The Tale of Percy Petal

~by Rowena~

Percy was perfectly silent, lying in bed with his younger brothers and trying not to breathe loudly as he listened to his parents talk. The Petals lived in a small cottage, just one large room really, with two beds curtained off for privacy. Percy's parents shared one bed, and he shared the other with his two brothers.

The cottage stood in a small beech wood on a farm not far outside the town walls, and Percy's father grew flowers there, which he sold in the market in town. The Petals had grown flowers for more generations than anyone could remember, and Percy and his brothers helped their father doing the same. He had always expected to continue in the family tradition, but the conversation he was overhearing now changed everything.

Mr Petal was less educated than his wife, and spoke with a country accent so thick sometimes even local people wondered what he'd said, as he left half the syllables off his words. "'E's just no' got a talent for it, Esme," he was saying quietly. "'E tries 'ard, but either you got it or you ain't, and Percy's just no' a farmer. I'm thinkin' neither's our George, for tha' matter, but 'e's younger, and I ain't gi'en up 'ope on 'im yet. But our Percy's 12 now an' if 'e were gonna learn it, 'e'd ha' done so by now. We're gonna 'ave to prentice the lad out somewhere."

Mr Petal's wife Esmerelda was worried. "But he's your eldest son, Edmund. Who'll take the boy on knowing you can't use him on the farm? They'll think there's something wrong with him."

"Well, I were thinkin' o'the church for 'im in fact. We'd send a gift to the monastery, like, and ask 'em to take the lad on. 'E's smart enough. Leastaways 'e ain't soft."

Esmerelda gave Mr Petal what he called 'The Look'. "Don't be so daft Edmund Petal," she frowned. "The number of fights that boy gets into! Those monks'd not know what to do with him! And he'd hate it there an' all."

Percy wasn't by nature a mean boy, but he did get into a lot of fights, because he suffered with two grievous afflictions, which the other children taunted him about constantly. The first was his susceptibility to boils. The other, by far the worse, was his name.

Many years ago, not long before he was born, a troupe of travelling players had visited Ashby, and Mr Petal had taken his wife to town one day to see them. They were an absolute wonder, and folk were still talking about it months later. Mrs Petal had been particularly taken with the voice of an attractive young bard who went by the name of Sir Percival, and she announced to her husband that if the child she was carrying was male, she'd name him after the bard.

Mr Petal dismissed it as a passing fancy, but when she gave birth to a strong, healthy boy a month later, he relented, and allowed her to call the child Percival. Percy Petal as he was now known to the world. All the local children loved to tease him about his name and made up songs to sing at him about Pretty Percy Petal and his passion for perfectly perfumed posies. If they could fit a reference to boils in there as well, they did.

By the time he was 5 he could fight as well as any child twice his age and was notorious in the town for his inability to walk away from anyone who mocked his name. He grew to be a tall strong boy also, and he won more fights than he lost.

So, lying quietly in bed that night, listening to his father suggest the church for his profession, he cringed, and agreed with his mother wholeheartedly. The Church was not for him. He was scared to death of the Abbott in any case, who had once threatened to whip him for getting into a rotten food fight with two of his kitchen lads. He breathed as softly as he could, straining to hear what was said next.

"I hear Ulf the Tanner's been talking about taking on some new lad now young Cedric's gone off to join the Guards," Esmerelda suggested.

"I 'eard tha' too, but 'e's ta'en on John Baker's youngest." After a pause for thought, Mr Petal added, "You know, Esme, the Guards might no' be such a bad idea for our Percy."

She considered it, and couldn't find fault with the idea. The town hadn't seen a proper battle in years, and guarding was a good job that paid well. "Be nice to be able to say we sent our eldest boy into the Earl's service," she agreed.

Percy bit his lip, listening hard. This was much better! He'd always wanted to hide away and work on the farm with his father and brothers, so that he wouldn't have to go near the town and the people who teased him so relentlessly. But if he were a Guard… he'd wear a smart uniform, and carry a sword, and people would have to treat him with respect. Maybe he could even change his name!

"Orright then," Mr Petal said at last. "I'll talk t' that Steward up at the castle when I take 'em daisies in tomorrer. See what 'e says."

+++++

Percy's first months at the Castle were not at all what he'd hoped for. His father had delivered him as arranged to the Captain of the Guard, a tall, proud man called Angus, who had been polite to his father, but was curt and abrupt with Percy once he was gone. He was then given into the care of a short, angry-looking sergeant called Eoin, of whom all the boys seemed afraid. When Eoin called him Percival, he swallowed his pride and reminded the sergeant politely that he was going by the name of Dave now. The sergeant glared dangerously. "You contradict a single thing I say ever again, and I'll send you right back to the slimy ditch you came from, boy!" he threatened, and he slapped Percy around the head.

Percy learned quickly that it was safer to stay silent and obey orders, no matter how unsavoury the task might be. He was one of the youngest boys in the Guard, and was certainly the newest, and his first six months were spent doing the smelliest, most horrible jobs the sergeant could find for him. He washed the officers' clothes, cleaned the privies and mucked out the horses. The closest he came to anything warlike was sweeping the floor of the smithy where they forged the swords, and getting into fist fights with the boys who teased him.

It was Percy's greatest disappointment that he was teased about his name and his boils just as much in the Castle as he had been on the farm. And here it was harder to defend his honour, as the boys he fought with were being trained by the finest Ashby had to offer, while he was still on floor scrubbing duty. And of course Eoin punished him every time he was caught fighting. "You'll fight when I tell you to and not before!" he'd howl, and Percy would earn himself a whipping, or another humiliatingly horrible cleaning task.

Finally though, a group of new recruits started, and Eoin began to ignore Percy in favour of punishing the new lot. Percy was allowed to join the class for hand fighting first, and he impressed the teacher greatly with his abilities. Even raw and untrained he could beat half the boys there, he was quick and strong, and showed great promise. Eventually he found that the training made him more disciplined, and he learned how to focus his energies in a fight. The other boys began to tease him less once Percy learned how to shatter a nose with a single well-placed punch.

He learned his lessons so well and so fast that he was allowed to begin sword-training a year earlier than usual. All the boys here were older than him, and it was something completely new to Percy, who'd never used so much as a knife in a fight before. Being completely without experience, he found himself the butt of everyone's jokes again, and he didn't like it one bit. The arms sergeant didn't need to whip Percy to keep him in line here though. If he disobeyed, or got into a fight, he merely sent him in to fence with one of this best students, and watched the boy crumble under the weight of a heavy wooden broadsword.

But Percy was nothing if not determined, and he still corrected everyone who failed to call him Dave, and beat them up if he thought he had a chance of getting away with it. As he grew older and the last of the childish playfulness was beaten out of him, his manner became serious and grim. His teachers were pleased with his progress however, and after only a few years training, his skill with a broadsword rivaled that of the guard Captain Angus himself.

++++++

It was in the summer of his seventeenth year that Percy's abilities were first really tested. For the past two years he'd been on general guard duties around the Castle. Since the death of the Earl, most of the guards had avoided being posted to duty in the castle itself. The Countess Audra was unpredictable, and quick to punish any misdemeanor, real or imagined, so they tried to keep out of her way. So Percy and many of the older trainees were put to work guarding the gates, escorting important guests around the castle and working in the dungeons, which were now more full than ever.

It was towards the end of June that reports began to come in of a band of orcs that were lurking on the east road out of Ashby, between the Abbey and the town. They were robbing travelers, and often as not eating them as well, as their captain was a huge, ugly half-troll. After several reports of a similar nature, Captain Angus sent a patrol out during the day to look into it. "They'll be holed up somewhere asleep in the daylight," he told his men. "See if you can't find where they are and deal with them while they're vulnerable."

For the first time ever, Percy was sent out with the squad, and he was incredibly excited. Even the boil pulsing painfully on his neck wasn't enough to dampen his spirits. They were a large band of strong, well-armed men, and were certain to be safe. He checked his crossbow, and polished his sword until it shone, then ran out of the barracks eagerly when the call came to depart.

The abbey was less than a mile from the town, and they knew the orcs must be lurking fairly close to the road, so they hoped to find some clue as to their whereabouts quickly. The day was warm and sunny, and the mood was merry, despite the menace of their quarry, and the men laughed and joked as they searched the verges of the road for clues. Percy as usual was quiet, looking to all the world his usual grim self, despite his happiness at having been given the important task of rear guard. He hung back a bit from the rest of the group as he'd been taught to do, in order to better hear the sound of approaching attack from behind.

They searched all day, but to their frustration found nothing that would lead them to the orcs' lair. "They must be camping further away from the road," Sargeant Henk decided. "They cover their tracks well for orcs, to be sure."

"I thought orcs always left a trail of rubbish and trampling behind them," one of the younger ones questioned.

"Aye lad, they do, that's what's got me worried. They're not usually this smart."

He turned the patrol back towards home now, as the sun was beginning to sink lower. "We'll try again tomorrer, further back from the road maybe." Percy bought up the rear once more, and kept a careful ear open now that it was getting darker.

It all happened so fast that none of them had a chance to escape it. One moment they were all walking along, glad that the day was drawing to a close and discussing the quality of the ales at various Inns in town. The next the ground had been pulled out from under them, and they were lying in a pit ten feet deep, a crowd of laughing orcs spitting down on them gleefully. Only Percy, 10 yards behind the main group, escaped their notice, and he melted quietly into the trees, trying to breathe deeply and not panic.

He watched as the orcs taunted their captives, and heard the distant sound of groaning from the trap. It sounded as though some of the soldiers had been injured in the fall. Percy bit his lip and tried to think. What should he do? There were ten of the orcs so far as he could see, and no sign of the half-troll captain they'd heard tell of. Who knew how many more were lying in wait in the trees?

Very carefully he began to circle round the group, keeping far enough away that his soft footfalls could not be heard, but close enough to hear what was being said. He was thinking that perhaps he should try running back to the town for reinforcements, and hope that his comrades weren't dead by the time he returned. But what would they all think of him if he did that? Without even trying to save the others? Would they think him a coward?

It as nearly full dark now, and he knew the orcs would be able to see better in the dark than he could. His armour was shiny too, and would stand out against any light that shone in his direction. Very carefully and quietly he took it apart piece by piece, leaving only his mail shirt on for protection. It was easier to move silently without the armour too. Then, finding himself a squelchy spot by feel, he rolled in the mud, covering himself up all black, even his sandy blonde hair.

The laughter of the orcs rang out, and he crept closer, wanting to hear everything that was said. He heard the faint voice of Sergeant Henk. "… so if you're going to kill us, just do it now!" he was yelling.

The orcs sniggered amongst themselves, and Percy heard one call down, "Oh, don't you worry, we'll be killin' yas alright, but not til the Master's 'ere. 'E's on 'is way, and then we'll be cookin' yas."

Percy shuddered. He noticed half the orcs had started to fan out into the trees, picking up dry wood for a fire.

Well, here was a chance to thin the numbers. He moved silently towards the nearest of them, coming up swiftly behind him as he bent down to pick up a branch. One stroke of his sword silenced the orc forever, and he dragged the body a little way to hide it amongst some bracken. Then he searched out his next target.

He had four of them down within the first ten minutes, and was actually starting to enjoy himself. He heard the chief orc growling about how slow the fire was coming together, and two more orcs were sent out for wood, leaving only three to guard the pit in the road.

The lone orcs he took out one by one, and only one of them had a chance to make a sound. The others didn't hear it over their own raucous carryings-on.

Finally, he approached the trap itself, and the little fire the orcs had started. He found himself a good place to shoot from, and smiled as the chief orc growled, a hint of worry in his voice. "Where ARE those lazy bastards?"

Percy took aim with his crossbow, and shot the orc right through the throat. The other two sprang back howling, and once they'd gathered their wits, ran stupidly towards where Percy was shooting from, their swords drawn. A bolt from the crossbow took one right in the chest, and flung him backwards, dead before he hit the ground. Percy's gleaming sword was out and ready to meet the other, and the exchange was swift and lethal.

Leaving the bodies lying where they were, he ran towards the now unguarded pit, and knelt at the edge. "The orcs are all dead, sir," he reported proudly to the sergeant. "But I expect there's more on the way with that half-troll. I've no rope, but can you lift each other out of there?"

"Percy?" Sergeant Henk queried. He barely recognised the boy under all the mud.

"Yes, sir," he sighed, his triumph slightly diminished by the use of his name.

"Well done, lad."

Climbing on each other's shoulders, they pulled themselves out slowly, the injured ones being passed up as painlessly as possible. They were barely in time, for as the last of them leapt up to grab Percy's hands, they heard the rest of the orc gang approaching. They were moving through the trees quickly, carrying torches, and the men knew there'd be no escaping with their wounded. Two of the soldiers had broken limbs, and one had struck his head on a rock and was barely conscious.

"We'll make our stand here," Sergeant Henk ordered. The dozen remaining able-bodied men drew their swords and stood back out of the firelight, awaiting the enemy's approach.

The master of the orcs, the hideous half-troll, came across some of Percy's handiwork amongst the trees as they approached, and with a furious roar he gave the order to charge on the road.

The orcs howled as they caught sight of their targets, striking fear into the hearts of the younger soldiers, who'd never fought a real battle before. The force with which the orcs hit their line knocked them back into the trees, but they rallied quickly, the soldiers' superior abilities well matched to the orcs' strength and numbers. The clash of steel was deafening, and Percy swung his sword strongly, beheading an orc with one blow. His eyes narrowed and he grinned as the orc fell, and he he found himself face to face with the troll chief himself.

Henk had gone down with a chest wound early on, and the other guards were fighting hard. Percy would get no help, and was surprised that he felt no fear, just exhilaration and cold fury as he swung at the troll.

The battle was fierce, and raged for what seemed an eternity to the young man, and finally he began to tire. First a cut to the arm, then a slice across his side that burned like fire, and made it hard to breathe. The troll hit him in the head with the hilt of his sword, and Percy found himself face down in the mud, but he wouldn't give in til his last breath. He swung his legs and kicked the feet of the troll out from under him, knocking him to his back. Percy was a large, strong man, but the half-troll was enormous, and Percy didn't pin him down so much as leap upon his chest before the creature had a chance to find his feet again. Spitting into his adversary's face, Percy plunged his sword into his heart, staring grimly at the monster as it gurgled and died.

++++++

Percy stood in the corridor outside the Countess Audra's audience chamber, fidgeting from foot to foot nervously. He'd rather have to face ten monsters of the sort he'd defeated than go through with this. Sometimes being a Guard was just plain terrifying. Making sure nobody was looking, he practiced his bow again, and prayed fervently that Captain Angus had remembered to tell the Countess his name was Dave.

After an eternity of waiting, and watching nobles come and go, a footman came out and nodded for Percy to follow him in. In a large, ornate chair upon a dais sat the Countess, regal, beautiful and terrifying as always. The Steward at her side whispered something to her, and she raked her eyes over the approaching young guard.

"Percival Petal," she greeted him, an eyebrow raised in amusement at the name. Percy's heart sank. He was never going to be able to change his name now. "I understand we have you to thank for the removal of a dangerous menace on our highways."

Percy performed his bow, and stuttered nervously. "Well, really it was the whole squad, m'lady." It was awful having the woman stare at him like that. He wanted to run and hide.

"Angus has given me an account of your bravery, Percival," she stated, seemingly annoyed at his humility. "You are to be commended."

"Th-thank you, m'lady," he mumbled, staring at the floor.

The door opened behind him and the Countess' eyes lit up. "Madeline, darling!" she smiled, holding her arms out to greet her friend. Percy hadn't dared to move, and was standing between the women. Audra frowned at him. "All right, off you go then, guard." He gave his stiff bow once more and backed out with relief.

Sergeant Henk met him on his way back to the barracks. "So, did the Countess grant you a reward?" he wanted to know. He'd been singing Percy's praises ever since they'd carried him back to the Castle. His chest wound was healing, and he told all the world that it was Percy who'd saved their lives.

"Nope," Percy sighed. "But she didn't try to kill me or anything, so all things considered I'm pretty much content. Wish they'd told her my name was Dave though."

Henk commiserated. "Ah well, it's a thankless job," he nodded sagely. "I'll buy you a pint at the Hungry Wolf tonight if you're about."

"Thanks, sarge." Percy would have enquired after the sergeant's wound, but they were interrupted by the approach of one of the kitchen maids, Gwyneth. Henk smirked and excused himself abruptly.

Gwyneth smiled up at the young guard shyly. "I hear tell that brute of a troll wounded you, Percy… umm, sorry… I mean Dave."

Percy blushed, and actually smiled. She'd called him Dave! His heart swelled. "Just a few scratches," he replied, trying to sound offhand. The one on his side was still giving him trouble, but he was back to work again already. "Have to get the doctor to pull the stitches out in a few days."

"Well, I think you're very brave," she cooed. Was it his imagination or had she just fluttered her eyelashes at him? He shuffled and looked at the ground, a bit embarrassed. "Some friends and I'll be down the Hungry Wolf tonight… if you were thinkin' o' comin' along," she added, so he couldn't mistake her meaning.

"Alright then," he grinned, "I'll be seein' you tonight." He wandered off with a spring in his step, thinking that being a guard wasn't so bad after all.

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