The Death of King Arthur (34 page)

She called her father to her chamber. She asked him to write a letter for her, which she then dictated word for word. ‘When my body is still warm,' she told him, ‘put this letter in my right hand. It will remain there when I am cold. Let me be laid upon a bed, dressed in my richest robes. Take me in a carriage to the bank of the Thames, and there place me in a barge. One man may steer me. Be sure, father, that the barge is covered in black cloth. Let all this be done in memory of me.' And then she died.

All was done as she had wished. Her body was taken to the bank of the Thames and laid in a barge. One man sailed the vessel down the river towards Westminster, where it rocked back and forth on the tides. Arthur and Guinevere were talking by a window, overlooking the Thames, when the king suddenly caught sight of it. ‘Do you see the boat out there, covered in black cloth?' He called over Sir Kay. ‘What do you make of it?'

‘Sir,' Kay replied, ‘it is a token of some sad event. I am sure of it.'

‘Go down to the shore,' the king told him. ‘Find out more.'

Sir Kay rode down to the Thames, and there saw the Fair Maid laid out on a bed. The steersman sat at the stern of the barge, but he would say nothing. The lady seemed to be smiling. Kay came back, and told the king.

‘I will see this body,' Arthur said. ‘Is it so beautiful?'

He went down to the water with Guinevere, and the royal couple marvelled at the fairness of the corpse. The queen saw the letter in her hand. ‘This will tell us who she is, and from where she has come,' she said. So the king took the letter. They went back to their chambers where, in the presence of many knights, the missive was unsealed. A clerk then read it out to the assembled company. The words were as follows. ‘Most noble knight, my lord Lancelot, death has taken me into his dominion. But I die as your lover, the Fair Maid of Astolat. All ladies, grieve with me. Pray for my soul. Bury me decently. I die as a virgin, so help me God, and one so devoted to Sir Lancelot that I chose to leave life rather than live without him.'

When the queen heard this she wept. The king called for Sir Lancelot, and the letter was read out to him. ‘My lord king,' he said, ‘the death of this lady is a great grief to me. But God knows that I was not the willing cause of her death. Her brother, who is with me here at court, will testify to the truth of this. She was fair and good. But she loved me beyond all measure.'

‘Sir,' the queen said, ‘you might have shown her some clemency. Some generosity of spirit.'

‘My lady, she wanted to be my wife or my lover. How could I allow her to be either? Love must spring from a loving heart. It cannot come from compulsion.'

‘That is true,' Arthur said. ‘No one is bound to love another. But you, sir, must arrange her burial.'

‘It will be done as best I can, sire.'

On the following morning a high mass was said for the Fair Maid of Astolat and, after the service was over, she was buried in the abbey with great circumstance.

The queen then called for Lancelot, and asked him for his forgiveness. ‘I have been angry with you without cause,' she told him. ‘I called you false. I misjudged you.'

‘Madam,' he replied, ‘it is not the first time that you have slandered me. I endure all for your sake, although you have little regard for my suffering.' And so the winter passed.

The Knight of the Cart

Winter gave way to spring. It was already the month of May, when every loving heart begins to blossom. Just as the trees and flowers bud and burst forth, so do lovers now bloom. They recall moments of passion and tenderness from the past, and they prepare themselves for a renewal of gentleness and affection. So does the green spring erase the white blasts of winter. We walk in the garden of May.

The wise man reserves his true love for God, but then, after that, for the worship of good women. There is no earthly honour higher than that of service to a maiden. I call such love virtuous. There is no spot of vice in courtliness and chivalry.

Yet in these sad days no man can love for seven nights without wanting his way with the woman. All is brittle and untrue, worthless and unstable. Love is soon hot, and sooner cold. Summer gives way unseasonably to winter. In the old days a man and a woman could keep one another company for seven years without any hint of licentiousness. In the days of Camelot lovers could be true and faithful. I take as my example Guinevere, the flower of that court, who proved herself to be a loyal lover and therefore had a good end.

So it befell that in the month of May she called together ten knights of the Round Table, and told them that early the next morning she would ride out. ‘I warn you now,' she said, ‘that you must be well horsed and that you must wear green silk or green cloth. We will go a-Maying together. I will bring with me ten ladies, so that each knight will have a companion. Every knight must also bring a squire and two yeomen.'

The ten knights prepared themselves for this joyful expedition. On the following morning they set forth, and took great pleasure in the fields and meadows filled with flowers. It was usual for the queen to be accompanied by a force of knights, known as the queen's knights, who were armed and always carried plain white shields. But on this May morning she had dispensed with them. Sir Lancelot was also away from court on this day, and so he did not ride with her.

One knight, Sir Meliagaunt, had a castle a few miles from Westminster. The old books tell us that he had loved the queen for a long time, but that he would not come near her while Lancelot was by her side. He feared him too much. Now he saw that Guinevere was without her bodyguard, and of course without Lancelot. This was his opportunity. He summoned twenty armed men, and one hundred archers, and laid his plan to surround the queen.

The royal party had just ridden into a glade, when Meliagaunt and his men came out from their cover. He confronted the queen, and told her to stop where she was.

‘Traitor knight!' she cried. ‘What do you think you are doing? Do you want to bring shame upon yourself? You are a knight of the Round Table. Are you about to dishonour the king who made you? You shame the whole Order of Knighthood by your conduct. And, as for me, I would rather cut my own throat than let you touch me.'

‘Your insults are wasted on me, madam,' he replied. ‘I have loved you for many years, but I could never get close to you. Now I will take you as I find you.'

The ten knights in the queen's retinue spoke out. ‘Sir Meliagaunt,' they said, ‘you are about to bring dishonour on yourself and your men. You are also risking your life. We may be armed only with swords, but we will fight to the death to defend the queen.'

‘So be it,' he told them. ‘Prepare for battle.'

The ten knights drew their swords, and at first proved themselves to be more than a match for the spears and swords raised against them. But the numbers were too great for them. Seven of them were eventually struck to the ground, sorely wounded, while the three others fought on and cut down forty of their enemies. But they were now becoming desperate. Guinevere, seeing the carnage among her knights, called out to Sir Meliagaunt. ‘Do not kill my noble knights, I beg you. Let them live. I will come to an agreement with you. I will go wherever you ask me, as long as I can take them with me. I will not be parted from them.'

‘Madam,' he replied, ‘I will agree to your terms for your sake. They shall all be taken with you to my castle.'

The queen asked the three remaining knights to lay down their swords. ‘We will do whatever you require of us,' one of them, Sir Pelleas, said. ‘We will suffer life or death as you command.'

They put down their weapons, and helped the wounded knights on to their horses; some sat in their saddles, while some were too weak to hold themselves up. Sir Meliagaunt told them that they must all remain together, since he feared that a report of his deed might reach Sir Lancelot. The queen knew this, and secretly drew aside a page of the court. ‘Take this ring,' she told the boy, ‘and carry it to Sir Lancelot. Tell him to ride to my rescue as soon as he can. Go now. Ride quickly.'

The young boy took horse and fled from the scene like the wind. Some of Sir Meliagaunt's men saw him, and attempted to pursue him; they shot arrows at him, but he escaped unharmed into the woods. ‘Madam,' Meliagaunt said to the queen, ‘I see that you wish to betray me. But I shall make sure that Lancelot does not reach you.' He laid a plot, whereby thirty of his men would wait in ambush for Lancelot. ‘He will come on a white horse,' he told them. ‘Kill the horse, by all means. But be careful before you come to close quarters with him. He will be difficult to defeat.' Having left his men there, concealed, he went on with the queen and her company to his castle. He did not dare to violate her, despite his intentions, for fear of Lancelot.

The page came back safely to Westminster where, before long, he found the knight. He delivered Guinevere's ring, and told him what had happened. ‘I will be shamed for ever,' Lancelot said, ‘unless I can save the queen from dishonour. Nor can I allow her to be killed. I would give all of France to have been there.' He called for his arms, and quickly prepared himself for battle. Then he ordered the page to inform his squire, Sir Lavane, of his sudden departure. ‘Tell him that, if he loves me, he will follow me and ride on until he reaches the castle of Meliagaunt. There, if I am still alive, he will hear news of me.' He rode out of Westminster, and then he made his way with his horse across the river to the bank known as Lamb-eth, or the House of the Lamb. Within a short time he came to the spot where the queen had been surrounded and taken. He followed the track made by the numerous horses, until he came to that part of the path where the ambush had been laid for him.

The thirty men, the force of Meliagaunt, now came out of hiding and barred his way. ‘What authority do you have,' Lancelot asked them, ‘to stop a knight of the Round Table?'

‘We have orders to shoot your horse. Either turn back, or make your way on foot.'

‘Little courage in that, my friend! Even if my horse is killed, I have no fear of any of you.'

They fired their arrows, and badly wounded the horse. Lancelot leaped off and would have chased the men, but they made off. There were so many ditches and hedges in his path that he could not have caught them. ‘Shame on you,' he called out, ‘to betray another knight! There is an old saying. “A good man is in danger only when he meddles with a coward!”'

So he began to walk, weighed down as he was by spear, shield and armour. He was not in the best of tempers, but he did not want to abandon any of his weapons in case he might soon meet Sir Meliagaunt. Then by chance a carter came by him. ‘Good carter,' he said, ‘how much money will you need to take me to a castle a mile or two away?'

‘You cannot use my cart, sir,' he replied. ‘I have been sent to fetch wood.'

‘Sent by whom?'

‘By my lord. Sir Meliagaunt.'

‘That is the man I wish to see.'

‘You shall not go with me.'

Lancelot leaped on to the cart, and gave the man such a blow with his gauntlet that he fell dead to the ground.

The carter had a churl with him, who kneeled down before Lancelot. ‘Save my life, sir, and I will take you wherever you wish to go.'

‘I charge you, then, to drive me to the gate of the castle where Meliagaunt is to be found.' The churl took up his whip, and with the sound of ‘Hi!' rode on to the castle. Lancelot's horse, wounded with arrows, still managed to follow.

One of Guinevere's ladies was standing by a window of the castle, an hour or so later, when she saw an armed knight standing in a cart. ‘This is the strangest sight I have ever seen,' she said.

‘What?' the queen asked her. ‘Where?'

‘Down there. I presume that the knight is about to hang.'

Guinevere looked out, and saw at once by the knight's shield that he was Lancelot. ‘He is not riding to his death. Shame on you for suggesting it. You behold Lancelot himself. I see what has happened. His faithful horse has been wounded in some fight with Meliagaunt's men. He has been obliged to ride here in a cart. Jesus defend him!'

By this time Lancelot had come up to the gate of the castle. He jumped down from his horse and, in a voice that made the stones and rafters ring, he called out, ‘Where are you, false traitor Meliagaunt? Where are you, polluter of the Round Table? Come out with all your men. I, Lancelot, am here to fight you!' He burst open the gate and, with one blow, broke the porter's neck.

When Sir Meliagaunt heard that Lancelot had delivered his challenge, he ran at once in fear to the queen, and kneeled down before her. ‘Ah, madam,' he said, ‘have mercy on me. I put myself under your protection.'

‘What is the matter with you, man? Did you not realize that some good knight would come here to avenge me?'

‘I will do whatever you wish.'

‘What would you have me do in return?'

‘I wish that you would go to Lancelot, and tell him to desist. Tell him that I give up my lands and castle. I will escort you to Westminster tomorrow, and there I will surrender.'

‘Is it so?' She paused for a moment. ‘Well, peace is always preferable to war.' She went down to the gate with her ladies, where Lancelot was waiting impatiently.

‘Where is that traitor?' he asked her.

‘Why all this passion and anger, sir?'

‘Why do you pose such a question? You are the one who has suffered shame and dishonour. I have come here to rescue you.'