The Future King by Robyn Schneider

Author:Robyn Schneider [Schneider, Robyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2023-03-21T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

For the second day in a row, Arthur stood in a crowded balcony, watching the King of France play tennis. Across the court, in the women’s balcony, ladies leaned suggestively upon the railing, promenading their bosoms as they feigned interest in the match below.

The sport wasn’t at all what he’d thought. The balls in question were small leather ones, and the whacking was done with what looked like stiff fishing nets on sticks.

Certainly this would never catch on as entertainment in Camelot. Jousts and sword fighting were far more exciting to watch, and one wasn’t expected to stand politely in a balcony, but rather to stomp, shout, cheer, and eat turkey legs with one’s hands like delightful heathens.

Arthur had quickly deduced that anyone invited to play tennis against the king had better lose the match, and some did so far more believably than others. The young athletic lord who currently ran about the court looked as though he could swing a broadsword as easily as a tennis racquet.

“I know what you did, the other day,” said Albon, sidling up alongside Arthur.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Arthur said.

“With the maid. You had no intention of keeping her for yourself.”

Arthur sighed. “Was it so obvious?”

“Not to Tourcy and Henri. It was . . . good of you to stop it.”

“Any one of you might have done the same,” Arthur said pointedly.

Albon nodded. “Regardez,” he said, gesturing toward the match. “It’s about to get interesting.”

The king was breathing heavily, beginning to tire. This young noble had better throw the match soon. And from the snatches of conversation Arthur overheard in the balcony, it seemed the others were in agreement.

“Va!” cried the king. “I will beat you yet!”

The lord swung a fierce backhanded hit, putting a spin on it. Arthur watched in horror as the ball ricocheted off the wall, heading straight for the bulge in King Louis’s trousers.

A tremendous gasp went through the crowd as the ball connected with a matching set.

King Louis groaned and staggered back, and the horrified young lord dropped his racquet on the spot, sinking to his knees and making the sign of the cross.

“Il est mort,” Albon observed.

“Surely not,” protested Arthur. “It was an accident.”

“Perhaps he will get lucky, and the king will merely strip him of his lands and title, and allow him to be a castle servant.”

Arthur frowned, certain he had misunderstood. “Are there many servants here who used to be nobles?” he asked.

“Dozens,” the young noble answered. “Thanks to the king’s generous mercy.”

Arthur suddenly felt sick.

“Look, it’s his wife,” said Tourcy, joining them.

In the women’s gallery, a young woman was having hysterics. They waited nervously while the king regained his composure.

“S’il vous plaît, j’ai une famille,” the young lord begged, still on his knees. The court was silent. Watching.

The guards stepped forward, waiting for instructions.

“Tue-le,” said the king. Kill him.

A wail went up from the women’s gallery as the young lord was dragged away.

A shiver ran down Arthur’s spine. He’d just watched a man lose his life over a rogue tennis ball.

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