Keeper of the Grail (7 page)

The one still standing heard me. His head snapped up as he squinted at me. He mumbled something to his partner, who scrambled to his feet. The two of them crossed the street, looking furtively about as they approached me.

“Where did you get that horse, boy?” the one who seemed to be in charge said.

He wasn’t big but he wasn’t small either, solidly built and perhaps a little taller than me. Long, dark, greasy hair clung to the side of his face, which was home to a scraggly beard. His eyes were red and his breath stank. His companion looked to be in even worse shape. He had lighter skin but hair so full of dirt and grime it was hard to discern its original color.

“Why do you ask?” I replied.

“Where did you get that horse?” he demanded.

“This horse belongs to my liege, Sir Thomas Leux of the Knights Templar. I don’t know what concern it is—”

Dark Hair regarded me through one eye, his other closed and his face scrunched up as if his vision wasn’t working correctly.

“It’s my concern,” he interrupted, “because I think you’re lying. I think I should report you to the constables.”

“As you wish,” I said.

The brothers had taught me much about the evil of drink. However, I had never met or seen anyone drunk before, so I had no idea of the effect that liquor had on men.

I turned, intending to take refuge on the other side of Dauntless, hoping the men would lose interest and move on, or that the blacksmith might show up. But as I did, arms suddenly grabbed me from behind and a foul-smelling mouth hissed in my ear.

“I’ll do better than that. I’ll just take the horse to the constable myself. I’m sure a Templar would pay a handsome reward for the return of his stolen mount.”

“I didn’t steal…,” I started to say, but the arms squeezed harder and the words died in my throat as the air rushed out of my lungs.

I tried pulling away, but the grip grew stronger as I wiggled and threw myself back and forth, trying to break free. I was lifted off the ground, my legs kicking uselessly in the air.

From the corner of my eye I saw the light-haired man reach out to untie Dauntless’ reins. I kicked out with my foot and felt his fingers crunch between my boot and the post.

The man howled in pain and rage, and the next thing I knew I was on the ground and two sets of legs were kicking at me. I tried to regain my feet, scrambling toward Dauntless. But he was beginning to spook, moving his legs back and forth, whinnying and pawing nervously at the ground. Not wishing to be accidentally kicked in the head by a stallion, all I could think to do was to roll up into a ball, hoping they would tire from their exertion before I was seriously injured.

With my face nearly buried in the dirt of the street, I saw a third pair of legs approaching the two men from behind. Had they found another man to come and help them in their thievery?

Instead, I heard both men yelp, and in an instant the kicks stopped. A booming voice exclaimed, “Enough! What kind of men are you? I told you once before that if you molested one of my customers again, you’d lose a finger on my anvil!”

Neither man replied. I looked up from my spot in the dirt to see them both hanging from the air. Behind them stood a giant, holding the men by their shirt collars, which were twisted up around their necks so tightly their faces were turning blue.

Without further word he took a few steps up the street in the direction of the marketplace and tossed them to the ground. As they scrambled to their feet, he gave each one a swift, hard kick in their hind parts.

“If I see either of you on this street again, you’ll wish you had never been born!”

Running, they disappeared from sight as the giant bellowed a few more warnings after them. He then turned and walked back to where I lay wheezing in the street.

As he stood above me, his head and shoulders blotted out the morning sun. A huge hand, attached to the largest arm I’d ever seen, reached down and pulled me to my feet. “Since this horse tied here is Dauntless, you must be Sir Thomas’ new squire,” he said.

As of the previous day, Sir Basil had been the biggest man I’d ever seen, but he could have slept like a babe in the blacksmith’s apron. His hands were the size of geese and his head sat upon his shoulders with no neck that I could see, just a full beard and head of curly, dark hair.

“I am,” I said, dusting myself off. “My name is Tristan and I now serve as squire to Sir Thomas. You must be John the blacksmith?”

The giant gave a slight bow. “That I am. My name is John Little. But you should call me Little John. Everyone else does.”

That, I could not imagine.

10

L
ittle John, as he was called, worked quickly as he re-shod Dauntless. For a man so large, his movements were graceful and precise, with little wasted motion. He had an easy way with the horse, talking softly as he moved from side to side, patting him gently on the flanks to keep him from kicking while he reattached the horseshoes. As he worked, he questioned me.

“Where did Sir Thomas find you, Tristan?”

“I’ve been living with the monks at St. Alban’s Abbey,” I said.

“I’ve heard of St. Alban’s. Were you taking vows?”

“No, sir. I’m an orphan. I was left with the monks as a babe. Sir Thomas and his men came through two days ago. He asked me to join him as his squire.”

“I see,” said Little John. He didn’t say anything more for a while as he worked. Removing the loose shoe on Dauntless’ foreleg, he took it to the forge, pumping the bellows until the coals glowed bright orange. As the shoe heated, it turned first white and then orange in the fire. Moving it to the anvil, he took a hammer from the bench and pounded on the horseshoe several times until it took a shape that pleased him. He plunged the horseshoe into the tub of water, and the steam rose in the air with a hiss. In a few moments the horseshoe was reattached.

“Have you known Sir Thomas for a long time?” I asked.

Little John stood and wiped his hands on his apron. “Aye, for a while. Before Sir Thomas joined the Temple, I was a smith in King Henry’s army, attached to Sir Thomas’ regiment. After I left the army, I came here to Dover. Whenever Sir Thomas passes through, he makes sure to bring his horses by for shoes. I also provide Sir Thomas with his swords. Come, let me show you.”

Little John went through the back door, and in the rear was another workbench set along the back wall of the shop. On it lay a short sword that appeared to be brand new. He held it out to me with the handle forward. “Take it,” he said.

I took the sword in my hand, testing its weight. It was about two feet long, and the hilt was wrapped in black leather. I’d never held a sword before, and was surprised at the weight and heft of it.

“First time holding a sword?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

“Well, I think you’ll soon become familiar with them. You’ll need to know about swords and weapons where you’re going. This is called the hilt,” he said, pointing to the leather grip enclosed by my hand. “Those metal pieces sticking out from above the hilt are guards. That metal knob on the end of the hilt is the pommel.”

I looked at the pommel and saw that there was a small illustration engraved in it. It showed two knights riding double on a single horse.

“That is a symbol of the Templars,” Little John said. “The Knights of the Temple take a vow of poverty, and to share a horse shows that they are willing to do without in service to God.”

I nodded in understanding, for I had seen this same illustration in paintings and tapestries that hung in the halls of the Commandery.

“This is a short sword. It is used primarily for self-defense. It is made of fine steel and is very sharp. But it is not meant to stand up to the weight of a battle sword or scimitar: it is for quick thrusts and jabs only, not for fancy swordplay. Go ahead. Give it a try. Swing it back and forth a few times.”

I stepped a few feet away from Little John, brandishing the sword through the air in a crossing pattern. I knew nothing of swords, but it seemed a fine weapon. Not too heavy, but it had some heft to it.

“It’s beautiful,” I said.

Little John reached out and took the sword carefully in his hand.

“Take the grip deeper in your fist, like this,” he said. “Make sure that your hand fits snugly under the guards for protection. Here, let me show you.”

So Little John gave me my first brief lesson in swordplay, teaching me to use the weapon correctly so that I didn’t accidentally injure myself.

After just a few minutes of these exercises, my arm had begun to ache, and I told Little John that I must return with Dauntless to the Commandery. To my surprise he took a scabbard from the workbench, sheathed the sword, then handed it back to me.

“It is yours,” he said.

My jaw dropped open. “What? No, sir, I couldn’t possibly accept it.”

Little John laughed and held out his hand for the bag of coins Sir Thomas had given me. Taking the pouch, he put it in a pocket of his apron. “There now! You’ve already paid me! Sir Thomas always hires me to make a new sword for his squires. He ordered this one several months ago, and I’ve been working on it since his last squire left the Order.”

“Sir, I don’t know what to say,” I sputtered. “Thank you. Thank you very much. It is a fine weapon. I’m grateful for your work.”

“It’s my pleasure, Tristan—and a word of advice. Keep that sword handy. If you run into a couple of ruffians like you did earlier, don’t be afraid to show it. Keep it clean and sharp. Care for it and it will take care of you.” He smiled.

“I will, sir. I promise. And thank you again. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I must return to the Commandery. Sir Thomas will be waiting. There is much work to be done before we sail.”

“Good luck to you, Tristan. Sir Thomas is one of the finest men I’ve ever known. You’ll do well as his squire. Listen to what he has to teach you. Trust him. Good luck to you. I hope to see you again someday.”

Little John waved as I started up the street. Every few steps, I touched the hilt of the sword now hanging at my belt. In my mind I saw myself following Sir Thomas and the Templars into battle with my sword held high.

Reaching the crowd of the marketplace I noticed that the guards were still in evidence. In fact there were now six of them, and they were definitely shadowing me. I could not fathom their interest, but something in their manner made me uneasy. I quickened my pace but was slowed by the midday crowd in the market. It is not easy to quickly move a stallion through hordes of people.

As we turned at the end of the road that led to the Commandery, the crowd pressed around us. I took a tighter grip on Dauntless’ reins, not wanting him to spook, but compared with the noise and confusion of battle, the marketplace seemed not to affect him at all.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed two of the guards draw closer, falling into step a few paces behind me.

The crowd was noisy and I made only halting progress. As I came past a row of vendor stalls, a man pushing a cart of vegetables crossed in front of us and I had to pull Dauntless to a halt, waiting for the man to clear out of the way.

Forced to stop, I was about to turn to face the King’s Guards directly behind me when over the din of the marketplace I heard a noise that left me frozen in fear: the unmistakable sound of a sword being drawn from its scabbard.

11

G
rasping the hilt of my sword, I hesitated. I couldn’t decide whether to turn and face my attackers or take flight. I felt something horrible was about to happen. When the man with the vegetable cart abruptly moved out of the way, I was startled to see Sir Basil standing in the street in front of me.

“Tristan!” His voice bellowed over the noise. “I was wondering what happened to you!”

A sense of relief washed over me. Taking a quick glance to my rear, I noticed that the King’s Guards had disappeared, melting away in the crowd. My breath returned to normal, but the prickly feeling of fear still crawled across my flesh. Why were they following me? Even more worrisome, had they been about to attack me? Were they there to take me into custody? Had I done something in our brief meeting that had offended the King? I couldn’t think of an answer.

“Sir Thomas wishes you to return to the Commandery immediately,” Sir Basil said.

For a moment, I considered telling him about the guards and what had happened in the marketplace, but I realized that I had no real evidence of anything. Perhaps I had been mistaken? I stood there for a moment, trying to figure it all out. Sir Basil noticed the puzzled expression on my face. “What’s wrong, boy?” he asked.

“I…I thought I…Nothing, sire. Nothing. I will return to the Commandery at once,” I said.

“You’ll find Sir Thomas waiting for you at the practice field,” said Sir Basil, winking at me as he headed off on whatever other business had brought him here. I managed to return to the Commandery, Dauntless in tow, without further incident. I wondered if I should tell Sir Thomas what had transpired in the marketplace. As I reached the practice field, I thought it best to keep it to myself. Indeed I would be hard-pressed to even identify any of the guards who had followed me that day. Maybe I would tell him later, after I had had time to think over the incident more clearly.

The practice field lay behind the Commandery, not far from our quarters. I watched as a knight led his horse through its paces, charging first one way, then the other around a series of posts that had been set in the ground. At last, the knight, who was carrying a steel-tipped lance, rose slightly on the stirrups. He spurred the horse forward, the lance held tight against his side, then thrust it forward through a steel ring that hung from the target. The ring detached from the string that held it and slid down the length of the lance that the knight now pointed skyward. He reined his horse to a stop, then trotted back to the target. Lowering the lance, his squire stepped forward to remove the ring and retie it to the post.

“Well done, Brother Wesley,” Sir Thomas called out.

He noticed my approach then. “There you are. I see Little John has delivered my gift.”