The Knight

“Witch, wizard, or warlock,” Beel muttered. “Leave us, Master Crol.”

“But, Your Lordship—”

Beel silenced him with a gesture; another sent him hurrying away.

“Is that a glamour, Sir Knight? Are you in fact an aged crone? What form would you show if I were to lash your face with a witch-hazel wand?”

I said, “I don’t know, My Lord. I’m really a boy about your daughter’s age. Maybe you’d see, if you did that. I can’t be sure.”

The smile flickered and died. “I know the feeling. Sir Able, is it? You are a knight? That’s what everyone tells me.”

“Yes, My Lord. I’m Sir Able of the High Heart.”

“Do you wish to travel with us to Jotunland? That’s what I gathered from the man I talked to.”

“No, My Lord. I only want to borrow a horse so I can catch up with my servant.” Just then it struck me that Pouk might have passed them on the road; and I said, “Have you seen him? A young man with a big nose and one eye?”

Beel shook his head. “Suppose I give you a horse, a good one. Will you leave us?”

“At once, My Lord, if you’re willing I should. And I’ll return it as soon as I can.”

“We’re traveling north, and won’t halt until we reach Utgard. Will you follow us there? To return my horse?”

“I’m going to ride ahead of you,” I explained. “I’m supposed to take my stand at a mountain pass and challenge all comers. Before we engage, I’ll return your horse and thank you.”

Beel’s daughter giggled.

Her father gave her a look that would have shut up almost anybody. “I am on the king’s business, Sir Able.”

I said, “A great honor, My Lord. I envy you.”

“But you’ll fight me just the same?”

“I’m honor bound to do it, My Lord. Or to fight your champion, if you designate one.”

Beel nodded. “I have Sir Garvaon with me, the bravest of my knights and the most skilled. Will he do?”

“No problem, My Lord.”

“When he breaks your head and a few other bones, will you expect us to stay our errand to nurse you?”

I said, “Of course not.”

“You don’t fancy yourself invincible? I ask because I was told you were.”

“No, My Lord. I’ve never said that, and I never would.”

“I didn’t say you said it, only that I had been told you thought it. Yesterday, Sir Garvaon mentioned that one of his men had driven off a crippled beggar.”

He waited for me to talk after he said that, so I said, “I hope he gave him something first.”

“I doubt it. I had Sir Garvaon’s man brought to me. I expect beggars in Kingsdoom, not in the wild, and I asked him what the beggar was doing out here. He’d told Sir Garvaon’s man that he was searching for a most noble knight, Sir Able by name, who had promised to take him into his service. You look surprised.”

I was, and I admitted it.

“Who was this beggar, Sir Able? Have you any notion?” I shook my head.

Beel’s daughter said, “You must have given him a few coins and a kind word once.” Her voice was soft, and it made me think of a guitar that some girl was playing alone in a garden at night.

I waited for her to go on, because I wanted to hear more of it, but she did not. Finally I said, “If I did, My Lady, I’ve forgotten it completely.”

“A noble knight,” Beel said it as if he were talking to himself, although I knew he was not. “My grandfather was His Majesty’s grandfather as well, Sir Able.”

I bowed, not really knowing whether I should or not. “It’s an honor to me just to talk to you, My Lord.”

“My father was a prince, the younger brother of His Majesty’s father. It is no small distinction.”

“I know that,” I said.

“I myself am a mere baron, but my older brother is a duke. If he and his son were to perish, I would be duke in my turn, Sir Able.” I did not know what to say, so I just nodded.

“A mere baron. And yet I have my cousin’s confidence. Thus I am sent to the King of the Angrborn bearing rich gifts, in the hope that my protestations will terminate his incursions. I do not tell you all this to boast, Sir Able. I have no need to boast, or even to impress you. I tell you so that you will understand that I know whereof I speak.”

I nodded again. “I don’t doubt it, My Lord.”

“I could name to you every knight of noble birth—and not the names merely, but the family connections and deeds of valor as well. Not of some. Not of most. Of all.”

“I understand, My Lord.”

“I am equally familiar with every young man of noble lineage who would be a knight. There is no nobly born knight in all Celidon named Able. Nor is there any nobly born youth of that name, whether aspirant to knighthood or not.”

I should have caught on before that, but I had not. Now I finally got it. I said, “I’m not of noble birth, My Lord. I guess that beggar said I was? But he probably doesn’t know anything about me.”

“Crol thought you noble. Did you sense it?”

I shook my head. “I told him I wasn’t.”

“He did. It was apparent in his behavior. Your lofty stature, your physique, and your face—your face most of all—might support a claim to nobility.”

“Well, I won’t make one.” I felt like I did sometimes in school then, and it was hard not to fidget.

“I was tempted to invite you to sit when Crol brought you in. I am tempted still.”