‘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.