Sir William speaks.
The boy overlooking the Western road yelled out ; a page throwing bones nearby looked up from his small familiar circle to throw his eyes that way. Quickly to his feet he scurried readily to rouse his master. The portly gentleman of many an Autumn, many a campaign, many a barrel and many a mutton, barely contained and in places bulging out of a iugera's worth of fine chainmail trundled towards the Western watch. Soon onlookers were gathering around the Master of Arms, excitedly exchanging words and glances among a steadily growing body of themselves. Now and again a muted cheer scattered through the growing crowd, much in the manner of a successful yawn if opposite in portent.
As the distant cloud of dust approached by degrees over the twists and turns of the road, seeding its generous dust in the clear horizons, its banners finally drew close enough to be distinguished by unaided eye. "Parti per pales, or et vert" started the Master's call, and with it the rumour, rolling over the standing men like waves rolling in the gathering storm. "Gules, lion rampant" ended the call, and all the better, for it was all the time it had to end. The men broke out in cheers, as loud as their voices would carry them, and then the clang of sword on shield roused the whole camp. Everyone was talking and yelling together, raising the sound of human voice if not the meaning of the words all the way up to the very gods above, a deafening concerto of excitement thoroughly expressed. "Sir William! Sir William!" went the chant, when it wasn't just murmur loudly indistinguishable. The Master of Arms went on, reading the dozens more banners, pennants, pennons, etandards and colors flown by the rapidly approaching group, but other than himself it wasn't probable anyone heard a word. Then again the surprises were few and in the margins ; the bulk stood as all present knew it stood, or in any case as all those knowing among the present expected in their minds. Excitement and surprise do rarely ride abreast.
The tents stood empty, all men gathered out, to see and hear the hero on approach ; as the well dusted group made to the road post of the camp sir William rode out, afront his men. Holding his horse's rein by both hands he offered the ancient military salutation of the land. They were by custom form invited in, and there received their welcoming, as it is done. The knights thereupon dismounted, and made to the great tent, sucking the camp dry on their way, of men-at-arms. The pages took the horses to the equerry, and gave them water first, then took their leathers off of them, then spread out hay. The other pages lent a hand, dragging the burdens to the place directed, to set up tents, and well arrange them. Once sir Williams' tent was up a nosy, fingertipped saddlebag was dragged inside, and there in the middle left for him, to figure out himself. The trembling and whimpering nude girl contained within content to hold her peace, like the grave, the pages left, to hang about the mess, and listen on and in.
Within the great tent where the knights were meet the gay rumours of excited manhood reigned supreme, and ale flowed free. On question from a friend sir William's great manly voice soon came booming out, and all turned quiet to permit it space, all complicit in their hero's aggrandization from the bottom. For it's one thing for one great man to have been blessed with one great voice as it befits his deeds ; but it's the other thing for all the other men to keep their own voice still, muted still, when the great one bellows, such as by contrast with the silence, by crashing its great echoes on the vitrous walls and edges of quiet, like crystal, the better and in more fullness greatness may well resound. The two, together, the one thing and the other thing, they make the whole.
The question was probing yet deeply romantic, something in the vein of what'd be the world, the world ideal, that Marshall thought of when he thought of such. The earnest, youthful quest for bettering one's own horizons came out, "what should we dream of, when we dream of things" it wanted to know, not for the prospective but for the informative, seeking to expand and round out the furthest line mind's eye might in their life see.
"Great lords, and valiant knights" began sir William, clear and crisp, "each morning since a boy I stood up on my feet, and went about. Each year at war, since a boy, each day with sword in hand. Yet I've lived through it all, by good fortune in part, and by Lord's blessing in the greater part. Fortune's changing, as no doubt all present hath place enough to find. Even in one night, a harlot true and not a dame at all" he lost his space to laughters in the cups, but presently had it back, returned to him by they who laughed, in the same good humour he had given them. "And the Lord's blessing, while reaching far, stands thinner everywhere than the friars like to think, and preach. It may once in a lifetime breastplate the fiend's arrow away ; but it won't every day. Of faith only the preacher eats, but not the faitfhul, they must make by their own hands, and feet, provisions in this life." The gathered men, all of the same mind, if not so plainly expressed by their own, cheered him on.
"Yet here I stand, and in good company, for I won't have it any other way, and that is all. There is not more to life than that, life's lived well by good fortune in part, and by Lord's blessing in the greater part, and for the will to live it so throughout." The "hear!"s and grim, cheerless cheers filled the air, and then vanished whence they came, to the lands of the shades. "As to what men, if they be men, to one another owe, I will say thus : that first, men must be peers or else perish all. The women and the boys their own, like water in a cloud, but mark you this : that while he lived still king Richard did avow, and so it was, that one man only in the lands hath ever killed his horse from under him. In days of old, when great king Harry ruled the realm and Richard hath rebelled his rule, a poor and landless knight did choose his horse over him for death, and spared a lion-hearted king inside a young man's fleshy cloth. All knights, be they a duke, or earl, or king, be they the heirs of all the lands on Earth by wife or aunt, be they as tall as the bellfry or strong enough to puncture steel sword with mere spoke of straw, still must be knights at first, and last. A knight's not born, but made, nor is any to be assumed a knight who isn't known to be, nor given this in courtesy who hasn't of his own and in his time earned it dull."
Fascination rising from all breasts muted the cheers, present yet but by now very still. As more and more pages came in and at their master's bidding took to quill sir William carried on "Then of the lords as there may be, just one per family, not two, nor three. Just one, and when he dies, his oldest son, nor rights out of the lands for wives, mothers, sisters. Naught to be had above his will, but all his charity. That's how those women of the East, and South, grow sweet and loyal and worth having in the house by degrees ; but piety misplaced here and abroad endowing womanhood with rights bespoils all, so which of you does not grit teeth when family or necessity insist upon a bride come from North, or West ? Let children die, who haven't strength enough to carry on ; let unfaitful wife go than keep her by to be unfaithful more ; let th'Enemy do its own worst, as best knows how, and conquer all."
Sir William paused for a draught, surveyed the silent, nodding heads about, all eyes fixed on him, then spoke again "Of guilt let naught be known above or besides the going to the enemy ; and let that guilt never efface. But if a knight should best a knight, that life's his own, to do as he doth please. And if a knight should take a maid, let her be his, as he will please for her to be, a wife or wench by his own word ; and if another hath a claim let he who took pay what is fair, and keep the chattel taken as his own. Cry not for wives lost, for there's more ; cry not for daugthers lost, for they're not lost who bore, nor were th'others anything, however they may cuss or hath once swore ; but will the more esteemable of all there is, above life and wealth and standing still. Of lords found guilty by their liege, let their blood spill their death ; and let the son inherit. Of lords found guilty by their peers, let them forever quit the realms, with their life bare, and never to return nor ever be returned, but as if dead and remnants lost let their son inherit. Let there be known no forfeit, nor taking of neither land nor chattel but in battle fair, and let the guilt of treason stick to all who would take from friend as if in war, a fiend in false colors shown. For if the liege will not behead, and if the peers would not banish, then let each lord stand sovereign and at all liberty within his own, lands held in his hand and chattels all on them, of womenhood with its indistinct issue, of farms and herds and weirs, mines and forests, with all their product and their produce. That is the meaning of knighthood, all contained, that man to horse can not say the what, but must in time and with due patience show the how, and that will make the warhorse. Nor lord to the bare earth may call for grain, but only if it be ploughed and worked grain will sprout, as if against but truly independent of earth's will. Nor to the rustics working land may he declare a purpose, but patiently must show the how, and with punishment correct the beastly nature of the beasts of burden in the fields, and chastise, and insist. Nor to the girl can there be said the what, but she must made be to see the how, against her will as such she may pretend to have ; then grown a woman out of her by practiced care and unwavwering instruction she may follow her lord, the words they speak their own, not for another to know or understand, which is what's meant by privacy : the woman's liberty. Before knighthood a boy's a page, and like the horse with patience shown the way to knight, or cut down for a knave. But only to the knight and to the knight alone the lord will say the what, and not the how. With doing of that what the knight's glory lies, before his liege and before the whole world ; and with the failing in the deed his death him patiently awaits. Nor is knighthood for all, but let all have it who can, and will ; and of the hosts of dead, afield and abed, let God choose out his own."
The crowd stood silent as sir William spoke his last word, then breaking in soft murmur here and there to answer questions of they writing down, t'what was said. Then quietly all there present retired to their tents ; and in the morrow changed the world for good.
