“You seem sensible,” Gretsella said. “What’s your name, and why are you all wet?”
“George,” George said. “And I just arrived back. I’ve been riding for hours.”
“And you came here instead of changing your clothes?” Gretsella asked, and watched as Sir George’s eyes went straight to Bradley at the other end of the room before darting away again. “Ah. I see,” Gretsella said.
Gretsella thought that Sir George looked uncomfortable, though she found it somewhat difficult to tell: Men very rarely looked comfortable in her presence. “I’d never presume, Grandmother. And, in any case, he’ll never notice me.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Gretsella said, casting a critical eye over George’s person. He was attractive enough, she supposed, as the menfolk went. He was also very neat and well-dressed, a characteristic that she often found greatly lacking in the men of her own village. The only point against him was what appeared to be a butter stain on his bluebrocade vest. “Bradley struggles to completely ignore anything in trousers for longer than about five minutes.”
George looked more uncomfortable than ever. “I think that he might be able to completely ignore me, Grandmother,” he said, and then took a deep breath. “Just before I was born, my father evicted an old woman who lived in a cottage on his property.”
“Ah,” Gretsella said. “Did she turn up at your christening?”
“She did,” said the gloomy Sir George. “My godmother had already gifted me with courage and strength in battle, so the old woman cursed me with never being noticed by anyone who mattered, and always turning up at any important function with a visible stain on my clothing.”
Gretsella, despite her general admiration for a well-executed curse, couldn’t help a sympathetic wince. “That would explain the butter on your vest, then.”
Sir George didn’t even bother to look down at himself to see. “Is it butter this time?” he asked. “Last time it was red wine. I don’t evendrinkred wine.”
“It’s a very tidy little curse, if her goal was to keep you from cloaking yourself in glory,” Gretsella said. “How does this not-being-noticed bit work? If I introduced you to Bradley, would he look right through you?”
“No,” George said. “He just wouldn’t take very much notice of me. With the old king, I had to be introduced to him three times before he could remember my name. The only thing that seems to make a difference is if I do something very valorous right in front of someone important and then getintroduced to them a few minutes after, but even then, it’s not a sure thing, really.”
“Hmm,” Gretsella said. “Interesting.” Then she said, “Come with me, Sir George. I’m going to introduce you to someone.”
If Sir George was disappointed when she led him directly to Janet, who was still strumming disconsolately on her lute, he didn’t show it. He bowed to her very politely. Then Gretsella said, “Janet, I’d like you to write a nice song about Sir George.”
Janet perked up a little as George began to look as if he’d just realized what a mistake he’d made. “What kind of song?”
“About the quest he was just on,” Gretsella said. “Tell her, George.”
George squirmed. “It was a veryjuvenilered dragon,” he said.
“Adragon?” Janet asked, perking up even more. “Tell me all about it.”
Gretsella left them to it and made her way back to the head of the table to sit next to Bradley, who was currently being flirted with by a maiden fair. Bradley was very politely fending her off, and seemed relieved to have a distraction when Janet began to sing a song.
Brave, brave Sir George
Who always does his best,
Returned from slaying dragons now,
With butter on his vest!
A handsome knight, one must admit,
A hero bold and true,
His blood runs redder than the scales
Of the dragon that he slew!
It wasn’t, in Gretsella’s opinion, a very good song, but she granted that it was better than she might have expected Janet to come up with on such short notice. George was hiding his face in his hands. Bradley was listening to the song with great evident interest. “Did one of my knights really slay a dragon?” he asked. “I don’t think that we have aSir Georgehere, do we?”
“Of course you do,” Gretsella said. “I was just speaking to him. I’ll introduce him to you.” Then, before Bradley could ask any more questions, she trotted over to where George was trying to blend into a tapestry of a boar hunt, grabbed him firmly by the elbow, and dragged him across the room to pay his respects to his king. This, at least, he did very nicely, with a graceful bow and a very reverent-sounding “Your Majesty” before he peeped up at Bradley through his long lashes.
Bradley was visibly interested. “Come sit by me,” he said, “and tell me about your adventures, Sir George.”
