“My mother did not know you last night,” I snapped. “That she did not,” the knight admitted. “Was that you, then, hiding on the dais? I am some changed from what I was then, my lady. Some changed in face, and much changed in heart. But I pray you; can you not tell me if Baron Colchester lives? Surely he cannot have died when I was so close by…” His voice broke and he took a heavy, stumbling step and seemed almost ready to fall. I jumped forward and grabbed his arm.
“How do you know my uncle and my mother?” I asked. “What is your family’s name?”
“Lady, I have dishonored my family’s name and cannot speak it until I ask my father’s forgiveness,” the knight said. He turned away from me and cast his eyes down to the ground. His whole manner had changed. I could not understand him. He looked old and weary and helpless now. I sank down on my knees in the grass.
“Oh, what am I to do?” I wept. A heavy hand dropped onto my shoulder, and I shivered with the strength I felt in it. The knight turned me around and raised me up.
“My lady, I will help you.” He straightened to his full height, towering over me, massive in build and darkly determined in face. “Command me and I will obey, and God help us to have success.”
I looked up at him. When I had first seen him coming out of the manor I had thought he was in league with Hugo Brun, a party to his murderous destruction of my family. But I could see in his face confusion, anger, and a sorrow as deep as mine. He had known my uncle and loved him. I was sure of it. There was no more weakness. I wiped my tears and smiled.
“Let us search the place,” I said. “Then it may be clear to us what we must do next.”
“I have done so already, my lady,” the knight replied. “The old seneschal is not among the dead. Nor is Lady Ada. Nor is Baron Colchester.”
“But the earl’s son and Hugo Brun should already have been here,” I protested. “If they found those bodies, they may have taken them away.”
“I made my search before they arrived,” the knight said, “and watched them make theirs. But I would swear that Baron Colchester, Lady Ada, and perhaps the old servant, are somewhere alive.”
“Mother and Baron Colchester alive?” I whispered. “Oh, good sir knight, you must help me find them.”
“It is a cause I can easily devote myself to, my lady,” the knight replied. “I have no other at present, except to insure your safety. You are in danger from those who know you have seen the murderer’s face. We must take you away from here and find you a safe place to bide while I search for Colchester and your lady mother.”
“I will stay with you and help you search!” I exclaimed.
“Nay, that cannot be, my lady,” the knight said with a look of amusement. “You would not care for my digs or my company. There was a gamekeeper who tended Baron Colchester’s forests, one Gil by name. Does he still live in that cot in the woods?”
“He retired and took an inn at Blackheath,” I answered. “The Red Boar. He has twelve children, now, you know.”
“Twelve!” the knight exclaimed. “Still, if he has an inn it is so much the better. We can quietly place you there and he and jolly Meg will look after you.”
“Why can I not go with you?” I demanded. “I am used to living rough. I can camp in the woods and I can use a knife and – What is that? Is it a demon?” My voice rose to a scream as I saw a heavily-shrouded figure slip across an open space in the gloomy woods beyond the manor. It wore a weird curved sword and I could see nothing but blazing dark eyes. The knight turned to look and then laughed.
“Peace, my lady. I said you would not like my company.” He glanced around and led me toward the woods where the eerie figure had vanished. When we were out of sight of the manor he raised his voice a little and clapped his hands. “Sabah el khair!” He called out. Though at the time the words were utterly foreign to me, I later learned that they meant, “Good morning.”
The dark-robed figure stood before us in an instant and I saw that it was a man, not a demon, but so outlandishly dressed I could not begin to imagine where he could have come from. A long white garment covered him from neck to ankle and from shoulder to wrist. It was divided up to the knees at the sides and revealed white trousers and curious-looking tan leather boots with turned-up toes.
Over it he wore a brown, rust and tan striped garment something like a tunic, open in the front and with shorter sleeves than the white garment. A wide orange sash served him as a belt and its fringed ends hung down to his knees. A brown hat like a flattened cone covered his head. Around that and the top part of his head was wound a white and brown banded fabric that looked like silk. It was twisted around his head and shrouded his whole lower face. Over all he wore a plain, hooded brown robe with billowing sleeves. He pulled the heavy veil from the lower part of his face and I saw a remarkably handsome, dark-skinned face with a well-tended black beard and glittering brown eyes.
“Matha toreed?” The strange man intoned, seeming sullen and angry about something.
“What I want is to introduce you to the Lady Hope, Sadaquah,” the knight explained. “Sadaquah has been my friend for many years. He is an Egyptian from a place called Damietta. He understands English very well but at the moment utterly refuses to speak it. The Lady Hope is the niece of Baron Colchester, Sadaquah.” Sadaquah’s smoldering eyes raked me from top to bottom. He sniffed and said something to the knight in what I gathered to be his native tongue.
“Someone at the earl’s castle tried to kill her,” the knight said in reply to his words. “She dressed in this fashion to escape. You must not judge our English women too hastily, my friend. They are not simpering Houris like you prefer, but they have their merits.”
Sadaquah snorted and appeared to dismiss me from his mind. He spoke rapidly to the knight and they conferred for some minutes in the Arab’s language. I had begun to think of myself as an apt student of language under my uncle’s tutelage, having nearly mastered seven, but I could not make heads or tales of this awful-sounding tongue. The knight, however, actually seemed more at ease in that speech than in his own. I wondered very much what had befallen him. No doubt he was English, and a returned Crusader, though he wore no cross, but his experiences in the Holy Land must have been very different from the common type.
“Your pardon, my lady,” the knight said abruptly, waving Sadaquah aside with obvious impatience. “We were trying to make a plan and so far failing. But we must get you to safety. Direct me, please, to the Red Boar Inn so that we can arrange with the good Gil to keep you secure and Sadaquah and I can be free to concoct more bad plans. Sadaquah will bide here and keep watch to see if this Hugo Brun sends more guards or has anything more to do with this place.”
It seemed I had no choice, and in truth I was starving and fainting with weariness. The knight led me to a magnificent dappled gray stallion and lifted me up into the saddle. He seemed to have some difficulty mounting. Indeed, in my short experience with this knight I had been more impressed by his clumsiness than his power.
We threaded our way through the woods until we came out near Blackheath. I pointed out the Red Boar Inn, a low, square building remodeled from an old Saxon mead hall. Old Gil, a giant Scot almost as tall as my mysterious knight himself, but growing heavy and with plenty of gray in his red hair and beard, sat on the bench out front puffing at a pipe. Gil had come to Essex as a young man to serve my uncle. He wore a pale blue tunic and green hose and always had a length of curiously woven green fabric with threads of red and black mixed in draped around his body. He said it had something to do with his clan. He eyed us suspiciously with his sharp, bright blue eyes as we approached the inn.
“Whae house wears sich an emblem?” he demanded as the knight helped me down. “Be ye German?”
“Nay, Gil Mor Gregor, I am English as English can be,” chuckled the knight. “You always did love a good boar hunt. The name of your inn is no surprise.”
Gil seemed momentarily startled by the familiar address. I had heard Uncle John ca
ll Gil by that title but no one else. “Ye ken me, but I dinna ken you,” Gil said, rising to his full height and picking up a long, stout staff. I had heard my uncle tell stories of how he had driven off some very determined poachers and I feared for my poor knight’s pate.
“Good Gil, I am Lady Hope,” I said quickly. “This knight is aiding me to find my mother and Baron Colchester.”
“Lady Hope!” Gil exclaimed. He bowed. “Yer pardon. Tell me o’ this turrible business. We are sae close, but hae heard naught but rumors. Be Baron Colchester and yer mother alive, then? Hae did ye escape? Come in! Come in! Me Meg will be that glad to see ye, and will want tae hear all yer tale as well.”
“Come, sir knight,” I urged. “Eat and rest.” The knight did not budge, however.
“La -- Nay, my lady, I will not bide beneath this roof or any other,” he said stiffly. “I have made a vow that the first roof under which I will sleep is my father’s, and that only when I have asked his pardon and know I have it.”
“Go to him, then,” I said, exasperated with his mysterious quest. “Why do you not make all right first?
My need is great, of course, but surely your duty to your father has a greater claim upon you. Go and see him. Perhaps he can even send us help. Has he retainers who will fight for my uncle’s cause?”
The knight cast his eyes here and there as if even they had no place to settle. “My lady, believe me when I say that I must succeed in your cause if I am to pursue my own. My father … “ his voice choked. “ … My father would not receive ... He would certainly cast me out …if he knew I had neglected or delayed to give aid to you and your lady mother. As for help from that quarter … nay, there can be none.”
“This be strange talk and I like not men whae hide the truth in flowery hedges,” growled Gil. “I treat ye courteously because the Lady Hope seems tae wish it, stranger. But it be in me heart that ye are nae a man tae be trusted.” He raised his voice. “Meg! Hey! My mistress Meg! Do ye come out. We hae a most honored visitor.” Gil’s plump wife came out at once, brushing flour from her coarse blue gown and white sleeveless surcoat and pushing away the frizzled blond hair that escaped from beneath her white cap and framed her shiny red face.
“Whae be this? Och, Me Lady Hope! God be praised ye are safe. Come, me lamb, and we will look after ye.” I glanced back at the knight. He stood planted like an old oak and I could not read his expression. “I will speak wi’ this man yit a word or twae, me lady,” Gil said with a scowl, gripping his staff till his knuckles went white. “Gae alang wi’ Meg.”
“Gil, he has given his word that he will help me,” I said softly. “I believe he means it. His private troubles are none of our business. Do not be harsh with him.” Gil glanced from me to the knight. “Whae be we a’ callin’ ye, then, sair knight, if ye will nae tell us yer name?” he demanded. The knight opened his mouth, then closed it. Finally he spoke. “I have been called nothing but Christian Dog for so long, I am fair accustomed to it. If you must call me something, suppose you call me Sir Chris.”
“When will you come again, Sir Chris?” I asked timidly.
“When I have news,” he shrugged. “Good Gil, let no one know that the Lady Hope bides here. She is in very great danger. If any harm comes to her under your roof, all the quarterstaves in England will not save you from me.” Gil raised his eyebrows. “E’en so, Sair Chris,” he said, a new respect in his voice. “If harm comes tae me young lady, t’will be from those whae hae stepped over me dead body tae reach her. Ye may rely on it.”
“That is well. I am glad there is one thing so reliable in my life just now,” Sir Chris said, allowing himself a small smile. “Fare you well, Lady Hope. I hope … I hope I shall have news for you very soon.”
Somehow I did not mind how he stumbled and smiled over that word hope. I followed Meg inside and let her have her way with me. Food and a wash made me a new person. I was finishing the last crumb of Meg’s hot bread and beef when Gil entered the kitchen.
“Rest easy, Lady Hope,” he said wryly. “I didnae crack yon knight’s pate, though I wanted tae when I heard what he presumed tae tell me by way of proving his loyalty tae ye.”
“What did he say?” I asked, seeing how angry Gil was. “Merest rubbish and I will nae repeat it,” Gil growled. “He made as if tae tell me whose family he came from, and it be nonsense. Perhaps his head be addled after a’ that time in th’ hot sun or he had it cracked by one tae many heathen. But I think he means what he says about helping ye, me lady. We may trust him that far.”
“Gil…” I hesitated, then made up my mind. “ I fear … I fear there is something amiss with Sir Chris. He beat those two men who attacked me right enough, but at times he seems … he seems actually clumsy and weak. Will he be able to fight for me, if need be, do you think?”
“I hae seen that weakness of which ye speak, me lady,” Gil nodded. “Many men, and those who hae done battle especially, hide some hurt which nivver properly healed. So it be, I think, wi’ yer Sir Chris. But I see in him great courage and mayhap a greater heart than Richard Coeur de Leon. He will nae fail ye if his body can do what his resolve bids it. And ye know that God gives us strength tae do what we must.”
Chapter Four: A Black Lion, A Broken Door, A Scented Sheepskin
A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.
Proverbs 17:17
A man that hath friends must shew himself friendly: and there is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother.
Proverbs 18:24
Gil had soldiers from the earl come and question him about my disappearance. By that time everyone in the village knew about his “niece Sophie” coming to stay. He scoffed at their threats and resolutely denied knowing anything about me. I kneaded bread, rushed floors, fulled wool and watched it pounded and cleaned at the watermill. At first Gil and Meg tried to prevent me but I told them it was absurd to think I would be part of their family and not work with them. I tried to stay indoors as much as I could, but now and then I sat in the back yard sorting beans and looking up into the woods. Once or twice I thought I saw a glimpse of scarlet tunic but no word came from Sir Chris for many long days.
“Why is no one doing anything about the burning of Colchester Manor?” I demanded one night as we all sat around the fire. Gil worked on carving a bit of dark wood. Meg wound scarlet wool with me holding the loose skein for her. Bridgett, their eldest daughter, worked a new table cover on the big loom in the corner. The smaller children wrestled, played with husk dolls or tossed colored stones on the hearth.
“They cannae just bury it,” Meg said. She punctuated her sentence with a violent pull on the yarn and yanked it off my hands. Gil shook his head, etching deep scores in the piece of wood. It began to take the form of an animal with a large ruffed neck. “The burgesses held a meeting at the moothall and tried to get the earl tae agree tae an inquiry. No success. The official word frae Chelmsford be still ‘accidental fire, all killed.’ Our freemen are nae satisfied and hae sent a delegation tae the king.”
“How can they search for me and yet deny that anyone lives?” I asked.
“They came here because they know what I owe Baron Colchester,” Gil said grimly. “I would shelter him, you, the Lady Ada and the whole household if they had asked, and nivver let the earl ken aught of it.”
“What game is he playing, anyway, father, being patron to that Frenchman?” asked Nat, Gil’s twelve-year-old son.
“The earl told me Sir Hugo Brun saved his life in London,” I said.
“Aye, that story I have heard, and I wonder much about it,” Meg snorted. “Seems the earl were mingling wi’ the common men in London where he ought nae hae been, nae guards or attendants, and were set upon by bandits as he were returning from a pub to the … uh … the place he stayed at.” I had never seen Meg blush before and I wondered much what kind of place the earl had been at.
“This Sir Hugo fellow were in the house and heard the cry,” Gil went on. “He laid a
bout and dispatched the gang wi’out much trouble. The earl were apparently in nae condition tae defend himself.” Meg snorted again.
“Why, then, he is a hero,” I said reluctantly.
“It were a very convenient opportunity tae gain fer hissel’ the earl’s gratitude and patronage,” Gil said. “This Hugo Brun were stripped of land and title in his ain country. None kens why. The earl says forgive and forget, and is trying to get him a place here in England. That is nae a popular notion with the rest o’ the gentry. It waeld mean somebody giving up some ae his holdings, and they are nae eager tae do that. The earl is nae that popular a fellow.”
“Perhaps he means to steal my uncle’s land,” I gasped. “There is no heir to Baron Colchester’s holdings.”
“Except Sir Richard,” Gil said. He examined the wooden animal he was making critically and then glanced sharply at me. “That waeld put a wrinkle in any sich plan, eh? – Sir Richard suddenly appearing tae claim Colchester?”
“Oh, Sir Richard!” I cried, flinging up my hands. Meg’s wool went flying. It landed on Gil’s head in a scarlet tangle and Meg scolded good-naturedly. “Will no one let that man be dead? There is no heir, Gil. But of course if my uncle were to gift Sir Hugo with his estate, or a portion of it, it would be settled without question ... But why would he do so? I never laid eyes on the man, and I do not think my uncle knew him either.”
Gil held out the wooden figure he had been carving. I took it from him. “A black lion!” I exclaimed delightedly. Then I saw how intently Gil looked at me and I blushed.
That night I could not sleep again. I dared not toss about, sharing a bed with five of Gil’s daughters. I needed to know my mother and my uncle’s fates. It maddened me that Sir Chris had sent no word to us.
Hope and the Knight of the Black Lion Page 4