My head has been in some really strange places lately. No sniggering please! While driving to Gyrth's for the famous, not-a-practice, I heard the long version of Inna Godda Da Vida [sp?] on the radio. This combined with the novel I'm currently reading and another weird palce in my head lead to a little bit of fiction. It's sort of a wish of what Richard's life ought to be like.

Oh, a quiz! What's my favorite line from this story?

I wake a full hour before the first hint of morning�s light. We�ll be on our way just as the first gloaming of dawn appears in the east. I dress in my warmest under garments and stumble down to the hall. No one speaks to me, knowing my quick temper and foul mood first thing in the morning. You follow me down from our suite of rooms. Somehow, people pay more attention to the smile you bestow upon them than the glower I toss their way.

I sink into the massive chair at the center of the head table and the cook places breakfast, a bowl of hot porridge and a mug of beer. I grumble about having some meat and the cook rebukes me telling me that I know full well, everything that could be, is packed up for the patrol. I slump over my bowl and shovel the stuff into me, knowing it is unappetizing but I�d rue the choice not to eat it in a few short hours. With a little food and a little, very little, beer in me, I feel almost human again. I must admit, my companions would disagree. I head out to the courtyard. Silently, you follow me outside. I don�t notice that you�re carrying a small bundle.

All the men, a handful of knights, our squires, and the score of mounted men at arms, are putting on their armor. The squires aren�t helping the knights with their gear very much. Each of us knows we�ll be guarding each other�s backs, so each of us looks to our own gear first and then the man next to us, all without much regard for rank. We�ll be wearing lighter armor, mostly leather and chain, for this ride. If we find the intruders, we�ll not need our heavy armor and mobility will be more important.

For, it is the leading edge of winter. All our crops are in, the livestock tended to, the fuel cached, the buildings patched and all made ready for the severe winters of our climate on these northern marches. Our good King has granted this whole county to my lord, the Earl, to rule in his name. In lieu of taxes, the Earl must only protect the rest of the kingdom from incursions across this part of the marches. Though he�s quite a bit younger than I am, I'm proud to be a loyal vassal of the young Lord.

When fighting abroad some years back, both the Earl and I were wounded in defense of an important tower guarding a road that the king needed for his army. For our service in this action, the Earl received this fiefdom and I received this tower and all the land around it.

This pales in comparison to the greatest treasure of them all. I was granted the hand of the youngest of the new Earl�s daughters, yourself, Lady Beatrice. To wed the daughter of one�s liege lord is a great honor, and not at all lessened by the fact that you are the most beautiful lady in all the land. I�ll have words with anyone too blind to see that! Even though you were marrying below your station, you came to my hall full of grace and good cheer. You�ve been the perfect counter to my sometimes sullen and melancholy moods. Just like this morning.

It is a typical early winter morning. The cold fog sticks to stubbornly to the ground. Though, this fog will not deter the bandits from sneaking down from their impoverished villages to try to take a share of the bounty we�ve collected over the year. They�re a slippery lot, they are difficult to track down and nasty enough when cornered. There�s no glory in being killed by bandits. I remind the men that they�d end up just as dead.

I have all my armor on and I�m preparing to don my helmet when you place a gentle hand on my arm. "One moment dear, I want you to wear this,� you say as you shake out a brand new surcoat for me. It�s wonderful, it has my blue and white and gold arms on the front and back. I complain that it�s too fine for this work. But, you ignore me and put it on over my armor. My squire helps you with the surcoat trying hard not to smile. I know I look quite the figure in this wonderful new surcoat. I mount my horse and salute you as I lead my band out of the castle and into the wilderness.

There�s no way that a group of some two dozen horsemen can find any bandits. They�ll hear us long before we hear them. So, we drop men off along lines of likely approaches with horns and fresh horses. The rest of us set up a camp then start visiting the most exposed villages and camps. Nothing happened at all for a fortnight. We thought we might have an uneventful patrol for once, until what would have been the last day, but one.

We were riding back to Barescump, a little bit of a village in a shallow valley filled with decent farmland. Just before we came into sight of the village, we notice smoke rising into the sky. We dismounted, unlimbered our weapons, and moved, just barely, into a position to see what was going on. The village was being attacked, not just by a handful of bandits but by more than two score of the vermin. This was bad news indeed, because it meant that someone was organizing these bandits and that always meant more damage and more death.

I gathered all the men together and told them, though we were outnumbered, we were mounted, and they were not. We would charge into their midst and break their groups into individuals. We would have to figure out who the leader was and capture or kill him. If we moved quickly and fought hard, some of us might even live. I was heartened that my wry grin was returned all around me. Each of these men, solid retainers all, was familiar with my gruff and dour aspect in the face of battle. They also knew I'd be the first into the village and woe unto anyone who tried to pass me!.

As it turned out, I shouldn�t have been so worried. As soon as we blew our horns (to let our scattered watchers rally to our location) and charged into their midst, they started running. They looked like crows that suddenly noticed a hawk, then two hawks, then many hawks. Only one of them was not running, he was the only one in armor. He was a big man, taller, wider, and younger than I. He had studded leather armor, a metal helmet, a huge round shield, and an axe big enough to be a small pole arm. As I rushed toward him, he crouched behind his shield. I think he meant to spring out at me as I rode by.

I trampled him. My wonderful warhorse, Emerald, simply ran right over his shield. Did I forget to mention that I�d leave behind my heavy armor but never my Emerald? I spun to a stop, slid off Emerald and rushed over to the bandit. I reached him just before he regained his feet and quickly smashed him in the side of his helmet with the flat of my sword. I didn�t want to kill him but I wanted him to stay down. We rounded up several prisoners. We saved many, but not all, of the villagers. We made camp in the middle of what was left of the village church giving what help we could to the survivors.

We found out that the big burly one was indeed the leader and had been putting together this band for months. The bad news was that there seemed to be no lack of desperate men. The good news was that bandit leaders with some sense were still rare. Better still, this particular bandit chief, along with a half dozen other survivors, was going to hang from a gallows, here in the middle of the village he tried to destroy, the very next morning. The villagers, despite their wounds and all the work ahead of them, were building the crude gallows as we slept.