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.
* * *
What is a year in a lifetime? Here is Gawain on a balcony of the castle of Camelot, leaning on the balustrade, thoughtful, under the first moon of the new year. Any other time, the first moon of the year yet to come would probably find him on the same balcony, perhaps in the company of fair ladies, or maybe joking with a fellow knight. Not this year, though, for any company would be unwelcome, and not next year, for he will not even be in Camelot, and who knows whether he will see the end of the day. First, though, he will have to find that absurd Green Knight in his Green Chapel. Who is he, then, some sort of hermit, or monk, to live in a chapel? He certainly did not look like one, nor did his axe suggest great Christian piety. Anyway, how was his own condescension to the nonsensical agreement to let the giant behead him going to save the still-nameless green princess and win him her hand? She made it all sound so easy: her father’s magic was going to turn him into an Elf, she had told him, and then they could marry.
“It must indeed sound much easier ,“ Gawain thought, “when it is not your own head that is going to be chopped off!”
But, even as he so observed, he recalled the tears on the enchanting maiden’s lovely cheeks and her broken, sweet voice as she timidly spoke, her heart visibly pounding in her soft bosom, and he could not help but sigh for her sadness, however incomprehensible the reasons behind it must for him be even after being told about them.
As the New Year’s Day incident had taken place at court before everybody, the rumours about it traveled wide and far, so that everyone seemed to understand Gawain’s concern and absent-mindedness, respecting his wish to retreat and avoid company and conversations any time he so would. Gawain appreciated their discretion, and once or twice forced himself to endure social exchanges he no longer felt a part of just to somehow repay their kindness, but it soon became clear to him there was no point for him not to follow his heart when his mind would anyway stray from any subject people discussed and even from actual events taking place before him. He took part in joustings, because that is what a knight does whenever he has a chance to, but even victory was tasteless to him, since there he could not vanquish his real enemies: the vile Black Night, whom nobody had again seen after they had unhorsed one another just before last Christmas, and the unfathomable Green Knight, whose appearance before the court at New Year’s Day would have now seemed like a matter of dreams but for the fact so many people had witnessed the occurrence, and his huge green axe still hung on the wall in the main hall at Camelot.
There were times, when the hall was not the theatre of the King’s hearings, when Gawain spent hours there, his eyes fixed on the Green Man’s axe, as though, by very sharply focusing on its appearance, he could somehow decipher the mystery of its wondrous former-master. There was no doubt the weapon was a product of the finest smithery, perfectly balanced, and very sharp-edged, even when months had passed after its last sharpening, Gawain observed when he had enough of just watching and resolved to handle it once more. There was a time when, as he hung the weapon back on the wall, he saw a flash before his eyes: again he stared into the Green Knight’s red pupil, like a flaming pit of pure wrath, as the giant rebuked him: “Will you forsake her, ‘brave’ one? I may be the Green Knight, but certainly you’re only a green boy!”
However the last part was not flattering either, it was the accusation being uttered in the question that pierced Gawain’s heart as a pointy dagger.
“Will you forsake her, ‘brave’ one? Will you forsake her?” he kept hearing, awake and in dreams, when strange powers of his mind conjured the mounted Black Night shouting similar accusations amid his threats. As the black horse of Gawain’s opponent chomped at the bit on the other side of the jousting ground, this time the crowd’s cheer was all for the Black Knight.
Then again, “Will you forsake her, green boy?” the Green Knight’s severed head would ask, his headless body holding it in one hand, his other hand menacingly waving his axe as he rode in circles, laughing maniacally.
At some point Gawain would wake up in his bed, covered in his own sweat, his heart pounding as a blacksmith’s hammer upon the anvil of his chest, his ears still echoing the cruel question, his mind still seeing that diabolical red eye. That was not the eye of someone who would spare him out of pity once he had come to offer his neck as promised.
In his desperation, Gawain once climbed the steep steps of the winding stairs leading all the way up into the highest chamber of Camelot’s topmost tower, seeking Merlin’s help in his study. The room was an overwhelming mess of manuscripts, scrolls, candles, jars, flasks, alembics, and every other sort of curiosities, ranging from the four-legged chest, walking about the place as though looking for something, to a glass bottle apparently containing perpetual lightnings, the flashes of which intermittently blinded any bystander.
The wizard himself was sleeping on a rocking chair, but he immediately woke up as the knight cleared his throat, then Merlin got up from his chair, grabbed a wooden stick, murmured some formula in what might have been Latin, and immediately the chest retracted its four legs and returned a normal chest, while the lightning storm within the bottle stopped.
“Now, now, now…” Merlin started, as though he and Gawain had been interrupted in the middle of a conversation, instead of being just then starting one. “As I was telling you, Sir Gawain, there is nothing I can do for you, because verily even though I gave you Excalibur the Sword of Kings, and Dyrnwyn the Fiery Blade, and even though I brought you Gungnir and Mjölnir, the Spear and the Hammer of the Gods, and even though I dressed you in the Helmet of Hades, the Veil of Isis, and the Armor of Örvar Oddr, and however you may repair under the shield Wynebgwrthucher, yours is not a challenge of arms, but a trial for your mind and a test for your heart, and all the help that avails you shall come from within, not without”.
As he was speaking, Merlin had heedlessly taken Gawain under his arm and walked him outside the door, so that, when he abruptly finished his speech, he came back inside, shut himself in, and gave the astonished knight only the benefit of a final: “Good day, Sir!” before returning to whatever he had to do.
Gawain had always been a pious knight, never missing the function on Sunday, and often confessing his only sin of lustful thoughts to Father Poc in the Church of St. George. Now, however, there was no room for lust in his mind, divided between the inexplicable, pure affection of love and concern for the Elven Princess, in which physical attraction was supersided by the fear of losing her and the desire to protect her, and the fight against the cold tendrils of fear for his own life and mind, always stretching in his bowels in the attempt to clutch his heart in their tantalizing grasp of terror and madness. Holy Communion was a great help in the fight, so he started taking it almost on a daily basis, even when he had to attend Mass alone with his squire Shinks and a couple of old women from the village. Father Poc was very pleased to hear he had no sins at all to confess, however bored the priest must be of having to keep repeating him that, however Fortitude is a Cardinal Virtue, its opposite, fear, is no sin, and even a virtue itself, when it is fear of the God Almighty. But Gawain was not sure it had been the Lord sending the Green Knight to him, even as he could not be certain the Princess appeared to him as a Grace from Our Heavenly Mother, not to mention the fact that his enmity with the Black Knight might then only be God’s way to test him, or, still worse, one of Satan’s attempts to condemn a pure soul to his hells… And so Gawain could only pray, and pray again, and keep praying, his fingers running from one bead of his Rosary to the next, as seasons passed, and nature changed around him, changeless but for his getting thinner from fasting and his uncut beard growing longer and longer…
What was weird was how each day might seem endless, and yet weeks and months passed so fast: only yesterday, or so it seemed, Gawain had watched a bunch of children throwing snowballs at each other, and he had felt pangs of envy for their mindlessness, a condition he could barely remember having once lived; now the hills and fields around Camelot were a burst of colours from a thousand different species of flowers, and he could almost see the Princess of his visions under each blooming tree, even though none of them had pink bark or blue leaves… Then again, it seemed like only a few days later all those trees and plants started losing their yellowing leaves to a fierce, cool wind foreboding one more winter to come, and Gawain could not help but wondering whether he would just as easily lose his head under the Green Knight’s blow, his life only another leaf namelessly lost among all others in some corner of an unknown field. Not even Shinks could manage to cheer him up from those dismal thoughts…
* * *
On the eve of Michaelmas, Gawain announced before the assembled court that he would leave at dawn for his quest to find the Green Chapel. Many were shocked, either because by then they had forgotten the whole happening or because they deemed it absurd to abide to the terms of such an improbable bargain with a fairy creature. There were women crying, and many cries inciting him to let it go, not to give up his life on such an unlikely undertaking, so that the mess got even worse when Gawain proved to be adamant in his decision, and King Arthur himself had to rise from his seat to command everybody’s silence.
Thus Arthur spoke: “We do not blame Gawain for wanting to honour his agreement with the Green Man. This is just what a man of honour and a Knight of the Round Table does, no matter what. However, I am certain that he understands his is going to be a long, perilous journey, even weather not going to be his ally, therefore he will undoubtedly accept an escort of valiant men I hereby put under his comm…”
“Uncle, stop, please”, Gawain interrupted him. The brave knight had cut his hair and beard for the occasion, and he looked clean, handsome, pure of heart, and even mature, as though the long months of preparation for this moment had finally raised him to full adulthood, teaching him resignation and commitment, renunciation and responsibility, and lighting the vague flame of a flickering light in his eyes, the outward sign of unquenchable hope.
“I must go alone. This is my quest to achieve and my burden to carry, and none other’s,” he declared.
Even the King could not find it in him to reply, and fell back on his throne. Gawain met the tearful glance of his squire amid the crowd.
“No, not even you can come, Shinks”, he regretfully remarked. “I’m… I’m sorry”, he added, as he watched the lad leaving the hall, sobbing.
He did not feel much like staying there anymore, so hastily finished: “If you excuse me, I have the last preparations to make for my journey. May Our Lord bless you all”, then found his way out of a side door, never turning back. As he left, many of the eyes that were not already blinded by tears stared at the mystery of that ominous green axe hung on the wall, wondering what the whole happening actually meant. After nine months, Gawain’s doubts were the whole Camelot’s doubts once more.
* * *
That night Gawain almost did not sleep at all, only managing to find a brief moment of barely an hour of rest, troubled by unusual dreams, before having to wake up and take his leave. In his visions of sleep, he could hear a woman’s voice crying in pain, and then somehow he found himself holding in his arms a green-haired newborn… He woke up suddenly, his heart beating so fast he could almost hear its thud, and he decided he had had enough to put up with. In a matter of minutes, without even having bothered to dress up, he was knocking so hard on the door of Merlin’s study one could get the impression he was going to wake up the whole Camelot.
“Ouch!” the doorknob complained. “That hurts!”
But Gawain could not stand marvels either. “I don’t care you’re a talking piece of furniture or whatever, you just let me in now or I’m going to fetch my sword and tear you down in pieces!” the knight threatened.
“And you could also mention fire, Sir, but you see, Merlin is away and you can’t talk to him even if I let you in, so why don’t you just collect the present he left for you and return some other time?” the doorknob suggested.
Gawain was surprised. “Present?” he asked. “Indeed, Sir. Merlin said you were going to pay a visit this early morning and left it hanging from a nail just before you, on this very door”.
“But there’s noth… Ok, there’s a nail here, but nothing’s hang… Wait, what is this?” Gawain wondered as he took in his hand the invisible item which, once detached from the door, revealed itself to be a little opaque mirror in burnished gold.
“Nothing less than the fabled Mirror of Saerin, created by Queen Aelendre, mother of Queen Qoelre, mother of Queen Madb of Elfland, almost eighty thousand years ago… Rub the surface, blink thrice, and say the magic word, and you will be able to get in touch with your beloved. But be careful: you may only use it thrice, then it will remain just a blurred piece of glass to you”, the doorknob explained.
“Wait!” Gawain inquired. “What’s the magic word?”
“Oh, yes, of course. How could I forget? The magic word is ‘hilly-silly-billy-gangandharbulus’. Hey, where are you going? Polite people say goodbye to each other before leaving!” the doorknob lamented , as the visitor ran back down the stairs. “You unrespectful scoundrel, wait till Merlin hears about this! He’s going to turn you into a slug, or something , I swear!”
As soon as Gawain was back into his chambers, he rubbed the mirror surface, blinked thrice, and uttered: “Hilly-silly-billy-gangandharbulus”. In the blink of an eye, in the mirror appeared the familiar picture of the lovely green maiden under the tree of weird colours. For a moment, once more, Gawain’s breath was taken by the amazing beauty of the princess. Her long, green hair, gently woven by a soft breeze, seemed to crown her in a garland of fresh twigs, even as her adorable pink eyes suggested an innocent mind who could only conceive tender, sweet thoughts… Barely a hint of a hue that might have been yellow-orange gave her cheeks the looks of two juicy peaches, even though her features were slender and thin, her movements graceful as a deer’s, and the lighter, lavender green of her lips suggested a thousand mellow kisses.
As the princess got aware of her beloved’s presence, he took word first. “My love, I am about to leave and come at your rescue, but I just need to know more, and forgive me if I cannot wait but I do really need answers”.
She smiled at him tenderly, and he felt like his heart could literally melt.
“Anything for you, my love”, she said.
He gathered his resolve to win against the absurd thought he now somehow had, to ask just for kisses instead, and asked her: “What’s your true name, sweetheart?”
She blushed, and Gawain thought she was so lovely he might probably manage after all to collect his own severed head as the Green Knight had done if he knew by so doing he would finally meet her for real.
“Don’t you know your own love’s true name, my dear Gawain, my darling?”
Gawain felt suddenly dizzy. “You make everything so easy, Faebrielle, my love! I’m not an Elf like you! It’s not like I just know things…”
She chuckled adorably, and he felt like a fool as he realized what he just said.
“I knew you knew it! What else do you need from me, love?” she said, endearingly. “How do I get to you?”
“Just survive.”
“But…”
“I’m sorry, love, but you only have one more question to ask, and I think you have a different subject in mind…”
He nodded. “Did I see a son in our future?”
“Indeed, love. And he’s going to be the most handsome man who ever lived”.
Even though he knew the answer to the last question within him as he did for the other two, Gawain was shocked to have it confirmed, and as she blew a kiss in his direction before disappearing, he felt precisely like poets said one feels in the high ecstasy of love: as though his heart had been lifted from his chest and had somehow taken wings to fly on its own…
Eventually, just before dawn came, Gawain silently left Camelot on his faithful Gringolet. Besides the magical mirror, he carried his sword, shield, armor, and helmet, a bow and a quiver of silver arrows, but only a light baggage besides that, because he wanted to tread lightly, and anyway he could well afford to pay for many a room and hot meal along the way, just as easily as he could hunt or fish or make a fire in the wilderness. His uncle did not come in person to bid him good fortune, but sent a young page to give him his regards all the same. Besides him, he saluted Shinks, who was still crying like the evening before, his own brother Sir Gaheris, Father Poc and the two old women from church, and a bunch of young girls from the village, apparently all in love with him, and whom he all gallantly kissed, before giving a last glance back and venturing forward along the road.