‘Crispin, may I ask you something?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Kat touched her finger gently to his forehead to pull a strand of hair from his brow. ‘Why were you so angry at the sword? At … Excalibur, if I may call it so. You seemed … incensed at it.’

  Crispin looked away, not truly seeing the cobwebs in the corner rafters, or the moth fluttering at the dingy window. ‘I wasn’t exactly angry at it. I was …’ He sighed. ‘I was angry that I was undeserving of it. That I had made myself undeserving. It never occurred to me to keep it. I never would have done that. But when I held it … it seemed almost to speak to me. To tell me …’

  She adjusted herself on the pillows, lightly stroking his hair, fingers threading through it. ‘What did it say?’ she whispered.

  Her fingers in his hair, their quiet murmuring talk, almost seemed to make the memory of how Excalibur felt in his hand – for he knew without a shadow of a doubt that it was truly Excalibur – almost made the memory something otherworldly, as if it had happened to another. But it hadn’t happened to another. It had happened to him. And that single instance when it spoke to him was also his alone. ‘That … I was forgiven.’

  Her lips parted just that much. He wanted to kiss them. But her gaze was intent, and just the softest breath of a sad sigh escaped them. ‘And you wouldn’t believe it?’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Oh, Crispin. If there was anyone who deserved forgiveness …’

  ‘Do you know,’ he said, shifting, lying back, trying to favor the sore shoulder. ‘Do you know that King Richard forgave me?’

  ‘What?’

  He liked the arch of her brows as they rose over her widened eyes. He decided to touch them, trace them with his fingertips. ‘Yes. He forgave me. He loved me, so he said. Didn’t want me to die. I never knew that. I never even thought about him and the consequences had I succeeded. He’d have been killed, you know. You cannot leave an extra prince about, around whom supporters could rally. He’d have been killed if Lancaster had been put on the throne. And I never even gave it a thought. A ten-year-old boy.’ His eyes captured hers. ‘Do I truly deserve forgiveness?’

  ‘You do. That was your younger self.’

  ‘As if that makes a difference.’

  ‘But it does! Look at you now. Look how much good you have done. Would you ever have become this Tracker, this righter of wrongs, if you had been in a Lancaster court?’

  He stared up at the rafters again. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Yes, you do. You wouldn’t have. Your entire course has been changed.’

  ‘Are you calling it fate?’

  ‘I don’t know what you call it. God, chance. But harken to me. So many people would have died, would have hanged without you to stop it. So much justice would have gone undone.’

  Again, he turned to her and smiled. ‘And you, my pretty little thief, would have hanged, no doubt.’

  ‘No doubt.’

  He leaned in to kiss her this time, those soft lips. And when he lay back again, still smiling, he touched her face, that blushing cheek, that pert chin. ‘I am surrounded by Tuckers at home in London. And yet I am lonely. What would you say to coming back with me? I am not a pauper these days. We live a comfortable life, as much as anyone can in London. Why don’t you come back … and marry me?’

  Her face froze. She had been listening lazily, lids drooping as he caressed, a small smile tilting up the edge of her mouth. But that easy expression faded. ‘You don’t mean it.’

  ‘I do. I’m tired of being a bachelor, Kat. We like each other, you and I. We understand each other. Marry me.’

  ‘Crispin,’ she breathed.

  ‘It won’t be dull.’

  She let out a breathy chuckle, but it hadn’t reached her eyes.

  ‘Are you worried that we would starve? That we wouldn’t have enough to live on? We do. Jack and I get by, and with some to spare should you need the occasional indulgence … as I know you do.’

  ‘It isn’t that,’ she said in a small and unfamiliar voice. She leaned incrementally away, so that his caressing hand could no longer reach her. He let it flop to the bed.

  ‘Then what?’

  Her face was like the light of a flickering flame; quickly changing from one emotion to the next. At one point her eyes seemed to gloss. He sat up. ‘What is it? Have I shocked you?’

  ‘Yes, you have.’ She brought her hands to her cheeks that seemed flushed and pink. ‘You don’t love me.’

  ‘In time … I could. Just as you could love me … in time.’

  Another chuckle filled with breath and she threw back her head, elongating an already long neck. ‘I could be selfish and marry you,’ she seemed to be saying to herself. ‘I think … I think I want to be. Oh, Crispin. It is so very tempting.’ For a moment, her face was lit with the possibility. But just as quickly, the light – the glow on her face – faded into the gloom. She looked down at her lap. ‘Alas, I don’t think I can do that to you.’

  ‘Do what to me?’

  She seemed to gird herself to face him squarely. She was devastatingly beautiful in that instance. The fireglow lit her generously, her hair hid her breasts just that much. He was tempted to take her in his arms and forget about the sadness that suddenly seemed to permeate her expression and tilt her shoulders, bring her down to his chest, and kiss and pet it all away.

  But she kept just enough distance between them that told him not to try.

  ‘Someone told me I’m not fit for you.’

  He frowned, suspecting just who.

  ‘But they’re right, of course. I’m a thief. And … yes, a whore at times. I couldn’t do that to you.’

  ‘Kat …’

  ‘You have a reputation in London. How could you uphold it married to me?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’d … I’d …’

  ‘You’d overlook it? No one else would. No one cares about Jack’s past. But they’d care about mine.’ She seemed on the verge of tears before she shook out her hair, and suddenly raised her knees and clasped them over the blanket. ‘And anyway, I’d just grow bored with married life. Did you expect me to bear your children? Me? I’d never want to be so tied down. I’d want to roam. To go places. To have the nice things I occasionally have, to be fawned over. I am not for you.’

  He wanted to protest. But deep in his heart, he knew she was right. And it made him all the sadder. But he did sit up, edge toward her and put his good arm around her. Kissing the top of her head, he sighed. ‘Well, it was a nice thought.’

  She patted one of his hands. ‘Yes, it was. And I thank you with all my heart for asking it.’

  He leaned back on the pillows with her, and her tense body soon relaxed. They lay like that till she fell asleep in his arms. And he wondered, fleetingly, what it might have been like if they could have done that for the rest of their lives.

  In the morning, dressed, with an arm stiff with aches and the occasional spike of pain, Crispin, accompanied by Kat and Jack, met Teague, who was already down in the great hall.

  Jack found bread and cheese in the kitchens and brought it out to them, along with a jug of ale.

  ‘Well, Master Crispin,’ said Jack, slicing off a piece of the crusty bread. ‘Have you any idea where we can look for Excalibur?’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t believe I just said that.’

  ‘Nor can I,’ admitted Crispin. He chewed thoughtfully on his piece. ‘Who could possibly have known it was there?’

  ‘Someone might have seen us steal it into the hall,’ said Kat. ‘Someone on the battlements who we didn’t notice.’

  ‘Shipley?’ suggested Crispin. He rolled the thought over in his mind. ‘No, I can’t see Shipley being particularly stealthy or clever.’

  ‘It has to be him. Or … I suppose,’ said Kat, ‘it might be one of the men-at-arms. Sir Stephen, or Sir Arno. Who’s left?’

  ‘Who indeed?’ Crispin rose. ‘I’m only going for a walk. To think,’ he said to the two of them, who rose halfway to their feet when Crispin did.

  He hated to be treated like a weakling. This was only a scratch. He had plenty of them.

  He passed under the front entry and walked along the courtyard till he came to a place he could climb the battlements. Once he’d reached the top, he had a wide view of the endless sea, of the land and the sprawling village of Treknow. Beyond that, he saw the forest, still intact, but there was smoke coming from where Prasgwig lay, black smoke. The village was paying its due and he hoped the county sheriff would put a stop to them completely. That village was done, and he felt satisfied with that.

  But where was Excalibur? For whatever it truly was, he could think of it in no other way. He couldn’t help but recall his conversation with Kat last night, how the sword had made him feel … But in the light of day, had the sword made him feel? That would imply it had special powers.

  ‘God’s blood,’ he breathed. Hadn’t he dealt with enough objects that made him feel in one way or another? What of Saint Modwena’s relic in the red cow? Or the bones of Saint Thomas Becket? He laid his hand absently on his scrip. Or the Crown of Thorns?

  Running a hand over his face, he looked out over the naked sea, watched the blue green like a blanket with a restless sleeper beneath.

  ‘It makes a man think, doesn’t it?’

  He refused to be startled by Marzhin Gwyls’s sudden appearance. He should have been used to the caretaker’s ways. But he had jerked just that much, cursed himself, and turned to the man. ‘I should have known you’d turn up eventually.’

  ‘Of course. I’m a caretaker.’

  ‘And to what extent are you beholden to your duties?’

  The old man stood at the crenellation beside Crispin, leaning on one hand while clutching his staff with the other. ‘Very beholden, my friend.’

  ‘I wonder what exactly those duties are, sir. Do they involve stealing the relics of the past?’

  ‘Stealing? Can one steal what belongs to them?’

  Crispin straightened. ‘Do not prevaricate with me. You stole what Carantok Teague was storing under his bed.’

  ‘Well now. I’m a man who doesn’t like to lie. And so I will tell you true. I didn’t steal anything. But I did take what lay beneath Master Teague’s bed.’

  ‘Master Gwyls—’

  ‘Crispin, may I tell you a story?’

  ‘I don’t think—’

  ‘Hush, young man,’ he said, raising a finger. For some reason, Crispin didn’t wish to speak at just that moment. ‘I’m telling you a story. You see, it was long ago. Isn’t that how they start stories? It was long, long ago. When this castle was young. And the halls were filled with people and light and festivities and food and laughter. Oh, there was laughter and gaiety, and much music. And then a child was born. It is something to be celebrated in most households, but in this one, that child was promised to a stranger. A strange stranger. He did not harm the child, but instead had him raised elsewhere, and, on occasion, he visited him as he grew to manhood. And as with all men born to noble households, there came a time when that boy needed a sword. And the strange stranger provided it. The boy merely had to pull it from … a stone.’

  Crispin snorted, about to speak, when Gwyls raised a finger again, and Crispin sighed and leaned back against the battlement.

  Gwyls smiled and leaned further on the crenellation, rubbing his chin and its beard as he looked out to sea. ‘That boy … well, I suppose that man did great things with that sword. But there also came a time when he grew old, and tired. And that sword had to be put away, for the man had had no faithful heir. And the strange stranger took that sword and hid it away so no one could find it. In fact, he moved it many times to make certain of it. Finally, he brought it back home where that child was born on that long-ago day, and he put it in what he believed was a very safe place.’ He glanced at Crispin with a startlingly blue eye. ‘And then that place was found.’

  Crispin sighed. ‘And you are trying to tell me that you are that strange stranger and not a greedy man who wishes to sell a valuable object?’

  ‘I am saying nothing of the kind. That’s absurd, of course. All I am saying is that I am a caretaker and this object you are looking for came from Tintagel and must stay at Tintagel. You mustn’t worry over it more.’

  ‘I’m very much afraid I must worry. For it belongs to my employer.’

  The old man chuckled. ‘No, it doesn’t belong to him. Not to treasure seekers. The treasures found here should be kept here. After all, if they wanted to travel, then they would have. The dead need their belongings, Master Guest. This is their resting place, and the things they held dear belong here as well. Besides, only the worthy may find Excalibur.’

  ‘Were we talking of Excalibur?’

  Gwyls smiled as he looked out to sea again. ‘Are we?’

  ‘Look, I will say nothing. If you return it forthwith, I will not tell anyone that it was you. Fair enough?’

  ‘As I said, Crispin – may I call you so? Only the worthy may find Excalibur. And definitely only the worthy may keep it. Or so the tales say. Are you worthy?’

  ‘I didn’t find it. My apprentice and my employer did.’

  ‘A minor matter. Petitio principii. You had it in your possession. Are you worthy?’

  Crispin remembered the glory and the pain of holding it. He swallowed a lump in his throat. ‘Alas, no, Master Gwyls. I am far from worthy. I was a knight but I have no right to sit with the others at the Round Table. Arthur’s own words would condemn me. For I have betrayed my king.’

  ‘Ah yes. But did not Arthur’s greatest knight and fast friend betray his king?’

  ‘I am no Launcelot either, I’m afraid.’

  ‘We all have our own paths. If you had kept the sword, what would you have done with it?’

  ‘I didn’t keep it. I surrendered it to my employer as I was hired to do.’

  ‘But if circumstances had changed, and you possessed it, then what?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I should never have sold it, that much I know. Vanity? Keep it for vanity’s sake? I don’t know that either. In any case, do you know where it is?’

  ‘Here. Tintagel.’

  ‘Come now, sir. If you have it, you must return it. It is not your property.’

  ‘And neither is it Carantok Teague’s.’

  ‘Nevertheless, he is now the owner and I demand you return it.’

  Gwyls leaned out over the battlements again. ‘I’m certain he will be adequately compensated.’

  ‘That isn’t what I asked.’

  ‘Crispin, let us not leave each other under these circumstances. I’d much rather be your friend than your enemy.’

  With a sigh, Crispin joined him again and leaned beside him. ‘As would I, sir.’

  ‘Good, good. Then go back into the hall, and tell Master Teague that all will be well.’

  ‘You’ll return it, then?’

  ‘All will be well, Master Guest.’ He smiled and turned back toward the sea.

  He hesitated. But in the end, Crispin had no choice but to climb back down and face Teague. He wasn’t about to manhandle the old man. If Gwyls had the sword, he wasn’t going to sell it or trade it. He seemed genuinely concerned that it should stay hidden and part of the unearthed treasures of Tintagel. And, frankly, Crispin could see nothing wrong with that. He couldn’t stand the notion that some fat merchant might display it in his hall.

  He came to the constable’s lodgings again, and the others looked up as he entered.

  ‘Well?’ asked Jack. ‘Do we go searching now? Where do we begin?’

  ‘About that. Master Teague, I think that the sword is well and truly lost this time.’

  ‘What! But … I hired you to help me find it.’

  ‘And find it you did. And possessed it for nearly half a night.’

  Teague trembled in his anger. ‘Master Guest, you very well know that this is not good enough.’

  ‘And you must very well know, that this is all you can expect.’

  ‘This is a conspiracy. You’ve plotted to steal the sword with some associate here.’

  Before Crispin could speak, Jack had cornered Teague and backed him up to the wall. ‘You had better apologize for that insult, Master Teague, or I will see that you suffer for it.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I wouldn’t argue with Master Tucker, Carantok,’ said Kat, scrupulously studying her nails. ‘He’s terribly protective of Master Guest. As am I.’

  ‘But … I … I had it …’ he whinged.

  ‘And now you don’t.’ She offered him a condoling smile. ‘It happens to the best of us. But this might make you feel a little better.’ She tossed him something which he caught. When he opened his hand, it was the brooch.

  Crispin stared at her. ‘How the devil did you get that?’

  ‘It’s witchcraft, is what it is,’ said Jack.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she said.

  Crispin wasn’t so sure.

  ‘This is not compensation,’ said Teague, turning over the little bauble, his eyes gleaming just that much.

  ‘At this point, Teague,’ said Crispin, ‘I truly don’t care. Take it up with the caretaker.’

  ‘He’s the one who’s got my sword? That Palliser fellow?’

  ‘It’s not your sword,’ said Crispin, with surprising vehemence. He calmed himself enough to say, ‘No, not Palliser. The other caretaker.’

  Teague looked at him strangely. ‘Other caretaker? There is no other caretaker.’

  ‘Oh, come now. I’ve talked to him several times. I just now left him on the battlements.’

  ‘Master Guest, I have been here a number of times, and I tell you there is only one caretaker, John Palliser.’

  ‘Master Crispin,’ Jack began. ‘Who are you talking about, sir? I’ve seen no one else here but the porter, the chaplain, and the men-at-arms.’

  ‘Not you too. It’s that man who seems to linger everywhere we go, with his many questions and puzzling statements.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Confound it, Tucker. I mean Marzhin Gwyls.’

  ‘I don’t know that name, sir. I’ve not heard the others mention him.’

 

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