by Donna Hosie
You are in a monastery, what did you expect them to do? Stagger along in high heels and daisy dukes?
They all had another thing in common as well: not one of them would speak to me. I was nothing to them. I asked for help, begged and yelled, and yet they seemed to walk through me like I wasn’t there.
With my temper and frustration rising, I eventually found a familiar face. It was David. He had removed his cloak and waistcoat and was sitting on a long wooden bench beneath a window. His whole body was hunched forward.
David heard me clumping towards him like a rhino because his head rose. When he saw me he jumped up and bowed.
“Lady Natasha,” he cried. “How is Sir Gawain? I am eager for news, but everyone seems to have forsaken me.”
“He looks pretty crap,” I replied bluntly, “but you looked far worse after the attack by the dwarf-riders. I have no doubt that Gawain will feel obliged to get back on a horse within the hour.”
“And word from Arthur?”
“There was a letter.”
David’s face lit up with a beaming smile and my heart suddenly ached. The sensation was so quick, so out of the blue, that I felt the overwhelming urge to throw my arms around David, to squeeze and mould him into the shape of someone new.
“Lady Natasha, are you unwell? Should I get a physician?”
I shook my head. Spots of perspiration had gathered on my top lip. I wiped them away with the back of my hand.
“You just reminded me of a person I knew, many years ago.”
“Sir Patrick, perchance?”
“What do you know of Patrick?” I gasped.
“Sir Bedivere asked us if we knew of a noble knight called Sir Patrick. He said you spoke of him when you slept.”
I thought I was silent in my nightmares. My fire-breathing mother had sliced my tongue out. Obviously this wasn’t the case.
“Patrick is my brother,” I replied quietly.
“Arthur has more kin? Why, this is glorious news.”
I went to open my mouth to correct David, but my tongue really was gone. Why couldn’t I pretend, just for a little while?
Because that would be a lie, said a muffled voice inside my head. It was fighting a war with my heart. My tongue returned.
“Our brother’s dead,” I whispered. “He drowned when he was little.”
“Drowned?”
“Water, a river.”
David clenched his fist, brought his knuckles to his mouth and kissed them. He was muttering under his breath, a prayer of sorts, but I didn’t care. I had listened to enough words for Patrick. Eulogies at the funeral; inscriptions on a white angel tombstone; the screams of my mother; the accusations; my own lies…
David and I spent the rest of the afternoon keeping one another company.
We played checkers, and I kicked his ass.
We played chess, and I kicked his ass in that.
We played cards, and I let him win a hand.
And then I kicked his ass.
Knights – 1. My self-esteem – 3.
We talked about Arthur – who was now everyone’s obsession – and David’s dead family. His mother, brother and three sisters had all been killed during an outbreak of the plague, many years before the battle that had broken the fellowship of the Round Table.
“I pledged myself to Arthur and the court of Camelot as a boy of ten winters, and I have risen through the ranks to be unrivalled in the sport of jousting,” he said proudly. “I am still an apprentice to Tristram, but the knights regard me as their equal. Sirs Bedivere, Tristram, Gareth and Talan are my family now.”
“Tell me more about the enchanted sleep, David. Were you all really in that grave for a thousand years?”
“I remember little of the battle of Camlann, but I recall the aftermath as if it were yesterday. A vision came to us, a lady who rippled with the water of the lake,” said David, a faraway look in his eyes. “She spoke to Sir Bedivere, and told him that we must wait for Arthur to return. Then glory would follow, and the hand of evil would be smote down and left in ash and shadow. The kingdom was to sleep whilst we waited. We aged – a punishment for allowing the mortal stroke to fall. It is strange to sense the body weakening whilst the mind remains strong, but we were not afraid because we knew we were not dying. Not like that, not without honour. Nimue would appear in our enchanted dreams to tell us that there could be no penitence without suffering, and that the day of Arthur’s return was close, and we would soon be returned to our former glory.”
“That seems rather cruel,” I replied. “Why would Nimue make you age while you waited? I bet she didn’t get any older.” I stopped talking and quickly checked up and down the corridor for a blue haze. Nimue didn’t strike me as the kind of woman who would take kindly to being called cruel.
“To be honest,” I continued, “Nimue scared the life out of me when I first met her, but sometimes I wish she would come back and just tell me what I’m supposed to do here. I’m just stumbling around, making a fool of myself, and people are dying because of me.”
“She was indeed a treasure to behold,” sighed David sadly.
“Nimue is very beautiful.”
“Not the lady Nimue, your lady companion. The one who perished in the claws of the white Ddraig.”
“You mean Eve?”
“She was the loveliest maiden I had ever set eyes upon.”
“I knew so little about her. I know so little about everyone here.”
“Including Sir Bedivere?” asked David wisely.
“Bedivere most of all,” I replied, shooing away a mouse with my boot. “I know nothing about him, except that he’s betrothed to Lady Puke.” I stabbed my heels into the floor with anger and frustration.
David’s face and neck were now bathed in a blotchy pink blush. He wouldn’t meet my eye.
“What is it?” I asked. “There’s something else you’re not telling me.”
“There is to be a tournament in their honour,” said David reluctantly. “Sir Archibald has declared it. He wants to see Sir Bedivere and Lady Fleur wed before we depart Solsbury Hill for Camelot.”
An icy hand had plunged into my chest and was slowly squeezing the last drop of life I had left in me. I was only being my normal sarcastic self when I screamed at Bedivere about depriving Lady Fleur of her wedding night. Had he known? Did he now believe that I knew and that I didn’t care? This wasn’t happening. I’m not that kind of girl. I don’t shove my tongue down the throat of every boy I meet. I’m not Slurpy. Bedivere was different, special. He was my special. I had never felt like this about anyone – ever. The feelings I had for Bedivere were in my blood, in my breath. They were now part of me.
“When are they getting married?”
David shook his head and flapped his hands.
“I know not, m’lady,” he replied. “I am merely repeating what Sir Talan has been told. He was asked by Sir Archibald to prepare a sonnet of confirmation. I had the measure that Sir Talan was not happy about the idea, because of your place now in Sir Bedivere’s heart.”
I grabbed hold of David’s shirt and pulled him up to my height. It was a good job he was still too young to have chest hair, because I would have scalped him in the process.
“You have to help me, David,” I begged. “Swear an oath that you’ll help me. Swear it now.”
David meant to go down on one knee, but I yanked him up again. This time I definitely took a layer of skin from his chest as he winced in pain.
“Forget the knee, and I don’t need you to kiss my hand, or say Hail Mary, turn around three times or do any of those knightly things, just say you’ll help me find Bedivere.”
“It is getting late, Lady Natasha,” said David, squirming under my grip. I realised to my horror that I probably had his nipples twisted in the fabric of his shirt. I let go quickly and he gasped with relief.
“Are you saying they may have already married?” My voice box felt like a python was squeezing the life out of it.
“No, no,” stammered David, taking two steps back in case I grabbed him once more, “but you will be expected to retire to your chambers, now that the sun has set.”
“Retire to my chamber? Do you want a slap around the head? You sound like my brother.”
“Then you would do well to heed to your brother’s judgment,” said David, rather pompously. “Arthur’s word is law and must be obeyed.”
“And pigs will fly,” I snapped back. “Now are you going to prove yourself a knight and help me find Bedivere, or will your honour fail me.”
I could totally get used to having knights at my beck and call. David’s nostrils flared with indignation. He puffed out his chest, and was on the verge of declaring himself my undying slave when a deep boom shook the solid stone walls.
David’s hands instinctively went to draw his sword, but he had taken it off and he was now unarmed. He span around, lost and confused, as another deeper explosion was unleashed. Pale dust from the ceiling rained down on the two of us.
“David, what is that?” I cried, as the first screams started to echo through the walls of the Solsbury Hill monastery.
“It is the sound of evil,” yelled David, grabbing my hand. “You need to reach safety, Lady Natasha, and I must retrieve my sword.”
My first thought was that Solsbury Hill was under attack from another Ddraig, but as David and I ran past a shattered window, I saw a tall, wide panel of blue light outside.
“David, wait,” I said, suddenly stopping. Cautiously, we crunched over the broken fragments of thin glass and peered outside.
There was an immense wall of flame, similar to the Nimue-made haze that had appeared in the tunnel. Except this was bigger, much bigger. The swirling, powder blue vortex was at least thirty feet in length. It had a strange three-dimensional appearance as traces of white smoke churned inside the flickering mass. The tips of the flames darkened the higher they went, so they blended into the starless sky. And then there was the smell. It was sickly-sweet, like toffee.
“Have you ever seen anything like that before, David?” I asked the knight. Both of us were trembling, not through fear, but because a bitter wind was now howling through the lower level of the monastery.
“Never in all my days have I seen such a sight,” replied David. “Come, we must not tarry, Lady Natasha. I must arm myself.”
“Wait,” I cried again. I had seen black shadows moving in the flame. “Something else is out there. In the blue fire.”
“My sword, Lady Natasha,” begged David. “I implore you.”
Without warning, a swirling ball of flame erupted from the bank of blue in the garden. David and I dived for cover as it sped like a cannonball directly at us. As it connected with the stonework, a mass of electrical currents swarmed out across the walls.
“What is this devilry?” yelled David.
The wall disintegrated, choking us in a plume of white dust and crumbled stone. A cry went out.
“The walls of the monastery have been breached.”
Whatever was attacking the building was not friendly. Coughing, both David and I climbed to our feet and ran for the nearest set of stairs.
We were only five steps up when we were met by four visions in white. Their conical headdresses were slightly askew, indicating they had also been flattened by the blast of blue flame. Miraculously, their faces remained veiled.
“Sir David,” said one of the women, and I recognised the voice as that of Miriam who had greeted us upon our arrival earlier that day. “We are gathering in the chapel. Prayer will be our salvation.”
“Take Lady Natasha,” commanded David. “I must arm myself, and go out in battle with the other knights and smote down this evil.”
But I pushed my way through the barricade of white and continued up the stairs, ignoring David’s cries and the screams of the terrified women, as another blast rocked the monastery. I had already made my decision. If Gareth was as decent as I believed him to be, then he would not leave his brother. Whether they stayed in the chamber or attempted to leave, Gareth would need an extra pair of hands. I would make myself useful for once. I certainly wouldn’t cower, or look to a higher being for guidance, not this time.
As I reached the next level, which was lined with a long stone balcony, a wrought iron chandelier, filled with tens of candles, came crashing down. I jumped over the twisted wreckage, but slipped on a rolling candlestick. My left shoulder bore the brunt of my weight as I crashed into the limestone base of a statue. Dazed, and in pain, I looked up into the face of an angel staring down at me. Powder blue smoke was twisting around the wings, making them look like they had been draped in chiffon.
“Natasha.”
The gruff voice had cried out from below. I peered through a gap in the stone columns of the balustrade, and saw Bedivere and Tristram, struggling through a swarm of terrified people. Both were armed with swords.
“Stay where you are, Natasha,” shouted Bedivere frantically. “I am coming.”
Another ball of blue flame pierced the outer wall and shot through into the corridor below. It came through with such ease, the stone walls may as well have been made of paper mache. Bedivere, Tristram and twenty more were swallowed by falling masonry. Thoughts of a September morning in New York flooded into my head. My family and I had been there when the towers fell. I hadn’t really understood the panic and worry back then; I was too little. Now I did. Fear for your own safety starts to play second to the panic you feel for those you love.
I screamed Bedivere’s name, but plumes of choking dust were already rising swiftly in a mushroom cloud. Everything below was obscured. More women in white came running towards me; they were quickly followed by men in long brown robes which looked like potato sacks. All of the men were bald, but their hands glistened like gold.
They were saving the treasures of the monastery.
I screamed for Bedivere again, but the attack on the building was now so ferocious that I knew he wouldn’t be able to hear me. Blue sparks spat at the walls, setting fire to the fringed tapestries that lined every window. Blue and amber flame combined to create an enormous brown monster that was intent on devouring everything in its path. The sickly smell of toffee stuck everywhere.
Yet again I could hear cries of “mother, mother.” This time though it was something more Godly: a mother called Mary.
But I wasn’t waiting to find out if she had any intention of helping.
Black smoke was starting to fill the corridors. With the sleeve of my tunic covering my mouth, I crawled along the stone floor until I reached a turn where the air was clearer. I got to my feet and ran, choking and screaming for Gareth and Gawain.
A black mass surged towards me. It was moving so quickly, at first, I thought it was a gigantic lizard slithering along the narrow corridor.
“Get the girl.”
The voice was cold and oily. It oozed out of the black-hooded shapes. I screamed. Someone at the front of the surging crowd held out his hands, which were tanned from the sun. He had long pointed nails that were painted black. A fizzing ball of light formed in his palms. I had never witnessed anything like it, but I instinctively knew it was going to be used as a weapon. I turned direction, and then dodged to my left and then to my right. The flame shot past my earlobe. From the burning smell, I knew it had come close enough to singe my hair.
I ran back towards the stairs, but the way was now blocked by a wall that had collapsed. I heard my name again, and almost cried with relief as I realised that Bedivere was still alive. I reached the balcony and threw my upper body over the edge, screaming his name.
Bedivere had moved further away from the carnage below, and was looking for another way to climb to the next level. He turned around and looked straight at me.
“My love,” he cried.
Another blast of blue flame shot through the wall. This one was thinner, like a laser beam. Bedivere fell to his knees, and with his body stretched backwards, slid underneath it with his sword clench
ed tightly in his left hand. A wooden cross on the wall exploded into lethal splinters. One, shaped like a pointed dagger, pierced a veiled maiden in the face. She collapsed to the ground, jerking and screaming, as the gauzy material that fell from her headpiece quickly soaked with blood.
A cold hand then pressed down hard over my mouth as a fist connected with my stomach. I choked as the wind left me. I saw the look of horror on Bedivere’s face and knew he wouldn’t be able to reach me. I had to defend myself. My right arm was free, and so I pulled the small curved dagger from the sheath that was attached to my side. My attacker was not expecting the blade that was plunged into his right thigh. A pain shot through my forearm and shoulder; it was harder than it looked, stabbing through skin, muscle and tendon.
My attacker cried out and dropped me, but someone else was there to willingly take his place. Another black-robed figure stepped forward and punched me in the face. That was quickly followed by two more blows to my stomach.
I fell to my knees and stayed conscious enough to register the hood that was placed over my head. I kicked out in the darkness, and then felt the weight of something hard and solid against the back of my neck.
Starlight and Bedivere’s face invaded my thoughts. Then nothing.
Chapter Twenty
M and M
The first sense to come back to me was smell. Onions. Rotting food. I gagged.
Then I registered the scratchy material that was smothering my face.
I couldn’t breathe, panic gripped me.
I was lying on my side with my hands tied behind my back. Painful stabbing sensations were shooting through my arm and shoulder. How long had I been lying in this position? It could have been hours, judging by the loss of circulation in the left side of my body.
I tried to twist my face and head, but the sack simply tightened across my neck. I screamed out.
Then I heard giggling. High-pitched, definitely female.
I fell silent, although inside my head I was screaming every swear word I knew, and I knew plenty – in several languages. I hated that laugh. I had heard it enough times back at Avalon Cottage.