Castle Chirk, 1355 He rode across the outer bailey on his pure black destrier. Raven watched him from the window of her bedchamber. A bearer carried his banner, a red dragon emblazoned upon a field of black. The Black Knight. He was magnificent and frightening at the same time, Raven thought, leaning over the embrasure so she could see more of him. Clad in unrelieved black from his gleaming helm to the tip of his toes, he rode into the bailey at the head of a contingent of knights and men-at-arms in his service. Jongleurs and harpers who visited Chirk to entertain the lord and his household spun glowing tales of the Black Knight’s exploits. They told how he had saved the Black Prince’s life and was knighted upon the battlefield by the king. They praised his courage, his strength, his amorous conquests. If he had a name, none remembered, for he had been called the Black Knight from the time he became the Black Prince’s champion and appeared on the battlefield clad all in black like his prince.
