Ruddy was nothing if not curious, so he followed the winner of the tourney off the lot to the parking lot. There, he found the man at a motorcycle. The man stripped off his armor, not caring who saw. He was down to his underwear, and then he took that off, too. The man stood completely naked, without a care in the world, and started going through his saddlebags.
“Hey, guy, you could be arrested,” joked Ruddy as he stepped out from between some cars.
The man shrugged, “Been doin’ this shit f’r years an’ ain’ nobody arrested me yet.” He grinned, “In fact, they were impressed.”
Ruddy was impressed by the man’s physique; he was broad-shouldered, tanned all the way through, even at his groin area. He pulled out a simple burgundy tunic, laying it on the seat. He started putting away his armor, packing it all in a certain way, so that it would fit in the saddlebags. The shield he tucked between the saddlebags and the wheel. He then pulled out a sword, peace-tied, and lay that on the seat as well.
The man grinned at him. “Whatcha starin’ at?”
“Sorry, was I staring?” Ruddy looked up at the man’s eyes, that near translucent gray.
“Just sayin’, I swing either way if y’r inta that shit.”
“No! I mean, no, but that’s your choice.”
The man laughed, and slipped on the tunic. As he did, Ruddy watched as the man’s whole countenance changed. He stood tall, even more impressive, and definitely had the bearing of a king, if not a knight. “What’s your name?” Ruddy asked.
“Knight.”
“Of Aethelmarc.”
“It has been years since I travelled the roads of Aethelmarc,” the man said coldly. Ruddy knew that some people slipped into persona – the part that people played in the SCA, but they didn’t slip totally into character like this man seemed to have done. It was weird to watch. “That was where I was first given the authorization to participate in the tournaments.”
“How long have you been a knight?” Ruddy watched as the man tied the sword to his back. He noted that he went commando and barefoot.
“Since the reign of Christopher I,” he said. “Do you need my scroll as proof?”
A scroll was usually an illuminated document, usually huge and unwieldy, and made for hanging up on a wall, not carrying it with you. Especially from a reign that long ago. “You carry it with you?”
“Some do not believe me. It is small enough to carry.”
“Uh, no, it’s all right, I believe you.” Ruddy started to walk away, then stopped, and turned around. He may regret this, but it was basic hospitality. “Wanna come with me and meet the Duke?”
“I would be honored,” he said, and walked barefoot on the asphalt following him to the Duke’s camp.
The Duke greeted him like an old friend, which Ruddy thought was strange. “I’ve heard about you,” he said. “I didn’t think you existed.”
“I exist, Your Excellency,” he said, using the correct term for a two-time king.
“What’s your name?”
“Knight, Your Excellency.”
“Stop with the titles, you can call me Frederick. This is Ruddy, my man-at-arms.”
“Honored to meet you, sir.”
Eventually the man was given some single malt scotch, and sat around listening to the “No shit! There we were…” stories that all fighters told when gathered. A couple of wenches would sit with him, and he casually put his arm around their shoulders. But in all the time, he was silent, not sharing any stories or any feats of his ability, just sitting and listening. Ruddy found him disconcerting.
Feast time came along, and he was invited to sit at the Duke’s high table, to the Duke’s left. Ruddy watched him as he packed away the food, almost like a starving man, going for seconds and thirds. Ruddy realized that the man probably didn’t eat for days, saving it up for something like this.
On his third glass of wine, Ruddy finally had the courage, and went up to the Duke’s table, looking at the Knight. “Where are you from?”
“Does it matter my past?” the man said, spearing another piece of meat with a knife and eating off of it.
“Nobody just comes into a tourney and beats all our best fighters.”
“Ruddy,” said the Duke cautiously.
“No,” Ruddy said. “This guy’s weird. There’s something wrong about him, I’m telling you.”
The man just stared at him, eating. Ruddy glared at him, and then finally looked away from those storm-gray eyes. “What do you want of me, my story?”
“That would be a start.”
The man set his knife down. “Then pull up a seat.”
Ruddy got his folding chair from his table and sat across from the man. The rest of the area around them grew quiet, to listen to the story of this mysterious man who had beaten the fighters and gotten the case of beer, and fine steel gauntlets that he wore even now.
“I have lived places that hardly men go to. Northshield. Ealdomere. Artemisia. Calontir. In all those places, I have met all enemies. Most I defeat. Some, I also lose. Yet it is all for the glory of the Dream.”
“How did you get involved? How long–”
“My past should not matter. What I will do is what matters.”
Said the Duke, “They said you put people in the hospital.”
“I have injured some weaker fighters, indeed.” He sipped his wine. “But they were weak.”
There was silence. Ruddy got up quickly from his chair, toppling it over, the noise carrying through the hall. “Who the hell are you?!”
The man calmly sipped his wine and merely smiled.
“Ruddy, calm down,” the Duke said.
“This mysterious persona is bullshit.”
The man rose. “My welcome is over, it seems, and I shall be on my way.”
“Stay the night,” said the Duke. “Do you have a tent?”
“I sleep under the stars,” he said.
Then the Duke’s daughter put a hand on the man’s arm. “Please stay.”
The man smiled at her. “For you, I shall be happy to.”
Ruddy got up and stormed out.
He heard the man leave the next morning. It was hard not to hear a Harley in full throttled roar in the quiet stillness of the morning. Supposedly he had slept in the Duke’s daughter’s tent, in another woman’s tent, and in another man’s tent. Ruddy shook his head as he went back to his tent after performing morning libations. But before he went inside, he saw something at the door.
A bottle of amber ale from the case that Knight had won.