A Dishonorable Knight(12)

Seeing Richard's squire, Gareth yelled as loudly as he could. "We're not but a few miles from Haddon Hall. Take the women and as many mounted men as you can and ride on." The young squire, pale with fear, nodded and yelled to the other squires. Within moments, nearly all of the women were fleeing. Gareth started after them to make sure none of the attackers would follow, but the men seemed intent on getting to Richard and were abandoning the women. Turning back, Gareth saw two women heading north, back up the road the company had just come down. "God’s wounds! They're going to get themselves killed!"

***

"Your Highness I really think we should have gone the other way with the rest of the women," Elena gasped as she clung to the mane of her horse. "We shall become lost or be set upon by more attackers!"

"Worry not Elena. Neither will happen," Princess Elizabeth called back.

"But--"

Slowing her horse until Elena's smaller palfrey caught up, Elizabeth said, "These are the men of my cousin, Charles Woodville. They are here to escort me home."

"But why are they attacking?"

"Do hurry Elena. We must get further down the road. Richard meant to marry me to solidify his hold on the throne. I cannot and will not marry him."

"Do they mean to kill the king?"

Elizabeth looked over her shoulder at the fight. "I do not think they would be too concerned if that happened."

"What?" Elena asked, unsure she heard Elizabeth aright over the noise of the battle behind them. "Your Highness, do you know what you are saying?"

Glancing sharply at Elena, Elizabeth said, "He killed my brothers, Elena. Furthermore, I will not enter into an incestuous marriage with my uncle."

"But Your Highness--"

"Elena, please be quiet and just ride. I swear no harm will come to you. You may even return to Richard's party once I am safely away."

Elena would have argued more, but the look in Elizabeth's eyes made her close her mouth.

***

Back at the battle, Gareth whirled his horse to follow the two stray women. Suddenly, three more well-armed men tried to pull him from his horse, one grasping his sword arm at the wrist, another trying to grab Isrid's reins, while the third picked a sword from a fallen comrade's grasp and approached Gareth from the opposite side. Isrid effectively dislodged the man trying to pull at his reins. When his head was free, the horse bit into the man's shoulder, sending blood pouring down his arm.

Meanwhile, a battle rage Gareth had never before felt seemed to seep into his eyes along with the sweat and blood from a cut on his brow. Possessed of strength he didn't think he had left, he pulled his sword arm free at the same time he swung Isrid around to confront the armed man. His opponent was momentarily frozen with surprise at the unexpected move but Gareth didn't pause as he brought his sword around to stab at his opponent. In a disconnected part of his brain, Gareth marveled at the feel of his sword in his hand--it felt as light as a feather, as supple as a whip. Wheeling Isrid around again, he did not even feel the blade that sliced along his leg, but instead used the injured limb to kick the blade's wielder in the face. Gareth's final opponent stood immobile, staring past Gareth's shoulder and Gareth thought he was going to have an easy kill when he heard a whirring sound and turned in time to see a large stone leave a leather sling. As if in a dream, Gareth saw the missile coming toward him, but--as in a dream--he felt he was moving through water. Suddenly, time sped up as the rock raced towards his face and cracked him soundly on the side of the head. All he saw after that was the hard-packed dirt of the road as it rushed up to meet him.

***

The last rays of sunlight were fading from the sky when Gareth slowly regained consciousness. When he was able to pry his eyes open, he saw the fuzzy features of Cynan and Bryant. Slowly sitting up, he rubbed the lump under the blood-clotted hair on the side of his head. He was still in the middle of the road and his mouth was coated with dust. Spitting vociferously he pushed himself to his feet, grabbing onto Bryant when he wobbled.

"Where's--" he spat another mouthful of dirt and his voice sounded like a bullfrog's to his own ears. "Where's Isrid."

"Somewhere in these accursed woods," said Cynan. "He stayed near you after you fell off in the fray--"

"I did not fall off!" he said too loudly. His head threatened to split like a frostbitten cabbage.

"--and only bolted when some bastard tried to mount him."