The Merriest Knight

by Theodore Goodridge Roberts

  Dennys and Rufus were at the feast, but Dennys went away to his chamber in a remote tower long before the finish. Now that he knew he had overstayed his welcome with the King, and had made up his mind to leave, he had no heart for that sort of thing. It was hours later when Rufus came stumbling in—and there was Sir Dennys still sitting on the edge of his couch with his head in his hands.

  "MacMurraugh forever!" cried Rufus, staggering about and flourishing his arms.

  But not for long. When he struck his shins on his couch, he fell across it and lay there. Dennys roused himself from his sad thoughts and went to his squire's assistance. He lifted him, swung him, and laid him straight, with a pillow under his head. Then he returned to his own couch and lay down; and when he heard Rufus snoring softly, he blew out the candle and tried to follow that good example.

  He lay flat on his back, with his legs straight and at full length, and relaxed all his muscles. But his mind refused to relax. No matter how tight he shut his eyes, his thoughts continued to jig and race across them, as bright as pictures on a new arras, and as lively as conjurers at a fair. There was no justice in it, for surely he had the right to an easy conscience now that he knew the little maid had no more need of him, and he was determined to rejoice the anxious hearts of his parents at the earliest possible moment. What more could a man do to deserve an easy conscience and a quiet mind that would allow him honest sleep?

  But no, the pictures kept jigging and flashing between his twitching brain and his shut eyelids: the devil take them! He sat up and opened his eyes at the surrounding dark. He left his bed and groped around until he found the leather bottle he knew about, tilted it to his mouth, and swigged the strong ale till he was out of breath. He thought that would soothe him to sleep; but on his way back to bed, to put it to the proof, he fell over Rufus. The squire yelled, "MacMurraugh forever!" and grabbed him by the throat; and they were battling on the floor for dear life when Rufus came to his senses.

  "Would you murder me?" gasped Dennys.

  "So it's yerself!" muttered Rufus. "I mistook you for a Dubliner. What goes on anyhow? Who threw me out of bed? Leave me at him, an' I´ll heave him clear back to Dublin Castle!"

  "You drank too much," Dennys told him, still gasping.

  "Too much? Man, I'm dry as tinder this minute! Me gullet's full of ashes."

  Dennys went groping once more, found the leather bottle and took it to Rufus, who was back on his couch but still muttering belligerently. Then he returned to his own bed and tried again to compose himself to slumber. He heard the gurgling of the bottle and found it a soothing sound. He closed his eyes. He was on the verge of sleep; he was even adrift in that sweet tide, when a squashy thud brought him back to reality, and he knew that his companion had finished the ale and dropped the empty leather bottle on the floor.

  "That laid the dust—but I could do with its mate," the squire announced in a strong voice.

  "Go to sleep," said the knight.

  "Bring on that Dubliner now, an' well see who hits the floor first this time!" Rufus demanded, his voice yet stronger. "Or bring 'em all on, all at once, squires an' knights all together—an' well make 'em rue the day they ever left Dublin, Denny boy—you an' me together, an' never mind the odds!"

  "Compose yourself and go to sleep now," begged Dennys.

  "We have a busy day ahead of us, Rufe. Well need all our strength."

  After a brief silence, Rufus uttered a hoot of laughter and followed it with wild words.

  "A busy day, is it? Ah, me dear Sir Dennys, day ain't the word for it. Call it a week, anyhow."

  "Call it six months, and youll be nearer the mark, if you are talking about the whole time well be on the road," said Dennys. "But go to sleep now, and never mind looking so far ahead."

  Again Dennys closed his eyes, but only to open them at another outburst of laughter and wild words from his squire.

  "Home, is it? Sure, Denny boy—an' all in good time. But now we got some previous engagements on our hands. Didn't I tell you? Eight Dubliners on our hands. One thing at a time, Denny boy. First the Dubliners, an' next the wide world."

  "What are you saying?" Dennys demanded, sitting up now with both feet on the floor. "What are they to us— these visitors from Dublin?"

  "I told you," Rufus answered, in a thick but reasonable tone of voice. "An' if I didn't, I´ll tell you now. I don't like 'em. Nor their airs an' graces, nor their winks an' sneers, nor their brag. Dublin this, an' Dublin that, till you'd think it was the only place in the world. And their smelling salts! The way they kep' sniffing at their little vials of smelling salts. But I bided my time an' dealt with 'em one by one, without violence or commotion, in a most gentlemanly manner. First, one at a time an' without a hubbub, I challenged the four squires to mortal combat—each in turn— in my own name; an' I didn't lay a finger on 'em nor even speak louder than a whisper. Man, Denny boy, ye'd been proud of me, the way I kep' my temper an' minded me manners. Then, one by one an' in the most elegant style, I challenged the four knights to mortal combat."

  "You couldn't do that," Dennys protested. "A squire can't challenge a knight. And if you think I'm going to hang around here after all the distress of making up my mind to leave, while you brawl with four squires, you think wrong. I start for home tomorrow—to return, please God, when my little maid needs me again."

  "Not so fast, Denny boy," said Rufus. "I didn't challenge the knights in my own name, divil a fear! I know the rules an' regulations an' all. I challenged them in your name."

  "In my name? You couldn't do that, even drunk!"

  "I did it, anyhow."

  "But I have no quarrel with those knights!"

  "You would have if you'd stopped longer. They as good as said they've seen prettier queens than Brigid."

  "They didn't say it to me, or in my hearing; and I am not her champion, anyway. I´ll explain it to them."

  "Would you make a liar of me for a little thing like that—an' me your true squire! But not so fast, now! D'ye mind when Little Brigie was fetched down for a minute to bid them welcome?"

  "I'd mind it if I'd seen it. That must have been after I had left and come up here. But what about it?"

  "So you didn't see the look on their faces when Malachi held her up in his arms an' sang out: 'Gentlemen, this is our daughter the princess.'"

  "What look was that?"

  "Well, it's hard to describe: there was amusement in it, but that wasn't all. There was more than amusement in their half-shut eyes, and in the curl of their lips too. It was what you could call a contemptuous look."

  Dennys stood up. Rufus could not see him, but he could hear his hard breathing. Then Dennys fell to pacing around between the two couches, still breathing hard and high. He went six times around without a word, then stopped and spoke in a voice Rufus had never heard out of him before.

  "Did you say contemptuous?"

  "That's what I said," Rufus answered.

  Without another word, Dennys returned to his bed and lay down. But he did not lie still. The cocks were crowing in full force, and the little birds were piping and twittering in the trees all around, before he stopped twitching and turning.

  Chapter Three

  King Malachi Was No Ornament to Chivalry

  First thing in the morning, King Malachi proclaimed a whole sennight of celebrations for the entertainment of his noble and genteel guests from the court of King Anguish of Dublin, and without the loss of a minute set about ordering the same, and dispatching messengers in all directions. There would be jousts and tournaments and feasts for the chivalry and quality, and sports and games and merry-go-round and free ale for the commonalty, and all manner of junketing for one and all. For Anguish of Dublin was generally reputed to be the most powerful of all the thirteen kings of Ireland; and Malachi was eager to do him honor.

  This King Malachi was no ornament to chivalry—as you may have gathered from the words of his third cousin once removed, Squire Rufus. The nature he had been born with,
and rheumatism and a late marriage and other circumstances and conditions of his life, had made a queer character of him. He was more a schemer than a man of action, but he loved excitement: the excitement however, had to come to him to do him any good. He was not one to go out after it, or make it for himself; and yet extraordinary occurrences and surprises were the only things that could get him out of bed in a good humor. For weeks after the recovery of little Princess Brigid, he had been as lively as a cricket; but the novelty of his relief and joy had soon worn off, and he had started complaining, and kept it up, of his pains, and the wind from the wrong quarter, and life in general: but now, with the important Dubliners to entertain, he was the last in bed at night and the first out in the morning, and all smiles all day long.

  * * *

  King Malachi and Dennys met by chance in the outer court of the castle early on the first morning after the night of the first feast.

  "Good morning to ye, Sir Dennys!" cried the King, with a grand smile.

  Dennys doffed his cap and louted low, but he kept a stiff face.

  "How d'ye like your grand new horse?" Malachi asked.

  "A noble horse, sir, and I thank Your Majesty most humbly for your generosity and all former kindnesses to a stranger in a strange land," Dennys answered, with his lips still as straight as his gaze.

  "Not a word, me lad!" the King exclaimed heartily—but his eyes flickered to the right and the left. "Nothing's too good for Sir Dennys ap Rhys, wherever he came from—or would I've made a knight of ye with my own sword? Well do I know what I owe ye, me lad. And speaking of knights, I've a request to make ye, Sir Dennys. From some words of your squire I gathered ye're thinking of depriving us of your company one of these days, which act would distress me greatly at any time, but particularly so just now when I've got these gentlemen of King Anguish's court on me hands; and I'm asking ye to postpone your departure for a sennight or so, and help me to amuse our guests."

  "I was about to offer my services for that very duty," Dennys told him gravely; "and Your Majesty may be sure that I´ll do the utmost in my humble power to amuse the gentlemen from the court of Dublin."

  Malachi returned thanks warmly; and then each went about his own immediate business.

  * * *

  Word of the prospective high jinks spread like a fire in the heather. All sorts and conditions and shapes of humanity came crowding into Cavantown, and the pick of the quality into the big castle itself. Knightly armor and gear were hunted out of dark corners and overhauled by smiths and tinkers, and heralds shook the camphor out of their best tabards and dusted off their books of rules. A grandstand was erected at an edge of a large meadow handy to the castle; and the booths of fortune-tellers and dealers in elixirs and miraculous salves, and the hovels of makers and purveyors of pies and pancakes and frumenty, sprang up all around overnight like toadstools.

  Dennys and Rufus looked well to their arms and gear and horses. Rufus wanted Dennys to invest in a new shield, but Dennys said no, and argued that a proven shield like the one King Torrice had given him almost a year ago—and it was a battered old piece even then!—possessed virtues of experience which a young knight would be foolish to ignore.

  "You could say the same for the old warhorse he gave you at the same time," Rufus protested.

  "So I could, and so I do," said Dennys.

  But he consented to have the old shield repainted by a young limner of the town. Over the dented and dimmed device of King Torrice of Har—gules, a rampant unicorn argent, armed or—was laid a field of white, and on this were depicted two tawny brown wolves walking each with one forepaw off the ground. The walking wolves was the emblem of ownership which generations of Dennys' ancestors had embroidered on their banners and carved over their doors. The painter, who was also something of an authority on the science of heraldry, admired his handiwork vastly.

  "Truly, what action!" he exclaimed. "What color! Your Honor couldn't find brushwork to match it anywhere else in all Ireland. Note the divilish menace of the red eyes. And of the fangs! 'Twas no simple matter to show up the ferocity of the fangs on a white ground; but by using a touch of ochre an' accentuating the red gums, I've mastered the problem as ye can see for yer self. And in addition to its obvious merits as a work of art, it is a grand an' striking shield of arms; and here is how it reads in the high parlance of heraldry, in case anyone asks ye: argent, wolves passant, proper."

  Dennys was delighted with it, and Rufus was favorably impressed. Dennys handed over three silver crowns in payment, which sum was not only more than he could afford, but more than the young artist had ever before received for one of his creations.

  The first event of the first day was a tournament in which sixteen local champions would contend with blunted spears, in the spirit of cooperation rather than a competition, to afford onlookers—high and low, foreign and local— a lively and harmless spectacle of the trappings and attitudes of chivalry and of such spearmanship and horsemanship as could be reasonably expected at such short notice. Swords and daggers were proscribed, in case an unhorsed contender might forget, in a flare of temper, the rule demanding his instant retirement from the field. After the first tilt, those remaining in their saddles would be faced by replacements, and again after the second; and after three courses had been run, the survivor or survivors of the most clashes would be named and acclaimed.

  The sixteen volunteers for the first tilt were placed in opposing lines, eight to a side, by officious heralds and marshals of the field, who performed the task according to a mysterious law or formula of selection known only to themselves. Dennys, who was there on his elderly gray charger Harhar and with his old shield covered with cowhide to protect the new paint, found himself opposite the only other covered shield in sight. Dennys had glanced apprehensively at the high central seats in the grandstand: but no, King Anguish's nephew Sir Cassidy and two of his companions were there, lolling in silks and velvets to right and left of the King and Queen and little Princess; and he had heard from Rufus that the fourth Dublin knight was in bed with a headache, for which he blamed his host's barbarous usquebaugh. He was relieved; for if it came to being unhorsed with a blunted spear, he would rather suffer the indignity from anybody else than any one of the Dublin knights. His account with them could be settled only with sharp spears, or better still, afoot with swords. Now, though he would do his best to maintain his seat, he would accept a tumble philosophically, if need be.

  But I´ll do my best even in this bit of mummery, to please the little maid, he thought. And that's as like as not to be good enough; for if the gentleman over there is more experienced than me, and a local knight, the chances are he's been settled down these ten or maybe twenty years since his last joust; and if not that, the chances are he's less experienced than myself.

  Rufus was still beside him, giving final tweaks and pulls at the latches and tags of his harness, and behaving generally like a fussy dame with her daughter about to appear at her first formal ball.

  "Youll do now," said Rufus. "If anything comes off, including yerself, don't blame me. There's nothing to worry about anyhow, with the Dublin knights all accounted for. But keep an eye on that feller opposite all the same, for I can't make him out. It's a country horse he's up on, all right, and it's local armor he's wearing; but himselfs no Cavanaugh or Kelly or Geraldine or Bryan or Ryan, I can tell by his shape an' style, unless he's one of the wild ones from over the Mountain. Keep an eye and a point on him, anyhow, and hold on tight and trust in God, Denny boy!"

  "All squires outside!" bawled a herald.

  Sixteen squires retired to the sidelines, running or sauntering or strutting, each according to his individual humor or his opinion of his own or his principal's importance. King Malachi stood up in his place and waved a hand; whereupon two heralds blew simultaneous blasts on their trumpets quicker than echoes, and the sixteen cavaliers set their chargers in motion at a variety of gaits and speeds, and a spatter of handclaps rose from the grandstand, and wild whoops
from the ranks of crowding commonalty from the edges of the field. Old Harhar started with a sedate hop, reduced it to a smooth trot, and almost immediately broke the trot into an easy hand-gallop, all without urge or hint from Dennys, who simply sat tight and concentrated on his spear and shield and onrushing opponent.

  And that knight was surely a rusher! Or was it the horse? The big beast had its head down and was charging like a bull; but Dennys could see that the rider was pulling to lift that head for all he was worth, short of using both hands. The oncoming spear wavered, and the big knob of oak on the tip of it wobbled up and down and around. But if he hits us anywhere at that pace, Harhar and I´ll both be grassed, thought Dennys. But he continued to give all his mind to his own spear and shield and leave the rest to his wise old charger.

  Dennys felt a quick twist under him, and then a shock that tingled his muscles at wrist and shoulder, and then a pressure that bent both his spear and his back. But not for long! The ashen shaft of the great spear broke like a dry twig, and the pressure was gone with the crack of it; and there he sat straight and secure on a sedately walking horse. He saw his recent opponent's charger still charging, but clear of the course and the fringing crowd, and homeward bound at full gallop, with streaming tail and upflung head. And he saw the knight he had unhorsed rise slowly to his feet and walk away, leaving an unbroken spear and dented shield on the ground behind him. Dennys felt pleased and proud—but his pride was more for Harhar than himself, for he knew it had been more a trial of horses than of cavaliers. Now the wise old charger wheeled about and ambled back to the exact spot from which he had started. Dennys dismounted and embraced his high neck. Rufus came running with congratulations and a new spear.

  "I'm proud of you, Denny boy!" Rufus exclaimed. "But I must say, for the ease of my soul, if you'd been up on a wild uncivilized colt too, like that feller you grassed, the divil himself would be hard put to it to know the answer. And what d'ye say now to giving Harhar a rest now an' riding Hercules this tilt? And I´ll tell you why. That feller I can't make out—but there's something about him I don't like—is out of it for a spell, anyhow. But I wouldn't put it past him to get back into the third an' last tilt, in another disguise and on a better horse—for if he wasn't disguised this time, I'm the Queen of Spain!"