Jeri Westerson - Shadow of the Alchemist

“Yes. Is … is the king truly back at Westminster?”

Henry nodded wearily. “Yes. And because I know you will ask it, he is still the king.”

Crispin nodded. Jack closed the door and came upon Henry on his other flank. Henry turned to Jack and smiled a little. “Young Jack. I’m glad to see you are safe here with your master.”

“What happened, Henry?” Crispin was nearly thrumming with impatience. “There is so little news.”

“Yes, I forgot you would not have heard much. Richard’s hens are scattered and will meet the noose should they return. And my cousin has promised to do as he ought. There was a moment when my uncle and I … argued. But I had only just received a letter from my lord father.” Henry smiled and sat, laying the bundle across his thighs. “He cautioned me in no uncertain terms to resist taking the crown. Oh, but it was hard, Crispin. It was nearly there for the taking.”

“You did the right thing, Henry,” he said solemnly.

“Did I? Well. It’s done, at any rate.” He sighed before holding out the bundle with one hand. “Here. Take it.”

When Crispin closed his hand over it, he knew immediately what it was. “What-?”

The wrappings fell away, revealing a sword in a plain leather scabbard, wrapped with a belt.

“What’s this?”

“The spoils of war,” said Henry. “With a few additions.”

“Why are you-”

Henry looked at Jack. “You have a fool for a master, young Jack. He has forgotten what a sword is.”

“I haven’t forgotten.” He pushed it back into Henry’s hands. “You very well know I am not allowed to own one. The king does not wish it and I have no right of property.”

“Right of property, he says.”

Crispin spread out his arm, showing the humble room. “Does this look like twenty pounds’ worth of property to you? I own none of it and it isn’t worth a privy.”

He shoved the sword back into Crispin’s hands. “I told you, it’s the spoils of war. With additions. Withdraw it.”

Crispin stared at it. At the unadorned leather sheath and the plain roundel pommel.

“You do remember how to withdraw a sword, don’t you?” teased Henry.

With a growl, Crispin pulled it partway from the sheath. The blade was shiny, but it was not new. And there were words newly engraved on the blade, words in Latin. He pulled it farther.

“Read it aloud,” Henry urged.

“‘A donum a Henricus Lancastriae ad Crispinus Guest-habet Ius.’”

Jack was at his elbow and translated aloud. “‘A gift from Henry Lancaster to Crispin Guest-He has the Right’ … Oh, Master!”

Crispin couldn’t breathe. He stared at the words till he couldn’t see them anymore.

“You served our household well, Crispin. You saved my life. You saved the crown, if it comes to that. Who has the greater right to wield a sword? And now, with those words, you have proof of that right. I wish I could grant you your knighthood again, Crispin, but as my royal cousin will never allow it, this is the best I can do. Here, young squire. You’d best learn now how to buckle on a knight’s sword.”

Crispin didn’t move. Henry tried to show Jack, but the boy’s hands trembled so badly that Henry had to do it himself.

Henry put his hand on Crispin’s shoulder once the sword hung at his left side. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Crispin still could not speak. Henry smiled. “I still have much to do this night. This is far from over. But I’m certain, Crispin, I will see you again.” He turned toward the door and stopped before it. He nodded toward the sword hanging now from Crispin’s hip. “Very soon-too soon-you might need that. God be with you.”

And with a cold gust of night wind and a few flurries of snow, he was gone.