Chapter 12

“Nay, father, nay good father, shame me not Before this noble knight,” said young Lavaine, “For nothing. Surely I but played on Torre: He seemed so sullen, vext he could not go: A jest, no more! for, knight, the maiden dreamt That some one put this diamond in her hand, And that it was too slippery to be held, And slipt and fell into some pool or stream, The castle-well, belike; and then I said That if I went and if I fought and won it (But all was jest and joke among ourselves) Then must she keep it safelier. All was jest. But, father, give me leave, an if he will, To ride to Camelot with this noble knight: Win shall I not, but do my best to win: Young as I am, yet would I do my best.”

“So will ye grace me,” answered Lancelot, Smiling a moment, “with your fellowship O’er these waste downs whereon I lost myself, Then were I glad of you as guide and friend: And you shall win this diamond,—as I hear It is a fair large diamond,—if ye may, And yield it to this maiden, if ye will.” “A fair large diamond,” added plain Sir Torre, “Such be for queens, and not for simple maids.” Then she, who held her eyes upon the ground, Elaine, and heard her name so tost about, Flushed slightly at the slight disparagement Before the stranger knight, who, looking at her, Full courtly, yet not falsely, thus returned: “If what is fair be but for what is fair, And only queens are to be counted so, Rash were my judgment then, who deem this maid Might wear as fair a jewel as is on earth, Not violating the bond of like to like.”

He spoke and ceased: the lily maid Elaine, Won by the mellow voice before she looked, Lifted her eyes, and read his lineaments. The great and guilty love he bare the Queen, In battle with the love he bare his lord, Had marred his face, and marked it ere his time. Another sinning on such heights with one, The flower of all the west and all the world, Had been the sleeker for it: but in him His mood was often like a fiend, and rose And drove him into wastes and solitudes For agony, who was yet a living soul. Marred as he was, he seemed the goodliest man That ever among ladies ate in hall, And noblest, when she lifted up her eyes. However marred, of more than twice her years, Seamed with an ancient swordcut on the cheek, And bruised and bronzed, she lifted up her eyes And loved him, with that love which was her doom.

Then the great knight, the darling of the court, Loved of the loveliest, into that rude hall Stept with all grace, and not with half disdain Hid under grace, as in a smaller time, But kindly man moving among his kind: Whom they with meats and vintage of their best And talk and minstrel melody entertained. And much they asked of court and Table Round, And ever well and readily answered he: But Lancelot, when they glanced at Guinevere, Suddenly speaking of the wordless man, Heard from the Baron that, ten years before, The heathen caught and reft him of his tongue. “He learnt and warned me of their fierce design Against my house, and him they caught and maimed; But I, my sons, and little daughter fled From bonds or death, and dwelt among the woods By the great river in a boatman’s hut. Dull days were those, till our good Arthur broke The Pagan yet once more on Badon hill.”

“O there, great lord, doubtless,” Lavaine said, rapt By all the sweet and sudden passion of youth Toward greatness in its elder, “you have fought. O tell us—for we live apart—you know Of Arthur’s glorious wars.” And Lancelot spoke And answered him at full, as having been With Arthur in the fight which all day long Rang by the white mouth of the violent Glem; And in the four loud battles by the shore Of Duglas; that on Bassa; then the war That thundered in and out the gloomy skirts Of Celidon the forest; and again By castle Gurnion, where the glorious King Had on his cuirass worn our Lady’s Head, Carved of one emerald centered in a sun Of silver rays, that lightened as he breathed; And at Caerleon had he helped his lord, When the strong neighings of the wild white Horse Set every gilded parapet shuddering; And up in Agned-Cathregonion too, And down the waste sand-shores of Trath Treroit, Where many a heathen fell; “and on the mount Of Badon I myself beheld the King Charge at the head of all his Table Round, And all his legions crying Christ and him, And break them; and I saw him, after, stand High on a heap of slain, from spur to plume Red as the rising sun with heathen blood, And seeing me, with a great voice he cried, ‘They are broken, they are broken!’ for the King, However mild he seems at home, nor cares For triumph in our mimic wars, the jousts— For if his own knight cast him down, he laughs Saying, his knights are better men than he— Yet in this heathen war the fire of God Fills him: I never saw his like: there lives No greater leader.”

While he uttered this, Low to her own heart said the lily maid, “Save your own great self, fair lord;” and when he fell From talk of war to traits of pleasantry— Being mirthful he, but in a stately kind— She still took note that when the living smile Died from his lips, across him came a cloud Of melancholy severe, from which again, Whenever in her hovering to and fro The lily maid had striven to make him cheer, There brake a sudden-beaming tenderness Of manners and of nature: and she thought That all was nature, all, perchance, for her. And all night long his face before her lived, As when a painter, poring on a face, Divinely through all hindrance finds the man Behind it, and so paints him that his face, The shape and colour of a mind and life, Lives for his children, ever at its best And fullest; so the face before her lived, Dark-splendid, speaking in the silence, full Of noble things, and held her from her sleep. Till rathe she rose, half-cheated in the thought She needs must bid farewell to sweet Lavaine. First in fear, step after step, she stole Down the long tower-stairs, hesitating: Anon, she heard Sir Lancelot cry in the court, “This shield, my friend, where is it?” and Lavaine Past inward, as she came from out the tower. There to his proud horse Lancelot turned, and smoothed The glossy shoulder, humming to himself. Half-envious of the flattering hand, she drew Nearer and stood. He looked, and more amazed Than if seven men had set upon him, saw The maiden standing in the dewy light. He had not dreamed she was so beautiful. Then came on him a sort of sacred fear, For silent, though he greeted her, she stood Rapt on his face as if it were a God’s. Suddenly flashed on her a wild desire, That he should wear her favour at the tilt. She braved a riotous heart in asking for it. “Fair lord, whose name I know not—noble it is, I well believe, the noblest—will you wear My favour at this tourney?” “Nay,” said he, “Fair lady, since I never yet have worn Favour of any lady in the lists. Such is my wont, as those, who know me, know.” “Yea, so,” she answered; “then in wearing mine Needs must be lesser likelihood, noble lord, That those who know should know you.” And he turned Her counsel up and down within his mind, And found it true, and answered, “True, my child. Well, I will wear it: fetch it out to me: What is it?” and she told him “A red sleeve Broidered with pearls,” and brought it: then he bound Her token on his helmet, with a smile Saying, “I never yet have done so much For any maiden living,” and the blood Sprang to her face and filled her with delight; But left her all the paler, when Lavaine Returning brought the yet-unblazoned shield, His brother’s; which he gave to Lancelot, Who parted with his own to fair Elaine: “Do me this grace, my child, to have my shield In keeping till I come.” “A grace to me,” She answered, “twice today. I am your squire!” Whereat Lavaine said, laughing, “Lily maid, For fear our people call you lily maid In earnest, let me bring your colour back; Once, twice, and thrice: now get you hence to bed:” So kissed her, and Sir Lancelot his own hand, And thus they moved away: she stayed a minute, Then made a sudden step to the gate, and there— Her bright hair blown about the serious face Yet rosy-kindled with her brother’s kiss— Paused by the gateway, standing near the shield In silence, while she watched their arms far-off Sparkle, until they dipt below the downs. Then to her tower she climbed, and took the shield, There kept it, and so lived in fantasy.

Meanwhile the new companions past away Far o’er the long backs of the bushless downs, To where Sir Lancelot knew there lived a knight Not far from Camelot, now for forty years A hermit, who had prayed, laboured and prayed, And ever labouring had scooped himself In the white rock a chapel and a hall On massive columns, like a shorecliff cave, And cells and chambers: all were fair and dry; The green light from the meadows underneath Struck up and lived along the milky roofs; And in the meadows tremulous aspen-trees And poplars made a noise of falling showers. And thither wending there that night they bode.

But when the next day broke from underground, And shot red fire and shadows through the cave, They rose, heard mass, broke fast, and rode away: Then Lancelot saying, “Hear, but hold my name Hidden, you ride with Lancelot of the Lake,” Abashed young Lavaine, whose instant reverence, Dearer to true young hearts than their own praise, But left him leave to stammer, “Is it indeed?” And after muttering “The great Lancelot, At last he got his breath and answered, “One, One have I seen—that other, our liege lord, The dread Pendragon, Britain’s King of kings, Of whom the people talk mysteriously, He will be there—then were I stricken blind That minute, I might say that I had seen.”

So spake Lavaine, and when they reached the lists By Camelot in the meadow, let his eyes Run through the peopled gallery which half round Lay like a rainbow fallen upon the grass, Until they found the clear-faced King, who sat Robed in red samite, easily to be known, Since to his crown the golden dragon clung, And down his robe the dragon writhed in gold, And from the carven-work behind him crept Two dragons gilded, sloping down to make Arms for his chair, while all the rest of them Through knots and loops and folds innumerable Fled ever through the woodwork, till they found The new design wherein they lost themselves, Yet with all ease, so tender was the work: And, in the costly canopy o’er him set, Blazed the last diamond of the nameless king.

Then Lancelot answered young Lavaine and said, “Me you call great: mine is the firmer seat, The truer lance: but there is many a youth Now crescent, who will come to all I am And overcome it; and in me there dwells No greatness, save it be some far-off touch Of greatness to know well I am not great: There is the man.” And Lavaine gaped upon him As on a thing miraculous, and anon The trumpets blew; and then did either side, They that assailed, and they that held the lists, Set lance in rest, strike spur, suddenly move, Meet in the midst, and there so furiously Shock, that a man far-off might well perceive, If any man that day were left afield, The hard earth shake, and a low thunder of arms. And Lancelot bode a little, till he saw Which were the weaker; then he hurled into it Against the stronger: little need to speak Of Lancelot in his glory! King, duke, earl, Count, baron—whom he smote, he overthrew.

But in the field were Lancelot’s kith and kin, Ranged with the Table Round that held the lists, Strong men, and wrathful that a stranger knight Should do and almost overdo the deeds Of Lancelot; and one said to the other, “Lo! What is he? I do not mean the force alone— The grace and versatility of the man! Is it not Lancelot?” “When has Lancelot worn Favour of any lady in the lists? Not such his wont, as we, that know him, know.” “How then? who then?” a fury seized them all, A fiery family passion for the name Of Lancelot, and a glory one with theirs. They couched their spears and pricked their steeds, and thus, Their plumes driven backward by the wind they made In moving, all together down upon him Bare, as a wild wave in the wide North-sea, Green-glimmering toward the summit, bears, with all Its stormy crests that smoke against the skies, Down on a bark, and overbears the bark, And him that helms it, so they overbore Sir Lancelot and his charger, and a spear Down-glancing lamed the charger, and a spear Pricked sharply his own cuirass, and the head Pierced through his side, and there snapt, and remained.

Then Sir Lavaine did well and worshipfully; He bore a knight of old repute to the earth, And brought his horse to Lancelot where he lay. He up the side, sweating with agony, got, But thought to do while he might yet endure, And being lustily holpen by the rest, His party,—though it seemed half-miracle To those he fought with,—drave his kith and kin, And all the Table Round that held the lists, Back to the barrier; then the trumpets blew Proclaiming his the prize, who wore the sleeve Of scarlet, and the pearls; and all the knights, His party, cried “Advance and take thy prize The diamond;” but he answered, “Diamond me No diamonds! for God’s love, a little air! Prize me no prizes, for my prize is death! Hence will I, and I charge you, follow me not.”

He spoke, and vanished suddenly from the field With young Lavaine into the poplar grove. There from his charger down he slid, and sat, Gasping to Sir Lavaine, “Draw the lance-head:” “Ah my sweet lord Sir Lancelot,” said Lavaine, “I dread me, if I draw it, you will die.” But he, “I die already with it: draw— Draw,”—and Lavaine drew, and Sir Lancelot gave A marvellous great shriek and ghastly groan, And half his blood burst forth, and down he sank For the pure pain, and wholly swooned away. Then came the hermit out and bare him in, There stanched his wound; and there, in daily doubt Whether to live or die, for many a week Hid from the wide world’s rumour by the grove Of poplars with their noise of falling showers, And ever-tremulous aspen-trees, he lay.

But on that day when Lancelot fled the lists, His party, knights of utmost North and West, Lords of waste marches, kings of desolate isles, Came round their great Pendragon, saying to him, “Lo, Sire, our knight, through whom we won the day, Hath gone sore wounded, and hath left his prize Untaken, crying that his prize is death.” “Heaven hinder,” said the King, “that such an one, So great a knight as we have seen today— He seemed to me another Lancelot— Yea, twenty times I thought him Lancelot— He must not pass uncared for. Wherefore, rise, O Gawain, and ride forth and find the knight. Wounded and wearied needs must he be near. I charge you that you get at once to horse. And, knights and kings, there breathes not one of you Will deem this prize of ours is rashly given: His prowess was too wondrous. We will do him No customary honour: since the knight Came not to us, of us to claim the prize, Ourselves will send it after. Rise and take This diamond, and deliver it, and return, And bring us where he is, and how he fares, And cease not from your quest until ye find.”

So saying, from the carven flower above, To which it made a restless heart, he took, And gave, the diamond: then from where he sat At Arthur’s right, with smiling face arose, With smiling face and frowning heart, a Prince In the mid might and flourish of his May, Gawain, surnamed The Courteous, fair and strong, And after Lancelot, Tristram, and Geraint And Gareth, a good knight, but therewithal Sir Modred’s brother, and the child of Lot, Nor often loyal to his word, and now Wroth that the King’s command to sally forth In quest of whom he knew not, made him leave The banquet, and concourse of knights and kings.

So all in wrath he got to horse and went; While Arthur to the banquet, dark in mood, Past, thinking “Is it Lancelot who hath come Despite the wound he spake of, all for gain Of glory, and hath added wound to wound, And ridden away to die?” So feared the King, And, after two days’ tarriance there, returned. Then when he saw the Queen, embracing asked, “Love, are you yet so sick?” “Nay, lord,” she said. “And where is Lancelot?” Then the Queen amazed, “Was he not with you? won he not your prize?” “Nay, but one like him.” “Why that like was he.” And when the King demanded how she knew, Said, “Lord, no sooner had ye parted from us, Than Lancelot told me of a common talk That men went down before his spear at a touch, But knowing he was Lancelot; his great name Conquered; and therefore would he hide his name From all men, even the King, and to this end Had made a pretext of a hindering wound, That he might joust unknown of all, and learn If his old prowess were in aught decayed; And added, ‘Our true Arthur, when he learns, Will well allow me pretext, as for gain Of purer glory.’”

Then replied the King: “Far lovelier in our Lancelot had it been, In lieu of idly dallying with the truth, To have trusted me as he hath trusted thee. Surely his King and most familiar friend Might well have kept his secret. True, indeed, Albeit I know my knights fantastical, So fine a fear in our large Lancelot Must needs have moved my laughter: now remains But little cause for laughter: his own kin— Ill news, my Queen, for all who love him, this!— His kith and kin, not knowing, set upon him; So that he went sore wounded from the field: Yet good news too: for goodly hopes are mine That Lancelot is no more a lonely heart. He wore, against his wont, upon his helm A sleeve of scarlet, broidered with great pearls, Some gentle maiden’s gift.”

“Yea, lord,” she said, “Thy hopes are mine,” and saying that, she choked, And sharply turned about to hide her face, Past to her chamber, and there flung herself Down on the great King’s couch, and writhed upon it, And clenched her fingers till they bit the palm, And shrieked out “Traitor” to the unhearing wall, Then flashed into wild tears, and rose again, And moved about her palace, proud and pale.

Gawain the while through all the region round Rode with his diamond, wearied of the quest, Touched at all points, except the poplar grove, And came at last, though late, to Astolat: Whom glittering in enamelled arms the maid Glanced at, and cried, “What news from Camelot, lord? What of the knight with the red sleeve?” “He won.” “I knew it,” she said. “But parted from the jousts Hurt in the side,” whereat she caught her breath; Through her own side she felt the sharp lance go; Thereon she smote her hand: wellnigh she swooned: And, while he gazed wonderingly at her, came The Lord of Astolat out, to whom the Prince Reported who he was, and on what quest Sent, that he bore the prize and could not find The victor, but had ridden a random round To seek him, and had wearied of the search. To whom the Lord of Astolat, “Bide with us, And ride no more at random, noble Prince! Here was the knight, and here he left a shield; This will he send or come for: furthermore Our son is with him; we shall hear anon, Needs must hear.” To this the courteous Prince Accorded with his wonted courtesy, Courtesy with a touch of traitor in it, And stayed; and cast his eyes on fair Elaine: Where could be found face daintier? then her shape From forehead down to foot, perfect—again From foot to forehead exquisitely turned: “Well—if I bide, lo! this wild flower for me!” And oft they met among the garden yews, And there he set himself to play upon her With sallying wit, free flashes from a height Above her, graces of the court, and songs, Sighs, and slow smiles, and golden eloquence And amorous adulation, till the maid Rebelled against it, saying to him, “Prince, O loyal nephew of our noble King, Why ask you not to see the shield he left, Whence you might learn his name? Why slight your King, And lose the quest he sent you on, and prove No surer than our falcon yesterday, Who lost the hern we slipt her at, and went To all the winds?” “Nay, by mine head,” said he, “I lose it, as we lose the lark in heaven, O damsel, in the light of your blue eyes; But an ye will it let me see the shield.” And when the shield was brought, and Gawain saw Sir Lancelot’s azure lions, crowned with gold, Ramp in the field, he smote his thigh, and mocked: “Right was the King! our Lancelot! that true man!” “And right was I,” she answered merrily, “I, Who dreamed my knight the greatest knight of all.” “And if I dreamed,” said Gawain, “that you love This greatest knight, your pardon! lo, ye know it! Speak therefore: shall I waste myself in vain?” Full simple was her answer, “What know I? My brethren have been all my fellowship; And I, when often they have talked of love, Wished it had been my mother, for they talked, Meseemed, of what they knew not; so myself— I know not if I know what true love is, But if I know, then, if I love not him, I know there is none other I can love.” “Yea, by God’s death,” said he, “ye love him well, But would not, knew ye what all others know, And whom he loves.” “So be it,” cried Elaine, And lifted her fair face and moved away: But he pursued her, calling, “Stay a little! One golden minute’s grace! he wore your sleeve: Would he break faith with one I may not name? Must our true man change like a leaf at last? Nay—like enow: why then, far be it from me To cross our mighty Lancelot in his loves! And, damsel, for I deem you know full well Where your great knight is hidden, let me leave My quest with you; the diamond also: here! For if you love, it will be sweet to give it; And if he love, it will be sweet to have it From your own hand; and whether he love or not, A diamond is a diamond. Fare you well A thousand times!—a thousand times farewell! Yet, if he love, and his love hold, we two May meet at court hereafter: there, I think, So ye will learn the courtesies of the court, We two shall know each other.”

Then he gave, And slightly kissed the hand to which he gave, The diamond, and all wearied of the quest Leapt on his horse, and carolling as he went A true-love ballad, lightly rode away.

Thence to the court he past; there told the King What the King knew, “Sir Lancelot is the knight.” And added, “Sire, my liege, so much I learnt; But failed to find him, though I rode all round The region: but I lighted on the maid Whose sleeve he wore; she loves him; and to her, Deeming our courtesy is the truest law, I gave the diamond: she will render it; For by mine head she knows his hiding-place.”

The seldom-frowning King frowned, and replied, “Too courteous truly! ye shall go no more On quest of mine, seeing that ye forget Obedience is the courtesy due to kings.”