The Buried Giant

Gawain’s First Reverie

Those dark widows. For what purpose did God place them on this mountain path before me? Does he wish to test my humility? Is it not enough he watches me save that gentle couple, the wounded boy also, slay a devil dog, sleep barely an hour on dew-soaked leaves before rising to learn my tasks are yet far from done, that Horace and I must set off again, not down to some sheltering village, but up another steep path beneath a grey sky? Yet he placed those widows there in my way, no doubt about it, and I did well to address them courteously. Even as they sank to foolish insults and throwing clumps of earth at Horace’s hindquarters — as though Horace could be panicked into an unseemly gallop! — I gave them not so much as a backward glance, speaking instead into Horace’s ear, reminding him we must bear all such trials well, for a far greater one awaited us up in those distant peaks where storm clouds now gathered. Besides, those weathered women with their flapping rags were once innocent maidens, some possessing beauty and grace, or at least the freshness that will often serve as well in a man’s eye. Was she not that way, the one I sometimes remember when there stretches before me as much land, empty and companionless, as I could ride on a dreary autumn’s day? No beauty was she, yet delightful enough for me. I only glimpsed her once, when I was young, and did I even speak to her then? Yet she returns sometimes in my mind’s eye, and I believe she has visited me in my sleep, for I often awake with a mysterious contentment even as my dreams fade from me.

I felt the lingering joys of just such a feeling as Horace woke me this morning, stamping the soft forest ground where I had lain down after the night’s exertions. He knows full well I no longer have the old stamina, that after such a night it is no easy thing for me to sleep but a short hour before setting off once more. Yet seeing the sun already high over the shady roof of the forest, he would not let me sleep on. He stamped his feet until I rose, chainmail complaining. I curse this armour more and more. Has it really saved me from much? A small wound or two at best. It is the sword, not the armour, I have to thank for this abiding health. I rose and observed the leaves around me. Why so many fallen and the summer not yet old? Do these trees ail, even as they shelter us? A shaft of sun breaking through the high foliage fell across Horace’s muzzle, and I watched him shake his nose from side to side, as though that beam were a fly sent to torment him. He had no pleasant night either, listening to noises of the forest all about him, wondering to what dangers his knight had gone. Displeased though I was that he aroused me so soon, when I stepped towards him, it was only to hold his neck gently in both my arms, and for a brief moment rest my head in his mane. A hard master he has, I know that. I push him on when I know him to be weary, curse him when he has done no wrong. And all this metal as much burden for him as for me. How much further will we ride together? I patted him gently, saying, “We’ll find a friendly village soon, and you’ll have a better breakfast than the one you just had.”

I spoke this way believing the problem of Master Wistan settled. But we were hardly down the path, not yet out of the woods, when we came across the bedraggled monk, his shoes broken, hurrying before us to Lord Brennus’s camp, and what does he tell us but that Master Wistan has escaped the monastery, leaving his pursuers of the night dead, many no more than charred bones. What a fellow! Strange how my heart fills with joy to hear the news, even though it brings back a heavy task I thought behind us. So Horace and I put aside our thoughts of hay and roast meat and good company, and now we climb uphill once more. Thankfully, at least, we travel further from that cursed monastery. In my heart, it is true, I am relieved Master Wistan did not perish at the hands of those monks and the wretched Brennus. But what a fellow! The blood he sheds each day would make the Severn overflow! He was wounded, the bedraggled monk thought, but who can rely on one such as Master Wistan to lie down and die easily? How foolish I was to let the boy Edwin run off that way, and now who will wager against the two of them finding each other? So foolish, yet I was weary then, and besides, little imagined Master Wistan could escape. What a fellow! Had he been a man of our day, Saxon though he is, he would have won Arthur’s admiration. Even the best of us would have feared to meet him as a foe. Yet yesterday, when I saw him meet Brennus’s soldier in combat, I might have seen a small weakness on his left side. Or was it his clever ploy of the moment? If I watch him fight once more, I will know better. A skilful warrior all the same, and it would take a knight of Arthur to suspect it, but I thought it so, as I watched the fight. I said to myself, look there, a small lapse on the left side. One a canny opponent might just exploit. Yet which of us would not have respected him?

Yet these dark widows, why do they cross our path? Is our day not busy enough? Our patience not yet sufficiently taxed? We’ll stop at the next crest, I was saying to Horace as we came up the slope. We’ll stop and rest even though black clouds gather and we most likely face a storm. And if there be no trees I’ll still sit down right there on the scrubbed heather and we shall rest all the same. Yet when the road finally levelled, what do we see but great birds perched on their rocks, and they rise as one, not to fly into the darkening sky, but towards us. Then I saw they were no birds, but old women in flapping cloaks, assembling on the path before us.

Why choose such a barren spot to gather? Not a cairn, nor a dry well to mark it. No thin tree nor shrub to comfort a wayfarer from sun or rain. Just these chalky rocks from which they rose, sunk into the earth on either side of the road. Let’s be sure, I said to Horace, let’s be sure my old eyes don’t let me down and these are not bandits come to set upon us. But there was no need to draw the sword — its blade still stinks of that devil dog’s slime, no matter I thrust it deep in the ground before I slept — for they were old women sure enough, though we might have made good use of a shield or two against them. Ladies, let us remember them as ladies, Horace, now we are finally beyond them, for are they not to be pitied? We will not call them hags, even if their manners tempt us to. Let us remember that once, some among them at least possessed grace and beauty.

“Here he comes,” cried one, “the impostor knight!” Others took up the cry as I came closer, and we might have trotted through their ranks, but I am not one to shy from adversity. So I brought Horace to a halt right in their midst, though gazing towards the next peak as if studying the gathering clouds. Only when their rags flapped around me, and I could feel the blast of their shouts, did I gaze down from the saddle at them. Were there fifteen? Twenty? Hands reached to touch Horace’s flanks, and I whispered to calm him. Then I straightened and said, “Ladies, if we are to talk, you must cease this noise!” To which they quietened, but their looks stayed angry, and I said then, “What do you want of me, ladies? Why come upon me this way?” To which one woman calls up, “We know you for the foolish knight too timid to complete the task given him.” And another, “If you’d done long ago what God asked of you, would we be wandering the land in woe this way?” And yet another, “He dreads his duty! See it on his face. He dreads his duty!”

I contained my anger and asked them to explain themselves. Whereupon one a little more civil than the rest stepped forward. “Forgive us, knight. It’s long days we’ve wandered under these skies and to see you in person come riding boldly our way, we cannot but make you hear our laments.”

“Mistress,” I said to her, “I may look burdened by years. But I remain a knight of the great Arthur. If you’ll tell me your troubles, I’ll gladly help you as I can.”

To my dismay the women — the civil one included — all broke into a sarcastic laugh, and then a voice said: “Had you done your duty long ago and slain the she-dragon, we’d not be wandering distressed this way.”

This shook me, and I cried out, “What do you know of it? What do you know of Querig?” but saw in time the need for restraint. And so I spoke calmly: “Explain it, ladies, what compels you to walk the roads this way?” To which a parched voice behind said, “If you ask why I wander, knight, I’ll happily tell you. When the boatman put to me his questions, my beloved already in the boat and reaching out to help me in, I found my most treasured memories robbed from me. I didn’t know then but know now, Querig’s breath was the thief robbed me, the very creature you were to have slain long ago.”

“How can you know this, mistress?” I demanded, no longer able to hide my consternation. For how can it be such vagabonds know a secret so well guarded? To which the civil one then smiles strangely and says, “We’re widows, knight. There’s little can be hidden from us now.”

Only then do I feel Horace give a tremble, and I hear myself ask, “What are you, ladies? Are you living or dead?” To which the women once more break into laughter, a jeering sound to it that makes Horace shift a hoof uneasily. I pat him gently while I say, “Ladies, why do you laugh? Was that so foolish a question?” And the raspy voice behind says, “See how fearful he is! Now he fears us as readily as he does the dragon!”

“What nonsense is this, lady?” I shout more forcefully, as Horace takes a step back against my wishes, and I have to tug to steady him. “I fear no dragon, and fierce though Querig is, I’ve faced far greater evils in my time. If I’ve been slow to slay her, it’s only because she hides herself with great cunning in those high rocks. You rebuke me, madam, but what do we hear of Querig now? A time was she thought nothing of raiding a village or more each month, yet boys have grown into men since we last heard of the like. She knows I close in, so she dares not show herself beyond these hills.”

Even as I spoke, one woman opened her raggy cloak and a clump of mud struck Horace’s neck. Intolerable, I told Horace, we must go on. What can these old crones know of our mission? I nudged him to move forward but he was strangely frozen, and I had to dig in my spur to make him push forward. Thankfully the dark figures parted before us and I was gazing again at the distant peaks. My heart sank at the thought of those desolate high grounds. Even the company of these unholy hags, I thought, might be preferable to those bleak winds. But as though to disabuse me of such sentiments, the women started up their chant behind me, and I felt more mud flung our way. But what do they chant? Do they dare cry “coward”? I had a mind to turn and show my wrath, yet remembered myself in time. Coward, coward. What do they know? Were they there? Were they there that day long ago we rode out to face Querig? Would they have called me coward then, or any of us five? And even after that great mission — from which only three returned — did I not then, ladies, with hardly a rest, hurry to the valley’s edge to make good my promise to the young maid?

Edra, she later told me was her name. She was no beauty, and dressed in the simplest weeds, but like that other I sometimes dream of, she had a bloom tugged my heart. I saw her on the roadside carrying her hoe in both her arms. Only lately become a woman, she was small and slight, and the sight of such innocence, wandering unprotected so near the horrors from which I just came made it impossible for me to ride by, even if I went to such a mission as I did.

“Turn back, maiden,” I called down from the stallion, this being before the days of Horace, when even I was young. “What great foolishness makes you go that way? Don’t you know a battle rages down in this valley?”

“I know it well, sir,” she says, and no fear meeting my eye. “It’s a long journey I’ve made to come this far, and soon I’ll be down the valley and join the battle.”

“Has some sprite bewitched you, maiden? I came from the valley floor just now where seasoned warriors spew out their stomachs from dread. I’d not have you hear even a distant echo of it. And why that hoe so large for you?”

“There’s a Saxon lord I know is down in the valley now, and I pray with all my heart he isn’t fallen and God will protect him well. For I will have him die at my hands only, after what he did to my dear mother and sisters, and I carry this hoe to do the work. It breaks the ground of a winter’s morning, so it will do well enough on this Saxon’s bones.”

I was obliged then to dismount and hold her by the arm even as she tried to pull away. If she still lives today — Edra, she later told me was her name — she would now be near your age, ladies. It may even be she was among you just now, how would I know? No great beauty, but like that other, her innocence spoke to me. “Let me go, sir!” she cries, to which I say, “You’ll not go down into that valley. The sight from the edge alone will make you swoon.” “I’m no weakling, sir,” she cries. “Let me go!” And there we stand on the roadside like two quarrelling children, and I can calm her only by saying:

“Maiden, I see nothing will dissuade you. But think how remote the chances of your finding alone the vengeance you crave. Yet with my help your chances will improve manyfold. So be patient and sit a while out of this sun. Look there, sit beneath that elder tree, and wait for my return. I go to join four comrades on a mission which though grave with danger, won’t keep me long. Should I perish you’ll see me come this way again tied across the saddle of this same horse, and you’ll know I can no longer keep my promise. Otherwise I swear I’ll return and we’ll together go down to make your dream of vengeance true. Be patient, maiden, and if your cause is just, as I believe it to be, God will see this lord doesn’t fall before we reach him.”

Were these the words of a coward, ladies, uttered that very day, even as I rode out to face Querig? And once we were done with our task, and I saw I had been spared — though two of us five had not — I hastened back, weary as I was, to that valley’s edge and the elder tree where the maid still waited, her hoe in her arms. She sprang to her feet, and the sight of her again tugged my heart. Yet when I tried once more to sway her from her intent, for I dreaded to see her enter that valley, she said angrily, “Are you false, sir? Will you not keep your promise to me?” So I placed her on the saddle — she held the rein even as she clasped the hoe to her bosom — and I led on foot both horse and maiden down the valley slopes. Did she blanch as we first heard the din? Or when on the outskirts of the battle we met desperate Saxons, their pursuers on their heels? Did she wilt when exhausted warriors groped across our path trailing wounds along the ground? Small tears appeared and I saw her hoe tremble, but she did not turn away. For her eyes had their task, searching that bloody field left and right, far and near. Then I mounted the horse myself, and carrying her before me as if she were some gentle lamb, we rode together into the thick. Did I look timid then, thrashing with my sword, covering her with my shield, turning the horse this way and that until finally the battle tossed us both into the mud? But she was quickly on her feet, and recovering her hoe, began to tread a path through the mashed and quartered heaps. Our ears filled with the strange cries, but she seemed not to hear, the way a good Christian maid refuses the lewd shouts of the coarse men she passes. I was young then and nimble of foot, so ran about her with my sword, cutting down any who would do her harm, sheltering her with my shield from the arrows that regularly fell among us. Then she saw at last the one she sought, yet it was as if we were adrift on choppy waves and though an isle seems near, the tides somehow keep it beyond reach. It was that way for us that day. I fought and battered and kept her safe, yet it seemed an eternity till we stood before him, and even then three men specially to guard him. I passed my shield to the maid, saying, “Shelter well, for your prize is almost yours,” and though I faced three, and I saw they were warriors of skill, I defeated them one by one till I faced the Saxon lord she so hated. His knees were thick with the gore he waded through, but I saw this was no warrior, and I brought him down till he lay breathing on the earth, his legs no more use to him, staring his hatred up at the sky. So she came then and stood above him, the shield tossed aside, and the look in her eyes chilled my blood over all else to be seen across that ghastly field. Then she brought the hoe down not with a swing, but a small prod, then another, the way she is searching for potatoes in the soil, until I am made to cry, “Finish it, maiden, or I’ll do it myself!” to which she says, “Leave me now, sir. I thank you for your service, but now it’s done.” “Only half done, maiden,” I cry, “till I see you safe from this valley,” but she no longer listens and goes on with her foul work. I would have quarrelled further, but it was then he appeared from the crowd. I mean Master Axl, as I now know him, a younger man that day to be sure, but a wise countenance even then, and when I saw him it was as if the noise of battle receded to a hush around us.

“Why stand so exposed, sir?” I say to him. “And your sword still in its sheath? Take up a fallen shield at least and cover yourself.”

But he keeps a faraway look, as if he stands in a meadow of daisies on a fragrant morning. “If God chooses to direct an arrow this way,” he says, “I’ll not impede it. Sir Gawain, I’m pleased to see you well. Are you lately arrived, or have you been here from its start?”

This as if we meet at some summer fair, and I am obliged to cry again, “Cover yourself, sir! The field remains thick with the foe.” And when he continues to survey the scenery, I say, remembering his question to me: “I was here at the battle’s start, but Arthur then chose me as one of five to ride to a mission of great import. I’m only now returned from it.”

At last I draw his attention. “A mission of great import? And did it go well?”

“Sadly, two comrades lost, but we accomplished it to Master Merlin’s satisfaction.”

“Master Merlin,” he says. “A sage he may be, but that old man makes me shudder.” Then he glances about once more, saying, “I’m sorry to hear of your lost friends. Many more will be missed before the day closes.”

“Yet the victory’s surely ours,” I say. “These cursed Saxons. Why fight on this way with only Death to thank them for it?”

“I believe they do so for sheer anger and hatred of us,” he says. “For it must be by now word has reached their ears of what’s been done to their innocents left in their villages. I’m myself just come from them, so why would the news not reach also the Saxon ranks?”

“What news do you speak of, Master Axl?”

“News of their women, children and elderly, left unprotected after our solemn agreement not to harm them, now all slaughtered by our hands, even the smallest babes. If this were lately done to us, would our hatred exhaust itself? Would we not also fight to the last as they do, each fresh wound given a balm?”

“Why dwell on this matter, Master Axl? Our victory today’s secure and will be a famous one.”

“Why do I dwell on it? Sir, these are the very villages I befriended in Arthur’s name. In one village they called me the Knight of Peace, and today I watched a mere dozen of our men ride through it with no hint of mercy, the only ones to oppose them boys not yet grown to our shoulders.”

“I’m saddened to hear this news. But I press you again, sir, pick up a shield at least.”

“I came upon village by village the same, and our own men boasting of what they did.”

“Don’t blame yourself, sir, nor my uncle. The great law you once brokered was a thing truly wondrous while it held. How many innocents, Briton or Saxon, were spared over the years for it? That it didn’t hold forever is none of your doing.”

“Yet they believed in our bargain till this day. It was I won their trust where first there was only fear and hatred. Today our deeds make me a liar and a butcher, and I take no joy in Arthur’s victory.”

“What will you do with such wild words, sir? If it’s treachery you contemplate, let’s face one another with no more delay!”

“Your uncle’s safe from me, sir. Yet how do you rejoice, Sir Gawain, in a victory won at this price?”

“Master Axl, what was done in these Saxon towns today my uncle would have commanded only with a heavy heart, knowing of no other way for peace to prevail. Think, sir. Those small Saxon boys you lament would soon have become warriors burning to avenge their fathers fallen today. The small girls soon bearing more in their wombs, and this circle of slaughter would never be broken. Look how deep runs the lust for vengeance! Look even now, at that fair maid, one I escorted here myself, watch her there still at her work! Yet with today’s great victory a rare chance comes. We may once and for all sever this evil circle, and a great king must act boldly on it. May this be a famous day, Master Axl, from which our land can be in peace for years to come.”

“I fail to understand you, sir. Though today we slaughter a sea of Saxons, be they warriors or babes, there are yet many more across the land. They come from the east, they land by ship on our coasts, they build new villages by the day. This circle of hate is hardly broken, sir, but forged instead in iron by what’s done today. I’ll go now to your uncle and report what I’ve seen. I would see from his face if he believes God will smile on such deeds.”

A slaughterer of babes. Is that what we were that day? And what of that one I escorted, what became of her? Was she among you just now, ladies? Why gather about me this way as I ride to my duty? Let an old man go in peace. A slaughterer of babes. Yet I was not there, and even had I been, what good for me to argue with a great king, and he my uncle too? I was but a young knight then, and besides, is he not proved right each year that passes? Did you not all grow old in a time of peace? So leave us to go our way without insults at our back. The Law of the Innocents, a mighty law indeed, one to bring men closer to God — so Arthur himself always said, or was it Master Axl called it that? We called him Axelum or Axelus then, but now he goes by Axl, and has a fine wife. Why taunt me, ladies? Is it my fault you grieve? My time will come before long, and I will not turn back to roam this land as you do. I shall greet the boatman contentedly, enter his rocking boat, the waters lapping all about, and I may sleep a while, the sound of his oar in my ears. And I will move from slumber to half-waking, and see the sun sunk low over the water, and the shore moved further still, and nod myself back into dreams till the boatman’s voice stirs me gently once more. And were he to ask questions, as some say he will, I would answer honestly, for what have I left to hide? I had no wife, though at times I longed for one. Yet I was a good knight who performed his duty to the end. Let me say so, and he will see I do not lie. I will not mind him. The gentle sunset, his shadow falling over me as he moves from one side of his vessel to the other. But this will wait. Today Horace and I must climb below this grey sky, up the barren slope towards the next peak, for our work is unfinished and Querig awaits us.

Chapter Ten

He had never intended to deceive the warrior. It was as if the deception itself had come quietly over the fields to envelop the two of them.

The cooper’s hut appeared to be built inside a deep ditch, its thatch roof so close to the earth that Edwin, lowering his head to pass under it, felt he was climbing into a hole. So he had been prepared for the darkness, but the stifling warmth — and the thick woodsmoke — took him aback, and he announced his arrival with a fit of coughing.

“I’m pleased to see you safe, young comrade.”

Wistan’s voice came out of the darkness beyond the smouldering fire, then Edwin discerned the warrior’s form on a turf bed.

“Are you badly hurt, warrior?”

As Wistan sat up, slowly moving into the glow, Edwin saw his face, neck and shoulders were covered in perspiration. Yet the hands that reached to the fire were trembling as if from cold.

“The wounds are trivial. But they brought with them this fever. It was worse earlier, and I’ve little memory of coming here. The good monks say they tied me to the mare’s back, and I fancy I was muttering all the while as when playing the slack-jawed fool in the forest. What of you, comrade? You bear no wounds, I trust, beyond the one you carried before.”

“I’m perfectly well, warrior, yet stand before you in shame. I’m a poor comrade to you, sleeping while you fought. Curse me and banish me from your sight, for it’ll be a thing well earned.”

“Not so fast, Master Edwin. If you failed me last night, I’ll soon tell you a way to make up your debt to me.”

The warrior carefully brought both feet to the earth floor, reached down and tossed a log onto the flames. Edwin saw then how his left arm was bound tightly in sacking, and that one side of his face had a spreading bruise that partially closed one eye.

“True,” Wistan said, “when I first looked down from the top of that burning tower and the wagon we so carefully prepared wasn’t there, I’d a mind to curse you. A long fall to stony ground and hot smoke already around me. Listening to the agonies of my enemies below, I asked, do I mingle with them even as we become ash together? Or better be smashed alone under the night sky? Yet before I could find an answer, the wagon arrived after all, tugged by my own mare, a monk pulling her bridle. I hardly asked if this monk was friend or foe, but leapt from that chimney mouth, and our earlier work was well enough done, comrade, for though I plunged through the hay as if it were water, I met nothing to pierce me. I awoke on a table, gentle monks loyal to Father Jonus attending me all around as if I was their supper. The fever must already have taken hold by then, whether from these wounds or from the great heat, for they say they had to muffle my ravings till they brought me down here out of harm’s way. But if the gods favour us, the fever will pass soon and we’ll set off to finish our errand.”

“Warrior, I still stand here in shame. Even after I awoke and saw the soldiers around the tower, I let some sprite possess me, and fled the monastery behind those elderly Britons. I’d beg you to curse me now or beat me, but I heard you say there was some way I might make up to you for last night’s disgrace. Tell me the way, warrior, and I’ll fall on whatever task you give me with impatience.”

Even as he said this, his mother’s voice had called, resounding around the little hovel so Edwin was hardly sure he had spoken these words aloud. But he must have done, for he heard Wistan say:

“Do you suppose I chose you for your courage alone, young comrade? You’ve remarkable spirit right enough, and if we survive this errand, I’ll see you learn the skills to make you a true warrior. But just now you’re rough-hewn, not yet a blade. I chose you above others, Master Edwin, because I saw you had the hunter’s gift to match your warrior spirit. A rare thing indeed to have both.”

“How can that be, warrior? I know nothing of hunting.”

“A wolf cub, drinking its mother’s milk, can pick up the scent of a prey in the wild. I believe it a gift of nature. Once this fever leaves me, we’ll go further into these hills and I’ll wager you’ll find the sky itself whispering to you which path to take till we stand before the she-dragon’s very lair.”

“Warrior, I fear you misplace your faith where it will find no shelter. No kin of mine ever boasted of such skills, and no one suspected me of them. Even Steffa, who saw my warrior’s soul, never mentioned such skills as these.”

“Then leave it to me alone to believe in them, young comrade. I’ll never say you made any such boast. As soon as this fever leaves me, we’ll set off towards those eastern hills, where all talk has it Querig has her lair, and I’ll follow in your footsteps at each fork.”

It was then the deception had begun. He had never planned it, nor welcomed it when, like a pixie stepping out from its dark corner, it had entered their presence. His mother had continued to call. “Find the strength for me, Edwin. You’re almost grown. Find the strength and come rescue me.” And it was as much the wish to appease her as his eagerness to redeem himself in the warrior’s eyes that had made him say:

“It’s curious, warrior. Now you speak of it, I feel already this she-dragon’s pull. More a taste in the wind than a scent. We should go without delay, for who knows how long I’ll feel it.”

Even as he said this, the scenes were rapidly filling his mind: how he would enter their camp, startling them as they sat silently in their semi-circle to watch his mother trying to free herself. They would be full-grown men by now; most likely bearded and heavy-bellied, no longer the lithe young men who had come swaggering into their village that day. Burly, coarse men, and as they reached for their axes, they would see the warrior following behind Edwin and fear would enter their eyes.

But how could he deceive the warrior — his teacher and the man he admired above all others? And here was Wistan nodding with satisfaction, saying: “I knew it as soon as I saw you, Master Edwin. Even as I released you from those ogres by the river.” He would enter their camp. He would free his mother. The burly men would be killed, or perhaps be allowed to flee into the mountain fog. And then what? Edwin would have to explain why, even as they were hurrying to complete an urgent errand, he had chosen to deceive the warrior.

Partly to distract himself from such thoughts — for he now sensed it was too late for a retreat — he said: “Warrior, there’s a question I have of you. Though you may think it impertinent.”

Wistan was receding back into the darkness, reclining once more onto his bed. Now all Edwin could see of him was one bare knee moving slowly from side to side.

“Ask it, young comrade.”

“I’m wondering, warrior. Is there some special feud between you and Lord Brennus makes you stay and fight his soldiers when we might have fled the monastery and be half a day closer to Querig? It must be some mighty reason to make you put aside even your errand.”

The silence that followed was so long Edwin thought the warrior had passed out in the stifling air. But then there was the knee still moving slowly, and when the voice eventually came out of the darkness, the slight tremor of the fever seemed to have evaporated.

“I’ve no excuse, young comrade. I can only confess my folly, and that after the good father’s warning not to forget my duty! See how weak is the resolve of your master. Yet I’m a warrior before all else, and it’s no easy thing to flee a battle I know I can win. You’re right, we could even now be standing at the she-dragon’s den, calling her to come greet us. But Brennus I knew it to be, even a hope he’d come in person, and it was more than I could do not to stay and welcome them.”

“Then I’m right, warrior. There’s some feud between you and Lord Brennus.”

“No feud worth the name. We knew each other as boys, as young as you are now. This was in a country further west of here, in a well-guarded fort where we boys, twenty or more, were trained morning till night to become warriors in the Britons’ ranks. I grew to feel great affection for my companions of those days, for they were splendid fellows and we lived like brothers. All except Brennus, that is, for being the lord’s son, he loathed to mix with us. Yet he often trained with us, and though his skills were feeble, whenever one of us faced him with a wooden sword, or at wrestling in the sandpit, we had to let him win. Anything short of glorious victory for the lord’s son would result in punishments for us all. Can you imagine it, young comrade? To be proud young boys, as we were, and have such an inferior opponent appear to conquer us day after day? Worse, Brennus delighted in heaping humiliations on his opponents even as we feigned defeat. It pleased him to stand on our necks, or to kick us as we lay for him on the ground. Imagine how this felt to us, comrade!”

“I see it well, warrior.”

“But today I’ve reason to be grateful to Lord Brennus, for he saved me from a pitiable fate. I’ve told you already, Master Edwin, I’d begun to love my companions in that fort as my own brothers, even though they were Britons and I a Saxon.”

“But is that so shameful, warrior, if you were brought up beside them facing harsh tasks together?”

“Of course it’s shameful, boy. I feel shame even now remembering the affection I had for them. But it was Brennus showed me my error. Perhaps because even then my skills stood out, he delighted to choose me as his sparring opponent, and reserved his greatest humiliations for me. And he was not slow to notice I was a Saxon boy, and before long, turned each of my companions against me on that account. Even those once closest to me joined against me, spitting in my food, or hiding my clothes as we hurried to our training on a harsh winter’s morning, fearful of our teachers’ wrath. It was a great lesson Brennus taught me then, and when I understood how I shamed myself loving Britons as my brothers, I made up my mind to leave that fort, even with no friend or kin beyond those walls.”

Wistan ceased speaking for a moment while his breath came heavily from beyond the fire.

“So did you take your revenge on Lord Brennus, warrior, before you left that place?”

“Judge for me if I did or not, comrade, for I’m undecided on the question. The custom in that fort was for us apprentices, after our day’s training, to be allowed an hour after supper to idle away together. We’d build a fire in the yard and sit around it talking and jesting the way boys will. Brennus never joined us, of course, for he had his privileged quarters, but on that evening, for whatever reason, I saw him walk past. I moved away from the rest then, my companions suspecting nothing. Now that fort, like any other, had many hidden passages, all of which I knew well, so that before long I was in an unwatched corner where the battlements cast black shadows over the ground. Brennus came strolling my way, alone, and when I moved from the gloom he stopped and looked at me with terror. For he saw at once this could be no chance encounter, and further, that his usual powers were suspended. It was curious, Master Edwin, to see this swaggering lord turned so swiftly to an infant ready to make water before me for fear. I was sorely tempted to say to him, ‘Good sir, I see your sword on your hip. Knowing how much more skilfully you wield it, you’ll have no fear drawing it against mine.’ Yet I said no such thing, for had I hurt him in that dark corner, what of my dreams of a life beyond those walls? I said nothing, but remained before him in silence, letting the moment grow long between us, for I wished it to be one never forgotten. And though he cowered back and would have cried for help had not some remnant of pride told him to do so would ensure his abiding humiliation, we neither of us spoke to the other. Then in time I left him, and so you see, Master Edwin, nothing and yet everything had passed between us. I knew then I’d do well to leave that very night, and since these were no longer times of war, the watch wasn’t strict. I slipped quietly past the guards, saying no farewells, and was soon a boy under the moonlight, my dear companions left behind, my own kin long slaughtered, nothing but my courage and lately learned skills to carry on my journey.”

“Warrior, does Brennus hunt you even today fearing your vengeance from those days?”

“Who knows what demons whisper in that fool’s ear? A great lord now, in this country and the next, yet he lives in dread of any Saxon traveller from the east passing through his lands. Has he fed the fear of that night again and again that it now sits in his belly a giant worm? Or is it the she-dragon’s breath makes him forget whatever cause he once had to fear me, yet the dread grows all the more monstrous for being unnamed? Only last year a Saxon warrior from the fens, one I knew well, was killed as he travelled in peace through this very country. Yet I remain indebted to Lord Brennus for the lesson he taught me, for without it I might even now be counting Britons as my brother warriors. What troubles you, young comrade? You shift from foot to foot as if my fever possesses you also.”

So he had failed to hide his restlessness, but surely Wistan could not suspect his deception. Was it possible the warrior too could hear his mother’s voice? She had been calling all the while the warrior had been speaking. “Will you not find the strength for me, Edwin? Are you too young after all? Will you not come to me, Edwin? Did you not promise me that day you would?”

“I’m sorry, warrior. It’s my hunter’s instinct makes me impatient, for I fear to lose the scent, and the morning sun already rising outside.”

“We’ll be gone as soon as I’m able to climb onto that mare’s back. But leave me a little longer, comrade, for how else can we face such an opponent as this dragon when I’m too fevered to lift a sword?’

Chapter Eleven

He longed for a patch of sun to warm Beatrice. But though the opposite bank was often bathed in morning light, their side of the river remained shaded and cold. Axl could feel her leaning on him as they walked, and her shivering had grown steadily worse. He had been about to suggest another rest when at last they spotted the roof behind the willows, jutting out into the water.

It took some time to negotiate the muddy slope down to the boathouse, and when they stepped under its low arch, the near-darkness and the proximity of the lapping water seemed only to make Beatrice shiver more. They moved further inside, over damp wooden boards, and saw beyond the roof’s overhang tall grass, rushes, and an expanse of the river. Then a man’s figure rose from the shadows to their left, saying: “Who might you be, friends?”

“God be with you, sir,” Axl said. “We’re sorry if we brought you from your sleep. We’re just two weary travellers wishing to go downriver to our son’s village.”

A broad, bearded man of middle years, clad in layers of animal skins, emerged into the light and scrutinised them. Eventually he asked, not unkindly:

“Is the lady there unwell?”

“She’s only tired, sir, but unable to walk the remaining way. We hoped you might spare a barge or small boat to carry us. We depend on your kindness, for some misfortune lately took the bundles we carried, and with them the tin to recompense you. I can see, sir, you have but one boat now in the water. I can at least promise you safe passage for any cargo you’d entrust should you allow us to use it.”

The boatkeeper looked out at the boat rocking gently under the roof, then back at Axl. “It’ll be a while yet, friend, till this boat goes downstream, for I’m waiting for my companion to return with barley to fill it. But I see you’re both weary and lately suffered some misfortune. So let me make this suggestion. Look there, friends. You see those baskets.”

“Baskets, sir?”

“They may look flimsy, but float well and will bear your weight, though you’ll have to go one in each. We’re accustomed to filling them with full sacks of corn, or even at times a slaughtered pig, and tethered behind a boat they’ll travel even a rough river without jeopardy. And today, as you see, the water’s steady, so you’ll travel without worry.”

“You’re kind, sir. But have you no basket large enough for the two of us?”

“You must go one to each basket, friends, or else fear drowning. But I’ll gladly tether two together so you’ll go almost as good as one. When you see the lower boathouse on this same side, your journey will be over, and I’ll ask you to leave the baskets there well tied.”

“Axl,” Beatrice whispered, “let’s not separate. Let’s go together on foot, slow though it may be.”

“Walking’s beyond us now, princess. We both need warmth and food, and this river will carry us swiftly to our son’s welcome.”

“Please, Axl. I don’t want us to separate.”

“But this good man says he’ll truss our two baskets together, and it’ll be as good as we’re arm in arm.” Then turning to the boatkeeper, he said: “I’m grateful to you, sir. We’ll do as you suggest. Please tie the baskets tightly, so there’s no chance a swift tide will move us apart.”

“The danger isn’t the river’s speed, friend, but its slowness. It’s easy to get caught in the weeds near the bank and move no further. Yet I’ll lend you a strong staff to push with, so you’ll have little to fear.”

As the boatkeeper went to the edge of his jetty and began to busy himself with rope, Beatrice whispered:

“Axl, please let’s not be parted.”

“We’re not to be parted, princess. Look how he makes his knots to keep us together.”

“The tide may part us, Axl, never mind what this man tells us.”

“We’ll be fine, princess, and soon at our son’s village.”

Then the boatkeeper was calling them, and they stepped carefully down the little stones to where he was steadying with a long pole two baskets bobbing in the water. “They’re well lined with hide,” he said. “You’ll hardly feel the river’s cold.”

Though he found it painful to crouch, Axl kept both hands on Beatrice until she had safely lowered herself into the first basket. “Don’t try and rise, princess, or you’ll endanger the vessel.”

“Won’t you get in yourself, Axl?”

“I’m getting in right beside you. Look, this good man’s fastened us tight together.”

“Don’t leave me here alone, Axl.”

But even as she said this, she appeared reassured, and lay down in the basket like a child going to sleep.

“Good sir,” Axl said. “See how my wife trembles from the cold. Is there something you might lend to cover her?”

The boatkeeper too was looking at Beatrice, who had now curled up on her side and closed her eyes. Suddenly he removed one of the furs he was wearing, and bending forward, laid it on top of her. She seemed not to notice — her eyes remained closed — so it was Axl who thanked him.

“Welcome, friend. Leave everything at the lower boathouse for me.” The man pushed them into the tide with his pole. “Sit low and keep the staff handy for the weeds.”

It was bitingly cold on the river. Broken ice drifted here and there in sheets, but their baskets moved past them with ease, sometimes bumping gently one against the other. The baskets were shaped almost like boats, with a bow and stern, but had a tendency to rotate, so that at times Axl found himself gazing back up the river to the boathouse still visible on the bank.

The dawn was pouring through the waving grass beside them, and as the boatkeeper had promised, the river moved at an easy pace. Even so, Axl found himself glancing continuously over at Beatrice’s basket, which appeared to be filled entirely by the animal skin, with only a small portion of her hair visible to betray her presence. Once he called out: “We’ll be there in no time, princess,” and when there was no response, reached over to tug her basket closer.

“Princess, are you sleeping?”

“Axl, are you still there?”

“Of course I’m still here.”

“Axl. I thought maybe you’d left me again.”

“Why would I leave you, princess? And the man’s tied our vessels so carefully together.”

“I don’t know if it’s a thing dreamt or remembered. But I saw myself just then, standing in our chamber in the dead of night. It was long ago and I had tight around me that cloak of badger hides you made once as a tender gift to me. I was standing like that, and in our former chamber too, not the one we have now, for the wall had branches of beech crossing left to right, and I was watching a caterpillar crawling slowly along it, and asking why a caterpillar wouldn’t be asleep so late at night.”

“Never mind caterpillars, what were you doing yourself awake and staring at a wall in the pit of the night?”

“I think I was standing that way because you’d gone and left me, Axl. Maybe this fur the man’s put over me reminds me of that one then, for I was holding it to myself while I stood there, the one you’d made for me from badger skins, which later we lost in that fire. I was watching the caterpillar and asking why it didn’t sleep and if a creature like that even knew night from day. Yet I believe the reason was that you’d gone away, Axl.”

“A wild dream, princess, and maybe a fever coming too. But we’ll be beside a warm fire before long.”

“Are you still there, Axl?”

“Of course I’m here, and the boathouse long out of sight now.”

“You’d left me that night, Axl. And our precious son too. He’d left a day or two before, saying he’d no wish to be at home when you returned. So it was just me alone, in our former chamber, the dead of night. But we had a candle in those days, and I was able to see that caterpillar.”

“That’s a strange dream you speak of, princess, no doubt brought on by your fever and this cold. I wish the sun would rise with less patience.”

“You’re right, Axl. It’s cold here, even under this rug.”

“I’d warm you in my arms but the river won’t allow it.”

“Axl. Can it be our own son left us in anger one day and we closed our door to him, telling him never to return?”

“Princess, I see something before us in the water, maybe a boat stuck in the reeds.”

“You’re drifting further away, Axl. I can hardly hear you.”

“I’m here beside you, princess.”

He had been sitting low in his basket, his legs spread before him, but now shifted carefully into a crouching posture, holding the rim to either side.

“I see it better now. A small rowing boat, stuck in the reeds where the bank turns ahead. It’s in our path and we’ll have to take care or we’ll be stuck the same way.”

“Axl, don’t go away from me.”

“I’m here beside you, princess. But let me take this staff and keep us clear of the rushes.”

The baskets were moving ever more slowly now, pulling inwards towards the sludge-like water where the bank made its turn. Thrusting the staff into the water, Axl found he could touch the bottom easily, but when he tried to push off back into the tide, the river floor sucked at the stick, allowing him no purchase. He could see too, in the morning light breaking over the long-grassed fields, how weeds had woven thickly around both baskets, as though to bind them further to this stagnant spot. The boat was almost before them, and as they drifted lethargically towards it, Axl held out the staff to touch against its stern and brought them to a halt.

“Is it the other boathouse, husband?”

“Not yet.” Axl glanced over to that part of the river still gliding downstream. “I’m sorry, princess. We’re caught in the reeds. But here’s a rowing boat before us, and if it’s worthy, we’ll use it ourselves to complete the journey.” Pushing the staff once more into the water, Axl manoeuvred them slowly to a position alongside the vessel.

From their low vantage point, the boat loomed large, and Axl could see in fine detail the damaged, coarsened wood, and the underside of the gunwale, where a row of tiny icicles hung like candlewax. Planting the staff in the water, he now rose carefully to his full height within his basket and peered into the boat.

The bow end was bathed in an orange light and it took him a moment to see that the pile of rags heaped there on the boards was in fact an elderly woman. The unusual nature of her garment — a patchwork of numerous small dark rags — and the sooty grime smeared over her face had momentarily deceived him. Moreover, she was seated in a peculiar posture, her head tilted heavily to one side, so that it was almost touching the boat’s floor. Something about the old woman’s clothes tugged at his memory, but now she opened her eyes and stared at him.

“Help me, stranger,” she said quietly, not altering her posture.

“Are you sick, mistress?”

“My arm won’t obey me, or I’d by now be up and taken the oar. Help me, stranger.”

“Who do you speak to, Axl?” Beatrice’s voice came from behind him. “Take care it’s not some demon.”

“It’s just a poor woman of our years or more, injured in her boat.”

“Don’t forget me, Axl.”

“Forget you? Why would I ever forget you, princess?”

“This mist makes us forget so much. Why should it not make us forget each other?”

“Such a thing can’t ever happen, princess. Now I must help this poor woman, and perhaps with luck we’ll all three use her boat to journey downstream.”

“Stranger, I hear what you say. You’ll be most welcome to share my boat. But help me now for I’m fallen and hurt.”

“Axl, don’t leave me here. Don’t forget me.”

“I’m just stepping onto this boat beside us, princess. I must attend to this poor stranger.”

The cold had stiffened his limbs, and he almost lost his balance as he climbed into the larger vessel. But he steadied himself, then looked around him.

The boat seemed simple and sturdy, with no obvious signs of leakage. There was cargo piled near the stern, but Axl paid this little attention, for the woman was saying something again. The morning sun was still fully upon her, and he could see how her gaze was fixed with some intensity on his feet — so much so that he could not help looking down at them himself. Noticing nothing remarkable, he continued towards her, stepping carefully over the boat’s bracing.

“Stranger. I see you’re not young, but you’ve strength left. Show them a fierce face. A fierce face to make them flee.”

“Come, mistress. Are you able to sit up?” He had said this for he was troubled by her strange posture — her loose grey hair was hanging down and touching the damp boards. “Here, I’ll help you. Try to sit higher.”

As he leant forward and touched her, a rusted knife she had been holding fell from her grasp onto the boards. In the same instant, some small creature scampered out from her rags and away into the shadows.

“Do the rats bother you, mistress?”

“They’re over there, stranger. Show them a fierce face, I say.”

It now occurred to him she had not been staring at his feet, but beyond him, to something at the back of the boat. He turned, but the low sun dazzled him and he could not discern clearly whatever was moving there.

“Are they rats, mistress?”

“They fear you, stranger. They feared me too for a little while, but they sapped me little by little as they will. Had you not come they’d be covering me even now.”

“Wait a moment, mistress.”

He stepped towards the stern, a hand raised against the low sun, and gazed down at the objects piled in the shadows. He could make out tangled nets, a soaked-through blanket left in a heap, a long-handled tool, like a hoe, lying across it. And there was a wooden, lidless box — the sort fishermen used to keep fresh the dying fish they had caught. But when he peered into it, he saw not fish but skinned rabbits — a considerable number of them, pressed so closely one against the other their tiny limbs appeared to be locked together. Then, as he watched, the whole mass of sinews, elbows and ankles began to shift. Axl took a step back even as he saw an eye open, and then another. A sound made him turn, and he saw at the other end of the boat, still bathed in orange light, the old woman slumped against the bow with pixies — too many to count — swarming over her. At first glance she looked contented, as if being smothered in affection, while the small, scrawny creatures ran through her rags and over her face and shoulders. And now there came more and more out of the river, climbing over the rim of the boat.

Axl reached down for the long-handled tool before him, but he too had become enveloped by a sense of tranquillity, and he found himself extracting the pole from the tangled netting in a strangely leisurely manner. He knew more and more creatures were rising from the water — how many might have boarded now? Thirty? Sixty? — and their collective voices seemed to him to resemble the sound of children playing in the distance. He had the presence of mind to raise the long tool — a hoe, surely, for was that not a rusted blade on the end rising into the sky, or yet another creature clinging to it? — and bring it crashing down onto the tiny knuckles and knees mounting the side of the boat. Then a second swing, this time towards the box with the skinned rabbits from which more pixies were running out. But then he had never been much of a swordsman, his skill being for diplomacy and, when required, intrigue, though who could claim he had ever betrayed the trust his skills had won? On the contrary, it was he who had been betrayed, but he could still wield a weapon in some fashion, and now he would bring it down this way and that, for had he not to defend Beatrice from these swarming creatures? But here they came, more and more — were they still coming from that box, or from the shallow waters? Were they even now gathering around Beatrice asleep in her basket? The last blow of the hoe had had some effect, for several creatures had fallen back into the water, and then another blow had sent two, even three, flying through the air, and the old woman was a stranger, what obligation did he have to her before his own wife? But there she was, the strange woman, hardly visible now beneath the writhing creatures, and Axl crossed the length of the boat, hoe raised, and made another arc in the air to sweep off as many as possible without injury to the stranger. Yet how they clung on! And now they even dared to speak to him — or was that the old woman herself from beneath them?

“Leave her, stranger. Leave her to us. Leave her, stranger.”

Axl swung the hoe again, and it moved as though the air were thick water, but found its mark, scattering several creatures even as more arrived.

“Leave her to us, stranger,” the old woman said again, and only this time did it occur to him, with a stab of fear that seemed bottomless, that the speaker was talking not of the dying stranger before him but of Beatrice. And turning to his wife’s basket in the reeds, he saw the waters around it alive with limbs and shoulders. His own basket was nearly capsizing from the pull of the creatures trying to climb in, preserved only by the ballast of those already inside. But they were boarding his basket only to gain access to its neighbour. He could see other creatures massing over the animal skin covering Beatrice, and uttering a cry, he climbed the side of the boat and let himself fall into the water. It was deeper than he had anticipated, coming above his waist, but the shock of it took his breath only for an instant, before he let out a warrior’s bellow that came to him as if from a distant memory, and he lurched towards the baskets, the hoe held high above him. There was tugging at his clothes, and the water felt honey-like, but when he brought the hoe down onto his own basket, even though his weapon travelled with frustrating slowness through the air, once it landed more creatures than he could have suspected tumbled out into the water. The next swing caused even greater destruction — he must this time have swung with the blade outwards, for was that not bloodied flesh he saw flying up into the sunlight? And yet Beatrice remained an age away, floating complacently even as the creatures rose about her, and now they came from the land too, pouring through the grass on the riverbank. Creatures were now even hanging from his hoe and he let it fall into the water, suddenly wishing only to be at Beatrice’s side.

He waded through the weeds, the broken bulrushes, the mud tugging at his feet, but Beatrice remained further away than ever. Then came the stranger’s voice again, and even though now, down in the water, he could no longer see her, Axl could picture the old woman with startling clarity in his mind’s eye, slumped on the floor of her boat in the morning sun, the pixies moving freely over her as she uttered the words he could hear:

“Leave her, stranger. Leave her to us.”

“Curse you,” Axl muttered under his breath, as he pushed himself forward. “I’ll never, never give her up.”

“A wise man like you, stranger. You’ve known a long time now there’s no cure to save her. How will you bear it, what now lies in wait for her? Do you long for that day you watch your dearest love twist in agony and with nothing to offer but kind words for her ear? Give her to us and we’ll ease her suffering, as we’ve done for all these others before her.”

“Curse you! I’ll not give her to you!”

“Give her to us and we’ll see she suffers no pain. We’ll wash her in the river’s waters, the years will fall from her, and she’ll be as in a pleasant dream. Why keep her, sir? What can you give her but the agony of an animal in slaughter?”

“I’ll be rid of you. Get off. Get off her.”

Locking his hands together to make a club, he swung one way then the other, clearing a path in the water as he waded on, till at last he was before Beatrice, still fast asleep in her basket. The pixies were swarming over the animal skin that covered her, and he began to pull them off one by one, hurling them away.

“Why will you not give her to us? This is no kindness you show her.”

He pushed the basket through the water until the ground rose up and the basket was sitting on wet mud amidst grass and bulrushes. He leant forward then and gathered his wife in his arms, lifting her out. Thankfully she came back to wakefulness enough to cling to his neck, and they made faltering steps together, first onto the bank, then further, into the fields. Only when the land felt hard and dry beneath them did Axl lower her, and they sat in the grass together, he recovering his breath, she becoming steadily more awake.

“Axl, what is this place we’ve come to?”

“Princess, how are you feeling now? We must get away from this spot. I’ll carry you on my back.”

“Axl, you’re soaked through! Did you fall in the river?”

“This is an evil spot, princess, and we must leave quickly. I’ll gladly carry you on my back, the way I used to do when we were young and foolish and enjoying a warm spring’s day.”

“Must we leave the river behind us? Sir Gawain’s right surely that it will carry us all the more swiftly where we’ll go. The land here looks as high in the mountains as we ever were before.”

“We’ve no choice, princess. We must get far from here. Come, I’ll have you on my back. Come, princess, reach for my shoulders.”

Chapter Twelve

He could hear the warrior’s voice below him, appealing to him to climb more slowly, but Edwin ignored it. Wistan was too slow, and in general appeared not to appreciate the urgency of their situation. When they were still not halfway up the cliff, he had asked Edwin: “Can that be a hawk just flew past us, young comrade?” What did it matter what it was? His fever had made the warrior soft, both in mind and body.

Only a little further to climb, then he at least would be over the edge and standing on firm ground. He could then run — how he longed to run! — but to where? Their destination had, for the moment, drifted beyond his recall. What was more, there had been something important to tell the warrior: he had been deceiving Wistan about something, and now it was almost time to confess. When they had started their climb, leaving the exhausted mare tied to a shrub beside the mountain path, he had resolved to make a clean breast of it once they reached the top. Yet now he was almost there, his mind held nothing but confused wisps.

He clambered over the last rocks and pulled himself up over the precipice. The land before him was bare and wind-scarred, rising gradually towards the pale peaks on the horizon. Nearby were patches of heather and mountain grass, but nothing taller than a man’s ankle. Yet strangely, there in the mid-distance, was what appeared to be a wood, its lush trees standing calmly against the battling wind. Had some god, on a whim, picked up in his fingers a section of rich forest and set it down in this inhospitable terrain?

Though out of breath from the climb, Edwin pushed himself forward into a run. For those trees, surely, were where he had to be, and once there he would remember everything. Wistan’s voice was shouting again somewhere behind him — the warrior must finally have arrived at the top — but Edwin, not glancing back, ran all the faster. He would leave his confession until those trees. Within their shelter, he would be able to remember more clearly, and they could talk without the wind’s howl.

The ground came up to meet him and knocked the breath from him. It happened so unexpectedly he was obliged to lie there a moment, quite dazed, and when he tried to spring back to his feet something soft but forceful kept him down. He realised then that Wistan’s knee was on his back, and that his hands were being tied behind him.

“You asked before why we must carry rope with us,” Wistan said. “Now you see how useful it can be.”

Edwin began to remember their exchange down on the path below. Eager to start the climb, he had been annoyed by the way the warrior was carefully transferring items from his saddle into two sacks for them to carry.

“We must hurry, warrior! Why do we need all these things?”

“Here, carry this, comrade. The she-dragon’s foe enough without us growing weak with cold and hunger to aid her.”

“But the scent will be lost! And what need do we have of rope?”

“We may need it yet, young comrade, and we won’t find it growing on branches up there.”

Now the rope had been wound around his waist as well as his wrists, so that when finally he rose to his feet, he could move forward only against the pull of his leash.

“Warrior, are you no longer my friend and teacher?”

“I’m still that and your protector too. From here you must go with less haste.”

He found he did not mind the rope. The gait it obliged him to adopt was like that of a mule, and he was reminded of a time not long ago when he had had to impersonate just such a beast, going round and round a wagon. Was he the same mule now, stubbornly pushing his way up the slope even as the rope pulled him back?

He pulled and pulled, occasionally managing several steps at a run before the rope jerked him to a halt. A voice was in his ears — a familiar voice — half-singing, half-chanting a children’s rhyme, one he knew well from when he was younger. It was comforting and disturbing in equal measure and he found if he chanted along while tugging on the rope, the voice lost something of its unsettling edge. So he chanted, at first under his breath, then with less inhibition into the wind: “Who knocked over the cup of ale? Who cut off the dragon’s tail? Who left the snake inside the pail? ’Twas your Cousin Adny.” There were further lines he did not remember, but he was surprised to find that he had but to chant along with the voice and the words would come out correctly.

The trees were near now and the warrior tugged him back again. “Slowly, young comrade. We need more than courage to enter this strange grove. Look there. Pine trees at this height’s no mystery, but aren’t those oaks and elms beside them?”

“No matter what trees grow here, warrior, or what birds fly these skies! We have little time left and must hurry!”

They entered the wood and the ground changed beneath them: there was soft moss, nettles, even ferns. The leaves above them were dense enough to form a ceiling, so that for a while they wandered in a grey half-light. Yet this was no forest, for soon they could see before them a clearing with its circle of open sky above it. The thought came to Edwin that if this was indeed the work of a god, the intention must have been to conceal with these trees whatever lay ahead. He pulled angrily at the rope, saying:

“Why dally, warrior? Can it be you’re afraid?”

“Look at this place, young comrade. Your hunter’s instincts have served us well. This must be the dragon’s lair before us now.”

“I’m the hunter of us two, warrior, and I tell you that clearing holds no dragon. We must hurry past it and beyond, for we’ve further to go!”

“Your wound, young comrade. Let me see if it remains clean.”

“Never mind my wound! I tell you the scent will be lost! Let go the rope, warrior. I’ll run on even if you will not!”

This time Wistan released him, and Edwin pushed past thistles and tangled roots. Several times he lost his balance, for trussed as he was he had no hand to put out to steady himself. But he reached the clearing without injury, and stopped at its edge to take in the sight before him.

At the centre of the clearing was a pond. It was frozen over, so a man — were he brave or foolish enough — might cross it in twenty or so strides. The smoothness of the ice’s surface was interrupted only near the far side, where the hollowed-out trunk of a dead tree burst up through it. Along the bank, not far from the ruined tree, a large ogre was crouching down on its knees and elbows at the water’s very edge, its head completely submerged. Perhaps the creature had been drinking — or searching for something beneath the surface — and had been overtaken by the sudden freeze. To a careless observer, the ogre might have been a headless corpse, decapitated as it crawled to quench its thirst.

The patch of sky above the pond cast a strange light down on the ogre, and Edwin stared at it for a while, almost expecting it to return to life, bringing up a ghastly and flushed face. Then, with a start, he realised there was a second creature in an identical posture on the far right-hand edge of the pond. And there! — yet a third, not far before him, on the near bank, half-concealed by the ferns.

Ogres usually aroused only revulsion in him, but these creatures, and the eerie melancholy of their postures, made Edwin feel a tug of pity. What had brought them to such a fate? He began to move toward them, but the rope was taut again, and he heard Wistan say close behind him:

“Do you still deny this is a dragon’s lair, comrade?”

“Not here, warrior. We must go further.”

“Yet this spot whispers to me. Even if not her lair, isn’t this a place she comes to drink and bathe?”

“I say it’s cursed, warrior, and no place to do battle with her. We’ll have only ill luck here. Look at those poor ogres. And they almost as large as the fiends you killed the other night.”

“What do you speak of, boy?”

“Don’t you see them? Look, there! And there!”

“Master Edwin, you’ve become exhausted, as I feared. Let’s rest a while. Even if this is a gloomy spot, it gives us respite from the wind.”

“How can you talk of rest, warrior? And isn’t that how those poor creatures met their fate, loitering in this bewitched place too long? Heed their warning, warrior!”

“The only warning I heed tells me to make you rest before you drive your own heart to burst.”

He felt himself tugged, and his back struck against the bark of a tree. Then the warrior was trudging around him, circling rope about his chest and shoulders till he could hardly move.

“This good tree means you no harm, young comrade.” The warrior placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Why waste strength this way to uproot it? Calm yourself and rest, I say, while I study more closely this place.”

He watched Wistan picking his way through the nettles down to the pond. Reaching the water’s edge, the warrior spent several moments walking slowly back and forth, staring closely at the ground, sometimes crouching down to examine whatever caught his eye. Then he straightened, and for a long time seemed to fall into a reverie, gazing over at the trees on the far side of the pond. For Edwin, the warrior was now a near-silhouette against the frozen water. Why did he not even glance towards the ogres?

Wistan made a movement and suddenly the sword was in his hand, the arm poised and unmoving in the air. Then the weapon was returned to its scabbard and the warrior, turning from the water, came walking back towards him.

“We’re hardly the first visitors here,” he said. “Even this past hour, some party’s come this way, and it’s no she-dragon. Master Edwin, I’m glad to see you calmer.”

“Warrior, I’ve a confession to make. One that may make you slay me even as I stand trussed to this tree.”

“Speak, boy, and don’t fear me.”

“Warrior, you claimed for me the hunter’s gift, and even as you spoke of it I felt a strong pull, so let you believe I had Querig in my nostrils. But I was always deceiving you.”

Wistan came closer till he was standing right before him.

“Go on, comrade.”

“I can’t go on, warrior.”

“You’ve more to fear from your silence than my anger. Speak.”

“I can’t, warrior. When we began to climb, I knew just what to tell you. Yet now … I’m uncertain what it is I’ve kept hidden from you.”

“It’s the she-dragon’s breath, nothing more. It’s had little sway over you before, but now overpowers you. A sure sign we’re close to her.”

“I fear it’s this cursed pool bewitches me, warrior, and maybe bewitches you too, making you content to dally this way and hardly glancing at those drowned ogres. Yet I know there’s a confession I have to make and only wish I could find it.”

“Show me the way to the she-dragon’s lair and I’ll forgive whatever small lies you’ve told me.”

“But that’s just it, warrior. We rode the mare till her heart nearly burst, then climbed this steep mountainside, yet I’m not leading you at all to the she-dragon.”

Wistan had come so close Edwin could feel the warrior’s breath.

“Where could it be then, Master Edwin, you lead me?”

“It’s my mother, warrior, I remember it now. My aunt’s not my mother. My real mother was taken, and even though I was a small boy then, I was watching. And I promised her I’d one day bring her back. Now I’m nearly grown, and have you beside me, even those men would tremble to face us. I deceived you, warrior, but understand my feelings and help me now we’re so near her.”

“Your mother. You say she’s near us now?”

“Yes, warrior. But not here. Not this cursed place.”

“What do you remember of the men who took her?”

“They looked fierce, warrior, and well used to killing. Not a man in the village dared come out to face them that day.”

“Saxons or Britons?”

“They were Britons, warrior. Three men, and Steffa said they must not long before have been soldiers, for he recognised their soldiers’ ways. I wasn’t yet five years old, or else I’d have fought for her.”

“My own mother was taken, young comrade, so I understand your thoughts well. And I too was a child and weak when she was taken. These were times of war, and in my foolishness, seeing how the men slaughtered and hanged so many, I rejoiced to see the way they smiled at her, believing they meant to treat her with gentleness and favour. Perhaps it was this way for you too, Master Edwin, when you were young and still to know of men’s ways.”

“My mother was taken in peaceful times, warrior, so no great harm has met her. She’s been travelling country to country, and it may not be such a bad life. Yet she longs to return to me, and it’s true, the men who travel with her are sometimes cruel. Warrior, accept this confession, punish me later, but help me now face her captors, for it’s long years she’s waited for me.”

Wistan stared at him strangely. He seemed on the brink of saying something, but then shook his head and walked a few steps away from the tree, almost like one ashamed. Edwin had never seen the warrior wear such an air, and watched him with surprise.

“I’ll readily forgive you this deception, Master Edwin,” Wistan said eventually, turning back to face him. “And any other small lies you may have told. And soon I’ll release you from this tree and we’ll go to face whatever foe you may lead us to. But in return I ask you to make a promise.”

“Tell me, warrior.”

“Should I fall and you survive, promise me this. That you’ll carry in your heart a hatred of Britons.”

“What do you mean, warrior? Which Britons?”

“All Britons, young comrade. Even those who show you kindness.”

“I don’t understand, warrior. Must I hate a Briton who shares with me his bread? Or saves me from a foe as lately did the good Sir Gawain?”

“There are Britons who tempt our respect, even our love, I know this only too well. But there are now greater things press on us than what each may feel for another. It was Britons under Arthur slaughtered our kind. It was Britons took your mother and mine. We’ve a duty to hate every man, woman and child of their blood. So promise me this. Should I fall before I pass to you my skills, promise me you’ll tend well this hatred in your heart. And should it ever flicker or threaten to die, shield it with care till the flame takes hold again. Will you promise me this, Master Edwin?”

“Very well, warrior, I promise it. But now I hear my mother calling, and surely we’ve stayed in this gloomy place too long.”

“Let’s go to her then. But be prepared in case we come too late for her rescue.”

“What can you mean, warrior? How can that ever be, for I hear her call even now.”

“Then let’s hasten to her call. Just know one thing, young comrade. When the hour’s too late for rescue, it’s still early enough for revenge. So let me hear your promise again. Promise me you’ll hate the Briton till the day you fall from your wounds or the heaviness of your years.”

“I gladly promise it again, warrior. But release me from this tree, for I now feel clearly which way we must go.”

Chapter Thirteen

The goat, Axl could see, was well at home on this mountain terrain. It was eating happily the stubbly grass and heather, not caring about the wind, or that its left legs were poised so much lower than the right. The animal had a fierce tug — as Axl had discovered all too well during their ascent — and it had not been easy to find a way of safely tethering it while he and Beatrice took their rest. But he had spotted a dead tree root protruding from the slope, and had carefully bound the rope to it.

The goat was clearly visible from where they now sat. The two large rocks, leaning one towards the other like an old married couple, had been visible from some way down, but Axl had hoped to come across a shelter from the wind long before they reached them. Yet the bare hillside had offered nothing, and they had had to persevere up the little path, the goat tugging as impulsively as the fierce gusts. But when at last they reached the twin rocks, it was as if God had crafted for them this sanctuary, for while they could still hear the blasts around them, they felt only faint stirrings in the air. Even so, they sat close against one another, as if in imitation of the stones above them.

“Here’s all this country still below us, Axl. Didn’t that river carry us down at all?”

“We were halted before we could get far, princess.”

“And now we climb uphill again.”

“Right enough, princess. I fear that young girl hid from us the true hardship of this task.”

“No doubt about it, Axl, she made it sound an easy stroll. But who’ll blame her? Still a child and more cares than one her age should bear. Axl, look there. Down in that valley, do you see them?”

A hand raised to the glare, Axl tried to discern what his wife was indicating, but eventually shook his head. “My eyes aren’t as good as yours, princess. I see valley after valley where the mountains descend, but nothing remarkable.”

“There, Axl, follow my finger. Aren’t those soldiers walking in a line?”

“I see them now, right enough. But surely they’re not moving.”

“They’re moving, Axl, and might be soldiers, the way they go in a long line.”

“To my poor eyes, princess, they seem not to move at all. And even if they’re soldiers, they’re surely too far to bother us. It’s those storm clouds to the west concern me more, for they’ll bring mischief swifter than any soldiers in the distance.”

“You’re right, husband, and I wonder how much further it is we’re to go. That young girl wasn’t honest, insisting it was but a simple stroll. Yet can we blame her? Her parents absent and her younger brothers to worry over. She must have been desperate to have us do her bidding.”

“I can see them more clearly, princess, now the sun peeks from behind the clouds. They’re not soldiers or men at all, but a row of birds.”

“What foolishness, Axl. If they’re birds, how would we see them from here at all?”

“They’re closer than you imagine, princess. Dark birds sat in a line, the way they do in the mountains.”

“Then why is it one doesn’t fly into the air as we watch them?” “One may fly up yet, princess. And I for one won’t blame that young lass, for isn’t she in a black plight? And where would we have been without her help, soaked and shivering as we were when we first saw her? Besides, princess, as I remember it, it wasn’t the girl alone keen to have this goat go up to the giant’s cairn. Is it even an hour gone by you were as anxious?”

“I’m still as anxious for it, Axl. For wouldn’t it be a fine thing if Querig were slain and this mist no more? It’s just when I see that goat chewing the earth that way, it’s hard to believe a foolish creature like that could ever do away with a great she-dragon.”

The goat had been eating with equal appetite earlier that morning when they had first come upon the little stone cottage. The cottage had been easy to miss, hidden within a pocket of shadow at the foot of a looming cliff, and even when Beatrice had pointed it out to him, Axl had mistaken it for the entrance to a settlement not unlike their own, dug deep into the mountainside. Only as they had come closer had he realised it was an isolated structure, the walls and roof alike built from shards of dark grey rock. Water was falling from high above in a fine thread just in front of the cliffside, to collect in a pool not far from the cottage and trickle away where the land dipped out of view. A little way before the cottage, just now brightly illuminated by the morning sun, was a small fenced paddock, the sole occupant of which was the goat. As usual the animal had been eating busily, but broke off to stare in astonishment at Axl and Beatrice.

The children though had remained unaware of their approach. The girl and her two younger brothers were standing at the edge of a ditch, their backs to their visitors, preoccupied with something beneath their feet. Once, one of the small boys crouched down to throw something into the ditch, provoking the girl to pull him back by the arm.

“What can they be doing, Axl?” Beatrice said. “Mischief by the look of it, and the youngest of them still small enough to tumble in without meaning to.”

When they had gone past the goat and the children still were unaware of them, Axl called out as gently as he could: “God be with you,” causing all three to spin round in alarm.

Their guilty countenances supported Beatrice’s notion that they had been up to no good, but the girl — a head taller than the two boys — recovered quickly and smiled.

“Elders! You’re welcome! We prayed to God only last night to send you and here you’ve come to us! Welcome, welcome!”

She came splashing over the marshy grass towards them, her brothers close behind.

“You mistake us, child,” Axl said. “We’re just two lost travellers, cold and weary, our clothes wet from the river where we were attacked only lately by savage pixies. Would you call your mother or father to allow us warmth and the chance to dry ourselves beside a fire?”

“We’re not mistaken, sir! We prayed to the God Jesus last night and now you’ve come! Please, elders, go inside our house, where a fire’s still burning.”

“But where are your parents, child?” Beatrice asked. “Weary as we are, we’d not intrude, and so wait for the lady or master of the house to call us through the door.”

“It’s just us three now, mistress, so you can call me lady of the house! Please go inside and warm yourselves. You’ll find food in the sack hanging from the beam, and there’s wood beside the fire to add. Go inside, elders, and we’ll not disturb your rest for a while yet, for we must see to the goat.”

“We accept your kindness gratefully, child,” Axl said. “But tell us if the nearest village is far from here.”

A shadow crossed the girl’s face, and she exchanged looks with her brothers, now lined up beside her. Then she smiled again and said: “We’re very high in the mountains here, sir. It’s far to any village, so we’d ask you to stay here with us, and the warm fire and food we offer. You must be very weary, and I see how this wind makes you both shiver. So please, no more talk of going away. Go inside and rest, elders, for we’ve waited for you so long!”

“What is it so interests you in that ditch there?” Beatrice asked suddenly.

“Oh, it’s nothing, mistress! Nothing at all! But here you’re standing in this wind and your clothes wet! Won’t you accept our hospitality, and rest yourselves beside our fire? See how even now its smoke rises from the roof!”

“There!” Axl took his weight from the rock and pointed. “A bird flown to the sky. Didn’t I tell you, princess, those are birds standing in a line? Do you see it climbing in the sky?”

Beatrice, who had risen to her feet a few moments before, now took a step beyond the sanctuary of their rocks, and Axl saw the wind immediately pull at her clothes.

“A bird, right enough,” she said. “But it didn’t rise from those figures yonder. It could be you still don’t see what I point to, Axl. I mean there, on the further ridge, those dark shapes almost against the sky.”

“I see them well enough, princess. But come back out of the wind.”

“Soldiers or not, they move slowly on. The bird was never one of them.”

“Come out of the wind, princess, and sit down. We must gather strength the best we can. Who knows how much further we must pull this goat?”

Beatrice came back to their shelter, holding close to herself the cloak borrowed from the children. “Axl,” she said, as she seated herself again beside him, “do you really believe it? That before the great knights and warriors, it’s a weary old couple like us, forbidden a candle in our own village, who may slay the she-dragon? And with this ill-tempered goat to aid us?”

“Who knows it’ll be so, princess. Maybe it’s all just a young girl’s wishing and nothing more. But we were grateful for her hospitality, and so we shouldn’t mind doing as she asks. And who knows she isn’t right, and Querig will be slain this way.”

“Axl, tell me. If the she-dragon’s really slain, and the mist starts to clear, Axl, do you ever fear what will then be revealed to us?”

“Didn’t you say it yourself, princess? Our life together’s like a tale with a happy end, no matter what turns it took on the way.”

“I said so before, Axl. Yet now it may even be we’ll slay Querig with our own hands, there’s a part of me fears the mist’s fading. Can it be so with you, Axl?”

“Perhaps it is, princess. Perhaps it’s always been so. But I fear most what you spoke of earlier. I mean as we rested beside the fire.”

“What was it I said then, Axl?”

“You don’t remember, princess?”

“Did we have some foolish quarrel? I’ve no memory of it now, except that I was near my wit’s end from cold and want of rest.”

“If you’ve no memory of it, princess, then let it stay forgotten.”

“But I’ve felt something, Axl, ever since we left those children. It’s as if you’re holding yourself away from me as we walk, and not just on account of that tugging goat. Can it be we quarrelled earlier, though I’ve no memory of it?”

“I’d no intention to hold myself away from you, princess. Forgive me. If it’s not the goat pulling this way and that, then it must be I’m still thinking of some foolishness that was said between us. Trust me, it’s best forgotten.”

He had got the fire blazing again in the centre of the floor, and all else inside the small cottage had fallen into shadow. Axl had been drying his clothes, holding each garment up to the flames, while Beatrice slept peacefully nearby in a nest of rugs. But then quite suddenly, she had sat up and looked around her.

“Is the fire too hot for you, princess?”

For a moment she continued to look bewildered, then wearily lowered herself back down onto the rugs. Her eyes though remained open and Axl was about to repeat his question when she had said quietly:

“I was thinking of a night long ago, husband. When you were gone, leaving me in a lonely bed, wondering to myself if you’d ever come back to me.”

“Princess, though we escaped those pixies on the river, I fear some spell still lingers on you to give you such dreams.”

“No dream, husband. Just a memory or two returning. The night as dark as any, and there I was, alone in our bed, knowing all the while you were gone to another younger and fairer.”

“Won’t you believe me, princess? This is the work of those pixies still working mischief between us.”

“You may be right, Axl. And if they were true memories, they’re of long ago. Even so …” She became silent, so that Axl thought she had dozed off again. But then she said: “Even so, husband, they’re remembrances to make me shrink from you. When we’ve finished resting here, and we’re on our path again, let me walk a little way in front and you behind. Let’s go on our way like that, husband, for I’ll not welcome your step beside me now.”

He said nothing to this at first. Then he lowered the garment away from the fire and turned to look at her. Her eyes were closed again, yet he was sure she had not fallen asleep. When Axl finally found his voice, it had come out as no more than a whisper.

“It would be the saddest thing to me, princess. To walk separately from you, when the ground will let us go as we always did.”

Beatrice gave no indication of having heard, and within moments her breathing had grown long and even. He had then put on his newly warmed clothes and lain down on a blanket not far from his wife, but without touching her. An overwhelming tiredness swept over him, and yet he saw again the pixies swarming in the water before him, and the hoe he had swung through the air landing in their midst, and he remembered the noise as of children playing in the distance, and how he had fought, almost like a warrior with fury in his voice. And now she had said what she had. A picture came into his mind, clear and vivid, of himself and Beatrice on a mountain road, large grey skies above them, she walking several steps before him, and a great melancholy welled up within him. There they went, an elderly couple, heads bowed, five, six paces apart.

He awoke to find the fire smouldering, and Beatrice on her feet, peering out through one of the small gaps in the stone that constituted the windows of an abode such as this. Thoughts of their last exchange returned to him, but Beatrice turned, her features caught in a triangle of sunlight, and said in a cheerful voice:

“I thought to wake you before, Axl, seeing the morning grow outside. But then I kept thinking of the soaking you got in the river and that you needed more than a brief nod or two.”

Only when he did not reply did she ask: “What is it, Axl? Why look at me like that?”

“I’m just gazing at you in relief and happiness, princess.”

“I’m feeling much better, Axl. Rest was all I needed.”

“I see that now. Then let’s soon be on our way, for as you say, the morning’s grown while we slept.”

“I’ve been watching these children, Axl. Even now they stand by that same ditch as when we first came upon them. They’ve something down there draws them and it’s some mischief, I’ll wager, for they often glance back the way they think some adult will discover and scold them. Where can their people be, Axl?”

“It’s not our concern, and besides, they seem well enough fed and clothed. Let’s say our farewells and be gone.”

“Axl, can it be you and I were quarrelling earlier? I feel something came between us.”

“Nothing we can’t put aside, princess. Though we may speak of it before the day’s finished, who knows? But let’s be on our way before hunger and cold overtake us again.”

When they emerged into the chilly sunshine, Axl saw patches of ice on the grass, a large sky and mountains fading into the distance. The goat was eating over in its enclosure, a muddy upturned bucket near its feet.

The three children were still beside the ditch, looking down into it, their backs to the cottage, and appeared to be quarrelling. The girl was the first to realise Axl and Beatrice were approaching, and even as she spun around her face broke into a bright smile.

“Dear elders!” She started to come quickly away from the ditch, pulling her brothers with her. “I hope you found our home comfortable, humble though it is!”

“We did, child, and we’re most grateful to you. Now we’re well rested and ready to be on our way. But what’s become of your people that they leave you alone?”

The girl exchanged glances with her brothers, who had taken up positions on either side of her. Then she said, a little hesitantly: “We manage by ourselves, sir,” and put an arm around each of the boys.

“And what is it down in that ditch draws you so?” Beatrice asked.

“It’s just our goat, mistress. It was once our best goat, but it died.”

“How did your goat come to die, child?” Axl asked gently. “The other there looks well enough.”

The children exchanged more glances, and a decision seemed to pass among them.

“Go look if you will, sir,” the girl said, and letting go of her brothers, she stepped to one side.

Beatrice fell in step beside him as he went towards the ditch. Before they were halfway there, Axl stopped and said in a whisper: “Let me go alone first, princess.”

“Do you think I never saw a dead goat before, Axl?”

“Even so, princess. Wait here a moment.”

The ditch was as deep as a man’s height. The sun, now shining almost directly into it, should have made it easier to discern what was before him, but instead created confusing shadows, and where there was puddle and ice, a myriad of dazzling surfaces. The goat appeared to have been of monstrous proportions, and now lay in several dismembered pieces. Over there, a hind leg; there the neck and head — the latter wearing a serene expression. It took a little longer to identify the soft upturned belly of the animal, because pressed into it was a giant hand emerging from the dark mud. Only then did he see that much of what initially he had taken to be of the dead goat belonged to a second creature entangled with it. That mound there was a shoulder; that a stiffened knee. Then he saw movement and realised the thing in the ditch was still alive.

“What do you see, Axl?”

“Don’t come forward, princess. It’s no sight to raise your spirits. Some poor ogre, I’d suppose, dying a slow death, and maybe these children have foolishly thrown it a goat, thinking it might recover itself with eating.”

Even as he spoke, a large hairless head revolved slowly in the slime, a gaping eye moving with it. Then the mud sucked greedily and the head vanished.

“We didn’t feed the ogre, sir,” the girl’s voice said behind him. “We know never to feed an ogre, but to bar ourselves inside at their coming. And so we did with this one, sir, and we watched from our window while he pulled down our fence and took our best goat. Then he sat down just there, sir, where you are now, his legs dangling over like he’s an infant, and happily eating the goat raw, the way ogres will. We knew not to unbar the door, and the sun getting lower, and the ogre still eating our goat, but we could see he’s getting weaker, sir. Then at last he stands up, holding what’s left of the goat, then he falls down, first to his knees, then onto his side. Next thing he rolls into the ditch, goat and all, and it’s two days he’s been down there and still not dead.”

“Let’s come away, child,” Axl said. “This is no sight for you or your brothers. But what is it made this poor ogre so sick? Can it be your goat was diseased?”

“Not diseased, sir, poisoned! We’d been feeding it more than a full week just the way Bronwen taught us. Six times each day with the leaves.”

“Why did you do such a thing, child?”

“Why, sir, to make the goat poisonous for the she-dragon. This poor ogre wasn’t to know that and so he poisoned himself. But it’s not our fault, sir, because he shouldn’t have been marauding the way he was!”

“A moment, child,” Axl said. “Are you saying you fed the goat deliberately to fill it with poison?”

“Poison for the she-dragon, sir, but Bronwen said it wouldn’t harm any of us. So how could we know the poison might harm an ogre? We weren’t to blame, sir, and meant no wickedness!”

“No one will ever blame you, child. Yet tell me, why were you wishing to prepare poison for Querig, for I take it this is the she-dragon you talk of?”

“Oh, sir! We said our prayers morning and night and often in the day too. And when you came this morning, we knew God had sent you. So please say you’ll help us, for we’re just poor children forgotten by our parents! Will you take that goat there, the only one left to us now, and go with it up that path to the giant’s cairn? It’s an easy walk, sir, less than half a day there and back, and I’d do it myself but can’t leave these young ones alone. We’ve fed this goat just the way we did the one eaten by the ogre, and this with three more days’ leaves in it. If only you’d take it to the giant’s cairn and leave it tethered there for the she-dragon, sir, and it’s but an easy stroll. Please say you’ll do it, elders, for we’re fearing nothing else will bring our dear mother and father back to us.”

“At last you speak of them,” Beatrice said. “What’s to be done to bring your parents back to you?”

“Didn’t we just tell you, mistress? If you’d only take the goat up to the giant’s cairn, where it’s well known food’s regularly left for the she-dragon. Then who knows, she’ll perish the same way that poor ogre has, and he was a strong-looking one before his meal! We’d always been afraid before of Bronwen because of her wise arts, but when she saw we were here alone, forgotten by our own parents, she took pity on us. So please help us, elders, for who knows when anyone else will come this way? We’re afraid to show ourselves to soldiers or strange men who pass, but you’re the ones we prayed for to the God Jesus.”

“But what is it young children like you can know of this world,” asked Axl, “that you believe a poisonous goat will bring your parents back to you?”

“It’s what Bronwen told us, sir, and though she’s a terrible old woman, she never lies. She said it’s the she-dragon lives over us here made our parents forget us. And even though we often make our mother angry with our mischief, Bronwen says the day she remembers us again, she’ll hurry back and hold us one by one like this.” The girl suddenly clutched an invisible child to her breast, her eyes closing, and rocked gently for a moment. Then opening her eyes again, she went on: “But for now the she-dragon’s cast some spell to make our parents forget us, so they’ll not come home. Bronwen says the she-dragon’s a curse not just to us but to everyone and the sooner she perishes the better. So we worked hard, sir, feeding both goats exactly as she said, six times each day. Please do as we ask, or we won’t ever see our mother and father again. All we ask is you tether the goat at the giant’s cairn then go your way.”

Beatrice started to speak, but Axl said over her quickly: “I’m sorry, child. We wish we could help you, but to climb higher into these hills is now beyond us. We’re elderly, and as you see, weary from days of hard travel. We’ve no choice but to hurry on our way before further misfortune takes us.”

“But, sir, it was God himself sent you to us! And it’s but a short stroll, and not even a steep path from here.”

“Dear child,” Axl said, “our hearts go out to you, and we’ll raise help at the next village. But we’re too weak to do what you ask, and surely others will pass this way soon, happy to take the goat for you. It’s beyond us old ones, but we’ll pray for your parents’ return and that God will keep you safe always.”

“Don’t go, elders! It wasn’t our fault the ogre was poisoned.”

Taking his wife’s arm, Axl led her away from the children. He did not look back until they had passed the goat’s pen, and then he saw the children still standing there, three abreast, watching silently, the towering cliffs behind them. Axl waved encouragingly, but something like shame — and perhaps the trace of some distant memory, a memory of another such departure — made him increase his pace.

But before they had gone far — the marshy ground had started to descend and the valleys to open before them — Beatrice tugged his arm to slow them.

“I didn’t wish to talk across you before those children, husband,” she said. “But is it really beyond us to do as they ask?”

“They’re in no immediate peril, princess, and we have our own worries. How goes your pain now?”

“My pain’s no worse. Axl, look how those children stand as we left them, watching as we grow ever smaller in their sight. Can’t we at least pause beside this stone and talk further on it? Let’s not hasten away carelessly.”

“Don’t look back to them, princess, for you only taunt their hopes. We’ll not go back to their goat, but down into this valley, a fire and what food kind strangers may give us.”

“But think on what it is they ask, Axl.” Beatrice had now brought them to a halt. “Will a chance like this ever come our way again? Think on it! We stumble to this spot so near Querig’s lair. And these children offer a poisonous goat by which even the two of us, old and weak though we are, might bring down the she-dragon! Think on it, Axl! If Querig falls, the mist will fast begin to clear. Who’s to say those children aren’t right and God himself didn’t bring us this way?”

Axl remained silent for a moment, fighting the urge to look back towards the stone cottage. “There’s no telling that goat will bring any harm at all to Querig,” he said eventually. “A hapless ogre’s one thing. This she-dragon’s a creature to scatter an army. And can it be wise for two elderly fools like us to wander so near her lair?”

“We’re not to face her, Axl, only to tether the goat and flee. It may be days before Querig comes to the spot, and we’ll by then be safe at our son’s village. Axl, don’t we want returned to us our memories of this long life lived together? Or will we become like strangers met one night in a shelter? Come, husband, say we’ll turn back and do as those children bid us.”

So here they were, climbing still higher, the winds growing stronger. For the moment, the twin rocks provided good shelter, but they could not stay like this for ever. Axl wondered yet again if he had been foolish to give in.

“Princess,” he said eventually. “Suppose we really do this thing. Suppose God allows us to succeed, and we bring down the she-dragon. I’d like you then to promise me something.”

She was sitting close beside him now, though her eyes were still on the distance and the line of tiny figures.

“What is it you ask, Axl?”

“It’s simply this, princess. Should Querig really die and the mist begin to clear. Should memories return, and among them of times I disappointed you. Or yet of dark deeds I may once have done to make you look at me and see no longer the man you do now. Promise me this at least. Promise, princess, you’ll not forget what you feel in your heart for me at this moment. For what good’s a memory’s returning from the mist if it’s only to push away another? Will you promise me, princess? Promise to keep what you feel for me this moment always in your heart, no matter what you see once the mist’s gone.”

“I’ll promise it, Axl, and no hardship to do so.”

“Words can’t tell how it comforts me to hear you say it, princess.”

“A queer mood you’re in, Axl. But who knows how much further it is till the giant’s cairn? Let’s not spend any more time sitting between these great stones. Those children were anxious when we left, and they’ll be awaiting our return.”

Gawain’s Second Reverie

This cursed wind. Is this a storm before us? Horace will mind neither wind nor rain, only that a stranger sits astride him now and not his old master. “Just a weary woman,” I tell him, “with greater need of the saddle than me. So carry her in good grace.” Yet why is she here at all? Does Master Axl not see how frail she grows? Has he lost his mind to bring her to these unforgiving heights? But she presses on as determined as he, and nothing I say will turn them back. So I stagger here on foot, a hand on Horace’s bridle, heaving this rusty coat. “Did we not always serve ladies with courtesy?” I murmur to Horace. “Would we ride on, leaving this good couple tugging at their goat?”

I saw them first as small figures far below and took them for those others. “See down there, Horace,” I said then. “Already they’ve found each other. Already they come, and as though that fellow took no wounds at all from Brennus.”

And Horace looked my way thoughtfully, as though to ask, “Then, Gawain, will this be the last time we climb this bleak slope together?” And I gave no reply but to stroke gently his neck, though I thought to myself, “That warrior’s young and a terrible fellow. Yet I may have the beating of him, who’s to say? I saw something even as he brought down Brennus’s man. Another would not see it, yet I did. A small opening on the left for a canny foe.”

But what would Arthur have me do now? His shadow still falls across the land and engulfs me. Would he have me crouch like a beast awaiting its prey? Yet where to hide on these bare slopes? Will the wind alone conceal a man? Or should I perch on some precipice and hurl down a boulder at them? Hardly the way for a knight of Arthur. I would rather show myself openly, greet him, try once more a little diplomacy. “Turn back, sir. You endanger not just yourself and your innocent companion, but all the good folk of this country. Leave Querig to one who knows her ways. You see me even now on my way to slay her.” But such pleas were ignored before. Why would he hear me now he is come so close, and the bitten boy to guide him to her very door? Was I a fool to rescue that boy? Yet the abbot appals me so, and I know God will thank me for what I did.

“They come as surely as they have a chart,” I said to Horace. “So where shall we wait? Where shall we face them?”

The copse. I remembered it then. Strange how the trees grow so lush there, when the wind sweeps all around so bare. The copse will provide covering for a knight and his horse. I will not pounce like a bandit, yet why show myself a good hour before the encounter?

So I put a little spur on Horace, though it hardly makes an impression on him now, and we crossed the high edge of the land, neither rising nor falling, battered all the way by the wind. We were both thankful to reach those trees, even if they grow so strangely one wonders if Merlin himself cast a spell here. What a fellow was Master Merlin! I thought once he had placed a spell on Death himself, yet even Merlin has taken his path now. Is it heaven or hell he makes his home? Master Axl may believe Merlin a servant of the devil, yet his powers were often enough spent in ways to make God smile. And let it not be said he was without courage. Many times he showed himself to the falling arrows and wild axes alongside us. These may well be Merlin’s woods, and made for this very purpose: that I may some day shelter here to await the one who would undo our great work of that day. Two of us five fell to the she-dragon, yet Master Merlin stood beside us, moving calmly within the sweep of Querig’s tail, for how else could his work be done?

The woods were hushed and peaceful when Horace and I reached them. Even a bird or two singing in the trees, and if the branches stirred wildly, down below was as a calm spring’s day where at last an old man’s thoughts may drift from one ear to the other without tossing in a tempest! It must be several years now since Horace and I were last in these woods. Weeds have grown monstrous here, a nettle rightly the spread of a small child’s palm stands large enough to wrap around a man twice over. I left Horace at a gentle spot to chew on what he could, and wandered a while beneath the sheltering leaves. Why should I not rest here, leaning on this good oak? And when in time they come to this place, as they surely will, he and I will face each other as fellow warriors.

I pushed through the giant nettles — is it for this I have worn this creaking metal? To defend my shins from these feathery stings? — until I reached the clearing and the pond, the grey sky above it peeping through. Around its rim, three great trees, yet each one cracked at the waist and fallen forward into the water. Surely they stood proudly when we were last here. Did lightning strike them? Or did they in weary old age long for the pond’s succour, always so near where they grew, yet beyond reach? They drink all they wish now, and mountain birds nest in their broken spines. Will it be at such a spot I meet the Saxon? If he defeats me I may have life left to crawl to the water. I would not tumble in, even if the ice would admit me, for it would be no pleasure to grow bloated beneath this armour, and what chance Horace, missing his master, will come tip-toeing through the gnarled roots and drag out my remains? Yet I’ve seen comrades in battle yearn for water as they lie with their wounds, and watched yet others crawl to the edge of a river or lake, even though they double their agonies to do so. Is there some great secret known only to dying men? My old comrade, Master Buel, longed for water that day, as he lay on the red clay of that mountain. There’s water here left in my gourd, I told him, but no, he demands a lake or river. But we’re far from any such thing, I say. “Curse you, Gawain,” he cries. “My last wish, will you not grant it, and we comrades through many bold battles?” “But this she-dragon’s all but parted you in two,” I tell him. “If I must carry you to water, I’ll have to go under this summer sun, a separate part of you under each arm before we reach any such place.” But he says to me, “My heart will welcome death only when you lay me down beside water, Gawain, where I hear its gentle lapping as my eyes close.” He demands this, and cares not whether our errand is well done, or if his life is given at a good price. Only when I reach down to raise him does he ask: “Who else survives?” And I tell him Master Millus is fallen, yet three of us still stand, and Master Merlin too. And still he asks not if the errand is well finished, but talks of lakes and rivers, and now even of the sea, and it is all I can do to remember this is my old comrade, and a brave one, chosen like me by Arthur for this great task, even as a battle rages down in the valley. Does he forget his duty? I lift him, and he cries out to the heavens, and only then understands the cost even of a few small steps, and there we are, atop a red mountain in the summer heat, an hour’s journey even on horseback to the river. And as I lower him he talks now only of the sea. His eyes blind now, when I sprinkle water on his face from my gourd, he thanks me the way I suppose in his mind’s eye he stands upon a shore. “Was it sword or axe finished me?” he asks, and I say, “What do you talk of, comrade? It’s the she-dragon’s tail met you, but our task’s done and you depart with pride and honour.” “The she-dragon,” he says. “What’s become of the she-dragon?” “All but one of the spears rest in her flank,” I say, “and now she sleeps.” Yet he forgets the errand again, and talks of the sea, and of a boat he knew as a small boy when his father took him far from the shore on a kind evening.

When my own time comes, will I too long for the sea? I think I will be content enough with the soil. And I will not demand the exact spot, but let it be within this country Horace and I have spent the years roaming contentedly. Those dark widows of earlier would cackle to hear me, and hasten to remind me with what I may share my plot of earth. “Foolish knight! You above all need choose your resting place well, or find yourself a neighbour to the very ones you slaughtered!” Did they not make some such jest even as they threw mud at Horace’s rump? How dare they! Were they there? Can it be this woman now rides in my saddle would say as much if she could hear my thoughts? She talked of slaughtered babes down in that foul-aired tunnel, even as I delivered her from the monks’ black plans. How dare she? And now she sits in my saddle, astride my dear battlehorse, and who knows how many more journeys are left to Horace and me?

For a while we thought this might be our last, but I had mistaken this good couple for those others, and a while longer we travel in peace. Yet even as I lead Horace by the bridle, I must glance back, for surely they are coming, even if we go well ahead. Master Axl walks beside me, his goat forbidding him a steady step. Does he guess why I look back so often? “Sir Gawain, were we not comrades once?” I heard him ask it early this morning as we came out of the tunnel, and I told him to find a boat to go downstream. Yet here he is, still in the mountains, his good wife beside him. I will not meet his eye. Age cloaks us both, as the grass and weeds cloak the fields where we once fought and slaughtered. What is it you seek, sir? What is this goat you bring?

“Turn back, friends,” I said when they came upon me in the woods. “This is no walk for elderly travellers like you. And look how the good mistress holds her side. Between here and the giant’s cairn there’s still a mile or more, and the only shelter small rocks behind which one must curl with bowed head. Turn back while you still have strength, and I’ll see this goat’s left at the cairn and tethered well.” But they both eyed me suspiciously, and Master Axl would not let go the goat. The branches rustled above, and his wife seated on the roots of an oak, gazing to the pond and the cracked trees stooping to water, and I said softly: “This is no journey for your good wife, sir. Why did you not do as I advised and take the river down out of these hills?” “We must take this goat where we promised,” says Master Axl. “A promise made to a child.” And does he look at me strangely as he says so, or do I dream it? “Horace and I will take the goat,” I say. “Will you not trust us with the errand? I hardly believe this goat will much trouble Querig even if devoured whole, yet she may be a little slowed and lend me an advantage. So give me the creature and turn back down the mountain before one or the other of you fall in your own footsteps.”

They moved then into the trees away from me, and I could hear the shape of their lowered voices, but no words. Then Master Axl comes to me and says: “A moment more for my wife to rest, then we will carry on, sir, to the giant’s cairn.” I see it is useless to argue more, and I also eager to continue on our way, for who knows how far behind is Master Wistan and his bitten boy?