Swan Knight's Sword

  Even as he watched, the Green Knight saluted Gil with his iron ax. The Green Knight now drew on a surcoat of white and pinned it at his shoulders with cockleshell pins. On his chest was the bright image of a red cross.

  Gil remembered the Green Knight’s boast that the elfs would be terrified if he appeared in his war gear. Now he saw why. It was all iron, which broke the elfin spells and smothered their charms, and the Cross of the Crusaders blazed on his chest.

  His hair was as green and wild as before, rising above his head like a breaking wave, and falling past his shoulders to his elbows like a thicket in which a deer might hide. However, this time, between his wild green bangs and wild green beard, he wore an iron faceplate over his brows, nose, cheeks, and chin. There was a mouth slit for the mouth and eyeholes for the eyes. The pupils of his eyes were as yellow as a goblin’s teeth.

  The echoes of the bell slowly drained away into silence. The leaves ceased to whisper. The air was still.

  Gil took the huge white dog from the back of his steed and put it gently on the grass.

  He strode over to the chopping block. Without a word, he unbuckled and doffed his helm and set it aside. He stared up at the emerald-colored figure, twice the height of a man.

  There was no fear in the eyes of Gilberec Moth as he knelt. He crossed himself and said a prayer. This time he recalled all the words.

  Then, he lowered his head and laid it on the chopping block.

  Gil felt the touch of cold iron at his neck. It rested there a moment. And then the blade moved to the left and tapped him on the left shoulder. Then, he felt the blade tap him on the right shoulder.

  “In the name of God, Saint Michael, Saint George, and good King Arthur, High King of England, Ireland, Fairyland, and France, Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, I dub thee knight. Arise, Sir Gilberec! Be thou valiant, fearless, and loyal.”

  3. The Mask of Cold Iron

  Gil had suffered as many fears and wild hopes as anyone might on what he thought was his last day of life, but this was so unexpected that he laughed, leaped to his feet, and jumped to the top of the chopping block. From there, he was tall enough and quick enough to leap and grab the Green Knight by the nose.

  Whatever the Green Knight had expected, Gil’s leap was not it. He cried aloud, half in outrage and half in mirth, and fell to one knee.

  Gil landed, and the metal mask, but also the voluminous green wig and beard, all came away in his hand. Gil stood there, grinning and nodding at the vast mass of green hair in his hand.

  “I knew it,” he said. “I should have figured it out long ago. I am actually pretty good at riddles. But how are you fooling my eyes? You still look like a giant to me, Sir Bertolac. How did you have Vertifran look like Cerberus?”

  For, with the iron mask and outrageous wig pulled away, the twelve-foot-tall figure shined with the golden hair, yellow eyes, bronze skin, and handsome face of Bertolac, the King’s Champion who had trained him.

  Bertolac said, “I will show you, Sir Gilberec. Have you any elfin charm about you? Put them aside and help me off with my habergeon.”

  Gil aided him. The iron chestplate, iron jerkin, arms, and leggings were removed and put to one side. The iron ax Bertolac smote into the block, where it quivered and stayed. He was now dressed in a green linen tunic and buskins. Bertolac walked past Rabicane, down the corridor of trees to the waterside. There, he knelt for a moment, as if in prayer or meditation.

  Little dots or sparkles of light appeared around him and clung to his outline. He began to shrink and the colors of his tunic to fade from green to yellow. He dwindled down from twelve feet tall, to ten, to seven, to the six and a half Gil had seen him wearing all this year at Uffern House.

  Bertolac stood. “You see? It is the Lilliputian charm.”

  Gil nodded. “I see. I saw the serving maids and butlers at the feast of the elfin lords use that charm to make themselves as small as insects. You use it to dwindle yourself to human size. Twelve feet tall is your true height. When you wear your iron, your charm breaks, and you resume your true stature. What about your face when you are Bredbeddle?”

  Bertolac said, “It is a similar charm, one that changes the size and proportion of facial features, which coats the inside of those ridiculous eyeglasses I had to wear. How did you know I was Bredbeddle?”

  “How did you know my name? My real name? I know I never said it aloud at Uffern House.”

  Bertolac said, “You said it within my hearing. But, ho! The knight should answer first his master. Why did you come lay your head on the block?”

  “You know why. What makes you think I accept you as my master?”

  Bertolac said, “Because I am the first knight and the King’s Champion, the best tutor in the arts of war you are likely to find. And because I will tell you how to defeat your enemy, Guynglaff of the Cobwebs.”

  Gil said, “I cannot trust an elf.”

  Bertolac said, “You are wise not to, Sir Gilberec. But I am no elf.”

  Gil said, “What are you?”

  Bertolac shook his head. “My question first. Then yours. By what charm did you overcome my dog?”

  Gil said, “You know by what charm, but I do not.”

  Bertolac said, “What? Do you play riddles with me?”

  Gil laughed. “I suppose it runs in the family. I overcame your dog by sheer accident and kindheartedness. I fed him the steak you gave me. I do not know what charm you put in the meat. I did not realize he was guarding the spear. I thought he was guarding the Green Chapel.”

  Bertolac said, “This whole mountain is the Green Chapel.”

  Gil said, “My turn. You are no elf because you can handle iron. How can you have your head cut off and live? What are you?”

  “That is two questions, but I only know one answer. Why my flesh is imperishable, I do not know. It is something the Fisher King did to me. I was an elf, but I am no longer such a thing. As to what I am…”

  The golden man threw out his chest and raised his head. “I am the knight and true servant of the Fisher King, who lies wounded here in this very chapel, dying but immortal and unable to die. That holy lance which I set my dog to guard struck him, so he is wounded, but the blood of Christ lingers on that lance, and entered his bloodstream, and granted the Fisher King an imperishable nature and deathlessness. Until the Fisher King is cured, I am bound to him.”

  “Then how can you vow true fealty to Alberec?”

  Bertolac wagged a finger. “Not so fast! My question. Your words and eyes when you pulled my mask aside told me you had known or guessed what face would be beneath! How was this?”

  Gil said, “You told me yourself.”

  “That is no answer! Let us agree to give full answers and not speak in riddles, as elfs and prophets do. Agreed?”

  “Agreed! Now, my question is–”

  “Stop that! That was a bargain, not a question. Right?”

  “Right! Now my question is–”

  “Are you trying to irk me?”

  “Yes! Now, my question is–”

  “Very funny! But you gave your word to answer my questions without riddles. How did you penetrate my masquerade?”

  “Sir, in your guise as Bredbeddle, you told the name of the Green Knight’s steed, whom once I rode. He ran so swiftly that it was plain as day that horse wanted my dog out of harm’s way. But why? In your disguise as Bertolac, in the dining hall beneath the mountain, you had him with you in his shape as a white collie, and he spoke to his brother. So if Vertifran is Bertolac’s hound, and Vertifran is the Green Knight’s horse, then it only stands to reason that Bertolac is the Green Knight. But why are your illusions fooling my eyes, when I can see through all the glamour of the elfs?”

  “From the Fisher King, I have the art of forming our bodies into a subtle and ethereal substance that is more fluid than matter and also more permanent and durable. It is no illusion: my shape and size can change, and, as he is my dog, I can to a lesser degree change him. Vertifran was
told to warn you away from the Green Chapel. How did he fail?”

  “He is too elfin to tell an outright lie as a man would, so he spoke in riddles instead. He said that any mortal man born once could not enter and depart the chapel. I am a baptized Christian so was born more than once. He said a mortal who is born once then dies could not enter. I will die, but I hope to be raised again on the last day, which is more than once. He said I had to be covered in blood to enter and had to be dead. So I was, dead in sins, and covered in the precious blood of the Savior. And other things of like meaning. I was born to a riddler, so I notice the double meanings. And, of course, I finally understood why a chapel is indeed a fearful place, even to men. How much more terrible the chapel must be to elfs, to whom even a far-off church bell is painful.”

  “Oh? And why is a chapel fearful?”

  “My question! What was the point of this rigmarole? This whole charade? You being the Green Knight and pretending to be Bredbeddle trying to stop me and pretending to be Bertolac training me well enough to make the journey. All of it. Why?”

  “Because of the sword of your father. It is one of the Thirteen Treasures of Lyonesse, and the Fates never cease to meddle and moil with those who touch them. And do not ask your father’s name of me or how he came by the sword! I did not put him to the trial, whoever he is.”

  “Trial?”

  Bertolac nodded. “Whoever your father is, he is a great man if he could hold that sword in hand. I tried Gawain to see if he was worthy, but he was not. But neither did he break his word, so he was allowed to depart from the Green Chapel with only three small scars on his neck.”

  “And me?”

  “You? You are some sort of freak, kid. I have never seen someone who would not break his word, kept his fasts, abstained from cold booze and hot women… Good heavens! What makes you so different?”

  “Dumb luck and bad timing.”

  “Full answers, please! No riddles.”

  “I’m too dumb to listen when a saint from Heaven comes down and tells me what to do and makes me swear to do it. Because of that, I lost my father’s sword and almost lost my life. Every time I take a step, or sit down, or stand up, the empty scabbard slaps against my leg, and I remember what the price is for breaking my oath. He said not to fight on a bridge with the next enemy who challenged me. But I did not see any way to obey since my enemy was Guynglaff, and he had just killed my horse…”

  “My horse, if you please,” said Bertolac, scowling.

  “So the other thing he had me swear was to eat no meat and take no spirits during Advent. I thought it was a dumb rule, but every time my scabbard slapped against my leg, I was reminded…. All this had just happened to me. My scars from my battle with Guynglaff are still fresh. I was not likely to disobey the saint twice so soon. And your temptations were stupid.”

  “What?”

  “I said stupid. To come here, I disobeyed my mother, and surely broke her heart, and escaped from jail, and surely broke the law. Do you think a free meal and a pretty face can tempt me? Do you think I can be tempted by a baconburger? I should be insulted by how petty your tricks are.”

  “Petty tricks oft trip souls too great to be tempted by great sin. Troy was lost over a woman’s pretty face, and Eden was lost over a free meal. So lust and gluttony are not so petty after all. But I saw how quick you are to pull a knife. Anger is what tempts you.”

  Gil said, “Love of battle is no vice in a knight.”

  “Love of battle? Or intemperate anger?”

  Gil said, “Sorry, it is my turn for my question. Between cold winds and black knights, three headed dogs and no-headed huntsmen, your ever-growing stairway and your ridiculous restaurant, you went to a lot of effort. Why did you try so hard to keep me away from here?”

  “I did not want to have to cut your head off.”

  “Full answers! Would you have?”

  Bertolac chuckled a dry, terrible, humorless chuckle. “Darned right. If you had cheated, or lied, or sent a double in your place, or tried any sort of elfish trick or human cowardice? Certainly I would have and kicked your fool head like a soccer ball down the stairs as a warning to others. This is not a game.”

  “What others?”

  “The others who seek to take the great sword Dyrnwen in hand! It was forged by Weyland, and the runes in the blade promise it will shine as bright as thirty torches in the worthy hands of the nobly born, but betray and burn and maim those who are ignoble in birth or deeds. You called me a giant, but you saw Bran the Blessed and Balor of the Evil Eye. That sword, in the right hands, can burn with such fury that it will slay even Titans such as they, or storm giants even taller, who live in the high regions of the air hidden from men, or their king. My question: you speak of huntsmen with no heads. Dullahan, they are called. They were none of mine, not an obstacle an elf would send. Why are the Cobwebs after you?”

  “I killed two of them: Doolaga and Gulaga, both Bigfoots, and I wounded Guynglaff. Why won’t the sword hurt him? He is unworthy of it.”

  “He is immune to swords, including that one. His hair is charmed. He fears no retaliation nor curse. Why did you kill them?”

  “They stole a child for the Elfking, Erlkoenig.”

  “So?”

  “So… I killed them for it. A Christmas tree helped me.”

  “The Bethlehem tree? The one that dies, and comes to life again in another land, and blooms every Christmas Eve?”

  “It was a tree. It did not give its name to me.”

  “You talk to trees?”

  “Don’t be silly. I talk to birds.”

  “Interesting. That talent is rare. Who is your mother?”

  Gil shook his head. “Look, Mr. Changes-his-name. I kind of like you, but you are tricky, and I am not telling you that.”

  “Then let me ask a different question: why call you the chapel fearful?”

  Gil said, “For what reason it was shown to me, I know not, but I saw the Angel of the Annunciation and heard his voice. Never have I known such terror: and after that, all the terrors this little Earth can bring forth will not sting me very deeply.”

  “What did the angel say? And how did you learn to talk to birds?”

  “Is that your question? Because whose turn is it? I have a lot more questions, such as how you figured out my name? And why you serve the Elf King Alberec if the Fisher King is your lord? And what are you up to? And why do you care who is worthy to wield Dyrnwen?”

  Bertolac spread his hands and said, “Well, it is your turn, but this is your last turn because my curiosity is sated. So if I were you, I would ask a really, really good question, like: how shall I overcome the Yeti Guynglaff the Invulnerable in combat and recover my father’s sword? You’d like the answer to that one, wouldn’t you? Or I could tell you some other secret like the name of the Man in the Black Room, or who struck the blow that wounded the Fisher King, or something else you’d like to know more.”

  Gil said, “I have a lot more questions, but, come to think of it, that one is the top one weighing on my mind right now.”

  Bertolac smiled and told him.

  4. Holding the Bridge

  Gilberec Moth, spurs shining on his heels, and carrying in hand a black staff given to him by Sir Bertolac, came one morning to that same covered bridge, whose pillars were carved like trees, above the swift flowing river which formed the border between Louisiana and Elfland. On a tree ten paces beyond the end of the bridge, he hung his father’s shield and a small wooden mallet.

  The staff was made of hornbeam root, one of the hardest of woods. For his breakfast, Gil fished in the stream by wading into the water with no shirt on, and battering fish onto land with his hand, or catching them in his mouth.

  On the first day, he had his first customer. Someone tried to cross the bridge. It was the witch from the dovecote of Uffern House.

  Gil merely doffed his helm politely and stepped aside to let her pass.

  “You!” she cried. “You sought the Green
Knight! Seeking death!”

  Gil said, “I am returned. I defeated the foe.”

  She shrieked, “You? A mere boy? You defeated the Green Knight?”

  Thinking of his own fears, his own anger and sin, and the various temptations to which he was prone, Gil said, “The Green Knight was my foe but was not my foe. He set my foe before me, and by being overcome, I overcame. I entered the Green Chapel, where only enter the dead, and ate of the dead who is not dead, and emerged not dead.”

  The witch, hearing the truth in his voice, but understanding nothing, turned pale and passed on by, muttering.

  Gil smiled. “Now I know why my mother does that. It’s fun!”

  She came back that evening, with some grocery bags in her hands, puffing and complaining, and with two small children, crying, being led by ropes around the neck.

  Gil barred her way. “Let the children go.”

  The old witch said, “Don’t stand in my way, or I will boil your spleen with my curses!”

  Gil said, “I fear no curses of yours, old mother. I have passed the dog called Cerberus and emerged from the cave mouth he guards. I have eaten the bread of Heaven. I quaffed the blood of God. Let the children go!”

  The old witch cowered back. “You would not dare strike me! I am a woman!”

  Gil said, “Not against flesh and blood do true knights fight, but also against principalities and powers of the air. In the name of Christ, in the name of the Holy Rood, and in the name of Saint Christopher…”

  The old woman screamed and fell on her face. The two children took that opportunity to run the other direction, back toward town and the human world.

  At that same moment, the alligator named Edmund Dantes, who sought revenge against the old woman for the slaying of his mate, now stirred and came out of the bushes nearby. His bulbous, cold, bloody eyes regarded her dispassionately a moment, and then the green log-shaped body, low to the ground, came lumbering toward her on stubby little legs at surprising speed.

  She dropped her groceries and fled.