The King Arthur Trilogy (54 page)

‘It is not for me to have mercy,’ said the Queen, ‘but for the knight who comes to rescue me, and for my lord the High King, who I doubt not follows hard after.’

‘You can speak for me!’ howled Sir Meliagraunce. ‘Tell them I have done you no harm, but used you with all courtesy –’ And he tried to cling to the hem of her green skirts.

‘Certainly you have used me with more courtesy than you have used my poor knights,’ said the Queen, and drew back her skirts from his clinging hands.

‘I was mad!’ wailed Sir Meliagraunce. ‘Only speak to Sir Lancelot and the High King for me, and I will serve you humbly in whatever way you choose!’

‘Cease this outcry, and get up,’ said the Queen at last, ‘and I will speak to them for you, that they spare your life; for truly peace is better than war.’

And she went to meet Sir Lancelot as he came storming in search of her. And when they met they went for an instant straight into each other’s arms. ‘I knew that you would come,’ said the Queen against his shoulder. ‘Despite all, I knew that you would come to save me!’

And Sir Lancelot said, ‘I dreamed you were in danger. I heard you calling me, and so I came.’

And then he pulled away from her, demanding, ‘Where is Sir Meliagraunce?’

‘In the Great Chamber,’ said the Queen, suddenly mid-way between tears and laughter, ‘and very sore afraid!’

‘He has cause to be,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘for now his death is upon him.’

‘Nay! I have promised him that I will cry your mercy for him, since what he did, he did for love of me!’

And they moved further apart from each other, touching only with their eyes.

But after, Guenever took Sir Lancelot by the hand and led him up to the Great Chamber where were her maidens and the wounded knights and squires; and Sir Meliagraunce still kneeling, who looked at her with eyes like a beaten dog. So, slowly and with much labour and persuasion, she made a kind of peace between Sir Lancelot and Sir Meliagraunce, though even then it was agreed that they should fight the matter out in single combat that day week, before King Arthur in the jousting meadow below Camelot.

And hardly was that settled before the High King himself and his knights were in the castle courtyard.

And Guenever made peace also between them and Sir Meliagraunce on the same condition of single combat, for the King upheld Sir Lancelot, agreeing that no vengeance should be taken upon Sir Meliagraunce nor upon any of his people, but that day week should end the matter. ‘But if either fails to keep his tryst,’ said the King with a stern eye upon Sir Meliagraunce, ‘then shall he be called craven ever after, and the shame of all Logres.’

That night they remained in the castle that Sir Meliagraunce held from the King; and next morning, with the Queen in their midst, and those of the wounded knights who were too sick to sit their horses borne in litters, they set out to return to Camelot. But when Sir Lancelot would have departed with the rest, Sir Meliagraunce came to him, smiling, and making great
show of friendliness, and said, ‘Gentle sir, the Queen has made peace between you and me, until the day comes that we settle this matter by weapon-skill for the honour of us both. But pray you tell me of your own accord that you feel no ill will towards me in the meantime.’

‘None in the world,’ said Sir Lancelot, shortly.

‘Then do you prove it, by remaining here as my honoured guest until the day of combat comes.’

Sir Lancelot looked at the man’s humbly smiling face, and scorn rose in him, and he felt sick. He would have liked to strike him; but Sir Meliagraunce was so small inside himself, and seemed now so contemptibly and pitifully eager to please, and Sir Lancelot was ashamed of his own contempt. So he said as warmly as he could manage, ‘I thank you for your courtesy, and most gladly I will stay here with you until we ride for Camelot together.’

And so, after the rest had set out, he remained behind with Sir Meliagraunce.

Later that day his host asked Sir Lancelot would it please him to see the hawks in his mews, especially a very fine jerfalcon that he had lately had brought to him from the islands of the North. And Sir Lancelot, who loved falconry and always trained his own birds, said that it would pleasure him greatly. But as they went down to the inner courtyard which contained the mews, Sir
Meliagraunce stood aside at a doorway for Sir Lancelot to pass through ahead of him. And Sir Lancelot, passing through, trod on the springboard of a trap cunningly concealed in the floor; and the trap opened beneath his feet and he fell twice the height of a man into a vault deeply floored with straw.

And Sir Meliagraunce made the trap secure again, and went on his way, heedless of the muffled shouting beneath his feet.

In Camelot time went by towards the appointed day of combat. And on the last day of all, there came to Arthur’s court a certain young knight out of Hungary, called Sir Urre. A most potent knight he had been with his heart ever set on adventure; but he came in sore need of help, lying weak and forespent in a horse litter, and his mother and sister riding with him.

They were brought in and made welcome as honoured guests. But the King spoke to Sir Urre’s mother apart. ‘Most welcome are you and your son and the damosel your daughter to my court; but tell me, lady, why you have brought him so far from his own place to mine. Sick and weak as he is, so long a journey must have been grievous hard for him to bear.’

‘Hard indeed; and long indeed the journey,’ said the lady, and he saw that she must have been fair to look upon before sorrow came to her; but now she was haggard and
weary, and there was a wild and seeking look in her eyes. ‘Seven long years ago my son, who sought adventure and high deeds even more than most young men, was in Spain, and there in a great tournament he fought with one, Sir Alphegus, and slew him, but received from him first seven wounds, three in the head and three in the body and one in his sword-hand. It was a fair fight, but the mother of Sir Alphegus cursed him for her son’s death; and she was one who had power from the Devil in her. And by her black powers she so wrought that my son’s wounds should bleed and fester without healing and he should never be whole again until his wounds were searched by the best knight in the world. And so for seven long years we have travelled through all the lands of Christendom, seeking the best knight in all the world; but to no avail; and if we do not find him here, I fear me that my son will never be whole again.’

‘Take heart, lady,’ the King said kindly, ‘for here in Britain – in Logres which is the brightness at the heart of Britain – your son must surely be healed of his wounds, for there are no better knights in Christendom than are gathered about my Round Table.’

But as he spoke, he wondered. Once, he would have known that that was true; he prayed that it was true still, but he could no longer be sure.

But now, with the wounded knight lying there in his pain and weakness, and the lady’s anguished and
beseeching gaze fixed upon his face, was no time to be listening to such doubts in his heart. ‘I myself will be the first to lay hands upon your son,’ he said. ‘Well I know that I am not worthy to work this miracle; yet I am the High King, and if I go first, that shall give courage to my knights to follow me. For you must know well, madam, that this is no light thing that you ask of us.’

Then he knelt down beside Sir Urre, whose litter had been taken from its horse-shafts and laid upon the floor of the Great Hall. ‘Sir Knight,’ he said, ‘I grieve for your suffering. Will you allow that I touch your wounds?’

‘Do as you will with me, my Lord King,’ said Sir Urre, his voice dry and weary in his throat; but it was clear that he had lost all hope of healing at any man’s hands.

Then the linen bandages were laid back, and the King touched Sir Urre upon each of the seven sickening wounds. But though he was as gentle as might be, the sick knight clenched his teeth, and winced at every touch. And when he had touched them all, the seven wounds were just as they had been before.

‘I knew that it would not be I,’ said the King, ‘but pray you be of good courage; there are better knights by far than I am, here in my court.’

Then one after another all the knights that were there at court came forward to lay their hands upon Sir Urre. Sir Gawain and his brothers, Sir Lional and Sir Bors and Sir Ector of the Marsh, Sir Bleoberis,
Sir Kay the Seneschal and Sir Meliot de Logure, Sir Uwaine, Sir Gryflet le Fise de Dieu, Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere, Sir Mador and Sir Persant of Inde – and Sir Mordred, at whose touch the wounded knight could not forbear a groan. And many others, a hundred or more. And when the last had tried in vain, Sir Urre was near to swooning with the pain and weariness of so many hands upon him. Yet his wounds were all unchanged, save that they bled the more from so much handling.

‘Now we sorely need Sir Lancelot of the Lake,’ said King Arthur.

‘Aye, well, he will be here tomorrow,’ said Gawain, ‘when he comes with Sir Meliagraunce to keep their day of combat.’

Meanwhile Sir Lancelot had lain six days and six nights prisoned in the vault below Sir Meliagraunce’s castle, and every day there came a maiden who opened the trap and let food and drink down to him on the end of a silken cord. And every day she whispered to him, sweet and tempting, ‘Sir Lancelot, oh, sweet Sir Lancelot, I will bring you free out of this place if you will be my lord and my love.’

And every day he refused her, until on the last day her anger rose and she said, ‘Sir Knight, you are not wise to spurn me, for without my help you will not win free of
this captivity. And if you are still here at noon tomorrow, your honour will be gone for ever.’

‘It would be greater dishonour for me to buy my freedom at your price,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘and the High King and all men know me well enough, I hope, to know that it is not cowardice but some mischance or treachery against me that could hold me from keeping my tryst when the appointed day of combat comes.’

And the maiden secured the trap again and went her way.

Next morning, lying in the dark and listening to the sounds of the castle that filtered down to him from overhead, Sir Lancelot heard Sir Meliagraunce ride away, his horse’s hooves ringing hollow on the courtyard cobbles and out through the gate arch to the lower court. And he beat his fists together in fury and despair. But soon after, the maiden came, and lifted the trap, and knelt weeping beside it, looking down at him, while he stood below her looking up. And she said, ‘Alas! Sir Lancelot, I had hoped to win you, but you are too strong-set against me, and my love for you has been in vain. Yet I cannot see you dishonoured. Give me but one kiss in guerdon, and I will set you free, and you shall have back your armour, aye, and the best horse in Sir Meliagraunce’s stable.’

‘There is no harm in a kiss,’ said Sir Lancelot. ‘It is but courteous to thank a lady for her kindness.’

Then the maiden sent down a good stout rope with knots tied in it, in place of the silken cord. ‘I have made the end fast to the bar-socket of the door,’ she said. ‘Trust me, it will bear your weight. Now climb.’

And Sir Lancelot swarmed up the rope, and standing beside her when she had made all secure again, he kissed her once. Only once, but long and tenderly, for he was a man to pay his debts. Then the lady brought him to the armoury, and served him as his squire, aiding him to put on his armour, and when he was armed, and his sword at his side and a spear in his hand, she took him to the stables, where twelve fine coursers stood in their stalls, and bade him choose whichever he would.

He chose one that was as white as milk, with an arched neck and a falcon’s eye, and she aided him to saddle and bridle it, for the grooms, like everyone else in the castle, had gone streaming away after their lord to Camelot.

And in the lower court he mounted, and leaning down to her from the high saddle, said, ‘Lady, my thanks are yours for all time; and all my life my service is yours if you should need it, for this day’s work.’

And touching his spurs to the horse’s flank, he clattered out under the gate arch, while the maiden stood looking after him with the taste of her own salt tears on her lips where his kiss had been, as other maidens had stood before her.

Sir Lancelot settled down into the high saddle, and set
his horse’s head towards Camelot. He had seven miles to cover before noon, and the time was short, with the sun already high in the sky.

Meanwhile in the meadow between the town and the river, all things had been made ready for the joust. The King and Queen and all the court had come down to watch; even Sir Urre had been borne down to the field on his litter and set in the shade of a clump of ancient alder trees. And Sir Meliagraunce had already arrived. And when the King, seeing that he rode alone, asked for Sir Lancelot, he showed great surprise. ‘Sir Lancelot? Is he not here? He left me on the morning of the second day, to ride off on some business of his own; but I did not think that he would forget this day – unless …’

‘Unless?’ said the King.

‘Unless, maybe, having been so long accounted the Queen’s champion and the best of knights, and being no longer so young as once he was …’ said Sir Meliagraunce, and grinned under the shadow of his open vizor.

‘That sounds not like Sir Lancelot,’ said the King.

And Sir Gawain standing close by growled into his rusty beard, ‘And he that says so speaks foul slander! If Sir Lancelot comes not to keep this day, it is slain or wounded the man is – or lies captive somewhere!’

And if any had been looking at the Queen, they would have seen how her face faded to the whey-white of thorn blossoms.

But no one was looking at the Queen, for at that moment the sun flashed back from some point of swiftly moving light across the river, and upon the waiting quiet came the urgent beat of a horse’s hooves, and craning that way they saw a knight on a white destrier come pricking out of the forest on to the river track. He headed for the three-arched bridge and came drumming over; and as he drew near, and they made out the device on his shield, the shout went up, ‘It is Sir Lancelot! It is Sir Lancelot of the Lake!’

And if any had
then
been looking at the Queen (but no one was, save maybe Sir Mordred), they would have seen her flush from her whey-whiteness to a painful fiery rose.