The priest sucked at the broth with noisy appreciation, then took a breath and continued. “I remember having a discussion with Brother Thomas. About the dangers of eating meat, I think. He is quite a bright and promising young priest but suffers the follies and passions of youth. Although his blood still has that youthful heat, I do believe he will be a good religious one day if he would only avoid…”
“Yes, we think he will,” Eleanor said with slow patience.
“Oh. He is one of yours, is he not?”
“I am sure you have advised him well as you have us all at Wynethorpe, Father Anselm.” She hesitated to avoid any appearance of impatience. “After you left him,” she continued, “what do you remember?”
Anselm frowned in concentration. “I left him in the stairwell, I believe. We had agreed to meet in the chapel later for prayers. First, however, I wanted to visit the young Richard. I had heard he loved stories and I had some edifying ones I thought he might enjoy. Saint George and the dragon for one.”
Eleanor coughed and raised one hand so she could hide her smile. The priest was not as insensitive to the interests of little boys as she would have once thought. “Aye, a good tale, that.”
“After a few such sagas, he grew restless and took up the hobbyhorse. Like a flash of lightning he was out the door, and, when I stepped into the passageway, he was riding his hobbyhorse down the corridor at a fierce pace. He had a stick for a lance and was charging at some imaginary target with all the ardor of a true knight. A miracle, it was, his recovery, and I stood watching him in wonder at God’s grace.”
Eleanor blinked as a thought began to take form in her mind. “Indeed, his recovery was a blessing from God, but what happened next?”
Anselm blushed. “I am ashamed to say I became like a boy myself with joy at God’s kindness.”
Eleanor smiled. “We all become innocents at such times, good priest. It is nothing to feel shame over.”
“I confess I lifted my robes and raced after him, joining in his innocent pleasures. I became his dragon and we chased each other up and down the corridor outside the chambers. I wouldn’t let him go down the passage to the tower but, on one turn, he did ride toward the stairwell to the dining hall and disappeared. I feared he might tumble if I cried out for him to stop so I continued in the game and shouted out to him, as I stopped at the entrance to the stairwelclass="underline" ‘Hi ho, knight, I have seen your deeds but would hear more of them from you! Come here to me!’”
“Richard would have been delighted to entertain you with his exploits against the dragons of the castle,” Eleanor said. “Did he not return to do so?”
“I don’t know, my lady. That is the last thing I remember until I awoke, my head on fire, with your sub-infirmarian and Brother Thomas bending over me as I lay here.”
Eleanor frowned in thought.
“I fear I have not told you anything of merit.” Anselm winced with a sharp pain.
“On the contrary, Father, you may have given me the balm to heal my nephew.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sister Anne was spooning a very similar vegetable broth into Richard’s mouth. The boy was sitting upright and had been cooperative with his feeding until this moment. His face, however, was without expression.
“Another sip for you,” she coaxed, putting the spoon up against his now firmly closed lips.
Richard turned his head away, shook it with minimal motion, then slipped back down into the bed and burrowed his head against that of his hobbyhorse. The head of the toy shared his pillow.
“Do you think Gringolet would like some of the broth?” Thomas asked from the doorway.
Richard wrapped his arms around his horse, turned his face to the opposite wall, and pulled the covers up over his ears.
“I cannot believe what has happened to our brave knight,” Thomas said, walking up to the bedside. He took the bowl of broth from Sister Anne and nodded toward the door where Eleanor stood waiting. Anne rose and walked out of the room with the prioress as Thomas sat on the bed.
Richard remained silent.
“I do not doubt his courage. He has faced and slain too many dragons.” Thomas reached over and stroked the horse’s head. “Perhaps it is his noble steed. Could Gringolet be sick? Has he thrown a shoe? Is he lame?”
Richard clutched the hobbyhorse closer to him. A tear escaped from one eye, flowed over the bridge of his nose and disappeared from view. “Not sick,” he whispered.
Thomas tried not to smile. Those two words were the first the boy had spoken since taking to his bed. “Fear not, lad. I will not let anyone take him from you, nor did I think this fine horse was mortally ill. Nonetheless, you must tell me what is wrong so we two can physic him back to health, for you cannot stop riding the halls of Wynethorpe for long. The dragons have heard it is safe to roam again and we need you to protect us.”
A twitch of a smile came to the boy’s lips.
“Hmm. Now let me see,” Thomas continued in the best Welsh country accent he could manage considering his short time here. “His eyes are bright. His mane is, well, it could stand some combing. Maybe his master hasn’t groomed him yet?”
The boy put his hand over his eyes and wiped the remaining tears away, but this time he was smiling. He shook his head.
“Well, he will soon. We know him to be a good man with a horse. He’d never let his steed go without care, would he now?”
“No,” Richard mumbled into his arm.
“I think this horse is fine. There is nothing to worry about, but I’d also say he needs a good rubdown, some fresh hay and a good rest. Perhaps he has returned from an arduous journey and is weary. Methinks his master is too.” Thomas put his hand gently on the boy’s shoulder.
Richard turned pale.
“Let me tell you a story, lad,” Thomas continued, dropping the accent. “Would you like that?”
Richard nodded.
“Once upon a time, there was a brave knight who had a noble steed. Together they roamed the countryside, slaying many dragons, saving maidens (a few) in distress, and taming nameless other monsters (many more of those) that threatened the king’s peace. Their exploits were legendary throughout many lands, and no enemy dared attack such a well-protected realm while the knight and his horse stood guard over it. Then one day, a villainous creature in the service of an evil king, who hated the noble king of this happy land, slipped across the river and into the good king’s very castle.” Thomas hesitated for a moment, looking down at the boy. Richard was watching him, eyes wide and unblinking with concentration.
The monk continued: “This villainous creature could blend into the color of night and hid in the castle corridors, causing great fear during the midnight hours amongst those who lived there. Even the king himself did not know what to do. So he called the brave knight and his noble steed to court and begged them to save the castle. The knight swore he would, but he had never faced such a creature before and knew that courage alone would not be enough. So he took his confessor with him for extra protection from evil. Each night he rode the corridors on his horse with his priest in attendance, hoping to force an honorable confrontation, but the creature evaded him. Then, one night, the creature slipped up behind the knight…”
Richard cried out. “He did!”
“Aye, lad, he did, didn’t he? But the man the creature attacked was not the knight. He was the good confessor, was he not?”
Richard nodded vigorously.
“And the creature lifted up the priest to throw him down from the top of steep stairs…”
“Yes.”
“Although the brave knight wanted to save his confessor, he found he could not, for he was suddenly frozen in place. The creature, it seemed, had put him under a spell. He had rendered the knight speechless and without the ability to move. The knight was powerless to save his confessor from the creature’s attack…”