It liked me not, but Nate spake truth. I came to Arkansas under the dragon banner and under it I would remain for the length of my sentence in Malvern. No mercy, no quarter.

When Scanlon came for me again, he brought with him two men. One called Bobby, who had no teeth to be knocked in, and one called Orvis that stood nigh six and a half feet tall, and was made of a great deal more cunning than was Scanlon.

“I got it on good authority that you’re the man who killed my cousin Paul,” Scanlon said. He would make himself heard that day, though his voice was damaged by the last blows we exchanged.

“Sooth,” I said. “I slew thy cousin in fair combat. He came well-armed and might have slain me, but could not.”

“What the fuck is this?” Orvis said. “Speak some fucking English.”

“That don’t mean shit to me,” Scanlon said. “All I know is this fucking nigger lover’s gonna answer for Paul’s death.”

Answer, I did.

They three pressed me to a corner, as tho they would stop my escape, but in truth, it gave cover to my back, that they could not attack from all sides. Certs my life was forfeit if I failed, so I fought as tho I meant to rend their limbs from their bodies.

I wished I had a lion to come to my aid, as did Yvain, but ’twas I alone. Tho they beat me and wounded me, I spared them not and gave them what hurt I could. Bobby was no more than a flea, and I felled him with a blow to his knee that made him cry out, and he would fight no more.

As Orvis made to crush me with his fists, I grappled Scanlon as I had his kinsman before him. Once I made him fast, I smote his head upon the wall, a dozen times or more, til blood stained the stones of Malvern.

Then I faced the giant alone.

Had we fought full armored, we should have shattered our shields and bent our blades. The battle burned hot, for the gaolers wished our feud ended and stopped it not.

Orvis and I traded blows til our arms tired. Unlike Yvain and Gawain, we had no love between us, and Malvern was no place for honor. I fought on, tho my sides heaved with effort, and my breath was like a knife, where Orvis broke my ribs.

Ere ’twas done, methinks we both would have given much to quit the field, but we could not fight to a draw. If I bested not Scanlon’s giant, I would have no peace, and the giant’s pride allowed him grant me no quarter.

I found one blow more in my hands than had the giant in his. I found his jaw softer than my skull. I found the virtue to advance, when he retreated. At last, he lay upon the ground, a bloodied heap, while I stood firm upon my feet. I, conqueror, and he, conquered.

I was taken first to the infirmary, where my arm was put back into its socket. ’Twas the same as was injured before. My ribs were bound and my nose and fingers splinted. My head was declared not too badly broken, tho I had used it to break the teeth and nose and fists of a giant. Thence, I was forsent to what they called Segregation, where there weren no windows and none but those within me to speak to.

In a short while I kenned not day, night, nor the passage of time. The black knight laid plans as tho like Edmond Dantès, we weren entombed within le Château d’If. He was aright in one thing. If I could tame ne my mind ne mine heart, I would make my body submit. Hour upon hour, I built muscle, strained sinew, said my prayers upon a bank of sweat and pain. Let Hildegard say what she might, in that place where there was dark but no night, I thought long on Lady Zhorzha’s milk-white thighs and the flame twixt them. I had beaten a giant, but I surrendered to lust.

My flesh was gratified, but my mind ran to confusion. Let the Witch be silent, but she would hear me. I cursed her, cursed the day she first spake to me, cursed even the day she set me to be Lady Zhorzha’s champion.

When those curses brought no solace, I cursed myself. For I failed Lady Zhorzha. For I failed Sir Edrard. For I failed my mother and father. I was Yvain in the woods, gone mad, and my hair and beard grew to suit my madness. I knew not how to gain an audience with Lady Zhorzha or the Witch, nor how to plead my case.

In my weakest hour, thrown down into the pit, he that was called Dr. Kimber came to me again. I met him first when I was sent to be assessed, and he had declared me an interesting case. I made the plea that brought me to Malvern, rather than submit to his physic. For I recalled the therapy of my childhood, when I was treated as a dumb beast that might be yoked.

“How are you, Gentry?” Dr. Kimber said. “I thought you might finally be ready to talk to me. Segregation can be a great time to set your priorities and make changes. A chance to start over.”

For some while, I could do naught but scratch my neck, seeking calm. ’Twas my wish that he should go, but he remained, and would have me speak. I knew not how to greet him when my mind was undone, and so first I repeated the prayer Hildegard offered up.

          Jesu, with Thy precious Blood

  And Thy bitter Passion

  Aid me to be right and good

  Grant me Thy Salvation

“It’s good that you have your faith,” Dr. Kimber said. “It can help you get through your time here, but I’d like to see you do more than just do time. I’d like to see you make progress. I could make things a little easier for you.

“Part of the reason you’re here is that you live too much in your fantasy world. You need to come back to this world, and we don’t speak Shakespearean English here.”

I dared not tell him nigh two hundred years lay twixt Shakespeare and my tongue, and I should not speak at all, if I was not allowed to speak as I would.

“Tell me about this person you’re so angry with. I was here yesterday and heard you begging them to talk to you. You seemed pretty upset. I’m curious what you think this person can tell you.”

Dr. Kimber came in the guise of a confessor, but ’twas for his own curiosity that he would peer into my soul. I dared not speak to the Witch aloud, but I made my daily plea.

“Give me some sign, some word. ’Tis mine own fault that Sir Edrard is dead. Had I listened to thee and come alone to Arkansas, he would yet live. Only tell me what I am to do now.”

After months of silence, the Witch spake: “This physician is a fool and easily fooled to thy gain.”

“I know segregation can be hard, but it’s possible I can get you out of here sooner, if you’re willing to work with me. Gentry, do you hear me? Are you okay?” Dr. Kimber said.

“Yes,” I said. “I am okay.”

’Twas a devil’s bargain, for after that, he came each day. In trade for playing his games, for taking his physic, anon I was given my clothes and my razor and then a book to read. My sojourn there was marked as good time.

True to his word, Dr. Kimber shortened my time of solitary penance, and the gaolers returned me to my cell. Tho small, ’twas blessed with a window and sunlight.