The Knight of Spurs and Spirits (2 page)
“Yes, sir,” said Mary. She bobbed a curtsey and turned towards the door … both at the same time. Her ankles became tangled, and she almost tripped over. “Ooopsy-daisy! Sorry, Sir Rubble!”
“And tell that useless stable boy … Skeleton…”
“It’s Skelton, sir. Roger Skelton.”
“Whatever his name is … tell Skeleton to have my bay mare ready, brushed and saddled.”
“Yes, your lard-ship … your lord-shap…”
“And take this wine away … it tastes of burnt wood,” said Sir Robert, passing the silver cup to the girl. “A quick nap and then I’ll be ready to ride,” he sighed. “Ma-a-a-a-rvelous!”
Roger Skelton sat at the kitchen table. He supped at a bowl of broth that was hot from the pot that hung over the fire. His thin, round shoulders were covered in a thin, round jacket of green and his skinny hands trembled as he held the spoon. “I’m cold, so cold!” he murmured to himself.
The fire burned brightly and a whole pig hung on a spit over the flames. The spit had a wheel at one end, a wheel like the one on a watermill. Inside the wheel was a small, brown dog. The dog walked forward inside the wheel. As it walked, it turned the spit. As the spit turned, the pig turned over the fire.
The roast-pork smell filled the castle kitchens. The pig fat dripped into the fire and spluttered and spat and burned with a fierce flame.
The door crashed open and Mary the maid ran in.
“Oh, Roger, there you are. His lordship is going hunting in a while…”
“I’m cold!”
“He wants his best bay mare made ready,” the girl went on.
“But I’m eating me dinner! I need it to warm me up. Didn’t I tell you, I’m cold?” he whined. Roger was a whiner.
Mary placed the great goblet of wine in front of the boy.
“Sir Robert has just heated up this goblet of wine,” she said. “Now it’s wasted. Drink it and it may warm you up.”
Roger wrapped his hands around the silver cup and felt them glow. “Ooooh! Warm.”
“And it’s warm
inside
if you sip it,” Mary said. “Otherwise, I’ll just have to throw it away.”
Roger put the silver goblet to his lips and sipped. It was a mixture of fine wine and ash from the poker. It warmed his mouth, warmed his throat, then warmed his gut. The warmth began to spread over his body. “Ahhhh!” he sighed. “Lovely.”
The warm spirit of the wine went up Roger’s nose and made him a little dizzy. “Ooooh-eeeeh!” he said, and wobbled. A silly smile spread over his face and his eyes closed. Slowly, slo-wly, s-l-o-w-l-y, s-l-o-o-w-l-e-e-e-ee, his face fell forwards onto the table.
“Poor Roger,” Mary sighed. “It’s good to see you happy and warm for once, but I can’t let you sleep.” She rested a hand on his shoulder and jiggled it. “Wake up.”
The boy opened his bright eyes.
“Hello, Mary!” he said. “I must have dropped off.”
“Sir Robert wants you to saddle his bay mare.”
“Does he?”
“Yes, I told you. He’s going hunting. You’d better hurry. You know how he hates to be kept waiting, especially when he’s off murdering little deer.”
Roger rose to his feet and wobbled a little. “Ooooh! That soup’s made me all giddy,” he giggled. “I’ll go and saddle that grey mare now.”
“
Bay
mare,” Mary moaned. “Get it
right
, Roger, for goodness’ sake.”
“Bay … grey … play … day … way … hay!” Roger grinned and wobbled towards the door. He pulled it open.
“No, Roger!” Mary cried.
Roger walked through the door and slammed it behind him. There was a crashing and a clattering, like a knight in armour falling off his horse and into a bucket of nails.
Mary tore open the door and said, “Oh, Roger, that’s the pan cupboard!”
“Ooooh!” said the boy, and wobbled towards the other door.
“Wait!” Mary sighed. Roger stood as still as he could. Mary walked across to him and pulled the saucepan off his head. “Now, Roger, off you go and saddle Sir Robert’s
bay
mare.”
Roger dragged his feet into the stableyard. The feet didn’t seem to want to go where he wanted them to go. He stepped into the stable and saw the pile of hay in the corner, ready to feed the horses.
“I’m cold,” he said, as he sat in the hay and pulled some over him to keep warm. “Sir Robert likes a little rest after his breakfast.” Then he lay back in the tickly bed.
Roger’s eyes closed…
The horses snorted. Roger snored. A sparrow twittered in the rafters. Peace fell on the stables of Hylton Castle … for a little while.
Sir Robert, the last knight of Hylton, woke from his nap. Hunting horns were blaring outside his window and that was what had roused him.
He opened the shutters and saw a grey sky as dull as the water in the castle pond.
“The girl said it was a sunny day,” he growled. “I must remember to give her a thrashing when I get back.”
He stamped across the room and bellowed like a bull for his servants. “My riding boots! Where are my riding boots?”
When a boot boy ran along the passage with the big, brown boots, the lord roared, “And I hope they’re clean. One speck of mud and you’ll be thrashed.”
“Clean as a raindrop, Sir Robert,” the boy said proudly.