“A Special Knight To Remember . . . Or, What I Saw Once At A War”
There is a memory I have of long ago. It is from a time when I
was a citizen of a Kingdom called An Tir. My Lord Husband was
away on military business of some sort. Whilst he was far-off, I
took my then young daughter and together we trekked to a distant corner
of the Kingdom to attend a war high in the hills.
Upon arriving we set up camp and aided others in the same before
changing out of our traveling clothes into more fitting attire.
After refreshing ourselves with food and drink we explored the lay of
the land. At our exploration’s end, we retired to bed.
In the morning after breaking our fast and dressing for the day, I
volunteered my services in whatever way needed for the upcoming
battles. My daughter played elsewhere with others while I helped
to martial the battlefield perimeter.
The well chosen spot where the day’s mighty and grand battles were to
take place was in a valley circled round by hills. The terrain
and surrounds offered many opportunities in which to give reign to the
warlords’ imaginations to plan great and varied battle scenarios.
There were short hills bearing perfectly spaced trees with sun-dappled
underbrush. There were small mounds good for one to gain the
advantage over one’s opponents, if they could but gain it. There
were boulders where archers could be strategically placed out of harm’s
way, at least for awhile. There was a clearing not too bright nor
too shady, nice and flat, affording fine and secure footing.
Last, but not least, was a wide and long bridge where five fully
armored knights could stride abreast.
The day was a beautiful one and well chosen. The sun was bright
and the breeze was cool and easy. The sky held gloriously few
clouds. All good portents for the imminent war. All
gathered for what was thought to be an ordinary war. But it
turned out not to be.
At the appointed hour, both hosts were drawn up along the sides of the
open ground. On the one side was a warrior band commanded by a
hulking bear of a man, a great warlord and King, by the name of Gunnar
Brunwolf. The name of the other warlord has been lost in the
obscure reaches of memory. There were many knights, soldiers,
pikemen, and archers. The heralds and waterbearers were standing
by. The marshals were all in place around the perimeter.
The spectators were at a comfortable and safe viewing distance on the
hilltop rim. The signal flag was raised as breaths were held all
around. As the flag was lowered, both armies charged towards the
other with blood curdling battle cries. With a loud and horrific
clash of shield and sword upon sword and shield the battles began.
As the morning wore on to the noon hours, the battle broke up into
individual groups in several areas on the battlefield. Some being
fought on the slopes under the trees and around the bushes. There
were few on the even ground. Missiles and arrows were launched
from both sides. One skirmish was taking place on the
bridge. Other clashes were occurring on the knolls.
Then came a point where both armies came to be on and at both ends of
the bridge. Both armies seethed back and forth for the better
part of an hour. On it raged when all of the sudden from the
midst of the hordes, there came a cry loud, clear and strong heard
above the clamoring of the battle. One knight, for that was who
it turned out to be, cried out, “HOLD!!!”. When quiet ensued, he
asked a boon from King Gunnar and begged to be forgiven for the
disruption of the proceedings. He next announced that there was
one among them, a warrior, upon the field that day who was bold, brave
and fierce who fought like a tiger. He fought with courage,
honor, and chivalry and was deserving of recognition and reward to be
elevated to Knighthood by His Highness. When Gunnar asked the
identity of this valiant and virtuous fighter, the knight answered that
it was the King’s own son, Sven Gunnarson.
During this entire exchange there still was not a sound to be heard
until now. There were gasps of surprise. The herald called
forth the King’s son at the behest of the King. The crowd around
the King cleared an aisle and the King’s son strode forth
stopping before his father on bended knee. The knights were
called forth to gather around to witness and participate in the
ceremony to add this newly made knight to their ranks. Thus
gathered oaths were vowed and sworn as gladly donated knight
accouterments were placed on the King’s son. Throughout the
proceedings the emotion felt was high and such that there was much
sniffling and open wiping away of tears by all, including those
gathered there in armor on the bridge.
It was quite an unforgettable moment witnessing King Gunnar make his
own real life son into a knight. The proclamation was heard that
henceforth Sven was to be known as “Sir Sven Gunnarson.” His
vigil and a more formal court ceremony would be completed along with
his own knight’s furnishings would be given him on a day and time to be
announced later. That being done, great and resounding cheers for
Sir Sven rang out and echoed around the hills. As the rejoicing
and cheers died down, with the King’s command, the heralds declared
that the disrupted battle should recommence once more.
As the afternoon wore down and the war advanced there were many bodies
strewn all across the battlefield. The numbers of the ‘dead,
dying and wounded’ mounted until the heralds could declare the clear,
indisputable and unquestionable victor as King Gunnar, the glorious
conqueror. Naturally. Ever hear of King not winning?
The war ended, one and all went off to freshen up and change into their
best finery for the evening’s celebrations and feasting. Much
merriment and toasting went around the hall. Sumptuous food was
dined upon, free flowing libation was shared and good company ended a
fine day that saw a war with an extraordinary surprise in the middle.
On evening’s end, my young daughter and I after a long day of playing,
eating, and drinking made our way up the darkened trail to our camp to
dream about the day and to rest up for our journey homeward on the
morrow.
I plan on
including a picture gallery as part of this page some day. Links for
some wonderful sites that have stories and songs on them will be found at the Hearth.
Archives of old stories from this page will be found here too.
WELCOME
TRAVELER,
or THE MAP ROOM
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As
such they are maintained and updated by her as time allows. Her
hand last touched this page on June 27, 2008.