"I pray thee, my lady," said Gawain, after decently allowing her a few moments for grief, "tell me how I may serve thee." The lady did not speak but only cried more brokenly. "Has some other knight slain your ... your companion?" Gawain asked doggedly.
"Slain?" the woman said, breaking off in mid-sob, "but he is not slain."
"He's not?"
"But I make no doubt that he soon will be dead!" she cried, resuming her tears.
Gawain glanced speakingly at Piers, then dismounted. "Perhaps I could take a look at your companion's wounds ... ah, I mean, if that's what the trouble is."
"How can you ask such a question?" the woman cried. "Do you not see him bleed?"
"Well, actually, no, I don't see any ... oh, do you mean that spot up by the shoulder? Yes, I see." Gawain looked thoughtful. "Is that, ah, his only wound, my lady?"
"Is it not enough?"
"I shouldn't have thought so," Gawain muttered, but the woman didn't hear him, being busy launching another soulful wail. "Let me take his armor off and examine him. I am no doctor, but I have tended wounds before."
Piers dismounted and helped Gawain loosen the fallen knight's armor. When they removed his helm, the man began to moan piteously, but when they had uncovered the wound, they found it to be nothing but a deep scratch in the flesh of the upper arm.
Gawain stood. "I think he'll be fine, my lady."
"But he's lost a vast amount of blood!" she declared.
Gawain glanced quickly around the meadow. There were no marks of blood on the grass. "Where'd he put it, then?"
The knight promptly fainted away, and the woman began to sob again. "Art thou indeed so heartless, O knight? Have thou pity on us. Send your squire to fetch us healing herbs, or surely my love shall die this very night."
Gawain sighed and glanced at Piers. "Do you know any healing herbs, Piers?"
"No. My mother never used them. Once when I was sick and crying a lot she gave me some of my father's ale."
Gawain grinned. "Did it help?"
"I don't know. I don't remember anything afterwards."
Gawain chuckled and looked back at the lady. "Shall we fetch you some ale, my lady?"
"Ale would not help him recover from his wound!"
"How about some for you, then? I don't know but that I might get a bit for myself."
"Begone, O fiend! How canst thou mock us in our grief? Oh, that someone would bring us some salve to assuage the pain."
Gawain looked skeptically at the knight, but he bowed slightly to the lady. "Truly it was ill done of me to make light of your concern. I'll go look for some herbs. I know a few that are sometimes used."
The lady smiled beatifically. "Or, if you like, you could just ride into the village—it's only half a mile away—and buy some salve at the apothecary's there. He's very knowledgeable."
Gawain frowned. "Only half a mile?"
The lady quickly added, "As you see, O knight, we have no horse but one broken-down nag, and I dared not leave my love, lest he die alone."
Gawain glanced across the clearing, where a sway-backed old mare was tethered. "Ay, very noble of you, I'm sure." He swung into his saddle and looked down at Piers. "You stay here, lad, and give your horse a rest. I'll be back in a few minutes."
When Gawain was gone, Piers led his horse across the clearing, where the grass was thicker, and picketed him near the old mare. For a moment Piers watched the horses graze, then turned back toward the lady. The knight had woken up, and the two were whispering together. Piers decided to leave them alone and found a tree under which to sit.
Gawain returned half an hour later, carrying a small bottle. Piers waved but stayed in the pleasant shade. Gawain waved back, then dismounted. "Here's your salve, my lady."
"Would you put in on his wound, O knight? I shall faint if I see such gore, I know."
"Yes, of course, my lady." Gawain knelt over the knight's shoulder with his bottle of salve. The lady reached behind a tree, produced a stout branch, and bashed Gawain on the back of the head. Piers could only stare, astonished. The wounded knight leaped to his feet, kicked Gawain's groggy form backward and raced to Guingalet.
"Hurry!" he shouted, when he had mounted. The lady ran up, caught the knight's hand, and swung nimbly up behind him. A moment later, the knight and lady had vanished into the forest on Guingalet, leaving Gawain on his hands and knees, stunned, and Piers still sitting in the shade beneath his tree, nearly as stunned as Gawain.
"Was it the lady?" Gawain asked Piers groggily.
"Yes, sir. She had a big branch hidden behind that tree. When you knelt, she hit you with it. It looked like she hit you hard."
"Thank you, Piers," Gawain said acidly. "I am aware of how hard she hit me. Why didn't you do anything?" Gawain closed his eyes and slowly moved his head back and forth.
"She hit you too quickly for me to stop her," Piers said. "Sorry I wasn't any help just then. But I think I can help you now."
"How?" Gawain muttered.
"Well, we have this salve, you see, and I can—"
"Oh, shut up," Gawain moaned. "Where did they go? Which direction?"
Piers pointed. "That way, through the forest."
"Well, they won't get far on that old horse," Gawain said, struggling to his feet. "Let's go ask them what they were about."
Piers didn't move. "Um, they aren't on that old horse, I'm afraid. They rode off on Guingalet."
Piers had expected Gawain to be angry, but instead a faint smile crossed Gawain's face. "That makes it even easier. Come on."
They rode off together, with Piers on his own horse and Gawain riding the sway-backed mare. Piers had offered to ride the nag, but Gawain only waved a hand and said, "It doesn't matter. We'll come up to them soon."
Sure enough, they had gone barely a mile before they came to the lady, afoot beneath a tree. She was crying again.
"Why hello, my dear," Gawain said sweetly.
The woman looked up, recognized Gawain, and immediately stopped crying. "You!"
"Were you expecting someone else? Your wounded companion, perhaps? Where is he, by the way? Was he just a better rider than you?"
The woman's face twisted, and she glanced quickly above her head. Following her glance up into the thick foliage of the elm tree, Piers saw the knight's gauntleted hands hanging down out of a heavy patch of leaves. Looking more closely, Piers could just make out the rest of the knight, caught in the branches. The hands swayed slightly with the movement of the tree, but otherwise did not move.
Gawain began to laugh. "Why Guingalet, my lad, I'm proud of you! That branch must be eight feet from the ground. Not bad for a middle-aged horse."
"Please, sir," the lady said. "Can you help him? He may be hurt."
"But of course, my lady," Gawain said gallantly. He tossed her the bottle he had purchased. "Here's some salve." He urged the sway-backed horse past the lady, and Piers followed.
For a while they were able to follow Guingalet's tracks in the bare ground of the forest, but then they left the trees and came into a grassy field by a wide river, where they could no longer see the horse's trail. Gawain said, "Let's stay near this river. Guingalet's an aughisky, a water horse. He'd as soon swim as run."
They rode beside the river for almost an hour, and Gawain was getting more and more frustrated. At Piers's suggestion, Gawain removed every easily detached part of his armor, including his helm, breastplate, and shield, and handed them to Piers so as to lighten the load on the mare. Just before the mare gave out entirely, they rounded a bend of the river and saw a majestic castle on the opposite shore and, on this side, a knight sitting on a huge black horse.
"Guingalet!" Gawain called joyfully, urging the mare forward.
"Halt!" called the knight.
Gawain did not stop. "Sorry, Sir Knight, for the trouble, but that's my horse."
"Nay, sir. It is mine! By right of discovery and conquest, and ne'er have I bestridden so fine a beast."
"Yes, I know. That's
why I'm so eager to get him back. He was stolen from me down the way, and we've been chasing him this hour and more. Look, I can prove it. That's my knife in the scabbard on the saddle. It has a carved snake on the haft—"
"I care not!" the knight rapped out. "Though he may have been yours this morning, now he is mine! Or, if you deny it, you may fight me for the horse. But I must warn you. I am Sir Lejoie, and I have never been unhorsed."
"Oh, very well," Gawain said. "Let me just get my armor and borrow my friend's mount."
He turned toward Piers, and Piers shouted, "Look out, Gawain!"
Sir Lejoie had drawn a lance and had booted Guingalet into a run. Gawain swore and jerked the old mare around to face the oncoming knight. "Get out of the way, Piers!" he hissed, and Piers guided his horse to one side.
Piers looked back just in time to see the battle. Gawain had swiftly positioned the mare at the knight's left and kicked his feet free of the stirrups. He held no lance and made no effort to draw his sword. When Sir Lejoie got to him, Gawain twisted his body sharply so that the lance just missed him. Then he grabbed the lance and, throwing himself from the saddle, rode the lance to the ground. The lance gouged the meadow, stuck, and then shattered. Gawain, who had landed heavily in the turf, rolled swiftly to his feet, drawing his sword. His face was scraped and bloody.
Sir Lejoie, meanwhile, had his own problems. Guingalet had not enjoyed the jolt, and now the great horse had set himself to get rid of his rider. Sir Lejoie was a good horseman and stayed on Guingalet's back for several seconds, but there was only one possible end to the struggle, and eventually Sir Lejoie left the saddle and landed on his back. He started to sit up, but Gawain's sword was at his throat.
"Now he's my horse again," Gawain said.
"You can't do this!" Sir Lejoie said, his voice tight and his face livid. "I've never been defeated! Never!"
"Yes, you have," Gawain said. The sword point did not move.
Sir Lejoie collapsed on his back with a moan. "Kill me," he said.
"What?"
"I said, 'Kill me,' for I no longer want to live."
"What, because you took a fall? Don't be an ass."
"Kill me! Kill me!"
"No!" Gawain snapped with irritation. "Oh, get up, you silly sod." Gawain moved his sword away from Sir Lejoie's throat and stepped back.
Immediately, Sir Lejoie leaped to his feet and drew his own sword. "Now we shall see who will win!" he crowed.
Gawain knocked him down and took his sword away. Piers wasn't sure exactly how Gawain had done it, but it was just that fast. One moment Sir Lejoie was standing in a swordfighter's crouch, and the next he was on his back again with Gawain's foot on his wrist. When he had plucked the sword from Sir Lejoie's hand, Gawain tossed it Piers. "Here, lad. You can have this now."
Piers caught the sword deftly and looked distastefully at it. "I don't want it. It's trash."
Sir Lejoie started to get up again, but Gawain knocked him down again. "What do you mean, Piers?"
"This sword. It's heavy, unbalanced, and made of poor steel. My father makes better swords than this in his sleep. I'll go throw it away." Piers trotted over to the riverbank and threw the sword into the water, while Gawain laughed.
"Kill me," moaned Sir Lejoie.
"Oh stop it," Gawain said. "I don't want to kill you; you'll just have to accept that."
A movement to his side drew Piers's attention, and he saw a long, flat raft crossing the river from the castle on the other side. A man with a pole guided it across. "Gawain?" Piers said.
Gawain looked up from Sir Lejoie. "Now who's this, I wonder."
"Why don't you want to kill me?" whined Sir Lejoie. Gawain continued holding him down but otherwise ignored him. In a minute, the boat crunched into the gravel bank, and the boatman stepped off into the meadow. He was tall and austere and had a long gray beard. "I am Mazadan the Ferryman," he said, "and I have come to claim my prize."
Gawain raised one eyebrow. "And what prize is that?"
"It is the custom of this place, carved in stone on the very wall of the Château Merveile behind us, that after every combat that takes place within sight of those towers, I shall be given the horse of the defeated knight."
"Fine," Gawain said, pointing to the old mare. "Take her."
"Nay," Mazadan replied. "That was your horse. This great black horse was ridden by the defeated knight."
Gawain turned his eyes heavenward. "Why does everyone want my horse today?"
"Nay," the ferryman repeated. "This was—"
"Yes, yes, I know, but you see that really was my horse. That's why we were fighting, so that I could get my horse back. So, he really didn't belong to the defeated knight after all."
"Yes, he did," Sir Lejoie interposed.
"You hush!" Gawain snapped. "Ask my friend here. Piers, isn't that my horse?"
Piers said it was, but the ferryman ignored him. "It does not matter," he announced. "That was the horse that was ridden by the loser. That is the custom of the castle."
"How about this?" Gawain said patiently. "You've been getting the horses of losing knights up until now. Wouldn't you rather just once be given the horse of the winner?"
Mazadan looked at the mare and wrinkled his nose. "Not likely," he said.
"Isn't there something else I can give you instead? How about this chucklehead's armor? We've already tossed away his sword, but..." Gawain trailed off and then grinned. "Or how about this? Instead of the loser's horse, why don't I give you the loser?"
"Eh?" Mazadan said.
"He can help you pole the raft. A horse can't do that, you know."
Mazadan hesitated, then nodded. "All right. Fair trade. Come along, boy. I'll have to show you where to stand."
Sir Lejoie stood up. "I say, you can't—"
"Go with him, or I'll knock you down again," Gawain said, and Sir Lejoie turned slowly and followed the ferryman.
Gawain caught Guingalet's reins and began crooning to the horse in a strange gutteral language, but then was interrupted. Mazadan called out, "Well, hurry up, you two!"
Gawain and Piers exchanged puzzled glances. Then Gawain said, "You mean us?"
"Of course I mean you," Mazadan said. "They're waiting for you at the castle."
When the raft was halfway across the river, Mazadan left his new helper to his task and walked to the front of the raft where Gawain and Piers waited beside the horses. Gawain had put his armor back on, but he had removed his helm, and Piers was cleaning the blood from his scraped face with a wet cloth.
"Ah," Gawain said to Mazadan. "I'd hoped you would come back this way. Who are 'they' who are expecting us in that castle?"
"They who live therein," the ferryman replied.
"That's very helpful. Could you tell us a name, perhaps?"
"No."
"Ah. Well, how about this? What are they expecting us for?"
"To set them free."
Gawain nodded pensively. "If it's not too much to ask, how would I go about doing that?"
"You must face the Lit merveile."
"The what?" But Mazadan moved away without answering, and Gawain turned to Piers. "Did you catch that?"
"It sounded like French," Piers said hesitantly. "But it doesn't make much sense."
"You speak French?" Gawain asked. Piers nodded. "Good. Did it sound as if he said 'Lit merveile' to you?"
Piers nodded. "Yes. 'The wonderful bed.'"
"That's what I thought." Gawain shrugged. "We'll find out soon, I suppose." They arrived at the bank of the river beside the great open gate of the castle. Gawain said, "No point in waiting. Let's go look for something odd and French." He leaped lightly onto the beach, and Piers followed.
They entered the gate, but the courtyard was empty. Gawain stopped and looked around. "I see no one, but the castle is well kept. Even the flagstones are swept." Piers looked at a stone carving of a lion on the wall, and for an instant the carving blurred, as if Piers's eyes had suddenly begun to water, but t
hen his vision cleared again. Piers rubbed his eyes and saw Gawain do the same. "Are your eyes blurry, Gawain?" Piers asked.
"Just for a moment," Gawain replied. "They're fine now. Come on."
Next it was a molded cornice that grew momentarily indistinct, then a stairway. "Gawain?"
Gawain had stopped moving and was looking around him. "Ay, lad?"
"Something's happening. I'm scared."
"I see them, too. Either my eyes are going bad or the castle is behaving oddly. Or else ... or else something keeps passing before my eyes."
They continued through the castle. Every door was open, every passageway clean and empty, but for the vague flitting motions that never went away, as if someone were pulling an almost-invisible silken screen through the air, blurring everything it passed in front of. It was a beautiful castle, filled with lovely furniture, but Piers found himself praying that they could leave before it got dark. The Château Merveile was scary enough in the daylight.
They were now deep in the central donjon, the tower that stood at the castle's heart, and there was less light. Piers pressed closer to Gawain, who touched Piers's shoulder reassuringly. Then they stepped into the strangest room Piers had ever seen. It was at least forty feet from floor to ceiling, perfectly round, and completely without windows. The only light was from a ring of torches high on the wall above them. In the very center of the room was a rough and rustic bed.
"A bed," Gawain said. "Do you think that's it? 'The Wonderful Bed?'"
"It ... it looks pretty ordinary," Piers ventured.
"Ay, the most normal thing we've seen yet in this ghastly place," Gawain assented. He drew his sword and walked slowly around the bed, examining it from every angle. "I feel a bit silly arming myself against furniture," he commented.
"Maybe there's something else in this room," Piers suggested. Together they walked around and examined the walls. There were regular holes in the stones of the wall, but they were far too small for any enemies to get through.
"Deuced if I understand it," Gawain said. "But there's one thing. Since we came in this room I haven't seen any of those boggarts flitting about. Maybe we're actually safer in here than out there."
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