Orphan of Destiny tyt-3

by Michael Spradlin

  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.

  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 h
ave 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!”

  Light reflected off a large boulder where I lay sprawled on the ground, and in an instant the faces of Angel, Maryam and Robard appeared above me.

  “He’s finally awake,” Robard said.

  “Tristan, how are you feeling?” Maryam asked.

  Angel barked.

  “I feel. . Where did. . pain?”

  “Where did the pain come from?” Maryam tried to finish my sentence for me. “You were shot. By a crossbow. You lost a lot of blood. We thought we were going to lose you more than once.” Her hand tenderly pushed the hair from my eyes.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “What do you remember?” Robard asked back.

  “We were on the street, close to the docks. Then something punched me in the side and I looked down to see a bolt. Not much after that. The King’s Guards showed up, didn’t they?” The pain in my hip rose up and nausea overtook me. Closing my eyes and breathing deeply, I tried to settle myself.

  “He should rest,” Maryam said. “It makes no difference what happened. We’re safe for now.”

  I opened my eyes again and saw something pass between Robard and Maryam. He stalked away from the fire out of my line of sight. I tried to follow him with my eyes but couldn’t yet.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked her quietly.

  She pushed a log deeper into the fire. “He blames himself for your getting shot. He insisted we sail immediately, and now he feels foolish and selfish. I’ve told him you would never blame him, but he’s a hard one. Hardest on himself, actually. He-”

  “I’m standing right here. I can hear you!” Robard exclaimed from somewhere behind me.

  Finally I was able to rise up on my elbows and scoot around to sit leaning against the boulder. Angel scurried next to me and curled herself up next to my hip and went immediately to sleep. How often I envied dogs.

  “Robard, don’t fret about it. We were surrounded, with pursuers all over the town. Trouble would have found us no matter where we went.”

  He relaxed his stance a bit. We had traveled together long enough for me to know he would condemn himself for a long time over my wound.

  “It’s my fault, squire,” he said. “If I weren’t so headstrong on the idea of getting home-”

  “Robard, had you not insisted on heading straight to the docks, I would have worried something was wrong with you. Since I met you in Outremer, you’ve spoken of little else but returning to your forest. It was wrong of me to think otherwise. It’s done. I’m going to be fine, so let us speak no more of it.” He looked at m
e and smiled. His hair now reached his big shoulders, and his fair skin was windburned. But his blue eyes were clear and strong. When I was growing up at St. Alban’s, Brother Rupert often told me tales of the Viking hordes who swept over England many hundreds of years ago. I had no doubt Robard was their heir. He finally relaxed a little more, then rested with his bow on the ground and his arms crossed over it.

  “You gave us a fright,” he said. Maryam concurred.

  “You were delirious and running a horrible fever. Ranting out of your head,” she said. “For a while, I didn’t think we’d ever make the shore. But we finally landed not too far from here.”

  “Where is here? Where are we?” I asked.

  Robard smiled. “We’re home, Tristan. We’re in England.”

  4

  Robard and Maryam recounted the events of the last two days. My memory ended at the docks, with the crossbow bolt sticking out of my hip.

  “There were four of them waiting there,” Maryam said. “Sir Hugh will be furious they let us slip away. Robard wounded two of them. My daggers claimed another. The other one turned and ran.”

  “We gathered you up,” Robard went on, “and found a suitable vessel, small, much like the one in Tyre, only less of a wreck. It had three oars to a side, and we cut it loose and I started rowing while Maryam tried to keep you from bleeding the boat full and sinking us on the spot.”

  I winced at the thought.

  “So much blood for a tiny flesh wound,” Maryam remarked.

  “Tiny?” I said, agitated.

  Maryam shrugged. “It wasn’t like you were shot by a longbow.”

  I glared at her. Maryam’s compassion apparently had its limits.

  “Didn’t they try to chase us?” I asked.

  “Of course,” Maryam said. “They took two boats out right away, but I rowed and Robard discouraged them from getting too close. When we cleared the harbor and he had wounded a third man, they turned back. While you were sleeping, Robard and I kept going until we could no longer lift our arms.