THE SHIELD OF LOCKSLEY
CHAPTER 5: OF PLOTS DEVIZED
Locksley, now known as The Beggar’s Knave, after having appealed to the Queen and been refused, sets off with The Boys in search of Sir Grummer and Ector de Maris, thinking to rescue them from their captor…
CHAPTER FIVE
OF PLOTS DEVIZED
Locksley was almost certain he could smell smoke in the distance as he drew himself up in his saddle, looking at Brennis to his left as he stood in his stirrups and searched the air. Whatever it was he thought he smelled, Brennis noticed it at the same time, and turning in his saddle, looked at Locksley. Looking up, he nodded; they both slowed their horses to a walk, as Brennis began searching the forest floor ahead of them, looking for any signs of possible ambush. Locksley followed Brennis’s gaze and saw how the leaves ahead of them seemed to have been kicked over, their slick undersides exposed and catching the last rays of sunlight.
Locksley turned and looked at a sun, where it was low in the sky and threatening to drop down behind distant mountains. He could see clouds mixed in with the distance—the clouds shot through with rays of sunlight—and told himself it was going to be a miserable night.
The impermanence of Nature, he thought, wondering where the thought even came from in the first place.
No doubt, that would be Uncle Grummer’s influence.
Locksley turned his attention back to the trail. He was certain it was smoke, now. It was faint, still lost somewhere in the distance, but together with the musky scent of wet leaves kicked up from their horses’ hooves—and whoever they were following, he reminded himself—he told himself he had to do something. He stopped.
He watched The Boys, seeing how they both stiffened once they caught the scent as well. Locksley nodded and gave his reins to Brennis before climbing down from his horse. He drew his sword, taking off his belt and scabbard as he pulled his shield off his back with practiced ease.
“What’re ye doin’?” Godfrey asked in a hoarse whisper, looking about with obvious dread. He was looking at the surrounding woods, thinking it was a good place for an ambush—and it was, with high aspen trees caught in a gentle breeze, and birch, on both sides of the trail they were following. The night was coming fast; twilight would soon be on them which was even more reason to be off the trail as far as Godfrey was concerned. Godfrey drew his longbow out and strung it as he sat crosslegged in the saddle. He took an arrow out of the quiver hanging from his saddle. He lifted his leg over and jumped down from the saddle. Geoffrey was quick to step down as well.
“Surely, ye smell it?” Locksley said, looking up at the Boys.
“Aye, that we do,” Godfrey said. “An’ it would do ye well t’ keep yer voice low. If ye can smell their smoke, it’s for certain they’ll hear ye braying like a bitch in heat.”
“Sir,” Geoffrey said with a smile.
“Sir,” Godfrey acknowledged,
Locksley looked up at Brennis. “We don’t know what’s there, so I’m going to have a look. The first thing ye wanna know about bein’ a knight, is that if yer gonna to fight on foot, it’s better to take yer scabbard off. Ye doan need to be trippin’ yerself up,” he added, passing the scabbard up to the boy.
“I’m thinking this is nae place for us to make our camp,” Godfrey warned.
“Aye, but also, too, ’tis not my intent t’ stumble blindly into a camp I know nothin’ of,” Locksley said. “This is one of the many tactics of War I’ve been taught—always know yer enemy’s strength.”
“Taught t’ ye by who? We’re not at war,” Godfrey pointed out.
“I’m going t’ scout ahead until I can determine where the camp is. Ye twae stay here if yer afeared,” he said.
“That tactic doesn’t sound like a sound tactic,” Geoffrey said, and handed his reins up to Brennis. “Which means we’ll have to go jest to be certain he doan get hisself killed.
“Well, of course,” Locksley said. “Can’t have ye not sayin’ something, as well, I’d expect no less from ye.”
“Is he being facetious?” Godfrey asked, walking his horse and giving Brennis his reins as well.
“Nae, that’s irony,” Geoffrey said. “He doesn’t know the difference.”
“It won’t be irony unless he actually finds them,” Godfrey reminded him.
“I think ye’s have me confused with my uncle—”
“We’re not t’ let ye call ‘im that,” Geoffrey warned, looking up at Brennis.
“Why not?”
“Sir Grummer’s orders. We din’t agree to it, but what could we do? He’s willin’ t’ be yer uncle, but he doan want nae man t’ know yer good kin. Is that understood, boy?” he added, looking up at Brennis.
Brennis stared down at the large man, noted the endless melody of scars that crisscrossed his body and nodding slowly.
“An’ why would me uncle think that?” Locksley asked.
“Ye dinna ken what ye did that day, do ye lad?” Geoffrey asked. “Ye dinna hear the Queen an’ how she recalled yerself bein’ presented as The Knight of the Field? That’s not a title they give off lightly.”
“I saw none of that,” Locksley said, leaning on his sword.
“According to all what’s said, King Pellinore killed King Lot—as it should be. Lamorack de Gales is the son of King Pellinore. One of the best knights out there. Without a doubt, in the top three,” Geoffrey said.
“Aye, but it’s changeable, isn’t it? The top three, I mean?” Godfrey said.
“Aye, that it is, without a doubt,” Geoffrey agreed.
“Yer natterin’ again, Boys,” Locksley reminded them.
“Aye,” Geoffrey said. “That’s on account of Lamorack bein’ a man who’s loved by all.”
“Ye doan sound very convinced about it,” Locksley pointed out.
“Well, I’ve heard things—we’ve heard things. So he’s not always in the top three with what we heard, is he?” Geoffrey asked.
“He’s certainly nae like his brother,” Godfrey said.
“Polar opposites.”
“Which brother?” Locksley asked.
“Percy,” Brennis said. “Everyone knows King Pellinore’s sons.”
“Percival de Gales,” Geoffrey said. “Again, easily in the top three,” he said, and Godfrey nodded, agreeing; they both looked up at Brennis, and he nodded.
“You still haven’t told me anything to dissuade me,” Locksley said.
“The Orkney knights have put a bounty on Pellinore’s head. But Pellinore’s old now. He was old when I was young. But now…now, it’s been put about that Lam’s been fuck-struck by Lot’s Widow. And because he’s the son of the man what killed their father, they wanna kill him.”
“Lamorack?”
They both nodded, satisfied.
“Interesting story, but I don’t see why ye think it has anythin’ t’ do with me not callin’ Grummer me Uncle?”
“Ye were there when Lot died, aye?” Godfrey said.
“Ye know I was.”
“Say ye now what happened?”
“Lot got in behin’ us an’ swung ‘is war hammer. I got my shield up an’ saved Pellinore from having his brain-pan bashed in.”
“Aye, we know that. But we want to know what really happened.”
“I told ye,” Locksley said, growing impatient.
“An’ I’ll tell ye why we doan believe ye,” Geoffrey said, leaning on his bow and looking at Locksley. “A man has his back turned t’ someone else, an’ that’s usually ‘ow it happens—his bein’ killed, I mean. Some Berserker walks into battle swingin’ a mace on a three foot chain, holdin’ an axe in his other hand—”
“Or a hammer,” Godfrey interrupted.
“Aye, or a hammer. So Lot swings ‘is hammer down an’ ye put yer shield up to stop it, but the hammer destroys yer shield. Pellinore starts to turn, but Lot’s already about to swing his hammer again.”
“About t’ kill the ol’ King,” Godfrey said.
“That’s why ye did it yerself, dincha? That’s why it’s best nae man knows yer Grummer’s nephew. Yer the Knight Of The Field. It won’t take ‘em long t’ figure out who ye are.”
“And it won’t take them long to realize Pellinore din’t kill their father. An’ when they do, they’ll be comin’ after yerself, an’ Sir Grummer.”
“And that’s who ye think is out there,” Locksley said.
“It’s always best to err on the side of caution,” Brennis said.
