Children of the Knight

by Michael J. Bowler

  Even Lance was in awe of their numbers. He had no idea any more, he realized, how many were here. Must be five or six hundred, he reasoned, with so many spreading into the tunnel spokes. They needed a bigger gathering place—that much was obvious.

  But none of these matters troubled Arthur. It was time, he knew, time to move his crusade forward, time to embark upon their first quest—the quest to win the hearts of the people. He raised Excalibur high above his head for all to see. Lantern light bounced off its gleaming surface in rainbow-like waves. Mark gazed in wonder at Arthur and his sword, while Jack found his eyes drifting to Lance. Then Arthur spoke.

  “In these past weeks, ye have all made great strides in the ways of knighthood.” His voice boomed through the tunnels for all to hear.

  Lance couldn’t help himself. His heart began beating wildly. “Does this mean…?” he asked, his boyish voice barely a whisper.

  Arthur glanced at the boy and nodded before turning to thunder at the crowd, “I have not knighted anyone for centuries. It hath been far too long!” He grinned at the sea of expectant faces, and the crowd erupted into clapping and stomping and hooting.

  Arthur raised Excalibur over their heads to signal quiet. “Tonight,” he announced boldly. “It shalt be tonight.”

  THE Griffith Park Boys Camp had never hosted a gathering quite like this one. Unlike Arthur’s previous excursion to this venue, tonight no one present came for the purpose of violence or mayhem. Small lanterns sat on tables illuminating the trees and cabins with their dancing light. Other lanterns had been hung from scattered tree branches, casting yellowish glowing pools of light upon the proceedings.

  Arthur stood regally atop the platform holding Excalibur before him, decked out in his finest tunic and pants, his hauberk and crown, his hair smooth and brushed, his beard trimmed and clean.

  Lance stood before the platform, his own silky hair trailing past his shoulders, a band of shimmering gold encircling his head, his own tunic and pants spotless, his striking green eyes gazing at Arthur with wonder. A sword—Lance’s favorite sword, the one with which he’d bested Esteban—stuck out of a groove in the platform before Arthur, its hilt glimmering in the lantern light.

  Behind Lance stood in a line, Mark, Jack, Lavern, Esteban, Darnell, Enrique, Reyna, Luis, Chris, Jaime, Tai, Duc, Sylvia and all the hundreds of children who had taken a leap of faith and joined the crusade, each of them with a chosen sword in hand, the line snaking around and back and through the park.

  Arthur still did not know the actual number in attendance, but Lance suspected upward of five hundred, a daunting figure. In addition to the unusual act of knighting children, for the first time as king he would grant knighthood to females. Oh, Merlin, he cast a thought to the wind, ye wouldst be so proud of me. The moon cast its own glow upon the eager young faces awaiting their individual moment of triumph.

  Arthur looked down at Lance, and his heart swelled with pride. Ah, my son, he thought, but did not say this. Rather, he waved a hand in front of him. Lance stepped onto the platform and knelt before his sword, before his king.

  “Speak the oath, squire,” Arthur commanded, his voice carrying on the breeze.

  Lance looked at Arthur solemnly and then bowed his head and placed both hands on the hilt of his sword. “I thank thee, Heavenly Father, for permitting unto me the use of this sword to repress the wicked and defend the downtrodden. You, who in thy infinite wisdom created the order of chivalry, and who planted goodness within my heart, doth charge thy humble servant here before thee to never use this sword to strike anyone unjustly. Grant me, Lord, the strength to be now and for all time, a warrior, not for might, but for right.”

  Arthur grinned at Lance. He couldn’t help it. And neither could the boy, who raised his eyes and grinned back. Arthur lifted Excalibur and gently touched its tip first to Lance’s left shoulder and then to his right. “I hereby dub thee Sir Lance, Knight of the Table Round.”

  Lance’s entire body shook, and he thought he might actually faint, so overwhelmed was he with pride and joy at this, the greatest moment of his life, and his grin broadened, lighting up his face with pure happiness. As Arthur withdrew Excalibur, Lance leaned forward and kissed the hilt of his own sword before taking it in his grasp and standing.

  The newly minted knight turned and held the sword aloft for all to see. The line of expectant children broke into wild applause. Lance turned back to Arthur and bowed. Raising his head, boy and king exchanged a private look that bothered Mark, who was next in line. He, too, was ecstatic at this moment, but he deeply wished Arthur would look at him the way he looked at Lance. Jealousy crept into his heart, and he had to force it down. Not tonight, he told himself.

  He pushed his feelings aside and knelt before Arthur, who smiled so warmly down at him that Mark forgot his ill will entirely. He stuck his own sword hilt-up within the platform’s groove and glanced over at Lance, who tossed him a grin and a wink. Mark grinned and felt guilty for his jealousy, shoving it back down into the darkest reaches of his soul. Lance was his friend, after all, and a good friend, at that.

  Arthur and Mark locked eyes a moment. Mark’s milky white skin and glowing blue eyes shimmered in the lantern light, and the boy couldn’t help but smile. Then Arthur said, “Speak the oath, squire.” And Mark did exactly that. And so the process repeated itself. Over and over and over again, late into the night.

  Thus passed a long, but fulfilling, experience, as each and every child stepped forward to swear the oath, and join the Table. For those cast off and unwanted kids, for those ex-gang members who sought a better life, for those abused and beaten and berated by their families, this was a night like no other, a night where they finally felt special, needed, and important. This night, every one of them knew in their hearts, would change their lives forever.

  JENNY sat on the front stoop of her apartment building, pensively gazing at the moon hanging listlessly in the sky, absently fiddling with a crystal dangling from a chain around her neck. Her thoughts swirled around this Arthur character and what he might be up to. Okay, she told herself, he obviously can’t be the real King Arthur. But, he might actually believe he is. If that were the case, according to the legend, Arthur would return when Britain needed him most. Except this wasn’t Britain. Okay, the guy’s a nut and poor on geography. Fine. What would Arthur likely do if in fact he really did return?

  A new Round Table. That’s what he’d said at the park. The original Camelot had crumbled due to in-fighting and human selfishness. But now, it seemed, he wanted to start a new Camelot, and his new knights would be…. Oh God! Lance! And the children! Why didn’t she see it before? No wonder he wanted Lance—the name wasn’t a coincidence. But then what? Let’s say you’re right, Jenny, he’s building an army. To do what? That was the piece of the puzzle that eluded her.

  Should she contact the police? Those detectives handling the case had put their contact info in the paper. Should she call, at least tell them her suspicions, alert them about Lance? Except they couldn’t find Lance any more than she could. The address MTS had on file for him had been bogus.

  Oh, what to do? At times like this she so wished her father were still alive, but he’d succumbed to leukemia a few years back. Her mother had died when Jenny was four and her father had raised her alone. He’d been the most caring, sensible man she’d ever known and always had sound advice to pass on whenever she was troubled. Oh, Dad, what should I do?

  You don’t have a choice, Jenny, she finally told herself with a heavy sigh of frustration, but to wait for Arthur’s next move. Yeah, and I’ll be ready when you do, she affirmed in her heart. Lance would come to no harm if she had anything to say about it.

  IT WAS the afternoon following the knighting ceremony, and the excitement level amongst the gathered throng within The Hub was palpable. They filled the chamber and tunnels with exuberant chatter, brimming with energy. Arthur stood near the throne with Lance, who wore a bright green tunic and gripped his own sword in its s
cabbard as though daring anyone to try and take it away.

  They observed the energy before them. Even Esteban and Jaime and Darnell seemed almost childlike in their new chain-mail shirts, waving their swords around with giddy joy. Reyna and her posse of girls looked especially striking in their new tunics, waving their swords and bows at each other with the excitement of small children.

  Arthur caught Mark staring at him, and smiled. The blond boy beamed brightly and held up his own sword in a salute. Jack, as always, hovered near Mark like a moth to a light bulb, but Mark’s eyes remained fixed on Arthur as though Jack was nonexistent. Lance noted this with an odd feeling in his stomach, especially when Jack’s penetrating gaze fell upon him, but Arthur was already looking elsewhere and he failed to notice the exchange. Finally, the man turned to face Lance, draping one arm across his shoulders.

  “See them, Sir Lance,” he said with a sweep of his hand across the vast assemblage. “It doth be through thine efforts and loyalty that all of this hath come to pass. I be truly honored by thy faithfulness.”

  Lance grinned and looked down in embarrassment. He still couldn’t get used to compliments, especially from Arthur.

  “And I sayeth now that—” But Arthur stopped himself, not quite sure why. Lance looked up expectantly, but the king fell awkwardly silent. No, now still didst not seem the proper time, he decided. Perhaps later. Instead, he squeezed Lance’s shoulder and then dropped his hand back to his side, turning to the entire group.

  What had Arthur been about to say, Lance wondered?

  “Knights of the Table, attend!” Arthur’s voice echoed through the chamber and tunnels, and the kids gradually quelled their excitement and squeezed around him until there was barely room to breathe. “My noble and faithful knights, it doth be time to embark upon a quest.”

  Esteban pointed his sword up in the air, his knightly method of hand raising. “What’s the plan?”

  Little Lavern, resplendent in his own chain mail and dark red tunic, elbowed Esteban and glared at him. Esteban almost shoved him back, but then understood his error. “I, uh, mean, what will be the plan, sire?”

  Arthur’s smile descended into a frown. “We must check the appalling spread of squalor in thy neighborhoods and in so doing, win the acceptance of the people whose lives we seek to better.”

  Mark threw up his hand. His own sky-blue tunic set off his striking eyes. “These neighborhoods are in bad shape, Arthur. The city don’t take care of ’em, and we doth got nothing to fix ’em up with. What’ll we use?”

  Arthur smiled. He asked who amongst the assemblage had mechanical or fixing skills or experience with tools and repair work. Quite a few hands shot up.

  “Excellent,” the king said, nodding. “Then you shalt teach the others.” And he proceeded to lay out the plan he and Lance had hatched. The assembled listened intently. Some began to smile and nod. Others grinned with delight. All of them applauded. Arthur and Lance set up the teams and sent them out.

  In groups of four, they fanned out across the city, foraging through and around various dumpsters, in back alleys, anyplace people set out their trash. Grabbing broken furniture, pieces of wood and metal and pipes, everything that could be useful, they dumped all of it into shopping carts and wheeled it back into the tunnels.

  A larger group, led by Lance, went straight to the city dump. Darnell went and got his homie’s pickup truck and met them there, while Esteban brought another truck he’d borrowed from a neighbor. Secretly, Lance hoped “borrowed” really meant borrowed and not stole. Reyna had brought her parents’ jet-black Escalade with all the seats laid flat, generating whistles and admiring looks from Esteban and Darnell and some of the girls. Lance thought it was cool, but he just couldn’t relate to being rich so he didn’t even try.

  The director of the dumpsite gawked at the knights’ odd medieval clothing, but listened as Lance explained their mission. It sounded crazy, but he kinda liked the idea—it’s all landfill stuff anyway, so why not put some of it to good use, eh? He showed them the areas that he felt had the most usable stuff, and they went to work.

  Esteban and Darnell made up one team, while Reyna and several girls worked a separate area, which left Lance to work with Jack. They found usable window copings, doors, cabinets and chests of drawers, beds and bedframes, and a host of other repairable items. Reyna seemed to have no problem dump diving, as the boys called it, and Esteban kept eyeing her all afternoon. For her part, she eyed him right back.

  Jack and Lance were left to load one truck, while Esteban and Darnell and the girls loaded the other two. They’d found a couple of useable bathtubs and dumped them near the truck, along with other pieces of furniture. To someone like Lance who’d grown up with nothing, he couldn’t imagine tossing all this stuff. Jack, who’d grown up with money, thought nothing of it.

  Lance wanted to talk to Jack about Mark, but the older boy maintained a stubborn silence as they foraged. When it came time to load the truck, however, especially the bigger items, Lance looked at the taller boy with a smirk.

  “’Member you was gonna teach me how to lift weights?”

  Jack just looked at him.

  Lance indicated the heavy bathtubs and chests of drawers. “Now’d be a good time.”

  Jack still said nothing. He merely stood and gazed at Lance as though trying to figure something out about him. As always, the intensity of the gaze made Lance fidget. “Look, Jack, I’m not interested in Mark, okay?”

  Jack tensed, but remained silent.

  “I know you saw us together that night,” Lance went on, “cuz Mark told me. Nothing happened, okay? I just needed to talk, and he was there. That’s it.”

  Jack stepped closer to Lance, and the younger boy froze, his fists clenching, afraid Jack might pound on him. I’m dead meat if he does, he knew, but stood his ground anyway.

  However, the older boy merely gazed deeply into his eyes—no, into his very soul—and smiled knowingly. Lance fought to maintain eye contact. “You are gay, aren’t you?”

  That caught Lance off guard. “Huh?”

  “I knew you was too pretty to be straight,” Jack went on, planting a thick finger hard into Lance’s chest, “Well Mark is off-limits!”

  Lance wanted to protest, but the fierce look in Jack’s eyes silenced his tongue. And then he saw it, saw the truth in those destitute eyes, a truth that suddenly became so obvious he was amazed he hadn’t seen it before. He merely nodded.

  “Because you’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

  Now Jack’s gaze faltered, and the weakness won out over the hardness. He stepped back to compose himself. He lowered his arms, clenching and unclenching his fists. It took him a few moments, and then he gave a short, hollow laugh. “That obvious?”

  Lance nodded sadly. “It’s in your eyes, man.” He gazed at the intimidating bigger boy with genuine compassion. “Why don’t you just tell him?”

  Jack suddenly looked weak and vulnerable, terror-stricken almost. His eyes blurred slightly with tears. “I can’t, Lance, and you can’t either.”

  Lance tilted his head in confusion. “Why not? You guys are great together.”

  Jack wilted like a dying flower, no longer muscular and hard and powerfully tall. Lance saw the real Jack, the one he probably kept hidden from the whole world. Even from the boy he loved.

  Those brimming brown eyes gazed shyly, desperately into Lance’s own, and Jack stammered, “I just couldn’t take it if… if he… if he didn’t want me.”

  Lance soaked up this new image of Jack and felt a connection to the older boy he’d never thought could even exist. Jack’s soul had been exposed and laid bare to him, and Lance surprised himself… by accepting it.

  He nodded. “Okay. But I want you—” Jack looked up, startled. “––for a friend,” Lance finished, sticking out his hand. “We’re already brothers in arms, so we might as well be friends too, right?”

  Jack hesitated and then swiped the tears from his eyes before grinning
broadly with relief. He reached out and gripped the younger boy’s hand. “I’m sorry, you know, about calling you gay. It was a cheap shot.”

  Lance released his hand and leaned closer so no one would hear. “Since we’re friends, and brothers, I’ll tell you the same as I told Mark—I don’t know what I am.” He pulled back and searched Jack’s eyes for acceptance. “You okay with that?”

  Jack nodded, understanding clearly evident on his face. “Yeah. Took me a while to figure it all out too.”

  With a twinkle in his eyes, Lance flexed his not-very-intimidating right arm. “So, buff man, you gonna show me how to get guns like yours?”

  “You mean these guns?” Grinning rakishly, Jack struck the double bicep pose, except his biceps bulged like grapefruits, even through the long sleeves of his scarlet tunic.

  Lance just gasped in amazement. “Oh my God, you gotta show me how to get those!”

  Jack merely laughed and proceeded to do just that. He taught Lance how to lift heavy objects and focus more on the biceps and back and how to heft heavy items so as to build up the chest and shoulders, and the two of them loaded all the weighty furniture into the back of the truck, laughing as they did so.

  When they were finished, Lance could really feel the soreness in his muscles and knew he’d gotten a hard workout.

  “Thanks, Jack,” he said shyly, dropping his gaze from the older boy’s face.

  “Oh, that was only the first lesson, my friend,” Jack told him with a painful squeeze of Lance’s left bicep, “We got a long way to go.”

  Lance groaned dramatically, and both of them laughed.