The Knight

Papounce asked, “But aren’t you a knight? That’s what we were told.”

“I am,” I said. “I’m a knight in the service of Duke Marder of Sheerwall.”

“My own parents were peasants,” Crol said. “I became a man-at-arms. My father was proud of me, but my brothers were jealous.”

“Bold Berthold would have been proud of me, I know,” I said, “and if he were well, and young again, I would have him in a mail shirt and a steel cap as quick as I could work it. I’ve never known anyone as brave as he was, and he was strong enough to wrestle bulls.”

“You’re strong yourself?” Crol’s teeth gleamed between the black beard and his black mustache.

I shrugged.

He reached across the table. “Let’s see you squeeze my hand while I squeeze yours.”

I missed my grip, and Crol’s hand (bigger even than mine) closed on mine like a vise. I kicked the pain out of my head, if you know what I mean, and I became the storm pounding the cliff Garsecg and I had stood on, wave after wave, with boulders flying in them like Ping-Pong balls.

“Enough.”

I let go.

“If I were Duke Marder, I’d have knighted you myself. What Lord Beel may make of you, I don’t know. Have you had enough to eat? We can go over and see if he and his daughter are up.”

Papounce leaned toward Crol and whispered long enough for me to grab another bite of ham.

“I won’t mention your father or your brother,” Crol told me. “If you didn’t mention them either, that might be wise.”

“I won’t, unless Lord Beel—”

Something big, heavy, and soft hit my lap, and Mani’s head, bigger than my fist, came up over the edge of the table to look at my trencher. I could not help gri

Crol said, “We’ll stay a minute or two longer. No harm done.”

“Thanks. I wanted to say that I’m not ashamed of my family. It may hurt me here, like it did in Sheerwall, but nothing anybody says will make me ashamed of them. As for Bold Berthold, I told you about him. I told Sir Ravd once, and his opinion was pretty close to mine.”

Papounce said, “He’s a doughty knight, from what we hear.”

“He’s dead,” I told them. “He died four years ago.” I pushed my little stool back and stood up.

Chapter 48. Too Much Honor

Beel’s pavilion was the richest. The walls and roof were crimson silk, and the ropes were braided silk cords. The poles were turner’s work, of some dark wood that looked purple when the sun hit it. The men-at-arms guarding it saluted Crol as three maids came fluttering out like a little flock of sparrows; the first one was carrying a basin of steaming water, the second one towels, and the third one soap, sponges, and what may have been a bundle of laundry.

“We’ll have to wait a bit,” Crol remarked as one of the men-at-arms rapped a pole; but a servingman with the face of a sly mouse popped out of the door to tell us to come in.

Beel sat at a folding table on which a platter of quail smoked and sputtered; his daughter, a doe-eyed girl about sixteen, sat beside him on a folding chair. She was picking bits from one of the quail.

Beel himself, a middle-aged man so short you noticed it even when he was sitting down, studied Mani, Gylf, and me, smiled just a little, and said, “You bring me a witch knight, I see, Master Crol. Or a wild knight, perhaps. Which is it?”

Crol cleared his throat. “Good morrow, Your Lordship. I trust you slept well.”

Beel nodded.

“I thought it would be better for Sir Able to fetch along his dog and cat, Your Lordship, because Your Lordship was bound to hear about them. Then Your Lordship would have wanted to know why I hadn’t let Your Lordship see them for yourself, and quite right too. If they offend, we can take them away, Your Lordship.”

The thin smile returned as Beel spoke to me. “I usually see no one but my herald with a cat upon his shoulder. It’s a novelty to see somebody else wearing one. Are you as fond of them as Crol is?”

I said, “Of this one, My Lord.”

“Sanity at last. He has a score, I swear. His favorite is white, though, and nothing like the size of that monster. Would he like a bird, do you think?”

Beel held up a quail; and Mani jumped from my shoulder to the tabletop, accepted it with both front paws, made Beel a dignified little bow, leaped from the table to the ground and disappeared behind the tablecloth.

“Witch, wizard, or warlock,” Beel muttered. “Leave us, Master Crol.”

“But, Your Lordship—”

Beel silenced him with a gesture; another sent him hurrying away.

“Is that a glamour, Sir Knight? Are you in fact an aged crone? What form would you show if I were to lash your face with a witch-hazel wand?”

I said, “I don’t know, My Lord. I’m really a boy about your daughter’s age. Maybe you’d see, if you did that. I can’t be sure.”

The smile flickered and died. “I know the feeling. Sir Able, is it? You are a knight? That’s what everyone tells me.”

“Yes, My Lord. I’m Sir Able of the High Heart.”

“Do you wish to travel with us to Jotunland? That’s what I gathered from the man I talked to.”

“No, My Lord. I only want to borrow a horse so I can catch up with my servant.” Just then it struck me that Pouk might have passed them on the road; and I said, “Have you seen him? A young man with a big nose and one eye?”

Beel shook his head. “Suppose I give you a horse, a good one. Will you leave us?”

“At once, My Lord, if you’re willing I should. And I’ll return it as soon as I can.”

“We’re traveling north, and won’t halt until we reach Utgard. Will you follow us there? To return my horse?”

“I’m going to ride ahead of you,” I explained. “I’m supposed to take my stand at a mountain pass and challenge all comers. Before we engage, I’ll return your horse and thank you.”

Beel’s daughter giggled.

Her father gave her a look that would have shut up almost anybody. “I am on the king’s business, Sir Able.”

I said, “A great honor, My Lord. I envy you.”

“But you’ll fight me just the same?”

“I’m honor bound to do it, My Lord. Or to fight your champion, if you designate one.”

Beel nodded. “I have Sir Garvaon with me, the bravest of my knights and the most skilled. Will he do?”

“No problem, My Lord.”

“When he breaks your head and a few other bones, will you expect us to stay our errand to nurse you?”

I said, “Of course not.”

“You don’t fancy yourself invincible? I ask because I was told you were.”

“No, My Lord. I’ve never said that, and I never would.”

“I didn’t say you said it, only that I had been told you thought it. Yesterday, Sir Garvaon mentioned that one of his men had driven off a crippled beggar.”

He waited for me to talk after he said that, so I said, “I hope he gave him something first.”

“I doubt it. I had Sir Garvaon’s man brought to me. I expect beggars in Kingsdoom, not in the wild, and I asked him what the beggar was doing out here. He’d told Sir Garvaon’s man that he was searching for a most noble knight, Sir Able by name, who had promised to take him into his service. You look surprised.”

I was, and I admitted it.

“Who was this beggar, Sir Able? Have you any notion?” I shook my head.

Beel’s daughter said, “You must have given him a few coins and a kind word once.” Her voice was soft, and it made me think of a guitar that some girl was playing alone in a garden at night.

I waited for her to go on, because I wanted to hear more of it, but she did not. Finally I said, “If I did, My Lady, I’ve forgotten it completely.”

“A noble knight,” Beel said it as if he were talking to himself, although I knew he was not. “My grandfather was His Majesty’s grandfather as well, Sir Able.”