‘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.’