The Squire's Tale (8 page)

"Hallo," the knight with the feather called. "Come far?"

"Good day," Gawain answered. "Not too far, just from the forest."

"Off questing, eh?" The knight grinned. He had a fair, pleasant face, and a few strands of sandy hair framed his face within his open helm.

"Ay. You?" Gawain responded.

"No, not questing exactly, but so long as I've put this bleeding armor on, I wouldn't mind seeing a bit of action. I don't suppose you'd like to take a few passes with me in joust, would you?"

To Terence's surprise, Gawain agreed immediately. The jousting posts were decided upon in a nearby pasture, and the two rode off, leaving Terence, Lady Alisoun, and the other knight alone to watch. The first pass ended with no one the worse. Gawain had wheeled Guingalet to the left just before the lances came together, making the fair knight's lance miss him by several feet, while Gawain tapped him on the back with the point of his lance as he went by. The fair knight laughed and shouted something over his shoulder. Lady Alisoun grunted, "Just the sort of cowardly motion I'd expect from him." Terence flushed angrily.

On the second pass, Gawain unhorsed the fair knight neatly, then dismounted and suggested swords for a while. The two knights began sparring with their swords, circling each other slowly, choosing their hits carefully. The fair knight was not a bad swordsman, but even to Terence's inexperienced eye it seemed that Gawain was not trying very hard.

For the first time, the knight with the hidden face spoke, to Lady Alisoun. "Have you some reason, fair lady, to doubt your knight's courage?"

Lady Alisoun laughed scornfully. "Not half an hour ago we saw one knight pitted against ten, and this yellow dog refused to help him. Even when the ten knights captured their valiant foe in the most humiliating way, he would do nothing!"

Terence gasped. "It wasn't like that at all!" he declared hotly.

The knight leaned menacingly over his saddle, his hand on his sword hilt, and said, "Do not contradict a lady, boy, else you shall taste my blade." Terence stared at him, shocked. No knight of Arthur's court would ever have threatened a squire.

"See? He doesn't even teach his squire well," Lady Alisoun declared, pink with pleasure.

The knight turned back to her. "It is indeed a pity that so entrancing a lady should be bound to so wanting a knight."

"Oh, I'm not
bound
to him, exactly," she said, her eyes downcast.

"No? Ah, but perhaps it is best that you should have such a knight to follow. He will do his best to avoid danger, and thus you shall be spared the sight of pain and suffering."

"I don't mind pain and suffering," she said earnestly.

"Do you not? But then you have not seen the sort of bloody battles which I fight every day. I promise you, it is no sight for a lady."

"Really?" Lady Alisoun's eyes shone. "Very bloody?"

"Horribly," he replied promptly.

"I wish I could see them," she responded rapturously.

"Why, you can, if you choose to ride away with me, now, my lady," the knight said. "Since you have plighted no troth to this knight, of course."

Lady Alisoun did not hesitate, "Yes, let's!"

Terence could not believe it. Before he could decide whether to say anything, they were gone. He turned back toward the sparring knights, wondering if Gawain would be angry with him for letting her go.

About half an hour later, panting and wheezing with exertion, the fair knight held up his hand and said, "Enough! You're just playing with me, aren't you?"

Gawain raised his visor and grinned. "Well, yes. A bit."

"It's too hot to continue. What do you say to a tankard of the best home-brewed in the country? There's an inn just over the way where they take real pride in such things."

"Sounds wonderful." Gawain smiled. "I'm Sir Gawain, from Camelot."

"Camelot? Really? Do you mean I fought a knight of the Round Table?"

"You did."

"Well, won't father be tickled! I'm Sir Carados. My father's the Earl hereabouts, and—I say, where's your lady? And that other knight?"

"Don't you know that other knight?" Gawain asked.

"No, we'd just met when we came up to you. Where are they?"

"They left some time ago," Gawain replied, unperturbed. He smiled at Terence and said, "My only fear was that you would interfere, lad, and convince her to stay. You don't mind losing her, do you, Terence?"

Terence sighed happily.

***

An hour later, seated around a table with three tankards of smooth, warm beer in front of them, Gawain turned to his new companion and asked, "Say, Carados, as the Earl's son, you must know most of the people in the area."

"All of them, I expect," Sir Carados said, wiping froth from his lips.

"Today we saw an interesting sight: one knight fought ten, defeated them, and then let them tie him up and take him away. Now who—"

"Odd, isn't it? He does it all the time," Sir Carados interrupted.

"Why?"

"Sad, really. Those knights belong to the lady he loves, the Lady Ettard. You probably saw her castle on your way in, on that hill to the east. He lets them take him captive, because that's the only way he can see her."

Gawain blinked. "I see," he said. "Then I could find him at Lady Ettard's castle tomorrow?"

"I doubt it. She usually throws him out after a night in her dungeons."

"Where might I find him, then?"

"Dalinbrook Castle, hard by the forest, not two hours from here," Sir Carados said. "His name's Sir Pelleas."

At nine o'clock the next morning, after a pleasant evening spent with Sir Carados's family, Gawain and Terence arrived at Sir Pelleas's Dalinbrook Castle. The gate was open, and a few servants stood around, listlessly sweeping the path.

"Seems he's not home yet," Gawain said.

They waited outside the gate for about twenty minutes before Sir Pelleas arrived, carrying his helm on his saddle. His armor was dusty and stained, and his face drawn and weary. When he saw Gawain and Terence, though, he stopped abruptly, looked almost pleased, replaced his helm, and readied his lance.

"Sir Pelleas!" Gawain called.

"Make ready for battle, recreant knight!" Sir Pelleas shouted back.

"I'm not a recreant knight, and I won't make ready for battle!" Gawain replied promptly.

"I beg your pardon?" Sir Pelleas raised his visor and looked at Gawain, puzzled.

"And I'm not from Lady Ettard," Gawain added.

"Oh, I see." Sir Pelleas drooped. "Well, what do you want, then?"

"I'm a wandering knight in search of adventures. I would like to hear more about your plight. Perhaps I can help."

Sir Pelleas trotted closer, his face downcast. "I thank you for your offer, O knight, but there is no help for one such as I. My life is doomed to despair and disappointment."

"Oh, I daresay it's not so bad as all that," Gawain said bracingly. "Perhaps you could tell me about it inside." He gestured toward the open gate. "After you've cleaned up, of course," he added.

Sir Pelleas sighed deeply, then said, "Very well. To recount my woes can only be painful to me, but I shall grant your wishes, I, whose own wishes are so far from being granted."

An hour later, Sir Pelleas joined Gawain and Terence in a somber, rather chilly room. "Forgive me for taking so long, O knight. Lady Ettard's dungeons have a great many insects."

Sir Pelleas was a strong-looking, exceptionally handsome knight, with a carefully trimmed chestnut beard covering a firm chin. He wore a richly woven maroon blouse, trimmed all over with gold lace, and burnished black stockings. If he was a bit sober in appearance, he was at least elegant. "I am Sir Gawain, of the Fellowship of the Round Table," Gawain said. "I am sworn to help those in distress, and so I offer you whatever services are in my power."

"I thank you," Sir Pelleas said. "But nothing is in your power."

"Suppose you tell me your ... your woes," Gawain invited.

Sir Pelleas sighed and signed for Gawain to be seated. Terence stood beside his chair while Sir Pelleas paced.

"I love the most beautiful woman in the world," he began, his eyes fixed dreamily on the rafters. "She is the most perfect example of ladyhood to be found. In no matter is she lacking. Her nose is a vessel of beauty, straight and white, which no desecrating freckle has ever been permitted to touch. I've written a sonnet to her nose. Would you like to hear it? It goes: '
J'entends de la musique, c'est son museau, son nez—
'"

Gawain choked. Sir Pelleas stopped reciting and waited patiently. Gawain spoke before he could continue. "In French, of course."

"The language of love," Sir Pelleas sighed.

"But you're not a French-speaker yourself, are you?"

"Well, I'm not really fluent, but—"

"Yes, well, my own French is a touch rusty," Gawain said, "but I don't think you should call your lady's nose a
museau.
It means snout."

"Really? But I thought that the similarity in sound with
musique
was so effective."

"Ah, I daresay I'm mistaken," Gawain said affably. "I think, though, that I have grasped the perfection of your lady's nose. Perhaps we can move on."

"Ah, her eyebrows—" Sir Pelleas sighed dreamily. Gawain let out his breath and sank into his chair. After close to half an hour of rapturous description that included eyebrows, eyelashes, eyes, ears, hair, cheeks, neck, waist, and a full ten minutes on lips, Sir Pelleas caught his breath with a sob and concluded, "But she'll have none of me!"

Gawain let him sob for a moment, then said, "And ... what made you fall in love with this paragon?"

Sir Pelleas looked surprised. "Can you doubt it? It was love at first sight!"

"I see. But you
have
spoken to her, haven't you?"

"I am a newcomer to this land. I had never spoken to her before I pledged her my undying love."

"Look, Pelleas, are you sure you're not making a mistake? I don't mean to say that your love isn't deep and profound and all that, but shouldn't you know something more about a woman than her looks?" Gawain paused, frowning, then continued, "I rode into this country yesterday alongside a very beautiful lady who had no more heart than a spider. I've only just managed to get rid of her."

Sir Pelleas leaped to his feet. "What are you implying?" he demanded.

Gawain did not move. Calmly he replied, "Nothing at all. I only wondered if you ought to speak to the Lady Ettard. Have you ever just ridden up and asked to come in?" Gawain asked.

"Oh yes!" Sir Pelleas said. "But to no avail! The foulest of wandering knights may be sure of a welcome from her, but
I
am turned away ... but I ... but I ... but I have an idea!"

Gawain looked amused. "What kind of idea?"

"I shall go to her in disguise! I shall go with you! In your retinue! She will admit you to her court, and then I shall expose to her my love from within!"

Gawain nodded. "Not bad. You go put on something that looks like a squire might wear it, and we'll go see this lady of yours." Sir Pelleas started to run from the room, but Gawain stopped him. "Say, does Lady Ettard speak French?"

"But of course!"

"Then leave the sonnets here, all right?"

The plan worked perfectly. At the gate to Lady Ettard's castle, Gawain simply called out his name, and the guards opened the gate immediately. No one even looked at Sir Pelleas. A series of calls echoed from guardpost to guardpost—"Open for Sir Dwayne." Gawain chuckled.

A window in the central keep of the castle flew open and there appeared the face of a lovely woman. "Sir Dwayne!" she called out. "I am the Lady Ettard, mistress of this castle. I welcome you!"

Gawain had no chance to answer. Sir Pelleas threw himself from his saddle, and knelt. "My princess!" he called out. "My love, my lambkin! I swear to you eternal fealty. My own life I offer you! My corpse I give to you for a rug, if you so desire! I worship you!"

"Ghastly display," Gawain muttered.

"Pelleas! How did you—? You blister! Get out of my castle! I forbid you to drool on my courtyard, you mutt, you cur, you mongrel! How dare you defile my home with your foul presence? Sir Dwayne, is this your doing?"

Gawain started to reply, but Sir Pelleas broke in again. "My angel, your voice drips sweetness upon my thirsting ears. Speak yet again that I might carry your musical essence with me until I die!"

"I'll drip sweetness on you, you carbuncle!" She called a command to someone inside, then looked back out. "And I hope that you might learn a lesson from it, you less-than-the-stable-sweepings bit of offal! You stench! You
merde!
"

"Ah, she
does
speak French," Gawain murmured.

"My heart! Even curses from your lips fall like blessings on my parched soul. You are the water that revives me!" Sir Pelleas called out.

"Here! Revive on this!" Lady Ettard shouted. She reached inside for something, then at arm's length poured the contents of a large bucket over Sir Pelleas. The mixture seemed to be mostly dirty water, but there were thick clumps of every conceivable color and texture swirled in. The stream hit Sir Pelleas full in his upturned face and knocked him sprawling into a thick, slimy puddle.

"Kitchen swill!" Terence gasped, wrinkling his nose.

"Not especially fresh either," Gawain agreed. "Let's move upwind, shall we?"

Gawain and Terence edged their horses to where the smell was not so strong. Sir Pelleas climbed to his feet, pulling something from his hair, and called, "I accept this and all other blessings which have known the delight of your presence, fair one!"

Lady Ettard's eyes flashed, and she disappeared inside. Sir Pelleas continued calling out compliments to the window.

"Milord?" Terence asked.

"Yes?"

"This Sir Pelleas, milord? He's ... he's not very clever, is he?"

Gawain grinned, but did not answer. Lady Ettard reappeared at the window, a triumphant smile on her face. In her arms was a basket filled with eggs. She began throwing them at Pelleas, and Terence noted with respect that she was quite accurate.

"It's a real pleasure to see a lady of gentle birth with such a fine throwing arm," Gawain said solemnly. "Good wrist action, too."

Servants and guards who were downwind from Pelleas began to scurry for cover, and even upwind where Gawain and Terence sat a noxious, sour smell began to grow. Pelleas sniffed bemusedly at himself as Lady Ettard threw her last eggs.

"Now, guards!" Lady Ettard called. "Take him and beat him with boards!"

"Here we go, Terence," Gawain muttered, drawing his sword and winding his reins around a bolt in his saddle. "You get his horse."

Terence galloped to Sir Pelleas's horse. It shied away, but leaning from his saddle he caught the horse's bridle and turned toward the gate. Gawain had Sir Pelleas by the collar, dragging him beside Guingalet at arm's length, and keeping four guards at bay with the other hand. Terence booted his own horse into the middle of the guards, knocking them flying. Another guard ran up, thrusting a spear, and Terence dodged, feeling it pass an inch from his face. He kicked the spearman in the face, and rode past. Gawain barked a syllable to Guingalet, and the mighty horse jumped into a dead run toward the gate, where a line of guards was forming. Guingalet hit the first one with his shoulder, and the line disappeared as guards scattered. Terence followed in Guingalet's wide wake. In a few seconds they were clear of the gate and galloping down the hill into the forest, Sir Pelleas still hanging from Gawain's left hand.

Soon after entering the forest, they came upon a small stream, and Gawain unceremoniously tossed Sir Pelleas into the middle of it. Sir Pelleas gasped and spluttered, then sat up and moaned, "Oh, what am I to do?"

"Clean off," Gawain commanded, looking distastefully at the hand that had touched Sir Pelleas's clothes. "Then we'll eat some lunch and plan our next move."

"How can I eat? Food has no attraction for me!"

"Until you clean up, food will have no attraction for any of us," Gawain snapped. "Now wash!"

Sir Pelleas cleaned himself and his clothes as much as he could while Terence hurriedly put together a meal. When they had eaten, Gawain sat next to Sir Pelleas and said, "Is that how you act every time you're around her?"

"Yes, of course. How could I act differently? Love overpowers every faculty, and I yield myself to its urgings."

"I see. What you need, Pelleas, is an emissary, someone who can represent your case without emptying the butter tub over her."

"Emptying the—"

"Covering her with foolish compliments. Now you wait here, and Terence and I will go see what we can do for you. All right?"

"Do you want to take her a sonnet? I have one that I've been sav—"

"No."

So Gawain and Terence rode back up the hill toward Lady Ettard's castle, leaving the damp and still stained Sir Pelleas in the forest. As they rode, Gawain looked Terence over approvingly and said, "You did well in that bit of rough-and-tumble in the courtyard. Very well."

Terence blushed. "Thank you, milord."

To their surprise, the gate was raised as soon as they approached. Gawain lifted his eyebrows, but led the way back into the courtyard. There, they were met by a thin, dapper gentleman in velvet who bowed slightly to them and asked if he could be of service. Gawain asked to see Lady Ettard, and the dapper gentleman said, "Follow me, please."

They dismounted and followed him through a long hallway to a small inner court. He said, "You may wait here, and my lady will see you if she finds time."

"Why don't you go in and tell her that it's not convenient for us to wait?" Gawain smiled.

The dapper gentleman looked affronted. In a cold voice, he said, "My lady is engaged in some urgent business."

"Why, so are we," Gawain said. "You run along and tell her, and we'll go with you." He pushed the gentleman through the door and down the hall. A moment later, almost carrying the servant aloft ahead of him, Gawain entered a chamber where Lady Ettard sat at a table with two ladies-in-waiting.

She really was very pretty, Terence thought. It was hard for Terence to associate the delicate figure seated in the stateroom with the screaming woman who had emptied the swill on Sir Pelleas. She leaned forward, peered at Gawain, frowned, and said earnestly, "What are you doing with Brundle, Sir Dwayne?"

Gawain let go of the gentleman, who scurried from the room. "Nothing inappropriate, I assure you," Gawain said politely.

Lady Ettard frowned, as if trying to solve a puzzle, but in a moment her brow lightened, and she said, "Well, never mind. What can I do for you, Sir Dwayne?"

"I come as an ambassador. From Sir Pelleas—"

"That weakling!" Lady Ettard interjected scornfully.

"It seems to me," Gawain said mildly, "that you are in the position to know that he is hardly a weakling. I myself saw him unhorse ten of your knights in a row."

"And then what did he do? He surrendered to them and let them abuse him! I say he is a weakling."

"Do you not think, madam, that it takes strength of decision to accept abuse without responding in kind?"

"No, I think it takes a great deal of foolishness. I prefer a man who takes what he wants."

"You would prefer to be tyrannized than cherished? Bullied than beloved?" Gawain asked. Terence glanced at him and saw a suspicious light in his eyes.

"'Tyrannized than cherished,'" she repeated, frowning intently. "That's very good. And 'bullied than—' what was that again?" She looked like a schoolgirl committing a difficult sum to memory. "Anyway, I have no admiration for a man who would allow himself to be beaten. Pelleas would be very uncomfortable by now if you had not acted so swiftly."