M'Lady Witch

CHAPTER 4

They rode in under the trees, Alain saying, "But where shall we..."

"Hist!" Geoffrey turned to him with a finger across his lips, then beckoned. He turned his horse off the trail —and pushed through the underbrush.

Alain stared, taken by surprise. Then he pushed on after Geoffrey, aching to ask what they were doing, but keeping his lips pressed tight.

The underbrush thinned out, leaving room for the horses to walk, though Alain had to duck under boughs. Fortunately, he could watch Geoffrey in front of him, and be ready for the next low-hanging limb. They had to skirt a few trees that had branches down to the ground and step carefully over fallen logs, but they kept on going.

Finally, Geoffrey's horse half-slid, half-walked down to a stream. He stepped in. Alain followed, dying to ask what they were doing—or rather, why; the "what" seemed obvious.

They walked upstream for a quarter of an hour or more; then Geoffrey turned his horse to climb back out onto the same bank from which they had come, though a good way farther into the forest. He reined in and waited for Alain to come up with him.

"Wherefore have we perambulated so?" Alain asked. "To lose pursuit," Geoffrey told him. "I doubt not that knight of your bodyguard may waken to find us gone, but will follow our trail into the wood. We do not wish him to be able to trace us far."

Alain turned thoughtful. "Aye, even so. Sir Devon would take it as his charge to find me, whether I wished it or no."

"And he will be most reluctant to return to your parents with word that he has lost us," Geoffrey agreed. "Nay, he will seek to follow—and when he cannot find our trail, he will take word to the King and Queen."

Alain's mouth tightened. "No doubt he will, and they will send a whole troop of knights to dog our footsteps."

"Therefore shall we leave them no footprints." Geoffrey grinned. "Mayhap we shall muddy our trail even further, then double back to watch—them casting about to find us. Would that not be pleasant?"

Alain's first instinct was to protest against taking pleasure in troubling good men who were only trying to do their duty—but Geoffrey's smile was infectious, and he found himself grinning. "It would be amusing to watch."

However, Geoffrey could read his mind—only figuratively, this time, though he could easily have done it literally. "Be easy in your heart—they will not be greatly upset. Still, if we are to be accompanied by a small army, there is scant purpose in wandering."

"True enough," Alain admitted. "Nay, let us lose ourselves thoroughly."

They did.

An hour later, Geoffrey reined in and pronounced them properly hidden. "Now, Alain, we must set to work disguising ourselves."

"Wherefore?" The Prince frowned.

"Why, because you wish to go knight-erranting, do you not? To seek out wicked folk to punish, and good folk to aid, and damsels in distress to rescue?"

"Indeed I do! I must prove myself worthy of your sister!"

"Well, what wicked knight would dare to win against you, if he recognized you as the Crown Prince Alain?" Alain's brow creased as he thought it over, then nodded. "Aye, there is sense in that. How shall we disguise us, then?"

"Well, to begin, you might take off your coronet and hide it in your saddlebag."

"Oh, aye!" Alain sheepishly tucked away his low crown. "Now, as to your garments," Geoffrey said. "They must be leather and broadcloth, not silk and velvet. You must be dressed for long journeying, not for court—a good woolen cloak against the chill of night, and stout high boots."

Alain glanced down at his low but very fashionable boots and nodded. "Where shall we find such?"

"In a village, if it be large enough. Let us fare forth to the nearest town."

They rode on through the forest, and as they did, Geoffrey tried to explain the nature of courtship. "You must begin by flirting," he counselled, "and do not yet be serious."

"But," said Alain, "if I compliment a lady and seek to kiss her..." He blushed. ". . . what shall I do if she says yes?"

"If the offer's made, you may treat it only as one more flirtation, and respond with some gallantry, such as `Ah, would that I could! But if such beauty as yours is like to blind me, I shudder to think what more would do!' Then touch her and draw back your hand sharply, as though from a hot griddle, crying `Ah, fair lady! Only a touch, and my blood boils to burn me!"'

Alain goggled. "Where did you learn that bit of extravagance?"

"Why, it came to me even now, as we spoke."

"Alack-a-day!" Alain sighed. "I have no such gift of silver to my tongue!"

"You will be amazed how quickly it comes, Alain, most thoroughly amazed—if you begin to play the game, and enjoy it."

Alain reddened. "I could not!"

"Of course you could, and shall. But remember—'tis only a game, but fully a game. Enjoy it, as you would enjoy tossing a ball—for the words are like the ball, and you've but to toss such compliments back and forth."

"Tell me a few more, I beg you!" Alain implored. "For I would not go unarmed into my first fray!"

Geoffrey shook his head. "You must not think of it as a fray, mind you, but a game. If a lass eyes you, so..." He made a moue and batted his eyelashes.

Alain burst out in laughter that mingled shock and surprise.

"Aye, that is the spirit!" Geoffrey grinned. "If she looks at you like that, then you must look at her like this!" His eyes widened a little, seeming to burn as his mouth curved slightly. "Then she will respond, thus... " He made sheep's eyes at Alain. "And you must sigh and reach out to touch her hand, ever so gently." He pantomimed a delicate touch.

Alain laughed heartily. Then, gasping, he said, "I never could! I never could do so in seriousness!"

"Oh, do not! A straight face is like the side of a cold fish, and seriousness might be mistaken for ardor! No, you must let your amusement show, but like this . .." He gave a low and throaty laugh.

Alain tried to imitate him, but it came out as a rusty chuckle. Nonetheless, Geoffrey nodded encouragement. "Well begun! Now, you must speak of her eyes and her cheeks, saying the former are like stars and the latter like roses ..."

"Even I have heard those a thousand times!"

"So has she, friend, and will protest such, but in truth, she never grows tired of hearing them. Still, if there is more novelty in your saying, she will like it all the better. Mayhap you should take her hand upon your own, and tickle the palm whilst you nip the fingers with your lips... "

"Surely I could not!" But Alain's eyes were glowing now, the color was rising in his cheeks, and his seriousness seemed banished for the moment.

Encouraged, Geoffrey went on. "... and you shall tell her that her skin is smoother than the current of a placid stream and as cool, though it inflames your blood..." And on he went, manufacturing extravagant compliments by the yard. Alain clung to his every word, filing each away for future use. They rode through the forest, Geoffrey explaining the multitude of gallantries available for the courting of a lady, up to and including the way in which the knight Don Quixote had sent his vanquished enemies to his lady Dulcinea as proof of his valor and the purity and intensity of his love.

However, he did not tell Alain that Don Quixote had been mired in delusion. All lovers are, so it did not matter. Of course, Geoffrey was not in love when he flirted—but he hoped ardently that Alain would be. For, although love had touched Geoffrey only once or twice, he knew the signs, and knew also that he saw them in Alain. In fact, he knew that he had seen them for several years.

On the other hand, he also knew that Alain had been busily denying them. He seemed to think that such emotion, being swept away on such a tide, was unworthy of a man destined to be a king. His tutors had done their job too well. Geoffrey was determined to undo it.

Then a woman screamed, ahead of them on the trail. Men shouted, and there was the clack of quarterstaves. Alain and Geoffrey stiffened. Then Alain gave a gleeful shout. "So soon!" He drew his sword.

"Be sure which side is in the right before you strike!" Geoffrey was already spurring his horse.

"Do not slay unless we must!" Alain called back from half a length ahead.

They crashed through the brush screen just as some outlaws knocked the quarterstaff spinning from a carter's hands. One of their number leaped in to seize his wrists and force them up behind him, bending him almost double. Two others were pulling a woman down from the seat of the cart with lascivious, gloating laughs. She was still screaming.

There were at least a dozen bandits, and only the one carter with his wife.

"No doubt who has set upon whom!" Alain whooped and rode into battle with Geoffrey a step behind him. The outlaws turned, startled, but set themselves quickly. Most had swords—badly nicked or honed down thin, but swords nonetheless, with bull-hide shields.

The others had bows.

Arrows flew about the two knights. They ducked and dodged. Then they were in among the bandits, laying about them with their swords.

Alain knocked a blade aside, then stabbed down. The bandit, a young fellow in a jerkin with a mane of black hair and a beard, raised his shield to block, as Alain had expected. The Prince's sword pinned the target, holding it up as he kicked a foot free of the saddle and lashed it lightning—quick into the bandit's jaw. The outlaw's eyes rolled up as he fell, almost wrenching the sword from Alain's grasp.

But quick though the Prince had been, another bandit had been quicker. He landed on Alain's back with a howl, arms hugging the Prince's neck, pulling him backward. Alain fought to keep his seat even through the choking and swung back with his blade—back and around with the flat of it. The outlaw cried out, and abruptly the pressure was gone. Heart singing, Alain turned—to see a sword jabbing up at his belly with a grinning bandit behind it. He rolled aside, but the blade sheared through his doublet, staining it with blood. Pain stung hot along his ribs, and fueled fear—but also anger. Alain shouted and caught the blade in a bind as the outlaw tried to riposte, circling his own sword, twisting and sending his enemy's blade whirling away. Other outlaws cried out, ducking the spinning steel, as Alain turned to the next opponent.

A staff cracked against his skull.

The world spun about him; pain wreathed his head. Alain fought to stay in the saddle, to keep his hold on his sword. Dimly, he heard a yell of triumph, felt hands seize his legs ...

Fortunately, they seized both legs, and the tug-of-war lasted long enough for the world to steady about him. Then he slapped down with his sword and pounded down with his left fist. Both blows connected, and the outlaws fell away. Alain turned to follow up with the point of his blade ... And saw all the outlaws rolling about on the ground, groaning and clutching their heads, or out cold.

Alain sat still and stared for a minute that seemed to stretch out to ten. Then he looked up across the collection of moaning men to Geoffrey, sitting smugly across from him, winking. Alain grinned like an idiot.

Then he remembered his duty and his dignity, and composed his face gravely, turning to the carter and his wife. "Are you well, goodman, goodwife?"

"Aye, thanks to thee, Sir Knight." The middle-aged couple huddled together, his arm about her. The woman was weeping, but through her tears cried, "Bless thee, bless thee, good sirs!" Then she saw the red streak along Alain's side and gasped, "Thou'rt hurted!"

"Hurted?" Alain looked down—and stared, shocked. He had never seen his own blood before. But he remembered himself, and forced a smile. " 'Tis naught, belike."

"Aye, but let us be sure!" The woman hurried over to him, drying her tears on her apron. She pushed the slashed cloth aside and probed carefully. "Nay, naught but the skin is cut. Still it must be dressed, good sir!"

"I shall tend to that," Geoffrey assured her.

She looked up at him doubtfully. "Knowest thou aught of nursing, Sir Knight?"

"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."