Timeless Tales of Honor

by Suzan Tisdale

  Henry snorted softly, quaffing from his own tin goblet. "When it is the only drink supplied, you learn to live with it," he drank again, refilling the chalice Richmond had already managed to drain. As Richmond put the cup to his lips, Hotspur eyed him carefully. "Care to tell me why you are here? 'Tis a long way from London."

  Richmond drained his cup, already feeling the warmth fill his veins. All of his armor from the waist up fell to the floor in pieces, along with a heavy woolen tunic. Clad in his lower body protection and a relatively thin linen tunic, his poured himself a third cup of wine.

  "You know why I am here," he said quietly, pondering the dark contents of his goblet. "Truthfully, Henry, do you take me for a fool? At the king's bequest, I ride to the border to assess the progression of the Welsh rebellion and upon arrival I am told that you have not been seen in weeks. It is assumed that you have turned against your king and have taken up camp within the Welsh resistance," he took a long drink, eyeing Northumberland's heir. "Would you refute these rumors?"

  Hotspur stared at his friend through the dimly-lit interior of his tent. He could scarcely believe the man was before him, living and breathing. He fully expected him to be stationed in London, by Henry's side, as a missive arrived from the Welsh border announcing a precious hostage.

  Henry was terribly possessive of Richmond; during the skirmish with Richard, Henry had kept Richmond with him constantly as if using the man as a bizarre security shield. Rarely had Richmond left his king's side, and the fact that he had suddenly appeared in the midst of the Welsh stand-off was somewhat of a shock.

  Owen would think so, too. Although they eventually desired Richmond within their fold, to have the man here on the very day that Arissa had arrived was something of a surprising event. Glendower had prepared for months of exchanging missives before allowing Richmond into his encampment, and Hotspur was correct in his reasoning that having Richmond and their valuable hostage within the same enclosure was not a particularly attractive situation.

  It was dangerous to have the lovers within such close proximity. Events could rapidly spin out of control if they weren't careful.

  But for the moment, Richmond was expecting an answer and Henry struggled not to appear too distracted by the unexpected wrinkle in their plans. He smiled feebly and averted his gaze.

  "I fear to refute the rumors would be to perjure myself," he said softly. "Obviously, I have taken up residence within the heart of the Welsh rebellion and I have brought two hundred of my men with me. Hundreds more will be coming from Northumberland and her allies to the north, numbers that will be able to bring Henry to his knees. But, certainly, this is of no surprise to you. If you listened to the hearsay, then you have already suspected as much."

  Richmond gazed at his friend a long moment, sighing heavily after a time. Slowly, he set his empty goblet to a worn table. "I know your alliance with Henry has never been particularly strong, but I never realized it would take something as insignificant as a monarch's thoughtless ramblings to drive you to the enemy."

  "Thoughtless ramblings?" Hotspur's eyebrows rose in mild outrage. "I would hardly call the slander he spouted insignificant, Richmond. The man accused me of incompetence and foolery, among other things. If my alliance to the king is dissolved, then it is by his own hand and not mine."

  Richmond sighed again. "You are well aware of the careless nature of England's monarchs. You knew the loss of the three fortresses was not your fault and you should have maintained your innocence. Instead, you defect to the enemy and it makes your guilt appear entirely sincere."

  Hotspur bolted from his chair, his face taut. "Do not tell me how to maintain my reputation, le Bec. My nickname speaks for itself."

  "Hotspur indicates quick temper and sharp skill," Richmond returned steadily. "It would seem that at least half of that nickname is more prevalent than the other."

  "Bastard," Henry muttered angrily, turning away. "How dare you come here to question my judgment and loyalties. 'Tis I who have been battling the Welsh on the border for nearly two years, only to be slapped in the face for my efforts by an ungrateful monarch who, by all accounts, isn't even the rightful king. If there was any justice of righteousness in this world, Richard would still ruling England."

  "And England would still be divided by bitterness and inner turmoil. Henry, for the most part, has stopped the civil squabbles by united her feudal barons."

  "Henry is king only because the church forced Richard to step down," Henry shook his head sharply. "I have no desire to argue the point with you. We will always see differently in this regard."

  Richmond scratched his head wearily, thinking on another cup of wine. "Mayhap. As it is, I have ridden all the way from London to obtain the answer I have received this night," he moved to pour himself another chalice of liquor. "You are intent to oppose Henry?"

  "I am."

  Richmond finished pouring his wine, studying the contents closely. "Then you have put me in an extremely awkward position," he said softly. He turned to his friend, his expression one of remorse and sincerity. "You realize we will be fighting on opposite sides, Hotspur. I do not relish the idea of meeting you on the field of battle."

  Henry met his gaze with a countenance of equal depth. "Nor I. But I must do what I feel is correct."

  "You mean you must seek vengeance on your king."

  Hotspur nodded faintly. "There is a measure of truth in that statement, but it is not the entire reason. There are several, those which we have discussed before and those I have never mentioned."

  Richmond pondered his statement a moment, drinking the dark liquid in his cup. "I am sorry for the both of us. You are my good friend and I do not want to see you die."

  "Nor I, you." Owen Glendower entered the tent, his dark eyes wide at the sight of Richmond le Bec. A frantic soldier had sought him in his tent, informing him that le Bec had arrived and was currently in Hotspur's company. Shocked that Richmond had made an unexpected appearance, he had hastened to join the conversation.

  Gazing at the two English faces, he could see that he had been correct in assuming the topic of discussion. And he further suspected that he would be forced into playing his advantage far earlier than anticipated. In fact, he expected his bargaining pawn to arrive shortly. He’d sent for her when he heard of le Bec’s arrival. The sooner Sir Richmond and King Henry knew of his advantage, the sooner a reasonable truce could be met.

  "Greetings, Sir Richmond, " Owen said quietly, moving into the room. "We have not met; my name is Lord Owen Glendower."

  Richmond appraised the shorter man. "I am honored, my lord."

  Owen studied the man a moment; exceedingly large, he was powerfully built and amazingly youthful-appearing for a man in his fortieth year. "We were not expecting you."

  "I sent no word ahead," Richmond acknowledged. "Truthfully, I have not come to see you, but Henry. My conversation pertains to him alone at the moment."

  Owen moved to a chair by the vizier; in spite of his warring ways and his Welsh ancestry, his blood was not as thick as he would have liked it to be and he was constantly seeking warmth where he could find it. Sitting, he extended his hands to the iron heater. "If you are discussing Hotspur's role against English oppression, then I am afraid your conversation does concern me," he eyed Henry. "I would assume that you have informed him of your plans?"

  "Not all of them," Hotspur replied. "He’s aware that I am no longer supporting the crown."

  "And he’s aware of your reasoning?"

  "Aye."

  "Is he also aware of his role in our plans?"

  Hotspur did not reply for a moment. "We have not yet moved into that particular area."

  Owen nodded faintly, noticing the gleam of curiosity in Richmond's bright eyes. After a moment, he offered the man a forced smile. "I can see that our words have piqued your interest," he rubbed his hands together in the heat. "In faith, I can tell you that our inferred plans have stemmed from Hotspur's resistance to the idea of facing you in b
attle. You are his friend, Sir Richmond, and he has no desire to kill you."

  Richmond's jaw ticked faintly. Already, he could see that Owen was confident, ambitious and calculating. However, the man was talking in riddles and Richmond felt himself losing patience with the conversation already.

  "Killing is never a true pleasure, friend or foe. It is a necessity," he said shortly. "If you would be so kind as to inform me how I seem to fit into your grand scheme for world peace, I would be obliged."

  Hotspur's gaze was unreadable across the dim room, but Owen seemed to take pleasure in the imminent disclosure. When it became apparent that Hotspur had no intention of elaborating, Owen took charge.

  "Hotspur does not seem to think that Henry is manageable with you leading his armies," he began softly. "It would stand to reason, then, that if Henry and I were to do battle against you and the crown's armies, the struggle for Wales' independence could never come to a harmonious ending within our lifetime. And I demand to know a measure of peace before I die."

  Richmond crossed his arms as he listened, indicative of his rising agitation. Hotspur rose from his chair, pacing away from the Welshman as he focused on Henry's mighty knight; already, he could sense the storm coming and hated himself already for being a part of it.

  Richmond scratched his chin when Owen paused in his grand speech, his annoyance evident. "So what do you intend to do? Kill me now and be done with it? I can guarantee you that I will not make an easy target."

  Owen smiled at the sarcastic remark, feeling the power of his edge over Henry's great warrior. "Not at all. We do not want to see you harmed in any way, Sir Richmond. In fact, we loathe the idea of waging war on opposing sides so severely that it seems most logical that we should be fighting with you, not against you."

  Richmond annoyance stopped its advance, maintaining a holding pattern as his curiosity increased. "You are suggesting you fight with me?" abruptly, his irritation fled as he focused on the Welsh prince. "Are you suggesting a truce? A surrender, mayhap?"

  Richmond was off track, veering away from their line of thought. Before Owen could respond, Hotspur turned from his post in the corner and focused on his friend. "Nay, Richmond. He’s suggesting that you fight with us."

  Richmond's gaze focused on his friend, laced with mild surprise and a good deal of disgust. "Honestly, Henry. How could you let him believe that I would even consider such a thing? It's not only outrageous, it's absolutely absurd."

  "Richmond...," Hotspur shook his head, looking pained and distressed. Owen saw Northumberland's struggles and hastened to lead the conversation.

  "It is not absurd, I assure you. And I also predict that you will pledge your service willingly before this night is through," Owen smiled at the expression of intolerance on Richmond's face. When the man turned away from him, moving toward yet another chalice of wine, Owen rose from his chair. "I swear it, Sir Richmond. Before this night is over, you will be leading my ranks."

  Richmond sighed sharply. "I have heard enough nonsense," he snapped. "Henry, if we have nothing more to say to one another, I shall be on my way. I grow weary of this conversation."

  Owen was already moving for the tent flap, preparing to drive his point home. "This conversation may be tiresome, but it is necessary," peering from the tent flap, he motioned to the soldiers outside. After a moment, he sealed the flap and fixed his gaze on Richmond. "If you would be so kind as to move to the opposite side of the tent with Hotspur, my lord."

  Richmond was out of patience. As he opened his mouth to insult the Welshman, Henry interrupted his tirade. "Do as he says, Richmond. Please do not be difficult."

  Richmond looked to Hotspur. "Difficult? Damnation, Henry, we were doing quite well by ourselves until...."

  "Please, Richmond," Hotspur snapped softly in a display of real emotion. "Listen to him, I implore you."

  After a long, highly-annoyed moment, Richmond tossed the chalice of wine to the ground and marched to the opposite side of the tent. Flustered and agitated, he took to raking his fingers through his damp hair and grinding his teeth. He hardly noticed when the tent flap opened, spilling forth several figures.

  Chewing his lip in an agitated gesture and crossing his arms as he pondered the insanity of the situation, his entire body jolted as he heard his name spill forth from a very familiar, very beloved voice.

  "Richmond!"

  Instinctively, he groped for the sword at his side that was non-existent and he nearly stumbled to his knees in his haste to move in the direction from whence the pleading voice had come. But strong hands were on him, preventing him from moving forward, and he heard the unmistakable chime as swords were unsheathed from their scabbards, the glistening steel aimed at his heart.

  In that horrified moment, he hoped he was dreaming as his gaze fell upon Arissa. Surrounded by several Welsh soldiers at the entrance to the tent, her face was as pale as the snowy mountaintops and, by her expression, he could see that she was equally surprised to see him.

  The harsh reflection of broadswords blinded him in the dim light, rods of death aimed at halting his advance towards his lady. He could hear Hotspur whispering desperate words in his ear, attempting to calm him before he ran amuck in a fit of insanity and death, and he found himself torn between wanting to listen to the man and wanting to kill him for his treachery. Listening won over.

  Arissa had begun to weep and Richmond was consumed with the vision before him. He simply couldn't believe what his eyes were telling him, filling his mind with the black tides of disbelief even as he struggled to retain his grip on reality. Arissa was here, in the midst of the Welsh resistance. Owen, somehow, had managed to obtain her.

  Suddenly, he understood a good deal of the Welshman's irritating words. God's Teeth, it was all painfully clear as he stared at the woman before him, more anguish filling him than he ever thought possible.

  Before this night is through, you will pledge your loyalty to me.

  "Oh, Riss," he breathed, his chest heaving with emotion. "I am so sorry, kitten. Are you well? Have they harmed you?"

  She was sobbing softly, swathed in the cloak he had given her. Her pale green eyes were wide with shock and fear, but she managed to nod faintly. "I am fine," she whispered, her voice rising as she spoke. "Why are you here, Richmond? What is happening?"

  He opened his mouth to explain, but truthfully, he was not sure how to answer. Owen, several feet from Arissa, moved toward the slight young woman with a good deal of sympathy in his expression.

  "The Lady Arissa is aware that as my enemy's daughter, she’s my guest for a time. Beyond that, I told her nothing more," he said evenly. He had neglected to tell her of their blood relations, of her ties to both the crown and the Welsh rebellion. For all she knew, she was simply a captive as Henry's bastard daughter.

  Furthermore, le Bec had no knowledge of Owen's ties to Arissa and he intended to keep it that way, for certainly, the knowledge could be used against him just as he was using the same factors against le Bec. The pain of blood relations went in both directions.

  "It is not necessary that she be privy to the detailed political dealings of men and I have chosen not to enlighten her," he continued, almost quietly. "Do you dispute my wisdom in this matter?"

  Dazed as he was, Richmond was not daft. For Arissa's sake, it would be best to allow her to believe the simplest explanation, not the more extensive dealings of factional intrigue. And having no knowledge of Owen's relationship to his beloved, he couldn't begin to imagine the precise depths of Glendower's softly uttered statement. Had he known, he would have come to appreciate Owen's sense of restraint; clearly, if both Arissa and Richmond knew the Welsh resistor was a cousin of Arissa's mother, it would have made a grossly complex situation considerably more difficult.

  But Richmond was unaware of the deeper connotations of blood ties; he had enough grief to deal with at the moment. After a lengthy pause, he lowered his gaze. "Nay," he whispered, raking his fingers through his hair as he struggled against
his shattered composure. "She does not need to know…."

  He trailed off, unable to continue as he focused his attention on Arissa once again, drinking in the sight of her. Owen watched the meaningful expressions between them, the love and warmth filling the room even though they were separated by several feet. Feeling as if he were intruding on the intimate reunion, he cleared his throat softly to regain Richmond's attention.

  "I apologize for the blunt presentation of my guest, but I wanted you to understand my sincerity when I made my previous statement," he motioning to the guards holding Arissa, indicating for them to remove her.

  All of Richmond's resolve to collect himself vanished as Welsh soldiers moved to handle Arissa; he broke from Hotspur's grasp, throwing himself forward as a host of broadswords lurched towards him in response to his action. Startled, Arissa screamed in horror; Richmond was unarmed, without his usual protection, and she was terrified that he was about to end up impaled on the tip of a Welsh broadsword.

  "No, Richmond!" she shrieked, extending her hands beseechingly to Owen. "Order them to sheath their swords, my lord! Please, before Richmond kills himself!"

  Owen motioned sharply to his men, who were slow to obey. With Richmond uneasily restrained by Hotspur's strength and Arissa's words, Owen gazed at the man with a genuine concern.

  "If you cannot control yourself, my lord, I will make it so that you will not see her again for some time," he said seriously. "However, if you can guarantee your composure, I will allow her to remain for a short while."

  Richmond, unfortunately, could not vouch for his composure. His entire body was aching to hold her, to protect her from enemy hands. She was an unknowing pawn in a game of cataclysmic stakes and it nearly killed him to realize that, at the moment, there was nothing he could do to help her. He was being used as much as she was.

  "Can.... can I hold her?" he whispered.

  "No."

  Richmond's jaw ticked furiously, his gaze fixed on Arissa. Taking a deep breath, he struggled fiercely to regain his control and pulled himself gently from Hotspur's grip. Raking his fingers through is rich brown hair in a gesture bordering on madness, he faced Owen with as much composure as he could muster.