Michael Spradlin - Keeper of the Grail

“Tristan!”

From across the room, I saw Sir Thomas looking in my direction. He gestured for me to join him.

I was instantly nervous. Sir Thomas kept waving his arm, motioning me toward him. What was he thinking? Why did he need to speak to me now when he stood so near the King of England? Couldn’t it wait? Yesterday I was pulling weeds in a vegetable garden. Now I stood not a stone’s throw from his majesty the King. It was all too much. Still, I could not disobey. I walked haltingly to where he stood.

“Sire?” I said.

Taking me by the arm we turned to face the King. “Your majesty,” he said.

The King stopped mid-conversation with another knight and turned to look at Sir Thomas. He paid me no attention.

“Yes, Sir Thomas?”

“My squire, your highness. I would like to introduce you to my squire, Tristan. He has recently joined me from St. Alban’s Abbey. He’s a fine young man. Capable and brave. I’m sure he’ll be Master of the Order one day,” Sir Thomas said.

Sir Hugh cut in. “Sir Thomas, really, I’m sure the King has much more pressing duties than meeting your squire. ” He spat out the word as if he had swallowed a ball of chicken feathers.

The King looked confused, glancing from Sir Hugh to Sir Thomas, but then his gaze fell on me. He studied me as any royal might view one of his subjects. In the same way that one might scrutinize a horse or cow before purchasing it. But then his eyes narrowed.

“Tristan, you say?” he asked.

“Yes, your majesty,” I answered. I was dumbstruck, not knowing exactly what I should do or say, but had at least remembered that. I felt Sir Thomas’ hand gently push my back, and I bowed.

“You look familiar. Have we met before?” the King asked.

“Met, your highness? Oh no. No, sire, this is my first trip to a city…I-”

“I could swear I have seen you somewhere before,” he interrupted.

“Well, your majesty, I was in the street this afternoon when you rode through. Perhaps-”

“No, but there’s something familiar…” He let the words hang in the air.

I stood there speechless, not knowing what to say or do. The King held my gaze and I returned it in kind, but the room felt warmer now, and sweat began to form on my forehead.

“I just met Tristan yesterday myself,” Sir Thomas explained. “He’s been living at a monastery. We stopped for the night, and I saw enough of his good works to ask him to become my squire.”

“Fascinating,” said the King, still staring at me.

“Your majesty, please forgive my second in command for his ill manners. It is time for us to take our leave. There is much preparation to be made before we depart for Outremer,” Sir Hugh said.

Sir Thomas did not reply but only smiled at the King, raising his eyebrows as he did so, as if only he were privy to some joke.

“What? Yes, of course,” said the King. His gaze left me, and he turned to look at Sir Thomas again. “It’s good to see you again, old friend. I will see you next in the Holy Land. When we take the field from the Saladin?”

“If God wills it, your highness,” Sir Thomas said, and he bowed. He pulled gently on my arm, and we left the King with the small circle of knights who surrounded him. I could hear them saying their good-byes.

As we walked across the room, Sir Thomas leaned close, speaking in a low voice.

“An interesting evening, wouldn’t you say?” he asked.

I had no answer. Only questions. Why did Sir Thomas see fit to introduce me to the King? And why, when King Richard the Lionheart looked at me, did I see fear in his eyes?

The morning after meeting King Richard was my first full day of life inside the Order. After we’d returned from the castle, I felt I had scarcely laid my head upon my mattress before Quincy was shaking me awake at sunrise. After morning mass and prayer, Sir Thomas summoned me to the stables, where I found him examining the front hoof of the bay stallion he had ridden the previous day.

“Good morning, Tristan,” he said.

“Good morning, sire,” I replied, trying to hide a yawn behind my hand.

“I hope we’re not keeping you awake?” he asked.

“No, sire,” I said.

“Excellent. Your first duty this morning will be taking my horse to John the blacksmith. His shoes have loosened on the journey. You will find the shop across from the Whistling Pig Tavern, on the west end of the marketplace.” He handed me a small pouch and I heard the jingle of coins inside it. “To pay the smith,” he said.

Sir Thomas patted his horse on the nose. “His name is Dauntless.”

“Very well, sire.”

“Step lively, lad,” Sir Thomas called out. “There is much to do in the days before we leave for Outremer.”

Retracing the steps that had taken me to St. Bartholomew’s, I soon reached the marketplace and turned west at the main intersection as Sir Thomas had said. I noticed several King’s Guards in full uniform standing about. I wondered if the King was visiting the marketplace but saw no evidence that he was anywhere near.

As the shops and stalls began to peter out, I found myself on a quieter but still busy thoroughfare. Up ahead to my right, I spotted a stone building with a sign cut in the shape of a pig hanging above the door. Sure enough, across the street was a small blacksmith shop. It was a three-sided building, open to the front, and I could see the fire, forge and anvil.

I tied Dauntless’ reins to a hitching ring in front of the building. One of the King’s Guards loitered down the street, trying to appear casual, with his forearm resting on the hilt of his sword. He appeared to be watching me, but when I turned to look at him, he glanced away, pretending to be interested in everything else around him.

“Hello?” I called out.

“A moment!” a voice answered from behind the building.

So I waited. The shop looked neat and well kept. Looking more closely, I realized it was not three sided at all, but that the front “wall” swung upward on hinges and was propped up by two timbers at either end so it could be let down each evening at closing time.

While I waited, I turned my attention back to the street and noticed the King’s Guard walking in my direction. Without a glance at me he entered the tavern.

A few minutes later, the door to the tavern opened and two men staggered out, blinking and rubbing their eyes. They began arguing with each other. They were nearly equal in size, but one appeared to be in charge, and he pushed the other one in anger. The man staggered backward, lost his footing and fell into the dusty street. I tried not to, but he had fallen in such a way that I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle.

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.