X. The Night of the Half Moon

Evidently, transporting people across great distances was a part of Robin's particular magic, because one moment Lynet was watching Robin's laughing face, and then the forest seem to darken and grow solid around her, and she found herself enclosed by gray stone in her own bedchamber back at the Castle Perle.

At first all she could do was grip her bedpost, as if it were a support against an unstable world. After a moment, though, the muffled sound of two voices in the corridor recalled her to her position. Even through the heavy oaken door, Lynet easily recognized one voice as Lyonesse's. Crossing the room in a few swift strides, she threw open the door and stepped into the hallway. Lyonesse and Sir Gringamore stopped talking and stared at her.

"What have you done with Roger?" Lynet demanded.

"Goodness, Lynet," replied Lyonesse. "Have you been in your room all this time? Really, it isn't healthy. Why, I haven't seen you in almost a week."

"Two weeks," corrected Sir Gringamore. "Bribed one of the servants to bring your food to your room, did you? Well, well, that's none of my affair, as long as you haven't been into the wine. You haven't, have you?"

"I asked you a question!" Lynet snapped. "Where's Roger?"

"I haven't a notion what you're talking about," Lyonesse said. "None of my young men are named ... do you mean that Sir Beaumains is really named Roger?"

"Never heard of any Sir Roger," Sir Gringamore said, considering this. "Could be a new fellow, of course, but it sounds rather plebeian to me."

"Roger's not a knight!" Lynet said.

"Well, what's the use of him then?" replied Lyonesse practically. "Really, Lynet, it's not at all the thing to burst out of your room and interrupt a private conversation. Do go away."

Sir Gringamore laughed pleasantly. "Sisterly love," he murmured.

Realizing that she couldn't penetrate Lyonesse's self-absorption with mere words, Lynet stepped closer, took Lyonesse's dress in her hands, and shook her sister violently. "Where-is-Roger?" she demanded again.

Lyonesse pulled away and staggered back against the corridor wall. In the light of the lamp in a nearby wall sconce, her eyes flamed with equal parts of fear and anger. "I don't know, I tell you! Who is this Roger?"

"Roger the dwarf," Lynet said.

Lyonesse's eyes flickered toward Sir Gringamore, whose stolid face showed nothing. With a trilling, nervous laugh, Lyonesse said, "What dwarf?"

"The dwarf Uncle Gringamore captured for you."

Lyonesse's eyes widened, and she glanced again at Sir Gringamore. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said weakly. "We don't have anyone in our dungeon at all."

"You put him in the dungeon?" Lynet gasped. Turning on her heel, she strode quickly down the corridor toward the stairs that led to the castle's small dungeon.

Behind her, she heard Sir Gringamore say placidly, "You know, my dear, all those beauty oils you put on your face must have soaked into your brain. How came you to say such a henwitted thing?" Lyonesse snapped something at him in an irritated tone, but Lynet was already out of earshot. She stormed down the dungeon stairs and went at once to the nearest door.

"Roger?" she whispered.

"Hallo, lass," came the cheerful reply. "Did you send for me?"

Lynet unbarred the door and went in. "Don't be a fool. You can't think I had anything to do with this. My sister is an idiot." The room was dark, and she couldn't see where Roger was.

"Ah, but you did have something to do with it," said Roger, his voice coming from the far wall. "Your uncle—quite a pleasant chap, even if he did drag me here in a burlap bag—said that you told them I knew Beaumains's real name."

Lynet was silent for a moment. "He's right, I did, just to annoy them. But I never thought they'd kidnap you. Here, you can come out now."

"Well, it's nice of you to say so, but there are these chains to deal with."

"You don't mean to say they chained you up, too! I'll kill her!"

"Suits me," Roger replied. "But before you go, could you bring me a stool? These arm shackles are a bit high for a dwarf, and it's rather uncomfortable, just hanging like this."

Lynet's eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom, and she could make out a dark shape suspended halfway up the wall. With a cry of indignation, she whirled on her heel to find a stool, after which she intended to choke Lyonesse until she could get the key to the shackles. Both of these noble intentions were foiled, however, because as she turned she ran right into the soft but formidable form of Sir Gringamore, who had followed her, bringing a bright torch.

"Tut, tut, Lynnie. Always so hasty. Let's just talk about all this for a moment."

"I don't want to talk!"

"Well, you ought to anyway," he replied, imperturbably. "You want your friend released, don't you?"

This halted her. "Yes."

"Well, maybe you can convince him to tell us what we need to know."

"I'll do no such thing. Let me by. I need to get something for him to stand on. His arms must feel as if they're breaking."

She started to push by, but Sir Gringamore grabbed her upper arm and held her. "No, Lynnie. That's what we want. The more uncomfortable he is, the sooner he'll talk."

Lynet turned her fulminating gaze at Sir Gringamore and said very slowly, "Take your hand off of me, uncle, or I'll turn you into the toad that you really are."

Lyonesse, entering the room behind Sir Gringamore, tittered at Lynet's threat, but Sir Gringamore snatched his hand away and peered closely at Lynet. "You're serious, aren't you? Deuce it, I always thought you had too much of your father in you. You've been up to something wicked and magical, I'll be bound."

"Step aside," Lynet said, and Sir Gringamore obeyed.

Lynet returned a moment later with a chair for Roger to stand on. He sighed with relief and said, "Thankee, lass."

"Now," said Lynet, turning to face her uncle and sister, "give me the keys."

"Not until he tells us the knight's name!" Lyonesse said angrily.

Lynet started toward her sister, hands already raised at throat level, but Sir Gringamore stepped between the sisters. "Now, now, my dear," Sir Gringamore said, chuckling slightly. "I don't think that's necessary. We only wanted to scare this dwarf, but it failed. We may as well let him go now."

"I thought we were going to torture—" Lyonesse began.

"You most certainly will not!" declared Lynet.

"Quite right, quite right," intervened Sir Gringamore. "No question of torture at all. Lynnie, will you go get the keys to the shackles?"

Lynet had turned toward her sister again, but at these words she stopped. "Yes, of course. Where are they?" she asked, relieved.

"Hmm? Oh, they're right next door. In the next dungeon room, on the cot."

Quickly, Lynet walked into the other room. Away from Sir Gringamore's torch, she could see nothing, but she felt her way across the room, looking for the cot Sir Gringamore had mentioned. "Could you bring the torch in here, uncle?" she called from the blackness.

"Just coming," he answered. Lynet saw the glow of the torch as it rounded the corner. Then the door to the dungeon room closed, and she heard the bolt fall into place.

Incredulous, Lynet said, "Uncle?"

"Sorry, Lynnie, but it seemed the best thing to do. You'll be safe enough in there until we've gotten this dwarf to talk."

For the next few minutes, Lynet called her uncle and sister every name she could think of, using vocabulary that she had not even been aware that she knew, but at last she ran out of inventiveness and lapsed into panting silence.

Sir Gringamore chuckled. "That's what comes of letting a girl hang about the stables. Splendidly done, Lynnie. Really very imaginative. But if you've finished, we need to talk to this fellow. Now, master dwarf, won't you just save us all some trouble and tell us who this chap Beaumains really is?"

"I'd be happy to," Roger said calmly.

"What?" gasped Lyonesse, taken by surprise. "You will?"

"Of course. Keeping a secret is all well and good, but the Beau's not worth it. Let Lynet go; I'll gladly trade a fool's secret for a lady's freedom."

Roger paused, then said clearly, "The knight we call Beaumains is really Sir Gareth of Orkney. He is a royal prince of Orkney, the youngest brother of the great Sir Gawain, and one of the finest fighters in Arthur's court."

Lynet knew at once that Roger was telling the truth. Everything fit. She remembered what Terence had told her, how Gareth had made some vow and left the court. So that was why Beaumains had let his hair and beard grow over his face when he returned to court: he didn't want to be known until he had fulfilled his vow. And that was why he had avoided Terence when they met him in the forest: Who would be more likely to recognize him, now that he was clean-shaven, than his brother Gawain's squire? Lynet felt slightly dizzy as she realized the smelly kitchen knave she had ridden with, who had rescued her from the Black Knight, was actually a prince, from one of the oldest and most respected families in all England.

Lynet was not the only person to make this connection, of course. Lyonesse was fairly cackling with excitement. "A royal prince!" she crowed. "Brother of Sir Gawain! Why, that would make him King Arthur's nephew!"

"That it would," replied Sir Gringamore. "Quite a catch, eh?"

Lyonesse chortled and lapsed into an affected tone of voice. '"Why, hello, Guinevere! Charming to see you today. And how's Uncle Arthur today."' Why, when we're married, I'll be a crown princess!"

"If you can catch him," Sir Gringamore said. "You'd best make sure of him before he gets away. Dwarf, where is your master now?"

"He's not my master."

At that very moment, as if the whole scene had been orchestrated, a soldier came down the steps to the dungeon rooms. "Sir Gringamore? Is that you?"

"Yes, but as you can see, I'm busy," Sir Gringamore snapped.

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir. But this knight was saying as how he'd burn the castle down, and the captain thought it best to tell—"

"Knight? What knight?"

The soldier sounded relieved that Sir Gringamore was interested. "I don't know him, sir, but he says that you've stolen his dwarf."

Sir Gringamore smiled brightly. "All nonsense, of course."

"Yes, sir. We told him that, sir, but this Sir Beaumains won't leave. Um ... what should we do?"

With triumph in her voice, Lyonesse said, "Invite him in for dinner, of course."

Dinner was a wretched experience for Lynet. To begin with, she arrived late. As soon as Sir Gringamore released them both, Lynet took Roger up to her bedchamber, where she had a salve to rub on the dwarf's chafed wrists. While she treated his abrasions, Roger told her what had been happening since they parted. He and Beaumains—Gareth, now—had ridden a half day into the woods, where Gareth had collapsed, weak from his battle with the Knight of the Red Lands. Roger had found a deserted cottage, where they had lived for two weeks, eating dried meat they found in the larder and whatever Roger could rustle up from the forest, while Gareth recuperated.

He recovered quickly, and they made ready to travel, but the day before they were to leave, Roger had been captured. He had heard a hunting party in the woods, and he had crept closer to look. He had barely had time to recognize Sir Gringamore at the head of the party when a sack had been dropped over his head. "They all thought it was a great joke," he said, in conclusion. "They'd been expecting to follow our trail for weeks, before they could have a chance to capture me, and here they'd gotten me on their first day out. Luck. I've always been lucky, I guess."

Lynet pretended not to notice the bitterness in Roger's voice and finished wrapping up his wrists. "There. Now we're late for dinner. What do you think will happen? What will Beaumains—Gareth, I mean—do? Will he be very angry about their kidnaping you?"

Roger took a breath. "Well, if you want to know the truth, I think the Beau's probably forgotten about me. For two weeks all he's talked about is your sister." Roger's voice was gentle. "I thought it best to warn you. I imagine that he's already making puppy eyes at that cat."

Lynet nodded. "Of course," she said quietly. "And Lyonesse will be encouraging him in every outrageous way."

And so it was. When they arrived in the dining room, Gareth did not even look up. His eyes were fixed on Lyonesse, and Lyonesse, for her part, was seeing to it that they stayed there. Lynet sat and ate her dinner without a word, while Gareth and Lyonesse uttered fatuous compliments to each other.

For a moment, Lynet wished that back in the cave she had chosen the cordial that would make her beautiful. Maybe that would take the wind out of Lyonesse's sails. But at heart she knew that Lyonesse had captured Gareth with more than just beauty. Watching Lyonesse titter and blush and flutter her eyelashes and fawn over Gareth, Lynet knew that she could never match such a performance. And, though she was disappointed with Gareth, that he could be won with such tactics, she couldn't say she was surprised. While Gareth's handsome face was enough to sway any female's affections—well, it had swayed hers, after all—Lynet had to admit that he really wasn't the cleverest fellow around.

In fact, Lynet realized with faint surprise, she had fallen out of love with Gareth as quickly and as easily as she had fallen in love with him in the first place. While she still felt a certain fondness for him, as a familiar traveling companion, she no longer thought of him romantically. Maybe her change of heart had begun when Gareth declared his love for Lyonesse, or maybe it had arisen in the enchantress's cave, when Lynet had imagined a lifetime with Beaumains. Whatever the reason, she was no longer in love, and the effusive dalliance that Gareth and Lyonesse were carrying on before her was not painful, only embarrassing.

Then, just before the third course, the flirting moved from embarrassing to shocking: Lynet overheard Lyonesse whisper, "Then it's settled. I'll come to your room tonight, at midnight."

Lynet stood in the moonlight at the casement window of her room. The night air was heavy and fragrant, like one of Morgan's potions. Perhaps a sleeping potion: Sir Gringamore was snoring off his wine in the banquet hall, and the last of the servants had stumbled across the courtyard toward their beds over an hour before. But Lynet had never felt more awake. She gazed amiably at the half moon. What was it Robin had said? That the half moon was a night for good magic? Lynet felt a tingle of excitement and smiled. Maybe she was an enchantress at heart after all.

Then the nighttime peace was split apart with loud, terrified female screams. Lynet leaped from her chair, threw open her door, and raced barefoot down the hall toward the source of the sound—Gareth's room. Bursting through the door, she encountered a scene of utter mayhem. Lyonesse, barely clothed, cowered in a far corner of the room, shrieking as if mad. In the center of the room, a bare-chested Gareth stood facing a fully armored and helmeted knight. Gareth was unarmed, but the other knight held a sword at Gareth's throat.

"What's going on?" Lynet demanded.

"Good evening, ma'am," the strange knight replied. "Sorry to disturb you, but I won't be a minute. I'm just here to kill this worthless piece of carrion."

"Which one?" Lynet asked practically.

"Sir Gareth, of course. Do you think you could do something with your sister? I believe she's gone quite mad."

Moving very slowly, Lynet circled the room, staying close to the wall, until she came to Lyonesse. "Lyon, please stop screaming—Lyon, I know it's frightening, but—oh, do shut up, Lyon!"

Lyonesse ceased screaming for a second, then burst into hysterical sobs. "I'm sorry, father! He seduced me! He forced me to come to his room! You know I would never do anything like this unless I were forced!" She sank to her knees, still sobbing.

Lynet realized for the first time that the knight who held the sword at Gareth's throat was wearing her father's armor. "Sir knight," Lynet said slowly, a chill creeping up her back, "she fears you because you are wearing our father's armor."

"Oh yes, well, I'm sorry about that. It was all I could find in a pinch. You don't mind, do you?"

A wave of relief swept over Lynet. This was no ghost. "No, of course not," she answered automatically. Then, realizing how silly the whole exchange was, she giggled. The knight chuckled, and while he was distracted, Gareth leaped across the room and snatched up his own sword.

"Now," Gareth said hoarsely, "let us see who shall kill who!"

"Whom, you stupid sod. Who shall kill whom," the knight retorted, swinging his sword heavily at Gareth. Gareth deflected the blow easily and knocked the strange knight backwards with a mighty chop. Then Gareth lunged forward, following up his advantage, and the strange knight barely eluded a blow that would have ended the fight at once. Then the fight settled down, following a pattern that Lynet easily recognized. It was like Gareth's battle with the pink knight and the fish: Gareth attacked, but the other knight was content merely to defend himself. Gareth began to pant, and the other knight laughed softly. "Out of shape, aren't we, Gareth? It doesn't do much for your muscles, all this lying about with loose women, does it?"

With a roar, Gareth leaped forward, shouting, "She's not a loose woman!"

The strange knight sidestepped Gareth's reckless charge and had he been quicker, would have landed a blow on Gareth's unprotected shoulder. "Who, this trollope?" the strange knight taunted. "Of course she's a loose woman! She came to your room at midnight, didn't she? She's a doxy, a jade, a bit of painted muslin."

Again Gareth attacked angrily, but more cautiously this time, and the strange knight had no chance to inflict any damage. "And for Gog's sake, Gareth, you ought to know a wanton woman. After all, your mother was one."

With a shriek of inhuman rage, Gareth cast himself at the mocking knight, swinging his sword wildly. The strange knight took several blows, each one denting his armor, but he was able to land one blow of his own, on Gareth's thigh. It looked superficial, but the pain of it shocked Gareth back to his senses, and he backed away.

"Had enough?" the strange knight gasped. "Wouldn't you rather be back in bed?" Gareth did not answer, circling warily, and the strange knight tried a new tack. "I wouldn't be so eager to crawl into bed with little Gareth, my lady," he called to Lyonesse. "He wets the bed."

"What?" Gareth gasped.

"S'truth, my lady. Always did. None of his brothers would ever double up with him, on account of the cold spots he left."

"Who are you?" Gareth said, barely above a whisper.

The strange knight's voice was cold and even. "I'm your worst nightmare, you foul-smelling, vomitous rat, you son of a witch!"

Gareth launched himself at the knight, screaming insanely. It seemed to Lynet that the strange knight made no effort to defend himself but instead was focused wholly on inflicting a certain wound on Gareth. As Gareth swung his sword at the knight's neck, the knight lunged forward and cut a deep gash in Gareth's inner thigh. But Gareth's blow landed on the strange knight's neck and shoulder. He staggered back against the wall, and in the moonlight Lynet could see blood welling up over the knight's breastplate.

Acting instinctively, Lynet dashed across to the wounded knight, almost hurdling Gareth to get to him. "Thankee, my lady, but I think you're wasting your time," the knight managed to gasp as she arrived. "He's cut my veins through."

At once Lynet remembered her cordial, back in her room, her gift from the enchantress's cave. "I won't let you die!" she said fiercely. "Come with me!" She pulled the knight forward, tugging him after her, praying that he would be able to stay on his feet. She was only vaguely aware of Gareth, sprawled on the floor, clutching his wounded leg, and then she and the knight were in the corridor, staggering together toward Lynet's room.

How they got there, Lynet would never know, but somehow they both stayed on their feet long enough to make it to her door, and then the knight collapsed on the floor. Lynet snatched up the cordial. "Stay alive just another moment," she begged, fumbling at the lid.

"I can't," the knight whispered. "But it was worth it. He won't be feeling ... amorous ... for a long time now."

"Shut up and take your helm off," Lynet said briskly. She tore at the straps and pulled the helm off. "Oh!" she cried in amazement.

It was no stranger. It was the young man she had seen beside the stream on the night she gathered herbs with Robin, the tall man whose face had betrayed such inexpressible sadness.

Lynet shook her head sharply, banishing her wonder, and poured the cordial over the gaping wound in the knight's neck. Where it touched the knight's skin, it sizzled as if it were liquid fire, and the knight twitched with pain, but then he blinked, raised a gauntleted hand to his neck and said, "Good Gog, lass! What have you done?"

"I've cured you, of course."

"It's like magic," he said.

"It is magic, stupid," she retorted. "Now, tell me. Who are you?"

The knight was silent. He sat up and looked around. "You've cured me! You've—" He broke off sharply as he looked out the window. Suddenly full of energy, he scrambled to his feet and leaped to the window, staring at the moon. "It's after two o'clock," he said, amazement in his voice.

"Very likely," Lynet said patiently. "Now, who are you.'

The knight turned back to her, his eyes warm and his lips curling in a soft smile. For some reason, Lynet had difficulty breathing. "You don't understand," the young man said. "At two o'clock, I was supposed to disappear and become someone else."

"Well, don't do it for my sake," Lynet said, forcing herself to breathe evenly. "I still don't know who you are now."

The young man stepped forward and took her hands. "You see, I've been rather under a spell. It's made me appear in a different shape, except for two hours, twice a month—from midnight until two when the moon is at the half-face. But you must have broken the spell. I'm still in my true form."

"Your true form?" Lynet repeated, confused. "So what have you been?"

"I've been a dwarf named Roger," the young man replied simply.

Lynet stepped backwards, pulling her hands away and clutching the bedpost, sinking slowly down onto her bed. "Roger?" she said faintly.

He smiled. "Ay, lass. S'truth."

"You're Roger?" she repeated.

"Not anymore," the young man said, taking her hands again.

"Yes, of course ... but ... well, what's your real name, then?"

"My name is Gaheris," he replied.