Fallen Knight

by Dana D'Angelo

  Gareth had no family either. The one person who he held close to his heart, the one who he considered a brother, was now dead to him. To learn that Derrik thought of him as a brother had flattered him. And in a moment of weakness, he agreed to go to the wedding. He actually felt good for once at being so honored.

  “’Tis for the boy,” he said, jerking his thumb at where Leofwin stood with the nursemaid, distracted by the antics of the dancing bear. “I need to find a knight who is willing to train him.”

  “I thought you were his mentor,” she said, arching a delicate brow. “I understand that you use to ride with the Iron Hawk. He told me that a long time ago you offered to train him.”

  “’Twas a promise that I made in haste,” he said. “I am no longer interested in being a knight. That part of my life is finished.”

  She looked at him doubtfully. Everyone knew that there was too much work, too many years involved to become a full-fledged knight. To an outsider, it didn’t make sense for him to throw it all away.

  “So ‘tis true then,” she said finally. “You killed that prisoner in cold blood.”

  “What?” Her question jolted him. No one had ever dared to speak to him so bluntly. His eyes narrowed slightly. “Who told you this?” But he already knew who it was. And that culprit was making his way toward them. Leofwin was almost upon them when he heard Gareth’s question.

  “I’ll see about getting you more wine, sire,” he said, pivoting.

  He watched the boy weave hurriedly through the crowd and toward the kitchen.

  “The Grey Knight got what he deserved,” he said finally.

  “There is also talk that you concealed the truth from the king,” she bit her lip as if she was uncertain whether she should continue.

  “Aye,” he said, taking pity on her. “Telling the truth is one of the cardinal rules of chivalry, and I broke that vow.”

  He was startled at his own confession. This was an admission that he needed to give to the king when he first arrived at the royal courts many years ago. At the time, he just wanted to put everything behind him. But even though the Grey Knight was dead, the bastard haunted him in his dreams. And by the time, he had decided to admit to the murder, Jonathan had arrived and demanded answers. But that moment passed. If the opportunity presented itself again, he knew he would have done the same thing. This was what he promised Rueben. And this vow was bathed in blood. He —

  “But sire,” Clarisse said. “Did you murder the royal prisoner?”

  The heat from her fingers through his sleeve jerked him out of his dark memories. He gave himself a mental shake. He didn’t want to delve too deeply into the past, but her innocent question drew it out. God, he needed more drink. But when he met her eyes, he saw that she was looking at him expectantly.

  “You know nothing about me,” he said grimly. He plucked her hand from his sleeve and glowered down at her. “You know nothing about the kind of pain that I suffered. You are too young.” He gave her a sweeping glance, taking in the shapely figure that resembled nothing like a child’s.

  “You are wrong, sire,” she said softly. The serious tone of her voice made him pause, and he studied her closely. For a brief second, her façade was completely down, and he saw a pain shimmering in her eyes, a pain that didn’t belong in a person so young. What suffering she had, he couldn’t fathom. For some reason he wanted to reach out and take it away.

  You’re a damn fool, Gareth. But just as he had come to that conclusion, the expression in her eyes became more guarded, and when she spoke again, her voice was firmer. “I have lived seventeen summers. But believe me, the experiences and anguish that I hold are not that of a child’s.”

  He looked at her for a long time, waiting for her to elaborate. His guess was right. She had suffered in some way, and he braced himself for the onslaught of tears. But the tears never came, and she remained silent on the subject. He might have pursued it if he was interested, but he wasn’t. It appeared that she had her own demons to slay, and ones that he didn’t want to concern himself with. If truth be told, he had enough troubles of his own.

  But something about her was disarming him, and he found himself confessing. “The truth is that the bastard murdered many people,” he said finally. “I had to kill him.”

  “But why would you kill him when the king was going to mete out his punishment anyhow?” Her mouth opened in surprise. “From what I understand, his death was certain, for as you said, he killed and agonized many people over the years.”

  “’Tis an old story. Everyone knows how the Grey Knight had killed Sir Jonathan’s betrothed.”

  “Aye, my cousin has told me about it.” Clarisse nodded as if to confirm that he told the truth.

  “But what is not well-known is that the bastard also murdered my brother Rueben,” he said, his mouth twisting with bitterness.

  “That is terrible,” she said, her eyes widening.

  “Terrible, aye, for many of his victims. We had the king’s blessing to pursue the criminal, and turn him over to the court. Little did we know that the pursuit would span over so many years. Every time we thought we closed in on him, he disappeared. But then he would emerge again to taunt us anew.”

  He drew his eyes to the smoke blackened rafters.

  “The frustration of not capturing the bastard ate at me,” he continued in a low voice. “My hate for the scoundrel grew with each passing day. And when we finally caught up with him, it was a bittersweet moment for all of us. For me, I finally knew the face of my brother’s killer. And for Jonathan, he discovered that the Grey Knight was none other than his bastard-born brother.”

  The pain felt almost too fresh, as if it had happened yesterday. Even the cheerful strains from the minstrels couldn’t penetrate through the darkness that imprisoned him. The image of his brother’s face floated in front of him.

  “My brother’s death was done in cold blood as well. I happened to be there, holding him as he lay dying in my arms. He told me to leave it alone, that he was going to die anyway, but I swore to him that I would avenge him —”

  “My lady!” the nursemaid called out, interrupting them. He didn’t know whether he felt relieved or disappointed over the intrusion. In all the years that had gone by, he had never revealed so much to anyone.

  The nursemaid hurried over to them, slightly out of breath. “I had thought you were following me,” She stopped to suck in a deep breath, just as she glanced curiously at him before continuing. “We must take our places as the food is arriving at our table.” She paused. “And Sir Hervey is asking for you.”

  At the mention of the knight’s name, Clarisse’s demeanor changed. Her body stiffened, and the color disappeared from her lovely face. The woman standing in front of him was altogether different to the one that he conversed with only a moment ago. This woman seemed scared, and he wondered if Hervey was responsible for the change.

  Despite himself, he grew curious even though he had already told himself not to involve himself with her. But strangely enough he felt as though he knew her. He couldn’t quite explain it since he was only acquainted with her for a short while. But it was there. It was as if she understood him at a different level, perhaps on a deeper level than he knew himself. And for some reason he felt that he understood her as well.

  But what manner of man would cause such a negative reaction in the pretty maiden? He would have liked to question her further, but a guarded expression fell over her visage.

  “I should go,” she muttered.

  “Aye,” the nursemaid said, looking over at him again. This time the unspoken warning was loud and clear. The nursemaid wanted him to stay away from her charge. Once more, his reputation had preceded him.

  Gareth watched Clarisse’s slim figure disappear into the colorfully garbed crowd.

  Chapter 9

  Gareth’s ears perked as he heard Clarisse’s name. He moved aside to allow the two women to pass.

  “After the ceremony this morning, we told h
er that we are negotiating the betrothal contract with Sir Hervey,” Lady Chantal said as she walked with her sister, too absorbed in her conversation to notice Gareth. “She was very upset.”

  “I thought she knew,” Lady Edeline said.

  “Aye, she knew. This is why I do not understand why she is so upset.”

  His heart stilled. Clarisse was going to officially wed Hervey. This news shouldn’t have surprised him since he knew Hervey was her suitor but it did.

  He scanned up ahead and saw Clarisse already seated at the trestle table. Her golden locks shone unmistakably even among the sea of people. Since this morning’s festivities, he tried to seek her out to continue their conversation. But when he couldn’t find her again, he felt oddly disappointed. Seeing her now brought about mixed emotions. All at once he realized that she was a vision that could make him forget his troubles, but he could never have her since she was beyond his reach.

  The women moved further away from him, and he was no longer able to hear what else they said.

  Moving to find his seat, his eyes once again rested on the beautiful maiden who refused to leave his mind. Perhaps it was because he had such little interaction with women in the past few years, but whatever it was, he was drawn to her like a bee to a wild flower. If he had enough wealth and a stellar reputation, he would have desired to court her. He might have even had a chance to win her affections. But he was certain that he wasn’t the only one who had such designs. Other men threw admiring glances at her direction. And under the disapproving glare of the nursemaid, no man dared to approach her.

  Still there was something that nagged at him. When he saw the maiden at the tavern, she seemed bold and unafraid. But at the castle, she was an altogether different woman. The dimpled smile that she had so readily given to Leofwin on their journey was gone. And somehow, she seemed more frightened and reserved here. It left him wondering about their conversation earlier. What exactly was the cause of her unhappiness? Her face was pale and drawn as if she had trouble sleeping. It was a stark contrast to the day before when her cheeks were rosy, and her laughter rang in the air as she listened to Leofwin’s nonsense.

  Taking his seat at the table across from her, he took note of the occupants that surrounded the beauty. The nursemaid tried to converse with Clarisse on a couple of occasions, but she merely shook her head. Instead, she continued to run her slim fingers along the side of her goblet, seemingly lost in her thoughts. Soon the nursemaid gave up and sat silently next to her charge.

  “Here you go, sire,” Leofwin said, handing him a small jug of ale. “Do you know how difficult ‘twas to get you this drink? At first the cook chased me out of the kitchen with a broom, but I managed sneak back, and pinch the ale while he screamed at his helpers.”

  As Gareth took the jug, a tiny wave of guilt washed over him. The boy was wily, and had demonstrated on many occasions that he had the makings of a knight. But Gareth was the wrong man to teach him or anyone else the knightly ways. His resolve to find a mentor for the boy strengthened. The boy deserved a good teacher. Making a mental note, he was determined to interview some potential knights. After all, he did make a promise to the boy, even if that promise was made years ago, and under a different circumstance.

  The dais was already set with trenchers at each seat. The conversations in the room buzzed and hummed while a minstrel raised his sweet voice in song. The people who paid attention to the performer lifted their eyes to the balcony, an expression of rapture on their faces. At last the final cords of his song ended and then a splattering of clapping sounded.

  A young knight who he didn’t know leaned over and nudged him in the arm. “The food is coming our way,” he whispered excitedly.

  The aroma of cooked food filled the air, and despite himself, Gareth felt his stomach rumble. Two servants dressed in the blue and red colors of the Calmette household made their way into the great hall. Between them they gripped a large tray which contained a roasted pig. Another servant passed by with a gilded peacock, its own colorful feathers fanned out and elaborately decorating the cooked bird.

  One by one, the servants advance toward the important guests at the high table; the trays of delicious food raised high above their heads. The people at the lower tables could only look at the passing food in awe.

  Soon enough Sir Gordon’s generosity trickled down to the lower tables. A servant filled his trencher with aromatic stew. Gareth had time to take only one spoonful of the rich liquid before another servant showed up with a platter of roasted capon. Taking his knife, he eagerly cut off a piece of the bird, the clear juice dripping off the tender spiced meat. He was about to stuff the succulent piece in his mouth when he looked over and saw Clarisse at her table. She sat there nibbling on her bread, uninterested in the lavish offerings in front of her. Suddenly she sat up, and a spark of interest reflected in her face. Curious to see what caught her attention, he turned to find that the juggler was now tossing torches high into the air.

  Excited chatter sounded all around him, and he shrugged. He was more interested in the food than in the entertainment. He returned to his trencher and might have continued eating except he caught a slight movement out of the corner of his eye. It was Clarisse again, although this time she was slipping out of the great hall. It appeared that no one seemed to notice, or care that she had left.

  A servant brought over a tray of cold meats, and a gilded goose with its neck and head artistically propped up. The servant placed the platter in front of him, and any thoughts other than filling his belly were put aside. But he wasn’t the only one who was hungry. All around him, the men and women speared the tender meats with their knives, and lifted the juicy, dripping portions over to their trenchers. And the food continued to come, with each platter of food becoming better than the last.

  Gareth bit into another piece of spiced poultry, allowing the burst of flavor to fill his mouth. He had to admit that this was far better fare than the pottage that Leofwin cooked every day at the farmhouse.

  He brought his tankard to his lips, and happened to glance over to where Clarisse had sat. He wasn’t sure what caused him to check, but a few minutes later, he searched her out again, and frowned when he noticed that she still hadn’t returned to her place. He might have dismissed her disappearance except he noted that the nursemaid looked increasingly agitated. The woman kept glancing from the entrance to the hall and then to the Clarisse’s mother, who sat on the raised platform. Lady Chantal was in deep conversation with her sister, and it was easy to see that the nursemaid didn’t want to disturb her. But then after long minutes, the older woman got up. Taking one last look over at the hall’s opening, and with her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, she hurriedly made her way to the dais.

  Gareth pushed back the remains of his trencher, and watched the woman with interest. But it appeared that he wasn’t the only one that noticed the nursemaid’s agitated behavior.

  The nursemaid was almost at the dais, yet she was hesitant to climb the steps of the platform. Her hesitation was understandable since Lady Chantal seemed to be enjoying herself. As if summoning her courage, the older woman straightened her shoulders and marched stiffly up the platform to her mistress. Both the hostess and her sister looked over at the nursemaid, startled. Edith crouched down, and whispered into Lady Chantal’s ear.

  As he watched the exchange, he noticed that Lady Chantal’s face suddenly turned as pale as the wimple on her head. She put down the cup that she held in her hand, and she appeared as if she was about to become sick. It wasn’t hard to guess that she had just been informed about Clarisse’s disappearance. She turned to address her sister. Lady Edeline grasped her sister’s hand, her face becoming serious. And when the lady leaned over to speak with her husband, Sir Gordon’s brows pulled together in dismay. The lord beckoned for a servant to relay a message to Hervey, who sat at one of the lower tables.

  “What is this?” Hervey bellowed. Getting up, he slammed the palms of his hands on the trestle table,
causing the entire table to vibrate. His eating companions looked up from their food, their expressions a varying degree of irritation and curiosity. In his rage, he appeared as if he would have liked to tip the entire table over, but the table was too long and laden with food for him to cause any damage.

  The entire high table paused and looked warily at the knight’s reaction. And so did many of the people at the far end of the lower tables. They watched the exchange with mild confusion on their faces; the musicians and the jugglers were momentarily forgotten.

  “Ready the horses,” he commanded to one of his men, his tone clipped. “She couldn’t have gotten far.” His face was red with fury, but he pulled at his tunic in an effort to calm down.

  A murmur started amongst the people at the lower tables, the sound rising as the news of Clarisse’s disappearance spread.

  “We’ll split up and scour the surrounding area,” Hervey continued. “Perhaps she is heading to Wykeham again.”

  Lady Chantal and her husband had left their seat at the high table, and stood below the platform, not far from where Gareth sat. Lady Edeline and her daughter came to join them. At seeing the worried look on their faces, Clarisse’s mother began to sob.

  “’Tis so shameful, Edeline!” she cried. “After I told her not to run away again, she does this. ‘Tis only the second day of feasting, and she is taking away the attention from the bride and groom. Oh, Amelie, I am sorry that Clarisse is causing this ruckus.”

  Amelie shook her head. “’Tis nothing, my lady.”

  “Right now the most important thing is to ensure that Clarisse is well,” Lady Edeline said. Although her face was pinched with worry, her tone stayed firm and steady. “There is plenty of time to feast since there is still another day to celebrate. We shall locate her, Chantal.” She pointed to the exit where a group of knights were leaving. “See, Sir Derrik has rounded some men, and will help with the search. As Sir Hervey said, she could not have gotten far.”