A Dishonorable Knight (24 page)

Gareth was stung. "Da, how many
times have I seduced any innocent girl and abandoned her? Of course I didn't
take advantage of Elena." Well he didn't, he thought, she kissed him first
and nothing actually happened! "’Tis just that she's been through so much
and she's used to having more than one dress. So I thought it was the least I
could do," Gareth argued defensively. "May I have the money or
not?"

"Of course, lad, of
course." Morgan pulled a leather pouch out of his shirt. "You'd
better take it all. It will cost a fortune to have a dress made in a day or
two."

"Why a day or two?" Gareth
asked. He thought they could spend at least a week in Aberystwyth before
returning to Eyri Keep.

"Wait until we're alone with
Lord Stanley for me to explain."

Gareth looked from his father to
Stanley who was just saying goodbye to the last two men in the room other than
Gareth and his father.

"Morgan, I assume this is your
son?"

"Yes, Lord Stanley. This is Sir
Gareth. He has of late served in Richard's court and could prove valuable if
your lordship wishes to go ahead with our earlier idea."

"Is he in agreement?"

"I'm quite sure there will be no
problem," said Morgan.

Gareth, increasingly confused and
irritated that he was being spoken of as if he were not present, broke in.
"Excuse me Lord Stanley, father, what am I agreeing to?"

"Why don't you sit down,"
said Lord Stanley, "and we will answer all your questions." When
Gareth and his father had made themselves comfortable, Lord Stanley turned to
Morgan. "Shall I explain or would you care to?"

Morgan sat forward and said abruptly,
"Gareth, we would like you to return to Richard's court and try to
discover any plans he may have regarding Henry's attack. See if you can
discover how much he knows of our plans."

Gareth stared at his father with
disbelief. "You want me to
spy
on him?" Morgan looked
distinctly uneasy, but Gareth pressed on. "I am a knight of Britain. Is it
not enough that I have forsworn to protect the king's life with my own? Should
I now have to spy on the very man I am sworn to protect?"

Morgan gazed at Gareth
understandingly, but Lord Stanley slammed his hands on the table and stood up,
addressing Morgan.

"What is this man doing here,
Morgan? Why are you wasting my time with someone who is still committed to that
murdering--"

Gareth's fury rapidly matched
Stanley's and he broke in, "I do not stand for Richard! But I do stand for
Wales and England and by my knightly vows must defend their king."

"Enough!" Lord Stanley
bellowed. "Your are either for Richard or against him. If you
are
for him, you would not be here. If you are against him,
you will do anything in your power to bring about the end to his treacherous
reign!"

"But it’s not that simple!"
Gareth argued.

Lord Stanley clenched his teeth and
threw himself back in his chair. Before he could say anything else, Morgan
spoke up. "Why did you not tell me about these reservations in the privacy
of our own home, Gareth?"

Gareth could tell his father was
upset, but he could not shake the feeling that serving as a spy was the
ultimate disgrace. Since allowing Cynan and Bryant to talk him into coming to
Wales, he had been struggling with his mixed emotions. He did not think Richard
was the king he should be, and what little he knew of Henry Tudor led him to
believe he would make a better leader. But having only been a knight for little
more than a year, the solemn promises he had made in his knighting ceremony
were still fresh in his mind. He had promised not to forsake the trust of his
sovereign, nor to bear arms against him. Now he was decided to do both of those
acts. That he should also have to spy...

"It is not that I have
reservations about the rightness of Henry Tudor on the throne. I do not have
reservations about fighting Richard and his men face to face on the battlefield.
I do not have reservations about dying for this cause. But spying? That just
doesn't seem right."

"Sweet Jesu!" Stanley
exploded. "You will die for this cause, but you will not do something to
gain information that could prevent your death?" Stanley looked from
Gareth to Morgan.

Morgan turned to Gareth and said.
"I understand your feelings, son. There is great honor in deciding when
something is wrong and then being able to battle for what is right."
Gareth felt a moment of relief that he would not have to do as they had asked.
"But honor is not always so black and white. Oftimes, the most honorable
path is the one that is the least tasteful to you. Without gaining some
knowledge of how much Richard knows and his plans for us, we have little chance
of succeeding."

Gareth stared miserably at his father
before nodding his head in acceptance. "Very well. I will do as you
ask."

"Thank you, Gareth," Morgan
said, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly.

Lord Stanley spent the next ten
minutes giving details and instructions to Gareth. When Gareth left, he said,
"I hope we can trust your son."

Morgan looked sharply at Stanley, but
when he spoke, his voice was as ever, calm, and even. "Gareth has a very
strong sense of honor and propriety. Once he has agreed to a course of action,
nothing will deter him from it. He will come through." Standing, Morgan
followed his son downstairs.

Alone in the room, Stanley leaned
back in his chair, the lines in his face seeming to deepen with worry and
fatigue. "God help us if he doesn't."

In the small living area downstairs,
Elena watched groups of men come through the door in the corner. They
invariably started when they spotted her and she nodded as regally as she could
to each of them, trying to act like she belonged here. None of the men spoke to
her as they scurried down the hall to the front room or ducked out the back
door into a narrow alley. Finally, Bryant was among the men coming downstairs
and he hurried over to her, a delighted grin on his face.

"Now that is over with, shall we
get you something to eat?"

Elena nodded, but looked at the small
kitchen across the room apprehensively. Although it was as spotless as the
living area, she could see no evidence of prepared food. She knew absolutely
nothing about cooking, and having eaten Bryant's cooking on the road, she
decided she would rather listen to her stomach growl all night than eat
anything they could concoct. She turned back to Bryant with such a resigned
look on her face that he burst out laughing.

"I promise, no more dried beef.
There is a marketplace just around the corner and there is sure to be food as
this town has festivals and fairs constantly during the summer."

"Thank God and every one of his
saints," said Elena gratefully. "Lead the way."

They waited out in the cloth shop
until the men preceding them had disappeared inconspicuously down the street.
While she waited, Elena fingered the rich textures of the cloth stacked on
shelves along the walls. She came across one at the bottom of a stack she
couldn't resist pulling out. It was
a finely
woven
wool, soft as any Italian cotton, and it was a warm cranberry color, slightly
faded, but a rich color, rich as a young girl's lips after her first kiss.
Elena shook out the folds of the cloth and held it up against her, admiring the
drap as she flared it at her feet.

"Lady Elena?" Bryant
interrupted her play. "We can go now."

Elena nodded and folded the cloth as
neatly as she could. For some reason, it was nowhere near as small a package as
it had been when she pulled it out. Bryant waited patiently as Elena shoved the
untidy roll of fabric on top of the neat stack. Half of the piece hung off the
shelf, loose threads from the end dangling, but it seemed in no danger of
falling to the floor so Elena turned to Bryant with an over-bright smile, took
his arm, and steered him away from the heap of fabric.

"Now, what are we going to eat?
I'm starving," she said.

Bryant's chest swelled as he covered
her hand on his arm with his other hand. "Whatever my lady desires, so
shall she eat," he said with a flourish as they left the shop.

The market was indeed just around the
corner and it was as boisterous and crowded as any Elena had seen in her
travels with Richard's court. As they pushed their way through the crowds,
Elena was bombarded with scents and sites. Old men sold fresh-caught fish from
blue wooden carts, the unmistakably fishy smell wrinkling Elena's nose. A young
boy of eleven or twelve walked on his hands for the amusement of a group of
young girls. Everywhere women of all
ages,
bargained
with merchants for this bolt of cloth or those rounds of cheese. As Bryant led
her past a row of open-front shops, Elena heard a young pregnant woman convince
the baker to give her a dozen rolls for free since she was buying two large
loaves of bread anyway. "'Tis just so hard for me to bake. This
babe," she said pointing to her protruding
belly,
"is causing me no end of misery." Elena laughed as the man looked
nervously at her roundness before agreeing to her plea.

As they made their way to the center
of the large square where the food merchants were set up, a tall man brushed
past her, his long hair streaked by the sun, his well-muscled shoulders
rippling under his thin linen shirt, his forearms tanned below rolled up shirt
sleeves. Elena turned to watch as the man paused to talk to one of the
merchants. From the side, she watched him as he burst into laughter, his teeth
startlingly white against the tanned skin of his weather-grooved face. Someone
stepped in front of Elena, blocking her view and she pushed him aside. As if
feeling her gaze on him, the tall man turned his head. When he saw Elena, he
smiled broadly and cocked his right eyebrow in a movement that could only be
described as suggestive. Elena's eyes widened and she spun around, nearly
colliding with Bryant.

"There you are!
I though you were following me, but when I turned around, you were
gone.
It wouldn't be wise to become separated here," he said,
firmly clasping her hand in his own. As he pulled her towards another vendor,
Elena craned her head around and discovered the well-built stranger staring at
a point somewhere below her face. When he raised his eyes and grinned wickedly,
Elena realized he must have been watching her hips as she walked away. She gasped
and quickly turned around.

There were no men that rudely bold in
Richard's court! No nobleman would dare look at a lady like that while she was
cognizant of his attention. Elena paused in mid-thought. Of course, no men in
Richard's court seemed so...virile, either. There was a confident power in that
tanned face that did not stem from a title. Elena could remember no man who
held himself so in Richard's court. No man except maybe...Gareth.

"How about some grilled lamb, my
lady?" Bryant's voice pulled her from her thoughts, but she did not hear
his question. When she looked at him uncomprehendingly, he explained.
"They skewer pieces of lamb and roast it over a fire. It's quite
tasty."

Suddenly Elena's hunger replaced all
thoughts of virile soldiers and Gareth's appeal. "That sounds wonderful.
Buy me two."

Bryant smiled and turned to the old
man behind the table. "How much for each stick?"

"Two pence," the toothless
mouth replied.

Bryant stared open mouthed at the old
man. "Two pence? But the cart just over there is only charging a
penny!"

The old man broke into a wheezing
laugh. "That is because he serves mutton so dry and tough it takes you a
week to digest it! Besides, I flavor mine with a very expensive spice my son
has just brought me from the land of the barbarians. Try it," he said,
handing a stick to Elena. "It's very spicy."

Elena bit into the tender meat, its
juices running down her chin. The strange spice tickled her nose and burned the
tip of her tongue but it was wonderfully pungent and she loved it.

"What is this spice
called?" she asked, wiping her chin with her hand as delicately as she
could.

"Tis some strange foreign name,
but I believe my son said it sounded like cory. Or was it curry? My son has
sailed the seas for twelve years and each time he returns, he brings me
something unusual."

Bryant turned to Elena. "Is it
acceptable, my lady?"

Elena nodded her head, her mouth
full. When Bryant paid for only two, she prodded him with her elbow. "I'm
absolutely famished," she said as soon as she swallowed. Bryant ordered a
third.

With their meals in hand, Bryant led
her to a rickety bench on the edge of a small clearing in the market. As they
sat, Elena noticed two small, short tree stumps protruding from the ground.
"What are those for?" she asked.

Bryant turned to look and said,
"Oh, those are Viking stumps. Actually, no one knows what they're really
called, but the Vikings introduced this game to the Welsh hundreds of years ago
when they were constantly raiding our coast."

"How kind of them. How is it
played?"