THE SHIELD OF LOCKSLEY

The War of the Twelve Kings having come to a close, with Arthur victorious, we find our young hero travelling to Camelot in the company of Sir Grummer, to take part in the Tournament of youth...

PART ONE

    THE FIRST BOOK OF LAMORACK DE GALES

When King Arthur understood the letter, he mused of many things, and thought on his sister’s words, Queen Morgana le Fay, that she had said betwixt Queen Guenever and Sir Launcelot. And in this thought he studied a great while. Then he bethought him again how his sister was his own enemy, and that she hated the Queen and Launcelot, and so he put all of that out of his thought…

Le Morte d’Arthur

Bk 10; chapter XXII

CHAPTER ONE 

ON THE ROAD TO CAMELOT

“Have ye nae seen ‘im, then?” Grummer asked.

Locksley laughed, shaking his head. “Nae, Uncle.”

“Lads?” Grummer called out, looking up at the trees around them. “Now, not ‘pon my honour, but yerselves it is. Am I nae telling the truth?”

“Aye, that he is lad—” Godfrey called out.

“That’s Sir to you, ye Saxon scum,” the other soldier Geoffrey, said.

“”Leave off! Begin’ yer pardon…Sir Knight,” Godfrey added as an apology

The pause between the begging his pardon and apologizing to him—and the proper use of Sir—seemed like an excessive amount of time, Grummer thought. But then, the lads have known the boy since he came to Inverness a frightened child, he reminded himself. Makes it more believable if Godfrey sounds resentful saying it, Grummer told himself.

“Do we nae have any beer?” Grummere asked. “Wine?”

“Shouldn’t it be food yer after?” Locksley asked.

“That’s nothin’ more than a difference in age talking, that is. Food’s the last thing on his mind, boy,” Godfrey called out. “I mean, Sir Knight,” he added, and Grummer laughed.

“The lads know me, boy!”

“Sir Knight!” both of them called out and Grummer laughed harder.

They rode in silence, the only sound the sound of their horses’ hooves pounding the hard packed trail. Lucky for them the way was tree-lined and cool. There was a stream they were following on their right, with open pastures they crossed at a gallop. It was a warm day—a clear day—but Grummer was usually overwarm whenever he rode in his maille. It wouldn’t be so bad if he could take the hauberk off, he told himself. He was definitely not going to be wearing it tomorrow. Or maybe he could take the sleeves off and wear it vested? It seemed unlikely they’d be attacked, but one could never be too careful out in the Wilds.

He’d learned that lesson the hard way.

I think I’ve learned most things the hard way.

It was a long ride to Camelot, with Inverness Castle already a two day ride behind them. They kept to a gentle pace, mindful of the horses. They didn’t want to wear them down. It had been a long, hard, winter for everyone it seemed. One of the whores had a child that was said to have froze to death. He didn’t know if it was true, but that’s what people claimed. For all he knew, the Brothel Master sold the child, or had it killed.

Grummer pulled up on the reins and they all followed his lead. He slowed to a gentle canter and finally a walk, letting the horses graze through a wide patch of clover. Grummer lifted his right leg and crossed it in front of himself, rubbing an ache in his thigh. Godfrey climbed off his horse, giving his reins to Geoffrey who was carving an enormous stick to pass the time. Opening one of the saddle bags, Godfrey pulled out a link of sausage as well as the last bottle of wine.

“Best to hear a story on a full stomach, Sir,” he said, cutting off a large piece of sausage and handing it up to Grummer, along with the wine. He cut another piece for Locksley, then cut the last piece in half, passing one end up to Geoffrey as he took the reins back and walked his horse.

“Aye, m’ story,” Grummer said. “Did I tell ye the man’s a Saracen? D’ ye ken what that is?”

“Aye. He’s a Pagan,” Geoffrey called out without looking up from his carving.

“Pagans doan just come from up ‘ere, beyond the Wall,” Grummer said. “The man’s a Parthian. That means ‘e comes from Araby, ‘e does. D’ ye know where that is?”

Locksley stared at him.

“Nae, ye’d have t’ have read a book t’ know of Araby, Well, I’ll have t’ be talkin’ t’ yer friend Galen there, when we get back.”

“An’ ye know where a Parthian comes from?” Locksley exclaimed, sounding more than a little doubtful, Grummer thought.

“Aye. ‘e comes from a part of the world where the sun burns hot through the day, an’ the land freezes at night. A land of sand for as far as the eye can see, where the heat rises off the sand like heat off an iron bar in a smithy’s fire. They have rivers with living monsters in them that can bite a man in half. That’s Parthia.”

“An’ ye know this how?”

“I know it from talkin’ t’ merchants. I know it from talkin’ t’ sailors; men who’ve seen the vastness of the oceans. Men who’ve been t’ places with exotic names, like Timbuktu an’ Zanzibar. Ye have t’ talk t’ people if ye want t’ learn what the world ‘as t’ offer.”

“An’ what’s this strange man, what’s he ‘ave t’ offer?” Locksley asked.

“Palomides? How’s that fer a name? Rings off a man’s tongue, it does…like surgery. That’s another grand word, that one is. It’s a new word, ‘ave I told ye that?”

“An’ ye say ‘e rides a great beast of the desert? Larger than any ‘orse ye’ve seen?” Locksley asked, not letting himself be taken in by Grummer’s obvious need to tell him about his new word, or else how it was important for him to read every moment he could.

“Aye, that ‘e does,” Grummer nodded. “It’s enough t’ put a fright into the bravest of men, ain’t it lads?” he called out.

“To be sure, it’s a beast to give the heartiest man a fright,” Geoffrey called out, looking up from the walking stick he was carving. “I’ve ne’er seen such a beast in all my years—”

“An’ ‘ow many years is that, Geoffrey?” Locksley laughed. “D’ ye even know?”

“Enough t’ have turned my hair grey, an’ for Godfrey to have lost most of his,” the man laughed out. “Long enough t’ have remembered Vortigern an’ the Saxon sell-swords he brought in, giving ‘em land—the land my father worked on all his life. Old enough t’ have fought with your Uncle, out of Inverness Castle. An’ old enough to have known Grummer when there was no girth, an’ he was not so round-about!”

“Old enough that Inverness was nae a Castle when ye were still a lad!” Godfrey added.

“Aye, that too!” Geoffrey nodded.

“An’ with all that travel, an’ all that ye’ve seen, an’ done, ye’ve nae seen such a beast tofore?” Grummer asked.

“Nae.”

“There! Ye see?” Grummer said, his point proven.

“An’ ‘is name is Palomides, ye say?” Locksley asked.

“It’s a Christian he claims he wants to be,” Godfrey called out.

“Why would you say that?” Locksley asked.

“Because it’s true,” the man declared.

“He’s come out this way to give up his Satanic ways and follow the White Christ,” Geoffrey laughed. “Once a Pagan always a Pagan; or, so I says.”

“That may be troth with ye Saxons—yer the scum of the earth, t’ be sure. But ye can’t be speakin’ the same for a Parthian Pagan,” Grummer said. “I’ve met me share of Saxons o’er the years, an’ there’s nae one I’d be trustin’ or takin’ at his word—‘ceptin’ for the twain of ye—but none other, d’ye hear? But this man? This Parthian? He’s a far grander man than the likes of ye twain. Speaks the languages of old Rome, that bein’ yer Latin an’ Greek. Reads poetry from Araby, as well. He’s not a Pagan in the Pagan sense of the word, he follows a different god from yer Saxon Pagan gods, is all.”

“An’ there’s a difference?” Locksley asked.

“Boy!” Grummer called at him. “Yer Saxon drinks the blood of the babies ‘e kills! Still. To this day! They make sacrifices t’ gods we don’t claim t’ know. But Parthians? They have one God, like yours—or whoever else. I know the lads don’t want for the White Christ, do ye Boys?”

“Aye, that we don’t,” Godfrey said.

“Self righteous Pagans, are ye?” Locksley laughed.

“We’re Pagans, just the same,” Grummer grinned. “The three of us. As long as there’s Priests insistin’ that people not read the Scriptures for themselves, I’ll be reading Scriptures for myself. The Boys though, they tend to believe more in meliorism—”

“An’ what’s that!” Locksley laughed. “I tell ye, it’s those books yer always readin’ what does that to ye.”

“And what’s that?”

“Makes ye think that everyone ye know unnerstands ye.”

“Which is exactly what meliorism is, isn’t it? A belief that the world can be improved with effort,” Grummer laughed. “Ye’ve but to make the effort.”

“So this Palomides is such a man as yerself, then? A philosopher?”

“If ye mean did ‘e make an effort? Aye. ‘e’s travelled ‘ere overland an’ overmuch, hasn’t he? A man much in line with m’ own intellectual bent. He reads Aurelius.”

“Tell me, when ye met him, where was he?” Locksley asked.

“He was with Lam,” Grummer replied.

“Lam? Who’s Lam?”

“De Gales. Lamorak de Gales. They were all together. He ‘ad four footmen with him. The most amazing horsemen, and archers all. His Squire rides a similar beast. It’s a spectacle, t’ be sure.”

“T’ be sure it is, Sir Grummer,” Geoffrey called out with a laugh.

“T’ be sure,” Godfrey echoed.

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