The Savage Damsel and the Dwarf (9 page)

***

They spent a very pleasant evening in Sir Pertelope's home, and Lynet was struck again by the incomprehensible behavior of men. Whereas hours before, Sir Pertelope and Beaumains had been seeking to kill each other, now they showed no resentment at all. Sir Pertelope spent most of the evening talking with Roger, who had asked him a question about the cultivated fields around the manor house. Sir Pertelope was clearly a conscientious and knowledgeable landowner, and he was ready to talk about farming as long as anyone would listen. Roger seemed interested, too, and the two had a spirited discussion of land management that lasted long into the night.

The next morning, as they rode, Lynet teased Roger about his unexpected interest in coombs and hedgerows and such matters. Roger just grinned and said, "Nothing more lovely than a field of wheat, ready to harvest."

"Huh, maybe to you and that green fellow back there, but you two left Beaumains and me completely out of the conversation," Lynet said.

"I've complete faith in your ability to horn into any conversation you want, my lady. And as for Beaumains, he has no conversation. Our Beau doesn't have two thoughts in his head to rub together to make a fire with. All he cares about is fighting."

Offended, Lynet lifted her chin. "That was very unkind of you, Roger. Think what we owe Beaumains!"

"I do, my lady. Every minute of every day." Roger booted his horse ahead. Angry, Lynet let him go and fell back to ride beside Beaumains. Once or twice she spoke, but Beaumains answered only with monosyllables, and Lynet resigned herself to boredom.

Two hours later, they rode up to a shallow river, where Roger sat on his horse talking with a knight. The knight wore dusty and faded armor of a distinctly pink hue, minus the helm and breastplate, which had been laid aside for comfort's sake. The knight sprawled under a tree holding a long lance, to which was tied a fishing line. He was a picture of relaxed contentment.

When Lynet and Beaumains rode up, though, his demeanor changed. As soon as he saw Beaumains, he scrambled to his feet and gasped, "Percy! What are you doing this far south?"

"My name," Beaumains said loudly, "is not Percy."

"You're not Sir Percard, the Knight of the Black Woods?" the man in pink asked.

"I am not."

He relaxed. "Thank heavens. For a minute there, I thought you were my brother. Hate to say anything bad about family, you know, but old Percy's a bit of a rotter. Happy to meet
you,
though." Lynet stiffened at the revelation that this young knight was another brother of the Black Knight's.

"Mayhaps you will be less happy, sir, when I inform you that I have killed your villainous brother," Beaumains said rigidly.

The man in pink nodded sagely. "That would be how you got his armor."

Beaumains lifted his chin. "If you seek vengeance, I am at your service."

The man pursed his lips, then shook his head. "No, thank you. As I said, Percy was a stinker. He probably deserved everything he got."

Lynet could not help glancing at Roger, who was grinning back at her. This easygoing knight evidently had a different approach to family loyalty than his green-clad brother did.

"Are you so craven, indeed?" Beaumains demanded, evidently much shocked.

"Leave it be, Beau," interjected Roger. "It's not cowardly to turn down an unnecessary fight."

"That's my view exactly, friend," the strange knight said, smiling. "In fact, not so long ago, I saw Sir Lancelot himself turn down a fight."

"You lie!" Beaumains exclaimed wrathfully. "Never has that great knight so demeaned himself."

The young knight was taken back by Beaumains's vehemence, but he replied calmly. "Nothing demeaning about it. He passed through here, oh months ago, and I was feeling my oats. So, I asked if he'd like to joust with me. He said there was nothing he wanted
to do less, that he was tired of fighting. So, we shared a meal and—"

"I said you lie, knave!" shouted Beaumains, drawing his sword. "And for telling such craven falsehoods, you must die!"

The knight looked plaintively at Roger. "What's wrong with this fellow?"

"He was dropped on his head when he was a baby," answered Roger.

"Really?" the man said, diverted. "That happened to another brother of mine. He wears a sort of blue armor. Poor chap never quite got over the knock. Dim, we used to call him."

"You called your own brother Dim?" Roger asked.

"Just a friendly name. And he never minded, because we told him that 'Dim' was another word for 'Courageous.'"

"He didn't believe that, did he?"

"I told you. Dropped right on the noggin, he was." Roger and the knight chuckled together now, and Lynet felt the tension ease.

"Hast thou not heard my challenge?" Beaumains demanded of the strange knight.

Roger ignored him and asked, "You say this dim, ah, courageous brother of yours wears blue?"

The knight nodded. "Yes, and I've another brother who wears green. It was mother's idea. She liked things
colorful. I believe old Percy only wore black because he knew she'd hate it. Nasty fellow, Percy."

Roger smiled, but his brow furrowed. "But, forgive me," he asked politely, "what color are you supposed to be?"

The knight glanced ruefully at his armor. "Mother wanted me to be 'The Crimson Knight,' but it's gone a bit pink in the sun, hasn't it? I really should touch it up. Embarrassing to be 'The Pink Knight.'"

Her sense of humor stirred, Lynet interrupted. "It's really quite a lovely shade of rose. How about 'The Knight of the Rose'?"

Roger and the knight chuckled, and the knight stepped toward Lynet in greeting. "Or you could call me Sir Perimones, my lady. It's my name."

Before Sir Perimones reached Lynet, though, Beaumains stepped between them. "Draw thy sword, foul recreant!" he demanded, "for cause of thy cowardice and thy lies about Sir Lancelot." He took a menacing step forward. "I shall not rest until thou art cleaved in twain."

Sir Perimones frowned and glanced at Roger. "Is that right? 'Cleaved'?"

"I thought it was 'clove,'" Roger said pensively.

"Oh, I don't fancy that," Sir Perimones protested. "It sounds like part of a recipe. Is it 'cleaven,' maybe?"

"Look," Roger said. "You say 'cloven,' don't you? Like 'cloven hoof? So it must be 'clove.'"

Lynet looked at Beaumains, standing awkwardly to one side, and she felt almost sorry for him. Clearly no one had ever told him what to do when a challenge was ignored.

"Hold on," the knight said suddenly, "what about 'cleft'?"

Roger nodded dubiously. "Maybe. What do you think of 'clave'?"

Beaumains had had enough. He pushed roughly in front of Roger and with one heavy, gauntleted hand struck Sir Perimones across the face. Lynet gasped, and Roger sighed.

"Oh, blow it all," Sir Perimones said, rubbing his cheek. "All right, I'll fight. Just let me armor up." He fastened on his breastplate, put on his helm, and then carefully propped his fishing lance in the crook of a tree. "Watch this for me, will you?" he said to Roger. Roger nodded, and the knight drew his sword.

Beaumains lunged forward, but Sir Perimones parried his blow and stepped back. Beaumains lunged again, and again the knight slipped aside. Roger chuckled suddenly.

"Why are you laughing?" Lynet asked. "This is all so stupid."

"Watch Pink, there. He's not fighting at all."

"What?"

"It's a schoolboy's game. You don't try to hit your opponent, you just defend yourself and wait. Of course
he can't win the fight that way, but so long as he doesn't attack, Beau can't win either. It's how ... how Sir Gaheris almost always fights. You may as well get comfortable. This'll take a while."

Roger was right. The two knights danced around and around, with Beaumains charging and Sir Perimones retreating. At last Beaumains began to show his frustration and call out insults. "Fight like a man, thou dog!" he gasped between breaths. "Ne'er have I faced so craven a knight!"

"Can't hit me, can you?" Sir Perimones replied. "Nyah nyah!"

"You fight as a woman!"

"Can't say I agree with him there," Roger commented to Lynet. "My belief is that women are more bloodthirsty than men."

"Poppycock!" Lynet snapped. "You don't see us trotting around in armor picking fights."

"No, but that's because women are too vain to wear armor. They couldn't show off their maidenly figures."

"Stuff!" replied Lynet. "Men are just as vain as women. Think of those cute little tights that courtiers mince around in! Imagine if a woman wore something like that!" Roger smiled, and Lynet said, "Well?"

"I'm imagining! I'm imagining!"

"Oh, shut up," Lynet said, stifling a giggle.

Beaumains and the stranger continued their defensive dance for another quarter of an hour, and Lynet began to get bored. Glancing around the field, she noticed the knight's fishing lance jerking and bobbing. "Roger! He's got a bite!"

The lance lurched toward the river. "Grab it!" Roger called.

Lynet reached it first, clutching it just before it went into the drink. "What do I do?"

"Pull it out!" commanded Roger.

Lynet jerked up with all her strength, and a large speckled fish came flying out of the river. It flew in a smooth arc over Lynet's head and, as if it had been aimed, smacked Beaumains in the helm. He whirled about quickly, and while the twisting trout was still in the air, sliced it neatly in half with his sword.

"Look what you've done, deuce it!" Sir Perimones exclaimed, irate. "You've gone and defied my dinner!"

"I beg your ... I'm terribly ... I didn't see what it was," stammered Beaumains.

"That makes no odds!" Sir Perimones snapped. "It's not very knightly to go fighting a fish, now, is it? I can tell you that Sir Lancelot never had single combat with a trout."

"I said I was sorry!" Beaumains said.

"Look here," interposed Roger, stepping between the two knights. "Suppose we stop all this at once. Beaumains, you've already apologized for clooving
this fish. Now, if Sir Perimones will agree that Sir Lancelot never did anything cowardly in his life, we can make peace."

"Oh, ay, I'll agree to that," Sir Perimones said amiably.

For a long moment, Beaumains considered Roger's proposal, then he nodded reluctantly. "Very well, sir knight." Lynet let out her breath in a long sigh of relief. Stiffly, Beaumains sheathed his sword and remounted. "Let us be off," he said imperiously.

"Sorry about your fish, O Knight of the Rose," Roger said, grinning. He glanced over his shoulder. "Other direction, Beau!"

The three travelers continued along cultivated fields and neat hedgerows until the sun's light began to fade and weaken toward evening. They passed tidy cottages and one or two small villages, but saw no more knights or noble landlords until they topped a long, wide hill and looked down into a pleasant valley. There they saw every sign of knights—flags and pennants, horses and armor, squires and pages—though knights themselves were conspicuously absent. Two rows of blue tents stood at the center of the valley, framing a long, straight path between them.

"Looks as if someone's set up a tournament," Roger commented. "There's the jousting lane there between the tents."

Lynet's memory stirred. "I think I've heard of this. Sir Persant of something or other sets up a tournament ground hereabouts, and passing knights all get to joust with him. If this is the place, then we're only half a day or so from home."

"Well, that's good, anyway," Roger commented. "But I wonder if we could give the place a miss. I'd rather not give Beau a chance to pick another fight."

"Beaumains doesn't pick fights," Lynet replied haughtily.

Roger stared at her with patent astonishment. "Doesn't he, then?"

"No. His fights were forced on him by others."

"Even the fight with the Pink Knight?"

Lynet was less comfortable explaining away this last battle, but she said, "He thought the other knight had insulted Sir Lancelot." It sounded lame even to her own ears, and she was grateful that Roger did not reply. The dwarf contented himself with a brief, sour glance.

Beaumains, who had been lagging behind again, rode up. "It is a noble place," Beaumains said. "A goodly tilting yard. Let us go forth and see what adventure may befall us."

Roger shrugged and wordlessly led the way down the hill to the blue tents of the encampment. As they approached, several servants and a few ladies stopped to gaze at them. A young page dashed into the largest
of the tents, and a moment later a large knight in blue armor appeared at the door. "Welcome, good knight!" the blue knight roared genially.

"Blue armor, hey?" muttered Roger.

"I bid you welcome!" the large knight bellowed again. "But I've already said that, haven't I? Bless my soul!" He laughed uproariously, as if he had made a fine joke. Lynet could not help glancing at Roger, who was grinning broadly. The knight continued, "I am Sir Persant of Indigo!" He paused, and in a conspiratorial voice that probably could have been heard for only a hundred yards, added, "That's why I wear indigo armor, you know!" Then he laughed again.

Lynet looked at Roger. "You don't think this is the one that—"

"A very colorful family, indeed," Roger said.

They rode up to Sir Persant, who beamed at them. "You look a fine fellow!" he exclaimed to Beaumains. "As dim a knight as I've ever seen!"

Beaumains frowned. "What meanest thou by 'dim,' sir knight?"

"Why, full of courage, of course," the knight replied.

Beaumains still looked puzzled, but Roger quickly replied, "You're too kind, Sir Persant. I'm sure you are every bit as dim as Sir Beaumains here."

Sir Persant roared with laughter. "Well spoken, master dwarf! Mayhaps if this knight, Sir Bowman, will oblige me—"

"Beaumains," interposed Roger.

"Of course! Sir Beaumains! If Sir Bowman will oblige me, we'll soon see which knight is the dimmest!"

"Impossible! Two farthings to a ha'penny," murmured Roger. Lynet was indignant at the way Roger was making game of Beaumains, but she could not speak for fear of giggling.

"A joust, then!" shouted Sir Persant, "if it belikes you, Sir Bowman."