“You, Sir Gareth?” said the king. “Were you not wounded when you last rode in the hunt?”
“That was a week ago, and my wound has healed,” said Sir Gareth. “If it pleases Your Majesty, I will ride with the boy.”
And he looked at Shan and smiled.
SIR GARETH
12
The next day they rode out from Camelot—Sir Gareth, Shan, and Magnus.
Sir Gareth led the way on his black war horse. Shan rode behind him on a brown pony from the king’s stables. He carried Sir Gareth’s shield. Magnus rode his donkey behind Shan. He carried Sir Gareth’s lance. It was a lance of the finest ashwood with a tip of steel, and it was twice as long as the donkey.
They rode through woods and up steep hills and down. It was hard for them to talk with one another then. But every evening, when they stopped for the night, Sir Gareth told stories.
He told of King Arthur and the beautiful Queen Guinevere. He told of Merlin the wise man and Lancelot, one of the greatest of all knights.
“How can a boy grow up to be a knight of the Round Table?” asked Shan.
“A boy like you?” asked Sir Gareth.
“Yes, a boy like me,” said Shan.
“I have something to tell you—something you may like to hear,” said Sir Gareth. “Before we left Camelot, King Arthur spoke to me of you.”
“Of me?” said Shan.
“Yes. He said, ‘I like the way the boy stands and looks me in the eye. If his story is true, it may be that we can make a place for him here at the castle.’”
“Did he—did he mean that I might be a knight?”
“I can tell you this much,” said Sir Gareth. “The king likes to find his knights when they are young. First they are page boys at the castle. They wait on the table and work in the kitchen. When a page boy is older, he is made a squire. A squire helps the knights with their horses and armor.”
“And after that he is made a knight?” asked Shan.
“Yes, if he has learned his lessons well.”
“Sir Gareth, do you think the king will call me to Camelot some day?” asked Shan.
“If your story is true,” said the knight, “I think he may.”
“I have told the truth,” said Shan. “You will see that I have.”
One morning Shan saw the walls and towers of Weldon Castle.
He pointed. “There is my home.”
Sir Gareth nodded. He rode on faster than ever.
They came to the castle gate. A watchman called down from the wall, “Who is there?”
“A knight of King Arthur, come to see your lord,” Sir Gareth called back.
After a little while the watchman said, “My lord will see you, Sir Knight.”
Sir Gareth, Shan, and Magnus rode into the courtyard.
Lionel came out of the castle. He was dressed in fine linen and a velvet robe.
“Welcome, Sir Knight,” he said, with a smile.
Sir Gareth did not smile. “Are you Lord Lionel?” he asked.
“I am, and this is my castle,” said Lionel.
“I come from the king,” said Sir Gareth. “I come here to right the wrong done to this boy.”
Lionel looked at Shan. “Who is this boy?” he asked.
“You know me well!” said Shan.
“But I do not,” said Lionel. “Tell me your name.”
“I am Shan, and you knew me as soon as I came through the gate.”
“Shan? Shan? I know the name,” said Lionel. “It was the name of my brother’s son. But he is dead. Last year he and his mother went away into the woods and were killed by wolves.”
“You can see I was not killed by wolves, and neither was my mother,” said Shan. “How can you look me in the face after what you have done? First you took my father from me. Then you took my home—”
“I will hear no more of this,” said Lionel in anger. “The son of my brother is dead. This boy is in a wicked plot to steal my castle from me. Take him out of my sight!”
Sir Gareth looked at Shan. “Can you prove that you are Shan and what you say is true?”
“Yes, I can prove it. There are people here who know me.”
Sir Gareth said to Lionel, “Bring everyone out. Let us see if anyone knows the boy.”
“Now we shall see,” said Shan.
“Yes,” said Lionel, “we shall see.”
THE FIELD OF BATTLE
13
All Lionel’s men and all his servants came into the courtyard. They walked past Shan and looked at him. They said, one after another, “I do not know this boy.”
“Some of them do know me!” said Shan. “They are afraid to speak.” He saw a white-haired man by the wall. “There is my friend Nappus,” he said. “He will know me.”
He jumped down off the pony and ran across the courtyard. “Nappus, I’ve come home!”
The old man came to meet him. He caught Shan by the hands and knelt before him.
“You see—Nappus knows me,” Shan said to Sir Gareth.
“This man’s name is not Nappus,” said Lionel. “He has no name. He is only a poor madman who can neither hear nor speak nor tell one face from another. I let him stay here only because I am sorry for him . . . Take him away.”
Two servants took Nappus by the arms and led him back to the wall.
Shan stood before Sir Gareth. “Believe me, Sir Knight, I have told the truth.”
“Believe him not, Sir Knight,” said Lionel. “He has never set foot inside these walls before.”
“This was my home,” said Shan.
Sir Gareth’s eyes were troubled. “Can you prove what you say?”
Shan did not answer. He did not know what to say.
“He can prove nothing,” said Lionel.
A wind blew across the courtyard. A few leaves blew about Shan’s feet. They were oak leaves.
He looked up quickly. He saw the garden and the old oak tree.
He said, “I can prove everything!”
He went into the garden. Lionel and Sir Gareth followed him.
Shan climbed into the oak tree. He felt among the leaves and branches. He found the hollow in the tree trunk.
He felt inside the hollow. His hand touched nothing but sticks and leaves.
Lionel shouted from below, “Come down from my tree! Why do you climb it?”
Shan put his hand farther into the hollow. His fingers touched smooth wood. It was the corner of a box.
He lifted out the box. There was a rope around it—the one he had tied there long ago. With the rope about his shoulders and the box on his back, he climbed down.
“This box I hid in the tree before I went away,” he said. “I alone knew where it was. In it is my father’s sword.”
He opened the box. He took out his father’s sword and held it high.
“The sword is mine!” cried Lionel. “It is mine, I tell you!” There was hate in his eyes, as he started toward Shan.
Sir Gareth moved between them. “Now I know the truth,” he said to Lionel. “You will fight me, not the boy.”
On the field below the castle wall, Lionel and Sir Gareth waited face to face. They were on horseback. Each was ready with lance and shield.
On one side of the field were Lionel’s men. On the other side were Shan and Magnus.
One of Lionel’s men held a handkerchief high and let it fall. It was the signal for the fight to begin.
The horses charged. They met in the middle of the field. Lionel’s lance broke against Sir Gareth’s shield. Sir Gareth fell from his saddle.
But Lionel’s shield had been struck, too.
“Eh! They’re both on the ground. Sir Gareth—quick!” shouted Magnus. “He’s coming at you with his sword!”
Sir Gareth was on his feet. He drew his sword just as Lionel sprang upon him. Their swords clashed together, and Sir Gareth moved back.
“He’s hurt,” said Magnus.
“He had a wound when we rode from Camelot,” said Shan.
But Sir Gareth had thrown himself out of the way. Lionel’s sword went deep into the ground. Before he could draw it out, Sir Gareth had the point of his sword at Lionel’s throat.
“Will you yield?” he cried.
Lionel stood like a rock.
“Will you yield?” Sir Gareth cried again.
Slowly Lionel bowed his head. “I yield,” he said.
He gave up his sword.
Sir Gareth spoke so that all could hear, “You and your men will ride at once to Camelot. You will tell King Arthur that Sir Gareth sent you. The king will do with you as he wishes. The servants are not to blame. They may stay.”
He and Shan and Magnus went up the hill to the castle. They went into the great hall where Shan had left his father’s sword.
Shan took the sword up in his arms. He looked down at it for a little while. Then he held it out to Sir Gareth.
“I give you this, Sir Knight,” he said. “I give it with my thanks.”
Sir Gareth shook his head. “I have one sword. I have no need for two. No, the sword is yours—” He stopped. He leaned back against the table.
“Are you hurt?” asked Shan.
“No,” said Sir Gareth, “but I feel the need of rest.”
Shan and Magnus helped him to a bedroom. He lay down.
“Let me bring Nappus to you. He is a good doctor,” said Shan.
When he went out into the great hall, he found Nappus already there. The old man’s eyes were bright with excitement. He made a sign for Shan to follow him.
THE DUNGEON
14
Shan went with Nappus through a doorway. Now he saw that the old man had a torch in one hand and a key in the other.
Nappus lighted the torch. He opened an iron door in the floor and started down a stairway.
It was the way to the dungeon.
Shan stopped. He began to think that what Lionel had said might be true. He began to fear the old man had really gone mad.
Again Nappus made a sign for Shan to follow. Shan followed him down the stairs.
Nappus unlocked a door and threw it open. Shan looked into a room in the dungeon. In the light of the torch he saw a man lying on the floor. The man was thin. His hair and beard were long. His clothes were in rags.
He did not turn his head. “Who is it?” he said. “What do you want with me?”
Shan stood very still. He knew that voice.
He cried out, “Father!”
The man looked up. “Shan! . . . Shan, it is you!” He began to weep. “My poor boy, now you are a prisoner, too.”
“No, Father—”
“Tell me of your mother, Shan. Tell me quickly. Is she safe?”
“She is safe. She will soon be here.” Shan could hardly speak. He could not move from the doorway.
“Why do you stand and look at me so?” asked his father. “Are you afraid?”
“No,” said Shan, “but I—I thought—”
“I know,” said his father. “You thought I was dead.”
“Yes,” whispered Shan.
“On that day of the hunt, your uncle meant to kill me,” said his father. “But I looked into his face and he was afraid and put his sword away. For a while he kept me prisoner in the woods. Then he brought me to my own dungeon. He thought I would die here.”
Shan went to his father. He put his arms about him and tried to lift him from the floor. “Now you are free.”
“Free? Where is my brother?” asked Lord Weldon. “Where are his men?”
“They are gone,” said Shan. “They can do us no more harm.”
“But how can that be?” asked Lord Weldon.
“I’ll tell you. When we are out of this place, I’ll tell you everything,” said Shan. “Here, let me help you up the stairs.”
“I must close my eyes at first,” said Lord Weldon. “The sun will be too bright.”
He put his hand on Shan’s arm. Slowly they climbed the steps, while Nappus went ahead, holding the torch to light the way.
Excerpt from A Lion to Guard Us
I
The Sailor Man
On a February morning in the year 1609, a small, thin-faced man made his way over London Bridge. He wore a leather jacket and a blue wool stocking cap. His clothes were splashed with mud, and mud sucked at his shoes. He could hardly see for the cold rain in his face.
He had been looking for Fish Street, and here it was, at the end of London Bridge. Now he was looking for a house on Fish Street—a great stone house not far from the bridge.
Here was one with tall chimneys and many windows. It must be the house, he thought. He went around to the back.
A plump, pretty maid opened the door.
“Would this be the Trippett house?” he asked.
She looked at his muddy clothes. “What do you want?”
“A word with Mistress Freebold, if she’s about.”
“Mistress Freebold? Oh, you mean Annie. You can’t see her,” said the maid. “She’s sick abed.”
“Could you just let her know there’s someone here from America—?”
“America?” The maid stared into his face. “Then you must be—” She was gone. He heard her crying out, “Amanda, Amanda!”
Someone came running. Someone cried, “Father!” and a girl was there. She looked no more than ten or eleven—a pale little thing with great, dark eyes.
She stopped. She said in bitter disappointment, “You’re not my father.”
“I shouldn’t think so,” said the man.
“Ellie said you were from America, and she thought—I thought—”
“So you’re James Freebold’s girl,” he said.
“One of them. I’m Amanda.” She asked quickly, “Do you know my father?”
“I do, and I saw him not many weeks ago. We were together in America, in the colony of Virginia. I’m a sailor, you see, and my ship was there—”
“And you saw him.” Her eyes were bright again. “Was he well? What did he say?”
“He was well enough, for all I could see. He’d built a house in Jamestown. That’s the only town there. When my ship sailed, he asked if I’d stop for a word with his family in London. He thinks of you each day. He prays you will all be together before another year is out.”
Tears came to her eyes. “When you see him, will you tell him—?”
“I’ll not be seeing him again,” the man broke in. “It’s a long, hard voyage to Virginia. I’ll not be going back.”
“Oh,” she said.
Someone was calling, “Amanda!”
“You’re wanted,” he said. “I’ll take my leave.”
“But you’ll come again?”
He shook his head. “I’ve told my tale. Good-day to you.”
He left her. He was gone, and she didn’t know his name or where to find him again, and there were a hundred things she hadn’t asked. She hadn’t even said thank you.
She took a step after him, but Cook’s voice called her back. “A-man-da!”
She closed the door. She went down the long, cold hall and into the kitchen.
Cook was at the table, beating eggs. Her face was red. Her cap was over one eye.
“Who gave you leave to stand in the door and talk all day?” she said. “Who was that man?”
Ellie the maid came out of the pantry. “Oh, Amanda, was it your father?”
The door to the back stairs opened. A small boy put his head out. “Was it Father?” he asked.
“Jemmy!” cried Amanda. “You know you’re not to come in here. No, it wasn’t Father.”
His head disappeared, and the door closed.
Amanda told Cook and Ellie, “It was a sailor man back from Virginia. He saw my father there. He talked to him. Father is well—and he’s built a house— and he thinks of us—”
Cook gave a snort. “He does, does he? H
e thinks of you so much that he sails off and leaves you for three whole years.”
“Oh, that’s cruel!” said Ellie.
“Hold your tongue, miss,” said Cook, “and Amanda, you get back to your work.”
She went off into the pantry.
As soon as Cook was gone, Amanda opened the door to the back stairs. The small boy was sitting on the steps. A smaller girl sat beside him.
“It wasn’t Father. It was a sailor man,” Amanda said. “But he saw Father. Just think of that. I’ll tell you about it tonight.”
“Will it be a story?” asked the boy.
“It will be like a story,” said Amanda, and she shut the door.
About the Author
CLYDE ROBERT BULLA is one of America’s best-known writers for young people. The broad scope of his interests led him to write more than fifty distinguished books on a variety of subjects, including travel, history, science, and music. He received a number of awards for his contributions to the field of children’s books, including, for Shoeshine Girl, awards in three states—Oklahoma, Arkansas, and South Carolina—the winners of which were voted upon by school children.
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors and artists.
By Clyde Robert Bulla
THE BEAST OF LOR • BENITO
CONQUISTA! (WITH MICHAEL ROBERT SYSON)
DEXTER • THE DONKEY CART
DOWN THE MISSISSIPPI • EAGLE FEATHER
THE GHOST OF WINDY HILL • GHOST TOWN TREASURE
INDIAN HILL • JOHN BILLINGTON, FRIEND OF SQUANTO
JOHNNY HONG OF CHINATOWN • LAST LOOK • MARCO MOONLIGHT
THE MOON SINGER • MY FRIEND THE MONSTER
OLD CHARLIE • OPEN THE DOOR AND SEE ALL THE PEOPLE
PIRATE’S PROMISE • POCAHONTAS AND THE STRANGERS
RIDING THE PONY EXPRESS • THE SECRET VALLEY
SHOESHINE GIRL • SONG OF ST. FRANCIS
SQUANTO, FRIEND OF THE PILGRIMS • STAR OF WILD HORSE CANYON
THE SUGAR PEAR TREE • SURPRISE FOR A COWBOY
The Sword in the Tree Page 4
