The day began early. Even before the first rooster's cry, Alexander and the other five boys were already on their feet.
"So this is what they call military experience?" thought Alexander, rubbing his eyes. "Waking up early is, without a doubt, the first reason I was never drawn to the barracks."
Mandatory enlistment had always seemed like a bad joke to him. Still, he had learned a few things discipline... and the art of cleaning toilets to perfection, for example.
Beyond that, there was little to salvage from the "magnificent experience" of flattering superiors and living alongside a bunch of hormone-driven teenagers.
At the front of the group stood Hugues.
"You may return to your beds," he said firmly. "I'm here for Alexander. Your masters will come for you soon enough."
Alexander felt the burning stares on his back but ignored them. He stepped forward and approached Hugues.
"Follow me," the knight ordered.
And Alexander followed. Resigned, like a gosling behind Mother Goose.
They crossed the castle corridors in silence for some time, until boredom overcame Alexander's shyness.
"So... what are we doing?"
"Baron Guillaume des Baux has entrusted me with a task," replied Hugues. "He suspects a creature is prowling the barony."
"Apparently, a wolf has been attacking a shepherd's flock of sheep. But as a precaution, he sent me to investigate personally."
"And what exactly am I going to do about this monster?" Alexander asked, frowning.
Hugues smiled, an unsettling gleam in his eye.
"There are certain tasks for which a boy your size is quite useful. For example: acting as bait."
Alexander suppressed the urge to turn around and run as fast as he could. Instead, he replied with sarcasm:
"I highly doubt a wolf would be interested in me. My meat probably tastes awful."
"Good to see you've got a sense of humor. Rare thing among pages."
Alexander scoffed inwardly. He thought to himself:
"Child labor. Conditions akin to slavery. This man would be checking off half the Penal Code if this weren't the Middle Ages. Why didn't Christ just write in the Bible: 'Thou shalt not abuse children' or 'Thou shalt create child protection services'?"
The truth was he was barely five years old. It was doubtful he could hold his own even against an irritated sheep, let alone a hungry wolf.
As they neared the stables, Alexander noticed two satchels, one large and one smaller, alongside a neatly folded set of clothes.
"This smaller bag has some things you'll need," said Hugues, handing him the bundle. "And put these clothes on. A page must always demonstrate dignity."
Alexander unwrapped the clothes slowly, revealing a garment of thick fabric, but well-made. The tunic was of coarse linen, dyed a dark blue, with tight sleeves at the wrists and a small embroidered crest on the chest.
The trousers, made of sturdy, somewhat rough wool, were fastened with leather ties at the ankles. A short cloak accompanied the set, simple in finish but well-fitted.
Nothing extravagant, but certainly more dignified than the rags he usually wore.
"Get dressed," Hugues ordered, without even turning to look.
Alexander obeyed in silence, still mulling over the idea of being used as bait.
Upon opening the smaller bag, he found three objects carefully arranged inside: a small leather-bound book, a polished wooden board no larger than a bread tray, and a piece of white chalk tied with a cord.
He examined the items one by one. The book was filled with well-drawn letters, illustrations of animals and scenes from daily life, clearly a primer for literacy.
The pages carried the woody scent of aged paper, and some bore smudges from dirty fingers, proving it had passed through other hands before his.
The wooden board, an improvised "tablet", had a darkened surface, likely treated with wax, ideal for writing and erasing with ease.
The chalk, white and soft to the touch, seemed new, still intact.
Alexander raised an eyebrow and thought:
"A book, a board, and a piece of chalk... this can only mean one thing."
The thought came with a mixture of surprise and distrust.
"He's going to teach me to write my will."
"You're going to teach me to read and write?" Alexander asked calmly.
Hugues cast him a brief glance over his shoulder, laced with restrained disdain.
"Yes. Be grateful. Many pages never receive that opportunity."
Alexander looked at the items once more. There was something valuable there, no matter how much he tried not to care. In silence, he closed the bag and slung it over his shoulder.
"Grow up already," Hugues muttered. "It's a pain having to carry you on my horse."
"I'll think about it," Alexander replied, with a hint of mockery.
Hugues stopped walking. His face hardened. In one swift motion, he delivered a kick to the boy's torso.
Alexander fell to his knees with a dull thud. The air rushed from his lungs. He felt like vomiting, but held it back. Clutching his stomach, he fought through the pain and the scream trying to escape.
His thoughts flared, burning with rage:
"Son of a bitch... I misjudged you, Hugues. I thought that despite being a bastard, you had at least a shred of decency."
But he said none of this. Instead, he swallowed his pride, along with the bitter taste of pain, and replied in a cold, muffled voice:
"Yes, Sir Hugues."
"Better that way. Come on, boy."
With effort, Alexander rose. He staggered for a moment, then steadied himself. Hugues helped him onto the horse with a mechanical gesture, barely looking at him.
Then he took the reins, mounted as well, and without a word, rode out of the castle at a gallop.
The cold morning wind cut across Alexander's face, but that wasn't what made him grit his teeth.
He rode hunched over, one hand gripping the bag, mind seething.
Soon, they began to approach a distant property, isolated on the farthest edges of the baronial domain. The castle was no longer visible, just a blurred silhouette on the horizon.
The land around them grew flatter, and the distinct smell of damp soil, animal dung, and dry straw betrayed the activity of the place.
A low stone house, with a thatched roof and small windows, served as a dwelling. Beside it, an open shed supported by raw wooden columns housed iron tools, bales of hay, and a few barrels.
Farther off, a corral made of rough logs enclosed a space where dozens of cattle lazily chewed cud, some lying beneath the sparse shade of a solitary tree.
Hugues tied the horse to a nearby tree by the pasture, tightening the knot with precision. Then he turned to Alexander with a cold expression.
"Alright, bait... I mean, Alexander. Go to the corral and stay alert. If the wolf, or whatever it is, shows up, give me a signal."
Alexander didn't answer. He was already beginning to wonder if being a page was truly knightly training, or just a convenient excuse for Hugues to use him as bait on his insane hunts.
Without protest, he obeyed. He walked to the corral, steps heavy with the weight of someone who had already accepted his misfortune. The air reeked of dry dung, sweaty hide, and wet dog, but he forced himself to ignore it.
He stopped near a section of the fence that looked more vulnerable, the wood there was worn, lower, with visible gaps. He pretended to be distracted, even dazed, swaying slightly like a wounded animal or a fool adrift.
It didn't take long.
On the horizon, a silhouette emerged. At first indistinct, moving too fast to be a mere dog or a stray cow. Its posture was low, predatory. Its eyes gleamed with a strange light in the dusk.
Alexander's eyes widened and he screamed, as loud as he could:
"Sir Hugues!"
And as if in a choreographed charge, Hugues emerged from the western edge, sword in hand, while the creature advanced from the east, eyes locked on the boy, teeth bared in silent fury.
"Holy shit," Alexander whispered, already turning on his heels.
He bolted toward Hugues, heart pounding against his ribs as if it wanted to escape first. The tall grass slapped at his legs as he ran, stumbling with nearly every step, feeling the creature's hot breath just behind him.
Hugues, with his longsword already drawn, was muttering strange words between his teeth, an old chant, deep and guttural, vibrating in the air. His eyes narrowed.
In a swift, almost inhuman leap, he flanked the creature with calculated precision and swung horizontally, aiming to slice the beast with his shining blade.
The steel sang through the air.
And then... impact.
The sound of the blade slicing was followed by a sharp crack, the clash of Hugues' steel against the beast's tense muscles. But it wasn't a clean hit. The creature twisted its body at the last moment, evading a fatal blow.
Still, the strike opened a deep gash along the left flank, from which thick, dark blood poured, reeking of rusted iron and carrion.
The lycanthrope howled.
It was not an animal's cry.
It was a high-pitched wail, almost human, heavy with rage and pain. Its yellow, glistening eyes fixed on Hugues for a moment, as if they recognized something.
But then they turned to the boy.
Alexander ran, but stumbled. The pain from the earlier kick still burned in his ribs. When he looked back, he saw the creature leaping at him with claws outstretched, fast, even wounded, even bleeding.
"Alexander!" shouted Hugues.
Too late.
The lycanthrope pounced on the boy and pinned him with a single paw to the chest. The claws sank partially into the tunic, tearing the fabric and scratching the skin.
Alexander tried to scream, but the weight crushed his lungs.
The creature's snout drew closer. Its jagged, sharp teeth parted.
And then, a short bite to the shoulder, tearing flesh, but not ripping the limb. The blood spurted hot, and Alexander screamed. A shrill cry of terror and pain.
Hugues arrived seconds later, striking furiously. The blade hit the beast's shoulder and cut part of the collarbone, forcing it to recoil with a leap, collapsing into the grass.
It snarled now, snout and chest stained with Alexander's blood.
For a second, it stood there, panting. Watching them both. And then, as if driven by some invisible force, it fled.
It darted toward the nearby forest, limping, but still swift, leaving a trail of dark blood through the underbrush.
Silence.
Hugues fell to his knees beside Alexander, who trembled, clutching his shoulder.
"Damned thing..." Hugues muttered, inspecting the wound.