The Wilderness of Wirral was only forty miles from Caernarvon, just north of the town of Chester, and Gawain and Terence arrived by early afternoon. Despite its ominous-sounding name, it was really a pleasant little wood. They made camp by a chuckling brook, and Terence took his bow into the woods to hunt up some dinner. Before long he spotted several rabbit holes. He made himself comfortable and waited for the rabbits to come out for their evening feeding. In about an hour, an enormous rabbit poked his head out of the nearest hole and stared hard at the bush where Terence was hiding.
"Oh dear, oh dear," the rabbit said. "There's a nasty hunter, planning to eat me and my family for his dinner. Whatever shall I do?"
Terence grinned. "Robin?" he said.
Years earlier, on the day that Terence had first met Gawain, Terence had also encountered a mischievous elf named Robin, a sort of messenger between the World of Men and the Other World. In fact, Robin had led Terence to Gawain. Although Robin had made game of Terence more than once, Terence was fond of the sprite, who was his most frequent contact with the faery realm.
The rabbit chuckled, then began to stretch, growing taller and changing form. In a moment the little green elf stood before him. "Hallo, Terence."
"Well, where have you been keeping yourself?" Terence said, striding forward. "I haven't seen you in ages."
"Oh, here and there," the sprite said, waving his arm vaguely. "You?"
"Questing again, as I suppose you know."
"Ay, that I do. That's why I'm here."
Terence nodded. "You have a message for Gawain?"
"Nay, young master. A message for you. If your quest is to go on, it depends on you, not Gawain."
"What do you mean?" Terence frowned.
"You didn't sleep well last night, did you?"
"We didn't sleep at all. We were ... we were busy fighting a terrible Huntsman."
"Were you then?" Robin asked, eyes twinkling. "And did you use a charmed arrow and a magic shield with the true face of the Blessed Virgin on it?" Terence blinked, and Robin added, "Nay, don't be surprised, lad. It's all over the countryside. There's already a group of pilgrims forming in Chester to go view the scene of your battle. But whatever you did last night, it left your master sleepy, and when you went out hunting he lay down for a nap."
"So?"
"It was how he got captured."
"What?"
"By the Marquis of Alva. He's the great lord of the lands hereabouts, and a black-hearted villain. He hates all knights except his own, and he hates the knights of the Round Table most of all. On feast days he has captured knights brought out and put to death for his amusement. And, in case it's slipped your mind, Good Friday is five days away."
"What should I do?"
"Rescue him, of course," Robin said with surprise.
"Just like that? How do I do it?"
"Come now, young master. You know I only tell you what to do, never how to do it. But—" Robin paused, as if in thought—"I understand that the marquis has recently misplaced his underchef, and with the feast coming up is in need of some kitchen help." Terence nodded eagerly; he had been cooking all his life, first for the Hermit, then for Gawain. Robin produced two packets, one small and one quite large. "Here are two powders. The white powder in the small bag is tasteless, and when just a pinch is mixed with a person's food, that person will sleep like a baby for hours. The yellow powder is a powerful spice, from far away to the east, sure to disagree with any true Englishman's digestion."
Terence took the packets and asked, "Where do I find this Marquis of Alva?"
"Do you see that rabbit?" Robin pointed at a rabbit coming out of another hole. "Follow it, and it will take you to the Chateau Wirral, the seat of the Marquis of Alva." The rabbit saw Terence and bolted. Terence started, then dived frantically into the brush after it. Behind him, Robin called, "Run fast!"
It was just like Robin to have him chasing a rabbit instead of something a bit slower, Terence thought between breaths. He ran as fast as he could, gasping for air, losing sight of the rabbit every ten steps or so but always spotting it again. He leaped over rocks and bushes that he would never have tried to jump before, and he fell only three or four times. His throat began to burn, and his chest ached with every breath, but he didn't slow down until he ran headlong into a large grey stallion with a woman on its back.
Terence tried to dodge, but he still hit the horse a glancing blow on its shoulder and sprawled in the dirt.
"You idiot! You cabbageheaded domnoddy! If you've hurt my horse, I'll have your skin!" the rider shouted shrilly.
Terence scrambled to his feet, wheezing, and managed to mutter, "Beg pardon ma'am," between gasps, and looked frantically around for the rabbit. It was gone.
"Look at me, boy!" the rider demanded.
Terence obeyed and saw that she was only a girl, maybe sixteen. "Have you ... seen a rabbit ... go by here?"
She stared. "Are you chasing a rabbit on foot? How stupid!"
"Hurry, girl! Did you see it?" Terence demanded impatiently.
Her mouth dropped open, and with a stunned look on her face, she pointed north. Terence wasted no more time but wheeled and started running again. Behind him the girl shouted, "Hey! Stop there, you boy!" but Terence ignored her. Soon he spied the rabbit again, and then they both burst out of the woods. Terence slowed to a stop and stared at the Chateau Wirral, rising incongruously out of the forest.
It was an ancient-looking fortress, squat and dark and thick-walled. The keep, a circular stone tower in the center of the fortress, rose high above the walls, but nothing else interrupted the long, level line of stone. The gate stood open, but two guards armed with battle-axes stood on either side of the entrance. Terence caught his breath, then strolled forward, whistling.
"You, there!" one of the guards called to him. "What's your business, eh?"
"I've got no business at all," Terence replied mournfully. "And no food in my gut because of it."
"Well, clear off. We've no food for beggers here."
"I'm no begger!" Terence declared, offended. "I'm a squire, I am." He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.
The guards laughed, and one of them said, "Ho! A squire, it is. Don't you mean a knight? D'you think we should bow before Sir Sniffles here?"
Terence grinned sheepishly. "Well, almost a squire anyway. I would have been, but the knight what would have taken me on was popped off in a tourney. Does the guv'nor here need a squire?"
"Clear off, boy," one of the guards said, smiling in a kind way. "You don't want to work here. Go hunting with that bow of yours."
Terence had forgotten the bow slung over his shoulder. "But I'm no good with it, you see. Are you sure there's no need for a squire? You see, I don't want to go back to work in the kitchens unless I has to. I'd be a good squire."
The other guard, whose face was sharper than his companion's, said, "The kitchens, eh? A serving-lad?"
"What, a scruff-boy? I should say not! I'm a cook, I am—but I'd rather be a squire."
"A cook, eh? Well, the lord here might have some use for you, after all."
The kindly guard said, "Forget it, Glynn. This here's a good lad, and he don't want to work in the marquis's kitchens. Go on to Chester, boy, and find work there, right?"
Terence started to argue, but before he could speak, a dark, heavy-browed man in a dirty velvet blouse appeared in the gate. "What's this, guards? Chitter-chatter? Who's this vermin?" he demanded. Both guards went rigid, and their faces became blank, as if all expression had been wiped away with a cloth. The heavy-browed man asked again, "Who is this peasant brat?"
The second guard, Glynn, said, "A boy seeking a position in the kitchens, my lord."
"Actually, I'd like to be a squire—" Terence began, playing his part to the end, but the kindly guard gave him a sharp warning look, and Terence stopped.
"If I take you on, you'll learn to speak when spoken to, or you'll learn to live with no skin on your back," the man said. He looked at Terence thoughtfully. "Can you cook?"
"Yes, sir."
"Yes what?"
"Yes ... my lord?"
"Hmm. What's your best dish?"
"Roast capons with mushrooms, my lord. Or broiled trout in wine sauce."
The marquis grunted, then nodded. "Right. You're on. But none of those fancy dishes, mind." He looked at the two guards, then said, "The dumbhead on the right. Take him to the kitchens." Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, he vanished.
"Cor," Terence said after a moment. "Is he always like that? Popping up then popping out?"
Neither guard replied. Glynn said, "Keep a civil tongue in your head. Follow me."
The kitchens were large and busy, but Terence, used to dealing with Camelot's huge kitchen court, soon knew his way around tolerably well. He barely had time to leave his bow and arrows in a dry corner before the surly chief cook set him to work stirring a cauldron of gruel for the yeoman soldiers and another of thin barley soup for the castle servants. Both were unappetizing in the extreme, and Terence pitied those who were to eat them. He wondered which of the various doorways led to the dungeons where he could check on Gawain, but he realized that he could not simply ask. He would have to explore later.
"Boy!" the chief cook shouted.
It occurred to Terence that no one had ever asked his name. Indeed, as as long as he had been in the Chateau Wirral only the kindly guard at the gate had used a person's name. "Yes, sir?"
"Sweep that muck over there into a bucket." The cook pointed to the bones and entrails that had been cast onto the floor. "The dungeon guards will come get it when they're ready."
Terence stared. "You mean that's for the prisoners? No one could eat that mess!"
The cook chuckled in a grunty way. "That's their lookout, eh?"
An hour or so later, a guard came to get the swill bucket. He looked at the contents, then laughed and asked if the cook had anything to foul it up a bit. The cook leaned over the bucket and spat into it. "There you go, guard. Now mix that in, see, so that the whole bucket's flavored." Terence could only stare. Was no one in this place human? The guard retreated down the hallway, chuckling.
Finally the cook sent Terence to bed and, since Terence had come straight from the gate to the kitchens, gave him directions to the servants' quarters. Terence listened to these directions with only half his attention because even though he was desperately tired, he had no intention of sleeping until he had found Gawain. As soon as the cook's back was turned, he slipped down the hallway that the dungeon guard had taken.
Soon he was hopelessly lost among the black hallways of the castle and was cursing himself for not remembering a candle. After perhaps an hour of running into walls, he saw a glimmer of light around a corner. He headed toward it, hoping that it was a torch he could borrow. He turned the corner and almost ran into a girl carrying a candle.
"Excuse me, ma'am," Terence muttered, eyes down.
"Oaf!" the girl said. "What are you doing in this hallway?"
"I'm new, ma'am," Terence said. "I got lost."
"You!" the girl exclaimed suddenly. Terence looked up and groaned inwardly. "You're the ill-mannered boy who ran into me in the forest!"
"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry, ma'am."
"Why wouldn't you stop when I called?" she demanded. "I ought to have you beaten for impudence!"
Terence blinked and looked up. The girl was short and sturdy, and her nose turned up sharply. Had she been smiling, it might have been a pleasant face, but at the moment she looked like a child having a tantrum. Terence said, "Well, of all the mean-spirited little cats! I'd like to know what harm I did you or that horse of yours. And what's more, this afternoon in the forest I wasn't a servant here, so why the devil should I have obeyed you anyway?" The girl's eyes widened with shock, and Terence bit his tongue. Getting himself thrown into the dungeons would not help Gawain. "I beg your pardon, ma'am."
"You insolent cub!" she said. "I'll have your skin for this!"
That was it then. The girl would call the guard, and Terence would never be able to hide in a strange castle for long. Furious with himself, Terence snapped, "Go ahead, then. Have me beaten, if it gives you pleasure. It probably will, if you're like everyone else in this castle. But you'll have to catch me."
Terence turned sharply, but the girl called, "Wait!" and he hesitated. In a voice that throbbed with emotion, the girl said, "I'm not like the rest! I'm not! Here, take this candle and go." She whirled around and stalked with dignity through a nearby doorway.
Surprised but relieved, Terence took the candle and continued his search. With the light from the candle, it was much easier to get his bearings, and soon he found the dungeons, at the foot of a long, winding stairway. Terence listened and heard at least three guards talking about the "fancy new knight"; then he crept upstairs and through a door to the outer court. Smelling the unmistakable aroma of a stable, Terence decided not to bother looking for the servants' quarters. He slipped into the stable and burrowed into the straw to sleep for a few hours.
He was awakened by something cold and wet against his cheek. He rolled his head away and opened his eyes. Through a grey morning light, he saw the outline of Gawain's horse Guingalet, standing over him and nuzzling his face.
Terence scrambled backward, crablike, out of range of Guingalet's wicked teeth, but the horse simply followed. Slowly Terence stood, then tentatively patted Guingalet's neck. "Hel ... hello, old boy. Good to see you." Guingalet did not take offense at being addressed so familiarly, and Terence breathed more easily. Terence glanced around. Nearby was Terence's own horse, and on a table toward the back wall Terence recognized their saddles and packs. It looked as if everything but Gawain's sword and armor was there. Guingalet rubbed his head against Terence's chest, and Terence patted the horse's shoulder. "Here now, boy. What's this?" His fingers had run across something dry and rough caked to Guingalet's shoulder. "Have you hurt yourself, boy?"
"It's not the horse's blood," said a female voice a few yards away. Terence jumped with fear and squinted into the darkness. A second later, the girl who had given him the candle stepped into the light coming through the door. "He bit one of the grooms," the girl explained. "He's a very fierce animal. Or at least he was yesterday."
Terence swallowed and said, "I've always been good with horses, ma'am."
"A miracle worker, more like," she said. "Unless, of course, he knows you."
"Oh no, ma'am," Terence protested.
"Where were you off to in such a hurry yesterday?"
"Like you said, ma'am. Hunting."
"I don't believe you. And what were you looking for last night in the halls?"
"The servants' quarters, ma'am."
"I don't believe you. And what are you doing down here at this hour?"
"Why the devil should I tell you if you're not going to believe me?" Terence snapped. As before, the girl seemed astonished at Terence's forthrightness. "For that matter," Terence continued, "what are you doing in the stables so early?"
The girl stammered, "It's the only time when I can get.... Who are you to be asking questions of me?"
"For that matter, who are you to be asking questions of me?" Terence countered, adding as an afterthought, "though it's not likely that anyone in this blighted place would actually tell her name."
"My name is Lady Eileen," the girl said defiantly. "I'm the niece of the marquis."
"Oh, I suppose that's why you think that everyone is terrified of you," Terence said, nodding.
"Look here," the girl said, "I may be related to him, but I'm not like him. I hate it here. I hate this place with all my heart. I'd leave in a second if I could." She paused, panting. "Now, I've told you my name. What's yours?"
"Terence," he said. Immediately he wished he had given a false name, but it was too late.
The Lady Eileen's eyes widened. "So that's it," she said, with dawning understanding. "That new knight that my uncle brought in is Sir Gawain of the Round Table, and you're his squire!"
"Sir Who?" Terence asked, feigning bewilderment.
"Don't be an ass," the Lady Eileen said shortly. "Everyone here has heard about Sir Gawain and his squire Terence and how Sir Gawain defeated the great Sir Oneas of the Crossroads and about his mighty battle with the Huntsman of Anglesey and the new shrine of Our Lady of Anglesey."
"You've heard that already?" Terence said, caught off balance. "But it's just been two days—" He stopped abruptly.
Eileen continued, nodding to herself. "So last night you were looking for the dungeons. Did you find them?" Terence nodded. "I won't give you away," she said finally. "And I hope you free him." She turned sharply and left the stable.
"Lady Eileen?" Terence said. She stopped, and Terence said, "Thank you." She nodded curtly. "And Lady Eileen? Don't eat your dinner tonight. I'm working in the kitchens, you see."
Terence spent an exhausting but profitable day in the kitchens. The cook cursed and beat him, but he gathered some valuable information. He learned that Gawain was to be executed on Good Friday, that the marquis had a notoriously delicate digestion (trust Robin to know that), and that the marquis's dinner was to end with a bland and spongy kidney pie. When the cook stepped out of the kitchen for a minute, it was a simple matter for Terence to empty half the packet of yellow powder that Robin had given him into the kidney pie and then cover it with the top crust. The rest of the powder he poured into a large plum pudding that the cook had left him stirring.
Soon after the kidney pie was sent to the marquis's table, there was a commotion from the dining hall, and some guards came to take the cook to the marquis. Terence gathered his bow and arrows, grabbed a handful of candles, and slipped away into the maze of halls he had explored the night before. He found a secluded corner and settled down to wait for the yellow powder to have its full effect.
"Terence!" a voice whispered urgently, and something poked Terence—not gently—in the ribs. He jerked and there was the Lady Eileen standing over him holding a lamp. "Wake up."
Terence realized that he had been asleep. "What time is it?" he asked quickly.
"Just after three. What did you put in the food tonight? Everyone who ate at our table is groaning as if they were about to die." She paused, then asked, "Are they?"
"About to die?" Lady Eileen nodded. Terence shook his head doubtfully and said, "I don't know."
"I hope they do," she said fiercely. "They sawed a knight in half last Christmas. I heard them laughing about it. What are you going to do now?"
Terence found himself telling the Lady Eileen his plans. It didn't take long. When he had finished, she said, "That's it? You're going to give this other powder to the guards and put them to sleep. How?"
"I don't know," Terence admitted.
Lady Eileen thought briefly. "What you need is a bottle of wine. That's what the guards will swallow fastest."
"But where will I get a bottle of—?"
"Come with me." Lady Eileen grabbed Terence's hand and led him quickly through the halls to a bedchamber with a fire roaring in the fireplace. "Here," she said, digging into a chest full of clothes, "put these on over your clothes"—she held up an old grey dress and a red wool shawl—"and go down to the dungeons with this bottle."
"I'm not going to wear that!"
"If you go down in your own clothes, they'll probably kill you on sight," she said briskly. "Here, you'll need a corset to give you the right shape."
Terence felt himself being swept along helplessly and resented Lady Eileen's imperious planning, but after protesting once or twice more, for form's sake, he agreed. It took several minutes to dress, mostly to get the corset tightened. Soon, though, Terence was awkwardly descending the dungeon steps, the bottle in one hand and the hem of his dress in the other.
"Who goes there?" a gruff voice asked.
"Is this the Lady Eileen's room?" Terence asked in a quavering falsetto. "Oh, dear, I must be lost, and Lady Eileen waiting for this wine."
"Hey, fellows!" the gruff voice said. "It's a woman! And she has wine!"
Terence gave a flustered squawk and fell over backwards, gently setting the bottle of wine on the stone floor. Then he picked up his skirts and ran back up the stairs as fast as he could. Behind him he heard the guard laugh raucously and call out that the wench had dropped her wine. Ten minutes later, still in his feminine disguise, Terence peeked around the corner. Three guards lay sprawled in an untidy heap on the floor, breathing deeply and evenly.
"Milord!" Terence called out.
"Terence?" Gawain's muffled voice came from the end of a dark passageway.
"Wait there, milord!" Terence hurried down the hall and drew the bolt on the last door. Scruffy and stained but uninjured, Gawain stepped out.
"Very fetching," Gawain said. "The grey dress brings out your eyes."
Terence ignored him. "Here," he said, handing Gawain a lamp and stripping off the dress and shawl. "Stop laughing like a half-wit and help me with this corset. Are there any other prisoners here?"
"Nay, lad. I'm the only one. Just in time for the Good Friday feast, too. Everyone seems to think it's a stroke of luck. How did you get into this thing? I thought it was hard to put on armor!"
When Terence at last stood free of his disguise, he led Gawain back up the stairs. "The horses and our gear are in a stable just outside. If we can saddle them without being seen, we can charge right through the main gate."
"My armor? And the Sword Galatine?" Gawain asked.
Terence shook his head. Gawain stopped at the top of the stairway. "Then let's go find them. Do you know your way around this castle?"
"Milord, do you know what they plan to do to you?" Terence pleaded.
"They mentioned crucifixion," Gawain said. "Good Friday, you know. Where would be a good place to look for the armor?"
Terence knew that tone and gave up. "Follow me," he said and led Gawain back to Lady Eileen's bedchamber.
She answered the door at Terence's second knock. "What are you doing back here?" she asked, ushering them into the room. "Good evening, Sir Gawain."
"Who is this, Terence?" Gawain demanded. "I never told anyone my name."
"Why aren't you at the stables already?" Lady Eileen asked.
"Sir Gawain won't leave without his armor," Terence said to Lady Eileen.
Her eyes flashed angrily. "Well, he's a domnoddy, then!"
"Don't tell me!" Terence protested. "Tell him! And he's not either a domnoddy!"
"Pardon me, my lady—" Gawain began.
"Don't use that tone of voice with me, kitchen boy!" Lady Eileen snapped.
"I'm not a kitchen boy. I'm a squire."
"Well, you're still somebody's servant."
"Not yours, thank heaven," Terence retorted.
"Pardon me, my lady," Gawain said again. "But if you live in this castle, perhaps you can tell me where I might find my armor and sword."
"My uncle keeps all the armor he captures in his treasure room, and the only entrance to the treasure room is in his chamber."
"Her uncle is the marquis," Terence explained.
"And where is your uncle's chamber?" Gawain asked.
"You're not going to try to get it back!" she exclaimed.
"But of course. It's mine, you see."
"Men are such idiots!" she said, rolling her eyes.
"Just tell him where it is," Terence said. "He won't leave until you do."
"At the end of this hall is another hall. You take the turning on the ... on the..." she hesitated uncertainly.
"Oh for heaven's sake, why can't women ever tell their left from their right?" Terence moaned. He gestured with his right then his left hand. "Is it this way or that way?"
"Be quiet, kitchen boy. It's this way—right. My uncle's chamber is at the end of that second hall."
"Thank you, my lady," Gawain bowed. "You wait for me here, Terence."
Before Terence could protest, Gawain was gone, running lightly down the hall. Terence looked at Lady Eileen, shrugged, and said, "Sorry. Do you mind if I sit down?"
"I don't see how I can stop you," she replied ungraciously. Terence sat. For a few seconds neither spoke, then Lady Eileen said, "I hope he kills him. I do. I do."
"Kills your uncle?"
"Yes. He's a fiend!" she said.
"True. But why aren't you like him? Growing up with him here and all."
"I didn't grow up here! My father was the marquis's younger brother, and a good man. When he died, six months ago, I came here to live with my uncle. I didn't know what he was like."
"And he took you in?"
Lady Eileen nodded. "And all my inheritance. Oh, I do hope Sir Gawain kills him."
Gawain was gone longer than expected. It was fully twenty minutes later before he walked proudly into the room wearing his armor and carrying a sword in each hand. "Sorry I was so long, Terence, but I took a few minutes choosing a good sword for you from the stock there. This looks like a fine blade."
Terence passed his hands over his eyes in anguish. "Milord, you tried to dress yourself, didn't you?"
Lady Eileen said, "You spent time in there choosing a sword for Terence?"
"What's wrong?" Gawain asked Terence. "I thought I suited up pretty well for being in the dark."
"What does a squire need with a sword?" Lady Eileen demanded.
"It's a miracle it didn't drop off you in the hallway," Terence moaned.
"Let me tell you, my lad, that I put on my armor myself for years before I met you."
"And it's a mystery to us all that you're still alive, I'm sure." Terence nodded. "Now you've got your armor back, I just hope you don't lose it."
"A bit loose is all," Gawain said. "I couldn't reach all the ties. You should sympathize, Terence. I'm sure you have the same trouble with your corset."
Lady Eileen laughed and said, "You should have seen his face when I tied that on, Sir Gawain."
"Oh, are you the one who helped him? But of course you are. I'm afraid I've forgotten my manners. I've never even asked your name."
"Lady Eileen," she said, curtsying grandly.
"Look, can we get out of here?" Terence asked.
"Charmed," Gawain said with a deep bow.
"Terence is right, Sir Gawain. You really should be leaving."
"Oh, very well," Gawain said with a police smile. "I've had a lovely evening, my lady."
Lady Eileen giggled, and Terence rolled his eyes. They turned toward the door, but Lady Eileen asked, "Did you kill my uncle?"
"No. I had to knock him around a bit, but I didn't think it would be polite to kill him after all you've done to help." Lady Eileen slumped with disappointment, and Gawain said, "But I'd be happy to go back, if you like. The only thing is, he's not feeling well, and I don't think it's chivalrous to kill someone on the chamberpot."
"Milord, we have to leave," Terence said firmly.
Lady Eileen sighed and said, "I suppose you're right. Maybe he'll die anyway."
"He certainly sounds as though he will," Gawain said encouragingly.
"Milord!"
"Oh, all right, Terence."
Gawain led the way out of the room. As he closed the door, Terence looked back at Lady Eileen, whose face was a curious mixture of amusement and dejection. "Thank you, Lady Eileen," he said. She nodded, and then Gawain and Terence were running down the hallway, swords at the ready.
They made it to the stables without incident and hurriedly saddled their horses, but when Terence opened the stable doors again, they found a score of yeoman soldiers lined up outside, all armed with spears. At their head was the marquis himself, looking extremely unwell and very pale in the moonlight but standing nevertheless. "At them!" the marquis cried, and the line charged.
Terence dropped to one knee, slipped his bow from his shoulder, and began firing arrow after arrow into the ranks. He had never fired so swiftly, and four soldiers were down before the line of soldiers came to Gawain. Then Terence drew his new sword from its scabbard on his saddle. For the next few minutes, he did not think but only slashed and parried by instinct. To his left he heard Gawain's roaring battle cry and the dull thud-thud-thud of his master's sword on the leather uniforms of the soldiers.
A soldier's face loomed before him, and Terence drew back his arm to cut at it, but stopped. It was the kind guard from the gate, and as Terence looked into his eyes he knew in an instant, though how he could not say, that this guard would not hurt him. Terence whirled away and faced another charging soldier, but before Terence could strike, the new attacker stopped short, with the first guard's spear in his chest. Then Gawain and Terence and the guard were standing alone amid a scattering of dead and wounded.
"Thank you, friend," Terence said. The guard nodded, but looked only at his fellow-soldier whom he had killed. "My name's Terence," Terence added.
At that the guard looked up. "My name is Alan," he said. "And you can't know what a relief it is to tell someone my name."
"Can't I just? This is Sir Gawain, of King Arthur's Round Table." Alan stared at Gawain with awe, then knelt before him.
"Nay, friend. I should kneel to you, in gratitude." Gawain grasped Alan's shoulders and gently raised him. Then Gawain looked around. "Where's the marquis?"
He was not there. Alan said, "He must have gone for more men. He can get as many as fifty from the barracks."
"Long odds. Perhaps we had best leave, Terence, if you'll stop dawdling. You'll come with us, Alan?"
Alan beamed. "With pleasure, Sir Gawain. I'll get a horse." He raced back into the stable. Terence glanced up the wall of the towering keep. Outlined against a lighted window was Lady Eileen. Gawain dropped a hand on Terence's shoulder and said, "You did well, lad."
"Wait here!" Terence said abruptly. Still carrying his sword, he ran back into the dark building, up the stairs, and down the hall to Lady Eileen's chamber. He pushed open the door without knocking and looked at her, panting from his run. She stared back but said nothing. "Come with us," he said.
"Come ... I can't ... I..." she stammered.
"You said you'd leave if you could. Now's your chance."
She stared at Terence for another second, then leaped into frenzied action. She grabbed a small bag and stuffed some clothes and a comb into it—of course she'd have to have a comb, Terence thought—and threw on a heavy traveling cloak. The whole process of packing took less than three minutes. They ran together down to the stable, where Terence helped her saddle the beautiful grey stallion he had seen her on before. He reached over to help her mount, but she pushed him away and climbed lightly into the saddle. Gawain, who had said nothing when he saw them come out of the tower, said pleasantly, "Shall we go then, if everyone's ready?"
They stepped out of the stables to see the marquis, clearly illuminated by the torches held by some thirty soldiers, standing between them and the main gate. Gawain rode forward and stopped, facing the line of soldiers. "My name is Sir Gawain," he said. "Are you all willing to die for your master as these others have? Do you love this cruel marquis so much?"
There was a slight rustling among the soldiers. "Attack!" shouted the marquis. No one moved.
"Come on, friends," Gawain said to Terence and the others. They trotted forward, and the line of soldiers parted for them, as if by magic.
"Attack, you craven dogs!" the marquis screamed. He saw Alan and Lady Eileen. "Traitors! Traitors! Kill them!" Still no one moved. "I'll have you all flayed!" shrieked the marquis. Without speaking, the soldiers moved in a circle until they surrounded their master.
Gawain's little cavalcade reached the gate and trotted through. A minute later, just before they entered the forest, a wild inhuman shriek rose from the castle. They stopped and looked back.
"They killed him, didn't they?" Lady Eileen said.
"Wouldn't you?" said Alan. Then they rode together into the Wilderness of Wirral.