The Knight of Spurs and Spirits (4 page)
“Lame, Sir Robert. You can’t ride her today. I was just coming to tell you.”
The knight stood over the boy and let his riding whip swing loosely by his side. “What’s wrong with the mare?”
“Loose shoe.”
“Let me tell you what I am going to do, Skeleton. First I am going to beat you for lying to me. Then I am going to beat you for not having my horse ready. That sounds fair, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, sir… No, sir!” Roger cried.
In the castle kitchens, the servants heard the screams and covered their ears to shut out the sound.
Then the knight did a stupid and evil thing. He turned the whip around so he was holding the tip, then he struck the stable boy with the large, silver knob on the handle.
Roger had just turned to see why his master had stopped, so he caught the blow on the side of his head. If there had been a light in his eyes, it went out like a candle in a storm. He fell to the floor. Lifeless.
Sir Robert panted. “That will teach you, Skeleton. Now don’t think a beating means you’ve been let off your duties. I still want that horse saddled, eh, Skeleton?”
Roger Skelton would not be saddling any more horses.
Sir Robert lowered the whip and spoke in a quiet, friendly voice. “Come on, Skeleton … you’ve taken the punishment, now let’s forget about it and carry on, eh?”
Roger Skelton would not be carrying on any more.
The purple face of the knight turned pale. He grasped the boy’s thin, green jacket and pulled him up. Roger hung limp as wet washing on a line.
“It’s all right, boy, I forgive you,” said Sir Robert. “Skeleton? You can’t be dead … no, you can’t! I hardly touched you.” The knight’s face turned red again. “How
dare
you die … you … you … miserable little worm! This sort of thing causes so much trouble!”
The knight dropped the whip in the straw and carried the stable boy to the door. No one was in sight. Sir Robert looked out at the horse pond. He picked up a couple of old horseshoes and slipped them into the pockets of the boy’s green jacket. Then he carried the little body to the pond and threw it out into the deepest part.
The knight wiped his hands on his hunting jerkin, then marched back to the castle, silver spurs jangling on the cobbles, to where the huntsmen were waiting.
“Hunt’s off today,” he said. “Horse is lame – lost a shoe.”
Mary the maid peered around the door. “Where’s Roger, Sir Pobble?”
“Eh? Oh … ran off … thought I was going to punish him because the horse lost a shoe! Ha! Simple boy. I wouldn’t touch him. No … ran off. That’s the last we’ll see of him!”
But Sir Robert Hylton was wrong…
Mary missed Roger. She went to the stables to see if he’d come home. She looked at the bay mare. All its shoes were nailed on tight. As she turned to go, a glint of silver caught the setting sun. Sir Robert’s whip lay in the hay. She picked it up. The silver head was wet and red with blood.
“Ohhhh, Roger!” Mary moaned. “What has he done with you?”
She searched the stable and barns and found nothing.
But two weeks later, Geoffrey the groom walked into the kitchen and sat at the table, shaking.
“What’s wrong?” Mary asked.
“I was out walking Sir Robert’s hounds today when I saw something floating in the horse pond. Some of the farm workers pulled it out. It was … it was Roger’s body.”
Mary sobbed softly. “So that’s what he did with him.”
“Who?”
“Sir Robert,” Mary said.
Geoffrey shook his head. “Lord Durham is here for dinner. Lord Durham is a judge for the county. There’s going to be a trial in the Great Hall … he says we can’t have people thinking Sir Robert is to blame!”
“But he
is
to blame!” Mary cried. “The killer must be found and punished or Roger’s spirit can never rest! Is the trial on now?”
Geoffrey nodded, and Mary raced along to the Great Hall. Sir Robert was sitting next to his friend, Lord Durham, and they ate slices of beef and bread from large plates in front of them.
Lord Durham munched and muttered, “How do you plead, Hylton?”
“Not guilty, my old fruit,” Sir Robert replied.
“You didn’t kill him, Bob?”
“Of course not, old bean.”
Mary cried out in a clear voice, forgetting her fear. “He did! He said ‘I’ll kill Skeleton the skiver’, and his lordship’s whip handle was covered in blood.”
Lord Durham glared at her angrily. “Silence in court!” He turned back to Sir Robert. “How did the blood get on the whip handle?”
The knight laughed and washed down his beef with a cup of ale. “Glad you asked me that. The lad, what’s his name...”
“Skeleton?” Lord Durham said, looking at a scrap of paper.
“Skeleton,” Sir Robert Hylton agreed. “He was asleep, so I gave him a little tap on the old noddle to wake him up. Must have had a thin skull, poor little chap. Died. Never felt a thing.”
“They heard the screams down in the kitchens,” Mary argued.
“Shut up,” Lord Durham snapped.
“But...”
“Silence in court,” the judge ordered.
“So how did Roger’s body end up in the horse pond?” Mary said, bolder than she’d ever been.
Lord Durham turned to the knight. “I’m sure you can tell us that, Hylton, my friend?”
Sir Robert nodded his head sadly. “I tried to carry him to a doctor. But I slipped and dropped him … just as I was passing the pond.”
“Oh dear!” Lord Durham sighed. “I hope you didn’t hurt yourself.”
“No, but I got my boots a bit muddy trying to fish him out. In the end, I gave up. I mean … he was only a servant, after all.”
The judge spread some mustard on a piece of beef before cramming it into his mouth. “Yes, only a servant. But your story sounds good enough to me. I think … pass me the ale, Rob, my old mate … thanks … I think I have to find you not guilty of killing him.”
“Marvellous!” Sir Robert laughed.
Mary stormed to the table and slammed her fist down so hard that the silver plates and cups rattled. “You call that fair?”
