At the Crossing Places (12 page)

I
F I WERE YOU,” GAHERIS TELLS SIR GAWAIN, “I WOULD
sleep in my armor. Not everyone around here will be happy when they hear you've beheaded Sir Blamoure's wife.”

At once four armed knights ride into my stone: two of them with axes, one with a bow, and one with a mace.

“Call yourself a knight?” one of them shouts. “We're friends of Blamoure and you're a disgrace.”

Another knight licks his lips. “A knight who shows no mercy,” he says, “is no longer worthy of being a knight.”

Gaheris draws his sword. While two knights engage him, the knight with the mace plays a terrible tune on Sir Gawain's head, and the knight with the bow unleashes an arrow and pierces Sir Gawain's left arm.

Now four ladies-in-waiting ride into the stone. One kneels in front of each knight and begs him to spare the lives of the two brothers.

“Their lives, yes!” the knights tell the ladies. “Their freedom, no.”

“Who are you?” Sir Gawain asks.

“Lady Saraide's ladies-in-waiting,” the first lady replies.

The four knights lead Sir Gawain and Gaheris out of the hall to a flight of stone steps. It's so dark in the cellar under the
manor that Sir Gawain and his brother cannot even see each other.

“What honorable men!” Gaheris snarls.

“One wrong never justifies another,” Sir Gawain replies. And he growls at the fierce pain in his arm.

For just a moment my obsidian is as dark as the cellar, and then the door at the top of the steps opens, and the first lady-in-waiting comes down, carrying a candle in each hand.

Like puppies the brothers are huddled together—both asleep, both sleeping lightly.

“Good morning!” says the lady.

“Not good,” Sir Gawain says.

“It's your own fault. You have killed a lady. Lady Saraide. Could you have done anything more foul?”

Sir Gawain inclines his head.

“What is your name?” the lady asks.

“Gawain, son of King Lot of Orkney, nephew of King Arthur.”

“You? King Arthur's nephew?”

“And this is Gaheris, my brother and squire,” Sir Gawain continues. “What has happened is my fault, not his.”

“A knight who wrongs another wrongs his squire as well,” the lady replies. “How can you be King Arthur's nephew? You're older than he is.”

“My mother is Morgause, Queen Ygerna's elder daughter by Gorlois, her first husband. She's twenty years older than Arthur.”

“And why did you follow the white hart right into the hall?” the lady asks.

“He was my quest,” Sir Gawain says. “King Arthur told me to bring him back, dead or alive.”

“Then for love of our new king,” the lady say, “I will ask Sir Blamoure's friends to release you.”

The lady leaves one candle for Sir Gawain and Gaheris, and before long she returns. “I've told the four knights who you are,” she says. “You are free to leave on condition you ride straight to the court of King Arthur and carry with you the lady you have killed. You are to hang her head around your own neck,” the lady says, “and lay her body in front of you, over your horse's mane.”

“I will do so,” Sir Gawain promises.

“And you may take the white hart's head,” the lady adds, “because he was your quest.”

Now I can see King Arthur's hall.

Sir Tor is already standing before the king, holding the white scenting-hound on a leash.

“When you left this court,” Arthur-in-the-stone says to him, “you had nothing in the world but an old courser, well past his best, and that suit of armor I lent you. It didn't even fit you. But because of your own strength and your resolve, you've achieved your first quest, and I will reward you with land and money.”

Now I can see Sir Pellinore and the lady who lost her scenting-hound. She's standing one step behind him and says not a word.

“What is your name?” the king asks her.

“Nimue, sire,” she replies in a low voice.

High cheekbones, glossy black hair: Merlin can scarcely take his eyes off her.

“You have told us how you slew the knight who abducted this lady,” Arthur tells Sir Pellinore. “You, too, have achieved your quest.”

Sir Pellinore sniffs. “The Yelping Beast is my quest!” he says.

And now I can see Sir Gawain and Gaheris riding into King Arthur's hall. Lady Saraide's head is hanging around Sir Gawain's neck. Her fair hair is so long, it covers his thighs, and her body, dressed in lily silk, is lying over Kincaled's mane.

“Who is she?” King Arthur demands. “I've never seen such a terrible sight.”

The king is right! When I saw Jacob lying in the dirt, oozing blood, it was the most gruesome thing I'd ever seen in my life. But isn't this even worse? Why am I seeing these horrible killings?

King Arthur and everyone in his court gaze at Sir Gawain and at the lady's head still hanging around his neck.

“I cannot judge you, Gawain,” the king says. “Not for this crime. A jury of ladies must pass judgment on you.”

Now Guinevere and many other ladies retire to the far end of the hall and confer in low voices.

“This is your punishment,” Guinevere calls out in a loud voice. “For as long as you live, you're to fight for any lady who believes she has been wronged and asks you for help. You must never oppose any woman whomsoever, unless you're fighting on behalf of another. And you must always show mercy to other men.”

L
ORD STEPHEN HAS INSTRUCTED HAKET TO BURY THE
Jew just outside the north wall of our churchyard. Then tomorrow morning, Simon has to ride all the way to Ludlow, to inform the earl that Alan is wanted for murder.

After supper, Lord Stephen talked to me about the Jews. “You hear all kinds of things about them,” he said. “Most of those things are bad and few of them are true.”

“Haket says they're animals.”

Lord Stephen sighed. “I've heard that story, but it's not in the Bible,” he said.

“Will you tell me, sir?”

“Well, as you know, Jesus was a Jew. All his friends were Jews. Once, when he was a little boy and playing hide-and-seek, some of his friends hid inside a large oven.

“‘Is there anything inside that oven?' Jesus asked the mother of one of his friends.

“‘Young goats,' the woman said.

“‘All right, then,' said Jesus. ‘I'll turn them into goats.'

“Before long,” said Lord Stephen, “the woman opened her oven. All the little children had been turned into goats!

“‘Jesus!' exclaimed the woman angrily. ‘What do you think you're doing?'

“‘If you call children goats, they may become goats,' Jesus replied.

“‘You change your friends back into children at once!'

“So that's what Jesus did,” said Lord Stephen. “No, the Jews aren't animals. Quite the contrary. They're very clever. I met one Jew at court in London who teaches medicine, and in Chester there's a goldsmith who spins gold and silver as if he were a spider. He looks quite like a spider, actually.”

“No one liked Jacob,” I said.

“True!” said Lord Stephen.

“And Sir John told me the Jews in Norwich were massacred.”

“All over the east of England,” Lord Stephen replied. “And worst of all in York. That was ten years ago.”

“But why, sir?”

“Why do Christians dislike Jews?” Lord Stephen said. “That's a very difficult question. First, because of the crucifixion.”

“But it was the Romans—”

“I know,” said Lord Stephen. “But the Jewish elders and chief priests resented Jesus. They didn't try to stop the Romans. And there's a second reason. Money!”

“What do you mean, sir?”

“Our Church teaches that Christians should not lend money, because it's sinful. So we get the Jews to do our dirty work and then resent them for it.” Lord Stephen smiled faintly. “Anyhow,” he said, “I hear you spoke up.”

I lowered my eyes.

“You shouldn't have spoken like that to Haket,” Lord Stephen said.

“No, sir. But he's so…”

“Arthur!” said Lord Stephen, raising a warning finger. “Mind your manners! You must apologize to him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Simon tells me it was you who asked him to ride over to Verdon.”

“Only because no one else did.”

“Quite right!” said Lord Stephen. “Nothing to be ashamed of. How did you get on at Gortanore?”

“Sir,” I said. “You told me I must talk to Sir William—because he's my father and it's my duty. But he didn't tell me anything.”

“Not about Catmole?”

“Catmole! Yes, he told me about that, but—”

“There you are, then.”

“—but he didn't say anything about my mother, and I couldn't even ask any questions.”

“No, well…”

“Sir, I must find my mother. I must, even though I don't know how. Please allow me to, sir.”

“Arthur,” said Lord Stephen, “you're my only squire and we're joining the crusade and there's a great deal to do. Do you understand that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You must learn to put first things first.”

Because of Jacob and my discussion with Lord Stephen, I haven't even written down what happened before I left Gortanore. I didn't see Sir William again, because he went back to Catmole.

Just before Simon and I set off, Lady Alice took my head between her hands.

“You're thinking about your mother,” she said.

“I thought I'd find out about her. Or even meet her. But the only thing I know is that she's alive.”

Lady Alice kissed my forehead. “Come back soon,” she said.

A
STRANGE BEAST COMES MINCING OUT OF MY SEEING
stone, and I know at once who he is. The body of a leopard and the haunches of a lion. The feet of a hart. He's Sir Pellinore's quest, the Yelping Beast! And when he bays, he makes such a racket you'd think there were thirty couple of hounds inside him.

Arthur-in-the-stone stands up and steps aside from the well, but the Yelping Beast ignores him. He lowers his snake-head into the well and, for as long as he drinks, he's completely silent. But then he begins to bay again and, without so much as a backward glance, he lifts his delicate feet and disappears into the forest.

Almost at once, Sir Pellinore rides up from the opposite direction.

“Your Yelping Beast!” cries the king. “I've just seen him.”

“I've hunted him for ten years,” Sir Pellinore says, “almost eleven, and my poor horse is dying. Let me ride yours.”

“Give up your quest,” Arthur says. “Give it to me, and within one year I'll capture him.”

“Never!” says Sir Pellinore. “This is my adventure, not yours.”

“Then what is my quest?”

“You will recognize it. Allow yourself to be lost and you will begin to find it.”

Now Sir Pellinore mounts the king's destrier. “Thank you, sire,” he calls out in a loud voice.

“I never said you could take him,” Arthur protests.

As soon as my seeing stone went dark, I ran down the steps and across to East Yard to check that no knight—or anyone else—had taken Bonamy!

In the gloom he gazed at me and kept pricking his ears, quite puzzled about why I should be disturbing him.

S
HE KISSED ME!

No, I can't begin at the end. If we all did that, we'd soon be walking backwards. We'd eat sweets before meat and be wise before we wailed.

I woke to the sound of the hunting horn: three short blasts, then twelve even shorter, and then three long ones. Over and over again Sayer blew, whooping bright notes, summoning us to the hunt.

When I put my nose out of doors, I could feel the early morning chill: the first day of April, undressed and shivering. And it was still cold while Lord Stephen and I rode north with Rhys and Sayer and our pack of running-hounds. When we reined in beside the well at Einion, the hounds wrapped themselves in mist-clouds of their own breath.

Winnie and her father, Sir Walter de Verdon, arrived at our meeting place soon after we did, and the first thing I noticed was Winnie's beautiful white fur mittens.

“Who made them?” I asked.

“My mother bought them from a peddler last summer. And a blue nightcap.”

“What did he look like?”

“He had a wart on his nose,” Winnie replied.

“That's him!”

“Who?”

“The man who stole Spitfire—Sian's cat! Your mittens are made from her fur.”

“That's disgusting!” Winnie exclaimed, and she held out both her hands in front of her and shook them until the mittens fell off.

“You can't do that,” I said. “Your hands will get cold.”

“I won't wear them!”

“Just never let Sian see them,” I said.

Winnie's hair is as red-gold as Queen Guinevere's, and Sir Walter's is the same. He even has gold eyelashes, and the bridge of his nose is spotted with freckles. He and Lady Judith are twins, but Sir Walter seems much more merry and affectionate than his sister.

“I've heard plenty about you, Arthur,” he said with a wry smile. “And I'm still glad to meet you!”

“Are we ready, Sayer?” Lord Stephen asked.

“Let's hope for better luck than last time,” Sir Walter said. “Nothing but that miserable wolf.”

“ We cured the skin,” Lord Stephen said, “but it still stinks. We sent the right forefoot over to Caldicot for Lady Helen's sore breasts.”

“Ready, sir,” said Sayer.

“What we want,” said Lord Stephen, “are two juicy hares. Hare pie for Easter!”

“Lady Alice rubs her forefingers and toes with hare's foot,” I said. “It makes them less stiff.”

Then Sayer uncoupled the hounds and raised the ox horn to his lips and blew the call for the quest.

Hou-hou! Hou hou hou hou!

Away went the hounds, opening out like a fan, yelping and yapping! They sprang over the scrubland—retracing their steps, circling, checking—and we all rode after them.

Almost at once, the pack picked up the scent of an old buck, and one of the hounds had him by the throat within a minute.

But soon after that we picked up the scent of another hare—and an agile one. We cheered as our hounds unraveled his tracks, springing first one way and then the other—running straight, zigzagging, leaping right round in circles, sometimes streaming out across the heath ahead of us.

“There he is, look!” shouts Rhys. “Ears up!”

Then Sayer blew such a pattern of bright blasts, quick and short and breathless, that they made the nape of my neck tingle.

When at last the hounds caught Jack-Hare, Sayer waded through the pack and grabbed him, and held him up.

Hoouuu! Hou hou! Hoouuu! Hou hou!

So the horn sang the death-song of the brave hare. And then we all hallooed, and the hounds bayed, but they sounded quite mournful now.

“The prayer of Saint Basil then,” Lord Stephen called out. “Lord God, we're all one fellowship, humans and animals. They're our brothers, our sisters, and this earth is their home too. Let us remember they live not only for us but for themselves, and for You. They, too, love the sweetness of this life.”

“Amen,” we all said. “Amen.”

“Strip him, then!” Lord Stephen told Rhys.

“What about the hounds, sir?” asked Sayer.

“Soak their bread with his blood,” Lord Stephen said. “They've done well, haven't they? Give them the heart and kidneys as well.”

Later, when we were all eating dinner, sitting side by side on the trunk of an elm tree, Winnie told Sayer and Rhys about seeing two hares fighting.

“Two jacks,” she said. “Standing up. Cuffing each other.”

“I seen them swipe each other with their claws,” said Rhys.

“And thump the ground with their back feet,” added Sayer. “They kick each other.”

“Why, though?” asked Winnie.

Sayer smirked.

“The old story,” Rhys said.

“What do you mean?”

“Two males…more sometimes. Fighting over one girl.”

“They only fight when they're mating,” Sayer explained. “I seen fur fly, and one hare blind another.”

“I've heard it said,” Lord Stephen said, “that hares can change sex.”

“They can, sir,” Rhys replied. “One March moon, I called them with a piece of grass. You know! Between my thumbs. Well, one hare came so close I knocked it over. That was pregnant all right, but it had testicles.”

“You saw that?” Lord Stephen asked.

“I did, sir.”

“Last year,” I said, “I made up a song about the hare.”

“How does it go?” asked Sir Walter.

“Squat-in-the-hedge…” I began. “No! That's wrong.

Cat-of-the-wood and cabbage-patch stag,
Squat-in-the-hedge and frisker,
Sit-still and shiver-maker,
Snuffer, twitching whisker…”

“Eight times true, boy,” said Rhys.

“I've added some more words now,” I said.

“White-spot and lie-low-by-the-dyke,
Boxer, little busker,
Wide-eye, wall-eye,
Witch, dew-tracker, trickster.”

“Nine times true, that is,” Rhys said, solemnly nodding.

“You must sing that poem to Rahere, Arthur,” said Lord Stephen.

“You've clever!” said Winnie. “Father, Arthur writes because he wants to.”

Sir Walter shook his head and smiled.

“And he's going to write about me.”

“He is, is he?”

“I never said that,” I protested.

Sir Walter stroked Winnie's hair and looked at her fondly. “Young women!” he said, smiling. “They like nothing so much as to be talked about and admired.”

“So do boys,” said Winnie.

Lord Stephen stood up and began to dust down his straw-colored cloak with the flat of his hands. I couldn't see a speck of
dust on it, or else I would have asked him to take it off, and shaken it for him. Then he blinked and smiled, and we all stood up, and the hounds began to bark.

On the way back to Einion, Sir Walter asked me about my warhorse and my Yard-skills. And then he invited me to visit Verdon.

“Winnie's orders!” he said, smiling.

I can't imagine Sir John obeying Sian, willful as she is, and Sir William certainly wouldn't take orders from Grace. He's a kind man, Sir Walter. I wish I had a father like him.

Before long, the woods of Einion wrapped their blue arms around us, and the meadows of Bryn stretched their new green limbs toward us.

“Arthur!” said Winnie, almost under her breath. “You're very clever.”

“I wanted to tell you about Gortanore,” I said.

“At Verdon you can,” Winnie said. “My father likes you.”

Then she leant over and grabbed Pip's reins, and I saw she was wearing Spitfire's white mittens again.

“Come here!” she ordered.

“Why?”

Winnie put her right arm round my shoulders. She pulled me towards her, and with her warm lips she kissed my cold left cheek.