The Table of Less Valued Knights Page 15

  ‘If you run away, Conrad will devote the rest of his life to finding you, and when he does he will disembowel you and hang you with your own guts.’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep before,’ said Martha. ‘But I’m sure I’ll have no problem dropping off now.’

  Humphrey sat down next to her. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. ‘It’s hotter than a whore’s cunt.’

  ‘I, um …’ said Martha, her already feminine voice coming out in a distinctly unmanly wobble. ‘I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘Never been with a whore?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ever been with anyone?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How old are you?’

  For a mad moment, Martha thought to herself, I mustn’t say too young or he won’t be interested in me. Then she reminded herself: He won’t be interested in me because I am a BOY.

  ‘Fifteen,’ she said.

  ‘Same age as Conrad, and he’s had plenty,’ said Humphrey.

  ‘Really?’ said Martha, aghast.

  ‘Sure,’ said Humphrey. ‘I could take you, if you like.’

  ‘Take me?’

  ‘To a whorehouse. There’s one just outside Camelot called Mother Superior’s House of Shame. It specialises in nuns.’

  ‘Nuns?’

  ‘Well, the madam says her girls are fallen nuns. None of them could exactly be described as a novice. She reckons she can charge extra to corrupt a virgin who’s dedicated herself to the divine.’

  Martha felt she had to say something, and the only thing she could think of was the truth. ‘I don’t know what a whorehouse is.’

  ‘You’re not joking, are you?’ said Humphrey.

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘No, you don’t joke very much – Conrad’s right about that.’ Humphrey paused. Then he said, ‘A whorehouse is a place where people have sex for money.’

  ‘Who pays?’ said Martha.

  ‘Who …? The men pay. Though if you can find somewhere where the women pay, I would like very much to hear about it.’

  Martha felt a dry-mouthed panic, half from discussing these things with Humphrey, half at the thought that she might actually end up in a whorehouse with him. It would hardly take long for the whores to find out that she was carrying the wrong equipment.

  ‘I don’t know what a cunt is either,’ she found herself confessing.

  Humphrey laughed in disbelief. ‘Weren’t there any other boys at the castle, when you were growing up?’ he said.

  ‘I was always in the Princess’s chambers,’ said Martha. ‘The only people I spent any time with were the Princess and her maids.’

  ‘You don’t have a father? A brother?’

  ‘They died,’ said Martha. Sensing an explanation was necessary, she added, ‘Smallpox.’

  ‘I should have guessed. The scars on your face.’

  ‘Yes,’ Martha made herself agree. ‘Smallpox. I got it too, as a baby, but I survived.’

  ‘Well, that’s lucky, isn’t it? You’re immune now.’

  ‘Yes.’ In fact Martha had never had smallpox. She would probably catch it now, and die, and how would she explain that to Humphrey? He would realise that the scars on her face were from acne and it would be so humiliating.

  ‘And your mother?’ he said.

  ‘Smallpox too,’ said Martha, for want of a better answer. She was sick of talking about smallpox now. ‘I was raised in the castle, from before I can remember. Queen Martha was amused by children, so I was something of a jester to her, before I became her page.’

  ‘A jester?’ said Humphrey, amused. ‘You?’

  Why did nobody here think she was funny? Everyone at the castle always laughed at her jokes.

  ‘Only when I was very small,’ she said. ‘They dressed me as a little dog, and I used to toddle around and fall over.’

  Humphrey took a moment to picture this, chuckling. Then he said, ‘So I take it nobody bothered to teach you about sex.’

  ‘I know enough,’ said Martha hurriedly. ‘There is no need to enlighten me further.’

  ‘And what about the other things a man needs to know? You can ride, at least.’

  ‘The Princess liked my companionship on horseback.’

  ‘You’re bloody awful at pitching a tent, though. And you can’t light a fire.’

  ‘That’s true,’ acknowledged Martha.

  ‘You have no swordsmanship – we learned that early on. What about archery?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘That I can teach you. If you like.’

  ‘Archery? Why on earth do you want to teach me archery?’

  Thirty-Three

  That was exactly the question Conrad asked Humphrey the next morning.

  ‘Archery? Are you out of your mind?’

  Martha, quietly reading a book of poetry in the shade of a sycamore tree, pretended not to listen.

  ‘I think it would be useful,’ Humphrey replied.

  ‘Useful how?’

  ‘If the Queen’s fallen into hostile hands, it would help to have another fighter on our side.’

  ‘Hostile hands? You know who has hostile hands? Marcus!’

  Martha did not react, though her hands weren’t remotely hostile – she rubbed shea butter into them morning and night.

  ‘Marcus isn’t a threat,’ said Humphrey.

  ‘He tried to kill you!’ insisted Conrad. ‘And now you’re going to arm him?’

  ‘I’m not going to give him his sword back.’

  ‘Oh well, that’s fine then. We all know that murderers are very weapon-specific.’

  ‘He’s not a murderer.’

  ‘I don’t know what else you’d call him. Is this because he’s got a crush on you? Are you that vain?’

  Martha felt her face redden, and bent more deeply over her book. She’d been staring at the same poem for several minutes now without taking in a single word of it.

  Humphrey looked at Martha, then took Conrad’s gigantic arm and dragged him out of earshot.

  ‘I’ve got a theory about Marcus,’ he whispered.

  Conrad refused to look interested, but shrugged one shoulder as minimal encouragement.

  ‘I don’t think he’s who he says he is,’ continued Humphrey.

  ‘No shit.’

  Humphrey ignored Conrad’s tone. ‘Have you noticed how much he looks like Jasper?’

  Conrad nodded reluctantly. ‘I suppose.’

  ‘I believe him when he says he comes from Puddock Castle, and he’s obviously obsessed with the royal family there. Last night he was telling me he used to be the Princess’s jester, which didn’t ring true at all …’

  ‘When were you talking to him last night?’

  ‘After you were asleep. It doesn’t matter, listen. I think he might be the dead King’s bastard.’

  Conrad snorted. ‘Oh come on.’

  ‘Seriously. He’s hopeless at everything. That’s the mark of a king’s son. Have you seen his hands? They’re like a girl’s! He’s obviously never done a day’s work in his life.’

  Conrad couldn’t deny that there was some truth in this. ‘So, what, you’re favouring him because you think he might be royalty? Since when does that matter to you?’

  ‘I’m not “favouring him”. I just think if we treat him well there could be something in it for us, when we find the Queen.’

  ‘Or we could end up dead long before then.’

  ‘Conrad. I’m not stupid. I was at the business end when he attacked me, while you sat up on your elephant and did nothing. But there’s no way that kid can actually fight like that without his magic sword, and I’ve got it.’ Humphrey pointed to Leila at his hip. ‘Right now Marcus is our prisoner. And he’s an asset, especially if he’s the Queen’s half-brother. I’m just saying that we should exploit that asset. Make him our friend, keep him sweet, and if he can come in handy at the same time, so much the better.’

  Conrad looked back at Martha, who was peering at them over the top of her book.
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  ‘You’re still arming him.’

  ‘I’ll keep hold of the bow and arrows. I’m just giving him some lessons.’

  Conrad shook his head. ‘I still think you’re insane.’

  Humphrey was losing patience now. ‘It doesn’t matter what you think. I am the knight, you are the squire, and you do as I say.’

  ‘Do as you say.’ Conrad’s voice started to rise. ‘You mean make friends with him? Is that what you want? Can’t you see that I’m the one being loyal here, and he …’ Conrad pointed at Martha. ‘He … isn’t!’

  ‘It is not for you to question my judgement!’

  ‘Your judgement?’ replied Conrad. ‘Because you’re such a well-known judge of character? What about your wife – were you such a good judge of her?’

  ‘Do not bring her into this,’ warned Humphrey. He took a threatening step towards his squire, and Conrad flinched back, as if they didn’t know that Conrad could snap any of Humphrey’s bones with his bare hands. But before matters could escalate, Elaine poked her head out of her tent. Her hair was frizzy from the heat and she looked bilious.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she said. ‘Why are you two arguing?’

  ‘Humphrey’s decided to give Marcus archery lessons,’ Conrad spat.

  ‘Marcus,’ said Elaine. ‘Do you want archery lessons?’

  Martha turned to her, surprised, as if she was only now aware that a conversation was taking place. ‘Archery?’ she said. ‘I suppose it would be useful.’ She resumed her reading.

  ‘See?’ said Humphrey, as if this proved something.

  ‘Oh, the assassin agrees with you,’ said Conrad. ‘What a surprise.’

  Elaine emerged fully from the tent, modestly wrapped in a dark blue robe.

  ‘When?’ she said.

  ‘When what?’ said Humphrey.

  ‘When were you planning on giving Marcus these lessons?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Humphrey. ‘As we go along?’

  ‘I think it’s a great idea,’ said Elaine.

  Humphrey grinned. Conrad looked betrayed.

  ‘Because we’ve got all the time in the world,’ said Elaine. ‘There’s no rush. No rush at all! I can’t think of one single other thing that we could be doing!’

  Conrad and Humphrey swapped facial expressions while Martha calmly turned a page in her book, to another poem she would fail to read.

  ‘I could go back to Camelot by myself, you know,’ said Elaine. ‘Tell them how you stole my quest from the Round Table and then let it be hijacked by a runaway.’

  This, Martha could not ignore. ‘What do you mean, stole from the Round Table?’

  Elaine just turned and swept back into her tent.

  ‘What did she mean?’ Martha asked Humphrey and Conrad.

  ‘Your bastard asked you a question,’ said Conrad.

  ‘Are you jealous?’ Humphrey said to Conrad. ‘Is that what this is? You’re jealous?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Conrad. ‘Why on earth would I be jealous of him?’

  Realising that there was no hope of getting an answer out of either of them, Martha got up and followed Elaine to her tent. She stood outside it and cleared her throat. ‘Do you mind if I come in?’

  ‘Do whatever you like, you always do,’ said Elaine.

  Martha opened the flap of the tent. Inside the light was dim and the humid air smelt of tramped grass. Elaine’s saddlebags were open next to her bedroll, with a few dresses pulled out and thrown to one side. She was digging her way through one of the bags, still dressed in her robe.

  ‘That’s not fair,’ said Martha. ‘I don’t do whatever I like.’

  ‘You never do a stroke of work, you just sit on your arse the whole time making daisy chains while the rest of us fuss around you …’

  ‘I’m a prisoner!’

  ‘I know. Though I imagine you err on the lazy side at the best of times.’

  Elaine ran a hand through her hair. She looked as though she were about to burst into tears.

  ‘Would you like me to return when you’re dressed?’ said Martha.

  Elaine shook her head. ‘None of these dresses fit,’ she said. ‘I’m too fat for them.’

  ‘How can you be too fat? You never eat anything.’

  Elaine trawled around the bottom of the bag and pulled out a drab grey gown with laces down the front. ‘Forget I mentioned it. I’m sure this one will be fine. I can loosen it at least.’ She straightened. ‘What can I do for you, Marcus? You know it’s an insult to my honour that we’re alone in my tent together.’

  ‘You don’t have to worry about me.’

  ‘I know. I was joking.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Martha, disappointed that she wasn’t enough of a man to constitute a credible threat to a maiden’s good name. She pulled herself together. ‘What did you mean about Sir Humphrey stealing your quest?’

  Elaine sighed. ‘I shouldn’t have said anything. But you may as well know. Humphrey’s not from the Round Table.’

  ‘He’s not a knight?’ said Martha.

  ‘No, he is a knight. But he’s from … he’s from the Table of Less Valued Knights.’ Elaine felt doubly ashamed, for betraying Humphrey’s secret and for finding the secret shameful in the first place.

  Martha thought back to the knight she had met in the tavern, who was so stinking and drunken and rude. ‘He can’t be,’ she said, in horror.

  ‘He is,’ said Elaine. She felt a wave of sympathy, for the naive child in front of her and for the damaged man outside. ‘Listen, don’t take it to heart. Anyone can see how much you admire him.’

  Martha looked away, embarrassed.

  ‘There’s no reason for that to change,’ Elaine continued. ‘He’s a good man. It doesn’t matter what kind of knight he is.’

  ‘If he’s such a good man, why are you always shouting at him?’ asked Martha.

  ‘Am I?’ said Elaine, shocked. Then she composed herself. ‘You’re right – I have been taking out my own worries on Sir Humphrey. It’s not fair on him.’

  ‘I’m sorry this is so difficult for you,’ said Martha. ‘I know how important it is for you to find your fiancé, though Lord knows I have no idea why anyone would want to be married. Or …’ Suddenly she stopped, thinking of something – or someone. ‘Perhaps I do. A little. Anyway, it matters to you. I can see that. And I am very grateful to you for saving me before, when I was fighting Humphrey – when Leila was fighting Humphrey, I should say. I am not sure that I have thanked you for that. When all this is over, I shall see that you get the proper reward.’

  Elaine smothered a laugh. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘But it’s very important that we find …’ Martha hesitated. ‘The Queen. I understand that your happiness depends on finding Sir Alistair, but the happiness of an entire nation rests on us restoring the proper monarch to the throne. You haven’t met Edwin. You have no idea. He is a beast. A stupid beast, which is worse. I’d sooner have Jemima rule Puddock than he.’

  ‘Those are fine words,’ said Elaine. ‘But I don’t think much of a queen who would run away from her country and leave a man like that in charge, just as I don’t think much of a page who would do the same for a handful of stolen gold.’ Martha looked down at the ground, stricken. ‘And besides,’ Elaine continued, ‘Humphrey is my knight. If you want a knight to track down your Queen, you should go and get your own.’

  ‘I didn’t go and get Humphrey,’ said Martha, her pride returning. ‘Leila did. I had no choice in the matter.’

  ‘And yet you seem to have everything going your way,’ said Elaine. ‘That’s quite a useful skill you have there, manipulating others to get what you want.’

  ‘Something you would never do, of course,’ Martha retorted.

  The two of them stood staring at each other, with the hot dissatisfaction of two people who fundamentally like each other but have nevertheless found themselves in a hurtful argument.

  ‘I should go to my archery lesson,’ s
aid Martha.

  ‘Don’t want to keep Humphrey waiting,’ said Elaine spitefully.

  ‘Maybe if I learn to shoot, I can be of use, instead of, you know – making daisy chains.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Martha knew she should go, but hated leaving when things still felt so awkward.

  ‘Before,’ she said, ‘when I spun Leila and she said that she could help you. She doesn’t lie.’ Martha had no evidence for this, but she was certain it was true. ‘I promise you, as soon as we’ve found … the person I’m looking for … I will help you, Leila will help you. We’ll find your fiancé.’

  ‘By then it will be too late,’ said Elaine, now with more sadness than anger.

  Thirty-Four

  Martha picked up archery quickly, much to her own surprise as well as her teacher’s. The steadiness and focus required to shoot accurately came easily to her, perhaps a result of the patience she’d cultivated as a princess, always required to sit quietly, never to rush. On top of this, she had a natural eye and an instinctive understanding of how to find and adjust her aim. Humphrey was impressed, and Martha was delighted to have pleased him and to have finally found something she was good at. After only a few lessons he determined she was ready to have a go shooting at live targets.

  ‘You mean animals?’ said Martha. ‘Killing animals?’

  ‘That’s the idea,’ said Humphrey.

  Martha felt suddenly sick.

  He took her deep into the woods, leaving Conrad and Elaine behind in the clearing where they had camped the previous night. He stood close behind her, both of them shielded by the trunk of an old chestnut tree, scanning for prey. She could feel his breath on her neck. Was it this that made her hands tremble and sweat, sliding on the bow so that even if she did have it in her to kill a living beast, the arrow would disobey her? Or was it that yet again she was going to fail in her task of assumed masculinity? Or was it both: his proximity, and the certainty of disappointing him?

  ‘I can’t,’ she said miserably.

  ‘Yes you can,’ said Humphrey. ‘You were doing fine on the targets.’

  ‘This is different.’

  ‘No it isn’t. It’s exactly the same.’

  A stag appeared through the trees, handsome and strong.

  ‘Now,’ said Humphrey.