Lancelot and the Wolf Page 9

  “Lancelot, I need to understand all of this. Your intention’s,” he paused. “Helping this girl, helping Arthur, it can’t be the only thing you are doing.”

  “Why not?” I asked. “I love Arthur, I always will, what happened was my choice. I will not hurt our King, Geraint.”

  We stood assessing each other, he wanted to believe I held Arthur no ill will, I could do no more than let him see I meant what I said. He sighed, “I don’t understand how you could forgive him. He should have protected you and stopped you sacrificing your honour for that bloody woman.”

  I felt a flash of anger, “That is your Queen, Geraint, have respect.”

  I watched Geraint’s jaw clench and he looked away. Else appeared, smiling happily, “I wondered where you’d managed to hide yourself,” she chirped.

  Her arrival broke the tension, Geraint’s fine temper evened the keel of our friendship and before I knew what happened I found myself sparring with him. We fought for a long time and Geraint started throwing his own men into the fray against me. It felt good, testing myself even as I grew more and more exhausted. Geraint finally decided we all needed feeding, so the training stopped. I walked to the rail, my shirt sopping wet with rain and sweat. Else smiled, a twinkle in her eyes I’d never seen before, I felt hunted suddenly.

  She helped me through the rails of the ring and she handed me a rough blanket to wrap around my shoulders. I rubbed my hair. “You are so beautiful when you fight,” she said, catching me by surprise.

  I stopped, I realised there were gloves on her hands and no flesh accidentally peeped out to tempt me to some misdemeanour. I burned for her, the fight having set so many things straight in my head. The more I fought, the more clarity I found in my life and my thoughts. Her hands were on my chest and her hips in my hands before either of us thought about the consequences.

  “Bloody hell, woman, I want you,” I growled low.

  Her eyes dilated with her own lust. A heavy hand on my shoulder pulled me back, “No, Lancelot,” Geraint yanked me out of Else’s reach. I turned, furious at having been thwarted, my fist already halfway to Geraint’s head. Geraint however, had other plans. He blended with my attack, I turned as he over balanced me having redirected the punch and I found his arm neatly wrapped around my throat. Breathing became optional.

  “If you don’t hold still, I will choke you to death,” he hissed in my ear. “Get a grip or I’ll have Else sent away to a nunnery until this is over. I’ve watched you suffer at the hands of one woman for years. I’ll not watch it happen with her.”

  I struggled. Horror filled Else’s face as she realised what she’d done in being so close to me. “Let me go,” I snarled desperate to fill that small tight body.

  I fired my elbow backward, Geraint grunted but his grip on my neck tightened. “What the hell is wrong?” Geraint yelled over my struggles.

  “It’s a new assault of the spell, they must be trying to strengthen it,” she cried out, sinking to her knees and bowing her head muttering constantly, rocking back and forth.

  I redoubled my efforts to escape Geraint. I must reach the object of my desire regardless of the consequences. I would die if I did not possess her body and soul. I would kill anyone who prevented me.

  “Stop him,” Else screamed as her back bowed and every muscle in her body grew tight. Geraint’s choke hold tightened and he yelled for his men to help hold me down. The world began to go spotty and black. I fought like a mad man to escape my enemies. The pressure on my throat increased steadily until bang. My lights went out. Just a few moments before I had perfect control, I had been at peace for the first time in months. Now, a monster raged through my soul screaming Else’s name.

  I woke with her name on my lips but Geraint stared down at me. I also realised I lay in my room. “Where is she?” I asked, struggling to rise. I found my hands tied to the wooden base of the bed either side of me. I pulled on the leather bindings. “What have you done?”

  Geraint laid a hand on my chest and pushed me back down, “Lie still, you can’t run or fight, so just listen and when I’m certain you are sane I’ll release you.”

  I lay down. He nodded and continued, “Else is fine, she’s next door trying to work out what the hell just happened. She thinks her people are growing desperate. They need you to help Arthur but on their timetable not yours.”

  “What’s their timetable?”

  “She doesn’t seem to know. If it’s any consolation, this is hitting her as hard as it is you. She thinks they need you with Arthur as soon as possible. I’ve already begun the preparations. I suggest you leave Else here, where she is safe.” He sat still, his great hands resting between his knees, his face mournful. “I have the feeling no good will come of this, but we must try to help Arthur. If this is the way the fey magic works and this is the good stuff, what is being thrown at him by his enemies?” As I said, Geraint is not stupid.

  “You can let me up,” I said. “I’ll be good.”

  Geraint paused for only a moment before unpicking the ties. “So, will you leave the girl here?”

  I rubbed my wrists, but in truth it was my pride which felt bruised. I still couldn’t control the power that damned fey witch had over me and I didn’t mean Else. I’d always known one day my dick would get me killed, never mind enchanted.

  “I can’t leave Else with you, Geraint. I wish I could, but she is as much responsible for my breathing as I am,” I swung my legs off the bed and we sat side by side.

  “You never make life easy for yourself,” he shook his great head. “What happens if they attack you when I’m not around? I saw the look on your face, even if the girl tried to stop you she couldn’t have. You’d have hurt her and you would never forgive yourself.”

  I placed a slightly shaking hand on his shoulder, “I have to get her to Arthur. I have to find Merlin. Neither thing can I do without her at my side. I just have to pray we move fast enough to satisfy the damn witch who is controlling us.”

  “If this is all true, Lancelot, it will mean war with the de Clare’s. If they are being driven as you are, if Arthur is being attacked and used as you have been, they will come to blows.” His green hazel eyes were anxious.

  I hugged him, “If we find Merlin and help Arthur, we will prevent a war. The rival fey want the English throne. I have to stop them. Merlin has to stop them. If it means civil war then that’s what we have to live with until we win. Which we will, because we are on the side of right.”

  “Civil war is a serious thing, Lancelot,” Geraint said mournfully as he leaned into my hug.

  “If I don’t fight for Arthur we will lose him and still have war but with Stephen de Clare winning and I don’t think any of us wants that,” I told him. “For a start the arrogant shit will force you to do homage to him and can you really kneel before de Clare and not puke on his boots?” I grinned at my friend.

  He laughed, “War for Arthur’s soul it is then. Anything to stop me having to puke on the bastard de Clare’s boots.”

  Geraint rose and helped me stand. Hours of sparring and the tussle with the fey magic made my legs wobbly. As tempted, as I was to hunt down Else, just to talk you understand, I followed Geraint like a shadow all day and helped him organise me, enabling me to face Arthur.

  By the end of the day, I possessed black armour, which the smith fitted to my requirements. A black banner, with a wolf’s head in white on it, stitched by Geraint’s servants. A black horse, thanks to a brave soul who dyed Ash’s hair, and a mule to carry lances. A larger tent than I usually used and all manner of sundries Geraint pressed on me. We left his home together, travelling toward Camelot as a unit, half a dozen of his men for company. It felt good to be on the road with Geraint and I enjoyed his companionship. He and Else soon became firm friends and she earned the respect of his men by working just as hard as any of them with the horses. Once we grew close to Camelot, Geraint pushed on, riding straight to Arthur, hoping to smooth the way. Or prod him in the right direction if n
ecessary. I planned to camp half a league outside the city and use Else as my squire. Once inside Camelot, my squire would call Arthur out to fight.

  We would fight, I’d win, Geraint would come help Arthur, the three of us would talk and I could begin protecting him again as I have always done.

  A simple plan.

  However, it relied on several things. Me keeping my sanity around Else. Me winning against Arthur. Him not trying to lop my head off the minute he realised it was me he fought and also trying to convince my King that fairies existed.

  Real simple.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Else and I obviously moved fast enough not to annoy any of her cheerful relatives, because neither of us felt a desire to touch beyond the usual. We were very careful however to maintain as much distance as possible. I realised my clarity and strength as a warrior were badly hampered by her presence but that very presence brought me a sense of peace and I needed to maintain control and focus. When the morning arrived for us to declare ourselves at Camelot we were both nervous and I realised I’d begun to ache for her badly.

  “Try to stay calm, love,” she said, tightening the straps on my breastplate. The armour did not fit me as well as my own and I found it hard to adjust to the changes it forced in my fighting. I made a non-committal noise to her request.

  She stepped back and surveyed her work. Then she looked up at me, “I know it’s hard.”

  I interrupted her, “Hard? I’m about to challenge my King to combat. Hard isn’t the word.”

  “The more agitated you become the harder it is for us to control our desire,” she frowned and fussed with more straps.

  I grasped her hands and brought her fingers to my lips. I watched her eyes widen, the spell raced into me from the soft contact we shared. I kissed her fingers. The rough leather of my gloves and the weight of the metal plates covering my hands, made me feel strong. The love and faith I had in this small creature standing before me, made me both invulnerable and terribly weak at the same time.

  “I love you, Else,” I whispered.

  She gasped and struggled uselessly against my grip, “This,” she swallowed trying to gain control over her own desire. “This really isn’t helping.”

  I smiled and released her, just as the pain of her contact became too much for me to bear without taking things further. “No, but it does remind me how much I have to lose if I don’t make Arthur listen.” I clanked softly as I moved to pick up my sword, strapping it to my waist.

  I watched Else put on her hat, she spent an age forcing her female curves into the narrow straight lines of a youth. She tucked her growing curls under the hat having lost the argument when she’d offered to cut it short once more. She moved around picking up my sallet and snapping the visor down. I felt a wave of peace wash through me, like a fresh breeze full of the scent of rose blossom. We were on the right path and I would be with my King once more, soon to have my wife at my side in more than just name. The sense of optimism felt almost alien to me, it had been so long since I’d sensed hope and joy over the horizon. It made me heady and confident. I smiled as Else, pulled on the soft padded coif, which protected my head under the great helmet, the final part of my disguise. She frowned at me, wondering why I smiled so broadly, I just smiled wider making her shake her head and laugh. Her laughter reminded me of the softest of raindrops after a drought.

  Ash whinnied and stamped as I approached, he knew armour meant war or games involving war. I stroked his now black neck, “Sorry, old man, this one is for politics. Tomorrow we will joust, I promise.” My words didn’t stop him bouncing around like a fresh colt as soon as I lifted myself into the saddle.

  Else swung herself into Mercury’s saddle and we headed toward Camelot’s imposing walls. From our position, the estuary remained obscured behind Camelot and the sea glittered to our left, the last of the fields rolled downward in gentle greeting on this particular day.

  Camelot is a strange place, part palace, part castle and all city. With the Pendragon bloodline going back many generations as England’s Kings, it had grown and spread over decades. Arthur, a man who sought unity in all things, tried to blend the exaggerated fortified keep of his grandfather with the overblown palatial influences of his father’s period. As such, there sat like a brooding hen the glowering tower of the central keep, high on the hill, overlooking the River Cleddau. The mighty keep evolved to be greater in height and width than any other in the country. The dark stone gave it a menacing air. Circling this was a wall, fifty feet high and heavily crenulated, with huge doors, gatehouses, a moat and drawbridges. There were squat round towers placed evenly around the walls, designed to make it hard for trebuchets and sappers if anyone laid siege to the keep. These walls would not fall. Beyond the traditional structure, there sprang throughout Uther’s reign, large villas. Two and three storey buildings of dressed white stone with columns, courtyards, fountains and gardens. Their red tiled roofs made them look like a ploughed field when viewed from the surrounding hills. These homes belonged to the powerful and wealthy of Camelot and cascaded down from the keep’s mighty wall.

  The lower classes, right down to the villeins and serfs, lived in traditional homes. Heavy stone and wood, wattle and daub, thatch roofs and wooden lean-tos. With crazy streets, from narrow lanes almost too small to walk through, up to wide roads forced through various quarters by the government, the streets contained the blood pumping life to the heart. Many of these roads were paved, but most of the lanes were not, so the mud filtered throughout the city.

  Arthur, as his token, tried to encourage the building of good drainage, sensible water supply to the city and proper housing for the vast network of poor who lived in his city. He built sensible low level buildings and tried to improve the roads. His finer buildings emphasised his desire to reach for the ideal of kingship. Over the last fifteen years, he’d ordered the building of community centres, churches and municipal markets. They were all of the same style, high arches allowing light to filter into all buildings, huge spires and flying buttresses to hold the walls and columns in place. They were vast buildings of beautiful proportions. This mismatched city housed thousands of people and Arthur lived with his court in the keep itself.

  Else and I rode through the noisy throng in the streets toward the imposing walls. Ash stomped prettily as people, both rich and poor, stared at the black knight. Else rode ahead of me, holding the banner, which snapped in the breeze, the wolf’s head undulating. The day dawned bright but cold and I felt the steel cage surrounding me, leeching the warmth from my body as I rode. Word would race ahead that a black knight walked silently toward the keep. Arthur would be waiting. The idea of the black knight is simple, you hide your identity for several reasons; you are from a foreign court and want to join Camelot under your own steam, not because of reputation. Or, you need to ask a boon of your king without judgement on your family crest. Or you are a criminal asking forgiveness. Guess which category I fell into? The wolf’s head indicated I stood outside the law of at least one kingdom and yet I hoped it spoke more personally to Arthur.

  We moved slowly up the hill and I began to realise Camelot felt different. It wasn’t the oncoming winter and all the trials it brings, it was something else. Something unnameable, a sense of dread? I hesitated to use the word but I saw fear lurking in the eyes of more than one person as I stared through the narrow slits of the visor. Why were these people afraid? This was Camelot, the centre of Arthur’s crown and his jewel.

  We finally reached the moat, the bridges and the wall. Guards stood in pairs at each end of the bridge and stopped Else from continuing by crossing their spears. They wore the gold and blue of Arthur’s colours, their tabards stitched with the insignia of an oak tree, a crown encircling the trunk. When I joined Arthur as a knight, he gave me the emblem of the ash tree saying, ‘Where there is oak, there is ash, my friend.’ The memory hurt.

  “Halt,” the guard said. “State your business.”

  We had agreed I’
d leave all the talking to Else. Too many people knew my voice, so I sat mute and she laid our case before the guard.

  “We are here to speak to King Arthur. My Lord wishes to challenge his right to join the Court as is his prerogative,” Else said just as I taught her.

  The men should have broken ranks and allowed us through without further comment, instead they stayed still. The man spoke again, “If you are not a knight of our Court, you are not welcome here. Leave now and you can go in peace.”

  Else fidgeted slightly but barely paused, “Since when are noble men unable to offer themselves for the King’s judgement? We are here to offer trial by combat so my Lord can prove his worth to the best of kings. We are not here to offer harm.”

  I had not anticipated this, the thought of not seeing Arthur at all made my hands begin to sweat and stomach roll.

  Else pushed Mercury forward, she leaned down from her saddle and the guard approached. The visor obscured my view so I couldn’t see what she did as he approached but suddenly he said, “Let them through, they are of noble blood and mean no harm.” I think she simply caressed his face.

  I rode past and I stared down at the guard. His eyes were slightly glazed and he stood a little unsteadily, clutching his spear. He also sported an enormous erection. Someone would be having fun with his wife or whore later. I wanted to ask her what the hell she’d done to the man but couldn’t while in the walls of the keep. This new development in my companion worried me slightly. Her capacity for such magic came as a surprise.

  The horses clomped noisily over the bridge and we met with no resistance on the other side. I didn’t know whether the guard had been a jobs worth or if we would have a real problem seeking an audience with Arthur. We rode through the wide killing field and I hardly glanced at the training grounds for the squires and soldiers, forges and schooling rings for the horses filling the space. There were dozens of people moving around in this area, a hundred paces wide. We rode up to the main gate of the keep, offset from the front gate, so enemies could not run from one to the other easily. A huge arched entrance protected by vast oak and iron doors with a portcullis towered over the horses. The keystone at the top of the arch taller than Else. The cobbles under the arch were higher than elsewhere, helping keep the enemies footing unsteady. Arthur’s grandfather had been paranoid about attack. Once wet, these cobbles made difficult footing if you wanted to batter the doors down. I should know. I’d fallen on them often enough returning from the city too drunk to remember to be careful in the rain.