Lionheart's Scribe Read Online Free

bread and cheese,” Iadded quickly. I thought I might as well make the best bargain I could while I was at it.
    â€œSo you liked my cheese,” she said. She smiled so hugely that her wide, red face seemed almost to crack in half. “Make it myself, I do.”
    â€œI liked it indeed,” I answered. “It was the best cheese I have ever tasted.” That was no lie, but I did not see fit to tell her that most of the cheese I ate was sour and moldy.
    â€œWell, as long as your little nanny supplies me with milk, I’ll give you all the cheese you want,” she said, fair bursting with pride.
    â€œDone,” I said.
    I think I have the best of that deal, especially since the goat isn’t even mine in the first place.
    I untied the nanny and led her out of the camp, very pleased with myself and with her. She seemed like a fine little beast to me now. I even tried to pat her on the head, but she bit me.
    â€œSee you tomorrow,” I called cheerily to the guard at the gate as I passed back in.
    He shook his head and made another remark about the idiocy of foreigners, but he knows now that I will be passing back and forth and he will not bother me again, I am sure. I will have to go early though, so as not to be late for my work with Vulgrin. Even if I am, I do not care. I want to find out as much as I can about this camp and these crusaders. Perhaps I can feed the horses every day. I like horses. I would like to do that.
    I shut the goat in my hut for safety—she is just contrary enough to decide to wander off and desertme now that I have found a use for her—and made my way to the docks to Vulgrin. He gave me a wallop because I was late, but I hardly noticed it.
    The seventh day of October
    There have been interesting rumors going around the city. Working with Vulgrin down at the harbor has one excellent advantage: I hear all the news.
    The arrival of all these armies from the north seems to have unsettled everybody on the island. The crusaders can’t seem to understand how we all get along together here—the Arabs with the Greeks, the Normans with the Italians, the Muslims with the Christians. They make no effort to get along with us, I must admit (but only to this journal). Their highhanded ways make the townspeople furious and Vulgrin angriest of all, in spite of the increased work they bring him. I would not give him the satisfaction of agreeing with him about anything though, so I keep my mouth closed. The soldiers seem to have a special dislike for the Greeks amongst us, and the Greeks call them “long-tailed English devils.” To make matters worse King Richard is angry with our King Tancred.
    Vulgrin has a friend who likes to sit and gossip with him and I, of course, listen as hard as I can even while I’m pretending not to, and I get all the news that way. According to this fellow King Tancred’s father, old King William, was married to King Richard’s sister, Joanna. When the old king died, King Tancred imprisoned Queen Joanna in one of his castles and took all her dowry for himself.”
    A fortune in gold and jewels,” he said, and I could see his eyes grow big at the thought of it. “But even more important than the dowry to King Richard,” he went on, “is the fact that the old king had promised him many good, sturdy galleys for the crusade, and King Tancred is keeping those to himself as well.”
    Out of the corner of my eye I could see Vulgrin staring avidly at the man, picturing all that treasure, I vow. Neither of them seemed too concerned about the fate of Queen Joanna. I should think King Richard is though. I doubt even the galleys could be more important to him than his own sister.
    At that point Vulgrin looked over at me and caught me staring.
    â€œGet on with your work, boy,” he snapped. “These are not matters that concern you.”
    But he is wrong. Everything to do with the crusade concerns me. It is all