Fallen Knight Read online

  “What happened to you, Gareth? You look worse than the last time I saw you.”

  “’Tis nice to see you too,” he growled. Rubbing his temples, he circled the spots with his fingers. The throbbing in his head was just beginning and talking made it worse. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought our business was finished.”

  “I’m not actually here on royal business.”

  Gareth scanned the plain tunic that Derrik wore. He noticed for the first time that he wasn’t wearing the king’s colors. “Then why have you come? ‘Twas enough that you brought King Edward here a few months ago and disturbed my peace.”

  “And King Edward is grateful for your loyal service.” Derrik smiled although he shifted on his foot, looking slightly uncomfortable. “I’m actually here to invite you to my wedding,” he said. And when Gareth continued to stare at him, he looked even more awkward and coughed in his fist. “You never responded to my invitation.”

  “I was busy,” he lied.

  “Of course you were,” Derrik shrugged his shoulders. “’Twas the reason why I came out here to speak with you.”

  “Well, my answer is nay.” Gareth’s gaze fell on a cup on the table and he reached for it. He peered inside and frowned when he discovered that it was empty. “No offence to you, but I hate weddings.”

  “But you told me yourself that you’ve never attended one,” Derrik said, giving an uneasy laugh.

  “I can still hate them.” Setting the cup aside, he spied the pewter jug in the middle of the table and pulled it toward him.

  “Look, I want — I request that you come to my wedding,” he said, correcting himself. He stepped forward, moving closer to where Gareth sat.

  Pushing away the empty jug, he studied his friend. The knight had risen to great heights within a relatively short period. When he first met him, he was a snot-nosed knight who had just acquired his spurs. But in the last five years, he had proven himself to the king and many others. Three months ago, he had helped capture the king’s advisor, and stemmed the terror of Lord Richard, the king’s rebel brother — at least for now.

  “Why are you so intent in having me at your wedding?” he asked bluntly. “In fact, you should be at Blackburn right now, inducing the Iron Hawk to the ceremonies. I’m certain that you don’t need me among your honored guests.”

  “Unfortunately Jonathan is dealing with unrest at one of his estates. And Rowena is heavy with their second child. Needless to say, they won’t be attending my wedding.” A sudden earnest expression appeared on his face. “Please tell me that you will come, Gareth.”

  When Gareth didn’t respond right away, he sighed loudly. “I hope you realize how important ‘tis to me.” His lips pulled back into a tight smile. “As you know, my uncle Jared was the only family I had. And though we are not bound by blood, I consider you as kin. We have been through a lot.” He paused a moment and averted his eyes as if to hide the emotions there.

  With his speech done, Derrik fell silent and he shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

  A piece of wood broke off and fell into the ash, making a hissing sound. The liquid in the iron pot bubbled away while the smell of leeks and onions permeated the air.

  There was that hopeful look again, only now Derrik was the one who wore the expression. Gareth didn’t have it in his heart to refuse his friend, and he cursed himself for being so weak. But Derrik was right. They had gone through much, although he would rather forget what had transpired in the forest that day…

  Derrik laced his hands behind his back and gazed around him with interest. Gareth followed the other man’s gaze, seeing the room for the first time. The dust particles floated in the air as the light shone through the shutters. There were cobwebs hanging off the rafters, and what little furniture he had was sparse. Off to the side, his old armor plates lay piled on the ground. He hadn’t bothered with the armor, but Leofwin cleaned it with sand and vinegar, diligently rubbing at it every few days until the metal gleamed and sparkled. Not far off, his chain mail hung on a wooden peg, and next to that, sat his rectangular shield, turned to face the other way. Seeing his standard was too much, and he didn’t need to be reminded of all that he lost.

  “I never looked at your home the last time I was here.” Derrik’s gaze fell on the boy. “And I never asked about your servant. What is your name, boy?”

  “Leofwin.” He slid his hand through his hair and pushed the stray lock away from his face. “And I’m not a servant. I don’t know why everyone insists in calling me that.”

  Derrik raised one eyebrow, and looked at Leofwin’s threadbare tunic. It was obvious that this tunic had several owners before him.

  “I’m training to become a knight,” Leofwin continued, his tone somewhat disgruntled.

  “A knight,” Derrik murmured. He turned to Gareth, watching him curiously. “I didn’t know you had a page in your service.”

  “Page? I guess you can call him that. Although, I didn’t go out searching for one.” He narrowed his eyes at Leofwin, “I’m not exactly sure you can call him a servant either since he has trouble following simple instructions.”

  The boy huffed and walked back to tend the iron pot.

  An idea suddenly popped into Gareth’s head, and he turned to his friend, giving him a considering look. “Aren’t you in need of a page? The boy followed me here from Blackburn. And right now I don’t need him, although you might find him useful.”

  “Nay,” Derrik raised his hands, his palm facing out, and he shook his head quickly. “I do not have time to train a page.” He paused as though something had just occurred to him. And while a grin appeared on his face, there was no mistaking the cunning sparkle in his eyes. “Perhaps I have a solution to your dilemma.”

  “And that is…?”

  “I will find your boy a mentor among the guests at my wedding.”

  “Fine,” Gareth said absently, fingering the empty cup in front of him. “Take the boy with you, and find him a mentor. As I’ve said, he’s of no use to me if he cannot even bring me a drink to quench my thirst.”

  The boy came over and took the empty jug of ale from the table. While he didn’t say anything, he seemed to be hanging off their every word.

  “’Twould be a good idea to take him to Stanbury Castle,” Derrik said, tapping a finger to his chin, pretending to think over his suggestion. “Except I would think that you need to go with him — to ensure that the knight I present will be suitable…”

  Suddenly there was burst of activity at the far end of the room. The ale ladle that was in the boy’s hand clattered to the ground. He glanced up, a guilty look on his face, but Gareth paid him no mind. Picking up the ladle, Leofwin quickly scooped the ale from the barrel and filled the jug.

  “Here are your drinks, sires,” he said breathlessly as he hurried over. Pouring the contents into Gareth’s waiting cup, he grinned at him. “You hold your drink better than my father, so I don’t mind serving it.”

  He took the tankard and tipped it to his lips. And when he set it down on the table, the boy immediately filled a second cup.

  “Sit,” Gareth said, gesturing to the seat across from him.

  Derrik complied, and soon launched into a long list of reasons why he should attend his wedding. But he hardly listened to his friend. He sighed inwardly. It was obvious that Leofwin really wanted to become a knight. Truthfully, Gareth didn’t want to get in the way of such enthusiasm, but he wasn’t fit to train anyone in the ways of a knight.

  He clenched his fist and with the other hand, he grabbed the cup and drained its contents. When he slammed the empty vessel on the table, the wooden table shook slightly under the force.

  “If you promise to find a mentor for the boy, I’ll agree to go.”

  Leofwin hugged the jug to his chest and smiled as if he had just found a gold coin on the ground.

  “Agreed,” Derrik said, lifting up the cup in the air in a salute.

  Gareth lifted his own cup in the air, the deal now s
ealed.

  “Thank you!” Leofwin let out a loud whoop, causing a bit of the ale to spill from the jug.

  Derrik drained his drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “The wedding is in a fortnight. We’ll discuss the details,” he grinned at the boy, “after I have another cup.”

  Chapter 2

  13 days later in the town of Wykeham…

  “Sir Gamel,” Edith held her reins tightly in her lap. “Speak some sense to my lady. Tell her that we should continue forth to Stanbury. We have no business in this establishment.” She pursed her lips, and eyed a young couple entering the inn. At the same time a drunken man stumbled out of the building. “And ‘tis busy. My lady,” she said in earnest, “we should leave here immediately —”

  “Of course ‘tis busy,” Clarisse said, hearing the exasperation in her own tone. “Tomorrow is Lady Amelie’s wedding after all.”

  “Well ‘tis all the more reason we should get away from this crowded town, and continue onward to Stanbury. The sun is still high in the sky, and we should be able to make it to your cousin’s castle in good time.”

  As they got closer to the building, Edith’s protests became louder.

  “The castle is several hours away,” Clarisse sighed, “and I am hungry.”

  “We have a little bread and pasties in the saddle bag,” Edith pointed out.

  “I’m tired of stale bread and cold pies. I want something cooked over an open hearth,” she sniffed the air. “Something that is tasty, and does not have the texture of tree bark.”

  She looked around and enjoyed the sight of colorfully garbed commoners milling about. None of the commoners would be invited to the festivities in the castle of course, but no doubt many of these people would be heading to the town of Stanbury to celebrate in her cousin’s honor.

  When her feet were solidly on the ground, she looked up and saw the swinging sign that hung over the tavern door — The Fox Trail. Then suddenly all of her earlier, darker thoughts evaporated.

  “So this is it,” she said in wonder.

  When Amelie had told her about the tavern, she imagined that the establishment was as big as the manor house in the town of Stanbury, but in reality, this building was only half the size. The years of rain and snow had beaten down on the wooden structure, casting it in a grey hue. It was exactly how her cousin had described it though. She could hear horses at the back of the establishment, and from where she stood, she could see forest looming behind the houses that lined the street. This village wasn’t large nor did it have a wall that enclosed it. Instead, it was surrounded by the woods, and the only protection the people had from the forest spirits and wild animals were their locked doors.

  A stable boy saw their approach and came to greet them.

  Gamel dismounted and helped Clarisse from her saddle.

  “Sir Gamel, I asked you to help me convince my lady,” Edith said, sending him an accusing stare.

  The guard opened his mouth, but he didn’t get a chance to say anything before Clarisse interrupted her nursemaid.

  “Stop this nonsense, Edith,” Clarisse said, shaking her head impatiently. “Neither Sir Gamel nor I will be swayed, for ‘tis certain that he is as hungry as I am.”

  Not wanting to hear anything more from her nursemaid, she handed the reins to the stable boy and quickly moved away. She detected the sound of footsteps following her, but she didn’t slow her movements. Her mind was made up. This was her one chance to experience her freedom, since she was ever conscious that this freedom would disappear as soon as she married. She knew without a doubt that marriage would occur; it was only a matter of time. Her father and brother Edgar had made that clear enough. She pushed the depressing thoughts aside. There was time enough to worry about that. Right now, she had a chance to witness life away from the castle walls. And suddenly her heart began to swell with barely suppressed excitement. On several occasions, she had accompanied Lady Edeline to town, but they rarely ventured into any of the more interesting establishments. Instead, her lady aunt chose to spend her time speaking with the merchants in the business district.

  Clarisse stepped over the threshold, and stood just beyond the door, savoring the sights and sounds. The interior was dim and while this establishment was an inn, part of it was used as a tavern. The rushes that were strewn on the floor looked old and dirty, but no one seemed to care. The immediate smell of stew and baked minced meat filled the air, and she felt her stomach begin to rumble. The last decent meal she had was two nights ago, and even then she was too excited to eat. They had left Laventon Castle before the break of dawn, and Edith only had enough time to gather bread, cheese and some pasties. Last night, Gamel caught a small pheasant for them. They had roasted it on a makeshift spit, but it didn’t really satisfy her palate, especially when she was so used to eating rich and spiced foods.

  There were women and children and animals crushed against each other. A low murmur of voices rumbled across the room, punctuated occasionally with the cackle of laughter. All the tables were filled with people eating and drinking. The scene reminded her of the meals in the great hall, although it was much smaller in scale. Still, there was enough noise to almost drown out the lone musician and his lute. This didn’t faze him, however, as he was deep in his song, and seemed unconcerned about being heard over the din.

  Her mother and everyone else would have her believe that the commoners would slash the throat of a noble if they were given the opportunity. But everyone seemed perfectly harmless here.

  While she scanned the room, she saw that a man watched her, his eyes gliding over her body as he sipped from his tankard. And when their eyes met, she felt a flush of heat flash through her body. Who was this man? Somehow he seemed as if he didn’t belong in this place. He sat with a youth who didn’t share much resemblance to him but was most likely his son.

  Giving herself a mental shake, she looked away. It was best to stay away from all men — whether they were known to her or not. And she dismissed him from her mind.

  Somewhere in the room, an infant wailed. Two dogs were let loose to scavenge around for dropped food. One patron had finished sucking on a marrow bone and threw it at a hound. It yelped when the bone hit its back. Just then the second hound lunged at the morsel, and a fight ensued. The man guffawed at the sight of the two warring hounds.

  Off to the far right was the fat innkeeper. He looked exactly as how Amelie had described him: a man with more hair on his chin than on his head, his eyes and nose diminutive in his round face. At the moment, he spoke with a patron, his jolly laughter adding to the already chaotic noise. Ever so often, he glanced over at the line of people waiting for seats within his establishment. His expression was gleeful and satisfied, as if he calculated the worth of each person there. When he caught sight of Clarisse and her troop at the entrance, he straightened.

  “Matilda!” he cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, not caring that he had cut off his friend in mid-sentence. “More people at the door!”

  A dour-faced woman turned from stirring the cauldron. She glared at her husband before glancing over at them. The woman turned away and looked as if she had dismissed them, and Clarisse felt a moment of disappointment.

  “I told you that we shouldn’t have come here, my lady,” Edith said. “There is absolutely no space for us to sit. We’re better off eating the pasties that I had brought along on this journey. As you know, we have enough provisions to sustain us until we reach the castle. Now let’s go get our horses —”

  “Nay, we shall stay,” she said, grinning with relief. “That woman has not dismissed us after all, Edith. She is just hanging up her ladle on the hook. And look, she is now making her way over to us.”

  “We don’t have any extra stools,” the inn keeper’s wife announced as she got closer, “You’ll have to wait with the rest of the folks who are lined up against the wall.”

  But even as she spoke, the woman looked suspiciously at them, her eyes narrowing slightly wh
en she took in the hauberk that Gamel wore and the sword that hung at his belt. Then she sniffed her nose as if she didn’t like what she saw and straightened her headpiece.

  Clarisse’s heart sank. The woman is going to tell us to leave.

  “Goodwoman,” Clarisse said, remembering what Amelie had told her about the greedy couple. Relief flooded her body when the older woman turned. “I will give you a copper coin if you would find us a seat.”

  The woman shook her head and almost sneered at them. “You’ll have to wait in line like everyone else,” she said, pointing to the wall of people.

  “What if I give you three copper coins?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even. When Amelie said that she had bribed the woman, Clarisse had never thought to ask how much she offered.

  The woman paused and when she put out her hand, Clarisse let out a breath which didn’t know she was holding. She quickly dug in the purse that hung at her belt and handed over the money.

  Lifting the copper coins up in the air, the woman inspected them before tucking the coins into the pocket of her apron. She then scanned the room, her eyes suddenly fixing on a man slumped over on a table near the center of the common room. The table was the same one where the dark-haired stranger and his boy sat.

  “Wait here,” she commanded. Pivoting, she shouted, “James, come help me.”

  The fat inn keeper looked up at hearing his name, and seeing his wife, disengaged from his friend. He brought up the sleeve of his tunic and absently wiped it across the top of his balding head. Lumbering over to her, he made sure that he avoided the hounds underfoot.

  Clarisse watched the couple with interest as they approached the slumbering man. When the inn keeper and his wife reached the sleeping patron, they yanked him out of his seat. The man was too drowsy or drunk, and didn’t put up a fight. With much effort, they dragged him over to the side of the room, and dumped him into a corner.

  “That is the most uncivilized thing I have ever seen,” Edith cried.