BY UZAIR PARKER

“Make no mistake my lady, I am indeed a dutiful servant. My men… they know me to value honor and courage. You coin the term ‘bravery’ but such a word is heavy and I have not the heart to claim it. However, if that be the word you would have me take, then I accept, albeit with reluctance.” 

“I would have you take it,” she replied. The grizzled captain sighed quietly to himself. He cared little for titles and designations, believing them a thing of pomp and decadence. 

“Then, bravery it is then,” said he. 

He shuffled a little uneasily and looked up suddenly. Her dazzling green eyes were still fixed on him, she still had that same penetrating gaze. She smiled then and a strange feeling of warmth overtook him. But at the same time, he felt the familiar shadow of guilt in his heart and the warmth faded into the cold familiarity of remorse. 

“If Brave is to be my title, then know that I am its keeper, but in name. For battle weariness and many years of war are burdened to me. I have… seen too much of it… of the folly of men and their natures. Of my own shortcomings and deeds. War makes one hard and the lines which we draw as a separation between friend and foe are often blurred on the battlefield. Each side vying for their version of the truth when the truth in itself is that war is filled with dread and despair. Brave I am perhaps… but truth? Nay, my dear lady, I am not a true man.”

She waved her hand in mocking annoyance. “The world now has too many men of truth and too few brave ones,” she replied, her her eyes suddenly alight: “A long time ago the world was filled with many brave men and too few men of truth. Those days were simpler, the lines less grey. There was only Truth and falsehood, good and evil and we each knew our place in the world. Now, there are many truths…and many versions of it. The world needs a brave man, one who would stand against all adversity and draw his sword in challenge, though it pains him even to the very core of his being.” 

“And how,” asked the captain with feigned reluctance, “how would a man of bravery challenge truth?” 

She smiled her warm smile again: “Why, by questioning it of course!” 

He looked away then. He had heard such talk before. Growing up in the lower ends of the city meant that they were privy to the many misfits and vagabonds who allowed drink to steer their voices to bravery. Though foul and wretched and in no sober state of mind they would balk insult and injury loudly, jeering at the Men of Truth. These types hardly lasted a week before they would be silenced… either through a public display of force or stealthily and silently…their bodies would wash up on the East River banks a few days later. All because they questioned and mocked the truth. But those were beggars, nameless and homeless. 

This here… this was a Lady of the Order, a person of high repute and authority. She wouldn’t dare undermine her own Regency by posing such statements. No, thought the captain… she must be testing… 

“This is not a test, Captain,” she whispered softly and again the feeling of warmth seemed to surround him. 

“M, my lady…” he stammered, “Please do not misunderstand me, I meant not…” 

“I knew what you would say even before you said it,” she continued. 

“Blasphemy. Heresy. You are conflicted. You doubt my intentions. Let me make them clear then: I would have you board the Esmeralda and sail to the New World along with Vivero and the Brotherhood. I would have you be my man, my eyes and ears. To be the brave captain I know you to be and to look beyond the lines to where the real battle lies. Not in war but in the hearts of men.”

“You would have me spy on the Brotherhood?!” 

“Yes. I would have you spy on them. For something is amiss in the world and I need to know if the men of truth are indeed true to their hearts. Oh yes Captain, I know of the many Wars being fought on the shores of the New World and I find this deplorable. For if Men of Truth wage war then surely they do so to some goal or advantage of power. And in my experience those in power are not always truthful. The real true men lead simpler lives and care little for wealth or position. If the Brotherhood is corrupted, then I must know. You, Captain, you must do this for me. You must!”

(This story originally published in Tales of Chivalry: A Medieval Anthology)