A Step Beyond

by Nancy M Bell

  “It is already done. Arthur knows what you know.” Ailim sounded smug. “Also, Rose overheard some of the grooms talking, and she listened because she knew I needed to know any little detail. She thinks they called the place Abay, but she is not sure.”

  Gawain met Arthur’s stunned gaze as Caliburn fed him the last little tidbit of information at the same time Gawain heard it.

  “Damn the man, he’s at Castle Arbray,” Arthur cursed. “He has led us a merry chase with his false trails and leads.”

  Arthur pulled Caliburn to halt and wheeled him to face the oncoming knights. They gathered around their king in a loose circle and exchanged uneasy glances with each other. None of the knights missed the fact Gawain now rode in Lancelot’s favored position, and no one could guess how Lancelot would respond to the king’s displeasure. Gawain pulled Ailim out of his place beside Arthur and Caliburn and slipped into his usual position just behind Lancelot and Eldon. Arthur lost no time in imparting the news of the queen’s whereabouts and quickly laid out his wishes.

  The king sent Bors and Agravain ahead of the main body of knights to parlay with the castle and let King March know his bolthole had been found out. They were not to let anyone leave Castle Arbray for any reason. Bors and Agravain turned their war horses to the south west and disappeared quickly over the rolling hills.

  Grimly, Arthur led the rest of the troop in the same direction at a slower pace. The Great Bear glanced over at Lancelot who rode again at the side of his king and allowed himself a tense smile. Lancelot returned the king’s gesture with a smile of his own that did not reach his eyes. Gawain rode in silence, looking neither right nor left. The huge rock of apprehension that rested in his gut screamed this day would not end well for anyone.

  “Except maybe me.” Ailim intruded on Gawain’s worrying. “Rose is most anxious for me to come and rescue her.”

  “Be sure she does not breathe a word to anyone until Bors and Agravain have a chance to get to Castle Arbray. The queen and March cannot escape us now,” Gawain told the stallion sternly.

  “She will tell no one. Isabella has been very uppity to her of late, and Rose says the queen is freezing the Lady Nuina out as well. Rose is sick of adventure and wishes to return home at once, with me.”

  “Well and good then. Perhaps you could remind her to keep her peace, if you don’t mind.

  The miles wore away under the pace set by Arthur on Caliburn. Gawain could tell even Ailim was beginning to feel the strain in his muscles of a week of hard riding with little rest. He readjusted his helm, so it did not rub on the still tender spot on the back of his skull and wished fervently for a soft bed and a hot tub to soak in for about a week.

  Yes, a soft bed, some wine from a good vintage, and the Lady Nuina in his arms. That would be most pleasant and well deserved after this chase across Lyonnesse.

  Gawain dropped out of formation and held back until the little knot of pages caught up with him. Alain drew his precious Hedra over to pace beside Ailim. Hedra arched her neck and whickered at the stallion, who returned her sally with interest. Alain passed Gawain a fresh skin of wine and a packet of travel bread with some hard cheese. Gawain tucked the packet into his pouch and slung the wine skin over the pommel of his saddle. He grinned at Alain’s expression as Hedra sidled close to Ailim, and the grey charger gathered himself up to his full height, his head towering over the page and his delicate mare.

  “Here now, what about your lovely Rose?” Gawain slapped Ailim on the neck and chided him.

  “She is there, and this one is here,” Ailim said simply with his unique horse logic.

  “Well, enough, we have no time for your dalliances. Think with the brain in your head,” Gawain said shortly and touched the sleek grey sides with his spurs.

  Ailim snorted his disagreement but moved away from the chestnut mare without any more protest and cantered back to his place behind Lancelot and Eldon. Gawain gnawed away at the tough travel bread and hard cheese washed down with a good many swallows of the barely passable wine.

  “Such a shame to treat good wine in such a manner; travel in the heat and in a skin does nothing for the bouquet.”

  Ailim snorted with disgust as his only reply.

  The day wore on, and Gawain was starting to think the distance they had to travel to reach Castle Arbray was miscalculated. His head ached dully, and white lights danced before his eyes again. He dropped Ailim’s reins on his heavy neck and grasped the pommel of the saddle in both hands to keep from falling as the world began to reel around him. Ailim sensed his distress and slowed his gait to a walk, falling out of formation again.

  Visions whirled before Gawain’s eyes. The girl, who was the Lady Nuina but called herself Ash something or other and the strange horse that spoke with Ailim’s voice but was not Ailim, swam in and out of his sight. They kept calling him by a strange name, and there was a feeling in the middle of his chest as if they were trying to draw his soul out of his body.

  Desperately Gawain clamped down on his wandering thoughts and forced himself to concentrate on the feel of the saddle under his buttocks and the pommel cutting into his hands. Ailim stopped unnoticed beneath him as Gawain struggled to stay upright while the pain in his head sought to cleave him in two. He forced himself to draw deep breaths into his lungs, and gradually the visions faded and the lights disappeared. Gawain cautiously opened his eyes and was pleased to see that the earth and the sky were where they were supposed to be, and his body was still upright on his war horse, not splayed out on the ground like a senseless ninny.

  “Did you have another turn?” Lancelot’s concerned voice brought Gawain fully back to the present.

  “Aye, that damn blow to the head is causing me grief again.” Gawain admitted to his trusted friend.

  “When we get back to Cadbury, you must have the leech look at it. Mayhap the man can cast out the ill humours for you.” Lancelot rested his hand lightly on Gawain’s arm.

  “Gods willing, it will be gone by the time we return to Cadbury. The last time the blasted man bled me until I thought I had no blood left in me. It is not something I wish to repeat if I can avoid it,” Gawain retorted. “Come let us catch up with Arthur. I am feeling quite well again.”

  Arthur turned a questioning gaze on Lancelot as he and Gawain cantered up the column and took up their assigned places once more. Lancelot signalled all was well, and Arthur increased his pace chasing the sun into the south western sky.

  Chapter Ten

  Shortly thereafter, Ailim informed Gawain that Rose heard a commotion coming from the direction she supposed the castle to be. At the same time, Bors and Agravain reported via their war horses they had reached Castle Arbray and demanded an audience with King March. Arthur sent Caliburn into a gallop, and his knights streamed behind him like a banner, as they raced straight as an arrow across the gold and green countryside of Lyonnesse.

  “March may be King of Kernow and Lyonnesse, but Arthur is High King of All Britain, and March would have been wise to think of that before rousing Arthur’s ire.”

  “He will have March’s head on a pike before the day is out, and the queen will be bound for a life in the cloisters if what Caliburn says of Arthur’s thoughts is true,” Ailim said in response to Gawain’s train of thoughts.

  The column of huge war horses crested the top of a hill, and the keep of Castle Arbray, tucked into the rolling hills of the valley spread out below them, came into view. Bors and Agravain sat on their war horses stalwartly in front of the castle gate with Arthur’s banner snapping in the wind over their heads. There could be no doubt over exactly who it was coming to call. Agravain turned and raised his gauntleted hand to acknowledge the arrival of the king and then pivoted his horse back to face the figure standing on the walkway over the great gateway to the castle. The knights exchanged words with the man, but Gawain couldn’t distinguish the words over the distance and the wind.

  Whatever was said was not to Bors and Agravain’s liking, and Bors spat in t
he dust at his stallion’s feet before they wheeled their horses and rode to Arthur’s side to report the outcome of their exchange. Gawain watched with a strange sense of déjà vu as the scene from Castle Lyonnesse played out in his mind.

  “The knave refused to come and speak with us and sent his seneschal in his stead. The main gist of his message was that March was otherwise occupied with your queen and wasn’t free to speak with you. Begging your pardon Sire, that is exactly what was said,” Bors reported.

  The man must be mad to bait Arthur so baldly and to add insult to it by inferring unlawful relations with Arthur’s lady wife.

  Gawain stilled the trembling in his hands with a concentrated effort. The adrenalin racing through his body heightened his senses, the first vestiges of battle fury starting to build in his chest. Ailim reacted to the king’s high emotions, along with Gawain’s agitation and shifted in anticipation. The stallion lifted his huge front hooves from the ground and hopped in place, anxious to join the battle and finish this once and for all.

  “Let us see if March will refuse his king in person, for a second time,” Arthur said tightly, the muscle in his jaw jumped angrily.

  Arthur touched Caliburn with his spur, and the stallion responded with a mighty battle leap forward, landing at the full gallop. Gawain and the rest of the knights followed close on Arthur’s heels. The whole company halted at the main gate of Castle Arbray, and Arthur pounded on the heavy oak doors with the hilt of his dagger. The blur of the gate keeper’s white face peered over the battlements and turned paler at the sight of the enraged High King of All Britain hammering on the gate threatening to break it into smithereens by sheer force of will alone.

  There was a hurried scurrying of feet, and presently King March himself looked down from the battlements.

  “Why, it is King Arthur,” the man exclaimed in false surprise. “I was unaware of your plans to visit Castle Arbray. Pray give me a moment to ensure we are ready to receive your company.”

  “Open the gate to your king,” Arthur snarled.

  “Of course, of course, no need for you to wait outside the walls. Arlam! Where is that dratted man? Arlam, open the gates for King Arthur.” March’s oily voice was still audible as his head disappeared from the battlements.

  Arthur ceased to hammer on the gate and drew Caliburn back a few paces. Lancelot and Gawain exchanged wary glances and loosened their blades in their scabbards. Gawain secreted his throwing daggers in his left sleeve and unfastened the bindings on the long knife at his belt. He trusted March no further than a man could throw Ailim, which was not at all. Treachery was second nature to men like King March, and Gawain feared something very evil in nature waited inside the walls of Arbray Castle. The man was not being gracious for no reason; the aura of danger in the air was so thick it was almost visible.

  The grating of the bars holding the huge gates closed presaged the slow movement of the heavy oak doors. Gradually they swung open, and the gate keeper waved the troop of armed men into the court yard of Castle Arbray. Arthur stayed a-horse, and the knights followed his lead. Gawain was only too happy to stay aboard his war horse, which was a great advantage should a melee break out. He glanced quickly behind him at the sound of the doors swinging shut. In a peaceful situation, the entranceway should have stayed open; March was obviously expecting a confrontation. Arthur and the rest of his men drew their swords at the same time, the bright blades singing in the air as they pulled free of their confinement. Their nerves were strung tight enough already, and the knowledge the route of escape was closed to them only heightened the tension.

  “King March asks you meet him in the Great Hall,” a well-dressed man spoke from the shadows of the archway at the top of the stone steps that led into the castle proper.

  “Tell March I meet him here, Tristam. There is no need to hide in the shadows like a maid. It is your sire I have issue with this day, not yet with you.” Arthur’s voice was cold and clipped.

  Gawain and Lancelot brought their war steeds up on either side of Arthur’s flanks, and the other knights covered the sides and rear, eyes moving constantly to identify the first sign of an overt threat.

  “Yes, My King. I will relay your message immediately.” Tristam bowed and backed into the shadows and disappeared.

  Arthur waited, impatiently tapping the hilt of his sword on his pommel. After a few minutes, the High King of All Britain pinned a servant with his commanding eyes and gestured for the man to approach him. “Tell March if he is not here to speak with me in short order, I will indeed come to get him, and it will not be pleasant. Go now,” Arthur commanded.

  The man turned an unearthly shade of grey and then white before bolting up the stairs toward the archway. The servant stopped abruptly as King March stepped out of the darkness within the opening into the sunlight.

  “I am honored by your presence, My King. I have refreshments laid out for you within the Great Hall, but I understand you don’t wish to partake of my hospitality.” King March stood at the head of the stairs and looked down on King Arthur.

  “I have no need of your hospitality. I have come to collect Queen Gwenhwyfar. Bring her forth immediately or face the consequences,” Arthur growled.

  “And the Lady Nuina,” Gawain growled softly.

  “Whatever do you speak of? I don’t know the whereabouts of the ladies.” King March spread his hands wide in amazement. “Surely you have not lost your queen and lady wife?”

  Gawain gripped the hilt of his sword so hard his fingers ached from fighting the urge to strike March’s head from his neck. Holding in his temper was making his head hurt again.

  “We know they are here, and we know you hold them.” Arthur’s voice dripped with ice, and he made an impatient sideways cutting motion with his hand.

  “I’m sure you are mistaken, My King. If I knew of their whereabouts, I would return them to you at once,” March said condescendingly. “Do get down, and we can discuss this dilemma in a more civilized manner.”

  Gawain held his breath while Arthur hesitated for a second and then stepped down off Caliburn in one easy fluid motion. Lancelot and Gawain followed suit, and Gawain could hear the scuffle of boots on the filthy cobbles of the courtyard behind him as the rest of the knights dismounted as well. Lancelot stepped close to Arthur on the pretence of relieving him of Caliburn. Arthur spoke urgently into Lancelot’s ear while keeping a noncommittal expression on his face. Lancelot listened intently and then stepped back with a slight bow and led Caliburn and Eldon in the direction of the stable where the other knights’ horses were being shepherded by the pages. Gawain lifted an eyebrow at Lancelot, and at his nod, Gawain trailed along behind the group with Ailim in tow.

  Gawain knew the man was lying; the bitter taste of frustration filled his mouth. His stomach was in knots of apprehension. His only hope was Arthur had given Lancelot a plan of action to carry out while Arthur parried words with March in the great hall of the castle.

  “Does Rose have any idea where the ladies are being kept?” Gawain inquired of Ailim, without any real hope of an answer.

  “Rose says the Lady Nuina is quite beside herself; she can see us from her window.” Ailim craned his neck to look up at the tower beside him.

  “Rose can bespeak her lady,” Gawain said incredulously. “When were you planning to share that tidbit of information.”

  “You never asked if Rose could bespeak the Lady Nuina, you only asked if I could bespeak the mare,” Ailim said mildly, secure in his horse reasoning there was nothing untoward in his actions. “Rose is one of Caliburn’s daughters and so has limited ability to speak to one she is close to.”

  Gawain drew a long breath and let his irritation abate somewhat before speaking again. “Can you find out if there is a way to reach the ladies’ chamber without raising unwanted interest?”

  They entered a dark stable smelling strongly of urine and unclean gutters. Lancelot waited for him in the midst of Arthur’s stallions. He beckoned Gawain urgently while
casting a wary eye about to see if someone was eavesdropping.

  “Arthur wishes us to see to the welfare of the stallions before we join him in the Great Hall,” Lancelot said loudly for the benefit of the stable servants, who indicated the places where the stallions could be groomed and fed. “He also mentioned we should make sure to gather up that which is his and be ready to ride at a moment’s notice,” Lancelot added in an undertone for Gawain’s ears alone.

  “I see,” Gawain nodded. “A bit of good news, Lance. It seems Ailim can bespeak Lady Nuina’s mare who in turn can bespeak the Lady Nuina.”

  Lancelot raised both eyebrows in surprise. “That is a stroke of luck; Epona must be smiling on us today. Know you where the ladies are sequestered?”

  “In the tower on the right as we leave the stables. Ailim informed me quite casually the mare said the lady was happy because she could see us from her chamber,” Gawain said caustically.

  “He didn’t think it was important to mention this ability before now,” Lancelot said half in anger and half in jest.

  “Apparently I didn’t ask him, so the beast didn’t think to tell me,” Gawain said in exasperation. “However, now we have this information in hand, we can use it to our advantage.”

  “Eldon says, that Ailim says, that Rose says, that the Lady Nuina says,” Lancelot relayed the message from his war horse, “there is a back stairway the servants use, and if we came that way dressed as kitchen servants bearing trenchers of food, we should gain entrance. The door is unlocked, and she thinks the guards are busy elsewhere at the moment.”

  They left orders with the pages to have the horses ready to ride and near the door of the stable. On no account were they to leave the horses even for a second or let the stable doors be closed or obstructed. Gawain pressed his short knife into Alain’s palm and gripped the boy by the shoulder. “If all hell breaks loose, and I am down, take the horses and make good your escape. Ailim will know if there is any chance of getting me out, take his advice and don’t be a hero. Get the horses free.” Gawain spoke softly and smiled to ease the fear etched on the boy’s features.