Chapter 24

'I shall endure you, sir, if God give me grace; but wit you well. Sir Gawaine, I will never smite you to death.'

Many that before had hated Sir Lancelot were moved by these noble words, and by the sight of his mercy; and they deemed that there was hardly another man in all Christendom that would have shown such nobility, save Sir Galahad and Sir Perceval, and they were dead.

So Sir Lancelot went into the city, and Sir Gawaine was borne into King Arthur's tent and his wounds were cleaned and salved. Thus he lay for three weeks, hard of mood and bitter in his hatred, and longing eagerly to get well, so he might try again to slay Sir Lancelot. Meanwhile he prayed the king to attack Sir Lancelot's walls, to try to draw him forth, or to take the city by treachery.

But the king would do naught. He was sick for sorrow because of the war that was between him and Sir Lancelot, and by reason of the wounds of his nephew Sir Gawaine.

'Alas,' was ever his reply, 'neither you nor I, my nephew, will win worship at these walls. For we make war for no reason, with as noble a knight as ever drew breath, and one more merciful and courteous than any that ever graced the court of any Christian king.'

'Nevertheless,' replied Sir Gawaine, raging at the king's love for Sir Lancelot, 'neither his mercy nor courtesy would avail against my good sword, once I could sink it in his treacherous heart.'

As soon as Sir Gawaine might walk and ride, he armed him at all points and mounted a great courser, and with a long wide spear in his hand he went spurring to the great gate of the town.

'Where art thou, Lancelot?' he cried in a fierce voice. 'Come thou forth, traitor knight and recreant! I am here to revenge me on thy evil body for thy treacherous slaughter of my twain brothers.'

All this language Sir Lancelot heard, and leaning from the tower he thus spake:

'Sir Gawaine, it sorrows me that ye will not cease your foul speaking. I know your might, and all that ye may do, and well ye wot ye may do me great hurt or death.'

'Come down, then,' cried Sir Gawaine, 'for what my heart craves is to slay thee. Thou didst get the better of me the other day, and I come this day to get my revenge. And wit thee well I will lay thee as low as thou didst lay me.'

'I will not keep ye waiting long,' said Sir Lancelot, 'for as ye charge me of treachery ye shall have your hands full of me erelong, however the battle between us may end.'

Then happened it even as before. The knights encountered first with spears, but Sir Gawaine's broke into a hundred pieces on the shield of Sir Lancelot. Then, dismounting, the knights fought on foot with swords.

Sir Gawaine put forth all his strength, hoping, with the magic power which he possessed, to dash Sir Lancelot to his knees. But Sir Lancelot was more wary than before, and under cover of his shield he husbanded his strength until the hour of noon, when, as before, he felt that Sir Gawaine's might had strangely ebbed away.

When that had come to pass, Sir Lancelot said:

'Now once more have I proved that ye fight not with a man's fair strength, Sir Gawaine, but with some evil power. And full grievously was I put to it to withstand many of thy sad blows. Now ye have done your great deeds, and I will do mine.'

Then with one stroke, of so marvellous a force that men marvelled, Sir Lancelot beat down Sir Gawaine's guard, and struck him a full heavy blow on the side of the helm, beating it in so that the old wound burst again.

Sir Gawaine fell to the ground, and for some moments lay still as if he were dead or in a swoon; but he was only dazed, and soon recovering, he raved and foamed as he lay there, cursing Sir Lancelot for a traitorous coward and a base knight, and even, in his madness, thrusting towards him with his sword.

'Wit thou well, base knight,' he cried, 'that I am not slain yet. Come thou near and lie here with me, and we will fight this battle until we die.'

'I will do no more than I have done, my lord,' said Sir Lancelot, 'and when thou art able to stand I will meet thee again. But to smite a wounded man that may not stand, I will not.'

Then Sir Lancelot withdrew to the town, while Sir Gawaine still raved and abused him, and men marvelled both at the exceeding madness of the hatred of Sir Gawaine and the great restraint and nobleness of Lancelot. Many said that had Sir Gawaine said half as many shameful things to one of them, they would have instantly rased his evil head from his shoulders.

For a month Sir Gawaine lay sick, but was always eager to be up and able again. And at length the leech said that in three days he should ride, whereat Sir Gawaine was joyful.

'Again,' said he to King Arthur, who sat beside him, 'again shall I have to do with that base fellow, and ill attend me if I do not end the matter this time.'

'Ye had ended it long ago, or been ended,' said the king, 'except for the nobleness of Sir Lancelot that forbore to slay you.'

'Ay, we all know your love of the pestilent fool, uncle,' said Sir Gawaine, 'but we will stay here until we have made an end of him and his kingdom, if it take us all our lives.'

Even as he spoke there came the clear call of a trumpet outside in the camp, and Sir Bedevere came to the door of the king's tent, his grim old face pale, his grizzled hair unkempt, and every sign of haste and travel upon his dress.

The king started up. 'Sir Bedevere, ye bring evil tidings from Britain,' he cried. 'Can it be that more ruin and wrong is to come than that I suffer now? What is your news?'

'O my king, it is that Mordred your nephew hath rebelled,' said Sir Bedevere, 'and has gathered much people about him, and hath sent many letters to all the lords and knights your vassals, promising them wealth and lands if they make him king. And Gwenevere your queen he hath imprisoned, saying that he will wed her when ye are slain.'

'Mordred! Mordred!' cried the king, 'him that I thought was a quiet, strong man--turned so base a traitor!'

'Ay, he was ever the traitor, though brother of mine,' cried Sir Gawaine in a voice of rage. 'A man that speaks in whispers, haunts dark corners, and ever sneers with his lips.'

'Hardly with my life have I escaped to tell you this,' went on Sir Bedevere, 'for he placed men to watch me after I had scorned his evil offers to myself. But now, my lord, quickly ye must betake yourself and all your army from this fruitless and wrongful War against Sir Lancelot, and hasten to beat down the poisonous viper whom ye have nourished in your bosom.'

Ere the day was done the army of King Arthur had raised the siege of Sir Lancelot's town and were quickly marching to the sea, there to take their boats across to Britain to punish the usurper and traitor, Sir Mordred.

A fair wind carried them across the sea, but long ere they reached the shallows of the beach at Dover they saw the sunlight flashing from thousands of headpieces of knights and men-at-arms, set to oppose the landing of their rightful lord. The king was fiercely angry, and he commanded the masters of the ships to launch their small boats, and into these the knights swarmed and were rowed towards the shore.

But the rebels of Mordred also launched boats and great pinnaces filled with knights, and when the boats of the opposite parties met, then there was fierce fighting and much slaughter of many good knights and barons and other brave men. Then King Arthur and his chief knights drew forth their horses from the holds of the ships, and leaped with them into the sea, and fiercely did they throw themselves upon Sir Mordred and his knights, and there was grievous fighting on horseback in the shallow water, which soon was dyed with the blood of the slain.

So stubborn were the king and his fighting men that the army of Mordred was forced to retreat towards the land, and then, when the king and Gawaine had trimmed their own ranks, order was given for one concerted rush against the enemy. The other side showed little fight now, and made no stand, but fled inland.

When the battle was over, King Arthur let bury his people that were dead, so far as they could be discovered in the waves; and the wounded he caused to be carried into the town of Dover to be cared for.

A squire came to the king as he stood giving orders as to these things.

'My lord king,' said the squire, 'Sir Gawaine lies sore wounded in a boat, and we know not whether he be alive or dead.'

'Alas!' cried the king, and the knights about him were full of pity at the sudden grief that came into his voice and his looks, 'is this true? Then is all my joy of life at an end.'

The squire led him to the boat in which Sir Gawaine lay, who stirred as the king approached, and feebly smiled.

'My uncle,' said Sir Gawaine, 'wit you well that now is my death-day come, for I know I shall not last this bout. For I am smitten upon the wound which Sir Lancelot gave me, and I feel that now I shall die.'

'Alas, my sister's son,' cried the king, taking Sir Gawaine in his arms and kissing him, while the tears flowed down his cheeks, 'this is the wofullest day of all my life. For if ye depart, Gawaine, how solitary am I! Gawaine! Gawaine! in Sir Lancelot and in thee had I most my love and my joy, and now shall I lose ye both, and all my earthly joy is gone from me.'

'Alas,' said Sir Gawaine, 'sorrow's on me now that I have caused you such grief, mine uncle. I see now that I have been mad with rage against that noble knight, Sir Lancelot, who slew my dear brothers unwittingly. And now I repent me sorely. I would that I could live to repair the evil that I have done to you and to Sir Lancelot. But my time is come. I shall not live till evening.'

They wept together, and the knights that stood about them also wept for pure grief, to think how much sorrow and ruin was caused by the mad rage of Sir Gawaine, which had pushed the good king on to make war against his will.

'I am the causer of this rebellion by my traitor brother,' said Sir Gawaine, 'and my name shall be cursed for it. Had I not wilfully driven thee, thou wouldst have accorded with Sir Lancelot, and he and his brave kinsmen would have held your cankered enemies in subjection, or else cut them utterly away. Lift me up, my lord, and let me have a scribe, for I will send a letter to Sir Lancelot ere I die.'

Then Sir Gawaine was set up by the king, and a priest was brought, who wrote at the dying man's dictation. And the purport of the letter was in this wise:

'Unto Sir Lancelot, flower of all noble knights that ever I heard of or saw, and once my dear friend, now do I, Sir Gawaine, King Lot's son of Orkney and the Lothians, and sister's son to King Arthur, send thee greeting and let thee know by these writings that I am this day done to death, having been wounded at the landing against rebellious traitors, and struck upon the wound which thou didst give me twice, before thy city. Whereby I have got my death. But I will have thee to wit that I sought my death of thee, and got that wound deservedly of thee, who could have slain me twice, but for thy high nobility and great courtesy. I, Gawaine, beseech of thee forgiveness for my madness, and crave that thou wilt remember the dear friendly days we have had together in times long past, and for all the love that was between us. Come thou over the sea, and with thy knights do thou press to the help of Arthur, our noble lord, who is beset by a traitorous villain, my brother Mordred, who hath dared to rebel against his rightful lord, and hath crowned himself king. Do thou hasten, good Sir Lancelot, when thou shalt receive this letter, and follow the king. But ere thou goest from this seashore do thou come to my tomb, and pray some prayer more or less for my sinful soul, that in its madness did evilly entreat thee.'

Then was Sir Gawaine shriven, and in a little while he swooned, while all stood uncovered round about him. When the rays of the afternoon sun cast long shadows of the knights and fighting men who were hurrying up and down the shore making ready to depart, Sir Gawaine awoke from his swoon and looked up. For a moment he did not recognise King Arthur; then he smiled at him very sweetly and said in a low voice:

'Kiss me--and forgive me!'

The king knelt down and kissed the pallid face of Sir Gawaine, and for very sorrow he felt that the heart in his breast was nigh to bursting.

So in a little while, with the beat of the surf and the cry of the seagulls upon his ears, the light of the sun in his eyes, and the free air of heaven all about him, Sir Gawaine died. And his death was as he had ever craved it to be, under the open sky, after battle, where he had given good strokes and received them.

Now the letter which Sir Gawaine had written was given unto a young squire of Sir Gawaine's, by name Tewder, and he was commanded to depart forthwith back to Brittany, and deliver it into the hands of Sir Lancelot. But, among the knights that had stood about the dying Sir Gawaine, was a traitor, who was in the service of Sir Mordred the rebel, and he knew that if Sir Lancelot should receive that letter, and come to Britain with all his brave kin and their host, Sir Mordred would have much ado to conquer King Arthur.

Therefore the traitor knight, whose name was Sir Fergus, did accost Tewder the squire, and with fair seeming told him that he also was bidden to go back to Brittany, to bring back certain jewels which the king in his hasty departure had left in his lodging at the town of Dol.

Tewder, unsuspecting of all evil, went aboard a boat with Sir Fergus, and together they bargained with the master to take them across when the tide should rise again at dark. Together they crossed the sea that night and took the road towards Sir Lancelot's town; and in a dark wood Sir Fergus set upon the squire, who fought bravely, but was slain at last, and the letter of Sir Gawaine was taken by the traitor.

Then, returning to the seashore, the wretch went aboard another boat, and chaffered with the merchant to take him across the sea to the town of Llongporth, whence he thought to get quickly to Mordred, to receive from him the reward of his treachery and murder. But at night, as they sailed over the dark sea, a fifty-oared longship, filled with Saxon pirates, crept upon them; the pagans poured over the sides, slew men almost in their sleep, and flung their bodies overboard. And though Fergus fought well, his head was almost struck from his body by a great sheering axe-blow. When the pirates had taken all the goods they desired from the merchant vessel, they stove a hole in its side, and it sank to the bottom of the sea. So that no man ever again saw the letter which was meant for Sir Lancelot.

For some weeks Sir Lancelot lay quiet, knowing naught of the death of Sir Gawaine or of the letter desiring him to go to the help of King Arthur. Many rumours came to him, through the ship-folk, of the wicked rebellion of Sir Mordred, and though Sir Lancelot longed to go across to Britain and fight for King Arthur, his kinsmen would not consent, but said it would be unseemly, unless the king craved his aid, and sued for pardon for making war against Sir Lancelot in his own country.

Thus the precious weeks went by, and much ill fortune happened in Britain, that had ended otherwise if Sir Lancelot had been by the king.

Three days after the battle upon the shore, the king's host came up with the host of Sir Mordred on Barham down. Many folks had joined the rebels' side, because they hated the king for making war upon Sir Lancelot, and the king was sorely hurt in his mind to see a banner borne by one part of the usurper's army, on which was the device of Sir Lancelot's.

This the crafty Sir Mordred had commanded to be done, knowing that it would damp the spirits of King Arthur and his men.

'Verily,' said King Arthur, 'my evil deeds have sprung up as armed men against me. I fought unjustly with Sir Lancelot, and here are some that loved him arrayed against me for that wicked war.'

'If ye would send for Sir Lancelot,' said Sir Owen of the Fountain, who stood by him, 'ye would learn, I verily believe, that Sir Lancelot loves and worships you as of old, and hath no mind to fight on the side of this sly fox, Mordred. Send for Sir Lancelot, lord.'

'Nay, I will not--I may not,' said the king. 'If he cometh by the words which Sir Gawaine wrote to him, I shall know that he loves me and forgives me; but if he cometh not, I shall know he hates me, and I shall merit his ill-favour. He owes naught to me since I used him so evilly, and therefore I may not ask his aid.'

All day the battle raged upon the great green down, and many were the fierce fights which took place upon the top thereof, where, behind great earthworks freshly timbered, the main host of Sir Mordred stood, the banner of the great red dragon in their midst.

But at the last, so fast and fierce did the blows of King Arthur's men fall, and so stubbornly did they press on, that Sir Mordred's host gave way. Pouring forth by the upper gate, they ran pell-mell northwards, and the knights and fighting men of Arthur kept up with them for many miles, and there was a running fight and much wounding and slaying all through the fresh green countryside, where the hedges were laden with May-blossoms, and in the sky the larks were trilling.

And that day many a wounded man crawled groaning into the thickets to die, many a chalky cart-rut ran red with blood, and many a white face, with wide-open, sightless eyes, stared up at the blue sky, where the fleecy clouds sailed in the gentle wind.

For three weeks after this battle both sides rested, and like great wrestlers gathered all their strength for one great struggle. Knights and riders were sent by both sides into all parts, with letters to lords and knights, charging them to take their sides in the war. Many people from about London came to the banner of Mordred, and the parts now called Kent, Sussex and Surrey, Essex and Suffolk held wholly with him; but those in the west, as Wales, Devon, Cornwall and the middle parts, thronged to the banner of the king.

Few came from the north, for there the pagan pirates stalked with fire and sword through and through the land, and the British lords and chiefs that were alive had little power to stay them now. King Uriens was dead, slain by the dagger of a traitor, and so were two other great chieftains; so that men south of Trent sorrowfully shook their heads and said that now the north was no longer the land of the British folk, but was given over to the savage heathen hordes.

Then, to meet the many that flocked together in his favour, King Arthur drew him with his host westward beyond Sarum. There on the wide downs beside the great standing-stones of the Old Princes, which men now call Stonehenge, a great multitude of chiefs and knights and yeomen came to his banner.

But Sir Mordred avoided a battle, and, instead, kept aloof with his army, and began to burn and harry the country which was on the side of Arthur. He took Calleva and Cunetio, and put the people to the sword, and took much gear from those wealthy cities; then he stole through the great forest by night and came to Palladun, which was a rich town builded upon the top of a great hill. He thought to take this unawares, but it was well watched and well armed, and he strove to break into it and was kept about it for some days.

That delay was used well by King Arthur, for he made great haste to pass through the wild country, filled with wide marshes and thick woods as it was, which separated him from his enemy. Then Mordred, hearing through the spies of the king's approach, got his host away and thought to pass into the lands of Devon, which were those of King Dewer, son of the dead Geraint, and held firmly for Arthur.

But in the wild waste-land beside the Endless Waters, King Arthur caught up with him, and barred his further way. And the king remembered that this was that same land, full of gaunt standing-stones and haunted by trolls and witches, where Merlin had once led him, and where he had gained the sword Excalibur.

It was late in the day when the two armies faced each other, and both prepared to pass the night upon the field. Bitter was the wind that evening, and the skies were dun and leaden of hue, as if spring had been overcome by winter; and to shelter the king a tent had been put up in a little dark wood of stunted firs, called the Wood of Drood. Just in the deep dark before the dawn, when the blood in men's veins was coldest, and the life in their hearts was weakest, a dreadful cry wailed out through the dark wood, and there came the sound as of leathery wings flapping heavily to and fro above where the king lay sleeping. Men started up about their ashen fires, their faces blanching at the terror that cried in the dark, and they heard the wailing twice repeated, while none dared try to see the thing that wailed.

Then, while their blood chilled and their breath stayed, they heard the heavy flapping pass over their heads and die away towards the camp of Mordred; and there in the distance did the three cries sound again.

Men's hearts sickened as they turned and crept the nearer to each other, but few dared to utter the words upon their lips.

Two knights slept in the tent with king, Sir Kay and Sir Owen; and they lay in the dark, trembling at the cries of terrible import. When they passed, the knights would not move, fearing to be the first to speak.

'My Lords,' came the quiet voice of King Arthur out of the dark, 'that was the voice of the Hag of Warning. Men say it hath foretold the deaths of many of my house, but I know not. Yet will I take the issue as God shall give it me, trusting in His mercy and the blood of His Son Jesus, and Him crucified.'

'Amen,' said the two knights, and said no more.

When, in a little while, the sun rose, flashing his warm rays into the fearful eyes that greeted him, men's terror quickly vanished; and when fires were lit and oaten cakes were browning on the irons, or collops sputtered on their skewers, tongues were loosened and faces began to smile. But few spoke of the cries which they had heard, for all loved their king, and hoped that somehow they had dreamed an evil dream, or had but heard the cries of some foul night-bird.

Breakfast being ended, the captains and knights began to trim their men in army array, and talk was eager of the coming battle. Then were seen, coming from Sir Mordred's camp, two bishops; and these were taken at their desire to Arthur, where he stood surrounded by his knights and chieftains.

'Lord,' said one of the bishops, he that was head of the great choir or monastery of Amesbury, 'cannot we make accord between you and your nephew? Sad it is to see so many great and valiant warriors ranged against each other. Many are sisters' sons, and all are of one speech, one kindred. If this unnatural war doth continue, how much sorrow there will be, how many noble hearts be stilled in death or broken in grief for him that shall never return! How many puissant bodies, now quick and passionate and handsome, will be meat for snarling wolves and carrion for foul birds!'

'What says my rebellious nephew?' asked the king sternly.

'My lord,' said the other bishop, a man of soft and silky speech, and he was chief of the choir of Clovesho, 'he asks but little, and if ye are willing to make treaty, he also is willing. Grant him but the earldom of Kent and the Andred, with a seat at London, during your days, and do thou appoint him king after your days. For now that Sir Gawaine, Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth are slain, he is the only sister's son you have. If ye grant these things he will be your liege, faithful in all things, and a strong arm against your enemies.'