“I see,” Jonathan said quietly, his soft words sounding like a whip in the sudden silence.
“Well, if that is all, my lord,” Raulf said. He gave a mocking bow. “I will return to my men.”
Jonathan could feel the muscles at his jaw twitching. Every single word that Raulf had spoken somehow rang hollow.
Suddenly Jonathan wanted to break him, to know what it was that he was hiding. “I’m not finished with you yet,” he said. “You were riding toward Ravenhearth two months ago.” He laced his fingers together, folding them in front of him on the trestle table. “What were you doing so far away from Blackburn and why?”
Uneasiness flickered behind Raulf’s eyes, but it was gone in the next instant. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “Most likely you’ve mistaken me for someone else. I have never left Blackburn in the months leading up to Richard’s death. I was too busy pursuing the outlaws.”
Jonathan nodded, finding the answer that he sought. Raulf was lying through his teeth about going to Ravenhearth. Why? Jonathan suspected that it involved the raids and he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that Raulf was leading the band of outlaws. All fingers pointed to him.
“I am discharging you from your duties,” Jonathan said. “Take your things, and leave Blackburn immediately. Your services are no longer needed here.”
“You cannot be serious,” Raulf said. The blood drained from his face as if Jonathan had run a blade through his gut. “I have served many years at Blackburn and this is how you repay me? ‘Tis an insult.” He clenched his fists at his side almost as if he were fighting to restrain himself from launching at Jonathan.
Underneath the table, Jonathan’s hand closed on the solid strength of his broadsword. “I cannot be more serious,” he said softly, although there was no denying the steel in his voice. “Leave now before I remove you by force.”
“You are making a grave mistake,” Raulf said, his voice shaking with rage.
Before he could take a step forward, Gareth already advanced two steps, blocking the other man with his sword. “I think that Sir Jonathan’s instructions are quite clear, sire.”
Raulf shot a look of loathing at Gareth. Then he glanced over Gareth’s shoulder at Jonathan, his eyes full of rage and fury. “You will regret this.” And with that, he turned and exited from the hall, the sound of his angry steps ringing on the hard stone floor.
All that was in his path, including the hounds, shied away from him. An enraged man was a dangerous one. The whoreson was not to be trusted, and Jonathan needed someone to ensure that Raulf departed from the castle without wreaking havoc. He looked over at Gareth. “You know what to do.”
“Of course,” Gareth said, giving a quick nod of assent, and he moved to follow Raulf like a shadow.
CHAPTER 16
“A sennight has passed, and there are still more raids,” Alfred said, looking at him with a jubilant gleam in his eye. “I told you that ‘twas difficult to capture these criminals. Sir Raulf is correct in that they are very clever. They seem to know every corner that surrounds Blackburn and seem to be able to anticipate our movements.”
“They’re not clever. They’re a nuisance,” Jonathan said. He picked up his goblet of wine, and took a drink from it.
There were times when Jonathan wished that he could tie a rag over the steward’s mouth to silence him, but what the old man said was true. Although the relative mood within the castle grounds improved after Raulf’s departure, the violence and loss continued for the villagers. And fear still wrapped its thick blanket over the village of Blackburn.
Jonathan looked broodingly at the half dozen dejected villeins who filled the hall, waiting for their turn to give an account of their stolen property, and to plead their cases for tax relief. He already granted a number of requests to defer their taxes, much to the disapproval of the steward. He knew he needed the money for the castle’s defenses, and for food supplies that would last through the long winter ahead, but he didn’t have the heart to take away what little they had left…
Jonathan set the empty goblet aside. A commotion at the entrance to the hall caught his attention. He stood up to get a closer look, almost glad for a distraction from the desperate faces that were turned his way. But what he saw made him pause, and he nearly wished it was just the villeins that he had to deal with.
Led by one of his men, a man was making slow progress through the hall entrance. He was wearing a ragged homespun woolen tunic that was once of higher quality but was now in shreds. That in itself wasn’t unusual. The thing that drew Jonathan’s attention was the man’s right eye, which was swollen shut and encrusted with a thick layer of dried blood.
A quiet settled over the hall as if an apparition had suddenly appeared, and no one could decide if it was malevolent or benevolent.
“Who is this man, Sir Roland?” Jonathan asked the guard leading the stranger.
“He claims to be an envoy, sire,” Roland said. Having done the task of delivering the messenger, he drew away from him and crossed himself as if he needed to protect himself from any evil curse that clung to the man.
“Are you the Iron Hawk?” the envoy said, his voice hoarse. “‘Tis he that I must speak.”
“Aye, you are speaking to him,” Jonathan responded. The steady beating of his heart began to increase its tempo.
The envoy stood awkwardly in front of him. “On pain of death I am to deliver a message to you,” the man said in a hollow voice. He dug blindly at the pouch that hung on his belt, and pulled out a piece of crumpled parchment and a piece of red cloth. “Here.”
Jonathan frowned when he recognized the red cloth. He got up from his chair and slowly went to the man, taking the items from the trembling fingers. He broke the waxed seal and when he read the message, his frown deepened.
Know that I come for you. Soon.
He searched the envoy’s face. “I want to know who sent this message,” he said quietly, although deep down he already knew the answer.
“‘Tis from the Grey Knight,” the envoy answered, his voice shaking as if referring to the name caused him apprehension and pain. “He wanted me to relay this communication without payment. I laughed in his face. But then he went into a terrible rage and injured my eye.” His voice broke off as if he was reliving that horrible moment of attack. He brought one hand to touch his eye which was still red and raw. “He threatened to blind my other eye and cut off my leg if I didn’t do as he asked.”
A heavy silence hung in the air.
“Sire?” the messenger said in his rough voice. “Will you tell the Grey Knight that I have delivered the letter as he ordered?” He swallowed hard as if he was fighting to keep his emotions in check. “I need my eyes and limbs to do my work. I cannot support my wife and children otherwise.”
“I will,” Jonathan said at last. “I will also see to it that he will no longer harm you or anyone else ever again.”
The messenger bowed his head, a sob of relief breaking free.
Jonathan beckoned to one of the servants standing nearby, and nodded his head toward the stranger. “See to his needs,” he said.
The servant scurried to do his bidding and led the envoy away.
The air in the hall felt ominous even after the envoy was long gone.
“We need to hang this Grey Knight,” Alfred said angrily, breaking the silence. If it were possible, he looked ten years older than he was. “He must be the one behind the raids.”
At hearing the old steward’s voice, the villeins shifted their feet, some looked uneasy while others grumbled and appeared angry. But even from where he stood, Jonathan could see the fear in their eyes. If they knew the knight’s identity, it was doubtful that they would speak up against him.
Jonathan moved away from his spot, feeling somehow tainted after listening to the messenger. Not many people here knew about the Grey Knight but now that had all changed. For many years now the enemy knight sent him clues as to where to find him, a
nd those clues led him to many different regions throughout the kingdom. And just when Jonathan reached the peak of frustration in his searches, his adversary somehow managed to find him, sending him taunting messages and clues to the next place to look — all without ever showing his cowardly face.
He made his way back to his seat, his enemy’s warning ringing in his ear. There was no doubt about it — once again the enemy knew Jonathan was reaching the pinnacle of frustration. But now if he understood the message, the Grey Knight was finally ready to reveal himself.
He crumpled the parchment and cloth that was still in his hand. When the enemy came, he would be ready.
Alfred threw him an anxious glance, but Jonathan took no notice of him. He didn’t feel like continuing the morning’s work.
Jonathan stared moodily into the empty fire pit when Gareth walked into the great hall, a scroll in his hand. He eyed the scroll as if it contained snakes. “I hope you bear good news,” he said.
Gareth looked at Jonathan’s drawn expression, and noticed the many faces turned their way. “Did I miss something?”
Jonathan turned to the steward. “Alfred, take everyone and clear the hall,” he commanded.
The old steward sniffed his nose as if to show his disapproval. But he shuffled from his position and at once began shooing the villeins away. Jonathan watched as the last of the unhappy peasants filed out of the hall.
“The Grey Knight has sent a message,” he said to Gareth.
“A message like the others?”
Jonathan nodded. “This time it seems he will reveal himself to me.”
“‘Tis about time,” Gareth said, his voice grim. “As I told you earlier, he must have spies in our midst to know where to find us.” He clenched his jaws. “But let the coward come! I’m ready to face him. And when he is dead, Rueben and Lady Amelia can finally be put to rest.”
Jonathan heaved a weary sigh. “I should have killed him when I had the chance,” he said. He gestured for Gareth to join him at the table. “Perhaps I couldn’t have prevented Amelia’s death but at least your brother’s life would have been spared.” He balled his hand into a fist, and hit the wooden table. “And all those poor messengers, those innocent people …”
Gareth sat down on the bench, and poured himself a goblet of wine. “Perhaps,” he said blandly, not able to look at Jonathan. “However we cannot change the past.” He picked up the goblet, and drained its contents.
Jonathan glanced down at the scroll still in Gareth’s hand. “What do you have there?”
Gareth looked down as if he had forgotten that he was holding something. “Another message I suppose.” He handed it to Jonathan. “I intercepted it from a servant just now. I believe ‘tis from your cousin.”
Jonathan turned the scroll over, feeling the heavy weight of it in his hand. It was an official invitation to Ravenhearth — that much was obvious. Jonathan allowed a trace of a smile. Lorena was once again trying to interfere in his life. She likely wanted to lure him back to the castle and tempt him with a certain black haired beauty.
For a moment, he gave into an indulgence, allowing his thoughts to drift to Rowena’s lovely face. Her visage floated in front of him so vividly that he could almost touch her, could almost feel the velvety softness of her skin. And her lips. How could he ever forget her luscious lips, or how sweet she tasted?
He fought down the faint stirring of desire that was starting to awaken in him. He couldn’t have her, not while the Grey Knight was free to kill and maim everyone connected to him. He made his vow to Amelia, and it was his duty as a knight, as a man of honor, to apprehend the murderer before more people got hurt. He frowned when a new thought occurred to him. Lorena knew about this danger. Why didn’t she stop her new husband from cornering him after their marriage ceremony?
Instead, Lorena had stood beside her husband, beaming at Jonathan as if she found the perfect solution to his troubles.
“You have my permission to woo my daughter,” Philip said.
Jonathan was rendered speechless, and looked at his cousin for help. But there was no help from her. “You can blame me, if you like,” she said. “I do believe that you would be a most suitable match for Lady Rowena.” She patted him on the arm. “Do not look so alarmed, dear cousin. You have been in pursuit of a phantom for so long that he may not even exist any longer. I fear that if you do not marry soon, you will grow old and lonely.”
“I have not thought much about marriage,” Jonathan said, his tone evasive.
“What is there to think about?” Philip asked, slapping him on his back, his expression jovial.
Jonathan began to shake his head, but Philip laid a heavy hand on his shoulder to stop him from protesting. “Think on it, Sir Jonathan. I have put you and a handful of other eligible knights on a list for Rowena to choose. If you succeed in claiming her attention and her heart, you will be most satisfied with the dowry that accompanies her. From what I’ve seen of you, and from what Lorena tells me, I would be honored to have you in the family.”
He had no desire to woo Philip’s daughter however lovely, or to put her into needless danger. He was comfortable in taking care of himself, in wielding his sword, of slashing down his enemies — at least those enemies that showed their faces. He didn’t need the complication of acting as protector to a wife that he didn’t want or need.
Let some other man win her attention and her heart. And with that, he had fully intended to say no, to refuse Philip’s generous offer, yet when he spoke, the words that came out were: “You do me great honor, sire.”
Philip smiled with approval when he heard Jonathan’s answer. The man acted as if he was the first man to discover happiness and wanted the entire world to share in it. Lorena too found happiness. It was there for all to see. But deep inside Jonathan knew he could not even think of finding such happiness, especially when his own heart was filled with a heavy sense of guilt and pain. And he decided not make any efforts to woo Rowena, believing that his lack of attention made it clear enough that he had no interest in marriage.
He swirled the wine in his goblet, and lifted it to his lips.
“Well? What news does your cousin send?” Gareth asked.
Jonathan glanced at him, suddenly remembering where he was. He unraveled the scroll, and scanned it. “A tournament,” he said with disinterest, and set it aside. “She has invited us all to a tournament. ‘Tis unlikely we can go. The Grey Knight said he will come. I cannot risk being away and miss the opportunity in facing him should the day arrive. Besides, there is much work to do at Blackburn.”
Gareth picked up the scroll from the table and carefully read it before putting it down again. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t attend,” he said. “There is little point in staying at Blackburn, sitting by the fireside and twiddling our thumbs while we wait for the Grey Knight to arrive.” He took a deep, steadying breath before continuing. “If the tournament is as big as Lady Lorena says, the Grey Knight will surely attend. And if there’s a chance that he doesn’t show up, he will make it a point to be there if his spies give him word of our plans. Think on it, sire. When he shows up, we will not have to wait to learn his identity. We can capture him on our own terms, and end this infernal quest!”
Jonathan allowed his commander’s heated words to sink in. Gareth was right. He needed to be out in the open with weapon in hand and horse underneath, actively, boldly seeking his enemy. He should not be waiting by the wayside for the enemy to come to him. The dealings with Raulf and the outlaws had distracted him from his main pursuit.
“Aye,” Jonathan said at last. “What you say is true. Perhaps we should attend the tournament after all. Much improvement has already been done at Blackburn and the steward will be able to man the castle while we’re away.” He set his goblet aside, and folded his hands on the trestle table before giving his friend a considering look. “I know that something else is on your mind. Come, tell me what ‘tis. I don’t think you sought me out just to deliver a messa
ge and advise me on the merits of attending a tournament.”
Gareth didn’t need further prompting. “We have good information about the outlaws,” he said, leaning closer, a glint in his eyes. “The tournament is a few days off. In the meantime we can at least put an end to the raids in the village.”
“‘Tis good news then,” Jonathan said.
Gareth nodded. “The outlaws were able to evade us each time we searched for them, but this time we caught one.” He chuckled. “Obviously this one just didn’t run as fast as his thieving companions. We should be able to extract information from him and learn who is behind the raids.”
Jonathan gave a grim smile. “If only all criminals were so easy to catch,” he said, getting up. “Take me to the prisoner.”
A few minutes later, they made their way into the dank dungeon that Richard had made quite the use of during his time. At the sound of their footfall, Jonathan could hear the rats scurrying to the darkened corners, diving into the rotted hay that covered the dirt floor. Gareth held up the torch light higher, illuminating the small figure in the damp room.
The small figure, it turned out, was a scrawny boy of about eleven. Streaks of dirt covered his long hair, obscuring its natural straw color. He sat hunched along the slimy wall, his thin wrists and ankles shackled in thick chains.
At the unexpected visitors, the boy lifted his head, and brought up his arm to shield his eyes from the bright light. Then trying to make himself appear more assertive, he raised himself up off the ground, the chains clinking as he moved. But when he caught sight of the fierce hawk on their surcoats, he shrank back, his eyes darting from Jonathan to Gareth. “Ye wear the standard of the Iron Hawk,” he said, unable to keep his voice from trembling.
“He seems quite observant, doesn’t he, Sir Jonathan?” Gareth said sardonically. “Although he might not be sharpest dagger ever forged in the armory.”
One True Knight (The Knights of Honor Trilogy) Page 13
