Bab Bab 19 · KNIGHT-ERRANTRY AS A TRADE

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.

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:

“Now turn we unto Sir Marhaus that rode with the damsel of thirty

winter of age southward--”

“Are you going to see if you can work up another half-stretch on

the trail of the cowboys, Sandy?”

“Even so, fair 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.”

“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.*

[*Footnote: The story is borrowed, language and all, from the

Morte d'Arthur.--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!”

“Why, Sandy, you can't mean it!”

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

“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?”

“Whethersoever it be that my mind miscarrieth, bewraying simple

language in such sort that the words do seem to come endlong

and overthwart--”

“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?”

“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--”

“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?”

It was the first time I ever struck a still place in her. The mill

had shut down for repairs, or something.