OUR ARMORER WAS WAITING FOR ME. AS I RODE BACK after exercising Bonamy, he met me a full furlong outside camp.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
Turold’s face looked more cracked and crumpled than ever. Like a piece of pigskin parchment that hasn’t been properly stretched or scraped.
“Lord Stephen’s upset. Very angry.”
“He’s not,” I replied. “He understands. Bertie got beaten, but Lord Stephen said I was spreading my wings because I was about to be knighted; he said when I’m a knight I’ll have to be responsible all the time, not just some of the time.”
Patient Turold listened to me. Then he opened his eyes wide, and his forehead was crisscrossed with wrinkles. “Not that,” he said. “Visitors!” He jammed his right fist into the socket of his left hand, and then twisted it.
“Who?”
But the armorer just turned his broad back and started to trudge down the track towards our camp.
“Tell me!” I called out.
Turold looked over his shoulder without breaking his step. “That’s not my place,” he said gruffly. “You’ll see.”
The moment I lifted our tent flap, I did see.
And my foster brother Serle. Lounging on my bed.
And a woman, a lady, whom I’ve never seen before. The three of them, and Lord Stephen sitting on his stool, blinking and almost as blind as a mole.
How long did I stare at them before I stepped in? No longer than it takes to breathe in and out again. But it seemed as long as half my life.
“S-ss-sir,” I stammered, and I got down on my right knee.
“Where have you been?” boomed Sir William.
“Nowhere.”
“Sowing your wild oats, I suppose.”
“Yes, sir. I mean: No, sir.”
“Make up your mind!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Only fools open their mouths before they know what to say.”
“I didn’t know you were coming, sir.”
“Of course you didn’t!” my father said. “We scarcely knew ourselves, did we, Serle? Come on! Get up!” My father reached out, but instead of giving me a helping hand, he gave me a push, and I staggered sideways and fell right over Serle.
“Mind yourself!” shouted Serle.
Sir William roared with laughter. “Got you!” he said. “Keep your wits about you, Arthur.”
When I scrambled to my feet, I looked at Lord Stephen. Blinking furiously, he stood up and knitted his stubby fingers over his stomach, as he always does when he is trying to compose himself.
“Arthur,” he said in a level voice, “this is Lady Cécile.”
I bowed to Lady Cécile. She has bright blue eyes, and very fair skin, and the way she looks and moves is quite stately, like a queen almost.
“Is Tom here as well, sir?” I asked.
My father wiped his nose with the back of his hand, and shook his head.
“I thought…”
“You thought wrong,” said Sir William. “I need him at home to manage Gortanore and Catmole with Lady Alice.”
He stared at me with his glittering right eye. He looked down. I followed his gaze and then I realized.
“What,” he barked, “is that ring?”
I covered my right hand with my left hand. I went hot. I went cold. I felt breathless.
“Show me.”
“No, sir.”
“You heard me.”
“It’s mine.”
“Show me, I said.” Sir William lurched towards me and grabbed me by the wrists and wrenched my hands apart. Then he seized my ring finger and bent it back and glared at the ring.
A mother, sweet and mild, with her baby son in her arms, reaching out, offering her something. Her son, safe from all the suffering in this world. My ring! My mother’s ring!
“I know that ring!” Sir William growled. “It’s mine!”
“No, sir. It was a gift.”
“How dare you?” stormed Sir William.
Then he dragged the ring off my fourth finger.
“Please, sir! Please!” I panted. “No! Please!”
I could hear Lord Stephen calling, “Sir William! No!” and Lady Cécile crying, “William! William!”
It was no use.
He strode out of the tent, and down across the beach, and Lord Stephen and I followed him.
“Man!” called Lord Stephen, and he was having to trot to keep up. “Come to your senses! This is your son. Your son.”
“Sir! Please, sir!” I kept clutching Sir William’s arm, but he took no notice, and it made no difference.
“Your son!” Lord Stephen shouted. “Stop!”
But Sir William stepped right into the water. He drew back his arm. He hurled my ring as far out into the waves as he could.
My shining promise. My ring that warmed to my mother’s blood, and warmed to mine. She sent it to me, and it has been my hope. Leading me. Leading me towards her. My father has thrown it away.