Gawain and Lady Green (14 page)

L
ady Mary,” prayed Gawain. “Queen of Heaven, Christ’s holy Mother, guide me!”

He knelt in snowy dusk beside his chestnut charger, Gringolet. Thinner, much hungrier than when they set out, man and horse hung heads and turned backs to the moor wind.

“You know, Lady, the course of my travels. But you know it from heaven. Let me tell you from here on earth, how it has been.

“Lady, for weeks I have ridden north as Merlin bade me, not toward cursed Holy Oak and Satan’s Dun, preserve me! But east of there. The Green Knight claimed to be known. ‘Ask for the Green Chapel, you cannot fail to find me.’ I have asked for the Green Chapel everywhere. Everywhere I meet with shrugs and shaken heads.

“At every ford I have found foes waiting, foul and fierce. I have struggled with wild men, with bear and bull and boar. Truly I know, you have preserved me! Had I not served you and your Son since boyhood, I would now be dead many times over.

“Yet, Lady, I am a King’s Companion. These fights and struggles have not worried me much. For this journey I am well armed and was well provisioned.

“But now Christmas is past, and my provisions are long exhausted. Winter worries me—freezing rain, snow, and sleet. Half dead from cold I have slept many nights in my armor, sometimes under icicle caverns by hillside springs.

“Lady, in heaven you know no cold, no snow, no hunger. Have you forgotten these small trials? Lady, mercifully remember and help me!”

Beside Gawain, Gringolet shifted and blew. His ears turned forward.

“Lady Mary! Show me the Green Chapel. If I cannot find it, that will not be my fault! Yet Merlin will never sing of me again. Men will call me coward.

“Finding it, I find Death and Honor.

“Lady, you know my Honor is besmirched. You know I broke a promise. I left my helpless love asleep in a cold cave on a barren moor like this one. You saw that from heaven, but here on earth it is still secret. It may be I have been led back up north here to atone for that very sin. As to that, you know the answer.”

Gringolet stretched his snow-maned neck and whinnied. He pawed hard earth with an unshod front hoof. All four shoes were long lost on the moor.

“Lady Mary, I pray to you, lead me to the Green Chapel! Or at least to shelter for this night. I have not strength left to build a fire! Amen, dear Lady, Amen!”

Gawain looked up at the restless horse. “What ails you? Heh?”

Hope struck like a ray of heavenly light. “Angel Michael! You see something!”

Suddenly desperately strong, Gawain almost jumped up. Heedless of aching bone and worn-out muscle, he mounted Gringolet.

“Lady Mary! Queen of Heaven! I did not see that forest line before. And what is that, all white under dark trees?”

Gawain strained to see through fast-gathering, snowing dark. Quickly his trained eyes picked out the white shape, even to the twitch of ears and tail, the prance of slender legs.

“God’s teeth, it’s a white fallow deer! Maybe sent by Holy Mary to guide me. Or at least to stave off starvation!”

Not for the first time, Gawain galloped toward a tree line and a flitting white shadow.

Sir.
(said Inner Mind.)
This hall seems odd. Strange. Outland.

So. This is Outland. This is the north.

I liked it not from the outside. Hidden in forest. Thatch from rooftree to ground, like a peasant hut.

Worry, worry! Feel this good fire!
Gawain hastened to stand close by it.

And not a sound from here, nor from the outbuildings! Silent as…

I smell pork!

Sir, I tell you true; when I saw this strange hall through the trees, I almost saw a fence of skulls around it. And that one-eyed servant who let us in…

He startled me, too. Looked almost familiar.

Aye, that’s it! And the way he said, “Stand by the fire. Open no door.” Why did he say that?

Look, I care not who or why. Just so they bring on the pork!

Never saw I hall so bare!

Gawain glanced about the large, very simple hall. He stood alone
by a dug, unlined fire pit in the middle. Flickering firelight showed him a large trestle table set ready for dinner with two trenchers, two mugs, and burning candles. Other than this and two stools, the large room offered no furniture.

The dim hall was round, shaped like a summer pavilion or peasant hut. Carelessly laid thatch bunched down through a lattice of bent boughs. The floor-rushes covered trampled dirt. There were no windows.

Four closed doors there were: the front door, through which he had come; a door through which—even closed—came stomach-rending food smells; and two doors opposite each other.

Sir, I think this hall has been knocked together in a great hurry.

God-thank! Smell that roasting pork!

Sir, tremble not with eagerness! Conceal. Control. Preserve a seemly dignity.

Right. You are right. I will stand like a wooden statue.

That one-eyed fellow…Look you—what secret hides behind these doors?

I care not, so our stomach be filled! And, Mary be praised, feel that good fire! Holy Mary brought us here, remember. Worry no more.

Sir. On guard.

One of the opposite doors opened. The large, dark, fur-clad figure that waddled into firelight opened both arms wide and grinned through a bushy black beard. “A visitor! God’s truth, we get few of those here! Be welcome, guest!”

He advanced upon Gawain. No taller, he yet outweighed Gawain as a bear outweighs a hound. Gawain was glad he did not actually embrace him as a bear might. They might both have toppled into the fire.

“I am Lord Bright, head of this house.” A proud sweep of a pudgy, gloved hand indicated the round, bare room. “Come, guest, tell me your name!”

The smell of pork seeping through the back door overwhelmed Gawain. For a moment, he hardly knew his name.

Sir! Dignity! Courtesy!

He pulled himself together. “Lord, I am Gawain, Knight of the Round Table, King’s Companion.”

“Heh? What say, what say?” His rotund host took his elbow and marched him to the table. “Sit you here, Sir.” Gawain crashed onto the proffered stool. “And I will sit here.” Bright took the opposite stool. “You are Gawain Who?”

“I…” Gawain’s head swam. “Knight of the Round Table…”

“And what table’s that?”

“…King’s Companion…”

“To what king, Sir?”

The back door opened.

In marched the one-eyed servant with a blast of winter-night air. He bore the steaming, black-crackled pork in one trencher, breads in another. He slapped both trenchers on the table between host and guest, turned, and stomped out the door. In a moment he was back with two skin bottles of ale. He thumped these down and turned to leave again.

“Harrumph!” His master snorted through his beard.

The one-eyed servant paused, turned, and offered an awkward, hasty bow to each knight. Then he departed, apparently for good, banging the door behind him.

God’s teeth! Never seen such sloppy service! What sort of lord can this Bright be?

Gawain heard neither his host’s voice nor that of his Inner Mind. His being flowed from him and wrapped itself around the pork.

“Never mind all that now,” Lord Bright boomed. He pushed the trencher toward Gawain. “Dig in, Sir! You’ve had a cold ride to get here.”

“Now”—Lord Bright wiped his mouth and beard vigorously on his sleeve—“now, Sir…Gawain, I have a question for you.”

Fed and warm, Gawain looked at his host with almost steady eyes. “I’ll try to answer, Lord Bright.”

“You came in here starved off the moor. I won’t say drooping. Ha-ha! I’m glad to see you raise up now, like rain-crushed barley when the sun shines.”

Gawain said a bit stiffly, “That is due to your hospitality, Lord Bright.”

“Good! Ha-ha! But your spirit still lies crushed.”

Caution! “My Lord, are you one of those who see the spirit?”

“See the spirit…Oh, no! Not me. No, I’m not one of those. But sorrow is plain to see in your face, Brother.”

Gawain winced—first at the easy “Brother” spoken to a King’s Companion and then to think that his sorrow was plain to see. He thought he had learned to mask it the moment the headless Green Knight thundered out of King’s Hall.

Well. He had to ask the dread question, anyhow.

“My Lord…” He let Lord Bright refill his mug. This northern ale
was altogether strong and strange, but his Lady Green of Doleful Memory had taught him to like it. “My Lord, you see not sorrow in my face, but the constraint of hard duty.”

“Heh? Hah?” Lord Bright leaned forward, bristling interest.

“I came here to these parts in search of a hall called the Green Chapel. Do you know of it?”

Lord Bright cocked and scratched his head. “The Green Chapel. Ho-ho. Let me think. Meantime, why do you want this Green Chapel?”

“I must meet one there on New Year’s morning. It is a matter of High Honor.”

Reverently: “High Honor. Aha. Then I take it you will fight?”

“No, my lord. There will be no fight.”

“But you said…High Honor…”

“I shall yield myself to the Knight of the Green Chapel.”

Lord Bright stared. “
What?
”

In brief, bitter words Gawain explained. “A huge man, my Lord. Green entirely. Richly dressed and got up, and all in green. On a green horse.”

Lord Bright’s mouth gaped pink in his black beard.

“The severed head said, ‘Men call me the Knight of the Green Chapel. Ask for the Green Chapel and you cannot fail to find me.’ My lord, I have asked from Arthur’s Dun to here, and I have failed to find it. Can you help me?”

Virgin Mother, let him know!

Queen of Heaven, let him not know! That will not be my fault.

Gawain reached for his mug.

Lord Bright winked one blue eye and bushy brow. “Brother, I think maybe I can.”

Gawain set down the mug.

Lord Bright’s beard wiggled and waggled. Then, “Aye, Sir, I think I’ve just remembered. Not far from here is an old burial mound, you know the kind. Where a tribe buries its most honored dead. You know what I mean.”

“Ah…Aye. A burial mound.” Gawain’s heart thumped slowly, loudly.

“Folk call this mound the Green Chapel. Don’t know why. Ain’t no greener than anyplace else.

“Anyhow. Now and then, fellow hangs around there. Fellow with an ax. All green, like you said. Huge. Fierce like an ogre. Maybe he is an ogre. Folk stay well away from him.”

Gawain’s breath slowed.

“Never saw no green horse, though.”

“You’ve…seen this green man?”

“From a distance, Brother. No wish to see closer.”

“God’s teeth.”

“Hah?”

“This can only be the Knight of the Green Chapel.”

“Well, he could be a knight. Or a Fey phantom. Or a heathen God.”

“And the mound is known as…”

“The Green Chapel, aye. And where might you find another green man?” Lord Bright raised his mug and slurped.

“This must be the place. And the man.” Gawain gasped for breath. His heart slammed in his chest.

“Why don’t you just stay on here? Plenty room.” Lord Bright
twinkled at him. “Then on New Year’s morning—that’s only four days from now—One-Eye will guide you to the Chapel.”

“I…er…I thank you, my Lord.”

( Truth, I never thought to find it. Despite the green ax hung up by Uncles’s Caliburn, I thought the whole thing must have been some sort of dream. I never truly expected to meet a man who knew the Knight of the…)
Gawain swallowed hard and straightened on his stool. “You are hospitable, my Lord!”

Lord Bright chuckled. “I’ll wager you think you’ll have a dull time here.”

Gawain hardly heard. He concentrated on breathing.

“Sometimes we liven things up. Next three days I have a big hunt planned.”

“Oh?”

“Never fear, I won’t ask you to hunt! Can see you’re saddle sore. You can rest up in yon guest chamber.” Lord Bright nodded past Gawain to one of the mysterious closed doors. “Whole room all to yourself. Furnished like lady’s bower.

“Oh. That reminds me. My lady can entertain you while I hunt.”