Children of the Knight (20 page)

W
HEN
Enrique and several others entered the tunnel around midday, they found Jack still asleep, clasping Mark’s hand in his own, and Arthur cradling the blond boy just as they’d left him the night before.

“How he be, Arthur?” Enrique inquired, noting that Mark’s face looked flush, not so pale, no longer beaded with sweat.

Arthur looked at him, weary, but undaunted. “Better, but not yet recovered.” He glanced down at the peacefully sleeping Mark, then back at Enrique. “Rouse the others and set about feeding them. Then you mayst commence further weapons practice. Hast thou seen Lance?”

Enrique pointed toward the mouth of the tunnel, where Arthur took note of Lance curled into a fetal position, still asleep. Concern washed over him at the sight, but he did not show this to Enrique. “Let him sleep a bit longer. Thou mayst begin the training for today. I shalt join thee shortly. When Reyna arrives, she shalt direct the archers.”

“
Sí
, Arthur,” said Enrique with a broad grin and hurried off, hopefully to find that Reyna had
already
arrived.

Arthur remained as he’d been throughout the night, cradling Mark’s head and praying for the boy’s deliverance. Yet he found his gaze drifting over to the sleeping bundle that was his First Knight. He’d had hope that Lance had purged himself of his childhood demons, but realized now that was not true. How could it be? How could so much suffering vanish so rapidly? Even Merlin could not affect such a miracle.

His own childhood had been pleasant and nurturing. He’d been loved by Sir Ector and all of the man’s household staff. What did he know of the pain and misery and intense loneliness that Lance, and all these others, had endured? He’d purposely selected these children for his new campaign because older people were too set in their ways. They couldn’t, or wouldn’t, change.

Such had been a great aspect of Camelot’s downfall—too much infighting amongst the men, all vying for greater position, all victims of false pride. Children, he knew, even such damaged as these, could yet be guided and molded into something better that he hoped would change this city and its people into something great. But they
were
children, he reminded himself, and he’d little experience with children in his previous life. Perhaps the Lady Jenny might be of help in understanding the hearts and minds of his children.

His musings were interrupted by groans from Mark. The moaning awoke Jack, who stretched his muscular arms and shook the sleep out of his eyes as he realized where he was. “How’s Mark?” was all he asked, sitting up quickly, his tormented brown eyes anxiously searching his friend’s face for life.

“He is better, methinks,” Arthur said in a tired voice, offering Jack a smile of hope.

Arthur’s voice awoke Lance, who slowly uncurled himself and gradually pulled himself up into a sitting position, shaking the sleep from his eyes, wiping the remnants of pain from his cheeks. Seeing Arthur and Jack, he suddenly recalled how he’d gotten there, and his heart lurched, that blanket of loneliness still covering him like snowfall. He wrapped his arms around his knees and watched the scene before him unfold with roiling emotions.

Mark stirred, and Jack’s heart skipped a beat in his chest. Mark’s bloodless face, strained from the ordeal, made the boy he loved look older than his fifteen years as those vague blue eyes drifted slowly open. He gradually focused, first on Jack, then on Arthur. Elation so overwhelmed Jack that he nearly kissed Mark in loving exhilaration, but fought back the temptation. Mark wouldn’t want that… would he?

Don’t go there, Jacky! Mark’s alive and well, that’s all that matters!

“How dost thy feel, Mark?” Arthur asked in that calm, soothing tone of voice.

Mark’s eyes flitted from Jack’s grinning face to Arthur’s gentle look. “Arthur?”

“Yes, lad, it be I.”

Weakly, Mark gazed up at the man, confused. “You… you been with me all night?”

“Aye, lad, and much of the day. Thou hast been quite ill.”

Mark appeared bewildered and very unsettled, his voice shaky. “No one ever did… nobody ever did… nothing like that before….”

Now Jack’s face fell, and his heart reeled. “I was here too,” he whispered sadly.

Mark glanced at him and smiled, too weak to talk, but quickly returned his gaze to Arthur.

“Save thy strength,” Arthur insisted, raising the water bottle so the boy could take a few sips. “Rest, now, young Mark, whilst I thank God for thy deliverance.”

As Mark fell silent, Jack and Lance watched as Arthur bowed his head in prayer. The hearts of both boys felt heavy with pain, and though they didn’t know it, for the same reason—both felt they were losing someone they deeply loved.

I
N
B
OYLE
H
EIGHTS, Esteban and Jaime, and as many of their homeboys as each could round up, met before the wall displaying Arthur’s A symbol. “Pray for Peace in the Barrio” and the dove were still dominant, but the angry youths below it had no intention of praying for peace. They wanted war. It was what they’d been taught to do. They hit you, you hit ’em back! That was life in the barrio, not peace.

Esteban and Jaime stood side by side as numerous other gang members, all under the age of eighteen, hovered excitedly around them. Old pickups and cars and low-riders packed the street expectantly.

The two intimidating boys clasped hands firmly and bumped fists with dramatic flair. Both wore the requisite wifebeater to display their intimidating musculature, and Jaime had a bandana wrapped around his head.

“Never thought I see us back on the same side,
carnal
,” Esteban told his former friend with a nod.

“We gonna kick that guy’s ass, dawg!” Jaime replied loudly. “The others, they be comin’?”

“
Sí,
” Esteban replied. “But you still the hothead, homie, so let me do the talkin’, ’kay?”

Jaime nodded. “But if the guy pisses me off….” He left the threat unfinished, raising his .38 special to finish the sentence for him.

Esteban eyed the weapon soberly and then turned to all those assembled. “Remember, no shootin’ ’less one a us says so.
Comprenden
?”

The assembled gangsters, young and teen, armed with a variety of firearms, nodded their assent. Tonight promised to be exciting, and excitement was what they lived for, after all.

A
LL
of Arthur’s nearly three hundred children were present, girls and boys. The girls flanked Reyna, outfitted in her full archery ensemble, longbow and quiver slung indolently over her shoulder. The boys wielding swords had girded themselves with protective armor: chain mail, chest pieces, helms, and shields. Much of the armor fit the young bodies awkwardly at best, and Arthur and Lance were administering last minute adjustments.

The archers, key players in Arthur’s strategic plan, did not wear armor due to their need for agility and quickness. He recognized the risks, knowing the gangsters could fire randomly into the dark and inadvertently strike one of them, but he believed his children were as trained and ready as they’d ever be to take on this challenge.

As Reyna adjusted the bows and quivers of several archers, Enrique and Luis popped up to flank her. Enrique spoke first, “You need any help, Reyna, I got yer back, no sweat.”

“Ferget that fool,” Luis tossed in, causing her to look his way. “I’ll protect you.”

Reyna laughed derisively. “More like the other way around,
cholo
boys.” She dismissed them with a wave of her hand, and they high-fived each other.

Lance struggled to adjust his helm. When Arthur stepped forward to help him, Lance silently shrugged him off and stepped to one side to finish on his own. Arthur glanced at the others who were busy with last minute adjustments, then stepped to Lance and leaned in so the others could not hear.

“Lance, thou hast been moody since we encountered the Lady Jenny last night,” he whispered. “You need fear not, lad, for she, nor anyone, shalt ever come between thee and I.”

Helm half on and half off, a startled Lance turned to face Arthur, stunned that the man had somehow read his thoughts. He gulped with uncertainty. “They won’t?”

“Nay,” Arthur assured him, placing one gauntleted hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Ye doth have my word.”