For six lonely months the Whitehall family traipsed around Europe living in an enormous three-chambered blue pavilion of rugged heavy cloth, a valance of dagged gold festooning the exterior.
We start Chapter 19: Glory of Children, learning a bit about the Whitehall’s precarious situation. We already know Francis’ wife, Midonia, having just had a child, is not happy. She so upset, in fact, she just assaulted him, put her hands on him and their marriage teetered on the edge.
Francis had the fortitude and patience not to act on her aggressive behavior, but it seems they are reaching a breaking point. Francis really needs something good to happen, and he needs it to happen soon.
The pavilion is quite spacious, and Francis earns enough in these tourneys to keep hiring people to help him raise it and take it down.
Midonia wants Francis to give up this dead-end life, forsake his Lord, the Wolfe, and find another wealthy lord to serve.
Francis believes the Wolfe saved him and his mother when they needed him the most, and he can’t turn his back on his lord. But he’s at a loss for answers – a crossroads of sorts.
Francis lowered his wistful gaze and stared hard through the charge, through one of the orange griffins embroidered on his surcoat.
Francis’ argument with Midonia in the tent began because he couldn’t find his surcoat. In her anger and rage, she knocked over the bin of clothes where the surcoat was, allowing him to find it when he needed it – emboldening his faith yet again.
But now that he’s outside the tent, ready to enter the melee, doubts are creeping in. Midonia’s words still sting.
“Lord,” he whispered in earnest, “steady my hands for battle. Lessen my doubts as I take to the field. Forgive my iniquities. Renew in me a right spirit and make me strong. Give me good victory.”
Waiting for the voice of God to reach down to him from the heavens, another voice arrives.
It is Merle Gilmore, his only squire.
Nineteen-year-old Merle Gilmore came dodging through the celebratory throng, his lanky arms filled with knightly objects. The youngster made it through the press before accidently tripping over the last passing heel of the last passing stranger.
Merle, we learn, is a klutz. He’s tall and thin as a pole, completely new to this world of pages, squires and knights. He really has no business being here. He’s too old to still be squiring but he never had the chance before.
Merle had been a sickly lad all his life.
He was bedridden but made no excuses for his infirmary. When he was well enough, he studied. He read every tome and scroll they laid before him. He studied languages and British law.
Merle, if he lived long enough, was destined to be a champion of university studies.
Against all opposition including the rebuke of his parents, Merle dropped out of academia and chased after Francis. He pursued the romanticism of the open road.
With all his learning, Merle still yearned to become a knight. He was smarter than nearly everyone his age but had no practical firsthand experience at doing anything physical. And going on the road could literally kill him. But he was old enough now to decide for himself, and he decided to become a squire at an advanced age.
The breeze deviated once more. It came from the south and brought with it the faint sound of weeping.
We know that inside the tent, after Francis left, Midonia decided not to care for their daughter Anne although the babe was crying.
Francis heard his daughter cry now.
He went up to the tent and touched it. And as he touched it, he prayed.
Merle stared in awe. A lump developed in the back of his throat, his eyes glistening like the shiny objects in his hands.
While he was in his sickbed, his uncle, Geoffrey Clayton Wolfe, Francis’ lord, would entertain Merle with stories about Francis’ deeds. Francis Whitehall became a legend in Merle’s mind. A hero.
Merle knew this decision could kill him, but it was worth it to be here serving the Griffin.
Moments like this one, moments where he could see the Griffin meek and humble before God, his long blond head bowed in reverant prayer, his fingers gently touching the blue tent, his steadfast spirit seeking guidance and mercy, amazed Merle to no end.
Merle came to know hope. Hope was his medicine. And this medicine worked. He survived and served. He lived the life he wanted to live.
Francis ended his prayer and turned to see his fantast squire staring at him, watching him.
He whispered, “And the glory of children are their fathers.”
This is from Proverbs 17:6, and Merle didn’t know it but Francis wasn’t only talking about Anne. He saw Merle as his son. He desperately wanted the boy to achieve his dream of becoming a knight.
And that’s all I got for you today.
In the next post, we’ll find Francis forging an unlikely alliance with a stranger he meets at the melee.
Until next time, stay inspired and keep reading!
Author Allen M Werner 
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