The Savage Knight

if the weather forced him to stay longer. He knew trouble when he saw it.

“I see.” Idris studied him closely. “For a wanderer and a drifter, you certainly possess very fine clothes. The women who stitched them for you told me they had never seen such fine workmanship.”

It was true. While Dodinal could not see the men’s boots under the table, he doubted they were made from soft leather and lined with fur. Their shirts were of the roughest of cloth, while his were of fine linen.

“I work hard and have few needs, so I can afford to buy the best of what I require. Cheaper garments would fall apart quickly, and would not protect me from the elements.”

“And your sword?”

Dodinal sat up a little straighter. “It belonged to my father. When he died it was passed on to me.” That too was a lie; Arthur had presented it to him. “Speaking of which, I would be grateful if you would return it to me.”

“My father offers you hospitality and this is how you repay him?” Gerwyn spat. “By demanding your sword? You will happily take the last of our food and drink, yet you have so little trust in us?”

Gerwyn seemed determined to maintain hostilities no matter what. Perhaps there was already tension between father and son; Gerwyn could be using Dodinal to provoke the old man.

“One more word from you, you little whelp, and you’ll be picking out your teeth from your beard,” Idris warned. With studied slowness, he turned away from his son to face Dodinal. “Of course you can have it returned. Oh, and Rhiannon tells me you lost some of your belongings. That is unfortunate. If I can replace anything when you are ready to leave, I will gladly do so.”

Gerwyn muttered something derogatory under his breath. Other than giving him a contemptuous look, Idris did not rise to the bait.

“Having said that,” the chieftain added, “you are welcome to stay as long as you want.”

“You’re very kind. But, as I have mentioned, I have matters to attend to. I will be on my way as soon as the weather improves.”

“Where are you heading?” Idris asked. There was something about his tone of voice that put Dodinal on his guard. “Camelot?”

“No. My travels take me north.”

“But you have been there.” It was not a question. “I can think of no other place where such fine clothes as yours could be bought.”

“Yes, I have been there.” Better to tell a half-truth than a lie. There was less danger of being caught.

“Did you see Arthur?”

“What if he did?” Gerwyn demanded. “Arthur has done nothing for us. They are not starving in Camelot, are they, Dodinal?”

“No. But then I am not in Camelot. And I am starving, too.”

Idris roared with laughter and thumped him on the back. “Well answered. But that’s enough talk for now. I am not brave enough to incur the wrath of my daughter-in-law. This man was badly hurt. He needs to rest.” He turned to Dodinal. “Come. I will walk with you.”

“No reason for us both to be out in the cold.”

“Except if you fall and open the wound it will be me who needs stitching after Rhiannon gets her hands on me.”

“A fair point,” Dodinal conceded. “But before we go, I would ask again for my sword. Despite what your son thinks, it is not about lack of trust. The sword is of great personal value.”

“I understand,” Idris said, solemn for once. “I, too, have lost someone close. The possessions they leave behind take on a greater importance than they ever had while they lived.”

With that he strode off into the depths of the Great Hall, disappearing past the hanging skins, returning moments later with Dodinal’s sword belt in one hand and a spear in the other. Dodinal stood as the chieftain approached and gratefully took the belt from him and buckled it around his waist.

“A gift,” the chieftain said, offering the spear. “I made it with my own hands. It served me well for many years.”

“Idris, there is no need. You have done more than enough to repay me already.”

“I am too old to hunt now, and I would rather it be put to good use than be left to gather dust in the corner.” The chieftain grinned and dug an elbow into Dodinal’s ribs. “And you could use it as a walking stick until your leg mends.”

Dodinal bid the gathered men good day. Gerwyn and his friends made no attempt to respond, but the others did, even though their farewells were immediately lost when Idris pushed open the door and the wind charged in. The two of them stepped into the furious storm.

Although it was only late morning, it was as dark as dusk. Wind made the trees creak like the bones of the dead. The snow rose as high as Dodinal’s knees, making the going slow. He was thankful he had the spear for support. By the time they reached Rhiannon’s hut, his heart was beating hard and he was drenched with sweat.

He stumbled through the door and made straight for the bench, where he sat down heavily, groaning with relief. He barely felt the spear slip from his frozen fingers or heard it rattle on the floor.

“Wouldn’t listen to me, would you?” Rhiannon scolded, picking up the spear and leaning it against the wall. “Wouldn’t wait.”

Dodinal raised a weak hand. His teeth were too busy chattering to allow him to speak.

“Well, never mind. What’s done is done. Get your cloak and boots off and put them by the fire to dry, before you catch your death. You too, Idris. Not even a mighty brehyrion is immune to sickness.”

Both men obeyed without question. Rhiannon took their sodden cloaks from them and hung them to dry, heaping fresh logs on the fire until the flames were roaring. Then she pressed a beaker into Dodinal’s hand and gave another to Idris.

“Drink,” she commanded.

He sniffed it cautiously. The infusion smelled herby and sweet. He drank it quickly, relishing its warmth in his belly. His skin tingled and he fought to keep his eyes open; although he had been awake for just a few hours, he felt like sleeping again. His leg ached. It was not as well healed as he’d thought. He should have listened to her.

Owain ran over and threw his arms around Idris. The old man grabbed him in a bear hug and lifted him up, growling like a wild animal as the boy wriggled helplessly in his arms. Dodinal watched them with a wistful smile on his face. He envied them. It had been a long time since he had felt affection for anyone, or anyone for him.

“Come on, then,” Idris said as he put him down, the boy tussle-haired and flushed. “Time to get you back to the Great Hall, I think. We’ll call for the women to get the cooking pots on.” He gave Rhiannon an anxious look. “Though for how much longer we’ll be able to do so is another matter. Hardly any of our stored food remains.”

The hearty chieftain had gone. In his place was an ageing man struggling to conceal his fears for his people.

“The weather will turn soon,” Rhiannon assured him, though she could have no way of knowing when the storm would break. It had already raged for longer than any Dodinal could remember.

“You’re right,” Idris said. “Of course it will. Dodinal, you are welcome to join us, although I understand if you would prefer to remain here alone to rest. You look like a man ready to drop.”

Dodinal nodded gratefully. “I will stay. I would not want to embarrass myself by falling asleep at your table.”

“Then rest for however long you need. We will arrange for food to be brought to you.” Idris looked across at Rhiannon. “Take the boy and go on ahead. I will join you shortly.”

She frowned as she listened to the wind rampage around the hut. “Do not tarry. The storm is blowing harder. Any worse and I fear the roofs will be torn off.”

“Then all the more reason for you to go now. I will not be more than a few minutes behind you.”

Mother and son left then, Idris tousling the boy’s hair as he passed. The flames frantically swayed this way and that when Rhiannon opened the door, settling again once she had closed it behind her, leaving a flurry of snowflakes in her wake.

Idris stood and took his cloak off the peg Rhiannon had hung it on. “I will not keep you from your rest, Dodinal. But I want you to know I meant what I said. You are kin now. To lose my eldest son was bad enough. It