—The Book of Maelor
Sir Dinadan and his youthful squire Victor were twelve days out from Camelot on a line which the knight had never before explored beyond a league, when the squire was assailed suddenly by fever and stomach cramps. But the heroic youth kept his saddle till they came upon a rustic hermitage, though with heavy sweating inside his harness and great discomfort in his vitals. The hermit claimed to be a skilled physician, and Dinadan believed him because of his honest and kindly face. Between them they soon disarmed Victor and got him to bed, where the hermit went to work on him with brews of wild herbs, applications of cold wet moss to the head and hot wet moss to the stomach, and a lancet. He slept all night, with Dinadan and the hermit keeping watch turn and turn about, and in the morning drank a bowl of thin barley gruel, with one of them supporting him and the other holding the bowl. Then he slept again.
"I must move on today, good Brother Ambrose, or tomorrow at the latest, for our need of a profitable adventure is acute," said Dinadan.
"Then you will go without your squire, good sir," replied the hermit, kindly but firmly. "He will not be strong enough for the saddle within the sennight or maybe ten days, for in ridding him of the noxious humors which threatened his life I had, perforce, to all but drain his veins. But what blood I left in him is as pure as morning dew; and by the time Mother Nature and I have replenished the reservoir of his heart, he will be in better health than ever before."
"Gramercy," said Dinadan.
"I shall graduate his stomach from gruel to porridge with thin milk, then with cream (I have an excellent cow)— and anon to broiled troutlets from the brook, and so on, by way of the white meat of a spring chicken, to boiled bacon and peas," said Brother Ambrose. "So go on your way, good knight, with an easy mind, and make your adventure with a stout heart, for both your squire and his charger shall receive the best of care and provisioning while you are gone."
So Sir Dinadan went on with his great horse Garry, leaving Victor and Victor's horse and four of his last five silver crowns with the good hermit. He had been fooled by the pretty faces of damosels oftener than he could count on the fingers of both hands, but he was a shrewd reader of character in the faces of men.
He moved in a wilderness where every track was of the cloven hoofs of wild cows and wild swine and deer. So dense were the thickets and so rough the way in places that he dismounted and led his heavy-burdened charger. Progress was slow. On the third day out from the hermitage, he decided that he had chosen a hopeless line of country for his purpose, and promised himself that if he failed to find a man-made road by sunset, he would change direction, for on this line a mad wild bull was far more likely to be encountered than any chivalrous adventure. But Fate, in the shapes of a gaggle of geese and their attendant, caused him to change direction in the first hour of the afternoon. The geese hissed and flopped about in the underbrush when he and Garry came heavy-footed and unexpected amongst them; and he knew them for domesticated birds, because they didn't take wing.
"Tame geese in the wilderness!" he exclaimed. "A sure sign of a homestead close at hand. Good! But which way did they come?"
He glanced about him and beheld the goose girl. She was a tall girl in coarse wool only, and not a great deal of that. Her face was weather-stained and hung about with tangled strands of yellow hair. She stood almost in arm's-reach of his left stirrup, and regarded him with questioning eyes and a half-smile.
"God bless us!" he exclaimed.
"Gramercy," she murmured, and fluttered her eyelashes.
"You startled me, my good girl," he said. "First your geese, then yourself. All most unexpected in this dreary wilderness. Did you come from a farm?"
After a moment's hesitation, she nodded.
"Will you lead me to it?" he asked.
Again she hesitated, then nodded again and murmured: "I can try, anyhow."
"Try? What d'ye mean by that? Don't you know the way?"
"I am thinking of you, sir. It is not only a farm, sir. There is a castle, too."
"Hah! A castle. So much the better. Lead on, I pray you, my good girl: and in due course, and with reasonable luck, I shall reward you handsomely."
"Gramercy," she murmured, and moved to Garry's head.
* * *
Now in pure courtesy, Dinadan got down from his saddle and joined her there; for despite his frequent railings upon the inconstancy of the female heart, it was not in his nature nor breeding to go horsed in the company of any woman—damosel or wench, high dame or poor crone— trudging afoot. So they went side by side, and the big horse followed close.
"What of your fat geese?" he asked her.
She shot him a measuring look and said: "If you knew what awaits you, sir, you would have no concern to spare for my gaggle of geese."
"Why not?"
"All your concern would be for yourself."
"Hah! What awaits me?"
"The keeper of the castle."
"Is it an ogre's castle, then? Fie, fie, girl! I lost my faith in fairy tales years ago."
"The keeper of that castle is nothing out of a fairy tale, nor lord of the castle neither, but a great bully of a man who keeps it from this side of the moat, letting only hinds and swineherds and the like in and out; and so he has done these ten months past."
"D'ye tell me so?"
"Yes, for your own good. There is no knight-at-arms within to match him, and the lord took such a hurt at jousting years ago that he may sit nothing harder than a cushion now, and passes the days in monkish studies and the play of chess."
"Poor fellow! But has no knight from without essayed to get in the castle?"
"Two. That's to say one, in very truth."
"One or two, my good girl?"
"One made the essay and died of it. The other took but a look and ran away."
"God save us! The rogue must wear a right villainous look. But I promise you I´ll not run from him, no matter how terrible his aspect."
"And his action is more terrible yet. He is the deadliest knight in the world."
"Is he, now? How does he call himself?"
"Sir Grudwyn."
"Never heard of him. But what of his arms? Are they rich?"
"The helmet and breastplate are damascened with gold, and the hilt and scabbard of the sword studded with rubies."
"Hah, gold and rubies!" exclaimed Dinadan. "Just what I need. Lead me to them, good wench."
The goose girl frowned at him and asked coldly, "Are you Sir Launcelot himself then—or a fool?"
"Nay, not Sir Launcelot," he replied cheerfully. "Lead on."
"A fool, then," she said, but in a kinder voice. "So be it, Sir Fool. But I have warned you."
A few minutes later Dinadan bethought to ask: "To what end does this Grudwyn keep the castle?"
"In wicked spite," she answered, with averted eyes. "Because he may not enter himself, no other shall enter. If the damosel be not for him, then she's for no one."
Dinadan checked so suddenly that his charger bumped into him.
"Damosel, d'ye say?" But I might have known it! Is there no end to them? Must there be a damosel mixed up with every adventure I undertake, to bedevil it or me?"
She gave him an unpleasant look, disillusioned and scornful.
"Take heart, noble sir," she said. "You have nothing to fear. I will take you around and set you upon a safe road beyond, without letting that merciless Grudwyn catch so much as a glimpse of you."
"Not so fast!" he exclaimed. "He keeps the castle from this side the moat, you say. Then I may do what I can with him, and come afterward with his arms and horse, and all the while keep the ditch betwixt the damosel and myself. Lead on."
"You are very sure of yourself," she murmured, sighing.
"I need the money," he said cheerfully.
She sighed again and led onward, now moving three full paces before him; and after a little she gestured to him for caution, knelt and peered ahead, then beckoned to him with a linger. He advanced softly and
knelt beside her; and together they peered out from the underbrush.
"There he is," she whispered. "To the left."
But Dinadan did not shift his gaze instantly, so vastly impressed was he by the view directly in front of him. He saw greensward as smooth as tapestry, and beyond it a willow-fringed moat with white swans and lilies on its still surface, and beyond the water the barbican and walls and bulging towers of a great castle, and the drawbridge cocked high in air like a gigantic arm of iron and oak raised in threat and defiance. It was big enough for a king; and yet he saw no stir of life save the deliberate movements of the swans. After gazing his fill at that marvel, he looked to his left.
The goose girl whispered at his ear: "Under the great oak there."
He saw a knight in a robe of red silk sprawled at ease in the shade.
"A sluggard, asleep and unready at this hour," he jeered.
"Ride forth, then, and youll find him awake and ready enough, I trow," she answered tartly.
He sneered and said: "Nay, I´ll walk over and slap him awake, the hulking slug-abed!"
And he rose from his knees and made a forward step— but only one step. Then she sprang and gripped him by the sword-belt and gave so shrewd a yank that he staggered back, and was all but brought to earth by her violence and the tangling of his spurs.
"Fool!" she cried in his astonished face—for now she was in front of him, and with both hands pushing instead of pulling. "If you will die, die fighting! He is not asleep— nor unarmed; and his horse is close at hand! Would you go to him like a silly calf to the butcher? Give him a fight at least. He might suffer a mishap."
He steadied himself against a shoulder of his equally astonished charger.
"What the devil!" he muttered. "He will suffer a mishap, I warrant you—unless you disable me before I get at him."
At that, she let her hands fall and stood still, with bowed head; whereupon Dinadan turned his back on her and readied Garry and himself for action. He loosed a sack and a hamper from the saddle and dropped them to the ground, took the greater of his two spears in hand and cast the other down, then drew his long shield around from back to shoulder and mounted.
"God defend you!" cried the girl.
"Gramercy," returned the knight, but coldly, for he did not enjoy being pushed and pulled about and called a fool.
So he rode forth from the screen of the forest, drew rein when fairly in the open, fewtered his spear, and shouted: "Run, rogue, run!"
Then the sleepy scene came awake and alive in the blink of an eye, as if by magic. Another shout rang hard upon Dinadan's like an echo, and the shouter appeared, running and leading a great black horse all saddled and armed; the knight beneath the tree came quickly but heavily to his feet and cast off his robe and showed himself armored from neck to heels; and heads appeared along the battlements of the castle, and white faces at narrow windows.
"The wench was right," muttered Dinadan.
Now the shouting squire reached Grudwyn, helped him up onto the black charger and gave him his shield, and a spear like a tree.
"The good girl was right," murmured Dinadan.
And to the dapple-gray Garry he said: "Action front, dear lad, and may God defend us."
So Garry tossed his head and flexed his legs and went a few paces with more posturing than progress, like a dancer who would attune his feet to the music before stepping out.
"Here they come," warned Dinadan.
Then Garry changed his gait and launched himself to the attack as straight and hard as arrow from string; and Dinadan leveled his spear and held it true. The two iron spearheads struck like one, each upon the very center of the opposite iron-plated shield; and the hurtling onslaught checked while the two stout poles of sinewy ash-wood arched, quivering, between the stricken, stubborn shields— only to splinter and break at last, and release the arrested weights of horses and men and metal to stumble and crash together and stagger apart. Garry got his four feet under him smartly and wheeled wide and lightly. Grudwyn's charger was heavier and slower. Dinadan readjusted himself in his saddle—from which he had come within an inch and an ounce of being pushed—and cast away the butt of his shattered spear. He saw Grudwyn do the same, and Grudwyn's squire coming running with a new spear.
"If it's to be spear against sword, I´ll do better afoot," he muttered, speaking from experience; and he was about to dismount, but was stayed by the appearance of the goose girl at his knee, bearing his other spear.
"Gramercy," he said, and took the weapon from her, stooping sidewise. "You're a good girl—and you were right when you warned me of his trickery. But run away now, or you might get hurt in the scuffle."
She looked up at him and fluttered her eyelashes, which were darker than her tangled tresses.
"Don't do that!" he exclaimed. "That's a damosel's ploy, and not for an honest goose girl, no matter how pretty you are." And with that he swung away from her, straightened spear and horse and went at Grudwyn like a thunderbolt.
Grudwyn and the black charger were the heavier, but Sir Dinadan and his dapple-gray were the quicker and faster; and so it was that the murderous keeper of the castle was no more than headed aright, and his new spear was still shaking like a reed in the wind, when that thunderbolt struck him and jarred him from his saddle and heaved him back and down over his horse's tail. Thereupon Dinadan cast his spear aside, dismounted quickly and drew his long sword.
"Would you butcher him flat on the ground?" cried the squire, shrill with dismay and astonishment.
"God forbid!" said Dinadan. "Set him upon his feet and put his sword in his hand."
So the other ran to Grudwyn and strove hard but vainly to set him upright. And now the goose girl came running to Dinadan.
"Have at him now!" she begged. "He would not spare you if he had you down. Slay him for the merciless brute he is."
"Nay, I'm no butcher, but a true knight," he protested. "The wind's knocked out of him, that's all that ails him at the moment. Once he's up and sword in hand, I´ll slay him, I promise you."
She cried at him: "This is no time for courtesy and the rules of chivalry! Take your advantage now. He is deadlier afoot than horsed."
"So am I," he said. "Don't worry. I´ll feed him to the foxes all in good time."
By now Grudwyn was on his feet, but unsteady and still supported by his squire; and his great sword was naked in his right hand, but held limply and point on ground, more like a staff than a weapon.
"Don't trust him," the girl whispered. "He is as whole and ready as you are. Trust not his base squire, neither."
Dinadan replied, "Leave them to me, my little friend," and put her gently aside and went forward cautiously behind his shield and sword.
"He's big, but I've had ado with and undone bigger," he told himself. "And he took such a shock he's fit to fall flat again even now, of his own weight and dizziness."
The squire moved away, leaving Grudwyn swaying alone and apparently held upright only by the support of his sword: but Dinadan, who was a fool only in his encounters with damosels, observed and took note of the fact that the point of the great sword was sunk no deeper than an inch or so into the tender sward; whereupon he uttered a hoot of scornful and hateful derision, and advanced yet more cautiously. He went a slow pace to the right, then a few jigging steps to the left, then three skips straight ahead and one backward, and more sidewise hops and deliberate paces, but ever closing in upon Grudwyn with a fixed and baleful scrutiny. Then, of a sudden, Grudwyn dressed his shield, whirled up his sword, bellowed, and charged like a bull.
Dinadan avoided that onslaught lightly, and Grudwyn carved nothing but air. Grudwyn snubbed to a stop and turned heavily but with surprising quickness. Dinadan faced about to meet him, and saw that which startled his attention from the business in hand—the squire (who was in less than half-armor) rolling on the grass with his arms up and locked to shield his head, and the goose girl belaboring him furiously with her stout oaken staff. He gaped with astonishment,
but was recalled to the menace of Grudwyn by a swish of steel so close to his head that it clipped his crest and set his helmet ringing.
Now Grudwyn was upon him, pressing him back and hammering on his head, over the tops of the grinding shields with the pommel of his sword. He wrenched and staggered clear and made a backhanded stroke even while staggering. It was a lucky stroke, for though it only rattled at the bars of Grudwyn's vizor, it won him a moment in which to steady himself and strike again. And this was a shrewd stroke in very sooth, forehanded and swung full from the shoulders. It set Grudwyn back on his heels with a split shield and a left arm benumbed to the neck. The wrecked shield fell to the ground, and Grudwyn cursed.
"Now's your chance!" screamed the goose girl. "Chop him down!"
Dinadan glanced aside and saw her standing a little way off, and Grudwyn's squire lying as still as death at her feet.
"Why did you do that?" he asked.
She cried: "He would have stabbed you from behind, else!"
Then he saw the foot-long dagger on the ground.
"You saved my life, good girl," he said wonderingly. "The base knave would have found the chink beneath my left arm, devil a doubt. I owe you my life. I never thought to owe it to a goose girl—nor to any other female neither for that matter, God wot! Gramercy!"
She screamed: "Fool! Look to Grudwyn!"
He leaped aside even before he looked, but even so was sent reeling and staggering with a dent in his helmet—a dent that would have been a cut through steel and skull but for her warning. He saw comets with fiery tails, and heard bells clanging in tottering minster spires, but all the while he kept his feet under his point of balance and in motion. He thrust blindly and heard a grunt; and then rushing comets and spinning darkness passed and disclosed Grudwyn swaying, stooping, on fumbling feet. His first impulse was to leap forward, but thought was quicker. He had pricked his enemy, but surely not deep enough for a mortal, or even a disabling hurt. So instead he loosed his shield from his left arm and flung it at drooping Grudwyn's feet—an act which required a mighty fling, for it was a shield of extraordinary size and weight.
The Merriest Knight Page 13