A Dishonorable Knight(10)

Chapter 4




Several rows back, Gareth spat out the mouthful of grit he had inhaled as a small gray horse galloped past, stirring up clouds of dust. He reached up to pat Isrid's neck. "You can believe I never thought to see you as a pack horse either," he whispered to his steed. Because neither Cynan nor Bryant owned a horse, Gareth had loaded all of their belongings on Isrid and walked with his friends. He adjusted his thick leather hauberk as a rivulet of sweat ran down his back, and cursed as he felt a rock rolling around in his boot. Taking off his helm, he hung it on Isrid's saddle. I may only look like a man-at-arms now, he thought, but at least I will not pass out from the heat. "I will admit it to you if no one else," he confessed to the horse, "I have grown accustomed to riding. I do not think I am going to be able stand more than three or four miles of this torture."

"Are you whining again, Gareth?" Cynan asked good-naturedly.

"Just bemoaning your lack of foresight in not borrowing a horse when you came to visit. We could be riding this dusty road instead of eating it if you had but thought ahead!"

"I never thought I should live to see the day when Gareth ap Morgan would be too puny to walk a few miles on a beautiful summer day, did you Bryant?"

Visibly trying to keep from smiling, Bryant looked at Gareth in mock pity. "Well, Cynan, you must admit that broadsword does look awfully heavy. And those shiny silver spurs are none too light either!"

"But I wager that the heaviest thing our friend carries is the title of Sir Gareth, wouldn't you say?" Both men burst out laughing while Gareth leveled an exasperated glare at them. In truth, Gareth had missed their constant teasing. Now smiling at his friends, he thought how little they each had changed since they were youths. He had always loved the tales of chivalry and honor of King Arthur's court, thinking out elaborate games for the three of them to play: games in which he always got to save the fair maidens and vanquish the evil sorcerers. Cynan had played along willingly, but took even greater delight in teasing Gareth about his "lofty ideals." Bryant was the quiet follower, playing whatever games his friends dreamed up, content to let them be the heros.

The three followed the troops in front of them as they made their way through the dusty countryside. There had been no rainfall for a fortnight and the tall grass on either side of the road was coated in dust. The flowers hung their heads limply and even the thick copse of trees further back from the road seemed to be gasping from the dry heat.

Six hours later, even Cynan and Bryant were too tired to tease Gareth. The walk had not been particularly strenuous as the roads were good, but the sun had beat down unmercifully all day and the dust raised by thirty horses and twice as many men was chokingly thick. By the time they stopped at sunset to camp outside a small town, they were all exhausted.

"I do not know how you have lived without the cool mountains of Gwynedd, Gareth," said Cynan as he flopped down onto his blanket. "I could have sworn we were marching in the Holy Land to meet Saracens, it was so hot today."

"'Tis days like today that make me wish I was home again," Gareth agreed.

"Then why do you not come back?" Bryant asked, unfolding his small pack.

Cynan propped himself up on his elbows. "Yes, why not? It has been at least two years since you last visited your father and," Cynan glanced around to make sure no one was within hearing distance. "You could learn more about our plans to aid Henry Tudor."

Gareth stared at the flames of their small campfire as he stirred what he hoped would taste like stew. "Soon. I will come visit soon," he said answering Cynan's first proposal and ignoring mention of the exiled earl who had already attempted one landing in England to overthrow King Richard.

Cynan scoffed disgustedly. "Can you not see, man, nothing noble is going to happen to you while you are in the service of this butcher! If you remain in Richard’s service, you are going to find yourself fighting honest Welshmen--one of whom seeks the crown so he can rule Wales and England fairly."

"Enough, Cynan! I am bound in fealty to the crown, despite who wears it and I cannot abandon my post just because you like not who wears it."

Cynan started to argue but Bryant broke in. "That stew looks like ‘tis ready to eat, Gareth and if we're not careful, the aroma is going to attract a crowd." With a meaningful glance at the men scattered around, Cynan and Gareth nodded in understanding and turned their attention to eating.