Arthur Rex (58 page)

And for all too short a time they were together in happiness, and what had begun as revenge had led to true love, but then her son Gaheris, come to the Orkneys to visit his mother, did arrive at her chambers unannounced. And seeing his mother in bed with her lover Sir Lamorak, the enemy of his family, and forgetting King Arthur’s command in his fury and disgust, Sir Gaheris drew his sword straightway and he went to slay Sir Lamorak.

But Margawse hurled herself onto her lover’s body for to protect him, and therefore Gaheris’s keen sword killed his mother instead.

Now weeping in grief Sir Lamorak said, “O unnatural monster, what hast thou done?”

And Sir Gaheris, who was a good man whose decency had been overwhelmed by events which he in his human frailty could not control, cried, “Well, I meant to kill thee, and not her! But now that it is done, so be it, and the adulteress is punished. To go to bed with our worst enemy is the most foulest thing in the world!”

But then he fell to weeping uncontrollably, and he dropped his sword, and Sir Lamorak could have picked it up and slain him, but too much bloodshed had occurred, and none of it for a good reason.

Now Lamorak said to Gaheris, “For God’s sake, is it not time we halt in our strife?”

And so they made a truce and they went to Camelot together. Now when they came before King Arthur and told him what had happened, the king was more enraged than anyone had ever seen him.

And he said, “It is all I can do not to wish a pox on both your houses! Now in what way is the community of the Round Table any better than the rest of the vile and vicious world? Do we not
envy
one another? Do we not know
pride
and
lust?
Is there any mortal sin that we have failed to commit?”

And Sir Agravaine, who was there, being in the grip of his obsession forgot himself now in great bitterness (and the death of his mother was as nought to him), and he said aloud that which he thought, “And is Launcelot not at least guilty of
sloth?”

And King Arthur turned to him in a fury, saying, “And what of thee?”

Now Agravaine was ashamed, but rather of voicing his thoughts than of his feeling.

Then King Arthur said deliberately, “And one sin necessarily leads to the next, and so on, until we have the lot, for am I not myself guilty of
wrath?”
And he put his head into his hands awhile.

And moved by this sight Sir Gaheris took Sir Lamorak by the arms, and he said, “My dear friend, I ask thee to forgive me for my trespasses against thee and thy family.”

And Lamorak clasped Gaheris by the shoulders. “My good friend,” said he, “I beg thy forgiveness while accepting thy plea, and henceforward I shall never know ought but love for my brother knights.”

And they did embrace each the other. And then Gaheris turned to his brother Sir Agravaine, for to ask him to swear eternal friendship to Sir Lamorak, but Agravaine had left that place silently after his rebuke by King Arthur.

And he went to spy again upon Guinevere and Sir Launcelot, but as usual he failed to find them in a compromising situation.

And indeed Sir Launcelot, who was only just leaving the queen’s company, encountered Agravaine in a hallway. And he greeted him with much cheer, for Launcelot had no dislike for any other knight, unless some evil deed of theirs provoked it from him.

“My dear Agravaine,” said Sir Launcelot now, “I wish thee a good day! I never knew thou hadst lingered at Camelot. We must, thou and I, go hunting together one of these afternoons, when the weather stays clement.” And he shook his hand, and he said, “Now tell me of my noble friend Gawaine, who hath neglected his comrades since his happy marriage.”

“He liveth,” said Agravaine sullenly.

“Well,” said Launcelot, and he clapped Agravaine upon the shoulder, “give him my love and chide him for an unfriendly rogue!” And he strode away in his velvet house-coat and slippers, for his armor had long hung in his chamber, rusting in disuse.

Meanwhile King Arthur sat as he was when the knights had left him. And now his half-sister Margawse, the mother of his son, was no longer amongst the quick. And he thought again, as he had thought so many times before, that a king should properly have no personal concerns whatever, for they inevitably introduce a corruption into his principles. And he hated Mordred, the son he had only lately seen for the first time, for being the issue of his lust. And he despised himself for having that feeling, and also for knowing only relief on hearing of the death of Margawse his lifelong sister and his brief paramour.

And even when most of his knights had been in residence at Camelot, King Arthur was ever peculiarly alone, for there is little that a king can share.

A
ND NOW WE GO WITH
Sir Percival, the most diligent of the knights in searching for the Holy Grail. But we will not travel with him everywhere, for he went across the entire world to its edge, beyond which is the eternal darkness, and he had many adventures amongst men of all stations and every color of skin and manner of speech. And some of the men he met were fairly good, and some were very evil, but most were a mixture of virtues and vices whether they wore silk or rags, or lived in a palace or an hut or a cave, and taking them all in all, all were corrupt to a great degree, but none was without some small virtue, and all were equal in that they lived in Time.

And Percival did not dislike any man, even though he might have to fight him (and unless he yielded, to kill him), and therefore he was thought everywhere to be a great fool, and thus he was oft attacked without other cause, for men did not understand that what they believed folly could be a concomitant of great puissance.

And Percival learned nothing from each experience that he did not already know, and therefore in his sense of himself he was just as he had been when he had killed the evil knight who had sought to capture and misuse his mother and his sister when he was a boy. And he believed himself to be greatly ignorant of all important matters, and therefore he was anything but a fool, for the only truth is that of God.

Now after many years he returned to Britain, not having found a trace of the Sangreal anywhere in the world, nor did he receive encouragement whatever in his quest, but never was he disheartened in the least, for every day dawned anew and each morning he had a great purpose to awaken to! Whereas most men everywhere sought only proximate things, and having got them were dissatisfied, and this was true of the drunkard with his cup, the lecher with his drab, and even the kings with their kingdoms.

Now having come back to Britain, Percival in his wanderings eventually came to a great castle, and he asked there for the farrier, for his horse was lame in one leg, and he was taken to the stables, where the farrier inspecting the hoof said it was sound enough but required a new shoe.

And Sir Percival said, “Well, I am relieved to hear that. For once in Saxony, amongst the pagan Germans, I was attacked by those savages with poisoned arrows, and I feared that my good beast had caught one of them.”

“Nay, my lord, he’s fit enough,” said the farrier. “For your maiming, now, we know something about here. Oh, we’re specialists in maiming, we are.”

And Sir Percival said, “I trust thou dost not mean that ye maim people, for in that case I should have to consider ye mine enemies. For I am a knight of King Arthur’s Round Table.”

And at this the farrier did smile (and from the style of Sir Percival’s speech he believed him simple-minded). “Nay, my lord,” said he. “What I meant was that you are at the castle of the maimed king Pelles, and no more than that.”

And believing it impolite of him, as a guest in this place, to inquire further, Sir Percival did not pursue this matter.

Now when the farrier had completed his work, Sir Percival would have left that castle and gone again upon his travels, but going back towards the main gate he passed a garden, and there was a youth there dressed in white velvet and with ribbons and bows, and for a moment Sir Percival did not know whether he was a boy or a maiden, for his skin was exceeding pale and his hair was long and golden.

Then this varlet called to him, and Percival going to him saw he was indeed a lad of perhaps sixteen years of age.

And the varlet addressed him, saying, “My lord, are you a knight?”

“Yea,” said Percival, “indeed I am.”

“Well,” said the youth, “you are quite the finest man I have ever seen.”

And remembering his own protected childhood, Sir Percival smiled and he said, “But canst thou have seen many?”

“Sir, I have not seen much,” said the youth, “for my mother will not permit me to leave this garden.”

“Well,” said Sir Percival, “I was the very least of the knights of the Table when I was last at Camelot. They are the best men in the world, and I was remarkably fortunate to be allowed to join them, with my small endowments.”

And this youth said with glee, “Then I know from your speech that you must be one of the greatest of all knights, for my mother hath told me that the more a knight’s prowess, the greater be his modesty.”

Now Sir Percival was embarrassed, and he said, “I expect, if thou art as I was at thine age, that thou wouldst be a knight, but that thy mother would keep thee in this garden for as long as she could?”

“Sir, that is quite true. My father, who was a knight of the Round Table, is dead. And my grandfather King Pelles hath lain maimed these many years. Therefore my mother the princess Elaine would keep me by her unharmed. But I think it is not so virile for me to stay in this garden forever, and I believe that it is I who should protect women, and not vice versa.” And so said this pale young man, who did look quite sickly to the robust Sir Percival.

But Percival asked which knight had been his father, and when the youth said, “Sir Launcelot,” Sir Percival made the greatest grief.

“O most noble of men Launcelot!” said he in his moan. “Can it be that you are dead, the greatest of all? And what wicked knight hath had the power to overwhelm you? And if you are gone, then doth the Table yet stand, and what of King Arthur?”

But the young man said, “No human adversary killed my father, for he was invincible. ’Twas God Himself who took him away, for to defend the fields of Heaven. He died in his sleep, many years ago, even before I was born.”

And now Sir Percival (who was not a fool) did understand that this boy had surely been given this story by his mother, to explain Sir Launcelot’s absence, for Percival had seen Launcelot since that time, when he knighted him at Camelot. And therefore he grieved no more. And he deliberated on whether or not to tell the youth that his father was surely yet alive.

And he asked him his name, and the young man said, “Galahad, sir. And, sir, did you know my father?”

“Thy father,” said Sir Percival, “was the very man by reason of whom I was knighted! And methinks that having had such a father thou shalt be a very great knight thyself.”

“Then shall you teach me the use of lance and sword?” asked Galahad.

But Percival said that he did not wish to defy the desires of Galahad’s mother.

But Galahad said, “Sir, then in the name of my father?” And Sir Percival did not see that he could refuse him.

Therefore they went to the armory and they got weapons and armor for Galahad, and from the stable they got a fine charger, and then they went to a field, where Sir Percival showed Galahad how the weapons were carried and how they were brought into play in a fight.

Now Galahad was a slight youth and pale to the point of looking quite ill, and Percival feared that his slender arms were not strong enough to hold the long lance in the rest, nor to swing the heavy sword, nor to hold the large shield. Yet Galahad seemed to have no trouble with these when he tried them. And he had had but little instruction when he wished to joust with Sir Percival, and he begged so earnestly to do this that Percival finally agreed.

Therefore they both mounted and going each to opposite ends of the field, they charged at one another with padded lances. And surely Sir Percival did not use his full force, but hardly any of it, for he did not wish to hurt this frail youth his new friend.

But when they met ’twas Sir Percival who was lifted from his horse and thrown over its tail.

Then Galahad quickly dismounted and he came to help Percival rise from the ground. “My lord,” said he, “forgive me for this, if you will! But methinks you did not charge me in earnest.”

And laughing, Percival said, “Methinks thou hast much of Launcelot in thy blood!”

Then they mounted again and charged once more, and now Sir Percival used a quarter of his strength, and again he was thrown as easily as the first time. And again Galahad chided him politely for not jousting more earnestly.

So in successive trials Percival used more of his strength each time, and each time he was thrown. And each time he laughed more happily than the time before, for the greatest knights delighted when they found another who was superlative.

And finally Sir Percival charged Galahad as fiercely as he had ever ridden at any knight his life long, and he used all of his own great ability, which it will be remembered was sufficient to fight the mighty Launcelot to a draw, and once again he was easily unseated by this pale young man.

Now sitting on the ground in his armor, and he was sore and tired, he said to Galahad, who had come to him again in concern, “Galahad, I jousted with thy great father once, than whom there was no greater knight under the sun. But thou art his superior!”

“Well, sir, I still suspect that you have not yet used much of your available strength,” said Galahad, “and that, in kindness, you have favored me.”

“I assure thee,” said Sir Percival, “that I am much too tired to lift my sword. Nor, I suspect, dost thou need my instruction in that weapon, any more than thou hast required it in the lance.” And Sir Percival was amazed at the strength of this slender youth. “When I have recovered my breath and soaked my bruises in a warm tub,” said he, who had never since becoming a knight had ought but a cold bathe and usually in a mountain stream from which he had first to cut a hole in the ice, “I shall go to thy mother and urge her to permit thee come to Camelot with me, there to be knighted by King Arthur. For virtue, methinks, could have no greater champion than thee.”