The Green Knight and Sir Gawain

The Green Knight and Sir Gawain

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The following story is all that remains of an old manuscript that was forgotten for centuries before being found in the remains of a palimpsest. Only modern technology had uncovered what this manuscript says, but, sadly, only part of it still exists. The remainder of the story has been lost, most likely forever. Read what you can, for this is all that remains of this ancient story of The Green Knight and Sir Gawain.

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It had taken longer than he expected, so the last four days consisted of a constant trek through the British wilderness. What was once uninhabited forest filled with monstrous beasts became semi-inhabited regions of loyal peasants freezing in their poorly made buildings. Those lucky enough to be accepted into their lord’s castles were warmed by blazing fires as they made final preparations for the last feasts of the year.

Snow was falling heavily down, as it had for the past two days. A sesquipedalian of snow had fallen during those two days, blanketing everything in a white embrace. A horse and his rider were the only living beings crazy enough to be out in the open. To keep themselves warm, each was covered completely by black cloaks and wool blankets; all that could be seen of either of them were their green eyes.

In the distance, they could see smoke rising from beyond a hill. “Come on, Morgana,” the man coaxed to his horse, “we’re almost there.”

“I have eyes, too, Bercilak,” the horse replied. “Now, you be quiet and let me get you there.”

Bercilak quieted for a moment, but his silence was not for very long. “Why did you not just transport us here? It would have saved us a long time and a lot of trouble. All you had to…”

“I walked because Merlin would have noticed if his half-sister transported herself half the way across Britain! Now, shush!” Morgana’s temper was verging eruption, and Bercilak could tell. Tranquility resumed its presence in the open, and the strange pair of living beings kept advancing closer to their goal.

Pigs had already been slaughtered for the feast, but more were still being killed to satisfy the hunger of the knights of King Arthur’s Court. At least a dozen chimneys were pouring out smoke that the fire created; wood was being chopped at an almost alarming rate to satisfy the hunger of the ravenous fire, always crying out for more food to continue its existence. Peasants were accomplishing all of these tasks, and more. There were puddings to be made, meat to roast, wine to serve, bread to bake, corn to husk, potatoes to broil, stews to simmer, and knights and ladies to serve. In all their frenzy to complete their looming goals, not one of them noticed as two shadowy figures slipped by them.

Under the shade of a holly tree, the horse stopped and the man on top jumped off. The horse barely came up to his middle. “You know what to do, I hope,” the horse said.

“Yes, I remember.” He quickly showed his rider that he knew what his job was.

The horse nodded, or made a gesture that was close enough to a nod. “Good, but just in case you mess up, I am going in there with you.”

“Morgana! Do you not trust me? I am a lord, I lead my people. Surely you find me competent enough to carry out this simple task!”

“Yes, I do trust you. That is why I am going with you.” Before Bercilak could say anything, loud music erupted from out of the hall, and Morgana quickly said, “Take off our coverings. We do not want to look like shadows; we want to make an appearance.” Bercilak dutifully removed the dark coverings from himself and the horse.

If anyone had looked at them at that moment, they would have thought they were leaves on a branch weighed heavily down with snow that they touched the ground. Bercilak and the horse, Morgana, were entirely green. Even the man’s skin, as well as the hair on both his head and chin that went down to his elbow, was green. His tight tunic, retaining no heat at all in the cold weather, was green, as well as his thin coat. His hood and mantle, edged with fur, was green. His leggings were green, his belt was green, and, had he worn shoes – which he was not – they would have been green.

The horse was no different. Everything was green. Her body, her mane, her tail, her elegant saddle, and even the gems on the leather saddle horn were all green. Each of the green strands of her mane and tail were braded with pure gold, making her shine in the moonlight. Her bit and stirrups were green as well, and when her tail swished, the bells attached would jingle.

“Now there’s just one more thing,” the horse said. “Hold out your hands.” Bercilak did as he was told. Morgana muttered some words in a barbarian tongue, and, with a flash of green light, two items appeared in the man’s hands.

An enormous green axe, whose head’s width was four feet wide, hammered of steel and gold, appeared in one hand, and in the other, a branch of green holly. After looking at the two items that had appeared in his hands, the man asked, “Why did you conjure up holly when there is a holly tree right above us?”

Morgana snorted. “Because, the one in your hand is greener. Now, get in the saddle, and we will spring in there when the song is over. We can only hope Guenevere will die of fright.” Bercilak jumped into the saddle, shivering in the cold, his rippling muscles holding the monstrous axe and peaceful branch of holly. The song quickened, loudening, a sure sign that it was about to end. Morgana made her way to the court, passing preparers oblivious to their existence. With a grand finish, the pipes, trumpets, lyres, flutes, and drums quieted at the very same moment that the two green creatures bound into the room.

All attention turned from the musicians to the newcomers, mouths open in astonishment, amazement, and fear. Knights of all shapes and sizes and ladies wearing every color of the known spectrum halted their feasting to gaze at the green pair. They made their way to the head of the hall, where King Arthur still stood, waiting for a grand story or adventure to be told, ignoring the eyes of all those present in the hall. Neither spoke until they reached the head of the hall, upon which Bercilak shouted, “Where is the lord of this company? I’d like to see him in person and exchange some words.” He already knew King Arthur, the only man still standing, was the lord of the company, but he let his eyes wander over the crowd to make himself even more ominous.

No one spoke, not even Arthur, who was usually the first to say anything, most of the time without thinking about what he was saying. But this time, silence engulfed the crowd. No one was concerned about the question, but they were all wondering why something could be this green unless it grew from the ground. Some risked muttering, asking each other whether the strange knight could be a phantom, a ghost, or even the devil himself.

However, not all of them kept silent out of fear or awe. Some of the noble knights and ladies refrained from speaking out of courtesy that Arthur, the ruler of the court, should speak first. And speak first he did after a time, fear not even glimmering in his noble mind. Addressing the Green Knight, he answered thus: “Sir, you are welcome in my house, for I am Arthur and I rule this court.” Bercilak decided it was time to focus all of his attention on Arthur, and the king continued. “Step down from your horse and stay, let me pray you, and whatever you’ve come for can be talked of afterward.”

If the Green Knight was allowed to show affection (which Morgana strictly forbade him to do unless necessary), he would have smiled, knowing that already, King Arthur had said exactly what he was supposed to. Bercilak spoke up, reciting the lines he had memorized. “No, God help me. I have no interest in lingering here! Yet you and your court are so famous, prince, and your castle and your knights are praised so widely – the proudest, the boldest soldiers to sit on a horse, the bravest and best of men, eager to compete in noble games – and your courtesy is told in such terms, that I came to see if these tales were true.”

He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in to the soldiers and their ladies that he was referring to in his statement. Morgana underneath him shifted her weight and quietly snorted, signaling him it was time to go on.

“You can surely tell by this branch here in my hand,” he continued, holding up the green branch of holly that he was referring to, “that I’ve come in peace, not seeking, not giving offense: had I ridden with my men, intending to fight, I’ve a helmet and mail-shirt at home, and a shield, and a sharp spear, shining bright, and other weapons meant for war.” At that time, he noticed everyone’s gaze shifting to the giant axe he held in his other hand. Trying not to draw attention to it at that time, he slowly moved it to a location where it could not be seen, and continued. “I intend no war, what I wear is in peace. And if Arthur is as brave as his fame, in the name of this Christmas season you’ll grant me the sport I’ve come for.”

Morgana’s head nodded slightly, showing him he did a good job and it was Arthur’s turn. Inside, it felt a little belittling to have a horse give him directions, but he could not linger on it long before Arthur started speaking.

“Your wish is done, sir. If you’ve come to fight we’ll fight and not run, sir.” It may have been a flicker of the light, but it seemed to Bercilak that as he said that, his eyes gleamed with a passion of fighting.

Morgana snorted again. Her rider understood that she meant Arthur did not quite understand what was going on. “No, not fighting: believe me, prince. These benches are filled with beardless infants.” At those words, a quiet roar of muttering men started, each apparently ridiculed at his words. He continued, “Wearing my armor, riding to war, there’s no muscle in this hall to match me. It’s a game I want to play, a Christmas sport for the season. Your court sings of its daring: if they’ll dare it, any of these eager knights, rise so boldly so fierce, so wild, and give a blow and take a blow, I’ll offer this noble axe and let them swing its weight as they like, and I’ll sit without armor and invite them to strike as they please.”

A recurring silence was left as a result of his words. It seemed to be a recurring theme with visitors, Bercilak thought: silence. Every knight peered anxiously at his neighbor. One lady fainted, her unconscious body lying forgotten in her chair.

“Anyone with the nerve to try it, take this axe, here. Hurry, I’m waiting!” Silence still ruled over the court. “Take it and keep it, my gift forever, and give me a well-aimed stroke, and agree to accept another in payment, when my turn arrives, but not now: a year and a day will be time enough. So: is anyone here able to rise?” If there could be something quieter than complete silence, that was what the atmosphere was in the feasting hall. Morgana’s eyes were fixed on Guenevere, but the Green Knight looked to and fro over the soldiers in the hall. Every man he laid his eyes on immediately looked away, apparently ashamed to not be saying anything.

After a time of no response, he spoke more. “Hah! Is this Arthur’s house, hailed across the world, that fabled court? Where have your conquests gone to, and your pride, where is your anger, and those awesome boasts.” The Green Knight smiled now, knowing he was delving deeper and deeper into dangerous territory of each of the knight’s heart, but none of them reacted. “And now the Round Table’s fame and its feasting are done, thrown down at the sound of one man’s words – and you sit there shaking – at words!”

Laughter boomed and echoed around the hall, a fearsome laugh that brought shame to all of the knights, especially Arthur. Arthur recoiled at the laugh and blushed to a beet red, ashamed. On cue, all of his knights’ shame turned to anger, but none rose to defend the court’s honor. A murmur made its way through the knights like the buzzing of angry bees.

If Arthur had withheld for a moment longer, he would have exploded. Already standing, he leaned forward on the table and shouted, “By God, fellow, this is foolish stuff – but you’ve asked for folly, and folly you’ll get!” The Green Knight stopped laughing and turned his attention on the king, his eyes burning a hole through him. “No one’s afraid of your nonsense: for God’s sake, give me your axe, I’ll grant your request!” The noble king, young and proud and full of anger at the time, left his spot at the table and made his way to the Green Knight.

While the king was on his way, Bercilak inconspicuously asked, “Is this going to hurt?”

“Not when he does it,” Morgana replied. The knight’s confusion over that response lasted only a moment, for King Arthur had run to the knight and his horse. Lifting up his hand, King Arthur went through the motions to assist the ferocious Green Knight by grasping the hand. Bercilak immediately noticed the king was performing a gesture of superiority, assisting a knight from his horse. Resistance was futile, though, and he allowed himself to be helped off of his horse, even though none was necessary in the first place. It only occurred to him later that the king’s aid may have been a sign of courtesy.

Grinning proudly, the Green Knight handed the beautiful, green axe to Arthur. When receiving the monstrous weapon the king showed a slight sign of weakness as a result of its weight, but he immediately composed himself and started to swing the axe about. A smile appeared on his face for a moment, quickly replaced by a firm expression of determination and will.

Though he looked magnificent with the enormous axe, the Green Knight standing beside him looked still the more marvelous. Standing more that a head above the tall king, he dwarfed every knight and lady in the court. Retaining a calm composure, Bercilak stroked his green beard, almost thoughtfully, comprehending the situation, and then removed his thin coat and fur mantle. He laid his head upon a table, not a nerve out of place as King Arthur was swishing around the axe that would soon hit him.

The king was just about to swing when a voice called out from the high table, yelling, “Hear me, my lord. Let this challenge be mine.” The swishing noises from the blade ceased, and Bercilak, confused though he did not look it, made a glance toward the horse. Morgana nodded, and he finally understood what she had meant by her previous statement.

The new knight, who had been seated right next to Queen Guenevere, stood up and bowed toward the king. He trembled slightly as he spoke, saying, “Release me, my liege, from this bench, and let me come to you, permit me to rise without discourtesy, and without displeasing your queen.” He halted for a moment in his speech where both the king and the Green Knight reflected on his words, but he continued just a moment later. “Let me come to counsel you, here in your noble court.

“It seems wrong – everyone knows how wrong – when a challenge like this rings through your hall to take it yourself, though your spirit longs for battle.” The knight swallowed for a moment, still in a bowed state, thinking up his next words. “Think of your bold knights,” he continued, motioning around to those assembled, “bursting to fight, as ready and willing as men can be: defer to their needs. And I am the slightest, the dullest of them all; my life the least, my death no loss – my only worth is you, my royal uncle, all my virtue is through you. And this foolish business fits my station, not yours: let me play this green man’s game. If I ask too boldly, let this court declare me at fault.”

As the knight’s last words echoed throughout the hall, he straightened up completely, sat down, and looked the king right in the eye. Every one of the knights – and even some of the ladies – muttered to each other, each and every one of them supporting the knight that had just spoken up, the knight out of all of them who wanted to save the king. Very shortly following, a rallying cry broke out that the king should be seated and the other knight take the axe.

The king stood still for a moment, leaning upon the immense weapon. At last, Arthur spoke. “Rise, and take this axe.” Before he had even finished his second word, the knight had already stood up and was on his way. When he reached the king, he knelt before him and took the axe. Lifting the axe up high, the king said to the knight, “Be careful, cousin, to strike but once; offer exactly what he asks and his stroke will be easier to stand.”

Still standing with a serene expression on his face, the knight approached the Green Knight but stopped short when the Green Knight started to speak.

“Before we proceed, friend, “Bercilak began, “we ought to make everything clear. And I ask you, first, your name: speak it openly, and speak the truth.”

The knight put on a resolute expression, showing the guest he meant business. “In truth it is Gawain who offers this stroke, and agrees, no matter what happens, to accept a stroke from you, in exactly one year, with whatever weapon you choose – from you and only from you!”

He knows what he is doing, Bercilak thought to himself, and he understands the rules. He was adlibbing now, so, trying to intimidate Gawain, he smiled and said, “Sir Gawain, no one could do what you’ll do, and delight me more – no man alive.”

The Green Knight let out a brief chuckle and continued, saying, after a light oath, “Sir Gawain, I’m glad to have what I wanted at your hands. You’ve spoken our bargain beautifully, and spoken it fair, and omitted nothing I asked the king except, knight, your word to seek me yourself, to come to me there where I am, at home on this earth, and to take the same reward you’ll give me today in this court.” He was about to say more, but he luckily saw out of the corner of his eye, Morgana, still in the figure of a horse, stamp her foot, signaling him to stop. So stop he did, but he wished that Morgana had taken through every possible situation first instead of making him look like an idiot.

Taking his chance, Gawain asked, “Where is your home? By God, I’ve never heard of your castle, or you, or your court, or your name. Tell me, teach me, give me your name, and I’ll come to you, however hard the road, wherever you are.” He pounded his fist on the table, making several of the knights around him jump in their chairs. “I swear on my word.”

Bercilak could barely suppress a smile; he was back into known territory, as Gawain had asked him the right question in his unwritten script. “That’s oath enough, at Christmas, I need no more. Once you’ve swung my axe neatly and well, there’ll be time to tell you where my home is and my house, and to tell you my name, and you’ll test my castle, and me, and keep your word.” At least, he thought, if Morgana’s magic worked as it was supposed to. “Perhaps I’ll say nothing,” he continued, “once you’ve struck, which is better for you, you could stay here with your king and not hunt my door – but stop!” Sir Gawain looked right at the Green Knight on the last word with an expression that could be interpreted as fear. “Take my good axe and show me a chop.”

“Exactly as you ask,” the brave knight said as he smirked and walked closer to the oddly colored knight. Bercilak, still with a complacent smile on his face, again knelt down and put his large head on the table. Taking his right hand, he swept aside his long, silky green hair from his neck, revealing a patch of smooth, green skin. He took a quick glance at Morgana for encouragement, but the horse was looking right at Guenevere, apparently eagerly watching to see the queen’s reaction to a beheaded man.

Sir Gawain, that brave and noble knight, gripped the axe and raised it up over his head. Bercilak, that green monster of a man, though his outward appearance was calm, was anxiously waiting for the stroke to pass. They had never practiced this part before, Morgana and he, so he did not know what to expect. Was it to be painful? Or maybe he would not feel a thing. What if Morgana had performed the spell incorrectly? What if it did kill him?

Though a million questions swirled in his brain, mostly pertaining to pain and death, and each question leading to an additional one, he had but a slight moment to really question and consider the fact of his mortality, for the axe that was held in the hands of Sir Gawain fell from a great height directly on the back of Bercilak’s neck.

It took not even a second, the duration of the slicing. Bercilak did not know if the slight pain he felt was from the impact of the gold and steel object, from the thought that it might hurt, or because the spell did not work and his head really had been chopped off. He quickly ruled out the first one, though, mainly because if that had occurred, he would not be able to think about it.

He did hear a general gasp from every person in the hall, and he was starting to get dizzy as his head rolled and was kicked by the flailing feet of the knights and ladies. It was an odd feeling, literally an out-of-body experience. One glance he was able to take between the legs of the feasters was of his body, standing upright, not falling, with crimson blood flowing out its headless neck. This was really the first chance he had of seeing himself as the green knight, and it intimidated even himself, its impressive vivid colors, the grandeur of its stature, and the imposing presence of it still being able to stand despite being headless. It was quite an extraordinary feat of magic on Morgana’s behalf.

But the knights and ladies had seen nothing yet. Bercilak did not know really how he accomplished this feat, but he moved his body toward himself, the two legs pulling along the headless torso to where its missing head was. It took a little time, but he eventually reached his missing head, blood still pouring out of the severed spot. Everybody was silent; some more of the ladies fainted, and even some of the knights lost their consciousness at the gory scene. Morgana was still staring at the conscious Guenevere, just waiting for her to die from fright of the scene.

The Green Knight carried his severed head back to Morgana and ascended onto the saddle. He was still having a little problem with coordination, though, and his balance was still a little iffy. Despite the facts, he still maintained a grim expression on his face that was now being held by his long, green hair, similar to what Medusa’s head may have looked like centuries before. The act was gaining a lot of attention by the crowd, and he held that pose for a couple of seconds, letting the scene sink into their minds, making sure the nobles there would remember always remember what he headless rider looked like.

They had seen nothing yet, though. The arm slowly turned the gruesome head around for everyone to see, its lips drooping with some of life’s precious fluid seeping out, not to mention a steady trickle coming from the base of its neck, and its eyelids closed as though death had already covered him. The face stared right at the king at the head of the hall, the gracious king’s legs still extended as he stood before the table.

To the amazement and shock of all the knights and ladies still in a conscious state, the lifeless eyes jumped open wide and stared at the king for a moment before they moved to the noble knight Gawain. Sir Gawain sat speechless, staring hypnotically at the pair of green eyes on the head he had just decapitated.

And the lips of the bodiless head spoke thus: “Gawain, be ready to ride as you promised; hunt me well until you find me – as you swore to, here in this hall, heard by these knights. Find the green chapel, come to take what you’ve given, a quick and proper greeting for a New Year’s Day.”

Bercilak tried to swallow, for saliva was filling his mouth, but it ended up just trickling out of his severed esophagus, mingled with the slowing stream of blood. Continuing, he spoke, “Many men know the knight of the green chapel: seek me, and nothing can keep you from me. Then come! or be called a coward forever.” Taking the reins in the hand not holding his head up, the Green Knight gave his horse a light kick with his heel, and she sprang out of the hall, past the watching men and women whose eyes were still fixed upon the head and its separated body. Bercilak would have broken out in laughter, but, nauseous as he already was, he did not want to risk dropping his head just for the sake of laughter.

The horseshoes clattered against the stone floor of the hall, and sparks flew everywhere. Some of the stray sparks fell into a pile of dry straw that was to be used as horse feed. The sparks, in the state of the simplest form of fire, greedily gorged upon the dry materials until they grew from tiny sparks into tall flames, growing higher and higher still.

The fleeing pair did not care about what they left behind, though. With frightful speed, Morgana, the green stallion, sprinted headlong into the falling snow that awaited them outside the toasty hall. They made their way back past the holly tree they had stopped under, past the brook that traced its way along the outskirts of King Arthur’s Court, past even the loggers’ cabins, deserted at that time in the dead of winter. Finally, in a meadow surrounded by woods, they stopped, Morgana frothing at the mouth and Bercilak shivering in the cold.

“I would have to say that went quite well, all in accordance to our plan,” Bercilak said.

Morgana took a few more panting breaths before answering, “Yes, it went very well, even though Arthur’s queen did not die from fright at the sight of your headless body.”

“So,” the head asked, still dangling from its long hair, “can you put my head back onto my body? The blood has stopped flowing, but I am afraid if I drop my head, you may step on it with your hooves.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” With that, she started to mutter phrases that only she knew, phrases that were invented even before voices were created, words that were not only spoken, but existed. The magic of those sounds called together supernatural forces that were present only to obey those words.

Bercilak placed his head where it should have been, and, like a little thread of silk and a tiny needle, his neck and head were reunited in a seamless perfection. There was no red from the blood, only green skin. “Good, now can you…”

He could not even finish his sentence before Morgana interrupted him by saying, “No, you will be changed back the same moment I will be changed back. I can only do this to both of us, so unless you wish finding some real horse that would get tired after a day of sprinting to take you home, we continue green.

Bercilak grabbed the black cloaks they had shown up in and draped them first over the horse, then over himself. Each took a drink of wine before setting off on their way again at a much slower pace.

Each hoof print left an impression on the soft, snow covered ground. However, proof of their existence on the path was soon extinguished as the quickly falling snow covered up their tracks in less than an hour’s time. It was going to be a long journey home, but at least they would not have to worry about any monsters that winter.

Occasionally, through gaps in the trees, they could spy similar halls and castles with countless fireplaces still smoking as the fires they came from warmed the meats for the final serving of food before everyone would retire to their quarters after long weeks of feasting. Every New Years, feasting such as that would take over the events of all of England and Wales, celebration not only of a fresh year, but also the circumcision of Jesus.

With both of their stomachs growling for food, and each of them voicing many good excuses as to why they should be able to feast on the day of new beginnings, Morgana stopped them a distance away from a magnificent hall with parapets and towers reaching high above the safe walls. Bercilak dismounted and detached the saddle and bits from Morgana, removing everything from her back and mouth. Morgana once again spoke the sounds that called the spirits of change, beings that existed even before God himself, who slowly morphed their bodies out of their state of green and into what they should have appeared.

What was once the Green Knight shortened and uncolored, his skin becoming the same as a dull fire, the coals still burning a light red. His hair shortened on both his beard and head until it became like a bush on his chin and a covering on his head, both the color of red tree bark, the deepest of red with still so much brown. He did retain much of his fitness, though, and he was still quite a foreboding figure, yet gracious instead of intimidating.

Likewise, Morgana’s entire figure changed. Instead of a horse, she became a human with rich, flowing hair, a perfect face with bright red lips, young yet with the aura of knowledge. Her hair, the color of ebony, matched perfectly with her dark eyes, though each strand was still woven with gold.

“Morgana, you look as though God created an Aphrodite and placed her into a human. I thought you were to look terrible and frail, old enough to have seen Brutus on his visit to Britain.”

Morgana, the beautiful witch, smiled at Bercilak, and replied, “I am to look hideous when Gawain shall see me again, to test whether or not his chivalry extends beyond just fair ladies.”

Bercilak eyed the witch suspiciously. “Are you to tell me that you knew the outcome of that event before? You had more planned out in this trick than you have told me, haven’t you.”

“We shall see,” was all she said, and, with her bewitching smile still on her face, she turned from him and started walking across the snow toward the castle nearby.

It took only moments to reach there, and both were quickly ushered in by an elderly guard set at the entrance to guard against hostile intruders. “Hostile intruders indeed,” the man had said, “on such a night as this! I am surprised that even two people are not feasting away in some hall, or at least huddled around a fire in their house.”

Both were greeted warmly by the host, a Sir Terkin, a plump man famous for his wines. “I do not have my own vineyards, you know, “Sir Terkin said right after his introduction. “I get most of them during my trips to the mainland.”

Though the host may not have been the best choice for either of them, the food was more than satisfactory; it could even have rivaled with the feast of King Arthur. There were meats of every kind, puddings, pastries, breads, cheeses, lost of wine, and more. There were musicians playing, and even a comical play was performed. There was chatter and laughter, as well as singing and dancing.

Near the end, just hours before the sun would appear beyond the eastern border of the island, some minstrels began to sing of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. The minstrel sang of their piety, their chivalry, their bravery, and all that is good, contained in the lives of the knights. Everyone stopped their conversations to listen to the stories that were being told, of the sword Excalibur, and the Lady of the Lake. Hearts softened as they heard again the beauty and righteousness of Lady Guenevere, the most gracious queen in all of Britain, maybe even the world.

It was then that Morgana leaned over to Bercilak. “Do you hear,” she began, “of the stories of that very hall we just visited? Do you hear of their bravery, their chivalry, their courtesy, their dutifulness to protect their king? Their virtues are known all throughout Britain, of how they work together to protect their people. They are obviously righteous men, always looking for a way to prove themselves to their king, the bold King Arthur.

“But let me ask you now, how much of their fame did you see practiced in that hall today? Yes, that was surely bravery and dutifulness to protect their king that they all remained silent as their king took up the challenge that could potentially have killed him. You may argue for courtesy in that situation, but there is a point where courtesy stops and enters into fear. They are known, but not because they are all noble people. They are known because of their leaders. We have seen the truth of his court, and we will see just exactly what constitutes a knight of King Arthur when Gawain visits us next year. Will he stand up to the high standards he should, or will he falter? This trick may prove to be more than just that, but also a test, a test to see whether this famous court really does have all the virtues others say it does.”

Bercilak sat silent for a moment as the tale ended and the people cheered. The hall broke out into a song, and many stood up for one final dance before departing. Bercilak pondered what had occurred in the past couple of hours, and spoke words given to him by the holy God above…

Nothing else is known of this story beyond this point, as the manuscript was torn off at this spot, the remainder has been lost. For more information of what else may be contained in this story, its parallel, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight contains a different perspective on this story. Who knows--maybe the rest will show up one day. . . .

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