Chapter 6

The stableboy turned over in his make-shift bed of coarse straw. Sunlight was just beginning to stream in through the chinks in the stable walls, cutting pale yellow lines through the air, holding captive the dust that danced and spun within its rays.

What if he was wrong? The doubt tugged at his conscience, relentless, pricking his memory for a foothold. What if he'd been seeing things? It's all fine to say, "I know what I saw," but who could ever be totally sure of that? And if he mispoke, a noble man's reputation, maybe even life, hung in the balance. Was he so sure of himself that he would risk that? With all the heady excitement of the previous day, could he really trust entirely his recollection of events?

But then again, what if he was right? That was the most terrible thought of all: that one of the most loyal, trusted men in the kingdom might very well be a traitor.

The stableboy raised his hand over his head, gazing at the sturdy brown fingers. What could a man trust if not his own eyes? His eyes told him he had five good fingers on his right hand - how if there were really only four? Five fingers were necessary to properly grasp a sword, but only four were needed to hold a dagger. Should he trust his eyes and pick up the sword, or obey his fears and reach for the dagger?

No, he decided at last. It is a day of brave men. Men who have the courage to wield strong swords and stand up to the enemy, whoever the enemy might be. He would go immediately and demand to speak to the princess. He would tell her what he had seen.