“It generally does when you’ve had a concussion. Why don’t you get back into bed where you belong?”
“I think I will.”
The next morning Brian felt not only better, but stronger. Again he got up, more carefully this time, and began to dress himself. It wasn’t easy with only one hand, but he managed quite well until he tried to pull on his tunic. It caught on the elbow of his bad arm, and he was tugging at it, swearing under his breath, when he heard Lianor say, “Stop that!”
Coming into the room, she untied the sling, eased his arm through the armhole of the tunic, then tied the sling again.
“I don’t remember telling you that you could get up,” she said.
“You didn’t tell me I couldn’t.”
“I thought you’d have sense enough to know you shouldn’t. How do you feel?”
“All right.”
“Then I think you can stay up. But stop prowling about like a pard in a cage. Sit down.”
“Why?”
“Because if you don’t, you’ll give yourself another headache. And I don’t think you’d like the potion I’d give you to cure it.”
Moodily he went over to a bench near the window and sat down. He had already looked out into the garden. Alys wasn’t there.
“She’s in the solar,” said Lianor. “With Sir Uriel.”
“Who?” asked Brian.
“The Queen of Cappadocia,” she said. “Who do you think?” And when he didn’t answer, “You don’t know what to do with yourself, do you?”
“No.”
“Do you play chess?”
“Yes. Not very well.”
Going to one of the chests, Lianor took out chessmen and a board, set the board on the bench, and they began to play. Brian’s eyes kept straying from the board to the garden below, and they hadn’t made a dozen moves before Lianor said, “Check.”
He moved his king.
“That does it,” said Lianor, bringing up a bishop. “Mate. Well, you were honest about that.”
“About what?”
“The fact that you don’t play very well.”
“I was thinking about something else,” said Brian.
“I know. Do you want to play another?”
“No”
“I don’t blame you. I’d only beat you again.”
Picking up the board and chessmen, she put them back in the chest. Then, nodding coolly to him, she left the room. He remained at the window for some time. Alys didn’t walk in the garden that day, but she did stop in to see how he was late in the afternoon.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lianor shrugged. “You can try it if you like,” she said. She watched as he slipped his arm out of the sling, raised it and brought it forward across his chest. “This isn’t the first time you’ve done that, is it?”
“How did you know?” asked Brian.
“Because of the way you moved it. You knew where it might hurt. When was the first time?”
“A few days ago. I got tired of dressing with only one hand.”
“Very intelligent. It takes weeks for a bone to mend properly. And if it doesn’t … How does it feel?”
“Fine. Wait, I’ll show you.”
Taking his sword from the peg on the wall, he buckled it on, drew it and cut right and left. He had tried this before also, but this time it barely hurt at all.
“Splendid,” said Lianor dryly. “Would you like me to take your challenge to the Black Knight?”
“Don’t bait me. I know it’s not entirely well yet. But is there any reason why I can’t ride now if I’m careful?”
“You’re very anxious to leave here, aren’t you?”
“Yes and no. I’ll never forget all you’ve done for me. You’ve been very kind …”
“What about Alys?”
He flushed. “I asked you not to bait me. She’s been kind too. Everyone has. But I was thinking about Tertius.”
“Ah, yes. That quest of yours. Well, if you’re so eager to go, I don’t know why you can’t.”
“When?”
“Whenever you’d like.”
“Thank you, princess.”
Pulling off the sling, he hurried out of the room and down the stairs. During the weeks he had been there, he had gotten to know the castle almost as well as he knew Caercorbin. It had been a curious period in which time had seemed disjointed and oddly inconstant: now going quickly, now dragging tediously. Though Lianor, who was the castle chatelaine, had many more duties than her sister, somehow he had seen more of her than of Alys. It was Lianor who had taken him to the armory where the armorer was mending his hauberk and shown him the stillroom where she compounded her salves and distilled sweet essences out of herbs. He had gone hawking with her several times, watching her fly her merlin in the fields outside the town. But while Alys had less to do—and here was the rub—when he did see her, it was rarely alone. When she walked in the close or sat in the solar doing needlework, Sir Uriel or some other knight was almost always with her. And listening to them play or sing for her and hearing their pretty speeches and talk of other courts made Brian feel awkward and out of place, and he would soon leave.
There was always Tertius, of course. But though they saw each other every day and sat together when they dined in the great hall, there were times when he disappeared. For he went almost every day to the shop of his friend, the goldsmith. And since he never told Brian what he did there—and Brian was too proud to ask him—Brian in turn talked little to him, so there was a slight coolness between them.
Since it was midmorning, Brian found Alys in the close and, beyond expectation, found her alone. While Lianor seemed to like the hot summer sun, going bareheaded until she was golden brown, Alys, who was fair, avoided it and only sat or strolled in the walled garden early in the day or late in the afternoon.
She was sitting on a stone bench in the shade of the linden tree and smiled as he came toward her.
“Greetings, princess,” he said. “May I sit with you awhile?”
“I wish you would. This embroidery is beginning to bore me. Besides, my tiring woman tells me that if I do needlework out-of-doors it will give me a squint and wrinkles.”
“Nature could not be so unkind to us as to let anything mar your beauty.”
“You’re very gallant today. And you also seem more cheerful than you’ve been of late.”
“Why should I not be when I’ve witnessed a miracle?”
“What miracle is that?”
“Finding you alone.”
“Is that such a rare thing?”
“Rarer than strawberries at Yuletide, and much more welcome. But besides that, I’ve had good news. My shoulder, it seems, is well again.”
“Of course. Your sling—I should have noticed. It is all well?”
“Well enough so that I can ride.”
“You mean ride from here? Leave here?”
“Yes, princess.”
“Then let me take back what I said about your gallantry. For I find it not at all gallant that you should be so happy to leave us.”
“You know it’s not that, princess—that I want to go. But we’ve been here for many weeks now.…”
“And you’re anxious to be off on that mysterious quest of yours. Well, I can’t keep you. Nor would I if I could. But when it’s accomplished, perhaps you’ll come back again.”
“Would you like me to come back?”
She looked at him from under lowered lashes.
“Need you ask that?”
“Then I promise that when I have done something worthy—and to be worthy of you it must be worthy indeed—I will come back.”
“When will you go? Will it be soon?”
“I don’t know. I must talk to Tertius about that. But …”
He noticed that she wasn’t looking at him, but past him.
“Good morning, Sir Uriel,” she said. “If it is still morning.”
“Good morning, princess,” he said. “Of course it’s still m
orning. It’s only … Oh. You mean it’s late. Well, the fact is …”
“You needn’t explain,” she said. “And you needn’t go, Brian.”
“Of course not,” said Sir Uriel. “How are you today? How’s the shoulder?”
“Better, thank you, Sir Uriel. I’m afraid I must go, princess. Tertius doesn’t know yet. That we can leave now, I mean.”
“In that case …” Alys held out her hand to him and, as he bent over it, “it will take you some time to get ready, so I will see you again. In the meantime, remember your promise.”
“It shall be as a lodestone to draw me back here again.”
Brian was standing at the window when Tertius came into the room. Tertius glanced at him, at the sling that lay on one of the chests, and raised an inquiring eyebrow.
“Yes,” said Brian. “Lianor said I needn’t wear it anymore. We can go whenever you’d like now.”
“Why whenever I’d like?”
“I thought you were getting impatient, anxious to go.”
“I am. But what about you?”
“I’ve already told Alys we were going.”
“You don’t sound very happy about it.”
“I suppose I’d be happier if the quest we were on weren’t just yours. I mean, if I had one too, one of my own.”
Tertius peered at him. Then, reaching into his purse, he took out a curious object: two circular pieces of glass like the one he wore around his neck, but joined together by a silver bridge and with a curved silver wire on the side of each glass. Raising it, he slipped the wires behind his ears and looked at Brian again through the bits of glass. “What’s that?” asked Brian.
“A pair of spectacles. I said something to you about them the first time we met.”
“Oh, yes. How they’d help you see better. Do they?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you get them?”
“The goldsmith made them for me. I thought if he could cut and polish gems, he should be able to grind lenses.”
“So that’s what you were doing over there almost every day.”
“What did you think I was doing?”
“I didn’t know, but I didn’t like it. Your not telling me, I mean.”
“You never asked me. And besides, I had a feeling that there were things you weren’t telling me.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Brian awkwardly.
“Don’t you? All right. But you were saying you’d be happier if you had a quest of your own. What sort of quest?”
“It wouldn’t really matter if it was a good one. But perhaps something to do with Meliot.” He gestured toward the window. “I keep looking out and thinking of what’s happening here—of what the Black Knight has done to the town, the whole kingdom—and wishing there were something I could do about it, something to help.”
“Why don’t you find the Knight with the Red Shield?”
Brian stared at him.
“What?”
“I said why don’t you find the Knight with the Red Shield? If what they say is true and only he can overthrow the Black Knight … Easy!” For Brian had clutched him in a bear hug. “You’ll break my spectacles.”
“No, I won’t. Tertius, what would I do without you?”
“I sometimes wonder,” said Tertius, taking off the spectacles. Then, as Brian seized his arm and began dragging him toward the door he muttered, “Now what?”
“It’s noon. The king will still be in the solar. Come on.”
It was the king’s custom, when he had finished his audiences in the throne room, to retire to the solar where he could be private and spend some time with his seneschal, Sir Amory. On this day, Alys, Lianor and Sir Uriel were there too: Sir Uriel talking to Alys while Lianor sat nearby with her account book on her lap. The king looked up as Brian and Tertius came in.
“Well, Brian,” he said. “My daughters have given me two kinds of news about you, good and bad. The good that you are whole and hale again, and the bad that you intend to leave us.”
“Both are true, Your Majesty. Though I cannot believe that our leaving can be called bad news.”
“When you have shown yourself to be such a good friend to Meliot? You are either too modest or you care too little for our gratitude.”
“It is we who are your debtors, Your Majesty, for your great courtesy and hospitality and,” bowing to Lianor, “for the care that I was given.”
“Could we do less than care for you when you got hurt trying to help us? You must know that you would be welcome here for as long as you chose to stay. But since I have been told that you have affairs of your own in hand, we will not try to keep you.”
“The quest was not mine. Your Majesty. It was that of my friend, Tertius. But now I have one of my own.”
“And is it just as mysterious and secret as his?”
“No, Your Majesty. And since it concerns you and Meliot, I thought you should know of it. You spoke of my attempt to be of help. As you know, that came to naught. But Tertius here has suggested a way in which I might truly be of service. And that is to find the one man in the world who can free you from the Black Knight: the Knight with the Red Shield.” Then, as the king glanced at Sir Amory, “Why do you smile, Your Majesty?”
“Forgive me, Brian,” said the king. “That you should consider such an undertaking puts us more in your debt than ever. But I must tell you that this is something that we have tried ourselves. For some years now I have been sending out men to search for the Knight with the Red Shield, not only throughout Britain, but in all parts of the civilized world. And so far no one has been able to find him or even find anyone who ever heard of him.”
“But he must exist. Did not Merlin say …?”
“Yes. But if Merlin was human, as I assume he was, would he not have been as fallible as the rest of us?” Then, “Again I ask your pardon, Brian. Why should I, of all men, try to discourage you from a venture that would be our salvation? Though I find it difficult to let myself hope, it does not follow that because others have failed, you will also. And,” glancing at Alys and Lianor, “know this. If you succeed, there is nothing in all Meliot you could not have for the asking.”
As with Lianor earlier, Brian felt himself flushing; but he managed to say, “To have been of service, Sire, would be reward enough.”
“There are some,” said the king, smiling, “to whom that might sound less than gallant.”
“I only meant …”
“I know, Brian. And if you accomplish what you hope, we shall talk of this again. Meanwhile, Sir Amory will wait on you and see that you are provided with anything you require.”
“I thank Your Majesty,” said Brian. He and Tertius bowed. As they straightened up, prepared to withdraw from the solar, Brian’s eyes met those of Alys. They were wide and bright, shining as they had before his joust with the Black Knight. He glanced at Lianor. Her face was expressionless, her eyes strangely dark.
Sir Uriel caught up with them in the corridor outside.
“I say, that was a smashing idea you had there. About the Knight with the Red Shield, I mean. Wish I’d thought of it.”
“I didn’t think of it either,” said Brian. “It was Tertius who did.”
“Oh?” He looked Tertius up and down as if he were seeing him for the first time. “You know what they say—out of the mouths of babes and all that. Been here for more than six months, and it never occurred to me.”
“Possibly you had other things on your mind,” said Tertius.
“Perhaps I did. But now, you don’t mind if I take a whack at it too, do you? Looking for old Red Shield, I mean.”
“Not at all,” said Brian.
“Good. Hoped you wouldn’t. Perhaps we could join forces. When are you leaving?”
“As soon as we can,” said Brian. “Tomorrow morning.”
“Very early,” said Tertius.
“That’s not so good. Things to take care of, good-byes and such. Besides I hate getting up early�
��never at my best then. So perhaps we’d better go our own ways, what?”
“Perhaps we’d better,” said Tertius gravely.
“Right. Probably see you sometime before you leave. If I don’t, good questing!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
By the light of the stable-boy’s horn lantern, Brian looked over the sumpter mule for the last time, making sure the girth was tight and the well-filled saddlebags secure. Gaillard, eager to be off, nuzzled him, and Brian stroked his sleek neck. Then, satisfied that all was in order, he nodded to Tertius and mounted. Leading the mule, and with Tertius following, he rode out of the yard.
It had been dark when they woke, not only because it was so early, but because of a mist that had drifted down the river valley and blanketed the town in damp, gray obscurity. They had spent most of the afternoon before with Sir Amory, going over the provisions they would need, and had retired early, saying their good-byes to the king, Alys and Lianor in the great hall. Later, remembering the look in Alys’s eyes as he bent over her hand, Brian was sure he would not sleep that night. But he had gone off almost as soon as he had climbed into the great canopied bed and had only awakened when Tertius shook him.
They crossed the town square and went down the narrow street that led to the gate, the echoes of the horses’ hoofs sounding hollow, muffled by the fog. It felt odd to be riding without a lance and Sir Amory had been surprised when Brian had refused one, saying he would not be jousting for some time. He had been just as surprised when Brian had asked for a bow and some well-fletched arrows, but he had agreed that they might prove useful if their provisions ran low.
The captain of the guard came out of the gatehouse as they approached and, recognizing them, saluted and called an order to his men. The heavy gate swung open, and they rode through it, turning left toward the river. But they had gone only a short distance when Gaillard shied and started to rear.
Steadying him, Brian leaned forward, peering through the mist. An old crone stood in the road, almost under Gaillard’s nose. She wore a ragged, shapeless cloak; her face was weather-beaten, dark as a gypsy’s, her gray hair tangled in elf-locks and her eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot.
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