CHAPTER FOUR
Straw and Sneezes

Roger Skelton was dreaming of eating a warm pie in a warm bed. As he was about to eat it, the pie was snatched from him by a skeleton…

“Skeleton!” came the loud voice. Roger knew that voice. “Skeleton!”

Roger stirred in the hay and slowly woke up.

Sir Robert Hylton was looking over the stable door at his bay mare. “Not saddled! Not even brushed!” he shouted. “Wait until I get my hands on the boy… Skeleton!”

Roger slipped deeper under the hay and tried not to breathe. But a sneaky seed of hay slipped up his nose. “Atch…” Roger almost choked as he tried not to sneeze. “Atch…” His nose tickled until his eyes wept. “Tchooooo!”

The hay blew away and Roger Skelton looked up at his master. “Good morning, Sir Robert,” he said with a simple smile on his simple face. But it simply wasn’t enough.

Sir Robert’s face had been red with rage. When he saw the stable boy, it wasn’t red any longer. It was purple as a ripe turnip. But his voice was soft. “My horse is not ready, Skeleton.”

“Lame, Sir Robert. You can’t ride her today. I was just coming to tell you.”

The knight stood over the boy and let his riding whip swing loosely by his side. “What’s wrong with the mare?”

“Loose shoe.”

“Let me tell you what I am going to do, Skeleton. First I am going to beat you for lying to me. Then I am going to beat you for not having my horse ready. That sounds fair, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Sir… No, Sir!” Roger cried.

In the castle kitchens, the servants heard the screams and covered their ears to shut out the sound.

Then the knight did a stupid and evil thing. He turned the whip around so he was holding the tip, and then he struck the stable boy with the large, silver knob on the handle.

Roger had just turned to see why his master had stopped, so he caught the blow on the side of his head. If there had been a light in his eyes, it went out like a candle in a storm. He fell to the floor. Lifeless.

Sir Robert panted. “That will teach you, Skeleton. Now don’t think a beating means you’ve been let off your duties. I still want that horse saddled, eh, Skeleton?”

Roger Skelton would not be saddling any more horses.

Sir Robert lowered the whip and spoke in a quiet, friendly voice. “Come on, Skeleton… you’ve taken the punishment – now let’s forget about it and carry on, eh?”

Roger Skelton would not be carrying on any more.

The purple face of the knight turned pale. He grasped the boy’s thin, green jacket and pulled him up. Roger hung limp as wet washing on a line.

“It’s all right, boy, I forgive you,” said Sir Robert. “Skeleton? You can’t be dead… no, you can’t! I hardly touched you.” The knight’s face turned red again. “How dare you die… you… you… miserable little worm! This sort of thing causes so much trouble!”

The knight dropped the whip in the straw and carried the stable boy to the door. No one was in sight. Sir Robert looked out at the horse pond. He picked up a couple of old horseshoes and slipped them into the pockets of the boy’s green jacket. Then he carried the little body to the pond and threw it out into the deepest part.

The knight wiped his hands on his hunting jerkin, and then marched back to the castle, silver spurs jangling on the cobbles, to where the huntsmen were waiting.

“Hunt’s off today,” he said. “Horse is lame – lost a shoe.”

Mary the maid peered around the door. “Where’s Roger, Sir Pobble?”

“Eh? Oh… ran off… thought I was going to punish him because the horse lost a shoe! Ha! Simple boy. I wouldn’t touch him. No… ran off. That’s the last we’ll see of him!”

But Sir Robert Hylton was wrong…