One True Knight (The Knights of Honor Trilogy) (7 page)

Gareth rode up beside him. “There are no men posted along the parapet,” he said.

Jonathan scanned the interior of the bailey and noted that the castle was almost entirely devoid of guards. “I don’t like this,” Jonathan murmured. “Blackburn’s defenses are lax while Richard has many enemies. Meanwhile the inhabitants are shuffling around in fear. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“They don’t seem to expect anyone to attack,” Gareth said. “I wonder if the Grey Knight knows of this vulnerability.”

A man suddenly emerged at the entrance of the keep, and looked down at them as if he owned the castle.

At first Jonathan thought it was his father who stood at the archway, but upon closer inspection, he saw that it was Raulf, his father’s former ward.

“Sir Jonathan,” Raulf said, when they were within earshot. Unsmiling, he waited for Jonathan and his men to dismount. “We weren’t sure who you were until your coat-of-arms came into view.”

“Sir Raulf,” Jonathan nodded, taking in the chain mail and over tunic that marked the man as a knight. This time he wore the red and black colors of Blackburn and had the bearing of a man in the position of power. “‘Twould seem that you’ve risen up in the ranks.”

“How perceptive you are,” Raulf said. “I am the garrison commander.”

Jonathan felt a little surprised. He hadn’t returned to Blackburn castle since his mother’s death five years earlier. At that time, Raulf was a simple armsman subjected to another man’s rule.

Raulf signaled the groom over to take the horses.

But Jonathan waved the man away. “There’s no need,” he said. “My men and I will take our own horses to the stable.”

Raulf shrugged as if he didn’t care what they did. “You know where the stable is. When you’ve finished with your horses, Sir Richard will see you in the great hall.”

His message delivered, Raulf turned and marched back into the hall, not even glancing back to see if Jonathan had moved.

“‘Twould seem that they are thrilled to see you,” Gareth said dryly.

“Just as I am thrilled to see them,” Jonathan said. He glanced around to make sure that he was out of earshot of the castle inhabitants. “Keep an eye on Raulf,” he said to Gareth.

“The garrison commander?”

“Aye,” Jonathan nodded. “I saw him on my way to Ravenhearth. He rode toward the town with two other men, clad only in grey and no identifying markers. At first I thought I had run into the Grey Knight but then as he got closer, I realized it was Richard’s former ward.”

Gareth took off his gauntlets. “Are you certain ‘twas him?”

“Aye, I’m certain. It has been years since I set eyes on the man but I knew him upon sight. I have no idea why he was clad in grey, nor how he has risen so high in the ranks of trust with my father. Richard trusts few men.” He glanced back at the empty archway. “There are too many strange coincidences here, coincidences that I don’t like. My feeling is that somehow Raulf is connected to all this.”

Jonathan would have said more except they arrived at the stable and became overwhelmed by the stench emanating from the wooden structure.

Gareth put a sleeve to cover his nose. “Would Sir Richard object if I take my courser into the great hall with me?” he asked half in jest.

“Aye,” Roland, one of the knights who chose to follow him in his pursuit, chimed in. “The filth in here is unbelievable.”

And Jonathan agreed. The stable was beyond dirty. His eyes were drawn to a boy lurking near the back of the room. “You boy,” he said. “Clean out the stalls and ready them for our horses.”

The boy emerged hesitantly from the shadows. He gave Jonathan and his men a wary look, although he remained silent. A man then appeared by the boy’s side as if he was there all along.

“I’m the stable master,” he said, eying them with open hostility. “The boy doesn’t take orders from anyone but me. Who are ye and what do ye want?”

Gareth rolled his eyes at Jonathan as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You would think ‘tis obvious what we want,” he said dryly.

“Obvious to most,” Jonathan said. He turned to the stable master. “I want the stalls cleaned.” He shook his head in disgust. “This stable stinks like a cesspit. My squire Albert will stay behind and ensure the job is done well. If ‘tis not done to my satisfaction, he will report to me and believe me, you will not like to see me angered.”

“I have authority here,” the stable master said, crossing his arms over his chest. “The only person who can give me orders is Sir Richard.”

“I dislike your insolence, Stable Master,” Gareth said, taking a threatening step toward the man. He grabbed him by the front of his tunic, and looked him in the eye. “Mind your manners. You are speaking to Sir Jonathan d’Abelard, the son of the very man you serve.”

The man gulped audibly at the threat behind Gareth’s voice. He glanced down at the standard on Gareth’s surcoat as if to confirm the truth of his words. At the exact moment he recognized the standard, the blood drained from his face. “The Iron Hawk,” he squeaked. He pulled away from Gareth’s grasp, and stumbled backwards. “Forgive me, sire. I am newly employed at the castle,” he said groveling. “I did not know who ye were. I will have the stalls ready as ye command.” He grabbed the boy, pushed him toward the shovel, and bellowed for more help. The stable hands appeared as if they were waiting to be summoned from their hiding spots.

Jonathan left the stable with a vague sense of irritation. Blackburn had fallen into a shabby state of neglect since the last time he was here. The new servants didn’t know who he was…What was going on? It had only been five years since he had last visited Blackburn. How could things have changed so much?

Jonathan paused briefly at the entrance to the great hall, taking in the large room. The paint on the wall behind the raised table was chipped and peeling. He half expected his mother to look up with a sad smile of greeting. But of course she was long gone. The only person present was his surly father.

Richard sat in his chair much like he did in years past. The red banner, now faded, hung behind his seat. He looked a lot older now, Jonathan noted. His head, once a thick brown like his own, was now a dull gray. Deep lines criss-crossed his face and the tight skin over his skull made him resemble a corpse rather than a feared man who wielded power over hundreds of people. This was not a man he recognized.

“So the prodigal son returns,” Sir Richard d’Abelard said loudly, interrupting Jonathan’s thoughts. He raised his goblet of wine in mock salute although he made no move to get up. Jonathan and his men filed into the hall. “What brings us the honor of your presence? ‘Twas a great surprise to hear the guard announce your arrival. I thought you had met your death fighting for that cowardly King Edward.”

Jonathan moved to stand in front of the high table. He sensed that Richard was toying with him, trying to bait him into revealing any crack, any sign of weakness in his armor. It was an old game, one that he was tired of. Yet he could still feel the old prickling sense of annoyance as if he was once again putting on an old, familiar cloak.

“As you can see, I am very much alive and well.”

Richard gave a surprising chuckle although there was no amusement behind it. “I can see that. Unfortunately Amelia cannot say the same,” he said, his voice turning sly as he watched Jonathan’s reaction. When he saw Jonathan clench his jaw, he smiled in satisfaction. “I heard that you’ve made a great name for yourself and your fighting prowess has been sung to the high heavens.” He took a long drink from his goblet and smacked his lips before setting it down. “I had little faith in you when I sent you away to foster at my brother’s house. ‘Tis fortunate that he made a man out of you.”

Jonathan forced himself to unclench his fists. Baiting. Always baiting. Offering a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he said, “‘Twould seem that you weren’t up to the task.”

Richard chuckled again. “So ‘twould seem,” he said, unbothered by the coldness in Jonathan’s voice. “The Iron Hawk indeed. You surprise me, son. For all I could see, you had your mother’s weak disposition. Perhaps the strength and valor that you possess are qualities inherited from me.”

He picked up a piece of greasy meat from a platter in front of him and pushed it into his mouth, and continued. “I had hoped that you would return to Blackburn once you were knighted, but you went to fight under King Edward instead. And then off you went to pursue the so called Grey Knight. I think you might have killed Amelia yourself — perhaps she was an insufficient lover — and you made up this fictional Grey Knight to throw everyone off your scent, humm? If this Grey Knight existed, you should have caught him by now, wouldn’t you?”

When Jonathan didn’t say anything, Richard shrugged. He waved his hand at the knight sitting to his right. “You remember my garrison commander Sir Raulf? He, at least, has returned to take control of the garrison while my only heir is off chasing a ghost.”

“I remember him,” Jonathan said. He glanced over at Raulf and saw the other man watching him with narrowed eyes.

Aside from a few strands of silver hair and being a bit plump in his midriff, Raulf looked much like the day he had first appeared at the castle.

“Why is he here?” Jonathan had asked his mother. Lady Beatrice usually wandered through the castle grounds, a cloud of sorrow hovering over her wherever she went. But this day her face was flushed and angry.

“Ask your father,” she said and started to move away. He grabbed her skirt, and looked up at her, undeterred by her many moods.

“May I play knights and outlaws with him?” he asked hopefully.

His mother looked down at him for a long moment and then sighed. “Aye, go play with him.”

But Raulf proved to be a poor playmate. In spite of Jonathan’s many efforts, the other boy remained withdrawn and sullen. Soon after Raulf’s arrival, his father sent Jonathan to train as a knight at his uncle’s castle. While there, his mother wrote to him, complaining with much bitterness of how Richard had decided to train Rualf as a knight. When he earned his knightly spurs, Raulf left Blackburn to seek his fortune. He returned a year later to work for Richard as an armsman.

“You didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?” Richard demanded, his grating voice intruding into Jonathan’s thoughts.

“I have business in this region,” Jonathan said shortly.

“Perhaps he hopes to find the Grey Knight here,” Raulf said, a mocking smile playing on his lips.

Richard snorted. “Nonsense,” he said. “As I said, I don’t believe this Grey Knight exists.”

Jonathan ignored both Raulf’s mocking gaze and Richard’s dismissive tone. He turned to Richard. “I will be here for several weeks. Lady Lorena of Airndale is marrying again and I’m invited to the ceremonies.”

“I didn’t receive an invitation,” Richard said, frowning. He picked up the white napkin on the table and wiped his mouth.

Jonathan gave his father a level look. “You aren’t even aware that you have a niece, sire.”

Richard grunted, and waved his hand as if to flick away an insect. “It doesn’t matter,” he said in a wheezy voice. He coughed in his hand. “I hate weddings anyway.” Grabbing the trestle table, he pushed at it to allow the chair to scrape the floor as it moved back. “Stay as long as you need. But while you are here, you can make yourself useful and help me rid of the robbers that have been plaguing my land.”

“Robbers, here?” Jonathan stared at him. “I thought you chased the Folmort robbers off these lands years ago.”

“‘Tis not the Folmort robbers that we’re after,” Richard said. “These particular robbers are frightening my serfs and robbing them blind so they can’t pay their taxes. In essence, they are robbing me blind as well.”

Richard got up from his chair with effort. “Raulf here is trying to apprehend them and will tell you more,” he added before descending from the high platform.

He walked past Jonathan, limping as if each step caused him pain. Old age had caught up to him. If only his old enemies could see him now, they would rejoice in their graves.

Jonathan sensed Raulf inspecting him, and he turned to face him. “You haven’t changed much,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Me? We’re in peaceful times and I’ll admit to indulging in a little food and drink,” Raulf said, shrugging as if it was of no consequence. “But your father has gotten old. I fear that his health is declining and he will no longer have the ability to control Blackburn. I for one am glad to have you return. We need new blood here to help us apprehend the criminals.”

“Tell me of these robbers that you speak of,” Jonathan said.

“These robbers are of a different breed; we don’t know their identity. All we know is that they are bold. They raid the farms and rob the serfs in their very beds.”

“Why hasn’t Richard captured these robbers if they’re so troublesome?”

“Your father has been ill for the past year,” Raulf said, bending his head as if the idea of it filled him with sorrow. “His condition is very unfortunate. The robbers seem to know this and have taken advantage of his weakness. They have been terrorizing the villagers for many months now, and we have been unsuccessful in catching them.”

Jonathan scratched his head. Why would Richard allow a band of robbers to run rampant on his land? And for months? “I shall ride out with you tomorrow to investigate the damage these robbers have caused.”

Raulf jerked up his head in surprise and raised both hands in front him as if to block the idea from being suggested. “The villagers will not speak with me. My going with you is useless. You would be better served if you go into the village on your own.”

He dropped his eyes again and began to pick off a piece of lint from his worn tunic. An awkward silence hung in the air.

Had it not been for the clues that the Grey Knight left behind, the uneasiness that permeated Blackburn, and Raulf’s current odd behavior, Jonathan might have declined going into the village. But he sensed that there was something more to the situation, and he found himself saying, “Sir Gareth and I will leave for the village at first light.”

***

When Jonathan and Gareth arrived in the village the next morning, there was that same heavy feeling of dread hanging in the moist air. The villagers were shut tight in their homes as if they feared the robbers were lurking just beyond their line of sight, waiting to pounce on unsuspecting victims.