Sir Christian de Galis and the Fish Gravy

The worst choice is sometimes the best choice. Such was the case of Sir Christian de Galis, for thirty-plus years the absolute worst choice to do anything as a knight at King Arthur’s Round Table. Jesters told jokes about him. Heroes avoided him. Bullies humiliated him. King Arthur got real tired of having him around. What suddenly made him the best choice to go on a quest with the kingdom’s scariest lady who looked harmless?

It was March, first month of the Arthurian medieval year 535 A.D. A forlorn figure facing west, laid down a veterans collection jar with his left hand, placed his right foot on a wooden bench, and called out to the air before him, “Lord Jesu, help me!”

Behind him came a THUNK, followed by a crash, and then the swoosh of something swinging through the air before being sheathed like a sword. An eerie voice announced, “CHERRRRY! BERRRRY! APPPPLE-PIIIIE! THERE’S GOING TO BE A BIG SURPRISE!”

The forlorn figure’s foot slid off the bench and he almost fell forward, but his left hand grabbed the bench side-rail as the eerie voice continued, “FOR SIR CHRISTIAN DE GALIS, SIR CHRISTIAN DE GALIS, AND I PRESUME YOU ARRRRE SIRRRR CHRIIISSSTIANNNN DE GALIIIIS!” 

This was followed by an equally eerie, “YOUUUUUU-HEH-HEH-HEH!”

The forlorn figure answered shakily, “Who might you presume to be?”

The eerie voice replied, “I’M AN ANSWER TO ALL OF YOUR PRAYERS!”

The forlorn figure replied with a shudder, “What are some of the other answers?”

“THERE AREN’T ANY TODAY!” This was followed by another “YOUUUUUU-HEH-HEH-HEH!” followed by a moment of silence. Then the voice sounded less eerie as it said, “Sir Knight, that poem was written by my grandson Adragain; I added the rest. Wasn’t that effective?”

So effective it made the figure shake like it was in an earthquake or an explosion in a small kitchen. Meantime the voice added, “According to my scrolls, you are indeed Sir Christian de Galis, one-time knight in good standing at King Arthur’s Round Table.”

The forlorn figure froze as the voice continued, “It is also written in my scrolls that last November, after thirty-plus years of merely satisfactory service, your name was finally added to King Arthur’s Round Table Honor Roll.”

The forlorn figure shook like it suffered from a cold chill.

“But then you offended King Arthur’s fool Sir Dagonet and a host of others. Sir Dagonet got even by listing your name on a comic survey. The host of others got even by having their servants distribute it; they weren’t well enough to do it themselves. It petitioned King Arthur’s subjects to select him whose name shall be listed first on Sir Dagonet’s new Honor Roll: Worst Knights at King Arthur’s Round Table. And everyone knows what the word worst in Sir Dagonet’s vocabulary also means, his other favorite word for someone he doesn’t like—dumbest.”

The forlorn figure stopped shaking and froze almost solid, as the voice added, “Sir Knight, I saw Sir Dagonet’s survey making fun of your name on every town gate, church door, and bridge post between the winter court at Caerleon and Nauntes, the largest city south of here. Yesterday, I even read one on the Mawddach ferry, fastened just above the corral where everyone backs in their horses. I’m sure that’s had an effect on your quest referrals—if you still get any.”

The forlorn figure unfroze and spun around like a large fish on a strong string yanked by an expert fisherman; instead of an eerie-sounding angler, however, the figure saw an eerie-looking woman watching him with one eye. She had the other focused on a lump resembling another large fish someone had dumped on the ground, except it wore a dented helmet and rusty chain mail links to which she ambidextrously fastened a note. This was near hands that lay limply on the battered hilt of a sword.

The forlorn figure stared at the lump, “What happened to him?”

“He had a great fall as he prepared for a big spring. Isn’t that amusing?”

The forlorn figure didn’t laugh. “What did you attach to his chain mail?”

“Words of guidance for his next awakening.”

“What if he can’t read?”

Almost too fast to watch, she stepped over the lump and studied the forlorn figure with both eyes, that looked deceptively young as she said, “I included a picture.”