The Squire, His Knight, and His Lady

by Gerald Morris

  "Shrew," Terence said with a chuckle.

  "Shall we greet the fellow?" Gawain said, leading the way.

  The knight had been hard-used, Terence thought as they neared. His armor was chipped and cut and to Terence's experienced eye showed evidence of much repair. The knight's hair was long and uncut, and a thick beard hung over his breastplate. He made no hostile move, but his left hand rested on his sword hilt, and Terence quietly trotted his horse between the knight and Eileen. Behind the knight, in the shadow of some trees was another horse, on which was either a large pack or a very short rider.

  When they were about ten yards away, the bearded knight made a choking noise and leaned forward intently. His hand twitched once, as if to cross himself. Gawain stopped and said, "Well met, fellow. Can you tell us where we are?"

  As if he had trouble breathing, the knight gasped, "Are you alive?"

  "Ay, to the best of my knowledge," Gawain answered pleasantly. The knight made no reply, and after a second Gawain ventured, "Do I know you, sir knight?"

  Dumbly the knight nodded, and then the second horse stepped out of the woods, ridden by a grey-haired dwarf who stared at Gawain and Terence with awe. Terence grinned happily, and Gawain shouted with delight as they recognized the two. It was Tor and Plogrun.

  Gawain and Terence threw themselves laughing onto their old friends. Plogrun shrank away from Terence's embrace, and when Terence finally clasped him, the dwarf's body was rigid. Terence laughed louder, "Come now, duffer! Do you think me a boggart, then?" He leaned close to Plogrun's face and whispered, "Boo."

  Slowly, the dwarfs face crinkled into a huge smile. "By Gor, it is you, isn't it? Alive and well, too! By Gor! By Gor!"

  "Where are my manners?" Gawain called. "Lady Eileen, allow me to present you to Sir Tor, one of the greatest—and at the moment almost certainly the shabbiest—of all Arthur's knights."

  Tor trotted forward and bowed gracefully in his saddle. "Indeed, I apologize for my appearance, Lady Eileen. I have been questing for many months."

  "I perfectly understand, Sir Tor," Eileen replied, extending her hand. "And it was poorly done of Sir Gawain to mention it." Tor laughed and raised Eileen's hand to his lips.

  "And this, Ei—ah—Lady Eileen," Terence interrupted, "is Tor's squire. Saving myself, the best squire there is. Lady Eileen, Squire Plogrun." Plogrun glanced curiously at Terence, as Terence remembered too late that at court a squire would never put himself forward during formal introductions.

  "Thank you, Squire Terence," Eileen said quickly, filling the awkward pause. "Squire Plogrun, I hope that while we ride together—as I trust we will—we may lay aside the more stifling court customs." She smiled brightly, and Plogrun bowed as low as his short torso allowed. Terence grinned at Eileen over Plogrun's head and mouthed, "Thank you."

  "By heaven," Tor said, "you two don't look a day older than when you left."

  "How much older should we look?" Gawain asked innocently.

  Tor was not deceived. "Don't you know?"

  Gawain grinned ruefully and shook his head. "We were very busy and lost track of the time."

  "It's been seven years since you set out. There's been no word of you since that soldier you sent from the—what was it? The Chateau Wirral—a few weeks after you left. Everyone believes you dead."

  Tor's voice had a hint of reproach in it, and dejectedly Gawain said, "Sorry."

  "No, you're not, so stop bamming it," Tor said. "Why didn't you send a message? For that matter, what have you been doing that no one's heard of you?"

  "Oh, nothing much," Gawain said. "And what are you up to? What's the quest this time, eh?"

  "Well you should ask. It's the same quest I've been on every year since you left. I'm hunting your headless mortal remains."

  Gawain chuckled, but assumed a dejected face. "Terribly sorry. If only I'd known."

  Tor smiled. "Ah, but I've missed you, lad."

  They were, it turned out, seven days from Camelot, and the week on the road did much to restore Terence to a sense of his position. Of course he was a knight now, not to mention a duke, but in the World of Men he was content to revert to being a humble squire, if only he could recall what a humble squire was like. It was with some difficulty that Terence remembered to stay in the background and hold his tongue. Most difficult of all was keeping his distance from Eileen. Both Tor and Plogrun assumed that Eileen was Gawain's lady, and for simplicity's sake, the three friends allowed them to think it. Only after everyone else was asleep were Terence and Eileen able to snatch a few whispered words.

  The little cavalcade created a sensation at Camelot. When they arrived at the gate, and Tor called jovially for the guards to open for Sir Gawain, Lady Eileen, and Sir Tor, the astonished soldiers could only stare. The travelers had to wait until the Captain of the Guard himself arrived to let them in. The tall captain grinned and bowed deeply before Sir Gawain. "I have prayed nightly for your safety, Sir Gawain," he said simply.

  "Then I am once again in your debt," Gawain said with a smile. It was Alan, the soldier from the Chateau Wirral. He winked at Terence, bowed to Eileen, then stepped aside.

  And then there was Arthur. He stood alone in a doorway across the courtyard, his cheeks wet with tears. He wore no crown, and his clothing was simple and unadorned. His beard was streaked with a few faint lines of grey, and the corners of his eyes were more deeply lined than Terence remembered, but the majesty of his presence was stronger than ever. Eileen whispered, "That's King Arthur." It was not a question. "Oh, Terence, I love him!"

  Gawain threw himself from Guingalet and ran across the courtyard to the king, Terence and Eileen following close behind. Gawain knelt at Arthur's feet and murmured, "My liege."

  Arthur looked at Gawain for a long moment, then, to the astonishment of all, knelt before Gawain, paying Gawain the same homage that Gawain had paid him. "My friend!" he whispered brokenly. Terence beamed with delight, partly at the honor done to his friend, and partly at the grandeur of this king, a king so majestic that he could bow before one of his subjects and only increase his dignity. The crowd, hushed for a moment, burst into lusty cheers, and the king stood, raising Gawain with him.

  "This very evening," Arthur declared, signaling for silence, "we shall begin the feast honoring Sir Gawain." The crowd began to cheer again, but Arthur stilled them. "We shall feast for three days, and on the fourth, we shall hold the most magnificent tournament that this court has ever seen! Send couriers throughout the land! Summon my huntsmen! All shall be of the very finest, for this one whom we love, who went away to die for our sake, has returned!"

  As soon as the hurrahs had subsided, Gawain presented Eileen to the king. She blushed rosily as she curtsied, but Arthur's unfeigned pleasure in welcoming her soon put her at her ease. He led her to his chief housekeeper, saying that Mrs. Grimby would see to her needs until the banquet began that evening. Terence watched her disappear in the crowd then turned back to Gawain, who was grinning happily at the formidable bulk of Sir Kai, which had loomed up beside the king.

  "We've missed you, lad," Sir Kai said abruptly. Only the light in his eyes and the slight upward turn of one corner of his mouth betrayed the emotion behind this curt welcome. "We've kept your chambers for you."

  Gawain lifted his eyebrows, and Arthur said gently, "I believe I told you once that it is never too much to hope."

  XII. The Greatest Knight in England

  There were more speeches and welcomes, but as soon as he was able, Terence slipped away from the throng. He made his way to the Squires' Court, the kitchens, and the stables, talking with all the court servants he found. Three hours later, he tapped lightly at the door to Gawain's chambers and slipped in. Gawain had escaped from his admirers and was alone, stretched out luxuriously in a deep cushioned chair. "Get lost?" he asked.

  "Just taking a look around."

  Gawain grinned. "Naturally. What's the news?"

  "Sir Lancelot this, Sir Lancelot that. The fellow's been busy. He's b
een off on a few quests, saved the lives of just about every knight at the table at some time or another, even Sir Kai's."

  Gawain raised one eyebrow. "How'd that happen?"

  "Story's a bit mangled, but it seems a chap named Sir Turquin started capturing the knights of the Round Table, starting a collection maybe, and even took Sir Kai. Sir Lancelot killed Sir Turquin and set them free." Gawain pursed his lips thoughtfully, and Terence continued. "You remember that fellow Sir Oneas, the one I popped off his horse with my cudgel? Lancelot killed him. They say this Sir Oneas was a regular demon, a knight of passing great prowess or some such rot. Only Lancelot could have defeated so fearsome a fighter, they say."

  "That's the story, eh? What else?"

  "Your brother's at Camelot."

  "Gareth?"

  "Ay, that's the fellow."

  Gawain raised his eyebrows at the note of disapproval in Terence's voice. "Glad he's here," he said mildly. "I always thought he had potential."

  "They say that he's second only to Sir Lancelot. He's been off on a quest and saved all manner of ladies." Gawain grinned with a hint of pride, and Terence coughed slightly. "He ... um ... didn't want Arthur to knight him, they say."

  "He didn't want...? Why not?"

  "Thought it would mean more if Sir Lancelot did it."

  "Impertinent whelp." Gawain waved his hand in a vague gesture of dismissal. "Lancelot and Guinevere still together?"

  Terence only nodded, but then he said, "When you say Guinevere, do you mean the queen?"

  Gawain scowled. "Who else would I mean?"

  "I'm sure I don't know, milord. The queen isn't referred to by that name anymore. Sir Lancelot has christened her, 'Peerless Perfection of Maidenhood,' and that's what they call her now."

  Gawain's frown lightened. "'Peerless Perfection of Maidenhood'? People really call her that?"

  "So it seems. Among the people who speak to her at all, only the king still calls her by name."

  "'Peerless...' How embarrassing," Gawain said, amused. "I could almost be sorry for her."

  At the banquet that night, Terence almost felt sorry for Guinevere himself, starting with his first sight of the queen. She was seven years older now than when they had left on their quest, and the years showed. A few fine wrinkles had appeared at the corners of her eyes. She may have been more pale, too, but it was hard to tell through the blush that she had painted on her cheeks. Eileen, entering the hall just ahead of Terence, leaned back and whispered, "Is that the Peerless Perfection of Maidenhood?"

  "Oh, you've heard that, have you?"

  "Sort of heavily painted, isn't she?"

  "It's hard for a Maiden to keep up Peerless Perfection, you know," Terence replied sternly.

  Eileen sat beside Gawain, who was at Arthur's right hand, and Terence stood correctly behind Gawain. On Arthur's left, Sir Lancelot maintained a steady flow of extravagant compliments to Guinevere, who accepted them with silence. Terence whispered to Eileen, "I'm surprised the queen can stand to listen to such stuff."

  "Maybe she can't," Eileen replied. "But what can she do? It would be hard for a lady to refuse the attentions of the greatest knight in England."

  On the first night of the banquet, Tor told about his quest to find Gawain. While his search had little to do with Gawain's return, he had had several harrowing adventures, and it made for interesting listening. When he was done, all present murmured their approval, and Arthur thanked him for adding once again to the glory of the Round Table. On the second night, Gawain began his story. At Terence's insistence, Gawain all but left his squire out of the story. He said nothing of teaching Terence the knightly arts, but rather began his tale with Sir Oneas, the Knight of the Crossroads. Terence kept his face bland while Gawain lavishly described Sir Oneas's great size, terrible fierceness, and surpassing brilliance in arms. Sir Lancelot nodded in solemn agreement.

  Gawain then told of his supernatural struggle with the demonic Huntsman of Anglesey, and he laid it on even thicker, telling how the huntsman breathed fire and hurled trees and so on. Gawain thanked Sir Lancelot for the holy shield of Our Lady of Anglesey, which had saved him from the Huntsman's evil darts, and Sir Lancelot, much moved, said not to mention it.

  Gawain's account of his escape from the Chateau Wirral was, if not highly accurate, at least very thrilling. In Gawain's story, it was Eileen herself, rather than Terence in one of Eileen's dresses, who freed Gawain from the dungeons. Eileen seemed surprised to learn how heroic she had been, but she bowed modestly. "Indeed," Gawain said, gazing mistily into the distance, "it was a vision of all that is fair in womanhood that greeted my eyes when the dungeon door swung open. Such surpassing loveliness and grace!" Terence grunted, and Eileen's shoulders shook. Gawain concluded by thanking Eileen for her unfailing courage and courtesy, then added, "I hope, indeed I know, that you shall find a knight more worthy than I to cherish you."

  This last statement caused a mild sensation in the banquet hall. Like Tor and Plogrun, all Camelot had assumed that Eileen was Gawain's lady, and as soon as they realized their mistake, more than one knight began watching Eileen with unusual interest. Terence counted at least six knights that would be languishing at Eileen's feet before the week was out, paying her extravagant compliments, and more than likely writing French sonnets to her nose. Gawain gave Terence a twinkling, mischievous glance, and Terence began a mental list of crude names to call his friend when they were alone.

  Gawain resumed his story the third night, but he told few of their adventures in the Other World. Omitting the elfin village, he told only of his midnight struggle with Parsifal and of Eileen's escape from Hag Annis. Then, in a serious tone, he told of Bercilak's Keep. He told the whole story, without elaboration or omission. He spoke bluntly of his own cowardice and selfishness in keeping the green girdle that he thought would save his own life. The room grew unnaturally silent as Gawain told of the Green Chapel and how he discovered his own shame.

  "I loved my life more than my honor," he said, standing and opening his surcoat to reveal the green girdle against his tunic—"this girdle I wear as a badge of that shame, the shame that will never leave me. This," he finished quietly, taking his seat again, "is my quest."

  Terence smiled approvingly. Of course, Gawain could not tell about Avalon, where his shame had been affirmed and his honor restored. Gawain's decision to stop his tale at the Green Chapel was exactly right. By mocking the adventures that would usually be considered worthy and baldly telling of his disgrace, Gawain had told a story that was remarkably different from other knightly tales. It was as if Gawain were himself a messenger from another world.

  "This is a marvelous fine tale, sire," a voice rang out in the banquet hall. To Terence's surprise, it was Sir Lancelot. He continued, "Told by a marvelous fine knight."

  "Yea, indeed," said another, and then the hall was filled with calls of agreement.

  "To wage such battle with the great Sir Oneas!" one said.

  "The unnatural Huntsman!" declared another. "What fury! What puissance!"

  A young knight wearing a beige hat that was trimmed with lavender lace and looked rather like an elderberry pie, added, "And Lady Eileen! Such purity! So delicate a flower!" He turned what was undoubtably intended as a meaningful look onto Eileen, who nodded politely but who did not appear to Terence to relish being called delicate.

  "My king!" Sir Lancelot spoke again, and the hall grew still. "I suggest we do worship to this knight and his marvelous power by instituting a new order of knighthood in his honor!"

  Again the hall erupted with loud declarations of agreement. Gawain leaned forward in his chair and looked curiously at Sir Lancelot. "The Order of the Puissant Sword!" one called out.

  "Nay! The Order of the Destroyer of Giants!" another declared.

  "Giants?" Gawain blinked. "Where...?"

  "Nay!" Sir Lancelot decreed. "The Order of the Green Girdle! What say you, O King?"

  Arthur stood, and the hubbub subsided. "Indeed, I believe such a
n order should be instituted, an order unlike any other. But I wonder if that is truly what you all wish. What does the court say should be the requirements for membership in this new order?"

  "Only the very finest of the knights of the Table Round!" Sir Lancelot said immediately.

  "Anyone who wins a tournament?" someone else suggested.

  "Nay, two tournaments!"

  "Three!"

  "How about one who kills a giant?"

  "Two giants!"

  "Anyone Lady Eileen desires," the young knight wearing the pie declared belligerently.

  "Nay, anyone Sir Lancelot desires!" called another.

  "Three giants!"

  "Lady Eileen!"

  "Sir Lancelot!"

  "What about a knight who has served for five years or more?"

  "Or five years and one tournament?"

  "Lady Eileen!"

  "Four giants!"

  "Sir Lancelot!"

  "What about one giant and two tournaments?"

  "Plus five years of service!"

  "What if you can't find a giant?"

  "Five years and two tournaments?"

  As the shouts grew louder, Arthur turned and looked sadly at Gawain, who was gazing around the room in consternation. Gawain met his eyes with an agonized appeal, but Arthur only shook his head. Sir Lancelot broke into the clamor. "Peace!" The banquet hall grew silent. "All of these are good ideas," he began, "and I feel certain that Sir Gawain agrees."

  "No, I don't!" Gawain snapped, but Arthur laid a hand on his shoulder to silence him.

  "It is perhaps too much to ask all knights to achieve what Sir Gawain has achieved," Arthur said. His hand, still resting on Gawain's shoulder, tightened expressively. "I know few who could discover such an adventure or tell such a tale." He smiled gently. "Shall we say that any knight who has completed one quest and won the prize at two tournaments may enter the Order of the Green Girdle?"

  The knights and ladies gathered there signified their assent by nodding their heads judiciously, as though that was just what they had suggested themselves. Arthur took his seat, and Gawain whispered to him urgently, "My liege, this girdle marks my disgrace, not my feats of arms. I didn't do half of what I told you!"