Theirs would be tragic. No, thank you.
“Why did we come at night?” she asked, glad for the change in topic.
“Old Walter doesn’t like to bring out his more precious items in the light of day where they might be seen by thieves. I stopped at his place before I reached home tonight. I told him we would be coming by tonight.”
So, this Old Walter meets with potentially big customers like Nicholas in the cover of night? Not likely. It was probably because his fakes couldn’t be examined well in candlelight. “How precious are these pieces and have you ever seen any?”
“I have seen a few. A fifth century Roman chalice set with an eyeball-sized ruby and inscribed Majorian.”
“Emperor Julius Valerius Majorianus?” she asked, wide eyed.
He shrugged. “What do I know? I’m not the historian.”
Oh, if only it were authentic. She had to see it!
“I have also seen a page he claims is from William the Conqueror’s Doomsday Book.”
A short burst of laughter burst from her mouth. She couldn’t help it. It was a bit much. The Doomsday Book.
“You do not believe they are genuine.”
“No,” she answered though his was more of a statement of fact than a question.
“Nor do I, but he is the only man I know who may have heard of your brooch.”
“It’s not my brooch.”
“Aye, ’tis,” he insisted. “You said your aunt left it to you.”
“She did,” Kes said. “I signed for it. So, it’s mine if I ever find it again.”
She realized that if she ever saw the brooch again, she would only have it for a minute until she rubbed it and spoke the name Pendragon. And then it would belong to anyone who had been with her when she disappeared. Most likely that meant Nicholas.
She didn’t mention it to him.
They arrived at Old Walter’s home when the forest opened up and the sky was teeming with stars. In fourteen eighty-five, the stars could be clearly seen.
Kes was searching for constellations and almost missed the short, pudgy fellow stepping out of his doorway.
“My lord Scarborough, is that you?” he called out to them.
“Aye, Walter. I have with me Miss Kestrel Locksley of Bridlington.”
They rode up to the door and Nicholas dismounted before his host. “You are looking well, Walter”
“As are you, my lord.” He waited until Nicholas helped Kes dismount, and then smiled at them both while his stable hand took the reins. “Now, ’tis late, what can I show you?”
“We are looking for a brooch,” Nicholas told him.
“I have many of those. Why did you not say so today when you were here? Ah, let me guess. You want to let her choose. What are you looking for, dear lady?”
“A silver brooch—”
“A woman who enjoys fine things,” Old Walter complimented.
“’Tis an engraved dragon curled up around a golden stone. The name Pendragon must be on it but ’tis worn off and can no longer be seen.”
“You are very specific,” Walter remarked, narrowing his eye on her.
“Yes, I saw one long ago and I have always wanted it.”
“Hmm,” the old historian shook his head. “I do not think I have anything like that but come inside and we will look together.”
She followed him and Nicholas into his home and looked around. There were a number of old items placed carefully on tables and shelves. Kes’ heart began a heavy litany, battering against her chest. What was here? Was any of it genuine?
She saw a magnetic compass on a table. They came from the Far East in the seventh century. How did he get one? It was said King Alfred the Great had one.
“May I?” she asked Walter. Inside, in the candlelight, the old merchant had soft-looking pudgy pink skin and white hair. He nodded, giving her permission to touch it.
“That one was made in the year eight hundred and eighty-three, in the Han Dynasty.”
Kes picked it up and examined it as best she could in the low, golden light. She was no archeologist like her father, but it appeared quite old.
Where would a cute little man like Water get his hands on an eighth century compass?
“The earl has told me you have quite the collection of artifacts. Perhaps while we look for the brooch, you would show me some items.”
“Of course, dear lady. Anything you would like.”
“Eh, just the brooch for now, Walt,” Nicholas let him know. “Do you know of one?”
“Only one,” Walter told them in a low voice. “’Tis said to be very powerful. Only one exists and his men are whispered to have it.”
“Slow down,” Nicholas said. “You’re going too fast. What kind of power is it said to possess? And whose men have it?”
“Power too strong for mortal men to play with. And Arthur Pendragon’s men are rumored to have it.”
“But I thought they were myth,” Kes said. “Arthur Pendragon isn’t real.”
“Now how do you know that, Miss Locksley?” asked Walter. “’Tis said he lived in a very ancient time. A time when some men practiced magic.”
She remembered how the brooch glowed and appeared new, and how looking at the name Pendragon made her want to say it.
“Where did you say you saw it, Miss Locksley of Bridlington? ’Twas a man who had it, aye?”
She nodded.
“His name?”
“Mr. Green.”
Walt smiled like any jolly old man would, but there was more wisdom in his smile than fancy. “You met Sir Gawaine. Then, you are not from around here.”
“She is from Bridlington, Walt. Get it straight, aye?” Nicholas warned.
She’d met Sir Gawaine? The Sir Gawaine? Of Arthur’s round table knights? No! It was impossible! Oh—wait a minute. She looked at Walt. It seemed the merchant knew more than he was letting on.
“How do you know him?” she asked, hope rising like waves before a storm. “Please, if you know him—tell me—” What was she doing? Walt was looking at her as if a curtain had just come up around her, revealing things she’d tried to keep hidden.
“Miss Locksley, how do you know
