Here Be Dragons - 1 by Sharon Penman (best ebook reader android TXT) 📗

The old King, Henry of blessed memory, led an army into Wales, went up against Owain Fawr. TheWelsh won the day, and King Henry was forced to retreat back into England. But ere he did, he had a number of Welsh hostages brought before him, wellborn men all, including two of Owain's own sons. He ordered them blinded, Sir Walter."The other's face did not change. "That battle was fought nigh on thirty years ago. Why tell me this now?""Because you may be sure the Welsh do remember. Because that's how war is waged in Waleson both sides. I've fought in Normandy, in Scotland, even inIreland, and I tell you true when I say the Welsh do make the worst enemies.They do not play by your rules, they win when they are not supposed to, and they do not know when they're beaten. They're wild and cunning and treacherous, not to be underestimated. It's been only a week since we captured one of Llewelyn's men not a mile from Ha warden. When we put the knife to him, he admitted that Llewelyn was encamped in these woods. Knowing that, we'd be mad to take yon path, no matter how much time we'd save.""Our guide assures me that this rebel you seem to fear so much is not in the area, that he's known to be in Arfon. He also assures me that this is the quickest way to Rhuddlan." Walter de Hodnet paused, his eyes moving from Giles to the encircling men. Although most of them spoke only rudimentary French, it was evident that they'd followed the argument; their faces were flushed, hostile. He stared them down and, turning back to Giles, said curtly, "Give the order to move out."

59Giles had black eyes, flat and shallow-lidded. They flickered now, mering with impotent fury. And then he nodded, signaled the men fo fall into line. There was hesitation, but only briefly. From the die, they were taught obedience to rank; rebellion was utterly beyond their ken.But although they obeyed, they did not like it. Walter could hear them muttering among themselves in the guttural English he found so harsh upon the ear. Saxon swine. As a boy, he'd thought it was one word, Saxonswine. Stupid and sly, the lot of them. It was always his accursed ill luck to have such oafs under his command. Little wonder he'd yet to win the recognition he craved, to find his niche. But this time would be different. By gettingChester's message to Rhuddlan by nightfall, he'd stand high in Montalt's favor. It was not inconceivable that Montalt might even make mention of him toChester.A smile softened his mouth at that, and for a happy moment he indulged in a gratifying daydream, imagining himself summoned by the mighty Earl, friend toKing Richard, one of the most powerful lords of the realm. A knight inChester's service would be a made man. He'd have no reason then to envy his elder brother Baldwin; Baldwin might even envy him.His smile faded; thoughts of Baldwin were always sure to sour his mood. There was less than a year between them, but Baldwin was the eldest born, Baldwin was his father's heir, would inherit all when Sir Odo died. For Walter, for his brothers Will and Stephen, there would be nothing, only what they could win with their wits or their swords. And a younger son's options were limited.If he was fortunate, he might find a place for himself in some lord's household. Or he might try his luck in the tournament lists, but that was a risky way to earn a living. For those who'd failed to find service with a lord, or lost in the lists, there was little left but banditry. Of course, one could become a clerk, like his brother Will. But a clerk had no social status;he was a nonentity, of no account. Walter's mouth tightened. Was he any better off, in truth? What had he except his horse, his armor, and a shilling a day in wages?But if he could do this for Montalt and Chester ... he glanced back over his shoulder, at Giles's dark, sullen face. He'd managed to infect them all with his damned fool fears; they were shying at every sound, as jumpy as cats. As little as he liked to admit it, it was even getting to him. He tilted his head back, studied the sky with narrowed eyes. Dusk was 'ailing fast. But if their guide was right, they were less than seven miles from Rhuddlan.Walter slid his fingers under the noseguard of his helmet, rubbed the chafed skin across the bridge of his nose. What was the guide's

60name? Martin? A quiet sort, half-Welsh, half-Saxon, an outcast in both worlds.But he knew these hills as few men did, and he"Sir Walter!" Giles had come up alongside his stallion. Keeping his voice pitched for Walter's ear alone, he said tensely, "You hear itthe silence?Suddenly there is not a sound, no birds, nothing."Walter stiffened, listened. Giles was right. "Oh, Christ," he whispered. He swung about in the saddle, peering into the surrounding shadows, saw nothing."Martin!" he called sharply. A few yards ahead, the guide turned, his face questioning. But as he did, a low humming noise cut through the eerie stillness. Walter gasped, flinched as a rush of hot air fanned past his face.His stallion leapt sideways, and he jerked on the reins, turned the animal in a circle. Only then did he see Giles. The other man had dropped to his knees in the road. As Walter watched, he tugged at the arrow shaft protruding from his chest, and then fell forward, slowly slid into the mud churned up byWalter's stallion.For a moment frozen in time, nothing happened. And then one of Walter's men, the one called Godfrey, dropped to the ground, rolled toward a fallen log, shouting, "Take shelter!" An arrow slammed into the log, scant inches from where he crouched, followed by an earsplitting, wordless yell, and Walter's