The three knights walked through the great hall, past the dead and soon to be decaying corpses. “Let them lie until your land is safe and clean again,” said Sir Veritas, “then we will clean the blood from all the ground that is yours.” The three walked to the stables where an old groom kept his residence and cared for the horses. The knights walked through the dry and empty courtyard to where the great chargers stood in their stalls. There were only ten horses, not including Sir Veritas white stallion. The groom shuffled out of the back where he had been cleaning one of the stables, for he was a good and worthy groom, and it went against him to see any animal left in poor care. Long he had staid, without wages, for he loved the great horses of the knights even if they themselves no longer did.
“Ye’ve come for your horse, Sir?” He was well used the lord’s weekly rides out into the country. “And what ten men will ye have with ye today?”
“We will need only three horses today.” Said Sir Veritas, “the other knights are…indisposed at the moment.”
Sir Veritas had walked over to the stall in which his horse stood. He reached up to fondle the great beast’s ears. “Let us ride again, old friend. Our time has come to face danger as we have so often before.” Then turning to the others he cried out, “Come…Let us be away for the world awaits our rising as it waits for the sun on a winter morn!”
The three knights saddled and bridled their horses and were soon mounted and prepared to go. “There are nineteen dead knights lying in the great hall.” Announced Sir George, “Bring some men from the hamlet to see their bodies are removed, please.” The groom stared up in surprise, but knuckled his forehead obediently.
“I see you’ve now heard the truth of our lives.” He said. “I thank ye for putting this place to rights, at last.”
The three knights rode out into the court yard and toward the gate. They rode through it and onto the great bridge that spanned the mote. Here they stopped to leave final instructions with the groom that the drawbridge was to be drawn and the portcullises dropped until their return. Then they turned and cantered over the mote and down the road toward the hamlet. The dust blew up behind them and marked their progress to watching eyes.
From the woods men in dark and torn clothes watched with interest the progress of the three men. The leader of the band turned to his lieutenant, “I had heard that this was a fair and beautiful land…one in which man can make a good living.” He chuckled. “It would seem the lord is as great a fool as everyone claimed. He rides alone, with just two guards. We’ll show him some forest hospitality today!” His men began melting into the forest, their bows strung across their backs and their swords on their hips. The captain called out instructions to the leaders of his band. “We’ll take the three in that stretch of forest before the hamlet…and well teach them who rules this land, just as we’ve taught the other villains who hide in this forest.”
The three knights continued on, little realizing the new and deadly danger that awaited them, for the stories of Sir George’s lax ways had reached the ears of one of the great villains of the age. The dark outlaw, Strages, had come to Sir George’s forest. Already he had plundered and raped his way across the lands of neighboring nobles, for his band was known to be fast and hard, able to fight any who stood against them. Castles across the land had been raised and nobles left to rot on the walls of their own keeps, with only vultures for living company. Now it was Sir George’s turn…Sir George who rode with only two knights to guard him.
Strages laughed at the though of what would become of the old fool. The other nobles had been so easy to destroy, their doors opened to him and their guards died at the benches where they sat, it had been too easy. One day he must find a knight worthy of the name, one he could face in a fare battle…today would obviously not be that day. Strages and his men moved toward the road and the dark stretch of forest where they had found the corpses of other bandits a few days back. It was strange, that, for there had been no doubt but that the thieves had chosen a good place for an ambush, there were few who should have won such an encounter. It would have made Strages uneasy, except that he had seen enough of the land to know that no one in it could best him.
The ambush was carefully set before the knights arrived at the wood. The captain looked to his men and prepared to give the signal to attack. Other men might like playing with a knight before killing him, watching these ‘nobles’ beg for mercy, but Strages preferred to fall on his opponents as quickly as possible and watch as their fat faces blanched in shock and fear.
“Their coming, sir. There are only three…but three such as I have never seen before!” The scout’s voice was excited. “They wear no visors, sir, and their armor radiates light like the sun. Their leader looks like the sun riding on earth and he bears the coat of arms of Sir Veritas!”
“Sir Veritas? Long have I wanted to face a real knight and now, it seems, I will get my chance.” Strages eyes blazed, “perhaps this will be more fun than I thought.” The sound of horses hooves could be heard through the trees as the knights approached.
Sir Veritas eyes scanned the shadows, his horse whickered softly. “There is something wrong. Be on your guard.” The knight’s companions reached to loosen swords and raise shields. Their eyes sought the sides of the road. Sir Veritas rode forward with hand on his blade. Strages watched, waiting for them to enter the killing field.
A shrill whistle began the engagement. Arrows rained down from the trees and men leaped to engage the three knights. As soon as the fighting began, Sir Veritas sword left his side. The inner light of his anger flashed from his eyes even as arrows bounced from his shield. “Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam!” He cried and pounded into the forest on his right. The other two rode behind him their eyes narrowed in concentration and their hands grasping raised weapons. Their helms shinned as though an inner light escaped them and their swords flashed light as though to illuminate the forest. With a cry of rage the men threw themselves on the bandits. Sir Veritas sword slashed through the sky, his shield knocked men from their feet and cracked bones. The knights would have easily ridden through any other band, but this was Strages’ band, brave and evil and prepared to fight till the death. Strages himself lead his band, his eyes shining as he fought Sir Yuvan. “Your time has come, my foolish little knightling.” He leaped forward, bringing his sword across the youths leg. With a cry he fell from his horse, but rose again to his feet. His sword still in his hands and his eyes shinning in anger. “I am not dead yet, and my honor remains. Come and meet your death.” The evil villain laughed and leaped forward his sword swinging, but before he reached the youth an arrow took the knight in eye, killing him instantly. Strages turned looked on the field of battle. Sir Veritas had just slain one of his lieutenants and was turning to face the last man that faced him. Sir George had just turned form slaying one of the archers. His eyes lighted on the dead knight that lay at Strages feet and his eyes narrowed in anger. With a cry he leaped his horse over the man before him, his sword swinging down to take the man’s arm from his body. He came strait at the villain, his eyes shinning like anger and his sword dripping blood. Strages leaped back and prepared to fight…only a few of his men remained alive, but Sir Veritas would be kept busy for a while at least. Sir George leaped from his horse and faced the man before him.
“You will pay the evil you have done to my people.”
“I will pay? At who’s hand? Certainly not a fat old fools?” But Sir George was moving forward with the ease and calm of an experienced knight, despite his large girth and long time of inactivity. The two clashed with the clang of steel and battle cry. The swords swung, flinging blood along their arches of air. There they clashed against a shield and there against each other. Sir George was bleeding from a wound in his sword arm, but seemed not to notice. His sword sought an opening and slashed across his opponents thy. The swords continued to clash and Sir George began to get tired, but he must win…surrender was no option. There…There was the opening he needed. His sword came down on his opponent’s helm and cracked right through it, sending blood and fluid all over the ground. With a grunt he drew his sword from his opponents head and turned to where Sir Veritas was lifting the dead Sir Yuvan from the ground.
“He died in honor and courage.” The old knight said. “He has died with honor, there is nothing more a man can ask.”
“If only I had seen.” Said Sir George, “If only I had not been such a fool these men would not have dared such evil in my land.” His eyes blazed in anger. “I may be late, but I am here and I now know. COME! Let us take what lies before us and drive out the evil that has infested my land!”
Over the next few years Sir George grew into a wise and noble lord such as his father had been. He brought to his land brave and worthy knights who patrolled their forest in open helms, their eyes shinning and evil fleeing before them. Sir Veritas staid for some time, but soon had to leave to save other nobles. Sir Georges land prospered, for the people looked to their lord for protection and safety. Sir George ruled for many years and began to train a new leader for when his time was over. The youth was the younger brother of Sir Yuvan, and as noble as his elder brother had become. With time he became wise and able enough to guard and lead the land. The poets now sing of the brave knight Sir George and how in his later years he would ride out and defeat a great and evil dragon to the salvation of an entire city.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Friday, May 15, 2009
Sir Veritas Part IV
Sir Veritas lead down a flight of stares and around a corner into a dark and sooty room. The forge was long cold and the smith had not been in residence for a number of years. He had moved to the hamlet because the knights had ceased to bring him work, preferring to let their weapons rust and their shields mold, then bother walking down the steps to the smithy.
Sir Veritas turned to Sir Yuvan and asked for his sword. The weapon was ancient and honorable, but the blade was badly rusted. “Where did you get this blade?”
“It was given to me by one of the other knights…when I first arrived I had a fine and shining sword. I thought to defend justice and honor with it, but one of the older knights took a fancy to my sword and forced me to trade it for that one.”
Sir Veritas grunted. “The old fool didn’t know what he was doing.” His smile grew as he held the sword in his hand. “You have had the better part of the bargain, for this is Durendal, the sword of the brave Sir Roland. You posses one of the greatest swords of the ages. Let me teach you to clean it…and use it.” The rest of the morning was spent cleaning and sharpening swords and lances. Sir Yuvan polished his armor and waxed his shield, he re-tipped his arrows and sharpened and oiled his sword. At last he completed the tasks given him by Sir Veritas, who had spent his morning in one of the corners of the forge working…on what Sir Yuvan did not know. He walked toward the older knight.
“I have completed the tasks given me.” He said. “All my weapons are prepared and all my armor is oiled, I am ready to ride with you, into whatever doom shall be ours.”
Sir Veritas turned to him, his eyes squinted and a grim smile on his face. “Our doom is best left for future conversation. But come, I have made you one final piece that you must wear.” With that he lifted a helm from the bench at which he sat. The burnished steel shown in the light of the forge, and the white wings on the sides burned like fire. There were two long ear guards and a center nose guard, but no visor sat over the top. “You too will ride with eyes open and view clear. It is only in the light of the sun that we find our place. The fools who wear visors always assume that the world is as it should be…You will see it as it is and fight to make it as it should be!”
The young knight reached forward and took the helm from Sir Veritas hand’s, he looked on it for a moment before slipping it onto his head. The look on his face changed as it settled over his brow. He shook his head and then, with a smile drew his sword from its sheath. He lifted it to his face and saluted the knight that stood before him. “Now teach me to use these weapons and I will ride to any fate!”
That evening was spent in training as the morning was spent in preparation. Sir Yuvan’s hands had forgotten their skill and his arms their strength, for he had spent too long sleeping in the hall of the castle; but with the help of Sir Veritas he began to renew his strength and cunning. He trained long into the night and his arms were weary and pained when he finally stopped to rest. Sir Veritas lead him back to the giant hall and into the quite chapel in which he had spent the night. The comforts of bed and hearth were not offered to the guest, for the lord was greatly displeased with the truth spoken to him, so the chapel remained the only place of welcome for the old and venerable knight. Here he and the youth rested, waiting in the dark for the dawning of a new day and the adventures it would bring.
The morning came and the castle stayed as dead as a tomb, its inhabitants sleeping in a drunken stupor in the main hall, their hands still clutching the goblets from which they drank and the ham bones on which the chewed. Sir George was standing on the daze, his voice roaring into the quite before him. “Wake, You FOOLS! Wake and drive the old knight from my castle!” His noisome entireties were met by snores and grunts.
“He already killed one of us.” Mumbled one of the knights, his eyes turning to were a dark red dust made the shape of a pool on the floor. “We don’t have enough men to stand up to such a man. If you hire a couple more men we could kick him out just fine…”
“I cannot believe this!” The rage was evident. “I pay twenty good knights, men who are to protect me and care for my land and you find yourselves in-capable of driving one man away!”
“Well, its not really just one man…after all Sir…”
“I’ve had ENOUGH!” Sir Georges face went from red to purple as he yelled. “Out! Out of my house you fools, be gone from my lands and holdings! You are all relieved of your knighthood and possessions!”
The knights turned to each other, their faces breaking into evil grins. They laughed and went back to their drinking. One, the guard who had failed to face Sir Veritas the night before spoke for the group. “If you cannot kick one knight from your home, how do you think to kick out twenty?”
“In fact, what is to keep us from killing you and ruling this land in your name?” sneered another. “It’s not as though you had other protectors now, is it?” The two knights rose to their feet and began stalking toward the daze. These two had drunk less than the others and were therefore more dangerous. “We’ll see just how brave the ‘good’ Sir George really is.”
Yet, before their feet had touched the first step of the daze they herd a sound of movement behind them, and the rasp of metal on leather. “You would kill a lord in his own hall?” The voice was quite yet menacing. “You would make yourselves worse villains than you already are?”
The two men turned to a small forgotten door into the great hall and there, in shinning mail with open helm upon their heads stood two knights, their carriage speaking of war and valor and their hands grasping swords. “Come and meet your doom!”
With the united cry of “Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam!” the two knights stepped forward their swords raised in the salute of death. The two villains by the daze fell first, the one’s head rolling on the floor in the corner, the other split down the stem from helm to heart. The two knights then turned their attention of the men who remained about the table, trying to stumble to their feet and grasp weapons. Within moments the struggle had ended and all the false knights lay dead or dying, their blood etching the dust covered floor in patterns and pools of red. Sir George stared at carnage before him, his eyes wide with the fear of death and his nostrils expanding at the smell of blood. He turned his eyes toward the two who stood in the midst of the bloody and mangled seen, their eyes already seeking his.
“Come.” There was no question in Sir Veritas voice. “You are now beholden to us, and in payment for your life you will ride out into you land with us. You will know the danger in which your people live and you will set it right!” The knight’s eyes sought the floor again.
“It seems I have no choice. Very well, let us ride.” With that he turned and walked into his study, “My armor is here.” The brave knights ascended the daze and entered the study. They walked with Sir George through the study and into his chamber. On a stand near the wall stood a coat of arms, its pieces polished and shined and the sword sharpened and well cared for. Sir Veritas turned to look at the old knight.
“You have prepared, it seems, to ride out after all.”
“I was never unprepared. I may be fat and I may know that my land is in good order, but I am not so much of a fool as you think. Here I have prepared a suit of armor that has long been in my family and often has seen service for the lords of this castle. I will ride forth wearing it now.” He began to put on the armor, one piece at a time. At last he was dressed in mail as a knight should be. He reached out now and took the helm that rested on the stand, not a helm of the type he had lately worn, but one that had no visor. On the sides rested wings that stood out from the helm, their spread feathers adding size and terror to the lion’s head that burned on the fore of the ancient piece. “This was my father’s helm. He often told me only to wear it in the most important of battles, for it is meant for war and honor.”
“Your father was a man of great honor; and he wore that helm on every ride I ever accompanied him on.” Spoke Sir Veritas. “It was not that the helm should be saved for special occasions, but rather that all battles, even if insignificant by histories standards, are to be fought with honor and courage. But come, we must up and ride for there is much to set right in this land.”
Sir Veritas turned to Sir Yuvan and asked for his sword. The weapon was ancient and honorable, but the blade was badly rusted. “Where did you get this blade?”
“It was given to me by one of the other knights…when I first arrived I had a fine and shining sword. I thought to defend justice and honor with it, but one of the older knights took a fancy to my sword and forced me to trade it for that one.”
Sir Veritas grunted. “The old fool didn’t know what he was doing.” His smile grew as he held the sword in his hand. “You have had the better part of the bargain, for this is Durendal, the sword of the brave Sir Roland. You posses one of the greatest swords of the ages. Let me teach you to clean it…and use it.” The rest of the morning was spent cleaning and sharpening swords and lances. Sir Yuvan polished his armor and waxed his shield, he re-tipped his arrows and sharpened and oiled his sword. At last he completed the tasks given him by Sir Veritas, who had spent his morning in one of the corners of the forge working…on what Sir Yuvan did not know. He walked toward the older knight.
“I have completed the tasks given me.” He said. “All my weapons are prepared and all my armor is oiled, I am ready to ride with you, into whatever doom shall be ours.”
Sir Veritas turned to him, his eyes squinted and a grim smile on his face. “Our doom is best left for future conversation. But come, I have made you one final piece that you must wear.” With that he lifted a helm from the bench at which he sat. The burnished steel shown in the light of the forge, and the white wings on the sides burned like fire. There were two long ear guards and a center nose guard, but no visor sat over the top. “You too will ride with eyes open and view clear. It is only in the light of the sun that we find our place. The fools who wear visors always assume that the world is as it should be…You will see it as it is and fight to make it as it should be!”
The young knight reached forward and took the helm from Sir Veritas hand’s, he looked on it for a moment before slipping it onto his head. The look on his face changed as it settled over his brow. He shook his head and then, with a smile drew his sword from its sheath. He lifted it to his face and saluted the knight that stood before him. “Now teach me to use these weapons and I will ride to any fate!”
That evening was spent in training as the morning was spent in preparation. Sir Yuvan’s hands had forgotten their skill and his arms their strength, for he had spent too long sleeping in the hall of the castle; but with the help of Sir Veritas he began to renew his strength and cunning. He trained long into the night and his arms were weary and pained when he finally stopped to rest. Sir Veritas lead him back to the giant hall and into the quite chapel in which he had spent the night. The comforts of bed and hearth were not offered to the guest, for the lord was greatly displeased with the truth spoken to him, so the chapel remained the only place of welcome for the old and venerable knight. Here he and the youth rested, waiting in the dark for the dawning of a new day and the adventures it would bring.
The morning came and the castle stayed as dead as a tomb, its inhabitants sleeping in a drunken stupor in the main hall, their hands still clutching the goblets from which they drank and the ham bones on which the chewed. Sir George was standing on the daze, his voice roaring into the quite before him. “Wake, You FOOLS! Wake and drive the old knight from my castle!” His noisome entireties were met by snores and grunts.
“He already killed one of us.” Mumbled one of the knights, his eyes turning to were a dark red dust made the shape of a pool on the floor. “We don’t have enough men to stand up to such a man. If you hire a couple more men we could kick him out just fine…”
“I cannot believe this!” The rage was evident. “I pay twenty good knights, men who are to protect me and care for my land and you find yourselves in-capable of driving one man away!”
“Well, its not really just one man…after all Sir…”
“I’ve had ENOUGH!” Sir Georges face went from red to purple as he yelled. “Out! Out of my house you fools, be gone from my lands and holdings! You are all relieved of your knighthood and possessions!”
The knights turned to each other, their faces breaking into evil grins. They laughed and went back to their drinking. One, the guard who had failed to face Sir Veritas the night before spoke for the group. “If you cannot kick one knight from your home, how do you think to kick out twenty?”
“In fact, what is to keep us from killing you and ruling this land in your name?” sneered another. “It’s not as though you had other protectors now, is it?” The two knights rose to their feet and began stalking toward the daze. These two had drunk less than the others and were therefore more dangerous. “We’ll see just how brave the ‘good’ Sir George really is.”
Yet, before their feet had touched the first step of the daze they herd a sound of movement behind them, and the rasp of metal on leather. “You would kill a lord in his own hall?” The voice was quite yet menacing. “You would make yourselves worse villains than you already are?”
The two men turned to a small forgotten door into the great hall and there, in shinning mail with open helm upon their heads stood two knights, their carriage speaking of war and valor and their hands grasping swords. “Come and meet your doom!”
With the united cry of “Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam!” the two knights stepped forward their swords raised in the salute of death. The two villains by the daze fell first, the one’s head rolling on the floor in the corner, the other split down the stem from helm to heart. The two knights then turned their attention of the men who remained about the table, trying to stumble to their feet and grasp weapons. Within moments the struggle had ended and all the false knights lay dead or dying, their blood etching the dust covered floor in patterns and pools of red. Sir George stared at carnage before him, his eyes wide with the fear of death and his nostrils expanding at the smell of blood. He turned his eyes toward the two who stood in the midst of the bloody and mangled seen, their eyes already seeking his.
“Come.” There was no question in Sir Veritas voice. “You are now beholden to us, and in payment for your life you will ride out into you land with us. You will know the danger in which your people live and you will set it right!” The knight’s eyes sought the floor again.
“It seems I have no choice. Very well, let us ride.” With that he turned and walked into his study, “My armor is here.” The brave knights ascended the daze and entered the study. They walked with Sir George through the study and into his chamber. On a stand near the wall stood a coat of arms, its pieces polished and shined and the sword sharpened and well cared for. Sir Veritas turned to look at the old knight.
“You have prepared, it seems, to ride out after all.”
“I was never unprepared. I may be fat and I may know that my land is in good order, but I am not so much of a fool as you think. Here I have prepared a suit of armor that has long been in my family and often has seen service for the lords of this castle. I will ride forth wearing it now.” He began to put on the armor, one piece at a time. At last he was dressed in mail as a knight should be. He reached out now and took the helm that rested on the stand, not a helm of the type he had lately worn, but one that had no visor. On the sides rested wings that stood out from the helm, their spread feathers adding size and terror to the lion’s head that burned on the fore of the ancient piece. “This was my father’s helm. He often told me only to wear it in the most important of battles, for it is meant for war and honor.”
“Your father was a man of great honor; and he wore that helm on every ride I ever accompanied him on.” Spoke Sir Veritas. “It was not that the helm should be saved for special occasions, but rather that all battles, even if insignificant by histories standards, are to be fought with honor and courage. But come, we must up and ride for there is much to set right in this land.”
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Sir Veritas Part III
The morning dawned clear and bright over the eastern mountains and fell in loving caresses on the stone castle. One shy hare of light peeked through a small window into a dusty old chapel. Usually this was a vacant place, a place given over to the dark and dirt and the animals that loved them, but not today. Today there was a new and different seen. A knight knelt in the middle of the floor, his body so still he might have been dead if not for the soft rasping of his breath. Before him rest an upside down sword, its hilt and guard making the simple cross at which he worshipped. The light peeked in on this solemn world, and its smallest fingers touched the sword on its guard, illuminating the cross with a sacred light. Sir Veritas looked at the small window and then slowly rose from his knees. His hand slipped to the sword and then drew it easily from the fissure in which it had rested. With a swift movement he sheathed his sword and turned to the door of the chapel.
The hall was as dusty as the night before and the light that tried to pierce the dirty windows did little to illuminate the room. A group of worn and filthy knights sat at the benches near the table, their hands lifting goblets of wine and ale to their bearded faces. One of them turned a contemptuous glance on the visitor, “So boys, here he is. Sir Veritas, the nobles of all knights!” The statement was met with uproarious laughter. The speaker stumbled to his feet and reached for the sword that was thrown across the table. “The lord’s orders are to throw you out of the castle as soon as we found you…None too soon to my way of thinking!” With that the knight staggered toward him, his eyes trying drunkenly to focus on the strange knight. The other members of the party rose as well, their eyes mocking and angry, but unfocused. Sir Veritas waited quietly, still as a statue before his attackers.
“Stand still.” His voice was barely a whisper, but it stopped his opponents in their tracks. “You dare to approach me drunk and armed? Do you think I will stand quietly by while you try to destroy me? Do you think yourselves capable of taking me on?”
The ringleader stumbled forward again, his sword beginning to rise, but Sir Veritas simply knocked it from him. “I have no time to deal with fools and drunkards! Where is your lord?” The knights tried to move forward again, but the brave knight quickly snapped his sword before him and with the utmost calmness began to drive his foes back toward the corner. “I asked and question, and one that must be answered. Where is your lord?”
One of the men, feeling the wall behind him dropped his sword, “Okay, we cannot best you, you speak truly in that. The lord is in his study, looking over new taxes that must be paid by the peasants.”
Sir Veritas turned his back on his opponents and walked toward the study door. One of the knights reached for his boot and drew a small dagger. With a cry of rage he leaped at the good knight with blade swinging…The dagger met cold iron and the man fell back, his eyes widening as the sword blade cut through his intestines and pulled his guts onto the floor. “I said, ‘I have no time for fools!’” the quite tone sounded more menacing than any battle cry. “Know that I will kill any who oppose me.” And with that he was gone, entered into their master’s study without so much as a knock.
Sir George, half raised from his seat, stared at him. “You, still? Now what have you done? I heard that cry and it did not sound like a party.”
“I have killed a fool. And now, about this ride you and I will take…”
“I have already told you, I will not ride out with you, try as you like.”
“Very well…but know that I will remain here until you do, appearing before your face all the time and making you continually aware of my presence. You will not escape me, except by coming out into your town and seeing the way your people live.”
“I know how my people live, I need no help to know this. I ride through my country at least once a week and see all that goes on.”
“But on all these rides you wear your visor. On this ride you will not, for you will see the world your people live in!”
Sir George shook his head, and then sat again at his desk. “Please refrain from killing any more of my knights.” And with that he went back to his papers, clearly telling Sir Veritas that their audience was over.
Sir Veritas turned and walked into the hall, his eyes shining and his face set in anger. He walked through the knights as they parted like the red sea for Moses. “Are you knights or children?” He demanded. “Come, ride with me and I will make clear to you the life that you live and the life you could live!” The knights just stared at him, a couple of them moving back to avoid any danger at his hand. “Are none of you men? Who has bewitched you that you are so contented and stupid that you refuse to face the world?”
One of the knights cleared his throat and glanced at the floor. He was the same guard that had stood at the gate the day before. “We have been told that our land is safe and secure. No offense meant, but why should we worry or train?”
Sir Veritas looked at the man and a slow smile crawled onto his face. “Come, ride out with me and I will show you why you should train and work.” The young knight looked down at his feet, and then at the sword that hung at his side, the only sword being worn by Sir George’s men.
“I would, but I fear the lord, and my weapons are not good, they are all rusted and dull. I really don’t think I’m brave enough…I mean look how scared I…”
“Ride out with me and you will conquer your dread. Today we will set your weapons in order and prepare you for battle and tomorrow we will go and face your fears.”
The other knights turned angry glares on the young man. If not for the protecting presence of Sir Veritas it is unlikely the young man would have fared well in the room of scoundrels. “Come, we have much to do and little time. What is your name?”
“I am called Sir Yuvan. I am the youngest of the knights in this castle. I fear I will soon be a young knight errant for having come with you.”
“Do not fear; you have proven wiser than the older knights, for you have listened and followed where they have rejected.”
Sir Veritas lead down a flight of stares and around a corner into a dark and sooty room. The forge was long cold and the smith had not been in residence for a number of years. He had moved to the hamlet because the knights had ceased to bring him work, preferring to let their weapons rust and their shields mold, then bother walking down the steps to the smithy.
Sir Veritas turned to Sir Yuvan and asked for his sword. The weapon was ancient and honorable, but the blade was badly rusted. “Where did you get this blade?”
“It was given to me by one of the other knights…when I first arrived I had a fine and shining sword. I thought to defend justice and honor with it, but one of the older knights took a fancy to my sword and forced me to trade it for that one.”
Sir Veritas grunted. “The old fool didn’t know what he was doing.” His smile grew as he held the sword in his hand. “You have had the better part of the bargain, for this is Durendal, the sword of the brave Sir Roland. You posses one of the greatest swords of the ages. Let me teach you to clean it…and use it.” The rest of the morning was spent cleaning and sharpening swords and lances. Sir Yuvan polished his armor and waxed his shield, he re-tipped his arrows and sharpened and oiled his sword. At last he completed the tasks given him by Sir Veritas, who had spent his morning in one of the corners of the forge working…on what Sir Yuvan did not know. He walked toward the older knight.
“I have completed the tasks given me.” He said. “All my weapons are prepared and all my armor is oiled, I am ready to ride with you, into whatever doom shall be ours.”
Sir Veritas turned to him, his eyes squinted and a grim smile on his face. “Our doom is best left for future conversation. But come, I have made you one final piece that you must wear.” With that he lifted a helm from the bench at which he sat. The burnished steel shown in the light of the forge, and the white wings on the sides burned like fire. There were two long ear guards and a center nose guard, but no visor sat over the top. “You too will ride with eyes open and view clear. It is only in the light of the sun that we find our place. The fools who wear visors always assume that the world is as it should be…You will see it as it is and fight to make it as it should be!”
The young knight reached forward and took the helm from Sir Veritas hand’s, he looked on it for a moment before slipping it onto his head. The look on his face changed as it settled over his brow. He shook his head and then, with a smile drew his sword from its sheath. He lifted it to his face and saluted the knight that stood before him. “Now teach me to use these weapons and I will ride to any fate!”
That evening was spent in training as the morning was spent in preparation. Sir Yuvan’s hands had forgotten their skill and his arms their strength, for he had spent too long sleeping in the hall of the castle; but with the help of Sir Veritas he began to renew his strength and cunning. He trained long into the night and his arms were weary and pained when he finally stopped to rest. Sir Veritas lead him back to the giant hall and into the quite chapel in which he had spent the night. The comforts of bed and hearth were not offered to the guest, for the lord was greatly displeased with the truth spoken to him, so the chapel remained the only place of welcome for the old and venerable knight. Here he and the youth rested, waiting in the dark for the dawning of a new day and the adventures it would bring.
The hall was as dusty as the night before and the light that tried to pierce the dirty windows did little to illuminate the room. A group of worn and filthy knights sat at the benches near the table, their hands lifting goblets of wine and ale to their bearded faces. One of them turned a contemptuous glance on the visitor, “So boys, here he is. Sir Veritas, the nobles of all knights!” The statement was met with uproarious laughter. The speaker stumbled to his feet and reached for the sword that was thrown across the table. “The lord’s orders are to throw you out of the castle as soon as we found you…None too soon to my way of thinking!” With that the knight staggered toward him, his eyes trying drunkenly to focus on the strange knight. The other members of the party rose as well, their eyes mocking and angry, but unfocused. Sir Veritas waited quietly, still as a statue before his attackers.
“Stand still.” His voice was barely a whisper, but it stopped his opponents in their tracks. “You dare to approach me drunk and armed? Do you think I will stand quietly by while you try to destroy me? Do you think yourselves capable of taking me on?”
The ringleader stumbled forward again, his sword beginning to rise, but Sir Veritas simply knocked it from him. “I have no time to deal with fools and drunkards! Where is your lord?” The knights tried to move forward again, but the brave knight quickly snapped his sword before him and with the utmost calmness began to drive his foes back toward the corner. “I asked and question, and one that must be answered. Where is your lord?”
One of the men, feeling the wall behind him dropped his sword, “Okay, we cannot best you, you speak truly in that. The lord is in his study, looking over new taxes that must be paid by the peasants.”
Sir Veritas turned his back on his opponents and walked toward the study door. One of the knights reached for his boot and drew a small dagger. With a cry of rage he leaped at the good knight with blade swinging…The dagger met cold iron and the man fell back, his eyes widening as the sword blade cut through his intestines and pulled his guts onto the floor. “I said, ‘I have no time for fools!’” the quite tone sounded more menacing than any battle cry. “Know that I will kill any who oppose me.” And with that he was gone, entered into their master’s study without so much as a knock.
Sir George, half raised from his seat, stared at him. “You, still? Now what have you done? I heard that cry and it did not sound like a party.”
“I have killed a fool. And now, about this ride you and I will take…”
“I have already told you, I will not ride out with you, try as you like.”
“Very well…but know that I will remain here until you do, appearing before your face all the time and making you continually aware of my presence. You will not escape me, except by coming out into your town and seeing the way your people live.”
“I know how my people live, I need no help to know this. I ride through my country at least once a week and see all that goes on.”
“But on all these rides you wear your visor. On this ride you will not, for you will see the world your people live in!”
Sir George shook his head, and then sat again at his desk. “Please refrain from killing any more of my knights.” And with that he went back to his papers, clearly telling Sir Veritas that their audience was over.
Sir Veritas turned and walked into the hall, his eyes shining and his face set in anger. He walked through the knights as they parted like the red sea for Moses. “Are you knights or children?” He demanded. “Come, ride with me and I will make clear to you the life that you live and the life you could live!” The knights just stared at him, a couple of them moving back to avoid any danger at his hand. “Are none of you men? Who has bewitched you that you are so contented and stupid that you refuse to face the world?”
One of the knights cleared his throat and glanced at the floor. He was the same guard that had stood at the gate the day before. “We have been told that our land is safe and secure. No offense meant, but why should we worry or train?”
Sir Veritas looked at the man and a slow smile crawled onto his face. “Come, ride out with me and I will show you why you should train and work.” The young knight looked down at his feet, and then at the sword that hung at his side, the only sword being worn by Sir George’s men.
“I would, but I fear the lord, and my weapons are not good, they are all rusted and dull. I really don’t think I’m brave enough…I mean look how scared I…”
“Ride out with me and you will conquer your dread. Today we will set your weapons in order and prepare you for battle and tomorrow we will go and face your fears.”
The other knights turned angry glares on the young man. If not for the protecting presence of Sir Veritas it is unlikely the young man would have fared well in the room of scoundrels. “Come, we have much to do and little time. What is your name?”
“I am called Sir Yuvan. I am the youngest of the knights in this castle. I fear I will soon be a young knight errant for having come with you.”
“Do not fear; you have proven wiser than the older knights, for you have listened and followed where they have rejected.”
Sir Veritas lead down a flight of stares and around a corner into a dark and sooty room. The forge was long cold and the smith had not been in residence for a number of years. He had moved to the hamlet because the knights had ceased to bring him work, preferring to let their weapons rust and their shields mold, then bother walking down the steps to the smithy.
Sir Veritas turned to Sir Yuvan and asked for his sword. The weapon was ancient and honorable, but the blade was badly rusted. “Where did you get this blade?”
“It was given to me by one of the other knights…when I first arrived I had a fine and shining sword. I thought to defend justice and honor with it, but one of the older knights took a fancy to my sword and forced me to trade it for that one.”
Sir Veritas grunted. “The old fool didn’t know what he was doing.” His smile grew as he held the sword in his hand. “You have had the better part of the bargain, for this is Durendal, the sword of the brave Sir Roland. You posses one of the greatest swords of the ages. Let me teach you to clean it…and use it.” The rest of the morning was spent cleaning and sharpening swords and lances. Sir Yuvan polished his armor and waxed his shield, he re-tipped his arrows and sharpened and oiled his sword. At last he completed the tasks given him by Sir Veritas, who had spent his morning in one of the corners of the forge working…on what Sir Yuvan did not know. He walked toward the older knight.
“I have completed the tasks given me.” He said. “All my weapons are prepared and all my armor is oiled, I am ready to ride with you, into whatever doom shall be ours.”
Sir Veritas turned to him, his eyes squinted and a grim smile on his face. “Our doom is best left for future conversation. But come, I have made you one final piece that you must wear.” With that he lifted a helm from the bench at which he sat. The burnished steel shown in the light of the forge, and the white wings on the sides burned like fire. There were two long ear guards and a center nose guard, but no visor sat over the top. “You too will ride with eyes open and view clear. It is only in the light of the sun that we find our place. The fools who wear visors always assume that the world is as it should be…You will see it as it is and fight to make it as it should be!”
The young knight reached forward and took the helm from Sir Veritas hand’s, he looked on it for a moment before slipping it onto his head. The look on his face changed as it settled over his brow. He shook his head and then, with a smile drew his sword from its sheath. He lifted it to his face and saluted the knight that stood before him. “Now teach me to use these weapons and I will ride to any fate!”
That evening was spent in training as the morning was spent in preparation. Sir Yuvan’s hands had forgotten their skill and his arms their strength, for he had spent too long sleeping in the hall of the castle; but with the help of Sir Veritas he began to renew his strength and cunning. He trained long into the night and his arms were weary and pained when he finally stopped to rest. Sir Veritas lead him back to the giant hall and into the quite chapel in which he had spent the night. The comforts of bed and hearth were not offered to the guest, for the lord was greatly displeased with the truth spoken to him, so the chapel remained the only place of welcome for the old and venerable knight. Here he and the youth rested, waiting in the dark for the dawning of a new day and the adventures it would bring.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Sir Veritas Part II
The clear, full moon shown down on Sir Veritas as he rode up the last hill to the castle and over the stone bridge: “I am Sir Veritas, I have traveled through great peril in many lands to come here, open in the name of the light and of justice!” Slowly, a small door opened and a sleepy face peered out.
“Who’s that? What are you doing knocking at the door at this time of the night? Don’t you know everyone is asleep?” The guard had on a shirt and leggings, but no armor. His sword was lying on the ground a few feet behind him and his spear was leaning against one of the castle walls. “We weren’t expecting visitors today; you’ll have to wait while I go tell Sir George.” With that the man walked away, leaving the door wide open and his weapons where they lay. Sir Veritas walked over to the sword, it’s sheath was scuffed and worn with hard use, but the sword inside was heavily rusted, the lance head was made of iron, and was so dull it would not have pierced paper, let alone the thick, scaly skin of a dragon. Sir Veritas closed the castle door and turned dejectedly to the entrance of the great keep.
He could remember when this was a great and beautiful castle, for Sir Veritas had lived a long time and had seen the world though out many generations of men’s lives. The old Sir George had been a great friend of his, and it was through his influence that he had ruled with great equity and courage. Then one would have seen brazen knights in shinning armor manning every tower and wall, their helms had no visor, but their faces shined like the radiance of the sun. The pendants that had snapped in the breeze had born the likeness of a lion standing over a dragon, full of just rage and fury, while a young child stood in the background safe from all harm. In his day, the old Sir George had sent out brave and noble knights into every corner of the surrounding forest to best the evil beast and desperate men who inhabited them, and everyone returned with sword sheathed in honor and justice. Then peace had prevailed, and the hamlet had prospered…but those days had ended. It was obvious that the new Sir George had none of his father’s wisdom, for he had allowed the land to become lawless and his knights to wear visors.
“You may come and see Sir George, now. He will be waiting in his study; it is the door at the end of the great hall, after you walk past the daze.”
Sir Veritas turned to the door into the keep, then stopping spoke to the youth, “You ought to sharpen your sword and lance, for evil days are upon you and you will have to fight.”
“Evil days,” laughed the youth. “Why look here, old man, I know you are a knight and all, but really. Everyone knows that Sir George’s land is the most beautiful and safe in all the land. You have just spent too much time outside of civilized places.”
Sir Veritas sighed and turned to the keep. It is useless to argue with fools, they will not believe you and choose only to mock. The good knight’s boots thudded on the rock floor of the great hall, and his eyes sought every corner of the dark room. The fire that had burned bright here in former times was now so low that it barely lit the daze, let alone the room. On the walls hung old and rusted armor, shields whose leather was split with age and lack of care, and bows who’s strings looked like they were dry and old. Sir Veritas looked around him in quite despair; a knight that did not protect his weapons would soon cease to be a lord, for the meanest thief could best him. The dust rose in clouds at Sir Veritas’s feet and the sound of snoring came from a few of the tables that were nearest the fire. Sir Veritas walked past the sleeping men and into the lord’s study.
“What do you here, Sir Veritas?” The good Sir George rose from his great chair and turned to look at his guest. His eyes were sunk into a fleshy face and his girth hung before him like a pregnant woman’s womb. “It has been long since you were last in this land.”
“Yes, too long, for in my absence your land has begun to die.”
“Begun to die? Oh rubbish. My land is the best and most beautiful in all the land…everyone knows that.”
“No, Sir George. Your land is not the best or brightest or safest. This night as I rode to your very castle, I was attacked by a band of thieves. They threatened me and sought to take me from my horse, but they had the worst part, for they did not know me or my righteous anger!”
“A band of thieves; please good sir, you try my humor.” Sir George began to laugh. “A band of thieves, you must have mistaken the shadows of the trees, it is easy to do you know, the dark forest is so different from the light.”
“Do shadows bleed; do they scream as your sword pierces their flesh? I killed them, sir, killed them dead as Fafnir, whom Sigurd slew!”
“Fafnir, the dragon of the north? Is it not enough that you taunt me with tales of bandits in my land, you would have me believing in dragons as well. Posh, good sir, you are a fool.”
“Nay, I am no fool, for I am Veritas and long have I walked this great world and often fought and bested evil of all kinds. You have grown fat and lazy and your people are the prey of villainous and hungry men. You have become lax in your duties and truth has fled from your sight. Your visor has blinded you and you live in a world of fantasy…”
“Enough!!” Sir George roared in utter disgust. “Have you come to taunt me in my own land, to call me ten times a fool and cowered? Were it not that knightly codes hold my hand I would have you thrown into prison and tried for your discourtesy. Lesser men would be killed for such offenses!”
“Very well! Kill me if you will! Call your men, have them take me, there is not a one who could withstand a child, let alone a knight. Your men are fools and beggars, unable to draw sword and unwilling to face danger. Kill me? Your men could not kill a sick dog, for their weapons are old and rusted and they are fat off your land and people!”
“Guards! Guards!” Sir George’s cry rang through the night. There was no reply. “Guards!” The sound of shuffling feet could be heard in the corridor and a sleepy face appeared at the door.
“You called?” the man snuffled and blinked in the light of the fire.
“Take this man from my presence at once!” Ordered Sir George. “Send him on his way, for we have no use for him here. He has spoken discourteously to me in my own home, and as my guest!”
The guard looked from Sir George to Sir Veritas, “Now, now, Sir, what’s this he says, ‘spoken discourteously’ to the lord of the castle. Come right this way and well show you out.”
“I’ll not leave unless you compel me to.”
“Please, sir, let’s not be hasty. I’d really hate to do you an injury (or myself for that matter. Don’t you know people get hurt fighting?)”
“If you wish me to leave, make me.” Sir Veritas eyes shown with an inner light and his helm began to shine. With a low fast movement he swung his shield from his back and held it at before him. The great silver background began to shine, so that the hart that graced it stood out strongly. “I am Sir Veritas, and I have come to save you and your land, though you do not recognize that you need me!”
Sir George’s guard stared in fear and awe. “Bloody Hell!” he cried and then sank back against the wall.
“Have you forgotten!?” cried Sir Veritas, “Once this castle shown with the radiance of such knights as I, once the battlements were covered in a light such as mortal eye cannot behold without wonder! Have you forgotten the glory of your father’s castle, the wonders that inhabited it and the peace that awaited all those who came here!? You dare to kick me out, but if I go you will be destroyed by the evil that besets you!”
Sir George looked with indignation on the man who stood before him. “Really, Sir! Your do try my patience! Not only do you mock me and laugh at me, but you insist on scaring my men too?”
“Were your men, men I would not scare them for they would face me with the courage and steadfastness of their forefathers, even if I shined like the noonday sun. Not only so, but they would invite me into their homes and to their tables and they would send their children to learn from me. But you have become fools, each one contented to sleep drunk in the night and have forgotten the just anger and equitable fire of your calling! I will not leave until you have ridden out with me, and seen your land as it is. No visor and no mask, no hiding from the reality that surrounds you. I will force your hand to the sword or surly you will all die in your folly, cut down by a bandit as you sleep.”
“I should like to know just how you think to force me to do anything,” said Sir George, casting a contemptuous glance at his guard who huddled, crying in the corner. “You cannot force me to ride out with you any more than I can force you to leave…at the moment, that is. Until my man gets over his fear…”“We shall see, son of my old friend. Your father learned wisdom at my knee and I will do the same for you.” With that Sir Veritas walked from the study and out into the great hall. He walked through the pillared room till he came to a small door, nearly hidden behind chair in which sat a drunken knight, his rusted sword thrown carelessly at his feet. Through the door was the small chapel; in the old king’s day it had been a clean and neat place, lit by candles and continually visited by knights and honest folk. Now it was dusty and dirty, with the smell of disuse. The stubs of burnt out candles sat where they had expired, ages of dust covering them. Sir Veritas walked to the front and drew his sword, with a slow grace of familiarity he flipped it upside down and stuck the point of the blade between two of the stones in the floor, then he knelt quietly before it. There would be no sleep for him tonight, for just as he guarded his sword and shield above all else, so he looked to all the weapons given him by his Maker at the beginning of time. Steady, without movement or sign of life, he knelt through the long watches of the night, awaiting his King’s orders and the dawning of a new day.
“Who’s that? What are you doing knocking at the door at this time of the night? Don’t you know everyone is asleep?” The guard had on a shirt and leggings, but no armor. His sword was lying on the ground a few feet behind him and his spear was leaning against one of the castle walls. “We weren’t expecting visitors today; you’ll have to wait while I go tell Sir George.” With that the man walked away, leaving the door wide open and his weapons where they lay. Sir Veritas walked over to the sword, it’s sheath was scuffed and worn with hard use, but the sword inside was heavily rusted, the lance head was made of iron, and was so dull it would not have pierced paper, let alone the thick, scaly skin of a dragon. Sir Veritas closed the castle door and turned dejectedly to the entrance of the great keep.
He could remember when this was a great and beautiful castle, for Sir Veritas had lived a long time and had seen the world though out many generations of men’s lives. The old Sir George had been a great friend of his, and it was through his influence that he had ruled with great equity and courage. Then one would have seen brazen knights in shinning armor manning every tower and wall, their helms had no visor, but their faces shined like the radiance of the sun. The pendants that had snapped in the breeze had born the likeness of a lion standing over a dragon, full of just rage and fury, while a young child stood in the background safe from all harm. In his day, the old Sir George had sent out brave and noble knights into every corner of the surrounding forest to best the evil beast and desperate men who inhabited them, and everyone returned with sword sheathed in honor and justice. Then peace had prevailed, and the hamlet had prospered…but those days had ended. It was obvious that the new Sir George had none of his father’s wisdom, for he had allowed the land to become lawless and his knights to wear visors.
“You may come and see Sir George, now. He will be waiting in his study; it is the door at the end of the great hall, after you walk past the daze.”
Sir Veritas turned to the door into the keep, then stopping spoke to the youth, “You ought to sharpen your sword and lance, for evil days are upon you and you will have to fight.”
“Evil days,” laughed the youth. “Why look here, old man, I know you are a knight and all, but really. Everyone knows that Sir George’s land is the most beautiful and safe in all the land. You have just spent too much time outside of civilized places.”
Sir Veritas sighed and turned to the keep. It is useless to argue with fools, they will not believe you and choose only to mock. The good knight’s boots thudded on the rock floor of the great hall, and his eyes sought every corner of the dark room. The fire that had burned bright here in former times was now so low that it barely lit the daze, let alone the room. On the walls hung old and rusted armor, shields whose leather was split with age and lack of care, and bows who’s strings looked like they were dry and old. Sir Veritas looked around him in quite despair; a knight that did not protect his weapons would soon cease to be a lord, for the meanest thief could best him. The dust rose in clouds at Sir Veritas’s feet and the sound of snoring came from a few of the tables that were nearest the fire. Sir Veritas walked past the sleeping men and into the lord’s study.
“What do you here, Sir Veritas?” The good Sir George rose from his great chair and turned to look at his guest. His eyes were sunk into a fleshy face and his girth hung before him like a pregnant woman’s womb. “It has been long since you were last in this land.”
“Yes, too long, for in my absence your land has begun to die.”
“Begun to die? Oh rubbish. My land is the best and most beautiful in all the land…everyone knows that.”
“No, Sir George. Your land is not the best or brightest or safest. This night as I rode to your very castle, I was attacked by a band of thieves. They threatened me and sought to take me from my horse, but they had the worst part, for they did not know me or my righteous anger!”
“A band of thieves; please good sir, you try my humor.” Sir George began to laugh. “A band of thieves, you must have mistaken the shadows of the trees, it is easy to do you know, the dark forest is so different from the light.”
“Do shadows bleed; do they scream as your sword pierces their flesh? I killed them, sir, killed them dead as Fafnir, whom Sigurd slew!”
“Fafnir, the dragon of the north? Is it not enough that you taunt me with tales of bandits in my land, you would have me believing in dragons as well. Posh, good sir, you are a fool.”
“Nay, I am no fool, for I am Veritas and long have I walked this great world and often fought and bested evil of all kinds. You have grown fat and lazy and your people are the prey of villainous and hungry men. You have become lax in your duties and truth has fled from your sight. Your visor has blinded you and you live in a world of fantasy…”
“Enough!!” Sir George roared in utter disgust. “Have you come to taunt me in my own land, to call me ten times a fool and cowered? Were it not that knightly codes hold my hand I would have you thrown into prison and tried for your discourtesy. Lesser men would be killed for such offenses!”
“Very well! Kill me if you will! Call your men, have them take me, there is not a one who could withstand a child, let alone a knight. Your men are fools and beggars, unable to draw sword and unwilling to face danger. Kill me? Your men could not kill a sick dog, for their weapons are old and rusted and they are fat off your land and people!”
“Guards! Guards!” Sir George’s cry rang through the night. There was no reply. “Guards!” The sound of shuffling feet could be heard in the corridor and a sleepy face appeared at the door.
“You called?” the man snuffled and blinked in the light of the fire.
“Take this man from my presence at once!” Ordered Sir George. “Send him on his way, for we have no use for him here. He has spoken discourteously to me in my own home, and as my guest!”
The guard looked from Sir George to Sir Veritas, “Now, now, Sir, what’s this he says, ‘spoken discourteously’ to the lord of the castle. Come right this way and well show you out.”
“I’ll not leave unless you compel me to.”
“Please, sir, let’s not be hasty. I’d really hate to do you an injury (or myself for that matter. Don’t you know people get hurt fighting?)”
“If you wish me to leave, make me.” Sir Veritas eyes shown with an inner light and his helm began to shine. With a low fast movement he swung his shield from his back and held it at before him. The great silver background began to shine, so that the hart that graced it stood out strongly. “I am Sir Veritas, and I have come to save you and your land, though you do not recognize that you need me!”
Sir George’s guard stared in fear and awe. “Bloody Hell!” he cried and then sank back against the wall.
“Have you forgotten!?” cried Sir Veritas, “Once this castle shown with the radiance of such knights as I, once the battlements were covered in a light such as mortal eye cannot behold without wonder! Have you forgotten the glory of your father’s castle, the wonders that inhabited it and the peace that awaited all those who came here!? You dare to kick me out, but if I go you will be destroyed by the evil that besets you!”
Sir George looked with indignation on the man who stood before him. “Really, Sir! Your do try my patience! Not only do you mock me and laugh at me, but you insist on scaring my men too?”
“Were your men, men I would not scare them for they would face me with the courage and steadfastness of their forefathers, even if I shined like the noonday sun. Not only so, but they would invite me into their homes and to their tables and they would send their children to learn from me. But you have become fools, each one contented to sleep drunk in the night and have forgotten the just anger and equitable fire of your calling! I will not leave until you have ridden out with me, and seen your land as it is. No visor and no mask, no hiding from the reality that surrounds you. I will force your hand to the sword or surly you will all die in your folly, cut down by a bandit as you sleep.”
“I should like to know just how you think to force me to do anything,” said Sir George, casting a contemptuous glance at his guard who huddled, crying in the corner. “You cannot force me to ride out with you any more than I can force you to leave…at the moment, that is. Until my man gets over his fear…”“We shall see, son of my old friend. Your father learned wisdom at my knee and I will do the same for you.” With that Sir Veritas walked from the study and out into the great hall. He walked through the pillared room till he came to a small door, nearly hidden behind chair in which sat a drunken knight, his rusted sword thrown carelessly at his feet. Through the door was the small chapel; in the old king’s day it had been a clean and neat place, lit by candles and continually visited by knights and honest folk. Now it was dusty and dirty, with the smell of disuse. The stubs of burnt out candles sat where they had expired, ages of dust covering them. Sir Veritas walked to the front and drew his sword, with a slow grace of familiarity he flipped it upside down and stuck the point of the blade between two of the stones in the floor, then he knelt quietly before it. There would be no sleep for him tonight, for just as he guarded his sword and shield above all else, so he looked to all the weapons given him by his Maker at the beginning of time. Steady, without movement or sign of life, he knelt through the long watches of the night, awaiting his King’s orders and the dawning of a new day.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Sir Veritas
I recently attempted to design a history for Sir George, that noble knight of Christian legend. This is the result of that attempt. I am in a slightly "Dickensonian" mood, so I will be posting it as a serial, with one section every two days.
Sir George thought himself a brave and honorable knight. He would ride, self-contented through the mire and muck of his land, seeing only happy children and growing fields. He was confident that he was a hero and noble man who had chased away great evils and saved his people from great horrors. His people, however, were not so inspired by the eccentric old man; they all knew him for a fake who rode with his visor down so he would not have to see the squalor in which they lived.
“There goes the fool,” they would mutter to each other, as he rode by. “He carries that sword as though to use it, but is too weak to even draw the rusty blade.” The people lived in danger of bandits and robbers ever day, always wondering when the next blow would fall. They locked their doors every night, and many of them kept old knives and spears by their beds in case of trouble, but Sir George felt that his not drawing his old sword was proof that his land was safe and happy.
“I have not drawn my sword in many years!” he would boast to visiting nobles. “My land is, without a doubt, the safest and most beautiful in all the land.” Now, many of the nobles had no problem believing this for they too wore their visors down and saw through glasses of joy and peace. They easily believed that Sir George really was the noble and strong man he clamed to be.
It so happened that one of the nobles who came to visit Sir George was from a distant land, far on the other side of the known world. His name was Sir Veritas, and unlike his companions he was a candid knight. He refused to wear a visor, but preferred an open helm which would not cloud his vision. He arrived at Sir George’s lands late on a fall evening, in the silence of a scared and worried village. He listened as people bolted their doors and shut out the angry night and its troubled specters. People stared out of small windows at his passing shadow and a few brave souls sought to warn him of the dangers of the night. Sir Veritas, that brave and noble knight, was little afraid of thieves and villains. In truth, he had often fought against great dangers and horrible evils. He had saved his people from a fire breathing dragon and had spent many years in the Holy Land, battling to protect the sacred relics against unfaithful hands.
As the brave Sir Veritas rode up into the fringe of forest that divided the castle from the hamlet he was aware of movements all around him. The world was alive with the shifting forms of men and beast. From out of the dark came the mournful cry of wolves, mixed with the horrible yells of evil men. Now they had seen him, they knew he was there and that he was not one of them. A ghost of a man stepped into the road before him, his hand reaching for the Sir Veritas bridle. His vestige was at one with his occupation, never could one conceive of so tired and hungry a face, or cloths with more rents and patches.
“We’ll just be taken your money from you, good sir.” He said, “and if you co-operate we’ll let you go on and see the old fool in the castle.” Sir Veritas reached a hand down to his sword; his fingers caressed the pommel before sinking down onto the familiar hilt. “You better just do as we say, or else we may be forced to become nasty.” The man’s nasally voice was all the contempt.
“Unhand me, NOW!” Sir Veritas voice was quite but firm. “Your day has come and gone, now release me or face justice.”
“Unhand him, Unhand him? Ho, my dear sir, you seem to forget what the score is! Here I am, and all my men to back me and you demand that I release you? That is rich!” The voice turned to an angry snarl, “Now we’ll see what knights are made of, little enough from what I’ve seen.”
The villain signaled to some unseen men, who were to pull Sir Veritas from his saddle and strip him of his armor and dignity; but before they could reach him he had drawn his shining sword. With the soft clang of metal on leather, it left his side and came to rest upright before his face,
“Know that I am no common noble! Know that you will meet justice today, For I am Veritas, and I will pay you in kind for all your evils!” With that Sir Veritas reared his horse and gave a mighty cry, “Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam!” The villain staggered back and released the reigns of the horse and Sir Veritas tore through the surrounding men. His sword flashed bright in his hand and his face shown with a fell light. The men sank back toward the forest, but so great was Sir Veritas anger and so fast his arm that not one escaped. Sir Veritas stopped his horse and looked at the dead and dying men around him, his heart aching for the people of the small hamlet…and for the poor blind knight who sat in his castle without any knowledge of the evils of his land.
At last, Sir Veritas turned his horse and rode on toward the castle, his heart dragging with the knowledge that he must bear tidings to the good Sir George that his land was the home of brigands and butchers.
Sir Veritas and the Good Sir George
Part I
Sir George thought himself a brave and honorable knight. He would ride, self-contented through the mire and muck of his land, seeing only happy children and growing fields. He was confident that he was a hero and noble man who had chased away great evils and saved his people from great horrors. His people, however, were not so inspired by the eccentric old man; they all knew him for a fake who rode with his visor down so he would not have to see the squalor in which they lived.
“There goes the fool,” they would mutter to each other, as he rode by. “He carries that sword as though to use it, but is too weak to even draw the rusty blade.” The people lived in danger of bandits and robbers ever day, always wondering when the next blow would fall. They locked their doors every night, and many of them kept old knives and spears by their beds in case of trouble, but Sir George felt that his not drawing his old sword was proof that his land was safe and happy.
“I have not drawn my sword in many years!” he would boast to visiting nobles. “My land is, without a doubt, the safest and most beautiful in all the land.” Now, many of the nobles had no problem believing this for they too wore their visors down and saw through glasses of joy and peace. They easily believed that Sir George really was the noble and strong man he clamed to be.
It so happened that one of the nobles who came to visit Sir George was from a distant land, far on the other side of the known world. His name was Sir Veritas, and unlike his companions he was a candid knight. He refused to wear a visor, but preferred an open helm which would not cloud his vision. He arrived at Sir George’s lands late on a fall evening, in the silence of a scared and worried village. He listened as people bolted their doors and shut out the angry night and its troubled specters. People stared out of small windows at his passing shadow and a few brave souls sought to warn him of the dangers of the night. Sir Veritas, that brave and noble knight, was little afraid of thieves and villains. In truth, he had often fought against great dangers and horrible evils. He had saved his people from a fire breathing dragon and had spent many years in the Holy Land, battling to protect the sacred relics against unfaithful hands.
As the brave Sir Veritas rode up into the fringe of forest that divided the castle from the hamlet he was aware of movements all around him. The world was alive with the shifting forms of men and beast. From out of the dark came the mournful cry of wolves, mixed with the horrible yells of evil men. Now they had seen him, they knew he was there and that he was not one of them. A ghost of a man stepped into the road before him, his hand reaching for the Sir Veritas bridle. His vestige was at one with his occupation, never could one conceive of so tired and hungry a face, or cloths with more rents and patches.
“We’ll just be taken your money from you, good sir.” He said, “and if you co-operate we’ll let you go on and see the old fool in the castle.” Sir Veritas reached a hand down to his sword; his fingers caressed the pommel before sinking down onto the familiar hilt. “You better just do as we say, or else we may be forced to become nasty.” The man’s nasally voice was all the contempt.
“Unhand me, NOW!” Sir Veritas voice was quite but firm. “Your day has come and gone, now release me or face justice.”
“Unhand him, Unhand him? Ho, my dear sir, you seem to forget what the score is! Here I am, and all my men to back me and you demand that I release you? That is rich!” The voice turned to an angry snarl, “Now we’ll see what knights are made of, little enough from what I’ve seen.”
The villain signaled to some unseen men, who were to pull Sir Veritas from his saddle and strip him of his armor and dignity; but before they could reach him he had drawn his shining sword. With the soft clang of metal on leather, it left his side and came to rest upright before his face,
“Know that I am no common noble! Know that you will meet justice today, For I am Veritas, and I will pay you in kind for all your evils!” With that Sir Veritas reared his horse and gave a mighty cry, “Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam!” The villain staggered back and released the reigns of the horse and Sir Veritas tore through the surrounding men. His sword flashed bright in his hand and his face shown with a fell light. The men sank back toward the forest, but so great was Sir Veritas anger and so fast his arm that not one escaped. Sir Veritas stopped his horse and looked at the dead and dying men around him, his heart aching for the people of the small hamlet…and for the poor blind knight who sat in his castle without any knowledge of the evils of his land.
At last, Sir Veritas turned his horse and rode on toward the castle, his heart dragging with the knowledge that he must bear tidings to the good Sir George that his land was the home of brigands and butchers.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Thoughts after communion
The place I grew up was an anomaly, a desert basin filled with water and all the wild life that accompanies it. The mountains were covered in cactus but the valley itself was crisscrossed by canals that provided the little bit of dry land on which people lived…everything else was swamp. The land itself was alkali, so that the people of the valley scratched out a living of beans, corn and sheep. It was the sheep that most interested me; the sheep that are a living metaphor, created in anticipation of One who would come and be the Lamb of God.
In my few years of life I have had the privilege of being part of numerous agricultural endeavors, including the killing of various types of livestock. We raised rabbits, pigs and chickens and I was able to have a hand in killing all of them at one time or another. Rabbits were easiest, a smack on the back of the head and they were ready to be skinned and dressed for the table. Pigs, on the other hand, squealed and fought like mad unless they were tied up and held still. I can still picture five guys tackling a pig while someone waited to get the knife in its throat. But in all the slaughters I helped with or watched the sheep were different, they were special and horrible in a unique way.
We only kept sheep once because they were more work than the other livestock. The place I grew up in, Hidalgo, has a traditional barbecue that is different from any other. Sheep are slaughtered and skinned, and the carcasses are placed in a hole in the ground where hot rocks and cactus leaves have been laid. The whole thingh cooks in the ground for a day or so until it is tender and juicy. The Bible School we worked at was celebrating a graduation and the installment of a new director, and it was a celebration requiring a barbecue.
We bought the sheep a few weeks before the celebration. There were three of them, their little black faces peeping out of their fluffy wool coats. Of the three sheep one in particular stood out, for it was taller and whiter than the others. It was beautiful and very loving. If you walked up to the corral in which they were kept it would run to greet you and press its little black face against you and tell you how wonderful it was to see you again. It would smile up at you begging for you to run your hand through its fleece and over its little round head.
When the day came to slaughter the sheep, Hermano Agustine, who had cared for the sheep over the last couple of weeks, took a handful of hay and opened the gate of the corral. Out came the sheep, so excited to be out and about, all happy and contented and ready to play. They pranced along behind their friend nibbling at his hand and bumping against his legs. He took them down the path behind the canal and over to the shed behind which we would kill them. He tied them up and then took the prize sheep, the one that was so beautiful and snowy white. He led it behind the shed to where our friend from the sierra, who was doing the slaughtering, waited. Our friend took the lambs head in his hands and pulled it against his leg…and then slipped the knife into its throat.
At the piercing of the knife the lambs eyes widened, not in fear but with an expression of confusion and hurt. “Why? What happened? Why are you doing this?” The blood stained its coat and pooled at its feet…but it remained silent, its eyes begging answers but its mouth shut tight. The hurt in its wide eyes and the expression of confusion were so clear they screamed. “I’ve been your friend. I loved you and I loved it when you came to visit me and ran out hand through my coat. I loved nuzzling you… What happened...? Why…? Wh…?” It’s legs gave way and it sank toward the ground, its eyes blinking as it sank to its knees in the grass. Finally, its head dropped to its side and it lay still. Only a few moments had passed since the knife had pierced its throat, but in those moments a fluffy lamb was slain, a lamb who had done no harm. An innocent lamb whose blood now stained the grass behind the shed.
It is an image I’ll never forget.
In my few years of life I have had the privilege of being part of numerous agricultural endeavors, including the killing of various types of livestock. We raised rabbits, pigs and chickens and I was able to have a hand in killing all of them at one time or another. Rabbits were easiest, a smack on the back of the head and they were ready to be skinned and dressed for the table. Pigs, on the other hand, squealed and fought like mad unless they were tied up and held still. I can still picture five guys tackling a pig while someone waited to get the knife in its throat. But in all the slaughters I helped with or watched the sheep were different, they were special and horrible in a unique way.
We only kept sheep once because they were more work than the other livestock. The place I grew up in, Hidalgo, has a traditional barbecue that is different from any other. Sheep are slaughtered and skinned, and the carcasses are placed in a hole in the ground where hot rocks and cactus leaves have been laid. The whole thingh cooks in the ground for a day or so until it is tender and juicy. The Bible School we worked at was celebrating a graduation and the installment of a new director, and it was a celebration requiring a barbecue.
We bought the sheep a few weeks before the celebration. There were three of them, their little black faces peeping out of their fluffy wool coats. Of the three sheep one in particular stood out, for it was taller and whiter than the others. It was beautiful and very loving. If you walked up to the corral in which they were kept it would run to greet you and press its little black face against you and tell you how wonderful it was to see you again. It would smile up at you begging for you to run your hand through its fleece and over its little round head.
When the day came to slaughter the sheep, Hermano Agustine, who had cared for the sheep over the last couple of weeks, took a handful of hay and opened the gate of the corral. Out came the sheep, so excited to be out and about, all happy and contented and ready to play. They pranced along behind their friend nibbling at his hand and bumping against his legs. He took them down the path behind the canal and over to the shed behind which we would kill them. He tied them up and then took the prize sheep, the one that was so beautiful and snowy white. He led it behind the shed to where our friend from the sierra, who was doing the slaughtering, waited. Our friend took the lambs head in his hands and pulled it against his leg…and then slipped the knife into its throat.
At the piercing of the knife the lambs eyes widened, not in fear but with an expression of confusion and hurt. “Why? What happened? Why are you doing this?” The blood stained its coat and pooled at its feet…but it remained silent, its eyes begging answers but its mouth shut tight. The hurt in its wide eyes and the expression of confusion were so clear they screamed. “I’ve been your friend. I loved you and I loved it when you came to visit me and ran out hand through my coat. I loved nuzzling you… What happened...? Why…? Wh…?” It’s legs gave way and it sank toward the ground, its eyes blinking as it sank to its knees in the grass. Finally, its head dropped to its side and it lay still. Only a few moments had passed since the knife had pierced its throat, but in those moments a fluffy lamb was slain, a lamb who had done no harm. An innocent lamb whose blood now stained the grass behind the shed.
It is an image I’ll never forget.
Friday, May 1, 2009
Foolish Knights challenge
I really liked Foolish Knight's 140 character story. His concept put me in mind of the flooded fields I drove through this summer (if any of you recall, Iowa was very severly flooded this last summer.) My family in Illinoise and Iowa, some of whom are farmers and all of whom come from farm families, were hit fairly hard by the flooding which destoryed numerous crops.
Anyway, I couldn't help but add onto the farmer and rain theme.
The continual downpour had turned once dry fields into swamps, yellow produce peaking out of ponds. “So much for this year’s crops...Darn.”
Anyway, I couldn't help but add onto the farmer and rain theme.
The continual downpour had turned once dry fields into swamps, yellow produce peaking out of ponds. “So much for this year’s crops...Darn.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
