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“Whatever,” I said.
“Do not think too bitterly of me.”
“Okay,” I said, as if what I thought about Lord Bennacio, Last Knight of the Order of the Sacred Sword, really mattered. Bennacio was giving off some serious sadness sitting there beside me, as if an invisible cloak of sorrow was wrapped around his shoulders.
“That picture in your room,” I said. “Is it Saint Michael?”
“The Archangel Michael, yes.”
“You know, I was thinking about that. Mr. Samson talked about the master of the Sword and so did the Lady in my dream. Michael is the master of the Sword you’re waiting for, isn’t he?”
He slowly shook his head and smiled. I didn’t know what he meant by that. Was I right or wrong?
“When I was a boy of thirteen,” Bennacio said, “my father took me aside and told me that we were of the house of Bedivere. I had heard the story of the Sword, of course, but like you had always thought it merely a legend. My father took me to the head of the Order, Samson’s father, who had just moved to America. I saw the Sword and I believed. Upon his deathbed, my father told me of Bedivere’s failure.”
Bennacio sighed. “Bedivere was to cast the Sword into the lake—those were the direct orders from Arthur—but he chose to keep it instead, and our Order was created. Of all the knights, he loved his king the most, and from this love rose the belief that one day another master would return for the Sword.”
He sighed again, a longer, sadder sigh. “It is a particular burden, Alfred, to descend from the house of Bedivere. There have always been knights of our Order who saw what he did as a betrayal of his king’s trust. Many believed the Sword should be cast back into the waters from which it rose, thus removing any possibility of the Sword being used for ill. By my honor, as the last knight and the last son of Bedivere, if ever I retrieve the Sword, that is what I shall do. I will atone for his sin, though his sin was of the most peculiar kind, born of love.”
He picked up the box, laid it on his lap, and opened the lid. Inside, lying on the purple velvet lining, was a sword, thin and black-bladed. It looked like the same kind of sword he used
the night I stole Excalibur. He held it up.
“This is the sword of my father. OIPEP recovered it when they stormed Mogart’s keep. On the day my father died, I swore upon this sword the ancient oath of our Order.”
He turned to me. “It may be my fate to fall to Mogart when the hour comes. If so, will you not make the same oath and take up this sword?”
“Gee, Bennacio,” I said. I was shocked. “That’s a big honor and I really appreciate your asking me, but I think you’ve got the wrong guy. Maybe you should ask Mike or Paul or one of those guys . . . Even that Abby woman would be a better choice. I think she might be the toughest one of the lot. Mike’s kind of scared of her, you can tell.”
“Those people, Kropp? They are arrogant and full of their own wisdom. They are fools.”
“Well, some people might say I’m not the ripest apple on the tree, Bennacio. You gotta know your limitations, and what you’re asking is way over my head. Basically, I’m a loser.”
He stared at me with a stern expression. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“Well, I lost the Sword, for one. But besides that, there’s nothing I’m good at. You know how most people have talents? Like some people are good at sports and others good at school—science and math and stuff like that? Well, I’m not very good at anything. I played football, but I wasn’t very good at it, and my grades are pretty mediocre. You know, I’m just . . . average.”
“Average,” he said.
“Yeah. Just your average, um, Kropp. Though I’ve been screwing up more than usual lately. The idea of me taking up your sword and being some kind of hero—well, that’s kind of ridiculous.”
He put a hand on my shoulder. “But we fall only that we might rise, Alfred. All of us fall; all of us, as you say, screw up. Falling is not important. It is how we get up after the fall that’s important.”
He gave my shoulder a little pat. “And as for being a hero—who can say what valor dwells in the soul unless the test comes? A hero lives in every heart, Alfred, waiting for the dragon to come out.”
38
Bennacio took my hand and placed it on the flat part of the blade.
“I’ll just let you down,” I said. I was about to cry. Maybe I should cry, I thought. That’ll change his mind about a hero dwelling in my heart.
“Perhaps. Our will often falters. My mind tells me you are a weak young man, timid and unsure, but my heart tells me something altogether different. For all your faults, Alfred, you are without guile, without pretense. The Sword shall never be won or evil defeated through trickery and deceit, as those downstairs believe. Will you not speak the oath now, while there is still hope?”
I looked away. His expression was so desperate, I couldn’t look at him. Things really couldn’t get any worse, when a knight like Bennacio had to turn to Alfred Kropp to help him.
“Alfred,” he said softly. “There is something else. Something you do not know that might help you make your decision.”
I turned back. “What?”
