Michael Spradlin - Orphan of Destiny

“But Sir Thomas told me this letter was for the Master of the Order,” I said.

“At your service,” said Sir Charles, waving his hand in a small circle and bowing his head slightly.

“You. . are. . the Master of the Order?” I stammered.

“Unless my brothers have seen fit to vote me out of office since I left the London Commandery, then yes. I am the Master. Thomas sent the letter with Gaston, who is also a brother of the Order, serving undercover in the King’s Guards. One can never be too careful. Monarchs are not always trustworthy, as I’m sure you’ve learned. So we sometimes keep an eye on them from the inside. Gaston brought the letter to me, as instructed. It was sealed by Thomas’ ring, not the Order seal. As we agreed before he left to claim you from St. Alban’s, when he sent me a letter sealed with his ring, it was a signal. He was sending you back to England and this letter should be held for you alone. Luckily you didn’t die along the way. If you read it, it will answer many of your questions, I’m sure,” he said.

With quaking hands I broke the wax seal and spread open the parchment. To my shock and absolute surprise, a small piece of blue cloth tumbled onto my lap that I recognized immediately. It was the missing corner torn from the blanket that had wrapped me as a babe, when I had been left on the steps of St. Alban’s.

I stared at Sir Charles in wonderment and he nodded at the parchment. “Just read it. Trust me, lad,” he said. I nodded at Robard and he lowered his bow, but being Robard, he kept the arrow nocked.

Looking again at the parchment, I found it covered in Sir Thomas’ neat, precise handwriting:

Dear Tristan,

Time is short. I fear with Richard and his main force leaving Acre that we are exposed and weak should the Saladin return. In the days ahead there may be a duty for you to perform, and if I do not survive, I do not wish you to go on through life without the answers you deserve.

Remember our first night in Dover? When I introduced you to King Richard? Remember his shocked expression at meeting you? It’s because you are the spitting image of your father. And Richard’s father and yours are one and the same.

Your father was Henry II, the former King of England. Your mother was a fine woman, deeply loved by your father. Her name was Rosamund Clifford, and I regret to inform you she no longer lives.

Charles and I served King Henry in his personal guard. When you were born, he and Rosamund knew Eleanor would not rest until she rooted out and destroyed all of Henry’s heirs except her own children. Hiding you was the best option. Better you be raised an orphan than murdered in your sleep by Hugh or one of Eleanor’s other minions.

Understand, Tristan, this happened through no fault of your own. Your father was in anguish at the thought of taking you from Rosamund, and in truth I believe she died of a broken heart because of it. But they also knew that unless your existence was kept secret, you would never be safe.

Your abbot, Father Geoffrey, was a loyal servant to Henry before he took his vows. It was Charles and I who left you on the abbey steps that night. The abbot was told to make sure you always kept your blue blanket, and I kept this section of it for when the day came that I would be able to prove to you who you are.

Now I fear I will not leave this place, but I will be sure that you at least are freed from Acre. You deserve your chance at life. You have claim to land and title if you choose it. Charles and the Order will support you in whatever you decide.

As for Charles, you can trust him with your life, as you trusted me. He is Master of our Order and Sir Hugh is deathly afraid of him. He will protect you and help you in any way he can. This we promised your father, a great man, a great king, and a father who loved his son.

Go in peace, Tristan. Know you were brought into the world in the full embrace of love. No Knight of the Temple has ever had a finer squire.

Beauseant,

Sir Thomas Leux,

Order of the Poor Fellow Soldiers of

Christ and King Solomon’s Temple

My hands shook as I stared at Sir Charles.

“May I?” he asked, holding his hand out for the parchment.

I numbly handed it to him and he quickly read it, a smile coming to his face. When he finished, he folded it back up and returned it to me. “So like my brother,” he said, smiling as if remembering some pleasant memory.

“How did. . When did. .,” I stammered, unable to get the words out.

“We watched over you, Tristan. As you grew, we sent many travelers to St. Alban’s to report back to us. You didn’t know it and rarely did the abbot. It was the best way. Before he left London for Outremer, Thomas and I talked. He felt it was time to bring you under our protection, to train you, support you and one day perhaps welcome you into the Order as a brother. Yet we had to be cautious, and perhaps Thomas revealed himself too readily by taking an interest in you. Sir Hugh caught on and nearly foiled us.”

“But why did Sir Thomas give me the Grail? After making me his squire, shouldn’t I have remained with him?” I wondered.

“Perhaps. But the fact that you are here more than answers why he chose you. He chose wisely. At first I argued with him. I was against taking you to Outremer, but we finally agreed, on one condition,” he said.

“Which was?”

“He agreed to send you back if it became too dangerous. He would make arrangements to send me this letter, marked with his seal, with the scrap of blanket enclosed. When I received it, I was to keep it until you either returned here or he sent you away. Thomas knew that once King Richard decided not to reinforce Acre, the city could be lost. So he made his preparations, but perhaps the Saracens arrived before he was ready. I think he sent you with the Grail not only because it needed to be saved but because it also gave you a purpose. You were his most loyal servant. He knew you would finish this or die in the attempt. And again, I say he chose wisely.”

I was overwhelmed. “I still don’t understand, sire. Why me? He could have chosen anyone.”

Sir Charles smiled and looked up at the sky. “Let’s just say this: Thomas and I loyally served your father. He was a great man. And he commanded us to keep you safe, no matter the cost. As you followed the last order of your knight, we did the same, as the King instructed. When Thomas learned what a fine young man you’d become, he wanted you to have a chance at a good life. That is why he chose you.”

I motioned for Maryam to bring me the satchel, and when she handed it to me, I removed the wadded-up blue blanket. Spreading it out before the fire, I held up the piece of cloth Sir Thomas had secreted in the letter. It was a perfect match.

“Sire, this is all. . I cannot. . My father was King Henry?” I stammered.

“Indeed he was, lad. My brother and I guarded your mother, Rosamund, while you were born. He was torn. He was married to Eleanor for politics alone. It was a loveless marriage, but at least it brought temporary peace to two kingdoms. Such is the way of kings and monarchs. Eleanor returned to France whenever she could, and your father spent a great deal of time alone. But when he found Rosamund, he was happy. She was your father’s true love.”

“What happened to her?” I asked. “Sir Thomas’ letter says she’s gone?”

“Yes, lad, I’m sorry to say that not long after you were born, she caught a fever and passed. I’m sorry you will not have a chance to know her. She was a fine woman.”

The priest who had been sitting there the whole time began to pray. Maryam had returned to Robard’s side, and their faces were full of questions as they struggled to hear what was going on.