Chapter Twenty-Four #2
It was clear at once that there would be a problem.
The man was huge. Gabriel was a respectable six feet, and this man was at least a head taller, and so broad he could have eaten three Gabriels and had ample room for pudding.
His armor was old mail, and it too had rusted and taken on a strange greenish hue, like there was moss growing between the rings.
As Gabriel watched, horrified, the man leaned back down and grasped something over the lip of the cut bank, and then heaved an immense axe into view.
“You’re the king,” he said to Gabriel, who could only hope he wasn’t visibly trembling. The man had a gruff voice, plain and practical.
“Yes.”
“And you’ve come to fight me,” he said, glancing behind Gabriel at the traveling party, “with thirty men.”
“Um … some of them are women.”
The knight looked again. “So they are.”
“We’re not all going to fight you though,” Gabriel added, feeling this was pertinent information.
“Yes,” said the knight, nodding. “Just one of you must try to strike the blow.”
Sir Hurst had apparently reached the end of his tether, because he said, “Fine. Raise your ludicrously big axe, if you can, and I will strike you, and we can put an end to this business.”
The knight looked at him ponderously, then shook his head. “No, no. I don’t think it should be you. Far too willing and eager.”
“What?” exclaimed Sir Hurst, which was fair enough.
“Many of these knights are seasoned fighters. What on earth could the blow teach them?”
“God help me,” said Sir Hurst, under his breath. “This is the King of England, and we are his sworn order of the round table. You do not decide the rules of engagement. You are lucky we do not simply kill you where you stand.”
“Humph,” said the knight, which didn’t explain anything.
Gabriel was suddenly very aware of the fact that they had an audience.
This was by design, because they had warned the villagers they were coming, the idea being that there would be enough witnesses to spread the word that the Green Knight wasn’t a man of myth after all, just a regular bridge guy with a flair for the dramatic.
“I’ll do it,” said Bridget. “I’ll strike the blow.”
“No,” said the knight. “You’d do it passing well, I’m sure, but it wouldn’t mean a thing.”
“Well, I’ll do it,” said Sir Leonard, just as Sir Bowen tried to make the same offer.
The knight sighed. “Cowardly of you, to bring only your best and brightest fighters, who would take the challenge as nothing more than a quick errand. Bad form.”
“Yeah,” said one of the stone-throwing kids, who had apparently had a change of heart and decided he was on the side of the knight, who was probably more local. “Bad form! Boooo.”
There was some more booing, and Sir Hurst’s neck went scarlet.
Sidney came to investigate, and said, “Christ, he’s huge,” which wasn’t much help at all.
“What are your rules?” Sir Hurst asked through gritted teeth, and the knight smiled.
“Won’t have any of these,” he said, gesturing to Bridget, Leonard, Bowen, and Sidney. “Too eager. But from the rest, I’ll choose a worthy opponent to strike me.”
“Surely you’ll have me,” said Sidney. “I’m barely even a knight. I’m basically just some guy.”
“Mmm. Nice try, but no.”
Gwen, who’d been hanging back on her horse but had apparently had enough, came marching over, looking determined.
“Good day,” she said. “I’m sure we can just talk about this and work something out. This is quite an important bridge for local trade and it’s not really on to block it and try to start fights with everyone who passes. Would you like some tea, or some wine?”
“Her,” said the knight, pleased. “I’ll fight her.”
“I’ll stand for her,” said Bridget; instantly, because she was reliable like that.
“Can’t,” said the knight. “Told you. You want it too bad. Or … maybe ‘want’ is the wrong word.”
Bridget, who had been looking irritated, now slanted sideways into confused.
“You cannot fight the princess,” Sir Hurst said. “Obviously.”
“And why not?” said Gwen unhelpfully. “I’m good with a sword.” She had taken approximately thirty sword lessons and was now fine with a sword, which was not the same as good.
“Her,” said the Green Knight, hefting his axe so that he was holding the long, notched, and flaking handle with both hands.
“All right, I’ll step in for her,” said Arthur.
He looked cheerful enough, but it was obvious—at least to Gabriel—that he was still finding being upright a struggle.
All the travel had been harder on him than most. “Surely that’s all right by your rules?
We’re about as mediocre in a fight as each other. She’d probably best me, even.”
The knight considered this, rubbing his fingers along the well-worn handle of his axe, then nodded once. “Yes. This seems fair. You may try to strike the blow.”
“Arthur,” Sidney hissed, urgent and serious.
“Great,” said Arthur, who only just seemed to have noticed quite how huge this man was. “Love this.” Gabriel, who had been watching everything unfold with a sense of unreality, suddenly felt very awake. Arthur drew his sword. The knight, his game afoot, readied his axe.
This was ridiculous. Arthur was going to die.
He was actually going to get split entirely in half.
Gwen said something, perhaps echoing this sentiment, but Gabriel’s heart was suddenly racing so loud it was all he could hear.
Wasn’t Sir Hurst going to tell them to stop and put down their arms?
But Arthur was a knight now, and he’d accepted this challenge willingly, and any second now he was actually going to—
“I’ll stand for him.”
He hadn’t even realized what he was going to say until it was out of his mouth.
Arthur shot him a warning look. “Gabe, don’t be—”
The knight’s interest had clearly been piqued. “I assumed I could not fight the king.”