A Dishonorable Knight

by Michelle Morrison

  "I swear I never thought I'd live to appreciate warm water again," Elena said as she stepped into the bucket of water the girl brought in and bent down to splash water onto her bare arms and chest.

  The girl grinned and held up a plain gown. "You can wear this this evening if you like so we can wash your chemise."

  "It's over there on the chest," Elena gestured. "I suppose ‘tis too much to hope you might have some soft soap?" she asked with a grimace as she rubbed the rough lye soap over her legs.

  "No. That is all we have. I did put some mint in your water though so you'd smell good. My mother says it’s alright to smell like a fresh mint tart as long as you don't act like one!" Laughing loudly, the girl did not notice the grimace on Elena's face.

  "Lovely," Elena muttered. "I've always wanted to smell like a nauseating desert. By the way, how is it that your family speaks English? Aren't you Welsh?"

  "Oh yes. But we live so close to the English and sell and buy things back and forth so often that one of us must speak the other's language and I can't imagine them English ever trying to learn Welsh." Belatedly realizing that Elena must be English, the young girl lowered her head in embarrassment and turned to straighten Elena's clothes.

  The girl gasped when she picked up Elena's chemise. "I've never felt such fine cloth." Turning to the dark blue kirtle, she delicately traced the embroidered and beaded neckline. "Is this one of your court dresses?"

  "No it's one of my older travel gowns." Despite her antagonism she had earlier felt over having to stay with Welsh peasants, the girl's admiration and naivete relaxed Elena's enmity and she surprised herself by saying, "You may try it on if you wish."

  The girl looked at her in amazement but in a flash removed her rough gown and slipped the blue linen over her head. "I feel like a queen," she said, swishing the full skirt around the small room. Surveying the cloud of dust that followed the whirling hem, she said, "I'll wager we could brush the dust out of this till it looks like new." She ducked out of the room before Elena could say a word. She quickly returned with a horsehair brush and another bucket of water.

  "I brought some fresh water if you'd like me to help you wash your hair."

  If bathing had felt good, washing her hair in the cool mint-scented water was heavenly, Elena thought a few minutes later. Marared scrubbed her scalp and worked the tangles out of Elena's long hair.

  "Such an unusual color your hair is," the girl said as she combed it out. "I usually hate combing my sisters' hair, but yours is so pretty to look at, I don't mind."

  Elena looked over her shoulder in surprise. Another woman had never complimented her. Men had written poems about the color of her hair, but the women at court had only criticized it, commenting on its brassiness or the way it made her skin look sallow. Elena knew they were only being spiteful, but it still caused her to be surprised at Marared's honest compliment.

  Once she was clean from head to toe, Elena dried herself with a small cloth as her self-appointed maid vigorously brushed the dusty gown.

  "How's that?"

  "It will do." Elena hesitated, then said, "Thank you." Marared beamed.

  When Marared was finished, she took Elena's chemise to wash while Elena slipped on the borrowed gown. It was coarser than her own clothes, but loose fitting and considerably lighter and cooler. Plaiting her hair in a long braid over one shoulder, she dumped the rocks and dirt out of her boots and put them back on. She stepped into the larger room, surprised to find it empty. Marared was scrubbing her chemise in a pail on the large rough-hewn table.

  "They're all outside," explained Marared. "It gets too hot in here with eleven people eating dinner. Fifteen would make it unbearable. There," she said as she rang the water out of the chemise. "I'll just hang it outside and 'twill be dry before you leave tomorrow."

  Elena followed the girl outside and saw everyone gathered around a long table under a huge tree. There were two spots open on the benches that flanked the table. Marared scurried into the one next to Bryant, leaving Elena to sit next to Gareth.

  As she sat, Gareth glanced at her and away and then turned back to her. She ignored him until he continued to stare. "Are you staring because I sprouted wings and a halo?" she asked sarcastically.

  Gareth laughed and the sound blended with the noisy chatter and giggling of the children surrounding them. "No. I would die of shock if you did that. Now hooves and a forked tail would not surprise me..." Elena pointedly turned her attention to the wooden plate in front of her.

  "We've the first berries of the season as a special treat this eve," said Catrin when they had devoured the simple meal of mutton, carrots, leeks, and barley.

  "I'll fetch them, Mama," said Marared. "Elena can help me prepare them."

  Elena stared at the girl in disbelief.

  "Go on," said Gareth. "It won't kill you, I promise." Elena turned her stare to Gareth. She was about to utter a brusque retort when she was suddenly distracted by the color of his eyes. In the fading twilight, they were a smoky gray, full of warmth and a curious sparkle. His gaze roved over her face and to Elena, it felt like a caress, lightly touching her eyebrows, skimming along her cheekbones, and settling on her lips, light as a feather’s kiss. Her heart pounded within her breast. Her cheeks warmed and an unfamiliar warmth spread through the rest of her body as well. Without quite knowing why, she rose and without so much as a sarcastic comment, followed Marared into the cottage.

  "If you'll take this bowl out, I'll clean up our mess," Marared said, indicating the pile of stems and inedible berries on the table when they were done.

  Next they'll be having me empty their chamberpots, Elena thought. Except, of course, that they don't have any! As she approached the table outside, she noticed that the younger children had dispersed, but Gareth, Cynan, and Bryant were still talking with the village adults. They had lit several torches and Elena paused to study Gareth's face by the soft glow. She knew that she was invisible to them as she stood outside of the ring of light and she could observe her brusque escort unnoticed.

  He was utterly handsome, she realized with a start. She had not noticed the squareness of his jaw before or the straightness of his nose, the full curve of his lips. Her gaze lingered on that full curve and she suddenly wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips. He raked his dark hair off his forehead with a hand that was strong, but not coarse. Elena fancied that such a hand could grasp her tightly to him even as it gently caressed her hair and neck.

  It was several moments before Elena realized that the people around the table were speaking in a strange mixture of English and Welsh. It had been years since she'd spoken Welsh, taught as she was by her Welsh grandmother. In Richard’s court, she’d hidden her Welsh background as it was even less desirable than her family’s Lancastrian ties. The garbled words slowly began to unfurl in her mind. As she concentrated, she was able to decipher many of the words.

  "'Twill be before Michaelmas, I can assure you. He'll land in South Wales, but will travel north to gather soldiers. I would have us ready to greet him when he lands. Parod ac awyddus." Elena did not recognize the speaker's voice--it must be Gruffydd, she thought.

  "Cymreig ar y gorsedd," said Bryant. A Cymreig is a Welsh person, Elena thought. Something about a Welshman on the throne?

  "But what of his claim to the crown? Does it meet the laws of inheritance?" asked Gareth.

  "Had he no ties to the royal family, I would support him over one who murders children."

  "That cannot be used to justify what you plan. There has never been a shred of proof that Richard harmed his nephews in any way," Gareth argued.

  "Crist trugaredd! I suppose they've just disappeared off the face of the earth, eh Gareth?" Elena had never heard Cynan speak so harshly. He had seemed a man who saw a joke in every situation. "Surely you don't believe--"

  "Regardless of that," Gruffydd interrupted, "his right is as strong as Richard's. He's a descendant of John of Gaunt."

  "Through his grandmother. That
is not—“

  "Digon!" exclaimed Cynan. "Is the fact that he's Welsh not enough to want him on the throne?"

  In the silence following Cynan's outburst, Elena was sure they would hear her heart beating as it raced in her chest.

  "As a matter of fact," said Gareth quietly after several moments, "it is."

  Elena gasped. They were planning to help the Earl of Richmond overthrow the king! It was treason! Hearing Marared behind her, Elena quickly composed her features and carried the bowl of berries to the table, forcing her expression to careful neutrality.

  Gareth studied her face as she sat down. She knew he was wondering how much she heard and whether she’d understood any of it. Elena absorbed herself in eating and did not pay attention to the noisy jests of Cynan as he teased Bryant and Marared. Scarcely tasting the ripe fruit, Elena wondered what she should do. That she must warn the king of the impending attack was obvious, although she knew he was preparing for its possibility. Perhaps if she could discover more of the Welsh plans, her information could thwart the rebellion. And a grateful Richard would no doubt be willing to reward her with the groom of her choice, would he not?

  ***

  "Elena?" Marared whispered in the dark room. Elena was bedded down with girl and her youngest sister in the only bed in the house. Outside a fine mist of rain had started to fall and the breeze entering the small room was pungent with the smell of wet hay and wild flowers.

  Elena sighed and rolled onto her back. "Hmm?"

  "Do you think Bryant and I make a handsome pair?"

  Silently, Elena thought that Marared would talk poor Bryant's ear off in a matter of days if they were wed, but she said, "I suppose so."

  "I think so too. I dream all the time that he'll ask me to marry him before I turn seventeen. My cousin over in Newtown is already expecting her first babe and she is only ten days older." Marared was silent for several minutes and Elena was just about to drop off to sleep when the girl said, "You know what else I think?"

  If I pretend I'm asleep, perhaps she'll leave me alone, Elena thought. "What?" she said.

  "I think that you and Gareth make a handsome couple as well."

  Elena's eyes flew open. "What?"

  "You're both so attractive, you'd have beautiful children. And I think you'd look sweet with a wreath of flowers in your hair as a bride."

  This is ridiculous, Elena thought. "I'm betrothed," she said flatly.

  "To who?"

  "To a very powerful earl."

  "Oh."

  Elena rolled back on her side. "What a pity," Marared continued. "From the way he looks at you, I'd say Gareth is quite taken with you." She then proceeded to fall asleep. Elena stared into the darkness for a long time, unable to sleep when minutes before she had been utterly exhausted.

  Chapter 7

  The rain-washed morning air was crisply cool. A light breeze helped dispel the pre-dawn mists and the ale-induced fog in Gareth’s head as he took deep, restorative breaths. Cynan and Bryant were mounted on a huge gray workhorse and Gareth moved to tighten the straps on Isrid's saddle. He glanced up when Elena came out of the small house and felt his loins tighten. Shrew though she may be, she was a beauty. Her cinnamon-colored hair glowed richly in the shafts of sunlight that pierced the dispersing clouds. She had plaited it in one long, fat braid that hung over her shoulder. Her creamy skin now had a healthy glow from her days spent in the saddle and thick lashes fringed her nutmeg-colored eyes. Gareth laughed under his breath. Cinnamon, cream and nutmeg? He was no doubt hungry for food, not a woman. Still…did she not have the tongue of an adder, the spice of her looks and intelligence would make her a woman to be treasured.

  He watched her look around, and knew when she realized her small gray palfrey was nowhere to be found.

  "Where is my horse?" she asked.

  Gareth continued loading Isrid as he said, "It would never make it over the mountains we'll soon be crossing. Besides, we'll travel faster if we're all mounted."

  "That still doesn't explain where my horse is."

  "I traded her for this one," he jerked his chin toward the large horse on which Cynan and Bryant were mounted.

  "How dare you! That animal was given to me by Queen Anne just before she died, you oaf. King Richard will hear of this, I can assure you!"

  Gareth swung around. In an instant he had Elena by the arm. "I care not for the precious symbol of how prized you are by the King of England. 'Twill be a symbol of a meaningless reign before the year is out."

  "Gareth!" Cynan said sharply.

  Gareth glanced at his friend and flushed.

  "You do mean to commit treason! You! A knight sworn to serve King Richard!"

  "I am sworn to serve the crown which rules Wales and England, not the man who wears the crown."

  "What is the difference?" Elena demanded.

  Gareth paused. He had been struggling with the same question all night. Though he had no great fondness for Richard, and abhorred the thought of how he had obtained the crown, he had, in truth, done no harm to England. In fact, he had lifted many taxes and devised a fair and successful Council, which met once a quarter in York to keep the peace, disperse punishment, and settle disputes. Glancing from Elena's furious face to Cynan's and Bryant's wary ones, Gareth sighed. He hoped his father would be able to offer him advice on determining his loyalties.

  Gareth ran his fingers through his hair and turned back to Elena. "Get on the horse. We can argue as we ride, but we are losing daylight."

  "I am not going anywhere with a traitor."

  "Fine. Stay here with Gruffydd and Catrin. I'm sure they'll be able to drop you at the abbey the next time they go to Llangollen for the yearly fair in six or eight months. In the meantime, I'm sure they could use you to tend the herds and help with the younger children."

  Elena strode furiously to Isrid and waited to be lifted up.

  "I'm so glad you decided to join us," Gareth said amiably as he took the reins and quickly mounted. When Elena continued to stare at him expectantly, Gareth leaned down and lifted her unto the saddle in front of him.

  The three men waved goodbye to Gruffydd's family who had gathered around to hear the English woman argue with Gareth. With little urging, the horses broke into a spirited gallop.

  "Where will you leave me?" Elena asked several minutes later.

  "Despite what you may think," Gareth said, "Wales is not a Godless country. There are many abbeys and monasteries scattered throughout."

  "So, where will you leave me?"

  "Unfortunately," Gareth continued as if Elena had not interrupted, "Since none of us ever thought to take up the life of a holy man, we have little or no idea where the nearest abbey is."

  "Couldn't you have thought to ask before we left?"

  "Catrin says there is one about two days' ride south, but we cannot afford the time to ride there and back. You will simply have to enjoy our beautiful Welsh scenery until we come across one that will not delay us overlong."

  "Heaven forbid you should be inconvenienced," Elena said caustically.

  ***

  The next five days were duplicates of the one following their departure from Gruffydd and Catrin's home: they rode hard all day, stopping at night at a small village or hut where one of the men was invariably related to at least one of the occupants. As they ate, they would discuss Richard's downfalls and the merits of Richmond--the greatest of which seemed to be the former's lack of Welsh blood and the latter's abundance of it. Although Elena knew a good deal of Welsh, she did not tell Gareth and was content to let him ramble on. For some reason she could not fathom, he seemed to feel compelled to translate a carefully edited version of what they had spoken about before they went to sleep. Although she never let the three men see it, she was growing more and more disturbed by what she was learning of her sovereign.

  Elena had long prided herself on her knowledge of the political games that were played at court. She knew details of Buckingham's rebellion she doubted Richard even k
new, and she could recite the line of the Woodvilles--Edward IV's in‑laws and a constant burr to Richard--back for two generations. But despite her time spent in court, she never knew that a majority of the churchmen who served on his governing Council were from Richard’s home in northern England and that these men had no knowledge of the workings of the rest of England. In truth, Richard placed such a greater value on the northern shires that he all but ignored the needs of the southern shires.

  And, though Elena refused to mention it to Gareth or his friends, she knew that Richard had planned to marry his niece, King Edward IV's daughter, Lady Elizabeth. Elena remembered the frightened determination on Elizabeth's face that day less than a fortnight ago when Richard's entourage was attacked. A marriage between two so closely related would have been ruled incestuous by the Church, except that the clergy running the Church were undoubtedly Richard's men.

  And no matter what evidence was lacking, there was always the question of Richard's two young nephews. They had not been seen since Richard's coronation and speculative rumors about their fates had been whispered even in Queen Anne's presence.

  On the evening of the fifth day since leaving Gruffydd and Catrin's house a thick, wet fog set in, blanketing the forest in a swirling veil through which they could see no more than a few feet in front of them.

  "Cynan!" Gareth called ahead. "Are you sure you can find the house in this fog?" he asked, referring to their day's destination.

  Cynan reined his horse in until Isrid was even with it. "It can't be more than an hour away, even with this weather. I've no taste for sleeping in the fog and would have us push on."

  Gareth grinned. "Still afraid Lucifer will sneak up on you?" When Cynan shot him a withering look, Gareth said, "Very well, continue, but let's hurry. I'm about to fall out of my saddle with exhaustion. It looks like Bryant's already out," gesturing at his sleeping friend whose head was resting on Cynan's back.

  "Aye, he's been asleep for the past hour or so." Gareth looked down at Elena who, seated sideways in the saddle, was comfortably curled against his chest, asleep. The fog had spangled her hair with diamond droplets and Gareth resisted the temptation to touch them. Nudging Isrid on, he followed Cynan.