[The British Isles, Northumbria, York, April of 793]
"Make way for the lord and his cart!" bellowed the lead peasant, a sharp edge to his voice that sliced through the general clamor.
The common folk in the queue, weary travelers, merchants with their goods, and locals returning home, grumbled but quickly parted, the sight of William's imposing, armored figure lending heavy weight to the command.
They moved their carts and livestock aside, creating a path to the guard post. Harold, walking close to William's side, felt a small thrill of importance as people bowed their heads or stepped back respectfully.
William, however, frowned deeply at the man's actions. The man's eagerness to please grated on him.
He stepped forward, raising a hand in apology to the line of people. "My apologies," William announced, his voice carrying well beyond the immediate vicinity.
"We will wait our turn like all others." The grumbling of the crowd subsided into confused silence. The lead peasant looked utterly bewildered, unsure of how to react to this strange thegan.
William simply turned his back on the guard post and moved to the end of the line, his massive, armored presence now simply another part of the queue. He pointed a stern finger at Harold and the cart. "You as well. We wait."
Harold's small thrill of importance evaporated instantly, and he dejectedly helped move the cart back into the line with the peasants.
The cart creaked forward, passing under the looming shadow of the gatehouse. Just inside, a reeve waited behind a rough wooden table.
He was a stern, balding man in a simple tunic, attended by two burly guards armed with spears. "Halt," the reeve commanded, his eyes scanning the cart and the boar, resting finally on the armed and armored William.
"Goods for sale must be assessed for the King's toll. What is your name, thegn, and what is your business in Eoforwic?"
William stepped forward, the heavy warhammer hanging casually at his back. "The name is Gwyndolin Blackfyre."
The reeve, holding a small wax tablet and stylus, paused and frowned. "Gwyndolin?" he repeated, the name sounding foreign on his Northumbrian tongue; it was clearly Welsh.
His gaze sharpened, moving to the second, unusual word. "Blackfyre?" He looked genuinely puzzled.
He searched his memory, which held maps of every town, village, and river within the shire boundaries and beyond; no place named Blackfyre existed.
Even so, no self-respecting thegn would present himself so informally, simply by name. It is always 'Ealdorman Oswald of the Wolds' or 'Thegn Oswulf of Bamburgh,' clearly stating their holdings and their oath-lord.
"I'm no thegn," William said, voice steady. "Just a man looking for work in the city. I came across this boar and hunted it. The land belongs to all men equally; God made it so. No king has the right to forbid any man from taking what he needs to live."
A quiet fell over the gatehouse.
The reeve froze, stylus halfway raised. His expression shifted from suspicion to something between disbelief and outrage.
To the Reeve, the situation was clear as day: this armored giant was nothing more than an arrogant commoner, wearing gear far above his station, attempting to play the part of a lord.
The impudence of having two names, coupled with the audacity of dragging his illegal kill right to the king's gates, was a step too far. The man had no respect for the law or the social order.
"Boy," he said slowly, as if explaining to a madman, "this land belongs to His Grace King Æthelred, by God's will. The beasts of the forest, the grain in the fields, and the river's fish. You speak treason as lightly as a child reciting a rhyme."
The guards took a step forward, spear angling just slightly toward William.
The reeve continued, voice sharpening like a knife: "No free man may hunt boar in royal forest. No commoner may wear armor suited for a lord. And no wanderer may invent a name like 'Blackfyre' and expect to pass inside my gates unquestioned."
William looked at the spear pointed at him and he moved his hand to push harold backwards The people in the line seeing the commission retreated backwards; as for the peasants whom Harold brought, they fled quietly, cursing under their breath their luck that brought upon them a mad peasant playing lord.
"See, Harold," William began, entirely ignoring the reeve's outrage and the guards' menacing posture. "There are many paths a knight may follow. According to the code, the best and most honorable path now would be to maintain courtesy and deference to law. I should speak truthfully and honorably about my beliefs and my intent. I should prioritize the safety of companions by ensuring they are not harmed, and then, I should surrender to lawful arrest, trusting in the justice of a court to hear my plea. I should even seek noble intercession from a higher lord to prove my worth and my truth."
The reeve, his face a mask of disbelief and fury, was about to bellow a command when William's demeanor shifted. The air around him seemed to grow heavier, denser. His casual stance hardened, and the glint in his eye turned from philosophical to focused. He ceased to be a teacher and became a force of nature.
"But today's lesson, Harold, is not about that path," he continued, his voice now a low rumble that carried more authority than any king's command.
"Today's lesson is about the warrior aspects of the code: conviction, skill, and the right to self-determination against what he perceives as unjust law."
He turned his gaze fully to the reeve and the guards, his eyes burning with an almost frightening intensity.
"The code demands I avoid killing innocents and act with purpose. I have no quarrel with you, good men. But you stand between me and my righteous path. Take heed, and stand aside."