Reynold de Burgh: The Dark Knight

Reynold grunted. Did the silly women think that young Peregrine was equipped to watch over a hardened knight? More likely, it would be the other way around, the lad becoming a nuisance the further they travelled.

‘Then I release you from service. Find the nearest village and present yourself to the manor’s lord,’ Reynold said.

Again, the boy shook his head. He appeared neither alarmed nor angry, just calmly insistent. ‘I am bound to the l’Estranges.’

‘Then make your way back to their manor and other duties there,’ Reynold suggested. Although he had never been to the l’Estrange holding, he knew Bridgid’s aunts lived on the edge of Campion lands, a journey that should not be too long or dangerous for the youth.

‘I could not. I am bound by my vow, my lord.’

Annoyed as he was by the boy’s refusals, Reynold had to respect such loyalty, especially coming from an untutored lad. He could insist, of course, but there was always the possibility that Peregrine would try to follow him, falling into some sort of mischief on his own. At least the youth wasn’t the sort of companion who would chatter constantly along the road, Reynold mused, which brought him back to the original question.

Where were they going?

Although unwilling to admit as much to the boy, Reynold had no idea. When he had decided to leave Campion, he’d had a vague notion of joining Edward’s army. But somehow fighting against the Welsh didn’t seem right when his brother’s wife had inherited a manor house there. And it was whispered that Bridgid possessed the kind of powers that you didn’t want turned against you. The l’Estranges were all … strange, and Reynold frowned as he remembered their actions this morning.

‘How did your mistresses know that I was leaving?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know, my lord. However, it is rumoured that they hold the secrets of divination, so perhaps they became aware of your departure through such means. A quest, they called it,’ Peregrine said.

Reynold snorted at such nonsense. ‘I have no quest or mission of any kind to fulfil.’ He slanted a glance at the boy. ‘This journey bears no resemblance to the romances, if that is what you are thinking. We travel without the usual train and even pilgrims face dangers of which you know nothing. I will not be responsible for you undertaking such a trip, vow or no vow.’

But Peregrine did not appear daunted. In fact, the boy flashed a grin that made his eagerness obvious. ‘Who would not seek adventure, if given the chance?’ he asked, as though questioning Reynold’s sanity.

Reynold’s lips curved at the challenge, for he and his brothers would once have asked the same. And for the first time this day, his heart felt a little lighter. He had seen himself as a lone wanderer, an outcast even, though of his own choosing, but this youth might prove to be a welcome companion.

‘Then let us be off,’ Reynold said. He urged Sirius towards the right fork, away from the road that led to his brother Dunstan’s holding. This route, as Peregrine had pointed out so cheerfully, led to something new, though unlike the boy, Reynold was not looking for adventure. Indeed, he hoped not to meet with any. Or anyone.

And yet, they had not gone far along the new track before they were hailed. Squinting into the distance, Reynold saw a horse standing ahead, alone with its rider. As they neared, Reynold realised it carried both a man and a young boy. They were neatly, if not richly dressed, and looked harmless, except for a sturdy wooden staff that protruded from their pack.

‘Good morning, sire,’ the man said, inclining his head. ‘Where are you bound?’

‘We are pilgrims,’ Peregrine said, and Reynold realised he would have to have a word with the boy about the merits of discretion.

‘We, too!’ the man exclaimed, a pleased smile crossing his worn features. ‘Where are you bound?’

Peregrine did not have an answer and so looked to Reynold, who said nothing.

‘Ah. You are reticent. That is understandable. But may we ride with you? Fortune favours those who travel together.’

‘I don’t know if your horse can keep up,’ Reynold said, reluctant to add more to what had begun as his own private excursion.

‘Surely you are not in such a hurry?’ the man asked, undeterred. ‘Part of the journey is enjoying the sights and the good company of fellow pilgrims.’

It was the latter that put Reynold off, for he was not like one of his more gregarious brothers. He had always kept to himself and had no desire to lead a motley band across the country.

But the man was persistent. ‘I beseech thee, as a fellow pilgrim, to allow us to travel with you for the increased safety in numbers. I ask not for myself, but for the boy, who would seek the healing well at Brentwyn. He is lame, you see.’

At the man’s words, Reynold stiffened. His first thought was that this fellow, too, was jesting, part of some vast scheme initiated by one of his brothers to turn his departure from Campion into a prank. But why, and how? Ultimately, Reynold rejected such notions as nonsense, and as much as he would have liked to reject the man’s pleas, as well, he was a knight and bound to protect those weaker.

‘Very well,’ he said curtly.

Thanking Reynold many times over, the fellow introduced himself as Thebald and the boy, who nodded gravely, as Rowland.

‘I am Reynold, and this is Peregrine,’ Reynold said, hoping that his squire would adopt some discretion from his example. The name de Burgh was well known, at least in some areas, and he did not care to deal with whatever reactions it might bring. He had consented to ride alongside these people for a few miles, not share with them his background or his business.

To his credit, Peregrine appeared more circumspect when he next entered into conversation with the strangers. Still, he and Thebald chatted amiably, relating stories of the road and various shrines and sites. Reynold listened briefly, but having no patience for such chatter, he soon returned to his own thoughts, chiefly among them how his plans for a solitary sojourn had come to this.

Something woke him. Unlike his brother Dunstan, Reynold did not sleep upright against a tree when travelling, yet he would not be a de Burgh if he did not remain alert to the slightest sounds—and cautious. And so he came awake, but kept his eyes closed as he listened carefully.

What he heard was a rustling sound, but of man, not beast, as though someone were rifling through his pack. He lay still as stone and lifted his lids just enough to see what he might. They had made camp in the ruins of an old building off the road that provided some security, but the small fire had either died out or been doused.

The only light was that from a sliver of moon that shone through the roofless remains, but it was enough to illuminate the heavy walking stick that hovered above Reynold’s head. Thebald loomed over him with the stout weapon at the ready, while the boy who had used it to hop about earlier was now standing upright without aid, going through Peregrine’s supplies. Had they already knocked the youth senseless?

The thought of Peregrine’s fate fuelled his strength, and Reynold leapt upwards with a roar. Although wiry and tenacious, Thebald was no match for a well-trained knight, and Reynold quickly wrested the cudgel from his hand even as the thief yelled for his companion. The boy, obviously no cripple, pulled a dagger and threw it with no little skill, a deadly missile carefully aimed at Reynold’s chest.

Apparently asleep, Peregrine had awoken at the noise and shouted a warning as he rose to his feet. Reynold spared him a glance only to see him felled by the young brigand, who fought with the ferocity of a demon. The two rolled around the remains of the fire, stirring it back to life.

Snatching up the knife that now stuck from his chest, Reynold put it to Thebald’s throat. ‘Call off your dog, if you value your life.’

Eyes bulging, the would-be thief struggled for breath. ‘Stop, Rowland. Stop!’ he croaked.

The young miscreant showed no signs of hearing or heeding, so Reynold struck Thebald with the walking stick, hard enough to prevent any further mischief, and turned his attention to the brawl that was now perilously close to the fire. It was obvious that the devil was trying to roll Peregrine into the embers in hopes of burning him or even setting him alight.

With a grunt, Reynold grabbed Rowland by the back of the neck and threw him on to the ground. Before he could rise, Reynold had put his own dagger to his throat.

‘Listen carefully, faux cripple, lest you lose your life. I am lame, and yet I can gullet you like a fish.’

Even when presented with the sight of his injured master, Rowland remained difficult. He would admit nothing, and struggled so that Reynold was forced to tie him up with a length of rope in his pack. And after Peregrine and Reynold had gathered up their belongings and mounted, taking the thieves’ horse with them, the youth railed at them, screaming curses into the night.

‘I cannot believe it,’ Peregrine murmured, obviously shaken by the encounter. ‘He seemed so gentle and kind this afternoon.’

‘Let that be a lesson to you, boy. Appearances can be deceiving.’

‘They could have killed us while we slept!’

‘You perhaps, but not I.’ When Peregrine ducked his head in embarrassment, Reynold softened his tone. ‘I think they are nothing more than common robbers who make a living by preying on pilgrims. Murder is probably only a last resort for them, else they would have killed us first and then picked our pockets.’

Peregrine did not look comforted. ‘But what about that knife? I saw it strike you in the chest! Are you not wounded, my lord?’

Reynold shook his head. ‘I would not go upon the roads without mail, though I’ve covered the short coat with my tunic so I don’t draw attention.’

‘But you will always draw attention.’

Dare the boy refer to his leg? Reynold slanted him a glance, and Peregrine stammered. ‘I—I mean … It’s only that you’ve got that big sword and, well, you’re a de Burgh. Who could mistake you?’

Reynold snorted. ‘I was unremarkable enough for Thebald and Rowland to think they could master, if those were their names.’

‘Was it true, what you told him?’ Peregrine asked. At Reynold’s sharp look, he stammered again. ‘I—I just wondered because you can’t tell, by looking at you, I mean.’