Interview with a Knight
I blink in the darkened hallway. You would think, after so many trips into the FictionVerse that I would have gotten used to the crossing over, but it always takes me a minute to acclimatize myself to a new world. I am standing in a stone hallway. I can see wooden doors along the hall, presumably leading into various chambers and rooms. It is dark, the hallway lit only by torches hanging in sconces, and I gather that I have arrived as planned in Dinefwr Castle in South Wales. It is the year 1282.
I start somewhat hesitantly down the empty hall, my footsteps reverberating lightly on the stone flagstones. From somewhere distant, I can hear the murmuring sounds of people and as I pass a thin slit of a window, set high up in the wall, I catch the faint whinny of horses. It sounds as if there is a great bustle outside.
I am startled out of my musings by a young man coming down the hall towards me. He is tall with blond hair and blue eyes.
He catches sight of me and pauses, a furrow appearing on his brow. His clear gaze sweeps over me as he starts forward again, long legs striding confidently.
"Excuse me, but might you be Alan?" I ask. I give an approximation of a curtsy, not at all sure if that is the proper way to address a young man in 13th century Wales. "My name is Jenelle Schmidt, and I'm with the InterFiction Gazette. Would you be willing to answer a few questions?"
The young man offers me a puzzled smile and inclines his head in a half-bow. “Madam, I give you good day. I am indeed Alan de Martreu.” He glances me up and down, eyes flickering from his long tunic and dark boots to my own clothes, his brows lifted. “Your pardon, Madam, but, your garb is passing strange.”
"I suppose you could say I'm not from around here," I say as nonchalantly as possible. I pull out my notepad and pen. "Could you tell me what important events are happening in this part of the world at the moment?"
Alan’s smile fades. “You have not heard? There is rebellion here in Wales. The princes of Gwynedd, from their lands in the north have risen in revolt against our good King Edward. All of this region is in open defiance of the King’s law.”
I write furiously. "That doesn’t sound good,” I acknowledge. “You are from England, is that correct? Can you tell me why you are here and what you hope to accomplish in the coming days?"
He nods and his warm smile returns. “I am from Lancashire specifically. My family holds lands there.” He shrugs with a rueful laugh. “I think that my cousin Hubert and I were too eager to leave. But, we had seen scarce else beyond our own home, and beautiful as it is, we were glad when the call came from the King.” He gestures to the window with his hand. “All the lords and knights here have come with the Earl of Gloucester to stamp out the rebellion. The Earl is King Edward’s uncle and he is determined to impress his nephew by a speedy end to the revolt here among the southern Welshmen. I expect that we will be marching to besiege enemy castles soon.”
I nod. "And what do you think of Wales, so far?"
Alan’s gaze did not waver, but his eyes become troubled. “It is wet,” he says, with an attempt at easiness. “But it is very wild. We have passed through great forests and many hills, but the villages are small and few.” He presses his lips together and reaches down to wrap his fingers around his sword-hilt. “To be honest with you, Madam, I find the country very quiet. We have met hardly any Welsh upon our march, and those that we have encountered have been brave men who met their ends well.” He trails off and frowns. “I admire their skill and courage from what I have seen of them. But they are still rebels.”
I want to press him for more information on this, but he seems so suddenly pensive and a little sad that I decide to change the subject. "This might be a slightly odd question, but can you tell me what your favorite meal is?"
He grins. “My favourite meal? Tis too bad that Hubert is not here; he would give you an answer that a monk would need to spend a year writing down!” He lifts a hand and taps his chin thoughtfully. “I would say that pies, particularly partridge or turkey are my favourite. My mother often has them prepared back home in Lancashire.” He rolls his eyes and beams. “Such sauces, you would only think them found in dreams!”
“Mmmm,” I say as appreciatively as I can muster. Meat pie has never sounded appealing to me, and even his enthusiasm cannot change my mind. "So, when you're not at war, what do people in the 13th century do for fun?"
“Fun?” He cocks his head. “You mean, what do we do for pleasure? There are many things, I suppose. My mother, for example, likes to embroider and weave. She has filled the halls of our castle in Lancashire with magnificent hangings. Visitors often compliment her on them. I myself love to ride hunting. My father has some of the best hunting runs in the north of England and it is he who first taught me to use a boar-spear.” He smiles. “We like to mix our fun with usefulness. My mother’s tapestry work keeps our home warm, and my hunting helps keep us fed.” He shrugs with a slightly lofty expression. “Of course, they are not as important as training for whenever your lord might call you to battle, but still they are good pastimes. During the winter I often spend hours playing chess with my father.” He smiles. “That is something we do mostly for fun.”
I grin at him. "Those all sound quite interesting, and I appreciate your ability to combine pleasure and usefulness! I have one last question, if you don’t mind. I know I’ve taken up much of your time. If you could have any one wish granted, what would it be and why?"
Alan’s gaze becomes serious and his smile fades. “You ask most peculiar questions, Madam,” he says slowly. There was a pause, during which he gazes down at his sword, fingers tapping slowly on the hilt. Finally, he looks up. “My dearest wish,” he begins, meeting my eyes, “is to conduct myself in a way that will make my father proud of his heir. I want to be a loyal warrior to the King and to bring honour to the house of Martreu.” He nods to himself and smiles at me again. “Can it be, Madam, that you are a fairy godmother, come to grant me wishes?” He laughs again, his teeth flashing and eyes crinkled.
I laugh along with him. “Alas, good sir, I am merely a humble scribe.” I give another curtsy, this one less wobbly. “But I do wish you well, and I hope you do get that particular wish granted. Who knows, comport thyself with honor and it may just be within your grasp to grant thine own wish.”
His expression grows startled as my badge begins to glow and I know that my time is at an end. "Thank you for your time, Alan," I say, slipping my notes into my shoulder bag. "I am sure that my readers will enjoy learning more about you and this period of history you live in." The medieval trappings slowly dissolve, and the last thing I hear from Alan is a sudden intake of breath at what probably seems to him to be an extremely mystical disappearance.
The year is 1282. Welsh pride smoulders under the rule of England. Two young men, one with a dream of vengeance, the other with a thirst for glory are about to meet as the fires of revolt are unleashed in the final struggle for Welsh independence.
When English soldiers murder his father, Owain swears an oath of vengeance. An unexpected uprising gives him the chance to ride to war against the hated invaders of Wales. But his quest will lead him further than he could ever have imagined. Far away in England, Alan, the son of an English lord, is eager to answer King Edward’s call for troops to march against the Welsh rebels. He leads his men off into the misty hills of Wales and into a conflict that is far different from anything he ever dreamed of.
In the midst of the Welsh war, both young men are determined to do their duty and bring honour to their families. But will finding true honour be different from what they expect? Will Owain and Alan be able to bridge their differences amidst the hatred of war, or will the last hope of an enduring future for Wales be gone?
If you have an interest in medieval knights, woodland archers, and dauntless damsels, then this book is for you! This story provides a fresh look at the history of Wales and would make an exciting resource for homeschoolers or any avid history fans.
Andrew Lacey is an avid scholar of history and literature. He views the past as the great story which holds all the world's wisdom, from the little truths revealed in fairy-tales to the vast and sweeping revelations found in grand epics. Andrew believes that books are the keys to unlocking this knowledge which is why he loves both reading and writing tales that blend the deeds of yore with the rich colours of legend and adventure, chivalry and romance.
Andrew is a history and English graduate as well as a qualified English language tutor. He lives in New Zealand and grew up there amidst rolling hills, clad with yellow broom.