The Rogue Knight Read online

  He paused as he switched hands, wiping his sweaty right palm on his breeches. Soon he gripped his weapon again with his sword hand. He tried to envision his method of attack, knowing that the last time he’d seen Reynard the sergeant had been wearing chainmail. Could he thrust his dagger through the mail armor? Maybe. With the armor, Reynard had a terrible advantage. If the sergeant also wielded a sword….

  “Give me the sack,” Cord whispered.

  “Let me carry it, my friend. You need to worry about Reynard.”

  “Yes, I know. Now give me the sack.”

  Henri shrugged, handing it up.

  The spiral stone stairs curved ever higher as they groped in the dark. Soon they saw the flickering shadows from the living quarter’s hall above. Richard’s snores were audible.

  “Step no closer,” came Alice’s warning voice.

  Reynard’s chuckle followed.

  Cord paused for a half-second. Then rage rippled through him. The rage inflamed him with heat and drove away his fears. He barely controlled the battle cry that almost tore out of his throat as he charged up the stairs. He burst into the living quarters and took in the scene at a glance. Richard was sprawled on the big baronial bed, drunkenly unconscious. Alice was backed against the unlit fireplace. Reynard, his sword and scabbard in his left hand, stood two steps from her.

  “Fiend!” hissed Cord.

  Reynard turned, his eyes widening with surprise and then understanding.

  Henri quietly closed the living quarter’s big oaken doors, dropping the bar into place.

  With a shing of steel Reynard drew his sword, dropping the scabbard to the floor. “This is sweet, very sweet. I’m about to become the hero.”

  Torchlight flickered off Reynard’s polished sword. He advanced with his body held sideways, his big sword held in the en guard position. The confidence shining off his face said it all.

  A moment of fear and doubt entered Cord. Sergeant Reynard was a veteran of a hundred fights. He wore mail and had battle-hardened muscles. Worse, he was a master of the blade. Rage, however, coursed through Cord. If not for him Alice would have been raped this very night, maybe even killed afterwards to cover up the crime.

  Alice slid behind Reynard, with a dagger above her head. Her face screwed up with rage as she drove the dagger at Reynard’s exposed neck. Something must have alerted the mercenary. At the last moment, he shifted his stance. Alice’s dagger sliced the side of his neck, but it wasn’t a killing blow. He cursed and slammed his elbow into Alice. She grunted and fell backward, the dagger clattering onto the stone floor and out of her reach.

  Cord charged. Reynard, with bright red blood flowing down his neck, leaped to the attack.

  Cord hurled the heavy sack. Reynard deflected it with his sword. Then he sneered at Cord. Cord crouched in the manner Hob had taught him. Reynard stamped his foot as he charged and rained in several swinging slashes. To the surprise of everyone within the hall, Cord met each ringing blow with the Toledo steel blade. Sparks flew. Steel rang. The shock of each blow coursed up Cord’s arm. He slowly gave ground. Reynard’s arrogance melted away. The blood also continued to drip from his neck and onto his polished armor. He finally growled in rage. Despite the strength of this arm, the speed of his assault and the greater length of his weapon, he couldn’t slip his sharp blade past Cord’s dagger and cut the swift dog boy in front of him.

  Reynard took three steps back and half-turned. Alice had crept up behind him again. She hurried behind Cord.

  Reynard breathed hard. “Who taught you how to fight?” he asked in wonderment.

  “Hob did.”

  Reynard wiped his mouth. “You’re good.”

  “As are you,” said Cord.

  “No,” Reynard said. “I’m better.”

  Henri snapped his arm forward. The big sergeant barely dodged the spinning blade.

  “Treachery,” said Reynard.

  Cord barked laughter and slid forward. His beautiful blade had been notched like a saw, but the Toledo steel had proven its worth. It hadn’t shattered in his hands, even when battered by a heavy battle-blade.

  “You’re losing blood,” Cord pointed out.

  “I’m going to kill all three of you,” Reynard said. “But you first, dog boy.” He attacked with the point instead of the edge.

  Henri’s second dagger spun out of the gloom and clipped Reynard on the forehead, although hilt-first rather than with the sharp point. Reynard blinked. With a ring of steel Cord parried the sword point out of his way. He then slid forward and stabbed low and brutally hard. His blade punched through chainmail and slid up to the hilt into Reynard’s belly. Reynard coughed sharply into Cord’s face, staring at him in shock. Then Reynard’s sword rang against the cobblestones. His knees buckled, but with both his hands, he hung onto Cord.

  “You’re a bastard,” Reynard hissed.

  Cord stared into the dying man’s eyes.

  Reynard grinned, his teeth bloodstained. “But by damn you can fight.” Then his head slumped forward. His grip weakened and he slid down beside his sword.

  Cord staggered back, shocked, numbed and dazed. Before he knew it, he was on his hands and knees, spewing his guts.

  “Well done,” Alice said.

  Cord lifted his eyes upon her. She gave him a wolfish smile, obviously pleased.

  “You’re a warrior, a fighter,” she said.

  “I’m a knight,” he whispered.

  “At least you will be a knight once you’re dubbed,” Henri said, helping Cord to his feet.

  “We’ve plenty of work to do,” Alice said briskly. She stood near her bed, taking off her dress. At Cord’s wide-eyed stare, she said, “I couldn’t change in front of Reynard. Now turn around you two, and gather your weapons.”

  Cord turned, embarrassed, and stared at Reynard’s corpse. He had no interest in drawing his dagger from the dead sergeant’s belly.

  “Take his sword,” Henri whispered, picking up and tucking his throwing knives back in his belt.

  Cord took Reynard’s sword and scabbard, belting it on. He’d earned this. Only then, did he reach down and remove his dagger, quickly cleaning and sheathing it.

  “Take the armor, too,” Henri urged.

  “We don’t have time,” Cord said. “We have to hurry and flee.”

  “We have time,” Alice said, striding into their midst. She wore her hawking outfit, boots, leather breeches and jacket. “We can’t leave Pellinore Castle yet.”

  “What do you mean?” Cord asked in amazement.

  “First we’re going to free Sir Lamerok.”

  “You’ve gone mad,” Cord told her.

  Alice laughed grimly. “Aye, I’m mad. I’m madder than a hornet and angrier than a she-bear whose cubs have been killed.”

  “What is the meaning of this?” Henri asked.

  “Haven’t you discovered the meaning?” Alice asked the small minstrel. “Don’t you understand what Sir Lamerok is? Can’t you see that I must free the noble knight from the dungeon?”

  “You free the knight?” Cord asked in bewilderment. “How can you possibly free anyone? If you show yourself someone will ask where Reynard is and come up here to find out.”

  “I won’t turn the dungeon key,” Alice said. “But it’s my will that Sir Lamerok is freed.”

  “What’s she talking about?” Cord asked Henri.

  Henri didn’t say anything. He was too busy studying Alice.

  “Sir Lamerok is Guy’s special prize,” Alice said. “That’s why I’ll free him.”

  “Preposterous!” Henri said. “For any of a hundred different reasons someone will soon come up here.”

  “So quit arguing,” Alice said, “for my mind’s made up.”

  “No,” Cord said.

  “Impossible,” Henri added.

  Alice folded her arms and stared at them.

  “She isn’t serious,” Cord said, turning to Henri. “It’s impossible to free the knight.”

  “I know.” H
enri moved to the stained glass window. “Darken the torches, Cord.”

  Cord plucked the two torches from their holders and gutted them in the unlit fireplace. Now, only a candle provided illumination. Henri picked up a hammer and tapped the glass along the edges.

  “Break it in one blow,” said Cord.

  Henri didn’t, but punched out glass along the sides as sweat oozed from his brow. Soon he settled the plate glass window into the room.

  “It would be a crime to shatter it,” he told Cord.

  Cord used a heavy leather cloth to break glass shards from the window frame. Then he tied his long rope to a stout wooden pole and set the pole against both sides of the open window. He glanced at Henri. Henri looked back at Alice. Soon so did Cord.

  Alice stood with her arms crossed as she watched them.

  “Are you coming?” Henri asked.

  She said nothing.

  “This is silly,” Cord said, rushing toward her. “We must flee.”

  “We must take Sir Lamerok of Dun with us,” Alice said.

  “Do you wish us dead?” asked Cord.

  A moment of indecision swept across Alice’s face. “Either we will do this my way,” she said a moment later, “or I’m not coming.”

  Cord threw up his hands. He asked Henri, “What should we do?”

  “To try to free Sir Lamerok will mean our death,” Henri said.

  “Yes. For how can we possibly take the dungeon keys from the Gascon mercenary?”

  “I have a plan for that,” Alice said.

  Henri snorted.

  “Richard and I devised the plan,” Alice said, her face animated. “It’s sure to work.”

  “You dream impossibilities,” Henri said with a sharp gesture. “The Gascon is not to be trifled with.”

  “Wait a moment,” Cord said. “The Gascon doesn’t have the keys.”

  “Of course he does,” Henri said.

  “No, I saw Sir Philip and the hangman talking,” Cord said. He explained what he’d seen during the feast.

  “Why, this is wonderful news,” Alice said. “Don’t you see? The Virgin is giving us our chance. I’ve been praying to her all during the feast. Now she’s seen to this.”

  “No, no,” Henri said. “Your plan is madness.”

  “We must flee,” Cord said. “The longer we wait the more chance we have of getting caught.”

  “We must first free Sir Lamerok of Dun,” Alice said. “Otherwise I am not going. What are your decisions?”

  Once more Cord and Henri glanced at each other.

  “You could use your sap on her,” Cord suggested.

  Alice stepped back, her hand on her dagger hilt.

  “No,” Henri said, shaking his handsome head. “If we want her along we must rescue this Scottish knight for her.”

  “But that’s impossible,” said Cord.

  “Not if the Virgin Mary helps us,” Henri said.

  “How would we do it?”

  Alice told them. She ended with, “By the time you’re done, I’ll met you outside the castle with Sebald. And I’ll have Reynard’s armor for you, Cord.”

  “Richard won’t agree to any of this,” Cord said.

  “Oh, but I will,” Richard said.

  They turned around in surprise and found Richard by the nearest bedpost, his face puffy and his eyes bloodshot.

  “I didn’t yet do homage,” Richard said, “nor did I take an oath of fealty. That was a mistake on Sir Guy’s part.”

  “Are you certain of this?” Cord asked.

  “Squire Richard Clark pays his debts,” Richard said solemnly.

  “Then we must hurry,” Henri said. “Time runs against us.”

  “Agreed,” Alice said. “We’ve much to do before the night is out.”

  -12-

  “So then the dog boy whined: ‘You kicked me in the butt.’ I told him that of course I had, for he’d been a lazy lout.” With the punch line given to his joke, Philip slapped the table with his huge hands and roared with drunken laughter.

  The rest of the bleary-eyed, shiny-faced throng roared along with him. Even Sir Walter, the bailiff and Hob laughed, all friends of Cord. The night was late and the amount of godale and wine consumed was vast. The inside of the red pavilion was one huge fume of alcohol mixed with roasted meat smells and the spilled, minuscule spatters of starlings, sparrows and jays.

  Many of the weaker men were already slumped over, snoring, their faces in gravy-stained bread or their hair doused with beer. Torches burned thickly, adding to the heavy fume. Pale-faced Sir Guy sat at the head of the main table. He laughed in his thin way, although he’d drunk very little. Even so, he was near collapse.

  “You should retire, milord,” wrinkled little Aldora whispered. She sat at his elbow, a bit away from the table. Only she among the male throng was sober. Only she retained her wits. Her glances of disgust were well hidden, although she often touched her bone torc and mouthed the names of Taranis, Teutates and Esus.

  “No, no,” Guy whispered. “I must mingle with my men, with my knights and retainers.” He lifted his wine goblet to his lips. It trembled ever so slightly. “Oh, Aldora, all that you’ve prophesied has come to pass. You are my blessing. You are the reason for my luck and my life.”

  “Your lordship is most kind,” Aldora whispered. “But let us not forget the ones below who have made all this possible.”

  The wine goblet clunked onto the table. Guy’s strength had fled him at the mention of them. They terrified him.

  Aldora smiled secretly as she patted Guy’s horribly thin hand. “Drink up, milord. Feast with your grunting warriors.”

  “I should retire,” he told her.

  “Whatever your lordship thinks is wisest,” she whispered.

  “Milord?” Philip shouted, yet another tankard of godale in his hands. “Why do you make to rise?”

  “I grow weary,” said Guy. “I must retire and go to sleep.”

  “Nonsense, milord!” shouted Philip. “We must toast you!”

  “Aye!” chorused many.

  A ghost of a smile flickered across Guy’s pale lips. “Toast me?” he asked.

  “You are our baron,” Philip shouted, rising unsteadily to his feet. He lifted his tankard high, sloshing godale over his sleeve. “To our noble baron. May Guy live a long and prosperous life!”

  “To Guy!” roared those who were still awake.

  Guy turned to Aldora with a smile. He saw her frowning as she touched her bone torc and whispered one of those dreadful names. He shivered with fear.

  She looked up, and asked, “How much longer, milord?”

  “Soon,” Guy whispered. “We’ll retire soon. Let me finish this last drink.”

  “Very well,” Aldora whispered. She’d grown bored with their drunken antics. There was also a premonition, a feeling within her that all wasn’t well. She wanted to speak with Gaston, or even with that braggart Reynard.

  “One more drink, milord,” Aldora said, putting a servile tone in her voice. “But then we should retire. For we must make certain that those two dogs you put in the dungeon today die this very night.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Guy, who had seen Aldora use her dagger once already on a sacrificial victim. The pagan rite both terrified and pleased him. He both yearned and hesitated to go. First, he must finish his wine. Yes, first he must do that and have more camaraderie with his men. Oh, this was such a grand feeling, to be the one they toasted. He’d never realized how good it felt to be the lord, the one truly in command. It had been so different at Castle Gareth. Here...here they loved him.

  “Another toast, milord,” said Philip.

  “Yes, another toast,” said Guy.

  “But this time you must drink up,” Philip chided.

  “I will,” Guy assured him. “I most surely will.”

  “Then we must be going,” Aldora whispered at his elbow.

  “Surely not until we’ve made our toasts,” said Philip.

  A loud chorus of
yells backed Philip. While the knights and retainers feared small Aldora, especially after Gwen ab Gruffydd’s words, they also hated the hold she had over Guy.

  “Just a few more toasts,” Guy told her.

  “But of course, milord,” Aldora said, sensing her mistake. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Philip shot her a triumphant grin. She swore that she wouldn’t forget it.

  ***

  Cord went down the spiral stairs, holding onto Richard’s stretcher. Behind him followed Henri, staggering under their heavy burden.

  “Easy,” Richard said from the cot.

  “Quit talking,” Henri snarled. “It makes you heavier.”

  Cord paused and was almost pushed off balance. “Hold on,” he called.

  “What is it?” complained Henri.

  “Someone’s coming,” Cord said, seeing candlelight flicker off the walls.

  “Whose there?” called a man.

  “It’s I, Cord. Who are you?”

  “The Chief Falconer.” The wizened old man came into view. He held a candleholder, the yellow flame bright in the darkness. “Lady Eleanor sent me. She wondered what took you two so long.”

  Cord snorted, although his belly shriveled up. “You should ask Richard why it took us so long.”

  Richard glanced from Henri to Cord to the Chief Falconer. “Well…you see….”

  “He wouldn’t wake up,” Henri said.

  “That’s it,” Cord said, nodding vigorously. “He was out cold. We had to sprinkle water on his face.”

  “And slap him,” Henri said.

  “Hard,” added Cord.

  “Really hard,” Henri said.

  “Yes,” Richard said dryly, “so hard that when I woke up I almost killed the minstrel. He’ll have an ugly bruise in the morning.”

  The Chief Falconer grinned.

  “Now how about moving along,” Cord said. “I’m getting tired holding up Richard. He’s not light, you know.”

  “How fares the Lady Alice?” asked the Chief Falconer, stubbornly keeping his position.

  “She’s asleep,” Henri said.

  Cord said, “She can’t take many cups of wine before tumbling over.”