A Dishonorable Knight Read online

  "And I suppose if I do not, you two will stay here, constantly nipping at my heels, eh?"

  "Aye, and Enid will surely give you no end of trouble for that!" laughed Bryant, referring to Cynan's wife.

  Gareth chuckled as he shook his head at his friend. "I can only promise to think about it now."

  "You do that," said Cynan, winking at Bryant. "For you never can tell when Richard will send you on another important mission of state." Gareth held open the doors to the hall for his friends. "Perhaps this time, he will send you to Scotland to borrow a sack of flour from James!" Gareth laughed good naturedly as he shoved his friend through the doorway, but remained outside in the cool evening air. He took a deep breath and tried to settle the jumble of information muddling his brain. His father caught up in a plot to unseat the king? His countrymen rallying to Richmond’s banner? His best friends taking part in secret meetings? He must be losing his head.

  Gareth took another calming breath and prepared to face his king as if he knew nothing. Treason was definitely an easy way to lose your head.

  Chapter 3

  Elena crawled into the soft down bed she shared with Catherine. As she lay there shivering, waiting for the linen to warm, she repeated to herself like a litany, "’Tis better this way. The king has favored me. ‘Tis better this way." While she had mildly cared for Edgeford she felt nothing but fear for the earl. Lord Edgeford was handsome and devoted to her--had she not convinced him to follow her here to Middleham? The earl was another matter. Before she entered the bedroom, she had heard Margaret and Catherine talking about him.

  "I never saw his first two wives—they may have been sickly women. But 'tis been a long-standing rumor that he's hard on women." In the darkened doorway, Elena shivered, remembering the earl's thick hands and meaty forearms.

  "Do you think Elena will be happy with him?"

  Elena heard a sigh she assumed was from Margaret. "I do not know, Catherine. He is a powerful earl. Elena always made it clear that a title was what she sought, so I hope being a countess will make up for whatever else she may have to bear."

  Despite her litany, Elena could not keep Margaret's words from her mind: "He is hard on women." Surely the king could not know this and still betroth her to him? Elena sat up in bed with a start, causing Catherine to mumble in her sleep and grope for the covers. Perhaps he did not know! Perhaps he believed the earl to be kind and gentle. Flopping back against her pillows in relief, Elena vowed to seek out the king at the first opportunity and tell him what she had heard. Perchance she could still be married to Lord Edgeford by midsummer, after all.

  Awakening early the next morning, she dressed with extra care, choosing a demure high-waisted gown of soft pink and covering her hair with a fine veil. She hurried downstairs, hoping to catch Richard while he broke his fast. All she found at the great table, however, were crusts of bread and rinds of cheese.

  "Has His Majesty risen yet?" she asked a sleepy eyed serving girl.

  "Aye, my lady. Risen, eaten, and left for a fine day's hunting, I'll wager."

  Stomping her booted foot against the soiled rushes, Elena cursed her luck. Her luck over the next two days was just as bad. No, Elena thought, worse, since she had to spend those days with the Lady Elizabeth, listening to her plan Elena’s wedding as if she were a simple child with no say on the event--even had she wanted it to occur. By the third day, Elena had given up hope of talking to Richard any time soon as his entire entourage was preparing to remove to Nottingham Castle.

  "Do not tell me," Elena grumbled to herself. "The grouse hunting is better there."

  Margaret paused in the midst of packing one of Princess Elizabeth's trunks. "You really have no idea of what is going on, do you?"

  Elena rolled her eyes before turning to face Margaret. "What does it matter the reason. The king could decide he wants to stand on his head and we would be trussed out in the middle of the night to witness it."

  Margaret quickly covered the distance between them and put her hand over Elena's mouth. "Have you no thought for your life? Royal favorite or no, if the wrong people heard you speaking as you do, they could make your life miserable." Before Elena could jerk Margaret's hand away from her mouth, Margaret continued. "The reason we are going to Nottingham is because that is to be King Richard's stronghold for the war which will surely arise should the Earl of Richmond invade England." Margaret quickly pulled her hand away from Elena's face and glanced at the other ladies in the room. They were all gathered around Princess Elizabeth, staring out the narrow window at the knights in the bailey below.

  "We are removing to Nottingham because Richard must have heard news that Henry means to invade soon!" Margaret hissed.

  When Elena still stared blankly at her, Margaret threw her hands into the air. "This means nothing to you, does it?"

  "This means sleeping in tents or roadside inns for nothing. King Richard cut Buckingham's rebellion short, he can certainly prevent the taking of his crown by a Welshman who has spent most of his life out of England."

  Margaret looked surprised by Elena's grasp of the world outside of the women's solar. Buckingham had helped Richard attain the throne, then turned around and helped the Earl of Richmond in his first bid for the crown. No matter how petty other’s thought her, Elena made it a point to always be aware how matters stood in the world of political intrigue that had ruled England for years. Glancing at the chattering, giggling group of ladies, Elena knew she was an oddity. No doubt her unconventional education had given her a glimpse into the world of politics that few other court ladies had been granted. Margaret seemed the only other lady who was aware of the world outside of fashion and courtships, but the two rarely got along. Elena found Margaret too strident and knew the other woman viewed her as nothing more than a social climber.

  Within an hour, Elena was mounted on her grey palfrey, carefully arranging the dark blue skirts of her kirtle about her. As she tucked the edge of her veil over her nose and mouth, a large hand landed firmly on her leg. Stifling a scream, she looked down into the hooded gaze of her fiancée.

  "I trust I will find you well when next we meet in London, my lady," he said, his loud voice coming from deep within his barrel chest.

  "You are not riding with us?" Elena hoped the earl couldn't hear the relief in her voice.

  "I have business for the king which will take me along a different route. Rest assured I will be in London by Michaelmas."

  Elena forced herself to nod, but could not force a smile. Gathering her reins, she kicked her small horse into a gallop. There must be a way out of this sour predicament, she thought. Perhaps if she wrote her father...But her father had expressed no joy when his daughter left to become a lady-in-waiting to Richard's queen. He had not sent so much as a word since she had been at court, and her mother's few letters had been disappointingly brief. Catching up to Margaret and Catherine, she slowed her horse to a walk. The summer sun beat down unmercifully and Elena readjusted her veil over her face to filter out as much of the road dust as possible. This was going to be a miserable trip, she decided.

  Chapter 4

  Several rows back, Gareth spat out the mouthful of grit he had inhaled as a small gray horse galloped past, stirring up clouds of dust. He reached up to pat Isrid's neck. "You can believe I never thought to see you as a pack horse either," he whispered to his steed. Because neither Cynan nor Bryant owned a horse, Gareth had loaded all of their belongings on Isrid and walked with his friends. He adjusted his thick leather hauberk as a rivulet of sweat ran down his back, and cursed as he felt a rock rolling around in his boot. Taking off his helm, he hung it on Isrid's saddle. I may only look like a man-at-arms now, he thought, but at least I will not pass out from the heat. "I will admit it to you if no one else," he confessed to the horse, "I have grown accustomed to riding. I do not think I am going to be able stand more than three or four miles of this torture."

  "Are you whining again, Gareth?" Cynan asked good-naturedly.

  "Just bemo
aning your lack of foresight in not borrowing a horse when you came to visit. We could be riding this dusty road instead of eating it if you had but thought ahead!"

  "I never thought I should live to see the day when Gareth ap Morgan would be too puny to walk a few miles on a beautiful summer day, did you Bryant?"

  Visibly trying to keep from smiling, Bryant looked at Gareth in mock pity. "Well, Cynan, you must admit that broadsword does look awfully heavy. And those shiny silver spurs are none too light either!"

  "But I wager that the heaviest thing our friend carries is the title of Sir Gareth, wouldn't you say?" Both men burst out laughing while Gareth leveled an exasperated glare at them. In truth, Gareth had missed their constant teasing. Now smiling at his friends, he thought how little they each had changed since they were youths. He had always loved the tales of chivalry and honor of King Arthur's court, thinking out elaborate games for the three of them to play: games in which he always got to save the fair maidens and vanquish the evil sorcerers. Cynan had played along willingly, but took even greater delight in teasing Gareth about his "lofty ideals." Bryant was the quiet follower, playing whatever games his friends dreamed up, content to let them be the heros.

  The three followed the troops in front of them as they made their way through the dusty countryside. There had been no rainfall for a fortnight and the tall grass on either side of the road was coated in dust. The flowers hung their heads limply and even the thick copse of trees further back from the road seemed to be gasping from the dry heat.

  Six hours later, even Cynan and Bryant were too tired to tease Gareth. The walk had not been particularly strenuous as the roads were good, but the sun had beat down unmercifully all day and the dust raised by thirty horses and twice as many men was chokingly thick. By the time they stopped at sunset to camp outside a small town, they were all exhausted.

  "I do not know how you have lived without the cool mountains of Gwynedd, Gareth," said Cynan as he flopped down onto his blanket. "I could have sworn we were marching in the Holy Land to meet Saracens, it was so hot today."

  "'Tis days like today that make me wish I was home again," Gareth agreed.

  "Then why do you not come back?" Bryant asked, unfolding his small pack.

  Cynan propped himself up on his elbows. "Yes, why not? It has been at least two years since you last visited your father and," Cynan glanced around to make sure no one was within hearing distance. "You could learn more about our plans to aid Henry Tudor."

  Gareth stared at the flames of their small campfire as he stirred what he hoped would taste like stew. "Soon. I will come visit soon," he said answering Cynan's first proposal and ignoring mention of the exiled earl who had already attempted one landing in England to overthrow King Richard.

  Cynan scoffed disgustedly. "Can you not see, man, nothing noble is going to happen to you while you are in the service of this butcher! If you remain in Richard’s service, you are going to find yourself fighting honest Welshmen--one of whom seeks the crown so he can rule Wales and England fairly."

  "Enough, Cynan! I am bound in fealty to the crown, despite who wears it and I cannot abandon my post just because you like not who wears it."

  Cynan started to argue but Bryant broke in. "That stew looks like ‘tis ready to eat, Gareth and if we're not careful, the aroma is going to attract a crowd." With a meaningful glance at the men scattered around, Cynan and Gareth nodded in understanding and turned their attention to eating.

  Travel the third day proved no more comfortable than the first two. The late afternoon sun beat down on the entourage as it made its dusty way down the hard-packed road. The ladies drooped in their saddles, unmindful of their bedraggled state. One old man nearly tumbled off his horse as he dozed. The foot soldiers trudged wearily along, too hot and tired to even choke on the ever-present dust. Even the horses lagged, their heads bobbing wearily in time to their slow steps.

  Gareth's first sense of danger was a cold prickling on his sweaty neck. Looking up sharply, he stared into the thick forest that began twenty or thirty paces off to the left. Glancing to the other side of the road, he saw no threat: the road fell away to the sharp bank of the river. Turning back to the forest he squinted his eyes, trying to see into the near-total darkness. Nothing. He looked at the soldiers around him. They plodded steadily along, but he noticed that the group had spread out in a long, broken chain. The nearest group of men, which included the king, was far ahead. The procession’s lead horses were so far ahead as to be completely out of sight. Turning to Bryant, he whispered, "Do you feel anything strange about this place?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "I know not. I just have this feeling that this is an ideal spot for an ambush."

  "Who would ambush us?" Cynan broke in.

  "Your friend Henry," Gareth replied.

  Cynan looked as if he was about to say something and then paused. Slowly shaking his head he said, "No, I don't think the timing is right. Besides, we would have heard something first. Both Bryant and I have sworn to follow your father into battle."

  "My father in battle? Sweet Christ!" Looking around, Gareth quickly lowered his voice again. "Since when has he cared about wars more than the ruttings of his flock?" Before either man could answer, he continued. "Never mind that now. How would you even know if these were Tudor's men? You two have been with me the past month. An entire war could have been planned and you two would know nothing about it."

  "He's right, Cynan, we'd have no way of knowing if we should fight for or against them."

  "Just a minute,” Cynan interrupted. “For or against who? We are working ourselves up over another of Gareth's 'eerie feelings,' are we not? Now here is the plan: if there are just ghosts in these woods, we'll fight 'em off. But if there are goblins too, I say we run for it." Before he could laugh at his own joke, a blood curdling war cry pierced the quiet air.

  "By Saint Dafydd, Gareth was finally right!" Cynan gasped.

  Confusion spread through the dazed ranks as men scrambled to position themselves in front of Richard and his retinue. When Gareth moved to mount Isrid, Cynan grabbed his arm. "You must wait, Gareth, until we can determine who is attacking."

  "No,‘tis you who must wait. I have work to do." Gareth grabbed the reins, but paused to look at his friends before spurring Isrid on. Something he saw in their eyes made him grit his teeth and say, "Alright! You two try to take cover. See if you can retreat back down the road and duck into the forest. Who ever this is should not expect to find you there."

  Cynan grinned at Gareth as Bryant tugged on his sleeve, urging him back down the dusty road.

  His heart racing as adrenaline pulsed through his veins, Gareth swung Isrid towards the thick of the fighting, which was centered around the king and women. Richard cursed the attackers and tried to swing his sword at them, but was hampered by his own soldiers who sought to protect him. Gareth swore as he saw one lady's horse cut down; to his relief, she was quickly snatched up by the knight nearest her. Digging his spurs into Isrid, Gareth plunged into the fight. Henry Tudor's men or roadside bandits, no lady deserved to die in a man's battle.

  As Gareth moved into the thick of the fighting, Richard pushed his great steed out from behind his men, trying to force his way up the road. Some of the attackers followed him and his knights, leaving the group of women. They're trying to draw the enemy away, to protect the women, Gareth thought. But not all of the attackers were following the king. Forcing his way through the brigands with his horse, Gareth drew his sword with his right hand as he fumbled for his helmet with his left.

  When he could not undo the buckle that secured it to the saddle, he abandoned it and concentrated on attacking as many of the enemy as he could. Gareth had been in few actual battles in his short career as a knight, but that did not deter him from hacking his blade into sinew and bone at every opportunity. He took out his frustration with his life on the attackers, swinging his sword with such speed that it sang through the air like a Viking scald from days o
f old. When his sword handle grew slippery with sweat and blood, he only managed to slap one man across the face with the flat of his sword. Isrid, however, trained as a warhorse, quickly trampled the dazed man and moved forward. As his mount surged ahead, Gareth had a moment to look up and assess their position. There were just a few attackers to the number of Richard's men who remained in the road, but these were mostly squires and green knights like him.

  Seeing Richard's squire, Gareth yelled as loudly as he could. "We're not but a few miles from Haddon Hall. Take the women and as many mounted men as you can and ride on." The young squire, pale with fear, nodded and yelled to the other squires. Within moments, nearly all of the women were fleeing. Gareth started after them to make sure none of the attackers would follow, but the men seemed intent on getting to Richard and were abandoning the women. Turning back, Gareth saw two women heading north, back up the road the company had just come down. "God’s wounds! They're going to get themselves killed!"

  ***

  "Your Highness I really think we should have gone the other way with the rest of the women," Elena gasped as she clung to the mane of her horse. "We shall become lost or be set upon by more attackers!"

  "Worry not Elena. Neither will happen," Princess Elizabeth called back.

  "But--"

  Slowing her horse until Elena's smaller palfrey caught up, Elizabeth said, "These are the men of my cousin, Charles Woodville. They are here to escort me home."

  "But why are they attacking?"

  "Do hurry Elena. We must get further down the road. Richard meant to marry me to solidify his hold on the throne. I cannot and will not marry him."

  "Do they mean to kill the king?"

  Elizabeth looked over her shoulder at the fight. "I do not think they would be too concerned if that happened."

  "What?" Elena asked, unsure she heard Elizabeth aright over the noise of the battle behind them. "Your Highness, do you know what you are saying?"