A Dishonorable Knight

by Michelle Morrison

  Liar, hissed a voice in the back of his head. What you would not risk is your heart, should you lay it before her and have her rejected. Coward!

  Gareth shook his head and clenched his jaw, ignoring the thought. When he spoke, his voice was low and harsh. “Elena is most enamored of her position at court. She would not give it up for life as mistress of a Welsh keep.”

  "But if we assured her she would have a place in Henry’s court--"

  "No!" Gareth said more forcefully than he had planned. "Henry won't lose this war without Elena's help and we both know there's every chance we'll be completely crushed. If that should happen, I would not have Elena then be termed a traitor and put to death."

  "Alright son, alright. We need not ask her assistance." Morgan watched his son tear almost savagely into his bread. "Gareth?"

  Much calmer now that his anger was spent, Gareth smiled apologetically at his father and said, "Yes?"

  "I'm not questioning your loyalty to me and this cause, for I know you would lay down your very life once you have committed yourself to something."

  "But?" Gareth prodded.

  "No buts, I just want to know your feelings."

  Gareth was confused and he frowned as he asked, "About what?"

  Morgan lifted his hand in an encompassing gesture. "About this whole venture. I believe in Henry Tudor's claim, as do your friends, and I know that you are fighting for Wales. But I've yet to hear you say you think we will be victorious. Do you think Richard will crush us?"

  Gareth saw the concern on Morgan's face and sighed, tossing the bit of bread he was about to eat back onto the table. "I don't know, Da. Richard has many enemies in England, but he has managed to purchase or cajole or win over many powerful allies as well. And Henry has to get here, gather his troops, and get them to England. I don't know," he repeated as he leaned back on the rickety wooden chair, lifting its front legs off the floor and balancing precariously on the back two. Three men of his own age came down from the upstairs room where they had spent the night. They nodded good morning to Gareth and his father and made their way down the hall to the shop.

  Gareth dropped his chair back onto all four legs and turned to face his father, noting the worried look on his father's face. He immediately felt remorseful for his doom saying. "You can't place much faith in my ramblings. In fact, don't listen to me--I'm a green knight with little war experience. I guess I'm still uncomfortable with this whole spying idea."

  Morgan waved his hand dismissively. "You're right, of course. For all our self-righteousness, there is every chance we will be slaughtered. We would be fools if we went into battle expecting the angels to help us defeat our enemies and escape unscathed, though I know that's what many men will expect." He paused and took a breath. "I don't want to upset you further, Gareth, but have you thought about what you're going to say to Elena if she's to be kept out of our plans?"

  Gareth nodded and glanced down the hall to make sure Elena had not come out of her room. "I've already told her that I have changed my mind about joining Henry's fight and that we will be returning to England in a few days."

  "Will she say anything about this meeting?"

  Gareth paused. She had promised not to mention his involvement, but if she thought he was standing for Richard, would she not hesitate to tell the king what she knew of this meeting? He chewed his upper lip, feeling the stubble of several day's growth. Gambling on their night together, he said, "No, she will say naught." His father looked at him searchingly and Gareth struggled to keep his face smooth and innocent looking.

  After a seemingly endless few seconds, Morgan nodded and said, "Very well. When will you return to England?"

  "In a few days. I would have Elena well rested before we begin yet another journey, and it will take time to have her dress made."

  "Ah, yes, her new dress. Was she pleased with your purchase?"

  Gareth couldn't suppress his smile. "She was delighted, I think."

  "Yes, well what young lady wouldn't be delighted to have a handsome young lad present her with such a generous gift."

  "Da," Gareth said. Why was it that his father could one moment treat him like a worldly important man and then the very next, make him feel like a boy of seven?

  "Well, it's true. You are handsome. You take after me. Although your mother was quite a beauty as well--had all the boys after her for miles around..."

  Gareth stared in amazement as his father continued to reminisce about the past. Was this the same man who had discussed political tactics last night so cunningly with Lord Stanley?

  Both men's thoughts were interrupted by Elena's entrance.

  "Good morning, Lady Elena," Morgan boomed.

  Elena bestowed her sweetest kindly-older-man smile on him before turning expectantly to Gareth, who was standing.

  "Good morning, Elena," he said in a husky voice. Her smile deepened seductively and her eyes sparkled intimately at him, making the blood rush to his face and his throat constrict. "Would you--" he cleared his throat. "Would you like some fresh bread or cheese?"

  "Yes, come have some, dear girl. Samuel's wife left his pantry well-stocked before she left to visit her kin." As Elena sat in Gareth's vacated seat, Morgan continued, "How did you pass your night?"

  Gareth choked on a slice of cheese and looked quickly to Elena who seemed as composed as ever. "Wonderfully," she said with a smile. "It was the most pleasurable night I've spent." Despite his fear that Morgan would decipher just what she meant, he couldn't ignore the tingling warmth that spread over his body at her words. He was glad she had found their encounter equally pleasing.

  As soon as Elena was finished eating, he said, "Shall we spend today finding a seamstress for your gown?"

  Elena quickly stood and ran down the hall to her room, calling over her shoulder, "Yes! I'll get the cloth now!"

  "I understand there are several reputable seamstresses on the third street to the west. Here," Morgan said, reaching into his tunic and pulling out a small leather bag. "Make sure you eat well. Perhaps you should buy another horse, as well, for Lady Elena to ride. It cannot be too comfortable to cross mountains pressed together on one horse."

  Gareth refrained from telling him just what was uncomfortable about that situation, and instead pushed the bag of coins away. "You've given me more than enough, Da. I still have more than half of what you gave me yesterday, thanks to Cynan."

  "This is not from me, though I'd give it to you if I had it. Lord Stanley asked me to give it to you before he left at sunrise. He said he understood how difficult your task would be and how it was hard to know what was right all the time."

  Gareth stared at the small bag for a moment before slowly reaching out to take it. "That was kind of him. He seemed such an ogre yesterday."

  "He's in a difficult spot. Richard holds his son as ransom to Stanley's loyalty, yet Henry is his kin as well."

  Gareth felt his unease about returning as a spy to England settle on his shoulders like a familiar weight. Was there nothing about this entire war he would not feel guilty for? Before he had time to heap more recriminations on his head, Elena returned, positively beaming as she handed him the heavy mass of cloth and took his arm.

  "Do you know where we are going?" she asked sweetly, and if Gareth had not been so preoccupied, he would have marveled at her tone.

  "Yes," Morgan answered for him. "I've told him of several places you can try, not a ten minute's walk from here."

  "Excellent," she replied. Tugging on Gareth's arm, she said, "Shall we go?"

  ***

  "Oh what a glorious day!" said Elena as they walked down the narrow street. Lifting her face to the warm sun, she inhaled deeply of the salty air.

  Gareth glanced over the pile of wool in his arms and smiled. "That is truly something I never thought to hear cross your lips."

  Elena frowned. "Why not?" she asked, although she knew the answer. Studying her escort, she saw him look quickly away and knew to what he referred.

&nbs
p; "You just seem like you prefer the comforts of a castle and servants."

  Elena studied the large formation of clouds that was moving in from the west. She considered responding with a flippant answer, but stopped herself. She was determined to test her feelings for him and, perhaps, discover his for her. Deciding to be as honest as he himself always was, she said, "Perhaps I've just grown to appreciate the beauty of other surroundings."

  "I can understand how it has been difficult."

  "What do you mean," Elena asked, her hackles bristling.

  The corner of Gareth's mouth twitched and he said, "What with your own beauty eclipsing everything around you, I can see how it would be difficult for you to notice anything else."

  Elena stared at him for a few seconds as an embarrassed flush crept up his neck and suffused his face. "Why Gareth, I do believe you're actually flirting with me!" Before he could stammer an excuse, she said, "You really should have tried it before."

  This caught Gareth off guard, she could tell, and with more curiosity than embarrassment, he asked why.

  Elena schooled herself not to laugh with delight as she responded, "Well, it's a much more effective method for getting into a lady's good graces than is telling her how rude, demanding, and self-centered she is."

  Gareth tried to look abashed, but when Elena herself burst out laughing, he quickly joined her. They continued laughing and teasing one another until they came to the first of the seamstress shops. Gareth hadn't even begun to explain their business when the seamstress curtly informed them that she was entirely too busy to take on any new work. She quickly ushered them out of her shop without so much as a "Good day." Rather than being put off by the woman's rudeness, Gareth and Elena mimicked the dour old woman as they made their way to the next shop, halfway down the street, only to discover it closed.

  "We will be successful, Elena, fear not," Gareth said grandly as he shifted the bulk of fabric in his arms.

  "Of course we will," she responded, studying his clear grey eyes beneath the mop of dark hair. He really is handsome, she thought. Not in the same way that Lord Edgeford was, for Gareth's features were not as fine, his hair not as perfectly groomed, his hands not as soft, but there was no denying that Gareth was attractive. His squarely cut jaw and sculptured face bespoke a strength that Edgeford utterly lacked. And his hands, while rough and deeply tanned, made her feel things she'd never experienced as they had roamed her body. Though he was not as tall as Edgeford, nor as burly as, say, the blond sailor from the market, he had a confidence about him, a way of carrying himself that made him completely fill her vision, eclipsing all others. As Elena remembered how he rescued her from the band of ruffians, how he carried her across the swollen river, and nursed her back to health, her thoughts returned to their earlier ruminations.

  How could she get him to confess how he felt about her? Certainly not with the shallow games she used to entice suitors in court. She was at a loss as to how to proceed.

  "I'm sure it’s around here somewhere." Elena's thoughts were interrupted and she realized the street had curved and narrowed. "Da said there were three shops right on this street."

  "Maybe it has closed down."

  "I think not. He asked Samuel just this morning." They had slowed to a stop and Gareth looked up and down the row of shops. The buildings rose to several stories on the left, the shop owner no doubt living above their stores. There were a variety of crudely made signs indicating cobblers, bakers, and even a scribner. But not a hint to indicate a seamstress. To their right, Gareth and Elena were hemmed in by a tall stone wall, the original town wall which had in most parts, been removed to allow Aberstwyth to grow. There were no people on the street and despite the fact there could be no chance of it, Gareth decided this was one place he would not like to meet up with an enemy.

  "Why don't you ask in here," Elena suggested, gesturing to the bakery they had stopped in front of. "Then you can buy me a sweet bun."

  "You just ate."

  "A bit of dry bread and a lump of cheese is not enough to break my fast."

  "Would you have preferred some dried beef?"

  Elena leveled her sourest glare at him to no effect. "Are you going to ask where it is or not?"

  "Why? We'll find it. Maybe it's down a little farther."

  "Oh Gareth! Here, give me some money and I'll go ask."

  "You're going to pay someone for directions?"

  "No, I'm going to ask for directions and then buy something to eat."

  Gareth rolled his eyes but pulled out the small pouch of coins. "Here. Gorge yourself."

  "Hmph."

  Elena disappeared into the dim recess of the bakery and Gareth leaned against the shadowed wall. He looked up and down the narrow street, unable to quell the feeling that this was a dangerous spot. Shifting the heavy bulk of fabric to his other arm, he decided that a little dust would not harm the heavy wool and he carefully set the load down on the baker's stoop, shaking his arms to return circulation to them. Wishing Elena would hurry, he looked down the street once again and froze. Coming up the cobbled lane were three of the rough soldiers he and Elena had stumbled upon in the forest mists. What were they doing here? His sword hand automatically grasped at his hip, but there was no hilt to meet it. Damn! What on earth possessed him to leave this morning without his weapon? Hoping they hadn't seen him, he reached for the handle to the bakery door, hoping to duck inside unnoticed, but his hopes were dashed as he heard, "Ho there! Yes you! Wait a moment."

  Perhaps they won't recognize me, he prayed. They had been deeply in their cups that night. He turned to face them but kept his head ducked.

  "We're looking for a weaver's shop, but we don't know the name. Be there one around here?" asked the leader in English. Gareth shrugged his shoulders and shook his head to indicate he didn't understand and then turned to leave, planning to make an escape around the next corner and come back for Elena. He hadn't taken but a step when a thick hand clamped down on his shoulder. Gareth twisted quickly, dislodging the hand with ease and landing a solid blow the man's chin, but giving the rest a clear view of his face.

  "Say!" said one of the men to the leader, "Isn't he--"

  "Yes!" shouted the leader and lunged to grab Gareth who was already running up the street. As he searched for an alley to duck down or a shop to hide in, he cursed his lack of forethought in not bringing his weapon. Had he his wits about him, and therefore his sword, he could have dispatched the three men to their maker and had the corpses moved away before Elena left the bakery with her directions. As he was about to round a corner in the cobbled street, he cast a glance down the lane. The ruffians were, thank God, clumsy and slow in their pursuit. The man he had punched was still clutching his jaw. Gareth's derisive grin faded as he thought of Elena coming out of the bakery while the men were still on the street. So as not to discourage his pursuers until they were out of this vicinity, he pretended to trip on a cobble stone and rolled to the ground easily. As he had hoped, the men yelled triumphantly and redoubled their efforts. He led them through a twisted maze of streets, praying he would be able to find his way back to the bakery. Every few steps he had to slow his pace so that he would not completely outdistance the rough soldiers behind him. Ahead he saw a small square full of people crowded around a table. Gareth had seen his father dole out justice and punishment often enough to recognize the well-dressed man seated at the table as a magistrate. Pushing his way through the throng of people, Gareth interrupted the proceedings, which seemed to involve the owner of a chicken and a young boy.

  "Your honor!" Gareth panted in Welsh. "I am but a poor, honest Cymraes being pursued most unjustly by a group of English mercenaries who wish to do me harm because I will not call myself Englishman. They claim there is no such thing as a Welshman because we are all ruled by an English king!" Gareth glanced over his shoulder and saw the soldiers at the outer edge of people, trying to find him over the heads of the crowd. The crowd itself was humming with outrage over Gareth's words and
Gareth had to suppress a grin. To deny a Welshman his heritage was nothing short of blasphemy.

  The magistrate stood and smoothed his coat over his round belly. "Who are these Englishmen?" he asked, pronouncing "Englishmen" with the same emotion a priest infuses into "spawn of Satan."

  Pointing to the rough men, Gareth said, "There they are!"

  The magistrate ordered his guards to seize the men, but the crowd descended upon them first, rounding them up with no lack of roughness and dragging them forward. As the magistrate bellowed a sermon on the antiquity of the Welsh culture to the cheers of the crowd, Gareth casually made his way to the edge of the square and then down the street he had just run up.

  He reached the bakery just as Elena was coming out, a sweet roll in hand.

  "It's just two doors down. Elena said after Gareth pulled back.

  A confused look crossed his face as he tried to catch his breath. "What is?"

  "The seamstress, of course," she said and took a large bite of roll.

  "Oh. Of course." He stooped to pick up the pile of cloth and then glanced over his shoulder."

  "What are you looking for?" she asked

  "I just didn't want to get run down in this busy thoroughfare," he said, deciding not to worry her with his recent exploit.

  Elena laughed. "A grave danger indeed," she joked. "We are probably the only people to travel down this street in a month!" She shifted the remnants of the roll to one hand, and rested her other in the crook of his arm as they made their way down the narrow street. They stopped in front of the only door that did not display a sign overhead. As the entered the unmarked and dimly lit shop, Elena blinked, trying to force her eyes to adjust after the brightness of the morning sunlight.

  Gareth leaned down and whispered in her ear. "Are you sure this is the place?"

  Elena looked around as her eyes finally grew accustomed to the dimness. The shop was tiny, with scarce enough room for the rough-hewn wooden table and empty shelves that were pushed against opposite walls. A narrow doorway was covered with a thin piece of cloth. There was nothing to indicate that this was a seamstress's shop. Elena looked at Gareth and shrugged. "Why don't you call out and see if anyone comes to answer."