The King Arthur Trilogy

by Rosemary Sutcliff

  Behind him he left great silence in the Hall, and it was a while before the harper drew his hand across the bright strings again, and men returned to their laughter and feasting.

  The snow melted and the buds began to swell along the woodshores. And at Eastertide Sir Lancelot returned from his questing, as has been told. The cuckoo came, the foxgloves stood proudly along the woodland ways and then were gone; and in farms and manors up and down the land the harvest was gathered in; and it was the time of blackberries and turning bracken once again. And at Michaelmas it was time for Sir Gawain to set forth upon his terrible quest.

  King Arthur held his court at Caerleon that Michaelmas; and there gathered Sir Gaheris and Sir Agravane, and Lancelot and Lional and his brother Bors who was new-come from Less Britain to join him, Sir Uwaine and Sir Bedivere, King Bagdemagus and Sir Lamorack and Sir Gryflet le Fise de Dieu and many more. And their hearts were sore within them so that there was no joy nor savour to the feasting, for the sake of Sir Gawain, who was riding away from them and would surely never come riding back.

  And Sir Gawain with his squire’s help armed himself and belted on his sword, and mounted Gringolet his great roan horse, and set out.

  For many days he rode through the ancient border country of Wales until he came to the wild dark mountain lands of North Wales; and he rode by steep valleys and roaring waters and mountain-clinging forests. And many times he was attacked by wild animals and wilder men and must fight for his life, knowing all the while that death must be waiting for him at the end of his quest. Autumn had turned to winter when he reached the end of the mountain country, and came down by Clwyd to the Holy Head near to Saint Winifred’s Well on the shore of the broad and grey-shining Dee. He forded the river mouth at low tide, and barely winning clear of the sands and saltings before the tide came racing in again, he came to the black and ancient forest-fleece of the Wirral.

  And as he rode, whenever he came up with a forester or a wandering friar or an old woman gathering sticks, and whenever he found shelter at night in a swineherd’s bothie or a charcoal-burner’s hut (those were the nights he counted himself lucky; on other nights he slept huddled in his cloak under a pile of dead bracken or in the root-hollow of a tree brought down by the storms of some past winter), he asked for tidings of the Green Knight of the Green Chapel, but no one could tell him what he needed to know.

  And the time was growing short …

  On Christmas Eve, weary man on weary horse mired to the belly from the forest ways, he came out from among ancient trees that seemed to reach their twisted lichen-hung branches across his way as though to seize him and draw him into themselves, and saw before him open meadowland set about with fine tamed trees, a willow-fringed stream winding through; and beyond the stream, the land rising gently, crowned by a castle that was both strong and beautiful in the last light of the winter’s day.

  Now God be thanked, thought Sir Gawain, and he gently pulled Gringolet’s twitching ear. There will be food and shelter to spare in this place and they will not refuse us welcome upon this night of all the year. And he forded the stream and rode up to the castle gate and beat upon the timbers with the pommel of his sword.

  The gate opened almost at once, and the porter appeared in the entrance.

  ‘Good fellow,’ said Sir Gawain, ‘pray you tell your master that a knight of King Arthur’s court rides this way upon a quest; and begs shelter for himself and his horse.’

  ‘My master, the lord of this castle, has a welcome for all comers, especially any who come on this night of all the year,’ said the porter, standing aside, and Gawain rode through into the outer court of the castle. Squires came hurrying to take Gringolet to the stables, while others led Gawain himself through the inner court and then into the castle Hall, where the lord of the castle himself stood before a roaring fire with three great wolfhounds lying all about his feet, their bellies to the warmth.

  He was a big man, broad across the shoulders and running just a trace to fat; his face weather-beaten, kindly and open, his mane of hair as red as Gawain’s own; and as his guest entered the room, he thrust the wolfhounds aside and came striding to meet him with hands outstretched.

  ‘Welcome, knight-at-arms, my home is your home, and all that I have is yours for as long as it pleases you to bide here.’

  ‘My thanks, noble sir,’ Gawain said, his heart warming to the man in instant friendship. ‘God be good to you, for the goodness of your hospitality.’

  And they clapped each other upon the shoulders as though they were old friends indeed.

  The squires led Gawain to the guest chamber high in the keep, where they helped him to unarm, and brought him a robe of thick russet wool lined with the softest dappled lynx fur; then they escorted him back to the Hall, where another chair had been set for him opposite the lord of the castle; and one of the hounds came with proudly swinging tail and laid its chin on his knee.

  Meanwhile the squires and pages were setting up the table boards and spreading them with fine white linen; and bringing in the food and setting ready the wine jugs. And the soft warm hunger-water ran into Sir Gawain’s mouth at the sight and smell of the dishes; and the warmth of the fire and the heavy furred robe seeped through his chilled and weary body, and he was very well content.

  When supper was over, the lord of the castle said, ‘Come, Sir Gawain, for you have not yet seen my lady, and she will be eager to greet you.’

  And they went together, by the stairway behind the Hall, to the Private Chamber; a fair chamber whose walls were painted green and scattered with small golden stars; and the lady of the castle sat beside the fire with a little silky lapdog on her knee, and her maidens all about her. And Gawain thought when she smiled at him that she was the fairest lady he had ever seen; fairer even than Queen Guenever. She made him sweetly welcome, while her maidens brought a chessboard with men of silver and crystal, for her lord and his guest to play; and the evening passed as happily as any that Gawain had ever known, so that for a little while he was almost able to forget the dark quest on which he rode.

  And when the time came for sleep, the squires took him back, making a candle-lit procession of it, to the guest chamber, and left him with a goblet of spiced wine beside the bed.

  Four days passed, with all the singing and feasting and rejoicing that goes with Christmas time; and always the lady of the castle stayed close to Gawain and talked to him and smiled upon him and attended to him in all things.

  But on the evening of the fourth day Gawain knew that he must stay no longer from his quest. When he told the knight and the lady of this, they grieved, and would have had him stay longer. But Gawain held to his purpose. ‘I have stayed too long already, happy in your company, and my quest calls me. I must meet the Knight of the Green Chapel by noon of New Year’s Day; and as yet I do not even know where this Green Chapel may be.’

  Then the lord of the castle laughed, and slapped his great hand upon his broad knee. ‘That makes good hearing indeed; for the Green Chapel I know well; it is not two hours’ easy ride from here! Bide with us then until the morning of New Year’s Day, and then one of my squires shall guide you to the place, and have you there before the sun stands at noon.’

  ‘Then gladly will I bide here,’ Sir Gawain said, ‘and warm me with your kindness, and do in all things as you will.’ (For he thought, if these be the last three days of my life, it were sweet that I should spend them among friends.)

  ‘So then, we have three good days to spend,’ said the lord of the castle, ‘and I shall spend them as always I spend the three last days of the Old Year, hunting in the forest. But you, who have ridden so far and hard, and have, I doubt not, some great ordeal to face at the Green Chapel, shall abide here and take your ease, and keep the company of my lady who ever complains of her loneliness when I leave her to follow the boar or the red deer. And in the evenings we will make merry together.’

  ‘That will I do most willingly,’ said Gawain.

  The lord’s e
yes flickered with laughter in his weather-beaten face. ‘And since this is the time for games and jests, and I have a fantastic mood on me, let us make a covenant together – that each evening I will give you whatever I have gained in my day’s hunting; and you shall give me in exchange whatever you have gained here in my castle. This exchange let us swear to, for better or worse, however it may turn out.’

  ‘That is a fine covenant, and gladly will I swear to it,’ said Gawain; and they struck hands like men sealing a bargain.

  Next day the lord of the castle summoned his companions and his hounds and rode away to hunt the red deer through the forests of Wirral and Delamare. But Gawain lay abed, with a most unusual drowsiness upon him, for he was not used to late lying. And presently the lady of the castle came, stepping lightly, and sat down on the edge of the bed, as blithe as a linnet on a hawthorn spray, and began to tease him. And by little and little, from teasing she slipped into love-talk, and spoke sweet words as though half in jest. And Gawain took them as though they were all in jest, and turned them aside lightly and courteously as though they played some kind of game. And at last the lady rose to go. ‘God save you for a pleasant hour,’ she said. ‘But I find it hard to believe that you are Sir Gawain, as you claim to be.’

  ‘Why so?’ asked Sir Gawain, startled.

  And she laughed. ‘Would Sir Gawain ever have tarried so long with a damosel and never once asked for a kiss?’

  ‘Faith, lady, I feared to displease you,’ said Sir Gawain, ‘but since it seems that you give me leave, I do indeed beg you most humbly for a kiss.’

  So the lady took his face between her hands, and kissed him most sweetly, and went her way. And Gawain called for the chamber squires, for he would get up.

  At evening, the lord of the castle came home with the carcass of a fine red deer slung across the back of a hunting pony. And he bade his huntsmen lay it before Gawain, who had come to meet him in the courtyard. ‘See, now, here is the fruit of my hunting, which I give to you according to our bargain.’

  ‘I accept the gift with all thanks,’ said Gawain, ‘and bid you to sup with me, though in your own Hall, tomorrow, when it is cooked. And now in return I give to you the thing that I won here in the castle this day.’ And he set his hands on his host’s shoulders and kissed him, once.

  ‘So; that was a fine gift, and much do I thank you for it,’ said the lord of the castle. ‘Yet gladly would I know who gave you that kiss.’

  ‘Nay,’ said Sir Gawain, ‘that was no part of the bargain.’

  And presently they sat down to supper in great good fellowship.

  Next morning the lord of the castle sent for his boar hounds and rode hunting again. And again Gawain lay in his bed with the sweet unaccountable drowsiness upon him, until again the lady of the castle came and sat down on the edge of the bed, with the little dog pattering after, to cuddle in the floor-folds of her gown. And again she fell to teasing him softly, playing with words and trying to coax words of love from him in return. But Sir Gawain continued to turn them all aside, lightly and with courtesy that held no unkindness nor rebuff; and at last she left him, though this time with two kisses instead of yesterday’s one.

  That evening, the lord of the castle returned home at dusk, and his huntsmen laid at Gawain’s feet the grizzly carcass of a boar. ‘Here, guest of mine, I bring you the spoils of my day’s hunting.’

  ‘I accept the spoils of your hunting,’ Gawain said, ‘and bid you to sup with me again tomorrow night.’

  ‘And what have you to give me in return?’

  ‘These, that I have come by since you rode out this morning,’ said Gawain; and putting his hands on the other’s shoulders, he gave him two kisses. ‘This, and no more, I have gained, and now I give them to you.’

  And together, with the rest of the castle knights, they supped royally on the red deer that had been Gawain’s gift of the night before. And the lady, coming in with her maidens, smiled at Gawain and sent him sweet dark glances that he pretended not to see.

  That night, Sir Gawain thought that for other reasons beside his quest it would be better if he rode on his way next morning. But when he said so to his host, the big man said, ‘Nay, but why?’

  ‘Tomorrow will be the last day of the year; and by noon of the next day, I must be at my meeting-place with the Green Knight.’

  ‘Have I not sworn on my knightly honour that the place is but two hours’ ride from here, and you shall come there long before noon on the appointed day? And there is yet one day of our bargain still to run.’

  So the next morning, the morning of New Year’s Eve, the lord of the castle called for his huntsmen and his hounds and rode away into the dark forest, while Sir Gawain still lay sleeping, tangled in troubled dreams of his meeting with the Green Knight that was now so cruelly near.

  He woke to find thin winter sunshine streaming into the chamber, and the lady of the castle bending over him. When she saw that he was awake, she gave him one kiss, lingering a little, then stood back, looking down at him, laughing still, but a little sadly under the laughter. ‘But one little kiss,’ she said, ‘does your heart freeze in the winter? Or have you a damosel waiting for you at court?’

  ‘No damosel,’ Sir Gawain said gently, ‘and my heart is still mine to give; but lady, fairest and sweetest lady, I may not give it to you, for your lord and the lord of this castle is my host. If I were to love the wife, that would be to shame my knightly vows.’

  ‘But my lord rides hunting and will not be home till dusk, no one will ever know, not even he, and so he will feel no hurt. Can we not love in this one day, that all my life may be sweeter remembering that Gawain of Orkney once held me in his arms?’

  Gawain shook his head. ‘The wrong would be none the less because no one knew of it. No, lady, it cannot be.’

  For a long while she besought him, but he turned her pleas aside; and at last she sighed as one admitting defeat, and kissed him again, and said, ‘Sir Gawain, you must be the truest to your vows of all knights living. So – I will plague you no more. But give me something of yours to remember you by; that I may cherish it, and it may comfort me a little in my sorrow.’

  ‘Alas,’ said Sir Gawain, ‘I have nothing to give, for I travel light upon this quest.’

  ‘Then will I give you something of mine. Take this green girdle and wear it for my sake.’

  ‘Lady, I cannot be your knight and wear your favour.’

  ‘Such a little thing,’ said the lady, ‘and you need not wear it openly as my favour, but hidden where no man shall see, and only I shall know of it. Pray you take it, for you ride into sore danger, that I know; and there is magic woven into it, that while you wear it you shall bear a charmed life. Only keep it hid, and tell not my lord of it.’

  And with his meeting with the terrible Green Knight so close, the temptation was too great, and Gawain took the girdle of gold-worked green ribbons and knotted it round his neck under his shirt.

  And the lady kissed him for the third time, and went her way.

  That evening at dusk, the lord of the castle returned from his hunting bearing with him nothing but one fox-skin swinging from his hand.

  ‘Alas! I have had scurvy hunting,’ he said when Gawain met him in the courtyard, ‘and this is all that I have to give you on the last of your three days.’

  ‘Then it seems that my winnings have been better than yours. For I have this to give you,’ said Gawain, and setting his hands on his host’s shoulders he gave him three kisses.

  Then with great jest and merriment, their arms across each other’s shoulders, they went back into the Great Hall where supper was made ready, and feasted on the boar which the knight of the castle had brought home from his hunting the day before.

  But Gawain spoke no word of the green ribbons lying round his neck under his shirt and his borrowed robe.

  On New Year’s Morning, Sir Gawain arose early, having slept but little, and called for the squires to arm him – keeping the green ribbons
well hidden beneath the neck-band of his shirt the while. They brought him food; dark crusty bread and cold pig-meat, a cup of wine, and a platter of last summer’s little withered yellow apples; but there was small wish for food in him; he drank some wine and ate one of the apples, and that was all. Then he went down into the courtyard, where the stable squires had brought out Gringolet looking sleek and well-fed.

  Gringolet whinnied with pleasure at sight of his master, and Gawain fondled him a moment, then sprang into the saddle. ‘Fare you well; the sun and the moon on your threshold,’ he said to the lord of the castle, who had come down to take leave of him. Of the lady, there was no sign. ‘If I might, I would do aught in my power to reward you for your kindness. But I think that I shall not see the rising of another sun.’

  And he rode out through the gates that had been flung wide, with the squire who was to guide him riding hard behind; out over the causeway and away through the grey light of a low sullen dawn, with sleet spitting down the wind. By forest and mire and dreary wasteland they went, until they came to the lip of a broad valley between steep rocky slopes, and reining in, sat looking down, and saw the whole valley full of swirling mist.

  ‘Sir,’ said the squire, ‘I have brought you as far as I may. Down yonder under the mist is the Green Chapel you seek; and down there the Green Knight will be waiting, as always he waits to fight with and slay all who would pass him by. None who come into combat with him may escape living. Oh, sir, do not go down there! None shall ever know; I will not betray you, that I swear as I hope for knighthood myself one day.’

  ‘My thanks,’ said Gawain; ‘but my honour’s lost and my knighthood shamed if I turn away now from my tryst. God knows how to save His servants if He wills it so.’

  ‘Then your death is on your own hands,’ said the squire. ‘Follow the cliff path yonder and it will bring you down into the deep-most heart of the valley; a stream runs down the valley, and the Green Chapel stands upon the opposite bank. I bid you farewell, Sir Gawain, for I dare come with you no further.’