The Sworn Sword

And in and out and in and out. Fuck 'em with it, that's the way, in and out, rip 'em, rip 'em, rip 'em. ""

When the sacks had been torn to pieces by half a thousand spear thrusts and all the straw spilled out onto the ground, Dunk donned his mail and plate and took up a wooden sword to see how the men would fare against a livelier foe.

Not too well, was the answer. Only Treb was quick enough to get a spear past Dunk's shield, and he only did it once. Dunk turned one clumsy lurching thrust after another, pushed their spears aside, and bulled in close. If his sword had been steel instead of pine, he would have slain each of them half a dozen times. ""You're dead once I get past your point"", he warned them, hammering at their legs and arms to drive the lesson home. Treb and Lem and Wet Wat soon learned how to give ground, at least. Big Rob dropped his spear and ran, and Bennis had to chase him down and drag him back in tears. The end of the afternoon saw the lot of them all bruised and battered, with fresh blisters rising on their callused hands from where they gripped the spears. Dunk bore no marks himself, but he was half drowned by sweat by the time Egg helped him peel his armor off."

"As the sun was going down, Dunk marched their little company down into the cellar and forced them all to have a bath, even those who'd had one just last winter. Afterward Sam Stoops' wife had bowls of stew for all, thick with carrots, onions, and barley. The men were bone tired, but to hear them talk every one would soon be twice as deadly as a Kingsguard knight. They could hardly wait to prove their valor. Ser Bennis egged them on by telling them of the joys of the soldier's life; loot and women, chiefly. The two old hands agreed with him. Lem had brought back a knife and a pair of fine boots from the Blackfyre Rebellion, to hear him tell; the boots were too small for him to wear, but he had them hanging on his wall. And Pate could not say enough about some of the camp followers he'd known following the dragon.

Sam Stoops had set them up with eight straw pallets in the undercroft, so once their bellies were filled they all went off to sleep. Bennis lingered long enough to give Dunk a look of disgust. ""Ser Useless should of fucked a few more peasant wenches while he still had a bit o' sap left in them old sad balls o' his"", he said. ""If he'd sown himself a nice crop o' bastard boys back then, might be we'd have some soldiers now"".

""They seem no worse than any other peasant levy"". Dunk had marched with a few such while squiring for Ser Arlan.

""Aye"", Ser Bennis said. ""In a fortnight they might stand their own, 'gainst some other lot o' peasants. Knights, though?"" He shook his head, and spat.

Standfast's well was in the undercellar, in a dank chamber walled in stone and earth. It was there that Sam Stoops' wife soaked and scrubbed and beat the clothes before carrying them up to the roof to dry. The big stone washtub was also used for baths. Bathing required drawing water from the well bucket by bucket, heating it over the hearth in a big iron kettle, emptying the kettle into the tub, then starting the whole process once again. It took four buckets to fill the kettle, and three kettles to fill the tub. By the time the last kettle was hot the water from the first had cooled to lukewarm. Ser Bennis had been heard to say that the whole thing was too much bloody bother, which was why he crawled with lice and fleas and smelled like a bad cheese.

Dunk at least had Egg to help him when he felt in dire need of a good wash, as he did tonight. The lad drew the water in a glum silence, and hardly spoke as it was heating. ""Egg?"" Dunk asked as the last kettle was coming to a boil. ""Is aught amiss?"" When Egg made no reply, he said, ""Help me with the kettle"".

Together they wrestled it from hearth to tub, taking care not to splash themselves. ""Ser"", the boy said, ""what do you think Ser Eustace means to do?""

""Tear down the dam, and fight off the Widow's men if they try to stop us"". He spoke loudly, so as to be heard above the splashing of the bathwater. Steam rose in a white curtain as they poured, bringing a flush to his face.

""Their shields are woven wood, ser. A lance could punch right through them, or a crossbow bolt"".

""We may find some bits of armor for them, when they're ready"". That was the best they could hope for.

""They might be killed, ser. Wet Wat is still half a boy. Will Barleycorn is to be married the next time the septon comes. And Big Rob doesn't even know his left foot from his right"".

Dunk let the empty kettle thump down onto the hard-packed earthen floor. ""Roger of Pennytree was younger than Wet Wat when he died on the Redgrass Field. There were men in your father's host who'd been just been married, too, and other men who'd never even kissed a girl. There were hundreds who didn't know their left foot from their right, maybe thousands"".

""That was different, "" Egg insisted.