The winter of 957 brought more than just bitter cold to Oakenheart Castle. Rumors of Danish raiders moving closer to Saxon territories created an atmosphere of constant tension. William, now sixteen, found himself thrust into his first real test of martial skill.
A small scouting party of Danish warriors had been spotted near the castle's northern borders. Sir Edmund, recognizing the opportunity to test his son's mettle, selected William to join the reconnaissance mission. It would be his first true exposure to potential combat.
The morning was bitter, frost coating the landscape in a cruel, glittering embrace. William's breath formed clouds in the air as he mounted his horse - a sturdy bay stallion bred for both speed and endurance. His equipment was sparse but carefully chosen: a lightweight chainmail shirt, a round wooden shield reinforced with iron bands, and a short sword that had belonged to his grandfather.
As they rode out, William observed the other knights. These were not the practiced movements of training, but the alert, predatory stance of men who had seen real battle. Every movement was calculated, every glance scanning the horizon for potential threats.
By midday, they discovered the raider's trail - broken branches, disturbed ground, the occasional discarded piece of equipment. William's training kicked in. He understood now that tracking was as much an art as combat itself.
Their first encounter came suddenly. A group of three Danish warriors emerged from a small copse of trees, their axes gleaming in the weak winter sunlight. William's heart raced, but his training held. He followed his father's instructions precisely - maintaining formation, using his shield as both protection and a potential weapon.
The brief skirmish was brutal and swift. William's first true strike came against a warrior who had momentarily overextended. His sword found its mark, a clean blow that would haunt his dreams for months to come.