The Buried Giant

by Kazuo Ishiguro

“What you say rings true, and yet it still seems to me a curious wonder,” Wistan said. “Master Axl, do you not feel it a remarkable thing, how Arthur has united this country?”

  “Master Wistan, once again,” Beatrice exclaimed, “who do you take my husband to be? He knows nothing, sir, of the wars!”

  But suddenly no one was listening any more, for Edwin, who had drifted back to the road, was now shouting, and then came the beating of rapidly approaching hooves. Later when he thought back to it, it occurred to Axl that Wistan must indeed have become preoccupied with his curious speculations about the past, for the usually alert warrior had barely risen to his feet as the rider turned into the clearing, then slowing the horse with admirable control, came trotting towards the great oak.

  Axl recognised immediately the tall, grey-haired soldier who had spoken courteously to Beatrice at the bridge. The man still wore a faint smile, but was approaching them with his sword drawn, though pointed downwards, the hilt resting on the edge of the saddle. He came to a halt where just a few more of the animal’s strides would have brought him to the tree. “Good day, Sir Gawain,” he said, bowing his head a little.

  The old knight gazed up contemptuously from where he sat. “What do you mean by this, sir, arriving here sword unsheathed?”

  “Forgive me, Sir Gawain. I wish only to question these companions of yours.” He looked down at Wistan, who had again let his jaw drop slackly, and was giggling to himself. Without taking his eyes off the warrior, the soldier shouted: “Boy, move that horse no closer!” For indeed, behind him, Edwin had been approaching with Wistan’s mare. “Hear me, lad! Let go the rein and come stand here before me beside your idiot brother. I’m waiting, lad.”

  Edwin appeared to comprehend the soldier’s wishes, if not his actual words, for he left the mare and came to join Wistan. As he did so, the soldier adjusted slightly the position of his horse. Axl, noticing this, understood immediately that the soldier was maintaining a particular angle and distance between himself and his charges that would give him the greatest advantage in the event of sudden conflict. Before, with Wistan standing where he was, the head and neck of the soldier’s own horse would momentarily have obstructed his first swing of the sword, giving Wistan vital time either to unsettle the horse, or run to its blind side, where the sword’s reach was diminished in scope and power by having to be brought across the body. But now the small adjusting of the horse had made it practically suicidal for an unarmed man, as Wistan was, to storm the rider. The soldier’s new position seemed also to have taken expert account of Wistan’s mare, loose some distance behind the soldier’s back. Wistan was now unable to run for his horse without describing a wide curve to avoid the sword side of the rider, making it a near-certainty he would be run through from behind before reaching his destination.

  Axl noted all this with a sense of admiration for the soldier’s strategic skill, as well as dismay at its implications. There had been a time when Axl, too, had once nudged his horse forward, in another small but subtly vital manoeuvre, bringing himself in line with a fellow rider. What had he been doing that day? The two of them, he and the other rider, had been waiting on horseback, staring out across a vast grey moor. Until that moment his companion’s horse had been in front, for Axl remembered its tail flicking and swaying before him, and wondering how much of this action was due to the animal’s reflexes, and how much to the fierce wind sweeping across the empty land.

  Axl pushed these puzzling thoughts away as he struggled to his feet, then helped up his wife. Sir Gawain remained seated, apparently stuck to the foot of the oak, glowering at the newcomer. Then he said quietly to Axl: “Sir, help me rise.”

  It took both Axl and Beatrice, one on each arm, to bring the old knight to his feet, but when finally he straightened to his full height in his armour and pulled back his shoulders, he was an impressive sight. But Sir Gawain seemed content to stare moodily at the soldier, and eventually it was Axl who spoke.

  “Why do you come upon us like this, sir, and we but simple wayfarers? Do you not remember how you quizzed us not an hour before by the waterfall?”

  “I recall you well, uncle,” the grey-haired soldier said. “Though when we last met a strange spell had fallen on us guarding the bridge that we forgot our very purpose being there. Only now, my post relieved and riding to our camp, it all suddenly returns to me. Then I thought of you, uncle, and your party slipping past, and turned my horse to hurry after you. Boy! Don’t wander, I say! Remain beside your idiot brother!”

  Edwin sulkily returned to Wistan’s side and looked enquiringly at the warrior. The latter was still giggling quietly, a line of saliva spilling from one corner of his mouth. His eyes were roaming wildly, but Axl guessed the warrior was in fact taking careful measure of the distance to his own horse, and the proximity of his opponent, and in all probability coming to the same conclusions as Axl’s.

  “Sir Gawain,” Axl whispered. “If there’s to be trouble now, I beg you assist me to defend my good wife here.”

  “I’ll do so on my honour, sir. Rest assured of it.”

  Axl nodded gratefully, but now the grey-haired soldier was dismounting. Again Axl found himself admiring the skilful way he did this, so that when finally he stood to face Wistan and the boy, he was once more at exactly the correct distance and angle to them; his sword, moreover, was carried so as not to exhaust his arm, while his horse shielded him from any unexpected assault from the rear.

  “I’ll tell you what slipped our mind when we last met, uncle. We’d just received word of a Saxon warrior left a nearby village bringing with him a wounded lad.” The soldier nodded at Edwin. “A lad the age of that one there. Now, uncle, I don’t know what you and the good woman here are to this matter. I seek only this Saxon and his lad. Speak frankly and no harm will visit you.”

  “There’s no warrior here, sir. And we’ve no quarrel with you, nor with Lord Brennus who I suppose to be your master.”

  “Do you know what you speak of, uncle? Lend a mask to our enemies and you’ll answer to us, whatever your years. Who are these you travel with, this mute and this lad?”

  “As I said before, sir, they’re given to us by debtors, in place of corn and tin. They’ll work a year to pay their family’s debt.”

  “Sure you’re not mistaken, uncle?”

  “I know not whom you seek, sir, but it wouldn’t be these poor Saxons. And while you spend your time with us, your enemies move freely elsewhere.”

  The soldier gave this consideration—Axl’s voice had carried unexpected authority—uncertainty entering his manner. “Sir Gawain,” he asked. “What do you know of these people?”

  “They chanced on us as Horace and I rested here. I believe them to be simple creatures.”

  The soldier once more scrutinised Wistan’s features. “A mute fool, is it?” He took two steps forward and raised the sword so the point was aimed at Wistan’s throat. “But he surely fears death like the rest of us.”

  Axl saw that for the first time the soldier had made an error. He had come too close to his opponent, and although it would be a hideous risk, it was now conceivable for Wistan to move very suddenly and seize the arm holding the sword before it could strike. Wistan, however, went on giggling, then smiled foolishly at Edwin beside him. This latest action, however, seemed to arouse Sir Gawain’s anger.

  “They may be strangers to me only an hour ago, sir,” he boomed. “But I’ll not see them treated with rudeness.”

  “This doesn’t concern you, Sir Gawain. I would ask you to remain silent.”

  “Do you dare speak to a knight of Arthur that way, sir?”

  “Can it be possible,” the soldier said, completely ignoring Sir Gawain, “this idiot here is a warrior disguised? With no weapon about him, it makes little difference. Mine’s a blade sharp enough whichever he may be.”

  “How dare he!” Sir Gawain muttered to himself.

  The grey-haired soldier, perhaps suddenly realising his error, took two paces bac
k till he was exactly where he had been before, and lowered the sword to waist height. “Boy,” he said. “Step forward to me.”

  “He speaks only the Saxon tongue, sir, and a shy boy too,” Axl said.

  “He needn’t speak, uncle. Only raise his shirt and we’ll know if he’s the one left the village with the warrior. Boy, a step closer to me.”

  As Edwin came nearer the soldier reached out with his free hand. A tussle ensued as Edwin tried to fight him off, but the shirt was soon dragged up the boy’s torso, and Axl saw, a little way below the ribs, a swollen patch of skin encircled by tiny dots of dried blood. On either side of him, Beatrice and Gawain were now leaning forward to see better, but the soldier himself, reluctant to take his gaze off Wistan, did not glance at the wound for some time. When finally he did so, he was obliged to make a swift turn of his head, and at that very moment, Edwin produced a piercing, high-pitched noise—not a scream exactly, but something that reminded Axl of a forlorn fox. The soldier was for an instant distracted by it, and Edwin seized the chance to break from his grasp. Only then did Axl realise the noise was coming not from the boy, but from Wistan; and that in response, the warrior’s mare, until then languidly munching the ground, had suddenly turned and was charging straight for them.

  The soldier’s own horse had made a panicked motion behind him, causing him further confusion, and by the time he had recovered, Wistan had gone clear of the sword’s reach. The mare kept coming at daunting speed, and Wistan, feinting one way, then moving the other, produced another shrill call. The mare slowed to a canter, bringing herself between Wistan and his opponent, enabling the warrior, in an almost leisurely manner, to take up a position several strides from the oak. The mare turned again, moving smartly in pursuit of her master. Axl supposed Wistan’s intention was to mount the animal as she came past, for the warrior was now waiting, both arms poised in the air. Axl even saw him reach towards the saddle just before the mare momentarily obscured him from view. But then the horse cantered on riderless towards the spot where so recently she had been enjoying the grass. Wistan had remained standing quite still, but now with a sword in his hand.

  A small exclamation escaped Beatrice, and Axl, placing an arm around her, drew her closer. On his other side, Gawain made a grunting noise which seemed to signify his appreciation of Wistan’s manoeuvre. The old knight had placed a foot up on one of the raised roots of the oak, and was watching with keen interest, a hand on his knee.

  The grey-haired soldier’s back was now turned to them: in this, of course, he had had little choice, for he had now to face Wistan. Axl was surprised to see that this soldier, so controlled and expert only a moment ago, had become quite disorientated. He was looking towards his horse—which had trotted some way away in panic—as though for reassurance, then raised his sword, the tip just above the level of his shoulder, gripping tightly with both hands. This posture, Axl knew, was premature, and would only exhaust the arm muscles. Wistan, in contrast, looked calm, almost nonchalant, just as he had done the previous night when they had first glimpsed him setting off out of the village. He came slowly towards the soldier, stopping a few steps before him, sword held low in just one hand.

  “Sir Gawain,” the soldier said, a new note in his voice, “I hear you move at my back. Do you stand with me against this foe?”

  “I stand here to protect this good couple, sir. Otherwise, this dispute is not my concern, as you so lately reported. This warrior may be your foe, but he isn’t yet mine.”

  “This fellow’s a Saxon warrior, Sir Gawain, and here to do us mischief. Help me face him, for though I’m keen to do my duty, if this is the man we seek he’s a fearful fellow by all accounts.”

  “What reason have I to take arms against a man simply for being a stranger? It’s you, sir, came into this tranquil place with your rude manners.”

  There was silence for a while. Then the soldier said to Wistan: “Do you stay mute, sir? Or will you reveal yourself now we face one another!”

  “I’m Wistan, sir, a warrior from the east visiting this country. It seems your Lord Brennus would have me hurt, though for what reason I know not since I travel in peace on an errand for my king. And it’s my belief you mean to harm that innocent boy, and seeing this I must now frustrate you.”

  “Sir Gawain,” the soldier cried, “will you come to the aid of a fellow Briton, I ask you once again. If this is Wistan, it’s said more than fifty Norsemen have fallen by his hand alone.”

  “If fifty fierce Vikings fell to him, what difference can one old and weary knight make to the outcome now, sir?”

  “I beg you, do not jest, Sir Gawain. This is a wild fellow, and he’ll strike at any moment. I see it in his eye. He’s here to do us all mischief, I tell you.”

  “Name the mischief I bring,” Wistan said, “travelling peacefully through your country, a single sword in my pack to defend against wild creatures and bandits. If you can name my crime, do so now, for I’d hear the charge before I strike you.”

  “I’m ignorant of the nature of your mischief, sir, but have faith enough in Lord Brennus’s desire to be free of you.”

  “No charge to name, then, yet you hurry here to slay me.”

  “Sir Gawain, I beg you help me! Fierce as he is, the two of us with careful strategy might overcome him.”

  “Sir, let me remind you, I’m a knight of Arthur, no foot soldier of your Lord Brennus. I don’t take up arms against strangers on rumour or for their foreign blood. And it seems to me you’re unable to give good cause for taking against him.”

  “You force me to speak then, sir, though these are confidences to which a man of my humble rank has no right, even if Lord Brennus himself let me hear them. This man is come to this country on a mission to slay the dragon Querig. This is what brings him here!”

  “Slay Querig?” Sir Gawain sounded genuinely dumbfounded. He strode forward from the tree and stared at Wistan as if seeing him for the first time. “Is this true, sir?”

  “I’ve no wish to lie to a knight of Arthur, so let me declare it. Further to my duty reported earlier, I’ve been charged by my king to slay the she-dragon roams this country. But what objection could there be to such a task? A fierce dragon bringing danger to all alike. Tell me, soldier, why is it such a mission makes me your enemy?”

  “Slay Querig?! You really mean to slay Querig?!” Sir Gawain was now shouting. “But sir, this is a mission entrusted to me! Do you not know this? A mission entrusted to me by Arthur himself!”

  “A dispute for some other time, Sir Gawain. Let me first attend to this soldier who would make an enemy of me and my friends when we would go by in peace.”

  “Sir Gawain, if you’ll not come to my aid, I fear this is my final hour! I implore you, sir, remember the affection Lord Brennus has for Arthur and his memory and take arms against this Saxon!”

  “It is my duty to slay Querig, Master Wistan! Horace and I have laid careful plans to lure her out and we seek no assistance!”

  “Lay down your sword, sir,” Wistan said to the soldier, “and I may spare you yet. Otherwise end your life on this ground.”

  The soldier hesitated, but then said: “I see now I was foolish to suppose myself strong enough to take you alone, sir. I may be punished yet for my vanity. But I won’t now lay down my sword like a coward.”

  “By what right,” Sir Gawain cried, “does your king order you to come from another country and usurp the duties given to a knight of Arthur?”

  “Forgive me, Sir Gawain, but it’s many a year you’ve had to slay Querig, and small children have become grown men in the time. If I can do this country a service and rid it of this scourge, why be angry?”

  “Why be angry, sir? You know not what you’re about! You think it an easy matter to slay Querig? She’s as wise as she’s fierce! You’ll only anger her with your foolishness, and this whole country will need suffer her wrath, where we’ve hardly heard a thing of her these past several years. It requires the most delicate handling, sir, o
r a calamity will befall the innocent right across this country! Why do you suppose Horace and I have so bided our time? One misstep will have grave consequences, sir!”

  “Then help me, Sir Gawain,” the soldier shouted, now making no effort to hide his fear. “Let’s together put out this menace!”

  Sir Gawain looked at the soldier with a puzzled air, as if he had forgotten for the moment who he was. Then he said in a calmer voice: “I’ll not aid you, sir. I’m no friend of your master, for I fear his dark motives. I fear too the harm you intend to these others here, who must be innocents in whatever intrigue enfolds us.”

  “Sir Gawain, I hang here between life and death as a fly caught in a web. I make my last appeal to you, and though I don’t understand the full part of this matter, I beg you consider why he comes to our country if not to do us mischief!”

  “He gives good account of his errand here, sir, and though he angers me with his careless plans, it’s hardly reason to join you in arms against him.”

  “Fight now, soldier,” Wistan said, his tone almost conciliatory. “Fight and be done with it.”

  “Will it do harm, Master Wistan,” Beatrice said suddenly, “to let this soldier surrender his sword and ride away? He spoke kindly to me before on the bridge and he’s perhaps not a bad man.”

  “If I do as you ask, Mistress Beatrice, he’ll take news back of us and surely return before long with thirty or more soldiers. There’ll be little mercy shown then. And mark you, he means sinister harm to the boy.”

  “Perhaps he would willingly swear an oath not to betray us.”

  “Your kindness touches me, mistress,” the grey-haired soldier intervened, never taking his eyes off Wistan. “But I’m no scoundrel and won’t take rude advantage of it. What the Saxon says is true. Spare me and I’ll do just as he says, for duty allows me no other course. Yet I thank you for your gentle words, and if these are to be my last moments, then I’ll leave this world a little more peacefully for them.”

  “What’s more, sir,” Beatrice said, “I’ve not forgotten your earlier request, concerning your mother and father. You made it then in jest, I know, and it’s not likely we’ll encounter them. But if ever we do so, they’ll know of how you waited with longing to see them again.”