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After a moment of wondering what to do, Godfrey marched out of his room and made for the stairs. He was going to find out just why the King was here and put his suspicions to rest. He nearly collided with his mother, who was coming up the stairs just as he was about to go down. The look on her face told Godfrey she had come to find him.
“The King is here,” Regana told him.
“I know,” Godfrey replied. “What is he doing here?”
“He has come to dub you a knight,” she answered with a weak smile.
“But father should do it,” Godfrey protested. “If King Wilhelm performs the ceremony, I will have to swear fealty directly to him instead.”
“You will still be your father’s retainer,” Regana reassured her son. “And your father is the King’s vassal. So it doesn’t really matter who performs the ceremony. The King can’t expect you to pay homage to anyone but your father. All will be as it should. You will see.”
“Then why did he come all the way out here?” Godfrey asked. “Who told him I would be knighted tomorrow?”
“I don’t know who told him.” Regana shook her head. “It would have taken him time to get word, but that doesn’t matter now. As to why the King thinks it’s necessary for him to personally knight you: King Wilhelm has not been on the throne long. He feels he needs personal assurances that those directly under him are loyal. Bastogne is a powerful duchy, House Cretus has many friends, and you are next in line to be Duke.”
Godfrey nodded in understanding, though he still did not like it. He had never personally spoken with the King, and he had only seen him on a few occasions, but there was something in the King’s eye that Godfrey did not like. He thought about this for a moment.
What it was he did not like about the King, Godfrey decided, was that there was a calculating, acquisitive glimmer in Wilhelm’s eye. It was not anything the King actually said or did, but it was how he looked at castles, treasures, women, and especially his vassals that made Godfrey feel uncomfortable. It was as if everyone and everything King Wilhelm saw were a resource to be gained, positioned, and spent in some world-spanning game of strategy.
But maybe Godfrey was too quick to judge the King’s character. After all, Godfrey reminded himself, they had never really spoken face to face. Perhaps actually meeting King Wilhelm would change Godfrey’s mind.
“Shall I go and see King Wilhelm then?” Godfrey asked his mother.
“Aye.” Regana nodded. “He did come on your account, after all.”
With Godfrey following close behind, Regana led the way down the stairs into the keep’s great hall. A juggler had been summoned for entertainment as the Duke’s guests mingled. The Bishop and Ulric’s chaplain were intensely discussing something about just war theory; whatever that was. The chaplain, Turpin, was a rough-looking man who had gained considerably more grey hair since the last time Godfrey saw him. As holy men, Turpin and Clovis were cut from the same cloth, but Turpin’s mission in life was to see to the spiritual needs of soldiers rather than pursue theological concerns in more academic spheres as bishops tended to do.
Fulcher and Bruno were playing chess at a table in the corner while some of the other men-at-arms watched with mild interest. Though commoners, Godfrey had come to see that men-at-arms were no less intelligent than nobles. Nobles, however, were destined to lead, whereas commoners were duty-bound to follow.
Standing aloofly near the stairs to the dungeon was a ranger named Varin. Godfrey did not know the ranger well. Varin was often employed by Godfrey’s father to scout the woods of Bastogne. It was a vocation that was as dangerous as it was solitary. Only lone wolves such as Varin were attracted to that line of work.
Fallard was speaking with one of the King’s retainers, and Godfrey’s father was speaking directly to King Wilhelm. The King’s responses to Ulric’s queries appeared dull and automatic, and his eyes wandered around the hall. Godfrey guessed by the bored expression on his father’s face that Ulric himself was losing interest in his attempts to entertain Wilhelm. The two were merely exchanging formalities and did not really want to talk to each other.
Regana stepped to the side, urging Godfrey forward. Taking a deep breath, Godfrey approached the King. He was unsure exactly what to expect, and tried to reason away his worst fears. King Wilhelm turned and noticed Godfrey walking towards him, and Godfrey quickly stopped and knelt before the King. For a long moment, Godfrey stared at the rug in front of his face. Then Wilhelm gestured for him to stand. In a slow, deliberate manner, Godfrey rose to his feet. It was just as he had been trained to do as a page while in the presence of someone of high rank.
The King embraced Godfrey a bit too tentatively, as if neither of them were sure of the other’s intent. The moment was awkward. It lasted far too long for Godfrey.
“Word of your exploits has spread quickly,” King Wilhelm said as he finally released Godfrey from the embrace. “You have become something of a local hero at Harv.”
“I am sure the details of my quest have become greatly exaggerated,” Godfrey countered.
“Modesty,” Wilhelm noted with a bemused smirk. “I like that quality in a knight.”
The King was sizing him up, Godfrey had no doubt about that. He could see it in Wilhelm’s eye. Godfrey shot a quick glance at his father, but the Duke gave Godfrey a reassuring smile. The smile put Godfrey at ease for the first time since Wilhelm’s arrival.
“Thank you, lord.” Godfrey bowed his head.
“It will be a pleasure to knight you.” Wilhelm looked into Godfrey’s eyes.
This was a highly calculated statement. Godfrey knew it. The King wanted to see if he would show any sign of resentment at this. Traditionally, fathers dubbed their sons knights if the former were alive and in good standing with their lords. When Godfrey inherited Bastogne, he would be expected to pay homage to the King. But that was not what this was. Wilhelm assuming the responsibility in the ceremony himself was an intrusion that made Godfrey grind his teeth. However, Godfrey was ready for this, and he held his irritation in check.
“The pleasure will be mine,” Godfrey replied smoothly.
Godfrey thought for a moment. Dare he ask it?
“My lord,” Godfrey began. “How is it you happened to arrive here on the same day as I? Had you come even a day later, my father would have already knighted me, and you would have missed this opportunity.”
Now discomfort flashed across King Wilhelm’s face, but only for the briefest moment.
“As I said,” Wilhelm answered, “news of your exploits has traveled quickly.”
The King’s tone suggested that Godfrey should not press the issue further.
“You will have to tell me how you slew the vampire before I continue visiting the other duchies,” King Wilhelm said, changing the subject.
“Of course,” Godfrey agreed while secretly hoping to avoid entertaining the King any more than he absolutely had to. “It was an honor to finally meet you, my lord, but I feel I must return to fasting and prayer before the ceremony tomorrow.”
“Indeed.” King Wilhelm dismissed Godfrey with a gesture. “May the gods bless you.”
Duke Ulric gave Godfrey an approving look as he left. His mother subtly repeated the Duke’s gesture to Godfrey, though she pretended to be involved in conversation with some of the other ladies present. Returning to his room, Godfrey was unsure what exactly he had accomplished by his interaction with the King. The whole thing felt as brief as it did foolish. He knelt in silent prayer once again.
Several hours passed in complete boredom for Godfrey as everyone else celebrated downstairs. He had given up on prayer shortly after returning to his room, since divine manifestations were lacking at the moment. He just sat in a chair staring out the window for a while. The entertainment down the stairs grew louder as a feast was held in honor of King Wilhelm. Godfrey’s stomach gurgled. His last meal was so long ago. Finally it grew dark, and the noise from the great hall quieted down. Godfrey lit a few candles in the room, more to give himself something to do than for any other reason, and returned to his chair. He took solace in the fact that at least he would soon be able to pass the remainder of his fast sleeping.
A knock at the door swept Godfrey from his thoughts. His father entered the room and closed the door behind him as Godfrey stood. There was so much Godfrey wanted to tell his father, but most of it would just sound like unwarranted whining. Aside from that, he doubted there was much his father could do anyway.
“You handled yourself very well down there,” the Duke said. “Your mother and I think you were quite diplomatic.”
“I don’t like King Wilhelm,” Godfrey confessed.
“No,” Ulric answered, shaking his head with a humorless smile.
“It’s the way he looks at people,” Godfrey explained. “It’s like every word he says has a hidden meaning or he’s testing people or something.”
The words rushed out of Godfrey’s mouth. Having had nothing to do but think for the whole afternoon, Godfrey’s complaints were well-rehearsed, in his mind at least. His father listened patiently, apparently expecting this reaction.
“You know how dangerous it is to be my son?” Ulric asked at last.
“Of course,” Godfrey answered, unsure why this question had been asked. “Lots of people would try to get me to do what they want instead of what is best for the Duchy.”
“Some of them might even try to take you hostage or kill you if it suits their purposes and they have the opportunity.” Ulric belabored the point. “The same is even truer for the King. There are many men who could be king. Some of them even have legitimate claims to the throne. Any king is always in danger of being overthrown by someone within his kingdom, just as much as he is in danger of foreign invasion. Perhaps King Wilhelm means his subjects harm, but perhaps he is bad at concealing his own fears of the sword that always hangs over a king’s head.”
“Oh.” Godfrey considered this possibility for the first time. “But I don’t want to be king. Bastogne has more than enough riches for me. I don’t need more power or money than what the Duchy has to offer.”
“You could tell that to him,” Ulric acknowledged. “But if he is particularly paranoid he may never know that for himself until his dying day.”
“I see,” Godfrey said after thinking over his father’s response.
“That is why so much emphasis is put on homage and vows of fealty,” Ulric explained. “Without these public promises of loyalty, it would be a lot harder for a lord to know whom he can trust.”
“But it is still all based on trust,” Godfrey pointed out.
“Right you are,” Ulric answered. “And that is why our ancestors believed chivalry was so important. If and when that trust is betrayed, others will not stand by idly. Now get some sleep. We have an early morning tomorrow.”
Leaving Godfrey once again to his thoughts, Ulric left the room. His father was right. If the King did not act with honor, there could be serious repercussions. Godfrey decided worrying would be useless at this point anyway. He was overthinking this entirely. He would take this whole thing one step at a time, he advised himself.
After undressing, Godfrey slipped into bed. The bed was soft but somewhat cool due to the gradually falling temperatures at night. He slept heavily for several hours, but awoke with a start. What had awoken him? He had dreamt of a ship, snow, blood, the clash of blades, but the details were rapidly escaping Godfrey. Maybe there was a girl involved too?
The image of a damsel with dark brown hair, grey eyes, and a fair white face slowly faded from Godfrey’s mind, slipping away as he tried to recall her features. He heard a soft knock at the door and realized it was a similar knock which had initially awoken him. Yawning, he rubbed his eyes and stretched.
“Coming,” Godfrey groggily called from his bed.
Jumping to his feet, he quickly threw on a tunic and some trousers. He briskly made for the door, and opened it to see a small boy holding a tabard and shield with Godfrey’s father’s heraldry emblazoned upon them. The boy was a page maybe seven or eight years old at most.
“You are to wear these, sire,” the page answered in a squeaky voice.
“Thanks,” Godfrey said as he took the items from the boy.
“And I am to take the sword you are to be knighted with to the King,” the page explained.
“Right,” Godfrey said as he went to fetch the sword Fallard had given him.
The room was dark, and only a single candle remained lit from the night. Godfrey rummaged through his clothing and armor, which he had lazily left scattered on the floor. He found his sword and unsheathed it from its scabbard. Yes, he definitely wanted to be knighted with the sword he had slain both the wight and vampire with.
For a long moment, Godfrey pondered the weapon in his hand. It had started its service to him destroying creatures of darkness. That was a good omen in his mind. He had thought long on what to name his sword. Thunder? Fang? Menace? He wanted to dedicate the blade to righteousness, and its name should reflect that.
I will call you Uriel, Godfrey thought as he stared at the weapon. Fire of the gods is a fitting name for such a blade.
Godfrey did not really know the celestial tongue, but he had caught enough words in his dealings with the clergy to understand short phrases or individual words when recited at service or in prayer. Ur meant fire or light, he thought. And el meant gods. So together the terms meant fire of the gods or fire gods. He was pretty sure they meant the former. Godfrey would have to ask a priest or scholar before he started calling the blade Uriel out loud.
“Here you are,” Godfrey said, stepping out into the corridor as he handed the sword to the page.
Godfrey smiled at the boy as he remembered doing similar tasks for Fallard when he was first taken in as a page. It seemed so long ago, and yet the time had gone so fast. The boy looked back with a tired but quizzical expression.
“Do you need anything else, sire?” the page asked, hefting the sword in both hands.
“No,” Godfrey quickly answered. “But thanks again.”
The page left down the hallway without another word. Godfrey meant to ask the page’s name, what house he had come from, and express other pleasantries before he left, but at the moment Godfrey became distracted as he looked over his new shield and tabard. Forgetting the page, he examined these new possessions.
The shield was made of solid wood encased in a thin layer of steel, and was of the slightly more compact heater design as opposed to the longer kite shields which were older but still popular. Aside from the differences in heraldry, it was very similar to the one Godfrey had used while training with his cousin.
He brought the items to his room and dressed in his armor with only the aid of the single candle that had not burned out during the night. Finally, he slid the new tabard over his chainmail. He looked at himself in the mirror, admiring his father’s heraldry emblazoned over his own chest. This was how it should be.
Pre-dawn light began to filter into Godfrey’s room through the window. Blowing out the last candle as he left his room, he hurried downstairs to the great hall. The light of the fire from the hearth flickered against the walls. He only had a few minutes before the ceremony was supposed to start. His father and mother, as well as the Duke’s chaplain, were already in the great hall when he arrived. They were all whispering about something Godfrey could not make out.
“Good,” Regana said as she noticed Godfrey, abruptly ending the previous conversation. “We were just about to get you. Hurry, everything is set up in the courtyard.”
A pair of guards unlatched the doors to the outside of the keep. Godfrey passed through the opening, followed by Ulric, Regana, and Turpin. King Wilhelm stood in the center of the courtyard, with Bishop Clovis and some of the King’s kin standing a few paces behind with Fallard, Bruno, and Fulcher. It looked like everyone in the castle had gathered in the courtyard, even the aloof ranger, Varin. But of course they all had. This was the most significant day of Godfrey’s life thus far.
Godfrey recognized some of the knights and men-at-arms in their shining chainmail and freshly cleaned tabards as retainers who had been in his father’s service for as long as he could remember. Karl the Hammer, Sir Rodair, and Sir Malbert were among the faces Godfrey knew from his earliest years. Other faces he did not recognize. He guessed some were sons who had taken the place of fathers. Some were husbands who had married the daughters of older retainers.
Like the men, Godfrey recognized some of the women in their colorful wool and linen dresses as maidens he had grown up with, or the wives of some of the members of Ulric’s household. Sadly, some of the maidens Godfrey had found more attractive were missing, though he wondered how they would compare to the girl in his dream. That was if she were real. Smiling ruefully, he figured the missing girls must have been married off to other lords and now resided in distant estates.
Ulric, Regana, and Turpin took their places behind the King, and Godfrey knelt at Wilhelm’s feet just as the Sun began to rise. Bishop Clovis stepped forward and offered an invocation in the celestial language. Godfrey did not understand the prayer in the slightest aside from the word Ur. Perhaps that word meant Sun? He regretted that he had only picked up a few words from the holy tongue. His father’s tutors had taught Godfrey the basics of reading and writing, and enough about other subjects to make Godfrey curious about them, but Fallard’s pragmatic training regimen had not left enough time for Godfrey to really learn much about academic topics growing up. He had only been taught enough about languages and letters to one day manage the affairs of Bastogne.
After the Bishop’s prayer, King Wilhelm touched Godfrey’s left shoulder, right shoulder, then the top of his head with the flat of the blade of Godfrey’s sword. Elation clouded Godfrey’s mind. His bitterness towards the King was forgotten in this moment. Though he hoped he would not forget the part he was supposed to say in the ritual.
“With this sword which has been consecrated for the purpose of destroying evil and preserving that which is holy,” King Wilhelm began, “I dub you, Godfrey de Bastogne, knight of the Kingdom of Lortharain.”
“I, Godfrey de Bastogne swear fealty to you, King Wilhelm,” Godfrey replied. “Furthermore, I pledge my services to the Kingdom of Lortharain for as long as I shall live.”
“In return for that service,” King Wilhelm answered, “I grant you place in your father’s household as his retainer until such time as the needs of the kingdom require your services in another office. Take your sword and arise a knight.”
Godfrey stood and took his sword from the King’s hands. He returned it to the scabbard on his belt as the crowd applauded. King Wilhelm briefly embraced Godfrey, then his mother and father repeated the gesture, but with the sincerity of those who actually loved him. He was now a knight in both name and fact.