The King Arthur Trilogy (61 page)

But Sir Gawain raised bloodshot eyes to his face, and said, ‘Sir, of all the warfares and quarrels of my life, this is the one that I would least hold back from.’

‘It will be to fight your own brother; your last remaining brother.’

‘I have no brothers now!’ Gawain roared. ‘Mordred is more dead to me than all the rest. I am all that is left of the Orkney brood, and I am your man as I always have been.’

So next day the King’s camp was struck, and the war-host marched away towards the coast, Sir Gawain with the rest of them. And watching from the ramparts of Benwick Castle, with a puzzled frown between his brows, Sir Bors said to Sir Lancelot beside him, ‘Now what could draw them away so suddenly – unless it be ill news from Britain?’

‘Ill news or not,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘it can be no matter that concerns us any more.’ But his eyes followed the last moving flicker of the distant rear-guard until it disappeared into the forest, and he would have given all that he had in life if it could have been his concern again.

The King and his army came to the coast, and when the hastily summoned fleet had gathered, they took ship again for Britain. But Mordred had got word of their coming; and when, after a stormy crossing, they drew at last to land at Dover, they found the usurper and all his rebel war-host waiting for them.

Then the King’s trumpets and the rebel trumpets
crowed against each other in the wild spring dawn; and there began a great and terrible struggle that lasted all day, as the King’s men ran their ships ashore and sprang overboard into the shallows, and the rebels came charging out to meet them. A battle fought out in the grey swinging shallows of the Narrow Seas, and on the sloping shingle that was soon running red, and along the cliff paths and among the chalky hummocks and the coarse wind-shivered grass. Until at evening the cold spitting rain died out, and the skies broke up and let through a sodden yellow gleam and the King’s men gained the cliff-tops and swept them clear, as Mordred and his men gave back and broke, and streamed away into the eye of the wild sunset.

But the victory had been sorely paid for, and the bodies of knights and men-at-arms lay dark like seawrack along the tide-line and up the cliff paths and clotted thick about the stranded ships. And the King, having given orders for the succouring of his wounded and the burying of his dead, knelt beside Sir Gawain in the small rough chamber high in Dover Castle where he had been carried by the men who had found him lying among the dead with the old wound in his head burst open again by a fresh blow.

Gawain opened his eyes and looked at him by the light of the kelp fire burning on the hearth. ‘I am for death, this time,’ he said.

And bending over the narrow cot, Arthur put his arms round him and raised him a little, and said, ‘Ah Gawain, Gawain, my most dear nephew, you and Lancelot I loved best of all my knights; and now I have lost you both, and all my earthly joy is gone.’

‘And it is all my doing,’ said Sir Gawain, stumbling over the words with a tongue that seemed made of wood. ‘For if Sir Lancelot had been with you as once he was, this grievous war would never have come about … And now you have need of Lancelot more than ever you had before, and it is through my hunger for revenge that you have lost him, when he had no ill-will towards either you or me … And I – I would be at peace with him now, but it is too late.’ And lying against the King’s shoulder, he closed his eyes so that it seemed as though he swooned or slept. But when the King would have laid him down, he opened them again and asked, ‘Is there pen and parchment to be found in this castle?’

‘Lie still, and never trouble for pen and parchment now,’ said the King.

‘It is the last thing that I shall do in the world,’ mumbled Sir Gawain. ‘But I must write to Sir Lancelot, who was once my friend …’

And when pen and parchment and a taper were brought to him by one of the clerks who moved always with the war-host, he wrote with great difficulty, the King propping and steadying him the while.

‘Unto Sir Lancelot, flower of all noble knights that ever I saw or heard of, I, Gawain, send you greetings, and beg your forgiveness in the name of the old friendship that was between us. In the name of that same friendship, come with all speed and with every knight and fighting-man that you can muster, for the traitor Mordred has raised rebellion against our Lord the King, who is in sore need of your sword. Mordred has made the people to believe him slain, and sought to take the Queen for his wife, who has shut herself away from him in the royal castle in London. This day we landed at Dover and put the traitor to flight, but there must be much more fighting ere all be done. In this day’s battle I received a sore dunt upon my head, in the very place where you wounded me before Benwick Castle, and I write this to you in the hour of my death. Come swiftly, before Mordred can gather more rebel troops. Pray for my soul when you come beside my grave; but Arthur lives and has great need of you, and without your coming the Kingdom of Logres is lost. I write to you as with my heart’s blood. Farewell.’

Towards the end of the letter the writing began to wander and stray across the page; and when the last word was written, the quill dropped from Sir Gawain’s hand, and his head fell back. ‘Pray you send this,’ he said.

‘I will send it,’ the King promised, and kissed him on his battered forehead. His eyes closed, and when the King laid him down this time he did not open them again.

MORDRED HAD FLED
away westward, and as he went, he harried the lands of those who would not join him. But there were many, in the days that followed, who did join him; for fear because the thing had gone too far for them to expect mercy from Arthur now, or because they chose the usurper’s lawless rule, or simply because they had loved Lancelot, and for his sake would draw sword for any leader who was against Arthur, which was the saddest reason of all. Yet there were as many who took up their arms and came in to fight for their rightful king; and so when the High King also hurried westward in pursuit of his traitor son, there was little to choose for size and strength between the two war-hosts.

They swept past London, along the great ridge that reared its back above the forest country; and the King
longed to check and ride for the city for one last sight of Guenever the Queen. But it was not the time, and he contented himself as best he might by sending three messengers on fast horses to make enquiry and bring him back word that all was well with her, while he pushed on westward without slackening the pace and purpose of his march.

Twice the war-hosts met in battle, and twice the High King thrust the usurper back. And so at last, far over into the western marsh-country, the two armies faced each other for the greatest battle of all, encamped upon opposite sides of a level plain bleak and open among the wet woods in their first spring-time green and the winding waterways of those parts. And when Arthur asked of an old woman who came in to sell eggs and cheese in the royal camp, ‘Old mother, is there a name to this place?’ she said, ‘Aye, this is the plain of Camlann.’

That night, when all things had been made ready for the battle that must come next day, Arthur lay in his pavilion and could not sleep. Beyond the looped-back entrance where his squires lay, the open plain stretched away like a dark sea, with the hushing of the wind through the long grass and the furze scrub for the sounding of the waves, to where the enemy watch-fires marked its further shore. His mind seemed full of whirling memories, and the sea-sound sank and changed into the whisper of reeds round the margin of
still water … Still water … Lake water lapping … And Merlin standing beside him on the day that he received Excalibur. Merlin’s voice in his ears again across all the years between, saying, ‘Over there is Camlann, the place of the Last Battle … But that is another story; and for another day as yet far off.’

Now the day was here, waiting beyond the darkness of this one spring night. A night that was dark indeed. The doom that he had unwittingly loosed so long ago when all unknowing, he fathered Mordred upon his own half-sister, was upon him, and upon all that he had fought for. And tomorrow he and Mordred must be the death of each other. And what of Britain after that? Torn in two, and with the Sea Wolves and the men of the North waiting to come swarming in again?

In the chill dark hour before dawn, he fell into a state between sleeping and waking. And in that state he dreamed a dream – if it was a dream.

It seemed to him that Sir Gawain came in through the entrance to the tent, armed and looking just as he used to, though it was maybe strange that he came pacing in as though no tent squires lay across the threshold, and none of them seemed to see him come. And Arthur sat up and stretched his arms to him in joyful greeting. ‘Welcome! Gawain, my most dear nephew! Now thanks be to God that I see you hale and living, for I thought you dead and grave-laid in Dover town!’ And then
he saw that behind Gawain thronged the bright-eyed misty shapes of women, foremost among them the Lady Ragnell, Gawain’s seven-years’ wife; and he was glad that Gawain had found his own lady again, for the years that he had shared with her had been his best as a knight and as a man. And Arthur asked, ‘But what of these ladies who come with you?’

‘Sir,’ said Gawain, ‘these be all of the ladies whom I fought for or served in some way when I was man alive. God has listened to their prayers and for their sakes has been merciful to me and granted that I come to you.’

‘It is for some urgent cause that you come,’ said the King.

‘It is to forewarn you of your death. For if you join battle with Sir Mordred this day, as you and he are both set to do, you must both die, and the greater part of your followings with you, and the Kingdom of Logres shall indeed go down into the dark. Therefore God, of His special grace, has sent me to bid you not to fight this day, but to find means to make a treaty with Sir Mordred, promising whatever he asks of you as the price of this delay. A truce that shall gain you one month of time; for within that month shall come Sir Lancelot and all his following, and together you shall overcome Sir Mordred and his war-host, and so shall the kingdom be saved from the dark.’

And suddenly, with his last word scarcely spoken,
he was gone from the place where he had been and the bright-eyed shadows with him.

And in a little, Arthur saw the green light of dawn growing pale beyond the tent flaps. Then he arose and summoned his squires to fetch Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere and two of his churchmen. And when they came and stood before him, he told them of the vision he had had, and the thing that Sir Gawain had told him. And he charged them to go to Sir Mordred under the green branch, and make truce with him that should last a month. ‘Offer him lands and goods,’ said the King, ‘as much as seem reasonable – anything that seems reasonable. Only do you win for me and for all our people this month’s delay.’

So Sir Bedivere and Sir Lucan and the two churchmen went forth under the green branch, and came to the enemy camp. And there they spoke long with Sir Mordred among his grim war-host of fifty thousand men. And at last Mordred agreed to these terms: that he should have the lands of Kent and the old Kingdom of Cornwall from that day forward, and the whole of Britain after the King’s death.

It was agreed between them that Arthur and Mordred should meet an hour from noon, midway between the two war-camps, and each accompanied by only fourteen knights and their squires, for the signing of the treaty.

And Sir Bedivere and Sir Lucan returned to the royal
camp and told Arthur what had been arranged; and when he heard them, a great relief arose in him, for he thought that maybe after all God was showing him a way to turn back the dark and to save Britain. But still, he did not trust his son, and he had the men of his war-host drawn up clear of the camp and facing the enemy, and when the horses were brought, and he mounted, his chosen fourteen knights around him, and he was ready to ride out to the meeting, he said to the captains, ‘If you see any sword drawn, wait for no orders, but come on fiercely, and slay all that you may, for there is a black shadow on my heart, and I do not trust Sir Mordred.’

And on the other side of the plain, Mordred gave orders to his own war-host: ‘If you see any sword drawn, come on with all speed and slay all that stand against you, for I do not trust this treaty, and I know well that my father will seek to be revenged on me.’

And so they rode forward, and met at the appointed place midway between the battle-hosts, and dismounted, leaving their horses in the care of their squires, to discuss and sign the treaty, which the clerks had made out twice over upon fine sheets of vellum. Then the treaty was agreed, and first Arthur and then Mordred signed it, using the King’s saddle for a writing slope; and when that was done, wine was brought and first Arthur and then Mordred drank together, both from the same cup. And it seemed that there must be peace between them, at
least for this one month, and the doom and the darkness turned aside.

But scarcely had they drunk and their copies of the treaty been fairly exchanged, when an adder, rousing in the warmth of the spring day, and disturbed by the trampling of men and horses too near her sleeping place, slithered out from among the dry grass roots, coil upon liquid coil, and bit one of Mordred’s knights through some loose lacing of the chain-mail at his heel.