A Step Beyond Read online

  Someone was beating a big drum somewhere, the vibrations made the bones in his head shiver and ache in protest. A big grey fish pressed its clammy lips on his cheek, which made Gawain start back in revulsion and served to help him remember how to open his eyes.

  Opening his eyes was another mistake, however. Flashing lights stabbed at the back of his retinas, and waves of pain caused the contents of his stomach to empty into the mud his face lay in. His eyes closed in an attempt to avoid the pain.

  Cautiously, Gawain raised his hand to the source of pain on the back of his head and encountered an impressive lump; his fingers came away sticky with blood. Gawain probed the pain-seared recesses of his brain, grasping bits and pieces of memory in an attempt to cobble together the chain of events that had brought him to this state.

  Cracking an eyelid open again, Gawain made out the fuzzy outline of Ailim’s huge grey head peering down at him. The big grey fish lips swam across his blurry vision and nudged him in the chest. Satisfied it was Ailim’s nose, and he was not languishing on the floor of the sea being dinner for some great sea monster, Gawain closed his eye again and concentrated on not falling off the earth that tipped and rolled beneath his supine body.

  Eventually, the earth and his stomach settled, and Gawain got his arms under him, levering his body into a semi-upright position. His thoughts settled in his brain like muck to the bottom of a pond.

  “The Lady Nuina and Arthur’s queen, I must get to them before they reach Castle Lyonnesse. I must tell Arthur.”

  “I have reported to Eldon. The king comes with all haste,” Ailim said gently.

  “They cannot arrive in time.” Gawain forced his protesting body upright, promptly grabbed a fistful of grey mane, and vomited down Ailim’s forelegs.

  “There is willow bark in the saddlebag.” Ailim sighed, surveying the mess on his foreleg.

  Slowly, and with a great deal of effort, Gawain crawled into the saddle and used a spare set of reins to lash himself to the saddle-bow and the high cantle behind him. Ailim stood like stone and then carefully made his way through the forest in a generally westward direction.

  The weak light of the morning sun roused Gawain from his stupor. Feeling marginally better, he groped in his pouch for another piece of willow bark and grimaced at the bitter taste as he ground it with his teeth. Noting with surprise they were no longer moving, the knight cautiously surveyed his surroundings. Ailim was stopped in a grassy hollow by a spring.

  “We are within striking distance of Castle Lyonnesse. We await the king and his companions,” Ailim spoke, realizing Gawain was aware of his surroundings.

  “Gods, how long have I been senseless? There is no way the king can get here so quickly.” Gawain very injudiciously shook his head and paused to fight off the waves of dizziness the move produced.

  “Arthur’s ally, the Lady of the Lake, has offered to let him move through the realm of Faery and so cover great distances in very little time. They should be here within the hour,” Ailim said complacently and helped himself to another mouthful of grass.

  “How do we find them when they come?” Gawain struggled to put thoughts together.

  “They come here to us. We wait,” Ailim said.

  And so, Gawain waited. Slipping in and out of sleep, while his great grey stallion guarded him and kept watch for the arrival of the High King of All Britain.

  The rattle of armor and saddlery against the bushes woke Gawain as the High King and his companions, along with their pages, stepped out of the mist of Faery and into the grassy hollow. Ailim whickered in welcome and instantly fell into a silent conference with Eldon and the other stallions. Gawain smiled weakly in relief and let the heavy burden of being the sole pursuer of King March and his prize fall from his shoulders.

  “Well met, Gawain.” Arthur rode his stallion up beside Ailim. “Gads man, what happened to you?”

  “One of March’s men thought to keep me from giving chase, brained me, and dumped me in the mud outside the castle walls,” Gawain said ruefully.

  “Bastard,” Arthur cursed under his breath. “They are headed for Castle Lyonnesse post haste, so let us be gone from this place.”

  The companions milled about in the small clearing while they checked their weaponry and provisions. The stallions took small drinks from the stream while the men refilled their water skins. Arthur raised his hand, and his flag bearer raised the banner bearing the coat of arms of the High King. The blue background adorned by three gold crows glowed brilliantly in the watery morning light. Without another word the company moved off, the jingle of their accoutrements filling the morning air. There was no attempt at secrecy. Arthur fully intended King March to know a small army was coming at him. The High King of All Britain had come to reclaim what was rightfully his. It went without saying there would be no mercy offered King March of Kernow for his treachery.

  Lancelot and Eldon rode alongside Gawain, and occasionally Lancelot reached out and pushed Gawain upright in his saddle.

  “In truth, did you actually see the queen play the harlot with King March?” Lancelot’s voice was low enough so none other could make out his words.

  “I did, more than once. She appeared a willing captive and was not bound when they took their leave of Castle Mount.” Gawain’s voice was laced with disgust.

  “What of the Lady Nuina?” Lancelot inquired carefully.

  “She is loyal to her king, of course,” Gawain said swiftly. “She fought tooth and nail to delay their departure in the middle of the night. She managed to drop me a message on the road when she passed my hiding place before they gained the castle last night.”

  “She is the one who exposed King March, riding openly in Lord Melwas’ colors to throw Arthur off the scent, then,” Lancelot said with satisfaction.

  “Have you broached the subject of the queen’s behaviour with Arthur?” Gawain peered at Lancelot from under his helm, which rubbed painfully on his wounded head.

  “I mentioned my suspicions, but Arthur would hear none of it. The man will never believe ill of Gwenhwyfar unless he sees it with his own eyes, me thinks,” Lancelot said wearily.

  “I feared as much.” Gawain closed his eyes in resignation.

  Ailim shook his heavy mane angrily and snorted loudly. Eldon threw his huge head up and snorted in agreement. Lancelot soothed his stallion and grinned at Ailim as Gawain’s stallion rolled his eye at Lancelot.

  “I don’t doubt your word, horse, or your knight’s word. It is only the king who is blinded by his love for the false wench.”

  None too soon for the thundering pain in Gawain’s skull, the heights of Castle Lyonnesse became visible out of the mists. The soft ground was pock marked with the hooves of the small party of horses that fled before the High King’s banner fluttering in the light breeze.

  * * *

  Arthur smiled grimly as the horses bearing the colors of King March clattered across the wooden bridge and into the relative security of Castle Lyonnesse. Arthur gathered his companions around him and chose Lancelot and Bors to approach the castle and ask to parlay with March’s representative. The rest of the troop closed ranks around Arthur with his war banner proudly displayed against the sky. The stallions shifted restlessly and rolled their bits on their tongues, teeth champing, anxious for the battle to be joined. Emotions ran high in the tight group of men. Now and again, one or the other would check the looseness of his sword in its scabbard and the fastenings on his battle axe.

  Gawain leaned on his saddle bow and chewed some more willow bark to quiet the thrumming of the drums behind his eyes. Lancelot and Bors halted outside the gate of Castle Lyonnesse and hailed the seneschal within. The exchange of words was lost in the distance and the rising wind, but Lancelot was plainly angered at the content of King March’s message. Bors flung his parley flag onto the muddy ground. He and Lancelot wheeled their stallions in one motion and cantered grimly back to Arthur’s side.

  “King March says to inform you there is nothing o
f yours within, and the lady in question came with him willingly,” Lancelot reported through clenched teeth. “When I asked to hear those words from the lips of the lady in question, the seneschal told us she was indisposed at the moment, and King Arthur would have to wait on her convenience.”

  Gawain gathered his reins and straightened in the saddle as the whole group of knights shifted twenty feet closer to the castle in response to Lancelot’s words. Arthur lifted his gauntleted right hand, and the shuffling of the stallions quieted. Arthur’s war horse fidgeted and danced in response to his hard grip on the reins. Gawain studied Arthur’s profile, noting the twitch in the king’s jaw. Unease crept unwelcomed into Gawain’s gut and made his head swim anew. Arthur’s body was taut with rage, and his frustration showed in the thin white lines etched around his mouth. From past experience, Gawain knew Arthur was close to the breaking point and longed for a way to ease Arthur’s anger. Decisions made in the midst of a rage were seldom good ones.

  The king drew a long breath, and Gawain kneed Ailim closer to hear the harsh, low words that issued forth.

  “So, we wait on the queen’s convenience.” Arthur spat the words from his lips and wiped his mouth as if something tasted foul. “Or so it will appear to those who watch from the castle.”

  “What would you have us do?” Lancelot asked into the tense stillness following Arthur’s words.

  “Two of you, Gareth and Kai, will ride to the north and enter those trees along the gully as if looking for firewood. Leave your horses there and go forward on foot. See if you can circle the castle and gain entrance by an unguarded gate or through a sluice way. If you gain the castle proper, glean what information you can and come back here. If you are discovered, set off some of Merlin’s white powder to create a diversion and escape if possible. At the sight of the white powder’s explosion, we will attack the castle from the front to cause some confusion and aid your departure.” Arthur spoke quickly and decisively.

  Gareth and Kai readied themselves and then made a great show of heading off toward the trees with many shouted remarks about the indignity of having to gather firewood. Gawain itched to go with them. Anything was better than sitting and waiting in the cold wind which threatened to either dump more rain or some wet snow on their heads.

  Pray gods the Lady Nuina has the sense to rein in her tongue and stay out of harm’s way until we can get to her. She is far too pretty by half to be in that den of vipers for very long before one of the blackguards takes it into his head to bed her for the amusement of it.

  Gawain’s hands curled tightly around the saddle bow. The thought of rough hands on the lady of his heart made sour bile rise in his throat. To distract himself, Gawain turned casually in his saddle and watched the progress of Gareth and Kai from the corner of his eye.

  A shout from Bors drew his attention back to the castle. High on the upper wall of the fortress, the small figure of a woman stood waving a blue scarf which streamed in the rising wind. Gawain’s heart kicked in his chest as he recognized the stalwart figure of the Lady Nuina. Arthur and his men spurred forward toward the castle, and Gawain strained his ears to catch the words the Lady Nuina screamed down toward them.

  Arthur pulled his stallion to a plunging halt within fifty yards of the castle gate. The tall figure of King March appeared on the wall above them, grasping the Lady Nuina cruelly and wrenching the scarf from her hands.

  The Lady Nuina spat in King March’s face, and Gawain raised himself involuntarily in his stirrups at the sight of the man’s hand meeting the Lady Nuina’s face. The sharp crack of the blow sounded clearly down to where the knight sat on Ailim’s back. King March drew his short knife and dragged the Lady Nuina over to the battlements, pushing her upper body forward to hang out over the open air with nothing between her and the ground far below. March laughed down at the scowling faces of King Arthur and the gathered knights, his gaze lingering longest on Arthur’s. Casually placing the sharp blade against Lady Nuina’s pale throat, King March wrenched her head back by the long braid that had come unwound from the pins.

  Gawain’s eyes blurred as the red haze of anger coursed through his body. King March had his loins pushed hard against the Lady Nuina’s soft nether regions and was no doubt receiving as much savage enjoyment from that as from the blood lust of his knife at her unprotected throat. Gawain threw off Lancelot’s hand where it gripped his arm to restrain him.

  “’Tis what he wants, Gawain, don’t give it to him,” Lancelot said harshly, never taking his eyes from King March’s triumphant gaze.

  “I care not overmuch for the wench.” Arthur’s tones were cool and casual. “It is Queen Gwenhwyfar on whom I wait. Send her forth if you wish to hold my attention.”

  With a snarl, King March thrust the Lady Nuina into the hands of one of his men-at-arms, but not before scoring her white throat with the razor sharp blade of his knife. Gawain swallowed hard as the ruby drops fell bright against the white stone of the castle wall.

  I will kill the man, king or no, if it is the last thing I do, Gawain vowed silently.

  “And I will help you,” Lancelot promised accurately reading Gawain’s thoughts from the grim look on his face.

  Arthur stiffened in his saddle as Queen Gwenhwyfar stepped regally into view on top of the battlements. Her hand rested lightly on the arm of King March, who smiled smugly down at King Arthur’s thunderous face.

  “Are you well, My Queen?” Arthur’s voice did not display the wrath radiating from his being. The High King spoke as calmly as if the queen were in her solar at Cadbury Castle.

  “I am quite well,” Gwenhwyfar replied with a sideways glance at King March. “Quite well, indeed.”

  “I demand the return of that which is mine. I demand the return of my queen,” Arthur ground the words out between his clenched jaws, anger finally overcoming his rigid control.

  “Methinks, the lady in question does not wish to return just yet. Am I right, my dear?” King March addressed the last to Queen Gwenhwyfar, who nodded her bright blonde head in agreement.

  “You are my wife and the Queen of the Realm. Your place is by my side. Do you deny your king and your realm, My Lady?” Arthur demanded of her. “To say nothing of your vows to the White Christ.”

  Gwenhwyfar paled slightly at the mention of the priests and pressed forward to lean a slim hand on the edge of the parapet. “Let me ponder this, and I will have an answer for you by mid-morning tomorrow at the latest. If you bear me any love at all, Arthur, you will grant me this.” Her voice floated over Gawain’s head and struck the king firmly in the heart judging by the twitch of his lips.

  “I give you until mid-morning on the morrow to come to your senses. After that, I will come to claim what is mine by force and the right granted me by the gods and goddess and your own White Christ,” Arthur acquiesced with ill grace.

  The knights wheeled as one unit and cantered back toward the shelter of the belt of trees marking the gully where Gareth and Kai left their mounts. Quickly, the men struck a make-shift camp and settled in to keep watch and wait out the night. Shortly after they had set a guard and kindled a fire, Gareth and Kai appeared out of the gathering dusk. The pair was well plastered with mud and burs, which Kai began to pick from his hair and beard in disgust. His brother, Gareth, caught Gawain’s eye and shook his head slightly to indicate there had been no opportunity to have speech with the Lady Nuina.

  “What learned you?” Arthur demanded abruptly.

  “The servants were close mouthed at best, but I think perhaps March is going to make a run for it and head for Wolf Rocks. There seemed to be a lot of provisioning going on in the kitchens,” Gareth reported.

  “The sticking point is, I heard they were headed to Seven Stone Rocks under cover of darkness.” Kai looked at Arthur across the fire. “It may be they are headed neither of those places but seek to draw us away, so they can flee back to the Castle of the Mount.”

  “We will set watch on the gates of Castle Lyonnesse. If anyt
hing moves through the night, we will know it and be ready to act.” Arthur’s voice rumbled in the darkness.

  The knights bolted down a quick meal, and then Arthur sent four knights to watch the castle gates, and Gawain to rest by the fire. His eyes still had a disconcerting habit of crossing and un-focusing, and Gawain was more than happy to lay his head on his saddle and close his treacherous eyes.

  * * *

  It seemed like his eyes just closed when loud voices dragged Gawain from the depths of slumber. Lurching to his feet and drawing his sword, he straightened up and peered into the inky blackness. Someone kicked dirt over the fire, so it offered no light at all. Gawain jumped when Lancelot grabbed his arm and pulled him into the trees.

  “There is movement by the postern gate, Bors reports through Eldon,” Lancelot informed him. “The king has ordered anyone leaving to be stopped and searched. We are to wait here and see if there are further movements once our force is divided.”

  “Think you this is just a diversion to see if we are indeed watching,” Gawain queried, while quickly tacking Ailim in the dark.

  “I’m thinking we should be ready to ride, yes.” Lancelot swung up onto Eldon’s back in one smooth movement.

  “Has anyone actually seen the ladies since they were on the battlements?” Gawain grunted dragging his reluctant body into the saddle.

  “Gareth said the Lady Nuina was livid with anger at the queen.” Lancelot sounded tired.

  “Was she well? Her throat…” Gawain swallowed at the image of the Lady Nuina with King March’s blade at her neck.

  “Gareth said she looked well and the cut not deep. The queen was not visible.” Lancelot gripped Gawain’s arm in reassurance.

  With a good deal of crashing in the bush accompanied by cursing, King Arthur and his small company rode into the clearing. Arthur sheathed his famous sword, which whispered harshly as it slid home in the scabbard.