Andrew Land – Sir Gawain and Lady Bertilak
SIR GAWAIN AND THE PRINCESS OF ELFLAND
...CONTINUES...
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Despite the knight’s desire to leave for Gogledd Cymru the next day at dawn, Sir Gawain’s leavetaking from Lord Erles and the rest of the court was delayed by the arrival of the representatives of a huge crowd of escapees, fleeing from the town of Ergyng, capital of the vassal Kingdom by the same name, about fifteen miles northwest of Caer Cleu. Ergyng had been laid waste by the infamous wyrm Gawain had already heard of, the vile Chreibadsysg, killing the King and his retinue of brave knights in the fight. Now, the delegates could not ask for anyone better than the renowned Knight of the Round Table to undertake the enterprise to vanquish “the hellish nightmare”, as they called it. When Gawain said he might well accept the task, but he would not be back to Caer Cleu for celebrations for quite a while, the Steward of the Kingdom, a white-haired old man called Yswig, even offered immediate compensation in the only form they could afford, a magical necklace which reportedly allowed nightvision and constituted the only remnant of the treasure of Ergyng that they had managed to save from the beast. Gawain replied by unsheating the glowing Galatine and proudly declaring: “But truly I do not have to fear the dark already!” All the bystanders, including Lord Erles, were very impressed, for the dark hall, only halflit through a few, tall windows, had been fully illuminated by Gawain’s sword. Nonetheless, he immediately put it back into its sheath and added: “I will kill your wyrm, be assured of this, but I ask for no reward. Just do not await my return before a long while, certainly not before the New Year”. And, after these words, they finally let him leave the court and the city.
Sir Gawain passed through the West Gate of Caer Cleu and took the nameless road leading him westward through Din Forest, until it crossed the Din Road on the hills north of the town of Mihangel Din, whence both the forest and the road took their name, meaning ‘fortress’, which has remained until our days in the anglicized form Dean. The dedication of the town-fortress to Mihangel was, of course, meant for the Archangel Michael, under whose auspices Gawain had left Camelot, so he took a little deviation south to stop by the local church and pay his homage. It was upon his return from Mihangel Din to the crossing that Gawain met the Red and Blue Knights. Interrupted by his arrival in the middle of some dispute, after exchanging courteous salutations, they informed him that eventually, after fasting for two weeks and praying for a solution to their disagreements, the bishop they had met at Mihangel Din had settled their quarrel by blessing them together at the same time. Nonetheless, now that they had finally been able to leave, they could not decide whether their shared blessing required that they shared their journey, or their ways could part, since the Red Knight had heard that the Pearl of Wisdom had been stolen by Moelwyn Llir the outlaw, who lived in Wyrral in the north, whereas the Blue Knight instead had been told that the Pearl had been claimed by the giant Cawrdaf ap Clydan, who ruled the fortress of Celynnan, in the far south. Gawain warned them of the presence of the wyrm Chreibadsysg in Ergyng, but he had to witness how the information did not help them at all in taking a decision, because they both argued, on one hand, that having to face the beast would steal time from their main quest, while, on the other, avoiding the wyrm would be called cowardice. So, when he realized the two Knights were again so focused on their dispute they had forgotten about Gawain’s presence, he shrugged and took the Din Road northward, vaguely amused by the bizarre encounter.
The road went straight down, then up into what were now the ruins of Ergyng, but Gawain got off his horse Gringolet, as the latter trotted into the waste city, and he ran aside, hiding in a long, deep cleft in the ground, his sword in hand. Predictably, his stallion would ride in circles around the cleft, looking for him, as the plates of his harness loudly clanged and lured Chreibadsysg his way, who could kill it by stabbing from below. However, as Gawain heard the wyrm approaching, the claws of its legs scraping the ground in a rushed, serpentine fury, he wondered whether the wyrm might be so smart to realize his plans, and that thought saved his life. In fact, Chreibadsysg did not even stop before the cleft to check whether somebody was there, but immediately launched its ugly, birdlike beak into the pit, only missing Gawain by an inch! That little measure was enough to decide the match, though, as Gawain now had the monster’s head in the range of his sword, and, by the strength of no less than three, well-aimed blows in a swift succession, beheaded it without compliments. Too bad that the head was too large to be added to those already hanging from Gringolet’s back, but at least he could take three or four teeth.
It was a huge head, three feet tall, three feet wide, three feet long, but what was even more appalling was the rest of the body of Chreibadsysg: a thirty-feet long, six-legged, winding succession of brown-yellowish scales, from neck to tail. Gawain retrieved Gringolet and made camp in the ruins of Ergyng, lighting a fire to warm up his bruised body. He spent the next two days there, too, washing himself in the nearby river Gwy, tending to his bruises with the miracle ointment he had been given by Hylias before leaving Camelot, and getting the rest he deserved after his heroic feat. Wild beasts and monsters had started avoiding him, because even they feared the slayer of the wyrm, so he was utterly undisturbed.
On the third day, Gawain resumed his journey by following upwards the winding course of river Gwy, and he had a lot of fun hunting boars along the way, into the wilderness. Their tusks added another figure to his collection of trophies. On the fifth day after the killing of Chreibadsysg, which was the 26th of November, Gawain reached the town of Henffordd, whose Lord Cedrych could not host him as he was away hunting. While Gawain was taking some respite at the Sleepy Lion’s tavern, he was offered a herd of cows in exchange for a wyrm’s tooth. As Gawain kindly declined, the offer was raised time and time again until it reached two herds of cows, a herd of sheep, a hen, three cocks and a filly, when he realized that only after he left the tavern they would be assured he truly had no bargain in mind at all. Gawain spent the night at the Lazy Lass’s, but he had a bad surprise as he checked his stuff after he got up: the Mirror of Saerin was missing! After spending the whole morning in his enquiries, Gawain ascertained his precious had been stolen by a girl named Treiri, who apparently was a witch, and had been seen fleeing on her mare westward on the Old Road to Maen, the Roman Magnis. Gawain launched himself on her trail, but she had considerable advantage, and even by gallopping into Maen, as he came there she was already gone, reportedly southward on Watling Street. Before he could find her, Treiri had already reached the village of Byrn Bugeilio, on river Wysg. As Gawain broke into her house, Galatine in both hands, Treiri turned into a crow and flew out the window, leaving the knight to face an old man with a very long beard and a staff. The man pronounced a few incomprehensible words and Galatine left Gawain’s hand to start hovering in the air, attacking his former wielder. Gawain could not reach the old man because the sword protected him, but at least he could retrieve the mirror. Being the challenge beyond his powers, before he might get killed, he used his shield to protect himself while his other hand rubbed the glass, then he blinked thrice and said: “Hilly-silly-billy-gangandharbulus!”
Being caught in his usual amazement at his beloved’s beauty, the vision of Faebrielle caused Gawain so much wonder that for a moment he forgot to defend himself, and his former sword pierced his right elbow. Anyway, the same wonder made him numb to pain, therefore he managed to keep staring at the mirror as he used the shield in his left hand to cast the sword back away, while Faebrielle said: “My love, I hate to see you suffer! Ask the question, please!” Gawain was sad at thinking he might never thereafter see Faebrielle again, but on the other hand he might well die if he did not ask, so he did: “How do I get my sword back?” Faebrielle did not even blink before replying: “The wizard’s name is Wyrfynd of Caer Cleu. Spell it backwards, then add: ‘Evaelululian caelandor’, and finally add your sword’s name and your own. Please keep in mind there is nothing wrong with the child. I love you, Sir Gawain, my dear. I will be waiting for you”, she said, then the light in the far west went out, and the whole glass turned black. Gawain’s shield had been almost entirely splintered in repelling Galatine’s attacks, so he had to dodge the sword as he spoke: “Dnyfryw fo Reac Uelc. Evaelululian caelandor. Galatine Gawain”. Immediately, the sword fell down, Gawain took it by the hilt before it reached the floor, and he pointed it at Wyrfynd’s throat, who gulped. “Who bought your services, wizard?” “Nobody”, he replied. Gawain pressed his swordpoint against Wyrfynd’s throat, so that a few drops of blood fell on the latter’s tunic. “Nobody bought me, I swear! That does not mean I was not blackmailed”. “I’m listening”, Gawain pointed out. “Treiri’s my apprentice and lover. The Black Knight kidnapped our infant son and threatened to kill him unless we lured you into an ambush and killed you. Now the three of us are all going to die!” “Calm down, old man. And tell your crow lover she can stop watching from the window and come in”. Wyrfynd made a gesture toward the window, then the crow came in and returned to the human shape of the young witch Treiri. “Listen, both of you”, Gawain said, keeping Faebrielle’s words about the child in mind. “However evil the Black Knight might be, even he cannot break the laws of Elfland, and I know for sure that by those laws no harm can come to your child. So, please, return to Caer Cleu together, as they still wonder there what happened to their wise wizard, and I promise you that, after I defeat the Black Knight, I will bring you back your child sound and safe”. “Rhys. His name is Rhys. And thank you, good sir”, Treiri said, to which Wyrfynd added: “Yes. Thank you, Sir Gawain”.
The odd couple hosted Gawain for four nights, before his miracle ointment managed to heal his pierced elbow well enough to travel, and also Gringolet was glad of being able to rest after days spent gallopping. By the time Gawain was back to Maen, it was December already, and when he was able to take Watling Street northward from Maen to Caer Urnarc through Breuan, it was even the eighth day of the month. Before reaching Breuan, Gawain was assaulted by a group of Wild Men of the Woods, and, in order to get well after that tiresome fight, he had to spend a couple more days in the town before leaving to Caer Urnarc, the capital of the vassal Kingdom of Powys, which nowadays we call Wroxeter. He arrived there on the fifteenth, after vanquishing the abominable ogres of the marshes. At this point, Gringolet was so burdened with his battle-trophies that he had to decide to keep only one head per type of creature. However, he kept all the wyrm’s fangs. King Angwyn blessed his arrival to Caer Urnarc and informed him that he had indeed heard of a place called the Green Chapel somewhere close to the Wyrral Peninsula, hearing which greatly relieved Gawain. However, the knight had to make it clear that he would necessarily leave the next day before sunrise, no questions asked, and no matter what. The King was slightly disappointed, but he had to accept.
That night, Gawain had a terrible nightmare. The scene was the same of the dream he had had before leaving Camelot, the dream that revealed him his future son, but now everything was wrong. To begin with, it looked like a memory, not the future, as Gawain was much younger than the present, being barely a teenager. As he held the newborn in his hands, then, he saw that the baby was black-haired, and this time Gawain did not wake up upon seeing him, but came closer to the bed where the mother lay. To Gawain’s horror, he saw she was not Faebrielle, but his own aunt Morgan! Besides, he realized how the younger version of himself was under her spell, because he bent over her and kissed her. “Name him!” Morgan commanded, as she took the baby in her arms. “Morfardd”, young Gawain declared. “And Morfardd shall be. I will raise him to be a warrior as great as you, and, who knows, maybe even greater. But you will now leave and forget about his very existence, until the day comes when you will ask the Red Lion about the Green Man”. Bewitched Gawain left the room, but Gawain the dreamer was forced to see Morgan over the years, raising their child in hate against his own father, until the day came when Morfardd came to Camelot in disguise as a Black Knight to claim his revenge against Gawain. When he woke up, horrified by his visions, Gawain left Caer Urnarc in the middle of the night and wandered upon uncertain pathways in the mist, losing track of time, his whereabouts, and any direction.
The mist seemed to envelope nature itself in the unearthly quality of his own, gloomy thoughts, and days seemed like years in that eery setting. At some point he realized being sitting on the ground instead of the saddle, before a fire he did not recall having lit. He casually noticed being hurt on his hip, but he did not care, nor was he in any mood to tend to the many scratches he could see on Gringolet’s legs. Besides, Gawain thought, the miracle ointment was finished, just like his provisions after the foxes came… when did that happen? Two, three, or a hundred days earlier? For some reason, the notion amused him, and he laughed out loud, but his was a bitter, hysterical laughter, one that could not cheer him up at all. He was desperately anguished by the mere thought that his dream in Caer Urnarc was true, that he had to be the sworn enemy of his own son, and he even wondered for a second whether he should give up Faebrielle’s hand to Morfardd, but his very instincts warned him against that option. Besides his love for her, he had been given to think his alleged son’s rule over Elfland would corrupt that blessed realm. But there was so much in that whole plot he could not understand at all… For instance, what was the meaning of the Red Lion, the emblem on the coat of arms of Ergyng, in Morgan’s prophecy? Why even letting him know, and why just then? But, then again, did anything at all still make sense?
He was stranded in darkness in a sea of mist, seemingly out of space and time altogether, and might as well be dead already, for all he knew. He might never find the Green Knight, and who might say whether New Year’s Day had passed already? After leaving Caer Urnarc, his memories were all jumbled together with visions and dreams… He could not use the Mirror anymore to ask his love for the answers he needed, just now when those answers could change everything. But of course the fabled Elven treasure itself was only a piece of junk to him, after he had finished his allotted chances to consult it. Even his collection of battle trophies, still burdening Gringolet, now looked rather dull, however further enriched by bull-horns, more boar-tusks, a couple of deer-antlers, and the fangs of two smaller wyrms. As he tried recalling the fight with the wyrms, which most likely was when he and Gringolet had gotten their bruises and wounds, Gawain instead reminded, or thought of reminding, having met once more the Red and Blue Knight at some point, this time quarreling about who between them should have had the honour to behead the other first. The queer thing was that each of them claimed the honour should belong to the other, who could not accept such a privilege, and wished to lose his own head instead. Gawain imagined how he might have told them not to fight over dying first, but over the honour to win back the Pearl of Wisdom from him, who had retrieved it after vanquishing alone the whole band of outlaws of Moelwyn Llir. Had that truly happened? Gawain wondered, but he fell asleep over the thought, dreaming weird visions of knights of all colours fighting over the right to rule all butterflies and other nonsensical pretenses.
As Gawain awoke from his slumber, he was covered in snow and shivering. The sun had come up, dissipating all the mist, but everything looked the same around him: a whitened, silent forest of sparse trees in all directions. Thanks to the foxes, he could not even have breakfast, so he mounted Gringolet without great enthusiasm (a feeling shared by his steed, who snorted), and resumed his search for the Green Chapel. He did not even know where to start from, since he had lost his way, and might even be looking in the same place where he had already been to, but he kept searching. Hours passed, and nothing changed, as he could not even detect the movement of a squirrel. Everything was still, silent, empty. Was he still dreaming? What if the whole matter, Black Knight, Green Knight, Elven Princess, and all, was just a long, unending dream he could not awaken from? What if he just had to find a way to wake up? Being distracted by such thoughts, he was convinced of the reality of his experience when he got a low branch of a nearby tree in his face, thereby being unhorsed and falling into the snow. As he got up, his sense of despair reached its climax when he saw that his horse was walking over his own hoofprints. The sun was rapidly descending into the West, and somehow Gawain retrieved his sense of time by realizing within his devout soul it was Christmas Eve.
Gawain mounted Gringolet once more and recited all the prayers he knew, especially interweaving a full Rosary to Our Lady with the Invocation to Saint Julian, Protector of the travelers, to find a good hostel for him and Gringolet to spend the night, be fed, recover, and be able to attend the Christmas Mass. Even as he prayed so, lo! In the far distance he heard a bell, and sighted smoke from chimneys. As he rode that way, he saw a majestic castle of great splendour rising in the middle of the forest, so he came to its gates, halting before the drawbridge, although it was not raised. A porter immediately appeared on the walls, asking who the traveler was, and, upon learning he was Sir Gawain of Camelot, apologized even for asking and, after opening the heavy gates, ceremoniously invited the knight to come in, welcoming him as the most important of guests and politely asking him to be followed before Lord Berleddisg, who apparently was eagerly waiting for him.
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“Where are we?” Gawain asked the porter, as the latter escorted him through candlelit corridors and magnificent halls, after they had seen Gringolet was properly fed and taken care of in the large stables. “This manor, good Sir”, the porter replied, “is called the castle of Uchel Anialwch, and belongs to the stuff of legends”. “How so?” “’Tis said none may find it who has never been thereto before, unless their motivation is pure and blameless”. “I am honoured to hear so”. “The honour is ours, Sir Gawain, to be able to host such a paragon of valour and virtue”. “I truly do hope I will not disappoint you”. “You certainly will not, noble Sir”.
Eventually they reached what the porter described as the Hall of Thorns, according to him deriving its name from the huge hawthorn tree trunk that had been incorporated in the main wall. From its roots a high seat had been shaped, upon which a massive nobleman sat smiling, caressing his red beard. Lord Berleddisg did not wait for further introductions upon seeing them enter the hall, but swiftly got up and reached the knight, strongly hugging him. “Dear Sir, Gawain, how long we have been waiting for your arrival! We had nearly lost hope you would indeed come! Prithee, tell us, what in Our Lord’s name caused your delay?” Gawain was confused by such a warm welcome, but thought it only polite to reply by declaring himself at their service, although the first thought that came into his mind was that probably they had some dangerous task to assign him, like it had been the case with the people from Ergyng sending him to kill the wyrm. Lord Berleddisg chuckled, then said: “If you are at my service, good Gawain, then prithee, consider yourself at home, and make use of this castle, and everything herein, and everybody here dwelling, as though you were Lord Berleddisg’s Lord, and thence his most honoured of guests”. “I am certainly unworthy of such honours, dear Lord, but, provided it was a suitable option and not too much trouble for anyone, I would avail myself of a piece of bread and a sip of wine, a hot bathtub, clean clothes, and your kind permission to attend the Christmas function”.
Actually, after being escorted to his chambers, Gawain was bathed in rose-water by fair handmaids, who thereafter dried him, oiled him, and massaged him, then dressed him up in princely clothes, and served him a meal worthy of a Camelot feast! The knight had little time to ponder the reasons for such a generous treatment before being escorted to the Christmas Mass he had asked to attend: it was such a solemn, inspiring function, and for a moment he felt free from all his troubles, almost like if he had finally found his true home… It was just a moment of relief, of course, for he immediately recalled his quest as the reason to leave his only true home, Camelot. “I need to have a word with Lord Berleddisg alone”, Gawain thought.
That evening the whole court of Uchel Anialwch was assembled for a feast in the Hall of Thorns, and Gawain was introduced to the two Ladies of the castle, both of them hiding their faces behind a veil, and lifting it only to honour the knight who kissed their hands. The first of them, introduced as Lady Breifalire, was a loathly crone who must be the most hideous hag Gawain had ever seen. Her prominent, yellow teeth recalled the wyrm’s fangs, her eyes were crooked, even her lips had hair on them, and her complexion suggested sickness. Among a succession of burps, growls, and grunts, all Gawain could get from her was a single word: “Stay”. The contrast between the two Ladies could never be greater when the second one, introduced as Lady Reyniette, wife of Lord Berleddisg, unveiled her face: she was Faebrielle, the Elven Princess of his visions!
Recovering from the initial shock, and trying not to look as astonished as he was, Gawain observed that the Lady introduced to him as Reyniette actually looked almost the same as his Faebrielle, but was undoubtedly human, since her hair was brown as chestnuts, not green like mistletoe, and neither her skin was the colour of grass, but the pale pink of seashells. Besides, he noticed how Lady Reyniette had a visible eye-shaped birthmark on her neck, which was lacking on the Elven Princess. Nonetheless, Gawain thought, hers was still the most beautiful appearance a woman might crave, even fairer than Queen Guinevere, who was reportedly considered to be the fairest of all women. What did that mean, Gawain wondered. “Am I too late? Did Faebrielle marry Lord Berleddisg? What about the Green Knight?” Since these questions burnt fiercely inside Gawain’s soul, he finally managed to ask the Lord to speak to him in private, a prospect to which he agreed without second thoughts. They climbed the stairs and entered what seemed to be a private study of Lord Berleddisg.
“How may I assist you, my esteemed guest?” the nobleman inquired. “You said you were waiting for me. How did you know I was coming, and what is the purpose of my time spent here? For verily I am grateful for your kind welcome, but I am on an urgent quest, with only a week left to find the Green Chapel before New Year’s Day, and no idea where it is…” Lord Berleddisg offered Gawain a cup of red wine, and said: “Cheers to you, Sir Gawain, for you have almost completed your quest! Indeed, I have the honour to be the one who informs you that you have found the Green Chapel, as it stands less than ten miles from here. On New Year’s Day, I swear, I will have one of my men show you the way to get there. All I am asking of you in exchange is the pleasure to have you as our guest until then, for truly it is rare to have such a revered champion at one’s court”. Although still wary, Gawain accepted the offer, and the host added: “By the way, to answer your other question, Merlin the Wizard visited us during last Spring. He was after a mirror of sorts, I think. But certainly I recall that he prophesized you would come, and we have been waiting for you since then. In fact, after Christmas we will play a little game, am I right? What might be better than a festive courtly amusement in order to fully enjoy these holidays?” “You are indeed right, Lord Berleddisg. Surely I will play. Nothing might ever be better than that”, was Gawain’s reply, trying to sound as convincing as he could. Admitting he could trust his host, he had been reassured that he would be able to honour his agreement with the Green Knight. Nonetheless, if his beloved Faebrielle actually was the Lady downstairs, married to the same host, what was even the point in going to the Green Chapel at all?
During the next three days, Gawain took part in all the celebrations at Uchel Anialwch, attending Mass also on the days of Saint Stephan, of Saint John the Evangelist, and of the Feast of the Holy Innocents. He ate and drank as expected at court on these days, neither exceeding nor disappointing expectations, and even sang and danced after the tune of many joyful carols being played by minstrels and bards. As he was invited to dance by Lady Reyniette, who had not been wearing the veil ever since, he could not refuse, and started amiably chatting with her, who seemed to be teasing him, however she did not give away any decisive clue whether she was the Elven Princess or not. Having danced with Lady Reyniette, Gawain was forced to also dance with the equally unveiled Lady Breifalire, who looked even uglier than earlier, if possible. After they had finished, she uttered another word: “Kiss”. As the other time before, he gallantly kissed her hand and took his leave.
That evening, Lord Berleddisg summoned Gawain to his study again. As he entered the chamber, he saw his host standing before the fireplace, sipping red wine from a cup. Berleddisg offered Gawain another cup, and, after a toast, he explained: “I saw your collection of trophies. Very impressive, I have to admit. If I invited you to join my hunt, there would be no game for me. For, you see, I am ashamed to confess it before the Master of all hunters, such as you undoubtedly are, but I am a hunter myself. So, I came up with another idea. Thoughts?” Gawain was embarassed. “You greatly overestimate me, Lord Berleddisg”. “I seriously doubt it. But hear my proposal: I will go hunting for three days, and you will stay here in the castle, with everything and everybody at your complete disposal. Then each day, at dinner, we will meet up, tell each other about our day, and exchange our winnings. Isn’t it fun? What do you say?” Gawain was puzzled by the weird agreement proposed, but could not see any harm in it, so he said: “I told you I would play, so I stand by my word”. “Great. Have a good night of sleep, Sir, then let our game begin!”
The next morning, to Gawain’s surprise, he was woken up by the sound of someone intruding into his room. His amazement was even greater when he realized the identity of the intruder: it was none other than the Lady Reyniette, the same woman who shared almost every detail of her appearance with his Elven love! For the time being, he thought of nothing better than pretending to be still sleeping, so that he could at least ascertain her intent. However, if he still meant to pretend she had no ill in mind, when she sat on his bed and started caressing his hair and face, he had no choice but waking up. “Good morning, Sir Gawain”, she said, endearingly. For a moment he actually thought of ignoring his suspicions she might not be Faebrielle, ignoring the fact that the Lady in front of him was his host’s wife, and ignoring the absurd bargain he had made with him, just to surrender to the irresistible lure of that gorgeous woman in her nightgown and make love with her until his breath was taken away… Her eyes might not be pink like the Elven maiden’s, but he could still see the flickering light of desire lit within them, as she contemplated every inch of his body as a lioness might scan her prey. Her cheeks might not turn orange as she blushed, but he was not entirely sure her shamelessness was a flaw. Her skin was not like an unripe lemon, but he still wished to taste its flavour. Her curves were not that slender, but the sinuous roundness of her plump breasts was a feast for the eyes and, unless he managed to control himself, would soon be such for his hands and lips too. “What an unexpected pleasure to find you here, Milady. How may your faithful knight serve you?” She laughed. “I would like the heroic, courteous Gawain, to teach me everything he knows about love”. Gawain swallowed. “I am sorry, but I have nothing to teach you. I know nothing about love”. “Oh, dear Sir! Then why do all women love you?” “Are you sure they do? And, even so, shouldn’t you rather ask them?” “I am one of them, and I think it is because you are always kind and gentle”. “I am obliged, Milady”. “Then will the kind, gentle knight not teach me how to love?” she asked, revealing even more bosom than earlier, and provokingly blinking. “Of course”, he replied, choking from the pressure. “I can teach you that the highest form of love is love unrequited, because the person who thus loves is a benefactor who gives oneself to another person without expecting anything in return, not even the acceptance of the gift”. She looked disappointed. “Such a harsh, demeaning lesson. But I will take it if you grant me but the small benefit of a kiss”. “Of course”.
When Lord Berleddisg returned from his hunting, he brought Gawain a stag, and received a kiss on his lips instead. The host laughed, and commanded dinner be served. That night the hideous Lady approached Gawain, still sitting at the table, and told him: “Kiss kiss”, before leaving. Gawain shuddered, wondering if the old hag was also demented, besides ugly. When it was time, Gawain saluted the Lord and the young Lady and went to bed, only to be woken up in the morning once more by the latter getting into his chamber. This time he did not pretend to be sleeping, but bid her a good morning. “A proper good morning is such only if accompanied by a kiss”, she said, and he was taken aback by her audacity, as she jumped on the bed and tongue-kissed him, before he could say anything. Gawain had to fight all his very instincts, but somehow managed to stay still and display coldness even when a mirror image of his love lay upon him, pressing her tongue throughout his mouth. “Do you have another woman, Gawain?” “Why do you ask?” “Because we should be making love now!” “Are you Faebrielle?” “In case it helps, yes!” He was shocked, but then she coldly added: “You can call me Arthur, for all I care”. “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Milady”. “I’m not disappointed by you. I thought I was beautiful…” “I can tell you there is nobody on Earth as beautiful as you, not even Queen Guinevere”. “Then how can you reject me?” “Because I love somebody who does not live on this Earth…” “…I see. I did hear there were knights who were also monks…” Gawain sighed. “Blessed be them, I’m not one of them either”. She laughed. “Then you won’t deny me one other kiss before I leave”. “I won’t”, Gawain conceded. What he had not expected was that this time, as they kissed, he had for a moment the exact impression he was kissing his Faebrielle instead of her likeness, as he could see her all green, and even the birthmark was gone. This time, even more than the day before, as she left the room it was he who was left there, craving for more…
In the evening, at dinner, Gawain gave Lord Berleddisg two kisses, receiving a boar in return. The host looked pleased, but Gawain could not abstain from thinking that the Lord could only smile because unaware whose kisses Gawain was returning to him… Even as he thought so, Lady Breifalire whispered to his ear: “Gift”, then went away. What did she mean? Did she mean anything at all? However, that night Gawain went to bed thinking that, at this point, he should do all that was in his power to resist his passions for the third day as well, then he would just have to see what the Green Knight had in store for him, and the whole thing would be over, for better or worse.
In his sleep, Gawain dreamt that he and Faebrielle were married, and they were going to make love on their first night as a married couple. She was already naked, and was undressing him too, when he felt something was wrong. As he woke up, he had to realize this time Reyniette had gotten into his room without waking him up, had undressed herself, and was trying to make love with him in his sleep. How gorgeous her naked body was in the halflight… But he immediately detached from her, and told her to get dressed. “Only with a kiss” she said, and he consented. Again, for a moment she was Faebrielle… but he drew back, seeing which she hugged him and kissed him once more. Gawain prayed Our Lady to keep his control, and managed to communicate coldness also physically. Only when she felt that detachment in him, she backed off and got dressed again. Her hair was brown, her skin was white, but this time her garment was green. “Will you at least remember me?” “I could hardly forget you if I wished to, which I don’t…” he declared. “Take this as a token of my love”, she said, offering him a golden ring wherein a diamond was set. “I could never accept so rich a treasure”, he pointed out. “Will you then leave me something yours?” “I only bear tools of war, unfit for a Lady…” Reyniette then unlaced her green girdle and said: “Take this green sash. Whoever bears it cannot be killed”. Gawain was interested: “Are you sure?” “Of course. But I want another kiss”.
In the afternoon, Gawain went to the castle church and confessed himself. This time, he had gone way beyond lustful thoughts, having come within inches of making love with a married woman, with whom he had played a game of teasing and flirting akin to fornication, not to mention all their kisses. Besides, he certainly was not going to return his wife’s girdle to Lord Berleddisg that evening, thus proving himself a coward and unworthy. However, the priest surprisingly absolved him of all his sins, saying they were venial, or even not sins at all. “The rules of a courtly game are not the same as God’s Law. Fear is no sin at all, and even can be a virtue when it is fear of the Lord Almighty. So, you can do as you wish with the sash. Moreover, I think most men, and even some clergy, succumb completely to way lesser temptations of the flesh, and you did not. I would truly say Our Lady blesses you. Go in peace”, the priest told Gawain, partly reminding him of Father Poc, back in Camelot. So, on his last evening at Uchel Anialwch, Gawain exchanged three kisses with a fox, and kept a green girdle. Lady Reyniette was nowhere to be seen, while the old crone, Breifalire, this time did not say anything, but she flaunted a smile which almost made her look less ugly.
* * *
On New Year’s Day, in the early morning, Sir Gawain mounted Gringolet and, following the guide Lord Berleddisg had appointed to lead him to the Green Chapel, eventually left the castle of Uchel Anialwch. The landscape surrounding them was still covered in snow, but it was not a grey desolation as on Christmas, when the castle seemed like the last flicker of hope in a barren wasteland, and the impression Gawain had, before being surprised by a warm welcome, was that he, like the forest, was a ragged beggar desperate for attention. In the glimmer of the first sunlight, now, the woods rather suggested the unsullied white dress a child might wear on the day of his Baptism, thus mirroring Gawain’s clear conscience after his confession in the chapel the day before. They followed in utter silence an half-buried track among the trees, almost like two pilgrims walking the naves of a great cathedral, until the path split in opposite directions, and the guide halted. He was a young man, named Byrne, almost as old as Gawain, brown hair, blue eyes, a scar on his upper lip. “Listen”, he spoke, turning towards the knight. “Nobody has to know. We will just say you got there and nobody came. Your honour will not be spoilt, and you will not lose your life. I am certain Lord Berleddisg himself will sigh in relief when he sees you coming back unscathed”. Gawain smiled. “I am Sir Gawain, son of King Lot, and I am a Knight of the Round Table. My shield is Mercy, my sword is Justice, my word is Truth”. Byrne, clearly impressed, nodded. “Sorry, Sir. Sorry, Sir. Just a thought… I am no knight, and a craven. But come this way, follow me, we are almost there…” They took the path on their right, and after a few turns arrived into a large clearing in the centre of which a mound rose, green under its white cap of snow. “Here you are, Sir. I am sure, now, you will be able to find the entrance by yourself, because, you see, I really have some pressing business left unfinished at Uchel Anialwch, so, if I may have your permission…” And, even without waiting for Gawain to nod his assent, Byrne spurred his horse and galloped back away in a rush…
What they called the Green Chapel was disquieting, Gawain in his mind conceded to justify his guide’s behaviour, but not so disquieting as to discourage him too. Then, as he entered the clearing, what in the past year Gawain had only seen in his dreams materialized before him, between him and the mound. The Black Knight from his worst nightmares, the only man who had unhorsed him in a joust, the illegitimate fruit of dark magic and deception born from his unwitting incest with his aunt Morgan, stood right there on in the middle of the clearing, mounting his black stallion and was looking at him. “Hello, daddy!” he shouted, provokingly. But Gawain would not let himself be hindered anymore. “I am not your father”, he coldly declared, adamant in his convictions. “Wait until mommy hears about this!” the boy exclaimed, as he put off his helmet, revealing a face incredibly similar to Gawain’s, only younger. “It was you who named me, how can you not remember, dad? I am your son, Morfardd!” “You are not my son”, Gawain loudly stated, “because you do not even exist”. Morfardd froze, as an expression resembling sheer terror appeared on his face. He swiftly unsheated his sword and spurred his stallion into a charge, yelling: “Nooooo!!!” Gawain did the same, but he had no rush, and certainly would not shout. The two knights met each other in the lowest spot of the clearing, as the ground then gradually rose on both sides they came from, both towards the forest and the mound. Morfardd’s sword bounced upon his opponent’s new shield, a common wooden piece that the armorer at Uchel Anialwch had given him, and that now burst into splinters, but Gawain’s sword cut off Morfardd’s head, thus ending their fight for good. As Gawain turned his horse back, there was no trace left of either the stallion or the headless body, but Morfardd’s severed head was hovering in the air, looking at him. “How did you know?” the head asked him. “My love for Faebrielle would not let me sleep with her like. Thus I knew, even under a spell, I could never sleep with my own aunt”, Gawain said. “Yours was still only a guess”, the head remarked. “Or so lack of faith would speak”, Gawain observed, upon hearing which what was left of Morfardd grinded its teeth in a horrible grimace, then faded into thin air, as though the man bearing that name never existed at all.
Gawain got off his horse and explored the mound, looking for an entrance. He could almost hear a voice from the Green Chapel, as though a monk was reciting his Praises. By following that voice, he managed to find a hidden opening under some roots, and he bent his head in order to enter. The Chapel inside looked like a tomb, but a ray of light came in through a hole in the ceiling, lighting what at first could pass for a statue, but, after opening a single, red, bloodshot eye, revealed itself as the Green Knight. Gawain, whose heartbeat pounded like Norwegian drums, took a few long, deep breaths before kneeling in front of the Green Man and offering him his neck. The Giant loudly laughed: “So you do have a tiny grain of honour, after all! I recognize it: you have come here, to respect our agreement”. Then, though, the Green Knight spoke in all seriousness: “Now, let us see what my axe finds”, and, as he said so, he raised another huge green axe of his, entirely alike the one he had left at Camelot. Gawain slightly flinched after the thought of being beheaded, so the Giant did not give him his blow. “Would you rather go, Sir? Or have you come here for a reason?” “I am sorry”, was all Gawain could reply. “Ring-a-ring o’ roses, a pocket full of posies…” the Green Knight grotesquely sang, before feinting to swing his axe into Gawain’s neck. Arthur’s nephew again flinched, and his executioner looked disappointed once more. “…a-tishoo! A-tishoo! But nobody falls down…” he complained. “I promise not to flinch now”, Gawain assured him, and did his best to control himself. The Green Knight looked pleased, and raised his axe again. “Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came…” he muttered this time, adding: “…because he thought aught else would be a shame!” His blow had fallen on Gawain’s neck, but the giant had stopped short of beheading him, barely scratching his skin.
Gawain rose, relieved. “You delivered your blow, Green Knight, and I did not flinch. Our bargain is honoured”. “Indeed, Sir”, the Green Man said, smiling, “and I am happy you and the Princess managed to dispel Morgan’s plot while still honouring the laws of Elfland and the wishes of the late King Oberon”. “What do you mean?” Gawain asked, perplexed. “Oh, you see, it was only a play here. Your fate was sealed in Uchel Anialwch. The rest was only a consequence”, the Giant started explaining. “How so?” Gawain inquired. “Three blows here, like the three days there. Two days respecting our agreement to exchange winnings, two feigned blows. On the third day you kept my wife’s sash, so I scratched you”, the Green Knight concluded. “Wait! What? Are you saying you are…?” Gawain asked, shocked. “Lord Berleddisg, at your service”, his interlocutor introduced himself. “But why?” “We had to test your courage, and you passed by coming here. Only the brave do not fear death, and only the brave may marry the Princess of Elfland. But we also had to test your loyalty to her, so you were also tempted in your faithfulness to her… and you passed that too, brilliantly, I might add. Because Morgan thought that you would fall for my wife Reyniette, being she Faebrielle’s cousin, and so close to her likeness, and even being she enchanted so to remind you of her… But Faebrielle herself had decided to send her cousin, among all the other choices, and Faebrielle herself had enchanted Reyniette, because your beloved had equal faith in you, and she knew you would not succumb to temptation, and instead you would so realize what she could not tell you anymore, that Morgan had deceived you into believing you had had a son named Morfardd with your own aunt. Furthermore, this was the only way you had to prove at the same time that you love Faebrielle, by not resulting entirely untouched by Reyniette, but at least accepting her girdle, so to cause me to shed a few drops of your blood. Only this way might the Gate open”. Gawain was speechless, but somehow he knew what he had to do. He took the girdle in his right hand, and used the left to touch the scratch on his neck, then put his bloodsoaked fingers above the girdle, and, as soon as three drops of his blood fell on the green sash, the Green Knight and the Green Chapel around him disappeared.
This time Gawain himself, all of him, mind, body, and soul, was in Elfland. The sky in the East was tinged with pink, foretelling dawn, and the whole place was a triumph of flowers, like in his visions. Under the pink-barked tree, Faebrielle was waiting for him, smiling adorably. He came to her in the ecstasy of the purest joy he had ever felt, and they hugged each other and kissed for what could have been forever but seemed always too short a time, crying and laughing at the same time in their bliss, finally together, and speechless. When they paused from their kissing, they found themselves in the presence of Glaxamarne the Gnome, Steward of Elfland, whom Gawain had already met, and two centaurs. Glaxamarne explained them how their marriage had to be celebrated immediately, otherwise Gawain would not be allowed to stay, so a brief ceremony was performed before the two centaurs as witness, and Gawain and Faebrielle thereafter also received the crowns of King and Queen of Elfland. They spent that night, like all the others, in the Royal Palace, and, after nine months precisely, Faebrielle gave birth to Gwynwalch, a boy, the heir to the throne of Elfland. When the child was three months old, Gawain was told by Faebrielle he had to appoint a Steward and return to Uchel Anialwch, so that they could also be together “on the other side”. Gawain trusted her, so he nodded his assent.
The next day, Gawain kissed goodbye to his son and returned to the place where the pink-barked tree stood. Once there, he noticed the scratch on his neck was bleeding again, so he let a few blooddrops fall on the green girdle once more, and istantly found himself back into the Green Chapel. There was no sign of the Green Knight, so he went outside and found Gringolet still waiting for him. “Good old boy”, he patted him on his back, and jumped on his saddle. After not too long a ride, he arrived in Uchel Anialwch, greeted by a whole crowd of people. Once he was escorted into the Hall of Thorns, Lord Berleddisg welcomed him dearly and said: “The knight who defeated Death itself deserves a marvelous reward. Name one woman in this court, whoever you may choose, and she, maiden or married woman, will be yours”. In other words, Gawain thought, I have to recognize Faebrielle here “on the other side”. She cannot be Reyniette, because that is her cousin… and then Gawain realized. Faebrielle had been guiding him all along, one word at a time. “I choose Lady Breifalire”. Lord Berleddisg gasped, then smiled. “Kiss her, and she will be yours forever”. And, as Gawain did so, the ugly crone turned into Faebrielle. “My love”, she said, “ I can only be fair at day, and hideous at night, or the other way around. What do you choose?” Gawain had no doubts. “Such is not a choice for me to take. It is you who has to decide which appearance you would like to have”. “My love!” she exclaimed, happy as a child. “Now, since you left me my choice, I will always be me! You have completely dispelled all of Morgan’s curses!” Gawain sighed, because he recalled a promise he had made. “Not all curses, sadly…” Faebrielle asked him: “What do you mean, my love?” “I had promised a couple in Caer Cleu I would bring their boy back, but I could not find him… He was abducted by the Black Knight, and I have no idea…” “Stttt!” Faebrielle silenced him: “Even this is part of the design of Fate”, she added, mysteriously.
Faebrielle and Gawain got married “on the other side” the next day in Uchel Anialwch, and again they conceived on the night of their wedding, so that they spent nine more months there before she gave birth to Guinglain, Gawain’s second son, but still his firstborn outside Elfland. As soon as Faebrielle recovered from the labour, they took their leave from Lord Berleddisg and began their journey towards Camelot, where they only arrived shortly before Christmas. The return trip was way easier than the former, in part because they often stopped in any safe place to let the mother and the newborn rest, in part because Gawain was now feared and avoided by outlaws and monsters alike, and also because both categories were significantly diminished in numbers after his first journey. They stopped for an especially long time in Caer Cleu, where they were still waiting to celebrate the slayer of the wyrm Chreibadsyg, so they held a huge feast in his honour. Before they came to visit Wyrfynd and Treiri in Caer Cleu, Faebrielle explained to Gawain they had to leave Guinglain in adoption to the couple, who would raise him in the same love they would have had for Rhys… Gawain was shocked, but Faebrielle told him they had no choice, because their time together “on the other side” was almost finished, and they had to appear together at Camelot at least once before she returned to Elfland. “How will I see you then?” “You will always have the Mirror, and every New Year’s Day you may repeat the blood ritual with the girdle and come to visit me in Elfland”. “And you? When will you come here ‘on the other side’, as you say?” “Every time I have a chance to, and I will always tell you, as soon as I know…” Gawain could not do but accept those terms, but he would be fooling himself if he did not admit to himself he had hoped for better.
The parting from another son of theirs was especially painful, but eventually they came to Camelot, where everybody was exceedingly happy to see Gawain, and astonished by the fairy beauty of his bride. They were married again by Father Poc in the Church of Saint Michael, and when they kissed Faebrielle vanished in the air, leaving behind a rain of flower petals. King Arthur asked Gawain to tell the tale of his adventures in detail, and his nephew satisfied his request, but his tale was bitter, now that he and Faebrielle were separated once more, and he said that he blamed himself for accepting the green girdle from Reyniette, because, if he had not, now he would not be missing Faebrielle so much. However, to his utter surprise, nobody took him seriously as he said so: the whole court burst into laughter, and they even agreed all of them would wear green sashes in his honour! Gawain sighed, but he also felt relief, for in some weird way being misunderstood now felt like home to him, and also because he could not deny that, objectively speaking, he had gained much in all senses since he had left. He could not bring himself to full-fledged laughter, but at least he managed to flaunt what looked like a proud smile, wherein only the brightest might spot a vein of sadness.
EPILOGUE
Merlin had to lean on his oaken staff to manage to climb the steep, rocky steps of the caves, but eventually reached the stony terrace where he knew he would find the sorceress. Morgan was standing on the edge of the natural balcony, looking from above into the magical pool below. “Even you, Morgan…” Merlin began, but soon he had to stop because his heart was pounding too fast from climbing. A thousand generations of mortals I have lived, fresh as a rose, but now, eventually, I feel old and tired… just when my power is most needed. He started anew: “Even you, Morgan, must admit the young knight accomplished quite a feat…” Morgan casually nodded, looking as though he was bothering her over some small matter, while she was busy on something much more important.
“Loyalty…” Merlin mused, quite pleased, “a quality we had thought lost… Instead, perhaps, there is hope for Camelot indeed. There is hope for Avalon. There is hope for mankind. We were not sent here just to be mindless wheels in unending cycles, as you said once…” Morgan frowned. “How can you be so naive, wizard? Even someone as old as you, who remembers the days of Atlantis and Mu, who stole the stones from the Irish Giants, who tasted food from the Cauldron of Dagda, who saw the Flower-Girl Blathnath before she was abducted in the Underworld?” “You know how they say, Morgan, the old bard listens to songs of hope, the young bard to songs of defeat?” “But the young bard sings the songs of hope, and the old bard sings the songs of defeat!” “And yet each of them may sing the songs he listened to”. Morgan frowned again, as though the old wizard was a hopeless case.
“Tell me, Morgan”, Merlin insisted, “what do you hope to see in your precious pool? Are you aware your visions may fool you? Were you not certain Gawain would fail?” Now Morgan was wroth. She backed away from the stony balustrade, and faced her former master. “Beware, WIZARD”, she spoke the word as though it were an insult. Shrouds of darkness seemed to surround her, as Morgan towered over Merlin, her voice echoing through the caves, “I am not your pupil anymore. I have not been for a long time. Now I am the Voice of Thunder, I am the Clouds of Darkness, I am the Fury of Waters. I am the Priestess of Avalon. I am the Lady of the Lake”. She took a deep breath, resuming her normal size, while the dark shrouds around her faded. Morgan smiled upon seeing how impressed Merlin was by her display of power. “What I seek, you ask”, she continued. “Is it not the knowledge everyone seeks? The only knowledge worth knowing? Knowledge of fate?”
Merlin retrieved his stance, tentatively replying: “There are other powers, besides Fate, Morgan. There is choice. There is Mercy”. She laughed out loud. “Do you even listen to yourself? Choice! Mercy!” Morgan bursted into another laughter. Merlin, ignoring her ilarity, stubbornly insisted: “As for what is worth, there certainly are things much worthier to be known, than Fate. Happiness, for one. Love”. Morgan seemed to pity him. “Poor old wizard”, she said. “You have become senile. Let me tell you what I know. Let me tell you about choice, mercy, happiness, and love. Guinevere is unhappy with Arthur. She loves one of his knights, who is torn between love for her and duty, but eventually love shall be his choice. Arthur finds out, and he would show mercy, but he cannot, because he is King. End of Camelot. And what decided this? Fate. And you, Merlin, a pawn in the hands of Fate, when you let a man pursue his intent of adultery, so that Arthur may be conceived. Fate, Merlin. Fate. Not love, not mercy. Fate. Love fooled people at least since Helen of Troy. But you can keep fooling yourself as much as you wish. And you will. Love will be your undoing too, when another pupil of yours will seduce you into teaching her forbidden magic, and she will use it against you to seal you in the ground. Fate, Merlin. Fate. The only thing there is”. And, having said so, Morgan returned to the balustrade.
Merlin was shaking beyond control. A seizure had taken him, and only little by little he managed to regain possession of his muscles and clarity of conscience. In the back of his mind, he thought he had heard from Morgan something important, something that could save someone, but he could not recall whom or what. “What were you saying, Morgan?” he tried asking her. “That it is a pleasure that you come and pay a visit to me every now and then. It reminds me of the old times…” was her mindless reply. “Of course, Morgan. The good old times. Of course. But…” Merlin tried, one last time. “Yes, Merlin?” “Nothing, Morgan. The good old times. Of course”.
THE END
