"Maybe this will teach him not to strike down any more," Tor said. He looked at the kneeling Abelleus. "Do you promise not to be so naughty anymore and to stop striking down good knights?"
"Oh yes," Abelleus said, nodding emphatically.
"And do you agree to let me take this hound back to the court without interfering with me anymore?"
"Yes sir. Beg your pardon for bothering you, sir."
"And do you apologize for killing this lady's brother?"
"Oh yes. Very sorry, madam."
"Right then. What reparation should he pay you, do you think?" Tor asked the lady.
"I've told you!" she said, waving her arms dramatically. "He must pay with his life."
"How about all of his lands? Do you have any lands?" Tor asked the knight.
"I have a castle in Winchelsea," he answered. "But it needs work."
"How about a run-down castle in Winchelsea?" Tor asked the lady.
"Never!" she pronounced.
"Not really run-down. As soon as the roof's repaired it will really be very nice," Abelleus contributed.
"Abelleus will even pay for the repair, won't you?" Tor added. Abelleus nodded vigorously.
"I shall never rest so long as we both live," the lady cried.
The dwarf snorted and spoke for the first time. "Well then, that solves our problem, Sir Tor. Kill the lady."
"I can't kill a lady, Plogrun," Tor protested.
"Would you like me to?" Abelleus asked eagerly.
"Oh, do be quiet," Tor said. By this time Gawain and Terence had joined the group. Tor turned to them and said, "Hallo, Gawain. Terence."
"Tor," Gawain replied.
"This is Plogrun," Tor said. "He's my squire. I picked him up earlier. He was serving a couple of real stinkers, who challenged me. I defeated them, and he said he'd prefer to follow me. I think he'll work out fine. Plogrun, this is Sir Gawain and his squire Terence."
"I am honored, sir," Plogrun said, bowing as deeply as a dwarf can bow. "Pleased to meet you, Terence."
"Hello," Terence said.
"Look here," Abelleus said. "I don't mean to interrupt, but—"
Gawain said, "Oh don't let us disturb you, Tor. You were just saying that you couldn't kill a lady." Gawain smiled, but only with his lips.
"I don't see what's so difficult about it," the dwarf commented.
"Nothing at all," Abelleus said. "Really, they're much easier than men."
Tor looked at him contemptuously. "I'm beginning to think I ought to kill you after all."
"I told you!" the lady said.
"But I've already yielded," Abelleus pointed out.
Gawain interrupted, "Look here, Tor. If it bothers you to kill a lady, you could let someone else do it."
"An excellent notion," the dwarf said approvingly.
Suddenly, Tor's lips twitched, and he said, "That would be all right, I suppose."
"You would allow this villain to kill me?" the lady asked Tor. Her eyes were as round as coins. "How could you bear such a piteous sight?"
"I'd look away," Tor explained.
"Why?" Abelleus asked.
Ignoring him, Tor said, "Unless you're willing to accept Abelleus's reparations, of course."
The woman clasped both hands to her breast and moaned, "Ah, that a fair lady should be so abused." Suddenly, she pulled a dagger from her robe and threw herself at Abelleus. Abelleus caught her arm easily and plucked the dagger from her hand. He raised his arm to drive the dagger into the woman's heart, and Tor cut off his head.
Tor swore. The lady grasped Abelleus's head and raised it triumphantly from the ground. "There! There! Long have I dreamed of holding thee so!"
"Well, I hope you like it," Tor said angrily, driving his sword into the dirt at her feet. "Because you're going to see a lot of it. Toss me some cord, Plogrun." Tor took the rope and deftly secured Abelleus's head to it with a bewildering variety of knots. Then he tied it roughly around the lady's neck.
"You may remove this head only at Camelot. There is a ... a spell on the cord, and if you try to cut it or untie it before then, your ... your nose will grow to three times its normal size. Now, go! And take this brachet with you," Tor added, handing the hound's leash to the lady. "When you reach Arthur's court, you will tell him of your cruelty and deliver this hound with Sir Tor's compliments. Now go!" The woman tottered away, her enemy's head bouncing and dripping blood on her gown.
"A magic cord?" Gawain asked after a minute.
Tor grinned. "She seemed easy to fool. After all, she believed you when you pretended that you could kill a woman."
Gawain and Terence looked at each other, but neither spoke.
6. Marhault and Morgan
The two knights and two squires rode eastward along a meandering forest trail. Tor rode ahead with Gawain, telling his story. Tor had won three fights in the few hours since they parted, and he was clearly pleased with himself. In his excitement, he did not seem to notice that Gawain said nothing of his own adventures.
Terence rode alongside the dwarf Plogrun, but although he could not resist peeking at him every now and then, he was too shy to speak to the strange squire. Finally, Plogrun broke the silence.
"Your name's Terence?" he asked politely.
"Yes, sir," Terence said.
"Don't call me sir. A squire shows respect to every knight and every lady, but never to another squire."
"Sorry," Terence stammered.
"There, see? You've just done it again," the dwarf pointed out. "Don't apologize either."
Terence started to say he was sorry again, but caught himself.
"Good." Plogrun nodded. "You can't ride worth a farthing, so you must be a new squire."
"None of your business!" Terence snapped.
"Even better," the dwarf said approvingly. "Nothing to be ashamed of, being new. You've a good master, too. A squire is only as good as his knight. Now me, I'm the best squire there is, but I've had the worst luck with masters, let me tell you. I can't say what a relief it is to finally squire a knight with as much potential as Sir Tor. Not a good knight yet, of course. Only beat Abelleus by sheer luck, actually, but I've seldom seen a young knight show more potential."
When they had ridden through the forest in silence for another hour, Gawain and Tor pulled up at the edge of a long, grassy clearing. A stream ran along one side of the meadow, and Terence saw a trout jump.
"Terence! You cook trout?" Gawain called.
"My specialty, milord," Terence responded eagerly.
"We'll stop here for the night, then," Gawain said. "I'll tend to your horse, Terence. You go catch some fish."
"An excellent master," Plogrun muttered as Terence leaped to the ground and started toward the stream.
The water was fresh and cool, the stream teemed with fish, and the trees along the eastern bank were thick and shady. Terence quickly fashioned a hook and line, captured a pocketful of plump insects for bait, and settled himself comfortably on the bank. Nothing could have been more blissfully relaxed. The others set up camp about thirty yards away, by a pair of drooping willows. Before long they joined him.
"Good fishing, Terence?" Tor asked. Terence grinned and gestured at a pile of fish behind him.
Gawain squatted next to Terence. "Don't fish the stream out today, Terence. We may stay here for a while."
"My horse?" Terence asked quickly.
"Ay. We rode it too hard today after yesterday's mauling. It'll be better after a few days' rest, I hope."
Tor grinned and sat next to Gawain. "I'm in no hurry to get back to court anyway. More pleasant here."
"And it seems to me," Plogrun added pensively, "that this long meadow here might be made for a bit of jousting practice."
"Do you need jousting practice, Plogrun?" Tor said, grinning.
"No, sir. Beggin' your pardon, but I thought this might be a good time for you to learn how to brace your lance with your armor and not your body, since it was only by the grace of God that you
didn't break your elbow, wrist, and all your ribs—and not just your lance—in the fight with Abelleus," Plogrun said woodenly. "Meanin' no offense, of course."
Gawain gave a shout of laughter. Tor reddened but smiled crookedly.
"Hush," Terence said. "I've got a bite."
***
That began an idyllic two weeks of jousting and jesting and education. Plogrun taught Terence how to split a stout ash and shape it into a lance. Together they made eleven blunt practice lances—which, with a sharpened one that Tor had taken from Plogrun's former masters, made an even dozen—while Gawain and Tor sparred with swords in the clearing. Terence showed Plogrun, who had been astonished at Terence's way with trout, a few cooking tricks, and Plogrun, a skilled archer, gave Terence lessons with his bow.
As soon as the new lances had cured in the sun, Gawain and Tor began to joust. This practice was much harder on Tor than on Gawain, but Tor bore his lumps with determined good humor. Plogrun would watch each pass critically and then, after his new master had hit the turf, would join Gawain in giving Tor advice and criticism. Even through this, Tor resolutely maintained his smile.
After a few days, Terence began to notice something odd. The knights would practice all morning and then rest at noon, but whereas Tor would collapse in the shade, exhausted, Gawain seemed as fresh or even fresher than when they began. Only in the evening would he seem to grow tired. Terence spoke of this one evening, when Tor and Plogrun were out of earshot. Gawain looked startled, but after a moment, he said, "Ay, lad. You're right. At noon I feel I could fight an army." They looked at each other for a minute, and then Gawain said, "It's your hermit's gift, isn't it? That my strength would rise with the sun. I've not given it a thought since that day."
Some days, Terence grew bored with the jousting and slipped off to the forest to practice archery or to gather herbs. One fine warm day he came across a fresh deer track. The prospect of fresh venison for dinner was tantalizing, and Terence followed the trail. Skirting a shallow, brackish pond, green with scum, Terence heard a voice. Silently, he sank to the ground and looked about, but though the voice continued, he could not see its source. At last, having looked all around and seen nothing, Terence glanced at the pond itself and caught his breath.
Through the murky water, Terence could dimly make out an image. Two figures stood in a black and blasted forest. One was a knight, with his visor down, and the other was the most beautiful woman Terence had ever seen. The knight did not move, but the woman was carefully laying out thin twigs in an intricate pattern on the rocky dirt, chanting something in a strange language. As Terence watched, the woman turned toward him, and their eyes met. Terence saw her eyes widen, then grow hard, "Who are you?" she shrieked through the water.
Leaping to his feet, Terence scrambled backwards, throwing himself over a fallen tree, where he almost stepped on a little green figure lying on the path, stretched out comfortably with his hands behind his head.
"Oy! Watch your step, oaf!" the little man shouted. Terence stumbled away from the figure and sat with a heavy crash in the brush. It was the same little sprite who had led Terence to Gawain and had helped him find the Five Kings. The elf grinned and said, "Well, aren't you going to say anything?"
"I wish you'd stop doing that to me!" Terence gasped finally.
The little man laughed. He offered Terence his hand, and warily, Terence took it. It was reassuringly warm and solid. Terence had never touched a faery before. Dusting Terence off, the little man said with a chuckle, "If I didn't know better, I'd say you weren't happy to see me. It wounds me, Terence, truly it does. I've a good mind to take myself off."
"Well, I'm not stopping you," Terence muttered. He looked back over the fallen tree at the pond, but the dark water was still.
The sprite grinned again. "I suppose you're wondering why I'm here." Terence didn't reply, still watching the pond. "I thought it was time we were introduced."
"You already seem to know my name," Terence pointed out.
"Yes, but that's all," he said. "I'm a messenger, and I only know what I'm told. As for me, you may call me Robin."
"Pleased to meet you, Robin," Terence said, bowing. "And thank you for your help with the Five Kings. My master won great glory that day."
"Ah, your master. That reminds me. I've a message for him from the Seelie Court."
"The what?"
"The Seelie Court. Don't ask so many questions. You're to tell him his quest isn't finished yet. Oh no, it's barely begun. Tell him to take the advice of the next relative of his that he meets."
"What relative?"
"You can't expect me to tell you everything, can you?" Robin grinned. "I will say this. You need to get back to your camp now. Things are about to start happening there."
"What things?" Terence asked, but Robin put a finger on his lips and shook his head. "Well, hurry along, lad."
Terence did not move. "One more thing. Who was that woman in the pond?"
Robin's smile slowly faded. "That pond?" he asked. He vaulted lightly over the tree and looked. "I see no woman."
"Oh, don't be stupid," Terence snapped. "You must have heard her scream at me."
"No, Terence. I heard nothing. Tell me about this woman. What was she like?"
"A beautiful woman, with a silent knight beside her." Terence hesitated, peering closely at the faery. "Look here, Robin, are you having me on? Is this another of your tricks?"
"Nay, lad. What was the woman doing?"
"Laying sticks in a design on the ground. And singing something, but I couldn't understand. Do you know what she was doing?"
Robin looked grim. "No, I don't. I told you, I'm only a messenger. But I know others who will understand. I will tell them at once." He looked at Terence, wonder in his eyes. "And I saw and heard nothing. I wish I knew just who you are, my Terence."
Terence nodded. "And if you find out, I wish you'd tell me."
***
Twenty minutes later, Terence stepped out of the woods into the clearing. Gawain and Tor were leaning against a tree talking while their horses grazed nearby. Plogrun sat by the stream polishing armor. Behind them, half in the shadows and obviously unseen by any of the three, a knight in full armor sat on a dappled gray stallion, watching them. Terence's heart jumped, but it was not the same knight he had seen in the pond.
"Milord?" Terence said. Gawain looked up, and Terence pointed at the strange knight.
Gawain looked, then muttered, "Quiet beggar, isn't he?" Shifting his sword forward, Gawain strode down the meadow toward the knight. About twenty yards from the knight, he called out, "Welcome, stranger. Come and join our camp for the night, if it please you."
The knight did not move; the only motion was the flutter of a thin yellow streamer tied to the knight's lance. Gawain waited a second, then said, "Or if it does not please you to stay here the night, you are welcome to dine with us." Again, the knight remained motionless. "Or is there some other way we can help you?" Gawain asked doggedly.
This time the knight moved. He lowered his lance and pointed it at Gawain's chest. Gawain shifted his weight so that his sword hilt was even more accessible, but he did not touch it.
"Do you want to fight?" Gawain asked.
The stranger did not move. The lance was still pointed at Gawain's chest.
"Look here, do you think you could nod or shake your head or something to let me know if I'm on the right path? I'm in the dark here. Do you want to fight?" Gawain repeated.
The knight nodded.
"Well, that's something, anyway," Gawain grunted. "I suppose it would be a waste of time to ask you why you want to fight a complete stranger."
The knight nodded again.
"If we refuse to fight you, will you go away?"
The knight shook his head.
"All right, then. I'll fight you, if you like," Gawain said disgustedly. He turned, but before he could complete his turn, Tor called to him.
"Never mind, Gawain. I've a mind to see what nois
e I can make with this silent knight." Tor hoisted himself into his saddle, and Plogrun handed him the one lance that had a point. Gawain started to speak, then shrugged and walked back to where Terence and Plogrun stood. Tor took a position opposite the strange knight, the two raised their lances in salute, and then they galloped at each other. They came together with a deafening crash. Tor's lance flipped in the air, his horse reared, and Tor himself all but flew backwards out of his saddle, landing a clear five yards back. The strange knight quieted his stallion with a pat and then waited patiently for Tor to stand. Stiffly, Tor struggled to his feet and drew his sword, but the knight shook his head. Turning slightly, he pointed his lance at Gawain.
"So what's wrong with swords, then?" Tor demanded angrily.
The strange knight trotted back to his original position at the far end of the meadow. Lips pursed, Gawain watched him go. "Plogrun, old fellow," he said, "who would you say was the better jouster? Him or me?"
"I was just wondering myself, sir," Plogrun said deliberately.
"What I thought, too," Gawain said. He whistled for Guingalet and climbed into the saddle.
"Fetch your master a lance, Terence!" Plogrun commanded briskly. "That one." He pointed at the lance that Tor had used, still in the meadow. Terence ran to retrieve it, while Tor and Plogrun stood next to Guingalet.
"He hits hard, Gawain," Tor said.
Gawain nodded and trotted over to the position that Tor had taken. Both knights paused for a second; both saluted with their lances; both charged, leaning forward in their saddles, holding their lances steady against the jolting of their horses. They hit each other at the same instant, and both lances exploded into a thousand splinters. Both horses reared and whinnied, and both knights landed on their backs with a thump.
Gawain raised himself, shook his head dazedly, then climbed to his feet, his sword drawn. The other knight sat up, feeling himself tenderly, but he made no effort to rise further. He cleared his throat. Gawain stepped toward him, but he held up his hand.
"Put away your sword. I have no desire to fight you. Or your friend," the knight said. His voice was dry and raspy, and he cleared his throat again.