by Kim Dragoner
“Do not harm my steed, sir. Please,” Jofrit said.
“I’m not a savage, you know. Why do you think I would harm a good, strong horse such as this? I might sell, it or trade it; that’s for certain but harm it? Never. He’s a lot better quality than a meat and glue nag, that’s for certain.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jofrit said with a sigh. “His name is Guerrero.”
“What’s that you said?”
“I said the horse’s name is Guerrero.”
“And my name is Dunmor. What’s it to you?”
Jofrit hung his head in defeat. He probably should have listened to the old woman in the square at Aviemore; she’d given him a free and fair caution about the rough dealings that were afoot in the Spey Valley but he hadn’t heeded her warnings.
Jofrit pondered that misstep while the bandits went through his saddlebags and then his pockets. They took every coin, every note of exchange, promissory note and ration paper he carried, and then they bound his feet and hands and threw him over Guerrero’s saddle.
“The Island Witch is going to be very happy to see us this time around,” one of the bandits commented as they began to move along the path again. “We found exactly what she was looking for. Didn’t we, Dunmor?”
“Aye, Brandor! I really think we got it right this time.”
“What do you think she’ll trade with us for them?”
“I can’t ever be really sure whenever we get to dealing with that woman. She can get very tricky in her negotiations.”
“That’s true,” another of Dunmor’s brothers agreed. “That’s why we always leave the talking to you, Dunmor. You seem to understand her best of all of us.”
“Might I ask what her instructions were to you men when you set out to look for whatever she was looking for?” Jofrit asked curiously as he bounced uncomfortably on the back of the horse.
“A knight of the realm on a silver horse who didn’t look like he knew where he was going but would be proceeding along very confidently despite that fact.”
Jofrit instantly realized that he was the centerpiece of Dunmor’s sarcastic remark and decided to remain silent. Dunmor took it as a sign of resolve and went to mock the man up close.
“If you’re going to make fun of me and then turn me over to whatever witch it is you work for, at least set me upright in the saddle so I can journey in a little more comfort. I don’t think I’ll make it very far over this saddle on my stomach not to mention any small slip could cause the horse to stumble and become lame.”
Dunmor pondered Sir Jofrit’s logic for a moment before relenting. He stepped away and pointed back at the captive over his shoulder while he issued instructions to one of his brothers.
“Undo the ropes around his ankles and set him upright in the saddle. Retie his hands in front of him and let him grasp the reins himself.”
The man ran off to do as he was told and as Dunmor went to rejoin his brothers, one of them came up beside him and asked, “Do you think that’s a very good idea, Dunmor?” He nodded toward where Jofrit was being adjusted on Guerrero’s saddle into a sitting position.
“Why wouldn’t it be? If he falls and hurts himself or he ends up laming that horse, neither of them will be of any good to trade to the witch.”
“It might be that it’s a bad idea because he is a skilled Knight of the Round Table, one who has raised this horse from it was a weanling; yet you want to return such a degree of control over the animal to him that he could easily escape? In addition, don’t you think he’s been tremendously cooperative up until now? Why do you suppose that is?”
“Why, I’d think he’s accepted the fact that he’s outnumbered.”
“I supposed so but if that were the case, wouldn’t he be most likely then to keep an eye out for the slightest opportunity to escape us?”
“I suppose that would also be true. Where exactly are you going with this?”
Before the answer could come from his brother’s lips, Dunmor heard the sound of Jofrit crying out from over his shoulder. He turned just in time to see the knight grab a firm hold of the reins and kick the horse into motion with one smooth movement.
Before Dunmor could even sound the alarm, Jofrit had laid flat against the stallion’s neck and Guerrero had reared up on his hind legs causing every man around him to scamper out of harm’s way. In a flash, both horse and rider were clambering up the valley wall toward the plain above in an effort to make a quick getaway from the band of brigands.
By the time Dunmor and three of his brothers were saddled up and riding after them, Jofrit and Guerrero were nowhere in sight.
***
Merlin’s story cast a spell of silence over them all. For a very long time, there was no sound, but those of the horses cropping grass and swatting flies, the birds and the squirrels. Each of them allowed their minds to wander off in a variety of directions as they soaked in the quiet peace of their surroundings and the mystical tale that Merlin had just spun for them. They ate their midday meal in Gretna Green and then packed up their things to continue their trek northward.
“Is there any word on my father?” John asked once they were mounted. He’d chosen to ride beside Merlin so that he could ask some questions, mostly. He also wanted to avoid any possible conflict with Alpina, though she’d been decent enough to him so far.
“I’ve heard nothing solid yet, but I have my suspicions,” Merlin responded.
“What do your suspicions tell you?” John pressed. The wizard could be a little bit evasive at times, but he could only ask and hope that he would get a straight answer.
“In this sort of situation, it is best not to get our hopes up or to make assumptions,” Merlin replied. “If we wander off on the wings of assumption, we might find ourselves well off the course.”
It was what John expected. “So, why are we going north? Aren’t we going on an assumption to do that?”
“On the contrary,” Merlin chuckled. “Heading toward his last known location will certainly help us narrow the search even provide some clues as to what has become of him. In that regard, it is a logical deduction rather than a mere assumption.”
Talking to Merlin sometimes made John’s brain hurt. He always seemed to talk about things that existed in an ethereal world. For John, those things which he could see, feel, smell, taste and hear were the things that he could understand. He’d seen amazing things while in the presence of the wizard and ought to have expanded his mind to all of the possibilities, but he was much more comfortable with his feet planted firmly on the ground or in the saddle with Ganador’s feet planted firmly on the ground.
After a few, silent moments, Merlin spoke again. “How about a bit of history?” He said it in a voice that all in the group could hear.
With everyone’s consent, though it probably hadn’t been a requirement, Merlin started into his history. “Miss Alpina told you about the wall back to our south, but there is another wall farther to the north, which most people don’t talk about or even know about.
“You see, the wall to our south was built when Hadrian was emperor of Rome, but another was built some 20 years later. The second wall, unlike the first, was built up of earth rather than stones; for that reason, it isn’t nearly as noticeable as the first.”
“Why would the Romans need a second wall?” John asked.
“There is, of course, a great deal of argument about when the walls were built and what purpose they served,” Merlin continued. “Some believe that they were to keep out those barbaric Picts, of whom it is true the Romans were certainly afraid. Some believe that the walls were meant to mark the northern extent of the Roman Empire. The second reason certainly makes sense when one considers the second wall. Why, indeed, would they need a second wall, if not to mark a boundary?”
“So, the walls weren’t built to keep the Picts out?” Thomas asked from behind them.
“And Alpina’s story was nothing more than a story meant to frighten us,” John responded.
&n
bsp; “Alpina’s story was accurate,” Merlin continued. “Though, perhaps it wasn’t fear of the Picts that made them build the wall. After all, such a wall would only have the purpose of holding back invaders. As far as history has been recorded, the Picts have never invaded the lower part of the island, so, why would one need a wall for that?
“No, the walls were built as a means of marking the northern boundary of the empire. That is why, after seeing that Emperor Hadrian had built a wall to mark his gains, Emperor Antonius Pius had to show how far he had advanced his empire; however, he didn’t put nearly the expense and effort into his wall. Although he did place a trench in front of it for troops to defend the wall, so that makes one wonder if the second wall was built for defense, after all.”
Merlin seemed to have changed positions on his argument and it took John a few moments to sort through it. “So, you’re saying that the stone wall was built as a boundary, but not to defend against the Picts and the earth wall, farther north was built for defense, but was also a marker?”
“I’ve only told you a portion of the story, but, yes, up to this point, you are following me correctly,” Merlin smiled. “This wall, made of earth, has worn down over the centuries since it was put there, so it isn’t quite as obvious. Though the Romans would have called it the Antonine Wall, it goes by a different name among those who live here…”
“Gryme’s Dyke,” Alpina broke in with a proud smirk on her face.
John turned in his saddle to look back at her, smiled, but made no comment. He certainly didn’t want to become the target for her arrows again.
“Gryme’s Dyke is correct,” he chuckled. “I told you that she was one of my best students.”
“Isn’t a dike meant to hold back water?” Thomas asked.
“In most cases, that is the correct use of the word,” Merlin replied. “However, in this case, that’s not how it’s used. There is something interesting about its name, however. The word Gryme is often used to refer to the devil. So, in essence, Gryme’s Dyke is the Devil’s Dyke.”
Merlin dropped that last bit of information and then became silent. With Alpina’s story and reference to the Devil’s Dyke lying along their path to the north, John had plenty going on inside of his head. The battle with Mordred, Arthur’s son, had been enough to awaken him to the atrocities and terrors of war. He’d been able to work through most of that madness, but something about those lands farther north and the Picts who dwelt there was already bringing back his greater apprehension.
There was no doubt that the surrounding countryside, though mostly populated with forests and animals, was a beautiful and tranquil place. However, that quiet beauty seemed to be pregnant with the coming dread; much of which was due to the fact that, to John, it was a land completely unknown to him. With each passing mile northward, that dread became more and more pronounced.
How could his father have survived alone in such a savage land? What sort of otherworldly being had lured him in and taken him captive? Would he have any chance of delivering his father from that being if they did find him? Was he leading Thomas and the two squires to their death? What about Alpina? Was she someone that he could trust or was she luring him into the same trap as his father?
The only glimmer of hope that came as an answer to those questions was found in Merlin. However, he was unsure of just how far the wizard’s magic could reach. Three brother knights had lost their lives, even when Merlin was about.
As they drew closer to Gryme’s Dyke, John couldn’t help thinking that once they went beyond that boundary, they would be in a strange, savage and dark world; a world with death waiting around every corner or within the thick fog. With a heavy sigh, he attempted to put on the inner armor that strengthened him for what lay ahead.
***
It took Dunmor and three of his brothers all night to track down Sir Jofrit and in the end, it was the scent of Guerrero’s droppings that led the Picts to the hollowed out ditch they were hiding in.
Jofrit had found a gully that ran parallel to the high road but was roughly an eight-foot drop from that level… no doubt a remnant of the road’s Roman construction, now reduced to a tactical component. Trees which seemed to line the road above were actually rooted in the ditch and overstretched to shade the thoroughfare. Erosion had created deep cuts in the ditch walls, which were perfect for hiding in and the thick foliage of the underbrush and shrubbery created excellent camouflage. He stood Guerrero up against the inside of a deep cut out and stood with his back against the horse.
They would have easily been able to pass a day and half a night undetected in their hideout but during the flight to get away from the Pictmen, Jofrit had not realized that his horse had left quite a trail of dung behind them.
Dunmor and his brothers passed by the hiding place several times by way of the elevated roadway but once they had turned their search to the woods, it hadn’t been long before they picked up the trail and captured Jofrit.
He remained bound, hand and foot, and on his belly over Guerrero’s saddle for the rest of the journey, only being pulled down at night when he was fettered by the neck to a post in the camp.
For ten days, they traveled through the Cairngorms, skirting the foothills of Ben Macdui and then on to Braemar. When they entered the village, Jofrit saw only more of the same of what they had encountered in each settlement since they had set out across the great forested mountain range. Wattle and daub huts surrounded by thickets and post fencing which served to keep livestock penned in around the tiny dwellings. The village stank of animal excrement and tanned animal hides. Smokey fires were burning at scattered intervals with women cooking food for their families and boiling water for domestic use. A blacksmith’s forge stood at the end of what looked like a communal stable and a long wooden building stood in the center of it all serving as a mess hall and meeting place.
They rested in the great hall that night and once again Jofrit was tethered to a post like an animal. A girl brought a bowl of gruel and meat for him and patiently spooned each bite into his mouth until it was finished. She brought him a water skin and allowed him to drink his fill before retiring to her other duties.
It was obvious that his captors planned to celebrate that night but before Jofrit knew it, he was fast asleep on the straw that had been scattered at the foot of the post for him to sleep on.
The next morning, the girl woke him up before the others had risen from their cots. She brought him a bucket of warmed water, a cloth and a tiny piece of soap for him to wash with. When he was finished, she returned with clean clothing which she had taken from among his traveling bags and told him to get dressed.
When the men awoke, they wasted no time preparing to be on their way again. This time, Sir Jofrit was not bound like a carcass and thrown over his horse’s saddle. Instead, he was allowed to sit upright in it but his legs were shackled together by means of manacles that ran under Guerrero’s belly and his bound hands were tied to the horn of the saddle. The horse’s reins were firmly in the grip of one of Dunmor’s brothers, whose job it was to lead Sir Jofrit and Guerrero the rest of the way.
Chapter Nine
Nimueh was pleased to hear the commotion that was erupting outside the crystal cave as the others watched Dunmor and his Pict men approaching in the distance. She rubbed her hands together as if they were cold, but they weren’t. She was just pleased to see her plan taking some shape and making some real progress finally.
Cerebus sensed her approval and moved closer to offer his head for petting. He had found life with Nimueh quite satisfying and rather leisurely. She took care of him, provided more than enough food for him to eat and let him loose to roam the countryside every now and then. He found he enjoyed not being a mount and beast of burden to an ungrateful and often cruel drow such as Erandur was.
Nimueh, in turn, benefitted from having the enormous hell hound at her side. He was intimidating to say the least. Smaller creatures, even if they were more spiteful than she was, never see
med to step out of place when Cerebus was present. They had seen him snap of the head of a sprite or two, even when he was unprovoked. It helped to keep the little rascals in line without her even having to try.
She patted his head and stroked his fur as she waited for Dunmor’s arrival.
Soon, the Pict men led Sir Jofrit into the cave on Guerrero. The horse was stopped in front of Nimueh’s crystal throne so she could have a good view of her captive knight. Dunmor wanted her to see that he had done as he was charged to do and delivered the man and his mount to her unharmed and whole.
He hadn’t even gone through Jofrit’s things and besides allowing the servant girl to retrieve a change of clothing for the man, he hadn’t allowed anyone to ransack the bags. Dunmor threw the three packs of supplies down onto the cave floor in front of Nimueh’s chair so she could inspect their wholeness for herself.
Being afraid of a woman was never something Dunmor allowed himself to do but he couldn’t deny that Lady Nimueh struck the fear of his ancestors into him. Every time he decided that the best course of action was not to cross her, he reminded himself that it was because she was a powerful witch who could wound him gravely or kill him if she wished; not just a pretty woman.
But pretty she was nonetheless.
Dunmor and his brothers, being the only humans in Nimueh’s presence, were probably the most aware of her enchanting good looks but they also knew better than to show too much appreciation for it.
As Nimueh stood up to approach the knight in front of her, she couldn’t take her eyes off his mount. The silvery stallion mesmerized her with its beauty and strength and she couldn’t help but to reach up and stroke its head.
“He reminds me of so many beautiful things from my past,” she said to no one in particular. Then she faced Sir Jofrit and asked, “What is his name and where did you get such a fantastic beast?”
