The Brothers Lionheart
I ran to the stable.
Fyalar was not alone in his stall. Hubert was standing there. Yes, Hubert was standing there, patting my horse and grinning when he caught sight of me.
My heart began to thump.
He’s the traitor, I thought. I think I’d felt this for a long time, and now I was certain. Hubert was the traitor. Otherwise why would he come snooping around Knights Farm?
“That man knows too much,” Sofia had said, and Hubert was that man. I realized that now.
How much did he know? Did he know everything? Did he know what we’d hidden in the oat bin too? I tried not to show how frightened I was.
“What are you doing here?” I said as assertively as I could. “What do you want with Fyalar?”
“Nothing,” said Hubert. “I was on my way to you, but I heard your horse whinny and I like horses. He’s fine Fyalar.”
You can’t trip me up, I thought, and I said:
“What do you want of me, then?”
“To give you this,” said Hubert, and he handed me something wrapped up in a white cloth. “You looked so sad and hungry last night that I thought perhaps you were short of food here on Knights Farm, with Jonathan away hunting.”
Now I didn’t know what to say or do. I muttered my thanks. But I couldn’t take food from a traitor! Or could I?
I fumbled with the piece of cloth and found a large piece of mutton, dried, smoked mutton which is so good, spring fiddle it’s called, I think.
It smelled wonderful. I felt like sinking my teeth into it at once, though I should really have Hubert to take his spring fiddle away and himself with it.
But I didn’t. It was Sofia’s task to deal traitors. I would have to pretend that I knew nothing and understood nothing. Actually, I very much wanted the meat because nothing could be better than that for my food sack.
Hubert was still standing Fyalar.
“You really have got a find horse,” he said. “Almost as fine as my Blenda.”
“Blenda is white,” I said. “Do you like white horses?”
“Yes, I like white horses very much,” said Hubert.
Then you’d like to have fifteen, wouldn’t you?