“I bleed!” Shouted the huge man. “And I await the knight bold enough to strike at me, if any be here, and honest enough to await the return blow unflinching! But if among you there is even one with strength enough to strike me dead, why, you need fear no answering blow. Is that not the way of elfs? To strike at those who cannot strike back? Do the humans you strike even know you exist? Or do you hide beneath clever charms and weavings of the mist to protect you from their retaliation, immune to their weapons, immune to their eyes?”
There was silence for a full minute in the great chamber, and no one spoke. Gil wondered at the downcast looks in all these bright elfs and brave warriors gathered here.
The Green Man said, “If I walk from here, unanswered, every yuletide as these Twelve Days come again, from the Nativity to the Feast of Stephen to the Feast of John, you will sit here and remember my words, and then from the Feast of the Holy Innocents to the Feast of Fools, to the Feast of Magicians you shall know how I cast into your teeth my curse, curs and whoresons, rank villains and baseborn caitiffs, and not one of you willing even to muss my hair or bruise my pretty green flesh.
“I turn to go. Let all the world well know there is no one, no, not one, here who is worthy of the name of knight! And let the dark and shriveled raisins you have instead of hearts well know.”
The Green Man sniffed a snort of contempt that echoed from the copper beak he wore over his nose, and stepped back toward his tall green steed, and put one foot into the stirrup.
Gil stood up and walked over to the spot between the green steed and the broken doors of diamond, and there he stood, barring the way out.
Gil said, “I return your words to you and call you liar if you say no one here is worthy of knighthood. I accept your wager.”
Ruff whimpered, but the noise was lost in the sudden uproar as all the lords and ladies, knight and ministers, princes and princesses, all spoke at once, and Niall, the purple haired musician, dropped his golden harp with a clang of strings.
2. Final Words
Alberec raised his hand and imposed a glamour of silence on the room. Gil could still hear, muffled, the voices calling or complaining or shouting insults or encouragement, but it seemed no one else could.
Into the glamour of silence Alberec spoke, and the glamour repeated his words, to allow all present to hear. “Swan Knight, you are a stranger and a guest. The insult was against us, our court, mocking our customs and our repute. Why perish for our sake? You have no part in this!”
Gil said, “Good Prince, I am the least man here, seated in the seat of least honor: if I perish, the loss to you is nothing.”
Alberec said, “But why? Why? How is the honor of your King Arthur involved?”
Gil said, “The Green Man slurred not only the knights and loyal men of Alberec or Erlkoenig, and the retainers of the Ethne, and the vassals of Brian. He said there was no one worthy of knighthood in the chamber. I say there is one.”
Alberec stared, but there was a small smile in his beard. “For this you lay down your life?”
“The Green Man also picked up my dinner fork without asking. That was a discourtesy.”
The elfs laughed, but, for once, it was a good-natured laugh, a sound of surprise.
Alberec said, “We all know this apparition would not offer to stand to a blow of his axe unless there is a trick whereby he might survive it! He is surely invulnerable and you are sure to die.”
“This means he is stronger than me, sire, not braver. When a vulnerable squire fights an invulnerable knight, we know who is sure to die. But which one is sure to be dishonored? The boy who stood up bravely to a knight, or the knight who opened himself to no danger whatsoever, and slew a boy?”
Alberec shook his head. “I grant you permission to withdraw from this wager, and forbid any servant of mine from speaking ill of you should you do so…”
“I am honored, sire. I decline. Will any elfish knight here take my place?”
Alberec raised his hand. A pressure in Gil’s ear told him the glamour of silence had ended. But the illusion of silence was followed by a real silence, as fearful and sullen elfs, beneath their illusionary expressions of cheerful nonchalance, each waited for someone else to speak.
None spoke.
Gil said, “When I die, no one will hear any boast of the Green Man that he shamed the court of all the elfs to silence, called them cowards, and walked away unchallenged. I challenge him, although I die for it!”
Ruff leaped up on the table of the beasts and howled, “But you are so young!”
Every eye, including those of the Green Man and his green steed, now turned in surprise to look at the dog, who hunkered down to the surface of the table, looking up with big and frightened eyes.
Ruff cleared his throat. “Ahem! Ahem! Not that I know the complete stranger whom I have never met or anything, but he said he had not aged yet. But… won’t someone save him? Won’t someone stop this? He said he was not trained as a knight yet!”
Gil said, “You are a good dog.”
3. Good Dog
Ruff looked sad, but his tail wagged one wag at this good word from Gil. Ruff said, “You have no chance against that huge green monster. This is not a fair fight. I thought knighthood was all about chivalry and bravery and bright color and honor and loud trumpets! Not this! This is an execution! This is butchery! Is this what knighthood means?”
“This is exactly what knighthood means. I would like to live. But I must serve my king. If I live with dishonor, it dishonors him.”
Gil looked thoughtfully at Ruff, and chose his next words carefully.
“I thought my service would be longer, and involve some real fighting, or doing some real good. And I had hoped my—the family member who warned me this might happen—I hoped that person was wrong. But none of that matters. I cannot let this Jolly Green Loudmouth walk out of here untouched, even if it is a trick.
“Since you spoke up for me when no one else did, Mr. Dog, I would like you to bring a message to my kin of how I died. Let my arms and armor be put in the keeping of Sir Aglovale, who also spoke up to make peace between me and Sir Dornar. When kin of mine approaches Corbenec to claim them, tell my kin how I died, whether bravely or not. Since you can sit at a table and eat with a knife and fork, I assume you can speak to my kinfolk.”
Ruff nodded. “If I wear my green cap with the owl feather, I can talk. I need permission, uh, to wear it outside.”
Gil said, “Sheila McGuire, will you give him permission?”
Alberec said, “She will.”
And the redheaded woman nodded hastily, staring at Gil in puzzlement. Then she turned and rose, curtseyed to the king, and nodded to Ruff. “Sgeolan of Glen More, do as the Swan Knight says.”
Ruff gave her a snappy salute, “Now, and forever, ma’am! Yes, ma’am!”
She snapped, “No, I did not mean…”
Gil said quickly, “Doctor McGuire, yours is a generous gift! No one has ever given me a dog before. Thank you.”
Dr. McGuire stole a quick glance at Alberec, who merely narrowed his one eye at her. She said, “Yes, Sir Swan. You are welcome.”
Gil said sternly to Ruff: “Now listen to me. Do not abuse the power of speech as men do! If I die screaming and begging, tell that to my kin. If I die bravely and without fuss, tell that. Whatever happens, tell the truth. Do you accept the burden I put on you?”
Ruff stopped wagging his tail, and started nodding, looking more miserable with each nod.
Ruff looked up at all the elfs watching him, and at Sheila McGuire, and looked back at Gil, and said, “Yes, yes, mysterious new master called the Swan Knight. I’ll do it. No fail. You’ll see. Well, I guess you won’t see if you’re dead, but, ah, I’ll do it.”
Gil turned to the three men who did not know they were his brothers. “Sir Aglovale, Sir Lamorak and Sir Dornar, do you agree to keep my arms and armor until the coming of my kin who will claim them?”
Ruff hissed. “Psst! Psst! And the
dog!”
Gil said, “My dog goes with my other gear, of course. He will not returnto the possession of Sheila McGuire, who once fed him poison.”
Sir Dornar said in an explosion of exasperation, “Who in thunder are you?! How do you know what Sheila McGuire feeds her dogs?”
Gil said, “Since I am about to die, what does it matter how I know? Let me face this Green Man at peace, knowing my treasures will be cared for by honorable men when I fall. Will you agree, you three sons of Alain le Gros?”
Lamorak said airily, “Why not?”
Aglovale said, “It is agreed.”
Dornar said, “It is not agreed! How do we know how you came into possession of that sword? How do we know it was not pilfered, or won by fraud? It is an heirloom and a treasure!”
Aglovale said, “My brother speaks rashly, but will be more soft-spoken, if, perchance, his jaw is broken by some kindly and well-meaning blood relation of his. I will guard your arms and sword and hold it against who comes to claim them. How shall we know him?”
Gil said, “When you find someone known both to you and to this Pooka Dog, and whose hand fed you both, who knows my name and yours and his: this is the one to whom to give the sword, none other.”
A looked of obstinate puzzlement grew and grew on the faces of Lamorak and Dornar, but Aglovale lifted up his wine goblet carved of beryl, and raising it, called out, “Let earth and darkness, oak and fire witness, and all this good and noble company, that I swear to do as you have said!” And to the floorstones hurled it with such force that it was shivered to bits. “May my life be dashed out as yon flagon if I am foresworn! So vows the firstborn of Corbenec.”
“I thank you, Sir Knight.”
4. The Slumbering Crown
The Green Man had waited this whole time with one foot still in the stirrup as if he were one moment away from mounting up and departing. Now he turned his dark sunglasses toward Gil, and peered over the top of the saddle down at the boy in his silver-bright habergeon and blue and white surcoat. Gil was the only person wearing armor in the whole chamber: everyone else was in festive garb. At his hip alone hung a sword.
The Green Man said, “Sir Knight, who are you?”
Gil said, “Should I reveal my name to one who has not said whether heaven sent him, or hell? You have given no name, and you bear no shield to show your heraldry. Are you even a knight?”
“I am a knight indeed, and most puissant and terrible. And you?”
“A squire most honest and stubborn.”
“I am neither from heaven nor hell. And you?”
“I am neither from Avalon nor Atlantis.”
“So we know where you are not from, Swan Knight. Where are you from?”
“I am from a house where all questions are answered with questions, but true answers are answered with true answers. Where are you from, Green Knight?”
“Very well, boy. I will answer: I am from the Green Chapel.”
There was a murmur of horror from the elfs in the chamber. The name meant nothing to Gil, of course.
Gil spoke: “I am from Arthur, King of the Britains.”
“He still lives?” The Green Knight’s voice was hoarse with shock.
“He does!” said Gil, honestly. A sleeping man is not dead.
The Green Knight paused as if gathering his wits. His voice trembled when he spoke. “W– What does he want? What does King Arthur want?”
“He wants justice!” said Gil in a voice loud and clear. “He wants the mighty to side with the right, not with the strong, not with the useful, not with whichever side promises the best rewards. Justice! Do the elfs forget what that word means?” The elfin knights and princes wore expressions of astonishment and fear.
The Green Knight asked in a hushed voice, “What does he mean to do?”
Gil smiled wryly. “Arthur did not speak to me. Do kings take squires into their confidence, where you come from?”
The Green Knight had recovered his boldness and bluster, and he laughed. “The world has not heard from Arthur in many a year. Now this wager has zest! We shall see if the servants of Arthur are as bold and true as they were of old. Come, youth!”
And with that, the Green Knight stepped over to the great iron axe, yanked it upward in a spray of sparks and metallic echoes. Then he dropped it with a explosion of clatter at Gil’s feet. The stones where it fell grew dark and dusty.
Gil bent and picked the huge green axe up carefully, surprised at the weight.
The elfs whispered among themselves, but in that chamber, every word was clear. “The iron does not harm him…” “…he must be a human…” “…No human strength could lift that axe one handed…” “…he is an Owl wearing a man-cloak…” “…It is some trick…” “…He is a Yeti who has shaved himself bald…” “…he is a golem of brass, like the that which carried off the child of Weyland and the Swanwife…”
Gil looked at the cutting edge. It was as sharp as a surgeon’s scalpel. Gil blew some marble dust from the face. “You treat the weapon with disrespect. Do you want to mar the blade?”
The Green Knight laughed a terrible laugh. “If you knew where that blade was forged, and by whose hand, you would tremble! The iron will stay sharp. ’Twill serve. Oh, aye, my wee bold lad, ’twill serve! Shall I kneel for you?”
Gil looked up at the twelve foot tall monster. “You look like Groucho Marx in those glasses, with that nose.”
The huge man sank down like green hillside collapsing. On one knee he was still a head taller than Gil. Gil saw no eyes behind the dark glasses, but he knew the giant man was inspecting him.
“You seem not to be afraid,” the Green Knight said softly.
“You visited Arthur’s Court, or someone like you, long ago,” said Gil. “I know the story. So I am not afraid of hurting you.”
The Green Knight snorted again. “Odd child! Are you more worried about killing than being killed?”
“My conscience will be clean either way,” said Gil.
“And what if the story, as stories tend to do, grew strange in the telling, or had parts lost in the mist, or made into a happier tale fit for children? Does your tale tell that Gawain succeeded? He failed.”
Gil now felt a flood of fear come into him. He tried to brace himself against it, but there were no encouraging thought in his head.
But he did not run or flinch, despite that he longed to do just that. Instead, Gil hefted the ax. “Do you want to say your prayers, first?”
Seen up close, the masses of the giant’s unruly hair seemed even larger and bushier than could be. With one huge hand, the giant gathered up his green hair into a huge knot, and held it at his shoulder, exposing his neck. With a sardonic snort, he leaned forward, resting his weight on his other hand.
Gil lifted the great axe overhead. His arms trembled under the weight of the huge weapon, but Gil took a deep breath and waited for his arms to get used to the mass. He had only one blow he was allowed, so he did not wish to be hasty.
He wondered what the trick would be. Would the ax vanish in his hands, or turn into a snake and bite him? Or would the Green Knight suddenly have skin harder than steel, or be protected by invisible armor? Or simply disappear?
Gil gave a wordless shout, and the drove the huge blade down.
5. The Blow
He struck through the neck of the monstrous man cleanly. The axe head struck the marble floor and the floorstones turned black.
Blood was everywhere. The corpse slumped and collapsed prone, and the head bounced and rolled across the marble floor, a tumbleweed of hair and beard, and the sunglasses broke.
Gil stepped back from the spreading red pool, feeling lightheaded from the dreadful smell and sight. There was a ringing in his ears which he only then realized were cheers.
The whole huge chamber was shaking with deafening applause. Princesses and lords, knights and ladies, elfin or serpentine, gigantic or miniature, all cheered and clapped their hands, while servants and beasts yelled and
banged the table-boards with their fists, or floor with feet.
King Brian, the twelve-inch tall redheaded king of the Autumn Folk stood and raised his goblet: and when royalty stood, all stood. A toast was called, and trumpets were blown, and King Alberec commanded, “Three cheers for the Swan Knight! He has defended the honor of four kingdoms this day!”
Gil listened to no toasts. Instead he inched backward unsteadily, never taking his eyes from the corpse.
He saw the fingers of the dead man twitch, and the toes on unbooted feet curl and flex. The heavy axe fell down with a clamor from Gil’s nerveless fingers to the marble, and more stones turned black.
Someone screamed. It was not an elfin voice: perhaps it was Empousa. Silence fell. Gil could hear the noise like raindrops of the blood falling to the floorstones as the red-stained corpse sat up, and slowly, awkwardly, blindly climbed to its feet.
The chamber was gripped with paralysis. No one moved, no one spoke.
The headless body walked heavily toward the severed head. The body was coated with red from neck-stump to past its belt. The head was a mass of hair and beard, also stained. With clumsy fingers, the body picked up the head, and held it by hairs of its crown, like a watchman holding a lantern, and the red-stained green beard dangled down a yard or more. The hand swung left and right, and the head peered. When his gaze fell upon Gil, the hand ceased moving.
He took a huge step toward Gil, and then two, and then tossed the head lightly from his right hand to his left, and cradled the head in his elbow.
The copper nose-ornament had fallen off. The giant had a straight and surprisingly handsome nose underneath. The sunglasses were also missing, and his eyes were deepset, with irises of a strange coppery color, like pennies.
The head saw Gil staring, and the left hand brushed at the hairs of his head so that his bangs were flung down over the face, so that Gil could no longer see the eyes clearly, but only caught a glimpse of yellow, like the eyes of a tiger seen in the green grass.
Feast of the Elfs Page 10
