The King Arthur Trilogy

by Rosemary Sutcliff

  Nine months later, far away in the North, Queen Margawse bore a fifth son, and his father was not Lot of Orkney, but Arthur the High King. And she sent word to Arthur that she had borne him a son and would name him Mordred, and that one day she would send him south to be a knight of his father’s court.

  And she told him who she was.

  Then Arthur knew that he had done one of the forbidden things. He had done it all unknowing, but he had done it, and no tears or prayers or penance could undo it again. He had let loose his own doom, and in the end, as night gives place to day and day turns to night again, his doom would return upon him. He spent three wakeful nights wrestling with certain horrors within himself. Then, seeing that he had a life to lead and a kingdom to rule as best he might, meanwhile, he put the thing from him until the appointed time the web of things should bring it back again. And he called for horses and hounds, and rode hunting. And if, during the day’s hunting, it seemed to the High King that he, and not the fleeing red deer, was the quarry, no one knew.

  Only those who were closest to him knew that suddenly the last of his boyhood was gone from the High King.

  But all that was still nine months in the future, and the lady had scarcely gone her way northward from Caerleon, when one day a young squire rode into the castle courtyard, leading a second horse, across whose back his knight lay newly slain. And dropping wearily from the saddle, he cried out, ‘Vengeance, my Lord King! Christian burial for my master, as good a knight as ever set lance in rest, and vengeance upon his slayer!’

  ‘The one you shall have without question,’ said Arthur. ‘The other if it be deserved. Who is the slayer?’

  ‘King Pellinore,’ said the squire. ‘Not many leagues from here he has set up his pavilion close to a well beside the high road; and there he challenges all comers to joust with him; and there he slew my master. Pray you let one of your knights ride out to take up the challenge and avenge my master’s death!’

  Now there was a squire at court called Gryflet, of about the same age as Arthur himself; and when he heard this he came and knelt before the King, and begged to be given his knighthood, that he might take the challenge upon himself.

  And Arthur looked down at him, and knew that he had been a good squire, and would be a good knight also if he lived. But, ‘You are over young to be taking up such a challenge,’ he said, ‘not yet come to your full strength, while King Pellinore of Wales is one of the strongest and most skilful fighters of any in this world.’

  ‘Yet pray you give me my knighthood,’ said the boy. ‘It was I who spoke up first for the taking of this challenge.’

  And Arthur sighed, and gave him the light blow between neck and shoulder that made him a knight. ‘And now, Sir Gryflet, since I have given you what you ask for, I claim something of you in exchange.’

  ‘Anything that is mine to give.’

  ‘A promise,’ said Arthur. ‘Promise me that when you have ridden one course against King Pellinore, whether you be still in the saddle or unhorsed and on foot, you will let the thing rest there, and return to me without more ado.’

  ‘That I promise,’ said the young knight. And since he had as yet no squire of his own, he fetched his horse and spear for himself; and hitched his shield on his shoulder and was away with one stirrup still flying.

  He followed the summer-dry road in a cloud of his own dust, out of the sunlight into the forest shade, until he came to the well beside the way. And there he saw a rich pavilion and close by a fine horse ready saddled and bridled; and hanging from the lowest branch of an oak tree, a shield blazoned with many colours and beside it a great spear. Reining up and standing in his stirrups he hammered on the shield with the butt of his own spear as was the custom when taking up such a challenge, until the forest rang and the splendid shield came crashing to the ground.

  Then King Pellinore, fully armed, came out from his pavilion, and asked, as was the proper custom also, ‘Fair knight, why smote you down my shield?’

  ‘For that I would joust with you,’ said Sir Gryflet.

  Then King Pellinore left the proper custom, and said, ‘It were better you do not, for you are but young, and as I judge a newly made knight, and have not yet come to your full strength to match with mine.’

  ‘For all that, I would still joust with you,’ said Gryflet.

  ‘It is by no wish of mine. But if you take up my challenge I cannot refuse. Yet if we are to fight, tell me first whose knight you are.’

  ‘I am King Arthur’s knight,’ said the boy.

  And King Pellinore took his spear and shield and mounted his horse, and they drew apart the proper distance, and turning, set their spears in rest and rode full tilt upon each other.

  Gryflet took King Pellinore in mid-shield, and shattered it to pieces; but Pellinore’s point went clean through Gryflet’s shield and deep into his left flank and there broke off short, the point lodging in his body, and horse and rider were brought crashing down.

  Then Pellinore dismounted, and bending over the wounded knight unloosed his helm to give him air. ‘This is a boy with a lion’s heart,’ he said, ‘and if he lives, shall be among the best of knights.’ And with the spearhead still in his flank, he helped him into the saddle, and turned the horse’s head towards Caerleon, and set it to find its own way home.

  Arthur was crossing the outer courtyard with a falcon on his fist when the horse and his sore-wounded rider returned. ‘I rode but the one course as you bade me,’ said Sir Gryflet, and fell out of the saddle at the King’s feet.

  Then the King was deeply angry, not only with King Pellinore, but with himself, that he had listened to the boy, and let him go upon a man’s business (forgetting that he himself was no older) and when he had seen Gryflet carried away to be tended, he called for his squires to arm him and bring his best warhorse, and taking no companion, though many begged to ride with him, he set off along the track into the forest, to take up the challenge himself, and avenge the hurt to his youngest knight. And he rode with his vizor closed and the cover still upon his shield that no man might know him by the blood-red dragon upon it.

  By and by he came to the rich pavilion beside the well. A new shield hung from the branch of the oak tree, and he beat upon it in a fury until all the forest rang with the clamour of it like a flawed bell; and out from the pavilion came the knight he knew must be King Pellinore.

  ‘Fair knight,’ said Pellinore, ‘why do you beat upon my shield?’

  ‘Sir Knight,’ returned Arthur, ‘why do you bide here, letting no man to pass this way unless he joust with you?’

  ‘It is my custom,’ said Pellinore. ‘If any man would make me change it, let him try.’

  ‘I am come to make you change it,’ said Arthur.

  ‘And I stand here to defend my custom,’ said King Pellinore quiet in his helmet; and took up his new shield and his spear and mounted his horse which a squire had brought to him. And they rode apart the proper distance, then turned and spurred their mounts to full gallop, and so came thundering to meet each other. And each took the other in the centre of the shield, and their spears were splintered all to pieces.

  Then Arthur made to draw his sword, but King Pellinore said, ‘It is not yet time for swords. Let us try another course with spears.’

  ‘I would be willing enough,’ said Arthur, ‘if I had another spear.’

  King Pellinore flicked a finger at his squire, and the squire brought two more good spears and offered the first choice to Arthur; and when Arthur had chosen, King Pellinore took the other; and again they spurred their horses together; and again the spears shattered, and again Arthur would have drawn his sword.

  ‘Nay,’ said King Pellinore, ‘let us ride one more course with the spears, for the love of the high order of knighthood, for you are such a jouster as my heart warms to.’

  So the squire brought two more spears, and a third time they spurred against each other. But though Arthur’s spear splintered yet again, this time King Pellinore’s to
ok him so hard on the right spot that both he and his horse were brought crashing to the ground.

  Then Arthur sprang clear and drew his sword indeed, and Pellinore swung down from the saddle, drawing his own blade. And there began a great fight between them, and they hacked and hewed at each other until their armour was split and dinted and the blood ran down to slake the dust of the trackway like a crimson rain. At last their blades crashed together with such force that Arthur’s sword flew to pieces, and he was left with the hilt and a jagged stump of the fine blue blade in his hand.

  Then Pellinore let out a deep cry of triumph. ‘Now you are mine to slay or spare as I will! Kneel to me and ask mercy as a beaten knight, and it may be that I will let you live!’

  ‘There are two words as to that,’ said Arthur. ‘Death I will take when it comes, but I yield on my knees to no man!’ And flinging aside his useless sword hilt, he leapt at Pellinore, diving low under his guard, and got him round the waist in a wrestler’s grip and flung him down. So they wrestled upon the ground, a slow hard struggle in their armour; but King Pellinore was a big and powerful man, and Arthur, even as he had said to Sir Gryflet, was not yet come to his full strength; and in a while King Pellinore came uppermost, and tore off the young King’s helmet and reached for his sword …

  And in that moment something stirred among the tree-shadows around the well, as though one of the ancient thorns were moving; and out from among them stepped a tall dark man with golden eyes, and his black mantle powdered almost white about the hem with the dust of a long journey.

  His shadow in the long evening light fell across the two figures, and Pellinore checked his hand and looked up.

  ‘Nay, leave your sword where it lies,’ Merlin said. ‘If you slay this man you slay all hope for Britain.’

  ‘Why, then, who is he?’ asked Pellinore in a sudden quiet.

  ‘He is Arthur, the High King.’

  Then for the first time fear came upon Pellinore, for men who seek to slay a king, and fail, often themselves die ugly deaths; and again for an instant his hand moved towards his sword.

  ‘Nay,’ said Merlin, ‘no need for that,’ and he raised his hand and pointed a long forefinger at Pellinore; and Pellinore gave a deep sigh and folded gently on to the grass, and lay still.

  Then Merlin turned to Arthur, who could scarcely stand for his wounds, and helped him to remount his horse which stood nearby, and led him away.

  But Arthur looked back at the still figure lying beside the well, and said, ‘Merlin, what have you done? You have killed this good knight by your crafts; a strong and valiant knight, and I would give a year of my kingship that he should be whole and alive again!’

  ‘Cease to trouble,’ Merlin said, ‘you are more like to die than he is, for you are sore wounded, while his hurts are less deep than yours, and he only sleeps, and will wake again in three hours. Aye, and you shall meet this King Pellinore many times in friendship, for he shall be a valiant knight of yours, and his son after him.’

  So Merlin brought the King to a hermitage in the forest, where the hermit was a man of great skill with healing herbs, and within three days his wounds were so well knit together that he could ride again. And they set out for Caerleon once more.

  But Arthur rode with his head on his breast. ‘I am ashamed,’ he said. ‘I have no sword.’

  ‘No need to be troubled as to that,’ Merlin told him. ‘Your old sword has served its purpose. It gave proof of your right to the High Kingship and it served you well through the battles that won back your kingdom, but now it is time for you to take your own sword; time for Excalibur, that shall go with you the rest of your days.’

  So they went on deep and deeper into the forest, following ways that no man might know but only the light-foot deer; until at last the great hills rose about them and the trees fell back, and they came to the reedy margin of a lake. And though the light evening wind hushed through the branches of the trees behind them, no breath of moving air stirred the rushes, nor the surface of the water, nor the faint mist that scarfed its sky-reflecting brightness and hid the further shore. Almost, Arthur thought, it was as though there were no further shore, though he could see the hills that rose above it into the western sky. And there was no crying and calling of lake birds as there should have been; only a stillness such as, it seemed to him, he had never heard before. ‘What place is this?’ he asked at half breath as though he were afraid to break the silence.

  ‘It is the Lake,’ Merlin said, ‘it is the Lake of the Lordly Ones, who have their palace in its midst, unseen by the eyes of men. Away over yonder – away to the West – there lies Ynys Witrin, the Glass Island; Avalon of the Apple Trees, that is the threshold between the world of men and the Land of the Living that is also the Land of the Dead …’

  His voice seemed to come and go, so that Arthur was not sure whether he heard the words or if it was only the faint wind-song in the trees behind them.

  ‘A strange place indeed,’ he said.

  ‘And not far off is Camlann,’ said Merlin beside him, and his voice came back out of the faint wind-song and sounded heavy and old.

  ‘Camlann?’ Arthur said, feeling a sudden coldness between his shoulders, as men do when a grey goose flies over the place of their grave.

  ‘Camlann, the place of the last battle … Nay, but that is another story, for another day as yet far off.’ Merlin’s voice lost its heaviness, ‘See, there is your sword as I promised.’

  And looking where he pointed, Arthur saw an arm rise from the midst of the lake, clad in a sleeve of white samite and holding in its hand a mighty sword. And even as he looked, he saw a maiden whose dark gown and hair seemed to float about her like the mists come walking towards him across the water, her feet leaving no ripple-track upon its brightness.

  ‘Who is that?’ whispered Arthur.

  ‘That is the Lady among all the Ladies of the Lake. Speak to her courteously and she will give you the sword.’

  So when the maiden came to the lake shore and stood before them swan-proud among the reeds, Arthur dismounted and saluted her in all courtesy and asked her, ‘Damosel, pray you tell me what sword it is that yonder arm holds above the water.’

  ‘It is a sword that I have guarded for a long time. Do you wish to take it?’

  ‘Indeed I do,’ said Arthur, looking out across the lake with longing eyes. ‘For I have no sword of my own.’

  ‘Then promise me never to foul the blade with an unjust cause, but keep it always as befits the Sword of Logres, and it is yours.’

  ‘That I swear,’ Arthur said.

  ‘So,’ said the Lady of the Lake, ‘then step you into the barge that waits for you.’

  And for the first time, Arthur saw a boat lying close by among the reeds.

  He stepped aboard, and instantly the boat began to move, slipping through the water of its own accord and leaving no wake behind, until it checked like a well-gentled steed beside the arm where it rose from the lake depths.

  Then Arthur reached out and said, ‘By your leave,’ and took the sword into his own hands, seeing how the milky waterlight played on the finely wrought gold and gems of the hilt and on the richly worked sheath. And as he did so, the arm in its white samite sleeve slipped quietly beneath the water.

  And the boat returned as quietly to the nearby shore.

  Of the Lady there was no sign, and it was as though she had never been; but Merlin stood where he had left him, holding the horse’s bridle. And Arthur buckled on his sword, and mounted and they set forth once more towards Caerleon.

  And as he rode, Arthur drew his new sword, and looked at it, letting the evening light play with the silken surface of the blade. ‘Excalibur,’ he said softly; and then, ‘Excalibur,’ again.

  Merlin looked at him sideways, and asked, ‘Which do you love better, the sword or the sheath?’

  And Arthur laughed at the seeming foolishness of the question. ‘It is a pretty sheath, fair to see, with all these gold threads on the cr
imson leather; but the sword is a sword, and I would rather a hundred times have that!’

  ‘Nevertheless, have a care to that scabbard, and keep it always, for while it is safely buckled to your sword-belt, by the strength of the magic in it, however sore you may be wounded in battle, you shall lose not one drop of blood.’

  ‘I will have a care,’ said Arthur, sheathing his blade. ‘But still I like the sword best.’

  4

  The Round Table

  IT WAS NOT long before the High King had need of his new sword; for in the spring of the next year, word came to him that Rience of North Wales was once more gathering a war host; and wild-riding bands of his followers were already harrying the lands of Arthur’s subject kings across his borders. And when Arthur sent word to him to cease his wolf-pack ways, all he received in reply was a message from King Rience that he had conquered more kings in his time than he could count on the fingers of both hands, and cut off their beards to make a border for his mantle, but that he would spare King Arthur if he sent his own beard to add to their number.

  ‘This is the ugliest message that ever I received,’ said Arthur to the messenger. ‘Go now back to your lord, and tell him that it is unwise to send such messages to the High King of Britain. Tell him also that unless he ceases from his pillaging and comes in to swear fealty to me, as better men than he have done, I will come against him as I did before; but this time I shall do more than drive him back to his mountains. This time I shall take this kingly mantle of his, and not only his beard but his head to go with it!’ And he felt the young man’s down on his own chin, and added, with the laughter breaking through his wrath, ‘Tell him also that in any case, I fear my beard would be of little use to him as yet.’

  So the messenger returned to his lord. And Arthur gathered his war hosts yet again and marched into the mountains of North Wales. And there he found Rience and many rebel knights and war leaders waiting for him; and among them King Lot of Orkney, which grieved him, for he knew in his heart that it was Queen Margawse and not her husband who was truly his enemy, and that it was by her will rather than his own that he was there.