The Knight

“That’s it. You don’t have sit astride, and I doubt that you could in those skirts. Leave your feet where they are and hold on to the cantle and pommel. I’ll lead him, and he won’t be going any faster than I can walk. Where are we going?”

She pointed down the hedgerow. “It’s a long, long way, sir.”

“It can’t be.” I was watching where I stepped, and did not bother to look over my shoulder at her. “Not if you were planning to walk it tonight. You would have gone home after, too? And gone to bed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then it can’t be far.” I started jogging, something I hadn’t done for a while. “Ain’t you a-feared you’ll lose your dog, sir?”

I strained to see him, but Gylf’s seal-brown rump and long tail had disappeared in the moon-shadow of the hedge. “I’m not, mother. He’s run ahead to scout out trouble, which is what I would’ve told him to do if I’d thought of it.”

“Rabbits, too, sir. An’ got a deep mouth from the look a’ him.”

“He does, but he won’t be running rabbits this night.” I jogged a hundred strides or so in silence, then slowed to a walk. “Did you ever tell me what your errand is, mother? A man, you said.”

“Yes, sir.” She sounded terribly sad. “You’ll think I’m cracked, running after a man at my age.”

“There’s only one girl for me,” I told her, “and people think me cracked because of it. So you’re a crazy woman on the charger of a crazy knight. We freaks have got to stick together and help each other, or we’ll be left to howl in the swamp.”

“Will you tell me about her, sir?”

“For a year. But she isn’t around, and your man is. Or he will be soon, we hope. Is he a good man, and does he know you’re coming?”

“Yes, sir.” She sighed. “He is. An’ he do, sir. Can I tell you how it is with him an’ me, sir? ’Twould ease my mind, an’ you can laugh if you want to.”

“May,” I muttered, jogging again. “Yes, I may. But I don’t think I will.”

“Years an’ years ago it were, sir. Him and me lived in a little bit a’ a place down south. Every girl there had a eye for him, sir, but him, he had a eye for me. An’ nobody else’d do. That’s what he said, sir, an’ the way it was, too.”

“I know how that is, mother.”

“May every Overcyn there be bless you for it, an’ her too.” The old woman was quiet awhile, lost in reminiscence.

“I got took, sir. The giants come looking for us, the way they does, sir, when the leaves turn an’ they don’t mind moving around. An’ they found me. Hymir did, sir, my master what was. So I had to—had to do what I could for him, an’ get it all over me often as not, an’—an’ Heimir got born, sir. My son that was. Only Master Hyndle’s run him off now, or he’d help me, I know.” She paused.

“He’s not what you’d call a good-looking boy, sir, an’ it’s me, his mother, what says it. Nor foxy neither, and didn’t talk ’til after he was bigger’n me. But his heart ... You’re a good-hearted man, sir. As good as ever I seen. But your heart’s no bigger’n my Heimir’s, sir. No woman’s never had no better son.”

“That’s good to know.”

“For me it is, sir. Ain’t you getting tired, sir? I could walk a ways, an’ you ride.”

“I’m fine.” The truth was that it felt good to stretch my legs, and I knew I owed the stallion a little rest.

“You’ve run quite a ways, an’ it’s a good ways more.”

“I close my mind.” I wanted to tell her, but it was not easy. “And I think about the sea, about the waves coming to a beach, wave after wave after wave, never stopping. Those waves turn into my steps.”

“I think I see, sir.” The old woman sounded like she did not.

“I float on them. It’s something somebody taught me, or maybe just told me about and let the sea teach me, not magic. The sea is in everybody. Most people never feel it.” Saying those things made me think of Garsecg, and I wondered all over again why Garsecg did not come to see me in Mythgarthr.

“It opened me up, it did, having my Heimir. So then we could if you take my meaning. Like a real wife should, sir, the regular way.”

“You and the Angrborn who had taken you, mother? This Hymir?”

“Yes, sir. Not that I wanted it, sir. Hurt dreadful every time. But he wanted it an’ what he said went in them days. So then I had my Hela, only she’s run off. Master shouldn’t touch her, her being his half-sister, only she’s ... Well, sir. You wouldn’t say it, sir. She’s got that big jaw they all have, sir. An’ the big eyes, you know. An’ cheeks like the horns on a calf, sir, if you take my meaning. Only good skin, sir, an’ yellow hair like I used to, too. That yellow hair’s why my master that was, that was her father, took me, sir. He told me that one time, so it was bad luck to me. Only if it’d been black or brown like most, probably he’d a’ kilt me.”

The hedgerow had ended, though the path had not, weaving its way among trees and underbrush bordering the river.

“There was times,” the old woman muttered, “when I wisht he had.”

“Is it your son Heimir we’re going to meet?”