William Marshal

A home of sorts.

The stone towers of the Château de Tancarville rose above the Seine like pale stone fingers reaching towards Heaven, a steel-coloured cloud-infested heaven.

So strong the edifice looked.

Sat there.

Holding on to its rocky pedestal.

Solidity and solemnity in a natural world.

I had returned to those walls many times.

As a page.

As a squire.

As a frightened boy trying desperately to become the sort of man that the songs spoke of.

But never like this.

Never beside Gervais.

Never beside Percy.

Never carrying the weight of what had happened in the last few weeks.

No days.

Percy rode ahead of us in full resplendent rapacious glory. 

Of course he did, and Gervais and I would not have it any other way already.

We were of the type that enjoyed hiding behind a man like Percy.

In scenarios like this.

It was nice to have him as the focus.

His musicians had started trumpeting the moment we reached the mile marker from the castle. 

The drummer had recovered his rhythmic enthusiasm.

The flower-petal fellow had somehow found more flower petals.

Where?

Fuck knew.

It was nearly winter.

Gervais watched the procession with one swollen eye and a wry smile.

That smile was one of strange pride as he stared at the circus that was the mighty Percy and his noisy retinue.

‘Do they always announce him like a conquering emperor?’

‘I have heard that he only precedes his presence with such pomposity on days pertaining to end with a ‘y’.’

He looked at me in disgust.

‘A very Percyish sentence.’

‘I tried.’ I laughed.

He spat another mouthful of blood into the dust before rinsing his mouth out with a mouthful of water and suddenly spitting in revulsion.

‘Good god.’ He yelled, wiping his mouth with a forearm.

‘Is the water bad?’ I asked him, offering my own skin with concern.

‘What?’ He asked as though confused.

‘Is the water bad?’ I repeated again, offering my own skin.

He looked at me hard as if trying to decipher some meaning to this question.

Then he smiled.

‘Oh… no… It’s just water.’

He considered the skin in his hands with resolute bitterness.

‘And I swore three years hence that I would not drink water again.’

I did not need to ask why.

I think he knew he needed to explain.

‘It is a conduit for pestilence, you see, William’

‘I also hold that I can bless the wine and in that act of transubstantiation I can commune with the Lord as I drink of his body.’

‘Really, transubstantiation?’

‘No.’

‘Oh.’

We trotted on for a while as the Brave Gervais checked his kit for a wine skin. 

‘So did you drink water that made you ill at some point then?’ I asked the man.

‘Hmm!’ He replied, suggesting that he had moved on from the wine conversation.

‘Do you only drink wine because you got the shits from water then?’

‘Oh.’

‘No… Not that either. I just will not give it the chance to give me the shits. I have no interest in dysentery, unearned,’He added with a wink.

‘Anyway, back to Percy’s shenanigans, ' he said as he opened a newly found skin, carefully sniffing its contents before taking a long draft and sighing with obvious content at its… erm… contents.

‘Sigh’

‘I hope he runs out eventually.’ Another long draft.

‘Of water?’ I asked him.

‘Huh, no damn you.’

‘Petals then?’ I queried.

‘No. fucking Titles.’

Fenrir walked silently at my horse’s shoulder.

‘The noisy one amuses me.’ Sprang from the wolf soul into my mind.

‘Percy?’ I thought back.

‘Aye. Most men wear masks. His appears to be made entirely of gold leaf and confidence.’

‘You don’t trust him?’

Fenrir’s great jaws parted in what passed for a smile.

‘I trust the man who leapt from a horse to save you.’

‘That is not the same thing.’

‘For warriors, it usually is.’

‘You think that Percy is a warrior?’

‘He is. He just does not realise he is.’ ‘Replied that wolf with a hint of amusement in his tone. 

The gates opened as if in personified embarrassment at our approach.

William

Guillaume II de Tancarville awaited us in the great hall.

A great hall for a great man.

My lord sat beneath the ragged and bloody war banner of his house, broad-shouldered and severe, his grey beard neatly trimmed, his hands resting upon the arms of his chair. 

He looked less like a nobleman and more like a great sword that had learned to sit down.

He was truly a figure that warranted all the plaudits that Percy gave himself.

When we approached, he said only one word.

‘Report.’

Percy brightened immediately, adjusting his helm to an appropriate place under one arm and taking a heroic stance to give his version of what happened in his usual enthusiastic manner.

‘Ahem!’

‘My lord!’

‘The engagement was a triumph of Norman arms, though naturally had I arrived a few moments earlier the matter would have been resolved with considerably greater elegance. Sir William fought like a lion, Gervais like a—’

Guillaume raised a single pained finger at poor Percy whilst arching his eyebrows and shaking his head.

The pretty golden knight deflated, his pomposity drained, and stopped speaking mid-sentence.

The Count turned his gaze to Gervais.

He gave the knight a good hard look up and down.

I could see he was measuring the man from the evidence he saw before him.

Gervais stood regarding the Count with a sedate smile.

I looked at him.

As a knight he…

Well… in comparison to Percy…

He looked…

Like…

Well…

I would liken him to a bag of shit, to be honest.

Blood, broken mail, dinted plate, notched sword slung as a naked blade, no scabbard.

No erm… Unneeded unnecessities for this warrior.

The count carefully considered and weighed him and recognised a real knight in the ill-disposed, stinking man before him.

Oh, and how he stank.

‘You.’ He said with some authority which he tempered with a smile.

Gervais straightened as much as his battered body would allow.

And then pointed to himself.

The count nodded.

‘Oh, okay...’

‘…In the battle…’

‘…We charged with the vanguard, my lord. William saved my life twice.’

‘I remember returning the favour perhaps once.’

He paused as he considered this and then nodded.

‘We were… captured afterwards.’ 

‘William wanted to fight, but it would have been a waste of life in my opinion.’

‘Please don’t question the boy's bravery on this.’

‘But, I as a… man of… many fields and fights know when it is better to… erm… live than die.’

‘If you see that as cowardice…’

He tried to straighten to show strength but just yelped and winced.

The Count smiled at this. 

I could see that he had already decided what he thought of Gevais.

‘Then the cowardice was not this man's; it was mine.’

‘The enemy beat us, stripped us, and attempted to ransom us back to your lordship’

Guillaume’s eyebrow lifted.

‘Ransom?’

‘Amusing’

‘And?’

Gervais shrugged.

‘We both found the idea inherently amusing.’

‘Why?’ Asked the count. 

He was now having fun.

A rare thing in this very serious man's life.

‘Because… Do you mind if I take a seat, my lord? I am having some difficulty with staying upright.’ 

‘Please.’ Replied the count, gesturing to a page to bring the injured knight a chair, which Gervais collapsed into with a gasp somewhere between delight and pain.

‘Well.’ Asked the count.

‘Well…’ Replied Gervais, looking as embarrassed as a man could with such a swollen face.

‘We both knew you wouldn’t pay.’

A dangerous silence followed.

The count held Gervais's eyes.

Neither faltered.

Then Guillaume’s mouth twitched.

‘Well, sir. You were both correct.’ And he laughed. Actually laughed.

Gervais grinned through broken, bloody teeth.

‘A comforting sort of correctness, my lord.’

Guillaume looked at me.

‘William.’

I stepped forward.

‘The report is accurate, my lord.’

‘Who killed the enemy camp?’

My heart stumbled.

Fenrir became very still.

I chose my words carefully.

‘I did not see them, my lord.’

Technically true.

Guillaume studied me for a long moment.

I felt as though he were weighing not my answer, but the spaces around it.

At last he nodded at Percy.

And waved the man to continue.

Percy did so with utter delight. 

‘I found a battlefield that looked as though a storm had grown claws. The dead had been ravaged and torn to shreds. A bloodier field I have not seen since Avinoux.

Percy puffed up proudly.

Then bowed.

Ludicrously.

Before finishing with.

‘An excellent description, if I may say so.’

The count stared at him.

Nothing could be read on the great man's face.

Then.

‘You may not,’ said Guillaume.

Percy deflated.

Again.

Gervais stood unexpectedly and almost fell.

I moved to support him, but he waved me away.

‘My lord, if I may.’

Guillaume inclined his head and nodded.

‘This young man has fought beside me, bled beside me, saved my life, and endured capture without complaint.’

‘I must admit, after my time at the hands of the enemy I was… I was… let's say… unaware of what happened in the camp.’

‘I have to admit. I was…’ He scratched his head as he tried to select the correct word.

‘…unconscious.’

The Count smiled at this.

I think he enjoyed Gervais' honesty.

’Whatever happened in that camp, I know this much: I would trust William Marshal with my life.’

‘As would I, ’ Percy immediately added, clashing a gauntleted hand against his breastplate.

I stared at them both.

Guillaume looked from Gervais to Percy, then back to me.

Another thoughtful pause.

Then.

‘When you first came to my household, you wished to become a great knight.’

‘I did.’ I agreed.

He sat back in thought for a few moments.

He considered me. Then rose.

The hall fell silent as he drew his sword.

The sound of steel leaving the scabbard seemed impossibly loud.

The man walked forward and nodded at me.

This was… was this my time?

I dropped to one knee before I had even thought about it.

Fenrir stood behind me.

I could feel him there like a mountain.

Guillaume placed the flat of the blade upon my shoulder.

‘Today you forgot to become a knight.’

I looked up in confusion.

For the first time since I had known him, my lord smiled.

‘Because today,’ he said quietly, ‘you simply are one.’

The sword touched my other shoulder.

‘Rise, Sir William Marshal.’

For a heartbeat I could not move.

Sir William Marshal.

The words felt too large for me.

Fenrir’s voice entered my thoughts, and for once there was no mockery in it.

‘I truly am proud of you.’

I swallowed hard.

‘You’ve seen a thousand warriors.’

‘I have, but no true knights.’ He continued.

There was warmth in his voice that I had heard only rarely across the years.

‘The boy who feared being abandoned at a siege has become a man others choose to follow.’

‘And to fear.’

‘I did not do this alone.’

Fenrir’s great head dipped.

I rose.

Percy actually wiped a tear from one eye before pretending he had something in it.

Gervais simply grinned.

‘Wine time,’ he muttered.

Guillaume sheathed his sword.

‘Good.’

I straightened proudly.

‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘Now earn it.’

The pride lasted approximately two seconds.

‘My lord?’

Guillaume turned away.

‘Gervais.’

‘Aye?’

‘Percy.’

‘Present and magnificent,’ Percy supplied.

Guillaume paused, pursed his lips as he considered Percy and then simply ignored the second half of Percy's statement.

‘You will accompany Sir William.’

Gervais and Percy exchanged a glance.

‘On what task, my lord?’ I asked.

Guillaume’s smile returned.

It was the smile of a man about to make someone else’s life extremely difficult.

‘Your first one as a knight.’

Fenrir chuckled behind me.

‘I have a feeling we’re going to need another wineskin,’ he said.

‘At least two,’ I replied.

And somewhere beside me, though he could not hear the wolf, Gervais nodded as if he somehow agreed.

‘Go get… Whatever it is you need, then come back.’ The count motioned us to leave.

Fenrir

Humans are fascinating creatures, aren't they?.

Give one a sword, and he believes himself uncorruptible.

Give him a title, and he believes himself important.

Give him both...

...and, occasionally, he becomes a bloody knight.

William walked differently now.

No longer a boy.

Now a man in his bearing.

He did not walk… proudly.

Not arrogantly.

I appreciated that.

He strode…

Simply...

Straighter.

For the first time confident in himself.

The sword hanging at his side was the same sword he had carried yesterday.

His hands were the same hands.

His heart beat exactly as it had that morning.

Yet one old Norman lord had touched steel upon his shoulders...

...and the boy had become the man he had always hoped to be.

I confess...

I found myself smiling.

Not with my mouth.

Wolves seldom smile as men understand it.

But somewhere inside this old soul that had wandered this world since long before Roman rule.

...I smiled.

He had earned it.

We had earned it. 

Gervais, naturally, celebrated by demanding wine.

Demanding and consuming.

That man could drink.

Percy celebrated by demanding musicians.

Demanding and consuming.

That man could be whimsically… irritating.

William celebrated by insisting they both stop arguing.

It was wonderfully human.

The three young knights wandered the courtyard together whilst servants hurried around them.

Gervais had somehow acquired a loaf of bread,

a quart of wine and a haunch of… pork?

Percy had somehow acquired three admirers.

Of various kinds.

With various kinds of admiration to be offered.

William had somehow acquired responsibility.

He looked exhausted already.

This would be the resigned look he held for the rest of his life.

‘It suited him.’

I said it aloud before realising no one but William would hear me.

He smiled.

‘What does?’

‘Responsibility.’

‘Ah… I see. That sounds less like a compliment than you think.’

‘It wasn't a compliment.’ I offered.

He laughed.

Gods...

He laughed far more these days.

Perhaps friendship was contagious.

Perhaps that ridiculous golden peacock and the battered English bastard were precisely what he had needed all these years.

I hoped so.

Because I had watched far too many men grow old friendless.

A page appeared in the courtyard.

‘My lord William.’

William still looked over his shoulder and had the innocence to point a finger at himself in physical enquiry.

He had not yet grown accustomed to anyone calling him ‘my lord.’

‘The Count requests your presence.’

The laughter faded.

The four of us crossed to the great hall together.

Well...

Three crossed it.

I merely walked where I pleased.

Inside, Guillaume de Tancarville stood looking not at us...

...but at a map.

His fingers rested upon a vast green shape.

Forest.

Even before I recognised it...

I disliked it.

‘There have been more attacks.’

The Count did not look up.

‘Six this month.’

No one spoke.

‘Three foresters. They can be replaced easily enough.’

‘A priest. No loss there. He was an utter oaf.’

‘Two children. Not so replaceable in spirit if fundamentally they are… replaceable, physically.’

My hackles rose.

Not because of the deaths.

Death comes for every creature.

Because of where his finger rested.

The Forest of Brotonne.

Old forest.

Very old.

Older than kingdoms.

Older than cathedrals.

Perhaps even older than my memory itself.

Guillaume finally looked at William.

It is thought to be some sort of wild beast, William.’

‘You are to hunt this beast that is responsible.’

William nodded immediately.

‘My lord.’ Just simple acceptance of this as a fact  in his tone.

I said nothing.

My gaze remained fixed upon the map.

The forest.

That forest.

What… why did that… hmmm.

Impossible.

Oh…

Surely not...

Guillaume continued.

‘The villagers speak of a wolf.’

Gervais shrugged.

‘I thought wolves killed livestock.’ He said through a mouthful of pig.

‘They do.’ Said Percy as he folded his arms.

‘They rarely kill six armed men.’ He continued with feigned knowledge.

The Count winced and turned to the three.

‘They do not.’

Silence settled over the hall.

He looked at the floor’

The Count spoke quietly.

‘They call it...’

He hesitated.

‘They call it...’

As though embarrassed to utter the word.

"...a werewolf."

William's heartbeat stumbled.

Only once.

No one else noticed.

I did.

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

Neither of us spoke.

Guillaume continued.

‘I personally place no faith in peasant tales.’

‘I believe some unusually large wolf or pack of such has discovered that men are slower than deer.’

‘And offer more than a good mouthful.’

He said, focusing on Gervais, who quickly chewed the contents of his mouth and swallowed with embarrassment. 

Percy nodded confidently.

‘Quite right. Mi lord.’

Gervais could only nod in agreement before wiping his grease-coated lips and adding. 

‘A hungry wolf.’

William remained silent.

Guillaume pointed to the forest again.

‘Bring me its head. It will make a worthy trophy on the wall of the keep.’

William bowed.

‘It shall be done.’

‘No.’

The word echoed through our minds.

‘No.’

‘No.’ He repeated.

No.

William felt my unease.

‘Fen?’

I did not answer.

Not immediately.

Instead...

I walked towards the map.

Towards the painted forest.

Towards the place I had not visited for longer than any man alive could imagine.

At last...

I whispered.

‘We're not hunting a wolf. Or one of those sad simple werewolves.’

William frowned ever so slightly.

‘Then what are we hunting?’

I closed my eyes.

I remembered another age.

Another forest.

Moonlight.

Great black shapes moving silently between ancient oaks.

Voices that spoke as mine once had.

Laughter.

Family.

One of my family.

When I opened my eyes...

For the first time since William had met me...

I was afraid.

‘I know that forest.’

William's thoughts became cautious.

How?’

I looked at the map.

My voice had become little more than a whisper.

‘Because...’

A long silence.

‘Long before I ever found you...’

‘Some of my family called it home.’