The Princess, the Crone, and the Dung-Cart Knight Page 4

  "This is Mistress Sarah," Piers said. "She has an urgent message for King Arthur."

  Terence looked at Sarah. "A message from whom?"

  Sarah hesitated, glancing around at the busy stable, and Piers quickly said, "It is to be for Arthur's ears alone."

  Terence nodded. "Come to Gawain's rooms. We can speak privately there. I'll check with Bedivere to see when the king will be free."

  "No," Sarah said. "I must see him at once."

  Terence looked into her eyes, and Sarah had the odd sensation that the squire's eyes were sifting her most private thoughts. At last Terence said in a soft voice, "Nearly all who come here say that their business is urgent. Can you show me that it will be urgent to the king as well?"

  There were too many servants bustling through. Sarah dared not say even the names Sir Kai or Queen Guinevere. The crone had been so insistent that only King Arthur was to be told what had happened. She shook her head.

  "I gather that Bedivere's acting as seneschal?" Piers asked suddenly. Terence glanced at Piers, one eyebrow raised. Piers continued, "You mentioned arranging an audience with the king through Bedivere. Of course, I already knew that Sir Kai wasn't at court." Piers's eyes flickered significantly at Sarah, and Terence took a sharp breath.

  "Yes, that's right," Terence said slowly. "He's gone to escort a lady home from a visit." Terence looked at Sarah, and Sarah nodded quickly, trying to show that she knew exactly which lady it was. Terence said, "Go to Gawain's rooms. I'll fetch Arthur at once." Then he was gone.

  Sarah's scalp prickled; she had never seen anyone move so silently. Shaking her head, she followed Piers as he walked briskly out of the stable, up a flight of stairs, and down a corridor to a heavy oaken door. Piers knocked, waited a moment, then pushed it open and went inside. This was the second castle room that Sarah had ever been in, and while it was as different from Lady Marie's warm bedchamber as it could be, it was still comfortable. Not the slightest gesture had been made toward decoration here: everything was functional, from the deeply cushioned chairs by the fire to the cabinet with a row of bottles and goblets and, of course, the neatly arranged armor and weaponry that lined one whole wall. "Whose room is this?" she asked.

  "Sir Gawain's."

  "Who is Sir Gawain?"

  Piers stared at Sarah, then laughed reluctantly. "I suppose that traveling with a cloth merchant you would spend little time with the nobility, but I had thought everyone in England knew who Sir Gawain is."

  "Mother didn't like to talk about knights," Sarah explained.

  Piers's face was still. "Didn't?" he asked gently. Sarah flushed, angry that she had given herself away by speaking of her mother as one gone. Piers said, "Sir Gawain is the greatest of all the knights of the Round Table."

  Grateful to Piers for asking no questions, Sarah said, "My guardian, the cloth merchant, mentioned Sir Kai once or twice, but he didn't talk about other knights. Once, though, I heard a minstrel at a market day, singing about King Arthur's court, and I remember that he said that Sir ... oh, I forget the name ... Sir Laundry, or something like that, was the king's greatest knight."

  "Sir Lancelot, I imagine," Piers said, smiling. "You must understand that every knight is the greatest knight in the land as long as the song about him lasts, but it is true that many consider Sir Lancelot the greatest knight of all. He left the court many years ago, though. That leaves Sir Gawain."

  "And this Terence is his squire?" Piers nodded, and Sarah asked, "What sort of squire is it who goes off to 'fetch' the King of All England without a thought?"

  Piers grinned. "A squire like no other, and that's all I know."

  The door swung open, and Sarah looked up, into the kindest, weariest eyes she had ever seen. They were set in a youthful face that, incongruously, was framed by a gray beard. The man with the kind face wore clothes of red velvet, and Sarah knew it was the king. Instinctively, she dropped in a low curtsy, sensing Piers kneeling at her side.

  "Rise, please," the king said, entering the room. Behind him came Squire Terence and two knights. The first was a huge man, as large as Sir Kai but with a red beard, and the other was more slender, with a brown beard streaked with gray. The brown-bearded man gently closed and bolted the door behind them.

  "This is the lady, sire," Terence said. "Lady Sarah."

  "I am honored, my lady," the king said, bowing graciously. "Terence says that you have an urgent message for me?"

  Sarah nodded, her mouth dry. "It is supposed to be only for you."

  "These are my closest friends and most loyal knights. I would trust Sir Gawain, Sir Bedivere, Terence, and, yes, Piers here with my life. You may speak freely."

  Sarah took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She didn't want to give bad news to a man with such a face, but she said, "Queen Guinevere has been captured by a knight and taken back to his castle."

  The silence was like a fog in the room. At last King Arthur said, "And Sir Kai?"

  "Wounded. Badly, I think. But the queen made the knight take him too and promise that he would take him to a doctor."

  "Did you see this yourself?" the king asked.

  Sarah nodded. "I was in the bushes nearby. I don't think the knight saw me."

  "How did you know that the lady was Queen Guinevere?" the brown-bearded knight—Sir Bedivere, King Arthur had called him—asked quietly.

  "They had shared their food with me just before the knight came. I had only been away for a moment."

  "Did the queen tell you her name? Or did Sir Kai?" Sir Bedivere asked.

  Sarah thought about this. "Not at first. Sir Kai told me his own name, but he called the queen only 'my lady.' When the knight came, he knew her, though. Then, after Sir Kai had been wounded, he told the knight that he'd be in trouble when King Arthur heard that his queen had been captured. He said that really loud, so that I could hear, and I knew he was sending me to tell you."

  "It sounds right, Arthur," Sir Bedivere said.

  The king turned to his left and looked at the squire. "Terence?"

  "The child's telling the truth, sire. Not a doubt."

  The knight with the red beard spoke for the first time. "Where did this happen? How long ago? Did you see the knight's face?"

  "Wait, Gawain," Arthur said softly, placing a restraining hand on the knight's arm. "Let the child tell the story." He gestured to a chair and said, "Please, my lady, sit down." Sarah timidly sat in one of the cushioned chairs, and the king sat in a chair across from her. "Start from the beginning, please."

  Sarah nodded and began.

  III

  QUESTING

  Telling the king and his knights what had happened proved to be ticklish at first, since Sarah had no intention of telling her own story—especially why she was alone in the forest or why she had followed Sir Kai and tried to steal his sword. But the king did not interrupt her to ask any probing questions, and his knights clearly took their lead from him. They did occasionally exchange glances, and Sarah found that she was better off if she didn't meet Terence's penetrating gaze, but as she moved along in the tale her nervousness faded. She told everything she could remember, right up through her trip with Piers and arrival at Camelot. When she was done, the king reached across and took Sarah's hand.

  "I cannot tell you what I owe you, my child. I will not forget what you have done this week."

  "Sire?" Terence asked softly. "May I ask Sarah a few questions?"

  Sarah took a breath, but the king pressed her hand reassuringly. "Only about the events of the past few days, I think," King Arthur replied. "We owe Lady Sarah her privacy, at least."

  "Yes, sire." Terence looked at Sarah, and his face was grim. "This old woman who helped you. Did she say she was an enchantress's sister? Or the enchantress's sister?"

  "She said the," Sarah replied. "As if she expected Parsifal to know who she was by that."

  "Did she say anything else about this enchantress?"

  "Yes, she did," Sarah said, remembering their conversation. "Sh
e said that her sister was dead, or at least everyone hoped so."

  Terence's lips set, and his eyes looked through Sarah without seeing her. Sir Gawain turned his head sharply. "You don't think—"

  "I don't know," Terence said. "I hope we meet this old woman as we travel."

  King Arthur stood. "Shall we leave at dawn?"

  Sir Bedivere shook his head sharply. "You can't go, Arthur."

  She's my queen.

  "It would jeopardize the kingdom. There is more going on here than one discontented knight looking for ransom. What will the court think when you disappear?"

  "I care not," the king said firmly.

  Sir Gawain spoke. "Bedivere's right, sire. You have to stay here for the same reason that we sent Kai alone. You and the court must go on as if nothing were wrong. Terence and I will find her. Everyone knows I get restless at court, and no one will think anything about my disappearing. But you—and Bedivere, too—have to stay here and keep on ruling the land."

  Piers spoke for the first time since the king and the others had come in the room. "What is the affair? What more is there to this that I don't know?"

  King Arthur nodded and sat back in his chair, his eyes dark. After a moment, Sir Bedivere spoke. "For the past year or so, there have been rumblings of rebellion. Nothing certain, and no specific names, but hints of unrest and of gatherings of knights in places where there was no reason for them to gather. Some of our own knights began to disappear, and then there were incidents. Here a village was burned, there a rumor of a dragon or a plague, and always more talk of rebellion."

  "Why would there be rebellion?" Piers asked. "The land is at peace for the first time in anyone's memory."

  "Maybe that's why," Sir Gawain commented. "There's little chance for glory and conquest when all's peaceful. You're too young to remember, but before Arthur, it was a yearly tradition for kings to go out and try to enlarge their lands by force. The strong can grow rich in times of lawlessness."

  "Anyway," Sir Bedivere continued, "things have seemed unsettled, but not serious until just recently. Last month a report came to Camelot of a fortuneteller who was predicting that the king would soon be overthrown."

  "Yes," Piers said. "I heard that, too, but I thought nothing of it. Such stories come and go. Last year a hermit near Belrepeire predicted an earthquake that would destroy the castle before Christmas. We're still around."

  "This rumor was odd, though," Sir Bedivere said. "You're right that there are always charlatans and madmen predicting ruin, but in general they stir up a small area for a while, then fade away. Everyone in England seems to have heard this rumor, though. Even stranger, when we quietly sent messengers out to find the fortuneteller, they could find no one who had actually seen the seer telling it. It was as if the rumor had no source. Then just two weeks ago the rumor resurfaced with a new twist. England would know that the revolt was at hand when Queen Guinevere was captured."

  Sarah's eyes grew wide, and Piers let out a low whistle.

  "It sounded like a threat, so we took steps to take care of the queen. At that time, Guinevere was visiting her father, so we thought to bring her home, where not only would she be safe but where everyone could see that she was. But we didn't want to look as though we gave any credit to the rumors, so instead of sending a company of soldiers as an escort, we sent Kai alone. Few outside of Camelot know the queen's face by sight, and we thought, incorrectly it seems, that no one would recognize her even if they were seen. They were going to travel by lesser-known roads and, except for a stop at Belrepeire, were planning to see no one."

  King Arthur looked at Sarah. "That's why Kai never spoke the queen's name or called her 'your highness' in your presence, my dear."

  "But the strange knight knew the queen," Sarah pointed out.

  "It can't have been an accident," Terence replied. "He was sent for her. Your highness, this is a deeper plot than it seems. Bedivere's right. You have to stay here. Gawain and I will bring her back."

  The king was silent, and, as Sarah watched, his face seemed to grow old. "You are right," he said at last. He looked up into Sir Gawain's eyes. "I could not trust anyone more. But," he added, "I should like to trust more than one. Piers?"

  "Yes, my liege."

  "Do you think you can find Parsifal and ask his help?"

  Piers shook his head doubtfully. "He and Queen Connie and my father are at Munsalvaesche, Parsifal's other kingdom. One cannot just go there, as you know, but I shall do what I can. You may believe that, O king."

  The king nodded, and Terence said, "Lady Sarah? Were you intending to go back to your village?"

  "My village?"

  "This village Milrick you spoke of."

  "Oh, yes. Yes, I was."

  "Then, if you would permit us to escort you, perhaps you could show Gawain and me the exact spot where the queen was taken, and the direction they took."

  Sarah nodded gratefully. She hadn't been certain how she would find her way back to the village.

  "And Gawain," the king said suddenly, "take care of Lady Sarah. I am much in her debt."

  "Yes, my liege," Sir Gawain said.

  Sarah set out the next morning with Sir Gawain and Terence. The king had provided a fresh horse for her, a beautiful gray mare, and she rode between Terence's dun-colored horse and Sir Gawain's colossal black one. Piers was not with them, and after they were out of the castle gates, Sarah asked, "Wasn't Piers going to ride with us? I mean, aren't we going the same way?"

  "He left last night," Terence said. "I suppose he went to find Parsifal, but I don't know which direction he took."

  "Don't you know where this Muns—... this other kingdom of Sir Parsifal's is?"

  Terence nodded. "Munsalvaesche. Yes, I do. But knowing where something is is not the same as knowing how to get there."

  This made no sense, but many things were making no sense. "Who is Piers?" Sarah asked. "I mean, why is he so important?"

  "What do you mean by 'important'?" Terence asked.

  "He's a blacksmith's boy, but at Belrepeire the guards all acted as if he were king. Then, last night, when I was telling my story to King Arthur and you, Piers got to stay, too. The king even said that he trusted him."

  "Arthur trusts Piers because Piers is trustworthy, not because he's important," Terence commented. "Two very different things."

  "Few people are both, in fact," Sir Gawain added.

  "But I understand your confusion," Terence continued, ignoring his master. "You wonder how an apprentice smith came to be so well known to the king. I should explain that Piers once meant to become a royal page."

  "Yes, he told me that," Sarah replied. "I told him he didn't look like a page."

  "He did at that time," Terence said, chuckling. "He wore a foppish red hat when he rode out on a quest with Gawain and me."

  "Rode on a what?"

  "A quest. That's what we're on. A journey to find something that is missing and must be restored. Anyway, Piers proved himself on the trip, and when it was over, he decided he'd rather join his father at the forge."

  "Why?"

  "Because he'd found what was missing and had restored it. Most people have something missing, actually. Perhaps even you do." Terence's tone was polite and cheerful and not at all inquisitive, but Sarah quickly cast about in her mind for another topic.

  "What did Piers mean when he said that you can't just go to that place where Parsifal is, Munsalvaesche? Why can't you?"

  Before answering, Terence glanced speculatively over her at Sir Gawain, who shrugged and said nothing. At last Terence said carefully, "There are those who say that there is another world beyond this one, a different sort of world. Munsalvaesche is a place in that world."

  "What do you mean, a different world?"

  Terence hesitated. "The World of Faeries. I suppose you've heard stories of faeries and elves and such creatures?"

  "Faeries!" Sarah said scornfully. "I don't believe in faeries."

  "Don't you?" Terence
asked politely. His face was bland. "Why not?"

  "Well, I've never seen one."

  "Ah, yes, of course," Terence replied. "Like the man who doesn't believe in invisible dogs."

  "What man?" Sarah demanded. She was growing confused.

  "He says he doesn't believe in them because he's never seen one."

  Sarah stared at Terence in incomprehension, but she saw his eyes crinkle at the corners and realized he was laughing at her. Flushing, she stared straight ahead and lifted her chin. "Besides, I was told to have nothing to do with magical things like faeries, because they were all part of witchcraft and sorcery and were wicked."

  "Your mother told you this?" Terence asked.

  "No ... a friend." Sarah could still see Mordecai's face, glowing in the evening firelight, as he read aloud to her from his Book. Usually he read stories, which she loved, but there were those other nights, when he read about "abomination" this and "you shall not allow to live" that. She knew that witches were in there somewhere. "They are abominations," Sarah asserted.

  Terence nodded slowly. "I see. You were told that there were no such things as faeries, but that they are abominations, to be avoided at all costs."

  Sarah frowned. Put that way, it made Mordecai sound confused, which wasn't at all the case. "Perhaps he meant only for me not to have anything to do with the stories about faeries."

  "Perhaps so," Terence said amiably. "Then I'll be brief. Munsalvaesche is in one of those stories about another world, the World of Faeries."

  "But if it's in a story, how could anyone go there for real?" Sarah asked irritably.

  Terence's eyes looked bright, but he replied solemnly, "You see Piers's difficulty, don't you? To fetch Parsifal from a place that doesn't exist—except in a story—and that is an abomination to boot ... well, I imagine it would be quite a challenge."

  Sarah scowled, concluding that Terence was hiding something. Munsalvaesche must be a secret fortress somewhere, whose location Terence was concealing. She didn't mind that, but she wished he had said, "I can't tell you that; it's a secret" instead of inventing a child's tale about a faery land. She lapsed into silence.