Read Online King of the Middle March by Kevin Crossley-Holland - Free Book Online

you as she wishes. Swear it!”
    â€œWe swear it,” say the three men.
    â€œOn your swords,” says Sir Lancelot.
    â€œOn our swords.”
    Sir Kay and Sir Lancelot stand and watch as the three groaning knights get to their feet, remount, and quietly walk their horses into the night.
    Now Sir Lancelot turns to the oak door, and a servant swings it open, and leads them to the hall.
    Lady Gisèle is waiting for them, and Sir Lancelot lifts off his helmet.
    â€œSir Lancelot!” exclaims the lady.
    â€œIt’s you!” exclaims Sir Kay.
    â€œI thought you were asleep,” says Lady Gisèle.
    â€œLady, I was, but I had to get up to help an old friend.”
    Lady Gisèle shakes her head and smiles. “Out of the sweettongued came forth strength,” she says.
    â€œLady,” says Sir Lancelot, “this is Sir Kay.”
    â€œYou are welcome,” says the lady.
    â€œMay I take him to my garret, to unarm and wash and sleep?”
    â€œIt’s the only room I have.”
    â€œAnd it’s more than enough,” Sir Lancelot replies.
    As soon as they are on their own, the two knights talk.
    â€œWho were they?” asks Sir Lancelot. “Those three knights.”
    â€œBad, worse, and worst,” Sir Kay says. “A man who betrays his wife. A man who betrays his son. And a murderer. You saved my life.”
    â€œAny knight would have done the same,” Sir Lancelot replies.
    â€œIf only that were true,” says Sir Kay.
    â€œI hope,” Sir Lancelot replies, “I always hope a knight will fightfor another man if he’s in danger, and so win honor. Let me help you unarm.”
    Sir Lancelot unties Sir Kay’s mittens and holds his mail-shirt while Kay steps out of it. And now Sir Kay unstraps his chausses and loosens his quilted cuisses. He looks around the garret, and yawns.
    â€œWhat a shabby place this is!” he says.
    â€œBe grateful!” says Sir Lancelot.
    â€œShabby and dingy.”
    â€œMind your tongue,” says Sir Lancelot. “Lady Gisèle has given me all she has.”
    â€œReally?” says Sir Kay, and he raises an eyebrow. “Out of the sweet-tongued came forth strength! Now what did she mean by that?”
    â€œNot what you think,” says Sir Lancelot.
    As soon as Sir Kay is undressed and wearing nothing but his braies and shirt, he gets into bed, leaving Sir Lancelot to unarm himself.
    â€œYou’re worn out,” says Sir Lancelot. “You sleep.”
    â€œI am asleep,” Sir Kay replies, and he yawns again.
    Within a few moments, Sir Kay really is asleep. He doesn’t even stir when Sir Lancelot gets into bed beside him.
    But Sir Lancelot doesn’t blow out the candle. He lies with his head propped up, thinking. And now he has a quick look at his companion, and quietly gets up again. Quietly, as quietly as anyone can put on creaking, squeaking, whingeing armor, Sir Lancelot puts on Kay’s cuisses and chausses, his aketon and mail-shirt. Now, he glances at Kay again, but Kay wouldn’t wake if Lancelot leaned right over him and clapped his hands.
    â€œWell,” says Lancelot to himself, “I think Kay will see the joke. And other knights will find out whether I’m worthy of my name.”
    Sir Lancelot tucks Sir Kay’s shield under his left arm, picks up Kay’s helmet and the burning candle, and leaves the room.
    But as soon as Sir Lancelot steps out into the passage, a draught blows out his candle. He’s left in the dark.
    And my stone lay dark in my right hand.
    Tom looks quite like Sir Lancelot. They both have generous, broad brows, and the brightest, unflecked blue eyes. Not as pale as this Venetian sky; not as dark as sapphire. Forget-me-not blue.
    Sometimes I think I’m almost at war with myself because I’m anxious and in a hurry, but Sir Lancelot and Tom are both easygoing. I’ve seen how ladies, old as well as young, quicken