but others would not, and said the king should make no treaty with a
traitor, but that Mordred should come and throw himself upon the mercy
of his king and uncle.
At the last, after much counsel had been taken, King Arthur agreed to
meet Mordred, with fourteen of his chief men, in the space betwixt
their hosts, and the king should also take fourteen knights with him.
So the bishops went back with this message, and King Arthur called the
chieftains of his host about him.
'I go to see this traitor, my nephew,' he said to them, 'whether he
means falsely or truly with this talk of a treaty. But look ye, I in no
wise trust him. Hold ye your men warily, and if ye see any sword drawn
among us where we stand, do thou sound the horns of attack and come on
fiercely, and slay that rebel and all that hold with him.'
In like wise did Mordred warn his men, 'for,' said he, knowing how
greatly he had sinned against his generous and noble uncle, 'I know
well that King Arthur and his knights would be avenged on me if they
could.'
The party from each army went forward over the stony hillside, until
they met midway between the armies, and men watched them keenly. King
Arthur spoke chidingly to his nephew Mordred, who, sour and dark of
face, looked craftily at the faces of his uncle and his knights. And
the chiefs with Mordred, men for the most part of violent and ambitious
natures, looked haughtily at King Arthur's party. Nevertheless, there
was no bad blood shown, and the talk was continued, and Mordred
repeated the demands which the bishops had made.
'But I care not to give to thee Kent and London,' said the king. 'I
tell thee frankly, Mordred, I would not trust thee there. I fear me
thou wouldst try some crafty plot with the Saxon pagans if I gave them
thee, as that rebel Caros did, who for a time made himself emperor of
the Romans here in this land.'
'Ha' done, then, my father,' said Gorfalk, the son of Mordred, an
insolent young man. 'Let us cease this. I doubt not we be big enough to
get all the kingdom if we fight.'
The king looked sternly at the young man, and there was silence among
them all as men waited for Arthur's reply.
Then it happened that a young chieftain, standing near the king, felt
something bite his foot where the low leathern shoe left it naked. He
looked down and saw that he was treading on a viper, which had struck
him and was about to strike again. With a cry the knight stepped aside,
drew his sword, and cut the reptile in two.
As the blade flashed, silvery bright in the sunlight, a great hoarse
cry rose like thunder from the two masses of men watching them on
either side; trumpets blared and horns squealed, and shouts of command
rose sharp and keen.
Instantly the men standing with Arthur and Mordred looked about them,
saw where the young chieftain stood with drawn sword, and knew that now
nothing could avert the battle.
'The gods will have it so!' sneered Mordred.
Already the earth trembled and shook with the beat of ten thousand feet
of the armies rushing together. A knight of Mordred's, drawing his
sword, thrust it into the breast of one of Arthur's chieftains, with
the cry:
'This for thy land, Sir Digon, that marches with mine!'
Instantly others fell to fighting hand-to-hand, striking on targe and
helm; but Sir Owen, Sir Kay and Sir Bedevere surrounded the king, and
all hurried back to the army approaching them. So likewise did Sir
Mordred.
Then came the crash of battle, as line on line, with flashing swords
held high, the ranks of war closed. Blades rose again, stained red,
fierce strangled cries came from men in the death-grips, helms were
cracked, shields riven, dirks sank home, and men who once had drunk and
jested with laughing looks over the same mead-board, now met fierce eye
to eye, and never parted until one or both fell in the swaths of the
death-harvest.
All day the stubborn battle raged, and ever the king sought out the
rebel Mordred, but never reached him. Many valiant deeds he did,
wielding his sword Excalibur; and by his side were Owen and Kay, Lucan
and Bedevere. So spent were they at the last that hardly could they
lift their swords, and so sick of the slaying were they that gladly
would they have ceased. But ever some vicious band of Mordred's knights
would come upon them, and then they quitted them like men, and ceased
not till their enemies had fled or were slain.
Suddenly the king came to himself, and, standing still, looked upon the
field. In the morning it had been but a bare hillside of hungry,
stunted grass, through which the stones showed grey and sallow, like
ancient bones. Now, in the low light of the sinking orb, it was
red--red, with the pallid faces of the dead stained a lighter red in
the rays of the sun. Here and there bands still fought together, cries
of fury rose, and the groans of the dying mingled with them.
'Alas!' cried the king, and looked behind him, 'where are all my noble
knights?'
There were but two with him now, Lucan and his brother Bedevere.
'Where is Owen, and Kay?' he asked.
'Alas, lord,' said Bedevere, 'Sir Owen got his death-wound by the thorn
where we fought those five knights but now, and Sir Kay suddenly fell
as he walked. And when I knelt to speak to him, I found him dead.'
'Alas,' said the king, 'that ever I should see this doleful day, for
now is my end come. But would to Heaven that I wist where is that
traitor Mordred, that hath caused all this sorrow and ruin.'
Then, as he spoke, he looked towards the east, and saw where, by a tall
standing-stone, a man leaned as if spent with a wound. And he was aware
that this was Mordred.
'Now give me my spear,' said the king to Sir Lucan, 'for yonder is the
traitor, and he shall not escape me.'
'Lord,' said Sir Lucan in a weak voice, 'let him bide, for he hath none
with him, while we three are still alive.'
'Now, betide me death, betide me life,' said the king, 'now that I see
him yonder I will slay the serpent, lest he live to work more havoc on
this my poor kingdom.'
'God speed you well,' said Sir Bedevere, and gave the king his spear.
Then the king ran towards Sir Mordred, crying:
'Traitor, prepare, now is thy death-day come!'
When Sir Mordred heard King Arthur he raised his head, then came
towards the king with his sword in his hand.
And there, in the shadow of the great stone, King Arthur smote Sir
Mordred under the shield, with so keen a stroke of his spear that it
went through the body and out beyond. Sir Mordred, feeling that death
was upon him, thrust himself along the spear almost to the butt
thereof, nigh where King Arthur held it, and grasping his sword in both
his hands, he struck his uncle on the side of the head, with so keen
and fierce a blow that the sword pierced the helm and the skull.
With that stroke Sir Mordred fell stark dead to the earth, and the king
sank in a swoon upon his body.
Then Sir Bedevere and Sir Lucan, who were both sore wounded and weakly,
came up, and between them, with many rests upon the way, took the king
to a little combe beside the waters, and there they took off his helm
and bathed his wound and bound it. After which the king felt easier.
'We may do naught else with thee here, lord,' said Sir Lucan, 'and it
were best that we got thee to some town.'
'It would be better so,' said the king, 'but I fear me I have my
death-wound.'
When they had rested Sir Lucan tried to rise, so as to take up the
king.
'I may not rise,' he cried, his hands upon his head, 'my brain works
so.'
Nevertheless, the knight staggered to his feet and lifted up the feet
of the king. But the effort was too much for him, and with a deathly
groan he fell to the ground, and when he had twitched and struggled a
little he lay dead.
'Alas,' said the king, 'this is to me a full heavy sight, to see this
noble knight so die for my sake. He would not complain, so set was he
to help me, and now his heart has broken.'
Then Sir Bedevere went to his brother and kissed him, and closed his
eyes.
'Now,' said the king, 'come hither to me, Bedevere, for my time goeth
fast and I remember me of a promise. Therefore,' he bade Sir Bedevere,
'do thou take Excalibur, my good sword, and go with it beyond the combe
side there where a low thorn grows, and when thou comest there, I
charge thee, throw my sword in that water, and come again and tell me
what thou seest.'
So Sir Bedevere departed with the sword, and on the way he looked at
the sword, and saw how noble was the blade and how shining, and how the
pommel and haft were full of precious stones.
'If I throw this sword into the water,' said Sir Bedevere to himself,
'how great a sin 'twould be to waste so noble a weapon.'
Therefore he hid it in the branches of the thorn and returned to the
king.
'What sawest thou?' asked the king when Bedevere returned.
'Sir,' he said, 'I saw the wind beat on the waves.'
'Ye have not done as I bid thee,' said the king. 'Now, therefore, do
thou go again and do as I bid thee; and as thou art dear to me, spare
it not, but throw it in.'
Then Sir Bedevere went back and took the sword in his hand; but again
he could not bring himself to throw away that noble sword, so again he
hid the sword and went back to the king.
'What sawest thou this time?' said the king.
'Lord,' said Bedevere, 'I saw the waters ebb and flow and the sedges
trembling.'
'Ah, traitor untrue!' said the king, deep sorrow in his voice, 'who
would have weened that thou who hast been so true and dear to me, and
who hast been named a noble knight, would betray me for the jewels on a
sword? Now go ye again, I charge thee, and as thou shalt answer for thy
sins at the last day, throw ye the sword far into the waters.'
Then in heavy mood Sir Bedevere went the third time, and took the sword
from its hiding-place, and looking away from the weapon lest its beauty
should soften him, he bound the girdle about the hilt, and then he
threw the sword with all his might far out over the water.
As he looked, inwardly lamenting, he saw the jewels flash in the low
light as the sword passed through the air. Then suddenly, when it
neared the water, he marvelled to see a great arm and hand come up
through the waves. The hand caught the weapon by the haft, shook it and
brandished it thrice, and then vanished with the sword under the waves.
With some fear in his heart Sir Bedevere went back to the king and told
him all that he had seen.
'It is well,' said the king. 'Now have I performed my promise. Help me
hence to some village, for I am cold and would die beneath a roof, if I
may.'
Then Sir Bedevere took the king upon his back, thinking that he would
find some road in a little while which should lead them to a hamlet.
And as he went along, he passed by the waterside, near the low thorn
whence he had thrown the sword into the water.
There, in the sedges, he marvelled to see a barge draped all in black
cloth, and in it sat many fair ladies, all with black hoods on. When
they saw Sir Bedevere with the king upon his back, they shrieked and
wept.
And one that looked a queen, so fair and stately, yet so sad was she,
held out her arms towards the king, and cried unto him in a voice
wondrous sweet, 'Come to me, brother!'
'Put me into the barge,' said the king to Bedevere, 'for there I shall
have rest.'
Softly did Sir Bedevere lay him in the barge, and the fair ladies wept
over the king with much mourning, and one laid his head in her lap and
caressed it with soft hands.
Then, without sails or oars, the barge went from the shore, and fear
and sorrow shook the soul of Sir Bedevere to see them go from him.
'Alas, my lord Arthur,' he cried, 'what shall become of me if ye are
leaving me lonely?'
'Comfort thyself,' said the king in a faint voice, 'and do as well as
thou mayest, for in me ye may no longer trust. For I will go into the
vale of Avalon to heal me of my grievous wound, and if thou hear never
more of me, pray for my soul.'
Sir Bedevere stood watching till the barge went from his sight in the
mists of evening, and then he wept a little, and so fared forward
through the night, weeping as he thought how all the glory that was
Arthur's was now past, and how he himself was very old and very lonely.
When morning broke he was aware of a little chapel and a hermitage
between two hoar woods upon a knoll beside the marshes, and entering
therein he got cheer of the holy hermit and rested.
* * * * *
Now, when King Arthur had gone westwards to collect his host, Sir Owen,
marvelling that Sir Lancelot had sent no word in reply to the letter of
Sir Gawaine, had charged a trusty squire of his to go across to
Brittany, to tell Sir Lancelot of all that had passed and how King
Arthur longed for his aid and his love. Nigh mad with grief was Sir
Lancelot when he had learned all, and so deep was his sorrow and so
wild was his regret, that hardly could he wait till the ships were
ready to take him and his knights and army across to Britain.
When they arrived at Dover, Sir Lancelot sought out the tomb of Sir
Gawaine, and there with much weeping he prayed long and earnestly for
the repose of the soul of that dead warrior, his once dear friend. All
the other knights prayed likewise for the soul of Gawaine, and Sir
Lancelot gave one hundred pounds for masses to be said, and the others
gave according to their means.
Then word was brought him of the daylong dreadful battle in the west,
and how King Arthur was gone, mortally wounded, none knew whither, and
how all the knights of the Round Table were dead.
Silent was Sir Lancelot at this news, but men saw how his stern face
paled; and for a time he walked apart and would suffer none to speak to
him. Then he came to his knights, and all could see how his looks had
changed. Grief was deeply lined upon his face, and he had the air of an
aged and weary man.
'My fair lords,' he said, 'I thank you all for your coming with me, but
we came too late. But now I go alone to find the body of my dear lord,
and if I may, I will see my lady, Queen Gwenevere. And do ye all go
back into your country, for now we have no place in this.'
Thus Sir Lancelot fared forth, and would suffer none to go with him.
First he went to Amesbury, and in the convent there he saw Queen
Gwenevere. Few but very sad were the words they spake. Sir Lancelot
offered to give her a home in Brittany, away from the trouble and the
ruin of the land, but she would not.
'My lord is dead,' she said, weeping, 'and this dear kingdom may not
long stand, but while I live I will stay on its dear soil.'
Then Sir Lancelot fared far west through the wastelands, and came to
the battlefield; and there he wept sorely to see the long lines of
dead. Many were the dead knights of the Round Table whom he found
unburied, and these with his own hands he laid in the grave, and he
procured a priest to say prayers over them.
Further he went beside the shores of the Endless Waters, until one day
he found a black barge, and stepping therein he was taken without sail
or oars far over the wide sea, until the twilight. Then, raising his
sorrowing eyes, he was aware of a fair green island with a valley
between two sweet hills, and there was a chapel, and all about it were
trees all laden with blossoms.
A little bell began to ring just as the barge lightly touched the
shore, and stepping therefrom, Sir Lancelot went into the chapel, and
heard mass. Afterwards a bishop came unto him where he kneeled, and a
hermit, and the latter seized his hand; and when he looked up Sir
Lancelot knew it for Sir Bedevere. Neither could speak for the great
tears that rolled down their grim faces, but Sir Bedevere drew him
forth and led him to where a great white marble slab was lying, freshly
cut, in the midmost part of the chapel.
Thereon Sir Lancelot saw the words, cut deep and wide, in black
letters:
HIC JACET
ARTHURUS REX
QUONDAM REX QUE FUTURUS
Then did Sir Lancelot's heart almost burst with sorrow; and when he had
finished praying and weeping, he kneeled unto the bishop and prayed him
to shrive him and assoil him. Afterwards he besought him that he might
live with him, and the holy man granted his request, and there ever
after did Sir Lancelot, putting off all the fame and glory which he had
gotten in the world, pass all his days and nights, serving God with
prayers and fastings and much abstinence.
When, within a year, Queen Gwenevere died in her cell at Amesbury, Sir
Lancelot, having been advised in a dream of her death, braved the bands
of lawless men that now ravaged the fair land of Britain, and brought
her body to the isle of Glastonbury. He laid it solemnly beside the
body of her dear lord Arthur, and thereafter he endured greater
penance.
'For,' said he, 'by my stiffnecked pride did all this evil come. If I
had gone straightway to my dear lord, and cast myself upon his love and
justice, my lady the queen would not have been led to the stake, and I
should not unwittingly have slain young Gareth. I am the causer of all
the ruin and the sorrow that hath come upon this land, and never while
I live may I forgive me.'
Thus evermore he prayed and mourned, day and night, but sometimes he
slumbered a broken sleep. He ate but little, and neither the bishop nor
Sir Bedevere could make him take comfort. And if you would know the
time and place where Lancelot was happiest, it was when he was lying on
the tomb of King Arthur and Queen Gwenevere.
At last, on a sweet morn in June, they found him lying there, stark
dead, but with a gentle smile upon his wasted face. And when they had
made the mass of requiem, they laid him in the tomb at the feet of the
king and the queen, and on the slab that covered him they caused these
words to be graven:
HERE LIETH
SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE
WHO WAS CHIEF OF ALL CHRISTIAN KNIGHTS;
THE MOST COURTEOUS MAN AND THE TRUEST
FRIEND, THE MEEKEST DOER OF GREAT DEEDS,
AND THE GENTLEST TO ALL LADIES AND
WEAK CREATURES.
R. I. P.