THE SHIELD OF LOCKSLEY

Chapter 11...part 2

Miriam could hear the melodious pounding of hoof beats in the distance, and looked up at the bushes where she’d lain her clothes. She’d disrobed entirely — remembering how Gwenellyn had told her how exciting it was, and how freeing it felt — and had enjoyed the feel of the hot spring bubbling over her. Gwenellyn was right about that, she thought. She was also thinking how she’d never enjoy as much freedom again in her life, and it saddened her to think how her life would never be the same because of her father’s condition. She remembered swimming naked as a child — along with her brothers — and while the spring wasn’t deep or wide enough for a proper go at it, it was still warm enough for her to lay partially submerged on the rocks and let the water wash over her.

She rushed to the bushes she’d lain her gown over and rather than trying to dress herself, thought it would be quicker to hide the dress — stuffing it into the undergrowth and making certain it was hidden from view. It would be easier for her to dress once the danger had passed, she reasoned. She’d grown up in a time of war and suffering, and was old enough to know that a naked woman in a stream was a temptation no man would turn away from. She’d heard stories of serving girls and maids who’d been attacked by gangs of thieves, or ravaged by rogue Knights, and vowed she’d never let it happen to her. She knew what followed when besieging armies stormed castle walls and breached defences. She could feel her heart beating in her breast as she looked about for a place to hide, not knowing which direction the sound was coming from.

A voice in the back of her mind told her not to panic, that she had to think things through if she expected to survive. She knew if she was well hidden, she’d be safe. If it’s a large group of Knights, they’ll have no choice but to use the main trail, she reasoned. And there was only one direction that could be. She was far enough away from the trail so as to be completely out of sight. She crawled along the rocks, slipping on the lichen, scraping her knees — the trail always in view, always in front of her — and kept her head low enough so that if anyone spotted the top of her head, they’d think she was just another rock. She could hear the snorts of the anxious horses, the pounding of their hooves on the hard-packed earth, as well as the call of the men where they were gathered on the top of the hill, looking down at the camp.

She was frightened. She’d crawled far enough downstream that the water had cooled somewhat, but she could see the flanks of the horses as they waited, and was wary enough to know that if she could see them, they’d be able to see her. She knew it was better for her to remain hidden where she was and wait for them to leave. There was no way of knowing how many riders there were; no way for her to warn Griflet, and the others, and she worried that Gwenellyn would fall prey to the attackers. She was just as quick to dismiss the thought though, and justified it by telling herself that Gwenellyn wouldn’t give her a second thought if their places were reversed. All she could do was to pray that Griflet and his men-at-arms would be strong enough to repulse the attackers.

Does that make me a lesser person? she asked herself.

She could hear the sound of broadswords being drawn out of leathern scabbards, followed by the thunderous pounding of hooves, and the war-cry of Saxon marauders — a haunting cry she was far too familiar with. She scrambled out of the water and quickly dressed herself. Hugging the trees, she made her way down the low-sloping hill. She could see pieces of the battle through the trees, flashes of sunlight reflecting off maille. She saw Gwenellyn make a mad dash for the trees, only to be ridden down by a Knight with a powder blue cape. She held her hand to her mouth to stop the scream she felt building up inside of her, as the man raised his sword and brought it down on the hapless girl without hesitation. Gwenellyn fell to the ground.

Griflet was organizing the wagons in front of the clearing where her father lay, and Miriam approved. Standing on one of the wagons, the brave Squire began shooting arrow after arrow at the oncoming invaders. Many of the invaders pitched headlong to the ground where the pages and men-at-arms made short work of them.  The attackers circled the camp once, and then regrouped and came again; Griflet rallied the defenders and beat the attackers back yet again. A young page was bringing out more arrows and Miriam held back a scream as one of the attackers threw a war axe at the boy, cleaving the boy’s skull.

Miriam watched the Knight with the blue cape dismount and approach Gwenellyn once more, kicking her in the ribs to rouse her. Gwenellyn jumped up, lashing out at the man with a long knife, almost plunging the blade into his thigh. The man laughed, leaned over, and hit her hard with his fist. He picked her up in one quick motion and threw her dazed figure over his shoulder, walking back to his horse as she fought him weakly. He bound her hands with a length of rope and threw her up on the saddle before climbing up behind her, wrapping his arm around her and grabbing the reins. Several of the camp followers were taken as well — as was the supply wagon — before the invaders made for the woods once again.

Miriam lay behind a fallen tree, hoping the steady hammering of her heart wouldn’t betray her. She saw Gwenellyn trying to fight loose of the man’s grasp, but he held her tight, laughing at her attempts to escape. She watched in horror as the man ripped the bodice of her dress, exposing Gwenellyn’s small breasts.

Making her way down the low rolling hill and out of the trees, Miriam stumbled into the ruined camp. There were a dozen dead Saxon invaders that she could see, and only three of the defenders — one of whom was the boy with his quiver of arrows. She stood looking down at the child, thought of removing the axe where it was still lodged in the child’s skull, and decided it was not something for her to be doing.

“Thank the Lord Jesu, you’re safe!” Griflet said, coming out from between the wagons.

“My father? Is the king safe?”

“He lives.”

“We have to get moving as quick as we can, in case they return,” she said, walking across the field of slaughter. Griflet pulled the war axe out of the child’s skull, and followed.

“You can’t be serious?”

She stopped to look at him, saw the axe, and turned to continue walking.

“We have to go after them,” he said, following her; imploring.

“Go after them? Are you mad?” she asked, spinning to face the youth.

“They’ve taken captives,” he said. “They’ve taken your kinswoman, as well as several of the women —”

“Camp followers. You’d risk the lives of everyone here, in an attempt to rescue five women?”

“She’s your kinsman.”

“And what of it?”

“The king would set out —”

“The king’s in no position to say yeah, or nay, is he? I’m his daughter. Are you going to question my reasoning? The king must be protected, at all costs. If that means not splitting our limited resources by giving chase to Saxon invaders, then so be it. We simply have to catch the Queen up and mount a search then, when we will have the resources. Does that not sound like the more prudent thing to do?”

“As you say, my lady,”

“Then the sooner we get underway, the sooner we can get your whores back.”

I hope you enjoyed this. I didn’t want to put out a long piece that would have you groaning at the sight of it, so decided to break it into two pieces. Let me know what you think of it in the COMMENTS.

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