Michael Spradlin: Keeper of the Grail

The last stall, which sat deepest inside the stable, had a small loft above it where we stored hay during the winter months. At its rear was a door with a rope and pulley used to lift the shocks of hay into the loft after harvest. I knew that my assailant would hear me as I kicked through it, but I quietly climbed up to it from the stall below.

A few steps across the loft I found the far wall. I grasped the door handle and threw it open. Unhooking the rope, I swung myself out into the air. I heard retreating footsteps in the stable now and thought he would try to race around to the rear of the stable to catch me before I could reach the ground. I gave out another loud shout, hoping that someone would hear. Then I quickly let myself down the rope hand over hand.

Reaching the ground, I was not sure which direction to run. Either way could lead directly to the arms of my enemy. Deciding to chance it, I turned left, yelling again as loudly as I could, and ran toward the corner of the stable. I thought for a moment that I heard footsteps behind me, and perhaps a muttered curse, but I was running as fast as my sore legs and ribs would allow and did not stop to listen.

Turning past the corner of the stable, I could see the abbey ahead. It was almost time for vespers, and candlelight flickered through a few of the windows. I shouted again, but knew that if the hymns had begun, no one was likely to hear me.

My only thought was to reach the abbey before I could be captured. But then another blow caught me across the shoulders, and I fell to the ground stunned, curling up in a ball, hoping that the agony would end soon.

Then I heard a familiar humming, grunting noise. Looking up from the dirt I saw an oil lamp bobbing across the ground in my direction. Recognizing the sound instantly, with one last effort I lurched to my feet and ran toward the light. I heard a curse behind me and the sound of footsteps retreating. In a few seconds I reached the holder of the lamp. And fell unconscious into the arms of Brother Tuck.

The sensation of cold water on my forehead pulled me from my sleep. I was lying on the bed in my small attic room, high above the main floor of the abbey. Five years before, for my tenth birthday, the brothers had generously given me my own little space here in the rafters reached by climbing a small ladder from the main sleeping room the monks shared. It was lighted only by a small circular window at the peak of the roof, with barely enough room for me to stand. But it was my own space and I cherished it.

Brother Tuck was bathing my head with a cold cloth. I was not fully awake, but I heard voices as I drifted in and out of consciousness.

“This is unacceptable. I won’t allow him to leave unless I can be sure of his safety,” I thought I heard the abbot say in an angry voice.

“I know. But we’ve discussed it already and you’ve agreed he will be safer with me,” said a voice I didn’t quite recognize. Then I fell asleep again, hoping that the next time I woke I wouldn’t be so sore.

When I opened my eyes again, Brother Tuck smiled at me and I saw the abbot, speaking to Sir Thomas standing nearby. I tried to remember what I’d heard them talking about, but found I couldn’t.

“After what that reprehensible Sir Hugh has done, I am not sure…”

Sir Thomas raised his hand to interrupt. “Father, Sir Hugh is not the threat we need concern ourselves with. Leave Sir Hugh to me…” Then they noticed I was awake.

“Tristan, how are you feeling?” the abbot asked.

“I’m fine, Father,” I answered.

“Can you tell us what happened?” Sir Thomas asked.

I said nothing for a moment. It was odd to see all of these men crowded into my small space. I noticed that neither the abbot nor Sir Thomas could stand upright with the low ceiling, and for some reason-perhaps it was the pain-I found this very funny. I chuckled.

“Tristan?” the abbot asked again.

“I’m not certain. I was working in the stable. I was about to finish my chores when the lamp went out. When I tried to leave the stable, someone attacked me,” I said.

“Do you have any idea who it was?”

“No, sire, none. I couldn’t see. I was hit from behind at first. Then I just tried to get away,” I said.

“You will need to question Sir Hugh,” the abbot said to Sir Thomas.

“I can’t question a Marshal of the Order when I have no proof or a witness to the attack. Besides, I’m sure Sir Hugh has an alibi. He doesn’t get his hands dirty like this,” Sir Thomas said with a snort.

“This is abominable,” the abbot said. “We are a peaceful order. For Sir Hugh to attack this boy over a minor injury to a horse is unconscionable. Something must be done.”

“I agree, but I can’t do anything based on conjecture,” Sir Thomas said.

After asking again if I was okay, the abbot and Brother Tuck left my room.

“I’m sorry this happened to you, Tristan,” Sir Thomas said.

“It’s not your fault, sire,” I said.

He nodded. “Tristan, in light of what has happened I realize this is not an opportune time to press the issue. However, we ride out at first light. I don’t suppose you’ve considered my offer?” Sir Thomas’ face was hopeful.

“Yes, sire, I have considered it, but I have not yet made a decision,” I said. Which was the truth. I hadn’t had time to think about it.

“Well, thank goodness you are not seriously injured. Perhaps you can sleep on it and let me know in the morning,” he said.

“Yes, sire,” I said.

He nodded and left the room.

Rising off the bed and groaning with the effort, I walked to the table. Lifting the candle, I looked at my face in the metal reflector attached to the candleholder. I had a small scratch on one cheek and a purplish bruise on my forehead, but otherwise I looked the same as always: a square face with bright blue eyes that peered out through a tangle of light brown hair.

Standing in the flickering glow of the candle, I thought of my life here at St. Alban’s. Of how the monks had taught me to read and write. How Brother Rupert had taught me to speak French, his native language. And how the abbot, stern though he was, had a fondness for numbers, teaching me all he knew of mathematics. I remembered how the brothers had worked beside me in the stables and the garden, treating me as nothing less than an equal.

In the corner was a small wooden trunk holding all of my possessions: two extra shirts, an extra set of woolen leggings and the blue woolen blanket I had been wrapped in when the brothers found me. Opening the lid of the box, I took out the small piece of parchment that was nestled in the corner beneath my extra shirts and leggings. It was the note that had been tucked within the folds of my woolen blanket on the night I was left at the abbey.

It had grown worn and wrinkled from the constant folding and unfolding. But I had not read it in some time. That note with only a few mysterious words proclaiming my “innocence” scrawled upon it and the blanket were the only connections to my true identity.

I pulled the blanket from the box, holding it to my face as I often had before. It had grown soft and the color had faded with time. As a young boy, I had tried to memorize the smell, wondering if the blanket still held the scent of my mother or father. There was a time that I believed that if I were to ever find my parents, I would be able to recognize them from that smell. But now, it held no scent at all. It was merely an old blanket, tinted blue and loosely woven, tattered along the edges with a small triangle of one corner torn away. It was the simple and worn wrap of a peasant. But it was mine.

Returning the blanket to the box, I blew out the candle. I did not know if Sir Thomas and his knights could take me to the places where the answers to my questions could be found. Who was I? Did my parents still live? Why did they abandon me? Those were the things I yearned to know, and I knew that I would never find them here. Deep into the night I tossed and turned until I felt my eyes grow heavy and sleep overtook me.