Gawain and Lady Green (16 page)

Gawain dreamed his own praises.

Harmless kiss, by God! And I withstood it. I sent her away with pious words, God save you, Mary keep you. Merlin will never sing of this, but I will die knowing my own true, unstained worth. I am indeed Sir Gawain of the Round Table, King’s Companion; I am more truly he than I knew! I will shine in heaven like a star, like a shield burnished past shining—

Sir.

Leave me alone.

Sir, something is strange here. I wonder if we are bewitched.

Heh?
Gawain cracked open one eye.

Consider, Sir. Listen to this. Suppose Merlin sang you this story: A white
doe leads us from dusky moor to forest hall. Here we find three persons—Lord Bright, his crazed wife, and his servant One-Eye. No host of knights, squires, pages, cooks—

Did we not hear a hunt depart, just now?

We heard it. We did not see it.

Hmmm. True.

Consider farther. Lord Bright dines with you alone and makes you a bargain.

Gawain cracked the other eye.
Bargain! God’s teeth! When he comes home tonight, what do I give him? A kiss?

That’s what you took in his house.

I did not take it. It was freely given…very freely.

Mary’s veil, what a kiss! Gawain paused to savor the memory. But if Lord Bright learns of this, he will beat his wife! I would not bring that about. That would be…unknightly.

Fear not overmuch, Sir. He must know her for what she is, crazed or wanton. You cannot be the first guest she has kissed!

By Saint Giles, no!

But Sir, all these strangenesses…I suspect these folk are Fey, and have us prisoned in enchantment.

Hah?

I suspect this is no forest hall, but an oak grove, of the type we know well already; no bed, but a bank of oak leaves. No—

Pshaugh! Leave off your suspicions.

Consider—

No more! If this bed be a bank of leaves, it is the warmest, softest bank I ever slept upon…

Sir—

For God’s love! If we are enchanted, we are enchanted. We might as well die in these leaves, this bed, as in the Green Chapel. We will die easier, here!

Gawain pulled the wool blankets over his bare shoulders and slept.

At first dark, horns, shouts, and barks announced the return of the hunt.

Weak and dizzy, Gawain met Lady Bright by the hall fire, even as One-Eye silently piled on wood. Quickly, briskly he worked, snapping twigs and rolling logs, looking nowhere but to the rising fire.

For the first time in a season, Gawain wore soft indoor garments—embroidered slippers, hose, long maroon tunic and cloak—none of them his own. Waking in the afternoon, he had found these on the stool where his lousy, frost-cracked clothes and mail had lain. More important, his sword was gone.

Inner Mind had counseled,
Uncle does not allow knights to wear swords at his table, either. When you leave, your own clothes, mail, lice, and sword will surely be brought you.

(“Leave!” The word had given Gawain a sudden, sharp neck ache. To salve it, he had drunk deeply of the full tankard left beside the stool.)

Lady Bright fairly glowed in leaping firelight. Her scarlet gown and wimple drank light, gold bracelets and rings reflected light. Beneath her half veil her handsome (if somewhat coarse) features betrayed no fear; but Gawain sensed tension in her proud stance. He said quickly, softly, “Lady. I am Honor-bound to give your lord what I have found in his house this day.”

She smiled gently into his face. Slightly surprised, he noticed they were nearly the same height. “Dear Sir Gawain!” she answered low, “well I know how you value your Honor. Whatever you have found in my lord’s house, give to him with my blessing.”

Gawain scented her perfume and felt again the mighty magic of her attraction. He thought,
Lord Bright may beat her…might kill her…

But I doubt it, Sir. Her charms are a strong shield.

Hooves thundered around the flimsy hall. Thatch fell in dusty clumps through the roof-lattice. The door burst open.

Lord Bright filled the doorway. With knife bristling, rough hunting garb, and wild beard bloodied, he looked a likely wife-killer. White-faced Lady Bright gave him a calm glance.

“Ho, ho, honored guest!” Lord Bright cast huge arms wide and waddled toward Gawain. “I’ve brought you gifts and more gifts! Did you rest well, guest?”

Two great black hounds with bloodied jaws burst in after Lord Bright. Growling like bears, they trotted around the fire pit.

“My Lord, I rested quite well—”

“Good! Good! Come out here now and see what I have for you!” A powerful paw descended on Gawain’s shoulder and urged him to the door. Shivering in his light tunic, Gawain stepped out into cold darkness.

A cheerful fire burned among outbuildings on the clearing’s edge. Silhouettes of men and dogs milled around it. By the door a groom held a torch. Its ragged red light shifted over a second groom, two blowing, sweat-shiny pack ponies, and their burdens of bleeding meat.

“You should have come!” Lord Bright roared. “You should have heard our horns, chased our chase!”

The two black hounds bounded about the ponies’ feet, snapping up at the meat. One hound leaped against Lord Bright. He caught and kneaded its ears with gloved fingers as a baker kneads bread, to its whining delight. The ponies stamped and stirred, unhappy with the heavy, wreathing blood smell.

Gawain folded his arms tight against the cold and stood astraddle, lest his knees knock.

“We let the antlered harts and bucks go by.” Lord Bright almost sang like a bard. “No stringy, worn-out meat for us! We drove the hinds and does down to the water. A great run, Sir! Horn and hound! Sun and wind! Bump and thump! Ech, you should have come!”

Gawain locked his jaws lest the complaint of his chattering teeth be heard. Not much danger there. Voices of men and dogs rose now from the fire among the huts. And Lord Bright thought only of his hunt.

“Down at the water we had men and hounds waiting, you know. Skilled and strong. So fast, they grabbed the deer in an eyeblink. Pulled ’em down. Ripped ’em up. In a breath. You should have seen how fast they butchered! All done there by the water.” Jovially, Lord Bright slapped a sack of offal. “Sorted out on the spot. No mess here!”

“My Lord,” Gawain managed politely between chattering teeth, “I c-c-c-congratulate your hunt!”

“Look here!” Lord Bright lifted an edge of raw, winter-gray hide. “Good as you’ve seen, I’ll wager. And look how skillfully done, not a cut on it. Top speed.”

“I…c-c-c-congratulate…”

“And all this, guest, is for you!” Lord Bright hurled the hound away and grabbed Gawain to his chest. “This is my own take, for my own use—three deer! Which I give you here and now, according to our covenant.”

“Thank you, my…L-L-L-ord. Now I have something to give you…to return some p-p-part of your hospitality.”

“Aye! I’ll wager that here at home you have taken something worth more than all this!”

“I…m-m-m-meant to say, my Lord…I return this, your gift of m-m-meat, for your later feasting.”

“Hah! Then shall we feast together, Sir Gawain. Later.”

“Ah, no, my Lord. I d-d-doubt that I shall ever feast again.”

“Come, man!” Lord Bright clapped Gawain’s two shoulders and shook him back and forth. “No need for such gloom! Sad thought brings sadness. Like the song says,
Never mind mourning. Let her follow you.
Ech, you are cold!”

Gawain could no longer conceal his agony of cold. Teeth and knees and shudders proclaimed it.

“I forgot, you are not winter-dressed. Come inside, guest! Quick, by the fire!”

The fire burned high. Lady Bright stood in its light like a scarlet-painted church statue. Her face seemed blank, feelingless, in the shadow of her short veil. One-Eye had gone.

Gawain did not let himself stride directly to the fire, hold out his hands, or spread his stiff-frozen gown to it. He stopped beside Lord Bright, close to the table. The two black dogs
brushed between them, ran straight to the fire pit, and flopped beside it.

“Now, guest!” Lord Bright barked cheerfully. “My gift! What you have taken today in my house is mine, by covenant!”

With an effort, Gawain did not glance Lady Bright’s way. Somewhere in his misty head he had already decided that if Lord Bright threatened this wild, childish woman, he would intervene. He would defend her with his bare hands.

That decision made, he turned to Lord Bright, laid icy hands on his shoulders and kissed him once, square on his surprisingly soft lips.

Gawain stood away.

One still moment, his eyes met Lord Bright’s open, serious gaze. He felt that in that moment he sank, or rose, into reality and faced the true Lord Bright, who wore his brusque, north-wind character like a mask. The moment passed.

“By Saint John!” Lord Bright rubbed off Gawain’s kiss with a bloody glove. “I’ll wager you did not take that treasure by resting all day! Where in God’s name did you find it?”

Gawain held himself erect, despite chilled bones and aching head. “My Lord, what true knight betrays a kiss? Where I come from, such matters are secret.”

“Ech, that’s true here, too. Very true, Sir! And you are Honorable to remember it.” Lord Bright turned slightly toward his silent, motionless lady. “Wife!” he shouted like a peasant. “Order up the dinner!”

All begrimed as he was, he strode to the table and crashed onto a stool. At his gesture, Gawain followed suit.

God’s teeth, Sir! He means to eat like this. No wash, no comb! Bloody gloves. The man’s a lord one moment, a knave the next.

This is the north. We know not its ways.

Now at last Gawain let his eyes stray to Lady Bright.

Slow and proud, she turned away and drifted to the back door.

I swear, I’ve known someone who walked like that! Somewhere. Somewhen.

She opened the door and called sweetly out into the dark. Then she slipped through the door herself and disappeared.

In marched One-Eye, piled trenchers in both hands. The two black dogs leaped up as he passed them and followed the trail of scent to the table. One-Eye slammed down the trenchers, went back to the fire for light, and lit the table candles. For the second time Gawain faced his host alone, across candlelight and food.

One-Eye brought tankards of ale, placed one before each knight, and departed unceremoniously. This time Lord Bright made no remark upon his rude service, demanded no parting bow.

Both starved knights fell to.

In Gawain’s dream, Lord Bright raised his ruddy, beard-bushed face and smiled. In a weird, heavy accent he said, “As I am True Knight, I swear, I will send you to the Green Chapel at New Year’s daybreak. For I have tested you and found you faithful.”

His dream-smile widened to an ogre’s grin. His ruddy face turned green. An ax whooshed down past Gawain’s closed eyes—which shot wide open.

Pounding heart. Morning light on blue and white bed-curtains. A silky rustle.

“Man!” said a sweet southern voice above him. “How can you sleep so on such a bright morning? The hunt just departed, and you never stirred!” Lady Bright leaned over the bed; one jeweled hand held back the curtain, one offered ale. “Drink, Sir Gawain.” Gracious smile. Outstretched tankard.

Gawain’s heart still thumped, unhappy with the whooshing ax he had dreamed. He sighed, wiped dreams from his eyes with the heels of his hands, sat up.

“Drink to our morning, dear Sir.”

Gawain drank.

“Drink deeper, for I would enjoy this fine, clear morning with the finest knight in the world!” He swallowed again.

She bent to take back the tankard. Grasping it, she kissed his mouth. “Sir, let me tell you I am cold standing here! I’ll wager your bed is warm with wool, and fur, and your own lively self. Hold you the tankard while…” Lady Bright lifted the bedclothes and popped quietly in beside Gawain.

Perfumes of dead summers overwhelmed confused senses.
God’s bones! but she must be beautiful under gown and veil!

Magical beauty haloed her peasant-seeming hands, her face glimpsed in veil-shadow. Under that concealing wimple, Gawain knew, her hair would be rich, fairy-spun gold. Under the rose silk gown…