The brass ring was suspended in the air between two trees, and William was bearing down with his lance aimed at it.

 

“Faster,” he yelled.

 

Since the horse had been decommissioned in the meanwhile, William and Roland had come up with another idea.

 

They had fetched a hay cart from a village nearby, and fixed it so William could sit on it the way he would on a horse. It was exactly like a chariot, only it was pulled by disgruntled Roland and furious Wat.

 

“Faster!” William yelled, again.

 

He couldn’t read their minds, but the expression on their faces said they wanted to kill him. But for some reason, they didn’t do so, instead, they pulled harder.

 

William smiled, barely keeping from bursting into laughter. The result being that he swung his lance far wide and missed the brass ring.

 

“Oh no,” he said, feigning disappointment as the hay cart came to a halt. “Looks like I missed.”

 

Roland and Wat were panting like warhorses, sweating like the lid of a steaming pot, and red with anger like molten iron.

 

“Come on, ponies,” William said to them, smiling. “Let’s do it again.”

 

Roland and Wat looked at each other and nodded. “I’m going to kill you!” they yelled at once and chased after William.

 

Evening came again, and they set up fire to keep them warm. The trio sat round the cackling fire, staring into the bright yellow, dancing flames.

 

William had a stick with him and drew in the dirt.

 

“What are you doing?” asked Wat.

 

“Drawing,” William replied, “I was thinking we’d need a banner, a flag, something to represent our new identities.”

 

“What’s the use? We can always use Sir Hector’s flag,” said Wat, running his tongue over his lower lip.

 

“No, no, we can’t use that,” William quickly countered. “Sir Hector was famous in his time, anybody can recognize his white stag. We need something new, something unique to us alone.”

 

Roland grunted as he lay on his back. “That’s true,” he said. “We should go for a lion then. A big lion for pride and country.”

 

“I agree,” said Wat, “or a donkey for perseverance and peasants.”

 

William hissed. “Don’t be silly both of you,” he said, “Everybody uses a lion, and we certainly—” he glared at Wat. “—cannot use a donkey.”

 

“Fine, fine,” said Roland, “I’m thinking you already have something in mind then?”

 

“Yes,” said William.

 

“Why waste our time then? You could’ve just told us instead,” Wat said, indignantly.

 

“Because we’re all in this together, and I was hoping you two had better ideas than mine.”

 

“And we did not?” Wat asked.

 

“I suggest a phoenix,” William said, turning to Roland. “A bird that rises from the ashes of its ruins into a wonder.”

 

“Phoenix? What’s that?” asked Wat. “I’ve never seen one before.”

 

“You will, when I draw it on our banner,” said William, smiling.

 

“Your banner,” Roland corrected. “We’re just your humble squires.”

 

William drew a flag in the dirt and on it, a phoenix.

 

“It’s our flag, and because our stories are the same, we’d have a phoenix representing our rise from ruins,” he sighed. “And maybe in a future not too far away, we’d tell those who care to listen how we made a beginning of our end.”

 

Roland sat up and grinned from ear to ear, the glowing flame painted a side of his face golden yellow as he stared at William.

 

“You sound like a Poet,” said Roland.

 

“Oh, but I told you already,” said William, “I am a poet at heart.”

 

They slept that night, and each of their dreams, they dared to hope for victory. Indeed, maybe it was the first time in their adult lives that they’d ever imagine they stood a chance at changing their faraway, expired star.

 

When they woke the next morning, there was a smile from pleasant dreams on their faces. None of them worried about the wild games dwindling the past few days, or about the clothes that begged to be replaced. Their spirits blessed them with such joy, that their current misfortune did nothing to douse their happy souls.

 

“Put on your armor, William,” Roland said that morning. “I think it’s time you trained in that. You have got to get used to the weight and restrictions of that metal.”

 

“Listen Roland,” Wat began, stretching his back. “I love William and want him to succeed, but I can’t pull him like a pony today. My back hurts, and I’m certain I’ll kill him without blaming the devil if he teases me.”

 

Roland bobbed his head. “We are not pulling him on land, and I’m certain he won’t have a name for us this time.”

 

William looked from Roland to Wat, back and forth. His eyes dimmed in suspicion. “What are you two up to?”

 

“Oh,” said Roland, chuckling. “You’ll soon find out.”

 

Roland and Wat went to a small village up the river while William wore the armor. And when they returned, they did with a dory and two thick woven ropes.

 

“What’s that for?” William asked behind his visor.

 

Roland didn’t answer. He took the brass ring and string they used for practice and tied it across the river so the brass ring was dangling over the flowing water.

 

He then returned to William.

 

“Get in,” he ordered.

 

Once William was in the dory, his lance in one hand and arms spread out for balance, Roland fastened one end of the two ropes to the dory.

 

Now, the river was a narrow one; about ten feet across. Roland crossed to the other side with one end of the ropes and Wat remained with the other rope.

 

“Stand ye ready?” Roland bellowed from the other side. He held the rope over his shoulder, ready to pull. Wat was also posed in the same manner, both men facing downstream.

 

William tried to steady himself on the small boat, but it was too shaky.

 

“Roland, on normal days you’re a wise man,” said William.

 

“Today, I am a wiser man,” Roland answered. “Three… two… one! Go!”

 

Roland and Wat broke into a trot on either banks of the river, the ropes over their shoulders pulling the dory at frightening speed.

 

William bent forward in a bid to find stability. He looked ahead and saw the brass ring some distance ahead.

 

“Oh no!,” he whimpered. He clasped the lance to his side and tried to aim, but it was too… fast?

 

“Slower, Roland,” he cried, “Slower for accuracy!”

 

“No William, now you're ready to go fast!” Roland cried from the shore. “Faster and keep your balance!”

 

William hissed and held the lance firmly. It was hard to get a bearing with the dory tilting this way and that way on the water.

 

He saw his friends laboring on the shore, pulling the dory fast over the water like horses of chariots – mighty, honorable horses of war.

 

The sight of Wat and Roland, his own friends, pulling him despite how hard it was filled William with a desperation to make it worth the while. He steeled his heart and held the lance forward. Instead of trying to fight the dancing boat, he simply followed its movements.

 

He set the lance in cradle. The brass ring was only four feet away, and it was so small a target, he wondered if he’ll be able to hit it at all.

 

Three feet. Two feet. One.

 

William didn’t close his eyes, he watched as his lance slid into the smooth brass ring.

 

“Yes!” he cried. “We did it!”

 

But he didn’t let go of the lance and the brass ring held on to it. The force swept him off the dory and into the water.

 

William wanted to swim but the armor was too heavy and he found himself sinking faster than he could say his own name.

 

Come help me, he thought wistfully.

 

Two pairs of hands grabbed him and lifted him out of the water.

 

He didn’t hear much, but he thought he heard Wat asking Roland if a phoenix couldn’t rise from rivers.

 

Idiot.