The Retreat (medieval historical fiction)

Dedication

Did you grow up listening to tales of famous heroes? And were your daydreams filled with scenes of extraordinary bravery in which you were the knight who earned the cheers of the crowds? I did and mine were. From the age at which I could hold a practice sword — five years — I wanted nothing more than to be a knight whose deeds were acclaimed by the poets. And under the approving eye of my father and his soldiers, I worked hard to become as good as they at fighting and riding.

Now that I've achieved my goal and learned something about war, I feel a compulsion to write my story. I do so, not for the sake of other youths aspiring to be heroes. This is not a moral guidebook. Nor do I write it to ensure that the fate of Duke Shalk's army is known to all and for all time. This is not a history. I write because I feel a dark geas upon me: almost as though I have been condemned to search my own memories and relive these experiences. Cateline, Gerard, Rainulf. Talk to me again. By writing of you, can I come to properly understand you?

I'm told that it is customary to write a dedication before an account such as this begins. At first, I thought I would dedicate this narration to Count Stephen, a very worthy man whom I have come to love. Yet, there is a shadow over me and over my tale, which prevents me from making so obvious a choice. Instead, I dedicate the following story to Achilles. Yes, the most famous knight of all.

Achilles, listen to the following words and recognize the truth of them. I dedicate this to you, the slayer of brave Hector. You, who saved the Greek ships after the death of your beloved companion. You, who when filled with wrath caused havoc to the Trojan ranks. More than this, Achilles, hear me preach the same unbearable truth as you. Recall, as you read this, the answer your shade gave to cunning Odysseus: you told him to choose one day of life as a slave in dusty fields over an eternity of death as the ruler of Hades.