Alexander had never ridden a horse before. He had imagined it would be something like riding a motorcycle, but soon realized how mistaken that comparison had been.
The animal's uneven gallop was anything but stable, and the sensation of speed paled in comparison to a Honda Biz, let alone a real motorcycle.
In hindsight, it even seemed foolish to have made such a comparison.
Along the way, he made several observations: there were no paved roads connecting the regions, only beaten dirt, which made mobility difficult and the journey uncomfortable.
The smell of the forest surprised his sense of smell, once dulled by years of smoking in his past life, now catching unfamiliar aromas: damp wood, decomposing leaves, and the distant scent of wild animals.
It was a new world, more alive, and at the same time, more brutal.
In the distance, Alexander and Hugues spotted a fortification: a grey stone castle, with high towers that tore through the overcast sky.
Heraldic banners fluttered from the battlements in the wind. The breeze carried with it the pungent scent of nature and a faint hint of rust.
Around the fortification stretched a village made up of crudely built wooden huts, their thatched roofs blackened by soot and time.
The ground was compacted dirt, marked by irregular trails carved by the constant comings and goings of the inhabitants.
Children ran barefoot between the houses, laughing, while women carried buckets of water or laundry to wash.
Men with tired expressions stacked firewood, tended to animals, or sharpened tools, casting curious and, at times, suspicious glances at the newcomers.
Hugues seemed unbothered by the stares, which had followed them since they crossed into the village.
With a slight shrug, he commented softly:
"These people are wary of foreigners because of the plague that swept through Marseille. But don't concern yourself with them."
Alexander simply nodded, maintaining a neutral expression, though he could feel the tension in the air. Those looks weren't just suspicious, there was fear in them. And fear is the fuel of hysteria.
To him, it felt more like the prelude to a mob of angry peasants, torches and pitchforks in hand, about to launch a damned inquisition.
The setting, though picturesque, exuded the kind of tension that precedes tragedies, in films, or worse, in history books.
Still, as Hugues led him through the castle's walls and interior passages, Alexander couldn't hide his fascination: the sound of boots echoing over ancient stone, heraldic banners whipping in the wind, the smell of iron and oil.
As they walked down the cold corridors of the castle, Hugues decided to share some information to prepare Alexander for what lay ahead.
"Allow me to formally introduce myself," he said. "My name is Hugues de Ventoire. I come from a noble line and am a knight, though I possess no fief of my own, unlike our lord, Baron of Aubagne, Guillaume des Baux."
Hugues paused briefly, studying the young man before continuing:
"You are now a page, as I've already told you. There are others like you, and soon you will have the chance to meet them. The Baron maintains about six knights under his command, along with several pages in training."
"As my page, it will be your task to remain close to me. I intend to make you my squire, and for that, I'll need you by my side at all times, assisting me in all duties."
Ahead of them, a door caught Alexander's attention. Hugues gestured for him to stay silent and warned:
"Remain quiet and speak only if spoken to by the lord."
With a slight push, Hugues opened the heavy wooden door.
Inside, several children, presumably other pages and a few knights were gathered.
At the center of the room stood the imposing figure of a man whose gaze seemed to cut through the air like a sharp blade.
The man radiated authority and experience. His face, marked by subtle scars, suggested a life filled with combat. His eyes, a pale and penetrating blue, scrutinized every detail with rigor and discernment.
He wore polished armor, over which hung a heavy cloak dyed in deep shades of red. When his eyes met Alexander's, there was a moment of silence, heavy with meaning, as if he were already assessing the boy before a single word had been spoken.
Alexander thought to himself, a crooked smile forming on his lips: "This reminds me of a job interview."
He sneered inwardly, "What are you looking at, you filthy wretch?"
As if he had heard his thoughts, the man furrowed his brow and asked in a firm voice:
"Are these the pages?"
A bearded knight stepped forward with the ease of someone used to the scene and replied, "Yes, my lord."
The Baron cast a firm gaze over them all and continued:
"Very well, I believe I should clarify the situation."
"Pages, you were chosen by your knights and masters. If you prove your worth, you may have the chance to rise in station, becoming squires and, perhaps one day, knights."
"This opportunity is a rare honor, granted to few."
"I am Guillaume des Baux, Baron of this territory, and I expect total dedication to my service from you."
"Now..." Guillaume paused for a moment before pointing to Hugues, "Sir Hugues will lead you to your lodgings, where you will begin your life as pages."
Alexander noticed, in that brief exchange, a subtle tone of disdain directed at Hugues, but said nothing.
It was exactly as Hugues had instructed him: stay quiet and inconspicuous.
"Follow me, pages," Hugues said, a cold smile on his lips.
As Hugues led the children through the corridors, Guillaume gathered the remaining knights for a meeting.
The council chamber was silent, save for the occasional crackle of fire in the torches, casting dancing shadows across the tense faces of the assembled knights.
The atmosphere, austere and cold, reflected the grim climate that hung over the Barony of Aubagne.
Baron Guillaume des Baux remained seated, hands resting on the arms of a carved throne. His narrowed eyes swept across the faces of his men attentive, impatient.
Though he belonged to the prestigious House of des Baux, once influential in the County of Provence and with grand ambitions in the past Guillaume now found himself shackled by a modest reality.
He was only a baron, a title that, while respectable, confined his authority to a small territory and forced him to deal with matters far too mundane for a man of his temperament.
That disparity between his noble lineage and his practical function gnawed at him in silence.
"The reports are clear, my lord," said Sir Armand, breaking the silence. His tone was grave. "The plague has taken a large portion of the population. The survivors are disorganized, starving, and the surrounding lands have become dangerous. Just yesterday, raiders attacked a caravan near the old mill."
"That's not all," added Sir Bertrand, crossing his arms. "Shepherds have reported missing animals. Not just wolves... something larger. A carcass was found torn to pieces in the northern fields. It looked more like a massacre than a hunt."
"Superstition," muttered one of the knights, though his voice lacked conviction.
"Even so," Bertrand continued, "be it beast, monster, or man, our borders are vulnerable. We need to act."
Sir Armand leaned forward slightly, pressing the matter: "We must train the older pages. Teach them the basics spear, shield. They may not be ready for battle, but they can bolster the guard and quell unrest. As for the peasants... we'll form militias. They'll defend their villages and send warnings if invaded."
"And the foreigners?" questioned another knight. "The plague came through the ports. Marseille is in ruins. We must close our borders. No traveler without the castle's approval should be allowed on the roads."
The baron listened in silence, his jaw clenched, short nails digging into the wood of the table.
It was necessary. He knew it. But the economic impact of these measures would only worsen the barony's fragile finances.
With a sigh, he lifted his head.
"Do as you see fit," he said, voice firm. "Train the pages. Organize the militias. And keep strangers out."
His voice rang like steel being bent tense, heated, and on the verge of breaking.
"But if these creatures that roam by night are not merely wolves," he added coldly, "I want to know. I will not tolerate something unknown strutting through my lands."
The knights nodded in silence.
Guillaume turned to the narrow window behind him. Outside, the wind howled like an ancient omen.
Times were changing, and if the demographic crisis continued to spread, perhaps the very order they knew would change... for better or worse.
Meanwhile, Alexander and the pages were led to what Hugues had called a "room" though, upon entering, he quickly realized the more appropriate word would have been dormitory.
The space was long, with bare stone walls and only a narrow window high up, through which light entered timidly.
The floor was worn wood, scattered here and there with straw. Along one wall, six crude cots stood side by side, with simple wool blankets and pillows so thin they hardly earned the name.
Five of the cots were already occupied. Alexander observed the other boys as he entered his future peers and, possibly, rivals.
Hugues stopped at the door, surveying the dormitory one last time. His gaze passed over the boys like a general inspecting recruits before a march. Then, he rested his eyes on Alexander and said in a calm tone, devoid of affection:
"Take this time to rest. Tomorrow you begin work as a true page."
Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heels and walked out. The groan of the wooden door closing echoed in the room, followed by a thick silence.
The eyes of the other five boys settled on Alexander with intensity: curiosity, indifference, mild disdain.
Alexander cleared his throat and tried to mask the tension with an awkward smile. He took two steps forward, stopping beside his cot.
"Hi. I'm Alexander..." he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "I arrived today with Sir Hugues."
Pierre, the eldest, was the first to respond with a raised eyebrow and a tone laced with fatigue and disdain:
"You from some backwater village, or just a noble's bastard trying his luck?"
Alexander hesitated. It was a loaded question and likely a trap.
"I... came from a village. I was taken in by a priest at first, but Sir Hugues brought me here."
Pierre merely grumbled something inaudible and lay back on his cot, turning his face to the wall.
Silence threatened to return, but then Olivier, the lively redhead, sat up on his straw mattress with a friendly smile.
"Did you hear the baron say we could become knights?"
Martin, the boy with hard features, looked over his shoulder and spoke in a deep voice:
"He said squires. It's hard to become a knight means becoming a noble."
Étienne, a bit scrawny, simply nodded, a timid gesture, almost imperceptible.
He pulled the blanket up to his chin, his bright eyes standing out.
Thibaut, with impeccable posture, remained silent for a moment. Only when Alexander began unpacking his bundle of plain clothes did he comment:
"I heard if you wake up after the bell, you'll run two extra laps in the yard. Just so you know."
"Seriously?"
"Yes."
With a sigh, Alexander sat on the edge of the cot. The straw mattress sagged beneath his weight, creaking.