The Rogue Knight (32 page)

The feast day began with a light breakfast for the castle folk. Cord devoured several hot biscuits and drank a cup of diluted wine. He wore his best clothes: a woolen shirt, clean breeches and boots. His hair was combed, his hands and face carefully scrubbed and his Toledo steel dagger strapped to his side in a new sheathe. Since he didn’t want to dirty himself, he oversaw the other dog boys and made sure the kennel hounds were watered, fed and given short runs so they wouldn’t howl all afternoon. The castle dogs, those given the run of the place, could look after themselves. With the feast and all, Cord was certain they’d be gorged by this evening.

He felt a pang of unease as the last kennel stall was closed, knowing that one way or another, this was going to be his last day as Pellinore’s chief dog boy. Either he would be gone tonight with the beautiful Alice de Mowbray or he’d be dead. No doubt, Sir Philip would try to make certain that he dangled from a rope like his father. With that in mind, Cord trailed behind Sir George and his retainers as the castle horn summoned everyone to the Great Hall.

As a lowly dog boy, a supposed peasant, he wasn’t allowed on the main floor of the Great Hall. Along with the host of commoners, he filed up the stairs and onto the balconies that overlooked the main hall. Countless important peasants jostled against one another for this grand event and made the heavy balcony creak at their combined weight. They had come from the East Village, Pellinore Village, the Tanning Village, the Bridge Village, and all the other villages Sir Guy directly controlled. Old Alfred and his wife Maude were here, and Lame Jack, who made a point of shaking hands with Cord. Cuthbert the Fulling Miller together with his wife and his pretty daughter Bess were also here. Innkeepers, tanners, furriers, masons, freeholders, elder shepherds, cobblers, bakers, huntsmen, falconers, smiths, herders, watchmen, socmen, soap-boilers, franklins, peddlers and tawners and their wives and children were all packed shoulder to shoulder in the balconies. Most wore cloaks and tunics of good cloth and warm colors, and they wore sturdy shoes of felt or leather. A few of the richer peasants had fur collars and cuffs, but those were rare. Everyone, man or woman, wore a hat. Some had feathers in their hats; some even had copper bands.

The finest clothing was below in the Great Hall, about eight feet down. Milling in the huge hall were knights and their ladies, chain-armored sergeants, squires, pages, a host of eligible maidens and Father Bernard in his vestments along with other ranking Churchmen. The nobility had carefully consulted their tailors.

The knights wore the richest garments, tabards of silk and velvet, and white damasks. The tabard’s sleeves were tight fitting and the shoulders snug, and upon the costly fabric had been sewn many different types of gems. Elegant, curled shoes were the norm for the knights, and instead of their sword belts, they wore belts of gold links upon waists both trim and bulging. The ladies wore long beautiful dresses and vied with one another with their costly jewelry. Most of the women wore extravagant neck coverings with wimples and peplums that came all the up to their chins, while many of the long trains of their gowns dragged upon the clean rushes on the floor.

  The youngest pages trailed behind the ladies, holding up the expensive trains. From time to time, the ladies stopped and allowed the pages to shake their trailing gowns. Priests frowned upon the custom of long trains and had often preached that devils rested there. Thus, the pages shook the long trains in order to shake off any grinning imps or hideous demons that had stopped to rest.

Sir Guy entered from the stairs. From neck to heel, he wore red silk garments that shimmered in the sunlight. The high windows had been opened for the occasion and the Great Hall was flooded with light as well as the warbling of larks and robins. Guy sat in a throne-like wooden chair near the fireplace. The chair had been brought down last night from the living quarters, and at its foot had been strewn Lady Eleanor’s most expensive Spanish rug. Close beside Guy, at attention, stood his two sergeants in polished armor and the dour crossbowman who wore doublet and hose. On Guy’s right sat his mother Lady Eleanor, while to his left perched small Aldora. She fingered a strangely white torc affixed to her throat. It seemed fashioned out of bone, but surely, that couldn’t be the case. Who would wear bone jewelry?

Cord craned his head; he was taller than anyone else on the balcony. So even though he hadn’t been able to work his way to the edge of the railing, he had a good view of those below as long as they stayed in the center of the hall. He saw Alice. She wore a nice dress, but it wasn’t silk or linen but made out of simple wool. Alice’s face was blank, but it wasn’t slack. Cord wondered what she was thinking and whether or not she felt nervous about tonight.

A hush fell upon the hall as Sir Guy’s herald stepped forth. He was a barrel-built man with long gray hair and a rich leather coat strewn with red silk stripes. He put a long silver trumpet to his lips and blared loudly. When the sounds died away, he commenced talking.

“Long live Sir Guy of Pellinore! He welcomes everyone to his castle. Know that on the news of his dear father’s departure, Sir Guy wept bitterly. For it is not a simple task to take up the reins which knightly Baron Hugh de Clare once held. Thus it is….”

The herald spoke at length, praising Hugh, speaking upon Guy’s heritage and then upon the terrible times that had befallen England and Wales. The herald ended his first speech on this final note.

“Because of these desperate times, Sir Guy has not had the opportunity to speak with his liege Earl Roger Mortimer. Evil Simon de Montfort and his Welsh allies have upset the Western Marches with their plundering. Therefore, it is with a sad heart that Guy now asks for homage and your oaths of fealty. He is sad because Earl Roger Mortimer has not yet formally taken his homage. The earl has not yet bade him to take up the mantle of ‘Baron of Pellinore Fief.’  As soon as it is safe to do so, Sir Guy de Clare will travel to Wigmore Castle and repair this deficiency. Until then, it is not right in these dangerous times that Pellinore Fief be without a baron. It is in this light that Sir Guy now asks for homage and for your oaths of fealty.”

The herald blew his silver horn once again.

Philip, dressed in gleaming chainmail armor and a silk cloak, strode toward Guy.

“Sir Philip of Tarn Tower approaches Sir Guy!” the herald shouted.

Philip inclined his bald dome of a head, only his bushy eyebrows combed for the occasion. His giant stature was evident to all. His shoulders and belly were bigger than anyone else’s.

Guy made a smooth gesture.

The huge bog-knight Sir Philip Talbot strode upon the Spanish rug and with a clank stiffly knelt upon his armored knees. He placed his huge horny hands with their hairy knuckles in Guy’s slender shaking ones.

“I am your man, Sir Guy,” Philip loudly said. “You are my liege.”

Guy nodded and worked his way to his feet, as Philip did to his. Cord thought to see Philip blanch, but then the giant knight’s face tightened and closed up. Guy clasped Philip and the two kissed on the lips. It was an ancient custom and showed everyone, and both men, that they were on the same plane of friendship. It also dignified Philip’s act of subordination and showed everyone present that it was as a knight that Philip had done homage, not as a servile peasant. It was to gain Philip’s fighting prowess that Guy had accepted the huge knight. Never again would Philip need to do homage, but the next act would be repeated throughout the years.

As Guy sat back, Philip turned and Father Bernard came forward. In the Father’s hands was a black, leather-clad Bible. It was a huge Bible and seemed difficult for Father Bernard to hold.

Philip put his right hand on the Bible and made his oath of fealty. This oath, made on the Holy Word of God, was an act that most lords made their liegemen take each year. It was an oath of loyalty, and because it had been taken in God’s sight, it was more biding than otherwise.

Once Philip had taken the oath of fealty, Sir Guy whispered, “As my man, please accept this token.” Guy nodded to Sergeant Reynard. Reynard solemnly stepped forward and gave Philip a spear with a silver head.

Philip took the spear and made to step back.

Guy raised his hand and the herald said, “Please tarry a moment longer, Sir Philip.”

Philip stopped, standing motionless before his liege.

Guy whispered to the herald. The herald raised his trumpet and blasted a mighty peal. “Hear ye! Hear ye! The honorable Baron Guy de Clare wishes to inform his assembled court that on this day he promises the Lady Alice de Mowbray’s hand in marriage to Sir Philip Talbot of Tarn Tower. The wedding will take place a fortnight from today, and after the wedding Sir Philip will become the Banneret of Gareth Fief.”

A gasp rose from the assembled throats. This was a mighty gift indeed. Cord swayed with shock. Then he searched for a sign from Alice. She hadn’t moved, but stood straight with her shoulders squared. Her face, normally lightly tanned, had turned a pasty white color.

To escape now became paramount. The price of failure would correspondingly be more savage. A simple hanging might not please Philip’s wrath. Cord knew it was within Philip to have him placed on the rack and ‘stretched’ to death for trying to spirit away his betrothed.

“You honor me, milord,” Philip said in a thick voice.

Guy accepted the praise and then motioned subtlety.

Philip stepped back, turned and worked his way toward Alice. Sir Walter now stepped forward to do homage to his lord and then make his oath of fealty.

In this time-honored fashion, Sir Guy bound his father’s old vassals to himself, and Sir Guy made himself in all but name the new Baron of Pellinore Fief.

After all the knights had given homage and taken their oaths of fealty, some of the more important freeholders came forward. Sir Guy gave them no kiss after they’d done homage, but simply accepted them as his men.

  Cord wondered if Sir Guy would give Rhys ab Gruffydd the kiss of friendship. Rhys was a Welsh noble and might take it as an insult if he didn’t receive the kiss. Rhys wasn’t a knight, although he probably considered himself a worthy fighting man just the same. The Welsh could be monstrously picky about their rights.

Cord saw the bluff Welshman in the crowd below. Beside him was his beautiful wife Gwen. She wore a fine white linen dress with a golden belt and a fur-lined jacket of silk. Her flaming red hair, kept in a golden net, added to her pale beauty. Beside her, the burly Rhys seemed more like her attendant than her husband. He wore a leather coat, bluff breeches and boots of excellent workmanship. Perhaps in lieu of costly garments he had tied blue silk ribbons to his forked beard. With his long nose and intense eyes and the proud way in which he held himself, Rhys seemed fully as noble as any of the knights. He also wore a thick silver chain over his coat, surely worth as much as many of the knightly garments.

It was already an insult that Rhys hadn’t been called. He was more than a mere freeholder, but a vassal who brought fighting men to his lord’s summons.

The herald at last called out, “Rhys ab Gruffydd of Stony Hills!”

Cord watched the stocky Welshman and his wife work their way through the crowd. Suddenly Rhys stopped. He stared at small Aldora. She touched her bone-white torc and stared back at Rhys as she mumbled.

Rhys whispered to his wife. Gwen crossed herself and took a step back.

Guy motioned to his herald.

The herald, with his deep voice, called out to Rhys, “Why does your wife dishonor your homage?”

Rhys’ intense eyes blazed and his beard seemed to bristle. With his right hand on the hilt of his dagger, he interposed himself between Aldora and his wife.

Guy whispered again.

The herald roared, “What is the meaning of this?”

Rhys pointed at Aldora. “She…she lays the Evil Eye upon my wife! Command her to stop or I’ll cut out her heart!”

Shocked silence filled the hall. Then a roar of fear and bewilderment rose from many throats.

Aldora glared at Gwen. Gwen shrieked and shrank back from Aldora. Rhys ab Gruffydd roared and jerked out his dagger. He launched himself at the tiny Welshwoman. The two sergeants in polished armor fell upon Rhys and bore him to the floor. In moments, they hauled him back up before Sir Guy, each warrior struggling to hold one of Rhys’ stocky arms behind his back.

“Why did you attack Aldora?” the herald shouted.

“You fools!” Rhys roared. He struggled, but the two big warriors held him tightly. “She’s one of the Old Woman of Bones!”

Aldora rose like a snake and pointed a shaking finger at Rhys. “Silence!”

Rhys flinched and struggled even more fiercely than before. The two big sergeants staggered backward with their prisoner but they didn’t let go.

People began to scream.

The herald blew his silver trumpet, and for a moment people listened.

“The Welshman speaks lies!” the herald shouted. “He seeks to defame a friend of Lord Guy’s.”

“I don’t be a lair!” Rhys shouted back, his face red with rage. “I know one of the Old Women of Bones when I lay eyes upon her. She comes from Anglesey, the Isle of Anglesey. Aye, there the last Druids with their bloodstained hands went down. Upon their ruins rose the Old Women of Bones. Ask her! Ask her if they don’t push the heads of sacrificial men into silver bowls and drown them to please their dark devil Teutates. Aye! That’s how they give the souls of the damned to their evil master!”