Michael Spradlin: Keeper of the Grail

They stood off to the side of the gate in the falling shadows and leaned close to one another, making sure they could not be overheard.

I did not want Sir Hugh to see me. Before he could glance in my direction, I dodged behind a wagon that stood parked in the street, peering around the side while the conversation went on.

After watching for a moment more and still unable to hear, I saw Sir Hugh reach into his belt and remove a scrap of parchment, which he handed to one of the guards. He also handed them a small pouch that I assumed contained coins. Some agreement reached, the guards nodded, mounted their horses and rode off in the opposite direction. Not toward the castle where the other guards had escorted the King, but west as if they were leaving town.

Sir Hugh watched them until they rode out of sight. He said something to the other Templar, who nodded, and together they disappeared through the gate of the Commandery. I waited a few minutes more, making sure he did not suddenly reappear, then moved from behind the wagon.

Quickly, I entered the compound, wondering what to do with this knowledge. Instinct told me that Sir Hugh was up to something. Then again, he was the Marshal of the Regimento. Surely he could have legitimate business with the King’s Guards. Perhaps they were discussing military strategy, or the need for provisions or supplies of some sort.

If I told Sir Thomas what I had seen, would he think me foolish? That I had been spying on his brothers, assuming an interest in something that was none of my business?

Entering the main hall I was greeted by the sounds of the evening meal in progress. The Templars were a much louder crowd than the monks, and the tables were full of noise and conversation. Sir Thomas was seated at the far wall with Sir Basil and some others, so I made my way there.

“Tristan! There you are,” Sir Thomas said when he saw my approach. “I was wondering what took you so long.”

“He had to give that old plow horse a kiss good-bye!” Sir Basil said, and the table of knights erupted in laughter as I turned red.

“Go easy on the boy, Basil,” Sir Thomas said. “Give him a day or two to get his bearings before you unleash that wit of yours.”

“Sir Thomas, I wanted to tell you…” I started to report what I had seen in the street outside, but before I could get the words out, he interrupted me.

“You’ll need to fill a plate and eat quickly-we have important business ahead of us tonight, and not much time,” he said. From the seat next to him Sir Thomas picked up a brown garment and handed it to me.

“Once you’ve finished eating, change into this. It is a servante’s tunic. You will wear it from now on as a member of the Order.”

“Certainly, sire, and there will be chores, I assume?” I asked.

“No chores tonight, boy; there’ll be time for that tomorrow. But eat and change quickly. You’ll want to be presentable for an audience with the King.”

I looked up from my study of the garment at his face. He had that twinkle in his eye, but I could tell he was serious.

“Excuse me, Sir Thomas. But did you just say ‘an audience with the King’?”

“Indeed I did, lad. You aren’t hard of hearing, are you? I could have the physician examine your ears if you’d like,” he said with mock concern.

“No, sire, not necessary-my ears are fine,” I said. But I stood there holding my tunic with what I’m sure was a dazed expression on my face.

“Tristan?” Sir Thomas said.

“Yes, sire?”

“Your meal? Change? There’s not much time. The King expects us shortly,” he said.

Sir Thomas smiled at me. Sir Basil appeared next to me with a plate heaped with food. He placed it at an open seat at the table and beckoned me to sit.

In all the excitement I forgot about Sir Hugh and his mysterious actions in the street. I ate quickly for the food was delicious, but not even my ferocious appetite could keep my mind from racing. I, Tristan of St. Alban’s, born an orphan, would this evening meet the King!

After finishing the meal, another squire named Quincy, who served Sir Basil, showed me to our quarters. Quincy was two years younger than I, but in many ways a miniature version of his knight. Tall and strong for his age, his face was round and his cheeks were a healthy red. He had a ready laugh, cheerfully leading me to my bunk at Sir Basil’s request.

“We sleep in an outbuilding on the grounds,” he said as we left through a back door of the main hall. It was only a few short yards across the common, past several other small structures.

“This is the armory,” he said, pointing to the first building we passed on our way. “Behind the armory are the stables. We sleep here.” By then we had reached a small timber building, square and unadorned. Quincy opened the door, leading me inside.

The interior was dark, lighted only by candles and a few oil lamps. In the center of the room sat a long wooden table with benches along either side. Ten straw mattresses were laid around the interior walls. The far end of the building held a fireplace that took up one wall. There were a few windows that would let in light during the daytime, but now it was damp, dingy and not particularly sweet smelling.

“Does it always smell this clean and fresh?” I said.

Quincy laughed, again reminding me of Sir Basil. “Always,” he said. “Come. I sleep here in the far corner. The space next to mine is empty. It’s yours if you like.”

“My thanks,” I said.

I dropped my small bag of possessions, shrugging out of my shirt and pulling on the tunic Sir Thomas had given me. It was a dull brown wool garment, hooded, with a rope belt that tied around the waist. A long slit up the front and back would make it easier to wear while riding a horse.

I looked at Quincy, who was dressed in the same simple uniform I now wore. I’ll admit that when Sir Thomas had asked me to join him as his squire, I’d envisioned myself wearing a fancy tunic with a red cross and maybe even my own chain mail. I saw now that I’d been wrong to think so.

“Templars wear brilliant white tunics with red crosses and we have to wear these?” I said.

Quincy just shrugged. “It’s what all servantes wear.”

Huh. Maybe the chain mail would come later.

“We should return to the main hall right away,” he said. “We’ll be leaving for the castle shortly.”

“Are you going to see the King as well?” I asked.

“Aye. I heard the brothers say that King Richard leaves in two days to ready his fleet. We have a week or so of preparations, then we sail to meet him. He wants to greet the regimento tonight. A simple affair, I heard. To praise us for our service and to speak with some of the brothers on what we might find when we arrive in Outremer and such,” he said.

“Why are we invited? Isn’t it strange for squires to be included in such a gathering?”

“You might think so,” Quincy said. “I heard Sir Thomas and Sir Hugh had quite an argument after Sir Thomas invited the entire regimento. But Sir Thomas would not back down, arguing that every member of the regimento puts his life on the line and should share in the thanks of the King. Sir Hugh was not amused, so I’m told.”

“What do you know of Sir Hugh?” I asked.

Quincy didn’t answer right away. He looked around the room, as if making doubly sure we were alone. He started to speak, then paused for a moment, as though he needed to choose his words carefully.

“I know we only just met, but if Sir Thomas has chosen you as his squire, then I can assume you are a decent fellow. So let me warn you: stay out of Sir Hugh’s way. He’s vicious and cruel. He made it to Marshal only because of his powerful friends, but he commands by fear. I’ve heard some of the other squires say that he is suspected of breaking Templar laws-executing defenseless prisoners, physically punishing squires and sergeantos for no reason. But he is careful and calculating and no one can ever prove anything, and his victims are too scared of him to speak out against him.”