There were more speeches and welcomes, but as soon as he was able, Terence slipped away from the throng. He made his way to the Squires' Court, the kitchens, and the stables, talking with all the court servants he found. Three hours later, he tapped lightly at the door to Gawain's chambers and slipped in. Gawain had escaped from his admirers and was alone, stretched out luxuriously in a deep cushioned chair. "Get lost?" he asked.
"Just taking a look around."
Gawain grinned. "Naturally. What's the news?"
"Sir Lancelot this, Sir Lancelot that. The fellow's been busy. He's been off on a few quests, saved the lives of just about every knight at the table at some time or another, even Sir Kai's."
Gawain raised one eyebrow. "How'd that happen?"
"Story's a bit mangled, but it seems a chap named Sir Turquin started capturing the knights of the Round Table, starting a collection maybe, and even took Sir Kai. Sir Lancelot killed Sir Turquin and set them free." Gawain pursed his lips thoughtfully, and Terence continued. "You remember that fellow Sir Oneas, the one I popped off his horse with my cudgel? Lancelot killed him. They say this Sir Oneas was a regular demon, a knight of passing great prowess or some such rot. Only Lancelot could have defeated so fearsome a fighter, they say."
"That's the story, eh? What else?"
"Your brother's at Camelot."
"Gareth?"
"Ay, that's the fellow."
Gawain raised his eyebrows at the note of disapproval in Terence's voice. "Glad he's here," he said mildly. "I always thought he had potential."
"They say that he's second only to Sir Lancelot. He's been off on a quest and saved all manner of ladies." Gawain grinned with a hint of pride, and Terence coughed slightly. "He ... um ... didn't want Arthur to knight him, they say."
"He didn't want...? Why not?"
"Thought it would mean more if Sir Lancelot did it."
"Impertinent whelp." Gawain waved his hand in a vague gesture of dismissal. "Lancelot and Guinevere still together?"
Terence only nodded, but then he said, "When you say Guinevere, do you mean the queen?"
Gawain scowled. "Who else would I mean?"
"I'm sure I don't know, milord. The queen isn't referred to by that name anymore. Sir Lancelot has christened her, 'Peerless Perfection of Maidenhood,' and that's what they call her now."
Gawain's frown lightened. "'Peerless Perfection of Maidenhood'? People really call her that?"
"So it seems. Among the people who speak to her at all, only the king still calls her by name."
"'Peerless...' How embarrassing," Gawain said, amused. "I could almost be sorry for her."
At the banquet that night, Terence almost felt sorry for Guinevere himself, starting with his first sight of the queen. She was seven years older now than when they had left on their quest, and the years showed. A few fine wrinkles had appeared at the corners of her eyes. She may have been more pale, too, but it was hard to tell through the blush that she had painted on her cheeks. Eileen, entering the hall just ahead of Terence, leaned back and whispered, "Is that the Peerless Perfection of Maidenhood?"
"Oh, you've heard that, have you?"
"Sort of heavily painted, isn't she?"
"It's hard for a Maiden to keep up Peerless Perfection, you know," Terence replied sternly.
Eileen sat beside Gawain, who was at Arthur's right hand, and Terence stood correctly behind Gawain. On Arthur's left, Sir Lancelot maintained a steady flow of extravagant compliments to Guinevere, who accepted them with silence. Terence whispered to Eileen, "I'm surprised the queen can stand to listen to such stuff."
"Maybe she can't," Eileen replied. "But what can she do? It would be hard for a lady to refuse the attentions of the greatest knight in England."
On the first night of the banquet, Tor told about his quest to find Gawain. While his search had little to do with Gawain's return, he had had several harrowing adventures, and it made for interesting listening. When he was done, all present murmured their approval, and Arthur thanked him for adding once again to the glory of the Round Table. On the second night, Gawain began his story. At Terence's insistence, Gawain all but left his squire out of the story. He said nothing of teaching Terence the knightly arts, but rather began his tale with Sir Oneas, the Knight of the Crossroads. Terence kept his face bland while Gawain lavishly described Sir Oneas's great size, terrible fierceness, and surpassing brilliance in arms. Sir Lancelot nodded in solemn agreement.
Gawain then told of his supernatural struggle with the demonic Huntsman of Anglesey, and he laid it on even thicker, telling how the huntsman breathed fire and hurled trees and so on. Gawain thanked Sir Lancelot for the holy shield of Our Lady of Anglesey, which had saved him from the Huntsman's evil darts, and Sir Lancelot, much moved, said not to mention it.
Gawain's account of his escape from the Chateau Wirral was, if not highly accurate, at least very thrilling. In Gawain's story, it was Eileen herself, rather than Terence in one of Eileen's dresses, who freed Gawain from the dungeons. Eileen seemed surprised to learn how heroic she had been, but she bowed modestly. "Indeed," Gawain said, gazing mistily into the distance, "it was a vision of all that is fair in womanhood that greeted my eyes when the dungeon door swung open. Such surpassing loveliness and grace!" Terence grunted, and Eileen's shoulders shook. Gawain concluded by thanking Eileen for her unfailing courage and courtesy, then added, "I hope, indeed I know, that you shall find a knight more worthy than I to cherish you."
This last statement caused a mild sensation in the banquet hall. Like Tor and Plogrun, all Camelot had assumed that Eileen was Gawain's lady, and as soon as they realized their mistake, more than one knight began watching Eileen with unusual interest. Terence counted at least six knights that would be languishing at Eileen's feet before the week was out, paying her extravagant compliments, and more than likely writing French sonnets to her nose. Gawain gave Terence a twinkling, mischievous glance, and Terence began a mental list of crude names to call his friend when they were alone.
Gawain resumed his story the third night, but he told few of their adventures in the Other World. Omitting the elfin village, he told only of his midnight struggle with Parsifal and of Eileen's escape from Hag Annis. Then, in a serious tone, he told of Bercilak's Keep. He told the whole story, without elaboration or omission. He spoke bluntly of his own cowardice and selfishness in keeping the green girdle that he thought would save his own life. The room grew unnaturally silent as Gawain told of the Green Chapel and how he discovered his own shame.
"I loved my life more than my honor," he said, standing and opening his surcoat to reveal the green girdle against his tunic—"this girdle I wear as a badge of that shame, the shame that will never leave me. This," he finished quietly, taking his seat again, "is my quest."
Terence smiled approvingly. Of course, Gawain could not tell about Avalon, where his shame had been affirmed and his honor restored. Gawain's decision to stop his tale at the Green Chapel was exactly right. By mocking the adventures that would usually be considered worthy and baldly telling of his disgrace, Gawain had told a story that was remarkably different from other knightly tales. It was as if Gawain were himself a messenger from another world.
"This is a marvelous fine tale, sire," a voice rang out in the banquet hall. To Terence's surprise, it was Sir Lancelot. He continued, "Told by a marvelous fine knight."
"Yea, indeed," said another, and then the hall was filled with calls of agreement.
"To wage such battle with the great Sir Oneas!" one said.
"The unnatural Huntsman!" declared another. "What fury! What puissance!"
A young knight wearing a beige hat that was trimmed with lavender lace and looked rather like an elderberry pie, added, "And Lady Eileen! Such purity! So delicate a flower!" He turned what was undoubtably intended as a meaningful look onto Eileen, who nodded politely but who did not appear to Terence to relish being called delicate.
"My king!" Sir Lancelot spoke again, and the hall grew still. "I suggest we do worship to this knight and his marvelous power by instituting a new order of knighthood in his honor!"
Again the hall erupted with loud declarations of agreement. Gawain leaned forward in his chair and looked curiously at Sir Lancelot. "The Order of the Puissant Sword!" one called out.
"Nay! The Order of the Destroyer of Giants!" another declared.
"Giants?" Gawain blinked. "Where...?"
"Nay!" Sir Lancelot decreed. "The Order of the Green Girdle! What say you, O King?"
Arthur stood, and the hubbub subsided. "Indeed, I believe such an order should be instituted, an order unlike any other. But I wonder if that is truly what you all wish. What does the court say should be the requirements for membership in this new order?"
"Only the very finest of the knights of the Table Round!" Sir Lancelot said immediately.
"Anyone who wins a tournament?" someone else suggested.
"Nay, two tournaments!"
"Three!"
"How about one who kills a giant?"
"Two giants!"
"Anyone Lady Eileen desires," the young knight wearing the pie declared belligerently.
"Nay, anyone Sir Lancelot desires!" called another.
"Three giants!"
"Lady Eileen!"
"What about a knight who has served for five years or more?"
"Or five years and one tournament?"
"Lady Eileen!"
"Four giants!"
"Sir Lancelot!"
"What about one giant and two tournaments?"
"Plus five years of service!"
"What if you can't find a giant?"
"Five years and two tournaments?"
As the shouts grew louder, Arthur turned and looked sadly at Gawain, who was gazing around the room in consternation. Gawain met his eyes with an agonized appeal, but Arthur only shook his head. Sir Lancelot broke into the clamor. "Peace!" The banquet hall grew silent. "All of these are good ideas," he began, "and I feel certain that Sir Gawain agrees."
"No, I don't!" Gawain snapped, but Arthur laid a hand on his shoulder to silence him.
"It is perhaps too much to ask all knights to achieve what Sir Gawain has achieved," Arthur said. His hand, still resting on Gawain's shoulder, tightened expressively. "I know few who could discover such an adventure or tell such a tale." He smiled gently. "Shall we say that any knight who has completed one quest and won the prize at two tournaments may enter the Order of the Green Girdle?"
The knights and ladies gathered there signified their assent by nodding their heads judiciously, as though that was just what they had suggested themselves. Arthur took his seat, and Gawain whispered to him urgently, "My liege, this girdle marks my disgrace, not my feats of arms. I didn't do half of what I told you!"
Arthur smiled and said softly, "Nor, I suspect, did you tell us half of what you did."
"But you can't make the green girdle a reward for doing a certain number of little tasks! It's to make it a treat given to trained dogs!"
Arthur looked fondly at the knights before him. "Not dogs, Gawain: children."
Gawain gave the king a curious, resigned look, and said, "Must I join the new order?"
Arthur shook his head. "Your part in it will be forgotten in a week."
The next day, King Arthur hosted the tournament. As he had promised, it was the most splendid tournament ever seen, and knights came from miles around to participate. Indeed, so many knights were present that Terence heard more than one courtier say that the winner of this contest would truly earn the title "The Greatest Knight in England." If so, then Gawain was not the greatest. He did well enough, of course, even unhorsing his renowned younger brother Gareth, but shortly thereafter was unseated himself by Sir Lancelot. Terence, watching from the end of the ladies' pavilion, could not help feeling a twinge of disappointment, but he found it hard to take a tournament joust very seriously.
A female voice at his shoulder said pleasantly, "I told him once that there was always a better knight." Terence turned to see Morgan Le Fay. He bowed immediately, but when he straightened again she looked at him sharply and said, "Now why is it that I feel that I should be bowing to you?"
"Please do not, my lady," Terence said hastily.
In a minute, Gawain joined them, holding Guingalet's reins. "Why hello, Auntie. When did you arrive?"
"In time to see you take that fall, nephew."
Gawain grinned. "Oh, ay, a lovely sight, no doubt. I can feel my reputation slipping away as we speak. I dare say in a few years I'll be the recreant knight that everyone remembers having unhorsed one time." He chuckled.
"It doesn't seem to concern you," Morgan said, lifting one eyebrow.
"Know any reason it should?"
Morgan stared at Gawain for a moment, then said, "This modesty hardly becomes someone from our family. It must be senility."
"Perhaps so," Gawain said mischievously. "I must trust your greater experience."
Morgan's eyes flashed, but she bowed to Gawain and said graciously, "I believe that takes the trick. I can only retreat."
She turned to leave, and Gawain said, "Morgan?" She glanced over her shoulder, and Gawain said, "I saw Elaine."
Morgan froze. "Little Elaine?" Gawain nodded, and Morgan said, "And?"
"It is well with her."
Morgan nodded once. "Thank you," she said softly, and then she left.
Gawain strolled into a refreshment tent, and Terence turned toward the king's pavilion, where Eileen sat as Arthur's honored guest.
"Nay, your grace," came a pleasant voice behind him. "Come this way, please." Terence recognized Robin's voice, but the demure page boy that he saw when he turned bore no resemblance to the elf. The boy smiled cherubically and said, "I told you to watch for me, didn't I? Come along. We've little time."
"Come where? Time for what?"
"Why to your tent, of course, to put on your armor."
Terence gaped. "Are you daft?"
Bemused, Terence followed Robin to a silken tent set up in the visitors' section. Inside he found a brilliant suit of armor, shining like gold, such as he had never seen in his life. His eyes lit with admiration. "By heaven!" he murmured. "Whose...?"
"Yours, your grace. Come now, the jousting will be over soon."
"Do you mean...? Robin, you are dotty! I'm not going to go jousting."
"Don't you wish to defend the honor of Avalon?"
"Less of it, Robin! What does Avalon care about a child's game like a tournament joust? Tell me what's up."
Robin shrugged. "I couldn't say. I only do what I'm told." He paused and added, "Do you?"
Terence frowned. "But I can't joust! You know that!"
"I know nothing of the sort. You've received tilting instruction from the greatest of all of this world's knights."
"Yes, but Gawain—"
"I didn't mean Gawain."
Terence frowned, uncomprehending. Then he understood. "Arthur," he whispered. Robin began lacing the golden armor onto Terence while Terence tried furiously to remember the instructions that Arthur had given him so long ago, after he had defeated Terence so ingloriously in Terence's only other real joust.
The trumpeters were preparing to announce the end of the lists when Terence, astride a magnificent bay stallion, rode to the edge of the tilting yard. Terence barely had time to whisper "Don't use my real name!" before Robin rode ahead to the king's pavilion to announce him.
"O king!" Robin declared. "I come as envoy from my master, this great knight you see before you!" He waved grandly at Terence.
Arthur nodded a greeting, saying, "And has your master a name, friend page?"
Robin smiled broadly. "Of course, sire. I present to you ... Sir Wozzell!"
Terence sighed. Beside the king, Eileen started violently. She peered closely at Robin, then at Terence.
"You and your master are welcome," Arthur replied mildly. "May I serve you?"
"We have come to try our mettle against your greatest knights. I hope we have not come too late."
"Indeed, friend," Arthur said, "we were about to crown our champion, Sir Lancelot."
"Then would your champion consent to a challenge?" Robin asked immediately. "One pass to determine the greatest knight in England?"
Sir Lancelot, standing nearby and listening to the exchange, immediately declared, "My liege, if you would approve, I accept Sir Wozzell's challenge!"
Arthur nodded. "So be it. I see your master has no lance. Please tell him that he may choose a lance from our own stores."
"You are graciousness itself, O king," said Robin, bowing. He trotted back to Terence. "You heard all that, your grace?"
Terence nodded glumly. "Lancelot himself, eh? I wish you could tell me why I'm doing this. He'll break every bone I have, you know."
"Nay, it's not so bad," Robin said reassuringly. "Bones mend after time. Come on. Let's choose a lance."
At the tent of the royal armorer, Terence surveyed the court's collection of gaily painted lances through the slits in his visor. He dared not show his face, lest he be recognized. Robin suggested a lance painted all in green, and the armorer urged Terence to use a particularly long one. Both looked unwieldy to Terence. Nearby, a little boy played knight, galloping on a stick horse and waving a miniature lance, about a third the length of a real one. "Is that your son?" Terence asked the armorer.
"Yes, sir."
Suddenly, Terence grinned. "And did you make that lance for him?"
"Yes, sir. It was a good stout lance, but I broke it by carelessness, so I made it into a toy."
"That's the one I want." The armorer and Robin stared, speechless, and Terence stepped up to the boy. "Excuse me, sir knight," he said. "I could not help noticing your lance. It seems a rare weapon. May I ask you a favor? Could I borrow your weapon to use in a joust against Sir Lancelot?" The boy smiled happily and handed over the lance. Terence raised his visor so that only the boy could see his face and winked at him.
The armorer and Robin, in turns, expostulated and tried to dissuade Terence, but all Terence would say was "Didn't I say that a tournament joust was a child's game?"
Soon Terence sat on his mount at one end of the lists, facing Sir Lancelot across the tilting yard. Gawain had joined Eileen in the king's pavilion, and they were watching the strange Sir Wozzell intently. The court rippled with amazed laughter at Terence's lance, and more than one knight called for the king to disqualify the impudent challenger who so mocked the noble institution of knighthood. Arthur only looked amused and called for the joust to begin.
The trumpet sounded, and Sir Lancelot spurred his horse into a dead run. Terence gently urged his own horse into a gentle trot; what he meant to do would be easier at a slower pace. Sir Lancelot neared, his lance aimed straight at Terence's breastplate, his body leaning forward against the expected impact. But then Terence stopped his horse, swiftly reversed the child's lance so that he held it by the tapered end. With a sharp blow, Terence parried the point of the approaching lance, then swung the heavy end of the lance as if it were a cudgel. The dull thud of Terence's club on Sir Lancelot's helmet sounded like an axe on a log. Sir Lancelot flipped neatly over his horse's hindquarters and fell heavily into the dirt.
All the court was shocked and silent. Terence tossed his lance to Robin. "Take this back to that boy, will you?" he said.
Then all the court exploded with noise. A few, like Gawain and Sir Kai roared with laughter, several cheered, but many more shouted angrily that the stranger knight had behaved dishonorably. At last the king stood and raised his hand for silence as Terence trotted up to the royal pavilion. "Sir Wozzell," Arthur said, "I declare you the winner!" A few knights protested again, but Arthur said sharply, "I know of no rule against such bravery! Would any of you have dared to face Sir Lancelot with a ... a child's toy lance?" In the ensuing hush, Arthur turned back to Terence. "I must admit, though, that I found your methods unorthodox."
Terence spoke quietly. "The best fighter is not the one who does the expected most skillfully. The best fighter is the one who takes the rest by surprise."
Arthur looked sharply at Terence; then his face cleared as enlightenment dawned, and a broad grin split his face. "Well spoken, my friend! I award you this necklace, the prize for the winner. It is yours to keep or to give away as you wish."
It was the moment when the winner of a tournament usually gave his prize to the lady of his choice. Terence looked toward Eileen, but then caught sight of Queen Guinevere. Since the joust, the queen had done nothing but stare at Sir Lancelot, now sitting up groggily in the mud. Her eyes looked empty and even frightened, like the eyes of a lost child. Terence's heart went out to her.
"Wait!" a voice called from behind Terence. Holding his dented helm in one hand, Sir Lancelot staggered forward. "My king, I beg you. Is there no way that this decision can be set aside?"
"No, Sir Lancelot. Sir Wozzell has won the day, and has earned the name of The Greatest Knight in England."
Sir Lancelot gave a deep moan. "Then I crave your permission to go away to bury my shame. I shall become a hermit, deep in the woods, living on roots and allowing myself to see no mortal man—"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Lance," the queen interrupted, with surprising vehemence. "Don't listen to him, Arthur. He's always saying stuff like that. 'Give me that rose from your gown or I'll go die in a hermitage' 'Say you'll dance with me or I'll eat dirt.' It doesn't mean a thing. Just ignore him."
Sir Lancelot's mouth opened wide. "But Peerless Perfection of—"
"Shut up! Don't call me that! I have a name, you know!"
Sir Lancelot moaned again, and sat in the dirt, staring at Guinevere in amazement. Gawain looked down and began to shake quietly. Arthur's lips quivered, but his voice was grave when he said, "Again, O knight, I present this necklace to you."
"No, O king," Terence said as loudly as he could. "I cannot accept this prize, and I am not the Greatest Knight in England. In all my vast experience as a knight—" Terence could not help grinning and was glad that the visor hid his face—"I have been unhorsed only once. And the knight who so soundly defeated me is here present. I return this prize to you, King Arthur, in honor of the time when you struck me down. Do you remember?"
King Arthur's eyes twinkled, and he said, "I remember, Sir ... Sir Wozzell. And I accept your tribute." He turned to his Queen. "Guinevere, my love, will you accept this prize from my hand?"
Guinevere smiled timidly and nodded, and Arthur placed the chain around his queen's neck. Then, tentatively, she reached out to the king, and Arthur pulled her to his breast and held her in a long embrace. All the court watched the king and queen, some with delight, some with consternation. Gawain grinned happily at his friend, and said quietly, "You can't have too many Sir Wozzells."
For her part, Eileen gazed with adoration at her knight, the Duke of Avalon, and silently mouthed the words, "Well done, my love."