A Dishonorable Knight(64)

"But it’s not that simple!" Gareth argued.

Lord Stanley clenched his teeth and threw himself back in his chair. Before he could say anything else, Morgan spoke up. "Why did you not tell me about these reservations in the privacy of our own home, Gareth?"

Gareth could tell his father was upset, but he could not shake the feeling that serving as a spy was the ultimate disgrace. Since allowing Cynan and Bryant to talk him into coming to Wales, he had been struggling with his mixed emotions. He did not think Richard was the king he should be, and what little he knew of Henry Tudor led him to believe he would make a better leader. But having only been a knight for little more than a year, the solemn promises he had made in his knighting ceremony were still fresh in his mind. He had promised not to forsake the trust of his sovereign, nor to bear arms against him. Now he was decided to do both of those acts. That he should also have to spy...

"It is not that I have reservations about the rightness of Henry Tudor on the throne. I do not have reservations about fighting Richard and his men face to face on the battlefield. I do not have reservations about dying for this cause. But spying? That just doesn't seem right."





"Sweet Jesu!" Stanley exploded. "You will die for this cause, but you will not do something to gain information that could prevent your death?" Stanley looked from Gareth to Morgan.

Morgan turned to Gareth and said. "I understand your feelings, son. There is great honor in deciding when something is wrong and then being able to battle for what is right." Gareth felt a moment of relief that he would not have to do as they had asked. "But honor is not always so black and white. Oftimes, the most honorable path is the one that is the least tasteful to you. Without gaining some knowledge of how much Richard knows and his plans for us, we have little chance of succeeding."

Gareth stared miserably at his father before nodding his head in acceptance. "Very well. I will do as you ask."

"Thank you, Gareth," Morgan said, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly.

Lord Stanley spent the next ten minutes giving details and instructions to Gareth. When Gareth left, he said, "I hope we can trust your son."

Morgan looked sharply at Stanley, but when he spoke, his voice was as ever, calm, and even. "Gareth has a very strong sense of honor and propriety. Once he has agreed to a course of action, nothing will deter him from it. He will come through." Standing, Morgan followed his son downstairs.

Alone in the room, Stanley leaned back in his chair, the lines in his face seeming to deepen with worry and fatigue. "God help us if he doesn't."





Chapter 15




In the small living area downstairs, Elena watched groups of men come through the door in the corner. They invariably started when they spotted her and she nodded as regally as she could to each of them, trying to act like she belonged here. None of the men spoke to her as they scurried down the hall to the front room or ducked out the back door into a narrow alley. Finally, Bryant was among the men coming downstairs and he hurried over to her, a delighted grin on his face.

"Now that is over with, shall we get you something to eat?"

Elena nodded, but looked at the small kitchen across the room apprehensively. Although it was as spotless as the living area, she could see no evidence of prepared food. She knew absolutely nothing about cooking, and having eaten Bryant's cooking on the road, she decided she would rather listen to her stomach growl all night than eat anything they could concoct. She turned back to Bryant with such a resigned look on her face that he burst out laughing.

"I promise, no more dried beef. There is a marketplace just around the corner and there is sure to be food as this town has festivals and fairs constantly during the summer."

"Thank God and every one of his saints," said Elena gratefully. "Lead the way."

They waited out in the cloth shop until the men preceding them had disappeared inconspicuously down the street. While she waited, Elena fingered the rich textures of the cloth stacked on shelves along the walls. She came across one at the bottom of a stack she couldn't resist pulling out. It was a finely woven wool, soft as any Italian cotton, and it was a warm cranberry color, slightly faded, but a rich color, rich as a young girl's lips after her first kiss. Elena shook out the folds of the cloth and held it up against her, admiring the drap as she flared it at her feet.

"Lady Elena?" Bryant interrupted her play. "We can go now."