Thank you so much for revising again, xxCee-Gisborne-Cullenxx. Yesterday I sent the chapter to you and today I've got it back.
Illusions 30
The sound of swords reverberated through the courtyard, the muffled tones of iron meeting the shield, and then shouts, groans as well as laughter. Eventually, the show fight was over and the men put down their weapons. Guy was still breathing heavily but was satisfied with and glad about the physical training. Carefully, his fingers checked the blade for damages – it was still sharp enough. Approvingly, one of the men slapped his shoulder. "I don't stand a chance against you. It's high time that you show me some of your tricks." Guy gazed into Kai's grinning face and laughed, too.
Amazingly, he had gained camaraderie with most of the men when they had realised that the Englishmen, as he had been called at the beginning, was an outstanding fighter. Being about 6"2 and muscular, he was nonetheless deft and quick. Soon the men had realised that Guy didn't boast about his abilities, but was rather reserved; being asked, he shared his tricks and feints willingly, earning the men's respect.
Still some people treated him with reserve, but there was only one knight who could be called an….enemy – Morgan, the new Captain of the Guard. Guy had recognised the young man, who had turned him in to Lord Rhys, and he had overheard several remarks about him. Morgan ap Owain was well known for his temper and his ambition; he was not particularly liked, rather feared. Guy recognised a bit of himself in Morgan… and he didn't like what he saw. People had talked about him the same way…it made him feel sick now.
Guy didn't mind if anyone didn't like him, but at their first show fight he realised that it was much more like that. At the last moment he saw Morgan wielding the sword all out and reacted just in time, raising his shield so that the weapon only hit the wood. His eyes narrowed; this could get dangerous. If he responded in kind and inflicted serious damage on Morgan, his tide could turn quickly; they would call him the Englishman who had hurt the Welsh fellow countryman. Morgan's next attack didn't come unexpected. Guy saw the knight moving forward and stepped aside as quickly as a wink so that the momentum of the blow catapulted him forward and skidding across the ground. Some of the main choked their laughter, while Morgan was struggling to his feet, wiping the sand from his clothing, and left, livid. Curious glances followed him and Guy knew that he was not the only one, who had seen this malicious intent.
From this day on Guy avoided Morgan's presence when possible; it would have been unwise to provide Morgan with a target and he knew he had to be careful. The next day, Morgan had not attended the show fights, although as the Captain of the Guard he had to have an interest to prove his skills as a warrior, gaining the soldiers respect. It seemed that Morgan was rather fight with jugs of ale these days, however this was not Guy's business.
Guy reached for the wooden scoop hanging at the water barrel and took a large swig, filling it a second time and dousing face and hair. Drops of water were glittering in his dark locks and when he grasped his sward and left the courtyard, many a glance followed him, this time from the women and young ladies at the Welsh Court, who liked to be present at the fights, especially at times when the knights fought without a shirt covering the upper part of their body.
It would not only have been looks if Guy had been a wealthy man, but everybody knew that he didn't own anything but the clothes on his body and his sword. Guy was tall and powerfully built yet slender. His cool blue eyes were framed by the most wonderful long lashes, which would have appeared effeminate at another man and his hands… The servants talked more bluntly. „Usually, I don't like carrying the heavy bucks of hot water to a knight's chamber," a starry-eyed young maid said. "But I'll volunteer with him. Just think, when I entered his room this morning, he had stripped completely and was just turning around… Oh my…." She giggled when she saw the other maids' glances and grinned meaningfully. Then she added with a rueful smile. "He didn't even look at me."
It was for the first time in his life that Guy was glad not to be a rich man; of course he had noticed the court ladies' glances and he knew what was behind their restraint. Only for a short moment the old bitterness surfaced until he realised how grateful he could be for the things he had. A few months ago English soldiers had left him half dead at the Welsh border and now here he was at the Court of the Welsh Prince, once again with a weapon in his hands.
Furthermore, he had found a friend he had come to like; they were different as chalk and cheese, but they understood each other even without word. At first Anne and Osgood of Gringstow, now Rhobert…. Anne and Osgood… he would ask the Prince for permission to write a letter.
"Osgood… a pedlar…He…"
Anne halted and Osgood looked at his wife, surprised. She was standing at the door of the stable, looking as pale as a ghost. He leaped up. "What is it with you?" he asked, suddenly alarmed.
Tears welled up in Anne's eyes and she held the letter out to her husband. . "Osgood… a letter….from Guy…"
Osgood froze, and then he stepped forward, reaching for the letter.
Dear Anne, dear Osgood,
I didn't think that I would ever have the opportunity to tell you how much your friendship meant and still means to me, but things have turned out otherwise. When I reached Wales, there was not left much life in me and not much will to live either. I was found by someone, who has become a dear friend. I can't tell you more than that I'm well and that I won't forget you. You were to me what my parents never were. It is not possible for me to say more; I don't want you to get into a conflict.
Guy
Osgood took his wife in his arms, stroking her tenderly. For a while they were standing motionless, and then Osgood asked. "The pedlar… is he still there?"
Anne shook her head. "No, he told me that he could not wait for an answer… What do you think is behind all this?"
Osgood pondered this. "If Guy could have told us where he is, he would have done so. We know that he is alive and that he is well, but he is in Wales and things have never been easy with Wales. Every time our King turned their backs a rebellion began. They were never willing to yield and if they were united as they were under Gruffydd ap Llywelyn…."
He stopped and Anne was looking at him expectantly, but he remained mute, caressing her face. "Let's go back to the house. We need some ale, both of us."
Anne read the letter time and again and despite her tears she was happy, happier than she had been for a long time. Osgood himself was pretty sure that Guy was at one of the royal Courts in Wales. Wales and England were not at war with each other, but this probably was merely a matter of time. Osgood clenched his teeth fighting the tears that would well up in his eyes. Guy, my son… Guy was alive and this had to be enough; they would never see him again.
"You cannot be serious!" Thunderstruck Guy stared at the superb chain mail and the weapons Rhobert had spread in front of him. The sword was daedal and had an elaborate pommel, the dagger a chiselled haft.
Rhobert looked at him firmly. "You know that I won't use them ever, Guy, even now that I'm not a monk any more. I will not be able to avoid the fist fights Lord Rhys mentioned, but I don't want these weapons. You are doing me a favour!" He laughed. "It's really selfish on my part. This way you have to protect me whenever I'm in your company… Guy, I want you to have this and it is not that my brothers need them. Each of them has his own chain mail, especially made for him and of course they have their own weapons… It's good for you that the chain mail and the sword were made when I had not reached my full height, although you might have to go to the blacksmith to alter the pommel."
"Rhobert, I…"
"You should know by now that it is rather difficult to sway me, if I am bent on something," Rhobert said jokingly, but his face gave away that he was indeed serious. "I know what you are going to say, but we are friends and our friendship means very much to me." He grimaced. "And this is not only because I will always remain the baby for my brothers and my mother."
Guy drew a deep breath. "If you think I might spare you at the fist fights because you gave these weapons to me, you are in the wrong box," he said gruffly… Thank you, Rhobert," he added, still deeply moved.
"This is what I was afraid of," Rhobert replied and slapped Guy on his shoulder. "And now I'm leaving you alone."
Was it possible to completely forget one's former life? Perhaps because he had wanted to forget, Guy mused. Other than in Nottingham he had most of the other knights' respect. His violent temper, once typical for him, flamed up only rarely. Mostly he was able to let off steam at show fights or at skirmishes with marauders who came to Wales at times.
But now he had an assignment from Lord Rhys that he was anything than happy about. He should train a little boy of about seven years, Bran, the Prince's youngest son. Guy bowed respectfully, but inwardly, he boiled with rage. The other knights would ridicule him, him, a nanny!
But after having talked to Rhobert, he had learned that he was wrong, not only wrong but that this task was indeed an honour, that he had been entrusted with the education of someone, who was very near to the Prince's heart. Guy was speechless and then he left without a word.
Usually, Guy didn't like to deal with children, but Bran was a boy he liked despite himself. He had a natural ability to handle the weapons and was eager to learn anything his new teacher taught him.
Rhobert groaned. If only his new pupil were as eager in his lessons than in the lessons with Guy. Contrary to Lord Rhys's announcement, Bran had appeared at the firs lesson without his sister and had told him that she was ill and had to stay in bed. Probably she's as reluctant to learn to read or write as her brother, Rhobert thought and forgot her. Bran didn't refuse to study, but Rhobert noticed that he was shifting on his chair after only a short time. Well, he would have to show him that learning to read and write was as important as the handling of dagger, axe and sword.
"You think, this is a waste of time, Bran?" he asked the boy.
After a short time the boy nodded.
"Why is that so?"
"If I'm attacked, I have to defend myself," Bran replied solemnly. "But why do I have to read or write? Monks need it and women need it if they keep the books, but I'm going to be a man."
"Rhobert smiled. "And who told you that this is not fitting for a man? One of your brothers?"
Bran nodded.
"Then, Bran, think of the following situation. In some years hence, you are a warrior and the leader of a brigade. You lay siege to a castle and you realise that you don't have enough soldiers. What would you do?"
"I would send a messenger to my father of my brother and tell him that I need more soldiers."
"That's right, Bran, but how would your father know that this is your messenger? He would, if you wrote to him and he identified your handwriting. Kings also have a seal. If a king is asking another to support him, there is always a seal. And sometimes it might be that you don't want some people to know what you have to say. Not everyone is able to read, Bran. And as for the English language – Your father is right, Bran, you have to know your enemies' language."
Bran's mien brightened; this he understood. From now on Rhobert could be sure of his pupil's eagerness. It was a good assignment and Rhobert was looking forward to each lesson.
Rhobert had drawn some maps of England and Wales and had spread them on the table, surveying them, when he heard the squeaking of the door. "Come in, Bran," he said without looking up. But the soft harrumph he heard was not Bran's voice and then Rhobert looked into a delicate face with big brown eyes, glancing at him cordially. Silky, shiny hair fell down to her hips and a green woollen dress gently enveloped a slim but womanly figure. Rhobert swallowed.