Sir Galahad and the Ogre
A Lost Lost Tale of Sir Galahad
This tale is part of an ongoing series of The Lost Lost Tales of Sir Galahad, not to be confused with The Lost Tales of Sir Galahad that were discovered in the bust of St. Plagiarus. Read the full history of the discovery of these tales here.
Weary from a long morning of peregrinations in the Wild Forest, Sir Galahad rejoiced to come upon a pleasant stream at which to refresh himself and his coal-black charger.
The knight dismounted and knelt to drink. Suddenly, a fearsome rumble arose, shaking the very ground beneath his feet (and knees). Before he could look about1 and discern what manner of danger approached2, Sir Galahad was bowled head-first into a nearby boulder, whereupon he was stricken unconscious.
At the very same time this ill fortune befell Sir Galahad, a hungry Ogre was wending his way towards the very same stream. The grating strains of the Ogre’s song heralded his approach:
Be afraid! For I’m hunting
Wee humans for munching;
I’ll gobble yer fingers and toes
Aye, I’ll eat every part—
That’s including your heart—
And to finish, I’ll sup on yer nose!
The din roused Sir Galahad from his slumber. After removing his helmet, he patted himself gingerly all over, anxious as to what injury he might discover. He had just satisfied himself that his brainpan was yet intact and that, indeed, all his insides were still inside him, when the Ogre emerged from the trees.
The startled Ogre turned at once to flee back the way he had come. He knew from experience how difficult it is to extricate an armed knight from its crunchy outer shell, and he preferred not to bother with a meal that would undoubtedly fight back.
“Well met, good sir!” Sir Galahad called out.
The Ogre stopped, his surprise so great that his arm rose and hailed the knight of its own accord.
“I regret I am unable to introduce myself, as I wit not who I am!” announced the knight.
The Ogre, unaccustomed to courteous greetings, merely stared.
“Would you mind coming nearer? This shouting hurts my head.”
As the Ogre took a few reluctant steps forward, Sir Galahad’s loyal charger neighed and twitched in agitation.
“Now, then!” Sir Galahad said, as he gently patted the tender lump that had begun to grow on the back of his head, “I don’t seem to recall who I am or what I’m doing here. For that matter, I can’t think of a single thing I do remember. But let’s start with you. I would fain make your acquaintance.”
“Me?” the Ogre said, leery of a trap. Sir Galahad smiled and nodded his encouragement.
“You sure you don’t remember who you are?” the Ogre asked.
“That’s right.”
“And you don’t know why yer here?”
“No, I don’t,” said Sir Galahad, regarding the Ogre with concern. “Is it possible that you’ve hit your head as well?” The Ogre ignored this question, intent on understanding the situation.
“And you’ve forgot everything you ever knew?” the Ogre pressed.
“I just said so.”
“Well, in that case…” The Ogre stopped to think. He sensed an opportunity, but because he was not in the regular habit of thinking, it took him a very long time to determine what that opportunity might be.
Sir Galahad took advantage of this pause to drink from the stream. At length he cleared his throat delicately to indicate that he was waiting for the Ogre to finish. A thought came to the Ogre at last.
“I am the Hermit of the Wild Forest3,” the Ogre said, with a smile that was rendered slightly less terrifying by the two large middle teeth that hung over his lower lip. Now that he’d gotten started, he was confident it would be a simple matter to devise a thoroughly wicked plan.
“Ah, I see. You have retired to a chapel away from the populace, lest you frighten people with your towering height, your stout, muscular body covered all over with hair, and your head like a tremendous squashed pumpkin.” Sir Galahad sniffed. “I suppose it is customary for a hermit to smell of rotted meat and old cheese?”
“Mmph,” said the Ogre, a response that seemed to satisfy the knight.
“And you were traveling home to partake of your afternoon meal when you came upon me in my distress?”
“What?” said the Ogre. “I mean, aye,” He thought again for a few moments, scowling with the effort. Then his face brightened. “Aye! I was just going home to eat. And you—you should come with me. To the chapel. Where I live. I’ll get you all cleaned up and have you fer lunch.”
“I wouldn’t want to trouble you,” said Sir Galahad.
“You won’t,” said the Ogre.
“If I may ask one more boon of you,” Sir Galahad said apologetically, “pray would you help me up from the ground?” The Ogre grunted and extended a massive, knobby hand to Sir Galahad.
Sir Galahad’s faithful mount had been waiting for just such an opportunity. The instant the Ogre let go of the knight’s hand, the charger reared up and kicked the Ogre square in the chest. The Ogre sprawled to the ground with a resounding thud.
“Why you little…” the Ogre snarled, leaping to his feet, “…horse,” he finished, catching himself. He unclenched his enormous fists and had to be satisfied with giving the steed the stink eye. The charger responded with a contemptuous snort.
“Now, follow me, and I’ll take you to my chapel,” the Ogre said, leading Sir Galahad (who had mounted his charger with some difficulty) in the direction of the dank, malodourous cave in which he dwelt.
After a short while, they came upon a road. The Ogre peered out from the cover of the trees and motioned a halt. “There’s a wagon coming, and it’s loaded with ale barrels. You go stick the driver through with that sword of yours and I will—I mean we will—quench our thirst.”
“I would not countenance such a thing!” said Sir Galahad, aghast.
“Oh, ho, you wouldn’t, would you?”
“Certainly not. I would never attack a man unannounced and unprovoked.”
“But how do you know you wouldn’t?” the Ogre asked.
“I’ve just told you I wouldn’t! Are you simple?”
“All’s I’m saying is you don’t know who you are,” the Ogre said. After a slow start, he was showing some aptitude for evil scheming. “You might be exactly the sort who would count—count—who would do such a thing.”
Galahad was downcast, for while he knew in his spirit that he would never commit such an ill-favored deed, he had no words of proof to proffer. “One expects a hermit to be smelly,” Sir Galahad puzzled to himself, “but I did think they were rather…holier.”
Meanwhile the Ogre was having his own difficulties. His deception was requiring far more self-control than he’d anticipated. It began to dawn on him that perhaps he should have known more about hermits before attempting to impersonate one.
Sir Galahad’s steed chose this moment to lash out at the Ogre’s heels with its iron-shod hooves. The Ogre turned around and roared, “WE’LL HAVE NONE OF THAT.”
Sir Galahad drew up short. “One moment. Did you say—nun?”4
The Ogre’s last thought was that the knight was surely proving to be more trouble than he was worth. The Ogre would have been surprised to know how fitting a last thought this was. Because Sir Galahad, having regained his memory, smote the Ogre’s head clean off with one mighty blow of his sword; and it is hard to imagine Sir Galahad being any more trouble to an Ogre than that.
The coal-black charger whinnied with satisfaction, and gladly bore his virtuous master away from that place in the Wild Forest.
Sir Galahad’s view was impeded by his helmet’s lack of a hinged visor.
Possibly a wild board or, more likely, a band of unruly Monopods engaging in a footrace.
Sir Galahad had been previously aided by the Hermit of the (regular) Forest. The Hermit of the Wild Forest was an uncharacteristically clever invention of the Ogre’s.
The attentive reader will recall that Sir Galahad was raised by nuns in a nunnery.
Gypsy Martin lives with her family in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, where you will find her walking the trails in her neighborhood or shopping for second-hand treasures, depending on the weather. Her short fiction and creative non-fiction have been published in various literary journals and anthologies, most recently in Wild Things and Castles in the Sky from Square Halo Press.
Did you enjoy this tale? Find the original Lost Tales of Sir Galahad here!
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The ogre's effort to do evil scheming always cracks me up in this story!
Like how the horse does his best to lead until Sir Galahad comes back to his senses.