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

to Sir Lancelot and hope he’ll dally with them, and it’s the same with Tom. Lady Anne is always spirited when Tom’s around; and Nain peers at him, and blinks, and grins her toothless grin.
    If I could choose anyone to be here when I’m knighted, it would be Tom. If only Sir William had brought him, and not Serle.
    On Saint Nicholas, the whole of the night sky sometimes seems to jolt and flash, and that’s what happened inside my stone as well. Then at once I could see deep into it again, and I was at court. At Camelot.
    King Arthur and Queen Guinevere are sitting on their raised seats, Sir Mordred is standing nearby, and the great hall is packed with knights, squires, ladies, maidens, musicians, servants. Looking into the hall is like looking into fallowfield at Caldicot in July: a mass of poppies and speedwell, cornflowers and fritillaries, greenweed and red clover; one hundred different kinds of long grasses, all of them slightly swaying.
    â€œI am Sir Gauter,” says one, “and my brothers and I recognized Sir Kay. By his shield—azure with two keys argent. We’ve all been on the sharp end of Kay’s tongue, and so we decided to teach him a lesson. With the sharp ends of our spears.”
    There’s a gentle rustle in the hall. A light wind from nowhere that no sooner breathes than it’s gone again.
    â€œWhen he rode past our pavilion,” Sir Gauter says, “I challenged him. But Sir Kay threw me, and my horse broke his neck.”
    â€œI’m Sir Gilmere,” says the second brother, “and I knew that knight couldn’t have been Sir Kay. He could never have thrown my brother. He can’t aim straight! We think this knight killed Sir Kay and stole his armor and shield.”
    â€œI’m Sir Arnold,” the third brother says, “and Sir Gilmere and I rode after the knight, but he flattened us both.”
    â€œI ran after them,” says Sir Gauter, “and then the knight told us he knew we were good knights. ‘Knights of the heart as well as the body.’ We knew he couldn’t be Sir Kay.
    â€œâ€˜Yield to Queen Guinevere.’ That’s what the knight said. ‘Tell her Sir Kay has sent you to her.’”
    â€œIt was the same for us!” shouts a knight at the back of the hall, and I recognize one of the three knights who chased Sir Kay to Lady Gisèle’s manor.
    All the flowers in the field of many colors, all the leaves and long grasses, are whispering.
    Sir Sagramour and Sir Ector de Maris, Sir Uwain and Sir Gawain: Four knights at the Round Table get to their feet.
    â€œWe were dozing under an oak tree,” Sir Sagramour says, “when we saw a knight ride past, and because of his shield we thought itwas Sir Kay. We thought we’d find out if he was made of anything but hot air. So I challenged him, and at the first end he threw me.”
    â€œAnd you can see what he did to me,” says Sir Ector, Sir Lancelot’s own brother. “He drove his spear right through this shoulder.”
    â€œWhen he smacked his spear against my helmet,” says Sir Uwain, “I was so dizzy, my head spun like a top.”
    Sir Gawain slowly shakes his head. “This knight turned me and my horse arsy-versy. And you know what? He never said a word, but I could see him smiling through his mouthpiece.”
    â€œWho is he?” demands Sir Sagramour.
    â€œHe comes from the devil,” Sir Ector replies, clasping his shoulder.
    â€œAnd he can go to the devil,” adds Sir Uwain.
    â€œThat’s what we thought,” Sir Gawain tells King Arthur and Guinevere. “And I said, ‘It’s Sir Lancelot. I know it is. The way he sits in his saddle! I’ll lay my life on it.’”
    Whispers, murmurs, gusts of laughter. Which all die away as a single trumpeter blows three blasts and Arthur-in-the-stone stands up.
    â€œWhat have we heard?” he calls out. “Story