Wybert Strike First, Strike Fast

By David James

Wybert Strike First, Strike Fast is a fast moving, all action book, with a generous helping of humor. Written by new author David James and with over on hundred thousand words, it portrays the life of a foot soldier in the time of King Arthur.
Wybert is an uncouth, heavy drinking soldier in King Arthur's Army. He is ambidextrous and fights with twin estocs (swords) and not the broadsword which was more usual at that time. His ability with his swords is soon appreciated by his comrades, particularly when he saves the life of an influential knight, Sir Balin. This act earmarks him for greater things and his reluctant conversion to bathing, wearing clean clothes and swearing less is a painful change for Wybert. However, because of the change he soon begins to see an improvement to his love life! He abandons his coif, a type of leather scull cap and washes his hair for the first time since he left home! Perhaps now he may have a chance with Inogen.
Inogen? She is King Arthur's niece and has often caught Wybert's eye. Her slim lissome figure can often be seen around King Arthur's camp working amongst the women and children when they are sick or suffering. Everyone loves Inogen, but especially Wybert! Although he has many encounters with pretty barmaids and country girls on his travels, Wybert's heart belongs to her.
At a tournament, Wybert buys some Crabbe Paste to remedy a personal problem caught from an encounter with a French girl. The paste proves to be a powerful aphrodisiac which is used to good effect by Wybert and his comrades particularly on a visit to a monastery, where the monks and nuns are forbidden to talk to one another.
Wybert is elevated to knighthood by King Arthur and given a large estate in Cornwall, the former estate of a brave knight who was killed in Arthur's service. With only a friend, a woman and a dog, Wybert travels to claim his inheritance from its present evil incumbent, Sir Saunce Pyte, a renegade knight who refuses to pay tribute to King Arthur. Saunce Pyte learns of Wybert's approach, fills has castle with over a hundred trained soldiers and a goblin and awaits his arrival.
On Wybert's journey he has many adventures and, acting in Arthur's name, rights many wrongs and punishes many wrong doers. He recruits a small band of followers to his cause and with the help of a troubadour he creates a travelling show called the Rats as a disguise for his continuing journey. Wybert Strike First, Strike Fast is full of travel, adventure and humor.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David James
• Release date: Dec 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310526992

David James

David James writes books about stars and kisses and curses. He is the author of the YA novel, LIGHT OF THE MOON, the first book in the Legend of the Dreamer duet, as well as the companion novellas, THE WITCH'S CURSE and THE WARRIOR’S CODE. A Legend of the Dreamer anthology, SHADES OF THE STARS, was released July 2013, and includes the exclusive novella, THE ENCHANTER'S FIRE. The final book in the duet, SHADOW OF THE SUN, will be released in 2015. BETWEEN THE STARS AND SKY is his first contemporary novel for young adults. Living in Michigan, he is addicted to coffee, gummy things, and sarcastic comments. David enjoys bad movies, goofy moments, and shivery nights. Be sure to visit David’s blog at djamesauthor.blogspot.com and facebook at facebook.com/djamesauthor to learn more about his various addictions and novels.

Book preview

Wybert

Strike First, Strike Fast

David James

Copyright 2014 David James

Smashwords Edition

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 Unwelcome Journey

Chapter 2 Night Encounter

Chapter 3 Bristoll

Chapter 4 Osla Big Knife

Chapter 5 Crabbe Paste

Chapter 6 Martha

Chapter 7 A Life Saved

Chapter 8 Gaddifer’s Camp

Chapter 9 Levert

Chapter 10 The Driantines

Chapter 11 Lance Town

Chapter 12 To Scarcewater

Chapter 13 Hennig Castle

Chapter 14 More Saxons

Chapter 15 A New Knight

Chapter 16 Eastwards

Chapter 1

Unwelcome Journey

T’was an unusual dream. I was in a wood with a beautiful wench, the birds were a-singing and there was a mandolin playing sweetly somewhere nearby. Suddenly it started to rain, not sweet, gentle rain but a torrential downpour ‘pon me which drenched me in a trice. I gasped for air; then another downpour! I guessed something was amiss. Reluctantly I was forced into wakefulness. My eyes did not want to open; my body did not want to respond to any instruction no matter how small. I recall thinking vaguely that that some knaves must have dragged me outside the Inn, as country sounds and smells invaded my senses, the smell of horse dung and the sound of chickens a-clucking. As my eyes reluctantly started to focus on the bright images around me I saw another bucket of water aimed for my head. I tried to object but coherent words would not form quickly enough to stop the deluge. I knew I must put a stop to this injustice else I would likely drown.

‘Enough!’ I managed to splutter, ‘Enough, say I lest someone suffer!’

The deluge paused. I discerned that I had the attention of my three persecutors; their images and identities were known to me. One was my friend and fellow sergeant in King Arthur’s army, Albanact. The other two, foot soldiers in Albans platoon, men I had fought alongside on occasion. With help, I struggled to my feet, feeling for some weapon, either sword or dagger, with which to defend myself.

‘Careful,’ I heard Albanact shout to his men, ‘stand clear. Few are more dangerous than this knave even when his wits are dulled by ale.’ The hands and arms that had been supporting me quickly let go and I sank gratefully to the ground. I closed my eyes to sleep again caring little that my clothes were wet and uncomfortable. Then there was a voice near my ear; it was Alban.

‘Wake up Wybert! Old Balin wants thee, right now. Somehow we’ve got to get thee up and functioning.’

So Balin was the cause of my misery. Sir Balin, Knight of the Round Table, King Arthur’s right hand. When Balin spoke thee jumped or face dire consequences. Reason reluctantly invaded my brain. I knew I would have to get up and face the reality of life again as an army sergeant. I loosed a string of oaths which made me feel a little better. I opened my eyes and saw the three soldiers that had been sent to find me standing safely out of my reach. Very wise, thought I.

I knew that they had no intention of leaving me alone to recover slowly and gently, perhaps taking a little ale around noon. The hands pulled me to my feet again. I could hear someone complaining about my weight.

‘‘F’sooth,’ said I, ‘t’is I who should be complaining, not thee!’

They were moving me. My feet were a-trailing on the ground and I was being projected forwards. I knew not where I was going, only that I didn’t want to go.

‘What does he say?’ I heard someone ask.

‘He’s singing.’ The traveling stopped abruptly.

‘Stop thy singing, Wybert, or thee will go right hastily into yonder pond.’ Water again! I stopped a-singing, though I felt that the world a lesser place.

‘ Wait, wait,’ I pleaded, and we stopped. ‘Allow me to,’ I hardly recognized my own voice, ‘to communicate with my legs.’ The walking helped me to gather my wits.

From the direction we were going, I knew I was being dragged to King Arthur’s camp, beyond the village. That was where I lived - when not camping out on the floor of the Bury Walls Inn.

‘Why thy haste?’ I demanded, hoping for some reprieve from the speed my legs were being forced to work, ‘what’s the hurry?’

‘Old Balin wants thee.’ replied the Sergeant.

Sir Balin was Arthur’s confident. Why should he want to see me? Everyone knew Balin; he had been with King Arthur since anyone could remember. He was large, very large, over twenty stone and a formidable figure in battle. Famous throughout the land as a soldier, and especially feared by England’s heathen invaders the Saxons, we had fought alongside each other many times. When first I had gone into battle, I was told to stay near to Balin for safety and it had been good advice. In Arthur’s Army, thee learnt quickly or died young.

‘Slow down damn you, or thee will feel my temper.’ I was beginning to feel ill, but they dragged me on remorselessly.

Arthur’s pavilioned camp was just outside the Shropshire village of Bury Walls and had been there for several weeks. Arthur favoured the area as it was central for his military operations, being near to Wales, on the Old Roman Road to Scotland and yet far enough away from the South and East of England, to make any surprise attack from the heathen impossible. For himself and his court, there was the old fortified castle on the site which served as a base. I had only been inside it once, for it was not large enough to accommodate all of Arthur’s men.

The castle itself was old, but Arthur’s soldiers had worked on it and greatly improved it, making it a formidable stronghold. Not the largest of castles, its thick grey walls were built of stone which had gently weathered over the centuries. A fresh water spring which bubbled and gurgled to the surface in the castle’s central courtyard provided a regular supply of drinking water.

The area aside the approach road to the castle was occupied by a large and noisy tented village. Here victuals were prepared and eaten and beyond, jousting and battle skills were taught and practiced. Now, early in the morning, the place was alive with activity. Smoke arose from camp fires, for although it was early spring, the mornings were chill. Women were everywhere, wives, camp followers and whores, washing clothing, fetching water, or chasing fleet footed urchins. Dogs barked, and clusters of chickens everywhere pecked ceaselessly at the ground to break their fast. There was a scattering of men with horses, and others sharpening or making weapons in readiness for battle. I noticed the glow of a furnace, still alight from the previous day, the blacksmith laboring on it to bring it back to life. Everywhere, Arthur’s battle banners stirred in the breeze, the same banners that struck terror into the hearts of his enemies.

Most of us camped outside the castle, where the comings and goings of knights, noblemen and their ladies and occasionally even a visiting King or Queen could be seen by us all. Little news or scandal escaped us. We would crowd around new arrivals eager to welcome them and to hear their news. A few would be wounded or dying. Departures created similar interest, especially a knight leaving on a mission.

My tormenters steered me in to the camp and forced me to drink a hot, revolting tasting purgative. In the next painful hour or so, my reluctant body began to function again, albeit on a much reduced level, but gradually my eyes and brain began to clear. Methought it seemed to be a very uncaring world. I was the butt of some ribaldry from a variety of less sensitive oafs passing by, all of whom I responded to with a vulgar gesture, my wits not yet having started to function.

‘What is that yonder, it looks like Wybert’s ghost?’

‘First time I ever seen a ghost with a hangover!’ remarked another. I tried to remind a few of them that I was a sergeant but that only attracted more laughter; none of which aided my humour.

About fifty paces away to my right, under a banner, a couple of carriages and a cart were being assembled and loaded. The covered carriages were small, only large enough for four passengers. Designed to be pulled by two horses they were brightly, even garishly painted in colours that shocked the eye. Although the seats were well upholstered, they looked and indeed I knew them to be, uncomfortable on a long journey. A slightly larger wooden cart would be used to carry the necessities of a journey; food and water, pots and pans, tents and straw filled bedding. I saw Sir Mardoc, organising the loading and later in conversation with Albanact, who had so uncharitably dragged me from the Inn.

Armed men were assembling and horses were being brought from the compound. Someone important must be traveling. I had heard no word of it, nor was I greatly interested. I looked around for somewhere quiet; for it occurred to me that I may yet find somewhere to sleep. My stomach was unsettled and making thunder noises. I belched at passers by which made me feel a little better.

The noise from the loading party increased and there was a flash of red amongst all the activity. Balin! He was dressed in chain mail, red and gold surcoat and his sword swung at his side. He barked out his orders, a towering figure demanding and receiving attention. I remembered uncomfortably that it was he who had wished to see me, presumably before he departed on his journey. I wondered if I had committed some misdemeanor; if so, Balin would not hesitate to tell me, well able to use a full range of colourful soldier’s language and oaths. The urge to sleep left me when I saw Albanact pointing me out to Old Balin, who then began to walk towards me, accompanied by two foot soldiers. I stood up.

‘Wybert!’

‘Sire.’

‘What ails thee?’

‘I fear I may have eaten some unsavory vitals, Sire. I am not at my best.’

‘Thy face is as white as the moon! Listen, thou art traveling with me to-day. We are escorting the lady Ysaive to Bristoll, where she is to board a boat for France. Get thy horse and weapons, we leave shortly.’

‘But Sire, my malaise!’

‘Thy malaise will depart after thee has pissed away the unsavory food thee has drunk! Thee can sleep in the back of the cart. Now, haste ye!’

I could not protest further because the knight had left me and had returned to the carriages. If I were to be traveling that very morning, methought I should have been told ‘afore but such was army life. First, I collected my horse from the compound. My present beast I did not particularly like, but then, he did not like me either. I say this because none of the horses that I have ever had have liked me, nor I them. Some men get along well enough with their beasts but not I. Thereafter, I collected some personal belongings, together with my two swords, from my billet. It was common practice not to wear personal weapons around camp. In the past, too many disputes and enmities had ended in bloodshed, so the wearing of weapons in camp, was forbidden to all except knights.

I moved to the assembly point, hoping that I would not be assigned any duties, for I felt too ill to work. A carriage was waiting for the lady Ysaive and her traveling companions. She was Arthur’s niece and was a-traveling to France to marry King Caradoc, King of Nantes, one of Arthur’s’ allies. She was a tall, dark women, well thought of for her intellect, able to talk to Arthur as an equal and it was said that he always gave consideration to her words. Handsome rather than beautiful, serious rather than frivolous as some maids are, I’d seen her smile, though never laugh. The spring wedding had been arranged when Caradoc had visited Arthur some months ‘afore.

The carriages and cart would be accompanied by two platoons of armed, mounted soldiers. A few women and bairns self-consciously waited to bid farewell to their men. I tied my horse to the back of the cart and climbed inside. King Arthur emerged from the Castle with Sir Balin, a knight called Sir Aron, Ysaive, the lady Inogen and two other ladies whom I assumed would be traveling companions.

Was Inogen going to France; to live? My heart sank, for Inogen took my fancy. Above all other women, she it was who shared my thoughts when I was alone. I could not explain my desire for her; it was not just the way she looked, though that was beauteous enough, it was the way she walked, the way she moved, with such an air of composure and confidence. She looked happy and smiled, speaking to nobles and commoners alike with equal enthusiasm always at ease with everyone. Peasant women gathered around her showing off their bairns. Everyone was affected by her charm and wanted to speak with her. She wore her auburn hair long and free, preferring to secure it with a simple circlet, shunning the fashionable barbette or crispinette. I had seen her many times, but my fascination for her never changed. I doubt that she had ever noticed me, but then, why should she? She was promised to Sir Aron and destined for his bed. She was also Arthur’s favourite and never far from his side. I watched her every move.

Sir Aron, who followed closely behind, I did not like and with good reason. Upon his face I had seen the face of the Devil. Once, we had fought side by side against the heathen and I saw, rise within him, a savageness; a lust for killing for its own sake. This gave me an insight into the very heart of the man, leaving me to believe him to be soulless and nothing save evil. Anon, there is more to this tale, for on that very day we fought, a young Saxon soldier was disarmed by Aron and was preparing to face death bravely. Before Sir Aron had time to kill the soldier, an old woman, who I guessed was the young soldier’s mother, threw herself upon her son to save him. They both fell to the ground; she begging for the young man’s life, but Sir Aron would not desist until he had hacked them both to death.

It was terrible to behold. Nothing worse have I seen in my years campaigning with Arthur and this atrocity was carried out by a Knight of the Round Table no less. The knight had turned around to face me in his lust to kill and t’was then that I saw deep into his evil soul. I believe that he would have killed me too, had he been able to do so, having seen the undisguised look of utter disgust and horror on my face, but he saw that I was on my guard. He soon hid the evil in his face when he knew he was being observed, but he showed no remorse for what he had done, and he knew that I saw all.

On the rare occasions our eyes had met since that day, I had seen his mind returning to the incident for I make no effort to hide my contempt for him. Yet he had no guilt. I knew that if ever he had the chance to silence me in battle he would do so, though I doubted he was nimble enough or sufficiently swift of mind. I feared him not, only for a cowardly sword thrust in the back or a dagger in the night.

I had spoken of the incident to Albanact and he had counseled me to keep silent, for a common soldier such as I, could not openly challenge the honour of a knight. Alban’s thoughts echoed my own.

The announcement of Sir Aron and Inogen’s betrothal had come as a nasty shock to me especially as Inogen was still so young. Sir Aron was powerfully built, with dark hair and complexion, and although handsome enough, there was something mean about his eyes. The knight was wearing a surcoat of green and yellow which displayed his coat of arms, two lances behind the large head of a lion. His permanent demeanor was malevolent rather than cheerful or chivalrous. I guessed his age to be late twenties, not old, yet much older than myself; too old for Inogen methought. He was a bold and fearsome warrior, renowned for his prowess with the broadsword. I spat, a vulgarity no wasted on the sharp eyes of Sir Aron.

The party moved slowly towards the carriages. Arthur was talking to Ysaive. As they walked, the sun emerged from behind a cloud, casting long morning shadows.

I felt the power and presence of King Arthur. He was taller than most men, about as tall as I. He wore no chain mail or hauberk but was dressed in a blue buttoned super tunic with long, split sleeves; he wore no hat but had on leather boots with fashionable pointed toes. Looking relaxed, Arthur put an arm lovingly around Ysaive as they walked and talked. We all searched his face for signs of tension or anxiety, but there was none. If Arthur was well, we all felt secure. Old Balin looked rather clumsy and out of place until Inogen put her arm through his and a smile spread across his red face. I looked away. The old fool.

In the cart, I secured as many loose items as possible and made room to lie down. I had travelled in these carts ‘afore and their wooden wheels and frames made for an uncomfortable ride. In a while, Balin rode by to make sure that I was there and nodded to me briefly.

Soon our journey started, the carriages heading down the dirt road towards the forest and the cart with me in it, followed behind. About half the mounted soldiers rode ahead of the entourage, leaving the remainder to follow on at the rear, which meant that many of them travelled directly behind me in the cart. Men are usually noisy at the start of a journey, but if I fell asleep I felt sure they would not disturb me. Some remarks were already being directed towards me.

‘If the Saxons attack, we’ll set Wybert on them - sight of him would frighten a saint!’

‘No, no, that’s not Sergeant Wybert; it’s a side of pork in the back of yon cart! I’m not eating that, it looks maggoty!’

A quantity of the previous night’s ale had decided it was time to leave me, so methought it time to empty my bladder. I had no choice but to urinate out of the back of the cart.

‘Do thee take that into battle, sergeant?’ asked one soldier. ‘No wonder the Saxon take affright when they see thee.’

‘Yuk! I’ll never eat another sausage!’ declared another.

‘A ‘pox on thee all,’ I shouted at them; then I settled down to sleep.

The noise and movement of the cart and the constant shouting between the men outside made falling asleep difficult. For a little while Inogen filled my mind, and then my thoughts reverted back to my childhood, as they so often did.

Seven years ago I had left home with my friend Levert, when we were both fifteen years old. We two had always been friends, as our parents had been before us, our paths inevitably crossing in childhood. My mother and father had been very poor, yet there was wealth a-plenty in Botolph’s Town, the town of my birth, for it was a busy port. I was the eldest of six, four boys and two girls. Leaving home had been a great adventure for both Levert and I, and we had departed suddenly without telling family or friends of our plans. Looking back I regret how thoughtless we had been, for it must have given our loving parents much heartbreak.

We had started out with all the optimism of youth and all the foolishness that inevitably goes with it. We told ourselves that our departure would help our parents, for Levert also came from a large poor family. My parents lived just to the south of Botolph’s Town, in the County of Lincoln. Our house had been built by my father in a woodland clearing. He was a woodcutter and charcoal maker and that summer had been particularly long and hot. There had been little demand for wood or charcoal, making life difficult for him with a large, hungry family to feed. Levert and I had secretly talked and planned together and had finally decided that the best service we could render to our respective parents would be to leave home, making one less mouth to feed. We knew that if we disclosed our plans to our parents, they would have stopped us. The world had seemed large and inviting to us, with adventures round every corner. The latter at least was true.

We spent the first few days a-walking towards Nottingham and at night we found a secluded spot nearby the road, making a small fire for comfort and warmth. On the second night two men, drawn by the glow of our fire, invaded our camp and sent us fleeing into the night. Fortunately we had heard their approach, as we were still sufficiently apprehensive of the sounds of night to hear any animal sound or any twig broken underfoot.

In the morning we nearly returned home, but we knew we were near to Nottingham, our immediate destination, so we decided to push on. The city was a revelation to us. We had never seen so many large buildings and we had not imagined that so many people existed in the whole world! There were many churches, unlike Botolph’s Town where there were few. Our eyes grew wide at the cattle and horses everywhere and the large thriving market, selling chickens, ducks, vegetables and all manner of foodstuffs and clothing. But it was the castle that took our breath away and we were drawn to it like soldiers to a whore. Everywhere there were armed men, many on horseback. Some were dressed in chain mail and surcoat; others had rigid, strong leather breastplates and kettle helmets. Most carried swords, while yet others preferred the bow, with a dagger on their hip. It was very exciting to a couple of young impressionable fifteen year old youths.

The little money we had brought with us was soon spent and we knew that we must find work. Levert was the first to do so, in a blacksmith’s workshop. We slept under the castle walls at night, along with other youths and men, all of whom, like us, were homeless.

The first few days in the city were very hard for us, as we had to scrounge or beg for food. When I found work things became a little easier, for as a stable lad at the castle, both Levert and I were able to sleep in the stables at night. We learnt to tolerate the company of rats, in exchange for the warmth generated by the horses. Working long hours for little pay, we learnt to look after ourselves and became aware of the evil, selfishness and greed of man, for the city was a lawless place. We grew up fast and spoke less of those we had left behind and of returning home. Sometimes our bellies were empty and although our parents had been poor, we had never been hungry ‘afore.

Before we had left Lincoln County, Levert had become attracted to my sister May, who was about a year younger than me. This natural interest had, I believe, been started and encouraged by May herself. Latterly, when she knew that Levert would be visiting our cottage, she had started a-dressing herself in her most feminine clothes, much to the amusement of the rest of us children in the family. Levert had been susceptible, enamoured by her behavior.

Within a few months of our arrival in Nottingham, Levert found himself enamored of another young wench. Across the road from the blacksmith’s forge where he worked, was an Inn called The Bay Horse. Located in a central part of the city, it was a popular ale house, with lodging for travellers. People were arriving and leaving at all times of the day and night, making it the center of much activity. The half timbered three storey building had a swinging inn sign of a bay horse. Outside, lamps were lit at night, to entice revelers to sample the pleasures to be found within, as was the fashion of the trade.

The landlord’s daughter was the same age as Levert and I and soon we made her acquaintance. Her name was Amy and she was a comely wench, though no more so than my sister May, or so thought I. The first ale either of us supped was in The Bay Horse, which we frequented in order to catch a glimpse of Amy. The landlord, who was a fat loud mouthed man, was called Will Swire and he barely tolerated Levert’s interest in his daughter, calling him ‘that young gutter rat’. It was his practice to make Levert the butt of his humour whenever we went to the Inn, but if this was designed to cool Levert’s ardour, it failed to do so.

The weather became colder as autumn turned into winter. The temperature of our sleeping quarters depended upon how many horses were stabled overnight, but we were rarely cold and we ate better having learnt where to find food for little money.

There were five stable lads at the castle; the young man who I replaced had died a week ‘afore we arrived in Nottingham. One of my working companions was a large man called Aaron, a groom in the castle stables. He had served in King Arthur’s army for many years and he told us tales of his times as a soldier, tales of the Knights of the Round Table and most of all he spoke of Arthur himself, the greatest warrior ever seen in our land. He loved to talk about his days in Arthur’s Army and I loved to listen. He told me that Arthur’s knights swore before God to be chivalrous, to help those in need giving their lives if they must in the cause of justice and honour. Aaron spoke of damsels and whores, of wealth beyond imagination and of the Holy War against the heathen Saxons who were invading our shores in the south. In those cold winter days an image grew in my mind, a picture of me as a warrior, fighting along side the King! The groom was one of the gentlest men I had ever met and had a wonderful way with horses. He lived but a stone’s throw away from the stables, with his wife and bairns, in a small cottage that he rented from the High Sheriff of Nottingham. Many a night Levert and I spent at their fireside. They were honest, God fearing people.

Aaron and I cared for the horses and it may be that my dislike of the animals came from those early days, when the stench of horse manure never seemed to leave me. Although I became used to the smell, I must have carried it with me on my clothes as whenever I ventured out amongst city folk and more importantly amongst the City wenches, they would have nothing to do with me because of my smell.

I dreamed of bettering myself and joining Arthur’s Army. Levert and I spoke on the subject many times but he favoured going to sea. His father was a fisherman in Botolph’s town and the sea was in his blood. He thought that Bristoll would be a natural place to go to find a ship, as London the biggest port in the land, was threatened by the Saxons. I pressed him to come with me to join Arthur’s Men, but at the time the matter was unresolved and we were content in Nottingham. Perhaps when the weather improved we would move on.

Fate was to decide our respective destinies. One January night, Levert did not return to our sleeping quarters at the stables and I did not notice his absence until the following morning. Often he was late abed after an evening a-courting Amy, and I would mostly be fast asleep when he crept into the stables. His absence bothered me, as the night had been frosty and cold and I hoped that he had found warm lodgings. Even so, as the next day progressed, I imagined Levert to be at the forge and that I would see him at nightfall. When my labours for the day were finished, I visited the forge to seek him out. It was their habit to work late, staying open for travellers. I spoke to his fellow workers at the forge, and found that he had not attended work that day. I questioned the smith.

‘I be sorry to lose the lad, he were a good worker,’ he said regretfully.

Levert did not return to the stable that night, or the next, so I resolved to search Nottingham for him, being convinced that he was somewhere in the City. Wherever he was, he was not alone, for Amy was no longer at the Bay Horse and rumour was that they had fled together. My enquiries of Swire the publican brought little information and considerable abuse, so I stopped asking questions there.

I searched for them around Nottingham for several weeks and after that time reached the sad conclusion that they were not in the City. I wondered if they had returned to Botolph’s Town, though I doubted it. I was surprised they had not seen fit to see me ‘afore their departure, yet I knew that there must be a reason. For a while I was obsessed with the thought that perhaps Will Swire had murdered them both, for there were many unsavoury men frequenting his ale house, who would have done the deed for a few coins. I eventually put this unsettling thought aside, doubting that even the landlord would murder his own daughter. Levert and Amy had disappeared and it was beyond me to find them.

As the winter retreated I made my plans to leave Nottingham. I would finish with the stench of horses and move on, to seek out and if possible join King Arthur on his holy mission to drive the heathen Saxons from our lands. All said that there was fame and fortune awaiting valiant soldiers at the King’s side. The thought of returning home never entered my head. I had tasted