Gawain and the Green Knight#
Based on Simon Armitage’s 2007 translation. Oiginal peparation notes for tellings at Babushka Books, Shanklin, December, 2023, and various partial practice tellings in folk nights at Dairyman’s Daughter, Arreton, and The Waverley, Carisbrooke, prior to that.
Notes include possible break points for telling in episodic form.
PART I
It was Christmas at Camelot, and everyone was there.
The most chivalrous knights in all the land, the rock stars and the racing drivers of their day; and the most beautiful women, the supermodels of the time, the Hollywood stars and starlets. All of them, hard living, fast riding, and larger than life. And with reputations to match, reputations that went ahead of them. And of course, there was royalty: chief amongst them, King Arthur, the king of highest renown. And at his side, the beatiful Queen Guinevere.
Outside, there was jousting, and fierce competition; inside, there was dancing; feasting and dancing; feasting, and dancing, and dancing, and feasting; and carousing. There was lots of carousing; because you can’t have feasting and dancing without carousing. In fact, there was so much feasting and dancing and carousing, with double portions all round, at every course, that before anyone knew it, Christmas had almost turned into New Year. Because for now, it was New Year’s Eve.
As was the custom at the end of the year, there were presents. Gifts from the heart, as well as from the purse. But presents aren’t part of this story. At least, not yet.
Everyone was seated, according to custom, in order of rank; Guinevere was on the platform, and alongside her, King Arthur. The finest tapestries hung on the wall behind them. And beside them, sat Gawain, Arthur’s nephew. He has still yet to prove himself as a knight, and perhaps even as a man. For the adventures by which we remember him now, in the tales that are told, still to this day, are still in his future.
The food was served, as custom decrees, to each man as his station deserved. But everyone was a little relucatant to partake of it, because for now, King Arthur waited. And he waited because it was his custom, on that New Year’s eve, not to eat until a story had been told, of some chivalrous deed, or derring do, from amongst the knights; or for a challenge to be made against one of them.
And so Arthur waited.
And he waited.
And he waited some more…
It had been a slow year…
“A story from the minstrels, then, to entertain us whilst we wait”, and a minstrel was a summoned. “Give us a tale of my father’s time, of Uther Pendragon and his band of knights. A Christmas tale, if you will…”
So not wanting to offend any of Arthur’s knights on that festive night, with tales of greater derring do from Uther’s court than anything Arthur’s men had achieved that year, the minstrel began…
[Sir Cleges and the Winter Cherries. There was once a knight…] And there the minstrel’s tale ended…
And with that, the bugles blared again, and more wine was brought in, so fast that the tables barely had time to be cleared from one course to the next.
But while everyone there was fed as well as any man or woman could be fed, and then some more, still King Arthur waited, for a tale of great honour, or derring do, from his own Court, or for a challenge to be made against one of his men.
And he waited…
And then, suddenly, because there’d be no story if nothing else happened, there was a mighty sound from outside; and a fearful form appeared at the door; a giant of a man; a giant of a man, standing barefoot, in the stirrups of a mighty great war horse.
But not just any horse….for the horse’s tack, from its bridle to its girth, from its saddle to its stirrups, they were all coloured green. As was its hair: from its combed and plaited mane, to its ribbon braided tail.
But even though the huge great knight was straddling a war horse, he wasn’t wearing any armour; nor was he carrying a shield; nor even a sword. Instead, he was wearing just a simple dark green cloak, and a simple dark green tunic. A dark green hood, and dark green leggings.
But that wasn’t the strangest of it, not at all: for the stranger himself, from his long flowing hair, to his great bushy beard, he was completely green too.
And he laughed at the court. “Ha, haaaaa.”
In place of a shield, he carried a sprig of holly; instead of a sword, an axe. A great big axe. A huge great big axe: the mother of all axes. And not just any mother of all axes. Because this axe was made of glowing green steel; and inlaid in the handle, the most intricate, the most exquisite, green jeweled and green enameled decoration.
Looking around the Court, this great, Green Knight was the first to speak: “So, who’s the boss of this horrible lot, then? Who’s the leader of this rabble?”
And everyone just gawped, dumbstruck; and everyone looked at the axe; and a deep, expectant hush fell on the hall, as they waited for Arthur to respond.
“A warm welcome to you, sir, on this cold winter’s night. I am Arthur, the head of this household. You are welcome to join us.”
“Thank you, but no,” said the knight. “That is not why I am here.”
And there was silence. As everyone else looked at the axe again.
“Don’t worry yourselves,” said the knight. “I’m not here for a fight. You can see I’m not dressed for war.”
And he gestured his tunic with the hand that held the holly.
And everyone continued to look at the axe.
“I was wondering if any of you would be up for a game? A Christmas game. For a simple challenge…?”
As to what sort of challenge he had in mind, you’ll just have to wait to find out, until the story comes around again.
You may recall, it’s King Arthur’s court at Camelot. A huge Green Knight has appeared, armed with an axe and a sprig of holly. He has offered a challenge, but what sort of challenge?
The assembled Court waited expectantly, to hear what the giant knight would say next.
“A blow for a blow, with the axe, that is all. And I’ll bare my neck first… and whosoever takes the strike: I’ll meet them in a year and a day from now, and take my turn.”
And just in case anyone is tempted to play this game at Christmas, I’d probably recommend against it…
No-one replied. Coughs went around the room, and the knights of Arthur’s Court looked at the floor, and avoided the Green Knight’s gaze.
And the Green Knight laughed: “So, the house of King Arthur, the knights of the famous Round Table, are all a bunch of wimps? The ‘Wimps of the Round Table’?”
And as he laughed at them for their cowardice, King Arthur himself stood up, enraged, and perhaps not a little embarrassed.
“No-one in this Court is afraid of that challenge”, he said, “except, perhaps, for being associated with such foolishness. So give me the axe, and I’ll take the blow, and let that be that, and let us all be done with it.”
But before he could take the axe, Gawain, his nephew, came leaping up.
“No sire, let me do it. It is not fitting for you, the King, to take on such a trifling challenge. Nor even for any of your other knights. So let me do it, the least of your men, let me take the blow.”
And Gawain knelt before Arthur to receive his blessing, and the King gave him a few words of advice.
“Strike bold, and true, and you will have nothing to fear in return.”
That sounds a bit like the advice given at the start of the blind challenge on Bake Off, doesn’t it…?
“Be bold, with the flavours, and make sure you cook it through. And beware the soggy bottom.” Whatever…
So strike true, Gawain…
But before he could take up the challenge, the Green Knight bid him to state his name, and to repeat the challenge, and to seal the covenant between them. Dotted i’s and crossed t’s, almost as if he’d had legal training.
“I am Gawain,” was the response. “I’ll wield this axe now, and in a year and a day, you may strike me in return.”
“Spot on”, said the Green Knight. “And swear also that you, and only you, will seek me out to return the blow.”
And Gawain agreed. “But where will I find you?”
“Plenty of time for that, Gawain, plenty of time for that”, and with that, the Green Knight handed over the axe, stood before Sir Gawain, heaped his long green hair onto the top of his head, and bared his neck.
Gawain took the axe, planted his feet, and swung a mighty blow, severing the spinal cord, and cleaving the Green Knight’s head clean from his neck, so cleanly that the axe hit the stone floor in a shower of sparks.
The head tumbled to the floor, and the other knights kicked at it as it rolled by.
But even as the green blood spurted from the Green Knight’s neck and onto the floor, his body staggered forward, the arms flailing in search of the head.
If you’ve ever seen the University Challenge episode of the Young Ones, when Vivien loses his head as he looks out of a train window, you can probably imagine it in the same way that I can…
Eventually the Green Knight’s flailing arms found their target, and the knight stood up straight, holding his head beside him. He walked towards his horse, and remounted it. And as he wheeled the horse about, the blood continued to drain from the severed head and onto the floor.
As he was about to depart, he twisted the head round to face the platform. It opened its eyes and stared straight ahead.
“Be sure to keep your word, Gawain. You’ll find me at the site of the Green Chapel. I’m known as the Green Knight”. And with that, he turned again, and was gone.
King Arthur turned to Guinevere, who was in a certain amount of shock.
“Well that was a bit odd… But never fear, a challenge has been made, so at least we can have something to eat now!”
And then he turned to Gawain, he was perhaps looking a little green himslef, and told him to hang up the mighty axe on the wall behind them; and then he bade everyone to eat.
And so it was that more food was brought, and the feasting began in earnest. The discussion was muted at first, glances toward the platform, and talking in hushed tones about Sir Gawain’s chances a year a day from then. But as the wine flowed, and more beer was brought, and mead, and the strongest of ciders, and by and by the party atmosphere resumed, and continued all through the night.
PART II
The old year had passed and the new one had begun. The apple trees and pears of the ancient surrounding orchards were duly wassailed, and the seasons progressed: the lean times of Lent came and went, and Spring waged war on Winter. Summer came around, and Autumn, and as the year passed Michaelmas and gave way to Winter again, Gawain was reminded of his covenant and began to rouse himself, ready to set out, and find the Green Knight.
But even then he tarried, till Hallowe’en, and All Saints’ Day, All Hallows, that time of the year when the days grow short and the nights grow long, and the worlds of the living and the dead are at their closest. And again the Court feasted, as Sir Gawain made ready to take his leave of the King.
By now, the events of New Year’s Eve were just a faded memory for many, but for Gawain, well, he must honour his agreement, though he had little idea where he could find the Green Knight. And the King called again for the minstrel, the storyeller, to set Gawain on his way. But what should he tell? The minstrel sensed Gawain’s unease, his foreboding, and telling a heroic tale, or a minor fancy, did not seem fitting with circumstance. Because for the mood was dark, and the sense of humour in that place that night was black. And so he made his choice. Something grim, but with a hopeful end.
[Juniper Tree] There was once a time, ...
With the minstrel’s story over, the somber mood that had settled over King Arthur’s Court continued. All were reminded of the fateful challenge accepted months before, and they were filled with sorrow. But even so, there was a glimmer of hope, of hope against hope, that there might be some other resolution to Gawain’s fate.
Early the next morning, Gawain called for his arms. First, an extravagant silk tunic, then a thick warm cloak, lined with white fur. Stout steel shoes, and shiny plate to cover his knees, tied behind with golden thread. Sturdy leg guards, and the finest chain mail, tiny hoops of shimmering steel. Then elbow guards, and metal gloves to complete the attire, with a sword fastened to a belt, by his side.
He took a final Mass, then mounted Gringolet, his faithful, war horse, all dressed in gold.
He took his helmet, and his scarlet shield, Ferrari red, emblazoned with golden pentangle livery, a symbol of his five flawless senses, his fingers that never fumbled, his faith, founded on the five wounds Christ received on the Cross, the five joys that of the Blessed Virgin Mary at the birth of her son that gave him strength, and the five principles by which he lived: friendship, fraterniry, purity, politeness and pity, and he slung it on his back.
As then his spurred Gringolet away. And there was pity in the hearts, and tears in the eyes, of the people who saw him go.
And so Gawain rode, through hill and dale, over mountain and valley, skirting round lakes and fording rivers, through Arthur’s realm, foraging for his food, and with no friend other than his horse.
Through North Wales he rode, then to the Wirral, and everywhere in between. And everywhere he goes he asks the same question: “do you know where I can find the Green Chapel? Have you heard of the Green Knight?” But always the same answer: “no; we’ve never heard of such a place, we’ve never heard of such a knight”.
He scales steep slopes, bridges brooks, scraps with serpents and snarling wolves, battles with bears, and bulls and the occasional wild boar. But worst of all was the coming of the winter weather, the crystallised rain and the frosted, frozen ground.
And so he prays to God. And to Mary. And to Jesus Christ our Lord. And he makes the sign of the cross: once, twice, three times…
And as he does so, making his way through the frosted wood, he sees the most impressive castle ahead, a red wooden pallisade, and a red wooden drawbridge, a red stone hall, or keep, inside; and sturdy gates, shuttered fast.
[Reminder of Sir Cleges tale: porter, usher, steward.]
He halted Gringolet, called out to the porter.
And he was greeted in return.
“Could you take a message to the master of this place? Would he grant me shelter?”
And the porter replied: “as my Lord decrees, all who come in good faith are welcome here.”
And before Gawain knew it, the red wood drawbridge was lowered, and the gate was opened, and Gawain rode into the castle and the red stone keep.
He was greeted by an usher, and relieved of his shield, and his sword, and his helmet; and he was taken inside, by a welcoming steward, then well met by the Lord, with a hard, fiery face, and great big, bushy red beard:
“You are most welcome, Sir Knight, come in, come in, and make yourself at home.”
Gawain is shown to his room, finely furnished with the riches tapestries; and a large box bed, surrounded by curtains.
He removes his armour, now rusted and weather beaten, and dreeses himself in a fine set of robes that have been laid out for him.
He returns to the hall, and is seated by a roaring red fire, that he might thaw out from the cold.
A table is set and a feast laid before him. The finest fish dishes that Gawain has ever seen, let alone eaten.
Then question followed question and Gawain answers politely, admitting his name, that he’s one of Arthur’s Round Table.
And everyone there is suitably impressed, for they have never had such a celebrity in their midst before, a knight of legend and lore.
The day became dusk, and the meal came to an end. The bells sounded evensong, and as everyone made their way to pray, Gawain went with them.
Accompanying the Lord, his Lady, who to Gawain’s eye, seemed fairer even than the fair Queen, Guinevere, and he blushes slightly at the thought. She is drop dead gorgeous.
As they left the Church, the Lady was hand in hand with another, much older woman, withered and well advanced in years, her cheeks waddled and slack compared to the bloom of her younger, and fairer, companion. There was no comparison to be made between them. And Gawain and the fair Lady exchanged pleasantaries, and courtesies. And to the older woman, he was charming and polite.
With the Lord’s blessing, Gawain walked with the two maidens, the fair and the foul, and they took him between them, arm in arm, and led him away, chatting pleasantly as they walked.
And again, they sat by the fire, and feasted on cake and the finest of wines, until it was time for bed.
The next day dawned, and all through the day there were banquets and buffets.
Everyone was seated, according to custom, in order of rank. The ancient old crone was sat at the high table next to the Lord, and Gawain sat next to the younger. The food was served, as custom decrees, to each man as his station deserved. And throughout the meal, Gawain and the fair Lady, chatted and conversed and were most comfortable in each other’s company.
The next day, they drank, and they danced; and the next, and the next day after that too. St John’s Day [December 27th] passed and the Christmas feasting was coming to a close. In the greyness of the following day, the guests were to take their leave, and so Gawain began to make his goodbyes; but though it was late, he was ushered into the host’s own chamber, and thanked for so visiting and honouring his house.
And the Lord of that place asked Sir Gawain if he might impose on him, and ask him what mission he was on that should keep him away from Camelot at Christmas time?
And Gawain explained his quest: to find the Green Chapel, and the Green Knight, but he didn’t know where to begin. Of the covenant with the Green Knight, the blow for a blow that he must accept. And time was running out. For New Year’s Day was just three more days away.
The Lord laughed, and smiled. “Don’t worry yourself, I know the place, it is but a short ride away from here. So stay until then, and I’ll have you led there at dawn on New Year’s Day.”
And at this news, Gawain was overjoyed, and swore himself to the service of the Lord until that time; and the Lord called for the ladies to join them, and they continued to share good cheer and conversation through those early hours of the morning.
Eventually, the Lord praised Gawain for joining in their festivities night after night, even though he must have been tired from his journey; and told him to have a lie in that day, whilst he, the Lord, went out hunting. And his wife, the young Lady, would keep him company.
But he also bade Gawain to join him in a pact, in a wager. A game. “Whatever I take in the hunt tomorrow, shall be yours. But in return, you’ll give me whatever you gain during the day.” An odd request, but Gawain agreed - he had bid himself to the service of the Lord, after all. And they sealed the pact with a toast. But who knew what game was afoot…
PART III
Before sunrise, the servants stirred, and made ready the horses for the hunt. After mass, and a quick early breakfast, the hunters cantered off on their chosen course, the Lord amongst them. And as they rode out, the bugles blared. And the hunt was on.
The wild creatures of the forest quaked with fear, not least among them, the deer. For although the male of that kind was not to be hunted in the close season, the hinds were fair game. And the arrows flew, and the hunting was good indeed, and many a kill was had that day.
Meanwhile, back at the castle, Gawain lay snug and warm in his bed, surrounded by curtains and under a mountain of covers.
When suddenly, he hears a sound: the door to his room being quietly opened. He peeks through the curtains and sees the Lady, the beautiful one, the Lord’s own wife, creep in, and close the door.
Obviously, he does what any virtuous knight would do, and pretends to be asleep. Silently, the Lady creeps towards the bed, opens the curtains, and sits herself on the edge.
Gawain continues to pretend to sleep, hoping she’ll go away.
But she doesn’t, She just sits there, gently stroking the bed clothes, patting them, and waiting.
After a while, she starts humming quietly to herself, and Gawain realises she isn’t about to go anywhere in a hurry. And so he does what any virtuous knight would do, and pretends to wake up, starts to stretch, and then feigns being startled to see her there.
“Oh, erm… my Lady…”
And she smiles sweetly at him:
“Good morning, Sire. How deeply you seem to sleep… But now, I have you trapped!” and, with that, laughing, she pins him down beneath the bed clothes.
He responds, as any virtuous knight would do. “I… how might I help you, my lady? If you would just let me get up, and get dressed, I’d gladly be at your service.”
But still she pins him down. “That won’t be necessary, Sir Gawain. Sir Gawain who is feared through the land, yet somehow seems to be trapped by a mere lady” and she giggles again. “And with my husband out all day too…. And the servants all asleep… And my maids probably with them. The door is bolted, But I’ll keep you at bay as best I can…”
Now, as any virtuous knight would do, Sir Gawain stifled back an embarrassed cough, and struggling for something else to say, thanked the Lady for praising him so, but said he was not so worthy. He was the least of the knights, and,..
“Oh, but if you are Gawain, as you say you are,” and she started to sing his praises again…
“I thank you again”, said Sir Gawain, “but I hardly merit such respect. Whereas you, erm, you are truly… joyful, and… erm… generous…” and he flattered her as best he could as some form of self-defence.
And so it was, pinned down as he was, he deflected each of her advances, and avoided each of her approaches, until at last she said she would leave him in peace…
And then she laughed and bade her farewell. “I was right…” she said, “you could never be Sir Gawain…”
But to that, he took affront. “But why ever not, my Lady?”
“I have heard the stories”, she said, “of you knights of the Round Table. You ruffians. How could the real Sir Gawain never even crave a kiss after we have had such a lovely time together.”
“But my Lady”, he said, “I never meant to offend…”, and before he could finish, she had returned to the bedside and given him the sweetest goodbye kiss.
And then promptly left.
Gawain jumped out of bed, and pulled on some clothes — and whether he had a cold shower first I surely don’t know — and headed off to Mass, and then a leisurely breakfast, where he was seated between the Lady, and the old crone, and of their enocunter earlier that morning, nothing was said, but all was still good between them.
Back on the hunt, in the forest, the Lord was still leading the chase against the hinds. And finally, with the dogs run out and the horses tired from the chase, they surveyed their kill. They pick the finest deer, they butcher it there and then, feeding the scraps and the offal to the dogs as they do so. And with that, the kill horn is blown, and the hunt is ended, and they haul the meat home.
The whole of the household was summoned, and the venison revealed to the assembled crowd. And in particular, to Sir Gawain, who said he had never seen anything like it before, let alone out of season.
“And it’s all yours”, said the Lord, “as per our agreement. What I won on the hunt, I give to you.”
“And you, Sir Gawain do you have anything for me in return?”
“Well, I, erm, I… yes, I do… I, erm” and, a little hesitantly, he walked up to the Lord, and cupping his bearded chin in his hands, he…..[head forward once, twice] gave the Lord a peck of a kiss.
“Ooh, Gawain”, said the Lord. “A fancy thing…. But, how ever did you come by it?”
And Gawain, a little sheepishly, denies him an answer. “My Lord, that was not part of our agreement.”
“Surely not, surely not, you dark horse you…” said the Lord. And then they lounged by the fire, and feasted, and agreed to the same game again, on the morrow, each of their takings to be traded at the end of the day.
And that night they listened to stories from the West, from Ireland and Wales. Of… And you may have heard me tell those tales before, or you may not, or you may yet hear me tell them again, but I’m afraid that time is such that it does not let me tell them now.
And eventually they went to bed. Separately, just in case you were in any doubt…
But even though they had been up late, by the third cock’s crow, the Lord was up for mass, and a quick, early breakfast, and out on the hunt again. And before long, the hounds had picked up the scent of a mighty wild boar, bigger than the biggest of big things, even as wild boars go, and whenever they got near, it fought back in return, and mauled many of the men with its gleaming white tusks. And even their arrows bounced off its thick, tough hide.
The boar is cornered again, and again it breaks free, and heads in to the forest, pursued by the Lord alone.
Meanwhile, back at the castle, a door quietly opens, and the Lady creeps in, parts the curtains round the bed, and peeps in. She giggles girlishly, as Gawain greets her, and she gently starts to tease him again.
“Did you not learn your lesson yesterday, Sir Knight? To claim a kiss quickly, when one is required?”
And carefully Gawain replied, “Dear Lady, I dare not, lest my kiss be declined.”
“But someone as strong and powerful as you could easily force a kiss on one such as I…”
But a virtuous knight would never do such a thing, and before he could stop her, the fair lady had given him the sweetest morning kiss.
“Now tell me — you knights: you are well known for your lusty liaisons and amorous affairs. But you, Sir Gawain? You have not spoken of love? Surely one so well versed in such exploits should be able to instruct an innocent lady such as I in the lessons of love, before my husband gets home from the hunt?”
Not wanting the offend the Lady, Gawain was very careful in his reply: “You flatter me indeed, my Lady. But to explain love to you…. I sense you have more… insight, and skill, in such arts than I do…”
And as the Lady continued to tease him and tempt him, Gawain defended himself and deflected her advances, avoiding whatever mischief she had in mind.
And at length, she laughed a final time, and bade him goodbye, and as left, she gave him a second sweet kiss of the day.
Gawain roused himself and rose out of bed — and whether he had a cold shower then I surely don’t know — and headed off to Mass, and a leisurely breakfast, and then loitered with the ladies throughout the day.
Back on the hunt, in the forest, the Lord was still leading the chase against the wild boar. Eventually, it was backed into a hole by a stony rise at the side of a stream, his tusks to the front, and the hunters waited, and they were afraid of what the boar might do to them.
His Lordship arrives, spots the boar, and dismounts. With his sword in his hand, he advances.
The boar leaps forward, its hair bristling. Man and beast both tumble into the white rushing water.
But the boar comes off worst, and the Lord finds his mark. and the boar’s neck is sliced through.
The white water froths red, and the boar floats downstream, whence it’s recovered and dragged to the bank, and the dogs bring on its death.
The kill horn is blown, and the hunt is ended; the boar is butchered there and then, with the scraps and the offal being fed to the dogs; and with that, the kill was carried home, the boar’s head leading the way at the front of the line.
Once again, the Lord is excited when he sees Gawain, calls for the ladies, and shares his tale of the kill. And Gawain compliments him, rightly. The Lord hands over the giant hog’s head, and the rest of the kill, as was agreed between them.
“And do you have anything for me, Gawain?”
And Gawain approaches the Lord, a little more confidently this time, cups his thick read beard in his hands once again, and kisses him once, then twice, in return.
“Gawain… You have certainly been keeping yourself amused…”
But he does not ask how Gawain came by his gift that day.
And once again, the tables are assembled, and covered with fine cloth. Places are set, and supper is served, and after the feast, song is followed by song.
And the younger Lady, and Gawain, are sat, side by side, with stolen glances between them, and secret smiles; and Gawain is driven half mad, but he remembers his place, being a virtuous knight.
And of course he does not snub her, and although mindul tongues might wag, he returns all her affection and they confidently chat.
And that night they listened to tales from the North, and the South, and the East. Of… And you may have heard me tell those tales before, or you may not, or you may yet hear me tell them again, but I’m afraid that time is such that it does not let me tell them now.
And as the rest of the party retired for bed, the Lord gestures again for Sir Gawain to tarry with him a while longer by the hearth and the fire.
They supped and swapped stories, and if we had time now, I would tell you some of their tales’; but through it all, Gawain keeps raising the question of his quest, and again the Lord tells him he has plenty of time, that he should stay another night. And that they should play their game again, for a third time, on the morrow.
And then they retired, but before too long, the Lord was again up and made ready for the hunt. He took mass, and a quick, early breakfast, and called for his mount.
The fields were dazzling, with an early morning frost, the sunrise scarlet in the cloud scudded sky.
As the hunters reached the forest, the dogs were set free. They scented a fox, picked up his trail. And were led a merry chase, the fox in the lead, first this way, then that, and then the other.
But each time the dogs get close, he somehow outwits them, that crafty Reynard, and it seems as if this chase will go on forever.
Meanwhile, back at the castle, Gawain snoozes, but the Lady cannot sleep. She rises. Despite the chill in the air, she rushes to his room, dressed in a long flowing robe, unhooded, her neck naked, her shoulders bare to front and back.
She strides into his room, and throws open the window, “How can you sleep on such a beautiful day?!”, but still he dozes and dreams of his impending fate in the Green Chapel. And she wanders to the bed with a “wake up sleepy head”, and he cannot but notice her low cut dress.
He remains polite — he is, after all, a virtuous knight — as she presents him with the first kiss of the day. And then they chat and talk tenderly to each other, as good friends will do, who are comfortable with each other.
But even so, every so often, she tempts him again, pushing him closer to the edge, where he must either accept her love, or politely refuse her.
But he remains courteous, not sinful, and swears to himself not to succumb.
He parries her passes and deflects her advances, the loving phrases that leap from her lips, and she asks him: “is it me? Or is there someone else?”
And it’s time for him to tread carefully… “No, there’s no-one else…”
Which is exactly the wrong thing to say…
“Do you know how insulting that is?! Well, I suppose I asked for it…But if I am to tbe spurned, then at least let me have a kiss as a memory of our time together…”
And with that, she gives him a second kiss of the day.
And then she asks him for a small gift to remember him by.
“I would that I could, my Lady, but I came with nothing, except my horse and armour.”
“No matter,” she said, “have mine…”
And she proffers him a ring, of rich, red gold, and a shiny jewel inlaid.
“I’m sorry, I cannot accept such a gift with nothing to offer in return.”
But she insists, “take it” and he resits again, “thank you, but no, it’s too precious a….”
“Then take this”, and she takes off her belt, a girdle of green silk, its edges trimmed with gold.
And still he refuses.
“So is this not good enough for you? Sheesh! Men! It’s not as simple as it seems, you know. It’s not just any old girdle. Anyone who wears this girdle is protected from any mortal strike, or blow…”
Oops…
As she turns away, his thoughts of dread, that troubled his dreams, return. Maybe he had been a little too hasty.
So when she offers him the girdle one final time — “are you sure you won’t take it?” — he relents. But as he does so she begs him: “please don’t tell my husband…”
And with that, and with one last kiss, the third of the day, she departs.
Whether he needed a cold shower that day, I do not know, but he quickly clothes himself, in the richest of robes, the green belt hidden inside his robe, and heads off for the chapel, for confession, and absolution. And then, in a comforted mood, he heads off to find the ladies.
Back on the hunt, in the forest, the Lord and his men are still being led a merry chase by the wily fox. The fox eventually tires, and the Lord closes in. He swipes at it with his sword, but misses as it jumps away; but one of the dogs manages to catch hold, then another. The Lord shouts at the dogs, and reaching down wrestles the fox away, before it’s ripped to shreds. He holds it high, above his head: a trophy. A stinking, mangy, flea infested trophy, but a trophy nonetheless. And at last, the kill horn is blown, and the hunt is ended.
As the night draws in, they set off back home. Barely has the Lord had time to entered the hall before Gawain jumps up from beside the fire and strides purposefully towards him, grabs his great big red bushy beard and kisses him three times.
“By God, you’ve had some luck today”:, says the Lord. “And all I have in return is this stinking fox”, and he drops it to the floor.
And with that, their game is over. The food is brought, but it’s a quieter night than the nights before. In place of the singing, and the dancing, many more tales were told, and if I had the time I would tell some of them to you now, but I’m afraid I don’t, so I won’t. But if you come again, maybe… And eventually, it’s time for bed. Gawain thanks the Lord for his generosity, and checks again that someone will lead him to the Green Chapel in the morning. And with that agreed, Gawain takes his leave; and with a heavy he heart, he thanks the other guests too, for their hospitality, for making him so welcome, and they thank him in return.
And so it is, with tapering torchlight, Gawain makes his way to bed. But who would expect our knight to sleep soundly, on such a night, given the challenge he must face in the morning?
PART IV
Of what nightmares Gawain may have had that night, the original poem does not tell. But we might imagine that his sleep was fitful, and his dreams, or maybe even nightmares, trouble filled. Or maybe he just lay there, unable to sleep, contemplating his mortality.
Outside, a freezing North wind drifts the white snow. Inside, Gawain lies awake with his thoughts, sleeping little. Each crow of the cock brings his destiny nearer. He gets up before dawn, and dresses warmly beneath his armour, now buffed and burnished and raked free of rust.
And he sends for his horse, for Gringolet.
Under his clothes, the Lady’s girdle, that magic belt that he hopes will afford him protection.
Gringolet is brought, and as he leaves the castle for the first and last time, he prays to Christ to keep it well.
The drawbridge is lowered, the gates are opened. Gawain thanks the steward, thanks the porter, and the guard on the walls.
He rides off with an escort, a guide, to show him the way. Together they ride over misty moors and mistier mountains, the hill tops covered with a winter’s mist and a cold damp mizzle. And they ride through the snow littered land.
“We’re nearing the place now”, says the guide, “a place of great peril. A wild man lives there, a man without mercy. No-one ever returns. We can turn back now - I won’t tell anyone.”
But Gawain is resolute. “If I don’t keep the covenant, I’ll be known as a coward. So I’ll take my chances.”
“On your own head, be it, then”, says the guide, little knowing the black humour in his remark. “Follow that rocky ridge ahead, and descend into the valley. There’s a glade to the left, and a clearing. You’ll find the Green Chapel there. But I’m not going any further”, and with that, he wheels his horse about, and he’s gone.
Gawain presses ahead, descends through the ravine. A wild place. He gets to the bottom. He looks for the Green Chapel, but sees no such thing. He looks again. And there, there, he sees, something. A strange, green mound. He approaches it, circles it. There’s a hole at one end, a door maybe? The walls are matted with moss and woven through with weeds.
“A Green Church, or a Devil’s lair?” and Gawain says a quick prayer to himself.
And then, there’s screeching, renching sound, ripping at the air. It’s coming from the hillside somewhere. It screeches again: the sound of a scythe being scraped against stone. And Gawain knows it for exactly what it is: it’s his greeting. It’s the Green Knight, sharpening his axe.
Gawain calls out: “Is anybody there? Someone to honour our agreement? It’s now, or never; it’s a year and a day since we made our pact.”
“Hang on….” came the reply, “you’ll get what’s coming to you soon enough. I just need to finishing sharpening this last little bit… Wouldn’t want any rouch edges…”
Then through the crags he comes, the Green Knight, His axe is in his hand, a handle the size of a staff, and he leaps across a stream.
“Welcome to my domain. You’ve timed it well. And I see you came alone. As I have. Except for this.” And his gestures the axe. “Now remove your helmet, and take what’s coming to you with no more struggle than I gave you.”
And Gawain lowers his head, and bares his neck, and braces himself for the blow.
The Green Knight summons his strength, raises the axe high above his head, and: schwwoof. But as he does so, Gawain flinches, and the Green Knight diverts the blow.
“What was that? You moved? Are you a wimp, or knight?”
And Gawain apologises, “I’m sorry, I won’t fail again. Be brisk; get it over with. I’ll not flinch again.”
And again, for a second time, the Green Knight raises his axe, brings down the blow… and showing great strength, and even geeater control, stops just short of Gawain’s neck. So close he felt the wind of the ripped air before it, but not its actual touch.
“Ha ha, that’s more like it. Much braver. Now, I’ll serve you your blow properly.”
“Just get on with it,” snarls Gawain. “You’ve had your fun. Stop faffing around, and do your worst.”
The axe is raised, and a ferocious blow is swung; but it skews to the side at the very last moment, just nicking the edge of Gawain’s proffered neck. A spot of red blood spurts onto the snow white ground. And Gawain leaps away, wipes the blood from his neck, grabs his helmet, and his shield, and brandishes his sword.
“Enough of this — you’ve had your turn. A blow for a blow, our covenant is done, and if you strike again, I’ll return it in kind.”
The Green Knight steps back, and leans against his axe.
“Be less feisty, young man. One strike was promised, so consider it served. My first, when you flinched, was a feint, in return for our first night’s game, where you stayed true and gave up your gift as you promised you would. The second blow was for the second night, when you still remained true and returned my pretty wife’s two kisses. But the third night, well, on that night, you strayed: and for that, you had to pay”. And he cleaned away the drops of blood from the third swipe of the axe.
“That belt you wear… and I know you do… that belt was woven by my wife. I know of the courtesies you shared with her, the wooing, the kisses, and all whilst I was away. Because it was me who sent her… to test you. And you behaved well. Until the last. But to love your life so much you would strive to protect it, I cannot fault you for that.”
And Gawain blushes red with shame: “a curse upon my cowardice, my virtue is destroyed”, and he fumbles at his mail, and he takes off the belt, and he throws it to the ground. “That was my undoing — may the Devil take it.”
And the Green Knight laughs: “there’s no harm done. Your penance is paid,” — and he gestured the axe — “and by your confession, you are set free”.
“And this gold edged girdle is yours”, he said, picking it up from the ground. “A reminder of our meeting, a keepsake of this Chapel. Now follow me home, and we’ll continue our celebrations, and you can re-meet my wife as a friend, not a foe. I know she’ll be more than pleased to see you.”
But Gawain says no. “I’ve been away long enough already. Commend me to your wife, who kidded me so cunningly. It’s no surprise men are so easily led. If only we could love our ladies without being seduced by their wiles…
“But I will accept the girdle, and thank your for the gift. I’ll wear it as a sign of my sin. But I would ask you one thing: what is your name?”
And the Green Knight replies: “My name is Bertilak. Bertilak de Hautdesert. And in my house lives Morgan le Fay. Your aunt. The half sister of Arthur. Who was trained by Merlin and is a mistress of the dark arts.
“She was the one who guided me, who sent me to Camelot a year and a day ago, to test the Round Table and put you on trial. She imagined the nightmares that Guinevere would have, of the headless knight. She imagined the Court. So, come back to the castle, come and greet your aunt.”
But Gawain would not, and they took their leave of each other, and they each went their own way.
Through the wilds of England, Gawain rode on Gringolet, taking shelter where he could. He wore the green belt as a sash, diagonally, as a sign of his sin.
And eventually, he returned to Camelot, to King Arthur’s Court, and he told them there the tale I have told you.
Of the long cold journey, of the castle, and the Lord. The two ladies, fair and foul, and the thrice played game. Of his fall, and the reward that it led to in turn. And at that he touched he neck, where the axe had grazed it. And he told them of the belt, the green girdle, edged with gold.
And the King gave him comfort, and the knights all agreed that they too would wear such a sash.
And so it was, and so it is, and so we come to the end our of tale. Of Camelot, and King Arthur, and of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.
For honest is he who shows penance.
And that is the end of the tale, and of our set for tonight.