The Squire, His Knight, and His Lady

"Well might you ask," Eileen said. "It took me hours to drag you and Gawain here. You sleep hard, Terence." Terence frowned, puzzled, and Eileen continued. "After the fight, when you and Gawain passed out, that village—You remember the little village?—just disappeared. There we were on the side of the mountain, with no food or water."

  "So you dragged us up the mountain to this meadow?" Terence asked, frankly incredulous. "By yourself?"

  Eileen hesitated. "No, a little man with a pointy beard helped me. Don't ask me who he was, because he wouldn't say."

  "Never mind," Terence said. "I think I know. His name is Robin. He's the one I was talking to when you woke up last night, beside the river." Terence's head was clearing, and he noticed Gawain's armor arranged neatly under a tree. "I suppose Robin brought our horses and gear?"

  Eileen nodded. "And food, and some ointment for your wounds." Terence closed his eyes again, unusually tired. Eileen spoke gently, "Before you go back to sleep, Terence, I want to thank you for saving my life from the boar last night."

  Terence reddened and stammered, "Don't mention it, Lady Eileen."

  "Lady Eileen, is it now?" she said briskly. "Are you angry with me, Squire Terence? You called me Eileen all night."

  "I didn't!"

  "You most certainly did, and since I have no desire to call you Squire Terence or Sir Terence or something witless like that, you may as well keep calling me Eileen. Now go to sleep."

  Terence went to sleep. They ended up staying there by the brook for almost a month while Gawain and Terence recovered from their wounds. The food that Robin had given Eileen lasted a week, and by the end of that time Terence was able to prowl the woods and gather food. It was an idyllic time, spent telling stories and playing games. Neither the elfin village nor any wild boars ever reappeared. Terence and Eileen took long rides in the woods—Gawain complained that stirrups hurt his feet and refused to join them. Eileen told Terence about her life before she had gone to live with the Marquis of Alva, about her happy-go-lucky father and fiery Irish mother, who both died of a fever within a week of each other. Terence told Eileen of his childhood with the Hermit of the Gentle Wood and of his life and quests with Gawain. He told her about Tor and Plogrun, about Sir Kai and King Arthur, about Sir Lancelot and Guinevere.

  Eileen was very interested in Guinevere. She listened to Terence's description, asked several questions, then pursed her lips and said, "Poor Sir Lancelot."

  Terence stared. "Poor Sir Lancelot! What about the king?"

  "Yes, of course, him too. They both love her. But from what you've said, it sounds as if King Arthur has figured her out. Sir Lancelot still has to learn."

  "Learn what? What will he learn?"

  "Just wait until Sir Lancelot is defeated by another knight and he's no longer the greatest knight in England. Then see what he finds out."

  At last Gawain announced that they should be moving again. Both Terence and Eileen argued that Gawain's wounds needed more time to heal, but Gawain was firm. The next day found them riding down the gentle slopes of the far side of the mountain.

  Two days later they met the first human they had seen since crossing to the Other World: a thin old man in a coarse hair shirt and hooded robe that hung over his face. Terence had seen enough religious pilgrims pass Camelot to recognize the traveler as one of these fervent souls. Gawain saluted the pilgrim and dismounted to walk beside him. The pilgrim returned Gawain's greeting pleasantly enough, but he neither slackened his pace nor gave the three riders more than a brief glance.

  "Where are you bound, Father?" Gawain asked.

  "Don't call me Father. I'm not a priest. I am a pilgrim, bound for holy places that will draw my mind to Christ Our Lord."

  "Forgive me, sir, but are there any holy places here? I mean, we are in the Other World, are we not?"

  "We are in what you would call so, child. And yes, there are holy places in every world. If holiness were confined to only one world, then no place would be holy."

  Gawain frowned over this for a moment, then shrugged and asked, "Is one of the holy places you seek called the Green Chapel?"

  The pilgrim stopped and looked at Gawain. Terence held his breath. "It is a holy place," the pilgrim said, "but I do not seek it. Do you?"

  "I do. Can you direct me to it?"

  "There is no need. In this world, to seek is to find." The pilgrim shook his head sadly and turned away from them. "The Green Chapel will find you."

  They rode on, traveling single file, with Gawain in the lead and Terence in the rear. His job was to keep an eye on Eileen, which he did.

  They made camp that night near a clear, ice-cold river that ran off the mountain behind them. They had seen no one since they left the pilgrim, though Terence had often felt as if he were being watched. They ate a cold dinner and rolled up in their blankets to sleep off their long ride.

  A few hours later, some noise wakened Terence. Beside him, Gawain was also awake. Gawain grinned and said, "Every blamed adventure we've had this quest has started this way, hasn't it? Waking up in the middle of the night."

  Terence nodded to the still bundle that was Eileen. "Not everyone wakes up," he said.

  They listened to the silent night for a few minutes, then Gawain said, "I'll stay up. You go on back to sleep."

  At that moment a voice breathed from the darkness. "What are you?" Gawain and Terence leaped from their blankets, Gawain holding his sword, Terence his bow and an arrow. They saw nothing. "Why you're just a man," the voice said, with surprise. "Like me."

  "Where are you, friend?" Gawain asked.

  From a slight shadow on the plain, where Terence would not have thought a mouse could be concealed, a man stood and stepped closer. Gesturing at Gawain, he said, "When you rode down the mountain, this one was different. How have you changed your shiny skin, man?"

  Terence did not understand the stranger, but Gawain said, "I am a knight, friend."

  "A knight," the stranger whispered reflectively. "I want to become a knight. A knight is a god?"

  "No, friend. I am only a man. Look here." Gawain pointed at his armor. "It is not skin; it is a knight's armor. Clothes of metal."

  The stranger reached out a hand and, at arm's length, touched one of the metal gauntlets. "You wear this?"

  "I do."

  "I want to become a knight. What is a knight?"

  Gawain smiled and said, "A knight is a fighter, one who protects the weak from those who are stronger than they."

  "I can fight," the stranger said with calm simplicity.

  "Can you?" Gawain said politely.

  "I will show you," the stranger said, and without another word threw himself at Gawain. Terence saw Gawain's sword lift, then stop, and then both men went over with a clatter onto the armor. They rolled together for a moment, then Gawain threw the stranger from him. The man rolled neatly to his feet and whirled to face Gawain, smiling happily. "You do fight," he said, with clear pleasure.

  "I do," Gawain said. He drove his sword into the ground. "Come on, then, friend."

  The stranger feinted to his left, then whirled with uncanny speed to his right and grabbed Gawain's arm and leg. Terence watched with amazement as Gawain rose into the air, then crashed into the dirt, the stranger still gripping him. Gawain countered with an out-thrust leg, but the stranger only gripped the leg and threw Gawain backwards again. Gawain stood quickly and wiped his brow. "You do fight, too," he said. The stranger smiled brightly and attacked again.

  "Hey!" Gawain exclaimed. "Stop that!"

  The stranger backed away. "Stop what?"

  "Clawing like that!"

  "Why?"

  "It's not knightly."

  "Not what?"

  "When knights fight, they don't scratch."

  "Why not?"

  Gawain considered this for a minute, then said, "Because we are men, not beasts."

  The stranger straightened out of his wrestler's crouch and said, "Can a knight not even scratch when he fights a beast?"

&nbs
p; Gawain hesitated. "What sort of beasts do you fight?"

  "Lions. Bears. Wolves. Dogs. Serpents."

  "If a knight fights a lion bare-handed, he may claw," Gawain conceded. "But not when he fights a man. And no biting, either," he added hastily.

  The stranger nodded slowly. "I want to be a knight," he muttered.

  The two men wrestled for almost an hour, and though Gawain threw the stranger often and always seemed to escape the stranger's grip, Terence could see that Gawain was fighting a defensive battle. The stranger was stronger and a better wrestler. Only the stranger's meticulous care not to use his nails or teeth kept Gawain in the contest at all. Several times the stranger would dive into an opening, then check his attack abruptly, clench his fists, and mutter "No scratching." Then Gawain would throw him. Terence shook his head with wonder and kept an arrow notched. If Gawain got into danger, he would shoot the stranger without hesitation.

  He glanced at Eileen's blankets, still motionless, and frowned. Surely she was not still asleep. Watching the contest from the corner of his eye he crossed to Eileen's pallet and said, "Eileen?" Nothing moved. He knelt swiftly and pulled the blanket back. Only a leather bag and a few rumpled clothes lay there: Eileen was gone. "Milord! Milord!" he shouted.

  "Terence," Gawain gasped, "I'm not really free just now."

  "Milord, Eileen's gone."

  Gawain broke away from the fight and, keeping his eyes on the stranger, repeated, "Gone?"

  "Not here," Terence explained.

  Gawain straightened. "Friend, I should like to fight longer, but I must stop now," he said.

  The stranger smiled brightly and nodded. "Very well. It was a good fight."

  "Unless," Gawain said slowly, "you are the one who took our friend, the Lady Eileen."

  "The lady who was with you earlier? No, she was gone when I arrived. Did you not know it?" Gawain shook his head. "Then it must be Hag Annis," the stranger said.

  "What is Hag Annis?"

  "She's a witch, the bad kind, you know. She eats all sorts of vile things, but her favorite food is young maidens."

  Terence felt faint and could not speak. "Where does this Hag Annis live?" Gawain demanded.

  "Down the river, not far. Why?"

  "So we can go save our friend, of course. A knight always..." This was the last that Terence heard until a moment later Gawain called, "Terence! Get the horses!" but it was too late then. Terence was already a quarter of a mile away, running along the riverbank.

  Hag Annis's cottage was only about two miles away, and Terence was there in just over ten minutes, even carrying the bow and one arrow that he had been holding when he left. It was a tiny hovel with a roof of bound twigs. Just outside the door, a bent old woman stooped over a huge pile of logs and worked busily with a tinderbox. Behind her was a thick wooden post, and Eileen was seated at its base, her hands behind her. The woman cackled something, and Eileen replied angrily. Terence sank to the ground, weak with relief. She was alive.

  Terence crept closer. The hag's skin was a dark, mottled blue, and she wore a cloak of shimmery black material that seemed to be alive itself, dancing and grimacing. The hag struck a spark and leaped away from the pile of tinder. It caught, and slowly a flame began to grow. Terence crawled slowly forward. He was in range now for a good bowshot, but as he had only one arrow he wanted to make it absolutely certain.

  "Now, my pretty little thing," the hag said, cackling, "I like to give a maiden a choice. Would you rather be roasted whole or sliced and fried?"

  "I think I'd rather be poisoned," Eileen snapped. "Then we could both die."

  "Oh dear, no." The hag giggled. "I can't be done in like that. No poison ever found that I can't eat. But they all taste so nasty—except some toadstools. You wouldn't want to taste nasty, now."

  "I do so. And furthermore, I hope I disagree with you."

  "No worry, no worry. I've a wonderful digestion, though now you mention it, I can't abide eggs. You haven't been eating eggs recently have you?"

  "I love eggs," Eileen replied promptly. "I ate seven of them for dinner."

  "Hee-hee, it's almost a pity to kill you, you're so much fun."

  "Well, I think so too," Eileen said. "Shall we let me go, then?"

  The hag looked mournful. "Then what would poor Annis eat for dinner?"

  "How about some nice toadstools?"

  "Hee-hee, you really are delightful," the hag declared, cackling louder. She poked tentatively at the fire with a long, sharpened stick.

  "Look here, Annis," Eileen said. "You know you won't live until morning anyway, why should you kill me?"

  "Why won't I live till morning, hey?"

  "Because the two great knights I rode with will have your heart out as soon as they find out that you've done me in."

  Terence notched his arrow and took careful aim at Annis's left eye, but a spark jumped out of the fire, and the hag skipped hastily away from it. "Don't set your hopes too high, my little dear," she said. "I've a spell cast on me that protects me. I can never be killed by a man, though enough of the beasts have tried. They only make me stronger. Vermin, they are, and not worth my notice."

  Terence hesitated. If the hag were speaking the truth and he could not kill her, then to shoot her would only announce his presence.

  "You don't like men, I take it," Eileen said. Terence guessed that she was trying to keep the hag occupied with conversation.

  "We'd all be better off without them, with just women. Lecherous goats they are, all of them. In fact, I sometimes turn them into goats."

  Terence crept around the periphery of the firelight until he was behind Eileen.

  Eileen snorted. "All this talk about your spells and your powers, and I haven't seen a bit of it. It took you twenty minutes just to light a fire."

  "Ah but dear, a good cookfire has to be just right. Otherwise part of you won't get done and another part will be just burned up."

  Eileen swallowed, but in a moment she continued bravely. "Look here, Annis. If you're so fond of women, why do you eat them? Why don't you eat men, if you hate them so much?"

  Annis made a rude noise and said, "Disgusting. That's why."

  Terence was directly behind Eileen now, and he saw the outline of Eileen's arms, tied behind the post. In the shadow of the fire, Terence could almost make out the outline of her hands. Right between them was where she would be tied. If he shot an arrow at that spot, it would cut her bonds, and she could escape.

  His arrow went true. He heard a dull thud and saw Eileen jump. The hag looked around suspiciously, but Terence had dropped to the dirt. After a moment, she shrugged and went back to poking at the fire with her long, pointed stick. Eileen twisted and tugged until, suddenly, her hands pulled free. Immediately she tucked them behind her again. The hag stepped away from the fire and looked at it for a long moment, then nodded.

  "All right, dear. You'll have to stand up now. This is the difficult bit, and I hope you won't be too noisy. I have to run a skewer through you, to hold you steady while you roast." She produced a long, wicked-looking metal skewer. "Now stand up, dear." Eileen stood, still holding her arms behind the post. The hag stepped close, beaming, and said, "Now this might sting a bit, love."

  Eileen did not answer. As Annis bent, Eileen whipped her arms from behind the post and shoved the hag roughly backwards. "Into the fire with you!" she cried. The hag's old eyes flew wide open, and she shrieked awfully. Eileen stooped and picked up the metal skewer that Annis had dropped. Terence leaped forward, but there was nothing left to do. The hag, who had fallen backward into the fire, roared out a very masculine bellow and then exploded into a searing white flame, too bright to look at. When the light was gone, Terence stepped up beside Eileen. All that was left of Hag Annis was her shiny black cloak.

  "No wonder she was afraid of fire," Eileen said.

  "Are you hurt?" Terence asked.

  "No, but no thanks to you," she snapped, wheeling to face him. "What sort of imbecilic notion was that? Cutti
ng my bonds with an arrow! What if you had missed?"

  Terence sniffed loftily. "Never occurred to me."

  "Idiot! Moron! Domnoddy! Leatherskulled block!"

  Terence glared at her with growing anger. He started to retort but at the last second saw how brightly the fire glinted in Eileen's eyes and realized she was crying. He made a hesitant move toward her, then stopped.

  "Well?" she sobbed. "Are you just going to stand there?" Terence pulled her to his chest, and held her tightly. "Domnoddy," she said in a muffled voice.

  "Huh. Better off being eaten, I'd say," came Gawain's voice. Terence and Eileen parted quickly. At the edge of the firelight, Gawain sat on Guingalet.

  "She's all right, milord," Terence said, trying to sound gruff and businesslike.

  "You're certainly in a better position to know that than I am," Gawain said solemnly. "Is the hag here?"

  "Eileen killed her," Terence said.

  Eileen looked surprised. "How did you know about the hag? And how did you find me, Terence?"

  Gawain answered for them both. "We met a man back in camp who told us about her."

  "A man?"

  "Well, yes," Gawain said with a smile. "But I believe he wants to be a knight."

  Months passed. The weather turned warm, then hot, and still they found no Green Chapel. They fought bears, lions, and once a dragon. They saw dogs with the faces of ugly, grumpy men and the feet of ducks and witnessed a fierce battle between tiny men, no more than six inches high, and a flock of white cranes. Gawain killed a slime-coated serpent that crawled from a swamp, and Terence shot half a quiver of arrows into a giant screeching bird, which flew away in search of less troublesome prey. But these moments of excitement were rare: most days they simply rode all day, then made camp and prepared to do the same the next.

  The heat lessened during the days, and the nights grew cool. The evenings came sooner, leaves changed color and fell, frost appeared in the mornings, and ivy bloomed along the hedgerows. Their clothes were threadbare and often mended, and Gawain's armor was dull and covered with tiny hammer marks where Terence had pounded out larger dents. Gawain and Terence still sparred with swords most evenings. Gawain wished that they could make some lances and practice tilting, but Terence was able to convince him that lances would only be in the way on their long rides. Terence had never liked tilting, and his ignominious defeat at King Arthur's hands in his one actual joust (of which he had never informed Gawain) had not made it any more attractive.