He pulled firmly on the reins and brought his
horse, breathing heavily, to a fitful walk. He slid the shield from
his back onto his left arm and held his sword ready, using only his
knees to keep his balance on the animal. Whether Chester’s guard
had expected a fight or not, he didn’t know, but the man did not
shirk it. Still moving quickly, he came directly towards Longsword
with an upraised sword and a determined posture, fanatically loyal,
as the other man knew most of Chester’s knights were, to the
death.
When he deemed the gap between himself and
the guard narrow enough, Longsword urged his mount into a trot and
raised his own sword. The two men met with a harsh clang. Momentum
kept them going until they checked their progress and wheeled
around. This time Longsword kept his horse standing. They could
pass and lunge at each other for hours before one of them got lucky
and caused the other one damage but by that time the earl would be
back on his own land. Longsword had to be lucky now. The guard
approached and slashed downward with his sword. Longsword thrust
his shield up to protect his head and shoulder and felt the blow
glance off it but his answering swipe met with air as the guard
moved beyond his reach.
Longsword pivoted. His attacker jumped
forward and the two horses nearly collided. Longsword swung his
weapon horizontally into the guard’s hauberk-protected body but he
was too close to his target for the blow to amount to anything more
lethal than a bruised rib. The guard began swinging his own sword
rapidly, back and forth, with sudden, short swipes aimed at
Longsword’s upper body and head. For a moment, all he could do was
hold up his shield to stave off the blows. The man, possibly
emboldened by Longsword’s apparent inability to return the
bombardment, redoubled his efforts, his horse prancing around.
Longsword grew frustrated. He hated the idea of anyone getting the
better of him but he knew as soon as he fought back, the guard
would swing out of reach, and the scenario would be repeated until
they were miles away from where they’d started. He tried to think
of another way out, cursed Delamere yet again and wondered where
the hell fitz Maurice was.
A blow landed on the side of his head. He was
momentarily stunned; his shield must have slipped. The pain hit him
an instant later, a jolt of lightning searing down his neck and
into his shoulder; scorching the old wound Rhirid’s arrow had made
months earlier. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt it but
it screamed now with all its former intensity. The sudden shock
made him furious. Without thinking he lashed out, thrusting his
shield away from his body with a violent push and swinging his
right arm around, over the neck of his horse, bringing his sword
down on top of his opponent’s head.
The clout wasn’t deadly; the earl had
outfitted his men with the best equipment available and that
included sturdy helmets, but it was enough to halt the man’s
barrage. The more successful piece of the attack was the shove with
his shield, which had the fortunate effect of knocking the guard
off-balance. At the same time, Longsword let out a roar of pain and
frustration and the guard’s horse backed nervously away, shaking
its rider’s already precarious position. As Longsword watched in
disbelief, the man struggled to regain his seat but he was weighted
down by his heavy gear and finally, arms flailing, slid from the
saddle until he was upside down, his head nearly touching the
ground, because one of his boots was entangled in a stirrup and he
couldn’t pull it loose.
The pain in his neck was gone. Longsword
hesitated but to dismount and kill the man was an expenditure of
time he couldn’t afford. Instead, he shrugged his shield up onto
his back, grabbed the reins and kicked his horse into a gallop.
The earl was nowhere in sight. Longsword
cursed his friend for the fourth time and thought angrily that if
he failed to take the earl it would be Delamere’s fault. Of course,
he’d never make such a judgement aloud because first Delamere would
tell him it was down to some foolish error on his own part, and
then become extremely offended and ride off in a huff. But where
to? He no longer had another home…only Rhuddlan. Just Rhuddlan…That
thought cheered Longsword so much that he promptly forgot his
displeasure with Delamere’s absence.
“My lord!” A voice hailed him from behind.
Longsword twisted in his saddle and saw fitz Maurice and three
other knights coming towards him. He slowed his horse to allow them
to catch up.
“How did it go?” he asked when they were all
together.
“The bowmen knocked three from their horses
and another two were taken prisoner after a short fight,” Guy Lene
answered.
“I killed the earl’s guard,” fitz Maurice
said.
“And I left one behind.” Longsword put the
numbers together. “Seven knights to guard Chester? I thought he was
regarded more highly than that.”
“Perhaps there are others ahead…”
Could men have passed him while he’d been
engaged with the guard? It was possible…but it was even more likely
that they would have come to the aid of their comrade, especially
when every one of Longsword’s accoutrements practically screamed
his patrimony.
“Not unless they went by another route,” he
said. “No. The earl is up there, alone. He’s had a good headstart
but his horse must be tiring. Let’s go.”
They increased their speed until they were
once more galloping. Longsword had the advantage with his larger,
sleeker horse and he was soon ahead of the others, which suited him
fine. He had determined to kill Chester, and if the man was intent
on surrendering instead of fighting when finally confronted, it
would be preferable not to have witnesses to his murder.
He rode almost recklessly, feeling that he’d
wasted too much time battling the earl’s guard and that the earl
himself must by now be impossibly far away. The transformation of
open ground into hillier, leafy terrain set loose the demons of
insecurity in his head. He couldn’t stop imagining his worst
nightmare: that Chester had slipped the trap. No—even worse: that
Chester had slipped the trap and was laughing at him.
He proceeded more cautiously when he entered
the forest. There was a trail and it showed obvious signs of having
recently supported a large retinue but it was barely wide enough to
accommodate an ox-cart and the number of hiding places along its
verges seemed infinite.
He was so full of fretting over what might
have gone wrong that when he finally came upon the earl, he was
actually startled to have found him. But there he was, and by some
strange miracle, standing near, not mounted on, his horse. He
seemed not to have heard Longsword’s approach; instead, he stood
with his back to him, patting the horse on its neck. Longsword, who
had pulled up, watched in puzzlement for a moment because he had
the eerie feeling that the earl was waiting for him. But he chided
himself for such a ludicrous thought. More likely, the horse had
gone lame.
He moved forward, making enough noise to
cause the other man to turn around to face him. For a moment there
was silence. The last time Longsword had seen the earl, they’d
traded angry words concerning Gwalaes. That memory came flooding
back to him as they stared at each other and his grip tightened on
his sword. Here was the man who always seemed to get the best of
him. He wondered why the earl didn’t speak—some banal, careless
comment to show just how little he thought of Longsword and the
arrogant assumption that Longsword would not dare attack an
unhorsed man who wasn’t offering him a threat. But the earl said
nothing. He watched Longsword as Longsword watched him, his bearded
face half-hidden by his helmet and the expression of his eyes
shadowed by the trees and the helmet’s descending nasal.
Longsword was nonplussed. Perhaps it wouldn’t
be as simple as he’d thought to murder. He had to decide quickly;
his men would soon find them.
He dismounted carefully, keeping the earl in
his sight in case the man suddenly launched himself at him. But the
earl didn’t move. Despite every detail of the revenge which had
obsessed him in his waking hours, Longsword’s resolve faltered.
What would his father think? The king was ruthless when political
or military circumstances dictated but as far as his son knew he’d
never killed another knight in cold blood…
Damn! he thought angrily; he’d have to take
Chester prisoner. It would be humiliating for the earl but not
nearly as satisfying for him. Still, if his father were to discover
the murder—and Longsword had no doubt he would—his life wouldn’t be
worth living. At least there were rewards for taking a person as
wealthy as the earl prisoner: ransom and the gain of forfeited
properties.
He took a few steps forward and then, to his
surprise, Chester lifted his sword and struck an aggressive
posture. He halted. He’d never seen the earl fight; he hadn’t
thought the man knew how. Was this bluster or was he in earnest?
What did it matter? If he wanted to fight, Longsword certainly
wasn’t about to dissuade him from doing so.
He raised his own sword and continued
forward. Chester came up to meet him. The early afternoon sun
filtered through the tops of the trees creating splotches of light
on random parts of the ground. Longsword decided it wouldn’t be a
factor in the duel. He suddenly felt deliriously happy. The earl
had challenged him and no blame could be attached to him upon the
man’s death. He was confident he would prevail and he would ride to
Hawarden in showy triumph and then…well, the very thought of then
was enough to cause him almost unbearable yearning. First, he had a
job to do.
His excitement spawned a burst of energy and
he broke into a jog, the best he could manage in his heavy hauberk.
He heard his spurs clink on the packed earth and a gathering roar
which he realized was coming from him. When he was near enough, he
took his sword in both hands and swung it with all his might.
His opponent was ready. His sword met
Longsword’s in a loud, perfect block, and then he flicked his
wrists upward and deflected the force of the swing up and out of
harm’s way. Longsword was again surprised by the earl’s action but
it served only to increase his aggression. Grunting with exertion,
he attacked again and again, but each time his swing was blocked
and pushed away until finally, he fell back, panting.
The earl did not pursue him. Obviously, he
was content to merely defend himself but his defense was so able,
Longsword began to think he’d die of exhaustion before he
penetrated it. He needed to try a different tactic.
He approached Chester again, this time
without his former exuberance, and made another swipe, aimed low.
The earl met the attack, striking Longsword’s weapon with his own
and pushing it down out of harm’s way as he’d been doing earlier,
leaving his upper body exposed. Longsword quickly swung around so
that his back was pressed against the earl’s stomach. He jabbed his
left elbow backwards, hitting the earl in his chest and sending him
stumbling back, gasping for air. While he was still dazed,
Longsword approached him again and raised his sword as if he was
about to cut off his head. The earl lifted his sword to block the
blow; while their weapons were entangled, Longsword stepped closer
and brought his knee up between the other man’s legs. The earl
yelped involuntarily and doubled over. Longsword raised his leg
again and kicked him in the head. Chester groaned once, sank to the
ground and was still.
“My lord, congratulations!”
Breathing heavily, he turned around. Fitz
Maurice and others were there, watching him. He had no idea when
they’d arrived. He nodded to them. Fitz Maurice dismounted and
Longsword told him to retrieve the earl’s sword. He stepped away to
catch his breath.
Chester was beginning to stir. Longsword
glanced at him. “You’re conceding whether you want to or not,” he
informed him. “I’ve got your sword.”
The man groaned again. Fitz Maurice, wishing
to be helpful, pulled off his helmet to make him more comfortable.
“My lord!” he suddenly called out to Longsword, who had turned
away. “Come quickly!”
Longsword heard the urgency in his voice and
came running. He knew something was dreadfully wrong and when he
stared down at the man he’d just defeated, he discovered exactly
what.
He didn’t recognize the man lying on the
ground. The man was not the earl of Chester.
Rhirid, Dylan and several others rode into
the clearing just as Roger of Haworth was heaving Ralph de Vire’s
body across the back of his horse. Rhirid glanced at the dead
Norman on the ground and the dead one dangling ignobly from the
horse and wondered briefly what had happened. He raised his eyes to
Haworth and for a moment, everyone was still, just looking at each
other with shuttered expressions and taking measure.
Rhirid knew from their previous alliance that
Haworth spoke no Welsh. He suddenly felt the press of time; he had
to follow after William Longsword in the event that the earl had
set a trap of his own. It would be awkward but he’d have to use
hand signals to challenge Haworth and he didn’t know if he’d be
able to make his adversary understand that the reason behind it had
to do with trespass and kidnapping.
Well, he thought dismissively, what would the
reason matter to Haworth when he was dead?
He took a step forward, pointed to Haworth,
pointed to himself and then raised his sword in a threatening
manner. Haworth seemed to pause but then he nodded, patted the neck
of the horse which carried the body and pulled his own sword from
his belt.
“Rhirid, no!” Dylan hissed. “I’m your
champion—I’ll fight him!”
“I want him myself, Dylan,” Rhirid said,
rolling his shoulders while staring at the Norman. “This is
personal.”