Tale of the Twelve Part II: Sir Ronceval's Tale

By Robert Cely

Sir Ronceval and his squire join up with three enigmatic knights to hunt a strange and powerful beast that always manages to stay one step ahead of them. On the way they discover the heart of true knighthood, and that things are rarely what they seem.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bard and Book
• Release date: Sep 12, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301422814

Book preview

Tale of the Twelve, Part 2 - Sir Ronceval's Tale

By Robert Cely

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Read more from Robert Cely at www.bardandbook.com

Website: www.bardandbook.com

Copyright Robert Cely 2012. All Rights Reserved

Published by Bard and Book Publishing.

Cover by Julius Broqueza.

Table of Contents

Tale of the Second

Regan’s Story

Roland’s Story

Richard’s Story

1Tale of the Second

The knights rested that night and the next day. At evening they dined with the Prince again. Once the feast was over the Prince called to young Hester and asked that he tell the tale of their beloved Sir Ronceval. The young man rose and addressed the gathered knights.

I grew up in a fishing village on the rim of the Great Sea. My father was a fisherman, and I was learning the craft from him. About two years ago, our own lord burned our village down and all our fishing boats so they would not fall into the hands of a rival lord who was marching quickly up the coast. He did not find us important enough to defend. But if captured, our yield from the sea would provide the food his enemy would need to press the attack inland.

Our lord left the village before the fires had fully consumed it. Already we were out of his thoughts and concerns. So my family and I were made refugees, made to find a new home and a new living.

My family, including myself, mother and father, and twin younger brothers, followed the Wye river inland until it broadened out as wide as a lake. Hoping to resume his life as a fisherman, my father set camp by the river and went about building a boat.

That winter was hard for us. Fishing in a river is different than fishing in the sea, and it took us a while to learn many of the nuances involved. We relied heavily on forage that winter and capturing small game.

Within a year my father had become adept at lulling fish out of the river. Besides learning everything he did, I became an expert hunter and forager, and grew quite deadly with the bow. A small cabin rose up not far from the river by our constant efforts as we began to settle in to our new life. It was just after this first year that I met Sir Ronceval.

It was late spring, and I headed off into the forest to forage. I slung on a bow and a small quiver of arrows in case I came across any game. Not long onto my foray I heard the sound of hunting dogs in the distance. At first I was curious as there were no noble houses nearby that might use dogs to hunt. My curiosity turned to alarm as the sound of the baying animals quickly grew closer and closer. I began to move instinctively away from the sound as fear stirred within me.

Still the sound of the dogs drew closer. Alarm grew to panic. They were close enough that I could hear them crashing through the brush. I threw down the bundle of wood I had gathered and broke into a sprint for home. Still the sound grew closer. I turned my head to see a pack of dogs break through a thicket of trees, their ears pinned back and their hungry eyes locked on my retreating figure.

The animals must have sensed my panic, for they leaned in and sped towards me even faster than before. I ran with all of my strength but I could feel them closing in, the sounds of their heavy pants just behind me. In a last burst of desperate effort I leapt for a nearby oak, just as a pair of wet jaws snapped shut on the air behind me.

I quickly scrambled up to the higher branches. The dogs circled the tree with their noses to the ground. One leapt up and took a futile lunge at me. Satisfied that I was safely in the tree they sat down and howled their signal for treed prey.

I hardly had time to consider what I would do next when the sound of boisterous laughter approached. Four mounted men came riding out of the trees and up to the howling dogs. Behind each horse ran a servant carrying a bundle of hunting spears.

Oy, Rufus! one of the mounted men called out. Good dog boy. Look at ‘em lads. He’s got the smell of blood and he don’t give up till he’s had a taste.

As the men circled the tree, peering up into the branches where I hid, I could see they were all finely dressed. They sat tall in polished saddles decked out in brightly colored clothes. Their horses too were adorned in colorful strips of cloth. Even if it weren’t for the clothing, the haughty and arrogant way they carried themselves identified them as young lords.

Ah, looks like we have some live game here, one of the lords laughed as he locked eyes