“Hurry with my food and drink, boy,” Sir Berwin ordered, seating himself on one of the wooden benches that filled the great hall. Curtis obediently scurried to the kitchen, where he filled a bowl with steaming soup. He was careful not to spill any on himself. Sir Berwin took it as a personal affront to be waited on by a servant in stained clothes. Curtis did not want to be disrespectful to his master. Sir Berwin had warned Curtis many times, “Keep your clothing clean. I will not tolerate a squire who looks as if he tends pigs.”

As a squire Curtis was only one step from becoming a knight. Curtis had dreamed of knighthood since he was old enough to listen to tales about the noble deeds of King Arthur. He had been thrilled when, at the age of seven, his parents had sent him to the home of Sir William to be a page. Sir William was a kind and respected knight. Becoming a page was the first step toward knighthood. Pages ran errands, and at the same time they learned good manners and other skills that they would need to become squires.

When he was 15, Curtis had become the squire of Sir Berwin, Sir William’s oldest son. Squires trained more strenuously than pages. They were supposed to perfect their skill with the sword and lance so that they could become knights when they were old enough. However, squires also had to act as their knight’s personal servants. Being Sir Berwin’s squire was not easy; he was not kind or patient like his father Sir William.

One of the knights at the table with Sir Berwin suddenly asked, “Have you heard? There’s to be a boar hunt tomorrow in the king’s woods. King Richard has offered a prize to the knight who slays the red boar.”

The next day Curtis rode into the woods with Sir Berwin and the other knights who were taking part in the hunt. Most of the knights spread out through the forest, but Sir Berwin stayed close to Sir Eric, who was known for his hunting skill. Sure enough, as Sir Eric’s horse leaped over a stream, Curtis heard a crashing noise in the trees. It was the red boar!

Curtis shuddered. The boar was enormous, and its sharp tusks were the longest he had ever seen. Just then he heard the twang of Sir Eric’s bow. The arrow hit the boar, making the powerful animal squeal. Enraged, the boar charged straight at Sir Eric. Sir Eric’s terrified horse reared back, throwing him to the ground. Sir Eric staggered to one knee and readied another arrow with his deft fingers. His well-trained hands gracefully placed the arrow on the bow. At the last second he shot. The boar fell just as Sir Eric collapsed on the ground.

Sir Berwin looked at the unconscious man and the dead boar. He said to Curtis, “I will have the king’s prize. I shall say that I killed the boar. As for you, I demand your silence. Do not reply when the king asks what happened.”

Just then a group of knights burst through the trees. The king himself was with them. “What happened here?” he demanded.

“That is my arrow, sire,” Sir Berwin said. “I killed this boar as it was attacking Sir Eric.”

Curtis’s heart felt leaden. He ached with doubt. As the king began to turn, Curtis heard the words “Your Majesty!” burst from his lips. He listened in horror to his own voice. “I beg Your Majesty’s pardon. In the tension of the moment, it may have looked to Sir Berwin as if his arrow killed the boar, but that is Sir Eric’s arrow.”

“What say you, Sir Berwin?” King Richard asked.

Sir Berwin’s face reddened. To intentionally hide the truth from the king when asked a direct question would be considered perjury. He finally said, “Perhaps I was mistaken.”

“Very well,” the king said. “Sir Eric wins the prize. Carry him back to the castle.” King Richard turned and rode out of the clearing.

When the knights carrying Sir Eric had ridden after the king, Sir Berwin turned on Curtis. “How dare you make a fool of a knight in front of his king,” Sir Berwin growled. His eyes glittered. “You have no loyalty, boy,” he rebuked Curtis. “I’ll see to it that you never become a knight.”

On the ride to the castle, Sir Berwin did not speak to Curtis or even look at him. Curtis’s heart sank. He almost didn’t hear one of the king’s pages hailing him.

“Curtis!” the boy called again. “The king would speak with you.”

Curtis set his horse into a run, passing some knights who were singing and enjoying themselves on their way back. The king rode at the head of the procession. “You wished to see me, sire?” Curtis asked when he finally reached the king’s group.

“Yes,” the king said and then paused. “Were you not taught that a squire is to be loyal to his knight?”

Curtis hung his head. “My apologies, sire,” he said.

The king studied him for a moment. “You make no excuse for your behavior?”

“No, sire,” Curtis said.

“Humph,” the king grunted, looking ahead as if in thought. “Honest boys make honest men,” he said, as though talking to himself. “A king needs honest men about him,” he said, turning to Curtis. “I think Sir Berwin does not value you as he should. My brother Sir Reginald needs a trustworthy squire. What say you?”

Curtis could not speak. Sir Reginald was noble and virtuous, like the young King Arthur. Under Sir Reginald’s guidance, Curtis knew he would someday become Sir Curtis.