Knight-Errantry as a Trade

Sandy and I were on the road again, next morning, bright and early. It was so good to open up one’s lungs and take in whole luscious barrels-ful of the blessed God’s untainted, dew-fashioned, woodland-scented air once more, after suffocating body and mind for two days and nights in the moral and physical stenches of that intolerable old buzzard-roost! I mean, for me: of course the place was all right and agreeable enough for Sandy, for she had been used to high life all her days.

Sandy and I were on the road again early the next morning. It felt wonderful to fill my lungs again with whole, delicious barrels of God’s pure, dew-fresh, woodland-scented air. For two days and nights, that unbearable old buzzard’s roost had suffocated my body and mind with its moral and physical stench! I mean, it was unbearable for me. Of course, the place was pleasant enough for Sandy. She had been used to high life all her days.

Poor girl, her jaws had had a wearisome rest now for a while, and I was expecting to get the consequences. I was right; but she had stood by me most helpfully in the castle, and had mightily supported and reinforced me with gigantic foolishnesses which were worth more for the occasion than wisdoms double their size; so I thought she had earned a right to work her mill for a while, if she wanted to, and I felt not a pang when she started it up:

Poor girl, her jaws had been resting for a tiresome while, and I expected to pay for it. I was right. But she had been a great help to me in the castle. She had backed me up with enormous bits of foolishness, which were worth more then than wisdom twice their size. So I thought she had earned the right to work her mill for a while, if she wanted to. I didn't mind a bit when she started it up:

“Now turn we unto Sir Marhaus that rode with the damsel of thirty winter of age southward—”

“Now let us turn to Sir Marhaus, who rode south with the thirty-year-old woman.”

“Are you going to see if you can work up another half-stretch on the trail of the cowboys, Sandy?”

“Are you going to see if you can manage another half-stretch on the cowboys’ trail, Sandy?”

“Even so, fair my lord.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Go ahead, then. I won’t interrupt this time, if I can help it. Begin over again; start fair, and shake out all your reefs, and I will load my pipe and give good attention.”

“Go ahead, then. I won’t interrupt this time if I can help it. Start over from the beginning and tell the whole story. I’ll fill my pipe and pay close attention.”

“Now turn we unto Sir Marhaus that rode with the damsel of thirty winter of age southward. And so they came into a deep forest, and by fortune they were nighted, and rode along in a deep way, and at the last they came into a courtelage where abode the duke of South Marches, and there they asked harbour. And on the morn the duke sent unto Sir Marhaus, and bad him make him ready. And so Sir Marhaus arose and armed him, and there was a mass sung afore him, and he brake his fast, and so mounted on horseback in the court of the castle, there they should do the battle. So there was the duke already on horseback, clean armed, and his six sons by him, and every each had a spear in his hand, and so they encountered, whereas the duke and his two sons brake their spears upon him, but Sir Marhaus held up his spear and touched none of them. Then came the four sons by couples, and two of them brake their spears, and so did the other two. And all this while Sir Marhaus touched them not. Then Sir Marhaus ran to the duke, and smote him with his spear that horse and man fell to the earth. And so he served his sons. And then Sir Marhaus alight down, and bad the duke yield him or else he would slay him. And then some of his sons recovered, and would have set upon Sir Marhaus. Then Sir Marhaus said to the duke, Cease thy sons, or else I will do the uttermost to you all. When the duke saw he might not escape the death, he cried to his sons, and charged them to yield them to Sir Marhaus. And they kneeled all down and put the pommels of their swords to the knight, and so he received them. And then they holp up their father, and so by their common assent promised unto Sir Marhaus never to be foes unto King Arthur, and thereupon at Whitsuntide after, to come he and his sons, and put them in the king’s grace.*

“Now let us turn to Sir Marhaus, who rode south with the thirty-year-old lady. They came to a deep forest, and night fell while they were riding along a deeply sunken road. At last they came to the courtyard where the duke of South Marches lived, and they asked for lodging. The next morning, the duke sent word to Sir Marhaus to prepare himself. Sir Marhaus rose and put on his armor. Mass was sung before him, and he ate breakfast. Then he mounted his horse in the castle courtyard, where they were to fight. The duke was already on horseback, fully armed, with his six sons beside him. Each held a spear. The duke and two of his sons charged Sir Marhaus and broke their spears against him. But Sir Marhaus held up his spear and touched none of them. Then the four other sons came at him in pairs. Two broke their spears, and then the other two did the same. All this time, Sir Marhaus did not touch them. Then Sir Marhaus charged the duke and struck him with his spear, knocking both horse and rider to the ground. He did the same to the duke’s sons. Then Sir Marhaus dismounted and ordered the duke to surrender or he would kill him. Some of the sons recovered and were ready to attack Sir Marhaus. But Sir Marhaus said to the duke, “Stop your sons, or I will do my worst to you all.” When the duke saw that he could not escape death, he called to his sons and ordered them to surrender to Sir Marhaus. They all knelt and offered the hilts of their swords to the knight, and he accepted their surrender. Then they helped their father up. By common agreement, they promised Sir Marhaus never to be enemies of King Arthur. The duke and his sons also promised to come at the following Whitsuntide and place themselves at the king’s mercy.*

[*Footnote: The story is borrowed, language and all, from the Morte d’Arthur.—M.T.]

[*Footnote: The story is borrowed from the Morte d’Arthur, including its language. M.T.]

“Even so standeth the history, fair Sir Boss. Now ye shall wit that that very duke and his six sons are they whom but few days past you also did overcome and send to Arthur’s court!”

“That is the story, Sir Boss. Now you should know that the duke and his six sons are the very men you defeated a few days ago and sent to Arthur’s court!”

“Why, Sandy, you can’t mean it!”

“Sandy, you can’t mean it!”

“An I speak not sooth, let it be the worse for me.”

“If I am not telling the truth, let me suffer for it.”

“Well, well, well,—now who would ever have thought it? One whole duke and six dukelets; why, Sandy, it was an elegant haul. Knight-errantry is a most chuckle-headed trade, and it is tedious hard work, too, but I begin to see that there is money in it, after all, if you have luck. Not that I would ever engage in it as a business, for I wouldn’t. No sound and legitimate business can be established on a basis of speculation. A successful whirl in the knight-errantry line—now what is it when you blow away the nonsense and come down to the cold facts? It’s just a corner in pork, that’s all, and you can’t make anything else out of it. You’re rich—yes,—suddenly rich—for about a day, maybe a week; then somebody corners the market on you, and down goes your bucket-shop; ain’t that so, Sandy?”

“Well, well, well, who would ever have thought it? One whole duke and six dukelets. Why, Sandy, that was a fine haul. Knight-errantry is a very foolish trade, and it’s tedious, hard work, too. But I’m beginning to see that there is money in it after all, if you’re lucky. Not that I’d ever make a business of it, because I wouldn’t. No sound, legitimate business can be built on speculation. So what is a successful run at knight-errantry when you strip away the nonsense and face the cold facts? It’s just a corner in pork, that’s all. You can’t make it anything else. You’re rich, yes, suddenly rich, for maybe a day or a week. Then somebody corners the market on you, and your shady little business goes under. Isn’t that right, Sandy?”

“Whethersoever it be that my mind miscarrieth, bewraying simple language in such sort that the words do seem to come endlong and overthwart—”

“Whether my mind is failing me, twisting plain language so that the words seem to come out sideways and backward...”

“There’s no use in beating about the bush and trying to get around it that way, Sandy, it’s so, just as I say. I know it’s so. And, moreover, when you come right down to the bedrock, knight-errantry is worse than pork; for whatever happens, the pork’s left, and so somebody’s benefited anyway; but when the market breaks, in a knight-errantry whirl, and every knight in the pool passes in his checks, what have you got for assets? Just a rubbish-pile of battered corpses and a barrel or two of busted hardware. Can you call those assets? Give me pork, every time. Am I right?”

“There’s no point beating around the bush, Sandy. It’s true, just as I say. I know it’s true. And when you get right down to it, knight-errantry is worse than pork. Whatever happens, the pork is left, so somebody benefits anyway. But suppose the market crashes in a knight-errantry frenzy, and every knight in the pool dies. What assets have you got? Just a pile of battered corpses and a barrel or two of busted equipment. Can you call those assets? Give me pork, every time. Am I right?”

“Ah, peradventure my head being distraught by the manifold matters whereunto the confusions of these but late adventured haps and fortunings whereby not I alone nor you alone, but every each of us, meseemeth—”

“Ah, perhaps my head is confused by the many matters arising from the confusion of these recent events and happenings. It seems to me that not just I or you, but every one of us...”

“No, it’s not your head, Sandy. Your head’s all right, as far as it goes, but you don’t know business; that’s where the trouble is. It unfits you to argue about business, and you’re wrong to be always trying. However, that aside, it was a good haul, anyway, and will breed a handsome crop of reputation in Arthur’s court. And speaking of the cowboys, what a curious country this is for women and men that never get old. Now there’s Morgan le Fay, as fresh and young as a Vassar pullet, to all appearances, and here is this old duke of the South Marches still slashing away with sword and lance at his time of life, after raising such a family as he has raised. As I understand it, Sir Gawaine killed seven of his sons, and still he had six left for Sir Marhaus and me to take into camp. And then there was that damsel of sixty winter of age still excursioning around in her frosty bloom—How old are you, Sandy?”

“No, it’s not your head, Sandy. Your head’s all right, as far as it goes, but you don’t know business. That’s the trouble. It makes you unfit to argue about business, and you’re wrong to keep trying. But leaving that aside, it was a good haul anyway. It will earn us a fine reputation at Arthur’s court. And speaking of the cowboys, what a strange country this is, with women and men who never grow old. Take Morgan le Fay. She looks as fresh and young as a Vassar girl. And here’s the old duke of the South Marches, still fighting with sword and lance at his age. And that’s after raising such a family. As I understand it, Sir Gawaine killed seven of his sons. Even so, the duke had six left for Sir Marhaus and me to defeat. And then there was that damsel of sixty winters, still traveling around in her frosty bloom. How old are you, Sandy?”

It was the first time I ever struck a still place in her. The mill had shut down for repairs, or something.

It was the first time I had ever found her quiet. The mill had shut down for repairs or something.