The Dark One: Dark Knight (55 page)

     Gather your most important items, Trenton,”
he said briskly. “Clothes, shoes, anything of sentimental value.  You will no
longer be occupying this room after today.”

     Trenton looked uncertain.  “Wh... why,
father?  What's wrong?”

     He would not allow his son to wallow in
grief.  The sooner he moved on with his young life, the better, and Gaston had
plans for him.

     “Nothing, but there is much to do as you
lie about here in self-pity,” Gaston said, moving into the room.  “Tomorrow, we
leave for Clearwell to bury your mother.  When we return, you will begin your
training alongside Master Stoneley.  We will move your items into the troop
house this day.”

     Trenton moved mechanically off the bed
simply because his father seemed so determined that he do so.  Blindly, he dug
out his traveling satchel and began to gather his things, not even stopping to
think what he was packing.  He was so terribly confused and hurt that he was
simply doing as ordered with no feeling about it whatsoever.

     He did not even know why he hurt so much. 
He knew his mother had not really cared for him, but she had been there when
his father wasn’t.  She was the only parent he had even known. Now she was gone
and he was in the company of strangers, including his father.

     His mother had told him that his father did
not like children.  It was hard to believe when his father was so nice to him,
but his mother would not lie... would she? He was afraid and disoriented.

     “Am I to start training, too?” Dane piped
up eagerly.  “Can I move my things into the troop house?”

     Gaston thought of Remington's reaction when
he informed her that Dane would no longer be living within the walls of the
castle.  He furthermore dreaded telling her that he would allow no contact with
her son for the first three months, and then limited contact thereafter.  If
Dane were to be a strong, independent man, then he would have to cut his
mother's apron strings.

     Unfortunately, Gaston did not think that
Remington was emotionally up to the separation at the moment.

     “We shall move your things when Trenton and
I return from Clearwell,” he said, putting his huge hand on Dane's shoulder. 
“Meanwhile, not a word to your mother.  'Twill upset her to know her son is
growing to be a man sooner than she had hoped.”

     Dane nodded, a bit disappointed that he
could not move into the troop house right away, but encouraged just the same. 
He so desperately wanted to learn to be a knight.

     Trenton had jammed nearly everything he
could grab into his traveling satchel.  Dane bent over and picked up a pair of
leather shoes from the floor.

     “Here,” he put them on the bed next to the
bag.

     Trenton's face darkened as he picked up the
shoes and packed them, avoided Dane's gaze. Dane frowned; he did not like being
ignored.

     “Why are you mad at me?” he demanded.  “I
did not do anything.”

     Trenton's brow furrowed sharply.  “I am not
mad….I just do not feel like playing with you today.”

     “Why not?” Dane scowled.  “I want to go
fishing.”

     “I do not want to fish.” Trenton returned
hostilely.

     “Then let's go search the woods for fox
pups.  I know where there is a fox burrow.” Dane suggested.

     Trenton actually looked interested, but his
face rapidly darkened again.  “I do not wanna.”

     Dane was not going to take no for an
answer. “Come on!  After you get back from Clearwell, we shall be training all
day and won't have time to explore the woods or go fishing.”

     Trenton was slowly being swayed, but Gaston
could see his reluctance.  “Go on, Trenton.  This will be the last free day you
have for some time.”

     Trenton looked at his father, finally
shrugging as he latched his bag.  “Mayhap for a little while.”

     Gaston smiled.  “Good lad.”

     Dane was up and running for the door. 
“Come on, Trenton.  Hurry up.  You are too slow.”

     “Am not.”  Trenton snapped, following.

     Dane was already rushing down the corridor,
but Trenton paused in the doorway.  His brown eyes were wide on his father. 

     “You are going with me to bury mother?” he
asked softly.

     Aye, “Gaston replied.  “As your father,
'tis my place.  Never again will you and I be separated, Trenton.  I promise
you.”

     That simple statement greatly bolstered
Trenton's sagging spirit.  He wanted to believe it to be true, but after
everything his mother had told him, it was difficult.

     Not knowing what to say, he lowered his
gaze and disappeared after his friend.

***

     Arik had the new recruits up and moving.
Even though it was hours before noon, the men had already been up since before
daybreak.  The smell of sweat and dirt was heavy in the outer bailey as 15
companies of men went through the basic motions of hand-to-hand combat,
repetition of movements that were supervised by their company commanders as
well as Arik, Patrick and Antonius.  Nicolas ran up and down the ranks yelling
like a fiend, demanding the men to go above and beyond their limits.

     Gaston stood atop the inner wall, observing
his troops like Zeus from Olympus.  Arik kept turning to look at him, silent
messages passing between them making sure all was progressing with Gaston's
approval.  'Twas Gaston who detailed the regimes, the schedules, and his men
who carried them out.

     Gaston only remained an observer for less
than an hour before he went down into the mass of men and began coaching them
himself.  He enjoyed being an active participant, instructing and encouraging
and seeing the results.

     The morning progressed, the humidity
soared, and Gaston had his knights remove their armor. Since they were not
practicing with weapons, he saw no harm in allowing his men to be more comfortable. 
Even he removed his armor, and his shirt, parading about the ground like a
mythical beast, Hercules from old as his magnificent torso glistened under the
warm sun.

     Just before noon, the sentries high on the
outer wall announced riders approaching with the burst of a horn.  Gaston, Arik
and Patrick met the incoming soldiers at the portcullis, studying the three
soldiers on well-kept warhorses.  Even though there was no outward sign of a
threat, Gaston kept the portcullis down, feeling rather naked that he was armor
less.

     The horses were sweating rivers and the
soldiers appeared exhausted as they drew the horses to a weaving halt.

     “My lord de Russe.” one of the knights
saluted sharply.  “I bring news from Sir James de Wolfe of Templehurst.”

     Gaston knew de Wolfe well.  He was young,
but extremely talented and skilled.  Henry had put the knight in charge of
Humberside, just as he himself was in charge of order in Yorkshire.

He ordered the portcullis raised.

     “What's amiss?” he demanded.

     One of the men dismounted.  “Trouble, my
lord.  Three feudal barons, loyal to Richard, have launched a siege to
Templehurst in hopes of driving de Wolfe out. He sent us to request
reinforcements from Mt. Holyoak.”

     “What is the strength of the opposition
force?” Gaston asked.

     “Mayhap five to six hundred men,” the
soldier replied.  “De Wolfe has a force of four hundred, but we are holding
Templehurst without a problem at the moment.  'Twould seem the barons are less
interested in killing us as they are interested in simply chasing us out.”

     Gaston raised an eyebrow, glancing at
Arik.  “De Wolfe is hated about as much as I am.  He fought for Northumberland,
you know.  Pledged loyalty to Henry when the earl was killed at Bosworth.” 

     “De Wolfe's family goes back to the days of
Richard and the quest,” Arik commented.  “He comes from a long line of
distinguished, powerful knights.  He should have no trouble holding Templehurst
until we arrive.”

     Gaston jerked his head in a silent command
and Arik was moving.  He could read his lord's mind when it came to battles. 
Gaston ushered the soldiers in to Patrick's care and moved for the castle,
focusing on what lay ahead.  Allowing time to assemble his troops and necessary
preparations, they could be on the road to Templehurst within two hours.

     His squires raced after him as he made his
way to the master chamber. He passed by Remington's room without stopping,
preferring to don his armor before saying his good-byes.

     As he reached his room and his squires
began helping him dress, it occurred to him that this battle would be a new
experience; he was actually concerned with his own mortality.  What if
something happened and he did not return to Remington?  Horrible, bitter
fantasies filled his mind and he angrily chased them off.  He had never even
been seriously injured in battle in all of his thirteen years as a knight;
surely a simply skirmish would not destroy him. Even before he left, he was
eager to return to Remington.

     He leaned over while one of the boys pulled
a padded woolen shirt over his head.  He already wore leather breeches and
boots, and another squire helped him into a leather vest and pulled it snug to
protect against the chafing of the armor.

     His shortened hauberk went on next,
followed by his breastplate, plate armor for his arms, and his leg armor.  The
squires worked quickly, silently, as they had done this for their lord many a
time and were quite adept at it.  Gaston simply stood still with his arms
outstretched as they worked, his mind focusing on the battle ahead.

     This was what he had been sent to Yorkshire
for, to keep the peace.  He had been hopeful from the first that he would not
have to forcibly crush the resistance, but the Yorkists were a die-hard lot and
this war had been going on for many, many years.  It would take many more years
to ease the tensions.

     In little time he was in full battle armor,
all gleaming steel and black leather.  The squires left him quickly, racing
from the room with his various weapons gripped in their hands, taking them to
the bailey where they would be secured to Taran.  Gaston preferred to keep all
of his war implements with him in his chamber so that he knew exactly where
they were should they be needed.  Weapons that were kept close were less easily
sabotaged or stolen.

     His huge boots echoed loudly in the hall as
he made his way to Remington's room, mulling over in his mind what he was going
to say to her.  Good-bye did not seem quite sufficient, yet he was embarrassed
to make a huge emotional display.  He hoped the words would simply come to him
as he crossed through the threshold with the destroyed door.

     Remington was sitting up in bed in a clean
robe. Her hair was still damp, evidence that someone had washed it clean for
her, and she faced him expectantly, her eyes instantly widening.

     “I heard you come down the hall,” she said,
eyeing his armor.  “What's the matter?”

     He would have liked nothing better than to
take her in his arms, but the bulky armor and her wound made that feat
difficult.  He moved to the end of the bed, extending his massive gauntlet to
her and she instantly grasped it with her good hand.

     “Nothing to worry about,” he said.  “One of
Henry's vassals has requested assistance with a few unruly barons.”

     Her face fell.  “A war?”

     He smiled faintly.  “Nothing of the sort,
angel.  A skirmish.  A fistfight, most likely.  Mayhap if I yell loud enough I
can force them to behave without a sword drawn; who knows?  I doubt I shall be
gone long enough for you to miss me.”

     “I miss you already,” she said sadly, pulling
gently on his hand.  “I wish you did not have to go, my love. I am afraid for
you.”

     His smile broadened.  “Fear not for me, my
lady.  Fear for those fools who have dared provoke my wrath.  All of the north
knows that the Dark Knight is constable, and anyone who knowingly inflames my
anger is stupid.”

     Her gaze lingered on him.  She knew it was
silly for her to make a fuss, for the man had been fighting wars for years and
had survived whole.  Yet her heart ached to know that he was leaving her, even
for a little while.

     “What of Mari-Elle?” she asked softly. 
“She must be buried in this heat.”

     He sighed.  “I know that.  If I do not
return by the morning of the second day of my departure, then you have my
permission to bury her.”

     She nodded somberly.  He tapped her gently
under the chin. “How are you feeling? Better?”

     “I was until you told me of your imminent
departure,” she said, depressed.

     He bent over, armor and all, and raised her
hand to his lips.  His mouth was warm and soft and wild chills shot up her arm
as he kissed first the back, and then the palm of her hand tenderly.

     “Be of good cheer, my lady,” he said
softly.  “Know that I will return to you as soon as I am able.”