his head.
"One of the guards intercepted the girl's servant stealing away with the lad. I have questioned the servant but he will tell me nothing. I thought I would wait for you to make sense of all of this."
"The boy will tell me all I need to know," Geoffrey said.
"He still does not speak, my lord. How-"
"Do not question me," Geoffrey interrupted, his tone sharp. "I must be certain."
Within short minutes, the child stood before the lord. He showed neither fear nor timidity, meeting the leader's probing stare with a wide grin. Geoffrey was amused by the lad's fearlessness, for it was true that grown men were known to quake in their boots when Geoffrey turned his attention to them, yet this wisp of a boy acted as if he was about to break into a fit of giggles. He was dressed in peasant garb and in need of a bath.
The child wasn't afraid. Thrilled was a far better description, for the man who had saved his life, the warrior who destroyed the band of men waylaying his protectors on the isolated route to London, was finally awake. The child's memory began with Lord Geoffrey, and although the leader could have no knowledge of this fact, he was impressed with the innocent acceptance and trust in the lad's eyes.
"You will not die now?" the child asked. Both Roger and Geoffrey showed surprise that the boy could speak, but before either of them could remark on the matter, the little one continued, "Everyone heard you yelling and they smiled."
The child sounded so relieved and so sure of himself that Lord Geoffrey found himself smiling.
"Tell me your name," he commanded in a gruff voice.
The child opened his mouth, frowned, and then shrugged his shoulders. His voice held surprise when he replied, "I do not know my name."
"Do you know where you came from, how you came to be here?" Roger asked the question and the boy turned to stare at him.
"He saved me," the child said, pointing at Geoffrey. "That is how I came to be here," he explained. "I am to be a knight." The boy's shoulders straightened with pride. He had figured that out all by himself.
Lord Geoffrey exchanged a look with Roger and turned back to the boy. "Who do you belong to?" he asked, although he already held the answer.
"To you?" The child no longer looked so sure of himself. He clutched his hands together while he waited for an answer.
The nervous action was not missed by the warrior. He had rarely dealt with one so young, but the instinct to protect, to guard, pulled at him. "Aye," he answered, inwardly wincing at the harshness in his tone. "Now leave me. We will talk again, later."
The child looked relieved. The lord watched him run to the door, wishing the boy to smile instead of frown and wondering why he felt this way. The fever must have left him weak in spirit as well as body, he decided.
"My lord?" the boy asked from the doorway, his back facing the leader so that his expression was hidden.
"Yes?" the lord answered impatiently.
"Are you my father?" He turned then, and Geoffrey had a clear view of the torment and confusion on the boy's face.
"No."
His answer brought tears to the youngster's eyes. Lord Geoffrey glanced at Roger with an expression that clearly stated, "Now what?" Roger cleared his throat and muttered to the boy,
"He is not your father, lad. He is your lord. Your father was his vassal."
"My father is dead?"
"Aye," Geoffrey answered. "And you are in my care now."
"To train to be a knight?" the boy asked with a frown.
"Yes, to train to be a knight."
"You are not my father, but you are my lord," the boy stated very matter-of-factly. " 'Tis almost the same thing," he announced, challenging Lord Geoffrey with an unwavering stare.
"Is it not?"
"Yes," the warrior answered with exasperation. " 'Tis the same."
Neither the lord nor Roger said another word until the door was closed behind the child.
They could hear him boasting to the guards posted at the door, and Roger was the first to smile. "Thomas surely had his hands full
"One of the guards intercepted the girl's servant stealing away with the lad. I have questioned the servant but he will tell me nothing. I thought I would wait for you to make sense of all of this."
"The boy will tell me all I need to know," Geoffrey said.
"He still does not speak, my lord. How-"
"Do not question me," Geoffrey interrupted, his tone sharp. "I must be certain."
Within short minutes, the child stood before the lord. He showed neither fear nor timidity, meeting the leader's probing stare with a wide grin. Geoffrey was amused by the lad's fearlessness, for it was true that grown men were known to quake in their boots when Geoffrey turned his attention to them, yet this wisp of a boy acted as if he was about to break into a fit of giggles. He was dressed in peasant garb and in need of a bath.
The child wasn't afraid. Thrilled was a far better description, for the man who had saved his life, the warrior who destroyed the band of men waylaying his protectors on the isolated route to London, was finally awake. The child's memory began with Lord Geoffrey, and although the leader could have no knowledge of this fact, he was impressed with the innocent acceptance and trust in the lad's eyes.
"You will not die now?" the child asked. Both Roger and Geoffrey showed surprise that the boy could speak, but before either of them could remark on the matter, the little one continued, "Everyone heard you yelling and they smiled."
The child sounded so relieved and so sure of himself that Lord Geoffrey found himself smiling.
"Tell me your name," he commanded in a gruff voice.
The child opened his mouth, frowned, and then shrugged his shoulders. His voice held surprise when he replied, "I do not know my name."
"Do you know where you came from, how you came to be here?" Roger asked the question and the boy turned to stare at him.
"He saved me," the child said, pointing at Geoffrey. "That is how I came to be here," he explained. "I am to be a knight." The boy's shoulders straightened with pride. He had figured that out all by himself.
Lord Geoffrey exchanged a look with Roger and turned back to the boy. "Who do you belong to?" he asked, although he already held the answer.
"To you?" The child no longer looked so sure of himself. He clutched his hands together while he waited for an answer.
The nervous action was not missed by the warrior. He had rarely dealt with one so young, but the instinct to protect, to guard, pulled at him. "Aye," he answered, inwardly wincing at the harshness in his tone. "Now leave me. We will talk again, later."
The child looked relieved. The lord watched him run to the door, wishing the boy to smile instead of frown and wondering why he felt this way. The fever must have left him weak in spirit as well as body, he decided.
"My lord?" the boy asked from the doorway, his back facing the leader so that his expression was hidden.
"Yes?" the lord answered impatiently.
"Are you my father?" He turned then, and Geoffrey had a clear view of the torment and confusion on the boy's face.
"No."
His answer brought tears to the youngster's eyes. Lord Geoffrey glanced at Roger with an expression that clearly stated, "Now what?" Roger cleared his throat and muttered to the boy,
"He is not your father, lad. He is your lord. Your father was his vassal."
"My father is dead?"
"Aye," Geoffrey answered. "And you are in my care now."
"To train to be a knight?" the boy asked with a frown.
"Yes, to train to be a knight."
"You are not my father, but you are my lord," the boy stated very matter-of-factly. " 'Tis almost the same thing," he announced, challenging Lord Geoffrey with an unwavering stare.
"Is it not?"
"Yes," the warrior answered with exasperation. " 'Tis the same."
Neither the lord nor Roger said another word until the door was closed behind the child.
They could hear him boasting to the guards posted at the door, and Roger was the first to smile. "Thomas surely had his hands full
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