In the Days of Chivalry: A Tale of the Times of the Black Prince — Key Ideas to Explore

From Forest Aisles to Plague Streets

The novel's opening chapters move at a stately, descriptive pace, lingering on the 'dim aisles' of the forest and the 'ceaseless, dreamy music' of the wind. Everett-Green uses a third-person omniscient voice that often generalises—'the solemn silence of the forest was broken by the sweet note of some singing bird'—creating a sense of timeless, almost fairy-tale calm. But when the Black Death enters the narrative, the prose contracts. Raymond's report of the plague is delivered in rapid, breathless sentences: 'Men sometimes suddenly fall down dead; or they are seized with violent shiverings, their hair bristling upon their heads.' The shift from expansive description to terse, clinical detail marks a deliberate change in narrative pace, mirroring the intrusion of historical catastrophe into a chivalric idyll.

The Voice of Devotion: Raymond's Calling

Raymond's speech to his friend John is the novel's most sustained passage of direct discourse, and it reveals a key shift in voice—from external action to internal conviction. He quotes scripture ('A thousand shall fall beside thee') and redefines chivalry as imitation of Christ: 'the highest chivalry was that of our Lord Himself, when He laid down His life for sinners.' This theological vocabulary contrasts with the earlier, more martial language of the Black Prince's exploits. Raymond's determination to 'go where the voice within calls me' introduces a quieter, more introspective register, one that prioritises spiritual service over knightly glory. The excerpt shows Everett-Green using dialogue to slow the plot and deepen character, even as the subject—plague—accelerates the stakes.

Recurring Details: Twins, Forests, and the Black Prince

Several details recur across the excerpts and chapter titles, suggesting structural patterns. The twin brothers are introduced as 'the twin eaglets,' a metaphor that implies shared origin but potential divergence. The forest setting reappears in chapter titles like 'The Fairy of the Forest' and 'The Visit to the Woodman,' anchoring the story in a specific geography. The Black Prince himself is referenced in multiple chapter headings ('The King and the Prince,' 'With the Prince,' 'On the Field of Poitiers'), but the excerpts do not show him directly; he remains a looming historical presence. The plague, too, is given its own chapter ('The Black Death'), and its symptoms—'black swellings,' 'consuming fire within'—are described with a precision that contrasts with the earlier, more romanticised natural imagery. These recurring elements create a layered texture of adventure, devotion, and historical crisis.

Readers should attend to how Everett-Green balances the twin protagonists: Raymond's spiritual arc and Gaston's likely martial path are set up early, but the excerpts leave their fates unresolved. The novel's title promises chivalry, yet the plague chapters reframe that ideal as self-sacrifice rather than combat. Pay particular attention to the shifts in sentence length and sensory detail—they signal the work's deeper concerns about duty, brotherhood, and the cost of faith in a time of pestilence.

I have always found a quiet kinship between Everett-Green’s twin knights, whose chivalry bends under plague’s weight, and the wandering loyalties of that young Englishman chasing a Swedish crown. Both books whisper of honor tested by exile, of courage stripped of banners. They sit together, sharing a shelf’s warmth, like old friends who never met. A Jacobite Exile Being the Adventures of a Young Englishman in the Service of Charles the Twelfth of Sweden — Inside the Classic holds that same ache, gently.