The East Wind II: Awakening

The boy and his father joined the throng lined up on both sides of the palisade in cheering as the cavalcade wound its way through the streets.

“Yay!” “Hooray!” they all shouted tirelessly, waving their hands and throwing their fists in the air.

The boy felt elated. After a tough week in the fields and a sore back, this moment gave him some much-needed respite. He was grateful to his father for bringing him to witness this. “A momentous occasion for our people, son,” he had said. “Something they’ll sing about through the ages.” While the boy had no idea what his father meant, he was keen to see for himself what it was all about. The sheer loudness of the massive gathering had raised his spirits but he had yet to see what all the excitement entailed.

The crowd erupted again as another pair of guards passed by, their tall pikes pointed towards the sky, their faces hidden behind silver visors. They did not seem to take any notice of the crowds on either side, striding along in precise formation on the wide flower-laden lane as if on an empty street, in a city devoid of life.

“Pompous little snots, aren’t they?” came a snigger beside the boy and his father. The one who had done so did not look at the boy while saying so, his eyes focused on the street and the procession. “But they’ve earned it, I’m sure. That`s royalty for you – they can look on us rabble as they please.”

Men in military outfits were nothing new for the boy. Civil guards and police were almost commonplace in the streets, where they were charged with keeping the peace. In a city such as theirs, there was always some disturbance or the other. On more than one occasion did they have to intervene whenever he or some of the other neighbourhood boys scuffled. Or when one of his father’s friends came bursting out of the door of a tavern on all fours, usually followed by an angry patron or the owner himself.

But these were elite royal guards, which the boy – and he was sure, most people he knew – had never seen before. They were mostly stationed on the palace grounds and its immediate vicinity, never venturing out into the city save for the rare occasion when the police needed help, or when a member of the royal household paid a visit to someone. Their weapons glinted as the steel tips caught the rays of the mid-afternoon sun, and their splendid attire would have humbled even the haughtiest and most self-assured street patrolman.

“Watch it!” “Oy, watch it, fool!” “Hey, mind your foot, stupid twat” came several jeers and cries from the crowd as many jostled to get closer to the barrier separating the people from the guards. The boy felt something building up, something he couldn’t fully understand - something that perhaps only the others were aware of. Maybe this was the reason that they were all assembled there. That would explain all the sudden pushing and restlessness among the crowd.  

“They await the champion, son. Just as we are now,” said his father, detecting his son’s curiosity. “You shall see him shortly. Great glory has he won for our nation and is now being welcomed back in honour. Do you understand glory, son?” his father questioned.

“Um, I think so. He has vanquished many foes and shown no fear while doing so,” the boy replied.

“Yes, true, he has. But to do so honourably, and showing the enemy generosity, even in victory, is what sets one apart. He has shown a presence of mind even the king’s greatest generals could not,” the boy’s father said.

“Most importantly, our enemies are hostile to us no longer and have been brought into the fold, all thanks to his restraint and foresight. That is the mark of a true soldier and leader, son. Remember that. And to think, he started off as only a guard, running around at the whims of those far higher in station.”

His attention now back to the two guards still passing by, the boy saw that they flanked a man in resplendent robes, riding slightly to their rear. Borne upon a gold two-wheeled chariot, he waved to the crowds on either side with a vigour that the boy had not seen among any other members of the procession. It was too amusing since it seemed the man was doing so because either his life depended on it, or as if he had never had the pleasure of doing so and wanted to experience it before, heavens forbid, death snatched him prematurely. He carried no weapons, as the chariot also carried two other guards, standing by either shoulder. The man had a certain presence, although that could be the effect of the rich clothing. Surely that must be the…

“No boy, ain’t the one. Although if you look at him, you’d think he’d won the war all by himself. Another palace brat, haha,” broke in the voice of the same man beside him who had earlier made the remark about the guards. “Nope, that be the precious Highness, son of the king and the one in charge of the campaign. Of course, all the grunt work was done by someone else,” he finished with the slightest hint of a sneer.

The father made a courteous smile to the other man as he spoke, but scowled as he put his hand around his son and turned him away.

“Do not be swayed by that, son,” his father said gently, whilst waving at the same time. He was a tall man and the movement of his arm made his son’s face jump in and out of the light. “While he may speak the truth, that loose tongue of his will land him in trouble. The nobility are to be respected, always.” A brief downward gesture indicated he had not forgotten his son’s presence.

The crowd’s energy was building up now. The cheering and hollering continued, but after seeing the Prince himself pass through, they knew the time was drawing near when the finest among them would ride under the massive stone archway that greeted visitors to the city and down the bedecked streets where excited maidens waited to chant his name.

Under the blazing sun, the crowd were now getting impatient and restless. For this very reason, more of the city guard had been called out to keep the populace at bay. The boy himself was amazed that they had such numbers, not seeing more than a handful on the streets at any given time. Yet, nothing seemed to sap the people’s energy or enthusiasm. As more and more soldiers, officers and guards passed by, the din rose higher and higher, unceasing. Perhaps it’s a distraction for all, not just for me, the boy thought. Maybe they’ve all had it rough this year. I know that mother and father have…

His mother wanted no part of it, loathing war, huge crowds and the deifying of soldiers and, no matter how high and praiseworthy. Home was where she considered her place to be and would not join the “mindless, bleating sheep”, as she branded the crowd.

While many of her own kin fought for the banners, she was secretly glad that neither her son nor husband had shown any inclination to join the ranks. Even at her husband’s insistence, she would not leave the house that day, preferring instead to have a “nice meal prepared for them when they came back tired and were done shouting themselves hoarse over their ‘beloved’ champion.”

So father and son alone went to the gathering. She was missed but her absence was not deeply felt in the great wave of euphoria that had swept the city, including him. Well, at least I’ll get something good when I get back, he thought. She always makes good fo…

A great upsurge in the noise made the boy turn around and stand on his toes. That was when he saw him – the King’s Champion and commander of the victorious Eastern army, according to his father. He rode in on a black stallion, accompanied by his retinue of loyal officers. The awe he inspired in the crowd had nothing to do with riches, lineage or what he was wearing.

He looked unremarkable for the most part, clad in grey armour that had lost much of its sheen, and the plain garments that were issued to soldiers, rather than the intricately-patterned livery of the royal guards. Clearly, he looked down upon the ostentation of the Prince and other high officials at court. Under one arm he carried a large helm that bore marks and dents from where it had been struck. And by his side was girt a longsword which, despite being sheathed, instilled fear, hinting of a dozen long-forgotten battles.

From a distance, the boy could make out that the Champion still retained some of his youth – by contrast, some of the officers and the generals who had preceded him in the march had flecks of grey or looked too feeble to wield a blade properly. He had a grim look about him, yet did not look displeased at the swarming crowds. He smiled and occasionally waved here and there, even stopping to dismount and accept a lily from a little girl. After patting her on the head and nodding to her parents, he continued on his way.

And yet, it was the quiet dignity which most impressed the boy. Not the stories he had heard about his exploits, not the adulating crowd, not even the formidable accoutrements. For any other man would have been carried away by all that praise, the showering of favours and the promises of wealth and estates.

But not this one, it seemed. Modest and overly silent, he commanded a level of respect most other men could only dream of. The boy wondered whether even the king was this popular with the people. He had never seen him but knew that he was one of those ‘big’ people that everyone was supposed to like.

The boy nudged and pushed his way past the crowd, ignoring the calls of his worried father, as the Champion moved up the street and towards the royal palace. After a while, when he had passed beyond the civilian area and it became impossible to slide in between the thickening mass of people, the boy turned back towards his father. By now, some of the noise had subsided and the boy saw his panting father running towards him, looking flustered rather than angry. Like everyone else, he was sweating and looked thoroughly excited.

“Well, now that was fun, wasn’t it? So what did you think, son?” he asked.

“It was amazing! So many people, so many soldiers…just, amazing.”

“See? And did he not look splendid, the Champion?”

“He did. I want to be just like him someday.”

“Haha, do you indeed. Well, don’t let your mother hear that.”

And as his father turned around, leading the way back home, the boy could not help but feel that he didn’t care what his mother – or anyone else – might think.