THE SHIELD OF LOCKSLEY
CHAPTER 6
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Geoffrey prepares to face the Orkney Knights.
Locksley, Brennis, (his new Squire), and The Boys, stumbled across a group of knights encamped in the woods, and decided to sneak up on them. They overhear a plot to ambush Sir Lamorak as well as to wait for King Pellinore, promising to do “sport” with his girls…
CHAPTER SIX
THE MORNING OF THE NEXT DAY
They followed the game trail for half an hour before they found their way back to where they’d left the horses with Brennis in a small clearing. They walked the horses, following the narrow trail under the light of a fading moon, putting as much distance as they could between themselves and the Orkney Knights. None of them spoke, fearful lest their voices should carry in the still of the night. A low wind stirred the leaves on the ground, sloughing through the trees, while the clouds seemed to roll up on themselves, slowly blotting out the soft light of the moon. They walked their horses along the trail, keeping to the high ground and mindful of the way before climbing on their mounts and setting off at a mad gallop.
It was only when they felt they’d distanced themselves enough from the Knights that they spoke, breaking the spell of silence that seemed to have fallen across the entire valley. They rode at a quick gallop—all but exhausting their horses—and pitched their camp along a creek-bed, making a small fire and roasting a rabbit as well as a pheasant Brennis shot along the way. Geoffrey cooked while Godfrey and Brennis saw to the camp; Locksley gathered firewood.
“Ye heard their plans, I trust?” Locksley said later, wiping his greasy hands on a tuft of dry grass.
“Aye,” Geoffrey said with a nod, sucking on a wing and tossing the bones into the fire.
“I trust we have a plan of our own?”
“A plan? The four of us against five an’ twenty?” Geoffrey laughed. “Is that what ye’re thinkin’?”
“Then we have t’ ride back t’ the Queen an’ tell ‘er of the ambush,” Locksley pointed out.
“An’ will that give us the time we need t’ make it back an’ warn Lam?” Geoffrey asked.
“Aye, what of Lam?” Godfrey asked Locksley. “Do we leave him t’ face the Orkneys by hisself? One man against twenty-five?”
“One of us can ride an’ warn Pellinore—if he hasn’t already left the Queen’s camp,” Locksley suggested.
“While the other three seek out Lamorak?” Geoffrey asked, nodding.
“D’ ye have a better plan?”
Geoffrey shook his head, staring into the fire.
“I’ll go,” Godfrey volunteered.
“There was never really another choice, was there?” Geoffrey said.
“Why’s that?” Locksley asked. “What about Brennis? He’s too young to face down five Knights.”
“I’m willing to fight,” the lad said.
“That ye may still, lad—ye need t’ be blooded sooner rather than later—but when it comes to a fight, Geoffrey’s the man ye want at yer side,” Godfrey smiled. “There’s no better man with a longbow; as for shield an’ sword, there’s not many what can best him—not Knight, nor Squire, nor Man-at-Arms.”
“Ye can’t be serious?” Locksley asked. “The boy will like as not be for-fared—”
“What’s that?” Brennis asked.
“What’s what?”
“For-fared? What does that mean?”
“Worsted. Beaten. Killed,” Locksley said. “I’d rather I had Godfrey at my side than yerself.”
“I appreciate your honesty, I think, but I can fight,” Brennis insisted.
“Aye, but do ye fight with a fair hand?” Geoffrey asked.
“I was born an’ raised with Knights and Men-at-Arms about me. I’ve seen many a man take up swordplay against another, and not once did the victor fight with a fair hand. Those who fight a chivalrous hand, die. It was up to me to claim their kit if there was no Squire, aye, and bury them. I’m willing to wield a sword. I’ve handled a sword since the day I first held one—”
“And when was that?” Geoffrey asked.
“In my tenth year.”
“And what of killing? Ye’ve seen it in silent witness, no doubt?” he asked. “Have ye killed a man?”
“I have.”
“Ye have?” Locksley asked, looking at the lad. “In combat?”
“I wouldn’t go as far as to say it was combat, but he’s dead just the same.”
“Dead is dead,” Godfrey said.
“So ’tis,” Geoffrey agreed.
“An’ that’s all ye have t’ say on it?” Locksley said, turning to look at The Boys.
“Ye don’t get t’ be this great age an’ not pick up a thing or two over the years,” Godfrey laughed. “Geoffrey was no older than Bran here when first he brandished a sword.”
“My name’s Brennis.”
“And when did ye kill yer first man?” Godfrey asked Geoffrey, ignoring Brennis.
“I was sent to fight the Saxon hordes when Vortigern first raised his hand against the Thanes,” Geoffrey said.
“Ye went to war when ye were a child?” Locksley asked.
“My life was all but spent before it was lived, or so m’ Da told me. It was the life of a farmer I was set on bein’. D’ye know what choice that gives ye? None. If yer old enough to till a field, yer old enough to fight for it. And fight we did. Saxon mercenaries are nae different than Saxon bandits—”
“I thought ye were Saxons?”
“Godfrey’s Saxon born and bred. I was born Beyond the Wall.”
“Yer not a Saxon?”
“Pict.”
The morning dawned full of colour across a sky laden with heavy clouds. A light mist fell as they broke camp. The fire Locksley had made the night before was no more than smoking ash and embers, the mist-soaked trees around them raining droplets that hissed with a twist of smoke as they hit the embers. Brennis attended to Locksley, helping him with his maille, hauberk and chaussons, tying the gambeson tight, while Godfrey and Geoffrey wrapped up the pavilion and broke down the camp. When the three pack animals were loaded, Godfrey tied them in a long string, preparing to set off for the Queen’s camp and promising to pick up more supplies along the way.
“An’ where do ye think ye’ll be finding those?” Locksley laughed.
“Well that, my good Knight, is what I’m known for,” Godfrey smiled.
“There’s no better thief in all the land,” Geoffrey laughed.
“Thief?”
“Do ye think people give their food away?” Godfrey grinned.
“I’d nae think ye’d be takin’ t’ thievery,” Locksley confessed.
“Sir Grummer’s ne’er been a knight of great worth, brother to a King though he may’ve been once upon a time—beggin’ yer pardon, Sir,” he added, realizing he was talking about Locksley’s father. “He’s ne’er had a lot of coin to his name, which is why they call him The Beggar Knight. He always has coin for drinks an’ whores, though—God alone knows where he gets that from—but food? It’s nae somethin’ he thinks on overmuch.”
“We usually find small game along the trail,” Geoffrey added. “And there’s plenty of fish in the becks an’ sikes about.”
“The becks and sykes?” Brennis said.
“Aye, but it’s the other things we need, that seems to slip his mind.”
“What other things?” Locksley asked.
“Flour, salt, yeast—the necessities for making a simple loaf of bread if yer set in a spot for more’n a day or three. Beans, for basic soups an’ stews. A man needs to watch o’er his needs,” Godfrey said with a shake of his head. “Sir Grummer’s ne’er been one for essentials when it comes t’ travelin’ overlong. As long as he has his maille an’ shield, a lance long an’ true, an’ a keen edge on his sword, he feels that he has all ‘e needs—”
“And ‘is wine!” Geoffrey laughed.
“Aye! True that is!” Godfrey laughed with him. “He’ll not move for nothin’ if there’s nae promise of wine at the end of the trail.”
“An’ whorin’. The man knows ever’ whore what’s spread ‘er thighs from down Cornwall way to up Behind the Wall. It’s why him an’ Lamorak are known t’ share each the other’s company. Lamorak bein’ a right proper cuntsman when it comes to whorin’.”
“Aye, if e’er the man has a weakness, it’d be for the whores,” Godfrey smiled.
“For both of them!”
“Aye! An’ Ector, too!” Godfrey added as he climbed up into the saddle. “It’ll be the bridge at Hollybourne when next we meet,” Godfrey said, kicking his horse’s sides and setting off through the small stream, following it a hundred paces before finding the trail again and setting off at at trot. Locksley watched him as he crested a small hill and disappeared from view.
“Here’s hoping we find the mysterious Lamorak de Gales before those bastard Orkney Knights do,” he said, grabbing the reins of his horse and stepping into the stirrup. He could feel the weight of the chain and knew he’d be worn out and aching by the end of the day. It’d been a long time since he’d worn maille for days on end; it used to be punishment when he was Squiring for Grummer.
“That’s the thing about the bridge at Hollybourne, all the roads lead there. There’s no other crossin’ the Dee, but there is a ferry, two days out.”
They rode at an easy pace. There was no need to wear the horses down, Geoffrey said, and Locksley agreed. A wind blew in from the North, and the heavy clouds soon gave way to a rash of rain. Locksley thought about the dry and warmth of the pavilion, and wondered how he could’ve been such a fool as to let Godfrey leave without thinking they might need the supplies themselves. The hills and rocks of the low-laying Pennines—the Pennies as Locksley liked to think of them—soon gave way to a more gentle landscape; the dry, barren gullies and becks were quick to fill up with fast running water, all of it spilling down the hills. The river picked up, breaking over rough water courses studded with rocks and ancient slopes that had collapsed in on themselves over the years. Geoffrey led them to the higher ground, one eye watching the river as it churned over rocks and its own riverbed.
Locksley looked up at the darkening sky. The clouds were heavy, dark and foreboding. Even as he watched, the rain picked up, coming down in a torrent and leaving a light mist on the fields ahead of them. Locksley wrapped his cloak around himself, pulling it tighter, trying to stop the rain from running down his back. He knew it was the aventail he was wearing; it covered his head, but without a helmet, it collected the rain in little pockets of maille before releasing the drops he could feel spilling down his torso—front, back, sides—it didn’t matter where.
“Is there nae end to this?” he said, the anger and frustration evident as he turned in the saddle to look at Geoffrey. As he moved, he could feel another stream of water cascading down his back.
It made him want to scream.
“D’ye even know where we are?” Locksley shouted out.
“Aye. We’re in the Dales.”
“The Dales? An’ where, in the name of all the Saints, is the Dales?”
“Well, that river ye keep seein’—the one we’ve crossed half a dozen times? That’s the River Lune. Ye follow that South, an’ eventually ye’ll get t’ Camelot. More importantly, it takes us to the bridge at Hollybourne, an’ the Dee. Anyone makin’ their way South, ‘as to cross over the bridge.”
“An’ ye expect Godfrey t’ meet us there?”
“He’ll be there.”
“An’ de Gales?”
“Unless he’s already crossed it, he ‘as to come this way.”
“Ye don’t seem t’ think he’s come an’ gone,” Locksley noted. “Why’s that?”
“Why else would the Orkney Knights be waitin’ for ‘im? If he’s already crossed the bridge an’ making ‘is way to Camelot, they’d know.”
“Ye doan think he’s out lookin’ for Launcelot?”
Geoffrey shook his head, running a hand over his wet hair. “No.”
“Why?” Locksley asked.
“Launcelot left Camelot days ago. Lamorak’s been on the trail for two months. He doesn’t even know Launcelot left Camelot.”
Locksley nodded, considering what the man said, and agreeing.
“It seems ye have somethin’ more yer wantin’ t’ say,” Geoffrey asked.
“Aye,” Locksley said with a slow nod, looking sideways at the man.
“What of it then?”
“I’ve ne’er killed a man—”
“An’ ye won’t be today, or to-morn,” Geoffrey said with a quick shake of his head. He wiped the rain off his face and pulled his cloak around himself tighter.
“An’ yet, the Orkneys are intent on killin’ either Pellinore, or his son. How can ye say I’ll nae be killin’ them if we meet with ‘em?”
“They’ve nae need t’ ride against ye as they would Pellinore, or Lamorak. If—an’ there’s nae knowin’ if ye’ll be meetin’ them—but if ye do ride-a-tiltin’ with ‘em, they’ll be meanin’ ye nae harm, other than unhorsin’ ye.”
“An’ if we meet de Gales first?”
“If we come across ‘em an’ we’re with Lamorak, they’ll nae be leaving us alive t’ say word of what happened. They’ll kill ye.”
“Unless I kill ‘em first?”
Geoffrey laughed. “With a score an’ more, I doubt even Lam’ll want to face ‘em down. It’s a different tale when yer listin’ in a tourney than it is when a man has piller’s intent.”
“Piller’s intent?” Brennis said.
“Aye, when a man means ye dastardly harm, it’s with piller’s-intent. Have ye nae heard of that in all yer time?”
“The men that come to the Red Lion, don’t come with piller’s-intent,” the lad said with a laugh.
“Aye, ’tis true, that,” Geoffrey laughed with him.
“What do I do if the Orkneys come across our path?” Brennis asked after a moment.
“Yer my Squire,” Locksley said. “I’ve but the one lance. Ye’ll help me with my helmet and say a prayer for me. There’s nae more for ye t’ do but that.”
“And what of the others riding with them? You said there were twenty-five riders. Are they going to stand off to the side and let you joust? I don’t even have a sword.”
“I’ll see to it yer well-armed,” Geoffrey smiled.
“You’ll give me your sword, will you?”
“That I will lad. I’ve got m’ trusty longarm an’ enough barbs t’ stick in a body if needs be. They’ll not come ten paces closer than where they stand. I’ll see t’ that.”
“How?”
“I find that a well placed arrow usually does the trick. Once they see I have the range, they’ll stand down.”
“And what if it just provokes them?”
“How about I put one in the biggest bastard? Never a bad idea to take out the biggest of them.”
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