The Rogue Knight (31 page)

“Because Gaston the crossbowman took his place?” she asked.

Philip nodded. The Gascon mercenary was a dangerous fellow. He was one of those terrible mercenary crossbowmen, the kind bad King John had used before Runnymede and the signing of the Magna Charta. The Genoese were the best crossbowmen, but the mercenaries out of Gascony, the southern French County under King Henry’s sovereignty, were a close second. Neither crossbowmen nor mercenaries were loved in England these days. The crossbow, as the almost unique tool of mercenaries, had gained odium in Merrie England. In the hands of such professionals as Gaston, they could be terrible weapons, able at close range to penetrate the heaviest knightly mail. Gaston the crossbowman, after Aldora, seemed to be Sir Guy’s closest confidante.

“Jack Hangman is upset,” Philip said. “That isn’t good for castle morale.”

Aldora snorted in a most unladylike fashion. “Who loves the hangman enough to stick up for him?”

“It isn’t that,” Philip said. “The others will see this as an attack to their own positions. They’ll wonder when Sir Guy will do the same to them. You must understand, things will not go well for Guy if he continues to keep the hangman out of the dungeon.”

Aldora shook her head. “I can’t help you there. Guy is unmovable when it comes to Sir Lamerok.”

Philip pursed his lips. “Why go to such extremes? Why not let Jack run his dungeon but have Gaston admit the tortures?”

“That’s out of the question. Sir Guy doesn’t want
anyone
near Sir Lamerok?”

“May I ask you why?”

The humor left Aldora’s wrinkled old face. “Do you think me daft? If you want to know why then ask Sir Guy. On that subject my mouth is sealed.”

Philip pondered that. “No, it won’t do,” he finally said. “Sir Guy is committing too many blunders. Smashing open Alice’s chests and this will make Sir Walter and the bailiff openly grumble. Sir Guy can’t afford that.”

“He has you, the seneschal. Who more does he need?”

“He needs his knights above all,” Philip said. “After that it is wise to keep his men-at-arms happy. Then he must keep his castle servitors content. Believe me, castles have been lost through less.”

“Lost?” Aldora asked.

“This isn’t the wilds, witch woman, where when danger threatens you scamper away like deer. Here men may have to make a stand and hold off Simon de Montfort and his victorious army. Traitors can easily open castle posterns. Ropes can be thrown down in the middle of the night.”

“What are you saying?”

“Guy must have a secure castle, a secure fief. To start taking away the prerogatives of his chief servants is foolish and stupid. He must win people over, not antagonize them. With a civil war in progress it’s more vital than ever.”

Aldora rubbed her chin. “Yes, as you imply, I’m not used to castle life and its customs. I hadn’t thought this.”

“When did you join Guy?” Philip asked.

She waved aside the question. “Perhaps as you say, the hangman can take on his regular duties. However, only Gaston can torture Lamerok. Guy won’t move on that point.”

“That should suffice for now. Yes, that should keep the hangman from openly grumbling.” Philip intended to stride off. Then he paused and eyed Aldora more closely. He decided to play a hunch. “Once Sir Lamerok tells you where the gold is hidden, you’ll need trusty swordsmen to help you carry it back to a place of safety.”

For a moment, Aldora’s eyes widened in surprise. “Who told you—” Then she clamped her mouth shut. “Ah, you’re sly, Sir Philip. Who would have thought it from such a brute of a knight?”

“Consider what I’ve said, and let Sir Guy consider it as well.”

Aldora remained tight-lipped.

Philip grinned, adding, “I think Lamerok is proving too stubborn for Gaston. When you realize you’d have to kill Lamerok to apply enough torture to make him talk, then come to me. I’ve a way for prying secrets out of honorable knights.”

“So have I,” Aldora said in a menacing tone.

“I believe you.” He nodded. “A good day to you, then.”

She hobbled back to Sir Guy.

Philip grinned tightly. It appeared Lamerok knew the whereabouts of hidden gold. Why otherwise hadn’t Guy handed Lamerok to de Ferrers for ransom? It would make sense then why Breton pirates were interested in freeing Lamerok. Maybe the Scottish knight knew the location of piles of gold!

Philip’s grin grew into a bold smile. At last, Lady Luck was shining on him. It was a good feeling, one he planned to enjoy for a long time.

“Alice says yes,” Henri said. The minstrel had just come from the tower, having been there to tell Richard another tale.

“You’re absolutely certain she’ll be allowed there?” asked Cord. He knelt by the well as he brushed one of the expensive bloodhounds.

“I just said so.”

“You asked her directly?”

“Calm down. Otherwise, people are going to be able to tell something’s afoot.”

Cord couldn’t calm down. He was terrified, so he brushed the bloodhound too hard. She whined. “Sorry, girl,” he whispered. He rose, gave her a pat to let her go and touched a sack tied to his belt. “Come on,” he told Henri.

“Where to?”

“I told the cook I’d catch him twenty frogs. For that, he’s going to give me a flagon of wine. I’m going to use the flagon to bribe Edgar.”

“Whose Edgar?” asked Henri, hurrying to keep up.

“The Steward’s helper.”

“He’s not suspicious?”

Cord shook his head. “I told him I needed it to rope off my hounds, for the watchdogs. I told him Sir George requested it.”

“This Edgar might check your story and find out you’re lying.”

“Edgar’s running too many chores for the Steward to worry about that. Besides, Sir George lost a war-horse two years ago to thieves. It’d be like him to ask for guard dogs.”

They entered the gatehouse, nodding to the men-at-arms on duty. As they slipped toward the moat, Cord noticed that it would soon be dark. Beyond the moat, Sir George and his men erected the big tent Guy had lent him.

The tower’s living quarters was packed with Pellinore Fief’s visiting nobility. Old Baron Hugh hadn’t directly controlled the entire fief. About half the fief had been parceled out to various knights. For instance, Sir Philip of Tarn Tower had a castle in Tarn Fief, which in legal terms was a part of the greater Pellinore Fief. Philip could just as easily lived in his tower as in Pellinore Castle, but for his own reasons he’d chosen ago to live with Hugh. Sir George didn’t have a castle or a tower but a strongly built manor house at the extreme west of Pellinore Fief. He’d been one of Baron Hugh’s lesser vassals. Other such vassals had already arrived at Pellinore Castle and taken up quarters in the tower. The Great Hall was filled with its regular occupants and the Gareth men-at-arms, some of the Gareth peasant levy and the entourages of various vassals. Even the castle yard was being used, with the lowest ranked people sleeping under the stars.

Therefore, Sir George and his retainers had gladly taken Guy up on the use of his big red tent. More people would arrive tomorrow morning and then the castle would be bursting with folk. The weather looked good. And hopefully, for the dance and feast tomorrow, it wouldn’t rain.

Sir George’s men-at-arms hoisted the pavilion in the practice yard, the area where knights jousted and squires charged the quitain. Cord and Henri worked their way to the lowest part of the moat. Already a frog croaked in anticipation of tonight’s chorus. Once the sun set frogs and crickets would start making noise.

Cord pulled off his boots, his breeches and shirt and tested his stick by swishing it back and forth. “Ready?” he asked.

“I haven’t done this since I was a kid in Normandy,” Henri said.

“Bring back old memories?”

Henri nodded glumly.

Gingerly, the two of them parted reeds and waded into the scummy water as they started hunting frogs.

“I still think we should have sounded out some of the Gareth people,” Henri said. “I bet there’s a few who’d have helped us.”

“How would you have asked them?” said Cord.

“Easily. Start a conversation and see how they feel about Alice’s imprisonment.”

“I haven’t heard any of them grumbling about it. And believe me, I’ve been listening for it.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Henri said, as he whacked a frog.

“At the very least it means that they don’t want to be heard grumbling. And if that’s so, then they’re surely not going to trust Pellinore’s chief dog boy enough to spill his guts to him.”

Henri grunted as he swung his stick. “You may have a point.”

“Or maybe the Gareth people don’t care,” Cord said, who opened his sack so Henri could drop in his catch. “Sir Thomas accepted the position of castellan easily enough. And if anyone should have balked at what Guy’s doing to Alice it would have been Sire de Mowbray’s oldest friend.”

“Sir Thomas’ action makes one pause,” Henri agreed.

“It makes me wonder how likely the other Gareth folk will take to Alice, if and when we bring her there.”

“You worry too much.”

Cord laughed sourly. “Only because it’s my head if I fail.” He lowered his stick and stared at Henri. “This scheme is mad. We don’t have a chance.”

Henri clutched Cord’s forearm with a muddy hand. “You’re a stick-in-the-mud Saxon, a plodder. The idea of doing something exciting drives you wild with fear. Lucky for us, Pellinore’s people are the same way. No one will think anyone here is mad enough to do what we’re planning.” Henri grinned. “Even Chrétien de Troyes would be impressed with us.”

Cord made a face.

“You can’t be a plodding Saxon anymore,” Henri said. “Think like a Viking, one of those adventurous pirates of old.”

“How so?”

“We have to dare. We have to tread boldly into the lion’s den. The old Vikings had that kind of courage, and so do the best knights. If we succeed, our names will become bywords in the Western Marches and England. Kings and princes admire such daring because few men have it. Kings and princes will dub such men and make them knights.”

“We hope,” Cord said.

“Bah! Be bold! Be courageous! Tell yourself you’ll only be surprised if you fail!”

“Why do I have the feeling I’m going to be easily surprised tomorrow?”

Henri poked Cord with his stick. “All we
have
is our boldness. Therefore we have to ram it to the hilt.”

Cord saw the wisdom of that. He grinned, and that eased some of his tension. Why try half way? He was finished in Pellinore. And
he
was the one who had slain Old Sloat! That was something he was going to tell himself repeatedly until this was over. Ram it to the hilt. Yes, he was going to do exactly that. He was going to rub it in their faces.

“See those horses?” he asked Henri.

Henri nodded at Sir George’s horses. The stables in the castle yard were full, so ropes had been used to fence off an area near the pavilion. There Sir George and his men hobbled their destriers and palfreys. There two of Sir George’s men prowled on duty, mindful of what had once happened to their master.

“We’re going to ride out on those horses tomorrow,” vowed Cord.

Henri clapped him on the back. “Now you’re thinking like a knight: bold, daring and outrageous.”

They climbed out of the moat as the bloated sun sank into the horizon. Cord took the first bucket of clean water he’d brought along and dumped it over Henri. The small minstrel did likewise for him with the second bucket. Then they dried off, put on their clothes and headed back into the castle with their frogs.

“Are you playing for the dance tomorrow?” asked Cord.

Henri nodded before adding, “You should try to dance with as many girls as you can. And smile a lot, and pretend to drink a lot.”

“Why?”

“So later at night if someone sees you in the yard they won’t be suspicious. They’ll have seen you having a good time and assume that you’ve adjusted to not being forester, if they think about you at all.”

Cord stopped Henri. “I’m starting to enjoy this,” he said in surprise.

“You feel alive, yes?”

Cord gave the small minstrel a feral grin and then headed to the kitchen.

Alice couldn’t sleep. She didn’t toss and turn or clutch her stomach. She didn’t pull her long blonde hair or twirl it around her fingers as she fretted. She didn’t dread the coming marriage with Sir Philip that she’d heard others whispering about, nor had she flinched whenever the awful Guy leered at her. Nor had she shrank back when Aldora tried to give her the Evil Eye. Yes, she considered the tiny pruned-up Welsh woman as Satan’s own. Alice de Mowbray had done none of those things because rage consumed her.

Alice lay flat on her back with her arms held stiffly beside her. She stared up into the darkness and didn’t twitch her feet or shift her fingers. She kept remembering how the rail-thin Guy with his pale face of death had ordered her chests dragged into the open and smashed into splinters. In front of everyone, the two smirking sergeants had taken hammers and broken her chests apart. Her clothes, her coins, her books, jewelry, diary, daintiest slippers, nightgowns, her portrait of her mother, one and all had been spilled onto the floor and picked over by the boorish Guy de Clare.

Others had been there to jeer. Huge Sir Philip with his crafty smile stood at the forefront. The evil little witch who claimed to be the great granddaughter of Merlin had once or twice stirred her peeled hazel stick in her belongings. The silent Gascon mercenary with his big thumbs hooked through his crossbow belt nodded when Guy took her most expensive dresses. Worst of all Sir Thomas Clive—her father’s oldest friend—merely fondled the pendant given him by Guy and blandly looked on. Only one person had the decency to protest: Squire Richard Clark. He had been unable to help however, although by his bold words he’d made the bailiff turn and stalk out of the room.

To have failed in her escape was horrible. To be Guy’s prisoner was awful. To know that soon huge Sir Philip would legally be able to lie naked atop her was hideous. But to smash open her only belongings and then grub through them like a pig violated her very being. Nothing else in Pellinore Castle was hers. Sir Guy had brutally taken that away. He’d gloated while doing it and had leered in his sick and evil way.

Alice de Mowbray clenched her teeth and made the muscles that hinged her jaws bulge. She was going to get even. She was going to make Sir Guy de Clare rue the day he’d set eyes on her. If it took ten hours, ten days, ten weeks, ten months,
ten years
she would even the score and take from him what
he
held most dear.

Alice sat bolt upright. She wanted to scream her rage to everyone in the hall. They’d taken Susan and Michael, her servants, and had sent them packing to Gareth. Sinister Guy had hoped to strip her of all her friends, just as he’d tried to strip her of all her dignity. Clad only in her nightgown, Alice swung her long legs onto the floor. There was no longer any bed curtain to pull back because Guy had ordered it taken down, just as he’d ordered her wooden paneling removed. Therefore, she no longer had any privacy while in the tower’s living quarters.

She stood up. Only the night-candle flickered. The hall, she knew, was packed with sleeping people. Countless vassals had come to pledge their oath of fealty to Guy tomorrow and slept in the hall with their wives and children.

“I wish to go up to flagstaff turret,” Alice loudly said into the darkness.

Various people grumbled. It was bad form to speak so loudly and wake others up. Alice didn’t care. Her rage made her reckless. She would be like Jael, like her freed falcon, a screaming prisoner who none could control.

“Do you hear me, Guy?” Alice asked. “I want to see the stars.”

“Quiet, lass,” grumbled a sleepy knight.

“No!” Alice shouted. “I want to go up to the flagstaff turret!”

“Someone beat her until she shuts up,” a man said.

“Lay hands upon me and I’ll knee you in the groin,” Alice retorted fiercely.

For a moment, there was silence.

“Sir Guy?”

“Quiet!” hissed Guy.

“I can’t sleep,” Alice said. “I wish therefore to go up to the flagstaff turret.”

“I’ll watch her, milord.” That was Richard. “I can’t sleep either.”

In a petulant voice, Guy ordered his sergeants to watch Alice and carry Richard. The heavily muscled warriors had been sleeping. Now they complained bitterly as Alice walked ahead of them and as they manhandled the crippled Richard up the tower.

Soon Alice stood on the flagstaff turret. It was cold, but she had brought a shawl and wrapped it around her head and shoulders. The stars twinkled overhead. From below came the shifting light of the bonfires in the castle yard and out in the practice yard.

Richard bade the two big men to set him down on a stool. Each sergeant had a sword strapped to his side. They were fierce warriors, mercenaries really, Norman adventurers who hadn’t had the advantage of a noble birth. Guy had bound them to him by coin and splendid promises. Each knew that when Sir Lamerok talked they’d be rich. With these two men, blond-haired bravos with burly shoulders, hard faces and cruel eyes, Guy had held Gareth Castle in thrall. They hadn’t done it alone, but with help from Gaston the crossbowman. These three warriors had been tougher than any Gareth Castle knight, and they had helped make Guy’s word law.

“You’re a stupid wench,” said the bigger of the two sergeants, Reynard Cutthroat by name. “Keep doing what you just did and Sir Philip may find on his wedding night that he doesn’t have a virgin.”

“Watch your mouth,” Richard said.

“You watch yours,” Reynard said, striding to Richard. He towered over the crippled squire.

“You’d be wise to watch how you treat him,” Alice said.

Reynard faced Alice. “You trying to tell me what to do, wench?”

“You’re a fool,” Alice said.

Reynard’s hard face grew tight. He marched up to Alice, hulking over her. While not as big as Philip, Reynard Cutthroat was tall and bluff. “You want to say that again, you stupid wench?”

The sergeant frightened her. He didn’t seem quite right in the head. He was a brutal man, one who laughed at others’ pain. Still, she wasn’t going to show him fear. In her haughtiest tone, Alice said, “You’re a fool.”

Reynard’s slap was loud and snapped Alice’s head to the side. He laughed as she tried to knee him, and he pushed her back against the parapet.

“You’ll regret that,” she hissed, although tears welled in her eyes.

Reynard laughed again, and peered at his friend. That’s when Richard’s hurled boot clunked him in the head. Reynard roared with rage and drew his sword.

Richard, his back to the parapet and upon his stool, held a long, evil-looking dagger. “That’s it,” Richard growled, his round face twisted with anger. “Come near me so I can gut you like the cur you are.”

The second sergeant rushed forward and held Reynard back, whispering urgently into his ear.

“I won’t forget this,” Reynard said.

“Nor I your loutish breeding,” Richard shot back.

“Aye, hide behind your blood, you cripple. But don’t ever be fool enough to cross swords with me. You’ll end up dead if you do.”

Richard kept his frozen smile in place, his eyes never leaving Reynard’s.

The big sergeant growled a curse and sheathed his sword. Then the two of them departed.

Alice stepped up to Richard, handing him his boot. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Richard sheathed his dagger. “Sorry? I haven’t enjoyed myself more since breaking my legs. Are you all right?”

Alice worked her jaws. The blow still stung. “I’ll be fine,” she said.

For a while, neither said a word. Alice enjoyed looking at the stars. The cold wind blew upon them and made her shiver. How she loved the stars. They were glorious, and they made her realize how grand God was and mysterious His ways. When she stared up at the starry heavens, she forgot her worries and pains. Instead, she felt like a bird that soared above it all. What would it be like to visit those tiny points of light? Were they giant candles? She didn’t know. Or were they angels like the astrologers said—angels who winged across the night sky in such an orderly fashion that wise men could foretell the future by their movement? Somehow, she’d never thought so, but such a belief she wisely kept to herself.

“May I speak frankly, milady.”

Alice regarded Richard. His round face with its outrageously huge nose seemed bent upon worry and concern.

“Please, good squire, say whatever is on your mind.”

“You’ve become reckless, milady.”

Alice gave him a wan smile. Her rage wasn’t far below the surface, but she didn’t want to loose it upon him.

“If you’re to be successful tomorrow, then you must regain control of yourself.”

Alice’s fine eyebrows rose high.

“Henri sometimes speaks too loudly, milady. A poor cripple like me, bored onto very death, has learned to listen to whatever is said. The dog boy and minstrel foolishly helped you once. Now they’re going to kill themselves by helping you twice.”

Alice went cold inside.

“Fear not, I have no intention of reporting what I know. Cord saved my legs. That’s something I’ll never forget. You, too, saved my leg. But more than that I like you, milady. Sir Guy has treated you badly and means to treat you worse. I’ll not be party to that.”

“Oh, Richard,” Alice said, touching his arm. “You risk too much.”

He shook his head. “I don’t risk enough. But I plan to if it comes to that.”

“You must stay clear of this,” she said. “Otherwise, you may never gain your knighthood.”

“Bah!” Richard said. “I’m not so ignoble that I count every cost. I search for what is valiant and truthful and steer toward such things.”

Alice smiled, her heart going out to the brave squire.

“I know one other thing, as well, milady.”

She nodded.

“You can trust Cord with your life.”

Alice frowned. She wasn’t sure what she felt for the dog boy who had hung back the first time that she’d tried to escape. Would she have been caught if he’d escaped with her? Probably. Still, it galled her that he’d hung back.

“Now, if you’ll permit me,” Richard said, “I’d like to give you a little advice concerning tomorrow’s adventure. You see, I’ve done some thinking on the subject.”

“As have I,” Alice said.

“I can imagine, but this is the sort of thing I’ve thought a lifetime about.”

Alice squinted. She did have a plan, something she was certain that neither Cord nor Henri would like to hear. Surely, they would balk if they knew what she wanted to do once free. Wouldn’t it be wise to bounce her idea off Richard? Yes, for he might see what she’d missed.

She began to tell him her secret plan.

At first, Richard blanched and shook his head, saying that her plan was more than reckless, but dangerously foolish. She was adamant, however. At last, he grinned in a manner that surely his hero Sir Lancelot had grinned when he met his sweet Queen Gwynevere.

“Here are a few things I’d do differently,” Richard said.

As Alice listened, she realized the wisdom of speaking with the squire. He had indeed thought this through.

“Of course you realize,” Richard said later, “that once I give my oath of fealty to Guy I can no longer help you. In fact, I may have to help him in the months to come to track you down.”

“I know,” Alice said softly.

Richard nodded, then turned and peered at the red pavilion in the practice yard. Horses nickered as guards prowled about on duty.

Alice went back to studying the heavens. She wondered what Cord the dog boy was thinking. A sad smile stole over her. After this she wouldn’t be able to think of him as a dog boy, would she? No, he’d be something else. What, though? She shook her head. Poor Cord. If he was ever going to become a knight, she had a feeling he’d have to do so quickly; otherwise, he’d be dead.