THE SHIELD OF LOCKSLEY
Or, The Beggar's Knave
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE LADY, CAPTIVE
Locksley stood beside Palomides on a low sloping hill, looking out over the Keep rising up in the distance. They were standing inside a small copse of trees, a slow, lazy wind sloughing through the branches; the pungent smell of the dead leaves they’d kicked up, surrounding them. They stood at a distance, but even so they could make out the wide moat surrounding the Keep. The drawbridge was down — there were carts of produce and materials passing in and out — and Locksley supposed that was because there were no perceived threats in the area. The drawbridge would be raised soon enough the moment Lamorak and Launcelot appeared on the field to issue their challenge. That was the moment, he decided, when he’d have to slip into the moat and make his way into the sewage pipe.
“And you are certain this is the best way in, effendi?” Palomides asked, shaking his head.
“Aye.,” Locksley replied, looking at the man with a quizzical knot of his brow. “Geoffrey said ’twas the least beheld of any Hold, or Keep.”
As they watched, the garbage chute above the sewage pipe opened up.
“Och, what’s that?” Locksley asked, watching as a barrow full of debris slid into the moat. He looked at Palomides, and the man grinned.
“Refuse, effendi?” Palomides offered with a laugh.
“Aye,” Locksley said with a slow nod. “The chute t’is then,” he added, making up his mind.
“Are you certain, effendi?”
“I’ve nae desire t’ go in through that cess pool of shit,” Locksley declared.
“The chute it is then,” Palomides said, and laughed again.
Locksley nodded. “An’ what’s that name ye keep sayin’ on me?”
“Effendi?”
“Aye, that one,” Locksley nodded.
“It means: ‘respected friend’,” Palomides explained. “A term of endearment.”
“Nae just friend, but respected friend?”
“Aye,” Palomides smiled. “Effendi.”
“I’m pleased ye think so high on me,” Locksley said at last.
“When will you attack?” Palomides asked.
“ ‘Twould be best under the cloak of night, think ye nae?” Locksley said. “But I’m sorely aggrieved t’ think Lam an’ Lance will nae wait that long.”
“And if they attack too soon? What then? They are but two against a multitude.”
“A multitude? An’ how many is that? A multitude?”
“Two score,” Palomides said without hesitation, and Locksley fixed a stare at him.
“Two score? Ye seem assured on that?”
“Any more than that, and there is no room to wield your weapon,” the man said.
“And ye’ve fought against a multitude?”
“Have you never been in a mêlée? Or in a battle?”
“Aye, I’ve been t’ battle,” Locksley said with a slow nod.
“Ah, yes, so you have. Knight of the Field, was it not?” Palomides smiled.
Locksley looked at Palomides and nodded, not knowing how much the man knew of the story. It’s possible he knows more than he should, Locksley thought, but then, he was his Uncle’s friend and that had to stand for something, he thought. Grummer being Grummer, Locksley had every reason to believe his uncle may have said too much while lost in his cups.
“By the hand of Pellinore, no less?” Palomides said, and Locksley wondered if that was a note of awe he’d heard in the man’s voice
“Nae less,” Locksley nodded.
“And how is it that a young bachelor Knight finds himself at a king’s side?” Palomides asked a moment later. Locksley told himself it wasn’t awe he’d heard the moment before.
“I killed my way there,” he said, staring at the man.
“And what of Lot’s King’s Guards? Every king has his guards.”
“Overthrown,” Locksley said, and remembered driving the point of his sword through a man’s face — one of Lot’s six King’s Guards. Locksley had pushed with all his weight against the man, until the blade came out through the back of the man’s helm. Without hesitating, Locksley pushed the King’s Guard back, with his shoulder, and turned, ducking as Lot’s battle axe sliced the air above him, taking the dead man’s head off. Locksley had struck without a second thought.
Definitely a multitude.
“By your hand, effendi?” Palomides asked softly, and Locksley remembered the dead knights around him.
“Pellinore’s,” Locksley lied.
“And Lot?”
“Dead — by Pellinore’s hand,” he was quick to add, turning back into the trees and walking to where they’d left his horse and the camel tied up.
“And so I heard,” Palomides smiled, following.
“Ye’ve heard overmuch, it seems,”
“And what do you mean by that, effendi?” Palomides was still smiling.
Locksley stopped and looked at the man.
“Ye were nae there. Ye saw nae, an’ yet, ye know I was made Knight o’ the Field by the hand of the king?”
“I do. But all of Camelot know the tale.”
“My Uncle has spoken to ye on it?”
“He has.”
“Mayhap he’s said overmuch?”
“Mayhap,” Palomides grinned. “But, effendi, it was Pellinore who spoke of you at Camelot Court.
Locksley nodded, turned, and reached for the horse’s lead tied to a tree. He walked the horse out of the woods and into a clearing where he climbed up into the saddle. He waited as Palomides climbed on the huge camel and urged the beast up to its full height. Locksley’s horse back pedalled as the beast rose up; Locksley patted the horse gently.
“An’ what is it me Uncle said, an ye will?” Locksley asked a moment later.
“The truth.”
“The truth? An’ what say ye t’ that, then?” he added.
“That Pellinore will hold you in high regard should you come across his niece, effendi.”
“I’m adoubted Pellinore will say ought,” Locksley said, pulling on the reins and turning the horse.
“Lam then?” Palomides said with a smile.
“That, effendi, is a bridge t’ be crossed,” Locksley laughed. “T’is his sister’s opinion t’ heed as well.”
They rode across the open countryside. The dew-laden grass rippling in the wind, the distant trees bent and weathered, were swaying gently; clouds were scurrying across a cobalt sky. Locksley looked at the Keep looming over the low valley, looking like a bright spectre in the distance. He knew whoever was standing on the parapets would see them, but he told himself it didn’t matter. They’d be questioning their own eyes at the sight of Palomides and his camel lumbering across the valley.
They reached the edge of a large wood where they’d set up camp the night before. There was a natural clearing with a small stream; a fire, warm and inviting, glowed red. Brennis had returned late in the afternoon, and being the good Squire he was, had helped set up the camp and prepare the meal. His first concern had been for both Geoffrey and Godfrey, and Locksley was glad to see that. Mustafa and Amal watched over the Boys, but Brennis had brought game, as well as tubers and wild greens, which he dropped into a pot and let to stew. Mustafa added ingredients so that there was more than enough for all of them. Locksley watched as Brennis soaked a loaf of bread and fed it to Godfrey.
He knew he had to get them to an apothecary, or even a nunnery — preferably a whore house, he thought, where they could all rest for a few days and perhaps enjoy a sport or two. But how much time could they wait, he wondered? The tournament in Camelot was two weeks away. He was certain they could make it in a little as four days of hard riding, but what about Ector and Grummer? Being held captive for two weeks, there was no way of knowing if they were in any shape to ride.
As the sun slowly settled and the sky gave way to a brilliant red over the distant horizon, Lamorak and Launcelot approached; Vergil and Baudwin trailing behind, leading two horses laden with supplies.
“Have you no men-at-arms to accompany you?” Palomides asked Launcelot as they sat around a crackling fire, eating the last of the stew.
“I did. Lionel, my nephew — Ector’s nephew as well, and closer kin to him in all truth, we being but half brothers.”
“Ector is yer ‘alf-brother?” Locksley asked. “An’ yet, ‘e dubs ye as his full-blooded kin?”
“Does he?”
“So ‘e said t’ me, afore ‘e was captive-made by Turquine.”
“He was always sentimental. I’m four years older than him. Maybe five? But older. I never paid him a day’s notice when I was in Benwick. He was a page, at best. He brought my wine on occasion.”
“And now he’s a Knight,” Lamorak laughed.
“Yes. My father’s bastard child, made Knight because of my father’s shame —”
“Aye, an’ is that yer matter?” Locksley smiled.
“My father’s shame, is my shame. That’s how these things work.”
“And know ye that ‘e’s held captive in yon Keep?” Locksley asked.
“And do you know the Queen and her Guards now follow?” Lamorack asked.
“How so?”
“I sent a rider out when we were at my father’s camp. I told her I had Launcelot but first we needed to address the issue of his captive brother.”
“And she replied?”
“Why would we stay for an answer?” he laughed. “Let my sister deal with that. She wants to be regent, let her.”
“And when do you face Turquine?” Palomides asked.
“On the morrow,” Launcelot said, and Lamorak smiled.
PS
This is the beginning of chapter 13. You may have noticed, or maybe you haven’t — and there’s every possibility you haven’t even looked — but there’s a “subtitle.” It reads: The Shield Of Locksley, Or; The Beggar’s Knave. Nobody left a comment as to if they liked it as an alternative title. (Okay, not true, 1 person did.) When you look at it as it sits right now though, it looks like it should be one complete title. I’d ask you for your opinion, but you don’t seem to have one. And that’s OK. I don’t mind.
You have given Palomides and Locksley an unusual relationship - friendly on the surface, yet tenuous, wary , hard to characterize.