Michael Spradlin - Keeper of the Grail

Sir Hugh’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t look frightened, but he knew that Sir Thomas, at least temporarily, had the upper hand. He barely nodded.

“Excellent,” said Sir Thomas. “Now I am going to help you to your feet and Sir Basil is going to give you back your sword. You will take it and leave the field. If you ever raise it at Tristan again, you’d best next use it on yourself, for it will be the last act you perform on this earth. Do we have an understanding?”

Sir Hugh said nothing, only nodded briefly again. Sir Thomas stood and as he did so, pulled Sir Hugh to his feet. He brushed past Sir Thomas, grabbed his sword from Sir Basil and stormed off the field.

“Sergeanto, recommence with the training,” said Sir Thomas. The squires immediately turned and began practicing as if nothing had happened.

“Tristan, are you hurt?” Sir Thomas asked.

“Not seriously, sire,” I said. “I don’t think anything is broken. It hurts quite a bit though.”

Sir Thomas ran his hand along my shoulder and I winced. “It doesn’t feel broken,” he said.

“Tristan, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do,” Quincy said. He looked at me with downcast eyes as if he might break into tears at any moment.

“Not your fault, Quincy. You did nothing wrong. Don’t give it another moment’s thought,” I said. He smiled at me in gratitude.

“That’s right, Quincy. You are not to blame here. That lies squarely on the shoulders of Sir Hugh,” Sir Basil said. He beamed at me. “Tristan, I saw what you did. Quick thinking.”

“Sire, I am sorry to have caused any trouble…,” I said.

“Nonsense!” Sir Thomas interrupted. “I am glad that you are not seriously hurt, but I will want the physician to examine you. Sir Basil? Would you and Quincy excuse us for a moment?” he said.

Sir Basil nodded, and he and Quincy headed off the field.

“Tristan, tell me exactly what happened. I saw only the end,” he said.

As we left the field, I recounted for him how Sir Hugh had found fault with my technique and tried to goad me into doing something that would give him a reason to attack me. When we passed by them, Sergeanto LeMaire and the other squires paused in their training and began clapping. A few whistles and “Hail Tristans!” could be heard.

“Good thing Sir Hugh wasn’t here to see that,” Sir Thomas said, laughing.

Good thing indeed. Sir Thomas turned as if to make his way back to the Commandery.

“Sire?”

“Yes?”

“What did Sir Hugh mean? When he said he knew who I was? And you said that I was now under your protection?”

Sir Thomas turned to look at me, with the usual smile on his face. But his eyes said something else. I wasn’t sure what. They darted about, and for the first time since we had met, Sir Thomas didn’t hold my gaze when he spoke.

“Tristan, Sir Hugh is a buffoon. I simply meant that as a knight I will defend and protect my squire from harm. Who knows what he thinks?”

I nodded, still unsure, standing in the dusty field thinking over what I had just witnessed. Sir Thomas turned to depart again, then stopped once more.

“Lad, though he is an arrogant fool, he’s a dangerous man and never to be trusted. Never. I order you to stay out of his way. Do not approach Sir Hugh, ever, under any circumstances but especially alone. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sire,” I said.

Sir Thomas left me then, and while I struggled to understand all that I had just witnessed, it was Sir Thomas’ eyes that I kept seeing in my mind.

Eyes that told me much had been left unsaid.

After the events on the practice field, Sir Thomas was suddenly less available, asking the sergeantos and even a few of the other knights to assist in my training. I suspected he was avoiding me, perhaps afraid that I would ask him more questions. And his manner when I did see and talk to him told me that the subject was closed. For the first few days, I thought of little else besides Sir Hugh’s revelation (if that’s what it was) but I finally realized that he was as Sir Thomas said: a fool. He probably knew nothing about me or my past and only wished to cruelly tempt me with knowledge he did not truly possess.

At any rate, the next few days were a flurry of activity and, as though he wished to keep me from wondering about Sir Hugh’s actions, Sir Thomas piled on the work. Each morning the Master Sergeanto had an even lengthier list of duties for me, and between the chores and the training, I fell exhausted into my bed each night with little energy to think of anything but rest.

Three weeks later, six large Templar ships arrived in the port with returning Crusaders aboard. These were the vessels that would carry us to the Holy Land. The ships had been delayed in their voyage back from Outremer, and their arrival generated considerable excitement in the city. Crowds gathered at the waterfront to cheer. News from the Holy Land was eagerly debated and discussed. Apparently the Saladin was pressing outward from Jerusalem toward the coastal cities. I learned that our force would land near a city called Acre. From there we would try to push the Saladin back to the desert. King Richard was determined to drive the Saladin south and retake Jerusalem.

The King had departed Dover shortly after we had met with him that evening in the castle. According to Sir Thomas, he had left for London and his fleet would depart from Portsmouth on the southern coast. I had never been on board a ship or boat of any kind, and now I would be sailing across the sea as part of the King’s fleet!

On the morning we left, Sir Thomas, Sir Basil and the entire regimento marched onto the docks. Not all of them would be leaving on the voyage. Some would remain behind to staff the Commandery, so good-byes were said all around.

Sir Hugh brushed past where I stood with Quincy and the other squires but did not glance in our direction. Walking briskly he stepped into a longboat, and its crew used the oars to slowly row it toward one of the ships lying anchored in the harbor.

Sir Thomas strode up to me. “Are you ready, lad?”

“Yes, sire,” I said.

With that we climbed into another longboat. The crews rowed us out to our vessel, and I was relieved to see that Sir Hugh would be on a different ship. The boats pulled up to the sides of the ship where a large rope net had been dropped over the side. Everyone climbed up the netting and scampered aboard.

I found my spot belowdecks and laid my bedroll upon the small hammock where I would sleep. There wasn’t much room. Bunks were built up and down the wall, little more than strands of rope, really, three beds high. I was happy to have the bottom. Our compartment was in the bow and the only light came from a few small slots that had been cut into the sides of the ship high above the waterline. It was dark and damp, and I would not recommend the smell. But I vowed to survive it for the next few weeks.

Wanting to see the sun again, I returned to the deck to find Sir Thomas standing at the rear section of the ship with Sir Basil. I climbed the small stairs that led to the quarterdeck and stood next to him.

“Sire, how long before we meet up with the King’s fleet?” I asked.

“We rendezvous tomorrow morning in Portsmouth,” he said.

“And once we’re under way, how long until we reach Outremer?” I asked.

“It will depend on the wind. The fastest time I know of is two weeks. But I would say three weeks at least. Provided we encounter no problems,” he said mischievously.

“Problems? What kind of problems?” I asked.

“Oh, the usual: storms, pirates, attacks by enemy fleets. Sea monsters have been known to slow us down occasionally,” he said.