Gentle Warrior

Prologue

1086, England

In silence the knight prepared for battle. He sat astride a wooden stool, stretched his long muscular legs before him, and bade his servant to pull on the steel-mailed hose. He then stood and allowed another to fasten the heavy hauberk over the quilted cotton undershirt. Finally he raised his sun-bronzed arms so that his sword, a gift prized mightily for it came from William himself, could be attached to his waist by means of a metal loop.

His thoughts were not of his dress nor of his surroundings, but of the coming battle, and he methodically reviewed the strategy he would employ to gain victory. Thunder broke his concentration. With a frown the knight lifted the opening flap of the tent and raised his head to study the heavy cloud formation, unconsciously brushing the dark hair from his collar as he watched the sky.

Behind him the two servants continued their duties. One picked up the oiled cloth and began to give yet another polish to the warrior's shield. The second mounted the stool and waited, holding the open-faced conical for the knight. The servant stood thusly for several long moments before the warrior turned and noticed the helmet outstretched before him. With a negative shake of his head, he disclaimed it, preferring to chance possible injury in return for freedom of movement. The servant frowned at the knight's refusal to wear this added protection, yet wisely chose not to give verbal argument, having noted the scowl upon the warrior's face.

His dress complete, the knight turned and walked with quick long strides until he reached and mounted his powerful steed. Without a backward glance, he rode from the encampment.

The knight sought solitude before battle and rode hard and fast into the nearby forest, oblivious to the scraping both he and his destrier suffered from low-hanging branches. Having reached the top of a small rise, he reined his now-snorting animal to a halt and gave his full attention to the manor below.

Rage filled him anew as he thought about the infidels nestled within the castle below, but he pushed the anger aside. He would have his vengeance after the manor was once again his. Only then would he allow his rage to go unchecked. Only then.

The knight turned his attention to the layout before him, again impressed by the simplicity of the design, noting the wide, uneven walls stretching almost twenty feet into the sky and completely surrounding the multiple structures within. The river banked the walls on three sides and this pleased the knight considerably, for entry from the water would be almost impossible. The main building was constructed primarily of stone with but an occasional piece of sod, and was flanked on both sides by clusters of small huts, all facing the large grassy courtyard. When it was all once again his, he would make it impregnable, he vowed. This could not be allowed to happen again!

Dark angry clouds linked together in an attempt to block the rising sun, resulting in gray streaks arched in protest across the sky. The wind gave sound to the eerie sight. Gusty howls intermingled with low whistled moans that caused the warrior's black mount to prance in agitation, but the knight quickly calmed him, using his heels as his command.

He again looked to the sky, saw that the swollen clouds were now directly overhead, and thought that it was as if night would once again descend. "The weather does nought to quiet my mood," he muttered. Was this a bad omen, he wondered, for he was not entirely without superstition, though he scoffed at those who were ruled by it, ritualistically seeking signs before each and every battle to predict the outcome.

The knight once again reviewed his bid for victory, looking for possible flaws in his battle plans, and could find none, yet still he could not feel content. In frustration, he picked up the reins and turned the charger, intent on returning to camp before total darkness was full upon him. And it was then that the sky exploded in a silver flash of light, and he saw her.

She stood slightly above him on the next rise, and seemed to gaze directly down at him. But she was not looking at him, he realized; no, her gaze was directed beyond him to the castle below.

She sat erect upon a flecked mount and was flanked by two enormous creatures vaguely resembling dogs, but of what breed he knew not, since their stance suggested more wolf than dog. He drank fully of the picture before him, noting she was slight of stature with long pale hair free about her shoulders, and even from that distance he could make out well-rounded breasts cupped tightly against the white material of her gown by the force of the persistent wind.

His mind could make little order out of what he saw but that she was indeed more beautiful than any he had ever known. The light receded but was replaced within seconds by another more powerful burst, and the knight's initial surprise gave way to stunned disbelief, for now he sighted the hawk flying low toward the girl. She seemed unafraid of the beast circling overhead and in fact raised her hand as if to salute an old friend.

The knight closed his eyes but for a moment, and when he reopened them she was gone. With a start, he goaded his steed into motion and raced toward the vision. Horse and rider rounded each tree expertly and with great speed, yet when they reached their destination she was nowhere to be found.

After a time the knight gave up the search. His mind accepted that what he had seen was real, but his heart insisted she was but a vision, an omen.

His mood was greatly improved when he rode full gallop into camp. He saw that his men were mounted and ready. Nodding his approval, he gestured for his lance and his shield bearing his coat of arms.

Two servants hurried toward the watting knight, holding the kite-shaped shield between them in order to share its weight, and when they reached his side, they waited in silence for the warrior to lift it. To their confusion, the knight hesitated, a small smile lifting the corners of his mouth, and stared for long seconds at the shield below him. His next action further bewildered not only his servants but his watching followers as well, for he leaned down and with his index finger slowly traced the outline of the hawk embedded upon the shield.

He then threw back his head and relented to a deep resounding laugh before effortlessly lifting first his shield with his left hand and the lance with his right. Raising both high into the air, he gave the cry for battle.