The Princess, the Crone, and the Dung-Cart Knight

by Gerald Morris

  Sarah stepped forward. "Well, I'm sorry if your brother gets angry at you, but I'm not going to let you lock me back up. You can come with me, or you can go back to bed, but I've got to go now."

  "Where?"

  "To find Jean."

  The girl's face was pale with terror and tight with indecision. Sarah gave up on her and walked around her, out the door, and into the hall. A moment later, though, Charis was at her elbow. "You'll need these," she said, producing a ring of heavy keys. "Come on. He's probably down this way."

  Together the two girls walked down the long hall, tapping on each door and calling for Jean in the loudest whisper they dared.

  "When I was small," Char is whispered between doors, "this was our guest wing. Father always had visitors, and this was the liveliest place in the castle."

  "And your brother turned it into a jail?"

  "He likes to have prisoners more than he likes to have guests."

  "Don't you have a real dungeon?"

  "Only a small one. And it's full right now."

  "Sir Kai and Queen Guinevere?" Sarah asked.

  "I suppose," Charis replied. "I've never seen them, though."

  As they came to the very last door, Sarah knew they had found it. Three drops of blood marked the stone just outside the latch. "Open this one," she said to Charis.

  Trembling but determined, Charis fumbled with the keys and began trying them. The fourth key turned, and Sarah pushed the door open. A huge shadow appeared from nowhere, gripped her roughly over the mouth and dragged her into the room. Charis, left standing in the hall, uttered a muffled squawk but didn't scream. Then the hand released her. "Sarah?" asked Jean's voice.

  "Yes, it's Sarah," she answered indignantly, rubbing her mouth with her hand. Her fingers came away wet and sticky. "Were you trying to kill me?"

  "I was, yes," Jean replied calmly. "Next time you rescue me, let me know it is you, please. If you hadn't been so small and light, I might not have realized who you were.

  Sarah dried her hand on the sleeve of her cloak and then rubbed the sleeve over her mouth. "Is your hand still bleeding?" she asked.

  "Yes, it will not heal. Good evening, my lady." This was evidently addressed to the shaking Charis. "Forgive me for startling you." Charis nodded wordlessly, and Jean added, "I perceive that we owe our deliverance to you. Allow me to offer you my thanks."

  "You're welcome," she said faintly.

  "Let's get away from this castle," Sarah said. "Charis, if you lock our doors and then go back to bed, maybe no one will know that you were the one who let us out. We can be miles away by morning."

  "But of course we are not leaving the castle," Jean said.

  "What?" Sarah asked.

  "We did not come here only to run away." Jean turned to Charis. "Forgive me for trespassing on your good nature, Lady—Charis, you say?—Lady Charis, could you conduct us to Sir Kai and the queen?"

  "They ... they're not on this wing," Charis said. "They're in the real dungeon. I can't get you in there. These are the spare keys that the groom of the chambers had when this was a guest hall, but only Meliagant has the keys to the dungeon."

  "Perhaps we shall think of something," Jean replied imperturbably. "Would you take us there?"

  Sarah could see Charis's fear surge. Evidently her humanitarian impulse to tend Sarah's injuries had not included giving aid to her dreaded brother's enemies. But to Sarah's surprise, the girl replied, almost in a whisper, "All right. Follow me. I'll take you by an old hall that no one uses now."

  It was a long and circuitous route through more dark passageways than Sarah would have thought one castle could have, but Charis never hesitated at any turning. At last she slowed and pointed down a long stairway. "The dungeons are down there."

  "Thank you, Lady Charis," Jean said. "Do you know if there are guards?"

  "No guards," she replied at once. "My brother doesn't want guards to overhear his interviews with the queen. He believes that she will fall in love with him in time."

  "Your brother? Meliagant?"

  "Yes."

  Jean rested his hand on Charis's shoulder. "Why then, this is an act of greater courage than I had thought, Lady Charis. I'm glad to see that I was right about you."

  "Right about me?" Charis stammered.

  "Yes. I felt sure, back in the throne room, that you were not as indifferent to what was going on as you let on, nor so empty-headed."

  Even in the faint light of the candle, Sarah could tell that Charis was blushing, but the girl only said, "It isn't hard to fool my brother. He thinks all women are weak and stupid anyway. I mean, honestly, can you imagine a worse way to make a woman love you than to lock her up in a dungeon? But he thinks we're all fools."

  "It is, perhaps, what will be his undoing," Jean replied. "Come, Sarah. Let us go find our friends."

  "Wait," Charis said. "My brother comes to see the queen often, even at night. You take the candle, and I'll wait here and watch. If I hear him coming, I'll throw something down the stairs as a warning." Sarah noticed that Charis's voice hardly trembled at all now.

  Jean gripped her shoulder again, then took the light and led Sarah down the long, dark stairs. Sarah counted forty-eight steps before they reached the bottom and found themselves in a small room, only slightly larger than Sarah's bedchamber cell. Before them was a row of thick iron bars, set into the stone floor and ceiling, and behind the bars was a single cell with two pallet beds in it. Both beds were occupied.

  "My lord," said a woman's voice from one of the beds, "it is hard for me to imagine that I might grow to hate you even more than I do, but if you persist in disturbing my sleep, I feel sure that I shall learn to do so."

  "You must forgive me, your highness," Jean said. His voice sounded almost amused. "I was not free to visit earlier."

  The figures on both beds stirred, and one of them sat upright. "Am I dreaming?" asked the woman's voice.

  "No, Guinevere," Jean said.

  "Lance?" she whispered. "Is it you?"

  Sarah remembered with a shock what Jean had told them back at the hermit's cottage, how he and the queen had had a love affair before he left the court.

  "It is I," Jean said. Immediately, the queen leaped from her bed and ran to the bars. "I've come to set you free," Jean said.

  The queen's eyes glowed in the candlelight, but at Jean's words her face tightened, and she took a small step back. "And then?"

  "And then return you to your husband," Jean said gently.

  "Yes," the queen said. "To Arthur. Have you seen him? Is he coming?"

  "I have not seen him, no," Jean replied. "I hope to see him soon, though, when I bring you home. You are well?"

  "Yes. Hungry and cold, but I'm not hurt. Oh, but Lance, I'm so worried about Kai."

  A rumbling voice rose from the other bed in the cell. "Lancelot, is it? I might have known. Every time I get myself in a dungeon you come along and get me out of it."

  "Quite like old times, is it not, Sir Kai?" Jean replied.

  Sir Kai began to push himself up from the bed, and Queen Guinevere ran over to him. "Be careful, Kai, you'll start the bleeding again."

  The knight grunted. "Too late."

  Sarah, who had been in Jean's shadow, stepped up to the bars and asked, "Is it the wound in your hip, Sir Kai? The one from the woods?"

  Both the queen and Sir Kai looked quickly around, and then Sarah saw the glint of a smile on Sir Kai's face. "Is that you, Sarah?"

  "It's me," Sarah said.

  "The girl from the woods!" the queen exclaimed. "Sarah! Kai said that you would bring help, but I didn't believe it."

  "I'm not usually wrong about people," Sir Kai said. He glanced at Jean and said, "I was wrong about you once, Frenchman, but I learned my mistake. I was sure I was right about Sarah here, though—as soon as I saw her I thought, 'There's one who will stand fast.' And here you are."

  "You were more right than you knew," Jean said. "When I tell you what she has done, you will be ama
zed. But we shall have time for this later. Now we must get you out of here."

  "But, Lance," the queen said, "that's what I started to tell you. I'm not sure that we can move Kai. That wound in his hip, it just won't heal. He's lost so much blood, I'm afraid it will kill him to travel. Have you horses ready?"

  Jean shook his head.

  "And do you have the keys to open the door here?" Sir Kai added. Sarah looked inquiringly at Jean. She had been wondering about that, too.

  "No," Jean said. "But I fancy we won't need them." He smiled at Sarah. "Don't you think that your sword will cut through these bars?"

  Sarah's heart sank, and her stomach felt like lead. "Oh, Jean," she said. "I forgot to bring it." Jean stared at her blankly. "I still have it," Sarah added quickly. "It's hidden in my room, like you told me."

  "Oh," Jean said.

  "Look here," Sir Kai said. "You couldn't cut through these bars with a sword anyway, not even that sword of Trebuchet's."

  "Perhaps you don't know all the power of that sword," Jean said. "We should not be here at all if it were not for that blade. As for cutting through bars, I've seen Sarah slice right through a sword and armor and a knight's neck in one blow with that weapon."

  The queen gasped, but Sir Kai only said, "You did, eh? Was it the fellow you were looking for, child?"

  "Yes," Sarah said softly.

  "Did it help?" Sir Kai asked.

  "No."

  "You shall have to tell me about it another time," Sir Kai said. "Right through sword and armor, you say? Trebuchet did say that it was no ordinary sword. Well, you'll have to go back and get it, won't you? You won't budge these bars by pulling on them."

  "Have you tried?" Jean asked suddenly. "I have known of places where bars have seemed strong but were really rotten with rust." He handed the candle to Sarah, then gripped two bars and gave them a mighty pull. Nothing happened, and after straining for a moment, Jean let go and stepped back. Sarah saw blood welling from the gash on his palm.

  "Lance!" Guinevere exclaimed. "Your hand!"

  "These bars won't budge," Jean said.

  "Stay there!" the queen commanded. She hurried across to her bed and grabbed the one thin blanket that lay on it. "Put your hand through the bars," she said imperiously. Jean did, and she wrapped the blanket tightly around his wound. "There. Now keep your hand above your head until it stops bleeding."

  Jean removed the blanket and handed it back to her. "It won't help," he said. "My wound, like Kai's, will not heal."

  A sudden rattling noise came from the stairs. "Jean!" Sarah said. "It's Charis. Someone's coming."

  Jean compressed his lips, then nodded curtly. "Very well," he said. "Goodbye, my queen. We shall come back soon. Come, Sarah. Run!" Then Jean took her hand in his and all but dragged her up the forty-eight stairs, taking three and sometimes four at a time. The candle went out halfway up, but Jean's feet never missed a step. They arrived at the top just in time to grab the trembling Charis, retreat down the hall, and hide. Sarah could hear footsteps approaching just around a corner, and she fought to keep from gasping too loudly for air. The steps rounded the corner, and the hallway before them was washed in bright torchlight, but the three were pressed into a recess in the wall and the person with the torch—Sir Meliagant, she supposed—did not see them. He began down the dungeon stairs, and she and Jean began to gulp air.

  "Did you find them?" Charis asked. Her voice was quiet but it didn't shake.

  "You waited for us," Jean said.

  "I couldn't just leave you. I thought I might stop my brother and delay him or something."

  "Here is another one who will stand fast—like you, Sarah," Jean said approvingly. "Yes, we found them, but we were not able to free them this time. We must get back to our rooms to retrieve something. Do you think that you could come let us out again tomorrow night?"

  "Of course," Charis said. "I've been thinking about that. Since you are not wounded like Sir Kai, my father might expect you to join him for breakfast. If he forgets, I can do my brainless-girl act and remind him. Maybe I can get you free before night falls. Now, you'd better follow me."

  For the third time, Sarah was awakened by sounds from the door to her cell. She looked up. Daylight streamed through the slits in the wall, revealing three armed guards waiting for her. "Get up," one said gruffly, pointing a spear at her. "The king wants you down for breakfast."

  Out in the hall, more guards waited, along with archers with arrows pointed at Jean. They all looked grim and menacing. "Good morning, Lady Sarah," Jean said. "These courtiers have come to conduct us to breakfast."

  "Courtiers?" Sarah repeated.

  "But of course! Can you not tell by their fine clothes and manners? Indeed, the hospitality of this château surpasses anything I have ever seen! To send so many fine lords to escort us to breakfast! Why, I barely had time to scramble into my velvet morning clothes! And how about you? Had you time to dress?"

  Sarah stared. Jean was wearing the same tattered and bloodstained leather jerkin he had worn the night before. "Yes, of course," she said faintly. "I'm dressed."

  Jean smiled at her. "And what about your necklace? You know, the necklace that Sir Kai gave you. Are you wearing it?"

  Sarah swallowed. There had been no time to get the sword. "No," she said. "I didn't have time." She whirled around and said to the guard who had awakened her, "Please, could I go back in my room for a moment?"

  "We've no time for foolishness," the guard said. "Move along."

  They walked together down the hall, both moving stiffly. Evidently crossing the Sword Bridge had used every muscle in Sarah's body, because they all hurt this morning. Before long, they came to a brightly decorated room where King Bagdemagus and Charis sat at one end of a long table covered with cakes and bread and sausages and other food. Sarah realized suddenly how starved she was. Charis smiled at Sarah, and the king rose to his feet. "Welcome, friends!" His brow clouded. "I say, had you no time to change your clothes before coming downstairs?"

  Jean bowed in his smoothest courtly manner and replied at once, "But of course I did! Do you like my jerkin? Don't you think 'tis marvelously done? I daresay, since you have not been to court for several months, you have not seen the latest fashion?"

  The king's eyes widened. "The latest fashion?" he whispered.

  "Yes. Is it not marvelously droll? All the court now is dressing in rustic clothes and playing shepherds and shepherdesses. I had my own seamstress snip each of these cuts in the jerkin and paint them with crust of rubies—as if I had been defending the sheep from wolves, you see."

  "Crust of rubies?" the king repeated.

  "To look like blood. It was frightfully expensive, but I said, 'Spare no cost! If a man is out of fashion, he may as well be dead!'"

  King Bagdemagus cast a self-conscious look at his own rich silk doublet. "They even wear these clothes to breakfast?" he asked.

  "It is permitted," Jean replied promptly, "but the finest of all the courtiers continue to wear silk in the morning—as you do. Indeed, I realize now that I am being absurd, telling the famous King Bagdemagus about the current fashions! Of course you already know all this, do you not?"

  "Of course, of course," the king said hastily. He returned to his seat, his mind clearly preoccupied with matters of fashion.

  Sarah sat beside Charis, who leaned over and whispered, "That was brilliant! Except now poor Father will spend the rest of his day hunting up shepherd's clothes to wear to dinner. Cutting holes in them, too."

  Sarah grinned. It was clever of Jean. Yesterday, the king had seemed most struck by Sir Meliagant's comments on the poor condition of the travelers' clothes. Now Jean had taken that ground away and convinced the incredibly convincible Bagdemagus that it was they who were in fashion. She leaned over to Charis. "Where's your brother?" she asked.

  "I haven't seen him yet," Charis replied in a low voice. "It's how I was able to convince Father so easily to bring you down. Unfortunately, the guards he sent are loyal
to Meliagant, which is why they had all those weapons pointing at you."

  Sarah began to eat, forcing herself not to bolt her food. Jean sat beside King Bagdemagus and made bright and utterly vacuous conversation with him about fashion and courtly customs. She heard him explaining in detail how long it took him before the mirror to obtain the modish "wild-and-unwashed-hair-and-beard" look that was so necessary for one who wished to be considered au courant, which Sarah guessed meant "in fashion." Twice Charis was seized with muted fits of giggles, and even Sarah smiled several times. She was afraid that Jean was overdoing it, but the king only nodded sagely, committing all of Jean's imaginary lunatic fashions to memory.

  Then the door slammed open, and a furious Sir Meliagant burst into the breakfast room. He held a bundle of cloth in one hand and had begun to snarl something when he saw Jean and Sarah and stopped. His color rose another level, and he demanded, "What are they doing here?"

  King Bagdemagus quailed under his son's fiery glare. "But they are our guests, are they not? I ... invited them to breakfast. Should I not have?"

  Sir Meliagant turned a baleful glare at his father, and Charis immediately said, in a chirpy, empty-headed voice, "Oh, it was my idea! I thought it would be so delightful to have us all together for breakfast. I don't know how I remembered that we had visitors, for of course we don't in the usual way, but I did, which I think was very clever of me, don't you, dear brother?"

  Sir Meliagant turned his eyes from the king to Charis, and Sarah read scornful dislike in them, but Charis had been successful in defusing her brother's initial fury—or at least deflecting it from her father. "Well, we shall have to see to our visitors another time," he said menacingly. "As for now, we have a more pressing matter. Look at this!"

  He held out the bundle of cloth, a thin woolen blanket with dark stains all over it. King Bagdemagus peered at it distastefully, then perked up suddenly and glanced at Jean. "I say, do you think that would make a good shepherd's robe?"

  "This," Sir Meliagant announced furiously, "is Queen Guinevere's blanket!"