IV
The Dung-Cart Knight
Nobody stirred all night while Sarah kept vigil by the fire, so it appeared that the crone's magic sleeping powder had worked. This was good, but it gave Sarah much to consider. Mordecai had always been deeply scornful of the magicians and fortunetellers they encountered at market and fairs, had always been so certain that their magic was false, intended to snare the gullible, but was it possible that magic could be real? Could Mordecai have been wrong?
Well, he'd been partly right, anyway. Sarah glanced across their dying fire to where Adrian the Pardoner slept in his own camp. That one was a fraud, at least, who claimed to be religious but who cared for nothing but money. When he had seen Sarah's crystal bottle, he had not noticed its beauty or showed the slightest curiosity about the contents of such a vessel, but had seen only how much money he might make from it. Sarah didn't know what was in the bottle, either, but she loved the vial for the unearthly beauty of the crystal almost as much as for the memories of her mother that it evoked.
The next morning, after a light breakfast of day-old bread, Sarah was back in the saddle for a fourth day. Still pondering the question of magic, she guided her horse beside Terence's. "Sir—" she began.
"Just Terence, my lady. I'm not really so grand."
"Neither am I," Sarah replied at once, "so you can call me Sarah."
"As you wish," Terence said, meeting her glance. His eyes were pleasant but, as always, disturbingly acute, and Sarah looked away.
"I've been thinking about what we discussed yesterday," Sarah said. "About magic and faeries and witches and all that."
"Yes?"
"I don't know what to believe," Sarah admitted.
"Yesterday you seemed to know exactly what to believe," Terence commented. "Why this sudden doubt?"
"I've just been thinking some more," Sarah said.
"Is that all? I thought it might have something to do with your visitor last night," Terence said. His voice was low enough that no one else could hear.
Sarah's eyes widened. "What visitor?" she said immediately. Terence looked amused, and Sarah guessed it had been silly to act dumb. "So you saw her?"
"Yes, Sarah."
Sarah thought for a moment. "But she said she had sprinkled some sleeping powder over everyone, so no one would awake." Terence said nothing. Still thinking aloud, Sarah added, "But she also said that she wasn't sure it would work on you."
"Your visitor knows me, then?"
"I suppose so. She said, 'One doesn't put sleeping powder on someone like that.' What did she mean? What's different about you?"
Terence ignored her question, but he leaned close and lowered his voice even more. "Am I right in thinking that your visitor last night was the crone who led you to Belrepeire?"
Sarah nodded. "Do you know her?"
"Perhaps. I'd have to meet her face to face to be sure."
"Why didn't you get up and talk to her last night, then?"
"She looked as if she had a message for you, and I didn't want to keep her from giving it." He smiled. "On a quest like this, any help we get is welcome. Was I right?"
"About what?"
"Did she have any instructions for us?"
Sarah hesitated. The crone's instructions had been for Sarah, concerning her own search for the knight of the fires. She had said little about the quest for Sir Kai and the queen. "Not much," Sarah said at last. "All she said was that once we get to the place where they were captured, we're to go east. And she said I'm to go with you."
Terence frowned and looked displeased. "I was planning to return you to your family," he said. "I expect this journey will be dangerous."
Sarah let the "family" comment pass; she didn't want to explain anything she didn't have to. "But if the crone said I was to stay with you, you have to let me stay, don't you?"
"Not necessarily," Terence replied. "If this woman is who I think she is, she's as likely to mean mischief as good."
"You mean because she's a witch?" Sarah asked.
"No, because she's the sort of witch that she is," Terence replied. "Besides, I imagine she would prefer 'enchantress."'
This brought Sarah back to the question she had started with. "So are there really enchantresses? Who really do magic?"
Terence's eyes showed nothing. "There certainly are in the stories," he said. And that was all Sarah could get from him.
Twenty minutes later they met a knight, on foot. He was soaking wet, and three brightly dyed feathers that once must have waved jauntily above his head were stuck to the side of his helm like drying plaster. One of the feathers, crimson in color, had bled dye in a pinkish line down onto the knight's shoulders. As their little cavalcade approached, the walking knight removed his helm and stared at them. "Gawain?"
"Good morning, Griflet. You've ... um ... been bathing?"
The knight took a deep, indignant breath. "That cursed Millpond Knight!" Then, catching a glimpse of Adrian the Pardoner riding along behind the others, the knight exclaimed, "You! You said that I should never be unhorsed!"
Sir Gawain raised his eyebrows. "You've been unhorsed, Griflet?"
"Yes! And this Millpond churl makes you joust on a bridge without railings, so if you fall you go right into the millpond, drat it! And me in silk undergarments, too! It's the outside of enough, I can tell you!"
"But how could you be unhorsed?" Sir Gawain asked. "Didn't you give your horse away?"
"The demmed fellow keeps a stable full of spares!" the knight said. "If I'd known that, I never would have ... I thought without a horse I should be able to make the fellow fight with swords. You may have noticed, Sir Gawain, that my swordplay is somewhat superior to my jousting."
"I suppose it would have to be," Sir Gawain murmured, his face a picture of polite concern.
The knight cast a suspicious glance at him, then continued. "As I said, though, the chap has his own stable, and he lent me a horse. He even said he'd give me the horse afterward if I defeated him, sort of a wager, because he was a gambler at heart."
"Doesn't seem that much of a gamble," Sir Gawain said meditatively. The knight squinted at him again, and Sir Gawain added, "On account of his having several horses, I mean."
"So, of course, I accepted, because that man—that man there!—said that I could never be unhorsed!" He pointed at Adrian.
The pardoner lifted his chin and looked down his nose at the wet knight. "When I said that, I thought that you were a man of faith. As the Holy Word says, if you have faith like mustard, you shall move mountains! You must not have had enough faith. It is your own fault."
"Faith like mustard?" Terence murmured.
"That means," Adrian explained knowledgeably, "that your faith is to be sharp enough that you snort with courage."
"A ... a spicy mustard, then," Terence said.
"Snort!" the damp knight said indignantly. "I would never do so crude a thing!"
"That's hardly my problem, is it?" the pardoner replied.
The knight that Sir Gawain had called Griflet turned away from Adrian. "Gawain, that man is riding my horse! Make him give it back to me so I can return to court!"
Sir Gawain raised his eyebrows. "But you sold that horse for your magic bone."
"Yes, but it didn't work!"
"I'm sorry, Griflet. A deal is a deal."
"Then how am I to get home?"
Sir Gawain said, "Do you have any money? Perhaps this fellow at the pond might sell you one of his spare horses."
The knight didn't seem to like this suggestion. "Couldn't you fight him? You could knock him in his own pond, and then I could take his horse."
"No," Sir Gawain said. "I'm on a real quest. I don't have time to go bashing knights into ponds."
"You couldn't unhorse the Millpond Knight, anyway," Adrian said suddenly.
Sir Gawain looked at him curiously. "Why couldn't I?... Wait, don't tell me. You sold him a bone, too."
Adrian nodded, and Sir Griflet turned bright red.
"You sold that fellow one of Saint Christopher's toe bones? That fellow?"
Sir Gawain looked intrigued. "If they both had one of your magic bones, how could either of them unhorse the other?"
Adrian lifted his nose slightly. "As I said, clearly the Millpond Knight has more faith. Also, I think his bone was bigger."
"His bone was bigger?" Sir Griflet gasped, outraged. "That's not fair! I want a bigger bone!"
The pardoner considered this. "As it happens, I do have one more bone, the largest of all—"
"Milord?" Terence said, interrupting the pardoner's speech with his quiet voice. "We're wasting time."
Sir Gawain nodded, but said, "Yes, but I do feel bad leaving poor Griflet afoot like this. It's a long walk to Camelot."
"Here's a plan!" Sir Griflet said suddenly. "Why don't you joust with this Millpond Knight, and if you unhorse him, then this pardoner fellow has to give me back my own horse."
"What?" Adrian asked. "Don't be silly!"
"Don't you believe in your own toe bones?" Sir Griflet asked slyly.
Sir Gawain almost smiled. "It's a good thought, Griflet, but I really can't take the time to go all the way to some—"
"You won't have to!" the knight shouted triumphantly. "Because here he comes now." All of them looked where the knight was pointing and saw a knight in brightly festooned armor riding toward them. Sir Griflet turned cunning eyes toward Adrian. "Do you believe in your bones or not?"
"Yes, of course, I—"
"Then you think that they'll protect him now?"
"Of course they will!"
"So if he's knocked off, you'll give me my horse back?"
Adrian swallowed, but at last nodded reluctantly.
"Who goes there?" the approaching knight boomed at them as he rode his horse right into their midst and stopped. "More food for my fishes, I'll be bound!"
"We're just passing through," Sir Gawain said.
"No one passes through unless they joust with me," the new knight declared.
"Why not?" Sir Gawain asked. "We're not bothering you."
"Afraid, are you?" the new knight boomed. He wore the visor down on his helm, and his voice echoed metallically inside it.
"Not likely," Sir Griflet said smugly. "This is Sir Gawain."
The Millpond Knight took a sharp breath and seemed to cringe backward slightly. Sir Gawain turned toward Sir Griflet. "I told you, Griflet, I'm not fighting this fellow for you."
Evidently the Millpond Knight felt he should have an edge in a fight with someone like Sir Gawain. As soon as Sir Gawain looked away, the Millpond Knight went for his sword. Sarah saw him grab his sword hilt and, without really thinking what she was doing, drew her own sword from its place on her saddle. Her blade seemed to spring into her hand, and it came free at the same moment as the knight's. The Millpond Knight swung his sword toward Sir Gawain's bare head, and Sarah's sword came up just in time to meet his stroke. The swords clanged together, and Sarah quickly drew her sword back and swung again. From the corner of her eye, Sarah saw Sir Gawain's sword appear, but he didn't need it. Her second stroke was given off-balance and seemed really quite feeble to Sarah, but when it hit the Millpond Knight in the breastplate he reeled back and tumbled from his horse. He landed with a clank, still holding his sword, though it was bent at a sharp angle where Sarah's sword had hit it.
"Good Gog, Sarah," Sir Gawain said, staring. "You bent his sword."
"And unhorsed him!" Sir Griflet crowed. "I'll take my horse back now!"
The Millpond Knight rose shakily to his feet, threw down his ruined sword, and rushed forward, but not toward Sarah or Sir Gawain. His eyes were on the pardoner. "You said I could never be unhorsed!" he shouted, grabbing Adrian and dragging him from the saddle. "You said that toe bone would make me invincible!"
Sir Griflet's shrill voice chimed in. "Give me my horse!"
A hand touched Sarah's elbow. It was Terence. "Shall we leave them to sort this out? We've spent too much time here already." Without waiting for a reply, Terence rode ahead, with Sarah and Sir Gawain behind him. Terence set a brisk pace, but even so it was several minutes before the sound of the Millpond Knight's angry shouts, Sir Griflet's crows of triumph, and Adrian's bleating protests died away completely.
"I must thank you, Sarah," Sir Gawain said, guiding his horse close to her. "Your quick parry of that knight's attack may have saved my life."
"You're welcome, Sir Gawain."
"You may as well just call me Gawain," the knight said. "Courtly titles seem sort of silly and pointless once you're away from court. It's one of the best reasons to leave the court, in fact."
"If you like," Sarah replied doubtfully. She wasn't sure she could call a grown man, and a knight at that, by his familiar name.
"But I'm not only grateful," Gawain continued. "I'm curious. I have seen swords bent before, but only by extraordinarily mighty blows. Either you are rather stronger than you look, or else something very odd is going on. How did you do that?"
"I don't know," Sarah admitted.
"Did Kai say anything about your sword when he gave it to you?"
"He said I should use two hands when I swung, because it would give me more control."
"Oh," Gawain said. "Good advice, no doubt, but hardly an explanation. Did, ah, did you spar with your sword when he was teaching you to use it?"
"Oh, no," she said. "After he taught me to draw the sword and how to hold it, we practiced with sticks."
"So was this the first time you've ever used your sword?"
Sarah hesitated. "No, there was one other time. At Belrepeire, the guard at the gate was being rude, and so I drew the sword to show him I was serious."
Gawain's lips twitched. "And did he grasp your meaning?"
Sarah shook her head. "Not at first. He laughed at me, then picked up a big spear with an axe at the end."
"A halberd," Gawain said. "So what did you do?"
"He made me angry," Sarah explained. "I could see he wasn't going to give me any help, so I swung the sword and hit the ... the halberd thing on the wooden part, just below his hands. To show him I was in earnest, you see."
"I hope he caught on this time," Gawain said.
Sarah nodded. "Yes, this time he did."
"A gentleman of discernment. What did he do?"
"He fell down."
"Fell down?"
"You see," Sarah explained, "he was leaning on his spear, and when I hit it, I cut it in two."
Gawain was silent for a few seconds. "May I see your sword?" he asked.
Sarah drew the weapon and allowed him to examine it. After a minute, Gawain returned it, his expression reverent. "Trebuchet," he said to Terence. The squire nodded and glanced curiously at Sarah. Gawain's face grew somber. "I do not know what magic Trebuchet forged into this steel, but it is stronger than any of us know. Use it wisely, Sarah, and carefully. Remember that the sword that can cut through the shaft of a halberd can as easily cut through a man's arm."
Sarah had not considered that, and the thought that she might have cut off the castle guard's hands was sobering. He had been a surly fellow, in need of a lesson, but losing a hand for rudeness might have been a bit extreme. She replaced the sword in its sheath, eyeing it with awe—and with satisfaction. When she found the knight of the fires, she would be ready.
During the morning of their third day of riding, Sarah began recognizing landmarks in the forest, and before long she found the little meadow where Sir Kai and the queen had been captured. Terence slipped off his horse and began to examine the clearing, and Gawain turned to Sarah. "Which direction did they take?"
Sarah pointed. "That way. East."
Gawain nodded and muttered to himself, "That would have been almost six full days ago now, but perhaps we can catch up. Kai's wounds would have slowed them down."
Sarah made a sour face. "I don't think that Sir Meliagant would have slowed down for Sir Kai's benefit."
Gawain's face grew still, and Terence stopped looking
at the field and turned back to stare at Sarah. "What did you say?" Gawain asked.
"Remember that he was going to kill Sir Kai anyway," Sarah said. "So why would he be careful about—?"
"Sir Meliagant?" Terence said. "You've never mentioned the knight's name before."
"Oh," Sarah said. "I ... well, I didn't know it when I told the king."
Gawain looked confused, but Terence nodded. "Your visitor the other night told you," he said slowly. He looked at Gawain. "You think it's Bagdemagus's son?"
"It would be too much of a coincidence not to be," Gawain said. "What visitor the other night?"
"The crone who helped Sarah at the start of the journey," Terence said. "She came back and talked with Sarah again a couple of nights ago."
"Did she, then? And what else did she say?" Gawain asked Sarah.
"Only that we were to go east, and I was supposed to stay with you."
Gawain frowned. "Stay with us? Why?"
Sarah shrugged vaguely and said, "Who is Sir Meliagant?"
Gawain pursed his lips. "Do you remember when Bedivere was telling Piers about all that was going on, he said that some of Arthur's knights had disappeared?"
"Yes."
"Well, it's actually a bit odder than that. Not only knights but their castles and lands have gone, too."
"How does a castle disappear?" Sarah demanded skeptically.
"I said it was odd, didn't I? The most puzzling disappearance is that of King Bagdemagus. He is one of Arthur's sworn bondsmen and has been a knight of the Round Table from the very beginning, but he's also the ruler of the Kingdom of Logres, in the heart of England. A few months ago, Bagdemagus was absent from a ... a court event that he never misses."
The Princess, the Crone, and the Dung-Cart Knight Page 6
