Chapter II 

Time moved on, and with it the seasons changed. After the joy and warmth of Christmastide came the harsh cold of a dreary winter. The nights were long, the days dark, and thoughts continually turned back to the festivities of December like a distant memory. 

Spring eventually did come and many a gallant knight marched off to face adventure and win honor in the name of their queen, or some other fair lady. The slumbering meadows and forests came alive once more and the halls of Camelot were strewn with flower petals. Frozen streams melted and the thundering of rushing water filled every glen and valley. 

Summer followed spring, bringing long days spent under shady trees. Warm breezes banished the last thoughts of gloom and the dreary winter was all but forgotten. Travelers came and went down the dusty path into Camelot, bringing tales of faraway lands and sometimes of the knights who had gone in the spring. Every now and then a distressed damsel would come asking for aid of some sort and a knight, most often Lancelot, would be sent to help her. 

Autumn arrived all too quickly however, and the emerald green of the forests changed to red and gold. Knights returned from their errands, the harvest was gathered, and all began preparing for the snowy months ahead. 

Gawain knew that, if he were to keep his promise, he would soon have to begin his journey to the Greene Chapel. So, on November’s Eve he set off. The entire court mourned his going, as they knew it was certainly to his death. Court maidens wept openly (Gawain’s good looks had gained him many admirers) and around seventeen of them swore off love forever and joined a convent. 

It was early morning when Gawain began his journey and the chill autumn air had a crisp freshness to it. Solemn, silent crowds had gathered to bid him a last farewell. King Arthur was there and, though he mourned his nephew’s unhappy state, he couldn’t help feeling a touch of pride in Camelot’s most honorable knight, who, with stoic face, was prepared to journey to his certain death. 

A fine sight Gawain looked on his departure, dressed in full armor with his great sword and shield at his side. His standard was brought out as well, the gold pentangle shining brilliantly against the gules. He said little. His farewell to those gathered was simple and cheery. Yet, when he had gone not an eye was dry. 

It was a long and dangerous journey. Many weeks Gawain traveled through Logres in search of the Greene Chapel. He stopped every traveler he passed and asked directions, but none knew of the chapel or where it was to be found. Adventures too were to be had and many times Gawain was forced to defend himself against giants and evil knights. 

Winter came. The mountains where Gawain traveled became treacherous obstacles. Snow covered everything, and the northern wind began to sap all the endurance left in him. The winding paths and high clifftops became covered with ice, making safe travel almost impossible. Still, he struggled on. 

One day, in late December, Gawain came to the last of his strength. A man is only a man, no matter his determination. He had by this time passed the last village he knew of and there was little hope of finding shelter. The food packs were empty, the firewood was damp, and his horse was so exhausted they could only make it a few miles per day. 

Then, far in the distance, Gawain saw what looked to be the stone wall of a castle. “See that?”, he gasped, speaking either to his horse or himself, he wasn’t sure which. “If we can just make it a bit further.” He urged his horse into a speedy trot. The biting wind blew in his face, but he had long ago been numbed to the cold. 

It took most of the day to reach their destination, but Gawain was well rewarded to see that his guess had been correct. It was a castle. The high stone walls were tough and weather-beaten, telling of long winters and violent storms. A tall, well-built keep could be glimpsed from the outside. 

A guard standing on the parapet challenged the young knight. “Who are you and why have you come?” 

Gawain was almost faint with hunger and cold, but he managed to call back, “I am Sir Gawain who comes from the court of great King Arthur! I ask only for shelter and food for myself and my horse to help me on my journey.” 

In a few moments, the creaking portcullis was lifted and Gawain stumbled in. As he half fell half climbed off his horse a massive, broad-shouldered man came forward to greet him. Billows of fog rolled from the man’s mouth as he spoke, “Sir Gawain I have heard of you.” He grasped Gawain’s hand in a bone crushing grip. “I am honored to welcome you into my humble fortress.” 

“Thank you. And by what name may I address my kind host?”, returned Gawain. 

“By whatever name you like, I’m not particular. Now, you over there, take this knight’s horse into my stables and give him some feed!” The man turned back to his guest and chuckled at the sight of him. “Why young sir, your face has turned bright blue. Not used to the snow eh?” 

Before Gawain could explain that he had been wandering through the mountains for weeks without shelter and had every right to look a little cold he was interrupted by the arrival of three emerald-clad servants. “Ah, thank you”, said his host, addressing the group. “Bring this man into the best guest room and settle him in. Make sure you treat him well, for I will have you know that this is Sir Gawain.” 

The servants, with a seemingly newfound respect, led Gawain indoors. He was taken up winding stairs and brought into a plain, yet snug, bedroom. A single window looked out over the bleak courtyard, allowing little natural light into the space. The bed was large and well supplied with warm blankets and sheets, but the most inviting aspect of the room was the ready-made fire crackling in the corner. 

Gawain’s armor was taken off and put away, his supplies were stored in a trunk by the bed, and a bowl of warm stew was set out for him. As he rested by the bright warmth of the fire all the ache and weariness seemed to melt from him. 

“Will that be all good knight?”, asked the last remaining servant. He was a young, freckled boy who couldn’t have been a year over thirteen. 

“Yes, only, what day is it?” 

“December the 28^th”, replied the boy promptly. “There’ll be feasting tonight, it being the fourth day of Christmas.” With that he scurried off to finish his work. 

“The 28^th”, muttered Gawain. “New Year’s is only four days away.” His promise to the Greene Knight was ever fresh in his mind. If he were unable to find the chapel would it be excused as an honest mistake? Or would his honor forever be stained by his failure to fulfill his vow? 

An hour later, after he had finished his stew and taken a good nap, a light tap was heard at his door. “Come in”, he called. The freckled boy entered and bowed. 

“Sir, my master requests that you join the feasting and be introduced to our good lady.” 

“With pleasure. I won’t be a moment.” 

It was several moments before Gawain found some dry clothing among his packs and was presentable enough to join a gathering. He did his best however and fifteen minutes after the servant arrived Sir Gawain was led into the feasting hall. 

Dozens of candles decorated the hall which, though not nearly as grand as King Arthur’s, was still a fine spectacle. Emerald green tapestries covered every wall and bunches of festive greenery dangled from the ceiling. The master of the hall caught sight of Gawain and called him over cheerily, “come Sir Gawain! Sit by me at the head table!” 

Gawain did as he was bidden and soon a plate, practically overflowing with rich food, was set at his place. He was just about to begin his meal when he noticed two others join the table. 

They were two women, one young and the other ancient. The latter was wrinkled and stooped, with a rounded and unbalanced figure. Meaty arms bulged out of her tight sleeves and she walked with an unusual sort of waddle. Her hair didn’t seem to know where her head was, as patches grew in odd clumps across her scalp and chin. Gawain wouldn’t have been sure she was a woman were it not for the gown she wore. 

The young lady she led beside her, however, was as beautiful as the other was repulsive. She was elegant with fair hair and even paler skin. Her lips were deeply red and cool blue eyes gazed coyly at the company. She was the model of a perfect figure, slim yet curved in the proper places. Her shapely bosom was decorated with many glittering jewels and her silver gown was alluringly low necked. 

Gawain was breathless at the sight of her and desperately hoped that she was the daughter, and not the wife of his host. Even Guinevere, his fair queen, seemed dull in comparison. 

“Sir Gawain!”, called the master of the hall, beckoning the women towards him. “Allow me to introduce you to my wife, the lady Yvonne.” 

The beautiful girl held her small hand out to Gawain and he kissed it cordially. “Welcome to our home Sir knight”, she said softly. “I hope you will enjoy your stay, however long it may be. I regret to say that our lodgings may never compare to the ones you are provided with at Camelot.” 

“Indeed not”, said Gawain quickly. “The room your husband has so graciously lent to me is more than suited to my needs. I am honored to be given such attention.” She smiled, her ruby lips parting just enough to show a glimpse of straight white teeth. 

“Nay. It is you who honor us.” 

She seated herself on her husband’s other side while the distorted attendant took a place by Gawain. As much of a contrast was between the two ladies the one between Lady Yvonne and her husband was perhaps equally striking. She was elegant, comely, and soft-spoken. Her husband was a gigantic red bearded man who seemed to holler every word he spoke. 

“Now tell us what you are doing this far north!”, he cried cheerily. “We could do with an interesting tale.” 

Gawain, willing to oblige, told of the Greene Knight and the fatal task he had promised to complete. 

“If this is true your journey is at an end”, replied his host, after the story was finished. “I have been to the Greene Chapel many a time and would be glad to tell you the way. Until then, why not stay and be merry with us. It’s four days yet until the New Year.” 

“I would be happy to do so if you can put up with me for that long.” 

The master laughed. “I shan’t have to be bothered with you, my men and I will go out hunting before dawn. You are weak yet from your journey so you may stay here with the women. They can keep you company. Seeing as you’re a well-mannered and good-looking young man I doubt they’ll mind entertaining you for a few days.” 

“Thank you, sir”, returned Gawain. “I won’t forget your generosity.” 

A juggler and some acrobats came into the center of the hall and for a while everyone’s attention was diverted. More ale was brought out and bowls of steaming wassail were placed on the tables. Soon the hall was alive with cheery talk and laughter. 

“I have an interesting idea Sir Gawain”, mused the host. He downed his twelfth mug of ale and then continued. “Let us make a deal. Tomorrow when I’m out on the hunt I promise I’ll give you whatever I catch in the woods. You, in return, can give me whatever you catch here during the day. Do we have a deal?” 

Gawain was confused by this odd proposal but, deciding it was best to humor him, responded, “very well. It seems fair enough to me.” 

“Good! Good!”, he rejoined. Then he poured himself a thirteenth mug and ordered that more cheese be brought out. 

Gawain affably entertained Yvonne’s elderly attendant and found that, despite her uninviting appearance, she made a reasonably pleasant partner in conversation. Yvonne too made good conversation and the time passed quickly. Before long it was midnight and still the feasting continued. 

All the while Gawain could feel Yvonne’s blue eyes upon him, watching intently.