The Seeing Stone (19 page)

A
RTHUR-IN-THE-STONE IS STANDING IN THE FOREST
clearing with Sir Pellinore, the same glade where we met before, and now the huge tombstone has my words for little Luke carved on it. Through sunlight and shadow the hooded man slowly walks towards us.

“Sir,” I say to Sir Pellinore, “will you make me a knight?”

“You're very young,” Sir Pellinore replies.

“And then I'll ride through the forest to the fountain, and smack the shield of the Knight of the Black Anvil. Without water from that fountain, little Luke's grave will always be barren. But as soon as I water it, bright flowers will grow on it all the year round.”

“The Knight of the Black Anvil is the terror of the Marches,” Sir Pellinore says, “and you are very young.”

“But the fountain water is the first part of my journey,” I reply.

“You need not be a knight to begin,” says Sir Pellinore. “How old are you?”

“Thirteen.”

“He's too young,” says the hooded man. “He's not even a squire, and he can't be a knight before he's a squire. Do you know what will happen if he rides to the fountain? The Knight of the Black Anvil will cut him to pieces.”

Sir Pellinore looks me in the eye, and one corner of his mouth keeps twitching.

“Knight me, sir,” I say again.

“Well then,” says Sir Pellinore. “Kneel down.”

“No,” says the hooded man.

“The Saxons are massing in the north,” Sir Pellinore says. “We need our boys to be men, and each one of them to fight and defend the western kingdom.”

“No,” says the hooded man more firmly. “If you knight him now, you're sending him to his death.”

“I beg you to knight me, sir,” I say. “I'm not too young. Give me my sword and spurs…”

At this moment there was a gentle tap-tapping at the door. At once I scrambled out of my window seat, scooped up the saffron cloth and buried my obsidian in it.

“Wait!” I called, quickly winding the cloth around the stone. “Who is it?”

The door creaked, it swung open a little and Lady Alice put her head around it.

“You!” I exclaimed.

“Me,” said Lady Alice, and I remembered she told me that she and Sir William might visit us before Christmas. Lightly Lady Alice stepped into the room. “And what are you hiding from me?”

“Nothing,” I said.

“Nothing's not worth hiding,” said Lady Alice in her singsong voice, reaching out for the saffron bundle.

“I can't,” I said. “I promised Merlin. I mean…”

“You mean you don't trust me,” said Lady Alice.

“It's not that,” I said.

I pushed my obsidian into the crevice between the two blocks of dressed stone, and a beetle scurried out, heading in the opposite direction.

My aunt smiled and took my left hand. “Still warm?” she said. “How's your tailbone?”

“I told Johanna in the village about it. And she broke the wound.”

My aunt screwed up her eyes.

“She said it was full of rot.”

“She hurt you,” said Lady Alice gently.

“Then my mother boiled vinegar and honey and barleymeal and something else—I can't remember—and rubbed the mixture into my wound.”

“You poor creature,” said my aunt. Her hazel eyes were quick and bright, and she played with a curl of her hair. “I said I might see you again before Christmas,” she said.

“Is Grace here?”

“No,” said Lady Alice. “Just Sir William. He only came home from France the day before yesterday. But that's his way. The man's sixty-five on Christmas Day, and he can't sit still for a moment.”

“But why have you come?” I asked.

“Sir William and Sir John need to talk,” replied Lady Alice.

“What about?”

“You're as bad as Tom,” Lady Alice said quite sharply.

“Have you ever heard,” I asked my aunt, “of the magic fountain in the middle of the forest?”

“Which forest?” asked Lady Alice.

“I don't know. Its water makes bright flowers grow and blossom in each season of the year.”

“No,” said my aunt. “But I can tell you what to do if you want red roses to bloom at the dead of winter.”

“What?”

“In June,” said my aunt, “or in July, you pick the buds from a rosebush, and be sure they have long stems. Put them into a little wooden barrel without any water—an ale barrel would do—and then seal the barrel so that it's watertight. Tie a heavy stone to each end of it, and sink it in your stream.
Tu comprends?
”

“I understand,” I said.

“And then,” said Lady Alice, “in the bleak midwinter you can raise the barrel and take out the rosebuds. Put them in water and they'll soon open.”

“I'll try that,” I said. “Aunt Alice, since you visited us, Sian fell through the ice into the fish pond, and Oliver got hit by a piece of falling plaster…”

Lady Alice shook her head and smiled.

“…and then there was the manor court, and it was terrible. Lankin was accused of stealing a leg of mutton from our kitchen, and seventeen people voted that he was guilty, and his thieving hand was cut off at the wrist. And after that the friar Fulk came to preach the new crusade. There's so much to tell you.”

“Later,” said my aunt. “You must come down to the hall now
and greet Sir William.” Then she gathered her cloak—not her burnt orange one but a much thicker, darker one, the color of bullace and damsons —and she stepped out into the gallery.

“What's in there?” asked Lady Alice, tapping the storeroom door.

“Corn,” I said. “And once, a man and a woman.”

Lady Alice looked at me. She raised an eyebrow, and smiled.

Y
OU WOULD NEVER GUESS THAT MY FATHER AND SIR WILLIAM
are brothers because they don't look the same and Sir William's so old he could be my father's father. They're about the same height, but my father is quite lean whereas Sir William's body looks like a tree trunk. He has white hair, lots of it, and matted white eyebrows, and his face looks so brown and battered you can tell it has weathered all kinds of storms and adventures. His left eye is stony, so he can't see much out of it, but his right eye is wonderfully knowing and doesn't miss anything.

My mother told me once that big men and women are comfortable with themselves, and that's why they're easy-going and good-humored. But that's not true of my uncle William. He has a ferocious temper, unlike my father. When he loses his temper, Sir William becomes violent, and I know Lady Alice is afraid of him; and because of what I know, I'm afraid for her too.

“So, Arthur!” said Sir William in his loud, deep voice. “Let's have a look at you. You've put on a head of height.”

“You haven't seen him for a year,” said my mother.

“And now I can only half-see him,” said my uncle. “Blast this eye!”

My aunt stepped over to Sir William and slipped her right hand under his left elbow.

“Your aunt keeps talking about you,” Sir William barked. “Arthur this…Arthur that…” He sniffed loudly, and then turned to Lady Alice. “John says he had that friar here too. Yesterday.”

Lady Alice glanced at my mother, but my mother kept her eyes lowered.

“Well, Serle!” Sir William demanded. “What about you? Will you go, or do you want the bloody Turks to trample all over Europe?”

“I want to go, sir,” said Serle.

“It's high time you were knighted,” said Sir William. “You can make your own choices then. How old are you?”

“Seventeen, sir.”

“And you've completed your service. Well, John, what about it? Two brothers and one son?”

My father shook his head.

“I'll look after them, Helen,” boomed Sir William. “I'll look after them both. Think, John! Remission for all your sins.”

“And for yours, William,” said my father.

“Not only that,” said my uncle. “We'll come back with booty.” And then he thumped Lady Alice so hard on her buttocks that she gasped and put her right foot forward. “Am I too old or am I too young?” he boomed.

I looked at my mother but her eyes were still lowered. I know my father beats her sometimes, but he would never be so coarse as to lay a hand on her in front of visitors; and if he did, Nain would probably lay a hand on him.

“What about you, Arthur?” asked Sir William.

“I'll go,” I said. “I'll go crusading.”

Sir William harrumphed and then spat on the rushes.

“Shrimps don't last long when they get washed out to sea,” said Sir William.

“I could go if I were a squire,” I said, and I could feel my father staring at me, but I didn't look back at him.

“From what I hear,” said Sir William, “no knights from around here will be sailing east anyhow. It will be the counts of Champagne and Normandy, and maybe the Germans. Maybe the lords of the Low Countries.”

“Will Lord Stephen go?” I asked.

“Not if Lady Judith has anything to do with it,” said Sir William. “Anyhow, he's more at home in a courtroom than a crusade, isn't he?”

“I wouldn't be so sure,” said my father.

“There's no appetite here,” said Sir William. “No, there'll be no army from England. Just a few adventurers, serving God.”

“And serving themselves,” said my father. “Lining their own pockets.”

“Can you fight?” Sir William asked me.

“I'm learning,” I said eagerly.

Sir William rubbed the white nose hairs curling round the bottom of his nostrils.

“Two weeks ago, Tom and Serle and I had a contest, and…”

“So I've heard,” said Sir William. “And Tom told me he could have won but for Grace, and some damnfool contest.”

“Wordplay,” I said.

“Arthur was best,” said Sian.

“Knights and squires don't fight with words,” said Sir William, “and they don't fight with bows and arrows either. They fight with swords. They fight with lances. Come on, Arthur! Let's see what your swordplay's like. There's time for that before we talk. Isn't there, John?”

And with this, Sir William swung round, and marched off towards the door.

I looked at my father, and he looked at my mother, then sighed. “You'd better go,” he said.

“Come on!” called Sir William from outside. “I'm waiting for you.”

“I'll be the judge,” said Serle, and one side of his mouth curled upwards, and the other didn't. “Go on! I'll get the armor and weapons for you.”

As Sir William and I walked down to the Yard, my uncle lengthened his stride so that I could only just keep up with him, and started muttering to himself. “Nothing!” he snapped. “Nothing. Or maybe too much.” Suddenly I felt quite nervous of him and wished Serle would hurry and catch up with us.

“Swordplay, then,” said Sir William. “Or would you prefer to tilt?”

“No, sir,” I said.

“I thought not,” said Sir William.

“Tom never hit the shield at all,” I said.

“And you were sandbagged,” Sir William replied.

As soon as Serle had brought us our jerkins and weapons, Sir William and I crossed swords. Then we jumped back, and began to feint.

“At you!” barked Sir William, and he lunged straight at me. Before I could guard myself with my buckler, he jabbed me fiercely on the bottom of my breastbone.

“One point to Sir William,” shouted Serle.

“At you!” I shouted. “At you!” And I drove my sword at Sir William's heart, but he deflected it with his own sword, and I had to jump out of the way again.

I was much lighter on my feet, but my uncle was the more skillful swordsman, and for a while neither of us was able to land a blow on the other. But my uncle was beginning to breathe very heavily, and so I thought that the longer our fight lasted, the better chance I would have.

“
Pax!
” said Sir William, dropping his buckler and raising his left hand as he struggled down onto one knee. He was gasping for breath. “I'm getting old,” he said.

“Ready?” called Serle. “Are you ready, Sir William?”

At first I didn't notice, but Sir William had taken his sword in his left hand and, as he stood up, he lunged at my right shoulder. There was no time to swing my buckler across my body, or even to step backwards.

“No!” I yelled.

I saw the bright sword driving towards me, and then I heard it: the point, unsharpened as it was, ripping through my leather jerkin.

“Foul stroke!” shouted Serle.

And then I felt it: cold iron burning through my right forearm; the wet warmth of my leaping blood.

Sir William drew back his sword with a jerk, and I cried out at the searing pain, and fell onto my knees.

“Boy!” said Sir William, stumbling forward and catching me. “Have I hurt you?”

I looked up at Sir William's face. My eyeballs felt too big for their sockets, and Sir William began to spin and tumble, like one of Sian's tops.

When I regained consciousness, I was lying beside the fire in the hall, and my mother and Tanwen were kneeling beside me.

“You've come back,” said my mother, and she closed her eyes, and made the sign of the cross on her breast.

“You'll be all right,” Tanwen said. “You've lost half your blood, mind!”

“He played foul,” I said, and my voice didn't sound like my own.

“With you, of all people,” my mother said quietly.

“Where are they?” I asked.

“Gone,” said my mother.

“Lady Alice?”

My mother nodded. “It's late now. After Compline.” My mother smiled her strange, sad smile. “Sir William says you'll be a good swordsman.”

When I heard this, I tried to raise my right hand. I couldn't, though, and my forearm and shoulder blazed with pain.

“Don't do that again,” Tanwen said, and she cradled my head between her cool hands.

“Try to sleep now,” said my mother. “Sleep and rest.”

I slept all night, and in the early morning, Johanna came down to the hall, and looked at my wound, and grumbled, and applied poultices and gave me a potion. After that, I slept again, and now
three days have passed and this is the first time I have wanted to climb the staircase to my writing-room.

What did my father and mother and Sir William and Lady Alice need to talk about? Grace and me? Or Serle? Whatever it was, it must have been urgent because Sir William only rode home from France the day before he came here.

Serle might know. I could ask him but he'll only tell me if he knows I won't like the answer.

I wonder whether I was knighted in the stone by Sir Pellinore, and whether I was able to bring back water from the fountain. In any case, I think the hooded man was right after all: A page is too young to fight a fearsome knight.