The Savage Damsel and the Dwarf

by Gerald Morris

  The woman stood, her face round and smiling. "But of course, dearie. It's the simplest thing in the world."

  Lynet sighed with relief. "Oh, thank you. Do I stay on this road?"

  The woman looked doubtfully at her husband, who had joined her. He stroked his chin thoughtfully and said, "You can if you like. But you'll need to turn at Hand's Cross."

  "She could turn at the old tanner's field," the woman remarked.

  "Ay, she could, but the bridge is washed out on the dairy road."

  "She could skip the dairy road, though, if she went round the old grove."

  "You mean the walnut grove?" asked the man.

  "Ay, she could go round that one, too, but I meant the one where the Smith's boy was taken for poaching last winter."

  The man snorted. "Nay, with the water so high, she could never get through the ford."

  The woman laughed and turned to Lynet. "He's right, of course. The mister knows best, I reckon. You best not go that way."

  Lynet blinked and managed to say, "Very well, I won't. Would you ... could you tell me which way would be better, please?"

  "Look here," the man said in a businesslike voice, "if you want to stay on this road, you best turn at Hand's Cross."

  "Where is Hand's Cross, please?" Lynet asked.

  "Just past Old Barn Meadow."

  "Old Barn Meadow," Lynet repeated.

  "Then, a mile after you turn, you'll look for a big oak tree. Go about three furlongs past the oak, then turn again, at the house where the steward used to live."

  "Not the present steward, mind you," the woman interrupted. "It was the old steward who lived there, before it burned."

  "The house is burned now?" Lynet asked helplessly.

  "Oh, ay," the man agreed. "That would be eight, ten, year ago now."

  "No," the woman said. "It would have to be more than that, because Thomas was still at home then. That was the same summer he broke his leg."

  "Couldn't be!" the man protested. "When I was taking him to the village to have it set proper, I remember stopping and passing the time of day with the old steward..."

  Lynet prodded the mare and trotted on, resigned to her fate. After she died of starvation, her body would be found by a band of overfed knights errant in the grove where somebody had been caught poaching.

  The sun was low in the sky, and Lynet was faint and famished, when she smelled the unmistakable aroma of roasting meat. Senses sharpened by hunger, she followed the smell to a small copse. There she glimpsed a campfire, with a haunch of venison roasting over it on a stick. She dismounted and lurched toward the food. She was largely indifferent to danger, but she had enough presence of mind to pick up a large branch to use as a club if the owner of the meat was unfriendly. Holding the club in front of her, she stepped to the edge of the small clearing where the meat dripped and sizzled. No one was there.

  Lynet looked quickly around, seeing nothing, but her eyes were drawn irresistibly back to the roasting meat. Just as she was about to step out of the shadows and help herself, a flickering shadow to her right caught her eye. From a small bush where she had not thought a man could be concealed sprang a dark figure, and Lynet glimpsed a long sword. Instinctively raising her club, she felt a solid jolt as the sword buried itself in the wood. Lynet leaped backward and felt the sword, still embedded in her branch, pull free from its owner's grasp. Frantically, Lynet grasped the sword by the handle and jerked it free from the wood. Holding the sword before her, she whirled and faced her assailant.

  It was a dwarf, bearded and stocky and dressed in ill-fitting clothes. The dwarf staggered backward to escape the sword in Lynet's hand, tripped over a root, and sat heavily. "Why, you're a lady!" the dwarf gasped.

  "Don't think I won't use this sword, though," Lynet snapped.

  The dwarf ignored her. "A lady," he repeated. "I've just been disarmed and taken prisoner by a lady." He shook his head slowly. "I really am pathetic," he moaned.

  II. Roger

  Lynet gripped the sword with both hands and pointed it at the seated dwarf. Her hands trembled slightly, and to hide the shaking, she waved the sword threateningly. "Answer me, if you value your life!" she snapped.

  "Oh, I value my life," the dwarf replied quickly. "What do you want to know?"

  "Are you alone?"

  "Yes, I'm alone." The dwarf frowned at the darkness behind Lynet. "Are you?" he asked.

  "I don't have to tell you anything!"

  "No, that's true," the dwarf agreed. "Forget I asked. How else may I help you?"

  Lynet said gruffly, "Give me some of that food!"

  The dwarf grinned slowly, and though his face had the heavy, large-featured character of most dwarfs, Lynet could see his eyes twinkle engagingly in the firelight. "So, I was right," he murmured. "You are a bandit! A savage brigand."

  Lynet felt a stir of amusement, and she let her expression soften. "Pardon me, sir dwarf. May I please share your dinner?"

  "That you may, my lady. Indeed, you may even set down the sword while you eat. I won't attack you again. Terribly sorry about that. Bad manners to kill ladies, you know." The dwarf stood and bowed stiffly.

  Lynet lowered the sword, a smile growing on her face. She had not known many dwarfs, but the ones she did know were notable for their lack of humor. This wry little man with the laughing eyes was different, and instinctively she trusted him. While the dwarf set about taking the meat from the fire, she brought her mare through the bushes and picketed her beside the dwarf's horse. Behind her, the dwarf cried out "Ouch!" and swore vigorously. Lynet glanced over her shoulder at the dwarf, who was dancing around the steaming haunch and blowing on his fingertips.

  "Is it hot enough?" Lynet asked innocently.

  "Just touch it right here and see for yourself, why don't you?" the dwarf retorted.

  "No, that would stupid," Lynet said. "I might burn myself."

  Casting her a baleful look, the dwarf sawed off a chunk of venison and handed it to her on a bent metal plate. Lynet ate ravenously, and only after her third helping did the pangs in her stomach subside enough for her to think of anything else. The dwarf, who had finished his meat long before, was leaning against a rock, watching her.

  "The meat's burned," Lynet said.

  The dwarf nodded. "Ay, that would be why you just picked at your food."

  Lynet tried to look dignified, but without success. "I was hungry," she said.

  "You don't say. Have another plate?" Lynet nodded, and the dwarf began hacking the blackened meat again. "It is a bit overdone, I suppose," he said.

  "I thought all dwarfs were good cooks."

  "And I thought all ladies were too polite to comment on someone else's cooking." Lynet blushed, and the dwarf handed her the meat. She began to gnaw on the venison, and the dwarf said, "Do you mind telling me what you're doing alone in this country?"

  Lynet hesitated, but decided to tell the truth. "I'm on my way to Camelot."

  "Are you now? Where from?"

  "Cornwall. I live in the Castle Perle. You wouldn't know it, but—"

  "Heard of it. Isn't that where the old duke, Idres, lived?"

  Lynet nodded, watching the dwarf warily, but he said nothing about Idres's part in the old rebellion against King Arthur. Maybe that revolt had been forgotten, she thought hopefully. The dwarf was more concerned about geography, it seemed. "If you're going from Cornwall to Camelot, why are you so far east?"

  "I have my reasons!" Lynet said with dignity.

  "Got lost, did you?" the dwarf said. "Well, I've no wish to go to Camelot, but I've nothing better to do. I'll take you there."

  Lynet lifted her chin. "I won't trouble you," she said haughtily. "I can find my way." The dwarf grinned and cocked one amused eyebrow. Lynet sighed and lowered her chin. "No, I can't. I accept your kind offer, sir—What is your name?"

  The dwarf scratched his chin and said, "Roger. Call me Roger."

  "Very well, Roger," Lynet replied. "I am Lady Lynet of Perle."

&
nbsp; Roger grinned at the title, and unrolled his blankets. "Good night, Lady Lynet of Perle."

  Her stomach full at last, Lynet realized how exhausted she was. She pulled her cloak and a blanket around her and lay down. Before she went to sleep, though, she said, "Roger?" The dwarf grunted, and she said, "I'm sorry I was rude. Thank you for offering to help me."

  "You're welcome, my lady," came the dwarf's muffled voice.

  "And Roger?"

  "Mm-hmm?"

  "Will you show me which one is the North Star?"

  The dwarf chuckled. "Yes, my lady. Tomorrow night."

  The next morning, after finishing the venison for breakfast, Lynet and Roger set off. Lynet was somewhat self-conscious when she awoke, unsure what she would say to this abrupt little man for the next few days, but then Roger scolded her for saddling the mare wrong, and in the ensuing brangle, all restraint disappeared.

  "How do you know which way to go?" Lynet asked as they began. "You can't see the North Star in the daytime."

  Roger thought before answering. "There are a few tricks to use—look at the mossy sides of trees, check the direction of the sun, and so on—but that's not really what I do. When I go somewhere, I'm always putting the land in a little map in my head. I don't believe I've ever been lost in the daytime, or on a clear night."

  "I suppose women are different that way." Lynet sighed.

  "Don't make yourself so special," the dwarf said with a snort. "As if getting lost was some trick that only women knew. I've known men who could get lost in their own bedrooms. The only difference is that men with no sense of direction don't brag about it, the way women do."

  Lynet clamped her lips shut, offended but not really angry. Along with her resentment at being criticized, she felt an irrepressible urge to laugh, and for once in her life she was able to stifle a sharp reply.

  Roger paid no attention to her silence. As they rode, he pointed out landmarks and directional guides. Lynet did not answer, but she listened attentively, and soon began to notice these markers herself. Finally, as they skirted a stand of trees, Lynet forgot to be aloof and asked, "Did we just change direction? Aren't we going more west than we were?"

  Roger grinned slowly. "Ay, my lady. Just to get around this copse. Then we'll change back."

  Lynet smiled. "It's not so hard after all," she said.

  "I've never found it so. Have you decided you can talk to me now?"

  Lynet decided to act dignified. She lifted her chin and said, "Was there something you wished to discuss, my good dwarf?"

  Roger chuckled. "No, ma'am. Me, I just like to hear how you great ladies talk. It do be so fine."

  As Lynet laughed, it occurred to her that until this mocking lapse into country dialect, Roger's speech had been cultured and educated. In many ways, he was a strange dwarf indeed.

  Roger continued. "But I was wondering what takes you to Camelot."

  Lynet decided to be frank. "I need help," she explained. She told Roger about her sister and how the Knight of the Red Lands was trying to force her into marriage. "I'm going to ask the king if he will send a knight to our rescue."

  Roger murmured, half to himself, "So you're Idres's daughter, eh?"

  Lynet watched the dwarf's face intently. "Yes. What of it?"

  The dwarf raised his eyebrows with faint surprise. "Why, nothing at all. I've heard he was a good man is all."

  "I beg your pardon," Lynet said gruffly. Then, quietly, she added, "He was."

  Roger nodded and said, "Well, your timing is good. It's almost Whitsuntide. Arthur'll be having a feast and hearing requests. He's sure to send someone along to help you."

  Lynet lapsed into thoughtful silence. Evidently the dwarf did not know that Duke Idres had rebelled against Arthur, which was good, but Lynet could not believe that Arthur had forgotten. She would still have to hide her identity at court. But would any knight be willing to ride off with a woman who wouldn't tell her name?

  Roger laughed suddenly. "In fact, if what you say is true, you may have the pick of the crop. It isn't every day that a knight gets to rescue a damsel in distress who is not only beautiful—you did say she was a looker, didn't you?—but who owns a castle. Quite a catch."

  Lynet's face cleared. "That's right." Maybe her job would be easier than she had thought.

  An hour later Lynet began to feel hungry, and said so to Roger.

  "You just forget about it," he said. "We finished off my food at breakfast."

  "Can't we stop while you hunt some more?"

  "I'm a terrible hunter."

  "I thought all dwarfs were great archers," Lynet said with surprise.

  "And I thought all ladies had small appetites."

  Lynet laughed. "Only in public. How did you get that venison that we ate last night?"

  Roger grinned, a little sheepishly. "I traded for it. I saw a huntsman with a deer and swapped him a new hunting knife for the haunch."

  "So what can we eat?" Lynet asked.

  Roger stopped his horse and looked pensively at Lynet for a moment. "I've been thinking about that, and I have an idea, but I'm not sure we can carry it off. Put your cloak on."

  "Why?"

  "I need to see if you can pass as a man or boy. We're lucky you're well built."

  Lynet, who had never been especially taken with her large frame, at least in comparison to her willowy older sister, muttered, "Oh yes, lucky." She put on her long traveling cloak and pulled the hood low over her face.

  Roger nodded slowly. "It might work; the cloak is long enough to cover your dress, too. All right, listen to me. About an hour from here, there's a secret camp. Only knights and their servants are permitted there, and no lady has ever seen it. There will be food there, and we can spend the night, but you have to promise me that you won't say a word or take off your hood."

  Lynet nodded, but she was puzzled. "Even if I pass as a boy, you're not a knight or a knight's servant," she pointed out.

  Roger blinked. "Oh, yes. Well, I used to be. I think they'll let us stay. They're good men, and generous."

  The dwarf seemed so confident that Lynet accepted his word without question. She was less certain, though, when they finally drew near to the camp, an hour later. They had for some time been riding through dense forest, and Lynet was hopelessly lost again.

  "What do you want?" a curt voice growled at them suddenly. Lynet jumped but did not make a sound.

  "Two travelers, seeking the Knight's Sabbath," Roger said calmly.

  "Your names?" came the voice again.

  "I am Roger the dwarf, lately servant to Sir Gaheris, who directed me here. I bring with me a young penitent. He is on pilgrimage to the shrine of Our Lady of Anglesey, where his family hopes his deafness may be healed."

  The voice became much friendlier. "Gaheris, eh? Come in, come in, Master Dwarf. We've been wondering about old Gary." Roger led Lynet out of the trees into a small clearing in the very heart of the forest. Several men lay sprawled around a large, cheerful fire. In the shadows near the trees were tethered some horses, and near the horses was a loose pile of armor.

  The man who had challenged them in the forest stepped into the light, and Lynet saw a clean-shaven young man with a bright, open face. "Hey, fellows, here's a dwarf who says he's been with Gaheris," he called.

  "Have you, now?" said a man with a thin brown beard and keen eyes. "You are fortunate to have served so skilled a knight. A very wizard with a sword, Sir Gaheris is."

  Roger bowed slightly. "Your worship must be thinking of a different Sir Gaheris, I'm afraid. The one I know has many gifts, of course, but his swordsmanship ... well, he could use practice."

  The knights gave a shout of laughter, and the one with the brown beard grinned broadly. "That's the chap, all right. Forgive me for testing you. Sit down, friend, and tell us how Gary's doing. Did he ever catch up to that cloth-headed brother of his?"

  "Has there still been no word from Sir Gareth?" Roger asked, clearly surprised. He frowned, then shrugged and sai
d, "I left Sir Gaheris several months ago, and I've heard nothing. I am now serving as guide to this deaf and dumb boy. Sir Gaheris had told me that should I ever need food and shelter, I would find both at the Knight's Sabbath. With your permission, I and my young charge will sit behind you and share your repast."

  The knight with the brown beard chuckled. "A most civil—and educated—dwarf it is! Who taught you to speak so gently? Gaheris?" Roger nodded, and the knight bowed deeply. "Well, sir, you are welcome to what bounty we have, for the love of your master."

  Soon Roger and Lynet, still hidden in her cloak, were positioned securely in the shadows away from the fire. At first, Lynet could concentrate on nothing but the plate of food the knights had given her, but when she was at last full, she began to listen to the knights' conversation.

  "Say, have we finished off all the boar?" a portly knight by the fire asked. "We need to send out our great hunter to fetch us another one. How about it, Blueberry?"

  A knight with a black beard belched loudly and said, "Anything you want, Saggy. But you have to promise to stay in camp, so I don't take you for a fine fat hog and spear you by mistake."

  The knights laughed, and the portly one sniffed. "By mistake is the only way you'll ever lay a spear on me, lad." The knights laughed again.

  Lynet leaned close to Roger and whispered, "Did they just call that knight 'Blueberry'?"

  Roger frowned at her to be silent, but a moment later he whispered, "His real name is Sir Bleoberis. The chubby one is Sir Sagramore the Desirous."

  '"The Desirous'?"

  "It's a joke," Roger explained. "There's no knight more contented than Sir Sagramore. Good knight, though, when he bestirs himself."

  "I'll lay you odds I unhorse you in the next tournament," Sir Bleoberis called to Sir Sagramore.

  "What? Is there a tournament coming? Heavens, I must make plans to be away," Sir Sagramore said with alarm. "Anyone hear of any great adventures I could be off to?"