Lazarus
Amadea Bartle ‘20 Sometimes when we played knights, I would be the king and Richard would have to swear fealty to me. It would be behind the stables—in summer, long afternoons passed us by without interruption. I stood on the low stone wall, the barrier between our kingdom and Father’s, Richard kneeling, still kingly. I covered Richard’s shoulders ZLWK JUDVV KLV KDLU ZLWK PRVV DQG Ă RZHUV VPHDUHG GLUW GRZQ the front of his tunic. Mother would punish me. ´7KHUH $ NQLJKW Âľ , VDLG XVLQJ P\ Ă€QJHUV WR EUXVK loose dirt from around Richard’s eyes. Richard never lifted a Ă€QJHUÂłQRW WR KHOS PH QRW WR VWRS PH Richard smiled gleefully and tipped his head back to get a better look at me. “King Geoffrey,â€? he said. The words slotted themselves between my ribs, pounded out a rhythm the same as my heart. Geoff-rey. Geoff-rey. Geoff-rey. I held a broken, fallen branch in my hand; tapped Richard shoulders one, two; and then the top of his head just to see a quicksilver smile. “I knight thee Richard—as a protector of the realm and as a guardian of the king.â€? I didn’t know the real words and I barely knew what was meant by the words I did say. “I knight thee, Richard.â€? I crown thee Richard. I love thee Richard. Richard’s name sounded better as a heartbeat. When it was over my arms hung by my sides, useless, EUDQFK LQ P\ FORVHG Ă€VW 5LFKDUG DQG , ZRXOG KROG RXU EUHDWK in awe of the sacrilegious act we had committed and then he clasped his arms around my middle, spinning me in endless circles. “I’ve caught the king! I’ve caught the king!â€? 60
