Gawain

by Gwen Rowley

  “Well?” the leader demanded.

  “It’s done,” Aislyn said. “They’re resting.”

  “The babe—it is whole?”

  “She is beautiful. And the mother came through it just fine,” she added, seeing from the corner of her eye that the redheaded lad dropped his face into his hands with a shuddering breath of relief.

  The leader, Torquil, smiled and poured mead into a wooden bowl. “To wet the baby’s head,” he said, handing it to Aislyn.

  “Now, don’t you even think to go a-pouring mead on— oh!” The man raised his own bowl, and all the others followed suit.

  “To the babe,” they said, and drank, looking as pleased with themselves as if they’d all delivered the child. Aislyn sat down among them and accepted bread and cheese, thinking that they weren’t so different from any other men she’d known.

  “To my lady Elga,” the youngest cried, his eyes aglow. “She is well? You are sure of it?”

  You’d best learn to hide your feelings a bit better than that, my lad, Aislyn thought. Apparently the leader thought so, too. He turned and snapped a few words that Aislyn didn’t catch, and the young man set down his bowl and went off toward the horses.

  Torquil caught her eye. “He is young.”

  He is in love, Aislyn thought, but she only said, “Where’s her husband? He should be here.”

  “Soon. I sent to him. Swift horse, strong rider. Soon he comes.”

  “The lady told me she’s a peaceweaver,” Aislyn said, leaning her back against a tree trunk and holding out her empty bowl. The men exchanged looks.

  “Aye,” the leader said, refilling her bowl. “Peaceweaver. It is—not easy. Many battles have we fought. Much death have we seen. We men—” He shrugged. “We are—what is your word? We fight—”

  “Warriors,” Aislyn supplied.

  “Warriors,” he repeated, nodding. “Our enemies, too, are warriors. They fight well, we fight—better,” he said, which provoked a burst of laughter from the men. “Now it is done. We meet, we talk, we drink, we give honor to the fallen. Not so for the women. The peace—for them, it is not here.” He touched his heart. “They are—unkind—to the lady.”

  Aislyn nodded her understanding. “That’s a heavy burden for a lass to bear.”

  “She is strong. Now she is a mother, it will be better.”

  There was some muttering at that, but the leader cut it off with a glare. “You stay,” he said to Aislyn, “until the women come.” He turned his head, and a moment later, all the men followed suit. “They come now,” he said, and only then did Aislyn heard the sound of hoofbeats in the forest. “Good. Soon we bring you home.”

  Chapter 26

  GAWAIN spotted the smoke first, a thin tendril threading through the branches of the trees. He dismounted some distance away and approached on foot, drawn sword in his hand.

  The villagers had said a band of Saxons was on the loose, but this did not seem to be a warrior’s encampment. He did not even meet a guard until he was almost upon them, and then it was hardly more than a boy who he took completely unaware.

  Gawain sheathed his sword and raised a hand, palm up. “I seek an old woman,” he said, “and I was told—” He broke off, turning toward a stand of trees, where a shrill voice was shouting.

  “You thrice-cursed son of a goat, you—you craven bully!”

  Gawain met the boy’s eyes. “I think I’ve found her.”

  The lad nodded and gestured Gawain ahead, not even bothering to relieve him of his weapon. Shaking his head at this laxness, Gawain passed through a clearing where a fire still smoldered, a grin tugging at his mouth as Ragnelle’s voice became clearer. If the Saxons had taken her prisoner, they must be regretting it by now.

  “You oaf, you lout, you—you festering carbuncle! If you knew what she suffered bearing your babe, you’d be on your knees right now begging her pardon!”

  “Be quiet, old woman!”

  Gawain could see Ragnelle now, arms akimbo as she faced a Saxon twice her size. Half a dozen warriors stood about, faces so carefully expressionless that Gawain suspected they were struggling against laughter.

  His own smile died when he recognized the man Aislyn faced. Gudrun. The Saxon thane’s own brother and Aesc’s envoy to King Arthur’s court. He was scowling, rage twisting his features as Ragnelle went on. “But did she complain? She did not! She gave you a fine daughter, and what do you say but—”

  “Hold your tongue!” Gudrun cried, and raised his hand as though to strike her.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Gawain said, stepping into the clearing.

  “’Tis Sir Gawain,” the men murmured, “the Hawk of May.”

  He walked past them without speaking, his eyes fixed on Gudrun’s face.

  “Ah, Sir Gawain,” Gudrun said, struggling to compose himself. “Good.”

  Gawain kept walking until he and Gudrun were eye to eye. “If you have aught to say to my lady, ’tis better said to me.”

  “His lady?” he heard the men around him murmur. “Is she his mother? Granddame?”

  “This old woman does not know when to shut her foul mouth,” Gudrun spat. “She needs a beating.”

  “That,” Gawain replied, “is not for you to say.” He turned to Ragnelle. “Lady, have you been mishandled in any way?”

  “Nay, but an apology is owing. Not to me,” she added quickly. “ ’Tis his own lady’s pardon he should beg.”

  “That is between him and his lady,” Gawain replied. “You are my concern. If you have no complaint, let us depart this place forthwith.”

  “I won’t leave her,” Ragnelle declared, her voice rising shrilly. “Not until I’m sure she will be cared for.”

  Gawain sighed. “Who must be cared for? And why is it your concern?”

  “I delivered the baby, didn’t I? And I won’t go until I have his word”—she jerked her head toward Gudrun— “that she’ll be looked after properly.”

  “Sir Gudrun,” Gawain said, “if you would be so kind as to explain—”

  “I owe you no explanations, Hawk of May. Take your bitch and begone.”

  Gawain eyed the Saxon narrowly. “I can only believe you spoke without thinking. Do you reflect and try again.”

  “I said what I meant,” Gudrun spat.

  “I beg you to reconsider.”

  Gudrun broke into a loud laugh. “Hark you all to that? Sir Gawain begs me!”

  A hard-faced warrior stepped from the shadow of the tree against which he had been leaning. “Sir Gudrun,” he said, low-voiced, “I believe you mistake him.”

  “I? Nay, ’tis you who mistake me—just as you have ever done—but I am in command here. Now stand back and hold your tongue.”

  The man met Gawain’s eye and gave the slightest of shrugs before he resumed his place against the tree, arms folded across his chest and an ironic smile curling his lip.

  “Sir Gawain, you were saying?” Gudrun went on. “Ah, no, you were begging! Pray do contin—”

  He reeled back as Gawain’s glove struck him smartly across the cheek.

  “You shall meet me in the lists, Sir Gudrun.”

  “The lists! Oh, no, I’ll meet you here and now, man to man—” Gudrun cried, reaching for his sword.

  “With fists.” The man who had spoken earlier once again detached himself from his tree and stepped forward. “Fists. No weapons. That is custom.”

  Gawain relaxed his grip on his own sword. “Very well.”

  “Don’t do it,” Ragnelle said in an undertone as he removed his cloak and unbuckled his scabbard. “This is all my fault—”

  “Probably,” Gawain agreed, handing her his sword. “What happened?”

  “His wife was delivered of a babe this afternoon—the others brought me here to help her. She’s a good lass—far too good for him—and bore a fine daughter. Well, he comes riding up and what does he say but that she’s worthless for not giving him a son, shouting at the poor girl until she was in tears
. So I lit into him. I was that angry that I didn’t mind what I said.”

  He regarded her a moment, then nodded briefly. “I see.”

  “It had naught to do with you,” she said. “I don’t know why you had to go butting in.”

  “Would you rather I had let him go on abusing you?”

  “Well, no, but this is my fight, not yours.”

  “Your fights are mine,” he replied. “Now, if you will stand aside—”

  “I shan’t! The king won’t like this,” she said quickly, “you know he won’t. I suppose it wouldn’t kill me to beg Gudrun’s pardon—”

  “You shall do no such thing.”

  “But what if—”

  Gawain took her by the elbows, lifted her, and set her down on the far side of the path. “Stand here. Keep silent.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, then seemed to reconsider. “Aye, Gawain. Just as you say.”

  “And no magic.”

  “Magic?” She widened her eyes. “Me?”

  “Aye, you. Promise me you won’t interfere.”

  “But—”

  “Your word on it.”

  She scowled fiercely. “Oh, very well, you have my word.”

  GUDRUN was a big man. He was not quite so tall as Gawain, but far heavier, with the thickly muscled arms of a blacksmith. The Saxons ringed them round, shouting out encouragement as the two stepped into the clearing and circled each other warily.

  Gudrun landed the first blow, and Aislyn winced as his fist connected to Gawain’s jaw. Gawain rocked back, but did not fall, and he easily sidestepped Gudrun’s second attempt, which sent the Saxon staggering off balance, though he recovered himself quickly and scrambled out of reach. Gawain nodded thoughtfully as they went back to circling, and Aislyn—to the great amusement of the warriors—began to dance with impatience.

  “Hit him!” she cried, demonstrating. “Knock him down!”

  At that moment, Gudrun rushed forward. Gawain took one step to the side, easily evading the Saxon’s fist, and brought his own up. Gudrun rocked back with a grunt, tripped over his own feet and sprawled upon the forest floor.

  Gawain glanced over to Aislyn with a grin. “Like that?” he called, and Aislyn’s answer was lost amid a burst of laughter.

  “Sir Gudrun, shall we call it—” Gawain began, but Gudrun was already on his feet again, charging forward with his fists up and his head lowered. Without seeming to make the slightest effort, Gawain knocked him down again.

  And again.

  And once more, until the Saxon Torquil stepped forward and held up his hands. “It is decided,” he said. “Sir Gawain is the victor.”

  Gawain was not even breathing hard as he buckled the sword harness across his chest, giving his shoulders a shake to settle the hilt. Gudrun was sitting up, spitting out a mouthful of blood and angrily refusing all offers of assistance. As she and Gawain turned to leave, Torquil stepped before them.

  “Thank you,” he said to Aislyn and touched his brow. “He did not say it,” he added, jerking his chin toward Gudrun, “so I do.”

  “You are quite welcome,” Aislyn answered, and led Gawain into the clearing where Lady Elga still lay, her baby in her arms. Several of the Saxon women were there, as well, standing about uncertainly. One, Gudrun’s mother, tried to stop them, but fell back at a sharp word from the girl, who gestured them closer. She looked up at Aislyn through reddened eyes and smiled wanly.

  “Lady,” Aislyn said. “This is Sir Gawain. My—my husband,” she added. “He’s come to fetch me home.”

  Elga’s eyes widened, but she only nodded and shifting the babe, held out her free hand. “Sir Gawain,” she said, “your name is known to me. Thank you for the—the gift of your lady’s help. I know not how we would have lived without her.”

  She spoke with a simple dignity that touched Aislyn, and apparently Gawain, as well. He went down upon one knee and smiled. “May I see your daughter?”

  Elga’s face lightened as she lifted the babe.

  Gawain peered into the tiny, wrinkled face and said with every appearance of sincerity, “She is lovely.”

  Tears shone in the girl’s eyes. “Thank you.”

  “You rest now,” Aislyn said. She turned to Gudrun’s mother. “Rest,” she repeated. “You ken the word? She’s not to be moved, not for another day or two.”

  The woman made a harsh sound and flapped her hands. “Go.”

  “I’m going,” Aislyn said, “but you mind what I say. No moving. Not today, not tomorrow. Stay here.” She pointed to the earth.

  “Go!” the woman repeated.

  Aislyn hobbled off, but before they reached the horse, she saw the young redheaded Saxon hovering between the trees as though he could not quite make up his mind to approach them.

  “Hi, there, you!” Aislyn called, gesturing him over. “Lady Elga mustn’t be moved for another day—two would be better,” she said, holding up two fingers. “She stays here and rests.”

  The young man nodded. “Two days. Yes.”

  “Gudrun might not want to wait,” Aislyn began.

  “Gudrun.” The young man turned his head and spat.

  “Right then, we understand each other well,” Aislyn said.

  The boy looked at Gawain. “Hawk of May,” he said, “I thank you.” He touched his chest with a clenched fist, then turned and ran into the forest.

  “What—?” Gawain began.

  “He’s in love with her, poor wight,” Aislyn said. “But mayhap he’ll see she isn’t moved. I wouldn’t put it past that old bitch to have them rig a litter today—and drag it over every rut and hillock betwixt here and wherever it is they come from.”

  Gawain said nothing more as he helped her mount, then swung himself into the saddle. They rode on for a time, and then he said, “What does the old woman have against her?”

  “She’s Gudrun’s mother,” Aislyn explained, “and the girl is a peaceweaver. That means—”

  “I know what a peaceweaver is,” Gawain said. “It is a role the Saxons honor highly.”

  “The men do. The women see it a bit differently. Yon Saxon laddie explained it—you know, the one that said it must be fists. He likes Lady Elga,” Aislyn said drowsily. “All the men like her. So far as they’re concerned, the fighting’s over and that’s the end of it. But it seems the women have a harder time accepting changed conditions. The peace is not in their hearts—that’s how he put it. Bit of a poet, or so he seemed to me, for all he barely speaks our tongue.”

  “A poet?” Gawain snorted. “Those Saxons know naught of poetry. They are savages—”

  “No, they’re not. They’re men like any others—fierce in battle but all knees and elbows when it comes to women’s matters. Yet nice enough for all that,” she added on a yawn. “When we were wetting the babe’s head, they were all mannerly enough—more so than some other knights I’ve met.”

  “You drank with them?” he asked, surprised.

  “Aye, and good mead they had, too. I’d like to know the trick of brewing it . . .” She leaned her cheek against his back, then drew away. “I wish you wouldn’t wear your sword like that. Why don’t you get a hip scabbard?”

  “A hip scabbard?”

  “Half the knights at court are wearing them, and they look right handsome, too.”

  “Oh, aye—right up until the moment they need to draw their sword and find it tangled in their cloaks! Then they just look dead.”

  “Well, it makes a cruel hard pillow,” Aislyn grumbled, “and those Saxons had me up just after dawn. Can we not stop a bit?”

  “We’ll be late enough already—”

  Not late enough for me, she thought, wondering how to best convince him to return her to her hut. “’Tis a pretty wood,” she said, “and the evening is fine. We can get an early start tomorrow. Oh, go on, you’re not in all that much of a hurry to get back, are you?”

  “No, I suppose not.” He looked around the glade as though seeing it for the first time, and his e
yes lit in the way they used to do so long ago as he took in the running brook, its surface glittering beneath the westering sun, and the deep violet shadows beneath the hanging branches. “Aye, you are right, this is a bonny spot . . . but unless yon Saxon laddie gave you provisions, we’ve naught to eat.”

  “A night’s fast won’t hurt us. Unless,” she added, struck by a sudden inspiration, “d’you think there are any fish in that stream?”

  That caught his interest as she had known it would. He dismounted and helped Aislyn down, then hung Gringolet’s saddle on a branch and looped the reins over it. The stallion bent his head and began to pull at the thick grass as Gawain walked to the bank and crouched to peer into a pool. “Look at them all! If only I had a line . . .”

  “We could use my shawl as a net,” Aislyn suggested. She hiked up her skirts, tucking them into her girdle, and chose a spot upstream from the pool where the water ran shallow, enjoying the feeling of it on her feet, cool enough to soothe but not so cold as to make her bones ache. “I’ll stand here and you can drive them toward me,” she said, spreading her shawl before her.

  Gawain regarded her for a moment, no doubt reflecting on the improbability of catching anything by that method, but then he shrugged and snapped two leafy branches from the tree above his head. “Move to your left a bit,” he said, pulling off his boots.

  Aislyn was pleased to see him grin as he waded barefoot into the brook. “Ready?”

  She grasped the edges of her shawl. “Go on.”

  His face was intent as he peered into the water, and slowly he began to move in her direction, sweeping the branches to either side. “There!” he cried, surprising her, and she pulled the shawl tight, lifting it into the air. The unexpected weight of it sent her reeling, but he ran to her and caught her before she fell.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Aye, I’m fine—and look!” She held the wriggling shawl aloft. “I got one!”

  “So you did! Two, in fact.” He laughed as he took it from her. She laughed, as well, feeling a rush of pride when he said, “Well done!”