“I don’t know,” Daniel said. “It looks like some sort of display.”
Freya stared hard at one of the knights. “Their faces look really real-really lifelike. I can see the pores. Are-are they dead?”
“No chance,” Daniel said, looking down at the knight in front of him. “Nah, they’re just models. Got to be.”
“They’re really good, though. Look really authentic.”
“Maybe they’re for a movie, like Lord of the Rings. They made models like this for that. I saw the special features.”
Bending closer, Daniel gazed at the one with the reddishbrown beard and the axe, looking closely at his nose and mouth.
He thought he saw the whiskers tremble around the nose. Stooping closer, Daniel reached out a hand and touched the sword at the knight’s side. It was cold, like it was made of actual metal.
“Come on,” said Freya, taking a step towards the archway.
“We’ve had a look around, so let’s go back now.”
Daniel was still hunched over the knight.
“Daniel, come on.” She moved towards him and put a hand on his shoulder to try to pull him around. “Let’s go.”
“Alright,” Daniel said reluctantly. He knew that they were pushing it now. This was definitely flying in the face of “keeping your head down.” He turned to leave.
“Look, what’s that?” he said. Hanging on the wall was something he hadn’t noticed when they came in-a curved horn with an ornate silver mouthpiece.
Freya rolled her eyes. “Daniel, come on . . .”
“Hold on, I just want to give it a toot.”
“No, leave it.”
“Freya, you have no sense of adventure.” Daniel went to the wall and pulled the horn off of the hook it was hanging on. He pressed his lips together, put them to the mouthpiece, and gave a strong blow.
The horn let out a thin, drawn-out parp and had no other immediate effect other than to turn Daniel’s face red. The reedy buzz knocked around the chamber, echoing, reluctant to die. Daniel and Freya froze-waiting expectantly. But for what, they didn’t know. Maybe for some caretaker to come and tell them off.
“Satisfied?” Freya asked. “Can we go now?”
“Yes, fine,” Daniel said, sighing. He placed the horn back on the hook.
“Strange . . . ,” he said, “sounds like it’s still going. No, hold up-”
There was another sound in the chamber-one that was growing. A deep, rumbling groan.
“What is it?” asked Freya nervously.
Daniel crossed back over to one of the knights. It must have been a trick of his eyes, or the light, or something, but it looked like it was breathing. He raised his arm and was just about to brush his fingertips against its cheek-which looked more than just “lifelike”-when the knight’s eyelids snapped open.
Daniel was so startled that he let out a shout and jumped backwards, colliding into Freya, who also screamed. With a creaking of leather, a rattling of metal, and a groan, the knight sat up and turned his head stiffly towards them. Dust cascaded from his chest, billowing into a cloud.
Daniel felt something snake around his wrist and then tighten. He looked down and saw that the hand of the knight behind him was gripping his arm. He leapt away, trying to jerk out of its grasp, but it felt like it was made of iron. “Freya! Help me!” he cried.
Terrified, Freya backed into the corner by the archway. She opened her mouth to call for help, but no sound came out. Then the first knight rose from his plinth.
The knight holding Daniel’s arm shook his head and turned to the other knight. “Col ?e, cnihtas. Liss,” he said. “Col ?e.”
The other knight said something in more strange words, and Daniel felt his wrist come free. But before he could make a move or even draw a breath, the knight lurched forward and hefted himself to his feet. Daniel, startled, lost his balance and fell backwards. “Don’t hurt me!” he blurted, and began scooting his way closer to Freya.
The knight took a gigantic step forward and now stood directly above them.
The towering knight stretched out his hand. “Calm yourselves, children,” he said in a clear, commanding voice. “Peace!”
3
Daniel and Freya, frozen in terror, could only stare at the knight.
He, in turn, gazed down at them cautiously and curiously, as if they were cornered birds that might fly away at the slightest movement.
The knight with the axe, still sitting on his bier, lay down his weapon, removed his helmet, and put it to one side, bending his neck first one way and then the other. “Faith, it’s enough to wake the dead, their screaming,” he said, rubbing his head, his voice a soft rumble. “Oh, Meotodes Meahte, my blessed bones,” he muttered. His joints popped and cracked as he let out a bellowing roar.
“Ngya-aa-argh! Has one ever been so stiff?” He patted himself down and coughed a few deep coughs as clouds of dust billowed around him.
“Hweat, bro?or!” The knight with the spear spoke, reading Daniel’s and Freya’s terrified expressions. “Would you kill them with fright?”
“Beg pardon, brother,” said the axe-knight, stretching his arms back to expand his chest, which caused a loud popping sound. “I am thoughtless on waking.”
The spear-knight took a very small step backwards and also removed his helmet. “Ah, there now, children,” he said, relaxing slightly. He leaned towards Daniel on the shaft of his lance. “Now, lad, there’s a good lad. Tell me, what might your name be?”
Daniel struggled to find his voice. “D-Daniel, sir,” he managed to stammer. “Daniel Tully.”
“A fine name, boy,” he said. “Very fine.”
“Aye,” said the other knight, swinging his legs around and off the plinth. “A name for a boy to grow into.” With a heave and a loud grunt, he stood up.
“And my little lady,” the spear-knight said, turning his head to address Freya. “Your name, please.”
“Freya Reynolds,” she replied quietly.
“A beautiful name, for one who will quite clearly grow into a beautiful woman. If it would please you, ??elingas,” the spearknight said with a smile, “would you speak to us the year?”
“You want to know the date?”
“If it would please you.”
Daniel told him.
The knight broke into a wide grin. “Ah, do you see, Ecgbryt?” he said, addressing the other. “We have slept past the second thousand. You owe me your mother’s golden gyrdel.”
“When I have found my mother . . . ,” the other replied, examining his long beard disapprovingly, “and asked it of her, it is yours, Swi?gar.”
They both broke into deep, bellowing laughter at this, and after roughly combing through their beards with their fingers, they started to plait their frazzled hair into more manageable strips. As they did, they recited a poem in a gentle singsong rhythm.
“Where goes you, little ??eling,
In uncle’s leather shoes?
‘To see a holy man in Rome
And hear a prophecy.’
“Where goes you, little ??eling,
With brother’s golden crown?
‘To talk to the men of the borderlands,
And share their Winter’s ale.’
“Where goes you, little ??eling,
With hammer and with line?
‘To build a wall in Somerset To keep the north wind out.’
“Where goes you, little ??eling,
With father’s rusty sword?
‘To split the head of a tow-haired man
Who gave and broke his word.’
“Where com’st thou, great and mighty king,