The Adventures of Sir Givret the Short

by Gerald Morris

  "And I choose you, Erec," Enide said. "I love you."

  Erec leapt from his horse and the two lovers flung themselves into each other's arms. Givret turned his mount. "As for me," he said, "I choose to leave you two alone. You'll have a lot to talk about."

  Chapter 9

  Givret the Marvelous

  All seemed well again between Erec and Enide, and so long as he was in the neighborhood, Givret decided to drop in on his friend Harold the Herald. As it turned out, this was a lucky thing, because heralds always get all the latest news first. On Givret's third day there, Harold said, "Say, do you remember that count I told you about once—Oringle?"

  Givret looked up quickly. Out of respect for Erec and Enide's privacy, he hadn't told Harold about his recent dealings with the count. "I remember. What about him?"

  "I just heard he's getting married next week. I feel sorry for the poor lady."

  "I do, too," Givret said with feeling.

  "Oh, well," Harold said. "Maybe this Lady Enide knows what she's getting into."

  Givret left for Limors at once, asking everyone he met for news of Lady Enide or Sir Erec. The fourth person he met, a priest, confirmed Givret's worst fears.

  "Ah, Sir Erec," the priest sighed. 'Dead!"

  Givret swallowed, his heart heavy. "How did he die?" he asked.

  "Bravely!" the priest said. "He was rescuing a knight from two giants who had taken him captive. He killed both of the giants, too!"

  "Did you see it happen?" Erec asked.

  "No," replied the priest. "A villager who was there told me. I went to see if I was needed to perform last rites, but by the time I got to Count Oringle's castle, the poor knight was already dead."

  "Hold on there," interrupted Givret. "Did you say Count Oringle's castle?"

  "Yes. They say the count took pity on poor Lady Enide and brought her and Sir Erec's body to his castle."

  Givret blinked. "The count took pity?" he repeated. "Count Oringle?"

  The priest shrugged. "There's a first time for everything, my son."

  Givret didn't believe it. Putting on his black sorcerer's robe, he went to the count's castle and demanded entry, only to be told that no one was allowed in without the count's approval. Givret turned away, thinking furiously He had to find out what was up. And if, as he suspected, Lady Enide was the counts prisoner, he had to rescue her.

  Then, walking through the village of Limors, Givret heard a familiar voice. "No, no, my lady, like this: Dip your fingers in the finger bowl and swirl them about ... No, before you eat. Oh, yes, I promise you, that's how the fine ladies of Paris do it!"

  Givret smiled suddenly. "Gaston!" he cried.

  "Why, my lord Sir Givret!" exclaimed Gaston the Peddler, immediately leaving the lady he had been talking to. "How wonderful to see you! And in your black robe, too!"

  "You wouldn't believe how useful it's been," Givret said. "Listen, Gaston, do you ever sell your wares at weddings?"

  Gaston's eyes lit up. "All my best sales are for weddings! Brides will buy anything, the more useless the better! Do you know of a wedding nearby?"

  "Do I ever! Count Oringle himself is getting married!"

  "The count!" Gaston repeated, rubbing his hands gleefully "I have just the thing! Salad forks!"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "I told you about forks, didn't I? I thought I had. Well, this is even fruitier! A second set of forks to use for salad, and here's the best bit: They're exactly the same!"

  "You're joking," Givret said, in awe.

  "No, really! Everyone thinks they're different, so they buy a second set of forks and scatter them about their tables willy-nilly! I'll soon be able to retire, just on my profits from salad forks alone!"

  Givret shook his head and asked, "What's a salad?"

  Gaston giggled. "Raw vegetables, mostly. It doesn't matter, so long as they have a special fork for it."

  "You're either a madman or a genius," Givret said, "but I've no time to figure it out now. Listen, Gaston, could you get me into the count's castle unseen?"

  "Nothing easier," Gaston said. He opened a door in his peddler's cart, revealing a shelf stuffed with trinkets and silks and ribbons. "Climb in here."

  Givret was glad he was so small; a larger man would never have fit into Gaston's tiny cart. Even Givret barely managed to squeeze in, but soon Gaston was wheeling him toward Oringle's castle.

  "Open up, my good man," Gaston cried to the guards. "I am Gaston, of Gaston's Exclusive Parisian Boutique, come all the way from France for the count's wedding." At first the guards repeated what they had told Givret, that no one was allowed in, but Gaston said, "Very well. You [[graphic]]explain to your master why you sent away the finest wedding goods anywhere," and a moment later they were inside.

  While the guards hurried to fetch the count, Gaston let Givret out. Tugging his black hood low over his face, Givret slipped into the shadows. "Keep the count busy as long as you can," he said, and then he hurried off. First he had to find Enide; only then could he make plans for getting her away. For the next half-hour, he ran down castle halls, tried doors, and peered around corners, but Enide was nowhere to be found.

  Givret found something else, though. In a torch-lit room at the end of a long hall was Erec's body, laid out on a stone slab in full armor except for his helmet, which was the custom for slain knights. Givret knew he should hurry to find Enide, but he couldn't just pass by. Standing beside the body, he reached out to stroke his friends cheek. "Farewell, old friend," he said, "I wish I ... I ... I say!'

  [[graphic]]

  Erec's skin was warm.

  Givret's mouth dropped open. "For heavens sakes, Enide," he muttered, "didn't you even check to see if he was dead? Erec! Get up!" He gave Erec a shake.

  Erec's eyelids flickered, and he frowned slightly "Ouch," he murmured. "Head hurts. Go way. Want go back sleep."

  Givret stopped shaking. "Yes, go back to sleep," he said. "That's a much better idea. I'll come get you when it's safe."

  Now Givret searched even harder, and at last he was rewarded. Behind the last door in the longest corridor, he heard a woman crying. Givret burst into the room, and there was Enide, alone, sobbing into a pillow.

  "Enide!" he cried. "Get up! Erec is—"

  "Oh, Givret!" wailed Enide. "It's so sad! What shall I do without Erec?"

  "Listen to me, Enide—"

  But Enide didn't listen. "It was so horrible!" she sobbed. "He went off to fight those two giants and told me to stay behind and I didn't know what to do but I could hear him fighting and the giants were roaring and I was so scared and then Erec didn't come back and I didn't know what was happening!"

  "Enide! I have to tell you—"

  "So I went to see and when I got there the two giants were dead and the knight that Erec had saved was saying he had died bravely and so did the villagers there, and I cried and cried!"

  "But you didn't actually check Erec, did you?" Givret said.

  "And that's when Count Oringle came and he was much nicer than he'd ever been before and he said that Erec was a hero—which is true!-and I know I ought to be grateful to him for taking me in while he prepares the funeral, even if he is a rotter."

  "Did he mention that he's also preparing a wedding?" asked Givret.

  Enide stared. "No. Who's getting married?"

  "You and the count," Givret said.

  Enide's mouth dropped open. "What?" Then she demanded, "Is that what he's after?"

  "Isn't it what he's always been after?" Givret asked.

  "What a stinker!" Enide exclaimed indignantly. Just then footsteps came clicking down the corridor, and Givret barely had time to step into the shadows and pull his cloak around him before the door opened and Count Oringle himself entered.

  "My lady," the count began, "I've come to see how—oh, good! You've stopped crying! I was starting to worry. Sir Erec was a great knight and all that, but two days without stopping does seem like it ought to be enough. Anyway, I've got some
thing to show you."

  Enide glared at the count, but he paid no attention. Producing two forks, he said, "My lady, if someday you should ever again feel like eating at a banquet, a wedding banquet, for instance, would you need two forks or just one?"

  "What's a fork?" asked Enide.

  "The latest thing from Paris," the count explained.

  Enide drew herself up with dignity. "My husband isn't even buried yet! Why are you babbling to me about forks?"

  Givret saw his opportunity. Stepping from the shadows as if materializing from the air, he announced loudly, "I'll tell you why he speaks of forks! Because he plans your wedding!"

  "You again!" Count Oringle gasped.

  "Yes! It is I! Givret the Marvelous, Enchanter of Tara!"

  The count turned pale. "How did you get in here?"

  Givret laughed. "Did you think mere gates and guards could keep me out? I go where I wish to go. I see what I wish to see. I know your private thoughts and wedding plans! But what woman will marry a man who will be haunted for eternity?"

  Count Oringle took a step backward. "No!" he said. "I've kept your word! I've killed no one since the prophecy!"

  "You are mistaken, O count," Givret said solemnly. "You have slain Sir Erec the Brave!"

  "Did not!" protested the count. "He was killed by a giant! He hit him on the head!"

  "That's true, you know," said Enide. "I thought I told you—"

  Givret interrupted quickly. "The giant only wounded Sir Erec!" he declared. He was still alive when he was brought to this castle! If you had cared for him, he would be alive to this day!" That much, at least, was true. "But because you did nothing, his death is your fault. The blame is yours! Sir Erec's ghost will follow you from this day forth!"

  The count began to tremble. "Isn't there anything I can do?"

  Givret paused dramatically. "There is but one hope for you! If you give up your lands, leave England forever, and go to Rome to make confession to the pope, then you may be spared from the spirit's vengeance!"

  "Give up my lands?" repeated Count Oringle, horrified.

  "It's your choice," Givret said. "Either leave England now or spend the rest of your life with a ghost who thirsts for revenge."

  The count hesitated, his fear at war with his greed. "Thirsts for revenge?" he repeated.

  So intent were they all that none of them had noticed footsteps approaching, but just then the chamber door swung open and there on the threshold stood Erec himself. He was pale and unsteady, but he was standing without help. "Excuse me," he said, "but I'm thirsty."

  Enide let out a piercing scream and swooned. Count Oringle, his eyes bulging and his face whiter than Erec's, made a noise like someone squeezing a frog, rushed from the room, and threw himself from the nearest window. Erec rubbed his temple, looked about for a moment, then said mildly, "What's wrong with them? All I wanted was a drink of water."

  After that, matters sorted themselves out nicely. Count Oringle survived his leap from the window by landing in a manure cart, after which he caught a horse and started toward Rome, to make his confession to the pope. There he became a priest and changed his name to Innocent—it was never clear who he was trying to fool by that—[[graphic]]and he never went back to England. His castle, lands, and title were restored to Sir Valens, who ruled Limors wisely and well.

  Erec and Enide returned to Wales, where they were much beloved for their fairness and compassion, if not always for their wisdom. But even if they weren't the brightest rulers ever, they were at least smart enough to listen to advice (something that many so-called clever people are too silly to do), and so they did very well indeed. They loved each other more every day, even when they disagreed about such things as which fork to use with the salad, and so they found their Happily Ever After at last. Gaston the Peddler became a regular visitor at their home, and Enide became quite his favorite customer, always willing to try the latest useless fashion, even ridiculous things like napkins, embroidered handkerchiefs, and soap.

  As for Givret, he divided his time between Camelot and Wales, but wherever he went he was treated with respect and his advice was sought out by all and treasured when received. Most people still called him Sir Givret the Short (although no one would dream of calling him "that little fellow" now), but King Arthur usually referred to him as Sir Givret the Wise. Even that was not enough for Erec and Enide—or, in years to come, to their many children. To them, he would always be Givret the Marvelous.