BUT MY RING,” I PROTESTED.
“I know,” said Lady Cécile. “That was wrong.”
“Wrong?” I said, more loudly than I meant to. “It was terrible.”
“But you should never have taken it. That’s just as wrong.”
“It was a gift,” I said, as calmly as I could. “From my mother.”
Lady Cécile laid a hand on my wrist. “I see,” she said very quietly. “You mustn’t judge him too harshly. I’ve seen more of the world than you, and believe me, sons often regret their fathers, fathers often deplore their sons. But he’s proud of you, you know.”
“Proud?”
“Yes, and all the more so now you’ve been knighted! He’s proud of Tom and Grace too.”
I don’t think Lady Cécile can know anything. If Sir William cared at all, he wouldn’t stop me from meeting my mother. Does she even know who my mother is?
“And remember,” said Lady Cécile, “he’s sixty-seven, almost sixty-eight, and blind in one eye; all his bones ache.” Lady Cécile sighed. “I do doubt whether I’ll see him again. I know he’s always blustering and berating you, but look after him, Arthur.” She laid her hand on my wrist again. “You need him, and he needs you.”
I can’t understand how Lady Cécile can love my father. What is it that I cannot see?
I like Lady Cécile. It’s just that I wish she didn’t dishonor Lady Alice. If we’d talked earlier, I think she could have told me more about my father, and I could have told her things too. Why do we only discover the true value of something when we’re about to lose it?
Before Lady Cécile and Tanwen and Kester left camp, I copied out my poem for Winnie: “Blazing hair and tawny eye! Freckle-face!…”
Sir Arthur to Winnie, my betrothed this twenty-first day of August
I hope you like my song.
What your father says about Sir William may be true, but he does not really mean half of what he says, and in the end he will reach an agreement with your father so that we may marry.
Turold has punched a hole in my half of our pledgecoin, and I have threaded a leather lace through it and wear it around my neck. Is your half safe?
Please greet Sir Walter and Lady Anne. I think about you each day, and Tanwen will tell you about our lives here. Copied on Saint Nicholas
BY YOUR KNIGHT AND CRUSADER
I asked Tanwen to give these words to Winnie and tell her everything—about my being knighted and Saint Nicholas and our camp and the looting and about Sir William and my ring and the waiting and meeting Saracen traders and about Bertie and…
And, somehow, it all seemed rather useless. Winnie and I are half this wide world apart. I can do nothing but wait.
Then I asked Tanwen to take a message to Gatty.
“How can I remember all this?” Tanwen complained.
“Just a short one.”
“Well, then?” said Tanwen, smiling her elfin smile. “What is it?”
“Tell Gatty to put herself, everything she is…no, not that! Tell her, tell her I can hear a little lark singing, and best things don’t never get lost.”
“You can hear a lark singing…,” Tanwen repeated.
“A little one.”
“…and best things don’t never get lost.”
“That’s it,” I said.
“What’s that supposed to mean, then?” Tanwen asked.
“Gatty will understand,” I said.