As Sir Perditus walked on through this land, he began to see that whereas it had appeared peaceful and prosperous from afar, it was in fact somewhat desolate. Many houses stood empty and derilict, and many fields lay fallow and barren. And there was something--an air or atmosphere, which he could not at first quite name. There was a quiet. Not a quiet of tranquility, but of subdual. The very light seemed to have a dim and somber quality. And then, as he thought on this, and on the people's treatment of him, he suddenly recognized it: it was fear. He had seen it before, on crusade, in realms ruled by tyrants and despots.
And as he traveled, he began to notice, too, that people acted as though they recognized and were expecting him. He was treated with increasing suspicion and growing coldness, and he thought he could guess that rumour had preceded him. He expected any time now, that word would reach whatever lord it was who held this people in such awe, and in this he was not disappointed, but very much surprised.
There came a day when, as he passed along a broad lane between two fields growing green with new grain, he saw, first a cloud of dust approaching him from ahead, and then a body of mounted men with the air of officialdom about them. He stopped and awaited them, for he knew they were come to seek him, and indeed they halted when they espied him, consulted quietly amongst themselves, then one of them, whom he took to be the envoy, rode forward, flanked by men-at-arms on either side.
"His Gargantuan Majesty, King Sarx, requires that you present yourself before him and answer what be your purpose in entering into his dominion: whether you be friend or foe, whether your intent be good or ill, and whether you come in peace or in war." He looked down at Sir Perditus's sword, which still hung at his waist, the only visible badge still marking him as a knight. "Will you come willingly?"
Sir Perditus looked up, not at the envoy but the sky behind him. There, though it was day, he saw faintly the star. "I will come," said the knight.
"Then follow." The envoy hesitated, glancing down at the sword again, as if he wished to require that it be surrendered. Sir Perditus laid his hand on the hilt. He did not look much the knight now, disheveled, soiled, and worn by exhaustion, wearing only his filthy tunic and trousers. But there was a fell grimness in his countenance, perhaps the more so for all that, and the messenger thought better of it and left it be.
He moved back toward the main body of men, and Perditus followed, wondering if he was to follow mounted men on foot. But a horse was produced for him, and if any there had been doubt as to his knighthood, it was laid to rest by the skill and facility with which he mounted and rode, even after so long and weary a time afoot.
They led him many miles, until a castle came into view, and toward this they steered. It was large and imposing, but like the rest of the kingdom it was in ill repair, and was wanting the full number of men-at-arms and archers who could have manned it. Sir Perditus said nothing, but silently followed his escorts and obeyed when they told him to wait outside the great doors of the hall.
When at last he was led into the great hall, he was not prepared for what he saw. But he understood at once the state of the kingdom, and the fear in the hearts of its people. For there, in a large throne set up in the center of what used to be the great feasting hall, sat an absolutely enormous person. A giant, in fact, but a giant larger than any he had ever seen, and different, too. For the giants he had faced before had been large, heavy, slow, and stupid; roughly man-shaped, but misshapen, ill-proportioned, and ugly. But this giant looked exactly like a man, only much larger, and one could tell by looking in his face that he was not stupid at all, but clever, wicked, and cruel.
"So this is why I have been sent here," he thought. "To slay this tyrant and free this people from slavery." But what he said was:
"Hail, Sire. I greet you in the name of the Grail King." At this name, the giant grimaced, and frowned.
"You may keep your greetings," he said in a voice so big and so deep that it could be felt as well as heard, "in that name, and I will thank you not to mention it again in my realm." Sir Perditus said nothing, and after a moment's pause the giant continued. "It was reported to me by my subjects that a strange knight had entered my realm, although I hardly see a knight before me. Pray, what are you? A varlet and a knave who has stolen a sword?" This was very rude, but I am afraid that that is how giants talk; I never met one who had an ounce of courtesy.
Sir Perditus knew better than to be insulted and angry. "Nay, your majesty. A knight I am, though a poor one, and one who has wandered far on hard roads," he said. And to himself, he said, "And one who will thrust this sword into your heart, by the grace of God."
The giant smirked. "And pray, what was your purpose in entering my realm, Sir Knight?" he asked with mock-courtesy.
"Nothing at all, Sire. I wandered into it quite by accident, following..." he paused long enough to make clear that he was omitting the name which he had been forbidden to speak. "Following the leading of my fortune," he finished. His meaning was not lost on the giant, whose eyes glinted maliciously.
"I see. You pretend to have been 'sent' here to defeat me, but no doubt your true intent is to murder me the first chance you get, and steal my kingdom. Do you deny it?"
"Nay," said Sir Perditus. "Since you would have it so, I do not deny the former, although I do the latter. I shall steal nothing, but restore this place to its rightful king or his heirs, if any be left that you have not murdered. Slay you I shall, however. Not by murder, but in fair combat. I challenge you on the field of honor. Face me, if ye be not craven."
The giant smiled most disconcertingly. "I accept, Sir Knight," he said again with pretend deference. "But what is more, I offer you the hospitality of my castle this night, for I would not have it said that I defeated you in your weakness, fainting from travel and hunger. You shall have food, you shall have rest, you shall have whatever you require from my armoury, and then tomorrow we shall see." He clapped his hands, and servants and soldiers closed in around Sir Perditus, who bowed and followed them.
Perhaps you think it was very foolish of Sir Perditus to accept this offer. But in those times, even the most wicked of giants feared to break the sacred laws of hospitality--once offered, it could not be betrayed without bringing a dreadful curse on one's head. Besides, he really had no choice--if he resisted now, he would only be made a prisoner anyhow, and that without the chance to free himself by single combat with his foe, or at least to fall honourably in battle.
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