The Sword in the Tree (7 page)

“He can prove nothing,” said Lionel.

A wind blew across the courtyard. A few leaves blew about Shan's feet. They were oak leaves.

He looked up quickly. He saw the garden and the old oak tree.

He said, “I can prove everything!”

He went into the garden. Lionel and Sir Gareth followed him.

Shan climbed into the oak tree. He felt among the leaves and branches. He found the hollow in the tree trunk.

He felt inside the hollow. His hand touched nothing but sticks and leaves.

Lionel shouted from below, “Come down from my tree! Why do you climb it?”

Shan put his hand farther into the hollow. His fingers touched smooth wood. It was the corner of a box.

He lifted out the box. There was a rope around it—the one he had tied there long ago. With the rope about his shoulders and the box on his back, he climbed down.

“This box I hid in the tree before I went away,” he said. “I alone knew where it was. In it is my father's sword.”

He opened the box. He took out his father's sword and held it high.

“The sword is mine!” cried Lionel. “It is mine, I tell you!” There was hate in his eyes, as he started toward Shan.

Sir Gareth moved between them. “Now I know the truth,” he said to Lionel. “You will fight me, not the boy.”

On the field below the castle wall, Lionel and Sir Gareth waited face to face. They were on horseback. Each was ready with lance and shield.

On one side of the field were Lionel's men. On the other side were Shan and Magnus.

One of Lionel's men held a handkerchief high and let it fall. It was the signal for the fight to begin.

The horses charged. They met in the middle of the field. Lionel's lance broke against Sir Gareth's shield. Sir Gareth fell from his saddle.

But Lionel's shield had been struck, too.

“Eh! They're both on the ground. Sir Gareth—quick!” shouted Magnus. “He's coming at you with his sword!”

Sir Gareth was on his feet. He drew his sword just as Lionel sprang upon him. Their swords clashed together, and Sir Gareth moved back.

“He's hurt,” said Magnus.

“He had a wound when we rode from Camelot,” said Shan.

He and Magnus cried out as Sir Gareth fell to his knees. Lionel lifted his sword in both hands. The blade flashed as he brought it down.

But Sir Gareth had thrown himself out of the way. Lionel's sword went deep into the ground. Before he could draw it out, Sir Gareth had the point of his sword at Lionel's throat.

“Will you yield?” he cried.

Lionel stood like a rock.

“Will you yield?” Sir Gareth cried again.

Slowly Lionel bowed his head. “I yield,” he said.

He gave up his sword.

Sir Gareth spoke so that all could hear, “You and your men will ride at once to Camelot. You will tell King Arthur that Sir Gareth sent you. The king will do with you as he wishes. The servants are not to blame. They may stay.”

He and Shan and Magnus went up the hill to the castle. They went into the great hall where Shan had left his father's sword.

Shan took the sword up in his arms. He looked down at it for a little while. Then he held it out to Sir Gareth.

“I give you this, Sir Knight,” he said. “I give it with my thanks.”

Sir Gareth shook his head. “I have one sword. I have no need for two. No, the sword is yours—” He stopped. He leaned back against the table.

“Are you hurt?” asked Shan.

“No,” said Sir Gareth, “but I feel the need of rest.”

Shan and Magnus helped him to a bedroom. He lay down.

“Let me bring Nappus to you. He is a good doctor,” said Shan.

When he went out into the great hall, he found Nappus already there. The old man's eyes were bright with excitement. He made a sign for Shan to follow him.

Shan went with Nappus through a doorway. Now he saw that the old man had a torch in one hand and a key in the other.

Nappus lighted the torch. He opened an iron door in the floor and started down a stairway.

It was the way to the dungeon.

Shan stopped. He began to think that what Lionel had said might be true. He began to fear the old man had really gone mad.

Again Nappus made a sign for Shan to follow. Shan followed him down the stairs.

Nappus unlocked a door and threw it open. Shan looked into a room in the dungeon. In the light of the torch he saw a man lying on the floor. The man was thin. His hair and beard were long. His clothes were in rags.

He did not turn his head. “Who is it?” he said. “What do you want with me?”

Shan stood very still. He knew that voice.

He cried out, “Father!”

The man looked up. “Shan! . . . Shan, it
is
you!” He began to weep. “My poor boy, now you are a prisoner, too.”

“No, Father—”

“Tell me of your mother, Shan. Tell me quickly. Is she safe?”

“She is safe. She will soon be here.” Shan could hardly speak. He could not move from the doorway.

“Why do you stand and look at me so?” asked his father. “Are you afraid?”

“No,” said Shan, “but I—I thought—”

“I know,” said his father. “You thought I was dead.”

“Yes,” whispered Shan.

“On that day of the hunt, your uncle meant to kill me,” said his father. “But I looked into his face and he was afraid and put his sword away. For a while he kept me prisoner in the woods. Then he brought me to my own dungeon. He thought I would die here.”

Shan went to his father. He put his arms about him and tried to lift him from the floor. “Now you are free.”

“Free? Where is my brother?” asked Lord Weldon. “Where are his men?”

“They are gone,” said Shan. “They can do us no more harm.”

“But how can that be?” asked Lord Weldon.

“I'll tell you. When we are out of this place, I'll tell you everything,” said Shan. “Here, let me help you up the stairs.”

“I must close my eyes at first,” said Lord Weldon. “The sun will be too bright.”

He put his hand on Shan's arm. Slowly they climbed the steps, while Nappus went ahead, holding the torch to light the way.

On a February morning in the year 1609, a small, thin-faced man made his way over London Bridge. He wore a leather jacket and a blue wool stocking cap. His clothes were splashed with mud, and mud sucked at his shoes. He could hardly see for the cold rain in his face.

He had been looking for Fish Street, and here it was, at the end of London Bridge. Now he was looking for a house on Fish Street—a great stone house not far from the bridge.

Here was one with tall chimneys and many windows. It must be the house, he thought. He went around to the back.

A plump, pretty maid opened the door.

“Would this be the Trippett house?” he asked.

She looked at his muddy clothes. “What do you want?”

“A word with Mistress Freebold, if she's about.”

“Mistress Freebold? Oh, you mean Annie. You can't see her,” said the maid. “She's sick abed.”

“Could you just let her know there's someone here from America—?”

“America?” The maid stared into his face. “Then you must be—” She was gone. He heard her crying out, “Amanda, Amanda!”

Someone came running. Someone cried, “Father!” and a girl was there. She looked no more than ten or eleven—a pale little thing with great, dark eyes.

She stopped. She said in bitter disappointment, “You're not my father.”

“I shouldn't think so,” said the man.

“Ellie said you were from America, and she thought—I thought—”

“So you're James Freebold's girl,” he said.

“One of them. I'm Amanda.” She asked quickly, “Do you know my father?”

“I do, and I saw him not many weeks ago. We were together in America, in the colony of Virginia. I'm a sailor, you see, and my ship was there—”

“And you saw him.” Her eyes were bright again. “Was he well? What did he say?”

“He was well enough, for all I could see. He'd built a house in Jamestown. That's the only town there. When my ship sailed, he asked if I'd stop for a word with his family in London. He thinks of you each day. He prays you will all be together before another year is out.”

Tears came to her eyes. “When you see him, will you tell him—?”

“I'll not be seeing him again,” the man broke in. “It's a long, hard voyage to Virginia. I'll not be going back.”

“Oh,” she said.

Someone was calling, “Amanda!”

“You're wanted,” he said. “I'll take my leave.”

“But you'll come again?”

He shook his head. “I've told my tale. Good-day to you.”

He left her. He was gone, and she didn't know his name or where to find him again, and there were a hundred things she hadn't asked. She hadn't even said thank you.