The King ~ Timothée Chalamet

Songs of glory

King~ Ch 13

The sound of clanging steel echoed around the castle, awaking Henry before the first light of dawn. He rushed to his window, brow creased with worry, fearing an attack.

Darkness blanked the land, but under torch light, he could make out an organised gathering of men. They were aligned in the yard, watching as a duel raged before them.
It did not last long, as one man was disarmed, his steel clattering to the ground beside him.

Even from afar, he could see her in the glistening early morning light, her sword dancing at her side as she called the next combatant forward.

~

Henry walked along the castle wall, observing the training from a distance. He longed to hear her, to learn from her, so he followed the flow of brickwork down to where Amice barked commands. How well this role suited her.

"Your grace." Bowed the soldiers as he passed, and he nodded to them in reply.

"Come to observe the transformation, your grace?" Amice called to him. Her tone surprised many of the men, as she spoke to the king as though they were longtime friends.

"Aye. I'm hoping that one of them shall prove good enough to put you on your ass." He spoke in a stern tone, yet the subtle humour was not lost to Amice as she gave him a side grin.

~

"No cloak, my lady?" Echoed one of the men stood in rank.

"You heard right, and chain metal armour, it is much more effective than leather. It won't stop a blade but it may stop an arrow. Trust me, you will be grateful for it. And remove the sleeves from the breastplate, the extra weight is unnecessary for the appeal." She commanded as the men dressed in their armour on the training field.

"Why must we be readied now, my lady?" Asked another.

"Because it is important that you become acquainted with the feel of your armour. In battle, you shall fight as such, so why not do so now? You must adjust. You will learn to run and sweat and swing a sword in your armour. It's purpose is to protect you, not to be the thing that gets you killed." She explained, hands on hips. Her clothes and face were muddied from her sparring, and her breathing heaved as she observed the soldiers.

Henry watched her from afar, admiring her intelligence and resourcefulness.

"Tomorrow morning we shall start with a run. I expect to see you on the field at dawn, adorned in you full armour and with your swords. Many men fall in the field as they tire. I am going to make sure that is not any of you."

"And what of our swords, my lady? You had us all select our own, and keep them at our sides."

"That sword is the most precious thing you have on that field other than your life. Respect it, and it will serve you well. Every great warrior names his sword. You may not be kings nor lords nor knights. They may not sing songs of your glory or tell tales of your names. Children may not learn of your swords or your bravery. But they will not forget. They will know, that out there, it is you who won the war. Is was your might, your courage, your blades that brought victory to England. So they may not sing songs about you, but you shall know. All men are worth the same, why should their weapons not be?"

"Aye!"

"Aye!"

"Aye!"

Chimes erupted from the ranks, cries of glory and courage.

~

Amice's sharp eyes flowed along the line of men and boys, stopping a third of the way along.