Chapter I - On High

3 0 0


The Time upon the characters in this story had been called, The Dark Ages. This name seems an amusing declaration of the period, as this age of darkness had nothing to do with a lack of lightness. The wit becomes clear when one considers the name a joke played against the outstanding accomplishments of the time: the lack of illumination, the lack of knowledge. One could assume that a lack of knowledge implies knowledge was not known in times before. But that assumption would be wholly incorrect. The ages of Roman, and of Greek, and of Egyptian, and many other empires, had come before. They had in common a great depth and breadth of knowledge and accomplishments. Indeed, it is my interpretation of the label Dark Ages as implying the willful destruction or suppression of knowledge. This deed of force was accomplished by the few against the many, plunging the era into physical and mental servitude lasting a thousand years. A span of time longer than but a few empires. A span yet to be rivaled in the European sphere of empire.

It is here in this age of darkness a delicate light begins.

A Knight, he shall be known as Sir Gwyn d'Awhitevan. He is not known in any historical telling, but for these pages. This hero was involved with a Lady. They shared a love affair, chaste of course. Though not accepting another, the Lady would not allow herself to marry until Sir Gwyn d'Awhitevan brought defeat upon his adversary. Much worry held the knight on how he was to bring this feat to accomplishment. But let's just say, through a bit of trickery, and much luck, he did manage the deed. His competitor fell. The spoils were acquired.

The Lady, as some would have us believe, was never one to stray far from the hearing of gossip. It became promptly learned when the good fortune visited her darling. The deed of this woman began with pen put to paper. She composed to him a letter; it had been practiced long in her head forwards and backwards. The letter was brief. She had chosen. It beckoned him to her. It must be tonight. It must be in haste. Tonight, she will take him, knowing he will remain honorable. Upon the next day's morning, they will then seek a chapel. He will marry her.

The letter arrived. The seal torn open and the contents quickly read by the hero, he was off on his horse in a mad dash, riding through his lands, old, and newly acquired. His attention along the road was wholly focused in seeking the arms of his beloved.

Flying as a bird soars straight and true along the road, much beyond the vision of Sir Gwyn d'Awhitevan, there was a gentleman. He was upon a horse proceeding at a leisurely pace, a trot, for he was a leisurely man. His direction approached, though as yet in the distance, miles away.


Please help support the author by donating to this book. Available at the author's site, deppli.com

Sir Gwyn d'AwhitevanRead this story for FREE!