Then I heard a familiar soft humming sound, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. I felt warm and strangely comforted by it. Nearby came the sounds of running feet and shouts of angry men. And as the ground rushed up to meet me, my last thought was, Please don’t let me die in France.
SOMEWHERE IN THE ENGLISH CHANNEL
3
I felt the sensation of movement, rising and falling. And I smelled and tasted salt. It made me sick to my stomach, and I thought I would vomit. The next time I woke up, I could feel the wind blowing in my face. But we weren’t moving as much as before.
My eyes opened to a blue sky. Then they closed, and when they opened again, the night sky and stars were above me. They shut once more, and I could no longer see stars, but light came from somewhere. I thought I heard Robard say, “He’s awake.” But I drifted off again before I could answer him.
When I next came to, I was standing in a gently rolling grassy field. There was a soft breeze, and the sun, high in the cloudless sky, was warm on my face. A shadow fell across me, and I glanced up to see a bird, a very large bird, circling lazily in the sky. It flew up until it almost disappeared from sight, and then it flexed its wings and dove. It picked up speed and I watched, transfixed, as it headed straight for me. I smiled in wonder at the grace of what I first thought was a kestrel of some sort, but as it drew closer, it grew in size and kept growing, and I worried it might be some larger bird that would sink its talons into me.
I turned and ran, and the shadow of the bird covered the sun and the light dimmed. Then came a horrible shriek, high-pitched and cackling, and the bird began laughing. Impossible, I told myself. Birds don’t laugh.
My boots grew heavy and I looked down at my wound to see that blood was seeping through the bright white tunic I wore. It had a brilliantly colored red cross embroidered on the chest. The shadow was almost upon me, and as I stole a glance over my shoulder, I screamed out loud, for it was no bird at all. It was a large and powerful dragon, and its face was the face of Eleanor, the Queen Mother. As the giant talons of the beast reached out for me, I clutched at my belt for my sword but was dismayed to find myself unarmed. I tripped and fell to the ground, tumbling hard, crying in agony at the pain in my side.
The next thing I knew, I lay flat on the ground, and Eleanor of Aquitaine stood with one tiny foot on my chest as if she had just bested me in a wrestling match. Perhaps she had, for my head felt thick and dull, and I could not raise my arms. She peered down at me, and her face became curiously hawklike and her eyes blackened. I wished to close my eyes but could not.
“Look at this, poor little orphan boy. You’ve been shot, orphan boy! What idiot walks right into an ambush? And you think you could be a king?” With that she threw back her head, and her cackling laugh rang through the air around me.
“What?” I managed to say. Her head snapped down, and her eyes bore into me. “Me, a king? I’m not. . I do not. . I have no idea what you’re talking about!” And truer words were never spoken. I remembered her admonition as I’d held her hostage in the castle. “I’ll see you dead before you ever sit on Richard’s throne,” she had sputtered at me. I’d paid little attention to her at the time. It made no sense to me.
“And I’m supposed to believe that!” She pressed her foot directly onto my wound, and I moaned in agony.
“No!” I shouted back at her. “Stop! I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Ha!” she said to me. “You think me so foolish? Thomas Leux served my husband! Always there to lick Henry’s boots! He told you! I know he did! Don’t lie to me,
She literally spat the words at me. In all my life, with everything I’d seen, even on the battlefield, I don’t think I’d ever come across someone so angry and full of hate. She pushed her foot against my wound again, and the pain caused me to cry out, “I AM NOT A KING!”
Water splashed into my face and the Queen disappeared, replaced by Maryam, who stood over me, holding a dripping water skin.
“Easy, Templar,” she said. “We know you are most definitely not a king.” I tried to explain how the Queen Mother was tormenting me, but I was too weak and the words would not come. I closed my eyes.
When I next woke, water was being poured over my lips. It tasted wonderful. Something licked my face, and I hoped it was Angel, but in my disoriented state I couldn’t be sure it wasn’t the Queen Mother or, knowing my luck, a large Eleanor-shaped dragon.
My dreams took me to the walls above Acre over the main city gate. Sir Thomas stood next to me, resplendent in his bright white tunic and gleaming chain mail. His battle sword hung at his side, his hand gripping the hilt. His reddish brown hair blew about his head in the breeze. Sir Basil, with his loyal squire Quincy, stood not far away. They both beamed at me. The lilting tenor of the Grail carried through the air around us, but strangely they did not notice it.
Sir Thomas studied the field below Acre, his face a mask of seriousness. When I tried to see, to understand what drew his attention, I could not. The field appeared deserted to me, but I also heard the sounds of an invisible battle played out before us. My confusion exhausted me.
Sir Thomas put his hand on my shoulder. “Are you ready, lad?” he asked me.
“Ready for what, Sir Thomas?” I replied.
“It’s almost here,” he said.
“What, Sir Thomas?” I asked. “What is almost here? Why are you here? I left you behind. Am I to rejoin you?. . Am. . am I dying?”
“No, lad. You are almost finished with your duty. But you must not come here. Not yet. Your task is not complete, and danger lies this way. You must be more careful than ever. You cannot lose. We cannot lose. Return and finish what you’ve begun. You’ve been so brave. I told you in Acre, Sir Lancelot himself had no finer squire. Remember?”
“Yes, sire,” I said. “I remember.” The warmth of his words brought me happiness for a moment.
“It’s true. Now go. Finish this. You can do it. We did not choose you for this duty-the Grail did. Remember it sounds only for the righteous. Go, lad. You will not face this danger alone, I promise. But still, be careful.”
“Sir Thomas.” I bowed my head. “I broke my vow. You ordered me to tell no one I carried the Grail. Not even a brother Templar. But Maryam and Robard deserved to know. And Celia. Sir Hugh was. . I had to. .” In my dream, it was difficult to talk and explain myself.
Sir Thomas gazed off to the plains below us for several long seconds. I feared he was angry, but he smiled. “Worry not, lad. You’ve chosen your friends well. I could have done no better. You’ve more than served your oath to me, Tristan. But you must finish it.” His voice was firm and filled with determination. “Do not forget, help will be there when you need it.”
The musical sound of the Grail grew louder, and it was impossible for me to understand how Sir Thomas could not hear it. It was louder than it had ever been before. Yet Sir Thomas just smiled and nodded at me.
Then he faded away, as did Quincy and Sir Basil. But I remained standing on the high wall above Acre, the sun shining brightly and a breeze caressing my face. I was happy. Happier than I’d ever been. With a smile, I glanced backward, studying the walls and rooftops of the city below me. Slowly, I realized that it was deserted and I was alone. If I stayed there, I would be companionless forever. Was this why Sir Thomas told me I didn’t belong here? Was he worried I would spend eternity in solitude?
When I next woke, I heard songbirds, and waves crashing against the shore. I was lying on the ground but remembered being on a boat at some point. How long had I been out? I tried to rise, but a hand pushed my head gently back down. A voice told me to rest, and though I wished to disobey, I could not. More sleep.
Finally I was conscious, but it was dark. I heard Maryam and Robard talking quietly. I tried to speak, but no words would come, and there was a burning, throbbing, stinging pain in my side. It was as if there was a hornet’s nest beneath the hide and muscle of my hip. Then I remembered the fight at the docks in Calais, and a crossbow bolt protruding from my side.
Something warm, rough and damp touched my cheek, and the smell of wet dog assaulted my nose. There
