The Squire's Tale (11 page)

"Look there," Gawain said. He pointed at a lightning-blasted pine, still smoking beside the moat.

Then Terence understood and whispered, "That's the tree that we saw last night. We came out of the moat, didn't we?"

"Looks that way," Gawain said. He turned to their guide and said, "Lady Audrey, is it?" She stopped and looked politely at them. "We came out of your moat last night, but I see no streams leading to it. Can you tell us how we got there?"

She smiled pleasantly and said, "All the waters of your world are contained in our moat, Sir Gawain. Come. The Master is waiting." They followed the lady along the ramparts to a tower that took up all of one corner of the castle. Without knocking, she pushed open a massive door, and they entered a simply furnished room with a thick carpet on the floor and a few tapestries on the wall. In the center of the room a small man with a pleasant smile and a curly brown beard sat on a throne carved in dark wood.

"Welcome, Sir Gawain!" the man said, rising. He looked around thirty-five, but something in his eyes was far older than that. "And welcome, Terence!" the man said, turning glowing eyes on Terence. "You have done well. I have high hopes that you will achieve your tasks."

They both bowed deeply, and Gawain said, "Sir, so too do I, though I know not what my task might be."

"This is your goal, Sir Gawain," the man said. He reached around his wooden throne and withdrew a long sash, in cloth of gold. On the sash were embroidered the words "The Maiden's Knight."

"I am to become The Maiden's Knight?" Gawain asked. "What is that?"

"One whose task is to defend the fairer sex, with courage and honor and with—discrimination."

"Sir, you speak of a burden, not a prize."

The man nodded. "Sir Gawain, you will come to understand that the greatest boons given in our world are burdens. In your world men fight for glory; it is not so here." He gazed mistily at the walls for a moment, then looked back at Gawain and Terence. "I, as you know, am Ganscotter the Enchanter, the lord of this castle and much, much more, a ruler among the faeries, and a humble servant of my own master. I am also a great admirer of yours, Sir Gawain. I have watched your adventures since you were a child, and I should like to hear the tale of your most recent quest. Will you tell it?"

Gawain blinked and said, "Do you not know what has happened, sir? I would have thought that you knew the events better than I."

"I know the events, Sir Gawain. I wish to hear the tale. There is a difference."

Slowly at first but then more easily, Gawain began to tell all that had happened since they left King Arthur's court in search of the hart. He assumed no false modesty when recounting his triumphs, but neither did he pass over his failures. He told of his own surliness toward Terence on the day of their departure, and he spoke openly of his anger and lack of mercy toward Alardin and Ablamor and of his accidental slaying of Ablamor's wife. He spoke briefly of Alisoun and Pelleas and Ettard, and at great length of Terence's courage in leading the way through the lake, the night, the fog, the storm, and the shaughuses.

When he was done, Ganscotter looked warmly at Terence, then turned back to Gawain and said, "Well told, Sir Gawain. Now I must ask you a question. You have been through many dangers, and you have met many maidens. Tell me what you have learned of women."

Gawain hesitated. "I dare not speak, my lord. I have learned above all that I still have much to learn. I must allow women the privilege of interpreting themselves as they will."

"You are either very wise or very diplomatic, Sir Gawain," a rich, low voice said from the other side of the room. "Whichever is the case, you have answered well."

His face stricken, Gawain leaped to his feet and whirled around. There, in the doorway, stood the hag from the feast.

"My daughter," Ganscotter said. "Lorie."

Hesitantly, Gawain took several steps toward the ugly woman. Then he knelt in front of her and said, "I have hoped that I would see you again, my lady."

"Have you?" she asked. Her soft voice sent a thrill through Terence, and Gawain quivered visibly. "Why is that, Sir Gawain?"

"To beg your forgiveness, my lady. I was unpardonably rude to you, but I ask your pardon all the same."

"It is well said," Lorie answered. "To forgive the unforgivable is the breath of life in this world. You are forgiven, Sir Gawain. It is to your credit, too, that you do not mention that I deliberately provoked your rudeness."

"I did not think that provocation was an excuse, my lady."

"There is no such thing as an excuse, Sir Gawain," she said laughing, and her laughter was like the wind, the water, and a thousand songbirds singing together. "Stand up, Gawain," she said. "It is not right that you should kneel to me." Gawain stood, his eyes still on Lorie's face. "And now I must meet Terence," Lorie said, crossing the room to the squire. "I understand that you have served your master well, Terence. I am pleased."

Terence gulped and said, "Thank you, my lady."

"No, Terence. Do not call me 'my lady.' You must call me Lorie."

"Yes, my lady," Terence stammered.

"All in good time, my child." Ganscotter smiled.

***

Gawain and Terence spent the rest of the day with their host and hostess, and never had Terence known greater contentment. Ganscotter, though his ancient eyes remained awe-inspiring, was a gentle companion. A peaceful, dreamlike bliss stole over Terence when Ganscotter spoke, and he felt brave and able to do anything. While Gawain and Lorie talked and laughed by the fire, Ganscotter took Terence out onto the castle ramparts.

"Do you like my daughter?" the enchanter asked suddenly.

"I think so, sir," Terence said. "You are an enchanter, but she ... she does not seem to be an enchantress."

"You can tell, can't you? No, Lorie is not an enchantress. At least not the sort of enchantress you mean." Terence glanced quickly at Ganscotter's face. "Yes, I know about the one you saw in the pond," the enchanter said. "Indeed, that was The Enchantress herself."

"
The
Enchantress, sir? Who is she?"

"She has a different name in every age. But in every age she appears, always with the same goal: to rule as queen over the world of men."

"How can she do that?"

"First she must remove the world's kings and princes. We shall soon see if the Enchantress of this age will succeed. Tell me, child," he said, in a lighter tone, "do you like serving as Sir Gawain's squire?"

"Yes, sir. Very much."

"Is it not too humble a position for you?"

Terence was puzzled. "No, sir. Really it is more exalted than I ever thought to be. I do not know my parents, but—"

"Do you not?" Ganscotter asked.

"No, sir," Terence said. "And there is no one to tell me. Unless—" A sudden hope brightened his eyes, "Sir, do you know who my parents are?"

Ganscotter nodded and spoke gently. "Yes, child. Your mother was a village maiden with laughter in her eyes, and your father was a traveler from this world who saw her and loved her. I cannot explain to you how one from the faery lands can love and give himself to an earthbound daughter of men, but it happens. You were born and gave joy to both your parents. But in that world joy has an end, and your mother died while you were a baby. She was weak from illness, but she held you in her arms as she died, and her eyes still smiled. Her eyes were very like yours."

Ganscotter paused, and his face grew sad. "But a child born to the world of men cannot come to our world to stay, and so you were given to one who could be trusted."

"But I've come to your world now," Terence said.

"Ah, it is a different matter now that you are grown. The faeries never forget their own."

Tears warmed Terence's eyes, then his cheeks. "Thank you, sir," he said gruffly. "I have wanted to know that my mother loved me." Terence peeked through his tears at the enchanter, then took courage and said, "And my father? Is he—? Will I—?"

"Your father loves you as well," Ganscotter said. "More than that you must not ask now."

"But why not? When can I know—?"

Ganscotter frowned. "When it is time, Terence. For now, you will have to trust me."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

Ganscotter waited a moment, then said gently, "I believe you have some skill with herbs. Would you like to see my gardens?"

***

The wonderful day finally drew to a close, and after dinner in Ganscotter's chambers and hours of comfortable conversation around the table, Terence and Gawain were left in their own warm room. Peace filling his breast, Terence lay on his bed and watched the firelight make merry shadows on the wall. From the darkest corner of the room came a faint stirring. Gawain and Terence both turned quickly and gazed into the blackness. A tall human shadow stood there.

"Gawain?" There was no mistaking Lorie's voice.

"Yes, Lorie?" Gawain's voice sounded oddly strained.

"Do you know why I am here?"

"I am not sure," he said faintly.

She said simply, "I have come to offer you my love."

Gawain was silent for a long—very long—minute. Then he said, "I accept it. And I give you mine."

Lorie stepped out of the shadows into the firelight, and Terence stared in astonishment. Gone were the scars on her cheeks, the blemishes, the long and crooked nose, the decaying teeth. In their place was a face of great grace and wisdom, with lips that smiled and eyes that saw far and deep. Gawain stared, dumbfounded.

"This is my other appearance, Gawain," she said. "Now you have seen me in two different faces. From this time forth I shall appear in only one. Which shall it be?"

Gawain blinked dazedly. "What?"

"You must choose which appearance I am to have. Choose, and I will obey."

Gawain gazed abstractedly at her and did not speak. Terence made no sound. He knew that he was not a part of this moment, but only a spectator. Gawain looked at Lorie for a minute, then another. She waited patiently. For a full ten minutes, Gawain looked at her. Then, to Terence's surprise, a tear appeared in Gawain's eye, ran down his cheek, hung quivering for a second on his beard, then splashed on his bare chest. In a voice that sounded as if it were wrenched out of his chest he said, "No, Lorie. I return the decision to you. Appear as you will. I will not command in this."

Lorie's face relaxed, and she sighed deeply. "Oh, Gawain," she said, "I prayed that you would be the one, my love. I choose this appearance."

And then Gawain took Lorie in his arms, and they held each other tenderly. Discreetly looking away from their embrace, Terence saw that Ganscotter had joined them—from where he did not know—and was standing against the wall smiling at the couple.

"You have passed your final test, my son," he said. Gawain looked up, tears of joy glistening in his eyes, as Ganscotter stepped toward him. Lorie stepped away from Gawain, and Gawain knelt before the enchanter. Solemnly, Ganscotter placed the gold sash of The Maiden's Knight over Gawain's head. "This is the mark of The Maiden's Knight, Sir Gawain. Wear it by your heart, beneath your armor. It is your gift and your burden. Now rise."

As he finished speaking, the room around them began to grow hazy and distant. In a few seconds, Ganscotter and Lorie and all their surroundings were gone, and Gawain and Terence and their horses stood in a meadow by a stream, shivering in a chill wind. Only by the golden sash across his master's chest, the dulcet voice whispering "Goodbye, my love" through the wind, and Gawain's wretched, grief-stricken sobs did Terence know that this dream had been true.

Gawain wept into the night while Terence stood guard over his master. The wind was frigid, and Terence could tell there would be frost in the morning. The horses huddled together, and Terence spread both Gawain's blankets and his own over his master's shaking form. Finally, exhausted by sorrow, Gawain slept, and Terence paced back and forth to keep warm, miserable but determined not to disturb his lord's rest.

At dawn, Gawain stirred. Terence could see the moment when the memory of Lorie returned to him, because his face grew suddenly bleak. Terence looked away. He had gathered wood and kindling, and as soon as Gawain moved he began to build a fire. He did not speak. Gawain examined the blankets and frowned.

"This is your blanket, Terence," he said.

"I wasn't sleepy, milord."

"You're a liar," Gawain said, "but thank you." He breathed deeply for a moment, then shook himself and stood. "What the devil is wrong with the weather? It's never this cold in midsummer."

"It's not summer, milord," Terence said. "Look at the leaves."

In the growing eastern light, sparse yellow and red and orange and gold leaves became visible one by one. "Autumn?" Gawain asked softly.

"October, milord. The ivy's in bloom."

"October? But it was—"

"Ay, milord. We entered Ganscotter's castle in July. Maybe we were there longer than we thought."

"Like King Herla," Gawain muttered.

"Who?"

"It's a children's story, lad. A king who went to visit the faeries for an evening, and when he came back hundreds of years had passed."

Terence looked up, alarmed. "You think—?"

"I don't know. At least three months have gone."

When they had eaten and warmed themselves at the fire, Terence felt much better. "Where to now, milord?" he asked.

"It's all one to me," Gawain said shortly. Terence looked at his feet, stretched out toward the flame. In a moment Gawain said, "Sorry, Terence. I shouldn't take it out on you."

"I'll take what I'm given, milord," he said.

For the first time that morning, Gawain's bleak expression softened. He said, "Ah, now that's put me in my place. You're right, lad. So where to now? I don't know." Terence waited, not speaking. "All right, Terence," Gawain said finally. "What is it?"

"Well, milord, if it's really been three months—or at least three months, as you said—maybe we should look for the well where we're to meet Sir Marhault and Sir Tor. That was supposed to be in three months, wasn't it?"

Gawain nodded. "All right. Of course we may find that Sir Marhault and Tor died hundreds of years ago, but it's somewhere to go." He did not sound excited, but Terence was satisfied that they had something to do.

Having no idea which direction to take, they simply followed the stream. Gawain was silent, and Terence respected his mood. As the sun rose in the sky, Terence could see its strength infusing his master. At last, just before noon, Terence said, "Milord?"

"Yes, Terence?"

"When you let Lady Lorie choose her own appearance, that was because you trusted her, wasn't it?"

Gawain thought for a moment, then said, "Partly. There's more than that, but that's a part of it."

"All right. Do you still love her, milord?" Terence asked.

At that Gawain sat up straight. Angrily he replied, "Do I still—? Terence, I love her more every second. Never ask that again, do you hear me?"

"All right. Do you trust her enough to believe she still loves you, too?"

Gawain looked sharply at Terence. "What the devil do you know about it, Terence?" he demanded irritably.

"Nothing, milord."

They rode in silence for another twenty minutes. Then Gawain said, "I have lost my lady. At least I still have my friend. Thank you, Terence."

Soon they found a path they recognized, and an hour later they rode into the clearing where they had met the Three Questing Ladies and found the others waiting. Sir Marhault and his lady, Sir Tor and Plogrun and the old lady, and even Lady Alisoun were there. Gawain bowed and said, "Good day, friends."

"I told you he'd make it!" Tor cried triumphantly. He strode forward and grasped Gawain's hand. "Only a week late, too! Hello, Terence. Gawain, your young lady — I say, do you always misplace ladies the same day you pick them up?—she thought you were probably dead. Come join our lunch!" He waved his hand at a picnic feast of bread and cheese.

Gawain smiled at Lady Alisoun and asked blandly, "And just how long did it take you to finish off that knight you rode off with?"

"I don't finish off my knights!" she snapped.

"My apologies," he said, bowing. "But he
is
dead, isn't he?"

"Yes," she said reluctantly. "But he died bravely!"

"I congratulate him," Gawain said. He turned to Tor and said, "You must tell me how your three months went, Tor. Adventures? Battles? Dragons? Giants?"

Tor laughed and said, "No no, it's old Marhault who's killed a giant. I've just done in a few knights and saved a lady. And what about you, Gawain?"

"Nothing to speak of." Gawain smiled. "Just dabbled in a few love affairs and been for a swim." His eyes held a distant, tender look, and Terence knew he was thinking of his love in the faery castle. Tor looked disappointed, but he also saw Gawain's eyes, and he asked no other questions.

They ate well in the shade of a towering oak. Sir Marhault and Tor told Gawain their stories carefully, but already with the ease and fluency of frequent telling. Sir Marhault had crossed lances with a few other wandering knights, unseating them all, but the pinnacle of his quest was his defeat of a troublesome giant named Taulurd for the Earl Fergus in the lands of the north. It was surely a great victory, but Sir Marhault almost seemed to regret it. "The giant was a nuisance and truly had to be dealt with," he said, "but he had no more wit than a child, and he wept like a motherless babe as he died."

Tor's story was simpler. Not only had he won a tournament, at which he unseated thirty knights, but a few days after that he had saved a beautiful lady, called the Lady of the Rock, from two brothers who were trying to take her land. He had fought them both at once and, though wounded slightly, had killed them. When he finished, Gawain said, "Unseated thirty knights, you say?"

"Yes," Tor said. "I don't mean to say that they were of your stature, or Marhault's, of course."

"Still, thirty knights is not bad. You must have improved a bit since I last saw you joust."

"Oh well, I practiced some after we split up," Tor said vaguely. Plogrun snorted, and the Lady Lyne allowed herself a tiny smile. Later, Terence was to hear the full story from Plogrun, how the first two months of the quest Tor had spent in intensive training at Lady Lyne's home in the south, jousting and sparring with his sword and practicing on horseback for eighteen to twenty hours a day. Lady Lyne, Terence gathered, was a hard taskmaster, and Plogrun's professional jealousy of her had made him work Tor as hard as she had. They must have been hellish months for the young knight, but from his successes in the last month of the quest it seemed they had been worth the pain.

When Tor finished his tale, everyone looked at Gawain. He told them briefly about Sir Pelleas and Lady Ettard, omitting all reference to Nimue. Then he said, "After that little episode, there is really nothing more to tell. We found ourselves at a large castle, where a gentleman and his daughter entertained us royally for what seemed but one evening and one day, but when we left we found that three months had gone by. That was last night. We came here immediately." He smiled apologetically and added, "Not a very interesting quest, I'm afraid."

"Three months went by in one night?" Tor asked skeptically.

"I have heard of such things," said the lady who had ridden with Sir Marhault. "You were enchanted."

Gawain smiled. "Perhaps I still am," he said.

Plogrun looked suspiciously at Terence. "Right, lad," he whispered. "What really happened?"

Terence blinked innocently and said, "What do you mean?" Plogrun turned away in disgust.

***

The next day the three knights and two squires rode away, leaving the Three Questing Ladies as they had found them, waiting for the next knights to take in search of adventures. They rode southwest toward Camelot. Sir Marhault rode toward Cornwall, but Camelot was on the way, and Gawain and Tor promised that King Arthur would welcome him to court. Gawain was still often quiet, but he wore his sorrow more easily now, so that it no longer drew attention to itself but rather seemed a part of his nature. Perhaps it was, Terence thought.

If Gawain had changed in the three months since they were all together, so had the others. Sir Marhault, like Gawain, was more thoughtful and more reluctant to make small talk. As for Tor, his face (which was thinner than before) and the way he held his shoulders (which were broader) both showed a greater self-assurance than Terence remembered. Even the caustic Plogrun had altered: he was more subdued and respectful to Tor. The dwarf was much more respectful to his fellow squire as well, and Terence wondered if perhaps he had changed himself.

One evening, as the October sun lowered over the open heath before them, they came upon a strange scene. A lady stood unsteadily between two figures who danced around her. On her one side was a tall knight in glittering armor, his open visor revealing a classically handsome face framed by shining golden curls. On the woman's other side was a dwarf with a wart on his cheek and straight black bristly hair that looked as if it belonged on a boar. The knight held a sword and glared at the dwarf, while the little man dodged nimbly around the woman, shrilly taunting him. Gawain, Tor, and Sir Marhault looked at each other, then rode near to the squabbling group.

"You don't love her, you overgrown ninny!" the dwarf squealed. "You don't know what love is!"

"I tell you, I do love her," the knight snapped through clenched teeth. "I live but to do her service. And the first service I shall do her is to rid her of a pestilential little gnat."

The dwarf sneered and said, "Bah! That's all you want? To do her service? Is that the sort of namby-pamby foolishness that you call love? Ugh!" He made a long crude noise at the knight.

"Disgusting little beast!" the knight exclaimed.

Through all of this the lady in the middle simply wrung her hands and looked dismayed. She looked despairingly at the approaching riders, as if wondering who else was going to distress her. The dwarf glanced at the three knights and snorted, but after a moment he pursed his lips and nodded.

"Here now, Sir Bedbug, let's see if we can solve our brangle peaceable," the dwarf said. "Let these knights judge between us."

The knight's handsome lips tightened when the dwarf said his name, but he nodded and turned toward the approaching cavalcade. "Sir knights," he called in a ringing voice, "I ask your favor. Will you judge a dispute for us?"

Tor looked at Gawain, but Gawain said nothing. Sir Marhault said, "We shall do what we can, friend knight. Tell us your case."

"Wait just a moment, there," the dwarf interrupted. "Before we go any further, let's have a promise. Sir Bedbug, if they judge against you, will you pike off?"

The knight's nostrils flared, but he did not look at the dwarf. "I will accept their decision," he said.

"I'll pike off, too," the dwarf said promptly.

"Then I shall begin," the knight said. "I am Sir Edgar, whom men call The Fair. My lands lie all around this plain, and my castle, the noblest castle of these parts, lies on the River Sabrina. I offer this woman all my heart and life and service as long as we both shall live. This is my case."

"And I," said the dwarf, "am Bigglesnog the dwarf, of the town of Gloucester. I love the Lady Dulphina. That's my case."

"What manner of judgment do you want?" Sir Marhault inquired.

"Choose which one of us the lady shall have, stupid," Bigglesnog said.

Sir Marhault looked hard at the dwarf for a moment, then turned his horse toward Tor and Gawain. "Never have I been asked to perform so easy a task," he said.

"Well, it does seem fairly clear at this point," Tor agreed. "I've nothing against dwarfs, but I've never heard of one marrying a ... one who isn't a dwarf." He looked inquiringly at his squire.

"And you won't either, sir," Plogrun snapped. "I know that you tall 'uns mostly think we dwarfs are ugly, but it works the other way as well. The thought of a true dwarf taking up with a woman like that fair turns my blood cold, it does. I don't hold with marrying outside one's own kind, and I never did! If you ask my advice, sir, I say give her to the knight."

"Well, that's what we'll have to do," Tor agreed. "She's beautiful; he's handsome. She's got style; he's got wealth. They could have been made for each other."

"It hardly seems a question to me," Sir Marhault mused. "Master ... er ... Bigglesnog, how comes it that you love this lady?"

"None of your business, poke-nose."

Sir Marhault and Tor stared at the dwarf, then looked at each other.

"I should have added that the lady is genteel and the knight has manners," Tor commented.

"The dwarf is certainly doing his best to make this task easier," Sir Marhault agreed.

"He's an ill-mannered boor, sir," Plogrun said, looking with disfavor on Bigglesnog.

Gawain cleared his throat and said, "I assume that the point is to make the maiden happy?" Sir Marhault and Tor nodded. "Will you let me handle this, then?" The other two knights looked at him, a bit surprised, but after a second both nodded. Gawain rode a few steps closer and spoke to the lady. "Lady Dulphina? I bid you good day."

"Good ... good day, sir knight." She faltered, looking at Gawain fearfully.

"It must be terribly uncomfortable for you to be in the midst of all this contention," Gawain said pleasantly. Some of the fear in her eyes eased and she nodded vigorously. "Will you let me help you, my lady?" he asked.

"Will you?" she asked in a small voice.

"I will," Gawain said with a smile. "First, my lady, I vow to you that you shall be forced to marry no one against your will. Now, my lady, do you love one of these suitors?"