Orphan of Destiny

by Michael Spradlin

  “Head for the docks. We need to acquire a ship or boat and cross the channel as quickly as we can,” I answered.

  “Acquire?” Maryam queried, a teasing tone in her voice.

  “I do not welcome another sea voyage, but we cannot walk to England. My trick with the Captain’s sword will not stay the castle door for long.” I dug my heels into the horse’s flank and pulled ahead of my friends. Angel ran before us, leading the way.

  Robard and Maryam loved to make sport of my plans. It was their own fault, since they left all the thinking to me. Still, it was hard to blame them for being concerned. I had managed to get us into a number of dangerous situations. Yet, here we were, free again, at least temporarily.

  Sir Hugh wasted little time. As the castle receded behind us, the sound of a loud horn cut through the darkness. We reined up and saw men atop the battlements waving torches back and forth. From the town below us, a bell sounded a few moments later and the shouts of men carried on the wind.

  “What’s happening?” Maryam asked.

  “I don’t know. Sir Hugh has sounded the alarm. The castle must have a way of alerting the village. If there are soldiers or Templars quartered there, we must be doubly careful!” We galloped away, and I feared our pursuers were close at hand. Had they managed to raise the gate?

  Within minutes we reached the outskirts of Calais. There were few villagers about at this hour, and only the faintest trace of starlight guided our way.

  “Which way?” Robard asked.

  “Robard,” I said, exasperated, “we need a boat. I believe boats are kept at or near the ocean.”

  “Don’t get testy with me, squire,” Robard muttered. I felt bad momentarily, but I was trying to think. Something was telling me to avoid the village.

  “Hold,” I said, pulling the reins as my horse skidded to a stop. We had entered on a deserted street, lined by a few simple huts. A pathway between the structures led farther into the heart of the town.

  “What’s wrong?” Maryam asked.

  “I did not count on Sir Hugh being able to sound a warning. No one here will know exactly what to look for, but they know the castle has raised an alarm. I’m wondering if—” My words were cut off by a whizzing sound, and I cried out as a crossbow bolt thunked into the pommel of my saddle. My horse jumped and bolted forward, and I nearly lost my grip.

  “Go!” Robard yelled. He slapped reins and we darted forward, our horses churning up ground as the small huts flew by. Off to our right I could hear shouts of “After them!” and “This way!” I had no idea yet if our pursuers were mounted or on foot, but they were most definitely armed. I understood Robard’s disdain of the crossbow. The distinctive twang of a bowstring and the flight of an arrow from a longbow made noise as it traveled through the air. At least it gave one a fighting chance to dodge or drop to the ground to avoid it. You never heard a crossbow bolt until it appeared, as if by magic, in the center of your chest.

  “Stay low,” Robard shouted, bending forward, hugging his mount’s neck. I did the same and could swear I felt the air move as another bolt hummed by where my head had been moments before.

  The hard ground turned to cobblestone as we entered Calais proper, and the clatter of hoofbeats thundered through the darkness. Soon, buildings lined both sides of the street and the noise of our escape echoed off the walls. Up ahead, I thought I saw movement and warned Robard to turn.

  “LEFT, Robard! LEFT!” I shouted. He steered as I commanded down a side street. We were not getting closer to the docks by this route, and finding a boat seemed unlikely. Our abrupt turn gained us some distance on those following us, but it sounded as if several squads of men were moving through the town in an effort to surround us. I believed we were riding south, which would put us parallel to the coast, but I couldn’t be sure. The streets were narrow and dark, and it was easy to get turned around.

  We had nearly reached the southern edge of Calais, and through a break in the buildings I could see the ocean, and regained my bearings.

  “Tristan?” Robard said.

  “This way!” I gave rein and pulled ahead of him. Angel was barking madly in the dark, and the village dogs took up the chorus. We were making more noise than a regimento of Templars in full-scale battle. I turned my horse toward the ocean. Somewhere ahead, there must be a boat for us.

  We darted and weaved through the streets and alleys. I could hear more horses and knew the longer we waited, the better the chances that Sir Hugh would arrive from the castle with even more men. I cursed my stupidity for heading straight to the village. We should have ridden north or south and found a boat along the coast somewhere. My eagerness to get away from him had clouded my judgment.

  The moon peeked over the horizon to the northwest. It was late in the year, so it would stay low in the sky, but the extra light was a blessing and a curse.

  “Hold,” I said, and we pulled our horses to a stop.

  “Why are we stopping?” Maryam asked.

  “We need to get off these streets,” I said. “With the moon rising we’ll be seen, so we need to be quiet.” I nudged my horse forward at a walk. “We need to head for the countryside. Find a place where we—”

  “No,” Robard said quietly.

  “What?” I replied.

  “I said no. We’re getting a boat and getting out of this bloody country,” he declared.

  “Robard, that is not a good idea,” I explained. “The alarm has been raised; they will be waiting at the docks—”

  “Then I’ll shoot them,” he interrupted, shaking his bow at me.

  “Robard, maybe Tristan is right—” Maryam said.

  “Not tonight.” Robard pointed over his shoulder toward the ocean. “England lies across that water. Home is so close I can almost smell it. I’ll not wait another night. Not another minute. I will kill every King’s Guard with my bare hands if I have to. But we sail tonight.”

  The moonlight played across Robard’s face. It had turned to stone, and I could see it would be useless to argue.

  My shoulders sagged as exhaustion hit me. I was so tired. My head still ached from being knocked unconscious when we had first been captured. I couldn’t think. Angel growled from a few paces away, her nose working the air, and her head turned to look off toward the way we had come.

  “Someone is coming,” Maryam said.

  “All right. Let’s skirt the town; avoid the cobblestone streets where possible. We’ll make less noise. We’ll circle around to the docks. Perhaps they are not guarded yet,” I said. But my words held little enthusiasm.

  “Excellent,” Robard said.

  A few minutes of careful riding later, we rode back into the town, with the channel to our left. We stopped, momentarily, listening. It was strangely quiet. Perhaps we had temporarily eluded those chasing us. Could we have been lucky enough for them to lose our trail? Did they assume we had ridden away to the countryside?

  “I don’t hear anything. Do you?” Robard asked.

  “Yes. I hear a voice. Telling me over and over that this is a very bad idea.”

  Robard snorted in reply. His mind was made up.

  We walked the horses a few hundred yards farther into town, and up ahead I could see a single wooden wharf extending out into the harbor, with several small boats tied to it. Farther out, larger vessels bobbed gently at anchor. The waterfront was lined by a row of shops, inns and other buildings. They all were dark this time of night and their emptiness felt wrong. It was too quiet.

  “Let’s go the rest of the way on foot,” I suggested. “We can tie the horses here, and if it’s a trap, we may be able to recover them.”

  Robard did not disagree. We tied both of them to a nearby post and made our way toward freedom, keeping to the shadows as much as possible.

  “Angel, lead,” I said. As always, the little golden dog appeared to know exactly what I needed. She trotted about twenty paces ahead of us, cocking her head left and right, pausing occasionally and sniffing at the ground.
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  Robard held his bow at the ready, Maryam had drawn her daggers and my short sword rested comfortably in my hand. I could barely breathe as we crept forward, my eyes scanning every nook and cranny, any spot where a man with a crossbow might conceal himself.

  I saw nothing.

  We waited, keeping the dock in sight, hoping anyone hiding there might grow careless and reveal their presence.

  “All clear,” said Robard.

  He stepped out of the shadows and crossed the street, the dock only a few paces away. Maryam followed closely, and then it was my turn.

  As I ventured into the street, I felt something punch me in my right side. Worse than a punch—a punch would not hurt as much. I looked down at my right hip and was shocked to see a crossbow bolt protruding from it. The pain was instantaneous and immense.

  “Beauseant!” I shouted, not knowing why I chose to utter the Templar battle cry. I tried to step forward, to warn Robard and Maryam, but my leg was not working correctly. Angel barked and I heard Maryam’s ululating war cry and Robard’s curse. His bow twanged and someone screamed. Then another cry and the sound of running feet. My vision swirled and I thought for a moment I was back in Acre, with Sir Thomas beside me.

  “Sir Thomas commands . . .” I could not finish, for it hurt even to breathe. I saw Maryam’s flashing daggers and heard a groan of anguish, and I believe someone died right in front of me.

  Then I heard a familiar soft humming sound, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. I felt warm and strangely comforted by it. Nearby came the sounds of running feet and shouts of angry men. And as the ground rushed up to meet me, my last thought was, Please don’t let me die in France.

  SOMEWHERE IN THE ENGLISH CHANNEL

  3

  I felt the sensation of movement, rising and falling. And I smelled and tasted salt. It made me sick to my stomach, and I thought I would vomit. The next time I woke up, I could feel the wind blowing in my face. But we weren’t moving as much as before.

  My eyes opened to a blue sky. Then they closed, and when they opened again, the night sky and stars were above me. They shut once more, and I could no longer see stars, but light came from somewhere. I thought I heard Robard say, “He’s awake.” But I drifted off again before I could answer him.

  When I next came to, I was standing in a gently rolling grassy field. There was a soft breeze, and the sun, high in the cloudless sky, was warm on my face. A shadow fell across me, and I glanced up to see a bird, a very large bird, circling lazily in the sky. It flew up until it almost disappeared from sight, and then it flexed its wings and dove. It picked up speed and I watched, transfixed, as it headed straight for me. I smiled in wonder at the grace of what I first thought was a kestrel of some sort, but as it drew closer, it grew in size and kept growing, and I worried it might be some larger bird that would sink its talons into me.

  I turned and ran, and the shadow of the bird covered the sun and the light dimmed. Then came a horrible shriek, high-pitched and cackling, and the bird began laughing. Impossible, I told myself. Birds don’t laugh.

  My boots grew heavy and I looked down at my wound to see that blood was seeping through the bright white tunic I wore. It had a brilliantly colored red cross embroidered on the chest. The shadow was almost upon me, and as I stole a glance over my shoulder, I screamed out loud, for it was no bird at all. It was a large and powerful dragon, and its face was the face of Eleanor, the Queen Mother. As the giant talons of the beast reached out for me, I clutched at my belt for my sword but was dismayed to find myself unarmed. I tripped and fell to the ground, tumbling hard, crying in agony at the pain in my side.

  The next thing I knew, I lay flat on the ground, and Eleanor of Aquitaine stood with one tiny foot on my chest as if she had just bested me in a wrestling match. Perhaps she had, for my head felt thick and dull, and I could not raise my arms. She peered down at me, and her face became curiously hawklike and her eyes blackened. I wished to close my eyes but could not.

  “Look at this, poor little orphan boy. You’ve been shot, orphan boy! What idiot walks right into an ambush? And you think you could be a king?” With that she threw back her head, and her cackling laugh rang through the air around me.

  “What?” I managed to say. Her head snapped down, and her eyes bore into me. “Me, a king? I’m not . . . I do not . . . I have no idea what you’re talking about!” And truer words were never spoken. I remembered her admonition as I’d held her hostage in the castle. “I’ll see you dead before you ever sit on Richard’s throne,” she had sputtered at me. I’d paid little attention to her at the time. It made no sense to me.

  “And I’m supposed to believe that!” She pressed her foot directly onto my wound, and I moaned in agony.

  “No!” I shouted back at her. “Stop! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

  “Ha!” she said to me. “You think me so foolish? Thomas Leux served my husband! Always there to lick Henry’s boots! He told you! I know he did! Don’t lie to me, orphan boy!”

  She literally spat the words at me. In all my life, with everything I’d seen, even on the battlefield, I don’t think I’d ever come across someone so angry and full of hate. She pushed her foot against my wound again, and the pain caused me to cry out, “I AM NOT A KING!”

  Water splashed into my face and the Queen disappeared, replaced by Maryam, who stood over me, holding a dripping water skin.

  “Easy, Templar,” she said. “We know you are most definitely not a king.” I tried to explain how the Queen Mother was tormenting me, but I was too weak and the words would not come. I closed my eyes.

  When I next woke, water was being poured over my lips. It tasted wonderful. Something licked my face, and I hoped it was Angel, but in my disoriented state I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t the Queen Mother or, knowing my luck, a large Eleanor-shaped dragon.

  My dreams took me to the walls above Acre over the main city gate. Sir Thomas stood next to me, resplendent in his bright white tunic and gleaming chain mail. His battle sword hung at his side, his hand gripping the hilt. His reddish brown hair blew about his head in the breeze. Sir Basil, with his loyal squire Quincy, stood not far away. They both beamed at me. The lilting tenor of the Grail carried through the air around us, but strangely they did not notice it.

  Sir Thomas studied the field below Acre, his face a mask of seriousness. When I tried to see, to understand what drew his attention, I could not. The field appeared deserted to me, but I also heard the sounds of an invisible battle played out before us. My confusion exhausted me.

  Sir Thomas put his hand on my shoulder. “Are you ready, lad?” he asked me.

  “Ready for what, Sir Thomas?” I replied.

  “It’s almost here,” he said.

  “What, Sir Thomas?” I asked. “What is almost here? Why are you here? I left you behind. Am I to rejoin you? . . . Am . . . am I dying?”

  “No, lad. You are almost finished with your duty. But you must not come here. Not yet. Your task is not complete, and danger lies this way. You must be more careful than ever. You cannot lose. We cannot lose. Return and finish what you’ve begun. You’ve been so brave. I told you in Acre, Sir Lancelot himself had no finer squire. Remember?”

  “Yes, sire,” I said. “I remember.” The warmth of his words brought me happiness for a moment.

  “It’s true. Now go. Finish this. You can do it. We did not choose you for this duty—the Grail did. Remember it sounds only for the righteous. Go, lad. You will not face this danger alone, I promise. But still, be careful.”

  “Sir Thomas.” I bowed my head. “I broke my vow. You ordered me to tell no one I carried the Grail. Not even a brother Templar. But Maryam and Robard deserved to know. And Celia. Sir Hugh was . . . I had to . . .” In my dream, it was difficult to talk and explain myself.

  Sir Thomas gazed off to the plains below us for several long seconds. I feared he was angry, but he smiled. “Worry not, lad. You’ve chosen your friends well. I could have done no
better. You’ve more than served your oath to me, Tristan. But you must finish it.” His voice was firm and filled with determination. “Do not forget, help will be there when you need it.”

  The musical sound of the Grail grew louder, and it was impossible for me to understand how Sir Thomas could not hear it. It was louder than it had ever been before. Yet Sir Thomas just smiled and nodded at me.

  Then he faded away, as did Quincy and Sir Basil. But I remained standing on the high wall above Acre, the sun shining brightly and a breeze caressing my face. I was happy. Happier than I’d ever been. With a smile, I glanced backward, studying the walls and rooftops of the city below me. Slowly, I realized that it was deserted and I was alone. If I stayed there, I would be companionless forever. Was this why Sir Thomas told me I didn’t belong here? Was he worried I would spend eternity in solitude?

  When I next woke, I heard songbirds, and waves crashing against the shore. I was lying on the ground but remembered being on a boat at some point. How long had I been out? I tried to rise, but a hand pushed my head gently back down. A voice told me to rest, and though I wished to disobey, I could not. More sleep.

  Finally I was conscious, but it was dark. I heard Maryam and Robard talking quietly. I tried to speak, but no words would come, and there was a burning, throbbing, stinging pain in my side. It was as if there was a hornet’s nest beneath the hide and muscle of my hip. Then I remembered the fight at the docks in Calais, and a crossbow bolt protruding from my side.

  Something warm, rough and damp touched my cheek, and the smell of wet dog assaulted my nose. There was another odor, a fire burning, the smell of something cooking. The sense of all these things surrounded me, and I pushed and concentrated and lunged up from the depths of unconsciousness. My eyes flew open and I gasped aloud, “Hornets!”