Chivalry In The Shadows – Meg Wahlberg

It would stir the superstitions of the servants, resurrecting old worries over the haunted marshes and Clement’s curse. He steered Ash to town, towing the rickety cart. His wounds ached as the cart rattled over the cobbled lane. Roland, slumped in the box seat, pulled up in front of Lechón Tavern. He released the reins in exhaustion. The moss-green paint on the doors was chipping away. The sign depicting a cauldron squeaked on its iron hinges as a dull breeze disturbed it.

Roland eased himself down from the driver’s box. As far as his injuries went, they were more of a nuisance than they were disabling. His shoulder felt numb after working the reins, and his back stung terribly, but he had enough strength in him to stable his horse. The bug-eaten door to the stable swung open, and Cat came through. She screamed when she saw him.

“Easy, Cat!” Roland cried, turning so she could see it was him. “It’s only me. And this is not my blood.” “Are you in need of a room?” “I am.” “Go inside and wash. I will finish up here. Go.” Roland remembered that she was tending the tavern alone. Fortunately, it was a slow night with only a few men playing dice at the tables. They certainly noticed the man covered in blood and they drifted over to him as he dug through cupboards looking for Cat’s dingy old wash basin.

“What happened to you?” inquired the tailor. “I fought a lion,” said Roland, knowing they would not believe him. It seemed as unlikely as if he had said he fought a dragon. “A lion, Roland?” The mason’s skepticism was met with the other men’s scattered chuckles. Roland removed the sopping red tatters of his bloodied shirt, showing them the shoddy stitchwork on his back and shoulder. The men got close, scrutinizing the wounds and sounding out in amazement. “A lion!” Roland roared, scrunching his hands into claws.

Ever the troubadour, he recounted the tale for them, beginning with his encounter in his own forest when the men robbed him of the stag. No part of his tale required embellishment. He showed them his father’s cross, which still oozed a trail of blood down his chest. Cat came in, arms heavy at her sides, jaw slackening with a yawn.

As Roland’s tale continued to unfold, she found a stool and leaned in on her knees. When Roland spoke of the lion, her eyes went wide. “We close now!” she shouted at the end of his fantastical tale. “If you haven’t a room here, you can stagger home to your wives.” The men gathered their cloaks and packed up their dice, though one of them complained that his wife had died, and Cat should have remembered that.

“Wait,” said Cat to one of the men, a younger lad with a round face. She handed him a coin. “Ride to the manor,” she said.

This is a work of historical fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental. Copyright © 2024 by Meg Wahlberg All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America First Edition, 2024 No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

ISBN 979-8-9909499-0-4 (paperback) ISBN 979-8-9909499-1-1 (hardcover) ISBN 979-8-9909499-2-8 (ebook) ISBN 979-8-9909499-3-5 (audiobook) Cover art © Kurt Wahlberg Doxel Arts DoxelArts.com Parkwood Manor Press An imprint of Late Bird Media, LLC Parkwoodpress.com Follow us on Instagram @parkwood_manor_press 1kitap1.com/en In loving memory of Jim DeAngelis (1968-2023) advocate, friend, and mentor. 1kitap1.com/en ACKNOWLEDGMENTS I would like to acknowledge the countless scholars of literature and history whose research assisted this speculative vision of medieval Brittany.

A bibliography appears at the end of the book, detailing the books I used as references when I wrote this novel. I would also like to thank my readers and friends who have supported me and contributed to this work. Some of you provided critical feedback on this project. Some of you kept me safe on the battlefield at Pennsic 49. Others advanced my position or took a chance on me when nobody else would. Thank you for inviting me into your world of magic.

Each of you inspires me. Melissa Perry Hilary Kamien Dmitry Feller Baron Brandubh Donnghaile Baroness Hilderun Hügelmann Baron Jean Phillipe Gillies Baroness Caterine de Troyes Sir Guillaume le Noir The Honorable Lady Svava Jórudóttir Tracy Hall Kaleb Khaine Eckart Fenris Wolfe Grossheim Allie Terracina Will Kim Gayle Fallon Daniel A. Gilmore Lauren Quoraishee PJ Storm-Artis Stefanie Babb Kurt Wahlberg Paul Minkovich Jen Minkovich Mary Fan Elizabeth Ohlmuller Caroline Elyse David 1kitap1.com/en PREFACE You may be wondering why I wrote this book, or perhaps, when I had the time.

For the last six years, I have been a Ph.D. student at Louisiana State University, juggling teaching, parenting, and writing my dissertation. In truth, I could not have finished my dissertation without writing this novel. History is an exercise of invention. As I wrote my dissertation, I found myself struggling to conceptualize certain aspects of medieval life.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

Book Information

• Unique ID: 0633fcf13dfe01e4
• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 2,466,568 bytes (2.352 MB)
• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• ISBN: 9798990949904, 9798990949911, 9798990949928, 9798990949935
• Pages: 275
• Language: English (en)

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• Estimated Reading Time: 465.71 minutes
• Total Words: 93,143
• Total Characters: 519,625
• Average Words per Page: 338.7
• Average Characters per Page: 1889.55

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