Orphan of Destiny

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  CALAIS, FRANCE EARLY DECEMBER 1191

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  SOMEWHERE IN THE ENGLISH CHANNEL

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  THREE DAYS LATER

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  GODSTOW NUNNERY, OXFORDSHIRE, ENGLAND ONE WEEK LATER JANUARY 1192

  EPILOGUE

  G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS

  A DIVISION OF PENGUIN YOUNG READERS GROUP.

  Published by The Penguin Group.

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  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England.

  Copyright © 2010 by Michael P. Spradlin.

  Map illustration © 2008 by Mike Reagan. All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher, G. P. Putnam’s Sons, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014.

  G. P. Putnam’s Sons, Reg. U.S. Pat. & Tm. Off. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

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  eISBN : 978-1-101-19835-3

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  This book is for the girls,

  Pilar Elizabeth Mackey and Jordan Jean Mackey.

  They are gifts to us all.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  If you are fortunate enough to be a published writer, you quickly learn that creating a finished book is a collaborative effort involving dozens of individuals. So I offer up sincere thanks to my agent, Steven Chudney, for patiently listening to my flood of ideas. To my editor, Tim Travaglini, for taking a jumbled mass of words and finding the story in it (I knew it was around here somewhere). To the incredible sales and marketing teams at Penguin Young Readers Group. To my colleagues Brian Murray, Josh Marwell, Michael Brennan, Carla Parker, Elise Howard and Liate Stehlik for their unflagging support. To Stephen Dafoe and Christine Leddon for their evangelical efforts on my behalf. To Shelly and Terry Palczewski for always showing up, even though they’ve heard it all before. Thanks to the staff at the Homer Public Library for a great event every year. To my mom and sisters for more support than I deserve. To my kids, Mick, Jessica and Rachel, for always letting me tell the stories. And to my wife, Kelly, for all of this and everything else. I couldn’t love you more.

  PROLOGUE

  I am closer now, Sir Thomas.

  Wherever you are, I believe you watch over me. And if such a thing is true, then you know how far I’ve come. Though I cannot claim it was all my doing. My friends Robard and Maryam have remained steadfast, and in their own way they have carried the Grail as well. I know you ordered me to tell not a soul, but I could no longer let them risk their lives without knowing why. And I found, in their friendship and fierce loyalty, a much lighter step along a very perilous path.

  I am tired.

  More tired than I have ever been. So weary my bones ache at the very thought of moving. When we stood in the Knights Hall, back in Acre, and you handed me this leather satchel, which never leaves my side, you gave me no indication of how far I would travel. Back to England, yes, but a much longer journey for my soul.

  I have seen things, Sir Thomas.

  Death and pain and love and joy. And more than once I have wanted to curse your name. To throw my arms to heaven and ask,

  “Why me?” Who is this Tristan of St. Alban’s that made a Knight of the Temple believe he was ever capable of so grave a duty?

  I still carry your sword, sire.

  And, I am ashamed to say, I will one day stand before my maker and tell him I have wielded it in anger. With it, I have taken the lives of other men. Those who wished to kill me, no doubt, but the truth of it brings me no peace.

  I will carry on, my liege.

  Like the monks who raised me, I cannot bear the thought of disappointing you. Your face haunts my dreams. You trained me well, sire. But many times I worry you did not train me well enough.

  I know the power of the Grail, Sir Thomas.

  In battle, or in danger, when all around me appears about to fall, I hear its song. Does it sound because I am righteous? Or does it seek to guide me down a path I am incapable of finding—too weak to find—on my own?

  Where are you, Sir Thomas?

  If you are watching over me, you see me standing on the edge of complete and utter failure. My friends may die, and their blood will be on my hands and seared into my heart. There is nothing left for me to do but fight on, as you told me. I will not quit. Nor will I stop until I have delivered the Grail as you commanded. Or I will die in the attempt.

  I am tired.

  But I will fight on, Sir Thomas.

  I will fight on.

  CALAIS, FRANCE

  EARLY DECEMBER 1191

  1

  I should have trusted Maryam. Friends, good friends, learn to believe in each other, especially when their lives are at sStake. She was a member of Al Hashshashin, after all, and one of the smartest, most determined warriors I’d ever seen. In the past few months, she’d proven to be more than capable of saving herself. In attempting to rescue her, I would probably just be in her way.

  Robard’s arrow missed, of course. From his hiding place behind the wagon, in the bailey of the Queen Mother Eleanor of Aquitaine’s castle, he rose and shot at the rope encircling Maryam’s neck as she was about to be hanged by Sir Hugh. I held the Queen Mother at sword point, determined to take her life if need be. At least that’s what I told myself. I was bluffing, of course.
I would not kill the defenseless Eleanor. But in his madness to possess the Holy Grail, the most sacred relic in all of Christendom, Sir Hugh was determined to hang Maryam if I did not give it to him. He kicked at the barrel where she was perilously balanced. Except that Maryam was not quite ready to die yet.

  The barrel teetered on its edge and Maryam wobbled, her legs bending to and fro, fighting for balance. As Robard’s arrow buzzed through the air toward her impromptu gallows, the King’s Guards shouted orders, but their voices drowned each other out.

  Then, in my haste to reach Maryam, I roughly pushed Eleanor aside. It was a horrible mistake. Holding the Queen Mother hostage was our only advantage in a castle surrounded by heavily armed King’s Guards and one decidedly insane Templar Knight, against just the three of us. Well, four of us, counting Angel.

  “You’ll die, boy,” she sputtered at me on her way to the ground. “Mark my words, squire! I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself before I ever let you threaten my son’s rule!”

  Sounds and noises were far off and distant in my head, and at that moment the Queen Mother’s rant only blended into the chaos around me. Robard was screaming obscenities as Sir Hugh shouted at everyone to stay back, but I moved forward, sword at the ready.

  It took only the briefest of moments for Robard’s arrow to thunk into the wooden crossbeam where Maryam’s rope was lashed. My heart sank. The dim torchlight revealed that he had missed. Not by much, but in this case even an inch meant death. I could not blame Robard. Aside from the flickering light, the night was pitch black. It was miraculous he had come so close. But it did not matter now. I would never forgive myself for her death, and as I ran toward her, I begged God to spare her soul.

  But Maryam did not need saving. A split second before Sir Hugh’s foot connected with the barrel, she launched herself into the air. I watched in amazement as she leapt high enough to grab the crossbeam with both hands. Sir Hugh looked up at her in confusion. He fully expected her to be dangling at the end of her rope, breathing her last. Instead, Maryam swung deftly upward until she was sitting on the crossbar of the windlass, which moments before had served as her gallows.

  Sir Hugh cursed and swung his sword at her, and she pushed up on her hands to avoid the blade as it bit roughly into the wood. Another of Robard’s arrows narrowly missed him, and he darted behind the wagon.

  The Captain of the Guard moved to intercept me.

  “Maryam! Catch!” I shouted, and tossed my short sword to her hilt first. She caught it easily and with one swing chopped through the rope and dropped to the ground. She now stood in Robard’s line of fire, blocking his shot, as Sir Hugh stepped out to confront her. Al Hashshashin or not, Maryam could not match Sir Hugh’s skill with the sword.

  There was a squeal of pain as one of Robard’s arrows found another guard.

  The Captain was upon me. In our earlier encounters he had proven to be a most determined fellow. “Hold on, squire,” he said, raising his sword. He expected that weaponless, I would be easily captured. But as he moved between me and Sir Hugh, I feinted to my left and he paused momentarily. With all the strength and momentum I could muster, I threw myself at his legs.

  He tried to dodge out of the way, but I drove my shoulder into his waist. The air rushed out of his lungs, and with a grunt he was bent double and fell to the ground. As I landed on top of him, I drove my elbow into his chin and felt a satisfying crunch. His head flew back, hitting the cobblestone, and a low groan escaped his lips. His sword clattered away.

  Not giving him a second to recover, I snatched up his weapon and scrambled to Maryam’s side.

  “Get to the horses! Robard is behind us! Hurry, before they close the gate!” I yelled to her.

  Maryam leapt to the task. I stepped in front of her and Sir Hugh came at me with a vicious swing of his blade. The Captain’s sword felt clumsy and unfamiliar in my hand, but I raised it quickly enough to block him, and sparks flew as our steel clashed.

  “You’ll die, squire,” he spat at me. “Tonight, you will die.” He swung again and I danced away, trying to put distance between us. Maryam quickly retrieved her daggers from the back of the wagon and slipped from sight. I had no desire to fight Sir Hugh. He was too strong and too experienced with the sword. I only needed to buy time.

  “Tristan!” Robard yelled behind me. “Move! I can shoot him!”

  Sir Hugh and I spun in unison. I dove to my right and he leapt behind the wagon again. Robard’s arrow whistled through the air where Sir Hugh had stood just moments before. Was there no way to kill this man?

  I glanced behind me. Two guards were shepherding the Queen Mother back into the keep, and the Captain still lay groaning on the ground. Three more guards hid behind a stone well that lay in the center of the bailey, pinned there by Robard and his bow.

  We had to get out. I had no idea how many guards were on duty in the castle, but there must have been more than those assembled here. Richard the Lionheart would not leave such a small garrison protecting his mother. When word of this reached him, I knew I could add his name to a long list of enemies I was making.

  I shot a glance at Sir Hugh again. He still hid behind the wagon, not eager to step out and risk Robard’s wrath. In the flickering torchlight I could see the mask of fury on his face as his eyes darted back and forth between me and Robard.

  “Tristan! Hurry!” Maryam shouted. She had found a few scattered horses in the confusion and was now mounted. She held the reins of two bay mares and steered them toward Robard’s spot behind the wagon. He took a running start and leapt to the saddle, stilling the animal with his knees. Another arrow was nocked and ready in a heartbeat. Maryam waved my short sword at me. I didn’t wait for Sir Hugh to act. I turned and sprinted the few yards between us and sprang up on the back of the empty horse.

  “Angel! Here!” I yelled, and we turned and spurred hurriedly toward the castle entrance. She appeared out of the darkness, barking loudly.

  Sir Hugh was raving, “The gate! Close the gate!” Someone in the tower must have heard him, for I could hear the loud clank of chains and watched in horror as it began its cumbersome descent.

  Maryam and Robard had nearly reached the exit, but just as they were about to ride through, two King’s Guards rushed them from each side of the closing gate, swords drawn.

  I thought they would try to take out the horses, but Robard shot first, hitting one in the leg with an arrow. The man cried out, falling to the ground, and Robard’s mount nearly trampled him as he rode by. But the altercation spooked Maryam’s horse and it reared. I steered to the right of her, determined to protect her from the second guard.

  Maryam fought the horse, which was now in a full rage, bucking and snorting. Angel and Robard had made it through the gate and waited outside. Robard pulled another arrow but was unsure what to do.

  Maryam tried her best, but the horse would not settle. Finally she let go of the reins and jumped from its back. It skittered away, blowing and kicking.

  Out of the confusion Sir Hugh charged from behind the wagon, sword raised.

  “Tristan! Maryam! Get out of there!” Robard shouted.

  The three King’s Guards hiding behind the well also took up the chase. The one by the door advanced on Maryam, whose back was momentarily to him. He held Sir Thomas’ battle sword.

  “Maryam! Watch out!” I yelled in warning.

  Maryam acted instantaneously, turning and drawing her weapons in one motion. The guard was upon her, and he swung the sword down with all his might. She crossed her daggers over her head, catching the blade and twisting the sword from his grip as I had seen her do so many times. For good measure, she kicked the man hard in the groin, and with an agonizing squeal he fell to the ground.

  The gate continued toward the ground.

  “Maryam, the sword!” I hollered. She scooped up Sir Thomas’ battle sword and ran through the gate. I spurred my horse right after her and had just enough room to duck beneath the gate.

  “Let’s go!
” said Robard. He held out his hand to Maryam, who pulled herself up onto the horse behind him.

  “Wait!” I cried, sliding from the back of my horse. “Robard, give me cover!”

  “What are you . . . ?” But he turned his horse and, standing in the stirrups, shot through the gate at the legs of someone chasing us. The arrow missed and stuck in the ground, but I heard shrieks of alarm.

  Sir Hugh’s high-pitched, venomous voice commanded someone to raise the gate, but in the confusion it kept sliding downward.

  “Tristan! What are you doing?” Maryam yelled at me.

  The gate was made of thick oak planks. Two large beams on each side formed a groove that held it in place as it was raised and lowered. Quickly, I took the Captain’s sword and jammed the point into the groove between the door and the beam. I pulled back on the hilt with all my might and, digging my heels into the ground, snapped six inches of the steel blade off at the tip. I jammed the remaining length in the gap again, right next to the first piece. It was much more difficult to work into the groove a second time, but finally, after pushing it in as hard as I could, it held fast. I hoped it would stop the door from being raised from the inside and give us time to put distance between us and the pursuit sure to follow.

  “Good idea!” said Robard. Maryam laughed.

  “What are you laughing at?” I asked as I mounted my horse.

  “You. How did you think to jam the door?” she asked.

  “I planned it all along,” I said confidently. “Once we got out, of course.”

  “You planned it,” she said in disbelief.

  “Certainly.”

  “Sure you did,” she replied.

  There was no time to answer. With Angel in tow, we rode off into the night.

  Sir Hugh was long from finished with us.

  2

  A well-traveled road led directly from the castle into Calais. “Where to, squire?” Robard asked. His voice was strong and deep over the rushing wind and clatter of hooves. In the moonlight, Maryam clutched him tightly around the waist, her face buried in his shoulder. His relief at having her back and unhurt was evident in his tone and manner.