Susanna of the Lea was the daughter of a farmer from the Midlands. She was the youngest of eight daughters and a son. Her family was delighted to find a husband for her who was willing to accept her miniscule dower portion, consisting of the clothing on her back, her shoes, a second skirt and bodice, a woolen cloak, a feather bed, two down pillows and a single silver coin of a small denomination. And she was willing to leave the country for the City.

“You’ll not find a better wife,” the matchmaker had told him. “She is pretty enough, but most important, sweet-natured. She is not fearful of that faerie child of yours, either. She will be a good mother to your daughter.”

“If she is such a good catch then why is she still unwed?” he asked the matchmaker.

The matchmaker sighed. “It’s the dowry, John Swiftsword. She’s the last of her parents’ children, and there is practically nothing left for her. Usually these girls remain at home to care for their elderly parents, but her mother died last year, and the old farmer, her father, took himself another wife, a widow. The girl is not needed any longer, and the new wife wants her gone. She has an ugly daughter who will be the one to stay home and look after the farmer and his new wife. Only when I told the farmer there was no way I could get a decent husband for her without silver was the coin offered, and grudgingly at that. The new wife is not happy about it, but the girl’s brother spoke up for her, and as he is the one who will inherit the farm one day, his voice carried weight.”

John Swiftsword nodded. He understood what it was like not to be wanted. He had been born on a Midland farm himself, but being one of his parents’ younger children, he was encouraged almost from birth to find his own way. He had been fortunate in that his eldest brother’s wife was the daughter of a mercenary, who had come to live with them in his old age. It was the old soldier who had taught John how to use a sword, and encouraged him to join the mercenaries that he might have a life of his own.

“I’ll take Susanna of the Lea for my wife,” he had told the matchmaker, and it had been done. He had gone to her father’s farm, found that the matchmaker had not lied, and they had been united on the next Marrying Day, along with twenty-two other couples, by the Squire who ruled the Midlands region. The Squire performed this service one day each month.

And Susanna had come back to the City with him immediately afterwards, spending their wedding night in their hovel. She had shrieked satisfactorily when he broke through her maidenhead, so he knew with certainty that any children he got on her would be his. She was a good bedmate, and he quickly realized he had found a treasure of a wife in her. His hovel was kept clean. His daughter was cared for and his meals were excellent. When he got a child on her he knew his life was a good one. Good except for the fact he could not think of a way to make his dream of joining the Order of the Crusader Knights come true.

When he had first come to the City and joined the Mercenaries, he quickly learned that mercenaries were not a particularly respected group. They were needed, yes, but not well-regarded. Mercenaries were the cannon fodder used by the Crusader Knights in the wars they had once conducted. Nowadays mercenaries were hired to protect the caravans that traversed the four kingdoms. They were the men-at-arms used when one traveled the streets at night or carried valuables. They had no stature at all. The district in which they lived was a poor one, and their hovels were not their own. They were at the mercy of their guild, and the only escapes available to them were death, or entry into the Order of the Crusader Knights. Having earned the appellation Swiftsword for his skill with a blade, John wanted more than anything to be a Crusader Knight.

Entry into this high order was not an easy task. Every three years the Crusader Knights held a great tourney in the City to replenish their ranks, due more to old age and death than battle these days. But the Crusader Knights would not take just any man. Men who applied to enter the tourney had to appear before the entrance board properly garbed in fine garments. If they gained a place in the tourney they had to arrive that first day well-equipped with a warhorse, a good suit of armor and an array of fine weapons. Any man not appearing as required was immediately disqualified, and sent away.

For the next five days the applicants would battle with each other. At the end of each day the winners would be separated from the other aspirants. And on the sixth day all the previous winners would battle. At day’s end, the last few men remaining were paired to fight Crusader Knight opponents. One run only with horse and lance. If the applicant was not unhorsed he would be accepted into the order. Those men who tumbled from their mounts were sent away. It was a grueling tourney, but John Swiftsword knew in his heart that he could prevail if he could only enter.

But it was such an expensive undertaking, and he had never made enough coin to be able to put some aside. He barely managed to support his family. It was very rare for a mercenary to be able to enter the tourney. Most applicants came from families of some means with second and third sons who had been trained to fight in hopes of joining this vaunted order. But now his wife had offered him a solution to gain his dream. He could still not bring himself to sell his beautiful daughter, but at Susanna’s suggestion he invited both the armorer and the swordsmith to a local inn so that they might speak together. Both were enthusiastic at the possibility of his entering the tournament.

“You’re a warrior born, John Swiftsword,” Rafe the armorer said enthusiastically. “I would be proud to make your armor. You’ll win, too, you know.” He grinned. “I’ve seen you in the practice yard wielding your blade. There isn’t a man who can stand against you.”

“I’m not as good a horseman as I would want to be,” John replied slowly.

Rafe leaned forward, and lowering his voice said, “I’ve three Crusader Knights among my patrons. I have told them you may enter this tourney, and they all evinced enthusiasm at the prospect, for your reputation precedes you, though you are too modest a man to realize it. If I ask, and you have but to give me the word, they will tell me the trainer you will need to polish your other battle skills, John Swiftsword.” He picked up his tankard and drank deeply from it.

Now Bevin the swordsmith leaned forward to speak. “I made the sword with which you have always fought. My own skills have improved over the years, and I will make you the finest sword ever created. It will sing a song of death as you wield it, John. You will be envied by all, for this sword’s beauty will almost equal your prowess with it.”

The mercenary sighed deeply. “To realize all of this I must sell my daughter,” he told them. “You know I am a poor man.”

“As you have said, you are a poor man,” Bevin said quietly. “But the faerie you mated with left you a most valuable gift in the person of the lass.”

“And what is to happen to the girl, John Swiftsword, if you do not sell her?” Rafe asked. His direct gaze pierced the mercenary’s own.

John Swiftsword nodded. “I know I have no choice in this matter,” he replied to them. “I will go tomorrow and speak with Gaius Prospero myself.”

“Come just after sunrise to be measured so I may begin working on your armor,” Rafe told him. “We want time to make any adjustments needed.” He downed the remaining ale in his tankard and, standing, bid the other two men farewell.

“You are doing the right thing,” the swordsmith told John. “What good is the girl to you now that she is grown? You have a good wife, and a little son to consider now. Your daughter’s beauty will give her the future that you surely cannot.”

John Swiftsword nodded slowly in reluctant agreement, and then he ordered them each another tankard of ale. He said nothing to Susanna when he returned home late, and the next morning he left their hovel to go into the Golden District, where the magnates had their City homes. He had dressed carefully in his best tunic-he had but two. He had polished his worn boots. His sword hung from a wide leather belt.

Reaching the tall gates of the Golden District, he said to the two guardsmen who guarded those gates, “I am John Swiftsword of the Guild of Mercenaries. I have come to speak with Gaius Prospero.”

“Are you expected?” one of the guardsmen asked.

“I do not know if I am or not,” John answered.

“Wait while we check,” the guardsman replied. Then turning he went back into the little guardhouse, and leaning out a window that opened beyond the gates he called out for a messenger to come.

John waited. Riders and travel wagons carrying the women who lived in the Golden District came in and out of the great gates. He could glimpse what appeared to be a parkland beyond those portals as they opened and closed. Finally after some time had passed the first guardsman motioned him forward.

“You must leave your sword with me, and then you may be admitted,” he said.

“You know who I am,” the mercenary replied, “and I will find my sword here when I return?”

“Do I look like a common thief?” the guardsman responded indignantly.

“Nay, not at all, but so many pass by here, and you could be distracted,” John quickly said. “The sword is my livelihood.”

“I understand,” the guardsman replied. “I am a member of the guild, too, John Swiftsword. I was injured several years ago, but was fortunate to obtain this post. Your sword will be safe in my care. Now go! Gaius Prospero doesn’t like to be kept waiting. You will find a conveyance directly inside the gate that will transport you to his house.” He then took John’s sword from his hands, and ushered him through the gates where the cart was awaiting the visitor. John climbed aboard, and the vehicle moved quickly away from the entrance to the Golden District.