by Michael Foss
Whosoever pulls out this sword from this anvil and this stone is rightly the king of all England.
At this sign, all men stared and were amazed. Then, little by little, they approached the stone, taking its measure. Where was the danger? And when they received no hurt and the vision did not go away but remained solid and challenging, certain bolder warriors thought: why not? Ambition is the virtue of those who would be great. First one lord, and then another and another, heaved at the sword. But none could move it. At the end of the day, after all the Masses were done, and compline and benediction too, the sword was still there, stuck fast in the stone.
Then the archbishop ordained that ten good knights should guard the sword. On New Year’s Day the barons assembled again, with jousts and tournaments, to test their power against the sword in the stone. They rode into the field, and had great sport. And it chanced that Sir Ector rode to the jousts with Sir Kay, his son, and young Arthur, who had been raised as a brother to Kay.
This Sir Kay was a new knight, only dubbed at All Hallowmass, but as he rode proudly towards his first joust he saw that he had left his sword at home. Just the act of a callow youth! He blushed to admit his mistake and so called Arthur privately to his side, and begged the young squire to hurry home and fetch his sword. Arthur was willing and away he went as fast as his horse would carry him. But at Sir Ector’s house all the servants and retainers were gone to applaud at the jousts and there was no-one to find him the sword. Arthur was angry and said to himself, ‘Without a sword my brother Kay will be shamed. I will ride to the churchyard and take that sword that is sticking from the stone.’
At the church, Arthur tied his horse to the stile. He looked about warily, but the sword was unguarded, for the knights who watched it were cheering in the lists of the tournament. Arthur took the sword by the handle and lightly but surely pulled it from the stone. Then he rode happily on his way and gave the sword to Sir Kay. At once, Kay recognized the sword for what it was. ‘Look here, Sir,’ he said to Sir Ector, ‘Surely this is the sword from the stone. Must I now,’ he added hopefully, ‘be king of all this land?’
But Sir Ector, when he went and saw that the stone was empty, cuffed his son about the ears and made him swear on the Holy Book how he had come by the sword. So word came out that young Arthur had provided it.
‘Were there any knights guarding this sword?’ asked Sir Ector.
‘Nay, not one.’
‘Now I see clearly,’ said Sir Ector to Arthur, ‘that you have the royal sign upon you, and that you must be king of this land.’
‘Why me?’ said Arthur. ‘And for what cause?’
‘Sir,’ replied Ector sternly, ‘because God will have it so. Only the rightful king has the power to pull this sword. Now replace it where it was and let me see you pull it again.’
The sword was replaced and first Sir Ector tried to pull it free, and then Sir Kay. Both failed. But Arthur plucked it as easily as a plum from a pudding. At once, Ector and Kay sank to their knees.
‘Alas, my own dear father and brother’ said Arthur. ‘Why do you kneel to me?’
‘Nay, nay, my lord Arthur,’ Sir Ector replied. ‘I was never your father nor of your blood.’ And he told Arthur how things had fallen out by the art of Merlin. All this was strange and unquiet news to Arthur. A king must follow a lonely path, with few to trust and many to fear. He grieved the loss of the good knight Ector, who had been as a father to him.
‘Sir,’ said Ector, seeing how wistful Arthur was, ‘will you be my good and gracious lord when you are king?’
‘Else were I to blame,’ replied Arthur, ‘for I owe all the world to you and my good lady your wife. Whatever you desire of me I shall not fail you. God forbid that I should fail you.’ And straightaway Arthur promised that Sir Kay should be steward of all his lands, as long as Arthur reigned and Kay lived.
Then on Twelfth Day, on the feast of the Epiphany of Our Lord, Arthur proved before all the barons that he alone could pull the sword from the stone. Many were angry and muttered that it was their great shame to be governed by a mere boy of low blood. And so the matter was put off till Candlemass, and again till Pentecost, when all manner of lords sweated mightily to pull the sword, but again only Arthur could do it.
At this, even the commons were angry at the delay and cried out against the knights. ‘We will have Arthur for our king,’ they shouted. ‘Let there be no more dilly-dallying. It is God’s will that Arthur should reign. To hold out against him is futile. Our swords say that Arthur shall be king.’
When they felt the hot breath of the crowd and saw the sharpness of the swords, the lords gave way. Rich and poor fell to their knees, and Arthur forgave them all, even the doubters and those with jealous hearts and too much pride. He took the sword in his hands and offered it upon the altar where the archbishop stood. And that holy man blessed Arthur and knighted him right there, in front of the altar.
Soon Arthur was crowned and swore to the lords and the commons to be a true king, to stand with justice throughout all England in all the days of his life.
There was so much to do. The affairs of England were in sad disarray. Arthur went about the land with his arm raised against over-mighty lords. By acts of chivalry, and with God’s help, he brought peace where there had once been war. But after many days in the saddle and under arms he grew weary of fighting. At Pentecost he journeyed to Wales, and announced a great feast in the city of Caerleon for the relaxation and joy of his knights. King Lot of Lothian and Orkney came to the feast, and King Uriens of Gore, and King Nentres of Garlot, and the young king of Scotland, and with these kings were many hundred knights.
King Arthur welcomed them all, for he believed that they had come from love of him and to honour him. He was full of joy and sent out rich presents. But none was accepted and his messengers were rebuked, for the other kings were still proud and would accept no gifts from a lowborn, beardless boy. They sent word that they had come instead to give him gifts of another kind, with hard sword-strokes between the neck and the shoulder. When he heard this, Arthur shut himself up in a strong tower with five hundred good men, and once again awaited the call of war.
Now, Merlin was also in Caerleon at this time and all the other kings were glad to see him. One question, in particular, they asked him: ‘Why is that boy, Arthur, crowned your king?’
‘He is Uther Pendragon’s son,’ Merlin replied, ‘gotten on Igraine, wife of the Duke of Cornwall.’
‘Then he is a bastard.’
But Merlin told them how Arthur was begotten after the death of the duke, and how Uther was wedded with Igraine. Some of the kings marvelled at Merlin’s words. Some, like King Lot, laughed him to scorn, and yet others called him a witch. Then Merlin went to Arthur and comforted him, telling him to stand against his enemies as their king and chieftain.
Hard words passed between King Arthur and the other kings. Each side stood unyielding against the other. They parted with many oaths, daring one another to do their worst. Arthur returned to his tower and put his men into a state of readiness.
‘What will you do now?’ said Merlin to the kings. ‘Better stop at once. You will not win were you ten times as strong.’
‘Bold words,’ cried King Lot. ‘Should we be advised by you, a day-dreamer?’
With that, Merlin turned from the kings with contempt and went to Arthur with the promise of victory, saying, ‘Fight not with the sword from the stone, the miracle blade, until you see that things are at the worst. Then draw the sword and strike your best blows.’
The battle began and the knights on both sides set about each other fiercely. The earth shook with horse thunder, with the howl of triumph and the gasp of the dying. Feet slipped in rivers of blood, and encumbered knights, tangled in arms and armour, lay in a red mire, waiting for their squires to come and raise them. Many were slain. The common people of Caerleon, affronted by the attack on their king, rose up against Arthur’s enemies. They dealt roughly with the knights, pulling
them from their horses, battering them down with staves and clubs, and slitting the throats of the fallen. The kings who contended against Arthur gathered together those of their men left alive and fled the field.
King Arthur wiped his brow and rested, leaning on a long spear. Victory had won him time. He would withdraw to London, but he knew well that the enmity of the northern kings still raged against him. So he took counsel with Merlin.
‘Your enemies,’ said Merlin, ‘are in retreat for the time being, but they are still as strong as any men alive. This is my advice. Send across the sea to France for the two brothers, King Ban of Benwick and King Bors of Gaul. These are both marvellous good men. Swear a pact with them, to help each other in your need.’
And so it was that messengers were sent to Ban and Bors, who came about All Hallowmass to be welcomed with joy and feasts and tourneys. With all ceremony, King Arthur met them ten miles from London in a place by the river, under the willow tree, where pavilions were built and dressed in cloth of gold. And all the noble ladies, and the townsmen too, quit the city, jostling eagerly on the road to see who would do best in the jousts and the trials of honour.
Listen, stragglers on the road, the herald’s trumpet is already sounding. Hurry! The procession has come to the lists, under flags and flying bunting, with painted shields, and with horses hooded and cloaked in many colours. The minstrels are playing, pipes and drums and bagpipes squeak and rattle and moan. The bold sound of brass brays into the air. Jongleurs and clowns contort and tumble, inciting the low fellows under the stands with many ribald gestures. But wait! The horses are impatient. That one can hardly be curbed. It breaks into an estai, a little canter, pawing the ground. The lists are ready. A sudden hush. The combatants have dressed their shields and begin to lower their lances.
Griflet, a flower of France, was the first that met with an English knight, whose name was Ladinas. They dashed together so eagerly that all men wondered at the shock. A long time they fought, their lances broken and their shields falling to pieces. Then horses and men plunged to the ground. The battle cries had died in their throats; they staggered with weariness. Still the heralds encouraged them, imploring them loudly, in God’s name, to fight like men.
‘Fair ladies,’ they cried, turning to the stands, ‘shall these good knights stain the green grass red without your approval? Where are your voices? Show them your ribbons, your sleeves, your handkerchiefs. Wave them bravely.’
But the French knight and the English knight were at their wits’ end. They could do no more, and presently they lay down and lay like dead men. Thus, by hard knocks, they proved themselves for war, and the hearts of enemy soldiers, had they seen this contest, would have quaked.
Thus it came about that Arthur and Ban and Bors made a pact among themselves, readied their armies and made war against eleven kings. Then battle raged hard on hills and plains.
When King Lot spied King Bors, he knew him well. ‘O Jesus, defend us from death and horrible wounds,’ he cried, ‘for I see a king who is a bold man and the best of knights.’
And then, for his greater discomfort, King Ban came into the field as fierce as a lion, all dressed in stripes of green and gold. ‘Ha, woe is me,’ lamented Lot. ‘Here is the other brother, and there are no two fighters to equal these. We must avoid them or die.’
The strokes of the swords rebounded again from the woods and the fields. King Lot wept for pity when he saw so many knights meet their end. Arthur and his two kings slew left and right, as hungry as winter wolves among the mountain deer. It was terrible to behold bodies so hacked and bruised. But always the eleven kings, well practised in chivalry, never turned their backs, but withdrew step by step to a little wood across a stream. There they rested, for at night it was not wise to be caught in the open field. The eleven kings and their knights all inched together, like men afraid and out of comfort. But still no man could pass them. King Arthur marvelled at their deeds, though he felt a bitter anger.
‘By my faith,’ cried King Ban, ‘they are the best fighting men that ever I saw. If those eleven kings followed you, no king under heaven would have such knights.’
‘I may not love them,’ replied Arthur. ‘They would destroy me.’
Next day, battle was renewed. In the thick of the press Arthur, Ban and Bors killed on both hands until their horses went in blood up to the fetlocks. But always the eleven kings and their knights closed ranks and faced Arthur, which was a great marvel given the amount of the slaughter. At last Merlin, on a huge black horse, loomed from the evening mist with a pale sun behind him and called out to Arthur; ‘Have you not done enough, you sorrowful king? Of sixty thousand that lived this morning you have left but fifteen thousand. It is time to say “Halt!” God is angry with you, that you are not yet done. Therefore those eleven kings will not be overthrown this time. Rest now, and reward your good knights with gold and silver, for they have matched themselves this day with the best fighters in the world.’
‘That is the truth,’ added King Ban and King Bors.
‘These eleven kings,’ Merlin went on, ‘are no danger any more. They have more on hand than they are aware of, for the infidel Saracens have landed in their territories, burning and slaying, and have laid siege at Castle Wandesborow. Give freely to these two, Ban and Bors, and go on your way.’
With gratitude, Arthur accompanied the two kings from France on their way, riding after six days into the country of King Leodegrance, who claimed the help of his fellow kings in subduing certain rebellious lords. And here, in the palace, Arthur suddenly saw a face and a figure that remained with him in memory or by his side for the rest of his days. He saw the delicate smile of a lady in the act of going behind the curtain, a graceful presence that was soon gone. It was Guenevere, the king’s daughter, and he ever after loved her.
At this time he did not stop, for the affairs of his realm called him on to Caerleon, where the wife of King Lot had come as if on an embassy, but in truth to spy out the court of King Arthur. With her, she had brought her four sons: Gawain, Gaheris, Agravaine and Gareth.
Now this lady was fair and artful and richly dressed, and she was attended with great state by many knights and ladies. She spoke boldly to Arthur and looked him in the eye, drawing out his heart till all at once he turned his face away. She went, and he called her to him again, for he desired her greatly and wished to lie in her bed. In this they were agreed. Arthur went secretly to her room and she gave her body to him, and Arthur got her with a child who was later named Mordred. This lady, Morgause, was the king’s half-sister by issue from his mother Igraine, though Arthur had no knowledge that she was his sister. Morgause rested a month in Arthur’s court and then departed.
When she had gone, King Arthur had a strange dream that caused him much fear. He thought he saw griffins and serpents that burnt and slew all the people in the land. In this dream he fought with them and they hurt him almost to death. He was sorely wounded before he could kill them.
When the king awoke, heavy with foreboding, he tried to forget his thoughts and made ready to go hunting. In the forest, he soon gave chase after a fine, strong hart. He spurred his horse and rode so hard that his horse staggered for want of breath and fell down dead. Seeing his horse dead, Arthur sat by a fountain, lost in thought, while his servant went to fetch him a new mount.
And as he sat he heard the noise of hounds, perhaps as many as thirty. Running towards him was the strangest beast he ever saw or heard of. This beast rushed to the well to drink, with a noise in its belly like the questing and howling of many hounds. The noise ceased while the beast drank, and afterwards it ran away with a thrashing of hooves. Arthur wondered and pondered, and soon fell asleep.
A knight came by on foot and said to Arthur, ‘Knight full of thought and so sleepy, tell me if you saw a strange beast pass this way. I have followed this quest for the past year and have killed my horse. Either I shall achieve my quest or shed my best blood.’
‘The beast is already two mil
es hence,’ Arthur replied. ‘Leave your quest to me, for this mystery touches on my thoughts, and I will follow it for a further twelve months.’
‘Nay, fool,’ the knight told Arthur. ‘This quest belongs to me only, or to my near kin.’
And he laid hold of the bridle of the horse that the king’s servant had just brought up and flung himself into the saddle, saying, ‘My thanks to you, now this horse is my own.’
‘Wait,’ called the king. ‘You may steal my horse but I can prove who is better on horseback, you or I.’
‘Whenever you will,’ shouted the knight as he galloped away. ‘When the time is right, you will find me by this well.’
‘What boldness makes this rash knight do these things?’ Arthur wondered, as his serving-man ran to fetch yet another horse. ‘Is this his quest or mine, bred out of my dreams? God puts mysteries in our paths. It is hard enough, then, to find the right way.’
He was worrying these matters further in his head when Merlin came to him in the form of a child of fourteen. Upbraiding the king for his forlorn looks, this beardless youth seemed to have knowledge beyond his years. He told Arthur the story of his begetting, which the king did not know, and how he was suckled and raised. The king was angry and lifted his fist to the youth. Who was this mere child that he should know these things? And Arthur did not believe him.
Merlin went away, but soon returned as an old man. ‘Are you troubled?’ asked the old man in a kindly way ‘There is some grief in your looks.’
‘I am heavy with thought,’ Arthur replied, ‘because a child has told me many strange things. How shall a child know these things?’
