The Princess, the Crone, and the Dung-Cart Knight

  "Yes, that's true," Bagdemagus said, nodding feebly. "Don't want to give anyone a bad impression. Take them away, I suppose."

  "We will gladly enter your castle," Jean said, "but I ask, on your honor as a knight of King Arthur's Round Table, to receive us at once. Perhaps we could go to a private room."

  The king glanced hesitantly from Jean to Sir Meliagant and back, then said, "He did say on my honor, Meliagant. Must keep up the honor of the court. Guards, bring them to the blue receiving hall ... No, no, not the blue room! Heavens, what was I thinking? In this robe! Take them to the green hall."

  Jean and Sarah were led down a long hall to a heavy oaken door, where they stood and waited outside. King Bagdemagus and Sir Meliagant had left them, going to the hall by a different route, Sarah supposed. She looked over at Jean, who was leaning against the door frame, his face gray with weariness and, no doubt, loss of blood. Sarah stepped up beside him. "Are you faint?" she asked softly.

  Jean nodded. "But I must keep my wits for this interview."

  "Shouldn't we have gone to our rooms and rested first instead of demanding to see the king right away?"

  Jean smiled bitterly. "Rooms? What sort of rooms do you suppose we will be given?"

  "I know that Sir Meliagant was talking about locking us up," Sarah said, "but now that his father has seen us, surely he won't do that. I mean, this king doesn't seem especially clever, but he doesn't look like someone who would put guests in a dungeon."

  Jean shook his head. "Could you not see? It is Meliagant who rules here, not the king. He did not defy his father to his face, but once we are out of Bagdemagus's sight, Meliagant will do to us just what he wants." Jean leaned closer and lowered his voice. "You still have your weapon, no?" Sarah nodded, and Jean smiled approvingly. "Never have I quested with a more valorous lady. Now listen to me. If Meliagant tries to kill us out of hand, draw your sword and get it to me. If he puts us in a dungeon, hide it."

  Sarah nodded again, and then the great door opened and a servant in a pale yellow suit with green trim ushered them into the hall. It was a spacious room with a high ceiling, every inch of which was hung with diaphanous green silk, giving Sarah the feeling of being in a green tent. In the center of the hall, seated on a large throne covered with green velvet, was King Bagdemagus, his long green robe arranged artfully around his feet. ("So that's why we had to wait so long in the hall," Sarah thought. "He was striking a pose.") At the king's right, on a smaller throne, sat Sir Meliagant, his purple velvet blouse strikingly out of place in this sea of green, and at the king's left, on the smallest throne of all, sat a girl in a white gown, calmly stitching at a sewing frame. The girl looked to be about Sarah's age, and was quite pretty, or would have been had she shown any expression at all, but her face was as empty as a corpse's. Sarah stared at her, but when the girl turned her eyes toward her, Sarah looked away.

  "Welcome to my court, Sir Knight!" King Bagdemagus announced formally, waving one hand in greeting, but carefully, so as not to disturb the arrangement of his robes. "I am King Bagdemagus, sovereign of this realm of Logres, and I greet you. What is your name?"

  "I am called Jean, and this is Lady Sarah."

  King Bagdemagus frowned. "I don't know anyone of that name from Camelot."

  "Probably a false name," Sir Meliagant said at once. "You must be careful of knights who refuse to give their true name. Perhaps he is an assassin."

  "I am no assassin," Jean said.

  "He's dressed like an assassin," Sir Meliagant said. Bagdemagus nodded slowly. "After all, murder is an act of such horrible taste that you could hardly expect an assassin to know how to dress."

  This casual suggestion that murderers could be identified by their clothes made Sarah blink, but the king seemed to accept it as logical. He frowned at Jean.

  "Sire, we have not come to harm anyone but only to seek Sir Kai and Queen Guinevere, who were taken prisoner not long since."

  "Prisoner?" King Bagdemagus said, startled.

  "You see how rumors start," Sir Meliagant said smoothly. "Really, Sir Jean, you must be careful before you repeat such silly stories. Sir Kai and the queen are honored guests at this castle. They came at my invitation for a prolonged visit."

  Sarah stared. She had expected Sir Meliagant to deny all knowledge of Sir Kai and Queen Guinevere, and this open avowal of their presence surprised her. Jean, too, seemed taken aback, but after a moment he said, "And they may leave when they wish?"

  "But of course," replied Sir Meliagant. "They have only to ask. But naturally, their manners are far too delicate to dream of offending their host, my father."

  "Sir Kai? Delicate manners?" Jean asked blankly.

  "How could it be otherwise?" Sir Meliagant said.

  "And they are well?" Jean asked.

  "Alas, no," replied King Bagdemagus mournfully. "They have been quite ill and are keeping to their rooms at present. Indeed," he added, "they have not even felt up to receiving a visit from me."

  A flicker of annoyance crossed Sir Meliagant's face, and Jean followed up on this revelation at once. "Then you haven't even seen them?" he demanded of the king.

  "But of course not. It would not be ... would not be courtly to impose my presence on them when they are ill ... is that not right, son?"

  "Quite right," Sir Meliagant said. "It is the most basic of polite behavior. Indeed, I am surprised that this knight should even ask such a question. I must tell you, Father, that I have my doubts about this man's claim to be a knight. Dressed like that! And, though I have been far too delicate to mention it before, I must draw your attention to this supposed knight's hair and beard. No courtly valet ever gave that hair a trim, I'll vow."

  The king pursed his lips primly and looked with disapproval at Jean's hair.

  "Sire," Jean said, "your son is trying to change the subject. If you have not seen Sir Kai and Queen Guinevere, how do you know that they are not prisoners?"

  "How could they be prisoners if they came at my invitation?" Sir Meliagant said, laughing unconvincingly. "Do you think that I brought them here by force?"

  "Yes," Jean said.

  "He's mad!" Sir Meliagant said to his father. "That's why his hair and clothes are in such a state!"

  "He's not mad!" Sarah said, speaking as loudly and as clearly as possible. "He's telling the truth. You did take Sir Kai and the queen by force. I saw you do it."

  In the silence that greeted this speech, Sarah saw the first hint of life in the young girl's eyes. Until that moment she had sat on her throne, imperturbably setting stitches in her embroidery and looking as blank as the sky on a clear summer morning, but when Sarah spoke up the girl's eyes darted quickly to Sarah's face, then immediately back to her stitching.

  "The girl is mad, too," Sir Meliagant said.

  "I am not mad," Sarah said. "Sir Kai and the queen were on their way to Camelot when you came upon them in the forest near the village of Milrick. Although Sir Kai was on foot, you charged him on horseback with your lance and wounded him in the hip. Then you took his sword and brought them away. You were wearing gray armor and riding a huge white horse."

  The girl with the embroidery suddenly clapped her hands together and said in a sing-song voice, "Why, that sounds like your stallion Snowstorm! Can we go riding later? You never let me ride Snowstorm, but I'm sure I'm quite old enough now."

  Sir Meliagant's eyes flashed with irritation, and King Bagdemagus's brow furrowed slightly. "I assure you, Father," Sir Meliagant said, "the girl is dreaming or mad. There are other white horses in the land than mine."

  "If you wish to know the truth, King Bagdemagus," Jean said quickly, "there is nothing simpler. Go see Sir Kai and Queen Guinevere at once. If all is as your son has told you, then you will know that we are mad. But if you find them imprisoned and find Sir Kai with a wound on his hip, then you will know that your son has been lying to you."

  Sir Meliagant's face reddened with suffused rage, but he spoke calmly. "I cannot recommend such a breach in good
manners. What will the queen think of you?"

  The king's face trembled in indecision, but when he spoke he said, "I think I must go look. Surely I can explain to the queen my concern for her."

  Sir Meliagant rose from his seat and took a deep breath, his eyes darting fire at Jean, but then he bowed to his father and said, "As you wish, Father."

  King Bagdemagus stood and stepped carefully over the train of his robe. "I shall go at once, my son, where I am sure I shall prove your honesty."

  "Of course, Father, but, forgive me, were you planning to wear those clothes?"

  At that, the king stopped. "Why? Why do you ask?"

  Sir Meliagant shrugged apologetically. "It is nothing. It's only that when I saw the queen this morning she was sitting up and was wearing an orange dressing gown. I wonder, will that not clash with your green and yellow robes?"

  "Good heavens!" King Bagdemagus exclaimed, horrified. "How fortunate that you said something! I shall go change my robes at once."

  Hurriedly, Jean said, "But the queen could not care for such foppery, surely!"

  King Bagdemagus took a deep breath, obviously mightily affronted. "Foppery?" he repeated coldly.

  Sir Meliagant looked at Jean, his eyes glowing with triumph, but he only said, "Don't listen to this boorish lout, Father. You go to your chambers, and I shall be along in a moment to help you choose just the right outfit."

  King Bagdemagus hurried from the hall, and as soon as the door was closed behind him, Sir Meliagant turned back to the archers who had stood behind them through the entire interview. "Take them to the new dungeon rooms, on the old guest hall. Lock them in separate rooms. I shall be along soon."

  "Bagdemagus will never go see Guinevere and Kai, will he?" Jean asked quietly.

  "Of course not," Sir Meliagant said with a sneer. "I'll tell him that she wants to have her hair done before he visits and he'll forget all about it soon enough. He's nearly as much a fool as his half-wit daughter." He jerked his head contemptuously at the girl in white, who was still calmly sewing on her throne. "Now I must go and rid my dear papa of all the nasty ideas you've been putting in his head. Enjoy your quarters!" And with one more laugh, he strolled from the room.

  The guards circled Jean and Sarah and pointed them back out the main entrance, but before they left, Sarah glanced over her shoulder at the girl. She was staring at the side door through which Sir Meliagant had just gone, her face no longer expressionless at all.

  IX

  Night in Logres Castle

  The room where the guards put Sarah was not, strictly speaking, a dungeon. There were sconces all along each wall for candles, just like the ones in Lady Marie's room at Belrepeire, and there was a large (albeit cold) fireplace on one wall. Clearly this room had been built as a bedchamber. With no heat or furnishings, however, and with no light save what filtered in through two narrow slits in the wall, it was quite as unhospitable as any dungeon.

  The first thing Sarah did after she heard the key turn in the lock behind her was hide her sword as Jean had told her to do. Hiding a sword in a bare room was not so easily done, but at last she found a way to wedge it up the cold chimney, propped up on an uneven brick. That done, Sarah wrapped herself in her cloak and huddled in a corner. In seconds, she was asleep.

  She was awakened, what seemed only moments later, by the sound of her cell door slamming. In the fading light from the slits in the wall, she could vaguely make out the shapes of three men. The nearest one spoke, and she recognized Sir Meliagant's sneering voice at once. "I've come to check on my guest," he said. "Is your bedchamber quite comfortable, my lady?"

  Sarah blinked and tried to shake the heavy sleep from her eyes, but she managed to say, "Quite comfortable, sir. It's a lovely room."

  Sir Meliagant laughed coarsely. "Why, thank you. I decorated it myself."

  Sarah was almost awake now. "I thought so, sir. Something about the walls reminded me of your heart."

  Sir Meliagant's smile disappeared. "Mind your tongue, child, or you'll regret it. So, you were in the woods watching when I took Kai and the queen, were you?"

  Sarah decided not to answer. Sir Meliagant's voice sounded ugly. "And who did you tell, may I ask?"

  "King Arthur."

  Sir Meliagant began to swear, fluently and angrily, pacing back and forth around the room. His low, guttural voice rose slowly until by the time he was done it was almost as shrill as a woman's. In his speech, Sarah figured as a meddler, a strumpet, a poke-nose, and a dozen things that Sarah didn't recognize. She rose to her feet, clutched her cloak around her as if it could provide some protection, and waited for Sir Meliagant to end his tirade. When at last he ran out of breath and rude epithets, he stepped up to Sarah and slapped her across the face, hard enough to knock her back against the stone wall. Sir Meliagant gave her a final glare, then turned to the two guards behind him. "Search her. Take everything that she might use as a weapon. Then beat her." He strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.

  Sarah scrambled to her feet, wondering if she could get over to the fireplace to retrieve her sword, but the guards didn't move. At last one said, "Clem?"

  "Not I," the other replied. "I've a daughter her age."

  The one who had spoken first nodded slowly and turned to Sarah. "Beggin' your pardon, missy, but we has to search you. Don't worry, though, no one won't hurt you."

  Sarah blinked in surprise, unaccustomed to kindness from strangers. "Won't you be in trouble if your master learns you didn't do what he said?"

  "Ay," said the one called Clem. "But I'd rather face him than face my Meghan after I'd just beaten someone else's daughter."

  The guards searched her, awkwardly and apologetically, but the only thing they found, in the pocket of her cloak, was her little crystal bottle. "What's this?" asked Clem.

  "It's a ... well, it's a bottle."

  "We see that, my lady. What's in it? Poison?"

  "No, it isn't. I promise you."

  "What then?"

  Sarah shook her head. "I won't say. But it isn't poison."

  "We'll have to take it with us."

  Sarah started to argue, but she couldn't. These guards were already taking a grave risk by not beating her, for she had no doubt how Sir Meliagant dealt with disobedient servants. She said, "I understand." The guards backed away, carrying the bottle. As they reached the door, Sarah said, "If your master asks, I'll tell him you were heartless and cruel and brutal and inhuman to me."

  Clem nodded. "That'd be right kind of you, miss."

  "Thank you," Sarah said. Then they left, and Sarah went back to her corner and returned to sleep.

  Again, it seemed only minutes before she was awakened by sounds at the door of her room. It must have been hours, though, because there was no longer even a faint sliver of daylight from the archers' loops in the wall.

  The lock clicked and then a faint orange glow showed where the door opened a crack. "My lady?" came a frightened voice. "Miss?"

  Sarah didn't answer, but she rose to her feet and began carefully stepping over to beside the fireplace, where she could reach her sword.

  "Is anyone in this room?" came the trembling, rather high-pitched voice.

  Sarah's shoes crunched in the dirt on the stone floor, and there was a gasp outside the door. "Oh, who's there?" the voice said. Sarah was almost sure it was a woman's voice, or even a child's. "Don't hurt me!" the voice said weakly.

  "Oh, for heaven's sake," Sarah exclaimed. Her voice sounded loud. "Why are you so afraid? I'm the one who's a prisoner, aren't I?"

  The door opened wider, and a small head peeked around the door, lit by a candle. It was the girl from the throne room. "It is you," she said, with obvious relief. "I thought you might be the knight."

  "It wouldn't matter if it was," Sarah said. "Jean wouldn't hurt you, either. What are you doing here?"

  The girl stepped into the room. "I couldn't sleep, thinking of you." She examined Sarah in the candlelight, a puzzled expression growing on h
er countenance. "You don't look hurt. I heard the guards tell Meliagant that they had beaten you."

  "Oh ... ah ... well, I'm being brave and trying not to show it."

  "They didn't beat you at all, did they?" Sarah tried to think of a reply, but the girl said simply, "I'm glad. I'm glad you're not hurt, and I'm glad to know that there are still a few decent people left in this castle. I must find some way to reward those guards. I don't suppose you know their names, do you?"

  "One was called Clem," Sarah said. "Did you come up here to help me?"

  The girl nodded. "I couldn't leave you up here hurt. I didn't know what I could do, but I thought I might be able to help. It's bad enough that my brother locks up grown men and women, but a girl! It's a new low, even for him."

  "Meliagant is your brother, then."

  "Only by blood," the girl replied. They stood awkwardly silent for a moment, and then the girl said, "My name is Charis. I'm King Bagdemagus's daughter."

  "I'm Sarah."

  Again they were silent. At last, Charis said, "I suppose I'd better be going then, if you're all right."

  "What?"

  "You said you weren't hurt."

  "I wasn't beaten, but I'm still a prisoner."

  Charis sighed. "That's true, but I don't see what I can do about that."

  Sarah stared. "You can let me out, of course."

  Charis's eyes opened wide with fright. "Oh, I couldn't! What if someone found out? Meliagant would figure it out! He'd be so angry with me!"

  "So what? Tell your father that your foul brother is abducting people and locking them up."

  "You don't understand!" Charis said bitterly. "I tried to help you, back in the green hall, by reminding Father that Meliagant always rides a white horse, but you see how little good that did. He never believes me over his foul son."

  "But you could prove you're telling the truth, couldn't you?"

  "Father doesn't care about the truth. No, that's wrong. He does care about the truth: he doesn't like it. It makes him worry. He believes only what's comfortable."