The old man spoke. “From what you said of the noise it made, the baying of many hounds, it must have been the same beast we heard all those years ago. The sound of it drove us insane, made us commit a great sin. Were it not for the Questing Beast, none of this would have happened. Now it is dead, I have perhaps been forgiven. And for that, Dodinal, you have my eternal gratitude.”
Dodinal nodded in acknowledgement but said nothing. He was not convinced the old man was right. Yes, it would have been the Questing Beast the villagers had heard. What was not so certain was whether it was the beast that had made father sleep with daughter and mother with son. In a village this remote there must have been temptation, especially when a fierce winter had rendered it more isolated than usual. Perhaps it was the villagers’ unnatural lust that had drawn the beast to them. If so, then the incestuous rutting of the creatures they spawned would have drawn it back to the valley.
It could have been a reluctant god, its roar a cry of torment.
Perhaps. Perhaps not. Dodinal would never know.
Neither could he say the beast was dead. It had appeared out of nowhere and had gone the same way. He would be sure to tell the Saracen, when next he saw him. Palomides may be fated never to find it, but this was as good a place as any to start looking.
They made small talk for a while until exhaustion overcame them. They were asleep before sunset and woke before dawn.
“Are you sure you won’t come with us?” Hywel asked the old man, as they readied to leave. The hunter had perked up a little. It must have been the imminent prospect of returning home. “We would not speak of what happened here. You would be made welcome.”
The old man shook his head. “Thank you, but you and your friends have done enough for me already. I don’t know how much time I have left, but what I do have I would prefer to spend here in my home, now that the ghosts of the past no longer haunt me.”
They said their farewells and left him.
Gerwyn needed help climbing out of the valley, but was otherwise surprisingly adept with the crutches. They made good progress, even allowing for the children, and reached the edge of the forest by noon. They halted in the shade of the trees and ate cold meat which the old man had given them. Lost in thought, Dodinal stared at the mountains while he chewed. Eventually, Gerwyn suggested it was time they continued their journey, and Hywel helped him to his feet.
“Wait,” Dodinal told them.
Gerwyn raised an eyebrow. “The longer we sit around here, the longer it will take us to get home. I’d rather push on.”
“I have something to tell you.” He hesitated.
Then he took a moment to tell them who he was. Where he’d come from.
Both men looked thunderstruck. Then Hywel shrugged. “I knew there was something different about you. A traveller who fought as well as you… I should have guessed. Anything else you’d like to share with us, Sir Dodinal?”
“Yes. I’m not coming with you.”
He raised a hand to silence their immediate cries of protest. “As much as I want to, I cannot.”
“Why not?” Gerwyn demanded. “You promised Rhiannon.”
“I promised her I would return. And I will. But not today.”
“When, then? And what am I supposed to tell her?”
“Tell her…” He considered his words for a moment. “Tell her I have healed a great wound. But there are other wounds in this world that need healing. She knows what I am, as do you. I am a knight of Camelot. I swore the King’s Oath.13 I have to uphold it.”
“Have to or want to?” Gerwyn fired back bitterly.
“Not long ago, you wanted me gone,” Dodinal said with a smile. “Now you don’t want me to leave. I wish you’d make up your mind!”
“He’ll get used to the idea once he’s had enough time,” Hywel said. He reached out and held Dodinal in a tight embrace. Then he let go and stepped back. “It has been an honour to know you. You say you will return to our village; I look forward to that day.”
“As do I,” Dodinal said. He looked at Gerwyn and put one hand on his shoulder. “You have done your father proud. You will make a great brehyrion, especially with Hywel around to guide you. Look after Rhiannon for me.”
Gerwyn nodded, unable to speak.
The children were hovering nearby, and Dodinal crouched by them. “You were very brave,” he said to Annwen. “I am glad I was able to save you. Now go and wait with the others.”
The girl hugged him briefly, then skipped off towards the two men, leaving Dodinal alone with the boy. “Walk with me a moment,” the knight said, and led him away. Once they were out of earshot, he stopped and knelt at Owain’s side. “I know you talk to your mother. Tell her that I love her and I will see her again one day soon. Tell her I hope she understands what it is I have to do.”
Owain stared at him with unblinking eyes. He nodded.
“Good. Thank you.” Dodinal hesitated, aware that Gerwyn and Hywel were watching him intently. Perhaps they were wondering what he was saying, that he couldn’t say in their hearing. “Now, before you return to the others and head off home, there is something I want to ask you. Something I have to know.”
The boy watched him without expression.
“I’ve been thinking,” Dodinal said, not sure how to frame the question without sounding like a fool. “I’ve been thinking about the way everything happened. About how everything worked out.”
He struggled, lost for words. The idea had come to him on the trek out of the mountains. At first he had shrugged it off as ridiculous, but the more he thought about it the more convinced he became.
That Dodinal had tracked down the creatures and slain them was not down to chance. There had been an influencing force guiding his every thought and deed. That force had not been fate or fortune, but an eight-year-old boy. It was Owain who had wandered into the forest and, later, gone in pursuit of Annwen. He had deliberately exposed himself to danger, trusting in Dodinal to save him.
Owain had been aware of the presence of Ellis and of the scouting creature, before anyone else, even before the dogs.
Then, as the creatures were taking him from the cave, he had torn the pouch from around his neck and left it for Dodinal. Were it not for the flint and steel, the knight could not have started the fire.
No, there were too many coincidences for Dodinal’s liking.
Rhiannon’s mother had been a seer. Rhiannon was not. Could it be the gift had been passed on to her son instead?
Owain leant in close to put his mouth by Dodinal’s ear.
“Yes,” he whispered. He smiled and put a finger to his lips.
Then he turned and ran towards the forest.
Dodinal laughed and followed after him. He would say farewell to his friends, and then he would be on his way. If he headed west, he could be at the coast before nightfall. A change of scenery would do him good. He had spent too much time in the forest, and he would be a happy man if he never had to climb a mountain again.
He sensed the wildlife returning. In the sky above the forest a hawk soared, and fell like a stone as it sighted prey.
There would be other battles to fight, he felt certain. Perhaps it was too much to hope that a man such as he would ever find peace.
But he was at peace with himself. And that would do for now.
13The Penecostal Oath, which Arthur insists his knights swear when he first forms the Round Table, in Book I of the Morte. The Oath does not explicitly require the knights to seek out injustices, although it enjoins them “to give mercy unto him that asketh mercy,” and to “always to do ladies, damosels, and gentlewomen succour.” Dodinal is far from the only knight to interpret this by actively questing for opportunities to do both.