A grouping of tents was in the process of being set up; some were small, little things, no more than a few sticks holding up a Cloth. Others were larger, circular canvas things with pointed tops, sloping like an arrow towards the sky. The larger ones were as big as the rooms in an inn, enough to sleep in without having to curl up, whilst also being able to store one's valuables. Yet one stood larger than the others. Central to the growing camp was a massive Pavilion, tent-sized enough to fit three carts and their horses. All of the tents sprouted around their larger cousin, like small trees around an ancient one, given life by its age-old acorns.
"Can I help you, lad?" The question came from a child slightly larger than Edwin. He can be no more than ten, Edwin thought. He had great owl-like eyes, short cut brown hair, and his face was filled with freckles, particularly around his cheeks. The symbol on his tunic was that of a Soaring Eagle with a snake impaled upon its talons held below it. House Ashwin, Edwin, remember from a book of heraldry that Stuart had given him to study. On his right breast was the duke's symbol, marking him as a member of his retinue.
Edwin confidently offered a skin of wine to the child, "I'm here to bring refreshments to those outside the keep." The kid smiled and took the wine, but paused before drinking it, "Don't worry, it's diluted wine; the real stuff won't be served until the banquet tomorrow." Edwin answered before the question was asked.
Happy with the answer, the child gulped the skin, looking refreshed. He gently placed the skin back into the basket when he was finished.
"Thank you, this summer heat is killer, I'm Arthur Ashwin by the way," He offered out his hand to Edwin, who promptly shook it, "I'm a page to the duke."
"I'm Edwin. It might just be that I will be a page just like you."
Arthur smiled at that, "Edwin? So, you're the reason we came all the way out here. Walk with me, I'll introduce you to everyone."
Most in the camp were no older than eighteen, squires and pages made up the group almost to a man. Besides the pages and squires, a Knight of advanced age was in charge of the group. Sir Finchley, he was called, though Arthur referred to him as Sir Cripple, on account of his missing arm.
"And here is the duke's personal tent, it's quite large, isn't it?" Arthur said proudly, "Though, since the duke will be staying inside the keep, we are using it as the storage place for all the caravan's goods."
"He's allowing that?" Edwin asked, shocked that such an extreme tent would be used as a warehouse.
Arthur chuckled, "The Duke is not a materialistic man; he wouldn't care if we decided to sleep in it and used the other tents as storage, but the young lord would get on our asses if we dared to use it ourselves."
"The young lord?" Edwin was uncertain of who Arthur was talking about.
Arthur shot Edwin a look of surprise, "Surely you know who I'm talking about." When Edwin didn't reply, Arthur shook his head, "The Duke's son, he's a hard man to miss, he's a..."
"He is a pampered, idiotic, spoiled ass." Sir 'Cripple' finished the words Arthur was trying to avoid.
Both Arthur and Edwin jumped in surprise, caught unawares at the old Knights' presence. Sir Cripple laughed at the pair, "Arthur, stop pestering the boy, you've got duties to attend to."
Arthur nodded and disappeared into the small town of tents. Once he was out of view, the one-armed knight turned to Edwin. "Edwin, was it? Yes. I can see your father in you," Edwin noticed the accent in the knight was not that of an Anlettian, it was distinctly more northern, A Dunvarrian, or so Edwin believed, he hadn't heard a different accent besides Anlettian yet, and the knight spoke Anlettian too well. The Dunvarrians speak the same language, if only with more slurred and rougher sounds.
Edwin, quickly recalling his mother's many lessons, bowed low, not as low as one should for a King or higher nobility, but enough for a landed knight.
"Ha, you definitely don't get your manners from your father," He laughed, "I take it your mother gave that side to you."
"You know my parents?"
The knight moved his hand to indicate So-So. "I fought beside your father for some time. It's how I lost my arm." He lifted his stump as though it wasn't so visible. "But your mother, I never had the pleasure of meeting."
His one hand clasped Edwin on his shoulder, "Well, lad, you best get going, we appreciate the wine, but we have it handled." Sir Finchley nudged Edwin towards the edge of the camp.
"Sir, may I ask a question?" The knight lifted an eyebrow at Edwin, "What should I know about the duke? That is, what would help me convince him to make me his page?"
Finchley put a hand to his chin and stroked his imaginary beard while he thought of how to respond. Once he seemed satisfied with how to answer, he spoke, "Well, I can tell you that asking how to impress him is already going about it the wrong way. The duke is a good man, but he is incredibly picky about whom he takes into his service. Don't tailor your behavior just to please him; that would only backfire in his case. Be yourself, that is what he looks for. Who are you going to be when given power? Should he think you have what it takes to not just be a knight, but a good one, beholden to the vow you will swear, only then will he make you a page." He paused, "And think becoming a page is the end of proving yourself. After becoming a page, you must serve for years, then you become a squire for even longer, and if you survive that without being killed, your fate is still up to the duke. At any point, he can decide you are unworthy of being called 'Sir',"
The information was a lot for Edwin to digest, but Edwin knew when to listen to advice and when to ignore it. This was one of the former. Edwin began to retrace his steps back towards the keep. The banquet wouldn't begin until tomorrow night, but undoubtedly, his mother would have more duties for him to attend to.
"Oh, Edwin,"
Edwin turned back to the Knight
"Remember, no matter what happens, this is only the beginning of an empty book waiting for you to fill it."