The Savage Knight (Malory's Knights of Albion) Read online

  Malory’s KNIGHTS of ALBION

  THE SAVAGE KNIGHT

  PAUL LEWIS

  ABADDON BOOKS

  To Sue and Jack, with love.

  An Abaddon Books™ Publication

  www.abaddonbooks.com

  [email protected]

  First published in 2011 by Abaddon Books™, Rebellion Publishing Limited, Riverside House, Osney Mead, Oxford, OX2 0ES, UK.

  Copyright © 2011 Rebellion. All rights reserved.

  Abaddon Books and Abaddon Books logo are trademarks owned or used exclusively by Rebellion Intellectual Property Limited. The trademarks have been registered or protection sought in all member states of the European Union and other countries around the world. All right reserved.

  ISBN (.epub): 978-1-84997-287-1

  ISBN (.mobi): 978-1-84997-288-8

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book, including in the Introduction and Appendices, are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  INTRODUCTION

  Found in a church vestry in 2006, the Salisbury Manuscript (British Library MS Add. 1138) is the only existing copy of The Second Book of King Arthur and His Noble Knights. Apparently a sequel to Thomas Malory’s Le Morte D’Arthur, the best-known and most influential version of the story of King Arthur and his Round Table, the Second Book has caused enormous controversy throughout the academic world.

  Following negotiations with the manuscript’s owner, Abaddon Books won the rights to modernise and publish the stories for the mainstream market in early 2010. The Savage Knight is the second title to be released to the public.

  Some of this book is also taken from the Lesser Dodinal, the second book of the Hereford Fragment (Hereford Cathedral Library MS 1701.E).

  For more information about the Salisbury Manuscript and the Hereford Fragment, this translation, and themes and notes from this story, see the Appendices at the rear of this book.

  ONE

  It was winter. A white cloak obscured the land. Trees rose from the snow, reaching for the grey sky. Nothing stirred, as if the world itself were hibernating. Through this silent, brooding forest, a tall man strode with effortless grace, not once losing his footing on the ice-crusted snow, nor in the tangled undergrowth it concealed.

  His pace suggested he had walked this way many times before and knew the route instinctively. In truth he was a stranger here, this knight, yet the frozen woodland felt more like home to him than Camelot ever had. His name was Dodinal. Sir Dodinal the Savage1 they called him. With affection, yes, but with good reason. He only fought when he had to, but when he had to, he fought like a wild man.

  The sun, a watery smudge barely visible through the clouds, would soon slip behind the distant hills of the borderlands. Dodinal would have to stop before the forest turned dark and find shelter for the night, when the air became so cold it could lull a man to sleep and steal his breath while he slept. Not yet, though; enough daylight remained for another hour of walking, maybe two. With no destination, he had no need to concern himself with direction. All that mattered was that he remain on the move, until he found what he had been searching for these long months.

  He closed his eyes and cast around, seeking other life. The trees were like tiny dim lights. A crow appeared to him as a small, bright glow, which cried harshly and sent a clump of snow to the ground as it clattered away from a branch overhead, disgruntled by this stranger’s presence in its realm. There were no other living creatures anywhere nearby. Dodinal had the forest to himself.

  When he opened his eyes he saw a child standing a dozen or so paces ahead of him, utterly still, as if fear or the elements had frozen him into place. A boy of perhaps eight or nine years, with hair the colour of night. He stared at Dodinal with unblinking eyes.

  He wore a tunic, leggings and boots, all too big for him. He would have been a comical sight, were it not for the weather. Although the snow was light after the morning’s heavy fall, the air was bitter enough to hurt the lungs. The child’s flimsy clothes would soon be the death of him.

  “Are you lost?” the knight asked softly, not wanting to startle him. The boy said nothing. “It’s all right. I won’t hurt you.”

  He might as well have been talking to himself, for all the reaction his words provoked. The boy’s gaze did not waver. His eyes were a remarkably vivid blue. Wondering if perhaps he was blind or deaf, or both, Dodinal took a tentative step towards him. Quest or no quest, he could not leave a child alone in the forest with night fast approaching, to abandon him would be to condemn him to death.

  With luck, the child’s home would be close by and easily found, or Dodinal would have to find shelter for them both until dawn. The prospect made him uncomfortable and slightly apprehensive. He had no experience of children, and not the faintest idea of how to deal with them.

  He ran his fingers through his beard, long and tangled after his months of travelling, while he considered what to do. The boy could not or would not speak. Dodinal had no choice but to search for his village or farmstead. Surely the child had not wandered too far, or else he would have been a frozen corpse by now. There would be signs to look out and listen for; spirals of wood smoke, the sounds of people. There was a good chance the boy’s kin were already looking for him, unless they were working too hard to have noticed he was gone.

  “Come on, then,” Dodinal said with a weary sigh. “Let’s get you home before night falls and the cold does for both of us.”

  Again, the boy gave no sign of having understood a word the knight had said. Dodinal would have to follow the tracks the youngster had made before snow could obscure them. First, though, he had to get close enough to see them in the dying grey light.

  The boy suddenly cocked his head as if he were listening to something far away; yet Dodinal, for all his keen senses, could hear nothing other than the soft patter of snowflakes on branches and the gentle creak of the trees as the breeze sighed through them. The birds had abandoned this place, the crow the last to leave. Even in winter, the silence felt wrong.

  Dodinal edged closer, anxious not to appear to be a threat, imagining how he would look to a lost child: tall and broad and wild, with a shield held by its strap over one shoulder, a leather pack slung over the other and a sword in its scabbard at his side.

  Then he heard it, a faint howl, then another, and a third. He looked at the boy with surprise; the child had felt the wolves’ distant presence before he had. Now the knight could sense them: three faint lights like small fires, moving swiftly through the forest, heading their way.

  That gave him no real cause for concern. Wolves did not attack men, especially a man such as Dodinal. He was more worried about the impending night. “We should go,” he said, wanting to pick up the boy’s tracks and get him home, with enough daylight left for Dodinal to continue on his journey through the borderlands.

  To his relief the child nodded, turned and walked away.

  Dodinal followed. He saw the tracks. The boy was heading back the way he came. Maybe the sound of the wolves had unnerved him enough to want to return to his people. Dodinal could not bring himself to let the child make the journey alone. He had to be certain the youngster was safe. Hungry wolves might consider a child easier prey than a man.

  He could feel them drawing closer, their life lights growing brighter as they raced through the forest. Dodinal wished them goo
d hunting. Game had been unusually scarce for days, in a way the weather alone could not explain. The supply of dried meat he had brought with him from Camelot was dwindling fast. He had not eaten fresh food for two days, when he had succeeded in trapping a hare. With luck, the boy’s people would be sufficiently grateful to offer his saviour a warm meal.

  The wolves drew nearer, heading directly towards them. Dodinal frowned, reaching for his sword. Wolves rarely attacked men, but that did not mean they never did. Starvation could make them desperate and dangerous. He could defend himself. Defending a helpless child at the same time would not be easy. The boy was entirely oblivious to danger, or else he would not have been wandering alone in the forest.

  He could hear them now, their panting breath, the crunch of their paws as they pushed relentlessly through the snow. Dodinal grabbed the boy and lifted him effortlessly onto a branch high enough to be out of their reach. “Don’t move,” he commanded. The lad said nothing, just stared at him with those startling blue eyes.

  Dodinal dropped his shoulder, and the shield slid down his arm. He let it fall to the ground. It was heavy, and he needed speed and agility. For the same reason, he unfastened the gold brooch on his cloak and threw it on top of the shield. He held the cloak up to the boy, who wrapped it around his shivering body. Finally, he shrugged off the leather pack and quickly tied it to the branch by its strap. Then he drew the sword and crouched in readiness.

  Three shadows bounded through the gloom. Dodinal moved to intercept them, not wanting to be standing still when they struck. The wolves separated, so that one came at him from either side, and the third disappeared. Dodinal felt rather than saw it loop around him to attack from behind.

  With a roar that echoed around the forest, Dodinal ran at the wolf to his right. He swung the sword the moment the animal was in reach, making a deep cut along its side. The wolf yelped in shock and pain. Blood sprayed as Dodinal swung the sword again, this time feeling a jolt of metal hitting bone. The animal staggered and fell, writhing in agony. Blood gushed from the stump of one of its hind legs, darkening the snow.

  A red mist descended and he barely felt the second wolf barrel into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He regained his balance just in time as it jumped up at him, front paws slamming into his chest. Its scrabbling claws tore through his tunic and undershirt, digging into his chest, and its jaws snapped inches from his face. Foetid breath washed over him. Dodinal grabbed it by the throat and shoved its head away an instant before the jaws could close on him.

  Its strength was ferocious, threatening to push him over. Dodinal forced it away from him and then rammed the point of the sword into its belly.

  The wolf yelped, its movements becoming frantic as it tried to break free. Dodinal’s muscles strained to maintain his grip on its throat. Hot blood gushed over his hand as he drove the sword deeper and pulled it down sharply. The animal went rigid, and Dodinal let it go to join the steaming heap of its spilled guts on the forest floor.

  Before he could catch his breath, the third wolf pounced. Dodinal heard the thump of its paws from behind and threw himself out of the way; jaws that would have seized and crushed his leg instead clacked shut on air. He rolled on the ground and immediately leapt to his feet, crouching, sword held at the ready, his other arm outstretched for balance. For a moment his eyes met those of the wolf, seeing only madness. They had not been starving, these beasts.

  The wolf snarled and lunged at him. Dodinal stood his ground, holding the sword with both hands at waist height. He sidestepped at the last moment, opening up a wound in its flank with the edge of his blade.

  Now Dodinal hoisted the sword and prepared to strike, but the wolf moved with a speed that belied its injury. Before Dodinal could react, it spun around and lunged at him. Pain flared in his right leg and the wolf bounded away, well out of reach of the blade. The red mist that had overtaken him died, and he felt his heartbeat subside.

  Dodinal, eyes fixed on the beast, reached down and tentatively felt his thigh, grimacing as his fingers touched torn cloth and ripped flesh. The wound was deep and would doubtless become infected from the wolf’s bite if it were not properly cleaned. He could put his weight on the leg, but he could not afford any more carelessness. This animal was cunning, despite the madness that clouded its senses. Even now it was pacing at a safe distance, teeth bared, a deep growl rumbling in its throat as it watched him intently for any sign of weakness.

  There was little time to lose. The forest had grown noticeably darker. Before long, the temperature would fall so low that Dodinal would be overcome by the cold, if the wolf did not get to him first. Climbing a tree would put him beyond the beast’s reach but would not protect him from the elements. He needed shelter, a place to light a fire. And he could not make a shelter with the wolf on his back.

  He roared and charged. The wolf ceased pacing and bared its teeth. Pain lanced through his leg with every step he took and he felt blood run freely into his boot. Dodinal needed strength. He needed rage. He reached down and pressed his hand hard against the wound. The pain was unspeakable, but he relished it, and the red mist fell again.

  The wolf, startled by his sudden aggression, took a moment to react as Dodinal struck out with the sword, ramming it deep into the animal’s shoulder. It yelped and snapped its teeth at him, ripping his sleeve but not puncturing the skin, as he pulled the blade free. Now the wolf took the offensive, hurling itself at him, trying to get at his injured leg, only to be repelled by his precise sword strikes. Its body pierced and slashed, still it persisted, bloodlust overruling its wits.

  Soon, however, the punishment it had taken began to tell. The wolf’s movements slowed and it backed away, still snarling. Dodinal did not hesitate. He raised the sword and lunged, swinging the blade around and down before the wolf could move. It died without a sound, save that of its severed head striking the forest floor.

  Dodinal staggered from the corpse, and his legs buckled. He pushed the tip of his sword into the ground and leaned on it for support, clutching the hilt with both hands to prevent himself from collapsing. His lungs ached for air, which was cold enough to hurt when he gasped it down. He knew he had to get moving, and quickly, before his fingers became too numb to fashion a shelter and light a fire.

  With a groan, he looked around to regain his bearings. The light had dimmed, so it took him several seconds to find the tree in whose branches he had left the boy. There was no sensing him in the near-darkness, for Dodinal was attuned to nature, not to man. Using the sword as a makeshift support, Dodinal limped over to the tree, feeling the wound stretch and tear. “It’s all right,” he called as he approached. The boy regarded him with that same implacable gaze. “The wolves are dead. You’re safe now.”

  Dodinal reached up to retrieve his cloak from the boy, tugging it around him gratefully and using the brooch to close it. He would share it once he could, but for now he needed its warmth. With the heat of battle dissipating inside him, the way was open for ice to steal into his blood and that would be fatal. For the boy, too. Without Dodinal there to help him find his way home, he would be dead in no time. He was suddenly wracked by shivers, and had to wait for them to subside so he could speak without his teeth rattling.

  “You will have to jump down.”

  The child did not move.

  Dodinal grew impatient. Were all children so stupid or was there something wrong with this one? “My leg... I cannot take your weight. Do you understand?”

  Now the child nodded. He looked down. The blank expression had gone and there was anxiety on his face.

  “It’s not much of a drop,” Dodinal encouraged. “Hang down from the branch and then let go.”

  To his relief, the boy obeyed, gripping the branch and lowering himself until his arms were fully outstretched. Then he dropped, barely stumbling as his feet hit the ground. Without so much as a backward glance he began to walk away. Dodinal shook his head, unsure whether he was bemused or angry by the boy’s complete lack of
gratitude or concern. Perhaps that was how all children behaved.

  Hopefully the boy was heading home, rather than just wandering through the wood. Dodinal shrugged and collected his pack and shield, ready to follow. He needed warmth and shelter, and food in his belly. He had some of the dried meat left but not enough to satisfy his hunger after seeing off the wolves. Besides, if the boy’s home was not far away, he could reserve the last of his supplies for another day when he might have greater need of them. While he did not know how long his quest would last, he sensed it would not be over for some time yet.

  He tore a strip from his tunic and bound the wound, grimacing as he tightened and tied it, then he set off after the boy. Within a few steps he knew he would not get far. He could barely walk, even with the sword taking some of his weight, and the boy was already pulling away from him. The bite was burning, perhaps infected by whatever sickness had driven the wolves mad. Dodinal saw a fallen branch and picked it up, sliding the sword into its sheath. The branch made a better crutch. Grunting in pain, he set off again.

  At least he could still make out the boy’s tracks, although for how much longer was impossible to predict. Stars were already out, winking through the few gaps between the snow clouds. Dodinal had no choice but to keep going, to force his way through the pain and hope he would reach safety before the blood loss overcame him. He pulled the cloak’s hood over his head to conserve as much of his body heat as possible, and drove himself on through the darkening woodland. Only then did he realise there were no life-lights to be found, now that those of the wolves had been extinguished. Man and boy aside, this entire stretch of forest was deserted.

  This was unknown in his experience, even for winter. Game had been plentiful for weeks. Not once had he gone hungry since leaving Camelot. Yet in the last few days he had encountered only a hare, which had ended up skinned and roasted over a fire, and a few squirrels that had eluded him. There had been crows aplenty, but they were not to his taste and offered too little meat to make it worth the effort of snaring them, and now even the birds had gone. It was very strange. In all his thirty-some years he had never known anything like it.