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One
The Boy
IN the ancient days, when Arthur was king of Britain, there lived a boy who had never heard of the great son of Pendragon or of his bold knights. The only home the boy had ever known was a cottage in the wilderness of Soltane, and the only parent he had ever known was his mother. He was never called by his proper name; indeed, he didn’t even know that he had one. The plowmen who worked his mother’s fields and the drovers who tended her flocks called him Young Master. His mother called him her Dear Boy. Strangers rarely came into the district, but when one happened by and asked his name, he would say, “You may call me Young Master or Dear Boy or whatever you please.”
He was a happy child. He loved the forests where the birds sang, the streams where the fish jumped, and the fields where the golden grain danced. He did not desire the pomp of King Arthur’s court because he had never dreamed it existed. He did not long for learning because he had never seen a book. And he never feared death because he had yet to hear of Heaven or Hell.
He spent his days exploring the forest, fishing the streams, and making toys for his own amusement. When he was a little boy, he was content to devise whistles from reeds and construct watermills for the stream. But as he grew older, he came to idolize the huntsmen who brought rabbit and pheasant and venison for his mother’s table, so he carved for himself a bow from yew wood and sharpened sticks from the oak tree, to which he fastened feathers from the henyard.
One day, crossing his mother’s fields, he came upon a flock of larks pecking seeds from the plowed ground. One bird rose high into the air, singing a song so beautiful that it pierced the boy’s heart. Without thinking, he raised his bow and shot his arrow into the sky. The song ceased mid-note, and the singer dropped like a stone to the earth.
When he saw that his arrow had killed the bird, the boy cried out and broke his crude bow over his knee. Indeed, for many days, whenever he heard the song of a lark, he burst into tears, remembering his thoughtless act.
His mother was distraught. She could not bear for her child to be unhappy. She ordered her peasants to capture all the larks that came into her fields and wring their necks, so her son would not weep.
But this only made the boy more unhappy still. “Why do you kill the little birds?” he asked his mother. “They’ve done nothing wrong.”
His mother relented. Kissing his hair, she said softly, “Who am I to go against God? It is his will that the birds should sing for happiness.”
“Who is God, Mother?” the boy asked. For his mother, thinking to leave her past unhappy life behind, had never told him of the Creator.
“Why, Dear Boy, God is he who is King of Heaven. He has made the world and in his love took human form to save it. You must pray to him and ask his help.” And, realizing how she had failed to instruct him in things of the spirit, she went on to warn him. “There is another who is the lord of Hell. He is called the devil and you must flee from him, for he is the father of treachery and despair.”
The boy took to heart everything his mother taught him. He told the one called God how sorrowful he was for the death of the lark, and he made himself a javelin, like those the peasants carried, so that if the devil should come his way, he could do battle with him.
One bright day he heard a thundering noise. The sky was clear but the earth shook as though it were being beaten by storm. It is the devil for sure, he thought and stood, javelin balanced, ready to hurl it at the dreadful foe.
Before long there came into view three mighty warhorses, their hooves hammering the path. Upon their broad backs rode three knights, their armor gleaming like stars fallen from the sky. The boy had never seen such a beautiful sight in his life. This surely was not the devil come into his wilderness. He threw himself face-down upon the ground, blocking the path of the great horses. “If you be God,” he cried, “be merciful to me!”
The startled knights jerked their reins and stopped their horses just short of the boy’s body. “Fool!” they cried. “Do you want to be killed¿”
But the boy was not offended. “Tell me,” he said. “Are you the one called God¿”
The knights were amazed. Who was this ignorant boy who mistook three knights for God himself¿ “Do not bow yourself at our feet. We are not God or gods,” the knights said. “We are three men, knights who owe allegiance to Arthur of the Round Table. We are in pursuit of two evil knights who have betrayed the laws of chivalry and taken a young maid captive. In accord with our knightly duty, we are bound to rescue her.”
“But what is a knight?” the boy asked. “I know only of one called God and one called the devil. I do not know of knights.”
The knights could not believe that in all the world there lived so ignorant a boy. They told him of the great king and of his knights and their noble quests. Though the boy was a fool, there was something princely in his bearing.
“You are a handsome lad,” one of them said at last. “God has clearly marked you with his favor. If I hadn’t met you in this wilderness, I would guess that you were a son of kings. Nevertheless, if you wish to be made a knight like us, take yourself to Arthur’s court. Now, be good and stand aside, for we must hasten to save this poor maid.”
The boy watched the shining men until they disappeared through the trees, and then he ran to tell his mother all that he had seen and heard.
His mother was furious. She sent her son away and called her plowmen and drovers to the cottage. “Why have you failed me?” she asked. “I told you when I came to this place that my son was never to hear the word knight, and you swore to me, every last man of you, on pain of death, that you would keep him in ignorance of the court of Arthur and of the life of chivalry.”
The peasants hung their heads in sorrow to see their lady so distraught. For they knew that the boy’s mother was a queen and his father a king and a knight of Arthur’s court. King Gahmuret had died seeking adventure in battle, so Queen Herzoloyde had determined to save her infant son from his father’s fate. She had brought him into the wilderness of Soltane, where she thought she could keep him safe.
But the damage was done. The boy was determined to go to Arthur’s court and become one of the shining men.
What could the queen do? She wished above all things to keep her son from harm. If I dress him like a fool, she decided, and give him the oldest, most pitiful beast we own, people will laugh at him and he will come running home in shame.
So the queen sewed the boy doublet and breeches made of sackcloth, which came just past his knees. To cover his feet and ankles, she made him buskins of rough, fresh cowhide and found for him a nag so weak with age that Queen Herzoloyde wondered if it could even bear her son’s weight as far as the end of the plowed field.
The boy was delighted. What did he know of the world¿ As always, he trusted his mother to do what was best for him.
“In addition to your clothing and mount, I wish to give you my advice to carry with you,” the queen said. And here, she relented a bit, for she did not want him to ride into real danger. She told him to beware crossing swift streams and rivers and to greet everyone he met with courtesy. If a gray-haired man wished to instruct him, he should take heed. She also tried to advise her son about women because clearly he was a handsome boy, just coming into manhood.
“Women will wish to give you a kiss and a token—sometimes a ring or a brooch. Take these; they will cheer you. The love of a good woman is not to be despised. And one more thing I suppose I must tell you, Dear Boy,” she said with a sigh. “Beware of the evil knight Lahelin. He and his brother, Orilus, have stolen two kingdoms that should be yours. Lahelin has killed one of your princes and taken many of your people prisoner.”
“Never fear, Mother,” the boy said, “I will avenge my people with this javelin.” She sighed and wept and kissed him good-bye, fearing as she did so that she would never see her beautiful child again.
The boy was proud as a prince, riding through the forest i
n his fool’s clothes on his broken-down nag. But as the day wore on, he got hungry and thirsty and began to look for a place where he might get a meal.
At length, he came upon a lovely pavilion. The boy could not have known that it belonged to one of the very men his mother had warned him of—Duke Orilus. The duke had gone off to hunt with his men, leaving his beautiful wife behind. In the noonday heat, the duchess had taken off her heavy garments, lain down within the tent, and fallen asleep. She did not hear the boy push back the leather curtain and come inside. She awoke with a start to find a youthful stranger in a clownish costume struggling to pull the ring off her hand. She screamed, but the thief showed no alarm.
“Good day, my lady,” he said. “My mother told me to give a cheery greeting to everyone I meet. And to take a ring from a good lady if the occasion arose.”
The duchess was so frightened she hardly knew how to reply. She begged the stranger to go away and leave her alone.
But he took her ring and helped himself to the brooch he found on her gown. Then he began to complain of hunger. She was afraid of what this muscular youth might do if crossed, so she gave him meat and bread and wine and watched terrified as he devoured the food like a starving beast. Still, she was brave enough to ask that he return her ring and brooch before he went on his way. “They are gifts of my husband,” she said, “and he will be furious if you take them.”
“Why should he be angry?” the boy said. “I am only doing what my good mother told me to do.” And off he went cheerfully on his way, leaving the weeping duchess behind.
The boy followed the road, greeting everyone he passed. “God keep you,” he said. “My mother told me to greet you.” He was met with many smiles and even laughter, dressed as he was and riding such a wretched mount. But the boy did not know he was being mocked and smiled happily in return.
