The Quest of the Fair Unknown (11 page)

"I'm very brave," Ellyn said. "The righthand path it is." With that, the three companions rode away, leaving Father Rolbert alone again. Beaufils hoped that having correct doctrines was good company.

Ten minutes later they came to the next clearing and drew up at the edge of the forest, watching. At first Beaufils thought this hermitage was deserted as well, but then he saw a tendril of smoke rising from a hole in the roof.

"Do we really want to do this?" Gawain asked.

"I was just wondering that, too," replied Ellyn.

"Seems like you can't fling a rock in this forest without beaning a holy man," Gawain added. "Not that I'm suggesting that, necessarily."

"They're as thick as fleas," agreed Ellyn.

Beaufils was puzzled. "You think this hermit might be like Father Rolbert?" Gawain and Ellyn nodded. "Why?" asked Beaufils. "There must be more than one kind of holiness, after all."

Gawain muttered, "Hope so," then bowed and gestured for Beaufils to go ahead of him. "As you wish, lad. Lead the way."

Beaufils urged Clover out of the trees and into the clearing, calling out, "Hello? Hermit?"

A smiling, yellow-haired man came to the door of the hut and waved. He looked to be about Gawain's age. "Welcome, travelers," he said.

"Thank you," Beaufils replied. Since he had gone first, he supposed that he was expected to speak for the group.

"I don't get many knights and ladies as visitors," the hermit replied, looking past Beaufils. "But you are welcome. I am Brother Denys."

"I'm glad to know you," Beaufils replied. "I'm Beaufils, and these are my friends Gawain and Ellyn."

"
Sir
Gawain? Of Arthur's court?" Brother Denys said, smiling widely. "I am honored. What brings you to my humble hermitage?"

Brother Denys still hadn't given Beaufils more than a cursory glance, addressing himself entirely to the others, but Beaufils continued to speak. "Actually, Brother Denys, we're on a quest. Some say it's a holy sort of quest, so we thought maybe a holy man could help us."

"A holy quest?" Brother Denys asked, finally looking at Beaufils.

"Yes," Beaufils replied. "We're looking for something called the Grail. It appeared to King Arthur's court a week or so back, floating in the air, and a loud voice came from nowhere saying that it was the goal of everyone's desire. Then it disappeared. Have you seen anything like that around here?"

Brother Denys's face lit up. "What a miracle! How I wish I had been there!"

"Does that mean yes or no?" Beaufils asked.

"I've seen nothing like that here, though I do see many visions."

"Bother," Beaufils said to his companions. "No luck here, either."

"Either?" asked Brother Denys, his voice sharper. "Whom else have you been asking?"

"Well, we just came from the hut of Father Rolbert—"

"Father Rolbert!" interrupted Brother Denys, with sudden sharpness. "Don't speak to me of Father Rolbert!"

"But you asked me who we had—"

"I never want to hear of Father Rolbert again! Father Rolbert's faith is all
head
faith! He knows how to divide syllogisms and talk the ears off a mule, but he has no
heart!
Father Rolbert wouldn't know a vision if it sat on his face! Father Rolbert has driven more good young men away from the faith than Satan himself. I hate the sound of his name!"

"Why do you keep saying it, then?" asked Beaufils.

"If you've been to see
him,
" Brother Denys said, ignoring Beaufils's question, "then you are in grave danger of being led astray."

"Funny," commented Beaufils, "that's what he said about—"

"Come here, boy," Brother Denys said. He held out his arms, and Beaufils slipped obligingly from Clover's back and came to the hermit, who reached out and gripped both of Beaufils's hands in his own, then raised his eyes toward the sky. "Purge this boy of evil, I pray! Rid his mind of the dry doctrines of the devil! Enter his heart and warm it, O Spirit!"

Brother Denys went on like this for another few minutes, occasionally giving Beaufils's hands a squeeze, as if to show particular seriousness. Beaufils looked helplessly over his shoulder at Gawain and Ellyn. Ellyn looked concerned, but Gawain was grinning broadly. When he caught Beaufils's eyes, he wiggled his gauntleted fingers in a little wave.

Brother Denys prayed on. "Oh, remove sin and falseness from this boy's heart and mind, I pray, oh yes, oh yes, render us up in Thy sight, yes, and bind Satan from his attacks, yes, yes..." The hermit actually began to cry, tears rolling proudly down his cheeks. "Show us the true way of your Spirit!" he proclaimed. Then his eyes, pointed toward heaven, widened oddly.

Beaufils followed the hermit's gaze but saw nothing above them. "Is there something up there?" Beaufils asked.

Brother Denys, still crying, released Beaufils and raised his arms above his head. Beaufils stepped back quickly, to make sure he didn't get caught again, but the hermit wasn't watching him anymore. His lips moved, his eyes glazed over, and still he wept. At last he lowered his arms and focused his gaze on Beaufils. "Did you feel it?" he asked.

"Of course I felt it. You were squeezing me."

"Not that! The Spirit! Did you feel the Spirit fall on you? Did your heart warm? Did you cry?"

"Er, no," Beaufils said. Then, at the hermit's crestfallen look, added, "Sorry."

"We must try again!" the hermit announced. "You must try harder! Simply believe that it will happen, and it will! This time we'll pray in tongues!"

Beaufils leaped up on Clover's back. He had no idea what Brother Denys meant to do with his tongue, but Beaufils had had enough. "No, thank you," he said hastily. "The thing is, we're really looking for this Grail, and if you haven't seen one about, we should be moving on."

"I see what it is," Brother Denys said sternly. "Your heart is hardened!"

"Bad luck for me, I guess," Beaufils said, edging Clover away from the hermit. When he was well clear, he tapped the mule with his heel and trotted across the clearing to the place where the trail picked up again. A minute later Gawain and Ellyn joined him. Both were shaking with laughter. "You have to admit," Beaufils said, "that
was
a different sort of holiness than Father Rolbert's."

They continued on through the Sacred Forest, hard riding all the way. The trail was still so narrow that they had to move single file between the close trees and shrubbery. So thick was the undergrowth that Beaufils, still in the front position, didn't see the next clearing until it was a few yards ahead of him, which gave him no time to slow Clover's trot. The three companions burst from the trees into the clearing, almost at the same moment, and a black-robed man jumped up from a tree stump. "Is it you?" he shrieked.

Beaufils glanced uncertainly at the others, but they seemed as confused as he was, so he said, "I don't know about the others, but I'm certainly me, if that's what you mean."

"Are you the Four Horsemen?" the man shrieked. He pronounced his words oddly, rolling his "r" sounds in the back of his throat. Again the companions exchanged glances. Finally Ellyn said, "I don't think so, sir. You see, I'm not a horseman."

"And Glover here isn't a horse," Beaufils added.

"Plus, there are only three of us," said Gawain. "Besides that, you're pretty close, though."

The man in black seemed to relax. "Who are you then?" he demanded.

Gawain said, "I am Sir Gawain, and I am on quest with Lady Ellyn and Le Beau Desconus here. We are seeking a miraculous object called the Holy Grail."

"Le Beau Desconus?" the man said in his oddly accented speech. "The Beautiful Unknown?"

"Yes, actually," Gawain said. "You're French?"

"Yes. I am the Père d'Arbé, come to this place to await the coming millennium in prayer and penance."

"Millennium?" Beaufils asked. "What's that?"

Gawain winced and waved his hand sharply back and forth, clearly trying to stop Beaufils from asking, but it was too late. The Père d'Arbé's eyes lit up, and he said, "It is the Thousand Year Reign that will follow the time of Great Tribulation and precede the End of All Things!"

"Oh," Beaufils said politely. "Thank you. I just hadn't heard—"

"And the time is near!" the Père d'Arbé went on. "I've just finished a chart, and when I looked at my calculations, I couldn't believe what I was seeing! Within this month, twice seventy weeks of years from Daniel's vision of Jeremiah's prophecy, the Beast will arise!"

"We'll keep our eyes open for it," Gawain said. "Look, we don't want to disturb you, but—"

"I had calculated the dates before," the hermit said, "but I had forgotten that in the time of John the Divine, years had only three hundred and sixty days. That's why I was mistaken six months ago. I admit that I was wrong. But this time, I'm
certain!
"

Gawain continued doggedly. "I'm sure you have other calculations to make, so we'll be leaving you now."

"Aren't we going to ask about the Grail?" Beaufils asked, surprised.

"Grail?" the Père d'Arbé asked. "What's that?"

Gawain waved his hand again but Beaufils said, "It's this platter, or bowl, that we're looking for. It appeared at King Arthur's court, floating up in the air—"

Beaufils got no further. The Père d'Arbé let out a shriek and said, "The cups of wrath, filled with the last seven plagues! They've begun! And at King Arthur's court, too! So I was right! Arthur is the Beast from the Sea! It's Arthur!"

"Before you go any further," Gawain said, interrupting the hermit, "you ought to know that I am Arthur's nephew."

"Then you are the Second Beast!" the man said. "Begone! I am one of the Two Faithful Witnesses, and you cannot hurt me!"

The Père d'Arbé backed up against his hut, his limbs shaking. Gawain looked at him, the anger in his face slowly fading to pity, then jerked his head back to the forest. "Come on, let's go," he said. When the three friends were back among the trees, Gawain stopped and looked back at Beaufils. "I tried to warn you, lad."

"What was wrong with him?" Beaufils asked.

"Nothing we can help him with," Gawain replied. "I've met some of these birds before. There's a rule to follow here: If you ever hear anyone say the word
millennium,
don't ask them to explain what they mean." He sighed and added, "I'm starting to get tired of the Sacred Forest: isolated little huts, isolated holy men, and narrow little paths."

"What would happen if we left the path?" Beaufils mused aloud.

Gawain, who was leading again, stopped and looked over his shoulder at Beaufils. "I'd almost be willing to try it," he said.

"Why don't we?" asked Ellyn.

"Look how thick the shrubbery beside the path is," Gawain said. "If the whole forest is like this, we'll never get through."

"All right," Beaufils said. "It was just a thought. Let's stay on the path and ride on to the next hermit."

Gawain looked at him in silence, then began to laugh. "Touché, Le Beau. Off the path we go. You lead the way again, but don't go through too many tight squeezes. Remember that my horse is bigger than your mule."

Beaufils dismounted, took Clover's head, then plunged at once into the thickest part of the underbrush. For several minutes, he bent back twigs and pushed aside leafy fronds, unable to see more than a few feet ahead. Behind him he heard Ellyn and Gawain crashing in his steps. Suddenly he was out of the thickets in an open, sun-dappled forest. Tall pines stood around, but all at least twenty feet apart. The delicious smell of the trees filled his senses, and a springy bed of pine needles softened his footsteps. It was as if he had stepped out of a world of noise and into one of silence. Even the sound of Ellyn and Gawain thrashing through brush behind him seemed far away.

Then even their noise stopped. There was silence for a moment, broken at last by Gawain's reverent whisper. Glory.

Beaufils grinned and clambered up onto Clover. "Let's go this way," he said.

After half an hour of blissfully peaceful riding, they came to the edge of the forest and to their last hermit. Because the forest was so open in this area, they saw the hermit's cottage well before they came to it—a simple, homely hut where a man in a brown robe was feeding a few goats in the front yard. Gawain halted his horse.

"Do we want to visit another one of these fellows?" he asked.

Ellyn hesitated. "I have to admit," she said, "I feel as if I've had all the holiness I can manage for a day. Do you think this one's like the others?"

Beaufils watched the man feed the goats for a moment, then said, "This one's already different from the others; he's taking care of someone else." Beaufils smiled and said, "Let's go look at the goats."

As they approached, Beaufils saw that this man was quite old. He didn't have much hair, but what he had was pure white, and the lines on his face seemed very deep, as if they had been carved in stone. But when the three riders approached, the hermit smiled genially. "Good evening," he said. "You must be Sir Gawain and Lady Ellyn. And you"—he looked more closely at Beaufils—"must be the Fair Unknown."

"How did you know?" Beaufils asked, returning the hermit's smile.

"A friend told me to look for you," the hermit said. "I am Basil, the Hermit of the Forest's Edge."

"Not
Brother
Basil or
Father
Basil?" Beaufils asked.

"Not unless it really matters to you," the hermit replied. "I spend most of my time with the goats, and they don't care much about titles. Would you like some bread and milk?"

The travelers agreed, and dismounted. They cared for their mounts while Basil prepared a simple meal of brown bread, strawberries, and goat's milk to eat around an open fire in the yard. It seemed like a feast to Beaufils, and he ate with simple pleasure and gratitude, though he noticed that Gawain and Ellyn didn't seem thirsty. Basil said little at first, concerning himself only with his guests' needs, but after they had eaten, he asked, "And where have you been traveling today? In the Sacred Forest?"

"Is it only one day?" Gawain asked. "It seems much longer."