Chapter Nineteen
T o these peaceful woods, flush with all manner of game, King Arthur and many of his favorites had come for a few days of sport. Tents and pavilions littered the clearing. Horses milled in a temporary corral. Around several small campfires, knights and ladies took their ease. All except for Sir Gawain, who paced in his uncle’s pavilion. While Arthur spoke soothingly, Gawain smacked his hand against the pommel of his sword and emitted choice phrases. Arthur had refused him permission to go after the miscreant, which was probably wise.
When Sir Kai returned from his mysterious absence, everyone stopped what they were doing to hear his tale. By the time Kai had finished his report, Gawain’s anger had given way to curiosity. Arthur’s seneschal had his faults: occasional overindulgence in wine was one of them; heretofore dressing up in Gawain’s digs and stealing his horse had not been. After this, Gawain wagered it would not be again.
So Kai was playing at something and thought he’d spotted the trail of some injured creature. The bloody trail led him to a wounded knight and a lass. Fair enough.
Had anything happened to Guingalet, Gawain would be singing a different tune now. But as it were, he had to give Kai his due. A less honorable man would try to find a way to tell the story more favorably to himself. Kai admitted that he’d been knocked from his “borrowed” horse by a half-dead knight. And that knight was chivalrous enough to recognize Kai was without armor, treat with him accordingly, and return Guingalet. Kai’s instincts had been right. He was just so terrible at common courtesy, he’d driven the unfortunate knight away.
The king looked over his seneschal’s bowed head to meet Gawain’s eyes.
“Fair nephew,” Arthur said, “go find this knight. Bring him to us if it be in your power.”
“Yes, Sire,” Gawain answered. He signaled to two squires. “Roger, Owen, come with me.”
It would have been easier if Kai had not offended the man first. But he’d do it. He scooped his shield from the ground where Kai had dropped it and mounted his trusty steed. Guingalet nickered, sounding irritated.
“It wasn’t my fault,” he murmured into the horse’s ear. “Show me where you were.” Guingalet stomped his foot. Gawain whispered “Kai saw a knight? A knight with a lass?” The horse’s head raised up. “Oh, the lass got your attention?” Gawain laughed, then called out, “Sir Kai, was the lady pretty?”
“I couldn’t see her,” Kai grumbled. “She was covered over with a thing.” He waved his hand over his face.
Gawain chewed the side of his lip thoughtfully. Then, smiling to himself, he gave Guingalet a nudge and started out of the camp. He really must stop talking to his horse. For a moment, he’d been about to argue that Guingalet thought she was pretty.
*
More than pretty. What on earth was this?
They had been following the knight and his lady from a distance for about a league. Gawain could forgive Kai for having difficulty placing Sir Erec. He sat his horse like a man about to keel over. But the lady? That fair hair? That gracefulness? That swayback dapple-gray palfrey? And who else would Enide be with, but Erec?
“Stay back, lads, until I’ve had a chance to speak with this stranger.”
How to proceed? Obviously, Erec didn’t want anyone to see him like this. Who could blame him? He looked like he’d been in a war. A war he’d lost. And Enide, beautiful Enide, well…the lady could use a washing.
“Sir knight!” he yelled.
He waited while Erec halted, lowered his visor, and turned. Enide veiled her face with her cloak before facing him. Then Gawain moved forward at a slow, steady pace.
“You returned my steed. I am grateful.”
“It was an honor to be of service to you.” They were within but a few paces of each other when Erec added, “However I suggest next time you keep a closer watch on your horse.”
Gawain laughed. The lad had spirit.
“Fair friend, I have been sent by my lord King Arthur to find you. He bids me beg you come join our company.”
“I am much obliged to the king. And to you as well. Even so, I will not detour from my path. Thank you, but you may leave me.”
“I see,” Gawain said. And he did. Behind Erec, Enide had lifted the edge of her veil. She put a finger over her lips, then pointed to Erec’s battered hauberk and made some sort of frantic gesture.
Gawain nodded at Erec. “Grant me a moment, sir.”
He dropped back several paces to his waiting squires.
“Roger, go tell the king that if he wants to provide hospitality to the best knight he can ever hope to see, he should take down the tents and circle through the forest. Move the camp about three or four leagues in advance of where we are now and set up in the roadway.”
The squire nodded and hurried away. With a pretense of a smile, Gawain returned to Erec.
“I sent your regrets to the king. However, I would enjoy a short adventure myself. Let me ride with you awhile.”
After a momentary hesitation, the knight bobbed his head in reluctant acquiescence.
They set off. It hurt to watch Erec attempting to hide his weakness. Gawain kept Guingalet to a slow walk and still, he saw his companion sway in his saddle as if he had difficulty keeping his seat.
“So, good knight,” Gawain said, “we have been two days in these woods. Have you found the hunting to be as fine as we have?” Without allowing Erec a moment, Gawain launched into a story of Sir Lionel’s boar hunt. Lionel had succeeded, ultimately, after dropping his first spear and killing a rabbit.
Erec did not even chuckle.
Bother. The man just might fall. Gawain drew his mount in closer, wondering if he could catch him. He continued prattling about nothing. Once, he dared steal a glance at Enide and was able to discern her eyes through the veil. The worry in them tore at his heart.
Suddenly, Erec stiffened. In a hollow voice, he said, “I covered more ground yesterday. Sir, you are annoying me. You have taken up too much of my time.”
Gawain said gently, “I should like to ride with you a little while longer. There is still much daylight remaining.”
Erec said nothing more. He held himself so rigidly, Gawain feared something had ruptured within him. They had better stop soon.
“Milord!” A whisper of a sigh erupted from the pretty lady as they rounded a bend in the road.
Sprouting before them were silk tents and fluttering red and white pavilions. King Arthur’s banner flew above the largest tent. Multicolored ribbons decorated Guinevere’s beside it. The scent of roasting venison wafted through the air. Good old Arthur.
“Well,” he heard the knight beside him groan. “Gawain, you outwitted me. I will, therefore, tell you my name. I am Erec, formerly of your fellowship and once your good friend.” Erec pushed open his visor. Pale and gaunt, he hardly looked like the same man.
“Still good friend.” Gawain leaned over to embrace him, taking the opportunity to judge the strength of Erec’s arms—pitiful—and the severity of his pain—wretched. “I’ll go ahead and inform the king and queen. They’ll be overjoyed to see you. But first, with your permission, I will address your lady.”
Gawain dismounted and beckoned to Owen, who’d been trailing a short distance behind. After handing him Guingalet’s reins, he stepped around to Prudy. Enide pushed back her veil. Gawain reached up to lift her down, then pulled her into a tight embrace. Poor thing. Let Erec try to protest.
“How are you faring?” he murmured.
“I’m so worried,” she whispered back, her voice trembling. “Erec hasn’t a limb that isn’t bruised. And the gash in his side won’t stop bleeding.”
“I see it. I could have wept myself.” He stood back and set her at arms’ distance before he patted her hand, then shot a look at Erec. The man’s eyes were closed. He slumped, and his fingers were tightly twined in his horse’s mane. They should have come with Kai. It might be too late already.
Gawain commanded, “Come along. Slowly. Don’t worry. You’re with us now.”