Keeper of the Grail (5 page)

Sir Thomas smiled. “It is good to see you, Brother Basil. Let me introduce to you the newest member of our regimento. This is Tristan of St. Alban’s. He has been living there with the monks, and has joined us to serve as my squire.”

“Well, well, well,” said Sir Basil. “Monks, you say? Welcome, young Tristan, welcome! A squire to Sir Thomas? Did he not fully explain to you? You can’t be a squire unless you’re serving a real knight! Sir Thomas drinks like a baby camel and fights like a woman. Why, he’s no soldier! In our last battle, I had to lash him to a tree to keep him from running away like a scared kitten. I faced down a dozen Saracens single-handedly while he cowered in the brush. If it’s squire-hood you’re interested in, perhaps you should ride with me. Then you’ll see how a real knight lives!”

I looked back and forth between them, puzzled. It would seem that they were friends, yet Sir Basil had just gravely insulted Sir Thomas.

Sir Thomas saw the look on my face and began laughing.

Then Sir Basil joined in, pounding me on the back. “We’re joking, boy, joking! Why, there is no finer knight than Sir Thomas. You listen closely to him and you’ll grow up to be the Master of the Order! Welcome, lad! Welcome!”

I’d never encountered someone with such energy. Sir Basil pumped my hand again, then moved off quickly to greet the other knights in our group. His voice drowned out everyone as he moved among them, shouting out good-natured insults.

Sir Thomas grinned as he watched Sir Basil work his way through the crowd. Then he turned to me. “Well, Tristan, there is much to do. First, you should return the brothers’ horse to the church stables. Then be back here as quickly as you can. We need to get you outfitted. Our ships depart for Outremer soon, and by then we’ll be well into your training. So, off with you now.”

The church of St. Bartholomew was not far away, and in fact I could see the steeple from the courtyard where we stood. Sir Thomas took his horse by the reins off to the stables, and I turned Charlemagne back toward the gate.

The sturdy plow horse was tired and moved along without much argument. Dover was alive with activity, and I felt I would never grow used to the noise and commotion. I passed busy shops and inns and shouting vendors in the marketplace. I was assaulted by the smells of cooking meat and smoke from the fires of the blacksmiths’ forges that lined the street. Underneath it all there was the unpleasant smell of hundreds of human beings living in close quarters.

In truth I was not watching where I was going, and because of this, I was nearly run over by a column of riders that had burst into an intersection of the street just as I was about to cross through. I had never seen such resplendent men-at-arms, and as I pulled Charlemagne quickly to a stop, one of them shouted harshly at me.

“Watch out, boy. Move that miserable plow horse and make way for the King’s Guards!”

I had nearly been trampled by a mounted detail of the King’s Guards! And not just any detail, for at the head of the column a rider carried a brilliant scarlet banner on which were embroidered three magnificent golden lions. I had never seen it before but had heard many travelers at the abbey describe it. It was the coat of arms of the King, and as I stared in disbelief, there he was, riding past me on the most magnificent white stallion I had ever seen.

Richard the Lionheart had arrived in Dover.

7

T
he news that the Lionheart had arrived spread quickly through the city. The King’s Guards had been forced to slow by the crowds of people in the intersection, and the delay had given me a brief moment to study King Richard. His horse was magnificent, as white as a cloud. He wore a gleaming coat of mail and over that a bright red tunic, embroidered with the same three golden lions that flew upon his banner. He wore nothing on his head, certainly no crown, but not even a helmet. His beard was full but neatly trimmed, unlike the manner of the Templars. He carried a large battle sword at his belt, and wore leather riding breeches.

As the people of Dover realized the King was riding through the main thoroughfare, they called out shouts and he waved in greeting. But before a crowd could gather, the riders were gone, and I followed their progress as they headed to the castle gate.

If Dover had been noisy before, the King’s arrival had given its citizens even more cause for boisterous shouts and laughter. As I resumed my journey to the church, the news moved visibly from person to person and shop to shop. Several folks called out to me, asking if I knew that the King had arrived, and I answered back that, indeed, I had seen him with my own eyes.

When I arrived at the grounds of St. Bartholomew, one of the priests there was delighted to show me to the nearby stable used by the church. He was familiar with the brothers of the abbey and agreed to care for the horse until they arrived to take him home. I led Charlemagne into his stall and saw that he was fed and watered. I felt reluctant to leave him, knowing that in so doing, I was severing my last connection to St. Alban’s.

Charlemagne seemed to sense this as well. While he silently munched his hay, I patted him and he turned, gently nuzzling my neck. It felt as if he knew we would not see each other again and wished to say good-bye.

The priest had stood idly by while I stabled the horse, and he quietly began to fidget and cough. Knowing that I’d taken up enough of his time, I thanked him again and made my way back to the street. I hoped there would be a meal soon upon my return to the Commandery, for I’d grown hungry and thirsty as well. Perhaps I would have a chance to see what wonders Sir Basil had done with the kitchen. Sir Thomas had mentioned that my training as a squire would begin straightaway, but I hoped he’d meant after we’d had a chance to rest somewhat from our travels.

Dusk was falling and the sun danced along the tops of the hills that lay to the west. The streets and buildings were bathed in gold. And the smells of evening meals were everywhere, so much so that my stomach growled.

Approaching the Commandery, I noticed Sir Hugh standing outside the gates with another Templar knight, one I’d not seen before, the two of them speaking in hushed tones to two other men who wore the uniform of the King’s Guards. Whether they were members of the same squad that had just ridden through town, or another stationed here at Dover, I could not tell, but Sir Hugh was talking to them anxiously, as if agitated about something.

They stood off to the side of the gate in the falling shadows and leaned close to one another, making sure they could not be overheard.

I did not want Sir Hugh to see me. Before he could glance in my direction, I dodged behind a wagon that stood parked in the street, peering around the side while the conversation went on.

After watching for a moment more and still unable to hear, I saw Sir Hugh reach into his belt and remove a scrap of parchment, which he handed to one of the guards. He also handed them a small pouch that I assumed contained coins. Some agreement reached, the guards nodded, mounted their horses and rode off in the opposite direction. Not toward the castle where the other guards had escorted the King, but west as if they were leaving town.

Sir Hugh watched them until they rode out of sight. He said something to the other Templar, who nodded, and together they disappeared through the gate of the Commandery. I waited a few minutes more, making sure he did not suddenly reappear, then moved from behind the wagon.

Quickly, I entered the compound, wondering what to do with this knowledge. Instinct told me that Sir Hugh was up to something. Then again, he was the Marshal of the Regimento. Surely he could have legitimate business with the King’s Guards. Perhaps they were discussing military strategy, or the need for provisions or supplies of some sort.

If I told Sir Thomas what I had seen, would he think me foolish? That I had been spying on his brothers, assuming an interest in something that was none of my business?

Entering the main hall I was greeted by the sounds of the evening meal in progress. The Templars were a much louder crowd than the monks, and the tables were full of noise and conversation. Sir Thomas was seated at the far wall with Sir Basil and some others, so I made my way there.

“Tristan! There you are,” Sir Thomas said when he saw my approach. “I was wondering what took you so long.”

“He had to give that old plow horse a kiss good-bye!” Sir Basil said, and the table of knights erupted in laughter as I turned red.

“Go easy on the boy, Basil,” Sir Thomas said. “Give him a day or two to get his bearings before you unleash that wit of yours.”

“Sir Thomas, I wanted to tell you…” I started to report what I had seen in the street outside, but before I could get the words out, he interrupted me.

“You’ll need to fill a plate and eat quickly—we have important business ahead of us tonight, and not much time,” he said. From the seat next to him Sir Thomas picked up a brown garment and handed it to me.

“Once you’ve finished eating, change into this. It is a servante’s tunic. You will wear it from now on as a member of the Order.”

“Certainly, sire, and there will be chores, I assume?” I asked.

“No chores tonight, boy; there’ll be time for that tomorrow. But eat and change quickly. You’ll want to be presentable for an audience with the King.”

I looked up from my study of the garment at his face. He had that twinkle in his eye, but I could tell he was serious.

“Excuse me, Sir Thomas. But did you just say ‘an audience with the King’?”

“Indeed I did, lad. You aren’t hard of hearing, are you? I could have the physician examine your ears if you’d like,” he said with mock concern.

“No, sire, not necessary—my ears are fine,” I said. But I stood there holding my tunic with what I’m sure was a dazed expression on my face.

“Tristan?” Sir Thomas said.

“Yes, sire?”

“Your meal? Change? There’s not much time. The King expects us shortly,” he said.

Sir Thomas smiled at me. Sir Basil appeared next to me with a plate heaped with food. He placed it at an open seat at the table and beckoned me to sit.

In all the excitement I forgot about Sir Hugh and his mysterious actions in the street. I ate quickly for the food was delicious, but not even my ferocious appetite could keep my mind from racing. I, Tristan of St. Alban’s, born an orphan, would this evening meet the King!

8

A
fter finishing the meal, another squire named Quincy, who served Sir Basil, showed me to our quarters. Quincy was two years younger than I, but in many ways a miniature version of his knight. Tall and strong for his age, his face was round and his cheeks were a healthy red. He had a ready laugh, cheerfully leading me to my bunk at Sir Basil’s request.

“We sleep in an outbuilding on the grounds,” he said as we left through a back door of the main hall. It was only a few short yards across the common, past several other small structures.

“This is the armory,” he said, pointing to the first building we passed on our way. “Behind the armory are the stables. We sleep here.” By then we had reached a small timber building, square and unadorned. Quincy opened the door, leading me inside.

The interior was dark, lighted only by candles and a few oil lamps. In the center of the room sat a long wooden table with benches along either side. Ten straw mattresses were laid around the interior walls. The far end of the building held a fireplace that took up one wall. There were a few windows that would let in light during the daytime, but now it was damp, dingy and not particularly sweet smelling.

“Does it always smell this clean and fresh?” I said.

Quincy laughed, again reminding me of Sir Basil. “Always,” he said. “Come. I sleep here in the far corner. The space next to mine is empty. It’s yours if you like.”

“My thanks,” I said.

I dropped my small bag of possessions, shrugging out of my shirt and pulling on the tunic Sir Thomas had given me. It was a dull brown wool garment, hooded, with a rope belt that tied around the waist. A long slit up the front and back would make it easier to wear while riding a horse.

I looked at Quincy, who was dressed in the same simple uniform I now wore. I’ll admit that when Sir Thomas had asked me to join him as his squire, I’d envisioned myself wearing a fancy tunic with a red cross and maybe even my own chain mail. I saw now that I’d been wrong to think so.

“Templars wear brilliant white tunics with red crosses and we have to wear these?” I said.

Quincy just shrugged. “It’s what all servantes wear.”

Huh. Maybe the chain mail would come later.

“We should return to the main hall right away,” he said. “We’ll be leaving for the castle shortly.”

“Are you going to see the King as well?” I asked.

“Aye. I heard the brothers say that King Richard leaves in two days to ready his fleet. We have a week or so of preparations, then we sail to meet him. He wants to greet the regimento tonight. A simple affair, I heard. To praise us for our service and to speak with some of the brothers on what we might find when we arrive in Outremer and such,” he said.

“Why are we invited? Isn’t it strange for squires to be included in such a gathering?”

“You might think so,” Quincy said. “I heard Sir Thomas and Sir Hugh had quite an argument after Sir Thomas invited the entire regimento. But Sir Thomas would not back down, arguing that every member of the regimento puts his life on the line and should share in the thanks of the King. Sir Hugh was not amused, so I’m told.”

“What do you know of Sir Hugh?” I asked.

Quincy didn’t answer right away. He looked around the room, as if making doubly sure we were alone. He started to speak, then paused for a moment, as though he needed to choose his words carefully.

“I know we only just met, but if Sir Thomas has chosen you as his squire, then I can assume you are a decent fellow. So let me warn you: stay out of Sir Hugh’s way. He’s vicious and cruel. He made it to Marshal only because of his powerful friends, but he commands by fear. I’ve heard some of the other squires say that he is suspected of breaking Templar laws—executing defenseless prisoners, physically punishing squires and sergeantos for no reason. But he is careful and calculating and no one can ever prove anything, and his victims are too scared of him to speak out against him.”