Authors: Gerald Morris
By noon the next day, Terence, Gawain, and Tor were twenty miles from Camelot, pressing deeper into the forest. It had not been a pleasant ride. Gawain had been broodingly silent all morning, and neither Tor nor Terence wanted to interrupt his preoccupation. Instead, they had busied themselves with the hunt and with controlling the greyhounds that the king had lent them for the chase.
Tor finally broke the silence. "Shall we stop here for a luncheon?" he asked. Gawain did not reply. Tor looked at Terence and shrugged. "I said, shall we—"
"The sooner we catch those animals, the sooner we'll be done with this fool's errand," Gawain said gruffly. "Let's press on."
"I'm hungry," Tor replied simply. "I'm stopping."
"Suit yourself. We're not," Gawain said, trotting ahead.
Terence had been thinking longingly about his lunch for over an hour, but he took a deep breath and resigned himself. Tor grinned at Terence, understanding in his eyes, and tossed him a half loaf of bread. Terence smiled gratefully and booted his horse after Gawain.
Terence's horse gave out about three. Terence had never seen an exhausted horse before and did not recognize the signs until the animal stumbled and fell. Gawain dismounted and impatiently examined the horse.
"Why didn't you tell me your horse was in this state?" he demanded. Terence quailed at the anger in Gawain's eyes. "Couldn't you hear him gasping? Couldn't you feel him shaking? There's nothing worse than someone who does that to an animal." Gawain glowered at the horse for a moment, then snapped at Terence, "Well? Start getting camp ready. You can do that well enough, anyway." Smarting with a helpless sense of injustice, Terence began making camp.
An hour later, Tor joined them. He glanced at Terence's horse, then dismounted. "Had to rest the horse, hey?" he remarked.
"That's right," Gawain grumbled. "We're lucky Terence didn't kill it."
Tor stopped in his tracks. "Well of all the conceited—you don't mean you've blamed Terence for it?"
"Who else?" Gawain frowned.
"You, you stupid sod! Who was it who wouldn't stop and rest? Who was it who set the pace? As if any horse could keep up with your Guingalet!"
Gawain flushed, but he answered, "He could have told me his horse was in trouble."
Tor laughed shortly. "You mean during the delightful conversation that the two of you were holding. So cheerful and chatty as you've been today!"
Gawain glowered at him. "I only wanted to get this pointless chase done with."
Tor frowned at Gawain for a moment, then said, "Look, Gawain. I don't know who's put you so out of frame, but it wasn't Terence."
For a long moment, Gawain looked at the ground. Then he raised his eyes. "You're right, Tor. I'm sorry, Terence. Forgive me my ill temper?"
Terence gulped. "Yes, milord."
Later, after they had eaten, Tor leaned against a log and said to Gawain, "You want to tell us what's riding you?"
Gawain shrugged. "I told you. I just think we're wasting our time."
"Maybe," Tor agreed. "But I don't mind getting away from court. Getting tired of doing the pretty to all the courtiers and ladies. I thought you were, too."
Gawain thought for a minute, then said, "Well, I was. But I'd just as soon be off to do something worth my bother."
"It might be. You must admit, the animals were unnatural. And as for that lady on the mule—"
"Her!" Gawain snorted. "That was no lady! What was Arthur thinking, sending off two knights just because an old hag says to!"
Tor raised his eyebrows and said, "Oh she was a hag, certainly, but I wouldn't call her old. Her voice was young enough." Gawain nodded reflectively, but he said nothing. Tor continued, "Do you think she was an enchantress?"
Gawain laughed harshly. "Never. The first thing an enchantress learns is how to make herself beautiful. I've never known one who wouldn't take your breath away to look at her."
Tor looked surprised. "Have you known so many enchantresses, then?"
Gawain nodded, but something forbidding clouded his face, and Tor asked no other questions.
***
The next day was better. Gawain was still poor company, but he guarded his tongue and his temper. Shortly after noon, the greyhounds picked up a scent, and the hunt began in earnest. Two hours later, the three came to an open field where two knights in full armor were fighting.
"Take this, thou varlet!" one of the knights cried, putting all his strength into an overhead chop. The other knight parried the blow with his sword and managed to deflect it somewhat, but it still bit into his armor at the shoulder. Blood welled from the gash.
"By Jove, you've got a good swing there," the wounded knight cried. "I'm sure you'll have me in a few minutes."
"Not at all," the other said. "Not while you display such brilliant defense. I'm sure
I
could never have parried that blow."
"Oh, but see, you've opened up that wound in my shoulder," the first knight replied. "I'll surely bleed to death soon."
"Oh dear," the other said. "And it was just healed over, too."
"Never mind. Shall we go on?"
"Of course. Die, miscreant!"
Gawain's solemn lips relaxed slightly, and he trotted Guingalet up to the combatants. "I beg your pardon," he said. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."
"Well, actually," the wounded one said, "you are, a bit."
"Now Brian," said the other, "there's no call to be rude."
"I don't see that," he replied. "After all, he asked. In fact, if you ask me, he's the one who was rude. It should be clear that we're busy."
Gawain cleared his throat. "Very true, sir knight. But if you'll excuse my vulgar curiosity, what have I interrupted?"
The two knights stiffened, and the wounded one said, "I fail to see how that's any of your affair."
"Quite right," the other agreed.
Gawain nodded understandingly, and said, "You are right that I am an outsider. But as an impartial observer, perhaps I can mediate your disagreement. Surely you two do not really wish to kill each other." He dismounted and stood near the two knights.
"No, no, of course not," said the wounded knight. "But what is a man of honor to do in the face of such insults? One cannot show weakness."
"Exactly," agreed the other. "To seek mediation would be cowardly."
"What insults?" Gawain pursued.
The two hesitated and looked at each other. After a moment, the wounded one said, "Did I call you a recreant knight? Or did you call me one?"
"You called me craven, I know."
"Was that before or after you called me a scurrilous knave?"
"Before, I'm sure."
"What about varlet? I'm sure you called me a varlet."
"And so you are! Blackguard!"
"I a blackguard? Nay, 'tis thou that art a blackguard!"
The two knights raised their swords again, but Gawain stepped between them. "But what began all the insults?" he asked.
Again, the two knights looked at each other and thought for a while. "It wasn't a woman, I know," one of them said at last.
"No, no. Silly to fight about a woman," the other agreed. "Do you owe me money?"
"No, it isn't money either. I'm sure it will come to me. Did you insult my mother?"
"Of course not. She's my mother too, after all."
"What, do you mean to tell me you're brothers?" Gawain demanded.
"Good heavens, where are our manners? My name is Sorlouse of the Forest, and this is my brother Brian of the Forest." Both knights bowed correctly.
"You're a couple of prize loobies," Gawain said. "Shame on you!"
The brothers looked at each other for a moment, then they raised their swords together and turned on Gawain. "I take such insults from no man!" declared Sorlouse.
"Nor do I!" added Brian. "Unsheath thy sword, varlet!"
"No," Gawain said.
The brothers looked at each other. "Art thou craven?" asked Sorlouse. Gawain shrugged, and Sorlouse continued, "Recreant knight! Thou miscreant!"
"Scurrilous knave," added his brother. "And ... and..."
"Blackguard," Gawain supplied.
"Blackguard. Thank you," Brian said.
"I still won't fight you," said Gawain. "I'm busy."
"You weren't too busy to interfere in our affairs," Sorlouse snapped.
"I beg your pardon, of course, but I wanted to ask you if you had seen a white stag, followed by a white brachet, pass this way."
"That's it!" the brothers said together. "We were fighting over who should gain glory by pursuing the white hart!" Brian explained.
"Which way did it go?" Gawain asked. The brothers pointed due north, and Gawain waved his arm to Tor and Terence, saying, "Come on."
As they rode past the two knights, one of them said, "But what about us, then?"
"Find something else to fight about," Gawain called over his shoulder.
As they entered the forest on the other side of the clearing, Terence heard one of the brothers say, "Are you sure you don't owe me money?"
***
Gawain's face was less severe as they rode away from Sorlouse and Brian, and when, a few minutes later, Tor rode alongside him and whispered, "Varlet," he smiled for the first time in two days.
"Heaven preserve us from the witless," Gawain said, shaking his head.
"One thing bothers me," Tor said. "They mentioned the hart, but they said nothing about the hound. I hope they haven't been separated."
"I didn't think of that," Gawain said. "You want to go back and ask?"
"No. It wouldn't do any good. If they
have
been separated, I'd still have to follow the hart and hope the hound is near."
They saw the hart less than an hour later. It was feeding quietly in a meadow, and the white hound was nowhere in sight. Tor muttered an oath, then called out, "Luck, Gawain! Here's where we separate!" while Gawain and Terence let the greyhounds loose and galloped after them. The hart bounded away through the thickest part of the woods, with hounds and horses hot at his heels. Terence's mount fell behind Guingalet and the hounds, but it was easy to follow the greyhounds' baying. Then there were voices.
Pushing through a mesh of brambles, Terence came upon a river. Near him, Gawain sat on Guingalet; on the other side of the river sat a strange knight on a white horse. Gawain shouted at the knight in an exasperated tone, "Are you off your head?"
"I know not as for that, sir knight, but I tell you again, no knight shall pass this river but if they shalt joust with me," the strange knight called back.
"Why not?" Gawain demanded.
"I am Alardin of the Hill, guardian of this river."
"Guardian from what? You think I'm going to spit in it?"
"Nor you nor any other knight shall cross without having to do with me," Alardin of the Hill replied.
"Haven't you anything better to do with your time?" Gawain demanded.
"Nor you nor any knight—"
"I know, I know," Gawain shouted. "All right, here I come. I'll fight you, if you're so set on it." In a minute he and Terence sat their dripping horses on the other shore.
"Now we shall joust," Alardin said with satisfaction.
"With what?" Gawain asked. "I don't have a lance with me."
"I shall provide you a lance, sir knight," Alardin said. He rode into the woods and returned in a few seconds, carrying a lance. He gave Gawain the lance and said, "We shall charge from those two markers." He pointed at two little flags on opposite ends of a small field along the river. Gawain shook his head but rode to his place.
"Now!" Alardin shouted, and the knights rode toward each other. Gawain's lance seemed to waver once, then lightly tapped Alardin's lance to one side a split second before hitting Alardin on the breastplate. There was a terrific thump, and both horses reared. When they came down, the two knights were still on their horses. Alardin still held his lance, which had missed Gawain by several inches, but Gawain only held the butt of his. The rest lay in a hundred fragments on the field around them.
"What was this made of?" Gawain demanded wrathfully. "Cork?"
Alardin raised his visor and looked at Gawain, surprise and growing anger in his face. "We shall joust again!" he snapped, wheeling his horse and galloping back to his marker.
"Are you going to give me another lance?" Gawain called.
"You've had your lance, and you wasted it!" Alardin shouted and charged.
Gawain swore and drew his sword. He uttered a quick syllable to Guingalet, who danced lightly across Alardin's path. Alardin, holding his lance in his right hand, shifted his aim so that the lance pointed across his body, but Gawain was already on him. Gawain grabbed the lance behind the point and the forward motion of the horses swept both knights from their saddles. Alardin's horse tumbled in a heap, tried to rise, then fell back on its side, its leg broken.
"You cur!" Gawain shouted furiously, struggling to his feet. "Now get up!"
Alardin struggled to a kneeling position and bowed his head. "I yield myself to your honor," he said.
Gawain cursed him fervently. "You'll do no such thing! You wanted to fight, now fight. You've just destroyed a beautiful animal with your game. Get up!"
"Sir knight—" Alardin began. Gawain kicked him back onto his rump. After a second of surprise, he clanked stiffly to his feet and drew his sword, crying, "For that, you shall pay!"
Gawain killed him, his sword biting deeply into Alardin's helm. "
Salaud!
" Gawain muttered. Removing his own helm, he walked to Alardin's writhing horse. He caught the horse's head and held it, crooning something soothing in a language that Terence did not know until the horse quieted. Then Gawain's sword flashed again, and the horse lay dead at his feet. He climbed back on Guingalet, and grimly pointed north. "That way."
They no longer heard the greyhounds, who had stayed close to the hart, but Gawain did not waver from his northerly course. In a very few minutes they came to a solitary castle in the midst of the forest. The drawbridge was down, and Terence could hear hounds yelping inside. Without hesitation, they galloped across the drawbridge into the central court, where the hart was already dead, and the hounds were worrying its bleeding carcass. As they arrived, a stout knight in full armor burst into the courtyard. He saw the dead hart, and with a choking cry whipped out his sword and attacked the greyhounds. His sword flashed right and left, and in seconds five greyhounds were stretched dead around the hart, and the last one was crawling away, whimpering and dragging an almost severed hind leg behind it. Gawain leaped from his horse and with one merciful blow killed the wounded dog. Then he turned very slowly to face the knight.