Notes: The following is my loose retelling of the 14th century alliterative Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, the narrative of which was reworked by me under the influence of J.R.R. Tolkien, Lord Dunsany, and G.R.R. Martin in order to make it coherent with another medieval poem of the Gawain cycle, The Marriage of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle, so to fictitiously restore what scholars J.R. Hulbert and Jessie Weston reconstructed to have been the original Gawain narrative, i.e. a Fairy Mistress story.
* * *
The Black Knight loudly issued his words of challenge, the dark horse-mane appended to his helmet unfurling to a sudden gust of breeze in a stark motion recalling a hanged man dangling from the gallow’s pole. At the other edge of the jousting ground, Sir Gawain did not reply, nor did he display any sign of distress. King Arthur’s nephew was young, but unbeaten in combat, so he had no reason to be particularly impressed by the fact that the mysterious Black Night had unhorsed all his previous nine opponents.
Gawain effortlessly received his golden shield, flaunting a red pentangle sign, from his squire, who was slightly trembling as he handed it to his knight. The poor lad’s true name had been forgotten after everyone started calling him Shinks, after seeing him so worried to always refill his knight’s cup at the feast of the King’s Day. He was a good boy, but had only seen a few winters after his first dozen, and scarcely a proper battlefield. When Gawain had taken him to the Fell Hills in the South to smite Gristir, the Cave-Troll, Shinks had stumbled over his own pants by trying to flee as Gristir caught him taking a pee when he tried to take them by surprise at nighttime. Although Gawain suspected the Troll’s laughter had been his very undoing way more than the knight’s steel, he doubted reporting the incident as it truly happened would greatly benefit the lad’s career, so he made sure both the King and the minstrel who composed the ballad were told how Shinks dreamt of the Troll’s ambush, woke up Gawain, and properly assisted him in the fighting. The only shortcoming was that now Gawain was stuck with this squire and could not ask for another one, not in a long while. As the trumpets sounded,
“M… may the Lord as… assist you, Sir?”, the lad whispered, but Gawain was already galloping towards his opponent when his squire managed to finish his sentence.
The first joust was even, as both knights broke their lances against each other’s shield. The Black Knight shouted threatening words once more, and Gawain yawned, unable to figure out whatever the other said amidst the cheering of the crowd, and caring even less. He decided he would actually focus and unhorse that pretentious guy this time, so as to prove to everyone that the infallibility of that fraud was just a myth.
“Don’t piss your pants again, boy”, he told Shinks as the latter handed him a new lance. “Going to pull the Black Blight to the ground”.
“Aye, Sir. I won’t, Sir.”
Then the trumpets sounded once more, Gawain lowered his visor, and started off on his white stallion Gringolet as fast as death came to a beheaded man. The Black Knight’s momentum, however, was no less, and for a moment everybody was frozen, eyes clinging to the opponent’s ride, and the only sound that was heard was the mighty pawing of hooves. It was as though a dark storm of thunder was riding against a shining storm of lightning, and nobody could foretell the outcome. But eventually they crashed against each other as everybody held their breath, and in a moment it was clear that Gawain had in fact unhorsed the Black Knight, whose lance had instead once more crushed against the opponent’s shield, although its black point was still stuck in the middle of the gold-painted wood, right in the centre of the pentangle. Sir Gawain let go of his lance to unsheathe his sword, by which he put off the enemy’s lance-point from his shield, verily as an annoyed table mate might shake crumbles off his vest. The crowd was cheering him very loudly, and a shower of flowers fell on the ground around him, as he courteously nodded his thanksgiving. But the tournament was not over: the opponent might still even the count in the last jousting, so that they would end up fighting by swordsplay in the melee for the win.
“No way I’m going to have to fight in the melee with him”, Gawain confidently declared to his squire. “I only hope that poor fellow doesn’t get his nose broken in the next round, or, what is worse, his neck”.
Shinks shyly attempted the best he could make off his smile, his missing front-tooth from their Troll adventure way too evident for him to pull it off.
“You look awful”, Gawain abruptly remarked, causing the lad’s shivers, at seeing which he took pity on him and burst out laughing, as though he had been joking the whole time. Shinks timidly echoed his laughter, and Gawain patted his shoulder to reassure him.
“Cheer up, lad! You will be able to buy yourself a small house by your share in the income of today’s victory!”
“G… God bless you, Sir,” was all he could manage to mumble.
This time the Black Knight was not uttering any verbal threat at Gawain, but only begrudgingly staring at him, as his horse’s paws bit the ground unceasingly.
“This is going to be very easy”, Gawain thought, “when they lose their temper they rarely fight so well”.
Just to be sure, he kissed the inside of his shield, where the Virgin Mary was painted, crossed himself, and recited Pater, Ave, and Credo. Now he could not fail. At the sound of trumpets, he spurred his stallion, and started his final ride. He could already see a weak spot in the Black Knight’s defense, and foretasted victory as an assured certainty… But something else caught his eyes as he galloped towards his opponent: beyond the Black Knight, beyond the beaten track upon which they were riding, even beyond the bleachers crowded with cheering people, which his gaze now could somehow pierce, there was a vale of enchantment blooming with a thousand species of colourful flowers, and there, under a tree of pink bark, blue leaves, and violet-white flowers, a lovely maiden of astounding beauty, all clad in green, even green-skinned and green-haired, was looking at the sunset, sighing.
Then, suddenly, she turned to him and said, as though she too could see him: “My dear beloved, Gawain, only to you I entrust the gift of my heart. I love you as morning loves the dawn. Please, come to me, for I am in dire peril, and only you, the most handsome and valiant of men, may ransom me…”
Though shocked, Gawain was taken by an overwhelming desire to protect her, and could not help but to reply: “Indeed I will, but how?” The maiden smiled, as though reassured, then Gawain felt the burst of a very heavy blow against his chest, the whole world rocked and turned upside down, and he passed out before even realizing what had happened, still unable to think of anything else but wondering what the enchanting maiden’s name was.
* * *
The first thing Gawain heard as he woke up was his squire’s yell: “He’s alive! He’s awake! It worked!”
“Will you shut up, Shinks, and call whoever was tending to me?”, he rebuked him.
“Aye, Sir. Aye, Sir. In an eye’s blink.”
In fact, Gawain barely had time enough to realize the pain he still felt in his chest and notice the poultice that had been applied to his sore wound when Shinks came back with the old herbmaster and healer, called Hylias.
“Very, very well. You slept for three days, and missed the Christmas banquet at court, but everybody will be very pleased to learn you’re getting better so fast…”
Gawain rose on his feet, interrupting him. “Getting better? I’m well and sound, my old man, and might just as well kick that Black Knight in the ass once more!”
Hylias struggled to be able to at least have Gawain sit. He put a blanket over the knight’s shoulders and said: “Of course, of course, we all know you’re a young, brave knight, but you see… that wound of yours was pretty bad, and we don’t want it to fester, do we? That Black Knight of yours was no gallant fellow, I tell you, and he seems to have only had in mind the purpose to kill you, for he left Camelot without collecting his winnings. Of course, we wouldn’t even have thought of rewarding him if we already had known what I later learnt from tending to you: his lance was poisoned, but I am working on it. So, please, Sir Knight, be good, and stay with us a couple more days, until I finish the distillation of my miracle ointment… Then I will apply it on your wound, and you may be free to go, in time for the New Year’s Day feast! What do you say?”
Gawain thought about it for a while and suddenly recalled the amazing maiden of his vision. “But she is in peril!” he exclaimed, powerless, as he at the same time realized he did not have any clue to start his quest in her rescue.
The old man was still condescending: “But the Lady you’re speaking of, whoever might she be, no doubt needs her valiant knight in full strength before he can come to her aid, don’t you think, Sir?”
Gawain sighed: “Alright, old man, but no more than two days!”
Hylias smiled: “Here’s my good knight. Please do give me a voice, or send your squire, in case you need anything”.
The knight shrugged: “That’s nice to hear. Thanks”.
Shinks looked happy, but that availed very little.
* * *
Two days, however spent in bed with little to do, soon pass. Gawain found the advice of the old man had some sense after all, since he slept most of the time, which proved how tiresome it must be for his body to fight the poison. His sleep was troubled by visions of the Black Knight stealing the green maiden from him, but Gawain’s memory of those dreams was blurred, and he still could not catch her name. When he was awake, he lay in bed, thinking, trying to make sense of what happened. He did pray to Our Lady, so how could She fail him? Yes, his thoughts would often chase the slender graces of young ladies, but he never dishonoured any of them, so why would the Heavenly Queen refuse him good fortune in his fighting? Then again, he wondered, what if instead the enchanting vision of the green maiden he had been granted was a blessing of Our Lady, and an unsought-for, different answer to his prayers? Would he rather have won the jousting but never been called by his beloved? Certainly not, he replied to himself, so he might as well stop tormenting himself, and instead he returned to praying to the Blessed Virgin, especially for the maiden’s wellbeing and in order to be granted the favour of her name.
On the morning of the third day, Hylias bid him a good day and carefully massaged his chest by his hands covered in the miraculous ointment, and when he was done Gawain could feel he had no more poison in his body and the wound had perfectly cicatrized.
“You will have to put up with this scar for the rest of your days, good Sir,” the old man explained, “but hey, I’ve heard the ladies love one or two of these on their men, so I suppose every black cloud comes with its silver lining, uh?”
Gawain smiled: “If you say so. Thanks, by the way”.
He stretched his arms, yawning, then got up and stretched his legs.
“Duty, good Sir,” Hylias eventually replied, while Gawain stormed out of the building, shouting for his squire to fetch him his sword. “Good ol’ Sir Gawain”, mused the healer, “what would Camelot be without him?”
* * *
The feast of New Year’s Day was impressive even for Camelot standards. King Arthur sat on his throne on a dais, Queen Guinevere on one side and Sir Gawain on the other, and at the same table were Bishop Baldric, Sir Lionel, Sir Kay, Sir Bedivere, Sir Gareth, Sir Gaheris, King Lot of the isle of Man, Queen Elinore of Provence, Lord and Lady Eotroun of Brittany, King Bran of Ireland, and Merlin, the Wizard. The magnificence of the hall surpassed the wildest dreams of the richest Roman emperors: from the ceilings hanged chandeliers in Egyptian gold wherein burned a thousand perfumed candles with a scent of lavender and pine; on the walls there were fresh garlands of mistletoe and holly, colourful tapestries woven in Persian silk from Tharsus, portraits of the ancestors of the house Pendragon all the way back until King Brutus, founder of Britain, and the heads of mythical beasts slain by brave knights, from the Medusa Caspriselya to the Dragon Gorshthraukor; and all the tables, not just the King’s, were filled to overflowing with all sorts of beverages and delicacies, even as a flock of servants came hither and thither from the kitchens to the tables to satisfy any guest’s needs.
At one point, though, in the midst of the din of merriment, as Sir Kay was going to propose another toast, the heavy gates of the hall suddenly burst open, as though by magic, and cold came from outside, as snowflakes swirled in the air. Everybody fell silent as a horsed apparition made its appearance: a huge man, entirely clad in green, and even his skin, his hair, his beard, and his horse came in the same colour! Gawain gulped as he met the giant’s eyes, for in his pupils he could see the green maiden whom he loved, and he understood she was his prisoner.
It was Merlin who spoke first: “What’s your business with this court, enchanted creature? Speak, or begone, for we have no patience with intruders on New Year’s Day!”
The Green Knight’s laughter in response was a roar that echoed throughout the hall, and mothers covered the ears of their children, lest they be frightened to death. Eventually the Green Man replied: “I seek for the champion who will answer my challenge”.
“Well, there’s plenty of brave knights here, if you’re looking for a fight”, Merlin informed him, theatrically waving his arms to encompass the whole hall.
“It is not the fight I seek, but an exchange of blows. Whoever agrees will strike me as he pleases, provided he comes to me in a year’s time to receive my blow in return”. The Green Knight grinned as he saw how those terms discouraged everyone. “Is this the famed court of Camelot I heard wonders about? You all look like a bunch of beardless children to me!”
As he heard those words, King Arthur himself rose from his chair: “If none else, I will meet your challenge, Green Man!”
Gawain had been caught in the vision of his fair maiden once more as soon as he had found her in the giant’s eyes. She had explained to him that the Green Knight was her guardian, appointed by her father King Oberon of the Fairies to protect her virtue from any suitor, until the day came when her destined soulmate would defeat him and claim her as his bride. For four thousand years the Guardian had protected her, until one day her mother, Queen Madb, had chosen to be reborn on Earth as a mortal, a woman named Ygraine, for she had fallen in love with a man named Gorlois. Oberon eventually ruined their earthly bliss in marriage as he took human form too, as a man named Uther, in that form won her back, and conceived King Arthur with her, but not before she had given Gorlois two daughters, Morgan and Morgause.
“Morgause? She’s my mother! Wait! But that means you’re like… my half-aunt, or something!” Gawain exclaimed to the maiden, in whatever weird realm of their minds they were speaking.
“Theoretically speaking, yes. But you should be aware I am of Elven blood and a Fairy Princess, whereas you’re fully human, nevermind who your grandmother really was in Elfland. So, to all practical effects, we are not relatives. But the point I was going to make is that there is no King or Queen in our realm now, for my father’s magic still holds me captive, but it is weakened, and my Guardian can now be vanquished by anyone who manages to defeat him on New Year’s Day. For this year I managed to send him to you with his challenge, so that he cannot be defeated by anyone else but who accepts the challenge, but I only could by accepting the terms he will behead you next year. You have to accept these terms, my love, and the magic of my father will make you an Elf, so that we can marry. Otherwise, next year the Black Knight will vanquish the Guardian, make me his bride, and claim the whole of Elfland as his own!”
Gawain had heard enough. He rushed to the end of the dais, took the giant’s green axe off his uncle’s hands, and said: “Step aside, Your Majesty. It is I, Sir Gawain, who will take this challenge”.
“What? Why now, all of a sudden…”
But Gawain was two steps ahead: “Camelot, who will you have risk his life for the honour of this court: your very King, or the worthless Sir Gawain?”
As he expected, everybody approved of his modesty and determination, yelling: “Ga-wain! Ga-wain!”
The King gave up, and chuckling whispered to Gawain: “Well played, Sir”, thereafter to resume his position at the table.
The Green Knight, looking pleased by Gawain’s stand, ceremoniously kneeled before him, proffering his neck. “Strike, boy”, he said, “I’m all yours”.
Gawain came to the giant’s side, and was about to do as he was bid, but then faltered. “What if I’m getting involved in something other than what I have been told? There is so much phantom and fairy in what I’m getting into, and how do I know for sure I’m not being deceived?”
Gawain doubted in his mind. The Green Man looked at him pitifully, and his red eye burned fiercely into Gawain’s soul.
“Will you forsake her, ‘brave’ one? I may be the Green Knight, but certainly you’re only a green boy!”
His laughter was so obnoxious that Gawain could not help but giving him the blow he had been so eagerly looking for, but, as the giant’s severed head rolled away on the floor, even being kicked off from under the table by somebody’s foot, King Arthur’s nephew did not feel relief at all.
Indeed, the headless body rose once more, under everybody’s flabbergasted eyes, collected his own head, mounted the green horse once more, and loudly spoke: “If you have a grain of that little thing we call honour, Sir Gawain of Camelot, come seek me in a year’s time at the Green Chapel!”
Then, having so said, the Green Knight spurred his steed, rode away through the open gates, and left the castle, the heavy hinges turning by themselves to shut the portal after him, as though nothing had ever happened.
“Now, this calls for a good toast, Sir Kay!” King Arthur remarked, and everybody laughed and resumed the merriment, forgetting the whole thing had even taken place. But Gawain’s heart was heavy and ominous, and he could not make much fun that night nor the day after.