‘It is not for you to choose!’ shouted Kay. ‘By God, you shall come when I say so!’ And he rode at Geraint with his drawn sword. But Geraint reached for his own sword which leaned against the tree-trunk, and with the flat of it, not even drawn from its sheath, caught him a buffet under the chin that tipped him from the saddle all flailing arms and legs on to the carpet of last year’s oak leaves.
And at that moment Lancelot, who had been riding close behind him, also came out into the deer-path. The sunspots through the leaves dappled on his grey hair, and his one black brow was grave and level while the other flew even more wildly than usual, as he reined in and looked at the scene before him. ‘Ah, Sir Kay, Sir Kay,’ he said as the King’s Seneschal scrambled to his feet, ‘will you never learn to judge your man?’ And then to Geraint he said, ‘Forgive me, Sir Knight, you are somewhat battered – though I judge that there are others in worse case somewhere in these parts this day – but are you not Geraint, son of Erbin?’
‘I am,’ said Geraint.
‘And Enid your lady with you. In a glad day you are returned to us. Now pray you come with me to the King, that he too may be made glad by your return.’
‘Right joyfully will we come,’ said Geraint, ‘since you ask in courtesy.’
By now other knights and squires had appeared; and they took the two weary horses, and would have gone to help Geraint who was almost beyond walking; but he shook them off, and took Enid’s hand in his. And together, with the rest about them, they walked into the King’s hunting camp, to the big striped pavilion set up in the midst of the clearing, close to the cooking pits where the carcass of a deer they had slain that day was roasting over the flames. Arthur sat on a pile of fern before the entrance, leaning against his saddle, and Cabal, the latest of his hounds to bear the well-loved name, lying at his feet.
Lancelot said, ‘Sir, we have had noble hunting this evening, for see, we have found the Lord Geraint and his lady come back to us again.’
Then the King made them joyfully welcome, and Geraint, trying to kneel at his feet, almost fell, but that Enid had her arms round him on the instant and supported him against herself.
‘Later,’ said the King, ‘I shall ask for the story of this adventuring; but it seems that there are other things that must be seen to first.’
And he called for Morgan Tudd, and had Geraint taken to a tent where he could rest and be alone with only Enid and the physician to tend him. And the King and his companions remained in the hunting camp until Geraint was well enough to ride; and then, all together and as blithe as linnets in a hawthorn tree, they rode back to Camelot. And Enid no longer rode ahead of Geraint, nor yet behind, but side by side with him among all the rest.
And when they reached Camelot, and Queen Guenever came out to greet them – for they had sent messengers ahead, and she knew of their coming – she said to the High King, ‘My Lord Arthur, now let you and all this company come into the Great Hall, to the Round Table, for there is a thing that you must see.’
And when they came into the Great Hall, there on the high back of one of the Round Table seats that had been empty since the last knight to sit there had died, was Geraint’s name in letters of fair bright gold.
So Geraint became a knight of the Round Table; and when he had gone back to his own place and people, and become a strong and wise ruler after his father’s time, he never failed to return to the gatherings at Pentecost, so long as he lived, and so long as the Round Table lasted.
12
Gawain and the Loathely Lady
ONE YEAR, WHEN there had been Saxon raiding, and a joining of spears between them and the Old People from the North, and when the barbarians had been driven back and the North was quiet again, the High King and his companion knights kept their Christmas at Carlisle, and Guenever and her ladies with them.
And on Christmas night when they were all gathered in the Great Hall, and the squires and pages were bringing in the feast, the boar’s head wreathed in bay leaves before all, there came a clatter of hooves and a beating on the door. And when the door was opened, into the Hall, her hair pulled down and her cloak mired with her wild winter riding, ran a damosel who flung herself down at Arthur’s feet. ‘My Lord King!’ she cried. ‘Give me your help and save my lover from the black fate that has come upon him!’
‘What I can do, that I will,’ said the King. ‘Tell me quickly what it is, this fate, which has caused you so much weeping.’ And he stooped to raise her, but she would not rise, only crouched the more closely.
‘I was betrothed to a knight who was more dear to me than my own heart. But yesterday as we rode out making plans for our marriage, through the deep ways of the Forest of Inglewood, we came upon a place where the trees fell back, and in the midst of it a dark lake all jagged with rocks along the shore, and on an islet in the lake, a castle, with black banners flying above the keep and the drawbridge down. And as we lingered there, wondering, for we had never come upon the place before, a terrible creature in full armour, twice the size of a mortal man and mounted on a horse twice the size of a mortal horse, came full gallop across the bridge towards us, and called upon my love to leave me to him and ride on his way alone. My love drew his sword to defend me, but some evil magic lies in that place, and in that moment the spell of it fell upon him so that the sword dropped from his hand and he was powerless against the wicked knight. And the knight hurled him from his saddle and took and bound him and flung him across his horse’s back, while I must look on powerless. I tried to fight him, and got this in payment.’ She touched her bruised face and torn garments and showed her hands cut and bruised. ‘But he only laughed his terrible laughter and dragged my love’s horse round to ride away. I called after him that I would go to Arthur’s court and tell my wrongs and beg for a champion to save my love or avenge him – maybe even the King himself. But he only laughed the more, and shouted at me, “Tell your cowardly king that here at Tarn Wathelan he may find me when he will; but much I doubt that even he will find the courage to come against me!” And so he went, driving my dear love on his horse before him. And so do I come to you, my Lord Arthur, kneeling at your feet and praying for your aid!’
Then an angry murmur ran round the Hall, and men looked at each other and their hands moved towards their daggers, and many a one was already half out of his seat.
But the King sprang to his feet and cried in a great voice, ‘Now by my knightly honour, I vow that the King indeed shall ride upon this matter, and avenge this maiden’s wrongs in full measure!’
And some of the knights, especially the young ones, beat upon the table and gave tongue, applauding the vow. But Gawain said, ‘Uncle, let me ride upon this quest; for I smell some evil beyond what the maiden has told, and Britain cannot long be doing without her King!’
But though Lancelot also, and Bedivere and Gareth, and even in a rash moment Sir Kay, offered themselves to go in his stead, the King refused them. ‘My thanks to you all, but it is over long since the King himself rode on a quest instead of watching his knights ride out.’ And then, looking round on them, on a sudden, he added half in anger and half in something that was like appeal, ‘God’s truth, my brothers, I am not yet old!’
And there was something in his voice that held them from protesting any more.
Only the Queen was not happy; for like Gawain, it seemed to her that she could catch the smell of some evil that she could give no name to.
Next morning when the King had heard Mass, his squires armed him and buckled on Excalibur and brought him Ron his mighty spear; and his most fiery-hearted warhorse was fetched from the stable. And with the maiden to guide him, he left Carlisle and headed deep into the Forest of Inglewood, the dark fleece of trees that covered all those parts.
Mile after mile they rode, until at last they came out from the trees into the fierce yellow flare of a stormy sunset; and before them spread the waters of a lake giving back its answering fire to the fiery sky; and all around rose the dark rocks of th
e shore; and set on its islet, a storm-dark castle with its banners streaming crow-black from the turret tops against the sunset light.
‘This is the place,’ said the damosel. ‘Oh, my Lord King, save my love for me and avenge my wrongs!’
Then Arthur took the horn that hung at his saddlebow, and winded a long-drawn mighty call that echoed back from the rocks of the lake shore and set the ravens whirling on black wings from the crannies and ledges of the castle. Again he sounded his horn; and yet a third time, until the note seemed to fling back from the high sunset clouds above the ramparts, but no other answer came. Then he drew his sword, and cried out in his battle voice, ‘Come, Sir Knight of Tarn Wathelan! Your King bides here, and is not used to be kept waiting!’
And as he hurled his challenge, the great drawbridge dropped slowly to span the narrow gap of water between the castle and the shore; and there in the gate arch appeared the Knight of Tarn Wathelan, huge beyond the size of mortal man and armed from crest to toe in black armour, and mounted on a giant red-eyed warhorse the colour of midnight. ‘Now welcome, King Arthur!’ he shouted. ‘For long and long I have wished for your coming, that I may defy you to your face as always I have defied you in my heart!’
Then anger rose in the King, and he spurred his horse full gallop down the track to the water’s edge, while the huge knight spurred out as swiftly to meet him. ‘Yield you now to me!’ shouted back Arthur, above the drum of horses’ hooves. ‘Yield and make amends for your evil doing, or fight!’
But in the same moment his horse stopped dead, all but flinging him over its head, and stood stock still, neighing in terror; and as the King sought to urge it forward again, he felt it trembling under him. And like an icy shadow, a great fear fell upon him, the more terrible because it was not of the knight or of anything in this world; a black terror of the soul that came between him and the sky, and sucked the strength from him so that sword arm and shield arm sank to his sides and he was powerless to move.
‘This is Devil’s work!’ said something deep within him. ‘Devil’s work …’
And the Knight of Tarn Wathelan reined in his own horse not a spear’s throw away, and fell to laughing, until his laughter rang and boomed back from the castle walls. ‘Now it is for you to yield or fight, my Lord King!’
And Arthur struggled to raise his sword arm until the cold sweat started on him, but could not move a muscle.
‘You see!’ bellowed the huge knight.
‘What – would you – of me?’ gasped Arthur.
‘As to that, I could kill you now, or fling you into my dungeons to rot among other valiant knights who lie there, and take your realm for my own by means of the magic that is mine to wield. But I am minded to sell you back your life and freedom. How say you to that?’
‘What is the price?’
‘That you return to me on New Year’s Day, bringing me the answer to this question: What is it that all women most desire? Swear on the Holy Rood to return, with or without the answer to the question, for if you have it not, then you will be still my prisoner, your ransom unpaid. And if it pleases me I shall slay you and fling your body into the dark waters of the lake.’
And there was nothing that Arthur could do but swear, with shame and rage and humiliation battling with the terrible fear that held him captive like a fly meshed at the heart of a spider’s web.
Then the Knight of Tarn Wathelan made a quick gesture with his spear; and Arthur’s horse reared up and spun round on its hind hooves, and dashed off at such a desperate gallop that they were far and far into the trees before Arthur could rein it to a trembling halt.
It was then that he realised that there had been no sign of the maiden since they first rode out into the clearing and saw Tarn Wathelan ahead of them.
With the shame of what had happened eating into him, the King rode on his way. But not back to Carlisle. He could not look his companions in the face again until he had paid his ransom – if indeed his ransom was ever to be paid.
All that week between Christmas and the New Year, he rode the forest and moorland ways, North and South, East and West. And whenever he saw a girl herding geese, or an ale-wife in the door of a wayside tavern, a great lady amidst a train of servants, riding by on a white palfrey whose harness rang with little bells, or an aged nun by a holy well, telling her beads, he asked her the question that had been put to him by the Knight of Tarn Wathelan.
‘What thing is it that all women most desire?’
And every one of them gave him a different answer. Some said riches and some said beauty, some said pomp and state, some power, some laughter and admiration, some said love.
And the King thanked each one of them courteously, and wrote down her answer on a long strip of parchment which he had obtained from an abbey on the first day of his quest, that he might forget none of them when he came again to Tarn Wathelan. But he knew in his heart that none of them was the right answer. And so at last it was the morning of New Year’s Day, and he set his horse’s head once more towards the castle of Tarn Wathelan with a heavy heart. And his thoughts turned back to Merlin, so long asleep under his magic hawthorn tree, for nobody else could help him now.
The hills looked darker than they had done when last he rode that way, and the wind had a keener edge. And the way seemed much longer and rougher than it had done before, and yet it was all too quickly passed.
But when he was not far short of his journey’s ending, as he rode chin on breast through a dark thicket, he heard a woman’s voice, sweet and soft, calling out to him, ‘Now God’s greeting to you, my Lord King Arthur. God save and keep you.’
The King turned quickly in the direction from which the voice had come, and saw, close beside the track, a woman in a scarlet gown. She sat upon a turf hummock between an oak sapling and a holly tree; and her gown was as vivid as the holly berries, and her skin as brown and withered as the few winter leaves that still clung to the oak tree. At sight of her shock ran through the King, for in the instant between hearing and seeing, he had expected the owner of the soft voice to be fair. And she was the most hideous creature that ever he had seen, with a piteous nightmare face that he could scarcely bear to look upon. Her nose was long and warty and bent to one side, while her long hairy chin bent to the other. She had only one eye, and that set deep under her jutting brow, and her mouth was no more than a shapeless gash. On either side of her face her hair hung down in grey twisted locks, and the hands that she held folded in her lap were like brown claws, though the jewels that winked upon them were fine enough for the Queen herself.
In his amazement, the King could not at once find his tongue to answer her greeting. And the Loathely Lady raised her head and looked at him, a long full look that seemed to hold grief and anger and an old pride. ‘Now by Christ’s Cross, my Lord Arthur, you are an ungentle knight, to leave a lady’s greeting lying unanswered so! Best remember your manners, for I know on what dark adventure you ride, and proud as you are, it may be that I can help you.’
‘Forgive me, lady,’ said the High King. ‘I was deep in thought, and that, not lack of courtesy, was the reason I did not return your greeting. If you do indeed know the adventure that I ride on, and the question that I must answer, and if you can indeed help me, I shall be grateful to you all my life.’
‘It is more than your gratitude that I must have, if I am to help you,’ said the Loathely Lady.
‘What, then?’ said the King. ‘Whatever you ask, you shall have it.’
‘That is a rash promise,’ said the Lady, ‘and you shall swear it on Christ’s Cross, lest later you repent. But first, let you listen to me. You are pledged to tell the Knight of Tarn Wathelan this very day what it is that all women most desire, or else yield yourself up to his mercy. And mercy he has none. That is so?’
‘That is so,’ said the King.
‘You have asked many women, in these past seven days, and all of them have given you answers; and not one of them the right answer. I alone can give you that; t
he answer that shall pay your ransom. But before I give it to you, you shall swear by the Holy Rood, and by Mary the Mother of God, that whatever boon I ask of you, you will grant it.’
‘This oath I take upon me,’ said the King, with his hand on the cross of his sword.
‘Then bend down to me – closer – closer, that not even the trees may hear,’ said the Loathely Lady. And as he did so, she got awkwardly to her feet and whispered the secret in his ear.
Then the King caught his breath in laughter, for it was such a simple answer, after all. But in a little he grew sober again, and asked the Lady what was the boon that she would have in payment. But she said, ‘Not yet – when you have given his answer to the Knight of Tarn Wathelan and proved that it is indeed the true one, then come back to me here, where I shall be waiting for you. And now, God go with you on your way.’
So the King rode on towards Tarn Wathelan. And now the hills seemed less dark and the wind less keen, for he was sure that he had the true answer to the Knight’s question.
In a while he came to the clearing in the forest, and sitting his horse on the lake shore, he sounded a long note on his horn. This time he did not need to sound more than once, for the master of the place was ready for him, and while the echoes still hung among the rocks, the drawbridge came clanging down, and over it the huge Knight on his huge black horse came riding, and reined up within a spear’s length of the King.
‘Well, now, little King, do you bring me the answer to my question?’
‘I bring you many answers, given to me by many women, and among them must surely be the true one,’ said Arthur, and tossed the roll of parchment into the giant’s mailed hand.
And sitting his horse there on the lake shore, the huge knight read them from the first to the last. And when he had read them all, he burst into a roar of laughter, and flung the scroll over his shoulder into the deep sky-reflecting waters of the Tarn. ‘Here be many answers indeed! Some bad, some good, but none of them the true answer to my question. Your ransom is unpaid and your life and your kingdom are forfeit to me. Bend your neck for the stroke, oh, most lordly Arthur Pendragon, High King of Britain!’ And his hand went to the hilt of his sword.