My Truth A Mist In Time

The lad ran his eyes over the landscape; breathing in the quiet beauty of the ancient settlement and the vanished people who once called the place home. John marveled at the unique patterns carved by the low ridges formed of stone and sod embankments that marked the hillside. Then he looked north toward Fawdon Dean and the boundaries of Ingram. The beauty of the Cheviot; the variegated hills his grandmother so often spoke about. "My own paradise too dear Gran," he said softly.  John finally ended his reverie; turned his attention once more to the trail. The two brave explorers, squire and palfrey rounded the next bend; suddenly, quite unexpectedly the noble beast lost his footing. The palfrey had caught his foot in a sinking hole leading deep inside the surface of the rock edifice and perilously snapped his front leg, throwing his unsuspecting rider in his fall. The poor animal slid forward then toppled to the side.

The strain on the animal’s face, the fear in his eyes was striking as the palfrey struggled desperately in his attempt to miss the squire in his unsteady state. Sadly no matter which way the ambler tried to move, the surface seemed to give way beneath. John had just recovered his own footing and was about to stand when his buddy, his life long companion tumbled perilously, crushing and nearly severing the boy’s left leg under the weight of is girth. It was terrible timing for horse and man; the lad fell back again, pinned by his friend, he was unable to get up. The palfrey struggled still trying to right himself; the lad screamed for assistance but for the winds swirling on the hills his cries could not be heard. It was Beatrice who responded first; her mother’s instincts telling her something was very wrong. She had barely seen her son from the corner of her eye when she turned, shrieked in horror for the grueling sight up in the distance before her.

Archie bolted to the scene followed closely by the de Segrave vassals, the knight and squire who had served in his mother’s household. As one rescuer grabbed for the reins of the palfrey, another brought his Jethart stave to prop up the horse, enabling Archie to pull his son to safety. The bloody limb once buried beneath the palfrey was an ugly sight; a warrior’s worse nightmare. The Douglas knight and father knew at once if his son survived the ordeal that was to follow that would never lead a normal life of a knight and soldier.

Archie was still administering to his son’s injuries when he heard the other family members coming up the trail. He told Beatrice to stay back where she was but the lady refused to listen. When she arrived at her son’s side her horrified grimace spoke what others dared not say. The youthful visage of the handsome Douglas squire was straining hard to conceal the great agony  that riddled his body. But his sorrow also extended to his friend; his palfrey must be destroyed for his grave injury. The lad had tears streaming down his checks. “Here son, bite down on this,” the father told him as he handed him his leather gauntlet. Archie knew that unless he acted quickly the lad would be too weakened; and worse, an infection born of black blood would take John’s life. He decided on a course of action: to sever the pulverized flesh and bone from just below the knee. “Sweet bride use your strength for prayers; this father must remove a leg to stave off the cancrena,” he said; using the Latin word for gangrene to emphasize the peril at hand.

“Dear son, sweet John,” he began. “This day you must become a man; as if a warrior in battle you shall be brave this knight does known it so.” Archie got out his dagger and began barking orders. “Prepare the silk from this cote; to cut it in strips,” he said as he quickly removed the covering from his torso. Beatrice had been observing the scene patiently and now doubted her husband’s ability to complete the surgery. “No!” screamed the would-be surgeon’s wife. The lady then insisted to her husband that amputating John’s leg below the knee was not the appropriate answer for his injury.

Eleanora seemed to sense her way through the tearful exchange between her parents; grabbed her mother’s hand and walked her away from where her father and brother were engaged in resigned states for what must take place to spare the lad’s life. The men at arms who knew of battle scurried to build a small fire; they would have to seal the wound with hot iron