A Dishonorable Knight

by Michelle Morrison

  Gareth jerked his attention from their nervous movements and returned to his story. "It was not long after that I discovered Lady Elena who I believe had been taken hostage by the brigands to ensure their escape and then later released. She was as ignorant as I concerning Your Majesty's survival," Gareth suddenly remembered that Elena was supposed to have been injured and he quickly made up an injury that would require at least a fortnight recovery. "Furthermore, she was bleeding profusely from a cut on her scalp and could scarce remember her name or what had happened."

  Richard's gaze shifted again and he addressed someone in the crowd. "And have you recovered sufficiently from your injury, Lady Elena?"

  Gareth turned and felt his heart lurch. Seated on a bench in the front row of attendants to the court was Elena, dressed in a gown of deepest blue, heavily embroidered with silver thread. An expensive silver pendant graced her smooth neck and her hair was intricately braided and woven about her head. She looked as foreign to him as if she had only just arrived from the southernmost tip of Italy or the easternmost reaches of the Steppes. But when she turned her gaze to meet his, she was the woman he knew most intimately, the woman he loved. Still looking at him, she answered the king. "Aye, Your Majesty. I am well recovered, thanks to Sir Gareth and his family."

  "Ah, yes," Richard boomed, "your family." Gareth turned back to face the king. "Tell me now, why you chose to take the Lady Elena--the wounded Lady Elena--through forests and over mountains to be attended by your family when there were manors and convents at every turn."

  This would be his most difficult argument to convince, Gareth knew, and he tried to appear as guileless as possible as he said, "In all truth, Your Majesty, I did not come across a manor or convent. You see, I feared traveling the roads for Lady Elena's sake. I was worried that if we ran into these same brigands, she might not escape with just a wound to the head." Gareth paused, desperately trying to keep the charade up. "I was also worried that she would not survive the wound she had received. She faded in and out of consciousness as we traveled and I thought I might waste days looking for a manor while in that time I could easily get her to my father's keep where I knew she would be well taken care of." He paused and took a shaky breath as Richard stared at him. The king licked his lips and then chewed on his lower lip while he tapped his finger with the signet ring against the arm of the throne. The sharp clicking sound seemed even louder to Gareth's ears than the low rumble of conversation by those who had lost interest in the business of court.

  Finally, the king spoke. "And when Lady Elena had recovered, you and she immediately returned to see if I had arrived at Nottingham."

  Gareth thought frantically to determine if there was anything else he should add. He could think of nothing. "Yes. We traveled to Nottingham and learned in the city that you were in residence and in all health."

  "And you swear this story to be true?"

  "On my sword and on the good service I have provided you since first I came to your court." Gareth held his breath, waiting to see if he would be believed.

  "Very well," Richard murmured. Raising his voice to its court-addressing level, he said, "We are thankful for your service in protecting Our life and for rescuing and protecting Our good Lady Elena. We charge you to remain with Us as We will no doubt require service of this caliber again." The king turned to his high chancellor and began discussing the next issue.

  Gareth bowed, backed up several paces, and bowed again before turning and leaving, Sir Jasper at his elbow. When they had exited the main hall into the bright afternoon sunlight that filled the large bailey, Sir Jasper spoke. "Don't take his skepticism to heart, Gareth. The king is greatly occupied with Henry Tudor's threat and he sees a spy in every shadow."

  Gareth kept his face an immobile mask. His attempt to thank Sir Jasper was waved away. Instead he asked the senior knight, "Were those brigands who attacked us Henry's men?"

  "No. As it turns out, they were men hired by Elizabeth Woodville to capture her daughter out of Richard's grasp. Apparently, the woman has lost all reason and she feared Richard meant to force Elizabeth to marry him simply to cement his claim to the throne, as if he needs that."

  Gareth thought that if what little he had gleaned from Elena about Richard's plans for Lady Elizabeth were true, the mother was uncannily shrewd rather than mad. The two men made their way to the far end of the bailey where a group of knights and men-at-arms whose presence was not required in court were practicing swordplay. Gareth and Sir Jasper paused on the edge of the practice field, watching the men.

  "We've no idea exactly how many men Tudor will be able to gather once he lands. He has the assistance of several foreign crowns and, so our King's spies tell us, much support from Wales, for Welsh blood runs in his veins."

  Gareth thought he should not appear too innocent so he said, "I had heard as much--he is French too, am I correct?"

  "Yes, he is the grandson of Henry V's widow, Catherine, who was the daughter to the King of France. No doubt the French king is his most generous benefactor." Gareth knew Henry Tudor's lineage, but nodded his head as if learning it anew. "His only claim to King Richard's crown is through the bastard children of John Beaufort."

  "I thought they were legitimized."

  Sir Jasper scoffed. "Only on the condition that they never lay claim to the throne! Which just goes to show you what the deviousness of the Welsh will push through." He paused, his eyes widening as he looked at Gareth. "Oh, Gareth, forgive me. I did not mean to imply--"

  Gareth raised his hand to stop the apology. "Please, Sir Jasper, think nothing of it. I'll be the first to admit that the Welsh can be calculating. What other reason could explain why there used to be so much fighting between the lords of Wales?" Sir Jasper nodded and the two men turned their attention back to the mock battles being waged.

  Though Gareth pretended to be studying the men's form and style, he was reflecting on Sir Jasper's words. Aye, the Welsh could change their loyalty in a heartbeat, but usually they did so only when Wales was being trod upon. Had Richard not allowed English priests to replace the Welsh clergy, or English lords to rule Welsh lands, Wales would even now support him as King of England. But most importantly, had Richard not supported the laws which denied a Welshman the rights of citizenship merely because Welsh blood ran through his veins, he would not now be having to worry that Henry's army would be greatly comprised of Welshmen seeking the same rights every Englishman took for granted.

  As Gareth stood there, surrounded by the noise of a productive, war-prepared castle, all of the arguments against Richard brought up at the Aberstwyth meeting came back to him. They coalesced into a solid determination to see a better king on the throne. Cymru, which could really only be translated as "Welshness," flowed through his veins and the weight of guilt and indecision which had bowed his shoulders since he had first heard of Henry Tudor suddenly slid off and broke into pieces about his feet, to be kicked away with the slightest shift of the spurs which adorned his worn boots.

  He looked to Sir Jasper who was shouting instructions to a new knight on the field. He would no doubt be facing this noble man on the field, for Sir Jasper believed most firmly that Richard was God's choice as King of England. But suddenly, Gareth felt the same passionate response to Henry Tudor's claim. No doubt if he had been born and raised in northern England, and Sir Jasper had grown up in Wales, their loyalties would be reversed. But fate had decided they would soon fight for different kings and no amount of guilt on Gareth's part would change that. With an invigorating sense of freedom and relief, Gareth strode forward and picked up a wooden sword from the pile of practice weapons and joined the practicing men.

  Chapter 25

  Elena spent her next few days enjoying the comforts of velvet gowns, down-stuffed pillows, hot meals, sweet deserts, music in the background, and hours spent embroidering with the other ladies. After she had entertained them with a carefully constructed story of her adventures, they had returned to the normal court gossip of f
lirtatious intrigue and fashion faux pas--or so it seemed. Elena could not help but suspect that the old rumors surrounding her virtue were resurfacing. Though she seemed to have resumed her position as cherished handmaiden, there was something different about the entire court's attitude toward her, especially the other ladies-in-waiting. As Elena worked on embroidering a tapestry one afternoon, she wondered if perhaps it was her attitude towards them that had changed. Mayhap both. Certainly she tired more rapidly of the inane banter the women often indulged in. The political machinations of court seemed somehow more vulgar and blatant than she remembered them. And lately, when she had been attending Richard, she seemed to feel an odd repugnance. He was constantly in a foul mood, yelling at his advisors, attendants, and serfs alike. At one time or another during his daylong meetings with advisors, he accused everyone in his court of conspiring to dethrone him. Whenever Elena brought refreshments into the map-strewn study where he spent hours each day planning his defense against Henry Tudor, Richard regarded her warily, as if he suspected her of eavesdropping or snooping through his papers. No more did he have flattering words for her. Not once did he ask after her family, bidding her send his regards to her mother when next she wrote as he had before they left Middleham castle all those weeks ago.

  Elena paused to rethread her needle, judging the effect of the tapestry. Its base was of heavy gold fabric and onto it she was working an intricate design of pomegranates, vines, and lions in rich jewel-colored silk threads. Returning to her work, her reflection of her present life resumed.

  More and more she seemed to be spending time alone, sewing or staring out the window at the men practicing for war. During those times, like now, she did not have to decipher the veiled hostility of the other women of the court and she was free to let her mind wander. More often than not, her mind led her willingly to thoughts of Gareth and his last-minute declaration of love. Over and over she replayed that scene in the bailey. She saw the intense look on his face as he realized they were about to be separated. She could hear his voice, low and hoarse as he said, "I love you!" In her mind she stared at his face as her skittish horse was dragged away and she was lifted from its saddle. Sometimes, when she was feeling particularly alienated from the other members of court, she would rearrange that last scene. She would have Gareth proclaim his love right before they reached Nottingham castle. Then, instead of entering the great gates, they would turn and ride as fast as they could across the landscape and not stop until they reached Eyri Keep where they would marry.

  Other times--times that made her cheeks flame with embarrassment and excitement--she would imagine the words escaping him in the heat of passion. Or in the tender quiet afterwards when they lay in each other's arms. Regardless of how the scenario began, it always ended the same: with their return to Eyri Keep. Eyri Keep had become an ideal in her mind where she was cherished without having to manipulate others, where she was admired without hostility, where Enid and Elen had proven themselves to be true friends who did not pretend to like her one moment and disdain her the next. And Eyri Keep was the place where she would look forward to her husband's return. As it stood now, she was dreading word of Brackley's return to Nottingham.

  Catherine, the previously timid kitten, had somehow grown claws in the intervening weeks and had informed Elena that her fiancée had not been overly dismayed to learn of her disappearance and that he had, in fact, shown her, Catherine, undeniable partiality of late. Catherine had rambled on a great deal about the questions that were arising concerning Elena's good name after having spent so much time alone with a man. She had also made it quite clear that she felt she was infinitely more suited to being the earl's wife than was Elena. Elena had long ago learned the value of keeping her mouth shut on certain topics and she knew that should she say anything regarding her reluctance to wed the earl--especially to Catherine--the words would quickly find their way into Richard's ear.

  Elena would have liked nothing better than to see Catherine wed to the repugnant man instead of herself, but considering Richard's mood of late, she knew that she must be very careful about how she broached the subject of her betrothal lest he grow enraged and wed her to Brackley immediately out of spite.

  Her hands shaky at the thought of the earl, Elena stabbed her thumb with her needle as she took a stitch.

  "Damn!" she exclaimed, dropping the thread and squeezing the offended digit. A bright red drop of blood welled out of the prick and she moved instinctively to put her thumb in her mouth. She paused, hand in midair as she remembered her mother telling her that blood from a seamstress's hand rubbed into a seam brought good luck to the wearer of the garment. Elena found a bright red flower on the tapestry and rubbed her thumb on it. The cloth would not be worn, but perhaps if hung in her room, would bring her good luck. At this point, she reflected, she needed all the good luck she could get.

  A knock at the door was quickly followed by a page who brought word that the new Countess of Salisbury was in residence and King Richard charged his ladies-in-waiting to attend her on a horseback ride about the castle grounds.

  Elena left her needlework and the privacy of the large sewing room to quickly change her clothes and join the small group of women gathered in the great hall. Amongst the women were Richard and another well-dressed man Elena assumed was the Earl of Salisbury. Presently they were joined by a regal looking woman of perhaps thirty who was closely attended by a smug looking Catherine. Elena wondered again when Catherine had grown so cocky but with a mental shrug of her shoulders, attributed it to life in the court. Thank my stars I have never been so worried about my position in Richard's court, she thought, with only a touch of irony.

  Richard presented the small group of ladies to the Countess and Elena suppressed an instinctual feeling of danger when Richard merely mentioned her name to the countess and moved on to the next lady. Every other time Elena had attended his noble guests, Richard had made a special emphasis when introducing her. He had told this Duchess or that Lord that Elena was his prized attendant, or that as they were his favorite vassal, so must they have his favorite lady attend them. As a result, Elena had been showered with gifts and had been privy to many conversations she would have otherwise been excluded from had Richard not made a point to recognize her value and importance. That he was now ranking her with the group of ladies who were only trusted to prepare trays of edibles and help arrange skirts was unnerving.

  As the ladies were helped onto their horses and began riding around the bailey, Elena ignored Catherine's inane chatter to the countess. She instead mulled over the loss of her status as the king's favorite. To her surprise, she found it did not bother her, but she did worry at Richard's reasons for it. Had he merely grown weary of her or were there greater reasons for his recent coldness towards her. Elena was not oblivious to the fact that people disappeared from court, never to be seen again. She was also aware that if Richard thought she had gained any sympathies to Henry Tudor during her stay in Wales, if he had somehow found out that she was in the very house where Tudor plans were being laid, her life would be very short indeed. All her protestations of innocence, all her vows of loyalty would mean nothing, for Richard dealt quickly and harshly with those suspected of betraying him from his highest advisor to the lowest serf.

  Elena thought of the court she had attended just a few nights past. She had held her breath while Richard had questioned Gareth for she knew that Richard would have never wasted court time questioning a knight unless he doubted that knight's loyalty. That he had not charged Gareth with any crime did not relieve her of that worry. Should Gareth have any enemies in this court, or should anyone discover that they had been to Aberstwyth, his life would be forfeit quicker than hers would.

  The small group of women rode around the perimeter walls to the far corner of the bailey where men were training with swords, shields, and pikes. While the other ladies chatted and laughed with the countess, pointing out the most handsome knight or the most adept with the sword, Elena sat
still on her horse, mesmerized by the sight of Gareth, who leaned against a cart on the far side of the training soldiers. Bareheaded, shirt sleeves pushed past his elbows, arms crossed lazily over his chest, he laughed at something an older knight was telling him. One of the practicing knights called out to him and Gareth nodded and bent to pick up his helmet and shield. Elena studied every detail of his appearance, memorizing it for future daydreams.

  "Elena!" Catherine called shrilly. "Isn't that the handsome knight you spent a month with alone?"

  Elena dragged her gaze from Gareth and turned to Catherine who, with her question, had gained the attention of the countess and the other three ladies. Though Catherine's face appeared blandly innocent, Elena saw straight through her ploy. "Indeed, that is Sir Gareth who rescued me from the brigands who attacked us and escorted me into the safekeeping and protection of his noble father."

  "But how humiliating," Catherine persisted, "to have no privacy while traveling through the dark woods of Wales, spending every night with this man you hardly know."

  Elena refused to let Catherine get the best of her. "Surely you are exaggerating, Catherine. You will have the good countess here fearing for her very life when near one of His Majesty's knights. Sir Gareth was a paragon of chivalry and virtue as he escorted me to safety. I not once encountered an unsavory moment in his company and I would trust my life and the life of my mother into Sir Gareth's hands without hesitation." Ha! Elena thought, you'll have to be in this court a few more years before you can think to make me look bad, Catherine.

  "What adventure!" the Countess of Salisbury said, obviously intrigued by Elena's experience. Deciding to show Catherine exactly what she was up against, Elena turned on her favorite-lady-in-waiting charm and set out winning over the visiting noblewoman.