Chapter Seventeen
T he road passed through mown fields, then entered between two parallel rows of tall hedges. When they finally emerged from the hedges, Enide saw they had arrived. Somewhere. A drawbridge lay before them, leading up a hill to a high tower encircled by a wall.
Custom demanded a knight of Erec’s rank should stop and pay respects to the lord of a castle of such prominence, just as custom demanded the host must provide hospitality to any traveling lord. And yet, after galloping up alongside her, Erec pointed to the rolling hills to the east, then struck out across the fields.
Resigned, she followed. Prudy could not keep pace. In a few minutes, Erec increased the distance between them. Enide glanced over her shoulder with longing. Against the blue sky, the castle had a regal, safe appearance.
But that impression was immediately dispelled. A knight on a sorrel horse flew down the hill at a fantastic speed, crushing rocks beneath its feet, making sparks fly. She thought the horse must be huge because the knight upon its back appeared very small.
She tried to urge her mount on, but poor Prudy had reached her limit. Enide looked back again. The horse was not monstrous. The knight truly was small. But how fiercely he rode!
“Milord!” she shouted. “We are pursued.”
He looked over his shoulder and slowed. His lips pursed.
“You fear him ?”
She blinked to clear the tears from her eyes. She had promised herself she wouldn’t keep sounding alarms, but she couldn’t help it. “He rides a fine steed. And his armor is that of a—”
“Enide, how did I ever win tournaments before I had you to scout my opponents?” She started. Was he laughing? “Stay back. This will take but a moment.” He cleared his throat and mumbled something that sounded like “bandits and dwarfs. Lud . Where have all the giants gone?” And then he was off like an arrow.
*
They fought at the foot of the hill. Each unhorsed the other, then they resorted to swordplay. Enide wept and tore at her hair, unable to look away. She cringed each time another blow fell.
It took not a moment, but hours.
Erec had told her to stay back, but despite her horror, she crept closer—so close she could hear the grinding of armor and see the blood running down her lord’s side. If need be, she would beg the little knight for mercy, even if Erec should hate her for it.
At last, Erec gave the man a staggering blow on the helm. But even though the knight wavered, he didn’t fall. Instead, he returned an equal thrust of such mighty power his sword became lodged in Erec’s shield. As he strove to remove it, the weapon broke.
The battle was done.
Snapping open his visor, the little man stared in fury at the useless shard in his hand, then flung it to the trampled ground. Erec raised his own weapon menacingly.
“Mercy,” cried the knight, red-faced, cheeks puffed out. “Since my sword has failed me, I cannot defend myself.”
Erec pulled off his own helmet to confront him eye-to-eye. “If you are to ask for mercy, you must admit outright that you are fairly defeated.”
The man hesitated. Erec started toward him again.
The knight threw up his hands. “You have won. Have mercy. You are the victor, without doubt.”
Erec lowered his blade. “Now, you must tell me why you attacked me.”
The knight eyed him a moment. “You bypassed my castle without paying courtesy.”
Enide saw Erec’s brow crease. He recognized his fault.
“It was not from any intentional disrespect. My quest is a pressing one and my thoughts were elsewhere. I ask that you excuse me for this and that you honor me by telling me your name.”
“Fairly said,” the knight allowed. “I am king of this land. My name is Guivret the Little. In every direction, whatever land touches mine, I am known and feared by everyone.”
After witnessing how valiantly he fought, Enide could well-believe his neighbors feared him.
Erec answered, “I, too, can boast of noble birth. I am Erec, born of King Lac of Estre-Gales. No king has a larger empire but King Arthur.”
“But this is wonderful!” Despite his exclamation, Guivret’s brow knitted. “You must now have confidence in me. Come, my castle is not far from here, and we both have need of healing.”
Although pale and obviously spent, Erec shook his head. “It is generous of you, but I cannot stay.”
Why not? Enide nearly cried the words aloud. Guivret looked just as surprised.
“I will make one request,” Erec said. “Let us part as friends and allies.”
As Erec turned to go, Guivret restrained him, tearing a strip of linen from the bottom of his shirt to bind it around Erec’s flank where the blood still flowed.
“Go with God,” Guivret said. With a regretful expression but without further hindrance, he stood by while Erec collected his horse and battered weapons.
This was madness, Enide thought. Erec was trying to pretend he was not badly injured. He’d boasted he’d defeat this challenger in a trice, but King Guivret was a fierce fighter and Erec had struggled.
Holy Maid! What would it take to make him see the difference between reasonable pride and folly?