THE SHIELD OF LOCKSLEY

THE KNIGHT'S SQUIRE: CHAPTER 9

Lamorak and Locksley—together with their Squires—Brennis and Vergil, as well as Geoffrey, now acting at Locksley’s Man-at-Arms (Godfrey had been sent back to the Queen’s camp to warn Pellinore)—meet Palomides the Saracen, moments before they are attacked by three Orkney Knights giving chase to Godfrey, who is wounded.

CHAPTER 9

THE KNIGHT’S SQUIRE

Locksley spurred his horse through the thickening trail, the branches whipping at him with relentless vigour as he ducked down, trying to avoid being unhorsed by a low laying limb. He used his shield as He reached up and dropped his visor down, telling himself all he needed now was a slap in the face by a branch. It was one of the first things Grummer told him when he served as his Squire. But still, even as he felt the excitement of the chase building, his heart racing in his breast, he told himself not to let himself get distracted. He could see the rider ahead of him; he could sense the distance closing—he could even see the man looking over his shoulder as he spurred his horse on recklessly.

The trail was a muddy course with all the rain that had fallen over the last three days, and Locksley feared his horse might slip, or take a tumble. He worried that every puddle the horse raced through might be a hole that would snap the animal’s leg. He had no way of knowing how far they’d ridden from the field and their attackers, and a part of him wondered if maybe bolting off as he had was a mistake. He wondered where the other riders had gone. A part of him was thinking they were either behind him, or perhaps they’d taken a different trail and were now laying in wait for him.

He tried to keep the spear he was carrying off the ground; the effort needed to keep the tip from dropping and catching a mound of earth was playing on his mind. There were so many things that could go wrong, he told himself. But it seemed the trees were slowly thinning, the fir trees giving way to open ground, replaced by thinner birch trees, and aspens. There were willows that lined the course of the lane, their tentacled branches whipping in the gentle wind, their gnarled, intertwined, and twisted trunks, looking like something out of a nightmare dreamscape.

He slowed as he came into the opening. The grass was long, the trail lost somewhere inside of it. He could see the path the rider and his horse had taken, then lifted his visor and looked across the field. The sun broke through the clouds and he could see it reflecting off a large pool of water. The wind rippled across the surface of the water; the trees bowing low as the wind sloughed through the small glade.

He saw a figure on the other side of the pool stepping out of the woods, carrying a brace of rabbits as well as four grouse. The sun broke through the trees and the man saw him, waved, and made his way toward him, walking through the pool of water which was up to his knees.

It was Brennis.

“Well, if it isn’t the Beggar’s Knave!” he called out with a laugh. “Out and about are you, Sir? I was on my way back,” the Squire called out from the middle of the pool. He lifted the morning’s catch, smiling broadly. “I found some eggs, as well.”

“Did ye see ‘im?” Locksley asked, looking at the surrounding woods, reining his horse in tight. He wanted to be ready to dash off at a moment’s notice.

“See who?” Brennis replied, suddenly alert that something was wrong.

“That bastard horse an’ rider?”

Brennis shook his head. “I heard him,” he said. “Why?”

“The Orkneys attacked us, and Geoffrey’s taken an arrow.”

“How bad is it?”

“I dinna can.”

“I can tell you right now, whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t,” Brennis said, shaking his head as he reached the edge of the pool.

“I can’t let ‘im escape,” Locksley said. He’d set about on his own little quest, hoping to charge the man down, and meant to follow through.

“You can’t go into those woods not knowing what’s waiting for you. If there’s one thing I’ve learned living in a brothel, it’s don’t go into the woods alone.”

“And where did you hear that?” Locksley scoffed.

“From every Knight that’s ever been ambushed, or taken prisoner. They all show up at the Lion eventually, with stories meant to impress their companions.”

“Ye make it sound like it’s an ever’day doin’.”

“Isn’t it?”

Locksley was distracted by a flash of light and looked into the distance. There was someone standing on the other side of the pool. It appeared to be a woman. She was dressed in white, her dress billowing in the wind, her hair flowing behind her. The more he looked at her, the more he thought there was something familiar about her.

“There’s a woman there,” he said, pointing; Brennis turned to look at her.

“It’s that woman,” Brennis said, shielding his eyes. “The one that was with Lamorak. She left last night, remember?”

“What’s she doin’ out here then, speakin’ of out an’ about?”

Brennis shook his head as he stared into the distance.

There was a sudden crash in the woods as the Orkney Squire came out of the trees with the other rider. Locksley dropped his visor down into place and pulled his shield up. Brennis dropped the rabbits and birds, placing the eggs down carefully as he notched an arrow in his bow. He drew it back as the two horsemen worked their horses up to a gallop. The water splashed about them, the droplets cascading over them in the sunlight—each droplet a colourful prism that caught the light—as Locksley dropped his visor, set his shield in place and levelled his lance as he spurred his horse forward.

Brennis released the arrow and the second man fell, clutching the feathered barb sticking out of his throat at the same time Locksley caught the Squire with his lance, hitting him in the centre of his shield. The force of the attack caused the Squire to shift in the saddle, the lance sliding against his shield bending, shattering, and finally piercing the man’s chest. The man’s horse rose up on his hind legs and the Squire fell into the water, a stain of red blossoming about him as Brennis reached out to grab the frightened horse.

He walked through the water to where the first man lay, and grabbing the arrow, wrenched it free, tearing the flesh open. He rinsed the tip of the arrow in the pool of water before returning it to his quiver. Then he bent over and searched the man’s body, taking what few coins he could find. He stood up, counting the coins, and then looked at the woman.

“Why are you here?”

“I’ve come to speak with you…Breunor,” she said with a smile.

“My name is Brennis.”

“That’s what people call you, but you know, and I know, that’s not your real name.”

“How do you know that?” he asked, putting the coins he found on the man’s body in the small pouch he carried under his tunic. He dropped the tunic down and looked at the woman, waiting for her to answer.

“I know a great deal about you. I was well acquainted of your father—”

“My father? He was a great king, foully slain.”

“Yes, foully slain, but he was no King,” she said. “He was a Knight. Do you still have his coat?”

“How do you know about my coat?” Brennis nodded.

“From this moment hence, I want you to wear it as a talisman,” the woman said.

“And why would I do that? It’s all cut up and bloodied. It needs to be cleaned and stitched. I don’t supposed you’ll be doing that for me?”

“Wear it, and you shall have your revenge,” she laughed.

“And what revenge would that be?”

“Only by wearing that coat, will you find your father’s killer.”

“And why would I believe that?”

“Believe me or not, it’s up to you,” she said, and he watched her turn away, her body  suddenly becoming transparent as she walked into the water, her body melting.

“Wait! You can’t just leave—”