Gawain and Lady Green (19 page)

I kneel down by Gawain. Dace presses his dark, curly head to my breast. He grips my hair and hears my heart beat. Safe, he stares almost calmly at this bearded, rugged troll. Dace has had but little contact with men.

Father and son exchange stares.

“Gawain,” I explain, “this is your son. His name is Dace.”

Gawain’s lips move. He leans to Dace. Dace draws back into me.

“Wait a moment. Slowly. Don’t frighten him.”

“My…son.”

“Your son.”

Big, clear tears well in Gawain’s eyes and roll slowly down his cheeks. Once more I reach to wipe away tears! “My Dear, I thought you were a doughtier fellow!”

He chuckles through tears. “That’s what your husband said to me last night.”

“My husb—ech, aye. And why did he tease you?”

“He scorned me for one sad look, Love. One moment I forgot to smile. Then he knew I dreaded to meet the Green Knight tomorrow. He must have been watching for that sad look!”

I curl myself and Dace down against Gawain. Gawain reaches a finger to touch Dace’s soft cheek. Dace whimpers. “Gawain, Love, now we have met again I dread the Green Knight as much as you do!”

“Now I have met my son, I dread him less. Is that not strange! I dread to die less because I see a soft, helpless babe!”

“Not strange, Sweet. You know now that your life will live, Green Knight or no. Is Dace your only child?”

“That I know of.” Very gently, Gawain’s blunt fingers meet Dace’s cheek.

“He will grow up in our Tribe as safe as any young creature. There is no safety in the world.”

Another tearful chuckle. “As we know so well, you and I!”

The three of us cuddle there on the floor. With few words, more sighs and tears and smiles, we mingle our souls. When Ynis opens
the door and creeps in like a small shadow, Gawain has Dace on his knee and playing with his beard.

She sneaks up by us and stands looking down. At first her small face is dark as her aura. Slowly, aura and face lighten, reflecting light.

She mutters, “Your clouds have changed.”

Ah, yes! Gawain and Dace together send forth a wide, golden aura that fills the “hall.”

Gawain gives Ynis a sober, upward glance. “Good morning, young Ynis. God save you.”

She opens her mouth, says nothing. Ynis has learned much in eight years, but not yet manners.

I tell Gawain, “Ynis has come for Dace. She is a good nurse to him.”

Dace coos at Ynis.

Gawain asks her, “Do you love your brother, Ynis?”

She shrugs.

“Ynis!” I put in sharply. “You love your brother!”

Gawain says to her steadily, “Always remember that his father paid his debt. You know I will pay my debt tomorrow?” Ynis nods. “Then you can forget me. Love your brother. Watch over him.”

I tell Gawain, “Ynis is a strong guardian for him.”

Surprising her and me, he answers, “I see that.”

Gently, firmly, he lifts Dace up into Ynis’s small arms. She staggers a little under his healthy weight. Dace twists himself around to protest to me.

“Quick,” I snap at Ynis. And nod toward the door.

Now we are alone, with the boar head on the table, the crackling fire, the love-rainbow that surrounds us.

“Gawain, I have something more for you.”

“More?” He looks wonderment to me. “What could be more in this world than my son?”

“I did not say ‘better,’ Love. I only said ‘more.’ Here it is.”

Hands quick at my waist, I unlace the magic green silk girdle. “Help me loose this.”

Gawain’s big hands pull it away, twice, from around me. “This. I remember this. I saw it last…”

“In the moor cave.”

“Aye.” He fingers it almost cautiously. “I thought then it might protect you.”

“And so it did. It brought Merry to save me, with his agile thoughts and your horse.”

“My horse?”

“Your giant white charger.”

“Warrior! He was alive?” Gray eyes widen.

“He still is! Eats three loads of hay each winter day. The despair of the Square Table.”

“Ah…” Thought hazes Gawain’s aura. Better drive that thought away, before it leads too far!

“Gawain. Put this girdle on. Now. Wear it tomorrow.”

That cleared his aura! “You would give me your magic?”

“Magic I can make at will.”

“True. This whole morning is magic.”

“Wear this girdle to the Green Chapel. It may…protect you. It might even save you.”

He nods.

“Let me put it on you…” I kneel up. I lean, pull up his tunic and wind the girdle close around his lean, hard waist.

He sighs. “I will die as your knight, wearing your favor.”

“Do not harp on death, Gawain. Magic works by your faith.”

“Aye. Merlin sings a song, ‘Your faith has saved you.’ ”

“Exactly right. Imagine yourself walking out of the Green Chapel tomorrow morning.”

“Walking out?”

“Never mind walking in. See yourself come out, Gawain.”

“Holding my head by the hair?”

“Head intact on your beautiful shoulders!” I pull his tunic down to hide the girdle. “Need I tell you, Dear, to say nothing of this to…my husband?”

“I am Honor bound—”

“This once, Gawain, think beyond Honor.”

“‘Beyond Honor? One might as well say, ‘Beyond blue sky and brown earth’!”

“Think of…think that the girdle may well save your life.”

Gawain frowns. “Life without Honor—”

“Then think of me!”

His brow clears. “My Dear, I have thought of you—or of Lady Bright—each time I kissed your lord. He has never even looked your way!”

“This time might be different. He knows the magic of my girdle.”

“Aha.”

“It is a small thing, Gawain.”

His troubled eyes meet mine. “Aye.”

“Keep this one secret. Together and apart, we keep bigger secrets!”

Slowly, he nods.

I rest my cheek on his warm heart that thumps so steadily, as though forever.

The boarhead on the table tries to clear the throat it lacks—Arech!

I think to it,
Now go, at last.

No magic girdle, Gwyn. No defense.

I need no girdle. It only borrowed my own power against you.

She learns fast! Gwyn. Give us ours.

Give him to you, now that I have found him again! Hah!

Give us ours. We make you more powerful than…Ynis.

More powerful than Ynis. That would be power indeed! But I am safe from temptation.

Leave me alone. The gift once rested in my hands. But I have loosed the vengeance of the Green Man against my Love. Go you, Demon. Go. Ask the Green Man for your gift.

Gawain murmurs above me, “To whom do you speak, Beloved?”

I wrap my arms about his neck, which is strong like a young oak trunk. I burrow into his beard and kiss the hollow of his throat.

“I spoke to a Demon, Sweet.”

“Mary shield!”

“It’s gone away. We are alone, we two.” And your Honor.

A distant horn awoke Gawain.

He came awake to cold, dim dusk. He lay on the rush-strewn floor of Lord Bright’s enchanted hall. Lady Green lay beside him,
entwined with him. Her hair covered both their shoulders. Her scarlet gown stretched over him like a blanket.

Fear not, Sir. Your Honor held.

Her eyes opened along with his; locked with his. She whispered, “My lord returns.”

Nearer, the horn winded again. Now they could hear the throaty babble of hounds.

Inner Mind exclaimed,
Sir! I know of whom she reminds you!

So do I.

Her cool face, severe when she forgot to smile, her proud carriage and walk…these had always almost reminded the inmost Gawain of Mother. Now in her new thinness, the resemblance came clear. Astonished, he murmured aloud, “Mother…”

“What, Love?”

“Nothing. Only that I love you.”

Rustles and muttered oaths from the dark fire pit announced the arrival of One-Eye, loaded with logs. Gawain whispered, “One-Eye!”

“No matter. One-Eye knows.”

What? One-Eye knows what?

Lady Green sat up. She smiled, shrugged, unwrapped herself from Gawain. “Wear my girdle tomorrow. It may yet save you.”

“I’ll wear it.”

“Say no word of it.”

“No word.”

Hounds and horse stormed around the hall. She bent and kissed him chastely once; again, and again. “Give those kisses to my lord, with my blessing.”

Light flared from the pit; flames crackled.

“Now, my Dear, my very, very Dear, good-bye.”

Lady Green rose up away from Gawain. From the ground he looked up her scarlet length, flame-lit on one side. Unsmiling, she gazed down at him like a wooden chapel statue or a pagan Goddess. She turned away. She glided to her forbidden door, into darkness. She was gone.

Gawain scrambled up. With quick hands he brushed debris from hair, beard, borrowed tunic.

The door crashed open.

Grinning and panting, Lord Bright waddled in swinging a small skin by the tail. He held it up to glow in firelight. Red as Lady Green’s hair, it shone blood-wet.

“Here is your day’s booty, Sir Guest! Cost us a good day’s run!” He growled louder than his following black dogs and slung the fox skin down at Gawain’s feet.

Gawain clapped instinctive hand to sword hilt. No sword hilt there.

“Ah, guest!” Lord Bright flung huge arms wide and hugged Gawain hard. “Think no ill of me! I am but fire-tempered, like your own self! Most especially now, when I am hungry.” He strode to the fire pit. Stretching gloved hands to new flames he asked over his shoulder, “What of your Year’s Last Day, Sir Gawain? What prize have you won to give me?”

Gawain stiffened. Angry Honor cried out within him. For this one time of all times he stifled its voice.

“My prize is only this, my Lord.”

He advanced to Lord Bright. Lord Bright swung around to meet him. Gawain embraced Lord Bright, more gently than he had been
embraced, and kissed him deliberately—once, twice, three times— and stepped away.

“Hah! Three kisses for a fox skin! About equal value, eh?”

Gawain’s waist burned where the green magic girdle twined like a serpent under his tunic.

For one brief moment, time for one flame to spit, Lord Bright’s jovial face turned darkly serious. “You’re sure that’s all you took.”

“My Lord!”

“Oh, I meant no insult. But three kisses generally lead to more.”

“Not this time, host.”

“Good. Good! You might not think it would take all day to catch one fox! But let me tell you the tale, guest, so you’ll know the value of your prize…”

Like yesterday’s boar, Lord Bright’s fox was an old enemy finally chased down. Lord Bright told the story energetically and dramatically. He fairly galloped about the fire pit, followed by his gamboling black dogs.

Gawain scooped up the bloody skin from the floor and laid it by the boar head. Like Lord Bright’s other takes, it was utterly useless to him. He smiled polite interest and stopped listening to Lord Bright. He thought,
I must get my sword back…I must compose a courteous thanking speech…let me see…

Unordered, dinner appeared. One-Eye marched the main dish in. He took a splinter from the fire and lit the first table candle.

Lord Bright pounced like hound on fox, grabbed One-Eye by the shoulder. “Knave!”

“Eh?” One-Eye lit the next candle.

“You will guide this, my guest, Sir Gawain of the Round Table, tomorrow to the Green Chapel.”

Lighting the third candle, One-Eye faltered. Gathering light showed his jaw sink, his one eye widen. “The…the Green Chapel, Lord? Me?”

“You. Before daylight.”

“But, Lord—”

Lord Bright shook his servant till the candles toppled. “You need not go into the chapel yourself, fool. Only show Sir Gawain here where to go.”

“After that I can leave?” One-Eye righted and relit the candles.

“After that you can leave. If you don’t want to see the adventure.”

“Aye, my Lord. No, my Lord. Gods defend me, no!” One-Eye took a hasty departure.

Lord Bright turned a satisfied grin to Gawain. “There, guest. You thought I had forgotten your concerns, right?”

“Oh, no, my Lord. You have been the perfect host these past three days.” (Time for the thanking speech, already.) “You have lent me warmth and food and even these clothes—”

“Keep the clothes.”

“My Lord?”

“You haven’t seen your own hanging around. One-Eye burnt them.”

“My Lord!”

“Too many lice. Too much wear. No good.” Lord Bright sat down heavily at table and gestured to Gawain to join him. When Gawain sat, he continued. “In the morning you’ll find hunting clothes by the bed. Also your cuirass and sword.”

“My Lord—”

“Not me. You won’t find me. I’ll be sleeping like a winter bear in there.” He jerked a thumb toward his forbidden door. “I advise you now against rousing me.”

“My Lord, I would never—”

“No appetite, guest?” Heartily, Lord Bright fell upon the venison shoulder between them. “Don’t think about the morning now.
Mirth’s a merry maiden, eh? Never mind Mourning
.” A pause. “’Nother worthless gift for you.”

“My Lord! What—”

“Token. Of esteem.”

Lord Bright fingered and fished around under his tunic’s neck. At last he drew out a large round medallion and pulled it off over his head. Gawain half expected him to toss it to him across the table. But Lord Bright handed it over gently, almost respectfully.