put her chin in the air, batted her eyelashes very fast, and imitated someone else’s voice. “He’s
so
handsome!” she said. “
So
powerful! And
such
golden hair!” She resumed her own voice. “He’s a conceited dolt. He has absolutely no conversation. He talks of nothing but his sword and his stupid horse.”
Gawain was shocked. “He’s a perfect knight, Eleanor,” he said. “Perfect. He won every joust in the tournament last year. I want to be just like him someday.”
Eleanor snorted through her nose. “I certainly hope not,” she said.
Two days after the banquet, Eleanor brought Gawain some interesting news. A wandering minstrel had stopped by the castle, hoping to earn a few pennies with his songs.
“All rags and patches, poor thing,” said Eleanor, “with a pet squirrel on his shoulder. The squirrel would take nuts right out of your hands. And he sang beautifully.”
“The squirrel?” asked Gawain.
Eleanor poked him in the ribs. “No, not the squirrel. The minstrel,” she said. “And he told us”— she paused impressively —“that a dragon has been sighted in the southern part of the forest.”
“A real dragon?” exclaimed Gawain. “I thought they were only in the old tales.”
“No,” said Eleanor smartly. “A stuffed dragon. What is wrong with you today? Of course a real dragon. Whoever finds the beast and slays it will be a hero. Everybody is talking about it. Sir Tristram is having his armor refurbished, and the castle blacksmith is sharpening his sword.”
Gawain kicked a cobblestone viciously with one red leather shoe. “I hate being a page,” he grumbled. “I wish I were Sir Tristram, riding out to battle the dragon. It’s not fair.”
Eleanor brushed dust from the skirt of her blue gown.
“Well, why don’t you?” she asked.
Gawain glared at her. “Because I’m not a knight,” he said in an exaggeratedly patient tone of voice. “Because I don’t have a horse. Or armor. Or a sword.”
“If you slay the dragon,” said Eleanor, “it would be a great deed and Lord Charles would make you a knight. You would have a suit of armor and a silk banner all your own. You could have a dragon on it. They would call you Gawain the Dragon-Slayer. You’d have everything you’ve been waiting for.”
“But how?” said Gawain. “I can’t kill a dragon with my bare hands. Or a slingshot. That’s all I’ve got.”
“There are swords in the castle armory,” said Eleanor. “All kinds of swords. You could borrow one.”
“That’s stealing,” said Gawain.
“Not if you put it back afterward,” said Eleanor. “You get the sword and meet me by the back gate at midnight. Then we’ll find the dragon.”
Gawain shook his head. “You can’t go, Eleanor,” he said. “A true knight would never let a lady go on a dragon quest. You’re supposed to give me a favor — a handkerchief or a hair ribbon or something — and then wait for me to come back with the dragon’s head.”
Eleanor looked stubborn. “If you don’t let me go with you,” she said, “I won’t tell you which road to take through the wood. You’ll never find the dragon if you go alone. So you might as well give in.”
Gawain argued, but Eleanor refused to budge. At last it was agreed that the children would go together — provided, Gawain insisted, that Eleanor promised to stand back out of the way when the fighting began.
“I’ll embroider a tapestry for you when it’s all over,” Eleanor called over her shoulder as she hurried back to the ladies’ solar. “If you don’t mind having your dragon look a bit like a cow.”
That night Gawain lay on his pallet with the other pages in the anteroom of Lord Charles’s bedchamber. He was afraid to fall asleep. If I do, he thought to himself, I might sleep right past midnight. Then Sir Tristram will find the dragon first and kill it before I do, and I will never be a hero.
He reached under the pallet to feel the hidden sword. He had
so
handsome!” she said. “
So
powerful! And
such
golden hair!” She resumed her own voice. “He’s a conceited dolt. He has absolutely no conversation. He talks of nothing but his sword and his stupid horse.”
Gawain was shocked. “He’s a perfect knight, Eleanor,” he said. “Perfect. He won every joust in the tournament last year. I want to be just like him someday.”
Eleanor snorted through her nose. “I certainly hope not,” she said.
Two days after the banquet, Eleanor brought Gawain some interesting news. A wandering minstrel had stopped by the castle, hoping to earn a few pennies with his songs.
“All rags and patches, poor thing,” said Eleanor, “with a pet squirrel on his shoulder. The squirrel would take nuts right out of your hands. And he sang beautifully.”
“The squirrel?” asked Gawain.
Eleanor poked him in the ribs. “No, not the squirrel. The minstrel,” she said. “And he told us”— she paused impressively —“that a dragon has been sighted in the southern part of the forest.”
“A real dragon?” exclaimed Gawain. “I thought they were only in the old tales.”
“No,” said Eleanor smartly. “A stuffed dragon. What is wrong with you today? Of course a real dragon. Whoever finds the beast and slays it will be a hero. Everybody is talking about it. Sir Tristram is having his armor refurbished, and the castle blacksmith is sharpening his sword.”
Gawain kicked a cobblestone viciously with one red leather shoe. “I hate being a page,” he grumbled. “I wish I were Sir Tristram, riding out to battle the dragon. It’s not fair.”
Eleanor brushed dust from the skirt of her blue gown.
“Well, why don’t you?” she asked.
Gawain glared at her. “Because I’m not a knight,” he said in an exaggeratedly patient tone of voice. “Because I don’t have a horse. Or armor. Or a sword.”
“If you slay the dragon,” said Eleanor, “it would be a great deed and Lord Charles would make you a knight. You would have a suit of armor and a silk banner all your own. You could have a dragon on it. They would call you Gawain the Dragon-Slayer. You’d have everything you’ve been waiting for.”
“But how?” said Gawain. “I can’t kill a dragon with my bare hands. Or a slingshot. That’s all I’ve got.”
“There are swords in the castle armory,” said Eleanor. “All kinds of swords. You could borrow one.”
“That’s stealing,” said Gawain.
“Not if you put it back afterward,” said Eleanor. “You get the sword and meet me by the back gate at midnight. Then we’ll find the dragon.”
Gawain shook his head. “You can’t go, Eleanor,” he said. “A true knight would never let a lady go on a dragon quest. You’re supposed to give me a favor — a handkerchief or a hair ribbon or something — and then wait for me to come back with the dragon’s head.”
Eleanor looked stubborn. “If you don’t let me go with you,” she said, “I won’t tell you which road to take through the wood. You’ll never find the dragon if you go alone. So you might as well give in.”
Gawain argued, but Eleanor refused to budge. At last it was agreed that the children would go together — provided, Gawain insisted, that Eleanor promised to stand back out of the way when the fighting began.
“I’ll embroider a tapestry for you when it’s all over,” Eleanor called over her shoulder as she hurried back to the ladies’ solar. “If you don’t mind having your dragon look a bit like a cow.”
That night Gawain lay on his pallet with the other pages in the anteroom of Lord Charles’s bedchamber. He was afraid to fall asleep. If I do, he thought to himself, I might sleep right past midnight. Then Sir Tristram will find the dragon first and kill it before I do, and I will never be a hero.
He reached under the pallet to feel the hidden sword. He had
Similar Books
