[Dark Ages] Evesham

[sotongeistooc.livejournal.com]

He is called the Red Earl, and when he looks at me I feel like a child, at once in awe and in fear. The righteous anger I have reserved for this man, held in my breast throughout my teenage years, is brushed aside, parried by his majesty.

He is taller than I, which is remarkable for I am unnaturally tall, his head crowned by an unruly scrap of flame-bright hair despite his advancing years. His face is stern and commanding; his armour – single plates over a mail hauberk – gleams in the dawn’s light; his war horse snorts violently behind him.

He beckons me to advance and I do so at once, trying to conceal my hesitation. I know he is family, and that for this great battle we are allied, but I also know how he coverts my father’s lands. His arms swing outward and I flinch, a tremble juddering up my spine, before he brings those giant paws down and clutches me tightly, bringing us into contact.

I return the embrace, and he greets me as a kinsman, warm platitudes flowing from his treacherous tongue. I mask my inner disgust and bow my head in deference, trying to purge the fact that he is beyond God my thoughts. I am embracing, as warmly as I would my father, a man who has stolen my family’s castle, betrayed my King, and has been excommunicated from the Holy Church.

I smile as this man, Gilbert, Earl of Gloucester, praises my sword arm to my lord Edward. Edward says something coarse about virginity, and we all laugh at his jest. Edward plays the same game as I – pretending that Gilbert had not sided with the hated de Montfort. He knows that should Gilbert change allegiance once more, we will lose the field.

I hate him. I wish that he were across the plain, his banner flying ahead of the traitor army. I am 17, this will be my first battle, and I want to be the only de Clare to claim glory, for Christ and King Henry. But I know that no matter how valorous my part in the upcoming clash of arms, no matter how much blood I spill, no matter how many traitors my sword runs through, I will be in his shadow. And the Red Earl knows this too.

Perhaps, when we have sated the blood of this place, Green Hill, north of a cluster of hovels called Evesham, and peace is abroad in the land, my lord Edward will take the cross. If he does so, I swear I will go with him, and one day will eclipse the Red Earl in glory.

God hears my pledge. Above us, amid the grey skies of Worcestershire, a tremendous thunderclap sounds. More follow, an endless barrage of God’s wrath, causing the sky to glow and the ground to quake. And, emerging from Evesham, de Montfort rides to the thunder’s sound, 5,000 men marching behind him.

The Red Earl slaps me on the shoulder, and cries that I shall be with him on the right. I grip the hilt of my sword, set aside my hate, and prepare my soul for the day’s bloody work.

 

Comments

[sl4irl.livejournal.com]

I'm really liking this recent spate of Dark Ages fic. :)

[http://users.livejournal.com/_crimsonearth/]

Me too. Great again. :)