"Milord, it was the Scroll! It has to have been. It was seeking a tool, and it somehow made my father do this. You cannot believe he would act so falsely otherwise!" Diego stood by King and father, desperately clutching at straws to preserve his belief in Rodrigo. "Isn't that right? That's what that spirit from the Scroll of Light told you!" He turned to Ian for support.

Ian almost nodded in agreement for Diego's sake. Almost. Then his fist clenched over the button Harold had left them and he knew he could not let the deaths of the big Saxon and his men be for naught. He stepped closer to the three Castilians, the King nodding permission for Ian to speak, and de Vivar watching the half-elf with a slight smile on his lips.

"Aye. It's true. That night before Zantar ambushed us at the ford, Yussuf told me that Zantar had "tried to take over some warrior and failed." Then when Zantar had me in that hold, he taunted you. He said he should have sought you out before your father, that he was too proud, and that was when you rushed him." Blackthorn turned now to look fully at Rodrigo de Vivar. "And you are, aren't you? Too proud to use other than the force of your own arms and wit to seize what you want. You'd never allow yourself to be used as a pawn even if it meant the realization of your ambition: to found a kingdom and dynasty. Isn't that right, Campeador?"

"You're wrong! My father does not honor the King as he did King Sancho, but he would never seek to overthrow him. He is his Champion!"

"It's not Castile he wants, boy." Ferret spoke quietly from where he stood off to the side of the throne. "Think, Diego. Why do you think he attacked the tribute train from Toledo? Why do you think there's been attacks on caravans from Toledo?"

Ian nodded at Ferret's words. "He's right, Diego. al-Qadir's position is a weak one. All that keeps him on his throne is Castile's protection. Take away that prop, and there might be an opening to seize Toledo and its riches for the de Vivars. There are enough landless younger sons that it would be easy enough to persuade some to join in the conquest in exchange for estates."

"al-Qadir is a spineless dilettante. He belongs in a dusty library somewhere with his soft hands grasping a scroll." Rodrigo murmured. Then he looked at his accusers. "Words, all words. Not one shred of evidence. Except for that button the damnable madman pulled from a tunic. And I say again, you dare not execute me, Majesty. So! Shall we put this behind us all and move on?"

From somewhere behind him, Ian could hear the muffled curses of Timmons and Marcus, but the crushed look on Diego's face held his attention. He wondered if that was how he himself had looked when he'd learned too late of his own father's duplicity.

"If His Majesty chooses to do as Don de Vivar suggests, it is His prerogative to do so." Ferret's voice was calm and professional, yet pitched so it somehow was clear to all about the throne. "My company will be forced to break our contract with the Throne and vacate all barracks and buildings we presently use for shelter in His Majesty's service. Then I shall call challenge on Don Rodrigo de Vivar and seek satisfaction for the deaths of my men."

Ian nodded. "And should Captain Ferret fall, I will call challenge next."

"And then I." added Marcus, who spoke almost in unison with Timmons.

Alfonso regarded the mercenaries. "You may, if you wish, leave our service. But we cannot allow the other; some of our subjects would claim it was a sham, designed so that we might kill de Vivar and keep our hands seemingly clear of it. But it will not come to that." By now all had noticed the King's use of the royal "we" and along with his change of stance as he turned to face his kinsman was a clear signal he'd reached a decision. "As for you, Rodrigo Diaz de Vivar, we declare your lands and title forfeit for treasonous acts against us, and further more, do banish you from our Kingdom of Castile. You have three days to leave our Kingdom."

"Three days? Majesty, that' s not enough time for my sisters and mother to prepare!" It was Diego, not his father, who protested the ruling.

"Enough! Do you think we are fools? Our agents returned from Burgos last eve and told us the Lady Ximena had already begun loading wagons not an hour after you and your father rode out. Don't tell us you did not know!"

Diego looked stunned, and Ian stepped forwards. "I don't think he did, Majesty. Look at his face."

Alfonso did look, and then rounded on Rodrigo with anger. "Damn you. Nothing like an innocent voice to defend the guilty, eh? Tell him, cousin." Tell him where you, my niece, and the girls are bound. Tell him!"

"Zaragossa. We are bound for Zaragossa, my son."

"But Zaragossa is.. it's a Moslem kingdom! Why would you want to go there?"

"Because it's fighting with one of its neighbors, and it needs experienced commanders."

"Your father, Diego, " said Alfonso as he once more sat upon his throne, "is becoming a mercenary."

There was a look of genuine anticipation on Ferret's face as he stepped closer to Rodrigo de Vivar. The veteran captain was the smaller man, but somehow he seemed larger as he smiled coldly at the nobleman. "Mercenary, eh? You are no better than I or any of my men now, de Vivar. I pray someday we face each other on opposite sides, so that I might have the pleasure of killing you.

"You're welcome to come and try, little man, and then die." de Vivar's smile matched Ferret's in its contempt. Watching the two of them, Ian wondered if they ever would come to cross blades.

But if they did, he did not want to miss that battle.

10/2002


Champion: Part XXIV

As it turned out, it was a fight Ian never had a chance to witness, for it never came to pass. Don Rodrigo rode away from Castile with his most loyal followers, bound for the northeast of Spain and the Moorish Kingdom of Zaragoza. There he stayed for a number of years serving as commander of the army, and so Fate kept he and Ferret from ever meeting on the field of battle.

But when he rode out of the courtyard of King Alfonso's palace following that stormy interview, one rider did not make the journey with Rodrigo.

Diego Diaz chose not to follow his father.

**********

October 23, 1086
Sagrajas, (called Zalaca by the Moors)
On the road to Badajoz

"Easy, lad, there'll be fresh oats for you tonight!"

"Talking to beasts, are we now, iffrit? `Ware, lest one of the bishops' spies get an earful and run tattling to their masters!"

Ian looked up from where he was tightening the saddle cinch and grinned with pleasure at the speaker. "Diego! What are you doing back here with the lowly mercenaries?

"It was bothersome riding in the van. All the clinking and clanking of all that armor, not to mention the suspicious stares through helmet visors. I tell you, my friend, my uncle's allies look at me as if I am the son of the devil himself. For which, I suppose, I can't really blame them."

Ian gave the cinch a last yank, then swung up into the saddle. Like Diego, he wore lighter armor than the French and Italian knights, leaving him a bit more mobility. "And what of your father? Will he come, do you think?"

"My father is bound by his terms of service to Zaragoza. He'll not be allowed to come south to fight other Moslems." Diego grimaced. "I suppose we should be content he won't be allowed to fight us, either. Zaragoza prefers to sit off to the side and wait to see who to toady up to afterwards." He grinned suddenly. "But what of you? How are you avoiding the bishops' wrath?"

"By staying out of sight, mainly. Ferret keeps me here guarding the supply train and I wear this damn helm most of the day." He tapped the side of the winged helmet Ferret had given him. "He says with my height, it makes me look like a Viking, and that is less terrifying for the churchmen than a half-elf's ears."

Diego nodded. "He's right, Ian. I'd hate to see you at the stake, so do as your Captain tells you, and stay as inconspicuous as possible. I'll see you tonight at camp." He lifted a hand in farewell, then turned his horse tightly and before Ian could reply, was streaking down the road ahead past the supply wagons and towards the front of the column.

*********

A few hours later, the column came to a halt and Ian watched as a rider drew closer. By now, he'd have recognized that crouch in the saddle anywhere and so he sat waiting for Timmons.

"Moors! They're off to the side of the road, atop a rise. Alfonso's turned to face them." Timmons spat on the ground as if clearing his mouth of dust, but the look he shot Ian was enough to tell the half-elf it was really to show his opinion of the decision. "Ferret says to get the wagons at the rear of the column turned back around in case they have to run for it.," he added in a lower voice. "I'm heading back there now. Be ready in case things go badly." He took a swig from the water bottle Ian offered him, and then rode away.

Ian wasted no time watching him. Instead, he sent some of the men under his command after Timmons to help, and with the rest started the process of getting the wagons at this end to turn about as well. It was not an easy task, since their owners included not only servants and staff of the nobility, but also camp followers and children. Most of these he sent off on foot ahead of the wagons, receiving a stream of curses in reply from those who would rather wait and ride. An aging harridan was berating him when she suddenly stared past him and let out a shriek of terror. Ian turned and let out a loud curse himself.

"Run, woman! " He looked about for his men. "Otters! To me!" Then he looked back up the road at the wave of warriors streaming in their direction. "Get some torches lit and prepare to fire the wagons on my order." Around him, the howls of outrage continued but lessened as the more prudent commoners cut horses loose from their traces and rode away, leaving their wagons behind. Ian tried not to think about what lay ahead for those left behind. All he could do was to try to buy more time so as many as possible might escape.

The riders draw nearer, and as they did, Ian recognized the standard borne by one. Near it, King Alfonso reeled in his saddle, held steady by Diego riding along one side and Ferret on the other. The King's leg was covered in blood, and his face was pale. The trio didn't stop, but swept past Ian and his men, Ferret nodding mutely to the half-elf as their eyes met. Then they were gone, lost in a mob of fleeing men.

Ian waited until that first main body had passed, then drew Deathkiss, and urged his horse back out into the middle of the road against the current of foot soldiers. "Halt! Turn and form a line, you cowards!" Amazingly, some did, but the majority kept running. Well, he'd have to do the best he could with what he had, then. He raised the sword and signaled his men. "Burn the wagons!"

Then he lowered the sword, drew his buckler up over his other arm, and waited for the attack.

10/2002