Chapter 2

Ah then from Balen passed away All dread of night, all doubt of day, All care what life or death might say, All thought of all worse months than May: Only the might of joy in love Brake forth within him as a fire, And deep delight in deep desire Of far-flown days whose full-souled quire Rang round from the air above.

From choral earth and quiring air Rang memories winged like songs that bear Sweet gifts for spirit and sense to share: For no man’s life knows love more fair And fruitful of memorial things Than this the deep dear love that breaks With sense of life on life, and makes The sundawn sunnier as it wakes Where morning round it rings.

“O brother, O my brother!” cried Each upon each, and cast aside Their helms unbraced that might not hide From sight of memory single-eyed The likeness graven of face and face, And kissed and wept upon each other For joy and pity of either brother, And love engrafted by sire and mother, God’s natural gift of grace.

And each with each took counsel meet For comfort, making sorrow sweet, And grief a goodly thing to greet: And word from word leapt light and fleet Till all the venturous tale was told, And how in Balen’s hope it lay To meet the wild Welsh king and slay, And win from Arthur back for pay The grace he gave of old.

“And thither will not thou with me And win as great a grace for thee?” “That will I well,” quoth Balan: “we Will cleave together, bound and free, As brethren should, being twain and one.” But ere they parted thence there came A creature withered as with flame, A dwarf mismade in nature’s shame, Between them and the sun.

And riding fleet as fire may glide He found the dead lie side by side, And wailed and rent his hair and cried, “Who hath done this deed?” And Balen eyed The strange thing loathfully, and said, “The knight I slew, who found him fain And keen to slay me: seeing him slain, The maid I sought to save in vain, Self-stricken, here lies dead.

“Sore grief was mine to see her die, And for her true faith’s sake shall I Love, and with love of heart more high, All women better till I die.” “Alas,” the dwarf said, “ill for thee In evil hour this deed was done: For now the quest shall be begun Against thee, from the dawning sun Even to the sunset sea.

“From shore to mountain, dawn to night, The kinsfolk of this great dead knight Will chase thee to thy death.” A light Of swift blithe scorn flashed answer bright As fire from Balen’s eye. “For that, Small fear shall fret my heart,” quoth he: “But that my lord the king should be For this dead man’s sake wroth with me, Weep might it well thereat.”

Then murmuring passed the dwarf away, And toward the knights in fair array Came riding eastward up the way From where the flower-soft lowlands lay A king whose name the sweet south-west Held high in honour, and the land That bowed beneath his gentle hand Wore on its wild bright northern strand Tintagel for a crest.

And Balen hailed with homage due King Mark of Cornwall, when he knew The pennon that before him flew: And for those lovers dead and true The king made moan to hear their doom; And for their sorrow’s sake he sware To seek in all the marches there The church that man might find most fair And build therein their tomb.

V

As thought from thought takes wing and flies, As month on month with sunlit eyes Tramples and triumphs in its rise, As wave smites wave to death and dies, So chance on hurtling chance like steel Strikes, flashes, and is quenched, ere fear Can whisper hope, or hope can hear, If sorrow or joy be far or near For time to hurt or heal.

Swift as a shadow and strange as light That cleaves in twain the shadow of night Before the wide-winged word takes flight That thunder speaks to depth and height And quells the quiet hour with sound, There came before King Mark and stood Between the moorside and the wood The man whose word God’s will made good, Nor guile was in it found.

And Merlin said to Balen: “Lo, Thou hast wrought thyself a grievous woe To let this lady die, and know Thou mightst have stayed her deadly blow.” And Balen answered him and said, “Nay, by my truth to faith, not I, So fiercely fain she was to die; Ere well her sword had flashed on high, Self-slain she lay there dead.”

Again and sadly Merlin spake: “My heart is wrung for this deed’s sake, To know thee therefore doomed to take Upon thine hand a curse, and make Three kingdoms pine through twelve years’ change, In want and woe: for thou shalt smite The man most noble and truest knight That looks upon the live world’s light A dolorous stroke and strange.

“And not till years shall round their goal May this man’s wound thou hast given be whole.” And Balen, stricken through the soul By dark-winged words of doom and dole, Made answer: “If I wist it were No lie but sooth thou sayest of me, Then even to make a liar of thee Would I too slay myself, and see How death bids dead men fare.”

And Merlin took his leave and passed And was not: and the shadow as fast Went with him that his word had cast, Too fleet for thought thereof to last: And there those brethren bade King Mark Farewell: but fain would Mark have known The strong knight’s name who had overthrown The pride of Launceor, when it shone Bright as it now lay dark.

And Balan for his brother spake, Saying: “Sir, albeit him list not break The seal of secret time, nor shake Night off him ere his morning wake, By these two swords he is girt withal May men that praise him, knights and lords, Call him the knight that bears two swords, And all the praise his fame accords Make answer when they call.”

So parted they toward eventide; And tender twilight, heavy-eyed, Saw deep down glimmering woodlands ride Balen and Balan side by side, Till where the leaves grew dense and dim Again they spied from far draw near The presence of the sacred seer, But so disguised and strange of cheer That seeing they knew not him.

“Now whither ride ye,” Merlin said, “Through shadows that the sun strikes red, Ere night be born or day be dead?” But they, for doubt half touched with dread, Would say not where their goal might lie. “And thou,” said Balen, “what art thou, To walk with shrouded eye and brow?” He said: “Me lists not show thee now By name what man am I.”

“Ill seen is this of thee,” said they, “That thou art true in word and way Nor fain to fear the face of day, Who wilt not as a true man say The name it shames not him to bear.” He answered: “Be it or be it not so, Yet why ye ride this way I know, To meet King Ryons as a foe, And how your hope shall fare.

“Well, if ye hearken toward my rede, Ill, if ye hear not, shall ye speed.” “Ah, now,” they cried, “thou art ours at need What Merlin saith we are fain to heed.” “Great worship shall ye win,” said he, “And look that ye do knightly now, For great shall be your need, I trow.” And Balen smiled: “By knighthood’s vow, The best we may will we.”

Then Merlin bade them turn and take Rest, for their good steeds’ weary sake, Between the highway and the brake, Till starry midnight bade them wake: Then “Rise,” he said, “the king is nigh, Who hath stolen from all his host away With threescore horse in armed array, The goodliest knights that bear his sway And hold his kingdom high.

“And twenty ride of them before To bear his errand, ere the door Turn of the night, sealed fast no more, And sundawn bid the stars wax hoar; For by the starshine of to-night He seeks a leman where she waits His coming, dark and swift as fate’s, And hearkens toward the unopening gates That yield not him to sight.

Then through the glimmering gloom around A shadowy sense of light and sound Made, ere the proof thereof were found, The brave blithe hearts within them bound, And “Where,” quoth Balen, “rides the king?” But softer spake the seer: “Abide, Till hither toward your spears he ride, Where all the narrowing woodland side Grows dense with boughs that cling.”

There in that straitening way they met The wild Welsh host against them set, And smote their strong king down, ere yet His hurrying horde of spears might get Fierce vantage of them. Then the fight Grew great and joyous as it grew, For left and right those brethren slew, Till all the lawn waxed red with dew More deep than dews of night.

And ere the full fierce tale was read Full forty lay before them dead, And fast the hurtling remnant fled And wist not whither fear had led: And toward the king they went again, And would have slain him: but he bowed Before them, crying in fear aloud For grace they gave him, seeing the proud Wild king brought lowest of men.

And ere the wildwood leaves were stirred With song or wing of wakening bird, In Camelot was Merlin’s word With joy in joyous wonder heard That told of Arthur’s bitterest foe Diskingdomed and discomfited. “By whom?” the high king smiled and said. He answered: “Ere the dawn wax red, To-morrow bids you know.

“Two knights whose heart and hope are one And fain to win your grace have done This work whereby if grace be won Their hearts shall hail the enkindling sun With joy more keen and deep than day.” And ere the sundawn drank the dew Those brethren with their prisoner drew To the outer guard they gave him to And passed again away.

And Arthur came as toward his guest To greet his foe, and bade him rest As one returned from nobler quest And welcome from the stormbright west, But by what chance he fain would hear. “The chance was hard and strange, sir king,” Quoth Ryons, bowed in thanksgiving. “Who won you?” Arthur said: “the thing Is worth a warrior’s ear.”

The wild king flushed with pride and shame, Answering: “I know not either name Of those that there against us came And withered all our strength like flame: The knight that bears two swords is one, And one his brother: not on earth May men meet men of knightlier worth Nor mightier born of mortal birth That hail the sovereign sun.”

And Arthur said: “I know them not But much am I for this, God wet, Beholden to them: Launcelot Nor Tristram, when the war waxed hot Along the marches east and west, Wrought ever nobler work than this.” “Ah,” Merlin said, “sore pity it is And strange mischance of doom, I wis, That death should mar their quest.

“Balen, the perfect knight that won The sword whose name is malison, And made his deed his doom, is one: Nor hath his brother Balan done Less royal service: not on earth Lives there a nobler knight, more strong Of soul to win men’s praise in song, Albeit the light abide not long That lightened round his birth.

“Yea, and of all sad things I know The heaviest and the highest in woe Is this, the doom whose date brings low Too soon in timeless overthrow A head so high, a hope so sure. The greatest moan for any knight That ever won fair fame in fight Shall be for Balen, seeing his might Must now not long endure.”

“Alas,” King Arthur said, “he hath shown Such love to me-ward that the moan Made of him should be mine alone Above all other, knowing it known I have ill deserved it of him.” “Nay,” Said Merlin, “he shall do for you Much more, when time shall be anew, Than time hath given him chance to do Or hope may think to say.

“But now must be your powers purveyed To meet, ere noon of morn be made To-morrow, all the host arrayed Of this wild foe’s wild brother, laid Around against you: see to it well, For now I part from you.” And soon, When sundawn slew the withering moon, Two hosts were met to win the boon Whose tale is death’s to tell.

A lordly tale of knights and lords For death to tell by count of swords When war’s wild harp in all its chords Rang royal triumph, and the hordes Of hurtling foemen rocked and reeled As waves wind-thwarted on the sea, Was told of all that there might be, Till scarce might battle hear or see The fortune of the field.

And many a knight won fame that day When even the serpent soul of Kay Was kindled toward the fiery play As might a lion’s be for prey, And won him fame that might not die With passing of his rancorous breath But clung about his life and death As fire that speaks in cloud, and saith What strong men hear and fly.

And glorious works were Arthur’s there, That lit the battle-darkened air: But when they saw before them fare Like stars of storm the knight that bare Two swords about him girt for fray, Balen, and Balan with him, then Strong wonder smote the souls of men If heaven’s own host or hell’s deep den Had sent them forth to slay.

So keen they rode across the fight, So sharp they smote to left and right, And made of hurtling darkness light With lightning of their swords, till flight And fear before them flew like flame, That Arthur’s self had never known, He said, since first his blast was blown, Such lords of war as these alone That whence he knew not came.

But while the fire of war waxed hot The wild king hearkened, hearing not, Through storm of spears and arrow-shot, For succour toward him from King Lot And all his host of sea-born men, Strong as the strong storm-baffling bird Whose cry round Orkney’s headlands heard Is as the sea’s own sovereign word That mocks our mortal ken.

For Merlin’s craft of prophecy, Who wist that one of twain must die, Put might in him to say thereby Which head should lose its crown, and lie Stricken, though loth he were to know That either life should wane and fail; Yet most might Arthur’s love avail, And still with subtly tempered tale His wile held fast the foe.

With woven words of magic might Wherein the subtle shadow and light Changed hope and fear till fear took flight, He stayed King Lot’s fierce lust of fight Till all the wild Welsh war was driven As foam before the wind that wakes With the all-awakening sun, and breaks Strong ships that rue the mirth it makes When grace to slay is given.

And ever hotter lit and higher, As fire that meets encountering fire, Waxed in King Lot his keen desire To bid revenge within him tire On Arthur’s ravaged fame and life: Across the waves of war between Floated and flashed, unseen and seen, The lustrous likeness of the queen Whom shame had sealed his wife.

But when the woful word was brought That while he tarried, doubting nought, The hope was lost whose goal he sought And all the fight he yearned for fought, His heart was rent for grief and shame, And half his hope was set on flight Till word was given him of a knight Who said: “They are weary and worn with fight, And we more fresh than flame.”

And bright and dark as night and day Ere either find the unopening way Clear, and forego the unaltering sway, The sad king’s face shone, frowning: “Yea, I would that every knight of mine Would do his part as I shall do,” He said, “till death or life anew Shall judge between us as is due With wiser doom than thine.”

Then thundered all the awakening field With crash of hosts that clashed and reeled, Banner to banner, shield to shield, And spear to splintering spear-shaft, steeled As heart against high heart of man, As hope against high hope of knight To pluck the crest and crown of fight From war’s clenched hand by storm’s wild light, For blessing given or ban.

All hearts of hearkening men that heard The ban twin-born with blessing, stirred Like springtide waters, knew the word Whereby the steeds of storm are spurred With ravenous rapture to destroy, And laughed for love of battle, pierced With passion of tempestuous thirst And hungering hope to assuage it first With draughts of stormy joy.

But sheer ahead of the iron tide That rocked and roared from side to side Rode as the lightning’s lord might ride King Lot, whose heart was set to abide All peril of the raging hour, And all his host of warriors born Where lands by warring seas are worn Was only by his hands upborne Who gave them pride and power.

But as the sea’s hand smites the shore And shatters all the strengths that bore The ravage earth may bear no more, So smote the hand of Pellinore Charging, a knight of Arthur’s chief, And clove his strong steed’s neck in twain, And smote him sheer through brow and brain, Falling: and there King Lot lay slain, And knew not wrath or grief.

And all the host of Orkney fled, And many a mother’s son lay dead: But when they raised the stricken head Whence pride and power and shame were fled And rage and anguish now cast out, And bore it toward a kingly tomb, The wife whose love had wrought his doom Came thither, fair as morning’s bloom And dark as twilight’s doubt.

And there her four strong sons and his, Gawain and Gareth, Gaherys And Agravain, whose sword’s sharp kiss With sound of hell’s own serpent’s hiss Should one day turn her life to death, Stood mourning with her: but by these Seeing Mordred as a seer that sees, Anguish of terror bent her knees And caught her shuddering breath.

The splendour of her sovereign eyes Flashed darkness deeper than the skies Feel or fear when the sunset dies On his that felt as midnight rise Their doom upon them, there undone By faith in fear ere thought could yield A shadowy sense of days revealed, The ravin of the final field, The terror of their son.

For Arthur’s, as they caught the light That sought and durst not seek his sight, Darkened, and all his spirit’s might Withered within him even as night Withers when sunrise thrills the sea. But Mordred’s lightened as with fire That smote his mother and his sire With darkling doom and deep desire That bade its darkness be.

And heavier on their hearts the weight Sank of the fear that brings forth fate, The bitter doubt whose womb is great With all the grief and love and hate That turn to fire men’s days on earth. And glorious was the funeral made, And dark the deepening dread that swayed Their darkening souls whose light grew shade With sense of death in birth.

VI

In autumn, when the wind and sea Rejoice to live and laugh to be, And scarce the blast that curbs the tree And bids before it quail and flee The fiery foliage, where its brand Is radiant as the seal of spring, Sounds less delight, and waves a wing Less lustrous, life’s loud thanksgiving Puts life in sea and land.

High hope in Balen’s heart alight Laughed, as from all that clamorous fight He passed and sought not Arthur’s sight, Who fain had found his kingliest knight And made amend for Balen’s wrong. But Merlin gave his soul to see Fate, rising as a shoreward sea, And all the sorrow that should be Ere hope or fear thought long.

“O where are they whose hands upbore My battle,” Arthur said, “before The wild Welsh host’s wide rage and roar? Balen and Balan, Pellinore, Where are they?” Merlin answered him: “Balen shall be not long away From sight of you, but night nor day Shall bring his brother back to say If life burn bright or dim.”

“Now, by my faith,” said Arthur then, “Two marvellous knights are they, whose ken Toward battle makes the twain as ten, And Balen most of all born men Passeth of prowess all I know Or ever found or sought to see: Would God he would abide with me, To face the times foretold of thee And all the latter woe.”

For there had Merlin shown the king The doom that songs unborn should sing, The gifts that time should rise and bring Of blithe and bitter days to spring As weeds and flowers against the sun. And on the king for fear’s sake fell Sickness, and sorrow deep as hell, Nor even might sleep bid fear farewell If grace to sleep were won.

Down in a meadow green and still He bade the folk that wrought his will Pitch his pavilion, where the chill Soft night would let not rest fulfil His heart wherein dark fears lay deep. And sharp against his hearing cast Came a sound as of horsehoofs fast Passing, that ere their sound were past Aroused him as from sleep.

And forth he looked along the grass And saw before his portal pass A knight that wailed aloud, “Alas That life should find this dolorous pass And find no shield from doom and dole!” And hearing all his moan, “Abide, Fair sir,” the king arose and cried, “And say what sorrow bids you ride So sorrowful of soul.”

“My hurt may no man heal, God wot, And help of man may speed me not,” The sad knight said, “nor change my lot.” And toward the castle of Melyot Whose towers arose a league away He passed forth sorrowing: and anon, Ere well the woful sight were gone, Came Balen down the meads that shone, Strong, bright, and brave as day.

And seeing the king there stand, the knight Drew rein before his face to alight In reverence made for love’s sake bright With joy that set his face alight As theirs who see, alive, above, The sovereign of their souls, whose name To them is even as love’s own flame To enkindle hope that heeds not fame And knows no lord but love.

And Arthur smiled on him, and said, “Right welcome be thou: by my head, I would not wish me better sped. For even but now there came and fled Before me like a cloud that flies A knight that made most heavy cheer, I know not wherefore; nor may fear Or pity give my heart to hear Or lighten on mine eyes.

“But even for fear’s and pity’s sake Fain were I thou shouldst overtake And fetch again this knight that spake No word of answering grace to make Reply to mine that hailed him: thou, By force or by goodwill, shalt bring His face before me.” “Yea, my king,” Quoth Balen, “and a greater thing Were less than is my vow.

“I would the task required and heard Were heavier than your sovereign word Hath laid on me:” and thence he spurred Elate at heart as youth, and stirred With hope as blithe as fires a boy: And many a mile he rode, and found Far in a forest’s glimmering bound The man he sought afar around And seeing took fire for joy.

And with him went a maiden, fair As flowers aflush with April air. And Balen bade him turn him there To tell the king what woes they were That bowed him down so sore: and he Made woeful answer: “This should do Great scathe to me, with nought for you Of help that hope might hearken to For boot that may not be.”

And Balen answered: “I were loth To fight as one perforce made wroth With one that owes by knighthood’s oath One love, one service, and one troth With me to him whose gracious hand Holds fast the helm of knighthood here Whereby man’s hope and heart may steer: I pray you let not sorrow or fear Against his bidding stand.”

The strange knight gazed on him, and spake: “Will you, for Arthur’s royal sake, Be warrant for me that I take No scathe from strife that man may make? Then will I go with you.” And he Made joyous answer: “Yea, for I Will be your warrant or will die.” And thence they rode with hearts as high As men’s that search the sea.

And as by noon’s large light the twain Before the tented hall drew rein, Suddenly fell the strange knight, slain By one that came and went again And none might see him; but his spear Clove through the body, swift as fire, The man whose doom, forefelt as dire, Had darkened all his life’s desire, As one that death held dear.

And dying he turned his face and said, “Lo now thy warrant that my head Should fall not, following forth where led A knight whose pledge hath left me dead. This darkling manslayer hath to name Garlon: take thou my goodlier steed, Seeing thine is less of strength and speed, And ride, if thou be knight indeed, Even thither whence we came.

“And as the maiden’s fair behest Shall bid you follow on my quest, Follow: and when God’s will sees best, Revenge my death, and let me rest As one that lived and died a knight, Unstained of shame alive or dead.” And Balen, wrung with sorrow, said, “That shall I do: my hand and head I pledge to do you right.”