And Guinevere first heard with pleasure of King Arthur’s intent to go to Gore, but next she felt guilt for having such a feeling, and somehow it seemed less indecent for her to make love with Launcelot when the king was there to catch them than when he would be far away, for never at any time did the queen forget that what she did was a great sin and a crime against the state as well, and there was in her heart a certain desire to be apprehended and punished, and in this she was utterly different from Queen Isold. (And unlike Sir Tristram, Launcelot was not a passionate man.)
Therefore Guinevere did urge King Arthur to remain at Camelot.
“Well,” said he, “having accepted the invitation, I can not now decline it except for a very grave reason, and do you have such?”
Now Guinevere’s protest had been the impulse of the moment, and she had no argument to support it. Therefore she said quickly, “I have a premonition that harm may come to you.” Then she turned her face away and she said, “Arthur, ’tis a delicate matter, and forgive me please for treating of it, but your sister Morgan la Fey is spoken of with small honor.”
Now King Arthur was greatly vexed. “By whom?” he asked angrily. “By the wretched mongers of court gossip? So these mean tongues wag at Camelot as maliciously as elsewhere? I had hoped that we might set an historical precedent in this regard, as we have in so many others, and be slander-free. But though the gaudy evils can be overwhelmed, Guinevere, the squalid little ills persist!”
And not only did King Arthur have the usual sensitivity to aspersions upon those who were of his same blood, but any mention of sister served to remind him of Margawse and his unwitting incest with her, and this was one reason why he so doted on Sir Launcelot, who rare amongst the leading knights was not his nephew. And sometimes he dreamed of Margawse, yet after all these years, and the terrible truth was that only with her had he ever felt desire, and therefore henceforth that feeling had ever been obnoxious to him.
“Forgive me, please,” said Guinevere once more. “I share your distaste for this wretched thing.” (As well she might!) And she said further, “But if gossip doth help to avert dangers, then ’tis justified to listen to it. I am sorry to say that Morgan’s lack of love for you is known: your half-sister can not pardon you for being the son of the man who killed her father.” (Now this explanation had only just occurred to Guinevere, for she had never heard it said.)
“That may well be,” said King Arthur, “and if so, such a resentment is not altogether without cause, for my father’s conduct (here as elsewhere) was reprehensible. I tell you that privately, my dear Guinevere, and I do not advertise it, certes. For after all he was the king (and further, he can not be brought back from the dead to right his wrongs). But I have endeavored in every way to correct, insofar as that can be done, the injustices of old. I can not help being the son of Uther Pendragon, nor did I knowingly seek to become his successor. I was chosen by God, else how could I alone have been able to pull the sword from the stone?
“But I have neglected to show the great affection which I bear to my relatives who occupy the lesser thrones in Britain, and that is why I now must needs go to Gore. Perhaps when dear Morgan sees me there she will understand my benevolence towards her and her beloved husband my royal brother-in-law Uriens.”
“But perhaps she will not,” said Guinevere, who having invented her feeling of dread now felt it in truth, for she was a woman in whom the fancy was strong (and all persons of imagination oft create by accident that which becomes necessity). “And you would do well to carry with you a loyal guard, and who might be a better choice for that office than Sir Launcelot?”
“I do not share your fears,” said King Arthur. “I can not think that Morgan la Fey wisheth ill to me her brother. And there is also hospitality’s law, the which protects even an enemy when he is under one’s own roof, not to mention Heaven’s ordinance against harming the sovereign. But assuming for the sake of argument that harm doth come to me, might it not come to noble Launcelot as well? Then what would happen to Britain! And consider you this: if the Round Table hath enemies (for it is the Table that we serve, I and Launcelot and all the other knights, nor am even I essential to it), what better time to try to work its destruction than when both king and greatest knight are absent?”
“Yet there are Gawaine and his gallant brothers,” said Guinevere, “and there are sirs Bors and Lionel, who are Launcelot’s cousins, and Bedivere and Yvain, and Sir Lucan the Butler, and all together an hundred and forty-eight sans Launcelot and he who will come to fill the Siege Perilous. And have you not said that so long as one of its knights remains quick, the Table will stand? And what of Pellinore your friend, who was once himself a king?”
“And yet is!” said Arthur. “For royalty can not be taken away. But, Guinevere, I shall not go through the roster with you. Be assured there is some good reason why none of these, fine knights all, is not suitable to command at Camelot in mine absence. Gawaine, as you must be aware, hath been under a cloud for a long time. I can not regret the loss of his lechery, yet methinks he was a better knight when he womanized. I see some lack of character in Agravaine and an edge of bitterness therefrom. My two younger nephews are newly wed. As to Pellinore, he hath lately been again enthralled by what is perhaps a fantasy, the Questing Beast, and he hath once more gone in pursuit of it....
“Nay, Guinevere, only Sir Launcelot will do, and I beg you, knowing of your old aversion to him, to accept my judgment with as much cheer as you can summon.”
“To ‘command’ in your absence, Arthur? Is this the proper term? Is Launcelot an alternative king?” And Guinevere’s fine blue eyes did flash hotly.
“Well, is he not a prince and son of King Ban of Benwick? And I do not say ‘to rule.’ And then, who else doth remain who would exceed him in rank?”
“Indeed,” said Guinevere, “none but the queen.”
“To be sure,” said King Arthur, “no man at all.”
And then he called for the lackeys to prepare for his journey to Gore.
And when he left Camelot to go to visit his sister and brother-in-law King Arthur’s entourage comprised only his body-servants and a retinue of untried squires and yeomen and the like, and no knights at all, for he did not want his relatives to believe that he was invading their land for an hostile purpose.
Now when King Arthur arrived at the castle of Gore he was received with great cheer by his brother-in-law King Uriens, but Morgan la Fey was not in evidence.
“My lord and royal brother,” said Uriens, “on the morrow I shall show you the loveliest damned stags in the bloody world! And if you have any better in your own parks I shall eat one raw, horns and all.” And he smote his hands together in glee. “Damn me, is there anything in life worth doing but a damned bloody good hunt? Some say women, but stags do not have the damned pox! And some are gluttons, but all food soon turns to dung. And your damned drinking tints your nose and leads you only to your damned pisspot. Nay, only the hunt bringeth rewards that can not soon be revoked!”
And Arthur soon believed his brother-in-law the greatest bore he had ever met, as well as a vile blasphemer, for Uriens continued to speak in this wise without stint, before and at and after supper, and King Arthur did have no escape till he went to bed. And then he did smile in remembering Guinevere’s fears for his safety while at Gore.
But little did he suspect that so soon as he had finished his prayers and fallen asleep, his evil sister Morgan la Fey would steal into his room (and she had been at the castle all the while, but she did not allow Arthur to see her, for her loathing of him was so great that she could not have concealed it). And she crept silently to where Excalibur was hanging on the wall, and she took it from its scabbard, and she replaced it with another sword which resembled it in every way but was made of poor steel, and though if its edge was held to the light it would glisten and seem keen, this was an illusion, for it was too dull to penetrate a ripe cheese.
And Morgan la Fey took away with her the r
eal Excalibur, for which she had use in a wicked scheme the aim of which was to bring about Arthur’s death. And why did she not simply slay him while he slept? Because she did not want her part in his murder to be known, for one, and for another she wished the crime to bring to grief two other men as well, namely King Uriens her husband and also a knight named Sir Accolon whom she had contrived to make fall in love with her. And she had pretended to be fascinated with Sir Accolon and she induced him to boast of his exploits, and she questioned him when he fell shy, and seeing himself reflected in her beautiful eyes (which he did not know were the windows of her corrupt soul) this originally modest knight became vain and he grew assotted with Morgan la Fey and because of her he confused his prowess with that of Sir Launcelot.
Therefore when the morning came and King Uriens took King Arthur on a stag hunt deep in the forest, Morgan la Fey came to Sir Accolon and she gave this foolish knight who was in love with her the sword Excalibur, the which she had purloined, and she spake to him as follows.
“Brave Accolon,” said Morgan la Fey, and she came close to him so that he could smell the luxurious scents in which she was drenched, “I have been apprised of a treacherous plot against the life of my dear brother King Arthur as well as that of my dear husband Uriens, thy sovereign, who have gone a-hunting in the park. And Arthur hath left behind his sword Excalibur, only when armed with which he is invulnerable, as without it he is helpless. It is a magic blade, sweet Accolon, and I would that thou take it and with it slay these criminals before they reach the two kings.”
And Sir Accolon took the sword from her and he swore that he would do as she asked.
“And furthermore,” said Morgan la Fey, and sucking a magic pastille she breathed upon him a warm breath the delicious vapors of which no man unless supremely pious could resist (and Accolon was already madly in love with her), “thou shouldst know that these regicides have assumed guises in which they seem the mirror-images of King Arthur and King Uriens, for when they have killed them they would falsely take their places, O treachery, O perversity!”
And here Sir Accolon did gasp in rage and he brandished Excalibur in the air and he pledged that he would show these felons no mercy.
Then he asked how to distinguish the real kings from the false.
“There is but one means,” said Morgan la Fey. “The false King Arthur doth carry on his hanger a false Excalibur, a replica which is exactly like unto the one thou dost hold, but is counterfeit. The real Arthur, who hath forgotten his sword, carries none.” And then this wicked queen did take Sir Accolon’s face into her two silken hands, and she kissed him hotly on the lips, saying, “Let this be a token of my gratitude, valiant Accolon. Thou shalt receive the full reward when thou dost return carrying the severed heads of these criminals.” And she did obscenely writhe her lissome body against him, so that he might imagine it as naked and seethe with lust.
And poor Accolon might well have swooned in desire did he not have to leave forthwith. Yet he was an honest knight, and he said, “Lady, I ask no reward for defending my kings!”
“But prithee, bold Accolon,” said Morgan la Fey, who was a cunning monster of deceit, “surely thou wouldst not deny me the pleasure of celebrating their deliverance with someone, and Arthur is mine own brother, and Uriens is remarkable old.” And she put her hand on him immodestly, whereas in fact she intended to kill him with poison so soon as he returned with the heads of King Arthur and King Uriens.
Now thrilling with thoughts of Morgan la Fey and burning with fury against those who would plot against the royal lives, Sir Accolon mounted and holding Excalibur high he galloped in search of the felons.
Now Arthur and Uriens had got separated from each other, and from their retinue, for the latter had followed at great speed his baying hounds and his retainers were not mounted so swiftly as he. And as for King Arthur he had never been keen on blood-sports since the day long ago when his falcon had killed Guinevere’s canary, nor with his manly British tastes did he care to eat venison except when cooked so long it was no different from mutton, and therefore he fell behind in the chase till the dogs were a league away and the riders were out of his sight. And then he dismounted and he sate him down upon a bed of moss beneath a great oak.
And he reflected on his reign. Now he believed that all his enemies had long been vanquished, and all notorious malefactors suppressed, and he thought therefore that the common folk were happy to be no longer ravaged, but he worried that his knights had sufficient employment. For the tournaments were mere games amongst friends, and virtue that doth not hone itself regularly against evil can not keep an edge. But was it not heresy to long for the devilish only to defeat it?
Then he did remember his late father-in-law King Leodegrance, who had owned the Round Table when it was but a great disk of oak and had no moral significance, and his hundred knights who had left Cameliard undefended to go on a quest for a thing which no one had ever seen and which nobody was certain as to its nature.
And though it was called the Holy Grail, and though King Arthur was of great piety, he had never heard of it since. Now he thought of this Sangreal with some interest, and what attracted him to it was that no one could describe it, nor had it ever been mentioned by the corrupt men who had held the principal bishoprics at the time when he assumed the throne, whereas pieces of the True Cross had been in sufficient supply to build from them a fleet of ships, and enough shreds from St. Veronica’s sudarium, with which she wiped Our Lord’s face, to make when sewn together sheets for all the beds in Britain; and old Canterbury had done a vast commerce in selling sprigs of straw from the manger wherein the Saviour was born.
But King Arthur’s thoughts were interrupted here by the arrival of Sir Accolon, who seeing on the king’s belt the false Excalibur cried, “Rise, detestable impostor, and prepare to go to Hell.”
Now King Arthur was perplexed, and as Sir Accolon was a fine-looking knight he believed he must have spoken in error, and therefore he rose, saying, “Sir, for whom dost thou take me?”
“For a wicked traitor who would kill my kings,” said Sir Accolon.
“Well,” said King Arthur, “I assure thee that I have no such intent, for what would be the purpose of it, when I am the king of all Britain, and I have no designs on the monarch of any other realm?”
“O mendacious, unnatural, and regicidal monster!” cried Sir Accolon. “Mount and fight me, else I shall cut thee down where thou dost stand in thy vileness.”
Now King Arthur thought him a madman, and he sought to placate him further, but ’twas no use, for the wicked Morgan la Fey had perverted Accolon’s reason so that he believed the real Arthur was the false one. And therefore the king was constrained to fight him or to be killed helplessly.
So he mounted his horse and having no lance he drew the counterfeit Excalibur from its scabbard. Neither did he wear armor nor carry his shield, and he was dressed for hunting in clothes of soft leather and he wore a huntsman’s hat with a feather in it, and his only other weapon was a knife with a handle of horn. Whereas Sir Accolon wore full armor, and the sword he wielded was Excalibur.
And these two came together and they hacked at each other, and Arthur soon found that the sword he held was an inferior weapon, the blade of which had no effect against his adversary, for though he smote Sir Accolon with powerful blows that knight grew ever stronger, and had not King Arthur been so great a swordsman as he was, he might have been killed.
Then in fending off a puissant blow by Accolon, King Arthur’s blade did shatter into many fragments, and he understood that it was not Excalibur that he held, and furthermore he recognized that it was his own proper sword with which Sir Accolon assailed him, for he knew it by its preternatural glitter and also by the peculiar sound it made when swung.
“Die, traitor!” then cried Accolon, raising the magic sword to the extent of his arm and charging upon King Arthur.
And expecting to die King Arthur sat his horse quietly and awaited the stroke t
hat would kill him, for he had no weapon and a king can not in decency flee from a knight.
But just as Sir Accolon was about to reach King Arthur a hole did open in the earth and his horse stepped into it, breaking its leg, and being pitched to the ground, Sir Accolon lost his grasp on Excalibur. And King Arthur dismounted and picked up the sword before Accolon could reach it.
Now the king held Excalibur’s point to the visor of Sir Accolon and he raised it, and he said to the frightened face within, “Sir knight, this is my weapon, and I would know where thou hast got it and how?”
And Sir Accolon replied, “Morgan la Fey, the fair queen of Gore, gave it me, for to defend with it the lives of her brother Arthur of Britain and Uriens her husband and king of this land.” And he told of the felons who impersonated those two kings. “Now,” said he, “it is indeed Excalibur which you hold, and it doth belong to King Arthur, and you say you are he. Yet an impostor would say as much, and how can I know what is the truth?”
“Were I not the real Arthur,” said the king, “would I not, having gained possession of the genuine Excalibur, now put thee to death?”
“I think that you would,” said Sir Accolon.
“Well, I shall not kill thee,” said King Arthur. “And thereby I establish mine identity.” And he permitted Accolon to rise. “Now I ask thee to consider this reasoning which is somewhat more complex, but not so much. If my sister took Excalibur from me when I was sleeping and gave it thee without my knowledge, then does it seem as though she would have done this for my benefit or for my damage?”
“Sire,” said Sir Accolon, “methinks some mistake hath been made, though in all good will. I can not explain it as yet, but I am sure the error hath been mine and mine only, for the fair and gracious Queen Morgan la Fey hath no fault.”