Lionheart's Scribe Read Online Free Page A

that fills my mind these days.
    The twentieth day of October
    The mood in King Richard’s camp is getting more and more ugly. When I led my little goat in this morning, one of the soldiers spat at me.
    â€œGet out of here, Greek!” he yelled.
    â€œI’m not Greek, I’m English!” I shouted back. It seemed prudent to adopt my mother’s nationality today. Still, I made certain to avoid him on my way back.
    The first day of November
    I am still shaking as I write this. If I ever made as many blots and splotches on a skin that I was writing for Vulgrin as I already have on this one, he would throw me in the sea with a stone around my neck, I’m sure.
    I woke yesterday to screams and shouts. People were running back and forth through the streets crying that the long-tailed English devils were coming to murder us all in our beds. I was simpleminded enough to think all the fuss nothing more than a good excuse for not going to work with Vulgrin. I secured my goat and set forth like the greatest of idiots to find out what was going on. Much better had I stayed in my hut and never poked my nose out.
    What was going on was that King Richard had finally lost patience. He had attacked the city! At first I could see nothing but our own townspeople milling around, bleating like sheep, then King Tancred’s forces stormed down the street where I was making my way. I just managed to shrink back into a doorway as they charged by. They were truly frightening. I have often seen them training, but this was different. They looked half crazed and were screaming war cries as they ran. This was not practice—this was real!
    From where I hid I could see the main gate of the city. It was this gate that King Richard and his men were attacking. Even as I watched it gave way with a huge, splintering crash. I saw the king himself drive through at the head of his men, swinging anaxe around his head and shouting just as loudly as any of them. I froze and forgot to breathe.
    The two armies met with a roar. I covered my ears and flattened myself back even farther into my nook as spears thudded onto shields, and swords clanged and clashed all around me. My ears rang with the noise—they are ringing still. Then, added to all the terror, I could hear men screaming as the spears thrust home into flesh. There was so much blood! It was like a scene from hell.
    The fighting surged toward me, then past, as King Richard’s forces fought their way into the city. I have never been so frightened in my life. I would never admit this to anyone, but I will write it down here—when I thought one of the soldiers had seen me and was coming straight toward my hiding place I pissed myself in my panic. He raced by me, however, and I cowered there until the noise of the battle faded into the distant streets.
    I will continue writing tomorrow. I cannot think more on it tonight.
    The third day of November
    It has been a great victory for King Richard. He vanquished our king thoroughly. King Tancred has given in to his every demand, so the gossip goes, and has released Queen Joanna into the English king’s care.
    â€œIt would have taken longer for a priest to say Matins than it took the king of England to capture Messina,” I heard an old man say.
    I am having trouble making sense of all that hashappened, but I will continue writing from where I left off the other night. It is all I can do, and it might help me to sort through my confused thoughts.
    It took me more than two hours to reach the safety of my hut. I was forced to duck and hide whenever I saw soldiers approaching. They were hewing and hacking at any person who got in their way, and torching houses. I was worried that my hut would be destroyed, but it was intact. The goat was bleating with fright and had wound her tether ten times around her neck and half-strangled herself, but no soldiers had found this back alley. I boarded up the door and quaked inside, clutching