The Adventures of Sir Givret the Short (2 page)

Givret paused expectantly. The knights shuffled their feet and scratched their heads.

"Well?" Givret said. "Aren't you going to kiss her?"

With a start, all the knights realized that the tables had been turned on them. If each didn't kiss his own lady, and quickly, they would all have some explaining to do later. Every knight kissed his lady, and every lady smiled to know that her knight considered her the most beautiful lady in the world.

Then King Arthur, as soon as he had given Queen Guinevere a kiss, raised his hand and called out, "One moment! There is another matter to deal with! I have decided that not another hour shall pass before I grant knighthood to a deserving young man! Givret? Approach me at once and kneel!"

Several knights muttered, "What? That little fellow? What has
he
done to earn knighthood?"

Drawing his great sword Excalibur and laying it on Givret's shoulders, King Arthur said, "This day Givret has protected the queen from insult, and has done me a great service as well. These are deeds deserving of knighthood!"

The gathered knights muttered to each other, "Service? But who did he defeat in battle?"

King Arthur shook his head sadly. "Don't you fellows ever think of anything but fighting? There are many ways of serving your king." Turning back to Givret, he said, "I grant thee knighthood and fellowship at this table, and I dub thee Sir Givret the..." He paused. "The what? How shall you be known?"

'How about Sir Givret the Short?" called a voice.

King Arthur frowned. "I was about to suggest Sir Givret the Brilliant," he said.

[[graphic]]

Givret looked up. "Sire?" he said. I'd rather be Sir Givret the Short."

The king stared at him. 'You would?"

Sir Givret nodded. "It will be much easier to live up to. You see, I can't promise always to be brilliant."

King Arthur grinned. 'Very well, then."

And so it was that Sir Givret the Short was made a Knight of the Round Table.

In those days it was the custom for a new knight to be sent out at once on a quest for adventures, so Givret was not at all surprised the next morning to be summoned to the kings presence.

"Maybe I'll be sent to fight a recreant knight," he mused. That was what people called the cowardly knights who bullied the weak. "Or maybe to slay a dragon."

"Sir Givret!" said King Arthur firmly when Givret arrived in the throne room. "I have chosen your first quest. I wish you to go to Scotland!"

"I beg your pardon, sire?" replied Givret.

"You are to seek out Sir Erec, prince of East Wales, your fellow Knight of the Round Table, help him complete his task, and bring him home safely."

"Help Sir Erec?" exclaimed Givret. "But—forgive me, my liege—Sir Erec is an idiot." King Arthur raised one eyebrow. "Honestly, sire! I mean, the fellow set out in hunting clothes to chase down a knight in armor, to make him apologize! Erec has goose down for brains!"

King Arthur finally spoke. "If that is so, then he needs your help more than ever."

"Look here," said Givret. "Haven't you got a dragon in need of slaying? Any recreant knights lurking about?"

[[graphic]]

"I have given you your quest," the king said.

"
Two
dragons?" Givret asked desperately but King Arthur said nothing, and an hour later Givret was armored and on the Great North Road to Scotland.

The ride north was not very fun. The problem was Givret's size. Every time he passed through a town, people would laugh and call out things like, "Hey boy! Does your father know you've pinched his armor?" and "I didn't know they knighted dwarfs!" Some knights might have had the laughing townspeople whipped—knights could do that sort of thing back then—but as a Knight of the Round Table Givret had promised to protect the weak, even the ones he didn't like, so he ignored the taunts and tried to avoid towns.

Givret did take action once, though. While skirting a village, he came upon a gang of boys throwing stones at an old man in a black cloak. Leaping from his horse, Givret took his riding whip to the seats of the boys' pants. A few yelps later, the boys were gone.

"Thank you, kind sir," wheezed the old man.

"You're welcome," replied Givret. "Why were those boys abusing you?"

"Oh, it's this cursed black cloak," the old man sighed. "I never should have bought it. It's soft and warm, but whenever people see a fellow in a black robe, they think he must be a sorcerer. They [[graphic]]either drive me away or run. Terrible for business, I can tell you."

"Business? What business?"

The old man smiled broadly. "I am Gaston the Peddler, bringing to England the latest fashions from Paris, France!"

"Are you indeed?" murmured Givret politely.

"Take this, for instance!" Gaston said, pulling a small dish from his cart. "It's all the rage, I assure you! It's called a finger bowl!"

"Very pretty. Um ... what does it do?"

"You fill it with water and then dip your fingers in it before eating!"

"Do you?" Givret said. 'Why?"

"To wash them off, of course!"

"Wash
before
eating?" Givret asked, puzzled. "That makes no sense. I can see washing off all the grease and sauce
after
you've eaten, but why would you—?"

"Ah, but you won't
have
grease and sauce on your ringers after eating!" Gaston said eagerly "Because of this other new invention! It's called ... a fork! You cut your meat into pieces with a knife, then pick up the bits with this!"

"Why?"

"So you don't get food on your fingers!"

Givret shook his head sadly "Quite mad, you know You want me to wash my hands before eating, then never touch my food anyway? No, thank you. But there is one thing I
would
like to buy."

'Yes?" said the peddler eagerly "What is it?"

Your black cloak."

Gaston agreed, and a few moments later Givret was pulling the cloak on over his armor. It covered it completely.

"Excellent!" said Givret. "If I were you, friend, I'd go into the clothing business and give up this rot about finger bowls and forks. You'll never make a living selling such nonsense."

"Ah, just wait," Gaston said. "The day will come when little boys all across England will wash their hands before meals and eat with forks."

Givret laughed. "Don't be silly. Boys will never buy such foolishness."

"No," the peddler said, smiling, "but their mothers will."

The next day Givret found Sir Erec. Rounding a bend in the Great North Road, he nearly ran right into the other knight, who was heading south.

"Erec!" Givret exclaimed.

"Why, Givret! How nice to see you!" Erec said, reining in his horse.

"I say, Erec, have you already caught up with that Sir Yoder fellow?" Givret asked hopefully Erec shook his head, and Givret sighed. "Then where are you going?" he asked.

"To Scotland, of course," Erec said. "This is the Great North Road, isn't it?"

"Well, yes," Givret replied. "But you're going south on it."

Erec blinked. "Really? ... I mean to say, well, I
did
get rather turned around in that last forest but ... are you sure?" Givret nodded, and Erec said thoughtfully, "Then that explains it! The church in that last village looked
just
like one I'd passed earlier, but I decided it couldn't be the same, because it was on the other side of the road."

Givret stared at Erec for a moment, then said, "Right. Well, anyway that way is definitely north. Shall we ride together?"

Erec agreed, and they set off, riding mostly in silence. Erec had little to say, and Givret was glad of it. Instead, he spent his time asking everyone they met if they had seen Sir Yoder. He had no luck, though, until they came upon a young herald. When asked about Sir Yoder, this herald replied, "An I could help thee I would most willingly, 0 fair and noble sirs, but I wit not of such a knight, nor have I heard of anyone y-clept 'Sir Yoder.' I crave thy pardon, your worships." (This meant, "Wish I could help, but I've never heard of him. Sorry")

"No, no, don't mention it," Givret said. "But, say, I have another question."

"Ask whatsoever thou wilt, and be it in my power, I shall aid thee to the utmost!" ("Sure. Ask away")

"I've been wondering this for ages: Do you heralds always talk like that? I mean, when you're at home with your family, do you spout off all that
thee
and
thou and y-clept
rot?"

The herald grinned and lowered his voice. "No, but don't tell anyone. It's part of the mystique of being a herald, using all those gold-plated words."

Givret chuckled. "Your secret is safe with me. Well, if you ever deliver a message to Camelot, come look us up. I'm Sir Givret and this is Sir Erec. What's your name?"

The herald flushed slightly, then said, "Harold."

Givret's mouth dropped open. "Harold the Herald?"

Harold nodded glumly "My fathers idea. He's a herald, too, and he thought it was cute."

Tm so sorry," Givret said sympathetically. "And when you have a son—?"

"Freddy," Harold said promptly. "I'll call him Freddy."

Givret nodded, then turned to Erec, who had been sitting in silence. 'Well, Erec, we'd better go. We still have to find Sir Yoder and the most beautiful lady in the world."

"What did you say?" asked Harold suddenly "About the most beautiful lady?"

"Oh, this Yoder chap we're looking for has a lady with him. I don't know her name, but Yoder calls her 'the most beautiful lady in the world.'"

"Hmm," Harold murmured. "You might go to Limors and ask the count there, Count Oringle, if he's seen them."

"Why?" Givret asked.

"I've just come from Limors, where I was proclaiming a contest for the count, a test to choose the most beautiful lady in the land."

Remembering the quarrel that had nearly broken out at Camelot over the same question, Givret said, "Sounds daft. Why would the count want to hold such a contest?"

Harold shrugged. "I just proclaim; I don't ask questions. Maybe some fortuneteller told him to do it. Count Oringle's obsessed with spirits and such. He's always asking magicians and soothsayers for signs. I think he's a bit mad, but I'm careful not to say so in Limors."

"Why is that?"

Harold looked serious. "It's not a good idea to offend Count Oringle. He's a bad one. They say he's killed twelve men. But what I was thinking was that if this Yoder fellows so proud of his lady he might enter her in the counts contest."

Givret thanked Harold, and he and Erec set off for Limors.

Givret and Erec arrived at Limors the next evening. They looked for a place to stay but the only inn was full. The Beautiful Lady contest was to take place the next day and all the rooms were taken by people who had come to watch.

"Why don't we ask this Count Oringle if he 11 put us up?" Erec suggested. "After all, were from the Round Table."

This wasn't a bad idea, really. In those days, it was common for traveling knights—especially those of Arthurs court—to stay with local nobles. Givret remembered what Harold the Herald had said about Count Oringle, but since he had no other ideas, he agreed. They made their way to a large, if rather shabby house at the edge of the town, where Erec knocked.

An old man with a kind face opened the door. "Yes?"

"Is this the home of Count Oringle?" Erec asked.

The old man looked less kind. "No," he said shortly. "The count lives in the larger house on the other side of town."

He began to close the door, but Givret spoke. "Forgive us if we were rude, sir. We weren't looking for the count especially, but only for a place to stay the night. We are Sir Givret and Sir Erec of King Arthur's Round Table, and we've been on the road all day."

[[graphic]]

The old man relaxed and opened the door again. "Why didn't you say so? My home is yours." He showed them an empty stable for their horses, and a few minutes later they were walking together into a large, bare dining room.

"My name is Sir Valens," the old man said. "And I was just about to have my dinner. It's not much, but I would be honored to share it."

They accepted politely Sir Valens didn't seem wealthy, but he treated his guests with an old-fashioned courtesy that put them at their ease. When they were seated at the dining table, Givret asked Sir Valens if he had heard of a knight named Sir Yoder, son of Nut.

Sir Valens had not, and Erec added, "We thought he might come here because of this Beautiful Lady contest."

Sir Valens's face grew sad, and Givret asked quietly, "Could you explain this contest, sir? It seems an odd idea to me. Is Count Oringle a fool?"

In a low voice, Sir Valens replied, "No. The count is a villain, and he may be a madman, but he's no fool." He took a long breath, then said quietly, "Let me explain: This man Oringle came to Limors about ten years ago, at the head of an army of hired soldiers. He stole the castle of the former Count of Limors, and then proclaimed himself the new count."

Erec looked outraged. "Didn't the real Count of Limors fight back?" he demanded.

Sir Valens shook his head. "This was a peaceful county, and the count was a peaceful man. He didn't even have any knights."

Erec's eyes blazed. "I would have
died
before I let someone steal my land and title!" he exclaimed.

Sir Valens smiled sadly. "But the old count had a young daughter. What would have happened to her if her father had been killed?"

While Erec thought about that, Givret asked, 'What
did
become of the count and his daughter?"

"Oringle let them live in an old house nearby, where he could watch them, but he took their horses, so they became almost prisoners. Then, as the years passed, the old counts daughter grew into a beautiful woman, and Oringle decided to marry her. Of course, the old count refused to allow it."

Givret nodded. "Hmm. And did Oringle have the old count killed?"

"I see you've heard Oringle's reputation," said Sir
Valens. "No, the people of Limors still love the old count and might rise up against Oringle if he did that. Instead he came up with this Beautiful Lady contest. All the ladies in the land must go to the town square tomorrow to be judged, and the one who is chosen is required to marry the highest noble in Limors, which of course is Oringle. Hell choose the old counts daughter, then act as if he has no choice but to marry her, under the law."