from the rest, which worked perfectly except that nobody thought to tie ropes to the pack horses that carried their supplies. When the snow finally stopped, no one had any idea where they or their supplies were. All they knew was that knights and supplies were no longer together.
"Bother," said King Arthur.
"Maybe there's a town or a castle nearby where we could buy provisions," suggested Sir Gawain.
The king nodded. "Why don't you and Reynold scout around and see what you can find?" The two knights nodded. "And remember," added King Arthur, "ask."
So the two knights set off in opposite directions. Sir Reynold rode west and within an hour came upon a clearing in the forest, where two huge cook fires roared. Over one blaze a whole ox was roasting, and over the other sizzled a gigantic wild boar. On a blanket by the fire were heaped several freshly cooked fowl. "Now there's something like!" exclaimed the knight.
"What do you want?" snapped a stern, rather high-pitched voice. Sir Reynold had to look about the clearing twice before he located the speaker, a red-bearded dwarf standing near the ox.
"Some food, of course! I'm starving!"
"Well, you can't have any!" sniffed the dwarf. "This is my food."
"All yours?" demanded Sir Reynold.
"Do you see anyone else here?" retorted the dwarf.
"Don't be ridiculous!" gasped Sir Reynold. "A little fellow like you? You don't need all this!"
"I'm very hungry," replied the dwarf. He turned his back on Sir Reynold and began turning the ox on its spit.
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard! Why, you'd pop if you ate a tenth of this! I'm having lunch!" With that, Sir Reynold dismounted and lifted a chicken from the stack on the blanket. At once, brilliant green and yellow lights seemed to burst in front of his eyes, and that was the last thing Sir Reynold remembered for some time.
Not long after this, Sir Gawain rode into the dwarf's clearing. Having found nothing to the east, he had circled around, hoping to meet up with Sir Reynold. Like Sir Reynold, Sir Gawain gazed at all the dwarf's food with amazement. "My goodness!" he exclaimed.
"What do you want?" demanded the dwarf's thin voice.
Sir Gawain nodded his head in greeting. "Good afternoon," he said.
The dwarf grunted. "Good afternoon," he replied, grudgingly. "Who are you?"
"My name is Sir Gawain," said Sir Gawain. Then he added, "And what's your name?"
The dwarf's scowl lightened a little bit. "I'm called Spinagras. Now are you going to answer my question? What do you want?"
"I'm traveling with King Arthur, and we were separated from our supplies during the storm. I was scouting for food."
Spinagras nodded slowly, then turned back to the ox. "Well, good luck."
Sir Gawain hesitated. "Er ... I say, friend Spinagras..."
"Yes?"
"You seem to have a good deal of food."
"So?"
"I was just wondering if maybe you had enough to share with King Arthur's party."
Spinagras didn't even turn around. "This is my food."
"Yes, of course," Sir Gawain replied. "But are you quite sure that you need all of it?"
At last the dwarf turned and gazed challeng-ingly into Sir Gawain's eyes. "What if I said that I did? What would you do then?"
Sir Gawain sighed. The smell of roasting meat was tantalizing, but he only said, "I suppose I'd have to ride on and keep looking."
Spinagras's eyes widened with surprise. "Just ride on? You wouldn't take even a little bit? You could, you know; you're bigger than I am. You could cut off my head in a second."
Sir Gawain shook his head. "I don't think I will, though, if it's all right with you. King Arthur told us if we found someone with food, we were to ask politely. That's all."
"So why haven't you?"
Sir Gawain blinked. Thinking back over their conversation, he realized that he never had actually asked. "Would you share your food with us?"
"Would I share my food with you what?"
"Er, please?"
Spinagras smiled broadly. "Well said, Sir Gawain! Go fetch your king and tell him to come to dinner."
"Really?"
"I was just waiting to be asked. You'd be amazed at how rude some passing knights can be. Why, the fellow before you was an absolute lout."
From this description, Sir Gawain guessed he had found Sir Reynold. "And, if I may ask, what happened to that knight?"
"He had an accident, and I sent him off tied to his horse's saddle. He'll be fine, barring a bit of a bump on the head. Well? What are you waiting for? Your king's hungry. I'll start another ox."
So it was that soon afterward, all King Arthur's knights were well fed, and the king had procured supplies for their journey from Spinagras, who, it turned out, was steward of a great estate. Spinagras assured the king that he would be happy to supply the king with anything he needed, free of charge.
"Are you sure?" asked the king. "I'm willing to pay."
"Don't be silly," replied Spinagras. "Every noble in England has vowed to support you, sire. Giving you food is just keeping that vow."
Since this was perfectly true—all the English nobility had vowed to support the throne—King Arthur didn't argue. Instead, he asked the dwarf, "Could you give us directions, then? We lost our way in the storm."
"Where were you going?" asked Spinagras.
"To look for Merlin the Enchanter."
Spinagras shook his head. "Waste of time. Merlin's not in England."
King Arthur's face fell. "Are you sure? I had heard that an enchanter was in that area, and I thought it might be Merlin."
"It wasn't, though, and he's gone now anyway. You might as well just go home, O king."
The king lowered his eyes and stared gloomily at the ground. He had convinced himself that if he could just talk to Merlin, he'd know how to save Sir Gawain from the Green Knight. Now that hope was gone. He was silent for a long time. At last he looked up at the dwarf. "Then, can you give us directions back home to Camelot?"
Spinagras pursed his lips. "These woods are tricky. I'd better show you the way myself."
"Thank you, Spinagras," the king said dully.
"You're welcome," said the dwarf softly. "Trust me, sire. I'll see you home safe. All of you."
Chapter 4
Gologras's Castle
The idea of "vows" has already figured several times in this story, and since that idea is about to be important, it is worth pausing over it for a moment. A vow, of course, is a promise, but in King Arthur's time, promises meant rather more than they sometimes have since then. In the dangerous days before Arthur united England under one king, lawless scoundrels and cowardly bullies called "recreant knights" roamed the land. They did whatever they felt like doing and took whatever they wanted from anyone who was weaker than they were, for there was no one to stop them. People couldn't call the police, because there were no police, so they turned to one another for protection, making solemn vows to join together and help each other out whenever one was in need. People took these promises very seriously, because keeping their vows was a matter of life and death.
Later, when King Arthur rose to the throne, he established the Round Table and began sending his knights out to protect people from recreants and scoundrels. Life began to get better, but promises remained just as important. All the king's knights took solemn vows to help the helpless and protect the weak, and—as Spinagras pointed out—all England's nobles took vows to support the king and obey his laws and help him to bring peace. One could say that the king's peace—indeed, the kingdom itself—was built on people keeping their promises. This was why Sir Gawain intended to meet the Green Knight, even though it meant his death; he had made a vow, and in those days a person who didn't keep his word might as well be dead anyway.
(Things are different nowadays. Nations are not founded on keeping promises so much as on bleak and gloomy things called economies, which expect people to do whatever suits them rather than
what they've said they would do. Of course, there are still people who believe that keeping their word is a life-and-death matter; they're just less common. One should always be on the lookout for such people; they make the best friends. In fact, they make the only friends. But back to the story.)
As Spinagras said, the forest where they had gotten lost was tricky. He led King Arthur's party through snowy woods and icy plains, over frozen lakes, and between towering crags where tons of snow hung dangerously over the path. On the first night, they made camp a hundred yards back from a small river, and rose with the sun the next morning to continue their journey.
The first to climb from his tent in the morning was Sir Reynold, who had a bump on his head just like the one on Sir Gandefere's, and who hadn't slept well on account of rolling over on the sore spot. "Odds bodikins!" gasped Sir Reynold. "Will you look at that?"
King Arthur and his knights crawled from their tents and stood beside Sir Reynold, staring down a long slope at what they had taken to be a river, but which the morning sun revealed to be a moat around a magnificent castle. "Spinagras?" called King Arthur.
"Yes, Your Highness?'
"What is this?"
"That's the castle of Sir Gologras, the wealthiest and most powerful noble in these parts."
"Gologras?" repeated the king. "I've never heard of him. How can that be, if he's such a powerful lord?"
"Gologras doesn't get out much," Spinagras said.
"But I'm the king! Every noble in the land swears a vow of loyalty to me!"
"Oh, right," Spinagras said. "That's why you've never met Sir Gologras. He doesn't do that."
"Doesn't do what?" the king demanded, his face growing stormy.
"Swear oaths of loyalty. He doesn't swear oaths at all, actually."
"And—why—not?" King Arthur asked through gritted teeth.
"I'm not sure. Personal preference, I imagine," the dwarf replied casually.
King Arthur looked for a moment as if he were about to explode. "LOYALTY TO THE KING IS NOT A MATTER OF PERSONAL PREFERENCE!" he roared. Many of the king's knights began to edge away. They /, had never seen King Arthur look quite so angry, or so purple. Spinagras only looked thoughtful. "Hmm," he said. "I wonder if anyone's explained that to Gologras."
King Arthur stared at the dwarf, speechless, for a moment, then turned on his heel and walked a good distance from the camp. His knights watched him pace and grumble and growl and take many long, deep breaths and then pace some more and, finally, plunge his head into a snowdrift for several seconds. When he returned to the others, his face was much less purple and quite a bit more damp, but he seemed to be in control of himself. "We'll make camp here," he announced. "After breakfast, we will hold council on what to do about this fellow Gologras."
At the council an hour later, Sir Gandefere advised immediate, drastic action: "Attack at once, I say!" Most of the other knights agreed.
King Arthur nodded. "I'll admit that was my first thought, too. We can't allow one noble to decide not to be part of the kingdom. If we do, then everyone who has a grievance or who gets tired of paying taxes will do the same. Our peace will fall apart, and we'll be right back to the bad old days of civil war and recreant knights everywhere."
"So what are we waiting for?" Sir Reynold demanded. "The fellow will swear loyalty soon enough with a sword at his neck."
"I wonder, though," mused the king, "if such an oath would really mean anything."
Sir Gawain cleared his throat. He was sitting beside Spinagras, and couldn't help remembering how promptly the dwarf had given them food when he was asked politely. "You could try talking to him first," Sir Gawain suggested. "Like Spinagras said, maybe no one's explained matters to Sir Gologras."
King Arthur looked at Gawain for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Yes, perhaps we should do that," he said.
"Well, I think it's a waste of time," grumbled Sir Gandefere, "but if that's what you want, I can go talk to him."
King Arthur looked at Sir Gawain and Sir Gawain at King Arthur. Then both looked at their feet.
"Er, that's very kind of you, Gandefere," King Arthur said, "but you've already done so much. Perhaps someone else could—"
"If you don't want Gandefere," interrupted Sir Reynold, "let me do it. I'll just go cut myself a cudgel to take along. No one's going to sneak up behind me this time."
"Ah, yes, a cudgel," King Arthur said. "Now, perhaps we should think about that."
"What's to think about?"
King Arthur hesitated, so Sir Gawain said, "Don't you think that taking a club along might give the wrong impression?"
"You think a spear would be better? A battle axe?"
"Gawain, you go," said King Arthur. "Speak to this Sir Gologras. Ask him why he won't swear loyalty to his king. Just ask for now, all right?"
"Yes, sire," said Sir Gawain.
Chapter 5
Sir Gologras the Unconquered
When Sir Gawain arrived at the castle and met Sir Gologras himself, he knew that King Arthur had been right not to send Sir Gandefere or Sir Reynold—with or without clubs. Officially, Sir Gologras might have been a rebel against the crown, but he was the most courteous rebel Sir Gawain had ever met. Indeed, he was the most courteous anything Sir Gawain had ever met.
Sir Gologras greeted Sir Gawain with pleasure and led him to a comfortable parlor, warmed by a roaring fire, where he refused to let Sir Gawain talk business until he had been given a warm drink, a plate of biscuits, and some fur-lined slippers for his feet. Sir Gawain hesitated over the slippers. It wasn't that they weren't comfortable. They were. But Sir Gawain couldn't help feeling they looked odd with his armor. At last, though, Sir Gawain was allowed to speak.
"I come as an envoy from King Arthur," he began. "The king has heard that you refuse to swear loyalty to him and to his kingdom."
"Yes, that's true," Sir Gologras said, nodding.
"Er, it is?" Sir Gawain hadn't expected his host to admit his rebellion so frankly.
"But it's not just King Arthur, you know. Your king mustn't take it personally. I don't swear allegiance to anyone."
"You don't?" asked Sir Gawain. "Why not?"
"Family tradition," Sir Gologras explained. "My great-grandfather swore an oath to a neighboring lord once. They promised to protect each other in case of danger. But when danger came, my great-grandfather's neighbor broke his vow, joined the enemy, burned my great-grandfather's home to the ground, and stole everything he had. My family's worked very hard to rebuild since that disaster, and we've done quite well, I think, but we've never again trusted someone else with our promises or let anyone else make a promise to us."
"But you can trust King Arthur, you know," Sir Gawain assured him.
Sir Gologras smiled politely and said, "Do you care for any more sweet breads?"
"No, thank you," Sir Gawain replied. "Look here, Sir Gologras. I'm very sorry that your great grandfather had a bad experience with a solemn vow, but really, that isn't King Arthur's fault. And you must consider this: What would happen if everyone followed your example?"
"You mean if everyone worked hard and minded their own business?"
That hadn't been exactly what Sir Gawain meant. "Don't you see that without a king to keep order, some people—I mean recreant knights and so on—would choose to go about robbing and stealing and behaving very badly, the way it was before?"
Sir Gologras nodded sympathetically. "Too true. I've met people like that myself. But still—I have the family tradition to uphold."
Sir Gawain sighed sadly. He rather liked this knight. "Then I'm afraid I have to tell you that King Arthur is determined to make you swear loyalty to him, even if he has to use force. I wish you would reconsider; I wouldn't want you to get hurt."
"Oh, I doubt I'll get hurt," Sir Gologras said. "I'm quite a good fighter. In fact, I've never lost a battle. In these parts, they call me Sir Gologras the Unconquered."
Sir Gawain's mouth dropped open. "Seriously? Because it's
the same with me. They call me Sir Gawain the Undefeated."
"You don't say!" Sir Gologras exclaimed. "Tell me—don't you find it a nuisance?"
"A ... a nuisance?"
"You know, all those people who step out of your way when you walk by and simper and fawn over you because they're afraid you'll hurt them. That sort of nonsense."
Sir Gawain frowned. He had always rather enjoyed all that, but when Sir Gologras described it, it sounded very silly. "I hadn't really thought about it," he admitted.
Sir Gologras smiled sadly. "Tell me, Sir Gawain. How many friends do you have?"
"Dozens, I suppose. Everyone at court."
"And how many would still be your friends if you were Sir Gawain the Easily Defeated?"
Sir Gawain considered this for a long time. At last he said, "Well, there's King Arthur."
"You're lucky," Sir Gologras said. "When I ask myself that question, I can't think of even one." Sir Gologras rose to his feet. "I suppose you need to take my reply back to your king."
Sir Gawain stood, too, but he didn't move. He was still thinking about what Sir Gologras had said, about having no friends, and it seemed very sad to him. On impulse, Sir Gawain said, "Sir Gologras, I would like to be your friend. Conquered or Unconquered. Would that be all right?"
Sir Gologras blinked several times with surprise, then peered closely at Sir Gawain. His eyes held an odd expression—half amazement and half regret—but he only held out his hand. "I think I'd like that, Sir Gawain."
Sir Gawain shook his hand, then turned away to return to King Arthur. "Wait!" said Sir Gologras. "I won't go back on my family tradition, and King Arthur seems determined to make me do so, but I'd hate to go to war with my only friend. Let's see if we can avoid it. Why don't you suggest to the king that we have a single combat? I'll send one of my knights out to meet one of his knights tomorrow morning at sunrise, and we'll let their contest decide our differences."