Promises of Fealty...

December 4th 1490 Navarre

“Penance? Again?”

Alexandre started, scrambling to his feet at the sight of the fair haired young man leaning against one of the wooden pews. He promptly dropped back to one knee, ducking his head out of deference. “Milord,”

“How many times must I ask you to use my name? We grew up together, Alexandre.” Ghislain said.

“You may ignore the differences between our respective stations but my father will not permit the same of me. He made it clear just what we owe to your family.” Alexandre sighed.

“I remember,” Ghislain snorted. “I never thought it was fair, you know. Born less than a year apart and yet, we’re to be treated differently. Just because of a crusade a century ago that I could care less about. Things could be worse, you could be one of those peasant farmers instead of a respectable landowner.”

Alexandre let the insult pass. There wasn’t much difference between a farmer and his own family barring the fact that they held land and a simple farm laborer didn't. Ghislain was well educated, capable of reading and writing. He hadn’t been so fortunate. “I’m the youngest of seven…”

“And lucky for it, I think. At least you have someone to share a room with when it gets cold.” Ghislain laughed, slapping him lightly across the shoulder.

Alexandre winced, rubbing at his shoulder. “Be that as it may, it’s cramped. My parents have the only bedroom. The rest of us have to make our own way in front of the hearth. And my mother is with child once again. I’ll be glad when my sisters are married.”

“Isabel’s the pretty one, correct?” Ghislain looked more pensive than anything else.

“Yes,” Alexandre grimaced. “She is. If you try to chase her skirt, however…”

“Ah, fair enough. I’ll let her alone.”

“Thank you,”

“If you stop calling me milord, that is.” Ghislain’s grin was infectious.

Alexandre smiled faintly. “I can try. I will not make any promises though.”

“So… why were you in the chapel in the first place? This is the third time in two weeks outside of Sunday.”

What could he say? That he was more than charmed by Ghislain. In a way that should have been reserved between a man and woman. Alexandre dropped his gaze to the stone floor beneath his feet. “I like it here, it’s peaceful.”

“If you want peace, why not come with me? I came here to ask if you wanted to get some archery practice in.”

“Archery practice or sparring?” Alexandre asked.

“You’re better than I am with a sword. What do you think? Best two of three?” Ghislain laughed.

“Ah, fair enough. The archery.”

They were too old for children’s games but neither one of them could resist the temptation of playing a two man crusade against a pig’s hide wrapped around a scrap of wood. The archery competition had ended before it had begun because of a mouse-chewed bowstring.

Alexandre looped the reins over his left hand, sweeping the blunted blade at Ghislain’s unprotected side. The other young man laughed, diving off the back of his horse and rolling up into a crouch as he unsheathed his own sword.

Both blades met in midair, striking sparks despite the blunted edges. Alexandre parried the next blow delivered and spun before pressing the advantage. Ghislain retreated, feinting to the left and getting past Alexandre’s guard.

He felt the cool steel through his shirt as it rested gently on his collarbone. “I yield.”

Ghislain must have been practicing in private, this was the first time his friend had beaten him in an honest fight since they’d partnered each other. Still, that didn’t mean he was completely out of tricks yet. He dropped to his knee, timing himself for when Ghislain lowered the blade before tackling the other man. The sword went skidding across the crushed grass as his friend landed on his back, winded but laughing.

He was on top, pinning Ghislain against the ground. Alexandre was breathing just as heavily as the other boy. It wasn’t the first time he’d noticed the color of his friend’s hair or eyes but it was the first time he’d been in such close proximity to his friend. He liked it, if he was being honest. His best friend was the envy of any of the other well born young men. And some of the eligible young women.

It was a thought that worried him. They were friends, true but if there was to be an engagement in a year or two. He didn’t want to be entirely second best. “I want to swear fealty to you.”

Ghislain frowned slightly. “But your family already has done so. Why would you do it again?”

“Not my family, I want to swear fealty to you, personally.” Alexandre sat up, rolling off the other man so that he was sitting with his knees drawn up to his chest.

“Very well,” Ghislain stood, unsheathing the knife at his waist and handing it hilt first to Alexandre.

For the second time that day, he found himself on bent knee, head bowed in respect. “I swear on my honor that I will be loyal to my lord, never do him harm and protect him, even should it risk me my own life.”

“I accept your oath,” Ghislain took his hand and helped him to his feet. The formality of the situation was abruptly broken by the impulsive embrace he gave to Alexandre. “Now, shall we go back to the manor? I’m half-starved here.”

Alexandre hid a brief smile at the remark. “Always thinking of your stomach or women. Surely they aren’t everything life has to offer?”

“Perhaps not, but they are enjoyable, no?” Ghislain added something incomprehensible in French to the end of the sentence. “Wine, women and a good storyteller. Preferably a female storyteller. I still fail to see how that doesn’t interest you, Alexandre. Surely there is someone who you have an interest in. A couple of the serving girls are half besotted with you and you haven’t noticed them at all.”

“Maybe I already have someone I care about,” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them and he flushed, dropping his gaze to the ground beneath his boots. He had been careless, nearly letting his true feelings come out. Ghislain had always regarded him as a friend and nothing more than that.

“Oh? Do tell?”

“Ghi- Genevieve,” He had considered making up a girl with the feminine form of his friend’s name but it would have prompted more questions. And the story would have fallen apart with the telling as Ghislain prompted him for more details of her hair color and dress. At least Genevieve was a real woman.

“The hostler’s daughter, the one with spots? She’s three years older than us.”

“She’s not as bad as she was, once. And I don’t see how it matters. Lady Elisabeth is nearly five years older and that didn’t stop you from going to her.”

“She invited me,” Ghislain protested through his laughter. “Have you seen her husband? He’s forty if he’s a day.”

“All but decrepit,” Alexandre sighed. “Fine, let’s go. If I can stop you from making more of a fool of yourself than usual, I will.”

“I expected nothing less of you, Alexandre.” Ghislain smiled. “Come then. Let us see what the remainder of the day holds for us.”