Sir Gawain and Lady Ragnell
There is a story that one day, King Arthur, hunting in the forest with the court, became separated from his companions. He entered a clearing, and realised he was quite alone; when he called out, no one answered him. Then a strange man, whom Arthur had never seen before, with strange markings on his face, approached him, and said, "Arthur, so-called king, you have taken my lands from me, and for that, I demand recompense."
Arthur laughed, and then he saw that the man was quite serious.
"I am Gromer," the man said, coming closer, "a great chieftain from the north. If you doubt me, look there," and he gestured at the trees behind him, as an archer, with an arrow nocked, stepped out. "You have stolen my counties from me. For which crime you shall die, unless," and here the man seemed to smile, although it did not lighten his expression, "you can answer the question I shall put to you."
"Name it," said Arthur scornfully.
"What," Gromer said, coming closer still to the king, "is it that women desire most in the world?"
Arthur shook his head in disbelief. "No mere man," he told Gromer, "could answer that question."
"I grant you a twelvemonth to discover the answer," Gromer replied. "You will return here, in a year's time, with your answer, upon your honour, or you will not leave this clearing alive." He cocked his head, his eyes, magpie-bright, fixed on the king. Arthur nodded, his pride stung, and the archer lowered his bow, and stepped back into the trees. "I wish you good hunting, then," Gromer said, and walked away; as soon as he did, the companions rushed upon the king, glad to have discovered him after he had wandered away from them.
They did not notice the unusual sobriety in the king's manner as they rode back to the court, nor did they see it attend him, like his shadow, all that night and into the next day. Only Sir Gawain of Orkney approached him to enquire after his liege's melancholy; Gawain, being nephew to the king, loved him most dearly of all Arthur's retainers, and only Sir Kai, the king's brother, was more dear to the king himself. "What troubles you?" Sir Gawain asked, his words as blunt as his sword was sharp.
The king did not answer him immediately; when he spoke, he said only that he regretted that he had not had a son — "although no son could be more beloved than you are," he added, trying to smile. "Kai is a good seneschal, but he is no monarch. I have striven to unite this kingdom, and to die without an heir weighs upon me."
"You are young yet," Gawain said, for it was true — Arthur had been crowned king in his fourteenth summer, and had been engaged upon war and triumph for a decade beyond that; peace had come hard upon the heels of his battles, and now, not more than a score and ten years old, he ruled over a land that was flourishing for the first time since the Romans had retreated from the Isles's shores. But Arthur shook his head, and turned to gaze out over the mown fields that stretched toward the smoke-blue horizon.
"It will not matter," he said heavily. "It is a question of honour, now, and I would far rather die than forfeit that, but still — in such a way!" He shoved a stray lock of hair off his face, and his lips thinned.
Gawain stood still, his brows furrowed. "My liege?" he said.
Arthur turned to face him fully, and recounted the story of what had happened to him in the forest; when he was finished, Gawain laughed. "Come, uncle," he said, "there must be an answer. We may not know it — for I confess, it baffles me too — but we shall ask all the women of the court, and if we are not satisfied, well, there lies a country beyond the walls here, and I promise you, there will be a woman with the answer Gromer asked you for."
The joy that spread across Arthur's face when he understood Gawain's meaning was boundless, echoed in Gawain's pleasure in aiding his lord.
Beginning that very day, Sir Gawain and King Arthur asked each woman in the court, from the queen herself to the most invisible kitchen-maid, what it was that she desired most. They quickly found that the book they had recorded the responses in was too small for the purpose, for each time they asked the question, they received a different reply. Every answer, from gold to jewels to a good husband to beautiful children to a good night's sleep, was faithfully recorded; and they continued doggedly on their search for the next twelvemonth, asking each woman they met for her answer.
But neither Gawain nor Arthur truly believed that in their book of answers was the true one. Neither of them spoke of it, but as the year drew to a close, the king grew melancholy again, and Gawain was often seen pacing the fortifications, scrubbing his fingers through his red hair, and muttering odd snatches of old pagan prayers under his breath. While no one believed that Gawain followed his mother's beliefs — Morgause was a priestess of the ancient gods — it made many people uneasy, and Arthur took Gawain with him the day he went for a ride through the countryside.
As they approached the stream where they would take their midday meal, Arthur thought he saw something moving in the trees beside the lane on which they travelled, but when he turned his head to look, there was nothing there. Having watered the horses and drunk the juniper gin they had brought them, Gawain stretched out on the banks of the stream and dozed off. Arthur paced, as he was wont to do, his gaze adrift.
All at once, he looked up, and saw a woman of such surpassing ugliness that we could go on for many days describing it, and still fail to evoke the true horror of her appearance. She stood before him, and in a voice like the grinding of stone against ice, said, "I know the answer you seek, and I know that you do not have it."
Arthur stood, his hands clasped behind his back, and replied, "And will you give to me? I die without that answer in a week's time."
"Aye," she said, and Arthur, having grown, if not resigned to her features, for the king was a lover of beauty in all things, accustomed to them, began to notice her odd accent. "I will give it to you on one condition."
"Name it," Arthur told her, his heart leaping within him.
"I want to marry Sir Gawain."
For the full length and breadth of a gasp, Arthur could not speak. He followed the hag's gaze to where Gawain lay on the bank of the stream, his arm thrown over his head and grass in his hair. "Even if," Arthur whispered, "I were so cruel as to sacrifice Gawain for my life, I cannot give you him. He is his own man."
"I do not," the hag said slowly, "ask you to give me Gawain himself. I ask you to put the case before him. I offer you your life, and I want Gawain to share mine. Let him make the choice." Her eyes were a queer silver colour, almost like the water in the brook, and she turned her gaze full upon Arthur once more. Gawain snorted, and rolled over.
Arthur looked at him, all the hope that had risen in his breast no more than bitter silver ash, and then asked the lady, "Who are you? Why should I believe you?"
"I am Lady Ragnell," she said, "and I tell you the truth. I have the answer — the true answer — to Gromer's question."
And that convinced the king, for he had not told anyone save Gawain of Gromer's name. He swallowed. "Hmm?" Gawain mumbled, stirring. "Call me, uncle?"
"I did not," Arthur said, but still Gawain woke fully, and stood. His eyes widened when he saw Lady Ragnell, but he made her a courtesy, and asked the king in an undertone if he should take his leave. "No," Arthur said. "You are concerned here. This — lady says she has the answer to Gromer's question."
"That is most wonderful," Gawain said, but he looked at the king questioningly, for he did not seem to rejoice in the news.
"And she will furnish me with it, if I agree to her terms. Which I cannot do," Arthur said, anger beginning to bleed into his voice, like sap into leaves.
The lady smiled, and if it were possible, her features became yet more loathsome. "But Sir Gawain can," she said coolly, and Arthur nodded reluctantly. "I will provide you with the answer, if you will marry me, my lord."
Astonishment overlaid Sir Gawain's features, but only for an instant, and then his eyes narrowed. "I will not ask you to do this for me, nephew," Arthur said, and Gawain smiled, an expression of such sweetness that bees would have envied it.
"It is my choice," he said gently, "and I will do this, and would do more, gladly, to save your life. You swear your answer is the rightful answer?" he said to the lady. She nodded, and Arthur clenched a fist, but did not speak. "Then," Gawain said, "once the answer that you give my liege is accepted as the true one by the man who threatens him, we shall be wed."
"That is fair," she replied, triumph gilding her features.
Neither Arthur nor Gawain spoke as they rode back, having lost their taste for adventuring for the day.
A week later, on the appointed day, Arthur rode out alone to meet Gromer; whether he wished or feared more strongly that Lady Ragnell's answer would be the true one is impossible to judge. Gromer waited in the clearing, the archer leaning against a tree, his bow against his thigh. Silently, Arthur handed him the book of answers he and Gawain had gathered, and while Gromer read through them, Arthur said, "I wonder that you require another man to put me to death."
Gromer did not reply for a long moment, and then said, "It is not done for a chief, in my country, to soil his hands with the blood of a lesser man."
"You do not dare to raise your hand against a greater king than you yourself have been," Arthur contradicted softly. "You must use another man to dispatch what you consider justice, which taints the sentence and yourself in equal."
The book, closing, sounded like a single bell ringing out. "It does not matter," Gromer said, looking up, his mouth twisting. "These answers are wrong."
Arthur nodded. "Well, then," he said. Gromer turned to call the archer, but Arthur said, "I have one more answer I did not write in the book."
"What is that?" Gromer demanded, shaking himself like a nervous horse.
"What a woman truly desires is the power to make her own choices," Arthur said, for that was the answer Lady Ragnell had given him, and he was surprised indeed to see the frustration that distorted Gromer's face at his words. The low curse that reached his ears confirmed the veracity of the answer, and Arthur saw the archer shrug, unsurprised, and unstring his bow. But Gromer was lost to anything but his own rage, cursing Ragnell's name, her lineage, her arrogance; at last, he drew a breath.
"Go," he said harshly. "I will not violate our agreement. Sir."
"My liege," Arthur said, but Gromer only snarled and stormed off.
When he returned to where Gawain waited, the relief that Gawain exhibited was so great that Arthur felt comforted for the great gift Gawain had offered him. "I wonder when Lady Ragnell will join us?" Gawain mused a few moments later.
"You need not—" Arthur began, but Gawain laid a hand on his arm.
"I made a promise," he reminded Arthur, and Arthur bowed his head.
A court page rushed up a moment later, very much flustered. "My liege," he said breathlessly, "there is a—she demands to see you both, milord, my liege."
"She is eager," Gawain said, amusement crossing his face, and they went to the gate to receive Ragnell, for it was indeed she. "Will the evening suit you for the wedding, my lady?" Gawain asked, when he had greeted her. Ragnell inclined her head, and Arthur called for an attendant to show her to the suite of rooms nearest Gawain's. Whispers flew around the court as fast as birds; no one had ever seen such a woman before, and that Gawain, Gawain of Orkney, the greatest of the king's champions, should have consented to marry her was beyond astonishment for the multitude.
A few hours later, a priest having been found for the ceremony, a great feast was laid in celebration; although only Ragnell seemed joyous. The ladies of the court wept that Gawain had found himself wed to such a hag; the knights all felt themselves obscurely fortunate to have escaped whatever punishment this was; the king was distant in bearing, and he barely touched the roasted fowl that was served, nor the Rhenish wine poured for him.
After the feast, the couple was conducted to their chamber, and Gawain sat beside the fire, gazing into its guttering wings of flame. "Will you not kiss me, husband?" Ragnell said at last.
Gawain swallowed, for he was not ignorant of women, nor was he blind, but he leaned over and kissed her carefully. When he drew back, and brushed a hand across his lips, and opened his eyes, he found a radiant, young woman sitting before him; only her eyes, silver like water or forgetfulness, convinced him that this was indeed his wife. He could not speak for wonder, lifting a hand to gesture at her face and figure, until finally he asked what had happened.
"I am Gromer's stepsister," she explained, looking away from him. "He wanted my lands, which were far more wealthy than his—well, it doesn't matter now. I refused him the dominion over my possessions, and over my person," she said with a smile, "that he wished for. He did not think this behaviour proper for a mere woman, and Gromer is an enchanter of some skill, and he cursed me. To remain as I was when you met me until I should marry a man who knew me only as a hag." She stood, and let her hands rest on Gawain's face. "Which you have done, and for which I thank you. You cannot know what it has been—to have been myself, and yet not myself."
"And now the enchantment is broken?" Gawain asked.
She shook her head. "There remains a final portion. You know me now, fair and foul. But I must be both one and the other; it is your prerogative to decide if I am to be fair when only you can see me, and foul for all to see, or if my daytime face shall be this one, and my features hideous in the night. I await your decision." She drew a breath, and slipped down to sit on the floor between his knees; idly, Gawain stroked her hair as he thought, the bright strands slipping through his fingers.
For long moments, there was only the muffled tread of the sentries posted on the battlements over their head and the whisper of the fire burning in the hearth. At last, Gawain sighed, and Ragnell turned her head to meet his gaze.
"I cannot tell you that," he said, softly. "The choice must be your own, my love."
A single tear fell down Ragnell's cheek. "Oh, Gawain," she said, her voice shaking. "I had hoped—but never believed—thank you. You have given me sovereignty over myself, and that is what was needed to break the enchantment fully. I would have been forced to abide by your choice, but now, I may be always myself, always fair."