THE LONELY GIANT
By
LLOYD BURTON
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2011 Lloyd Burton
ISN 978-0620-51743-0
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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CONTENTS
ONE: In which Alfred learns to play at Shuttlecocks, and goes swimming.
TWO: In which Alfred joins the Circus, and makes a Friend.
THREE: In which Alfred learns to play at Shuttlecocks, and goes swimming.
FOUR: The Road to Dartmoor.
FIVE: In which Alfred takes leave of his Friends, is lavishly entertained and attracts an Admirer.
SIX: In which our Hero disgraces himself, and encounters a Dragon.
SEVEN: In which Alfred plays at Shuttlecocks for high stakes.
EIGHT: Alfred falls foul of the Law, and hears bad news.
NINE: In which a Giant makes an unexpected voyage and a Dwarf strikes a poor bargain.
TEN: An arduous winter’s Journey home and a surprise Reception.
ELEVEN: In which the Knight directs a Siege, Good prevails over Evil, and Lovers are united.
POSTSCRIPT: Giants in Contemporary Times.
ONE
In which a young Giant encounters a Questing Knight,
And
embarks on a Quest of his own.
Once upon a time there was a lonely giant who lived in a castle at the edge of a forest. The castle stood on a hillside overlooking a plain that stretched away to the horizon where the gleams of a great river could be discerned, and the sails of passing vessels caught the sun from time to time. A small village occupied the middle distance, surrounded by fields of variegated colours like a patchwork quilt. Though the scene was charmingly rustic to the casual glance, a closer view revealed the settlement to be sadly run down.
The giant was lonely because he had no company excepting a mute scullion who did the menial work around the castle. The giant’s name was Alfred. Not Alf, nor even Fred, but plain, dull Alfred. Now it may be argued that a name of itself cannot be intrinsically dreary or boring, and there are probably a great many Alfreds who are jolly, vivacious and interesting. It was only when applied to the individual in question that the name took on a certain greyness. This was due to the circumstances of his upbringing, as shall be explained. Of course the scullion, being mute, never called him by any name at all. Even if he were able he would not have been so forward as to address his master familiarly by name, but would have opted for “squire” or something similarly feudal and servile. The lack of conversation in his formative years doubtless was the main factor in making Alfred a dull boy – at first acquaintance, that is to say, but as we shall see, he had hidden qualities.
Alfred’s family name was le Geant, his father having been of French extraction, many generations before. On his mother’s side he was of pure British descent. Although her maiden name is not recorded it is believed that she was descended from the famous Cornish giants of yore.
Alfred was orphaned at an early age. His parents were interred in a barrow where their enormous bones would in future ages give rise to controversy in palaeontological circles. His nurse, a goodwife of the neighbourhood, who brought up the lad, had originally been engaged to suckle the infant when his own mother’s lactation failed. It might well be wondered how any normal human female – however well endowed in the mammary department – could possibly nurse the offspring of giants, what with the difference in sizes and quantities, but the fact is that giants are like bears when it comes to breeding. Both give birth to infants that are disproportionately small by comparison to the adult, and baby giants are very much the same size as their human counterparts. Of course they grow quickly and the time soon came when the nurse could no longer satisfy the demands of the young Alfred. A milch cow was obtained and a feeding bottle devised with a cloth teat, as was the custom of the times. It was an insanitary arrangement, for nothing was known in those days of sterilisation. As a result the poor child suffered a great deal from tummy gripes. In fact it is a wonder he survived at all and it may be argued that he never attained the proper size expected of a giant, for this reason. His progenitors would have thought him a bit of a runt.
When the boy was still of tender years, but the size of a well-grown ordinary lad of twice that age, his nurse announced it was time she returned to her own family. Alfred was left in the care of the deaf mute, as a result of which he was ever afterwards of a taciturn disposition. He grew up to be a lonely young giant but when he was eighteen years of age the old servant was stricken by a wasting disease. Realising that he was coming to the end of his life he indicated as his last wish that he should be buried with his fathers in the churchyard in the nearby village.
When the old fellow breathed his last, Alfred did as he had asked. The occasion of the interment was the lad’s first visit to the village in years, and he was surprised how run down it had become. The village had been the source of his family’s living for generations past. Lest this be mistaken for a case of cruel oppression it should be explained that the le Geants were actually the owners of the place and the rents they received their rightful due. In bygone times they had extended protection to their tenants against the lawlessness of the period, like any other feudal landlord, though in recent years this function had largely fallen away due to the more settled conditions that prevailed generally.
In Alfred’s experience the rents had never amounted to much, and what there were of them were paid in kind. There had been no agent since his father’s day, the responsibility having fallen upon the aged scullion, as had everything else, until his income had been reduced to the occasional hen, a few eggs or a basket of wormy apples. Having been raised to think of this as the norm Alfred had never expected more, but now as he surveyed the tumbledown remains of his property he was forced to review the situation. No more than a dozen inhabitants remained, most of them advanced in years and crippled by age.
“Where has everyone gone?” he asked.
“Them bin gone to th’ towns, y’r honour,” an ancient replied, bobbing and tugging at his forelock. “Them couldn’t get no livin’ yere no longer, not sin the bridge war washed away.”
It turned out to be the old tale of the diversion of routes of communication. In a later era railways and superhighways would be responsible for the death of towns by diverting traffic away from them. In this case the destruction of an ancient bridge had done the same. Alfred returned to his lonely castle with nothing in the way of vittles apart from a small sack of potatoes, but much food for thought.
The young giant was not a quick thinker, nor by any means a brilliant one, but like the mills of God his thinking process ground exceeding fine. After he had been thus engaged for a week or so he came to the conclusion that things could not go on as they were. Like an illumination the thought came to him that in the normal course of events he should associate with his own kind, marry and raise a family of little giants. He felt there should be more to life than a solitary, hardscrabble existence in an unheated castle that was falling down about his ears.
It was at this stage of his reflections that he was alerted by a clarion call. Going to a window he peered out, to be greeted by the strangest sight he had seen in all his life. Seated upon a sturdy charger at the edge of the clearing in front of the castle was man completely encased in metal from the top of his bassinet to the tip of his armour-plated toe. His visor was raised and even as Alfred stared in astonishment, the stranger lifted a silver trumpet to his lips and rent the peace of the afternoon with a second strident note.
“What do you want?” Alfred called out.
“Summon the giant of this castle!” the stranger commanded. “I would have speech with him!”
The man’s attitude did not fail to impress as unnecessarily peremptory, even rude, but it was clear that he was not going to go away unless he was attended to. Besides, the young giant’s curiosity was thoroughly roused. The drawbridge not having been lowered for years, Alfred emerged from a side entrance, crossed the moat, which had been waterless for a generation, and approached the man who was engaged in mopping his overheated brow with a kerchief. Evidently the ventilation of his metal cladding was sadly lacking.
“Why are you wearing that tin suit?” Alfred asked innocently.
“Tin suit?” the man cried in outrage. “Tin suit? – Don’t you recognise a suit of armour when you see one?”
“Oh,” said Alfred, remembering belatedly the rusty pieces of armour hanging in the hall that had belonged to his grandfather, which were of a completely different pattern and size.
“As to why I am wearing armour,” the stranger went on huffily, “it is because I am a knight, and the bearing of arms is my profession.”
“Oh!” Alfred said again.
“But I am not here to bandy words with minions,” the knight added. “Summon your master, varlet!”
Alfred was about to say that he was the master, when it occurred to him that it might not be wise to make this disclosure just yet.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I would challenge him to mortal combat!” the knight exploded. Pulling out of a saddlebag a spare leather gauntlet that had seen better days he threw it onto the ground in front of the young giant. “Give that to your master, he will know what it means.”
“The giant’s not in just now,” Alfred prevaricated.
“I can wait!” the knight replied, folding his arms.
“He’s gone away on a journey,” Alfred explained. “He won’t be back for a long time.”
It was the knight’s turn to say “Oh!” and looked quite crestfallen.
“In that case I shall get out of the sun,” he said after a minute. “Do you mind if I sit under this tree and rest a bit? – It’s been a long ride.”
“By all means,” Alfred agreed.
The knight dismounted and turned his horse loose to graze. With clanking gait he walked into the shade and sat himself down on a log.
Alfred had always been aware that he was not made in the mould of his forbears, but it was shaming to realise that the knight did not recognise him for the giant that he was. Notwithstanding these feelings he felt it incumbent upon him to observe the laws of hospitality his nurse had impressed upon him.
“Would you like a drink of water?” he offered.
“That I would,” the knight said fervently. “And if I might water my steed?”
Alfred fetched a pitcher of cool water from the well for the man and a pail of the same for the horse. When rider and mount had quenched their thirst the former remarked in an attempt at affability: “You’re a tall fellow. Take after your master, eh?”
With a nod Alfred allowed that this was so. Unaccustomed as he was to speech he felt nevertheless it was necessary for him not to waste this opportunity to learn something of the wider world, particularly in view of the juncture at which he then found himself. This stranger seemed a person of wide experience and the very one to inform him.
“Sir Knight,” he began hesitantly, “For what reason do you wish to challenge my master?”
The knight stared at him in surprise. “Because I am a knight errant, of course. Don’t you know that is what knights errant do? We rescue maidens in distress, set injustices to rights and slay dragons, ogres and giants.”
Alfred hung his head in embarrassment. He was deeply aware of the depths of his ignorance and gaucherie.
“But – but why?” he persisted.
“It’s my job,” the other tried to explain.
“It seems a funny way to make a living,” Alfred said, shaking his head.
“Didn’t have much choice actually,” the knight said. “It was either that or the church, and I was never good at letters. Let me explain. My sire is a great lord, but I am only a younger son. The eldest will get the title and the land and the money when the old man goes, but the rest must make their own way. The only options are the military, the clergy or marrying rich, and as for the last –well, I never much fancied being under a woman’s thumb.”
“Couldn’t you become a shopkeeper or something?”
“Decidedly not!” the knight exclaimed with a pained look. “A gentleman does not engage in trade.”
Poor Alfred was more puzzled than ever. All he could think to say was: “And have you killed many dragons and ogres and, er, giants?”
“None so far, I’m afraid,” the knight confessed.
“So you’ve not been at it very long?”
“On the contrary I’ve been at it for ten years and more,” the knight replied. “There just don’t seem to be as many dragons and ogres and giants around as there used to be.”
“So why must you kill them?”
“Because they are evil, and they eat people!”
“You must be confusing giants with ogres. Giants don’t eat people, they eat the same things as people do, only more.”
“Oh, I didn’t know that,” said the knight. ‘Perhaps giants aren’t so bad after all. Well. I must be getting on my way. Do you know of any inns hereabouts?”
Alfred said he knew of none.
“Then I shall make my bed under the stars, by the side of my trusty charger,” the knight announced cheerfully. “I’ve done it before and I might as well get used to it, for my purse is almost empty. The trouble is, the dew makes my armour rusty.”
“Would you care to spend the night in the castle?” Alfred offered impulsively. “The fare is plain but there is plenty of it.”
“Not without my horse,” the knight demurred.
“There is stabling in the castle, and though the hay may be a bit old for fodder, at least your animal will have dry bedding.”
“Well in that case – you’re sure the giant is not expected back just yet?”
“Not a chance,” Alfred lied breezily, secretly quite surprised at the ease with which he had slipped into mendacity. His nurse would not have approved. But it was all in a good cause.
“In that case that case I’d be delighted to accept,” the knight agreed. “Very hospitable of you, old boy. But let me introduce myself. My name is Tristram, the same as that chap in Arthur’s day who came to a sticky end, ha-ha, and the emblem on my shield is a white hart, as you can see. So I am called Tristram Whitehart.”
The young giant admitted to the name of Alfred, but thought it politic to avoid any allusion just yet to his surname.
“I’ll take off my armour before we go indoors,” said the knight. Alfred was surprised what a little fellow he was underneath it all.
Together they lowered the drawbridge, which descended with a great screeching of rusty metal, and led the horse inside. When the creature was comfortably bedded down with a measure of chestnuts for fodder, Alfred led his guest into the hall. The knight was immediately impressed by the oversized pieces of armour that hung on the walls. The cuirass was like a brewer’s tun and the casque the size of a hogshead, while the sword was simply enormous.
“They belonged to my – to my master’s grandsire,” Alfred explained.
“I never realised giants were so big,” the knight said in awe. “Perhaps it’s as well I never met one.”
They dined in the hall in front of a roaring fire. For the main course they had boiled chestnuts, and afterwards they filled in the empty corners with roasted chestnuts while they talked. Or rather it was the knight who did the talking while Alfred contributed the odd question to keep him going.
“How shall you manage, now that your funds are almost gone?” he enquired.
The knight confessed he did not know. He could not appeal to his relatives, for his credit was quite used up after so many years. “If I had slain a few monsters and earned a reputation I should easily get a position as a sheriff or a seneschal in some prince’s employ, but that is out of the question under the circumstances.”
“Couldn’t you get a job in the army? – You’re a military man, after all.”
“Perish the thought!” the knight exclaimed, shuddering delicately. “Soldiering is no longer a gentleman’s profession, I’m afraid – not since the introduction of this new weapon, the crossbow. A nasty, twanging thing it is, that shoots steels bolts clear through the toughest armour from a hundred yards away. It’s an assassin’s tool, fit only for sneaks to attack from ambush instead of coming out into the open to make an honest challenge. I’ll have nothing to do with a system that uses it.”
Alfred was puzzled as to how a knight, however well equipped, could entertain any hope of defeating an opponent so much bigger than himself.
‘I’ve no personal experience, you understand,” the knight explained. “But it is common lore that while giants are so big and tremendously powerful, they are not nimble. If a knight is quick about it, he can put the tip of his lance where it hurts most before the giant can get out of the way. At least, that’s the theory of it.”
‘Oh,” said Alfred. “Do the giants know this?”
Sir Tristram nodded.
“And if they do, why don’t they just ignore your challenge?” Alfred asked.
“Oh, they are obliged to respond, under the rules of chivalry, according to the Giants’ Charter,” said the knight assured him. “Otherwise they get drummed out of the Order of Giants and lose all their magic powers.”
“But you never found any giants in all you years of searching?”
“This is the first genuine giant’s castle I ever found that wasn’t just a tumble of overgrown ruins – and even here the giant is not at home. Isn’t that just my luck, though?”
“Are there no giants left in the land at all then?” Alfred asked with a sinking feeling.
“There may be one or two in places I never got to, like the north of Scotland or the Welsh mountains. Until I came here, I was beginning to wonder if the race hadn’t died out.”
Alfred felt quite dashed. On that note the evening concluded and they took themselves to bed.
In the morning they breakfasted on chestnut porridge.
“Capital stuff!” the guest declared. “Very sustaining.”
Alfred confessed that chestnuts formed the major part of his diet.
“The rents from the village bring in practically nothing, but the woods are simply stuffed with chestnut trees. In fact the place takes its place from them – Chestnut Hill.”
“Of course,” said the knight. “The Giant of Chestnut Hill – I’m not surprised he’s gone on a long visit. The living’s a bit restricted here, for a giant.”
“It’s restricted for anybody,” Alfred agreed morosely. “I’m fed up with it. I want to see the world. I’ve been thinking of clearing out. Would you mind if I went along with you for a bit?”
“Not at all,” the knight replied, surprised. “But what about your master, the giant? Won’t he be angry if you abscond?”
“Oh, I shan’t worry about that,” Alfred said carelessly. “I shall lock up and he can let himself in with the key I shall leave in the village, when he gets back.”
“It’s your funeral, as they say, but as far as I’m concerned you’re welcome to keep me company. I expect you won’t have any trouble keeping up with the horse, with those long shanks of yours.”
The two set off while the dew was still wet upon the grass. Alfred carried a great sack of chestnuts on his back for provisions. He also carried a stout staff for a weapon, for any traveller who ventured abroad without a means of defence, be he never so big, ran a risk of being robbed by the first footpad for the sake of his clothes alone. The oddly assorted companions travelled along a well-established track that skirted the fringes of the forest. Since the destruction of the bridge it was less used than formerly, though fresh wheel tracks indicated that the route had not fallen entirely into disuse. At noon they caught up with the wagons, one of which was deeply mired in a slough, attended only by a man and a frightened looking boy.
“Are you honest men?” cried the Wagoner at their approach, clutching a cudgel nervously.
“Sir, I am a knight!” that worthy responded haughtily. “I am sworn to protect the weak and defend the defenceless, besides destroying dragons, ogres and – and sundry malefactors. As for my companion, he is of equally impeccable credentials.”
“In that case, would your honour be so generous as to give us a hand?” the Wagoner begged. He went on to explain that his drivers and their assistants – “cowardly varlets that they are” – had deserted when the wagon became stuck in the mud, for fear of robbers.
“They left just me and the boy, but if you can help us hitch up the other team, and perhaps with the help of your honour’s horse, we shall have the bitch out in no time.”
The two companions willingly lent their assistance. With both teams and the extra horse straining, and the men pushing behind, the mired wagon emerged like a rotten molar from an inflamed jaw, exactly as the Wagoner predicted. He was profuse in his thanks.
“It is no more than my duty,” was the knight’s dignified response, as he wiped the mire off his nether armour.
“And if your honours wouldn’t mind seeing us as far as the nearest town…” the Wagoner ventured.
His companion was about to make a gracious acquiescence when Alfred intervened: “If you want us to guard your goods, you must consider the matter of pay.”
The knight looked shocked, but remembering the state of his purse, held his tongue.
“Of course, of course!” the man agreed. “The labourer – begging yer honours’ pardons – is worthy of his hire, as the good book says.” And he named a sum that was acceptable without being unduly generous.
When the teams had been hitched back onto their respective wagons the party resumed the journey. The day being hot, the knight laid aside his heavier armour but kept his hauberk, sword and lance. He kept station midway between the wagons on one side, as befitted a diligent escort, while Alfred guarded the other. So long as the road traversed open country they kept this formation, but when the route cut through an arm of the forest the mounted man scouted ahead.
It was as well that he did so, or the convoy would have fallen into the ambush that had been laid around a bend where half a dozen grinning ruffians stood behind a tree that had been felled across the way. One had an axe, another a rusty sword and the rest were armed with sticks and knives. The leader was a powerful knave with a great shock of unruly hair and a beard to match. Seeing his gang confronted by but a single man, albeit a knight on horseback, he raised his axe and uttered a sneering challenge.
Sir Tristram did not hesitate for one second. Lowering the point of his lance he spurred his horse and charged the barrier, which his trusty mount cleared in a bound. Seeing him coming in so determined a fashion the robbers leapt aside, but found, to their alarm that the position they had chosen so carefully, served equally as well to impede their flight as it would have done to contain the convoy they had hoped to entrap. When he had passed through the ambush the knight reined in his charger, wheeled and prepared to attack again.
At this juncture Alfred hove in sight, having followed Sir Tristram at the run in order to back him up in case of just such an eventuality as this.
“Scarper lads!” the chief robber cried. “It’s the giant!”
While the terrified robbers fought their way through the hedge the knight seemed to freeze in action for an instant as his eyes met the giant’s. It seemed to Alfred that a spark of recognition flashed there, as if a sudden realisation had dawned in their owner’s brain. Then the thread of communication snapped as Sir Tristram dug in the spurs and charged. With horror and dismay Alfred found himself staring at his crazed friend down the length of a rapidly approaching lance tipped by a bright sliver of steel whose acute sharpness he had never considered until that moment.
Alfred did not know what to do. It was clear to him that he would be spitted like a lark in a matter of seconds, yet there seemed no sensible action of avoidance he could take. Though giants have long strides – even small giants – he knew he could not outrun a horse at full charge. Nor did he fancy his chances of forcing his way through the hedge, which would resist his bulk even more strongly that it had impeded the robbers. His only choice was to stand his ground, and while he had had no schooling in the arts of war he was naturally nimble on his feet. At the last moment, as the point of the lance seemed about to pierce his breast he stepped aside. It was too late for his assailant to adjust his aim. As he flashed past Alfred brought down his staff with a hard crack on the slender shaft of the lance, which broke. The head flew off while the remainder continued its downward journey until it met the ground where it dug in like the tip of a vaulting pole. With the butt caught firmly under his arm, the knight was catapulted from the saddle in a low arc that terminated in a mud hole at the side of the road.
TWO
In which Alfred joins the Circus, and makes a Friend.
“You tried to kill me!” Alfred accused indignantly.
“Terribly sorry, old boy,” the knight murmured for the tenth time. “Terribly sorry indeed, can’t imagine what came over me.”
Sir Tristram was propped up in bed in an inn to which he had been carried after his mishap and installed at the Wagoner’s expense. With his arm in a sling and his head in a vinegar compress, he looked a sorry sight, but the surgeon had given the assurance that no lasting damage had been done and that he would be back on his feet in a week. Alfred was hunkered beside the bed, as cramped as a normal man in a dog kennel. He was uncomfortable in ordinary houses where the ceilings were seldom high enough for his head and he always had trouble getting through doors.
“But why?” he demanded in hurt tones. “I thought we were friends.”
The knight wrinkled his brow in a puzzled fashion. “Since you ask, I supposed it’s all perfectly plain, really. You see, I’ve spent all my adult life questing after giants and ogres and suchlike, and you were the first I had ever had in plain sight, so it was only natural I should tilt at you.”
“But why just then?”
“That was when I realised what you really were. I’d had my suspicions, mind you, but you seemed rather small for a giant, and such a good fellow I just couldn’t credit it. It was only when the robber called out ‘Here comes the giant’ that I was sure.”
“But you didn’t have to attack me,” Alfred insisted in injured tones.
“It’s me military training, you see,” the other tried to explain. “A chap is trained to have at the enemy as soon as he sees him. If a soldier hems and haws and debates the issue the other feller is likely to give him the chop before he can draw his sword. Strike first and apologise after is the warrior’s motto. As I’ve said, I’m terribly sorry and it won’t happen again.”
“I should hope not!”
An awkward silence ensued.
“Look here old chap, I’d like to make amends,” Sir Tristram said at last. “The merchants in this town have asked me to organise a small force to guard their wagons against robbers on the roads. Made quite a generous offer, in fact. I’d like you to join me.”
“Will you give up your quest, then?” Alfred asked in surprise.
“I’m afraid I must. Too many years, too many disappointments, the time has come to quit. The other knights in my class have all got their manors and their families by now. It is time I settled down too. This offer could be my chance to make a fresh start. Come, will you go in with me?”
“I don’t think I should be able to trust you,” Alfred declined regretfully.
The knight winced but offered no response. The giant went on:
“The main thing is, I have to seek out my own kith and kin.” He explained how he was all alone in the world and had never known any of his own folk.
“I doubt you’ll succeed,” said the knight. “You know how long I have been searching for them.”
“But you did say you hadn’t been everywhere,” Alfred rejoined.
“So I did. I believe I mentioned the north of Scotland and the more inaccessible parts of Wales, but I really don’t think even a giant would care to live there.”
“Is there nowhere else?”
The knight wrinkled his brow. “Now that I come to think of it I did here tell of a giant of Dartmoor, but I gave the place a miss. Very nasty weather for the time of year, it was, and my armour was icing up. So I took another road and never thought about it again. You might try there.”
“And where would Dartmoor be?
“In the West Country; you take the road to Exonbury and ask the way just before you get there. You shouldn’t have any trouble.”
“Well then, I’d best be on my way,” said Alfred.
“Won’t you shake hands?” the knight offered.
“Of course I will, and gladly!” Alfred responded generously, engulfing the little man’s hand in his own great fist, and a charge of genuine friendship passed between them.
“You’d better take this,” Sir Tristram said as the young giant turned to go. “I shan’t be needing it any longer.”
Looking back, Alfred saw that the knight held out a silver trumpet.
“When you come to the giant’s castle you have to sound the trumpet.”
“But I don’t want to challenge any giant,” Alfred objected.
“No, no, you don’t understand,” Sir Tristram replied. “If you don’t sound the trumpet the giant will not appear. That is the tradition.”
He went on to explain that it had to be a special trumpet, consecrated according to ancient rites. Just any old trumpet would not do at all.
“Then I shall do as you advise,” said Alfred, slinging the instrument upon its lanyard about his neck. “And thank you, kindly.”
Alfred travelled in a generally southerly direction for several days, this being the advice of an idler outside the inn. Although there was a fair amount of traffic on the road Alfred was obliged to keep his own company, for folk shunned him on account of his size. Those he overtook hung back to let him get well ahead, while passengers coming the other way shrunk nervously to the far verge of the road when they met. Children encountered unexpectedly would flee with screams of Giant! Giant! or what was worse Ogre! Ogre! whereupon frightened parents hurried to investigate, armed with pruning hooks and scythes. All Alfred’s protestations of innocent intent failed to ameliorate their hostility so that he fell into a state of depression that deepened as he went along. Once at a crossroads he came upon the desiccated bones of a malefactor chained to a gibbet, a sure indication that folk had reason to be suspicious of strangers, of whatever stature.
Having little money to spend on inns, nor inclination to expose himself to the suspicion of those he would meet there, Alfred spent the nights in the fields. If he could find one he burrowed into a haystack, otherwise he crouched under a tree. For food he had his sack of chestnuts, which diminished steadily. From time to time he continued to ask the way, and presently the indication changed from southerly to south-westerly. It was at this point in his journey that he encountered a party of travellers stopped on the road.
They were an oddly assorted group, as diversified in their equipage as in their persons. Besides a couple of heavy wagons piled high with cordage, canvas and boxes there were lighter traps, carriages, and two or three gaily painted closed vans besides. Distributed among the vehicles were heavy draught animals, riding horses, ponies, dogs and people of all ages, descriptions and manners of dress. Alfred had seen nothing like it in all his limited experience, but strangest of all, no one gave him a second glance.
The people were crowded around one of the heavy wagons that was canted over and appeared to be the cause of the hold-up. Some of the people had their shoulders under the sides shouting Lift! Lift! while others were running around in circles. A distraught woman was wringing her hands and calling on the saints for help, a couple of lads were on top of the vehicle throwing off the load, and a portly fellow with a red face and waxed moustaches was shouting orders. At the centre of it all a desperate voice from underneath the wagon cried that he could not hold any longer. In short, it was a scene of crisis and confusion.
With the advantage of his height Alfred could see at once what the trouble was. One of the great wheels at the rear had collapsed, with the spokes splintered outwards at odd angles and the hub pressed against the felloes on the lower side. Underneath it all a man was trapped. Straining as hard as he was able with his back against the wagon bed, he was yet being forced inexorably to the ground by the great weight of the load. It was plain that in a moment or two he must be crushed.
Pushing the onlookers aside Alfred quickly stepped forward. Seizing the hub with his great hands, he flexed his muscles and lifted the wagon in one smooth movement. Willing hands dragged the imperilled man to safety and a prop was shoved under the axle.
“That was well done young feller, very well done indeed!” the gentleman of the red face and waxed moustaches declared in a fruity voice. “Without your help, our Giorgio would have been a gonner, for sure. Let me shake your hand!”
The time was a little later, when the immediate excitement of the dramatic event had subsided. Alfred regarded the extended hand uncertainly, then offered a large finger to be grasped, as an adult might to a babe. The other, who had made himself known as Arthur, seized the proffered digit energetically, and gave it a good shake. They were seated on the grass beside Arthur’s van, which was fitted out as a mobile dwelling with mullioned windows, and a little chimney pipe for the stove. The whole was decorated with fretwork and colourfully painted with curlicues and piping on every frame and member, while scenes from classic antiquity emblazoned the panels. The broken wheel having been despatched to a wheelwright for repair, the entire party had drawn into a field to avail themselves of the opportunity of housekeeping. Clothes were being washed, horses groomed, harness mended and meals prepared. Presently a large steaming bowl of gruel was thrust into Alfred’s hands. It smelt deliciously of cereal and fruits.
“Eat hearty, young feller, there is more where that came from!” Arthur urged jovially. “You need to sustain that big frame of yours.”
Alfred tucked in with a will, for he had not broken his fast. Besides, his unrelenting diet of chestnuts had palled. Just as he finished a faded woman in an apron and a white cap whom he had first seen beseeching the saints came up to him with her hands clasped to her bosom.
“Oh sir!” she exclaimed with tears of emotion in her eyes. “How can I thank you enough for saving the life of my Giorgio?”
Smitten by shyness Alfred cast down his eyes and muttered that it wasn’t anything, really.
“How is Giorgio getting on, Sally?” The moustachioed man enquired.
“A bit better now Arthur, thank you. But I think he has strained his back again and I don’t know what we shall do, I really don’t.”
“Now don’t you fret, my dear,” Arthur soothed. “Giorgio can carry on working the Magic Wheel as always, and when he is well enough to use the stilts he can be The Tallest Man in the World.”
“Oh thank you Arthur, you are good to us. But he misses being the Strong Man. That is what his heart is really in.”
“We all get old, my dear. The Strong Man is a young man’s job,” Arthur answered sympathetically. “It is time to give it up.”
“I know,” Sally agreed with a sniff. “I must go now and see if Giorgio is comfortable. And thank you again, young sir, a thousand times. Giorgio would tell you so himself, but he can’t get up from the bed.”
With these words and a parting glance of gratitude Sally departed.
“Giorgio is too old for a Strong Man – he’s over forty,” Arthur confided. “He hasn’t been able to lift the big barbell for years, not without the insides hollowed out, and that is a tricky thing to do. There is always some clever dick in the audience on the lookout for a dodge. If he twigs it, you’ve got egg all over you face, haven’t you?”
As his host spoke Alfred looked around him with a sense of growing stupefaction. All about the members of the company had commenced a variety of incomprehensible activities. To one side a man was juggling coloured balls. On the open sward a pair of tumblers were practising their falls and a captive bear was being made to dance. The smallest human being Alfred had ever seen was doing something baffling involving sticks and plates, and further off an immensely fat woman was hanging out her washing. Just at that moment a white horse cantered past. Standing improbably on the animal’s back with hands held out for balance was a lady in formfitting tights. As she went by the fair equestrienne favoured the young giant with a look from beneath her tumbled locks he would have been at a loss to describe, but which engendered a riot of tingling sensations throughout his form and a flush of heat to his face.
Arthur was studying the young giant keenly.
“You have never seen a circus before, have you?” he observed. .
“What’s a circus?” Alfred asked, following the horse lady with his eyes.
“This is a circus!” Arthur replied with a sweep of his hand that encompassed the entire assemblage. “We are the circus people. Call it a carnival, call it a fun fair, call it a freak show. What we do is entertain people. We go to fairs, we set up our tents and our stalls. We set out our wares,” – here the speaker paused to share a conspiratorial wink – “and we relieve the public of their money! It’s a grand life.”
“Oh,” said Alfred. It seemed very strange and exciting to him after his sequestered upbringing. Arthur eyed him speculatively for a minute.
“Tell me, young Master Alfred,” he began. “I see by you bag and your staff that you would appear to be on a journey. If you don’t mind my asking, would you be travelling to seek work?”
The young giant shook his head. Upon further prompting he admitted that he was engaged for a search for his relatives and disclosed his destination.
“Dartmoor!” Arthur exclaimed. “Why, then you must follow the road to Exonbury, where we ourselves are headed, for the great fair! ‘Tis a fairish distance to travel, as we go, for we take a roundabout path. Would you be in any particular hurry to get there?”
When Alfred allowed that he was not, Arthur smiled as if he had thought so all along.
“In which case, son, I have a proposition for you that you’d be daft to turn away.”
What the circus man proposed was that he would supply Alfred with board and lodging, with some coin for his purse in return for some light work, provided he accompanied the company to their destination. Cautiously, Alfred asked what kind of work it was to be.
“You would be our Strong Man! – What else?” Arthur enthused. “Or better still, the Giant! You could dress up in a tiger skin – a cow hide with painted stripes would do – and pretend to eat children...”
“Giants don’t eat people!” Alfred rumbled with a scowl. His voice dropped two octaves.
Arthur blanched.
“Oh no, of course not! If you say not!” he agreed hurriedly. “But talking of raiment,” he added, casting a glance over the young giant’s travel worn garb, “What would you say to a new outfit – something a little more stylish?”
Alfred was not averse. In the end Arthur settled on a suit that would do as well for everyday wear as for display. Alfred would have a smart tunic and form-fitting breeches, united by a broad belt with a big brass buckle. For his feet there would be calf length boots, there would be a cape for inclement weather, and the whole ensemble would be topped off by a perky narrow brimmed hat with an eagle’s feather stuck in it. By exchanging the tunic for a sleeveless leather jerkin to show off his muscles, and by strapping strength bands to his wrists he could quickly transform himself into the role of Strong Man.
Alfred having confirmed his willingness to go along with the proposal, Arthur summoned his good wife Maria, a lady of diverse talents and manifold responsibilities. As Mistress of the Wardrobe and Sail Maker Extraordinary she was accustomed to unusual demands, and the commission to devise a suit of clothing to fit a giant in no wise dismayed her. Suitable materials were found in the great rummage bag she kept for such purposes, and if they were not quite new they were almost as good as new, for none had been turned more than once. And if they did not all match, at least they made a pleasing contrast, so that the end result was quite as smart at a casual glance as anyone could wish. Even the hat was a success, fashioned though it was from a piece of felt salvaged from an old horse blanket, stiffened with size and dyed green. Only the boots remained problematic, until such time as a cobbler and a harness maker could be persuaded to join forces.
Although Maria originated the grand design of the project, like a good general she delegated the details of its execution to seamstresses recruited from among the womenfolk of the company.
Foremost among these officers was a tiny young woman Alfred understood to be attached in some way to the other very small persons he had seen earlier. Remembering the admonitions of his nurse, he tried not to stare, but could not resist a covert glance or two. For her part the girl – for she was hardly more than a child – was more candid and gazed at him in open amazement.
“Are you a giant?” she asked.
Alfred admitted diffidently that he was, but indicated that he did not like to emphasise the point, on account of being a very small giant.
“I am a dwarf,” the girl responded frankly. “I live with my uncle and aunt and cousins who are dwarfs too. My uncle is my guardian.”
“I’ve never met a dwarf before,” said Alfred, feeling freer to look at her more closely. Besides being altogether smaller than the ordinary breed of human she had shorter limbs and stubby fingers, but the most striking thing about her in his view was her face. Framed by dark curls that peeped beneath a frilled bonnet, and illumined by long-lashed eyes of astonishing clarity, it was quite the sweetest the young giant had ever seen.
“My name is Ambrosia,” she said. “What’s yours?”
“Alfred,” he mumbled.
“Well Alfred, let us begin by taking your size!” she replied, producing a tape measure.
The process of measuring the young giant for his suit of clothes was not a simple one. After walking all around him she said in despair: “How shall I measure you, Alfred, you are so tall!”
“I could kneel,” he offered, suiting his action to his words.
But it was still no good, for the girl still could not reach even as far as his middle at full stretch. In the end he had to recline on the grass and even then she was unable to get his chest measurement without climbing over him in an undignified manner. It was all so funny that the operation was accompanied by a great deal of giggling on the part of the girl, and even Alfred found himself emitting deep rumbles of unaccustomed humour.
“Oh dear, this is so silly!” she exclaimed, wiping her eyes.
“What’s going on here!” a squeaky male voice demanded suddenly from very close range.
Turning his head Alfred saw that the speaker was the eldest of the dwarves, a little man with red hair, freckles and an angry expression. His glance alternated rapidly between the giant and the girl.
“What’s going on, hey!” he demanded again aggressively.
“Oh uncle, can’t you see I’m just measuring Alfred for his suit of clothes?” Ambrosia explained.
“Alfred, is it?” the dwarf snorted. “What business is he of yours, anyway?”
“Maria asked me. Alfred must have an outfit on account of being the new Strong Man,” the girl replied demurely. “How can I refuse?”
“Well it ain’t fit –taint modest for a young woman what’s betrothed to be married to be clambering over strange young fellers like they was a bale of hay!” the dwarf stormed, in no way appeased by the girl’s soft reply. “Now that you’ve started you’d better finish and have done with it, and get yourself back to your aunt.”
Surprised by the tempest that had burst upon them, Alfred sat up.
“As for you, young feller,” the dwarf broke out, glaring up into his face. “You will be well advised to remember the girl is spoken for and not go tampering with her affections!”
With these words he stormed off, leaving the young people in a dismayed silence. Ambrosia had gone bright pink and clapped her hands to her face to hide her blushes.
“Oh dear, how awful!’ she exclaimed after long moment. “I’m so embarrassed! What can I say?”
Equally as a loss for words, Alfred just hung his head. He could feel the tips of his ears glowing with unaccustomed heat. Although his experience of girls was virtually nil, he had an idea that they were easily put out by things that were incomprehensible to the opposite sex. While reflecting on this he was alerted by a curious little sound somewhere between a sniff and a gasp. Looking up in surprise he saw that Ambrosia was peering at him shyly between her fingers. She seemed to be smiling. Then she repeated the odd sound. This time there could be no doubt: it was a distinct giggle. As Alfred smiled back she laughed, and he laughed as well and in no time they were laughing and giggling themselves into a state of collapse, as if the funniest thing in the world had happened. And that is how they became friends.
The circus was good for Alfred. I call it a circus, though it bore little resemblance to modern circuses. Ring events took place in the open air and only freak shows and the like were held in closed booths. Then again, most of the circus people were independent operators who drifted from town to town and fair to fair according to inclination. Only Arthur, with his small company formed a permanent association around which others grouped for irregular periods. They gravitated together according to their list, and drifted away as other attractions beckoned.
Alfred entered one of the happiest periods of his life. For a start he was popular. The roustabouts liked him because his great strength made light of the heaviest work. The other circus folk liked him because of his cheerful good humour, but most important of all, their children loved him. They never reviled him for an ogre, or fled at the sight of him as had been his experience before. Instead they followed him around and chatted to him and included him in their games. And if he did not say much in return, smiles and the occasional rumbling laugh was quite sufficient to keep them content.
Like the other single men Alfred slept in the open or under wagons when the weather was fine, and when it was not there was tentage and canvas enough to keep them warm and dry. There was plenty of food. Mostly they had porridge and cabbage, and potatoes and turnips and suchlike, which suited Alfred for giants need to take in a great deal of roughage, like many other large animals. If there was a shortage of meat he did not miss it for common folk in those days only had meat on high days and holidays.
Alfred was popular with the public too. Under Arthur’s tutelage he developed his act. Besides the usual routine of his predecessor he introduced one or two innovations such as allowing grown men to swing from his outstretched arms, or hauling a heavy wagon with his teeth. Alfred soon demonstrated a natural talent for showmanship, and what is any performance without that? Not surprisingly no yokel ever attempted to challenge his feats of strength which were all self-evidently unfeigned.
It was not only the public that was impressed, but the carnival folk too, who often paused to watch when the young giant was practising. Not the least notable of these from Alfred’s point of view was the pretty equestrienne who often found a reason to ride by, or loiter for a minute while he was flexing his great muscles. Alfred was baffled by these episodes, for the smouldering glances that might have been readily interpreted by a less inexperienced swain only perplexed him. The significance of the unfamiliar but pleasurable thrills these encounters provoked in his nerves and sinews, not to mention more intimate regions, remained equally mysterious to him. Since the lady made no move towards a closer intimacy the young giant continued in childish ignorance of the convoluted relationships that exist between adults of the sexes.
THREE
In which Alfred learns to play at Shuttlecocks, and goes swimming.
If there was one thing that troubled the young giant it was the fear that Giorgio might harbour a sense of injury at having been replaced. With characteristic candour Alfred broached the matter at an early opportunity, but the older man made it clear that he harboured no grudge.
“It’s my age,” he sighed with a sorrowful shake of his head. “I’ve felt the act getting too much for me for years now. Arthur is right, it is time for me to do something less demanding. It goes hard to give it up, but you are welcome to the job since I can no longer manage it.”
Ambrosia’s uncle continued to frown on her friendship with the giant, but he could not supervise her all the time and their friendship progressed. It was mostly by smiles and shared company, though they would sometimes converse as well, the diminutive girl chattering cheerfully, while the young giant contributed an occasional affirmative.
One day during an unemployed interval when Alfred was keeping company with Ambrosia he observed the children playing at a game he had never seen before. They were using long handled instruments to strike from one to another a device made of feathers. Ambrosia was amused at the young giant’s ignorance, but Alfred, having grown up virtually without playmates, knew little about games.
“Have you never played shuttlecocks?” she exclaimed. “I shall teach you.”
She was as good as her word. She introduced Alfred to the instruments of play, which she said were called battledores. These were made of willow withies, bound with cord, and having paddle-like ends strung with gut for striking the feathered shuttlecock, from which the game took its name. Alfred would not have thought two players as mismatched as a giant and a dwarf could have competed in any physical activity on anything approaching even terms, but he was to learn that nimbleness and accuracy compensated for shortness of stature and reach, and that strength conferred no advantage. Thereafter the two were often to be seen engaged at this innocent pastime, to the approval and genial amusement of their fellow carnies, with the exception of Ambrosia’s guardian, the dwarf Thomkin. .