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 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.