The Rogue Knight (26 page)

“I wanted Jael to fly,” Alice told the others.

“I know
exactly
how you feel,” Lady Eleanor said.

“We’re not stopping yet, are we?” Henri asked.

“Of course not,” Lady Eleanor said. “One heron is hardly worth our long ride down.”

Sir Walter nodded in agreement.

Soon Cord reached them. Not only was he muddy, but he stank. His boots squelched as he walked and his clothes hung wetly, which was nothing out of the ordinary. The dog boy was simply doing his regular field duty.

Cord took a somewhat clean handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped mud off his face. “I think more herons might be over there,” he said, pointing to a pond a half mile away.

“You’re just saying that so you can clean up,” Sir Walter said.

Cord grinned, exposing his white teeth in his now dark face. “There’s always that too, milord.”

“Still,” Sir Walter said, “you have a point.” He turned his palfrey and shouted to the throng that they were headed to the pond.

“Say!” Henri suddenly shouted. “Who’s riding the fastest horse?”

“That’s easy,” Cord said, “Lady Eleanor is.”

“Oh my, dog boy,” Alice said, “but I think you’re wrong. The bailiff’s palfrey is the fastest one here.”

“Are you certain?” Henri asked. “I would have thought Sir Walter’s stallion was the fastest.”

Cord dug into his muddy pocket and flushed out two pennies. “I have two pennies to one that says the Lady Eleanor’s palfrey is the fastest one here.”

“You’re on!” Henri shouted.

Lady Eleanor said, “You’re all wasting your time. I have no intention of galloping my steed.”

“Ha!” Lady Martha said, who’d been following the exchange with interest. “That’s because Eleanor knows that her steed isn’t the fastest one here. Mine is!”

“No, that isn’t the reason,” Eleanor said.

Sir Walter joined in, laughing good-naturedly.

“Very well,” Lady Eleanor said. “I’ll race all comers to that barren oak tree in the distance.”

“You’re on!” Lady Martha shouted, taking her tall cone hat from her head and handing it to the Chief Falconer.

“You too, Sir Walter,” Eleanor said.

“My money is on the bailiff!” Alice cried.

He shook his head, until the others called him a coward and he could no longer refuse. Henri dismounted and stood in front of them, telling them that he’d toss a ball into the air to start the race.

“And you sergeants, too,” Henri shouted. “Your horses look quick enough to win.”

The two armored sergeants immediately cantered up, eager for the race.

“Are you ready?” Henri asked. A chorus of shouts gave him the answer. “Very well. Get set.” Henri took in a huge gulp of air and cried, “One, two, three!” He threw up a rag ball and shouted, “GO!”

The knights and sergeants spurred their steeds, as did the two ladies. The bailiff and Lady Eleanor immediately pulled into the lead. The throng of watchers cheered their betters, while Alice quietly watched from high upon Arthur. She was quite certain that Arthur could have beaten any of them in a race. But that wasn’t the point today.

In the end, Lady Martha won, pulling out a victory at the very last.

Cord, Henri, Alice, the Chief Falconer, everyone either rode or walked swiftly to where the racers waited.

“Well done!” Alice shouted as they approached the barren old oak tree.

“Yes!” Martha shouted back to Alice. “I—”

“Over there!” Henri bellowed, interrupting. He pointed in the distance. “I saw a man with a rabbit. He held it by the ears!”

  “Are you certain?” Sir Walter shouted.

“He’s a poacher!” Henri roared.

The bailiff instantly spurred his winded palfrey, motioning the two sergeants to follow him. They all thundered after the poor fellow, if indeed he’d ever been there.

The hawking party watched the three men gallop away.

“Now what?” Lady Martha asked.

“We should wait until they return,” Sir Walter said.

“Look!” Cord yelled, who’d been looking around. “I see a fox.” He unleashed his dogs. They too saw the fox and bayed with delight, giving chase.

“Let’s use our hawks!” Alice said.

Lady Martha cheered and spurred after the dogs. In an instant so did Eleanor and Walter. Alice, however, suddenly drew rein and dismounted, checking her palfrey’s hooves.

“Should I check them, milady,” a groom asked.

“No, it was nothing,” Alice said. She petted the sleek neck before remounting. By then it appeared to be too late to follow the others.

“They’ll never catch the fox,” the Chief Falconer said. “Why did you release the hounds?” he asked Cord.

“I misjudged the distance,” Cord said blandly.

The Chief Falconer gave him a squinty glance. The hunters and the hawkers seldom saw eye to eye on anything. Cord, who supplied the dogs for both, was still more in the hunting camp than the hawking. There was little liking between the two of them, although it was more a professional affair than one of personal dislike.

“Well, I suppose we should follow them,” Alice said to the others. She gently urged Arthur toward the small pond. The others followed.

When they reached it, Cord plunged into the pond’s scummy water, washing himself clean. The various packhorses drank, as did several dogs. Soon Sir Walter, Lady Eleanor and Lady Martha returned. Their horses were tired after so much galloping. Cord immediately began to whistle for the dogs he’d released. They trotted in as the bailiff and the two sergeants did. Like the others, their horses breathed heavily and smelled strongly of horse sweat.

Alice sighed, mounting up again.

“Where are you going?” the bailiff asked.

“I thought I saw a flash of heron white,” Cord said, pointing at some bushes in the distance.

Lady Martha eagerly remounted, as did her husband. The three nobles followed Cord and his dogs.

Unnoticed by all but Alice, Henri slipped onto his horse and cantered away from everyone. The plan was that he would meet her later.

Her heart pounded. This was almost it. Everything had worked to perfection. Now—

“Milord,” Cord said, “I think it might be best if you took your hawk over there, around that side of the bushes.”

Sir Walter nodded, heading that way.

“And you, milady, should go near the center area,” Cord said.

The wizened Chief Falconer nodded in agreement. Martha instantly complied.

“You, Alice, should go over there,” Cord said, pointing to the west. He stared up into her eyes. She stared back. She could feel her blood stir and knew that she desperately wanted Cord to join them.

“Good luck,” he said quietly.

“Is that all you can say?”

He blushed, and that surprised her. She hadn’t counted on that.

“I wish you all the best, milady,” he said softly. “Someday, perhaps, we’ll see each other again.”

“Will you be just a dog boy then?”

He drew himself to his full height. “No, milady. Then I’ll be a knight.”

She stared at him in amazement. His ambitions had soared into the heavens. She hadn’t realized he thought of himself so grandly. Then she recalled Old Sloat.

“You’d better start,” he said.

She nodded curtly, turning Arthur away from Cord and away from Castle Pellinore. In a steady canter, she set off for freedom. Hopefully, it would be awhile before the others realized that she was fleeing. Once they did, however, the race would be on. Only their mounts were winded, while fleet Arthur was ready to run for a long time.

Alice passed the bushes were Cord thought he’d seen heron white. In the distance was a forest. She headed that way. Her spine tingled as she rode, but she refused to glance back. That would look wrong. Instead, she concentrated on Jael. She couldn’t very well take the falcon with her. It was time to release her bird of prey as she’d long ago promised the mother.

“You too gain your freedom today,” she whispered to Jael. Slowly, she took off the silver bells and dropped them into a pouch. Then she took off the jesses, slipped off the hood and let Jael ride freely on her wrist. It was an odd sensation. Tears welled in Alice’s eyes. Today ended many things.

“Go, Jael,” Alice said. “Fly away.”

The falcon peered at her, those big dark eyes unblinking. Then Jael turned and gave a piercing cry, and zoomed after a heron that flew out of the bushes where Cord had said one hid.

At that instant, the bailiff gave a mighty, long-distance shout. Alice turned. The bailiff, who was far away, pointed at her. She heard his words float to her. He wanted her to come back. She didn’t, but kept cantering away to freedom. The bailiff urged his stallion after her. So too did the others. Alice spoke to Arthur. He nickered, tossed his head and broke into a smooth gallop.

She saw Sir Walter and Lady Martha dropping behind. None of the other riders had a chance. She skirted the small forest, heading for the dirt trail that acted as the main road for this route. When she could no longer see the others she drew rein and made Arthur travel at a canter. She wanted to save his stamina in case she suddenly needed to gallop again.

She laughed. She couldn’t believe it. At last, after all this time, she was free. Free! Now she had to get to Gareth Castle and convince her former retainers to support her.

If only Cord the dog—no! She wasn’t going to think about him. He’d had his chance. Still, she wondered what would happen to Cord. Would Philip kill him? She hoped not. Then she surprised herself by saying, “I hope you make it, dog boy, and I hope we meet again, soon.”

Forward

To be outside the law—to be an outlaw—in medieval times brought savage repercussions. Great or small alike suffered horribly. A sheriff or executioner used the rack, thumbscrews or floggings to wrest a confession from the scoundrel. If the torture succeeded—or even if it failed—the condemned soon dangled by a rope, hanged from the neck.

Sometimes entire communities were declared outlaw. A particularly onerous example occurred at the end of the twelfth century in the south of France. It began in the town of Albi, as the people there sought religious reform. They wished for a return to primitive Christianity as practiced in Acts, in the New Testament. They also recalled tenants of the early Arian heresy of the Visigoths, who had once ruled the south of France. A few of the ideas had also filtered from returning Crusaders from the Holy Land. These ideas came from Manichean thought and an Islamic hatred for images and relics.

The black-robed Albigensian clergy vowed to devote themselves to God and to the Gospel. They swore never to touch a woman, never to kill an animal, never to eat meat, eggs or dairy food, or anything but for fish and vegetables. Their followers renounced the Catholic Church and they greeted fellow
perfecti
with a triple and reverent genuflection.

The Count of Toulouse, the Count of Foix and the Count of Beziers all joined the Albigensians. After sending many friars and priests to south France, and failing to convince the Albigensians, Pope Alexander III christened the movement heresy. It was 1179 A.D. Stung by the label, the Albigensians called the Church of Rome, ‘The great Whore of Babylon.’ They also called the clergy, ‘The Synagogue of Satan,’ and they said the Pope was ‘The very Antichrist come to Earth.’

For a time, Cistercian and Dominican friars made some headway in south France through gentle persuasion. Then an Albigensian knight slew a papal legate. It was the turning point. In 1209, Pope Innocent III excommunicated the Albigensian leaders and laid the land under interdict—he put them outside the law, making them outlaws. Papal agents preached a European crusade against the Albigensians. They wanted help to put down these outlaws. Many northern knights eager for gold and land gladly took up the challenge.

The chief and greatest Crusader was a French-Norman knight named Simon de Montfort. De Montfort besieged the town of Beziers and demanded that all the heretics—all the outlaws—be driven out to him and his small but efficient army. The town leaders said they would rather fight until they were reduced to eating their children. De Montfort and his knights soon scaled the walls and sacked the city. During the massacre—over twenty thousand people perished—a soul-stung knight asked de Montfort how he could separate the Christians from the heretics. De Montfort is said to have shouted, “Slay them all. Let God separate them!”

De Montfort’s zeal drove him to make a desert of a once productive land, and it gave him many victories. He fell in battle in 1218, and his eldest son Amauri took over. The only other surviving son of the ‘Scourge of the Albigensians’ was another Simon. He was a tall and powerfully built man with the dark good looks of the South. This Simon de Montfort later defied King Henry III of England. In 1263, he gained control of the majority of the Western Marches of Wales.

It was a different era here in Wales from the Albigensian Crusade of Simon’s father. Nevertheless, it had this similarity: it was a bad time to be an outlaw.