by Nancy M Bell
Uneasiness gnawed at Gawain, worried about what would happen when the queen no longer chose to protect the Lady Nuina. March would throw her to his vile men-at-arms for their amusement without a second thought. He hoped with all his heart the queen wouldn’t be so callus toward the lady, who had only done her duty by the queen and her king
Gawain raised a gauntleted hand and wiped at the moisture running down his cheeks. The salt from his tearing eyes crusted on his face and along his lashes. Impatiently, he wiped his face again, set his jaw, and turned his thoughts to strategy.
There was no sign of travel on the track Gawain and his troop followed. If King March was headed to Wolf Rocks, it was by a different route all together. Gawain went over the configuration of the rocks and the surrounding countryside, looking for points of weakness in the area and where the strongest defensible positions were located. Ailim reported Lancelot and Arthur’s troop were flying across the land toward the town at Seven Stones Rocks as fast as the stallions could race. Ailim also relayed the king was blind with rage, and Lancelot was worried for the safety of the queen if the rumours of her dalliance with King March could be proven true. Gawain kept his own feelings on the subject private from Ailim, so there could be no chance of Ailim mistakenly relaying Gawain’s anger and distrust of his queen. Gawain’s loyalty lay firmly and only with King Arthur. The queen was important to him only by her position of rank not the actual personage who filled it. Gwenhwyfar as a person separate from the king did not exist in Gawain’s mind.
The sun was slanting red across the green hills when Gawain stopped his troop on the crest of a high rise. He raised his arm to shade his eyes and was rewarded by the faint purple outline of the Wolf Rocks just visible in the distance. There was no sign of movement or haze of dust that would signify the passage of men and horses. He grunted and reached behind him for the water skin Alain pressed into his palm. Gawain drank and returned the skin to his page without a word. Raising his right hand and bringing it down in the signal to depart, he sent Ailim down the embankment in front of him at a plunging gallop. Alain’s gasp of fear as the stallion careened down the steep slope made him grin with the knowledge the urchin had his eyes squeezed tight shut and was praying to any god the boy thought would help him survive this adventure. Ailim returned his mental chuckle with one of his own. Gawain heard the stallion teasing the boy as they reached the grassy gully at the foot of the hill. The wind blew their cloaks behind them as they rode, like a flock of low flying black ravens they swept across the emerald land, heading like an arrow straight for Wolf Rocks.
Darkness covered the land when Gawain stopped at last within a mile of Wolf Rocks. They made no move to hide their presence, setting a fire and hunting for wild game. Travel bread was well and good, but men needed something more in their bellies after a long ride and faced with the prospect of battle in the near future. Gawain sent Alain off with the other pages to set picket lines for the other horses and to care for Ailim. He then began to study the rocks and see if there was any evidence of occupation. The long grasses wavered in the wind under the starlight, and Gawain had to rub his eyes more than once to stop them from blurring. There was no light discernible from his vantage point, and the grasses running up to the foot of Wolf Rocks looked undisturbed. With a sigh, Gawain got to his feet and called for Bors to join him.
“What think you? I can see nothing from here that would make me think March is here,” Gawain said bluntly.
“Nor, I.”
“Well, it looks like there is nothing for it but to scout the outskirts of the rocks and hope they are on the other side.” Gawain slapped his gauntlets on his thigh in frustration and resignation. “I feel like a puppet dancing on someone else’s string.”
“Thank the gods Arthur kept that whelp Mordraut with him. I may have had to throttle the snake by now,” Bors growled.
“Good for us, not so good for Lancelot I think. Mordraut will be pouring poison against the queen into Arthur’s ear every chance there is, and you know how Lancelot champions her,” Gawain returned wryly.
Crickets sang, and the swift drum of startled rabbits bolting rose as they walked swiftly through the tall grass. The two men followed gullies and creek beds, keeping to low ground, never exposing themselves against the sky and presenting an easy target for a lucky bowman in the faint light of the stars. The further they walked around the huge pile of rocks, the more convinced Gawain was no one was hiding there. The pair watched the ground for signs of the passage of at least twenty horses, and found none. Gawain kept a sharp eye out for any bits of cloth or other clue the Lady Nuina might have managed to leave for him, but nothing out of the ordinary presented itself.
The moon rose as Gawain and Bors entered their third hour of scrutinizing the approaches to Wolf Rocks. Bors stopped often to test the air for traces of smoke or the dead ash scent of a smothered fire, and still there was nothing. It was nearing dawn when Gawain and Bors made their way back into their camp. Alain waited by the fire, his chin resting on his chest, dozing with his back against Gawain’s saddle. The page leapt to his feet when the sound of Gawain and Bors’ low voices alerted him of their return. Gawain smiled at the lad and waved him back to his slumber. He touched Ailim’s mind and found the great stallion drowsy, but awake.
“What says Eldon? Have they any luck in that quarter?”
“Eldon says they are still not within striking distance of the town at Seven Stones Rock,” Ailim reported.
“Please tell Eldon to let Arthur and Caliburn know Wolf Rocks seems deserted. We will check more closely with the morning light, but there was no sign of passage, and nothing untoward is stirring as near as I can ascertain. Ask Arthur what it is we should do.” He waited while the stallion conversed with his herd mate and smothered a yawn. Morning was still a least an hour off, and Gawain planned to take a nap as soon as the conversation was finished.
“Eldon says Arthur says to search the rocks thoroughly and then report back to him. They are hoping by that time to know if King March is at, or near, Seven Stones.”
“Fine, then I think a few minutes of sleep are in order. Wake me if there is need.” Gawain stretched out on the soft grass at Ailim’s feet and promptly fell asleep.
The tickle of Ailim’s nose whiskers woke him hours later. The sun was high in the sky and pleasantly warm on his face. Gawain jumped to his feet and raked the camp with a glance. Bors was lying sound asleep a few feet away, watched over by his charger and page. Alain offered Gawain a water skin and a haunch of cold roasted rabbit. The rest of the camp was deserted, except for the horses.
“They have gone to scout the rocks. They promised to send word the second they found anything interesting,” Alain informed Gawain.
Gawain rubbed the sleep from his crusty eyes and took a long drink out of the water skin.
“They have reported nothing so far?” His eyes picked out the small moving figures of his men as they appeared and disappeared in and around the rocks.
“Ailim told me a moment before you woke they are looking carefully, but finding nothing.” Alain glanced adoringly at the great grey stallion.
Gawain grunted and folded his long legs under him, sinking to the ground. The crispy skin of the coney tore off in his teeth; the salty, greasy taste was magnificent. He calculated how long it had been since dinner at the inn at the crossroads. Long enough that cold meat tasted like a feast meal on one of the high holy days. Gawain finished his breakfast and retired behind a boulder to take care of his more personal needs. On returning to camp, the black knot of his troop making their way up the hill came into his view.
The men sauntered into camp and helped themselves to the remains of the roast hare and the stew from the pot sitting in the coals of the fire pit.
“We found nothing. There is no evidence anyone has camped there for a very long time. It is quite desolate and eerie, and no place I would ever choose to spend a night,” Bedivere offered.
“Where in the nine hells are they h
iding?” Gawain exploded. “He can’t have just disappeared from the face of the earth.”
Bedivere shrugged and turned his attention to stoking up the fire.
“Have you heard from Arthur?” Agravain asked.
“Nothing of consequence so far,” Gawain growled and got up to prowl the top of the hill in anger and frustration.
Returning from his prowl, Gawain gave orders to break camp. He watched while the men went about the business of preparing to move on and leaned against Ailim’s broad shoulder.
“Have you word from Eldon?” Gawain asked quietly.
“They are in striking distance of the town at Seven Stones Rocks, and none they have talked to have seen hide nor hair of King March or any party so large as his,” Ailim replied after a brief pause.
“Where is he hiding?” Gawain ground his teeth in rage. “If one hair on the Lady Nuina’s head is harmed, I swear I will unman him,” the words burst from his lips.
“Eldon says the king is furious at this outrage. Arthur has sent two men into the town in disguise to see if they can find any gossip in the tap rooms. If King March is hiding there, someone will know, and ale will loosen tongues if coppers or silver do not,” Ailim soothed Gawain.
“The Lady Nuina must be safe and returned to us.” Gawain leaned his forehead on Ailim’s neck. “Can you bespeak Lady Nuina’s palfrey?” Gawain straightened up as the idea surfaced in his whirling brain.
“I could try.” Ailim sounded doubtful. “I have never tried to speak to any outside our own in that manner. I know Eldon speaks with Gwenhwyfar’s palfrey, but I have never had the need to try it.”
“Try, try hard,” Gawain said shortly.
Ailim shifted his weight, and his eyes became unfocussed and glassy. Gawain watched him intently and willed him to be able to contact the Lady Nuina’s mare.
“I can hear her faintly. She is a long way from us, and she is unhappy because her lady is terrified.” Ailim swivelled his ears and looked away to the south west. “I think they are in that direction, but I cannot be sure.”
“Is the lady hurt or only scared?” Gawain gripped Ailim’s breastplate in iron fingers.
“I got the sense she was unhurt as of yet, but very frightened, and angry. Nothing definite I’m afraid and no real notion of where they are right now.” Ailim’s mental voice was full of apology.
The men finished breaking camp and packing their meagre belongings while Gawain conversed with Ailim. He stepped up onto the big stallion and handed Alain up behind him, making a mental note to see about getting a suitable mount for the boy. At his signal, the company moved out at a brisk trot. They headed west, moving cross country, making straight for the town at Seven Stones Rock as the crow flies. Gawain kept the horses at a trot, reasoning there was no need to hurry unless Arthur confirmed King March and the ladies were indeed in hiding at Seven Stones. Given the communication from the Lady Nuina’s palfrey, Gawain didn’t hold out much hope the treacherous knave was at Seven Stones.
Evening was darkening the sky when Gawain halted his little convoy of knights. He stepped down from his horse and caught Alain sliding to the ground on legs gone rubbery from sitting on the wide muscular haunches of the war horse. Gawain handed the reins to the boy and stretched his arms over his head to relieve the tightness in his shoulders. The bones in his back popped in protest, and Gawain drew his sword and swung it lightly through the air from side to side to loosen his muscles. The dying light played on the sharp edge of the blade, and it made a satisfyingly singing tone as it sliced through the space in front of him.
Would that it was March’s miserable neck instead of empty air. Gawain smiled grimly at the direction of his thoughts.
He replaced the blade and went in search of Alain and Ailim. Gawain found them by a small rill of water. As usual, Alain managed to procure a choice spot for Ailim and was engaged in rubbing the sweat from the war horse’s coat. The great stallion stood with his ears pointed one to each side and a blissful expression on his broad face. Gawain reached to scratch the horse behind his ear when unexpectedly, the ground shifted underneath him, and his legs deposited him suddenly onto the soft green grass. For some minutes, Gawain dug his fingers into the thick turf and held on as if his life depended on it. He would fall off the world if he let go his death grip on the grass. From a great distance, Alain called his name, and the deeper voice of Ailim called in his mind.
Gawain’s vision was full of confusing things, first the Lady Nuina speaking to him urgently. Only it wasn’t the Lady Nuina—but it was. Gawain shook his head in confusion and immediately wished to stay still. New pictures spun before his eyes. Ailim looking down at him with worried eyes, and an Ailim who wasn’t Ailim at all, but a great creature made up of shining light. They were calling him by a name that wasn’t his, though it was so oddly familiar it seemed to be a part of him. The images revolved in front of him until Gawain was so dizzy he wished to fall off the earth just to make it stop. Ailim, and the horse that was and was not, Ailim, interchanged faces with the Lady Nuina and the girl who was alike enough to be her younger sister. All of them speaking at once and urging him to come back.
Back from where? I am here where I should be.
Gawain gave up trying to make sense of what the whirling visions were trying to tell him and fell into the welcome blackness that enfolded him. Resting there, in the darkness, oblivious to his surroundings, he gradually became aware of Alain’s frantic voice and his hands shaking Gawain’s shoulder, salty tears falling on Gawain’s face.
He fought his way back out of the cloying blackness and tried to open his eyes. Gawain cracked on eyelid open and waited to see if the gut-wrenching spinning would start again. All seemed quiet, so Gawain cautiously opened both eyes and sat up. Removing his fingers from the holes they dug into the soft earth, the knight massaged his stiff hands gingerly.
Alain fell on his knees at Gawain’s side, sobbing in relief, and Ailim poked his huge whiskery nose in Gawain’s face to make sure his heart friend was truly back with the living. Gawain’s head felt light and barely attached to his shoulders, and he rubbed his temples with his forefingers. Briskly he scrubbed his face with his palms and then placed a hand on Alain’s shoulder. The lad quit sobbing and lifted his tear-stained face to stare at the knight.
“What happened lad? How long was I senseless?” Gawain said softly.
“You fell like someone had pole-axed you, and then you turned all ungodly colors and twitched, and you called out names I have never heard. I was afraid you were going to die.” Alain gulped out the words.
“What did I say then? Whose name did I speak?” Gawain prodded the boy, thinking of the faces in his confused delirium.
“You muttered about Gog or God and Magog, and you cried out for Ash. Were you looking for a tree?” Alain frowned.
“I know not anyone by those names. I fear I must be overwrought with worry about the queen and the Lady Nuina and over-tired from our chase. I have not recovered from the knock on my head, it seems.”
Ailim shoved Gawain in the back with his nose and snorted down his neck. Gawain pushed him away with a laugh and clambered to his feet. The horse caught and held his gaze for a moment, but Gawain couldn’t understand what Ailim was trying to convey. Some nonsense about the future and all paths leading to one destination. Alain rose with him and hovered close, afraid in case another fit took him. Gawain smiled in reassurance and rummaged in his saddle bags for a bit of willow bark to chew.
“I’m fine Alain, just a bit of dizziness left over from a blow I took before I landed at your inn. No need to mention this to anyone,” Gawain cautioned him. Blast the man, I will rip his arm off and beat him with the wet end if I ever lay hands on him.
They ate some travel bread, and Alain found berries nearby to finish off their repast. Alain refilled the water skins at the little rill and let Ailim drink his fill before going about the business of re-saddling the war horse. Gawain slipped away after seeing Alain had things well in
hand and returned fifteen minutes later with a small chestnut mare in tow. The mare wore a light saddle and a fine leather bridle and saddle bags that bulged open to show bits of the clothing crammed inside. Gawain handed the reins of the mare to the open-mouthed Alain and swung up on his own horse.
“She is yours to ride and take care of as long as you serve me as my page. You will find some clothing more in keeping with your new position in life in the saddle bags. Go douse yourself in the stream, get clean, and then change into whatever suits you.” Gawain grinned at the boy.
Alain wasted no time in stroking the pretty mare and then rifling through the saddle bags until he found some garments that, while not new, were newer than anything the orphan had ever owned, and wonder of wonders, all in one piece. Dropping his reins into Gawain’s outstretched hand Alain shed his old worn clothes in the grass behind him on his way to the stream. Gawain laughed out loud at the sight of the urchin’s bare buttocks gleaming in the sun before the lad leaped into the shallow water. Presently, Alain re-joined Gawain clad in his new clothes and grinning happily with his wet hair flopping over his forehead. Gawain handed him the reins of the mare without a word and waited while the lad hauled himself up into the saddle. The knight raised his right hand, signalling the company to move off, headed for the town at Seven Stones Rocks.
Chapter Nine
Other than a slight headache and some bright spots dancing in front of his eyes, Gawain felt none the worse for wear for his episode. Ailim flicked his ears back at him and rolled an eye back in his head to peek at Gawain as they rode across the green and gold country side at a ground covering trot.
“I’m fine, horse. Don’t carry on like a milk sop mother,” Gawain scolded his friend.
