The Secret Oath

©2010 Ian Hobson

Lord Malag would not have approved of Maglanda leaving the castle unchaperoned; but she was a headstrong girl and, knowing that he would be out riding all afternoon, she had left by the side gate - where the guards took little notice of who came and went - and followed the footpath down to the river. It was late summer, though there had been rain the previous day, so occasionally she had to lift her skirts to negotiate puddles; but it felt good to be out in the open air.

Later, as she left the riverside, she noticed Davitt, her half-cousin, lingering ahead just beyond the crosspaths. He was becoming a nuisance, following her around like a puppy. As she drew level with him, she looked straight ahead, hoping he would take a hint and leave her in peace; go back to his duties, his weapons practice, or whatever he should have been doing in the middle of the afternoon. But that was too much to ask for.

'It's a lovely day, Maglanda,' he said as he turned and, uninvited, walked beside her. This was something new, and probably her own fault for returning his greeting the day before. It was obviously time she took him down a peg or two.

She stopped and, lifting her chin, looked up into his eyes; they were a steely pale blue and at odds with his shock of raven hair. 'Have I given you permission to walk beside me, or to address me by name?'

'Well, no... my lady, but I thought...'

'You thought? Well maybe you should stop thinking and get on with whatever it is Lord Malag pays you to do.' Lord Malag was the Halkeep of Rowanshall, and thus ruler of all the lands south-west of the great river. He was also Maglanda's uncle.

'But my duties for today are completed, my lady.' Davitt's face had reddened slightly. He was just seventeen, a year older than Maglanda, and although the two of them had met three or four times when they were children, and even played together, they had only recently become reacquainted after Davitt's enrolment in the Halguard.

'And I suppose you are so skilled with that weapon you carry, that you need no practice?'

'No, my lady.' Davitt's hand went to the hilt of his sword, a present from his father. 'But the arms master has an injury, and today's practice was cancelled.'

Maglanda had heard that Lord Cramann had fallen from his horse, but forgotten that he took personal charge of weapons practice. She stepped to one side as an old man, carrying a large bundle of firewood toward the castle, passed them by. 'So where are your fellow enrolees?' she asked. 'Getting drunk in the town, I suppose?'

'Probably.' Davitt smiled, having noticed a slight softening of Maglanda's tone. But when his smile was not returned he tore his eyes from her beautiful face and long flaxen hair, and turned to look east, towards the town, desperately trying to think of something else to say. Then, remembering something overheard in the barracks, he said, 'You know there's talk of war?'

'When is there not talk of war?' Maglanda felt a little frustrated; the conversation was not going as planned. Though Davitt was right; rumours of war-bands threatening the kingdom's northern borders were becoming more frequent.

'I just wanted you to know that...' Davitt hesitated as he turned back to face his half-cousin, unsure of himself. He longed to tell her that he loved her, but couldn't, 'I just wanted you to know that if ever there were any danger, I mean, if there was a war and...'

'Oh, how sweet,' said Maglanda, with more than a hint of sarcasm. 'If ever I'm in danger, you will be my protector? Well, I hardly think that will be necessary, as I live within the walls of a castle, garrisoned by over two hundred men at arms.'

Now Davitt felt really foolish, and angry too. Without noticing Maglanda's sudden look of surprise, he flushed scarlet and turned to walk away.

'Wait! A moment, please.'

Maglanda's white lady was back, hovering behind, and just to the right, of Davitt; her head slowly shaking in disapproval.

'What?' said Davitt, angrily turning to look at Maglanda again; wanting to strangle her, and yet at the same time, wanting to take her in his arms and kiss her. But why was she looking past him? He turned, expecting to see some other person, but there was no one there.

Maglanda had not seen the white lady since the previous year, on mid-summer's day. But now, here she was again: her guardian – at least, that was how Maglanda thought of her, having been aware of her since her seventh birthday. The lady never spoke but, somehow, Maglanda could always read her thoughts.

You may need him one day. Why not accept his offer?

'Well... my lady?' His anger diminished, Davitt stared at Maglanda. Is she ill? Why is she acting so strangely?

'I'm sorry, Davitt.' The white lady had vanished as quickly as she had appeared, leaving Maglanda knowing what she must do. 'I should not have rejected such a gallant offer.'

There were more people approaching them now; real people: a serving-girl coming up from the town, and two tradesmen - masons by the look of them - leaving the castle. 'Come with me.' Maglanda returned to the junction of pathways and took the one leading towards the woods, where the old man had come from. Davitt followed, surprised by Maglanda's strange behaviour, and more so by her apology. Now where she was leading him?

To Maglanda, the woodland in sunlight seemed a pretty place, with its dappled shade and pleasant birdsong. She walked on until they were well out of sight of the castle and, as a further precaution, she led Davitt away from the footpath.

His heart quickened now. Why the need for privacy? Did Maglanda's sudden apology, and this unexpected turn of events, mean that she wanted him to make love to her? He had kissed a girl from his village once, and even unlaced her bodice, and things might have gone further, had her father not entered the barn and chased him away with a pitchfork. Was Maglanda really willing to...

'Now.' She interrupted his thoughts, and made his heart beat even faster as she stopped in a small clearing beside a fallen tree and turned to face him. 'If you really are serious and wish to make a commitment to me, then you know what you must do.'

'I...'

'Wait a moment.' Maglanda took a step back, pushed her hair back over her shoulders and adjusted the symmetry of her gown. 'Now, I think you are supposed to remove your sword.'

'Well, if you are really sure about this?' Davitt unbuckled his sword belt and was about to let it fall.

'No, not there. You must lay it at my feet.' Somewhat puzzled by this request, he did as instructed. 'Now, Davitt, kneel before me and bow your head.'

His eyes widened in surprise. 'What is it that you want of me?'

'You wish to be my champion, don't you? My protector?'

'Oh... yes, my lady.' Davitt, at last, was beginning to understand. This was the game they had once played as children; she the lady, and he the warrior, swearing his allegiance to her. He had thought her more grown up than this, but he knelt, with his knees touching the scabbard of his word, and bowed his head.

'Do you Davitt, son of Valdin, give me your oath, and agree to obey me in all things?'

'I...' Davitt swallowed hard. He had made this oath at the start of his training; but to Lord Malag. 'This is just a game isn't it?'

'A game?' Maglanda was shocked. 'You think this is just a game? I thought you wanted to be my protector!'

'I do! I'm sorry. It's just that...'

'That what?'

'I'm already sworn to your uncle. If he found out that I had given an oath to you...' Davitt was at a loss for words.

'Would you tell him of it?' Maglanda asked.

'No, but...' Davitt shook his head.

'And do you see anyone watching us?'

Davitt looked around: the sun was beginning to go down, and the shadows in the wood were growing longer. 'No,' he answered.

'Then give me your oath, and don't worry, I swear to you that I will tell no one.' Maglanda reassured Davitt with a warm smile. And that smile was all he needed.

And he gave her his oath.