A summer's evening under the cloak of darkness seven knights rode from Paris in search of a new life. The year was 814. King Charlemagne ruler of the Carolingian empire, which at the time spanned most of Western Europe, was fatally ill. The empire that was so successfully built by Charlemagne, was under serious threat. Paris, a city envied by all of Europe, faced attack from all sides. Normans had settled just south of the city on the banks of the Seine, and Viking longboats were charged and ready to attack from the North. Within the house of Charlemagne there was also unrest. Charlemagne’s son Louis was becoming ever more impatient of his father’s imminent demise. His father’s unfaltering determination to divide the regnum between his heirs, reducing Louis’ inheritance, was catalyst for Louis' increasingly devious plans to ensure the end of his father's rule.

Seven of King Charlemagne’s finest knights and closest allies were warned of the threats both from within the castle walls and from the waiting barbarian warlords. In an attempt to ensure their safety after his death, and to repay them for the loyalty they had shown him throughout his life, the king allocated each of them an adjoining areas of land in South West France, the size of a county, on which they could have autonomous rule as Dukes. The bequest was given in return for their allegiance should Paris fall under attack. This was the first time land had been split not directly through bloodline and a treaty was signed by King Charlemagne giving total power as rulers of the land to the knights.

Seven cities grew rapidly as the nomadic population of France went in search of safety, land to farm and the opportunity to start a new life. A peaceful existence was possible in such times of turmoil throughout the rest of France, with the respect and protection that the Dukes offered their neighbours.

Louis the Pious, King Charlemagne's son, eventually fulfilled his birth right and took the place of his father; however, his desire to regain the land his father had given away and continued unrest within his house left Louis vulnerable. Hugh Capet, the count of Paris, exploited this, and with force overthrew Louis in 987 ending the reign of the Charlemagne dynasty. The Capetians had new ideas as to how France would be ruled, which would not include the Dukes autonomy over their land. At the same time as the Capetians ruled Northern France vast areas of central France came under control of the Anglo-Norman Henri II due to his marriage to Eleanor of Aquitaine. Thankfully the feuding between Henri II and Hugh Capet gave the seven Dukes time to agree as to how they would protect their land from certain attack. An agreement was made to self proclaim themselves the monarchs of their own houses, and would rule their kingdoms with complete independence from either the Capetians or the Normans. Each of the seven kings had built strong defences around their cities and trained armies, creating a formidable force. Together they would be able to fend off any attack from the North. Their unity would be their strength and their only hope.

1008 AD

‘What’s going on, why haven’t I heard anything yet?’ the king thought to himself, as he rubbed his temples, wiping beads of sweat that had formed on his brow. He stood alone on the battlements of his castle. Often he would come to this particular place to absorb the amazing vista of the Kingdom that his forefathers had built over the past two centuries. He was proud of this city, of his city, the people that lived here, under his protection, were his family. From his vantage point the king could watch them going about their daily lives, busily working in the market, children playing in the streets or fisherman pulling in their nets filled with fish from the sea to the South. He knew when the streets were bustling and the nets were full the city was happy and healthy.
News had spread quickly the previous morning that the Queen had gone into labour. She was adored, as was the king, by the people of the Kingdom and the birth of their first child was greeted with much excitement. Many well wishers came to the castle gate throughout the day leaving flowers and gifts for the mother and baby; but as the day went on, and the presents still hadn’t been collected, the sense of anticipation turned to trepidation.
The night came and went, and the flowers still remained. The king looked down at his people and as they looked up to him, expectantly awaiting the news he could not give them, he could see fear in their eyes. He turned and looked away, trying to focus on the horizon, the sea, the sky, anything other than their faces of anguish in a vane attempt to stop their fear entering his mind, but his actions were futile. He was for the first time that he could remember truly scared.
His wife; the woman he had loved for all his adult life, and who filled his every day with happiness, the woman who’s side he had not left since the first day that he had saw her had now been in labour for a full day and a half. The king felt a paralysing sense of helplessness. All he had ever wanted to do was protect her, but this time he could only wait. ‘Wait outside my love, I’ll send someone for you when your child is here,’ she had said to him. But those words felt like they were spoken a lifetime ago, so long ago that he painfully couldn’t even remember her voice any more.
He looked out across the bay to try to recapture the voice, the voice that been his companion for so many years. The king concentrated on the fishermen as they pushed their boats out for the first sail of the day. Seagulls circled above waiting for any scraps that might be thrown. He watched as he had done many times before and longed for their freedom; how it must feel to have no responsibilities, no duty, to live a life of simplicity where decisions can be made from the heart, and not restricted by fear or thoughts of consequence, how it must be to fly.
He stood watching the birds circle and swoop jostling for best position when the silence of his solitude was broken with the sound of a screaming baby. His baby. He knew instantly. The king ran through the door that led from the battlement and down the stone spiral staircase. His mind had completely left his body, he ran across his chambers where he and his Queen shared breakfast every morning and charged through the door into his chamber.
The king burst through the door and surveyed the room looking from where the noise had come. He could see his wife lying in bed with her nurse kneeling beside her. Across the room he could make out the silhouette of another nurse with what looked like a small bundle of rolled up blankets in her arms, the features of her cast into darkness by the dawn’s sunlight from the window in front of which she stood. It was his child, his first-born. He ran over to the window to see his new born baby. The king leant over to see the small face barely visible from the swaddling. “It’s a boy Sire, you have a boy,” the nurse said. She lifted the bundle in order that the king could see his son’s face. He looked down at his son and smiled, pride burning his chest. He then looked up at the nurse and his smile ebbed from his face as he noticed her eyes were red from tears, and tracks had formed on her cheeks.
“What is, what’s wrong, is he ok?” asked the king.
“He’s perfect Sire,” replied the nurse in a whispered tone.
“Well what is it, why are you crying? Tell me.” But the Queen’s nurse could not reply. She turned away and looked out of the window her body visible quivering with sorrow. The king looked at her as a crippling sense of dread filled his body. Slowly he turned to face the direction of the bed in which his wife lay. He didn’t want to turn around, if he didn’t turn everything would be fine, but he did, and instantly his fears were realised. The nurse was still kneeling in the same position she was when he first came in. He could see his wife’s beautiful long golden hair on the pillow but her face was turned away from him. He walked towards her and noticed for the first time the nurse was crying also. As he reached the bed the nurse stood and moved to the side so the king could get to his wife. He paused, not knowing from where to summon the courage to lean over and see his wife’s face, wishfully looking at the nurse hoping that she would guide his next actions, but the nurse turned away. Carefully he leant forward putting his hand on the bed in order that he could get closer to her.
“Lillian.”
The king was barely audible; tears were rolling down his cheeks landing on the bed sheet that covered his wife’s slender pale shoulder. The familiar voice made her stir. She rolled from her side onto her back so she could see her loving husband.“Lillian, are you alright?” She looked up at him, her skin was pallid, her beautiful eyes ashen, she went to speak but the pain made her wince. The king turned to the room, frantic for help. “What’s wrong with her? Why won’t someone tell me what’s wrong with her? Why will you not help? I order you to help.” The king felt his wife’s hand slowly find his.
“My darling, you have a son.”
She pulled his hand to her lips and softly kissed it. “He needs you now, and so do your people. I love you,” and with these final words she was gone.

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.

“I know what I’m going to do,” replied Henri. He was from Chaval, a Kingdom approximately a day’s ride from Etienne’s. Henri’s appearance drew no comparison from either Etienne or Olivier. He was slight, almost languid, but his vainglorious demeanor had meant that his popularity had waned during their training. Etienne had grown fond of Henri despite of his conceit, as he was aware it was merely a façade disguising his fears. Etienne’s father and the King of Chaval had never seen eye to eye. Neither of the sons could understand why, and would not let it affect their relationship, but when either had questioned their father’s on this matter they would become dismissive at best, and sometimes even angry. Henri had not been as naturally gifted as Etienne or Olivier but what he lacked in talent he made up for with an effort an ambition unparalleled by the rest of their group. From the conversations Etienne had with Henri he could tell that he was frightened of his father. Etienne would try to explain that it was fear that was holding him back and that if he relaxed more he could be master of the sword rather than be its slave. He would try to explain to Henri that his father would be proud of him no matter what he achieved, but Henri would reply that nothing but absolute best would be good enough. He would say that he only had one master and that he must become whatever his master desired. Etienne found it hard to comprehend why Henri lived in such fear, but hoped that one day he would have the strength to stand up to his father and live his life for himself. Aside from his worrying and lack of self belief Henri was still good company and Etienne was grateful for their friendship, Olivier however didn’t share his feelings. “I am going to return to my Kingdom and lead my father’s army until such time that I take his place as king,” said Henri.
“And when do you think that might be?” replied Olivier as he rammed another piece of bread into his mouth.
“When the Kingdom is the most powerful in the land and my father’s work is complete.” Olivier and Etienne looked at one another and rolled their eyes as if to say ‘not this again’.
Etienne and Olivier had endured on many occasions Henri’s tales of how one day the King of Chaval will be so powerful that he would rule over all of France, but on this occasion neither Olivier nor Etienne would indulge Henri’s fantasies.
“What about you Etienne?” asked Olivier. “What are you going to do?” quickly taking the conversation away from Henri.
“In truth Olivier I am still unsure. I would like to spend some time with my father first. Learn more about what has been happening in the city since I left. I know my duty is to one-day lead my people but I want to get to know them first. I need to earn their respect.”
“Well I’m going to go back, have some time off, enjoy my beautiful city and all that it has to offer to a newly fledged knight,” said Olivier, too excited about returning home to really be interested in his friends apprehensions.
“Find your self a good woman,” interrupted Henri with a condescending sneer.
“Hopefully find many good women, my little friend, and wine, and eat like a king. Doesn’t sound too bad hey Et?” said Olivier, giving a wink to his friend, not willing to give any acknowledgment to Henri’s obvious disdain. “Anyway I think it’s time to go my friends.” The other eleven knights that made up the traveling party were beginning to pack up and mount their horses. “You’ll be fine my friend, I’ll always be beside you when you need me,” said Olivier, offering his hand to Etienne.
“And me you my brother,” replied Etienne, taking his hand allowing Olivier to pull him up.
The three friends mounted their horses and joined the rest of the group. The respite had left them refreshed and the horses watered and ready for the next leg of their journey, their destination the far side of the mountain by sunset. The climb was difficult but the knights were in good spirits. They had to lead their horses much of the way as the autumn rain had made the shale that lay on this area of the mountain slippery, but eventually they reached the summit just before sunset. They sat together at the peak of the mountain and watched the sun slowly disappear behind the horizon, it was breathtakingly spectacular, red and purple strips of cloud filling the sky with a fiery glow as if swept by an artists crimson brush. No one spoke, just sat and contemplated what the next day would bring, their homecoming. A fire was lit and the knights began telling stories of their plans and the parties that were awaiting them. One by one they fell asleep with heads full and dreams and hearts of adventure.
The sunrise was of equal splendour, but the men had no time to sit and admire, they wanted to get going, back to their loved ones. They were packed up and on their way before the sun had fully risen. The journey down the mountain was far more difficult as the horses scrambled to get a footing on shards of wet slate, but tentatively they reached the mountain’s foot where they could then remount and start to make good speed again.
Olivier, as usual, was up front, goading the rest of the pack, seeing if they could keep up with him, wind blowing through his black mane of hair. The mood was boisterous. The group galloped together as a pack, they hadn’t realised how close they had become, how instinctive riding together was. They moved together knowing the way each other would move, like a flock of swallows circling a freshly harvested field. This was probably the last time the fourteen would be riding together and the moment had not gone unnoticed. They rode heads down at full tilt, riding free, unconstrained by the limits of their bodies or steeds, gliding on a cloud of expectation and excitement.
The horses eventually begun to tire although the men felt they could ride all day. Their final destinations were not far, but they slowed their horses and trotted to a nearby lake that was to mark their last meal together. The men dismounted and sat in a circle sharing bread and fruit. Wine that had been saved by one of the knights for this occasion was passed from one to another around the friends. As each received the bottle they stood up and made a toast. “To living life,” toasted Olivier.
“To divinity,” said Henri.
“To honour,” “To pride” the toasts continued. Etienne took the bottle, and although he had been thinking about it as the bottle was being passed, he didn’t know what to say, he paused, took breath and stood, “To fulfilling your destiny.” The knights looked at one another stood and repeated Etienne’s words, “To fulfilling your destiny.”
The bread and fruit was finished and the knights remounted their horses, the words still ringing in their ears, it seemed an apt way to end their final meal and their journey.
The first three knights who lived in the Kingdom of Allenay not far from where they had rested said farewell to the group and rode in the direction of their city. They were brothers, Jean-Michel, Nicolas and Paulo. Separated by a year in age, but they could easily be mistaken as triplets. All three tall with blonde curly hair giving a young almost angelic appearance. The eldest Jean-Michel had looked after his brothers throughout their training, protecting them in a way a wolf protects its young, obdurate and unfaltering. This had meant that the three had become slightly isolated from the rest of the group. They would prefer spending time together, practicing or talking rather than engaging with the group. Etienne understood the actions of Jean-Michel and presumed that he would act in a similar way put in the same situation; however some of the knights felt aggrieved by their actions and shunned any acts of friendship they might offer. Etienne had become particularly friendly with the youngest of the three brothers, Paulo. He was unlike the middle brother, Nicolas, who had become so reliant on his elder brother that he hadn’t developed a personality of his own, and Jean-Michele whose constant protection of his brothers made it impossible to forge any bond. Paulo had great energy and enthusiasm, and when possible Etienne would take the time to endeavour to brake down the barriers erected by Jean-Michele in order to spend time with him. Paulo would often ask Etienne why the group would not speak or sit with them, and Etienne would try to put his mind at rest, explaining that they didn’t know what it was like to have such a strong bond that he had with his brothers, and one day they would learn how to ride side-by-side with their fellow man. This was contradictory to Etienne’s own understanding of the situation as, to his regret, he had never had any siblings to rely on or protect. These three young men, whom they had grown up with, lived with for the past five years were now gone with a brief goodbye. Perhaps they would never see each other again. Etienne was unsettled by the ease of the departure and felt that such an important occasion required greater significance, however the remainder of the group seemed to prefer to move on as quick as possible, displaying emotions hadn’t been something in which they were trained; in fact it had been actively discouraged.
The next Kingdom was Etienne’s. He and three other boys from the city, Michel, Marcus and Luc, had left five years ago and were about to return to a hero’s welcome. Etienne felt they hadn’t earned this yet and he would prefer quietly slipping back into the city unnoticed, but he knew this wouldn’t be possible. The city needed to know that their future protectors had returned, and they would want to celebrate the fact. Olivier rode alongside him until the time came that Etienne and his three comrades had to separate from the group and head towards their city. Unhappy with a fleeting farewell Etienne pulled his horse to halt and dismounted. Olivier and Henri followed. Etienne first turned to Henri. “My friend, it has been an honour training with you. You have truly become worthy of ruling your people, your father should be very proud, and I hope that he realises this.” He shook Henri’s outstretched hand and put his arm round his shoulders.
“Thank you Etienne,” replied Henri quiet enough to ensure that Olivier could not hear what was being said. “You have shown me more and taught me more than any single person I have ever met. For this I am truly grateful and indebted to you.”
Etienne smiled at Henri and then turned to Olivier and paused. “My brother, I will always ride beside you,” Olivier threw his arms around Etienne neck.
“And I with you,” he replied almost crushing Etienne. “Now go and see your people.”
Olivier jumped back on his horses, and gave a loud "Yah," as he kicked his horse back into a gallop, and the group departed. The four men who stood alone now remounted and turned in the direction of their city. As they rounded the edge of the forest, they could see perched on top a hill in the distance their city. The men formed two rows, the ride of procession their teacher would call it. Backs were perfectly straight, the heads of their horses high and proud. Their nervousness had subsided and they couldn’t wait to enter the city walls. As they approached they kept a slow meaningful pace. It wasn’t the time to rush; their hearts pounded inside their tunics and the hairs on their arms stood to attention.
The huge gates that marked the entrance to the fortified city slowly creaked open as news of their arrival spread within. They passed through the gates, under the huge stone cloisters at which point they could see for the first time the streets lined with people. The tumult of clapping and cheering was deafening. Etienne had told himself to make sure he committed to memory everything he was seeing, the feelings he was experiencing, moments like this are infrequent in a lifetime, and the noises, the smell, and the sites should all be savoured and stored like a secret diary. A friend had said to him that butterflies are rare creatures, when you can feel them in your body embrace them, as it may be some time until they return. Children were running out of the crowds to touch the horses and greet their new heroes. The city’s men were cheering and women were throwing flowers and handing small posies to the knights. Feeling slightly embarrassed by the city’s display of emotion; Etienne graciously smiled and waved, not equip to deal with such a situation. With Etienne leading followed by the other three knights they turned on to the main street to the castle, when suddenly Etienne’s eyes were drawn.
She stood in the doorway of a small house, their eyes met, and she smiled. He was transfixed. The world stood still. Noise disappeared. She had hair the colour of a cornfield and eyes as turquoise as the sea. A beauty so strong that your mind felt betrayed if your eyes left her. He thought he could hear her voice in his head, like a siren calling to him. What was she saying? Who was she? Their eyes didn’t stray from one another’s. He wanted to stop, get off his horse to find out who she was, where she was from, but the crowd had moved behind the horses and were ushering them in the direction of the castle. He strained to turn around, he wanted to shout something out but the words evaded him, she would soon be out of site. There was nothing he could do, the horses wouldn’t stop walking, before she finally disappeared out of view behind the crowd she gave Etienne one final smile, and then she was gone.
The procession carried on up the main street but Etienne’s mind was with her. He wanted to turn back, find out whom she was, what had just happened. He’d just experienced something he never had before. His friend tapping him on the shoulder brought him from his lucid reverie. “Your father’s at the balcony,” said Michael pointing up at the balcony. Etienne looked up to see his father was looking down at him. The king waved and nodded, regal and un-emotive, as Etienne had become accustomed from his father, but he could tell that his father was proud of him. Etienne thought that his father looked like he had aged a lot since the last time he had seen, far more than the few years should have allowed. A frail form had replaced the imposing figure that he once possessed. The knights continued to the end of the street and entered into the castle under the portcullis. The towns people respectfully stopped following the procession at the castle walls and left their new heroes to be reunited with their loved ones.
Families, aides to the royal house, and all trusted vassals and bondsmen had lined up across the forecourt in front of the large castle doors. The king had descended from the balcony and stood in the middle of the line. Four young pages ran from the greeting party to the knights to take their horses. Etienne was trying to concentrate on the occasion. Adrenalin had engulfed his body but he wasn’t sure if it was their arrival in the city, seeing his father, or what he had just felt in the main street. He dismounted and walked toward his father thankful that his legs had responded to brain’s commands. The row of dignitaries and friends began clapping, some were crying with the joy of their son’s return. Etienne’s father walked forward and took his son in his arms. They held each other until eventually his father leant back in order that he could look into his eyes. “Son, today you have made your mother and me very proud.”
Etienne could feel tears forming; they pulled each other together again, his father pulling harder than he ever had before. It was the first time that Etienne could remember his father showing such a display of affection in public. The king stood back again and with the loud imposing voice, that used to send shivers of fear through Etienne as a child, he addressed the crowd. “My friends,” the welcoming party fell silent and turned to look at the king, “our loved ones have returned. Now let’s celebrate.” The crowd cheered, the king put his arm around his sons shoulder and led him into the castle.

Royal aides took the four newly fledged knights to their living quarters. Each had a room prepared for their arrival. Etienne was led to his old chambers. The men were to get cleaned and dressed, ready for a banquet that had been prepared in their honour. Etienne entered his room. It hadn’t changed since last he left, and this comforted him. It was the shot of reality that he needed after such an extraordinary day. A bowl of fresh water had been set, and on his bed laid the ceremonial garments that he was to wear that evening. These were the clothes that he had seen his father’s knights in, and had dreamt that one-day he would be able to wear. He stroked the front of the tunic realising that his time had come. The clothes were beautiful; the tunic was brilliant white with a peacock blue sash with a gold trim. The family crest, a seagull perched on a castle, had been embroidered onto the chest by expert hand in golden thread. The strands caught the light and glittered giving a lifelike impression to the emblem. His father had told him as a child that the crest symbolised defence of freedom, a conviction that Etienne held true.
Etienne undressed and washed. It was a relief to finally remove the dirty clothes that he had been traveling in. As he poured the warmed water from a clay jug over his head, the drips that fell from his chin and long brown hair into the bowl that sat beside his bed, seemed to be taking with them the nervousness and trepidation that had been filling him over the past days. It was a warm evening and he walked naked over to his window to look out across the city. His strong physique silhouetted by the evening suns rays, depicted a Roman gladiator's moment of solace after a day in the amphitheater. He could make out in the distance the path he had just traveled; across the open land that separated the city from the forest, through the city gate. He squinted to see if he could make out the place where he had seen the girl. He had to find out who she was. He walked back to his bed and began dressing. The mail suit was heavy and uncomfortable, but the honour associated with wearing it far outweighed his discomfort. He put on his boots and sabatons, then his tunic, sash, and finally his sword and scabbard, and walked back to the window and watched the sun disappear behind the horizon. This was the beginning of his new life, the life of the heir to the throne, defender of his people.
There was a wrap on the door. Etienne opened it to find the other three knights ready and eager to get down to the grand hall for the banquet.
“Let’s go,” said Michel.
“Come in my friends,” replied Etienne opening the door further. “I have known you Michel since I was a boy, as I have with you Marcus and Luc." Etienne said looking at Michel's brothers. "Your father has been part of my father’s court since his coronation." Etienne put his hand on Michel's shoulder and continued. "It gives me great honour to be here today with you three."
"It is an honour for us too, and on behalf of us all, I hope that we can be half the men to you that our father has been to the king." Michel put his arm around Etienne and smiled. "Now come on, they are awaiting us."
Michel was tall and dark, much like Olivier, but he didn’t have the same confidence; although being the eldest he did have an air of authority over his younger siblings. Marcus and Luc in comparison were slight of frame. Marcus was the middle son but also shortest, much to the amusement and constant ridicule of his younger brother. They were both fair of skin, with similar drawn features. Both had the same impish glint in their eye often reinforced by their mischievous behaviour. As a four growing up, with Etienne as their lead, they spent countless hours searching the corridors of the castle for adventure. The four walked together down the long staircase that led to the great hall. As they reached the door they paused, had one last look at each other, and brushed down their tunics, before giving a nod to the guards signaling for the doors to be opened.
The doors were pushed open and they were greeted with a cacophony of noise. Cheers equal to what they had heard as they entered the city reverberated around the huge stone room, making the floor rumble as if a battalion of horses had simultaneously galloped past. Family, friends, dignitaries and all the knights of Avalon stood round the huge rectangular table that ran down the middle of the room. The walls of the great hall were decorated with tapestries and silks, and hundreds of candles lit a table of the most decadent banquet Etienne had ever seen. All glasses were charged with red wine, and the table sparkled as the silverware reflected the candlelight. Capons, geese, beef, lamb, salmon and herrings had been lavishly decorated and laid out next to pastries, bread and cheese. The four knights made their way to the top of the table where the king was stood on a raised dais. Places had been set for them, two on either side of the king. They walked along the side of the table shaking each person’s hand as they passed, receiving pats on the back and words of congratulations. They reached the king and he raised his hand to bring the room to silence.
“May we thank god for the food we are about to eat, and for the return of our loved ones.”
He addressed the room with a voice that made the silverware vibrate and chime on the table in front of them. The room replied with a chorus of ‘Amen’.
The king sat down followed by the rest of the party. That evening they ate and drank well. The king would ask questions to the four newly fledged knights of their training, and their anticipation about their new roles in the Kingdom. He told stories of what had been happening in Avalon since they’d been away and what plans he had for the Kingdom. Etienne was relieved to finally be back at his father’s side, and the previous months of worry had slipped from his thoughts. All he could think about was the girl he had just seen. He found himself daydreaming, having to ask his father to repeat questions to which he had not listened, whilst blaming the din of the room. He had to see her. The hall grew louder, and the night older. Etienne needed to make his escape. He wanted to find her, talk to her. He could see the wine was beginning to take its toll on the party and realised this was an opportune moment for escape. He excused himself from the table with the promise of a short return to which he had no intention of fulfilling. He made his way back along the grand table, this time staying in the shadows cast by the huge walls so as to not draw attention. Thankfully the door had been left a jar and he was able to slip through. He was free again. Without looking back Etienne ran down the corridor to the main castle doors, it felt like he had already wasted too much time. Then through the main doors and into the outer castle area, still without breaking pace.
A full moon illuminated the night sky, filling it with a thousand tiny shards of glass. The city was still and silent. His heart began racing again, the same way it had a few hours ago when he rode into the city, a rhythmic drum beat of expectation, a feeling that he was about to do something that was to change his life forever. He ran to the outer castle gates but slowed to a walk as he approached the guards so as to not draw inquisition. The last thing he needed was to give an extended explanation of why he was leaving the castle walls at this time of night. Etienne gave the guards a nonchalant nod of the head as if this was something that he did every night, and the guards let him pass without question. Outside of the gates Etienne stopped to quickly remove his mail suit, sabatons and sword. He stowed them in the shadows under a crate that sat against the castle wall. In just his boots and tunic he would be able to move with much greater pace. The stars observed his movements expectantly. He retraced the route he had earlier taken. It felt like days not hours had passed since last he came this way. He walked down the main street, which was now free of people and around the corner to where he had previously seen her. The streets were dark and empty but he knew his way instinctively. He had often walked these parts before when he was younger, always swapping his normal clothes for those of servants to disguise his identity. He loved the way it felt to be part of the city, a stranger in his homeland, to be one of the people who made this city the great place that it was. He looked at each of the houses that lined the streets hoping to spot a defining feature that signaled the home of the woman he had seen a few hours ago. Each house haphazardly placed as if dropped from the sky without instruction as to location or form.   Etienne loved the disorganised nature of the growth of the housing in the city. Each home had been built on whichever piece of land was available. Formed from the stone taken from the nearby quarry, that had eaten its way into the mountains that overlooked Avalon, and latticed wood cut from the forest. Both materials skillfully stitched together with lathe and lime plaster, and crowned with a roof of thatch to seal the house from the temperate elements. Each house loving built, on dreams of family and a desire to provide. Then he noticed the house he was looking for. As Etienne edged closer he began to make out its features. It was a small house so tightly squeezed between two others it seemed barely to have the room to breath, its thick stone façade only broken by two irregularly placed windows and a small wooden door.  He could see that there was a candle burning inside. He moved closer, not allowing his conscious to bring doubt, until he was next to the small window. Tentatively he peered through and noticed she was there. Sat in the small main room of the house next to the fire. On the table, beside where she sat, was a candle that illuminated the house, and threw a shadow across the side of her. She looked to be sleeping but Etienne couldn’t tell from his vantage. He stood frozen, watching her, time stood still. He didn’t want to move in case he woke or scared her; he just wanted to watch the vision in front of him. The beauty that Etienne had seen earlier had not been his in his mind. In this half-light she was dazzling, but the shadowy cloak she wore teased him, he wanted to see more. Should he tap on the door, leave her a message? He needed to make contact. Then she moved, sat up from her slumber and slowly turned to face his direction as if knowing he was there. The candlelight now fully lit her face. Thunder exploded in his chest. He held the wall to compose himself. She noticed Etienne’s face against the window and smiled at him.
She put her finger to her mouth to indicate for him to continue his silence and slowly stood. Etienne was in awe. He watched as she bent down to what looked like it could be a bed, but he couldn’t quite make it out as it fell into the darkness. She then rose again and made her way toward the door. As the door opened Etienne stood back so as to not alarm her. They stood facing one another; they didn’t need words, she held out her hand for him to take. It was delicate, soft; he held it as if he were holding a small bird, frightened to squeeze too tight.
She whispered, “Follow me.”
With his hand in hers she led the way, down to the bottom of the street, twisting and turning through alleyways he had never traveled before. The pace was quick and the sense of adventure enchanting. They stopped at an old part of the wooden city wall that hadn’t been replaced with stone yet, it appeared to Etienne to be a dead end. She leant forward and pushed one of the large vertical palisades that formed the rampart. It moved, only a slight gap, but she was able to crouch and get through. Etienne struggled to follow as the hole was barely big enough to pull his frame through, but his motivation was great and eventually he found himself on the outside of the city walls. They were free.

Etienne pulled himself up from the floor to see where she was. He turned to find her stood with her back to city wall. For the first time he could really take in her beauty, the moon lit her face. She was breathtaking. They stood a foot apart. Etienne was a head taller than her and he looked down into her sparkling blue eyes. “I knew you’d come back for me,” she said in no more than a whisper. Etienne paused he didn’t know how to reply; her confidence obvious, it attracted him even more. His mind let way to his body, to instinct. He leant forward and softly kissed her, his eyes never leaving hers. Their bodies shook as their eyes closed. She leant back against the wall to support her shaking legs, their lips never parting. Etienne lifted his hands and placed them on either side of her perfect face. Her hands closed in around his waist and she pulled him closer, their bodies had completely taken control. Etienne pulled his lips away from her, close enough so they were still breathing the same air; he looked her in the eyes, “I’m Etienne,” he said.
“I know,” she replied. “I’m Arlette,” their lips briefly met again. “Follow me,” she said as she took Etienne’s hand and started in the direction of the sea. Etienne knew he would be in love with her from this point for the rest of his life.
Arlette led him away from the city, past the edge of the forest and down into the dunes. The night was warm and silent, and a misty magic filled the air. They made their way in silence until they reached the dunes that Etienne used to play on as a child. Arlette sat down on the soft sand and Etienne sat beside her, they kissed again. “Who are you?” enquired Etienne. It was a question that had been running through his head since the first time he had seen her. Arlette looked back at him and smiled.
“I’m Arlette, daughter of a dressmaker, sister to my younger brother Sebastian, and you are Etienne, Prince of the Kingdom of Avalon, heir to the throne, hero to the people.” Etienne looked away in embarrassment, he had never got used to his lineage, probably never would.
“But why have I never seen you before?” How could he have lived in Avalon all his life and never have seen her? Arlette looked across the dunes out to sea in silence, the only other sound the mesmerising pulse of the waves lapping against the shore.
“Our paths have crossed before,” replied Arlette.
"But when, I would have remember?" Etienne was confused.
“You were walking with your father through the city giving out presents to the people." Etienne turned away from her embarrassed. "Please do not be embarrassed, it was a very kind thing of your father to do," continued Arlette. "We were around ten years old. You ran excitedly from your father’s side to the cart carrying food, taking handfuls and giving it out.” It was customary on the king’s birthday to hand out gifts to people of Avalon, but he had never realised in his excitable youth the arrogance of this gesture. “I remember doing this as a child, but I can not remember you, I am sorry.”
“Why should you have?” said Arlette trying to put Etienne’s mind at ease. “You ran up to my mother. She took the gift, and you smiled at her and said ‘thank you’. I was the young girl standing beside that lady.” Etienne searched his mind frantically for this memory but it evaded him. “My mother was taken aback, but not by your generosity, she told me later that she could see genuine honesty and humility in your eyes. She said to me that ‘there goes a very special boy’, but I already knew that. I knew that one day that special boy would come to find me.”
Etienne was lost for words. She had known back then what he had discovered just today, their paths were laid out long ago. It was their destiny to be together. “But why have I not seen you since?” asked Etienne.
“I have been caring for my brother. He is now two years old," Arlette looked from Etienne again to the horizon. "Unfortunately my mother died giving birth to Sebastian.” It seemed to Etienne that she was looking out to the starlit sky as if she was talking to her mother, hoping that she was sharing this moment. Etienne recognised this as he had tried to speak to his mother this way many times before. “I’m not sure how we have survived the past two years,” continued Arlette. “I think it is my brother’s energy and sense of humour that has kept me going.”
“But what about your father? Where is he?” asked Etienne.
“Sebastian’s father, who was not the same as mine, left soon after he was born. I feed and clothe us by sewing garments and making jewelry that I sell at market. I buy material to make tunics and dresses, and collect shells and make necklaces and bracelets. Our life is far from yours, but it is simple, and I am content, and I have ensured that Sebastian wants for nothing”.
Her determination for survival was inspirational to Etienne, he felt humbled by her spirit. They sat and talked until the sun began to rise. Without warning Arlette stood up, “We must go.”
“Why?” replied Etienne, he didn’t want this night to end.
“I have to get back before my brother wakes. He will be scared if he wakes and I am not there.”
Etienne took Arlette’s hand and lifted her from the sand. He didn’t let go of it until they reached the city wall. “I will go first,” Arlette told him. “You wait a while and then go back to the castle. You know where my home is, I will be waiting for you.” And with a kiss she disappeared back through the wall. Etienne watched her go and looked up at the last remaining stars sunken into the deep blue velvet of the morning sky, and blew out a chest full of air. Now he understood what his father meant went he spoke about that one person that you were put here to be with.

For the following weeks Etienne would wish the sun from the sky everyday just so night would fall and he could be with Arlette. He felt cheated by the way that time would play tricks on them. Why was it that it hurried when they were together and slowed when apart? They would spend the night talking, learning about each other, discussing their dreams, deciding how they can be together and what their lives would be like when they were. They were so alike, they knew what the other one wanted, what they were feeling, and their desires were exactly the same. Etienne finally felt that he had found a person that he wanted to share the things that moved him with, because they moved them too. When he had tried to tell his friends or family about a beautiful sunset he had seen, or how he had been amazed when a dragonfly came and sat on his shoulder as he lay in the forest, he was greeted with an indignant reply that would frustrate him. Etienne couldn’t understand why they couldn’t see beauty in the same way that he did, but with Arlette it was different.
Weeks turned to months and they became closer every time they met. Their days were spent thinking of one another and when together in the evenings, time would ride with unbearable haste. Etienne was trying to see Arlette every night but as the months passed it became more and more difficult. There was unrest in the surrounding kingdoms and his father demanded a lot of his time. The time he spent with his father seemed fruitless, 'they spend the whole time arguing,' Etienne would tell Arlette. 'None of them really no what is happening. Scouts have been sent, but as yet none have returned.' Etienne wanted to tell his father of his love but Arlette begged him not to. She would say that ‘now is not the right time’, his father had to ‘concentrate on protecting the Kingdom’. News had started to spread of the King of Chaval planning an attack on the surrounding Kingdoms. Chaval did not need extra land or resources. The seven Kingdoms that made up the area were self-sufficient and lived in harmony, however the current King of Chaval felt it was time to reclaim what he felt was rightfully his. His Great-Great Grandfather, the first Duke of Chaval was unsatisfied with the initial agreement as to how the land, given by King Charlemagne, was to be allocated. He kept his disdain secret from the other knights; however it had been passed to each of his heirs like a curse, until the time came to seek retribution. Whilst the other six Kingdoms concentrated on developing their cities infrastructure and agriculture, and endeavouring to live a peaceful existence with their neighbours, in Chaval they were developing an army. The army was now ready and the time had come for Chaval to unleash his vengeance.

“How dare you interrupt me,” screamed the King of Chaval. The bishop had just walked into the dimly lit great hall, not expecting Chaval to be eating.
“I apologise Sire, I was not told…”
“Not told what? Not told that I was eating. Not told that I asked not to be disturbed,” Chaval said. “What is this swill anyway?” shouted the king as he picked up his plate of food and threw it against the wall. “Go and get me the cook.” A page, who stood nervously in the shadows, immediately jumped to attention and ran to the kitchen. “Well?” said Chaval turning his attention back to the Bishop. From where the bishop was standing he could barely see the king. He sat at the end of the long cavernous room; the only furniture that broke the catacomb was a long oak table and the king’s throne at the far end. The table had been set for his solitary dinner and the darkness was broken only by a display of candles that threw a lucent ghostly amber shadow over the monarch.
“Sire…” replied the Bishop.
“Come closer, you have already ruined this pungent mess of a dinner,” said the king. The Bishop walked toward the king, trying to choose a pace, not too fast or too slow as he knew if he got it wrong it would further anger him. “Hurry up,” shouted the king. “How dare you interrupt me and then walk like I have nothing better to do.” The Bishop sped up until he reached the king and dropped to one knee at his feet. The shadows had hidden the ghoulish figure that now sat before him. The kings hair was thin and long, falling across his almost malnourished looking face like a weeping willow. His eyes were dark sunken slips which stared with evil distain. “What is it?” The Bishop stayed bowed, fearful of making another wrong move, and thankful not to have to look at the skeletal face.
“Sire, your moment has arrived,” he said.
“Continue,” replied the king.
“Your army is ready. Allenay is not expecting us. We can take them now on your order.” The door opened as a petrified cook entered the room with the page.
“What now?” hollered the king.
“Sire, this is cook,” replied the page.
“Come here,” said the king. The page stood back into the shadows thankful that he had completed his errand. The cook stepped forward, fear leaving him mute. “Pick that food up and bring it here,” the king ordered, pointing at the pile of food on the floor. The cook got down on his hands and knees and scraped the food off the floor, careful to ensure that every last piece was replaced on the plate. He carried the plate back to king and placed in on the table. “Now eat it,” said the king.
“Sire?” replied the cook.
“Eat it.” The cook began picking up pieces of the meet and eating them. “Don’t use your hands. Eat like a pig, like a pig that you would serve this swill too.” The cook looked at the king and then quickly turned back to the food. He leant forward putting both hands on the table and started to push the food around the plate with his nose. “How dare you put your hands on my table,” the king screamed and he lifted up a knife from the table and stabbed it through the cook’s hand into the table. The cook yelped in pain, but the king’s evil fury had engulfed his body. He stood up and jammed the knife in deeper, bringing his face closer to the cook so he could see the pain in his eyes. “Don’t ever serve me swill again,” the king whispered into the cook’s ear through gritted yellow teeth. The king stood up looking for the page, “Get this pig out of my site.” The page ran forward and awkwardly worked the knife out the table and the cook’s hand. When it was free the cook sloped to the floor. The page lifted the cook and carried him back into the relative safety of the shadows. The king turned back to the Bishop. “Stand up.” The Bishop slowly stood, his stomach turning as he noticed out of the corner of his eye the blood stained table. “We attack tomorrow. I want every living creature in Allenay to pay for their actions.”

Etienne’s father first heard of Chaval’s intentions when the King of Allenay sent a messenger with details of imminent attack, a distress signal begging for their help. Unfortunately by the time the messenger had arrived it was already too late. Chaval had systematically run rampage through their city. It had been razed to the ground. Every building burnt and only those lucky enough to escape survived. Hundreds of men, women and children unwilling to give up their homes were slaughtered. The ones who escaped were now refugees, and it was only a few days before they could be seen on the horizon heading for Avalon. A line of damaged mourners like a trickle of blood weeping from their broken homeland. The king opened the city gates and let them in promising food and shelter.
Etienne stood beside his father on the castle’s balcony and watched as the slow procession of injured and weeping refugees made their way into the city. In the very far distance a pillar of smoke could still be seen, representing the evil that had bequeathed an unsuspecting city. “Son,” said the king to Etienne, “we will feed and water these good people, and give them shelter. I will not see one stomach go empty, or head uncovered. It is compassion that separates man from beast, and we need to show these people not all men are beasts.”

They stood and watched the mournful procession. Through the crowd Etienne noticed a face he recognised. One of the only men on horseback. A knight. It was Jean-Michele one of the friends that he had left only a few months ago. Etienne ran from the balcony and raced down the stairs of the castle. He battled his way against the tide of people streaming into the city until he reached him. Jean-Michele gave him a pained smile. For the first time Etienne saw the gruesome toils of battle. His tunic was torn and saturated with blood. He held his reins with one weak grip as his other arm had been scorched and hung from his body, lifeless. One of John-Michele’s eyes was completely closed from severe swelling, and the streams of blood from a head wound impeded vision from his other. Etienne stood beside the horse and the energy that it must have taken for his friend to ride for Avalon finally expired as he slumped from the horse into Etienne’s arms. “My friend, you are safe now,” but Etienne could see that the life was ebbing from his body. “Stay with me, don’t die,” Etienne whispered. He lifted Jean-Michele onto his shoulder and began to fight his way through the surging crowd back to the castle. Finally he made it back and ran straight into the grand hall where on the large table he laid his friend. “Get nurse and medical supplies now!” Etienne shouted at a guard. “Don’t leave me,” Etienne said to his friend but he could see it was almost too late. “Where are your brothers? Where are Nicolas and Paulo?” A tear trickled from the Jean-Michele's eye joining the line of blood that had started to fall from the corner of his mouth. His friend looked up from the table at him.
“Nicolas is dead. They killed him.” Tears were falling from Jean-Michel’s eyes now.
"And Paulo? Where is Paulo?"
“I tried," Jean-Michele coughed, urging the words from his mouth. 'I have tried all my life to protect them. I have failed.”
"Did they kill him too? Is Paulo dead?" Etienne was desperate to find out where his friend was.
"I have failed them," repeated Jean-Michel.
“Don’t think like that, don’t ever think like that. You have always protected your brother’s there was nothing you could have done.” But Etienne knew his words were useless. Jean-Michele had died the moment he had been cruelly forced from his home, and his family was murdered.
"Paulo escaped," whispered Jean-Michele. Etienne's relief was cruelly visible. "He escaped with as many women and children we could get out of the city. He was to lead them to the cathedral. It was the only place that we felt they might be able to seek sanctuary." Etienne placed his hand delicately on Jean-Michele's shoulder.
"Then I am sure he is still alive my friend."
“Etienne,” whispered Jean-Michele clutching Etienne's hand, the last remaining breathes in his body slowly escaping. “You are a great knight. Protect yourself and protect your people from this evil.” His friend coughed again as he strained to gain one last breath. “Don’t let them do to your city what they have done to mine. And please save my brother.” His head then slumped into Etienne’s cradled arms.
“No!” Etienne’s cry echoed around the great hall, his eyes full of tears. Etienne’s father came bursting through the door and slowed as he saw the solemn site of his son knelt beside his friend. The king walked up to Etienne who was still holding his friend and placed his hand on his son’s shoulder.
“I am so sorry son,” said the king.
“Father,” replied Etienne tears falling from his eyes onto his friend’s bloodied tunic. “He was a good man from a peaceful land. Why has this happened? We cannot let this happen to our people.” His father just looked at Etienne as he sat on the table with Jean-Michele’s lifeless body in his arms. The king gently lifted Jean-Michele’s head from his son and placed it on the table. He then took his son’s hand and lifted him. The king removed his robe and placed it over the young body that lay dead in front of him. Etienne turned to his father again. "I must go to the cathedral. Paulo and the surviving women and children from Allernay are hiding there."
"What?" replied the king. "Why have they gone there?"
"Jean-Michele said that it was the only place that they could think of where Chaval wouldn't find them."
"Why didn't they come here with the others? I cannot allow you to go Etienne it is too dangerous." Etienne's mind was already made up. He would leave as soon as night fell. He had to save Paulo. Etienne turned from his father without argument. "Etienne," the king grabbed Etienne's arm. Etienne turned to face his father, his eyes still red and the weight of his head to heavy for his neck bear. "Promise me you will not go to the Cathedral. I will send my best knights as soon as I have word that Chaval is no longer in the area." Etienne looked up and curtly nodded before rubbing his eye with his forefinger and turning back toward the door.
Etienne returned to the balcony. He needed to find Michel, Marcus and Luc. He looked out across the city. The last of the refugees had entered the city walls and the city gates had been shut. The swell of the population was clearly visible. Every street was now littered with bodies. The people of Allernay looked helpless, lost. They were being helped by those able; treating the infirm, comforting the grieving. At the gates to the inner walls of the castle a crowd had formed. The knights and staff of Avalon were distributing blankets and food to the hungry and tired refugees. They swarmed around the knights like honey bees vying for position to deposit their pollen. A black solid mass that moved in rhythmical waves, as each member received their rations and was spat out of the back of the horde into the streets. Etienne noticed who he had been looking for.
He made his way from the castle across the forecourt. "Michele," called Etienne. His friend turned as he gave out another of the ever depleting pile of rations. Etienne gestured for his friend to leave his post. Michele complied.
"I can not believe this has happened." said Michele when he reached Etienne, his torment visible.
"I know my friend," replied Etienne.
"What is it Etienne? How is Jean-Michele. I saw you take him into the castle."
"He is dead." Etienne looked at the floor and rubbed a patch of dry blood which may have been his friend's into the dirt. Michele dropped to his knees and sat, shaking his head and looking to the sky. Etienne bent down next to him, and looked him directly in eyes. "Now is not the time to grieve Michele," He put his hand around the back of Michele's neck. "Paolo and some of the women and children from Allernay may still be alive." Jean-Michele jumped up, "Where? Let's go and get them."
"My father has forbid me leaving the city and I am sure he will not allow you either."
"But," interjected Michele.
"Michele, we shall go anyway," said Etienne. "Jean-Michele told me before he died that, before the city was overthrown, his brother had led some of the woman and children to the cathedral in search of sanctuary."
"We need to go and help him Etienne."
"We will. Meet me outside the city walls after sundown. Bring your brothers. We will ride to the cathedral and bring them back."
With haste the night came allowing Etienne's leave. Successfully he had avoided his father for the remainder of the day in order to avoid inquisition. He now sat on his horse outside the castle walls waiting for his friends. The guards of the city gates had been preoccupied with the sudden influx of people to take any notice of Etienne's request to open them. He was shortly joined with Michele, Marcus and Luc. "I am glad that you have come my friends," Etienne said, greeting his three comrades. "We have already wasted much time. If we ride hard and fast we should be able to make the cathedral by midday tomorrow." Without another word they rode.
As planned they reached the cathedral when the sun filled the sky above them.
"What is that?" shouted Marcus pointing to plume of smoke in the distance, but Etienne had already seen it, and fear gripped him. His worse fears were realised. They went over the last hill before the cathedral and it was clear. The cathedral was ablaze. Chaval had found them.
"No!" screamed Etienne, and kicked his horse. He rode to the cathedral, the sweat of his horse flicking from its main. The heat from the cathedral grew stronger as Etienne drew nearer. He dismounted and ran the last for fear of his horse's safety. He frantically looked for a way in. They were burning inside. He needed to get in. There was a small entrance to the naive at the rear. Etienne knew it as he had worked on it only a few months ago. He ran around the side of the cathedral. Flames lapped out of the windows, leaving their charged marks on the cathedral, his cathedral, branding the building, selfishly claiming the building for itself. He reached the small door he was looking for. Its stone facade held back the fire. He ran at the door, his shoulder leading and smashed it open. The oxygen fueled the fire and the cathedral spat great flames out of the broken doorway like a taunted dragon. Etienne flew back, then got to his feet and ran to make his way in.
"Stop!" Luc shouted as he tackled Etienne to the ground.
"Let me go," Etienne struggled to free himself, to grapple his way back into the cathedral, but he knew it was too late. Whatever was in the cathedral could not withstand the inferno. "Let me go, they are in there."
Luc took Etienne's face in his hand and forced him to look in his eyes. "It's too late, Etienne they are gone."
"They can't be. I told John-Michele."
"Etienne it is too late." repeated Luc. His brothers were stood beside him watching the fire take its victim. The four could not move, the fire hypnotic, a trance like state descended. It wasn't until the voice of young boy was heard that they became lucid again. Faint at first, but clearly audible.
"Etienne," the four looked at each other as if for confirmation. "Etienne." Etienne jumped up and turned to face the wood that flanked the cathedral. Slowly faces appeared. It was hard for Etienne to make out at first but as the smoke cleared from his eyes he could see. Children. Then women. Appearing one by one from their arboreal hide out. Love, relief, blissful happiness filled his body. Taking him and lifting his feet from the ground. The children started running in his direction. Arms spread, welcoming their saviour. Etienne noticed from where the call had come. Paolo appeared. Heavily bloodied but walking. Etienne dropped to his knees and allowed the children to swarm him.

Two days later they arrived back at Avalon. His father's anger was subsided with the relief of seeing his son and the fifty or sixty women and children that he had returned with, but his comfort was short-lived. The overthrow of the King of Allenay and the exodus of the people from their land was only the beginning. Throughout the next year three more of the neighbouring lands were taken by Chaval. Valines fell, then Machiel, and finally Lemieux. Taken with the same merciless thirst for blood and power. Chaval would only stop long enough for his troops to rest, and their supplies replenished. His desire was relentless. Avalon’s city gates would continue to open to let evermore mourning and injured refugees in. “Etienne, I do not know how much longer our city will be able to cope,” said the king to his son as they stood on the battlements surveying the city. “We have barely enough food in the keep for those already in Avalon, and still they continue to come to our gate.” He turned and looked away from the people focusing again on the seagulls. “The fields have been harvested, our stores will soon be empty.” It was the first time Etienne had heard his father show any signs of defeat. He had always been strong, the one to turn to for answers, support; but even the king knew now that this was not sustainable, action was needed.
“Father, I have been with the guards. We have allocated enough food for all those who need it. The queue grows longer but no one is without. Everyone has a place to live and although living is cramped they are comfortable. We will survive.”
“I do not share your optimism son.”
“What do you suggest then father?”
“We must build strength from within.”
“How do you mean?” asked Etienne.
“Every able person has a role Etienne.” Etienne noticed his father’s shoulders straighten as his chest inflated. “The city’s walls must be made higher and stronger,” strength was returning to his voice. “More weapons must be forged and built, and the army needs to be fully trained and prepared.” This was the father that Etienne remembered, the ruler and protector of his people. “I will call counsel together, we can not just wait for our city to be next.” 

Etienne’s only solace in this time of unbearable heartache was to be with Arlette. He would spend as many evenings as possible in her arms. If it hadn't been for Arlette, Etienne didn’t know how he would have survived the year. She kept him strong and even though their time together was becoming ever more limited; the time they had was magical and filled him with the strength he needed to carry on. Her love and support had given him belief that everything would right itself in the end. She was his world; and he would die for her safety. She was his motivation to make keep Avalon protected, and Chaval kept at distance.
As they lay together, in the same way they had on many evenings their bodies locked as if one, Etienne sensed that something was worrying Arlette.
“What is wrong my darling?” asked Etienne.
“I’m fine,” she replied, but Etienne knew she wasn’t.
“What is it? Please tell me,” he continued.
“My love please don’t, you have many other things to worry on.”
“You are what I care about above all else. Please tell me.” Etienne looked in her eyes as the lay beside each other.
“I’m pregnant.” Etienne looked at Arlette, his eyes unable to hide his disbelief. He loved Arlette, she was his world but a fog of confusion filled his mind. He wanted this but things were not how he had imagined. They had learnt that their circumstances were not the same as other peoples, and that their love was powerful enough to overcome anything, but this was not the right time to bring their baby into the world, it wasn’t safe. He put his arm around her, not breaking eye contact and pulled her close.
“I must tell my father of our love.” said Etienne, as the fog in his mind began to clear. “I know you have wanted to protect me from this but I need to tell him. It is time for me to protect you.” Arlette knew that trying to change his mind was of no use.
“My love, please choose your timing wisely there is no rush. I respect your father deeply and would not want him to think ill of me.”
“He would not think ill of you. He is a wise man. He has experienced love like ours. When he can see in my eyes what you mean to me he will give his blessing.”

A week passed. Etienne agreed with Arlette as soon as the opportunity arose to speak with his father alone he would tell him. He would ask, for his father’s blessing that Arlette and her brother would move to the castle. Arlette wasn’t initially eager to do this, but the idea that a family of refugees could use her home as shelter gave her some comfort. He wanted his father to know, how proud he was of his love. The night before the day his father was to find out he lay awake all night holding Arlette. Each time he closed his eyes his head would spin with questions and thoughts of the future. Before daybreak Etienne kissed his love as she lay asleep next to him and left with the intention that today would be the day his father was told.
Etienne entered the main castle gates, still under the cloak of darkness, but noticed this morning there were more people milling around than usual. Cautiously he slipped back up the large stone staircase and into his room. He was about to wash his face and undress when a knock at the door startled him.
“Hello,” Etienne called wondering who would be looking for him at this early in the day.
“Etienne, it’s your father.” Etienne’s heart dropped. He thought to himself ‘He must have seen me coming in. He knows. I didn’t want him to find out this way’. The door opened and the king walked in. Something had happened. Etienne could tell instantly from his father’s face. He sat down on the edge of Etienne’s bed, not commenting on the fact that it hadn’t been slept in all night. “Son, I don not know how to tell you this, but I have just received news that Citerne has been attacked.” It was the news that Etienne had been dreading. Citerne was Olivier’s father’s Kingdom.

Three days later Citerne had been taken. Many casualties were reported and the stream of refugees appeared at the city gate. Now was not the time to tell his father. They stood together on the balcony, as they had done on the arrival of the refugees from the other four Kingdoms and Etienne knew, as his father did, that their city could take no more people. Something had to be done.
“Son, call the court and any surviving royalty and dignitaries from our neighbouring Kingdoms together. Tell them to meet me in the grand hall. We can take this no longer.” Etienne gathered the men from around the castle as his father had requested. As he ran out of the castle doors to find anyone else who needed to be invited he saw his friend Olivier coming through the castle gates. Olivier was walking with other refugee’s from Citerne, their haunted faces telling the tale of their experiences. Relief filled his body. He ran to Olivier and they threw their arms around each other. “You are alive my brother?”
“I am fine Et but my city has been burnt to ash, my people murdered. I couldn’t stop them,” tears filled his eyes. “I will not rest until I have revenge for my people Et, we can not let this continue, we must attack, and we must defeat him. Chaval can not get away with this anymore.”
“We are not going to let him. Come with me I think my father may have a plan.”
They walked together to the grand hall. Olivier still had his arm around Etienne, whether to keep him upright or to finally feel safe, Etienne didn’t care, it felt good to have his friend by his side again. As they entered the hall it was already full of noise. Men were shouting and arguing. ‘We should attack now’, ‘We’re not ready, his army would crush our wounded men’, ‘Chaval should pay for what he has done’. There was a sense in the air that the shark had smelt blood. The tipping point breached. Olivier and Etienne made their way to the head of the table to await the king. Etienne pulled a chair beside his so Olivier could sit. Silence fell across the room. The friends broke from their discussion to see the king had entered. Slowly, meaningfully he made his way along the great hall to take his place at the head. The weight of South West France now fell on his shoulders and the burden was apparent. He passed his son and placed his hand on his shoulder but said nothing. He then sat and everyone who had a seat in the overcrowded room followed. Those who didn’t have a seat stayed standing around the edge of the room watching the king. A servant came to king’s side to fill his goblet with wine. The king leaned forward and placed his hand over the goblet to indicate he didn’t want any. “Now is not the time to drink,” he said to the small boy holding the carafe of wine. The king stood. “My friends,” his voice echoed around the room as if making sure that every stone heard his words. “Evil has entered our land, and the time has come to drive it out.” The king thumped his hand on the table making goblets fall and cutlery jump. The men remained silent. “We have waited in silence for too long. Our forefather’s came to this land together to build a better life in safety and harmony. We have lived this way for four generations. Our people have worked and built their homes under our protection, and we have repaid them with shelter and food. Now the food is being taken from our table.” The king paused as murmurs of agreement came from the room. “Our land, our land," the king emphasised, "that is rightfully ours is being stolen. We shall stand for this tyranny no longer. Chaval cannot be held unaccountable for these atrocities to our fellow man any more. We must come together, and take back what is ours.” A cheer rang out from the room. Everyone was now on their feet cheering, clapping, banging their goblets and plates on the table. It was what they had waited to hear, these proud men were to be given the opportunity to strike back against the ill that had been done to their people. The king raised his hands to bring the men to silence again. “An army will be formed from the soldiers of Avalon, and those soldiers of your lands. Together we will take back your homes. I can not do it alone, but together you will return home again.” These last words echoed in the air and seemed to illuminate the room like a beacon of hope. “The first refugees entered these city walls a year ago and the last one entered today. We have waited for the time to act and that time is now.” The king paused again to let the cheering die down. “Now all return to your camps and alert any man willing to fight to be ready.”

The king turned to make his way out of the hall, he turned to Etienne, “Son come with me.”
“Olivier you come as well. I want you by my side,” whispered Etienne in his friend’s ear.
Olivier and Etienne followed the king along with; Jean-Louis the Captain of Avalon’s army, Philip the Marshal of Avalon, the Bishop of Avalon and the three surviving kings from the neighbouring lands, Citerne, Valines and Machiel. They entered the room adjacent to the great hall. Etienne realised that he had never been in this room before. From the simplicity of the furniture, a solitary round wooden table surrounded by nine high backed chairs, he could tell that this is where only the most secretive and important discussions were held. Its circular shape with the wall only broken by a singular door, further intensified the reticence of the room. The lack of windows was deliberate in design, ensuring that whatever words spoken within could not escape. Spoken and left forever enclosed in a collapsed cave. They entered and each of the men took their place as if they had sat there before. The king was flanked either side by the Captain and the Marshal. Clockwise from the king sat Olivier’s father, the King of Citerne, to his left the chair remained under the table, Etienne presumed this place was for the King of Limoux who had been killed by Chaval’s army, then sat the King of Valines, another place remained empty, presumably for the Paulo’s father the King of Allenay also slain at the hands of Chaval. Beside the empty chair sat the King of Machiel, and finally completing the circle remained another untouched chair. As the men sat, without talking they all looked at the empty chair to the right of the Captain. Etienne’s father stood up and walked to the chair, slid it back form the table, and with a ferocious swing smashed it against the wall.
“Chaval will never sit at this table again,” the king said as he returned to his seat. Etienne looked at Olivier in shock at his father's rage dilating his eyes.
Olivier, Etienne and the Bishop stayed standing. “Son I must leave. I have word that Chaval’s army has grown to an unimaginable size. Even if we had all our men we would still be outnumbered four to one. Our great city is in grave danger and so are the people I vowed to protect. I will ride to Chaval to seek the king’s counsel, to try and find a way to stop this bloodshed.” Etienne looked around the room in disbelief, ‘did nobody else think this was ludicrous’, ‘was no one else willing to offer themselves to take the king’s place’, ‘surely they knew that the king was needed here’, ‘why wasn’t anyone saying anything?’
“Father you cannot go, your people need you here. These people need to fight father. There is nothing that Chaval can offer which will appease them.”
“Son I will ride to Chaval. We are not ready to fight Chaval yet. We need more time.”
“The boy is right Sire, your people need you here,” the king’s Marshal and closest confident Philip finally interjected, much to the relief of Etienne. “You should not go. Let me go.”
“Father, Philip is also needed here to prepare the army. Let me go. I want to help. If I go it will not be seen as an attack on Chaval,” continued Etienne. “We need to speak with calm words, as you said we need more time. I will ask for parley. We do not want to strike up a battle until we are ready.”
“He will not agree to parley,” replied the king. “He is aware he has the upper hand. He knows our city is at its capacity, resources are running low and we are vulnerable.”
“But he also knows we have a lot of men sire,” continued Etienne. “Men who are angry and seeking retribution for the atrocities they have had bestowed on them. Men that, within a short period of time, will be fit again and would form a formidable opponent. He would be unable to defend the land he has taken, and may well be willing to find a compromise. And even if he doesn’t it may give us the time we need.”
“Perhaps you are right Etienne and I am proud that my son would make such an offer, but I will not agree to this,” said the king.
“I realise how painful a decision this is for you sire, but he is our best chance of a peaceful negotiation,” said Philip.
“I will not send my only son alone to that monster’s city,” the king shouted as he stood from his chair.
“I will ride with him.” Olivier stepped forward. The men around the table turned to see who had made this gesture. “I will protect him Sire as if he were my brother.” The boys looked at one another.
“You show great bravery Olivier, and I applaud your loyalty but,” the king was cut short by the Bishop of Avalon who had been standing quietly in the shadows.
“There is another option Sire,” he said in a quiet voice. The bishop was a small man, slight in frame. His angular face met at a sharp point at his chin. The site of the bishop had filled Etienne with fear as a child. “The house of Chaval has wanted for years to forge their family with Avalon. If Chaval and Avalon stood together they would not only be a formidable force in South West France, they would have an army capable of ruling the entire country. Chaval’s daughter is now of age.” The king flashed a glance at Etienne who had understood exactly the Bishop's implication. Chaval’s daughter, Marianne, was the same age as Etienne. Her father had tried unsuccessfully before to forge alliances with other kingdoms through his daughter. Her mother, as with Etienne’s, had died in child childbirth and she was also an only child. Her and Etienne’s similarities were consequential, and it had been rumoured that she was waiting for him, however Etienne had only ever believed this to be circumstantial. Before the king could say anything Etienne replied to the Bishop.
“I know what you are suggesting Bishop, the unity of Avalon and Chaval would truly make us powerful, however it would not end our struggle. If I married Marianne do you think he would let both our lands live peacefully together? Do you think he would equally split our lands and let our neighbours have their homes back?” The Bishop offered no response. “He will become even more powerful and inflict the same misery he has here throughout all of France. Is that what you want?” continued Etienne. “I will ride to Chaval and I will explain why I will not marry his daughter. I will take our offer of parley and leave it with him. We can not spend our lives in fear, running from this man.” Etienne turned from the Bishop to face his father. “Father do you forbid me to go?”
The king turned from the expectant faces and paced around the table as if a penned animal. Without turning to face the men the king replied, lethargy clear in his voice. “I will agree, but you must ride with my finest knights.” Philip rose from his chair, “Sire I fully understand your worry with sending your son," he said crossing the room to stand beside Etienne, "but I feel sending him with your knights will be viewed as an act of distrust.” He placed one hand on Etienne’s shoulder. “Etienne, I wish there were another way. I wish I could ride with you, but I fear that this is our only hope.” Philip turned to the king, “The two should ride alone Sire to show our intent of reconciliation.”
“Father," Etienne added, "Olivier and I shall deliver your offer of parley to the king’s hand. We will then leave and ride back the same day. If we depart at first light, and ride with earnest we shall be back by sunset. The more men we take the slower our progress. Father let me do this. You are needed here with your people. Our city will be evermore vulnerable without you here.” Etienne knew now that his father had to agree.
The king hadn’t stopped pacing, and was now rubbing his forehead. He stopped and looked at his son, and then the men sat around the table whom had already lost so much. The king uttered under his breath, barely audible by those in front of him, ‘my dear wife forgive me for what I am about to do’. “Etienne, you and Olivier will go to Chaval.” The boys clenched their fists, ensuring that the king couldn’t see. “It is against my better judgment but I see no other path. You will ride at first light the day after tomorrow and return before nightfall. If you have not returned by that time I will send my knights to find you. I will prepare the parley for you to give to Chaval.” The king turned to his Captain. “Have my two finest horses made ready.” The king then left the room. The men looked at each other, the silence deafening. Olivier walked over to Etienne and put his arm around his shoulder. “My brother I will ride with you every step of the way. We will give Chaval his parley and return to our people.”
“Only if you can keep up,” Etienne replied. The boys smiled at each other again, their lives as knights were about to begin.