William felt his age more than ever these days, especially in the winter, despite the poultices Cecily concocted for him. Sometimes, when he was about to fall asleep, he entered into a state of half dream, and it felt for all the world that he was back at Agincourt. Now, sitting in his chamber at his house in Devonshire, he fingered the livery badge the old King Henry had given him, only two days before his infant son succeeded to the throne, and remembered the oath he had sworn. He had not expected the job to be as difficult as it proved, having assumed, at first, that the young king would not require his services once he’d reached the age of majority.
He had, however, and William had protected his sovereign from countless dangers, perceived and unperceived, always acting from the background, never letting anyone know what the old king had charged him to do. But now he had grown too aged, and he knew the time had come for him to give another the symbol of his position.
The young knight standing before him, a hint of confusion writ on his noble brow, would handle the task well—the tournament had proven that—and as William explained to him what would be required, the man nodded, but said not a word. William removed the fire beacon badge from his tunic and passed it to his successor.
“When the time comes, you will do as I have today,” he said. “And for all the centuries to come, whoever sits on the throne of England will remain safe from harm.”