The Merriest Knight

by Theodore Goodridge Roberts

  "Ten true men, lord."

  I hesitated before speaking, to conceal my surprise and relief.

  "I did not look for your return so soon. Well done, Stark!"

  He appeared then, crawling from the dewy brake, and knelt beside me.

  "I made haste, lord. And every one with bow and spear and knife; and Tom Shaw with new bread and a roasted goose, and Larkin boiled bacon, and Griffith a bottle of usquebaugh. Every man seized his gear at the word."

  "What word?"

  "Pendragon, lord. And Dragon-killer."

  At a low call from Stark, they came from the shadows and gathered about us; and Star Boy moved among them, interested but undisturbed. Some were tall and others short, some broad and others narrow, some in wool and others in leather and yet others in both, but all raggedy. Every one had a bow and quiver at his back, a short spear in his hand, and a black knife in his belt.

  "Tell them your name, lord," Stark prompted me.

  "My name is Patrick Pendragon," I told them.

  They louted low. I raised the great sword high, first by the hilt, then by the blade, and cried out its name; and at that they all louted low again. I gave it to Stark and told him to let every man view it close and handle it if he would. So the sword sung by bards since ancient times, and named by them the destined slayer of all tyrants, passed among the ten. Every poor fellow sank to his knees when it came into his hands. Some kissed the hilt and some the blade.

  When Stark gave it back to me, he cried: "But no man can strike the tyrants to earth with it save only its true lord."

  So I swung Dragon-killer at the length of my right arm, around and around, till it hissed in the still air, then tossed it to my left hand and swung it as wide and fast, then wielded it with both arms till it sang like a harp-string.

  Chapter Five

  Dragon-killer Bites Deep

  Stark and others scouted before me and the rest followed on Star Boy's heels. The sun was halfway up the sky, when Stark came back to me, finger on lip. Sir Philip and his fellows were close at hand, in a grassy glade. Stark and I whispered together. I dismounted, and all my fellows save Stark strung their bows. Then Stark led me forward, and Star Boy followed me close. We stood and peered out through the screening thicket. I saw a knight, fully harnessed and helmeted, seated on a log with his back to us. A fellow in bedraggled finery of velvet and lace and a steel cap stood nearby at the head of a tall red horse, with a long spear upright against one shoulder and a long shield against the other. The little glade was thick with men, some lolling in the fern, but most of them on their feet, standing or stirring. A dozen of them, at least, wore steel caps and breast- and backplates, and carried crossbows and wore short swords; and I knew them for Normans, or worse. The rest, numbering eight or ten, were in wool or leather, carried longbows, and stood apart from the others.

  Stark left the thicket, cap in hand. The squire said a word, and the knight got to his feet and turned. His vizor was open, and I saw the shine of his pale eyes.

  "You, rogue?" he cried. "And empty-handed! Where's the sword, fool?"

  Stark shouted: "Dragon-killer is here, and Pendragon too!"

  Every face turned to him. I mounted, drew the great sword and advanced from cover. Now all eyes were upon me. Star Boy stood, tossing his head high; and I brandished Dragon-killer. The knight shouted and ran to the red horse. A crossbow whanged, and I felt a sting on my left arm. A bowstring twanged beside me, and the Norman with the spent crossbow spun and fell with a clothyard shaft through his middle. And now Philip was up, with his lance leveled and his shield dressed. I had neither spear nor shield. The red horse wheeled, galloped, wheeled again, and came hurtling at us.

  Star Boy jolted into motion. He went forward and this way and that, skipping more like a man on two feet than a great horse on four; and I leaned wide and slashed wide— and the Norman knight drove past with but half a spear in his hand. My great colt flung about and in savage pursuit, roaring like a lion, and he struck a red rump with an iron-gray shoulder; and I struck too, but a glancing blow in my haste. But between us, the Norman was knocked to the ground and his horse sent staggering.

  He drew his sword and dressed his shield. I dismounted and faced him. He was tall and broad, and his sword was as long as Dragon-killer, but narrower, and he shifted his feet like a dancer, and covered himself well with the long shield. Then I knew him for the man in the dream. I ran at him, leaping crookedly and swinging the old sword with both hands. He drove his point and missed. My blade struck an edge of the shield and cut halfway through—and halfway through the armor and the man behind it. Blood spurted to the hilt and over my hands. I wrenched it clear and staggered backward; and Philip de Courtville sagged to the red grass, and rolled once and lay still.

  I had never killed before. All my fighting had been done with wooden swords and blunt spears, in play with boys and old soldiers. I felt a steadying arm, and looked and saw it was the fellow Stark. He held a stone bottle to my lips. I spluttered, but swallowed enough of the fiery stuff to save my credit.

  "Well struck, lord!" he whispered. "Now they know the true champion."

  There was shouting and confusion all around us. The fellows in leather and wool yelled, "A dragon, a dragon!" and hunted the strangers in breastplates and backplates like hares. I saw the knave in tarnished finery leap to the saddle of the big red horse.

  "Save me the red horse!" I cried.

  Looking again, I saw that the saddle was empty and the red horse held from flight by many hands. Then Stark took me to a little river, and Star Boy followed us. I washed myself clean of Philip de Courtville's blood; and Stark bound the nick in my left arm with my handkerchief and then cleaned the great sword. I felt better.

  They carried the dead back to a rocky knoll and left them for the wolves and foxes and ravens to bury. There were but two corpses in native leather and wool. Of the strangers, only one had escaped, by Stark's reckoning.

  "One is enough to bring Devereaux about our ears," I said. "So we must move to a safer place, easier of defense, and send out runners to find Ben Tinker and rally him to us there."

  We moved half a league to a smaller glade on higher and rougher ground, and from there sent out six active woodlanders, to scour the country for the gypsy in six directions. We dared not make fire, so did not hunt fresh meat, but dined on what we had, which was not much. I refused to accept more than one leg of the goose.

  "A Norman lord would take the whole bird to himself," said an old man in a bearskin tunic.

  It was not a case of share and share alike in the late Sir Philip's horse and war-gear, however. I named the red horse, the sword and secondary arms, and a spare lance and shield, and (after trying it on) the plumed helmet, for my very own.

  The sun was no more than halfway down in the West, when Ben Tinker appeared suddenly, flashing his teeth, and came running to me and embraced me; and the bowmen cheered.

  "I didn't wait for you at the cave, good Ben," I mumbled, embarrassed by his sudden appearance as well as the embrace.

  "So I see, my good young lord," he replied, cocking an eyebrow.

  "Stark came asking for you," I went on, talking fast but thinking faster. "To tell you this Philip—that Philip, he's dead now—was mustering the people. He called himself their champion. And he needed the old sword Dragon-killer to prove it—to prove himself their destined savior. Stark came to warn you. And he told me all about the champion. So I found armor in the cave and came away to see this champion, with Stark to guide me—and with Dragon-killer. And with ten of Stark's good friends. And he led me to him and his following of foreign rogues in half-armor, with crossbows. And I slew the false champion with Dragon-killer—and his ruffians are all dead too, save one who got away."

  "It was well done, good lord," cried the gypsy. "And as for you, friend Stark—well, you are a better man than I thought you. To say true, good Stark, I have always—but let it pass!"

  Stark, standing near us, with bowed head, mumbled
, "Gramercy! Gramercy, Captain!" but did not raise his head.

  The gypsy stepped back and blew three blasts on his fingers; and instantly the surrounding bushy edges of the greenwood became agitated and spawned forth a swarm of rustic figures with bows across their backs and spears in their hands.

  "Two score and seven, and more on their way, my dear lord," the tinker informed me, in a complacent voice and with a fine show of teeth.

  Turning, he bawled: "I have long promised you a true English champion—and here he is: the Lord Pendragon from over the western mountain. An English lord—ay, and of the ancient blood of British Arthur! No upstart turncoat Norman hedge-runner, this! And he has Dragon-killer in his hand—that ancient sacred sword—just as I promised you. And it has already drunk the blood of that knave I never trusted, Philip de Courtville. Now you know which of us was right, my simple friends—you or this gypsy. My true lord of Dragonland here—and many's the pot and pan he has watched me mend in the kitchen of the castle of his fathers, from which a Norman usurper has hunted him into the forest—cut the artful impostor in two this very day. Your noble Sir Philip—faugh! He went down before your true champion and the old sword like a basket of wind—just as I promised you!"

  Some sank to their knees, and many went down on all-fours, and cries of, "Lead on, Dragon-killer! Lead on, lord! Lead on, Norman-killer!" filled the glade and echoed to and fro between wood and rock.

  Ben Tinker moved away and mingled with them, with friendly but authoritative words and gestures; and then Stark raised his head and looked me in the eyes.

  "Gramercy, lord!" he whispered. "Had you told him the truth—how I had come to steal the sword for the Norman Philip—he would have flayed me alive—that gypsy!"

  "I guessed as much," I said. "A proven friend's hide is worth a lie."

  He knelt at my feet. I raised him and told him to look well to the horses and gear. The gypsy came back to me and advised me to send out more scouts to bring in more rebels and to watch the Normans.

  "Doubtless you've already done so, good Ben," I said. "If so, good! If not, do it. You are the captain. And I give you that knave Courtville's red horse and long sword too, and whatever of his gear I am not using myself."

  * * *

  At first blink of dawn we moved out of there, with a dozen bowmen fanned out in front. Ben Tinker, harnessed and armed, rode at my left hand on the tall red horse, and cut a commanding figure. Stark was at my right stirrup; and I saw that he now sported a steel cap and breastplate and some tags of velvet. When we issued upon the open farms, the morning light was wide and clear. Trumpets sounded from the battlements of the hulking gray castle of the mighty Devereaux. We heard the clank and clang of the descending drawbridge. We halted.

  "Let them show themselves, my dear lord," said the gypsy. "Let them come to us—or as near as suits Your Nobility's purpose."

  He flashed all his teeth at me, till they seemed to fill his open vizor. He was in high feather. A big knight on a big black horse appeared beneath the raised portcullis. His plume and shield were black and white. He rode onto the bridge at a slow, thumping walk.

  "The Lord Simon," said Ben. "A strong knight, but ponderous. Could you match him, if need be, my good Lord Patrick?"

  "I could do what I can," I said; but my mouth was dry.

  After Simon Devereaux rode five couples of large men-at-arms on horses to match. The narrow bridge swayed with their weight. After the horsemen came footmen with crossbows and pikes, a score of them at least, and all in short surcoats of black and white, like magpies. Clear of the shuddering bridge, the knight shook his charger to a trot, and from that to a galumphing gallop; and the men-at-arms did the same, forming in line on his right and left as they came up with him; and the footmen ran in among the horses; and so they all came thundering toward us, and shouting "Devereaux! Devereaux!" like one man.

  Then the gypsy looked behind us for a moment, cried out a few words, and looked to our front again. A bow twanged; and then a multitudinous twanging of waxed strings and humming of sharp feathers filled the air, and points and feathers glinted high and low in the level rays of the new-risen sun. Long shafts struck and quivered in the sod and stubble before and behind the charging Norman line. A riderless horse came charging to the fore, wheeled, and charged back through the line.

  Horses stumbled, staggered up, and plunged this way and that; and two stumbled again and lay kicking. Another saddle showed empty as the horse wheeled and galloped for home. The footmen lagged behind and loosed their crossbows, but the short bolts went wild and wide. And still the English arrows flew in swarms. The shouting of the war-cry grew ragged, and ceased altogether save for the bellowing of Lord Simon. The charging line became bent and ragged, and slow and slower, till only the knight and the black horse, both untouched, came on full tilt.

  "Spare him," I said to the gypsy, but with a dry mouth.

  Again he cried back over a shoulder; and instantly the song of hemp and feather fell to a whisper and then to silence. Then I closed my vizor, laid the long spear, dressed the long shield, and stirred Star Boy forward.

  "Traitor!" roared the big knight.

  Later, I wondered how he had learned of the revolt without hearing of Courtville's death too, but at the moment I could only pray. He came hurtling on, cursing me for a false knight and traitor, and bulking larger, and with his curses clanging louder in my ears, with every thud of my dismayed heart. We met before Star Boy had gathered full headway. I went backward clear out of the saddle, and came to earth on the flat of my shoulders.

  The surprise and violence of that contact knocked dismay from my heart and confusion from my head. I came to my feet with Dragon-killer in my right hand. Star Boy came galloping to me, and I waved him away. The Norman plowed to a stop, heaved around, and came thundering back at me, man and horse both roaring. I threw the long shield at him and sprang aside. The black horse swerved, then plunged, reared upright and turned, staggering, on his hind legs; and I saw that Star Boy had attacked him on the other side, with hooves and teeth, and that the knight was toppling backward from the saddle. I ran in and pulled him to the ground, spear and shield and all, smote him on the helmet with the pommel of the old sword to quiet him, then knelt on his breast and rattled a dagger on the bars of his vizor.

  "Strike, traitor cur—and be done with it!" he gasped.

  "Fool, I'm not that double-traitor!" I told him. "I cut that scurvy knave in two yesterday. My name is Pendragon."

  I opened my vizor. Now the woodlanders were running to me and gathering around; and I saw the Normans in full flight for the drawbridge, every man and horse of them who could stir a leg, with the lord's riderless black leading them; and I saw Star Boy galloping back to me, strong and triumphant. I stood astride the prostrate Devereaux, with Dragon-killer in my right hand and a long dagger in my left.

  "This knight is my prisoner!" I cried.

  The bowmen checked; and now Ben Tinker came among them on the red horse, berating them for fools and pointing castleward till they bent their bows again. The drawbridge was packed tight with frantic men and horses, and swaying with their struggles, when the long shafts began to fall upon it, thinly, then thick and thicker and faster like snowflakes in a growing storm; and soon there were more men and horses in the moat than on the quaking planks.

  The gypsy dismounted and came to me and helped me to stand the Lord Simon Devereaux upright on his feet.

  "Look you, if any man harm this prisoner of mine, I will serve him as I served Philip de Courtville," I told him.

  "And I will flay him into the bargain, my noble lord and champion," Ben cried heartily.

  "I know that voice!" cried my captive. "The gypsy, mauger my head! The saucy tinker!"

  "You say truth, my large lord," Ben acknowledged, flashing all his teeth. "The saucy gypsy tinker, mauger your head. And a right honest tinker have I always been to you, though not so honestly paid for my skill. So if I sometimes carried off a stray knife or scrap of armor, c
an you blame me? And it seems now, Your Mightiness, that I have stopped more than pots and pans for the noble race of Devereaux—even their castle, it seems."

  "God's wounds!" muttered the knight.

  I gave my captive into Stark's keeping, after the gypsy had called all the English together and told them that the person of the Lord Simon Devereaux, along with his arms and harness, was the private property of their champion and liberator the Lord Pendragon of Dragonland, and to be treated as such, or larger fruit than acorns would burden the nearest big oak.

  Chapter Six

  The Damosel Again

  When the people of the farms and crofts of that great valley saw our strength, they showed themselves in couples and groups, with gestures of submission and welcome. We advanced, spreading to right and left, and hemmed in moat and castle. Bolts and long arrows flew from battlements and keep, but in vain, for all our people took shelter under thatched roofs, and in orchards and hedges. Whatever warning the Normans had received, it had come too late for the peasants and herds to drive the cattle behind moat and wall and take refuge there themselves; so, having witnessed the defeat of the garrison and the ignominious fall of their great Lord Simon, and finding acquaintances and kinsmen even, and their friend the tinker, among the invaders, they considered themselves fortunate to be without, instead of within, the walls of Castle Devereaux.

  Fat capons and even fatter ducks, that had been intended for the high table of the castle, lost their heads and feathers and were spitted and broiled to a turn and devoured by the victors. There was cider too. But all was not feasting and drinking. Captain Tinker picked master-bowmen and sergeants and told them their duties, and demonstrated the maintenance of discipline by cuffing the ears of a big swineherd who had said that now that he was free of the Norman yoke he was as good as any man and would take orders from no man.