You can feel it in the land still, if you’re quiet enough. The way the past breathes up through the soil. We talk of the great warriors, the high kings, the men who stood shield to shield with sword and…
I came across him not in a book, but in a footnote misquoted in the margin of another. It was a binding so cracked it seemed to wheeze when opened, part of a bundle I’d been lent by a Flemish…...
I don’t remember when exactly. Could’ve been Lyon. Or Toulouse. Maybe Montpellier. It hardly matters now, except for the sound of rain. A persistent, whispering sort, seeping into the bones of an evening too worn to protest. I had been…
At times, especially within historical investigations, things become fleeting and elusive. The past ceases to be a fragile record and becomes the superficial memory of a chronicler. However, there are moments when it stirs, gathering a strange, electric energy, and…
There are few things as revealing of a nation’s soul as the way it arms itself, not merely in the sense of conquest and defence, but in the quiet rituals and peculiar allegiances woven into its martial traditions. A nation’s…...
“The king, his heart resolute, called upon his knights, ‘Where is my son, Charles?’ They replied, ‘Sire, we know not; we believe he fights on.’ Then he declared, ‘Loyal companions, lead me into the fray, that I may strike but…...