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willing to accept Abelleus's reparations, of course."
    The woman clasped both hands to her breast and moaned, "Ah, that a fair lady should be so abused." Suddenly, she pulled a dagger from her robe and threw herself at Abelleus. Abelleus caught her arm easily and plucked the dagger from her hand. He raised his arm to drive the dagger into the woman's heart, and Tor cut off his head.
    Tor swore. The lady grasped Abelleus's head and raised it triumphantly from the ground. "There! There! Long have I dreamed of holding thee so!"
    "Well, I hope you like it," Tor said angrily, driving his sword into the dirt at her feet. "Because you're going to see a lot of it. Toss me some cord, Plogrun." Tor took the rope and deftly secured Abelleus's head to it with a bewildering variety of knots. Then he tied it roughly around the lady's neck.
    "You may remove this head only at Camelot. There is a ... a spell on the cord, and if you try to cut it or untie it before then, your ... your nose will grow to three times its normal size. Now, go! And take this brachet with you," Tor added, handing the hound's leash to the lady. "When you reach Arthur's court, you will tell him of your cruelty and deliver this hound with Sir Tor's compliments. Now go!" The woman tottered away, her enemy's head bouncing and dripping blood on her gown.
    "A magic cord?" Gawain asked after a minute.
    Tor grinned. "She seemed easy to fool. After all, she believed you when you pretended that you could kill a woman."
    Gawain and Terence looked at each other, but neither spoke.

6. Marhault and Morgan
    The two knights and two squires rode eastward along a meandering forest trail. Tor rode ahead with Gawain, telling his story. Tor had won three fights in the few hours since they parted, and he was clearly pleased with himself. In his excitement, he did not seem to notice that Gawain said nothing of his own adventures.
    Terence rode alongside the dwarf Plogrun, but although he could not resist peeking at him every now and then, he was too shy to speak to the strange squire. Finally, Plogrun broke the silence.
    "Your name's Terence?" he asked politely.
    "Yes, sir," Terence said.
    "Don't call me sir. A squire shows respect to every knight and every lady, but never to another squire."
    "Sorry," Terence stammered.
    "There, see? You've just done it again," the dwarf pointed out. "Don't apologize either."
    Terence started to say he was sorry again, but caught himself.
    "Good." Plogrun nodded. "You can't ride worth a farthing, so you must be a new squire."
    "None of your business!" Terence snapped.
    "Even better," the dwarf said approvingly. "Nothing to be ashamed of, being new. You've a good master, too. A squire is only as good as his knight. Now me, I'm the best squire there is, but I've had the worst luck with masters, let me tell you. I can't say what a relief it is to finally squire a knight with as much potential as Sir Tor. Not a good knight yet, of course. Only beat Abelleus by sheer luck, actually, but I've seldom seen a young knight show more potential."
    When they had ridden through the forest in silence for another hour, Gawain and Tor pulled up at the edge of a long, grassy clearing. A stream ran along one side of the meadow, and Terence saw a trout jump.
    "Terence! You cook trout?" Gawain called.
    "My specialty, milord," Terence responded eagerly.
    "We'll stop here for the night, then," Gawain said. "I'll tend to your horse, Terence. You go catch some fish."
    "An
excellent
master," Plogrun muttered as Terence leaped to the ground and started toward the stream.
    The water was fresh and cool, the stream teemed with fish, and the trees along the eastern bank were thick and shady. Terence quickly fashioned a hook and line, captured a pocketful of plump insects for bait, and settled himself comfortably on the bank. Nothing could have been more blissfully relaxed. The others set up camp about thirty yards away, by a pair of drooping willows. Before long they joined him.
    "Good