Gawain and Lady Green (17 page)

By Angel Michael, why not? If not now, when? Two days more and I die. Die, for God’s love!

Sir, wait! Sir, consider your sacred honor!

(“I have tested you,” said Lord Bright, “and found you true.”)

Lady Bright arranged pillows at both their backs and plumped
herself restfully against them. With a smile like Springtime’s own, she took the tankard from him, sipped, and handed it back.

Gawain fought himself. His hands rose toward her, sank back. His breath sped, slowed.

She said, “Sir Gawain, I think you must have a lady friend of whom the songs tell not.”

“Why…why do you think that, Lady?” His throat closed sorely upon the words.

“Believe me, not many men would lie so gently beside me!”

“Lady, that is certain truth. And I mean no discourtesy—”

“I think only a man whose heart was given away already, only one who could not even see me, or feel me, because his mind was bent on his beloved…”

“Lady, Honor is my beloved. You are wed to my host, the generous Lord Bright—”

“Honor! Nay, you have a true love, Sir! I know the signs. Give me another sip.”

“Keep the ale with you.”

“Nay, Sir, we share this morning drink!” She handed it back with some small force, so that he had to hold or spill it.

He said, “To answer you, no; I have no lady love. Nor shall I ever have one, now.”

She laid her head on his shoulder. Her warmth came around him like protection. “My lord told me a strange, sad tale of you.”

“I am to die in two days.”

“Such a dreadful fate, to die because of a Yuletide game!” Her hand moved softly on his bare chest. “That such a fine man should
be lost to the world through a game! I could well weep. But I would rather make you merry, dear Sir. Do you know the new song?”

Into his neck, stirring his beard, she sang.

“Mirth’s a merry maiden

To follow and pursue.

Never mind Mourning.

Let her follow you.”

Deeply, then, she sighed. “I love you, Sir Gawain of High Honor.”

“Lady,” he confessed, love-swollen throughout, “I love you!” Firmly he pushed aside her hand and straightened up. He drank one last, deep swallow for strength and said, “I love you with all my heart, and desire you with all my body. But this love we share must go no farther, for Honor forbids. You are my good host’s wife.”

Under the little veil, her eyes went wide. She straightened beside him, staring at him, awestruck, through her veil. “Honor forbids… I would not have believed it.”

“God forbids, Lady. In the name of all that is right—”

“You are truly that determined, Sir?”

He said desperately, honestly, with no courtly grace, “I am about to die. What I tell you now is true. I am determined to die with Honor. Though refusing you is the hardest thing I have ever done.”

“Give me the tankard, Dear.” She took and set it on the floor. “Kiss me once.”

“Lady, I am deter—”

The kiss was long and deep.

Sadly, then, she said, “I see truly we will make no merry today. I will go.”

“Lady! If in truth you love me kindly, come you not back here!”

Again, bed-curtains rustled.
Nay, not the lovely Lady Bright, God shield!

Gawain cracked open a bleary eye. Subdued, indoor noon light leaned in the curtain-crack, and a dark-cloaked, hooded figure. White hair bloomed under the hood, white beard peeped through the cloak.

“Mage Merlin!”

“Son Gawain, how do you here?”

The gentle voice both calmed and stirred Gawain. To his horror, he felt tears rise in his throat. He swallowed them back. “Not well, Mage! Not well. Come you to cure me?”

“Maybe.”

“Are you truly here? Or do you travel in spirit?”

Merlin stood silent. Then, “In what way are you not well, Sir Gawain?”

“In truth, I know not. I am dizzy, all the time. I am never sure if what I see is real or dream. Like yourself, now.”

“You have come a long, cold way; you slept under icicle-falls. You fought bear and boar and brigand. Many a day you have gone hungry.”

“True, Mage. I am tired.”

Merlin nodded deeply. “Tired!”

“But I think it is more. I think maybe I am…bewitched.”

“Bewitched?”

“Enchanted. Tell me, Merlin, do I truly lie here in a warm bed?”

“What do you think?”

“It might be only a heap of leaves…in an oak grove…I might be frozen dead and dreaming in spirit.”

Merlin smiled in his beard. “You imagine wildly, Gawain!”

“Merlin, if you are truly yourself…and here…heal me!”

“So now once more you are ill. Not enchanted.”

“I know not what to think!”

“Have you thought you might be drugged?”

Gawain sat bolt upright. “Drugged!”

Visions of tankards swam in his head. “All that northern ale! She keeps pressing it on me—God’s teeth! I’ll drink not a drop more of that!”

“A good way to start your cure.” Merlin dropped the curtain back in place.

“Mage Merlin! Leave me not alone…” Gawain snatched the curtain aside. As he suspected, Merlin was gone. A handful of dust drifted where he had stood, in a shaft of light from the ill-thatched roof.

Head in a whirl, Gawain lay back on the pillows.

(Somewhere not far off, a young child cried. Gawain listened, interested to hear some sound from the usually silent world outside.)

Think this through.

Lord Bright is a right good knight. Stupid he may be, to leave his wild lady all day with a guest. But he would never drug a guest! If he wished me harm, he would give me back my sword and use his.

Swordless women resort to magic, tricks, and drugs. This must be the work of lovely Lady Bright. Lady Bright, who seems so sweetly crazed, may well
be a witch. Witches abound here in the pagan north. Let me not forget, that’s where I am. And where I was once before this.

By Saint George! She must truly want me!

On that thought, Gawain smiled and almost slept; but first he leaned down to the bedside tankard and knocked it halfway across the floor, spilling poison all the way.

Horn and hound announced the hunt’s return. Silent One-Eye built up the fire. Six yards apart, Gawain and Lady Bright faced the door.

Thunder of hooves; victory hallos. The door burst open.

In marched Lord Bright, bearing a heavy object aloft in both gloved hands. Striding into firelight, he fairly dripped blood and filth. Lady Bright gathered her gown and took a broad step away. Gawain might have followed suit, but after all, his soft, indoor garments belonged to Lord Bright. Let him be-grime them if he chose. Surprisingly undizzy, bones newly firm, Gawain stood his ground.

Before the door closed, Bright’s two black dogs trotted in and bounded to the fire.

Grinning and stinking, Lord Bright marched up to Gawain and presented his burden: the grinning, severed head of a huge boar, wrapped in a net of vines for easy handling.

“My take, guest! For you!”

Gawain looked down at slitted, blood-clogged eyes and stout, froth-slimed tusks. He did not quite retch.

Highly thoughtless gift
, Inner Mind said faintly.
Unconsidered. One head for another…!

“Meat’s out back at the kitchens,” Lord Bright bellowed merrily. “Didn’t think you’d want to handle that.”

“As before, my Lord—”

“We’ll feast on that together, eh? At a better time.”

“Aye, my Lord.” No need to remind or explain.

“But this, you can look at this while you eat!” Lord Bright swung about, strode to the table and set the boar’s head in the middle. “One-Eye! Lights here!”

One-Eye ran across with a taper and lit all the table candles. Now the head swam in flickering light: dead eyes, useless tusks, foamed bristles, furious snarl.

“More that way.” Lord Bright pointed at Gawain’s waiting stool. “Turn it that way, man! So it looks at its new owner.” One-Eye pointed the thick-slimed snout that way.

“I’ll wager you’ve stuck a good count of boars in your time, Brother.” Bright clapped and rubbed gloved hands together. “Can’t find a Saxon, stick a boar, eh? Next best sport.” Gawain smiled but did not need to answer. Bright rushed on, “But you should have been there, this hunt!

“He sat in his thicket, see, till the dogs came almost upon him. That’s what they say, I was farther back. Then he rushed out and off, all the dogs after, all the men after, till none of ’em could run a step more.

“He comes to river-ford, steep bank. Backs himself into the bank.” Lord Bright acted the boar’s part, swinging from side to side and glaring, back against the table. “Paws the ground.” Lord Bright “pawed” the rush-strewn earth floor. “Snarls. Men stand all around. Don’t dare go for him.”

The two black dogs left the fire to watch their master’s act. Heads cocked, ears twitched. Tails stiffened.

“See, Sir, we know him. Done damage before now. Some of us bear old scars from those tusks.” He nodded respect to the candlelit head. “So they all wait for me.

“Me, I ride up. Right quick I jump down. Draw dagger.” Lord Bright’s dagger rasped from sheath to fist. “Go for him.”

A black dog uttered a sharp bark.

“He runs into ford. Turns. Snarls.” Lord Bright snarled ferociously. Yellow teeth gleamed in black beard.

Both dogs growled.

“We close right there, Sir. In the water.

“I come up, see where to strike. Here, Sir.” Bright jabbed a thumb into the base of his own burly throat. “Aim. Hit him to the hilt.” Bright stabbed the air.

The black dogs sprang about, yelping.

“When they butcher, they find his heart clear sundered. But that don’t stop him. Runs full tilt, clear across ford. Dogs catch him on bank. Worry him dead. Like he weren’t dead already.”

Panting slightly, Lord Bright sheathed his dagger. Noticed the dogs. “Git!” They continued to spring and yelp. He gave them a quick hand signal. They stopped mid-bark. “Go!” Bright pointed to the fire pit; ears and tails low, both dogs instantly slunk there and sat down like statues.

“Well, Sir!” Lord Bright turned snapping eyes to Gawain. “That’s my story.”

Truly impressed, Gawain said politely, “My Lord, I only wish I had been with you.”

“Ech, we know you need your rest! Got your own hunt coming up.”

“Aye, my Lord.” A grim reminder. For a moment, hearing Lord Bright’s tale, Gawain had almost forgotten the Green Chapel, now only one day ahead.

“So! You get my boar’s head, and welcome to it! But now, what of your take?”

“My Lord?” Gawain’s newly sober mind reeled into a new thought-path.

“I’m to get whatever you took here in my house. Remember?”

Gawain paused to remember what, exactly, he had taken. Or had been given. “Aye, my Lord.” He stepped up to Lord Bright.

Sober, he no longer feared much for foolish Lady Bright. Her husband must surely know her well. They might even be playing this game together, two cats with one mouse between them. Lord Bright would never do a guest actual, treacherous harm. But such a merry game would hardly besmirch his honor.

Soberly, Gawain kissed Lord Bright’s sensitive, moist mouth; once, twice. And stepped back.

“Hah!” As before, Bright wiped the kisses away on his glove. “Two of them, this time! I think you have the better of me, guest. With such trade you’ll soon be rich! Wife!” He roared, loud enough to be heard through the back door and bring thatch wisping down. “Wife! Dinner!”

Watch this
, Inner Mind whispered.
Watch him eat with his gloves on. Why do you think he never takes them off?

Doubtless his hands are deformed.

Or sliced off by an enemy, and he has only hooks.

Something like that. Hush. Here comes dinner.

Even as Lord Bright plunked himself down, bloody gloved hands spread wide on the board, One-Eye advanced through the back door in a cloud of roast-meat steam.