King of the Middle March by Kevin Crossley-Holland Page B

the inn was. Anyhow, the abbot told me that the innkeeper was always generous to his visitors. And not only that. With all the money he’d made, he founded a new monastery—the monastery where I stayed last night. He paid for every stick and stone of it.”
    â€œAmen,” says King Arthur, and he points at his trumpeter. “Let the feast begin!”

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LIFEBLOOD
    T ODAY A MESSENGER BROUGHT A LETTER FROM THE Doge to Lord Geoffrey de Villehardouin and Milon and our other leaders.
Doge Enrico Dandolo of Venice to Lord Geoffrey de Villehardouin and the French envoys on the Feast of Saint Lawrence the Martyr
    You break solemn agreement, you bleed us. You do not pay for two hundred ships. You eat our bread meat fish fruit, each day you drink our wine ale water. You ignore letters from Grand Councillors.
    Now you envoys choose. In next seven days you pay eighty-five thousand silver marks of Cologne, or we cut off all supplies. No barges. No food. No water.
    This is last warning.
    Written on the Rialto, with Venice lifeblood
    BY DOGE ENRICO DANDOLO
    This letter was like a spark that set light to all the impatience and frustration that has been building up during the past seven weeks.
    I was washing Bonamy in the sea, and Serle was nearby, jumpingKester over the waves. Then I heard shouting and saw nine men running along the ridge. I mounted Bonamy and rode him bareback across the strand.
    The men were charging down to the food-barge, and one man rushed at the quartermaster and held a knife to his throat while the others loaded themselves with as much food as they could carry. Dead chickens shoved inside their bulging tunics! Loaves of bread stuffed into their sleeves! Strings of sausages knotted round their waists!
    Away they waddled. The quartermaster was unable to do anything about it.
    So was I. I know I’m a knight and I’ve sworn to oppose evil and defend the helpless, but what could I do? I’m not like Sir Erec or Sir Lancelot. I wasn’t even armed, and I can’t fight nine men at the same time.
    Serle came in after riding halfway down the island, and he says there has been trouble in almost every camp.
    â€œEveryone’s trying to save their own skins,” he said.
    â€œThey won’t save themselves by looting the food-barge,” I said.
    â€œNo,” said Serle. “The two ringleaders have lost their left hands as examples to their camps.”
    I screwed up my eyes, and thought of Lankin at Caldicot, and how he lost his right hand. “Why left?” I asked.
    â€œSo they can still fight the Saracens.”
    Serle and I were interrupted by Lord Stephen and Sir William, and before long the four of us walked out across the strand and along the water’s edge in the moonlight. Four knights!
    â€œIt’s the Doge’s fault for threatening us,” said Serle.
    â€œHe has waited a long time,” Lord Stephen said. “Seven weeks.”
    â€œWhy can’t he wait a week or two longer?”
    Sir William sighed noisily. “He knows he’ll have to, and he knows in the end he’ll have to make a bargain. He’s playing a hard game, that’s all. Quite right too!”
    â€œBut when people start to take the law into their own hands,” I said, “and riot and thieve…”
    â€œThe Doge has probably counted on all that,” Lord Stephen replied. “It increases the pressure on our leaders.”
    â€œBloody fools!” Sir William exclaimed. “The lot of them! Acting as if the world’s coming to an end. Dandolo doesn’t mean it. If he starves us all to death, who’s going to pay him?”
    â€œI thought the Venetians were meant to be our friends,” said Serle.
    Sir William sniffed, and spat into the sand.
    â€œThey’re our partners,” Lord Stephen replied patiently. “We have our aims, and they have theirs.”

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AT LAST
    G OOD FORTUNE AT LAST! GOD BE PRAISED !
    For seven