Unending Love (32 page)

“You are too old,” David sighed. “Rhys, you will
be facing a man twenty or thirty years younger than you are.  As great as you
are, and you are the greatest, you cannot compete with youth and speed.”

“Perhaps,” Rhys whispered. “But it is my right
and I will not allow anyone to take it from me.”

Christopher and David passed concerned glances,
finally looking at Gart, who was stone faced as he looked at Rhys’ lowered
head.  When Gart felt their stares, he looked up at them both.  The stone-faced
expression morphed into one of resignation.

“It is his right,” he finally muttered. “If we
were speaking of Daniel or Brydon or any one of Chris’ sons, we would feel the
same way.  For my son, I would seek justice a thousand times over no matter
what the risk, and if I die, I die in the quest for my son’s justice.   There
is no wrong in that.”

There was nothing more
any
[J58]
 
of them could say to that.  They all knew the
stakes and they all knew the plan.  As their sons organized the armies down in
the bailey of Canterbury, David wearily rose from his seat and extended a hand
to Rhys, who took it and laboriously stood.   They were old, that was true, but
they were still knights, and they would do what knights do best.

They would fight for honor, justice, and the
bonds of family and allies.  One last time, they would fight.

***

He could hear the shouting from the bailey.  In
fact, he had been dreaming about something, something military or violent, and
those shouts were a part of that dream.  It took him some time to realize that
he was awake, listening to the voices of soldiers and commanders down in the
ward.

Maddoc stared at the ceiling for the longest
time.  He didn’t even know how long.  It seemed like a lifetime.  Then, it
started to occur to him that he was very thirsty and his eyeballs no longer
felt hot.  The fever that had ravaged his body had made everything hot, even
his eyeballs.   It was odd not to be excruciatingly hot all over, but rather
comfortable.  Odd, indeed.

Maddoc turned his head slightly, noting the old
physic sleeping in his chair up against the wall.  A soft breeze blew the
oilcloth covering the lancet window and he could see that it was daylight
outside. He had no idea what time it was, or even what day it was, but it was
indeed daytime. He could smell the dung and dust from the bailey blowing in
through the window.  It was a very comforting smell.

Slowly, he lifted a hand, which was more of a
chore than he could have ever imagined.  He was extremely weak and lifting one
big arm was like trying to lift so much dead weight.  He had no idea his arm
weighed so much.  But he brought a hand to his forehead, feeling that his
temperature was cool and normal.  He was surprised.   More than that, he was
breathing easy and the agonizing pain that had gripped his torso for the past
few weeks was less than agonizing.  He twisted a little, just to see how he
felt, and the pain was still there but not nearly what it was.  In his opinion,
it was manageable.

The physic was snoring softly.  Without moving
his head or body too much, Maddoc looked around and noticed a small table at
his bedside with a bowl on it and other implements.  There was even a wet rag. 
Picking up the bowl, because it was the only thing he could really get his
hands on, Maddoc threw it at the physic and hit the man in the shoulder.

The physic woke up with a violent start, jumping
sideways and toppling out of his chair.  On his bum against the wall, he rubbed
the back of his head where he had smacked it as he fell.  His astonished gaze
was on Maddoc.

“Did you throw that?” he asked.

Maddoc shifted in the bed, realizing his back
and bum were extremely sore from having lain motionless for so long. His body
felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, stiff and sore and aching.

“I did,” he replied softly. “I am thirsty and I
believe I could eat something.”

The physic struggled to his feet and made his
way over to Maddoc.  His surprise was obvious.  He peered into Maddoc’s eyes,
felt his pulse, and put his ear against the man’s chest.   After several
moments of listening to the inner workings of Maddoc’s torso, he lifted his
head.

“Your fever is gone,” he stated the obvious.
“How do you feel?”

Maddoc sighed faintly. “Exhausted,” he said.
“Hungry. Thirsty. And my head hurts a great deal.”

The physic peered under his eyelids and in his
mouth.  Then, he shook his head in wonder. “A small price, considering,” he
said. “I thought for certain you were dead to us. I see that I was thankfully
wrong.”

Maddoc didn’t have much to say to that, so he
drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. It was difficult to keep them open.
There was some pain when he breathed but not much.  More than that, he didn’t
feel winded or faint.  Other than being extremely weary, he truthfully didn’t
feel all that bad, considering.

The physic, still shaking his head with wonder, went
to the door and called for a servant.  When an older, toothless woman appeared,
he instructed the woman to bring bread and broth.  The woman went on the run as
the old physic returned to Maddoc’s bedside and began unwrapping the bandages
around his torso.

Maddoc dozed as the physic removed the moss and
mustard poultice, noting that the wound was developing a hard scab.  No more
oozing, which was a good sign.  He replaced the wrappings with boiled linen,
clean and tight around Maddoc’s chest, something he had learned during his
years in The Levant where the old Arab physics who had bred and practiced their
methods on the hot sands of the east had taught him that only boiled things
should touch a wound.  It was knowledge that had served him well, as Maddoc was
showing evidence.

By the time the physic was finishing with the
wrapping, the servant returned with strained beef broth and big hunks of hard
crusted bread.   As the physic broke up the bread, softened it in the broth,
and fed it to Maddoc, more shouting and commotion could be heard from the
bailey.  It was enough to rouse Maddoc’s curiosity.

“What is happening?” he asked the physic.

The old man spooned the softened bread into
Maddoc’s mouth. “I do not know,” he said. “There are many soldiers in the
bailey.  Perhaps they are going to war.”

Maddoc’s brow furrowed as he swallowed the mushy
but tasty bread. “War?” he repeated. “With whom? Where is Lord David?”

“With your father, I would imagine. In fact,
I….”

“My
father
?” Maddoc repeated, startled.
“My father is here?”

The physic nodded, putting a hand on Maddoc’s
big shoulder to steady him. “He came yesterday,” he said. “Do you not
remember?”

Maddoc was distressed, struggling through the
mental cobwebs to put his last memories into perspective.   After a moment of
concentrated effort, he shook his head.

“I do not recall anything much,” he admitted.
“In fact, the last I remember, I was in the bailey with… oh, dear God… Adalind…
where is Adalind?”

The physic could see that his patient was
genuinely upset.  Illness had a way of erasing memory; he knew that.  He patted
the man on the shoulder in a weak attempt to comfort him.

“Your father and other knights have come,” the
old man said patiently. “I have spent nearly all of my time with you so I am
uneducated as to the exact details, but I was told by a servant that your
father and Lord David are going after the lady.  She is at Norfolk.”

Maddoc was now struggling to sit up. “Addie,” he
muttered. “Sweet Jesus… it was de Royans, wasn’t it? He took her. He fought me
for her and… God, why can I not remember what happened after he gored me? My
mind is like mud.”

The
[J59]
 
physic wasn’t strong enough to keep Maddoc in
his bed; even though the young knight had spent the past three weeks ill and
with fever, he was still a very big and very strong man even in his weakened
state.  The physic tried to hold him down as he hollered for a servant.  Maddoc
had one leg over the side of the bed and was struggling to push himself up when
the servant appeared and the old physic sent the woman on the run for David.

Maddoc heard the command but it did not concern him. 
All he cared about was regaining his armor and riding for Adalind.  His head
was swimming and his body trembling with weakness, pain, and exertion, but he
had to get up. He had to find Adalind and save her from de Royans because in
his mind, it was the very last thing he remembered and the urgency was still
very strong.  As he struggled to his feet, he pushed the old physic out of the
way.  The old man fell to the floor and Maddoc lost his balance, toppling over
and collapsing against the wall.

But he wasn’t down for long.  Maddoc rolled on
to his knees as the physic picked himself up and went to help him stand.   But
the physic tried to direct him back to the bed while Maddoc wanted to head out
of the door.   It was quite a battle until the sounds of running boots filled
the corridor outside and the door panel flew open. 

“Maddoc!” Rhys exclaimed.  He was so started
that he actually stumbled back into the door jamb. “God’s Blood, we thought you
were… the servant said to come quickly and we thought….”

Maddoc reached out a big hand and his father
caught it, steadying him.  Although Rhys was a very large man, and very strong,
Maddoc was taller and heavier than his father.  Supporting nearly all of
Maddoc’s dead weight against him, Rhys practically carried his son back to the
bed and sat him down as David and Christopher, having followed Rhys on his
panicked flight into the keep, moved in to assist.  Between the three of them,
they managed to get Maddoc back to the bed, but he wouldn’t lie down. He kept trying
to get back to his feet.

“I have to get dressed,” Maddoc told them. “I
have to find Addie.”

Rhys was thrilled to death that Maddoc was
evidently recovered, so much so that he sat down next to him and threw his arms
around him.

“Praise to God,” he whispered, hugging his son
tightly. “I thought we had lost you.”

Maddoc realized they weren’t going to let him
get up.  It was three against one and he wasn’t strong enough to fight them all
off.  Thwarted for the moment, he paused long enough to appreciate his father’s
show of affection.  It was obvious that Rhys was very emotional as he embraced
his eldest child.

“You have not lost me,” Maddoc assured the man,
his gaze moving to David and Christopher standing in front of him. “What has
happened? Will someone please tell me where Adalind is? I was told she was at
Norfolk.”

David was so relieved to see Maddoc up and about
that he could hardly verbalize it.  He thought for sure that the harried
servant had come with news of the knight’s demise and was more than surprised
to see that the case was exactly the opposite. He bent over Maddoc and put a
hand to his forehead.

“No more fever?” he asked.

“No more fever, my lord,” the physic answered,
standing behind them. “He awoke a short time ago clear of fever or infection
and asked for food.  I can find no trace of illness in him. It would seem that
Sir Maddoc is something of a miracle.”

David took his hand off of Maddoc’s head, his
blue eyes glimmering with warmth as he gazed down at the knight. “Thanks be to
God for his holy and just miracles,” he murmured.  “I did not truly believe we
would see this moment.”

Maddoc knew he had been ill but the severity of
it was finally beginning to sink in because they were all looking at him as if
he was a ghost.  He looked at his father, still hugging him, and patted the
man’s arms in a comforting gesture as if Rhys was the one that needed soothing.

“It could not have been that bad,” Maddoc
muttered, somewhat embarrassed.

David rolled his eyes. “Do you not remember any
of this, Maddoc?” he asked. “De Royans gored you and badly injured you.  Fever
set in and we thought we were going to lose you. Truly, I did not think we
would see you alive and well ever again.”

Maddoc was ashamed he had been so much trouble.
“I remember fighting de Royans,” he admitted. “I remember seeing Adalind… she
had a dagger in her hand and she was running toward us. I think she was trying
to help me. I tried to stop her but de Royans cut me. After that… I do not
recall much at all.”

Rhys let go of his son, listening to the man’s
recollection of past events.  “She is a brave woman if she was indeed trying to
help you,” he muttered. “Foolish but brave. She reminds me of my wife in that
respect. Elizabeau has been known to show astounding bravery.”

While Maddoc gave his father a weak grin, David explained
what the man had wanted to know.

“After de Royans gored you, he grabbed Adalind
and fled Canterbury,” he said. “We assume he took her back to Arundel Castle
but we do not know for certain. I have called upon my brother, your father, and
Gart Forbes to help us reclaim her and to seek justice for what de Royans did
to you.”

Maddoc gazed up at him, digesting what he was
told. He was coming to understand the sequence of events. But one thing was
unclear to him.