in this foolhardy way because no one of his bewitched knights could move. Barely, he managed to swivel his eyes toward Lancelot.
Lancelot’s hands trembled on the Round Table. He leaned a little forward, striving to break the spell that bound them all.
Gawain drew gasping breath. He, Gawain, must break the spell before Lancelot did!
A hand touched his shoulder and sent energy surging through locked muscles. Like lightning, awakeness flooded his innards. He glimpsed Niviene, just lifting her small hand away.
Gawain shot up off the bench. His locked throat opened. “Sire!” He yelled to Arthur. “Not right! Unseemly!”
Intent on hefting the great green ax, Arthur yet heard him. He looked up and gestured for Gawain to come forward.
Gawain stepped back over the bench and tried to hasten to the dais. Dizzy smoke seemed to trip him up. On his way he stumbled against several broad, seemingly paralyzed backs. The journey to the dais needed only a few strides, but Gawain arrived there panting.
Meaning to drop to one knee before Arthur, he crashed down.
“Sire.” His voice cracked like the giant’s. But he forced high, gallant language from his tongue. “It were unseemly that you, our High King, should risk your life on a game, while so many bold knights sit here about you.”
Arthur nodded broadly to that.
Gawain continued, firmer and clearer with every elegant word. “This business is not fitting for you, nor for any of your most wise and skillful knights. All know that I am the least of your knights. My only virtue is that you are my uncle. Sire, give this game to me.”
Arthur nodded to that. He could hardly refuse, for what Gawain said was simply true. He was too valuable for this foolish risk. He said, “God bless you, Nephew. May heart and hand be steady.” And he handed over the green ax.
Gawain rose—more smoothly than he had knelt—and faced the giant.
“Tell me your name,” the Green Knight roared. “I would know with whom I play!” His voice came hollow through the bristly green beard.
“In truth,” Gawain answered with ceremonious courtesy, “I am called Gawain, I who offer you this blow, whatever may follow. And this time next year I will take your blow, with whatever weapon you choose.”
“By God!” blustered the Green Knight. “You have well recited the covenant I asked of the King! Swear now by your Honor that you will seek me, a year from now, wherever you may find me, and take back the blow you give today.”
“Where will I find you?” Gawain asked, testing and lifting the ax. “I know neither your name nor your country or home.”
“After you have struck,” the Green Knight declared, “I will tell you that. And if I cannot tell you, then you’re the better off. Ha, ha! Much the better off! Come now, show me how you strike.”
“Gladly, Sir, in truth.”
Swiftly, for all his bulk, the Green Knight knelt down on two knees. He pushed down the neck of his fur mantle, pulled his bush of green hairs forward over his brow, and stretched out his neck.
Gawain gave himself no time to doubt or fear. Quickly he gripped the lace-wrapped ax handle and heaved the ax high. Down it dove, cut through the giant’s neck as through cheese, and rang against the stone floor.
The head fell, bounced, and rolled three feet away.
Green blood fountained from the severed neck. The great greenhorse stepped a little aside, snorted, and defecated on the King’s Hall floor.
A sigh rose from the Round Table, but no shout of triumph or relief. And a good thing this was! For the Green Knight’s headless body neither slumped nor fell.
The Green Knight reached out, groping with both hands, one, two, three feet. He grasped the head by its hair and lifted it.
Then he stood up, set foot in stirrup and mounted.
With one hand he took up his reins. The other hand held out his head at arm’s length toward Gawain.
The closed eyelids lifted up. The gaping mouth hardly moved, but the head said
Lancelot’s hands trembled on the Round Table. He leaned a little forward, striving to break the spell that bound them all.
Gawain drew gasping breath. He, Gawain, must break the spell before Lancelot did!
A hand touched his shoulder and sent energy surging through locked muscles. Like lightning, awakeness flooded his innards. He glimpsed Niviene, just lifting her small hand away.
Gawain shot up off the bench. His locked throat opened. “Sire!” He yelled to Arthur. “Not right! Unseemly!”
Intent on hefting the great green ax, Arthur yet heard him. He looked up and gestured for Gawain to come forward.
Gawain stepped back over the bench and tried to hasten to the dais. Dizzy smoke seemed to trip him up. On his way he stumbled against several broad, seemingly paralyzed backs. The journey to the dais needed only a few strides, but Gawain arrived there panting.
Meaning to drop to one knee before Arthur, he crashed down.
“Sire.” His voice cracked like the giant’s. But he forced high, gallant language from his tongue. “It were unseemly that you, our High King, should risk your life on a game, while so many bold knights sit here about you.”
Arthur nodded broadly to that.
Gawain continued, firmer and clearer with every elegant word. “This business is not fitting for you, nor for any of your most wise and skillful knights. All know that I am the least of your knights. My only virtue is that you are my uncle. Sire, give this game to me.”
Arthur nodded to that. He could hardly refuse, for what Gawain said was simply true. He was too valuable for this foolish risk. He said, “God bless you, Nephew. May heart and hand be steady.” And he handed over the green ax.
Gawain rose—more smoothly than he had knelt—and faced the giant.
“Tell me your name,” the Green Knight roared. “I would know with whom I play!” His voice came hollow through the bristly green beard.
“In truth,” Gawain answered with ceremonious courtesy, “I am called Gawain, I who offer you this blow, whatever may follow. And this time next year I will take your blow, with whatever weapon you choose.”
“By God!” blustered the Green Knight. “You have well recited the covenant I asked of the King! Swear now by your Honor that you will seek me, a year from now, wherever you may find me, and take back the blow you give today.”
“Where will I find you?” Gawain asked, testing and lifting the ax. “I know neither your name nor your country or home.”
“After you have struck,” the Green Knight declared, “I will tell you that. And if I cannot tell you, then you’re the better off. Ha, ha! Much the better off! Come now, show me how you strike.”
“Gladly, Sir, in truth.”
Swiftly, for all his bulk, the Green Knight knelt down on two knees. He pushed down the neck of his fur mantle, pulled his bush of green hairs forward over his brow, and stretched out his neck.
Gawain gave himself no time to doubt or fear. Quickly he gripped the lace-wrapped ax handle and heaved the ax high. Down it dove, cut through the giant’s neck as through cheese, and rang against the stone floor.
The head fell, bounced, and rolled three feet away.
Green blood fountained from the severed neck. The great greenhorse stepped a little aside, snorted, and defecated on the King’s Hall floor.
A sigh rose from the Round Table, but no shout of triumph or relief. And a good thing this was! For the Green Knight’s headless body neither slumped nor fell.
The Green Knight reached out, groping with both hands, one, two, three feet. He grasped the head by its hair and lifted it.
Then he stood up, set foot in stirrup and mounted.
With one hand he took up his reins. The other hand held out his head at arm’s length toward Gawain.
The closed eyelids lifted up. The gaping mouth hardly moved, but the head said
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