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My lot in life was not one I wanted to accept. Raising cattle and crops is for a peasant not one who wishes to see things other than hillocks and rock outcroppings. Farming!!!! Bah!!! After talking to my father for months, I finally convinced him that sending me away was probably the best thing for the family. With nine other siblings he was not going to miss me that much. At least that was my argument. It was a long and physically painful process but finally he arranged to foster me to a local noble who took me in and made me his scullery boy. Not exactly what I had in mind. I was 11.
One day while playing with his son, we picked up practice swords and began mimicking the men-at-arms we had seen practicing so many times. One of them was a not so intelligent and brutish sort and decided that if we were going to play, we should play for real.
He took the practice sword from my Lord's son and challenged me to a fight, no armor, no protection allowed. He lunged at me and I stepped sideways swinging as I went, my staff caught him square in the mouth, blood and teeth spewed across the courtyard, much to the amusement of his comrades. He became enraged and came after me once more, staff high, to crush my skull (at least that is how it appeared to me). I jumped to the right swinging my staff up. It caught him on the bridge of the nose and the follow through shot to the back of his head rendered him unconscious. His skull-crushing blow had landed on my left leg and left a deep bruise that took weeks to fade. It was at that point that I noticed the Lord of the manor watching everything. I was no longer a scullery boy after that. I began training in the finer arts of warfare.
I was a quick study on swordsmanship and man to man combat, but he kept complaining about my lineage and my tendency to run into the fray unaided or to attempt to attack five or more men at a time; single-handedly. He railed and hollered about painting myself blue and running naked into battle. I had no idea what he was talking about. Those lessons were the most painful to learn. I still have scars showing why it is not wise to charge a line by yourself. After my sixteenth birthday I decided I was going to become a man and join my liege on the field of battle, without his permission. Another painful lesson. I was not ready for true combat, but once I realized my life was truly in danger, I became suddenly aware of all I was taught.
My first battle was not as glorious as Cuhulainn's or Fionn MacCuhail's but it was my first time shedding blood, mine and my enemy's. I have travelled far since those days. It is 1477 and I am now in a Duchy known as Burgundy, and have been in the employ of Charles the Bold; Duke of Burgundy. He is a man who seems to wage war for the sake of waging war. While nothing is wrong with that, I would figure after eight disatrous defeats and his enemies suieng for peace he would stop. Unfortunately we are headed to the fortified city of Nancy to fight the Swiss. If this one does not turn out better than the last I believe I will head east and look for employ out there.
During our last siege I noticed these weapons of mass destruction the Burgundians were using, Trebuchets, I think I would like to wage war from the end of a monstrous machine. Maybe I will talk to the engineers......