Chapter 19: Hating Heroes
****
Visiting Day was a week after the dragon’s appearance.
Clarkent was excited--part of him had thought the next Visiting Day would never come. He had a lot to tell his parents . . . though of course he had to wait until Gawain left. Clarkent persisted in inviting his good friend to come with him on Visiting Days. It seemed like the right thing to do since Gawain didn’t have any family, and Clarkent liked having him there. But it was a little bit frustrating at times to have to wait a while before he could finally talk to his parents in private.
“Look at you two boys!” Clarkent’s mother exclaimed. “You have both grown!” She embraced first Clarkent and then the red-faced Gawain, who apparently hadn’t expected the sudden movement.
Next, it was Clarkent’s father’s turn, and he pulled his son into a tight hug and then clapped Gawain on the shoulder. “It is good to see you both again!”
Clarkent had to resist the urge to embrace both his parents at once. Though they looked happy to see him, they were obviously very tired, and it reminded him that he was sixteen. When he was seventeen, he would be leaving the stable behind him and returning to his parents. *Then* he would be able to give them the assistance they so obviously needed. He had worried they might not last this long, but they had--and they only had to wait a little longer. He wasn’t sure why there was a tightness in his chest as he thought about it, but he told himself that it must just be that he was glad he would soon be able to go back home.
“Did you hear about the dragon?” Gawain asked them, a slight smile tugging at his lips.
“We did,” Clarkent’s mother confirmed. “News like that travels fast.”
“I hear the princess helped calm the dragon,” Gawain told them, almost sounding proud, though it wasn’t clear why.
Clarkent flushed. It was true. He had been utterly useless. The princess was the one who had saved the day. He had waited nearby, gaping, as she singlehandedly made a truce with the dragon.
“She must be very brave,” commented his mother.
“Yeah,” Clarkent muttered, feeling like his mouth was full of cotton. She had been magnificent.
“Unlike the Black Knight,” Gawain said in a derogatory voice.
It was all Clarkent could do to refrain from sputtering an exclamatory “*What*?” Fortunately, no one seemed to notice the look of shock on his face.
His mother ventured, “What do you mean?”
Gawain shifted a bit in place. “I heard the Black Knight was the one who made the dragon angry in the first place.”
This time, Clarkent couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “What? Why would you say that?” He swallowed. “He--he wouldn’t do that.”
Gawain gave him a weird look. “He’s been terrorizing people. It makes sense--”
“He has not been terrorizing people,” Clarkent said weakly. He dropped his eyes. “He’s been--a--a hero to . . . the people,” he finished lamely. He was beginning to feel utterly disheartened. Was this what everyone thought of him?
“He doesn’t abide by the law,” countered Gawain, crossing his arms stubbornly.
Clarkent’s mother finally stepped in. “Well, I don’t know the details about his methods,” she said gently, “but I have heard he has done some good things. Now, was there anything special you wanted to look at in the market, Gawain? I hear there is a new type of shoe that is all the rage . . . . ”
As his mother and Gawain chatted about the market--with his father occasionally chiming in--Clarkent brooded. Did the people hate him? He had meant to be a beacon of hope. He hadn’t meant to bring fear to anyone but the bad guys. Was that too simplistic to wish for?
Exhaling softly, he determined to put these thoughts behind him until Gawain left.
****
When Gawain was finally gone, Clarkent felt a sense of relief. Though he had tried not to think about his activities as the Black Knight for a while, he could not help but find his mind drawn back to the subject. He wanted to talk to his parents about it. They didn’t know that he was the Black Knight, and he needed to know their thoughts about what he was doing.
He looked at them and asked quietly, “What do you two think about the Black Knight?” He grimaced a little at the name, though he tried not to show it. Since a black knight claimed allegiance to no lord, did the people think he didn’t claim allegiance to them either? Was he seen merely as an outlaw?
“I think he’s trying to help people,” Clarkent’s father said. “But that’s a difficult task to take underway.”
His mother spoke up. “But I think it’s helping the people just to know that there is someone out there trying to fight battles for them--trying to keep them from being crushed under the weight of the law that is supposed to help them.”
Clarkent stared at them, still heavy-hearted but glad at least that they did not hate his alter ego. As they gazed back at him, he wondered for a handful of seconds whether they knew his secret--whether that glint in their eyes was knowledge or just appreciation--but then the feeling passed, and he said in a voice so quiet they almost couldn’t hear it, “I’m the Black Knight.”
And then they were crushing him into a hug, murmuring to him about their love for him and about how glad they were that he was trying to do something so great for others. Though no one was around, they spoke in frantic whispers, asking him about what gave him the idea, what exactly he did, where he hid his armor and horse, if he got hurt very often, how it felt to save people, and countless other questions only proud parents would ask. And he told them everything--about how Peri had given him so much help, about how saving people made him feel fearful yet exhilarated, about how his typical day had changed . . . .
At last, his mother asked in a quiet voice, “Is there anything you need from us, Clarkent? Anything at all?”
“Your love and support,” he replied jokingly.
His father clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You already have that, son. You always have. And you always will.”
His heart felt lighter than it had--if his parents thought he was on the right path, then surely he was.
“So, Clarkent,” his mother said abruptly, leaning in as if to discuss the secret further, “have you met any pretty girls?”
“W-what?” he stammered, his cheeks suddenly hot. An image of the princess had flashed into his mind and was stubbornly refusing to go away.
“So you have!” she exclaimed, pleased. “Who is she?”
“I--I--” Clarkent looked at his dad helplessly, but the older man just shrugged and gave him a “leave me out of this” look. Finally, Clarkent said cautiously, “I may know someone who is--okay-looking . . . . ” He swallowed. “But it wouldn’t ever work between us.”
“Why not?” persisted his mother.
“It just wouldn’t.”
She stared at him thoughtfully and then frowned. “Is it because you’ll have to leave the castle soon?”
“What do you mean?” he asked her.
“This is the last Visiting Day before you’re seventeen,” she pointed out. “Will it not work between the two of you because you’ll be gone before long? Is that what you’re worried about?”
Clarkent grimaced. “That’s not exactly--”
“Clarkent, your father and I talked about this. We want you to know that if you get Requested to stay, you can.”
“What?” Clarkent asked, blinking stupidly at her, as if he hadn’t heard her right.
“If you want to stay, you can. You’ve spent a lot of time here, and I’m sure you have friends--”
“But I want to help you and Dad,” he protested. “You’ve been struggling just to put food on the table--”
“Requested servants get paid for their work,” his father noted. “And they get paid pretty well. If you insisted on helping us, you could send us a little of that money.”
Clarkent shook his head, turning away from them. “We don’t even know if I *will* get Requested.”
“But if you *are*,” his mother said, “and you want to stay, you can. You don’t have to make that decision right now. But we want you to know that the option is there.”
Clarkent sighed. He had been trying to avoid the idea of staying at the stable, not liking the appeal it held for him. He guessed it was good he knew where his parents stood, but to think about staying for even a second felt like a betrayal of them.
Still, he murmured to them, “All right. I’ll think about it.”
****
After Loisette left Clarkent and his parents, she changed into her princess clothes and spent some time with Catherine. But being with Clarkent’s parents had made her think about her mother, and she found herself aching to learn more about the queen.
For a while now, Loisette’s thoughts had returned periodically to consider the horse called Penelope Grace. The mare had belonged to her mother . . . and Loisette could not help but wonder if the horse remembered Queen Ellena and could say what she was like. It would take only a few words for Loisette to find out--but a big part of her was scared the horse would remember nothing.
But she would never know unless she went, so at last she told Catherine she wanted to go spend time with the horses. Catherine had given her a funny look, realizing that the princess hadn’t mentioned riding, but she went along obediently.
Dwayne and Billy--who had been Requested years before and apparently liked spreading his dour sarcasm around--were alone in the stables, all the other stableboys presumably away for reasons relating to Visiting Day. Knowing how much Loisette and Billy clashed, Dwayne stepped forward and said with a bow, “Your Highness. May I help you?”
She shook her head. “I just want to spend a little time . . . talking to the horses.” She looked down in embarrassment. “I know it’s silly, but--”
“Nonsense, Your Highness. I like to talk to them myself.” He gave her an understanding smile before returning to her work.
Catherine seemed to sense the pensive mood Loisette was in, as she didn’t hover. Instead, she went over to talk to Billy, which made Loisette grateful even though it also made her roll her eyes.
Loisette stepped up to Penelope Grace. She had come to know many of the horses in the stable, but she had been avoiding the white palfrey as if contact between them would make her contract the plague. Now, however, she was ready to face the horse.
“**Hello,**” she said quietly, staring at Penelope Grace. “**I am Queen Ellena’s daughter, Loisette.**”
“**I have seen you in here,**” acknowledged the horse with wary slowness. “**You are good friends with the quiet human.**”
It took Loisette a minute to realize Penelope Grace was talking about Clarkent. “**Yes, I am,**” she said. “**You seem to give him and the others a lot of trouble. Why is that? Do you hate them?**”
The palfrey seemed amused. “**Sometimes humans must be put in their place. I do not hate any of them. I tolerate the quiet one more than most of the others. He is kind, but I do not wish to follow his orders like a trained mule.**”
Loisette gave a lopsided smile. “**Were you this much trouble with my mother?**”
“**Your dam was very kind. I think perhaps we got along so well because we were both interested in mischief. She could talk to me--as you can talk to me--and we would share secrets out in the field. Sometimes, she would walk beside me rather than ride me. We even went out and had adventures.**”
“**What kind of adventures?**” Loisette asked eagerly.
The horse dipped her head. “**One time, we went to an ogre cave.**”
An image flashed into the princess’s head of great riches, and she frowned. “**What is with all the gold?**” she asked.
“**Ogres are hoarders,**” Penelope Grace told her. “**They do not always collect treasure, but these ogres did.**”
“**Do you think they’re still around?**” Loisette asked.
“**I do not know,**” the horse answered. “**But I do not recommend trying to meet them. We barely escaped with our lives.**”
The princess closed her eyes, thinking sadly of the woman who had brought her into the world. “**Do you miss her?**”
“**Horses do not live in the past so much as the present . . . . But . . . yes. I miss her,” Penelope Grace admitted. Her ears flickered, and she said, “**The quiet one is here.**”
Loisette turned and saw Clarkent walking into the stable. He looked tired and perhaps even a bit worried. Upon seeing her, he gave a hasty bow. “Your Highness.”
She nodded at him, biting back a query about whether he enjoyed the time he had spent with his parents. It was best that she not seem to know too much about him.
He hesitated, obviously wanting to say something, and she looked at him until he did. “I heard what you did with the dragon, Your Highness,” he said nervously. “That was . . . very brave of you.”
A small smile tugged at her mouth. “Thank you.” Her mood suddenly darkened. “I had to do something to fix what that *Black Knight* messed up.”
****
Clarkent practically squirmed in place, his spirits dropping even lower, though he hadn’t thought it possible. Now the *princess* was speaking ill of his secret identity? Two of his closest friend--not that he should really think of the princess as a friend--disliked the Black Knight. What had he done to deserve this?
Forcing himself to seem nonchalant, he asked, “You think he had something to do with the dragon’s appearance?”
“A knight stole the dragon’s treasure,” she told him. “It had to be him. Real knights swear an oath to protect people--not to go get more wealth.”
“I guess you’re right,” he mumbled. He couldn’t believe the princess hated him. How could something he had intended to be so good go so wrong? He felt almost like yelling in frustration, but he didn’t have the energy. And besides, knowing the princess disapproved of the Black Knight made him feel depressed. Maybe he just wasn’t cut out to be a hero. Maybe he needed to quit before he made anyone else upset.
The princess turned to Penelope Grace and whispered something. Then, she patted the horse’s nose--without being bitten for her presumption, Clarkent noticed--and went up to Catherine. The two girls gave a stilted farewell before leaving, but Clarkent barely heard them.
****
After helping Dwayne and Billy for a little while, Clarkent went outside. He intended to go to his secret hideout to see Phantom. Though Peri’s magic dealt easily with the practicalities of horse ownership (and the magician even assisted with ensuring Phantom got enough exercise), Clarkent still liked to help with the horse when he could. Sometimes, he would be too busy to do much--particularly when there was a tilt--but he tried to see Phantom at least once every day. There was an eternal flame from Peri in a wall sconce so that the horse would always have light, but Clarkent still felt bad that the horse had to be in the cave as often as he did.
Clarkent had barely taken five steps when he noticed Peri walking toward him.
“Good evening, Clarkent,” the magician said to him. The falcon on his shoulder also gave Clarkent a greeting.
“Good evening, Peri, James,” Clarkent returned.
His unhappiness must have showed on his face, as Peri asked him, “What’s wrong?”
Clarkent looked away. “Am I doing the right thing, Peri?”
“What do you mean?”
“Being . . . the Black Knight,” he said quietly. “It’s just--my friend Gawain and the princess both complained about him--about me--like he’s . . . like I’m . . . some kind of criminal.” The words were hard to get out--it hurt to know that those two people thought so lowly of him.
“You are doing the right thing,” Peri told him, the gruffness of his voice causing Clarkent’s eyes to shoot up to meet his. “And justice is its own reward. You aren’t trying to help people so that you’ll be praised, are you?”
“N-no,” Clarkent admitted.
“Exactly. Nobody can make everybody happy all the time. What’s important is that you know you’re doing what you should in here,” Peri noted, touching his chest above his heart. “You will make some people unhappy--but you are also giving some people hope. And that’s a powerful thing.”
Clarkent gave him a searching look. “Do you really think I’m giving people hope?”
Peri smiled. “I know so, son.” He set a hand on Clarkent’s shoulder. “I know I’m proud of you.”
James made a noise of his own, as if to second what the magician had said.
Clarkent broke out into a grin, finally letting himself push through his despair. At least his parents and Peri supported what he was doing. He wondered idly in the back of his mind if his biological parents would have been proud, too.
****
Chapter 19 Glossary
Dam: A dam is a female parent (usually utilized in regard to four-footed livestock).
Ogres: Ogres are typically portrayed as big, ugly, and cruel, and they are not usually associated with hoarding (as far as I know, that’s something I’ve made up).
Tilt: “Tilt” is another word for “joust,” in which two knights attempt to knock each other off their horses with lances. Jousting tournaments were popular among the upper classes.
