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The Story of Lady Pertra

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The Story of Lady Pertra

In the time of great King Arthur, to the lands south of Camelot and west of Winchester, among the rolling green hills of this green isle, there lived the noble Juan, son of gallant Sir Sanders, the forgotten knight of Arthur’s Round Table.

The perdition of Sanders wrung shame upon our family and left Juan in care of myself, his sister, Lady Pertra. My father, though of pure mind and heart, though of true virtue and knightliness, slew a woman in his 60th year. He was old, his mind decaying and reasonable logic vanishing. As he smote the lady’s head from her rounded shoulders, words of lunacy fell from his damned lips. Said he unto the headless body, “’Twas an accident m’lady. Let us dine in my palace on the morrow and I shall redeem my wrong doing.” To this, the lady could not reply, for she had no head.
Arthur flew quickly, unknighting my father and casting him from society. He was threatened to be burned, should he ever return to Camelot. I admit my father’s deed was not chivalrous, but it wasn’t as horrid as some made it out to be. He did not slay a whole village, nor speak illy of the king! He only released the woman’s shoulders of their burden! How terrible a crime is that? And he offered her a chance to talk things over! Yet still my Juan had his heart set on serving Arthur. I thought, “But he is my brother, and I shall stand firmly behind him.”
“Pertra,” he said to me on that day, “I have devised a plan to win back the trust and respect of Arthur for our family.”
“What do you propose, Juan?” I asked, excitement grasping me.
“I need your help, though,” he replied.
“I will do anything you ask of me, dear brother.”
“So be it, then.” Juan stood close to me and told me his plan.
“You will ride to King Arthur’s court five days from now when he and his knights are about to feast during the Pentecost, and you will be dressed in armor so that they know not your true identity and take you for a fellow knight. You will challenge them to fight with your master, the Cyan Knight, and tell them he will only joust with Gareth, Lancelot, Gawain, or Arthur himself.”
“The Cyan Knight? I’ve never heard of him!”
“That is because he does not truly exist. I will play the role of the Cyan Knight to trick Arthur and then, after I have won the fight, will reveal my true identity.”
“But why must I dress as a warrior knight? Why can I not go to them as myself?” I asked worriedly, “Will not the Knights of the Round Table respond quickly to the pleas of a damsel?”
“Yes,” replied Juan with a smile only Lucifer could have inspired, “but they will fly ever the faster to the challenge of a fellow knight. You know as well as I that the Round Table is filled with knights who hide their arrogance deep within and wait for any chance that they can get to prove themselves manly and of great worth.”
“This is true, I suppose,” I told him reluctantly, “but I do not wish to deceive the King of the Britons.”
“Faugh,” Juan laughed, “when a knight is sent to fight with me he will be defeated, and Arthur will see my righteousness. Not only will he forgive you for deceiving him, but he also shall make me a knight.”
“I have not much faith in this plan,” I retorted, “but I will keep my word, for it is the noblest thing I can do. I will keep any word I make for ones I love.”
“Good. Then it is done.”
When five days came and went, I dressed in my father’s old armor and mounted my horse to set off for Camelot. The sun had just risen over the emerald earth, shining upon all that is good…and evil. I wearily left, leaving Juan behind me in the distance, preparing for his great battle with some renowned knight I was about to send off to him.
I rode over the dancing hills, past the small villages, and through the dark wood until I came to Arthur’s Castle. “Prepare to feast, good lord,” said a squire to Arthur as I walked through the palace halls, “for here comes a knight to beseech a quest of you.”
“Goodly Sir Knight, what quest do you bring forth to us?” Arthur asked, standing to greet me.
“I am servant to the Cyan Knight of the South who challenges only Gareth, Lancelot, Gawain, or Arthur himself to joust.”
“Let me go, good uncle, for it has been a long while since I have gone out on a quest,” Gawain said.
“Would you shut up already?” Arthur asked, turning to him. “How many times must you offer to take a quest for me?! If this Cyan Knight insists on jousting Arthur, Arthur shall he get, and no other!”
Gawain, humbled, sat down and hung his head.
The sudden realization of Arthur fighting Juan shot panic through me, and I was quick to mention, “Any knight that I’ve mentioned will do justly, good king, do not feel obligated to take this upon yourself.”
“Very well,” Arthur said haughtily, “I will send Lancelot. That is what I have decided.”
“It is my honor to receive this challenge,” Lancelot said and followed me out of the castle and back to my home. Juan waited there in his shining, light blue armor that sparkled in the sun like a great sapphire gem.
“Lo, Sir Knight,” Juan said as we approached him.
“I am Lancelot, knight of the Round Table in Camelot. I come to joust with you as you have challenged.”
“I know who you are!” Juan said angrily. “Now let us fight and see who is strongest!” I bit my lip, nervous for my brother, fearing he would not be able to defeat such a great knight. But, then again, I needed to have faith in Juan, and put him in God’s hands. For only in God’s hands could he ever win such a battle.
Juan mounted his horse, and the two rode towards one another in fury and rage. Lancelot knocked Juan to the ground with such ease he could have done it without horse or weapon. “Fie upon you, worthless Cyan Knight!” cried Lancelot, bringing his sword above his head, ready to strike the trembling Juan.
“Let him live!” I yelled.
Lancelot looked at me, startled. He had probably forgotten I was even there.
“Who are you to tell me if I should spare him or not?”
“I am his brother, Sir Pertro, and I challenge you to fight with me instead,” I said without really thinking. I just knew I needed to save Juan. That was all that occupied my mind. Then it hit me, how idiotic I was being.
Lancelot smirked and left the hysterical Juan wriggling on the ground behind him.
I seized Juan’s sword from the ground. We raised our swords and began to fight. I swung at him, he dodged my swing, his sword flew, and mine caught it in flight. We fought for a long while, until we were both gasping for breath. Finally I took one desperate swing at his side, and pierced him. His blood spilled to the grass, turning it from green to a carpet of burgundy.
“You’ve slain me!” Lancelot screamed in horror as he fell to the ground, grabbing at his wound.
“I’m so sorry!” I tossed my helmet off and rushed to aide him.
“Sorry? What?—You’re a woman?! A woman has killed me?!”
“I don’t think you’re quite dead yet,” I replied, throwing off my armor.
“A man knows when he is dying,” Lancelot said sadly, “and I am quite dead. Tell me your true name.”
“Lady Pertra, sister of Juan, daughter of Sir Sanders.”
“Sir Sanders?! Good God!”
“So, I see you have heard of him,” I said with a cringe.
“Quite so, I’m afraid. You’re a much better man than he was.”
“What?!”
“I know what I said.”
“Listen, when do you plan on dying? I’m not sure whether to call for help or start digging a grave.” I hovered over Lancelot, pacing back and forth.
“He looks pretty dead to me,” Juan spoke up for the first time since he had been knocked from his horse.
“He’s not dead!” I cried. “He’s still talking to us, isn’t he?!”
“The lad’s right, I’m pretty dead. Not completely dead, just pretty dead. Why don’t you take me to the king and I will tell him of your victory.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to manage?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Lancelot asked angrily.
“Well, because you have an enormous wound in your side, probably damaged organs within that wound, and you’re losing a lot of blood.”
“So? We’ve been over this: I’m pretty dead, not completely dead. Let’s just ride to Camelot, okay?”
“Alright,” I sighed.
Juan stood up, took his sword from where it lay next to Lancelot, raised it high above his head, and smote off Lancelot’s legs.
“What in the bloody name of God was that for?!” Lancelot asked, bringing himself to a sitting position to observe the stumps where his legs had been seconds earlier.
Juan smiled nervously, “It was an accident…”

* * *

“Dear God, Lancelot! What has happened to thee, my bravest knight in all of Logres?!”
“This lady has slain me, good king,” Lancelot replied looking at King Arthur. He was lying across the back of my horse holding onto the saddle so that he wouldn’t fall off.
“I never thought I would see this day! My great Sir Lancelot—killed by…a woman?! What kind of devil work is this? If thou are Morgana le Fay, my wicked wench of a sister, in disguise, tell me now, or I shall kill you! This could only be the making of her black magic!”
“Dear King, I am not your sister, nor any kind of witch. I am but the humble daughter of one of your knights. I tried to defend my brother against Lancelot, and I suppose I accidentally wounded him.”
“Wounded him?! You have killed him!”
“But he’s not dead! Oh, spare me of your contradiction for I cannot bear to hear one more time that this man is truly dead!”
“His legs are gone! This man is dead!”
“The removal of his legs was not my doing,” I sighed in a frustrated manner.
“It was an accident,” Lancelot said sarcastically, “this girl’s father was Sir Sanders.”
Arthur buried his face in his hands, “Good lord!”
“So, I see you’ve heard of him?” I cringed again.
“Yes, yes I have. He was the most horrid knight to ever sit at the Round Table. But, since you have slain my best knight I’m sure you must be different than your father. I’m sure he must be proud and looking up at you lovingly.”
“Don’t you mean looking down on me?”
“No, I mean looking up at you.”
Suddenly Lancelot fell from the horse and twitched like a bug that had just been stepped on. He made a few yelping noises in pain and then fell silent. Arthur and I walked over to where he lay and looked down on him.
“I think he’s finally dead now,” I said quietly.
“Aye, God rest his soul,” Arthur agreed.
“I’m not gone quite yet,” Lancelot coughed, opening his eyes abruptly.
“For crying out loud!” I yelled in rage, “When is he going to die?!”
“What is your name?” Arthur said. I found this rather random, but also reasonable because I had not yet told him of my true self.
“Lady Pertra,” I answered.
“Lady Pertra, as preposterous this is, and as much as I hate to say this, I believe that the empty seat at the Round Table is for you. But, of course, you must prove your worth by going on a quest. You must ride for one year around this realm until you find the Holy Grail!”
“But what if I don’t find it within the year?”
“You will be burned at the stake!”
“Why? I’ve done nothing wrong!”
Arthur shrugged, “It’s fun…kills some time. I don’t mean to scare you, but Merlin prophesized that there would be a peasant maid, a saintly and courageous girl of God, who was to be burned at the stake falsely, only to be proven innocent afterwards. Very humorous if you ask me; but I doubt it’ll be you. It is said that this will happen hundreds of years from now.”

* * *

I set out on my quest. I traveled far and long. I raced my horse through the marshy spring landscape, over the barren and dry summer countryside, through the showers of crimson leaves in the fall, and over the glass ground in winter. While I rode through the crisp air on a winter’s morn I came upon a castle glazed with the diamonds of snow. Its drawbridge was lowered, so I did not hesitate to enter and request shelter of the king of this castle, for I was cold beyond belief.
“Goodly king, whoever you may be, I am Lady Pertra, and come to ask you for a room in your castle.”
I swung one foot over my horse and jumped down, leading my beast into the castle by the reigns, slowly and cautiously.
“Hello?” I called, my voice echoing through the desolate halls.
I took off my helmet and my messy black locks fell past my shoulders covering my freezing ears. My nose and cheeks were red and frozen, and my dark brown eyes were filled with weariness as I glanced around the barren environment.
I had never had reason to be afraid before. Juan had always protected me. Now that I was all alone in this enormous castle, not knowing if something was going to leap out at me, I became intimidated. This was not my typical self. I had always felt that I could stand up to anything, defeat any foe, and reap any prize. Now I wasn’t so sure.
The soft chanting suddenly pierced my ears, catching me off guard. My helmet flew to the floor and my horse reared up onto its hind legs as the clang resounded throughout the building.
“Be not afraid,” a sweet voice said behind me. I abruptly turned to face the owner of this voice, but in doing so I hit her unintentionally.
As soon as I saw the pale lady in the white gown I noted her look of horror and I followed her glance to the chalice that had flown into the air. It had apparently been in her hands before I had hit her, and now was plummeting quickly back to earth.
Without thinking twice I jumped and fell flat on my stomach and the cup fell gracefully into my outstretched hands.
I rolled onto my back and glared at the lady in white with a nervous smile, “It was an accident, sorry about that.”
The lady looked at me blankly and fainted, collapsing to the floor.
Two other women in white rushed into the hall and saw me with the cup.

* * *

“So, it is with great happiness,” said Arthur, holding the Grail above his head while he looked at me, “that I pronounce this woman, Lady Pertra, the first woman to be knighted and the newest member of the Knights of the Round Table!”
The knights cheered and we all sat down. I felt pain the second I sat down. I stood up, clenching my stomach, feeling as if I were going to vomit any second.
“I knew it!” cried Sir Kay, “No woman was meant to defend Logres!”
Everything started to fade, the scene around me becoming darker and darker.
“Sir Kay is right,” said Arthur sadly, “God knows that only men are worthy. Women are too influenced by Satan.”
I lost all sense of things around me. Soon I was gone.

And so ends our story of Lady Pertra. May this lesson be learned: this will always be a man’s world. From the very beginning when Eve was created from Adam’s rib, to the male prophets of the early years, to the knights of medieval days, to the rulers of more recent centuries. This will always be a man’s world; for ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever…
It's a stupid narrative essay I wrote last year during out King Arthur unit. I hated that book with a passion; it was so stupid. I thought it was hilarious how these knights would be killed, yet they'd have these huge honkin' monologues as they lay there dying. This is my humorous attempt at a King Arthur story. It's so stupid...yet so funny at the same time. I don't know why it ended like it did. I guess I was having trouble with the ending, and I honestly don't remember why I came up with the whole thing...I guess I was feeling cynical and pessemistic when I ended it.

King Arthur's stupid.
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