‘Why has the sword been left half-drawn from its sheath?’ said Sir Bors at last, as they stood looking down at it. ‘It is not good for a blade to be left exposed so, especially in the sea air.’
‘I can tell you that story,’ said the maiden Anchoret. ‘Long ago, when King Pelles, who men call the Maimed King, was whole and strong, he rode out hunting one day in his forest that stretches along the sea. He became separated from his hounds and huntsmen, and all his knights save one, and trying to find his way back to them, he came at last through the forest to the coast which faces Ireland. And there, lying in a deep inlet, he found this ship on which we now stand. He read the words upon the side, but he was as good as any earthly knight; he had faith in God, as strong as any other, and he knew of no sin that he had committed against his God. And so he boarded the ship, while the knight who was with him waited on the shore. He found the sword, and unsheathed it by as much as you can see; but before he could draw it completely from the sheath, there came a spear flying out of nowhere, and pierced him through the thigh, making a wound which has never healed but maims him to this day. And in the moment of his wounding, his land was wounded also, and became as it is now; a land in which the waters do not flow and the harvest fails, and trees grow stunted and men and cattle hollow-eyed. And so it must remain until the man who draws this sword shall heal the King of his wound.’
And still they looked down upon the half-drawn sword; and as they looked, they saw another strange thing: that the sheath was worthy of the wondrous smith-craft it contained, of some strange skin the colour of a red rose and wrought over with gold and blue, but where there should have been a rich sword belt for its support, there was nothing but a length of hempen rope, so poor and frayed that it would surely not support the weight of its weapon for an hour without breaking. And on the scabbard, in letters twisted among the blue and the gold so that they made part of the enrichment, they read, ‘Let not any man take off this sword belt to replace it with a better. That is for a maiden’s doing, and one that is without sin and the daughter of a king and a queen. And she shall replace it with another, made from that about herself which is most precious to her.’
Then the three knights fell to wondering how they were to find the right maiden. And listening to them, Anchoret smiled, and said, ‘Sirs, do not lose heart. So it please God, the new belt shall be in its place before we leave this ship. As rich and beautiful and potent a belt as even such a sword as this demands.’
And as they all turned to look at her, she opened the casket that she had carried all that while, and drew out a belt woven of gold thread and silk and strands of yellow hair; and the hair so bright and burnished that it was hard to tell it from the threads of gold; and brilliant gems strung among the fantastic braids, and gold buckles to make all secure.
‘Good sirs,’ said she, ‘I am the daughter of a king and of a queen, as my brother Percival knows. And I have never knowingly sinned; and this sword belt I braided of the most precious thing I had, my hair. Last Pentecost a voice spoke to me, telling of what was before me, and what I must do; and I obeyed the voice, and cut off my hair, which maybe I loved too much; but I cut it gladly, none the less, and wrought with it as you see.’
And while they watched, finding no words to speak, she bent over the sword and untied the hempen rope, and fitted on the beautiful belt as skilfully as though it had been her daily task.
‘Now,’ said Bors, drawing a long breath when it was done, and turning to Galahad, ‘put on your sword.’
And Percival echoed him, ‘Put on your sword.’
‘First I must make sure of my right to it,’ said Galahad. And he took it by the hilt, and his hand closed round the grip with the ease of familiar things, as though it were a sword of his own, long lost, and found again. And as his watching companions caught their breaths, he unsheathed it and let the light play on the blade, smiling a little. Then he slid it back into the sheath; and the maiden unbuckled his old sword, the sword that he had drawn from its red marble block in the river below Camelot, and laid it in the place left empty across the foot of the bed, and buckled on the new one.
‘This is your sword,’ she said. ‘It has been waiting for you since the world stood at morning.’
‘For your part in this,’ said Galahad, looking down at her, where her veil had fallen back from her bright boy’s head, ‘I cannot speak my thanks. I would that you were my sister, as you are Percival’s. But sister or no, I am your true knight, for ever.’
11
Death of a Maiden
SO THE THREE knights and the maiden returned to their own ship; and as soon as they were on board the wind caught and filled the sail and carried them swiftly from the islet.
More days passed; and one morning the ship came sailing into a small land-locked harbour far to the north of any lands that they had known before. And since it seemed to them that their ship would not have brought them so surely to this landfall, if it were not for some purpose, they went ashore and took the track which ran up from the waterside and looked as though it must lead to some living-place of men.
Presently the track lifted over a moorland ridge, and they saw before them the dark mass of a castle rising like a rock-crag from the heather that washed to its walls. And as they stood looking, ten knights came riding out through the castle gateway; and behind them a maiden carrying a great silver bowl.
When they came up, the leader of the troop spoke to Sir Galahad, with no courtesy of greeting. ‘The maiden you have with you is of noble birth?’
‘She is the daughter of a king and of a queen,’ said Sir Galahad.
‘Has she ever sinned?’
‘Never. That is known to all of us, by certain signs of a ship and of a sword belt.’
‘Then she must obey the custom of the castle.’
‘I am weary of the customs of castles,’ said Galahad. ‘What is this one?’
‘It is that every maiden of noble birth to pass this way must pay passage dues, not in gold, but in blood from her right arm.’
‘That is an ugly custom,’ said Galahad.
And Percival moved closer to his sister.
‘It is still the custom,’ said the leader, urging his horse closer. ‘The dues must be paid.’
‘Not while the strength is in my sword arm,’ said Galahad.
‘Or in mine,’ said Percival.
‘Or yet in mine,’ said Bors.
And as the knights came thrusting about them, they drew their swords and turned shoulder to shoulder, facing outwards all ways, with the maiden Anchoret in their midst. And when the knights charged in on them, they hurled them back. But scarcely was the fighting begun, when a score more knights came riding out from the castle and ringed them round. Then the attackers drew back a little, panting. ‘You are three valiant fighting-men,’ said the leader, ‘and so we have no wish to kill you. But even you cannot burst out of this circle; and as to the maiden, it will be all one in the end. Yield her up now, and go free.’
‘Such freedom would not taste over-sweet,’ said Galahad.
‘Then you are bent on dying?’
‘As God wills. But it is not yet come to that.’ Galahad brought up his sword.
Then the fighting burst out again, fierce and furious; and the knights drove in upon the three companions from all sides. All day they fought, until the shadows grew long and were lost in dusk, and the dusk deepened into the dark and they could no longer see the sword strokes. Then a trumpet sounded from the castle to break off the fray. And as the three stood leaning on their weary swords, the horsemen still ringed around them, more men came from the castle, bearing torches, and behind the torch-bearers an old white-haired man with a gold chain about his neck, who said to the companions, ‘Sirs, the last of the fighting-light is gone from the sky. Therefore it is time to call a truce. Do you come back now with us to the castle, and have safe lodging for the night. No harm shall come to you nor to the maiden while darkness lasts, and in the morning you shall al
l return to this place and state in which you stand now, and the fighting shall go forward as though there had been no pause between one sword-stroke and the next.’
And the maiden Anchoret said, ‘Let us go with them. We shall be safe under the truce; and I know in my heart that this is the thing we are to do.’
So they went with the old man and the castle knights, through the deep gateway into the stronghold. And there they were made welcome as honoured guests. And when supper was over in the Great Hall, the old man told them more concerning the custom of the castle.
‘Some two years ago, the lady of this place, whose knights we are, fell sick of that dread disease, leprosy. We sent for every physician far and near, but none could heal her sickness. At last, a wise man told us that if she were bathed with the blood of a maiden, who was of noble birth, and who had never sinned in fact or in thought, our mistress would be instantly healed. Therefore no high-born maiden passes this way, that we do not take from her a bowlful of her blood. That is all the story.’
‘And yet the blood of these maidens has not healed your lady,’ said Sir Bors.
‘Alas, no. It must be that none to pass this way so far has been altogether without sin.’
When the telling was done, the maiden Anchoret called her three companions to her, and said, ‘Sirs, you have heard how it is with this lady, and that it lies in my power to give her healing. Now I know for what purpose the ship has brought us to this morning’s harbour.’
‘If you do this thing,’ said Galahad, ‘I think that you will lose your life to save hers.’
‘That I know,’ said Anchoret. ‘But I know also, as I have known from the moment that I was told to cut my hair, what pathway I follow. Therefore let the three of you, who are most dear to me, give me your leave, for I would sooner do this with your leave and your blessing than without.’
Then the three bowed their heads and gave her the leave that she asked for.
And she called to all those in the Hall, ‘Be happy! For tomorrow your lady shall be well again!’
Next morning, they heard Mass together, and then returned to the Great Hall. And the people of the castle brought their lady from the chamber where she lay. And as she came, horror rose in Bors and Percival, and despite themselves they gave back a little at sight of her terrible leper’s face when she put back her veil. Only Sir Galahad stood his ground, and bowed to her gravely in all courtesy; and the maiden Anchoret moved forward.
‘You are come to heal me?’ said the lady, as well as she could through her crumbling lips.
‘Lady, I come, and I am ready. Let them bring the bowl.’
Then the same maiden who had followed the knights out from the castle yesterday came carrying the same silver bowl. And standing before them all as straight and sweet as a young poplar tree, Anchoret held out her arm over it, and the old man brought a little bright knife, and opened one of the veins that showed blue under her fair skin, like the branching veins on an iris petal.
The red blood sprang out, and swiftly the bowl began to fill.
When it was almost brimming, Anchoret began to sway on her feet, as though a cold wind were in the slender branches of the poplar tree. She turned her face to the lady, and said, ‘Madam, to give you healing, I am come to my death. Pray for my soul.’
And with the words scarce spoken, she fell back fainting into the arms of the three companions who sprang forward to catch her.
They laid her down, and did all that might be done to staunch the bleeding, but it had gone too far with her.
She opened her eyes after a while, but they all knew that she was dying; and when she spoke to Percival, her voice had grown so faint and far away that he had to bend close to catch her words.
‘Dear brother, I beg you not to leave my body buried in this country. But as soon as my life is gone, carry me back to the ship, and let me go where fate and the wind shall bear me. I promise you this, that whenever you reach the holy city of Sarras, where the Grail Quest will assuredly take you in the end, you will find me there. And in that city, and nowhere else, pray you make my grave.’
Weeping, Percival promised her.
She spoke once more, ‘Tomorrow, part from each other and go your separate ways, until your paths shall bring you together again to the Grail Castle of Corbenic. This, through me, is Our Lord’s command to you.’
And she gave the quietest of sighs, and the life went out from her.
And within the hour, when she had been bathed with the blood of the maiden, the lady of the castle was whole and well again, her blackened and hideous flesh restored to all its bloom; and she was young and beautiful once more, to the great rejoicing of all her people.
But Galahad and Percival and Bors set about their own tasks in sorrow. And when she had been made ready and all things fitly done, they carried the maiden’s body on a litter spread with softest silks, back to the ship waiting in the harbour, and laid her there amidships. And Percival her brother set between her folded hands a letter he had written, telling who she was and how she had come to die, and setting forth on fair parchment the events of the Grail Quest in which she had taken part, that anyone who found her body on foreign shores might treat it with the more honour, knowing all her story.
Then they pushed the vessel off from the shore, and watched her drift quietly out to sea. For as long as they could still see the ship, they waited on the water’s side; and when she was quite gone, they turned back to the castle.
The lady and her knights would have had them enter and rest, but they would not set foot in the place again, but asked that their arms should be brought out to them. So the people of the castle brought out their harness and weapons, and for each of them a horse, and they armed themselves and mounted, and set forth on their way once more.
But they had not gone far when great storm clouds began to gather, and it grew dark as late evening, though it was scarce past noon. And seeing a chapel beside the track, they stabled their horses in a rough shelter outside, and went in. Hardly had they done so, when the bulging black bellies of the storm clouds burst into thunder and lightning and lashing rain. And looking back from their shelter, the way that they had come, they saw the whole sky split open above the castle, and flaming thunderbolts hurtling down upon it. And above the roar of the tempest, they could hear the crash of falling towers.
All night the storm raged, but towards dawn the thunder ceased and the clouds parted and drifted away, and the sky grew clear and gentle, washed with light from the sun that was not yet risen.
Then the three companions rode back to see what had become of the castle. When they came to the gatehouse, it was scorched and ruined; and riding inside they found nothing but fallen stones and the bodies of men and women lying where the tempest of God’s wrath had struck them down.
The lady of the castle had not kept her restored health and beauty long.
‘The ways of the Grail Quest are indeed strange past men’s understanding,’ said Percival, thinking of his sister.
They dismounted and hitched their horses to some fallen roof timbers in the courtyard, and went looking from place to place to see if any living thing yet survived. And so they came at last to the castle chapel, and behind it a small enclosed burial ground, with soft green grass, and late-flowering white roses arching their thorny sprays over the gravestones, a pleasant and peaceful place, and the storm had passed it by untouched. And as they moved among the stones, reading the names on each, they knew that it was the resting place of all the other maidens who had died for the sake of the lady.
After a while, they turned away and went back to their horses, and rode together until the moor was passed and the dark trees of the forest came to meet them. And there they checked, and took their leave of each other, as the maiden Anchoret had bidden them. ‘God keep you,’ they said, ‘God bring us all to our meeting place again at Corbenic Castle.’
And they rode their three separate ways into the forest.
But now the story leav
es Sir Galahad and Sir Percival and Sir Bors and tells again of Sir Lancelot, with his horse slain, lying beside the great river.
12
Sir Lancelot Comes to Corbenic
NOW AS SIR Lancelot lay in the shelter of his rock on the river bank, between sleeping and waking, he heard a voice in his inmost depths that said, ‘Lancelot, rise now, and take your armour, and go on board the ship that is waiting for you.’
And when, startled, he opened his eyes, he found himself lying in a pool of brilliant silver light, so that he looked to the sky, thinking that the moon must have risen. But there was no moon. Then, with the words still echoing in the hollows of his head like the sea echoing in a shell, he got up and armed himself. And all the while the strange radiance was still about him, growing and spreading down to the margin of the river, showing him at last a ship lying there at rest like a great white sea bird among the reeds.
He went down the bank towards it. And as he went, the light faded, till the night was like any other. Only the blur of the ship still showed moth-pale through the reeds and alders.
He stepped aboard; and as he did so, it seemed to him that the air was full of fragrance – the scent as of all the spices in the world that had flooded through Arthur’s Great Hall at Pentecost; of other things too, that were hard to give a name to, such as May mornings and applewood fires and well-oiled harness leather when he was a boy and his first honour hard and clean within him. And for one moment he was near to weeping, and in the next, joy leapt up in him like a cage-freed bird. And he prayed, ‘Lord, Lord, Lord, I have done as you bade me; I am in your hands, do with me as you will.’
And as the wind woke in the sail, and the vessel slipped downriver towards the sea, he settled himself down against the side of the ship and drifted into a sleep that was itself like a blessing.
When he woke, it was morning, and the ship was far out of sight of any land. And looking about him, he saw, behind the single mast, a low couch or litter draped in silk; and on the couch, a maiden lying as though in quiet sleep. He drew near, softly, so as not to disturb her; but when he came beside the couch, he saw that she was dead. And he saw also the letter which Percival had set between her hands. Very gently, he took and unfolded it; and read all that was written; how she was Percival’s sister, and how he and Bors and Galahad had placed her there, and of all the happenings of the Grail Quest that had gone before. Then he gave the maiden back her letter, and knelt down beside her to make his morning prayer.
The King Arthur Trilogy Page 35
