“And they came at
night, the warriors in black with the swords of light, keeping the forces of
evil at bay, and they sought to change the world by day.”
-- Norman Poet
Chapter 1: The
Scrivener
…The dream changes. I
find myself at a wooden table. There is a green knyght here. I wish I was
having a normal dream, not another of this knyght. Another painting is behind
him and at first I think it be a woman’s visage. I look closer and see an angel
with dark eyes, a sword in her hand, like a warrior from the side of satan. How
could I confuse the two? This is an evil archangel; there is no doubt. Who is
this green knyght?
“William are you listening?” My
hands were tight on the old oak table. I tried not to sound confused.
“Yes, I am listening, Guyus.”
“We were talking about your
favorite story … or at least trying to. Since these lessons have continued, you
seem to grow more bored with every new discussion.”
“Gowain and the Green Knyght. That
be my favorite.”
“Good,” Guyus replied. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I guess it has so
much meaning to it.”
“What does it mean to you?”
“It means that not everything is as
it appears. It is a warning.”
He seemed surprised by my answer. I
never listened much in these classes, as my dreams of being something other
than a normal knyght would reveal.
Guyus was a good teacher; one of
the Greek mold. He preferred anything by Sophocles to the more modern poets who
were more to my liking. Arthurian tales were what kept me awake, not plays by
Athenians.
“And why be the knyght green?”
“The color has no meaning.”
“Ah, my lord, that is where you’re
wrong.” He smiled. I had to wonder if he knew the answer himself. “You will one
day understand. Our lessons are over. One day you might be king of these lands.
I can recall…” He went on about how great a student my father was. How he
changed the way the fiefs across the Norman empire were run. I had no intention
of following in my father’s footsteps. I would be my own man, find my own
destiny. No matter what anyone said, I would do this.
“This is my last lesson to you,
William. Take what books you want from me, seek out your vision, and do your
best not to incite all those young girls.”
Meredith had the eyes, the touch, and the way of putting
words together. All of it made me attracted to her. In some ways I despised my
time with her. She was quick to correct, to offer an opinion, and she never
stopped thinking. I just wanted to make love. Wanted to feel through her hair
and stare through the clouds to the moon on an engaging night of kissing.
She made me read poetry out loud,
saying it would help my thinking and putting thoughts together. Most of these
nights I wouldn’t want to think – would do my best to avoid it – but she
incited me to think about the visions of the Green Knyght. I had told no one
about it, and when the knyght had come up in conversation with Gregory, I had
only given my opinion. My visions were just that: Mine. I was neither ashamed
of them nor fearful, though perhaps I should have been more disturbed by it at
that time. Who had visions of Green Knyghts? Perhaps Franks or Visigoths, but
Normans? We were a people on the echo of time. We were supposed to make
something of ourselves, whether it be conquering or solving the riddle said
time had.
I didn’t even tell Meredith of the
Green Knyght. All the while the questions rang through my mind. Was I going
mad? Was the devil toying with me as he did Christ?
The
questions ceased the moment her lips met mine. She would have been a good wife
for a baron, but not for a scrivener – a man who made his way designing weapons
parchment or putting letters together.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she
said. I let the silence hold the moment. I had no answer. I wasn’t sure what I
was thinking then the words came out, a little more heated than I intended.
“My father.”
“When was last you –“
“Two months. The expedition to the
Yin empire. I worry. What if he’s dead? I sense something is wrong. My mother
is already lost. We have our differences … but I should have heard from him.”
“There are few ships that cross
those waters,” she said. “You were lucky to get letters before. He is farther
away than you imagine.”
She stood, naked, and I tried to
bring her back to the bed. “No. You are hiding something from me. I can sense
these things.”
How women had this ability was
beyond me. I truly hated it, just as much as I hated struggling through life
without a love as it once had been.
“I have these … visions.”
A knock came at the door, and she
rushed to throw her clothes on.
“Me lord?” The voice distinct,
worried perhaps at what was going on behind the door.
“Give me a moment,” I said. She
rushed into the other room. It wasn’t that we were ashamed but such
relationships were arranged in Norman lands. And as I watched the backside of
her body, I wished I could just grasp it throughout the day and not just the
nights.
I opened my eyes and walked to the
door with nothing but my pants on. I opened it and saw one of my father’s
servants standing at the door. “Word from your father, me lord.”
I took the letter, nodded to the
servant, and shut the door. It would make my day to know that my father – a man
whom I was on less than good terms – was okay. Not dead, not shipwrecked, but
alive and well.
The
handwriting seemed scribbled out in a chaotic fashion. The ink was all over the
page. It all seemed rushed. What was wrong?
William,
he wrote, tis an extreme thing to put thought to page, to make the ink
sit right on the page, to attempt to administer the visions I have seen that
were too detailed to be anything other than real. I digress, now I am not sure
what’s real and what isn’t. As I write this letter, the Yin guide who has
traveled with me since the beginning is foraging for food.Perhaps an animals
died in the frosts of the lands and was preserved. One can hope for an
eternity. I speak with my heart and not my mind. I won’t ever leave this land.
I have been cursed. You must travel here; see it for yourself. Use whatever
assets I have in Brittanai to acquire a trade ship, pick up Jonathan Dunn at
the tip of Africana, take my best Welsh bowman, Francis. I fear without you the
chaos will envelop me. If, when you reach the Yin city of Hong, you find I am
not there, only know I will stay with you in your heart forever, for I have
traveled to some land men like us weren’t meant to see. Goodbye, my son.
I looked at
the page, confused. What had happened to my father? His words were convoluted.
He was never this short in speaking or writing. He was a vain man who would go
on forever; you had to cut him off in the middle of a story or the day would
turn to night. He seemed lost in his own words this time. The reality was he
could die. I had to seek him out and see what happened, or the power I had
longed to avoid would be thrust upon me.
He was
close to death, and that was all I could think of.
“What did
it say?” I looked at her half naked body, into the eyes that revealed so much,
and couldn’t come up with an answer. Nothing matched her beauty. I came to the
conclusion my studious life was over.
“Trouble.”
“Let me
go.”
“No, I
could never do that.”
“Because
you think I would be useless?”
“Because I
don’t want to go myself.”
