A Tail of Camelot Read Free Page B

“If you are never scared, you will never understand what it means to be brave.”
    Calib pondered this in silence. He was still scared, but knowing that Commander Yvers and the rest of the knights believed in him made him feel like he might have a chance in the Harvest Tournament after all.
    â€œCamelot needs protection now more than ever, Calib. There is said to be trouble stirring in the east. And we all must be ready to defend our home. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’m late to a meeting with the bell-tower larks. Living so close to the sundial has made them extremely punctual.”
    Calib hopped up to his footpaws and gave Commander Yvers a sharp salute with his tail. Suddenly, he felt fizzywith a sense of purpose and possibility.
    Every knight, Calib thought, had to start somewhere. All Calib needed was one chance to prove himself. One chance to show that he too was a Christopher mouse: brave, strong, and wise.

CHAPTER
3
    A gain and again, Galahad remembered the last thing his mother had said to him before he left the only home he’d ever known.
    â€œWhen you get to Camelot, remember to be polite and respectful to everyone, be they knights or the lowest servants.”
    His mother’s fingers had snagged on a knot in Galahad’s hair, and she untangled it gently. Her own dark braids were tucked away under a white wimple that cascaded down her back.
    â€œAct like you belong there, and you will.”
    â€œBut I belong here ,” Galahad had said, trying to quell the tremble in his voice, “with you and the sisters.”
    Lady Elaine looked her son in the eyes. “You are Sir Lancelot’s son. You belong at Camelot.”
    She kissed him good-bye on the forehead and then turned him to face the two men who had come for him. They were Sir Lancelot’s men-at-arms, who’d sworn allegiance to the greatest knight the land had ever known—and the father Galahad had never met. Lancelot was so busy adventuring, he couldn’t even come in person to fetch his only son.
    â€œAct like you belong. Act like you belong.” Galahad now chanted this as he threw open the doors to the dining hall. They had arrived late to the castle, and the rest of the pages and squires were already seated for breakfast. Long tables lined the hall on both sides. Trenches of gray-looking porridge were emptying faster than Galahad could blink. The space echoed with laughter and conversation.
    The chatter quickly quieted, however, as all heads turned to face Galahad. He turned around and realized with a sinking feeling that Lancelot’s two men-at-arms had followed him into the dining hall.
    â€œAttention, young sires!” one of them called. This one had chattered nonstop during the journey. He had wanted to make very clear to Galahad how lucky he was. Galahadhad heard at least four times how they’d pulled many strings to get the training master to take on Galahad at his age. Most pages started at the age of nine, and he was already eleven. But with so many knights gone from Camelot recently, the castle was undermanned, and Sir Kay finally made an exception.
    â€œThis is Galahad, son of Sir Lancelot! He joins us from St. Anne’s Nunnery. I trust that you all will give him a warm welcome! And”—he turned to Galahad—“I hope you show these pages a thing or two about proper manners.”
    There was a stunned silence followed by low snickers. A few muttered halfhearted hellos.
    â€œThere, properly introduced,” the man said, smiling broadly. He clapped Galahad on the back and then turned to leave the hall. “Don’t forget. We expect great things from Lancelot’s son.”
    Mortified, Galahad slowly made his way toward the nearest table, his ears and cheeks burning hot. So much for acting like he belonged.
    One of the last open spots in the dining hall was next to a boy with a single eyebrow that extended across his forehead. But as