“You do remember how to withdraw a sword, don’t you?” teased Henry.
With a growl, Crispin pulled it partway from the sheath. The blade was shiny, but it was not new. And there were words newly engraved on the blade, words in Latin. He pulled it farther.
“Read it aloud,” Henry urged.
“‘A donum a Henricus Lancastriae ad Crispinus Guest-habet Ius.’”
Jack was at his elbow and translated aloud. “‘A gift from Henry Lancaster to Crispin Guest-He has the Right’ … Oh, Master!”
Crispin couldn’t breathe. He stared at the words till he couldn’t see them anymore.
“You served our household well, Crispin. You saved my life. You saved the crown, if it comes to that. Who has the greater right to wield a sword? And now, with those words, you have proof of that right. I wish I could grant you your knighthood again, Crispin, but as my royal cousin will never allow it, this is the best I can do. Here, young squire. You’d best learn now how to buckle on a knight’s sword.”
Crispin didn’t move. Henry tried to show Jack, but the boy’s hands trembled so badly that Henry had to do it himself.
Henry put his hand on Crispin’s shoulder once the sword hung at his left side. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
Crispin still could not speak. Henry smiled. “I still have much to do this night. This is far from over. But I’m certain, Crispin, I will see you again.” He turned toward the door and stopped before it. He nodded toward the sword hanging now from Crispin’s hip. “Very soon-too soon-you might need that. God be with you.”
And with a cold gust of night wind and a few flurries of snow, he was gone.