The Rogue Knight (47 page)

“No!” thundered Sergeant Hob. He sat upon his stallion like some baleful toad of war. There was in him a grim majesty, an awful power.

Philip glared at him.

Slowly, with both sides watching, hugely rotund Hob urged his steed toward Philip. Hob still wore a stained chainmail hauberk, had a chipped helmet and a cloak marred with gravy and wine stains. His red-rimmed eyes and fleshly face didn’t melt away and reform into a prince’s features. Nothing like that occurred. However, Hob seemed to straighten as he rode across the stream to Philip. His fat shoulders squared back, and while his glob of fleshly neck didn’t disappear, it seemed to harden. The face, more than anything else, took on a stern and commanding mien.

When he reached Philip, Hob held out his hand. He held out his hand like a king, with surety, rightness, and authority.

“Give me the piece of the True Cross,” Hob told Philip.

Philip peered up into those bloodshot eyes. “Are you a traitor?” he asked.

“No, Sir Philip, I’m no traitor.”

“Do you join them?”

“I said I’m no traitor. Do you doubt my word?”

Philip wanted too. Everything about Hob screamed danger. Something grand and therefore terrifying was going on. If he said no, though, Philip had a feeling that Hob would draw his sword and begin fighting.

“What’s your plan?” Philip whispered.

“To speak with the boy,” Hob said.

“And?”

“And hit him,” Hob said.

“Hit him?”

“Hard.”

Philip grinned. “You want a generous portion of the treasure, is that it?”

“The piece of the True Cross, Sir Philip,” Hob said.

Philip still hesitated.

“It
is
a holy relic,” Hob said.

Philip nodded curtly.

Hob said, “To hold onto a relic, if one has lied upon it, will bring upon one the Curse of God.”

Fear filled Philip. He’d lied upon a piece of the True Cross. To fight now, any kind of fight, could be dangerous. So if Hob was going to take care of Cord by striking him…. Ah, maybe the foolish fat man thought he could save Cord’s life this way.

“Go,” Philip said, giving Hob the wood. “See what you can do.”

Hob’s hand curled around the piece of the True Cross. He kissed it, and he raised it high for everyone to see. Then he urged his stallion forward.

Philip had grave misgivings. Something had gone horribly wrong, but he wasn’t sure what. He watched the fat sergeant rein in before Cord. They whispered together. Cord nodded. Hob turned his steed and faced Philip and the men-at-arms across the stream. He raised his voice and began to speak, all the while holding up the hand-sized piece of the True Cross.

“I am not a lair!” Hob began. “You all know that.”

“Aye!” shouted several Pellinore men-at-arms.

“What I am about to say is my secret of fourteen years.”

Hob had their attention. A hound whined in the silence. A dog boy slapped the hound quiet. Philip bit his lip, not liking this at all.

“For fourteen years I have held onto a terrible, horrible secret,” Hob shouted. “Long ago, in Egypt, I fought in the Sixth Crusade. You all know that. What you don’t know is that I went on the Crusade as Raymond of Lorraine, a Knight Brother and an Undermarshal of the Order of the Temple.”

Shouts of amazement rose up.

Hob waited. When it was quiet again, he said, “Alas! We lost and were captured by the infidels. It was then that I was untrue to my vows. By breaking my vows, I knew that I no longer deserved to be a Knight Templar, no longer deserved to act as a knight. Thus, when I gained my freedom, I sailed to the ends of the earth, to Wales, and took up a lonely life. Alas! I was still too weak. I had wanted to end my days as a hermit, but the allure of the world was too strong. So I took up the trade I knew best, that of warrior. But a knight I would not be, only a sergeant. That was fourteen long years ago.

“Today I take up the mantle of knighthood again. I will not do it to fight you, Sir Philip. I am no longer a traitor. You are Baron Guy’s man and so am I. But….”

Hob nodded at Cord and then he said to the others, “For two years I’ve trained Cord. He is everything a knight should be. Sir Philip has said, however, that he will not face one who isn’t a knight. Very well.”

Hob, as Raymond of Lorraine, a Knight Templar, dismounted. He held up the piece of the True Cross. “I swear before God that I’ve spoken the truth. As a knight, and even more as a former Undermarshal of the Order of the Temple, I dub Sir Tostig of Barrow’s son.”

Hob turned, struck Cord on the shoulder and roared, “I dub thee Sir Cord Fitz-Tostig!”

Henri, Rhys and Alice cheered lustily. In moments so did the Pellinore men-at-arms.

Hob turned to Philip. “Now you may face him, one knight to another.”

Philip nodded bleakly, staring at Cord, watching him take off Sir Lamerok’s armor and jacket and putting it on himself. He almost charged, but Undermarshal Raymond of Lorraine guarded the young knight.

Maybe Philip had always known it would come to this. “Damn you, Tostig,” he whispered. Philip wondered if maybe, just maybe he’d already damned himself. He should never have made a false oath on a piece of the True Cross. Perhaps almost as bad, he had made a false oath to the devil Taranis. He re-gripped his shield and wiped sweat out of his eyes. A sickly grin twitched across his face. Everything could be solved if he could cut down Cord Dog Bo—if he could slay Sir Cord Fitz-Tostig.

***

“Are you ready, Sir Cord?” asked Hob.

Cord felt a thrill shoot through him. He smiled widely, nodded. Then he saw Sir Lamerok of Dun lying dead on the shale. The smile vanished.

“Remember,” Hob said, “Sir Philip is strong, very strong.”

“I’m faster,” said Cord, “and have more endurance.”

Hob moved close and clutched Cord’s biceps. “Be wary, as I’ve taught you to be wary.”

“Yes, Undermarshal.”

Hob shook his head. “I am not Raymond of Lorraine. I am fat Sergeant Hob.” He squeezed the arm. “Now go, kill yonder knight and save your lady.”

Sir Cord Fitz-Tostig, with a hauberk that only reached to his elbows and a little past his waist and with a heavy longsword, but without a shield, helmet, mail hose or gauntlets, marched to face the Banneret Sir Philip Talbot of Tarn Tower.

Huge Sir Philip drew his sword and clanked a few steps forward. He wore a complete set of chainmail armor. He was endowed with giant strength and had a lifetime of cunning to guide him.

“I will kill you,” Philip growled.

Cord stopped and saluted Philip with his sword. “You were there when my father died. What is more, you hated my father and no doubt saw to his hanging.” Cord smiled grimly. “I am my father’s son, Sir Philip. I am here to pay a blood-debt. You are about to die.”

Philip’s face drained of color. He worked his mouth but no sounds issued.

Cord’s grin grew even grimmer. He tossed his head in a reckless way.

Philip staggered backward. “Tostig,” he whispered.

“This is the end,” said Cord.

“Yes,” Sir Philip said. “Yes, this is the end.” He licked his lips, shook his head, and suddenly thundered, “BUT I’M TAKING YOU WITH ME, TOSTIG!”

Sir Philip launched himself at Sir Cord. With his superior size, armor and because of his shield he forced Sir Cord back. Only Cord’s speed and agility saved him as he parried the blows or dodged them. When Cord tried to attack, the shield proved too much of a barrier. Finally, he began to scoop up pieces of shale and throw them at Philip’s head. It slowed the attack a little. Soon sweat poured off Philip and he gasped like a spent bull. Each swing caused him to wince with pain.

“Your arm is weary,” said Cord.

Philip bellowed again, and shook his shield off his arm. He grasped his sword two-handedly and hammered in sweeping blows. Cord kept dodging and retreating.

The Pellinore men-at-arms booed.

Philip ground to a halt as he let his sword tip drop to the ground. “Stand and fight,” he said. “Your prancing does you no credit.”

Warily, Cord approached the heavily breathing man.

Philip lifted his sword with a roar and swung a high sweeping blow at Cord’s unprotected head. Cord ducked low as he’d seen Sir Lamerok do yesterday. With all his strength, he swung at Philip’s legs. The sword crunched against Philip’s left knee. Philip buckled, roared in pain and fell to the ground.

“Tostig!” Philip screamed.

Sir Cord, a true knight of his times, rammed the cold steel of his sword into the face of his foe.

The duel was over.

“Untie the witch,” said Cord.

The others had come down from the hill. With Philip and Gaston dead, and with Aldora shorn of power, Hob was the highest ranked among the Castle Pellinore warriors. The men-at-arms and sergeants grumbled at Cord’s words. Raymond of Lorraine, the former Undermarshal of the Knights Templars, scowled. The men obeyed and untied Aldora.

Cord said, “Because of your treachery Sir Lamerok is dead.”

“No treachery,” Aldora hissed as she rubbed her wrists. “He was a thief, come to steal that which he had no right to.”

“You mean Gaius’ Golden Treasure?” asked Cord.

“No!” Aldora spat. “I mean the stolen druidic blood vessels. Take them at your peril, O Man of Iron.”

“I don’t want them,” said Cord.

Aldora stared at him in amazement, while the Pellinore warriors grumbled and complained. A cunning look entered the witch’s old eyes. “Do you speak the truth?” she asked.

Cord said nothing, although he matched her stare for stare.

She looked away first. “Aye, you’re a tough one, all right.” She rubbed her jaw. “What if I trade ye something of equal value for the treasure? Will you leave the treasure to me then?”

“No!” shouted one of the Castle Pellinore warriors.

Cord rounded on the man. “I slew your champion! Do you doubt my right to make the decision? Well, speak up,” Cord said, pushing the man’s shoulder.

The Pellinore man-at-arms flinched. Like the others, he’d seen Sir Cord defeat the terrible banneret.

“It’s your decision,” said the Pellinore man-at-arms.

Cord nodded and turned back to Aldora. “What’s your trade?”

“I have information,” she said slyly. “You must agree to the trade before I give it to you.”

“No,” said Cord. “You must tell me. If it’s a fair trade, then I’ll agree.”

She agreed, perhaps having taken Sir Cord’s measure. “Baron Guy is dead,” she said.

The Pellinore men-at-arms crossed themselves at this revelation.

“How do you know?” asked Cord.

“He is dead,” Aldora said. “I know. That is enough.”

“Who will be the new baron?” asked Cord.

“Whoever Lady de Clare marries,” said Hob.

“We can return to Pellinore,” Alice said. “Or go back to Gareth Castle.”

Cord took Alice by the elbow and steered her away from the others. Henri, Rhys and Gwen soon joined them. “What do you think?” asked Cord.

“The decision is up to you,” Rhys said.

“We’ll be passing up treasure if we leave,” said Cord.

“No,” Alice said. “We won’t.”

They stared at her.

“I broke open Philip’s treasure chests when you left the tower that terrible night. Then I lowered the coins in sacks and buried them outside the castle as I waited for you to rescue Sir Lamerok.”

Henri laughed, shaking his head.

“I will split the treasure with all of you,” Alice said. “Thus we can forgo taking the tainted druidic treasure. Now that Pellinore is safe for us, I can dig up the coins.”

Although the fight had drained him, Cord worked to one knee and took Alice’s slender hand in his dirty ones. “Marry me, milady.”

“You have the money you need, Sir Cord. You no longer need my fief,” she said.

“It’s you I want, Alice.”

Alice peered into his eyes. “Do you truly want me for a wife?”

“I do.”

“Then I’ll marry you,” Alice declared, throwing herself into his arms as he rose. She whispered in his ear, “Yes, I’ll marry you, Sir Cord of Wales, and be your wife forever.”

The End

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The Rogue Knight
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The Sword of Carthage
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Historical Note

Five centuries after the founding of Rome began the longest, continuous war in ancient times. In terms of numbers of men involved, it saw the largest naval battle in history. The next largest was during World War II when the Americans crushed the Imperial Japanese Fleet at Leyte Gulf, in October, 1944.

Rome battled Carthage. Rome had patriotic legionaries, tough allies and the aggressiveness of youth. Carthage—the richest city on Earth—controlled a sprawling maritime empire, hired vicious mercenaries and ran its military campaigns like a hardheaded business venture.

Between them, they fought a war that shook the ancient world.