‘I am not reluctant to take you there,’ said the king, ‘for it seems to me to be a proper thing to do. If you wish, I’ll show you the seneschal Kay as well.’
Lancelot was so overjoyed that he nearly threw himself at the king’s feet. Bademagu led him at once into the hall where the queen had gone to await him. When the queen saw the king leading Lancelot by the hand, she stood up before the king and acted as if she were angered. She lowered her head and said not a word.
‘My lady,’ said the king, ‘this is Lancelot, who has come to see you.’
‘To see me? He cannot please me, sire. I have no interest in seeing him.’
‘My word, lady,’ exclaimed the noble and courteous king. ‘What makes you feel this way? This is certainly no way to behave to a man who has served you well, who has often risked his life for you on this journey, and who rescued you and defended you against my son, Meleagant, who was most reluctant to give you up.’
‘Sire, in truth he has wasted his efforts. I shall always deny that I feel any gratitude towards him.’
You could see Lancelot’s confusion, yet he answered her politely and like a perfect lover: ‘My lady, indeed this grieves me, yet I dare not ask your reasons.’ Lancelot would have poured out his woe if the queen had listened, but to pain and embarrass him further she refused to answer him a single word and passed instead into a bedchamber. Lancelot’s eyes and heart accompanied her to the entrance; his eyes’ journey was short, for the room was near at hand, yet they would gladly have entered in after her, had that been possible. His heart, its own lord and master and more powerful by far, was able to follow after her, while his eyes, full of tears, remained outside with his body.
The king whispered to him: ‘Lancelot, I am amazed that this has happened. What can this mean when the queen refuses to see you and is so unwilling to speak with you? If ever she was pleased to speak with you, she should not now be reticent or refuse to listen to you, after all you have done for her. Now tell me, if you know, what reason she has to treat you this way.’
‘Sire, I never expected this sort of welcome. But clearly she does not care to see me or listen to what I have to say, and this disturbs me greatly.’
‘Of course,’ said the king, ‘she is wrong, for you have risked death for her. So come now, my dear friend, and go to speak with Kay the seneschal.’
‘I am very eager to do so,’ replied Lancelot.
The two of them went to the seneschal. When Lancelot came before him, the seneschal addressed him first, saying: ‘How you have shamed me!’
‘How could I have?’ answered Lancelot. ‘Tell me what shame I’ve caused you.’
‘An enormous shame, because you have completed what I was unable to complete and have done what I was unable to do.’
At that the king left the two of them and went out of the room alone. Lancelot asked the seneschal if he had suffered greatly.
‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘and I am still suffering. I have never been worse off than I am now, and I would have been dead long ago had it not been for the king who left us just now, who in his compassion has shown me such kindness and friendship. Whenever he was aware that I needed anything, he never failed to arrange to have it prepared for me as soon as he knew of my need. But each time he tried to help me, his son Meleagant, who is full of evil designs, deceitfully sent for his own physicians and ordered them to dress my wounds with ointments that would kill me. Thus I’ve had both a loving father and a wicked stepfather: for whenever the king, who did everything he could to see that I would be quickly healed, had good medicine put on my wounds, his son, in his treachery and desire to kill me, had it removed straight away and some harmful ointment substituted. I am absolutely certain that the king did not know this, for he would in no way countenance such base treachery.
‘And you aren’t aware of the kindliness he has shown my lady: never since Noah built his ark has a tower in the march been as carefully guarded as he has had her kept. Though it upsets his son, he has not let even Meleagant see her except in his own presence or with a company of people. The good king in his kindness has always treated her as properly as she could require. No one but the queen has overseen her confinement; she arranged it so, and the king esteemed her the more because he recognized her loyalty. But is it true, as I’ve been told, that she is so angry with you that she has publicly refused to speak to you?’
‘You have been told the truth,’ replied Lancelot, ‘the whole truth. But for God’s sake, can you tell me why she hates me?’
Kay replied that he did not know and was extremely amazed by her behaviour.
‘Then let it be as she orders,’ said Lancelot, who could not do otherwise. ‘I must take my leave and go to seek my lord Gawain, who has come into this land having sworn to me to go directly to the Underwater Bridge.’
Lancelot left the room at once, came before the king, and asked his leave to depart. The king willingly consented; but those whom Lancelot had delivered from imprisonment asked what was to become of them. Lancelot replied: ‘With me will come all those who wish to seek Gawain, and those who wish to stay with the queen should remain. They need not feel compelled to come with me.’
All who so wished accompanied him, happier than they had ever been before. There remained with the queen many maidens, ladies, and knights, who were likewise filled with joy. Yet all of those remaining would have preferred to return to their own country rather than stay in this land. The queen only retained them because of the imminent arrival of my lord Gawain, saying that she would not leave until she had heard from him. Word spread everywhere that the queen was freed, that all the captives were released, and that they would be able to leave without question whenever it might please them. When people came together, they all asked one another about the truth of this matter and spoke of nothing else. They were not at all upset that the treacherous passes had been destroyed. Now people could come and go at will – this was not as it had been!
But when the local people who had not been at the battle learned how Lancelot had fared, they all went to where they knew he would pass, for they thought the king would be pleased if they captured and returned Lancelot to him. Lancelot’s men had all removed their armour and were quite dumbfounded to see these armed men approaching. It is no wonder that they succeeded in taking Lancelot, who was unarmed, and returned with him captive, his feet tied beneath his horse.
‘Lords, you do us wrong,’ said the men of Logres, ‘for we are travelling under the king’s safe conduct. We are all under his protection.’
‘We know nothing of this,’ replied the others. ‘But, captive as you are, you must come to court.’
Swift-flying rumour reached the king, saying that his people had captured and killed Lancelot. On hearing this, Bademagu was greatly upset and swore by more than his head that those who had killed him would die for it. He said that they would never be able to justify themselves, and if he could catch them, he’d have them hanged, burned, or drowned at once. And should they try to deny their deed, he would never believe them, for they had brought him such grief and had caused him such shame that he himself would bear the blame for it unless he took vengeance – and without a doubt he would.
The rumour spread everywhere. It was even told to the queen, who was seated at dinner. She nearly killed herself when she heard the perfidious rumour of Lancelot’s death. She thought it was true and was so greatly perturbed that she was scarcely able to speak. Because of those present, she spoke openly: ‘Indeed, his death pains me, and I am not wrong to let it; for he came into this land on my account, and therefore I should be sorrowful.’ Then she said to herself in a low voice, so she would not be overheard, that it would not be right to ask her to drink or eat again, if it were true that he for whom she lived was dead. She arose at once from the table, and was able to give vent to her grief without being noticed or overheard. She was so crazed with the thought of killing herself that she repeatedly grabbed at her throat. Yet first she confessed in consc
ience, repented and asked God’s pardon; she accused herself of having sinned against the one she knew had always been hers, and who would still be, were he alive. Anguish brought on by her own lack of compassion destroyed much of her beauty. Her lack of compassion, the betrayal of her love, combined with ceaseless vigils and fasting, caused her to lose her colour.
She counted all of the unkindnesses and recalled each individual unkindness; she noted every one, and repeated often: ‘Oh misery! What was I thinking, when my lover came before me and I did not deign to welcome him, nor even care to listen! Was I not a fool to refuse to speak or even look at him? A fool? No, so help me God, I was cruel and deceitful! I intended it as a joke, but he didn’t realize this and never forgave me for it. I believe that it was I alone who struck him that mortal blow. When he came happily before me expecting me to receive him joyfully and I shunned him and would never even look at him, was this not a mortal blow? At that moment, when I refused to speak, I believe I severed both his heart and his life. Those two blows killed him, I think, and not any hired killers.19
‘Ah God! Will I be forgiven this murder, this sin? Never! All the rivers and the sea will dry up first! Oh misery! How it would have brought me comfort and healing if I had held him in my arms once before he died. How? Yes, quite naked next to him, in order to enjoy him fully. Since he is dead, I am wicked not to kill myself. Can my life bring me anything but sorrow if I live on after his death, since I take pleasure in nothing except the woe I bear on his account? The sole pleasure of my life after his death – this suffering I now court – would please him, were he alive. A woman who would prefer to die rather than to endure pain for her love is unworthy of that love. So indeed I am happy to mourn him unceasingly. I prefer to live and suffer life’s blows than to die and be at rest.’
The queen mourned in this way for two days, without eating or drinking until it was thought she was dead. There are many who prefer to carry bad news than good, and so the rumour reached Lancelot that his lady and love had succumbed. You need not doubt that he was overcome with grief, and you can all understand that he was sorrowful and despairing. He was so saddened (if you care to hear and know the truth) that he disdained his own life: he intended to kill himself at once, but not before he had unburdened his soul. He tied a sliding loop in one end of the belt he wore around his waist, and said to himself, weeping: ‘Ah Death! How you have sought me out and overcome me in the prime of life! I am saddened, but the only pain I feel is the grief in my heart – an evil, fatal grief. I want it to be fatal so that, if it please God, I shall die of it. What? If it doesn’t please God that I die of grief, could I not die in another way? Indeed I shall, if he lets me loop this cord about my neck! In this manner I am sure that I can force Lady Death to take me, even against her will. Though Death, who seeks out only those who don’t want her, does not want to come to me, my belt will bring her within my power and when I control her she will do my bidding. Yet she will be too slow to come because of my eagerness to have her!’
Then, without waiting, he put the loop over his head until it was taut about his neck; and to be sure of death, he tied the other end of the belt tightly to his saddle horn, without attracting anyone’s attention. Then he let himself slip towards the ground, wishing to be dragged by his horse until dead. He did not care to live another hour. When those who were riding with him saw that he had fallen to the ground, they thought he had fainted, for no one noticed the loop that he had tied around his neck. They lifted him up at once, and when they had him in their arms, they discovered the noose, which had made him his own enemy when he had placed it around his neck. They cut it immediately, but it had been pulled so tight around his throat that he could not speak for a long while. The veins of his neck and throat were nearly severed. Even if he had wanted to, he could at that moment no longer harm himself. He was so distraught at being stopped that he was aflame with anger and would have killed himself had he not been watched.
Since he could no longer harm himself physically, he said: ‘Ah! vile, whoring Death! In God’s name, why didn’t you have the strength and power to kill me before my lady? I suppose it was because you wouldn’t deign to do a good turn to anyone. You did this out of treachery, and you will never be anything other than a traitor. Ah! What kindness! What goodness! How wonderful you’ve been with me! But may I be damned if I ever welcome this kindness or thank you for it!
‘I don’t know which hates me more: Life, who wants me, or Death, who refuses to take me! Thus they both destroy me: but it serves me right, by God, to be alive despite myself, for I should have killed myself as soon as my lady the queen showed me her displeasure. She did not do so without reason: there was certainly a good cause, though I don’t know what it was. But had I known, I’d have made amends to her in any way she wished, so that before her soul went to God she might have forgiven me. My God! What could this crime have been? I think that perhaps she knew that I climbed into the cart. I don’t know what else she could have held against me. This alone was my undoing. But if she hated me for this crime – oh God! How could this have damned me? Anyone who would hold this against me never truly knew Love; for no one could describe anything that is prompted by Love as contemptible. On the contrary, whatever one might do for one’s sweetheart should be considered an act of love and courtliness. Yet I did not do it for my “sweetheart”. Ah me! I don’t know what to call her. I don’t know whether I dare name her my “sweetheart”. But I think that I know this much of love: if she had loved me, she would not have esteemed me the less for this act, but would have called me her true love, since it seemed to me honourable to do anything for her that love required, even to climb into the cart. She should have ascribed this to Love, its true source. Thus does Love test her own, and thus does she know her own. But I knew that this service did not please my lady by the manner of her welcome. Yet it was for her alone that her lover performed this deed for which he has often been shamed, reproached, and falsely blamed. I have indeed done that for which I am blamed; and from sweetness I grow bitter, in faith, because she has behaved like those who know nothing of Love and who rinse honour in shame. Yet those who dampen honour with shame do not wash it, but soil it. Those who condemn lovers know nothing of Love, and those who do not fear her commands esteem themselves above Love. There is no doubt that he who obeys Love’s command is uplifted, and all should be forgiven him. He who dares not follow Love’s command errs greatly.’
Thus Lancelot lamented, and those beside him who watched over and protected him were saddened. Meanwhile word reached them that the queen was not dead. Lancelot took comfort immediately and, if earlier he had wept bitterly over her death, now his joy in her being alive was a hundred thousand times greater. When they came within six or seven leagues of the castle where King Bademagu was staying, news that was pleasing came to him about Lancelot – news that he was glad to hear: Lancelot was alive and was returning, hale and hearty. He behaved most properly in going to inform the queen. ‘Good sir,’ she told him, ‘I believe it, since you have told me. But were he dead, I assure you that I could never again be happy. If Death were to claim a knight in my service, my joy would leave me altogether.’
With that the king left her. The queen was most eager for the arrival of her joy, her lover. She had no further desire to quarrel with him about anything. Rumour, which never rests but runs unceasingly all the while, soon returned to the queen with news that Lancelot would have killed himself for her, had he not been restrained. She welcomed this news and believed it with all her heart, yet never would she have wished him ill, for it would have been too much to bear. Meanwhile Lancelot came riding up swiftly. As soon as the king saw him, he ran to kiss and embrace him; his joy so lightened him that he felt as if he had wings. But his joy was cut short by the thought of those who had taken and bound Lancelot. The king cursed the hour in which they had come and wished them all dead and damned. They answered only that they thought he would have wanted Lancelot. ‘Though you may think that,’ replied
the king, ‘none the less it displeases me. Worry not for Lancelot –you have brought him no shame. No! But I, who promised him safe conduct, am dishonoured. In all events the shame is mine, and you will find it no light matter if you try to escape from me.’
When Lancelot perceived his anger, he did his very best to make peace and was finally able to do so. Then the king led him to see the queen. This time the queen did not let her eyes lower towards the ground but went happily up to him and had him sit beside her, honouring him with her kindest attentions. Then they spoke at length of everything that came into their minds; they never lacked subject matter, with which Love supplied them in abundance. When Lancelot saw how well he was received, and that anything he said pleased the queen, he asked her in confidence: ‘My lady, I wonder why you acted as you did when you saw me the other day and would not say a single word to me. You nearly caused my death, yet at that moment I did not have enough confidence to dare to question you, as I do now. My lady, if you will tell me what sin it was that caused me such distress, I am prepared to atone for it at once.’
‘What?’ the queen replied. ‘Were you not shamed by the cart, and frightened of it? By delaying for two steps you showed your great unwillingness to climb into it. That, to tell the truth, is why I didn’t wish to see you or speak with you.’
‘In the future, may God preserve me from such sin,’ said Lancelot, ‘and may He have no mercy upon me if you are not completely right. My lady, for God’s sake, accept my penance at once; and if ever you could pardon me, for God’s sake tell me so!’
‘Dear friend, may you be completely forgiven,’ said the queen. ‘I absolve you most willingly.’
‘My lady,’ said he, ‘I thank you. But I cannot tell you in this place all that I would like to. If it were possible, I’d gladly speak with you at greater leisure.’
The queen indicated a window to him with a glance, not by pointing.
Arthurian Romances Page 36
