Keeper of the Grail by Michael P. Spradlin

ever seen the King before?” I asked Quincy.
    “Not King Richard, but I saw his father, Henry, at a jousting match in Ulster once when I was just a lad. The people there loved him.”
    “Tristan!”
    From across the room, I saw Sir Thomas looking in my direction. He gestured for me to join him.
    I was instantly nervous. Sir Thomas kept waving his arm, motioning me toward him. What was he thinking? Why did he need to speak to me now when he stood so near the King of England? Couldn’t it wait? Yesterday I was pulling weeds in a vegetable garden. Now I stood not a stone’s throw from his majesty the King. It was all too much. Still, I could not disobey. I walked haltingly to where he stood.
    “Sire?” I said.
    Taking me by the arm we turned to face the King. “Your majesty,” he said.
    The King stopped mid-conversation with another knight and turned to look at Sir Thomas. He paid me no attention.
    “Yes, Sir Thomas?”
    “My squire, your highness. I would like to introduce you to my squire, Tristan. He has recently joined me from St. Alban’s Abbey. He’s a fine young man. Capable and brave. I’m sure he’ll be Master of the Order one day,” Sir Thomas said.
    Sir Hugh cut in. “Sir Thomas, really, I’m sure the King has much more pressing duties than meeting your squire. ” He spat out the word as if he had swallowed a ball of chicken feathers.
    The King looked confused, glancing from Sir Hugh to Sir Thomas, but then his gaze fell on me. He studied me as any royal might view one of his subjects. In the same way that one might scrutinize a horse or cow before purchasing it. But then his eyes narrowed.
    “Tristan, you say?” he asked.
    “Yes, your majesty,” I answered. I was dumbstruck, not knowing exactly what I should do or say, but had at least remembered that. I felt Sir Thomas’ hand gently push my back, and I bowed.
    “You look familiar. Have we met before?” the King asked.
    “Met, your highness? Oh no. No, sire, this is my first trip to a city…I—”
    “I could swear I have seen you somewhere before,” he interrupted.
    “Well, your majesty, I was in the street this afternoon when you rode through. Perhaps—”
    “No, but there’s something familiar…” He let the words hang in the air.
    I stood there speechless, not knowing what to say or do. The King held my gaze and I returned it in kind, but the room felt warmer now, and sweat began to form on my forehead.
    “I just met Tristan yesterday myself,” Sir Thomas explained. “He’s been living at a monastery. We stopped for the night, and I saw enough of his good works to ask him to become my squire.”
    “Fascinating,” said the King, still staring at me.
    “Your majesty, please forgive my second in command for his ill manners. It is time for us to take our leave. There is much preparation to be made before we depart for Outremer,” Sir Hugh said.
    Sir Thomas did not reply but only smiled at the King, raising his eyebrows as he did so, as if only he were privy to some joke.
    “What? Yes, of course,” said the King. His gaze left me, and he turned to look at Sir Thomas again. “It’s good to see you again, old friend. I will see you next in the Holy Land. When we take the field from the Saladin?”
    “If God wills it, your highness,” Sir Thomas said, and he bowed. He pulled gently on my arm, and we left the King with the small circle of knights who surrounded him. I could hear them saying their good-byes.
    As we walked across the room, Sir Thomas leaned close, speaking in a low voice.
    “An interesting evening, wouldn’t you say?” he asked.
    I had no answer. Only questions. Why did Sir Thomas see fit to introduce me to the King? And why, when King Richard the Lionheart looked at me, did I see fear in his eyes?

9
    T he 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