THE SHIELD OF LOCKSLEY
THE INN OF THE RED LION
In the last piece…
Our two knights, having met with Ector de Maris, (the half brother of Sir Launcelot) while on the road to Camelot, discover Launcelot has fled Camelot and is being sought by ten men Ector knows of, as well as the Queen herself; so the boys decide to visit a whore house…
CHAPTER TWO
AT THE INN OF THE RED LION
It was an hour before Ector was ready, an hour in which Grummer, wearying under the heat of the afternoon sun, climbed off his horse and sat under the shade of a large elm. He finished the last of his wine as he watched Ector packing up the camp with the help of Geoffrey and Godfrey. He took off his mailed helmet and undid the surcoat he was wearing, enjoying the cool breeze sifting through the trees. Locksley, seeing Grummer laying in the shade, climbed off his horse and led it to the stream, enjoying the cool breeze that filtered through the trees.
“And do ye know Launcelot, as well as ye seem to know his kinsman?” Locksley asked, tying his horse beside Grummer’s as he sat under the shade of the tree.
“Launcelot? Oh, I know him, and all his strain that was about, to be honest.”
“What do you mean was? Are they no longer about?”
“They’ve gone about their lives as much as any man can in these unstable times.”
“Unstable? Why say ye that?” Locksley asked as he leaned against the tree. “The king is in his realm and all is well,” he laughed. “That’s what your friend Galen says.”
“My friend? Why say ye that?” Grummer laughed.
“It seems to me that the two of ye are always in your cups together.”
“To be true, it would seem so, but ye’ve said nothing of Galen to me, did ye? It’s Launcelot yer askin’ on.”
“And so it was, uncle,” Locksley smiled.
“Ye can nae be calling me as such,” Grummer smiled. “I’ve nae been about long enough for ye to respect me as a proper uncle for one thing.”
“And yet your brother’s wife speaks highly of you.”
“That she does,” he smiled. “’Twas at Dane Hill when first we met Launcelot. That was to be Arthur’s first battle during the War of the Kings. ‘Twas there we met the Saxon horde—a full two thousand of them—and they gave us a fair walloping chase, out numbering us by two an’ one, having sacked yer father’s holdings the week tofore. It was a great day of misery, that. We weltered ‘bout the hill that day, I tell ye, with the rain falling like a spate and ruin, and all the mud and mucking about that it made underfoot. He came on us with all his kith and kin, Launcelot did—Ector was then a lad, not much older than yerself—a knight newly christened. The whole lot of them come up from Benwick, which is in Brittany, an ye don’t know it.”
“I know where Benwick is,” Locksley said softly.
“Helped turn the day for us, he did,” Grummer said with a nod. “A full fifty riders he brought, swearing an’ cursing the day he ever met a proper Saxon. A full three score he brought down hisself, alone. Bedivere said he ne’er saw a man as feloniously bent as Launcelot that day, and to be true, he was.”
“Is it true what they say about him?” Locksley asked after a moment.
“That he’s the greatest of Arthur’s knights?”
“About the Queen,” Locksley offered, looking to see if the others were still at a distance.
Grummer shook his head, looking at the youth from under a beetled brow.
“Say ye not on that,” Grummer said. “Stories an’ rumours do a man no good in a place like Camelot. These are stories spread about by noisome villains, the most of whom are Lot’s kin.”
“Do you mean Gawain? His kith and kin?”
“Aye.”
“But Arthur is uncle to all of them.”
“And yet, he’s not,” Grummer said, selecting a dry stalk to chew on. “Gawain, to be sure, is his nephew. As for the rest, Lot was not a man known to keep his pecker down. Always looking to put it into something warm and hollow. Agravain is a Bastard in the true sense of the word; as for Gaheris? Who knows? The next son, Gareth, is his mother’s son, as is the youngest. But again, it’s been noised about that Arthur is the boy’s father.”
“Is not the Queen his own sibling?”
“Aye, to be sure,” Grummer said, eyeing the boy closely. “Stories an’ rumours do a man no good, ye see? If ye were to hear and believe all ye heard, ye’d be putting yerself in peril. Are ye gonna be saying to Gawain that his mother is not his brother’s mother? The man’s as like to slay ye as ye stand, and rightfully so an ye say on his mother’s true virtue.”
“Who would spread such a tale?” Locksley said with a slow shake of his head.
“One need not look so far,” Grummer smiled.
“Are ye saying me, ye know?” Locksley asked.
“It seems so to me, that most of the stories about Arthur, or the Queen, or even Launcelot, only come from one source.”
“And who is that?”
“The Queen, Morgan le Fay.”
“She’s the king’s sister!”
“There’s a reason I’m loathe to be at Camelot yearly,” Grummer said softly. “The sayings ye may think ye know ‘twixt the Queen, and Launcelot, have divided the Court. There are those who will brook no truculence when it comes to such things, and are bent on discovering the truth as they see it, and thus report it to the King.”
“The truth as they see it?”
“Aye. And there are others like Launcelot, who are willing to defend the Queen’s honour against all comers.”
“Others? Isn’t Bedivere the one to defend the honour of the King? As the Sword of the King, it’s for him to stand in the King’s place.”
“Launcelot is now the Sword of the King.”
Ector’s pack horse was trailing behind the sometimes staggered line of riders. Ector rode up front for the most part, between Grummer and Locksley—three knights abreast—with Geoffrey and Godfrey following. But the land opened up into a long, low valley where the trees faded into the distance and the game trail they were following gave way to a proper path that might have been mistaken for a road. The grass was tall, and swaying in the gentle breeze, while the creek gave way to a widening stream that slowed to a crawl. The sun slowly slipped across a clear blue sky, the shadows lengthening as the day progressed.
They rode at an easy pace, at times galloping across open fields and just as often slowing to a gentle trot. It seemed whenever they slowed to a stop, Grummer took the time to piss. They laughed, and spoke of battles past; Ector talking of Camelot, and Arthur’s residence at Cardueil. There were stories of Launcelot, and Lamorack, as well as jousts fought and knights killed—both by mischance, and desire. And there was Tristram, the Cornish Knight banished out of Mark’s Court, now come to Camelot.
“Is that why Launcelot left?” Locksley asked.
Ector looked at him briefly before he answered with a laugh.
“Launcelot had already left by then,” he said. “Tristram’s a noble Knight—the second best in the kingdom. But there’s was no envy, or jealousy, on either man’s part. There will definitely come a time when the lad surpasses Lance—bests him at a Tourney, knocks him on his ass—but that’s more a matter of age. It’s the greatest equalizer of us all,” he laughed. “Isn’t that so, Grummer?”
“Ye need not talk of age with me,” Grummer laughed. “I remember when yerself was as much a boy here, as the boy is now. Ye were just a bachelor—a lad, still—but bent on errantry, even though there was a war to fight. When first ye came to these shores…” and he paused, as though thinking of a paused memory. “How many years have gone since?”
“Too true!” Ector grinned. “I’d like nothing better than to have some of those years ahead of me, rather than in back of me.”
“Where I look to the day when I can hang my helm an’ put aside my scabbard. It’s a youthful game, knight-errantry is, to be sure. I canna count the scars and wounds I’ve endured, nor the aches the cold wind brings when I wake in the morn.”
“And how many years has it been for you, then?”
“It’s been a score and three years since first I was knighted by Arthur,” Grummer said. “I’d come to Camelot full of piss and vinegar. It was with the intent of seeking adventure. But Pellinore, he set me on my path to knighthood when he put me on my ass, not once, but twice in the same day…I'd squired for him in my youth.”
“Ye served as squire to Pellinore?” Locksley asked. “Ye’ve said naught of that to me.”
“Ye never asked,” he smiled.
“And how came it about?”
“That I squired?” Grummer laughed. “The same as everyone else. I started as a page boy in Listionese—”
“I meant,” Ector said, “How long before you were Christened?”
“I was nae Christened like yerself, with Churches an’ banners. It was before the War of the Twelve Kings. Lot was in the middle of his Lothian conquest. He wanted the Thanes that were once loyal to Vortigern, to bow to him. Pellinore was the ally of one of the losing kings. Poor man had his head cut right off—because that’s what they do in these kinds of things. So if ye ever get lost inside a conspiracy, ye’d better be forcertain.”
“You were knighted on the field?”
“Aye.”
The Red Lion was a square manor built of sturdy timbers fifty years ago; since then it had been redressed in mud, lime and water, then painted white. It had the appearance of looking like stone from a distance. And it must’ve been a fancy sight fifty years ago, Grummer thought as they trotted into the yard where several children played but were quick to scatter when the riders appeared. One of the children ran into the Inn.
It once served as a place of distinction during the War, Grummer smiled to himself, remembering. It was a place people recognized as reputable—whatever that’s supposed to mean. It was deemed the best whore house outside of five days’ ride.
And now look at it…
There had always been horses in the stables back in those days, he remembered— sometimes a Squire, or Footman wandering about—and he’d always hoped it was Bedivere he’d run into—they’d promised to meet yearly—or at least his man Edenson. But in all the years they’d known each other, they’d only met at the Inn twice—and neither time had been spent inside.
The stable was in the back of the Inn where a milk cow was kept in one of the dozen stalls. Low lying trees encroached on the yard, with three distinct trails leading through the surrounding trees and countryside. The stable was an old wooden structure, covered in moss, where stores were kept and a small smithy stood in the shadows, unused and cold. Grummer couldn’t remember the last time anyone had used it. He was almost certain the smith hadn’t seen flame since before the War, and doubted the bellows even worked anymore. He could see bars of sunlight where they broke through the boards and a thatched roof in need of repair, pulling up on his reins as one of the older children ran out to stable his horse.
“Brendan, is it?” Grummer asked, nodding at the boy.
“Aye, Sir Grummer, but it’s Breunor” the boy corrected him, forcing an uneasy smile.
“Breunor? Ye’ve grown lad, since last I’ve seen ye.”
“That he has!” Ector laughed.
“Locksley? Are ye still Squirin’ then, Sir?” Breunor asked, looking up at Locksley who nodded a greeting.
“I’m a new made Knight now,” Locksley laughed.
“Newly made and newly minted!” Ector called out.
“An’ there’s none Squirin’ for ye then?” Breunor said, turning to look up at Locksley, and then back at Grummer.
“Are ye lookin’ to fill in?” Ector asked.
“I am,” the boy said. “I’m sixteen now, Sir,” he said to Grummer. “Three years squiring’ with ye, an’ I’ll be ready t’ be a knight mesself. Yerself could make me a knight, SIr. Ye said when I came to age, ye’d consider it,” he reminded him.
“Did I, now?”
“Ye did,” Breunor said.
“You’ve nothing you can offer, Grummer, nor promise well,” Ector said to Grummer, sounding serious as he stepped down from his horse. “You don’t do any more than drink and whore about these days. You’d be learning nothing from the likes of him, lad,” he said, looking at the boy. He was a large lad, broad shouldered with an equally broad chest. His arms were large and well-defined through his tattered clothes.
“Och, not so, Sir Ector,” Locksley said, stepping down from the saddle as well. “I could use someone helpin’ me in an’ out of this maille. I’ll teach ‘im what ye taught me,” he said to Grummer. “We all will,” he added, stopping to wait for Grummer as he swung his leg out painfully and climbed down from his saddle. “Do ye wanna leave him here?” Locksley asked. “D’ ye think he deserves t’ die workin’ in a whore house, when he can die with honour, fightin’ for the King?”
“So, Brendan—”
“Breunor,” the lad corrected him.
“So ’tis,” Grummer smiled, standing beside his horse and looking at the boy .
“It seems Sir Locksley thinks he’s in need of a Squire,” Grummer said. “He’ll be yer Liege, more ’n Roger that bastard Whore-Monger ever was; he’ll be Lord and ruler over yer mis’rable life. Ye’ll be helpin’ The Boys settin’ up the pavilion—an’ Ector’s, too. Ye’ll be expected t’ help get meals prepared. Can ye use a bow?”
“Aye.”
“Can ye hit anything?”
“I can take a pheasant down winging out from under the brush,” he said.
“Can ye then?” Godfrey asked, as he began the task of unsaddling the horses.
“I can.”
“Then ye’ll come out hunting’ with me,” he said, “as soon as ye finish with the horses.”
“Am I yer Squire, then?” the boy called out to Locksley who was crossing the yard with Ector.
“If ye come back with dinner, ye are,” Locksley grinned.
Breunor looked at Grummer and grinned. Grummer smiled.
“Ye’d best get on with ‘im,” Grummer said. “He’s not one for bein’ patient. Do you know how to use a sword?” he called out as Breunor started to cross the yard.
“I do.”
“Good. He’ll want to see that.”
Geoffrey stood beside Grummer, holding the completed staff which was at least a head taller than he was. He looked at Grummer and nodded.
“The boy claims to be the son of a king,” Geoffrey said. “Ye know that well enough.”
“Aye. Ye doan need t’ be telling me such nonsense. His mother was still a whore.”
“Aye. But his Da’ was a King,” Geoffrey repeated.
“Bloody right, he was,” Grummer laughed, looking at Ector and Locksley crossing the yard. “We’re all Kings when we lay with a woman, eh Ector! Wife or whore, it makes no difference,” he added, making his way toward the Inn with a limp.
“Here,” Geoffrey said to Grummer, testing the weight of the staff in his hands before giving it to him.
“Ye’ve made something for me?”
“It’s come to mind that you’ve been limping about a lot more of late. That last hit you took almost broke your leg.”
“Ye saw right, aye,” Grummer nodded.
“Well, it’s not good, is it? Not with yer bein’ a Knight an’ of a sudden not up t’ defendin’ yerself—not when it matters most, an’ that’s in the back alleys yer most likely to be crawlin’ about in, with me,” he added. “Ye’ll stand a better chance of things comin’ out in our favour, if ye can help. And if the others think ye need it more than ye do, show ‘em what it does.”
“I’m thankin’ ye, Geoffrey. Yer a right good man,” Grummore smiled, taking the staff and measuring its weight in his hands. He looked at the man and smiled, nodding.
“Now, how long d’ ye feel we might tarry this eve?”
“We’ll get the night in, Sir,” Geoffrey said with a smile.