The Lonely Giant

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.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

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