The Rogue Knight (41 page)

“Gaius is a Roman name,” Henri said thoughtfully.

“Your words are hard,” Alice told Lamerok.

“Perhaps they are, milady, but please consider what I’ve been through.”

“No, your words aren’t hard at all,” Cord said, rising. “I understand how cunning ones enemies can be. Baron Hugh and Sir Philip kept me as a dog boy for eleven long years. All so they could abuse me and make a mockery of my father. You have my hand on your pact, Sir Lamerok of Dun, but only if you will teach me how to be a true knight.”

Lamerok grinned. “You are my squire and I your knight.” He shook hands.

“I will agree,” Alice said, watching them. “But your tale must begin today.”

“So near Pellinore?” Lamerok chided.

“You may tell us the tale as we ride,” she said.

“As you wish.”

“Where will we ride to?” asked Cord.

“Deeper into Wales,” Lamerok said.

“Where in Wales?” asked Cord.

“Into Owain ab Ifan’s lands,” Rhys said, with a note of authority in his voice.

The others glanced at him, and missed how Rhys’ wife stiffened.

“Why there?” Alice asked the Welshman.

“Because Owain and his warriors are still at Bridgenorth,” Rhys said. “And because ab Ifan’s lands surround Gareth Fief.” The stocky Welshman tugged his forked beard. “I’ve listened to all that’s been said about Sir Lamerok, the few tidbits people spoke about him before I was thrown into the dungeon.

“They said that you and your squire rode wounded into Gareth Castle. They also said that you had been ambushed in Free Wales. Well, Owain ab Ifan’s lands lie all about Gareth Fief. Perhaps it was in Owain’s lands where you were wounded. In any case, you were surely headed to your somewhere when this wounding occurred. So going to Owain’s territory will take you near there again. What say you, Sir Knight? Does my destination suit you?”

“It does,” Lamerok said.

“Let’s hurry,” Henri said with a shiver. “I’m beginning to agree with Sir Lamerok. I think Guy and his witch will hound us to the ends of the earth. We have what he most desires.”

“Aye,” Alice said.

Cord didn’t like her smile, but he began to understand how much Alice hated Guy.

“You must tell them,” Gwen told her husband. “They deserve to know.”

“Know what?” Lamerok asked.

Cord saw Gwen touch Rhys’ arm and nod encouragingly. Rhys bit his lower lip, doubt filling his eyes.

“Tell them,” Gwen urged.

“If it’s any help,” Henri said, “my curiosity is killing me.”

“Our time is short,” Rhys said bluntly. He gave Lamerok a challenging stare. “I hadn’t wanted to burden you with this, nor the others. Owain ab Ifan marches upon Pellinore Fief.”

“What?” Alice said.

Rhys nodded and asked Cord, “Do you remember Edric, my brother-in-law?”

“I do,” Cord said, recalling the red-haired bard who had drunkenly called the bailiff a Viking pirate.

“He gave me more than one message,” Rhys said. He laughed bleakly, a sharp-edged thing. “I came to Pellinore Castle in order to warn the new baron. Yea, just as I had once warned Baron Hugh, I had returned to warn his son. But before I could pay him homage and give my oath of fealty, my wife and I were thrown into the dungeon. It’s ironic—for he lied by calling us witches. And because of that Baron Guy never learned the truth.”

“What truth?” Alice asked.

“Owain ab Ifan has gained allies,” Rhys said. “Aye, at Bridgenorth the Welsh and Earl Simon’s host worked together. Now, as Owain returns home, he has as an ally in Baron Lambert, one of Simon’s premier knights. Edric warned me, and he tried to persuade me to change my allegiance from the House of Clare and back to my old Welsh lord. I did not then nor do I now. Owain ab Ifan is my enemy, my blood-foe.”

“When were you going to have told us this?” Lamerok asked.

“After we’d gained this treasure,” Rhys said.

“With Owain on our trail?” snapped Lamerok.

“That is why our time is short,” Rhys said. “Owain will not return directly home, but he might send back messengers for more supplies and more battle-worthy lads to join him. There lies our danger.”

“We must warn the folk at Pellinore,” Cord said, alarmed at this horrible news.

Alice gave him a bleak look. “How will you warn them? Return there to be hanged?”

Cord was confused. It was his duty to warn the folk at Pellinore Castle, wasn’t it?

“If they catch us then we can warn them,” Lamerok said. “As for now, we must move.”

“Agreed,” Alice said. “Cord?”

Cord couldn’t speak because he didn’t know what to say. At last, he heaved his saddle onto his destrier. He’d have to think this through. As he cinched the saddle straps under the warhorse’s belly, he wondered just what exactly Sir Guy, Aldora and Philip were doing.

Philip seethed.
Damn the dog boy, and damn Squire Richard Clark
. He still couldn’t believe that old Baron Hugh’s squire had helped the others escape. It was simply too much.

“It’s all your fault really,” Richard said, seemingly unconcerned with his fate. Richard’s round face was set in a stubborn mask, his eyes blazing with pride. There wasn’t an ounce of repentance in him, even though he was on trail for his life!

The Great Hall had been cleared early this morning. Now Baron Guy’s knights and men-at-arms sat on benches arrayed before the fireplace. On several chairs sat the most important ladies, Lady Eleanor chief among them. Today she took the place of her son, being his representative. For among the gentry only Baron Guy was absent. He was sick with fever. The wine, the late night feasting and the shock of losing Sir Lamerok had broken him. Whether he would live another day rested upon the merciful will of God. Father Bernard sat upstairs with Guy, praying and fasting over him.

“How can you claim this is my fault?” Philip jeered.

Richard sat on a stool in front of the fireplace, his splinted legs stretched before him. “Several days ago your grudge against Cord upset your reason,” Richard said. The welt under his eye where Philip had struck him last night seemed not to bother him at all.

“What grudge?”

“Cord is the son of Sir Tostig of Barrow. You hated Sir Tostig, therefore you’ve always hated Cord.”

The various knights, men-at-arms and ladies looked worn and haggard as they listened. The feasting—the drinking—had gone too well last night. This morning was the payment.

Richard said, “It started when you made your wicked suggestion that Cord’s hand be struck off.”

“I’ve not forgotten that day,” Philip warned.

“You acted the part of a Turk,” Richard said. “Because of your evil you poisoned the hunt.”

Philip haughtily waved his arm. “You can’t blame
me
for what happened. It was Cord’s malice.” Philip asked the others, “Can we allow peasants to impudently cut game?”

“Cord isn’t a peasant,” Richard said. “His blood is as noble as yours. Maybe more noble.”

Philip spun round in rage. Like a shambling bear, he advanced upon Richard. “You dare impute my lineage? Only a traitorous dog could speak such a slur.”

“You call me a dog, you who always feared Sir Tostig? No! You’re a coward who used a boy to make himself feel like a man.”

“Silence!” Philip roared, drawing his sword.

“Strike, coward!” Richard spat. “Swing against the cripple. Oh, what a noble knight you are. You make all England proud.”

Philip lifted his sword high to strike.

“No!” shouted the bailiff. “Do not strike!”

“Swing, Turk! Cut off my head and wallow in glory. Only know that Cord the son of Tostig will come hunting. And it’s
you
he’ll find. He’ll do what Sir Tostig always did to you.”

Huge Philip Talbot bellowed and swung in a mighty arc. Pain flared in his shoulder. It slowed his swing as he aimed at Richard’s neck. Richard, despite his legs, nimbly rolled off the bench and to the floor. The sword
swished
above him.

The bailiff, Sir Walter and Sir George leaped up. They grabbed Philip from behind. His sword clanged onto the cobblestones. Struggling fiercely, they kept the huge knight from launching himself upon Richard. All the while Sir George hissed into Philip’s ear. At last, Philip quit struggling. He panted like a behemoth.

“Release me,” he said. “I will not kill the traitor.”

“Do you say this on your word of honor and before God?” the bailiff asked. He breathed hard. Although old and well past his prime, Philip was still the strongest Pellinore knight.

“I’ll watch Richard hang like a common felon,” Philip said.

The three knights let go. Huge Philip picked up his sword, rammed it into its scabbard and sat down on the Knight’s Bench. “Let some one else question him. I will no longer stain myself by speaking to such a traitorous scum.”

Richard pulled himself back onto his stool. Hatred shone in his eyes.

“Squire Richard,” the bailiff said as he mopped his forehead with a handkerchief.

Richard gave the lean, ever serious bailiff his attention.

The bailiff wore armor and a judicial frown. Of everyone present, save for Aldora, he was the least hung over. He spoke quietly but with authority. Through his probing, the entire story came to light.

“Cord slew Reynard, you’re certain of this?” the bailiff asked.

“I am.”

“You saw it?”

“Only the end,” Richard said. “I saw Cord step within Reynard’s guard and administer the death blow. It was well done.”

“Cord fought well?”

“Like a knight,” Richard said, giving the glowering, silent Sir Philip a glance.

“It was then that you agreed to help them?” the bailiff asked.

“Milord,” Richard said, “I owed Cord a grave debt. He slew Old Sloat and thereby saved my life.” Richard turned to the knights. “You know Old Sloat’s habits. After slaying Baron Hugh, would Old Sloat have merely run off?”

Sir Walter had the decency to appear uncomfortable. Sir George’s scowl never wavered. Like a sailor on a storm-tossed sea, Sir Thomas glanced at Philip in order to gage the direction of the wind.

“No,” Richard said, answering his own question, “Old Sloat would not have fled. He would have slain my steed and then slain me pinned under it. Cord prevented that by killing the monster. Then Cord’s quick barbering saved my legs, or so the barber told me.”

“I believe you,” the bailiff said.

Philip made a strangled sound, but otherwise remained silent.

Richard continued, “Days later, the Lady Alice discovered that one of my wounds had begun to rot. If not for her timely action, my right leg would have been sawn off. I would have been a cripple for life. So her too I owed a debt.”

“Perhaps that’s true,” the bailiff said. “But you were Baron Hugh’s squire first.”

“I was, and still am, I suppose,” Richard said. “The distinction of being his squire has always made me proud. Baron Hugh was a good man, a splendid knight.”

“Your allegiance now belongs to Baron Guy, since you are now his squire.”

“Allow me to disagree,” Richard said. “I did no homage yesterday. I gave no oath of fealty. Therefore, by the rules of Chivalry, I made no traitorous action because Baron Guy wasn’t and isn’t yet my liege.”

At this revelation, the knights and men-at-arms began to mumble and whisper.

“Is this true?” Eleanor asked in surprise.

“It is, milady,” Richard said.

“Please, good sirs, if I could once more have your attention,” the bailiff called out.

The noise died away.

The bailiff faced Richard. “You believe that last night you paid back your debt to Cord and the Lady Alice?”

“Milord,” Richard said. “I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again. Cord is the son of Sir Tostig. He is noble then, worthy of debts and honors, not merely a lowly dog boy to kick at a whim.”

“His father was hanged like a felon,” the bailiff pointed out.

Richard licked his lips. “Milord, Sir Tostig was hanged like a felon, but did that make him one? Isn’t it truer to say that Earl Roger Mortimer hated Sir Tostig, as Baron Hugh and Sir Philip hated him, enough to hang him unlawfully? Is it not truer to say they hanged him out of spite?”

“No!” Philip shouted. Other knights shouted nay as well.

“Good lords and ladies,” Richard said. “I ask you to hear me out.”

“Let him speak,” the bailiff said in his most authoritative voice.

Once again, the noises died away.

Richard collected himself and spoke earnestly to the bailiff. “These words are for you, good sir. I have known you many years. You are a God-fearing man and a knight of his word. You are honest and truthful. For are you not a judge, and as a judge aren’t you honor bound before God to only deal in truths?”

“This is rhetoric!” Philip shouted. “He seeks to lawyer his way to life.”

“Aye! Aye!” cried Sir George.

“My lords and ladies,” Richard said, “do you fear mere words?”

“When they’re twisted and spat about like a lawyer, yes,” Philip said.

“Then you fear the truth?” Richard asked.

“No,” the bailiff said. “We do not fear the truth. Instead, we demand it.”

“Thank you, milord.”

“Speak on, Richard,” the bailiff said.

“Good Bailiff, I ask you this question before God. By the laws of King Henry the Second, by the laws of England, did Earl Roger Mortimer lawfully hang Sir Tostig of Barrow?”

“The bailiff can’t answer that,” Philip shouted. “He was not there.”

“He wasn’t there,” Richard said. “But the bailiff is a law master. Even more, he’s an honest man.”

“Are you saying that Baron Hugh and Earl Roger Mortimer were not?” Philip asked.

“You three hated Sir Tostig,” Richard said. “Hatred has ways of fueling rage, as your
bold
swing, Sir Philip, proved so well just awhile ago.”

A man laughed. The others turned to see who it was. Fat Sergeant Hob laughed. He recovered and said, “Please forgive my interruption.”

“Good Bailiff,” Richard said, “answer my question. I am fain to know the truth.”

The bailiff turned to Philip. His lean face was set in its most judicial mold. “Before God I was asked this question. And the truth must be known. For Richard’s life hangs in the balance. No, the hanging wasn’t legal. Therefore, Sir Tostig never became a felon. Therefore Cord has noble blood, not that tainted by felony.”

“You lie!” Philip thundered. He rose and pointed an accusatory finger at the bailiff.

“If I lie, sir,” the bailiff said stiffly, “then face me in mortal combat.”

“A trail by duel,” Sir Thomas said. “That is a splendid idea. Let God decided.”

“No,” Eleanor said, rising and facing the knights. “There will be no trail by duel.” She faced the bailiff. “All here know that you are an honest man. If you believe what you’ve said, then I stand with you and your decision.” To Philip she said, “You are a loyal knight, sir. My husband always trusted you and so do I. But all know that you hated Sir Tostig and his son Cord. Please, sir, allow the matter to rest.”

Obviously wrestling with his emotions, Philip gave Eleanor a curt bow and sat back down.

The bailiff turned to Richard.

Richard said, “I thought as you do, sir. Because of that, I had to pay back my debt to Cord as one noble to another.”

“Agreed,” the bailiff said. “However, that didn’t allow you to help Sir Lamerok escape. No matter of honor drove you there.”

“I disagree, good Bailiff. Since Cord has been wronged these many years, I deemed it proper to give him a prisoner who could help him rise to the knighthood.”

“How so?” the bailiff asked.

“Surely Sir Lamerok will reward the youth who saved him,” Richard said. “How better then by helping him become a knight? All here, I’m sure, have heard of Sir Lamerok of Dun, one of the finest tournament knights of both England and Scotland. Earl Robert de Ferrers of Derby, the Galahad of Jousting, even tried to rescue Sir Lamerok. Surely there is no one more suited to helping Cord becoming a knight than Sir Lamerok of Dun.”

“I see,” the bailiff said. He touched his chin and turned to Lady Eleanor. “What now, milady?”

“You and I shall judge him,” Eleanor said, “and three other good knights.”

“Which knights?” the bailiff asked.

“Sir Walter, Sir Thomas and Sir George,” the Eleanor said. “Only on the condition, however, if that is agreeable with Pellinore’s faithful castellan.”

Philip considered the matter. They would no doubt allow Richard to live, but he might lose his status as squire. Then he could kill Richard later at his leisure.

“I am agreed,” Philip said. “If any need me I shall be in the stable.” He then marched out of the Great Hall and down the steps. His thoughts were in turmoil.

“Sir Philip!”

He turned at the bottom of the stairs and discovered tiny Aldora hurrying after him. What did the witch want now? Despite her haste, she negotiated the steps carefully, using her pealed hazel stick for support.

For once, the dour Gascon crossbowman didn’t hover nearby. He played chess with the bailiff’s daughter up in the living quarters. Last night the Welshman’s arrow had torn the muscle of his left shoulder. Philip had been there when Gaston had been told that he might never regain the complete use of his arm. Instead of raging against fate (as he would have done) Gaston had only smiled more dourly than ever.

“Your eagle has flown,” Philip said, thinking of Gaston.

“Not flown, but resting,” Aldora said in her loud voice. She chuckled wickedly. “Above all else, dear Philip, my eagle knows how to wait.”

“What does he wait for?”

“Blood.”

From under what rock had Guy found this witch? Philip wondered yet again.