A Dishonorable Knight (23 page)

"Who, King Richard?" Gareth
teased.

Bryant shrugged and shook his head
dramatically as he led them down a small hall. "No, you oaf. Lord Stanley,
Henry's stepfather."

Gareth paused and in the dark hall,
Elena ran into his back. He ignored her jab to his ribs as he asked, "Does
Richard not hold his son as a hostage to Stanley's loyalty?"

"Yes which is why it is so
amazing that he's here. He is risking many lives to help Henry plan."

Ignoring Elena, who kept running into
him and poking him in the ribs, Gareth marveled at the news. So, Lord Stanley
had finally chosen a side. For the past three reigns, Stanley had vacillated
between Lancaster and York, showing support for whichever party sat on the
throne. The last his father had heard, the influential Stanleys were remaining
carefully aloof from the upcoming confrontation between Henry and Richard.
Perhaps Stanley's wife, Henry's mother, had finally forced him to take a stand.
Gareth felt much more confident in their success with Bryant's news.

The dim hall emptied into a small,
tidy living area. Turning, Bryant gestured to the chairs at the table.
"Lady Elena, if you will sit here, I will return shortly and try to find
something for you to eat." Motioning to Gareth, he led the way to a door
in the corner of the room. Opening the door, Bryant started up a narrow
staircase, Gareth following quickly behind.

"Wait!" Elena said
imperiously. "Where are you going? What about me?"

Gareth turned around and Bryant bent
down on the steps so he could see into the room. "Elena," Gareth
began. This meeting is between Henry's closest advisors and those of us who are
willing to die to put him on the throne. There is no way we can bring a woman
to the meeting, much less an English woman from Richard's court.”

Elena frowned and stomped her foot.
"But I'm Welsh, too. And besides, I almost died for this cause,
remember?"

Gareth crossed the room and took
Elena's face between his hands, his thumbs caressing her soft cheeks. Elena
grasped his wrists but did not try to pull his hands away. Gareth's voice was
quiet as he tried to explain.

"As it is, my father and I are
very honored to be allowed at this meeting. Were it not for Eyri Keep's
strategic location to a marching army and our ability to provide supplies for
that army, we would be waiting with every other Welsh farmer for the call to
follow instead of preparing to lead. What you did for this cause was very
important and you can be sure I will credit you for saving our lives. But I cannot
impose on Lord Stanley by bringing you unannounced into this meeting."
Kissing her gently on the forehead, he said, "Please, Elena."

Elena shook her head. "But I can
contribute! I know Richard's court! I may know something you don't, although
I'm sure you will find it hard to believe," she finished sarcastically.

Gareth refused to take offense and
said, "I'm sorry Elena." Turning, he rejoined Bryant and closed the
door to the staircase.

Ahead of him on the stairs, Bryant
said, "I don't think you should be so familiar with Lady Elena."

Gareth, his mind on the meeting
upstairs frowned in the dark. "Familiar? What are you talking about?"

Bryant was silent for a moment and
then said tightly, "Kissing her, touching her, calling her by her given
name alone."

"So?"

"She's betrothed! And even were
she not, she wouldn't be able to tell that you were not serious, that you don't
care for her in
that
way."

Gareth felt like he had walked into
the middle of a stranger's conversation. "In
what
way? What are you talking about, Bryant? I was just trying to
comfort her."

They had reached the top of the steps
and Bryant paused, his hand on the door handle. He turned around but Gareth
could not make out the expression on his face in the dark stairwell. "If
Henry Tudor should be successful, Lady Elena will not have to marry that fat
earl. Just how do you thing a gently-bred noble lady will feel when she turns
to you only to discover your intentions were not honorable? She's not a serving
wench you can romp in the hay with and then forget about. And though she's part
Welsh, she lives in England and they are not so tolerant of love affairs and
bastard children as we are. Furthermore, Gareth, I will not let you break Lady
Elena's heart."

Gareth's head spun. "Bastard
children? Have you lost your mind Bryant? I'm not interested in a 'love
affair,' a 'romp in the hay,' or anything else with Elena. I'm just grateful to
her for her help and trying to keep her from being more frightened than she
already is." His words were true, and yet not the whole truth, but he
refused to confess things to Bryant he hadn’t even had time to admit to
himself. A new thought struck Gareth. "Have you more 'honorable'
intentions than that?"

Before Bryant could respond, the door
swung open, blinding the two men in the stairwell with bright sunlight as
Gareth's father's voice said, "Come in boys and thank the Blessed Virgin
Mary you're alive, son."

Bryant and Gareth entered the
brightly lit room and Morgan hugged his son tightly. As his eyes adjusted,
Gareth saw that the room was full of men of all ages. Some were sitting, others
were standing against the wooden walls, but all had a look of strained
impatience at the interruption and a reckless excitement in their faces, no
doubt from the meeting's topic. Gareth and Bryant quickly found an empty spot
of wall and leaned against it.

"Shall we continue?" said a
well-dressed man with an English accent. His face was thin and bearded; Gareth
guessed him to be Lord Stanley. "Fair weather providing, His Majesty will
arrive sometime in August. You understand we cannot risk telling any of you
where he will land. We
can not
risk him meeting
Richard's men before he has had a chance to meet up with my forces and those
you all will be able to muster. Again, for safety's sake, we will not give you
any direction as to our plan of attack through England until absolutely
necessary.

"What I would like to know is
this: How much support does the Earl of Richmond, true heir to the English
throne, have in Wales?" His steely blue eyes surveyed the room, carefully
examining each man's face. A few of the men standing shifted their weight from
foot to foot. Others dropped their eyes to the floor. Gareth knew that much of
Wales, like much of England, was indifferent to the latest battle in this “War
of the Roses.” Common men and women had been affected very little by the
fighting between the Lancasters and the Yorks. To most, the battles
among
the two houses only affected them when it happened in
their rye fields or over their vegetable patches. Otherwise, it was nothing
more than a skirmish among wealthy gentlemen.

Scanning the room
himself
,
Gareth knew that these men were thinking the same thing. Not many Welshmen
would choose to die for a man who claimed the English throne when the next year
a new contender may appear with a better claim. Someone cleared his throat and
Lord Stanley's eyes narrowed. Before Stanley could say anything, Gareth's
father spoke.

"The Welsh will fight for Wales.
Should Henry Tudor swear to grant us more rights and freedoms than we've
enjoyed under previous English kings, he will find his supporters here
innumerable."

Lord Stanley's face flushed and he
angrily asked, "Must he bribe you as mercenaries then? Will the Welsh not
fight simply for the rightful ruler of all Britain?

Morgan smiled. "There are many
men who would claim Richard is the rightful heir.
Or the
Princess Elizabeth herself.
You will have a hard time convincing
Welshmen to risk their lives for just another Englishman."

"But he is the grandson of Owain
Tudor--a Welsh statesman. You all know that," Stanley argued.

"Yes," Morgan replied
calmly. "But will he act like Owain Tudor's grandson? Will a Welsh king of
Britain mean a Welshman will be equal to an Englishman? Will it mean the
concerns of Wales be given equal consideration to those of England? Will a
Welsh grandson mean Welshmen in English government positions?"

Stanley sat back, his elbows on the
arms of the chair, his fingers steepled in front of his mouth as he studied
Morgan.

"What I am saying, Lord Stanley,
is that his name could be Llywelyn and the men of Wales would not die for him
without some assurances that Wales will benefit."

Lord Stanley nodded slowly and seemed
to be considering something weighty. Finally he dropped his hands from his
mouth as he sat forward. "You may rest assured that Wales will benefit
should it support the true king."

When he seemed to have nothing else
to say, Morgan looked at the men around the room and then said, "My Lord
Stanley, surely you must realize that we cannot convince the farmers and
shepherds with such a simple answer. Nay, even I in my conviction that Henry
Tudor is the rightful king remember all too clearly how assurances can lose
their priority once a goal such as the throne has been reached."

Lord Stanley clenched his teeth
tightly. "Are you implying that I will not keep my word or that my stepson
will so quickly forget the very people who helped him gain his
birthright?"

In a calm, even voice that Gareth
remembered so clearly from evening stories in front of the fire, Morgan
replied, "Lord Stanley, if you will reflect on my words, I'm sure you will
see I meant no disrespect. No one in all of Britain dare doubt your sincerity
and no one here dare doubt your stepson's appreciation. Rather, we all know
that running a kingdom is a terrific responsibility that requires a king's
constant vigilance. In light of that, it would be perfectly understandable for
King Henry to be overwhelmed by his responsibilities and be forced to relegate
the task of appointing Welsh officers to the future, rather than trying to do
everything at once." Gareth had been the subject of his father's rational
logic too many times while growing up not to see that Lord Stanley was doomed.
"All I ask you to understand is that the Welsh people are not as patient
as their rightful sovereign is and they may misinterpret advance planning as
forgetfulness. If His Majesty could see fit to perhaps deliver his assurances
of change personally, he will be amazed at the number of men who will pour from
the mountains of Wales to carry him to England."

Lord Stanley was visibly torn.
"Perhaps he could send letters to you local lords and inform you of his
plans for Wales."

Morgan smiled warmly. "That
would be excellent. In the same missive with his instructions for our troops,
of course."

Lord Stanley paused. "Of
course."

Gareth breathed a sigh of relief,
glad that he was not in Lord Stanley's shoes. Morgan always had a way of making
you agree to things as if they had been your idea in the first place. With that
the meeting was quickly concluded and the men stood to leave, some pausing to
speak to Lord Stanley, others milling about uncertainly. Gareth wondered if
they were still unconvinced of Stanley's promises, but he had no idea what had
occurred before his arrival.
His thoughts were interrupted by
Morgan
. "We thought you were dead or taken, son. '
Tis good to see you here and unharmed.
Did you run into
trouble?"

"Almost. We were accosted by a
troop of English soldiers who were asking about Aberystwyth. We had to detour
to make it look like we were heading to Cardiff."

"Why Cardiff?" Bryant
asked.

Gareth smiled, remembering Elena's
performance. "Elena told the soldiers we were traveling to Cardiff to
visit her family."

"Quick thinking," Morgan
mused.

"Did Bryant tell you how she
escaped the convent to warn us of that Godless abbess?"

Morgan nodded. "A brave
lass," he said with a knowing smile.

Suddenly looking around, Gareth
asked, "Where's Cynan?"

"He's on watch--Richard's men
have been thick as flies around town trying to find out our meeting spot,"
Bryant answered.

Gareth looked at the fifteen or
twenty men in the small room. "Isn't it going to look a little suspicious
if these men leave a weaver's shop all at once?"

"Some of the men will exit out
the back," Morgan explained as Bryant was called away by one of the other
men. "When the men leave here, they'll go in ones and twos, many with
packages of cloth to make it appear as if it is business as usual." Morgan
laughed. "I think Samuel was anxious to have the meeting here so he could
force us to buy fabric!"

"That reminds me. Do you have
any money with you I could borrow?"

"Borrow? You needn't borrow
money from me. You've never taken a dime for your work at Eyri Keep. You'll
take what I have as little enough payment. But how does Samuel's textiles
remind you of money?"

Gareth paused, embarrassed. He
glanced over his shoulder, relieved to see Bryant leaving the meeting room.
"I...I promised Elena I would buy her a new gown."

"A what?" Morgan's eyes
suddenly narrowed. "Cynan told me that you attended Lady Elena when she
was ill in her room for several days. Did you take advantage of her? Damn it,
Gareth, she's not a simple country girl you can seduce and then forget about!
Have I taught you no better than that?"