The man’s story stuck with me for many weeks. The horror of the barbaric death his father endured, and the traumatic memory of a child forced to watch it, all left me sobered and solemn for a long time. Even after the initial shock of it wore off, the memory of it, the thought of it was ever close at hand. I would see a father and son walking together in the market or playing together in a field and the image, the memory, the story would resurface. Sometimes, I would press it out as quickly as it came. Other times, it would drag me into a dark hole threatening to suffocate me. Most often, though, it left me pondering deeply the man’s analysis of what the banner represented. Most often, my mind went to the image of a king as protector, as might, as strength, as safety, as refuge from adversaries. I took great comfort and peace from the knowledge and truth of what the banner stood for, of WHO it stood for. I took pride in knowing that, not only was I privileged to represent him and bear his banner, but in the fact that I knew him personally. My months of time in the king’s court had enabled me to get to know and see the man who I called King.

Two weeks after the pub, the Captain decided it was time to add the newest task to the daily routine. I began serving the king as his personal servant for a few hours each day. I was afforded the opportunity to attend him outside of his public or political settings. Most often I attended him in his personal chambers, usually in the early morning or late night hours. The amount of time I spent on the training field and in the courts was reduced to compensate for these additional hours. Like my being trained in combat, this too was new to the role of banner bearer. This was a privilege and responsibility that former banner bearers were not afforded. The Captain explained that to better know the king, serving and observing him in a variety of settings, particularly in more personal settings, was a efficient means of accomplishing this. This meant that I gained an even more up close and personal view of the king. My regard for him only grew as I got to see and know the king on a deeper, more intimate level through more personal interaction.

Every time I thought it impossible for my regard and respect of the king to grow, something else would transpire and I would be proven wrong. As my regard for him grew, my heart became more and more humble. Who was I to be so blessed as to serve in his court, to be in his presence, to even be worthy of acknowledgment? More and more, the fact that he had come to personally greet me upon my arrival seemed so absurd and crazy that I felt it must have been a dream. Yet, every day, I woke up to train, to stand in the king’s court, and to serve him in what many would consider the most mundane and lowly tasks. However, for me, they felt enormous because of the love I had for the king.

One day, I was assisting the king in the late evening as he bathed and readied for bed, when a messenger arrived with an urgent message. He arrived at the king’s chambers, out of breath and frantic. It was a sealed message from the garrison at the southern border. The message was from the commander of the outpost. He reported the situation with the raiding militia had taken critical turn.

Over the past six months since the initial report, the emissary had sent regular updates on the unfolding situation. They had appeared to show an improvement in the situation. The raids and attacks had lessened in frequency and severity. They were now more a minor irritation than any serious threat. There were even long stretches of weeks that they would go without any raids. It was unclear what had accounted for the decrease in attacks. However, taking advantage of the change, the king’s men would meticulously scout the area in an attempt to locate the militia’s location. However, they had remained elusive. This had frustrated the commander and the emissary alike. Still, the garrison had seemed to rally under the input of the emissary.

However, as the report now revealed, in the past month the attacks had suddenly increased in frequency and severity. But what was worse, and what had precipitated the urgency of this message, was that just a week prior, a detachment of fifty soldiers had in fact defected. Not to join the militia and their anti-king sentiment. No. They rejected that ideology. Their anger over the death and destruction that the attacks caused burned with such a ferocity that no thought was given to joining their ranks. All rumblings of the kings’ soldiers embracing their ideals were erased in light of the brutal nature of their attacks.

The defecting soldiers did so for an entirely different reason. They felt the king had abandoned them. When the emissary arrived, they felt the king had not given proper consideration to their plight, had no real great concern for their predicament, and felt he was patronizing them with sending a mere single dignitary to advise them. They took it as an insult. They already had their own commanders and strategists. What they needed were more forces and troops to relieve their exhausted ones and to drive back the rebels and bandits before they gained any more ground or convinced any to join their ranks. They endured for a time, but as the attacks intensified, their anger grew. They tired of suffering and dying for a king who offered no help. They saw the emissary, the king’s representative as the enemy and as a means to send the king a message. The emissary was with a group of soldiers in one of the barracks when the defectors attacked and killed them all, setting the barracks on fire when the slaughter was complete. In the ensuing chaos, they fled the garrison. The commander stated that things were tenuous at best in the garrison. Morale was low. There were rumblings of others defecting. He called for immediate aid.

The king was visibly troubled and sorrowful. Not only at the defection of his troops, but at the loss of his soldiers and emissary, who was also a friend. In my mind’s eye, I saw him wandering the cemetery. I knew just how deeply this news grieved him, even if he was able to shroud most of it from the view of others. Quickly composing himself, He immediately called his generals and advisors for an emergency meeting in his chambers. The king knew he needed to act and not just send troops, but he must go himself. His people needed him. His troops needed him. These attacks and the defection of these troops needed immediate attention.

Plans were drawn up, orders were set into motion, and a departure date was set 2 days hence. Even as they continued to meet and plan, messengers were sent hustling to begin assembling the troops and gathering supplies for departure. The march would take a minimum of two weeks with the numbers of troops that he was dispatching to their aid. They would march light but even so, a force of the size needed took time to travel that distance.

I grew very troubled as I silently listened and observed from the shadows. I certainly feared for loss of more life at the militia’s attacks. And yet, most concerning to me was the loss of hope and faith in the king that caused the king’s own men to turn away from him. For true subjects of the king, loss of life in his service was an understood and, in most cases, an acceptable risk. But loss of hope and faith in the king was an entirely other thing. An image of the old man’s face from the Lost Pony blazed to life in my mind. The devastation and loss of hope I saw on his face as he related the brutality against his father lingered with me still. Loss of hope posses the greatest danger of all. It leaves one without willpower. It eradicates conviction. It erases even one’s identity and purpose. It saps one of all strength and drive. It leaves only despondency and indifference. I feared others following in the defectors wake. I feared other’s rejection of our king.

With the rumblings of others still yet considering defecting, I knew that two weeks was too long. News of the king’s coming, of salvation’s coming needed to reach them sooner. Hope needed to be given and restored before more turned away.

I knew I was taking a great risk, but sensing the urgency, I stepped forward from my spot behind the king.

Stepping into the kings line of sight where he sat with his advisors, I timidly inquired, “Sire, if I may…”

I knew it is not my place and I was only the servant and the banner bearer of the king, but my fear that others may defect and turn away before the King could arrive compelled me. My passion for the king burned inside me so that I could not remain silent. I longed to restore confidence and hope in a king I knew to be great and worthy of it. I knew what I must do, and I needed to request the king’s consent before I lost my nerve.

“Sire,” I continued, “The men need news of your coming quickly, lest they lose hope or more should defect. If you are willing, send me ahead, with your banner, to bring news of your coming. Your banner is an extension of you. Where your banner is, you are. My presence, as your banner bearer, WITH your banner will assure them of your intention to not only come to their aid, but that you yourself are coming to their aid. Riding alone, I can arrive in less than a week, if a relay of fresh horses is set up. I will ride nonstop till I reach the garrison. Then, a day before your arrival, I will ride back to meet you and the army you are bringing in order that I may ride back in with you flying your banner high.”

Falling silent, I took a deep breath. I had not realized till that moment how scared I was, nor how fast I had been talking. Fearful, I felt every eye in the room stare me down. I knew I had stepped out of turn. I was not on the King’s council. I was not part of his military strategist team. I had not been invited to speak. I knew that I risked stern and harsh rebuke or even dismissal from service should the king deem it just.

The general, seated to the king’s right, apparently agreed. Angrily he barked, “How dare you presume to raise your voice here! Guards, remove…” but he never got the chance to finish that statement as the king held up his hand, his gaze never leaving me.

“Valiant,” he motioned for me to come closer, “you know that you have no voice in this counsel. The general is right. I could dismiss you from service, imprison you, or even banish you for presumptuously interfering here. You are my banner bearer and my servant, not a member of my war council.” His voice was not angry. His expression was not angry.

I nodded my head in understanding but remained silent.

The king studied me for a long moment. Looking back to the general, he said, “General, in the short time Valiant has been my banner bearer, he has exceeded expectations and far surpassed all his predecessors in the roll. I have seen a strength of character and conviction held by few. He may well have spoken of out turn, but I am certain it was only due to the strength of conviction he feels on this matter.”

Looking back to me with an inquisitive and curious glance, he asked, “You know the risk you have taken, Valiant?”

I nodded.

“Then why would you risk your standing as my banner bearer and servant to speak out now?”

I did not hesitate. “Because, sire, it is my duty and job to promote and proclaim…,” I paused looking for the right word, “…well, YOU sire. These men defected because they lost faith and confidence in you. They lost hope in you. I know you to be just, good, and mighty king. You are worthy of trust, worthy of honor, worthy of my very life. I am heartbroken that these men have lost confidence in you when I know you to be trustworthy and good.

Sire, it is not my job to hold a pole with a piece of fabric attached to the top of it. My job is not to merely ride a horse bearing your banner into battle before and with you. My job is to promote you. You are the banner, sire. It is not about material or a flag. It is about you. What kind of banner bearer would I be if I ignored or rejected the opportunity and the need to bear your banner ahead of you in the hour of darkest need in order to instill hope of your coming to people who have lost faith? It is my job to hold you aloft for all to see. It is my job to waive your banner high and draw attention to what you are. I believe that, if you send me ahead, I can be instrumental in beginning to restore hope and confidence so that when you arrive, they are ready once more to follow you into battle.”

I fell silent now. I never broke gaze with the king, nor he with me. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see heads bobbing and turning, I heard voices murmuring but I had no ears to hear their words nor eyes to see their expressions. Their opinions or reactions did not concern me, only my king’s opinion mattered.

After only a moment, a smile broke on his face. “Valiant, you honor me well. Your wisdom and words ring true. As much as I hate to be parted from you, I agree with your assessment. Permission is granted for you to depart as hastily as you can manage. However, you will not go alone. It is much too dangerous. Captain,” he ordered, looking to the captain of his guard now, “select three of my finest guards to ride with Valiant. Make sure Damian is among them. Send a rider within the hour to arrange for fresh horses for each of them at strategic points along the way. Valiant,” he turned back to me, “you leave at first light. Make your preparations.”

I dipped my head in acknowledgement and turned to go. “And Valiant,” the king called. I paused and looked back at him, “Thank you!” He declared. I dipped my head in honor to the king and left to quickly make my preparations for a hasty departure at first light.