The Savage Damsel and the Dwarf (7 page)

The two knights looked at each and seemed to hesitate, but at that moment Beaumains spoke. "I need no lady to speak for me! Sir Knights, I accept your challenge!"

Lynet twisted sharply in her saddle. "Will you shut up?" she hissed. "They were about to let us across."

"I fear no knight alive, except it be the great Sir Lancelot du Lac, who knows no peer in the knightly courtesies and arts!"

The two knights across the river again exchanged glances, then laughed coarsely. "Come on, then, kitchen
boy!" said one. "Which of us shall you try?"

"Why both at once, if you be not afeared," Beaumains replied calmly.

"Are you crazy?" Lynet gasped. "Of course you are. I mean, are you determined to kill yourself? These are not peasant thieves with sticks, like the last batch. These are knights! They'll turn you into mincemeat!"

"Beaumince," murmured Roger.

"You're not helping!" Lynet snapped at the dwarf.

"Very well!" shouted the knights. "Both at once! Come on across!"

While Lynet fumed helplessly, Beaumains guided his horse into the river. The water was just up to the pommel of his saddle, and he had to walk slowly so as not to lose his balance in the current. When he reached the middle of the river, he stopped. "Now it is your turn. I have come halfway, and if you be not craven and spineless knights, you will come the rest of the way! Meet me here in the river, cowards!"

At once the two knights spurred their horses into the river. Lynet shook her head and asked, "Do all men act like fools when they're called cowards?"

Roger nodded absently. "Very clever, my Beau," he said softly.

"What do you mean?" Lynet asked.

"Look. In the water, their lances are no good. They can't get enough speed to knock him off the horse, so
their spears become awkward. He can fight with his sword. See?"

Sure enough, Beaumains had cast aside his lance and drawn his sword. "It must be just luck," Lynet said. "He couldn't have thought of that himself."

"I certainly didn't think of it," replied Roger.

The battle was short. Beaumains attacked the first figure with his sword, and with his second blow managed to knock him off his horse into the river. The second knight shouted "Brother!" and drew his own sword. He struck and then struck again, but Beaumains parried every blow. At last, Beaumains drove forward and buried his sword's blade in the knight's helm. The knight fell lifeless into the river.

"The other knight hasn't come up yet," Lynet whispered.

"Belike it's hard to swim in armor," Roger said. "Come on, my lady."

When they rose dripping from the water, Beaumains had already removed his helm. His handsome face wore a new expression. His lifted chin indicated a new pride, and his thin-lipped smile spoke of a smug self-satisfaction that irked Lynet to her core.

"Luck!" she said briskly.

Beaumains blinked, then said, "Have ye still no gentle words for me, my lady?"

Something, perhaps pity, stirred in Lynet's heart,
and she said grudgingly, "It was a good idea to meet them in the river." All of Beaumains's smugness returned in a flash, and Lynet added, "Because you needed another bath anyway."

Lynet had difficulty going to sleep that night. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw Beaumains's startled expression and heard again his plaintive question, "Have ye still no gentle words for me, my lady?" At that moment she believed she had seen the real person beneath his assumed self-confidence, his stilted courtly language, his exaggerated respect for Sir Lancelot. She had made little of his moment of triumph, and her scorn had laid him open as no wound could have. But when she had relented, all his ridiculous bravado had returned, and the real human being had retreated again into his borrowed armor.

At last Lynet slept, but it seemed only a minute before a stirring in the night woke her. She sat up in her blankets and looked around. All was still. "Roger?" she hissed. "Did you hear something?" There was no
answer, and she looked more closely at the dwarf's bed. Roger was gone.

As before, when she had noticed the dwarf's absence at Camelot, Lynet felt a queer sense of loss. How were they ever to find their way to the Castle Perle without him? Wrapping her cloak around her shoulders, she rose and tiptoed across to Roger's blankets. They were neatly laid back, and a small black opening in the bushes seemed to point the direction he had gone. Without hesitation, Lynet stepped into the forest.

The sky was clear, and the light of a half moon silvered the spaces between trees. Lynet walked slowly in her bare feet, a strange excitement growing inside her. She saw no sign of Roger, but she did not hesitate. At every turning, she knew which way she was to take. After a few minutes, she came to a tiny clearing in the forest. In the center of the clearing was a circle of deep shadow, standing by itself.

As she approached, the dark patch began to expand and change shape. In a moment, it had taken the form of a small man, though a hint of tiny horns amid the tousled hair was distinctly nonhuman. "Hallo, Lynet," said a chuckling voice.

To her surprise, Lynet realized that she was not afraid. "How do you know my name?" she asked calmly.

"Well, at first I wasn't sure. You see in that blue silk dress I took you for a lowly servant girl—" The voice
trailed off in an explosion of uncontrollable giggles. Lynet recognized the voice now. It was the same personage who had helped her through the Red Knight's camp on the first night of her quest, the one that Lady Eileen had said was a faery.

"Are you ... are you a faery?" Lynet asked.

"But of course, my lady. You may call me Robin."

"Good evening, Robin. I want to thank you for helping me through the Red Knight's camp. I'm afraid I was very foolish."

"No more than any other mortal," said the little man with a laugh.

"But I've learned a little since then."

"Not as much as you're going to, Lynet. That's why you're here tonight."

"I beg your pardon?" asked Lynet.

"Can you not feel it? Tonight is a night for enchantments. And you, my lady, whether you know it or not, are going to learn about enchantment." Robin paused, but Lynet did not answer, so he continued. "Do you see the moon? The night of the half face is a night for good magic. Everything good is half light and half dark, you see. Come here, and look at this plant. This is called feverfew, a very useful herb indeed."

Robin sounded like a teacher beginning a class. "Why are you telling me these things?" she asked.

Robin's voice was serious when he answered. "Lynet, my dove, you are intended for much, and
much is expected of you. But you have far to go first."

Lynet stepped closer. She felt so wide awake now that she wondered if she was dreaming, but she only said, "What do you do with feverfew?"

For an hour or perhaps two—time seemed elastic in the faery's presence—Robin told her about herbs and spells and charms and much more. Lynet listened intently, drawn by an innate interest as well as by the sense of awe that grew upon her at being tutored by a faery. At last Robin sent her away to get her rest, promised that she would see him again, and disappeared in a twinkling. Bemused, Lynet turned and walked slowly back toward bed.

Not twenty yards from the camp, however, near a small stream, Lynet heard a splash, followed by an unmistakable sigh. She stopped in her tracks and shrank into the shelter of a holly bush. A moment later, she heard another sigh. Cautiously, she peered around the shrubbery, then ducked back into its cover, surprised and embarrassed. Kneeling by a small pool was a tall, angular young man, naked but for a small cloth wrapped around his loins. His shoulders were broad and his arms were muscular, but he was stooped and weary-looking. He had reddish blond hair, cropped short over his face.

It was the young man's face that struck Lynet most forcefully, for even in her brief look she had seen an infinitely deep sadness. His shaded eyes and gaunt
cheeks spoke of a sorrow greater than any such young man should have to know. She was about to take one more look when the sound of receding footsteps told her that the young man had left. She forced herself to wait quietly for ten long minutes, until she was sure he would be gone, then she hurried back to camp. Just before she wrapped up in her blankets to return to sleep—if indeed she had not been dreaming this whole time—she remembered why she had left the camp and looked quickly across at Roger's bed. The dwarf was there, sound asleep.

Breakfast the next morning was quiet. Beaumains never talked very much, Lynet was preoccupied with her cloudy memories of her nighttime visit with Robin and of the strange young man by the stream, and even Roger seemed unusually solemn. To make matters worse, breakfast itself was skimpy. On the packhorse that Sir Kai had brought, there had been a neat package of provisions, but traveling was hungry work, and they had finished off all but a few scraps at supper the night before. Lynet did not say anything, but remembering her hunger on the way to Camelot, she was not looking forward to the day's ride.

A few hours later, though, just as the first sharp pangs of hunger began to intrude on her thoughts, Lynet smelled a delicious aroma of seasoned meat over a fire. Riding over a small hill, she saw a slight
figure in the neat garb of a squire kneeling over an open spit, turning the brown carcasses of three large rabbits.

"Hello, travelers. Come join my meal," the young man called.

"Blast!" Roger muttered.

"What's wrong, Roger?" asked Lynet.

"I know that fellow. That's Sir Gawain's squire, as uncanny a chap as you'll ever meet."

"Terence?" Lynet asked, with surprise and delight.

"Oh, you've met.'" Roger asked.

"Only briefly," Lynet said. "He seemed nice enough at court."

"Ay, he's nice enough. But he sees a sight more than most. If you've any secrets, you may as well tell him now and save yourself the bother." Again, Roger swore softly.

Beaumains reacted most strongly of all to Terence's sudden appearance. Beaumains had been carrying his helm loosely under one arm, but at Roger's words he quickly placed it on his head and lowered the visor over his face. "Woman! Dwarf! I command that thou revealest not my name to this lackey!"

Lynet did not care for being called "Woman!" and she resented still more being ordered about by Beaumains, but before she could retort, Roger said soothingly, "Nay, my lady. Don't fight useless battles."
Turning to Beaumains, Roger said, "Calm down, Beau. We don't know your name, remember?"

Lynet hardly had time to wonder why Beaumains was so afraid of Terence, whom he must have seen hundreds of times at Camelot, when they were upon Terence's camp. "Hello, Squire Terence," Lynet said. "I am very glad to see you."

The squire's eyes laughed. "And so are your two friends, I perceive." Lynet glanced at Roger's glowering face and Beaumains's stiff and silent form, and she giggled. Terence continued. "The chap in armor is Beaumains, I suppose. And your other friend is?"

"This is my good friend Roger, who is guiding us on our journey," Lynet said. She wondered again why no one seemed to recognize Roger, while the dwarf seemed to know everything about everyone in Arthur's court.

Terence nodded a friendly greeting, then gestured behind him. "I don't suppose any of you are hungry, are you? I've just eaten, and I have these three rabbits on the broil."

"Exactly the right number," Lynet said musingly. "What a coincidence! And yes, I am famished. I would be delighted to—"

"We need none of your food, squire!" Beaumains said abruptly.

Lynet, who had already begun to dismount, stopped
and stared. "What are you talking about, flickerwick? We're out of food! You know that."

"I'll not be beholden to this lackey!"

Lynet looked apologetically at Terence. "Don't mind him. I suppose manners are not taught to kitchen knaves." She looked back at Beaumains. "Tell you what. You stay there and pretend to be a knight, and I'll have something to eat. Roger?"

The dwarf's lips twisted in a lopsided smile. "I'd as soon be moving on myself, but that surely smells good." He dismounted.

The rabbit was very good. Lynet was amazed at how tender and succulent the meat was. Terence kindly explained to her which herbs to use for flavor, and she and Roger ate their fill while Beaumains sat aloofly on his horse at the edge of the trees.

When Lynet had eaten enough, she looked up at Terence, who was reclining patiently against a tree. "Squire Terence?"

"Yes, my lady."

"I don't believe that it was a coincidence—your being here with food just when we needed it."

Terence grinned. "Lady Eileen asked me to look in on you and see that you came to no harm. She took quite a fancy to you, you know."

Lynet smiled with pleasure. "Oh, I'm glad. I liked her too. But how did you know where to find us?"

Terence did not answer at first, and Lynet looked
into his eyes. They lit with inner laughter, and one lid dropped in a quick wink. "An old friend told me. He ... ah ... saw your camp last night when he was gathering herbs in the moonlight."

Lynet smiled back. So this squire knew Robin. She felt suddenly warmed as she realized that she was surrounded by protectors who, for some reason, had chosen to care for her.

"Is your master with you?" asked Roger suddenly.

"Do you know my master, friend Roger?" Terence asked politely.

"Everyone's heard of Sir Gawain," Roger said, his face taut.

Terence looked curiously at Roger, to the dwarf's evident discomfort, but all he said was, "Nay. He's gone off alone on family business."

Trying to distract Terence from his scrutiny of her friend, Lynet said hastily, "Something about his brothers, I think you said back at court?"

Terence looked away from Roger. "Ay, that's it. His youngest brother Gareth made a vow and rode off to fulfill it. Then another of his brothers, Gaheris, went off to find Gareth. Neither one's been heard of since. So Gawain's gone to look."

"Oh," Lynet said suddenly. "I've heard of Gaheris before, but I didn't know he was Gawain's brother. In fact—" Lynet remembered that Roger had served Gaheris and glanced at the dwarf, but Roger shook
his head sharply. Lynet hesitated. "In fact, I heard a knight named Sir Dinadan speak of him. He did not seem to think that Gaheris was a very skilled knight."