The rolling head came to rest upright on the floor,
facing the dais and the dearest folk in the hall—
brave Sir Gawain and the good Queen Guinevere.
Then the eyes of that lifeless head opened
and gazed at Guinevere, grim and menacing.
The neckless body, still kneeling for its own execution,
suddenly stirred, and stood, and strode over to the head.
It gripped the head by the hair and heaved it up,
and all the while its glimmering eyes were locked on Guinevere.
The queen didn’t scream, nor cry, nor even gasp,
but sat in her seat transfixed by fright,
even as the eyes widened and the mouth made words:
“Arthur,” it said, still staring at the queen,
“remember the terms we established together,
here this hall before all your people:
you stood here and swore to seek me out,
to receive the same as you dealt, when the day comes.
Many men know me as the knight of the Green Chapel;
and unless you’re afraid to look, you’ll find me there.
One year
and one day, till your doom.”
The queen trembled to hear
those words in the hushed room;
her face grew pale with fear.