The Savage Knight

tore a hole in my heart. But if I had lost my grandson, too …” he broke off, visibly emotional.

“Your son does not regard me as kin,” Dodinal answered lightly, in an attempt to brighten the mood.

Idris made a dismissive gesture. “Ignore Gerwyn. He is young and foolish. And a little disconcerted by you, I think. When he sees you he sees his older brother, whom he worshipped. That he was taken in such a cruel and meaningless way fills Gerwyn with anger. He hits out in every direction, not caring who he hurts.”

“I understand.”

“Yes, I believe you do. I know who you are, you see. I know what you are, Sir Dodinal. You talked, you know, in your fever.”

Dodinal started to protest.

Idris raised a hand for silence. “I will not say a word. I asked if you had been to Camelot to give you the opportunity to tell the others, if you had been so inclined. You did not choose to tell them. I will honour that. You have my word.”

Dodinal was too weary to add anything to that.

“Though why you are wandering this blasted wilderness and not staying warm and well fed in Camelot is beyond me,” Idris said.

“I am on a quest,” Dodinal answered without thinking, startling himself by speaking the truth. He had spent so much time of late dwelling on his past that he had allowed his guard to slip.

“Seeking what?”

“Whatever I might find.”

What else was he supposed to say? That all he sought was peace, an end to the violence and bloodshed that had dogged him since childhood? Even if finding it meant having to sacrifice his own life? Death held no fear for him, provided it was an honourable death rather than the kind of unjust and demeaning end that Elwyn had suffered. That would be the unkindest fate of all.

“Well,” Idris said, making for door. “I wish you luck. But it seems to me that if a man does not know what he is looking for, he might not know when he has found it. Rest well. I hope we can talk of these matters further, when your strength has returned.”

He paused and reached into a pocket. From it he took a sharpening stone, which he placed on the table. “A blunt blade is as dangerous as a sharp blade, but in a different way.”

He left Dodinal to stare dolefully around the hut. What had Idris been trying to say? That Dodinal had found what he was looking for, yet his eyes were closed to the truth? Then again, maybe the chieftain had not been trying to say anything. It may have been offered as advice, nothing more.

Yet the doubts persisted. Dodinal had been so intent on moving on it had not occurred to him he might want to stay. Not just until the storm had abated. To put down roots and settle. Already it felt like he had friends here; Idris, Rhiannon, Owain. No doubt the men he had met in the Great Hall would offer their hands in friendship too. Even Gerwyn might come round eventually. Stranger things had happened.

Dodinal stood and began to pace, limping around the fire as he tried to bring order to his confusion. He had sought peace, and there could surely be no more peaceful a place than this.

It was hard, here. A bad winter was no mere inconvenience, as it would be in Camelot. It could mean the difference between survival and a lingering death.

Yet Dodinal would consider himself blessed if his future battles were waged only against the weather. While the urge to move on still pulled at him, that could be because it was all he had ever done. Could it really be that he had found what he was looking for after all?

Feeling torn in too many ways, he lowered himself to the mattress and pulled the furs over him, banishing the thoughts from his head. At the moment he had no choice but to stay. Only when the snow stopped and the thaw came would he know how he really felt.

SIX

The next morning, Rhiannon removed the stitches with the same small knife with which she had trimmed his hair and beard. Slowly and carefully she cut through each stitch in turn and eased the scraps of sinew from his skin. She worked with such deftness that Dodinal felt only the slightest discomfort.

“So you knew all along I was a knight,” he said, glancing towards Owain, who was seated at the table fiddling with the contents of the pouch he carried with him everywhere. A sharp pain made him question the wisdom of speaking when Rhiannon’s attention was focused on not cutting him.

“Not my fault if you couldn’t keep quiet about it,” she said, angling his leg towards to the fire so she had better light to work by.

“I was delirious at the time.”

“I had to tell Idris. You almost died. If you had, what then? Should we bury your body and do nothing or send men to tell the King? Only a chieftain could make such a decision.”

“Fortunately for me, he is keeping it to himself. Otherwise every man, woman and child in the village would know what I am.”

“Would that be such a burden to bear? You would have brought some excitement into their lives at a hard and fearful time. Besides — ” She abruptly broke off, chewing her lip.

“Besides what?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. But Idris never does or says anything without good reason. I think he wants you to stay.”

Dodinal grunted sceptically. “Why, so he can worry about having another empty belly to fill?”

Rhiannon put the knife down before placing a cloth over the wound and binding it. “The storm will not last forever, and neither will Idris. He grows older by the day. This long winter, the dwindling food; it all weighs heavily on his mind. He worries what will happen to his people after he has gone.”

“He is strong. He will be around for years yet.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. He has said nothing of this to me or anyone else, but I believe Idris sees you as his successor.”

Dodinal laughed. He couldn’t help it. The notion was so ridiculous he could not take it seriously. “And you think Gerwyn will accept that? He has not exactly welcomed me with open arms, and that’s without any foolish talk of my becoming chieftain.”

“Gerwyn is no leader, though he would never admit it. He is too headstrong and lazy. Elwyn, he would have been a great leader. That is why his death was such a terrible loss. Not just for me and for Owain, but for all of us. When he died, there were many who felt our future died with him. But now you are here, we have reason to hope.” She paused. “As long as you want to stay, of course.”

Dodinal did not know what to say. The silence between them felt awkward, so he glanced at Owain and said, “What’s in that pouch of his that keeps him so occupied?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“I would, but he won’t answer.”

“You never know. He’s getting used to having you around.”

Dodinal got awkwardly to his feet, gently brushing her away when she tried to help him. Once he was standing he put his weight on his leg. It felt good. Rhiannon had done well for him. His limp was scarcely noticeable as he made his way to the table. Owain must have heard him approach, but did not look round. Dodinal, familiar now with the boy’s strange ways, was not offended.

“What have you got there?” He squinted to see the random collection the child had spread out on the table: a ring, a brooch to fasten a cloak, a flint and steel tied with string to a few twists of bark kindling, a few old coins, possibly Roman though he could not be certain in the firelight. Dodinal reached out to pick one of them up, hesitated and stooped so his head was level with Owain. “May I?”

The boy nodded. Dodinal examined the coin. Definitely Roman. Worthless, of course, and in other circumstances unlikely to interest a child. Dodinal replaced it on the table and picked up the ring, noticing how the boy’s eyes followed his every movement. It was a plain silver band, lustreless and of little or no value.

“They belonged to his father,” Rhiannon explained.