PALOMIDES, THE PAGAN KNIGHT

CHAPTER 8

Our Story so far: Lamorak deGales is waiting at the Bridge of Hollybourne. He whiles away the hours with a woman while Vergil, his Squire, goes out to hunt. It’s at this moment when Locksley, Geoffrey and Brennis, come out of the forest. Brennis approaches with a peace offering; they dine, and the storm finally stops…or was it stopped?

CHAPTER 8

PALOMIDES THE PAGAN KNIGHT

“To arms! To arms!” Locksley cried out, running to his horse and hoping to saddle the animal before they were attacked. He was still fully armed, not having undressed himself the night before, choosing instead to sleep in his maille. It was something he remembered Grummer having said to him some time ago, that not every night was spent under a roof, or in a soft bed. It didn’t take long for that to be proven true, Locksley thought, not with all of them having slept out in the open the previous night.

Lamorak was the first one out of the pavilion, followed by Vergil, then Geoffrey, bow in hand and arrow notched, and finally Brennis, staring across the pools of water and watching two of the largest beasts he’d ever seen loping towards the camp. Geoffrey stepped to the front, pulling the bow tight when Lamorak put a gentle hand on his shoulder. Geoffrey turned to look at him and Lamorak shook his head slowly. The Man-at-Arms lowered his weapon, watching the approaching riders. He looked back over his shoulder at Locksley, and then looked at Brennis, nodding to him as he lowered his weapon.

“Who is it?” Brennis asked.

“Palomides,” Vergil said, as Lamorak walked out to meet the riders. They turned to look at Locksley who was standing beside his horse, saddle in hand, watching. He dropped the saddle at his feet, walking back to the camp.

“Are those the beasts Sir Grummer was speakin’ of?” he asked, sitting near the warmth of the fire and staring at them.

“Aye,” Geoffrey replied.

“That’s Palomides, then?”

Brennis nodded. He found himself drawn to the animals. They were large—taller than any animal he’d ever seen—with elongated, narrow features, large, dark eyes, and long, spindly legs. They were armoured with paitrelles—iron breastplates that caught the sun reflecting off the water. They bellowed out in protest—a raucous noise that sounded frightening in the stillness of the morning.

“What are they?” Brennis asked. “I’ve never seen anything as strange looking.”

“Palomides says they’re jamels,” Vergil said slowly, as he took out what food they had—tubers, roots, wild herbs—and threw everything into a large pot he placed over the fire. “We need meat,” he said, pouring what little bit of stew there was from yesterday’s meal into the pot.

“How much?”Brennis asked.

“Well, there’s six of them, and five of us,” Vergil said, thinking out loud.

“Godfrey should be showing up soon.”

“Godfrey? I’ll make some bread. That’ll give you time to find something.”

Brennis nodded, and picking up his longbow headed out into the surrounding forest.

Palomides urged his camel to sit with light taps of a long, thin rod he held, and Locksley watched the beast settle down into place. The man lifted his legs over the large saddle and jumped down, embracing Lamorak, laughing, as he looked around the small campsite. His Squire settled his camel down and jumped from the large saddle, calling out to the four Men-at-Arms who dismounted and led their horses out to the field, as well as a train of six pack animals.

A tall man dressed in flowing robes, Palomides wore a dark green turban wrapped around a brazen helmet, which he took off and placed on the camel’s saddle. He ran a hand through his hair, untangling the knots, and said something to his Squire who called out to the four Men-at-Arms; they quickly busied themselves preparing the camp.

“And who is your new friend?” Palomides asked, his voice heavily accented. He spoke in a monotone, which made it difficult for Locksley to understand him.

“Grummer’s kin,” Lamorak said, sounding dismissive.

“And how is that drunken reprobate?” Palomides said with a laugh.

“He’s a prisoner!” Locksley said, heated, looking at Lamorak with defiance.

“What?”

“Grummer and Ector have been taken by Tarquin to his keep,” Lamorak explained.

“Are you not going to do anything about it?”

“I am,” Locksley declared.

“Then why are you still here?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question.”

They looked up as a rider burst out of the woods, trailing three horses behind him. The water in the field splashed around him. He had an arrow sticking out of his back and looked about to fall out of the saddle. Geoffrey ran out to meet the rider, waving his arms and stepping in front of the oncoming horse. It pulled up short as the three other horses slowed.

“It’s Godfrey!” Locksley called out, running to help Geoffrey as he reached up to help the  Man-at-Arms down from the saddle.

“Is he alive?” Locksley asked.

“He’s had worse,” Geoffrey replied, looking at the arrow. “Help me get him to the fire.”

“They’re behind me,” Godfrey said, and Locksley looked at the trail snaking out of the woods.

“Brennis! Get my horse ready!” he screamed as he helped half drag and half carry Godfrey into the camp. The man moaned in pain and passed out.

“I sent Brennis out to get fresh game,” Vergil said, trying to clear an area where they could lay Godfrey down.

“That’s gonna have t’ come out,” he said, looking at Geoffrey who nodded.

Locksley looked at the trail again, and then ran to the field for his horse. The four Men-at-Arms who came in with Palomides quickly threw their saddles back on their horses as Palomides and his Squire ran to their camels, urging them to their full height even as the beasts called out in protest. Vergil helped Lamorak dress, both men watching the trail as three knights appeared, coming at them at a full gallop.

It only took a moment for Palomides and his Squire to lope out onto the field with their lances at the ready. The three approaching Knights pulled up on their reins at first sight of the beasts, trying to avoid the deadly onslaught as the four Men-atArms rushed onto the field, bows at the ready with a deadly onslaught of continuous arrows. The four riders approached the Knights, two going left and two to the right. Palomides slammed into one of the Knights. The man went down, distracted by the oncoming riders and the arrows they released. The Knight’s horse screamed as both horse and rider fell to the ground, the horse slain with arrows.

Locksley watched over his shoulder as he tightened the saddle girths. He climbed onto his horse, already feeling the weight of maille as he swung his leg over the saddle. He rode through the camp at canter, calling Vergil to give him a lance. The Squire ran to the pavilion where four lances leaned against the lower branch of a tree. He grabbed the first one, holding it out for Locksley who snatched the weapon at a run. He was couching the weapon under his arm, afitting it in place. He spurred the horse forward as the second Knight turned in time to take down the Squire.

In a moment two more Knights appeared on the trail, breaking out onto the field and followed by two dozen mounted Men-at-Arms and Squires in maille.

“Gawain!” Lamorak screamed out as he galloped out onto the field, lance down and shield up. He hit the water with a splash—rainbowed drops of water danced in the morning light.

Gawain tried turning his horse to face the onslaught, but Lamorak hit him before Gawain was able to turn completely. The Knight’s horse reared up as Lamorak caught Gawain below the shield; there was a cry of pain and Gawain went down with a splash, gasping at the shock of the hit. The horse came down on top of him, shattering Gawain’s leg and stepping on his breast as it attempted to regain its footing. It stumbled as it tried to stand, and Gawain screamed out again as another hoof came down on his broken thigh.

Lamorak turned in time to see one of the Orkneys rushing at him. He braced himself for the hit, turning his shield slightly in an attempt to deflect the blow, pulling his broadsword out at the same time and slashing down at the lance as it hit the shield. The lance splintered and the Orkney Knight tossed it to the side, pulling his sword out and spurring his horse forward.

He swung a glancing blow Lamorak was able to block with his shield, but instead of swinging his own blade at the Knight, Lamorak swung an overhand blow, driving it into the horse’s neck. A shower of blood burst out of the fatal gash, covering the Knight in gore as the horse screamed and fell into the water—a blossom of crimson petaling around it as it shuddered with its final convulsions.

“That was a craven blow, Lamorak,” Gawain called through clenched teeth.

“No more than his attacking me unawares,” Lamorak called back, thinking he should stomp Gawain as he lay helpless in the water. It’d be the smart thing to do, he told himself. He waited as the other Knight ran to Gawain, his sword drawn; probably thinking Lamorak was waiting to attack. Well, let him think that. Instead the Knight took his helmet off, and laid his sword down; he fell to his knees and bent down to look at Gawain’s leg. He began pulling the chaussons down, ignoring Gawain’s howls of pain. He began picking out the few links embedded into Gawain’s flesh and the man howled again.

Lamorak took the moment to look around at the confusion.

Palomides had slain three of the Orkney Men-at-Arms. But one of his own Immortals lay face down in the water, an arrow through his ribs, under his arm. A perfect shot, he noted. He watched as another one of the Immortals fall, and reined his horse about. He watched Geoffrey rush out into the open field of knee deep water, driving three arrows into the ground. Dropping to one knee, he drew the weapon taut.

Geoffrey loosed the first arrow, and Lamorak watched one of the Orkney Men-at-Arms fall. One of the Orkney Knights rode into the field and charged at Geoffrey who was quick to roll to the side, snatching an arrow and notching it before the Knight could turn completely. Lamorak spurred his horse as he dropped his lance into play. Geoffrey’s arrow caught the horse where the maille covered it. Lamorak watched with growing fear as Geoffrey stood, taking the last remaining arrow, and running.

Lamorak loosed a scream as the Knight ran Geoffrey down, the horse stomping him.

It was over almost as soon as it started.

The other two Orkney Knights were trying to help Gawain; Locksley was riding against one of the Squires—there were three of them facing him. Lamorak watched Locksley take the first of the riders down. The other two split apart, one going to the left, the other right. Locksley wheeled his mount around and gave chase to closest of the Squires riding into the forest.

The fool, Lamorak thought, looking back at the camp. Vergil was on one knee, his longbow taut as he buried another arrow into the dead horse in front of Gawain. Lamorak rode at him, screaming that Geoffrey had been injured.

Tend to your wounds at every opportunity, he told himself. His father had told him that. You can drink and laugh about this day at Court, he’d said, but you’ll never forget this day, either.