Continued from the previous chapter, here.

𝔗he mail-clad man followed the green-clad man into a town east of the woods. When they arrived, they found it gaily bedecked, as if for a festival. Banners in many colors hung from the many buildings, particularly from those of stone in the midst of the town–a church, a house for a nobleman of some rank, a tavern, and a pavilion that had been turned into a market. People were in the streets, and there was a joy about their movements that moved the mail-clad man to smile as he followed the green-clad man through the throng towards the noble house.

In front of the house, the two were soon greeted by a guard at its door. He hailed them, saying “Travelers, the peace of the Lord be with you! What brings you to the doors of the Lord Deleiere? For he is happy to greet visitors to the town he holds in charge, but he meets with ire those who would harm his people or their homes.”

The green-clad man nodded his head slightly. “We are but travelers, as you see, who are headed towards the town that has been called Anderitum. We trade in no wares and, although my companion is armed, it is only because there are perils on the roads. We thought but to pay our respects to the master of the lands through which we proceed–although now that we see there is revelry to be made, we would perhaps be happy to stay, if we may. For joy found un-looked-for is doubly pleasing, and we would hope to be happy with you and your folk.”

The guard made reply, saying “I know of no reason why you would not be welcome to celebrate with us, for we soon commemorate the founding of the town. If you stay, you will hear the story of it, to be sure, and many times. But you seem to be richly kept and of no mean rank, so I am sure the Lord Deleiere will be happy to speak with you. If you are travelers, you will have news, and he will be happy to hear it, I’ve no doubt. We but await word from within the home that you are to be admitted.”

The word soon came, and a groom took the horses the mail-clad man and the green-clad he followed, while a servitor took the men into the home. There, they were offered food and drink. The mail-clad man refused, for though his penance was nearly done, it was not fully accomplished as yet, but the green-clad man partook in even measure. They were also offered the chance to wash the dust of the roads from their faces and hands, and that did the mail-clad man do as well as the green-clad. And when these things were done, they were taken to the chamber where the Lord Deleiere sat, and he stood to greet them. When he did, the mail-clad man bowed and the green-clad man nodded, and the lord of the home bade them welcome and had chairs set for them before him.

When the two had seated themselves, Deleiere asked them whence they had come and what they had seen, for he was eager to hear of the world outside his town and its lands, as his duties to his own lord–Sir Falias, who had fought well in years past but could ride no more for an arrow wound through his knee–constrained him thereto. The green-clad man readily assented, and he spun out the tale of their travels together, relaying much of what had happened since the battle between kings from which he had saved the mail-clad man. He said that he had done so, salving such wounds as the knight had there suffered and leading him eastward from the battle. He spoke of the Lady Maelis and their calling upon her, as well as of the town before and the stop in the woods. He said also that the knight had fought valiantly under the trees to defend him, although he said nothing of the wounds that had been taken and mysteriously healed, and he spoke of merchants and other travelers on the roads they had followed, carrying news of the new king.

To all this, the lord replied “News had reached us that a new king had taken the throne with approval of the Church and thus of God on high. Sir Falias no doubt sent a missive with his congratulations to the new king and his oath of fealty renewed to the Crown–and if he is so sworn, then those who are sworn to his service are so sworn, as well. Yet it seems to me that if you are so mighty a healer as to redeem the wounds a man suffered in so grave and hard a battle as I have heard that between the two kings must have been, my own lord Sir Falias will want to see you. The wound through his knee pains him greatly each day, and he sorrows that he cannot ride for the hurt of it. Indeed, walking is a torment to him, though he still forces himself to stride about his home and much of his holdings. But if it were the case that you could do him service of healing, I am certain he would hold himself in your debt and greatly, and the favor of a lord is no small thing.”

The green-clad man said in reply “I will consider your words, for it is as you say, that the favor of a lord is no small thing. But no healing is certain that mortal hands can render. And there are other concerns I have of which I may not speak, save to say that they take me to Anderitum and the knight here with me. They will not work to the harm of your lord or you, but they are not matters I may set aside for any cause.”

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Continued from the previous chapter, here.

𝔗he next morning dawned, finding the mail-clad man already fed and ready to depart. The green-clad man he accompanied was somewhat slower in making ready, but he was soon mounted, and he led the mail-clad man slightly south of eastward along the road through the forest. The trees continued to thin, and the road continued to improve, and they began once again to encounter travelers along the way. With most, they exchanged but few words, mostly of greeting and of kindness, and with a few, they stopped and shared news. From it, they learned that matters were settling in Logres, with a man called Custennin from Cornwall taking the throne and beginning to stamp out the remnants of the war between the two kings that had preceded his ascent. Word was that fighting continued in the east and south, less so in the west and north, and that banditry had begun to spring up with the news of the two kings’ fall. The mail-clad man touched his side where he had been pierced but was no longer, and the green-clad man spoke his thanks to those from whom he heard the news.

As they rode on, after leaving some travelers behind, the green-clad man asked the mail-clad what he thought of the matter. The reply he received was thus: “It is only sense that there would be something of a vacuum of rule arise when the kings both fell. The one was the evident heir of the other, being his closest kin, but although he was anointed and crowned, solemnized in office under the Lord, he was crowned king of a kingdom that already had a king. I know of no heirs of his body, although there might be such–for it is the case that many are born to parents unwed, and some of them do great things, although others do perfidy and shame. But with none such known, and two kings slain, it might well be thought that smaller lords could rise to power, and that lords from outside might think to come in. But if the Cornish king can keep matters secure, then it is to the good. Lawless lands are bad for those who must live in them, all out of accord with the will of the Lord.”

He paused for a moment, then said “It is clear to me that you are a man of no mean power and skill. By your attire and your conduct, I know you to be a man of some eminence. Will you not then go to where dwells the new king and offer your respects to him? For even if you will not be his subject, the land is under his rule, and he has an interest in knowing who is in it and what business those who are in it may be about.”

The green-clad man answered him, saying “It may be that we do so after our business near Anderitum is done. But it is that business that concerns me most closely, and so it concerns you who must follow me. When we have finished there, if matters are such as permit our doing so, we will find where the king reigns, and there we will greet him with seemly words and perhaps gifts. For you are correct in that I am not a subject of the king here, and I have no desire to be one such–but it seems that you would be one, and that you have the desire to be one such. And I would know why it is that you would take such a thing on yourself.”

The mail-clad man responded in turn, saying “You know me to be a knight. Knights are made by other knights, so there is a long chain and unbroken that connects each of us back to the beginning–and that making places each of us under another. It is part of knighthood that we are in service, and having that service shapes us and our days. It gives structure to our lives amid the world that is still being reclaimed from its first fall, and it helps others to be able to do the work of reclamation. I do well that which I know how to do, but there is more that must be done than that I know how to do, and because I do not know it but know that others do, I would be in service. And as for being the subject of the king, I have been sworn to the king since I was of age to make such swearing, and it is the case that the oaths given to one must be given again to that one’s successor, until the debt is discharged. If this new king is the successor of the old, just and appointed, then I am already a subject to him–and if it is the case that he is not, then I owe my old king the duty of overthrowing one who takes his throne unjustly.”

“Is that, then, why you fought for the one king against the other? Or that you sought to do so, in any event?”

The mail-clad man nodded. “It is, indeed. For I had benefited greatly from my service to that reign, and if it had been the case that the one king had died and the other succeeded him–as would have been righteous, for he was his nearest kin–then I would have served the second willingly and well. But because he did as he did, he rose unjustly, and the king to whom I was sworn through many swearings was in the right to return to what was his and take it back again. Nor was I one whose memory was so short as to think so little of what had come from the king who was.

“But now he is gone away As for what replaces him, that remains to be seen. But I think that I will look for it to be to the good. I would not have a lawless land be what my own becomes, and a good king and wise will help it to remain as it should be.”

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Continued from the previous chapter, here.

𝔄s the mail-clad man slept, he dreamed, and in the dream, he was again readying for battle. Around him, comrades in arms girded on their swords and were helped into their armor, and he looked down to see his surcoat and shield emblazoned gules, on a bend argent a baton gules wavy. Away across the field, he saw an army gathered similarly, and between them, he saw the small party where two kings met and sat and drank and tried to work out terms such that the dignity and puissance of both, and God’s clear favor on anointed and crowned rulers, could be respected. He knew where he was and when he was in the dream, and he looked down to see if a serpent would once again strike his heel. But there was no adder there, nor any of the usual animals of the field.

Behind him spoke a voice, saying “This is how it should have been.” The mail-clad man turned to face it, and he found himself facing his own face, his own self, pierced with arrows in shoulder and side, and with foot and leg swollen with venom. “This is what should have transpired that day, save that the adder bit you and you struck back at it. There should have been no serpent here. All manner of beast have been driven away, fleeing the sound of fighting to come–for to what other purpose do so many ride under such heavy arms than to make war each upon the other? The beasts of the field have their own wisdom, and they know that human quarrels are not theirs to pursue. They have their own wars in which to die and need not ours, as well.

“Yet the serpent struck you, and it would have slain you. And serpents are clever, as has been written and as the priests have read. And serpents can take many forms, as well, or at least the one can. You know of whom I speak, though I will not speak the name even here. It is not fit for mortal ears, nor for mortal tongues to say it. That one do you follow now, accompanying him along his errands to no good end.”

The mail-clad man replied to himself “Yet I am sworn to follow and charged to it by the priests. I cannot set aside what I have sworn and the obligation placed upon me and keep any worship. Already do I lack it in that I left the field of battle rather than falling with my fellows–for even if I was poisoned as I was, I still could have advanced rather than retreating. Will I then add to my unworth by turning away from what I know that I have said? May I be shriven of my guilt when I become guilty while trying to do my penance? For I still am in the midst of atoning for my sins with Lady Maelis’s woman, and I would not compound the error.”

“As well you should not. But if you would address yourself to errors, then you must seek the root of them and fix it. And that root lies in what rides before you on the road. It lies in the one you follow, the one who has orchestrated the events that have unfolded. Address yourself thereto, and find your peace.”

“I have sought to do so. I could not. I cannot now.”

“Then all is lost to you.” Around the mail-clad man, the army mounted and readied itself for the charge. Spears were shaken, swords unsheathed, and with a mighty yell, the knights charged forward. After a moment, the mail-clad man turned away from himself and followed, plunging into the thick of the fighting as it began. Amid the clangor of steel on steel, the erratic percussion of weapons beating on shields, the shrieks of strained wood and metal as shields and armor failed, and the screams of men and horses as the next blows came after, the mail-clad man fought. He unhorsed one opponent, the shock of his initial charge sending the other warrior backwards over the cruppers of the horse and into the churning muck and mire, where the hooves of others’ horses ensured he would never wake again.  Another thrust of his spear splintered it on the shield of another warrior, the sharp fragments of wood bursting with a high-pitched crack; his sword flashed out, then, and with a single overhead cut, he cleft the shield held up against him, taking with it the hand that held it. Another stroke took the man’s head who had opposed him–but it carried too far, and beside him, an ally groaned and slumped in the saddle, slain by his companion.

As the man fell, his weight pulled the sword from the mail-clad man’s hand. Before he could find another, he was beset again, this time by a knight wearing sable, a chief vert, who swung an ax at him again and again. The mail-clad man swung his argent shield into the path of the first blows, deflecting them, but with each stroke, he could hear the bound wood chipping away, more and more of the device stripped off and sent to the hoof-churned bloody mud below.

With one more blow, the shield split, falling from his arm in ragged pieces.

With another, his arm was cut, the blade biting deeply into bone and there lodging. The sable-clad knight wrenched the weapon sideways, jerking the mail-clad man from his horse and to the ground. His opponent’s horse reared over him, whinnying rampant, and began to crash down.

Once again, the mail-clad man woke in the night. The surrounding air was still, leaving him only with himself to consider once again, pondering why he dreamed the dreams he did anymore.

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Continued from the previous chapter, here.

𝔗he next day saw the knight rise before dawn again, and he ate briefly and offered up his penitential prayers while the people around him slept. They did so in some disorder, with many people sleeping in several of the huts they shared, while other huts stood empty. The green-clad man had melded into the crowds the night before, leaving the mail-clad man largely alone with his thoughts; the people had fed him, but after the words the green-clad man had spoken, they otherwise left him alone. He said nothing of the matter, either in the night or in the morning beginning, but it sat strangely with him even yet that matters were as they were, that he had healed from injuries without scar and had been left to himself after thinking that an advance was being made upon him after he had already been at the center of such advances, both making them and accepting those made towards him.

It was not until after the sun was shining through the leaves of the overhanging trees that the green-clad man emerged from one of the huts. He seemed content and well-fed, and he nodded to the knight as he readied his horse. The knight followed suit, and it was not long until the pair continued heading eastward upon the road whose quality seemed to increase with each step that was taken. The forest began to thin around them, and the knight could glimpse small patches of blue amid the translucent greens of the leaves above. He said as much to the green-clad man riding ahead of him, receiving a nod and “It is as you say, Sir Knight. We draw closer to the edge of this wood, and thence we will ride to Anderitum, where there is somewhat for me to do–and I may well need your aid in doing it, as we have discussed in the past days.”

“I recall the talk,” replied the mail-clad man, “and I remain ready to aid you as you may need. If it is the case that I am strengthened as you say, then I surely must do so, for if I am given a gift, I am a fool to turn away from it and from that which has given the gift to me. Yet I worry, for I know that a gift given can be withdrawn, and I would not have that with which I have been provided taken away so easily. I am grateful for it, and I think not that a person can be blamed for wanting to keep such a thing.”

“Indeed not, Sir Knight,” replied the green-clad man, “and you seem to have been given a good thing, indeed. But I doubt not of your sincerity at this point. I know well that you know the value of what you have received, and I know that you know how strong upon you the charge you carry lies. Several of the charges, in fact, for I see that you continue to do penance for some error you feel you have made. How much longer have you to do such? For I note that you drink little and eat less as you conduct it, and though you are strong, I would have you remain so against such needs as we may have.”

“It will not be long, I think,” replied the mail-clad man. “For I have been so diligent as I may be in praying and fasting, and we have been on the road long. Each day has seen me act in accord with that charge, and I will soon be discharged of it. But you need not worry of my strength. I feel it greatly in me, such as I have not since I was newly knighted. It is as you say. I have been given much, and it is of great value. I treasure it, although I wonder that I did not find such earlier in life, and that others have not found similar favor who were more pious than I. For there have been many such, many who have attended more fully to their catechism and to the work of the Lord than I. Why, then, should I find such favor? For though I am grateful for it, I am confused by it utterly.”

The green-clad man shrugged. “Perhaps it is because your strength will be needed where theirs is not. Or perhaps you are meant as a test to others, a temptation away from faith and towards despair.”

The mail-clad man stopped suddenly. “Am I then a tool of the devil? Is it through unholy agency that I am strengthened, then, and the priests deceived about me?”

“Why would you think yourself a tool of the devil to be used as a temptation away from faith? Is it not written, and do not the priests speak of it, that Job was tempted to show what faith truly is? So worry not that that is the case, but press on as you may. Act in good faith, and surely  it will be shown to you.”

The mail-clad man started ahead again, but he did not speak, riding in silence as he turned over in his mind what had been said. And he recalled his dream, remembering how he had spoken to himself of deceit and despair. For all the green-clad man’s words that sought to put him at ease, he could not find it for himself. When, therefore, at the end of the day, he and the green-clad man stopped to rest, making camp under the thinning boughs of the lingering forest, he offered up another prayer, asking for the Lord to guide his steps and lead him through to righteousness and away from any evil that would seek to have him follow it. And he did his daily penance, as he had been bidden to do, ate and drank, and found his way again to sleep.

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