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.

“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.”