Morning found a surly camp by the roadside, with most of the men and women having had too little sleep to ease the exhaustion of their unexplained late-night march. The light was muted as it did its best to pierce the canopy, granting the whole area a somewhat fae atmosphere with its green tinge, and more than one man maintained a close watch for any of the Greenfolk who may seek to torment them. The Captain’s pavilion was the last tent standing in the centre of the camp as men pissed on fires and kicked slower risers awake. Ser Guillaume made his way through the flap to find a vacant eyed Edward on the edge of his cot, face in his hands while a nervous William hovered nearby with a good horn cup of small beer in his hands.
Guillaume nodded to the squire before he knelt before his lord so that their eyes might meet, heedless of the fine wool of his hose pressing into the soft earth of the tent’s floor. Edward’s look was still vacant as the older knight’s hand rose and fell with startling speed, the slap echoed across the still air of the pavilion and was undoubtedly heard outside. Sir Edward’s eyes refocused on his friend in shock and Guillaume smiled, and it was not an unkind smile, “Ah he awakens, I was worried we’d lost you for a moment there,” Edward’s hand rose to his cheek which was turning red in the brisk morning air, “I held them together for you last night, but the company needs its captain, you don’t have the luxury of being a boy anymore, you are a knight and a leader of men,” it was a long speech and Edward was still in shock from being struck.
The young knight nodded, somewhat unsteadily as his hand grasped for the cup his squire held and drained the small beer it held, taking a moment to enjoy the flavour and marvel at how even on a campaign trail they could be so well supplied. His eyes finally met those of Ser Guillaume with a little more awareness behind them than had been present for some hours, “I’m sorry Guillaume, you’re right of course, his grace has never been angry with me like that before, it has unmanned me in your presence,” the admission seemed drawn from him like an arrow from an ugly wound. Guillaume’s smile never wavered.
“It happens my lord, when we feel we have disappointed men we admire or leaders we love, it can be hard to distance yourself enough to see it for what it is, the first time your Grandfather yelled at me was before the battle of Rowan’s Bridge, the point I had tied for his leg harness came undone and he cursed me for the most useless squire in his train,” the big knight laughed, and the sound was warm and seemed to lighten the very air of the pavilion, “the truth of the matter was he was concerned about the battle and like any man was afraid that it might be his time, Duke Felix is much the same in that his anger was most likely born of the frustration he felt at having his plans messed with by the Magisters,” his face was softened by his look of sympathy as he laid a reassuring hand on Edward’s shoulder, “if you want to talk I’m going to be around, if you need to be upset it’s okay but it can’t be in front of the company and it can’t interfere with your ability to lead them, understand?”
Edward nodded to his new mentor, “I think I do, thank you messire,” a sheepish smile broke out on his face, at that moment he was every inch the boy he appeared, despite the words of wisdom, “I guess my grandfather knew I would need a steady hand if I am to succeed,” he admitted with a rueful scoff to his voice. Guillaume matched his smile in earnest, giving the sort of shrug that no man would dare to give to a great lord like Duke Felix, but with the easy camaraderie that Edward instilled in his officers it felt natural.
“Truthfully my lord, you’re doing far better than I’d have managed at your age, there’s little I’ve seen that gives me reason to doubt your Grandfather’s faith in you, he sent me because he knows you need a seasoned knight on your staff, that’s all,” the words were warm and like mana from heaven to Edward’s aching soul, “now, we have a rogue knight and some brigands to catch, let’s get you dressed and back into it?” Edward nodded and called for William to help him arm, the young squire looked relieved as he ran forward with gleaming sabatons in hand.
Edward may have been young by the standards of most knights, but after nearly a year on campaign he was not clueless in the art of making war. As soon as he was armed, he was amongst the men in his camp, assuaging the ruffled feathers caused by the late night march. He assisted a low born man at arms in arming as though he was the man’s squire, and then he helped one of their wagoners hitch the oxen to the harness, all while wearing his own harness. Sweat all but poured down his back and dripped from his brow and the aches of the day were already upon him by the time the column was reassembled, and they were preparing to march, but the mutinous mutterings of the dawn were gone, and Ser Guillaume gave a nod of approval as William helped his knight into the tall saddle on Bohemund’s back.
At a gesture from Sir Edward, they stepped off onto the road and archers moved off in all directions into the undergrowth to watch for any attack or scouts. The low scrub posed little threat to Sir Gerald’s huntsmen, as they were coming to be called, for they were all Arturian retinue archers, and they all wore as much armour as most men at arms in the southern companies did. Each was armoured in a close fitting bascinet helm, a dull green brigandine and full leg harness that was proof against the thorns of the low shrubs.
With his flanks secure and safe in the knowledge they would have ample warning of any attack, Edward called his officers about him for their morning briefing. Each received a nod and a gauntleted tap of the shoulder or fist to fist as they came up on their riding horses, even the lowborn knights like Gerald and Thomas looked like great knights in their new white harness and on tall horses, and Edward had to hide a smirk as he saw Thomas finger the golden plaques of his knights belt for perhaps the hundredth time that morning. Once they were all abreast with their captain Edward began, “I hope we all got a good rest gentlemen, because we have work to do and something tells me it won’t be the work of an afternoon,” that got him a smile and a couple of chuckles from the assembled men, just as he had hoped, “first order of business is to get this supply caravan through to Sir Clement on the new front, our guides have informed me it’s about a three day ride through the forest to reach them, but the road is good and there are plenty of wagon circles for us to make camp in, but we know there is a foe hunting our supply trains here, so I expect an attack tomorrow, the day after at the latest, I need you all on watch and keeping the men likewise alert, understood?” a chorus of ayes met his words, none of them were fools and they knew the odds.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“I’ll set a watch bill when we stop for camp and I’ll take the first watch with the quarter guard myself,” sir Thomas answered, his voice sober and serious as always, now that he had a task before him that took his attention away from his newly achieved status. That earned the young marshal a nod of approval from the more experienced standard bearer, and ser Guillaume spoke next.
“Put me on the second watch, no one will want it so I might as well fill it,” the older knight said with a smile and got a thankful bow in the saddle from Thomas in turn.
“I’d better take the dawn watch then,” sir Gerald answered in kind.
“Just be sure not to exhaust yourselves, there are other knights capable of leading a watch, so be sure to break up the duties,” Edward finished for them, “once we’re through, if we haven’t managed to flush this Vallarese brigand out, we send the supplies on and turn back around and smoke him out of his hole like a fox, eh bien?” more nods and more ayes greeted the captain’s words, “alright, see to your commands gentlemen,” he ordered again and they bowed in their saddles before moving down the column.
“I told you, you do just fine,” ser Guillaume said with a smirk as he fell in behind Edward and off to the right with the company banner raised.
It was nearing dusk, and Edward was just coming to the decision to circle the wagons and make camp when the first sign of their foe shattered his sense of calm and the security of his flanks. A long clothyard shaft of ash flashed across the road and slammed into Edward’s breastplate with the power of a donkey’s kick. The arrow shattered and splinters slashed at the captain’s unprotected face, his visor once more buckled up as he rode. Blood rained on his saddle horn as the young knight screamed, while to his side ser Guillaume yelled, “Ware!” The warning seemingly unnecessary as no more arrows flew.
Soft hands had Edward by the chin and with careful tugs, the three long shards of ash that had embedded in his face, were removed and fresh blood was released. He hissed through his teeth and groaned with pain, aware as he was that he was lucky he hadn’t lost an eye, although he was sure he would have some ugly scars from the wounds, they were thankfully only superficial.
While the arrow had been frightening, it became apparent that it was mere distraction from the true warning that awaited them on the path. One of the archers they had sent out that morning was crucified on the road, his arms and legs stood at unnatural angles and his face was streaked in blood from his nose and ears and the empty eye sockets that looked to the sky in the vain hope for salvation that would not come.
Ser Guillaume was the first to recover as Edward was still being administered to by one of the serving men, “by the Worthies,” he spat in revulsion before raising his voice, “you two, cut the poor bastard down and we’ll arrange a proper burial,” he ordered the two squires closest to him, each nodded and rushed to obey while doing their utmost not to look at the grotesque butchery before them.
The camp that night was sober and what cheer their easy march had raised was dashed by the knowledge they were being hunted by a monster. As the day’s prickers came in to report, each was questioned on what they had seen and heard, though somehow it seemed none had heard their comrade be taken, nor his screams as he’d been tortured, although that question was solved upon examination of the body which had shown the markings of a gag of some kind around his mouth, game to the end the archer had struggled so hard the straps had cut into his mouth and cheeks.
Sir Thomas had the quarter guard expanded to six lances, and had them all in full harness before the sun was below the horizon. Sir Edward in turn sat around the brazier in his pavilion with his officers, sans the young marshal, all with wine in hand as they worked to steady strained nerves after what they had seen. Edward’s eyes were haunted as he met those of his standard bearer, “what did they do to my archer Guillaume?” His voice was broken, and in any other company this unmanning of the captain would have been morale breaking, but amongst his chosen officers it was simply acknowledged as the cost of the afternoon’s horror.
Ser Guillaume looked at the freshly stitched wounds on his Captain’s face without meeting the young man’s eyes, “he was tortured and killed as a warning to you,” he answered.
“I led him here, tell me Guillaume, what did they do,” the voice, while it hovered on the edge of terror, still held the unmistakable tone of authority that came so naturally to those of high birth, so used as they were to getting their way without question.
“We looked at the body, as best as we can tell, he lost his eyes and tongue while still alive, I don’t know how the doctor can tell, something about the colour of the blood, the blood from his ears was likely from screaming so hard, the rest, the broken bones, seemed to have been done after his died thanks be to Roland,” Guillaume answered, “does it make you feel better to know that?” Edward shook his head as he seemed to shrink into his chair.
“This monster needs to be put down,” Gerald said, “Henry was a good lad, fine archer, he didn’t deserve that,” the archer felt his captain stiffen at his words and laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder, “he didn’t deserve it, but you didn’t do it to him Captain,” he gave Edward a reassuring squeeze, “this ain’t no chivalric contest, we find this monster, we put him in the dust and hang him from the nearest tree,” ser Guillaume nodded in agreement.
“This tells us something as well, he wants us terrified, a scared man doesn’t fight, or if he does he doesn’t fight well,” the eldest knight in the room met each of their eyes as he looked around the pavilion, “he needs us terrified, which means he has fewer men than me do, means he won’t want to face us in a direct confrontation,” it was like the sun cresting the horizon as the younger officers came to the same realisations, their eyes clearing of the sense of doom that had permeated the camp since the afternoon’s discovery, “tomorrow we don’t send the prickers out as far and we sure as hell don’t let them go out alone, groups of three to five, otherwise we continue as before, get the supplies through and then we hunt this bastard down.” The young officers roared their agreement.