Medieval Master Swordsmen(434)

“By your command, my lord.”

It had been a struggle to speak the words. Garren’s pride was wounded, his heart damaged, but he knew what he must do. The Marshal was sad and pleased at the same time that Garren’s call of duty meant his liberation and, quite possibly, his death.

“I am sorry it has to be this way, Garren.”

“The hell you are, my lord.”

William returned to his solar without another word, greeted by a host of expectant faces as he resumed covering the plans of battle. Garren came in behind him with no hint of what had transpired in that tiny room. For all the others knew, there had been a detailed war conference between the Marshal and his greatest knight. Garren and William would not let anyone think otherwise.

The stage was set



***





Fall was upon the land. The lush hills of Wales were turning shades of golds, some reds and browns, and the heavy fog that was normally so prevalent had been in reprieve a few weeks. It was a lovely time of year.

Derica sat at the top of the hill overlooking the River Teifi. The swollen waters rushed below her, echoing off the rock. She had a basket beside her, filled with wild turnips and blackberries she had harvested from the uncultivated vines that ran along the side of the castle. It wasn’t food that was settling particularly well in her stomach these days, but nothing seemed to be. The child in her growing belly was particular about what he ate, making his mother miserable at times.

The child also made her cry or rage in an instant. Sometimes she could do both at the same time. Fergus had borne the brunt of her hysteria most of the time, in the dismal evenings when she would miss Garren horribly and she would demand Fergus go search for him. Fergus would try to soothe her, as did Emyl and Offa and David, but she would rage at all of them and cry pitifully. Then there would be periods of sunshine when she was the sweetest angel in the land. But the angel was giving way to the crazed woman more often than not, especially the more time passed and the more Garren did not return. Things were growing darker.

This morning seemed particularly bleak. Derica had done little but sit on the hill for most of it. She felt as if she had a great hole inside of her, impossible to fill except for the sight of Garren walking through the gatehouse. But nearly three months had passed since she last saw him on that rainy morning and the more time passed, the more desperation she felt. It was difficult to be continually optimistic, and to have faith in his promise. On this sweet morning, her confidence was in danger of disappearing completely. She had sat on the hill and cried.

She heard footsteps behind her, jolting her from her bleak thoughts. Quickly wiping her cheeks, she wasn’t surprised to see David’s dark eyes gazing shyly down at her.

“I thought I would take the basket from you,” he said. “It looks like a fine harvest.”

Derica smiled weakly, handing him the goods. “My thanks.”

David stood there a moment, awkwardly. “Will you be coming back now?”

She shook her head. “Not now. I will in a while.”

“I shall wait for you.”

“Please don’t. I shall be along shortly.”

David didn’t want to leave her alone, for he knew how it was with her these days. But he respected her wishes and left. He was a quiet man, very gentle, and his feelings for Derica were no secret even though he thought he concealed them quite nicely. He and Offa had gone out of their way to repair what was repairable for her, cleaning and roofing two rooms on the second floor of the north tower with a view overlooking the river. Fergus and Emyl lived below her on the first floor, while David and Offa maintained the loft in the great hall.

David was a good craftsman, using wood from the trees surrounding the castle and other items to fashion a bed for her. From wood, he had also fashioned bowls, eating utensils, a crude chest and chair, and a handloom. Then he had sold his dead brother’s sword and purchased six sheep, carefully shearing them of their old wool so that Derica had something to make yarn and fabric with. Even though it was nearing winter and the sheep were cold without their wooly coats, the hair was growing back quickly.

Their life at Cilgarren was not as desolate as it could have been. They had food and were moderately comfortable, and the de Rosas had not come around in all the time they had been there. The only thing missing was Garren, and because Derica felt it like a knife, they all did.

David was crossing the bailey towards the kitchen when Emyl came hurrying in through the inner gatehouse. He was laden with items he had purchased in town with some of the money remaining from the sale of Guy’s sword. He struggled towards David, who set the basket down and took the sack of grain from the old man’s shoulders. Emyl wiped his forehead.