[OSBERT’S POV]
August 7, 1338
The letter arrived like a bolt from the blue, bearing news that shook the very core of our existence. It detailed a troubling tale—a disappearance on the road from Swanage to London. The words were stark, speaking of ominous warnings of the crown's declaration of death should no answers arise within the next fifteen days. King Edward, alarmed by the turn of events, dispatched a hundred of our own three thousand men from the capital to investigate.
Sitting idle was out of the question. I couldn't bring myself to remain passive, not when the Earl, my Ward and charge, had inexplicably vanished along the route. The weight of responsibility pressed upon me, urging immediate action to uncover the truth behind his disappearance.
And hence commenced our expedition, with me at the helm and the fifteen-year-old Edward by my side. Despite his youth, this lad had repeatedly showcased his remarkable abilities. From spearheading the transformation of Norwich into the kingdom's second-most significant city after London to triumphing over the formidable French armada with a fleet barely larger than a couple dozen vessels. For such feats, he earned the prestigious title of Warden—not merely a Sea Warden, but a Land Warden, a significant honor indeed!
His countenance bears an uncanny resemblance to Thomas in his own boyhood days. While the Plantagenets are often associated with their fair, blonde locks, both father and son defy this stereotype with their distinctive raven hair. The resemblance is profound, and the indomitable martial prowess that courses through the veins of the Plantagenets runs strong in both father and son. In many ways, Edward mirrors a younger iteration of Thomas, yet his intellect and ambition soar to greater heights if you inquire of me. His capacity to swiftly grasp new knowledge is unparalleled. Notably, his mastery of swordsmanship has skyrocketed, allowing him to hold his ground against even the younger members of his own elite guards, the Regal Watch.
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August 9, 1338
Over the ensuing two days, our journey led us through a series of inns and towns where we made frequent halts, following Edward's directive to stop at every significant location. His strategy aimed at dispatching groups to conduct thorough investigations in the surrounding regions. Regrettably, this approach has yielded little success thus far. Despite traversing a dozen towns and meticulously stopping at various establishments, our endeavors have yet to bear fruit. Presently, we find ourselves in Christchurch, situated in the region historically referred to as Wessex in archaic texts.
At the inn's ground floor, amidst the meal service, I found myself seated among my subordinates. Suddenly, Edward's voice broke through the ambiance, summoning me to join him at his table. Adhering to his request, I grasped my jug of beer and settled opposite him as directed.
As he began to articulate something, a fleeting hesitation overtook him, causing him to abruptly close his mouth before any words escaped.
"Come on, don't hesitate," I urged him, trying to draw him out. The quietness of the evening was getting to me, and some conversation would certainly liven things up. A small grin emerged on his face before he found his words.
"It's just... I was curious about your first encounter with father," he admitted, scratching his head with a bashful expression.
"Well, the story isn't much if that's all you want to know. Would you prefer if I started from the very beginning?" I teased, enjoying the prospect of conversation in the rather somber setting.
He nodded eagerly, prompting me to begin.
"Bramber of the West Sussex," I said with a hint of nostalgia.
Edward looked puzzled, and I clarified, "That's where I was born." Then, delving into my past, I continued, "I came into this world as the youngest son of the 9th Baron of Bramber in the year 1278 of our Lord's calendar. My elder brother, William, nearly two decades older than me, was the heir apparent, leaving me quite distant from the succession. So, on my tenth birthday, I was presented with two choices: joining the church or embarking on the path of knighthood."
"And you chose the latter," Edward responded eagerly.
"Seems like it," I replied, playing along with his enthusiasm. Continuing my tale, I delved further into my past.
"I was sent to the Welsh territory of England, which had recently fallen under Plantagenet rule, to undergo my apprenticeship. There, I trained rigorously under my much older maternal cousins from 1289 to 1294, learning various Welsh Sword Forms. Then, I ventured to Cornwall to train in the Cornish Sword Arts, studying under the Earl of Cornwall at that time. It was under his guidance that, at the age of eighteen in 1296, I received my knighthood. Sadly, his health took a turn for the worse, and by 1300, he breathed his last."
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"As far as I recall, before Cornwall came under direct crown rule, it was Edmund of Alain who ruled there, although he, too, belonged to the Plantagenet lineage," Edward added, his brow furrowed in concentration as he recalled historical details.
"Indeed, he was King John's grandson. Now, back to the tale. Following his childless passing, his territory fell under the crown's domain, including myself. I began my service directly under the King as a knight from the year 1300. In 1303, recognizing my exceptional capabilities, he elevated me to the rank of captain, leading a squad of ten skilled soldiers. During this time, I developed a close friendship with your uncle, Edward II. We often sparred, and, on any usual day, I emerged victorious. He was a fine companion, but that's a tale for another day."
"Looks like I'll need to set aside time to hear more of these stories," remarked Edward with a teasing smirk.
I chuckled. "Absolutely, lad. Moving on, by 1305, I earned a promotion to a knight in your grandfather's personal household. It was during one of my duties there that I first encountered your father. He was a mere five-year-old, captivated by my sheathed sword, his wide eyes reflecting wonder. I might not have noticed him if not for the soft exclamation of 'woah' that escaped his lips, accompanied by an open-mouthed gaze."
“That certainly seems something father would do,” Edward said once he had his share of laugh.
"Indeed, Thomas had a curious streak," I chuckled, reminiscing about his relentless pursuit. "He persisted for a good two weeks until I finally sought permission from the king to train him in swordsmanship. Surprisingly, the king readily agreed, and thus, my instruction to him began. A year later, your uncle Edmund also joined our training sessions."
Edward, looking intrigued, remarked, "I knew you were his sword instructor, but I never realized there was such an intriguing story behind it!"
Amused, I laughed lightly. "There's more to the tale if you're interested."
Edward hesitated for a moment, pondering. "I think I know the rest, the passing of our grandfather, the succession of titles to each of them. But there's still one question nagging at me." He regarded me with a curious expression.
I sighed softly, intrigued. "And what might that question be?"
"Why did you choose to follow Father when there was a much more lucrative option of serving the new king himself?" Edward asked, his curiosity evident in his tone.
A smile spread across my face. I paused, closed my eyes briefly, allowing the memories to surface, before sighing softly and meeting the young boy's gaze. "Well, sometimes, young one—"
The door of the inn burst open abruptly, startling us both. I halted mid-sentence, turning my attention toward the entrance. It was Lieutenant Alwin, a newly knighted young man no older than twenty-one or twenty-two. His sudden arrival suggested he might have been dispatched by a higher-ranking military official for further investigation.
"Young Lord, Sir Osbert," Alwin bowed hastily to Edward and me, a sense of urgency palpable in his demeanor.
"What's the matter, Alwin?" I inquired, noticing his trembling hands and apprehensive expression.
"Sir, we’ve discovered bloodspots along the path leading into the forest. They abruptly vanish near the bank," Alwin said, his voice fraught with tension.
"Show us. Lead the way," Edward's usually composed demeanor had given way to a sense of urgency, evident in his tone. His reaction surprised me, given his usual steadfast nature. I, too, felt the adrenaline coursing through my veins at the news.
Alwin nodded, darting out of the inn. Reacting swiftly, I instructed a captain to summon everyone from their rooms. Edward and I swiftly mounted our horses, following Alwin's determined stride. As we rode, I couldn’t help but admire the grace and speed of Edward’s destrier. My own horse struggled to match its pace. The excellence of his trusty steed is evident.
Soon after, Alwin, leading the way, guided us across the bridge spanning the river Stour. In the vicinity, our own men, dispatched for investigation, were scattered about the area. Alwin dismounted, and we followed suit, tracking the path laid out before us. Amidst the commotion, a young squire hurried over, his name escaping my memory.
“Godric, secure these horses to that tree,” Edward commanded confidently, his knack for names impressing yet again. It was a common occurrence—Edward’s remarkable memory for names often surpassed the recollection of the men telling him themselves.
As Godric tended to our trusty horses, Alwin signaled us to continue on foot. We walked briskly for ten minutes until we stumbled upon the RnS division. The seasoned soldiers were on high alert, with Colonel Elmer leading the charge. His apprentices were meticulously examining the area for any clues. Captains and Majors were deep in discussion while the Corporals and Privates guarded the site, making sure no unwanted visitor disturbed the search. It was clear that they meant business.
Spotting Edward, the soldiers bowed in deference. Giving a nod to them before he inquired the Colonel, “What have you discovered?”
Colonel Elmer responded by gesturing toward the ground. Red spots marred the earth, leading away from the inn and continuing toward the river bank.
“These blood spots stretch from an inn and diminished along the forest's path to the Stour river bank,” elucidated the Colonel, pointing out the trail of crimson evidence.