The Scottish Boy

by Alex de Campi

Chivalry doesn’t exist on the battlefield, Harry decides. It’s something invented afterwards, in the war they describe in letters home.

I’m not sure my moral map is working any more. Think I lost my way, in Scotland,’ Harry says. ‘If you’re worried about it, you’re still on the path,’ Sir Hugh says,

He wants so desperately to unburden himself to the other knight, to tell him his hopes and fears. But these are not things that can be spoken aloud, to anyone.

‘I heard they are being taken in a cage to Paris,’ de Grosmont says, staring absently towards the lead wine cup in front of him. ‘Like common criminals. Nasty business, an earl in a cage. Who would do such a thing?’ Harry’s heart does something funny then. Shifts and swells as if, after a long silence, it remembers a time when it would sing. ‘I couldn’t imagine, sir.’

he allows himself to admire Geoffrey and Montagu facing off against each other, neither man lying, but each of them occluding the truth to their own advantage.

‘Fret not. I only kneel for one man, and it is neither of you, my cousins.’

‘Whoever this man is, he is incredibly lucky, having you at his command.’

‘An earldom is too much for a simple country knight like me.’ Then he looks over at Iain, his voice growing thick. ‘Besides, he kneels for me. What greater prize is there?’