Michael Spradlin: Keeper of the Grail

“It is only a small cut, sire,” I said. “I doubt the horse is lame. Brother Tuck has many-”

Sir Hugh stood there and with exaggerated motion, began putting on his chain-mail gloves.

“How dare you?” he hissed, stepping toward me. I drew back as he grasped the front of my shirt with one hand. I tried to twist away, but didn’t dare let go of the stallion’s halter, afraid that it might rear again. His chain-mailed fist drew back to strike me and I tried my best to duck, keenly aware that this was going to hurt.

Except it didn’t. The blow never came.

“Hold!” a voice said. I straightened up to see Sir Thomas grasping Sir Hugh’s arm from behind with one hand. Sir Hugh struggled vainly to free his arm, but could not shake the grip of the stronger knight.

“Release me!” Sir Hugh spat. “I demand that you unhand me this moment! How dare you assault the Marshal of the Regimento?”

“Being Marshal does not give you leave to thrash an innocent boy,” Sir Thomas replied calmly.

“That boy has ruined my prized stallion.”

Sir Thomas released his hold on Sir Hugh but moved around him to a place between us. I did not know what to do. It had all happened so fast. Now I was at the center of a conflict that I suddenly felt had little to do with me.

“I’ll be happy to tend to the horse myself, Sir Hugh…,” I started to say, but Sir Thomas turned to me with a raised eyebrow. Immediately I wished I’d kept my mouth shut. He turned back to face Sir Hugh.

“I demand that you step aside or I will bring you up on charges!” Sir Hugh was in a rage as spittle flew from his mouth. It looked at any moment like he might draw his sword and strike down Sir Thomas.

“Do so, and I will bring you up on countercharges of conduct detrimental to the Order. Had the stallion reared again you may have been killed or gravely injured. The boy likely saved your life. The horse doesn’t appear to be seriously hurt. I’m sure the monks can apply a salve and bandage to the cut. Now you need to control yourself and take leave.” Sir Thomas, I noticed, spoke very calmly. His voice was steady and his tone even.

Sir Hugh’s face had gone crimson. I thought it unlikely he was going to change his mind about punching me. His hawklike features were pinched, and the veins on his neck and forehead stood out as he grimaced in anger.

“Sir Hugh, I warn you, lay one hand on this boy, and I will see you brought before the Master of the Order,” Sir Thomas said.

“You wouldn’t dare!” said Sir Hugh. But his tone had changed. He sounded unsure of himself. His posture changed and he seemed to shrink into himself.

“Then test me,” Sir Thomas said quietly.

Sir Hugh glanced over his shoulder. The other knights had now gathered in back of the abbey and stood watching the exchange. Brother Rupert stood holding Brother Tuck’s arms behind him as he struggled to rush to my side. I waved at him to stay where he was.

Sir Hugh looked back at Sir Thomas. His face was cold. A look of pure hatred burned in his eyes, but Sir Thomas didn’t flinch. He stood there defiantly, awaiting Sir Hugh’s next move.

“One day, Sir Thomas. I warn you, one day…” He let the words hang ominously in the air. “Make sure that impudent boy takes care of my horse,” he said as he stomped off toward the abbey, disappearing up the steps into the main hall with the abbot close behind.

“Sire, I’m sorry to have injured the Marshal’s horse,” I said.

Sir Thomas turned from where he stood, reaching to stroke the stallion’s neck.

“No bother, Tristan. Much ado about nothing. It certainly wasn’t your fault. Horses spook. Sir Hugh just has a horrible temper. Let us think no more of it. It might be best if you tended to the stallion though.”

“Sire, I do not wish you to get into trouble for my actions, I will explain to the abbot…”

Sir Thomas held up his hand to stop me. “You have done nothing wrong. Sir Hugh is Marshal of the Regimento, but it is I who command these knights. Sir Hugh knows he has no respect within his own ranks. He has some powerful friends in high places within our Order and the King’s court. But so do I. Nothing will come of this. Think no more of it.”

Somewhat reassured by Sir Thomas’ words, I led the stallion into the stable, putting him in the stall next to Sir Thomas’. He was still skittish, but after being watered and fed, he calmed a bit. Moments later Brother Tuck rushed into the stable. Taking my head in his hands, he looked me over as if to check for damage. I assured him I was fine, then showed him the small cut on the stallion’s leg. He studied the wound, then stepped to a shelf across the stable, bringing me a small earthen jar.

Inside the jar was a muddy ooze that he had created from various plants and roots found in the woods around the abbey. I rubbed a large handful of the mixture over the cut on the stallion’s leg, holding it in place for a few minutes while it dried. As an extra measure, Brother Tuck handed me a piece of clean cloth and I wrapped the stallion’s leg.

With the horses stabled, Sir Thomas returned to the abbey while I helped the other knights see to their mounts. I finished just as the bell rang for the evening meal.

That night at dinner in the main hall, I took my normal place at the end of the long table. The monks had brought in extra tables and benches to accommodate our guests. Sir Hugh was seated next to the abbot, and for a moment our eyes met and the look of hatred that I’d seen earlier at the stable flashed across his face. I quickly looked away. As I began my meal, I sensed someone at my side and looked up to see Sir Thomas standing there with his plate and cup.

“Might I join you, Tristan?” he said.

“Of course, sire, no need to ask,” I said as he sat down across the table from me.

“So, young Tristan, you show yourself to be an able lad. Quick of mind and handy with your voluminous chores,” Sir Thomas said.

“Thank you, sire.” I blushed somewhat, not used to receiving compliments. The brothers were kind enough for the most part, but not free with praise.

“I’m wondering when you are planning to take your vows,” he said.

“Vows, sire? Oh. No. I do not plan to join the order.”

“Really? Interesting. So what are your plans then? You must be, what? Nearly fifteen? If you’ve no interest in the priesthood, what will you do?”

Sir Thomas’ boldness unsettled me somewhat. How had he so easily guessed my age? Why was he so interested in my future?

“Well, sire. Of course I have thought about it. I mean, I would like to travel to see places. Other places than here, I mean. I don’t know exactly how I will do that yet, but…Sire, if I may? Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. Travel, you say. I can understand that. Wanted to see the world myself when I was your age. However, you’ll need a way to support yourself, some type of job,” he said.

“Yes, sire. I suppose that’s true,” I said.

“Well, maybe I can help with that. We’re riding on to Dover in the morning to rendezvous with the rest of our regimento. As soon as our ships return, we’ll resupply and leave for Outremer.”

“Outremer, sire?” I asked.

“Yes, we Templars refer to the Holy Land as Outremer. It means ‘the land beyond the sea.’ So I’m wondering, lad, how would you like to come with me in service as my squire?” He looked at me expectantly.

For a moment, his words did not register. I must have looked a fool as I stared at Sir Thomas in openmouthed wonderment. He had offered me something I could scarcely comprehend: a life outside the abbey.

“I beg pardon…sire…Excuse me…What?” I asked.