The Rogue Knight (21 page)

Philip waited for Guy to regain his composure.

“It isn’t fair!” Guy whispered hoarsely. “Not fair at
all
!” He began to strike his couch as tears fell from his eyes.

Aldora pawed at him, trying to calm him.

“What is not fair, milord?” Philip asked loudly, deciding that something had to be done. De Ferrers was right; the tree trunks probably wouldn’t save them. It had given them time. Time was now running out.

Guy squeezed his hands into trembling fists. They looked like gnarled lumps attached to sticks. He peered up, his eyes bloodshot, his face flushed, his hair sweaty and lank.

“He dared to give me an ultimatum,” Guy whispered as the tears streaked down his face.

Philip nodded encouragement, even though he couldn’t believe that a man like Baron Hugh had ever sired the thing he saw before him.

“De Ferrers said....” Guy clenched his teeth together. “Oh, Aldora!” he hissed.

“There, there, Lord,” she said, stroking his hair, making soft sounds as she calmed him. “You have still been given your promises and you must still believe them, milord. Much has been taken from you, but much therefore will be given you in the time you have left.”

“No!” Guy whispered, shaking his oversized head. “None of it is true, Aldora. Your master lied to me. Lied!” He raised his bloodshot eyes to hers. “He is the Prince of Lies, after all. He’s cheated me. Cheated!”

“Hush, Lord,” Aldora whispered. “You must never speak so.”

Guy paled, and nodded. “You’re right. I didn’t mean what I said. You know that, don’t you, Aldora?”

“Of course, milord.”

“And he knows that too, doesn’t he?” Guy asked, clutching at her.

“Of course he knows, milord. For he knows all.”

Philip blanched. What terrible wickedness did they speak? Who was Aldora’s master?

Philip, like his ancestors before him, still believed in these strange supernatural beings, but not with the same utter conviction that his forefathers had. He had come to believe that sometimes people
pretended
to be witches, or have powers that they really didn’t have, in order to gain power in the more ordinary world. Therefore, his fear of Aldora as a witch wasn’t total. Besides, if she had magical powers, he could kill her and then be blessed by Father Bernard once he returned home to Pellinore Castle. That would nullifying any death curses that she’d scream at him if he dared to take a bloody course.

Guy pulled his hands away from Aldora’s and dried his eyes with his silk sleeve. He arose and wandered to the table.

“You’ve already had two cups of wine, milord,” Aldora admonished.

“Can’t I have another?” he asked querulously, his hand on the flagon of costly French wine.

“You mustn’t overtax yourself, milord.”

Guy sighed, putting the chalice back on the table.

“Maybe you should ransom Sir Lamerok,” Philip suddenly said, wondering what Guy’s reaction would be to his suggestion.

“Never!” Guy hissed.

“Milord,” Philip said, “I must ask you to reconsider for several reasons. I’ve already told you the sad state of your father’s treasury. Pellinore Fief is nearly penniless. What funds you yourself bring
are
your treasury. Earl Mortimer
will
demand a handsome relief before he allows you to become baron. This relief, or the majority of it surely, you can gain through Sir Lamerok’s ransom. You heard de Ferrers. He’s ready to be generous. The more silver he gives you, the better he’ll feel about his debt to Lamerok.”

Guy sat back on his cot, glaring at Philip, his face set in that stubborn mold which only a de Clare seemed able to achieve.

For the first time, Philip saw something of Baron Hugh in him. A bitter pang filled Philip. He missed Hugh. And this
was
Hugh’s son, his only son.

“Milord,” Philip said, although with less force than before. “If you don’t ransom Sir Lamerok, then Sir Richard will attack. He is a man of his word. You must not doubt his intentions.”

Guy’s scowl deepened. “I’ll
kill
Sir Lamerok if de Ferrers attacks.”

“Yes, milord, I’m sure you will. But how will that help you?”

For a moment, Guy looked uncertain. Then he hissed with renewed vehemence, “I must keep Sir Lamerok!”

“Why, milord? Why keep him when it will mean your death, will mean perhaps the deaths of all of us here?”

“No,” Guy whispered, clapping his hands over his ears. “Speak no more about...about....”

“About death?” Philip asked.

Guy screwed his eyes shut. He began to tremble.

“You must listen to me, milord,” Philip said, his voice rising because he could hardly contain his disgust for a knight who quailed at the idea of death. “Your father always faced unpleasant facts.
He
never lacked—”

Guy opened his eyes to peer intently at Philip. Slowly, he lowered his hands onto his lap. “My father never lacked, what, Sir Philip?”

Philip had already seen his error. “Milord, de Ferrers rides with his choice companions. Hob counted them. Sixty armored warriors wait less than a half mile away. Sixty, milord. We have eight knights or squires and sixteen sergeants, a paltry twenty-four warriors altogether. The peasants, cooks and carters don’t count. Maybe if they were atop turrets or behind parapets, then they could drop rocks or pour heated oil upon the enemy. As it is, after a few of them die, after the rest see their comrades spill their guts and choke out gore….” Philip shrugged suggestively.

Aldora stepped away from the cot as the two knights talked. Her copper bracelets jangled as she sat on a bearskin in the corner. She pulled a basket over and began to rummage through it.

“No, no,” Guy whispered to Philip. “You’ve wisely laid out these tree trunks and planted countless sharpened stakes. The peasants have gained courage from that and will fight like heroes now.”

“If Sir Richard blindly charged, slaying his stallions upon the stakes, then maybe,” Philip said scornfully. “I’m afraid, however, that my defenses are more illusion than fact. It was meant to show the enemy that we would fight. That he would have to dismount and battle afoot—something no knight truly cares to do. Many commanders would carefully weigh the odds before attacking a fortified camp. The commander would know surely, or so I was hoping he’d know, that your castles stood nearby, that any of his wounded would have a long and harrowing journey before they reached a place of safety.”

“None of those facts have changed,” whispered Guy.

“No, milord, they haven’t. But now I have the measure of the enemy commander. The Earl of Derby will fight to his last man. He has laid his honor on the line. He
will
attack until he’s freed Sir Lamerok or until he’s dead. There is no middle ground with a Galahad like Sir Richard.”

“Then we must kill him,” Aldora said from the bearskin.

Both Philip and Guy turned toward her. She held a black statuette, an ugly idol of a being with horns, a protruding tongue and claw-like hands. She stroked it as one would a choice pet, and the set of her wrinkled, wart-ridden face was determined, almost fierce.

“What’s that?” Philip spat as he grasped his sword-hilt.

“This is the demon that plagues Sir Guy,” Aldora said, holding up the statuette.

Philip drew his sword, looking upon Aldora with disgust, and perhaps with a little fear.

“No, Sir Knight,” Aldora said, although she didn’t look at him. “You shall not harm me.”

“If you’re a witch then I’ll kill you,” Philip said thickly.

Aldora only chuckled as she continued to stroke the demonic idol.

“What do you see, Aldora?” Guy whispered.

“What are you babbling about?” Philip demanded.

Guy, his sickly features for once serene, turned to Philip. “Aldora can see into the future. She’s a seer, a holy woman who wields the White Magic. With her power, she looked into the spirit world and saw which demon bedeviled me. Then she made a statuette of the demon and used, and uses, her power to keep the evil creature at bay. This is why I still live, Sir Philip, still defy the demon who tries to kill me. Alas, his evil has poisoned my blood and brought me to my sad state.”

“She truly is a witch?” Philip asked, not knowing what to believe. Half of him said this was clever fakery. The other half feared, even quailed before a woman with
that
kind of power.

“No,” whispered Guy. “Aldora is not a witch but the great-granddaughter of Merlin. She can see into the future and into the spirit world.” Guy smiled. “She’s a prophetess.”

Philip’s sword lowered a fraction.

“You must keep Sir Lamerok,” Aldora said in a dull, almost distracted tone. “You must never give him up until he tells you what you
must
know.”

Guy nodded, entranced.

Philip scowled and ran a hand over his baldness. He stepped closer to Aldora, raising his sword once more.

“Ah,” Aldora said. “I see a path to safety.”

“Tell me,” Guy whispered.

“You must stop de Ferrers,” she droned.

“How?”

Aldora slowly looked up and swiveled her head until she gazed just below Philip’s eyes.

Philip advanced another step.

“No, Philip,” whispered Guy as he tugged on the knight’s sword arm. “We must listen to Aldora. We must use her path to safety.”

Philip growled, “The only safety is in giving up Sir Lamerok.”

“Until I learn what he knows he’ll remain my prisoner,” said Guy.

Philip tried to speak.

“The path—” Aldora shouted, her stick pointed at Philip’s face “—lies through you!”

“Me?” Philip asked, surprised and appalled at her words.

“You know the way,” she said.

“Tell me, Philip,” Guy whispered joyously. “Tell me how we can win past de Ferrers.”

Philip lowered his sword as he heard the hope in Guy’s voice. Until now, Guy had treated him poorly, had barely listened to what he’d had to say. Maybe here was a way to change all that.

“Do you fear to take the path?” Aldora asked in a harsh tone.

Philip stared at her in shock. Could the old bag of bones really be the great-granddaughter of Merlin?

“Oh, dear Philip,” whispered Guy, “save me and I shall owe you a debt of gratitude.”

All at once, Philip saw a way to achieve his goal. He loathed being this near Guy, having him touch and breathe on him. It sickened him. But this was also Baron Hugh’s son. He owed the baron many times over. If he could achieve his goal of winning himself a barony and help his dearly departed friend’s only son—

“Milord,” Philip said, disengaging his arm from Guy as he sheathed his sword. “Maybe there is a way, but it entails much risk. It entails great bodily harm to me. Maybe even my death.”

Guy winced at the mentioning of that horrible word.

“Would you grant me a boon, milord, if I won a way past de Ferrers for you?”

Guy hesitated, glancing at Aldora. She nodded ever so slightly. “What boon would you ask?” asked Guy.

“The hand of the Lady Alice de Mowbray in marriage,” Philip said boldly.

Guy’s eyes narrowed, while Aldora once again gave him one of her tiny nods. Guy slowly softened his features and soon he smiled. With a gesture of friendliness, he said, “Yes. Done, my friend.”

“Milord?” Philip asked.

“I grant you your boon,” said Guy, “provided that I and Sir Lamerok safely reach Pellinore Castle.”

Philip grinned with delight, unable to believe that he’d really achieved the first step of his grand goal.

“Now tell me your plan,” whispered Guy.

“Of course, milord,” Philip said. “I shall joust with de Ferrers, and defeat him, winning passage for ourselves.”

“What?” Guy whispered in alarm. “You can’t defeat de Ferrers. Not in a joust. He’ll kill you. And why would he agree to a joust in the first place?”

“He’ll agree because he’s filled with chivalric nonsense,” Philip said. “And I’ll win because....” Philip forced down his fears and concentrated on his dislike for the valorous Earl of Derby. Any action other than this, would leave him dead or gravely injured, or captured and held for ransom. A duel him a chance for glory and a way to wipe out what he’d seen in de Ferrers’ eyes when he’d winced during the handshake.

He told Guy, “I’ll win because battle is no game to me, but a deadly act of war.”
Or I’ll be dead
, he told himself.
But in that case, nothing else matters
.

***

The peasants cheered as Philip heaved himself into the high saddle. Even though he’d been doing this a lifetime, it still proved a difficult task. A knight trained hard so he could move, mount up and wield his weapons while encumbered in armor.

The costly equipment began with a felt jacket, a
gambeson
. The felt protected Philip from his own armor, from its rubbing away his skin. It also helped absorb heavy blows. Next, he’d slipped on chainmail, his
hauberk
. It came down to his knees, with slits in front and back so he could sit on his steed. The hauberk was Philip’s primary piece of defensive equipment, the most expensive and the most protective. The hauberk was made of interlocking metal rings: each individually forged, hammered and welded shut. The mail made for flexible armor, able to turn most blows. He wore chainmail leggings to protect his legs, and he wore golden spurs. They were a symbol of knighthood. Squires wore silver spurs.