A long time ago in the kingdom of Tesemall, they lived a mighty knight called Sir Barnard. He was a highly-respected warrior and had twice saved the life of his king on the battlefield with his acts of valour, as a reward the king granted him a smaller estate in the foothills of the Hammarot Mountains south of Castleforge.

With the recent war over Sir Barnard took to the life of leisure on his new estate, he would go riding and fishing most days when the weather allowed, and hunting game two or three times a week. He bred hunting dogs. What had started off as a hobby turned into a true passion and a real financial success. Soon he was selling hounds to the masters of the neighbouring estates and then further afield, before long he even presented his beloved king with a pair of his best hunting hounds. Whilst Sir Bernard showed passion and commitment to the breeding of his hounds. His one and only true love was his wife, the fair Lady Eleanor, they had been married for several years and despite desperately wanting it, their union had not yet been blessed with a child.

One day in late autumn Sir Barnard set out to hunt pheasants, he took with him a pair of new hounds who needed the experience, and his best crossbow. He rode through the beech forests which had shed most of their leaves, a few glimmers of orange and yellow hung on stubbornly in sheltered corners. As the day progressed the wind steadily rose, stripping away the last vestiges of colour, the sky faded from blue to grey and then to black. A thunderstorm coming down from the mountains brought with it torrential hail and rain. At the first roaring of thunder the young dogs fled back towards the castle, and the warmth and shelter that the kennels provided. Sir Barnard was soon soaked to the skin, realising he didn’t have any chance of shooting a bird now he was without his hounds, begrudgingly he also turned to head home on a well-known trail. The route passed along the edge of the river that wound itself north through the countryside all the way to Castleforge and eventually the Northern Seas beyond. A mile or so from his home there was a crossroads where two tracks met right at the edge of the woods, the point was marked with an old Druid’s stone which stood as tall as a man and twice as thick. It was carved with lines of ancient runes binding a dragon to the rock, or at least this is what the locals had told their new lord when he asked, but over time the carvings had weathered away, mosses and lichens obscured much of the detail.

Looking now at the marker stone Sir Bernard spotted something small and grey at its base. The creature shivered from the cold and wet. For a moment he thought that it might be a young bird, perhaps a barn owl or some other hunting bird. Thinking that it would be worth investigating the small grey object, he dismounted and walked over to the miserable little thing. As he approached it glanced up at him, so briefly that he didn’t get a good look at it, before it curled up again and continue to tremble. With a large strong hand he picked it up by the scruff of the neck and examined it. It was obviously a pup, whether it was all wolf or part wolfhound was less obvious. It didn’t struggle in his grasp, it merely stared at him with great blue eyes. As small as it was, it had very large paws and a comically large head which suggested it would grow to be a very large hound. After examining the puppies’ ears and teeth Sir Barnard decided it must be part wolfhound at least. With surprising gentleness for such a large man he held the pup to his chest, into his warmth and the little pup barked once to show its appreciation.

On his return to the castle Sir Bernard placed the pup with one of his hounds and her litter, over the coming weeks the grey wolfhound grew and grew. Before the turning of the year at the winter solstice, Sir Bernard decided to name him Gallant, as the youngster displayed all the qualities needed in a knight, he was strong, smart, loyal, obedient, and even at such a young age he showed promise to be a leader of the pack. Gallant was already dominating all the other puppies.

 

In early March when the thick winter snow began to melt, Sir Bernard had two reasons to be filled with joy, firstly he could take Gallant out to begin his training as a hunting dog in earnest, and more importantly his beloved wife had announced that she would be having a baby in October. In his customary style Sir Bernard promised to bring his wife a wild boar to roast at a feast in her honour.

Gallant performed well on that hunt and over the summer he quickly rose within the ranks of the pack. He was a mighty hound, an excellent tracker and with his great size he kept the rest of the hunting dogs in line. He was the swiftest when it came to the chase, and could keep up with any horse for miles and miles. On one hunt he took down a lone wolf that tried to steal the small deer that Sir Bernard had just shot. When indoors the great hound was gentle and mild mannered, he loved to be petted and would occasionally try to climb up into people’s laps like he had done as a puppy. As well as his many other virtues he was a handsome hound, his fine grey fur formed tight little ringlets right across his body, apart from on his belly where his fur was white.

Such a handsome and capable dog drew many admiring gazes and just as many compliments. Other knights offered Sir Bernard much gold in exchange for Gallant, and the king went as far as offering the hound’s weight in silver, to buy him as a present for his eldest son, Prince Nicholas, the Crimson Prince. Graciously Sir Bernard turned down every offer, even the one from his beloved king, he’d become too fond of the great hound.

 

By the time the fair Lady Eleanor’s pregnancy was coming to an end, and the first leaves had turned golden, Gallant was the leader of the pack. He had become a close companion of Sir Bernard, and would sit beside his master’s chair in the great hall at every feast and would sleep in front of his door every night. Gallant had grown so big that Sir Bernard joked that he would get a saddle and bridle made for the dog, so he could ride him if he got any bigger.

On the night fair Lady Eleanor gave birth to her child there was a mighty storm, thunder boomed through the long stone corridors of the castle, the wind rattled the shutters, and the rain came down so hard it threatened to put out the fires as it fell down the chimneys. Sir Bernard barely noticed as he paced outside the door of Lady Eleanor’s bedchamber waiting to hear the news from the midwife. At midnight there was a crack of thunder and lightning struck near to the castle, Gallant who had been at his master’s side all evening watching him restlessly pacing, took to his heels and bolted for the kennels. Thinking his faithful hound had deserted him Sir Bernard was about to follow, when the midwife opened the door to present him with his baby son. All thoughts of Gallant fled from his mind, as he beheld the tiny infant, holding him in one of his huge hands.

In the morning the child was named Arthur, Sir Bernard swore an oath to all ninety-nine gods that he would slay any man or beast who would do his son harm. After this he went looking for his hound, he found Gallant lying across a gap in the wall, where a tree had fallen and badly damaged the kennels. Despite the large hole in the wall non-of the hounds had fled. Realising Gallant had only left him to protect the rest of the pack Sir Bernard forgave him instantly, then took his beloved hound to meet Arthur. Little Arthur took to Gallant at first sight, he reached out his little hands and poked the great beast on the nose, in return Gallant licked the tiny hand with his rough tongue.

 

By the time Arthur was crawling around the castle he become almost inseparable from Gallant, the great dog had taken to sleeping at the foot of the crib and when the baby cried, he would rouse the nursemaid. Gallant would play gently with his young master, never growling or snapping at him, even when Arthur pulled his ears. The only time Gallant left Arthur side was to go out hunting with Sir Bernard, and then only reluctantly.

On Arthur’s first birthday Lady Eleanor took her son and Gallant for a walk in the countryside near the castle, one of their favourite walks was up to the edge of the woods, to the standing stone where Sir Bernard had first found Gallant. That evening a feast was held to honour the young boy, and the guest of honour was the Crimson Prince. Prince Nicolas had gained this title for his skill on the battlefield, now that he commanded his father’s armies. He asked Sir Bernard to join him on the battlefield, as the old knight had served his father so faithfully, when Sir Bernard declined his offer, the prince insisted that he should give him Gallant in his stead, as the great hound would surely keep him safe in combat. As much as he wanted to please Prince Nicolas, Sir Bernard simply couldn’t part with Gallant, he explained how the hound was no longer his to giveaway, as he now belonged to young Arthur, and was his protector. Almost as if Gallant could understand his words the dog left his position by Sir Bernard’s chair and went to sit next to young Arthur.

The Crimson Prince was used to getting what he wanted, so to be turned down twice in one evening angered him, if Sir Bernard had not been in such good favour with his father, he may have tried to strip the man of his lands and title. Instead, he plotted, if he couldn’t have Gallant nobody would.

 

Autumn turned to winter and in time winter turned to spring. When the apple trees in the walled orchard behind the castle were in full bloom, Arthur’s nursemaid took him and Gallant outside to enjoy the afternoon sunshine.

Sir Bernard had taken his other hunting hounds out into the woods, but they had been unsuccessful, few hunts went so well these days now that Gallant stayed at home. As he was returning his horse to the stables, he, heard an awful howling coming from the orchard. Recognising the cries of Gallant as he whined and barked, Sir Bernard ran as fast as he could to the orchard gate. The sight that met his eyes was one of utter horror. Next to the gate was Gallant anxiously waiting for him, the great hound was covered in blood. He ran off towards the picnic blanket where Arthur should have been sitting with the nursemaid, the woman lay face down, she was covered in blood, and the blanket was torn and splattered with more blood. There was neither sight nor sound of young Arthur anywhere.

Panic caused Sir Bernard to draw his sword and when Gallant pawed at the dead nursemaid, it was fury that prompted him to drive his blade through him in a single stroke. After all, he had sworn to slay any man or beast that would harm his child. Gallant barely whimpered as he fell, and after a brief moment lay still. The silence in the orchard was abruptly shattered by the muffled cries of a small child. Carefully Sir Bernard rolled the nursemaid onto her back and saw that in her arms she clutched the blood splattered boy The poor woman had taken a crossbow bolt in the throat and had died almost instantly, still holding the child.

When Sir Bernard and his men searched the orchard thoroughly, they discovered an intruder dressed in dark green, the cloth was made darker by his own spilt blood. He lay in the shadow of one of the apple trees by the wall, and so had been unseen by Sir Bernard when he had first entered the orchard. The man had been savaged by Gallant and had his throat ripped out. When the soldiers searched the intruder’s bag, they found several coils of rope and a leather muzzle that was big enough to have restrained Gallant.

Understanding the situation now, Sir Bernard realised that the intruder had come to steal Gallant, and had shot the nursemaid to keep her quiet. Then the intruder had tried to wrestle the great dog, but Gallant had proven too strong and killed the man, believing that he was protecting Arthur. Racked with guilt and remorse Sir Bernard wept over the body of his beloved dog, who had been so loyal, so strong, and so faithful.

That night under the light of the full moon Sir Bernard took Gallant’s body to the standing stone on the edge of the woods. He dug a great pit at its foot, in which to bury his faithful companion, at the same spot where he had found him.

Dawn was breaking when Sir Bernard finished his work, He turned to look upon the sunrise and swore that Gallant would never be forgotten. He would tell the story to his son, and have him tell it to his children and so on to keep the legend alive. In the years that came he told this tale to anyone who cared to listen, often with a tear in his eye.

 

This was all hundreds of years ago, but you can still find the standing stone at the edge of the woods, it has now been worn almost smooth by the passing of time and weather. Some folks in those parts still say that on stormy nights you can hear Gallant howling as he patrols the forest, but that might just be an old wives’ tale, the only way to be certain, is to go and investigate for yourself.

 

The end.