The morning after meeting King Richard was my first full day of life inside the Order. After we’d returned from the castle, I felt I had scarcely laid my head upon my mattress before Quincy was shaking me awake at sunrise. After morning mass and prayer, Sir Thomas summoned me to the stables, where I found him examining the front hoof of the bay stallion he had ridden the previous day.
“Good morning, Tristan,” he said.
“Good morning, sire,” I replied, trying to hide a yawn behind my hand.
“I hope we’re not keeping you awake?” he asked.
“No, sire,” I said.
“Excellent. Your first duty this morning will be taking my horse to John the blacksmith. His shoes have loosened on the journey. You will find the shop across from the Whistling Pig Tavern, on the west end of the marketplace.” He handed me a small pouch and I heard the jingle of coins inside it. “To pay the smith,” he said.
Sir Thomas patted his horse on the nose. “His name is Dauntless.”
“Very well, sire.”
“Step lively, lad,” Sir Thomas called out. “There is much to do in the days before we leave for Outremer.”
Retracing the steps that had taken me to St. Bartholomew’s, I soon reached the marketplace and turned west at the main intersection as Sir Thomas had said. I noticed several King’s Guards in full uniform standing about. I wondered if the King was visiting the marketplace but saw no evidence that he was anywhere near.
As the shops and stalls began to peter out, I found myself on a quieter but still busy thoroughfare. Up ahead to my right, I spotted a stone building with a sign cut in the shape of a pig hanging above the door. Sure enough, across the street was a small blacksmith shop. It was a three-sided building, open to the front, and I could see the fire, forge and anvil.
I tied Dauntless’ reins to a hitching ring in front of the building. One of the King’s Guards loitered down the street, trying to appear casual, with his forearm resting on the hilt of his sword. He appeared to be watching me, but when I turned to look at him, he glanced away, pretending to be interested in everything else around him.
“Hello?” I called out.
“A moment!” a voice answered from behind the building.
So I waited. The shop looked neat and well kept. Looking more closely, I realized it was not three sided at all, but that the front “wall” swung upward on hinges and was propped up by two timbers at either end so it could be let down each evening at closing time.
While I waited, I turned my attention back to the street and noticed the King’s Guard walking in my direction. Without a glance at me he entered the tavern.
A few minutes later, the door to the tavern opened and two men staggered out, blinking and rubbing their eyes. They began arguing with each other. They were nearly equal in size, but one appeared to be in charge, and he pushed the other one in anger. The man staggered backward, lost his footing and fell into the dusty street. I tried not to, but he had fallen in such a way that I couldn’t help but let out a chuckle.
The one still standing heard me. His head snapped up as he squinted at me. He mumbled something to his partner, who scrambled to his feet. The two of them crossed the street, looking furtively about as they approached me.
“Where did you get that horse, boy?” the one who seemed to be in charge said.
He wasn’t big but he wasn’t small either, solidly built and perhaps a little taller than me. Long, dark, greasy hair clung to the side of his face, which was home to a scraggly beard. His eyes were red and his breath stank. His companion looked to be in even worse shape. He had lighter skin but hair so full of dirt and grime it was hard to discern its original color.
“Why do you ask?” I replied.
“Where did you get that horse?” he demanded.
“This horse belongs to my liege, Sir Thomas Leux of the Knights Templar. I don’t know what concern it is-”
Dark Hair regarded me through one eye, his other closed and his face scrunched up as if his vision wasn’t working correctly.
“It’s my concern,” he interrupted, “because I think you’re lying. I think I should report you to the constables.”
“As you wish,” I said.
The brothers had taught me much about the evil of drink. However, I had never met or seen anyone drunk before, so I had no idea of the effect that liquor had on men.
I turned, intending to take refuge on the other side of Dauntless, hoping the men would lose interest and move on, or that the blacksmith might show up. But as I did, arms suddenly grabbed me from behind and a foul-smelling mouth hissed in my ear.
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll just take the horse to the constable myself. I’m sure a Templar would pay a handsome reward for the return of his stolen mount.”
“I didn’t steal…,” I started to say, but the arms squeezed harder and the words died in my throat as the air rushed out of my lungs.
I tried pulling away, but the grip grew stronger as I wiggled and threw myself back and forth, trying to break free. I was lifted off the ground, my legs kicking uselessly in the air.
From the corner of my eye I saw the light-haired man reach out to untie Dauntless’ reins. I kicked out with my foot and felt his fingers crunch between my boot and the post.
The man howled in pain and rage, and the next thing I knew I was on the ground and two sets of legs were kicking at me. I tried to regain my feet, scrambling toward Dauntless. But he was beginning to spook, moving his legs back and forth, whinnying and pawing nervously at the ground. Not wishing to be accidentally kicked in the head by a stallion, all I could think to do was to roll up into a ball, hoping they would tire from their exertion before I was seriously injured.
With my face nearly buried in the dirt of the street, I saw a third pair of legs approaching the two men from behind. Had they found another man to come and help them in their thievery?
Instead, I heard both men yelp, and in an instant the kicks stopped. A booming voice exclaimed, “Enough! What kind of men are you? I told you once before that if you molested one of my customers again, you’d lose a finger on my anvil!”
Neither man replied. I looked up from my spot in the dirt to see them both hanging from the air. Behind them stood a giant, holding the men by their shirt collars, which were twisted up around their necks so tightly their faces were turning blue.
Without further word he took a few steps up the street in the direction of the marketplace and tossed them to the ground. As they scrambled to their feet, he gave each one a swift, hard kick in their hind parts.
“If I see either of you on this street again, you’ll wish you had never been born!”
Running, they disappeared from sight as the giant bellowed a few more warnings after them. He then turned and walked back to where I lay wheezing in the street.
As he stood above me, his head and shoulders blotted out the morning sun. A huge hand, attached to the largest arm I’d ever seen, reached down and pulled me to my feet. “Since this horse tied here is Dauntless, you must be Sir Thomas’ new squire,” he said.
As of the previous day, Sir Basil had been the biggest man I’d ever seen, but he could have slept like a babe in the blacksmith’s apron. His hands were the size of geese and his head sat upon his shoulders with no neck that I could see, just a full beard and head of curly, dark hair.
“I am,” I said, dusting myself off. “My name is Tristan and I now serve as squire to Sir Thomas. You must be John the blacksmith?”
The giant gave a slight bow. “That I am. My name is John Little. But you should call me Little John. Everyone else does.”
That, I could not imagine.