Chapter 7: Disguises

As they came closer to the bridge, the noise of the water rushing down the rocks and under the feet of the three awaiting soldiers grew more intense, and to Elizabeth had something ominous about it.

She could hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears. Elizabeth desperately wanted to turn around, to make sure that Darcy was behind her, but knew that she couldn't show any outward fear. She listened to the horse's steps behind her on the mossy ground, and shuffling that she prayed was Darcy. Lydia was as quiet as a mouse.

Elizabeth came to a halt when they were within hailing distance of the men. They wore no chainmail or helmets, but their identical dark tunics, with straps crossing from right shoulder to left hip, declared clearly their trade. Their swords were for now sheathed, though two of them were waiting with hands on the hilts. One was small, stocky and muscular; the other, a youth not much older than Lydia, was also short in stature. Both had closely cropped hair. In contrast, the third soldier was tall, with long grey hair, carefully groomed, that touched his shoulders and was held back by a dark string encircling his skull.

Not only his appearance, but his manner differed noticeably from that of his companions; for while the latter were standing stiffly to bar the way across the bridge, he had remained several paces behind, leaning languidly against one of the bridge posts, arms folded before him as though listening to a tale beside a night fire.

The stocky soldier took a step towards them, so Elizabeth addressed him. "Good day, sirs. We mean no harm and wish only to proceed in peace."

The stocky soldier gave no reply. Uncertainty was crossing his face, and he glared at Elizabeth with contempt. He cast a glance back to the young soldier behind him, then finding nothing to enlighten him, returned his gaze to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth heard shuffling behind her, and received comfort knowing that Darcy was there. He had braved ogres to save her sister; she was confident that if things turned bad, he would protect her as promised. Inexplicably, something inside her that instance told her that she would never have to fear that Darcy would fight for her.

In the mannerisms of the soldiers, it occurred to Elizabeth that there had been some confusion: that the soldiers had been expecting another party altogether, and had yet to realise their mistake. So she said, "I'm just from the farming village down the mountain road, sir, on my way to the village beyond the river to my uncle's home. We had hoped to travel by the monastery to pick some medicine from the monks."

The stocky soldier, now collecting himself, replied an unnecessarily loud voice. "Who are these you travel with? Saxons by the look of them."

"Two siblings just come under my care, that I must make the best of. My elder sister traded them for three blankets and a bushel of hay. Now I'm saddled with training them. Why my sister traded for them, I know not because as you see, one's practically a child, and the other a slow-witted mute, so the relief they bring may be slender."

As Elizabeth said this, the tall grey-haired soldier, as though suddenly reminded of something, took his weight from the bridge post, his head tilting in concentration. Meanwhile, the stocky soldier was staring angrily beyond her. Then, his hand still on the hilt of his sword, he strode past to scrutinise the others. Lydia was holding the mare, and watched the oncoming soldier with expressionless eyes. Darcy, though, was giggling loudly to himself, his eyes roving, mouth wide open.

The stocky soldier looked from one to the other as though for a clue. Then his frustration seemed to get the better of him. Grabbing Darcy's hair, he tugged it in a rage. "No one cut your hair, Saxon?" he shouted into the warrior's ear, then tugged again as though to bring Darcy to his knees. Darcy stumbled, but managed to stay on his feet, letting out pitiful whimpers.

"He doesn't speak, sir," Elizabeth said. She was certain that everyone could hear her pounding heart by now. "As you see, he's simple. He doesn't mind rough treatment, but he's known for a temper we have not been able to tame." Elizabeth smiled with as much humility as she could muster. "You must be busy with your duties, gentlemen, and we're sorry to distract you."

But the stocky soldier was still tormenting Darcy. "He'd be unwise to lose his temper with me!" he bellowed. "Let him do so and taste his price!".

The soldier was over a head shorter than Darcy, even with the warrior being hunched with bent knees. Elizabeth thought that it was this obvious difference in height (and build) that led the soldier to fiercely punch Darcy in the stomach.

Both Elizabeth and Lydia gasped.

Darcy, maintaining his disguise, allowed himself to be assaulted, and fell upon the ground with a guttural cry, and lay there whimpering. Elizabeth rushed over, and tried to help him up but Darcy would not oblige, frustrating her. The soldiers all merely watched them in silence. She had to call Lydia over to assist, and the two of them struggled to help the warrior stand. It then struck Elizabeth that a slow-witted mute would not have understood that she was trying to help him; Darcy was simply maintaining his disguise.

Darcy had seen some terrible things, Elizabeth thought. He did not learn to behave like this without experiencing something awful first.

"Sir, if you'd let us pass, we'll soon be out of your way," she said, addressing the soldiers after she had finally righted Darcy.

The stocky soldier said nothing, looking like an angry man who had completely forgotten why he was angry.

The noise of the rushing water seemed only to add to the tense mood, and Elizabeth wondered how the soldiers would react if she were to turn around and lead Darcy and Lydia back towards the woods. But just at that moment, the grey-haired soldier came forward until he was level with the other two and spoke for the first time.

"This bridge has a few planks broken, Miss. Maybe that's why we're standing here, to warn good people like yourselves to cross with care or be down the mountainside tumbling with the tide."

"That's kind of you, sir. We'll go then with caution."

"Your horse there, Miss. I thought I saw it limping coming towards us."

Elizabeth turned in surprise at the horse, and motioned Lydia to lead the horse. Indeed, the horse was limping. Darcy had disguised the horse as well as himself! Now, if anyone looked for them, they would be looking for a lame horse.

"Thank you, sir, I see that now. She must have hurt her foot somewhere on the mountain road; it was not in a good state. I hope it's no serious thing, though we won't mount her."

"Those boards are rotted with the spray, and that's why we're here, though my comrades think there was some further errand must have brought us. So I'll ask you, Miss, if you and this girl have seen any strangers on your travels."

"On one days' journey we've seen nothing out of the ordinary."

"Go on then in peace, Miss." The grey-haired soldier stood aside to let them pass. "And please remember the unsteady boards. Miss, you'd best lead that mare over yourself. It's no task for children or God's fools."

The stocky soldier, who had been watching with a disgruntled air, seemed nevertheless to yield to the natural authority of his colleague. Turning his back to them all, he leaned sulkily over the rail to look at the water. The young soldier hesitated, then came to stand beside the grey-haired man, and they both nodded politely as Elizabeth, thanking them a last time, led the horse over the bridge, shielding her eyes from the drop.

Once the soldiers and the bridge were no longer in sight, Darcy stopped to fix something on the horse's foot, and suggested they leave the main road to follow a narrow path rising up into the woods.

"I've always had an instinct for my way through a forest," he said. "And I feel sure this path will allow us to cut a large corner. Besides, we'll be much safer away from a road such as this, well travelled by soldiers and bandits. Miss Elizabeth, I thank and commend your wiseness in leading us past those soldiers."

Before Elizabeth said anything, Lydia scoffed. "You realise that you got punched because she made a stupid comment about you having a temper, right?" Lydia shook her head at Darcy, as if chiding a child.

Elizabeth turned scarlet in the face of Lydia's off-hand criticism.

"Your sister spoke exactly as she should have," Darcy responded mildly.

"Lydia is right though; your being hurt was my fault. I am sorry. I know a warrior such as yourself must be used to combat, but nevertheless, I hope you are not feeling the sting of it."

Darcy bowed. "It was nothing, and we need not speak of this further."

For a while after that, Darcy led the party, beating back brambles and bushes with a stick he had found. Lydia, now having somehow taken ownership of Darcy's horse, held it by the muzzle, often whispering to the animal, followed closely behind, so that by the time Elizabeth came in their wake, the path had been made much easier.

Even so, the short cut - if short cut it was - became increasingly arduous; the trees deepened around them, tangled roots and thistles obliging them to attend to each step.

"I was just thinking, Darcy. You're not a bad player at that. Your disguise might have had me fooled, and never letting up with it, even with that brute assaulting you."

"Go carefully through that blackthorn there. It's not a spot to take a fall."

That was the only response Elizabeth received from him. As was the custom, he conversed not at all. She fell silent while she negotiated her way between two ancient trunks pressing against each other. Elizabeth thought back to his calling her 'Princess'. It was the second time, and she knew there was some meaning behind it. With it, suddenly came a Vision just clouded by the fog that she wasn't able to make it out. It was the first time Elizabeth had experienced something close to a Vision while awake. She knew that she was hearing Darcy's voice, saying 'Princess', but she wasn't able to make out anything more. By now, Elizabeth was well aware that asking Darcy outright would be useless, so she travelled in silence, frustrated about the fog blocking her mind.

But Elizabeth wasn't made for anger and depression, and she soon turned her mind to the incident at the bridge. "What do you suppose those soldiers were actually there for?"

"Some errand for Lord Brennus, I presume. Neither safe nor proper, I reckon."

It was hard to say if Darcy had been right about his path cutting off a corner, but in any case, they eventually emerged out of the woods back onto the main road. Here it was wheel-rutted and boggy in parts, but now they could walk more freely, and in time the path grew drier and more level.

Then Darcy brought them to a halt again and indicated the ground before them. "There's a solitary rider not far before us," he said. And they did not go much further before they saw ahead of them a clearing to the side of their road, and fresh tracks turning into it.

Exchanging glances, they stepped forwards cautiously.

As the clearing came more into view, they saw it was of a fair size: perhaps once, in more prosperous times, someone had hoped to build a house here with a surrounding orchard. The path leading off from the main road, though overgrown, had been dug with care, ending in a large circular area, open to the sky except for one huge spreading oak at its centre. From where they now stood, they could see a figure seated in the shadows of the tree, his back against the trunk. He was in profile to them, and appeared to be in armour: two metal legs stuck out stiffly onto the grass in a childlike way. The face itself was obscured by foliage sprouting from the bark, though they could see he wore no helmet. A saddled horse was grazing contentedly nearby.

"Declare who you are!" the man called out from under the tree. "All bandits and thieves I'll rise to meet sword in hand!"

"Answer him, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy whispered. "Let's discover what he's about."

"We're simple wayfarers, sir," Elizabeth called back. She repeated her story from earlier. "I'm just from the farming village down the mountain road, sir, on my way to the village beyond the river to my uncle's home. We had hoped to travel by the monastery to pick some medicine from the monks. We wish only to go by in peace."

"How many are you? And is that a horse I hear?"

"One, sir. Otherwise we are three. Myself, and with me a young girl and her half-wit mute brother, lately exchanged for some goods by their kin."

"Then come over to me, friends! I have bread here to share, and you must long for rest, as I do for your company."

"Shall we go to him, Darcy?" Elizabeth asked.

"I say we do," Darcy said. "He's no danger to us and sounds a man of decent years. All the same, let's perform our drama as before. I'll once more affect a slack jaw and foolish eyes."

"But this man is armoured and armed," Elizabeth said. "Are you certain your own weapon is ready enough, packed on a horse amidst blankets and honey pots?"

Darcy chuckled quietly. "It's well my sword's hidden from suspicious eyes, Princess. And I'll find it soon enough when I need it."

"Come forth, friends!" the stranger shouted, not adjusting his rigid posture under the tree. "No harm will come to you! I'm a Briton, and decorated by King Arthur himself! Armed, it's true, but come closer and you'll see I'm just a whiskery old fool. This sword and armour I carry only out of duty to my king, the great and beloved Arthur, now many years in heaven, and it's almost as long surely since I drew in anger. My old battlehorse, Horace, you see him there. We'll travel like this, in full armour, in the name of our great king, and will do so till neither of us can take another step. Come friends, don't fear me!"

They turned into the clearing, and as they approached the oak, Elizabeth saw that indeed, the man was no threatening figure. His armour was frayed and rusted, though no doubt he had done all he could to preserve it. His tunic, once white, showed repeated mending. The face protruding from the armour was kindly and creased; above it, several long strands of snowy hair fluttered from an otherwise bald head.

Elizabeth cocked her head to the side. She knew this man. "Darcy!" she hissed. "I know him!". Elizabeth didn't know when she had fallen into the pattern of trusting Darcy implicitly.

Darcy nodded, and gently, held her dress and pulled Elizabeth behind him. Lydia, on noticing this, immediately stopped walking altogether.

"Ah, the holy fathers at the monastery," the man kept speaking. "I'm sure they'll receive you kindly. They were a great help to Horace last spring when he had a poisoned hoof. But if you seek a cure for your mute, I fear it's only God himself can bring speech to his lips."

Darcy stepped forward in a few quick strides, the foolish look vanished from his features. "Allow me then to surprise you, sir," he said. "Speech is restored to me."

The man under the tree started, and stared at Darcy, who gazed back with a dark look.

Darcy was the first to speak. "Sir Thomas Bennet, perhaps you will honour your daughters by standing up and greeting them."