The King Arthur Trilogy (62 page)

And when the knight felt the fiery smart, he looked down and saw the adder, and unthinkingly he drew his sword and slashed the small wicked thing in half.

And when both war-hosts saw the stormy sunlight flash on the naked blade, they remembered their orders, and the harm was done. From both sides there rose a great shouting and a blowing of horns and trumpets, and the two war-hosts burst forward and rolled towards each other, dark as doom under their coloured standards and fluttering pennants, jinking with points of light like the flicker of summer lightning in the heart of a thundercloud, where the sour yellow sunshine struck on sword-blade and spear-point; and giving out a swelling storm roar of hooves and war cries and weapon-jar as they came.

Then Arthur cried out in a terrible voice, ‘Alas! This most accursed day!’ And hurling himself into the saddle, drove spurs into his horse’s flanks, and swung him
round with frantic haste to join the forefront of his own on-coming war-host. Sir Mordred did likewise in the same instant; and the battle closed around them both.

The sorest and most savage battle that ever was fought in any land of Christendom.

It was scarcely past noon when the fighting joined, but soon the clouds that gathered overhead made it seem like evening; and as the dark battle masses swept and swirled this way and that, lit by bladeflash and torn by the screams of smitten horses and the war-shouts and the death-cries of men, so the black cloud mass that arched above them seemed to boil as though at the heart of some mighty tempest, echoing the spear tempest upon Camlann Plain beneath. And many a terrible blow was given and many mighty champions fell; and old enemies fought each other in the reeling press, and friend fought friend and brother fought brother. And as the time went by the ranks of both war-hosts grew thinner, and more and more the feet of the living were clogged by the bodies of the dead; and one by one the banners and pennants that were tattered as the ragged sky went down into the mire; and all the mire of Camlann’s trampled plain oozed red.

And all day long Mordred and the High King rode through the thick of the battle and came by no hurt, so that it seemed as though they held charmed lives; and ever in the reeling thick of the fighting they sought for
each other, but might never come together all the black day long.

And so day drew to the edge of night; and a great and terrible stillness settled over the plain; and Arthur, who had had three horses killed under him since noon, stood to draw breath and look about him. And all was red; the blade of his own sword crimsoned to the hilt, and the sodden mire into which the grass was trampled down; even the underbellies of the clouds that had been dark all day were stained red by the light of the setting sun. And nothing moved over all Camlann Plain but the ravens circling black-winged against that smouldering sky; and nothing sounded save the howl of a wolf far off, and near at hand the cry of a dying man.

And Arthur saw that two men stood close behind him; and one was old Sir Lucan and the other Sir Bedivere, and both sore wounded. And of all the men who had followed him back from Benwick or gathered to his standard on the march from Dover, and of all those men, also, who had been his before they were drawn from their loyalty by Mordred’s treachery or by their love for Lancelot, these two, leaning wearily on their swords beside him, were all who remained alive.

And the black bitterness of death rose in Arthur the King, and a mighty groan burst from him.

‘Grief of God! That I should see this day! Grief upon me for all my noble knights that lie here slain! Now
indeed I know that the end is come. But before all things go down into the dark – where is Sir Mordred who has brought about this desolation?’

Then as he looked about him, he became aware of one more figure still upon its feet; Sir Mordred in hacked and battered armour, standing at a little distance, alone in the midst of a sprawling tangle of dead men.

And Arthur would not use Excalibur upon his own son; and so, to Sir Lucan who stood nearest to him, he said, ‘Give me a spear; for yonder stands the man who brought this day into being, and the thing is not yet ended between us two.’

‘Sir, let him be!’ said Sir Lucan. ‘He is accursed! And if you let this day of ill destiny go by, you shall be most fully avenged upon him at another time. My liege lord, pray you remember your last night’s dream, and what the spirit of Gawain told you. Even though by God’s grace and mercy you still live at the day’s end, yet leave off the fighting now; for there are three of us, while Sir Mordred stands alone, and therefore we have won the field; and once the doom day be passed, it will be passed indeed, and new days to come.’

But, ‘Give me life or give me death,’ said Arthur, ‘the thing is not finished until I have slain my son who has brought destruction upon Logres and upon all Britain, and for whom so many good men lie slain.’

‘Then God speed you well,’ said Sir Bedivere.

And Sir Lucan gave the King his spear, and he grasped it in both hands and made at a stumbling run for the solitary figure. The terrible red drunkenness of battle was upon him, and he cried out as he ran, ‘Traitor! Now is your death-time upon you!’

And hearing him, Sir Mordred lifted his head, and recognised death, and with drawn sword came to meet him. And so they ran, stumbling over the dead, and came together in the midst of that dreadful reddened field, under that dreadful bleeding sky. And the High King smote his son under the shield with a great thrust of his spear, that pierced him clean through the body. And when Sir Mordred felt his death wound within him, he gave a great yell, savage and despairing, and thrust himself forward upon the spear-shaft, as a boar carried forward by its own rush up the shaft of the hunter, until he was stayed by the hand-guard; and with all the last of his strength he swung up his sword two-handed, and dealt the High King his father such a blow on the side of the dragon-crested helmet that the blade sliced through helm and mail coif and deep into the skull beneath. And at the end of the blow Sir Mordred fell stark dead upon the spear, dragging it with him to the ground. And in the same instant Arthur the King dropped also, not dead but in a black swoon, upon the stained and trampled earth.

Then Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere came and lifted him between them, and by slow stages, for their wounds were sore upon them, they bore him from the battlefield, and to a little ruined chapel not far off, and laid him there in the shelter and quiet that the place offered, upon a bed of piled fern that looked as though it had been made ready for him, before the altar.

And there, when they laid him down, Sir Lucan gave a deep groan and crumpled to the earth at his feet; for the effort of getting his king to shelter had been too great for him, with the gaping wound that was in his belly.

And when Arthur, coming back to himself, saw Sir Lucan’s body sprawled there, the grief rose in him, and he cried out, ‘Alas, this is a sore sight! He would have aided me, and he had more need of aid himself!’

And Sir Bedivere knelt weeping beside the dead knight, for they had loved each other as brothers since the days when the Round Table was young.

It had been dark when they reached the chapel, but now the skies had cleared, and presently the moon arose, sailing high and uncaring above the dreadful stillness of Camlann Plain. And looking with shadowed sight out through the gap in the far wall where the stones had fallen, Arthur saw not far off the whispering reed-fringed shores of a lake. White mists scarfed the water, shimmering in the white fire of the moon; and the far shores were lost in mist and moonshine, so that there
might have been no far shore at all. And Arthur knew that lake. He knew it to his heart’s core.

And gathering all that was left of his strength, he said to Sir Bedivere, ‘To this lake … To another part of this lake, Merlin brought me, long ago …’ And it seemed to him that he was forcing the words out so hard that they must come forth as a shout, but they came only as a ragged whisper that Sir Bedivere must bend close to hear. ‘Now leave your weeping; there will be time for mourning later on for you – but for me, my time with you grows short, and there is yet one thing more that I must have you do for me.’

‘Anything,’ said Sir Bedivere, ‘anything, my liege lord …’

‘Take you Excalibur, my good sword, and carry it down to yonder lake shore, and throw it far out into the water. Then come again and tell me what you see.’

‘My lord,’ said Bedivere, ‘I will do as you command, and bring you word.’

And he took the great sword from where it lay beside the King and, reeling with weakness from his own wounds, made his way down to the water’s brink.

In that place, alder trees grew here and there along the bank, and he passed through them, stooping under the low branches, and paused, looking down at the great sword in his hands; and the white fire of the moon showed him the jewels in the hilt and played like running
water between the clotted stains on the faery-forged blade. And he thought, This is not only a High King’s weapon, this is the sword of Arthur, and once thrown into the lake it will be lost for ever, and an ill thing that would be.

And the more he looked, the more he weakened in his purpose. And at last he turned from the water and hid Excalibur among the roots of the alder trees.

Then he went back to Arthur.

‘Have you done as I bade you?’ said Arthur.

‘Sir, it is done,’ said Bevidere.

‘And what did you see?’

‘Sir,’ said Bedivere, ‘what should I see under the moon, but the bright ripples spreading in the waters of the lake?’

‘That is not truly spoken,’ said the King, ‘therefore go back to the lake, and as you are dear to me, carry out my command.’

So Sir Bedivere went back to the lake shore, and took the sword from its hiding place, fully meaning this time to do as the King had bidden him. But again the white fire of the moon blazed upon the jewelled hilt and the sheeny blade, and he felt the power of it in his hands as though it had been a live thing. And he thought, If ever men gather again to thrust back the dark, as we thrust it back when the Table and the world were young, this is the only true sword for whoever leads them. And he
returned the sword to its hiding place, and went back to the chapel where the King lay waiting for him.

‘Have you done my bidding, this second time?’ asked the King.

‘I cast Excalibur far out into the lake,’ said Sir Bedivere.

‘And what did you see?’

‘Only the reeds stirring in the night wind.’

And the King said in a harsh and anguished whisper, ‘I had thought Mordred the only traitor among the brotherhood; but now you have betrayed me twice. I have loved you; counted you among the noblest of my knights of the Round Table, and you would break faith with me for the richness of a sword.’

Bedivere knelt beside him with hanging head. ‘Not for the richness, my liege lord,’ he said at last. ‘I am ashamed; but it was not for the richness, not for the jewels in the hilt nor the temper of the blade.’

‘That I know,’ the King said, more gently. ‘Yet now, go again swiftly; and this time do not fail me, if you value still my love.’

And Sir Bedivere got stiffly to his feet, and went a third time down to the water’s edge, and took the great sword from its hiding place; and a third time he felt the power of it in his hand and saw the white moon-fire on the blade; but without pause he swung it up above his head, and flung it with the last strength
of arm and breast and shoulder, far out into the lake.

He waited for the splash, but there was none, for out of the misty surface of the lake rose a hand and arm clad in white samite, that met and caught it by the hilt. Three times it flourished Excalibur in slow wide circles of farewell, and then vanished back into the water, taking the great sword with it from the eyes of this world. And no widening ring of ripples told where it was gone.

Sir Bedivere, blind with tears, turned and stumbled back to the chapel and his waiting lord.

‘It is done as you commanded,’ he said.

‘And what did you see?’ said the King.

‘I saw a hand that came out of the lake, and an arm clothed in white samite; and the hand caught Excalibur and brandished it three times as though in leave-taking – and so withdrew, bearing the sword with it, beneath the water.’

‘That was truly spoken and well done,’ said the King; and he raised himself on his elbow. ‘Now I must go hence. Aid me down to the water side.’

And Sir Bedivere aided him to his feet and took his weight upon his own shoulder, and half-supported, half-carried him down to the lake shore.

And there, where before had seemed to be only the lapping water and the reeds whispering in the moonlight, a narrow barge draped all in black lay as though it waited
for them, within the shadows of the alder trees. And in it were three ladies, black-robed, and their hair veiled in black beneath the queenly crowns they wore. And their faces alone, and their outstretched hands, showed white as they sat looking up at the two on the bank and weeping. And one of them was the Queen of Northgalis, and one was Nimue, the Lady of all the Ladies of the Lake; and the third was Queen Morgan La Fay, freed at last from her own evil now that the dark fate-pattern was woven to its end.

‘Now lay me in the barge, for it has been waiting for me long,’ said Arthur, and Sir Bedivere aided him down the bank, and gently lowered him to the hands of the three black-robed queens, who made soft mourning as they received him and laid him down. And the Lady of the Lake took his battered head into her lap; and kneeling beside him, Queen Morgan La Fay said, ‘Alas, dear brother, you have tarried overlong from us and your wound has grown chilled.’

And the barge drifted out from the shadows under the alder trees, leaving Sir Bedivere standing alone upon the bank.

And Sir Bedivere cried out like a child left in the dark, ‘Oh, my Lord Arthur, what shall become of me, now that you go hence and leave me here alone?’

And the King opened his eyes and looked at him for the last time. ‘Comfort yourself, and do the best that you
may, for I must be gone into the Vale of Avalon, for the healing of my grievous wound. One day I will return, in time of Britain’s sorest need, but not even I know when that day may be, save that it is afar off … But if you hear no more of me in the world of men, pray for my soul.’