The Name of Hilts

The Name of Hilts

I grew up without knowing what my real name was. The director of the orphanage I lived in named me “Hilts” simply because the first time he saw me I reached down from the caretaker’s arms and grabbed hold of the ornamental sword hanging by his hip. He never bothered to specify whether or not Hilts was my first or last name so it served for both. 

Only once in my years at Cutsody Orphanage, when I was about fourteen and starting to feel independent, did I ever dare to ask how I got there. I received such a whipping that immediately made me suspicious and I began to ask quietly around for other’s stories. Most of the other children had been too young to remember but I finally found a girl who had been about four. She said that she could vaguely recall someone dragging her from her parents’ arms after she had received a spanking. The man who took her away told her that she had done nothing and her parents had been abusing her. She had cried and said she didn’t care; she wanted her Daddy back, for she was a father’s girl, but the man had insisted that her father was mean to her and hurt her. The next thing she could bring to mind was arriving at the orphanage where she had been given the name May, for the month she came. She didn’t remember what her parents’ name for her was.

I was very troubled by the girl’s story and began to convince myself that all of the children had similar stories--including me, though we had been younger when stolen and consequently couldn’t remember.

When I was sixteen I was turned out to find a way for myself in the world. I wasn’t very successful until I met an old gentleman who took a liking to me and adopted me as his son.  He soon got me several personal tutors and I began to gain the knowledge of a gentleman’s son. The thing I liked most was fencing and I excelled so much in this that my tutor quickly began using blunt swords. I am afraid that he bore a few scars from his year with me.

Just as I was beginning to feel myself doing well in the world two things happened that changed the course of my life. First, my adopted father died leaving me a large fortune and second, a rebellion arose.  The King needed my money to put it down and sent three men, Istented, Reginald and Slatter, to take the greater portion of my money away. They said it would be paid back to me in time but I am an old man now and have yet to see a penny of it. I had just enough money left to start a small fencing school and found that I really quite liked it.

One day as I was opening my building (the school was in the front and my living quarters in the back) I was accosted by a rather thick set man dressed in farmer’s clothes.

“How much do lessons cost laddy?”

I chuckled at the address because not only was I nearing thirty but this man obviously could not afford lessons.

“I know what you’re thinking lad. I’m too old and too poor but I reckon, I’ll find some way of affording them.”

“Well, can I ask why you want lessons?”

“Aye. That is a question I thought you would ask. Seems like every man needs a way to defend himself these days.”

“These days? I thought that the crime rate had gone down recently.” my eye brows went up.

“The rate of illegal crimes has sure, but the legal ones are getting more and more common.”

“I’m sorry; I guess I don’t quite understand you. How can something be legal while still being a crime?”

He glanced almost furtively around him and then quickly replied,“Aye.”

I looked at him sharply. “Aye” did not answer my question. Just then a policeman walked by his sword catching the sun and shining in my eyes. He looked searchingly at us.

“What are you talking about so quietly?”

“Quietly? I reckon I hadn’t noticed. I’m asking this lad here to give me fencing lessons but he’s not giving me a price.” the farmer leaned against my school's wall and assumed a wounded look.

The policemen sniggered and walked on.

The farmer watched until he was out of sight and then quickly stepped forward and said in a low voice, “What’s the price lad? I got some backing.”

I no doubt looked rather astonished but I swallowed my emotions and said, “Ten shillings a month.”

“What!”

“I don’t really need the money but you obviously need the fencing lessons for some--“ suddenly I remembered the policeman. Something about the farmer’s face suddenly struck me. “Come inside. I don’t have any appointments for a while so I can talk to you.”

Once the door closed behind us I turned on him.

“What have they done to you?”

He looked up at me with a guarded look but I could see he understood me perfectly.

“They took away my son and daughter, said we weren’t providing them a good enough education and that we were abusing them.”

“How long ago?”

“Only last year.”

“How old were they?”

“Fourteen and ten.”

I leaned against the door and let out my breath. He shifted from one leg to the other nervously and then removed his hat.

“Should we be starting lessons?”

“Aah-yes. One more question though, how can you getting fencing lessons help with anything?”

He glanced nervously around and dropped his voice again.

“I’m part of the rebellion led by The Iron. He’s the one backing me.”

“I thought so." I chewed on my lip for a while. If it was ever found out that I had taught someone to fence to was planning on using it against the government...I shuddered. It would be better not to think about it. I walked over to one of my racks and picked up a sword weighing it in my palm. After a moments consideration I handed it to the farmer and waved him to the center of the room. "Well, let’s start lessons.”

Two days later again as I was opening my school I was touched lightly on the shoulder.

“Are you the master?”

I turned to find myself looking into two of the bluest eyes I had ever seen. They shone with kindness but sparked with a submerged passion.

“I am. Can I help you?”

“Yes.” The young gentleman was rather small and pale but his eyes looked at me steadily with a hidden strength. “I was hoping I could get lessons. I am fully able to pay the price.”

“Yes you can get lessons. Come on in. I’ll start you now as I have no one else coming for a while.”

I handed him the light blunt edge training sword and showed him the defensive stance.

“I’m just going to spar easily with you at first to see how good you are and what area’s I will especially need to work on. Keep your eyes in your head and up on your toes. Try not to leave yourself open or get distracted. Keep your sword covering your body like so and don’t let me get past it.”

“Alright.” He smiled good naturedly but his eyes twinkled as if he saw some joke in the whole thing.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

I did a slow and easy thrust and he easily knocked it aside. Next a faster slide stroke, he knocked it with hardly more than a flick of the wrist. I glanced at him curiously, somehow I felt more like the student and him the master.  The next thing I knew the sword flew out of my hand with an expert twist from his weapon found myself  tripping over my feet in a useless effort to regain my balance.

“Try not to get distracted Master Hilts.” A smile played around his lips. “Or should I say, Leonard Victovsky?”

I starred dazedly up at him from my very dignified position on the floor.

“You do not recognize your own name? I am not surprised as you have not heard it since you were about one and a half years.”

“Leonard Victovsky is my name?” I didn't even notice the hand he offered me. My mouth was dry. How long I had searched for this information. But, my heart thumped painfully as I thought, was this a trusted source? “How do you know that and who are you?”

“How I know that is because I know your father.”

“My father?”

“Yes your father. And your mother and sister too.” He turned and walked towards my sword cabinet. "Quite a nice sword collection."

“Thanks." I got heavily to my feet. "How do you know my family?”

“It’s a long story. Perhaps you would like to hear it from them?” He walked to the other side of my small school and sat down on the large windowsill facing the road.

My suspicions where still very loud. Who was this and why had he taken such an interest in me that he had found what I had spent nearly all my life looking for?

“Who are you? How should I know you are telling the truth?”

He sighed and looked vacantly out my window for a moment.

“Who am I?” he turned back and fixed me with that wonderful blue gaze of his but there was a tinge of bitterness in his voice. “I have not heard my real name in years though I am called by the name my parents gave me. I have not been myself in three years though I am not pretending to be someone else. Who am I? A banished person though loved by my country. Who am I?  A lonely hermit though I have friends and am out in the social world. Who am I? A homesick child though I have a good place to lay my head and am old in mind and body. Who am I? My name is insignificant—I am known as the rebellion, the embodiment of the people--I am known as The Iron.”