"That is no normal sword," Jean said. "It must be part of the spell that protects Logres. Any blade that could cut that cleanly through iron can cut through anything."
"Maybe not," Sarah said.
Jean and Ariel looked at her, and Sarah swallowed. She hadn't meant to say anything about her idea, but for a moment, amid concern for Jean's hand and a desire to help him on his quest, the words had slipped out unbidden. Now that she had spoken, though, she wouldn't go back. Taking a deep breath, Sarah said, "Let me try something. May I use another piece of your armor?"
Jean nodded, and Sarah chose at random a piece that looked as if it had been designed for a forearm. "Don't rest your hand on it," Jean said.
Sarah turned her head slowly and met Jean's gaze, then rolled her eyes expressively. "Thank you for that valuable advice, Jean. Just how much of a knock-in-the-cradle do you think I am?"
"I suppose it was a bit obvious, wasn't it?" Jean admitted, grinning ruefully. His face was transformed briefly by this flicker of self-deprecating amusement. "But what do you mean to do?"
"Watch," Sarah said. Stepping close to the Sword Bridge, she swung the armor down on the edge of the blade. As she had expected, the blade cut the armor easily, and the top of half tumbled slowly down the abyss. "Now," Sarah said, "watch this." With a swift movement, she drew her own sword and swung down on the Sword Bridge. The two swords rang at the collision, but when Sarah lifted her sword, it was still in one piece. There was not even a dent or a mark on Sarah's sword to show where it had hit the bridge.
Jean's eyes widened. "Please, Sarah, may I see that sword?" Sarah let him take it from her hand, and he examined it reverently. "Quel sabre! Merveilleux," he murmured.
"It is a magical sword," Sarah said. "It was made by a faery armorer named Trebuchet"—Ariel's eyes sparkled at the name, and she nodded quickly—"and was given to Sir Kai." Sarah's face lightened at a memory that suddenly struck her as absurd. "I think perhaps even Sir Kai didn't know of this sword's strength. He was planning to give it to his son. But instead he gave it to me."
"Kai has a son now?" Jean asked. "But this son cannot be very old. Kai had no children when I went away."
"I think Sir Kai said his son was two years old," Sarah said.
Jean's face remained grave, but the edges of his eyes wrinkled with amusement. "Yes," he said. "It is perhaps not a toy for the nursery. Nor, I would have said, for a young girl." Sarah met his searching gaze, and Jean continued, "But Kai is no fool, and if he gave it to you, he must have seen something remarkable in you."
Sarah shrugged off the compliment. "The important thing is that the magic of the Sword Bridge cannot cut through the magic of this sword. There must be some way we can use that to get you across."
"It will mean giving up your sword," Jean pointed out. "And it may end up at the bottom of that gorge—if it has a bottom. Even if I get across, I won't be able to return your sword."
Sarah nodded. She had already recognized that drawback, and in fact that was why she had hesitated to mention her idea, but she realized with faint surprise that she was willing to give up her sword if doing so could help Jean.
And so the three of them sat by the cliff—back a few yards from the edge, for Ariel's sake—and discussed a dozen different plans for Jean to get across the bridge using Sarah's sword. They rejected all of them. They could think of ways to use the blade to protect Jean from being cut in half, but not to get across such a thin bridge without falling off.
At last Jean came up with a plan that satisfied him and, over the protests of Ariel and Sarah—who thought the plan was madness—began to make preparations. Jean's idea was to fasten Sarah's sword in place down the center of his torso, from his chin to his groin, then lie down face first on the bridge, allowing Sarah's sword to protect him from the blade. Then Jean intended to pull himself forward with his hands, pressing them only against the flat side of the Sword Bridge.
"You'll split yourself right down the middle!" Sarah said bluntly. "We'll have Left-side Jean and Right-side Jean."
"No no," Jean assured her, binding wet leather pads on the palms of his hands to give him a better grip as he pulled himself forward. "If aught goes awry, you won't have either of me. I'll be at the foot of the cliff."
"What about your wound?"Ariel asked. "We've just now stopped the bleeding. You'll start it up again and bleed to death right on the sword." Jean ignored her, and after a moment she said, "Oh, if you're set on it, wait here."
Ariel took a hatchet from their gear and walked over to a stand of stubby trees a furlong away from the cliff. A minute later she returned carrying some branches she had cut. "Rub the sap of these boughs on your hands. It will make them sticky and help you pull yourself forward."
Jean smiled. "Thank you."
A few minutes later, Jean was ready. To make himself as light as possible, he had removed all of his armor except his breastplate, and with some of the cut-up bits of armor he had fashioned some clasps to hold Sarah's sword in place on his chest. "Take care of each other," Jean said calmly. Then he lowered himself face first onto the edge of the cruel blade.
It worked. The Sword Bridge didn't cut through Sarah's sword or, for that matter, through the knight that rested on it, and Jean reached forward, laid his sticky palms on the flat of the blade, one on each side, and began to inch his way forward. He held himself steady by bending his legs and pressing his ankles against the flat of the sword behind him. "Will it work after all?" Ariel whispered.
Then Jean stopped. Sarah stepped to the edge of the cliff. "Jean, what's wrong?"
"Your sword is loose," Jean replied calmly. "The blade of the bridge has cut away the stays that were holding it in place. If I move, it will fall out from under me."
"Can you move back? You're only about two feet from this edge."
"No," Jean said. "Your sword is completely unattached. I'm very sorry about losing your sword like this. It is a priceless treasure. If you see Gawain and Terence, and Guinevere and Kai, tell them I tried."
"Oh, shut up," Sarah said. She turned to Ariel and said, "He needs someone to hold the sword in place while he pulls himself forward."
Ariel's face grew still, but she nodded. "I will wait for you here," she said. "And Sarah? I'm sorry."
"Sorry?"
"For being so shocked when you killed that knight. I knew it was what you meant to do ... but I..."
"It doesn't matter," Sarah said.
"But I want to be your friend still," Ariel said. She reached out and took Sarah's hand in her own. "Friends?" she said.
Sarah nodded and whispered, "Friends." Then, turning away from Ariel, she walked to the edge of the cliff and said, "Jean? Hold on tight. I'm going to jump onto your back now."
"What?"
"Then I can reach around your neck and hold the sword steady when you move forward."
"You're mad!"
"Yes, I think so."
"I forbid it, Sarah!"
"How do you plan to stop me? Are you ready? When I say three. One, two, three." Then Sarah jumped from the edge of the cliff.
She landed on Jean's back and felt herself sliding forward, but she caught herself by hooking her hands under his arms. The Sword Bridge quivered and sang at the impact, but Jean clamped himself onto the sides of the sword with such ferocity that they didn't slip to either side. Sarah let out her breath, then moved her hands carefully around Jean's neck, groping blindly but carefully until she found the hilt of her sword. "I've got it," she said.
"You foolish child!" Jean said between gritted teeth.
"Yes," Sarah replied. "But there's nothing to do about it now."
"I'll take you back at once," Jean said. "Hold the sword steady." He began to push, to slide them back to the edge, but they didn't move. "We're caught on something. We can't move backward."
"Then let's move forward," Sarah said. Jean began to speak, but Sarah cut him off before he could say a word. "Don't be a fool, Jean. We can't move backward, and we can't hang here forever. F
orward is our best hope, and if you don't mind terribly, I'd rather you didn't waste any more strength arguing with me. We may need that strength before we're across."
For the next eternity—all Sarah could say for sure when it was over was that it had taken more than an hour and less than a day—they crept forward, with Jean sliding forward an inch at a time while Sarah held the blade steady beneath him. More times than she could count her sword slipped slightly and Jean winced as he received a cut, but these nicks were all superficial, and each time Jean was able to lift himself up again enough for Sarah to correct the position of her sword. Sarah's fingers ached from holding the sword, and the hilt of Jean's sword, which he had tied to his back, dug into her chest. As Ariel had predicted, the wound in Jean's right palm began to bleed again, and Sarah watched in morbid fascination as drop after drop floated down the cliff into the cloud below them.
Then she couldn't watch any more. When they were about halfway across, the cloud rose and surrounded them. She could no longer tell how far they had gone or how far they had yet to go. She could barely see the outline of Jean's dark hair in front of her. Twice they almost fell, but they continued inching forward. Sarah could hardly feel her numb fingers, but still she held firm. Jean's huge shoulder muscles trembled spasmodically at each pull forward. At last, as Sarah reached ahead to reposition the sword for the thousandth or ten-thousandth time, her hand brushed something. "Jean, stop!" she whispered.
Jean did not speak, but he obeyed. Cautiously, Sarah extended her arm and her fingers felt a tuft of grass, then solid ground, just over a foot in front of them. "We're at the other side," Sarah said. "The other side, Jean. Hold tight. I'll climb off, then reach back and hold the sword in place for you."
"Go," Jean gasped.
One hand on the edge of the cliff to steady her, Sarah carefully raised herself to her knees on Jean's back, and from there it was easy. A moment later, she collapsed in thick grass on solid ground. She didn't rest, though, but immediately scrambled around and reached back over the precipice.
Her fingers found Jean's hair, soaked with sweat and with the moisture of the cloud. She allowed her fingers to follow the line of his beard down to his shoulders and chest. At last they touched the hilt of her sword. "I've got it," she said.
Jean pulled himself an inch, then another. It should have been easier to move without Sarah on his back, but it seemed as if every movement was the very last one that his muscles could possibly make. "Here," Sarah said. Holding her sword with only one hand, she put her other hand over Jean's hand. "Reach out," Sarah said. "You're inches from the edge."
Jean let go and allowed Sarah to guide his hand to the cliff edge. It seemed to give him strength, and he buried his fingers in the thick grass and pulled himself forward. Then his forearms and elbows were on solid ground. Sarah still held her sword in position so that Jean would not lose a leg at the very end, and then Jean gave himself a great heave from his elbows, came over the edge, and crumpled in a limp heap on top of Sarah.
How long she lay there, trembling and gasping and crushed beneath the joyful weight of inconceivable relief, Sarah was not sure, but Jean's labored breathing had still not returned completely to normal before Sarah pushed the knight off of her and rose to her feet. "We have to tell Ariel we made it," she said. "She can't see us through this fog. Ariel! Ariel!"
There was no answer. "She cannot hear you, either," Jean said. Sarah called as loudly as she could, but no answering shout came back.
"We shall have to wait until the fog lifts—or drops," Jean said. "It will be hours before I will be able to move, anyway."
Sarah hesitated. She hated leaving her friend in suspense. "Let me try this," she said. Stooping, she picked up her sword from the grass at her feet and felt her way through the cloud back to the edge of the cliff.
"Be careful," Jean said.
Sarah felt a strange and unfamiliar sensation rising in her breast, an irrepressible, wild hilarity, and then the wall broke and a quiet but earth-shakingly unexpected sound came from her lips: a giggle. "Be careful?" she said. "You tell me to be careful? You mean, I shouldn't take any risks?" She giggled again, and then began to laugh in earnest.
Jean, his voice shaking, said, "Mordieu! Did I really say that?" And then he, too, began to laugh, and for another few minutes they lay helpless, convulsed at the absurdity of being careful now.
At last, their laughter subsided, and Sarah said wonderingly, "Do you know? I haven't laughed in four months."
"Bah! You are an amateur," Jean replied. "Me, I have not laughed so in seven years. Now, what were you doing at the edge of the cliff?"
"Remember when I hit the Sword Bridge with my sword, back on the other side? Remember that loud ringing sound?"
"Of course! Hit it again. Ariel will know what it is."
Sarah felt her way to the edge, then reached out with the sword tentatively until she found the end of the bridge. She raised the sword, then swung it down. A loud clang rang out over the gorge, but Sarah's sword didn't rebound off of the Sword Bridge as it had before but instead cut right through it. Sarah stumbled forward, almost falling over the edge.
"What happened?" Jean demanded.
"I cut through the bridge," Sarah replied. A fresh wind, rising from nowhere, struck her face and swept her hair behind her. At once the cloud began to dissipate. First she could see her feet, uncomfortably close to the precipice. She stepped back. Then she saw Jean, lying nearby in the grass, covered with blood, his clothes in tatters. She sheathed her sword, pushing it back under the edge of her cloak, and knelt beside him, but he shook his head.
"They are all shallow cuts, save the one on my hand. Look! Across the gorge!" Then she looked up and saw, across the now bridgeless chasm, Ariel standing by their horse, watching. Sarah waved to her friend, but Ariel shook her head. The faery pointed at a spot behind Jean and Sarah, then disappeared in the fading mist. Sarah turned to look behind her.
Ten men with longbows stood not ten yards away, each with an arrow notched and ready. In the middle of the archers stood a knight in chainmail and a velvet robe. "Welcome to Logres, travelers," the knight said, smiling without a trace of humor, or even of humanity. "We love to entertain guests here. I shall be your host for your stay. I am the prince of this land."
Jean climbed weakly to his feet. "Sir Meliagant," he said.
"The same. I must trouble you to give me that sword that is hung over your back," Sir Meliagant said to Jean. Without comment, Jean removed his sword and dropped it on the ground at his feet. Sarah held her cloak tight, to conceal her own sword.
Sir Meliagant's smile faded, and he demanded sternly, "Now, how did you get here?"
"Across the Sword Bridge," Jean replied.
"Impossible! The Lady said that no one could cross it!"
"Then the lady was wrong," Jean replied. "What she should have said was that no one could cross it alone." Sir Meliagant led them up a slight rise, then down a long hill toward a brightly festooned castle. At any other time, Sarah would have stared at all the decorations that covered nearly every stone on the outer wall, but it was hard to concentrate on all the heraldry while trudging heavily in front of ten archers and listening to Sir Meliagant give the guards instructions on which rooms she and Jean were to be locked in.
Just outside the castle gate, though, these depressing arrangements were interrupted. As Sir Meliagant walked through the open trellis, a gray-haired man in a lemon yellow doublet and a lime green cloak stepped out and smiled benignly. Sarah saw frustration flicker across Sir Meliagant's face, but it was swiftly replaced with a smile. "Father!" he said. "What are you doing out of your chambers at this time of day?"
"Visitors!" the brightly dressed man exclaimed with delight. "Are they ... noble visitors?"
"No. They are peasants," Sir Meliagant said at once.
"If it please you, sire," Jean said clearly, "I am a knight, and this is the Lady Sarah. I perceive that you are King Bagdemagus, ruler of Logres and Knight
of the Round Table. I bring you greetings from your friends at that court." Jean delivered this speech in a grand, courtly manner, and accompanied his words with an elegant bow that left no doubt as to the truth of his words. Not even his ragged, bloodstained leather clothing and wild hair and beard could hide the fact that this was a cavalier of a great court.
Jean's speech had quite different effects on the two principal listeners. Sir Meliagant's eyes widened with surprise, then hardened into a baleful glare. His father, King Bagdemagus, however, clapped his hands and beamed with delight. "You've been to court?" he demanded.
"Not in some time, sire, but I know how you are esteemed there by Sir Griflet and others of your closest friends."
The king's eyes brightened. "Dear Griflet! You must indeed be from Camelot if you know of our friendship. Why did Meliagant say you were a peasant?"
"Your son was deceiving you, sire," Jean said promptly.
King Bagdemagus burst into delighted laughter. "That's my son, you know. He never can keep names and faces straight. Silly of him! How I shall laugh at him about it later! But you must come in at once! I have so missed having visitors since..." the king trailed off hesitantly and sneaked a furtive look at his son. But the look was gone in a second, and the king continued, "It's been so long."
Sir Meliagant bowed briskly. "Yes, Father. I was just about to conduct them to their rooms. As you can see, they are not fitly dressed to be received. It is no wonder that I took them for peasants in such garb. I ask you, Father, have you ever seen a knight dressed so meanly?"
Bagdemagus looked troubled. "It is true, sir, that your raimant ill suits your station. I wonder at it! 'Pon my soul, I wonder at it!"
Jean bowed again, perhaps to remind the king of his courtly grace and distract him from his clothing, and said, "You are very right, sire, and normally I should shrink from presenting myself in such attire at this most brilliantly decorated castle." Bagdemagus beamed with pride at the compliment, and Jean said, "But we are on a most dangerous quest and have undergone many trials."
"It is still unseemly," Sir Meliagant said abruptly. "Allow me to escort them to their rooms to change their clothes, and quickly—before anyone sees such gaucherie at your most elegant castle."
The Princess, the Crone, and the Dung-Cart Knight Page 13