The Squire, His Knight, and His Lady

by Gerald Morris

  "Oy, I see. I mean that it started to bleed, and its blood was as red as fire—I mean its blood was fire. There was the fire of Hell in its veins, an' as soon as that charmed arrow from St. S...."

  "Sebastian," Gawain said. "You better say it yourself, so you can remember."

  "Sebastian," Dirk repeated. "Anyway, as soon as that charmed arrow from St. Sebastian touched it, fire come out in a rush and burned it and the stag right up."

  "Well done," Gawain said approvingly. "Then I saw you, and introduced myself to you—How do you do? I am Sir Gawain of King Arthur's Round Table."

  "Are you really?" Dirk asked. "From the Round Table?"

  "I really am. I introduced myself to you—How do you do? and so on—and told you that that had been an arrow of St. Sebastian's, and told you to build a shrine on that spot."

  "Do I have to build the shrine for real?"

  "You won't need to. The villagers will do it. And then I left, with my faithful squire by my side. You have all that?"

  "St. Sebastian, Sir Gawain, King Arthur, a shrine," Dirk said. "Will they believe me?"

  "It was a story that started all this. Why shouldn't another end it?"

  Terence coughed gently. "Milord, don't you think that a good shrine ought to have a religious relic? Like maybe an image of—"

  Gawain burst into approving laughter. "Go get it, lad."

  Terence fetched Father La Roche's shield. Gawain handed it reverently to Dirk. "This," he said, "is the magical shield which protected me from the unnatural darts of the cruel Huntsman."

  Dirk repeated this to himself with obvious pleasure. "I like that," he said. '"Unnatural darts.' What's this on the inside?" He held the shield up to the light to look at the painting.

  Gawain cleared his throat and said, "Before you say anything, you should know that that's the Blessed Virgin."

  "Just coming out of her bath, is she?" Dirk asked.

  "Just put it in the shrine," Gawain said, grinning. "Terence? Get our gear together." Terence started to pack their traps, and Gawain turned back to Dirk. "And Dirk? Have you ever heard of a knight colored all in green? Or a place called the Green Chapel?"

  "Should I put them in the tale, too, do you think?"

  "Nay, Dirk. These are real. Do you know them?"

  Dirk shook his head. "We've nothing like that on the island. They've got some real knights in the Wilderness of Wirral, east of Caernarvon, though. You might ask them."

  V. The Wilderness of Wirral

  The Wilderness of Wirral was only forty miles from Caernarvon, just north of the town of Chester, and Gawain and Terence arrived by early afternoon. Despite its ominous-sounding name, it was really a pleasant little wood. They made camp by a chuckling brook, and Terence took his bow into the woods to hunt up some dinner. Before long he spotted several rabbit holes. He made himself comfortable and waited for the rabbits to come out for their evening feeding. In about an hour, an enormous rabbit poked his head out of the nearest hole and stared hard at the bush where Terence was hiding.

  "Oh dear, oh dear," the rabbit said. "There's a nasty hunter, planning to eat me and my family for his dinner. Whatever shall I do?"

  Terence grinned. "Robin?" he said.

  Years earlier, on the day that Terence had first met Gawain, Terence had also encountered a mischievous elf named Robin, a sort of messenger between the World of Men and the Other World. In fact, Robin had led Terence to Gawain. Although Robin had made game of Terence more than once, Terence was fond of the sprite, who was his most frequent contact with the faery realm.

  The rabbit chuckled, then began to stretch, growing taller and changing form. In a moment the little green elf stood before him. "Hallo, Terence."

  "Well, where have you been keeping yourself?" Terence said, striding forward. "I haven't seen you in ages."

  "Oh, here and there," the sprite said, waving his arm vaguely. "You?"

  "Questing again, as I suppose you know."

  "Ay, that I do. That's why I'm here."

  Terence nodded. "You have a message for Gawain?"

  "Nay, young master. A message for you. If your quest is to go on, it depends on you, not Gawain."

  "What do you mean?" Terence frowned.

  "You didn't sleep well last night, did you?"

  "We didn't sleep at all. We were ... we were busy fighting a terrible Huntsman."

  "Were you then?" Robin asked, eyes twinkling. "And did you use a charmed arrow and a magic shield with the true face of the Blessed Virgin on it?" Terence blinked, and Robin added, "Nay, don't be surprised, lad. It's all over the countryside. There's already a group of pilgrims forming in Chester to go view the scene of your battle. But whatever you did last night, it left your master sleepy, and when you went out hunting he lay down for a nap."

  "So?"

  "It was how he got captured."

  "What?"

  "By the Marquis of Alva. He's the great lord of the lands hereabouts, and a black-hearted villain. He hates all knights except his own, and he hates the knights of the Round Table most of all. On feast days he has captured knights brought out and put to death for his amusement. And, in case it's slipped your mind, Good Friday is five days away."

  "What should I do?"

  "Rescue him, of course," Robin said with surprise.

  "Just like that? How do I do it?"

  "Come now, young master. You know I only tell you what to do, never how to do it. But—" Robin paused, as if in thought—"I understand that the marquis has recently misplaced his underchef, and with the feast coming up is in need of some kitchen help." Terence nodded eagerly; he had been cooking all his life, first for the Hermit, then for Gawain. Robin produced two packets, one small and one quite large. "Here are two powders. The white powder in the small bag is tasteless, and when just a pinch is mixed with a person's food, that person will sleep like a baby for hours. The yellow powder is a powerful spice, from far away to the east, sure to disagree with any true Englishman's digestion."

  Terence took the packets and asked, "Where do I find this Marquis of Alva?"

  "Do you see that rabbit?" Robin pointed at a rabbit coming out of another hole. "Follow it, and it will take you to the Chateau Wirral, the seat of the Marquis of Alva." The rabbit saw Terence and bolted. Terence started, then dived frantically into the brush after it. Behind him, Robin called, "Run fast!"

  It was just like Robin to have him chasing a rabbit instead of something a bit slower, Terence thought between breaths. He ran as fast as he could, gasping for air, losing sight of the rabbit every ten steps or so but always spotting it again. He leaped over rocks and bushes that he would never have tried to jump before, and he fell only three or four times. His throat began to burn, and his chest ached with every breath, but he didn't slow down until he ran headlong into a large grey stallion with a woman on its back.

  Terence tried to dodge, but he still hit the horse a glancing blow on its shoulder and sprawled in the dirt.

  "You idiot! You cabbageheaded domnoddy! If you've hurt my horse, I'll have your skin!" the rider shouted shrilly.

  Terence scrambled to his feet, wheezing, and managed to mutter, "Beg pardon ma'am," between gasps, and looked frantically around for the rabbit. It was gone.

  "Look at me, boy!" the rider demanded.

  Terence obeyed and saw that she was only a girl, maybe sixteen. "Have you ... seen a rabbit ... go by here?"

  She stared. "Are you chasing a rabbit on foot? How stupid!"

  "Hurry, girl! Did you see it?" Terence demanded impatiently.

  Her mouth dropped open, and with a stunned look on her face, she pointed north. Terence wasted no more time but wheeled and started running again. Behind him the girl shouted, "Hey! Stop there, you boy!" but Terence ignored her. Soon he spied the rabbit again, and then they both burst out of the woods. Terence slowed to a stop and stared at the Chateau Wirral, rising incongruously out of the forest.

  It was an ancient-looking fortress, squat and dark and thick-walled. The
keep, a circular stone tower in the center of the fortress, rose high above the walls, but nothing else interrupted the long, level line of stone. The gate stood open, but two guards armed with battle-axes stood on either side of the entrance. Terence caught his breath, then strolled forward, whistling.

  "You, there!" one of the guards called to him. "What's your business, eh?"

  "I've got no business at all," Terence replied mournfully. "And no food in my gut because of it."

  "Well, clear off. We've no food for beggers here."

  "I'm no begger!" Terence declared, offended. "I'm a squire, I am." He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand.

  The guards laughed, and one of them said, "Ho! A squire, it is. Don't you mean a knight? D'you think we should bow before Sir Sniffles here?"

  Terence grinned sheepishly. "Well, almost a squire anyway. I would have been, but the knight what would have taken me on was popped off in a tourney. Does the guv'nor here need a squire?"

  "Clear off, boy," one of the guards said, smiling in a kind way. "You don't want to work here. Go hunting with that bow of yours."

  Terence had forgotten the bow slung over his shoulder. "But I'm no good with it, you see. Are you sure there's no need for a squire? You see, I don't want to go back to work in the kitchens unless I has to. I'd be a good squire."

  The other guard, whose face was sharper than his companion's, said, "The kitchens, eh? A serving-lad?"

  "What, a scruff-boy? I should say not! I'm a cook, I am—but I'd rather be a squire."

  "A cook, eh? Well, the lord here might have some use for you, after all."

  The kindly guard said, "Forget it, Glynn. This here's a good lad, and he don't want to work in the marquis's kitchens. Go on to Chester, boy, and find work there, right?"

  Terence started to argue, but before he could speak, a dark, heavy-browed man in a dirty velvet blouse appeared in the gate. "What's this, guards? Chitter-chatter? Who's this vermin?" he demanded. Both guards went rigid, and their faces became blank, as if all expression had been wiped away with a cloth. The heavy-browed man asked again, "Who is this peasant brat?"

  The second guard, Glynn, said, "A boy seeking a position in the kitchens, my lord."

  "Actually, I'd like to be a squire—" Terence began, playing his part to the end, but the kindly guard gave him a sharp warning look, and Terence stopped.

  "If I take you on, you'll learn to speak when spoken to, or you'll learn to live with no skin on your back," the man said. He looked at Terence thoughtfully. "Can you cook?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Yes what?"

  "Yes ... my lord?"

  "Hmm. What's your best dish?"

  "Roast capons with mushrooms, my lord. Or broiled trout in wine sauce."

  The marquis grunted, then nodded. "Right. You're on. But none of those fancy dishes, mind." He looked at the two guards, then said, "The dumbhead on the right. Take him to the kitchens." Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, he vanished.

  "Cor," Terence said after a moment. "Is he always like that? Popping up then popping out?"

  Neither guard replied. Glynn said, "Keep a civil tongue in your head. Follow me."

  The kitchens were large and busy, but Terence, used to dealing with Camelot's huge kitchen court, soon knew his way around tolerably well. He barely had time to leave his bow and arrows in a dry corner before the surly chief cook set him to work stirring a cauldron of gruel for the yeoman soldiers and another of thin barley soup for the castle servants. Both were unappetizing in the extreme, and Terence pitied those who were to eat them. He wondered which of the various doorways led to the dungeons where he could check on Gawain, but he realized that he could not simply ask. He would have to explore later.

  "Boy!" the chief cook shouted.

  It occurred to Terence that no one had ever asked his name. Indeed, as as long as he had been in the Chateau Wirral only the kindly guard at the gate had used a person's name. "Yes, sir?"

  "Sweep that muck over there into a bucket." The cook pointed to the bones and entrails that had been cast onto the floor. "The dungeon guards will come get it when they're ready."

  Terence stared. "You mean that's for the prisoners? No one could eat that mess!"

  The cook chuckled in a grunty way. "That's their lookout, eh?"

  An hour or so later, a guard came to get the swill bucket. He looked at the contents, then laughed and asked if the cook had anything to foul it up a bit. The cook leaned over the bucket and spat into it. "There you go, guard. Now mix that in, see, so that the whole bucket's flavored." Terence could only stare. Was no one in this place human? The guard retreated down the hallway, chuckling.

  Finally the cook sent Terence to bed and, since Terence had come straight from the gate to the kitchens, gave him directions to the servants' quarters. Terence listened to these directions with only half his attention because even though he was desperately tired, he had no intention of sleeping until he had found Gawain. As soon as the cook's back was turned, he slipped down the hallway that the dungeon guard had taken.

  Soon he was hopelessly lost among the black hallways of the castle and was cursing himself for not remembering a candle. After perhaps an hour of running into walls, he saw a glimmer of light around a corner. He headed toward it, hoping that it was a torch he could borrow. He turned the corner and almost ran into a girl carrying a candle.

  "Excuse me, ma'am," Terence muttered, eyes down.

  "Oaf!" the girl said. "What are you doing in this hallway?"

  "I'm new, ma'am," Terence said. "I got lost."

  "You!" the girl exclaimed suddenly. Terence looked up and groaned inwardly. "You're the ill-mannered boy who ran into me in the forest!"

  "Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry, ma'am."

  "Why wouldn't you stop when I called?" she demanded. "I ought to have you beaten for impudence!"

  Terence blinked and looked up. The girl was short and sturdy, and her nose turned up sharply. Had she been smiling, it might have been a pleasant face, but at the moment she looked like a child having a tantrum. Terence said, "Well, of all the mean-spirited little cats! I'd like to know what harm I did you or that horse of yours. And what's more, this afternoon in the forest I wasn't a servant here, so why the devil should I have obeyed you anyway?" The girl's eyes widened with shock, and Terence bit his tongue. Getting himself thrown into the dungeons would not help Gawain. "I beg your pardon, ma'am."

  "You insolent cub!" she said. "I'll have your skin for this!"

  That was it then. The girl would call the guard, and Terence would never be able to hide in a strange castle for long. Furious with himself, Terence snapped, "Go ahead, then. Have me beaten, if it gives you pleasure. It probably will, if you're like everyone else in this castle. But you'll have to catch me."

  Terence turned sharply, but the girl called, "Wait!" and he hesitated. In a voice that throbbed with emotion, the girl said, "I'm not like the rest! I'm not! Here, take this candle and go." She whirled around and stalked with dignity through a nearby doorway.

  Surprised but relieved, Terence took the candle and continued his search. With the light from the candle, it was much easier to get his bearings, and soon he found the dungeons, at the foot of a long, winding stairway. Terence listened and heard at least three guards talking about the "fancy new knight"; then he crept upstairs and through a door to the outer court. Smelling the unmistakable aroma of a stable, Terence decided not to bother looking for the servants' quarters. He slipped into the stable and burrowed into the straw to sleep for a few hours.

  He was awakened by something cold and wet against his cheek. He rolled his head away and opened his eyes. Through a grey morning light, he saw the outline of Gawain's horse Guingalet, standing over him and nuzzling his face.

  Terence scrambled backward, crablike, out of range of Guingalet's wicked teeth, but the horse simply followed. Slowly Terence stood, then tentatively patted Guingalet's neck. "Hel ... hello, old boy. Good to see you." Guingalet did not take offense at bein
g addressed so familiarly, and Terence breathed more easily. Terence glanced around. Nearby was Terence's own horse, and on a table toward the back wall Terence recognized their saddles and packs. It looked as if everything but Gawain's sword and armor was there. Guingalet rubbed his head against Terence's chest, and Terence patted the horse's shoulder. "Here now, boy. What's this?" His fingers had run across something dry and rough caked to Guingalet's shoulder. "Have you hurt yourself, boy?"

  "It's not the horse's blood," said a female voice a few yards away. Terence jumped with fear and squinted into the darkness. A second later, the girl who had given him the candle stepped into the light coming through the door. "He bit one of the grooms," the girl explained. "He's a very fierce animal. Or at least he was yesterday."

  Terence swallowed and said, "I've always been good with horses, ma'am."

  "A miracle worker, more like," she said. "Unless, of course, he knows you."

  "Oh no, ma'am," Terence protested.

  "Where were you off to in such a hurry yesterday?"

  "Like you said, ma'am. Hunting."

  "I don't believe you. And what were you looking for last night in the halls?"

  "The servants' quarters, ma'am."

  "I don't believe you. And what are you doing down here at this hour?"

  "Why the devil should I tell you if you're not going to believe me?" Terence snapped. As before, the girl seemed astonished at Terence's forthrightness. "For that matter," Terence continued, "what are you doing in the stables so early?"

  The girl stammered, "It's the only time when I can get.... Who are you to be asking questions of me?"

  "For that matter, who are you to be asking questions of me?" Terence countered, adding as an afterthought, "though it's not likely that anyone in this blighted place would actually tell her name."

  "My name is Lady Eileen," the girl said defiantly. "I'm the niece of the marquis."

  "Oh, I suppose that's why you think that everyone is terrified of you," Terence said, nodding.

  "Look here," the girl said, "I may be related to him, but I'm not like him. I hate it here. I hate this place with all my heart. I'd leave in a second if I could." She paused, panting. "Now, I've told you my name. What's yours?"