“These winds have tired you, princess.”
“I saw their faces staring up as if resting in their beds.”
“Who, princess?”
“The babes, and only a short way beneath the water’s surface. I thought first they were smiling, and some waving, but when I went nearer I saw how they lay unmoving.”
“Just another dream came to you while you rested against that tree. I remember seeing you asleep there and took comfort from it at the time, even as I talked with the old knight.”
“I truly saw them, Axl. Among the green weed. Let’s not go back to that wood, for I’m sure some evil lingers there.”
Sir Gawain, gazing down at the view, had raised his arm in the air, and now without turning, shouted through the wind: “They’ll soon be upon us! They come up the slope eagerly.”
“Let’s go to him, princess, but keep the cloak around you. I was foolish to bring you this far, but we’ll soon find shelter again. Yet let’s see what troubles the good knight.”
The goat was pulling at its rope as they passed, but the stake showed no sign of shifting. Axl had been keen to see how near the approaching figures were, but now the old knight came walking towards them, and they all three halted not far from where the animal was tethered.
“Sir Gawain,” Axl said, “my wife grows weak and must return to shelter and food. May we carry her down on your horse as we brought her up?”
“What’s this you ask? Too much, sir! Did I not tell you when we met in Merlin’s wood to climb this hill no further? It was you both insisted on coming here.”
“Perhaps we were foolish, sir, but we had a purpose, and if we must turn back without you, you must promise not to free this goat cost us so dearly to bring here.”
“Free the goat? What do I care for your goat, sir? The Saxon warrior will soon be upon us, and what a fellow he is! Go, look if you doubt it! What do I care for your goat? Master Axl, I see you before me now and I’m reminded of that night. The wind as fierce then as this one. And you, cursing Arthur to his face while the rest of us stood with heads bowed! For who wanted the task of striking you down? Each of us hiding from the king’s eye, for fear he’d command with one glance to run you through, unarmed though you were. But see, sir, Arthur was a great king, and here’s more proof of it! You cursed him before his finest knights, yet he replied gently to you. You recall this, sir?”
“I recall nothing of it, Sir Gawain. Your she-dragon’s breath keeps it all from me.”
“My eyes lowered like the rest, expecting your head to roll past my feet even as I gazed down at them! Yet Arthur spoke to you with gentleness! You don’t recall even a part of it? The wind that night almost as strong as this one, our tent ready to fly into the dark sky. Yet Arthur meets curses with gentle words. He thanked you for your service. For your friendship. And he bade us all think of you with honour. I myself whispered farewell to you, sir, as you took your fury into the storm. You didn’t hear me, for it was said under my breath, but a sincere farewell all the same, and I wasn’t alone. We all shared something of your anger, sir, even if you did wrong to curse Arthur, and on the very day of his great victory! You say now Querig’s breath keeps this from your mind, or is it the years alone, or even this wind enough to make the wisest monk a fool?”
“I don’t care for any of these memories, Sir Gawain. Today I seek others from another stormy night my wife speaks of.”
“A sincere farewell I bade you, sir, and let me confess it, when you cursed Arthur a small part of me spoke through you. For that was a great treaty you brokered, and well held for years. Didn’t all men, Christian and pagan, sleep more easily for it, even on the eve of battle? To fight knowing our innocents safe in our villages? And yet, sir, the wars didn’t finish. Where once we fought for land and God, we now fought to avenge fallen comrades, themselves slaughtered in vengeance. Where could it end? Babes growing to men knowing only days of war. And your great law already suffering violation …”
“The law was well held on both sides until that day, Sir Gawain,” Axl said. “It was an unholy thing to break it.”
“Ah, now you recall it!”
“My memory’s of God himself betrayed, sir. And I’m not sorry if the mist robs me further of it.”
“For a time I wished the same of the mist, Master Axl. Yet soon I understood the hand of a truly great king. For the wars stopped at last, wasn’t that so, sir? Hasn’t peace been our companion since that day?”
“Remind me no more, Sir Gawain. I don’t thank you for it. Let me see instead the life I led with my dear wife, shivering here beside me. Will you not lend us your horse, sir? At least down to the woods where we met. We’ll leave him safely there to await you.”
“Oh Axl, I’ll not return to those woods! Why insist we leave this place now and go down there? Can it be, husband, you still fear the mist’s fading, never mind the promise I made you?”
“My horse, sir? You imply I’ve no more use of my Horace? You go too far, sir! I don’t fear him, even if he’s youth on his side!”
“I imply nothing, Sir Gawain, only ask for the assistance of your excellent horse to carry my wife down to shelter …”
“My horse, sir? Do you insist his eyes be masked or watch his master’s fall? He’s a battlehorse, sir! Not some pony frolics in buttercups! A battlehorse, sir, and well ready to see me fall or triumph as God wills!”
“If my wife must travel on my own back, sir knight, so be it. Yet I thought you might spare your horse at least the distance down to the wood …”
“I’ll remain here, Axl, never mind this cruel wind, and if Master Wistan’s nearly upon us, we’ll stay and see if it’s him or the she-dragon survives this day. Or is it you’d rather not see the mist fade after all, husband?”
“I’ve seen it before many times, sir! An eager young one brought down by a wise old head. Many times!”
“Sir, let me implore you again to remember your gentlemanly ways. This wind drains my wife of strength.”
“Is it not enough, husband, I swore you an oath, and only this morning, I’d not let go what I feel in my heart for you today, no matter what the mist’s fading reveals?”
“Will you not understand the acts of a great king, sir? We can only watch and wonder. A great king, like God himself, must perform deeds mortals flinch from! Do you think there were none that caught my eye? A tender flower or two passed on the way I didn’t long to press to my bosom? Is this metal coat to be my only bedfellow? Who calls me a coward, sir? Or a slaughterer of babes? Where were you that day? Were you with us? My helmet! I left it in those woods! But what need of it now? The armour too I’d take off but I fear you all laughing to see the skinned fox beneath!”
For a moment, all three of them were shouting over each other, the howl of the wind a fourth voice against theirs, but now Axl became aware that both Gawain and his wife had fallen silent and were staring past his shoulder. Turning, he saw the warrior and the Saxon boy standing at the cliff’s edge, almost on the very spot where before Sir Gawain had been gazing broodingly out at the view. The sky had thickened, so that to Axl it was as if the newcomers had been carried here on the clouds. Now both of them, in near-silhouette, appeared peculiarly transfixed: the warrior holding firm his rein in both hands like a charioteer; the boy leaning forward at an angle, both arms outstretched as though for balance. There was a new sound in the wind, and then Axl heard Sir Gawain say: “Ah! the boy sings again! Can you not make him cease, sir?”
Wistan gave a laugh, and the two figures lost their rigidity and came towards them, the boy pulling in front.
“My apologies,” the warrior said. “Yet it’s all I can do to stop him leaping rock to rock till he breaks himself.”
“What can be the matter with the boy, Axl?” Beatrice said, close to his ear, and he was grateful to hear the gentle intimacy returned to her voice. “He was just this way before that dog appeared.”
“Must he sing so untunefully?” Sir Gawain addressed Wistan again. “I’d box his ears but fear he’d not even feel me!”
The warrior, still approaching, laughed again, then glanced cheerfully at Axl and Beatrice. “My friends, this is a surprise. I fancied you’d be in your son’s village by now. What brings you instead to this lonely spot?”
“The same business as yours, Master Wistan. We crave the end to this she-dragon who robs us of treasured memories. You see, sir, we’ve brought with us a poisoned goat to do our work.”
Wistan regarded the animal and shook his head. “This must be a mighty and cunning creature we face, friends. I fear your goat may not trouble her beyond a belch or two.”
“It taxed us greatly bringing it here, Master Wistan,” Beatrice said, “even if we were helped by this good knight met again on the way up. But seeing you here, I’m cheered, for it must be our hopes no longer rest solely with our animal.”
But now Edwin’s singing was making it hard for them to hear one another, and the boy was tugging more than ever, the object of his attention quite evidently a spot at the crest of the next slope. Wistan gave the rope a sharp pull, then said:
“Master Edwin appears anxious to reach those rocks up there. Sir Gawain, what lies in them? I see stones piled one upon another, as though to hide a pit or lair.”
“Why ask me, sir?” said Sir Gawain. “Ask your young companion and he may even stop his songs!”
“I hold him by a leash, sir, but can no more control him than a crazed goblin.”
“Master Wistan,” Axl said, “we share a duty to keep this boy from harm. We must watch him carefully in this high place.”
“Well said, sir. I’ll tether him, if I may, to the same post as your goat.”
The warrior led Edwin to where Axl had hammered in the stake, and crouching down began securing the boy’s rope to it. Indeed it seemed to Axl that Wistan lavished unusual care on this task, testing repeatedly each knot he made, as well as the soundness of Axl’s handiwork. Meanwhile the boy himself remained oblivious. He calmed somewhat, but his gaze stayed fixed on the rocks at the top of the slope, and he continued to tug with quiet insistence. His singing, though far less shrill, had gained a dogged quality that reminded Axl of the way exhausted soldiers sing to keep marching. For its part, the goat had moved as far away as its own rope would allow, but was nonetheless gawping in fascination.
As for Sir Gawain, he had been watching Wistan’s every movement with care, and—so it seemed to Axl—a kind of sly cunning had come into his eyes. As the Saxon warrior had become absorbed in his task, the knight had moved stealthily closer, drawn out his sword, and planting it into the soil, leant his weight on it, forearms resting on the broad hilt. In this stance, Gawain was now watching Wistan, and it struck Axl he might be memorising details concerning the warrior’s person: his height, his reach, the strength in the calves, the strapped left arm.
His work completed to his satisfaction, Wistan rose and turned to face Sir Gawain. For a small moment there was a strange uneasiness in the looks they exchanged, then Wistan smiled warmly.
“Now here’s a custom divides Britons from Saxons,” he said, pointing. “See there, sir. Your sword’s drawn and you use it to rest your weight, as if it’s cousin to a chair or footstool. To any Saxon warrior, even one taught by Britons as I was, it seems a strange custom.”
“Grow to my creaky years, sir, you’ll see if it seems so strange! In days of peace like these, I fancy a good sword’s only too glad of the work, even if just to relieve its owner’s bones. What’s odd about it, sir?”
“But observe, Sir Gawain, how it presses into the earth. Now to us Saxons, a sword’s edge is a thing of never-sleeping worry. We fear to show a blade even the air lest it lose a tiny part of its edge.”
“Is that so? A sharp edge’s of importance, Master Wistan, I’ll not dispute. But isn’t there too much made of it? Good footwork, sound strategy, calm courage. And that little wildness makes a warrior hard to predict. These are what determine a contest, sir. And the knowledge God wills one’s victory. So let an old man rest his shoulders. Besides, aren’t there times a sword left in the sheath’s drawn too late? I’ve stood this way on many a battlefield to gather breath, comforted my blade’s already out and ready, and it won’t be rubbing its eyes and asking me if it’s afternoon or morn even as I try to put it to good use.”
“Then it must be we Saxons keep our swords more heartlessly. For we demand they not sleep at all, even as they rest in the dark of their scabbards. Take my own here, sir. It knows my manner well. It doesn’t expect to take the air without soon touching flesh and bone.”
“A difference in custom then, sir. It reminds me of a Saxon I once knew, a fine fellow, and he and I gathering kindling on a cold night. I would be busying my sword to hack from a dead tree, yet there he is beside me, employing his bare hands and sometimes a blunt stone. ‘Have you forgotten your blade, friend?’ I asked him. ‘Why go at it like a sharp-clawed bear?’ But he wouldn’t hear me. At the time I thought him crazed, yet now you enlighten me. Even with my years, there are still lessons to learn!”
They both laughed briefly, then Wistan said: