THE SHIELD OF LOCKSLEY

Chap 4 pt 5 THE BEGGAR'S KNAVE

Sir Locksley (done with AI)

v THE BEGGARS’S KNAVE

Andred watched the four riders approaching from the South, riding at a maddened pace. At least one of them looked to be a knight, he thought. While the other two—Huntsmen by any other name—he knew were Sir Grummore’s Footmen. It was the last one, the one dressed in tattered clothes that was a concern. He had the look of the wanted. There was a feral hunger in his eyes. Covetedness, Andred thought; certainly a sin. They weren’t carrying a flag; and there was no coat of arms on the man’s shield, which he had it strapped across his back. They came to a halt at the makeshift wall of sticks and brambles. There’d been no time to make a proper abattis. The dust settled just as soft around them as they waited for the gate to be opened.

“Open the gate!” the young knight cried out, sounding anxious.

“Who goes there?” a voice called out.

“Locksley, of Inverness Beyond The Wall.”

“What do you want, Locksley, of Inverness Beyond The Wall?” the man called out, his voice mocking.

“Business with the Queen. Our group ‘as been attacked an’ my companion knights taken prisoner.”

“And who are your companion knights?”

“Sir Grummer Grummereson an’ Ector de Maris.”

There was a moment of silence, and then the bushes and thorns were pulled back out of the way. Locksley spurred his horse into a gentle walk, followed by Geoffrey, Godfrey, and Brennis. All one behind the other. He told himself to sit up tall. He didn’t know these knights anymore than they knew him, but apparently they knew de Maris, and Sir Grummer.

“That’s the Queen’s flag,” Godfrey said softly, leaning forward in his saddle.

“Are ye sure?” Locksley asked.

“Aye. A dragon wrapped around a white rose? Hard not to miss that,” he added.

“Why exactly is she here? I forget.”

“Ye didn’t forget, ye weren’t listenin’ t’ begin with, or ye woulda heard Sir Ector. He said she’s out lookin’ fer Launcelot.”
“That’s Pellinore’s flag,” Brennis said, pulling up on his reins and looking at the pavilion across a narrow field. There was a large crowd gathered in front of the pavilion. The people in the back gathered themselves up, trying to look over the heads and shoulders of those in front of them. It was hard to say what was happening, but a sudden hush fell over the group when the Queen stepped out with two other ladies, both of them looking upset.

“That’s Pellinore’s girl,” Geoffrey said, pointing at the three women.

“Which one’s which?” Locksley asked.

“The plain one? That’s Miriam.”

“An’ the other one?” he asked

“That’s the Queen.”

Locksley shook his head deliberately, turning his attention back to the two women. As plain as one girl was, the other was telling. He found himself catching his breath at his first sight of her. Her hair was a black, glossy sheen, hanging the down length of her back and rippling as she moved. He could see it had been tied up earlier, but the plaits had fallen for whatever reason, framing a face that was long and narrow, with a bottom lip that was full and pouty; and the brows that arched above her deep blue eyes, looked delicate.

The other girl’s face was rounder, but she had a flat nose that looked as if it may have been broken and not properly reset. She had thick lips, with crooked teeth, and thick eyebrows. Her hair was mousey. A tatterey brown that caught the light like a tattered halo surrounding her patchwork dress. There was a haughtiness to her that appeared put on, Locksley thought; a disdain that told him she was worthy and he was not. A dismissive contempt all visible in one look. It made him shudder to think of what the woman was like behind bedroom doors.

“A wild ride that one, I would think,” Locksley said with a smile.

“That’s Miriam,” Geoffrey said.

When the woman caught Geoffrey’s eye, she turned her head again.

“I thought she knew ye? Did she know ye? It looked like she knew you. Let me ask her.”

“And who doan know The Boys out here?” Geoffrey asked. “Nae. She knows me, alright. Can’t say it’d be for anythin’ nice.”

“What’s that s’posed t’ mean?” Locksley asked.

“If I may, Sir?” Godfrey said, kicking his horse ahead and approaching Locksley with a pleasant smile. “May I offer to say that he knows her quite well, Sir, as the two have twice been caught up in scandalous arms, shall we say?”

“Scandalous arms!” Brennis laughed, drawing the eye of every man and woman circled about them, including Miriam who appeared horrified by the word..

Locksley turned and looked at Brennis, grabbing the reins out of his hands. “The first rule about being a Knight’s Squire that a Squire learns, is to sit on his mount—whatever that mount may be—and shut the fuck up. Once again, let me remind you, we want to have an audience with the Queen. We gain nothing if you draw the wrong kind of attention to us. Now, once again. Who are the women?”

“The one on the left is Gwenellyn. The other one’s Miriam.”

“Sisters?” Locksley asked. There was some resemblance.

“Cousins. The good looking one is Pellinore’s niece—she’s ‘is sister’s child. Her father died during the war. Pellinore’s dedicated himself to the girl, since. He took in both his sister, an’ ‘er daughter, an’ practically raised her as his own.”

“An’ the girls get along?”

“Like the sisters you mistook them for.”

“Ye have to tell the Queen,” Geoffrey reminded him.

“An’ how do ye propose I do that?” Locksley asked. “I can’t just approach her—”

“Milady?” Godfrey called out, and Guinevere turned to look at the four riders sitting in the middle of the field. Locksley was quick to dismount but not so quick to approach. He fell to a knee in front of her, and picking up the hem of her dress when she approached, pressed it to his lips.

“Who are you?” she asked, startled and pulling the hem of her dress out of Locksley’s hand. “Godfrey? Who is this boy?”

“Locksley, heir to Ivanore Castle, Son of Ambrose; Knight of Inverness Beyond the Wall; Knight of the Field, Highness,” Godfrey said, stepping down from his mount. Geoffrey was quick to follow suit, falling to a knee and bowing his head. Brennis stepped down uneasily.

“Geoffrey? You as well?” Guinevere smiled. “And him?” she asked, seeing Brennis.

“Majesty,” the man replied, head bowed. Geoffrey looked at Brennis still standing, and punched the boy behind the knee, dropping him to the ground unexpectedly. “A Squire.”

“A Squire? And where’s Sir Grummer?” Guinevere asked, trying not to smile as Brennis climbed up to one knee.

“He’s been taken prisoner,” Locksley replied. “Along with Ector de Maris—”

“De Maris? Both of them? Where?”

“At the Red Lion.”

“The Red Lion? Of course,” she said with a slow shake of her head. She turned and was about to walk away, when Locksley called out to her again. He was confused, he said; he’d thought the Queen would do whatever she could to save one of her knights—especially if one of them was Launcelot’s brother, or half-brother. There was a hush that came over the gathered crowd.

“Are ye not goin’ to send help, then?” Locksley asked, and all three of the women looked at him. Geoffrey hissed a warning.

“Ye can’t talk to the Queen like that.”

“Send help?” Guinevere laughed, turning around to fully look at him. He certainly looked the part of a Knight, she thought, more than when he was made a Knight of the Field by Pellinore.

“I thought by some strange device you had come here to seek out Pellinore. But no. Instead, you tell me of Grummer and Ector. Two men known to like wine almost as much as they like women. Now you tell me the two of them have been taken prisoner in a whore house, Sir, and you expect me to send help? If I send any of these men to help rescue them, I won’t see them for days. It’s probably the Whore-Monger himself taking them in because they failed to pay the last time they were there. Both of them are beggarly at best—”

“It wasn’t the Whore-Monger,” Locksley said in defiance.

“Sir,” Geoffrey said again, daring to look up at the Queen. She looked discomfited.

“I’m sorry. Who are you again?” she asked, looking at him, squinting into the sun. She raised a hand to block the light, taking in the young man’s handsome features. The sun had come up from behind the hills, breaking through the trees; the light caught the chaussons Locksley was wearing, reflecting it like an aura.

“Sir Locksley, from Inverness Beyond The Wall,” he replied quickly.

“Inverness Beyond The Wall?” Guinevere said. “Now I remember you,” she said with a slow shake of her head. “You’ll want to know that Pellinore’s suffered a fall, then.”

“And why would he need to know that, Majesty? This man is nothing to my father.”

“A fall? Do ye mean he was jousting?” Locksley asked, ignoring the Princess.
“My uncle no longer jousts,” Gwenellyn said, sounding petulant.

“Then ‘ow did ‘e fall?” Locksley asked her, his eyes locked on her.

“You will address her as Milady,” the Queen added, her voice severe.

“My apologies, Highness. Then how did he fall, Milady?” he added, bowing his head slightly, making every effort to sound at least half-educated.

“Stroked by the Hand of God, we believe,” Gwenellyn said.

“You don’t have to talk to him, Gwen. He’s so obviously an ill-mannered knave, to say the least. Are you Sir Grummer’s Squire?” Miriam asked. “Oh no, that would be the ragamuffin trailing behind you, wouldn’t it?”

“I told ye. I’m a knight. Fully made. Sir Locksley of Ivanore Castle—Prince, an’ Heir t’ Ivanore; son of Ambrose; Knight of Inverness Beyond the Wall; Knight of the Field, made by the hand of Pellinore, hisself.”

“You’re no more than Knaves. The both of you,” Miriam said.

“Silence, girl,” Guinevere said.

She was looking at the ground and Locksley wondered if maybe she was reading something in the stir of the leaves. He’d heard of witches who could do that; people who still followed the Old Gods and the Druid way. She nodded though, grunting, looking up at him as though she remembered him.

“He Knighted you in the Field? I remember, now,” she said.

“Aye, that he did,” Locksley said, remembering the horror of that first battle. He’d realized early on that he’d probably die if he stopped for even a moment. Armed with his lance and shield he’d defeated twenty men and challenged a king.

“Aye,” he said once more and bowed his head.

“And what would you have me do for you then? The knights I brought with me are looking for Launcelot. Do you think they’re going to give off searching for him—with the promised monetary reward of our sworn King—so that they might have the chance to rescue Sir Grummer, who offers no promise of reward?”

“And Sir Ector?” Locksley asked.

She stopped and turned to look at him, slowly making her way back toward him. Gwenellyn followed.

“Ector de Maris is Launcelot’s half-brother, both of them, in their way, uncles to Lionel. I can’t even think of where to start for that story. But it wasn’t Ector who rode off with him this time, was it? It was Lionel. Off, on an obvious search for adventure—or even misadventure, I imagine. Sir Ector, and Sir Grummer, have no status either here, in the field, or in Court. He is not a member of the Table. They’re not what we’d call titled Knights. Neither one of them. In fact, between the two of them, they couldn’t afford to buy a proper suit of maille. I’d suggest, Sir Locksley of Inverness, Knight Beyond the Wall, that you rescue them.”

“Yes, let the Beggar’s Knave rescue the Beggar Knight,” Miriam laughed. “Come Gwenellyn,” she added, taking her cousin’s hand and following the Queen.