No Greater Love
It’s been a while since I posted, but here goes. As always, there is no intent to infringe on the copyrights held by ABC, Gil Grant or any other holder of the Covington Cross copyrights. No profit is being made from the story in the version it now stands.
Tears cascaded down Richard’s cheeks as he galloped toward the stately grey towers of Covington Cross. There was a time the sight of their quiet elegance filled his heart with familial warmth, but it was becoming harder and harder to revive those distant emotions. Memories haunted its halls like winsome spirits that danced invitingly just beyond his grasp, leaving him lost and empty in their wake. At times, he thought of not returning at all, of leaving England all together, never to walk upon its verdant fields again, but for a single promise made out of love, he would have. Strange how one small being, one tiny breath could alter every aspect of another’s life so completely. Nothing was the same anymore, not his home, not his life, in many ways, not even himself. For almost a year, he had endured the barren wasteland that had invaded his heart, and he did not know how much longer he could bear the emptiness. Not since the death of his beloved mother had he ever felt so alone.
A single hawk circled overhead, letting out a mournful cry that brought the melancholy knight back to his senses. Never one to wear his heart on his sleeve, he had no intention of starting to do so now and tugged at his scarf self-consciously, bringing it up to his face and wiping the dampened skin. He would not allow anyone to see the depth of the wound that pierced his heart, would keep his emotions buried deep within himself, just the way he always had. It was better that way for everyone involved.
The sun was just beginning to sink low in the western sky, tingeing it a soft pink as he reached the stables and jumped down from his chestnut mount. The horizon brought the promise of a beautiful tomorrow, but Richard could see no further than the present day’s agony. Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he headed for the castle, dreading what lie ahead, hoping that everyone was otherwise occupied, and he could slip up the stairs without anyone noticing that he had returned. There was not much chance of that he knew, and in a way, maybe it was for the best. Better to face his family all at once and get it over with, than have them come looking for him later. Steeling himself against whatever awaited, he placed his hand on the large metal door latch and pushed.
“Richard!” Thomas exclaimed as his son strode into the Great Hall with every intention of bidding his father a good day and heading straight for the stairs. “How was your visit?”
“Far too short,” Richard answered. He hoped this was not going to turn into one of those extended conversations that would be wrought with queries and inquiries about the child he had once believed was his own, the child that in his heart he still believed truly was, in spite of the evidence against it.
“And little William?” Thomas asked. “How is he? Are they treating him well?” He hesitated for a moment before continuing, almost nervous about what he was to ask. “I thought perhaps next time you made the journey, I might join you . . . if you wouldn’t mind, of course?
“No, of course not, Father,” Richard replied, trying to sound as nonchalant as was humanly possible under the circumstances. “I’m sure William would love to see you.”
In spite of his casual response, the thought of his father accompanying him on one of his numerous visits actually terrified him. How could he ever hope to keep the full extent of his emotions adequately guarded if his father was by his side, sure to be weighing his every reaction? Yet, at the same time, how could he deny Thomas the opportunity of seeing William again. In truth, just as Richard had come to love the small boy as his son, so Thomas had grown to care for him as only a doting grandfather could. He had loved the boy no less, had mourned Johanna’s passing as he would that of a daughter. It had mattered not that she had appeared at the castle gate only months before her death claiming Richard as the child’s father. Both had won his heart, not for a day, but for all eternity.
All had gone well at first. Richard had married Johanna, grown to love her and the child he had acknowledged as his own, knowing that it was only a matter of time before his new bride would leave this world. Even then, his devotion to William tempered his grief. Then, like a bitter wind from the north, a cruel twist of fate had risen up to pluck William from their care. Neither Richard nor his father believed the crumpled birth certificate naming Henry Goodall as the child’s real father or the letter supposedly signed by Johanna saying as much, but neither did either have any evidence to dispute the allegations. So it was that William was taken from them, whisked away to Exeter by his new father just over a year before. Henry and his wife, Penelope, had seemed to understand Richard’s attachment to the boy and allowed him to visit from time to time as the child’s godfather, but this position only served to emphasize just how much Richard had truly lost. Still, it was better than not seeing him at all, he reasoned, and so the knight would make routine trips to the city, to visit the home of the merchant and his wife and spend time with the child who continued to control such a large part of his heart.
Richard turned to start up the stairs, but as he had feared, Thomas was not yet finished with his gentle interrogation. Though he understood his father’s interest, perhaps should have even let it comfort him, his fear of revealing his emotions continued to hamper his ability to confide in anyone, least of all the man who he looked up to more than any other.
“He still remembers me then?” Thomas asked, a warm glow caressing his face. Richard could not help but feel his resolve evaporate. He turned slowly and walked over to the fire, sitting down on the small stool next to his father’s chair. There would be no easy escape this afternoon.
“Of course he remembers you,” Richard said, with a tenderness that pervaded his usually self-assured tones, but then a quiver broke through as he continued and before he could stop himself it was as if the flood gates had been opened.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Father. It breaks my heart to leave him there. He doesn’t want to stay. I have all I can do to convince him he must. Do you know he still calls me Father? They haven’t even tried to explain anything to him and have insisted I wait until he’s older, but won’t it be harder then? Not that it bothers me, mind you. I can pretend for a while, pretend he’s… It’s just William I’m thinking of. I want to make it as easy on him as possible…and on myself I suppose. It tears me apart, knowing what I was to him, what I still am in his mind, and yet knowing it can never be. I don’t know how much longer I can stand it, and yet what am I to do . . . to go without seeing him would be far worse.”
Richard put his head in his hands, heaving a great sigh before looking up at his father again. “I don’t care what that letter said, Father, or that fictitious birth certificate; Johanna would never have lied to me, especially whilst on her death bed. William is my son! Yet I am powerless to save him from the clutches of those charlatans.”
Thomas leaned forward, placing his hand upon his son’s shoulder. “We’re not finished with this, Richard. We will sort it out.”
“When!” Richard exclaimed, springing up from his seat and pacing restlessly before the fire. “It’s already been nearly a year and we’re no closer to disproving their claim . . .” He gave a weary sigh and sank down on the bench once more. “He asked for money again,” he added in exasperation as he ran his hands through his tousled curls. “He said William was in dire need of a new tunic.”
“You didn’t give it to him, did you?” Thomas inquired, his voice stern and disapproving.
“No,” Richard uttered defensively, “though I wish I had. What if he forbids me from seeing William? He has hinted at it on occasion. I don’t think I could stand it.”
“He’s just using your love for the boy to line his own pockets.”
“And what if he is,” Richard snapped. He rose once more and walked toward the fire, bending over to throw another log upon the charred wood that lay crackling in the hearth. “I’d give every penny I had to see William, and now I may have ruined my chances of ever seeing him again.”
“Why did you turn Henry down then?” Thomas asked
Richard sighed, his eyes filled with a weariness that no sleep could cure. “Because I know you’re right,” he muttered. “And I let my temper get the better of me.” He remembered how he had exploded at the request and felt the need to somehow justify his response. “They told me he needed a new tunic last month, and as usual I gave them the money. Oddly enough, when I arrived this past Friday, Lady Penelope had managed to procure a new shawl, but William’s tunic was still patched.” He could feel the heat rising in his face, his voice shaking as he spoke, and he closed his eyes to calm himself. “They’re not taking care of him at all, Father.”
Thomas’ heart was breaking. He could see the pain in his son’s eyes, yet he could do no more to help him than Richard could do to help William. Never since his wife’s death had he felt so utterly helpless. Neither of them said another word, until finally, Richard just shook his head, smiling softly.
“I think I’ll go for a walk in the garden,” he said, then almost as an after thought he added, “I do believe my prayers will be answered. I only fear the answer will not be what I had hoped.”
With that, he walked back out the door, leaving Thomas speechless and with a great lump in his throat. Perhaps he could try petitioning the king himself. Show him how poorly William was being treated. He could not help but wonder why Goodall had even wanted the boy in the first place. Surely there was more here than met the eye.
**********
Richard walked along the rose lined paths, until he came to a stone bench that was nestled beneath a trellis of red and white. He could almost see Johanna, sitting there beside him with William in her arms. Three months later, almost to the day, she would be gone. She had brought William to him for protection, put her faith in him, and he had failed her, had failed William. What kind of knight was it that could not even protect his own son?
He looked around the peaceful garden and realized that his once safe haven no longer held its sanctuary, for though it had always brought him closer to his mother’s memory, helped him come to terms with her passing, it served only to heighten the pain caused by his son’s absence, an absence he blamed himself for. No longer finding serenity in its tranquil maze of roses and ivy, he returned to the castle through the postern. He had no desire to face his father again, or anyone else for that matter, for he was haunted by a guilt he could do nothing to ease. Bad enough he would have to sit through a meal that evening. He thought of feigning fatigue, but that would only give his family more cause for concern, and no doubt the lot of them would be at his door before the night was over with one excuse or another.
Right on cue, a knock came on the door and it swung open before him. So much for his privacy, he thought as Cedric and Eleanor clamored through, both vying for position.
“How is he?” Eleanor asked, having inched Cedric out by a hair. “I finished this stuffed horse for him. Lady Elizabeth says my stitching is getting better.”
“A stuffed horse!” Cedric exclaimed. “What kind of toy is that for a little boy? He can’t train to be a knight with that. What’s he going to do when he meets the enemy, cuddle them to death!”
“Maybe if more knights played with stuffed horses, the world would be a more peaceful place,” Eleanor snapped.
“Yes, that’s definitely the kind of knight I want by my side when I go into battle,” Cedric replied with sarcasm.
“What makes you think you’ll ever go into battle,” Eleanor retorted. “You’re going to be a cleric.
“Not anymore I’m not,” Cedric grumbled. “Father’s already agreed that I can train as a knight.”
“It’s a little late, isn’t it?
“No! Richard and Armus will teach me.”
“You don’t really they’re going waste their time with you, do you?” Eleanor replied with a touch of humor in her voice.
Richard sat listening, his eyes closed, trying to block out the constant bickering his two younger siblings seemed to be incessantly involved in. Finally, he could take no more.
“I’m sure William will enjoy both your gifts, now if you don’t mind, I would like to get a bit of rest. It was a long trip.”
Eleanor and Cedric threw each other an uncomfortable glance, then left their toys on the table and bid their brother a good day. Not until they reached the staircase did either of them speak.
“I never thought I’d say this,” Eleanor whispered, “but I wish we had the old Richard back. He may have been arrogant, self-centered and thoughtless at times, but at least he smiled once in a while.”
“I know,” Cedric agreed. “I don’t think I’ve seen him have a really good laugh since William left. He always used to laugh at our bickering. That’s not like him at all. It can’t be good.”
“Of course it’s not good,” Eleanor exclaimed. It never ceased to amaze her how Cedric could make such an obvious observation and act as though he had uttered some profound statement.
“I just wish there was something we could do.”
“So do I, but I don’t know what. The more we try to help, the more walls he puts up. That’s one thing that hasn’t changed.”
Perhaps we could talk to Father?”
“What good would that do?” Eleanor replied as she reached the foot of the staircase, once again marveling at how her brother could be so incredibly naďve. “They’d only end up arguing like they always do.”
“Well what can we do then?”
Eleanor began to speak, but couldn’t. There were no words to say, so she just shook her head and headed outside.
**********
Resigned to his fate, Richard sat down at his desk and opened the cloth bound journal that held the castle’s accounts. Perhaps if he compiled some figures to present to his father that evening it would take his mind off William and maybe even allow him to appear relatively content when he joined them at the dining table. No need for everyone to know how deeply troubled he truly was. Half-heartedly he pushed the two small toys aside and dipped his quill in the inkwell with the intention of adding up the latest column of figures. He had only been at it for a moment or two, however, when a knock came on his chamber door that was to drastically alter his plans.
“Yes, what is it,” he inquired, certain that one of his siblings had come to express their sympathies, but on opening the door, he was surprised to see that it was one of the pages, looking uncharacteristically winded.
“A letter for ye, m’lord,” the boy said respectfully. “The gentlemen said it was urgent, so I brought it as quickly as I could.”
Richard threw an apprehensive glance at the missive, his heart nearly stopping as he spied the waxen crest pressed upon the parchment. There was no mistaking what he saw. The seal, that of hardened wax embossed with a raven, was the seal he had seen used by Henry Goodall on a number of occasions. Richard closed his eyes and took a deep breath, dreading his worse fears had come to pass. Having refused the merchant’s request for additional funds, was he now to be punished by being forbidden to visit William ever again? But how could word have arrived so quickly? He himself had reached the castle walls only an hour or two before. It was obvious that Goodall had wasted no time in dispatching a messenger, probably on Richard’s heals. What had he expected, he thought as he stared at the unopened scroll. The golden haired boy coughed uneasily, and Richard raised his eyes to meet his.
“Who brought this?” he asked, though he was finding it hard to retain his composure.
“A young gentleman from the city, m’lord,” the page replied, “from a Master Goodall.”
“Where is this messenger?”
“He’s already gone on his way, Sir Richard. I asked him to wait, but he said there was no need, that no answer would be required. I thought it strange as he stressed how urgent it was, but he turned and rode off before I could stop him. He left this package for ye as well, m’lord.”
Richard took the parcel from the boy’s hand and swallowed hard. What on earth could it be? Trying not to show his alarm he smiled at the boy, nodding uncomfortably, then turned to place the small box on the table so as not to reveal that anything was amiss, for the trembling in his hands had become noticeably pronounced.
“Thank you, Simon. That will be all.”
The boy gave a broad grin and left the room, leaving Richard to face the task before him. He stood for a moment, just staring into space, then he swallowed hard and tried to control his shaking hands enough to open the scroll. He dreaded the words that would be scrawled upon it, the words he knew must be there, but never could he have imagined the pure wickedness of the revelation that awaited him.
**********
Richard flopped back down in his chair, his mouth agape and his eyes wide and filled with tears as he read the finely written proposal. In part, it was an answer to his prayers, and yet, at what cost was this gift bestowed upon him. He blinked his eyes, trying to clear them, fearing that he had misread the script, and yet, almost hoping he had.
My dear Sir Richard,
Alas, my lord, it appears our little charade has come to an end. Your recent refusal to supplement my modest income can be construed in no other way, but do not blame yourself, my lord. It has always been my intention to ultimately attain this phase of my plan. It was simply a matter of how soon after acquiring the child I would implement it.
Now that the time has indeed come, it is of paramount importance that I begin by revealing William’s true identity, though I believe, in your heart, you already know the truth. Yes, my lord, the lad truly is, and always has been, your son. I have no doubt you will question the motives that have spurred me to such honesty, as well you might, but should you doubt the veracity of my claim, I suggest you embark on a small journey to St. Michael’s in Exeter. There amongst its records you will find the proof you desire. The certificate we presented to you less than one year ago is a forgery, for as you well know, Father Potts will sign anything for no more than a few pints of ale.
As for the letter dear Johanna placed her mark upon, I am sad to say the poor thing trusted her brother far more than she should have. She died believing the note had been intended for you, though her reluctance to send it nearly ruined our plans all together. As it was, fate stepped in and saw to it for us. Her illness truly was a fortuitous stroke of luck. Well, perhaps fate did get a little nudge on its way, but that is another matter. Now, to return to the issue at hand.
I will give you three days hence to visit Exeter, if you so choose. At the end of that time, you will receive further correspondence, instructing you what course you are to take next. Speak to no one of this arrangement, for I caution you, I have my agents watching your every move. Test me if you will, but bear in mind that your son’s life depends upon your cooperation. If you would be so kind as to open the small parcel I have sent along, you will see that this is not an idle threat.
Until my next correspondence,
I remain you humble servant,
Henry Goodall
Richard let the parchment drop from his hands. He felt as if he were suffocating, as if two massive hands were clasped around his throat. A solitary tear escaped and ran down his cheek as he reached for the small package and began to open it. Inside was a tiny bottle, labeled simply “FATE”.
“Poison!” Richard hissed. “I could have saved her,” and that revelation was enough to drive the knife that pierced his heart through to his very soul. “I’ll see the wretched scoundrel hang!” He reached inside his tunic and gently revealed a small miniature of Johanna. “Forgive me, my love . . . I have failed you and am powerless to do anything to change that, but I will not continue to fail our son. Goodall will pay for all his wickedness, though first I must see to William, go to Exeter and bring home the proof I need to retrieve him from the villain’s grasp.” He closed his eyes, a wave of nausea overcoming him as he thought of his tiny child, frightened and alone, in the clutches of this monster, a monster into whose hands he had delivered him.
The question was how to embark on such a trip so soon after his return without alerting his family that something was wrong. Though not sure how he would go about it, one thing was certain, he had to act quickly, for the fiend had given him little time. But why? What did he want in return for William’s life? He could not think about that now, not yet.
Taking a deep breath to quell the bile which fought to make its way up his throat, he leaned over the small ceramic basin in his chambers and splashed the cool water upon his face. There must be no sign of distress, no indication that anything was amiss. Then as if he had been kicked in the head by a mule and the thought jarred loose, it occurred to him. His father was sure to know of the message and make inquiries about it. For a moment, a wave of panic overcame him, but as he gripped the edges of the wash basin and starred out his window at the peaceful rose garden below, he began to take control once more. It was true his father would know of the message, but he would have no knowledge of its contents. He would tell his father that William had fallen and broken his arm. That would explain the worry he knew he would be unable to completely conceal, as well as give him a reason for heading back to Exeter. Closing his eyes to summon up at least a modicum of composure, he took another deep breath, and then headed for the door.
As expected, his father responded apprehensively, jumping to his feet as Richard bounded down the stairs. “What is it?” he asked, his brows compressed in concern.
“It’s William,” Richard replied, the concern in his voice all too genuine. “He’s fallen and broken his arm. I have to go. Henry says he keeps calling for me.”
“Yes, of course,” Thomas said, but then he added something Richard had not expected. “You shouldn’t go alone though.”
“What!” Richard exclaimed, coming to a dead stop at the foot of the stairs.
“I know how concerned you must be. Better not to ride alone in such a state. I’m sure Armus . . .”
“Really, Father,” Richard stammered. “I’ll be fine.” He did not know what else to do, so he simply bolted out the door and saddled his horse before his father could answer. He knew he would have to explain his rudeness eventually, but by then William would be safe at home and it would no longer matter, or so he hoped.
**********
It was mid afternoon the next day by the time Richard reached St. Michael’s church. A plump little priest answered his knock and greeted him with a pleasant smile. “How may I help you, my son?”
For a moment Richard did not know what to say, but then he decided to plunge ahead and simply ask to see his son’s birth certificate. “I was away in Scotland when he was born, and his mother has since passed away. It’s not that I doubt her word, Father; I just wanted to see that his christening was recorded properly. His dear mother – Johanna -- it would have been about three years ago.”
“Yes, I remember the girl,” the priest smiled. “Her brother brought her as I recall, you being away at war and all. I must admit, my lord, I was a bit skeptical about it at first, but then she seemed so sincere.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, she didn’t exactly look like a lady of noble birth, yet there was an honesty in her face I could not ignore. I suppose I should have left it blank until you could come yourself, but . . . You’re not here to contest it, are you?” the priest remarked, suddenly sounding alarmed.
“No, Father,” Richard answered at once. “Johanna was my wife, and William is my son. I simply wanted to see the record . . . and perhaps have a copy of the document for our own archives.”
“Yes, William . . . that’s what she named him, after your brother, I believe.”
“Yes, he’s away at the Crusades.”
With that the priest opened the large book and there it was before him, the proof he had been searching for:
William Richard Bartholomew Gray
Son of Sir Richard Gray of Covington Cross and
his wife, Johanna of Windham
A large lump formed in Richard’s throat, and he ran his fingers across the writing as if to ingrain it in his memory for all time. He thought of Johanna and how frightened she must have been, coming to have the boy baptized so far from home.
“One thing I don’t understand, my lord,” the priest inquired, jarring Richard from his revelry. “Why is it she did not have the child baptized at your own parish?”
God forgive me, Richard thought as he answered the priest, praying that the good Lord did not strike him dead on the spot for his lie. “She was staying here with her brother while I was away. I thought it best with the child coming.”
“Yes, of course. I should have guessed as much. If you’ve a moment, I’ll copy the certificate for you this minute.”
“Yes, thank you, Father,” Richard replied as he watched the pleasant little priest gather his quill, inkwell and parchment. He was adept at his work, and but a moment later, was handing Richard the document he desired.
“Is there anything else I can help you with, my lord?”
“No, thank you, Father,” Richard replied as he headed for the door, but then he stopped and turned to face the priest. “Perhaps just one thing. Could you say a prayer for my wife? I know she must be in heaven, but I don’t think a prayer is ever wasted.”
“You’re right there, my lord. It would be my honor. If there is nothing more, God speed to you then, my son.”
“Thank you, Father.”
********
Richard’s heart was racing as he approached the home of the merchant, Henry Goodall. He would beat the life out of the vile creature, and then have him drawn and quartered, but not before plucking William from his clutches. He pounded against the door so hard the wood itself shook upon its hinges, almost bowing as his blows met its surface. At last, the door opened and a gray haired servant stood before him.
“May I help you, m’lord,” he said, a strain of curiosity in his voice.
“Where is your master?” Richard shouted. He glanced around the house, pushing his way across the threshold, but he could see no one.
“May I ask who is calling, m’lord?”
“You know very well who is calling,” Richard replied, but then he stopped short, realizing that he had never seen this man before. “Tell your master Sir Richard Gray is here on urgent business, and it would behoove him to answer the summons as quickly as is humanly possible.”
“As you wish, m’lord.” The man bowed, then exited the room, leaving Richard pacing the floor at a rate that far exceeded his usual clip. Moments later a man, not much older than himself returned, looking rather put out.
“How may I help you, my lord?” the man asked, his voice polite but marred by a tinge of annoyance.
“Who are you?” Richard exclaimed. “I’m here to see Henry Goodall, and by God, I’ll have the sheriff upon you all if he does not come forth.”
The man looked anxiously to his servant, before turning back to Richard. “I am Henry Goodall, my lord. What have I done to bring about such wrath?”
“I beg your pardon, sir, but you are mistaken,” Richard replied with confidence. It took no more than a moment before he realized how ridiculous his accusation sounded. In the meantime, the young man just looked to his servant in disbelief and confusion.
“I assure you, my lord, I am who you seek.”
By then, the light had dawned. “No, I’m afraid you are not,” Richard replied, his voice taking on an apologetic note. “Who is it who has been living in this house for the past year?”
“I left it in the care of a servant while I was in France, my lord. I admit I knew little about him when I took him on, but he seemed trustworthy enough. After all, he did go to fetch his wife and child.”
“His child!” Richard turned and began to pace once more, his breath more rapid with each pass, his heart racing as he realized the extent of the treachery he was facing.
“Has his stolen anything from you, my lord? I will do my best to make reparations.”
“No,” Richard muttered, for though he was heartsick, he remembered clearly the warning he had received. “It was a minor offense. Think no more of it. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”
Richard rode out of town toward home, half dazed, his stomach aching and his head spinning. Now, he had no idea where William was. His only hope was that some clue would be revealed in the next letter he was to receive.
**********
“Back
so soon?” Thomas asked as Richard burst into the Great Hall. “How is he?”
“He’s fine,” Richard replied, though it was obvious he was slightly preoccupied. “He just needed to see me. Has there been another message?”
“No, not that I know of,” Thomas said, his left eyebrow raised in curiosity. “Should there have been?”
“No . . . “ Richard answered. He tried his best to make light of the question, though he knew an explanation would be expected. “It’s just that I told Henry to send word if William needed me again.”
Thomas could see his son was still concerned and so smiled sympathetically. “It’s hardly likely that we would have heard anything so soon. Besides, I’m sure the boy will be fine.”
“Yes, I know you’re right,” Richard replied with a sigh. “If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to rest a bit though. I am exhausted.”
“Actually, I would prefer you stay and explain your hasty departure yesterday. We’re all worried about you, Richard.”
“I was just upset about William,” Richard replied. He could feel the sweat forming along his hairline and on the palms of his hands. “I wanted to get there as soon as possible.”
“And did you think it impossible that anyone else could be just as concerned, that your heart alone aches at the loss of him?” Thomas snapped, unable to conceal the edge in his tone. “Really, Richard! He is my grandson. I worry just as much, miss him just as keenly, but I don’t shut the rest of my family out of my life. Eleanor longs for word or him, Cedric asks about him incessantly, and as for Armus . . . he was hurt, Richard, deeply hurt.”
“I am sorry, but I don’t see what I did to make him feel that way.”
“You could have waited one moment, allowed him to go along with you, but you thought of no one but yourself.”
“My thoughts were only of William!” Richard could hear his voice growing sharp, and though he knew it was not out of anger but self preservation, he could do nothing to stop it.
“William would have been fine whether you left at that very moment or five minutes later.”
Hurtful words came to his lips, but before they could spew forth Armus entered the hall, stopping cold in his tracks at the solemn look upon his father’s face. Richard turned toward him, and his expression did nothing to calm his fears.
“Perhaps, I should return at a better time,” he lilted, hoping his jovial tone might break the tension that was so thick he would have needed his broad sword to cut through it.
“I was just trying to impress upon Richard the irresponsibility of his leaving so abruptly yesterday. A year ago I would have expected no less from him, but I thought the experience of having his own son, if only temporarily, would have given him more of an appreciation for the concern of others.”
“But he was not my son, was he?” Richard snapped, once more allowing his temper to get the better of him. “So all my concern was for naught.” He knew the words were far from the truth, but the truth was something he could not reveal for fear of losing William entirely, and so he set his chin firmly and took a solid, unwavering stance.
“Perhaps it is for the best!” Thomas replied, at times being just as stubborn as his second son. In truth, it was the extent of their similarities that so often put them at odds with one another. Armus, however, was wise enough to see through their feeble façades.
“Really!” he exclaimed. “Then William’s welfare, whether for good or bad, is a mute concern.” His brow began to crinkle a bit, and he rubbed his chin before going on. “But then, I’m not entirely certain I understand why Richard went running off so hurriedly at the news of William’s broken arm, or why you, Father, care one way or the other. What concern is it of ours?”
Richard’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, and his father’s lips exuded virtual steam. Armus waited just long enough before continuing. It seemed he was very good at judging the extent of his family’s tolerance.
“Oh, yes, I believe I understand now,” he chuckled. “You’re both bald faced, unadulterated liars.” The expressions of guilt on the faces of the two combatants confirmed his observation, and so he continued. “William is the first of the next generation to be born into this family, and not one of us believes he is anything but that. As such, he is loved beyond all reason, and no piece of paper can ever change that fact.”
Thomas and Richard could do nothing but glance at each other, ashamed of the spectacle they had just put on, though Richard was on the verge of storming out of the room angrily as he always did when a conversation had the possibility of veering toward the emotional.
“Stay, brother!” Armus bellowed, sensing Richard’s penchant for flight. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you have no feelings for William, that your heart does not break anew each time you must leave him behind in Exeter, that sheer panic did not wrack your soul when news arrived of his accident.”
Richard said nothing in reply, but jerked his gaze away from his brother’s intimidating stare. He stood firmly, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his breath quickened, but not once did his lips part to utter a single word in denial.
“I thought as much!” Armus noted. “And Father, do you truly think I believe you felt any different?”
“I don’t deny it!” Thomas responded, having had time to calm the anger and frustration he felt at his son’s apparent disregard for his family’s feelings. “What concerns me is Richard’s denial!”
“I don’t deny it either!” Richard snapped. “But what is the point? It changes nothing.”
“It changes everything!” Armus exclaimed. “No matter what happens, that child will always have a family who loves him, people who would die for him if need be, and he knows that. Words on a piece of paper are nothing when matched against that.”
“Those words, written on no more than a scrap of paper, keep me from being with him,” Richard hissed. “That matters.”
“Does it really!” Armus replied, so logically that Richard wanted to land a blow directly on his chin. “In a few years, he will be sent off to train as a knight. He will be in neither home then, or perhaps the Goodalls will allow him to come here for his training. Have you ever thought of that?”
Truthfully, Richard had never thought beyond the present, but it was all academic now. There was a far more pressing matter than where the child trained as a knight, for if Richard made the wrong move, the child would never survive to see that day. For the first time in his life, he wanted to share his concerns with his family, and yet he could say nothing of the danger that threatened his child, and so he uttered a reply that even he knew was completely ridiculous.
“He’s not of noble birth, the whole scenario is untenable.”
“You of all people know that is not the case, brother,” Armus argued. “If sponsored by a noble, even a peasant can become a knight. You just don’t want to find the good here, do you, Richard,” Armus declared in frustration. “You simply want to wallow in self-pity. Poor little Richard! How he must suffer!”
“What do you know of it?” Richard snorted. “Have you ever loved in your life?” Almost as soon as the words had passed his lips, he wished he could have taken them back. He closed his eyes, waiting for the blow to fall, but it did not.
“If you recall, brother,” Armus replied with an eerie calmness, “not only have I loved, but I have relinquished that love for you, and you simply tired of her. I will not let you deny me this love, Richard. You should have waited, allowed me to see for myself that William was well. We all miss him as do you, yet you selfishly keep him from us.”
“He’s not your son,” Richard muttered, not knowing what else to say.
“No, he is my nephew,” Armus replied calmly, “and the same panic ran through your soul at the thought of his small arm broken and bloody plagued us all. You should have waited, brother.”
This time Armus did not stop Richard as he made his usual escape, snorting angrily and storming for the stairs. He had finished what he had to say and thought it best to let Richard stew on it awhile. It seemed that was the only way to get through to his brother, for he hid his heart so incredibly well.
**********
As usual, Richard retreated to his chambers, but he did not rest. He paced the floor, walking to the window from time to time in search of an approaching rider. If only he could share this horror with them, he thought, truly this time he would have opened his heart for all to see. For William, he would bare his very soul, but for William, he must now conceal it more than he ever had. He gazed out the window once again and at last he saw him, a solitary rider approaching the castle gates. Richard stood frozen, facing the door, waiting for Simon to deliver the message, hoping it would tell him where William was, but knowing in his heart it would only make Goodall’s demands known to him. Whatever the cost, he would pay it to have William home with him again. He took out the newly written certificate from the drawer where he had placed it and read it once more, to convince himself that it was not all a dream. A single tear ran down his cheek as he read Johanna’s name. If he had only known, could he have saved her? If he had not lain with her, caused her to be with child, would she have still been alive today?
“Perhaps,” he felt a gentle whisper utter, “but William would not be.”
He turned abruptly, searching the shadows of his room, but he could see no one. Just then another knock came on the door.
“M’lord, I have another letter . . . “
“Yes, thank you, Simon,” Richard retorted hastily, taking the note from the boy’s hands. “You may go.”
“Thank you, m’lord,” the boy replied, stunned by the abruptness with which Richard spoke. He had always been so nice to him before; he wondered if the knight knew what he was about and bowed awkwardly before hurrying away down the corridor.
Richard closed the door behind him, hardly waiting for the boy to leave the room before he opened the note, his heart pounding like some frantic tympani.
My dear Sir Richard,
I trust your journey to Exeter was fruitful, though I dare say your visit to that fool Henry Goodall has lost you precious time and any further departure from my instructions will not be tolerated. I did warn that my agent would be keeping a watchful eye on you, and as such, it was to your benefit that you spoke naught of our business to Master Goodall.
Now, as to your first task, my lord. ‘Tis a simple one really. I believe you are scheduled to ride to London on the morrow to conclude the sale of a certain number of sheep. On returning, you shall put half of the money in your father’s treasury, but the other half you shall bring to me as a sign of good faith. You will come just after dark, to the large willow by the river, the one just downstream from where you and William used to moor your boat. If you are late, so too shall be your son. As to what you tell your father about the missing coins, I care not, but do not divulge the truth or William will not see another sunrise.
I remain, as always,
Your servant,
Henry Goodall
Richard flopped down in his chair. He could feel the oatcake he had consumed for lunch coming up in his throat. He was in essence to steal from his father. There was really no other way to look at it. Oh he could ask his father for the money, which he would surely be glad to give him, but he would demand an explanation first, one which Richard could not give. His instinct was to scour the countryside for his son, to find Goodall and run him through or hang him beneath the gibbet, but this time he had to control his impulsiveness. Before all else, he had to make sure William was safe. That meant giving in to Goodall’s demands, at least for the time being. There was no other alternative. He would have to lie and pray his father believed him, else William’s life was lost. After it was over, he would explain to his father, ask his forgiveness, but for now he had to put William’s welfare above all else.
**********
That night, sleep came in sporadic interludes, plagued by a myriad of distorted visions that coursed through his dreams with frightening clarity. Richard found himself tossing and turning as he fought to escape the intensity of their images, and then moments later praying for the touch of sweet Morpheus to embrace him once more. Each time he woke was a nightmare in and of itself, for he woke to find himself trembling, with so much sweat dripping from his brow that he felt as if he had been caught in a terrible downpour of freezing rain. To make matters worse, the phantom specters that stayed with him were much too close to reality, and thus the alternating pattern of restless sleep and troubled wakefulness continued unrelentingly. How would he ever function the next day, if even sleep granted him no peace? He pulled himself up, walking over to the basin by the window, and threw the cool water on his face and neck. Then grabbing the towel, he ran it over his dampened skin and gazed out the window, trying to clarify the blurred line between his dreams and reality.
All of a sudden, the towel dropped to the floor, his eyes straining to see into the darkness. There was something out there, just beyond the garden gate. A wisp of early morning mist, a midnight shadow, he was not sure what, but as a soft summer breeze blew the scent of lavender through his window, all doubt vanished.
“Mother!” he whispered as his eyes frantically searched the grounds below.
“Yes, Richard,” a soft voice answered from behind, and he spun around to face the woman who had once held him at her bosom, the woman to whom his heart would always belong.
“Am I dreaming?” he uttered, afraid that he would wake too soon.
“What do you think?” she said, her perfect lips turning slightly up at the corners.
“You’ve come to me before, haven’t you, when I was injured. Armus said he didn’t know how I had survived.”
“You’ve always been a survivor, Richard, always so strong for everyone else.”
“Is that so wrong, Mother?” he asked gently, almost afraid that he was being scolded. “To be strong for others, to be there for them?”
“No, of course not,” she said, her tone soft and comforting, “but sometimes you must let others be there for you.” She sat down on the bed and reached out her hand. “Come here, my darling.”
Richard hesitated only slightly before going to her side and sitting down next to her. He felt as if he were a child once more, about to be reprimanded for some small infraction.
“What am I to do, Mother? If I say anything, if I tell anyone, William could die.”
“You know the answer, Richard. You don’t need me to tell you that. What is it you truly want of me?”
“I want you to be here for me,” he replied. His voice cracked as he spoke, and she put her arm around him, brushing the hair from his eyes. “Why did you have to go?”
“I’m here now, Richard, maybe not the way you would like, but here nonetheless, here in your heart.”
“But why did you have to die? Why did Johanna have to die? Now William will be alone, just like I am”
Anne laughed softly. “You are not alone, my love, nor is William. I am with you both, always . . . as is Johanna.” She nodded gently to the corner of the room.
“Johanna?” Richard breathed in a hushed tone.
“I have faith in ye, Richard. Ye’ll do what’s best for William, o that I’ve no doubt.”
“But I failed you. He was killing you, here in our own home, and I never knew.”
“Hush m’love!” Johanna whispered. “Na even I knew his wickedness, but in truth he did us both a favor. He brought me ta ye, and so William will have his father ta care for him, and a good home ta be raised in. I could na have wished for more.”
“But you could have had both regardless your health.”
Johanna shook her head sadly. “I fear na, Richard, for I never would have come ta ye. I loved ye too much ta bring even a hint o disgrace upon ye.”
“There was no disgrace, only a precious gift. Please stay with me, Johanna. I need you.”
The young girl smiled sweetly as Anne took her hand, then there was a sudden, intense flash of light, and Richard bolted upright. The sun shone on his pillow, bright and warm against the crisp, white linen. He scanned the room, blinking in the bright sunlight, and then heaved a saddened sigh.
“It was naught but a dream,” he lamented, but even as the words passed his lips, the soft scent of lavender drifted in on a subtle breeze, and it somehow gave him the strength to do what he must.
**********
After a quick breakfast, Richard rode to London as was expected and concluded an excellent deal. On returning home the next day, however, the amount he gave his father was to be considerably less. He waited in silence while his father mulled over the transaction, his heart pounding nervously as he watched the sun begin to slip slowly below the horizon.
“I don’t understand?” Thomas bellowed. “I thought you had convinced Lord Basil you could not possibly sell for less then one hundred and fifty pounds?”
“As did I, Father, but it seems he had a counter offer and refused to pay more than seventy-five. In truth, he had offered only sixty.”
“Sixty! That’s preposterous! Perhaps I should have gone myself.”
Richard hung his head in humiliation. All the hard work he had done to convince his father that he was capable of handling his business seemed for naught. He would never again trust him with such an important transaction. Thomas could see the look of mortification on his son’s face, and his heart softened.
“Well, if you couldn’t convince him otherwise, I don’t suppose anyone could," he said, a warm smile touching his lips. He rested his hand on his son's shoulder in encouragement. "It’s less than what I expected, but we’ll make do. Well done, Richard.”
Somehow both men knew he did not really mean it, but Richard appreciated the gesture nonetheless. There was no time for sentimentality, however, for the sun could barely be seen and the shadows of twilight had begun to cover the countryside.
“Thank you, Father. I’m sure I’ll do better next time,” Richard assured the elder knight, then turning to gaze out the window he added, “You wouldn’t mind if I skipped tonight’s meal though, would you? I feel like a ride before it gets to dark.”
“No, I suppose not, but aren’t you a bit weary of riding?”
“Actually, I fell much better now that I . . . well, now that you know the deal didn’t go as well as I’d expected,” he grimaced. “I won’t be long.”
“Very well, I’ll have Cook keep something warm for you then,” Thomas smiled, feeling that his son’s mind was more than likely still on William. “Richard,” he added with a definite hesitation, “are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yes, Father,” the boy replied. He smiled broadly, and then turned to head out the door.
**********
It was almost completely dark when Richard arrived at the old willow tree. A pinkish tinge bled across the horizon as if painted there by some giant hand, thus providing the only patch of daylight in an otherwise darkened canvas. He felt ill as he looked around the peaceful glen, praying to God above he was not too late. Sweat was gathered on his brow, his breath deep and quick, a sense of panic overcoming him, when out from behind the enormous tree stepped the impostor, Henry Goodall.
Richard could not say a word. He stood staring at the man, a combination of fear for his son and utter contempt for Goodall etched indelibly upon his face. Henry snickered at the sight of him, and Richard was sure that if not for William, he could easily have throttled the man within an inch of his life and felt no remorse what-so-ever. At long last, Henry spoke, a callous pleasure still in his voice.
“So, did you bring it? Seventy-five pound, I believe. You are becoming quite a good liar, my friend.”
Richard still did not say a word. There was a burning rash rising in his cheeks, and he pressed his lips together, praying he could hold his temper. He threw the pouch of coins at the man’s feet, hoping against hope that he might actually break his toe or something while doing so. Henry jumped back, his lip curling in disgust.
“Better take care to watch what you’re doing, m’lord, lest you find the boy returned to you in a box.”
Richard could wait no longer. He reached out and pulled the little runt up by his collar. His green eyes piercing through the other man’s with such force it caused the villain to lean back away from his attacker. He was not frightened enough to give up William’s whereabouts, however.
“See that hill over there,” Henry shouted, his voice hoarse from being constrained in his tightened collar. “There’s a rider there. Do you see him? If you don’t take your hands off me, he’ll ride ahead, and your darling little boy will be dead before you can mount your horse.”
Richard gazed to the hilltop, and to his horror, found just what Henry had described. Without another thought, he let the man fall to the ground, his anger growing more intense by the moment.
“Where is William?” he shouted.
“Oh, not yet, m’lord. Did you think this measly bit of money was going to buy your son’s freedom? He is, after all, nobility, worth far more than this paltry some. No, you shall not get off so easy, my friend. For the next week, you shall bring me the wealth found in the homes of your family and friends, starting with your father’s of course. His shall be the first treasury you pilfer.”
“You’re insane if you think I’m going to rob my father,” Richard snapped, forgetting for the moment the consequences of his refusal. Henry, however, had every intention of reminding him, in no uncertain terms.
“He is such a tiny little thing! Pity if he should fall off a cliff!”
Richard wanted to rip the vile creature’s throat out, to silence him forever, but he knew he could not let his anger get the better of him. This was no trivial disagreement with one of Baron Mullen’s men, where the only concern was the level of his father’s fury. His son’s very life was at stake here, and he had to do all that was possible to preserve it. There was no other conceivable course of action.
“When?” Richard snarled, his emerald eyes still burning into the villain’s soul.
“Tomorrow! Leave but one coin in your father’s treasury. It will be your calling card. Come just after dark, as you’ve done tonight, though I must say, you did cut it a bit close.”
“It’s a difficult time to get away,” Richard exclaimed, “especially if you don’t want my father to know about it. He does expect me at the evening meal.”
“Very well then, just before dawn . . . Of course, that leaves you little time to pilfer your father’s treasury.”
“Tomorrow!” Richard cried. “That barely gives me time to . . .”
“You’re a resourceful sort, Sir Richard,” the man sneered. “I’m sure you’ll get it done.”
With that the man turned and disappeared into the evening mist, leaving Richard standing alone, empty handed. He hung his head, wondering why he had not ended the blaggard’s life right then and there. The answer was resounding. He loved William more than anything, more than he hated the man that had stood before him, more than his own life and reputation. He would do what needed to be done, regardless of the consequences.
So it was that he slipped down the stairs in the wee hours of the morning, but to his surprise, he found Armus sitting up, in front of the dwindling fire.
“What are you still doing up,” he asked, for lack of anything else to say.
“I might ask you the same, brother,” Armus replied, but then he sighed wearily. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“Dreams about the Crusades again?” Richard asked.
“No, they rarely bother me anymore,” he answered. “It’s you I’m worried about -- you and William, though I do believe William will ultimately be fine. You however are another matter. It’s not good keeping everything so bottled up, Richard.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Armus.”
“Oh come now, Richard. William’s absence is tearing you apart, but instead of sharing it with those who care, you pretend it doesn’t affect you in the least. Yet William breaks his arm and you take off out of here as if his very life were in danger.
“A broken arm can be a serious affair,” Richard uttered in his defense.
“You broke your arm twice if I remember correctly,” Armus chided his brother, “and though Father and Mother were concerned, it was far from life threatening. In fact, if memory serves me, the second time Father was more angry about you falling through the stable roof than worried about your well-being.”
“That was different. I was home where they could care for me.”
“No you weren’t. You were in training. It was Uncle Robert’s stable, and you were trying to sneak away with Derek Maxwell, off to get into more mischief no doubt.”
“Yes, well William was not into mischief, and I was not there,” Richard grumbled.
“I know that, but perhaps it would help if you would just confide in us. We are here for you, brother.”
Richard was fighting hard to keep his eyes from filling with tears. “Yes, I do know that, but there is nothing to confide in you about.”
“Why are you roaming the halls this late at night then?”
“I didn’t know I needed a reason to walk about my own home,” Richard replied sarcastically. “I suppose I’d better get back to my chambers before the castle guard throws me in the dungeon.” With that he turned and bolted back up the stairs, leaving Armus clapping his hands to his side in frustration once again.
**********
Though it was only about an hour later before Richard heard Armus slip into his chambers, it seemed like hours. He had not slept at all, but kept glancing out the window, praying that the sun did not begin to rise before he was able to sneak downstairs to the treasury. Even after hearing Armus close his door, he waited for the gentle rhythm of his brother’s snoring to begin before venturing out into the hall once more. Then, in the wee hours of the morning, he slipped into his father’s treasury, leaving but a single coin set upon the table, and road out to meet the charlatan who was masquerading as Henry Goodall.
Richard was exhausted as he rode up to the old willow. He had managed little sleep and the whole experience was taking an enormous toll on him emotionally. The morning light was just beginning to seep its way onto the distant horizon, yet above, the moon still cast its silvery glow across the countryside. He had barely dismounted, however, than the imposture once more stepped out from behind the gnarled old tree.
“Good morning to you, m’lord,” he said with a cheerfulness that caused Richard’s blood to boil.
“Before I go any further,” the knight growled. “I want to know who it is I’m dealing with.”
“Really, m’lord, do you think I’m going to tell you me real name? Come now, even you must realize how foolish that would be on my part. Now, back to business. Did you bring the money?”
Richard lifted two large sacks from his saddle and carried them over to the tree, but as he did, the man began to laugh hysterically.
“Not there,” he managed to say through the snorts. “You don’t think I’m going to lift them do you? My horse is over there.”
Richard pressed his lips together, willing himself to keep quiet. He must think of William and nothing else. Yet how was he even sure his son was alive. Throwing the sacks at the horse’s feet, he turned on the rogue, his eyes flaring with a fire forged in anger.
“No! Not until I see William. For all I know you could have killed him already.”
“I thought you might think that, m’lord, so we’ve brought the little tyke along this morning. Over there, at the crest of the hill, do you see him?”
Richard turned, straining his eyes to see through the fading darkness, and there, held firmly by a cloaked rider, was William, sobbing softly. On spotting his father, he cried out softly, only to be whisked away in the next moment. His words echoed in Richard’s ears, and without another thought, almost hypnotically, he bent down, picking up the heavy sacks and tying them to the animal before him.
“Very good, Sir Richard, now as to your next assignment.”
“My what!” Richard exclaimed.
“Your next assignment, m’lord,” Goodall said with a wide grin. “Your neighbor, Lord Maxwell, he’s quite a hefty coffer, has he not? I want you to relieve him of it.”
“Lord Maxwell! I couldn’t . . .”
“Ah, but you will, m’lord,” Goodall continued, his grin turning sinister. “For you know the consequences all too well.”
”But how?” Richard protested. “Entering my father’s treasury was one thing, but that of another will not be so easy. There are bound to be guards, and if I am caught . . .”
“Ye’ll be hung, I suppose, but that’s really not my problem, is it? No one would ever believe you, now would they? Except maybe your own family, but then William would be long gone, as would we, and you’d have no proof of what you said. Of course, they might all just think you’ve gone insane.”
“How could you have so little feeling for the boy? He lived with you for nearly a year and yet you . . . “
“Lived with me!” Goodall cackled. “He was an annoying little brat we kept in an upper room, until you came that is.”
“You what!” Richard bellowed, his green eyes blazing a fiery emerald. “I shall have you drawn and quartered.”
“Will you now, m’lord. I think first you had best take care of the issue at hand, for if I do not have Lord Maxwell’s fortune in the morning, your little whelp won’t be a bother to either of us anymore.
“And how do you propose I get passed the guards?”
“As I’ve said, m’lord, I’ve always thought you were a rather resourceful young man. I’m sure you’ll find a way. Until tomorrow then.”
“One day! That’s all you’re giving me? You truly must be insane, for no man in possession of his sanity would expect such a thing. I’ll need to find a way to get in . . . and out, without being detected.”
“Insane or not, the deadline remains tomorrow, m’lord,” the villain said in all seriousness, “or the boy dies!”
“Dear God!” Richard exclaimed as he slumped to the ground and watched the slimy creature slither away. He combed his hands through his hair, trying to think clearly, but it was almost impossible. In the fog that invaded his mind, his thoughts drifted back to his childhood. He had trained with Lord Maxwell’s son, Derek, as a page and later a squire. Though Richard had been a few years younger than the boy, the two had become fast friends, until the latter had ridden off to the Crusades, where he had been killed. Almost as if a bolt of lightning had coursed out of the morning sky, a memory flashed through his mind. A hidden entrance, concealed by a century or more of vines and ivy, lay recessed along the castle wall. He and Derek had used it on many an occasion to sneak in and out when they were supposed to be at Robert Gray’s castle studying. It was Richard’s uncle Robert who they had been training under, but on warm summer days the two would sometimes slip away on an adventure or two. Now, the lessons learned on those outings would prove invaluable, for it was indeed a way into Lord Maxwell’s castle.
That night, as the moon rose high in the sky, Richard quietly saddled his chestnut mare and slipped away into the darkness. It was not the first time he had made the ride without the benefit of sunlight, but never before had he done so for such a treacherous reason. His hand shook as he reached for the rusted latch and pushed the stiffened wood. It smelled of mold and mildew, and vivid memories flooded his senses. What would Derek think, he thought to himself as he made his way along the disserted corridors to the floor above. He knew exactly where Lord Maxwell kept his key. He had seen him hide it there on many an occasion. Richard felt heartsick. The man had so trusted him that he never concealed its whereabouts from him, and now he was about to break that trust. He turned to leave, but as he did he thought of William. Nothing, not even his honor, was more important to him. Turning back toward the chest, he rushed across the room and removed the key from its hiding place, but he was unable to go any further. He closed his eyes, trying desperately to quell the guilt that was overpowering him, fighting to build up the courage to do what he knew he must. Then, just when he felt he could go no further, a familiar voice broke the silence, nearly causing his heart to stop.
“Go ahead,” the distant echo said, and he turned to see a smiling boy of about thirteen, with mud smeared across his slender nose. No not a boy, but a whisper of one. Richard gasped as he recognized his friend. “Father will understand,” the boy laughed.
“Derek?” Richard whispered.
“He will understand.” The boy’s broad smile dropped away to a sadder one as he spoke. “I understand, my friend. I did not expect you to come along. We each had our own duty. Mine was to serve the King in the Holy Land. Now this is yours.” He smiled cheerfully once more. "Do what you must, Richard. We are forever friends." Then nodding approvingly, the image vanished.
Richard stood staring for a moment, a warm glow seemed to permeate the room and a peacefulness came over him. A tear broke through as he turned and opened the metal banded chest. He had always felt he had abandoned Derek, left him to face the Crusades alone, but how could he have gone with Armus away and his father depending on him so.
“Thank you, my friend,” he muttered. “I swear I shall somehow return it, if I need spend my entire life in doing so.”
Moments later, he was heading back toward Covington Cross to await his rendezvous with the villainous kidnapper. He slipped in through the postern once more and up the cold stone steps to his chambers. He could hear Armus snoring gently as he passed his room, and he stopped, wishing he could wake his brother and ask his advice, but knowing he could not. Instead, he carried on to his own chambers and slumped down exhausted on the bed.
“I mustn’t sleep,” he whispered to himself, but the thought was engulfed in a wave of unconsciousness.
**********
The first rays of sunlight strewn in across Richard’s handsome face, causing him to start from his slumber. A gasp of panic forced him to jump from the warmth of his bed, pulling his clothes on even as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. He would be too late. Goodall had warned him. Within moments he was out through the postern and heading for their usual spot, praying Goodall would be waiting as usual, annoyed at the delay no doubt, but there nonetheless.
His heart pounded and sweat dampened his tawny hair as he rode up to the twisted willow. Jumping from his horse, he searched the countryside for a sign of his nemesis, but he could see no one; not Goodall, not the horseman, not William. Panic overtook him as he rode up to the top of the hill and scanned the horizon, but still he could see nothing, save the occasional peasant going about his routine task. Then across a field, he saw William, standing all alone, crying softly as he sucked on his thumb.
“William!” Richard mumbled in relief. He spurred his chestnut mare and headed back down the hillside and across the open ground, planning to pluck the child up to himself without even allowing his pony to slow to a canter. He galloped along, pure instinct guiding him to the site where his son stood, but when he arrived, a young woman ran out in front of him, whisking her child out of the way of his charging steed. It was not William at all. The child’s mother looked up at him as if he were mad, but she said nothing, for she was merely a peasant woman, afraid to speak out in front of a noble. Instead, she simply clutched her child to her bosom and ran off toward her cottage.
Richard sat in stunned silence, looking after her. He was so certain it was William, or perhaps he simply wanted it to be so. Heaving a sigh of desperation, he turned his horse to head out across the valley and a soft whisper lilted across the land on a gentle breeze. He looked in the direction of the gentle cry, and he saw Goodall, sitting on his horse, with William in his grasp. He held the boy around the waist, letting him dangle off the side of his horse.
“I hope I don’t loose my grip, my lord,” he said as Richard rode slowly toward him. “For if I did, I fear the lad would surely be trampled to death.”
“I’ve brought your money, fiend!” Richard exclaimed. “What more do you want?”
“Your honor, my lord,” Goodall replied viciously. “I want to see you disgraced,” but suddenly, it was not the wicked merchant speaking but Johanna. “You swore to me that you would care for him, but you have betrayed me,” she said as she held out her son’s limp body. “See what you have done.”
“No!” Richard shouted as once more he bolted upright in his bed. Darkness surrounded him and within moments, his father was at his door.
“Are you all right, Richard?” he asked out of concern.
“Yes, Father,” the young knight replied shakily. “Just a nightmare, I guess. I’m fine, really.” He gave a feeble smile and laid back down amongst his tangled sheets. “Good night, Father.”
“Richard, we really must talk about this,” Thomas stated. Concern was written across his weary fac