I was born in 1322, the son of a Priest and his scullery maid, in short, a bastard. The town of St. Gabriel’s was a place with green hills behind, ignorance within, and the whole great sea beyond. Father Richard had the (supposed) lance of St. George, the dragon slayer, hanging from the rafters of his church, unnoticed by all. On Easter Morning, 1341, soldiers from France landed on the shores and destroyed the town, killing all, and taking the lance, but in search of the Holy Grail. I was the sole survivor.
Sir Giles Marriott was the Lord of the town, and it was by his Master Huntsman, Jake Churchill, that I learned to shoot a bow. My father said I was above such common things, even went so far as to send me to Oxford for a year, but to no avail. The bow is my destiny. All that I have ever wanted to be was an archer in the service of England.
I traveled north to join the armies of England, and hopefully to join a legion of Archers. Solo Deo Gloria! My prayers are answered! I am taken into one such company and soon we are ordered to attack Crecy, on French soil. I will not speak to this battle in this missive save to say that we were the victors. We occupied the Castle of Crecy than became what are known as helliquins, or what the French call Harlequins, also known as ‘the devil’s horsemen,’ We rode about the countryside burning farms and taking whatever small booty fortune afforded us, be it goods, livestock or grain. We were feared throughout France.
My family, on my Father’s side were the Vexille’s, or in French, Standard Bearers. They were of a religious sect known as the Cathar’s, a group who defied Rome and worshipped in their own Gnostic ways, I defer from speaking directly of this cult, and would rather have the students of history judge them in their heretical ways. It is enough to acknowledge that they are said to have had a number of religious artifacts in their possession when the church finally rallied against them in the year of our Lord 1250, at their stronghold. Surrounded and overwhelmed, my forbears held off the besiegers as well as possible, allowing four to escape, descending an enormous cliff with the aforementioned artifacts.
This is all a roundabout way to say that the Grail was said to be one of their few treasures, and it remains lost to us to this day.
The Yale, a mythical beast, remains on my crest, holding the grail, and it is my never-ending quest, though unwillingly I pursue it, to find the Holy vessel which is said to either have touched the lips of The Christ, or to have held His blood at His death.
I continue a servant of his Majesty King Henry II, an archer of his army, and a willing servant. May God allow my arm and back to pull this bow again.
William of St. Gabriel