Cord led them through the gate, nodding to the leather-clad swordsmen. The hawking party clattered over the toll bridge. Below, the fast flowing Iodo River shot under the spanning arch.
Alice’s heart began to thud as she crossed the bridge. This was it. There was no turning back…. Well, she could forgo the escape attempt. But what would Henri and Cord think? She wiped her brow, thinking about how she and Henri would be all alone on the road to Gareth Castle. They needed Cord. Too many highwaymen infested these routes, and too many knights and their retainers would be aboard now that the Western Marches seethed with rebellion. The tall dog boy with several of his brutish charges, yes, that would make many men reconsider.
Cord killed Old Sloat, Alice told herself. No one else had ever been able to do that. Not Baron Hugh even though he’d tried countless times, not even huge Sir Philip who had slain many a bear with only a boar spear and while afoot.
“Damn him,” Alice hissed under her breath. Why had she ever asked the dog boy for his help in the first place?
“Are you still game?” Henri asked, who rode beside her.
“Of course I’m game,” Alice said, but truly, she was scared. This was the most hazardous thing she’d ever tried to do. She was escaping from her rightful liege, evil though that liege might be.
No, he isn’t my liege yet. Until Guy pays his relief to Earl Mortimer, he’s not yet the baron. So what I need are stout stone walls and a company of knights and men-at-arms. Then we’ll see whose liege over whom.
“This will be risky,” Alice whispered.
Henri nodded tightly.
The hawking party left the Bridge Village behind and moved toward the marsh. It was soggy ground that abounded with bushes and tall reeds. The trees here had long ago been hewn down for the town’s use.
“Send in your hounds!” Sir Walter shouted.
Cord unleashed two dogs and gave them orders. Barking wildly, they plunged into the marsh and disappeared from view.
Alice, Martha and Eleanor doffed their falcons’ hoods and they ranged themselves in a semicircle. The two knights slipped to the side, giving the ladies the first chance. Behind the ladies waited the servants. The Chief Falconer sat astride his small steed and near Lady Martha. He kept whispering advice, which from her nods she gladly took.
“There!” the wizened falconer hissed.
Alice looked to see where he pointed. Lady Martha shouted triumphantly and threw up her arm as she shouted, “Kill!”
Her falcon snapped into the air as a heron lofted from the marsh. Like an arrow, the falcon flew swiftly, its wings beating the air and its silver bells tinkling.
Along with the others, Alice held her breath as she watched the sleek bird of prey wing toward the heron. Suddenly the heron cried out in fear and veered sharply to the left, increasing its rate of flight. The falcon flew even faster, gaining speed all the time. The heron desperately flapped its long wings. Behind it, the falcon screeched. Then, in a sudden flurry, the falcon’s sharp talons raked the heron as it flew just above the sleek white bird. Mortally stricken, the heron plummeted to the earth. The falcon, giving a victorious cry, swerved and sped down toward its prize.
Lady Martha and the Chief Falconer rode toward the heron that landed in the mucky soil. The wizened falconer climbed off his steed to stand ankle deep in mud as he swung his lure. Attached to it was a piece of fowl. The falcon, which stood atop the dead heron, screeched once more and flew to the lure. The Chief Falconer hooded the bird and put her back on Lady Martha’s gloved wrist.
“The talons are bloody,” Lady Martha said with delight.
“A perfect strike,” the falconer said.
Lady Martha flipped him a penny.
He bowed and said thanks.
“Keep watching,” Sir Walter told Eleanor and Alice.
“No more,” Alice whispered under her breath. “You’re not supposed to flush up any more.” She hoped Cord could remember that. Yet how was he supposed to call in his dogs in their excitement?
The Chief Falconer bagged the dead heron and slogged out of the marsh, his old nag following him. Soon he handed the bag to a servant, while one of his apprentices bent down and wiped the muck off his master’s boots. Only then did the wizened Chief Falconer remount his nag.
“Can’t Cord flush out any more?” Sir Walter asked impatiently.
Alice’s palfrey Arthur nickered and stamped his front hooves. She soothed him, patting his sleek neck as she waited.
The others behind them tried to keep quiet, but it was almost impossible. Two grooms suddenly burst out laughing, only to turn red with embarrassment when Sir Walter glared at them. They’d been telling jokes to pass the time.
Finally, Cord appeared from behind some reeds, his water dogs leashed. The dog boy was muddy from head to toe. He had no doubt followed his dogs into the very center of the marsh.
Alice was grateful for his willingness to see his end of the plan through. Then she became indigent again when she realized that Cord wouldn’t be joining her.
“The lout,” she whispered.
“What’s wrong?” Sir Walter shouted at Cord.
The muddy dog boy cupped his hands and shouted, “The herons have slipped away.”
Lady Eleanor made a most unladylike comment, while Alice scowled and then pretended to pout.
“I wanted Jael to fly,” Alice told the others.
“I know exactly how you feel,” Lady Eleanor said.
“We’re not stopping yet, are we?” Henri asked.
“Of course not,” Lady Eleanor said. “One heron is hardly worth our long ride down.”
Sir Walter nodded in agreement.
Soon Cord reached them. Not only was he muddy, but he stank. His boots squelched as he walked and his clothes hung wetly, which was nothing out of the ordinary. The dog boy was simply doing his regular field duty.
Cord took a somewhat clean handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped mud off his face. “I think more herons might be over there,” he said, pointing to a pond a half mile away.
“You’re just saying that so you can clean up,” Sir Walter said.
Cord grinned, exposing his white teeth in his now dark face. “There’s always that too, milord.”
“Still,” Sir Walter said, “you have a point.” He turned his palfrey and shouted to the throng that they were headed to the pond.
“Say!” Henri suddenly shouted. “Who’s riding the fastest horse?”
“That’s easy,” Cord said, “Lady Eleanor is.”
“Oh my, dog boy,” Alice said, “but I think you’re wrong. The bailiff’s palfrey is the fastest one here.”
“Are you certain?” Henri asked. “I would have thought Sir Walter’s stallion was the fastest.”
Cord dug into his muddy pocket and flushed out two pennies. “I have two pennies to one that says the Lady Eleanor’s palfrey is the fastest one here.”
“You’re on!” Henri shouted.
Lady Eleanor said, “You’re all wasting your time. I have no intention of galloping my steed.”
“Ha!” Lady Martha said, who’d been following the exchange with interest. “That’s because Eleanor knows that her steed isn’t the fastest one here. Mine is!”
“No, that isn’t the reason,” Eleanor said.
Sir Walter joined in, laughing good-naturedly.
“Very well,” Lady Eleanor said. “I’ll race all comers to that barren oak tree in the distance.”
“You’re on!” Lady Martha shouted, taking her tall cone hat from her head and handing it to the Chief Falconer.
“You too, Sir Walter,” Eleanor said.
“My money is on the bailiff!” Alice cried.
He shook his head, until the others called him a coward and he could no longer refuse. Henri dismounted and stood in front of them, telling them that he’d toss a ball into the air to start the race.
“And you sergeants, too,” Henri shouted. “Your horses look quick enough to win.”
&n
bsp; The two armored sergeants immediately cantered up, eager for the race.
“Are you ready?” Henri asked. A chorus of shouts gave him the answer. “Very well. Get set.” Henri took in a huge gulp of air and cried, “One, two, three!” He threw up a rag ball and shouted, “GO!”
The knights and sergeants spurred their steeds, as did the two ladies. The bailiff and Lady Eleanor immediately pulled into the lead. The throng of watchers cheered their betters, while Alice quietly watched from high upon Arthur. She was quite certain that Arthur could have beaten any of them in a race. But that wasn’t the point today.
In the end, Lady Martha won, pulling out a victory at the very last.
Cord, Henri, Alice, the Chief Falconer, everyone either rode or walked swiftly to where the racers waited.
“Well done!” Alice shouted as they approached the barren old oak tree.
“Yes!” Martha shouted back to Alice. “I—”
“Over there!” Henri bellowed, interrupting. He pointed in the distance. “I saw a man with a rabbit. He held it by the ears!”
“Are you certain?” Sir Walter shouted.
“He’s a poacher!” Henri roared.
The bailiff instantly spurred his winded palfrey, motioning the two sergeants to follow him. They all thundered after the poor fellow, if indeed he’d ever been there.
The hawking party watched the three men gallop away.
“Now what?” Lady Martha asked.
“We should wait until they return,” Sir Walter said.
“Look!” Cord yelled, who’d been looking around. “I see a fox.” He unleashed his dogs. They too saw the fox and bayed with delight, giving chase.
“Let’s use our hawks!” Alice said.
Lady Martha cheered and spurred after the dogs. In an instant so did Eleanor and Walter. Alice, however, suddenly drew rein and dismounted, checking her palfrey’s hooves.
“Should I check them, milady,” a groom asked.
“No, it was nothing,” Alice said. She petted the sleek neck before remounting. By then it appeared to be too late to follow the others.
“They’ll never catch the fox,” the Chief Falconer said. “Why did you release the hounds?” he asked Cord.
“I misjudged the distance,” Cord said blandly.
The Chief Falconer gave him a squinty glance. The hunters and the hawkers seldom saw eye to eye on anything. Cord, who supplied the dogs for both, was still more in the hunting camp than the hawking. There was little liking between the two of them, although it was more a professional affair than one of personal dislike.
“Well, I suppose we should follow them,” Alice said to the others. She gently urged Arthur toward the small pond. The others followed.
When they reached it, Cord plunged into the pond’s scummy water, washing himself clean. The various packhorses drank, as did several dogs. Soon Sir Walter, Lady Eleanor and Lady Martha returned. Their horses were tired after so much galloping. Cord immediately began to whistle for the dogs he’d released. They trotted in as the bailiff and the two sergeants did. Like the others, their horses breathed heavily and smelled strongly of horse sweat.
Alice sighed, mounting up again.
“Where are you going?” the bailiff asked.
“I thought I saw a flash of heron white,” Cord said, pointing at some bushes in the distance.
Lady Martha eagerly remounted, as did her husband. The three nobles followed Cord and his dogs.
Unnoticed by all but Alice, Henri slipped onto his horse and cantered away from everyone. The plan was that he would meet her later.
Her heart pounded. This was almost it. Everything had worked to perfection. Now—
“Milord,” Cord said, “I think it might be best if you took your hawk over there, around that side of the bushes.”
Sir Walter nodded, heading that way.
“And you, milady, should go near the center area,” Cord said.
The wizened Chief Falconer nodded in agreement. Martha instantly complied.
“You, Alice, should go over there,” Cord said, pointing to the west. He stared up into her eyes. She stared back. She could feel her blood stir and knew that she desperately wanted Cord to join them.
“Good luck,” he said quietly.
“Is that all you can say?”
He blushed, and that surprised her. She hadn’t counted on that.
“I wish you all the best, milady,” he said softly. “Someday, perhaps, we’ll see each other again.”
“Will you be just a dog boy then?”
He drew himself to his full height. “No, milady. Then I’ll be a knight.”
She stared at him in amazement. His ambitions had soared into the heavens. She hadn’t realized he thought of himself so grandly. Then she recalled Old Sloat.
“You’d better start,” he said.
She nodded curtly, turning Arthur away from Cord and away from Castle Pellinore. In a steady canter, she set off for freedom. Hopefully, it would be awhile before the others realized that she was fleeing. Once they did, however, the race would be on. Only their mounts were winded, while fleet Arthur was ready to run for a long time.
Alice passed the bushes were Cord thought he’d seen heron white. In the distance was a forest. She headed that way. Her spine tingled as she rode, but she refused to glance back. That would look wrong. Instead, she concentrated on Jael. She couldn’t very well take the falcon with her. It was time to release her bird of prey as she’d long ago promised the mother.
“You too gain your freedom today,” she whispered to Jael. Slowly, she took off the silver bells and dropped them into a pouch. Then she took off the jesses, slipped off the hood and let Jael ride freely on her wrist. It was an odd sensation. Tears welled in Alice’s eyes. Today ended many things.
“Go, Jael,” Alice said. “Fly away.”
The falcon peered at her, those big dark eyes unblinking. Then Jael turned and gave a piercing cry, and zoomed after a heron that flew out of the bushes where Cord had said one hid.
At that instant, the bailiff gave a mighty, long-distance shout. Alice turned. The bailiff, who was far away, pointed at her. She heard his words float to her. He wanted her to come back. She didn’t, but kept cantering away to freedom. The bailiff urged his stallion after her. So too did the others. Alice spoke to Arthur. He nickered, tossed his head and broke into a smooth gallop.
She saw Sir Walter and Lady Martha dropping behind. None of the other riders had a chance. She skirted the small forest, heading for the dirt trail that acted as the main road for this route. When she could no longer see the others she drew rein and made Arthur travel at a canter. She wanted to save his stamina in case she suddenly needed to gallop again.
She laughed. She couldn’t believe it. At last, after all this time, she was free. Free! Now she had to get to Gareth Castle and convince her former retainers to support her.
If only Cord the dog—no! She wasn’t going to think about him. He’d had his chance. Still, she wondered what would happen to Cord. Would Philip kill him? She hoped not. Then she surprised herself by saying, “I hope you make it, dog boy, and I hope we meet again, soon.”
Book Two
Forward
To be outside the law—to be an outlaw—in medieval times brought savage repercussions. Great or small alike suffered horribly. A sheriff or executioner used the rack, thumbscrews or floggings to wrest a confession from the scoundrel. If the torture succeeded—or even if it failed—the condemned soon dangled by a rope, hanged from the neck.
Sometimes entire communities were declared outlaw. A particularly onerous example occurred at the end of the twelfth century in the south of France. It began in the town of Albi, as the people there sought religious reform. They wished for a return to primitive Christianity as practiced in Acts, in the New Testament. They also recalled tenants of the early Arian heresy of the Visigoths, who had once ruled the south of France. A few of the ideas had also filtered from returning Crusaders from the Holy Lan
d. These ideas came from Manichean thought and an Islamic hatred for images and relics.
The black-robed Albigensian clergy vowed to devote themselves to God and to the Gospel. They swore never to touch a woman, never to kill an animal, never to eat meat, eggs or dairy food, or anything but for fish and vegetables. Their followers renounced the Catholic Church and they greeted fellow perfecti with a triple and reverent genuflection.
The Count of Toulouse, the Count of Foix and the Count of Beziers all joined the Albigensians. After sending many friars and priests to south France, and failing to convince the Albigensians, Pope Alexander III christened the movement heresy. It was 1179 A.D. Stung by the label, the Albigensians called the Church of Rome, ‘The great Whore of Babylon.’ They also called the clergy, ‘The Synagogue of Satan,’ and they said the Pope was ‘The very Antichrist come to Earth.’
For a time, Cistercian and Dominican friars made some headway in south France through gentle persuasion. Then an Albigensian knight slew a papal legate. It was the turning point. In 1209, Pope Innocent III excommunicated the Albigensian leaders and laid the land under interdict—he put them outside the law, making them outlaws. Papal agents preached a European crusade against the Albigensians. They wanted help to put down these outlaws. Many northern knights eager for gold and land gladly took up the challenge.
The chief and greatest Crusader was a French-Norman knight named Simon de Montfort. De Montfort besieged the town of Beziers and demanded that all the heretics—all the outlaws—be driven out to him and his small but efficient army. The town leaders said they would rather fight until they were reduced to eating their children. De Montfort and his knights soon scaled the walls and sacked the city. During the massacre—over twenty thousand people perished—a soul-stung knight asked de Montfort how he could separate the Christians from the heretics. De Montfort is said to have shouted, “Slay them all. Let God separate them!”
The Rogue Knight Page 26
