Greenwode

by J Tullos Hennig

  Again, the Abbess was silent.

  He turned suddenly and dropped to his knees before her, clutched at the hem of her robe with one hand and brought it to his cheek. “Please. If I asked you for absolution, would you let me out of here? Would you set me free?”

  This time she rested her hand atop of his head. “I am going to set you free,” she murmured. “Set this shire free. And it is needed, Gamelyn, badly needed; don’t you think?”

  “I… I think it’s all… confusing. I don’t understand.”

  “It’s quite simple. Shall I enlighten you?”

  Please. Do just that, and I swear I’ll pray for your absolution.

  Her fingertips started smoothing over his hair, catching in the tangles and knots. The caress made Gamelyn’s skin crawl in a visceral almost-pain. He wasn’t sure he understood that either; nevertheless, he stifled any reaction.

  You can touch me. But I’m… not… here.

  “After all, it is you who has given us the method by which we will see them destroyed.”

  That not only touched him, it slammed into him as powerfully as Johan’s fist. He shuddered with it. Her hand stilled, and only by sheer force of will did he regain control of his body and escape the urge to look up, lurch up, grab her and shake the truth from her.

  “I have?” he whispered, and by some miracle it was level, unshaken.

  “Your brother was, of course, dismayed by what he saw take place in your room. It certainly brought home to him the seriousness of your situation, but thankfully, it did not affect his hearing.”

  He knew what Johan had seen… what had Johan heard? What had they said to each other?

  The Fête. Beltain.

  “Come with me.”

  God! Oh, God! What Rob had said, while they lay curled about each other, gentled foolish by loving….

  “… the old dolman circle to the southeast of Loxley Chase, between Hathersage and Dronfield. Mam Tor...

  And Gamelyn had been the one to ask it.

  “See? Even beneath such a pernicious influence, you are a good and righteous son. God is still fighting for your heart, has given you cause to set in motion the machinery to your own freedom. Thanks to you cozening the witch to tell you where his kind will gather, I have sent word to Nottingham. He and I have both waited for the chance to weed out the chancre in his shire, and we did not have to wait overlong, after all. Upon May Eve, his soldiers will ride to Loxley Chase and despoil their ritual. You will stay here, safe, forevermore out of their grasp.”

  Gamelyn was so hung upon the horror of what she was telling him that he lost balance, had to steady himself against the floor with one hand. Only then did he become aware he was shuddering, curling in on himself, and all but hanging by the hand clutching to her robes. “You’re… going to kill them. Ride on them and cut them down while they’re gathered, celebrating a holy festival—”

  “Celebrating a demon’s rite. Oh, my dear.” She slipped her hand beneath his chin, raised his face to meet hers. “Despite God’s voice within you, you would still stoop to the cunning of those beasts. You would speak any lie, make any pose, to gain your freedom and go to them.” Her hand upon him was suddenly malleable as lace slipped over a gauntlet of steel, her eyes blazing. “Yes, I know why you want to be freed, lovely cousin. But you even smell of that demon boy. Do you think me such a fool?”

  “No,” he groaned. “You cannot do this!”

  “You will see, cousin. When I take you to see what work we have wrought killing those pagan monsters, you will thank me. You will be in your right mind once more, and take your place in God’s plan. Where you belong.”

  She twitched her skirts from his hold and walked away, the novice quick after. And such was the grip of his horror that Gamelyn couldn’t even make a move to stay her, only sprawled there, panting, on hands and knees as the door slammed shut and the lock shot home.

  “HE WAS so… strange,” Rob confessed.

  “If I’d been locked up by me own family, I’d be acting strange too.”

  Rob nodded, dropped his chin nearly to his chest, was still and silent for so long that Marion scooted closer and put her arms around him.

  “You know, you canna tup him into submission every time, Hob-Robyn.”

  Her sly tease made him smile, ever so slightly. “Well. It’s always worked so far.”

  The fire crackled at their feet, flickered over the walls and roof of the little cavern. It had been such a lovely time. Their own place. Their own… kingdom.

  Admittedly, it had been a bit more than frustrating to watch the two of them feeling each other up constantly. She was pretty good at taking care of her own needs, but a lover would be nice.

  “He did say he would come with us to Beltain.”

  “He did.” Rob inclined his head against hers. “And after that—”

  “After that, we have choices to make,” Marion agreed.

  “MILORD.”

  Gamelyn blinked.

  He was cross-legged on the dank floor, fingers folded together, elbows propped on his knees. He’d resorted to Psalms, over and over, for he’d long ago run out of prayers. He wasn’t sure they would be heard, did he have any more in him, but the familiar cadences were a comfort.

  He’d considered the ultimate blasphemy of praying to Rob’s god, but realized he didn’t know the first thing about it. Or if the Heathen even prayed as Christians did. It had made him want to weep… surely he should have known that. It was important.

  But the psalms’ rhythm helped him think, instead of “greetin’ and wailin’,” as Rob would say. He had to warn Rob and his family; he could not start thinking about what would happen if he didn’t get out of here and warn them….

  The chapel bells had given him some aspect of time. Matins had rung and they’d brought him breakfast, Sext had sounded not long ago but they wouldn’t bring him dinner until Nones: May Eve was already a third over. Rob and Marion wouldn’t wait for him much longer, if they hadn’t already gone on. He could likely take out whoever next brought him his meal, but there would be guards at the door. He didn’t have his weapons on him. He had no hope of getting anywhere did he chance to break free!

  No. He couldn’t think like that. He had to do it. Failure was not an option, even if it was a likely outcome….

  “Milord!”

  The voice returned. It was no velvet-dark god’s voice. It was rather high-pitched, half hissed, and coming from his knee. Or, rather, the grating near his knee.

  Gamelyn frowned, then angled forward on knees and elbows. “Who are you?”

  “’Tis Anne.”

  Anne. He didn’t know any Anne.

  “I do th’ linens in your family’s chambers, milord.”

  Inconceivable. “What do you want? Why—?”

  “I’m John’s friend, milord. He and I, we’re the ones as helped sneak the Hunter in t’ you. We never thought ’twould come t’ this—”

  “John, are you there? Where are you?”

  “He’s here. He en’t one for talkin’, as you might’ve guessed. He heard you were being kept in th’ undercroft, and John, he knows every bit of these stables.”

  It came from Gamelyn before he could choke it back. “Help me. Please.”

  Silence. It made him panicky.

  “Listen. You have to listen to me. I have to get out of here. They’re taking soldiers to the Fête! I have to warn them, before it’s too late!”

  More silence. Gamelyn wallowed down onto his belly, grabbing at the grating, slick and rusted against his clutching fingers.

  “Please, don’t go… listen! She’s going to raid Beltain. They’re going to kill them!”

  “Lord.” It was John. “What must I do?”

  The soft, steady surety of it… that all Gamelyn had to do was ask and John would see it done….

  Gamelyn clenched his fists, put his forehead against them, thinking.

  “Lord?”

  “All right.” Gamelyn took in a sharp breat
h, huffed it out. “Have Much be ready to ride at a moment’s notice.”

  “Much is gone, lord. He’s gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “Lord Johan was goin’ to have ’im arrested for aiding you, milord.” Anne, again. “He ran.”

  “God.” The consequences of his sins were indeed adding up. “He got away?”

  “S’far as we know.”

  Gamelyn closed his eyes, recited the psalm. It was the Thirty-Fifth. Apropos.

  “Contend, o God, with those who contend with me….”

  Thought, hard.

  “Lord?” John, again. “What must I do?”

  “Sext has passed?”

  “An hour ago, at least,” Anne said.

  “They won’t bring me anything else until Nones… John. Is Diamant still in his box?”

  “Aye, lord.”

  “You’ll need to have him saddled and bridled by the bells for Nones. If anyone asks, say he’s in need of exercise. I’ve seen you do that before.”

  Silence, with John, was assent.

  “Anne, can you get into my chambers?”

  “I think so, m’lord.”

  “I’ll need you to bring my sword and mail to John, to pack on Diamant. They’re in the press at the foot of my bed. And a warm cape.”

  “D’you have a knife?”

  “They left me a knife to eat with.” The psalm kept echoing, behind the possibilities in his mind. “I’ve some silver pennies there, as well, if you can find it.”

  “Without cause they have hidden their net in a pit for me. Without cause they have dug a pit for my soul….”

  There was a scraping sound, and the sheathed edge of a long, slender knife peeked through the dark. It had a narrow guard, and fit through the grating easily once Gamelyn took it.

  “John’s knife, milord. He’d appreciate it back sometime, but if not, he’ll understand.”

  It proved strong and razor sharp to Gamelyn’s inspection, and light enough to easily hide in his tunic. “The guards. How many are there between me and the stable?”

  “We’ll find out,” Anne said. “From what I’ve heard, some guards have orders from your lord father t’ let you leave. And then others have their orders from your brother t’ the opposite. It’s right confusing in the guard’s bunk now, I’ll tell you. How many’s too many?”

  “Now that I’ve a knife, I can handle a few,” Gamelyn said, grim.

  “Let destruction come on him unawares. Let his net that he has hidden catch himself. Let him fall into that destruction….”

  “HE’S NOT coming.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Rob—”

  “I don’t believe that, Marion!”

  They sat doubled on Arawn, at the crossroads just past the line of forest overlooking Blyth Castle. They’d waited as long as they could at the caverns, come this far only to wait a while longer.

  Rob didn’t want to tell her that the... nothingness had returned.

  He didn’t want to believe that, either. But it was here, tynged shaping itself into a void gone thick and clotted-black, like blood. It was here.

  And Gamelyn was not.

  “It could be something as simple as his brother caught him trying to sneak out. His da could have had a turn for the worst.”

  “His da told him to go.”

  “We made a promise to our da, Rob,” Marion reminded softly. “We’re going to be arriving after dark as it is. We can come back. And if nowt else, we know where his father’s sending him.”

  Rob growled, deep in his chest, then whirled Arawn on his haunches and pointed his nose for Loxley.

  THE CHAPEL bells rang Nones. Christ’s death had supposedly happened at this, the third hour after midday. And here Gamelyn stood, in his own tomb, leaning against the wall beside the entry passage and reciting another psalm in a litany of cold, discerning serenity. Waiting. The heavy pewter tray that had brought his breakfast was in his hands, and John’s knife.

  You can touch me, but I’m not here….

  The heavy tumblers to the door clacked and creaked. Gamelyn softened his knees, put the knife in his teeth, brandished the tray.

  The door opened, and the sound of boots, a long stride, down the short corridor. First hands holding the tray, then a dark head… Gamelyn swung.

  Johan got out only the first syllable of Gamelyn’s name before he fell face-first into the dirt, the tray he held clanging over the hard floor, food spilling into the dirt.

  “You,” Gamelyn whispered, then smiled.

  “My lord?” A voice from the door.

  Gamelyn dragged Johan out of sight of the doorway, put a quick hand over his mouth; while Gamelyn was heartily thankful for whatever impulse had made Johan decide to bring his lunch and given Gamelyn a chance to whack him one, he didn’t actually wish him dead. He felt a shallow breath and nodded then rose, unsheathing the knife.

  He took the tray. And Johan’s sword, just in case. Arrogant clot, to wear his sword into a gaol. Of course, Johan had never imagined the “little rabbit” much of a threat.

  “My lord?” Hesitant, coming into the passage.

  Not here. I’m not here. And I’m not going to let you touch me.

  Two guards, Anne had conveyed to him, and one more on the way around to the stable that they would try to divert—but be ready just in case they hadn’t. And, of course, the ones patrolling the back bailey….

  “My lord—? Uhn!”

  It took two blows with the tray to dispatch him, and the second guard rushed in just as his fellow hit the dirt. Gamelyn used an elbow to the face then, when it only staggered him, employed the knife.

  Then he said a quick prayer—this time, in thanks for Roberto’s tutorials—and slipped from the undercroft.

  GAMELYN HAD managed to avoid much notice by snagging a basket of roots from a doorway and a shawl hanging to dry from a ledge. The latter he wrapped about his head, the former he hunched over, holding Johan’s sword against his body, and sneaked in the side aisle of the stable.

  Diamant was tied in his box, dancing. He knew what full packs and a sword athwart his saddle meant: a good, hard gallop. John came trotting over, seemingly from nowhere, and untied the stallion, bringing him out into the aisle and whispering into his ear. Diamant just danced harder.

  “Good boy.” Gamelyn patted Diamant’s sleek neck and slipped him a root from the pilfered basket. “We’re going to need it.” He quickly checked the girth and fastenings, started to step up then hesitated. Took precious seconds to hold John’s knife out to him.

  John shook his head, pushed it back toward him. “Bendith, Arglwydd.”

  Blessings, Lord. The velvet-deep voice rumbled what he knew was a translation.

  You haven’t forsaken me, Gamelyn returned desperately.

  You must stop them, or not only you will be forsaken.

  There was… fear in it.

  “No fear, Gamelyn,” he muttered, then swung up. John patted his boot, smiling up at him, and Gamelyn smiled back, touched his fingers to his lips and then placed them against John’s forehead. “Bendith,” he said, softly, then, “God be with you.”

  Hoofs clattered on the cobbles as Diamant burst into the light, rumbling low in his chest like a demon from the underworld.

  No one stayed Gamelyn. No one. Everyone merely got out of his way, and the only visible guards were across the wide bailey, on the front wall and gate. Gamelyn still held his brother’s sword, just in case. He kept Diamant to a slow canter; the stallion was round and drawn as a loaded trebuchet, his hoofs pounding a collected cadence. They made it halfway across the bailey without so much as a question, and Gamelyn was beginning to think they were going to make it.

  “Stop him! Hold him!”

  Johan’s voice. Hellfire!—he hadn’t hit him hard enough.

  Gamelyn spurred Diamant, and the stallion responded mightily, blowing a challenge as he leapt forward and galloped across the bailey.

  “After him! The ga
tes! Close the gates!”

  The alarm bell began to toll, flat and loud and anxious. Diamant felt the spur again, and this time the stallion hunkered down, surging forward with a speed that proved he’d only been out for a romp before. The gates were closing ahead of them—slowly, they were heavy—as Gamelyn leaned forward. The guards who did run up were dispatched either by the sheer mass of Diamant’s charge or the flat of Johan’s sword.

  “Stop him! The gate!” Gamelyn heard someone scream, and archers gathered up on the ramparts, taking aim.

  “Mother of God—don’t shoot! Don’t—!” A few arrows came whizzing anyway, loosed before the order, and one buzzed past his head like an angry bee. Gamelyn had no time to thank God it wasn’t Rob shooting at him—Rob would have bloody well hit him—but he did it anyway, spurred Diamant. Pandemonium ensued about him, more screams, shouts, and the gate still closing….

  Diamant came clattering down the bridge and out the gates with a tail’s-length of spare. There were shouts and curses; people leapt out of the stallion’s charge right and left, some into the moat and some hanging onto the rails. Diamant slipped once on the wood, regathered himself, and thundered out into freedom.

  “Thick darkness was under his feet. He rode on a cherub, and flew. Yes, he soared on the wings of the wind.”

  Gamelyn let out a whoop and sat down to ride.

  “MAM IS going to give us both sides of her tongue, y’know.”

  “I know.” For the third time, Rob tried to thread the two leather pieces together, then growled and flung the bridle on the ground.

  Arawn snorted and angled back. Marion gave him a steadying pat, eyed her brother.

  “It’s just old and worn out,” Rob said. “I should’ve found leather to make another a while back, but I like that bridle. Well, that’s torn it; we’ll have to make a rope bridle for him.”

  “And you have rope.”

  “Enough, I think. I might have to knot the bridle rein to it. I think our lovely lad would carry me without the bridle, but not both of us, and not on a full moon. Too much madness in th’ air—we’d end up running crazed as the Wild Hunt.”