by Shutta Crum
“Well,” said Sir Gerald, “I was impressed by Thomas’s handling of everything at the river, as someone so … so …” Sir Gerald trailed off, unsure what to say.
Thomas’s father jumped in. “We don’t pay size much mind here. He keeps up with his chores, and I expect no less of him than I do of any of the others. More, actually, what with him being the eldest, and smart and all.”
Sir Gerald studied Thomas for a while longer and smiled. “Really, that’s very good,” said the knight. “Then he is not too young to be sent away to study. Hmm …”
“I suppose not,” said Thomas’s father, scratching his head. “Most boys by his age are already apprenticed out, I know. But I’ve been busy training Albert. Ya see, as rough as he is, Albert’s got a good eye for leather. So we’ve needed Thomas to help with the little ones. His size don’t matter here at home.”
The knight placed his forearms on the table and squarely faced Thomas’s father. “I like what I see in this son of yours,” he told him, nodding toward Thomas. “Though he is as short as a page boy of only seven or eight years, mayhap his growth will catch up with him. He’s good with Eclipse. If he doesn’t make a squire, the castle could still use a good groomsman. I’d like to take him to the castle to be trained.”
Thomas’s heart skipped a beat or two. All his life he’d heard his father’s bedtime stories about living at the castle, and he had dreamed of going there, too. A squire? Maybe—if he was good enough—he could become a knight one day, like Sir Gerald, with a warhorse of his own, and a sword. He could contain himself no longer.
“Yes!” cried Thomas. “Yes! I ought to be trained in a profession, Da. And then there’ll be one less mouth to feed here.”
“Thomas!” scolded his mother, rounding on him. “The men are talking. Hold your peace, or the only place you’ll be going is outside with Peter to get a dousing.”
Thomas blushed a deep red. Yet he stood where he was and drew himself up as tall as he could. He bit his lip and held his breath, awaiting his father’s reply.
Da hushed his wife and glanced at his son before answering. “He’s a good boy, that he is. And you’ve a reputation in these parts as an honest and hardworking knight. But, begging your pardon, sir, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“He will learn much at the castle,” Sir Gerald reminded him. “He has some natural talents that can be put to use.”
“Aye,” Thomas’s father said. Then he looked down at the tabletop. Finally, he sighed and said, “That’s not what’s troublin’ me. You see, what it comes down to is, I wouldn’t …” He paused, and in a lower voice added, “What I’m trying to say is, not only has he got his size against him, but he’s the son of a … Well, I’m only a leathersmith, like my da before me. I don’t want my son to be the target of the same—”
“I understand,” said Sir Gerald, cutting in. “In truth, I cannot promise that he won’t have a difficult time of it. However, as a knight, I’m allowed to choose whom I will to serve me. You have a fine son. I have seen that he has a good head on his shoulders. He has as much right to be trained as any young person. I can make no promise except this: I will have a care for his well-being, with the hope that one day he will either be knighted or find a good station at the castle.”
“Hope,” Da whispered, shaking his head.
Then Thomas saw his father glance at him before looking over at Ma. Thomas’s mother stood nearby clutching her arms about her chest. He saw her raise her eyebrows and nod faintly at Da. Thomas held his breath, waiting for what would come next.
Da looked thoughtfully at his red, rough hands for a moment, and slowly extended one toward Sir Gerald. “He’s got our permission. I may have me doubts, but I would not deny my son his hope.”
Thomas whooped! He rushed his father and then his mother, hugging them both.
After this, Albert returned with a somewhat cleaner and pinker Peter in tow. Albert was not happy to hear the news. “How come he gets to go to the castle? I’m the one with natural talents. I know leather and how to work it. Even Da says so. I’ll just end up doing all Thomas’s chores now!”
Later—after more talk, and when the youngest ones had been tucked in—Thomas promised he would return home whenever he could to help with chores. And so it was with much joy that Thomas rode off that very evening behind his new master to the castle.
At the castle, Thomas curled up with several younger boys on a wide rush-covered shelf that dropped from a rough plastered stone wall. Despite his age, he’d been placed with the younger pages in the sleeping loft. Through the darkness he could just make out a patch of timbered roof way above him. The room was much larger than the sleeping loft at home. It felt vast and cold. Still, Thomas smiled to himself—here he was, a leathersmith’s son, in training at the castle. He was sure he’d have some marvelous adventures soon—much better than simply acting out Da’s stories.
Earlier, on his way up to the sleeping loft, Thomas had passed tapestries hung along the gallery from the great hall. These large hangings held worlds of exquisite knots and delicate stitches depicting all kinds of animals and people and buildings. They’d fairly taken Thomas’s breath away. Ma had never made anything like those. He’d wanted to run his fingers over the threads, but instead he’d been whisked away up the steps. Tomorrow he’d inspect them again.
Tonight it was simply too exciting to sleep.
Uh-oh! What was that? Thomas yanked his foot up. Something had just scurried through the grasses on the bed and leapt across his foot. A mouse? Here in the castle? Surely there were cats in the castle to keep the mice away. At home the cats would have made short work of any mice foolish enough to get inside the cottage. Tentatively, Thomas stretched his leg down, but he didn’t have long to think about the mouse. From a pallet on the floor, a small boy suddenly cried out.
Thomas dropped down and crossed the short distance to the child’s side. The child told Thomas he’d had a bad dream, so Thomas patted his back until the young one fell asleep again. Finally, Thomas yawned and climbed up to his bed on the shelf. Soon he’d make sure he was placed with the older boys. Mice or no, he burrowed down into the prickly rushes, pulled a thin blanket over himself, and fell asleep.
The next day Sir Gerald rode off again to the northern border. The tutors and masters of instruction at the castle took one look at Thomas and assigned him for exercises, work duties, and studies with the much younger boys. Or they almost overlooked him altogether.
When Thomas tried to explain that he was older, he was either laughed at or cuffed about the head for speaking without being told to. His first full day at the castle was not at all as he’d expected. He spent most of the day learning how to serve visitors dining at the lower tables in the great hall. How to bow. Whom to serve first. Where to stand. What to say if asked a question. When to back away. Serving at table was a chore done by all of the pages so they could observe the manners of their betters.
As the days passed, boys his own age or older avoided Thomas. When their paths crossed, Thomas tried to be friendly. What he got in return were sniggering remarks about what a little pet he was or jibes about the stunted growth of the peasants. No one believed he had as many as twelve years. Thomas fumed, but he did not complain. He learned not to speak up after being reprimanded repeatedly by studies masters and head servants whenever he did so. He kept quiet and spent his days among the young pages.
Truthfully, Thomas enjoyed the pages—they reminded him of his brothers, and of home. At night they would eagerly gather around his bed to hear one of Da’s stories. However, he did fear that he’d never get to do anything more daring than serving up trenchers of roasted meat or helping to push around the huge sand-filled barrel that was used to clean chain mail placed within it.
When the weather was good, the games master held sprinting contests for the pages along the length of the castle gardens. Whichever boy finished first, when racing from the rose bower to the king’s mulberry tree and from thence
to the espaliered apple trees along the kitchen garden wall, could have first choice of serving duties at the lower tables. Since he was older, Thomas usually finished well ahead of the others. But one day he’d just rounded the mulberry tree and was taking his time loping along the path to the kitchen garden when someone whizzed past him.
A real race! Thomas laughed and lengthened his stride. Ahead, the boy who’d passed him was not one of the pages whom Thomas had met, or even one of the younger squires. His hair was curly and tangled, and his clothes bore a number of patches. He must be new to the castle. Thomas smiled. Now he was no longer the newest boy here.
Thomas was almost at the brick wall that encircled the kitchen garden. He was gasping for air and had managed to close much of the distance between them when the boy suddenly turned with an apple in his hand. Shocked, Thomas stopped in his tracks and almost fell over. Apples were not to be taken from the trees; they were for the kitchen.
“Hey!” squeaked Thomas. He shakily pointed a finger at the boy to warn him, but first he had to bend down to catch his breath. When Thomas raised his head again, the boy was gone! He was not on the path back to the rose bower. He’d simply vanished.
The very next day, Sir Gerald returned to the castle. With a little instruction from the knight, Thomas fed, curried, and brushed Eclipse. The large horse seemed to like Thomas’s touch, and Thomas stayed as late as he could in the stables. Other than the king’s warhorse, Heartwind, and a few other beasts—including some ponies and the castle’s old donkey, Bartholomew—there were not many animals being stabled. Most were away with the knights at the border.
Thomas leaned his head against Eclipse’s side. The stables were a quiet spot amid all the hubbub of the castle grounds. Thomas liked the smell of new hay and oiled leather that lingered there.
Suddenly a laugh rang out. Then an angry shout. The shout, Thomas knew, was from Wattley, the marshal of the stables and head groomsman. Sir Gerald had introduced Thomas to him earlier.
Thomas poked his head out around Eclipse’s stall. There was the strange boy who’d stolen the apple yesterday! And angrily hoisting him up into the air was Marshal Wattley. It looked like the boy had been caught trying to feed the apple to Heartwind.
“Don’t you have a brain in your skull?” Marshal Wattley snarled. “No one approaches the king’s horse. God’s truth, that horse will be the end of you, and I’ll have to get me a new stable boy. That’s a dangerous animal.” With that, Wattley tossed the boy onto the ground. As he left, he ordered, “Get back to mucking out stalls. And no more stunts.”
Thomas came out of Eclipse’s stall. The boy didn’t look hurt. He was smiling as he stood up and brushed himself off. Thomas raised a hand. “Hello.”
The stable boy grinned broadly at Thomas. “Hullo!” he said, and nodded, indicating the apple, still in his hand. “Heartwind wanted to take it. Dangerous animal! Pah. Old Wattley just doesn’t know how to approach Heartwind, that’s all. He’s too frightened, and the horse knows it.” Then the stable boy bit into the apple and happily chewed it himself. When he finished, he threw the core into a nearby bucket and held out his hand. “I’m Jon, the stable boy.”
Thomas smiled and stretched out his hand. “I’m Thomas.”
Jon was Thomas’s first friend at the castle. If Marshal Wattley wasn’t around, Jon would point out any new or interesting equipage on the horses of the visitors. And he continued to feed the king’s warhorse treats—whenever he could get any.
One day Thomas was making his way to the stables along the inner wall of the castle ward when Jon blurred past. “C’mon! I’ll race you to Heartwind’s stall.” Jon did not stop. “Bet I’ll beat you there!”
“No you won’t!” yelled Thomas.
They raced past the dovecote, which was covered with white droppings the doves had made as they entered or left the many openings cut into its walls. The startled coos of the birds roosting inside drifted out as they sprinted by.
When they ducked behind the smithy, with its woodpile on one side and mound of cooling ashes on the other, Jon kicked up some ashes. They showered down on both of them. The blacksmith roared out the door and threw his arms up in disgust at the boys. Then Jon flew into the stables, past the piles of mucked-out manure and old bedding straw, past Bartholomew, and … aiiii! He fell across the threshold of Heartwind’s stall.
The stall bars had been pulled open, and Thomas was right behind Jon. Together they slid through old straw and horse droppings and landed right at the foot of someone standing quietly in the stall.
Heartwind reared, snorted, and yanked his head up. He pranced in a tight circle, whinnying and shaking his head.
Jon and Thomas sprang to their feet and brushed themselves off. They tried not to laugh, for someone was there, consoling the horse.
“Shh. Shh … it’s nothing. Just a couple of boys. Heartwind, shhhhhh.”
Thomas stood silently next to Jon. He wasn’t sure whether to look up or not. He kept his head down, expecting a sound cuffing, but he raised his eyes slightly. He could see the hem of a white kirtle and skirts of green and blue fabric hitched up slightly. Thomas followed Jon’s lead and bowed when he heard Jon say, “Your Highness.” Now he didn’t dare raise his eyes!
Your Highness? Could this be the princess, or was it a visitor to the castle? Thomas knew there was a princess living at the castle. She was the king’s only child, but he’d never laid eyes on her. She took her meals with the women of the castle and not in the great hall.
“Jon,” said a female voice, “whatever are you doing?”
“We fell,” Jon mumbled.
“I can see that,” said the voice. The comment was followed by a suppressed laugh.
Maybe we won’t get cuffed after all, thought Thomas. But he kept his shoulders hunched up and his head down, just in case.
Jon fumbled in his pocket for a moment. “I was bringing this to Heartwind,” he said. Jon pulled a pear from his pocket. “It’s a bit bruised. I got it from Dilley.”
Dilley was one of the kitchen maids. The pear, Thomas could see, was more than a little bruised. It was flat on one side. Jon had probably landed on it.
“If you please, Princess Eleanor,” said Jon, and he handed the pear to her.
It was the princess! Thomas raised his eyes a little more; he had to see her. She was wearing a green and blue gown with long sleeves. Her dark hair was caught up behind her. Oh! And he was standing so close to her! He gulped. Wouldn’t his ma and da want to hear of this!
Then he looked down at his own ash-covered rough clothes. To make matters worse, bits of straw and horse dung hung off him. Maybe Ma and Da wouldn’t want to hear about this. Thomas tried to brush some of the filth off without drawing attention to himself.
It didn’t work. Princess Eleanor was staring at him. “Is this a new stable boy?”
“No, Your Highness,” said Jon, elbowing Thomas in the side.
Thomas bowed again and introduced himself. “If I … if I may be of service, Your Highness. I am Thomas, page to Sir Gerald.”
This time the princess did laugh out loud. “I am not sure what service you may do me at the moment, Thomas. Perhaps in the future, when you are more … more”—she struggled for a word—“more refreshingly attired. I do eat with my father’s courtiers at times in the hall. If you ever attend at high table, you may do me a service at that time.”
Then she smiled at Thomas and Jon and added, “Well, Jon, it seems you and I are of the same mind, for I have just given Heartwind a treat. Please don’t tell Marshal Wattley! He thinks I spoil the horse, but I think our marshal is jealous because Heartwind can barely tolerate him. I can’t help myself; he’s a magnificent animal.” She paused and added softly, “I don’t get many free hours to visit.”
Then she considered the two boys and the damaged pear. “There!” she said, taking a deep breath and settling her shoulders. “I have told you my secretest secret. All my ladies-in-waiting would be scandalized to know that
sometimes what I desire most in the world is to slip away to visit my friends in the stables. Now”—she looked very seriously first at Jon and then at Thomas—“we are fellow conspirators and must henceforth always come to the aid of each other and any creature that needs our help. Agreed?”
Thomas could barely swallow. Were all princesses like this one? Somehow, he didn’t think so. Thomas solemnly nodded. He saw Jon doing the same.
“I know,” said the princess. “Let’s give this pear to Bartholomew! Sweet donkey, he’s been a friend of mine since I was a child, and Heartwind just had a treat.” Then the princess strode out of the stall toward Bartholomew’s pen.
Thomas and Jon closed up Heartwind’s stall and timidly followed the princess, who had already stretched out her hand with the treat toward the donkey. “There, kind sir,” she said, and stroked his gray muzzle as he ate it. “He used to pull my cart when I was a child.”
Jon and Thomas kept silent as they stood alongside the princess and listened to Bartholomew chew. Finally, Princess Eleanor brushed off her hands and gathered herself together. She said, “Well, enough loitering for one day. I’ve work to attend to, what with all this scurrying about and preparing men to ride out to the border. I’m sure the two of you do as well. I meant to make only a short visit to Heartwind. However, I am happy to have discovered two champions in my quest to keep Heartwind from being so lonely.” With that, she turned and left the stables.
Jon and Thomas bowed as the princess strode off across the inner ward. Then they looked at each other and smiled.
“Conspirators!” whispered Jon.
“Champions!” whispered Thomas.
Before Thomas could be a champion, he knew he needed to learn how to wield a sword and a shield, how to fight on horseback, and so many other things. All he’d really learned so far, besides how to be mannerly to visitors in the dining hall, was how to build a model battering ram. That had been a fun exercise on a particularly stormy day. But Thomas saw that more and more of the older boys were being sent away to the borderlands to perform really worthwhile tasks—boys who weren’t even old enough to be knights yet. In fact, there were fewer and fewer squires in the castle, and many of the pages were starting to do some of the chores that had been done by older boys, like serving at the high table in the hall or accompanying the king’s visitors on hunting trips and caring for the hunting falcons.
