'They have, Madam. Oh, indeed they have!'
Upon hearing this, the crone (or seeming crone) drew a great whimpering sigh, and a tear slowly toiled its way down the ravines of her wrinkled face to drip, at last, from the tip of her warty nose. This long and tortuous passage gave Sir Gervais season to ponder what mysterious thing had befallen him in this Forest of Enchantment. He did conclude that there stood before him a deserving target for amorous dalliance, provided, of course, that her seemingly low rank was, in fact, as high as her seemingly ugly aspect was, in fact, beauteous. For know you that Sir Gervais would not—indeed, could not—bring himself to foin a woman, however lush and frick, if she were not of noble birth, for he possessed the overweening pride of his class in such full measure that his member shrank from the debasing task of swiving low wenches, however toothsome, but it ever stood to pert attention in the presence of any woman of high title, however loathly, sere, or harsh-featured.
'But I forget form and duty,' the seeming hag said, her tear having completed its lengthy course. 'Surely thou art weary from thine adventures and wouldst share the comforts of my castle.'
'Thou art most gracious, fair maiden.'
'Princess, actually.'
'Princess? Princess? Oh, forgive me, desirable Princess! May I offer thee to ride behind me?'
'Gladly would I, though I have never sat astride a pig'
'A pig?'
'Oh, la, what am I saying? Even I do sometimes err and accept the evidence of mine eyes, though I know better.'
And with this, the seeming crone scrambled up behind Sir Gervais, hitching her skirts high and wrapping her seemingly scrawny and scabby legs about his.
As they rode along, Sir Gervais did exercise his courtly speech, saying, 'Knowing, as now I do, that in this forest all things are the reverse of what they seem, fair Princess, I trow that the enticing bouquet rising from thee —this seeming stench—must, in fact, be the very essence of all spices rare and flowers fragrant.'
The maiden blushed and wrapped herself closer to him, and his eyes did smart with the beauty of the moment.
Not far along, they came upon a fetid bog on the verge of which a crude hovel sagged upon rotting beams.
The maiden laughed a seeming cackle and said, 'See how my castle's drawbridge is down, as though in anticipation of thine entrance? Oh my, I hope thou dost not take this to be a metaphor for my highly prized and well-defended chastity, you naughty, naughty, naughty man!' And with her bony knuckle she delivered him several coy knocks on the helmet that made his ears to ring.
'Drawbridge?' he said in confusion. 'Castle? Ah! Of course! Know ye, Princess, that upon first glance I mistook your drawbridge for a slippery log laid across a sluggish swamp!' And Sir Gervais did laugh heartily at his error.
It became evident that thoroughbred horses, no less than high-born men, were victims of the forest's enchantment, for in attempting to cross the drawbridge, Sir Gervais's noble steed slipped as it might have slipped from a narrow log, and precipitated both riders into the moat, out of which they clawed their sputtering way, and beside which Sir Gervais stood at last, stenchy bog-water draining from his armour.
'I fear thou wilt attrap thy death of cold,' the lovely princess said. 'Quickly into the castle, and out of that damp armour. A good roasting before my vast hearth will regain thy temper.'
Soon the knight stood beneath the soaring vaults of the castle's great hall that the uninitiated might have mistaken for a low, filthy chamber with rush-strewn dirt floor below and rotting thatch above. He shivered, all nude, before the roaring hearth that had the superficial aspect of a feeble twig fire the smoke of which coiled and recoiled beneath the roof in search of chinks and gaps.
Know you that the maiden had, for the good of her health, doff'd her sodden garments and now stood before him clothed as Eve had been when she harkened to the snake's twisted counsel.
'My God!' the knight cried. 'How comely thou must, in reality, be! For if each perfection doth appear a blemish, then thou art Beauty itself, from thy balding pate to thy gnarled toes! I can no longer contain my ardour! Have at, then!'
At great length and with much invention did they tangle and roil among the seeming sodden rushes of the great hall's floor in every use and pose of amour. When finally exhausted and empty of essence, Sir Gervais rolled off, panting and clutching at a rag to cover his shivering nudity withal, while the seemingly foul crone crooned and sighed her affection as she strove in many coy and clever ways to reaffirm his lance for the lists of love.
For a year and a day, Sir Gervais languished in this enchanted castle, his body nourished by luscious joints of stag and boar that had the delusive appearance and taste of nettle soup, and his ardour nourished by an inner vision too strong to be extinguished by the evidence of his senses. And in this, he was not unlike the rest of us, each in our own personal enchanted forests—or so the sages would have us believe.
On the morning after the year-and-a-day, the seeming crone challenged Sir Gervais to offer proof of his undying love by going forth against her enemy, a neighbour baron in whose oak patch her swine did envy to snout about. At first Sir Gervais was loath to wreak hurt upon a knight with whom he had not exchanged those introductory insults that usage and breeding require, but when the seeming hag described the evil baron as a frail old man full of years and feeble of body, then did the knight recall her many kindnesses and his chivalrous duty. And thus it was that, after another dampening mishap upon the drawbridge, Sir Gervais rode forth to avenge the insults borne by the princess who clung to his back.
They soon encountered a woodcutter of great girth and so tall that he looked at the knight eye to eye, though he stood upon the ground and Sir Gervais sat astride his charger. The peasant's beard was gray, but he was sturdy as an oak and so broad of chest that he, in rough cloth, was wider than the knight in his armour.
'Tell me, hefty varlet,' Sir Gervais said, 'knowest thou the hiding place of the evil, if puny, baron who has given insult to this dainty, high-born maiden behind me?'
'Dainty maiden?' cried the woodcutter, and he laughed until tears ran down his cheeks and he was obliged to hold his sides in ecstatic pain.
The princess whispered into the ear hole of Sir Gervais's helm that the scoffer who stood before them was the very baron they sought.
Then spake the knight behind his hand, asking, 'But lacks not this stout fellow the qualities of frailty and decrepitude thou hast ascribed to the baron?'
'Ah, my love, hast thou forgot that all things here are other-seeming?'
'Uh-h-h-h-h... Ah! Of course! Aye, but art thou certain sure that yonder laughing giant is, in fact, a puny and feeble thing?'
'Seems he not otherwise?'
'Well then! There's your proof!'
Sir Gervais struggled to digest this, saying, 'Uh-h-h-h-h... Ah! Of course!' Whereupon he addressed the seeming giant, saying, 'Leave off thy laughter, uncivil cur, and hear my demands! Grant the swine of this princess of passing beauty the use of thine oak patch, or risk a passage of arms with Gervais, knight of the Table Round!'
The woodcutter dried his eyes upon his sleeve and said, 'Hast taken leave of thy senses, lad? Were we to grapple, thee and me, I would crumple thine iron suit in my hands in such wise that thou wouldst be unable to get out when the need to shit came upon thee.'
Sir Gervais whispered over his shoulder, 'How is it, Princess, that this varlet does not tremble at my high rank and martial prowess?'
'Why 'tis clear as my maiden conscience, lover. Just as he appears to thine enchanted eyes to be vast and well-proportioned, so dost thou appear to him to be a scrawny thing of slight danger. Such is the way of other- seemingness.'
Sir Gervais blinked and bent his mind to this complex matter. After a longish time, he cried out, 'Ah-h-h! Of course!' Then he chuckled to himself. 'What a dolorous surprise will be his, should we meet in harsh combat.' Then to the peasant he shouted, 'Enough of this petty parley! Do as I bade thee, churl, lest thy brittle old bones be brast by this hand!'
'Nay, nay,' the seeming giant said, waving away the glowering knight's threat. 'Do not require that I bash
