Greg Corcoran’s short story captures a past world of loyalty where truth would only bring dishonour.
Greg Corcoran’s short story captures a passed world of love, loyalty and gallantry where truth would only bring dishonour.
"I said stand aside, Sir!" cried the Captain, pointing his gauntlet at the young traveller who had crossed their path.
"With all due respect, gentlemen, the hunt is over." answered Benvolio. His keen eyes showed no fear as the party of royal soldiers drew back their bowstrings. On either side of him, two footmen staggered away, rubbing at the bruises he had dealt them.
"Do you know the penalty for obstructing a royal hunting party?!" screamed the Captain in outrage.
"Sadly, such laws are not known to wanderers like myself," answered Benvolio, his voice cultured despite his shambolic appearance, "But there is one absolute I do know: it is wrong to slay an animal with no means of defence."
Behind him, a small stag struggled desperately, its hooked antlers snagged in a copse of bushes. It was entangled, at the mercy of the hunting party, but this mysterious traveller had stopped the final kill.
"Enough Captain," said another voice. From the hunting party a well-dressed man moved out on horseback, "I see we have a man of principle here - a quarry better hunted than any stag!"
The horseman moved past the injured soldiers, who bowed and moved away from him as he stopped a short distance from Benvolio.
"By your actions you are either a fool or a champion,” said the king with an amused smile, “But I have not known any fools able to fight as well as you!"
He laughed, his men joining in cautiously. Benvolio sheathed his sword and before he answered the king he knelt down and untangled the hooked antlers of the stag. It scrambled free and bolted into the forest.
“Benvolio Halosorn,” answered the traveller, his back to the hunters as he watched the noble beast vanish into green.
“Halosorn? That name has not been spoken in this kingdom for many years.”
“He lies,” hissed the Captain, bristling with anger. Benevolio turned, gripping the hilt of his sword, but the king had already raised his hand.
“At ease, Captain. You know those eyes as well as I. Halosorn used them to woo many a maiden, and now to this, his son, those eyes have passed.”
The Captain relented, sneering, whilst the King resettled the reins of his steed and looked down at the traveller, “Well, know this, bastard-child. Your father fell in battle, three winters ago. In all my days I have not met the likes of such a man... till now. So tell me, Benvolio Halosorn, are you your father’s child? And would you serve me as such?”
The traveller lifted his azure eyes and pulled the sword slowly from its sheath once more. This time it would not be raised in anger, but lowered before the feet of his new liege.
10 years later.....
"Please, Sir! He’s a fine boy – he’ll serve you well! You have my word!"
Sir Benvolio Halosorn moved past the ragged old man, fixing his shoulder-plates as he crossed the muddy slope towards the stables.
"I am sorry, Renwick. I have no time to take a squire. You must find another trade for your nephew."
"But young Santiago is a fighter, sir," pleaded Renwick, limping after the Knight, "He trained in the church when he was a boy!"
The two of them reached the royal stables, where Renwick toiled, mucking out the horses. Benvolio led his steed into the courtyard, ignoring the old man.
"I am the king's champion. I do not have time to teach a boy, especially one from the outlands. You have served me well, Renwick, but this I cannot do."
"But you are the only Knight who has yet to take a squire." replied Renwick, almost in tears now, his trembling hands reaching for Benvolio, "I cannot afford to feed him. I beg you, Sir."
Benvolio vaulted up onto his horse, settling into the saddle.
"I am sorry." he said again, before kicking the horse into motion.
Two years later…
Benvolio moved nimbly through the field of wild rose and hawthorn, bow and arrow held loose, eyes held keen. The king was a few steps behind him, moving with equal stealth. Benvolio was the only one who could keep up with the king and their mutual love of hunting had made them great friends over the past 12 years.
They approached a tree-line of silvered pines, where mist still glimmered in the morning light. They could see their prey moving at an angle to them, majestic fur caught in glimpses between the foliage. Benvolio lowered onto one knee, pulling tight the bowstring and aiming at the clearing where the animal would emerge.
The king took position beside him, aiming with his own bow, "You shan’t beat me this time, Ben!"
Benvolio smiled, but kept his eyes ahead, arm trembling with anticipation. Finally the target emerged from the undergrowth. It was a stag, large and fiery-hued, with hooked antlers.
"Wait!" cried Benvolio, twisting his arm and releasing, which in turn caused the king to fire. The two arrows flew off at an angle, missing the familiar stag, which bolted for the trees as it had done 12 years ago.
The king turned to Benvolio and was about to chastise him, when a scream sounded from the undergrowth.
The two of them remained kneeling in silence for a minute, till Benvolio looked to the king. "Wait here, your Highness. I will see what has happened."
Benvolio ventured forward, slipping into the labyrinth of pine branches and elm trees. He waded through the maze until finally it opened out. And there he saw the two arrows that had gone astray.
His own arrow had pierced an elm tree, the king's arrow, one of the royal servants.
Benvolio dashed in, kneeling and gently turning the shoulders of the fatally-wounded page.
"Renwick!!!"
The old man looked up at him, breath catching in sharp and bubbling gasps. The arrow had pierced his heart..... there was no hope for him. Benvolio had been sure that all the footmen in the hunting party were behind them..... he shouldn't have been out this far. This shouldn't have happened.....
Renwick's feeble hands gripped at Benvolio's tunic as he tried to speak, tears on his wrinkled face. Benvolio likewise could not speak, blue eyes robed in sadness. There was nothing he could do for the old man. Nothing.... but what he had asked two years ago.
"I will take the boy." whispered Benvolio, gripping the old man's hand, "I will raise him as my squire. You have my word."
There were a few more anguished gasps, then Renwick's eyes focussed beyond him and became still. He was gone....
For a long time Benvolio remained there, holding the old man's fingers as they grew cold. Renwick's eyes were like the stag's, blank and desperate, an innocence abandoned to the terror of nature.
He heard movement behind him. He got to his feet, moving to the tree where his own arrow had embedded. He pulled it out and dipped it in the old man's blood, before taking the king's arrow, cleaning it, and throwing it aside.
He had barely done this when the rest of the hunting party entered the clearing, the king escorted by the Captain and the rest of the footmen. The king's sad gaze found the body of the servant Renwick.
"My god!" muttered the Captain, "What happened, Benvolio? Whose arrow was it?"
Benvolio's eyes drifted to the King, then back to the captain.
"It was mine." he answered softly, "He died by my error. What family this man leaves behind I now accept as my own. This is my penance."
