Once there was a boy named Baul who worked in the frantic and messy kitchens of a great and glittering palace belonging to some nobleman or other. The palace, though beautiful, was not at all well-run, and the kitchens were no exception. They were not an especially pleasant place to be -- hot, crowded, and full of noise -- and Baul, being timid by nature and also a dreamer, tended to shirk his duties whenever it was possible. He was a tall boy, long-limbed and very clumsy, with a pair of watery-blue, nearsighted eyes and a mop of straw-coloured hair which fell into his face almost constantly. None of these physical attributes left him particularly well-suited to the sort of tasks he was expected to perform, and more often than not, one would hear the clatter of dishes as they slid out of his hands, or the hollow thunk of a garbage pail he had dropped onto his feet, and then the howls of the Cook as she chased him around with her butcher-knife.
Baul was not too strong, and he was not educated, and he could not read, although he had tried before. There were rumours that he was the bastard of a neighbouring duke, but even if they had not been started by a population desperate for intrigue, he could not have grown up to make too much of himself by way of land or title, nor did he wish to particularly. The only thing Baul was really interested in was music. Once, when a grand procession from the king’s own castle had come to visit the palace, Baul had snuck into one of the carriages and stolen a music instrument out of it. Baul knew that stealing was a sin, but the Cook, when she wasn’t chasing him with a knife, often told beautiful stories about heroes, who sometimes committed sinful acts for the greater good. And the greater good was that, once Baul learned how to make the instrument sing the Cook’s favourite songs, she usually allowed him to play it instead of working.
One of the stable-boys, who fancied himself very cultured, told Baul that the instrument was called a lute. Baul did not care particularly what it was called, only that it made sounds which pleased him, but he supposed the name sounded nice -- smooth and round like the strings. The lute was made out of shiny, dark wood, and it had a circle of gold around the hole in its middle, which Baul rubbed his finger over wonderingly until it began to come off. Its neck was long and slender like a bird’s, and in even in the summers, the wood of it would cool overnight, so that when he picked it up to tune it in the mornings, it made him shiver. Once a string broke and Baul nearly cried, but he spent the entire day tying it back together, and it sounded fine except for a slight twang when the knot brushed the wood. It really was a very nice lute, and Baul loved it more than anything in the world, and he also knew that if anyone in charge ever discovered that he had stolen something so beautiful and costly, he would surely be put to death.
Except for the lute, Baul’s life was incredibly boring. He washed mountains of dishes and peeled whole fields of vegetables, and carried barrels of trash to and from the pig-sty, and went to church once a week with the rest of the kitchens. But he was not discontented, except when he looked out of the kitchen windows and happened to glimpse the Knights riding their horses through the green open fields. Baul didn’t like the idea of being a Knight, exactly -- he was far too squeamish to ride into battle and slaughter dozens of his enemies -- but he liked green fields, and horses. The very cultured stable boy would not let him into the barn to see the horses, no matter how nicely he asked. Perhaps there was a sort of position he could occupy that involved only horses and fields, and not any killing. Or perhaps, if he became strong enough to lift one, he could steal a horse as well. After all, he was already a sinner because of the lute.
But he was not strong enough to lift a horse, nor did he possess enough courage to ride one if he had somehow managed to get it. Actually Baul did not possess enough courage to do most things, and he probably would have lived out the remainder of his days in the hot, crowded kitchen trying his best to hide if a loud and drunken man had not come to the door one day.
The man was short and stocky, with very dark hair and a curly beard, and he wore the costume of a Knight, but not the mannerism. His was not the upright and noble posture of the horsemen Baul saw in the field. He slouched and stumbled through the yard, clearly inebriated, and drawing a crowd of curious on-lookers which gathered just outside the back doorway.
“Who could that be ?” asked a girl who worked with the Cook. Baul watched as the man staggered into the pig-sty and began to greet the sows as if they were people.
“Whoever he is, he’s standing in pigshit,” said the Cook, who said things as she saw them.
The man seemed to realise his mistake, and made his way over to the little assembly, swaying merrily as he went. The crowd, as a whole, shrunk backwards, except for Baul, who was still watching the pigs.
“Fool !” cried the man to Baul, who noticed him with a start and nearly fell into the mud. “Where have you been ?”
Baul peered at him through his weak eyes, perplexed. The man was a good two heads shorter than he was, although he seemed quite a bit older. “What ?” Baul said.
“When I woke up from my little nap you had quite deserted me,” said the man, smiling at Baul in a disappointed but good-natured manner. “We shall never finish our journey if you keep running off.”
“What are you talking about ?” said Baul, his brow furrowing. He could feel the whole kitchen’s eyes on him.
“Why, we had just left the house of the dancing princesses,” the man cried. He stopped and stared at Baul with real concern in his face. “You do not remember ?”
“N … No,” Baul said slowly, feeling stupid.
“And do you not remember the great castle which we used to live in, or the purpose of the journey we have undertaken ?”
“No,” Baul said, quietly, feeling quite perplexed and embarrassed.
“Then … surely at least you remember me ?” The funny Knight tried to make a courtly bow, and stumbled.
Baul shook his head.
“Well,” the man said, tossing his head in a proud manner that let Baul know he was very offended by this, “I am Sir Arden Warrick Rudd.”
“Isn’t three names sort of a lot for one person ?” asked Baul, who had only ever had one.
“And you are my Fool,” Sir Rudd continued, as though he had not heard. “My admiring companion who travels with me everywhere, and plays beautiful songs when I am bored.”
Baul was very confused. “No, I’m not.”
“Do you not play beautiful music ?” Sir Rudd asked.
“I suppose I can play music,” Baul said hesitantly, feeling very uncomfortable.
“Do you not admire things ?” Sir Rudd pressed on.
“I … must do,” said Baul, casting his eyes about and wishing he were somewhere else.
“Then it stands to reason that you must be this same Fool,” Sir Rudd said, triumphantly. Baul was a simple boy, but even he could see that this logic was rather daft. “And besides, you look just exactly like him. It really must be you, and now I have to ask that you gather your belongings and set off with me again. We are already late for our appointment in the City.”
Baul paused. He did not remotely wish to set off on some journey with this clearly mad stranger. He had no reason to leave the kitchens … except for one. His lute, though faithful, was chipped and worn in spots, and the string with the knot in it was rather difficult to play, even still. Perhaps in the City, a place he had only heard rumours of, there would be someone with skilled hands who could sand out the cracks, and put new strings on it for him.
But he had one more question. “Do you have a horse ?”
“Of course I do,” Sir Rudd replied.
Baul smiled. “I think I am beginning to remember you,” he said. “Let us go at once.”
The rest of the kitchen could hardly believe it. They watched, incredulously, as Baul gathered his few possessions and traipsed out the door and down the path with the silly Knight leading the way. “You’re making a mistake !” bawled the Cook, but Baul paid her no mind. He was thinking of how large the sky seemed.
Once the new and strange pair had left the castle behind them, they came upon an open field, all vivid grass and rocky slope. In the middle of it stood a very old pony, who was grey around his mouth, and painfully thin all over. Baul looked very doubtfully at him. He did not seem strong enough to carry a saddle-bag, let alone Sir Rudd.
Still, it would be rude not to greet him. “Hello, pony,” Baul tried.
The pony snorted violently at him, flecking his trousers with slobber. “Ponies can’t talk,” Sir Rudd chuckled. Baul turned red. “I do declare you are the silliest Fool I have ever seen.”
“I was only being polite,” Baul said. He was very embarrassed, and tried to hide it by pretending to be suddenly interested in the pony’s bridle.
Sir Rudd shook his head at Baul, still smiling, and mounted the pony with enormous difficulty. The poor animal let out a huge sigh and began to trot petulantly along the mud-covered road. Baul slung his bag over his shoulder and walked alongside it, shielding his face from the sun.
As Sir Rudd rode along, he sang loudly and often refreshed himself from a colambre which Baul could be fairly certain did not contain water. Baul did not have a colambre, only a very small pouch, and he quickly emptied it. The sun was blindingly bright, and Baul was tired and thirsty, and he was also very bored, until the pony said, “I can talk, you know.”
“What ?” Baul said absently.
“I can talk,” said the pony, his liquid eyes on Baul. “Except his saddle is too high for him to hear me, and I do not wish to talk with someone so brash anyway. You never can get a word in edgewise.”
Baul nodded in weary assent. “What is your name ? I called you only pony before, and I am sure that was sort of insulting.”
“My name is Juniper,” said the pony, spitting out a fleck of foam, which had appeared in the corner of his mouth due to thirst. “And is isn’t insulting, or, at least, I have grown accustomed to it. I am hardly treated like royalty.”
Baul shrugged his shoulders. “I think at least everyone deserves to be called by their right name.”
Juniper snickered, but not in a rude way. Ponies simply do this from time to time. “You’re a nice young man. And what is your right name ?”
“Baul,” the former kitchen-boy replied.
“Well, Baul,” said Juniper, “I suppose that Sir Rudd has told you his tale of adventures and riches ?”
“Sort of,” Baul replied. “He thinks I am his Fool, and that I do not remember it.” He paused. “Do you remember me being the Fool before ?” for in the bright sun it actually seemed possible that he had been.
“I barely remember this morning, let alone if you were the Fool before, dear boy,” said Juniper. “I am getting on in years, and my mind is not what it once was.”
“Oh,” said Baul. He was still quite young himself, so he had probably not lost his memory.
“Anyhow,” continued Juniper, tossing his bedraggled mane, “if I was you, I wouldn’t believe a word of it.” The pony picked his way gingerly around a pot hole. “Sir Rudd is nothing but a drunk and a mad man. I would have run off before now, except that no one else would have any use for an old creature like me outside of the stew pot.”
Baul winced. “I don’t really think there’s going to be much adventures and riches. I only came along because there might be someone in the city who can put new strings on my lute.”
“Still,” Juniper said, looking balefully at Baul with one brown eye, “be careful.”
“Who are you talking to ?” Sir Rudd called down to Baul, swaying slightly in the saddle.
“No one,” Baul replied. Juniper went silent.“Might I have some water ?”
Sir Rudd passed him a nearly full goatskin -- evidently, the Knight kept mostly to beer. Baul took a sip, and his head cleared instantly. Juniper, however, did not speak for the rest of the way, only snorted occasionally. Baul worried he had offended him, but he did not have the courage to make an apology.
When the pair stopped to rest, the bright sun had dipped behind the trees, and the sky was no longer blue, but violet. Sir Rudd slid off the saddle and stretched out in the grass, where he seemed quite content to remain.
“We ought to find somewhere to stay,” said Baul after a while -- he did not wish to overstep but wished to sleep outside even less.
“Yes, indeed,” Sir Rudd mumbled. “I know an inn not far from here. Follow me.”
Baul helped him onto Juniper’s back again -- an endeavour which took several long minutes -- and they began their meandering once more.
“Fool,” said Sir Rudd after a while, “play me a song.”
Baul didn’t much like to be called a Fool, but he pulled his lute out of his rough-sack and plucked out a slow and lazy melody. Sir Rudd hummed along, and before either of them knew it, they had arrived.
The inn was very small, and made of stone and paste. The entry-way was too low for Baul to pass through comfortably, and he knocked his head on the beam above the door.
“Fletcher !” Sir Rudd bellowed, carousing merrily past Baul and straight to the bar. The man he was shouting at did not seem especially happy to see him.
“I thought I told you you weren’t welcome here any longer, Rudd,” this Fletcher was saying, but Sir Rudd sat down and began to talk with the patrons at the bar as if nothing was amiss, and after a while Fletcher sighed and seemed to give up.
Baul was still standing in the doorway. He had extreme misgivings about the entire affair, and was beginning to miss his bed in the kitchen. Sir Rudd did not seem to notice his discomfort -- he was already holding a large mug of ale, and laughing with the other drunks.
Eventually Fletcher, a red-nosed man who was even taller than Baul, seemed to take pity on him, and trudged over. “So you’re the unlucky fellow he’s got along with him this time, huh ?”
“I suppose,” Baul replied. “All I really want is to get to the big city and find someone who can put new strings on my lute.”
“Well, you watch yourself around him, is all,” Fletcher said, casting a baleful eye at Sir Rudd, who of course paid him no mind. “He isn’t the sort of Knight they go around writing stories of. Can I get you a drink ?”
“Oh.” Baul paused. “Thank you. But I do not have any money.”
“I’ll put it on Rudd’s bill,” Fletcher answered grumpily, already turning away.
Baul was given a cup of very strong ale, which went to his head far more quickly than any of the rinsings they had drunk in the kitchen. After a short while, he began to feel very sleepy.
Fletcher, shaking his head, led Baul up to a very cosy room in the inn’s garret, where the kitchen boy fell asleep almost immediately. He awoke only once, when Sir Rudd clambered up the stairs and collapsed face forward onto the bed-roll next to his. Baul sleepily pushed him onto his back so that he would not snore, and then he sunk back into dreamland and did not awake until very late the next morning.
Sir Rudd was pale and irritable the next morning, snapping at Baul as he packed away their things for the journey ahead, but as soon as he stumbled downstairs to the bar and filled his colambre, he was back to normal. Baul himself was woozy from the echoes of alcohol, but the air was so crisp and bracing that he felt better before too long.
Juniper kicked a clump of earth at Sir Rudd when he tried to curry him, so Baul put himself in charge of caring for the old pony. Both of his companions seemed to appreciate it a great deal, and it didn’t take too long for the trio to set off traipsing down the road again.
“Play me some music, Fool,” Sir Rudd said once they had got underway. It was terribly difficult to pick out any sort of a tune while he was walking, but Baul obliged.
After a while the sun went behind a cloud. Baul shivered, and a melancholy look seemed to come into Sir Rudd’s face. “That is enough,” he said gravely. Baul peered at him in mild surprise. “Fool, you are probably wondering what the purpose of our brave journey is.”
“Not really,” Baul said truthfully, but Sir Rudd did not hear.
“It is a tragic tale, mine,” the drunken Knight said, tossing his head so that his helmet shone. “The sort of thing that poets set down for future generations to lament.”
“Oh,” said Baul.
“You see,” Sir Rudd continued, and a tear actually seemed to be glistening in the corner of his dark-ringed eye, “I was once a Knight of great fame and renown, beloved by all who beheld me.” Baul found that very difficult to believe, but he stayed quiet out of politeness. “Before the greatest sorrow of my life occurred, I was a Knight of the court of King Pemberton himself.”
Baul was very surprised. “King Pemberton ?”
“Indeed,” Sir Rudd intoned, looking positively noble with grief. “I was the favourite of all the noblemen in the court -- not to mention the ladies,” he grinned, before resuming his solemn affect. “But one day it all changed.”
“How did it change ?” asked Baul, who despite himself had really begun to feel quite sorry for him.
“An evil woman turned against me,” Sir Rudd relayed. Baul was shocked. How like a storybook ! “She was angry and jealous, like a shrew, and she conspired with her husband to have me disgraced.” Sir Rudd gestured to himself. “And so here you see me in this sorry state.”
“Wow,” said Baul. “But then, why are you on the quest, or did I miss that part ?”
“I am determined,” said Sir Rudd, and he was the picture of stoicism, “to enact as many honourable and Knightly deeds as I can, in order to prove to his Royal Majesty that the claims against me are false, and that I ought to be allowed to return to the court at once.”
Baul considered this, with no small measure of respect. Sir Rudd’s story was indeed very sad. Perhaps he was not a bad Knight at all, only ruined by grief. Baul could recall many tales of people who tore their hair out or died for it. Baul began to feel very guilty about the way he had treated Sir Rudd, and was about to tell him ‘sorry’ when a great storm of hoof-beats came rolling into the valley.
“Who is that ?” Baul cried as an enormous white horse galloped into view, leading many other riders behind.
“We must stand and fight !” Sir Rudd screamed by way of an answer, sliding off his horse and into the mud.
Baul was terrified -- he had never been in a fight before -- and he was more terrified still when he saw that the riders astride the horses were all outfitted in elaborate armour, and were carrying large jagged swords.
Sir Rudd tried and failed to extract his sword from its peace-ties, and then he simply hid behind Juniper as the rider of the white horse dismounted smoothly and approached them. She pulled off her helmet, and Baul could see that she was a very beautiful woman, swarthy-skinned and fierce, and with absolutely no hair on her head.
“Sir Rudd,” the rider called in a very musical voice that was nonetheless quite terrifying. “I challenge you to combat here and now.”
“What on earth did he do ?” asked Baul, who had a habit of talking when he was nervous.
The woman turned to him. She was terrifically tall, and had to look down her nose at him. “What did he do ? Why, little boy, he accosted several of my sisters on the way home from a joust, and would have had his way with them, had they not been armed, and better fighters than he.” She gestured to the riders of the horses behind her, who had pushed their visours up to reveal faces which did indeed resemble hers. “I would have thought he had bragged to you already. Sir Rudd is very good at telling tales.”
“Stay away from my Fool, Lady Ingrid,” Sir Rudd called belatedly, although after what he had just heard, Baul felt far more comfortable next to this Ingrid character than to the drunken Knight.
“Hold your tongue, Sir Rudd,” said Lady Ingrid ; “your Fool has asked me a question, and I am not done answering it.” She turned back to Baul. “Would you like to hear more of his crimes, Fool ? I am sure I can tell them to you.”
“He’s only a boy, Ingrid !” Sir Rudd howled, although the two of them were only standing and speaking to one another.
“Do not speak to me with such impertinence,” Lady Ingrid snapped. “I have half a mind to kill your Fool now.”
“Oh, please don’t do that,” Baul said quickly.
“You could never do it. You are soft,” Sir Rudd taunted, dancing hastily away from Lady Ingrid as he spoke. “Underneath that armour you are just like any other woman.”
Lady Ingrid lofted her blade in the air. “Goodbye, Fool,” she said.
Baul had less than one second to decide what on earth he was to do, which was probably why he did something that was so daring. Without thinking at all, he raised his lute, brought it wheeling round his head, and crashed it square into Lady Ingrid’s face.
The lute made a horrible splintering noise which hurt Baul to hear, and Lady Ingrid staggered backwards, clutching her nose, which bled. “Sorry,” said Baul miserably -- he really did not like to do it -- and then he began to run. Juniper and Sir Rudd followed after him, panting.
The women gave chase, but the trio ducked into a thick grove of trees, where their gigantic horses could not follow. Eventually Lady Ingrid appeared to signal a retreat, and the whole party disappeared into the horizon.
Sir Rudd breathed a sigh of relief. “Brilliantly done, Fool !” he cried, after first making sure that the women were out of ear-shot. “I think you shall be my Squire now, on account of your bravery.”
Baul did not feel as if he had done anything particularly brave or brilliant, and he didn’t know or care what it was that a Squire did. He only felt sick to his stomach, and very sad when he thought of the look on the noble Lady’s face. “What did you do to those women, Sir Rudd ?”
Sir Rudd snorted derisively. Baul thought he sounded like a pig. “Ingrid’s band of silly girls has far too many ideas in their heads. Women should be kept indoors, I say.”
Baul looked very hard at Sir Rudd, but said nothing.
“And look what she has done to your fine lute,” said Sir Rudd. “Now what shall I do when I wish to hear music ?”
Baul looked down at it and felt a dull ache. The poor instrument was completely shattered, and held together only by its worn strings.
“Now we simply must get you to a Luthier,” said Sir Rudd. “I know a very good one in the grand City. There is no time to waste -- come at once !”
Baul no longer wanted to, but he followed him.
It took a day and night’s worth of silent travel, but when the sun was high above Baul’s head, the hills began to give way to roads, and then to little groves of houses. Once they reached the great city’s gates, Sir Rudd insisted on leading the way on foot, and giving Baul the ‘grand tour’. Ordinarily the boy would have been excited to see the wondrous streets and spired buildings, but he was still shaken by their earlier experience, and cradled the smashed pieces of his lute impatiently, wishing to reach the Luthier at once. Sir Rudd’s ‘grand tour’ turned out to involve mostly his favourite drinking spots and places where he had seduced city girls, which did nothing to remedy Baul’s ill temper.
Finally after Sir Rudd had exhausted his stockpile of lewd stories he began to lead Baul tipsily across the main square. The Squire followed anxiously, twisting his his hands on the lute’s fractured neck -- Sir Rudd had promised to pay for the repairs, but Baul did not entirely trust him.
At last the shabby pair reached an unassuming building with its door standing open.
Baul peered at it doubtfully. “Is this really the right place ?”
“Upon mine honour,” blustered Sir Rudd, though after what Lady Ingrid had told him, Baul was not inclined to believe that his honour counted for much.
The Squire sighed and stepped inside, and then he stopped, very suddenly.
Standing in the window of the little building was a boy, who was so delicate and finely formed that Baul at first mistook him for a painting. The boy had very dark and soft-looking reddish hair, and his skin was saturnine, and sprinkled with little golden spots. He wore the clothes of the region, but they fit him differently than they fit Baul, and his ears had been pierced, which marked him as unusual. But he was not trying to hide the holes in them -- in fact, he had little silver hoops in them, which dangled down and flashed in the sun, Baul watched them, mesmerised, until the boy noticed him standing in the doorway, and walked closer.
“Mister Atkins isn’t in now,” the boy said sweetly. Baul thought he had the nicest voice he had ever heard. “What might you need ?”
“Uh, um,” said Baul, staring at the boy’s eyes, which were warm and brown. “Um, I.”
The boy noticed the broken lute. “Oh, dear,” he smiled. His mouth was red. “Can
I ?”
Baul felt himself go pink as the boy took the lute gently from his hands.
“Whatever have you done to it ?” the boy asked, bringing the lute over to a little work-table, and laying it down carefully. Baul followed him without thinking.
“Um, I.” Baul found that he could not stop smiling. “I, uh, I didn’t have a sword so, um. Yes.”
The boy looked at him strangely. “I don’t understand.”
“We were attacked by that shrew Ingrid and her company,” Sir Rudd cut in, approaching. “My poor Squire was forced to utilise his instrument as a weapon. Not that it is any of your business, Lis.”
“Don’t call her a shrew,” Baul interjected, hardly aware of what he was saying. “I only hit her with it because she was going to get me with her sword. I haven’t, that is, um. Is your name Lis ? That’s really lovely,” his voice trailed off into silence.
The boy sighed and looked at Sir Rudd with his mouth on one side. “My name is Vangelis. Not Lis, or Van. It isn’t any harder to say than Sir Arden Warrick Rudd.”
Baul laughed manically and for far too long. This time both Vangelis and Sir Rudd looked at him strangely. Baul coughed and went quiet.
“In any case,” Vangelis said ( Baul repeated it giddily in his head, Vangelis Vangelis Vangelis ), “I don’t think I can repair something like this on my own. You’ve almost shattered the whole back of it. You must have hit this poor woman quite hard.”
“She bled from her nose !” said Baul, too loudly. “But I was quite sorry,” he added, very gravely.
Vangelis giggled softly. Baul was so glad when he heard it that his own smile grew until he looked quite deranged. “You’ll have to let me keep your lute until Mister Atkins comes back. He is visiting the court of someone he thinks is really prestigious.” The pretty boy rummaged in a table-drawer and pulled out a scrap of paper. “I shall make you a receipt. When you come back you can give it to me or to Mister Atkins, and that way we will know the lute really belongs to you. Although to tell the truth, you are so odd I do not think I shall forget you.” Vangelis took a stick and held it over a lit candle until the end turned black, and then he used it to make marks on the paper. Baul was fascinated. He had never seen anyone write before. “Dark wood, gilt edges …” Vangelis said to himself. He pushed the pink tip of his tongue out of the corner of his red mouth when he wrote, which Baul found very interesting.
Vangelis said something, and then he said it again. “What ?” said Baul, who had gone back to staring at the golden spots on his face.
“What is your name ?” Vangelis asked, for probably the third time.
“Oh. Baul,” said Baul. It was a very plain name, next to one like Vangelis.
Vangelis made a big round mark with a flat bit on one side, and then a couple of little ones which Baul could not tell apart, and then another tall mark which was really just a line. “There you are.” He looked slyly at Baul from underneath his reddish hair. “Say, Baul, wherever did you get such a nice lute ?”
“I stole it,” Baul said without thinking, and then blushed. “I mean --”
Vangelis laughed. Baul laughed too, uneasily. “Don’t worry. Everyone has stolen something before. At least you stole something nice.”
“Yes,” agreed Baul, not really paying attention. Vangelis’s eyes had little bright spots in them.
The Luthier’s assistant made a scribble on the bottom of the paper, and slid it across the work-table to Baul. “What does that part say ?” Baul asked.
Vangelis paused. “Oh. That is my signature. So that Mister Atkins knows I was the one to write it.”
“Oh,” Baul nodded. He did not know what a signature was. He put the paper carefully into his pocket and then looked at Vangelis some more.
“Well,” said Vangelis at last, glancing at Sir Rudd, “That will be fourteen pounds.”
Baul blushed in disbelief. That was the most money he had ever heard of in his life. But Sir Rudd only shrugged and dropped the coins into Vangelis’s hand.
Vangelis put the money into a little pouch which he carried on his hips. “Good-by,” he said.
“Good-by, Lis,” Sir Rudd said, taking Baul by the wrist and leading him out of the shop far too quickly. The Squire was very sad as he watched Vangelis’s red hair disappear from view.
“What is a signature ?” Baul asked as soon as they were out of ear-shot.
“It is a fancy way in which somebody writes their name,” said Sir Rudd, still hurrying him along.
Baul’s eyes widened, and he snatched the paper out of his pocket. So that big pointy mark, and the troublesome small ones, and the one which plunged downwards and the line again actually made up the name of Vangelis ! Baul held the paper very close to his chest. In the stories which the Cook told, the hero would always have a special token of his true love, which he carried around with him at all times. Baul’s special token, evidently, was this paper -- which contained not only Vangelis’s name, but his own. The Squire pressed the paper to his heart, being careful not to smudge the writing, and then tucked it gently back into his pocket.
They walked a little further, Baul still smiling giddily, buoyed by and drowning in thoughts of love, and reached the post where Sir Rudd had tied up Juniper. The pony glared at them. “You know,” said Sir Rudd, seizing Juniper’s reins and attempting to untangle the very bad knots which he had made, “Vangelis is funny.”
“Yes,” agreed Baul, smiling happily and petting Juniper’s neck to keep him from biting Sir Rudd, “I liked when he made that joke about your name.”
“No,” chortled Sir Rudd in that condescending way which Baul despised. “Not that sort of funny. Funny as in wrong.”
Baul paused. “But he seemed to know exactly what to do to fix my lute.”
Sir Rudd laughed, but it wasn’t a nice laugh. Not at all. “I might have made you a Squire, but you are just as much of a Fool as ever.” Baul’s ears burned, and he got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Vangelis is funny because he isn’t like you and I.”
“How come ?” asked Baul. He is far more wonderful and worldly, he expected Sir Rudd to say. Or, He is much more beautiful than a normal person.
“Do I have to spell everything out for you ?” Sir Rudd sighed. “Vangelis is funny because he loves other men, the way normal men would love a damsel.” Baul’s heart dropped into his stomach. Sir Rudd grinned. “Isn’t that just awful and strange ?”
Baul’s hands trembled badly, and his face burned red. He loved Vangelis. Of course he did. He was perfect. How could he not love him ? Didn’t all men love other men ? Except, perhaps, for Sir Rudd ( although Baul did not think he loved the women he was with ). It wasn’t awful and strange. Men married women because they had to, because everyone did it. But surely, they loved each other, like Baul did ?
“What is wrong with you ?” Sir Rudd asked, staring at him. Baul jumped. “Help me with this.”
Baul took the tangled reins, and as he did, he realised : the men in the Cook’s stories loved women, like Sir Rudd did.
The trio spent the day wandering through the lovely streets of the grand and shining city. But Baul did not take any pleasure in the beautiful things around him. He thought only of Vangelis, and of what Sir Rudd had said about him. He wanted very badly to go back to the Luthier’s, but he was afraid that if he did, Sir Rudd would know that he was funny, just like Vangelis was, and like most people weren’t. Baul did not know what Sir Rudd would do if he found out -- after all, he had not hurt Vangelis, thank heavens -- but he did not want him to know. He was ashamed. So even though he wanted to burst out every other minute with a remembrance of Vangelis’s face or hair, he kept quiet, and he only touched the corner of the paper which stuck out of his pocket, and did not take it out again.
Once the sun had gone down and things were dark, Sir Rudd led the company to an inn which served ale he enjoyed. Before he would inquire about any rooms he insisted on downing several tankard’s worth of this same ale, and then he unfortunately perceived someone to be making a slight about his rumoured shame, and endeavoured to engage in combat with that same individual, which, naturally, got both him and Baul escorted off the premises with instructions never to return. So the Knight, the Squire, and the very angry pony found a field in which to rest their heads. This, as you can imagine, did not help Baul’s awful mood in the slightest.
The Squire tossed and turned throughout the night, trying to avoid stones and twigs, thinking only of Vangelis, Vangelis, Vangelis, and then he thought of a very good question.
“What am I still doing here ?” Baul said out loud. Sir Rudd was snoring, and Juniper was in a terrible temper, so his question was met with silence. “Nothing, I suppose,” he answered himself, and, feeling sort of brave, stood up from his place on the ground, collected his rough-sack, and began to walk away.
“What are you doing ?” Juniper called.
Baul turned around again. “Leaving.”
Juniper snorted. “I am,” Baul insisted before remembering that Juniper was a pony.
“You aren’t going to get very far on foot,” Juniper said.
“Then, come with me,” Baul said.
“But Sir Rudd is the only one who shall ever have any use for me,” said Juniper. “What shall I do on my own ?”
“You shan’t be on your own,” said Baul. “I shall take care of you. Sir Rudd isn’t very kind to you, either.”
Juniper considered it for a moment, and then tossed his head. “I suppose it will be interesting to see what happens next.”
Baul led him away from the camp and got on his back, very clumsily. He did not know how to ride a pony, but Juniper knew how to carry a person, so it more or less evened out.
“Not that way,” said Baul when Juniper began to walk straight for the main gates.
“Which way, then ?” asked Juniper, coming to an awkward stop.
Baul took a deep breath. “Will you take me back to the Luthier’s ?”
Juniper pawed the ground. “Why on earth would you want to go there ? It’s the middle of the night.”
Baul blushed and bent closer to Juniper’s head. “I think I am in love with Vangelis,” he whispered into the pony’s ear.
Juniper rolled his eyes. “That’s all very sweet,” he said, and Baul felt a rush of relief, “but Vangelis isn’t going to be there because it is the middle of the night.”
“I know,” said Baul. “But I still need to go back there.”
“All right,” said Juniper, “only we have to be out of the City by the time Sir Rudd wakes up. He is going to be very angry.”
Baul assured him that they would be, and then they set off, navigating the cobbled streets slowly in the twilight. It felt very wonderful, to be riding in the cool dark under the stars. After a pleasant while, the unassuming building came into view, and Baul felt his heart fluttering in his chest.
“What are you planning to do in this place ?” asked Juniper.
Baul slid off his back. “I don’t know. Remember it, I suppose, so that I can find my way back here.”
Juniper shrugged ( at least as much as a pony can shrug ) and stepped around the corner to stand under the overhang of the tailor’s, leaving Baul alone.
The Squire gazed at the building, which looked just the same as before, except that the door was closed, and thought of the wonderful boy who had been inside earlier. He pulled the paper receipt out of his pocket, and touched the set of marks that began with the large pointy one. He likely would have stayed there for a long while if a voice had not called out, “Hey.”
Baul jumped, tucking his paper away and raising his arms up reflexively. He was so very nearsighted that he had failed to notice a light was burning in the building. If the Luthier was back from his court visit, Baul would almost certainly be mistaken for a prowler. The Squire cast desperately about for somewhere to hide, but it was no use : a figure inside had already picked up the light and was moving towards the door. He would simply have to meet them face-to-face. “Who’s there ?” he heard the voice call, and then the door swung open, and instead of an angry Luthier, Baul beheld Vangelis in a long night-shirt, rubbing his eyes.
“Oh. It’s you,” said Vangelis, looking Baul up and down. “What are you doing
here ? Your lute is not ready. It is the middle of the night.”
“I don’t care about my lute,” Baul blurted, surprising himself. He took a deep breath before he continued. “I’m, um. I’m going away from Sir Rudd.”
“Oh.” Vangelis looked at him with interest. “Why ?”
“He, ah.” Baul could not tell Vangelis to his face that Rudd had called their sort of love awful and strange. “He said some things that made me realise I was better off by myself,” he answered carefully.
Vangelis ran a hand through his sleep-curled hair. Baul thought he looked almost too beautiful to bear. “Oh. So then what are you going to do now ?”
Baul had not really thought about that, but the answer sprung fully-formed from his mouth before he had even considered what he was saying. “There is a Lady who I think I must apologise to.”
“Is she the one you struck with your lute ?” asked Vangelis. Baul noticed that he was not wearing shoes.
“Yes,” he replied, wincing. “I did not like to do it. I think it would have been better for her to have fought with Sir Rudd.”
Vangelis shivered. Baul wished desperately that he had a cloak to give him, like in the stories, but he had only his doublet, which was not exactly well-suited to the task, and would have taken far too long to get off besides. “Well, that is an admirable thing, I am sure. But then, why are you tarrying here ?”
“I don’t know,” said Baul, although he did. “I suppose I had to tell someone where I was going, before I went. I could not tell Sir Rudd -- for I left him in secret.” Vangelis gazed at him sleepily, and Baul kept speaking, although he hardly knew what he was saying. “And I wished to see you … r shop again because it’s -- nice, and I --” Vangelis tipped his head to one side. He is perfect, thought Baul, and took a deep breath in. “And -- I wished to see you again because you were very -- kind to me, and I wished to say good-by.”
Vangelis was looking rather surprised. Baul felt his face growing warmer and warmer, and he looked over his shoulder to see if Juniper was near enough for him to ride away on.
At last Vangelis sighed, and he took half a step closer. Baul was very afraid that he had somehow done something wrong -- that Vangelis was not funny at all, and was just like Sir Rudd, and now was going to strike him. The Squire shut his eyes, his heart racing.“That is wonderfully sweet,” Baul heard Vangelis say, and he opened his eyes again in surprise. The other boy was standing just a few paces away now, and Baul could see his face more clearly, and he tried as hard as he could to memorise as much of it as possible before he had to go. “It really is quite nice of you to think of me, Baul,” Vangelis said, softly, and then he did something that the Squire, even in his most fantastical of dreams, could not have dared to hope for : he reached out his freckled hand and pressed it to the side of Baul’s face. “God-speed,” said the Luthier’s assistant, and then he disappeared back inside of the building, and blew out the light.
Baul stood there for a long moment, utterly stunned, touching his face gently, and then he was almost knocked backwards by a sudden rush of joy, and would have shouted for it, except that Vangelis was trying to sleep. “Juniper !” the Squire called instead, keeping his voice low. “Juniper ?”
“What ?” the pony grumbled, plodding around the corner.
“Juniper, aren’t you just so happy ?” Baul was smiling madly, and could not stop. “This really is a lovely night -- isn’t it ?”
“What are you on about ?” said the pony fondly. “We have to go ; it is getting too dark.”
Baul was far too excited to get onto Juniper’s back, and so he danced around him as he trotted, humming under his breath and smiling.
“You are so odd,” huffed Juniper, but Baul could see that once they left the City, he was in much better spirits.
The journey that day was odd : Baul had taken one of Sir Rudd’s colambres by accident, and once he ran out of water, he drank from it, which made him very silly for the majority of the day. Juniper, who usually spent the whole journey in a sulk, spent it laughing at him instead. Both the Squire and the pony discovered early on that the former riding the latter was quite uncomfortable for both, and so they made a funny sight to the people they passed -- a boy who travelled with a horse but did not ride it. Baul had not stolen anything from Sir Rudd, and so he had no money for an inn, but the pair discovered a fresh, clear stream where they drank and washed, and once the sun set, they fell asleep under the starry and cloudless sky.
The next day Baul really set out with purpose. He and Juniper travelled to a small town, where he asked anyone who would listen if they knew anything about Lady Ingrid and her sisters. Most of the people would not speak to him, because he was so odd-looking after having spent the night asleep on the earth, but gradually he gleaned that they were courtiers with King Pemberton, and that they had recently set up camp near a forest not far away. Juniper knew the way better than Baul did, and so he walked in front, which did nothing to lessen the spectacle they made of themselves.
The forest was easy to find, but once they were inside it, it was nearly impossible to navigate. It was all twists and odd shadows and mis-direction. After they passed the same rock four times, Baul insisted that there must be something supernatural going on. Juniper would not hear a word of it, which Baul thought was pretty funny, given that he was a talking pony.
The pair wandered aimlessly for much of the day, and finally fell asleep, exhausted, under the shelter of a sycamore. When they awoke again, it was entirely dark except for the full moon, and Baul could swear that in its light he had seen tiny figures flitting around his head. It really was a strange evening.
The next morning, though, the sun seemed to bring reason, and they came upon a grand encampment almost immediately. There were tents larger than houses which blocked out the sky, and many fierce Knights were lounging in and around them. Baul was very afraid to enter the pavilions, and Juniper offered to come with him, but Baul made the pony stay behind and conceal himself behind an out-cropping of trees ; he would not want to be responsible for Lady Ingrid injuring his new friend. The Squire did not know what he should do to prepare himself -- and if it were to come to a fight, he was surely doomed, for he was unarmed -- so he just took out the piece of paper with Vangelis’s name on it, and gazed at it, and touched his face where Vangelis had, and then he felt almost courageous.
Baul ventured slowly into the encampment, still quite scared, and called out : “Lady Ingrid ?”
Almost immediately three strong and fearsome Knights leapt at him and pinned his arms behind his back. Baul did not struggle, only said, “I have come to apologise to Lady Ingrid for a great wrong-doing on my part. Where is she ?”
The Knights led Baul through the encampment to the greatest and most decorated tent of them all. Lady Ingrid sat inside on a high-backed chair. “Ah,” she said. “It is the Fool.” She was not wearing her armour, but Baul was afraid of her all the same. He made a very deep bow, noticing with guilt as he did that her nose was rather crooked and puffy. “What on earth could you be doing in my camp ? Do you have a death-wish ?”
“I have come to apologise, Lady Ingrid,” said Baul, keeping his head down. “It was very wrong of me to strike you in the face with my lute, and I am sorry.”
Lady Ingrid snorted. “And how do I know you are not a lying swine like your master, here to prey on my sisters ?”
“Sir Rudd isn’t my master any more,” said Baul. “I was only travelling with him due to a very big misunderstanding, and after I learned what sort of a man he is, I left him in the night.” Baul coughed. “And … I took his horse.”
Lady Ingrid snorted again, and then she began to laugh. Baul took this as a sign of encouragement. “And I don’t want to prey on your sisters. I already have a true love.”
Lady Ingrid shook her head. “Men are fickle.”
“Yes,” agreed Baul. He did not know what fickle meant. “Anyways, I’m very sorry, and I hope you can forgive me, and I … “ Baul peeked up at her. She still looked quite scary, but also sort of kind. “Perhaps I could … serve you instead ?” he finished feebly.
Lady Ingrid pursed her lips. “My Knights are terrifically strong and fast,” she said. “I fear you would not be able to keep up.”
“Probably not,” Baul admitted, “but I can do other things. I’m good at caring for horses and walking a really long way without getting tired, and once Van -- once my true love is finished with fixing my lute, I can play it for everyone.” Lady Ingrid still looked doubtful. “Please,” Baul begged. “You seem like a much better Knight than Sir Rudd.”
Lady Ingrid shifted in her chair. “You know, Fool,” she said, looking down her nose at him, “If any other man who had given me blows and fled after was to come into my camp, I would have had him slaughtered on the spot.” Baul swallowed. “But,” Lady Ingrid continued, “you hardly had much of a choice, After all, it was dishonourable of me to have attacked someone who was unarmed. I ought to have struck at Sir Rudd instead.” Baul could not help but agree. “So, you may stay in my camp with me. But if you cannot look after your own self, then you will have to leave again.”
“Oh, thank you !” Baul cried, and bowed again, and began to dance around the tent. “I shall not disappoint you, Lady Ingrid --”
Lady Ingrid rose from her throne, and Baul stood still. She was easily as tall as her enormous horse had been. “One more thing.”
“Yes ?” asked Baul.
Lady Ingrid stepped closer, and struck him hard across the face.
Baul stumbled backwards, stunned, feeling his nose beginning to bleed. “I suppose I deserved that,” he heard himself say.
“You did,” said Lady Ingrid cheerfully over her shoulder as she departed from the tent. “Dinner is in half an hour.”
Over the next while Baul worked very hard for Lady Ingrid. Her company seemed to have a hundred horses, all of whom were very tall and really nothing like Juniper was at all, and he had to feed and brush all of them, all while attempting to avoid their hooves and fiercely pretending to know what he was doing. But Juniper was allowed to be stabled with them, and Baul was given a little tent of his own, and they both ate the good food that was there, and neither of them were quite so skinny any more.
The band of Knights was very interesting to talk to. Every one of them was a woman, which awed Baul -- there was not a single woman Knight in the stories the Cook told, let alone whole companies of them -- and they were full of stories about court life, something which had always mystified him. What was more, they did not travel with an entourage of servants -- Baul was the first help they had had in a while. They were able to do almost everything themselves -- except that Lady Ingrid was very bad at cooking -- which was a thing Baul had not expected from courtiers. The Knights were very kind to him, and they were always venturing out to have adventures during the day. Baul often accompanied them, and despite his initial squeamishness, he learned to use a shield, and then a sword, and to ride a horse properly. Begrudgingly, Lady Ingrid named him her Squire, and Baul was much prouder than he had been when Sir Rudd had done the same thing.
He would have liked to stay with the Knights for ever, except that after nearly two fortnights, Lady Ingrid announced that they were moving on. “We shall travel from here to Asadon,” she said one evening at supper. “I have heard that the Prince there will let us serve in his court. At last we shall have a home !”
The company of Knights all cheered, but Baul’s stomach dropped. “Where is Asadon ?” he asked.
“It is very far,” said Lady Ingrid gravely. “Nearly seven hundred miles from here. But the journey shall pay off. It is sleepy and warm there, and the courts are not nearly as rigid.”
Baul’s chest twinged. It did indeed sound wonderful. But despite his happiness here, there was a certain freckled face he thought of almost constantly. He took a deep breath. “Lady Ingrid, I cannot come with you.”
Lady Ingrid almost never looked surprised, but she raised one eyebrow. “And why ever not ?”
“My true love is back in the City,” said Baul, feeling his heart swell up.
“And who on earth could your true love be,” asked Lady Ingrid, “that you would leave us for her ?”
“She --” But Baul thought of Vangelis’s smile, and he could not lie. “He --” If the Knights at the table were shocked, they did not show it. “He works in the Luthier’s shop in the grand square. He has red hair and he wears earrings, and he is perfect and I want to marry him.”
Baul was waiting for the Knights to laugh at him, or attack him. Instead, Lady Ingrid smiled, a rare occurrence. “Well, then. Go and be with your true love.”
Baul smiled from ear to ear.
That evening was full of good-bys, and although Juniper grumbled good-naturedly about having to sleep outside again, Baul could tell that he was glad to be going, too. They gathered their few possessions and were ready to leave when Lady Ingrid said, “Wait.”
Baul walked up to her. He was not afraid of her any more. “Kneel down,” she said, and Baul did, not quite sure what was happening.
Lady Ingrid drew her sword, and Baul flinched, but she did not strike at him with it. Instead, she tapped his shoulder gently with the flat of it.
“What are you doing ?” Baul asked.
“Sshh,” said Lady Ingrid, and tapped his other shoulder. Then she offered him her hand. “You are a Knight now.”
Baul took it. “Are you allowed to do that ?”
“Why not ?” Lady Ingrid said. She reached out and embraced Baul, squeezing him so tight he almost could not breathe. “Good luck.” And then she pressed the hilt of her sword into his hands, and would not let him protest or give it back.
“Thank you,” said Baul, and for the rest of his journey she was in his mind.
Now that he had been trained by the Knights in Lady Ingrid’s company, Baul knew how to ride Juniper without hurting himself or the pony, and they made much better progress this time around. It would take only a day to reach the main road, and from there the way was straight and clear. Baul and Juniper slept well on soft pillows of moss and were out of the forest by mid-morning the following day.
Once they were on the road, the city became visible very quickly, and Baul began to day-dream about Vangelis, and exactly what he would say to him. Perhaps he would burst into the shop, brandishing Lady Ingrid’s sword, and save Vangelis from some unknown danger. Perhaps he would open the door just as Vangelis tripped over something, and Baul could swoop in, and catch him. Or perhaps when Vangelis saw him again, so much more experienced and worldly, he would fall instantly in love with him, and beg to come away with him. All of these possibilities were very appealing, and Baul was paying very little attention to the road in front of him.
The city was so close, and yet there were still so many footsteps to go. Baul began to hurry up, urging Juniper on, building up a respectable speed. It was still all very new and thrilling, being a Knight with a sword who knew how to ride a pony ( sort-of ). Baul was starting to get very excited, and Juniper was nearly at a gallop when a figure sprang into their path.
“Stop !” Baul and the figure cried at more or less the same moment. Baul pulled up hard on the reins, and Juniper stopped so suddenly that he was nearly thrown over the front of the saddle. The figure did not move or even flinch, and Baul realised with a jolt that it was none other than Sir Rudd.
“Um,” Baul said, remembering rather quickly that the pony was a stolen pony, and that Sir Rudd was much stronger than him.
“Fool !” Sir Rudd bellowed, his face red with drink and anger. “Come down from that horse at once ! I mean to have several words with you !”
Baul slid off Juniper’s back. The pony kicked at the ground, splattering Sir Rudd with dirt, which certainly did not help in the slightest.
Sir Rudd was still shorter than Baul, but he was positively buzzing with rage, and the younger Knight found himself quite afraid. “Fool !” Sir Rudd shouted again, and Baul felt a sharp prick of anger in his chest.
“My name isn’t ‘Fool’,” he said, although given the situation he probably ought to have kept quiet. “It’s Baul. I don’t think you ever asked it, did you ? Only told me yours. And went around calling me stupid and Vange -- and other people funny.”
Sir Rudd was silent for a minute.
“I’m sorry I left you alone,” said Baul. He looked Sir Rudd in the eye. “That was a rotten thing to do. But Juniper wanted to come with me, and I’m a Knight now, so don’t call me Fool.”
Sir Rudd had been listening up until that point, but now he scoffed. “You are no Knight.” He looked at Baul in that condescending manner. “You know nothing of the code of chivalry or the ways of the court. You are a commoner.”
“You don’t seem to be very chivalrous either,” said Baul.
Sir Rudd looked very affronted. “Now you have insulted my honour.”
“So, what ?” snapped Baul, shocked that he was so bold.
“So,” Sir Rudd said, drawing a very broad and rusted sword from his hip, “I must challenge you to a duel.”
“Oh. Must you ?” asked Baul, suddenly not so brave anymore.
“I’m afraid so,” snarled Sir Rudd, pulling his shield from his back. Baul did not have a shield. “Well ? Will you stand and draw, or will you die like a dog ?”
“Why would you kill a dog ?” said Baul, pulling out the sword which Lady Ingrid had given him.
Instead of answering, Sir Rudd made a flourish with his blade, and struck at Baul somewhat faster than he was expecting. Baul moved his sword quickly to protect his heart and stomach, as Lady Ingrid had taught him, and Sir Rudd’ sword glanced off him. The older Knight seemed to take this as a personal affront, and when he struck again, he did so with considerably greater force. Baul stumbled backwards.
“You shall be sorry for taking my horse !” Rudd blustered, swinging his blade wildly.
“He’s a pony !” Baul cried back, ducking.
Sir Rudd charged forwards again, but this time, Baul was ready. He brought his blade up to meet his attacker, and they clashed, creating a terrific din. Baul’s hands hurt quite a bit from this effort, but he took a deep breath and re-positioned his feet to keep his balance.
The two exchanged blows, Baul defending, Sirr Rudd flagging. Juniper had sprinted off the moment swords were drawn, but he was standing in a ditch watching them fight, and occasionally he would whinny in support of Baul.
“You fight like a girl !” shouted Sir Rudd, his eyes glittering darkly.
“Lady Ingrid taught me !” Baul cried proudly, and swung his sword around his head and down onto Sir Rudd’s helmet. The older Knight staggered back. “I think she’s a much better Knight that you !”
Sir Rudd was utterly incensed by this last, and he ran at Baul, striking viciously. But the young Knight was prevailing, and he dodged and blocked each blow with ease. After a time Sir Rudd’s attacks slowed down, and then they almost stopped entirely, and his strength seemed to leave him, so that when Baul next swung his sword, it actually knocked Sir Rudd flat on his back.
Baul stood over the old Knight, who looked very small on the ground. Sir Rudd gazed balefully back at him.
“Well,” Sir Rudd said, “I suppose this is it.” He seized Baul’s sword by the flat of the blade, and guided it to his throat. “You must now slay me. Strike true !” And he closed his eyes.
“What ?” said Baul, pulling his sword back.
“You have defeated me in an honourable battle,” groaned Sir Rudd. “Now you must kill me. After all, I have nothing to live for now -- my reputation has been ruined. Ruined !”
“I’m not going to kill you !” said Baul. “You are so odd. Stand up.” Sir Rudd did, slowly, whimpering. “I am going to keep your pony, though. You were never very nice to him, and besides I need to get to the great City by nightfall.”
Sir Rudd did not seem to hear. “Ruined,” he whispered.
Baul climbed onto Juniper’s back again and rode away, leaving Sir Rudd behind.
“That was very brave,” said the pony.
Baul paused. “I suppose. Really I am just glad that he has no claim to you any more.”
Juniper snorted in a way that meant he was pleased, and kicked up his feet, and began to walk faster.
Soon the golden sun was kissing the tops of the green hills, and Baul and Juniper were passing through the decorated gates of the City. Baul found it much more beautiful this time around.
“What are you going to say to Vangelis ?” Juniper asked as they turned a corner and started down the little road to the Luthier’s.
Baul swallowed. “I don’t know,” he answered after a while, feeling his chest flutter. “I think I shall just be glad to see him again.”
They reached the little shop. The door was still standing open. Baul took a deep breath and got off Juniper’s back.
“Good luck,” said the pony. Baul felt he would need it.
Baul walked up to the door of the Luthier’s as slowly as he could manage, and put his head inside. Vangelis was sitting on the work-table, writing on a scrap of paper. When he noticed Baul he looked up and smiled, and the Knight felt his hands begin to tremble.
“It’s you,” said Vangelis, getting off the table and walking closer. He had a little smudge of black on his face from the pen. “The one who ran away from Sir Rudd. Baul ?”
“Yes,” Baul said too quickly. He was very surprised that Vangelis had remembered.
“Your lute has been ready for ages,” said Vangelis, looking up at him through long eye lashes in a way that was almost bashful. “We fixed it very quickly.”
“I’m not here for my lute,” Baul said, again. “Although it would be nice to have it back,” he added, sheepishly.
Vangelis tipped his head to the side. Baul felt himself growing red and flustered. He took a deep breath and tried to keep his voice steady. “Vangelis.” It wobbled anyway.
“Yes ?” said Vangelis, softly.
Baul felt himself blushing. “I -- when I first saw you, I thought you were -- I -- really special, and -- that you looked -- very nice.” He felt Vangelis look at him closer, but he could not look back. He began to speak faster. “And I think I’m -- well, Sir Rudd says people like this are funny, and he said it about you, but I, I think that instead of a girl I w-want to marry a boy, and I don’t know if I can marry anyone right now because I don’t have any money, b-but if I could I --” He looked at Vangelis now, and saw that there was a curious soft light in his brown eyes. “I love you !” Baul blurted, loudly.
The Luthier’ shop was very quiet. Baul put his face in his hands. What if he had gotten it all wrong ? What if Vangelis didn’t like boys at all, and now that he knew that Baul did, he was going to hurt him, or worse, hate him ? The anxious Knight was trying to figure out a way to flee the shop without removing his hands from his eyes when he felt a light touch on his wrist.
Baul let his eyes open. Vangelis was pulling his hands gently away from his face, standing much closer than he had anticipated. Surely he was going to be thrown out now. Vangelis’s hands were so much smaller than his. And his skin was so soft. And he was still holding Baul’s wrists. And he was bringing his face closer. What was he doing ? His eyes were so lovely. Vangelis pressed his mouth against Baul’s mouth. The Knight was thoroughly shocked. He did not know what was happening. Vangelis’s lips were warm. His chin and nose were pressing into Baul’s, and his eye lashes brushed Baul’s cheeks. Baul’s whole face was warm, and the fluttering in his chest had got worse. He did not know what to do, so he just stood very still.
After a moment that seemed longer, Vangelis pulled his face away, which Baul was very sorry for. Then, something fell into place in his head. “That’s kissing !”
Vangelis giggled in that way which hurt Baul’s chest. “Well, yes.”
“I didn’t know that was what it was like !” Baul said. He realised he was smiling.
Vangelis was still looking up at him. Baul swallowed, suddenly nervous again. “Um, Vangelis ? Why did you do that ?”
Vangelis put his head against Baul’s chest. It made his heart ache. “I suppose because you are honest, and happy, and full of words,” he said, slowly. “I haven’t met someone like that in a while. I think I love you, too, Baul.” And he wrapped his soft arms around Baul’s waist.
Baul could not quite believe his ears. Never in his whole life, never in all his dreaming, had he dreamed of something like this. The stories the Cook told all ended with the Knight, who was very fierce and strong, marrying the princess, who was very slim and weak. Baul was not strong, and Vangelis was not a princess. But they still fit together like the neck and body of a lute, and so Baul thought that that was all right. And it was all right. Everything was all right. Better than all right. The setting sun was warm, and so was Vangelis, and Baul felt very lucky. Lucky enough to cry. And he might have, but mostly he was smiling. And convincing himself that he was awake. And despite his apparent reputation for being full of words, he didn’t say anything, just put his arms around Vangelis, and held him tight.