THE SHIELD OF LOCKSLEY

(CHAP 10) THE CASTLE KEEP

Locksley, in pursuit of an Orkney Squire, comes across Brennis, hunting, as well as the mysterious woman who calmed the storm and walked into the night; the Orkney Squire meets with another, and both men set out to attack Locksley. Brennis shoots one of the Squires with an arrow as Locksley rides against the other and slays him—his lance breaks, piercing the man’s heart. The woman approaches and talks to Brennis—then mysteriously melts into the water.

CHAPTER 10

THE CASTLE KEEP

Grummer felt the wagon dip into a hole and braced himself as another jolt rocked the cart. Ector groaned, rolled over, and pretended to go back to sleep. Grummer, thinking Ector really was asleep, shook his head in wonder. He drew his knees up, trying to get comfortable, and remembered the chain’s length just as he reached the chain’s limit. He cursed when he felt the manacles dig into his ankles—not as bad as it had been that first day—but bad enough to rip some of the wounds open.

Ector opened an eye.

“You made it bleed,” he said dryly.

“I trust ye slept well?” Grummer asked, fighting a grimace, and shuffling closer to the chain.

“I’d be lying if I said I’ve had better fitting beds,” Ector added, forcing a smile.

“Aye, that I can ye,” Grummer said, struggling to sit up. He looked down at his feet and cursed Turquin for taking his boots. It made perfect sense now, didn’t it? Any pain that had been inflicted, had been his own doing. He could see the length of wound that had been ripped away; the fresh blood oozing more than flowing, which he supposed was a good sign. He knew from experience that he could be in for a lot of trouble. He’d think himself lucky if he could still walk in three days time.

Grummer looked up as the once familiar sight of Turquin’s stronghold came into view.

“It’s changed since last I’ve been ‘ere,” Grummer said, looking between the pickets holding the wagon’s rails in place. The sun baked the sides of the castle walls, and the half-built spire that loomed above it all. The once narrow moat had been expanded, its width twice the size of what it once was.

“You’ve been here before?” Ector asked. “Why wouldn’t you tell me that?”

“To what end? ’Twas nae more than a Keep then,” Grummer explained.

“A Keep? Is that why you never thought to mention it? Because it was a Keep, and not the castle it so obviously is now? Is it true Turquin?” Ector called out. “Has Grummer been here before?

“Fuck off,” Turquin called back.

“I said has Grummer been here before?” Ector repeated.

“And I said to fuck off,” the Knight repeated.

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say to that,” Ector said, looking at Grummer. “What am I supposed to say to that? Am I supposed to tell him to fuck off as well?”

“Ye doan have t’ say anything.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumours,” Ector said. “About how he’s been building this thing for years now?”

“Aye.”

“And what? Do you think he plans to do the same with us, then?”

The forest had been burned and hacked to pieces, Grummer remembered having first come here; it had been a blemish against the landscape. All he could think of was that everything around the keep was buried in mud. But the mud had been used in making the plaster, which covered the logs and gave the Keep the appearance of having been built of stone. He’d heard that when the autumn rains came, the place was a cesspool. In the summer months it seemed that there were endless dust storms. The sand and grit would get into everything.

That was when he remembered who had told him. It had been a whore in one of the town’s brothels. She told him that the moat—which had been little more than a ditch back then—still flooded every Spring. The heavy rains flooded the hills she’d explained, and joining the streams and creeks, overflowed and flooded the banks of the moat, allowing the crops to thrive; flowers flooded the yards and the Keep was soon a castle.

The stumps had been cleaned up and burned a long time ago, Grummer could see. After the cones and branches littering the ground were thrown on the flames, a blue cloud of thick smoke had hung over the Vally for three years, she’d said. And all the while Turquin carved out more land to make room for further expansion. Seeing the original keep, Grummer remembered the challenge issued by Bedivere as to which of them would unhorse the Knight first. Grummer knew he’d have never accepted the challenge had it not been for the wine. But he had—both of them had—which was why Bedivere told him to answer the challenge first.

Things didn’t go well for him that day, he was ashamed to remember. Turquin unhorsed him on the first pass, and then, forcing his large warhorse to a stop—and almost sliding on the sod-slick grass—Turquin had his sword out before Grummer even made it to his feet. He distinctly remembered the pain of a broken rib, or maybe it was cracked? It didn’t matter, it hurt just the same. But he also remembered stumbling to the ground just as Turquin’s blade sliced the air over his head. And then Turquin reared his horse up and brought it around to face him, the hooves lashing out at Grummer’s face, both of the hooves sheathed with steel flashing in the afternoon light.

Bedivere came in from the side and Turquin went down with his horse. Bedivere’s lance had caught the horse under the saddle at the very moment Turquin made it rear up and attack Grummer. The lance pierced the horse’s side, and splintered. He still remembered the horse’s scream of pain. The momentum had knocked both the horse, and its rider, to the ground, shattering Turquin’s leg. Grummer had been indebted to Bedivere ever since. He wondered if Turquin remembered that day the same.

That Turquin’s stronghold had once upon a time been a single Keep, mattered little now. A square tower made of timbers and wood, rising high above the trees which gave it a clear, unobstructed view of the valley around it. The Keep had been surrounded on all four sides by the shallow moat—not deep enough to even qualify as a moat Grummer remembered, but a ditch, just as the whore had told him. It wasn’t enough to deter an enemy from crossing it, she’d added, but it wasn’t supposed to; it was lined with sharp stakes spaced a foot apart, hidden in the murky shallows of the water.

Now, the sides of the Keep had been plastered with mortar and painted white. It gleamed in the distance behind its massive wall. A wide bridge was lowered and several grooms came out to meet them as Turquin pulled on the reins and stepped off the cart.

“Home at last!” he said, stepping to the back of the cart and opening the small latch that held the gate closed. He reached in and grabbed the chain holding Ector, pulling him out of the cart and dropping him on the ground. He laughed, and then kicked Ector as he tried to sit up. Ector rolled over, holding his ribs.

“You bastard! I’ll have your fucking head for this!” he screamed, and Turquin laughed again, kicking Ector once more, and then again.

“Have my head, will you? Do you think you’re actually going to leave? Either one of you? Who do you think is going to help build me my castle?” He turned and looked at his grooms. “Take this piece of shit filth downstairs, and put him with the others. Both of them!”

He reached in to grab Grummer and pull him out, but Grummer grabbed one of the pickets and Turquin’s grasp failed.

“There’s nae need for that,” Grummer said.

“No?” Turquin slowly drew his sword and pressed it against Grummer’s throat. “How’s this then?”

“I’ll see ye dead,” Grummer said in a low voice.
“Will you now!” Turquin laughed, and swinging the flat of his sword brought it down against the side of Grummer’s shoulder. The pain was immediate. Turquin reached in and grabbed Grummer’s chains, pulling on them before unlocking him. He grabbed him by the ankle and pulled, dragging Grummer out of the cart and dropping him on the hard ground.

“The fuck you will!” Turquin screamed at him. “Do you see them?” he screamed, pointing to a long line of half-naked men labouring under the sun. “Do you? They were once Knights, just like you two. They’ve all said they’ll see me dead. Every last one of them! Do you understand? They’re still here, and so am I. But, I’m free, and they’re chained to a wall every night and fed just enough slop to keep them alive for another day. That is what you have to look forward to!”

He brought the flat of his sword down on Grummer’s thigh, and Grummer grunted, not wanting the bastard to know how much the blow had hurt. For added measure, Turquin kicked Grummer in the back.

“Now get up! Both of you, or I’ll let my boys use you for target practice. You can never get enough time in when it comes to bow work.”

Grummer struggled to get up, feeling the pain in his thigh where Turquin had brought the sword down. It had felt like a war hammer striking down on his thigh. Ector helped him to his feet, and putting an arm around him, half-carried him.

“Don’t look now, but I just saw Lionel,” he said in a harsh whisper.

“Lionel? Your brother? Why would he be here? Do you think he came out here looking for you?”

“He can’t possibly know we’re here. Besides, it’s not like him to make a decision on his own.”

“No?” Grummer asked. “Why would you say that?”

“He’s always been one to follow me and tag along.”

“So if he’s not out looking for you, who’s he following?”

“Lance. He follows him around like a puppy dog.”