The Quest of the Fair Unknown (8 page)

Beaufils was used to Galahad taking at least an hour for a confession, but he had been in the graveyard barely ten minutes when Galahad reappeared, accompanied by a priest.

"Here it is, Sir Knight!" the priest was saying breathlessly. "This grave right here. Since the children first heard the noises, no one from the village will enter the churchyard. Some won't even come to church. I've heard the sounds myself, after dark, and they drove fear into my heart. O Sir Knight, if this is indeed a spirit from below, do not face it unless you are truly pure of heart!"

"If I am not, then I can never achieve the quest I have undertaken, and it would be better for me to die anyway," Galahad replied. "Leave me now, and I shall pray while I await this visitation."

The priest agreed readily and hurried back into the church. Beaufils watched him run, then asked, "What's the matter here?"

"You had best leave me, Beaufils," Galahad said. "The people of this town have heard the sounds of a foul spirit coming from this grave, as if the soul is unclean and should not have been buried in holy ground. I have vowed to face it and drive it away if I am able."

"That was kind of you," Beaufils said. "I'll stay with you while you wait."

Galahad didn't seem to hear. He had sunk to his knees and was already deep in fervent prayer. While Galahad whispered to himself, Beaufils examined the grave. This one was more elaborate than most, being covered with a long, flat, carved slab of stone. The carvings were words, but while Beaufils could sound them out, they weren't words he knew. If a spirit did come out of the grave, maybe he could ask it what they meant.

Less than an hour later, just as the sun was about to disappear in the west, there came a scratching and a huffing sound from inside the grave. Galahad began to pray more loudly and his breath came in gasps, as if he had been running a great distance. The sound stopped, then resumed, and Galahad fainted.

He just crumpled and fell forward, bumping his forehead against the headstone. Pulling him away from the grave, Beaufils found that Galahad was panting and perspiring and moaning just as he had the night when Beaufils had met Scotus. Beaufils waited a moment until the scratching began again, then took hold of one end of the great stone slab and pulled it away from the grave. The scratching stopped. Beaufils lowered his head into the dark hole he had opened and said, "Hello? Anyone home?"

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Beaufils saw that the grave was not very deep, and in the faint moonlight even made out a few bones, scattered about, as if they'd been disturbed. Small piles of brush dotted the open hole. Just below the headstone Beaufils made out a second hole, round and about a hand's breadth wide. From this hole, two bright eyes peered out. Beaufils grinned. "Hello, dear," he said. He lowered his hand into the grave and waited expectantly. After a minute a hedgehog appeared from the round opening and sniffed Beaufils's hand tentatively. "You've been scaring the people around here," Beaufils said sternly. "Let's go find you another place to build a den." He carefully picked up the spiny creature and drew it from the hole, but as he lifted it out of the grave, Galahad moaned, and the hedgehog jumped from his hand and scurried back into its tunnel. Beaufils sighed. He had known many small animals when he was growing up, and he knew he'd not coax this one out again. For the next twenty minutes, Beaufils worked to plug up the hedgehog's tunnel with large stones. Then he pushed the slab back into place and waited for Galahad to awake from his swoon.

It was an hour before Galahad jerked into consciousness. "Did you see it?" he demanded.

"Yes, yes, I saw it," Beaufils said soothingly.

"What did it look like?" Galahad asked.

"Um, it had sharp points sticking out all over it," Beaufils replied carefully.

"Did it have a human shape?"

"No, not at all."

"Did it see me?" Galahad asked, his voice tense.

"Yes."

"What did it do?"

"It ran away. It was afraid of you, you see."

"Afraid of me!" Galahad repeated, wonder in his voice. "Then it is true! I truly am the purest of all knights! Even the spirits flee from me!"

Beaufils considered his friend in silence for a minute. He could tell him the truth, of course, but once again Beaufils knew instinctively that the truth would not be welcome. Galahad was so sure of his own way of seeing things that he wasn't really very interested in seeing anything that didn't fit. Beaufils realized with surprise that as much as he liked Galahad and respected him for his desire to do right, he was growing weary of his friend. You had to pretend too much when you were with Galahad, and it was starting to get tiresome.

Since leaving Camelot, Beaufils and Galahad had been traveling in a general northerly direction, varying their course only when Galahad got word of a church he could visit. On their sixth day out, Galahad told Beaufils that they were nearing Scotland and would enter that land soon after they passed through the town of Carlisle. All places were new to Beaufils, of course, so he didn't care one way or the other, but Galahad liked to tell him where they were, and Beaufils didn't mind hearing it.

On the outskirts of Carlisle, Beaufils had a new and wonderful experience—the delight of meeting an old friend. Crossing a field, they came upon Gawain, whom Beaufils greeted with pleasure. He was less excited to see that Gawain was accompanied by Bishop Baldwin from Camelot, but Galahad seemed more excited to encounter Bishop Baldwin, so it worked out very evenly.

As they rode into town, Beaufils fell back beside Gawain and gestured at Galahad and Bishop Baldwin riding ahead of them. "Galahad seems very pleased with Bishop Baldwin, doesn't he? Normally he only gets this excited about meeting priests."

Gawain glanced at him curiously. "Well, you know—or, rather, I suppose you don't—a bishop is a kind of priest."

"Oh, that explains it," Beaufils said. "I didn't know. I thought 'Bishop' was just a part of his name."

"No, it's a title," Gawain explained, "like king or duke or baron."

"Does everyone have a title?" Beaufils asked.

"No," Gawain replied. "It's a special privilege, and the people who have a title sometimes think it makes them very special indeed."

Beaufils smiled at Gawain's witticism. He had to be joking, of course; Beaufils knew that people would never really think they were special just because of extra words tacked onto their name. Changing the subject, Beaufils asked, "What brings you and Bishop Baldwin to Carlisle? Have you heard anything of that Grail thing we're looking for?"

Gawain shook his head. "Nay. I have no notion which way to look, so I thought I'd look up north. I have family in this direction, you see. It seemed like a good time to drop in for a visit. Why shouldn't the Grail be at my brother's house, after all? As for Baldwin"—his voice changed slightly, and Beaufils sensed Gawain's dislike of the priest—"I've no idea why he came this way. I found him lost on the moors yesterday. He'd been two days without food, so I fed him and brought him along. I thought I might drop him off with some wealthy patron here in Carlisle."

Beaufils asked what a wealthy patron was, and Gawain explained that sometimes noblemen—those people with extra words in their name—took care of priests. "I see," Beaufils said. "And have you found one?"

"Not yet," Gawain said, "but a villager on the road told me there's a castle up ahead that belongs to the Carl of Carlisle."

"Ah, and is 'Carl' another one of those titles?"

"Not usually," Gawain replied. "More often, it means a rough and boorish person, like 'churl,' but the villager told me that he owns most of the lands hereabouts, so I thought we'd give it a try. When he hears that we're from Arthur's court, he might put us all up for the night. These rich fellows often do."

Twenty minutes later, having asked for directions in town, the four came to the castle of the Carl of Carlisle. Gawain knocked on the great gate; then they waited. Nothing happened. No one opened the gate or even looked over the wall. Bishop Baldwin began to frown. "Try again!" he commanded Gawain.

Gawain cast the bishop a look of distaste, but he did as told and knocked again, harder. Again they waited in silence. Just before Gawain knocked a third time, the gate began to creak, and opened a crack. A slouching man in stained clothes peeked around the edge of the door. "What?" he demanded in a surly voice.

"Pardon our—" Gawain began.

"Open this gate at once," Bishop Baldwin commanded. "I am Bishop Baldwin of Camelot, and my escort includes two of knights of the Round Table! Tell your master we demand his hospitality for the night!"

"Baldwin," Gawain expostulated. "You can't—"

"I'll tell him," drawled the stained man, "and he might even let you stay, if he's in the mood, but I'll tell you now you'd rather not. Whyn't you go find a nice clean farmhouse somewhere?"

"We are from Camelot," Bishop Baldwin replied, "and we do not sleep in farmhouses."

"We don't?" Beaufils asked Gawain. "Why not? Is there a rule?"

"I've slept in many a farmhouse and been glad for it," Gawain said quietly to Beaufils. "Better than the woods, I say."

"All right," the man at the gate said. "I'll tell the Carl. You come on in if you're minded, but don't say I didn't warn you." With that he pushed the gate open wider and shuffled away.

The four travelers rode into the filthiest place that Beaufils had ever seen. The castle courtyard was strewn with all sorts of stinking piles of garbage and rotting food. Rats scampered about in the open, and swarms of flies filled the air. "You want to rethink the farmhouse idea?" Gawain asked, but Bishop Baldwin either didn't hear or pretended not to. No one dismounted while they waited in the courtyard for the doorman to return; no one wanted to step in something nasty.

At last the stained man leaned from the window and said, "The Carl says to suit yourselves. Stay here if you want; it's no skin off his arse."

He turned away, but before he disappeared inside again, Gawain called out, "And, sir, forgive me, but is there a place we can put our horses?"

"If you want, you can leave 'em with the asses in the stable," the man said with a grunt, gesturing to a ramshackle building against the far wall.

"Thank you," Gawain said, bowing politely.

Having seen the piles of ordure in the courtyard, Beaufils was not surprised to find the stables filled with dung, but there was plenty of hay as well. Beaufils dismounted and, taking up a rusty shovel that leaned against one wall, began moving the piles of manure aside so that they could bring their mounts in. It was a long stable, with many separate stalls, each one occupied by a fat donkey. This circumstance seemed to bother Galahad and Bishop Baldwin even more than the smell of the manure.

"I'm not leaving my horse in a stall with an ass!" Bishop Baldwin said abruptly.

"Indeed, it is hardly appropriate," agreed Galahad.

Beaufils didn't know why they were concerned; the stalls were all large enough for two animals, or even three. He didn't ask for an explanation, though; he was busy. Working quickly with his shovel, he mucked out a stall; then he led Clover in to meet his new donkey friend. He had just finished rubbing down the mule and was petting the silken forehead of the donkey when he heard a commotion nearby. Looking out, he saw Bishop Baldwin pushing and shoving a very determined little donkey out of the next stall. The animal's legs were locked, and its head lowered stubbornly as Bishop Baldwin shoved at its hindquarters.

"What are you doing?" Beaufils asked.

The bishop didn't reply at once, his face red with exertion, but after pushing for a while longer, he said, "I'm moving this ass out of my horse's stall, clodpate! What does it look like I'm doing?"

"It looks like you're shoving at his bottom and moving him nowhere," Beaufils replied. "Why do you want him to move?"

"My horse is a blood stallion. I won't have him sharing a stall with a lowly beast like that!"

Beaufils clucked to the donkey and scratched its head. "You can't help how tall you are, can you, dear?" He looked up at the bishop. "Where do you want the donkey?"

"I don't care. Anywhere but here!"

"Let's see if your neighbor would like company," Beaufils said, leading the donkey to the next stall.

"Well, that's done then," Bishop Baldwin said, brushing himself off with satisfaction as if he had accomplished something. "Shall we go meet our churlish host?"

Gawain, who had been leaning against the stable wall watching the bishop's ineffective labors, said, "If Galahad's ready."

Galahad joined them a moment later. He, too, had been delayed by the need to remove a donkey from his horse's stall, but he had accomplished this task on his own by the simple expedient of stretching both arms under the donkey's belly and carrying it to the next stall. When the men were together, they picked their way out of the stable, through the filthy courtyard, and into the central tower of the castle.

There they were met by the dirty doorman, who jerked his head down a corridor. "Carl says you can have the east guest hall, if you like. Or if you don't. It's down there, end of the hall." Then he meandered off, leaving the four to find their own way.

The guest hall was much like the rest of the castle: filthy and crawling with animals. Scrawny chickens pecked their way around the room, mice scurried everywhere, and several large dogs lay in the floor blocking their path. One of these, just as they entered, raised one leg and released a loud explosion of gas. "Figures," said Gawain, stepping over the dog and looking about at the cobwebby chairs. From the hall itself, several doors opened into smaller rooms, where Beaufils could make out some filthy beds. "Maybe I'll go sleep in the stable with a donkey," Gawain added.

A squirrel chattered at them from the rafters and threw a nut down, which bounced harmlessly off Galahad's armor. Beaufils glanced at the squirrel, noted a line of bats clinging to the ceiling, and said, "It seems that the Carl likes animals."

"More than he likes visitors, anyway," replied Gawain. "I'm beginning to have my doubts about our being invited to dinner with our gracious host."