Chapter 3: Movements and Miracles in the Night
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From: Kirsty C Robertson <kirsty.robertson@cableol.co.uk
Despite the late hour Grifon found himself unable to sleep. The castle was quiet and his bed warm but his mind was troubled. For the hundredth time he drew his right hand out from beneath the covers and looked at it. The wound was healing well, there was some scarring but no infection. The problem was, try as he might to move them, his fingers remained stiff and unresponsive. He could not lift a spoon, never mind wield a heavy sword in battle. A tear slowly forced its way out from under his eyelid. Now he was useless to Sir Guy and would never fulfill his dream of becoming a knight. In despair he rose, dressed and taking only his cloak, slipped out into the cold night.
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Claire Stemp <claire@aracnet.net
Gareth looked up in surprise as the knight entered the noisy barracks. Sir Guy met the captain of the guard's gaze just as Gareth hid the wine cup behind his back. The rest of the guards quickly strove to hide the chariot, the lion and the Italian dancing girl.
"My lord, w-what are you doing here? I-I mean it's a pleasure to see you and all, but er...um..." stammered Gareth.
"Have you seen my squire...Grifon?" demanded Sir Guy. He looked intently at his other men, wondering briefly why they were clad in togas. "Grifon, my lord? I would have thought the lad would be resting after his unfortunate mishap," replied Gareth, relieved that the knight seemed too distracted to notice the Roman finery around him. "He's supposed to be. I just went to see him now and he's...he's gone!" Gisburne sat down on the reclining couch nearby and placed his head in his hands.
"Oh, Sir Guy, don't be sad!" exclaimed some of the men. "Oy, Gareth, give 'im some wine! 'E don't look half--"
"I'm fine," stated Gisburne abruptly, realizing that he couldn't afford to reveal such vulnerability to his men. However, he took the proffered cup from Gareth's hand all the same.
"It's amazing," spoke Sir Guy. "This wine tastes exactly like the kind my cousin just gave me! Is it Italian?" Gareth nodded, then grimaced as the lion released a fiercesome yawn. The knight gave a start and stared at the wine cup in his hand. He handed it back to Gareth. "I think I'd better not have any more."
"Maybe you should go to bed, my lord," suggested one of the soldiers helpfully. "You've got to keep up your strength for when little Grifon returns."
"Yes, yes, you're right of course. I'd better go. Enjoy your orgy."
"Uh...yes...thank you, my lord," said Gareth. They watched as the knight wandered forlornly from the barracks.
"By Heaven!" cried Empress Clara from her place beside the lion. "I thought he'd never go!"
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From: Kathye Coyle
Lord Templeton shut the door behind Sir Guy and leaned back as he buffed his fingernails on his shirt. "Ah...yes even in the Middle Ages, I've got the touch." He walked back over to the chair in front of the fire and sat down to wait for his teammates to come back. "I really should remember to thank Hannibal for giving me the cushy job this time around." He slouched in the chair and struggled to keep from falling asleep. "Why couldn't she have chosen a time that had coffee. I could kill for a cup right about now." He got up and started pacing as a thought occured to him 'How was I able to talk to Sir Guy? I wasn't speaking Norman French. For that matter how was I able to talk to that lovely barmaid? The English of this time falls somewhere between pure Anglo-Saxon and the English of Chaucer's day.' He stopped suddenly and looked around, "Where the heck did that come from?" (Note from Kathye: there had been a discussion of what languages these people would actually be talking. The last line is taken verbatum from one of these posts.)
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From: "Lady Elene" <ladyelene@hotmail.com
Lady Elene tiptoed silently after the strangely dressed man, he stopped and looked back. She quickly nipped into a window embrasure to hide, while she waited she looked out into the snow-covered courtyard. Sir Guy wandered slowly outof the barracks looking very sad. Instantly forgetting all about the mysterious jester, she ran swiftly down the stairs and out into the courtyard. Placing a hand very gently on his arm she asked "What's the matter, my Lord?"
*****
From: Kathye Coyle
Prince Baracus' headed off to find the fool and a certain silver haired 'servant'. As he continued along he caught a glimpse of a woman darting into the courtyard. He was glad that she hadn't seen him because he had no idea what he would have done with a prisoner.
He finally caught up with the two men he was looking for. "Colonel, 'Lord Templeton' would like to know if you've come up with a plan to rescue his 'friends' yet? He's getting really antsy worrying about them in that dungeon. Not that he'll admit it."
"I've been looking around this castle and it appears that half of the guards are out in the forest right now," the silver haired 'servant' (let's call him 'Hannibal' for now) said to his companions, "and the other half appear to be having some sort of drunken orgy."
"Nobody better tell the Faceman about that, he'll want to join in," the fool interjected. "Come on, Colonel, I wanna get to bed. This night seems to have lasted for a week ."
Hannibal pulled his two friends in close and whispered "Now, this is the plan..."
*****
From: Kirsty C Robertson <kirsty.robertson@cableol.co.uk
Grifon had been walking through the dark for what seemed like half the night. At some point it had started to snow heavily and he was getting very cold. The path his feet followed led him, unbidden, to the door of a deserted chapel. Thinking to take some shelter from the weather he entered. Apart from the plain wooden cross adorning one wall the place was empty. The floor was beaten earth and the windows unglazed, nevertheless he felt a strange peace creep over him and he curled up on the floor and slept. Outside the snow stopped, the clouds cleared, and the bright face of the moon sent down a shaft of silvery light to bathe the silent form.
The next morning he awoke in a clearing in the middle of the forest, scrubbing at his eyes with his hands confirmed that the chapel was nowhere to be seen. Hearing the sound of bells, he walked down the path until he came across a goatherder.
"That place," he pointed back up the track "what is it?"
"Ah!" the old man didn't seem surprised by the question, "It's the site of the martyrdom of St. Morven, murdered by the Saxons hundreds of years ago. They say miracles can happen there. Did you need a miracle?"
Grifon looked down at his right hand, it was whole and strong, with only a scar to show what had been.
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