by Kit Pearson
Sebastian had begun the Round Table game after Mum’s death. Now it didn’t seem like a game any more—gradually it had taken over almost every part of their lives. When they went grocery shopping with Fa, they were riding on horseback to a fair to select live pigeons and spices. Excursions to the beach were really boar-hunting expeditions. Even in school and church they were knights, squires, and pages. They would give knowing glances at one another, revelling in their secret identities.
Corrie listened to the adventures of her master, the “flower of all the knights.” Nothing existed except the dim, safe space and Sir Lancelot’s deep voice.
“And then he gat another great spear, and smote down twelve knights, and the most part of them never throve after.” The story was over.
“That was swell!” said Orly. “I liked how you made the enemy knight’s nose bleed.”
“You were very, very brave, Sir Lancelot,” said Juliet.
He smiled at her. “Gramercy, Master Jules. Now, have any of you any news to relate?”
Corrie took a deep breath. “I have no news, sire, but I have a request.”
“What is it, my good squire?”
“Sire, I have been your squire for several years. Don’t you … do you not think it is time I was made a knight?”
Sebastian smiled. “I understand your desire, Master Cor. You have been a brave and faithful squire, and you would make an excellent knight. But if you became a knight I would no longer have a squire. And who would be your squire?”
Corrie chose her words carefully. “Sir Lancelot, perhaps Master Harry could squire you and me as well as Sir Gawain.”
“That is an interesting idea, Master Cor. I will think upon it and let you know soon. But if you are to be knighted, you will have to pass a trial.”
Corrie gulped. “I know that. I’ll … I will do anything you ask of me, Sir Lancelot.”
“I want to be your squire!” said Orly.
“No, me!” said Juliet. “I’m tired of being a page.”
Sebastian frowned. “Fie on thee, young pages! It will be many years before you are squires.”
The twins looked rebellious, but they knew enough not to speak any further.
Roz glanced at her watch. “I beseech you, Sir Lancelot, to end this meeting soon so we can get ready for our evening feast.”
“We will not be much longer. Are there any domestic affairs to discuss?”
Corrie remembered Miss Tuck’s request. “Yes, sire. The pages are not washing. Their teacher has said they cannot enter the classroom unless their hands are clean.”
“Cannot Sir Gawain remind them to wash?”
Roz scowled. “I do! But they ignore me.”
“Is this correct, Master Orly and Master Jules?”
The twins squirmed under his stern gaze. “Yes, sire,” they muttered.
“Listen to me. If you do not wash your hands and face every morning before school, you will be expelled from the Round Table. A knight is clean. If you want to be knights one day, you have to start behaving like them. Do you understand?”
They nodded solemnly. Orly had tears in his eyes.
Sir Lancelot became Sebastian. “It’s serious,” he said more gently, ruffling Orly’s hair. “If your teacher is dissatisfied she’ll tell Fa. Then he may think we need more supervision. The Elephant is awful, but at least she leaves us alone. You pages aren’t babies. You’re old enough to look after yourselves, the way the rest of us do.”
Sebastian stood up and hoisted Juliet on his back. He bucked and reared like a horse, making her scream with laughter as they all scrambled out of the shed and went in to get ready for dinner.
IT WAS CORRIE’S TURN to set the table. She carefully set out Fa’s wine glass and milk glasses for the rest of them. She went into the kitchen, sniffing hungrily. Harry was scraping meat out of a cat-food tin while Hamlet complained loudly about how slow he was.
“What are we having?” Corrie asked Roz.
“Beans and wieners again,” said Roz, opening the oven. “That woman is so lazy! I’m going to talk to Fa. He gives her money for meat. Why can’t we have a roast or something?”
“Don’t talk to him, Roz! If Fa thinks we’re unhappy with the Elephant he might get rid of her.”
“I’d like to get rid of her!” said Roz.
“But then we might get someone who bosses us around! And you know how Fa hates hearing about problems. We shouldn’t bother him.”
“Oh, all right,” grumbled Roz. “Is that him?”
The front door opened. Orly ran into the hall and Corrie followed. “Hello, my dears,” said Fa, kissing each of their foreheads. Orly wouldn’t let go of his leg until Fa swung him high. “That’s enough, now,” he said. He took off his raincoat and shook it out. His fringe of grey hair and his heavy eyebrows were dripping. “Such a rain! I think I left my umbrella on the bus.”
Corrie grinned. “That’s the second one this month!” She ran to get Fa a towel. Then she called the others, helped Roz ladle beans over pieces of toast, and brought in the coleslaw Mrs. Oliphant had left in the fridge.
“Ah, beans on toast, my favourite!” Fa was smiling and rubbing his hands together. He seemed to have forgotten they had had the same meal three days ago. “Now, whose turn is it to say grace?”
“Forwhataboudooreceivedelordmakeustrooly thankful!” babbled Juliet.
“Is your cold better, Harry? Did you go to school?” Fa listened to Harry’s answer. He smiled at Orly’s description of the hamster and told Roz he’d brought home a library book for her project on Mexico.
Corrie watched him. She could never figure out if Fa was really interested in their lives. He always asked them questions and listened to them, but his voice was detached and polite. It was as if he were carefully playing the role of being a father.
But then, she supposed she was the same. Every day she prepared and saved up for dinner a story from school. Tonight she told Fa how Mr. Zelmach had taught them a new song instead of having arithmetic. “Our class is going to sing in a concert next year, Fa! For the centennial. In 1958, British Columbia will be one hundred years old!”
“Knowing how much you hate arithmetic, I imagine it was a relief for you to skip it, Cordelia.” Corrie squirmed with pleasure. Of course Fa was interested in her! This hour with him was so precious. He had breakfast with them only if he got up in time, but he was always with the family for dinner.
Everyone tried to keep Fa content, to reassure him that they were getting along fine so he could do his work undisturbed. He was a lovely father, gentle and kind. Corrie could not remember him ever saying a cross word to her. But as she gazed at him she remembered Meredith telling her how her father had spent the whole of Saturday fixing her bike.
Fa probably didn’t even know Corrie had a bike, and he certainly wouldn’t know how to fix one. But Fa is the king! she reminded herself. He was King Arthur, far too busy running his kingdom to spend much time with his knights and their servants. That was why he had appointed Sir Lancelot to be in charge in his absence.
“And you, my boy?” Fa asked Sebastian. “Did you have a good day at school?”
Sebastian nodded, keeping his head bent over his plate. “We’re going to start reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream next week,” he said quietly.
Sebastian always knew exactly the right thing to say. “Ah, that delicious morsel!” said Fa. “When you’re done, I’ll give you an article I wrote about Titania. Your teacher might be interested in seeing it. Do you know which edition you’re reading?”
Sebastian shook his head. “I’ll check and let you know tomorrow.”
What would Fa think if he knew Sebastian had had his head thrust down a toilet?
Fa didn’t used to be so removed. He had always been absent-minded, but when Mum was alive he was much more animated, often laughing and talking with her.
Every night after dinner the family had sat in the living room—in that large room that was now hardly ever used. Some
times Fa would play “lion tamer” with Corrie and Harry. He would perch on a chair and growl. Corrie would announce his tricks to the rest of the family and Harry would crack an imaginary whip. Then Fa would chase them around the room and threaten to eat them. They would scream in mock terror and Mum would stop Fa, laughing so hard that tears shone on her cheeks.
Corrie swallowed the memory. Those uproarious scenes in the living room seemed like a play she’d once seen. Now the play was over forever.
WHILE SEBASTIAN AND HARRY did the dishes, Corrie made the next day’s lunches. Fa had already kissed them each goodnight and retired to his study to work. Corrie knew that he was working on a book about A Winter’s Tale, and that he also wrote many articles on Shakespeare for special journals. He often worked long into the night.
How could one writer be so important that someone could spend his whole life studying him? Perhaps she would find out when she was old enough to read Shakespeare’s plays.
For now Corrie was happy to curl up in her window seat with The Eagle of the Ninth. But after a while she lowered the book and gazed out at the night sky. The rain had stopped and she could see a few stars. A half moon shone over the distant line of sea.
I love my room, thought Corrie. It wasn’t pretty like Meredith’s, but it felt as safe as a nest, high above the surrounding houses.
She sat there for a few more minutes, then she padded along the hall to Sebastian’s room. She could hear the twins having a noisy bath downstairs; Sir Lancelot’s sternness had obviously made an impression on them.
“Sebastian? May I come in?” He opened the door to her knock.
“Of course you may, Master Cor!” Corrie perched on the edge of the bed. The walls of Sebastian’s tidy room were covered with meticulous drawings of knights: knights on horses, knights jousting, knights with falcons on their wrists. He was such a good artist, Corrie thought proudly.
“Do you really think you’re ready to be knighted?” Sebastian asked Corrie, turning his desk chair around and leaning back in it.
“Yes, I do!”
Sebastian smiled. “Who would you like to be? Sir Perceval? Sir Lionel?”
“Sir Gareth.” Corrie had read in her own copy of A Boy’s King Arthur how Gareth had disguised himself as a kitchen boy when he first went to Camelot. Sir Kay mocked him and called him Beaumains because of his white hands, but Sir Lancelot defended him.
“Sir Gareth …” Sebastian looked thoughtful. “That would suit you. Gareth is gentle and loyal. And he’s Gawain’s brother. There’s only one thing … didn’t you read about how he dies?”
Corrie flushed. “Well, Sir Lancelot kills him. But it wasn’t on purpose—he didn’t recognize Sir Gareth.”
She crossed her fingers as she waited for Sebastian to consider it. For weeks she had imagined herself as Sir Gareth. “We don’t have to go that far in the story,” said Sebastian finally. “Sir Gareth you will be.”
Corrie tingled with pleasure. She wanted to keep on talking about becoming a knight, but she made herself change the subject.
“Um, Sebastian …” she ventured. “Roz said Terry was mean to you again. She said that—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” said Sebastian tightly. “That’s school. It’s not real.”
Corrie flinched at the fierceness in his face, but she struggled on. “It’s quite real, isn’t it? I mean, you spend most of your day there.”
“It was so much better when school was part of the Round Table—remember?”
Of course she remembered. When Sebastian and Roz had been at Duke of Connaught Elementary School, it had been a School for Knights. Art was Harping, Social Studies was Jousting, and Gym was Archery. Arithmetic, Corrie’s most dreaded subject, had seemed much easier when she knew it was Falconry. Whenever she passed Sebastian or Roz or Harry in the hall they would exchange secret smiles, proud that they were really knights and squires heading for their next class in Hunting or Fencing.
But that had been more than two years ago. When Sebastian went to junior high, Corrie and Roz had tried to keep up the game, but it didn’t work without Sir Lancelot’s leadership. Now Corrie sometimes tried to be Master Cor at school, but with both of the knights gone it didn’t gel for more than a few minutes.
Sebastian’s eyes were as clear as grey glass. Corrie couldn’t bear the anguish in them. “Couldn’t you tell someone how cruel Terry is?” she asked him. “The principal, maybe?”
“You know I can’t tell on him. That would make him go after me even more.” Sebastian got up and looked out the window. “Nothing will work, Corrie. But it doesn’t matter! I’m Sir Lancelot! This is nothing compared to killing two giants and smiting five knights with one spear! I can take it.”
“Even when they stick your head—”
“Enough! I don’t want to talk about it any more. Do you understand, Master Cor?”
Corrie bent her head. “Yes, sire.”
“Now, about your knighthood. We could have your initiation and dubbing this Saturday. I will start thinking of a suitable trial.”
“Corrie!” Roz was calling her from downstairs. “Would you please read to Juliet and Orly? I haven’t done my homework yet.”
The twins were rosy and pristine, each freshly washed head glistening. Meredith would love them like this: now they really did look like Freddie and Flossie.
They piled onto Juliet’s bed and Corrie read them a chapter of Henry Huggins. Then she tried to kiss Juliet, but as usual Juliet growled and escaped under the covers.
Orly, however, loved to be cuddled. Corrie carried him to his own bed and savoured his clean smell while he clung to her. “Don’t go yet,” he begged. Orly was afraid of the dark.
“I’ll leave the hall light on. You’ll be all right,” Corrie told him. She kissed him and handed him his favourite bear.
Corrie yawned as she brushed her teeth. This fall Sebastian had extended her bedtime to nine, but she wasn’t used to the extra half-hour yet. She tried to read, but soon she had to turn out her light. She curled into her pillow and tried to clear out of her mind a vision of Sebastian’s head being shoved into a toilet. Instead, she told herself a story about Sir Gareth slaying a dragon.
3
Sir Gareth
Saturday was the day the Bell family had the most freedom. Fa usually spent most of the day doing research in the university library. The Elephant didn’t come on weekends. She left them groceries, and they had to concoct meals on their own.
Corrie woke up with her usual weekend elation—two whole days without school, two days just to sink into her family and not worry about the rest of the world. It was a perfect September morning, sunny and warm with a breath of wind.
School had been lonely that week. The day after Meredith had come to Corrie’s house, she had rushed up as usual. Corrie had been so embarrassed at how rude she had been, however, that she turned her back and walked away. Meredith tried a few more times to talk to Corrie, then she gave up. Corrie couldn’t bear the hurt, confused look on her face. She knew she should apologize, but it had been so long since she’d had a friend, she didn’t know how.
But today she was to be made a knight! Last evening she had kept an hour’s vigil in Camelot. Sebastian had lit candles for her and told her to ponder the Code of Chivalry, which was posted on the shed wall.
Corrie sat on her hard stump. The candle made scary flickering shadows. She tried to pretend she was in a chapel. She even tried to kneel, but the ground was so uncomfortable she gave that up after a few minutes.
I am twenty-one, thought Corrie, about to be knighted after seven years of service as a squire. Carefully she read aloud each line of the Code that Sebastian had painted in elaborate gold letters:
A knight is brave.
A knight never cries.
A knight is courteous.
A knight is generous and kind.
A knight is clean.
A knight protects the weak.
A knight fights evil and inju
stice.
A knight is noble.
“Do you think you can live up to all of it, Master Cor?” Sir Lancelot asked her when he came back.
“It will be hard to be so … so perfect all the time,” said Corrie.
Sir Lancelot looked solemn. “It is hard. Nobody expects you to be perfect, but you have to try to be perfect. That is what I do every moment.”
She could never be like him. “I’ll try,” Corrie whispered. “But I’m not very strong.”
Sir Lancelot patted her back. “You will be fine.” He led her back to the house and she joined the others in front of the TV, feeling important as they gazed at her curiously.
“WE’LL DO THE TRIAL on the golf course,” Sebastian announced at breakfast. He looked completely relaxed—Corrie knew he relished weekends even more than she did.
Hamlet was on the table, dipping his paw in Harry’s cereal. Roz picked him up and dropped him on the floor. “I’m not coming,” she told them.
Sebastian frowned. “Not coming, Sir Gawain? Not coming to the initiation and dubbing of Sir Gareth?”
“I’m sorry, Corrie. I know it’s an important occasion. But Joyce and I have to practise baton for the tryouts next week.”
“Baton!” Sebastian looked disgusted. “This is much more important than a stupid girls’ thing.”
Roz stood up. “It’s not stupid to me. You’ll just have to do without me. I’ll be back about five to get dinner ready.” She flounced out of the kitchen.
“Why is Roz so mad all the time?” Orly asked.
Yes, why? thought Corrie. She watched Sebastian swallow his disappointment. He smiled at Orly and said, “Never mind, Master Orlando. Sir Gawain has gone on a quest. It is too bad, but it is unavoidable. Now, my men, get your arms and let us go!”
They left the dishes and ran out to Camelot to collect their things. Everyone had wooden swords, even the pages. Sebastian said that, properly, they wouldn’t have, but Juliet and Orly had made such a fuss that he had made them little ones. Corrie thrust her own sword carefully through her belt. Its paint was wearing off and the handle was loose; she’d have to fix it later.
