A Dishonorable Knight

by Michelle Morrison

  "My lady," Gareth began and then cleared his throat. "I vow that before we leave Aberystwyth you will have a new gown."

  Elena laughed shakily and responded, "And with what shall you buy this new gown, Sir Gareth, your good looks?"

  Gareth wondered if she was serious about his looks, but refused to be sidetracked. Before he could answer, she offered another possibility.

  "Perhaps you mean to add thievery to your crime of abduction!"

  Gareth frowned and said sharply, "Though I may not have coin to throw away as your suitors in court do, I am not without means. What I wonder is if you'll even have the decency to thank me." Had the woman no common courtesy? Surely if she ever made it to heaven, she would snub St. Peter when he opened the gates for her. As they entered the city, however, he was ashamed at how easily she riled him—both to passion and to anger. He was a fool to take every comment from her as a slight.

  He realized he owed her an apology, but told himself it was more important he search for the shop he was supposed to meet his father in front of. He would apologize as soon as they arrived, he promised himself. Lord, but the town had grown since the last time he had been here as a child. As they wandered up one street and down the next, Gareth realized that, late as they may be, his father might have no one waiting for him once he did locate the meeting place. Gareth figured the days in his head. They were two days late. His father may have assumed that they had been captured or met with some other accident. He wondered if the planning meetings had already been held or if Henry's representatives were still awaiting the arrival of Welsh lords from the furthest corners of Wales.

  "Do you know where you're going?" Elena's question roused him from his reverie.

  "I'm trying to locate the shop of Samuel the Weaver."

  "Why do you not stop and ask someone?" she said innocently.

  "I don't need to ask where it is, I'll find it. ‘Tis just that this town has changed a lot since the last time I was here."

  "That seems like all the more reason to ask for directions."

  "I don't need directions. I told you, I'll find it!"

  Knowing Gareth couldn't see the expression on her face, she rolled her eyes and stuck out her tongue. She was going to have a good laugh at Sir Know-it-all's expense when he did finally have to stop and ask. As they wound back and forth along the smooth stone streets, Elena's anticipation and making Gareth eat his words grew.

  Elena was forced to swallow her carefully planned comments about Gareth's stubbornness when he yelled in her ear, "There it is!"

  Blind luck, she thought. Carefully storing away the subtle insults she had composed--she had no doubt he would provide her a reason to use them later--she concentrated on hanging on to Isrid's mane as Gareth sent the powerful horse galloping down the narrow and crowded street, heedless of the pedestrians and carts full of produce and grain. Elena grabbed the edge of the saddle as they nearly collided with an old man crossing the street. A moldering onion thrown, no doubt, by an aggrieved merchant narrowly missed Elena's shoulder and broke apart against the back of a cart as Gareth abruptly reined in Isrid in front of a small, slate-roofed shop. There was a meticulously carved wooden sign over the door indicating cloth supplies inside.

  Gareth had just dismounted and was helping Elena down when the door to the shop opened and Bryant burst out.

  "Gareth! Thank God you're alive! We had all but given up hope of your ever arriving."

  "We met up with some English soldiers we had to outwit," Gareth explained. "It wasn't hard," he said with a laugh. “Just time consuming. How much have I missed?"

  "About a day's worth of plans. And you'll never believe who arrived just this morning," Bryant said as he escorted them into the dimly lit shop. Bolts of wool lined two of the three walls, from thick nubby plaits to buttery soft weaves in a muted rainbow of colors. A third wall held a few bolts of fine cotton and several shelves of precious trims.

  "Who, King Richard?" Gareth teased.

  Bryant shrugged and shook his head dramatically as he led them down a small hall. "No, you oaf. Lord Stanley, Henry's stepfather."

  Gareth paused and in the dark hall, Elena ran into his back. He ignored her jab to his ribs as he asked, "Does Richard not hold his son as a hostage to Stanley's loyalty?"

  "Yes which is why it is so amazing that he's here. He is risking many lives to help Henry plan."

  Ignoring Elena, who kept running into him and poking him in the ribs, Gareth marveled at the news. So, Lord Stanley had finally chosen a side. For the past three reigns, Stanley had vacillated between Lancaster and York, showing support for whichever party sat on the throne. The last his father had heard, the influential Stanleys were remaining carefully aloof from the upcoming confrontation between Henry and Richard. Perhaps Stanley's wife, Henry's mother, had finally forced him to take a stand. Gareth felt much more confident in their success with Bryant's news.

  The dim hall emptied into a small, tidy living area. Turning, Bryant gestured to the chairs at the table. "Lady Elena, if you will sit here, I will return shortly and try to find something for you to eat." Motioning to Gareth, he led the way to a door in the corner of the room. Opening the door, Bryant started up a narrow staircase, Gareth following quickly behind.

  "Wait!" Elena said imperiously. "Where are you going? What about me?"

  Gareth turned around and Bryant bent down on the steps so he could see into the room. "Elena," Gareth began. This meeting is between Henry's closest advisors and those of us who are willing to die to put him on the throne. There is no way we can bring a woman to the meeting, much less an English woman from Richard's court.”

  Elena frowned and stomped her foot. "But I'm Welsh, too. And besides, I almost died for this cause, remember?"

  Gareth crossed the room and took Elena's face between his hands, his thumbs caressing her soft cheeks. Elena grasped his wrists but did not try to pull his hands away. Gareth's voice was quiet as he tried to explain.

  "As it is, my father and I are very honored to be allowed at this meeting. Were it not for Eyri Keep's strategic location to a marching army and our ability to provide supplies for that army, we would be waiting with every other Welsh farmer for the call to follow instead of preparing to lead. What you did for this cause was very important and you can be sure I will credit you for saving our lives. But I cannot impose on Lord Stanley by bringing you unannounced into this meeting." Kissing her gently on the forehead, he said, "Please, Elena."

  Elena shook her head. "But I can contribute! I know Richard's court! I may know something you don't, although I'm sure you will find it hard to believe," she finished sarcastically.

  Gareth refused to take offense and said, "I'm sorry Elena." Turning, he rejoined Bryant and closed the door to the staircase.

  Ahead of him on the stairs, Bryant said, "I don't think you should be so familiar with Lady Elena."

  Gareth, his mind on the meeting upstairs frowned in the dark. "Familiar? What are you talking about?"

  Bryant was silent for a moment and then said tightly, "Kissing her, touching her, calling her by her given name alone."

  "So?"

  "She's betrothed! And even were she not, she wouldn't be able to tell that you were not serious, that you don't care for her in that way."

  Gareth felt like he had walked into the middle of a stranger's conversation. "In what way? What are you talking about, Bryant? I was just trying to comfort her."

  They had reached the top of the steps and Bryant paused, his hand on the door handle. He turned around but Gareth could not make out the expression on his face in the dark stairwell. "If Henry Tudor should be successful, Lady Elena will not have to marry that fat earl. Just how do you thing a gently-bred noble lady will feel when she turns to you only to discover your intentions were not honorable? She's not a serving wench you can romp in the hay with and then forget about. And though she's part Welsh, she lives in England and they are not so tolerant of love affairs and bastard children as we are. Furtherm
ore, Gareth, I will not let you break Lady Elena's heart."

  Gareth's head spun. "Bastard children? Have you lost your mind Bryant? I'm not interested in a 'love affair,' a 'romp in the hay,' or anything else with Elena. I'm just grateful to her for her help and trying to keep her from being more frightened than she already is." His words were true, and yet not the whole truth, but he refused to confess things to Bryant he hadn’t even had time to admit to himself. A new thought struck Gareth. "Have you more 'honorable' intentions than that?"

  Before Bryant could respond, the door swung open, blinding the two men in the stairwell with bright sunlight as Gareth's father's voice said, "Come in boys and thank the Blessed Virgin Mary you're alive, son."

  Bryant and Gareth entered the brightly lit room and Morgan hugged his son tightly. As his eyes adjusted, Gareth saw that the room was full of men of all ages. Some were sitting, others were standing against the wooden walls, but all had a look of strained impatience at the interruption and a reckless excitement in their faces, no doubt from the meeting's topic. Gareth and Bryant quickly found an empty spot of wall and leaned against it.

  "Shall we continue?" said a well-dressed man with an English accent. His face was thin and bearded; Gareth guessed him to be Lord Stanley. "Fair weather providing, His Majesty will arrive sometime in August. You understand we cannot risk telling any of you where he will land. We can not risk him meeting Richard's men before he has had a chance to meet up with my forces and those you all will be able to muster. Again, for safety's sake, we will not give you any direction as to our plan of attack through England until absolutely necessary.

  "What I would like to know is this: How much support does the Earl of Richmond, true heir to the English throne, have in Wales?" His steely blue eyes surveyed the room, carefully examining each man's face. A few of the men standing shifted their weight from foot to foot. Others dropped their eyes to the floor. Gareth knew that much of Wales, like much of England, was indifferent to the latest battle in this “War of the Roses.” Common men and women had been affected very little by the fighting between the Lancasters and the Yorks. To most, the battles among the two houses only affected them when it happened in their rye fields or over their vegetable patches. Otherwise, it was nothing more than a skirmish among wealthy gentlemen.

  Scanning the room himself, Gareth knew that these men were thinking the same thing. Not many Welshmen would choose to die for a man who claimed the English throne when the next year a new contender may appear with a better claim. Someone cleared his throat and Lord Stanley's eyes narrowed. Before Stanley could say anything, Gareth's father spoke.

  "The Welsh will fight for Wales. Should Henry Tudor swear to grant us more rights and freedoms than we've enjoyed under previous English kings, he will find his supporters here innumerable."

  Lord Stanley's face flushed and he angrily asked, "Must he bribe you as mercenaries then? Will the Welsh not fight simply for the rightful ruler of all Britain?

  Morgan smiled. "There are many men who would claim Richard is the rightful heir. Or the Princess Elizabeth herself. You will have a hard time convincing Welshmen to risk their lives for just another Englishman."

  "But he is the grandson of Owain Tudor--a Welsh statesman. You all know that," Stanley argued.

  "Yes," Morgan replied calmly. "But will he act like Owain Tudor's grandson? Will a Welsh king of Britain mean a Welshman will be equal to an Englishman? Will it mean the concerns of Wales be given equal consideration to those of England? Will a Welsh grandson mean Welshmen in English government positions?"

  Stanley sat back, his elbows on the arms of the chair, his fingers steepled in front of his mouth as he studied Morgan.

  "What I am saying, Lord Stanley, is that his name could be Llywelyn and the men of Wales would not die for him without some assurances that Wales will benefit."

  Lord Stanley nodded slowly and seemed to be considering something weighty. Finally he dropped his hands from his mouth as he sat forward. "You may rest assured that Wales will benefit should it support the true king."

  When he seemed to have nothing else to say, Morgan looked at the men around the room and then said, "My Lord Stanley, surely you must realize that we cannot convince the farmers and shepherds with such a simple answer. Nay, even I in my conviction that Henry Tudor is the rightful king remember all too clearly how assurances can lose their priority once a goal such as the throne has been reached."

  Lord Stanley clenched his teeth tightly. "Are you implying that I will not keep my word or that my stepson will so quickly forget the very people who helped him gain his birthright?"

  In a calm, even voice that Gareth remembered so clearly from evening stories in front of the fire, Morgan replied, "Lord Stanley, if you will reflect on my words, I'm sure you will see I meant no disrespect. No one in all of Britain dare doubt your sincerity and no one here dare doubt your stepson's appreciation. Rather, we all know that running a kingdom is a terrific responsibility that requires a king's constant vigilance. In light of that, it would be perfectly understandable for King Henry to be overwhelmed by his responsibilities and be forced to relegate the task of appointing Welsh officers to the future, rather than trying to do everything at once." Gareth had been the subject of his father's rational logic too many times while growing up not to see that Lord Stanley was doomed. "All I ask you to understand is that the Welsh people are not as patient as their rightful sovereign is and they may misinterpret advance planning as forgetfulness. If His Majesty could see fit to perhaps deliver his assurances of change personally, he will be amazed at the number of men who will pour from the mountains of Wales to carry him to England."

  Lord Stanley was visibly torn. "Perhaps he could send letters to you local lords and inform you of his plans for Wales."

  Morgan smiled warmly. "That would be excellent. In the same missive with his instructions for our troops, of course."

  Lord Stanley paused. "Of course."

  Gareth breathed a sigh of relief, glad that he was not in Lord Stanley's shoes. Morgan always had a way of making you agree to things as if they had been your idea in the first place. With that the meeting was quickly concluded and the men stood to leave, some pausing to speak to Lord Stanley, others milling about uncertainly. Gareth wondered if they were still unconvinced of Stanley's promises, but he had no idea what had occurred before his arrival. His thoughts were interrupted by Morgan. "We thought you were dead or taken, son. 'Tis good to see you here and unharmed. Did you run into trouble?"

  "Almost. We were accosted by a troop of English soldiers who were asking about Aberystwyth. We had to detour to make it look like we were heading to Cardiff."

  "Why Cardiff?" Bryant asked.

  Gareth smiled, remembering Elena's performance. "Elena told the soldiers we were traveling to Cardiff to visit her family."

  "Quick thinking," Morgan mused.

  "Did Bryant tell you how she escaped the convent to warn us of that Godless abbess?"

  Morgan nodded. "A brave lass," he said with a knowing smile.

  Suddenly looking around, Gareth asked, "Where's Cynan?"

  "He's on watch--Richard's men have been thick as flies around town trying to find out our meeting spot," Bryant answered.

  Gareth looked at the fifteen or twenty men in the small room. "Isn't it going to look a little suspicious if these men leave a weaver's shop all at once?"

  "Some of the men will exit out the back," Morgan explained as Bryant was called away by one of the other men. "When the men leave here, they'll go in ones and twos, many with packages of cloth to make it appear as if it is business as usual." Morgan laughed. "I think Samuel was anxious to have the meeting here so he could force us to buy fabric!"

  "That reminds me. Do you have any money with you I could borrow?"

  "Borrow? You needn't borrow money from me. You've never taken a dime for your work at Eyri Keep. You'll take what I have as little enough payment. But how does Samuel's textiles remind you of money?"

 
; Gareth paused, embarrassed. He glanced over his shoulder, relieved to see Bryant leaving the meeting room. "I...I promised Elena I would buy her a new gown."

  "A what?" Morgan's eyes suddenly narrowed. "Cynan told me that you attended Lady Elena when she was ill in her room for several days. Did you take advantage of her? Damn it, Gareth, she's not a simple country girl you can seduce and then forget about! Have I taught you no better than that?"

  Gareth was stung. "Da, how many times have I seduced any innocent girl and abandoned her? Of course I didn't take advantage of Elena." Well he didn't, he thought, she kissed him first and nothing actually happened! "’Tis just that she's been through so much and she's used to having more than one dress. So I thought it was the least I could do," Gareth argued defensively. "May I have the money or not?"

  "Of course, lad, of course." Morgan pulled a leather pouch out of his shirt. "You'd better take it all. It will cost a fortune to have a dress made in a day or two."

  "Why a day or two?" Gareth asked. He thought they could spend at least a week in Aberystwyth before returning to Eyri Keep.

  "Wait until we're alone with Lord Stanley for me to explain."

  Gareth looked from his father to Stanley who was just saying goodbye to the last two men in the room other than Gareth and his father.

  "Morgan, I assume this is your son?"

  "Yes, Lord Stanley. This is Sir Gareth. He has of late served in Richard's court and could prove valuable if your lordship wishes to go ahead with our earlier idea."

  "Is he in agreement?"

  "I'm quite sure there will be no problem," said Morgan.

  Gareth, increasingly confused and irritated that he was being spoken of as if he were not present, broke in. "Excuse me Lord Stanley, father, what am I agreeing to?"

  "Why don't you sit down," said Lord Stanley, "and we will answer all your questions." When Gareth and his father had made themselves comfortable, Lord Stanley turned to Morgan. "Shall I explain or would you care to?"