"Standish, where are you, you pompous peacock?" Earl Sean of Munster stalked into Ezra's pavilion.
"Earl or not, Sean; I won't stand for your disrespect, cousin," Ezra growled, pulling back the curtain on the private section of the tent so he could glare at his distant kinsman. Lather covered most of Standish's face.
"Hurry up and shave your pretty face. We have things to do," Sean laughed, flopping down onto a padded chair.
"What kind of things?" Ezra's voice was muffled as he pull his nose to the side a bit avoiding the sharp blade as he made a careful swipe.
"Teach you how to ride Copper, for one," Sean answered.
"I already know how to ride a horse, thank you very much," Ezra huffed.
"But you don't know how to ride in the Celtic fashion. If you try to ride yon beastie like one of your Norman horses you'll be picking your teeth out of the dust," Sean warned sweetly.
"There's that much difference?" Ezra pulled the blade away from his face and turned to his cousin.
"Aye, Ezra. There is that much difference. A Celt rides with his weight at the horse's shoulder not centered on his back. More leg, less rein as well." Sean answered.
"I can use all the assistance you might offer," Ezra admitted sheepishly.
"Sir Donal has offered his assistance as a sparring mate," Sean said.
"The MacLeod?" Ezra jerked the knife back from his face. A finger pressed on his chin to stop the bleeding where he had nicked himself in shock.
"Aye, the swordmaster of the MacLeods," Sean smiled widely.
"Why?" Ezra spluttered in amazement.
"It is a matter of honor, Ezra. The loss of the Draig-en is a sorrow to us all." Sean leaned forward and filled a wine flagon.
"Tannah? What is this Draig-en you speak of?" Ezra wiped the remaining lather off his face and walked over.
"The Pendragon was such a man," Sean said softly.
"King Arthur?" Ezra whispered.
"Aye, that is what the Normans named him," Sean said before taking a swallow of the wine.
"Tannah's a prince?" Ezra asked in shock.
"A thing of the old days. A blessed watchman . . . Born to it and bred for it as well," Sean admitted.
"Tannah's a Guardian," Ezra hissed. I thought Grandfather was only telling stories to entertain me. Guardians exist?
"Aye," Sean turned the flagon in his hands. "It was an evil day for Christiandom when the Saracens were gifted with a beloved warrior."
"Surely Tannah will not stand against us," Ezra whispered.
"A slave has few choices. If they recognize him for what he is and find a companion to bond him." Sean shook his head sorrowfully.
Ezra shakily pulled the flagon from his companion's hand and gulped down the wine. "God help us all."
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"Direct him with your legs," Sean laughed as he lifted Ezra out of the dirt once more. "Copper is a proud beast and will not abide restraint anymore than you."
"More leg, less rein," Ezra panted a moment. "I'd rather face Wilmington with sword, it would hurt less."
"Your choice this was. If you had just killed the man it wouldn't have come to this," The Earl said unsympathetically as he tossed Ezra into the saddle.
"Maybe I was wrong," Ezra groaned.
"Wait a moment," Donal growled thoughtfully. "Standish has the knowledge, it's his training that keeps coming to the fore." MacLeod began working at Copper's bridle. "Bite me and I'll be biting you back," he warned the ill-natured horse. "Ride him around the enclosure now." The Scotsman ordered.
Ezra looked in disbelief. The horse's head was now unrestrained. MacLeod began looping the removed reins and hung them over his arm.
"Go on with you," Sean started Copper with a gentle nudge.
After the first circle Ezra relaxed a bit. It's as though he knows what I want before I do.
"Pick up the pace," Sean yelled.
Shortly Ezra was going through intricate maneuvers with the agile black.
Donal rode out on a grey mare and the sparring began.
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The Earl of Munster's pavilion
"I hurt in places I didn't know I had," Ezra moaned as he gingerly lowered himself onto a padded chair.
"The servants are preparing a hot bath for you," Sean chuckled unsympathetically.
"A bath?" Ezra asked hopefully.
"Of course a bath. You're in the Celtic sector now Ezra, not the Norman camp. Here we bathe as often as we can," Sean chided.
"Thank you. I'll be too stiff to fight tomorrow if I don't soak out some of these aches." Ezra shifted uncomfortably. "How did you manage to keep the priests from declaring you as practitioners of the dark arts. Immersing yourselves in water voluntarily, this way."
"The priesthood does not exclude Celts you know. And it didn't hurt that to a man we swore to wash daily as penance." Sean grinned.
"How convenient," Ezra chuckled.
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Sir Bucklin sat in the dim tent holding his flagon of wine. His sword lay beside him awaiting the attention of whet stone. Jaedee had a dark scowl on his countenance as he industrially polished and checked each piece of his knight's armor.
"I'm not using the plate tomorrow, little brother," Buck broke the silence. I need to heal this hurt between us before I lose the boy. I'll make sure that Sean of Munster takes Jaedee on as a squire if I die tomorrow. It is not a death match but accidents do happen.
"It gives me something to do," Jaedee growled. "I've already gone over your chain mail. I checked the small shield that the Scots left for you. It seems sound, although very light."
"It would be sound, lad. The Scots are honorable men," Buck replied softly.
"I have begun to believe there is no honor," Jaedee snorted.
Buck sat his flagon down with a clatter and stared speechlessly at his squire. He's heartsick, even if I could bring myself to strike him, a whipping wouldn't fix this.
"Of course there's honor," Sir Josiah rumbled as he entered the tent. Jaedee started to speak and snapped his mouth closed. He silently polished his brother's breastplate. "I know you've seen much dishonorable behavior in the camp but there is honor," Josiah assured the boy. Jaedee's snort of disbelief was easily heard. "Your brothers are honorable men," Josiah reminded calmly.
"I thought so once. Even when Chris was drunk more often than sober. Grief I called his breaking of his vow to temperance then. I've learned better," Jaedee said bitterly.
"Chris mourns his son and wife," Buck snarled.
"A woman forced upon him for alliance sake? Chris never wanted her," Jaedee yelled.
"I came to love her," Christopher of Larabee now stood at the entrance to their pavilion. "I dearly loved the son she gave me."
Jaedee didn't flinch at the furious gaze Larabee directed his way. "A child she was given no choice in the making of. No more than my mother had a choice. Tell me, brother; if your Welsh sow had asked, would you have set her free?"
Buck tensed as Chris stalked forward. "Chris, the boy's tongue ran away from him, he meant no disrespect," Wilmington soothed.
"I called her that to my deepest shame. It was before I ever saw her. After that first year I . . . if she had asked I would have sent her back to her people despite my sire's ire," Chris said softly.
"You'd have kept her son, though," Jaedee reminded.
"He was my son, too. I couldn't let him go to people who might have treated him ill," Larabee whispered. "It matters not. Sara never asked."
"Maybe you were once capable of loving something after all," Jaedee said quietly.
"What makes you question my honor?" Chris demanded angrily.
Jaedee studied his brother, realizing the man was sober for the first time in weeks. "Chris, what have you done that is honorable these last weeks?"
Larabee raised a fist in rage only to lower it when confronted by the clear, honest eyes of his brother. "Tannah was nothing, a servant that held himself too proud," Larabee growled.
"Ezra said he was the only honorable man he knew," Jaedee said softly. "Even the Saracens said he didn't kill the children. You condemned him on the word of a lying woman, knowing full well he was at your side when the page died. Tell me Brother, where am I to see honor in that?"
Chris flushed and raised his fist once more then dropped it to his side before stalking over to the table and snatching up a skin of wine.
"Jaedee, that was uncalled for," Buck snarled, his worried eyes lingered on his brother while Chris made inroads on the wine.
Abruptly a war horns warning blast filled the air, breaking the strained silence in the tent.
"We're under attack," Buck lunged to his feet, grabbing his sword as he rose. Snatching up his shield he was the first out of the pavilion closely followed by Chris and Josiah.
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More warriors poured from tents, arming themselves to repel an attack. Everyone but the stationed guards made their way to the sounds of disturbance. One of the outriders rode slowly down the path between the tents. In his arms he carried something wrapped in his cloak. The hardened warrior wept openly as he passed.
"Jock?" a woman's shaken voice was heard over the mob. "NO!" Her anguished scream filled the air as she pushed her way through the crowd. "No . . . no . . . no," she whimpered as she hesitantly approached the mounted man. Respectfully the man lowered his burden into the woman's reaching arms.
Stripping back the cloak to reveal the small form the woman began to wail. "My baby's dead. They swore they caught the demon. It was safe and now my baby is dead." the woman lifted the limp form to her breast and rocked the dead child.
"Oh, God," Buck gagged turning away from the pitiful sight.
Chris stood frozen in horror as he could only see the blond hair and the staring green eyes, the dead child bore a passing resemblance to his own dead son.
"Chris, it isn't Adam," Buck tried to pull Larabee away from the crowd.
"Mother, let me see," a soft French voice spoke and a richly dressed knight knelt beside the distraught woman. The mother blindly kept trying to wipe the blood away with her shawl. "He's dead. My Jock is dead." Gently tucking the cloak around the abused little body she looked up. "You fine knights swore the demon was dead," she whispered sadly, looking into the dark haired knight's face.
"Mother, I know not of what you speak. I have but just arrived in the camp. Allow me to carry your son for you. Where would you go, my Lady?" The strange knight asked respectfully.
"I'm naught but a washerwoman, Sir. To my tent, kind knight, we will take my boy there." Shakily, she stood, aided by one of the knight's retainers.
"That thing's mark. Even here the evil stalks," the knight snarled in fury when the cloak slipped as he lifted the body from the mother's arms revealing the dead boy's shoulder. Shaking fingers touched the wound. "I lost a son to this monster as well, some fifteen years agone, now. I have followed it's trail across most of Christendom. I will find it and I will kill it." he swore bitterly as he rose, cradling the body against his own chest.
"Fifteen years, Sir Knight?" Chris asked in the silence left by the stunned mob.
"Pierce, Count of Monte Blanc. Yes, my eldest son died just as this young one did. I found him in the churchyard," the older man's voice broke.
"What land, Sir Pierce?" Ezra of Standish asked.
"Normandy in France," the Count growled before turning back to the distraught mother. "This is the fifteenth child I have certain knowledge the demon has killed. Each was marked on the shoulder in this spot by a . . . it used to be obviously a human bite over time it has become this . . . mauling.
Larabee paled and hurriedly stalked away.
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"Chris." Wilmington cautiously approached his brother.
Larabee stood at the perimeter of the camp looking out into the desert.
"Jaedee's right. Sara never had a choice. First me, then knowing she'd have to abandon her son if she would gain her freedom," Chris sighed sadly.
"Politics, Chris. Few matches are made with love. Your father and Prince Daffydd ap Owain Gwynedd made an alliance with King Henry's blessing. Larabee's son and a bastard sister to the ruling prince of North Wales. You were far kinder to her than she expected. I think she truly came to care for you." Buck comforted his brother.
"As God is my witness, Buck, I did love her," Chris turned, revealing the tears on his cheeks.
"I never doubted that. That little woman had you wrapped around her finger in no time," Buck agreed.
The two men turned to stare out at the desert.
"So far from the green of home," Chris murmured.
"Aye, brother. It is. This place changes a man," Buck said quietly.
"What is honor, Buck?" Chris' voice broke.
"A boy dreams of honor. I know little of it. Pretty words to hide behind," Wilmington hissed.
"Will you kill Standish? To prove your honor?" Chris whispered faintly.
"Not if I can keep from it," Buck sighed.
"If only one returns I would have it be you." Chris said bitterly.
"He's quick and cunning . . . and he wears justice as his mantle," Buck admitted softly. "This time it is the fox who speaks true and the hound that bears the blood of the lamb. My heart is heavy tonight."
"Monte Blanc claimed fifteen years of murders," Chris whispered. "He seemed certain it was the same killer."
"Sir Pierce called it a bite? There was flesh torn from that spot," Buck protested faintly.
"You could see teeth marks along the edges," Larabee hissed.
"Oh, God in heaven. That monster . . . eats the flesh?" Buck paled.
"Yes," Chris gagged. Gently he supported his brother while Wilmington heaved into the sand.
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"On my shoulders it be. I cast the bowman to the crowd," Larabee responded.
"But it was my hand that struck down a man that had done naught but good for me and mine." Buck stared down at his hands. "In my heart I knew him to be innocent yet I beat him down and kicked . . . He could have left Jaedee to the Saracens yet he stayed with him. I pray that a merciful God allowed him die," Wilmington whispered.
"I would think you would pray otherwise," Chris looked over in shock.
"Better death than clipped wings. He was a wild thing. I doubt he could abide chains," Buck's voice shook. "Beautiful, that bowman, far too beautiful. Not a good thing for a slave of an enemy race. Mommar ben Sahid has wealth and an abiding hate for Tannah."
"He belongs to the physician," Chris answered hoarsely.
"Jealousy is a demon blinding a man to truth. I doubt that MAN is any older than Jaedee. He was just a boy, Chris, and we failed him. To be sold or given on a whim. Castrated and perfumed for some Saracen's harem even." Buck sobbed.
"I know," Chris whispered bowing his head in shame. Why did I allow myself to be manipulated? Was my 'good' name more valuable than a man's life? Six months he rode at my back, guarding me and mine from all harm. He avoided the touch of a friend's hands and now . . . I needs try and discover if Tannah yet lives. Mayhap I can buy his freedom.
"My damn pride," Wilmington cursed. "I tore Jaedee's world asunder. And now I face a friend across a sword."
"Call it off Buck. Admit your part of this," Chris sighed.
"Yes, it's the right thing to do," Buck agreed. "I'll go talk to Standish."