A/N: The adventure continues.
Snawfola snorted with exertion, the muscle in the beast's back bunching with movement as Galahad lifted his head to the skies, watching for the telltale signs of the weather turning. The morning had dawned golden and serene, but as was too oft the case, it spoilt before much time was past. Those heavy clouds so eagerly assembled and filled with their promise of rain and thunder pursued him relentlessly through woodland and over the fields. He cursed both fickle weather and cruel fate, but doubting he could outride the storm decided the best thing would be to find shelter, no matter how dismal. In view of that, he slowed the horse to a brisk gait and looked about, sighting at long last a dense thicket where he and his horse might shelter just as the first drops began to fall. Within moments a heavy shower poured from above, relentless raindrops smashing themselves against the ground.
Riding northwards from his King's keep, past the dwellings of the smallfolk, a vast stretch of wild land unfolded. A ride of many days was needed for its crossing and he should have felt his case a desperate one were it not for the knowledge that he had no need of such exertion. He searched only for the home of the King's once-adviser, which he knew to be hidden somewhere in the rough country. Sir Kay, who had at the time escorted Merlin and his small retinue to their place of exile, had gone as far as to mark the spot out for Galahad by way of description. By his count, he might make the dwelling of the exile by nightfall, if he set forth as soon as the heavy rainfall let up some.
Beneath heavy, leaf-laden branches, sturdy in their old age, he stood with Snawfola. Galahad watched the darkling clouds, allowing his attention to lapse. In the breach, thoughts ran free and, not entirely unexpectedly, turned towards the day's events and, in particular, settled upon Perceval's young sister. He felt himself smile at her earnest expression as she urged him to be off. Such a kind girl, even when she had no need to be. There was no reward he could give her other than words of gratitude, whatever else he might wish. A faint stirring warned against further probing and Galahad complied at once. He had learned long ago that one was best served by listening to such instincts. He shook his head as though to loosen any notion altogether, then focused upon his companion. Snawfola seemed very much pleased to be grazing on the grass below their feet and not in the least bothered by the hand rubbing at his neck. With some wryness, Galahad reminded himself that a horse was the truest company he might wish for in any event.
At lengths, the rain dwindled until only stray droplet fell here and there, leaving the road open and fit for travel. He mounted and urged Snawfola on, for a time content to keep a vigorous pace without pushing the beast into gallop. Behind him passed the grasslands and the tall trees. The day had cooled somewhat, but one could hope for warmth, Galahad considered, eyeing the thin shafts of light spearing through the thickened blanket of clouds. Little of note could he observe upon the road, for neither wain nor rider met him on his travel and what he had of rest remained equally undisturbed.
It was by such means that he came into a clearing sometime past the noon hours and thinking to stop awhile dismounted, letting Snawfola roam freely in his turn. The mount predictably found a patch of tall grass and, bent on filling his stomach, paid Galahad no further mind. He unravelled his own bundle and, sitting under a tree, concerned himself chiefly with the bread and cheese therein.
He had finished a thick chunk the bread when peace was disrupted by the sound of hooves pounding the ground. Galahad wasted little time in reaching the saddlebag where his sword rested before the clearing was flooded by half a dozen men, all mounted and looking worse for wear. Tension swelled as their leader measured the knight from head to toe. Galahad did not refrain from returning the scrutiny. They remained staring at one another for a long moment before the man's face suddenly brightened beneath his helm and he dismounted, holding out his right hand. "Peace, fellow traveller."
"Peace," Galahad agreed, clasping the man's arm with his own, in his turn feeling the other's hold firm and steady upon his arm. "Come sit; there is little enough to be had, but what there is I will gladly share." He had packed light, counting on the hospitality of Merlin's home for a sturdy meal.
"Well met," the leader said, lifting his helm in the next moment. "My men and I have hunted some hares and would fain meet your kind offer with our own." He was a fair man, of middling height, a full head shorter than Galahad. His face was proud, but not unpleasant. "I am Bellangere of Benoye." He then introduced his companions one by one. All men had dismounted and taken off their helms.
A nod was all answer Galahad had to give, wondering still at the state of them. Since he could not pry, he gave them his own name and little else besides. If any thought it strange, they did not pry, but rather brought forth the hares for skinning and twigs for fire. In short order the food was cooking, the men were sitting and the horses were grazing. General discussion was in short supply, as each man saw to his own duties, or if not to his rest. Only Bellangere cast his eyes upon Galahad then and again, to the knight's consternation. He knew not what to make of the attention, but was equally wary of asking. A heavy wineskin was passed around and the drink soothed him some, though Galahad remained ever vigil. They ate and spoke little.
Bellangere's civility was not at all dissuaded by the lingering tension. "We make for Beaulieu. Perhaps we can share the road?"
Galahad, who had no objection to the notion, allowed they might. He was not travelling quite as far as Beaulieu. Still, the mention of the seat could but give him pause. "You travel to the home of Dame Regnelle?" He recalled her well, the woman Sir Gawain had wed, for all that she seldom ventured to the King's court. One could not help but remember her.
"Aye; thought we are distant kin, I seek her out when I can spare the time. Someone has to." Those words had Galahad straightening. It was not difficult to understand his meaning.
"I know her husband, Sir Gawain," he pointed out, keeping his voice neutral. "He too journeys to her when times allows for such." Something very like a deprecating smile answered him.
"Does he, by Jove?" Bellangere of Benoye laughed. Galahad measured his tone and his words, but would not back down in the face of any manner of mockery. "Very handsome of him, I do not doubt. But one would think the duty of a husband might encourage something a more permanent nature." The man snorted and shook his head. "But let us not quarrel over such matters."
And Galahad, indeed, could only agree to that. Sir Gawain mentioned his wife but seldom and it was beyond his power to guess how matters stood between them. The woman he had seen on several occasions, but court stricture dictated that he not approach her and she, in her turn, kept well away from all others. In any event, upon his return, he would mention the travellers to the knight and see what he made of it.
For the time being, the fire was doused and the party rode forth at great speed, crossing the countryside eastward, in the general direction of Beaulieu. As the sun was slowly dipping from sight they reached the western border of Inglewood forest. Merlin's home he could find deep within the woods, that much Galahad knew, as for his companions, they pressed on when he would not follow them.
"Godspeed and farewell," Bellangere called to him before he disappeared into the mirk of clustering trees.
Galahad moved slightly to the side, following an old wain road which seemed not to have seen much use. He allowed his horse a less punishing pace than the one set before and was glad, in time, to reach what looked to be a boarder-fence of sturdy stone. He turned upon a thin ribbon of well-trodden path and soon has a humble hut in sight. The thatched roof and round shape could barely be made out in the approaching darkness and he should have missed it altogether were it not for the fire-pit dug before it where flames danced merrily.
At his approach, a figure presented itself in the doorway. In the dim light, Galahad recognised it for a woman and called out in greeting. "I am come in search of Merlin." She moved closer until she was standing behind the fire, her own words lost upon the wind. He did not pause but pressed on until her greeting smile shone as brilliant as the flames. "Begging pardon, I did not hear you."
"I said, my husband is from home. But you are welcome to await his return, if you so desire, traveller." He bowed and graciously accepted her invitation. "Come, sit at my table and speak of your business." She called over her shoulder and a young lad appeared from Galahad knew not where. "Take care of the horse, Bedir." She coaxed him then her way and Galahad relinquished the reins after he's dismounted, following the woman within.
As custom dictated, she fed him from her larder. The mistress of the house listened to his tale with patience, nodding along every so often as he spoke between bites. By the end of it, her brow furrowed and she sighed. "Alas, for I know not when he might return. He is gone to Beaulieu, to aid its lady." A sense of foreboding gripped Galahad. "But as for your mother, he would have to see her before he might help in any way. And that he cannot do; you must know he is not allowed to appear before the King."
"I'd been hoping for a potion," Galahad confessed, dejected at the turn of events. Also, he could not help but wonder what manner of turmoil brewed at Beaulieu.
"Fear not; the King may have forbidden my husband to step over his threshold, but as for me, he gave no such indication. If 'tis amenable to you, let us proceed in the morning." As quickly as defeat had leapt upon him, it drew back. He was about to agree when the strangeness of the situation intruded upon him and roused his curiosity. Galahad did not shy from asking about Lady Ragnelle and her troubles. "I know not, only that she called for my husband in great haste and he has been gone these past couple of days."
He thought a moment, the quandary fully rearing its head. "I ask a great deal, but would you be able to make the journey to my mother without my escort?" No matter how he considered it, the notion of leaving the good dame to her troubles and the help of distant kin when he was there and might aid, did not sit well with him. He explained his reasoning to his hostess and she seemed to take no offence.
"Do not be concerned. I have men enough to guard me on the road. You mean to ride straightway for the keep? Ah, but I can see you do." She rose and filled his bowl again. "You will need your strength, I do not doubt. Eat your fill and then be on your way."
He obeyed, downing the thick stew she'd provided as his horse was brought out once more. Directions were swiftly given and he was on his way once more, galloping through the forest, nearing its eastern border at great speed. Even so by the time he had cleared the last line of trees, he caught the scent of burning carried upon the wind. Fearing what he might find, the pushed Snawfola harder, lest he reach the keep too late to be of any aid.
His intuition proved correct when in the pallid glow of a barely risen spring sun plumes of smoke curled and drifted heavenwards. With a grumbled curse, he came to overlook the great spire Beaulieu set ablaze and smoking. The scorching flames blackened stone and devoured wood. Wonder took him at such sights and Galahad crossed himself. A great boom of thunder shook the very ground as the tower came tumbling down. Instinct warned against approaching. But Dame Ragnelle's peril weighed heavy upon his shoulders, so he spurred Snawfola on and would not bow to fear.
The rear gate of the keep was fastened shut when he reached it and the stench of burning would hardly let him breath so as to call out. But there was sound of life within, he heard the cries of men, orders for more water to be brought. Holding his sleep up to his nose, he rode to the main gate, finding it wide open. Two guards lay slain upon the ground, their surrounding painted in gore. He recognised but one of them as making up a number of Bellangere's party. He drew out his sword but would not call out for fear of attracting the enemy.
Advancing slowly through the heavy fog of smoke, he came upon more bodies. Snawfola's light feet trod the ground silently behind him. Faint stirrings and quiet, pained moans surrounded him. Still he would not rush within. Cautiously, he mounted the steps leading up to the heavy doors which were only slightly ajar. He slipped through and raised his sword in a defensive stance, able even from his position to hear hurried footfalls and the sound of blades meeting. Galahad quickened his pace and finally caught the first signs of life in the great hall.
Bellangere of Benoye lay upon the ground, fallen in the midst of battle. His enemy loomed above, sword raised heavenwards, but attention fixed upon another; he struck the woman holding fast onto him with such strength that she fell back with a sharp sob. The attacker turned his wrath upon her then and moved in for another blow.
Even had he not recognised the two-headed eagle adorning her sleeve, he could not have missed the scars on her face and was thus made aware of her identity. That was Dame Ragnelle whom the knave molested. He jumped into the fray with an enraged cry, using the momentary confusion to drive back the man with a violent stroke of his blade.
A mad shout answered him as the grim foe launched against him, pitting blade against blade. The skill and strength of his arm was such that Galahad had little choice but to fend off the heavier blows and evade altogether those he might. His adversary was a mountain of a man who cast all in his shadow. His might was equal to his size as his countenance was determined. For all that he was built in the image of giants, he moved his speed and vigour.
With great effort, Galahad managed to push back the goliath a few paces, buying enough time for but one question. "Why do you raise your hand against the lady of the keep?" Like the crack of a whip, those words stopped his adversary short.
Something changed in his foe's face in that moment, as the words reached him finally. Horror struck him and his blade lowered. Galahad kept him own weapon poised for attack. The behemoth's expression twisted from hatred to sorrow and his sword fell heavily to the ground. He seemed to only then be recalling himself, staring at visibly shaking hands in wordless awe. Seeing that, Galahad expelled a soft breath and dared one look over his shoulder. Bellangere had risen to his feet and cradled his right arm tight to his chest. Then he turned his attention to the sobbing woman who had not quite managed to stop the tremors of her own body.
Pity filled him at the sight of her. He took one step forth without a single word. She flinched, eyes moving to his sword. Galahad froze, taking a closer look at her appearance. The coat of arms embroidered on her sleeve was bloodied, but no less so than the rest of her. He felt his mouth press into a grim line. "Fear not, my lady. I mean you no harm." He put down his sword upon the ground and positioned himself so that she might see the palms of his hands. "I mean only to help you up. If you will allow it." He approached as one might a skittish colt, gently pushing his upturned hands to her. Once close enough, he waited.
She looked from him to where he assumed Bellangere and the other man were. Hesitantly then, after Galahad knew not what exchange, she placed her hands upon his own and let him draw her up. Unsteadily, she swayed from side to side until she had no recourse but to press into his side for balance.
The giant, having finally mastered himself, fell upon his knees before them. "My lady, I deserve death." The voice was resolute and regretful all at once. "For striking you. For not defending your home as I ought. I deserve no less than death."
Galahad felt Dame Ragnelle shudder into his side. He had heard whispers of battle madness, an unquenchable bloodlust which gripped the warriors tight in the turmoil of combat and blinded them to all things, leaving only one instinct intact. He had never seen it with his own eyes before.
"That will do, Bertilak," the woman spoke a moment later through the chatter of her teeth. "I seek no retribution."
"Even if she were the vengeful sort, we cannot afford to lose any man now," Bellangere cut in. "You came in the nick of time, Galahad, my boy."
The lady at his side stiffened. "Galahad, son of Lanc–"
"Son of Lady Elaine of Korbenic," he corrected sternly though not unkindly, ever mindful of the woman's condition. "And I should very much like to know what goes on here." Before anyone might answer, the lady of the manor doubled over and with an inelegant gesture of exceeding haste veered to the side and proceeded to empty the meagre contents of her stomach. The unpleasant odour mingled with the pained sounds of her suffering. It was not the most gruesome sight of the day, but he found himself, nonetheless, avoiding the sight. Tentatively, Galahad took off his cloak and wrapped it about the woman's shoulders when the sounds stopped. He pulled her back against him, feeling the weakness in her body.
"They will be back with reinforcements before long. We had best make haste and remove from this place." It was Bertilak who spoke, the deep rumble of his voice filling every nook and cranny. "I will see about horses." As good as his word, the man set about the task.
Galahad glanced towards Bellangere. "Dare I hope we may count on the strength of Merlin? I was told he could be found here."
"Nay. The fell into the enemy's hands, even as me and my men had. I will tell you all I know, but we must away." For that, however, they had to find the horses.
In the courtyard, they came upon servants and injured men-at-arms. The corpses had been piled together as well. Horses had been found and the riding party assembled. Dame Ragnelle quite intelligently encouraged her people to cause no trouble should foreign riders come again. "Seek to keep them pleased and content. It helps no one if any more should lose their lives."
They would be once more half a dozen, but from those little more than half could fight. One would be a lady and the other an injured man. Galahad told himself it was better than naught as he mounted atop Snawfola. By mutual agreement with Bellangere, he rode at the head of the party and Dame Ragnelle behind him. Their flanks were protected by one rider on each side and at last the rear was taken up by Bellangere and Bertilak.
They could not risk the shortest route to Camelot, thus they moved southward into the greater Inglewood forest, hoping to confuse and elude any pursuers. Coming to rest in a small grove, the six of them broke bread, but dared not light a fire lest the smoke give them away. The horses were secured and left to graze and Galahad finally insisted upon hearing the whole of it from those involved.
He gave precedence to Gawain's wife, as Bertilak was binding Bellangere's injured limb and the other two men were mere foot soldiers. Moving the both of them a space away, he let the woman sit, wrapped still in his cloak. But in truth her wan face and dismal condition made it very difficult to press her into speech. "My lady, if I am to deliver you to your husband in such a condition, I had best have some answers for him. Did they harm you?" He winced at the inadequacy of the question.
"Harm me? Indeed not. Their leader wished to wed me, for Beaulieu and its lands, of course." She spoke calmly enough. "He knew I was wed and knew as well that my husband had visited but recently. He said he was content to wait until he might be certain I could accommodate his claim. I was spared the shame of that at least." Galahad could not hold her gaze. Dame Ragnelle was not a young woman. She had to be about his mother's age, judging by the subtle crow's feet he could detect. "To hear him tell it, the father of his father's father was brother to a master of the keep and that gives him claim. He told me also that he would smite my husband the next time he came. Yet it was Sir Bellangere who arrived at my doors. And I could do naught to protect him."
"You carry no blame in this matter." He gingerly took her hand in his own rough ones. "Whoever this pretender crept from the shadows thinks he might be and whatever words his forked tongue spewed, you must take none of it to heart. Sir Gawain shan't let the insult go unpunished."
She kept her limb stiff, though her voice continued in its soft way once more. "You are a kind child." Dame Ragnelle did not believe him. He could hear it in her words and see it in her eyes. He pressed on despite that, learning all he could about the fiends who'd set upon a helpless woman. She answered his questions as best she could, naming their leader, "Argarot, he calls himself. His men are thieving villains, but skilled with a sword and strong enough of arm. Where that fails them, they are cunning. I have not been able to learn much of them, but what my people have said, for Argarot seeing himself master of the keep, ordered me to my chambers." And none has risked a rescue for fear of compromising the woman until Bellangere and his men came. Galahad ventured to say as much. "Perhaps they would have taken heart, but I was sick and none knew how matters might turn out in the end. Sir Bellangere had the misfortune of being saddled with the task in their stead."
"Sick, my lady?" Her colour and disposition made more sense, but such a vague term failed to define what ailed her.
"Sick," she confirmed. "I had hoped to cause no one trouble, yet here I am." Dame Ragnelle sighed.
Colour rose in his cheek. Since she would not deign to be incensed at the paltry excuse for inaction, he would take it upon himself. "Sick or not, you ought to have had the protection of your people." Was she not the one who'd begged his King to intercede when riders from Logres had come with great press of men and made war upon the eastern border? Had she not strengthened the King's interest by wedding Sir Gawain? He would let her husband know that as well and then he might wash his hands of the whole affair.
"Do not despise them, Sir Galahad," she pleaded, "for they are simple people, my servants, and their life is difficult enough. On the border, we must all survive the best we can." That pleased him no better than her earlier words. But, bless her heart, the woman would not let up. "I pray you, seek no punishment against them, neither put such a thought in Sir Gawain's head. 'Tis not their fault." She glanced at him with such eyes that he had a difficult time refusing her.
Nevertheless, he must. "I will not burden your husband with anything he need not know," he spoke. "Yet one of the things I will mention is setting a proper guard, lest your Bertilak strike you down permanently in one of his rages."
"I beg you wouldn't," she insisted, for the first time voluntarily touching him. Her hand wrapped around his tightly. "Ser Bertilak had the care of my brother and myself for many a year, he fought and shed blood for us. Much of it. I do not fault him his moods in the least."
"My lady, he could snap you in twain," Galahad protested. "If you've no care for yourself, be assured that the rest of us do."
"I suppose he could," Dame Ragnelle allowed to his earlier point. "But then my horse might throw me from the saddle, a great branch might fall upon me and do grave injury, or the ague might take me. Sir Bertilak has ever been my faithful champion." A deep history aside, such epithets as she heaped upon the man ought to be descriptors of her husband.
Unwilling to pursue the subject any further, Galahad gave a sharp nod. "As you say, my lady, anything can happen." He was no less determined to bring up all the issues he had mentioned to her husband. Let Gawain do as he knew best and God protect all men from the soft hearts of women. Why, Galahad had the faint suspicion that she would forgive even the brigands who destroyed her home if given half the chance. "Rest then a while, for we ride again soon." He left her to it, seeking to speak with Bellangere. Perhaps that might prove less of a headache.
The knight was testing his makeshift sling by gently moving his arm to one side then the other. At his arrival, the man merely nodded his head in welcome. Galahad sat by him and for a time was content to say not a word. But when he could no longer put it off, he did speak thusly, "We had best mount and seek the protection of Camelot." It was agreed to and soon enough done.
But their route had added many an hour to the journey and though the weather held, it soon became clear that not all were blessed with strength for such a journey. Upon their second morning in the wilderness, Dame Ragnelle's pallor grew even starker, making some of the markings on her face stand out. Thin reddish lines cut across otherwise smooth skin. The purple of her bruises oppressed her further. And worse, what little store of strength she had to call upon the other day, it had dwindled considerably, for so sick was the lady that she could not sit her horse, nor do much besides breathing heavily.
There was no leech amongst them, nor was any man particularly knowledgeable in the realm of ailments such as she exhibited. Since they had determined no flesh wound was involved, all that could be done was to transfer her to the care of another rider. Galahad took her upon Snawfola, for the charger's gait was smooth and would not needlessly jostle her. He was also a mount larger than the rest and might bear the burden easier. Their pace suffered some, for their need for stops had grown in frequency, which meant they spent yet another night in the woods.
By the third day it became apparent they would have to press on regardless of the lady's weakness. They could not afford to call attention to themselves and the longer they remained on the road, the greater the risk of detection.
He would have sent Bellangere ahead, deeming it by far the best to keep the hale men with him for protection, but as he would not go, declining to follow them past the forest's border, he had to make do with one of the others. Sir Bertilak he would not send, however, for the imposing stature might well work to their advantage should they encounter trouble so close to home.
To his utter relief, his return was marked by a number of his brethren who made the journey towards them. At the head of the party stood Gawain himself and the man would not rest easy until his wife was safely deposited upon Gringolet's saddle. He spoke but little to Galahad, seeming more interested in his spouse, as one might expect.
He fell in by the side of Perceval and his younger brother, who wasted not a moment in questioning the circumstances of his arrival and the identity of his companions. "I've never seen a man leeched of colour as fast as Sir Gawain when he heard his wife was in a poor state. You've managed to set the whole court aflutter, I will have you know."
End Note: That should do it for now.