1025 AD
The day was warm and the mood within the camp jovial. This would be the last day the men would spend together in the place that they had called home for the past five years. As they put away their tools for the final time the significance of the moment had not been lost. “Well Etienne,” said Olivier, “our contribution is now complete.” They had become close friends, bonded like the brothers. Olivier put his arm around Etienne’s shoulder as his friend wiped the powdered fragments of stone from his chisel, and placed it carefully in the chest that stored all the worker’s tools. Together they turned and faced the half finished cathedral that had both been their motivation, and source of constant exasperation. It stood the height of the tallest tree in the surrounding dense wood, and stretched the breath of a hundred men. Much of the structure was in place and held with many supports made from only the strongest oak, but the supports were unnecessary, the stones that formed the walls were so large that only the angriest of tempest would have moved them. The intricate carvings within the stone was starting to shape the edifice; casting shadows from the arches and columns giving an appearance that it could have been made from lace.
An agreement had been made by the seven knights that rode to this area two hundred years ago that they would build a suitable monument in honour of their ruler King Charlemagne. Unconditionally, all men born within the seven kingdoms would have to work on the cathedral. The cost would be shared equally by the seven kings as would the labour. It was a way, the kings felt, that they could share a purpose, and encourage harmony. Although each of cities had built their own more unadorned places of worship, the cathedral would be a focal point where decisions regarding civil and communal life could be made. On completion it had been agreed that each king would send eight representatives from their kingdoms; four to take their places in a recognised order of monks, and four in the college of clergy, bound by no vows except those of ordination. From this collective a shared bishop and chapter would be voted in. The bishop would not be able to make decisions without capitular consent and all were to keep perpetual residence within the cathedral and surrounding buildings.
Although never shying away from the work, both men felt that their time would be far more productive spent developing their skills in the art of battle and chivalry. “I pray I shall never hold a mason’s chisel again,” continued Olivier. “I feel my hands were built for a sword and chalice of wine my friend.” Olivier was as large in size as he was in spirit. Philip, Olivier’s father, was ruler of Citerne the kingdom adjacent to Etienne’s. Even at sixteen he possessed and imposing frame. His hair was long and dark, and curled around his strong features further accentuating his formidable appearance. He and Etienne had become very close over the previous years and Etienne had seen another side to Olivier that only few knew about. Through all his strength and bravado Olivier still craved the same acceptance and recognition that any boy does.
“As do I,” replied Etienne. “And I think we have proved that they are far more adept with the sword too.” Etienne held out his hand to show his friend the toils of the day. His knuckles were bleeding, and his thumbnail black from the mistimed swings of his wayward mallet. “It will truly be a beautiful building one day though. I hope to be alive the day the final stone is placed.” The training of a select number of knights from each kingdom was also part of the seven forefather's agreement. It was included as a way to ensure that each kingdom could be protected, but also as another way to build friendship and encourage a harmonious existence, and it was this part of their training that Olivier and Etienne had enjoyed far more than their masonry duties.
“And I hope I will be by your side on that day Etienne,” added Olivier.
The friends turned from the cathedral and started in the direction of their camp. Rows of hundreds of small round white tents filled the valley like a field of mushrooms. Plumes of smoke rose from within them as the workers began preparing their evening meals. Olivier and Etienne, due to their lineage, lived on a separate site on slightly higher ground to the North. Their lodgings, although still basic comprised of a tent and a bed, and their evening meals were cooked for them. The other advantage they had was that their time was not spent purely on building the cathedral. Their week was split, with two days working on the cathedral, four days within in the camp learning the skills of the knight. Sunday was spent at mass and resting. Etienne’s father, the King of Avalon, had encouraged his son to come to the cathedral, as he had done when he was of similar age, and his father before. ‘It will teach you skills that you will carry with you for the rest of your life,’ his father had said, ‘and I mean not just the skills of the weaponry and battle, but humility, appreciation and respect’. It was the sword and strategy in battle that Etienne had most desired, but now, on reflection, he understood his father's preaching.
They reached the camp and the other knights were removing their dirty clothes and washing the day from their sun baked bodies. Etienne and Olivier went to their tent and started preparing themselves for dinner. Etienne removed his boots and tunic and lay on his bed facing the canvas roof that he had stared at on many sleepless nights. “One more night Olivier and we will be going home.”
“The moon can not come and go quick enough my friend,” replied Olivier.
Their final evening in the camp was spent celebrating their achievements. In five years the group had learnt a lot, developed into men. They were now ready to return to their homes and begin their lives as knights. Much wine was drunk and a feast consumed. In the early hours they returned to their tents to rest before their journey home the following morning.
Etienne sat and watched as the embers burned, and spits of fire flew, circled and disappeared into the night sky. He had been traveling for two days, and although every bone in his body ached he couldn’t relax his mind enough to fall asleep. He was still another two days ride from Avalon, the city he had lived in all his life until five years ago when he left on his voyage of discovery, a voyage that taught him the ways of a knight. It had been instilled in him from an early age by his father, that one day he would be a knight. To begin with he felt that for the past five years he had been fulfilling his father’s dreams rather than his own; however he now felt, on returning home, that it had been the right decision.
He had left on the eve of his eleventh birthday, and staring into the fire, recollecting memories of the past five years, he knew that he had changed unrecognisably since that day. He felt now that this father could look at him and see that he was the man that he wanted him to be. A man fit to rule over his beloved people. He hoped his training had made him a brave man, a man like his father that commanded the attention of a room simply by walking through the door. He remembered how he had left Avalon, and wondered as he turned from the fire to face the stars how it might be now. Would the size of the castle, his home, still fill him with fear, where the endless labyrinths of corridors and rooms felt that they could swallow a young boy not to be seen again for days? Would market day where the buzz from local tradesman and traveling merchants still intoxicate his inquisitive mind? Would they be selling from the same stalls filled with, fish, bread, crops, and exotic spices vibrant in colour and mysterious in taste? He tried to remember the faces of the friends he had left behind, his nurse’s daughter Roselyn with whom on sunny days he would go to the sea’s edge to escape the city for a few hours. They both knew it was forbidden, but the temptation to run and play on the dunes, and splash in the shallows free of the cities walls, was far too great. He rolled back on to his side letting the fire warm his face, and closed his eyes as the days ride took its toll. Tomorrow they had another tough day's ride. He needed rest. He wondered, as he often did when his head started to spin with unanswerable questions, what would his mother have said about the man he had become? What advice would she have given about returning to the city that one day he would rule? He wished so much that he could speak to her, the sense of loss ached as it had always done in moments of solitude and reflection.
He rolled his mother’s cross that his father had given him the day he left for training between his thumb and index finger. He had worn it on a thick silver chain around his neck from that day, and swore that he would never take it off. It made him feel close to the mother he had never met. In a strange way it made him remember her even though his memories forebode it. He had spoken to many people about her, was she beautiful, what made her laugh; did she also like to wade in shallows? He had hoped that these fragments of information could be pieced together to form a clearer picture of her, but it only seemed to add to the longing. The city’s people, staff at the castle, her family, his father and whomever he spoke to always replied in the same way, ‘she was special’, ‘beautiful’, ‘a truly wonderful woman’. Her loss had left a vast hole in many peoples lives, none more so than his fathers. The king had never remarried, never even looked at another woman in sixteen years. Some had said that when his mother died belief had been stolen from his father’s heart, but Etienne he knew his father in a way nobody else did. He had seen his father’s eyes sparkle as they played together when he was a boy. His father told him once that with his mother he had something far deeper than love could ever explain. They knew what each other were thinking or feeling, even if they weren’t in the same room. This was hard for Etienne to comprehend, ‘how can you know what is going on in somebody else’s head?’ he thought to himself at the time, but he trusted his father implicitly and if he said he could then he could. His father said that should Etienne ever find a love like this he should grab it with both hands and never let go.
Etienne was awoken by the noise of the traveling party making breakfast and packing up their horses, preparing for the long day ahead. His body still ached, and his sticky eyes were sensitive to the brightness of morning, but he was thankful for the few hours sleep he had managed. It was dawn and the sun was rising behind the mountains in the distance signaling to the travelers the direction that they would be heading today. The clouds that had been their blanket for the night and kept them warm hadn’t burnt away yet, and they caught the dawn sun filling the sky with crimson and purple strips of light. Dawn was Etienne’s favourite time of the day, a fresh start, a new beginning, full of opportunity and expectation, full of hope.
The nights rest had meant the fatigue that the men were feeling had left them and they were ready to continue the final leg of their journey, back to their loved ones, back to their new life; a life as protectors, as leaders. Etienne rose from his thin woolen blanket that had kept him from lying directly on the dirt and stretched his arms above his head, feeling each joint in his shoulder and neck creak and crack back into its normal position. He rolled his blanket and tied it back onto his horse, which he had tethered to a near by tree. He stroked his trusty companion's nose as the horse snorted and shook his head in appreciation. "Are you ready to go home now boy?" Etienne whispered in his ear, and the horse replied with a knowing look from one of his big hazel eyes. Etienne patted his steed on the neck and mounted him.
“How are you feeling this morning my brother?” Olivier had ridden up alongside side Etienne to check on his friend. Their similar personalities and adeptness to the skills they had learned over the past five years had meant they had become very close during their time away from their families. Olivier was also returning to a land that eventually he would rule. They both enjoyed their training and found the skills they were learning came naturally. Their ability ensured both finished with honours from their tutors and were already being looked up to by the rest of the knights. If they did have differences in their personalities it would be that Etienne was more reflective than his friend. Etienne would often be pulling Olivier out of fights, or devising a plan that would save them from the trouble that Olivier usually would have caused. Olivier was a chest out, heart on sleeve; show no fear, lead from the front type of person, where as Etienne’s bravery and honour, although just as strong, was far more subdued.
Etienne remembered this part of the journey from five years ago and had been looking forward to returning ever since. It took the party through a gorge and then over the highest mountain in the region. He loved the effects that the seasons had on the landscape, and this time of year was his favourite. Through the higher parts of the journey the trees were evergreen, and from this vantage, at the top of the mountain, he could see down into the valley where the river was banked with autumnal trees in shades of orange and brown. The river ran wild from the heavy rain that fell, but within weeks the mountains would become ice capped, as snow would fall, reclaiming the swell of the river.
The silence in the valley gave him comfort and time to think. Time to decide what he wanted to do when he returned. An opportunity to think how he could possibly become a man fit to one day replace his father at the head of the table of Avalon. He wanted to make his father, and the people he would one day rule proud, but above all he wanted to become a man that his mother would have been proud of. He wondered what that would take. He rolled his cross again in contemplation. From what he had learnt about his mother he held true the things she did, the importance of love and protection, and the necessity to strive for happiness, and as long as he believed in these three things he was sure that he could make his mother proud.
They traveled slowly, stopping from time to time where the river slowed to let the horses drink and rest. Etienne dismounted and went to the river’s edge to splash water on his face. Olivier and another of his friends Henri joined him. They removed their tunics and boots and rolled up their trouser legs so as to dangle their feet in the river to cool off. Olivier took a loaf of rye bread from his valise and started ripping off chunks for them to share. “So then,” said Olivier as he stuffed the first chunk of the black hard bread into his mouth, “What are we going to do now?” It was a simple question as it often was with Olivier, but one Etienne had been pondering the answer of for some time now.
Tags: cathedral, etienne, journey home, olivier
