Richard of Warwick sliced at the fabric of the tent with his blade, feeling the threads part before its razor-honed edge. He batted the strips of cloth away, then stepped out into the sunlight. Was that a delicate foot he saw disappearing behind a nearby pavilion? Or was it just wishful thinking on his part? As he started forward, there were sounds of a commotion from within the tent behind him.

"You! Stop right there!" The voice of William of Gaunt was unmistakeable. "What have you ... ?" The noble's voice faltered as Richard turned to face him. He glanced down towards the Golden Knight's sword, still stained with the blood from the wounded Muslim. For a moment, William stood there in silent incomprehension, then the stillness was shattered by more voices in English, French and Arabic - heated voices! As the accusations flew, William of Gaunt seemed to come to a decision. His face darkened, and he strode forward, grasping the Golden Knight by his elbow. "You!" William snarled. "Come quick! Now!"

The Golden Knight felt himself being pulled away from the tent and its occupants, then steered out of sight. "Tell me what happened - now!" William commanded him. "First tell me why you have strayed - against my orders! Then tell me what that," he pointed back towards the tent with its slit fabric flapping in the desert wind, "has to do with you."

"Those men attacked me," Richard began. "I had to defend myself."

William thrust his face towards that of the Golden Knight, spraying Richard with spittle and foul breath. "Did you, indeed? Then tell me, Richard of Warwick, what did you do to arouse their ire? Speak quickly and convince me of your innocence, or I shall make you wish that you had thrown yourself upon their blades."

"There was a woman," Richard began, but he got no further before Earl William interrupted him.

"A woman?" he asked incredulously. "And those men found you with her? Impugning both her honour and that of our king? Did some spirit of madness possess you?"

Richard felt his own temper begin to rise. How dare this man insult him? How dare he treat him like some squire caught in the stable with a servant? "I did not know she was a woman until she disrobed - ."

"Oh! Better and better!" William of Gaunt howled. The noble raised a hairy hand, the veins on it knotted and hard, as if to strike, then stopped. "No," he muttered. "I will not give you the satisfaction." William turned away, and for a moment Richard thought that the nobleman would walk away. Instead, William spun on his heels, turning back to face the Golden Knight. All the rage seemed to have drained from William's face, as had all the colour.

"You shall return to our camp," William of Gaunt said. His voice was controlled. The tenor of his words was chilling. "I shall inform his majesty of what has happened and your role in it. Then, when we return, we shall decide what to do with you." The man smiled at Richard. It was a rictus that was full of malice. "A lesser man than you would run, would they not? But I am sure you will not. A man of your reputation would stay to face judgement." William nodded in grim satisfaction. "Do not disappoint me, Sir Richard. I would be most displeased." This delivered, William of Gaunt at last turned and stalked away.

Richard of Warwick felt his strength begin to ebb. He reached out for support, to keep himself from collapsing. William of Gaunt was right. He had failed his king. He had failed his oath. And, worst of all, he had failed his honour. Maybe he should just slink away into the desert, to die forgotten under a rock like the wretched creature he was? An abyss of despair opened up before him.

"No," Richard whispered. He pulled himself upright. "No." This time his voice was louder. He felt his strength return. "No!" He would not stand for this! If he was to run now, it would prove his guilt in the eyes of his peers and his king. He had been duped - most likely as part of the strange machinations that Emrys Wledig had warned him about. Richard's course of action was clear. He would have to prove his innocence, and there was only one way he could think of to do this.

Richard of Warwick sheathed his sword and went to find his steed, King.