William Marshall

There is a peculiar silence that follows beautiful violence.

It is never truly quiet.

No.

The birds begin to spoil it first.

As though they have held a meeting somewhere in the trees and decided that mankind has finished being ridiculous for one more day.

I sat beside Gervais beneath the old oak.

The ropes lay in bloody coils around us.

My hands still shook.

Not from battle.

From what came after.

Fenrir sat opposite me.

His great black tail curled neatly around his paws.

The morning breeze stirred his fur.

Which was very strange for the wind and the wolf.

As for anything else…

He was not there.

Gervais blinked his one, almost, good eye open.

Went to rub it, then thought better when he touched it.

‘Bloody ouch.’

He looked at me.

Then beyond me.

Then slowly around the clearing.

He saw what remained of the camp.

Bodies.

Broken wagons.

The odd horse quietly grazing as though massacres occurred every Tuesday.

Which around us recently it seemed to.

His breathing became shallow.

I followed his gaze.

God…

What had we done?

It was not a battlefield.

It was a… a… bloody abattoir.

Fen’s deep voice drifted into my thoughts.

‘We.’

I closed my eyes.

‘Aye.’

‘Do not carry our sins alone.’

When I opened them again, Gervais was still staring at me.

He was busy trying to focus.

He was busy trying to understand what was happening.

Difficult when your head has been beaten around a bit.

He was not speaking.

He was simply…

Looking.

There was something in that gaze I had never seen before.

Not hatred.

Not yet.

Fear.

I found that I would rather have been stabbed again.

‘Gervais…’

He swallowed.

I could see it hurt him to simply swallow.

His throat worked twice before any sound emerged.

‘You…’

His voice cracked.

‘…what the hell are you?’

The words struck harder than any mace.

I looked away.

There was blood drying beneath my fingernails.

His blood.

Their blood.

Mine.

‘I…’

The lie formed.

Then died before it reached my tongue.

I had never been very good at lying.

Fen watched me quietly.

‘Don’t.’

‘He deserves the truth.’

‘Does he?’

I frowned.

‘He saved my life.’

‘He did.’

‘Then he deserves honesty.’

Fen’s great amber eyes remained fixed upon me.

‘He deserves to keep his soul.’

I turned back to him and stared hard at him.

‘What does that mean?’

‘You know exactly what it means.’

I did.

If Gervais believed what he had seen…

A wolf.

Impossible.

Monstrous.

A thing no priest would ever call anything except a servant of Hell.

Then every lesson he had ever learned would command him to denounce me.

Not because he hated me.

Because he loved God.

Fen spoke softly.

‘You ask him to choose between Heaven… and you.’

I looked back at Gervais.

He was waiting.

Patiently.

Terrified.

Trusting me enough to hear the answer.

Wanting desperately not to hear it.

‘I have to tell you something.’

Fen lowered his head.

‘William…’

‘I owe you that.’

‘No.’

‘You deserve to know.’

‘You are asking too much of him.’

I ignored the wolf.

‘Gervais…’

He lifted a bruised hand to wipe the grime and blood from his mangled face.

The hand and the man trembled.

‘No.’ He said.

I stopped.

‘…No?’

His hand remained raised between us.

‘Don’t.’

His voice had become steadier.

Still frightened.

But steadier.

‘If you tell me…’

He looked down at the blood covering the grass.

‘…if you tell me what I think you’re going to tell me…’

He laughed once.

It was a dreadful little laugh.

‘…then I’ll have to decide.’

I frowned.

‘Decide what?’

He looked into my eyes.

‘Whether you’re damned.’

The words almost broke him.

‘Whether you’re possessed.’

His voice became barely audible.

‘Whether that thing…’

He could not bring himself to say the word.

‘…whether it was Satan’s work.’

Silence.

‘I don’t know what I saw.’

‘I know what the Church would tell me I saw.’

Another silence.

‘I know what every priest from here to Rome would tell me to do.’

He swallowed painfully.

‘They’d tell me to draw my sword.’

The words hung between us.

‘I don’t…’

He stopped.

Tried again.

‘I don’t want to draw my sword against the man who dragged me through yesterday’s battle.’

He smiled weakly.

‘And whatever this is.’

‘The man who still owes me a drink.’

Despite everything…

I smiled.

He noticed.

A bloody-toothed smile cracked his face.

‘There it is again.’

‘What?’

‘You smiled.’

‘I remembered the wine.’

‘You’d better have.’

He took a long breath.

‘William…’

His voice was almost pleading now.

‘Please.’

‘Please, William.’

‘Please, don’t tell me.’

‘Whatever that was.’

I stared at him.

He shook his head.

He cleared each nostril grimly in turn.

Fen stepped back from the proximity of the nasal grimness that landed at his paws.

‘If I know…’

‘I cannot unknow it.’

‘If I hear it from your own lips…’

‘I have to judge.’

He closed his eyes.

‘I’ve only just found a friend.’

‘A friend is a rare and valuable thing.’

‘Of more value than any amount of precious stones.’

His next words were little more than a whisper.

‘I don’t want to lose that friend today.’

‘Also at this somewhat difficult moment in time I do not want to have to think about anything… difficult.’

Neither of us spoke.

Fen sighed.

A long, ancient sigh.

‘He is wiser than either of us, William.’

I nodded almost imperceptibly.

‘Aye.’

Gervais frowned.

‘What?’

I realised what I had done.

I had answered Fen aloud.

For a heartbeat neither of us moved.

Then Gervais looked away.

Very deliberately.

He tried a wink.

It did not work.

It just made him wince.

‘I…’

He cleared his throat.

‘I didn’t hear anything.’

I understood.

It was the greatest act of kindness anyone had ever shown me.

He was giving me somewhere to hide.

Not forever.

Just…

For today.

And for today…

That was enough.

William Marshall

There are moments in life when silence should be really respected; it should.

This was one of those times.

Which, naturally, made it the perfect moment for Percy to arrive.

A trumpeter sounded somewhere beyond the trees.

Not one note.

Several.

Long.

Needlessly dramatic.

Another answered it.

Then another.

Gervais frowned.

‘...Do battles usually have this much music afterwards?’

I sighed.

‘No.’

A drum began beating.

Boom.

Not the hurried rhythm of soldiers marching to war.

No.

This possessed entirely too much confidence.

It was announcing itself.

Fenrir's ears flattened.

‘What in all creation is that?’

‘We'll see.’

‘Do I wish to?’

‘Probably not.’

The trees parted.

Out rode the most magnificent white destrier I had ever seen.

Its mane had somehow been braided into a shining delight any fine maiden would have been proud of.

Its tack gleamed with polished silver and gold.

Precious stones studded its finely made Face chanfron.

A large golden horn hinted that the horse was a unicorn of sorts.

Little pennants fluttered from the saddle.

I had never before seen a horse wearing decorative ribbons immediately after a battlefield.

I had never seen any horse ever decorated like this ever.

Upon the horse sat a knight whose armour appeared to have been forged almost entirely from reflected sunlight.

Gold chased every plate.

Blue enamel glimmered between engraved vines and saints.

His surcoat was spotless.

Spotless.

It shone.

How?

Behind him marched half a dozen retainers.

One blew a silver horn with exhausting enthusiasm.

Another beat a great drum as though leading an army into Jerusalem itself.

A third scattered flower petals.

Flower petals.

Fucking flower petals.

Onto a battlefield.

Onto a fucking battlefield.

One landed on part of a corpse.

Even the bit of corpse appeared embarrassed.

Behind them trudged Count de Tancarville's ordinary soldiers.

Their expressions suggested they had spent several weeks regretting every decision that had led them to this assignment.

One veteran looked at the flower petals.

Then at the bodies.

Then quietly looked up towards Heaven with the expression of a man asking God for patience.

The drummer increased his efforts.

Boom.

Then the herald rode forward.

As he stopped, so did all the… erm… music?

He offered us a smile with a large portion of disdain added.

He unfurled a scroll.

It was unnecessarily long.

He cleared his throat into a lacey kerchief.

‘Ahem.’

He extended one hand dramatically to speak to someone who was several feet above us.

He looked confused, then dropped his hand and eyes to us.

‘Oh…’

‘In attendance...’

Another theatrical pause.

‘...comes the most noble, the most magnificent, the most courageous, the most illustrious, the most handsome…’

A soldier behind him muttered,

‘Oh, for the love of…’

The herald stopped and turned to him.

The look quelled the complaints instantly.

The herald turned back to us.

‘Ahem… where was I?’

He extended his arm again into the same dramatic pose.

‘...the incomparable Lordliness Percy of the Noble House of Percy...’

The scroll continued unrolling.

‘...Victor of the Tournament at Alnwick...’

More scroll.

‘...Master of Seven Noble Arts...’

Still more.

‘...Favourite Guest at the Abbey of Hexham...’

Good Lord.

The scroll reached the ground.

‘...Owner of the Finest Falcon North of the Thames...’

Gervais slowly turned towards me.

‘Does he always travel with his own legend?’

He interrupted the herald.

‘Any chance of A shorter version?’

The herald gave him a look of disdain which even silenced Gervais.

And continued regardless.

‘...Patron of Poetry...’

‘…Creator of the finest verses of his own…’

‘...Champion of… ahem… Courtly Love...’

The man stopped, met my eyes, and waggled his coiffured, black-dusted eyebrows conspiratorially.

Then went back to his dramatic pose.

‘...Protector of Widows...’

He feigned sadness and pretended to wipe a non-existent tear from his eye.

‘...Vanquisher of the Infamous… monstrous, gigantic, dangerous, beastly… erm… rather smelly… Black Boar of Redesdale...’

Fenrir tilted his head.

‘Was there such a beast?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘Then why announce it?’

‘Because it sounds like our proud… knightling once frightened a pig.’

‘Ah.’

‘It was admittedly a rather unpleasant pig.’

The herald finally rolled up the scroll with visible relief.

Percy urged his magnificent horse forward.

‘My dear William!’ He announced.

He smiled brilliantly.

‘My dear...’

‘Erm…’

He looked towards Gervais.

‘...other… erm… gentleman!’

‘Gervais,’ I supplied.

‘Splendid name.’

He nodded gravely.

‘I should remember it.’

‘He looks a very brave fellow.’

He almost certainly would not remember Gervais' name.

‘I arrived,’ Percy declared grandly, ‘with all haste to rescue you.’

He surveyed the clearing.

‘...though I confess...’

His smile faltered ever so slightly.

‘...it appears someone has rather selfishly completed the rescue already.’

Gervais blinked his single blinkable eye.

‘Aye.’

Percy pointed elegantly towards the bodies.

‘A shame it is… for I…’

‘I should, naturally, have cut a glorious swathe through the cowardly villains.’

He demonstrated several remarkably elaborate sword flourishes whilst just managing to remain seated upon his horse.

‘I should have wheeled left.’

He wheeled the horse, quite beautifully.

‘Then right.’

Another flourish.

‘Then I would have delivered a devastating downward strike...’

Another flourish.

‘...before no doubt accepting their grateful surrender.’

‘When they realise they are outclassed by… I Duke Percy of Northumberland!’

Gervais coughed.

‘I don't think they were in a surrendering sort of mood.’

‘No?’ Replied Percy, brushing a lock of his extravagant mane of hair back into place.

‘They seemed more of a dying sort.’

Percy nodded thoughtfully.

‘Yes.’

‘I can see how that may have complicated negotiations.’

Fenrir was making a curious, choking noise that sounded like a wolf's laughter.

‘Is he...’ Gervais started.

‘I believe so.’

‘He's impossible.’

‘I rather like him.’

Percy smiled down at us.

‘So...’

His expression finally changed.

He actually looked.

Really looked.

His eyes travelled slowly from Gervais...

Whose face resembled beaten steak...

To me...

Still entirely naked.

There followed perhaps the longest silence I have ever experienced.

Percy's eyebrows climbed.

Then climbed a little further.

His cheeks became pink.

‘Oh.’

He looked away politely.

‘Oh, dear.’

Another silence.

‘I...’

He cleared his throat.

‘I appear to have interrupted something.’

‘Erm, something profound between two… men.’

Neither of us spoke.

He became redder.

‘My apologies.’

‘I had not intended...’

He gestured vaguely between us.

‘...to intrude upon...’

More vague gesturing.

‘...whatever...’

‘Ahem.’

He gave up.

Gervais slowly spat three more teeth onto the blood-soaked grass.

He watched them bounce.

Then leaned painfully towards me.

Out of the corner of his broken mouth, he whispered,

‘Fantastic.’

‘What?’

‘Just what we needed.’

He looked up at the resplendent knight glittering in the sunshine like an expensive church while he wiped his mouth clean of bloody saliva.

‘Hallo, Percy.’ I said to the fop.

Gervais

There are some men you dislike the instant you meet them.

Not because they are cruel.

Not because they are wicked.

Simply because they arrive with their own drummer.

Quite literally, in Percy’s case.

I watched the absurd procession through my one functioning eye.

Gold and silver shiny armour.

A horse whiter than fresh snow.

Pennants fluttering.

Trumpets.

A drummer who seemed determined to frighten every bird in Normandy into England.

Then there was the herald.

Sweet Lord above…

The herald.

By the time the poor fellow had finished listing Percy’s titles and accomplishments, I had begun wondering whether we might all die of old age before he reached the end.

William seemed entirely unsurprised.

Apparently this happened often.

That alone told me more about Percy than any herald ever could.

Then the man himself arrived.

Beautiful smile.

Perfect teeth.

Not a speck of mud upon him.

How anyone managed to remain spotless in France remained one of God’s greater mysteries.

He apologised for arriving too late to rescue us.

Explained in exhaustive detail precisely how he would have defeated our captors.

Apparently there would have been swordplay.

There would certainly have been speeches.

Possibly poetry.

I lost interest somewhere around his description of an elegant flourish involving the sun.

I leaned towards William.

Every rib protested.

I spat another few teeth onto the ground.

They bounced around.

‘Fantastic,’ I whispered.

William glanced sideways.

‘What?’

“Just what we need.”

I looked back up at the shining knight sitting upon his horse as though he’d just ridden out of an illuminated manuscript.

‘The mighty fucking Percy.’

William’s mouth twitched.

He was trying very hard not to laugh.

Percy finally noticed us properly.

He looked at William.

Still magnificently naked.

Then at me.

Looking as though I’d recently attempted to stop a siege engine with my face.

His expression became wonderfully awkward.

‘Oh.’

A pause.

‘Oh, dear.’

He looked away with exaggerated politeness.

‘I… fear I may have interrupted…’

His hand described an uncertain little circle between William and myself.

‘…something.’

I stared at him.

William stared at him.

Neither of us possessed enough strength to explain.

One of the Count’s soldiers coughed into his fist.

Another found his boots utterly fascinating.

Even the drummer stopped drumming.

Percy’s cheeks reddened.

‘I shall, naturally, withdraw a respectful distance.’

He gathered his reins.

‘I would not wish to intrude upon…’

More vague waving.

‘…private…’

His voice became smaller.

‘…friendship.’

He nodded to himself.

‘Yes.’

‘That was undoubtedly the word I intended.’

William opened his mouth.

No sound emerged.

I decided not to help him.

Some lessons ought to be learned the difficult way.

Then…

Something moved.

Not Percy.

Not William.

Not any of us.

A corpse.

At least…

I had believed him to be a corpse.

He sat bolt upright amongst the dead.

His face was white with blood loss.

His mail hung in strips.

In trembling hands…

A crossbow.

Nobody moved.

Nobody even seemed to notice him.

Not the soldiers.

Not William.

Not me.

The world had become strangely slow.

I watched the fellow raise the weapon.

His one remaining eye fixed upon William.

He smiled.

A horrible little smile.

I tried to shout.

Only a wheeze escaped my battered lungs.

William was still looking at Percy.

Completely unaware.

The crossbowman squeezed the trigger.

Everything happened at once.

Percy moved.

There was no hesitation.

No speech.

No glorious declaration.

The peacock simply launched himself from his beautiful white horse.

He hit William square in the chest.

The pair of them vanished into the mud in a tangle of arms, legs and considerably less dignity than Percy had enjoyed a heartbeat earlier.

THUNK.

The bolt buried itself deep into the oak exactly where William’s head had been.

Silence.

Utter silence.

I stared at the bolt.

Then at the tree.

Then at Percy.

He lay flat on his back.

His magnificent armour was no longer magnificent.

It was covered in mud.

Blood.

Grass.

And, somehow…

Flower petals.

His white horse had wandered several yards away and was calmly eating leaves.

The herald had dropped his trumpet.

The drummer held both sticks halfway in the air.

Even the wind seemed to have stopped out of sheer surprise.

Percy blinked.

Looked at William.

Looked at the bolt.

Then sighed.

‘I do apologise.’

William blinked in confusion.

‘For what?’

Percy looked down at himself mournfully.

‘I had always imagined heroic rescues would be… rather more elegant.’

He brushed a petal from his breastplate.

‘I appear to have tackled you like an enthusiastic dairy cow.’

William laughed.

Not politely.

Not quietly.

He laughed until tears stood in his eyes.

Percy looked faintly offended.

‘I fail to see the humour.’

‘I know,’ William managed between breaths.

‘I think…’

Another laugh.

‘…I think that’s why it’s funny.’

I looked from one to the other.

The ridiculous golden knight.

The naked knight.

One had just saved the other’s life without a second thought.

Perhaps…

Perhaps I’d judged Percy a little too quickly.

I sighed.

‘I hate admitting when I’m wrong.’

William looked over.

“I have already noticed you usually are.’

‘True.’

I watched Percy climb to his feet, dusting himself off with all the dignity he could recover.

Then I smiled despite my broken ribs.

‘I still think he’s ridiculous.’

William nodded.

‘So do I.’

‘So do I at times, sir.’ Said Percy, making me smile.

I then watched Percy retrieve his horse, muttering to it as though apologising for the inelegance of the whole affair.

‘…but…’

I rubbed carefully at my bruised jaw.

‘…I think I rather like him.’

And though I would never have admitted it to his face…

I suspected, from that moment onward…

…that I’d found another brother.