The Squire's Tale

by Gerald Morris

  "What did you see, Terence?" Gawain asked quietly.

  Terence hesitated. "Maybe nothing, milord. It just seemed that there were shapes in the mist. Did you see them?"

  "Not I," Gawain replied. He raised one eyebrow and added, "Most people would have been afraid of shapes that appeared in the mist."

  "Oh no, milord. These were friendly," Terence assured him.

  Gawain looked at Terence searchingly, but he said nothing else. Terence prepared breakfast, and after they had eaten, Gawain said abruptly, "I can't make you out, Terence. Have you no idea who your parents were?"

  "No, milord," Terence said. "I asked Trevisant one time, but of course he didn't know, seeing time backwards, the way he does. But he said I didn't need to know."

  "He was wrong," Gawain said. "A boy should know his parents. Good or bad, they are a part of him."

  Terence stirred the coals for a moment, then looked into Gawain's eyes. "I think so, too. Would you ... tell me about your parents, milord?"

  Gawain frowned, as if angry, and Terence was sorry he had asked. To his surprise, however, Gawain finally answered. "My father, King Lot, was a great soldier, a master with every weapon. When we were at peace, he would teach me." Gawain paused. "But we weren't at peace often, especially in late years. That was my mother's doing.

  "My mother is named Morgause, from an ancient and magical and proud family." Gawain smiled faintly. "You wouldn't like her, Terence, because she's very beautiful. More beautiful than anyone, I think. My father worshiped her and did whatever she asked. When she sent him to war against Arthur, he died for her."

  "She's still alive, then?"

  "I don't know. When my father died, she disappeared without a word, not even to her children. She never did love us, I suppose. I don't imagine I ever really loved her either, but when I was a child I used to think I did."

  Gawain sat in brooding silence, staring into the coals, and Terence left him alone. Indeed, Terence left Gawain alone quite a lot for the next few days in the lakeside camp. Gawain showed no desire to continue questing. He fished, but inattentively, and often let a good catch escape. One evening after a meal of trout, caught by Terence, and wild carrots, Gawain asked suddenly, "If beautiful women are cruel and hateful, what would you say about ugly women, Terence?"

  "Me, milord?" Terence asked.

  "Come now, Terence. I was expecting some word of wisdom from you. After all, you're the one who dislikes beautiful women, aren't you?"

  "Only the ones I've met, milord."

  "Well, what about the ugly women you've met?"

  "I don't know any ugly—" Terence began.

  "What about the hag at the feast?" demanded Gawain.

  Terence hesitated. "I couldn't really say, milord. She ... she wasn't very polite to you."

  "Nor I to her. Would you say she was cruel?"

  "No, milord. I think she was friendly."

  Gawain frowned. "Like your shapes in the mist were friendly?"

  Terence thought for a moment. "Just like that," he said.

  ***

  The next morning when they woke, they were not alone. On a stone next to the lake sat a tall, willowy lady, swirling her bare feet in the waters. Behind her, a shining white horse cropped grass. The woman had straight black hair that hung to her waist. Her gown was white with a silvery sheen to it, gathered at the waist by a simple green girdle. Her face was not memorable in its features, but it shone with elegance, kindness, and wisdom. Terence thought he could look at her forever.

  Gawain sat upright among his blankets. "Good morning, madam," he said.

  "Good morning, Sir Gawain," the woman said, smiling. "And good morning, Terence."

  "Good ... good morning, ma'am," Terence stammered.

  "If I might ask," Gawain said, "how do you know our names?"

  "I've come to find you," she replied. "Or you have come to find me, which in our world is almost the same thing."

  "What world is that, madam?" Gawain asked, standing.

  "The Other World," she said, still smiling. "I am Nimue, the Lady of the Lake."

  Gawain bowed, his eyes alight. "I have heard of you, my lady."

  Terence had never heard of the Lady of the Lake, but he too bowed deeply.

  "No no, Terence." Nimue laughed, and her laugh was like water splashing on stones. "You're bowing to me as you would bow to royalty—or a god. Really, I'm not that different from you."

  Terence straightened. "I'm sorry, my lady."

  After a moment Gawain asked, "And why have you come to find us, my lady?"

  "My mistress sent me. You have left some business undone, Sir Gawain," Nimue said.

  "Pelleas and Ettard?" She nodded. "What can anyone do?" Gawain asked. "They are fools."

  "Oh yes, lamentably so. But must fools be unhappy?"

  "If they are unhappy, they have brought it on themselves," Gawain said.

  "Have they?"

  Gawain flushed slightly, but he said, "Perhaps my coming did not help them, but I made nothing worse. They were unhappy before I ever arrived in their land."

  Nimue said nothing for a moment, then spoke gently. "You mean that in their place you would have been unhappy. But, as you say, your efforts helped no one."

  Gawain's frown deepened. "But can I help them now?"

  "I hope so. Come, let us go."

  The ride back to Lady Ettard's castle was long, but the Lady of the Lake was a delightful companion. For over an hour, she talked with Terence about herbs and spices. She taught him about the curative powers of healing herbs like foxglove, woundwort, vervain, and feverfew. As they drew near to Sir Pelleas's castle, Gawain said, "I still don't know what to do when I arrive."

  "What do you think, Terence?" Nimue asked. "Have you any thoughts on what Sir Gawain should do?"

  Glancing furtively at his master, Terence said, "No, my lady. I understand animals. They act in ways a body can predict. But people are different. I would have to know more about Sir Pelleas and Lady Ettard before I could guess how to help them."

  Nimue smiled and nodded. Gawain rode in silence for a moment, then grumbled, "Very well. I shall try to think like an idiot."

  Nimue sighed softly and stopped near a stand of trees. "Here," she said. "Pelleas is in this copse."

  "Here? What the devil is he—Oh, I see. There's a hermitage or anchorage in there, and he's stretched out to die." Nimue nodded. "Thickwit," Gawain muttered to himself.

  Behind the little grove of sycamores was a tiny cottage with a thatched roof. A rough cross stood in front of it. Gawain dismounted and stepped inside. About fifteen minutes later, Gawain reappeared in the doorway, disgust on his face. "I offered to help, but he thinks he'd rather die, thank you," he said.

  "Sir Gawain," Nimue said, "it ill befits you to laugh at someone else's love, however foolish it might be. There is no love that might not appear ridiculous to someone else. Are you so sure that you will never love foolishly?"

  Gawain blinked, then said, "I beg your pardon. I'll try again."

  Terence heard their voices again, then a solid thump, and Gawain appeared in the doorway, carrying Sir Pelleas across his shoulders. "He changed his mind," he said.

  "Sir Gawain, if this is how you plan to handle this affair, I'll wash my hands of you," Nimue protested. "What will you do if Ettard doesn't listen? Knock her over the head, too?"

  Gawain grinned. "It is a temptation, but no. I just thought Pelleas might listen to me more in Ettard's presence."

  Nimue shook her head wearily. About twenty minutes later, still several miles from Ettard's castle, Sir Pelleas, whom they had tied behind Terence's saddle, began to stir. "Villain," he muttered thickly. He looked at Terence, not recognizing him, and Terence pointed at Gawain, riding nearby. "Scoundrel," Sir Pelleas said.

  "Terribly sorry, Pelleas," Gawain said. "But I can't let you dwindle away and die in there."

  "Why not?" Sir Pelleas asked in a muffled voice.

  "Well, I can't help feeling partly responsib
le for—" Gawain began.

  "Partly? When you've traduced me to the woman whom I thought I loved? When you've defiled a fair lady? When you've ravished a vessel of purity?"

  "Here now," Gawain protested, "all I did was kiss her. And I promise you, I didn't even enjoy it."

  Sir Pelleas went into a fit, mouthing terrible curses and wrenching his body right and left. In a pained voice, Nimue said, "I don't think that was very helpful, Sir Gawain."

  "Sorry," he muttered.

  In his frenzy, Sir Pelleas slid face first off of Terence's horse into the dirt. Stifling an oath, Gawain dismounted and helped Pelleas up. "Look, Pelleas, I'm trying to help you," Gawain said.

  "Help me? By kissing the woman who was my Heart, my Purest Love?"

  "What is a kiss? It's nothing!"

  "Nothing to you, perhaps. To me, it was everything! How would you like to see another man kissing the woman you loved?"

  For several seconds Gawain stared into the distance, then said, "You're right, Pelleas. I should never have kissed her. I'm sorry. But it was all part of a plan. You were supposed to come in and stop me. I was pretending."

  Sir Pelleas grunted. "And was she pretending when she kissed you back?" He took a deep breath, then said, "I suppose I should thank you for showing me how false is the Lady—lady! Ha!—the Lady Ettard. Now I can lay aside that misplaced love I once held."

  "Then you don't love her anymore?" Gawain asked.

  "I don't feel anything at all for that woman."

  Gawain said, "Well, don't you think you ought to show her that?"

  "At last you've said something worth saying, Sir Gawain," Nimue said quietly.

  Sir Pelleas nodded slowly. "You're right. She should know the result of her perfidy. I could show her disdain, treat her with a ... a cold politeness. And then," he added, warming to his theme, "I'll show affection for another lady! Then she'll be sorry! I'll do it! I will!"

  At Lady Ettard's castle, the guards threw open the gates as soon as the riders approached. Nimue said, "Lady Ettard is not well, I believe. I think the guards must hope that we can help her."

  They left their horses in the courtyard and followed Nimue to the garden, where Lady Ettard and Gawain had kissed. There, on a richly draped canopy bed that had been set under a chestnut tree, the Lady Ettard languished. She was pale, and her left hand held a small vinaigrette, which she was sniffing when the four visitors entered. She sat up as if pricked with a needle and gasped, "Pelleas! My love! You've come back!"

  At first Sir Pelleas looked at her almost tenderly, but after she had spoken, he sneered and replied, "Yes, I've come back, but only to look with scorn on the falsest of fair maidens in all this vain world."

  Lady Ettard moaned and fell back on her pillows, clutching feebly at her vinaigrette. "I thought ... I thought perhaps you still loved me!"

  "Ha!" Sir Pelleas barked harshly. "You are right that I loved you once. You were a pure woman once! You resisted the advances of men! But then you threw yourself into this knave's arms, and put aside your maidenly innocence! I despise you now, who once despised me!"

  Gawain asked, "Was it maidenly of her to empty the kitchen swill over your head?"

  "Kitchen swill! That was nothing! Once she had me tied to a long board and had two burly servants sweep her stables with me!"

  Lady Ettard showed a stir of interest. She said, "That was just after the time that I fed you the slop that the hogs left."

  "No no, it was the time before," Sir Pelleas said impatiently. "Just after the Christmas feast."

  "Of course! When I harnessed you with my pony and you pulled my sleigh!"

  "And all your curses only proved your virtue and gave me opportunity to prove the constancy of my love. But now," Sir Pelleas said harshly, "you have proven yourself a straw-damsel of the worst type! A careless courtesan! A painted paramour!"

  Lady Ettard burst into wailing tears, and following his plan to make Lady Ettard jealous, Sir Pelleas turned to one of the servant girls and began complimenting her extravagantly. The girl tried to edge away, but he followed her with his effusive praise. Lady Ettard burst into louder, more pathetic sobs. Gawain whispered to Nimue for a moment. She looked startled, but she nodded, and Gawain moved back next to Terence. "Watch this, lad," he whispered.

  Taking a deep breath and setting her face into an expression of deep scorn, the gentle Nimue strode over to Sir Pelleas, turned him roughly around to face her, and slapped him loudly on the cheek. He stared at her, stunned. "You worm!" she shouted. "You abuser of womanhood! How dare you say such things about this gentlewoman? Who but you sent this same knave Gawain to this woman?" Sir Pelleas's jaw dropped, and his eyes grew round. Nimue looked furiously at him for a moment, then stuck her tongue out at him and resumed her tirade.

  "On your knees, you canker, you plague, you boil! Kneel and beg for my forgiveness, and then, if I feel you are worthy, I will kick you over to this fine lady's bed to beg her forgiveness as well. Do you hear me? Kneel!"

  Sir Pelleas dropped to his knees as if he had been hit with a log. Reverently he gazed into Nimue's face. "Indeed I beg your pardon, my lady! I should be shot for uttering such words before thy chaste ears! Tell me, I beg of thee, what is thy name, O worshipful goddess!"

  Nimue started, then looked helplessly back at Gawain. Gawain covered his eyes and groaned, "Good Gog, the sod's gone and fallen in love with Nimue!"

  "I ... I won't tell you," Nimue said. "You don't deserve it."

  Pelleas smiled dreamily and said, "I shall call you ... Clorinda! Or Phoebe! I shall write sonnets to your purity, your innocence!" Nimue stared.

  Gawain swore softly. "Now I have to rescue her, too," he groaned. He stepped forward, but Terence grabbed Gawain's arm.

  "Wait, milord!" he whispered hoarsely. "Look at Ettard!"

  While Nimue had been abusing Sir Pelleas, Lady Ettard had stopped sobbing. Now, pale and weak, she was crawling out of bed, a ferocious look in her eyes. "You!" she gasped. "You! Pelleas! You fickle, good-for-naught, unstable, brainless whelp! How dare you accuse me of being faithless, when you throw yourself at the feet of the first shrewish wench who'll curse you as you deserve!" She sat unsteadily on the edge of the bed.

  Sir Pelleas gazed bemusedly at her, then stared up at Nimue, then back at Lady Ettard, consternation on his face. "But you ... but Ettard ... you ... and this virtuous lady here..." He gabbled incoherently.

  Heaving a huge sigh of relief, Nimue smiled and turned to Lady Ettard. "Now you stop abusing this fine knight," she said. "There's nothing wrong with loving a different lady now and then!"

  "Oh, yes there is!" Ettard gritted her teeth. "Love must be eternal!"

  "It's true," Sir Pelleas agreed, looking plaintively at Nimue. "I swore eternal love for Ettard. And now ... oh, what have I done?"

  "You've done nothing to be punished for," Nimue said firmly.

  "Well, he shall be!" Lady Ettard announced, standing up tall. Weak as she was, though, her legs could not support her weight, and she fell face first onto the neat gravel garden path. Forgetting all about Nimue, Sir Pelleas scampered toward her on all fours.

  "My dove! My heart! Are you hurt?"

  "You stay away from me!" Lady Ettard spluttered, her face still in the dirt. Slowly she climbed into a sitting position. She threw one disdainful look toward Nimue, then turned all of her fulminating gaze on Sir Pelleas. "Don't you come an inch closer, you maggot, or I'll have you stepped on and fed to the sparrows! You ... you—" Filled with emotion she clutched a handful of gravel and began throwing small stones at Sir Pelleas.

  "Oh my dearest life!" Sir Pelleas cried. "You know I could never love any soul but—ouch!—but you. I never really loved that—ow!—that woman who was here! My every nerve strains—ouch!—to behold you!"

  "Behold this, insect!" Lady Ettard shouted, throwing harder and faster.

  "I've written a sonnet to your nose, my dearest heart! Ouch! It goes 'J'entends de la'—ouch!"

  Nimue had slipped away fro
m the scene, joining Gawain and Terence. "Well done, after all, Sir Gawain," she said. "At last they are happy again."

  "Nauseating," he said, shaking his head slowly.

  "Shall we go? I have some instructions to help you on your quest now that you have passed this test."

  "Yes, let's," Gawain said, "quickly." The Lady of the Lake led Gawain back into the castle, and Terence followed. As he stepped into Lady Ettard's stateroom, he took a last look behind him. Lady Ettard still sat in the gravel, throwing pebbles at Sir Pelleas, who cowered only two yards away, still doggedly reciting his French sonnet to her.

  "Brundle!" Lady Ettard shouted. "Bring me more stones! Bigger ones!"

  10. Ganscotter's Castle

  They rode unchallenged out of Lady Ettard's castle, back into the eastern forest. As they entered the shadows, Nimue asked, "Sir Gawain? How did you know what to do?"

  "I almost didn't." He laughed. "When that dafthead in there turned his puppy eyes at you, I thought I had really ruined things."

  Nimue smiled ruefully. "So did I, for a moment. Sometimes it is a compliment to be admired. Other times it is an insult."

  "And yet Pelleas thrives on insults," Gawain said. "I only understood that when he and Ettard began to reminisce about his different humiliations."

  "And Ettard? On what does she thrive?" Nimue asked.

  Gawain considered this. "At first I thought that she wanted a forceful, dominating lover — I believe she thought so, too. But what she really wanted was to control, not to be controlled."

  "Remember that, Sir Gawain," Nimue said. "Not even a very foolish woman like Ettard wishes to be controlled."

  "I will remember," Gawain said, watching Nimue curiously.

  They arrived at their lakeside camp in the middle of the afternoon. Gawain stretched wearily and started to dismount, but Nimue stopped him.