Chapter 21

'Lord king,' said Sir Mordred, 'we have shamefully suffered much wrong at the hands of Sir Lancelot. I appeal to thee that he be seized, so that the kin of those whom he slew this last night may have vengeance upon him.'

Then came Sir Gawaine forward quickly, and his face was dark with anger and his words hot.

'Lord,' he cried, 'listen not to such tales, for I doubt not it was only by evil plots that Sir Lancelot was forced to slay those whom he slew. For I trust not Sir Mordred.'

'So God us help,' said Sir Gareth and Sir Gaheris, 'we too will not be known to be of the same mind as our brother Sir Mordred.'

'Then will I do as I deem it best, to gain what I deem right,' replied Sir Mordred.

'I believe that thou wilt do it in thine own hidden ways,' said Sir Gawaine, and looked fiercely at his brother, 'for in all unhappiness and evil thou art to be found, if men but seek in the darkest place and look for the most secret foe.'

'I appeal to you, lord,' said Sir Mordred to the king, 'to proclaim Sir Lancelot a false traitor to you and to your realm.'

'And I,' said Sir Gawaine, 'will bid ye remember, lord king, that if ye will make war between us and Sir Lancelot, there will be many kings and great lords hold with him. And I would ask you, how many times hath Sir Lancelot done noble deeds on our behalf and proved himself the best knight of us all? Did he not rescue twenty of us from the dungeons of Sir Turquine? Hath he not avenged shame upon the king and the queen, and the fame of the Round Table many a time? Methinketh, my uncle, that such kind deeds should be well remembered.'

'Think ye,' said the king, 'that I am not loath to begin so evil and terrible a thing as civil war? Man, it rendeth my heart to think it. And I tell thee, Sir Mordred, I will not begin it, except I have proofs of what ye charge upon Sir Lancelot. And as he is the best knight of ye all, and the most valiant, I will not judge him before I hear him. If I know him well, he will come hither and challenge the knight to combat that doth bring these charges against him, and in that will I trust, for God shall surely defend the right. Therefore, let a messenger be sent to Sir Lancelot requiring him, by his knighthood, to appear before me here, and make answer to the charges thou hast against him.'

This was not as Sir Mordred desired; for he did not doubt that if Sir Lancelot came he would have little trouble to persuade the king that he was innocent. When the messenger was gone, therefore, Sir Mordred sent a servant after him, who slew him in a wood and hid his body under a bush.

Meanwhile, Sir Mordred counselled Sir Mador to repeat his demand that the king should cause the queen to be led to the stake, since no knight had come forward and offered to fight for her.

For a time the king put him off, hoping that as soon as Sir Lancelot received his commands he would come instantly. Very anxiously did the king look to the door, hoping to see the tall form of his best knight come towering through the hall.

Instead thereof came the crafty servant of Sir Mordred, throwing himself at the feet of the king.

'Gracious lord,' cried he, panting as if from swift running, 'I have even now come from the place where Sir Lancelot and his friends are hiding. I am one of their servants, but I hate their treason against ye, and therefore I am come to tell you of this greatest treason of all. They have slain your messenger, my lord, him that came requiring Sir Lancelot to appear before thee. Sir Lancelot ran upon him when he gave his message and slew him, saying, "Thus do I answer the saucy words of him who shall not much longer be king."'

The king looked at the face of the messenger long and sadly. The pain which the king suffered would have softened any ordinary heart; but the murderer was a hard and callous wretch, and his brazen eyes outlooked the king.

'Then is Sir Lancelot changed indeed,' said the king, and walked away with bowed head and moist eyes.

Sir Mador pushed forward again, repeating his demand.

'Have it as ye will,' said the king heavily, and went quickly into his private chamber.

'Alas!' said Sir Gawaine and Sir Gareth, 'now is the whole realm falling to ruin, and the noble fellowship of the Round Table shall be scattered in civil war.'

Soon a page came to Sir Gawaine, telling him that the king would speak to him.

'Gawaine,' said the king, when the knight went to him, 'I have been too easy with this knight, Sir Lancelot. He hath slain eleven knights of the Round Table and my messenger. The pride and ambition of that man shall have a check. His great fame for valiant deeds hath made him mad, until it would seem that nothing but this realm will content him. Now, therefore, as justice demands, and Sir Mador requires, do ye lead the queen to the fire. She shall have the law as is right. Afterwards we will seize Sir Lancelot; and know ye, he shall have a hard and shameful death.'

'Heaven forbid,' said Sir Gawaine, 'that ever I should see either of these things. For I will believe not these reports of Sir Lancelot.'

'How now?' said the king, 'truly ye have little cause to love him. This night last past he slew Sir Agravaine, your brother, and several of your kindred with him; and also, Sir Gawaine, remember how he slew but lately two sons of yours in battle against the oppressing lords of the borders.'

'My lord,' said Sir Gawaine, 'I know these things, and for their deaths I have grieved, but I warned them all, and as they sought their deaths wilfully I will not avenge them, nor think worse of Sir Lancelot.'

'Nevertheless,' said the king, 'I pray you will make ready with your brothers, Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth, to take the queen to the fire, there to have her judgment and receive her death.'

'Nay, most noble lord,' replied the knight sadly, 'that will I never do. I will never stand by to see so noble a queen meet so shameful a death.'

'Then,' said the king sadly, 'suffer your brothers, Sir Gareth and Sir Gaheris, to be there.'

'They are younger than I,' replied Sir Gawaine, 'and they may not say you nay.'

The king commanded the two brothers of Sir Gawaine to come to him, and told them what he desired of them.

'Sir,' said Sir Gareth, 'it is in your power to command us to lead the queen to her shameful end; but wit you well it is sore against our will. We will go as ye bid, but it shall be in peaceable guise, for we tell you straightway, we will not oppose a rescue, should any so desire.'

'Alas!' said Sir Gawaine, and wept, 'that ever I should live to see this woful day.'

Then the two knights went to the queen and sorrowfully bade her prepare for her death. Very pale was the queen, but very quiet, for now that this was come which she had dreaded night and day, she would bear herself proudly like a queen, innocent as she knew she was of any crime.

Her ladies dressed her in her meanest garments; a priest, her confessor, was brought to her, and she was shriven of her sins. Then arose a weeping and a wailing and a wringing of hands among the lords and ladies.

Between the knights and the men-at-arms she was led through the streets to the lists beyond the wall. Lamentation, cries of horror, and the shrieks and sighs of women arose from the multitude which lined each side of the narrow streets. Many were the prayers that rose from white lips, praying God to send a miracle to rescue so sweet a lady from so dreadful a doom.

The city apprentices, with stout sticks in their hands, stood in bands, and in their stout young hearts was a great rage. It was in their minds to dash upon the guard of armoured knights, to attempt a rescue, but they knew how vain their sticks would be against the keen blades of swords.

So stricken with horror were all those that looked on that they noticed not how, when the queen and her guard issued from the gates of the palace, a man in the coarse dress of a peasant, who was standing in the crowd, strode swiftly away down a narrow lane. There he vaulted, with an unpeasant-like deftness, upon a good steed that stood in the charge of a young lad; and striking spurs in the horse's flanks, he dashed away madly along the streets and through the northern gate into the fields.

Amidst the sorrowing people, with women crying and men muttering and looking darkly at the knights about her, the queen was led to the tilting-ground beyond the northern wall, and in the midst thereof was a stake. To this she was fastened with a rope, and faggots of wood were piled about her feet up to her knees. Near her stood the priest of her household, trying to cheer her with comforting words; but the queen, pale and without tears, seemed to be dazed and as if she did not hear him.

A hundred knights ranged themselves behind the queen, some on horseback, but the most on foot. Many of them had followed the example of Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth and stood without arms; but Sir Mador was on his horse, fully armed, and prepared for combat. Others of his kindred rode beside him.

Then Sir Gaheris called upon the herald to proclaim what the king had commanded.

'In the name of the king,' cried the herald, 'the queen hath been found guilty of the death of a knight by treason and poison, and his kinsmen have demanded due judgment upon her. But if any knight shall take upon himself to do battle for her, let him appear instantly. If none do appear, then shall she suffer the death by burning as the law doth appoint.'

The herald ceased; the people in the seats, craning this way and that, looked eagerly up and down the lists to see if any knight came.

They saw Sir Mador, in the forefront of the troop of mounted knights, glance about him; but no armed man moved forward to do battle for the innocence of the queen. Then he looked to where she stood, pale and still, and men saw him smile faintly, as if his cruel heart already rejoiced to think that she would surely burn.

A great stillness was on the multitude of people. The eyes of all the citizens of London were bent upon that long wide space of sand within the lists; many, blurred by tears, could not bear to look at the white figure in the midst of the faggots.

Men and women held their breath. They saw Sir Mador look towards Sir Gaheris, as if to ask him why he delayed giving the signal for the executioner to go forward to do his duty.

Sir Gaheris stood looking down the lists towards the great entrance. His brother, Sir Gareth, was beside him, and in the hearts of both were prayers which asked that something might happen to prevent them doing this dreadful deed upon their fair queen.

'I do call upon you, Sir Gaheris, to fulfil the law!'

Sir Mador's harsh voice rang out in the silence, startling all. With the sound, Sir Gaheris threw up his hands in a gesture of despair. He turned to the executioner, who stood beside a cauldron of fire, and pointed to the queen.

Horror held the great multitude in silence, and all eyes watched the man put his torch in the fire, and then carry it blazing towards the faggots.

Suddenly men heard a strange throbbing sound, as if from a distance; then quickly it changed into the fierce beat of horses' hoofs; and before many could realise what it meant, through the great gate at the end of the lists dashed knights in armour, on horses whose foam-flecked trappings showed at what a speed they had come.

At the head of them rode a great knight; and as men caught the device upon his shield a great roar of gladness burst from the throats of the people, while women sobbed for joy.

'Sir Lancelot! Sir Lancelot to the rescue!' was the cry.

As the knights entered, Sir Mador's quick commands sounded, and the knights about him ran forward and surrounded the queen. They had barely reached the place when, with a great crashing sound, the party of Sir Lancelot was upon them. Many of Sir Mador's people were at once thrown headlong to the ground by the force of the shock; but the others fought fiercely.

This way and that the battle swayed; Sir Mador trying to thrust the others from the fire, and Sir Lancelot's kinsmen striving to reach the queen. All was in confusion; the knights on foot were mingled with those on horseback, and many were cut down who did not bear arms.

Full of a mad wrath was Sir Lancelot, as he raged among the knights that stood about the faggots; nor could any withstand him. So blind was he in his fury that he knew not whom he slew, except that they were men who stood between him and the queen.

So, by great mischance, at this rushing and hurtling, he slew two knights and knew not that they were unarmed, and that they were of those he loved most. One was Sir Gareth, whom he had himself knighted, and the other was Sir Gaheris. In very truth Sir Lancelot knew them not; and afterwards they were found dead where the corpses lay thickest.

Short but very fierce was that battle, for none could long withstand the fury of Sir Lancelot and his kinsmen. Many were slain on both sides; Sir Mador had his head sheared from his shoulders by a stroke of Sir Lancelot's sword, and the remnant of his party fled.

Then Sir Lancelot rode to the queen, cut her bonds, and lifted her upon his horse full tenderly. Her eyes streamed with tears as she returned thanks to God for her deliverance, and hardly could she tell her gratitude to Sir Lancelot.

Thus, with the continued praises of the people in his ears, Sir Lancelot fared forth amidst his kinsmen, and taking the road northwards he rode with the queen to his own castle of Joyous Gard.

'For,' said he, 'I will keep the queen in safety until I know that the king is assured of our innocence of any treason against him. But I doubt our enemies have poisoned his mind, for never else would he have suffered her to go to the stake.'

But therein was Sir Lancelot in great error, as in much grief and remorse he came later to see; for if instantly he had taken the queen to the king, and had dared his enemies to prove his treason and the queen's, they would have been instantly discountenanced, and King Arthur would have known and loved him as he had ever done, for a true knight and a peerless one.

Nevertheless, Sir Lancelot would ever have had the hatred of Sir Gawaine, which was caused by his slaying, though unwittingly, the two good knights, Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth; whereof came great bale and sorrow.

XII

OF SIR GAWAINE'S HATRED, AND THE WAR WITH SIR LANCELOT

King Arthur, in the hall of his palace in London, walked quickly up and down, thinking in great grief of the death of his queen. A group of pages stood quietly in the shadow by the door, and two or three knights gazed silently at the moody king.

Suddenly there came the sound of running footsteps; a man dashed into the hall, and threw himself at the feet of the king. It was a squire of Sir Mordred's, and he craved leave to speak. 'Say on,' said the king.

'My lord,' said the man, 'Sir Lancelot hath rescued the queen from the fire and hath slain some thirty of your knights, and he and his kin have taken the queen among them away to some hiding-place.'

King Arthur stood for a little while dumb for pure sorrow; then, turning away, he wrung his hands and cried with a voice whose sadness pierced every heart:

'Alas, that ever I bare a crown, for now is the fairest fellowship of knights that ever the world held, scattered and broken.'

'Further, my lord,' went on the man, as others came into the hall, 'Sir Lancelot hath slain the brethren of Sir Gawaine, and they are Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth.'

The king looked from the man to the knights that now surrounded him, as if that which he heard was past all belief.

'Is this truth?' he asked them, and all were moved at the sorrow on his face and in his voice.

'Yea, lord,' said they.

'Then, fair fellows,' he said, very heavily, 'I charge you that no man tell Sir Gawaine of the death of his two brothers; for I am sure that when he heareth that his loved younger brother, Sir Gareth, is slain, he will nigh go out of his mind for sorrow and anger.'

The king strode up and down the chamber, wringing his hands in the grief he could not utter.

'Why, oh why, did he slay them?' he cried out at length. 'He himself knighted Sir Gareth when he went to fight the oppressor of the Lady Lyones, and Sir Gareth loved him above all others.'

'That is truth,' said some of the knights, and could not keep from tears to see the king's grief, 'but they were slain in the hurtling together of the knights, as Sir Lancelot dashed in the thick of the press. He wist not whom he smote, so blind was his rage to get to the queen at the stake.'

'Alas! alas!' said the king. 'The death of them will cause the greatest woful war that ever was in this fair realm. I see ruin before us all--rent and ruined shall we be, and all peace for ever at an end.'

Though the king had forbidden any of his knights to tell Sir Gawaine of the death of his two brothers, Sir Mordred called his squire aside, and bade him go and let Sir Gawaine know all that had happened.

'Do you see to it,' he told the man, 'that thou dost inflame his mind against Sir Lancelot.'

The knave went to Sir Gawaine, and found him walking on the terrace of the palace overlooking the broad quiet Thames, where the small trading ships sailed up and down the river on their ways to and from Gaul and the ports of the Kentish coast.

'Sir,' said the squire, doffing his cap and bowing, 'great and woful deeds have been toward this day. The queen hath been rescued by Sir Lancelot and his kin, and some thirty knights were slain in the melée about the stake.'

'Heaven defend my brethren,' said Sir Gawaine, 'for they went unarmed. But as for Sir Lancelot, I guessed he would try a rescue, and I had deemed him no man of knightly worship if he had not. But, tell me, how are my brethren. Where be they?'

'Alas, sir,' said the man, 'they be slain.'

The grim face of Sir Gawaine went pale, and with an iron hand he seized the shoulder of the squire and shook him in his rage.

'Have a care, thou limb of Mordred's, if thou speakest lies,' he said. 'I would not have them dead for all this realm and its riches. Where is my young brother, Sir Gareth?'

'Sir, I tell ye truth,' said the man, 'for I know how heavy would be your anger if I lied in this. Sir Gareth and Sir Gaheris are slain, and all good knights are mourning them, and in especial the king our master.'

Sir Gawaine took a step backwards and his face went pale and then it darkened with rage.

'Tell me who slew them?' he thundered.

'Sir,' replied the man, 'Sir Lancelot slew them both.'

'False knave!' cried Sir Gawaine, 'I knew thou didst lie.'

He struck the man a great buffet on the head, so that he fell half dazed to the ground.

'Ha! ha! thou lying talebearer!' laughed Sir Gawaine, half relieved of his fears, yet still half doubtful. 'To tell me that Sir Lancelot slew them! Why, man, knowest thou of whom thou pratest? Sir Lancelot to slay my dear young brother Gareth! Why, man, Gareth loved Sir Lancelot as he loved me--not more than he loved me, but near as much; and Sir Lancelot was ever proud of him. 'Twas he that knighted my young brother Gareth, brave and hearty, noble of mind and goodly of look! He would have stood with Lancelot against the king himself, so greatly he loved him. And thou--thou foul-mouth!--thou tellest me that Lancelot hath slain him! Begone from my sight, thou split-tongue!'

'Nevertheless, Sir Gawaine,' said the man, rising, 'Sir Lancelot slew them both in his rage. As he would--saving your presence--have slain you had you stood between him and the queen at the stake.'

At these words, stubbornly spoken in spite of the furious looks of Sir Gawaine, the knight realised that the man was speaking the truth.

His look was fixed on the face of the knave, and rage and grief filled his eyes as he grasped the fact that his beloved brother was really slain. Then the blood surged into his face, and he dashed away.

Men started to see the wild figure of Sir Gawaine rushing through the passages, his eyes bloodshot, his face white. At length he dashed into the presence of the king. Arthur stood sorrowing amidst his knights, but Sir Gawaine rushed through them and faced the king.

'Ha! King Arthur!' he cried, half breathless, but in a great wild voice, 'my good brother, Sir Gareth, is slain, and also Sir Gaheris! I cannot bear the thought of them slain. It cannot be true! I cannot believe it!'

'Nay, nor can any think upon it,' said the king, 'and keep from weeping.'

'Ay, ay,' said Sir Gawaine in a terrible voice, 'there shall be weeping, I trow, and that erelong. Sir, I will go see my dead brothers. I would kiss them ere they be laid in earth.'

'Nay, that may not be,' said the king gently. 'I knew how great would be thy sorrow, and that sight of them would drive thee mad. And I have caused them to be interred instantly.'

'Tell me,' said Gawaine, and men marvelled to see the wild look in his eyes and to hear the fierce voice, 'is it truth that Sir Lancelot slew them both?'

'It is thus told me,' said the King, 'that in his fury Sir Lancelot knew not whom he smote.'

'But, man,' thundered Sir Gawaine, 'they bare no arms against him! Their hearts were with him, and young Gareth loved him as if--as if Lancelot was his own brother.'

'I know it, I know it,' replied King Arthur. 'But men say they were mingled in the thick press of the fight, and Lancelot knew not friend from foe, but struck down all that stood between him and the queen.'

For a space Sir Gawaine was silent, and men looked upon him with awe and compassion. His mane of hair, grizzled and wild, was thrown back upon his shoulders, and his eyes flamed with a glowing light as of fire. Suddenly he stepped up to the king, and lifting his right hand said, in a voice that trembled With rage:

'My lord, my king, and mine uncle, wit you well that now I make oath by my knighthood, that from this day I will seek Sir Lancelot and never rest till he be slain or he slay me. Therefore, my lord king, and you, my fellow knights and lords, I require you all to prepare yourselves for war; for, know you, though I ravage this land and all the lands of Christendom, I will not rest me nor slake my revenge until I come up to Lancelot and drive my sword into his evil heart.'

With that Sir Gawaine strode from the room, and for a space all men were silent, so fierce and full of hatred had been his words.

'I see well,' said the king, 'that the death of these twain knights will cause the deadliest war that hath ever raged, and never shall we have rest until Gawaine do slay Lancelot or is slain by him. O Lancelot! Lancelot! my peerless knight, that ever thou shouldst be the cause of the ruin of this my fair kingdom!'

None that heard the king could keep from tears; and many felt that in this quarrel the king's heart was not set, except for the sake of Sir Gawaine, his nephew, and all his kin.

Then there were made great preparations in London and all the lands south of Trent, with sharpening of swords and spears, making of harness and beating of smiths' hammers on anvils.

Men's minds were in sore distress, and the faces of the citizens were long and white with dismay. Daily the quarrel caused other quarrels. Many a group of knights came to high words, some taking the side of Lancelot and the queen, and others that of the king and Sir Gawaine. Often they came to blows, and one or other of their number would be left writhing and groaning on the ground.

Families broke up in bad blood by reason of it, for the sons would avow their intent to go and enlist with Lancelot, while the fathers, in high anger at such disloyalty to Arthur, would send their tall sons away, bidding them never to look upon their faces again.

Women sorrowed and wept, for whichever side they took, it meant that one or other of their dear ones was opposed to them, and would go to battle, fighting against those of their own kin and of their own hearths.