Arthur Rex (25 page)

And Sir Kay was exasperated, saying, “Lady, lady, this is the most wickedest felon who hath ever drawn breath! Can anything be evil which defeats evil?”

“Thou art not evil,” said Guinevere, who was even more beautiful in this damp dark cell than when at Camelot, for she was here the only source of light, and her golden hair and white skin did illuminate the gloom as if the sun did shine therein. “But ’tis a matter of style: there is much grace to the keeping of one’s word, as breaking it doth seem inelegant.”

And Sir Kay was abashed, for he abhorred the disorderly above all things. Therefore he said, “Forgive me, my lady. ’Twas well meant. Perhaps I should never leave the dining halls, for to be a good seneschal is as fine a thing as any, God wot. Yet I do know a yearning to achieve glory.”

“And thou art no less a man for that,” said Guinevere. “Thou hast most bravely come to the rescue of thy queen.” And she honored him with her white hand, for him to kneel and kiss, and when he had done that he rose and he said, “I shall go to Sir Meliagrant, and unless he is dead, I shall try to cure him, and when he is well, I shall challenge him to fair combat.”

So Kay left her in the dungeon and went to find Meliagrant, and he was a knight of greater worth for what his queen had told him.

But though morally mean, Sir Meliagrant was one of the fiercest knights on earth, and though he might with every foul device avoid a fair fight, if he took the field he was more formidable than anybody then alive but Launcelot and Tristram, and with Sir Gawaine he would have fought to a draw. (For God allows the force of Evil to be all but as powerful as that of Good, so that Heaven will be worth fighting for.) And there was little hope that Sir Kay would long survive the encounter which he now sought.

But Kay did not know that (and if he had he would have done the same), and he went to look for Meliagrant, but he could not find ought of him now but a few drops of blood on the stones of the floor. For evil made Meliagrant nearly invulnerable, and he had never been wounded at all until he endeavored to be kind to the beggar and then to Sir Kay, and he was not yet so virtuous that he could be hurt much. Thus he had got up soon after Kay had gone away, and the wound in his side quickly knitted and only itched like the bite of a bug.

Now Meliagrant was sorely tempted to make no further attempts to be decent for the purpose of winning Guinevere’s esteem, for he believed he had proved that the entire world would resist his efforts to reform himself. And whereas he had been fearsome when vile, he was but a booby when he did other than ill.

However, such was his yearning for the fair Guinevere that he decided to make the supreme effort, and therefore he went to the tower where Sir Launcelot was imprisoned and he spake to him as follows.

“Sir knight, are you a man of honor?”

“Sir,” said Launcelot, “that is not a question that a man may answer as to himself. Nor methinks would it be asked except by a mean fellow.”

“Sir,” said Meliagrant, “I find you lot from Arthur’s court to be most exasperating. You are damnable smug about your own virtue, but you rebuff the poor devil who aspires to it.”

“Surely,” said Sir Launcelot, “you are not speaking of yourself?”

“I am indeed,” said Meliagrant. “I would fight you fairly, but I fear the kind of treachery recently worked on me by Sir Kay.”

“Well, I know nothing of that,” Launcelot said. “But certes, it is the pot to the kettle, if true, for were you not as false as a knight could be when you embraced me only so that I could be put into fetters?”

“But to be wicked is my métier!” indignantly cried Sir Meliagrant. “Whereas Sir Kay did break his vow.”

And Launcelot saw that he had reason in his speech. “Very well, then,” said he. “Honor is most itself when granted to the dishonorable. I shall fight you. But I shall not seal this pact with an embrace.”

“Have no fear,” said Meliagrant. “I shall have a horse and armor and weapons brought without this tower and left here, after which my man shall withdraw. Then I shall meet you on the field, and we shall fight until one of us is overcome.”

Then he went to Guinevere and told her of what he was doing.

“Now,” said he, “when I win this fight you can no longer despise me, and therefore there remaineth no reason why we should not become lovers.”

And Guinevere wondered at this statement. “Can it be?” she asked, and then, “Was this thine intent from the outset?”

“My purpose was to humble you,” said Sir Meliagrant, “but I found I could not manage that.”

And the queen asked, “Therefore thou hast fallen in love with me?”

“I fear that I have,” said Meliagrant, “and thus far it is rather I who have been humiliated, and this love hath brought me nothing but two wounds.” And he told her of his encounters with the crippled beggar and Sir Kay.

“Of the latter I have been apprised,” said Guinevere, “and Kay would make amends and fight thee.”

“This honor,” said Meliagrant, “can be a taxing thing. Is it not remarkable enough that I fight fairly even once?”

“Then who is thine opponent?” asked Guinevere.

“A knight who is named Launcelot,” said Meliagrant.

“My poor Sir Meliagrant,” said Guinevere, “then thou shalt fight but once.”

Now Meliagrant without knowing it at this point did indeed become virtuous, for he was doomed, and that is finally the sole means by which evil knights ever became converted to the good, for otherwise there was too much precedent for them to overcome. For example, in his heart Sir Meliagrant would always despise a crippled beggar and a man he had captured by deceit, whilst at the same time being indignant if the former perversely armed himself, and if the latter himself employed trickery.

Therefore in his ignorance he did thank Queen Guinevere for granting him this boon, that is, he believed that to receive her affections he had but to fight one of Arthur’s knights, for he assumed that he had no equal on the field.

Now Sir Kay had been searching for Sir Meliagrant all this while, and by accident he came to the tower where Launcelot was kept confined, and he saw a horse there and a suit of armor, a lance, and a sword, and all of these he took. (The reason why Launcelot had not taken these things was that he was yet confined, for the malignant dwarf had delivered them but had intentionally omitted to unbolt the door of the tower, so that Launcelot could not emerge. Now if he did not come to the field to fight Sir Meliagrant he would be proclaimed a great coward, and the shame thereof would embrace the entire of the Round Table never to be expunged. And this was the treachery of the dwarf alone, which Meliagrant knew nothing of.)

Therefore when Kay, now armored and mounted, reached the field he found Sir Meliagrant waiting, and he lowered his visor and fewtering his lance he charged upon him, and Meliagrant did the same, and they met with a great shock, which came all from one lance, namely that of Meliagrant, which pierced Kay’s shield and split it into two parts and hurled him from the saddle, while Kay missed his own target altogether.

Now Kay lay upon the ground, and Sir Meliagrant dismounted and came to him, saying, “Shall you submit?” But Kay was senseless. Therefore Meliagrant opened the ventail and saw he was not Sir Launcelot.

And he called to him the dwarf and asked him about this, and the dwarf confessed what he had done and expected to be rewarded.

“Alas for thee,” said Sir Meliagrant. “Thou hast made
me
seem the coward.”

“My lord,” cried the dwarf, “Sir Launcelot is invincible.”

“Then,” said Meliagrant, “we shall both die, thou and I.” And raising his sword he cut off the dwarfs ugly little head with one stroke.

Then he went to the tower and released Sir Launcelot asking his forgiveness, which Launcelot gave willingly.

“Now I am told,” said Meliagrant, “that you can not be defeated in a passage at arms.”

“I fear that is true,” said Sir Launcelot.

And Meliagrant thought about this awhile. Then he said, “Well, it is an honorable thing to die at the hands of the greatest knight.”

“Methinks you have changed, then,” said Launcelot. “I am only sorry that you did not live according to the principles of honor hitherto.”

“I tell you I should think nothing of it now, but for the fair Guinevere,” said Sir Meliagrant. “I have come to love her with all my heart, and I would gain esteem in her eyes.”

“But she is Arthur’s queen,” said Launcelot, “and it is sinful to think of her as you do. Therefore even yet you care not for virtue.” For Launcelot did not yet know the force of love, and he believed it but fecklessness in a man to feel it, and for a woman the occupation of virgins, properly abandoned when they put on the cap of marriage and took up the distaff.

“Look you,” said Meliagrant, “I do not lust for her, else I should have taken her by force long ago, after submitting her to tortures most agonizing, for my loins are warmed only by bringing extreme pain to females. Indeed, I can not perform the virile office in the absence of a woman’s terror, horror, and pain. I have ever been of that nature, and therefore it was given me by God.”

At this blasphemy Sir Launcelot gasped and crossed himself.

“But this disdain,” Sir Meliagrant went on, “is unprecedented, and it is irresistible.” But if he looked for understanding from Launcelot, he was disappointed, for that knight said only, “Alas, you are yet in the service of the Devil.”

And then the two of them went to the field, where Sir Kay lay still unconscious and Sir Launcelot stripped him of the armor and put it on himself, and then mounted the horse. But before they fought, Meliagrant had the fair Guinevere brought out from the dungeon.

“Lady,” said he, “I am about to die for love of you. Now, that gives you no obligation but some privilege: you are hereby freed from my restraint. If I did not do this now, whilst I am alive, I shall have given you nothing but discomfort and inconvenience.”

“Well, this is nothing but what I had before thou didst remove it,” said Guinevere, “and therefore it remaineth nothing.” But then she did give him her white hand for to kiss. “But, poor Meliagrant,” said she, “from a base fellow at the outset, thou hast attained to a certain nobility, and what is a queen for, except to inspire in knights an urge to moral improvement?”

Now Sir Meliagrant did hear this with great joy, and though he knew in his heart that he would die, he was no suicide, and therefore he fought fiercely against Sir Launcelot, and with such prowess that he might even have overwhelmed Sir Gawaine and held his own with the great Tristram, yet the outcome was inevitable, and as always Sir Launcelot fought not hotly but in the cold certainty that he was best in all the world, and therefore he knew no sense of triumph when with a final great stroke of his sword he cut Sir Meliagrant from hollow of neck to fork of legs and the body fell in two parts that were equal except that the head was joined to the right half.

Now, when this was done, Launcelot went to Sir Kay, who had not yet waked up, and he removed the armor and returned it to Kay’s body, and he put the bloody sword in his hand as well. And then he had water brought and thrown into Kay’s face, the which caused the seneschal to open his eyes at last.

“Ah, Launcelot,” said Kay, “it hath been proved to me that I am no warrior.”

“My dear Kay,” said Launcelot, “look there where Meliagrant lieth in twain. Thou art a knight of the greatest prowess that I have seen.” And Kay did sit up and stare in wonder, and he believed that he had unwittingly won this victory.

But Queen Guinevere summoned Launcelot to her, and she said in a privy voice, “Surely thou dost mean well, but is there not cruelty in this? In an erroneous sense of his prowess poor Kay would one day soon be overmatched again, and perhaps thou wouldst not be there to preserve him. This kindness might therefore cause his death.”

Now Launcelot wondered that a woman had corrected him, though she was his queen, for never had he supposed that a female might speak with authority on male things, and he did bow, saying, “Lady, according to your command I shall inform Sir Kay.”

But Guinevere frowned in annoyance. “Sir Launcelot,” said she, “though thine outward behavior is beyond cavil, I find a hidden insolence in it. I would have thee apprise Sir Kay of the true state of affairs, by reason not of mindless obedience but rather because thou seest the sense in my judgment. Prithee, without fear of displeasing me by whichever opinion, give me thine honest mind on this matter.”

“Lady,” said Launcelot, “King Arthur hath named me your champion. In all things I am at your pleasure, and I have no private authority. If you tell me that ice is hot, then I shall warm myself before a fire made of it; if that dust be rather water, I shall wash in dirt. If—”

“Hold,” said Guinevere. “I like this not. Methinks the late Sir Meliagrant had far more worth than a champion without a conscience. Thou dost mock me, Launcelot.”

And Launcelot did start back in horror, for he was never an ironical man, and he was innocent of insolent intent. Of all the knights he was the most obedient and respectful. But perhaps he was the least intelligent, for in this case he failed utterly to derive any meaning from Guinevere’s anger, except that she was willful owing to vanity, which was to be expected in a woman, even a queen, and this was not the great flaw it would have been in a knight.

Therefore he apologized and when Guinevere dismissed him (without however being appeased), he went to Sir Kay and told him how Meliagrant had actually died.

“Thank you, my friend,” said Kay. “I’ll tell thee that I am greatly relieved by these news. Had I continued to believe that while out of my senses I did overwhelm the ferocious Meliagrant, I might have challenged another knight as superior to me as he, and thus gone to my death foolishly. My dear friend, thou hast saved my life by this hard truth, as thou might well have killed me by thy gentle prevarication.”

Now Launcelot was struck by the similarity of Kay’s sentiments to those voiced by Guinevere, and he was still baffled by them, for his purpose in trying to delude him had been but to help him to self-esteem, and it was difficult for Launcelot to understand the scruples of others because owing to his own invincibility he saw things otherwise than most.