Back at the castle the awaiting party had already formed. As the returning heroes turned the final corner the gates to the outer walls of the castle were pushed open, as if opening expectant arms and welcoming them home. They passed beneath the parapet and the crowd broke rushing to get to their loved ones. Arlette and Sebastian ran for Gill, who jumped from his horse and was engulfed by his family. The weight of responsibility that he had been carrying fell from his shoulders as he slumped, weeping into his mother’s arm.
“We did it mother. We did it.”
“Are you alright Gill?” Arlette stepped back so she could check her son for injuries. She spun him around looking for any signs of battle but there were none.
“I am fine mother. They did not get me.”
“He fought gallantly Arlette,” said Olivier.
“And you Olivier, did they hurt you?” Arlette turned to Olivier examining a slice that had been cut from his sleeve, dry blood staining his hand and arm.
“This is nothing Arlette. I will survive.”

Atop the stone steps, the king had not moved from his vantage beneath the castle doors. Slowly he raised his hands, and one-by-one the crowd became silent.
“My friends,” the king addressed the crowd. "Our loved ones have returned. Today is the day that we have rid our land of evil. Today is the day we can begin to live in freedom again.”
The crowd cheered. All were still hugging their loved ones: weeping and clapping.
“Please join me in the great hall. For those who need attention you can seek it there. For those able to celebrate, we shall.”
The king turned and headed into the castle, followed by the surviving kings, knights and their families. Gill took Olivier’s arm.
“Come my friend. We are home now.”
The king led the way to the great hall. Those injured, were laid on beds fashioned from tables covered with blankets pushed against the walls around the hall. Gill had not realised quite how many had returned, and how many were injured. There were at least thirty or forty makeshift beds and within no time each was occupied. Any spare help was rushing to-and-fro fetching water, cleaning wounds, bandaging, tying tourniquets, attaching splints.
The king motioned to Gill to follow him into the side room of the hall where he had been taken after their first night in the castle. The king’s heads of army, Gill’s family and Olivier followed. Once inside Sebastian closed the door. The king walked up to Olivier and took him into his arms.
“You have made me a proud grandfather today Gill. We are all indebted to you.”
“All the men fought valiantly Sire.”
“And you Olivier,” the king turned from Gill. “I did not expect to see you here. I must say I am not surprised and my debt goes to you too, however how did you know? The last I saw you were heading out of the city.”
Until this moment Gill had not thought of this. He had simply expected Olivier to ride with him into battle: but on reflection how had he known? All eyes in the room seemed to be fixed on Olivier, awaiting his response.
“I received notice that Chaval was to attack.” Olivier looked at Gill and then Arlette.
“But when Olivier,” said the king. “When did you receive this notice?”
“It was as I was leaving the city Sire,” Olivier’s eyes were still flicking around the room as if to assess whether he was being believed or not.
“Continue Olivier. I am not angry. I am glad you rode with my men,” said the king.
“As I left the city I noticed a rider Sire. He wore the colours of Chaval. I stopped him from entering the city.
“And?” said the king.
“And I made him tell me for what reason he was entering Avalon.”
“And what did he say Olivier?” asked Gill.
“He told me that he had a message for the son of Citern. I told him that was me, and after persuasion, he told me the message was from Marianne, Chaval’s daughter.” The eyes around the room were still transfixed. “Marianne had sent me a warning that her father was to attack Avalon, and that I should leave.”
“But you didn’t Olivier, you stayed and fought,” said Gill.
“The message also said that she needed to see me. That she had information regarding my friend.”
“I knew it,” Gill shouted. “He is alive. Mother he is still alive.”
“What do you mean Gill?” said Arlette.
“It’s father mother. He is alive.”
“Gill stop. Please stop. Your father is dead. He never returned from Chaval. He would have come and seen me.”
“He never returned mother, but that does not mean he is dead.”
“Gill,” the king interjected. “I searched for him: for months we looked. I had spies placed within the walls of Chaval, but there was never any sign of him. Gill I would know if he was alive.”
“But Chaval said...”
“What do you mean Chaval said?” questioned the king.
“I chased him Sire. He turned and was knocked form his horse,” Gill paused to catch breath. “I was going to bring him back here but he drunk a potion: a potion that killed him. But before he died he told me that he had won. That he had won because he knew where my father was. We need to go and see Marianne.”
The room fell silent, eyes where now flicking from one person to another.
“I will go,” said the king eventually.
“But Sire?” began the General.
“I will go,” repeated the king.
“As will I,” said Gill.
“And I,” added Arlette.
“Arlette, I..." started Olivier.
“Olivier, if there is any chance that Etienne is still alive then I will go.”
“Well I’m definitely going,” replied Olivier.
“A a and me,” said Sebastian.
“We leave right away,” said the king. “My Generals, ready our horses. All of you go back to your rooms. Change if necessary and I will meet you back at the stables. Tell no one of where we are going. It will be dark soon. We shall leave as soon as night has fallen.” Without another word the king turned and walked from the room.
The travelling party neither needed nor wanted to change, but they returned too their chambers on the king’s order. Arlette packed a small valise of her medicines. Gill removed his bloodied tunic, washed, and put on a clean dry one. Olivier went straight to the stables to check on the horses and make sure that enough provisions had been packed. Within no time the sun had fallen and they had reconvened, as the king requested ready to ride for Chaval.
“Sire, before we ride I must say that I think...” said one of the Generals.
“I know what you are about to say,” interrupted the king, "and I do not want to hear another word of it. You are a good man, and I appreciate your protection, but I sent my son to Chaval. It is my fault he is not here with us now, and if there is any chance he may be alive it will be I that will bring him back home again.”
The King mounted his horse, and with a sharp kick, started in the direction of the city gates.
The streets were still busy as they passed through. The mood was one of celebration. People were singing and dancing, and as the king and his entourage passed they clapped and cheered, as if the king were making a victory parade for his people. The city gates opened, and closed again without question. Outside, pyres were still burning on the land, and a dense acrid smoke rolled across the ground, haunting the surroundings. The party moved in silence, purposefully. They didn’t stop all night.
As dawn broke and the party stopped to eat, and allow the horses to drink. Conversation was sporadic. Tiredness, contemplation and confusion had rendered them mute. They remounted and continued. The morning passed. Spring had repainted the landscape. Blossom filled the trees and the river ran with a melancholy ease.
It was late afternoon when they saw Chaval for the first time. It was a small dot on the horizon, but the grey monolith was instantly recognizable. Continuing their silence, ignoring the site with contempt they followed the valley in the direction of the grey city.
The clouds enveloped the sky, blotting the sun as if sensing their mood. Gill noticed Olivier was visibly agitated. His head was flashing from side-to-side, protectively looking from bush to shadow. Gill slowed to be beside his friend, but before he could say a word of comfort behind them Sebastian’s horse bolted, throwing him to the ground. The party stopped and spun around. Thankfully Sebastian sat up and seemed to Gill to be fine. Gill then turned his attention from Sebastian to the bushes that flanked them Gill noticing for the first time what it was that had made the horse bolt. Standing by the track was a woman. Dressed in black, clearly distressed and trembling with fear.
“Marianne,” called Olivier, jumping from his horse and running in the direction of the woman. He took her in his arms and she slumped to the floor. “Are you alright Marianne?”
Olivier carefully laid her on the floor, the rest of the party dismounted and formed and inquisitive circle around them.
“Excuse me Olivier. Let me see her,” said Arlette in a calming, direct tone. Marianne’s eyes were shut and her body limp. Arlette touched her face and neck and then tenderly lifted each eye lid before letting them fall back into their state of sleep. She pressed her head against Marianne’s chest and lifted her hands; checking on both sides. The men looked on quizzically, baffled my Arlette’s ritualistic actions.
“Do not worry Olivier,” Arlette continued. “She is exhausted. She will be fine.”
Arlette took one of her potions from her valise and waved the small bottle under Marianne’s nose. Within moments Marianne stirred and opened her eyes. Lucidly her eyes moved around the overlooking crowd until they fixed on Olivier.
“Olivier, thank god.”
“Do not try to speak Marianne,” said Arlette. “Drink this.”
Arlette had taken another larger bottle from her valise. The liquid inside had the appearance of stagnant pond water, and by Marianne’s reaction when she sipped from it, it did not taste much better.
“This will make you feel better Marianne. Try to swallow.”
Arlette tipped the bottle and it seemed to be pouring colour directly back into Marianne’s cheeks.
“Thank you I am fine,” said Marianne pushing the rest of the bottle away. “Olivier,” Marianne continued, turning her attention, “I did not think you would come. Did my father get to you? Are you alright?”
“He came, but he will not be troubling us anymore,” replied Olivier.
“I am so sorry. I should have said something earlier.”
“I am alright Marianne. You did what you could. But what made you send the message.”
Marianne began to cry.
“He had gone too far Olivier. I am so ashamed. I am so sorry.”
“It is not your fault Marianne,” the king stepped forward. “I am the king of Avalon. Your father has been defeated.”
“He was killed Marianne,” added Olivier. “Your father is dead.”
“My father died a long time ago Olivier. He died the moment he attacked the first city. The moment he banished my brother. The moment he let greed and hate engulf his body. But what of my brother Olivier? Did he die?”
Olivier looked to Gill and back at the weeping woman who lay on the floor.
“He got away Marianne.” Marianne grabbed Olivier’s hand. “I chased him, but he got away.”
“Oh thank you lord.” Marianne looked up to the sky and closed her eyes.
“I will help you find him Marianne. But I have something to ask of you first.”
“Anything Olivier.”
“You asked me to come to you as you had information about my friend. What is that information Marianne?” Marianne turned her head to look around the group and sat up.
“I had to run from Chaval, I had no choice. When my father did not return the city became a mêlée. They broke into the castle; I escaped before it became overthrown. I did not have the opportunity to do what I had planned. I am sorry.”
“What was it Marianne? What had you planned?” said Gill.
“It is your son Sire,” Marianne replied fixing her gaze on the king. “He is still alive. He is in prison in Chaval.”

Marianne led the way to her city. The king had convinced her that on returning to the city with him and the royal party, the people of Chaval would not attack her. They would be returning victorious, emancipating the people of Chaval from the tyranny they had endured. They were free for the first time in their life. It would be time for them to rejoice. He would protect her. The king would explain to them that could now live their lives free of suppression, and that it was not Marianne that inflicted their subordination but her father, and she should not be judged on his evil actions.
“I am indebted to you Sire,” Marianne said to the king as they approached the city. “I return here for you. I will show you where your son is, and you can be together again.”
The approach to the city was in stark contrast to the rolling hills that led the way to Avalon. The gloom and despair that emitted from Chaval seemed to have poisoned the surrounding area. The baron land was flat, its uniformity only broken by shards of stone, breaking the desolate land like fish scales. The horse’s hooves kicked up dust as they approached the city gates with trepidation. The gates were already open, the city had no fear of attack, there was nothing within the walls anyone could possibly want.
“I will lead the way,” said the king. “Please follow in single file behind. I do not want us to be preserved as a bataille. We are visitors to this city. We must respect this fact.”
The party did as was asked. The king followed by the two generals, then Gill, Arlette, Sebastian and finally Olivier and Marianne. Olivier had lifted Marianne onto his horse in order that they both rode in together.
The king passed beneath the parapet, his bay horse and long white robes distinctive against the dark city. It appeared that the city had calmed since Marianne had left. Smoke from smouldering buildings still hung in the air, and went some way to disguise the pungent stench that had previously occupied the air. Marianne pulled herself tighter into Olivier, hiding her face in his chest.
“I never thought I would return here Olivier,” she said.
“Hopefully we will not be here for long,” he replied. “This place makes me feel uneasy.”
The king kept a steady pace, followed metronomically by the rest of the party. The streets were strangely deserted. Gills eyes flicked from door-to-door of the strange ramshackle houses for signs of life. A dirtied face appeared in a window, then another. Gradually the remaining population of city began showing themselves. They stepped from their houses: men, women, children, silently walking from the shadows all torturously malnourished. More faces appeared, the street before the visitors filled, parted only by a track wide enough for the horses to pass. But the townsfolk did not attack, did not even make a sound, just closed in on the party and stared, and then started to kneel. Still silently, with heads bowed, like a wave rippling over the crowd’s head they all knelt. The king kept pace. His eyes fixed on the castle gates. Gill looked at Olivier, who had an arm around the shivering Marianne, and then looked to his mother and Sebastian who simultaneously shrugged their shoulders, obviously as unnerved with the situation as he was. Marianne lifted her head from Olivier.
“You need to tell the king to go into the castle, and I will lead the way from there.”
Olivier relayed the message, and the king continued through the crowd until he reached the castle doors. Gill turned and looked back into the city. The throngs on people who had gathered were still knelt with their heads bowed.
“Sire, are you going to say something to these people. It is not right. They are free. Why are they behaving like this?”
“I will Gill, but the most important thing now is to find your father. I will come back and speak to them, but we must go now.”
The visitors dismounted, and Marianne led the way into castle. The darkness as they entered was palatable, and the emptiness of entrance hall added to their foreboding. Marianne took the lead with a confidence that settled some of Gill’s fears. She removed a lit candle which gave the only low light within the hall and headed into the castle. Olivier stayed by her side followed by Gill, Arlette, Sebastian and the king. One of the generals followed, however the other remained at the castle doors ensuring that they were not followed.
The only noise, steps on stone. Marianne continued deeper and deeper into the castle: along a corridor followed by a staircase which they descended. Another corridor and further steps. The darkness pressed on them, making them hunch as they struggled for the elusive light. Arlette gripped Gill’s hand, her son holding tight for fear of losing his mother. And then they stopped. Marianne turned and looked at the king, her head illuminated by candle as if suspended in the blackness without a body.
“This is the prison,” she said. “I have only been here once before as a child with my brother.” She stepped aside and held the candle to the small wooden door in front of her. It was arched at the top, and sat deep into a thick stone wall. The door was held shut with a large piece of wood placed across it, wedged into supports embedded in the wall. Olivier stood forward and began pulling the locking piece of wood up and out of the way. Even for a man of his strength the support barely moved, Gill stepped forward to help, then the General, and the king. It moved. They heaved and it moved again, eventually breaking free of supports and falling to the floor making an echo which continued along the corridor. The king placed his hand on the door and pushed. As with the supports the door had not been moved in a long time the moss that had grown, and the damp that had set into the wood made opening the door difficult: but with his shoulder the king managed. And they stood. Silence. Each waiting to hear a noise. An indication that there was life within this catacomb. Silence. The king took the candle from Marianne and held it out in front of him in an effort to illuminate the room. A dim glow spread, barely a footstep from the king was complete darkness.
“Etienne,” called Arlette. “Etienne, it is me Arlette. Please say something.”
Still nothing. The king edged further into the room, keeping one hand on the wall in order to keep his bearings. Arlette held on to the king’s robes with one hand and Gill’s hand with the other.
“Sire,” said Arlette. “Please show the light here I have something in my bag that may help.”
The king lowered the candle to Arlette’s valise which she opened and removed a handful of dried leaves. She ripped some cloth from her dress and tied the leaves in it, and laid the ball on the floor. With the candle Arlette lit the ball, and it flamed up warming their faces and spreading light around the room, instantly Gill wished it hadn’t. The site was horrific. Skeletal figures lay chained to the walls, and rats scurried from bone-to-bone picking whatever morsels of meat they could find. Gill could feel Arlette’s grip tighten. The General stepped forward and with his sword pierced the ball in order that it could be held aloft. For the first time the group could see the enormity of the room. It was cavernous. Stone archways broke the solid stone walls, and on each pillar a body was chained. He walked forward waving his sword as much to spread the light as to keep the rats away. The group walked deeper into the room in search of life. Arlette bent down at those bodies which hadn’t decomposed in the hope seeing some movement. She had checked four lifeless bodies when the noise of a chain rattling drew all their attention. The General increased his pace in the direction from which the noise came. The shadows parted, and lay naked in a corner was a man. His hair was long and joined his beard on this thin chest. The infusion of light made him squint and turn his head. His skin was covered with lesions and hung from his body like melted wax. Beside him a mound of moulded kitchen slops moved as rats scattered to avoid the visitors.
“Etienne, is that you?” the king bent down to take a closer look at the man.
“Is it him Sire?” asked Olivier. They waited for a response but nothing. Arlette pushed through the group that stood around the slumped man in order that she could see.
“Etienne?” she asked.
“Ar Ar Arlette,” the man replied.
“Yes Etienne, I’m here, I’m here.” Arlette bent down and took hold of Etienne’s hand. “It’s him. It’s him.”
“Cut him free,” shouted the king, and with a swing Olivier took his sword and broke Etienne’s chain against the wall. Etienne’s arm slumped to the floor. Olivier took his cape and covered his friend. Arlette could not stop stroking his face, repeating ‘it’s him, it’s him’ rocking back-and-forward as she cradled his head in her arms.
“Cut them all free,” shouted the king. The cling of metal on metal filled the room as the General made his way around the wall of the prison breaking the chains of all the prisoners. Most were dead, had been for a long time however there were a few that had survived: had managed to cheat death by eating with the rats, picking on leftovers thrown out by the kitchen.
The group carried the survivors out of the darkness. Their bodies were frail and needed care but it wasn’t long before they could sit up, then talk. Most could not bring themselves to speak of the torture they had endured. Etienne was no different. The king, Olivier, Arlette, Gill, Sebastian would keep a constant vigil by his bedside at the Castle in Avalon. At first he stared blankly back at them as if his body were simply a vessel that his soul had left long ago, but gradually the light returned. It was barely a spark at first, but Arlette recognised it. The lesions healed and his body began to fill again. His strength returned. Soon Etienne could stand. Walk. Arlette would take him in the hot summer afternoons to the dunes that looked out to sea and Etienne would lay watching the seagulls circle overhead and smile. He had found his freedom again, he had learned how to fly.

The End

Gill and Olivier created a small hideout by ripping long branches from overhanging trees and loosely weaving them together between two larger branches. When they were satisfied they had sufficiently hidden themselves and their horses they sat down besides one another taking their ready positions in their arboreal shelter. Gill faced in the direction that Chaval should be coming, and Olivier faced slightly in other, back toward the clearing, just in case Chaval had got wind of their plan and was going to attack from the rear. They sat motionless, not talking; this was not the time for words. After a while the waiting for the signal started to play tricks on their minds. Gill began to wonder if the signal would ever come, should he stand so he could see what was happening. Slowly, as they waited, the sun fell and the air cooled. Both men moved to try and find a more comfortable position; their lack of movement was beginning to make their joints ache. Gill clenched his fists trying to warm his hands and to get blood pumping through them again. They needed to try to keep their bodies relatively warm in order that when called on it could react. The sun fell tuning the sky black, punctured only by shards of glass broken from a crescent moon, illuminating the woods and mountains with a grey atmospheric light. Gill moved from his seating position to lie, in order that he could look up at the celestial magnificence: then he heard it, thump, thump, thump, thump. Very quietly at first but the vibrations running through the floor, resonating through his body, told him instantly what it was, marching. He lifted his head up and looked at Olivier to see if he had heard it: Olivier’s face evidence that he had. Thump, thump, thump, thump, every thump gradually getting louder. Gill’s grip tightened around his sword. The clang of metal against metal, armour on armour, then the calls of the army generals.
“Stay together, one, one, one, two, one.”
Gill strained his neck so he could see the brow of the hill through the edge of the forest; the direction from which the noise was coming. He could see nothing, but the noise was getting louder. Then the first line of heads appeared, then shoulders, slowly showing themselves as they marched over the hill. The warm sensation of fear filled his body. Then the next line, and the next, the rows of Chaval’s men stretched from as far as he could see in one direction to as far in the other, then another line would reveal itself, a black shadow slowly casting itself over the hill as they moved forward. Gill could hear every word now. He slowly changed his laying position to get even closer to the ground that was rumbling like an expectant volcano beneath him. Chaval’s army, rolling out like a blanket of tar, removing the life from whatever it passed over. Closer still they came. Lit by the moonlight, he could now make out their faces. They walked in front of him, touching distance away from his face. Gill held his breath. And the feet kept coming and coming. Gill estimated there must have been a few hundred rows. He had begun to count them but the ever-increasing numbers scared him, so he tried to focus on his mission instead, why he was here, what he had come to do. And still they came, with death in their eyes, rage dripping from every pore; a putrid acrid smell of war filled the air. Thousands, all in uniformed lines, armed to the teeth. Then the horses came, followed by the trebuchets, ‘they have not just come to overthrow Avalon’ Gill thought to himself ‘they have come to destroy it, the city would never be able to withstand an onslaught of this enormity, we must do our duty, we are it’s only hope.’
The last of the huge trebuchets passed, followed finally by the last line of soldiers. Gill looked back up the hill in the direction the army had come praying there were no more. To his relief all that remained at the brow of the hill was a small batallie of soldiers, no more than a few hundred. Gill could also make out twenty or thirty on horseback. He tapped Olivier on the arm and pointed in the direction of the hill, it was the first movement he had made in a long time and it sent a searing pain up his arm. It was their target, the royal party and their protection.
“I know,” Olivier whispered back.
They slowly stood up and carefully got back on their horses without making a sound. A flaming arrow flew through the air above their heads, it came from behind them, it was their call, the sign; the moment had come to fulfil their destinies. The knights smashed through the edge of the forest on their horses and out into the view of Chaval. Gill turned to see all his allies appear from the forest. All had seen the signal and were riding at full speed toward the top of the hill, to their target.
A wave of heat hit Gill making his horse bolt. The first part of their plan had been executed. Without noticing Chaval’s army had walked right into their trap. The knights had laid a wide stream of oil that began at the edge of one the woods where they were hiding to the other. Chaval’s men had marched right over it, not noticing in their thirst for blood. Two of the knights had set fire to either end of the line of oil and now there was a wall of fire separating the king of Chaval and his party from his army. The wall of fire also acted as another signal for the awaiting archers on the battlements of Avalon to action the second part of their plan. In unison they lit the end of their arrows and fired at another river of oil that had been laid across the front of the city. A second wall of flames went up. The flames rose to at least half the height of the city’s wall and appeared from where Gill was to be lapping against his beloved city like a blazing tempest. Now Chaval’s army couldn’t go forwards or back. Their horses were bolting, trampling their own men in the melee. The Captains of Chaval’s battalions were looking for orders, but the king and the army generals had been separated from them, and couldn’t get their orders across. “Fire,” came the order from the wall of Avalon. A wave of burning arrows flew from the city wall raining down on Chaval’s disorientated and vulnerable men. “Fire,” another wave was sent out, and another. Avalon’s catapults came into the fray, their molten boulders smashing into the oncoming army, scattering bodies and stoking the panic. Chaval’s men couldn’t attack, or retreat. “Fire,” “Fire,” “Fire,” the calls kept coming from inside the city walls, the barrage was relentless. Some of Chaval’s men began to run East or West, but those charged with keeping the men inline would strike down anyone that tried to brake, some of the fortunate ones escaped, the rest had no option but to try and charge the city, jump through the wall of fire, avoid the arrows falling on them like a swarm of killer bees, few would survive. Chaval could see from the top of the hill what was happening, and realised the trap that they had walked into. A corridor of flames that burned the height of an oak tree now blocked his bloodthirsty army from attacking or retreating. Avalon’s knights, to the north of the corridor of flames now had clear sight of their target. The charging horses formed a line, so close that the stirrups of the knights touched the horse of the knight’s that flanked them, and began their ascent to the top of the hill, to take the king.
“Tell your men to stand firm. If we cannot take the city I want all their knights dead,” came the order from Chaval as he looked down the hill at the knights charging in his direction.
“Ready men,” called one of Chaval’s generals. The front two lines of the few hundred soldiers that were protecting Chaval kneeled down and pointed their spears toward the moon, jamming the end into the ground creating a protective wall. The preceding rows of archers took an arrow from their quiver and placed it carefully in their bow, closing one eye, resting the flights on their cheeks and taking aim on the oncoming attackers.
Gill whipped his horse trying to get more speed from him. The knights had now formed a two hundred strong line stretching from one of the woods to the other, two hundred of the finest soldiers Avalon had to offer. They were ready and now charging at Chaval full speed, finally set free, allowed to protect their homes and rid the land of the man that had put so much fear into the hearts of their families.
“Stay straight and firm men,” called Gill’s Captain, but they didn’t need telling, they had trained for years for this moment, and they were now running on instinct. They could see their target, each of the knights passed their horses reins into the hand that was holding their shields, and drew their swords with the other. The first wave of arrows fired by Chaval’s men flew at them. Gill noticed out the corner of his eye a couple of horses fall; he decided he would not look left or right again. Another wave came, and then another. They were closing in. Chaval’s archers could not reloaded quick enough to slow down the onslaught. The knights dropped their shield to the floor and drew another weapon with the hand holding the reins. Gill unhooked his mace, Olivier another sword, and with one swing of the knight’s arms the front row of Chaval’s soldiers were out of the way, the following row of archers scattered by the charging horses. The knights cut through Chaval’s soldiers, not taking aim, or humanising over their enemies. Gill and Olivier stayed focused on the group at the back of the pack, the ten or twenty men on horses that were obviously the king, the Prince, and probably army generals and some knights. The horses continued to stampede, crashing through Chaval’s soldiers as if smashing through waves as they crashed on the shore. Gill, took a quick glimpse to his left and right, the temptation was too much. To his relief the majority of the knights were still riding, all heading in the same direction as he was. Gill noticed ahead that the king and his pack were beginning to move. The men at either end of Chaval’s line were waving large banners that Gill presumed must be the signal to retreat. ‘They are running away, we’ve got them,’ he thought to himself, but none of the knights were letting up. They knew that they had to get the king, or they would have to live in fear of attack for another twenty years, this was their opportunity to rid this land of Chaval for good. Gill noticed the pack turning and beginning to ride back in the direction of the mountains and Chaval. Gill knew that if Chaval reached the mountains they could easily find a place to hide, they needed to get to them before they disappeared. The number of soldiers in their way was subsiding and the knights were able to pick up pace, finally able to break free and begin their chase for the king. Gill flew through the last remaining soldiers like a swallow through its flock. Instinctively avoiding all that was in front of him. Most of the knights were unable to keep up with his swiftness, and he was now leading the attack. He went over the brow of the hill and realised that only a few of the knights were still with him, but it didn’t matter he must keep riding. He was gaining on the pack; Gill guessed he had maybe five other knights now for company. The pack in front of them separated. Gill kept focused on the king and the Prince. It was obvious from where he was which was the king as he sat smaller on his horse than the others, and the two largest of Chaval’s knights were staying close to him and his son, evidently ordered to protect their king and the Prince at all costs. Gill looked around to quickly assess the situation; he was now chasing the king the Prince and two others. Some of the chasing pack followed those that separated from the king’s group. For the first time in his life he felt the freedom that he had always desired: his mind was clear and true. He rode his horse as if they were one, gallantly charging to set his people free, Gill realised now what it must be like to be one of the seagulls he had envied. He had learned to fly.
Yah! a loud scream came from beside him, it was Olivier urging on his steed. He glanced at Gill, smiled, and then whipped his horse again. There were two of them now, chasing four. They reached the king’s two protecting guards first and cut them down easily with one strike of their swords. It was now just Gill and Olivier against the king and the Prince.
The Prince peeled off from his father. Gill looked at Olivier his long flowing hair dripping with sweat.
“The Prince is mine,” Olivier shouted. “You take the king.”
Gill was closing in. It wouldn’t be long before he would be able to touch the king’s horse. The king attempted to lose Gill by heading into the woods, praying that the trees would offer him a place to hide, but Gill was too close now to lose sight of him. The king turned and looked over his shoulder to find out how far away Gill was, their eyes met, the eyes that his father had trusted before he had his death sentence bestowed on him. By turning around Chaval had not noticed a low hanging branch, and before he could react he rode into the branch at full speed. It hit him across the chest throwing Chaval from his horse. Gill pulled the reins as he galloped past the fallen king brining his horse to a halt. He slowly turned and rode back to where the king was laying, crumpled on the forest floor. Gill dismounted. Still with his sword in his hand he walked over to the king. The king rolled on to his back. Gill saw clearly for the first time the pallid evil face of the man that had brought so much misery to so many people in this land. Gill thought he would be angry, would want to pierce his sword instantly through the king’s chest, but the site of the weak old man that lay gasping for air, blood trickling from his mouth only made him feel pity. The old man looked at him.
“My name is Gill. You killed my father, and made my mother a widow and I will now take you back to Avalon for your punishment.”
As Gill uttered these words he could see the last remaining colour in the old man’s face ebb away. The life had gone from his eyes; fear had stamped out evil, he knew he was beaten. Chaval rolled on to his side still gasping for air. Slowly with his right hand he started to feel inside his chest plate. It looked to Gill as if the king was trying to relive some of the pressure on his chest; but it was not until too late that he realised what the king was doing. With a swift move Chaval pulled a small vile out, removed the bung off the top with his teeth and swallowed the liquid. Gill leapt forward and kicked the bottle from the king’s hand, but it was too late, the poison had been drunk. The king looked up at Gill and smiled a menacing smile as he let the poison take hold of his body.
“No,” Gill screamed, the king could not escape like this.
“It’s too late Gill,” the king said as he lay on the floor. “I have won. You can take back the land for your pitiful people. You can rebuild the cities that I burned to the ground.” Slowly, his gasping for air got worse, his body started to convulse, foam began to form around the corner of his mouth. Gill stepped back and watched the macabre scene play out before him
“You have not won,” said Gill. “You lay at my feet dying. I have avenged my father death. My people are free. We have won Chaval.”
“But…” gasped the king. “I am the only one who knows where your father is.”
“What?” shouted Gill. “What do you mean?” Gill fell to his knees and grabbed the king by his chest plate and started to shake him, desperate for the king to tell him what he knew, but it was too late. The king’s convulsing had stopped and his eyes rolled as his head fell back. He was dead, their mission was complete, but what did the king mean. Gill dropped the king on the floor and began to cry. Still on his knees he looked up at the stars and screamed, “No!” What had he done? Was his father not dead?
Gill stood and lifted Chaval’s lifeless body on to his horse, and slowly started toward the battlefield. He needed to get back, to speak with his grandfather. He contemplated the enormity of what had happened: he knew the welcome that would greet the returning heroes, but he didn’t feel like a hero, all he really wanted was to see his family, to find out what Chaval meant. Many men had worthlessly lost their lives today, all due to the greed of one man, and he now knew there was a chance that his father might still be alive

It took some time for Gill to reach the battlefield again, and the returning journey gave him time to think about what had just happened. He came back over the brow of the hill and into the view of Avalon, and for the first time he could see the catastrophic remains of battle. Dawn was breaking, and the morning mist covered the grass giving a ghostly complexion to the landscape. It looked almost as if over night the city had started to sink into the sea. The final embers of the walls of fire that had so successfully caused the downfall of Chaval’s army were slowly dieing out. The surviving knight’s of Avalon were making funeral pyres of Chaval’s dead soldiers. Gill counted at least twenty of the ghoulish mounds of bodies waiting to be burnt. He continued walking in the direction of the city. Mercifully he noticed one of the knights he recognised, then another. Both rode over and began to form a line either side of him. Then another two knights joined, and then more, soon there was a line of probably eighty of them, Gill did not count.

A cry went up from one of the guards standing on the battlements of Avalon. Through the thick plumes of smoke he had noticed a line of knights slowly riding back toward the city. “They’re coming back, they’re coming back,” he screamed.
The news echoed through the streets of Avalon resonating like the concentric ripples in a puddle after a stone has been dropped in. People who had barricaded themselves into their homes, hidden behind furniture, began coming from their strongholds on to the streets to see if their nightmares had finally come to an end. Soon the streets were full of expectant city folk, all trying to find out more information as to what had happened on the other side of the city wall. The guard that had brought the initial news to the cities attention tried to relate back what he was seeing.
“Let him talk,” shouted a man from the crowd, trying to bring quiet to the noisy expectant townsfolk.
“I think I can see, fifty, no sixty, hang on their maybe more.” His estimate was understated. Nearly a hundred knights had now formed a line either side of Gill, and were making their way home. Those knights that had been injured were picked up by the able and carried or put on horseback.
“I see you caught up with him then.” Gill spun around to see Olivier by his side again.
“Thank God Olivier I thought…”
“I’ve told you before Gill, you think too much sometimes my friend,” Olivier smiled and lent down from his horse and placed his hand on Gill’s shoulder.
“What about?” Gill didn’t have to finish his question.
“His evil finally caught up with him. Your father can now rest in peace.”
Now was not the time to ask questions of what had happened after they had split last night to chase the king and Prince separately. That time would come: besides Gill still felt in a state of shock regarding what he had heard from the king and would not be able to convey it to Olivier yet even if he tried. As the line of knights drew closer to the city the relief started to relax their muscles. The city gates slowly creaked open.
“You can leave him here Gill,” said the Captain, pointing at the king who lay across Gill’s horse. Gill pushed the king’s body off his horse and it fell unceremoniously to the ground. The king’s body wasn’t a trophy, just an unwanted memory of a life they were all eager to forget. Gill mounted his horse in order that he could ride the final part of their return to the city.
“In line men,” ordered the Captain. He led the way with Gill to his right, Olivier positioned himself next to Gill, and another knight took his place next to Olivier completing the front line of four horses, all the other knights fell into line behind them. As they moved through the gates a roar erupted, louder than anything any of the knights had ever heard before. Gill could see for the first time as he looked over his shoulder just how many of the men had survived. From the two hundred brave men that left Avalon yesterday at least one hundred and twenty had formed in rows of four behind them. Those that had not returned had died to free Avalon.
The procession rode through the city gates and headed toward the castle. Flowers were being thrown on the street in front of them. Men and women would break from the crowd to shake their hands and thank them. Gill smiled and waved, and then he saw her. She stood back from the crowd leaning against the wall of a small house. Their eyes locked, his body shook, lightning passed through his veins. She smiled. Gill needed to stop, talk to her, and find out who she was, but the horses continued. Gill turned around, straining to keep her in view. Olivier had been watching and tapped Gill on the shoulder, but Gill’s eyes remained locked on the girl. He smiled at his young friend, and leant over and whispered in his ear.
“Come on Gill, you can find her later.”

“Go and give Chaval this and don't stop until he has it in his hand,” Beni whispered as he handed over a piece of parchment to a small boy with a dirtied face wearing scruffy clothes. The boy sped from the city street in the direction of the main gates. He knew not to turn back and to move as quick away from his master as possible. He had been caught out too many times not escaping when he had the chance, and the bruises on his body that still ached were testament to it. It did not take long for the boy to find who he was looking for. Crouched in the shadows of a small tavernier, with his hood covering his face, sat the Prince of Chaval. He unrolled the parchment that was handed to him by the boy and read Beni's message. He then held it over the single candle that sat in the middle of his table and let the parchment slowly become engulfed by the flames. Before the flames scorched his hand he threw the dieing embers onto the cold stone floor, and stamped the remains out as he made his way from his hiding place. Within moments he was on his horse and riding for Chaval. The night was still dark and he rode with great speed: gainly moving through the deep forest, avoiding low hanging branches with the skill and agility of a panther.
At midday the following day the Prince had not slowed, his pace was relentless, he knew importance of the information he carried with him. He wasn't going to let his father down. He rode, possessed with the fear of failure that had shaped his unhappy life. By late afternoon he finally reached the castle gate. The guards opened them and stepped aside. The Prince continued his pace through the city. The solemn heads of the townsfolk lifted momentarily from there desolation to see the charging steed. The Prince's horse was foaming at the mouth and sweat was falling from its muscular frame. He reached the castle doors, jumped from his horse, and ran up the steps into the castle. Another guard allowed the Prince to pass. He didn’t break stride until he reached the doors of the main hall which he swung open un-ceremonially. To the three men within the hall, the light cast a silhouetted figure against the afternoon sun, and they had to cover their eyes until there pupils dilated enough to be able to make out what had caused the intrusion.
The King of Chaval, the Head of his army and his Bishop sat up, startled at the sudden infusion of natural light into the cold damp room. The silhouette of a man dressed head to toe in long robes stood in the doorway lit from the day behind producing a zealot like image that made the men at the other end of the hall draw breath. The silhouette slowly began to approach the men. It seemed not to be touching the floor. A floating spectre: silently moving in the direction of the men at the far end of the room. The figure stopped in front of the king and the king smiled. An evil smile. He knew already who he was, and what news the messenger had brought for him. He had waited for this day, for this information since he had sent this man on his mission nearly five years ago. The ghoulish figure that adorned the robes was one of the king's most trusted men. He had been posted in Avalon, told to become one of the refugees and only return when it was time for Chaval to attack. He needed to act like a refugee, befriend other refugees, earn their trust and above all protect his true identity. He reached the far end of the hall and knelt before the king, head bowed, his hood still hiding his face.
“Sire the time has come.”
His voice was quiet. It was the voice of a man who had spoken few words in a very long time.
“Continue,” replied the king.
“Sire, the King of Avalon is gravely ill, he does not have long to live.”
The king's smile extended leaving a long thin crescent of yellow across his shrunken face like the last remaining light from a haunted moon.
“How long would you say?”
The king's words were dripping with evil anticipation, as if his mouth were poised ready to take a bite from the forbidden fruit.
“I do not think he will make it through winter Sire.”
“And what will happen then?” the king enquired.
“With the king gone the city and also the army are without any natural leader. They are low on resources and vulnerable Sire. Open to attack.”
The king lifted himself out of his throne and walked toward the man knelt in front of him. He leant over; put his hand out in front of him indicating the stranger to take it. The stranger took the bony hand and kissed the large red stoned ring that hung from his hand. “Stand,” the king said, and the stranger rose from his knees. The king could now look at the man in the face. The two men who flanked the throne staggered in shock as they saw for the first time the strangers face. It was if the king were looking into a mirror that reflected the image of a man twenty years his younger. The facial features were the same. Thin and drawn, placed on white emotive skin. The younger man's only distinction from the king was thick black hair that framed his face, further emphasising the paleness. Son, the king continued, you have done well.
“Thank you Sire,” the man bowed his head again.
“Are you sure now is the time?” said the king.
“I am Sire, however you need to know of information I received yesterday which makes the imminence of our attack even more pressing.”
“Continue,” replied the king.
“There is another.”
“What do you mean there is another Henri?” the king asked.
“The prince of Avalon had a son.”
“What?” the words seemed to hit the king like a lightening bolt. His scream sent the crows that nested in the darkness of the eves flapping around the great room. “How did I not know this Henri?” the king shouted. “Why did you not tell me?”
“I only found out myself yesterday Sire,” replied Henri. “I am sorry I have not served you well.”
“Never mind your apologies,” shouted the king, and with the back of his hand struck Henri across the face making him fall to the floor. “Stand up,” continued the king. Henri composed himself and warily stood. “Now tell me how Etienne came to have a son.”
“Please do not scold me Sire; I am not aware of the full details. All I have been told is that he arrived at the castle yesterday, accompanied by Olivier.”
“Olivier of Citern?” shouted the king.
“Yes Sire,” replied Henri, his words trembling from his mouth.
“Citern's son is still alive?” the king turned to his left to address his Général d' armée. “Ready the troops we ride for Avalon at first light tomorrow. I want that city flattened!”
Without saying a word Henri turned and began walking in the direction from which he had come.
“Stop,” shouted the king. The Prince turned to face his father. “You are no longer banished from this city Henri. I want you to ride with me against Avalon.”
“Thank you Sire,” replied Henri his head still bowed with shame.
“General,” the king turned his attention to the man to his left again. “Get your men ready. Tell them to wait for my order. Soon we will take back all that is rightfully mine.”

From her secret vantage point Marianne had been watching as her brother arrived and delivered the news. When her brother turned to leave the room she also left her position in order that she could meet him as he entered the castle forecourt.
“Henri,” called Marianne as Henri made his way from the castle: but he did not look up. His shoulders were hung from his body like the branches of a willow. Marianne ran up to him and took him in her arms. “Henri, it is me Marianne,” but there was no reaction from her brother. He simply stood lifeless, his fixed stare not moving from the ground. “Henri, please talk to me. What is it? What is the matter?” Marianne leant back from her embrace in order that she could look Henri in the eyes. He turned his stare from the ground to her.
“I have let our father down again Marianne,” he replied before turning his gaze back to the ground.
“No you haven’t Henri. Do not think that,” said Marianne. “You have done everything father has ever asked of you: more even. You have been exiled to Avalon for years. Showed unfaltering dedication, and have returned with the news that he has been waiting for.”
“It is still not enough Marianne.”
Marianne put her hands on either side of Henri's face and lifted his head in order that he was looking in her eyes again.
“Henri, nothing will ever be enough,” she said. “He can take all of France and his hunger would still not be satisfied. You have done what has been asked of you. You have served with loyalty and sacrifice far greater than anyone has ever shown father. It is time my brother to live your own life.”
“But all I ever wanted to do…”
“Stop Henri,” interjected Marianne. “You are a strong, beautiful, brave man, and if he can not see that now, then he will never be able too.” Henri turned his head away from Marianne's again. “Come with me Henri; let’s get you out of these dirty clothes.” Marianne took his hand and led Henri back to her chambers.
“Maid, will you fill a bath for my brother,” Marianne said as they entered her room. “Henri, please sit.”
Nervously Henri looked around the room for somewhere to sit until Marianne took his hand and sat down on the edge of bed indicating for him to sit next to her. “I heard what you said to father Henri. Is the king of Avalon truly ill?”
“He is. I have not seen him, but I have a reliable source within the castle who told me he does not have long to live,” replied Henri.
“That is terrible news,” Marianne said.
Henri looked at Marianne his forehead lined with confusion as to Marianne’s reaction. “And what of Olivier, Henri? I heard you say that he has returned? How is he? Where has he been?”
“Again I have not seen him, however as far as I know he is. Anyway, why do you worry so?” Henri asked.
“No reason,” replied Marianne. “We really need to get you out of these clothes. Stand up and I will help.” The maid came back into the room carrying a pale of warm water. “Maid, you continue filling the bath and help my brother with whatever he needs, I have something I must do.” Henri looked at Marianne, the desperate look of a lost soul in his eyes. “I will return quickly my brother. We have much to talk about.”
Marianne left the room and ran up the corridor in search of her personal guard. She followed the corridor down the huge stone stairs that led to the castle doors, and spotted who she was looking for keeping century outside the castle walls. “There you are,” Marianne said, catching her breath.
“What is it my lady?” answered the guard.
“Come with me.”
Marianne led the guard back up the stairs and into the room adjacent to her chambers where her clothes and jewellery were kept. “Wait here,” she said to the guard as she unlocked the door and entered the room. Inside Marianne frantically searched through her shoes that lay haphazardly beneath her rows of ornate dresses, until she found the piece of parchment she was looking for. She then ran to the writing table that sat below the window and picked up her quill and dipped it in the well of ink.
“Are you sure everything is all right my lady?” asked the guard as Marianne came back through the door.
“I am fine but I need you to do something for me of extreme importance.”
“Anything my lady.”
“I need you to take this parchment to Avalon.”
“Avalon? But…”
“Please ask me no questions. You have been a loyal friend, and I would not want to lie to you. I need you to take this parchment to the castle at Avalon and ask to speak to Olivier of Citern. You must give this parchment to him and tell him it was from me. I know I ask too much of you, but believe me if I could go myself I would.”
The guard looked at Marianne and then at the parchment in his hand.
“Please,” Marianne begged as she took the guards hand and closed his grasp around the parchment. “I have no one else I can trust.”
“If it is of this much importance to you then I will,” replied the guard.
“I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Now please go,” said Marianne, “but one more thing, you must not tell a soul.”

Gill woke with the sun streaming through his window illuminating particles of dust, casting a shard of light across his room. He rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms; his aching body and head making him aware that the events of yesterday had taken their toll. He pulled himself up and sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the table. On the corner was his father’s cross: the proof he needed that last night had not been a dream.
“Good morning Gill,” said Arlette noticing her son rise from his slumber. “Come on. Out of bed. We have a lot to do today.”
His mother was already up, and it appeared the house was almost already packed ready for their imminent departure. Arlette was busy folding her material into neat piles and tying ribbon around them. She had carefully placed her colourful array of bottles that lined the shelves in their house into wooden crates: each one filled with different ointments or linctuses made from the local flora. When opened some bottles would fill the room with an acrid stench, and some smelt as sweet as honey, but each with its own purpose and healing quality. There were so many of these bottles Gill was always surprised how his mother would know which one to use when one of their friends or townsfolk would come to her door complaining of a painful chest or unrecognisable rash, but she always knew, and you could be certain that they would be returning to their house soon after they had left thanking Arlette for their miraculous recovery. Gill sat on the edge of his bed and watched his mother as she flitted around their house, busily preparing the family’s things for the move. Gill thought that perhaps her display of particularly good spirits was actually denial as to what was happening in their lives, but decided not to address the issue now.
“I have left you your best clothes out,” said Arlette. She had already folded and put what few clothes the family had into a pile and wrapped them in a sheet. “But you’ll need to get out of your nightshirt so I can pack that too.”
His mother’s cheery disposition was now beginning to worry Gill. The last thing he remembered from yesterday was his mother crying and holding him. Telling him she was sorry and would do whatever he wanted, and now she was acting as if today was just any other day: not the day that the family were going to move to the Castle of Avalon.
“Mother,” said Gill, still sat on his bed.
“Come on Gill. Up you get. We have lots to do,” replied Arlette, continuing to flit around the room like a goldfinch preparing its nest; picking up things and placing them on the table ready to be packed.
“Mother stop,” said Gill in a slightly louder voice to ensure that he got her attention.
“What is it Gill?” replied Arlette without breaking stride.
“Are you alright mother?” Arlette walked over and sat beside her son. She took his hand, much in the same way his grandfather had the previous day, and looked him in the eyes and smiled.
“Gill, today all our lives will change and I’m scared about that of course. But the stars were laid out long before, and all we can do is follow our hearts and hope they lead to the sun.” She leant forward and kissed Gill on the forehead.
A loud knocking on the door broke the moment. Olivier, who had slept by the fire in the chair for the night jumped up and ran to find out who it was. He opened it to find two of the king’s guards.
“We have been sent to help you with your possessions Sire,” said one of the guards to Olivier.
“Please wait here,” replied Olivier walking back into the house, before turning around to face the guards again, “and please don’t call me Sire, my name’s Olivier. I am very pleased to meet you both.” Olivier winked at the guards and went back into the house. “The king’s guards are here Arlette. What would you like me to tell them?”
“Let them in Olivier. We do not have much, but if they would like to help that would be very kind.”
Before long the house was empty and the cart that the guards had brought was half full with all of their possessions. The guards kept saying to Arlette ‘you will not need these we have plates at the castle,’ and ‘I’m sure you will not need blankets my lady,’ but every time Arlette would reply in exactly the same, ‘If you would not mind I would like to take them. I will know better in a few days what will be needed.’ They put the last of their things on the back of the cart, and shut the front door of their home behind them. Arlette, Gill and Sebastian stood arm in arm facing the house, and paused to take a final look.
“Goodbye house,” said Arlette. “Come on then boys lets go,” and she gave Gill and Sebastian a kiss, hooked her arms in theirs, and began in the direction of the castle. The guard cracked the whip to set the horses going and start the cart rolling. The neighbours they had had all their lives had heard the moving of furniture and seen the guards and were now out in the street vying for position to see what was going on.
“Now is not the time to explain,” said Gill to his mother as he noticed her uncomfortably trying to avoid eye contact with the crowd that had gathered in the street. They will find out soon enough. We should leave it up to the king to decide when and how to inform the city.”
Gill, Arlette, Olivier and Sebastian followed the cart up the hill and through the castle gate. As they reached the castle gates Olivier stopped.
“This is not my life Gill. I am not the heir,” he said. “This is your destiny not mine. I have fulfilled what I came here for. You do not need me anymore. You are a very talented knight, and will make a great leader. You have your family, and you know now who you truly are now. It is time for me to return to the forest.”
“No Olivier,” replied Gill, surprised by his friend’s proclamation. “You awoke me to my life, you trained me in order that I was ready to embrace that life, and I would like you to stay with me to help me fulfil my destiny. You are part of my family now.”
“Gill you have grown up to be a truly remarkable man. Your father would be very proud.” replied Olivier. “A long time ago I was unable to save your father, and seeing you here, now, ready to step into the chasm that was left when your father died; knowing that I have helped to bring you here, has gone some way to help ease my mind, but I have lived alone for too long now Gill. Lived a life of solitude, knowing that I could not rebuild my life until the day I returned you to this castle. That day has arrived, and I can now try to rediscover my life.” Olivier turned to Arlette. “Arlette you are an incredible woman who Etienne loved more than life itself. You have raised a family who are supportive and love one another. I am thankful that you let me into your life, but now your life has changed and I must move on. I know you will, but please take very good care of Gill for me.” Olivier leant forward and kissed Arlette on the cheek. He then turned to Sebastian and put his arms round him. “Goodbye Sebastian, keep an eye on your sister and nephew.”
“I, I will Olivier.”
Olivier turned to Gill again.
“I am honoured to have known you, my friend.” He took Gill in his arms, and without saying anymore turned and walked away back in the direction of the city gates. Gill stood and stared as Olivier walked out of his life in the same way he had walked in. The man that had awoken him to his true identity was now returning from where he came.

The king was already at the huge front door of the castle waiting for the new arrivals. He had aligned his staff and knights into a human corridor leading in the direction of their new home. Gill was still in shock that Olivier had left but the vision of this ceremonial greeting that appeared in front of him as they walked through the castle gates sharpened his attention. He kept thinking to himself, ‘all these people must be here for someone else, this surely can’t be for us’. Gill could feel to his right-hand side his mother trying to dust down her clothes and straighten her dress in an attempt to look suitable for such and occasion. “You don’t need to worry mother, you look beautiful,” Gill whispered in his mother’s ear. To Gill the large stone castle that stood before them looked cold and grey: and the thought of rebuilding his life in the company of these formal ritualised people worried him. He had never known anything other than struggle, but he had never felt deprived. Their home had been built on happiness and the hope of or more comfortable life someday: but the actual realisation of this did not come to Gill in the way he thought it would.
They made their way arm-in-arm along the corridor of people toward the king. Gill smiled at the soldiers as he passed. He recognised some of them from around the city, their shining armour that forced a squint if you looked too long was impressive. The soldiers didn’t offer a smile in return; they just bowed their heads honouring the arrival of their future king. Gill was not ready for this open display of subordination so decided to focus on the king. The perspective formed by the corridor made him feel giddy, as if with every step forward the king seemed to be strangely moving further away. He squeezed his mother’s arm for support, and held on until they reached the king. They paused. Gill realised that everyone had their heads bowed except the king and his family: and so he quickly bowed, and nudged Arlette and Sebastian in order that they did the same.
“My friends,” the king bellowed to address all in front of him. Gill thought it was amazing to see the transformation in the king since night. He looked powerful and strong again: his chest was puffed and his cheeks were rouged. The king offered his hand to Gill. Gill stepped forward and the king signalled for him to join him at his side. Gill obliged, but it was only after he had turned to face in the direction from which he had come, that he realised the enormity of the occasion. Word had obviously quickly travelled throughout the city that the king had ordered the three of them to the castle, and now the castle forecourt and as far as the eye could see through the castle gates and down the street into the city was full of what looked like thousands of people. “My friends,” the king repeated. Gill could hear the echo of announcers repeating the king’s words at regular intervals down into the city in order that everyone knew what was happening. “Yesterday, my life changed,” again the king’s words echoed, the noise bouncing off the heads of the silent expectant crowd like a stone skipping out to sea. “I was given news, before my son was cruelly taken from us that he was expecting a child,” the king paused to take breath, and to let the announcers echo his words to the cities people. Gill noticed that this was starting to take a toll on the king. The crowd took a deep breath with the king as if to help him, the hissing of whispers could be heard and the king raised his hand to prey silence. “My friends I would like to introduce you to my grandson. Guillaume.” The crowd exploded, shouts of hooray, whistles, banging of wood, clapping: the cacophony was ear-splitting. The noise hit Gill and his family like an on-shore wind in winter. The king looked at his newly found grandson and then at Arlette and Sebastian. “Come. Let me show you your new home.” The king turned and made his way into the castle, closely followed by Gill, his mother and his uncle. They stayed within touching distance of the king. It was a petrifying moment for the three, and their closeness to the monarch gave some security. Gill could sense that the crowd wanted more. They had just been introduced to the heir to the throne of Avalon for the first time, but none of the questions that had been passed around the marketplace had been answered yet, but the king had said all that he was going to. “All their questions will be answered in time Gill,” said the king.
The castle was even more magnificent in the daylight than Gill had remembered from the previous night. The scent of wax from the candles filled his nose, and as they followed the king into the castle the cheering of the crowd could still be heard. Inside the king gestured for the guards to shut the door, and the enormity of what had just happened became fully apparent to the new arrivals. The king first walked toward Sebastian,
“Welcome to the castle, I am the King of Avalon.” Sebastian shook the king’s outstretched hand.
“I am Sebastian, Gill’s uncle.” It was the first time, since Gill could remember, that Sebastian hadn’t stuttered when meeting someone for the first time. Despite the occasion the king had an aura not only of authority, but also of humility, and this already had a calming affect on Sebastian.
“I am very pleased to meet you Sebastian, welcome to your new home.” The king turned to Arlette. He smiled at her and she replied with an ever so slightly cautious but still beautiful smile. “And you must be Arlette.”
“I am Sire,” she replied with a curtsy, slightly unsure as to how to address a king.
“The mother of my grandson. The love of my son. It is a privilege to finally meet you.” The king gently took Arlette’s hand and kissed it. Arlette blushed, but never took her eyes from the king. “The four of us have much to talk about, but forgive me, first I need to rest: it has been an exhausting day already for me. Although I might not look it, I am an old man,” smiled the king. “If you would be so kind, I will excuse myself and leave you with my guards to show you to your new living quarters. I hope you find them suitable.”
“Many thanks Sire,” said Gill. He didn’t know what else to say, his mouth had become so dry that he was having trouble prizing his tongue off the roof.
“I hope you don’t mind,” the king continued, “but in celebration of your arrival a banquet will be held tonight. The castle has become very excited by the news of your arrival. There is more life in here today than there has been for a very long time.”
All that Gill wanted was spend the evening with his family and the king. He had so many stories he wanted to share with his grandfather, and so many questions he wanted answering, but he presumed his life of duty had now begun.
“You really do not need to sire,” said Arlette.
“Nonsense. This is one of the biggest days in the history of Avalon,” replied the king.
“A banquet would be wonderful Sire,” said Gill, realising that there would be no avoiding it. We would be delighted to come.
“We will get time to speak alone,” replied the king, and Gill looked at him confused as to how he kept reading his thoughts. “But our people have waited a long time for a celebration, and we shall give them what they deserve. I will send a guard for you when everything is ready, now I must get some rest.” The king smiled and made his way up the grand stone, curving staircase in front of them.
“Please follow me,” requested a guard standing close by. He started walking down the long hallway that lead under the staircase: the three followed struggling to keep up with his swift pace. The hallways and corridors had beautiful woven tapestries hanging on each wall, depicting famous battles of times neither Gill nor Arlette could recall. The floors were bear flag stones apart from the occasional long red carpet that Gill felt uncomfortable walking on for fear of dirtying them. The corridors led off in all directions like osmotic roots. Gill began trying to remember the direction from where they had come, but after a while of left and right turns, endless corridors, and stairways, he had completely lost his bearings and gave up. They reached a spiral stone staircase that was only just wide enough for two people side-by-side.
“Your living quarters are up here. Please be careful as these stairs are very narrow,” warned the guard as he turned and led the way up the stairs at the same hurried pace. The top of the staircase opened out to a circle shaped room with three doors facing in opposite directions. “This is where the king felt you would be most comfortable. Please let me know if there is anything else I can get for you,” and with that the guard bowed and started making his way back down the staircase. Before he fully went out of sight he turned to face them. “You have breathed life back into this castle, and into the king. Thank you,” then he disappeared down the stairs like a nervous rabbit into its burrow. Gill, Sebastian and Arlette stood rooted to the spot looking at one another, waiting for someone to make the first move or break the silence. Gill took a deep breath; it felt like it had been the first one he had taken in a while.
“This must be your room Arlette,” Sebastian said as he swung the door in front of them open. “And this one has your things in it Gill. This one must be mine then.” Sebastian opened the door to his new room and stood in the doorway transfixed.
“What is it Sebastian?” asked Gill. “Is everything all right?”
“This is the most beautiful room I have ever seen,” replied Sebastian. Gill walked up behind his uncle and looked over his shoulder. The room opened out to the size of the whole downstairs of their old home. There was a large bed in one corner with Sebastian’s clothes on, still wrapped with the ribbon that Arlette had carefully tied. A large cupboard filled another corner, and on the opposite wall a table and chair was placed below a huge window that looked out across the sea. “I, I will sit there and watch the sun rise every morning Gill,” Sebastian said pointing at the chair, tears filling his eyes. “Never before have I seen the sunrise above anything but the city walls.”
“Well you can now Sebastian,” replied Gill with the realisation that moving to the castle might be the best thing that had ever happened to his family.
“Thank you Gill,” he replied putting his arm around his nephews shoulder.

Olivier looked up to the clear blue spring sky and watched the seagulls as they circled overhead. He turned; taking a final look at the city that had briefly become his home again, and left through the gap in the rampart Gill had previously shown him. As he walked away from the city he noticed, in the distance, a man on horse travelling at speed in the direction of the gates. The land outside the city was normally deserted except for fisherman making their way to the sea or merchants arriving with exotic caches from the east. It was an unusual site to see anyone entering or exiting Avalon. As the rider drew closer Olivier could make out that the man was wearing light armour. Not the type of protection a knight would wear into battle, but enough protection to tell what he was neither fisherman nor merchant. Olivier then noticed something that made the pit of his stomach burn and the hairs on his arms stand. The man was wearing the same black tunic and red sash the soldiers that chased him and Etienne from Chaval wore. Olivier took his sword from its scabbard and stood in the path the horse was soon to travel.
“Stop,” Olivier shouted as the man approached holding his sword out in front of him with the bravado of a bear. The intrusion made the horse buck and the rider grapple to remain seated.
“What are you doing,” he asked. “I could have killed you.” Olivier walked to the side of the horse and looked up at the guard.
“The tunic and sash you are wearing,” said Olivier. “They are the garments of a soldier from Chaval, correct?”
“They are,” replied the guard.
“And why might I ask,” said Olivier walking around the front of the horse never taking his eyes from the rider, “might a soldier from Chaval be riding for Avalon.”
“It is of no importance to you,” replied the guard, and he kicked his horse to start in the direction of the city gates. Before he could get out of reach, Olivier grabbed the guard’s foot pulling him from his horse, and threw him to the ground. The guard struggled to get up but Olivier pinned him, holding his sword to the guard’s throat.
“Believe me, it is of the up most importance,” said Olivier. “Now tell me why you are here.”
“I have a message to deliver,” the guard replied wiping dirt from his mouth.
“And who might this message be for?”

Gill’s and Arlette’s rooms were as equally splendorous. After having a quick look around their rooms they found themselves lying on Arlette’s bed reflecting on the day, and wondering about the evening to come.
“Who d, do you think is going to be there tonight Gill,” asked Sebastian.
“I’m not sure uncle,” replied Gill also uneasy with what the king’s plans for the evening might be. “But I am sure they will all be very welcoming.”
“D, do you think we will have duck and rabbit?” Gill smiled at his uncle and then his mother.
“I am sure we will, as well as many other foods that we have never seen let alone tasted before,” said Gill.
“The thing I worry about most is what is the correct etiquette for such occasions?” said Arlette, practicing her curtsy as she walked to the window. “What is the polite way to greet these people? How should I act?”
“Just be yourself mother. You are an intelligent, kind, beautiful woman. I know they will love you, as we do.”
Gill stood up and joined his mother at the window looking out across the city, trying to make out where his house was, and try to see if he could make out any of his friends in the street. “You have always told Sebastian and me the importance of enjoying the moment. Sometimes pleasure can be overlooked in the pursuit of happiness, you would say. Now is one of those moments mother.”
“But there are still so many unanswered questions Gill. How can I enjoy the now when the future is so uncertain?”
“That is the beauty of the now mother. It is apparent: and it is lived. The future can never be attained or tamed. It is the present we have control of and that which can be savoured.”

Clothes had been laid out on their beds for them to wear in the evening. Bread, fruit and water had been brought throughout the day in case they were hungry, and they spent the remainder of the afternoon in each other’s room unpacking and readying themselves for the banquet. Soon after sunset the king came to Gill’s door to collect them, unaware that not far from Avalon a rider had been chasing the sunset in their direction trying to get news to the king that Chaval’s armies were active.
“You all look magnificent,” said the king as they made their way down the spiral staircase.
“As do you Sire,” replied Gill.
The king had turned up at their door in full ceremonial regalia. The site of him was so impressive it had almost left Gill dumbstruck, and the shocked expression on Arlette’s and Sebastian’s faces told Gill that they felt the same.
The walk to the main hall that the guard had pointed out earlier didn’t seem to take nearly as long as it did on their way in, and as they reached the door they paused in line behind the king and looked at each other. Each lifted their chests and pulled back their shoulders, readying themselves for their entrance. The king turned to look at them, giving each a proud smile putting their minds at rest. He leant forward and took the handles from each of the large doors and pushed them open. The noise that had left them when the guards had closed the castle doors earlier in the day must had been kept in a box and was set free again as they entered the great hall. Everyone in the hall was on their feet clapping and cheering.
A huge oak table covered in the most decadent food they had ever seen bisected the centre of the large hall. Capons, geese, larks, huge rolls of beef, lamb, salmon and herrings all decorated with intricate detail sat on silver serving dishes which glinted from candles held proudly aloft in beautiful candelabras. There were silver goblets charged with thick red wine and each place had been set along the table with silver plateaus. All seats had already been taken except one at the very head at the table, which was obviously for the king and two on each side of the table next to him presumably Gill thought for them. The king made his way along the side of the table followed by Gill, Arlette and Sebastian. As they passed, each dignitary and royal guest turned to get a closer look at the new arrivals. ‘Welcome’, ‘glad you are here’, they were saying: each one of them beautifully dressed, and genuinely looking pleased to see them. The warm welcome was unanimous, and helped to relieve some of the nerves they had as they entered the room. They reached the head of the table and the king stood in front of his seat before gesturing to the three of them to take their places beside him. Gill wished that Olivier were here to share this moment with them. The king raised his hand and silence fell.
“My dear friends,” he addressed the hall. “You may have many questions, and in time I will answer them all, but today is a day of celebration. It was brought to my attention yesterday that prior to my son’s death he had found love, and together they had a child. Before my son could tell me however he was taken from us, and his secret has remained so for eighteen years. Thankfully I now know the truth, and I would like to introduce Arlette, the mother of my grandson, Sebastian her brother, and my grandson Guillaume.” The noise in the hall exploded again, this time it felt as though the roof would lift off. The cheers echoed around the hall like a chime inside a bell chamber. The glasses on the tables rattled and the floor shook. The king raised his hand again to call silence. “I ask you all to make the new members of this house of Avalon welcome. Now please sit, eat and rejoice.”
The king sat down followed by the rest of the room, leant forward and took the hand of Arlette who sat to his left and Gill who sat to his right. “I realise this must be a lot for you to comprehend, but today is a truly great day. Thank you for having the strength to come to me.” They both smiled at the king and then at one another.
That evening they ate the best food and drank the finest wine that had ever touched their lips. Many of the people in the surrounding seats would introduce themselves; head of armies, Serjeant-at-arms, priests, ladies in waiting. The night passed swiftly and everyone ate well, rejoiced, and for those few hours forgot any danger or hardship that faced their lives outside of the city. It was Gill who first noticed a solitary man he thought he hadn’t seen all evening make his way along the side of the table and whisper something in the king’s ear. He was even more noticeable in the fact that he wasn’t dressed in the same way as the other guest. He looked rather scruffy with a long dirty cloak and worn leather boots. Sweat dripped from his forehead as if he had just travelled a long way, and the anxiousness in his face was clearly visible. Others in the hall then also noticed the man, and adagio the loud talking had subsided. The Général d’armée and Serjeant-at-arms had risen from their seats and were making their way to the king’s side. When the man finished what he was saying to the king, Gill could visibly see the king’s expression change; his smile had been stolen, replaced by an uninvited frown. The man stepped back from the table and disappeared into the shadows that flanked the great hall. The king’s closest aides were now standing beside their king awaiting his orders.
“Gill, Arlette, and Sebastian you must forgive me but I have something urgent to attend to. Please enjoy the rest of the meal and I shall see you in the morning.”
The king rose gingerly from his chair, the old age that seemed to be crippling him on their first encounter appeared to have sadly returned. The king slowly made his way into a side room of the great hall in distressing silence. Once the door was shut, one-by-one the hall began to empty. As the guests left each of them would come up to Gill and his family, wishing them well, and thanking them for joining them at the castle. Mercifully when they had finished their dinner a guard came up to them and asked if they would like to be shown back to their rooms. They obliged. The mood of the celebration had turned sombre with the exit of the king, and all they wanted to do was be on their own.
They followed the guard out of the hall and back down the corridor toward their quarters. As they passed one of the doors that led off the corridor Gill could hear talking inside, he could make out the voices of his grandfather and his two heads of army.
“You carry on mother I will catch you up.”
“Gill no, you should really come,” replied Arlette.
“Please mother I will be fine, you take Sebastian up to the rooms and I will join you soon.”
Gill motioned for the guard to carry on and Arlette begrudgingly followed him. Gill waited outside the room from where the voices were coming hoping to pick up some indication as to what had caused the king to leave so abruptly. Gill turned to walk away in the direction of his room, the door was old and solid and all he could hear were muffles. He knew he should follow his mother. Keep his head down; but then that voice returned to his head that he had heard the time he first met Olivier and ran away. The same voice he heard as he waited to meet his grandfather for the first time, ‘but what would your father do?’ Gill knew the answer; he turned back and knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” a loud booming voice came from behind the door, obviously from one of the heads of army.
“It is Gill,” he replied. There was a silence, then whispers.
“Come in Gill,” replied the familiar voice of the king.
“I apologise for intruding Sire but…”
“Sit down Gill,” interrupted the king. “You have obviously inherited your father’s inquisitiveness.”
The king smiled at Gill as he sat. Gill noticed the faces of the other two men; their disapproving scowls indicated they were not as pleased with his intrusion as the king was. Gill decided not to acknowledge them and sat beside the king.
“You have a right to know what is going on Gill,” the King continued. “We have not had a chance to talk with you about this yet, but you are my only heir and therefore one day the responsibility of this city may fall on your shoulders.”
Gill had realised this, but until now had chosen to ignore the fact. The gargantuan responsibility that this brought was too much to comprehend, and although he was well aware that this conversation may arise one day he didn’t think it would happen on his first day in the castle.
“Gill,” said the King. “You may or may not be aware that for some time the king of Chaval has posed a threat to Avalon. For reasons that date back over hundreds of years he feels badly betrayed by the other king’s in this region.”
“But why?” asked Gill.
“Our forefathers, your great grandfather came to this land with seven of his closest allies and they agreed how the land in this area would be shared between them. Chaval’s forefather felt that he was not given land in equal proportion to the other king’s and their family have held a grudge ever since. Chaval and his descendants vowed that one day they would take back the land that they felt was owed to them. Avalon has stood strong through their crusades and offered refugee to any of those who have lost their homes to Chaval. As you will know from living in the city this has put a great strain on our resources, but together we have managed to cohabit. Chaval however has never been satisfied with the land he has already taken, and has been waiting for the opportune moment to attack us, and take control of the final kingdom not ruled by him in this region. There has been a person within this castle who has been keeping Chaval informed as to our situation here. I have tried to seek him out but to no avail. This conspirator has made Chaval aware of my deteriorating health. I however, have had my own spy within the walls of Chaval. He is the man you saw enter the hall tonight. He informed me that Chaval has now mobilised his army, and they are heading in our direction.”
“But sire you seem…” Gill tried to stop the king, the talk of his deteriorating health was distressing him.
“Gill please let me finish. You know as well as I that I am not long for this world. Chaval knows this and has been waiting for me to die before he attacked. Without a king the city would be vulnerable. However it seems that it has not taken Chaval long to find out that you have arrived, an heir, and he must feel that he needs to attack us now before you take your rightful place at the head of Avalon and lead this city for another fifty years.”
Gill was stunned into silence, all he could think was that he had caused this, why didn’t he keep his secret. The king took Gill’s hand.
“You must not feel the responsibility for this falls on your shoulders Gill,” said the king. “Chaval would have attacked us anyway. Your arrival has given hope to our people. Belief. A reason to fight and it is with this belief that we shall defend our city.”
“What will happen?” Gill could barely get the words out that were stuck in his throat, but he needed to know how he could help, how the king planned to beat Chaval. The Général d’armée stood.
“We have been preparing for this Gill. Our defence is strong and soldiers trained,” his bellowing voice shook through Gill’s chest. It was the type of voice that could empower an army. His frame matched his voice. The Général was a tall handsome man. Battle scared and bearded. “I have already begun deploying the army. If our information is correct Chaval’s armies will be in view by sunset tomorrow.”
The fact that there was a plan in place reassured Gill, and the conviction with which the head of the army had spoken made Gill feel that they could defend their city, and defeat Chaval. A second man stepped forward, he was dressed in a similar way to the head of the army and Gill presumed he must be a Captain or General too. He was not as imposing as the Général, in fact slightly more rotund; but he possessed a wisdom which seemed to Gill to be emitting from his portly face and knowing stare. With as equally inspirational voice he continued.
“The inner castle will be completely protected by five hundred soldiers. A further thousand will be stationed around the city wall.”
“But we will not just wait here to be attacked,” the king stood up beside the other two men; he had re-discovered the life that had ebbed from him in the great hall. The three men looked down at Gill, as he remained sat. They were inspirational. Three pillars of strength holding the weight of the city across their broad shoulders. They had steel in their eyes, testament that they would do anything in their power for this city and its people. Looking at them Gill felt that he needed to do more; he wanted to ride, to fight with these men, for these men. We will not allow Chaval to take our city like he has the others. He will not kill our people and burn our homes. We have an advantage that our neighbours never had Gill. We know that he is coming and we are prepared. We will attack Chaval. Take back for the people who have been driven to our city what is rightfully theirs.
“Our plan is to deploy another five hundred of our finest knights at midday tomorrow,” the head of the army continued. “They will position themselves in an optimum position to attack Chaval when he is unaware, rendering them without a leader and therefore having no option but to retreat.”
“I want to ride with you.” Gill stood up determination pumping through his veins. “Whether or not you agree, I have a responsibility for this happening and a responsibility to the people of my city.”
“Sire, I don’t think…” said the head of the army.
“Stop,” the king interrupted as he made his way over to Gill. He took Gill’s face in his large hands and kissed his grandson on both cheeks. “You are truly your father’s son Gill. He would have been very proud of you, and I am proud to be your grandfather. Please go back to see your family now and meet us tomorrow morning in the grand hall.”
“Thank you Sire,” replied Gill. He looked at the two men either side of his Grandfather and their disapproving expressions hadn’t altered. But it was not their approval that Gill desired; it was his Grandfather’s and tomorrow he was going to ride into battle as a knight of Avalon. He was going to fulfil his destiny.
Gill left the room his heart pumping like a hummingbirds wings. The confusion that he had lived with for so long, the sense of not knowing who he was which had burdened him for as long as he could remember had now left. He finally understood why he had such a strong protective instinct of the ones he loved. He could see why he gazed for hours out to sea watching seagulls, longing for their freedom. It was his destiny to set his loved ones free, he would not fail his people, his family, his father, himself.
He knocked on his mother’s door with trepidation, but she was still awake, and from the look she gave him as he entered her room Gill knew he didn’t have to explain what he had just decided to do. She already knew; as only mothers do. She wrapped her arms around her son’s shoulders as they stood in the doorway and began to cry.
“Gill,” Arlette said in a muffled voice as her weeping head lay on his chest.
“Yes mother?”
“Please return. Don’t let them take you like they did your father.” Her words were strained, and as she spoke them she never lifted her head from his chest.
“I will mother, I promise.”
There was no more to say. He kissed his mother on the forehead and returned to his room and lay on the bed in a vane attempt to try to sleep. Thoughts of the following day filled his head. He tried to remember what Olivier had taught him, how to hold his sword, ride with one hand. He tried to picture what it would be like to ride with the other knights, to free his people, return a hero. He finally managed to fall asleep in the early hours of the morning.
The sun streaming through his window and across his face broke his short slumber. He hadn’t noticed, but one of the servants must have come into his room while he was asleep and placed across his table below the window a chain-mail suit and beautiful white tunic with gold embroidery. Gill rose from his bed and splashed his face with the clean water that sat in a bowl next to the clothes. He ran his finger along the golden stitching that edged his tunic, squinting at the glint that the morning sun gave off the chain-mail. Carefully he picked up the tunic and placed it on his bed before putting on the heavy suit. He lifted the tunic over his head and let it fall over the suit effortlessly sliding in to place around his body in a perfect fit. The metal suit was heavy and uncomfortable, and restricted his movement, but when the tunic covered it, his attire seemed to give him an inner strength, a power. He was trained, fit and now ready to perform the duty that had been bestowed upon him at birth.
Sebastian and Arlette knocked on Gill’s door.
“Come on ma famille, we must eat, we have a long day ahead of us,” said Gill breaking the silence as his mother and uncle stood in the doorway: paralysed at the site before them. “I might need some help down the stairs though; I don’t think I can lift my legs in this suit.”
The grand hall was alive again with nervous energy. Guards had already been deployed to the outer city wall and were taking their places around the castle’s battlements. Gill counted what seemed another hundred men dressed the same as him already sitting around the grand table eating their breakfast and talking to loved ones; just as if today was like any other. Their behaviour was a blend of excitement and apprehension. All had been waiting for a very long time for this moment, and were ready to rid this land of the evil that had penetrated it like a disease working through the veins of its victims, crippling one area at a time, finding a susceptible point and overpowering it until it begs for forgiveness. They ate together, Gill with his mother and uncle at either side. Arlette kept taking his hand and kissing it, visibly trying to hide her fear and her tears. The wait was beginning to play on Gill’s mind; he just wanted to get going. The excitement of the other knights was infectious.
The king came through the main door into the hall flanked by the two heads of army. The hall fell silent. He took his place at the head of the table.
“My friends,” he began. “Today is the day that we will finally avenge Chaval for all the evil he has bestowed on us.” A murmur of approval came from the room. “We have waited long enough!” Every pair of eyes was transfixed on him. “We will not live another day under threat.” The king was now shouting. A roar erupted from the crowd. Everyone in the room was cheering, banging goblets and plates on the table. The king raised his hand to bring the room to silence. In a much quieter voice he continued. “You strong brave men will ride today each carrying with you the hopes and prayers of every person that lives in this city. Stand tall, feel their strength, fight with honour and return victorious. Return magnificent.” The room stood as another cheer broke. Arlette took Gill’s hand and squeezed it. She was not cheering. She looked up at Gill and gave him a smile that spoke to him of pride, regret, love but above all fear.
“I will be fine mother,” whispered Gill in Arlette’s ear. “I will be back in a day, and then we can begin living our lives.”
“Please join me in prayer,” said the king bowing his head. “Lord I pray that you understand why it is that we must go to war. We must protect our loved ones in order that we can live peaceful lives with our fellow man again. I ask of you Lord that you bring our fathers, uncles, sons and grandsons, back home to Avalon safe and victorious. Amen.”
A chorus of ‘Amen’, came back form the hall.
“Now my brave men, I bid you farewell and swift return,” and with his final words the king left the grand hall.
The knights stood and began making their way to the castle courtyard hand-in-hand with their loved ones. As they exited the castle each were fitted with armour and presented their weapons. It took time for the knight’s page to fit their panoply, and as Gill’s greave, cuirass, gorget and finally helmet were all carefully anchored in place, ensuring all areas of his body were sufficiently protected, Gill could see his mother could hold her tears back no more.
“Goodbye mother, Goodbye Sebastian. I will return soon.”
“We will be waiting Gill,” replied Arlette, tears now streaming down her face. “Please be careful.”
“I will,” said Gill not sure when, or even if, he would be returning: but his heart was strong and his head certain that he was doing the right thing. The other knights also bid farewell to their families. Many were given pansies of flowers and small embroidered cloths to take with them for luck. Individually, the city’s Abbott blessed them before they made their way to their steeds.
A Marshal showed Gill to his horse and he mounted. The knights were in silence now, gathering their thoughts, trying to either imagine, or block out of their minds what lay ahead of them. Once mounted; they formed rows of five. A bataille of gallant men on horseback. Ready to face their destiny. The king had taken his place on the balcony and waved as his brave knights passed on their way to the city gates. Gill caught his grandfather’s eye and they smiled at one another. The city streets were full of people, all clapping, waving and wishing their heroes well. The love they were showing was overwhelming, ‘Now is my time. I will not let my people or my father down,’ Gill thought to himself as he briefly closed his eyes to focus his attention.
“You didn’t think I’d let you do this without me did you?” A voice broke his reverie. It was a voice that had become familiar to Gill, but one that he didn’t think he would hear again.
“Olivier!” Gill turned to see his friend had rode up alongside him on the horse he had given to Gill in the forest.
“You don’t mind if I borrow him do you?” asked Olivier as he patted his horse on the neck.
“Olivier, I thought…”
“Well stop thinking, and start riding my friend. I’ve got a score to settle.”
With the arrival of Olivier, any inhibitions that Gill had, or nervousness about the conquest they were about to go on suddenly left him. With him by his side Gill felt invincible, he could achieve anything. Together they rode through the streets of Avalon and out through the city gates. Gill turned around to take a final look at the city that had been his home for eighteen years. A final reminder, if he needed one, of why he had to do this, what he was trying to protect. The city gates had been opened and piles of ivy that had adorned the gates since Gill could remember lay in piles on the floor, torn from their roots and disregarded like an unwanted piece of clothing. As the final row of knights made their way through the gates they slowly creaked shut again. A boom could be heard from inside the city as supports were dropped behind the door imprisoning the population, readying the city for the imminent attack, and leaving the knights isolated. Gill looked up and could see along the castle wall the heads of the archers’ arrows pointing through the castle merlons. He also noticed more archers taking their places on the very top of the walls and in the towers, their torches being lit on which they would ignite their flaming arrows.

Prior to them leaving they had been briefed as to the battle plan. The bataille would split into two separate conrois, and take their places in the woods on either side of the large expanse of hillside that rolled out in front of the castle. Chaval’s army would be marching up and over the mountain range, then down and along the corridor that led the way to Avalon. The knights would have to hide themselves well, and make sure they were not spotted, as Chaval’s army would be marching right past them. If they were to give their position away the plan would fail, and Avalon would surely fall under the pressure of Chaval’s immense army. What the knight’s of Avalon would be waiting for was the opportunity to attack the head of the Chaval army, and the royal party. They would hopefully be following close behind the army in order that they could watch the final city in the area fall under their control. The knights were aware that this party would be heavily guarded; however their best chance of beating Chaval was to cut off those who lead them.
The knights rode until they could only see their city as a dot on the horizon. Then the bataille separated. Olivier and Gill headed west with another hundred riders. It didn’t take them long to reach the forest; where they rode in taking comfort from the fact they were no longer exposed on the open plain. The sky was clear; the sun warmed their bodies making their armour hot to the touch, and the horses salivate. Gill thought the conditions were not ideal. A greyer day would have made it easier to ride and to hide, but the forest offered shelter from the sun, and stopped the suns reflection glinting off their chest plates and helmets. Gill removed his glove and wiped the sweat from his face.
“Just think Gill,” said Olivier. “If you are hot imagine how Chaval’s men must be feeling after marching all day. They will barely be able to stand when they reach us.”
“I hope you are right,” replied Gill replacing his glove. “Today is too beautiful a day for war.”
The knights gathered in a clearing just inside the forest, and remained mounted on their horses. The Captain didn’t need to bring them to silence. The excitement they had been feeling earlier had made way to purpose, to intense focus, they had a job to do, a duty. “Men,” said the Captain. “You know the plan. I want each of you to take your positions on the edge of the forest keeping Avalon to the south and the mountains to the north. Ensure that you are well hidden, stay in silence and await my signal. Men today we face an army of infinite magnitude. Our swords are outnumbered; but we have belief. Tonight you will become part of history. Tonight you will make the impossible possible. We will ride against Chaval, and take back our freedom. We will not fail,” the Captain paused looking at each of the knights that had formed a circle around him. “Men, it will be an honour riding with you, now let us pray,” the men bowed their heads, and the Captain continued. “Lord, give us the strength today to overcome the tyranny that has beseeched our land, and do with me Lord according to thy will, and order my soul to be received in peace at the end of my days. Amen.”
The men in the circle quietly replied ‘Amen,’ and then lifted their heads to await their orders.
“Now go take your places men, and may the Lord be with you.” The men turned their horses and made their way back in the direction they had come, to take their places. Gill was comforted that Olivier was still with him. ‘Pride and freedom,’ the words kept echoing in Gills head, pride and freedom. Those words had become Gill’s mantra since the moment he had left his grandfather last night. They had been words that Gill had held true all his life and now he was using to clear his mind in order that he could focus calmly on what was required of him today. Gill and Olivier found a suitable copse and dismounted. Olivier put his hand on Gill’s shoulder.
“Are you ready my friend?”
“I am.”

Gill bobbed and spun under the water like a pinecone dropped in the breakwater.
“Keep your head above water,” shouted Olivier from the riverbank. “Focus on the bank and walk forward.” But the pebbles that carpeted the river bottom were slippery with algae and had been worn by years of mountain water on its epic annual journey to the sea. Gill struggled to try and find a steady footing just to give him a chance to get this breath back in order that he could continue to the far side of the river. Olivier had been training him now for two months, during this period Gill had often found himself in similar situations. Today’s challenge was to walk from one side of the river to the other. A simple task usually for Gill; he was agile, fit, and even at the deepest of crossing he felt confident. Today however Gill had to try to make the crossing in the most ferocious areas of white-water, hampered by his hands being tied behind his back. “Stay focused,” shouted Olivier again. “Forget about the water, use it to your advantage. Don’t fight nature, work with it.” Gill lifted his head out of the water, his wet hair falling across his eyes, as he finally found a position on the river bed where he could stand and get his bearings again. He straightened his back and looked at Olivier on the far side. That was his goal. He listened to what Olivier said, ‘stay focused’, ‘don’t fight’, and walked. He walked through the white-water one step at a time. He would get knocked over and his body would fill with ice-cold mountain water but it would not deter him. He stood up again and kept walking, until he reached the bank and fell into the arms of his master. “Well done Gill, well done. Your focus is becoming strong and your balance is now excellent.”
Olivier had tried to teach Gill the skills that he had been so desperate to learn. He taught him how to hold a sword properly, the importance of foot positions, the optimum ways to attack or defend. He taught him skills with the bow, the axe, a ball and chain or mace. He taught him self-discipline, developed his reflexes, instincts, balance. Gill was beginning to show great talent, and the master and apprentice were becoming closer every day.
Gill had told his mother that Olivier was training him. Initially she didn’t agree with it, but it had given Gill something to focus on, and when he returned home every night, although he was tired, his mother could see the light slowly coming back into his eyes: his sparkle as she called it. Arlette was worried that it might have been lost forever when he returned home with the cross, and her relief of seeing him happy again far outweighed her worry of the time he spent with Olivier.
Gill knew his mother was anxious with the way his and Olivier’s friendship was developing and he would attempt to relieve his mother’s anxiety when he returned home each evening; telling her stories his training and the things Olivier and him had been talking about. She listened with an attentive ear but never mentioned the idea that she did not approve with him following in his father’s footsteps. Gill understood that the thought of Olivier returning into her life without Etienne was too painful, and respected her silence on the subject.

A further month into his training Gill turned up at Olivier’s house in the late afternoon: but strangely on this occasion he found it empty. Gill searched all the areas that Olivier had shown him. He checked by the lake where Olivier had taken him to learn stealth and patience. It made him smile to recall the day they had spent with their trousers rolled up wading through the shallows trying to catch fish by hand. Gill also walked along the seas edge. It was here that Olivier made him stand in the breakwater and fight Olivier with sticks. He had told Gill the importance of balance and strength, ‘It is not the biggest man who wins a fight Gill,’ Olivier had said to him, ‘but the one who stands up for the longest’. Gill returned to Olivier’s house worried for his friend. He sat with his back against Olivier’s front door and decided to wait for nightfall in the hope his friend would return.
He didn’t have to wait long. Olivier came into the clearing that surrounded his house barely a moment after he had sat, and noticed instantly where his mentor had been. Olivier led into the clearing a beautiful black stallion. Olivier smiled when he saw his student waiting for him, as if he were returning to a hungry family after a days hunting.
“What do you think of him?” said Olivier. “Isn’t he magnificent?”
Gill jumped up and ran over to Olivier. “He truly is a beautiful creature Olivier,” replied Gill, “but where did you get him?” Gill walked around the horse in awe, stroking the horse’s immaculate coat. He had never been able to go near a horse before. The only ones in the city were the king’s, and unless you were a Knight or a Page you would never be allowed to get this close.
“Let’s just say that he found me, and ask no more questions,” Olivier said with wink. “Anyway that is not important Gill. The reason I have brought him to you is that I have been training you now for three months. I have never before seen someone as instinctively gifted with a sword or bow. Gill your father’s blood flows through your veins like a torrent, and I have been blessed to be part of your teachings. He would be extremely proud of the man you have become. You are talented with weaponry, chivalrous with your kin, but to become a great knight your final lesson is to become master of your horse. Gill this is my gift to you.”
Gill stood back in amazement both at the magnificence of the horse, and the generosity of his friend. “But I cannot accept this Olivier, and beside I have never ridden a horse before.”
“Nonsense Gill.” Olivier’s nonchalance to any situation was one of his most endearing qualities. He always made Gill feel like there were no boundaries, only those that you built in your mind. To Olivier anything was possible. His positivism was infectious. “I will teach you to ride this horse and then you will be ready.”
“Ready for what?” asked Gill.
“To fulfill your destiny Gill. The same destiny bestowed on your father. The destiny he was unable to fulfill before he was killed.” Olivier continued. “Your destiny Gill is to lead your people to freedom.”
Gill knew what this meant. He had thought about it since the time Olivier had told him of his lineage. He knew this was the reason his mother protected him from the truth for so long. Gill had heard rumours about the king’s ill health. Whispers were beginning to spread around the market regarding the imminent attack from Chaval. People were getting scared. They wanted to know the king’s next move. The people needed to know how the city was to protect itself without a king or heir. Gill knew what he had to do.
His responsibility was so large it was incomprehensible to Gill: like the distance from the sun or the size of the night sky. The only thing that he could think of was that one day he would be able to face Chaval. He wanted to look in the eyes of the man that had taken his father’s life and his mother’s true love. Gill was ready. Ready to confront his demons and free his people. He looked at his horse: and with his father’s desire in his eyes looked back at Olivier. “Teach me how to ride then master.”

The heat of the summer sun dwindled: replaced with cold clear nights and darker mornings. Autumn leaves turned the landscape. Filled the trees with oranges and reds as if setting them ablaze. The river’s swell reduced as the mountains reclaimed their snowcaps.
“Back straight,” called Olivier as he watched his student ride around the clearing. “Let him know you are his master. Feel his force and harness it.”
Gill possessed the same natural ability with a horse that he had with a sword, and it hadn’t taken Olivier long to hone his riding skills. It was a crisp evening. The night sky illuminated the forest with its astral tapestry.
“That is enough for today Gill. It is dark, the horse needs to rest.”
“Just one more jump,” pleaded Gill, but he didn’t wait for Olivier’s agreement. He tucked his knees and kicked his horse. “Come on my beauty just one more jump,” whispered Gill. “Yah,” and with Gill’s call his horse instantly reacted and galloped to a fallen tree. Gill leant forward and holding his breath his horse jumped the tree and landed safely on the other side. “Well done boy,” said Gill patting his horse on the neck.
He rode up beside Olivier and stopped. Olivier’s approving smile all the recognition he needed. Gill dismounted and walked over to Olivier. He had been sitting on a fallen tree trunk watching his pupil as he effortlessly rode among the trees, dodging the obstacles of thick branches and rope that Olivier had placed. “Olivier, I am ready”.
“I know,” he replied.
“What now?” asked Gill with a playful shrug of his shoulders.
“Only you know that Gill. I have taught you all I can. You now have to make your own decisions as a man. As a knight. Remember what I have taught you; trust your instincts and believe what your heart tells you.”
Gill paused, contemplating his next move, “I need to go and see my mother.”
“Then you must go my friend,” replied Olivier.
“Will you come with me?”
Olivier looked at his feet, retracing on the floor a figure of eight that he had unconsciously been drawing with a stick. He looked up at Gill and stood. “Of course I will come Gill." He picked up his valise and put it across his shoulder. "If that is your wish.”
Gill led the way back to Avalon, with an outer conviction not mirrored with his inner turmoil. The time had come, he had made his decision, and he could wait no longer. The men walked together back to the city in silence. The silence gave Gill the opportunity to work through in his head what was about to happen, what he was going to say. He was aware of the vastness of what he was about to do. He was about to take the next steps to fulfilling his destiny, and he could tell from Olivier’s silence that the enormity of returning to a place that he hadn’t been for nearly eighteen years hadn’t escaped him either. Gill was worried for his mother’s feelings. She knew that one day she would have to see Olivier, but due to the pain it may cause her Gill had never discussed it. He knew that his mother had spent eighteen years trying to rebuild a life without Gill’s father, and that seeing Olivier again would surely bring back painful memories.
They reached the castle walls and Olivier paused. “It will be alright my friend,” said Gill placing his hand on Olivier’s shoulder. “I will show you the way.”
“I know it will Gill,” replied Olivier. “I have been waiting for this moment for a very long time. I have dreamt of the day I would return, but now my strength evades me."
“Just follow me my friend.” Gill bent down and squeezed through the hole in the wall that was starting to show wear from the numerous times Gill had passed through. He paused the other side half expecting his friend to not appear, but he did not have to wait long. Olivier sighed and puffed as he pulled his large frame through the gap in the rampart. Gill smiled when he saw his friend stand up and brush himself.
“A knight should not have to enter a city this way," sighed Olivier indignantly.
"Come on, lets go,” replied Gill turning and heading in the direction of his home. They made their way into the city following the shadows cast from the houses.
“I am glad that night is upon us Gill,” said Olivier, short of breath, trying to keep up with Gill as he sped with stealth from one shadow to the next.
“Why is that?” replied Gill without breaking stride.
“Well you are the only person I have seen in a long time my friend,” said Olivier. “I don’t think I’m ready for a welcoming party just yet.” Gill turned around and smiled at his friend, and Olivier winked in reply. The streets were almost empty. The market had long since packed up for the day, and most people were already taking their places at home in front of their fires. Their solitude gave Gill comfort, he was still unsure as to how the town would react to Olivier’s return, and wanted his mother to be the first person in Avalon to witness it. Olivier put his hood up so as to not draw attention from the few remaining townsfolk in the streets.
“I think there is little chance of anyone still recognising you,” said Gill as he noticed his friend’s attempts at concealment.
“Better to be safe. I did used to draw an eye in my time." replied Olivier stroking his beard and flattening his tunic. "It his strange," continued Olivier. "This city has long been committed to memory Gill. The noises smells, and sites are ones that I thought I would never experience again.” Olivier stopped in the street and spun around looking from house to house. Gill turned and watched in silence allowing his friend to savour the moment.
“Has it changed?” Gill asked.
“There are more houses, and the streets seem a lot quieter: but I still feel the same sense of welcoming,” replied Olivier. “There is a warmth to this city Gill. I cannot explain it. In fact it does not need definition: but I feel at home again.” Gill put his arm around Olivier and pointed in the direction of his house.
“This is my home Olivier. Will you let me and introduce you to my family?”
“As you wish my friend,” replied Olivier. They approached the house and Gill opened the door his hands trembling. Gill turned to look at Olivier, he had frozen in the street behind him.
“Are you alright Olivier?” said Gill. Olivier paused as if witnessing the epiphany.
“I recognised the house instantly,” replied Olivier. “I remember leaving the city. Your father slowed his horse down here,” Olivier pointing up the road from the house. “Your mother then came out of that door and your father lifted her onto his horse right here, right at this very spot Gill.” Olivier lifted his hand to his face and bowed his head. “I feel as if he is here now Gill.” Gill walked back from the door and placed Olivier’s head on his shoulder.
“I would like to think that he is Olivier,” replied Gill. “I like to think that he is always with me. Come on let’s go in, it will be fine.”
Arlette turned with a start as she heard the door opening.
“Gill is that you,” called Arlette from the back yard.
“Yes mother,” replied Gill. Arlette walked through the backdoor; hair tied up and a basket of freshly dug vegetables under her arm, wiping the mud off her hands on her apron.
“The onions are really doing well this year Gill,” she said as she placed her basket on the table. “I made a stew for dinner,” Arlette continued still without looking in the direction of door. “Wash your hands and set the table, it won’t be long.”
“Mother, stop,” said Gill trying to bring his mother’s attention to the guest he had brought home. Arlette stopped chopping and turned to face her son. “Mother, this is Olivier.”
“Hello Arlette,” Olivier broke the silence formed by Arlette’s stunned reaction. Arlette just stared at him motionless. A ghost she had carried in her dreams for eighteen years had just walked through her door. “Please forgive me for startling you,” continued Olivier. Arlette turned away from them and began chopping again. She picked up the chopped onions and walked over to the pot hanging over the fire and dropped them in. A splash of hot water jumped from the pot and landed on Arlette’s hand.
“Dam,” The burning water started to scold her hand and she rushed back to the chopping board and put her hand in the bowl of cold water she was using to wash the vegetables. “I am so clumsy,” cursed Arlette.
“Mother are you alright,” Gill asked as he walked toward his mother. “Please stop what you are doing.”
“I am sorry if I have startled you Arlette,” repeated Olivier.
“You did not startle me Olivier. I knew this time would come,” Arlette replied as she took her hand from the water, and wrapped it in a wet cloth. “You had better sit. Dinner is almost ready.” The men did as they were told and sat at the table looking to one another for a guide as to what to do. “Stew?”
“Mother please join us,” Gill said ushering his mother to sit at the table, but she carried on preparing dinner impassive to Gill’s request.
“Arlette please sit down we need to talk.”
“Do not tell me what to do Olivier.” Gill realised that Olivier was trying to subdue the situation but his request only seemed to antagonise his mother. Her reply was barely a whisper. “I have waited for eighteen years, eighteen years for you to return with my love, and now you turn up at my door without him and tell me to sit down.” The volume of her voice increased throughout her statement until the point she was almost shouting. “How dare you?” Gill and Olivier were thrown back in their chairs as she turned to confront them.
“Please don’t be angry mother, I asked Olivier to come. You know he has helped me greatly. I now understand who I am, I know the truth.”
“The truth, what do you know of the truth Olivier,” said Arlette. “You have lived a lie for eighteen years Olivier. You have lived the life of a dead man, and now you return telling my son of the truth.”
“He had a right to know Arlette,” said Olivier.
“What right? Do not talk to me of rights.” Arlette shouted back.
“He is old enough to know the truth Arlette. Mature enough to know who he really is.” Arlette stared at Olivier, fire burning in her eyes, and turned back to the pot. She picked up the spoon and began carefully stirring.
“Mother I am sorry that it has happened this way. I never meant to hurt you,” said Gill.
“It is not your fault Gill,” the volume of her voice now decreasing.
“I will always love you mother, and I understand why you have protected me from the truth about my father, however I am a man now. I need to fulfill my destiny. I need to see my Grandfather, the king. I need to let him know who I am. I need to tell him what my father never had time to.” Arlette looked at Gill and smiled; her maternal warmth clearly visible now to her son. She then turned to Olivier.
“Olivier,” her face lost its emotion: but her eyes were full of steel and purpose. “I want to say thank you. You have helped my son over the past months to come to terms with who he is. I did not agree with the training that you have given him. I never wanted him to fight, to be a knight. I lost Etienne due to war and you must be able to understand that I do not want to lose my only son too.”
“I do understand Arlette, and I am sorry that it was not you who told him about his father,” replied Olivier.
“The only man that I ever loved, that I ever trusted, trusted you.” Arlette took hold of Gill’s hand. “I therefore trust you to help Gill, but god help you if you let him down.” Arlette then stood up from the table and walked back to the pot of stew and continued to stir. Gill looked at Olivier and rose from his chair, he didn’t want to say goodbye to his mother, he didn’t need to explain where he was going. In silence he made his way out of the house, closely followed by Olivier.
Together they started in the direction of the castle. Gill looked up at the stars hoping to get inspiration or a sign. The constellations gave nothing but a vivid perception of how unfathomably far away the answers were. The castle gates appeared without them breaking their silence. The night was cold, but nervous anticipation kept them warm. Standing at the gates Gill looked at Olivier for the final time before their lives changed forever. He lifted his hand to the small door beside the giant gate that marked the entrance to the castle walls and went to knock on it. Olivier stopped him.
“Gill, I have not come here for a fight, but I will not run from one.”
“Hopefully it will not come to that my friend,” replied Gill raising his hand to the door and wrapping on it three times. Silence. Seconds then minutes slowed. Still no reply. A small window in the door creaked open and a face became visible.
“What do you want?” enquired the guard in a malevolent tone from behind the door.
“We are here to see the king,” said Gill aware that the tremor in his voice was clearly audible to the guard. The guard slammed the window shut. Another eternity of silence passed. The window then creaked open again.
“And why should the king want to see you?” asked the same guard.
"I've already had enough of this," said Olivier to Gill. "Does he not realise what it has taken for us to come here." Without Gill having time to react, Olivier thrust his hand through the small window in the door and grabbed the guard by the back of the head and smashed it against the inside of the door.
“What did you do that for?” shouted Gill as Olivier pulled his hand from within the window allowing the guard to slump to the floor.
“Sorry Gill but he was starting to irritate me,” replied Olivier, but before he had a chance to fully justify his actions the castle gate swung open and five guards brandishing swords came running out.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Gill shouted dropping his sword to the floor to show he had no intent of fighting, “I have come to see the king, my grandfather.” The guards froze.
“But the king does not have any family,” replied a guard.
“Please go to the king and tell him I am here. Please tell him I am his grandson, and I have his son’s closest friend Olivier the son of the king of Citeren with me. Tell him we wish to speak with him.” The guards looked at one another unsure what to do.
“Wait here,” barked one of the guards at the two men. “Remove your weapons.” Olivier dropped his sword and they both lifted their arms to prove that they were unarmed. There were four guards, thickly set, with a belligerent demeanour. The fifth guard, who had been thrown against the inside of the door, slowly picked himself up from the floor wiping blood from his nose, and walked over to Olivier.
“Stand down,” said the apparently most senior guard halting the other guards desire for retribution.
The guards searched the men, and when they were satisfied they were unarmed one of them left and ran into the castle, the other four remained, not taking their eyes from Gill or Olivier, willing either of them to make a move and give them an opportunity to vent their anger.
The guard that had run into the castle returned shortly after, sweating and gasping for breath.
“Follow me,” he panted. The other guards looked at him perplexed, but the message barer shrugged his shoulders and indicated to Olivier and Gill in the direction of the castle. The guard led the way. Through the large outer gate of the castle walls and into a courtyard. It was a large square, flanked at either side by the outer walls from which they had come,  and in front of them stood the castle. Gill had never been this close to the building before. The only glimpses he had ever had were as an inquisitive boy when he patiently waited outside the gates for the infrequent times they were opened to let a royal or dignitary pass through. A stolen moment of longing for how it must be to live a life of privilege. It was a beautiful building, opulent and grand. A residence fit for its inhabitants. Large stone steps leading to an arch the height of three men marked the entrance. They were led into the castle. Gill’s heart was beginning to double in speed. With every step he took it felt that he was stepping closer to the realisation of who he truly was. The four guards didn’t leave Olivier or Gill’s side. Once in the castle, still in silence, echoes of their footsteps rhythmically pounding off the walls like a marching army, they were led up a large stone spiral staircase. The staircase opened out to a long corridor only lit by the dim flickering of a few candles sporadically fixed along the walls. They walked along the corridor until reaching a thick wooden door at the very end the guards stopped. The largest one paused, as if to gain his composure, and then knocked.
“Enter,” came a voice from inside. The guard cautiously opened the door and signaled for the men to enter. Gill noticed the room was darker than the corridor from which they had come due to only one candle in the far corner of the room being alight. He could make out that it was a large room with scarcely any furniture. The only thing breaking the uniformity of the walls was a table and chair, and a large bed in the corner opposite to where they were standing. “Come closer,” said a muted voice from the direction of the bed. “My guard has told me that you desire to speak with the king.”
“We do sire,” replied Gill.
"And is it true the son of Citeren is here?"
"It is Sire," replied Olivier. There was a pause, the room stood in time.
"Can you explain to me how the dead speaks?" said the king. Olivier stepped in front of Gill.
"I did not die Sire."
"Well then you must be an impostor," replied the king.
"I can assure you Sire I am not. The last time we spoke was on the day your son and I rode for Chaval. You entrusted in me the safety of your son, my closest friend. I have failed you both."
"If this is true where have you been for the last eighteen years?" asked the king. Gill noticed the guards were still beside them, all had their hands on their swords. “And for what reason do you request my counsel?”
“I have something I need to tell you Sire,” said Gill coming to Olivier's aid.
“Answer my questions,” the king replied.
“I,” started Gill, still trying to get the words he wanted to say in the right order in his head before they clumsily fell from his mouth.
"I am an old man and you will have to speak up,” the king demanded. “Come closer I can not see you in the shadows.”
Gill edged closer to the bed. He could see for the first time, as the candlelight spread the face of an old man. A drawn ashen face. Obviously a face that used to be hansom before the strains of life had taken their toll. It was still a face that instantly commanded respect however. The king's warm pale blue eyes set Gill’s mind slightly at ease.
“Now I can see you,” the king said, “continue.”
“Sire, I have been practicing in head what I wish to say ever since I found out who I truly am but the words now evade me,” Gills mouth was dry, his palms sweaty, he was frustrated with himself with his unintelligible response. The king did not reply letting the uncomfortable silence draw the words. “I,” Gill continued summoning any strength left in his body. “I am your grandson.” The words were out. Gills body tensed as he waited for a reply.
“And what makes you think this?” replied the king, oddly deliberate in his response. Gill couldn’t determine whether the king’s voice was evoking a sense of antipathy or disbelief. "And you man," the king continued in the direction of Olivier who was still cloaked in the shadows, "step forward."
Olivier did as he was asked.
“Do my eyes deceive me?” the king replied. “Is it truly you? My god Olivier, but I thought you were…”
“I have been my Lord. I died the day your son and I rode back from Chaval. The day Chaval’s men ambushed us. The day I was unable to save Etienne’s life.”
“Where have you been Olivier? What happened? Why did you not return?” The king’s voice was now full of anguish.
“Sire, your son, Gill’s father and I were cowardly attacked by eight of Chaval’s men, on our return from delivering parley to the King of Chaval. I managed to escape but Etienne was not so fortunate. I was unable to help him Sire. I could not save my friend.” Olivier kneeled down by the side of the king’s bed. “I have never been able to forgive myself. I could not return to Avalon. I do not expect you to forgive me Sire, and I have not come here for your forgiveness. I have come to deliver Gill to you. I feel that it was the dieing wish of your son that one day I would bring Gill here to meet his Grandfather.” Olivier placed his forehead on the king’s hand that lay beside him on the bed. “I am truly sorry that I could not save your son, and that he is not here to introduce Gill to you himself.”
“But how do you know this Olivier?"
Gill took the cross from inside his tunic, knelt beside Olivier and placed it in the king’s hand. Tears began to fall from the king’s eyes as he realised what he had been given. The king stared at the cross as it lay across his palm. “I have never forgotten my son Olivier,” said the king. “I have thought about him everyday, but touching this cross now, holding it in my hand, makes me feel like I am actually touching my son again,” the king closed his hand around the cross. “This cross makes me realise that my son was not just a beautiful dream. This is testimony that there was once a time, nearly two decades ago, that my beautiful son walked beside me,” the king lifted the cross to his mouth and tenderly kissed it.
"Sometime after that fateful day I found this cross in my Valise Sire." explained Olivier. "He had told me that he was to be a father on the day we left for Chaval, and I believe that he put it there so that I would know what to do should anything happen to him."
“Olivier, why did you not come and tell me what happened straight away? Why did you not tell me about the cross, about Chaval?”
“I could not Sire, I did not know how,” replied Olivier.
“Did I not deserve that much?” the king’s stare had shifted from the cross to Olivier’s eyes. “From that fateful day Olivier, when I ordered my son to his death until now I have lived a life of painful unknowing. I have grieved Olivier.”
“Sire I have lived a life of regret from that day also. Please try to understand. When you live a life without hope, each day blurs into one, days become months; months become years. There are no seasons, nor night or day; I had nothing to live for. I would wake each morning and wish that it were I, and not Etienne that died. I would curse the sun for rising each morning."
"Do you not think I have lived this life too Olivier," said the king.
"But then I found a reason to live again Sire. I found Etienne’s cross. It was his legacy to me. I felt that he had given me this cross in order that one day I would pass it to his child. I found something to focus my life on, to ensure that this young man one day was able to be here, in front of his grandfather. On this evening I have now completed what Etienne asked of me. It is not enough, I know, but I pray that I have pleased him. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I should have come to you straight away, but I knew Etienne Sire. He was an independent man, and man who made his own decisions." The king took Olivier's hand. "I did not come to you after I had found the cross because I felt that Etienne would have wanted his son to make the decision to come and see you himself. Gill could make his own decision when he was ready. Perhaps I was wrong, and if so I am infinitely sorry, but I am glad now that I waited. When I gave Gill the cross and told him of his lineage he did want to come and see you. I am proud today to be next to a young man who has grown into a person that Etienne would have been proud to call his son.” Gill placed his hand on Olivier’s shoulder.
“Olivier I do understand, and I am not be angry with you,” the king said, starting to realise Olivier’s remorse, and the undeniably difficult situation that he had found himself in. ”I can tell that you have suffered as I have.”
“Sire,” Olivier rose from his knee and Gill did the same, “I must say first that Etienne told me, on leaving Avalon for the last time, that he was desperate to tell you he was to be a father. He had found true love, love that was returned in equal proportion by a beautiful amazing woman.”
“Then why did he not tell me?” desolation visible in the king's face.
“He wanted to Sire. He told me that he was going to when we returned from Chaval but he did not get the chance.” Olivier paused as the king rolled on to his back wiping the tears from his eyes. “This young, strong, brave man is Guillaume.” continued Olivier. “His mother is Arlette, she still lives in your city, and cares for Gill and his uncle.”
“I am your Grandson Sire,” Gill said looking the king in the eyes. “I have not long known this. If you want me to leave then I will, and I will never speak a word of this to another soul, but I come to you to tell you this out of respect for you and my father.”
“I can see your father in your face Guillaume.” the king paused, his neck arching as he look to the ceiling of his chambers.
"I am sorry Sire," said Gill. "I should not have come. I will leave."
The king did not reply. He remained staring at the ceiling as Gill turned and began back in the direction of the door.
“Stop," the king said, lifting himself into a seated position. "I don’t want you to leave. I owe you so much. My actions have meant you have been robbed of a father, of your childhood.” The king looked up from Gill to Olivier. “And I also want you to stay Olivier. You have nothing to be ashamed of. I do not blame you for my son’s death. I blame myself and I blame Chaval.” Gill could see the warmth coming back into the king’s face, as if the love that had been missing for so long from his body was slowly returning. “I have so many questions to ask you both, but for now I ask one thing. I am an old man and I need rest. I ask you both to return to your homes and collect your possessions. I ask that you come back to the castle tomorrow morning to live with me.” Gill did not turn to Olivier, he stayed looking at the king and he could tell that coming to the castle would have been his father’s wish.
“We will sire,” replied Gill. With Olivier by his side. Gill turned and walked through the door taking a final look at his grandfather. The king looked back and smiled. It didn’t matter to Gill that his grandfather was the king, or that they were in the castle, finally he had found out who he truly was. It was a moment that Gill had been waiting for his entire life.

 “What is it?” Beni shouted as a guard burst into the soldiers living quarters.
“Beni, Beni I have important news.” Beni stood up begrudgingly having to leave his three friends to continue their game of dice without him.
“Not here,” Beni whispered in the guard’s ear who was still trying to catch his breath. Beni led the way out of the quarters and waited for the guard to follow before closing the door behind him. Beni looked around to make sure they were on their own.
“Go on then,” whispered Beni. “This had better be important, or so help me I will make you pay for interrupting my game.”
“It is Beni, It is,” replied the guard.
“Slow down.”
“I’m sorry Beni, I’m sorry. It’s just that. Oh you won’t believe me. It’s the king.”
“What about the king?” Beni shouted before he realised the circumstances and started whispering again. "What about the king?”
“It’s the king Beni. He has a grandson.”
“What?”

 Gill left the castle with Olivier, completely confused by his emotions. He hadn’t known what to expect from his meeting, and the king’s reaction perplexed him. He had made the move, fulfilled his father’s wish, but it felt that the encounter had created more questions than it answered. Olivier put his arm around Gill’s shoulders.
“What are you going to do now then Gill?” said Olivier. Gill continued walking; head down, not knowing how to answer his friend. He felt that the crossroads that he thought his life was at, now had many more directions in which to take.
“Go and see mother,” he replied finally.
“I can tell Gill that this is a new beginning for you and your family. And the relief I feel from finally fulfilling my obligation to your father feels like a beginning for me too.”
“I am glad my friend that you have finally found peace, and I pray that you speak the truth with the new beginning for my family,” replied Gill. “I think mother has always wanted to live in a castle.” He turned to Olivier giving him a smile.
"You are so like your father my friend."

The light was still on when they arrived back at the house. Gill could see his mother sitting in her usual position in front of the fire sewing. Sebastian was asleep, and there was a pot boiling above the fire. As the men entered the house she looked up at them and smiled. Gill made his way to her and she stood up, without saying a word, they took each other in their arms. As her head lay trembling on his shoulder Gill could tell that she was starting to cry, and now he was unable to hold back his tears. “I am so sorry I haven’t said anything before Gill,” she said.
“Mother I understand,” replied Gill.
“I love you Gill, and I will support you in whatever you decide to do.” She hadn’t let go of him; she didn’t want to take her cheek from his chest.
“The king wants us to move to the castle,” said Gill.
“But I don’t know how to live in a castle Gill. Who will look after the vegetables?”
“We will learn how to live in the castle together, as a family, with the help of the king.” Arlette paused and Gill could feel her pulling him tighter.
“And what do you want to do son?” asked Arlette. Gill paused; he had been pondering the same question ever since the king had asked him. Questions were spinning round his head: What is best for my family? How will it be living with a king? What would my father do? The final question gave him his answer.
“I want to go,” he replied, “I want us to go.”

Gill slowly made his way around the edge of the city and through the forest, savouring every moment of his freedom. The sound of the birds calling one another and the smell of blossom on the cherry trees reminded him of the place that he had missed so much over the past few weeks. The wind blew his hair and the sun warmed his face. Beni was out of his life and for the first time, and nature seemed to Gil to be rejoicing in the fact with him. He arrived at his tree, thankful it had remained just as he had left it. He retrieved his sword, and bow and arrow from inside the tree, but he wasn’t ready to start practicing again yet. He just wanted to take some time and enjoy the moment, re-immerse himself into his sanctuary. He sat down with his back against the tree and watched the seagulls fly overhead. The trees had swollen with shoots of new leaves since the last time he was here, and he pondered on the constant death and re-growth that ties the seasons together. He thought to himself how it must to die and be re-born, to live a lifetime within one year. How exciting the possibilities were to have a new beginning every spring, but what sadness the winter carries. It wasn’t long before Gill fell asleep.
The crack of a twig woke him from his slumber.
“Who goes there?” Gill shouted as he jumped from the ground grabbing his wooden sword on the way up. Crack! Another twig broke. “Show yourself.” Gill pivoted around trying to see what it was that was making the noise. Crack! Crack! The noise was getting louder and he could see the copse in front of him begin to rustle; the movement behind them alerting him of the oncoming danger. “I have a sword!” Gill shouted in an attempt to disguise his fear. The rustling bushes began to part and Gill could see for the first time what was creating the noise. Standing in front of him was a man. As the man stepped from the shadows Gill could make out his unkempt long, thick black hair, and shaggy beard. He was slightly taller than Gill, but much older, and looked to have a strong physique. He was wearing scruffy clothes that looked like they hadn’t been cleaned in a long time. As the man approached he raised his palms.
“I am unarmed. I mean you no harm,” the oncoming stranger said. Strangely, although the man that walked toward him possessed the appearance of a bear, Gill's fear began to subside. “I apologise sire for startling you. My name is Olivier, I was a friend of your father’s.”
The stranger’s revelation startled Gill; he felt trapped, unsure what to do. No one had mentioned his father’s name in a long time. Being the protector, the person who looked after his family he reacted without a second thought and ran at him. Gill leapt at the stranger knocking them both to the floor, he struggled to land punches but the stranger was too strong. He rolled Gill onto his back and sat on his chest, pinning both his hands to the floor. Gill struggled but he was unable to break free. “How dare you,” Gill shouted. “How dare you speak of my father? You know nothing of my father.”
“I know he was a good man, and a great friend.”
“No you don’t. You know nothing,” replied Gill, trying to pull his hands from Olivier’s strong grasp.
“I know your mother is Arlette and you also have an uncle who can’t be a lot older than you.” Gill stopped struggling, the realisation that this stranger might know him was sobering to his incomprehensible anguish. “I know your father loved your mother more than life itself.” Olivier continued as the lifted himself from Gill and sat beside him. “I know your father died before you were born, and I know he would have been proud of the man that you have become.” Gill could feel wells of water forming in his eyes.
“How do you know?” Gills voice had become an inquisitive whisper, he wanted to know, but was scared of what he might find out, the sort of voice that would ask a dark cave ‘if there were anyone there’ desperate that his question remained unanswered. His mother had never told him very much, and the secrecy always worried him. Somehow, he felt, that the truth must have been so painful that she couldn’t say. What if what he was about to hear would shatter the visions and dreams he had of his father?
“I was you father’s closest friend Gill. My name is Olivier. My father was the King of Citerne. I also disappeared on the same day your father did, but for very different reasons.” Olivier paused and picked a lone buttercup, inspecting its simplistic beauty. “I trained with him. We lived together, and when my city was overthrown we were to fight together against Chaval.”
“He was a knight?” asked Gill, his furrowed brow evidence to Olivier that this information came as a complete shock He had always felt in his heart that his father must have been a special man. In this barrage of revelation and confusion the confirmation that all this time he was right comforted him slightly.
“He was the best Gill,” replied Olivier. “Your father was strong, brave, and skilled. I see the same qualities in you.” The dam that was holding back Gills tears broke and streams formed down his cheeks. For the first time, all his questions were being answered. He wiped his tears with the cuff of his tunic and waited for Olivier to continue. “You are the image of him Gill.” said Olivier. “If I were not a sane man I would think that I had woken this morning and my dreams had come true and that your father was still alive and sitting in front of me.” Gill stood up and began pacing around the clearing in front of his tree. Gills eyes darted nervously to the sky and floor like a bow of a boat caught in tempest, desperate to find a place of safety on which to rest. His head was spinning; he pulled his canteen from his bag and took some water. He then tipped some into his cupped hand and splashed his face. He offered the canteen to Olivier who declined. “You are also very adept with your weapons,” continued Olivier. “I have watched from a far Gill. I promised your father that I would.”
Gill stood back bemused. “But how?” asked Gill. “How did I not see you?”
“That is not important now,” replied Olivier.
“Well what is then?” said Gill. “Why have you suddenly come out the forest? Why now?” Gill picked up a stone and threw it with venom at a tree.
“I realise this is very hard for you Gill, and I am sorry, but I will answer all your questions in time.” Olivier stood up and brushed the dust from his trousers. “I have shown my face to you for the first time in seventeen years for two reasons.” Olivier took the canteen from Gill and took a drink. Gill sensed that he had probably gone over the words he was about to say a thousand times before.
“Please go on Olivier,” replied Gill, realising he would have to be patient if he was to find out all that he needed.
“The first reason I have revealed myself to you is that I want to help you,” said Olivier.
“How?” interrupted Gill. “Why would I need your help?” Gill felt he had been coping fine up to now, why did he suddenly need a stranger coming into his life, causing confusion and creating doubts.
“I mean not to offend you Gill. You have grown up a strong brave man like your father.” Gill wished he would stop drawing comparisons between him and a man he had never met. “I have watched you develop, how you have mastered your weaponry, you are starting to show talent but I can see that your aggression is holding you back.”
“I do not need your help, I’m doing fine on my own,” replied Gill, turning away from Olivier and making his way back to his tree.
“But to fulfill your destiny Gill, fine will not be good enough. Also I can tell that everything isn’t fine,” Olivier said pointing to the cut on Gills face.
“That was an accident,” replied Gill, turning his cheek to hide the cut left by Beni.
“But it’s not the first accident you have had Gill. I’ve noticed that here have been more.”
“What do you know of my destiny anyway?” asked Gill, trying to shift emphasis to a different subject. “I know who I am and I am in control of my problems. I protect my family, and it appears to me that you can’t even look after yourself.” Gill felt guilty drawing attention to Olivier’s untidy attire, but the fact that Olivier had suggested that he couldn’t take care of his family had offended him. “Don’t appear in my life and tell me I need your help.”
“Well this leads me to my second reason to show myself Gill, and this is going to be far more difficult for you to comprehend. The truth is Gill," Olivier continued, "you don’t know who you are."
“What do you mean?” asked Gill. He hadn’t had any of his questions answered; all Olivier had done had spoken in riddles and created more perplexity.
"The truth is that you are the son of a very important person." Gill stared at Olivier his world had stopped revolving, and his heart beat quickened.
"Your father was killed before he was able to fulfill his destiny. The truth is, this is now your destiny Gill.”
Olivier put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a beautiful silver cross on a long silver chain. It was the most magnificent piece of jewelry Gill had ever seen. It was encrusted with stones of all colours that picked up the suns rays and refracted a kaleidoscope of light across the clearing. Olivier handed the cross to Gill. Gill studied it as it lay in his hand mesmerised by its beauty.
“This was your father’s,” Olivier continued. “I found it the day after your father was killed. You see Gill your father was a very clever man and he knew that he was in danger. He put this cross in my valise without me knowing. He knew that should anything happen to me that I would know what to do with it.” Olivier paused again, allowing Gill to comprehend what he was saying. “Gill your father was the Prince of Avalon, the only known heir to the city. He would have wanted me to give this to you in order that you would know one day who your father was. You Gill, are now the only living heir to Avalon."
Gill could not believe what he was hearing. What did this mean? Why hadn’t his mother said anything? What was he going to do now? He fell to his knees and covered his face with his hand. How could this be? What he had just been told had stolen the air from around him, his world was caving in, and he couldn’t breath. He jumped to his feet and ran. Olivier didn’t follow. Gill ran and ran, in no particular direction just as far away from Olivier and from what he had just been told. He was the son the prince; it didn’t make sense, why had his family had to suffer for so long, why hadn’t he been told before? He ran until his legs wouldn’t carry his body anymore. He collapsed at the top of a sand dune that overlooked the sea. Gill lay on the sand, his knees pulled up to his chest, and cried until the sun set and the world could see his tears no more.
Eventually the tears dried and his solitude gave him comfort no more. He needed to talk to his mother. He stood up and headed in the direction of Avalon. He arrived home long after dark, and the time his mother was expecting him.
“Where have you been I’ve been so worried?” asked Arlette as soon as her son walked through the door. His bloodshot eyes told a tale his mother did not know yet. “What’s the matter, what’s happened?” her worry became replaced with panic. Gill looked his mother in the eyes, walked straight past her without saying a word and sat down at the table. Arlette turned and followed him, frantically taking a seat beside her son. “What is it son? Please tell me.” Gill dipped his hand in his pocket and pulled out the cross and placed it on the table. The blood visibly drained from Arlette's face. The last time Arlette had seen this cross it was round her lover’s neck as he lay next to her in her bed, the morning before he was taken from her forever.
“Where did you get his?” Gill could not tell whether the tone of his mother’s voice was of fear, anger or longing, he presumed a probable mixture of all. For the first time since he could remember he could not read his mother’s emotions.
“It was given to me by a stranger in the woods outside the city,” replied Gill, slightly nervous due to his mother’s unrecognisable initial reaction.
“Don’t play games with me Gill, tell me where you found this.” Gill could definitely now sense anger in his mother’s voice. She leant forward and carefully picked up the cross as if it had been left in the fire and would burn to the touch. She lifted it up and took a closer look. Slowly she closed her palm around it and looked at Gill waiting for a response. “Tell me Gill?”
“Mother, I was at the place that I go most nights to be alone and practice my lyre, just outside the city walls in the forest by the shore.”
“We will deal with the fact you go outside the city walls later Gill. Now tell me exactly how you came to have this cross.”
“I was relaxing by my tree when I was woken by a man coming through the woods toward me. He said his name was Olivier.” Gill could see his mother's eyes widen. “He said he was good friends with my father, and that my father had left this cross in his valise, because he would know what to do with it should anything happen to him.”
“Did he say who your father was?” asked Arlette.
“He said my father was the Prince of Avalon,” Arlette’s head slumped into her hands. “Is this true mother, was my father the Prince?” but her look reaction have already confirmed this.
Arlette took a deep breath, lifted her heavy head from her hands and took hold of Gills hands softly. Gill was still in a state of shock and denial, now was the time for truth but his emotions were vulnerable. His mother’s hand trembled in his. She looked him in the eyes. “I knew the time would come when I would have to tell you the truth about your father and I. I am relieved to be truthful that this time has finally come. If I am to tell you this Gill, you must promise me that you will listen first to all what I have to say without reacting, you need to hear the full story. Can you do that Gill?”
“I will try.” This was starting to feel worse than his meeting with Olivier. All that he knew, everything that made him the person that he was, that grounded him was now in question. His life had been shredded and thrown haphazardly in the air, falling to the ground like ash from a fire. But all his unanswered questions were about to be answered, and although every instinct in his body said run he wanted to hear what his mother had to say, she deserved that much.
She started in a softly spoken voice still holding his hands. “Your father was a very special man Gill.” It was as if these words that were hidden for so long had to be said quietly, as any loud noise would scare them away again. “Yes, he was the Prince, and it is for that reason alone that I have kept his identity from you.” ‘But why?’ Gill wanted to scream but he let his mother continue. “We met for the first time the day he returned from his knight training. He rode past me, our eyes met and something beautiful happened in both our worlds. From that moment neither of our lives were the same again. Your father would come to see me every night after the sun was down and the streets became empty. We would escape the city walls and be together by the sea without thought of prejudice or consequence.” ‘So that’s how she knew about the hole in the city wall’ Gill thought to himself, but he didn't speak. “He would arrive after dark and always have to leave before sun rise. It was too dangerous to let anyone else see us. We didn’t want our relationship to be judged by city gossip, it was worth more than that. We had both found true love and companionship, and had to rejoice in the fact within our cloak of secrecy.”
Gill looked at his mother and with his thumb wiped away a tear that had started to fall down her cheek. “It is such a relief to me mother that you experienced true love with my father. I have always felt such guilt about your life ending when my began.”
“I had a life before you were born Gill, and I will never meet another man like your father. I was blessed that I knew him, and the love he gave me was truly a gift that I will always keep with me, but a new life began when you were born. It was the end of one part, but a beginning of another, and one that I have been equally blessed to have.” Gill couldn’t hold back his smile, there were still so many questions he wanted to ask, but just sitting in their home, at their table, listening to his mother and seeing the happiness in her eyes fulfilled a dream that he had had so many times over.
That evening Arlette continued telling stories of his father; and with each story another of his questions was answered. “Now I understand why you didn't want me to be a knight,” Gill said as his mother explained how his father was a great knight, and that he and Olivier were going to fight against the atrocities that Chaval had bestowed in his beloved land. “So you didn’t want me to be a knight because you were fearful that I would be a great knight like my father, and one day I would have to go to battle.”
“That is partly true Gill,” said Arlette, still holding her son’s hand. Gill could sense that his mother was trying to tackle each of his questions as sensitively as possible. “The king was under enormous pressure around the time I was pregnant with you Gill.” Arlette stood up and walked to the fire. She picked up the stoker and prodded the embers bringing the fire back to life again.
“Please continue mother,” said Gill as he turned around looking at his mother. “I know this must be difficult mother but.”
“I am alright Gill. You have a right to know, “ continued Arlette, retaking her seat. “I have wanted to share this with you for such a long time. It is just talking about this, recalling all my memories makes me realise just how different our life could have been. How much happier you could have been.”
“But I am happy mother. You have always filled this house with love, and Sebastian and I have grown up not wanting for anything.”
“Thank you Gill. You and your uncle have been a constant support to me as well.” Arlette took a deep breath and Gill realised that she was about to tell him something that he may find difficult to hear, so he squeezed his mother’s hand and smiled at her. “Gill your father was a great, brave man and we were going to tell the king about us, and of my pregnancy the day he returned from a very important mission that the king had sent him on. Your father was to go to Chaval to offer parley in order that some of the land that Chaval had so brutally stolen from our neighbours could be returned to the refugees that were living in our city. We did not have enough food or homes for everyone, our resources were running low and the king needed to find a way to protect and feed these people. Our armies were not equipped to fight against Chaval’s, and the king was required in Avalon, so this was the city’s only chance of survival. Gill, your father never returned from Chaval. It is said that he was ambushed on his return. It is suspected that it was Chaval’s men but this has never been confirmed. His body and the body of the man that he traveled with were never found. The man that he traveled with Gill was Olivier.”
Gill’s tears fell and splashed on the table joining his mother’s in a pool of sorrow. Gill’s uncle who had been sitting next to the fire pretending to be asleep stood up and came to the table to hold his family. Gill noticed that he also had been crying. “I was only young Gill, b but from what I remember your father was an extraordinary man, a chivalrous man, a true knight. He and your mother were deeply in love, b but I believe he is still here Gill. I believe that he lives in you. Lives in the love that you give to your mother and me. Lives in your energy and your passion, and I believe, for him, you will come through this and make things right once more.”

Gill woke the following morning. His head ached from the tears he had wept the previous night. Many of his questions had been answered but the muscles in his forehead were still contracted from one last thing he needed to know. He got up carefully so as to not wake his mother or uncle; got dressed and tip-toed to the door. He had to see Olivier. He needed to find out exactly what had happened to his father. He made his way out of the city and back to the place he had ran from yesterday. The sky was grey and the clouds were thick and seemed to slowly roll across the horizon enveloping any last piece of colour that the sun had to offer. The weather had changed overnight, as had Gill’s life.
He sat down by his tree. There was still evidence of their meeting yesterday. The bracken where they had fallen had been flattened, and he could see broken branches where Olivier had appeared from the woods, “Olivier!” Gill shouted. “Olivier, where are you? I have more questions.”
Silence. Gill thought it may take some time to find him again, after all he did run away. Maybe Olivier felt that Gill would never want to see him again. Why couldn’t he have sat down and let Olivier explain himself properly, but Gill knew he would have to be patient, he couldn’t move on with his life until he had spoken with Olivier again. He could not just go back to the market stall and pretend as if nothing had changed: things had fundamentally shifted now.
The day was cold. Gill pulled his knees up to his chest and stretched his tunic over them to form a makeshift tent. He was tired, he hadn’t slept much and dawn had only just broken. As he sat, waiting for Olivier he slipped in and out of sleep, the nodding of his head waking him up at regular intervals. Suddenly a tap on the shoulder woke him, he didn’t know how long he had been a sleep but the darkness had fully lifted; although the tiredness in his bones hadn’t.
“Gill you came back. Thank god.” Gill opened his eyes to see Olivier crouching in front of him, still wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday. Still unkempt hair and long beard. “I wasn’t sure you would."
“I wasn’t sure I would either Olivier. I needed some time on my own. I needed to speak with my mother. I am sorry…”
“Don’t be sorry Gill," Olivier cut gill’s reply short, "there is no need. It is not your fault that any of this has happened. Did you speak to your mother? How is she?”
“She will be fine. I think. She had been waiting for the right time to tell me about my father and is probably quite thankful I now know.”
“Did you tell her you had seen me?” Their conversation was calm. Gill felt that the worse was over now.
“I did. And she explained who you were and how you had disappeared on the same day as my father. How you had left to offer parley to Chaval, but never returned.” Olivier stood and looked to the sky stroking his beard.
“Before you ask me any questions will you come with me to my home?” Gill’s instincts told him that he could trust this man, and he needed to find out about what had happened in Chaval.
“Of course,” replied Gill, taking Olivier’s outstretched hand allowing him to be pulled up.

Olivier led the way back through the thickets and copses from which he had appeared the previous day. In silence they walked. Deeper and deeper into the forest, until the canopy became so dense that the only sunlight was the occasional dappling against the thick oak trunks. They waded across streams and hacked through bracken until Gill could see in the distance a small clearing with a building in the centre. The clearing offered a blast of natural that had been scarce in the journey so far. It gave the smallholding a mystical glow as if lit in the density of the surroundings by a celestial being. As they approached Gill could start to make out details of the house. The walls were made from logs vertically lashed together, and the roof was thatched from a mixture of fern leaves and straw. It was a modest structure but it looked strong and great skill and time had obviously been taken in its construction. Olivier turned for the first time since they had left Gill’s special place and said with a proud expression as if introducing him to his first born, “Welcome to my home.”
To the right of the house Gill noticed Olivier had neatly planted vegetables. Beside the vegetables there was also an herb garden scenting the air with the sweet smell of mint and lemon. The plot reminded him of his uncle’s out the back of their house although this was far more established and there was a greater variety. The fruits of Olivier’s toil formed perfect lines all of varying heights and colours, some that Gill recognised from his uncle’s plot and some that he had never seen before. There was also a small plume of smoke rising from the chimney and a small window beside a door that marked the entrance. Olivier opened the door, “Please come in.”
“Thank you,” replied Gill, a little nervous as to what he was going to find inside. The interior was simple but orderly, which surprised Gill especially due to Olivier’s appearance. There was a bed in one corner covered with what looked to be the skin of a deer, and the only other furniture a small table and chair under the window, which Olivier must have fashioned from wood taken from the surrounding forest. A small pot hung over a fire that had carefully been positioned in the middle of room; the heat from which gave a welcome warmth from the cold day outside.
“Go in, Go in. Would you like a drink?” Olivier asked as he took the pot off the fire with two well-worn sticks.
“Yes, thank you,” replied Gill shuffling from foot to foot, still uneasy with his unfamiliar surroundings.
“Please sit.” said  Olivier pointing to the seat by the window. Gill sat down in the chair inquisitively looking around the house for clues as to how a man can survive in such a place for as long as he had. Gill felt a strange envy of Olivier’s situation. The freedom that Olivier had was what Gill craved for, but he also realised that it had come at a cost. Olivier removed his valise and placed it on his bed and then went back out of the door, leaving Gill to ponder more as to the benefits of this solitude. He returned carrying a hand full of leaves that he had picked from outside. Gill watched as he put the leaves into two clay cups that were beside the fire, and pour on hot water. Olivier placed the pot back, picked up the cups and gave one to Gill, “Now tell me Gill, what are your questions?”
Gill picked up his cup and looked in inquisitively. The flavour from the leaves was beginning to infuse: and the sweet smell reminded him of his mother. He held it in both hands so as to warm him, and blew the steam from the top. Gill didn’t know where to start, he looked through the window at the small area of sky framed by the tall trees that inhabited the forest and watched the seagulls circle overhead. These were the birds that had followed him throughout his life, as if a constant reminder of his desire for freedom.
“I have two things to ask,” said Gill eventually without taking his eyes from the birds.
“Anything Gill,” replied Olivier as he took his place on the corner of his bed looking intently and his best friend’s son.
“I want you to tell me how my father died.”
“And the second thing?”
“I want you to teach me how to be a knight.”

Gill returned home to find his mother preparing dinner, as she had done every night for as long as he could remember. A pot was hung over the fire filling the air with a familiar sweet smell. His mother, each week, would buy a small chicken from the market, and sparingly use pieces each day. She would slowly boil the thin slices in water with vegetables to form their staple diet of pottage. The vegetables; onions, cabbage, leeks or spinach were grown in their small garden, and she would add, for extra taste, berries, nuts, garlic, or any other herb that she would collect on covert outings to the forest. The food was not extravagant, but Etienne felt comforted by its simplicity, and the family never went hungry. Their usual places had been set at the table, centered by some bread and a chipped clay carafe of water. Dinnertime was seen as an important part of the day for Etienne’s family. It was when they could all sit together and tell stories of their day. On special occasions, birthdays or holidays, Arlette would treat the house to salted pork or even a capon or goose.
“Good evening mother, something smells good,” said Gill as he entered the house. Unfortunately on this night Gill’s pleasure at seeing his mother was lost when he noticed that the table had been set with four places. Gill knew this meant Beni would be joining them. He hated him. He hated the way he spoke to his mother, the way he would tease his uncle. Gill could handle the way he treated him as he could stand up for himself, he didn’t care what Beni thought, but the way he treated his mother and uncle was unfair. For some inexplicable reason his mother felt that having Beni in their house gave them protection and brought in extra, needed money. In truth all he actually did was drink and gamble his money, and bring unwanted unrest to their home. Gill’s mother was a strong woman, a woman of intelligence and dignity; quite how he had attached himself to her life Gill couldn't understand.
“Hello son how was our day?" replied Arlette. "Wash your hands, dinner is almost ready,” Gill made his way over to the bowl of clean water that sat on a small table by the back door and rinsed his hand and face, his posture depicting his annoyance at the unwanted guest due for dinner.
“I’m fine thanks mother,” replied Gill as he dried his face on his tunic. “How about you uncle? How has your day been?”
“I’ve b b been to market with your mother. Sh Sh She sold a dress today.”
Gill’s uncle speech had never developed very well. He would often need to take a few attempts to complete his sentences. He was blessed with the intelligence of his sister, and also her looks, but socially he found it difficult to interact with large groups. This meant he rarely ventured from their home, and would only leave to help his sister on her stool, and tend to their vegetable patch.
“Did you mother? That’s fantastic news, looks like we might be having goose again soon then,” replied Gill, the good news a slight reprieve from the imminent wretchedness that was soon to enter their home.
“I know, ten ducats I got for the dress too,” said Arlette as she continued to stir the pottage, busily flitting from the fire to the table like an expectant moth. “She was a noble lady, very impressed with my stitching. Lived in the castle. Her husband was one of the king’s vassals. Maybe I’ll get that goose for tea tomorrow.”
“You keep your money mother, treat yourself. Nothing could beat your chicken stew anyway,” said Gill as he walked over to his mother, leaning over her shoulder and giving her a kiss on the cheek.
“You are a good boy Gill,” Arlette replied as she turned and gave her son a hug. “Sit yourself down and have your dinner. You’re getting so big I’m going to have to get a bigger plate for you soon.”
The moment was broken by their front door being swung open, pieces of lathe falling off the wall as the wooden door handle embedded itself. Beni came falling through the door, his flushed portly face a clear sign of the amount of wine that he had already consumed. His angry bloodshot eyes an instant warning that he had not come offering well wishes. Beni stumbled over to the fire and bent down to smell the food that was in the pot.
“Pottage again. Is there nothing else you can cook woman?” Arlette turned to look at Gill and gave him a look that he had become used to. It was her, ‘ignore him Gill, I’m fine, he’s drunk again’ look. “Don’t turn your back at me woman,” Beni stumbled across the living room floor in the direction of Arlette falling into the table, knocking the plates to the floor, and Gill’s uncle from his chair. His uncle began picking up the plates and putting them back on the table. “Look at him crawling around the floor like the rat he his,” snarled Beni at Gill.
“Why don’t you leave him alone,” said Gill, the blood in his body beginning to pump around his face, his legs tingling with fear and anticipation, his fists clenched so tight it felt that his fingernails would draw blood on his palms. He had taken about as much as he was going to.
“What’s it got to do with you?” Beni replied as he lunged forward trying to poke Gill in the chest with his finger. Gill moved out of the way quickly and Beni stumbled forward grabbing hold of the wall to regain his footing.
“Leave him alone Beni,” Arlette was trying to calm the situation, but it had already gone beyond the point of reconciliation, “sit down and have your supper.”
“I don’t want to eat this swill, and I certainly don’t want to sit down at a table with you, or any of your pathetic family,” Beni replied spinning around the room pointing at Gill and his mother and uncle.
“Well why don’t you leave then?” said Gill. He wanted this pig out of his family’s house now.
“I told you to keep out of it.” Beni’s angry eyes were getting redder and redder. Gill could sense that he was about to attack. Although Beni had the height and weight advantage, Gill was angry, and he knew he had the speed and could easily get the better of him, especially in the state he was in.
“Please Beni, please sit down,” begged Arlette.
“S s stop Beni your upsetting Arlette,” Sebastian pleaded, as he came to the defence of his elder sister.
Beni turned, disbelief in his eyes that Sebastian should challenge him. “Who do you think you are, you pathetic stuttering little pig? Who are you to tell me what to do?” Beni lunged at Sebastian and graded him around the throat. Arlette tried to pull Beni’s arm from her brother’s neck but he swept her to the ground with his spare hand. Gill had seen enough, he pulled his right arm back and let fly with all the power he had in his body. He caught Beni perfectly on the chin. Beni wasn’t expecting it, and the punch took the red out of his eyes as they rolled back into his head and a tooth flew from his mouth. Gill stood back, his legs shaking at what he had done, and watched as the strength visibly began to leave Beni’s body. He wobbled like a giant oak as a woodcutter takes his final blow to its trunk, and then haplessly Beni fell. As he fell he grappled around aimlessly trying to find something to hold him upright but all he found was the edge of the table on which sat a bowl that Arlette had laid out for supper. His legs finally went and Gill, Sebastian and Arlette watched as he toppled to the floor. What Gill didn’t notice was that Beni had not let go of the bowl on the table, and as he fell he swung the arm round that was holding it and hit Gill across the face. The bowl shattered sending shards of hard clay across the room.
“Gill are you alright, you’ve been cut?” screamed Arlette. Gill slowly raised his hand to his cheek and he could feel a warm trickle of blood from a cut on his cheek. Gill pulled out a chair from the table and sat down. He could taste the thick droplets as they started to run into his mouth. Gill looked down to see Beni sprawled on the floor unconscious.
“I’m fine mother, it is just a cut.”
Arlette took Gill’s face in her hands in order that she could look at the cut more closely, and started to cry. Sebastian stood up from the floor and walked over to Gill and Arlette, he pulled his sister and nephew into his arms. They looked down at the sad heap of a man that lay on the floor by their feet. The relief flooded from them on the crest of their tears.
“Now let’s get rid of this drunkard,” said Gill. Arlette, Sebastian and Gill couldn’t take their eyes off the mess that was laid on their floor for fear that he might move, but Beni’s had meet his match. They began to laugh. They laughed until their cheeks ached, until they had picked Beni up and carried him out of their home, out of their lives. Arlette and Sebastian took a leg each and Gill lifted Beni’s top half. Gill could still smell the sobering odour of alcohol of Beni’s breath as they carried him from the house. They opened their front door and dumped him on the street outside.
The following morning Arlette nervously opened their front door half expecting to see Beni still there lying on the muddy street, but he was gone. Gill smiled at his mother as they stood in the doorway and she smiled back relief and pride visible in her face. For the next week Gill kept a close eye on his mother and uncle. He knew that he had scared Beni off, but also that it wouldn’t be long before he got drunk again and might make the mistake of coming back to his mother’s door, either for reconciliation or retribution. The three of them would go to market together each day, and come home together in the evening. Gill was desperate to get back to his favourite place at his tree, to get a bit of time to himself. After two weeks without any sign of Beni, Arlette said. “Why don’t you go out and spend some time with your friends, we’ll be alright. He’s not coming back.”
Gill begrudgingly agreed, and after they had packed up the market stool for the day, and he had walked them home he made his exit, back to the familiar hole in the city wall.

The night, as ever, began drawing in and he had to start making his way back. His mother would worry if he was back after dark and although Gill felt he was old enough to look after himself, and his family, his mother had enough to worry about without him adding to it. His mother’s fretting had increased to almost unbearable levels recently with the rumours that had started to fill the marketplace where his mother had her stool. On her stool, as well as her jewelry and ointments, she also sold embroidered purses, wall hangings, tapestries and clothes, just about anything that could be sewn, stitched and decorated with beads and shells. She had a real talent and when she wasn’t on the stool she would be making things to cure all manner of ailments, from stomach pains to fevers. She would also get some money from repairing garments or decorations for the affluent people that lived within the castle walls. The stool gave her very little due to the lack of people with money within the city, however it did give her enough to buy some of the independence that her soul so craved. She was thought of so highly that a few times a year even the castle would come to her to repair curtains or clothes: this gave her extra money and extreme pride. The marketplace also provided her with all the city’s gossip. Although she would refrain from involving herself it was hard not listen to the soldiers and staff from the castle telling news of the dangers that Avalon was facing.
Recently she had heard from one of the king’s ladies in waiting whom she was repairing a dress for, that the king was becoming more and more frail. He was no longer able to get out of bed, and they were worried that he might not have long to live. Age, worry and the loss of his wife and only son had taken their toll. Arlette knew the king, she had never met him but Etienne, his son, Gill’s father, often spoke about him when he was alive, in those special nights that they spent together, those precious memories that she had kept locked away for fifteen years. Hidden away to protect her lost love. She knew that the king was staying alive for one reason only, to protect his people. To give them a safe place to live and the security that he had promised his wife on her deathbed. He had kept his promise but now he was getting to a point where he could protect them no longer. After Etienne’s disappearance the king had sent his knights to find him. The rumours around the marketplace, which Arlette listened to intently for news of her love, told stories of Etienne never actually reaching Chaval. Arlette never believed this, she had seen Etienne on the morning he left. She knew from looking into his eyes the determination that he had to seek counsel with Chaval. There was no way that he would not have got to see Chaval on that day. However after the Knights of Avalon reached Chaval it was said that they were greeted at the gates of Chaval by his guards pleading ignorance to Etienne or his friend Olivier ever arriving. The knights searched all surrounding area for five days but there were no signs of either Etienne or Olivier, and they returned to Avalon to tell the king the unspeakable news. It was at this point that the king ordered the gates to be locked, and he has not been seen by the town’s folk since.

“Will he not just die,” the King of Chaval said as he sipped a goblet of wine, droplets  spilling from the cup and running from the corner of his mouth, like the blood of a wolf’s kill. “I have waited fifteen years for this man to die and still he persists in getting in the way of me completing my conquest.”
“I have reliable information that your wait will not be long Sire,” replied the Bishop of Cheval. The Bishop was tall and lean, his scarlet cloak and black cap immaculately presented. His face was as pallid as the king’s, the only colouring a black sculptured beard  underlining secular smile.
“Is my army ready?” said the king.
“They are Sire. On your command we will move for Avalon.”
“Good,” replied the king. “Avalon will not know what has hit them. We will rip the city from the ground by its roots. I want every last person who dares to stand in my way killed.

The King of Avalon lay in his chambers; he had not risen from his bed now for six weeks. His curtains were pulled close; his eyes no longer able to take the light. The food that had been brought for him was still untouched on the plate to his side. The king rang the bell that stood on the table beside his bed to get attention from his nurse. Even this small movement took all the effort he could muster, just to stretch his weak arm and pick up a small bell sent shots of pain through his body. “Sire how can I help?”
The king cleared his throat and took as deep breath as possible in order to speak the first words he had for many days. “Please get me my Captain.” His voice a whisper, but the nurse heard his request. She ran from the room and told a guard who had kept constant  vigil at the king’s door to quickly find the head of the army. It didn’t take long for the guard to find him, and soon the king’s closest friend and deputy was at his bedside.
“What is it Sire?” asked the Captain as he knelt in front of his monarch and friend.
“I am dying Nicolas.” The king coughed and his friend passed him a drink of water in a vane attempt to suppress his obvious anguish. “I am not long for this world.”
“Please do not speak like this Sire. You are a strong man, I know you can overcome this.”
“Nicolas,” continued the king in a whisper taking his friends hand in his. It was not the same strong hands the king used to posses, they were now withered and hung from his wrist without strength or form like a loose white glove. “You have been my friend and counsel for many years now, and I thank you for everything you have done for me.”
“Of course Sire, I feel I have not done enough.”
“You have my friend.”
“It has been. It is a honour Sire,” Nicolas corrected himself. “What can I do, how can I help?” Nicolas had slowly watched his king, and oldest friend give up on this world, and the suffering he was experiencing greatly affected him.
“I fear for my city, and my people Nicolas,” continued the king. “The walls have been fortified, and an army trained, but without a leader I fear of attack. My only heir was taken from me. I know of other Kingdoms that left without their natural leaders have been taken by leeches feeding their incessant greed. This cannot happen to my city, the land of my forefathers. My last request of you my dear friend is to find Avalon a new leader.”
“How Sire, how will I know who should lead us?” but before Nicolas had finished asking his question the king rolled over and fell back to sleep again.

1053AD (15 years later)

A boy sits alone, leaning back against his favourite tree looking up at the sky. It is an old yew, gnarled and sprawling like an old ladies hand, placed in a clearing as if fossilised and released to breath again when the ice melted. He has sat there many times before; relaxing, practicing his lyre, watching the birds over the sea as they stoop to pick up whatever krill the fishermen may throw over the side of the boat. He loved it there, felt at peace, the shape of the buttress against which he leant seemed to be shaped perfectly for his body, it held him tight as if the tree was embracing him; connecting him with nature. It was the only place he could truly escape, be free, no one knew he was there. He could get away from his over protective mother who, although he knew she meant well, still found it hard to realise that he was no longer five years old and therefore needed to be treated more like a man. He could escape the his mother had let into their lives. He was initially pleased for his mother when the man moved in. His father had died before he was born. The details he had of his father were vague and disjointed, his mother found it too hard to talk about what had happened. From what information he had gleaned, his father must have been a good man who died trying to protect the city from the attack from Chaval who sixteen years ago had threatened to take all surrounding cities. Thankfully Avalon, his home, had been the only principality saved from the tyrant, and although Chaval was unsuccessful in his quest to rule all of South West France, his threat had left Avalon paralysed. The pleasure that he derived from this new man moving in was short lived. His mother was struggling to find money to feed, clothe and house him and his uncle, and the money from this new man was welcomed: but the trouble he brought with him soon outweighed any financial gain. His mother sold jewelry made from shells she collected from the beach, and ointments and medicines made from various herbs and plants that grew both in her small garden and also wild in the forest and marshland that surrounded the city. It was her self-belief and caring nature that pushed her into offering her skills to help the sick through her medicines, although many of her friends warned her against being so open about what she made. Her ointments, and practices she performed could have been seen as heresy, but the empathy and tenderness that she showed with each person that visited, and also her general success in healing these people ensured that Arlette was thought of very highly throughout the city.
Banyu or Beni as he liked to be called saw how beautiful his mother was, and took her need of help financially as an opportunity to exploit her. He was a soldier, not a particularly good one, which was evident by the fact that he had spent nearly twenty years as a soldier and not once had he been called upon to fight for Avalon. He had never been promoted, and spent most of his time in the barracks shouting at the youngest recruits making them run errands for him, shine his armour and fetch his wine. They had obviously done a bit too much fetching of wine as Beni spent his life hung over, getting drunk, drunk or sleeping. He hated him and wished his mother would make him leave their home, but even though she had tried on numerous occasions he always managed to talk his way back into their lives again. His mother had never seen Beni as a replacement for his father. They were not lovers, she probably looked at him with the same disdain that he did, but he still managed to cling to their lives like an unwanted barnacle.
The boy sat there wistfully dreaming, letting the mottled suns rays filter through the overhanging branches of the trees warm his face. It was his way to escape the grey cloud that had descended on the city he called home. His mother would tell stories of the city when his father was alive, before Chaval had forced so many people from their homes, forced them to find refuge in the only piece of this land that was not under his control. She told of a city where children would play in the street outside their house, and could leave the city walls without fear. A city where the market would buzz everyday as town folk made a living selling produce they had grown or reared. A market that would sell textiles and spices brought buy merchants from Africa and Spain. Nobody traveled to Avalon anymore; the city's gates had been locked ever since the king gave the order to fortify the city. That was the last time also that the king had been seen in public. Under the king’s orders the city walls had been increased by another twenty feet in height and width. He felt that this would ensure that Chaval would never be able to take this city, but all it proved to do was make the city a prisoner to it’s own protection. Why the king didn’t stand and fight against Chaval was a mystery, but the day the cities gates were closed life within the walls was snuffed out.
As he sat beneath the tree he dreamed of the day that the gates would reopen. The day that the ivy, which had grown up the huge gates as a testament to their extended imprisonment, would be ripped from their roots allowing the world to flood back into the city again, as if arising from the depths of the sea to take a lung filling gulp of fresh air. He pictured himself standing with this fellow man, not with his lyre but a sword prepared to fight, ready to take back their freedom. Fight for the ability to walk in the fields again. Fight for the right to take back the land of his neighbours who had had there’s brutally stolen from them. He had told his mother how he wanted to become a knight, but she would always change the conversation, or told him that he was too special and she needed him to be a knight for her. This would frustrate him, why wouldn’t she let him chase his dream, allow him to be a man, why does she treat him like a boy? He would become a knight though he thought to himself, so she could be free and live the life that she deserves. He would fly like the seagulls.
The only time that he had ever asked Beni for anything was on his fifteenth birthday when he asked if he could introduce him to the Captain of the army as he wanted to learn how to fight. His response was little more than he had expected. ‘What? A wimp like you Gill? Why would we want a little wimp like you?’ followed by a gloved hand across Gill’s face that left a bruise for days. When quizzed by his mother as to the origin of the bruise he lied, as he had done in the past, ‘I fell over’ or ‘I was hit by one of the other boys’. Gill knew that his mother lied to him also about bruises that she would regularly get from walking into a door, or a burnt hand she got as she took the water off the fire. Gill had heard these lies so many times before he almost started to believe them. In spite of his mother’s forbidding, and Beni’s mocking Gill was still determined that one day he would become a knight and free his city. He had dreamt about it for as long as he could remember, and it was for that reason that Gill found himself under his favourite tree on that day.
Gill’s days would usually take the same regular pattern. Wake up, wash, dress, have breakfast with his mother and Sebastian his uncle. Tidy his bed away then go to school. His constant daydreaming watching seagulls circling, envying their freedom, their swiftness, made concentration in class difficult. He was a bright boy, polite, and his teacher was hopeful of him, but his biggest limitation was his lack of attention. Gill learnt best when he was free from the constraints of four walls of the church where he took his classes. Lessons in grammar, rhetoric, and logic, although he showed adeptness to all three, didn’t interest him. He would try hard at his studies, to appease his mother, however his true passion was to learn the way of the knight. Gill was popular, drew eyes from the girls, and was a natural athlete. He was strong, agile and possessed a natural talent with the sword and bow. His other talent that he practiced, again more for his mother than himself was playing the lyre. He liked playing when alone, but whenever his mother had guests she would beg him to play for them, which greatly embarrassed him. Gill didn’t like attention. It made him uncomfortable, but the beauty of playing for Gill was that once he had begun after the first few notes he would be completely immersed in his music and would be able to forget that their were others in the room. The sound of the lyre and the vibration from the plucked strings would resonate through his body sending him into a hypnotic state. For the five or ten minutes he played he completely left his body and the worries of his mother and the city, and was flying with the seagulls. For this reason Gill continued playing the lyre, for the escape, but also for the practice time which gave him an excuse in the afternoons not to come straight home but instead return to his favourite tree.
The afternoons in the sunshine would not purely be for practicing his music; he also wanted to practice his knightsmanship. Hidden in his tree was a sword he had fashioned from two branches that had been lovingly whittled down, and tied together with twinning. The weapon was basic but it felt the right weight and ideal for practicing. He had also made a bow from a long yew tree branch. He stripped the bark and tied twinning to either end. Gill was particularly proud this. The wood was smooth and the string taught, the arrows that he had also made flew far and true.
He would spend two, three or even four hours some afternoons practicing, sitting, thinking, and escaping. This was his place; he had never seen another person there and the solitude was comforting. It was a short walk from the city walls in the direction of the sea. There was a gap in the wall that his mother had shown him once ‘in case you ever need to escape this city,’ she had said: although Gill was sure that she hadn’t meant for him to use it almost everyday. Quite how his mother knew about it Gill didn’t know, and when he quizzed her on it she blushed and said that she didn’t find it, and that it found her. Gill didn’t delve any deeper, she wasn’t making sense and he didn’t really care anyway he was happy that she had found it, and what it had given to him.

Dawn broke a beautiful red sky. The men stopped and watched in awe at the vista as the sun crept from behind the mountains in the distance. They stopped by a river and ate breakfast. Olivier asked Etienne questions of how he met Arlette, and of how their relationship had developed. Etienne was happy to answer his friend’s questions. Recalling these fond memories gave Etienne great pleasure, and the relief of being able to finally share them with his closest friend made him realise how blessed he had been. He had become so immersed in his reflecting that he had forgotten about the reason they were here, and the dangers that lay ahead. Both men ate, breaking off large chunks of bread with their hands, and with their daggers smearing on top smooth white goats cheese made in Avalon. They shared wine, and when finished laid back on the soft grass and closed their eyes, to rest for a while before they embarked on the rest of their journey.
“Olivier,” whispered Etienne. “Olivier, are you awake?”
“I am now. What is it?” Olivier replied, slightly disgruntled at the fact that his friend had woken him from his slumber.
“Olivier, what is love?” asked Etienne.
“Eh?” replied Olivier, rolling on to his side to face Etienne.
“What I mean is, what is it that makes someone feel like I do?” Etienne still on his back looked up at the clouds as they slowly crept across the sky above him, swirling and changing shape like a drop of milk in a pale of water. “Do you think it is our imagination? Is it because I can imagine how good it is when I am with Arlette that I long for that feeling when we are not together?”
“I don’t know but what ever it is, it has just woken me up,” added Olivier, not helping Etienne with his pondering.“If it’s not imagination, then is it the memories I have of us that makes my heart ache? Or maybe is it the physical attraction that I have when I see her?” Etienne continued still staring into the sky trying to picture some of those moments with Arlette that he treasured so much.
“I’m really sorry my friend but I don’t think I can help you. I have not yet felt the way you do. All I can say is that not everyman gets to feel the way you do his whole life. And to have that person feel the same way about you is truly special. If I were you my friend I would take care of it like your life depends on it.” Olivier wasn’t much of a philosopher, but in a simplistic way it made perfect sense to Etienne.
“How is it then Olivier?”
“Oh God, can we just go?” Olivier interrupted getting tired of his friends longing.
“We’ll leave in a minute I’ve just got one more question. How is it then that you can briefly see a person, then you don’t, but the feeling still remains in your heart? Why is that even if you can’t even see them anymore you can still feel them?” Etienne stood up and began packing his bag.
“That is what they must call love Etienne. There’s no explaining it, only enjoying it. You have found the one person in the world that you were put here to be with, so stop worrying about what it is and concentrate on why it is, and what you have. Now lets go we have still got a lot of riding ahead of us.”
‘Why it is and what you have,’ Etienne thought to himself. “I like that Olivier. Appreciate why it is, and what I have. Thank you my friend.”
“Pleasure,” replied Olivier. The friends packed their things and mounted their horses. “Arlette is amazing Olivier,” Etienne continued as he kicked his horse with his heels. “She has changed my life forever, I will never be the same man again.”
“It sounds to me like you’ll never be sane again,” added Olivier. The friends laughed before turning their horses and beginning in the direction of Chaval.
The day passed quickly, they followed the route that had been shown to them, and although they were being cautious their mood was jovial. That was until they viewed the city of Chaval for the first time. It came over the crest of one of the many mountain ranges that separated their home from the dark city. There, in the distance, they could see an enormous stone monolith, built from greed and anger.  Splitting the beautiful surroundings like a scar. It looked from where they were standing to be twice the size of Avalon. It emitted pure evil, devoid of colour. Plumes of dank smoke and an acrid stench polluting the air the only signs that there was life within the walls. The city was grey, the rooftops of the houses inside the walls grey and the huge castle that towered over the rest of city, a dark grey reminder to the city folk of the crippling power that it possessed over them.
The two men stopped, taken aback by the terror in front of them. Without saying anything Etienne started to ride again. His pace quickened, first into a trot, then a canter, then a full gallop. Olivier was struggling to keep up. When he finally did he shouted to get the attention of his friend. “Etienne, slow down,” but Etienne was focused on the city. “Etienne!” Olivier shouted again, but still no break in pace. Etienne wanted to get the castle as quickly as possible, deliver the parchment and get back to his love. Olivier was doing his best to try and keep up, but Etienne didn’t slow until they reached the city gates. The gates stood forty feet above them, and the arched stone gateway another twenty foot above the gates. The sheer scale was humbling. Etienne shook the thoughts of insignificance from  his mind and concentrated on his role as a knights. They had come here for a purpose and they were not going to leave until they had fulfilled it.  The gates were slowly pulled  open by two huge war horses. Six guards appeared, all much larger than Etienne and Olivier, and in full armour. Six giant bears with the smell of blood in their nostrils. The largest of the men bellowed. “Who goes there?”
“I am Etienne son of the King of Avalon and this is Olivier of Citerne.”
“And what business have you with Chaval?” growled the guard.
“I have message from the King of Avalon that I must personally deliver to your king.” The guards turned in order that they could talk without either of the boys hearing. Etienne looked at Olivier, who shrugged. The guards then turned back to face them, the same guard that had addressed them earlier stepped forward.
“If you wish to see our king, you must leave your horse and weapons here.”
“Etienne don’t do it, it’s too dangerous,” Olivier whispered to his friend.
“We have to,” replied Etienne. “We must show the king that we have come to find a resolution, not start a war.” Etienne got off his horse, unbuckled the belt that held his scabbard in place and laid his sword on the floor.
“But we were told not to…”
“Olivier it will be fine. Just leave your sword here with mine.” Olivier dismounted and removed is sword.
“If you are sure,” said Olivier.
“Now follow us,” boomed the guard.
“Does he really need to speak so loudly,” Olivier whispered in Etienne’s ear, trying to bring light of the situation as he often did when he and Etienne were in trouble in the past. “We’re only standing next to him.” Etienne smiled at his friend to put him at ease because he knew that Olivier was as scared as he was. They followed the guard through the gate and into a scene of pure misery and degradation. The grayness that the city emitted outside was magnified a hundred times within its walls. The streets and houses were filthy and filled with people whose tormented faces were proof of the pain and torture that had bestowed this land. These visions of misery stopped in the street to watch Etienne and Olivier being led toward the castle. Visitors were obviously rare Etienne thought, after all who would willingly want to come here. The whole place had the putrid smell of sorrow. The light that burned so brightly in the eyes of the people of Etienne and Olivier’s lands had long been extinguished here. They slowly made their way through the streets and up to the castle, careful not to touch or be touched by any of the pallid skeletal hands that were trying to grab their clothes. Any bystanders who came too close, or tried to cross their paths were slapped to the floor by the nearest guard. Etienne thought to himself that if this is what success in battle brought to your land then he would sooner be a fisherman than a knight.
A small child broke from the crowd; he couldn’t have been much older than Arlette’s brother, and ran toward the men begging for money, his clothes ripped and hanging from his malnourished body. Olivier went to take some food from his bag but before he could a guard hit the boy with such force that it took him off his feet. Olivier lunged at the guard fury burning in his face at the brutality of the guard’s actions, but before he could get to him four of the guards raised their swords to the stranger’s throat, a reminder that they were unarmed and it would be prudent to stand down. Etienne unclenched his fists slowly, he knew he had to gain his composure or their journey would end before they had even reached the king. He took Olivier’s arm and whispered. “My friend, we must control our emotions. We have a very important mission; the future of our people lies in our hands. We must leave here with Chaval knowing that we have come to find reconciliation.”
“Stop talking,” bellowed the guard. Olivier winked at Etienne to let him know that he understood, and that he would try to stay restrained. They reached the castle gate and the enormity of the building was more powerful than Etienne could have imagined. The thought of the sadness the king had caused to so many people to build this legacy disgusted him, but his mind was focused, the king’s judgment day would come.
Olivier nudged Etienne with his elbow, and with his eyes urged his friend to look up. He had noticed a woman standing on a small balcony that overlooked the castle doors.
“What?” asked Etienne, angry with his friend that they might further aggravate the guards.
“That must be Marianne,” replied Olivier. Etienne tried to ignore his friend and focused on the castle door. Olivier looked back up Marianne and smiled.
“I know I noticed her from the street,” Etienne whispered through gritted teeth, trying not to draw attention from the guards to their conversation.
“And?" Olivier continued. "What do you think?” Etienne looked at his friend indignantly. “If you don’t want to marry her do you mind if I do?”
“No. Now be quite before,” Etienne was interrupted by one of the guards.
“Shut up, or I’ll cut you down.”

Marianne had been watching the men as they made their way through the city. As they stood below, from her vantage point, she noticed the larger of the two smiled at her. “The contempt of the man,” she said as she spun away from the balcony, her cheeks reddened by Olivier’s impertinence. “How dare he smile at me?” The princess stepped into the room and then quickly turned back to have one more look over the balcony. “Who are they anyway?”
“I have heard from one of the guards my lady," answered one of the Princess’s maids as she tried to peer over the balcony without being noticed from below, "that they are the Prince of Avalon and his good friend the Prince of Citerne.”
“Come away from the balcony,” replied the Princess, “I do not want them to think we are interested in their arrival. Now fetch my shoes I want to go and see my father.”

Inside the castle it was even more dark and miserable than out, as if the castle was the epicenter, and misery spread from its source like a cockroach’s nest. Though it was built with the same stone as his father’s, cut from the same mountains, the castle’s atmosphere was a stark comparison. They made their way in silence through a labyrinth of huge corridors. Etienne was trying to forge to memory the route in case a quick escape was necessary, and he could tell from his friend’s silence that he was doing the same. Their footsteps echoed into the never-ending darkness, like a stone being dropped down an empty well. The guards stopped outside an imposing door, as thick as the castle wall and twice the height of the guards. The guard wrapped on it three times. The men paused, silently waiting for a response. “Enter,” came a voice from inside. The guard opened the door his handing trembling as he turned the large circular iron handle. The hall that faced them was larger than his father’s grand hall but not nearly as welcoming. There were no tapestries or silks adorning the walls or rugs on the floor, just bear cold stone. The only furniture the candles in simple candleholders that lined the walls, guiding your eyes to the large throne at far end of the room. A shadowy figure sat on the throne, flanked by the forms of two other silhouetted figures.

“I am too late,” Marianne whispered to the maids, careful that her father could not hear. She had run from her room followed by her two maids and was now standing behind a side entrance to the great hall. Hearing voices already inside she paused pushing her eye against the crack left by the slightly opened door in order that she could assess the situation.
“Why do you not enter my lady,” said a maid.
“I do not want the Prince to know that I would be interested in seeing him. I wanted to speak to my father first.”
“Are you interested in seeing the Prince then my lady?” asked the maid.
“Of course not, why would I want to see him. I am the Princess of Chaval. I do not run to any man. I just wanted to talk to my father that is all.” The princess held out her hand to bring the maids to silence. Inquisitively the three women waited at the door, the two maids vying for a position in order that they could see.

“Come,” came a voice from the darkness. It was not a strong voice like the guard or his father’s, rather a more muted muffle. The sound made the hairs on Etienne’s arms stand on end. Etienne looked at his friend and together they started to walk in the direction of the throne. The noise of their footsteps was deafening, but Etienne was sure that the noise his heart was making must have been louder. Etienne noticed by the number of footsteps he could hear that the guards had waited by the door. They walked slowly but with purpose, trying not to show any weakness, the words that Etienne’s teacher had told him a thousand times before were ringing around his head, ‘strong and proud’, ‘strong and proud’. As they drew toward the throne the candlelight started to give away some of the features of the man that they had come to see. Neither of them took their eyes from his face. He was smaller than Etienne had expected, and his hunch gave evidence of his frailty. His black royal clothes hung from him as if the body inside had withered away over many years. His hair was long and dirty and fell across his face. The closer they got the more the light started to paint the facial features and both Olivier and Etienne wished that it hadn’t. “Stop,” the king said. “To what does Chaval owe the pleasure of the presence of the son of Avalon?” The question was delivered with menace, but Etienne noticed a slight smile on the king’s face, a sanctimonious smile. ‘How did he know who he was’, Etienne thought to himself. Etienne took a meaningful step forward in order to address the king. He could now see the full gruesomeness of the king’s face; he looked older than anyone he had seen before, and for all the years he had been alive as if he had never taken one step from his sepulcher into the sunlight. Furrowed lines across his forehead the only clue that this man had any skin on his face at all.

Marianne, quickly turned to look at the maids. “Who is he, the other man?” she whispered pointing at Olivier. “Surely he is not the Prince of Citerne?”

“I,” replied Etienne having to stop to regain his composure for fear of stuttering, “have come with a message from my father the King of Avalon.” Etienne put his hand inside his tunic to get the parchment. As he did so the four guards rushed forward from the back of the room.
“Stop,” the king’s arm rose and the men froze. “Let the boy present me with his father’s message.” Etienne took out the roll of parchment. One of Chaval’s guards walked forward and took it from him and handed it to the king. Etienne stepped back in line with Olivier, grateful not to be able to see the king’s face anymore. The king ripped open the wax seal and unrolled it. He read the message to himself then, contemplating every word as one of his long yellow fingernail stroked the side of his face. When finished he looked up from the parchment and stared at Etienne almost serpent like as it assesses it prey: and without  leaving Etienne's face rolled the parchment back up and handed it to the man to his left.
“What are your names?” asked the king in an almost inaudible growling whisper.
“Etienne,” he knew he should say Sire but he had no respect for this man.
“Etienne, is this all you have brought?” asked the king.
“It is,” replied Etienne.
“And who are you?” the king asked Olivier.
“I am Olivier. Prince of Citerne,” he replied. The king’s smile grew, revealing a black line of stumps in the place of teeth.
“How is your father?” Etienne grabbed Olivier’s arm he could feel through his tunic the blood pumping through his veins desperate to be unleashed at this evil. “Enjoying his new home?” Etienne could feel Olivier moving forward, but he pulled him back desperate that his friend would not fall into Chaval’s trap. “You are both very brave coming here. Obviously far braver than either of your fathers.” Etienne went to reply but felt Olivier hold him back this time. “I do however think that your father is a wise man, and due to this I will discuss your father’s proposition with my council. Now leave.” The king lifted his hand  and flicked at the boys indignantly. Etienne stared back desperate to say something but he knew for the good of his friend and of their people he needed to turn and walk away: but the king wasn’t finished with his fun yet, the cat hadn’t finished teasing the mouse as it tried to escape. “Do you know my daughter?” Olivier and Etienne stopped and looked at each other. “Do you know Marianne?” They turned around to face the king again.
“I am aware that you have a daughter,” replied Etienne.
“And did you know she is not of wedlock yet?”
“I did not know this,” lied Etienne. The king paused. Etienne knew that the king was playing with him, and he was not going to rise to the bait.
“Do you have a wife yet Etienne?”
“I do not.”
“That is interesting,” replied the king now strumming his long yellow talons on the table. His hand then paused, as if waiting to see Etienne’s next move. “Do you think it would be easier for me to find this message more agreeable if our families were united Etienne?” Etienne knew the king had him cornered.
“I am not sure. I expect it probably would Sire.” The last word fell from his mouth as if laced with salt.
“I am also not of wedlock.” Olivier stepped forward to the aid of his friend.

Marianne squeezed the hand of her maid and drew breath. “He does appear to be a very brave man my lady,” said a maid.
“And handsome too,” added the other.
“I know, now be quiet, I am trying to listen,” replied the Princess.

The king looked at Olivier. “What could possibly make me want to unite my family with yours Citerne? You have nothing I want.” Etienne put his hand across Olivier’s chest and took another step forward.
“Sire with your permission my friend and I would like to leave.” He knew he wouldn’t be able to hold Olivier back much longer, and was also scared this line of questioning was going to further put him in a situation from which he could not escape. “We have delivered the message from my father and have a long journey back to Avalon. I will inform my father you have now received this, and will reply in due course.” Without waiting for the king’s response they turned and started walking toward the door having to force their feet to walk and not run and as they felt the king’s cavernous eyes burning holes in the back of them. They left the room, and the guards who had followed gave them back their weapons and ushered them back toward the city gates.
The king remained on this throne vengeance burning in his body. “They have come her to request parley,” the words contorting every remaining muscle in his body, “and then treat me with such disdain.” The king looked to the man on his right. “How dare they disrespect me?” The king remained facing the door his fingernails digging deeper into the table like a Kestrel preparing to give the killer blow. “Kill them.”
“No,” Marianne shouted from behind the door.

The two boys put on their swords and moved as quickly as they could to the gates without looking back. Unaware, eight of the Chaval’s knights were also getting ready to follow them. The boys mounted their horses and started in the direction from which they had come. Soon their horses were at full speed. The sun was beginning to set and they wanted to put as much distance as possible between them and Chaval before nightfall. They reached the foot of the mountain range before they started to slow. The horses could not run at that pace for long and they knew the distance they had ahead. Chaval’s horses however didn’t need rest; their journey would not be as far. Chaval’s knights reached Etienne and Olivier as they started to descend the first mountain. Their presence was not felt until it was too late. The brow of the mountain provided perfect cover for the chasing pack. The sound of the horse’s hooves first alerted Olivier, but by this time it was too late, they had fallen into Chaval’s trap. “Ride Etienne, ride,” screamed Olivier, bringing his friends attention to the four horses that were approaching from behind, like black thunderclouds breaking from the horizon desperate to unleash their celestial fury. The boys headed north but two more had flanked them and moved in from that direction. They turned to ride south, but another two horse blocked their escape. They were surrounded. The only option was to ride as fast they could forward; but their horses were already fatigued, and Chaval’s knight’s caught up with them at a merciless speed. The distance between them dwindled quickly, like the last remaining grains of sands slipping through a clasped hand, and it was not long before the first arrow whistled by Olivier. He changed direction again so as to spread his target. The boys ducked and kept riding, but the onslaught was relentless. They kept whipping their horses to get any speed that they had left out of them, but there was none. Another arrow flew torturously close, then another, and another Olivier and Etienne separated. It was their only chance. Olivier turned as he heard a noise he had feared, a noise he prayed he would never hear. Etienne yelled as an arrow hit him. Olivier looked over his shoulder to see Etienne had been hit in what looked like his arm and the strike had taken him from his horse. Six of the riders were closing in on his friend, swarming him like vultures; he needed to turn back and help but fear drove him forward. He couldn’t see where the other two horses were and the arrows continued to fly past him piercing into the trees, splitting the branches that he dodged in order to create some form of protection. And he kept riding. Tears streaming down his cheeks, until the arrows subsided and the rumble of chasing hooves couldn’t be heard anymore, he should have gone back, he should have stopped and fought, but his horse kept going, he never looked back.

etienne

Etienne left the hall, bid farewell to Olivier and headed back to his room. He was still in a state of shock with the enormity of the task that his father had bestowed on him. All he wanted to do was see Arlette; he needed to tell her. He made his way up the stone staircase back to his room, one slow step in front of another, each step contemplating what the following days would bring. He reached his room and lay on his bed, facing out the window, willing the sun from the sky. When it finally fell Etienne took his leave. He followed the same route he had a hundred times before, skipping from one shadow to another, shadows that had become his friend and confident over the past year. He didn’t slow. Out the castle gate, through the city street and finally to Arlette’s house. He entered and found her, as she often was, in her chair in front of the fire sewing. She turned to look at him, the relief of his presence obvious. Etienne froze and made a conscious effort to remember how beautiful she looked, he would use that memory in the future to give him strength. The aching in his chest testament to how much he loved her. “What is going to happen Etienne?” She had already heard rumours from the market.
“I did not get to tell my father Arlette, I am sorry.”
“I heard whispers in the market. The time was not right to tell him Etienne, I am glad you did not say anything. Is it true that the king is to attack Chaval.”
“Our army is not ready, but the time will come.”
“Well why then do you look troubled my love?”
“I am going to ride with Olivier to Chaval with an offer of parley.” They had never kept secrets from each other before. It was one of things that made then so strong, and he wanted to let her know exactly what was to happen. “The men of this city are currently not equal to the strength of Chaval’s army. We need to find more time for our men to heal and prepare.”
“But Etienne, does it have to be you?” Arlette’s eyes were already beginning to fill with tears.
“I asked the king to let me go. He was to ride but I persuaded him to let me, for the good of Avalon.” Arlette ran to Etienne and held him. “He is going to ask Chaval for a commitment to give of our neighbours some of their kingdoms back. He will offer this in exchange for our commitment to not attack Chaval.” Etienne leant back, still holding Arlette, in order that he could look her in the eyes. He held her face in his hands. He needed her to see the strength he had in his eyes, the belief that this was the right thing to do. He wanted to assure her that everything would be all right, but his words were not enough. He leant forward and kissed her. He knew the danger that lay ahead, and the fact that Chaval would probably not agree to such parley, but did not want to show this to her. They had learnt that it was in their embrace they could forget about the complexities of the world, they could close their eyes and see rushing clouds not storms, and so they held each other. They had become so close that in each other’s arms they became a single entity, they were each other’s life, the thought of not being together was incomprehensible.
“We leave the day after tomorrow.” Arlette still said nothing. She just held him. They spent the night in one another’s arms, and despite Etienne’s wishes the sun rose again. But on this morning Etienne didn’t leave. They stayed in bed until the sun was high. Holding each other. Etienne continued to try and reassure Arlette. “I will be home in a day. It is an easy ride, and I have Olivier to protect me should we face any danger.” But Arlette’s eyes would not dry, and her hand continued to clasp his like the last remaining fruit on an autumn tree.
“When you return we can go away together,” said Arlette. “I spoke to a merchant in the market. He told me that there is a beautiful bay a few days ride from here. It can be just me and you Etienne, away from Avalon.” It was so painful for Etienne to watch his love hurting in this way. “We could make a shelter and sleep under the stars, just like the first time we met Etienne.” Why had it come to this? Etienne asked himself. Arlette continued to try and fill her thoughts with dreams of the future, but midday came and Etienne got from their bed and started to dress.
“I must go my love. I will already have drawn attention to the fact that I am not in the castle.” Etienne leaned over the bed and kissed Arlette, he could see that she was trying not to cry. “I will not be able to come back tonight as we have much preparation for our journey.” He lifted himself from her and walked to the door, pausing to see his love for one last time. “I will tell my father of our love when I return. I love you.”

Etienne woke the following morning aware he had barely slept. The cities two finest horses, beautiful black stallions with coats that shone like a crow’s wings, had been made ready for them. Their armour had been polished and their valises packed. The day was spent with the king’s advisers. “You’ve got to listen.” The Marshal shouted, obviously becoming agitated by Olivier and Etienne’s apparent unwillingness to concentrate. “You need to have this route committed to memory. You need to able to see it when your eyes close. It is too dangerous for us to give you a map in case it falls into the wrong hands. Lets go over it again. Olivier, tell me in which direction you need to head when you get to the river?” It felt to Etienne they had been over the route too many times already. His head was hurting and the dank smell of the circular room mixed with the burning candles was beginning to make him feel sick.
“I need a rest.” said Olivier. “I know the route. I know not to talk when I get to Chaval, I know how to stand, I know not to make eye contact, I know not to give up my arms, I know, I know, I know.” Olivier jumped out of his seat and walked out the door.
“Wait here I will go and get him,” Etienne said to the Marshal. He was thankful for his friend’s departure. He caught up with Olivier outside the castle doors. Olivier was sat on a small wall, his head held in his hands. “Are you alright Olivier?”
“I couldn’t take it any more Et. I know what we have to do. I know the safest routes, where to be weary of ambush, to decline food, avoid threatening behaviour, I just don’t know how I am going to be able to see the man who has brought such misery to this land, to my people, my family and not stab him straight through the heart.” Etienne sat down next to his friend and put his arm around his shoulder.
“You need to get that thought from your mind Olivier. You cannot go into that castle thinking like that. I need you to be strong my friend.”
“But he burnt down my home Etienne. The homes of my people, even our Cathedral which we built together. I don’t know that I can.”
“You can Olivier, because if you don’t we will both die. That is a certainty. And we will both die in vein. Do you want that?'
“No, of course it I don’t.”
“Then lets go back to the Marshal and go through it again.” The boys walked back to the room to find that the king was there.
“Etienne, Olivier.” The king said as they entered the room. His formality, practiced over many years, a well used disguise to hide his emotions. “You have both shown great courage in doing this, your cities will forever owe you a debt of gratitude, as will I.”
“It is our honour,” they replied in unison.
“The parchment I wish you to deliver to Chaval has now been written and sealed by my ring. The seal is to be broken only by the king himself. Etienne I give this to you. Protect it, but above all protect yourself and your friend. I am proud of you son, as I always have been, and your mother would be too. Olivier,” the king turned to his attention, “you have also shown great bravery. I am leaving in your protection my only son. Return safely. You have also brought great honour to your family.” With these final words the king walked forward and embraced Olivier, he then turned back to his son, and looked him in the eyes. “To honour is loyal, to return is legendary. Keep safe my son.” He then put his arms around him and held him tighter than Etienne had ever remembered him holding him before. The king then turned and walked from the room, not showing the tears that were now falling down his cheeks.
Etienne’s night was again mostly without sleep, and the little that he did have was full of vivid dreams of his love, his child and a dark shadowy danger that he couldn’t see but only sense. He decided his best efforts in the pursuit of sleep were keeping him awake even more and so decided to get dressed and go down to check on the horses. It wasn’t long before Olivier joined him, slowly followed by pages, squires and the rest of the castle staff. They had all come to help Etienne and Olivier with their last preparations for their journey.
The sun’s arc breached the mountains with consternation. The time had come for departure. Etienne checked one last time he still had his father’s parchment safely tucked inside his tunic, and his mother’s cross around his neck. He saddled his horse, Olivier followed suit and they made their way out of the stable. The dawn was still with expectation, and the city that he loved was silent. A crowd of people had formed in the castle courtyard. Etienne and Olivier slowly made their way out of the castle gate, waving goodbye to their friends and family. Olivier’s father walked to the side of his son’s horse. Olivier bent down from his horse and held his father. “Return soon son,” the King of Citerne said as he let go of the last remaining member of his family.
“I will father.”
As they reached the gate Etienne turned to look up at the balcony where he knew his father would be watching. He had been avoiding looking up at him until the very last moment. As Etienne expected, when he turned to look up the king stood on the balcony alone, the pains of what he had let happen evident in his face. He saw the king raise his hand and then drop it back to his side. Etienne smiled back and nodded. They didn’t turn again. Their horses thankfully seemed to be leading the way as they sat lucid upon them, a potion of adrenalin and fear leaving them paralysed. Etienne was aware he still had one person to see. Their route out of the city took them past Arlette’s house. The main street was muddy, their horse’s hooves splashing in the cold winter puddles, the only noise to break the silence. They rounded the corner onto Arlette’s street. Etienne noticed candlelight from within her house. She was awake. As they approached her door it opened as if she had been waiting behind it all night. Etienne rode up to her, he didn’t dismount but leant down and with one arm took Arlette and lifted her up on to his horse and sat her sidesaddle between his legs. Arlette placed her hands on his cheeks and kissed him, “Come back to me my love.” She then removed a small charm bracelet from her wrist. It was made form tiny shells that she  must have collected, threaded on a thin piece of yarn, simple but beautiful. She took Etienne's hand kissed it, and then slipped the bracelet on.
“I will,” he replied, “I love you”. Etienne lifted Arlette back off his horse and gently placed her on the floor, and the horses started to move again. They continued to hold hands until their fingertips finally parted. Etienne turned to face her as the horses led the way out of the city. It felt like a rock had hit him in the chest, but Etienne knew that he would be back soon and he was doing this for the protection of his love as much as the for the city.
They passed through the city gate in silence without seeing another person. When they were clear of the city Olivier turned to Etienne.
“Who was that?” Olivier enquired with a jovial smile unfitting with the moment. Etienne appreciated the fact that Olivier had waited until they left the city walls before asking his burning question. He paused contemplating his reply.
“Olivier I will tell you but you must swear you will tell no one. My father does not know and I want to be the one to tell him as soon as we return.”
“Of course I won’t my brother you know you can trust me.”
“Her name is Arlette.”
“And?” enquired Olivier.
“And we are in love. We have been since the first time our eyes met two winters ago.”
“Well you kept that secret well, my friend. She is a beautiful woman and I can see that she returns your love.”
“She is truly a amazing. My days begin and end with thoughts of her.”
“How have kept it secret so long?” asked Olivier.
“It has been difficult, but we have been careful.”
“Why have you not told your father yet?”
“I have wanted to but Arlette requested that I did  not. She worries that my father has much to worry about, with the city and Chaval. The fact that his son is in love with a woman who lives in his city and is not of suitable descent should not be a burden of his at this incredibly trying time,” Etienne explained.
“She is possibly right Etienne, but I am surprised that you have been able to not say anything.” Olivier paused and looked to the horizon as if to let this sink in. “Now I understand,” he replied, nodding his head.
“Understand what Olivier?” replied Etienne.
“Why you were so adamant that you wouldn’t marry Chaval’s daughter.” Etienne shot Olivier a stare.
“No Olivier. Arlette is not the reason I would not marry into Chaval’s family. I do not love her, that is the reason I will not marry her.”
“I am sorry my friend I mean not to offend you. I just thought a rich, beautiful, powerful…”
“You think too little, too often Olivier,” Etienne interjected. “There is something else.” Etienne paused not sure whether it was a good idea to tell his friend or not, and still incensed at his initial reaction.
“Go on.”
“She is to have our child.” Olivier looked at Etienne whose smile told his friend how he felt about this.
“That is fantastic news my brother, I am so pleased for you both.
“Thank you Olivier.”
“If it is a boy you must name him after me.”
“I might just do that.”