The Rogue Knight

by Vaughn Heppner

  “Then everything else is ready?” Henri asked.

  “Of course,” said Cord. “I just came here for the rope. What about Alice?”

  “She’s back in the tower. However, it’s as you feared. Reynard is up there with her.”

  “Alone?” Cord asked in alarm.

  “Ah, now you’re worried, eh? After you’ve slated your own passions.”

  “Is she alone?” Cord repeated.

  “No. Richard insisted that he be there with her.”

  “Hmmm. That isn’t good. What will we do with Richard?”

  “Why do you think I’m carrying this?” Henri asked, showing Cord the sap.

  “You’re not going to hammer Richard with that?”

  “But of course. How else will we silence him?”

  Cord didn’t like it, but he waved it aside for now. “How do we handle Reynard?”

  “We kill him,” Henri said.

  “That’s all well and good as a plan. How though?”

  “You have your short sword,” Henri said. “And I have these.” He showed Cord two throwing daggers.

  “Two against one isn’t knightly,” Cord said.

  Henri grinned and clapped Cord on the back. “To hear you talk like a chivalrous fool makes me believe more than ever that you’ve the qualities of a knight.”

  “I’m serious, Henri.”

  “So am I. But if we’re to gain entry into the living quarters we need to be relaxed. If you show strain or undue worry, even these drunken louts will notice. They become like your dogs that way.”

  Cord nodded in understanding. He removed a tarp and pulled up a heavy coil of rope, stuffing it into a burlap sack.

  “This is it,” Cord said, his mouth dry.

  Henri grinned again, although his eyes were mere slits. The small minstrel seemed anything but relaxed. “After you, my friend.”

  Cord took a deep breath, glanced once more at Sarah, and then marched to the door with the heavy sack over his shoulder.

  -11-

  Alice couldn’t sit still. So she paced back and forth in front of the living quarter’s stained glass window. With the simple expedient of breaking the window, one faced the castle’s outer perimeter. By poking one’s head through the supposedly broken window one would peer directly down into the moat. From this very window Cord, Henri and her planned to slither down on a rope to freedom.

  So where were they? she asked herself, trying to ignore the constant noise.

  The hall was anything but quiet. Richard snored in the baron’s gargantuan bed, the living quarter’s only sleeper. The squire had consumed an amazing quantity of beer and had tried several times in the red pavilion to stand on his broken legs. Only Alice’s alertness and the constraints she’d put on Richard had saved him from further injuries.

  There was only one other person in the hall with them. Sitting near the stairs on a stool, with his back against the wall and his muscular legs stretched out before him, relaxed Sergeant Reynard. He still wore his armor. It wasn’t a full hauberk, but a chainmail shirt that barely hung past his waist. The mailed sleeves didn’t quite reach his elbows, nor did it come up in a coif to protect his head. He wore no metal gorget around his neck, but he did wear his big sword and scabbard, tough leather pants and hobnailed boots.

  Reynard’s long blond hair hung down to his shoulders, while his blue eyes tracked Alice’s every move. A crafty smile curved his lips into something a wolf would have been proud of. He seemed particularly dangerous tonight, like a deadly beast ready to strike.

  “You seem restless,” he said.

  Alice ignored him, even though Reynard frightened her. She’d seen him at the feast. He’d stopped a fight between Sir George and Sir Walter by drawing his sword and striking Walter’s weapon. The knight’s sword had crashed to the earthen floor. Alice had a lifetime of observation of fighting men, and she had seen that this man-at-arms knew how to handle a sword. Sir George had tried to take advantage of Walter. Reynard had confidently stepped up, parried a blow and with a cunning swing swept Sir George’s sword out of his hands.

  Perhaps the two knights had been drunk, but that shouldn’t have weakened their hand strength. The obvious conclusion was that Reynard was a dangerous swordsman, well chosen by Guy to act as the sheriff of the feast.

  Alice wondered how Cord and Henri were supposed to overpower Reynard.

  “You seem nervous,” Reynard said.

  Alice glanced at him. Two torches illuminated the hall and cast eerie shadows. “I’m to marry Philip,” she said.

  “That troubles you, eh?”

  “More than you could know.”

  Reynard switched his ankles, crossing them right over left. “Philip does have a ponderous belly. He might crush your tender frame when he ravishes you each night.”

  “Are you always so courteous?”

  “I’ve been considering how life is like a game of dice. You never know whether the dice will roll good or bad, and they never seem to roll good when a lot of coin is riding on the outcome.”

  “How profound,” Alice said.

  “Fate gave you noble parents,” Reynard said. “I had a strong mother and father and four older brothers who belted me whenever the feeling came upon them. I learned to fight even if the blows rained down harder because of it. By the time I was ten I’d killed my next oldest brother because he thought the knife in my hands was for show.”

  Reynard shook his head. “Birth has given Philip noble blood, or so all the other nobles say. So now Sir Philip has the privilege of mounting you and producing more blue bloods, while the likes of me do all the real fighting and bleeding in the world.”

  “Are you feeling sorry for yourself?”

  Reynard smiled softly. “Maybe it’s time for some of the rewards to go my way.”

  Alice felt her belly tighten.

  “Everyone’s drunk tonight. Even your protector snores like one dead. Maybe it’s time for me to test your softness.”

  The tightening spread to her other muscles. Luckily, Richard had slipped her a dagger earlier. It was a slender knife, hidden in her left boot. If Cord and Henri flailed tonight, for whatever reason, she’d use the dagger on Philip. She could just as easily use it on Reynard.

  “Now I appreciate a good tumble as well as the next man,” Reynard said. “But it wouldn’t change life’s imbalance, now would it? And you might even sob your way into Philip’s black heart, enough so that my stay here would end.”

  “If you touch my I’ll shout, and Richard will wake up. Then you’ll hang.”

  “Possibly,” Reynard said. “But I’ve thought of something else. I saw the way you paled when our sweet baron made his betrothal promise to Philip. Maybe….” Reynard cleared his throat as his blue eyes shone. “Maybe you’d reward the man who took you out of here?”

  “Reward how?” Alice asked warily.

  “With gold, silver or jewels,” he said. “Or maybe with something else of value.”

  “Are you saying you’ll help me escape Pellinore Castle?”

  Reynard sat forward. “I’ll escort you to Gareth Castle.”

  “You must think me mad. How could I ever trust you?”

  “I’d give you my word of honor.”

  Alice laughed.

  “My word is as good as any man’s!”

  “No,” Alice said softly. “I don’t think you know the first thing about oaths and pledges. I think you’re a filthy thief and ruffian. And I think you’re toying with me, either that or you’re trying to take me to a place where you can rape me.”

  He stared at her. “You’re a smart girl.” He stood.

  “What are you doing?”

  Reynard said nothing, merely stepped toward her.

  “If you lay hands upon me—”

  Reynard’s chuckle stilled her threat. “You’re going to strip, woman, or I’m going to beat you and say that you tried to escape. It will be your word against mine.”

  “I’ll have a nun inspect me
. She’ll be able to tell I’ve been raped.”

  “You’ll be branded a wanton if you do something so silly. People will say you gave into me during the feast and now you’re trying to save your name. No, tonight you’re mine, proud Alice, haughty Alice. Tonight I own you. Tonight you’re going to learn what it means to moan and thrash under a real fighting man.”

  He began to loosen the buckle of his sword belt.

  For an instant, Alice knew panic.

  If she yelled for Richard, it might bring the women in the Great Hall running upstairs. That would ruin every chance she had of escaping tonight. If she gave in to Reynard it would disarm and un-armor him. Cord or Henri could stab him at their leisure. How could she live with herself afterward, however, knowing they’d seen her like that?

  Alice backed up, wondering what to do.

  ***

  As if on an errand of slight consequence, Cord and Henri left the kennel and ambled toward the tower. The tall dog boy slouched under his burden. He was certain he’d never have been able to try this except for the courage that the seven beers had given him, even if most of their influence had worn off. Henri followed close behind, his viol and bow in hand as he chattered about trivia.

  People stood everywhere, talking, singing and telling lewd jokes. The largest group stood in a circle near the stable. They threw their lusty voices toward the heavens in song.

  “Steer away from them,” Henri whispered.

  Cord complied as he saw a youth stagger out of the darkness toward them. He recognized the stable boy. He was the one who’d had bad table manners at the dinner after Baron Hugh’s death. Cord slowed.

  “Keep walking,” Henri said.

  Cord did, and he felt his spine tingle with fear. Any number of everyday silly things could occur that would spoil everything. How was he ever going to explain the long rope in the sack? He had no idea and he desperately hoped no one asked.

  “Hey!” the drunken stable boy hollered.

  “Don’t look up,” Henri cautioned Cord.

  “Hey! You!” the stable boy shouted.

  Cord tightened his grip of the sack. He wanted to swing it against the loud fool and knock him out as Henri had done to Sarah. That wouldn’t be wise, however, not with all the people in the yard. He had to think of something else.

  “Dog boy!” the drunken stable boy shouted, staggering toward him.

  Cord stopped because the stable boy, with a wine bottle in his fist, planted himself in front of him.

  “What are you doing?” the stable boy asked in a slur, his wine-breath billowing around Cord.

  “The ladies in the Great Hall want me,” Cord said.

  “Oh ho!” the stable boy shouted, giving Cord a lewd grin. “They want you, eh? I say that’s good. What do you say, dog boy?”

  “That I’m late,” Cord said, trying to step around the stable boy.

  The stable boy wasn’t having any of that. The rude youth staggered backward several steps, swigging from his bottle. Then he moved in front of Cord again and shoved him in the chest, making him stop. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” he slurred.

  “Is that Mary?” Henri asked.

  “Huh?” asked the stable boy, his bleary gaze focusing on the small minstrel.

  With a huge grin on his face, Henri moved beside Cord. “I heard Mary whispering about you yesterday.”

  “About me?” the stable boy asked in surprise.

  “Your name is Much, isn’t it?”

  “Damn straight it is, you little twerp!”

  “Easy, my friend,” Henri said with a grin.

  “Easy, yourself,” Much the stable boy said, shoving Henri in the chest.

  Cord couldn’t take any more of this because his fear was as intoxicating as the beers had been before. He swung the bulky bag against the stable boy’s head. The bottle of wine went flying, cracking against stone. Much staggered back several steps and fell in a heap.

  The singing by the stable stopped. The sudden silence was eerie and pregnant with danger.

  “What’s going on over there?” a man bellowed.

  “Much had a fall!” Cord shouted, wincing because he was certain that he’d spoken too loudly, much too nervously. Surely, the others by the stable would come running to investigate.

  “A fall?” bellowed the man.

  “He tripped,” Henri said. “The stupid fool can’t hold his beers.”

  The men laughed at that, several of them poking each other.

  “Here, Much, let me help you,” Henri loudly said, bending down in the dark. The stable boy shook his head and slowly sat up.

  Cord heard the sand-filled sap hit the stable boy across the head. Much slid back down onto the ground.

  “Oh!” Henri said. “It looks like he’s out for the night.”

  “The lout!” bellowed a man. “Much never was much of a drinker.”

  “No he wasn’t!” Cord shouted, again speaking much too loudly.

  “Hurry,” Henri whispered to Cord. “Start walking.”

  “I’m no good at this,” Cord whispered, the sack back over his shoulder.

  “Untrue, my friend,” Henri assured him. “You’re a quick thinker. You knocked the stable boy down before something unfortunate happened.”

  “I’m just glad you have your sap.”

  “But of course.”

  They marched up the tower’s stairs and through the doors. Before them was the entrance to the Great Hall. To their left was a short corridor and then the trapdoor to the armory and the dungeon below. Cord’s stomach tightened as he worked his throat. He hoped he didn’t have to talk again, because he had no more saliva left and was afraid that he’d squeak like a mouse if he tried to say anything.

  “Try to look relaxed,” Henri whispered.

  “I am trying,” Cord hissed.

  “Then quit frowning,” Henri said. “Be sure to smile.”

  Even though it pained him, Cord curved his lips upward, certain that anyone looking at him would know that he was faking the worst smile of his life. Only people in paintings smiled like this.

  “Good, good,” Henri whispered. “Keep that up.”

  They stepped into the Great Hall. Countless folk and hounds snored along the walls. Around the tables sat women, many, many women. Lady Eleanor and Lady Martha held the places of honor, and many of the women smiled and grinned outrageously. At the moment, Martha told a hawking tale, with the Chief Falconer at her side.

  “Head for the stairs,” Henri said as Cord faltered.

  Cord nodded sickly. At each step, he was certain one of the women would scream out his name and call him an imposter. The intensity became unbearable.

  “Dog boy,” Lady Eleanor said.

  Cord froze, and gulped. Slowly, he faced the tables of ladies. His stomach had knotted so badly that he almost groaned aloud. The skin on his face was stretched so tightly that it seemed as if his cheekbones would rip out.

  “Dog boy,” Lady Eleanor said, her face wreathed in a huge, wine-fueled smile. “Do come here, dog boy.”

  “Milady,” Henri said with a courtly bow. “Squire Richard has asked that we bring him downstairs.”

  “Richard?” Lady Eleanor asked.

  “Yes, milady,” Henri said.

  “How could Richard have asked you that?” Eleanor asked. “He’s upstairs and you’re down here.”

  Cord stared at Henri in fear and amazement. Their own words had tripped them up.

  Henri chuckled. “Milady, what I meant to say was that your noble son has requested Richard’s presence in the red tent.”

  “Ah,” said Eleanor, seeming to lose interest.

  Cord saw the Chief Falconer frown and whisper to Martha. Martha laughed, but the wizened old man persisted.

  At last, Martha shouted, “What do you hold in the sack, dog boy?”

  Cord opened his mouth to speak.

  “We have material for a stretcher,” Henri said, clapping Cord on the shoulder and twirling his finger aroun
d his head. Several of the ladies laughed.

  “Go on, go on,” Eleanor said. “We can’t keep my son waiting. He’s the baron now, you know?”

  “Yes, milady,” said Henri. “He’s the Baron of Pellinore Fief!”

  Cord lurched forward as Henri dragged him. Sticky fear-sweat trickled down his back. His legs felt leaden. “The Chief Falconer knows!” he hissed to Henri.

  “Come along now,” Henri said, tugging Cord harder.

  Ladies laughed once more.

  Cord blinked sweat out of his eyes as he followed the small minstrel. He couldn’t understand Henri’s unconcern. He himself was ready to roar out in panic and drag out his knife to slay any who came too close. How did the minstrel do it?

  To Cord the rest of the walk across the Great Hall seemed never ending. At last, they reached the stairs and began to climb, soon walking up out of sight of the ladies.

  Henri immediately sagged against stone, peering at Cord in the semi-darkness.

  “What’s wrong?” whispered Cord.

  “I have to catch my breath,” Henri whispered. He took off his jester cap. Tonight, he didn’t have any small bells on the ends. Using it, he wiped sweat off his forehead.

  “Don’t tell me that you were nervous,” Cord said.

  Henri opened his mouth in a silent laugh. “Nervous! I could hardly move.”

  “That can’t be true,” Cord whispered in bewilderment. “Back there you seemed unconcerned.”

  “Only because I can act, my friend.”

  Cord considered that. It calmed him to know that Henri was scared too. In fact, it bolstered his courage. “Let’s go,” he whispered.

  Henri gave him a slight nod and straightened, taking the sack from Cord. “You go first. Remember, Reynard is waiting.” All nervousness seemed to have fled him, if he’d really been nervous at all.

  Recalling the punch that Reynard had given him and the way the sergeant had manhandled Alice, Cord drew his dagger. The Toledo steel weapon was more like an ancient gladius than a dagger. The gladius had been the fighting sword of the long-dead Roman Legionnaires. Interestingly enough, the Romans had copied the gladius from the ancient Iberians of Spain. That was interesting because Toledo was a city in Spain, famed for the quality of its steel weapons. The Toledo steel blade was razor-sharp, and the bone handle perfectly fit Cord big fingers and wide palm.