The Squire's Tale (2 page)

"Are you being insolent, churl?" the knight demanded. "You'll taste my whip, if you are."

Gawain shrugged, then took two quick steps forward. He heaved up on the horse's stirrup, and the knight clattered into a heap on the other side of the horse. Cursing, the knight clanked awkwardly to his feet.

"Now
that,
" Gawain said, "was being insolent."

"You'll pay for that, villain," the knight snarled. "No forest churl lays hands on Sir Hautubris without blood."

"Sir Who?" Gawain asked sharply. He glanced at the hermit, who stood in the doorway.

"Yes yes. This is the one. Watch your head," the hermit said.

Sir Hautubris flashed his sword from his scabbard and chopped down mightily at Gawain's head. Gawain stepped quickly to one side, and the sword buried itself in the dirt next to him. Gawain rapped Sir Hautubris's helm with the stewpot. The visor flopped up and down, and a loud clang rang out.

"Prepare to die, varlet!" Sir Hautubris cried, taking another full swing. Gawain moved slightly and again the sword buried itself in the ground. Gawain clanged the stewpot against the other side of the knight's head. His helm pivoted to the left, so that the right eyehole was over Sir Hautubris's nose.

"Curse it, where are you?" Sir Hautubris shouted. He swung his sword around him in a full roundhouse swing.

"Watch it, you fool!" Gawain called sharply. "You'll hit your horse." Gawain slipped inside the circular swing and plucked Sir Hautubris's sword from his hand. "You're not to be trusted with this thing," he said.

For a moment Sir Hautubris stood shakily in the center of the yard, readjusting his helm so he could see. Gawain turned toward the hut, and Sir Hautubris tottered back to his horse. Terence sighed with relief, then gasped again, because Sir Hautubris had drawn another sword from the saddle and was charging Gawain's back. Terence tried to call a warning, but Gawain had already moved. Two swords flashed, and Sir Hautubris lay in the dust, his own sword in his breast.

"If I have to kill everyone who smells your cooking, lad, we're in for a long road," Gawain said.

***

Terence wept when he left the hermit. Gawain waited, patient and unembarrassed, while Terence embraced the old man and kissed him tearfully. Trevisant whispered in Terence's ear, "This is the nice thing about seeing time my way: no regrets," and pushed him gently away. "Now," he said to Gawain, "I haven't granted you a boon yet, have I?"

Startled, Gawain shook his head.

"Come here, then." Gawain stepped forward. "Kneel, boy. You're in the presence of more than you know. More than I know, actually." Stiffly, Gawain knelt in front of the Hermit of the Gentle Wood. "Sir Gawain, so long as you fight, your strength will grow with the sun. It is a gift. You may stand." Gawain rose. "Do you understand your gift?"

"No."

"As the sun rises, your strength will rise. At dawn, you will gain a new strength, which will reach its peak at noon."

"And, if I may ask, will my strength lower as the sun lowers?"

Trevisant chuckled. "No gift is exactly what we want, my son. Try to fight in the morning. And you, Terence." Trevisant held his hand up, palm out. "Serve your new master well. You will find your greatest glory in service." The three of them stood in the fresh morning breeze for a moment. Then Trevisant said, "Right then, off you go."

And as they passed through Terence's familiar forest on their way to King Arthur's court, Terence heard a soft, merry voice in his ear, whispering, "Godspeed, Terence."

The journey to King Arthur's new court at Camelot could have been made in less than a week, but Gawain and Terence took almost two. They traveled in the morning, and in the afternoons, Gawain trained his ignorant new squire. He taught him how to take care of armor and horses and how to fasten armor on a knight. It was Terence's job to look after Gawain's packhorses and his own horse, the one that had belonged to Sir Hautubris. Gawain himself always cared for his huge black stallion, Guingalet. When Terence offered to help, Gawain only laughed and said, "Nay, lad. Guingalet's an aughisky. He'd likely bite your arm off."

"What's an aughisky?"

"It's a water horse from Orkney. They live as much in the sea as on land. They're the very devil to catch, but once mastered, there's no finer mount in the world. And I do think Guingalet's fond of me, now." He patted the horse's sleek neck, and Guingalet snapped at his hand.

Every day, Terence practiced with his longbow. At first Gawain watched these sessions, but after the first few days he let Terence practice on his own. The first time that Terence brought home game that he had killed with the bow was a proud day. It was a large buck rabbit, and the arrow had pierced its body directly behind the front legs. Gawain examined it critically. "Just the right spot, Terence."

"Thank you, milord." Terence beamed proudly.

"How far away were you?"

Terence felt sheepish, but he told the truth. "Only about two yards, milord."

Gawain looked at him curiously. "Don't be ashamed of that, lad. Any number of men can shoot an arrow accurately, but not one in fifty can get that close to a full-grown rabbit."

"I could have gotten closer, but the bow snagged in the brush."

"Could you, now?" Gawain said. He looked at him pensively, then asked, "You don't have any notion who your parents were, eh?"

"No, milord."

"Hmm." Gawain thought for a moment. "Well, that's neither here nor there. You've got the look."

"The look of what, milord?"

"You've faery blood in you. I'd swear to it. There's something in the eyes. And to see you sliding through the brush is like watching a ghost."

The hermit had never talked much about faeries, but Terence had heard of them from travelers who had stopped at the hermitage. Most of what he had heard had been about faeries doing mischief and luring people to their death. Gawain said, "It doesn't please you, boy?"

Terence swallowed. "No, milord."

"Why not?"

"Faeries are wicked, aren't they?"

"Some of them are. Some aren't at all. It's more than you can say of men." Terence still frowned, and Gawain added, "There's no shame in a touch of faery blood, Terence. I've some myself."

"You, milord?"

"On my mother's side. For that matter, so does the king."

"King Arthur?"

"Ay. Just like the rest of our family. My mother and my Aunt Morgan show it the most, but even that blundering gapeseed Gaheris has a bit."

Terence blinked. "Milord, is the king a part of your family?"

"Ay, Terence, the king's my uncle."

Terence looked at him with awe. "Then you're almost a prince!"

Gawain laughed and said, "Better than almost, really. My father was King Lot of the Orkney Islands." Terence's eyes widened, and Gawain said hurriedly, "But don't go calling me Prince Gawain or some rot like that. Now that we have a King of All England, there is no more kingdom of Orkney. And a knightship at Arthur's court is a greater honor than any princedom. Knighthood has to be earned." Gawain shook his head briskly. "Are you going to cook that rabbit or watch it age?"

The next afternoon they met another traveler. They were about to stop when they heard a sharp chopping noise. Gawain narrowed his eyes and continued forward silently. A moment later, in a tiny clearing in the forest, Terence saw a tall, strong-looking young man wearing rough leather clothes and holding a heavy sword in his left hand. He stood completely still in front of an old tree, then suddenly sprang lightly to the right. His sword flashed out and buried itself in the trunk of the tree. Immediately the young man wrenched it free and took his position again.

"Milord?" Terence whispered. Gawain leaned close but did not answer. "What's he doing?"

Gawain lifted his eyebrows slightly. "Fighting a tree, of course."

"Oh." The young man sprang again, and again the sword flashed, sinking into the tree at exactly the same spot.

Gawain whistled. "Come on, Terence. Shall we meet this abuser of trees?" He tapped Guingalet lightly with one heel and pushed through the brush into the clearing. Behind a tree, Terence saw an ancient, broken-down cart horse and two leather packs on the ground. The young man turned, still holding his sword.

"Hello," Gawain said pleasantly.

"Who are you?" the young man answered abruptly.

Gawain paused briefly before answering. "No enemies of yours, I believe," he murmured.

The young man flushed. "I beg pardon for my rudeness."

"Given," Gawain said. He carelessly dismounted and said, "You have found yourself a fine camp here. Do you permit us to share it with you?"

The young man looked at Gawain suspiciously, but only said, "If you wish."

"Terence, see to the horses," Gawain called, sitting at the base of a tree. He turned back to the young man. "My name is Gawain."

"I am Tor," the young man replied stiffly. He sat near Gawain, still holding his sword in his left hand. Terence led the horses to one side, unobtrusively drawing his bow and an arrow. Gawain had left his sword in the scabbard on Guingalet's saddle.

"Where are you bound?" Gawain asked in that pleasant, conversational tone.

"Camelot!" Tor said defiantly, as if expecting Gawain to take offense.

"Really? Now that's where we're going, too. Have you business with the king?"

"I hope so," the young man said.

"Why, that's my case exactly," Gawain said, smiling. "I hope to be made a knight of the Round Table."

Tor relaxed slightly. "You're not a knight already?"

"Nay," Gawain said.

"Oh. I thought ... when I saw your armor...."

"Any clodpole can own armor," Gawain commented. Tor stiffened again, and half raised his sword. Terence swiftly strung his bow and notched an arrow, but Gawain continued calmly, "And any number of good fighters have to do without it."

Tor relaxed again and laid his sword beside him. Gawain reached into his blouse, pulled out a handful of hazelnuts, and began cracking them. "Have one?"

Tor nodded, and Gawain flipped a nut at him. Tor caught it deftly in his right hand, cracked it, and began eating.

"Do you hope to be made a knight as well?" Gawain asked.

Again Tor stiffened. "Why do you ask that?"

"I saw you practicing. If you'll take a word of advice, don't practice on trees. Nothing blunts iron like wood."

Tor blushed but answered steadily, "I had nothing else ... or no one else ... to practice on."

"Yes, that would be difficult. Now me, I had my brothers. Not that they were much more competition than a tree, but at least they didn't blunt my sword. You see," Gawain added, "I was careful not to hit their heads."

Tor's face lightened and a tiny dimple appeared on his cheek. "That was kind of you," he said.

"No no, not at all. I did it to save my sword."

"Would you like to practice on me?" Tor asked, half defiantly, half shyly. "I would be glad of the chance."

"Then you'd be a fool," Gawain answered. "Never offer to fight an unknown, Tor. Now you don't know the first thing about me."

"You don't know anything about me, either," Tor pointed out.

"On the contrary. You're right-handed, but you'd probably start with your left hand, then shift to your right. You rely on speed, which is good, but your weakness is probably your return swing. If I were fighting you, I would play to your weak side to force you to keep shifting hands, and I would try to interfere with your exchanges. It shouldn't be too hard to knock your sword down soon. Have another hazelnut."

Tor let out his breath in a long, slow sigh. "You saw all that, and you're not even a knight yet!" he said. Gawain said nothing. In a moment, Tor said bitterly, "I'm reaching for the moon."

"Nothing wrong with that," Gawain said. "Here, Terence, you bloodthirsty cub, put down your bow and see about some food for us."

Meekly, Terence stepped out from behind the horses, still holding his bow with his arrow notched. Gawain grinned. "You'll do, lad. Tor, this is my squire, Terence."

Tor looked at Terence's bow with surprise. "What's that for?"

Terence swallowed. "I thought you might not be friendly, sir."

Tor shook his head. "I could have been dead twice over today, and I never even knew I was in danger."

***

The next day, by mutual unspoken consent, the three rode off together. By early afternoon they could tell that they were nearing Camelot. They began to pass drovers and shepherds and carriers in slow ox-carts. Then they began to see knights, all fully armed and armored. Twice they pulled off the road to let galloping regiments pass, and once they rode by a surly band of armed peasants. Gawain was frowning darkly.

"Gawain?" Tor asked quietly. "Have you heard anything about a war?"

"Looks like it, doesn't it?" Gawain said. "Yeomen with weapons, knights in regiments, wagons filled with provisions."

The three travelers rounded a bend, and there was Camelot, perched high on a hill overlooking the plain to the south and east. It seemed to Terence to be carved right out of the rock, a dark, solid castle festooned with gay banners. A steady stream of horsemen and cattle and wagons wound up the hill to the front gates. On the plain below Camelot hill, parties of horsemen formed lines and galloped in circles and blew trumpets and shouted at each other. Finally they came to the gate, where a thick, dark-bearded man was meeting the carts of provisions, allowing some to pass and sending some away. As they watched, one of the carters began to argue shrilly about being sent away, and a moment later the carter rose through the air and landed with a wet thump in his cart full of unpleasant smelling cabbages.

"That was quick," Gawain murmured to Tor. "This dark fellow is no mere servant or guard."

As Gawain spoke, the dark-bearded man beckoned for them to approach. "What have we here?" he asked softly.

"Two who would be knights of the Round Table," Gawain answered. The dark-bearded man looked at Tor, then Terence. He cocked one eyebrow quizzically. "And one who would be the squire of a knight of the Round Table," Gawain added.

The man scratched his beard and regarded them sourly. "Your names?"

"Tor and Gawain."

The man looked at him sharply. "Gawain?" Gawain bowed slightly. "Hmm. You with us or against us?"

"With you."

The man grunted. "Right then. Stable your horses. Tell the grooms that Sir Kai sent you. Arthur's holding council tonight; you can talk to him then." With a wave of his hand, Sir Kai motioned them on and turned his attention to a cart filled with scrawny chickens.

Terence had never seen so many people or so many bright colors at one time in his life. He saw tall ladies in elegant flowing gowns; chunky, bearded dwarfs in leather waistcoats; knights with painted armor, plumed helms, and intricately designed shields. (Gawain grunted, "Show-warriors.") They watched knights sparring with swords, and saw cooks roasting whole oxen over huge fires. At last they found the stables, saw to their horses, and stretched out on a haystack.

Gawain told Tor and Terence all that he knew about Arthur: How he was the true son of the old king, Uther Pendragon, but had been raised as an orphan by Sir Ector, who was Sir Kai's father, and how he had become king by drawing the Sword Excalibur from the stone. He told them of Arthur's wars to establish his right to the throne, and how finally almost every part of Britain had vowed fealty to him.

"Oh," Terence said. "That's what you meant when you said that there was no more kingdom of Orkney. Your father vowed fealty to Arthur."

Gawain looked grim. "Nay, Terence. That he did not. But my father is dead now."

Tor looked at Gawain shrewdly. "He died in battle?" he asked. Gawain nodded. "So that's why the man at the gate—Sir Kai—asked you if you were with the king or against him. Your father fought against Arthur, didn't he?"

"And my mother," Gawain said with a nod.

"And, forgive me if I ask too many questions, but where is your mother now? Has she vowed fealty to Arthur?"

Gawain hesitated, then said, "I do not know where my mother is. I have chosen to follow Arthur instead. Though I've never met him myself, I know him for a true king. Remember, he defeated my father. If you want to know a king, see how he treats his defeated foes. All are gracious to their equals; one in a thousand is gracious to an enemy he has conquered."

***

When Terence finally saw King Arthur for himself, he understood Gawain's admiration. At dusk, in an open courtyard, King Arthur feasted with his court. Behind him, minstrels sang a long ballad about an ancient hero named Cucholinn, and all around him knights and ladies-in-waiting talked and dallied elegantly. Gawain and Tor sat on a long bench opposite the throne, and Terence, following Gawain's whispered instructions, stood behind Gawain. At first, Terence thought that Arthur looked too young to be the King of All England, but there was dignity in his bearing and wisdom in his eyes. Terence had never seen a king before, but he knew that this was how one should look.

When the meal was finished, King Arthur held his hand up, and like magic, the room became silent.

"And now we shall hold court," he said. "Kai?" The dark-bearded man from the gate stood, riere.

"How are we provisioned?"

"Adequately. Unless the Five Kings have resources that we don't know about, we can outlast them in the field by about a week. Two weeks, with a bit of foraging."

"One week will do," Arthur said gently. "We wish to rule our people, not ruin them." Kai bowed slightly. "Thank you, Kai. I believe I have given you an arduous job, but you have done it well." Kai's hard, craggy face flushed darkly, and he bowed again, more deeply. "Come stand by me, Kai," Arthur continued. "I shall need your counsel." Kai stepped up to Arthur's throne, a fierce pride in his face.