Chapter 30: Chapter 30: To my dearest Jocelyn

Seven months did well to relieve William of his anger towards no one in particular. He was on excellent terms with his companions again, and many nights, it was possible to hear the outburst of their laughter as they cracked jokes around bonfire and the meat roasting above it.

 

For William, it had been win after win; both at sword-fight on foot, and the mounted joust. And this meant that he grew more popular and respected among other knights. Not to mention his pockets grew heavy with coin. He no longer had the appearance of a poor country knight nor did he and his companions have to sleep in the horse stables but a fancy new tent and they could even other gear they needed.

 

His repeated victories, however, nearly landed him in trouble.

 

Three times did powerful noble houses from the Borish and Messers kingdoms come over to ask if he’d like to swear loyalty to their houses. At one point, he had almost accepted the offer but was saved by Geoffrey who had the sense to lead them away.

 

"Why do they keep coming?” asked Wat, tiredly.

 

“Because William is fighting so well and winning every time,” said Roland.

 

All five of them sat around a small fire they lit outside in the plain fields. The night was cool and sprinkled with twinkling stars no one would want to reach up and change because they were just so beautiful in their place.

 

“The gambling houses loath the name ‘Ulrich von Lichtenstein’,” said Geoffrey, scribbling on the floor with a stick.

 

“Why?” asked Ralph.

 

“Because the rule of gambling says, “The house always wins”,” said Geoffrey, “habitual gamblers always lose in the end. You cannot cheat the house.”

 

“Then why do they keep betting?” asked William.

 

“To realize that you’re losing in gambling, you need to step back a bit,” said Geoffrey, swallowing. “Gamblers are always too scared to do that; they don’t want to see how much they have lost over time.”

 

“So, they’d rather keep losing?” asked Kate.

 

“Yes,” said Geoffrey, “Some poisons don’t kill unless taken in large enough quantities, but it doesn’t mean they don’t ruin the insides and all.”

 

Ralph rose to his feet and Kate followed suit. “I’m afraid we’d have to retire first,” he said, yawning.

 

“How come you’re retiring at the same time?” asked Wat.

 

Ralph and Kate simply chuckled and went into their tent.

 

“Someone should tell me why those nobles keep approaching us, and why we can’t just take their offer?” said Wat.

 

“I'm not explaining it again! You're too stupid! On a side note, how is it you grew up with a knight and you don’t know this much?” asked Geoffrey, surprised slightly frustrated at Wat.

 

“What you—” Wat grunted.

 

“Let me explain it,” said William, quickly. He could sense another cat and dog bout was about to begin between Chaucer and Wat. “There are two types of knights. The sworn knights and the free knights. I am currently acting as a sworn knight because it keeps the suitors away. A sworn knight fights for the glory of one noble house. The more he wins, the more reputable the house becomes."

 

“Popular houses can get money from the king to train and recruit soldiers for expeditions and campaigns. A free knight is sworn to no man; he fights for himself and himself alone, such a knight can be hired by a noble house to fight for them. They have no consistent source of income just tournaments they win or the wars they're hired for not much different than mercenaries.”

 

“But we aren’t fighting for a noble house,” Wat exasperated, “so why not take their offer? We be richer and even get a castle of our own.”

 

“Because taking their offer means we would be investigated, Wat,” said Roland, “if our patents are double checked, chances are our folly would be unraveled and it will be the end of us.”

 

“We almost met our end today though,” said Roland, sniggering. “How could that man have come from Gelderland?! It’s quite the distance, you know?”

 

Earlier that day a man had approached William after the tournament. Of course, William flashed his usual card; telling the man he was already sworn to a faraway house in Gelderland. And then, it turned out the man was from Gelderland himself.

 

“I am certain if I had told him which house it was I came from, it’d have been where he was also from, or maybe the lord of the house was his bosom friend.”

 

“Why did Chaucer use Gelderland in the patents? Couldn’t he have gone for somewhere more distant?” said Wat, contemptuously.

 

“Ha ha,” Geoffrey laughed sarcastically. “Funny you should say that, you hadn’t even heard the name “Gelderland” before I came along.”

 

Wat never got the chance to give a retort because Ralph and Kate emerged from their tents and joined them round the fire.

 

“Is it morning already?” Wat asked, gazing at the blue-black sky overhead.

 

“No,” Ralph replied. “We lost our sleep.”

 

“Both of you at once?” asked William, eyeing the couple suspiciously.

 

“Yes,” Kate replied before exchanging a wink with Ralph. They then burst into laughter much to the chagrin of their unattached counterparts.

 

William jumped up from the log he was sitting suddenly, his face brimming with energy and excitement. “Geoff?”

 

“William.”

 

“I need to write a letter,” said William. He strayed a short distance away from the gathering and plucked a petal from a rose growing at the edge of a bush.

 

“Alright,” said Geoffrey, pulling out a parchment from his tunic.

 

“Do you go about with that?” asked Wat, surprised.

 

“Yes,” Geoffrey replied, “Though I do not walk about with a quill and ink, but wait, I’ve got some stored away.” He stood up with a grunt and went inside his tent. He returned a short while later with a quill and some ink. “William, who did you say the letter was for?”

 

Geoffrey stretched out flat on the floor, close to the fire. His writing materials set before him like those of a studious scholar.

 

“Lady Jocelyn,” said William, staring dreamily into the burning fire in front of him. “Make it start with “To my dearest Jocelyn,” Then put in a bit about her beauty, remember to say her eyes are amazing, and then add a poem or two.”

 

“So,” Geoffrey began, straightening his quill. “It is a love letter then?”

 

“No,” answered Roland, sarcastically. “It’s a parole for the criminals in a Borish prison.”

 

“Finish it with a strong line to draw tears to her eyes, and melt her heart like wax in heat,” William continued, his eyes soft and fixed with a longing gaze on the flickering fire and crackling wood. It was almost as though he was seeing a world in those fires that no one else could see.

 

“No, I won’t,” said Chaucer, rolling the parchment back. “Not a love letter.”

 

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That snapped William out of his moongazing into the fire. “Why not?” he asked in honest perplexity.

 

“Because,” Chaucer began, looking into William’s eyes from where he lay. “Your love letter must come from your heart, not mine or my head either.”

 

“William? If you like, I’ll kick master Geoff until he agrees,” said Wat, jumping to his feet enthusiastically. It seemed as though whatever it was that brought pain to Geoffrey gave pleasure to Wat.

 

“Kick me, fong me, I won’t do it,” Geoffrey stated, unmoved by Wat’s wrestling theatrics.

 

“Fine,” said William, sighing. “I’ll do it. Will you scribble it for me at least?”

 

“Yes,” said Geoffrey, unrolling the parchment again.

 

“If you are going to write a love letter, you should use Vellum,” said Kate, frowning. “I have a clean spare.”

 

“What’s the difference?” asked William.

 

“Vellum is used for bibles, pardons, and love letters,” Geoffrey explained. “A parchment is used for edicts and death warrants.”

 

“But you were going to use a parchment!” said William, aghast.

 

“Please bring the Vellum, Kate,” said Geoffrey, coolly. “It’s midnight, where should I get vellum.”

 

Kate returned with a clean piece of paper a short while later. “It is scented,” she said as she handed it to Geoffrey.

 

“Good, you’re ready, I suppose?” William said in a voice that shook slightly.

 

Geoffrey bobbed. William scanned over the rest one after the other, and they all looked away as though to say “Your monkey, your circus.”

 

“My dearest Jocelyn,” William began, clearing his throat.

 

Geoffrey began to write immediately.

 

“Hold!” William half yelled. “Is that wrong?”

 

“It is your letter. It’s up to you.”

 

William scoffed. “Very helpful,” he said, and looked back Wat and Roland for help.

 

“Erhm,” Wat cleared his throat. “Say something about her bosom.”

 

“Yes!” Roland quickly added. “You miss her bosom.”

 

“Look above her bosom, William,” said Geoffrey, scowling at Roland and Wat.

 

“I miss her throat?” William suggested.

 

“Higher! To the heavens!” Geoffrey said, gritting his teeth. “You used to say you were a poet at heart, and I know that to be true, so let the poet in you talk.”

 

“It’s hard to think when she is in my thoughts,” William admitted.

 

“Try the moon at least,” Kate suggested. “Her bosom was not that impressive.”

 

“The moon?” said William, holding his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm… It strange to think… that I haven’t seen you since seven months. I have seen the new moon but not you. I have seen sunsets and sunrises, but nothing of your beautiful face.”

 

He stopped his dictation and looked at his companions for their reaction. They were all stunned, to say the least.

 

“Very good, William,” Geoffrey remarked, grinning. He faced down and began to scribble on the vellum Kate had given him.

 

“You know,” Roland said in a voice filled with nostalgia and a tinge of regret. “I once knew a girl who broke my heart. I used to say the pieces of my shattered heart were so small that they could be passed through the eye of a needle.”

 

Chaucer raised his head at William, who nodded for him to continue anyways.

 

“—She used to cook for the Duke of York and I miss her like the sun misses the flower—”

 

“In the depth of winter,” William finished. Wat glanced up and gave him a sad smile.

 

“Instead of beauty to direct its light to, the heart hardens like the frozen world your absence has banished me to,” William said.

 

“Way to go, William,” Geoffrey murmured under his breath.

 

“I next compete in the city of Noem. I will find it empty and in winter if you are not there…”

 

“Very nice,” Geoffrey remarked as he scribbled. “I like it. Now to finish it….”

 

Kate held Ralph’s hand with both of hers and looked into his eyes. "The first man that ever made my acquaintance told me something I never forgot: Hope guides me; it is what gets me through day and especially through the night. The hope that after you’re gone from my sight, it will not be the last time I look upon you.”

 

Wat blew his nose, Roland brushed his face with the back of his palm, Chaucer barely kept from spilling salty tears on the page he was scribbling on, Kate and Ralph held each other like friends in winter, and William clenched his hands tight to keep from bursting into tears.

 

“You are poets,” said Geoffrey, gazing at them all with admiration and profound respect in his eyes. “All of you.”

 

“Finish it,” said William, “With all the love that I possess, William.”

 

“I believe you meant, Sir Ulrich,” said Geoffrey, glancing at William.

 

The smile that had been gathering on William’s face faded away slowly, and in its place, a pang of regret flickered.

 

“You don’t have to use a name, you know,” said Geoffrey, comfortingly.

 

William swallowed. “Okay.”

 

Author’s note: Hey everyone, thanks for reading another chapter of “A knight’s tale.” Please leave a comment to let me know what you guys think and also a review would be greatly appreciated.

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