The whip snapped again. "Just give in," the voice mocked. "Just tell us where Richard is. Just give in."

"No." Raspy voice, not even a whisper.

The whip snapped again.


The pilgrim trudged slowly down the road, his staff firm in his calloused hands, his gaze focused fixedly ahead. He ignored the blistering heat encased inside of the thick, dark robe, focusing instead on the voice and, more importantly, name, of the one man who could clear his name.

Brian de Bois-Gilbert

Brian de Bois-Gilbert

He had heard the rumors circulating around the camps he passed, the curses spat and the glares shared, when his own name was spoken. "That cursed Ivanhoe." "D- Saxon!" "Traitor!" "I'll kill him!" "I'll help you, mate."
He knew, oh he knew, that revealing his identity and pleading his cause could only result in death. He had no family to seek aid from- his father, Cedric, had disowned him for loving his ward, Rowena, and following the Cross into Palestine. The determined knight saw only one pathway. He must clear his name, and the one man who could do that was Brian de Bois-Gilbert.

Brian de Bois-Gilbert

Brian de Bois-Gilbert