Ywain shrugged. "Oh, a few. But they're so far away from court that no one famous ever competes in them, and after you've won them all three years in a row, they don't seem like much anymore." He broke off abruptly, and his face turned scarlet. "Oh, dear," he said. "I sounded like a terrible coxcomb just then, didn't I? I really didn't mean to."
"Ay, you did, that," Luneta's father drawled pleasantly, "but I don't doubt you. I'm not much for the knightly arts myself, but I've spent enough time around great warriors to know when someone has the gift. I'd say you do."
Ywain flushed again, but he looked gratified. "Well, that's what Cousin Gawain said. He stopped by to visit last time he came up to see you, and we sparred a bit. He said ... he said I wasn't so bad. Anyway, that's why I'm off to Camelot. I want to find out just how good I really am, to measure myself against real knights."
Luneta's mother rolled her eyes very, very slightly, but her father only smiled tolerantly and said, "Well, I hope you find what you're looking for at court."
"But that's it!" Luneta said suddenly.
"What's what?" Luneta's mother asked.
"Ywain can escort me to Camelot!" Luneta said quickly. "Then you won't have to leave during the planting—"
"I wasn't planning to," Luneta's father reminded her.
"—or even after the planting's done! Ywain can take me as far as Camelot, and you can write a letter to send along with me to Uncle Gawain, and he can take me to Salisbury to your friend's home when he's able to get away." Part of Luneta's mind was already weaving plans for extending her time at Camelot once she arrived, but with the rest of her attention she was watching her parents' faces.
Before either could speak, Ywain said, "But that sounds delightful! Were you already planning a trip to court? I would be honored to take you with me!"
Luneta's mother looked grim, but Luneta could tell that her father was turning the idea over in his mind, and her hopes rose.
"I don't like it, Gary," Luneta's mother said. "It isn't seemly for a girl that young to travel so far alone with a young man."
"He's my cousin, Mother," Luneta said. "How could that be unseemly?"
"A very distant cousin, my dear."
Luneta changed her tactics. Allowing her face to fall, she said, "I see. You don't trust Cousin Ywain."
"Now, Luneta, that's not what I meant!" her mother said hastily.
"Then what do you mean, Mother?" Luneta asked, making her eyes as wide and innocent as she could.
Luneta's mother stared at her for a moment, but then the little wrinkles at the corners of her eyes appeared, and she looked at Luneta's father. "She's good, isn't she?"
"Best I've seen," her father admitted.
"And if I say that I don't think it's safe for her to travel with only one knight..."
"She'll remind us of all those tournaments that Ywain has won," her father said. Luneta kept her eyes wide, forcing herself not to smile. In fact, that was exactly the reply that she had planned to use.
Her father said, "She might even manage to remind us that I'm not so handy with a sword myself and hint that she would be safer traveling with Ywain than with us. And, in truth, she would be right. In the unlikely event of danger on the road, I feel sure that Ywain would be much more protection than I would be."
At this point, Ywain spoke up. "I would take the very best care of my cousin. That I promise you both."
"And you don't think she would be a nuisance?" Luneta's mother asked.
Ywain grinned impishly. "To be honest, I would very much like to have her along. I'm sure it's childish, but I can't help thinking that with a lady at my side I'll look like a knight on a quest and not like any other untried knight going off to try his mettle."
Luneta's mother chuckled suddenly and said to her husband, "I' faith, Gary, I like this cousin of yours." She looked back at Ywain. "Your frankness does you credit, Ywain. All right. Take her along with you, but even if she makes you feel like a questing knight, no questing along the way, do you hear?"
"You have my word," Ywain said, and Luneta gave him her brightest, most dazzling smile.
All in all, Luneta had gotten her way much more easily than she had expected. She was especially surprised at how easily her mother had agreed. Knowing that her mother was a dictatorial, controlling woman who never liked any idea that Luneta had, her acquiescence seemed strangely out of character. All Luneta could imagine was that her mother hadn't wanted to show her real self before a guest. Whatever the reason, though, it had all worked beautifully, and Luneta could not help congratulating herself on how well she had managed everyone.
That evening was spent packing, which was a horrible experience, since her mother's notions of what colors and styles were acceptable for a young girl at court were positively antiquated. Several times Luneta had to bite back angry comments. Only the reflection that her mother could very easily withdraw her permission for this journey enabled Luneta to endure in silence the sight of all her most insipid clothes being folded and packed. She could always get rid of those whites and pale blues once she was there. Maybe Lady Laudine's dressmaker could make her a bright red silk dress.
Luneta and Ywain set off the next morning. The parting was awkward. Luneta was angry to discover a lump in her throat and to feel the ominous presence of tears just out of sight. She set her face in a severe expression so as to maintain control of her emotions and mounted her horse beside Ywain. "Well?" she asked gruffly. "Are we leaving today or not?"
"Let your escort get mounted, my dear," Luneta's mother said in an abrupt voice. Luneta allowed herself to glance at her mother, whose face was austere. Ywain mounted and took courteous leave of his host and hostess while Luneta tightened her jaw and looked at her parents.
Luneta's father glanced from mother to daughter, then sighed and said, "I'll miss you, lass. Try not to turn Lady Laudine's castle upside down. Perhaps we'll drop by for a visit someday soon."
Then they rode off—a knight, a lady, and a packhorse for Luneta's gear. Ywain didn't speak for nearly half an hour, for which Luneta was grateful, because by the time he made his first comment—a polite gambit about the scenery—she was fully in control of herself. They made good time, riding at an easy pace but stopping seldom. Ywain was a courteous and thoughtful companion, and if his conversation was rather heavily concerned with tournaments and feats of arms, he was not self-absorbed. Twice he broke off and, laughing ruefully at himself, apologized for prattling about arms and armor. They camped that night nearly forty miles from Orkney Hall, and Ywain told Luneta before they went to sleep that now that he'd seen that she was a fine horsewoman, they could go a bit faster the next day.
On the second day, just as Luneta's stiffness from riding all the day before was easing, she and Ywain came upon a large pavilion set up in a field. There were horses tied at one side, marking this as a knight's encampment, and servants hurried about on evidently urgent errands. At the center of the bustle, under the main tent, a knight lay on a pile of pillows, surrounded by attendants. At his left was a sniffling lady, wearing a dress of the most dashing shade of pink and holding a handkerchief in one hand and a vinaigrette in the other. On the knight's right, a tall man in multicolored clothes was tossing a small ball up in the air and catching it in one hand.
"Of course it's juggling," the man in motley was saying as Ywain and Luneta approached. "You know what your problem is, Sir Grenall? You've been seduced by the lure of spectacle. Sure, I could juggle three or four balls and use two hands, and that would be very impressive, but then what would I do after that? Five balls? Three hands? You see how it goes? Now me, I'm an artist, trying to recapture the original purity of the art form. This"—the man nodded at the ball he was tossing up and down—"this is the essence of juggling."
"Yes, yes," the knight said absently, his attention focused on the approach of Ywain and Luneta. "Good morrow, Sir Knight," he called.
"Is it morrow already?" the man in motley exclaimed. "I wasn't even done with yesterd!"
; "With what?" the knight asked, his brow creased. Luneta suppressed a smile.
"Good day, Sir Knight," Ywain said, inclining his head courteously.
"Forgive me for not rising to meet you," the knight said from his pillows, turning away from the juggler. "You see, I have been grievously wounded."
At these words, the lady at the man's right burst into gusty sobs and buried her face in her handkerchief.
The man in motley glanced at her, then tossed his ball up and caught it in his other hand. "There," he said. "See what I did, my lady? To cheer you up I juggled with two hands. I just compromised my artistic principles for your sake. I hope you will applaud now. I couldn't bear to have made such a sacrifice for nothing."
The lady ignored him. "Oh, poor Sir Grenall."
"No, no, my lady," the man said earnestly. "You've gotten them confused. It was Sir Lorigan who was poor. Sir Grenall is very rich."
"Silence, fool," said Sir Grenall from his pillows. Now that they were near, Luneta could see the knight and the lady more clearly. The lady was very young, perhaps only a year or two older than Luneta herself, and the knight was at least forty. The fool—who looked to be in his early twenties—caught the ball and stowed it in a pouch at his side.
"I know when I'm not appreciated. I'll have you know that when I performed in York, I had them all in tears of laughter, even the old men." He smiled pleasantly at the lady, who was still weeping quietly into her handkerchief. "You'd have liked it, my lady—all those old men, I mean."
"Silence, fool," Sir Grenall said, an edge to his voice.
Ywain finally spoke. "I am sorry that you have been injured, Sir ... Grenall, is it?"
"Sir Grenall of the Firth," the knight said jovially, settling himself more comfortably on the cushions. He didn't sound like someone who had been grievously injured, Luneta thought.
Ywain must have been thinking the same thing, because he said, "Er ... how exactly are you injured, Sir Grenall?"
"Ah," said the fool, "you've been misled by my master's courage. You were wondering how someone who seemed so comfortable could be injured, but I tell you that it is all an act. Sir Grenall is so brave that he will not let his pain show."
Sir Grenall smiled modestly and murmured, "Yes, well, code of honor and all that."
"You are too modest, sir!" the fool cried. He looked back at Ywain and Luneta, his face solemn and inspired. "Does Sir Grenall want to lie on pillows all day? Of course he doesn't! Only the need to hide his injury forces him to do something so repugnant! Does he want to drink wine and eat sweetmeats through the morning? Don't be silly! It's all an act! Sir Grenall is bravely trying to hide his pain!"
Sir Grenall smiled again, but with less pleasure.
"Indeed, his courage goes beyond even this," the fool added. "Sir Grenall is so brave that even the doctors themselves can't find his wound!"
"There, there, that's enough, fool," Sir Grenall interposed hastily, but not before Luneta, taken by surprise, had allowed a giggle to escape. The knight glanced at her, but she quickly assumed an expression of sympathy, and he looked away. Her eyes met those of the fool, who winked at her, then turned toward Sir Grenall again. Luneta blinked with surprise at the fool's effrontery, but decided not to be offended. She was enjoying him too much.
"If I must speak of it," Sir Grenall was saying, "then I must. I am Sir Grenall of the Firth—but I've told you that, haven't I?"
"Most excellently well, Sir Grenall," the fool said, applauding politely.
"And this is my lady, the Lady Golina. Not three days ago, a villainous recreant knight struck me down in this very field, seeking to steal my lady from me. Naturally, I should have defeated him, but Sir Lorigan fought like a villain and struck me from behind. I was left lying senseless on the field."
"Then why is your lady still here?" Luneta asked. It seemed a reasonable question, but it appeared to annoy the knight, and even the lady shot her a nasty look over the handkerchief.
The fool stepped into the awkward silence, saying, "Perhaps Sir Lorigan, having seen the fury of Sir Grenall's sword, knew that he could never defeat him a second time and so chose not to steal the fair lady, after all."
"Yes, that might be," Sir Grenall said, his face brightening.
"I wouldn't bet on it, myself," the fool added thoughtfully, "but it's at least—"
Sir Grenall continued, "I lie here until I am restored, but someone must stop this knight before he attempts to steal another fair lady."
"Oh, I doubt he will try that," the fool said. The light tone had left his voice. "Remember the fury of your sword."
"He must be stopped and slain," Sir Grenall said, "before he ravages more fair damsels! If only ... but I cannot ask. I do not even know your name."
"I am Ywain, son of Ywain, grandson of King Uriens," Ywain said grandly, "and I would consider it an honor to take on this quest. I shall leave at once!"
"Bravo!" Sir Grenall cried.
"Ywain?" Luneta said.
"Yes, Luneta?"
"Er, didn't you promise not to start any quests until after we'd gotten to Camelot?"
Ywain's face froze, then fell. "I did, didn't I?" He looked apologetically at Sir Grenall. "I'm sorry, Sir Grenall, but I've a prior promise to keep. Perhaps after I've taken my cousin to court, I could come back and—"
"That sounds like a coward's excuse!" Sir Grenall said with a sneer.
Ywain stiffened, but before he could speak, the fool said, "Don't try to argue with him, Sir Ywain. If any man in England knows cowards' excuses, it's Sir Grenall."
Sir Grenall turned and glared at the fool. "And what do you mean by that, fool?"
The fool replied, "It means that I'll be leaving you now, Sir Grenall. I'm afraid that I no longer find you amusing."
"You find me amusing!" Sir Grenall said. "I'm not the fool."
The fool shook his head, then glanced at Ywain and Luneta. "See what I mean? Far too obvious to be funny. Did I hear you say that you were going to court?"
"Yes, we are," Luneta said.
"Would you mind having another companion? I've my own horse."
"Yes, of course," said Ywain, who was still looking back and forth between the fool and the knight, a bemused expression on his face.
"I'll be with you shortly," the fool said, disappearing behind the tent.
Ywain looked back at Sir Grenall, whose brow was stormy and who had raised himself up on his elbows. "I will bid you good day, then," Sir Ywain said.
"Or good morrow," Luneta murmured.
"Are you indeed stealing my fool?" Sir Grenall said, his eyes blazing.
Ywain blushed and looked uncomfortable, but Luneta answered, "Actually, it feels more as if your fool is stealing us." She smiled brightly at the knight. "It's a pity you can't stop us, what with your injury and all."
"Good ... good day," Ywain said again, and then they were trotting away, leaving Sir Grenall sputtering impotently behind them. They rode toward the horse enclosure, where the fool was saddling a large, strong-looking white stallion.
"That's your horse, fool?" Ywain said.
"My name's Rhience," the fool said over his shoulder. "And yes, this is my horse."
"What a fine animal!" Ywain said admiringly. "He looks like a knight's charger!"
Rhience sighed. "Yes, he does. Pity that he's so stupid." He tightened the girth with a sure hand.
"Stupid?" Ywain asked.
Rhience swung into the saddle. "He lets a fool ride him, doesn't he? How could any proud warhorse allow such a thing unless he was a bit of an ass?" He settled into the saddle, then turned to Luneta. "I heard Sir Ywain's name, but I'm afraid I missed yours, my lady."
"I'm Lune—ah, the Lady Luneta," Luneta said.
"I'm charmed, my lady," Rhience said. He smiled and nodded to Ywain. "Shall we go, before Sir Grenall forgets that he's grievously wounded?"
"I'm not afraid of him," Ywain said, but he kicked his mount into a trot anyway.
"Nobody's afraid of Sir Gr
enall," Rhience said. "At least not in that way. His only strength is the power of too much money. I doubt he could hurt you with a sword if he came on you asleep, but if you're an impoverished knight betrothed to a young lady who dreams of riches, he's very dangerous indeed."
The light dawned for Luneta. "Sir Lorigan?" she asked.
Rhience nodded approvingly. "Very good, my lady. Yes, Sir Grenall stole Lady Golina from young Lorigan with promises of fine clothes and jewels. Lorigan found them in the fields on a hunting excursion, bashed Grenall about for a bit, then left Golina with him. Bad luck for both of them."
Luneta giggled. "And you were their fool?"
"Fool, yes, my lady, but not theirs. I'm a wandering fool, and I'd already decided that I'd been with those two for long enough. When he tried to use Sir Ywain here to get revenge on Lorigan, that was enough." He glanced at Ywain. "It's none of my business, of course, but if I were you I'd be a little less quick to volunteer."
Ywain nodded thoughtfully, and they pressed on to the south.
II. The Storm Stone
The journey to Camelot took more than a week, but despite the monotony of constant riding Luneta had never enjoyed herself so much. Her two companions, each in his own way, made this journey the most pleasant she had ever known. Ywain, for his part, was very solicitous for her comfort and protection, at least when he wasn't lost in a dream of winning knightly glory. Whenever they met someone on the road, Ywain immediately moved between Luneta and the stranger. Luneta privately considered this a bit excessive, inasmuch as most of the people they met were farmers and tradesmen who really didn't pose a threat, but it was nice to be thought of. As for Rhience the Fool, he did nothing for her physical comfort, but talking with him made the time pass amazingly quickly.
One could never tell what Rhience would say next. One day, after Ywain had protected Luneta from a farmer driving a flock of geese, Rhience nodded approvingly and commented to Luneta, "A very good guardian you have, Lady Luneta."
"He promised my mother he would care for me, you see," Luneta replied, a bit apologetically.
"You don't have to explain it to me," Rhience said. "I understand perfectly. He is doing what a man should, on account of your being defective."
The Lioness and Her Knight Page 2