Château de Blois
Blois, France
1395
Blois, France
1395
The early morning light streamed in through the chapel's vaulted, stained-glass windows, the colored light visible in the floating smoke of burning incense, forming rays in the air sometimes called the "fingers of God." The squire's knees ached. He'd been kneeling at prayer for hours on end in the chapel after a day of fasting. This final rite was known as the vigil, and was meant to ready the squire to accept his vows in service to others. He'd been kneeling all through the night, humbling himself in preparation. The squire heard the clank of armor long before Sir Henri's form darkened the chapel's door. It was time.
Attendants helped the squire stand, his legs sore and cramped from his long devotion. They stripped away the homespun rags he'd chosen to wear and cast them into a brazier, symbolizing the end of his youth and ascent to something greater. He was dressed in a simple white linens, representing the purity of his order. Over that he shrugged into a long red robe, for his willingness to be wounded in battle. Lastly, the attendants draped him in black woolen vestments, honoring his readiness to die for his liege lord. He carried no arms or armor to the investiture, though a page bore a rowan shield painted with the arms of his house.
He knelt again, his knees creaking in protest. The priests daubed him in oil, and he repeated the words of prayer after them. Next, his master stood before him and recited the code of chivalry he had sworn to uphold, striking him a blow known as the colée, that he would remember the seriousness of the words. Finally, the duke rose from his seat and took a gilt sword from its sheath. The squire spoke the final oath of fealty before the duke, who tapped him once on each shoulder with the flat of the blade. His master reached out a gauntleted hand, and helped the weary, hungry young man to his feet, a squire no longer.
"Rise a knight, Sir Menalque."
