THE SHIELD OF LOCKSLEY

CHAPTER 8

The Immortal

It’s time for another chapter of my serial THE SHIELD OF LOCKSLEY. If you remember, Palomides the Saracen Knight shows up on a camel with his Squire and four Men-At-Arms, The Immortals.

CHAPTER 8

PALOMIDES THE PAGAN KNIGHT

“To arms! To arms!” Locksley cried out, running to his horse and all the while knowing he wouldn’t be able to saddle the animal before they were attacked. He was still fully armed and grateful for it, not having undressed the night before, but choosing instead to sleep in his maille. It was something he remembered Grummer having said to him some time ago: not every night was spent under a roof, or in a soft bed. It didn’t take long for that to be proven true, Locksley thought, with all of them having slept out in the open the previous night.

Lamorak was the first one out of the pavilion — sword in hand — followed by Vergil, then Geoffrey — bow ready and arrow notched — and finally Brennis, staring across the pools of water at two of the largest beasts he’d ever seen in his life, loping towards the camp. Geoffrey stepped to the front of the group, pulling the bow tight. Lamorak put a gentle hand on his shoulder and Geoffrey turned to look at him as Lamorak shook his head. The Man-at-Arms lowered his weapon, watching the approaching riders. He looked back over his shoulder at Locksley, and then looked at Brennis, nodding to him as he lowered his weapon.

“Who is it?” Brennis asked.

“Palomides,” Geoffrey said, as Lamorak walked out to meet the riders.

“If you know who it is, why stand up against him?” Brennis asked.

“I ne’er can say whether the bastard is comin’ in as a friend or foe,” he said. “Not with Lamorak ‘ere.”

“I thought they were friends?”

“Ye ne’er can say who’s a friend to Lamorak,” Geoffrey said, looking at Vergil. “Do I stand in err?”

The Squire shook his head, and smiled a lop-sided grin. “No.”

They turned to look at Locksley who was still standing beside his horse, saddle in hand, watching Lamorak approach the group. He dropped the saddle at his feet, and walked back to the camp.

“Are them the beasties what Sir Grummer was speakin’ of?” he asked, sitting near the warmth of the fire and staring up at Geoffrey.

“Aye,” Geoffrey replied.

“That’s Palomides, then?”

Brennis nodded. He found himself drawn to the animals. They were large — taller than any animal he’d ever seen — with elongated, narrow features, large, dark eyes, and long, spindly legs. They were armoured with paitrelles — iron breastplates that caught the sun reflecting off the water. They bellowed out in protest — a raucous noise that sounded frightening in the stillness of the morning.

“What are they?” Brennis asked. “I’ve never seen anything as strange looking.”

“Palomides says they’re jamels,” Vergil said slowly, as he took out what little food they had left — tubers, roots, wild herbs — and threw everything into a large pot he placed over the fire. “We need meat,” he said, pouring what little bit of stew there was from yesterday’s meal, into the pot.

“How much?”Brennis asked.

“Well, there’s six of them, and five of us,” Vergil said, thinking out loud.

“Godfrey should be showing up soon,” Geoffrey reminded them.

“Godfrey? I’ll make some bread. That’ll give you time to find something.”

Brennis nodded, and picking up his longbow headed out into the surrounding forest.

Palomides urged his camel to sit with light taps of a long, thin rod he held, and Locksley watched the beast settle into place. The man lifted a leg over the large saddle and jumped down, embracing Lamorak, laughing, as he looked around the small campsite. His Squire settled his camel down and jumped from the large saddle, calling out to the four Men-at-Arms who dismounted and led their horses out to the field, as well as a train of six pack animals.

A tall man dressed in flowing robes, Palomides wore a dark green turban wrapped around a brazen helmet, which he took off and placed on the camel’s saddle. He ran a hand through his long, black hair, untangling the knots, and said something to his Squire who called out to the four Men-at-Arms; they quickly busied themselves preparing the camp.

“And who is your new friend?” Palomides asked, his voice heavily accented. He spoke in a monotone, which made it difficult for Locksley to understand.

“Grummer’s kin,” Lamorak said, sounding dismissive.

“And how is that drunken reprobate?” Palomides said with a laugh.

“He’s a prisoner!” Locksley said, heated, looking at Lamorak with defiance.

“What?”

“Grummer and Ector have been taken by Tarquin to his keep,” Lamorak explained.

“Are you not going to do anything about it?”

“I am,” Locksley declared.

“Then why are you still here?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question.”

They looked up as a rider burst out of the woods, trailing three horses behind him. The water in the field splashed around him. He had an arrow sticking out of his back and looked about to fall out of the saddle. Geoffrey ran out to meet the rider, waving his arms and stepping in front of the oncoming horse. It pulled up short as the three other horses slowed.

“It’s Godfrey!” Locksley called out, running to help Geoffrey as he reached up to help the  Man-at-Arms down from the saddle.

“Is he alive?” Locksley asked.

“He’s had worse,” Geoffrey replied, looking at the arrow. “Help me get him to the fire.”

“They’re behind me,” Godfrey said, and Locksley looked at the trail snaking out of the woods.

“Brennis! Get my horse ready!” he screamed as he helped half-drag and half carry Godfrey into the camp. The man moaned in pain before he passed out.

“I sent Brennis out to get fresh game,” Vergil said, trying to clear an area where they could lay Godfrey down.

“That’s gonna have t’ come out,” he said, looking at Geoffrey who nodded.

Locksley looked at the trail again, and then ran to the field for his horse. The four Men-at-Arms who came in with Palomides quickly threw their saddles back on their horses as Palomides and his Squire ran to their camels, urging them to their full height even as the beasts called out in protest. Vergil helped Lamorak dress, both men watching the trail as three knights appeared, coming at them at a full gallop.

It only took a moment for Palomides and his Squire to lope out onto the field with their long spears at the ready. The three approaching Knights pulled up on their reins at first sight of the beasts, trying to avoid the deadly onslaught as the four Men-atArms rushed onto the field, bows at the ready followed by a deadly onslaught of continuous arrows. The four riders approached the Knights, two going left and two to the right. Palomides slammed into one of the Knights. The man went down, distracted by the oncoming riders and the arrows they released. The Knight’s horse screamed as both horse and rider fell to the ground, the horse slain with arrows.

Locksley watched over his shoulder as he tightened the saddle girth. He climbed onto his horse, already feeling the weight of maille as he swung his leg over the saddle. He rode through the camp at a canter, calling out  to Vergil to give him a spear. The Squire ran to the pavilion where four long spears leaned against the lower branch of a tree. He grabbed the first one, holding it out for Locksley who snatched the weapon at a near run. He was couching the weapon under his arm, fitting it into place as he spurred the horse forward and the second Knight turned in time to take down Palomides’ Squire.

In a moment two more Knights appeared on the trail, breaking out onto the field and followed by two dozen mounted Men-at-Arms and Squires in maille.

“Gawain!” Lamorak screamed out as he galloped out onto the field, spear down and shield up. He hit the water with a splash, and rainbow drops of water danced in the morning light.

Gawain tried turning his horse to face the onslaught, but Lamorak hit him before Gawain was able to turn completely. The Knight’s horse reared up as Lamorak caught Gawain below the shield; there was a cry of pain and Gawain went down with a splash, gasping at the shock of the hit. The horse came down on top of him, shattering Gawain’s leg and stepping on his breast as it attempted to regain its footing. It stumbled as it tried to stand, and Gawain screamed out again as another hoof came down on his broken thigh.

Lamorak turned in time to see one of the Orkneys rushing at him. He braced himself for the hit, turning his shield slightly in an attempt to deflect the blow, pulling his broadsword out at the same time and slashing down at the spear as it hit the shield. The spear splintered and the Orkney Knight tossed it to the side, pulling his sword out and spurring his horse forward.

He swung a glancing blow Lamorak was able to block with his shield, but instead of swinging his own blade at the Knight, Lamorak swung an overhand blow, driving it into the horse’s neck and placing his foot against the beast as he pulled his blade free. A shower of blood burst out with the fatal gash, covering the Knight in gore as the horse screamed and fell into the water — a blossom of crimson petaling around it as it shuddered with its final convulsions.

“T’was a craven blow, Lamorak,” Gawain called out through clenched teeth.

“No more than his attacking me unawares,” Lamorak called back, thinking he should stomp Gawain where he lay helpless in the water. It’d be the smart thing to do, he told himself. He waited as the other Knight ran to Gawain, his sword drawn.

Probably thinking I’m waiting to attack. Well, let him think that.

Instead, the Knight took his helmet off, and Lamorak recognized Gaheris. He laid his sword down and fell to his knees to look at Gawain’s leg. He began pulling the chaussons down, ignoring Gawain’s howls of pain, and began picking out the few broken links embedded into Gawain’s flesh as the man howled again.

Lamorak took the moment to look around at the confusion. He could see that Palomides and his men had slain three of the Orkney Men-at-Arms. But one of his own Immortals lay face down in the water, an arrow through his ribs, under his arm. A perfect shot, he noted. Lamorak watched as another one of the Immortals fell, an arrow through his throat, and he reined his horse about. He watched Geoffrey rush out into the open field of knee deep water, driving three arrows into the ground. Dropping to one knee, he drew the weapon taut.

Geoffrey loosed the first arrow, and Lamorak watched one of the Orkney Men-at-Arms fall. The last of the Orkney Knights, Modred he was almost certain, rode onto the field and charged at Geoffrey who was quick to roll to the side, snatching an arrow and notching it before Nodred could turn completely. Lamorak spurred his horse as he dropped his spear into play. Geoffrey’s arrow caught the horse where the maille covered it. Lamorak watched with growing fear as Geoffrey stood, taking the last remaining arrow, and running.

Lamorak loosed a scream as the Modred ran Geoffrey down, the horse stomping him.

It was over almost as soon as it started.

The other two Orkney Knights were trying to help Gawain; Locksley was riding against one of the Squires — there were three of them facing him. Lamorak watched Locksley take the first of the riders down. The other two split apart, one going to the left, the other right. Locksley wheeled his mount around and gave chase to closest of the Squires, riding into the forest.

The fool, Lamorak thought, looking back at the camp. Vergil was on one knee, his longbow taut as he buried another arrow into the dead horse in front of Gawain. Lamorak rode at him, screaming that Geoffrey had been injured.

Tend to your wounds at every opportunity, he told himself. His father had told him that. You can drink and laugh about this day later, at Court, he’d said, but you’ll never forget this day, either.             

Lamorak rode out to the field with a heavy feeling of guilt. Vergil was following close behind; both of them splashing through the water and putting their horses through a manic pace. The wind was beginning to pick up, the clouds scattering across the sky and letting the sun break through. The sunlight hit the rippling water, and speckled shafts of light caught the burnished metal of his chaussons. He lifted his visor, revelling in the feel of fresh air rushing around his ears, down his neck and cooling his back. He knew he’d have to stay armoured all the time now. Like Locksley, he thought.

Where is the boy? he wondered. It shouldn’t take him that long to run an untried Squire into the ground. Unless it was a ruse.

Did he think it was a ruse?

The more he thought about it, he did.

There’s little I can do about it now, he thought. Geoffrey’s likely to have suffered broken ribs and maybe an arm, or a shoulder, or possibly even his head. Right now, he had to concentrate on both Geoffrey and Godfrey. He didn’t have a clue what he’d find once he reached the broken man, but there was no doubt in his mind the man was broken. He’d been kicked at least twice as Modred and his horse galloped over him the first time; the second time, when he left the field, was the one that had done most of the damage.

Somehow, Geoffrey had managed to wrap his arms around his head and bring his knees up to protect his chest. But his knee shattered on the first pass and he found himself sitting up, hugging his knee and screaming. He looked through tear-stained eyes, voiced a pain-laden scream and then the horse rode over him a second time, as Modred prepared to leave the field.

Lamorak guessed something had happened to Geoffrey’s leg. Geoffrey was unable to stand. Lamorak found Geoffrey staring at the whiteness of the bone sticking out of his leg. Vergil came around Lamorak’s horse carrying two full spears and several broken pieces he’d picked up along the way.

“Fuck Geoffrey!” Vergil said, coming to a sudden stop, trying not to look at the grizzly sight. He dropped everything he had. “I’m gonna try to make you a litter — the kind the Celts use,” he said, setting about the task.

“Are you going to tell me that you used to ride with the Celts? I thought you were a Saxon?” Lamorak laughed.

“Godfrey’s the Saxon,” Geoffrey somehow managed to say. Lamorak bent down to look at the leg, and then looked at Vergil who shook his head.

“Have you looked at Godfrey, yet?” he asked.

“I did. The arrow’s not all the way through,” Vergil replied.

“It’s not? Damn. How far do you think it needs to go?”

Vergil held up his index finger, running his thumb along the inside of it, stopping at the middle knuckle of his finger.

“If it were all the way through, I could burn the tip off and pull the shaft back.

“You could kill him doing that,” Lamorak said with a slow shake of his head.

“It’ll certainly kill him if we leave it in there, won’t it? You can’t pull something like that out, and you know it. The arrow will rip him apart. You pretty well have to tie him down and drive the arrow through with a single blow.”

“A single blow of what?”

“The flat of your sword?”

“No. There’s no way of not causing more damage doing it that way,” Lamorak said.

“Have you got a better idea? Because I’m all out of them. My father told me a long time ago, if you don’t have the solution, then don’t argue the point.”

“A smart man, your father. What about Geoffrey?”

“The leg’s gonna have to come off.”

“And who’s going to do that?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Have you never taken a man’s leg off before?”

Lamorak shook his head. He’d maimed and killed men before; he’d even taken a man’s head off with a single stroke once, but he’d never deliberately taken a man’s leg to save his life. He didn’t know the first thing about it.

“I take it you’ve done it before?”

Vergil shook his head. “Me? No. But I’ve seen it done, and there’s a lot more to it, than simply chopping it.”

“Like what?”

“You have to stop the blood, for one thing.”

“And how do you do that?”

“We’ll have to ablate the wound.”

“And what does that mean? I swear, the more you listen to Grummer and his strange ways of talk — how do you propose to do that…whatever it is? Put his leg in the fire?”

“How about we put a sword in the fire and heat it up until it glows? When you lop the leg off, I’m going to press the blade against it, and hopefully seal it off. After that, we pray he lives through it.”

“That doesn’t sound very optimistic; it might if I were the praying type, but you know I’m not.”

“It doesn’t sound very optimistic, does it? But it’s a far cry better than running him though and leaving him for the wolves.”

“And who do we help first? Godfrey or Geoffrey?”

“We can sit Godfrey up and do it right now if you want. I can break off part of the arrow’s shaft. You swing the flat of the sword, hit the shaft, and hopefully the arrow doesn’t break as it penetrates through the chest plate.”

“Again,” Lamorak said. “Not very optimistic.”

“What do you want from me? I’ve never done this before. You might want to make sure I know what I’m doing, because this could be you I’m doing it to one day.”

“Point well taken,” Lamorak said, looking at Godfrey in the distance where he lay in the camp, beside the fire. He decided to help Vergil with the litter — anything to take his mind off of what had to be done — tying small pieces of hide to hold the broken and split spears in place. It was big, and awkward, and wasn’t something they’d be able to drag behind a horse. They’d have to pull it themselves, both of them holding a lance and dragging the contraption back to the campsite.

“Somehow, I don’t think this is something even remotely close to what the Celts would make.”

“It’s better than a kick in the nuts,” Vergil said, picking up his end. Geoffrey cried out in pain as Lamorak picked up his end.

They tried to move slow enough so Geoffrey wouldn’t suffer, but the ground was soft with the recent rain, and puddles of water covered the little holes and hillocks the galloping horses had churned up.

Palomides returned with his Squire and the two remaining Immortals.

“What can we do to help?” the Saracen said.

“We have to get him back to the camp,” Vergil said.

“Mustafa! Amal!” Palomides called out, and he said something Lamorak didn’t understand. The two men jumped down from their saddles, each opening a saddle pouch and displaying several instruments Lamorak had never seen before. He understood that Persians were said to be knowledgable about Science and Medicine.

Lamorak looked at Vergil and then turned to Palomides. “You can help us?”

“We’re Parthians,” was all he said.