The Green Knight:

Healing a Soul

By

M. L. Stidmon

The first sprouts of green were poking up from the brown fields in a multitude of orderly rows. The Knight was sitting on his knees on a slight hill overlooking the fields of the monastery, gazing off over the land. He had no weapons or armor, not even a dagger. His thoughts were such that he was repulsed by those tools for war. In quiet meditation the Knight hoped to overcome the dirtiness he felt towards his vocation. There he sat on the knoll awaiting some sort of cleansing.

The Knight had been coming to this very spot since his arrival at the monastery a fortnight prior. This morning, as with the previous mornings, the monks of the monastery had left him alone since his sudden appearance during a late stormy night. In fact he had become somewhat of a permanent fixture sitting quietly by this one field for the better part of the day, each day. Sometime in the late afternoon, the Knight would go to his room, gather his sword in its scabbard and head for the chapel. Then in the time before vespers he would sit again before the altar this time with the sword before him on the stone floor. After the last prayers were said in the chapel at night the Knight would quietly re-enter and take up his meditative position over the sword till well pass midnight. To add to his abnormal behavior the Knight only ate in the morning when he awoke and then only sparsely.

It was strange conduct from the norm for both the local villagers and the monks. The monks had been asked by the Knight to respect his privacy and with a bag of gold coins in hand they agreed. The locals were always busy with their field work that they had no time to speak or desire to bother him. The villagers though were very mindful of the Knights presence and his unusual behavior. The adults had even chastised some curious boys who had thought of engaging the Knight for tales of glory and fame. The monks were equally distant. They were busy with their own business and were instructed to be polite and helpful when confronted by the Knight, but to not press him on matters or comment on his behavior. The Knight for his part did not asked anything of the monks, or be an imposition upon them in any way during their daily routine.  

As the Knight sat there on the little grassy knoll, for the first time in all these days he sat back in a more comfortable position. His posture was still erect and stiff. A small girl came up to him from the side holding a bouquet of wild flowers. Other children had said the Knight was crazy. Even the adults about her had said the same thing. She was not sure what crazy meant so she thought she would go and investigate him. From afar he seemed harmless as he sat quietly for the better part of each day; therefore she approached him not thinking she was putting herself in any danger.

As she approached she held before her a bouquet of flowers as an offering and a shield. After all who could be so dangerous when being offered flowers? The Knight caught her movement from the corner of her eyes. His head jerked to the side locking his eyes upon the little frame of the girl. She was somewhat startled by his quick reaction. She smiled at him as she held out the flowers in an offertory jester. The Knight looked at the flowers and then at the girl. He jumped to his feet and faced her. The two figures looked at each other. The girl was suddenly nervous with the Knight towering over her. She took a step back and lowered the flowers to her side. The Knight took a step towards her. She suddenly became frighten and ran off down the knoll dropping the flowers.

The Knight just stood there and watched the little girl run off to some adults working in the fields. They stopped and gathered about the girl. There were looks in his direction and the Knight reacted by the scrutiny by turning back towards the Monastery grounds. As he was walking up to the low gate in the stone wall that bordered the monastery the abbot was standing there.

“Don’t worry Sir Knight, I saw the whole thing. I will talk to the villagers and let them know that you did no harm to the child.”

The Knight just looked at the thinly built elderly man. He gave no expression that expressed his thoughts. Nor did the Knight say anything. All he did was look back at where the girl had run to and saw that a small group of adults were talking while the girl was led away by a woman, probably her mother. The Knight then nodded to the Abbot and walked on to the boardinghouse where his tiny room was.

The next day the Knight was again sitting upon the knoll. The farmers were likewise attending to their fields. The little girl, the Knight saw, was back but this time she stayed in the fields near the adults. He would from time to time catch her staring at him. He only sat there as the little girl kept away from him.

Around mid-afternoon there was a gentle cough behind the Knight. This was the second time his meditations had been interrupted. This time it was the Abbot.

The Knight did not move as the Abbot moved around to the Knights front. The holy man was not accustom to such indifferent treatment by anyone and frowned at the man who refused to stand for him or even acknowledge him in any manner.

“Sir Knight,” the Abbot began in his most authoritative tone. “We have been quite patient with you.”

But before the Abbot could say another word the Knight quickly stood up startling the older man where he actually took a hasty step backwards. The Knight gave the same blank look that he had given the man the day before. Then the Knight very slowly reached under his tunic and drew forth a small gold medallion that hung from a finely crafted gold chain. The Knight took the chain from about his head and held out the necklace before him. The Abbot went to grab the chain but awkwardly realized that he was being allowed to only look at the medallion, the Knight was not going to relinquish the chain and in turn the possession of the piece of jewelry.

Upon the medallion were engraved three interlocking circles set with jade stone to form the outline of the circles. On the reverse side of the medallion was the papal seal.

The Abbot looked at the medallion for a long time turning it about looking at each side in disbelief. He finally let the medallion go and looked at the Knight before him in disbelief. When he had become Abbot of St. Lazarus’s Fields he had been told many things about the upper workings of the Church. He had been shown seals and items to be held in his strictest of confidence. Most of the information was about the actual workings of the church and how it communicated between itself and the Holy See in Rome. Much of what he had been taught he had forgotten having no further dealings in the many years of his administration of the monastery.  There were a few things that he never forgotten from his initial instruction. One of them was about this very medallion. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever think that he would be presented with this iconic devise. Remembering his instructions about the interwoven three circles he was to assist with no hesitation and with no questions towards the bearer of the medallion if any should come within his purview.

The Knight withdrew the medallion and placing the chain about his neck he tucked it back under his tunic. The Knight then gave the Abbot one last look before walking past the older man.

“I understand you have certain privileges that I must honor, Sir Knight. But may I ask what brings you here?” The Abbot was some what nervous now that he knew who his potentially dread guest was.

The Knight had walked off several paces and stopped. He only turned about enough to face the Abbot. Before he spoke the Knight looked off into the fields where the little girl was now playing with a little dog. The Knight returned his gaze back to the Abbot. “I’m here to heal my soul.”

The Abbot swallowed at the unexpected proclamation. He then also turned to see what the Knight had looked at. The old man’s eyes saw the field laborers toiling away and when he noticed the little girl from the day before. The Abbot looked back at the mysterious Knight with a tightening in his stomach. Evil, unholy thoughts crept in his mind as he thought the worst of what the Knight had meant by healing his soul.

The Knight awoke the next morning. Still barefoot he left his room for the nearby latrine. He then went back to his room where he finished getting dress. The monks had finished their morning prayers and were all congregating in the main hall for breakfast. Coming into the hall the Knight took hold of a platter that a passing monk held as he distributed bread. The surprised monk was at first somewhat fearful when he recognized that it was the Knight that had taken the over flowing platter. Then he was just out right dumbfounded when the Knight proceeded to hand out bread to the assembled brethren. When the bread had been distributed the Knight then went over to the kitchen and fetched a basket of apples. The usual low talking amongst the Brothers was all but absent as they all watched mystified as the Knight served them. Only when all of the food had been passed out did the Knight sit down to his breakfast. The monks ate hurriedly and then left. A couple of the holy brothers went to start cleaning up the dishes and such from the breakfast only to be joined by the Knight. In no time the three men had the hall cleaned. During the entire meal or as he was cleaning the Knight had said not a word.

Previously the Knight would go out to the little knoll and sit and meditate. This day he went back to his room. He stood in the door way and for a long time stared at his sword leaning up in a corner in its battered scabbard. After awhile he turned from the door way and headed out to the knoll.            

 The Knight sat in deep meditation. The sun was high in the nearly cloudless sky. Suddenly he sensed a presence before him. Opening his eyes he looked up at his little visitor and smiled at her. She smiled back at him and stepped closer. She was wary of him despite how he sat crossed legged upon the ground with his empty hands resting on his knees upward. She had been told to stay away from him but he was an enigma to her. And like most curious children she disobeyed what she was told not to do.

The Knight seemed friendly she thought as she held the flowers up in front of her.  All the crazy man had done the other day was come to his feet. She had been scared. But thinking about it afterwards the crazy man had really done nothing. She was certain that he would not hurt her. Besides, the men folk were working nearby in the fields. They would come to her rescue if the Knight did assault her. She was relieved when the Knight in a clearly friendly gesture patted the ground next to him to indicate he wanted her to sit with him. She hesitated at first but then decided he was anything but dangerous. Besides she had always been told to mind her elders, especially the highborn.

The Knight looked at her and smiled, “What’s your name little one?”

“Emily,” was the not so shy response.

“That’s a pretty name.”

Before the Knight could say another word the girl interrupted him. “Are you really a crazy knight? Everyone in the village says you are.”

The Knight looked at her and continued to smile. “I’m not crazy; I just have a lot to think about.”

The little girl was about to say something else when a woman working in the field started calling for her. The Knight looked at the woman and saw a look of concern for her child.

“You should run along little one, your mother is worried,” the Knight said smiling at her.

The little girl looked at her mother and then back at the Knight. “I think you’re nice. I don’t think you’re crazy.”

“You’re a good girl, Emily. God bless you.”

The Knight watched the girl first walk away towards her mother was urging her along to come quicker. When the girl got to her mother, he saw the woman bend down towards the girl and scold her. Every now and then the woman would either look at him or point towards him. The Knight bowing his head shook it in sadness.

The Knight took a deep breath and let it out. Seeing that the day was coming to another close he got up. Before walking away from the knoll he was confronted by the Abbot. He was a firm man of God, but came across as jovial and friendly. To most, his manner was disarming and non-threatening. For the Knight he saw the Abbot as he was and treated him accordingly, not allowing himself to be drawn into the Abbots natural charisma.

“My Lord Abbot, good day to you,” the Knight said in way of greeting.

“Sir Petra, you’re a Green Knight” the Abbot said coolly.

When the Knight had come to the monastery he had not given his name. He had just requested sanctuary as a Christian seeking shelter and aid. The Knight looked at the Abbot and decided that he would not deny who he was.

“That would be me,” the Knight said. He stood back and waited to see what the Abbot would say.

“Aren’t you curious how I learned who you are,” the Abbot tried to goad. He wanted to try and impress the Knight that he knew something he did not.

“You know my dear Abbot, its not always wise to know a Knight of the Holy Order of the Trinity,” the Knight said in way of caution. The Knight then continued, “Frankly, I don’t care how you found out who I was. My concern now is do I have to pack my bags?”

The Abbot looked hurt at the suggestion that he was asking the Knight to leave. ”Dear Lord no. You are most welcome to stay as long as you wish.”

The Knight looked at the smiling Abbot. There was more to this conversation that he was not being told. The Knight was alerted as he stood there before the Abbot.

“Then how may I help you?” the Knight asked.

“A letter came for you moments ago, by special courier. It’s from Rome,” the Abbot handed over the letter proud to be a part of a correspondence from the Vatican and this Knight.

The Knight took the letter and examined the two seals on it. There in the wax of one were pressed three interlocking circles the other had the distinct regal Papal seal. Simply written below the seals in a flowing script was, “Petra.” The Knight took a deep breath and cracked the seals. Seeing the Abbot hovering next to him he moved off a little, much to the chagrin of the monk. He unfolded the letter and read it. After reading it he folded it up and placed it in a pouch on his belt. The Knight looked up skyward with a blank expression and then back towards the Abbot.

“It looks like I will be leaving you within a week. Thank you for your hospitality,” the Knight said brushing past the clearly disappointed Abbot. He had expected some glimpse at the letter or inside the business of this most legend of Knightly Orders.

The Abbot not wanting to let an opportunity get away from him called out and caught up to the Knight, “Sir Knight, what glorious work have you been assigned?”

The Knight stopped and looked at the thin Abbot with a not so hidden look of contempt. “Glory? There is no glory in what I do.”

“Sure there is,” the Abbot insisted. “You and your Order battle the evil that walks the Earth and send it to Hell.”

“It’s only because of a perverse choice that I do,” the Knight said with scorn. “If I fail to destroy the evil then it is I who will be sent to Hell.”

The Abbot looked deflated as he realized what the Knight had said. Then in an uncharacterized act of courage he asked, “Then why would you want to take such vows in an Order if failure means going to Hell?”

“That my dear Abbot is why I became a part of the Order, so that I would not go to Hell.”

The Abbot looked confused at what the Knight said. He looked at the Knight with a quizzical look for clarification. The Knight stopped and looked at the man. Then in a rare moment he decided to explain himself.

“Knights of my Order are not good people,” the Knight held up his hand. “To save our soul and escape eternal damnation we place ourselves fate at the Pope’s will. Knights of my order have sinned greatly, so much so, that we are condemn to serve God or go to Hell. What people see as a glorious calling is a sentence that weighs heavily upon us.”

“You rid the world of evil, surely such a harsh penance has been fulfilled?” the Abbot tried to reassure the Knight.

“My penance will never be fulfilled,” the Knight said softly as he walked away from the well meaning Abbot.

The Knight stopped and looked at the Abbot and forgave him in his ignorance. He could not hold it against the monk what he endured and how it affected him since the man had no idea what it was like to have been sent to Hell for just a brief moment to experience what failure would mean for all eternity. How could the Knight explain that it was a far better fate to face a dragon or ogre and possibly survive than to not do so and for sure be sent back to Damnation?

The Knight looked at the Abbot and smiled. “God is truly merciful to all who repent and are good and have shown contrition. But some of us are so foolish, that are sins are so terrible, that even God won’t forgive us.”

“You must have faith in God. He forgives all; that is the one lesson of the cross, forgiveness.” The abbot preached to the Knight.

“Faith in God?” the Knight mocked sacrilegiously. “Dear Abbot what faith do you mean? Faith in his existence, because I can tell you he most assuredly does? Or do you mean faith in the hope that he will forgive me and rescind my punishment? I have been doing this for fifteen years, killing one evil monstrosity after another, and still I have this shackle on my soul. Fifteen long years and yet it is still only the beginning.”

The Knight walked on back to the main campus of the monastery. The Abbot watched him go feeling nothing but pity for the tortured soul. If what the Knight said was true , then what a terrible punishment to live with. He looked heavenward and wondered if it was all true . People told tales and then sometimes they were not tales. Like everything else about his life the Abbot took the knights words at face value. He decided he would pray for the Knight an all of his Order.

The next day the Knight was back on the knoll. This day was cloudy and a stiff breeze blew from the northwest. An unseasonably cold chill prevailed, too. The Knight was unmindful of the change in the weather as he kneeled on his knees. Before him was his sword in its battered scabbard.

He gazed upon the hilt wanting to grab hold and pull the cold steel from its protective covering. But he could not bring himself to draw the blade. The Knight only knelt before it, staring at the weapon for much of the day and into the evening. Even when the clouds opened up and it started to rain he did not move or avert his gaze from the sword.

Late in the day with the sun setting hidden by the storm did the Knight stir. It was a long rumbling of thunder that snapped him back to reality. He lifted his head feeling the driven rain cascade down his face. For the first time he felt the chill of being soaked to the bone. He wiped at the water about his eyes, then at the dampness in his beard. He made to stand up when he saw the sword laying in the wet ground the leather scabbard soaked through and through. A moment of concern came across him as he realized that the blade was probably rusted. With both hands he reached for the weapon and only a hair from it he stopped. His hands hovered over the steel for a long time. The Knight withdrew his hands and stood up. Without giving the sword a second look he turned away and walked back to the monastery. A monk would bring the sword to his room later that night.

The next three mornings the Knight awoke as before and went about his morning ritual, including serving breakfast to the monks. Immediately afterwards, he would go get his sword and head for the grassy knoll for another day of contemplation. On the fourth day he awoke and instead of the usual routine he skipped serving the monks their breakfast and went immediately to the grassy knoll with sword in hand.

The sun was just cresting the roof of the monastery as the Knight stood upon the knoll. He belted the scabbard to his side in a slow methodical manner. It was like entering a cool pool of water, breathtaking, for the first time in a long time he was arming himself. He then stood there with feet slightly apart as the day broke upon the fields before him.

With the cleansing rains of the past few days the trees and vegetation seemed to be greener and lively. The air was crisp and cool in the dampness. However, the sun was warm as its rays fell down upon him on this new day. And still he stood there with his hands resting upon the hilt of the sword at his side, unable to draw the blade out.

The day wore on and the sun rose high in the air drying the land from the soaking rain. The farmers and villagers that had been driven from the fields due to the rain were back tending to their crops and their livelihood. The Knight only stood there unmoving, as if in a pose for a painter.

The Knight was oblivious to all of the activity about him as he fought an internal struggle between what he was and what he did not want to be. Inside of him raged like a tempest a conflict between wishful thinking versus preordained fate. The Knight was at a crossroads and deciding upon which course to take was the source of his malady of the soul.

The Knight was torn by his oath to his long dead love and the guilt for the responsibility of his actions. How could he maintain his oath while he presented a danger to the innocent? How could he guard against unintended events and still fulfill his penance? The thought then raced through his head. Had he become that which he was trying to save his soul from? Had he become the unfeeling machine that had led him to cut down an innocent?

“No!!!” the Knight cried out as he yanked out the sword from the scabbard. He twirled the blade in a wide swooping swing that brought the blade up around his head. He then manipulated it in tight circles about his upper torso before taking all of his strength and bringing the blade before him in a powerful chopping motion. The blade came to a stop at his waste as if striking something.

The Knight focused his thoughts as he realized that he had his sword in hand before him in a classic guard stance. He had been holding his breath and let it out in a rush causing him to gasp. The sword hilt felt heavy and seemed to burn his hands. In fact it was his guilt that he felt.

Then there was a sound behind. It was barely perceptible; nevertheless the Knight reacted as his martial skills would have him react. He spun about and in a quick swing of the blade the razor sharp edge sliced through the air and stopped not even a hair’s width from the neck of the little girl.  

The little girl squealed in fright at nearly being decapitated. The flowers she had been holding slipped forward from her paralyzed hands. The Knight’s eyes went wide in horror as he realized how close he had come to slicing the little girls head off her shoulders. His mouth was wide open in shock as she stood there frozen, the sword still held to her neck. The Knight’s eyes went from what he had almost done, to the little girl’s expression of fright, till they rested upon the sword. In a sickening revulsion he cast the steel blade to the side.

“Emily,” the Knight called out to the little girl as he sunk to his knees and held out his arms. “I am so sorry. Please forgive me.”

The little girl seeing the inviting arms finally gathered her wits enough to slump into them. She started to cry in soft sobs as her young brain comprehended what had nearly happen to her. Instead of being fearful she took comfort from the Knights codling and apologetic words.

Being a wise little girl beyond her years it was clear that the Knight was more scared for her than she was. She thought it most strange that the Knight was crying while asking for forgiveness. She was very confused. Had she not walked up to him while he was practicing his sword fighting?

“It’s okay,” little Emily said in the Knight’s ear as she was still being held tightly. “I should have watched how close I was getting to you.”

The Knight stiffened and pushed himself arms length from her. She was nodding that it was okay as he began, “I almost done something horrible again. It’s not your fault little one.”

Emily smiled at the man before her with tear stained cheeks. She then took on an authoritative attitude and said, “Well then I guess we both need to be careful next time.”

The Knight sat back on his kneels as he came to a realization. He was speechless for a moment. It was not till Emily’s mother called her name that he snapped back to the present. The little girl was still standing before him smiling. Again her name was called. Together they turned to the woman running up to where they were at on the grassy knoll.

“My lord,” the woman stammered, “I’m so sorry for my daughter’s intrusions. Forgive us.”

The woman was scared for her daughter having seen what had transpired. It had always been her experience that knights were ill tempered and demanding of the lowly. She feared that the Knight would become angry at being interrupted by a child. It was not unheard of for unpleasant retribution as a result of a knight being simply inconvenienced.

The Knight got to his feet and bowed to the woman and little girl. “It is I that should be most grateful to your child. Thank you little one for showing me the way.”

“You’re welcome,” Emily said not understanding a bit what the Knight was talking about.

How could he tell her that he had cut off the head of a little boy under similar circumstances? Would she understand that it was during a battle and the boy had come from nowhere silently up behind him? He had lashed out with his sword with barely a thought. It was to late when he realized he had killed the boy who had been sent to give him a message. It was the expression on the severed head, frozen in death that had haunted him. The boy had been happy to be on such an errand when the blade had sliced through his neck. There was still the smile on his face with a slight hint of shock in his eyes. It was as if the boy had realized a split second prior to the sword stroke had killed him of the danger he was in.

The Green Knight was mortified at his unintended action. Right away he felt anguished. He screamed remorsefully for his action but the boy remained dead. As he held the body of the boy he saw that he had become what he was meant to destroy, a monster. The reaction to the boy’s death only fueled the Knight’s depression. He was nearly killed by the boy’s uncle, the Lord Richard whom he had fought for. Driven from the battlefield the Knight’s guilt consumed him till he became little better than a shell of a man.

After days of wandering about he found himself at the gates of the monastery. Sitting slumped over in the saddle the Knight resolved that there was nothing he could do to change the past; however, he could change the future. He quickly decided he would give up the sword. But then that would doom him to Hell. And then there was his lost love stuck in purgatory. He found himself in a tight conundrum. How could he live by the sword and not be a danger to the innocent? Thus, for well over a fortnight he went about the daily ritual of sitting on the grassy knoll meditating for a solution to the dilemma he found himself in.  

He was a member of the Holy Order of the Trinity because he had defied God. And as penance he was to serve in the Order till God deemed otherwise. What the little girl had shown him was that he could not allow himself to become an automaton killing machine. All actions had to be thought out and reasoned prior to execution. It would make fulfilling the penance all that much harder. Then again, a penance was not supposed to be easy, especially one from the almighty himself. It was not a solution to a problem but a realization of circumstances that bad things happen to good people, sometimes from the unintended careless actions from others. The Knight realized it was not a conundrum he was in but that he had lost sight to the awesome responsibility he was beholden to. And the little girl had been an instrument in showing him what he had forgotten.            

“Again forgive me,” the Knight said retrieving the sword. “I was reckless and in the future I need to strive not to be so careless.”

The Knight reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out all the coins he had.

“I know it’s not much but please accept these few coins as restitution and a token of my sincere apologies.”

 The woman took the offered coins speechless at such a turn of events. The Knight bent down to be face to face with the little girl.

“I am very sorry I scared you,” he said in simple measured words. “You won’t understand this but I would also like to say thank you for showing me something about myself that I forgotten.”

Still a little scared and more than confused the little girl did not say anything. The Knight gave her an apologetic grin and stood up. He was going to say another word of apology and thanks but did not. He hefted the sword in his hand, giving it a long look before sheathing it back in the scabbard at his side. The Knight then gave the woman and child another nod and smile and turned to walk back to the monastery.    

The next morning the Knight awoke well rested. He had not spent hours into the night praying for forgiveness. Instead he had gone to the chapel and simply said that he was sorry and would do better. He served the monks one last time thanking each of the Brothers in turn. His belongings were gathered and he made his way out to the stables where his horse had been regrettably neglected by him.

The Brothers and the stable hands had been kind to him and had taken care of the huge war horse. The Knight saw that the animal was actually fatter than when he first came to the monastery. Looking at his horse, the Knight resolved that he would do better by the horse. After all he owed the big brute his life.

“I’m glad I caught you before you left,” the Abbot said walking up to the Knight as he cinched straps for the saddle.

“I’m sorry,” the Knight said turning away from the task with his horse. “I meant to come and look for you and thank you for all your hospitality. I will be moving on.”

There was a moment of awkward silence between the two men. The Abbot decided to be forth coming and bold, “Did you put to rest the demons you brought or are you leaving because of the letter from Rome?”