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lined the street. Underneath it all there was the unpleasant smell of hundreds of human beings living in close quarters.
    In truth I was not watching where I was going, and because of this, I was nearly run over by a column of riders that had burst into an intersection of the street just as I was about to cross through. I had never seen such resplendent men-at-arms, and as I pulled Charlemagne quickly to a stop, one of them shouted harshly at me.
    “Watch out, boy. Move that miserable plow horse and make way for the King’s Guards!”
    I had nearly been trampled by a mounted detail of the King’s Guards! And not just any detail, for at the head of the column a rider carried a brilliant scarlet banner on which were embroidered three magnificent golden lions. I had never seen it before but had heard many travelers at the abbey describe it. It was the coat of arms of the King, and as I stared in disbelief, there he was, riding past me on the most magnificent white stallion I had ever seen.
    Richard the Lionheart had arrived in Dover.

7
    T he news that the Lionheart had arrived spread quickly through the city. The King’s Guards had been forced to slow by the crowds of people in the intersection, and the delay had given me a brief moment to study King Richard. His horse was magnificent, as white as a cloud. He wore a gleaming coat of mail and over that a bright red tunic, embroidered with the same three golden lions that flew upon his banner. He wore nothing on his head, certainly no crown, but not even a helmet. His beard was full but neatly trimmed, unlike the manner of the Templars. He carried a large battle sword at his belt, and wore leather riding breeches.
    As the people of Dover realized the King was riding through the main thoroughfare, they called out shouts and he waved in greeting. But before a crowd could gather, the riders were gone, and I followed their progress as they headed to the castle gate.
    If Dover had been noisy before, the King’s arrival had given its citizens even more cause for boisterous shouts and laughter. As I resumed my journey to the church, the news moved visibly from person to person and shop to shop. Several folks called out to me, asking if I knew that the King had arrived, and I answered back that, indeed, I had seen him with my own eyes.
    When I arrived at the grounds of St. Bartholomew, one of the priests there was delighted to show me to the nearby stable used by the church. He was familiar with the brothers of the abbey and agreed to care for the horse until they arrived to take him home. I led Charlemagne into his stall and saw that he was fed and watered. I felt reluctant to leave him, knowing that in so doing, I was severing my last connection to St. Alban’s.
    Charlemagne seemed to sense this as well. While he silently munched his hay, I patted him and he turned, gently nuzzling my neck. It felt as if he knew we would not see each other again and wished to say good-bye.
    The priest had stood idly by while I stabled the horse, and he quietly began to fidget and cough. Knowing that I’d taken up enough of his time, I thanked him again and made my way back to the street. I hoped there would be a meal soon upon my return to the Commandery, for I’d grown hungry and thirsty as well. Perhaps I would have a chance to see what wonders Sir Basil had done with the kitchen. Sir Thomas had mentioned that my training as a squire would begin straightaway, but I hoped he’d meant after we’d had a chance to rest somewhat from our travels.
    Dusk was falling and the sun danced along the tops of the hills that lay to the west. The streets and buildings were bathed in gold. And the smells of evening meals were everywhere, so much so that my stomach growled.
    Approaching the Commandery, I noticed Sir Hugh standing outside the gates with another Templar knight, one I’d not seen before, the two of them speaking in hushed tones to two other men who wore the uniform of the King’s Guards.