by K. C. Herbel
Slowly the rider’s head turned until the owl-like face of the helmet stared directly at the gatehouse of Cyndyn Hall. Immediately Billy felt tingly and uncomfortable under the dark warrior’s gaze. He looked to his left and then his right. Billy stood in front—or more importantly, outside—of the castle’s defenses alone. He remembered that the few guards Lady Myrredith kept during these times of peace were inside the castle.
Billy took a step back, and the pale horse turned towards him. He took another step, and another. Each time, the rider matched his steps with an advance. Billy leaned into the shadows of the gate and then sprinted into the gatehouse.
“Syrail, Syrail!” shouted Billy to the guard who sat eating his dinner in the gatehouse.
“Wha . . . ?” mouthed the large man, trying to speak with his mouth around a trencher.
“Raise the bridge! Lower the gate!” shouted Billy.
Syrail, confused by Billy’s excited state, dropped his food and stood up looking back and forth between the lever for the portcullis and the wheel for the drawbridge.
Finally Billy leapt to the portcullis lever and released it. A loud, rumbling, clattering, clanking sound filled their ears as the massive wooden structure came down across the gateway and slammed into its home. All this commotion was punctuated by the whinny of a horse from outside the castle.
Billy waited a moment before peeking out of the gatehouse. The inner ward was quiet. Syrail appeared behind Billy. The guard’s towering frame blocked out the light from within.
“What’s this all about?” whispered Syrail.
“Someone’s out there,” answered Billy.
“Who?”
“I don’t know,” said Billy, “but I didn’t like the looks of him.”
Syrail drew his sword as Billy crept out of the gatehouse. Together, they peered around the corner at the dark gateway and portcullis at the far end. The dark rider was just beyond the gate, studying the castle’s defenses as the horse strutted in tight arcs on the drawbridge.
Syrail stepped in front of Billy and yelled, “Who goes there?”
Horse and rider immediately froze and focused on the gateway. Slowly the animal approached the portcullis until the warrior was inches away, staring between the thick wooden beams.
“Who goes there?” repeated Syrail. “Identify yourself, sir!”
The black-clad warrior regarded the bellowing man with indifference but shifted forward when Billy stepped out from behind him. Without a word, the warrior reached up and slipped off the ornate helmet. Pointed ears peeked through short flaxen hair as it spilled out around a beautiful feminine face. Her eyes, like large almond-shaped amethyst, sparkled and scrutinized Billy with cold, feline reserve.
“Zounds, it’s the Night Queen!” said Syrail under his breath. He hastily crossed himself and shepherded Billy to the rear, before warily backing up.
Billy knew well the legend of the mysterious woman some called the Night Queen. He heard guests at his father’s inn speak of her turning young boys into feeble old men, men into stone, and making the best milk cows go dry all with a glance, but, of course, none of them had seen her with their own eyes. It was usually some friend of a distant cousin-in-law or some such tenuous connection, and so Billy had always considered her the sort of myth told to naughty children to make them behave. Now, myth or not, the exotic visage terrified him.
The armored woman extended her hand quite naturally, and Syrail halted. Billy glanced at Syrail. His expression was strangely dull. When Billy reestablished eye contact with the strange lady, the hint of a smile crept on to her alien features.
Billy, though frozen with fear, perceived her hand reaching for the dagger at her waist. He broke free of his fear and stepped behind Syrail. He tugged on the big man, trying to pull him back to cover, but he would not budge.
Suddenly there was a clamor from behind, and Billy turned to see a dozen guards spill out from the main keep. They charged across the inner ward, some of them going to the gatehouse while the others ran up the steps to the battlements. Billy looked to the portcullis again, but the woman was gone.
“What’s goin’ on here?” asked Gardd.
Billy looked at the sergeant of Lady Myrredith’s guards and said, “The Night Queen is outside! She’s coming after us . . .”
“Whoa right there, laddie,” said Gardd. “Syrail, what happened?”
Syrail turned around, blinking his eyes. “What happened where?”
“What happened here, you lout!” shouted the sergeant. “Why have ya dropped the portcullis?”
Syrail looked over his shoulder at the gateway. “I don’t know, Gardd,” he said, “it was Billy here what done it.”
Gardd turned his attention back to Billy. He crossed his arms and stared down his nose at the little juggler. Billy swallowed hard.
At that moment, one of the men who had gone to the top of the wall hollered down, “There’s no one out there, Gardd!”
“Well . . . ?” said Gardd, pinning Billy in place with his eyes.
Billy fidgeted a moment then said, “There was a woman in black armor, and Syrail said it was the Night Queen, and she would have attacked us if we hadn’t dropped the gate, and . . .”
“Syrail?” said the sergeant. His sharp tone cut Billy off like a sword.
Syrail swallowed and looked back and forth between Billy and Gardd. Just then, he noticed the sword in his hand and put it away. Finally the lumbering guard shrugged and said, “I don’t know, Gardd. I only just got here myself.”
“But you saw her!” exclaimed Billy. “And you said she was the Night Queen!”
Gardd glared at Syrail. “The Night Queen?”
Syrail shrugged, then Gardd turned to Billy.
“The Night Queen is a faerie tale,” said the sergeant, “told to children to keep them in line.”
“That’s right,” said Syrail.
“You just let your imagination get the better of ya,” continued Gardd. “Shadows dancin’ round in the torchlight, that’s all.” The sergeant then shouted to his men on the wall to come down and raise the portcullis.
Billy protested and continued to fuss until Gardd agreed to post more guards at the gatehouse, “just to be safe.” Then together, the two of them returned to the main keep.
“You gonna tell Lady Myrredith about this?” asked Billy.
“Naw. She’s got enough worries, what with the weddin’ an’ all.”
“Oh, right,” said Billy. “I almost forgot!”
* * *
Long after the King’s Herald left, Billy forgot about the Night Queen and was squirming in his skin for another reason altogether. He had often dared to visit the king and his court in dreams, but dreams were not as scary as reality.
“Am I really going to see the king?” he asked Lady Myrredith.
His host smiled calmly and said, “Yes, William. How many times must I tell you?”
“I don’t know. How many is that?”
“At least twenty!” said Hugh with a laugh.
“I just can’t believe it,” bubbled Billy. “Pinch me again. I must be dreamin’.”
Sir Hugh obligingly pinched Billy on the arm.
“Owww!” said Billy. “I guess it must be true. I’m goin’ to see King William. I’m goin’ to see King William! I’m goin’ to see King William?”
Billy examined himself. He just couldn’t believe this was really happening to him, a common lad from the Valley of the Yew! He looked down at his hand. The ring his mother had left him was still on his finger. Since he slipped it on, the previous night, he had all but forgotten it. Now he was strangely aware of it on his finger. It was tingling, as if it were too tight. He twisted it off his finger and placed it back into his pocket.
“William,” began Lady Myrredith, “that boy you told me about—the one you were with in town . . .”
“Stitch?”
“Yes, Stitch . . . Did he show you where he lived?”
“No, milady . . . I don�
�t think he has a home like you or me.”
Lady Myrredith exchanged somber glances with Sir Hugh and Eadwig. “These feral boys . . . there seem to be more of them each year. I don’t recall seeing any as a girl. Eadwig, was I somehow sheltered from this problem?”
“No, milady,” answered Eadwig. “There just weren’t any in those days—not in Lyonesse.”
“Where are they all coming from?”
“I can’t say, milady, but I have noted their ranks swelling over the past five years or so.”
“Indeed. Captain Oswyn would agree with you. They’re ‘all orphans,’ he says. Was it ever like this before?”
“Before we made William our king, he battled King Marcus of Gwyddea at Maedwedun. Dyven saw scores of orphans after that day . . . but that was long ago.”
“Say, that reminds me,” said Billy. “Isn’t Gwyddea our enemy?”
“Aye,” said Hugh, “they have been.”
“Then why is Princess Kathryn marrying some Gwyddnie prince?”
Again Hugh answered Billy. “With a Gwyddean prince in the royal family they’re not likely to start another war, now are they?”
“No,” said Billy, “I guess not. I just don’t see why they have to attack us. There are kingdoms on Albion so much closer. Don’t they have to sail past Damnonia to get here?”
“The lords of Gwyddea have long desired our lands,” said Lady Myrredith.
“Aye,” agreed Hugh. “The Gwyddeans have crossed the Irish Sea, to invade Lyonesse, since before the coming of Caesar.”
“So long?” said Billy. “Ya think they’d have given up by now.”
* * *
That night, Lady Myrredith started making arrangements for the trip to the king’s court. She and Eadwig were hard at work in her study until late and hadn’t noticed that Billy was still awake.
“Why are you in such a hurry to get everything ready now?” Billy asked. “The end of the month is nearly three weeks away.”
“It will take us nearly a fortnight to get there, William,” answered Her Ladyship, “and I would like to arrive a few days early.”
“Oh . . . Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I think perhaps you should be sleeping now.”
“But I’m not tired.”
“You will be tomorrow if you don’t get some sleep now.”
“But I . . .”
“And tomorrow we may be leaving.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes, tomorrow.”
“Can’t I stay here with you tonight? My room is . . .”
“What is it, William?” asked Myrredith. “Is there something the matter with your room?”
“No,” said Billy, “it’s just . . . I don’t want to be alone.”
“Feeling homesick?”
Billy nodded.
Lady Myrredith turned to Eadwig, who had remained silent throughout the conversation. At last she said, “Well fine, I suppose you are old enough, but please don’t disturb us.”
“Thank you, Lady Myrredith. Thank you, Eadwig.”
Several hours later, Lady Myrredith and Eadwig doused the lamps and called it a night. Billy was asleep on a bearskin rug near the fireplace, a quill in one hand and a partial letter to his father beside him.
Eadwig gently took the quill from Billy’s hand and placed a quilted cover over him. He picked up the letter and scanned it in the dim firelight. A smile ran across his face, and he placed the letter on a tray with the quill.
“What is it, Eadwig?” whispered his employer.
“Pardon me, milady?”
“Why are you smiling?”
Eadwig quietly closed the door as they left the room. “I seem to recall, oh . . . many years ago, a certain young lady fell asleep on that very rug whilst her father worked by candlelight.”
Lady Myrredith smiled.
“He’s such a fine lad,” said Eadwig, “writing his father and all. It’s just odd . . .”
“What?”
“Well it struck me as peculiar that he would even know his letters.”
“That’s because you’ve never met his father.”
“Most boys coming from the countryside can’t spell their own name, nor do they have a need to. Is the father a scholar?”
“No . . . I think he’s barely literate. He might even need help in reading that letter, but I’m sure it’s his doing. Lord only knows how William learned, though he is very special.”
“Yes, milady.”
“Eadwig?”
“Yes, milady.”
“Am I wrong to feel . . . proud of William?”
“I don’t believe I’ve ever told any Cyndyn that they were wrong, milady. I don’t believe I’ve ever had to.”
Lady Myrredith smiled at the elderly chamberlain. She placed her hand on his arm and asked, “Do you ever miss Rory?”
Eadwig stared at his mistress in open amazement. His jaw dropped open as if to say something, but the words escaped him.
“What is it?” asked Lady Myrredith.
“Oh . . . well . . . I didn’t think milady wished to speak of him.”
Lady Myrredith bowed her head in contemplation. “I didn’t.”
Eadwig regarded the woman whom he had watched grow from a timid girl into a formidable ruling lady. With fatherly affection, he lifted her chin. Her face was that of a child, as she looked into his eyes.
“Yes, milady,” said Eadwig, “we have all missed Master Rory.”
Immediately she grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. They stood in the hallway for a time, each of them focused beyond the world around them.
Eadwig snapped out of his daze and gave her hand another squeeze. “Yes, well . . . good night, milady.”
Lady Myrredith held on to his hand for a moment before releasing him. “Good night, Eadwig,” she said. Then she ambled silently to her room, still lost in her memories.
Chapter XIII
Wedding Pilgrimage
The next day, the wedding party left Cyndyn Hall: two horse-drawn wagons, fifteen guards, two servants, three nobles, one professional entertainer, and a tired, but excited innkeeper’s son.
“How long will it take us to get there?” asked Billy.
“I told you, William,” said Lady Myrredith, grinning. “It should take us nearly a fortnight to get there, so you might as well relax. We’ve got many days of travel ahead of us.”
Billy groaned and lay down in the back of the wagon. He tried to get some sleep, but his mind was still racing with thoughts of beautiful courtiers and hundreds of knights in bright, shiny armor; of feasts in giant luxuriant banquet halls; and of entertainment by the best troubadours and circus troops the kingdom had to offer. However, the best daydreams of all were of the royal wedding and coronation. Billy wondered what these grand events would be like. He tried to imagine them in every detail.
After Billy had exhausted his imagination on the coronation and cloud watching, he practiced his lute playing and juggling, both of which impressed Malcolm the Magnificent. By the time the party came to a stop for the day, Billy was tired.
Lady Myrredith had decided to take a respite in a place where the road crossed through a large heath. A violet blanket of heather stretched out around them in all directions, broken only by a winding brown ribbon of road and bordered by low-growing evergreens. A quiet breeze, fathered in distant mountains, rolled across the heath, gently caressing the blossoms and transforming the road into a fanciful beach. The sun was still high in the afternoon sky, but once the mistress of Cyndyn Hall had breathed in the locale’s perfume, it was impossible to convince her that there might be a better spot farther down the road. It wasn’t that she wouldn’t hear any objections, but rather that she didn’t hear them. Her mind seemed to be wandering elsewhere.
“We’ll camp here” was all she said as she waded into the fragrant heather.
Sir Aonghas, after a few terse words, threw up his hands, repeated his wife’s words, and started to unhitch the team. Billy
, curious as ever, climbed down from the wagon and trotted after his patron lady.
When Billy caught up with Lady Myrredith, her eyes were damp and misty. She stood with her arms crossed, staring over the heather to the horizon. At last she looked down to her unusually quiet companion. His eternally quizzical eyes stared into hers, and as always, she couldn’t resist smiling.
“William,” she said, “have you ever picked wild blueberries?”
“Of course, milady,” said Billy prosaically. “I am from the Valley of the Yew.”
Lady Myrredith returned a quizzical expression of her own. “Are there many berries there?”
“Oh, only the best, milady. But especially blueberries,” he continued. “My father makes the best blueberry pie.”
“I hope it’s nothing like his strawberry surprise!”
“Strawberry surprise, milady?”
Billy looked earnestly at Lady Myrredith then suddenly blushed when he saw her knowing grin. He averted his eyes and tried to stifle a giggle.
“Did you think I hadn’t figured it out?” said Lady Myrredith.
“Well,” he said between laughs, “I just hadn’t thought much about it.”
“The earl’s physician was quite impressed!”
They laughed and would have laughed much longer if Lady Myrredith hadn’t put an end to it.
“William,” she said attempting to be solemn, “I will simply burst if I don’t stop laughing. Please go to the wagon and fetch us each a basket, so we may collect a few berries.”
“Yes, Lady Myrredith.”
Billy quickly did as she had bid him and returned.
“Tonight, I will bake you blueberry pie,” he announced to Lady Myrredith.
“Oh?” she said.
Billy saw her surprise and spoke. “My father didn’t do all the cookin’, ya know?”
“But how will you bake a pie . . . out here?”
“It’s not exactly pie, but my father taught me a little something that should do the trick.”
“Very well,” said Lady Myrredith, “I’ll gather berries over there.”
Billy looked at the hollow pointed out by his patron. It was a low corner of the heath, where the heather ran into the trees. A densely wooded thicket formed what appeared to be a small dark cave.
