by Kit Pearson
Sir Lancelot’s sword was the largest; it even had a name, Joyeux. He also had a large shield painted with three scarlet stripes, symbolizing that he had the strength of three men.
But Sebastian hadn’t been able to wear his arms in public since he’d started junior high—it was too great a risk. Someone from his school might see him. He glanced at his sword and shield and armour longingly as the others got ready.
Corrie straightened her sword as they trotted their horses down the steep sidewalk. Was she getting too old to ride her horse in public as well? She wondered how she would feel if she passed a classmate, and decided she wouldn’t care.
The horses—“palfreys,” as Sir Lancelot called them—were long pieces of bamboo they had cut from the back yard. Each had reins braided with small bells. Corrie’s used to be Midnight, but today she was changing his name. Sebastian had looked in all his books, but he couldn’t find a name for Sir Gareth’s palfrey. Corrie decided to call him Lightning.
Lightning was chestnut with a white streak down his forehead. He had a long mane and was so wild that only Corrie could ride him. She pulled back on the reins to stop Lightning’s eager lunging.
Sebastian strolled nonchalantly behind them, as if he were babysitting his younger brothers and sisters. But Corrie knew he was really dressed in full armour and mounted on his noble black steed, on the lookout for any evil knights or giants they might encounter.
Sebastian was carrying lances, an armful of bows and arrows, and a brown paper bag. Corrie quaked when she noticed the bag: she knew it had something to do with her trial. But this morning she felt invincible, certain she could pass whatever trial Sir Lancelot had in mind for her.
The golf course at the end of their street had not been used for years. Now it was a huge, glorious playground. For most of her life Corrie had played there. Graceful weeping willow trees dotted the green space, and the neighbourhood kids made forts and hideouts in the high bushes along the fence.
Master Cor galloped Lightning over the rough grass, racing Master Harry and winning. They reached a clearing in a dense grove of trees. This was Joyous Gard, Sir Lancelot’s castle. Sometimes other kids were here and they had to go to another part of the golf course, but today the clearing was empty. They could be private for the trial.
“Dismount from your steeds,” ordered Sir Lancelot. They lined up the bamboo sticks along the lower limbs of a tree. “Come here, Master Cor.”
Corrie stood in front of Sir Lancelot, and all her confidence vanished. What if the trial were too hard? She couldn’t bear to let him down.
“Master Cor, what is the first article of the Knight’s Code?”
“A knight is brave.”
“Correct. Every knight must be brave. Thus your trial must involve doing something that you are afraid to do. I know that you have a great fear of rats, do you not, Master Cor?”
Not rats! But Corrie made herself whisper, “Yes, sire.”
Sir Lancelot picked up the paper bag. “If a knight is afraid of a harmless creature like a rat, what will he do if he encounters a dragon or a griffin? Yesterday I found another dead rat that the castle cat killed. It is in this bag. This is your trial, Master Cor. You are to take the rat out of the bag, put it on that rock, and sit beside it without removing your gaze from it for fifteen minutes. If you can do that, you will be brave enough to be knighted.”
I can’t! Corrie cried inside. Her heart pounded and her mouth felt parched. She couldn’t bear rats at a distance—how could she look one in the eye? How could she touch it?
For a few minutes she couldn’t speak. Sir Lancelot said gently, “Remember that the rat is dead, Master Cor. It cannot hurt you. Remember that in fifteen minutes your trial will be over forever.”
Corrie swallowed. A knight is brave. She pictured Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain calling her Sir Gareth and the squire and pages calling her sire. Sir Lancelot would carve “Gareth” into her wooden stool; maybe she’d even get her own shield.
This was the hardest thing she’d ever done in her life. Her only choice was to force herself to do it.
“All right,” she muttered. “I’m ready.”
“Good for you.” Sir Lancelot handed her the bag. Before Corrie had time to think about it, she put in her hand and grasped a pinch of damp fur.
“Ewww, it stinks!” squealed Master Jules.
“Quiet!” ordered Sir Lancelot.
Corrie held the rat as far away from her as she could and walked over to the rock. The rat was limp and heavy, like a little sack of stones. She draped it over the rock and closed her eyes.
“Open your eyes, Master Cor. Sit beside the rat and keep looking at it. The rest of you stand over here without a word.”
Corrie sat on the grass and clutched her trembling knees. She stared at the rat. It was a large one with a long pink naked tail. Its dark fur looked greasy. Its beady eyes were still open and stared malevolently up at her. A rank odour rose from it. Worst of all was its long nose extending over its horrible little mouth.
Corrie’s heart thudded so hard it hurt her chest. She thought she would choke. At first she could hear distant traffic, the call of a gull, and Harry blowing his nose. Then she felt herself fading, as if she were shrinking into her body.
She kept her eyes on the rat but she no longer saw it. Instead she saw a black box. She was sitting in a hot, crowded church, leaning against Fa. The air smelled like lilies. Mum was in the black box; that’s what the grown-ups said. Eight-year-old Corrie kept staring at it. She glanced at Fa’s face. He was staring at the box too, and his face was so rigid that Corrie felt even more scared.
Corrie started to sway. Immediately Sebastian’s hands were on her shoulders. “Corrie? Are you all right?”
Corrie came back. She looked up at Sebastian’s concerned eyes. “Is the time up?” she whispered.
“Not quite, but you’ve done long enough. Are you sure you’re all right? Maybe I picked too hard a trial.”
It was so comforting to feel Sebastian’s hands on her shoulders that Corrie leaned back against him for a few seconds. She took a deep breath and then she realized her trial was over.
She jumped to her feet, turning her back on the rat. “I’m fine! I did it! Now would you please get rid of that rat?”
Sebastian looked relieved. “Well done, Master Cor! Master Orlando, you may dispose of the rat.”
“Yes, sire!” Orly rushed over and picked up the rat by the tail, swinging it around his head several times before he threw it into the bushes. Juliet and Harry cheered.
“Were you really scared, Corrie?” Juliet asked her. “I wouldn’t have been!”
“Everyone is afraid of different things, Master Jules,” said Sir Lancelot. “Master Cor has passed his trial. Master Harry, please dress your knight in his new vestments.”
Solemnly Harry drew out armour and a sword and shield from another paper bag. Corrie hadn’t even noticed him carrying it. Harry tied pieces of tinfoil-covered cardboard onto her upper arms. He unfastened her old sword and fixed the new one to her belt.
The new sword was flat wood sharpened to a point, painted silver. The crossguard was made of cardboard with tinfoil glued on it; above it the handle was wrapped with black tape, and on top was a black pommel made out of a drawer handle. The shield was even more splendid, painted with a coat of arms: brown acorns, a black dog’s head, and a yellow star. Sebastian must have been working on them all week.
“They’re beautiful!” said Corrie. “What do the symbols mean?”
“The acorns mean strength, the dog means loyalty, and the star means you are a noble person. These are all qualities you have shown as a squire, Master Cor, and I know you will continue to show as a knight.”
Corrie could hardly breathe for pleasure. Sir Lancelot directed her to kneel in front of him. “I now dub thee Sir Gareth, noble knight of King Arthur’s Round Table,” said Sir Lancelot, tapping a sword on each of Corrie’s shoulders. “Arise, Sir Gareth.”
; Corrie stood up slowly. Orly hugged her while Juliet and Harry pounded her on the back. “Congratulations!” they all cried.
Sebastian beamed. “Congratulations from me also, Sir Gareth. I look forward to the two of us having many adventures together.”
“Thank you,” whispered Corrie. She was a real knight!
“Hi, Corrie!”
They turned around quickly. Meredith! She was standing there with her bike. “I didn’t expect to see you here, Corrie! I was exploring this old golf course, except it’s too bumpy to ride on.” She gazed curiously at the weapons strewn on the ground. “What are you doing?”
Corrie flushed. “Hi, Meredith,” she muttered. “We’re … we’re just playing a game.”
“Can I play too?”
“No!” Sebastian glared at Meredith as if she were an enemy. “It’s a private game.”
Meredith turned her bike and walked it away quickly. But Corrie had seen the tears spring to her eyes.
“Why can’t she play?” she said, surprised at her boldness. “We need another squire. She’d probably be happy to be mine.”
Corrie refused to lower her eyes as Sebastian stared at her.
“Sir Gareth, I am shocked,” he said tersely. “You know the Round Table is just for us. No one from outside has ever belonged to it.”
“Why not?” repeated Corrie stubbornly. Being a knight gave her courage.
“Because …” Sebastian looked desperate. “Because it’s just not right, that’s why. Because then it wouldn’t be a secret any more. It wouldn’t be special, it wouldn’t be … safe!”
Safe? Corrie watched Sebastian’s face. The haunted look he had each day when he arrived home from school was there again—the fear.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “It’s all right, Sebastian. Meredith doesn’t have to be one of us. I won’t ask again.”
Sebastian smiled tightly. “Thank you, Sir Gareth. I accept your apology. We will forget about it. Now, let us see how you fare in a sword fight against Master Harry!”
Corrie tried to be Sir Gareth again as she pinned Harry against a tree with her sword. Then Sir Gareth and Sir Lancelot charged each other with lances, trying to knock each other down. “Will you submit?” Sir Lancelot asked as Sir Gareth fell off his palfrey to the ground.
“I submit!” she cried, trying not to laugh.
They had archery practice, then they galloped up and down chasing imaginary deer. Finally they trotted back to the house for lunch. But all the way Corrie kept looking out for Meredith.
The rest of the day was so pleasant that Corrie tried to forget about her confrontation with Sebastian. Roz came home extremely cheerful. She congratulated Corrie on becoming a knight and cooked them delicious sausages for dinner.
Fa always watched TV with them on Saturday nights. They were pleased to discover that Hamlet was on because they knew how much he would enjoy it. Corrie didn’t understand much of the movie, but that meant she could ask a lot of questions and get Fa’s full attention as he patiently answered them.
“Look, Hamlet, it’s all about you!” said Harry. He had found an old golf ball that afternoon. He’d peeled off the cover and was laboriously unwinding the long rubber strand underneath. When he reached the tiny black ball in the middle he threw it for Hamlet, who trotted back with it as if he were a dog. Then Hamlet dozed in Harry’s lap. The twins fell asleep as well, and Fa helped carry them to bed.
EVERY SUNDAY MORNING, rain or shine, the Bell family walked five blocks to St. George’s Church. If it rained they arrived like a flock of wet sheep, shaking the water off their coats and shoes.
Corrie often wished they had a car, but Fa had sold theirs soon after the accident. Accident … that word had hovered in the air like a black cloud the evening Fa had come home late, stood in the hall with a white, stricken face, and whispered, “My dears, there’s been an accident.”
Fa had been driving when a truck hit Mum’s side of the car and killed her instantly. It wasn’t his fault—the grown-ups kept saying that over and over. But he thought it was, and he swore that he would never drive again.
Poor, dear Fa, thought Corrie, walking behind her father as he strode into the church, a twin in each hand. She enjoyed the way people stared at them, this large family led by such a distinguished-looking father.
They took up a whole pew. Corrie smoothed her dress over her knees and adjusted her beret; Roz always made them dress up for church. And they looked nice, Corrie thought. Yes, Orly’s knees beneath his short pants were scabbed, and Juliet’s pink dress, handed down from Corrie, was too long for her. Harry’s shirt was wrinkled, and her own sweater had holes in the sleeves. But Fa wore the tweed jacket and matching waistcoat he did every Sunday, and Roz, of course, was a model of teenaged elegance. Sebastian wasn’t dressed much differently from every day but he always looked meticulous, with his gleaming dark, chin-length hair and his serious grey eyes.
To Corrie’s delight the first hymn was “To Be a Pilgrim,” Sebastian’s favourite. She grinned at him as they shared a hymn book and their voices rang out together: “No foe may still his might, though he with giants fight.” They were Sir Lancelot and Sir Gareth, attending chapel before a battle.
As Corrie put down her hymn book, she spotted a curly dark head under a red hat a few pews away: Meredith! She’d never seen her in church before.
A few minutes later all the children paraded out for Sunday school. Meredith avoided Corrie’s eyes. She must have really been hurt yesterday.
Corrie sat around a table with the rest of the ten-and eleven-year-olds. She paid no attention to Mrs. Rose, the Sunday school teacher, who was reading them the story of Jonah and the whale. Instead she pondered how she could make amends with Meredith.
Finally she excused herself to go to the bathroom. With relief, she heard Meredith make the same request. Outside the door they gazed at each other awkwardly.
“I didn’t know you went to this church,” mumbled Corrie.
“This is our first Sunday.”
“I’m really sorry about yesterday,” Corrie continued quickly. “Sebastian’s like that sometimes, but I wanted you to play with us.”
“You did?” Meredith’s face was hopeful but wary. “I’d like to be friends with you, Corrie, but this week you’ve been so unfriendly I decided you didn’t.”
“I do!” Corrie cried. “It’s just … it’s just hard with my family, that’s all.”
“I like your family! They’re kind of strange, but they’re interesting. Can you come over to my house tomorrow after school?”
“Sure!” They grinned at each other.
“Was that your father sitting with you?” Meredith asked.
Corrie nodded.
“He’s so old!”
“I guess he is old for a father. He’s—uh, he was—twenty years older than my mother.”
“You’re It!” cried Meredith, tapping her on the shoulder. Corrie chased her all over the parish hall. They played tag until Sunday school was over, then they joined the line of children to meet their parents coming out of church. Mrs. Rose frowned at them, but there was nothing she could do. Sunday school teachers had no authority, not like the ones in real school.
THE REST OF SUNDAY was as peaceful as usual. The family squished into a taxi and Fa took them downtown for lunch, to the hotel restaurant they went to every week. No one there seemed to mind the twins getting up and down, running into the lobby, and coming back to report on what they’d seen.
This was the only good meal they had all week. Corrie stuffed herself with roast beef and Yorkshire pudding and apple pie with thick cream. Fa and Sebastian were engaged in a lively conversation about the Holy Grail; Fa knew a lot about knights, almost as much as Sebastian.
Corrie wondered if he guessed he was King Arthur. He must have noticed their game. But maybe not; Fa was so immersed in his own secret world, he was barely aware of much outside it.
But at least on Sundays he stayed out of his study and t
ried to give all his attention to his children. After the taxi ride home, they changed their clothes and went for a long walk on the golf course. Then they all sat in the den with ginger ale for them and wine for Fa.
Corrie and Harry stretched out on the floor with the weekend funnies. Harry’s favourites were “Terry and the Pirates” and “Mark Trail”; Corrie liked “Gasoline Alley” and “Prince Valiant.” Prince Valiant looked so much like Sebastian, with his long hair and handsome demeanour. And he was just as brave. Hamlet plopped down on top of the paper the way he always did when someone read on the floor.
Fa played cribbage with Roz, Orly curled up in his lap. “When did your hair get so curly, Rosalind?” Fa asked suddenly.
Roz looked irritated. “Oh, Fa, I got a perm three weeks ago! Don’t you remember? I asked you if I could.”
Fa looked ashamed. “I do apologize, my dear. I forgot.” He studied her. “It makes you look much older. You’re getting to be quite a young lady!” He looked surprised that any of them were growing at all.
Fa admired Harry’s model airplane and tried unsuccessfully to teach Juliet how to tie her shoelaces, laughing with the rest of them when Juliet simply knotted the two loops. “It’s my invention,” she boasted. “Fa, could Orly and me get some more turtles?”
“Orly and I,” said Fa. “I thought you already had turtles.”
“They died,” said Juliet.
“They always die,” said Roz. “I don’t think you should buy any more.”
Juliet looked so woeful that Fa said they could ask for turtles for Christmas.
“Fa,” said Harry solemnly, “a kid in my class says that if you cut the skin between your thumb and first finger you’ll die. That couldn’t be true, right?”
Fa smiled. “We thought that when I was young! No, it’s not true. It’s just a superstition.”
“What’s a stition?” asked Orly.
