Chapter Twenty-Four #3
“A fair assumption,” snapped Sir Hurst, “as you certainly can’t.”
“Bloody hell, he’s going to fight the king,” one of the watching children hissed through his hands, which he’d clapped to his mouth; soon the others took up the call, even the adults, the muttering reaching a clamorous fever pitch.
The smallest child, probably forced into servitude among his peers due to age or stature, was sent sprinting along the riverbank and then down over makeshift stepping stones, presumably to gather more of an audience.
“Come on. This is stupid. I’ll do it,” said Adah.
Gabriel paused, his hand on his sword belt, which was preposterous in and of itself—was he really going to try to fight this man-mountain?
He’d never been a particularly good swordsman, even when he hadn’t been compensating for the loss of his arm.
Adah was certainly more of an able fighter than him and, freshly knighted, would be glad of the glory, if there was any to be had.
Perhaps she’d be acceptable to the Green Knight, as a commoner recently raised to nobility.
If only they’d understood the rules to begin with—but then, Gabriel suspected this man might be making them up as he went along.
He was realizing with a sinking feeling that it wouldn’t do to let Adah take his place.
The crowd was watching. People had enough mud to sling at him already; adding “coward,” the story of a king who stepped up to a challenge only to shuffle away from it again and allow one of his fresh knights to take his place, would be fatal.
Almost (but not quite) as fatal as being hit in the head by a big man with an even bigger axe.
The rules of chivalry demanded that he now meet this man in combat.
“No,” Gabriel said. “Thank you, Lady Adah, but … I shall attempt the blow.”
“Good,” said the knight, as Sir Hurst made a sound that indicated Gabriel had just taken ten years off the captain’s lifespan.
Gabriel fumbled for his sword, thankful for the thousandth time since his amputation that he’d always been right-handed.
Nervous energy thrummed through his veins, the plucked strings of many instruments, the beating of many drums. He was trying to remember everything he’d ever been taught in the past twenty years about single combat, but all he could think was that the knight had a small hole in one boot, and his toes must be wet and cold.
“Hold on,” said Sir Hurst, and Gabriel allowed himself to feel a tiny bit of relief, even if he was relatively sure there was no decent way out of this. “If you are the Green Knight of old, you’re supposed to give him your weapon, and meet him unarmed.”
This was promising. Gabriel watched the comment land, then ripple across the knight’s face.
He shrugged. “I’m new.”
Well, great. Gabriel was going to die. Hopefully it would be quick and clean. His last brush with death had been far too … messy.
The knight held up a trencher-sized hand and gestured to the bridge, and Gabriel followed him there, numb, ignoring the great deal of protestation from his kith and kin behind him.
“Do you have any more rules?” Gabriel said, hoping there might be one in his favor.
“I’d like to ask you a question,” the knight said. “Before we begin.”
“Um. Fine.”
“Why’d you stand for him?”
Gabriel was surprised enough that he stopped imagining his slow demise. “What?”
“Nobody would’ve thought less of you if you hadn’t. Knights are meant to fight for their kings. That’s how it goes. I’d have accepted him right enough, and I can see you’re no fighter. Why’d you step in?”
Gabriel grasped for something that made sense. “Because I’m the king and I … should. Lead by example, you know.”
“Nah,” said the knight. “That’s why you had to say no to your lady knight. It was too late then, you had to save face. But I could have fought your other friend. Why d’you stand for him?”
Because he’s probably not well enough to hold a stick right now, let alone a sword, and he’s brave in the stupidest ways, and he’d definitely actually die as a small favor to someone he loved, and he stood for Gwen with no hesitation despite all of the above, and obviously, obviously, because I still love him.
“Right,” said the knight, nodding thoughtfully, as if Gabriel had said any of this aloud.
He realized he’d frozen to the spot, probably looking just as terrified as he felt. “Um,” he said, swallowing hard. “I don’t— It’s quite a complex—”
“Strike the blow, friend,” said the Green Knight, and Gabriel just … did. He struck the knight on the shoulder, a hair’s breadth away from a gaping hole in his chain mail, just hard enough that it made a metallic thunk of a sound, not hard enough to do any real damage.
The knight dropped to his knees as if he’d been dealt a death blow, letting the axe fall from his fingers into the dirt.
He seemed fine.
“Aren’t you going to hit me back?” Gabriel whispered. “If not now, in … one year hence or whatever?”
“I’ve already dealt the blow,” said the Green Knight, and then he tilted his helmed head to one side and winked.