A True and Perfect Knight Read online

  From the corner of his eye, he saw the widow running toward them. She had lifted her skirts, revealing flashes of slender white calves above the boots he had given her. Her feet had barely begun to heal. She would hurt herself moving like that. Rebecca was the cause of this. “Stop that caterwauling. Now,” he bellowed at the girl.

  The young woman’s eyes widened and her wails ceased with a loud gulp followed by a choking sound.

  Haven ground his teeth. He might finally have stopped Rebecca’s outburst, but he had been unable to save the widow pain, for she skidded to a halt, hugging Rebecca to her side.

  “Rebecca, dearest sister, what is the meaning of all these tears?”

  “Madame…” Haven spoke sternly but softly. He had no desire to provoke another outburst, but he wanted to explain what had happened.

  The widow completely ignored him.

  Rebecca’s tears began afresh, and she turned her head into the widow’s shoulder. “That awful man is going to abandon Thomas to the wood, after which we shall be raped and our servants sold.”

  The woman patted the girl’s back. “Nonsense. He promised me before witnesses that we would not leave this place until Thomas is found.”

  Rebecca raised her head. “Lies to fool us into cooperating with him.” The girl no longer shrieked, and her tears began to dry.

  The widow placed one hand on Rebecca’s shoulder. With the other, she raised the girl’s chin until they stood eye to eye. “In all the days since we left Yorkshire, Sir Haven has never lied to us. He is an honorable knight, dedicated to his king’s service. He has never failed in his duty nor in the performance of any oath. Is this not so, Soames?” As she sought confirmation of her claims, the older woman’s gaze remained on Rebecca.

  “Aye, milady. Sir Haven is Edward’s most true and perfect knight in all things.”

  “Truly?” Rebecca hiccoughed and looked from the widow to Soames and back.

  “Truly.” The widow nodded. “Now calm yourself and tell me where you got such foolish notions.”

  The girl swallowed. “I would prefer not to say.”

  “Rebecca,” the widow urged. “If someone is telling lies of Sir Haven, he has the right to know who and to confront the man.”

  “It was not lies. Watley would never lie about Sir Haven.”

  An audible gasp poured from the group crowded around them and nearly drowned out her words.

  Haven’s eyes narrowed at her ridiculous statement. “Do you say that my squire accuses me of murder, rape and slavery?”

  “Nay, sir, he accuses you not.” Within the shelter of the widow’s arms, Rebecca trembled. “He…he but told me tales of things that you and others did on the crusade. He never said you did those things, but others did, and you were with them…”

  Her voice quailed and wavered before the ire Haven took no trouble to hide.

  Haven opened his mouth, but the widow spoke first.

  “Foolish child.” The older woman stroked the girl’s face, making an endearment of her words. “You dishonor Sir Haven and his squire by drawing such groundless conclusions from stories no doubt exaggerated to impress the ignorant.”

  “No, I meant no such…”

  “Hush now. No matter what you meant, you still insulted two good men. You know what must be done.”

  Rebecca nodded. She straightened her shoulders and stepped away from the widow. “Please, Sir Haven, forgive my rash and foolish behavior. You have been all that is kind to us, and I have offered you undeserved insult in return. How may I make amends?” She looked Haven straight in the eye as she spoke.

  Haven studied the girl, looked briefly to the widow, who raised her eyebrows at him, then returned to the girl’s steadfast gaze. “I accept your apology. You may make amends by seeking more information before you jump to conclusions, and by taking better care of your nephew when he returns. The time before you will be difficult, and you may find that you need Thomas as much as he will need you. Now find a seat by the fire and contemplate what has happened here.”

  Rebecca left, and the gathered men dispersed, leaving Haven alone with the widow. “Thank you, sir, for dealing so evenly with a young woman’s pride.”

  He gave the widow a level look. “Did you mean those things you said of me, or were you lying to keep the peace?”

  “I…uh…I…” Gennie could not explain her words to herself. How could she defend his honor when Roger’s death spoke so plainly that de Sessions had none? He could not be trusted. She must remember that, always. So why had she defended him?

  Whatever she might have said was lost at the guard’s shout announcing the return of the last two men.

  Haven scrambled up the far riverbank after Lindel. At the top the two men separated and moved silently into the forest, keeping each other in view at all times. Behind them lay the stones that they believed Thomas had used to cross the river. Why the boy had done so would have to wait until they could ask him.

  Haven recalled the widow’s reaction when Lindel had returned to camp with a scrap of blue cloth and news of footprints on the far side of the river. She confirmed that the cloth came from Thomas’s shirt. Then she had turned to Haven and calmly begged the safe return of her son. The combination of fear and hope that dawned in her eyes filled Haven with fierce determination to see Thomas found with all possible speed.

  Time crept, as Haven and Lindel searched for further signs of Thomas’s passing, but they found nothing until they crossed the tracks of the fifteen mounted men. There, barely visible on one side of the track, a small, damp boot print overlay the crusted impression of a horseshoe in the soggy earth. A tiny amount of tension left Haven’s shoulders. The mounted troop had passed this way before Thomas. The chances that the boy not only lived, but roamed free, had just increased.

  “I see more of the boy’s footprints on t’other side of this track, sir,” Lindel whispered.

  “Aye.” Haven checked the angle of the sun, noting that dark would fall soon. “Go you back to camp and report to Soames. I will continue in search of Thomas.” Haven issued his orders in a hush.

  “But, sir…”

  “Nay, we have no time for discussion. You will barely make it across the river before dark. This track is fresh. No doubt I will find Thomas soon and arrive in camp before dinner is past.”

  Lindel nodded and eased himself back toward the river, dragging a branch behind him to hide signs of their passage.

  Haven stepped across the tracks. He turned to obscure the evidence that he and Thomas had been there, then proceeded along the same path as the faint prints. When he heard hoofbeats crashing toward him through the forest, he went to ground behind a fallen log. But the sounds veered off, leaving him alone and undiscovered. He waited the space of a hundred breaths and then a hundred more. When he again rose to follow the trail dusk had fallen, and Thomas’s tracks faded to nothing in the dim evening light.

  Haven continued forward, searching for softer ground where a stray print might still linger. Nothing. Where had the boy gone? Haven raised his eyes to the trees. None had branches low enough for a small boy to grab on to and pull himself into that leafy safety.

  The light continued to fade. Haven remained still and quiet, listening. Blundering forth in the dark would serve no purpose but to alert the mounted force that a fool had crossed the river. Dear Lord give me aid to find Thomas so that I might keep him safe this night.

  The silent prayer no sooner left his thought than a tiny, distant sob answered Haven’s desperate plea. He moved toward the sound and was rewarded with a second, louder hiccough, followed by a small rustling noise. There. Had that bush moved?

  “Thomas.” Haven projected the whisper with as much strength as he dared without alerting the entire wood to his presence.

  “Sir Haven?” A sniffle sufficient to rouse an army followed the question.

  “Sssh. Where are you?”

  “Here, sir.” Thomas’s small dark form rose from the vegetation.

  �
��Come to me, boy, but be quiet.”

  In a twinkling, Haven felt Thomas’s childish arms stretched round his legs. He bent to grasp the child around the waist, lifting him into a hug.

  “I am glad you found me. I could not find my way back to the river, and I heard noises, so I hid, and it got dark, and I was scared. I did not want to be scared. I wanted to be brave, like you and Father.”

  The boy paused for breath.

  Haven closed his eyes tight on the memory of Roger’s courage, despite the perfidy that ended his life. Thomas would never know his father.

  Haven placed a hand over the child’s mouth. “Hush now. You are safe with me.” Haven lifted his hand. “As soon as I stop walking, you may talk all you like, but right now we must be quiet.”

  “Why?”

  “Sssh. All good warriors are quiet when they move. You can be a good warrior, can you not?”

  Thomas opened his mouth.

  Haven placed a finger against the boy’s lips.

  Thomas closed his mouth and nodded his understanding.

  Haven gave him a gentle squeeze of approval, then started walking at a right angle to his former track. His direction led him through heavy growth that made soundless travel nearly impossible. He prayed that he made no more noise than any other animal that prowled the night.

  After he had traveled an estimated half a league, Haven stopped at the first clearing. His muscles ached from carrying Thomas, who had fallen asleep once Haven had settled into a steady pace. The sudden cessation of movement woke the boy. His stomach grumbled in concert with Haven’s empty belly.

  “I am hungry. Can we have rabbit stew? I like rabbit stew best of all the things Rene makes, except for honeyed oat cakes.”

  Haven put Thomas on the ground and took his hand, leading him across the clearing to a large oak tree. “I like rabbit stew also, Thomas, but we cannot build a fire for cooking tonight, nor do I have a rabbit to make stew from. We must be warriors tonight and eat warrior’s food.”

  He studied the arrangement of branches in the old tree. While he might be able to climb the tree and haul Thomas up with him, none of the branches were thick enough to provide a bed for a man his size without danger of falling. He doubted that he could get Thomas to sleep in the tree without him. Haven resigned himself to a night spent on the damp ground. The tree would guard his back. God would have to guard the rest as he saw fit.

  He felt Thomas tug on his hand. “Did you hear me?” The boy sounded worried.

  Haven knelt. “I am sorry. I do not think I heard your question.”

  “I asked if we are going to stay here.”

  “Yes, we are.”

  “Where are the beds and linens? Mama says sleeping without linens is uncil…unci…uncibilied.”

  Haven smiled inwardly. The boy put up a good front. But Haven could feel the child tremble. “Your mama is correct. However, warriors do many uncivilized things.”

  “Why?”

  “Because at the time those things are necessary, and civilized things might get in the way of a warrior doing his duty.”

  “When will we eat the warrior food?”

  “As soon as we make ourselves a bed to sleep on.”

  “How will we do that?”

  “Do you see those pine trees over there?”

  “Aye.”

  “Help me gather as many fallen branches as you can. We’ll pile them here in the notch between these two large roots. When we have a pile as wide as you are tall and half again as long as I am, we’ll eat our warrior’s dinner.”

  “C’est bon.” Thomas scampered off to the pine trees. Haven searched his chosen spot for hidden burrows.

  He had no desire to be awakened in the early hours by an angry animal trying to get out of its home. Finding nothing, he joined Thomas in the search for good branches from which to make their bed. Soon they settled on a springy mound of pine boughs. Haven sat with his back to the huge oak, placing his drawn sword ready to hand by his side. Thomas placed himself squarely between Haven’s legs and held out his hands.

  “I suppose you want your warrior’s food now.”

  “Please you, Sir Haven. I’ve been a good warrior. I was quiet, and I helped to make our bed as you bid me.”

  “And a good warrior deserves his meal. Here you are.” Haven placed several slivers of dried meat into Thomas’s hand. “Have you ever eaten dried meat before?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Well then, do not bite the meat. Put one end in your mouth until it gets soft. Then bite off the soft part and chew it up. When you’ve done that, do it again until all the meat is gone. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Thomas fell silent while he worked at eating the hard food.

  Haven watched the clearing. As the moon rose, its light cast sharp shadows over the grassy space between the oak and the trees on the clearing’s opposite edge. But nothing took on the shape of a man, and nothing moved.

  Eventually, Haven became aware that Thomas slept. He shifted the boy to a more comfortable position. Then Haven resumed his vigilance. He offered a prayer to God for Thomas’s safety and waited, watching all the while.

  Haven feared the time when weariness would overtake him and he too would sleep, leaving them both defenseless. He would do everything in his power to delay that moment as long as possible, but he knew it would come.

  Chapter Nine

  Haven’s hand leapt to his sword before the noise of several horses completely woke him.

  “I would not, if I were you,” came a lazy warning.

  Haven heard the rasp of more than a dozen blades, and he dropped his hand from his weapon. He turned his head to see who spoke, but sudden movement from Thomas distracted him.

  “Owain,” the boy shouted, as if he had just been crowned King of the May.

  Haven grabbed Thomas before the child could scramble away and go running into the circle of armed and mounted men who cut off all possible escape. “Hush, Thomas, these are enemies.”

  “No.” Thomas now stood on Haven’s thighs looking toward the men. “That’s Owain, my father’s sergeant-at-arms. He cannot be an enemy. On my birthday, Owain swore to my father that he would protect me,” Thomas explained, his face now nose to nose with Haven’s.

  Too many thoughts raced through Haven’s mind. Now is not the time to remind Thomas that his father is dead. If Owain was Roger’s man, then Thomas is in little danger, but I may be as dead as Roger. Is Owain the leader of these men? If not, who is, and what is their connection to Owain? How do I get Thomas to stay silent so I can handle this, and if I am lucky, save both our skins?

  “Thomas,” Haven spoke with the same gentle firmness he used when training Watley, “are you a warrior, and am I your commander?”

  Thomas nodded.

  “Then get behind me, while I talk with Owain.”

  Thomas’s face scrunched into a concerned pout. “Owain’s my special, good friend. Promise you will not hurt him.”

  Haven smiled at the boy’s drastic misreading of who might hurt whom. “Thomas, a warrior does not question or put conditions upon his commander’s orders.”

  “Aye, Sir Haven.” The boy climbed off Haven’s legs and squeezed himself between Haven and the tree.

  When Thomas had settled himself, that lazy voice came past Haven’s shoulder once more. “You are wise to retain the only advantage you have. Turn the boy over to us now, and we will let you go unharmed as soon as we have all of Roger Dreyford’s family in safekeeping.”

  “I cannot do that.”

  “Are you certain?”

  “Show yourself. Only cowards negotiate from hiding.”

  A mailed man rode into the center of the circle. “A cautious man knows when to let the enemy believe him a coward.”

  So this was the Owain of Roger’s letters. Dreyford had described his sergeant-at-arms as one of the most skillful but unorthodox fighters he had ever seen. According to Roger, Owain employed a fighting style that
combined animal cunning with cold logic and an overriding passion for bloodletting. Roger had been very glad not to be on the wrong end of any weapon Owain held. Now it looked to Haven as if he were in that unenviable position.

  “I will tell you once again, de Sessions. Surrender Thomas peacefully.”

  That Owain recognized Haven’s insignia was no surprise. Any good sergeant-at-arms should know the symbol of every man—friend or foe—that his master knew. “I cannot. The king charged me to bring him Dreyford’s family. I shall do so or die in the attempt.”

  “Then I suppose we’ll have to kill you, but have care for Thomas. He seems fond of you, and it might distress him to see you gutted.”

  Behind him, Haven heard Thomas gasp.

  Haven felt like groaning in despair. He grinned instead. “Fear not Thomas, Owain is not going to gut me. In fact, he will not hurt me at all.”

  “Whoa ho.” Owain laughed. “Is Edward’s true and perfect knight also a fool?”

  “Hardly,” Haven snorted. “What’s more, I think you know how little a fool I am.”

  “Since you seem to think that I am blessed with foreknowledge of your plans, why not explain to my friends here how you’ll manage to escape in one piece with Thomas when fifteen armed men surround you.”

  “I will not escape. You and your friends will escort me back to my camp and there swear fealty to me and my overlord, King Edward of England.”

  “Do you also believe that boars have teats?”

  The men in the circle laughed, adding crude jests of their own about Haven’s lack of reasoning skills.

  “Nay I do believe you know that the moment news of my death at your hands reaches Edward he will hunt you to the ends of the earth. I do not think an outlaw life is what you or your men want. In fact, I am certain of it, because Roger wrote that you shared with him your dreams to gain a holding. I would wager others of your band have similar dreams.”