The news that the Lionheart had arrived spread quickly through the city. The King’s Guards had been forced to slow by the crowds of people in the intersection, and the delay had given me a brief moment to study King Richard. His horse was magnificent, as white as a cloud. He wore a gleaming coat of mail and over that a bright red tunic, embroidered with the same three golden lions that flew upon his banner. He wore nothing on his head, certainly no crown, but not even a helmet. His beard was full but neatly trimmed, unlike the manner of the Templars. He carried a large battle sword at his belt, and wore leather riding breeches.
As the people of Dover realized the King was riding through the main thoroughfare, they called out shouts and he waved in greeting. But before a crowd could gather, the riders were gone, and I followed their progress as they headed to the castle gate.
If Dover had been noisy before, the King’s arrival had given its citizens even more cause for boisterous shouts and laughter. As I resumed my journey to the church, the news moved visibly from person to person and shop to shop. Several folks called out to me, asking if I knew that the King had arrived, and I answered back that, indeed, I had seen him with my own eyes.
When I arrived at the grounds of St. Bartholomew, one of the priests there was delighted to show me to the nearby stable used by the church. He was familiar with the brothers of the abbey and agreed to care for the horse until they arrived to take him home. I led Charlemagne into his stall and saw that he was fed and watered. I felt reluctant to leave him, knowing that in so doing, I was severing my last connection to St. Alban’s.
Charlemagne seemed to sense this as well. While he silently munched his hay, I patted him and he turned, gently nuzzling my neck. It felt as if he knew we would not see each other again and wished to say good-bye.
The priest had stood idly by while I stabled the horse, and he quietly began to fidget and cough. Knowing that I’d taken up enough of his time, I thanked him again and made my way back to the street. I hoped there would be a meal soon upon my return to the Commandery, for I’d grown hungry and thirsty as well. Perhaps I would have a chance to see what wonders Sir Basil had done with the kitchen. Sir Thomas had mentioned that my training as a squire would begin straightaway, but I hoped he’d meant after we’d had a chance to rest somewhat from our travels.
Dusk was falling and the sun danced along the tops of the hills that lay to the west. The streets and buildings were bathed in gold. And the smells of evening meals were everywhere, so much so that my stomach growled.
Approaching the Commandery, I noticed Sir Hugh standing outside the gates with another Templar knight, one I’d not seen before, the two of them speaking in hushed tones to two other men who wore the uniform of the King’s Guards. Whether they were members of the same squad that had just ridden through town, or another stationed here at Dover, I could not tell, but Sir Hugh was talking to them anxiously, as if agitated about something.
They stood off to the side of the gate in the falling shadows and leaned close to one another, making sure they could not be overheard.
I did not want Sir Hugh to see me. Before he could glance in my direction, I dodged behind a wagon that stood parked in the street, peering around the side while the conversation went on.
After watching for a moment more and still unable to hear, I saw Sir Hugh reach into his belt and remove a scrap of parchment, which he handed to one of the guards. He also handed them a small pouch that I assumed contained coins. Some agreement reached, the guards nodded, mounted their horses and rode off in the opposite direction. Not toward the castle where the other guards had escorted the King, but west as if they were leaving town.
Sir Hugh watched them until they rode out of sight. He said something to the other Templar, who nodded, and together they disappeared through the gate of the Commandery. I waited a few minutes more, making sure he did not suddenly reappear, then moved from behind the wagon.
Quickly, I entered the compound, wondering what to do with this knowledge. Instinct told me that Sir Hugh was up to something. Then again, he was the Marshal of the Regimento. Surely he could have legitimate business with the King’s Guards. Perhaps they were discussing military strategy, or the need for provisions or supplies of some sort.
If I told Sir Thomas what I had seen, would he think me foolish? That I had been spying on his brothers, assuming an interest in something that was none of my business?
Entering the main hall I was greeted by the sounds of the evening meal in progress. The Templars were a much louder crowd than the monks, and the tables were full of noise and conversation. Sir Thomas was seated at the far wall with Sir Basil and some others, so I made my way there.
“Tristan! There you are,” Sir Thomas said when he saw my approach. “I was wondering what took you so long.”
“He had to give that old plow horse a kiss good-bye!” Sir Basil said, and the table of knights erupted in laughter as I turned red.
“Go easy on the boy, Basil,” Sir Thomas said. “Give him a day or two to get his bearings before you unleash that wit of yours.”
“Sir Thomas, I wanted to tell you…” I started to report what I had seen in the street outside, but before I could get the words out, he interrupted me.
“You’ll need to fill a plate and eat quickly-we have important business ahead of us tonight, and not much time,” he said. From the seat next to him Sir Thomas picked up a brown garment and handed it to me.
“Once you’ve finished eating, change into this. It is a servante’s tunic. You will wear it from now on as a member of the Order.”
“Certainly, sire, and there will be chores, I assume?” I asked.
“No chores tonight, boy; there’ll be time for that tomorrow. But eat and change quickly. You’ll want to be presentable for an audience with the King.”
I looked up from my study of the garment at his face. He had that twinkle in his eye, but I could tell he was serious.
“Excuse me, Sir Thomas. But did you just say ‘an audience with the King’?”
“Indeed I did, lad. You aren’t hard of hearing, are you? I could have the physician examine your ears if you’d like,” he said with mock concern.
“No, sire, not necessary-my ears are fine,” I said. But I stood there holding my tunic with what I’m sure was a dazed expression on my face.
“Tristan?” Sir Thomas said.
“Yes, sire?”
“Your meal? Change? There’s not much time. The King expects us shortly,” he said.
Sir Thomas smiled at me. Sir Basil appeared next to me with a plate heaped with food. He placed it at an open seat at the table and beckoned me to sit.
In all the excitement I forgot about Sir Hugh and his mysterious actions in the street. I ate quickly for the food was delicious, but not even my ferocious appetite could keep my mind from racing. I, Tristan of St. Alban’s, born an orphan, would this evening meet the King!