A Dishonorable Knight(153)

“Let me through!” she cried, but her plea was lost in the battle cry of thousands of men. She made small headway before being swept forward again. Without knowing how, she found herself at the crest of the hill. She glanced down and gasped.

The battle had begun. The archers were exchanging volley after volley of arrows, the Welsh easily discernible with their longbows, which wreaked havoc in the enemy’s line. The man beside her was struck in the throat by a stray, lucky shot. Elena screamed and redoubled her efforts to push her way through the line. “Let me through, I say. By order of his grace, Henry Tudor.”

That had some effect and Elena was roughly pushed to the back of the lines. Bruised and feeling as though she had fought a battle, she collapsed on the trampled ground to catch her breath.

She returned to the baggage line where the pages were pretending to be busy organize the packs, bundled tents, and spare weapons.

Several of the pages tried to get her to join them, but Elena refused, curling up on the ground beneath a cart. She prayed with a devotion she had never felt as the minutes slowly crept by.

To her surprise, she awoke some time later. Terrified that she had missed something, she scrambled out from her hiding place.

“I tell you, the battle is over!” said one of the pages.

“Our orders are to remain here,” argued another.

“And miss our share of the bounty? I think not!” the first boy said, and left with a small group for the ridge. Elena hurried to keep up with them and thus had her first view of the aftermath of the battle.

In a small field that would have barely held a flock of sheep, ten thousand men had met in fierce combat. There was not an inch of ground that had not been trampled, turned, or bloodied. The lush grass was flattened and torn to a matted pulp on which the dead and wounded cushioned their heads. Everywhere she looked, one gruesome sight or another met her eyes. Bodies were hacked beyond recognition, laying haphazardly where they fell, some on their backs where they gazed sightlessly at the bright blue sky overhead, others face down in the trampled dirt which a ceaseless flow of blood had turned to mud. Moans of tortuous pain reached her and she saw trembling hands lifted, voices begging for help. Oh the battle was definitely over, she thought a bit wildly as she choked down the bile that rose at the sights and smells assailing her. But who had won? She saw men held prisoner in small groups by soldiers with pikes and swords, but whose men were they?

A shout drew her attention across the small valley she saw a man pulling something from a cluster of bushes. Elena squinted and saw the light reflect off the objects shiny surface. The crown of England! she thought. Wide eyed, she watched as the man strode towards a small group of men in the center of the field. The man approached the group and bowed as a tall blond man stepped away from the crowd. The blond man took the crown and held it in the air so that all could see it before he set it firmly on his head. Elena exhaled with relief. That was not Richard, but Henry Tudor, now King of England. So intrigued was she with what was going on below her that she shrieked in fear when a man on horseback rode up to her.

"Sweet Mary, but you frightened me!"

The man laughed and gestured with his chin to the center of the field. "And you frightened our new king with that scream."

Elena turned and saw Henry shaking his head and laughing with the men around him. He gestured for her to join him.

“Well lad, it seems you did not obey my orders to stay with the baggage.”

Elena’s eyes widened. Had she truly crossed the king? “Forgive me, your grace, but I seek a friend.”

“Am I not your friend?” he joked with the intense joy of one who had gambled everything and won.

“Of–of course sire...” Elena did not know what to say.

“Go on then and seek your friend.” Elena turned to leave. “Boy!” Henry called and something in the way he said it made her realize he knew she was not a boy. She turned around, but Henry only winked at her.

She felt her face warm but her embarrassment was quickly forgotten as she resumed her search for Gareth. She had no idea how she would locate him and pushed down a surge of panic.

Destiny, fate, or pure blind luck came to her assistance. Twenty paces beyond the king, crouched on the ground were Gareth and Bryant. "Gareth!" she called as she pushed past a small group of men and began running towards him. Gareth lifted his head wearily, but when he saw her, he quickly pushed himself to his feet and lifted her off the ground as she flung herself at him. His arms crushed her body to him and she reveled in their strength. He was alive and unharmed! Her heart sang with the news and as soon as he lowered her to the ground, she grabbed his head and forced it to hers so that she might see his face. What she saw astounded her. Gone was the boyishness that had been present even in their most intimate and most dangerous times. That unruly lock of hair that was forever getting in his eyes was held off his forehead with clotted blood. Sweat and grime drew harsh lines around his eyes and mouth and his eyes looked weary beyond his years. Elena's heart constricted with grief and worry for him. As he turned and led her to where Bryant was still crouched on the ground, she realized the cause behind his inexplicable sorrow.