As the training concluded, Sir Edmund dismissed the other squires but kept William behind. From a nearby chest, he retrieved an old, carefully maintained manuscript - a family chronicle that documented their military history.
"Sit," he commanded, and William obeyed.
The manuscript was a testament to their family's legacy. Pages detailed battles fought during the Norse invasions, campaigns against rival Saxon lords, and the intricate web of loyalty and conflict that defined their existence.
Sir Edmund's finger traced a particular passage, describing a battle fought by William's grandfather against Danish raiders. "Honor is not just about winning," he explained, his voice softening slightly. "It is about understanding the delicate balance between violence and protection. A true knight does not seek war, but is always prepared for its inevitability."
William listened intently, absorbing not just the words, but the deeper meanings hidden between them. He was learning that being a knight was far more complex than simply wielding a sword. It was a philosophical commitment, a way of life that demanded absolute dedication.
As the afternoon light began to fade, Sir Edmund closed the manuscript. "Tomorrow, you will learn about our current political landscape. The threats we face are not just from external raiders, but from the complex political maneuverings of Saxon lords who would see our family's influence diminished."
William nodded, understanding that his education was as much about strategy and diplomacy as it was about martial skill. The world of a 10th-century knight was a intricate dance of violence, honor, and survival.
That night, as he lay in his chamber, William reflected on the day's lessons. The path of a knight was not chosen - it was inherited, a birthright both magnificent and terrifying. And he was just beginning to understand the depths of what that truly meant.