Page 243 - Musings 2020

and to prevent the plight of the society. Your father was no different. He took his oath to his
grave and led a glorious life while alive.

Talos: Forgive me, Lord, I’m sure I have no right to correct you, but I MUST. My father was
denied these so-called ‘glories’ by the very duke you serve. God forbid the same happen to
you. And--
Sir Archibald: (Interrupting abruptly) Fourteen years! Fourteen years of my life were devoted
to becoming the warrior I am today. Seven as a Page and seven as a Squire. The pride I get
every day as I pick up my kite-shield and mount my horse with dignity is something that no
one can question. The hellish fourteen years of running errands and rigorous training all have
made me the man I am today.

Talos: What about the hounds err-umm I mean, the knights who are now getting disbanded
from the army? Were their fourteen years of abandoning their sons and wives worth it? Worth
a measly title and some hollow honour?

Sir Archibald: (Irritably) Don’t push your luck kid. I can assure you that the knights of the
royal army can take on the ‘New Army’ units without flexing a single muscle. What I worry
about is not the decline of knights in the army but the decline of valiance, the decline of war
heroes.

(In a loud voice) The weak and pathetic training programs of the infantry cannot hope to
match the many years of training of a knight.

Talos: (Shrugs) If you say so sire. (Gets up and turns his face away from Archibald, towards
the crowd) Time for some music people! I’ve just got the perfect song about bandits who
believe they have secured treasure worth fortunes, but all they really have is fool’s gold!

(Talos takes his lute off the wall and starts playing a melody. The stranger chugs his
remaining wine and lets out a big sigh as he begins to talk to the knight.)

Stranger: It’s not the infantry your kind must fear. It’s the technology and weaponry they’ve
developed. Even the mightiest of knights will die a swift death from a heavy arrow shot out
of the weakest of the crossbows, even if it is a peasant firing it. Your armour is just fodder for
a crossbow and will get easily crushed by its force.

(Hearing the stranger’s comments, Archibald drops his sword uncharacteristically.)

Sir Archibald: (scoffs) It’s astounding that people would think fourteen years of training to be
worthless over the advent of technology. Who are YOU to call the knights weak? It’s not
possible. My plate armour cannot be crushed so easily. You are an outright liar. Who are you
to question the ability of us knights?

Stranger: Forgive me for not introducing myself earlier. I am Cicero Gray, a veteran at a trade
not publicly recognized.

Sir Archibald: I’d advise you to do away with the mysterious talk. I’m not a lady to be wooed
or a dancer to be pleased. I am a KNIGHT. Don’t you go around playing games with me!

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