At the Crossing Places by Kevin Crossley-Holland Page B

squire.”
    Then Lord Stephen and Lady Judith stood up. They bid us all a peaceful night and left the hall. Gubert and Anian and Catrin cleared the dishes, and everyone lay down around the fire.
    I couldn’t sleep, though. I kept thinking about having to go toGortanore…I’ll be really glad to see Lady Alice. She understands and trusts me. But I haven’t seen Grace since we talked to each other about being betrothed. The light danced in her eyes, and she said we must be a matter of faith to each other. That’s what I wanted too, and I feel so sad. I do want to talk to Grace, but I don’t know what to say. But what makes me afraid is having to meet Sir William. I’m not looking forward to that at all.
    After a while, I came up here to my room, carrying two candles. I began to write this.
    I know Lord Stephen and Lady Judith honored me this evening, but I feel so sad. Holt’s not my true home. Neither is Caldicot, and I wish it were. It’s where I grew up, and I miss everyone, even Serle. It’s weeks and weeks already since I saw Gatty, and I don’t even know when I’ll see her again.
    To serve as a squire: That’s like being a false son. It lasts for a while, but then it comes to an end. And when it does, where will I belong?
    I wish Lord Stephen wasn’t so reasonable. He doesn’t have to be. He could have said he wanted to keep me here, and refused to let me go to Gortanore.

29 HONOR THY FATHER AND THY MOTHER
    H E WAS SITTING ON A GRAVESTONE WHEN I WENT INTO the church for my lesson, and he was still there when I came out again.
    â€œAre you all right?” I asked.
    The old man looked up at me with his watery eyes. The skin on his face was almost transparent, and I could see the blue veins stretched over his collarbone.
    â€œWho is?” he replied.
    â€œYou. Are you all right?”
    â€œThey’re here, you know,” the old man said in his cracked voice.
    â€œWho?”
    â€œHe went first,” the old man said. “I buried them.”
    â€œYour parents, you mean?”
    â€œI’m listening to them,” the old man said. “She does most of the talking. You, boy! You obey the commandment.”
    I lowered my eyes.
    â€œYou think too much,” said the old man.
    â€œWho are you, then?” I asked.
    The old man looked at me and smiled forlornly. “I can’t remember,” he said.
    â€œThat’s Wilf,” Rowena told me in the hall. “Haven’t you seen him before?” She goggled her eyes and tapped her head. “He’s cracked and empty. An old water pot.”

30 THE COWHERD’S SON
    I N MY STONE, I COULD SEE A HANDSOME YOUNG MAN mounted on a mare, with a herdsman standing beside him holding the bridle. Three door-knights were blocking their way.
    â€œWhere will I find King Arthur, then?” the herdsman asks.
    â€œNot so fast,” one knight replies. “Stable your mare first, and change your clothing.”
    The herdsman looks at his dirty smock and torn trousers. “All I got,” he says. He walks up to Arthur-in-the-stone and bows awkwardly. “Bless you, sire,” he says. “When you was married, you promised to give any man what he asked for.”
    â€œI did,” replies the king.
    â€œRight!” says the poor man. “Will you make my son here a knight?”
    â€œA knight!” exclaims the king, and he looks at the youth, his open, almost flat face, his tousle of fair hair. “You’re asking a great deal,” he tells the herdsman. “Who are you?”
    â€œThe cowherd, sire. Aries.”
    â€œAnd is this your idea?”
    â€œHis,” says the cowherd. “I got thirteen sons and they’re good lads. But this one! He never lifts a finger if he can get away with it. He’s always throwing his javelin or loosing arrows. He’s even got an old sword.”
    â€œWhat is your name?” Arthur asks the young