"As much as a knight must know," he assured her. "You may trust him to me, goodwife."
She subsided, stepping back to her husband, but didn't look convinced.
"Tell us thy name, that we may boast of thy deed and spread thy fame," the man urged.
Alain opened his mouth to tell him, but felt a nudge in his short ribs. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw Geoffrey frowning, with a shudder that could be interpreted as shaking his head. That was right, Alain remembered—they were supposed to be incognito. He turned back to the carter. "I may not tell you my name, good folk ... um . .."
"Until his quest is done." Geoffrey stepped smoothly into the breach.
"Even so," Alain said with relief. But how then were they to gain glory?
"Say that 'twas the Knight of the Lady Cordelia who gave you rescue." Then Geoffrey remembered that his sister had not given Alain permission to claim her as his sponsor, and that their last meeting had certainly indicated anything but. "Or one who would be hers, at the least."
That made the woman look up to stare in wonder; then she began to smile, softly.
Women and romance, Geoffrey thought with exasperation, but reflected that his more clumsy friend was scarcely any better off. He turned to the outlaws. "What shall we do with these?"
That brought Alain to his senses. He turned; staring down. "What indeed?"
"They must be gaoled," Geoffrey prompted.
"But we are on quest! Must we ride guard upon them, to the nearest sheriff?"
"We cannot leave them to wander the countryside and prey upon travellers again, my friend."
"No, we cannot," Alain sighed. "Ho! Blackbeard!" He leaned down to prod the biggest outlaw with his sword. The man moaned, but forced himself to sit up, one hand pressed to his head. " 'Twas a right shrewd blow, Sir Knight."
"Be glad he did not use the sword's edge," Geoffrey snapped. "What is your name?"
"Forrest, sir."
"I require your name, not your haunts! Speak truly!"
"Why, so I do, sir. 'Forrest' is the name my mother gave, and my father blessed." The bandit grinned, showing a wide, even expanse of white teeth. "Belike 'twas the name that gave me the thought of the life in the greenwood."
Alain surveyed the man, something about the bandit catching his interest. Forrest was tall, six feet or more, and broad-shouldered. His face was open and regular-featured, with thick black hair and a black jawline beard. His eyes were large, well spaced, and deep blue, his nose straight and well formed. He wore hose and cross-gartered sandals, instead of the usual peasant's leggins and buskins, and in place of a tunic wore only a sleeveless jerkin that showed a broad expanse of chest and the bulging muscles of arms and shoulders. Alain found himself wondering if it was by luck that he had defeated this man.
"You are a gentleman gone wrong," Geoffrey stated. "What is your family's name?"
"None of any consequence, for I doubt not they have disowned me."
"Mayhap they have not. What name?" Geoffrey added iron to the question.
"Elmsford," the bandit sighed. "How came you to this pass?"
Forrest shrugged. "I am a youngest son of a youngest son, who had need to seek his living however he might."
"You could have found a way more honorable!"
"I did; I pledged my sword to a lord. He took us all to fight his neighbor, and we lost."
Geoffrey frowned. "Here is no shame."
"So I thought—but the neighbor sought to smite down all who had opposed him. I fled to the greenwood for, my life, and lived as best I could."
"Wherefore you did not throw yourself upon the King's mercy?"
The bandit grinned, teeth startlingly white in the expanse of beard. "The King is at Runnymede, sir, and though 'tis near to us here, 'tis far from the estates of my former lord. I have been many months seeking this greenwood, but have now so many crimes on my conscience that I dare go no farther."
"Certainly the King's shire-reeve was near enough!"
"Aye, and under the hand of the lord who sought my life."
"You shall go to the King now, and woe betide him who would stop you! Do you speak for all of this band?" The bandit looked around, but nobody seemed to want to dispute it. "Aye, Sir Knight."
"Then go to the sheriff at..."
"Nay." Alain stopped him with a touch. "Go to Castle Gallowglass... "
Forrest looked up sharply, and Geoffrey whirled about to stare at Alain. The bandits scrambled to their feet with groans of fear. "The witch-folk!"
Geoffrey turned to scowl at them. "Aye, the Lord Warlock and his family. Mind your manners about them, or you'll have no heads to mind with!" He turned back to Alain with a look that clearly said his friend was mad.
" 'Tis even as your Don Quixote did," Alain reminded him. Then, to Forrest, "Go to the Lady Cordelia, and surrender yourself to her there. If she bids you go to the King's prison, then you must go—for trust me, you do not wish to transgress against her."
"Be sure I do not!" Forrest bobbed his head, not smiling now.
"Be cautious and filled with respect," Alain admonished him. "Say to her that ... that he who hopes to prove himself worthy has sent you."
The carter's wife clapped her hands, eyes shining. Geoffrey restrained an impulse to look up to Heaven for help.
" `He who hopes to prove himself worthy.' " Forrest nodded, lips pursed in puzzlement. "Yet why not send your name, good sir?"
"Because ... because I shall not use it again in public, till she has heard my suit!" Alain smiled, pleased with his first attempt at improvisation. Geoffrey nodded judicious approval.
The bandit bowed, his face wooden, and Geoffrey guessed he was hiding his reaction to the quixotic gesture. "As you bid me, sir."
"Go straightaway, and do not stray from the path," Geoffrey told him. Then he raised his voice. "You, who thread the forest's roots and stitch the green leaves for your garments! Come forth, I pray thee, by the pact of kindred blood!"
The outlaws stared at him as though he had gone mad, but the wife drew back against her husband with a low moan. For a few seconds, the whole forest seemed to be waiting, still and silent.
Then leaves rustled, and a foot-high mannikin walked out along a branch. "Who art thou, who dost seek to summon the Wee Folk?"
Now it was the outlaws who moaned and shrank away, while the wife and husband watched, spellbound.
"I shall not use my name openly again until my companion uses his," Geoffrey told the elf, "yet I ask the favor by the bond 'twixt he who rides the iron horse, and the king who goes about among his peers disguised."
The outlaws glanced at one another and muttered, but none knew what he was talking about.
The elf, though, must have recognized the references to Rod Gallowglass and Brom O'Berin, for he said, "That will suffice. What would you have us do?"
"Accompany these men to Castle Gallowglass," Geoffrey said, "with a whole troop of your kind—and if they stray from the path, I prithee discourage them."
The elf's eyes glittered. "Aye, gladly, for never has a one of them left a bowl for a brownie! How strongly would you have us `discourage' them?"
"Well, I would not have you slay or maim them," Geoffrey conceded. "In all other respects, whatever mischief allows, why, do."
"Here is no work, but play! Aye, surely, young warlock, that we shall do!"
Forrest's head lifted; he glanced sharply at Geoffrey. "Yet do not allow any others to detain them," Geoffrey said. "I wish them to arrive at Castle Gallowglass, not to be taken on the way."
"We know the lord whose lands lie between this forest and that castle, and he knows us, to his sorrow," the elf said. "None shall trouble them, save us."
"I thank you." Geoffrey inclined his head.
"It will be our pleasure." The elf bowed, stepped back among the leaves, and was gone.
Geoffrey turned back to the outlaws. "Get you gone, then—and seek to despoil none, nor to flee an inch from the path. I doubt not you have some
coins about you; what food you need, see that you pay for. Be off!"
Forrest bowed again, barked a command to his men, and set off down the road. They straggled after him reluctantly. A whistling sounded from one side of the road, a hooting from the other.
The bandits jumped, and started moving considerably faster.
"Well thought, Geoffrey," Alain said. "I thank you." Geoffrey shrugged. "The gesture was perhaps extravagant, but will no doubt prove effective."
"I doubt it not." Alain turned back to the carter and his wife. "Go your way, now, without fear of these brigands. They shall not trouble you more."
"Aye!" The carter ducked his head, touching his forelock. "I thank you, Sir Knights!"
"And I you, for the chance of glory." Alain inclined his head, and Geoffrey was tempted to tell him chivalry could be taken too far. "Farewell, now, and travel safely."
"And you, good sirs." The carter turned to help his wife climb up onto the seat, followed her, sat down and picked up the reins, then clucked to his mule, and the cart ambled off down the forest road. The couple turned back to wave before the leaves swallowed them up.
" 'Twas well done, Alain, and a good beginning!" Geoffrey clapped him on the shoulder. "Come, let us ride."
"Aye!" Alain cried with zest. "Adventure waits!"
The road curved, and an elderly knight wearing a hooded robe stepped out to bar the outlaws' way. At his back stood a dozen knights.
The outlaws halted. "We have done as you bade, Sir Maris," said Forrest.
"'Tis well for thee," the old knight said grimly. "You are free of the King's dungeon now, and thy poaching and thievery are pardoned. See to it you do not fall into such error again."
All the outlaws muttered denials and avowals of future honesty, and Forrest said, "We will not, I assure you."
"Cease this talk of `you' and 'your'!" Sir Maris snapped. "Canst not say 'thee' and 'thou' like honest men?" Forrest composed his face gravely. "Pardon my offense, King's Seneschal."
Sir Maris eyed him narrowly, not missing the implication that if Sir Maris weren't the King's Seneschal, Forrest would thumb his nose at the old knight's demands. But Sir Maris was the royal seneschal, and had had long experience of arrogant young men, Prince Alain and Lord Geoffrey among them. "What did the young knights bid thee do?" he demanded.
"To surrender ourselves to the Lady Cordelia, at Castle Gallowglass," Forrest responded.
Sir Maris heaved a sigh of exasperation. "The folly of youth! Well-a-day, then, thou must needs go! But think not to take a single step off the road, or my men shall fall upon thee like hawks upon sparrows."
Forrest bowed, poker-faced. "Even as thou dost say, Sir Maris." He straightened up, called to his band, and led them on their way. Why should he tell Sir Maris that they were flanked by a troop of elves? Let his knights find out for themselves—preferably the hard way.
Ever so carefully, he opened his mind, listening to the babble of thought that surrounded him. Yes, the elves were still there, and rather indignant about all the Cold Iron that was going to be keeping them company. He was rather sorry that he had had to throw that fight with the two young knights—he was reasonably sure that the stockier one had been Geoffrey Gallowglass, and he would have welcomed the opportunity to try his own "witch powers" against those of the Lord Warlock's son.
Sir Maris watched the band of ruffians out of sight. He did not trust Forrest or his band an inch beyond his sight. Unfortunately, they would be many inches beyond the sight of himself or his knights; it would not do for little Cordelia to see her suitor's trophy-offering being escorted by Royal retainers. He sighed and turned back at the creaking of a cart. Now for the carter and his wife.
"Here is another florin to match that which I gave thee aforetime," he said. "Didst thou do thy part well?"
"Oh, aye!" said the wife. "The two young men believed all that we did, by the look of them."
"By the saints," said her husband, "I believed it myself!"
Sir Maris's gaze sharpened. "Did those bandits offer thee harm?"
"Nay," said the woman quickly. "Well, no more than was needful. They did not truly hurt us, sir, nor would they have meant to."
"Not with thee and thy knights so close by," the carter grunted.
Sir Maris nodded. "So I promised—so I did. But did they affright thee?"
"Aye, sir, even though I had known them from their cradles." The goodwife shuddered. "They have become rough men indeed! And all for poaching—'twas that which sent them, every one, to the greenwood! Still, I did not truly fear them—naught save that black-visaged scoundrel who was not of our village, and did call himself 'Forrest.' "
"What did he?" Sir Maris snapped.
"Naught," the carter said slowly. "Naught that he did." "Aye," said his wife. "'Twas in his look, and in his manner of speech. Though he smiled fair, there was something of the devil-may-care about his eyes, that did speak of danger. Still, he did do naught."
"Well, if he did naught, then I shall do naught to him," Sir Maris grumbled, "though I would I had some strand of excuse to hang him by."
"Nay, no cause, truly," the carter sighed.
"And the others?" Sir Maris peered at the woman keenly. "Didst thou think they gave thee true cause to fear?"
"Nay." At last, she laughed a little. "I've known them all since they were lads, and they all knew that if any among them had truly offered me harm, I would have told their mothers."
CHAPTER 5
"Milady!" The porter bowed a little as Cordelia strode in. The Gallowglass servants generally didn't do more than incline their heads, but with the mood Cordelia was in, it was best to play it safe.
"Here, Ganir!" Cordelia tossed him her cloak. "And thank you. Where are my parents?"
"In the solar, milady."
"Mercy." Cordelia paced up the stairs.
Rod and Gwen looked up as she came in the door. "I do not mean to interrupt..." she began.
"Of course you do." Gwen dimpled. "And we could wish no happier afternoon than to have you do so. Could we not, husband?"
"Of course," Rod said. "Back so soon?"
"Oh, aye!" Cordelia threw up her hands. "What else am I to do? That lummox of a brother of mine told Alain about the heroes of legend, who sent their defeated enemies to their lady-loves as proof of their worth!"
"So we are about to be hit by an invasion of defeated enemies?" Rod fought to keep a straight face.
"A troop of bandits! Ruffians! Outlaws! And I must be here to receive them, so I cannot follow as I should! What other dangerous silliness will they fall into unwarded?"
She had a point, Rod decided. For a second, he wondered if Geoffrey might have arranged it this way. Then he dismissed the thought as unworthy—such manipulating would have been far too subtle for his direct, brash son.
Gwen gave a slow nod of approval. "'Tis an honor not unworthy—to see the lambs defended and the wolves caged, in thy name."
"'Tis a plaguey nuisance! 'Tis a monstrous inconvenience! 'Tis an imbecilic imposition!" Cordelia paced to the fire, glowering down at it.
Rod thought the lady did protest too much—and indeed, as he looked at her face lit by the fire, he thought he saw some glow of pleasure, of satisfaction, albeit carefully hidden:
Gwen knew she did, and that without reading her daughter's mind—not literally, anyway. "'Tis romantic," she murmured.
"Aye," Cordelia admitted. Finally, she smiled.
They rode on through the forest, chatting of this and that—but Geoffrey did most of the chatting. Alain listened, round-eyed and constantly feeling that he should not be hearing such things. Geoffrey was telling him all the things he had never said at court, about revels with villagers and tavern brawls and willing wenches at town fairs. Alain's eyes grew larger and larger, as did the feeling that he should tell Geoffrey to stop—but he abided, partly in fascination, partly in the conviction that somehow, mysteriously, all this would make him a better suitor for Cordelia.
An ho
ur or more they passed in this study. Then the trees thinned out, and they saw the thatched roofs of a village ahead.
"Come!" Geoffrey cried. "There will be hot meat and cold ale, I doubt not, and perhaps even that change of clothing you wish!"
Alain agreed enthusiastically—it had been a long time since breakfast—and they rode out of the forest, down the single street of the village. A peasant who saw them looked up in alarm, then gave a glad shout. "Knights!"
"Knights?"
"Knights!"
"War-men to aid us!"
The villagers crowded around, showering the two young men with cries of gratitude and relief.
"Why, what is the matter?" Geoffrey called over their clamor.
"'Tis a monster, Sir Knight! 'Tis a horrible ogre, only this morning come upon us!"
"Only this morning, you say?" Geoffrey frowned; something there struck him as odd.
But Alain was delighted. "Have we come to our first adventure so quickly, then? Surely, good folk, be easy in your hearts! We shall find the monster and slay him for you! Shall we not, Sir Geoffrey?"
"Oh, certainly," Geoffrey seconded. He realized suddenly that, whatever its source, this most convenient monster would certainly give Alain a good chance to prove his courage and skill. Geoffrey couldn't have planned it better himself. "Yes, surely we will fight the ogre for you—if he is evil."
"Aye, if he is evil!" Alain sobered; he might have been about to strike a harmless being, simply because it looked frightening. That would have been very poor behavior indeed, for a knight-errant. "What has he done?"
Well, actually, it turned out that the ogre hadn't done all that much, really—only knocked a haystack apart, and made off with a sheep. Of course, he had also taken the shepherd, a boy of about twelve, who had been hiding in the haystack with the sheep, and that was what the townsfolk were really concerned about.
"He will eat the lad!" one woman cried, while another comforted the mother, who could not stop crying.
"His father has already gone out to slay the monster," an old man said grimly. "I doubt not he will be slain, if thou dost not speed quickly, good sirs!"
"Why, then, let us ride!" Alain cried, eyes alight with anticipation.
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