The Savage Knight (Malory's Knights of Albion)

by Paul Lewis

  Even the children were set to work, those that were old enough, carrying tools and nails and rope wherever they were needed, though always within the village. They went about the chores with feverish excitement, after months trapped inside their smoky huts.

  Dodinal busied himself digging out the stumps of the posts that had rotted beyond repair. It was hard going under the hot sun. Sweat pooled at the base of his spine and he found himself having to stretch with increasing regularity to ease the stiffness in his back.

  He lost track of time. When a shadow fell over him and a hand reached down to offer a beaker of ale, he took it and drank it greedily without looking up. “Thank you,” he said.

  “You’re welcome,” Rhiannon answered. “But didn’t we have this same conversation last night?”

  Dodinal almost coughed up the ale. He looked around quickly to make sure there was no one within earshot. They were alone, though Idris was ambling towards them, casting an eye over the defences as he walked. “I was hoping for a chance to talk to you earlier. But not now. We’re about to have company.”

  “Then it will have to wait until tonight.” She grinned down at him. “Assuming Gerwyn is successful and I can get the two of them drunk enough not to hear me leaving while they sleep.”

  She took the beaker from him and her fingers lingered on his. “And if not tonight, well, no matter. There will be other nights.”

  “Yes,” Dodinal answered. “Yes, there will be.”

  They worked throughout the afternoon, stopping once to eat and drink before returning to their labours. Fifteen posts were needed. Fifteen trees were felled, their trunks stripped of branches before being dragged to the palisade.

  Once the posts were ready, the men lifted the first of them into place. They drove them deep into the holes Dodinal had helped to clear, then packed earth and stone around them before lashing and nailing each post to its neighbours.

  As conscious as they were of the slowly fading light, they could not work any faster. They pushed their tired bodies until they were close to collapse. Even then they were not done by the time it had become almost too dark to see.

  At least the gates had been repaired and stood true on their hinges. An iron bracket had been fixed to each gate to take the sturdy wooden bar that would hold them shut. But four of the posts in the palisade had not been reinstated. Dodinal was glad he had got the women to drag back the bundles of blackthorn. They were needed.

  He sent the women to the Great Hall but gave neither the men nor himself any respite. They had more to do. It was slow going. They had to keep their hands away from the thorns as they lashed the bundles into stacks, then hauled them to the palisade and nailed them into place to close the gaps. Despite their caution, their palms were scratched and bleeding by the time they were done.

  “We are finished for tonight,” Dodinal said, and the words were met with mutters of relief. He eyed Idris with concern. The chieftain had worked as hard as men half his age, ignoring Dodinal’s pleas for him to rest. Now he swayed on his feet as if drunk.

  Cooking smells drifted across from the Great Hall, and aches and pains were immediately forgotten. Dodinal salivated. Even Idris shrugged off his exhaustion, standing up straighter and licking his lips. “Let’s get inside,” he said, his voice stronger than his body appeared. “And then get some food inside us!”

  The men needed no further prompting and hurried away. Dodinal watched them go. Idris went straight to the Great Hall as his men called the dogs and tethered them outside their huts. It would be the first night the hounds had slept in the open for months.

  Dodinal assessed the palisade, pushing hard on the new posts and feeling a sense of relief when they stood firmly in place. He had no concerns about the temporary defences. Nothing could get through those blackthorn stacks without ripping itself to bloody shreds.

  He rubbed his hands briskly together, suddenly cold. As he hurried towards the warmth of the Great Hall, he saw the gates were closed and secured. Idris had left a man standing guard, a spear in his hand. The knight nodded his approval; they could not be too careful.

  Inside, the mood was subdued. Even the children sat still. Only the mastiff, stretched out by the fire, its eyes flickering orange pools, was at ease. People ate without enthusiasm. The encroaching night had subdued appetites, for everyone knew now of the terrors the darkness held. They may have strengthened the defences, but there was no fortification strong enough to hold back fear.

  Owain sat next to his mother, the boy’s eyes following Dodinal as he entered the hut and took Gerwyn’s chair. The knight smiled at him, to try to reassure him that all was well. The child smiled back, then turned his attention to his food. Rhiannon and Idris both nodded a greeting but neither said a word.

  A bowl of cawl had been set out for him, along with some bread and a beaker of ale. He chewed listlessly, for once affected by the tension around him. A young woman, suckling her baby, left with her husband to put the child down for the night. The silence seemed to deepen once they were gone.

  “Gerwyn is not yet back, I see,” Dodinal said, the air of despondency making him edgy.

  “He will stay out until he kills something, or the cold sends him back,” Idris said. “He would hate to return with nothing after you brought us meat.”

  “And if he does not find anything to kill?”

  Idris shrugged listlessly, as if he did not care either way.

  Rhiannon said: “There is a river a day’s travelling from here. If the game does not return we will send men to catch fish.”

  Dodinal nodded. It would not have been possible to reach the river during the worst of the winter. Now with the onset of milder weather the journey was well within reach. Little wonder they no longer concerned themselves with hoarding the last of their food.

  “Then we have no fear of going hungry,” he said.

  Idris pulled a face. “Fish is for the old and for babies, those without teeth. No, we will not go hungry, but that is about the best that can be said. Why the forest is so barren this year is beyond me.”

  Dodinal kept his suspicions to himself. It did not matter what dwelled in the north. It did not matter what had taken the children, not at that moment. They were warm and safe. Thatwas what mattered.

  It was, he knew, a selfish attitude, given what had happened the previous day. But what had happened could not be undone. The only sensible course of action was to make the best of what they had.

  He finished his meal and washed it down with the last of the beer. As he wiped his hand across his mouth, he noticed Owain sitting up straighter. The boy had cocked his head as though listening to something beyond anyone else’s hearing.

  Again, Dodinal thought, wondering what was approaching this time. Owain looked at him, then shifted his gaze towards the door.

  His message could not have been clearer.

  The mastiff was immediately on its feet. It growled and ran to the door, where it leapt up and began scratching at the wood.

  Villagers edged away, deeper into the hall.

  Idris pushed his chair back and stood.

  “No,” Dodinal said. “Stay here. I will look outside.”

  “You cannot go alone,” the chieftain argued.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.” He kept his tone light, but he was glad he had not left his sword inside Rhiannon’s hut this time. “It’s probably no more than your hound having a bad dream. Nothing can get in. Even if it had, the guard would have raised the alarm.”

  “Then take me with you.” It was Hywel. “We can check the ground outside the palisade together. For tracks.”

  Dodinal considered this. “Let me see if there’s anything to track first. Just make sure you keep the hound inside. If there are any prints I don’t want it churning them up.”

  He didn’t want the mastiff turning on him in the darkness either, not when it had already gouged chunks out of the door.

  Idris held the dog by its collar. It growled and tried to break
free when Dodinal opened the door, but Idris was stronger. Once outside and with the door shut firmly behind him, Dodinal drew his blade and surveyed the village. It appeared deserted in the moon’s cold light. Nothing moved, save for the ghostly plumes of his breath that appeared and vanished before him.

  Dodinal sheathed the sword as he approached the gates, so as not to startle the man standing sentry. He need not have bothered. The guard, no doubt exhausted from his labours, had succumbed to fatigue and sat on the ground, back against the gates, legs stretched out. Not even the sound of the knight’s boots thumping across the hard earth was enough to rouse him from his slumber.

  Dodinal was unimpressed. Words would be had. There was no purpose in having guards if they were going to sleep on duty, no matter how tired they were. It was inexcusable.

  “You,” he said gruffly. There was no response. Dodinal’s mouth tightened. He reached down to shake the guard by the shoulder. The man toppled slowly onto his side, head flopping loosely to reveal a deep, ragged wound across his throat.

  TWELVE

  Instinct took over, and the knight wheeled around and drew his sword. He had considered the village unassailable. He had been wrong. Something had got inside. Something that had opened up the guard’s throat so fast he hadn’t had time to cry out.

  Dodinal searched the ground for tracks, but there were none to be seen. Branches creaked in the wildwood beyond the palisade. Whatever had taken the children had used the trees to move through the forest. Even so, climbing trees was hardly the same as scaling a wall three times as tall as a man.

  Dodinal squinted up at the top of the palisade rising high above his head. He could not imagine anything that could scale it with no branches to haul itself up by. Yet something had got in.

  The tethered hounds barked. A baby started crying shrilly. Dodinal winced. Between the barking and the infant’s wailings, he would not be able to hear any sound the intruders might make that could lead him to them.

  He set off for the Great Hall, body tensed to strike at anything that came out of the shadows. The intruders had come for the children, no question of it. Dodinal was certain they were still inside the village; why kill the guard if they were prepared to leave empty-handed? He moved silently. If they had not seen him already he wanted them to remain unaware of his presence.

  From the barn he could hear oxen shuffling nervously. A sheep bleated, low and mournful, and fell silent. As Dodinal neared the hall, a furtive rustling made him look up. Moonlight etched a shadowy figure, the size of a child, crouched on the roof. It was such an incongruous sight that for a moment he took it to be one of the village youngsters, up to mischief. The figure straightened, stepped forward and launched itself off the roof at him, leaping higher and farther than any child ever could.

  It moved too fast for Dodinal to react, crashing into him and sending him sprawling to the ground, his sword flying from his hand. He scrambled to his feet and raised his fists, looking around wildly for the intruder, catching a glimpse of it darting into the shadows. Dodinal stood still, watching, listening, but he could hear nothing other than the barking of dogs and sounds of livestock roused to panic by the presence of a predator close by.

  His face stung. He raised a hand and felt a thin cut down one cheek. His fingers came away bloody. Another scar to join the others, he thought darkly, but it could have been worse. Far worse. No wonder the guard had not had time to raise the alarm. Dodinal had been sliced so fast he had not felt it. A few inches lower and his life would have been draining out of him.

  He bent to retrieve his sword. The Great Hall door crashed open and Idris and a handful of men spilled out, all unarmed.

  “What’s going on?” the chieftain called, stepping towards Dodinal. His eyes widened in surprise as he took in the knight’s face. “And what happened to you?”

  “No time to explain. Something got in.”

  The chieftain’s eyes were drawn to the palisade, which stood as solid and impenetrable as a rock. “Impossible.”

  “Do as I say and be quick about it. Your man is dead. I would prefer it if no one else was killed while we stand around talking. Keep the woman and children inside, and the hound to guard them.”

  Idris hurried the men back inside, returning with swords and spears and shields. Idris held a second shield, which he gave to Dodinal. The knight nodded his gratitude and slipped his arm through its strap. It was unadorned. Nothing like as fancy as the shield Arthur had presented him with, rimmed with gold and bearing the King’s motif of a red lion set against a crucifix. This was made of old wood and cracked leather, with a battered metal rim. It looked older than Dodinal, yet could not have been more valuable to him if it had been fashioned from gold.

  Dodinal ordered the men into pairs. “Two remain in the Great Hall. Nothing gets inside, understand? The rest of you, scour the village. Be careful. Whatever it is, it’s fast and it’s dangerous.”

  “There’s only one of them?” Idris looked surprised, as if he felt Dodinal had overreacted.

  “I hope so, for all our sakes. You haven’t seen it move.”

  The dogs continued their ceaseless barking. The baby’s crying suddenly got louder. Its parents must have carried it outside. Almost immediately a scream rang out around the village, bouncing off the high walls so that it was impossible to tell where it came from.

  “Move,” Dodinal hollered. “Search the huts. You find anything, you kill it. It might have got in, but there’s no way it’s getting out.”

  Another scream came, from Dodinal’s left. “Move,” he shouted, breaking into a sprint. Idris and his men followed close behind him.

  As he rounded the nearest hut a dog lunged at him, growling and straining its leash. Distracted, he almost ran straight into the couple who had left the Great Hall with their baby. They were now racing headlong back to it, the woman holding the infant to her chest. She gave a startled cry, and her husband gasped at the sight of the towering shape looming out of the darkness towards them. Both slumped with relief when they saw it was Dodinal.

  “What happened?” he asked, voice low and urgent.

  “Rebecca wouldn’t stop crying.” The woman’s face was pale with shock. “I took her outside, hoping the air might help get her to sleep.” Her voice broke. She shook her head and clutched the baby tighter to her chest. Whatever she had seen, she could not bring herself to speak of it. Dodinal looked at the child’s father.

  “I ran out when she screamed,” the young man explained. “I saw her looking up and…” He raised his hands helplessly, as if suspecting Dodinal would not believe him if he said what he wanted to say.

  “And you saw something on the roof.”

  The man gaped. “How did you know?”

  “No time for that. Which hut is yours?”

  The man pointed it out. There was nothing on the roof. They had neither seen nor heard it flee, so Dodinal assumed it was hiding somewhere nearby. “Get your wife and child into the Great Hall. Stay with them, a third man will not be unwelcome. Make sure the door is bolted. Don’t open it unless you know for sure who is outside.”

  The husband nodded. He took his wife by the elbow and led her away. The baby cried relentlessly. Dodinal heard its lusty bawling even after they had carried it indoors. The parents were lucky they had not been killed, the child snatched from them.

  “This way,” he said. Idris and the men followed him without hesitation. When they reached the couple’s hut he raised a hand for silence. The door was ajar; from inside came the flickering glow of a fire. Dodinal listened hard, but heard nothing. He edged forward.

  The door exploded outwards, slamming against the wall with a resounding crash. A squat figure bounded out on all fours, straight at the startled men. They swung their swords, but the figure was faster than anything Dodinal had ever seen, weaving sharply left and right without losing pace. They may as well have been trying to strike the moonlight.

  The creature suddenly reared up on its hind legs and lashe
d out at a villager as it loped past him. The man clutched at his throat and went down, a gurgling scream torn from his lips. There was no time to tend to him. The quicksilver figure was making directly for the Great Hall, and by the looks of things the man was already beyond saving.

  Dodinal gave chase, determined to run it down, his heart thumping so he was only just able to hear the thud of footsteps behind him as the men struggled to keep pace.

  Anger spurred him on. Two dead. How many more would die before they cornered this thing? They would have to kill it; it was too dangerous to be allowed to live. It had already reached the hall, where it sprung up to the roof with a freakishly powerful leap. Dodinal was thunderstruck. What manner of creature was this?

  He slowed and stopped. The men clattered to a halt alongside him, gulping air into their lungs. They had the creature where they could see it, and as long as they could see it, it could not harm their children. The only way it could get inside from where it crouched was through the smoke hole. Dodinal quickly discounted that as a possibility. Every living thing feared fire.

  They had it trapped. Dodinal was determined it would not get away from them. Eyes fixed on the hunched figure, he pointed left, then right. Idris nodded understanding. The chieftain whispered hurried orders to his men. Moving slowly, not wanting to provoke it into attempting to escape, they spread out until they had taken up positions on all four sides of the hall. There was nowhere for it to go. If it tried to break through the cordon they would be ready. They would not again be caught unawares by its speed and lethal claws.

  It must have realised they had it surrounded, for it stood on its back legs and paced the roof, yelping in an oddly high-pitched fashion. Dodinal peered into the darkness, wanting a clear sight of it, but there was too much distance and too little light between them.