The Savage Damsel and the Dwarf

by Gerald Morris

  Beaumains frowned. "What meanest thou by 'dim,' sir knight?"

  "Why, full of courage, of course," the knight replied.

  Beaumains still looked puzzled, but Roger quickly replied, "You're too kind, Sir Persant. I'm sure you are every bit as dim as Sir Beaumains here."

  Sir Persant roared with laughter. "Well spoken, master dwarf! Mayhaps if this knight, Sir Bowman, will oblige me—"

  "Beaumains," interposed Roger.

  "Of course! Sir Beaumains! If Sir Bowman will oblige me, we'll soon see which knight is the dimmest!"

  "Impossible! Two farthings to a ha'penny," murmured Roger. Lynet was indignant at the way Roger was making game of Beaumains, but she could not speak for fear of giggling.

  "A joust, then!" shouted Sir Persant, "if it belikes you, Sir Bowman."

  "I shall refuse no challenge!" Beaumains said.

  '"Tis dimly said!" Sir Persant announced approvingly, and the two knights began making ready for their joust.

  "You're horrible!" Lynet gasped to Roger when the knights were out of earshot. "Oh, it's too cruel of you! You've got to let this poor blue knight know what 'dim' really means!"

  "What, and contradict his brothers? Nay, lass."

  "What did you call me?"

  "I beg your pardon, my lady. I come from the north, where people use 'lass' as a sign of respect."

  "Do they?" Lynet asked suspiciously, but Roger's face was bland and innocent. Lynet changed the subject. "What about this joust? Do you think Beaumains is in any danger?"

  Roger shook his head decisively. "Against this buffoon? Nay."

  But Roger was wrong. While Beaumains unhorsed Sir Persant easily in the jousting, the two knights were much more evenly matched when they began to spar with swords. At last Beaumains disarmed Sir Persant with a very tricky bit of swordsmanship, and the blue knight yielded good-naturedly, but as he left the field, Beaumains stumbled and fell.

  Lynet was at his side in a moment. She raised his visor and saw with shock that his face was pale. Only then did she notice the blood that smeared his left shoulder. "Roger!" she screamed.

  "Here, lass!" came the dwarf's reassuring voice. "Let me loosen his armor."

  Roger swiftly removed Beaumains's breastplate, revealing a deep cut in the shoulder, still ebbing blood. Lynet felt faint, but she shook herself and took charge, pressing her own scarf over the open wound and calling to some of Sir Persant's servants who were standing nearby gawking. "You! And you! Carry Sir Beaumains to a bed, and gently now!"

  While the men gathered the weakly protesting Beaumains in their arms, Lynet looked at Roger. "Will he ... do you think...?"

  "Die? Nay, my lady. But he's not going anywhere for a while. Come on, then. Courage! Let's go see him comfortable now."

  VII. Roger's Journey

  It was a long night for Lynet. When she saw Beaumains's gory wound, her senses reeled, and for the first time in her life, she understood how a person might faint. But she had never had any patience with such missish behavior, so by sheer will, she followed the servants who carried Beaumains to a nearby tent. Then, while they stood gaping and clucking at the prostrate figure, she cleaned and bandaged the cut in his shoulder herself. Beaumains protested feebly, muttering that it was nothing, but Lynet ignored him.

  She had no sooner finished binding the wound when she began to have visitors. First, Sir Persant came, making thoughtless comments in an absurd whisper, first saying he was sure Beaumains would be fine by tomorrow, then adding that it was a shame for such a fine knight to be slain so young. To make matters worse, Sir Persant brought with him his daughter Violet, a wispy damsel of about Lynet's age who sobbed and moaned and carried on as if it were her father who was wounded instead of a stranger. Lynet managed to get rid of them only to be beset by Sir Persant's private physician, who came to bleed Beaumains and to prescribe a depressing diet of gruel and goat's milk "if the knight should ever wake up." Beaumains seemed much weaker after the treatment, and Lynet resolved to keep the leech away from him in the future.

  The only useful visit was from Roger, who brought her a plate of food, then stayed with her through the rest of the night, while Beaumains dozed and moaned and once asked in a small voice for his mother. Lynet was touched, but Roger answered grimly, "She's not here, lad. You'd best get used to that." Lynet wondered at the harshness of Roger's tone, but it worked. Beaumains relaxed and went back to sleep.

  When morning came, Beaumains seemed to be sleeping more deeply than he had all night. Lynet left Roger to watch the patient and slipped out of the tent into the freshness of the dawn. No one else in camp was stirring, and she was able to set off for the fields unobserved. For some hours she had been remembering all that Robin had taught her about the healing herbs, especially feverfew and woundwort, and she had resolved to gather these and take Beaumains's care entirely into her own hands.

  She had just reached an uncultivated area where wildflowers and grasses grew in profusion and was casting around for plants she recognized when a chuckling voice behind her said, "Looking for these, my lady?"

  Lynet turned quickly to find Robin holding out a small basket filled with freshly cut herbs and bark. Lynet smiled with genuine pleasure. "Hello, Robin. Are those for me?"

  "For you? Why, my lady! Have you been fighting, too? Really, Lady Lynet, it's not at all the thing for—"

  Lynet rolled her eyes. "I mean, are they for me to use on Beaumains?"

  Robin grinned and nodded. "Here, let me show you what I've gathered." For the next hour, Robin carefully explained each herb he had provided, how it was to be used, and what benefit it bestowed. Lynet listened attentively, and when at last Robin finished, she was confident that she could undertake Beaumains's treatment without further help.

  "Off you go then," Robin said at last. "Patch the chap up as quickly as you can."

  "How long do you think until he's completely recovered?"

  "Oh, dear lady, you can't wait that long!" Robin exclaimed. "Your sister's just about to give in and marry the Knight of the Red Lands!"

  "What? She wouldn't!"

  Robin's eyes danced. "Of course not. Having such a high view of love and marriage, she'd never stoop to marry a rotter, now, would she?"

  Lynet moaned softly. Lyonesse had always viewed marriage as a social step, a chance to latch on to someone else's fame and fortune. "But how do you know she's about to give in?" Lynet asked.

  "I dropped in to visit your castle last night." Robin smiled at her and added, "No, she didn't see me. Belike your sister's not very observant."

  "But Beaumains won't be able to fight for weeks!" Lynet said.

  "Tell him to get well soon, why don't you?" Robin said cheerfully. Then he disappeared into the long grass.

  Back at camp, Lynet found Roger unsuccessfully trying to dissuade a groggy Beaumains from getting out of bed and putting on his armor. Lynet took charge at once. "No, Beaumains. You will not get out of bed yet," she said, gently but firmly leading him back to his cot. "For heaven's sake, Roger, what were you thinking?" she asked over her shoulder.

  "I couldn't stop him!" Roger retorted, affronted. "What was I to do? Tie his ankles together?"

  "If necessary," said Lynet shortly, turning back to Beaumains. "You lie down for now. I have some herbs here that will make you feel better, but you have to rest while I prepare them."

  Beaumains lay docilely, even gratefully, back on the bed. The exertion of standing had clearly been too much for him. "Mother used to know about herbs," he murmured, half to himself. Lynet watched him tenderly as he closed his eyes. He really was not very old, after all. She longed to stroke his hair and sing him to sleep, but she had medicines to brew.

  "How do you know about herbs?" asked Roger, as they left the tent.

  "Oh, just picked it up here and there," Lynet replied vaguely. Roger was clearly dissatisfied, but he did not press her. Lynet changed the subject. "We need to get Beaumains well quickly, too."

  "Why the rush?"

&n
bsp; "My sister is about to ... I'm afraid my sister will give up waiting for us and surrender to the Red Knight. If we could get word to her that we were on our way, then she would wait. Do you think you could deliver a message?"

  "With this Red Lands fellow camped outside her gate?" Roger said. "Sounds simple enough. I'll just bash my way through his camp, drop off a letter, then bash my way back, shall I? As Sir Persant would say, I can be just as dim as Beaumains."

  Lynet whirled around and glared at the dwarf. "Stop it," she snapped. "Stop making fun of him! He has borne all your criticism like a true knight and gentleman, and he has proven himself brave and noble. Now that he's weak and wounded, leave him alone!"

  "All my criticism?" Roger retorted. "I haven't called him the half of what you've called him! Have I called him 'kitchen boy'?"

  Lynet took a deep breath. "You're right. I did call him names when we first met, and I regret every one of them now. As I told you already, I'm convinced that he is not just a kitchen boy!"

  "Are you then?" said Roger with a snort. "Well, as soon as I'm convinced that the Beau isn't dim, I'll regret my words, too."

  "You know what I think? I think you're jealous!" Roger stared at her, speechless, and she continued, "You can't fight, can't hunt, can't do anything manly, and he can, so you're jealous!"

  Lynet didn't believe any of that, of course, but in her anger, she aimed her words toward the most likely sore spot, and not toward the truth. It worked. Roger closed his mouth and set his lips, then turned sharply away from Lynet. It is hard for dwarfs to stride firmly, their legs being so short, but Roger managed to walk away with dignity. Lynet watched him go, suppressed an impulse to call out an apology, and went off to brew her potions.

  For three days, Lynet stayed with Beaumains, treating his wound with soothing salves and giving him potions to ease his fever and help him sleep. By the second day, his appetite had returned. Lynet rejected Sir Persant's physician's diet and gave Beaumains whatever he felt like eating. By the third day, he was much improved. He was still weak and his left shoulder still very painful, but he was able to sit up and talk and even receive long visits from the silly Sir Persant and his equally empty-headed daughter. Lynet was well satisfied with the results of her care.

  Lynet's only concerns were her nagging worry about Lyonesse and her frustration with Roger. The dwarf had withdrawn from her. He spoke to her seldom, and when he did, it was politely, even punctiliously. Lynet discovered that without Roger to talk to, she ended up talking to no one at all. Then, on the fourth dull day after Beaumains had received his wound, as Lynet walked toward the camp with fresh herbs from the fields, she saw Roger step into Beaumains's tent, then step quickly back out.

  Roger saw her too. "Don't go in there, my lady!" he said sharply.

  "For heaven's sake, why not?"

  "It's ... it's not a good place ... he's dressing."

  "Well, he ought to be in bed," Lynet said with a scowl. "He's been up all morning, and he needs rest."

  "Oh, he's in bed all right," Roger said. "But he doesn't need any help right now."

  "I thought you said he was dressing," Lynet said suspiciously.

  "I lie a lot. Never trust a dwarf. But Beau's resting comfortably now. He doesn't need you."

  "I'll just put some more salve on his wound, then leave him alone," Lynet said, stepping forward.

  Roger barred her way. "No, Lady Lynet," he said loudly. "I think that the Beau is ALREADY ASLEEP. Why don't you leave him alone for now?"

  "If you haven't wakened him with your caterwauling, I certainly won't disturb him," Lynet said with a frown. She heard a rustling inside the tent. "There, see? He's awake."

  Roger licked his lips, then said, "Oh, very well, go on in. But I would have thought that you'd be more concerned about your horse."

  "My mare? What's wrong with her?"

  "Didn't Sir Persant's grooms tell you? She hit her leg on a branch. It may be broken, they say."

  "Broken!" Lynet gasped, dropping her basket of herbs. "No one's told me a thing! Is she still in the paddock?"

  Lynet hurried to the area set aside for the camp's horses, where she found her mare perfectly well. None of the grooms knew of any injury to the mare, and with a puzzled frown she returned to the camp. After a quick peek at Beaumains, who was sleeping peacefully, she began to look for Roger. After two hours of fruitless searching, she asked Sir Persant, who replied, "Oh, your dwarf! Ay, I forgot to tell you. He said he was off to take a message to your sister. Good fellow, that dwarf!"

  Roger was gone for two weeks, a century to Lynet. She hardly slept at all, and when she did collapse into fitful slumber, she dreamed of Roger's body, hacked and bloodied by the Red Knight's sword, lying at the gates of the Castle Perle. During the day she devoted herself to Beaumains, watching over his wound and keeping him from overexerting himself, but Beaumains was young and strong, and he healed quickly. Soon there was little Lynet could do, and she was content to let Sir Persant and the insipid, giggling Violet entertain her patient while she paced in her tent or tramped across the fields, trying to think of anything but of what might have happened to the dwarf.

  But at dinner one night, while Beaumains and his host were enjoying a roast boar, Violet was eating sweetmeats, and Lynet was wishing herself elsewhere, a well-remembered voice at her elbow said, "Never seen you with no appetite, my lady. Figured you'd still be hungry on your deathbed."

  It was Roger, dusty and travel-stained, but unhurt. Lynet felt almost faint with relief and managed to whisper, "You're back."

  "Ah, but you're as quick-witted as ever," Roger said. "Ay, I'm back."

  Lynet leaned close to the dwarf. "You cretin!" she hissed. "You absolutely cloth-headed domnoddy! You witless block! You sap-skulled idiot! You ought to be taken out and beaten with rods! Do you have any idea how foolish this errand of yours was?"

  "No, why don't you tell me?" Roger retorted. Lynet glared at him, panting after her outburst, and Roger grinned. "Missed me, did you, lass? Your sister says that she was thinking of surrendering to the red chap—odd how you knew that—but she'll be happy to wait now and give Beaumains his chance. If you don't want that plate of boar, can I have it?"

  "Get your own," Lynet replied, starting hungrily on the food before her.

  Roger turned to Beaumains. "I've a message for you, Beau."

  Beaumains, who had not noticed Roger's return but who showed no surprise or interest, said, "For me?"

  "Ay. The Knight of the Red Lands says to tell you to bring your burial clothes when you come to fight him. He says he doesn't care who you are, even if you're Gawain or Lancelot himself, he'll chop you to pieces and hang you from a tree." Roger paused, musing, "I don't see that, myself. I mean, will he hang you up first and then chop? Because once you're chopped up, it'll be hard to hang—"

  "Shut up, Roger," Lynet said through a mouthful of food.

  "Maybe he'll just hang the bigger pieces."

  "Roger," Lynet said dangerously. The dwarf grinned at her, but was silent.

  "The Knight of the Red Lands!" exclaimed Sir Persant. "Is that who you mean to fight? Gracious, man! He's a monster! He's a head taller than any other man, and he has seven times the strength of a normal knight! I call him the dimmest knight now living! You mustn't fight him, I tell you!"

  Beaumains started to speak, but Roger interrupted. "You know this Red Lands fellow, do you? Not a relative of yours, by any chance?" Sir Persant emphatically denied this, and Roger glanced at Lynet. "I was just curious," he explained, "what with all the colorful armor in the family."

  Sir Persant, meanwhile, had renewed his entreaty for Beaumains not to fight Red Lands.

  Beaumains stood, his lips firm and his chin high. "It is for that fight alone that I have come this great distance, and I will not show craven, whatsomever say ye! This knight's scorn for the great Sir Lancelot only doubles my resolve to defeat such a recreant! We leave on the morrow!"

  "Tomorrow?" gasped Lynet. "You're not well enou
gh yet!"

  "I will not take thy womanish counsels!" Beaumains declared grandly. "Dwarf, prepare for the journey!"

  "Now see what you've done," Lynet moaned to Roger, who was ignoring Beaumains and helping himself to some pork. "He'll get himself killed!"

  "Sorry," Roger said. "You have to admit, though. He's very brave."

  "Not brave," Lynet muttered. "Dim!"

  Roger grinned again.

  Lynet had to wait until the others had gone to bed before she could get Roger's story from him. They sat alone by a fire, a little apart from the tents, and Roger stretched his toes toward the flames and began, "It was easy enough traveling, at first—"

  "Wait half a moment," Lynet interrupted. "Why did you leave, anyway?"

  "You asked me to, didn't you?" Roger replied warily.

  "Yes, but you said it was crazy, and you were right!"

  "I suppose I was tired of waiting around here, doing nothing. Are you going to let me tell my tale?" Lynet scowled at him, but she folded her hands demurely and waited. "Thank you," Roger said, with a nod. "I knew the right direction, of course, so in a few hours I knew I was near your castle. I didn't really have a plan for how I was to get through this Red Lands fellow's camp, but I thought if I saw it one might come to me."

  "Optimistic, weren't you?"

  "Well, no, but I couldn't think of anything else. Luckily, I didn't need a plan."

  "How did you get through, then?"

  Roger paused and licked his lips. Incongruously, he asked, "Have you ever heard of the Other World, Lynet? The world of the faeries?" Lynet looked at him quickly and nodded. "Ay, I thought you might have. Well, I've never had any doings with it myself, but I've some family members who've meddled with such things. Hasn't improved them any, as far as I can see. Anyway, that's one reason I've been a bit leery of this Squire Terence. If anyone's an Other Worlder, he is."