The Minstrel in the Tower (5 page)

“No!” She shook her head. “Simon and Odo would hear too. They’d take Roger and run away.”

The forest stood thick around them. To save time, the knights had bypassed the road
to ride straight through the woods, but now no one knew which way to go.

“Can you whistle a nightingale’s song?” Alice asked Lord Raimond. “I can’t. Roger tried to teach me, but my whistle is too windy.”

Lord Raimond smiled. “When I was a lad, I was better than anyone at bird calls.”

“Then do a nightingale, please,” Alice urged him. “Nice and loud.”

After he did as she asked, another nightingale answered faintly in the distance, twice more.

“That’s Roger,” Alice said with a sigh of relief. “He’ll go on whistling like that till we get there.”

“Ride in single file and keep the horses quiet,” the baron warned his men. “We want to take the outlaws by surprise.”

They needn’t have worried. When they rode into the clearing, Simon and Odo lay slumped against the tower wall, fast asleep. The remains of a roast pheasant lay between them.

Alice slid down from the baron’s horse and ran to shake them awake. “Where did you hide our lute?” she demanded.

With snorts and splutters, the two ruffians rose to their knees. “How’d she get loose?” asked Odo, still fuddled from sleep. “She’s in the tower! Each day I’ve heard her talking to the boy.”

Inside the tower Roger called loudly, “Is that you, Alice? Make them let me out of here!”

When Simon saw the baron’s men around
him, he leaped to his feet. “That’s my son you hear, my lords!” he cried. “By my nose, the boy’s been such a scoundrel lately that I locked him up, for punishment, like. Keep quiet in there, son!”

“Suppose you set the boy free.” The instant Lord Raimond commanded it, his men lowered their long lances to point at Simon and Odo.

Gibbering with fear, the culprits fell over each other in their haste to pull away the brush that blocked the door. As soon as Roger bounded out, Alice hugged him. Then she begged, “Help me find the lute, Roger! If we show it to our uncle, he’ll have to believe us. The eagle on our lute matches the one on his banner.”

Roger could not help staring at the knights. They seemed to spring right out of his memory. Though none of them wore armor—only metal helmets and leather breastplates—they loomed large and bold, like the men Father had ridden with. Their horses pawed and snorted impatiently, just as those long-ago battle horses still did in the shadow images of Roger’s mind.

Which was his uncle? He wanted to ask Alice, but she was off looking for the lute. He searched the knights’ faces for a sign.

“I see it!” Alice exclaimed. “It’s up in that tree. No wonder I couldn’t find it before! They’ve hidden it high in that oak.”

Suddenly he knew with absolute certainty. His uncle was the tall, stern man who sat quietly astride his horse, studying Roger.
Straight blond hair showed beneath the rim of the man’s helmet. A narrow mustache and beard circled his firm mouth.

“I’ll climb the tree to get the lute,” Alice said.

“No,” Roger answered.

He’d mastered his fear of heights once before, when he came down the tower stairs in the dark. Now, with his uncle watching to learn what kind of boy he might be, he had to conquer the fear for good.

“You stay here,” he told his sister. “I’ll climb up and get it.”

Lord Raimond stayed at the door of the cottage as Alice and Roger ran to their mother’s bed.

“You’re back!” Zara exclaimed. “Your mother’s fever is gone, but she still isn’t—heaven’s mercy!” The old woman clapped her hands when she caught sight of the figure filling the doorway. “You did bring him!”

Releasing Alice and Roger from her weak embrace, their mother raised herself on the bed. “Raimond?” she asked. “Is it you? I thought I dreamed it!”

With three quick strides he crossed the
room to kneel beside her. “I’ve come to take you home, Blanche,” he told her. “To make you strong again.” He took her hand gently. “I judged wrongly. Your husband was a good knight, a hero. I saw him fall at Acre trying to save his men.”

“We waited for him to come back. We waited so long….” She wept.

“Don’t cry, Mother,” said Roger. “Everything will be fine now. Uncle Raimond and I made plans while we rode here. We’ll live in his chateau, where you’ll get well. We’ll take Zara with us too.”

Old Zara threw up her hands. “Not I!” she exclaimed. “My old bones belong in my own cottage, with the sound of the stream outside to soothe me. Thank you just the same, but I’ll stay here.”

“I hate to leave, too, Zara,” Alice said. Slowly she walked around the cottage, touching the rough table, the wooden bowls, the bench where she’d always slept beneath a soft sheepskin. “I won’t enjoy having to dress like a lady all the time. I’ll still want to climb trees and run.”

Lord Raimond frowned at his niece. When
Lady Blanche saw the frown she spoke quietly. “Unless you’re allowed to climb trees, Alice—and to marry whomever you choose—we’ll all stay here. None of us will move to the chateau.”

The baron turned abruptly to pace the small room. Then, with a slight bow toward Roger, he said, “There stands the next baron. Lord Roger. I have no children of my own, so I’ve made him my heir. Roger will decide what his sister can or cannot do.”

“Alice?” Roger grinned when he looked at her. “She can do just about everything she tries. Since it’s up to me, she won’t have to marry anyone unless she wants to, and she can climb every tree for miles around the chateau.”

Roger straightened himself to stand tall, no longer worried about his shabby, outgrown clothes. “I’ve already chosen the design for my banner,” he told them. “On the right a nightingale will soar. And on the left… can you guess, Alice?”

“I hope it’s a monkey.”

“It is.” Roger clasped her hand. “It will always be your banner as much as mine.”

GLORIA SKURZYNSKI
is an award-winning children’s book author. About
The Minstrel in the Tower
she says, “I’ve been interested in the Middle Ages since I was in my late teens. This period in history is so rich and exciting that I was fascinated by the idea of writing about it for younger readers. I hope they enjoy reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it.”

Gloria Skurzynski lives with her husband in Salt Lake City, Utah. They have five children and five grandchildren.

JULEK HELLER
was born in Poland and studied painting at the Royal Academy of Art in London. He specializes in illustrating tales of fantasy and legend.

Julek Heller lives in London with his wife and two children.