One True Knight (The Knights of Honor Trilogy) (16 page)

Jonathan frowned at his condescending tone. “I called you here to gather intelligence,” he said, crossing his own arms. Since Richard’s death, Raulf had become hostile. All pretense of respect was gone. And every time that they crossed paths, he could sense the negative energy, the contemptuous sneer that was there, barely concealed.

Raulf cocked an eyebrow at him as if to suggest Jonathan’s lack of intelligence.

“I want you to reveal what you know about the outlaws,” Jonathan said, trying hard to tamper down the annoyance that threatened to escape.

“Is that what you called me here for?” Raulf made a sound of disgust, and spat on the ground. “I have told you all I know. Any more and I will be repeating myself.”

“Then repeat yourself,” Jonathan snapped, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.

Raulf shrugged, and then as if he realized that his face was being studied, a bored expression settled onto his features. His hooded eyes focused on a spot beyond Jonathan’s right shoulder, and when he spoke, it sounded as if his entire speech was rehearsed. “The villeins were attacked by outlaws, that much I know. Homes burnt, crops and livestock stolen, that sort of thing,” Raulf said. “Obviously the outlaws are getting much bolder, however there hasn’t been anything we can do to stop them. These criminals — they are a very clever group of men.”

“They’re cleverer than you, I suppose,” Gareth said, his voice turning contemptuous.

Raulf snapped his gaze onto Gareth’s face, bristling at his tone. He inhaled deeply, and then facing Jonathan again, he continued in a monotone. “I have spoken to the villeins and I have sent men to track down the outlaws, but the outlaws remain elusive. Thus far we have not been able to sniff them out of their dens. We do not understand their raiding habits either. They would leave the villeins alone for many months and then without warning, they would attack.”

Jonathan drummed his fingers on the wooden trestle table, his eyes trained on the commander’s face. “Were there many fatalities?”

“None from our side, but a handful of villagers have died in the skirmishes,” Raulf said, again looking over Jonathan’s shoulder, unaware or unconcerned of his growing impatience. He took off his gauntlets and began slapping them on his thigh almost absently. Then he added as an after thought, “However there have been no fatalities in the more recent raids.”

“More recent raids?” Jonathan said. “I was not aware of any recent raids — how many more raids have there been?”

“I did not know of any new raids either, sire,” Alfred interjected, hoping to deflect any blame from himself.

Jonathan didn’t bother looking at the steward, and focused his attention on Raulf, waiting for the explanation to come forth.

“Only three raids have occurred since Richard’s death. They were small and not much damage was done to the villagers.” Raulf shrugged, and picked off a spec of lint that was on the front of his tunic. “I had everything under control and saw little point in disturbing you or anyone else from your time of mourning.” He flicked the lint away.

“Only three raids,” Gareth broke in sardonically. He kept silent this whole time but he was no longer able to hold back his dislike. “This is madness! Sir Richard has been dead for less than a fortnight.” He spat on the ground. “Nothing is under control if the criminals are still at large. This speaks to me as incompetence on your part. Commander indeed.”

The bored look slipped from Raulf’s face, and he looked at Gareth with pure hatred spitting from his eyes. His hand dropped automatically to the hilt of his sword, ready to draw. “You offend me, sire,” he said, his voice rising in cold fury.

Gareth snorted, and stepped forward, also gripping the hilt of his sword. “Everything about
you
offends me,” he shot back.

“Enough!” Jonathan bellowed.

With some reluctance, Gareth stepped back, and fell silent, although his eyes never left the other man.

“I will not tolerate fighting in my hall,” Jonathan said. He watched Raulf’s reaction carefully. “Now I want to know what you propose to do next.”

Raulf took a deep breath, trying in effort to control his rage. “I have done all I can,” he spat. “You, on the other hand, are now the lord of the castle and ‘tis your duty to capture the outlaws. You have limited my capacity as the commander of this garrison and with that my hands are tied.”

“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, and 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.”