The Knight's Tale

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.

Chapter 2

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.