His Majesty’s second entrance into the town was the grandest thing that Giles had ever seen. The Mayor had sent his own messengers ahead to tell the people of the gracious way in which the King had received him. And long before the army reached the gates they saw the flare of street bonfires against the sky and heard the pealing of the church bells as the people made ready to welcome the sovereign and his troops. The noise as they drew nearer got louder and louder. And when the royal party passed under the arch of the town gate it was positively deafening. The people surged forward towards the King, yelling themselves hoarse, waving handkerchiefs and throwing up their caps.
Giles’s first thought now was for his own family. And through the smoky light of torches and bonfires his eyes searched the crowded faces for his parents, Anne or Luke. He saw nothing of them, however, and did not have a chance to dismount until His Majesty had ridden into the courtyard of the castle. Here, where the noise of the rejoicing townsfolk was not so close and deafening, the King got down from his horse. He immediately went into the great stone building and the nobles attendant on him followed.
Giles would have taken this opportunity to slip away; but as he was still carrying the shell and had not yet been given permission to leave, he remained at the King’s side. In the great Council Chamber of the Duke’s castle His Majesty, still dressed in dusty riding clothes, now held a reception. He sat in the great chair on a platform at the end of the long room while people in hundreds came to pay their respects, to be questioned or to bring him news.
Giles did not know who most of them were, except when the heralds announced their names in a loud voice. First came those of the King’s own people who had been left behind here when he had been forced to fly. Among them the boy noticed particularly two ladies. The first was the Princess Sophronia, the King’s aunt. She was very ugly, Giles thought, and made a great fuss to His Majesty about his leaving her here and the way she had been treated—though it did not seem, when she was questioned by her nephew, that she had suffered any very great hardships. The other was a young girl, the Countess Barbara, who came accompanied by her father, the Commander of the King’s Archers. She had blue eyes and wonderful golden hair. And Giles thought he had never seen anyone so beautiful in his life.
Next to come were some dozens of messengers and officers, who brought reports and news of many matters concerning the town and the dukedom.
Then several men were brought forward under guard with their hands tied behind their backs. These were nobles in the Duke’s service who were suspected of being in the plot against the King. His Majesty, with a very black look on his face, questioned them a long time in a quiet voice. He then waved them aside while he gave audience to the others.
The whole business seemed to be taking a long time, and the King looked very tired. Giles, hungry for supper and impatient to be off into the town, saw clearly for the first time that being the ruler of a country was not all fun and glory. At last, right at the end of the long line of chamberlains and ministers and what not, the Count Godfrey turned up again, his long riding-boots spattered with mud, perspiration still dripping from his brow. He seemed almost too weary to stand. The King rose to meet him and bade a servant bring a chair for him. The Count sank down and told his story.
The Duke was dead. He and his brother, with two other leaders in the plot, had been pursued far into the mountains that lay on the south border of the dukedom. There, in a rocky gorge, on the banks of a wide and swiftly running river, Godfrey and his men had cornered him. The Duke, seeing capture at hand, had spurred his horse into the mad torrent, hoping to gain safety on the further shore. His brother and companions followed him. All four, with their horses, had been swept downstream into the whirlpools and drowned.
When the Count had ended, the King sat for a long time in silence, staring at the floor. At last he looked up and commanded the men who were bound and guarded to be brought before him.
‘Our cousin,’ said he slowly, ‘has saved us much trouble. This has been indeed a sad beginning to our reign; but it would have been sadder still if we had had to execute him for treason. And I do not see that any other course would have been left to us had he fallen into our hands. For he was a determined man—and a brave one—even if a traitor to his King. Nor is it our wish that our first days as ruler of the land should be marked in history by bloody penalties and punishments. You gentlemen, by your treason, have deserved to lose your heads. But we judge that you have been led astray by the stronger will of our cousin into a rebellion against us, which, if you had been left to yourselves, you would likely never have thought of. As my life has been saved by a boy whom good fortune sent me in the nick of time, so also shall yours be saved by the Duke’s unhappy accident. The leader is dead and the rebellion is over. You are pardoned, gentlemen, on the condition of your oath that you will never again go back upon your faith to us and to the Crown.’
The ropes about the wrists of the men were loosed; and they at once fell gladly on their knees and swore to be true and faithful to the King and his house for the rest of their days.
His Majesty rose from the great chair with a sigh.
‘We now declare the sovereignty of this dukedom,’ said he, ‘and our cousin’s title with it, at an end for ever. Henceforth these lands shall be governed as part of the royal domain and in the same manner as the rest of our kingdom.—Where is that boy we brought with us?’
‘Do you mean me, Sir?’ said Giles, popping out from behind the great chair.
His sudden comical appearance changed His Majesty’s humour in a flash. The weary seriousness in the King’s face turned into an amused smile. It seemed almost as though he grew a little more boyish himself for looking at this lad before him.
‘Yes, indeed, I mean you,’ said he. ‘What is your name?’
‘Giles, Your Majesty.’
‘Giles? Humph!’ muttered the King. ‘That’s not a bad name. He had royal blood in his veins too. He was the patron saint of cripples, wasn’t he? ... That’s odd. You spoke of a lame friend you had who helped you in getting to see me. Well, maybe you can carry on Saint Giles’s work. Bring your friend to the castle tomorrow. I’d like to know him. Now, what is your other name? Your family name, I mean.’
‘Waggonwright, Sir.’
‘Waggonwright—no, I don’t like that so well. But never mind. It has an honest sound. Does your father make wagons?’
‘Yes, Your Majesty. He was once master of the biggest workshop in this town. But bad times came upon him and his trade has dwindled down to almost nothing.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said the King. ‘I remember you told me. Don’t let me forget to send him the money I promised. How old are you?’
‘Nine and three-quarters, Your Majesty.’
‘Do you know what a knight is?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Well, Giles, I’m going to make you into a knight. It’s all against the rules and customs, at your age. But I’m going to make you one just the same—for your bravery in the service of the Crown.’
‘Bravery, Your Majesty?’ asked Giles with a puzzled look on his face. ‘What bravery?’
‘Didn’t you risk your silly little neck jumping in front of my horse? You nearly got skewered in half a dozen places.’
‘I don’t believe I’d have dared if it hadn’t been for Luke, Sir,’ murmured Giles.
‘Well, and if it hadn’t been for you, young man, I wouldn’t be standing here now. Godfrey, lend me your sword.’
The Count stepped forward, unbuckled his belt and held out his sword-hilt within reach. The King drew the bright, shiny blade out of the scabbard and turned again to Giles.
‘Kneel down, boy,’ said he. ‘Don’t be alarmed. We’re not going to chop your head off. This is just the ceremony we have to go through.’
Giles dropped on his right knee and bowed his head. He felt the sword touch him lightly on the shoulder and he heard the King say solemnly: ‘Arise, Sir Giles.’
He got up, wondering if he were dreaming. But even while he wondered, the King spoke to him again.
‘Sir Giles Waggonwright,’ said he, ‘we wish to attach you to the Royal Household. Some duty must be found for you. Now, tell me: what can you do best?’
Sir Giles scratched his head in a most unknightly fashion and a very blank look came over his face.
‘I’m afraid I—er—hardly know, Your Majesty,’ he stammered.
‘Come now,’ said the King. ‘We can all do some things better than others. Think. Think hard.’
For a full half-minute Giles thought hard. Then his face brightened with a new thought.
‘I’m very good at finding things, Your Majesty,’ said he. ‘My mother always sets me hunting when she loses her thimble. And my father, if he mislays a chisel or a hammer, always calls on me to get it for him. Indeed he has often said I never was good for anything but finding.’
A quiet titter of amusement ran through the courtiers that stood about the King. But His Majesty clapped his hands and almost shouted:
‘ Finding, did you say? How splendid! That’s the very thing. It couldn’t be better. Because, do you know what I am best in?—Losing things. I lose everything. Papers, letters, riding-whips, dogs, gloves, hats, books, everything. So, you shall be the King’s Finder.’
His Majesty raised his hand for attention. Everyone stopped whispering, and no sound disturbed the silence in the long room.
‘We wish,’ said he, ‘to create a new office in the Royal Household. It is to be known as the King’s Finder, and shall, in order of honour and precedence, come between that of the Chief Equerry and the Keeper of the Great Seal. This young knight, Sir Giles Waggonwright, shall be the first to hold it. Please see,’ he added to one of the messengers at hand, ‘that the Lord Chamberlain is notified of the appointment as soon as possible.’
The King then declared the audience at an end. And everyone gladly followed him out into the dining-hall of the castle, where a grand supper had been prepared for the whole company.
The next day, Giles’s family was brought to the palace by royal command. Anne, with her father and mother, was quite overcome by the sudden dazzling importance that surrounded her brother, the boy-knight. They were most graciously treated as the private guests of His Majesty and took lunch with the King himself. The father was presented with the money that had been promised, enough to pay all his debts and to make a new start in business besides. The King asked Giles’s mother for permission to take her son with him to his capital beyond the mountains, promising to look after him well and to allow him to visit his family whenever he wished. He wanted to take Anne also, to be a maid of honour to the Queen Dowager, his own mother. But the parents could not bear to be parted from both their children at once; and it was agreed that perhaps later, when Anne was older, she should be sent to join her brother in the Royal Household.
Luke, too, turned up a little later and was brought to see the King. For fear of arrest he had been keeping out of the way till he had heard of the Duke’s flight. Giles was indeed glad to see his friend again and asked that he might be taken, too. So the King appointed him as esquire to Giles himself. It seemed that all knights had one esquire at least in their service; and thus Luke joined the royal retinue as right-hand man to the King’s Finder.
Giles asked the lame boy if he had seen or heard anything of Agnes the Applewoman. But he could give no news of her. And though the Haunted Inn was searched again from cellar to attic, and Giles kept the King’s shell constantly in his pocket hoping to hear her speak of him, no word of her, of where she had gone or what she was doing, could be learned. And they were forced, for the present, to give up hope of reaching her. Giles was sorry about this, because he wanted the King to meet her also.
‘You know, Luke,’ he said, ‘I think His Majesty should have her, too, in his service. He needs clever people. And, after all, she is the one who should be thanked for everything—even the King’s safety. For it was she who gave us the shell and told us what it could do. Do you suppose that wretched Duke did her some mischief before he took to flight?’
‘No, I don’t believe so,’ said Luke. ‘I fancy I’d have heard of it if she had been taken. What I think is that she is more scared than ever of being charged with witchcraft. You see, now that she has made me completely well, when I was supposed to be a hopeless cripple, they’d likely say that she had used some magic on me or performed some trick with the Devil’s help.’
Then, for the first time since he had seen his friend again, Giles noticed that he no longer carried a crutch.
‘Oh, Luke!’ he cried. ‘Can you use both your legs now?’
Luke drew himself up squarely on both feet, firm and even.
‘I’m a whole man now, Giles,’ he laughed. ‘I haven’t used the crutch since I lost it. It was when you leapt out to give the King the shell. I lost it between the legs of that soldier who was going to strike you down. Then I ran like the mischief down the street lest I’d be caught by the guard. And I never noticed that I had used both legs—nor even thought of the crutch I’d left behind—till I reached a hiding-place.’
For a moment Giles stared dumbfounded at the happy face and the strong and healthy figure of his once lame friend. Then he murmured as if to himself:
‘ “Giles, the patron saint of cripples,” that’s what the King said. It was after him that I was named. Yet it was Agnes that did it, Agnes the Applewoman—Shragga the Witch! Listen, Luke, do you think maybe she is a saint, instead of a witch, a saint in some disguise—perhaps the Patron Giles himself?’
‘I don’t know. Who can tell?’ said Luke thoughtfully. ‘She used nothing but her hands, twisting and pulling at my knee. I’m sorry we can’t find her now. I did so want to thank her—to let her see me run without a crutch.’
‘Well,’ sighed Giles, ‘maybe she’ll turn up again some day. She does, you know, in the most unexpected places.’
‘And always where she’s needed,’ Luke added with a nod.
‘It’s late,’ said Giles. ‘Let us get to bed now. We need rest. For tomorrow, Luke, we set out for the capital and fortune—tomorrow we ride with the King!’