Hertford Castle, Kingdom of England, July 1521
Dust was kicked up by The Duke of Somerset’s boots as he shuffled from side to side in the tiltyard. He wore leathers, as the wooden practice swords he and Richard Kymbe held were dull, so they would not hurt too much, but could still sting a little. Richard, despite being older than Charles was only slightly taller, but was sturdier, with broad shoulders and thick, well-muscled arms. The older boy held his sword with two hands, clearly seeking to use his greater size to his advantage, and as Giovanna stood behind the wooden fence, she shuddered a little. The woman knew it was all in good fun, and the boys didn’t want to hurt each other, but a mother’s heart isn’t always rational, and accidents could still happen. Still, her son wasn’t bad at this, as his thinner frame meant he was more agile. Richard stomped forward towards Charles and brought his sword down in a forward lunge. The Duke of Somerset had not quite anticipated this quick enough and had barely brought up his weapon quickly enough to block it. It still wasn’t enough, and his sword tumbled out of his hands, onto the dirt several paces to his right.
“Give up!” Richard grunted, holding his weapon mere inches away from Charles’s chest
Charles narrowed his eyes, his voice hard and determined,”Never…”
Without giving Kymbe any chance to respond, Charles kicked him in the knee and shoved him back with all his might.
As Richard reeled from this, Charles rushed to the right and picked his sword and picked his sword back up.
Smirking, Charles went on the attack, swiping from left to right, in a flurry of quick, precise blows. Richard had managed to block most of those but grimaced as one hit him in the side. Apparently frustrated, Richard grunted and managed to parry another blow, knocking the sword out of Charles’s hand with the pommel of his own.
“Yield Charles!” Kymbe ordered, panting.
Charles nodded slightly, sweat dripping down his face,”Yes Dick, I yield…”
The two shook hands, proving that the practice fight was just that, practice.
Anthony Wingfield, who was standing at the far right end of the tiltyard smiled,”Good job boys, you did well.”
The two both made their way out of the tiltyard, laughing even as Somerset held his right wrist in his left hand. When the two, with Anthony close behind walked over to where Giovanna and the girls: Joanna, Anne, and Margarery, were all standing, the Dowager Queen looked up to her son, concern in her eyes,”Are you alright Charles? You didn’t get hurt badly, did you?”
Charles chuckled at this,”Do not worry mother, I’ll be fine, it’s just bruised a little. Trust me I don’t intend to become some great warrior like my brother, the King, but I at least want to know how to defend myself.”
Anne Boleyn looked to Charles, their brown eyes meeting,”I think you were quite gallant Charles, as a Duke of Somerset should be.”
The boy blushed sheepishly at this, and it did not escape Giovanna’s notice
He must be sweet on her, boys his age always like the first older girl that’ll pay them attention. I just hope he does not get his hopes up, one day they’ll have to make matches that bring glory to their houses.