A Dishonorable Knight (4 page)

"Of course he is. You do not
think he would give up the chance to put Wales ahead of England, do you?"
Cynan asked

"I thought he had enough sense
to live to see a grandson someday."

"You are talking like a
coward," Cynan spit out.

"Cynan!" Bryant said
sharply.

Cynan took a deep breath and visibly
relaxed. "I am sorry, Gareth. No one could ever accuse you of cowardice.
‘Tis just that if you could only distance yourself from this court, you would
see who the true ruler should be. Please, come back home with us."

"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.

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.

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 bemoaning 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.