THE SHIELD OF LOCKSLEY
CHAPTER 4 THE QUEEN'S GAMBIT
While stopped at a whore-house the group is attacked by the Orkney knights who are searching for their mother’s lover, Lamorak de Gales, hoping to avenge their father’s death with his, thinking it a fair trade as it was Lamorak’s father, King Pellinore, what slew King Lot of Orkney. Sir Grummer and Ector de Maris are captured and held prisoner in a castle…
PART ONE
THE LADY GWENELLYN
Gwendolyn sat atop her horse on a low rising hill overlooking the Queen’s camp, watching the sun set behind a plodding layer of cloud cover that crept over the horizon with surprising speed. One moment the sun was there—all bright-coloured and golden-hued—and the next moment it was lost to view behind a volume of discordant clouds that seemed to come out of nowhere. Even so, the sun spreading through the clouds is breath-taking—a vast array of colours, she told herself with a slow shake of her head. It’s all very pretty though, she thought at the same time, but the colours were fading fast and she knew the sight wouldn’t last much longer.
Like all beauty, it’s starting to fade—fast.
It’s time I get back to camp, she told herself. Uncle won’t like it if I’m gone too long, as I’m sure Miriam will be more than happy to remind him.
She observed the lay-out of the camp below her one last time. She had no way of knowing if she’d ever get away from the castle once they reached Camelot, but knowing the Queen would sometimes leave the castle gave her some hope for the future. The camp was built in the old Roman way, with two singular lanes meeting in the middle where a small open air market now stood. An open front where makeshift tables lay covered with fresh greens and small game; there were two full water barrels off to the sides of the tables. There was also a small smithy to the left of the market, the sing-song echo of the ringing hammer sounding almost like a melody lost in the distance.
The two lanes were wide enough to allow a rider on each side of the six wagons and coaches the Queen had in her entourage. The lanes were dotted with campfires and Knights’ pavilions on both sides, as well as long open fields for mock tourneys and what looked to be a miasma of blue smoke clinging to the surrounding trees like an evening mist. At least twice the size of the average pavilion, the Queen’s easily dwarfed the other pavilions around it—including her uncle’s, Gwendolyn noted. It was said the Queen always rode with a stable of five horses, one of which was to be saddled and ready to ride at all times, “should the need for a quick gallop through the hills be in order,” was said to be her reasoning. Gwendolyn could see no evidence that told her the story was true. With the aid of four of her ladies in-waiting and two young girls new to Court-life, the Queen could be dinner-dressed and ready in under twenty minutes. It was a feat to be reckoned with, Gwendolyn knew.
It was a position to be envied, she told herself, being one of the Queen’s Dressers.
There were easily a hundred Knights in the camp at any one time, she noticed earlier. They were always coming and going; the thorn and bramble gate constantly being pulled and pushed back into place. Those who weren’t in the camp at the moment, were probably out scouring the countryside in search of Launcelot. It was, after all, the reason the Queen had come out this way in the first place, or so her uncle had told her. That, and keeping Tristram and La Beale Isoud, away from the court gossips at Camelot. She was journeying to Cornwall and marriage with King Mark, a wayward ally as far as her uncle Pellinore was concerned.
Her shawl wrapped tight around her shoulders, Gwendolyn knew enough to make a habit of keeping her head down as much as she could. But to be honest, there was such an abundance of young Bachelor Knights in the camp hoping to one day be admitted to the Round Table—together, with their Squires, and Men-At-Arms—well, to be honest, they proved quite the distraction for a young girl on her way to Camelot in search of a husband.
And now I’m right in the thick of things, aren’t I? Sir Tristram and La Beale Isoud—possibly the most beautiful woman alive—at this moment laying in the tent beside mine. Queen Guinevere leaving the castle to help search for her secret lover.
And my own Uncle complicit in the affair.
Does that make me complicit?
She wondered if her simply being here could be construed as treasonous?
She climbed off the horse as a groom waited patiently to take the animal from her. She rewrapped her shawl around her shoulders again, shivering in the night chill as she made her way toward the nearest campfire. She put her hands out in front of her, feeling the warmth seeping through her body, the smell of smoke stinging her eyes so that she had to turn away.
“And did you see everything you wanted to?” a voice asked her from the shadows. Gwendolyn turned at the suddenness of the voice. Not recognizing it, she wondered who it could be. The sun had all but set—in fact, it was nothing now but a fading glow in the western sky—with the first stars of the night poking out of a twilit sky of azure clouds. As long as the man remained in the shadows, she had no way of knowing who it might be.
“Reveal yourself, good Sir. Are you a Knight, or perhaps some miscreant bent on taking from me that which is only mine to give—”
“And what do you take me for?” the voice asked with a light lilting laugh, stepping out of the shadows and into the fire’s light.
By the quality of his maille and the surcoat that he wore, it was obvious he was a Knight of some renown, she realized. He bowed low, his long hair obscuring his face, and he swung it back with a hand as he straightened up and looked down at her.
“What do I take you for? The same as I would take the voice of any man hiding in the shadows and waiting upon a woman unawares.”
“You really don’t paint a very nice picture of it, do you?” the man said with another laugh.
“Should I?”
“I’m certainly not about to attack you as you stand in the middle of the Queen’s camp,” the man said. “Outside your uncle’s very door. If ever there was a charge to be laid against a man, believe me, being charged with an assault against the niece of a king isn’t something any man strives for.”
“No, I would think not,” Gwendolyn replied, trying to hide the smile she could feel pulling at the edge of her lips. “Tell me your name, Sir?”
“Tristram, of Lyonese,” he said, bowing once again.
“Gwendolyn,” she replied with a soft whisper, hoping he didn’t notice the catch in her voice.
“Are you here with my uncle, or the Queen?” she asked.
“Neither. I’m to escort my uncle’s bride to Cornwall, where they are to be wed,” the man said. “I’m afraid half of the men here are with me. We we’re set to leave on the morrow when your uncle was kind enough to offer us an escort. I merely stepped out, much like yourself. I wanted to see that the camp was set and sealed against any possible attack.”
“Who would be foolish enough to attack the Queen’s camp?” Gwendolyn laughed.
“A great many would be tempted, I’m afraid to say.”
“And La Beale Isoude? Who would dare accost a Queen?”
“There are a great many miscreants and Bachelor Knights yet in hope of making a name for themselves.”
“Fools all,” Gwendolyn stated.
“Perhaps, but Queen’s need a protector against evil misdeeds. Launcelot has been named The Sword of the King and is the sworn protector of the Queen. It is my hope to serve La Beale Isoude as such.”
“By whose orders?”
“Not mine,” a deep voice said, rumbling out of the shadows.
“Uncle,” Gwendolyn said, startled at Pellinore’s sudden appearance. She curtsied, low to the ground, before looking up at the old man from under delicate lashes. He was dressed in a cape of fine ermine, with a brocaded tunic of cloth of gold underneath that caught the firelight and shimmered with every step he took. He rested his hand on the long sword at his side. Only a King could walk around the camp armed.
“Have you come to check up on me, or the girls?” Tristram asked, bowing.
“I always know where to find my Miriam,” Pellinore said, trying to hide his smile.
“Ah, then it’s the lady Gwendolyn you seek?” Tristram coughed.
“She’s always been one to be bandying about,” Pellinore said with a laugh.
“And today?” Gwendolyn asked. “Am I still bandying about?”
“I fear it’s something you’ll always do, my dear child. My only wish is that once we reach Camelot, you exercise some degree of caution,” Pellinore said.
“Caution? In the castle of the King?”
“Especially in the castle of a King,” Tristram said with a laugh.
“And rightly said, Sir Tristram,” the old king smiled.
“And how did you know me for myself?” Tristram asked.
“Did you think me so far into my dotage that I’d not recognize you, even in the shadows?”
“I thought you not in your dotage at all!” Tristram replied. “You’ve proven yourself still a man in the prime of his life.”
“As if you believe that!” Pellinore laughed, reaching out for Gwendolyn’s hand and taking the girl away.
“Good night, good Sir,” Gwendolyn called.
“And to you, my lady,” Tristram replied. She could hear the laughter in his voice.