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the stable. I was about to finish my chores when the lamp went out. When I tried to leave the stable, someone attacked me,” I said.
    “Do you have any idea who it was?”
    “No, sire, none. I couldn’t see. I was hit from behind at first. Then I just tried to get away,” I said.
    “You will need to question Sir Hugh,” the abbot said to Sir Thomas.
    “I can’t question a Marshal of the Order when I have no proof or a witness to the attack. Besides, I’m sure Sir Hugh has an alibi. He doesn’t get his hands dirty like this,” Sir Thomas said with a snort.
    “This is abominable,” the abbot said. “We are a peaceful order. For Sir Hugh to attack this boy over a minor injury to a horse is unconscionable. Something must be done.”
    “I agree, but I can’t do anything based on conjecture,” Sir Thomas said.
    After asking again if I was okay, the abbot and Brother Tuck left my room.
    “I’m sorry this happened to you, Tristan,” Sir Thomas said.
    “It’s not your fault, sire,” I said.
    He nodded. “Tristan, in light of what has happened I realize this is not an opportune time to press the issue. However, we ride out at first light. I don’t suppose you’ve considered my offer?” Sir Thomas’ face was hopeful.
    “Yes, sire, I have considered it, but I have not yet made a decision,” I said. Which was the truth. I hadn’t had time to think about it.
    “Well, thank goodness you are not seriously injured. Perhaps you can sleep on it and let me know in the morning,” he said.
    “Yes, sire,” I said.
    He nodded and left the room.
    Rising off the bed and groaning with the effort, I walked to the table. Lifting the candle, I looked at my face in the metal reflector attached to the candleholder. I had a small scratch on one cheek and a purplish bruise on my forehead, but otherwise I looked the same as always: a square face with bright blue eyes that peered out through a tangle of light brown hair.
    Standing in the flickering glow of the candle, I thought of my life here at St. Alban’s. Of how the monks had taught me to read and write. How Brother Rupert had taught me to speak French, his native language. And how the abbot, stern though he was, had a fondness for numbers, teaching me all he knew of mathematics. I remembered how the brothers had worked beside me in the stables and the garden, treating me as nothing less than an equal.
    In the corner was a small wooden trunk holding all of my possessions: two extra shirts, an extra set of woolen leggings and the blue woolen blanket I had been wrapped in when the brothers found me. Opening the lid of the box, I took out the small piece of parchment that was nestled in the corner beneath my extra shirts and leggings. It was the note that had been tucked within the folds of my woolen blanket on the night I was left at the abbey.
    It had grown worn and wrinkled from the constant folding and unfolding. But I had not read it in some time. That note with only a few mysterious words proclaiming my “innocence” scrawled upon it and the blanket were the only connections to my true identity.
    I pulled the blanket from the box, holding it to my face as I often had before. It had grown soft and the color had faded with time. As a young boy, I had tried to memorize the smell, wondering if the blanket still held the scent of my mother or father. There was a time that I believed that if I were to ever find my parents, I would be able to recognize them from that smell. But now, it held no scent at all. It was merely an old blanket, tinted blue and loosely woven, tattered along the edges with a small triangle of one corner torn away. It was the simple and worn wrap of a peasant. But it was mine.
    Returning the blanket to the box, I blew out the candle. I did not know if Sir Thomas and his knights could take me to the places where the answers to my questions could be found. Who was I? Did my parents still live? Why did they abandon me? Those were the things I yearned to