"Are you ... are you a faery?" Lynet asked.
"But of course, my lady. You may call me Robin."
"Good evening, Robin. I want to thank you for helping me through the Red Knight's camp. I'm afraid I was very foolish."
"No more than any other mortal," said the little man with a laugh.
"But I've learned a little since then."
"Not as much as you're going to, Lynet. That's why you're here tonight."
"I beg your pardon?" asked Lynet.
"Can you not feel it? Tonight is a night for enchantments. And you, my lady, whether you know it or not, are going to learn about enchantment." Robin paused, but Lynet did not answer, so he continued. "Do you see the moon? The night of the half face is a night for good magic. Everything good is half light and half dark, you see. Come here, and look at this plant. This is called feverfew, a very useful herb indeed."
Robin sounded like a teacher beginning a class. "Why are you telling me these things?" she asked.
Robin's voice was serious when he answered. "Lynet, my dove, you are intended for much, and much is expected of you. But you have far to go first."
Lynet stepped closer. She felt so wide awake now that she wondered if she was dreaming, but she only said, "What do you do with feverfew?"
For an hour or perhaps two—time seemed elastic in the faery's presence—Robin told her about herbs and spells and charms and much more. Lynet listened intently, drawn by an innate interest as well as by the sense of awe that grew upon her at being tutored by a faery. At last Robin sent her away to get her rest, promised that she would see him again, and disappeared in a twinkling. Bemused, Lynet turned and walked slowly back toward bed.
Not twenty yards from the camp, however, near a small stream, Lynet heard a splash, followed by an unmistakable sigh. She stopped in her tracks and shrank into the shelter of a holly bush. A moment later, she heard another sigh. Cautiously, she peered around the shrubbery, then ducked back into its cover, surprised and embarrassed. Kneeling by a small pool was a tall, angular young man, naked but for a small cloth wrapped around his loins. His shoulders were broad and his arms were muscular, but he was stooped and weary-looking. He had reddish blond hair, cropped short over his face.
It was the young man's face that struck Lynet most forcefully, for even in her brief look she had seen an infinitely deep sadness. His shaded eyes and gaunt cheeks spoke of a sorrow greater than any such young man should have to know. She was about to take one more look when the sound of receding footsteps told her that the young man had left. She forced herself to wait quietly for ten long minutes, until she was sure he would be gone, then she hurried back to camp. Just before she wrapped up in her blankets to return to sleep—if indeed she had not been dreaming this whole time—she remembered why she had left the camp and looked quickly across at Roger's bed. The dwarf was there, sound asleep.
Breakfast the next morning was quiet. Beaumains never talked very much, Lynet was preoccupied with her cloudy memories of her nighttime visit with Robin and of the strange young man by the stream, and even Roger seemed unusually solemn. To make matters worse, breakfast itself was skimpy. On the packhorse that Sir Kai had brought, there had been a neat package of provisions, but traveling was hungry work, and they had finished off all but a few scraps at supper the night before. Lynet did not say anything, but remembering her hunger on the way to Camelot, she was not looking forward to the day's ride.
A few hours later, though, just as the first sharp pangs of hunger began to intrude on her thoughts, Lynet smelled a delicious aroma of seasoned meat over a fire. Riding over a small hill, she saw a slight figure in the neat garb of a squire kneeling over an open spit, turning the brown carcasses of three large rabbits.
"Hello, travelers. Come join my meal," the young man called.
"Blast!" Roger muttered.
"What's wrong, Roger?" asked Lynet.
"I know that fellow. That's Sir Gawain's squire, as uncanny a chap as you'll ever meet."
"Terence?" Lynet asked, with surprise and delight.
"Oh, you've met.'" Roger asked.
"Only briefly," Lynet said. "He seemed nice enough at court."
"Ay, he's nice enough. But he sees a sight more than most. If you've any secrets, you may as well tell him now and save yourself the bother." Again, Roger swore softly.
Beaumains reacted most strongly of all to Terence's sudden appearance. Beaumains had been carrying his helm loosely under one arm, but at Roger's words he quickly placed it on his head and lowered the visor over his face. "Woman! Dwarf! I command that thou revealest not my name to this lackey!"
Lynet did not care for being called "Woman!" and she resented still more being ordered about by Beaumains, but before she could retort, Roger said soothingly, "Nay, my lady. Don't fight useless battles." Turning to Beaumains, Roger said, "Calm down, Beau. We don't know your name, remember?"
Lynet hardly had time to wonder why Beaumains was so afraid of Terence, whom he must have seen hundreds of times at Camelot, when they were upon Terence's camp. "Hello, Squire Terence," Lynet said. "I am very glad to see you."
The squire's eyes laughed. "And so are your two friends, I perceive." Lynet glanced at Roger's glowering face and Beaumains's stiff and silent form, and she giggled. Terence continued. "The chap in armor is Beaumains, I suppose. And your other friend is?"
"This is my good friend Roger, who is guiding us on our journey," Lynet said. She wondered again why no one seemed to recognize Roger, while the dwarf seemed to know everything about everyone in Arthur's court.
Terence nodded a friendly greeting, then gestured behind him. "I don't suppose any of you are hungry, are you? I've just eaten, and I have these three rabbits on the broil."
"Exactly the right number," Lynet said musingly. "What a coincidence! And yes, I am famished. I would be delighted to—"
"We need none of your food, squire!" Beaumains said abruptly.
Lynet, who had already begun to dismount, stopped and stared. "What are you talking about, flickerwick? We're out of food! You know that."
"I'll not be beholden to this lackey!"
Lynet looked apologetically at Terence. "Don't mind him. I suppose manners are not taught to kitchen knaves." She looked back at Beaumains. "Tell you what. You stay there and pretend to be a knight, and I'll have something to eat. Roger?"
The dwarf's lips twisted in a lopsided smile. "I'd as soon be moving on myself, but that surely smells good." He dismounted.
The rabbit was very good. Lynet was amazed at how tender and succulent the meat was. Terence kindly explained to her which herbs to use for flavor, and she and Roger ate their fill while Beaumains sat aloofly on his horse at the edge of the trees.
When Lynet had eaten enough, she looked up at Terence, who was reclining patiently against a tree. "Squire Terence?"
"Yes, my lady."
"I don't believe that it was a coincidence—your being here with food just when we needed it."
Terence grinned. "Lady Eileen asked me to look in on you and see that you came to no harm. She took quite a fancy to you, you know."
Lynet smiled with pleasure. "Oh, I'm glad. I liked her too. But how did you know where to find us?"
Terence did not answer at first, and Lynet looked into his eyes. They lit with inner laughter, and one lid dropped in a quick wink. "An old friend told me. He ... ah ... saw your camp last night when he was gathering herbs in the moonlight."
Lynet smiled back. So this squire knew Robin. She felt suddenly warmed as she realized that she was surrounded by protectors who, for some reason, had chosen to care for her.
"Is your master with you?" asked Roger suddenly.
"Do you know my master, friend Roger?" Terence asked politely.
"Everyone's heard of Sir Gawain," Roger said, his face taut.
Terence looked curiously at Roger, to the dwarf's evident discomfort, but all he said was, "Nay. He's gone off alone on family business."
Trying to distract T
erence from his scrutiny of her friend, Lynet said hastily, "Something about his brothers, I think you said back at court?"
Terence looked away from Roger. "Ay, that's it. His youngest brother Gareth made a vow and rode off to fulfill it. Then another of his brothers, Gaheris, went off to find Gareth. Neither one's been heard of since. So Gawain's gone to look."
"Oh," Lynet said suddenly. "I've heard of Gaheris before, but I didn't know he was Gawain's brother. In fact—" Lynet remembered that Roger had served Gaheris and glanced at the dwarf, but Roger shook his head sharply. Lynet hesitated. "In fact, I heard a knight named Sir Dinadan speak of him. He did not seem to think that Gaheris was a very skilled knight."
"He was right," said Terence quietly, "but Gaheris is worth a dozen of Dinadan anyway." Lynet peeked at Roger, who was staring at Terence. The squire stood and stretched, like a cat. "Well, I know you questing ladies have to keep moving. Give this other rabbit to your champion, will you? He may be hungrier later. I'll be off now, but if you don't mind I'll check on you again."
"I'll look forward to it," Lynet said, smiling. And then Terence disappeared into the forest. Lynet looked at Roger, puzzled. "Why didn't Terence know you, Roger, if you used to serve this Gaheris?"
"I was only with him a short time on one of his journeys," the dwarf said.
"But still, you might have been able to tell him something that would help Sir Gawain find him."
Roger shook his head and said nothing.
"Cheery place, this," Roger commented. "Lovely spot for a funeral, I'd think."
They were traveling on a narrow path through the closest, darkest, most ominous-looking forest Lynet had ever seen. The sun was almost completely obscured, and ivy and mistletoe hung low over their heads. Then, as if the natural gloom were not enough, someone had hung long strips of black cloth over some of the branches, and they fluttered gently in the breath of wind that penetrated the trees. Lynet felt the darkness of the path as a chill in her heart.
"What's that?" she asked. On a low branch ahead of them hung something round and dark.
"Looks as though someone's hung a shield up there," Roger said, riding closer. "And there's a lance beside it. Both of them black, of course. Not very imaginative decorations around here. Old Griflet would be appalled."
At the thought of the brightly dressed courtier back at Camelot, Lynet's spirits lifted, and she allowed herself a smile.
"That's the dandy, my lady," Roger said softly. "Don't be cast down by someone's decorations. Any fool can paint a shield black. And look, just past the shield there's a clearing."
It was true; a gap in the trees ahead allowed in a bit more light. "Thank heaven," Lynet muttered.
"Who's there?" came a gruff shout. Lynet took a quick breath, and then they were out of the trees in the clearing, facing a large man in armor as black as coal.
Lynet could only stare, but Beaumains, who had been quiet all day, spoke. "We are travelers seeking a way through this forest."
The man in black smiled with a fierce delight. "A knight!" he exclaimed. "How splendid! Ready your armor for battle!"
Lynet shook off her wonder and said, "Oh for heaven's sake! Why should he? All we want is to pass through."
The Black Knight laughed harshly. "No one passes through here unless they pass through me. If you are a commoner, you pay me a toll. If you are a knight, you fight." He laughed again. "But if you fight, you do not pass. For here you die."
"What a stupid custom!" Lynet protested. "What good can it possibly do you to fight and kill strangers?"
The Black Knight frowned at her, then grinned. He was missing several teeth. "A spirited lady, now! You need taming! Is this knight by your side able to break you to halter as I could?"
Lynet felt suddenly cold inside as she looked into the leering eyes of the huge man, but she forced herself to be calm. "This? This is no knight! This is a kitchen boy who's put on someone else's armor. You'll gain no manly glory by fighting this one. Why don't you let us by and wait for someone more worthy of you?"
The knight stepped closer with an insolent swagger. "A kitchen boy, eh? I ought to thrash him for pretending to be his better. Well, if you have no knight to fight me, then you must pay a toll. I'll take the boy's armor and horse, of course." He paused. "And the lady."
Lynet gasped and edged backwards. From the corner of her eye, she saw Roger's hand steal back and rest on the haft of his sword, but then Beaumains spoke.
"You'll take no toll from us, cowardly knight! Either surrender your arms to me at once, or prepare to fight!"
The knight laughed coarsely. "Ho! A kitchen boy with grand ideas! Very well. I'd as soon kill the child first anyway." Turning toward Lynet he said, "Watch closely. Observe your new master, the Knight of the Black Woods."
Beaumains drew his sword and dismounted, and the battle began. It probably took no more than fifteen minutes, but to Lynet it seemed hours. The Black Knight was a skilled and experienced fighter, but every thrust, every attack that he made was somehow parried. Far faster than his opponent, Beaumains was everywhere, here slipping away from a heavy swing, there flashing a quick blow to an unprotected place on the Black Knight's armor. Some of these blows must have hit home, for soon Lynet saw smears of blood on the black iron. She could hear the Black Knight's labored breathing, but Beaumains was ominously silent. And then, leaping and swinging and turning all in one fluid movement, Beaumains reached through the Black Knight's defenses, rapping his helm so sharply that it fairly flew off his head and across the clearing. Bareheaded now, the Black Knight raised his sword again, refusing to yield. "Who are you?" he managed to gasp, just before Beaumains severed his head from his shoulders.
Lynet turned away from the gory scene, but her heart beat with an odd exhilaration, and she sighed in relief. Roger gently guided his horse between Lynet and the corpse, and he said simply, "Well done, Beau."
Beaumains removed his helm and brushed his fair hair away from his proud face. He looked at Lynet, a hint of challenge in his eyes, and Lynet swallowed. "Beaumains, I ... thank you. And I'm sorry. I've been a terrible shrew on this journey, I know, but ... I really didn't mean ... I didn't want you to be hurt, so I tried to talk people out of fighting you. I was protecting you, I thought, but now ... now you've protected me. Thank you."
Beaumains bowed to her with the grace of a true courtier, and Lynet's heart beat very fast indeed as she looked at the handsome warrior who had delivered her. Roger turned his back to them both and sat very quietly, looking into the dark woods.
VI. Knights in Many Pretty Colors
It was over an hour before they could resume their journey, because Beaumains had taken a liking to the Knight of the Black Woods's armor and had to trade it for the armor Sir Kai had given him. This took a while, since the armor was a bit messy and had to be cleaned. Lynet steadfastly looked the other way.
The delay gave Lynet time to regain her composure. From the moment that the Black Knight had threatened her until the moment that Beaumains struck off the knight's head, Lynet's heart had pounded with a potent mixture of fear and fascination. Her stammered apology and thanks to Beaumains had sprung from relief and from an odd shyness. When at last the three travelers were ready to continue, Lynet was outwardly calm, but suspecting that she would be too self-conscious riding beside her handsome defender, she chose to ride with Roger instead.
"Roger?" she asked quietly, after several minutes of silence.
"Mmm?"
"Beaumains is ... he's quite good with a sword, isn't he?"
Roger glanced at her quizzically, but only said, "One of the best."
The blunt statement took her by surprise. "Really?" she asked, lowering her voice even more.
"Ay. Gawain's better, of course, and Sir Lancelot—wherever he is. Tor could match him, I think, and maybe this Saracen chap, Sir Palomides, who's been in the south recently. Beyond that, I can't think of his equal." He turned in his saddle to look at Beaumains, who was dropping farther and farthe
r behind. "Stay in sight, Beau!" he called. "Don't want you to get lost!"
Lynet pondered the dwarf's words for a minute, then said, "He's more than just a kitchen knave, isn't he?"
Roger hesitated, but said at last, "Seems that way."
Eagerly, Lynet continued, "Do you think he's really a knight? In disguise?"
"What do you think, my lady?"
Lynet nodded quickly. "I think he is. I think he's really a famous knight who wanted to be unrecognized in Arthur's court. That would explain why he hid himself from Squire Terence. He was afraid that Terence would know him if he saw him without his beard and long hair." Lynet allowed herself a small smile. "He does look different now," she added dreamily.
Roger ignored this last comment. "Why wouldn't he want to be recognized?"
Lynet paused. "I don't know. Didn't he say something about a quest earlier? Maybe hiding his name is part of it. A vow or something."
"Sounds a bit loony, doesn't it?" Roger's voice was expressionless.
Part of Lynet rather agreed with Roger, but only a small part. "I wouldn't say that," she protested.
Roger sighed softly. "No, I didn't think you would."
"We can't judge him until we understand his motives," Lynet said stiffly.
"Very true," replied Roger. He turned again. "Come on, Beau!"
Beaumains had fallen behind again when at last Roger and Lynet rode out of the dark forest. The setting sun ahead of them gave an orange tint to the neat, carefully cultivated fields before them. On a small rise was a well-kept manor house. A man on horseback, evidently returning to the manor from a ride in the fields, stopped and stared at them.
"What ho, travelers!" he called. "You look tired!"
Lynet smiled at his open, friendly greeting. "We are, rather," she said.
"We don't get many wayfarers along here," the man said, riding closer. "Especially ladies. The forest is a bit much for most of them, I think. Dreadful place, wouldn't you say?"
The Savage Damsel and the Dwarf Page 6
