THE SHIELD OF LOCKSLEY;

Or, The Beggar's Knave

Locksley looked at Brennis who was waiting with his bow drawn. Maybe it would be easier going in through the sewer pipe? he told himself. But scaling the wall and using the chute makes more sense than wading through a pool of shit. What if there’s a locked gate at the other end of the pipe? What if the moat’s too deep, and I’d have to swim? I’d never make it, not with all this maille I’m wearing. Taking it off and going in through the pipe unprotected made no sense. If he scaled the wall, he’d be able to wear the chain. All he had to do was get up the wall, open the chute and climb through. The chute looked large enough. He wondered if he’d be able to pull himself up with the added weight.

“Are you ready?” Brennis asked.

“Has Turquine dropped the bridge?”

“Not that I can see.”

“We’ll ‘ave t’ wait. We need a distraction.”

“Did Launcelot say when he was coming out?”

“‘e said ‘e’d give me time t’ get close.”

“And how will he know that we’re close?” Brennis asked.

“I dinna ken, maybe Vergil’s on a hill, watchin’? Or Baudwin?”

Brennis laughed. “If they can see us, we’re not very well hidden.”

“There!” Locksley said, watching both Launcelot and Lamorak ride out of the woods. Vergil followed, leading a pack horse loaded with weapons; Baudwin following behind. There were a dozen spears of varying lengths, from the Roman pilium, to Saxon lances made more deadly when delivered on horseback. There were four shields, two each belonging to both Knights. Locksley could see the long-handled axe Lamorak preferred using, hanging from his saddle, along with his broadsword, which gave him more mobility than having it hang at his side.

“Do you think he’ll accept the challenge?” Brennis asked.

“‘e won’t have a choice,” Locksley replied. “A Knight challenges ye in front o’ the men ye ‘spect t’ follow ye, what think ye? ‘e doesna have a choice, does ‘e? An’ that’s when we move,” he said, hearing the pulleys used to lower the drawbridge come to life.

He could see the top of the walls lined with Turquine’s mercenaries. Were they Knights Tarquine had captured and turned to his cause, or had he somehow sent word out? They were an odd assortment of men from what he could see. Some were obviously Saxons, while others were Norsemen, and still others, from tribes to the East — from foreign lands with exotic names like Samarkand and Constantinople.

Locksley kept them in sight as he and Brennis skirted along the tree line after hearing the drawbridge fall. A moment later, there was a cheer from the walls and Locksley pointed at a small shrub. Brennis grinned and they made his way toward the bush, the moat yawning in front of them.

“I trust it’s nae too deep,” Locksley said, slipping down the steep embankment. The water was cold as it seeped through his maille; it rose up to his chin, and Locksley found himself standing on his tip-toes, gasping for breath.

Brennis scrambled up the other side of the moat and brought out the arrow Vergil helped him devise the night before. It was triple-barbed, the last barb meant to spread out when someone tried to pull it out. He stood with his back against the wall, aimed at the chute, and watched as the arrow lodged deep into the door. There was a string attached to the arrow, the end of it tied to a rope.

Locksley climbed out of the moat and watched as Brennis pulled on the string; he saw the rope rise up into the air. He looked up at the wall in case someone should look over — knowing  it would be the end for both of them — and finally stood beside Brennis with his back against the wall. Locksley looked up at the arrow, the rope dangling from the end.

“What am I s’posed t’ do with that?” he asked, and Brennis smiled.

“Watch,” the Squire grinned. He flipped the rope and it wrapped around the arrow; he flipped it again, and a third time, and then pulled on the line.

“An’ ye ‘spect that’ll do the trick?”

“I simply pull on the line to get the chute open.”

“An’ then what?”

Brennis reached down for the small bag hanging from his belt. In it was a hook. He pulled on the line and the arrow bent, pulling the door open.

“Willow,” he said. “It bends and doesn’t break—as long as it’s fresh. We tie this end of the rope to the hook, throw it up and catch the open door, then climb in.”

“We?”

“Did you think I was going to let you go in there alone? I’m not weighed down with maille. I can climb without fear of the hook breaking free. I can also secure the rope inside for you.”

“Ye’ve no need t’ do it,” Locksley said.

“Yes I do,” Brennis said. “It’s Sir Grummer in there. I’ve known the man since I was a child. He never knew my name, always got it wrong, forgot who my mother was, but he was always there to see that I got what I needed. I owe it to the man to try.”

Lamorak watched the drawbridge fall, felt a surge of cold air rushing at him, the dust and grime stinging his eyes. He looked at Launcelot and grinned, pulling the strap of his war axe over his gloved hand. He reached out for a spear, and Vergil brought him one of the shorter lances. Eight feet long, it offered the rider more flexibility. A man could rush into a mêlée and put five riders down before they could react; a rider with a barbed tip would kill every man he confronted.

“We’re decided then, are we?” Lamorak asked.

“Yes. I’ll take Turquine, and you get all the fun,” Launcelot said drily. “If he comes out with an escort, that is, which I expect he will.”

“Well, yes, there is that. But when has Turquine ever disappointed you when it comes to doing something you expect? Maybe you should ask yourself, when’s the last time he did the right thing? He’s not going to come out here alone, and we both know it.”

“Again, you get to have all the fun,” Launcelot said.

“How many, do you think?”

“No less than a score.”

Lamorak looked up at the walls of the Keep and saw the mercenaries lined up against the parapets. He estimated there had to be at least thirty, or forty men, and hoped Locksley was as good as both Pellinore, and Grummer, said he was. He wasn’t going to worry about it; he’d have his hands full soon enough.

“I think we’re about to find out,” Launcelot said. He dropped his visor and held out his hand for the long Saxon spear. He looked down at Baudwin. “How many do we have?”

“Three.”

“Give me the tight shield,” he said, watching as Turquine’s horse thundered across the drawbridge. He was followed by his riders.

“I count one score and ten!” Lamorak laughed. “At least they made it a fair fight.”

“Are you sure, Lam?” Vergil asked, handing the small shield to Baudwin who brought it over to Launcelot. Grabbing his bow and a quiver full of arrows, Vergil mounted his horse and waited.

“I won’t say no to you watching my back,” Lamorak said. “But don’t shoot everything you see.”

“Why would you say that?” Vergil said with a laugh.

“When you’re a Knight riding into battle, you’ll be grateful for two things. A Squire to watch you back, and one who knows when to stand down.”

“You take all the fun out of it,” Vergil said.

“My very words,” Launcelot laughed.

“Shall we then?” Lamorak spurred his horse ahead and Launcelot followed.

Lamorak went to the right, away from Tarquine, while Launcelot rode directly at him. There was a moment of confusion — it became obvious that Turquine had his own idea as to whom he should face — and Launcelot crashed into the riders with his long spear, shattering it on impact. He dropped the shaft and picked up his mace, the three foot chain and balled spike a deadly weapon in his hands.

Lamorak approached the riders with his short spear, catching them unprepared. The first three Knights were unable to get their shields up high enough as Lamorak lifted the tip of his spear, catching the first rider in the throat; dropping the tip of the spear down just as quick, he caught the second Knight in the ribs were he knew the maille would be weakest; swinging the weapon against the third Knight and catching the Knight’s shield, the pointed barb pierced the shield and impaled the man. Lamorak dropped the spear and slid his war axe down his wrist, letting go a tremendous backhanded swing that caught the man on his right, only to bring the weapon back with a forehand slam that took the man on his left in the neck. The blood sprayed and Lamorak laughed.

Lamorak heard an arrow as it passed by his head, and saw the man behind him drop his sword, the weapon falling out of his hands as an arrow passed through his throat. He looked to the left and saw Vergil smile as he notched another arrow and let it fly, catching a Knight under the armpit. Lamorak turned and saw another Knight fall where a moment before Launcelot was swinging his mace. Baudwin grinned at Vergil and the two Squires separated, each following the battling Knights.

Lamorak watched Launcelot riding toward Baudwin. Baudwin was quick to jump off his horse, drop his bow, and fetch the second of the long Saxon lances; he held it up and Launcelot reached out with his hand and snatched it from him. Out of the corner of his eye, Lamorak saw Turquine behind a circle of six Knights. He spurred his horse and rode at Turquine’s knights; he heard an arrow flying past him and watched as the man to the left of him fell. It was only a heartbeat later that a second Knight’s horse buckled, and fell, as Lamorak crashed into the other Knights, his battle axe catching flesh and taking root.

Turquine spurred his horse and Lamorak saw Launcelot come in behind him at blinding speed. The Knight never let up, and drove his spear into Tarquin’s shield. The lance shattered, a large splinter of wood spearing Turquine underneath the helm, like a child torturing a bug. Both horses reared up, screaming; Turquine’s horse skewered with a thin sliver of lance that pierced its neck. Launcelot had his mace in hand, the spiked ball driving full force into Tarquin’s face and Lamorak watched as the man fell to the ground, dead.

And there you have another instalment of THE SHIELD OF LOCKSLEY. Make sure to leave a comment if you see any spelling mistakes, or maybe you don’t like the way the story is going? We can change it, but only if you tell me what needs to be changed.