~by Catherine Thompson~

Following an interesting scent, Tamerlaine found the earthenware pot, lying in the alley not far from the place where his family denned He sniffed the lip of the crock. It smelled sharp, but with intriguing meaty undertones. Tamerlaine pushed his snout deeper into the pot. It smelled nasty, but good at the same time. His tongue flicked out. He couldn't quite reach anything. He shoved his nose in farther, and everything went black.

With a yip, Tamerlaine jumped back, only to discover that the blackness followed. He lay down and got a paw on the crock, then both paws, scrabbling with his claws. Panic welled inside him. Whimpering, he staggered to his feet. He began to yelp, then howl. "Mama! Mama!" His voice echoed in his ears.

A warm presence approached. "Canis above! Tamerlaine Stoutheart, what have you got yourself into?" his mother growled gently.

"Mama! I'm stuck," Tamerlaine whimpered.

"I can see that." He heard her sigh. "Here." He felt her push him against something rough and hard; he guessed it was the wall of the tavern. "All right, now, Tam, pull back, as hard as you can." Tamerlaine tried. "Harder, Tam! That's it!" He dug in with all four paws, pushing himself backwards. His head slipped free of the crock with a pop, and Tamerlaine tumbled head over tail. The crock thudded to the ground.

Shaking his head, Tamerlaine sat up, a bit woozy. He felt his mother's tongue drying his ears; the inside of the pot had been wet. "Tam, you will surely be the death of me," she growled. She picked him up by the scruff of the neck. Tamerlaine wriggled. This was no way for a pup of four months to travel.

His six littermates watched as their mother dropped Tamerlaine in their midst. His sister Juliet sniffed at him and sneezed. "Ugh! You smell, Tam." She gave him a shove, then the rest of the litter got in on the act, pouncing on him and grabbing his ears, his tail, his paws. Tamerlaine kicked and nipped his way free.

"You wait 'til Papa comes home!" howled his younger brother Leander, nursing a paw. Tamerlaine snorted at him. "You started it." He stalked off to a corner of the den and curled up.

He awoke to happy yips. His siblings had tumbled out of the nest of rags where they slept and rushed to greet their father. Tamerlaine stayed where he was, watching. Hieronymus Stoutheart wagged his brushy tail as he waded into the crowd. "Hullo, hullo, little ones!"

"Papa, Tam bit me!" whimpered Leander, making a great show of limping. Tamerlaine growled softly to himself.

"Did he?" Their father cocked his head to examine the proffered paw.

"It's nothing, Hiero." Their mother greeted their father with affectionate licks; Hieronymus reciprocated. "Leander's fine. Although I mightn't be, much longer."

"What's the matter, Aphra?"

Aphra sighed. "It's Tam, Hiero. He's always getting into mischief. This morning, he got his head stuck in one of those things the two-leggers carry food in." Hieronymus let his tongue loll out in a canine grin: "Really?"

"Really. And it's not the first time. Two nights past, he managed to sneak into one of their dens; a female chased him out with a straw-stick. Then, last week, he chased a cat into the street and nearly got trampled by a carthorse." Aphra's tail drooped. "Hiero, you must do something. I'm at my wits' end."

Hieronymus scratched at one erect ear. "All right. Tamerlaine!" he barked.

Tamerlaine rose and made his hesitant way out of his corner to stand before his father. "Yes, Papa?"

"I hear you've been giving your mother some trouble."

Tamerlaine dropped his head and his tail. "I guess so, Papa." He lifted his head again. "I don't mean to; it just happens."

"It just happens, eh?" Hieronymus cocked his head to study his son. "Tam, maybe it's time I took you with me. How'd you like to be my page?"

Tamerlaine pricked his ears. "Your page? You mean, go to--"

"The Hound Table, of course." Hieronymus gave Tamerlaine a gentle swat with a forepaw. "You've the makings of a Knight, lad."

In the morning, Tamerlaine pranced along at his father's side. "What does the Hound Table do?" he asked.

"Oh, many things," said Hieronymus. "We protect the weak . . . assist the good . . . battle evil." He paused to lift his leg against the corner of a building. "You won't do any of those things for a while, though, son. You'll be my page, then a squire before you're ever a Knight of the Hound Table."

Tamerlaine followed his father until they reached an alley where a number of other dogs had already gathered. Hieronymus hailed them in a friendly fashion. "This is my son, Tamerlaine," he told them, nudging the pup forward. Tamerlaine felt quite nervous, but the other dogs wagged their tails. "Any son of Hiero's is welcome here," declared a shaggy-haired fellow, who added that his name was Falstaff.

A low rumble sounded, not quite a growl. The other dogs dropped to their bellies. "Get down, Tam," Hieronymus growled softly. Tamerlaine lay down next to his father. "What's going on?" he asked.

Before Hieronymus could reply, a huge grey wolfhound appeared, accompanied by another, equally large hound. "Cuchullain," Hieronymus told his son.

Cuchullain paused in front of him; Tamerlaine didn't lift his head, just stared at the massive paws before his nose. "And who do we have here?" the great wolfhound rumbled.

"Sire, this is my son, Tamerlaine," explained Hieronymus. "He's come to learn our ways."

"Rise, Tamerlaine, son of Stoutheart, so that I may learn your scent," said Cuchullain. Tamerlaine stood, letting the other dog sniff him. "You are welcome at the Hound Table," Cuchullain said, touching noses with the pup.

~*~

Tamerlaine spent the next four months at his father's side, learning the basics of hunting and combat. "You could be up against anything, Tam," Hieronymus told him after a session of fight training. "Other dogs, a pack of smellies--try to avoid 'em in packs, lad, they're murderous--even two-leggers sometimes. All you've got are your teeth, your claws, and your brain."

After the first four months, Tamerlaine graduated to squire, and his father apprenticed him to another of the Knights. Duncan was a shaggy, black-and-white fellow of medium size. He taught Tamerlaine strategy and cunning. "You never go straight in, laddie," he told his squire. "Always approach from an angle. That way, no-one notices the sausages are missing 'til you're miles away." He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Same applies in a fight. Go for the flanks 'til you've got your opponent worn down, then straight for the throat."

"What if I'm not fighting another dog?" Tamerlaine asked as they trotted away from the market, their bellies full. "What if I'm fighting a two-legger?"

"Bite your tongue, lad!" Duncan snapped. "What d'you mean, 'fighting a two-legger'?"

"Papa told me--"

"Och, aye, I can guess what your father told you," Duncan grumbled. "Come here, let me show you something."

Tamerlaine followed the knight through several alleys until Duncan called a halt. They crouched in the shadows as the day waned into night. At last, a slight figure appeared in the alley. "There we are," murmured Duncan, wagging his tail a little. "No, don't move, laddie. You don't want to scare her off. Bit skittish, she is."

The two-legger glanced around, then slipped across the alley and melted into the dark. "A bonny lassie," Duncan said. "I found her several winters ago. Lost, she was, and hungry, crying like an orphaned whelp. I found her a place to den for the night. Been keeping an eye on her ever since, though some of her own kind took her in."

They rose and headed back towards the Knights' den. "See, that lassie, she's a good, kind two-legger. Even though she was hungry, she shared what little food she'd found with me. We're to protect the weak, Tam, and who in this life is weaker than a simple two-legger?"

"So, I should never fight a two-legger?" Tamerlaine asked, cocking his head at Duncan.

"Nay, laddie." Duncan shook himself. "There are some bad ones out there. Evil. You can smell it on 'em. Up there at the Stone Den especially. But most of 'em are good, decent creatures. A bit dim, mind you--they can't even read their own kind's signs--but they're all right."

As they turned down a path that would lead them straight to the den, Duncan stopped, sniffing the air. "Quick, laddie, this way," he ordered. Tamerlaine caught the scent of other dogs. "What is it?" he asked.

"Guards," Duncan told him. "And they aren't with their two-leggers, which means they'll be looking for trouble." He crouched behind a pile of refuse.

Three muscular black dogs wearing metal-spiked leather straps around their necks passed by the mouth of the alley. One of them paused. "Whassup?" growled another.

"Thought I smelled somethin'," said the first. He sniffed a few more times, then went on his way.

Duncan held his position a few moments, then rose. "Come on, laddie," he said. "Those flea-farms are up to no good."

Over the next several weeks, the streets seemed almost to teem with Guards. Every time Tamerlaine returned to the Knights' den, someone had a new tale to tell about the black dogs of the Stone Den. Occasionally, Knights and Guards met in a skirmish, but little else happened.

After one such incident, Duncan and Tamerlaine reported to Cuchullain, who flattened his ears against his head. "They're getting ready to move against us," the great hound said.

"Move against us?" Duncan echoed, ears and tail drooping. "Why?"

"We're a threat," replied Cuchullain. "Good is always a threat to evil. And something very evil is growing in the Stone Den."

"Two-leggers never pay us any mind," Duncan protested.

"The Dark One does," Cuchullain said. "The Guards are as much his as the smellies that roam the forest. He knows of us." He rose from his haunches. "Fergus," he called to his bodyguard, "gather our Knights. We have need of all of them." Fergus loped out of the den. The next thing Tamerlaine heard was a deep, urgent howl from a distance.

Hound Table Knights came from far and wide during the next several days; the message Fergus had howled that night had been relayed by farm- and sheep-dogs all over the countryside. Tamerlaine had never seen so many dogs, of so many types, in one place: big, small; short, tall; long-haired, smooth-coated. He sat by Duncan while the Knights plotted strategy.

"Should we try to draw them outside the walls?" asked Hieronymus. Cuchullain disagreed. "Within the walls, we stand a better chance. Their numbers are overwhelming. We must fight in close quarters, divide their forces," he said. He glanced over to where Duncan and his squire sat. "Your son agrees, don't you, Tamerlaine."

Tamerlaine caught his father's eye and tried to still his wagging tail. "It makes a great deal of sense, Sire."

Cuchullain snorted a chuckle. "A wise lad, your Tamerlaine."

A stocky, wiry-haired terrier tore into the meeting. "Cuchullain," he barked, " they're on the move."

All eyes turned to the newcomer. "What's this, Bertram?" asked Cuchullain.

"The Guards've begun to move against our positions. They're trying to hunt us down, Sire. We've already taken some casualties: Hamlet and Laertes are both dead."

A low growl erupted from dozens of throats at once. Tamerlaine found himself joining in with them. Cuchullain rose, towering over his troops. "Knights of the Hound Table," he bellowed, "we must meet our enemy or be overwhelmed. We cannot allow the evil in the Stone Den to spread." He lifted his immense, shaggy head, muzzle pointing skyward, and let out a wild howl that was answered by one and all.

The Knights streamed from their den, breaking into smaller packs and loping off in different directions when they hit the street. Tamerlaine ran with Duncan, accompanying Cuchullain, Fergus, Hieronymus, and Bertram. Before they had gone many lengths, they encountered a pack of Guards. Fergus had two of them down before anyone could react. A great deal of snarling later, the remnants of the Guard pack limped homeward as fast as their legs could carry them.

"Sire!" Tamerlaine turned as Falstaff loped into view. "Sire, a pack of Guards have surrounded Benedick and his pack, by the Sunrise Door. They have our Knights at bay."

Cuchullain snarled. "Lead the way, Falstaff," he said.

They raced across the town, fighting their way through when they had to do. When they reached the Sunrise Door, they found Benedick's pack pinned against the wall. Benedick, a medium-sized dog with a rough parti-coloured coat, stood snarling defiance at the large black Guards that encircled him and his fellows. Two Knights lay on the ground, unmoving. Another, badly wounded, crouched in the protective circle Benedick and three others had created.

Fergus and Duncan growled. Hieronymus looked to Tamerlaine. "Stay here," he ordered, even as Cuchullain rallied his troops with a howl.

Several of the Guards turned from worrying at Benedick and his comrades. One, larger and more muscular than the others, stepped forward, tongue lolling over sharp teeth. "So, Cuchullain! I knew you'd come," he rumbled.

Cuchullain growled low in his throat. "Ill-met, Faust," he responded. Tamerlaine pricked his ears; Faust was the Guards' leader, their Cuchullain. "Leave off this attack!"

Faust gave a bark of laughter. "Attack? Merely a diversion."

"Ill-bred, crook-tailed mongrel," Cuchullain snarled. "Your mother must have been a cat."

Faust's hackles rose. "Over-bred, cock-eared cur," the Guard returned. "Your mother mated with a horse!"

Cuchullain stalked towards his enemy. His ears lay flat, and he had bared his teeth. They circled each other with slow steps, snapping out insults. The rest of the Knights drew closer to the Guards as well, spreading out to protect Cuchullain's flanks. Tamerlaine, lagging behind the others, saw Benedick nudge his wounded comrade to his feet and ease towards an opening the Guards had left.

At the wrong moment, a Guard turned, alerted perhaps by some small sound. The black dog lunged for Benedick, who responded in kind. Cuchullain glanced away from Faust. Tamerlaine saw the Guard's haunches tense. "Sire!" he yelped.

Cuchullain returned his attention to his opponent at the same instant that Faust launched his attack. They met in a flurry of snarls and teeth.

Faust's move seemed to be a signal to his pack; the rest of the Guards joined battle with the Knights. Tamerlaine saw Duncan charge into their midst, low to the ground, aiming at their legs. Off to his right, he caught a glimpse of Bertram, harrying two Guards ten times his size as if they were rabbits. Hieronymus and Fergus tore through Faust's pack, dodging and feinting as they inflicted wounds.

Cuchullain and Faust held most of the young squire's attention, though. The two seemed evenly matched; Cuchullain was taller and had greater speed, but Faust had bulk and muscle to his advantage. They clashed body to body, teeth seeking each other's throats, inarticulate snarls filling the air. Faust managed to rip an ugly gash in Cuchullain's chest; the wolfhound responded by tearing at one of Faust's ears until it hung by mere strings of flesh.

A howl of agony made Tamerlaine turn. Cuchullain's bodyguard, Fergus, had fallen; several Guards had him pinned. Duncan and Hieronymus were already rushing to Fergus' aid. Benedick and two of his pack had joined the fray, leaving one to tend to their wounded.

Tamerlaine started towards the place where the others fought, but Faust's voice brought his head around with a snap. "Your precious Hound Table is at an end, Cuchullain," snarled the Guard. "And so are you." Cuchullain lay at Faust's feet, panting. Blood spattered his grey coat. He lifted his head and bared his teeth in defiance. "You can destroy me, but not the Hound Table!" Faust rumbled with laughter as he lowered his head for the kill.

Tamerlaine felt a growl rise in his chest like thunder. He sprang at Faust. He hit the other dog squarely, knocking him off Cuchullain, and he sank his teeth into the flesh of Faust's shoulder. Faust howled. He tried to swing his head around at Tamerlaine, but the squire stayed out of his reach, clamping his jaws more tightly into his opponent's shoulder. Faust dropped and rolled, forcing Tamerlaine to let go. Both dogs scrambled to their feet, but before Faust could launch another attack, a black-and-white blur shot into view. Duncan threw himself at the Guard's flank, biting then retreating again and again. Tamerlaine joined him in this tactic until a weakened Faust fell to the ground.

Duncan grabbed Faust's throat. "Do you yield?" he barked, sounding a bit muffled. Faust's response was a growl. Duncan shook his head; blood started to spray. "Do you yield?" he repeated.

"Kill . . . me," Faust replied in a throttled snarl.

Duncan released his hold. "Nay, laddie," he said. "That'd be too good for the likes of you."

"Duncan!" Tamerlaine protested, trembling with rage. "He tried to kill Cuchullain!"

"Aye, laddie, but look at him." Faust lay torn and bleeding in the dirt, his mangled ear dangling. One hind leg hung useless; Duncan had bitten through the great tendon above his hock. "He'll never lead his Guards again. That's a worse fate than death to his lot," Duncan said.

Packs of Knights trickled into their den, numbering fewer than when they had set out. Many of their mates came to tend their wounds; Tamerlaine grudgingly submitted to his mother's fussing. A few days passed while they healed and reckoned the dead.

"Tam." Hieronymus limped to where his son sat with Duncan, mourning the loss of Yorick, another squire. "Cuchullain wants to speak with you."

Tamerlaine followed his father to a quiet nook where Emer, Cuchullain's mate, had made a nest of an old straw mattress discarded by a two-legger. Cuchullain wagged his tail. "Tamerlaine, I trust your wounds are healing," he said.

Tamerlaine bowed. "Yes, Sire. And yours?" he inquired politely, mystified.

"I shall be well again soon enough," replied Cuchullain. He adjusted himself on the mattress; Emer tutted disapproval when he moved. "Tamerlaine, I wish to thank you. Your courage and skill in battle saved the lives of many that night. It is clear to me that you are ready."

Tamerlaine couldn't stop his tail from wagging as the wolfhound rose. He hardly felt it when Cuchullain nipped the scruff of his neck. "By this mark shall you be known to others," Cuchullain said. He touched his nose to Tamerlaine's. "Tamerlaine, son of Stoutheart, Knight of the Hound Table."

© Catherine Thompson, 2002. All rights reserved.

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