Garridan’s eyes fluttered as his finely tuned biological clock cruelly took him from the warm embrace of his slumber, but that wasn’t the only embrace he would have to leave behind as the cruel sun rose beckoning the dawn. Eyes adjusting to the ever-blackness of the cave, Garridan was both surprised and disappointed that his internal alarm still worked yards below the ground in the constant night of the sandstone caves. More disappointment soon followed as he began to unravel his embrace from his best friend, Jal. Perhaps, less of an embrace and more of an entangled mess. Prying himself from Jal’s grasp, Garridan rolled once and razed into a crouch, gazing at his friend. The deep feelings of compassion, pride, and companionship arose bringing with them doubt and regret. Garridan knew such feelings well, they had been with him for many years and always showed up when he had to say goodbye to Jal.
The two had always been friends, Garridan knew this much. What he didn’t know was if that would continue if Jal knew Garridan’s heart, all of it. They were brothers, or close to it. A lot had changed since they had first met, especially since Garridan’s twelfth birthday.
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His father was out hunting, planning to bring his sone a feast as his present. Instead of going out the night before, his father had left that morning – hoping to surprise Garridan – and left a note saying:
I’ve gone out to bring back a feast! Mind the animals and I’ll be back by midmorning. Happy birthday son!
After milking the goats, gathering the eggs, cleaning the pens, and feeding all the animals, Garridan waited in intense anticipation. His mouth watering at the thought of his father bringing home boar, buck, or pheasant. As his stomach told him it was noon, Garridan moved from the barn back to the house, changed and washed in expectation of his father’s arrival. Hungry, but not wanting to ruin his appetite, Garridan munched on a wedge of his favorite cheese: cave aged cheddar.
Lunch past and dinner followed. Garridan would have eaten more but the hunger rumbling in his stomach was replaced by knotted fear. Pa’pa normally doesn’t take this long. I wonder what’s taking so long, he worried.
Young Garridan’s fear grew to panic as the night closed in on the cottage, swallowing the surround. Unable to sleep, he stayed up all night clenching his father’s scarf and balled up by the fireplace. It was spring, but still early in the season when the nights still chilled.
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Garridan’s spine shivered as he remembered that night. He never saw his father again. The fellow huntsmen found him the following day. He was visited by the local friar in the afternoon and was told over lunch – that the friar had brought for him – that his father died from a hunting accident. Garridan was at the funeral, but his father was locked up in a casket. That’s all over now. I may not have a father, but I still have a family. Garridan thought back to the day of the funeral, but after the burial.
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“Garridan! Hey Garridan!” called Jal. “Come over to my place for the night. Betsy made your favorite: cheddar quiche and honey biscuits for dinner and dessert!”
“Sure,” responded Garridan still in a daze.
“Hey, it’ll be fine, you know. I’ll talk to Father, see what I can do.”
“Cool.”
“Let’s get some food in you, I bet Betsy’s cooking will cheer you up!”
The following few days went by quickly for Garridan. He essentially moved out of his old house and into Nottingham Castle with Jal.
The two had always been friends and spent most days exploring Sherwood Forest outside the castle and playing at being Robbin Hood fighting off various enemies. It was awkward the first time they played this game. Garridan had suggested it but both could tell that the other wanted to be Robin Hood, the main hero. Who wouldn’t? Their solution: they never defined either as not being Robin Hood. It was less about being called Robin Hood and more about pretending to be the chivalrous and heroic outlaw that everyone loved.
Jal had begged his father to let Garridan live in the castle. It wasn’t that his father was against the idea, but that Garridan was a distant relative and somewhere between commoner and lower nobility. Garridan – being the only child to his father – would inherit more then Jal who was nobility, the last son, but still nobility.
In order to save face, something had to be done or people would talk. Jal, however, had a solution. Not a perfect fix, but good enough. Garridan would be his squire. He couldn’t be a steward, because only the first son of a baron would need – or deserve – a steward. A servant, however, would be too lowly for the son of a yeoman. But squire, squire was given to lower nobility as preparation and a test for knighthood. Garridan wasn’t quire lower nobility, being a yeoman, but his family had been yeomen for five generations, an elevation had been well overdue. So, Garridan was given the adjoining suite.
Jal insisted that Garridan wasn’t to treat him any different, but Garridan took his post seriously. Also, mother reassigned some of Jal’s servants to Dugan, who wold be needing more as he began to take over more duties from Father, the Baron of Nottingham. Thus, Garridan had more jobs to do to replace the servants. When Jal was sent off to Newstead Abbey, Garridan was returned to his small estate as a yeoman.
This would have been a demotion, but Father promoted Garridan from being a yeoman of Nottinghamshire to the Yeoman of Nottinghamshire. With this came more land, the right to have serfs, and a greater salary from the Baron. It also included greater responsibility. Garridan now supervised the hunting, organized Father’s hunting parties, and reported the hunts to the king’s head yeoman and forester. He was also required to have a horse and set of armor, both ceremonial and battle. Dugan, having taken over more of Father’s duties, saw fit to gift Garridan the horse and set of armor. Dugan’s cruelty showed again when the sets of armor and warhorse were Jal’s sets of armor and warhorse. Father didn’t question it and nor did Mother, but when Jal found out such from Garridan on their first Sunday evening rendezvous at The Pilgrim, he was irate. It was obvious that his family had moved on and his “service” at the abbey was unquestionably permanent.
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Garridan sighed as he remembered all of this whilst gazing at Jal’s sleeping figure. Things have changed. Some might say they are in my favor, but my loneliness has been the price for all of this. We used to see each other every day for all of the day, waking up and falling asleep just down the hall from each other. Now I only see him on Sundays…. Maybe it is for the better, I wouldn’t be able to focus on my new duties if I saw him every day. Oh the cruelty of the winds of change dancing to the pulse of time.