Red Knight
In a bright, morning glade shone a large, silvery tent.
Stepping out of the woods, Percy paused.
“Goddamn! What we could do with a tent like that back in the forest!”
Behind him, still woods-shadowed, Lili murmured, “Too seeable. Stands out like a white cliff. I wouldn’t sleep long enough to dream in that!”
On three sides woods framed the glade. Spring-green leaves shimmered and birdsong echoed. On the far side open fields stretched away, green and brown. A gray, grizzled horse grazed in the first field, hobbling on three legs. One front leg was tied up off the ground.
In the midst, obvious and direct, the tent flew a cheerful red and blue banner. Bright ribbons snapped and floated on a light breeze. The tent flap hung invitingly open. A smaller tent, unadorned, waited off to the side.
Percy said, “I know! This must be a church of God.” In his head a despairing voice moaned, Should God’s church stand by your way, enter there…
He made to start forward. But Lili’s small, clenched fist shot up before his nose. Wait!
Why?
Lili doubled down and darted out across the open, grassy glade. Straight to the smaller tent she went, and hesitated, sniffing, listening.
She vanished. Went in, she did. Good thought. Know what we’re getting into.
There she came now, slipping out through the still-closed tent flap. She raised her hands and finger-talked across the sunny space. Empty. But look at the ground!
The ground. Ho, what a mess! Crushed grass. Churned earth. Turds all over. Great horse turds, dog turds. There’s one, steaming. Human folk have been around here, and not long back. Percy signed, Well, aye. We Human folk go to church. Now watch me!
Percy straightened Alanna’s soup kettle on his head. He threw back his cloak to flaunt his new, three-colored tunic. Lightly, he touched the Bee Sting at his belt. Assured and ready, he marched across the glade, avoiding turds, and into the church.
Hey?
In a church they’ve got an altar, like a table. A lamp, always lit. Maybe a statue, like Mary.
Here, they’ve got a table. Spread with every kind of food known, and other kinds, unknown. Goddamn!
Lo; this is not God’s church.
Small furniture stood about; wooden things to sit on; a chest to keep things in; and furs and coverlets piled up to form a bed.
On the bed slept a lady. A maiden fair.
Except not so fair.
Must be Ivie’s age. Best thing she’s got is her hair.
Which was dark, long, rich, and thickly spread across embroidered pillows.
Should you meet a maiden fair, kiss her well…
Percy bent down over the lady.
How? Cheek? Forehead? How do you turn your head…There.
He landed a heavy, wet kiss on her upturned chin.
????
The lady’s eyes flew open. Saw Percy. The lady drew a great breath and made to rise.
But Percy knew what that meant.
Think you’ll scream, do you? Not in my ear! I’ve heard enough of that.
Percy silenced the lady with one hand firm on her mouth. With the other hand he held her down by a slim shoulder.
Black eyes wide on his, she raised both bony little hands against his chest.
Rings. Bright rings winked pretty colors on every finger, even the thumbs.
Take her jewels if you must.
Rings are jewels.
Cautiously, he lifted his hand from her mouth. She took a quiet breath and watched him.
Carefully, he let go of her shoulder. She lay still and watched him.
He took one little bony hand and pulled off the rings, finger by finger. She gasped a bit when a ring stuck; otherwise, she lay silent.
There. Like that, in the pouch. Now the other hand. She says no “nay.” I must be doing it right.
Holy Michael, I’m hungry! That food back there smells right good.
Percy rose up from the lady and turned to the table.
Lili was already there, stuffing bread into her pouch.
Accept a friendly gift of food…If none is offered, fill your need…
He made for the table and filled his need.
Breads. Meats, fish, fowl, and something like bread but honeysweet. Hungry Percy wolfed.
Lili snatched three or four sweets and returned to her watch-out post by the entrance.
A good girl, my Lili. Useful.
Following her example, Percy stuffed honeycakes into his pouch with the rings. Never tasted the like of these!
A rustle of movement behind him. He turned to face the lady.
Slowly, making no sudden move, she sat up on the bed; licked her lips, and asked softly, “Sirrah? Knave? Fellow?”
Percy informed her through a big mouthful of fowl. “Sir.”
“Sir! Ha! Ha-ha-ha!”
Unaccountable laughter. Chewing, he stared.
“Very well. Sir; my lord has gone hunting.”
“M-hmmm.” Nod.
“He will return soon. With his men.”
“M-hmmm?” Chew. Gulp down.
“He will be angry.”
Angry? Why?
“What are you, a beggar?”
What’s that? Shrug. Tear off a hunk of pork.
“You are not a peddler…Oh!” Her plain little face lit up. Excitement turned it almost pretty. “A bard! Sir, are you a bard?”
Could she not see? “Knight am I.” Pop in the pork.
“Ha-ha-ha!” She shook pretty black hair back over her shoulders. Cocked her head. “I know! You’re a jester! A fool! My lord sent you here.”
Percy scowled.
“You’re good. But rough for my taste. A soup kettle makes a good helmet, I admit. But where’s your sword?”
Percy gestured toward his Bee Sting.
This big flagon here, does it hold horrible milk, or water?
With both hands Percy lifted, tipped, and quaffed.
UGH! Neither milk nor water, it burned his tongue, then his throat, and all the way down to his stomach. Gingerly, he ran tongue over teeth, testing the awful aftertaste. Still, he was thirsty; so he drank again, more slowly.
“Easy on the ale, Sir Jester. My lord likes his ale.”
From the entrance, Lili said, “Percy, get one of those warm covers and let’s be gone.”
Percy let the flagon fall. He wiped the taste off his lips and looked at the embroidered coverlets on the bed.
“Hard to carry.”
“I’ll carry it.” Lili disappeared outside.
Percy strode to the bed. The blue and red coverlet he had his eye on lay under the lady. He took her by waist and shoulder, lifted her aside, not too urgently, and took it up.
Anger stiffened her face and turned it plain again. Homely.
Coldly, she asked, “Who is that boy?”
“My friend. We travel together.”
“Travel? You are traveling?”
“Aye, this moment. Farewell.”
“I assure you, my lord will avenge this robbery! He will hunt you down like a wolf.”
He could try. Percy shrugged.
“Leave the coverlet. Then maybe he will only break all your bones.”
Percy slung the coverlet back over his shoulder. Lili might regret offering to carry this! But it would cheer up a cold night.
“Would you know the name of your doom?”
Turning to leave, he looked back inquiringly.
“For the rest of your short life, beware of Sir Agrain. He is unusually fierce.”
Percy left the tent.
Lili had already vanished. A very faint dew-trail led into the woods.
Out in the field, the gray-grizzled horse whinnied.
Percy paused to look at it. It looked back at him, head and hobbled foot high, ears waggling. It whinnied again.
Take the horse?
In the past two days since leaving the forest they had met several horsemen and groups of horsemen. When they could, they hid till the travelers had passed; for Lili feared them greatly. And Percy noticed that Humans sometimes hid from them, also. There must be some reason for all this caution.
From thicket or tree they had watched the big animals jog past, hooves splattering stones, riders alert, commanding, yet relaxed, their lucky feet up and off the stony ground.
Once, unable to hide, they had stood by the trail and watched powerful horses pass close by, great hooves threatening, hides smelling of sweat, hot breath smelling of hay.
Percy had thought, Goddamn! That’s how to travel!
Take the horse!
But how?
How would you approach it? Gaze high and scornful, it dared Percy.
Not one to refuse a challenge, Percy started for it. It hobbled away at his own speed. When he stopped it stopped, and looked back at him.
Suppose I caught it, how would I get on?
It wore no furniture such as the riders used; nothing to sit on. Its bare swayback glistened silver in morning sun. Nothing to guide with. It had something on its face you could catch it by, but that was all.
Lili must be far away by now. Goddamn! She’s gone into the woods.
Over the fields was the direct way to Arthur’s Dun. But then; no Fey would walk those fields in daylight. She’ll want to dodge from tree to tree all the way.
Percy sighed. I’m Human, that’s why open fields don’t fright me. Not Lili’s fault that she’s Fey.
As for the horse, I’ll wait till I know more.
Right now, catch up with Lili. Let her carry this coverlet. Look, she broke a twig here, and here, so I could follow.
Percy crashed into the woods on Lili’s deliberately visible trail.
***
“Lili, Goddamn! Why can’t you sleep?”
(I have to laugh.) “Why can’t you sleep? These rocks and thorns too much for you?”
“This Goddamn itch! You said you could fix it.”
“Haven’t found the right herb yet.”
“Doesn’t bother you, huh? You Fey can sleep on rock with an itch?”
“So can you! Or you should have stayed home in your oak nest with Alanna’s soft, warm cloak.”
“Wish I had brought that!”
“I wish so too. It could have done for both of us.”
“She gave me her soup kettle. And her counsel.”
“Which is no good, Percy. Merlin never sang of such deeds as you have done.”
“Why did I never hear these Merlin songs you talk of?”
“Alanna did not want you knowing them. Percy!” (Wide-awake, I sit up and look out of our brush shelter into rainy darkness.) “Alanna must have forgotten how it really is, out here in this Kingdom.”
Groan. “Never forgot a Goddamn—”
“In the songs, the Round Table Knights take no rings or food. Their evil enemies do those things!”
“Hah! And do the Knights hand out pretty rings to the first folks they meet?”
“We Fey return good for good. Even Merlin’s songs admit that. And those peasants were good to us. Had us sleep in their own bed, while they curled up by the fire!”
“That’s where I caught this itch. And then you had to reward them with rings! Sir Friendly was right. Women are more trouble than worth.”
(That stings!) “You want me to leave you alone out here? I can start home right now.”
“Might as well wait till morning.”
“Percy.”
(Moan.) “What now?”
“Those peasant folks didn’t know we had rings.”
“What are rings for, anyhow? No good I can see. Pretty to look at. But if I had a ring now, I’d gladly give it for a dish of peasant porridge!”
“They didn’t know…till morning.”
“What are you fretting for? Lie down. Warm me up.”
“All day I’ve been wondering why they gave us their bed.”
“All day I’ve been wishing they hadn’t!”
“I woke up in the night, Percy. I saw a Spirit hover over them, where they lay on the ground. Something I’ve never seen before.”
“Aaargh. You see spirits burning in every bush!”
“Not like this one. This was too bright, too great, to fit into the hut. Its wings reached the sky.”
“You couldn’t see the sky. We were inside the hut. Lie down!”
“All I could see was spirit and sky. The hut disappeared.”
“Angel Michael! I dreamed, too, me, myself. I dreamed I was roasting a grouse.”
Poor, ever-hungry Percy! “I’ll find you a grouse in the morning.”
“And that itch herb too. Oo-o-ow!” (Scratch.)
I lie down again beside Percy and rearrange the coverlet over us. He cuddles warm against me; as he must have cuddled against Alanna when he was small.
What with itch, rock, rain, and thorn, lovemaking is far from my mind. It has never entered Percy’s mind.
And that’s as well. I think that last night I glimpsed the Power I seek. That great, shining Spirit that hovered over our sleeping hosts…It knows the secret of Power.
Percy flings a warm, too-heavy arm over me and snores.
Why did those peasant folk welcome us into their hut, feed us porridge, give us their bed? They didn’t even know we had those pretty rings to give.
Finger pressed to Victory, I stare into wet darkness and wonder.
***
Here I am!
In Arthur’s Dun!
Here I stand among Human men. I am bigger, stronger, than most of them. I look upon King’s Hall; upon its great doors and carved posts; and I know that King Arthur himself sits within.
Follow faithfully your King…Faithful I will be, whatever comes!
One barrier remains. Those great, closed doors. From what I have heard, traveling, King Arthur is not easily met with.
(While Percy worshipped at the doors of Chivalry, oblivious to the lowly Humans hurrying past and around, Lili cowered in his shadow, almost too frightened to breathe. So close she clung, few of those hasty Humans noticed her at all.)
Well. Ho-so. No use standing here.
Percy squared his broad shoulders, tapped the soup kettle straight on his head, and stepped forward.
A thunderous growl rumbled behind the closed doors.
Percy paused.
Like sudden wind, the growl rose into a roar. Every Human on the street stopped dead and turned to face King’s Hall. Hands reached for sword hilts, knives, hammers.
Percy reached for his Bee Sting.
The roar within became a sustained racket. Men shouted. A woman screamed.
The great doors facing Percy burst open.
Out from King’s Hall, as though propelled by the uproar, rushed a furious, red figure.
From under a red helmet bushed red hair and beard. A red cloak flowed down over red cuirass and surcoat. The red-gloved right hand clapped sheathed sword hilt close; in his left hand the Red Knight bore a large cup grail.
An instant he paused. His grim gaze darted over the street and stopped on Percy’s gape. It took in Percy’s soup-kettle helmet and three-colored tunic.
The Red Knight strode to Percy. Held out the yellow-gleaming grail.
“You, Knave. Take this grail.”
Knave? Wait a moment, here—
“Go you in there. Give that to the Queen. I took it from her. Give the King this message.” The Red Knight’s inflamed eyes fixed Percy. “This message, Sirrah. Give me back my lands, or send one to fight me for them. I wait without. You can remember that?”
“Sir, I am not a messenger—”
“You’ll do! God’s teeth, the Queen will love you! Now say to me your message. Give me back my lands…Say it!”
(Lili pinched Percy in the back.)
I am not a messenger. I never thought to enter King’s Hall with a message!
(Lili punched Percy.)
Lo! This message is for the King. Giving this message, I can reach the King’s side!
Percy repeated the message. “Give me back my lands or send one to fight for them. I wait without.”
“Go in, fellow. Do your part. Remember, I wait without! If no one comes out to fight, I will go raise me an army. Tell the King that.” And the Red Knight shouted past Percy to someone in the street, “My horse, fool! To me, here!”
A cloud of joy steamed from the gleaming grail up into Percy’s face. With this, I speak to the King! Instantly!
Holding the precious grail two-handed before him, as though it might spill its joyful promise, Percy stepped past the Red Knight. He entered the great doors of King’s Hall just as men came from within to close them. They glanced at his outfit and moved to bar his way. They saw the grail he carried and stood away back. Thus, did Percy enter King’s Hall. (And thus, close on his heels as his shadow, did Lili.)
Percy had formed no idea in his head of what King’s Hall should be like inside. Yet he felt that something was not right here. The storm of shouts and curses was echoed around the hall by overturned benches, chairs, stools. Food, hurled around the floor, squelched under Percy’s boots. Wolfhounds were making short work of it. Men who had just leaped up, overturning chairs, stood shouting around a huge round table.
These men are all unarmed! Where are the Knights?
Where is the King?
Percy looked from angry face to astonished face to gleefully amused face. No King here!
(Lili tugged on his hair, raising his face.)
Up there. Beyond the round table.
Two great, carved chairs occupied a dais, one lower than the other. On the lower chair slumped a slender, red-haired woman. Alanna-like, she had fainted. On the higher chair—
The King.
Arthur sat quiet, straight, and calm. A narrow crown circled his dark, graying hair. On the wall beside him hung his shield, emblazoned with Mary’s image; and his magic sword.
Percy strode past the round table to the dais. On the way, he felt Lili vanish away from behind him.
Close, he saw that the King’s hands, which seemed to rest on his robed knees, were clenched and white-knuckled.
Closer, he saw the Queen open her eyes. Some powerful feeling had drained her face pure white. Her rich gown was drenched as though by heavy rain; and bits of meat and bread mingled with pretty jewels down her front.
Her instantly angry eye lit on the grail in Percy’s two hands.
She jerked upright and stretched a dripping, ringed hand for it.
Percy was making straight for the King. But now the Red Knight spoke in his head. Give that to the Queen. I took it from her.
First this message.
Hardly pausing, he thrust the grail into the Queen’s hand.
Now for the real one.
The King’s calm, gray eyes had watched this exchange of the grail. His hands remained clenched and white on his knees. No muscle stirred. With mild half interest, he gave Percy his attention.
This is the King who shall knight me!
Percy cleared his throat. Loudly, he said, “Sir! The Red Knight outside asked me to say this to you.”
Interest quickened in the royal eyes.
“This is his message, Sir, not mine.” Better make that clear.
The King nodded.
“This way it goes. ‘Give me back my lands or send one to fight for them. I wait without. If no one comes out to fight, I will go raise me an army.’ Those, Sir, are the Red Knight’s words.”
The King stood up from his chair.
Tall he is, big, like me! How his jeweled robe gleams! and his rings! Next time I take a fair maiden’s rings I will keep them!
The King raised both ringed hands, palms out, over the crowd below the dais. As though a giant hand had covered its mouth, King’s Hall fell suddenly silent. Percy felt the gaze of all eyes pass through him and fasten on King Arthur.
Arthur’s great voice rang through Percy and around the Hall. “The Red Knight demands a fight for his lands. He waits without.”
Voices murmured, “Not you, Lord!”
“Why fight? You have his lands!”
“I’ll fight him!”
“Me, Lord! I’ll go!”
A big, dark man, unarmed like the rest, sprang onto the dais beside Percy. “With these eyes I saw him snatch the Queen’s grail and dash ale in her face! Gladly I’ll avenge that deed, and win his lands as well.”
A shout went up at that. “Aye! Let Sir Lancelot settle it! In a trice!”
Percy’s stumbling mind reeled, straightened up, stood square. So that’s the way of it! Goddamn, here’s my chance!
“Sir,” he shouted above the rising voices. “Sir! I will fight the Red Knight for you! I, Sir Percival.”
The King turned almost-startled eyes back to Percy.
The Queen and Sir Lancelot stared.
Behind the dais, a girl laughed.
Laughing, she stepped out from Arthur’s shadow.
Percy watched only the King’s face. But he saw from a corner of his eye that she was black-haired, small and slender in a white gown, and that she laughed close-mouthed, like Lili.
At her laugh King’s Hall fell silent again. Into this new silence she said clearly, “Lord! Never will your Round Table boast a knight greater than this Sir Percival.”
Percy’s heart swelled, burst, flamed. Joyful pride burned hot and high. Goddamn!
“Sir! I go to fight your enemy.”
Percy swung about and marched down from the dais, through the crowd, to the doors.
He was almost aware of hands reached to catch him, feet outstretched to trip him, voices exclaiming. He passed through invincible, unstoppable, right hand on the Bee Sting under his cloak, and strode out into the sunny street.
There waited the Red Knight. A sword gleamed in his right hand. A shield hung on his left arm.
Beside the knight waited his horse, a great red charger furnished all in red. Restlessly, it pawed sparks from the stone pavement.
The Red Knight turned toward Percy. Looking beyond Percy, he raised his shield.
Percy stalked toward him.
The Red Knight lowered shield. “You again, clown? What message this time?”
Percy advanced upon him, hidden dart ready in his fingers, eyes on the Red Knight’s eyes.
“Ho! God’s teeth! What do you—”
Percy came on.
The Red Knight punched his sword hilt into Percy’s left side.
Percy gasped. Did not flinch. Drove the poisoned dart through the Red Knight’s left eye. Stepped back away.
The Red Knight stood amazed. Swayed. Staggered three steps back and crashed on the stone pavement.
A few gasps, a twitch. Dead in a trice.
Percival turned. Looked about him.
Before King’s Hall crowded the unarmed men. They must have followed on his heels. They gaped, pointed, murmured. Percival barely heard their comments.
“How was that done?”
“But he was a Knight!”
“Arthur’s enemy.”
“True. But a Knight.”
“Insulted Gwenevere.”
“Still. Shouldn’t die at the hands of a beggar!”
“Seize him!”
“Arm up first.”
“He’s unarmed! Couldn’t get into the hall, armed.”
“He’s somehow armed. Killed him somehow.”
“Weirdness here.”
“Maybe magic.”
“Aye,” said the girl’s calm voice. “Magic it must be. Leave it to me.”
The growling knights stepped aside to let the small, white-robed girl through.
Straight to Percy she came, and smiled close-mouthed up into his face.
Small, she is!
She said, “Percival, this red horse and armor are now yours.”
Percival stared down into her wise, dark eyes. I’ve seen this girl before. Don’t know where…
What’d she say? Horse and armor? Horse and armor?
He whirled to look again at his victim. The corpse still twitched. Meant nothing. He’s dead. And I get the armor!
The girl said, “Lose no time.”
The gang of unarmed Knights milled and seethed like a torrent ready to flood its banks.
“Take sword and shield,” she said. “Helmet. No time for the rest.”
She herself seized the great, red charger’s bridle.
Percival darted to the dead Red Knight. Glanced once into the astonished dead eyes. Quickly then, with his knife he cut the helmet’s thongs. He tossed his soup kettle clattering, and donned the red helmet.
Heavy!
He jerked the shield off one dead arm, grabbed up the sword.
Goddamn! How’s a man walk around like this?
Behind him the girl said, “Quick, get the sheath.”
That meant the whole belt. In a hasty daze Percival dropped shield and sword to work the belt clasp.
The charger’s great hooves rang on stone as it fought the girl’s grasp. How could she hold it, small as she was? The Knights’ angry buzzing grew louder, closer.
But they’re all unarmed.
Right. They hesitated, milling like disturbed bees.
Feared of me!
Or of the girl?
Percival dragged the belt out from under the dead man, clasped it over his own belt. Thrust sword into sheath. With snort and clatter, the red charger came up beside him, girl still firmly in charge. Alarming, close horse scent swamped Percival’s senses.
“Mount quickly. Up!”
Percival looked up the quivering red hide. Away, afar up there, Lili looked down on him. Her little face was stiff with terror.
Right before her sat a high, polished red saddle. A stirrup dangled at Percival’s hand.
“Up!”
Percival had never happened to see how one mounted a horse. The horsemen whom he had watched from hiding were already up there.
The girl breathed between clenched teeth, “Foot in stirrup. Up! Up and over!”
The charger pawed and tossed its head. Froth foamed from its jaws. The girl barely hung on to its bridle. Percival saw her murmur to it, as to him.
The shield…how do I hold…
“Give Lili.”
With effort, Percival handed the shield away up to Lili. Could she hold it? It came not back down.
A poke from the white-robed girl, and he was in the stirrup. Hanging between sky and pavement.
“Leg over, Percival!”
He was in the saddle.
“Reins.”
Dizzily he leaned to collect the reins the girl handed up.
Behind him, the Knights roared.
Faintly, Percival felt Lili’s hands grasp his belt through the cloak. He himself grabbed at the horse’s tough, red mane.
The white-robed girl spoke to the charger. And let go the bridle.
Strength rushed through the huge red body below Percival.
He found himself whirled around, looking down from a new height upon the massed Knights of the Round Table. Angry faces glared up at him but an instant, then disappeared from sight.
At the doors of King’s Hall stood King Arthur, sword in hand. Percival caught surprise on the royal face. Then that, too, vanished.
Undistinguished men scattered now before the on-rushing charger. Women snatched children out of its path. Huts and houses joggled past at undreamed-of speed. Clatter-Clash went hooves on stone street, then thud-thump on dirt street.
Percival clung low to the saddle. He felt Lili cling to him. Ground hurtled past as they rushed into wind.
***
Striding forward over rough ground, Bee Sting pounding his thigh, Percival pauses. I’ve been here before.
Here. Where? Heavy white mist rolls around even the nearest trees. All he can see is this forest-littered ground at his feet.
I’ve been here before; and I’m going there. (Wherever there may be.)
Percival springs back into stride.
I’m going there. But first, now…Goddamn! This is a dream, and I’ve dreamed it before. First, I’ll see…
There before him it appears, dark on the ground.
As he has done before, Percival stops and looks down at the naked, Human man lying on the stretcher.
The Fisher.
Percival calls this big, blond man the Fisher because he lies on and under fishing nets, and holds a fishing spear in both helpless hands. He lies perfectly still on his back, looking up at Percival.
But…Angel Michael! He has the look of a King!
Studying the calm, cold face this time, Percival thinks of King Arthur. Put a robe on him, give him a crown…he’s not Arthur, but he’s a King somewhere. How steadily he looks at me, out of his pain!
This silent, stiff-faced man bears a bloody wound between the thighs.
As before, Percival shudders through his whole body. And looks away.
Not my hurt.
And I’m going there.
Percival steps reachingly over and across the silent Fisher King. As each time before, he strides on through mist, over rough ground, with no backward glance.
***
Fire leaped into darkness.
At the lord’s command servants threw more kindling, more logs, into the fire pit. The fire reared and roared.
Silhouetted against the flames, two figures shambled, staggered, and bear-danced, dueling with staves.
Thwack! Crack! Clonk! Their cudgels swung, crossed, and landed body blows. “Arf!” “Huh!” “Hah!” grunted the two sturdy contestants.
Out beyond the light, laughter responded; shouts, comments, exhortations. Men rose from benches to crowd forward into half-light, grinning and betting.
In true darkness at the far ends of the hall, hounds snarled.
One cudgel cracked, broke. Half of it flew into the fire pit. Still gripping half, the young man ducked back from his attacker.
The winner swung his cudgel high and sideways like a fishing pole, then brought it crack! against the loser’s head.
The loser dropped.
Whoops, guffaws, and moans sounded around the hall.
The winner threw down his cudgel. He swaggered up to the lord’s bench and collected his reward, a small bag of coins, with an awkward bow.
Lord Gahart grinned up at him. “Go easier next time. Good men don’t grow in gardens.”
“He’ll fight again, Lord. His head’s made of wood.” The winner stepped away into winking half-light. His friends surrounded him.
Others dragged the loser up off the floor, draped his arms over two of their shoulders, and half dragged him off into the dark.
Lord Gahart lifted the flagon by his side and drank. “That seems to be true,” he remarked to Percival, who sat beside him. “Seen that fellow whomped before. No lasting effect. Unless maybe on the brains inside.”
Robed like a lord in Gahart’s own garments, Percival sat easily beside his host. Newly sophisticated, he quaffed throat-burning ale from the flagon Gahart set back down between them. A small tapestry covered their rough bench.
Never sat so soft before! Never ate so good! Even this goddamn ale’s good! Here’s what Human life should be!
He drank again.
“How would you like a sack of gold, Percival?”
Percival lowered the flagon, turned to Gahart.
“I’d bet on you to beat the winner. And no one else would. See?”
Hah. “You want me to fight that cudgel fellow.”
“No, no! You are my honored guest. I want nothing from you. But if you felt like winning gold tonight,”…Gahart drew a second small bag from his robe. “I’ll bet you can.”
Percival set down the flagon and made to rise. Gahart held up a meaty hand. “Not so fast! You can hardly move in that getup. You’ll have to—”
“I can fight!” Percival snorted contempt for such a detail. “And I fight now this instant, Lord, or never.” Let’s get this done, sit down again, and finish off that ale!
Gahart scowled.
A big man, Gahart was shorter than Percival, but three times the width, and all of it muscle. Graying red curls and beard framed a lined, scarred face. The left eye drooped.
This scowl was the first he had directed at Percival, who had seen him scowl at lesser men. He would then order beating or scourging, which his servants would promptly carry out.
Why the goddamn do they obey him? No telling who’ll be the next one flogged. But if they stood together, he could not command them.
(Lili knew no answer to this. When he asked her by lamplight in their chamber, she finger-talked, Human ways. Your blood knows, not mine.)
That day when the red charger went lame had been a deciding day for Percival. He did not know horses wore shoes, which could be lost. By himself, he might have eaten the charger and roamed like a beggar fool forever after. But Lili showed him what had happened. Lili brought them to Gahart’s Hall and requested shelter and a horseshoe. The red charger, and Percival’s red armor, had won them respect. They had both learned much, and quickly, ever since.
One thing Lili had finger-told him about Gahart. He thought of it now. Gahart’s frequent anger was most dangerous against cowards and lowlies who failed to meet his smoldering eyes. Lili had signed, If you have to, face up to him.
Percival met Gahart’s scowl with a smile. And stood up.
“Aaaagh, very well! Fight your way.” Gahart rose as well. He called the startled victor away from his ale and ordered gloves and a new cudgel brought for Percival.
Servants dumped more kindling into the fire pit. The fire reared and roared. Percival faced the young victor of moments ago.
He had never held a cudgel before. Fey boys might wrestle for fun, almost never in anger. But never had he seen boys or men go at each other with sticks.
Lord Gahart’s men had been showing him sword-play. This would be yet a different art.
The cudgel hung heavy, cold, in his hands. He shifted and balanced it. How’s that fellow hold his? Left hand here, right hand…so.
The thwacks and cracks of the previous duel still sounded in his ears. That one’s strong as a plowing ox. Got to move fast. Get in there before he sees me coming.
Percival felt a lump grow in his throat.
Then from the dark flooded a river of strength. It flowed over and around Percival and fountained within.
“Hah! Goddamn! Come on!”
Percival crouched forward; eagerly, he shook the cudgel.
The Ox grinned. Firelight gleamed in his slitted eyes and clenched teeth. He crouched, danced a few steps, raised his cudgel.
Before he sees me coming.
Percival jabbed the cudgel like a sword, under and up.
Cudgel crunched jawbone. Jaw crumbled. Teeth and blood flew.
The Ox reeled back. His cudgel crashed to the floor.
Percival sprang after him, cudgel high.
Roars from the dark.
Lord Gahart thundered, “Enough! Lay off!” Hands grabbed out of darkness and dragged Ox away.
Percival stood disappointed, swinging his blooded cudgel at air. Never got to learn it after all.
He felt men moving away, drawing back from heat and light, and from himself. Never learn it now. They won’t give me a chance to learn. Know I’m too good for them.
Of a sudden, the magical strength that had supported him ebbed away. Now I’m only me. Who was I, just now? Who was it fractured Ox’s jaw?
Lord Gahart called out, “Come get your prize, Percival!”
He stood by the tapestried bench, waving his little bag high. Laughing.
Prize. Oh, aye. Gold coins. This time I’ll know to keep ’em for myself.
Percival took the bag from Gahart. A moment he hesitated, remembering Ox’s awkward bow. Should I do that?
He sat down.
Bettors came and paid Gahart, who filled a third bag with winnings, then seated himself again by Percival. The fire wavered and sank. In gathering darkness, men wrapped themselves in cloaks and blankets and went to sleep on benches around the walls. Servants moved quietly, cleaning up. One refilled Gahart’s ale flagon. Hounds roamed the floor searching out crumbs and bones.
Percival had never heard Gahart speak softly till now.
“Drink, friend. Drink.”
Nothing loath, Percival drank.
“I was right to bet on you from the start. You will be a fine Knight.”
“I am a fine Knight now, Lord.” Put that straight.
“Nay, Percival. You are not yet knighted. But that day will come.”
Percival wiped his lips on his embroidered sleeve. “A mage at Arthur’s Dun prophesied that Arthur would have no finer knight than me.”
“A mage?” Gahart took the flagon, drank, and handed it back. “Maybe he laughed when he said it?”
“She…long, dark hair…aye, she laughed. You think she joked?”
“No such thing. That which a laughing mage prophesies comes true.”
“Ah.” True! Goddamn!
“She must have been Merlin’s assistant…Niviene.”
Percival drank, and thought. Niviene. Niviene! Of Lady Villa! Who is always away with Merlin. I was too stirred up to know her!
A vision of Apple Island rose up out of Percival’s ale-fog as if out of the misty Fey lake. He saw again the low, stony shore, ancient apple trees in bloom, a crumbling white wall of Lady Villa, groaning under vines. Behind that wall the Lady, Ivie, and Alanna sat spinning. And soon Alanna would come to the door and call his child-name. “Percy? Percy! Time to go home.”
He shuddered, and thrust the whole scene away, down and out of his mind. Deeply, he drank.
Niviene! Now, why didn’t Lili tell me that? She’s had days to tell me that!
A soft touch on his knee. Startled, he glanced down. Lili herself had come to his side and curled down like a faithful hound, cross-legged on the floor. She must have heard his thought.
Even more softly, Gahart said, “Time I learn more about you, Percival. I might maybe make plans for you.”
Plans?
“You come to me from nowhere, leading that great red charger. You carry one fine red-hilted sword, one costly red shield. You wear the rags of a fool. And know no more of the world than a milk-fed brat! Do I recite the truth?”
“Aye, Lord.” Though Percival winced at the description. Still, it’s true.
“One does not ask a guest everything at once. I have waited a while to ask, but now I must know. From where did you come here, Friend Percival?”
Readily. “From Arthur’s Dun. There I killed the Red Knight, Arthur’s enemy. I took his horse and arms. But for some reason his enemies, Arthur’s men, were angry—”
“Before that. From where did you come to Arthur’s Dun?”
Another soft Lili-touch out of growing darkness.
“I came from a forest, Lord.”
“A forest?”
“Aye, a forest.” No need to say what kind. “My mother raised me there so that I would not grow up to be a Knight.”
“Hah! You had no father?”
“Dead. So were my brothers dead.”
“Aha. And your mother wished for you to live. But to retreat into a forest…she must be a bold one!”
Percival had never considered this aspect of the story. He refused to consider it now. He continued. “When she saw I would go, she told me about the world, and how to be a Knight.”
Gahart spat to the side. “What could a fool woman know about that?”
Percival shrugged. “What she knew, she told me.” And he began to recite. “Should you meet a maiden fair, kiss her well and leave her there.”
Gahart grinned.
“Should God’s church stand by your way, enter there and gravely pray.”
Gahart laughed.
“Upon your way you hear a cry? Answer it! Help, save, or die!”
Lili thumped a little fist on his knee. Enough!
Gahart drained the flagon and set it down on the floor. “Listen, Percival. Men do not learn from women. Women know nothing. They’re just useful animals. Your red charger could tell you more of Knighthood than your mother! Knighthood must be learned from knights. Like me.”
“Truth, Lord, I have learned much from you since I came here.”
“I see that! You learn very fast. Now you’ll learn twice as fast, because I’ll show you. Tell you. Everything. That’s my plan.”
Percival sat speechless. It’s falling into my hands! Unasked! All of it!
“You’re wondering why.”
“Aye, Lord. I wonder that very much.”
“I want you for my son.”
“Son?” Percival stared through near darkness into Gahart’s grim face. I’ve been a son. Not much joy in that.
“You’ll wed my daughter. You know the one?”
Stunned, Percival nodded. He had seen the girl about; very young and lovely, she smiled brightly to any and all. But he had noticed that Gahart’s men avoided her carefully and completely. Lili had advised him to do the same.
Not that he would have kept her company by choice.
“Name’s Ranna. Been saving her for someone like you.”
Percival swallowed. “Saving?”
“Ranna’s my only get, Percival. When I go, Ranna’s all will be left of me.”
Percival’s mind clung to these weird words, as a fallen man clings to a cliff face.
“One day Ranna’s husband will lord it in this hall. Understand?”
Slowly, Percival shook his head. “…Husband?”
Gahart gave a great snort. “Never wed, myself. Never was offered a chance like I’m offering you. Look. Here it is on a silver platter. I show you Knighthood. Chivalry. You go on a quest for me. Bring back what I want. And we get the King to knight you.
“You wed Ranna. Live here. You’re my son. My grandson’s father. When I go, it’s all yours.” Gahart waved around at the darkness. “Hall, land, farmers, herds, herders, servants, fighting men. Gold.” He gave the bag at his belt a little jingling shake. “What say?”
Percival shook his head vigorously, like the red charger when perplexed. Questions flooded his brain. He asked the first one that rose, fairly clear, out of the flood. “When you go where, Lord?”
Gahart stared. Laughed. “To Hell, most like.”
Hell. Alanna talked about Hell.
Ah. Goddamn! “When you die.”
“Got it.” Impatient, now. “Not even the greatest Knight lives forever, you know. Enemy don’t get you, sickness will.” (Percival felt Lili shudder at that word, down beside him.) “Famine. Plain old age. Gotta plan for that.”
Plan for that? Not me! I’ve got no plan for that now, nor ever will!
“So what say, friend? Interested?”
Lili touched Percival’s knee. She understands this, or part of it. She’ll tell me later.
“This quest you mentioned.”
“Oh, aye, that’s not much! Just enough to prove your worth.”
“But what is it?”
“The Holy Grail.”
???
“Never heard of the Holy Grail? Should have known!” It was Gahart’s turn to shake his bemused head. “You just don’t know nothing!”
“I come from a forest.”
“Hmmmff. The Holy Grail is what Arthur’s Knights quest after. I want it, myself.”
“But what is it?”
“God’s balls! It’s a grail. A cup. A dish. Golden. Magic.”
Some small thing in Percival’s mind drew back, almost cautious. “Magic?”
“You say to it, ‘Bring ale!’ And right off, it’s full of ale. Or meat. Or honeycake. Whatever you say that you can eat. Won’t bring you gold.”
Hmmm. Percival slipped his left hand down to meet Lili’s hand. Her fingers clasped his and shook, Yes!
She doesn’t mind it’s magic? Neither do I.
One thing more. “You say Arthur’s Knights quest for this grail. And you say Arthur will knight me. So—”
“I see your question. The grail won’t do Arthur no good, Percival. He’s better off without it.”
“Why is that, Lord?”
“Arthur’s Christian. Christian and magic, they don’t mix. This grail would bring Arthur nothing but trouble. So a true Arthur’s Man will grab it and hide it away before Arthur gets to it.”
“Hah.” Lili will explain.
“One reason I want it myself. Do Arthur a true service.”
It’s all falling into my hands!
Joy broke like light upon Percival’s puzzled heart. Never thought it would be so easy!
“I think I will take up your quest!”
“You think so? I need more than think!”
“What do you need?”
Gahart felt in the bags and pouches on his belt. He brought out a medallion, a brooch, a small wooden animal figure, and dropped them all back in. “Cross’ll have to do.” He whipped a long knife out of a fold of robe, and thrust its hilt at Percival. “Take a hold on that.”
Wondering, Percival took the hilt in his hand.
“Look, this is the Cross of Christ. Agreed?”
Percival felt the crosspiece on the hilt. Hilt and crosspiece did seem to form a cross. “Goddamn. Agreed.” At last, something I’ve heard of!
“Say, ‘On this Cross of Christ I swear I will quest for the Holy Grail.’ Say that.”
Percival said that.
“Say, ‘I will not keep the grail myself. I will not take it to Arthur.’”
More hesitantly, Percival said that.
“Say, ‘I swear on the Cross of Christ, if I find the Holy Grail, I will bring it back to good Lord Gahart.’”
Percival hesitated. Lili leaned reassuringly against his leg, and he said the words.
“Good. So be it.” Gahart took the hilt-cross back in his own hand. “My turn. I swear on this Cross of Christ that when Percival brings me the Holy Grail I will give him my daughter Ranna, and all the wealth that comes with her when I die. On my Knight’s Honor.”
He thrust the knife back out of sight in his robe. Yawned. Stretched. Stood up. “To bed, Percival. Tomorrow starts your training.”
***
“Holy Michael Archangel! I’ll have to lie with her?”
“That’s what a husband does.” This much I know. “You’ll have to wed her. And that means bedding, and looking after, and staying with for always. Percival, this is what Human life is—one burden after another. Why under sky did you want to be Human?”
Miserably, “Because, goddamn, I am Human!”
We whisper and finger-talk by lamplight.
A stairway leads up from the hall to a narrow passageway giving onto three rooms above. The third room back, away from the stairs, is little Ranna’s. She lives there with her old nurse. There they spin and weave most of every day. I don’t know how Ranna can endure it, young and lively as she is. But I don’t need the answer to that puzzle.
In the middle room, closer to the stairs, Lord Gahart sleeps in lonely luxury.
Percival and I sleep in this room, closest to the stairs. I would have had to sleep down in the hall with all the men, but I made Percival insist that I stay with him. I told him to say, “I need my servant Lil at all times.”
Lord Gahart turned his smoldering little eyes on me, and grunted. “Hah! So you’re one of those,” he said to Percival. “Very well. Let him stay.”
So we’re here together, whispering as the lamp sputters low. Around and below us the hall sinks into sleep and dream.
“That’s how it will be,” I tell Percival. “If you want to lord it in this hall, over what did he say—lands and herds and men and gold—you’ll have to wed and be a husband. And a father.”
“Father?”
“That’s what Gahart said. Father of his grandson. And Percival, I won’t be here to help you. Gods! I want to go home now!”
Grief grips my innards. I would give almost anything to walk again among close, sheltering trees, to lie half in a stream and tickle a trout, to listen to my own thought, and Spirit counsels brought by breezes.
This Kingdom is a cold, rough place!
I’ve wanted to go home since Percival led me—all unwilling—through a gate into walled Arthur’s Dun.
There the jabbering Human crowd, the noise and stink and barren buildings overwhelmed me. I forget much of what happened there. I saw Niviene, and thought, a friend! I saw Percival stride up to the Red Knight and kill him; and I saw the faces of Arthur’s Knights, angry, dangerous. Thank all Gods they were unarmed!
Then we were on the red horse, running away faster than I fly in dreams. At least we were out of the paved and walled space, thumping over fields.
But Percival, who should have guided and commanded the horse, had no notion how to do that. We would have lost him the first time we stopped and slid off, but that I sang a spell to bind him to us. All the following days I spent weaving spells about that horse; without magic, we could not get on him, stay on him, or catch him, (even when he was hobbled.) I knew we should take off the bridle and saddle; but we knew not how, or how we would put them back on. So he wore them the whole time, although I felt pain each time I came near him.
He also thinned down fast, and finally went lame. When he staggered in here, the stable men clucked tongues and shook heads.
Magicking all day every day tired me out. I’m glad that now Percival is learning how to manage him the Human way, with spur and curb and whip.
Every day, besides, I had to reconvince Percival not to turn back to Arthur’s Dun and ask King Arthur to knight him. He had not seen the furious faces of those Knights, as I had.
I think I managed all this only by grace of the Lady’s Victory ring. She swung on her thong between my breasts every moment, strengthening, comforting. (I touch her now.)
Every day of our journey we saw astonishing things.
The most astonishing happened just before the horse started to limp. (And I had to sing a spell, lift his left hind foot, and find out why.)
We camped in a wood outside a village.
By then even Percival knew better than to enter the village. Even he had noticed that villagers were curious about our clothes, his armor, and the red horse. Even he had noticed the eye-flash that meant, we could kill these strangers, steal that horse! So we camped outside in the wood.
But at dusk, wrapped in my invisible cloak, I sneaked in among the thatched huts and houses to see what I could steal. (Maybe a chicken; or Percival’s favorite honeycakes! Or maybe another coverlet, now the horse could carry things.)
The place was quiet. Almost silent.
Humans are rarely that quiet, never silent.
My scalp prickled. Spine tingled. Something stank.
At the side of a house I poised on tiptoe—sniffing, listening—and heard, behind me, a delicate, silver tinkle.
I drew my “invisible” cloak close and shrank up small and still.
Firm, soft footfalls came toward my back. Two Humans approached behind me. I could not turn my head to look, and stay invisible; so I stood stiff and small, like a bush. My right hand found Bee Sting in my belt.
Lantern light came about me.
The Humans stopped beside me; a boy, who carried a tinkling bell in one hand, and a lantern in the other; and a white-hooded man, who bore a small box in both hands like a treasure.
They saw me. The man turned toward me. I could not see his face under the white hood, but I felt his gentle gaze. Not to fear. His aura shone white and wide in the dark gray dusk, far brighter than the boy’s lantern. Not to fear.
Kindly, he said to me, “Child, this is an un-good place for you to be.”
I told him, “I know that, Sir. But I know not why.”
And he told me, “There is sickness here.”
Sickness! Oh Holy Goddess, sickness was what smelled so awful! I had smelled sickness before and fled from it, but nothing so bad as this.
He pointed to the house beside us. “In this house is plague. I must go in there. But you, child, go fast and far away from here, before you catch plague.”
He meant, before plague caught me.
They went on then past me to the house corner. There the boy stopped and waited. The man took the lantern and went around the corner, I suppose into the plague house, as he had said.
I ran all the way back to camp. Tired as we were, we moved on that night.
I have wondered about that man ever since.
Why in the name of all Gods and fairies did he go into that house? Into that stink and danger? Why did he pursue the plague?
But so many strange things happened on this journey, I grew tired of questioning. I learned to accept whatever I saw, simply, as one does in dreams.
Now, Gods, I am tired!
Gahart’s Hall is worse than Arthur’s Dun.
Grieving or greedy ghosts drift here by night; Human souls still seeking their lost life.
By day evil-smelling giants stride about, roaring.
Lord Gahart swaggers in his large, muddy aura, shouting commands. And servants, invisible in their drab outfits as I in my cloak, rush to obey.
Gahart likes Percival.
When first we entered the courtyard, leading our lame red horse, the men would have taken horse and armor and thrust us outside. (I’ve made this out; something about our garments rouses contempt in even the poorest, saddest Humans.)
But Gahart looked at Percival. Those smoky eyes of his are sharper than they seem! As I see an aura, so Gahart saw the hidden Knight in Percival. At a glance, he looked past the garments and saw all the things he values most in men. I think in that glance he saw that Percival could find him this Holy Grail thing, and that Percival could father him a fine grandson, and that he could leave himself—the possessions which are himself—to no better heir.
And by his Human rules and understandings, he saw rightly. Percival is a goddamn good bet! Strong, big even by Human standards, Percival is made of ice. He feels no fear or doubt. Did he not kill the Red Knight without a moment’s hesitation? He who before had only killed for meat! I had told him Merlin’s stories by then; he knew that Knights killed Humans every day without a thought. And so he did, himself! He does simply, instantly, whatever he thinks Knights do. If Gahart asked him to hunt down a fire-breathing dragon, off he would go in a breath to hunt it down. I suppose he will lie with little Ranna in that same spirit, when the time comes.
Now he stares at me by lamplight. What did I say that keeps his exhausted blue eyes fixed on me?
“Lili! You won’t go home till we find this Holy Grail!”
Ah. Aha. I said I want to go home.
Percival wants me to help him find this Holy Grail. How under sky can we find a magic cup? It sits on a shelf in a cupboard. It jounces in a horse’s saddlebag. It lies in a streambed, filling up with silt, somewhere in this Kingdom. And we don’t even know the size of this Kingdom.
But I am here on my own quest.
A price is paid for every quest.
Draw heart’s blood from out bared breast…
The price of my Human heart is high, so far. But not yet too high.
Gladly would I sneak out of here tonight and start the long, long walk home! (East, I know, and south. And I remember landmarks: a mill, a hall, a pasture full of great, glossy mares and frolicking foals.)
“I’m not going home tomorrow.”
“You’ll help me find the grail.”
“I’ll help you try.”
Percival smiles and lies down. I draw our coverlet and his cloak up over him to his golden beard. His eyes sink shut, then pop open.
“Lili. Why did you not tell me that was Niviene, back there at Arthur’s Dun?”
“I thought you knew.” Why wouldn’t you know?
“I don’t know all the things you know.” Percival sighs, and sleeps.
No. You don’t. If I held the Bird of Knowledge in my hands, you would hold one tail feather in yours.
Percival! What would you ever do without me?
***
I sit by his feet on the pallet, listening to the night. Owls hoot, patrolling the garden outside. Rats scurry, tiny nails clicking on wood or stone floors. Men snore down below in the hall. Gahart snores next door like thunder. Up on the roof, men walk and talk in low voices. Sentries. If you live in a visible, unmovable place like a hall, you have to guard it from enemies all night, every night.
About to blow out the lamp, curl down by Percival and draw my cloak over me, I pause.
Another night sound.
I’ve heard it before, other nights.
A creak; the whsssh! of a gown. Footsteps so soft, I’ll bet the owl sailing past the arrow-slit windows doesn’t hear them.
Little Ranna walks at night.
I call her “little” for her little, squashed soul. I see more of that than of her blooming body. She is taller than me, maybe older. And if you like curling, sunny hair (like Percival’s!) and blue eyes, she is goddamn good-looking. But her aura is the width of a silk ribbon, all green and orange, and all twined around her pelvis. She hasn’t a thought behind those blue eyes, or a Human Heart in her breast. It hasn’t grown yet. Maybe, it never will. I am beginning to suspect that not all Humans grow Hearts.
Other nights she has passed our door and gone on, softer than a mouse. I’ve been asleep before she ever returned.
But this night she stops outside our door.
And suddenly I know what she does at night.
That pelvic ribbon of aura should have told me that. I’m ashamed to be surprised.
And I know what’s happened here. Little Ranna watched Percival break that dolt’s jaw tonight, just as I did. (But from where? She must have a secret window into the hall. She’s never seen in the hall with the men.)
And she thought the same thing I did. Except, because of my quest, I can’t do it. And Percival’s not ready for it, anyhow.
Little Ranna has no quest. And of course, she does not know that Percival is made of ice. No one would guess that.
In a flash I’m at the door. As it glides very carefully open, I’m in the doorway.
So is Ranna.
Each of us gives a little mousy jump at sight of the other. Ranna expected an empty doorway. I expected Ranna in her white, linen sleeping gown.
Robed in red-embroidered blue, fair hair curling over and down her shoulders, Ranna reminds me of a Human-story fairy. A wonderful scent of rose and lavender floats around her. Maybe this vision could even break Percival’s ice!
“Lil!” She whispers.
I raise my hands to finger-talk. Then I remember, for all her beauty, poor Ranna is but Human. Doesn’t understand finger-talk.
I whisper, “Outside.”
With no demur at all, she turns and leads me into the dark passage. By the stair she draws back an ancient tapestry, so worn it has no color even by daylight, and reveals her secret window onto the hall below. A great wind of snores and body heat rises through the window, and utter darkness. Not even my Fey eyes can see down there now.
I wonder how Ranna, with only Human eyes, can wander here without a candle. She must know every half step of this hall by heart.
Beside the window, a second stairway leads away down. Ranna reaches back and takes my hand to guide me down through blackness.
Stair by stair she leads me carefully, not guessing that the very brightness of her unbound hair lights my way.
She does not notice the ghost that hovers before her, sinking stair by stair as she descends. I’ve seen this ghost before, always near Ranna—a young woman gowned like a servant. Her pale braid swings hip-length. She holds out strong-muscled arms as if to catch Ranna, should she stumble on the stair. At the bottom, she disappears.
Ranna pushes open a little, low door seemingly made for Fey. She crawls out through it. I follow, crouching. Here is the walled kitchen garden within the courtyard, spiderwebbed in silver dew. A low half-moon shines.
Ranna draws me into bushes against the wall. We kneel down. The guards on the roof won’t see us here, even if they glance down. Ranna does everything easily, in a practiced way, as though many times before. With the same practiced ease she draws off her blue red-embroidered gown, I suppose to save it from the dewy grass. Rose-lavender scent bursts around her like dandelion seed. Bare-naked, moon-white, slender, she turns to me. And opens her arms.
Ranna thinks I am a boy.
Whisper. “Gods! You’re quick, Ranna!”
“Why not?”
“You do this every night?”
Shrug. “Only thing that’s fun in life, you know?”
“I suppose weaving and spinning…”
Ranna spits, like her father, to the side. “I live for this. Worth the danger.”
“Danger?” My ears perk up.
“Well, you know. If my father found out…”
“He doesn’t know?” How can he not?
“God’s balls, Lil! Of course he doesn’t know! Why, if he knew…”
“What would he do?” This looks to be the most interesting night of our whole quest so far!
I repeat. “What would he do?”
Goddess! Poor little Ranna weeps. Tears flood her moonlit eyes and spill down her white-rose cheeks.
“Why under sky? What’s it to him?”
“Lil, you’re as strange as your master!”
Master? Oh. Percival. “Yes, well, we’re foreigners here. Where we come from things are different.”
“Where’s that? Where is anything different?” I sense desperation in the question. Ranna wipes her eyes dry with leaves off our bush.
“We come from a forest far from here.” Percival has already let that much out to Gahart. “Look, we haven’t much time. Tell me why your father would care that you—”
“Why, how could he bear the insult!”
“Insult?”
“Or the loss! I would be no good to him!”
No good to him.
All at once, a mystery solves itself for me.
I see that Humans are all good for something to each other. Master and servant, husband and wife, peasants and lord, are all useful, each to each, one way or another. Their use binds them together. And this binding/bonding is their Survival Trick. Such bumbling, helpless creatures could no more survive alone than bees or ants could. Like this, each one learns a trick or two—how to fight, or how to spin, or how to grow peas—and they exchange their gifts and skills, and so they live.
Of what use to each other are father and daughter?
“What good are you?”
Ranna opens her mouth wide, baring little, shell-like teeth. She throws back her hand and gasps in a huge breath, and I know she means to laugh.
I leap and clap both hands over her mouth. The sound that escapes, a rat might make. No sentry will look down the wall for that noise.
Laughing, Ranna falls backward under the bushes. I crawl on top of her, holding the sound down. Here, I learn something I never knew before, that laughter can catch you like sickness. Before Ranna sobers I am half-laughing, myself.
We lie still entwined, like lovers. I whisper, “But surely, Ranna, the men must talk among themselves about…”
“Wouldn’t dare! Never dare! They’d be hanged…used for arrow practice…fed to the hounds.”
Holy blessed Gods! A good thing I warned Percival to stay clear of this girl! I noticed the men did, so it seemed the wise course to follow. But I never guessed the matter was so serious!
“Will this happen to me if…”
“Be assured! But Lil, I thought you knew that. I would not have led you here…”
Goddamn! Seems a high price for a bit of fun! But…But…if it’s such a secret…“What will you do if the Goddess blesses you, Ranna?”
“What?”
“How will you explain a newborn babe to your father?”
“Oh. No. Nurse is a midwife.” Whatever that is. “And a witch.”
Truly? I have seen no sign of that in the sleepy old woman’s aura.
“She knows how to get rid of it. We did that once already.”
What? “You did what?”
“Got rid of it. The babe. No one guessed anything.”
I stare into Ranna’s soft, wet eyes. I untangle and withdraw from her, put wet grassy earth between us. “You destroyed the Goddess’s gift?” Which might have grown into a perfect child with no fingernail missing? And maybe as lovely as Ranna herself!
But then look again, with Human eyes. This child would have been no good at all to Ranna. I’m learning to think Human! Oh, how wise I feel!
“I got rid of it. Lil, stop talking! Or are you too scared now?”
Ranna reaches for me.
I scoot farther back away.
Ranna smiles wide-mouthed. “I know! It’s your first time, isn’t it! You don’t know—”
“Ranna—”
“I’ll show you how, Lil.” Lovely white arms open wide. “I’ll show you so you’ll never forget! Or be satisfied with anyone else!”
“Ranna, I only came to tell you something.” And thank all Gods, you told me something!
“What? You came here to talk?”
“Aye. To tell you about my…my master. Percival.”
Her eyes light up like the moon.
“He’s no good, Ranna. He’s made of ice.”
“Not that man!”
“Ah, yes. That man. He thinks of nothing but Knighthood. Chivalry.”
Ranna shudders. “Uuuugh. Then he…he might tell my father!”
A good thought! “Indeed, he might! Think well on that, Ranna.”
I roll away out of the thicket. I find my feet and vanish into the little Fey doorway before Ranna can blink, before a sentinel looking down from the roof can know what he saw, or if he saw anything.
Let little Ranna wonder too!
Whisking up the black-dark stairs I wonder—why did I warn Ranna off Percival?
I’m glad I did. I’ve learned more tonight than on our whole quest so far.
***
White under first snow, meadows stretched to low, encircling hills. Surprised by snow, migrating ducks talked and dabbled in a narrow streambed hidden among reeds.
A hunting harrier dropped out of sunny air to skim above the reeds.
Percival paced his red charger along the reeds.
The red was sleek, now, well fed and furnished. Lili had learned well the care of him from Lord Gahart’s stable men. And Gahart had taught Percival to handle him.
This Percival was new, armed in helmet and cuirass, lance at hand, unblazoned shield hooked to his saddle. Lord Gahart had armed and sent him forth to search for King Arthur, who was rumored to be traveling this way. For the new, proud, prepared Percival was still unknighted.
He noticed the harrier swoop on wide-stretched wings over the reeds. Goddamn! Might maybe pick up a bite here!
Back behind the western hill, Lili tended their campfire. She might have found them something to cook, by now; or she might not. Percival’s stomach shrank and complained beneath its armor. At this hungry moment more scavenging Fey than proud Knight, Percival turned the red after the harrier.
Which dropped into reeds.
Ducks squawked, screamed, and flapped up in thunderous flocks.
The harrier rose slowly, clutching a heavy brown teal in its talons.
Percival slapped gloved hand to where Bee Sting should lie against his hip. Holy Hubert, I forgot! Knights don’t carry Bee Stings!
But all the same, the teal dropped in his path. The harrier dived right after it into the snow, grabbed it in a firmer grip, and flapped away, showering snow.
Hungry Percival was left with a snow hole framed in teal feathers.
He reined in and looked down into the hole.
Pure, new snow formed a perfect grail; like the empty, golden one he had handed to the Queen in Arthur’s Dun. But this grail brimmed with blood.
Percival dismounted. He stood looking into the snow grail. Vaguely he knew that the ducks had settled back into the reeds, that the sun had gone behind a cloud and then returned. He saw these things from the corner of his mental eye, while his true vision concentrated itself in the bloody snow grail at his feet.
Percival was little Percy, back in the Fey forest.
He stood with smaller Lili before the statue of Mary. Snow fell upon them, and through Mary’s lattice roof, and upon Mary. Mary and Christ were mantled in snow, softer than ermine fur.
Alanna had given Percy a reed brush and sent him to clean off the statue.
As he raised the brush, Lili vanished from beside him. Ever, she was fearful of Mary…
The red charger nickered at Percival’s shoulder.
Vaguely, he heard sounds of a horse approaching, the clink! of metal and creak! of harness. He gathered his wits and looked up.
There came a heavyset Knight toward him on a gray charger, armed as he was, lance at rest. Twenty feet away he stopped the gray and lifted his shield to show its identifying device—a red griffin couchant on a blue field. Loudly, formally, he said, “Sir Knight! Know you that King Arthur camps over yonder hill?” And pointed north.
Equally formal, Percival said, “Truly, Sir, I knew that not. As for me, I am camped over yonder hill.” And he pointed west. With difficulty he held his attention on this, his first knightly encounter with an armed stranger. His mind yearned back to the snow grail.
The stranger said, “The King commands your presence at his hunting camp. He has sent me, Sir Cai, his foster brother, to escort you there. You have heard of me.”
Sir Cai. Yes, Percival had heard of him. Now he looked him up and down. Big. Mostly fat. Stern. But lazy. Look at those brown cow’s eyes! This is not the man who can take me from my meditation.
In rudely plain language, Percival replied; “Sir, go back to the King. Tell him I will come to him shortly. I have a matter to attend here first.”
He glanced down into the grail. The magic, visionary blood was just beginning to seep away, turning the snow rosy.
Sir Cai snorted like a horse. “You venture to command me, Sir? Like a herald, a messenger? Look you to me, here!”
Straining, Percival drew his eyes and half his mind back to Sir Cai.
Cai took his lance in hand and shook it. “Mount and follow me, Sir. Or I drive you to the King at the point of this lance.”
Percival sighed. Not so easily would he be rid of Sir Cow Eyes. “You challenge me, Sir?”
Snort! “You know who I am. I know you not. Yet I honor you with my challenge. Aye! Mount and meet me.”
Sir Cai turned his gray and trotted far enough back to give space for a charge. There he faced Percival again and couched his lance.
Scenting action at last, the sleek, eager red nodded, blew, and pawed snow as Percival mounted.
He settled himself firmly, couched lance, raised shield. Across the snowy space Sir Cai’s raised shield bloomed like a huge flower.
Lo. The gray charger started forward, great hooves tossing snow.
The red needed no nudge. It burst into an eager trot. Ears perked forward, it moved into a canter.
This was Percival’s first true challenge. Often enough he had charged a dummy, or a friendly teacher. But now the thought touched his mind, Cow Eyes means to run that lance through me. Hah! Goddamn!
Forward like thunder.
Under Sir Cai’s helmet his ferocious grin came clear and close.
Gahart murmured in Percival’s head, Don’t look at his face. Look at his shield.
Percival tilted his lance straight at the griffin.
Look to his point. Shift shield against it. Now, shift aim.
The horses charged together.
Percival’s lance struck home. The impact knocked him back in his saddle. As the horses cantered past each other, precise as dancers, he swayed, caught the saddle horn, found his balance.
With no urging the red slowed and half circled and stopped.
Back there the gray waited quietly beside its master, who lay spread-eagled on the snow.
Percival trotted back, dismounted, and drew his bright new sword.
Should Another challenge you,
Seize sword or lance and run him through.
“Hey!” Sir Cai’s brown cow eyes popped open. He held up a warding hand. “I yield! Hold off!”
Hampered by his heavy cuirass, he sat up and said in the low language of every day, “Have it your way. I’ll go tell the King you’ll come later.”
He’s surprised. He didn’t expect me to kill him.
Gahart murmured in Percival’s head, Go easier. Good men don’t grow in gardens.
Hah. Aye. This is one of Arthur’s good men. And a foster brother besides.
Percival sheathed his sword and stood back. “Very well. Take you my message to the King.”
Urgently, the snow grail called to him. He turned toward it, then back. See Cow Eyes off, first. This one might rise up and strike from behind.
With difficulty, Sir Cai heaved himself up, brushed off snow, and mounted his gray. With no farewell, he rode past Percival and away north, along his own trail. His broken lance lay forgotten in the snow.
Instantly, Percival strode to his snow grail. The red ambled behind, blowing warm breath down his neck.
Thick, warm blood still half filled the snow grail.
Percival’s mind sank into it, as a man sinks into a bog.
The Fey forest again, again under snow. Young Percy, almost grown, came upon two Fey boys dressing a young pig in a snowbank.
For a change, he saw them before they saw him, because they were deeply intent upon their work. He also saw, smelled, and heard three wolves slinking through thickets toward the blood.
Without thought, he moved to help the boys.
Poisoned darts found the two closest wolves. The third whirled and bounded away. And now the Fey boys looked up.
His interference surprised them. They themselves would have passed on and let the hunters fight off their own wolves.
But they were generous with their pig meat, if not with their friendship.
Percival sighed.
Nearby, the red muttered. It had moved off to graze through snow; now it stood alert, ears pricked, looking north. And now Percival heard the creak! and clang! of another horse and rider.
He turned north to see a tall, black-plumed Knight atop a great black stallion raise his shield in greeting. The shield was white, crossed by three red bands.
Argent, three bends gules! Goddamn, goddamn! Gahart said.
The Knight reined in his black, and said, loudly courteous, “Sir Knight, King Arthur requires your presence now at his hunting camp. I, Sir Lancelot, will escort you.”
Percival examined Sir Lancelot, Arthur’s Best Knight. He liked the man’s seat on his horse. He liked his manner, and open, almost friendly face. A joust with Lancelot will test my best powers! Gahart said he is not allowed to joust because he cannot be overthrown.
Sir Lancelot said into Percival’s silence, “Sir, of your courtesy, mount and ride with me now. Unless you wish to fight for your right to stand here and contemplate snow.”
Percival bowed his head to Sir Lancelot. Wordless, he went and mounted the red charger.
Sir Lancelot flashed a signal with his shield, turned, rode away, and turned back.
Percival settled himself firmly and couched his lance. Saint George, give me victory now!
Lo, the black charger trotted forward, great hooves tossing snow. Lancelot leaned low and forward. Sharp sun glinted off the oncoming point of his lance.
The black reached a canter.
So did the red. Percival had moved into combat without full realization. Already he was halfway to a clash with Arthur’s Best Knight.
Arthur will have no better Knight than…
Unknown, unguessed strength flooded Percival.
Look at his point. It aims low. He will strike high. Raise shield. Lower lance.
CRASH.
The impact lifted Percival wholly clear of his saddle.
With a stupendous crack! his lance broke and flew away in two parts.
He felt himself struck, low.
Heavy armor notwithstanding, he flew up in air.
He grabbed the saddle horn, swayed, found balance. The red slowed, half circled, and stopped.
Lance broke. We finish with swords. Hah! Goddamn!
Lancelot lay on his back in snow, under his broken lance.
Good men don’t grow…Pray Heaven he is not hurt!
Snorting and prancing, the red trotted Percival back to Lancelot. Holy Hubert! There was anger enough when I killed the Red Knight…If I have harmed Arthur’s Best Knight—
Percival slung shield on saddle and dismounted.
Lancelot’s gray eyes looked up, conscious.
He sat up. Shook his head. Gazed wonderingly at Percival.
Percival reached and grasped his hand. Slowly, he hauled large, armed Lancelot to his feet. Panting, they stood together. Percival’s helmet still rang from the encounter.
But even now the snow grail called to him, louder than battle-echo.
Lancelot asked, “What message shall I take to the King?”
“That I…will come to him shortly.”
“And who shall I say sends him this message?”
“I am…Sir Percival.”
Lancelot nodded, took off his helmet, and straightened its plume.
Fearing no treachery this time, Percival strode away to his snow grail.
Blood stood much lower in the grail.
In the few remaining drops shone the sky.
Percival stood in full, open sunlight on the North River Cliffs and stared up in the blue sky-depths. Deeper and deeper he stared, swaying where he stood. His soul soared, then drifted, higher and higher into blind blue. Silently, his soul called, “Here am I! Where are You?”
Silence answered from Silence.
Green snow fell and hid the sky.
A spell broke.
Percival awoke.
He was looking into a young, handsome face—dark beard, gray, good-humored eyes.
The unknown Knight had cast his green cloak down over the snow grail! It lay there still, soaking up the last magic blood.
He said, “Sir Percival, you have been enchanted.”
“Goddamn! That must be so…”
“That is why you twice refused to come to King Arthur at his command.”
“I did?…”
The Knight smiled. “Are you spell-free now?”
Percival drew a deep breath and looked about him.
Here he stood with this strange Knight in a snowy meadow beside a stream. Ducks gabbled in reeds. Geese flew, calling, from the low northern hills to the southern.
Behind the western hill he would find his own camp. Maybe Lili was cooking, there. Starving!
And behind the northern hill, he had been told, King Arthur rested in a hunting camp.
“Aye…Now I remember myself…and who came to me earlier…and I told them I would go to the King later because…because…”
“Something under here enchanted you.” The Knight pulled his green cloak up out of snow. “Better you not look again. I’ll tell you what is here…Nothing. A little bloody snow hole, with feathers. Looks like a harrier struck here.”
“Aye. A harrier struck. Yet it seemed…”
The Knight swirled his stained cloak up about him and pinned it. “Sir Percival, let us ride to the King. I who invite you am Sir Gawain.”
Another known name! “Sir Gawain, I come.”
But before mounting his charger, Percival bent and plucked up a bloody teal feather from snow. He poked it into his pouch.
Riding north beside Sir Gawain, he said “I have been seeking the King. To ask him to make me a Knight.”
Sir Gawain turned an astonished face to him. “Sir! You are no Knight?”
“I am not yet knighted.”
“Ech! Holy Michael! God Himself must have knighted you, Sir Percival.” And Gawain muttered to himself, “What will Lancelot say to this!”
At the top of the hill they drew rein.
Arthur’s hunting camp spread away below. Hobbled horses, hounds running loose, huntsmen, and unarmed Knights mingled among blue and red tents. Pennants flapped in a rising breeze.
And in the midst, over the largest, snow-white tent, Arthur’s golden dragon swung in the wind.