The Rogue Knight

by Vaughn Heppner

  “Yes, so?” Henri asked.

  “The gold-madness has bitten you,” Cord said. “The curse is still at work.”

  “That’s not a curse, my friend, but simple greed.” Henri clapped Cord on the back. “Not all of us are Parsifal.”

  “And that’s that,” Lamerok said, facing them. “The bat is the key.”

  “That’s not necessarily true,” Alice said, although her features were flushed. “It could just be a depression under the boulder.”

  “You know it’s not,” Lamerok said. “You know that the bats have found the cave and use it as a home.” He laughed and did a little jig. “We’ve found Gaius’ Golden Treasure!” He rushed to Alice, grabbed her hands and danced with her in a circle. “We’ve found the treasure!”

  Henri whispered to Cord, “It seems the knight was never as injured as we thought.”

  Alice laughed with Lamerok, although she soon pulled her hands away and glanced at Cord.

  “Do we dig?” Gwen asked.

  Before anyone could answer, Sebald turned.

  “What is it, boy?” Cord asked.

  Sebald’s hackles rose and a low growl rumbled from his throat.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Henri asked.

  Cord gave his destrier’s reins to Henri and walked with Sebald to the edge of the plateau. The low growling never stopped. Cord squatted on his haunches, peering back the way they’d come.

  “What is it?” Lamerok shouted.

  Cord help up his hand for silence. Then he listened. He heard the wind and the screech of an eagle. Hounds, he heard the faint baying of hounds.

  “Dogs,” Rhys said.

  “What do you mean: dogs?” Lamerok asked suspiciously.

  Cord signaled them to keep silent. There was something...his hounds! He rose and strode back to the others.

  “What is it?” Lamerok asked, suspicion etched onto his face.

  “Do you know those hounds?” Alice asked.

  “I do,” said Cord. “They’re the kennel brutes from Pellinore Castle.”

  “This is treachery!” Lamerok shouted, clawing out the knife on his belt.

  “Don’t be foolish,” Alice said.

  Lamerok glared at them for a moment longer. Then his shoulders slumped. “You’re right. Forgive me.”

  “It’s the curse,” said Cord.

  Lamerok studied him. “You’re gracious, a much better knight than I.”

  “Maybe we should be planning what to do next,” Rhys suggested.

  “How far away are the hounds?” Alice asked.

  Cord listened to the baying, which had increased as they spoke. “By the time we work down the slope...no. It would be foolish to try to outrun them.”

  “What do you suggest?” Lamerok said. “Our supplies are miserable.”

  “Which they have no idea about,” Henri said.

  “Bluff them?” Lamerok asked. “No, you need a better plan.”

  “Fight,” said Cord.

  Lamerok laughed bleakly.

  “No,” Rhys said. “We must do more than fight. We must use guile.” Rhys grinned. “Now I will pay back my debt, for in guile a Welshman is many times the master over an Anglo-Norman.”

  “Rhys, what do you plan?” asked his wife.

  “Listen,” Rhys said. “Here’s what I suggest.”

  -23-

  Philip rode in the lead, close behind the hounds. Behind him thundered his cavalcade. The kennel brutes bayed joyously as they kept their noses to the ground.

  “They’re close!” Philip shouted.

  “Aye,” yelled Hob. Despite his bulk, he rode a strong stallion and kept up in the van.

  Philip exalted in the wind whipping past his face. The hunt, the chase, there was nothing closer to his heart. Soon he would ride down Cord. Soon the youth’s red blood would gush because of a fatal sword stroke. Then the curse of Terrible Tostig would be over. After all these years, he could take a girl and rape her to his delight, never having to fear the awful Tostig standing over him.

  The hounds splashed across a stream and raced toward a hill. The hill looked steep, and it seemed that it leveled off at the top.

  Could it be a trap? Philip wondered. A flash of fear burned in his belly and shriveled his groin. This wasn’t the moment to take chances. He had numbers on his side. It would be wise to use those numbers.

  He shouted, sawing back on the reins as he held up his hand. “Halt!” he roared.

  Men shouted. Horses neighed angrily. Hooves slid across shale and weapons clattered as saddle leather creaked ominously. The hounds didn’t stop, however, at least those that were free, about half of them. They bayed with evil intention as they scrambled up the steep hill.

  “Look!” cried a man-at-arms.

  A lone warrior, a mail-armored swordsman, appeared at the edge of the plateau. He whistled sharply. Then he shouted a command at the surging kennel brutes. For just a moment, it seemed that the hounds paused. The moment passed as they barked and bayed with renewed zeal. The lone swordsman didn’t flinch or even bother to draw his weapon. Instead, he planted his feet and put his hands on his hips. Then, in a voice of authority, he shouted at the hounds. An even bigger brute of a hound appeared at the swordsman’s side. This brute snarled at the others.

  The impossible happened. The surging kennel brutes, the monsters that all sane men feared, the ones hot on the trail, tucked their tails between their legs and crawled on their bellies toward the swordsman. One by one, they came up to the man and licked his hand. He spoke sternly to them. Then he slapped his side and spoke to them in a friendly tone. They jumped up and crowded him, barking in joy.

  “Cord,” whispered Hob.

  “What was that?” demanded Philip.

  “Cord,” said Hob.

  “Aye, who else could do that?” shouted a man-at-arms.

  Philip blinked. “He wears mail and has a sword, and he stands so tall.” The fear that had burned in his belly returned. There was something ominous in the swordsman on the hill. It couldn’t be Cord.

  The swordsman cupped his hands and shouted, “Are you Castle Pellinore men?”

  “It is Cord,” Hob said with a fleshy grin.

  Small Aldora made her way forward on a small pony. She glowered up at Cord. “This is a trap,” she said.

  Philip peered down at her.

  “They mean to trick us,” she said softly.

  “We outnumber them,” Philip said.

  She sneered at him. “What do numbers have to do with trickery?”

  “I have a proposal to make,” Cord shouted.

  “Aye, trickery,” Aldora muttered.

  Philip cupped his hands and shouted, “What proposal could you give? Why don’t we just ride up and slay you?”

  “Come then!” shouted Cord, laughter in his voice.

  The men muttered amongst themselves. Soon they all spoke out at once.

  “Notice, the slope is slippery and steep.”

  “What if more men are up there with him?”

  “Aye. Remember his archer friend?”

  “I don’t like this. It stinks of a trap.”

  “Why is he so confident?”

  “It’s obvious. He’ll sic the hounds on us. Damn me, but I don’t relish the idea of charging up there.”

  “Silence,” Philip roared. When the muttering stopped and they avoided his stare, he cupped his hands again. “What is your proposal?”

  Cord yelled back, “That we fight champion against champion.”

  “What are the terms of the duel?”

  Cord explained where everyone would stand and how he or she’d do it. Finally, he ended with, “If our champion wins, then you leave. If your champion wins, we’ll give you the location of Gaius’ Golden Treasure!”

  “Ah ha,” Aldora cried. “Do it!”

  The men once more began to murmur and talk among themselves. They were excited.

  “How do you know where the treasure is?” Philip shouted.

 
; “Sir Lamerok told us!”

  “Do it,” Aldora hissed. “Agree to his terms.”

  Philip gave her a rueful grin. “And who will be our champion?”

  “Why, yourself,” she said.

  “Thus we learn why you’re so eager to see the duel,” Philip said. “It isn’t you doing the fighting.”

  “Do you fear the dog boy?” she asked in bewilderment.

  “Of course not.”

  “You couldn’t fear Sir Lamerok,” Aldora said. “He’s been too long in a dungeon. Besides,” she said, “I have a plan.”

  “Tell me.”

  She whispered it him. Philip grinned with delight.

  “What do you say?” shouted Cord.

  “Yes,” Philip roared, “agreed! Your champion will work his way down here while we retreat.” Philip motioned his men, all twelve of them. They retreated from the hill as per the terms of the duel.

  ***

  Cord watched the enemy. They dismounted, hobbled their horses and sat behind the stream. Even the little witch obeyed the rules.

  “They’re ready,” he said.

  Lamerok strode forward, wearing Cord’s chain mail and with Cord’s baldric slung across his chest.

  “You’re certain that you’re strong enough to beat Philip?” Henri asked.

  Lamerok nodded grimly.

  “Good luck,” Henri said.

  Cord smiled and wished the knight good luck. In his heart, he had grave misgivings. The trick hadn’t been that sly, but it was all they had. The enemy had seen him wearing armor and maybe had assumed he’d be the champion. Lamerok was who Philip, the enemy’s probable champion, would have to face.

  Lamerok paused beside Cord. “Are you still worried about the curse?”

  “Of course not,” Cord said, although he was, more than ever.

  Lamerok clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re a poor liar, Cord. Please don’t start now.”

  “Kill him,” Cord said, surprised at his vehemence.

  “And cut off his head?” Lamerok asked.

  “Yes!” Cord heard himself saying. Only then did he realize how much he hated huge Philip Talbot of Tarn Tower.

  Lamerok nodded somberly before he began to work his way down the slope. Shale tumbled from his boots and clattered ahead of him. At the same time, Philip marched across the stream. Philip had full mail armor and a shield. He clanked as he walked.

  “He’ll be too slow,” had been Lamerok’s only comment on the matter.

  “Do you think there will be treachery?” Cord asked Rhys. They both lay on their bellies and watched the enemy camp.

  “We’ve made the customary oaths,” Rhys said. “I don’t—”

  “What is it?”

  Rhys squinted. “I saw moment to the left. Over there by those boulders.”

  A field of boulders arched out from their hill and went part way to the stream. Cord didn’t see any movement. He wondered what Rhys had seen.

  Soon Lamerok and Philip cautiously approached one another. That’s when Cord saw the Gascon crossbowman. Sunlight glinted off the mercenary’s bolt. It made it easy to see where he lay on the ground between two boulders. Cord tapped Rhys on the shoulder, pointing.

  “He means to assassinate Sir Lamerok,” Rhys hissed.

  Cord leaped up and shouted, “Treachery, Sir Lamerok! Beware to your left!”

  Lamerok crouched low, scanning all around. Philip retreated, his sword and shield up. A humming bolt slammed into Sir Lamerok of Dun, drilling him in the throat. At the same instant, Rhys’ longbow twanged. An arrow arched the extreme distance between the top of the hill and the boulders. Incredibly, the arrow sank into the crossbowman’s eye. Gaston quivered, then relaxed and died.

  “Sir Lamerok!” Cord shouted, leaping down the slope to the stricken knight. The hounds bayed and followed Cord.

  Philip stopped retreating. A feral, wicked grin was on his face. He lifted his sword and opened his mouth to speak.

  “Oh, that was basely done,” Alice de Mowbray cried from upon the hill. She stood tall, with scorn in her voice. “Base treachery,” she shouted.

  Stung but instantly seeing his way clear, Philip turned and pointed his sword at Aldora. “Take her, boys, and gag her. Let no more treachery spew out of the witch’s mouth.”

  Aldora screamed with rage and struck the first man-at-arms to touch her. She tried to speak then, but a sergeant cuffed her across the mouth. In moments, the men-at-arms of Pellinore Castle had her gagged and bound.

  Philip, with his shield still raised high, shouted up at the hill. “That was not of my doing. It was the witch’s man who did it.”

  Aldora struggled and whipped her head from side to side, but the gag prevented her from speaking.

  “Lair,” Alice shouted.

  Philip sheathed his sword and dug into the pouch on his knightly waist belt. He pulled out a hand-sized piece of wood. “I swear, by this piece of the True Cross, that I had no knowledge of the witch’s treachery.”

  “If you are foresworn,” Alice cried, “then you will die.”

  A horrible smile filled Philip’s face. “I have sworn. What I say is the truth.”

  Aldora no longer struggled, although her baleful gaze drilled into Philip’s back.

  “Since treachery was committed by your side,” Alice shouted. “You must turn away and leave us.”

  “No,” Philip roared. “The treachery was the witch’s. For that she’ll die. Unless you have another champion, you must forfeit the duel and tell us where the gold lies.”

  “Never,” Alice shouted.

  “Very well,” Philip said. “Prepare to be assaulted.”

  “No,” shouted Cord. He knelt by the dead Sir Lamerok. “I’ll face you.”

  Philip shook his head. “No, dog boy, a knight doesn’t fight riffraff. You must give me another knight to face. Otherwise, there can be no challenge.”

  “Coward,” Alice de Mowbray screamed down the hill.

  “Soon you’ll be my wife,” Philip shouted, with laughter in his voice. “Come on, boys. There’s butcher’s work to do!”

  -24-

  “No!” thundered Sergeant Hob. He sat upon his stallion like some baleful toad of war. There was in him a grim majesty, an awful power.

  Philip glared at him.

  Slowly, with both sides watching, hugely rotund Hob urged his steed toward Philip. Hob still wore a stained chainmail hauberk, had a chipped helmet and a cloak marred with gravy and wine stains. His red-rimmed eyes and fleshly face didn’t melt away and reform into a prince’s features. Nothing like that occurred. However, Hob seemed to straighten as he rode across the stream to Philip. His fat shoulders squared back, and while his glob of fleshly neck didn’t disappear, it seemed to harden. The face, more than anything else, took on a stern and commanding mien.

  When he reached Philip, Hob held out his hand. He held out his hand like a king, with surety, rightness, and authority.

  “Give me the piece of the True Cross,” Hob told Philip.

  Philip peered up into those bloodshot eyes. “Are you a traitor?” he asked.

  “No, Sir Philip, I’m no traitor.”

  “Do you join them?”

  “I said I’m no traitor. Do you doubt my word?”

  Philip wanted too. Everything about Hob screamed danger. Something grand and therefore terrifying was going on. If he said no, though, Philip had a feeling that Hob would draw his sword and begin fighting.

  “What’s your plan?” Philip whispered.

  “To speak with the boy,” Hob said.

  “And?”

  “And hit him,” Hob said.

  “Hit him?”

  “Hard.”

  Philip grinned. “You want a generous portion of the treasure, is that it?”

  “The piece of the True Cross, Sir Philip,” Hob said.

  Philip still hesitated.

  “It is a holy relic,” Hob said.

  Philip nodded curtly.

  Hob said, “To
hold onto a relic, if one has lied upon it, will bring upon one the Curse of God.”

  Fear filled Philip. He’d lied upon a piece of the True Cross. To fight now, any kind of fight, could be dangerous. So if Hob was going to take care of Cord by striking him…. Ah, maybe the foolish fat man thought he could save Cord’s life this way.

  “Go,” Philip said, giving Hob the wood. “See what you can do.”

  Hob’s hand curled around the piece of the True Cross. He kissed it, and he raised it high for everyone to see. Then he urged his stallion forward.

  Philip had grave misgivings. Something had gone horribly wrong, but he wasn’t sure what. He watched the fat sergeant rein in before Cord. They whispered together. Cord nodded. Hob turned his steed and faced Philip and the men-at-arms across the stream. He raised his voice and began to speak, all the while holding up the hand-sized piece of the True Cross.

  “I am not a lair!” Hob began. “You all know that.”

  “Aye!” shouted several Pellinore men-at-arms.

  “What I am about to say is my secret of fourteen years.”

  Hob had their attention. A hound whined in the silence. A dog boy slapped the hound quiet. Philip bit his lip, not liking this at all.

  “For fourteen years I have held onto a terrible, horrible secret,” Hob shouted. “Long ago, in Egypt, I fought in the Sixth Crusade. You all know that. What you don’t know is that I went on the Crusade as Raymond of Lorraine, a Knight Brother and an Undermarshal of the Order of the Temple.”

  Shouts of amazement rose up.

  Hob waited. When it was quiet again, he said, “Alas! We lost and were captured by the infidels. It was then that I was untrue to my vows. By breaking my vows, I knew that I no longer deserved to be a Knight Templar, no longer deserved to act as a knight. Thus, when I gained my freedom, I sailed to the ends of the earth, to Wales, and took up a lonely life. Alas! I was still too weak. I had wanted to end my days as a hermit, but the allure of the world was too strong. So I took up the trade I knew best, that of warrior. But a knight I would not be, only a sergeant. That was fourteen long years ago.

  “Today I take up the mantle of knighthood again. I will not do it to fight you, Sir Philip. I am no longer a traitor. You are Baron Guy’s man and so am I. But….”