The King Arthur Trilogy

by Rosemary Sutcliff

  Geraint thanked him, and set the spear in rest; and a fourth time they thundered together from the far ends of the meadow; and this time, though his antagonist’s spear shattered as the others had done, the ancient spear in Geraint’s hand took him in mid-shield so strongly that his girths broke and he and his saddle together flew over his horse’s crupper to the ground.

  Geraint too flung himself from his horse, and as the other scrambled to his feet, he drew his golden-hilted sword and was upon him. So they fought up and down the meadow, blade against blade, until their armour was hacked and hanging loose, and the blood and sweat ran from them, and the light began to fade from their eyes. And at last it seemed that the defender of the sparrowhawk was gaining on Geraint, and the old Duke cried to him, ‘Remember the insults done to you and to Queen Guenever!’

  And the red flame of his rage sprang up bright and fierce again and the darkness fell from his eyes, and summoning up the last of his strength, he swung up his sword and brought it crashing down upon the other’s head in a blow that cut through crest and helm, and mail coif and flesh, and bit to the very bone.

  The knight crashed to the ground, his sword spinning from his hand; and there on his knees he cried quarter, and asked mercy of Geraint.

  ‘Mercy you shall have,’ said Geraint, standing over him, ‘on this condition, that you go to Guenever the Queen, and make amends to her for the injury done to her maiden by your dwarf; and tell her that Geraint, son of Erbin, sent you. For the injury done to myself –’ he smiled grimly inside his battered helmet – ‘I have taken enough payment. Yet I demand one thing more, that now you tell me your name, which at the first I asked in all courtesy.’

  ‘I will go to the Queen as you bid me,’ groaned the knight. ‘And as for my name, Geraint, son of Erbin, I am Edern, son of Nudd.’

  Then came squires to help him away to have his wounds tended; and after, he was put back upon his horse, and drooping in his saddle, with his dwarf and his lady, he set out for Caerleon.

  Meanwhile, Geraint said to the maiden Enid, ‘Go now and take up the sparrowhawk on its silver rod, for it is rightfully yours.’

  Then came the young Duke with his people, and greeted Geraint and bade him to come back with him to the castle. ‘My thanks to you,’ said Geraint, ‘but where I spent last night, there will I spend this night also.’

  ‘That must be as you wish; but at least you shall have more comfort there than you had last night, and my uncle and his ladies also.’

  And when Geraint with the old Duke Ynwl and his wife and daughter came again to the ancient manor house, they found the young Duke’s servants had come there before them by a shorter way and were making ready the living chamber as though for a feast, and water was heating on a blazing fire for Geraint to wash off the blood and sweat of his fighting.

  And when he came from his bath, the young Duke was there with his household knights and guests from the jousting for the sparrowhawk. And the old Duke in a new furred gown was looking about him as one in a dream, at the fine food and drink upon the table and the fresh water-mint strewn upon the floor, and the rich stuffs being spread over the poor furniture, and everywhere the glint of gold that had been his long ago. But of the old Duchess and the maiden Enid there was no sign, and when he asked where they were, the chamberlain told him, ‘They are in the upper chamber, putting on the new gowns that the Duke has brought for them.’

  And Geraint said, ‘Pray you send and ask the maiden to wear her old gown until she comes to Arthur’s court, that the Queen may dress her in gowns of her choosing.’

  So Enid came down to the living chamber in her old threadbare gown; but in that, she looked as fair to Geraint as the other ladies in their brilliant silks and damasks.

  They all sat down to supper. And over the table that night, peace was made between the old Duke and the young Duke; and the young Duke restored to the old one all the lands and riches that were his aforetime.

  And next day the Lady Enid bade goodbye to her father and her mother; and still in her threadbare gown, but riding a sweet-paced bay palfrey which the young Duke had had brought for her from his own stables, and carrying the sparrowhawk on her gloved fist, she rode out with Geraint upon the long road back to Caerleon.

  Meanwhile, the King and his knights had had good hunting and slain the white stag; and on the morrow, the Queen had look-outs set on the ramparts to watch for Geraint’s return. Some while after noon they saw coming across the bridge of Usk a dwarf on a tall horse, and behind him a maiden on a palfrey, and last of all a knight in hacked and battered armour, who sat slumped in the saddle of his warhorse with his head hanging down between his shoulders.

  And one of the watchers went and told Guenever what he had seen; a dwarf and a lady and a sorry and battered knight. ‘But I know not who they may be.’

  ‘But I know,’ said the Queen. ‘Bring the knight and the lady to me when they have entered the gate.’

  So Edern the son of Nudd and his lady-love were brought to the Queen in the Great Chamber. And kneeling at her feet, Edern told her all that had passed. And how Geraint had overcome him and sent him to her to make amends for the injury done to her and her maiden; and he humbly asked her pardon.

  And the Queen granted it, and ordered that he be taken to the chief guest chamber, and Morgan Tudd who was Arthur’s own physician summoned to tend his many hurts. And she greeted his lady kindly, and gave her into the keeping of her maidens.

  And she bade the look-outs on the ramparts continue their watch for Geraint.

  On the edge of dusk, Geraint came riding, and the Lady Enid with him in her threadbare gown, drooping a little with weariness, but the sparrowhawk still on her fist.

  And when word of this was brought to the Queen, she gathered all her maidens and went to greet them in the inner courtyard. ‘Now welcome and God’s greeting to you,’ she said, ‘and to the maiden who rides with you, for whom you won the sparrowhawk.’

  And by her knowing so much of the story, Geraint knew that Edern, son of Nudd, must have kept his promise and reached Caerleon ahead of him. And he dismounted and lifted the maiden down, and while squires took their horses and the sparrowhawk, he took her by the hand and led her to the Queen; and as she sank low before the Queen, Guenever stooped and took her in her arms.

  ‘Lady,’ said Geraint, ‘I have kept my promise, and the name of the knight is Edern, son of Nudd; but I am thinking that you know that already.’

  ‘Surely,’ said the Queen, ‘for not many hours since, he rode in, asking my pardon and saying that you had sent him to make amends for the injury his dwarf did my maiden. And he told us all the story of the jousting for the sparrowhawk, so far as he knew it.’

  ‘Is it well with him? He was a good fighter,’ said Geraint.

  And the Queen smiled. ‘As well as may be. He is in the guest chamber while the many wounds you gave him are tended to; and his lady is with him now.’

  Then came Arthur with his knights; and Geraint presented the maiden Enid to him, and told the rest of the story, and asked the King’s leave that they should be married the next day.

  ‘Assuredly you have my leave,’ said the King, ‘and seldom saw I a fairer maiden than this duke’s daughter, even though she is so poorly clad.’

  But the Queen said, ‘I am thinking that my Lord Geraint brought her to me in her old gown, that I might have the joy of finding her gowns from among my own, that are more fitting to her beauty.’

  And she swept Enid away with her to her own apartments, while Geraint went with the King and his knights to the feasting in the Great Hall. And that evening it was decided that the head of the white stag should be awarded as a bride-piece to Geraint’s lady.

  Next day, in a gown of golden damask, Enid went to the castle chapel, and there the High King himself gave her hand into Geraint’s before the high altar, and so they were wed. And after the marriage there were three days of rejoicing; jousting and hunting by day, and feasting with harp-song and dancing i
n the Great Hall by night.

  But on the fourth morning Geraint went to the King and said, ‘My Lord Arthur, now it is time that I was away into Cornwall, to my own place, to bring my Lady Enid before my father, that the sight of her may gladden his autumn days.’

  Then the King was sad, and the Queen and her maidens grieved for the loss of the Lady Enid, for in those three days her sweetness and gentleness had made her dear to all of them. But they knew that it was right that Geraint should take her back to his own people and his own place.

  So all things were made ready, and the next morning after they had heard Mass, they rode out, with a knot of the King’s best knights headed by Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain to company them on their way. They crossed the Severn by the flat-bottomed barges that always lay there ready to ferry travellers and their horses to the other side, and they turned their horses’ heads towards Upper Cornwall, and rode until in two more days they came to the castle of Erbin, Geraint’s father.

  The old lord greeted his son and his son’s wife with great joy; and for three days there was hunting and hawking and jousting by day, and feasting and harping in the Great Hall at night, just as there had been at Caerleon; and then Arthur’s knights took their leave and went back to their own lord.

  And Geraint set himself to strengthen his borders, which his father, being old, had allowed to grow weak, and set to rights all things that were in need of it, and help his father in the ruling of his domain. And when ever and where ever there was a tournament or jousting or other such trials of skill, there he would be, eager to pit himself against the best knights that could come against him. But the time came when the borders were strong and secure and all was well with his father’s lands and people, and he had overcome all the knights who came against him in joust or tournament, so that there seemed nothing to fight for and no one to try his skill against any more. And he began more and more to forsake his old companions and pass his time in his own apartments or in the castle gardens, with Enid, for being with the Lady Enid was the one thing that he never grew weary of.

  So he began to lose his people’s hearts, and there was a murmuring among his household knights, some saying that Enid had bewitched him, and others that he was no true son of his father after all. And the murmuring came to the ears of the old Lord Erbin, and he sent for Enid to his own chamber and told her of it, and asked her was it by her wish and her doing that Geraint had forsaken his heart-companions and a man’s proper way of life, to spend all his time with her.

  Grief and shock struck through Enid when she heard this, and she gripped her hands together and raised her face to the old man’s, and said, ‘Truly, my lord, I am to blame in this, for I have thought only that it was sweet to have your son by me, when I should have found means to send him from my side. I had not thought that he was forsaking his companions and his courage and his proper way of life for love of me. But I swear that never have I asked this of him; and it is hateful to me that it should be so, for I would have him the valiant knight I loved and left my home and kin for.’

  ‘Then tell him so,’ said the old lord, gently.

  But though she tried and tried again, Enid could not tell him so; she could not give him the wound that she knew it would be to him. And she was afraid of him too, a little; afraid of his fiery temper that was hotter even than Gawain’s.

  And then one summer morning, lying wakeful as she had lain all night, she looked at Geraint lying asleep beside her, the first sunlight lying across his breast, where he had pushed the coverings down; and she raised herself on her arm to look the better, and saw his sleeping face among the tangle of bright hair, and the way his breast rose and fell, and the way, even in his sleep, he had reached out towards her.

  And suddenly all her love for him seemed to rise into her throat and choke her, and she began to weep.

  ‘Alas and alas!’ she whispered. ‘If through me you have lost your valour and your strength as men say! Alas and alas that you are no more the knight that first I loved! An ill day for both of us, when I consented to wed with you!’

  And her tears fell on Geraint’s bare chest and roused him, so that he heard what she said, confusedly between sleeping and waking, and thought both that she accused him of having lost his knightly valour and that she wept for love of some other knight who she would have wed. And he sprang from the bed, blinded by rage and grief, and flung her aside when she would have clung to him, and shouted for his squire to bring him his armour and have his warhorse saddled and made ready.

  Then looking down at Enid still crouching where he had flung her to the ground at his feet, he said, ‘Lady, have your mare saddled also, for we are going riding. And we shall not return until you have come to know whether or not I have altogether lost my knighthood. Until also, you have decided whether I am not so well worth loving as him you were weeping for just now.’

  And he would pay no heed to her weeping nor her protests that she loved no other man. And he strode off to seek his father and tell him that he was setting out upon a quest.

  ‘So suddenly?’ said the old lord. ‘And who rides with you?’

  ‘Enid my wife,’ said Geraint, harsh in his throat, and strode out with no other word, back to the place where his squire waited for him with his armour.

  Meanwhile Enid, not summoning any of her maidens for she could not bear anyone with her in her grief and bewilderment, had gone to the small chamber where her clothes-chest was kept. And first she thought, I will put on my finest gown and my golden bracelets for my pride’s sake. But then she drew out the old threadbare smock, carefully treasured, and she thought, If he sees me in this gown, maybe he will remember how he first saw and loved me, and how I left my home and parents in it for his sake, and his heart will gentle and turn to me again.

  And she put on the shabby gown and went down into the courtyard.

  But when Geraint had been armed by his squire, and came down and found her waiting with her mare at a little distance from his own great warhorse, the face he turned to her was as though it had been carved from stone.

  ‘Mount,’ he said, ‘take the road that leads uphill, from the tower gate, and ride ahead of me – well ahead of me. And do not turn back for anything that you see or hear.’

  And when she would have spoken one last plea, he cut her short, ‘And speak no word to me unless I speak first to you.’

  So Enid mounted and rode sadly out through the gate and turned into the track that led northward up on to the high moors.

  Presently the road dipped towards a valley choked with forest, and as they came towards the woodshore, Enid saw two armed men sitting their horses in the shadow of the trees, hedge-knights who lived by robbery. And one said to the other, ‘Now here comes a fine chance for us! Two horses and a maiden, aye, and a fine suit of armour off that knight who rides with his head so sunk on his breast; for I am thinking that he will not be one to hold his own against us!’

  And hearing, Enid thought, He bade me not to turn, nor speak with him; but I must warn him of this! And she turned her horse and rode swiftly back to Geraint and told him what she had heard.

  But Geraint only said, ‘No need that you come back to me with such warnings, when I know that in your heart you would gladly see me dead at the hands of these men. Only one thing I require of you – that you obey me and keep silent!’

  And at that moment the foremost of the hedge-knights came charging towards him. But Geraint wrenched his horse aside at the last instant, so that the other’s spear-point passed him by, then turned and with his own spear laid crosswise swept him from the saddle, so that he crashed to the ground head down with his neck broken under him. Then charging to meet the second, he ran him through the throat-mail with his point, and hurled him to the ground as dead as his comrade.

  Then Geraint dismounted and stripped the knights of their armour and bound it upon their horses’ backs, and knotted up the reins. Then he remounted, saying to Enid, who had sat her mare looking silently on the while, �
�Now ride ahead of me once more, driving these horses ahead of you. And whatever you hear or see, do not turn back or speak to me unbidden, for I vow before God that you shall be sorry if you do!’

  And the Lady Enid did as she was bid.

  Presently they left the forest country, and the road that they followed led out across bleak and open moors. And as they rode, Enid saw, small in the distance, three knights riding towards them through the heather and low thorn-scrub; and the wind was blowing from them towards her, and brought her the words of the foremost rider as they drew near. ‘Now this is our well-starred day! Four horses and three suits of armour – and the woman too, for it’s little that lack-lustre knight will be able to do against us!’

  Then Enid thought, He bade me not to speak to him; but if I do not, it may be his death, and I had rather that it was mine. And again she rode back to Geraint and warned him of what she had heard.

  ‘Truly your warning means less to me than your disobedience to my orders!’ said Geraint.

  And in the same moment the first of the three hedge-knights came clattering down upon Geraint with levelled spear, but he swung his horse aside so that the spear-point only glanced off the rim of his shield while his own drove true to its target and flung the man back over his horse’s crupper, dead before he hit the ground; and in the same way Geraint served the second man and the third. Then he dismounted and, stripping the dead men of their armour, bound it across their horses’ backs, and knotted up the reins, and gave them into Enid’s keeping with the same grim orders as before. ‘Now ride ahead of me, driving these five horses, and do not again disobey me, for I think that I shall kill you if you do.’