To March for God - Updated 18 December 2013

[Scottish King]

Whoa! Another twist I did not see coming. You truly are king... How is this going to pan out for the young lad!

[Rex Anglorvm]

Whoa! Another twist I did not see coming. You truly are king... How is this going to pan out for the young lad!

I'm hoping it will pan out with adventure and action!

[Rex Anglorvm]

Chapter 5 – A noble revelation

Wilfred had wandered around the camp, deeply absorbed in thought about what Francis was telling the new man about the mark that they both shared. A small part of him felt jealously that his Norman friend now shared some sort of bond with the newcomer that he did not share, but he would not allow himself to feel depressed about it, after all he was a man, and not a milksop to feel such petty feelings of resentment.

Stopping his walking for a while, he forced himself to stop moping on the possible meanings of the conversation in the tent and began to once more pay attention to the camp that sprawled all around him. Although many men had now left and where making their way to the Holy Lands, his contingent was still included in a fairly mighty host, as could be witnessed by the tents all around him. He watched as men trained with blunted weapons or sharpened real weapons of war; as he began walking once more he strolled by a group of Welsh longbow-men who were chatting in their sing-song language whilst they fletched new arrows, until finally by mischance he found himself in front of a mighty tent which had the proud pennant of Normandy; the twin golden lions on a scarlet field flying above it.

His eyes went from the pennant to the entrance to the large tent; two men stood at the entrance and looked suspiciously down their long Norman noses through narrowed hazel eyes at him, both wore expensive looking full length chain mail polished to a sheen and had fine looking and well kept ash pole spears held in their right hand. Wilfred eyed the weapons enviously; he would have loved to have got his hands on one of those weapons, he had come on the march with saexe, long blade and battle axe, but he could not afford a long spear too.

The man on the left of the entrance addressed him in rough English ‘what do you want whelp? I’ll be bound that you are some Saxon pig that’s come rooting for scraps!’ The other soldier sniggered in response to his friend’s insult.

Wilfred’s hand went to his left hip to draw his blade, but then he stilled his hand, as he remembered the trouble he had already brought on Francis and himself earlier that day. He could still use his tongue though, and he replied in Norman to the soldier ‘I want for nothing from a cur such as you!’

The soldier’s eyes widened in surprise when such an obvious Saxon replied to him in his own tongue, he stepped forward angrily brandishing his spear in front of him, just as Wilfred’s right hand had half drawn his own sword from his scabbard in response, a well spoken voice cut the air between him and his adversary ‘Hold! Or I will have both of your hands off!’

Wilfred stopped his hand and the Norman came to a grinding halt in front of him, the tent entrance flapped open and a short but noble looking man stepped out, quickly followed by Sir Guy De Jules, Wilfred’s own Lord, the youngster gulped and hoped he hadn’t gone too far, the short man had a quizzical angry look on his face, whilst Sir Guy looked as if he was about to explode into a rage.

‘What goes on here? Why are you disturbing me and Sir Guy when we have matters of import to discuss? Well, tell me man!?’ the short noble addressed the sentry who had sought to fight Wilfred.

‘My Lord Robert, this peasant insulted me, so I thought to teach him a lesson, my sincere apologies for disturbing you.’ All the time the soldier talked he stared belligerently at Wilfred as if to reinforce his argument.

Lord Robert, Robert of Normandy! Wilfred’s knees felt weak, this man could have his head if he so chose. He looked at the noble, who although small in stature, seemed every inch the noble in bearing and every inch the warrior in his frame.

Lord Robert snapped at the young Saxon. ‘Well man, is this true? Did you insult my guard!?’

After taking a deep breath, Wilfred replied, ‘Yes I did your lordship, but only after he insulted me.’

Lord Robert looked at Wilfred as if weighing his character; he then stared at the soldier until the man blushed crimson. The soldier stuttered ‘his only a Saxon my Lord; surely you can’t believe him over me!’

Lord Robert shook his head in disbelief, he looked at the other sentry who stared at the ground at his feet, not wanting to betray his comrade, but not wishing to lie on his behalf either.

‘My Lord, if I may interject on this man’s behalf?’ Sir Guy’s voice broke the silence, Lord Robert nodded that he may speak, ‘I know this man, he is in my service, yes he is a Saxon, but he is loyal and he would not lie. He is young and a fine soldier, so if threatened he would defend himself.’

Wilfred was surprised that Sir Guy would speak up for him; he had thought himself barely noticed by the young noble.

‘I thought as much, you are a liar Henri! You have always been a liar! Still I cannot have men fighting amongst themselves when we should all be thinking of fighting the Saracen! We are all Christians gentlemen, whether we are Norman, Saxon or whatever! When we reach the holy lands we shall be outnumbered and will need every man available. This sort of boyish nonsense ends now! You will both pay a fine of six shillings each into the war chest! And if I hear of any secret meetings to exchange views I will have your hands is that clear!?’

Wilfred and Henri nodded sullenly and replied ‘yes my Lord.’

Lord Robert replied firmly ‘Right, Henri back to your post; and you boy back to Sir Guy’s lines with you. Sir Guy let us finish our meeting Sir, I apologise for my man’s stupidity.’

Sir Guy waived away his superior’s apologies ‘It is of no import Lord Robert, and please do accept my apologies for my man’s hot headedness.’

Both nobles entered the tent and Henri resumed his post, but as Wilfred turned to walk away, the Norman silently drew the index finger of his left hand over his throat and looked at the Saxon meaningfully.

The young Saxon returned the complement, by flicking his fingers up in a V sign; much as he saw the Welsh bowmen do to one another. Walking away he knew that he would not have seen the last of that particular Norman.