THE SHIELD OF LOCKSLEY
CHAPTER 5 (PART 2)
Locksley could hear someone coughing in the distance, followed by the muffled sound of voices and the cadence of shrill laughter. He ducked his head down, thinking maybe he’d been seen, or that maybe they’d heard him. He looked at The Boys, one of them to the left of him and the other to the right, but neither of them paused or hesitated. He began crawling forward again at a snail’s pace. They were each of them approaching the camp hoping to hear something useful. Locksley wondered what information Geoffrey thought would be useful, as much as he wondered how he and Godfrey were now following Geoffrey’s lead.
They crawled to the edge of a long ridge where a large thicket of trees grew—aspens and willows that caught the wind, bending with a rustle of leaves—and he knew he’d be able to stand up and remain out of view. Locksley looked to The Boys, but both of them were already standing with their bows ready—each with an arrow notched—and he had to ask himself what use he’d be with his sword if it came down to a fight? The Boys could easily kill every man in the camp with their arrows if they wanted.
He moved as close to the ridge’s edge as he could, making certain nothing he was wearing would catch the fire’s light and give him away as he scanned the camp. There were a total of five large pavilions with a full compliment of Squires and Footmen for each of them. They sat in front of the pavilions, some of the Squires polishing harnesses, the Footmen honing weapons to a keen edge. They shared a common fire, as well as their food and drink.
There was easily twenty of them, Locksley counted. Twenty-five with the Knights.
That’s useful information.
The knights were in a smaller camp they built within an enclosure of dead trees that once served as someone else’s camp long ago. It was under the low rising ridge because it held back the wind. Two of the Knights were sitting, their backs against the dead trees, drinking from a bottle they were passing back and forth between them, talking, and laughing. Someone was cooking, and the smell of roasting meat hung in the air. Locksley supposed there was no need for a sentry because there was safety in numbers. Besides, the sun had yet to set and who was going to attack a camp of five Knights and their servitors? Anyone hearing them would take a wide berth, or approach and ask permission to pass, or perhaps ask to share a meal. It wasn’t something he’d be doing under the circumstances—those circumstances being that of Grummer and Ector’s capture and the possibility that the very men encamped below were responsible.
That’d be where the useful information comes in handy, he told himself.
“I say the time for action is now!” one of the Knights said, tossing a bottle of wine to one of the two man seated in front of him. He had a deep voice, and belched loudly, laughing. He was a large man, fully a head taller than the others, with a large moustache that covered both his top and bottom lips. His hair hung to his shoulders in curls and coils of vibrant red, matched by the colour of a scar that split his face, crossing from his left eye to his right cheek.
Agravain, Locksley told himself. The scar was a gift from Launcelot—that much he knew. It was a recent memory from the War of the Twelve Kings.
“Don’t be a fool, Aggie,” one of the Knights in front of him said, confirming Locksley’s guess. “If we attack we’ll be up on a scaffold faster ’n ye can spit. We have t’ wait until he’s alone.”
“ ‘E’s never gonna be alone, now then, is he?” Aggie said, waiting as the third Knight tossed the bottle back to him. He caught the bottle, but wine spilled down the front of his gambeson.
The fourth Knight was near the fire-pit, tending to a large boar roasting on a spit. He turned it every few minutes when it started sizzling and smoking, pouring wine on the carcass and taking a drink at the same time. He offered the bottle to the fifth Knight who declined with a shake of his head. The Knight shrugged, took another drink of wine, and poured more on the roasting pig.
It was difficult for Locksley to get a clear view of the man because he was standing in the shadows. But it was obvious they were the Orkney Knights; it was frustrating that he didn’t know who was who. The flags they all flew outside their pavilions were similar—they had the same Coat of Arms stencilled on different coloured backgrounds—and the armour they wore was also similar. It was all fine knowing they were the Orkney Knights, but they’d yet to say anything about the capture of Grummer and Ector.
“I s’pose we can wait another day,” Aggie said.
“Of course we can!” the man beside him laughed. “Tomorrow’s a better day for it!”
“An’ why would tomorrow be a better day for it?” Aggie asked.
“Well, he’s sure to be leaving, won’t he?” the man laughed. “He an’ his two girls. More sport for us then, don’tcha think? We can’t be leavin’ any of ‘em alive t’ tell the tale now then, can we? So, we may as well have a little sport with ‘em.”
“A little rape and relaxation!” Aggie cried out with a laugh. “Ye might not say much, Harry, but when ye do.”
“Exactly!” Harry said, and Locksley could see the man reaching for the bottle.
And which one are you, Harry? Gaheris! Of course!
“We’ll not be havin’ any of that!” another voice called out, and Locksley strained himself to see who it was. He squirmed ahead and leaned out over the ridge as far as he could, pulling himself back when he heard some of the loose clumps of dirt bounce down the edge; he hoped maybe one of The Boys had a better view.
“An’ ye doan have to, do ye!” Aggie called out. His deep voice was harsh, sounding angry, almost as if the man was frustrated. “The sooner we get ye t’ Camelot, the better for all of us, I say!”
“All the better for me t’ be rid of the likes of yerself, Aggie,” the man called in return.
“I’m sure ye’ll be tellin’ dear mommy all about it as soon as yer able,” Aggie laughed.
“The slut!” the knight seated beside Harry called out—and Locksley wondered who that was.
“Now Moe, doan ye be callin’ out anything like that, yer bein' ‘er bastard son, an’ all,” Aggie laughed. “If she weren’t a slut, ye’d not be here, would ye?”
“Leave off, will ye, Aggie?” Moe called out.
“Leave off, yerself, ye slatternly slut’s slip-up,” Aggie called out with a laugh, and Harry echoed him.
“An’ what was that we ‘eard about his fallin’ in the Queen’s tent this morn?” Harry asked.
“I dinna heard tell of that,” Aggie replied.
“I ‘eard ‘em say so when Grummer’s Squire rode in t’ say he was took away by Tarquin,” Moe said, taking the bootle from Harry.
“That was nae Grummer’s Squire,” Harry laughed. “The one wearin’ the tattered maille was more like t’ be a Squire. What was that that bitch called him? The Beggar’s Knave?”
“The boy?” Aggie laughed. “He’s a child!”
“Ye wit well who the lad was, then?” the last Knight called out, turning the spit and pouring more wine on the boar.
“Grummer’s lad? Aye. He’s the one what was up with the whores when we got there,” Aggie laughed. “He’s the son of Ambrose, which makes him Prince of Ivanore,” he added. “Father killed him, an’ a good thing, too. The last thing we want is a strong Ivanore on our southern border.”
“Ivanore’s Prince?” Harry asked. “Is it vengeance ye think he’ll be lookin’ for then?”
“Aye. ‘E was just a wee ‘un then, but he’s Ambrose’s whelp all the same,” Aggie said.
“I wit ye know that for certain?” the Knight at the fire called out.
“Aye, that I do, Brother,” Aggie laughed.
“Ye weren’t with Da, or by ‘is side, when it all come about,” Harry reminded the man.
“But well I know it was Grummer what took the boy out of harm’s way. Him an’ the Myrddin’s scourge,” Aggie said.
“That’d be Galen,” the man said, and Locksley watched, waiting as the man stepped into the clearing. “Aye, a bastard all the same,” the man said.
“Who? Galen or Grummer?” Moe said, a slow smile cresting his face.
“An’ is that how ‘e spoke up against ye when it come to yer intended nuptials with the Queen, Brother?”
“She was nae Queen then, was she?” the man said.
“An’ ye were still in Arthur’s camp,” Harry called out.
“Aye. An’ so?”
“Ye coulda well spoke out when Arthur took t’ yer mother’s bed an’ gat the whelp on ‘er,” Aggie laughed.
“Leave off with that!” Moe called out.
“An’ how was I t’ know the slut was about t’ spread ‘er thighs for what proved t’ be her own brother? I dinna say ‘e knew it at the time,” the man said.
“An’ ye think it woulda stopped him? Knowin’ it all the same?” Harry laughed. “Would ye do it with Morgana given half a chance?” he called out.
“Leave off, there, with that kinda talk,” the fourth Knight called out.
“Leave off, yerself!” Aggie shouted back, and Locksley could see the Squires and Footmen all look up at the same time.
“God, it’ll be grand droppin’ ‘im off at Camelot,” Harry said, looking at Aggie.
“Aye, that it will,” Aggie agreed. “An’ will ye be callin’ on yer Uncle for a boon?” he laughed as he called out to the last Knight.
“I’ll be callin’ on dear Uncle for what he owes me,” the man said. It sounded as if the man was moving, and soon Locksley saw him. He was tall, and lean, dressed in nothing more than a tunic and lace-up boots. His hair was dark, and hung in front of his face. He ran a hand through it.
“Owes ye? Yer dear Uncle owes ye none,” Harry laughed.
“It’s me what he owes,” Moe said, standing and walking to the fire. He was tall and thin, with a pronounced limp and a stooped back. His hair was dark, but for a shock of white on the left side. His beard grew in sparsely—something you might expect with a lad closer to Brennis’s age.
“He owes yerself even less than ‘e does me,” the last Knight said. “The most ye could hope for, is that he knows ye for his son.”
“Leave off, with that now!” Moe replied, picking a strip of meat off the boar.
“Leave off, yerself!”
Locksley had no doubt they were the Orkney Knights. It was the five of them together, and he wondered which of them was Gawain. He thought it had to be the older Knight—the one tending the boar. His once red hair was streaked with grey, and thinning. He was a tall man, broad across the chest, and well muscled, with a drooping moustache flowing into a large beard fanning across his chest. It seemed obvious the tall Knight was the youngest of Lot’s sons—the one they were escorting to Camelot—which meant he was Gareth; Moe, the Bastard, had to be Modred. He’d heard Grummer speak the name often enough. He’d already sorted out who Agravain and Gaheris were.
“So is it settled then? We wait for Pellinore to leave and then kill him the first chance we get?” Aggie said.
“What about Lamorak?” Moe asked.
“What about him?” Harry asked.
“He’s with that Saracen, nosing about,” Aggie said.
“Let him. There’s five of us and only two of them,” Harry scoffed.
“His Squire rides one of those beasts. ‘Ave ye not seen ‘im?”
“An’ when ye ride ‘im down, ye lance the beast, instead of goin’ for the man,” Aggie said.
Moe laughed. “Ye make it sound as if I’ll be the one chasin’ down the Squire? Is that yer plan then? An’ which of ye’s’ll be facin’ Lam? Ye’ve never once taken ‘im down in all the times ye’ve met with ‘im. What makes ye think the will now?”
“Running up against a man in the King’s lists at Camelot is hardly the same as facin’ a man in the open field, is it?” Gawain said calmly.
“How can ye say that?” Gareth said, angry. “Do ye nae hear ‘em? They’re plottin’ t’ take down a king!”
“Aye, the man what killed yer da’,” Gawain said.
“We’ll wait for Lam at the bridge in Hollybourne Park, is what we’ll do. The road narrows there an’ ‘e won’t ‘ave time t’ prepare. We can get all of them there at the same time. We’re a score an’ five to their ten, at best. All we need do from that is wait for Pellinore an’ his girls after. Then it’s sportin’ time!” Aggie laughed.
Locksley looked at The Boys, saw them stirring and moving back from the ridge; he slowly dropped to his knees, fading into the darkening shadows; mute.