this country yesterday alongside a very beautiful lady who had no more heart than a spider. I've only just managed to get rid of her."
Sir Pelleas leaped to his feet. "What are you implying?" he demanded.
Gawain did not move. Calmly he replied, "Nothing at all. I only wondered if you ought to speak to the Lady Ettard. Have you ever just ridden up and asked to come in?" Gawain asked.
"Oh yes!" Sir Pelleas said. "But to no avail! The foulest of wandering knights may be sure of a welcome from her, but
I
am turned away ... but I ... but I ... but I have an idea!"
Gawain looked amused. "What kind of idea?"
"I shall go to her in disguise! I shall go with you! In your retinue! She will admit you to her court, and then I shall expose to her my love from within!"
Gawain nodded. "Not bad. You go put on something that looks like a squire might wear it, and we'll go see this lady of yours." Sir Pelleas started to run from the room, but Gawain stopped him. "Say, does Lady Ettard speak French?"
"But of course!"
"Then leave the sonnets here, all right?"
The plan worked perfectly. At the gate to Lady Ettard's castle, Gawain simply called out his name, and the guards opened the gate immediately. No one even looked at Sir Pelleas. A series of calls echoed from guardpost to guardpost—"Open for Sir Dwayne." Gawain chuckled.
A window in the central keep of the castle flew open and there appeared the face of a lovely woman. "Sir Dwayne!" she called out. "I am the Lady Ettard, mistress of this castle. I welcome you!"
Gawain had no chance to answer. Sir Pelleas threw himself from his saddle, and knelt. "My princess!" he called out. "My love, my lambkin! I swear to you eternal fealty. My own life I offer you! My corpse I give to you for a rug, if you so desire! I worship you!"
"Ghastly display," Gawain muttered.
"Pelleas! How did you—? You blister! Get out of my castle! I forbid you to drool on my courtyard, you mutt, you cur, you mongrel! How dare you defile my home with your foul presence? Sir Dwayne, is this your doing?"
Gawain started to reply, but Sir Pelleas broke in again. "My angel, your voice drips sweetness upon my thirsting ears. Speak yet again that I might carry your musical essence with me until I die!"
"I'll drip sweetness on you, you carbuncle!" She called a command to someone inside, then looked back out. "And I hope that you might learn a lesson from it, you less-than-the-stable-sweepings bit of offal! You stench! You
merde!
"
"Ah, she
does
speak French," Gawain murmured.
"My heart! Even curses from your lips fall like blessings on my parched soul. You are the water that revives me!" Sir Pelleas called out.
"Here! Revive on this!" Lady Ettard shouted. She reached inside for something, then at arm's length poured the contents of a large bucket over Sir Pelleas. The mixture seemed to be mostly dirty water, but there were thick clumps of every conceivable color and texture swirled in. The stream hit Sir Pelleas full in his upturned face and knocked him sprawling into a thick, slimy puddle.
"Kitchen swill!" Terence gasped, wrinkling his nose.
"Not especially fresh either," Gawain agreed. "Let's move upwind, shall we?"
Gawain and Terence edged their horses to where the smell was not so strong. Sir Pelleas climbed to his feet, pulling something from his hair, and called, "I accept this and all other blessings which have known the delight of your presence, fair one!"
Lady Ettard's eyes flashed, and she disappeared inside. Sir Pelleas continued calling out compliments to the window.
"Milord?" Terence asked.
"Yes?"
"This Sir Pelleas, milord? He's ... he's not very clever, is he?"
Gawain grinned, but did not answer. Lady Ettard reappeared at the window, a triumphant smile on her face. In her arms was a basket filled with eggs. She began throwing them at Pelleas, and Terence noted with respect that she was quite accurate.
"It's a real pleasure to see a lady of gentle birth with such a fine throwing arm," Gawain
Sir Pelleas leaped to his feet. "What are you implying?" he demanded.
Gawain did not move. Calmly he replied, "Nothing at all. I only wondered if you ought to speak to the Lady Ettard. Have you ever just ridden up and asked to come in?" Gawain asked.
"Oh yes!" Sir Pelleas said. "But to no avail! The foulest of wandering knights may be sure of a welcome from her, but
I
am turned away ... but I ... but I ... but I have an idea!"
Gawain looked amused. "What kind of idea?"
"I shall go to her in disguise! I shall go with you! In your retinue! She will admit you to her court, and then I shall expose to her my love from within!"
Gawain nodded. "Not bad. You go put on something that looks like a squire might wear it, and we'll go see this lady of yours." Sir Pelleas started to run from the room, but Gawain stopped him. "Say, does Lady Ettard speak French?"
"But of course!"
"Then leave the sonnets here, all right?"
The plan worked perfectly. At the gate to Lady Ettard's castle, Gawain simply called out his name, and the guards opened the gate immediately. No one even looked at Sir Pelleas. A series of calls echoed from guardpost to guardpost—"Open for Sir Dwayne." Gawain chuckled.
A window in the central keep of the castle flew open and there appeared the face of a lovely woman. "Sir Dwayne!" she called out. "I am the Lady Ettard, mistress of this castle. I welcome you!"
Gawain had no chance to answer. Sir Pelleas threw himself from his saddle, and knelt. "My princess!" he called out. "My love, my lambkin! I swear to you eternal fealty. My own life I offer you! My corpse I give to you for a rug, if you so desire! I worship you!"
"Ghastly display," Gawain muttered.
"Pelleas! How did you—? You blister! Get out of my castle! I forbid you to drool on my courtyard, you mutt, you cur, you mongrel! How dare you defile my home with your foul presence? Sir Dwayne, is this your doing?"
Gawain started to reply, but Sir Pelleas broke in again. "My angel, your voice drips sweetness upon my thirsting ears. Speak yet again that I might carry your musical essence with me until I die!"
"I'll drip sweetness on you, you carbuncle!" She called a command to someone inside, then looked back out. "And I hope that you might learn a lesson from it, you less-than-the-stable-sweepings bit of offal! You stench! You
merde!
"
"Ah, she
does
speak French," Gawain murmured.
"My heart! Even curses from your lips fall like blessings on my parched soul. You are the water that revives me!" Sir Pelleas called out.
"Here! Revive on this!" Lady Ettard shouted. She reached inside for something, then at arm's length poured the contents of a large bucket over Sir Pelleas. The mixture seemed to be mostly dirty water, but there were thick clumps of every conceivable color and texture swirled in. The stream hit Sir Pelleas full in his upturned face and knocked him sprawling into a thick, slimy puddle.
"Kitchen swill!" Terence gasped, wrinkling his nose.
"Not especially fresh either," Gawain agreed. "Let's move upwind, shall we?"
Gawain and Terence edged their horses to where the smell was not so strong. Sir Pelleas climbed to his feet, pulling something from his hair, and called, "I accept this and all other blessings which have known the delight of your presence, fair one!"
Lady Ettard's eyes flashed, and she disappeared inside. Sir Pelleas continued calling out compliments to the window.
"Milord?" Terence asked.
"Yes?"
"This Sir Pelleas, milord? He's ... he's not very clever, is he?"
Gawain grinned, but did not answer. Lady Ettard reappeared at the window, a triumphant smile on her face. In her arms was a basket filled with eggs. She began throwing them at Pelleas, and Terence noted with respect that she was quite accurate.
"It's a real pleasure to see a lady of gentle birth with such a fine throwing arm," Gawain
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