyed over a scented letter with flowery handwriting), but with me in tow he would simply share his meal in his office – again.
Back in his office we reviewed the merits of each page’s work. He had a book in which he tallied the progress of each individual, and a chart of what he called “lesson plans” – a calendar of benchmarks each page was expected to meet. Each student had a list of proficiencies which were required to be met within the year, and I was able to see which students were ahead and which were behind. He also reviewed letters from the different scholars who educated the students. After spending several hours going over the pages’ reviews, he then turned to a small stack of papers that were essays written by squires. It was only when he was halfway through these that he remembered my presence and offered a book to read – so I pretended to work my way through Sir Myles’s history of Immortals and the various ways they were combated four hundred years prior, but actually I spent time studying the training master.
He reads very quickly, for the record. And spends a great deal of time rubbing his arm and muttering about the weather. He also stopped on several occasions to stare out the window behind him, into the lovely rose garden. I asked, at one point, if he chose this office by the garden; he gave me a level gaze, then returned to his rose-viewing without answering.
At various points throughout the afternoon, palace officials and nobles came to speak to him. The Prime Minister came in twice, noting me with a degree of annoyance while offering his home in Naxen to the pages for their spring trip. Lord Raoul even came in to snicker at me. Before the fourth bell, Lord Wyldon requested that I take a break from my observation so he could wash up for dinner and have a private monthly conference with the king.
I wasted an hour exploring – there’s a fantastic Gate of Idramm with a random sword sticking out of it that everyone should see in the catacombs – and then met all the training master for dinner. The highlight of this event was watching a young blond page wait on Lord Wyldon. I attempted to make eyes, but was frowned at by all parties present. Apparently it is not considered good manners to flirt with the waiting staff, even when they are noble.
After dinner we went back to Lord Wyldon’s office, where he resumed light reading and planning the upcoming page trip near Fief Tirragen (which, I imagine, dismayed Sir Gareth). He promised that the evening should be more entertaining, and he wasn’t incorrect. Within forty minutes of the end of supper, palace staff knocked on the door. They dragged the Mindelan girl and a curly-haired enthusiastic boy from Jesslaw before my lord. They had clearly just finished brawling, but insisted that they had fallen. They were lectured and dismissed, and the training master sighed heavily.
“We’ve had a rough bout of falling lately,” he explained gruffly. “For the past two years.”
After a few more reports from witnesses on the palace staff, Lord Wyldon muttered something about a lack of ettiquette, taking out his log of page behavior and jotting down a few notes. He said it was time for me to turn in, and I excused myself from his presence. As I was closing the door behind me, I glanced over my shoulder to see him pulling out the stack of letters that were tied with the pretty green ribbon.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!