Keeper of the Grail by Michael P. Spradlin Page A

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