The Palace Library by Steven Loveridge

traitor and let you down.”
    “I
suppose so,” said Harry.  “But how could he be the traitor?  He can’t
have been on the ship when the Sword was thrown overboard.  But on the
other hand the Prophecy talks about traitors, not one but more.  Maybe
there’s a conspiracy.  What do you think of Eloise?  She’s seems to
be a dark one.”
    “But
she’s the Queen’s private maid.  And I think she’s sweet,” said Grace.
    “Sweet?”
said Harry.  “With that funny face and the sort of moody silence.”
    “Well
you can’t exactly blame her for being silent with a missing tongue or for that
scar.  Anyway, she was giggling when you talked about a fart in the
carriage. Most adults don’t do that.  Sophie has a feeling for people too
and she hasn’t growled at her.”
    “But
Sophie hasn’t exactly been affectionate to her either.  Who could it be
then?” asked Harry.  “Master John?”  They both agreed it was unlikely
to be him.  Anyway, they liked him too much.  “He just seems too
honest and easy to read,” added Harry.
    “It’s
that Guy of Caen that I didn’t like,” said Grace, “but we’ve seen so little of
him, it’s not exactly fair to judge.”
    “We
had better just be very careful and keep an eye out for ourselves.  At
least we know each other,” added Harry as they turned the corner towards the
River Axe.
    The
village didn’t look like the Axmouth the children knew, but they could hardly
expect it to.  But they saw the lie of the land and recognised the big
hills around them, with the old - or not so old - hill fort up above
them.  What surprised them all was how busy the little place was, with all
sorts of inns and activity.  It was a major port, Master John had said.
But neither of them could imagine how the river they knew with its mud flats at
low tide could possibly be a major port, even with a thousand years of
difference.  A few people looked at them strangely, especially at Harry’s
plus fours and wax jacket, but when they saw they were with Anwen, the dwarf’s
wife, they soon turned away.  These were different people, and there were
often strangers in the place too.
    Then
the children saw the ship moored up beyond the Harbour Inn.  It was quite
unlike anything they had seen before and looked magnificent.  There were
two masts, one at the front and one towards the back.  Gold and red
lantern sails hung from them both.  Then at the back of the ship - the stern
- was a high poop deck with castellations around the
side and living quarters below.  Each side had holes for huge oars.
    But
soon, they noticed the river and it distracted them from the boat. 
    Eleanor
ran to them, “Look at the river.  It must be half a mile wide and Anwen says
it’s really deep.  That’s why this is such an important place.  The
ships can come up here and park away from the bay when it’s stormy.  It’s
amazing.”
    Anwen
looked slightly bemused.  She had lived in the village all her life and
took it for granted.  “It’s the way it has been and always will be,” she
said.
    “Edwin
will be some time.  Come and look at the church.  That was only built
a few years ago.”
    Inwardly
the children sighed.  That was no fun and there was so much else to see,
with the harbour to explore and the ship to look at.  They had spent so
much time cooped up too; they just wanted to run around.
    “There’s
a mural of St George on the wall too,” said Anwen, trying to encourage them
some more.  “See if you can spot what’s different from Edwin’s story. 
I don’t think the painter can have heard his tale when he drew it, but that
much can’t be helped.  Edwin’s always grumpy when he sees it!”
    So
they followed her into the church.  It was tiny and dark, with stained
glass windows in dark blue and red.  It took a while for their eyes to
become accustomed to the light before they could see the mural on the
wall.  The children stared at it.
    “St
George shouldn’t