Sir Lancelot knew the danger in such concentrated hate, the superhuman strength, imperviousness to hurt, but he knew the weaknesses also of abandoned tactics. He offered openings to draw great strokes and only warded at the last moment. He fought defensively with little movement, trying to weaken with exhaustion his panting, hate-driven enemy, and gradually he saw the feet drag and heard the whistling breath, and in a small pause observed that Tarquin swayed dizzily. But Lancelot liked the greatness of his enemy and he thought, "If he did not hate me so much, he would have more chance of killing me."
He dropped his shield and drew a charge, then stepped aside and threw his shield under the dragging feet. Tarquin fell face downward, and Lancelot trod on his wrist, forced up the neck guard of the helm, and drove his point into the spine. Sir Tarquin quivered once and died instantly under the stroke of mercy.
The damsel ran to him with little excited cheers, and Lancelot regarded her gravely and wondered why onlookers were so much more warlike than were fighting men.
"Now you can keep your promise," the damsel cried. "You will come with me, won't you?"
"I have no horse," said Lancelot. "There he lies with his neck broken."
"Take the horse of the wounded knight, sir."
Sir Lancelot strode to Gaheris and cut his bonds and greeted him. "Will you lend me your horse?" he asked.
"Of course," said Gaheris. "You have saved my life."
"Can you walk?"
"I think so, sir."
"Go then into that manor house. You will find many prisoners there, my friends and yours. Release them and greet them from me. Tell them to take everything they need and want. I will meet them in the king's court at Pentecost. And tell them to give my greetings and my service to Queen Guinevere. They are to tell her that they are free in her honor."
"Why must you go?" said Gaheris.
"The damsel there. I made a promise. Damsels I find the sharpest bargainers. Now farewell. And tell Sir Lyonel that we will go on another quest one day." And Lancelot mounted and followed the damsel on her way.
The damsel said, "That was a very pretty piece of knightly business, sir. It is rightly said that you are the best knight in the world."
"I am growing to be the weariest in the world," he replied. "Maybe that is why I make promises without asking what I have promised to do. Whether you know it or not, Sir Tarquin was a strong knight, and although he lost he left his mark on me. Tell me what you wish of me. It might be that I should rest a little and take care of my bruises and cuts."
"Sir," she said, "Tarquin spent his days fighting and killing knights. But there is one nearby who molests damsels and gentlewomen. He lies in wait and rushes out on unprotected ladies."
"What does he do to them?" Lancelot inquired.
"He robs them." The maiden blushed. "On the young and fair he forces his foul lust."
"Is he a knight?"
"He is, sir."
"Well, he should not do such things then. He is bound by oath to protect ladies. Has he distressed you? You are very pretty."
"Thank you, sir. I have escaped him so far, but I must use this path, and if you will teach him to obey his oath--or kill him--you will give joy to many ladies. He lies in wait not far from here, hidden in a forest by the way."
Lancelot considered, and then he said, "You will ride ahead of me. I must see what occurs."
"Do you mistrust me, sir?"
"No. But I have known ladies to discover rape in an unsolicited kiss, and others who issued an invitation perhaps unknowing and cried havoc when it was accepted."
"Such a thought is unworthy of you, sir."
"I think that is so. I do seem to distill unworthy thoughts when I am weary and my bones ache. But my plan is more than that. If the am-bushed knight should see you attended by an armored man, he might hesitate to attack you."
"Then you could range the forest and drive him out and cut off his head."
"How bloodthirsty you are, my dear. But then, you see, I would be executing a man for hearsay crimes and I'm afraid my heart would not be in it. But if he molested you with force I would then bring anger and indignation to ally themselves behind justice."
"Well, if you put it that way."
"It does make a difference, doesn't it?" he said. "Ride on ahead. I will keep you in sight, but he will not see me or suspect that he is being trapped."
"I don't like that word," the damsel said. But she picked up her palfrey, and as she rode she took ribbons from the saddle bag and wove them in her hair, and a silken cloak to cover her with shimmering green and hang richly over the horse's rump. And as she neared the forest beside the way she sang sweetly in a high and penetrating voice.
"Well baited," Lancelot muttered to himself. He saw the damsel ride near to the groping branches of the forest, singing gaily, and then an armed man galloped out and with precision grasped her from her saddle to his own, and her song turned to a soaring scream.
Sir Lancelot thundered near and cried out, "Hold caitiff knight!"
The ravisher looked up from his prey and saw the mailed eagle bearing down on him, and he dumped the lady on the ground to struggle with her enveloping cloak. He drew his sword and dressed his shield, which seeing, Lancelot threw his spear from him and drew his blade. One parry and one cut and the unfortunate lover dropped from his horse, cloven through the neck to his throat.
The damsel came near, brushing the dust and bits of twigs from her cloak, and she looked down on the slaughtered man. "Now have you the payment you deserve," she cried.
With one great shudder his life ran out, and the damsel said, "As Tarquin studied to destroy good knights, so did this fellow spend his days distressing ladies, damsels, and gentlewomen. His name was Sir Perys de Foreste Savage."
"You knew him then," Lancelot observed.
"I knew his name," she said.
"Is my promise kept?" he asked. "Am I free to go?"
"With all my thanks," she said. "And with the thanks of ladies everywhere who celebrate your name. For you are renowned to all gently born as the goodliest and most courteous knight living. Wherever ladies speak together they agree on this, and they agree that you have one sad and mysterious lack--one flaw which troubles ladies."
"What is that?" he asked.
"No one has ever heard that you loved anyone, my lord," she said. "And ladies hold that this is a great pity."
"I love the queen."
"Yes, that is noised about, and also that you love her as though she were carved in ice. And many say that she has enchanted you so that you may not love anyone else, rejoice no damsel, warm no lady with your love because of the cold enchantment. Wherefore the ladies blame the queen for holding captive what she does not use herself."
He smiled at her, a gray-eyed kindly smile. "It is the habit of women to put the blame on women," he said. "I cannot teach the world what it must say of me. Whispers are self-born. But I can tell you, and if you wish, you may tell the others. I am a fighting man. You cannot think a spear is made for anything but war. Think so of me. You were thinking of a wife for me, perhaps children. I have fears enough without the added calamity of worry to spoil my aim. I am away at my profession of war most of the time. My wife then, though married, would be husbandless, my children fatherless, and our only joy would be the sorrow of being parted. No. I could not have it. A warlike husband must be always in two places at the same time. In bed he is at war, at war in bed, and thus split he is half a man in either field. I am not brave enough to slice myself in two pieces."
"But there is other love--" she said softly. "Surely at court you have seen--"
"Yes, I have, and it has not beckoned me. Intrigues and plans and jealousy, one or the other always injured. A month of anger for a moment's joy, and always jealousy and doubt, corroding, leprosy. I am a religious man--at least in so far as I am aware of sin and subscribe to the ten laws. But if adultery, habits, lechery, were not sternly ill spoke by God, my fighting arm would find them sinful because w
eakening. And if that were not enough, consider this: have you ever known a happy paramour? And should I of my own free will search out and help to build unhappiness? That would be stupid as well as cruel."
The damsel said, "Most strong and lusty men cannot help themselves. Love reaches out and their reluctance disappears like smoke."
"Their strength then becomes their weakness," Lancelot said. "Their very manhood makes them helpless. Should I choose that if I have choice?"
"I think you do not love ladies--something prevents--"
"I knew you would. I've been wasteful of words. You will whisper that I am--not a man--because I have so far overcome man's chief weakness and perplexity."
"I think the queen's enchantment must be very strong. Everyone said it was, and now I see it is--" And the promise went out of her eyes and her mouth grew bitter like the down-pouting lips of a little girl robbed of her sweet.
"Farewell," he said. "And ask this question when I am gone. If I do not love ladies, why do I serve up my life to them?"
"Enchantment."
"Goodbye," he said, and rode on and caught her palfrey and tethered it to a tree for her. But in a moment he untied the reins and led the horse back to her.
She did not look at him. "Thank you," she said.
"Is there any other service I may offer you?"
She looked at the ground. "None that I think of, sir."
"Then--well--then farewell!" He turned his horse and put it to trot, and the damsel watched him go and she was troubled for him.
Now Lancelot rode alone through forests damp and black where escaped slaves of the soil hid themselves in hollow trees and shallow caves, but these faded like shadows at his approach and did not respond to his calls. Then he crossed a fenny land where the reeds grew as tall as his horse and open water dangerous with quicksand where great colonies of ducks and wild swans lived in peace and rose into the air in thundering dances at his approach. Far out in the water he saw round reed huts with conical roofs, each on its little island, each with its dugout boat. When Lancelot hailed the huts, short dark men with slings rained baked clay bullets on him with such force that his shield was dented and his horse lamed. It was a wild, unfriendly land where men were lessoned to ferocity by fear of men. The unsubstantial fata morgana and the restless ignis fatuus, rolling fairy lights of the fen, were less terrible than strangers of their own kind, for in this impoverished land the only property men knew was other men. The chill of suspicious rage cut like an icy wind, so that the knight turned inland to higher ground. In a semi-ruinous castle he killed two giants and released their prisoners and sent them to Queen Guinevere, and then for many days he sought adventure, but word of his coming traveled ahead of him, so that recreant and evil knights who usually were posted at river fords and narrow passages deserted their plunder spots and hid themselves until Lancelot had passed, for no one dared break a spear with him, so that his very greatness made him lonely and uncared for. He slept in shelters deserted by their owners and fed on what scraps and berries and husks he could find along the way.
Now turn we back to yonge Syr Gaherys who rode into the manor of
Syr Tarquin slayne by Lancelot. And there he found a yoman porter
kepyng many keyes. Than sir Gaherys threw the porter unto the
grounde and toke the keyes frome hym; and hastely he opynde the
person dore, and there he lette all the presoners oute, and every man
lowsed other of their bondys.
Gaheris discovered many friends there and knights of the Round Table. He told them how Sir Lancelot had killed Tarquin and rescued them and ordered them to await him at King Arthur's court. In the stables they found their horses, while in the armory every man sorted out his own armor, and then they feasted on venison in Tarquin's kitchen. But Sir Lyonel and Sir Ector de Marys and Sir Kay the Seneschal determined to ride after Sir Lancelot to join him on his quest, and when they had eaten and rested they set out, inquiring about him as they went.
Now return we to Sir Lancelot, who came at last to a pleasant courtelage, and there he found an old gentlewoman who made him welcome. She gave him roasted meat and blood pudding and fat pork pasty gleaming with spices. The ancient chatelaine remembered King Uther's court when she had been young and fair. She brought wine to Lancelot and begged him to tell her how it was at Arthur's court, what ladies were admired and what they wore, and how the queen looked and what she said, and she would have kept the knight talking until dawn but he begged to rest. At last she let him go to a pleasant chamber in her defensive wall over the castle gate. And he piled his armor on an oaken chest and sank into a deep soft bed of clean white woolly sheepskins, the first bed he had slept in for many a day. He had just entered his first dreamless sleep when there sounded a loud and frantic beating on the gate below his chamber. He leaped from the bed and looked out the window and saw a knight attacked by three others. And even while defending himself the lone knight beat the gate and cried for help. Sir Lancelot armed himself and then he leaped from the window to the ground and went lashing in against the three attacking knights, and he cut them down one after the other and would have killed them if they had not begged for mercy.
"You are shamed men," said Lancelot. "It is unknightly for three to fight one. Therefore, you will not yield to me but to this lone knight and you will go to Arthur's court in his name and yield to the queen."
The lone knight cried out, "You are Lancelot," and he raised his visor and it was Sir Kay. Then the two embraced and kissed each other for joy.
Then one of the beaten knights said, "Sir, we do not want to yield to Sir Kay when we had already beaten him. It is an honor to yield to Lancelot, but to admit that Sir Kay overcame us would cause laughter."
Lancelot unsheathed his sword. "You have a choice," he said. "Yield to Sir Kay or make ready to die."
"Well, in that case, sir--"
"On Whitsun next," said Lancelot, "you will yield to Guinevere and tell her that Sir Kay has sent you to be his prisoners."
Then Lancelot beat on the gate with the pommel of his sword until it was opened. And the ancient lady was astonished to see him. "I thought you went to bed. How did you get here?" she asked.
"So I did, but I jumped from the window to help this old friend of mine. And I will take him to rest with me."
In the chamber over the gate Kay thanked his friend for saving his life. "Since I set out to find you, sir, I have had one battle after another."
"That's strange," said Lancelot. "I have found no one to meet me for many days."
"Well, it might be that men who would break their necks to engage with me would break their necks to avoid having a do with Lancelot. That device on your shield would make a man think twice."
"I hadn't thought of that," said Lancelot.
Sir Kay said, "Old friend, there is a matter I would like to speak about if you would promise not to be angry."
"How could I be angry with you?" said Lancelot. "Say on."
"It is a matter that concerns me deeply, sir. From the moment you left the king, a line of defeated knights have filed in to yield themselves to the queen's grace. Now all the prisoners from Tarquin's cells will be arriving at the king's court."
"It is my custom," said Lancelot. "The queen takes pleasure in it when noble knights submit to her pleasure. What have you to say of that?"
"Noble they may be, sir, but famished they are. They arrive in swarms like locusts and strip the king's larders bare. A defeated knight is, if anything, hungrier than a victor."
"It is the king's pleasure to be hospitable, sir."
"I know that. He loves to provide bounty--but I am seneschal. I am the one who must provide the bounty and make a record of what is consumed."
"The king is not niggardly."
"That I know. He never thinks of it until the cupboard is swept clean of every crumb. Then he says to me, 'Kay, I don't know where these things go. It's only last week we slaughtered ten beeves and salted six wagonloads of
herrings. Are you sure you keep account? Can the kitchen boys be stealing?' Then I tell him how many noble knights are eating at his table and he says, 'Yes, Yes--' and he doesn't listen but he says, 'I must look at your accounts one day.' You see, sir, if you stay much longer on quest, we shall be stripped to the bone by your noble captives. After they have yielded to the queen, they settle down and stay for weeks."
Lancelot laughed. "Poor Kay," he said. "Troubles follow you. Should I ask a knight if he is well provided before I fight with him?"
"Don't laugh at me," said Kay. "Everyone laughs at me. I tell you, it is a serious matter. One of your captives can eat half a sheep at a sitting--and the beer--the beer runs like water. But please don't tell the king I spoke of this. It would make him angry. He takes no note of money or supplies until he has none, and then I am blamed. Kay must be mean so the king can be generous."
"I hadn't thought of it," said Lancelot. "But I don't know what I can do."
"It's not only the knights," Sir Kay said bitterly. "Everyone has squires and dwarfs and damsels and all ravenous, particularly the damsels. They may be lovely things, all spirit and grace to you, but to me they are devouring monsters."
"Well, go to sleep," said Lancelot. "I promise to fight only well-fed bachelors."
"Now you are making fun again," said Kay. "You don't know how I have to cut corners. You think the roasted meat grows on trees. No one gives the seneschal a thought. I tell you, before a good Whitsun or a Pentecost gathering I get no rest. There's never any reward, but if anything is wrong--Oh, they remember me then. Sometimes I wish I were a kitchen boy."
"Well, you aren't, my friend. You are my dear, kind, thoughtful Sir Kay, the most wonderful seneschal who ever lived. Your name is earned for all posterity on the happy bellies of the court. The world would get along nicely without me, but not a single day could pass without you, Sir Kay."
"You are just saying that to please me, sir," said the seneschal. "But, you know--there is a grain of truth in what you say."
Now Lancelot sat quietly and his eyes were puzzled.
"Why are you sad, sir?" his friend asked.
"Not sad--well, perhaps sad. It is a question. You might find it insulting."
The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights Page 28
