The Knight’s Tale
Chapter 1
It was a resplendently sunny morning in Gascony, the birds
were singing sweetly and the air was calm. The sound of hooves could be heard
gently chipping the dusty path; the rider had his head bowed low. Renard had
been wandering the land as a knight-errant ever since he could remember the incident. Oh how he longed to reclaim
his honour but for now he thought the best way to do this was by proving he was the best warrior in the land. He
could remember the many men he had slain, their fear-stricken eyes staring at him
as the dreadful dark day ended for them. He abruptly snapped out of his
thoughts as he spied another distant horseman riding towards him, a smile
coming across Renard’s face.
Like an eagle who seeks out his prey, swooping out far and
wide with hunger gnawing at his stomach, Renard whipped his horse into a gallop
and sped away, bearing down on the lone horseman. He could now clearly see the
horseman: his bright blue tunic, his milky white horse, his battered shield-it
was another wandering knight, Renard would have his duel! The horseman stood
his ground, drawing his long gleaming blade out of its rustic scabbard, “Who
goes there?”
Renard announced “I am Sir Renard, I challenge you to a
duel!” unsheathing his sword.
The horseman replied “I am Sir Pierre, I accept your
challenge Sir Renard!” Pierre raised his sword arm in the air, commanding his
stallion to gallop towards Renard. Renard too raised his sword arm but did not
ride forward. Pierre charged forward, coming ever closer with his horse
hurtling forward speeding like the wind. Renard lifted his spherical shield to
cover his face as Pierre’s blade bit deeply into the wooden shield, splinters
flying with the power of the blow jarring Renard’s arm. The sword became lodged
and as Pierre was desperately trying to free his sword, Renard swung his sword
outwards aiming for Pierre’s head but a swift block with the shield thwarted
the move, the sword rebounding off.
Pierre had dislodged his sword now and was staring through
blazing eyes at Renard. Suddenly, Pierre swung his sword at Renard’s horse but
Renard lowered his shield to protect his steed. Pierre’s shield arm was still
high but he had now left his right shoulder exposed. Renard sought to deliver a
striking blow so brought his sword down to swiftly bear on the defenceless
shoulder. Pierre looked at the oncoming sword, his eyes now full on panic,
moving his shield across his body but Renard saw this and now Pierre’s left
flank could be attacked. Renard shifted the direction of his blade quickly,
bringing his sword to smash into Pierre’s flank.
“Aaaarrrrghhhh” blood burst forward from the wound like when
a dam collapses and the river comes surging forward, flooding the lake. Renard
rapidly withdrew his sword from the flesh of Pierre, bits of chain mail
dropping to the ground. Pierre’s shield lowered to protect his battered left
side. Now his chest was exposed but he sought to protect himself by raising his
across his chest, the sun reflecting off the blade. Renard paused as Pierre was
recovering, thinking about which part of Pierre’s body to strike next: the
chest was protected by the sword; the left flank covered by the shield; the
head surrounded by a steel helmet-the horse was the best target. Renard poised
his sword to strike. Pierre saw this and prepared to counter this. Renard made
a chopping motion, swinging his sword low with the blade slicing into the steed’s
left flank. The horse whinnied and reared backwards, its rider hurtling
backwards and landing with a thud. The horse then galloped away in pain “Come
back, Rhone!” screamed Pierre, panic in his voice as he stood up to face Renard
sitting astride his mount, shiny sword stained with blood and now charging
towards him. Pierre raised his shield as Renard brought his sword bearing down
like a hammer on an anvil. The shield took much of the blow, too much as the
jarring shock caused Pierre to drop it. He stood there vulnerable with only his
trusty sword.
“M…Mercy? I can fetch you a rich ransom” Pierre panicky stuttered
to his opponent whose sword was staring at him directly. Renard did not hesitate
in beheading the doomed man. The headless corpse fell to the ground like a petal
snapping off a flower, gliding towards the dirt-ridden ground so too did Pierre’s
body fall to lie among the dirt forgotten. Renard dismounted to wipe his blade
on Pierre’s tunic and took his shield as a spoil to replace his own battered shield.
Renard remounted his stallion with ease and commanded his horse to gallop away.
The water in the well splashed as a bucket was hoisted out
of the well with a young girl pulling out the bucket. She looked into the
reflective water and could see her fair blond hair, warm brown eyes and broad
grin. The girl skipped lightly down the path back towards her village.
Over the hill nearby the well, a small village could be
seen. It had smooth stone walls surrounding the area with an iron gate guarding
the entrance. A cluster of houses were inside the walls, with beige flat walls,
thatched straw roofs and rectangular cuts in the walls. The girl came to her
house to see her mother doing the washing.“Béatrice,” her mother smiled, “well done for getting the water.” Béatrice gently gave her mother the bucket filled to the brim with cool water. The girl then happily helped with the washing, humming a soft tune as she set to work. Life within the village was peaceful for most of the time; except when the liege lord came. This man ruled Gascony with an iron fist and had an army of murderous miserly mercenaries. His name was Sir Odil and the whole village despised him and his ‘tax’ on their crops. Odil would come once a week with a small group of thugs to collect the lion’s share of the village’s weekly harvest; leaving many of the poor farmers to struggle.
Béatrice had heard about knights from her father: chivalrous
noble men who were sworn to look after common people and fight for good. She
wished one of these knights would arrive at her village and battle Odil and his
cronies. When she had first told her father about this dream he had said, “That
is a sweet dream my child but knights these days are not like that; they are
mostly viscous men like Sir Odil”, this view on knights caused Béatrice’s heart to sink – her ideal knight
seemed like a fairy tale. She still clinged onto her idea as she was determined
to see a day in which Sir Odil was defeated.
