Morgan sat forward and said abruptly, "Gareth, we would like you to return to Richard's court and try to discover any plans he may have regarding Henry's attack. See if you can discover how much he knows of our plans."
Gareth stared at his father with disbelief. "You want me to spy on him?" Morgan looked distinctly uneasy, but Gareth pressed on. "I am a knight of Britain. Is it not enough that I have forsworn to protect the king's life with my own? Should I now have to spy on the very man I am sworn to protect?"
Morgan gazed at Gareth understandingly, but Lord Stanley slammed his hands on the table and stood up, addressing Morgan.
"What is this man doing here, Morgan? Why are you wasting my time with someone who is still committed to that murdering--"
Gareth's fury rapidly matched Stanley's and he broke in, "I do not stand for Richard! But I do stand for Wales and England and by my knightly vows must defend their king."
"Enough!" Lord Stanley bellowed. "Your are either for Richard or against him. If you are for him, you would not be here. If you are against him, you will do anything in your power to bring about the end to his treacherous reign!"
"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."
Elena nodded and folded the cloth as neatly as she could. For some reason, it was nowhere near as small a package as it had been when she pulled it out. Bryant waited patiently as Elena shoved the untidy roll of fabric on top of the neat stack. Half of the piece hung off the shelf, loose threads from the end dangling, but it seemed in no danger of falling to the floor so Elena turned to Bryant with an over-bright smile, took his arm, and steered him away from the heap of fabric.
"Now, what are we going to eat? I'm starving," she said.
Bryant's chest swelled as he covered her hand on his arm with his other hand. "Whatever my lady desires, so shall she eat," he said with a flourish as they left the shop.
The market was indeed just around the corner and it was as boisterous and crowded as any Elena had seen in her travels with Richard's court. As they pushed their way through the crowds, Elena was bombarded with scents and sites. Old men sold fresh-caught fish from blue wooden carts, the unmistakably fishy smell wrinkling Elena's nose. A young boy of eleven or twelve walked on his hands for the amusement of a group of young girls. Everywhere women of all ages, bargained with merchants for this bolt of cloth or those rounds of cheese. As Bryant led her past a row of open-front shops, Elena heard a young pregnant woman convince the baker to give her a dozen rolls for free since she was buying two large loaves of bread anyway. "'Tis just so hard for me to bake. This babe," she said pointing to her protruding belly, "is causing me no end of misery." Elena laughed as the man looked nervously at her roundness before agreeing to her plea.
As they made their way to the center of the large square where the food merchants were set up, a tall man brushed past her, his long hair streaked by the sun, his well-muscled shoulders rippling under his thin linen shirt, his forearms tanned below rolled up shirt sleeves. Elena turned to watch as the man paused to talk to one of the merchants. From the side, she watched him as he burst into laughter, his teeth startlingly white against the tanned skin of his weather-grooved face. Someone stepped in front of Elena, blocking her view and she pushed him aside. As if feeling her gaze on him, the tall man turned his head. When he saw Elena, he smiled broadly and cocked his right eyebrow in a movement that could only be described as suggestive. Elena's eyes widened and she spun around, nearly colliding with Bryant.
"There you are! I though you were following me, but when I turned around, you were gone. It wouldn't be wise to become separated here," he said, firmly clasping her hand in his own. As he pulled
her towards another vendor, Elena craned her head around and discovered the well-built stranger staring at a point somewhere below her face. When he raised his eyes and grinned wickedly, Elena realized he must have been watching her hips as she walked away. She gasped and quickly turned around.
There were no men that rudely bold in Richard's court! No nobleman would dare look at a lady like that while she was cognizant of his attention. Elena paused in mid-thought. Of course, no men in Richard's court seemed so...virile, either. There was a confident power in that tanned face that did not stem from a title. Elena could remember no man who held himself so in Richard's court. No man except maybe...Gareth.
"How about some grilled lamb, my lady?" Bryant's voice pulled her from her thoughts, but she did not hear his question. When she looked at him uncomprehendingly, he explained. "They skewer pieces of lamb and roast it over a fire. It's quite tasty."
Suddenly Elena's hunger replaced all thoughts of virile soldiers and Gareth's appeal. "That sounds wonderful. Buy me two."
Bryant smiled and turned to the old man behind the table. "How much for each stick?"
"Two pence," the toothless mouth replied.
Bryant stared open mouthed at the old man. "Two pence? But the cart just over there is only charging a penny!"
The old man broke into a wheezing laugh. "That is because he serves mutton so dry and tough it takes you a week to digest it! Besides, I flavor mine with a very expensive spice my son has just brought me from the land of the barbarians. Try it," he said, handing a stick to Elena. "It's very spicy."
Elena bit into the tender meat, its juices running down her chin. The strange spice tickled her nose and burned the tip of her tongue but it was wonderfully pungent and she loved it.
"What is this spice called?" she asked, wiping her chin with her hand as delicately as she could.
"Tis some strange foreign name, but I believe my son said it sounded like cory. Or was it curry? My son has sailed the seas for twelve years and each time he returns, he brings me something unusual."
Bryant turned to Elena. "Is it acceptable, my lady?"
Elena nodded her head, her mouth full. When Bryant paid for only two, she prodded him with her elbow. "I'm absolutely famished," she said as soon as she swallowed. Bryant ordered a third.
With their meals in hand, Bryant led her to a rickety bench on the edge of a small clearing in the market. As they sat, Elena noticed two small, short tree stumps protruding from the ground. "What are those for?" she asked.
Bryant turned to look and said, "Oh, those are Viking stumps. Actually, no one knows what they're really called, but the Vikings introduced this game to the Welsh hundreds of years ago when they were constantly raiding our coast."
"How kind of them. How is it played?"
"A person will stand on each stump, a long rope held between them. When the game is begun, they both pull on the rope. The object is to force your opponent off his stump or pull the rope out of his hands. I imagine someone will begin playing soon enough and we can watch.
"But how simple--doesn't the biggest person always win?"
"Actually, no. There is a great deal of strategy and dexterity in the more skilled players."
As Elena ate, she wondered if women were allowed to play.
***
"Samuel, I would speak business with you a moment," Gareth said nervously.
The middle-aged weaver turned away from the small group of men talking in one corner of his shop. "Business, eh? I'm always willing to talk business, especially if it concerns you giving me money!" He laughed heartily and slapped Gareth on the shoulder. Seeing that Gareth was not laughing, he quickly sobered and asked, "What can I do for you?"
Gareth cleared his throat and began, "I need to purchase some cloth."
"Cloth, eh? I'm not sure if I can help you there." Again bursting into laughter--laughter that reminded Gareth of a braying mule--he turned to the wall of stacked bolts. Spying a mangled piece of crimson fabric, his laughter turned to sputters of outrage. "Look at this! People have no respect for a man's merchandise!" Pulling out the fabric, he shook it vigorously, smoothing out the wrinkles. "Now what type of fabric do you want and how much are you willing to spend?"
As he continued to shake the cranberry-colored fabric, Gareth had a sudden vision of Elena in the rich color, full skirts swirling around her feet, the soft fabric clinging to her hips.
"Is there enough of that fabric to make a lady's gown?"
"Oh, ho! A gown is it? Let me see." Carefully measuring the fabric from the end of one outstretched hand to the middle of his chest, he said, "There are eight lengths here, plus a little I won't charge you for."
"How much does it cost?" asked Gareth, pulling out the leather money pouch Morgan had given him.
Samuel gave his price, but before Gareth could naively hand over the money, Cynan bellowed, "That's highway robbery, old man! Don't pay it, Gareth, I'll take you to a much cheaper shop a couple of streets over."
Confused, Gareth looked back and forth between the two men, Samuel looking worried despite his smooth merchant's mask, and Cynan looking smug and slightly challenging. Suddenly distracted, Gareth asked his friend, "Where did you come from?"
"I just got off watch and came to find out the news."
Quietly, Gareth asked, "Is that really too much for the cloth?"
"I've no idea," Cynan responded in a whisper. "But one thing I've learned from Enid is that you never agree to a merchant's first price."
Gareth nodded, beginning to understand. In a louder voice, he said, "Perhaps I should look at this other shop. I need money for a chemise as well and this fabric would take all I have."
"Now, now," Samuel said as he rushed to block their exit. "You didn't let me finish. When I told you the price, I didn't get a chance to let you know that includes an equal length of this fine linen that would make a beautiful chemise.
"Linen?" Gareth asked, thinking quickly and getting into the negotiations. "Aren't chemises usually made of Italian cotton?" He remembered Elena bragging about that at some point in their journey.
Samuel laughed. “Only very expensive chemises for very grand ladies."
"Precisely," said Gareth and moved to leave.
"Alright, alright. You are stealing more from me than your father did this morning. Here," he said, pulling down a bolt of creamy cotton. "I'll give you five lengths--that's more than enough to make a chemise."
As Samuel measured out the cotton, Gareth fingered the soft wool. "Cynan? Do you think this color will look good on Elena?"
Cynan's eyebrows shot up. A smirk crossed his face and he looked like he was about to say something, but paused with his mouth open, studying Gareth's face. He must have seen something in his friend that made his own face soften as he gently said, "I think that is an excellent choice. Lady Elena will look beautiful in it."
Relieved, Gareth turned back to Samuel and counted out the money. Cynan looked down the hall. "Speaking of your lady, where is she?"
Gareth did not remember seeing Elena in the back room or the kitchen. Just a little worried, he said, "I'm not sure." His purchase in hand, he turned to go back to Samuel's living quarters, thinking she may have been cleaning up.
"Are you talking about that bonny redhead?" Gareth turned to see a short wiry man who'd been in the meeting upstairs.
"Yes, have you seen her?"
His arms full of bolts of cloth, the man gestured with his chin towards the door. "She left with some young man to the market."
"What young man? To the market? Why?"
"I think they were going to get something to eat. The man was upstairs. Your friend, I think."
"Bryant?" Gareth asked.
"I didn't catch his name."
"Food sounds like a wonderful idea to me," Cynan interrupted. "Let's join them."
Gareth nodded, suddenly aware of his own hunger. Turning, he tucked his package behind Samuel's counter. "Don't you dare sell that."
"What kind of merc
hant do you think I am?" Samuel asked indignantly. Gareth laughed and followed Cynan towards the door. As they left the small shop, they heard the wiry man say, "I'll take ten lengths of that brown if I get the same amount of linen for free, too."
Gareth and Cynan's laughter prevented them from hearing Samuel's sputtered response as they headed down the street.
Coming into the crowded marketplace, Cynan said, "I want three sticks of lamb and a huge tankard of ale!"
Gareth laughed. "Control your hunger for a moment. Let's find Elena and Bryant first."
"Find them in this crowd? We'll never eat!" Cynan wailed.
"Some mighty warrior you are!"
"I'm no warrior. I'm a simple shepherd who's used to eating regularly."
"Of course you are," Gareth said.
As they made their way through the crowds of people, Gareth wondered how Elena would react to his gift. Truly, clothing was a rather personal gift, but after all they had been through together, Gareth couldn't see how Elena would think him too forward. Then again, she could fling his gift back in his face. Perhaps, an insidious voice in his head said, what he feared was that she would reject him, not his gift. Gareth shook his head. Reject him? As if he was even offering himself!
"Gareth, what are we going to do with Elena?"
Glad to have something to get his mind off his feelings for Elena, Gareth looked over his shoulder and said, "What do you mean?"
"I mean, when you return to England, is she going with you?"
"Well, of course. That is her home."
"I know, but what will she tell Richard?"
"Tell him? Why should she tell him anything?"
"Come on, Gareth," Cynan paused as he ducked under a low-hanging sign offering repairs to saddles and bridles. "She's part of his court. You don't think he's going to have worried about her and wonder what she's been through?"
"She can tell him we were simply lost in the forest and made our way back with difficulty," Gareth said.
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