Edmund

Character Analysis

Diamond in the Rough

Emphasis on rough. Edmund may have the makings of a squire (and who knows, maybe even a knight someday), but the kid has some serious growing up to do. He's only "a mere seventeen" (1.21) when we meet him, and until his adventure, he hasn't really left his master's workshop. In other words, there's a whole lot in the world that Edmund simply has no clue about.

Another way to think of this, though, is that Edmund has ample room to grow. Wouldn't it be kind of boring to follow a protagonist who already has life figured out?

Born to Serve

One of the biggest ways Edmund's naïveté manifests is as an overdose of humility. You know what they say about having too much of a good thing, right? In Edmund's case, his extreme humility often takes the form of him blaming himself for everything, to the point of acting like a doormat.

When Nigel puts him up for the night, for instance, Edmund describes that "this soft blanket and feather-padded bedroll would be undeserved luxury" (5.2). We get that he's not used to anything nice, but are such basic comforts truly "undeserved" as Edmund believes? We think not. So why does Edmund, who shows signs of bravery and strength at various point, rock the servant status like nobody's business?

Key to understanding Edmund's lesser-than-thou attitude is knowing that upward mobility wasn't much of a thing in the Middle Ages. There was no work hard in school and pull yourself up by your bootstraps mentality, and instead people were pretty much stuck in whatever social person they were born into. In Edmund's case, this means he "[…] ha[s] never drawn a breath which was not owed to my father or my master" (5.24). Subservience is deeply rooted in Edmund's lived experience; he's literally never known anything else. So no wonder he doesn't think he deserves things like a comfortable bed.

Only adding to this sense of indebtedness that Edmund carries around is the fact that, according to him, his dad "paid for my apprenticeship when I was twelve years old by working red-eyed and weary by firelight" (3.16). In other words, Edmund's lucky his poor dad worked his butt off so that he could become a servant. Edmund's status as apprentice to Otto is a gift that comes from intense personal sacrifice on his father's part.

Makings of Greatness

On the upside, Edmund has a real desire to be valiant. We see this from the get-go when his master tells him to run and save his own skin: "I did not take a step. Even if it cost me my head, I would defend my master and his good wife" (1.13). Go Edmund. If you think about it, this is sort of the upside of Edmund's intense humility: In his refusal to put himself first, he's a pretty great guy to have by your side.

We can see this willingness to lay down his life and protect others as kind of a sign that Edmund's headed toward greatness. And while some heroes set out to prove their worth, when it comes to Edmund, his ability to rise to the occasion comes out as if by accident, surprising even Edmund himself. For instance, when he's brought to the sheriff after Otto is killed, he asks for mercy and thinks:

I don't know how I managed to speak in such a knightly manner at such a moment, and my voice was little more than a whisper. (3.12)

In other words, whereas some actively aspire to greatness, Edmund has greatness buried deep inside him. It seems to be part of who he is even if he struggles to recognize it. In fact, Edmund's so used to looking at others and feeling like a stray dog that he's totally shocked when Nigel tells him that a group of spice traders regard him as an adult:

"Look—they are admiring you, Edmund. They say you look every inch a fighting man." (14.47)

Yup, Edmund's pretty much a medieval ugly duckling who doesn't realize he's grown into a swan.

Growing Pains

Lest you be blinded by Edmund's swoon-worthy transformation from servant to Crusader, we're going to point out a few of his flaws, or growing pains, as we like to call them.

For instance, even though Edmund talks about his values an awful lot, he keeps doing sneaky stuff—like, say, lying to Nigel about having ridden a horse before to save his skin: "I had never mounted a horse in my life" (3.16). Well then.

He also steals silver from Nigel and runs away in the dead of night. Sure, he feels guilty, but he still does it: "As I walked, I felt the long leash tighten around my neck, my deceit" (5.24). Thing is, while Edmund recognizes how bad deception makes him feel, he doesn't stop doing it. For example, later on he steals the cloak and purse of the guy he jumps in Venice and then denies it afterward: "'I stole nothing,' I said, in my most knightly voice, but inwardly I crumbled" (17.39). See what we mean? Edmund has a hard time dropping his lying habit.

So how do we explain his double standard? He actually says it best in his own words: "Sometimes I hear good advice and take it, quickly. But sometimes I am slow to come to reason" (1.15). Well you can't peg him with a lack of self-knowledge, that's for sure. It's the best you can really hope for when it comes to bad habits.

Breaking 'Em In

What Edmund's ups and downs boil down to is that he has to grow into a new pair of shoes. In the beginning of the story, he fits the servant shoe really well—he's subservient and knows he's pretty much at the mercy of the world. This is how he's always rolled.

Once he becomes a squire, though, he has to learn to stand up tall. The whole self-effacing thing doesn't become a knight-to-be, and as he stretches his wings, he has a few blunders. Don't we all, though? It's hard becoming a different sort of person. And in Edmund's defense, he has to learn how to do so in the face of life-or-death circumstances. There's just no way that's easy.