Title: A Squire's Tale
Author: Rebecca
Fandom: A Knight's Tale (Inspired by parts of Chaucer's 'The
Canterbury Tales')
Rating: PG
Status: Incomplete
Series/Sequel: NO series, just incomplete story...
Feedback: Yes, give me feed back. On the board or to my mail. I don't
care which.
E-mail address for feedback:
Other websites:
Disclaimers: The characters in this story loosely belong to Chaucer
and to the writers and director of the 2000 movie, "A Knight's Tale."
No mine, no sue.
Summary: About "Wat" - Brutal Truth, Friendships Emerge, Fluff...
Enjoy.
A Squire's Tale
He ran through the forest, desperately struggling to breathe.
Only turning back once or twice to see if the man was behind him, he
didn't slow down. He could feel the warm blood trickling down his chin.
If only he could get to the road. Voices. . . Praise the Good Lord! He
heard voices! Finally, when the trees dwindled and the forest met
the road, he stopped. Searching desperately, he looked each way for
the people he'd heard. Headed away from him, he saw the back end of a
cart go down over a hill in the dirt road. "Hey there! Good Sir!" He
hollered.
He began to run down the road toward the cart. As he reached
the top of the hill, he could see a man riding a horse in front of
the cart, and two boys riding, one considerably older than the
other. They'd slowed, and all three had turned to see the stranger
who'd called to them.
"What is it, boy?" The man asked, as Wat ran toward them.
"I. . ." He wasn't quite sure how to answer the older man. "I was
being. . . followed." He explained in between painful breaths of warm
air. The flesh around his left eye was bruised, the color of a dark
lake. He bled from his mouth and from a cut on his cheek. "Might I
ask of you a ride?"
The man examined the young man, "Are you a criminal, boy?"
"No! No, I haven't done anything! I'm just being chased. I was. . .
robbed." He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a few
coins. "I got away with this, only this. They have. everything." He
explained, still huffing.
The man pondered a moment, then, without any further
hesitation, he said, "Hop on the cart, boy." And Wat did as he was
told. "What's your name?" The man asked.
"Wat. My name is Wat." The two other boys snickered,
exchanging glances.
"Ah. Very well. I am Sir Ector, and these are my squires Roland and
William." He said, before he turned around once more. The cart began
to move, the older boy driving the two horses that pulled it. Wat
nodded to the two and looked down, knowing they already thought
little of him.
"How long will you be traveling with us, Wat?" Sir Ector
asked as he rode, not turning.
"Well, Sir, I don't mean to be rude,
but as far as you'll take me." Wat kept his eyes on the man ahead of
them, so they didn't have to make contact with either of the boy's he
rode with.
We're headed to the tournaments in London. Say, Wat, do
you know how to take care of an animal such as this?" Ector patted
his horse's neck.
"Well, of course, Sir. Why might you ask?"
"I'm the one asking questions here boy. Do you know the job of a
squire? To a knight?" Said Ector. William and Roland exchanged
glances once again.
"Why, yes Sir, I believe I know the job of a squire." Wat
replied, very interested in what this man was asking him.
"Would you like to be my third? Roland is still teaching
William the way, and I could use a few more hands to help out. How
old might ye be, Wat?"
"I'm 17 years, Sir."
"Good, good. Appear strong as well. Would you be interested
in the task, young Wat?"
"Aye Sir Ector, that I would." Wat replied, wide-eyed.
Later, that same evening, Wat stood with his new companions in the
stables. "Sir Ector, he wins often?" He asked the elder of the two,
Roland. "Aye, indeed he does." Roland replied, proudly.
Wat nodded, feeling better about the whole ordeal.
"And what of you," Roland asked, "Do you win often?" He added a
chuckle, and pointed to Wat's eye.
"Oh, it's just from the men who robbed m-"
"No, really," Roland interrupted, "What happened?" He asked, in a
trustworthy tone.
"I told you. . . I was robbed." Wat replied, frankly.
"Fine, fine, ave it your own way." Roland shook his head.
Each of the boys went back to their chore, Wat happened to be combing
Sir Ector's jousting stallion. After a good time in silence, Wat
paused in his work.
"It was me father."
William and Roland looked up from their work. "What was?" William
asked.
"This," Wat pointed to his eye, "an' this," he pointed to his lip,
then lifting his shirt in the front a few inches he added, "an'
this." He revealed a bruise a few inches in diameter.
Roland remained silent. It wasn't a proud moment for any of them.
"He came back early from the pub. is all. I was slackin' in me
chores." He said, returning to his task with the horse.
"He said I was useless, told me to be off. and before I knew what
was appenin', he nearly thrashed me." He took a deep breath. "So I
jus' took what I could, and headed for the woods. He only followed me
a ways."
"He's far behind you now." Roland assured. "You're with us now." And
not another word was said. Not another word was needed. A thankful
nod was Wat's reply, and with that the three promised a silent vow to
look out for each other as long as they were together.
10 years later.
"E's dead."
"What do you mean dead?" Wat asked.
"The spark of his life is smothered in shite." Roland said, "His
spirit is gone but his stench remains. Does that answer your
question?"
"No, no, no, no, no! He sleeps! Rouse him!" Wat replied, "We're
minutes from victory! I haven't eaten in three days!"
"None of us have, Wat!" Will yelled, equally as frustrated.
"We need to fetch a priest." Roland said, standing up from his
crouched position. He'd been hovering over Ector, and finally decided
there was no help for him. He was gone. The last blow of the lance
had finished him.
"No, e's not dead! C'mon! Wake up!" Wat protested, he moved to his
sire's dead body, and inspected it. After a few frustrated kicks and
blows to the knight, he stopped paying attention to Roland and Will's
conversation.
After reporting Ector was on his way, Roland turned to Will with
curiosity.
"I'll ride in his place." Will said, then to Wat, "Strip his armor,
I'm riding in his place."
And from that point, a chain of events took place that Wat never
thought he would live to see. Victory, joy, pain, betrayal, they'd
had it all within a few months. After preparing Will to joust full
time, they'd happened upon a rather peculiar man, Geoffrey Chaucer.
He would act as Will's herald and become a good friend to each of
them. Though he and Wat may not have gotten along in the best way,
they managed to deal with each other. While at their first
tournament, in Rouen, damage to Will's armor lead them to find Kate -
A blacksmith who was both proud and stubborn, but proved to work
well. She was delicate and strong at the same time. She proved
herself time and time again as a friend and an aid to her quartet of
struggling fellows. Wat had grown rather fond of her as time passed.
He'd grown to hate as well. Wat was exposed to a man who would
threaten his future, Will's love and the well being of his dear
friends. This man was Count Adhemar. Wat learned this man would
cheat, steal and lie to gain what he wanted, but in the end they
celebrated a joyous victory. William had defeated Adhemar at the
joust and in winning Lady Jocelyn's hand. It was a good time for all,
the celebrations that night.
Everyone, including Wat went to banquet that night. But the
fun didn't begin until the 6 of them traveled into a local London
tavern. Surprisingly, Jocelyn could hold alcohol well. Wat
remembered watching Will and his Lady exit the back door of the pub.
It was just the four of them, then. Geoffrey, feeling well and
confidant was off to make a few wagers. Roland had accompanied
Christina, Jocelyn's handmaiden to his and Wat's tent. Kate watched
two men fighting and cheered quietly for the Scottish man as he
smashed the last bits of a chair over the English man's head. She
couldn't resist a good fight. Wat examined her as she watched the
fight, and once it was done with, he turned his eyes to the
bar.
"Wat, are you ready for another?" She held up her mug.
"You bet your anvil I am!" He grinned, already having emptied
several mugs. "A keg?" He suggested.
She merely laughed and hailed for another two drinks.