The Death of King Arthur (2 page)

That is also the context in which Malory's lavish description of jousts and tournaments is best understood. These were rituals of battle with their own codes and values. Originally they had been real conflicts, staged over a large area of ground, between trained bands of knights. They closely resembled actual battle, with the proviso that a dismounted knight had to retire from the field and give horse and armour to his combatant. By the fifteenth century they had become stage-managed jousts in which the principles of combat were demonstrated and in which ambitious young men could advertise their skills.

As the quest for the Holy Grail demonstrates, chivalry was closely bound with the ideals and aspirations of Christianity; it might be said to spring from the first crusades, in fact, when knights fought under the banner of the Cross against the heathen. The crusading knight would be expected to prepare himself with vigils, fasts and prayers. The forces of Christ were meant to be pilgrims as much as soldiers. There grew up cults of military saints, such as Saint George and Saint Victor, and the roles of knight and monk were combined in the religious orders of Templars and Hospitallers. A knight was meant to be chaste and pious; the model of knighthood was of course Sir Galahad, whose apotheosis is admirably described in Malory's account.

But chivalry was also associated with the code of courtly love that celebrated the female as the source of all virtue and honour. A knight fought for his lady; his love for her rendered him stronger and more courageous. Lancelot and Guinevere, Tristram and Isolde, are among the most famous lovers in literature; much of Malory's narrative is therefore devoted to them. Like the Platonic love of an earlier civilization – then generally between male and male – courtly love was a shadow or echo of heavenly harmony.

The two creeds of chivalry and courtly love are alike in being quite remote from the experience of life, especially for the period in which Malory was writing. In the fifteenth century the knights of England no longer played their old military role; they were now more likely to serve as members of parliament than as leaders in the field. Some of the sadness of Malory's account, therefore, may spring from the fact that he is celebrating a code of chivalry and courtly love at the very time they were being diminished.

In Malory's own account this great epic was composed from sundry ‘old books'. These ‘old books' were made up of the
roman courtois
and the
roman d'aventures
that were so popular among the French nobility. In fact he had thoroughly digested the French prose romances concerning the adventures of Arthur, and had reworked them as a series of self-contained stories following the path of one knight or group of knights. He cut the theology, and generally curbed the excesses of the French originals. He is practical rather than theoretical or spiritual. Malory's brevity is in fact the essential engine of the plot, which turns upon sudden crises and arbitrary adventures; there are moments of dramatic speech rather than rambling interior monologues; there are incidents rather than well-formed characters. He then introduced these stories one after the other as if they were the organic elements of some total design, in the same fashion as the architecture of the English cathedrals.

As a result of Malory's plangent and often elaborate prose, the song of Arthur has never ended.
Le Morte d'Arthur
inspired both Milton and Dryden with dreams of Arthurian epic, and in the nineteenth century Tennyson revived the themes of Malory in
Idylls of the King
. William Morris wrote
The Defence of Guenevere
, and Algernon Swinburne composed
Tristram of Liones
. The Round Table was reconstituted in the libraries of nineteenth-century England.

Malory created for posterity the images of Lancelot and Guinevere, of Galahad and Gawain, of Tristram and Isolde, of Merlin the wily magician and of Arthur the once and future king. Indeed it was through the agency of
Le Morte d'Arthur
that Arthur took on a posthumous life in medieval histories. There is no evidence that such a monarch ever existed. There may have been a British warrior king who flourished in the late fifth century, and who won a victory against the English invaders at a place known only as Mons Badonicus, but there is no certainty on the matter. King Arthur may simply be a figment of the national imagination. Yet it is still a remarkable tribute to Malory's inventive genius that Arthur, and the Round Table, have found a secure and permanent place in the affections of the English-speaking people.

In my translation I have changed the name of the text from
Le Morte d'Arthur
to
The Death of King Arthur
; this gives a more accurate summary of its contents. I have tried my best to convert Malory's sonorous and exhilarating prose into a more contemporary idiom; this is a loose, rather than punctilious, translation. I have also chosen to abbreviate the narrative in pursuit of clarity and simplicity. I hope that by these means the essential story of Arthur and his knights emerges more clearly, and that the characters of Camelot are drawn more convincingly. Malory is often rambling and repetitive; much that would have amused and interested a medieval audience will not appeal to a modern readership. I have also quietly amended Malory's inconsistencies. Despite these alterations, I hope that I have been able to convey the majesty and pathos of the great original.

THE TALE OF KING ARTHUR

Merlin

In the old wild days of the world there was a king of England known as Uther Pendragon; he was a dragon in wrath as well as in power. There were various regions in his kingdom, many of them warring one against another, and so it came about that one day he summoned a mighty duke to his court at Winchester. This nobleman was of Cornwall, and he was called Duke of Tintagel; he reigned over a western tribe from the fastness of his castle on the rocks, where he looked down upon the violent sea. Uther Pendragon asked the duke to bring with him to court his wife, Igraine, who had the reputation of being a great beauty. She was wise as well as beautiful, and it was said that she could read the secrets of any man's heart on the instant she looked at him.

When the duke and his wife were presented to the king, he rose from his throne and invited them forward with open arms. ‘Come,' he said, ‘embrace me. This dragon will not bite.' They were treated with all possible courtesy and honour by the whole court, but the lady Igraine had seen into the king's dark heart. She knew well enough that he wanted to violate her. He looked at her with lust and cunning. The moment came when he took her by the shoulders and whispered something in her ear. She shook her head, disgusted, and broke away from him. She went to her husband at once, and told him what had occurred. He was enraged, so angry that he smashed his fist against one of the tapestries that lined the wall of the great palace. ‘We were summoned here to be dishonoured,' he said. ‘I will never submit to that. Pride is the essence of knighthood.'

‘We should take our horses,' Igraine told him, ‘and ride out of here as soon as we can. I would be willing to ride all night.' Even though night is an evil time they fled, turning their faces towards Tintagel. As soon as Pendragon knew of their departure he grew very angry. And, as the people of England knew well enough, the wrath of the king is death. He called together his council of nobles, and explained to them that he had been dishonoured by ‘that little duke who rules the little people of Cornwall'.

One of his council suggested to him that he should call back the duke and his wife, under pain of his severe displeasure. Yet the duke's answer to the summons was swift. He would never allow his wife into the presence of the tyrant. Pendragon then grew more violent still. He sent him a sword that had been bent in the middle, as a sign of contempt. ‘Prepare yourself for war,' he wrote. ‘Summon your servants. Protect your castles. Uther Pendragon is coming to destroy you. I will grind you to dust. I will split your wife with my spear.'

Once the duke had received the broken sword and the letter, he wasted no time in calling for arms and reinforcements. He left his wife in the Castle of Tintagel, where the rocks and the waves might protect her, while he rode out to command the castle known as Terrible. It was truly mighty to behold, made of black granite and black marble, filled with many cunning passageways and secret doors where death and treachery were waiting for the unwary.

Pendragon marched out from his palace at Winchester and, with his great army, advanced into Cornwall. It was a desolate region, largely unknown to the rest of the country, where witches and warlocks were reported to have the mastery. Eventually he came to Castle Terrible, situated beside the confluence of two rivers, and proceeded to lay siege to it for fifty days and fifty nights. Much blood was shed, and many brave men lost their lives, in the skirmishes and sallies that sustained the siege.

But then Pendragon grew sick. His face was pale, and his eyes large. He could hardly draw breath, his heart was so weak. One of his lords, Ulfius, approached him as he lay sighing upon a bed of silk wrought with jewels in the form of stars. ‘Ah, king,' he whispered, ‘you are suffering from some great distemper. Do you know anything that might have caused it?'

‘The two greatest enemies of man, wrath and love, are now fighting over me. My wrath for the Duke of Cornwall consumes me. My love for his wife, Igraine, is destroying me. Where can I turn? To whom should I pray? I know that I will die far from my family in this bitter land of Cornwall.'

‘There is one person who can save you, sire.'

‘Who is that?'

‘Merlin. The great magician. He is the man who made the abbey church of Derby disappear into the earth. He will know how to heal you. He will find a cure.'

‘Bring him before me. Let him work his magic on my poor bones.'

So Ulfius rode out, whispering the name of ‘Merlin' under his breath many times; he knew that the magician was aware of the secret life of all things, and would know that his name was being murmured in the wind. The birds, or the singing grasses, would tell him. As Ulfius rode on he suddenly encountered a beggar standing in the high road; the beggar wore a hood, and his back was turned to the knight. He seemed to be peering at something lying on the ground. ‘Move,' Ulfius told him. ‘Get out of my way.'

‘Do you begrudge a poor man the space of a dusty road?' the beggar replied.

‘Move on, or I will cut you with my sword. It is not right for a knight to argue with one such as you.'

‘Even if I know for whom you seek? Even if I know that your name is Ulfius?'

‘Who are you?'

‘I am the one you wish for. I am Merlin.' He put out his hands, palms outward, and his beggar's clothes were transformed into robes of white satin. ‘I am the man of magic.'

‘Well met then.'

‘Tell Uther Pendragon that I will cure him of his sickness. There is one condition. He must grant me whatever I wish, without reluctance or hesitation. If he agrees, then I will fulfil all of his desires.'

‘I will tell him this as soon as I return to him. I am sure that he will keep any promise he makes to you.'

‘Good. The king will gain the object of his desire. I guarantee that. Now ride back to him. I will not be far behind you. I will never be far away.'

In good spirits Ulfius galloped off and made his way to the king's pavilion, which had been erected in the field in front of Castle Terrible. He walked in and made reverence to Pendragon, who was still lying in his bed sick at heart. ‘I have found Merlin, lord king.'

‘Where is he?'

‘He said that he will not be long, sir.'

There was a sound as of bird wings beating, and at that moment Merlin appeared at the entrance of the pavilion. Suddenly the magus was standing at the king's bedside. ‘Sir,' Merlin said, ‘I know what is in your heart. I know your secrets. If you will swear to me on the honour of a true and anointed king that you will fulfil my desire, then you will have your wish.'

‘Bring me the Holy Book,' Pendragon asked a courtier. Then he swore his oath upon it.

‘This is my desire,' Merlin said. ‘On the first night that you lie beside Igraine, you will conceive a child. I wish that child to be delivered to me the next day. I will raise it so that it will bring great worship and renown to you.'

‘I swear to do this,' the king replied. ‘The child is yours.'

‘Then prepare yourself, sir king. This night you will lie with Igraine in the Castle of Tintagel. You will appear there in the shape of her husband, the duke; Sir Ulfius here will be changed into Sir Brastias, a knight of the duke's retinue, and I will become Sir Jordanus. Do not speak much to her but say you are sick. Then take her to bed. Do not stir from her side until I come to you on the following morning. Let us go now. We will ride out. Tintagel is only ten miles off.' So the three of them mounted their horses and rode away.

The Duke of Cornwall, standing on the battlements, had seen them leaving; he had no idea where they were going, but he decided to take advantage of the king's absence. He issued with his warriors from the postern gate of the castle and attacked the besieging army. In the ensuing struggle he was slain. He was brought down by an arrow in his left eye, like a later king. He fell dead to the ground even before Pendragon had reached the Castle of Tintagel.

The scheme devised by Merlin worked. Uther Pendragon, in the shape of the Duke of Cornwall, lay that night with Igraine; three hours after the death of the duke, Pendragon begat upon her the babe that became known as Arthur. At the break of day Merlin came to the bedside and advised the king to depart; so the king kissed Igraine, and took his leave of her. When she learned later that her husband had died in battle, hours before the arrival of the one who had assumed his form, she wondered who had lain beside her in the likeness of her lord. But she mourned in private, and kept silent. She was discreet.