The Death of King Arthur

by Peter Ackroyd

  ‘I know that knight,’ he told the lady. ‘By God’s grace I will rescue him. And if I can wreak vengeance on his captor, I will deliver all the prisoners in the dungeon here.’

  Having caught sight of Lancelot, Sir Tarquin raised his spear in defiance.

  ‘Put down the man you have bound,’ Lancelot called to him, ‘and match your might with mine! I will avenge the knights of the Round Table!’

  ‘If you are of that fellowship, sir, then I defy you. Do your worst.’

  So they rode against each other, exchanging many strong blows. Finding no sure victory, they leaped down from their saddles and raised their swords against each other. For two hours they fought, hot and furious, and there was no end in sight. Sir Tarquin stopped for a moment. ‘Hold your hand for a while,’ he told Lancelot. ‘Listen to what I have to say.’

  ‘Speak.’

  ‘You are the strongest and most powerful knight I have ever fought. You are very like one I hate above all others. If you are not he, I make you this promise. I will release all the knights in my prison, if you tell me your name. Then the two of us will live in fellowship. I will never fail you while I have life.’

  ‘You speak fair words, sir. But tell me this. Who is the knight you hate above all others?’

  ‘His name is Sir Lancelot du Lake. He killed my brother, Sir Carados, at the Dolorous Tower. I have sworn to seek him out and slay him. I have already slaughtered a hundred knights, and wounded a hundred more, so that they could not help Lancelot. I have thrown others of his fellowship into a foul prison. Now, sir, tell me your name.’

  ‘I could go in peace now, or I could fight you. Prepare yourself. I am Lancelot du Lake, son of King Ban and knight of the Round Table. I killed your brother beside the Dolorous Tower. I defy you. Do your worst.’

  ‘Ah, Sir Lancelot. I have longed for this day. Welcome indeed. You will not depart from this place until one of us is dead.’

  So they fought long and hard for more than two hours; they were like wild bulls in battle for their lives, the ground soaked with their blood. Sir Tarquin seemed to tire first; he stepped back and let down the guard of his shield. Lancelot seized the moment and slashed at his helmet with his sword; the helmet broke, and then with one blow Lancelot took off his head. Tarquin was dead.

  When Sir Lancelot saw this, he went over to the lady who had led him here. ‘Fair lady, I am ready now to go wherever you wish.’

  The wounded knight, Sir Gaheris, now saluted him. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘you have this day defeated the strongest and most ferocious knight in the world. Will you tell me your name?’

  ‘I am Lancelot du Lake. I have defended you for the sake of King Arthur, and for the sake of your brother, Gawain. When you enter this manor house, you will find many knights of the Round Table confined there. I believe that among them are my two brothers, Sir Lionel and Sir Ector, who rode this way and were never seen afterwards. When you free them, give them all my greetings. Tell Ector and Lionel to ride to the king’s court and wait for me there. I will return by Pentecost, after I have fulfilled my promise to this lady.’

  Then he and the lady rode off. Gaheris returned to the manor house, and went down into the dungeons. He released the knights from their cells and, seeing him wounded, they all believed that it was he who had slain Sir Tarquin. ‘Not so,’ he told them. ‘Sir Lancelot du Lake is your saviour. He sends you his greetings. Are Sir Lionel and Sir Ector among you?’

  ‘Here!’ Ector called out. ‘Still alive and now rejoicing.’

  ‘Sir Lancelot asks you to meet him at the court of King Arthur. He requests you to wait for him there.’

  ‘Oh no. We will not wait without purpose,’ Sir Lionel replied. ‘While we have life and breath, we will make haste to find him.’

  So after a fine supper of venison, and a night of rest, the two brothers rode out in quest of Lancelot.

  Lancelot’s love for Guinevere

  Now we return to Lancelot, and the lady riding beside him. They had come to a path that led into a dark wood. ‘This is the place,’ she said, ‘where a knight of ill fame attacks all women that pass. He robs them, and then he ravishes them.’

  ‘Robs them? And rapes them? Such a knight shames his order and dishonours his oath. He should not live. Ride on a little way, lady, and I will hide myself in the bracken here. If he comes to trouble you, I will break cover and rescue you.’

  So the lady went on at a slow, ambling pace and, within a short time, a rider came out of the wood and confronted her. She cried out in fear and at once Lancelot rode from his hiding place. ‘False knight and traitor,’ he called out, ‘who taught you to trouble maidens and gentlewomen?’ The man pulled out his sword and charged Lancelot. But the knight hurled a spear that caught the man in the throat and instantly killed him. ‘You have suffered the punishment,’ he said, ‘you have long deserved.’

  ‘That is the truth,’ the lady told him. ‘Just as Sir Tarquin injured good knights, so this man harmed good women. His name was Sir Peris of the Savage Forest.’

  ‘Is there anything else I can do for you, madam?’

  ‘Not at this time, sir. May Almighty Jesus protect and preserve you, for you are the meekest and most gentle knight I have ever met. You lack only one thing, sir. You must find a wife. It is rumoured that you love Queen Guinevere, and that she has put an enchantment upon you; it is said that you can love no woman but her. For that reason, the great lords of the land are in deep distress.’

  ‘I cannot help what others say,’ he told her. ‘But I will never marry. I am wedded to a life of battles and adventures. Nor will I take a lover. A good knight must be chaste and virtuous. If I lay with a woman I would lose half my strength. I might be undone by a lesser knight. No. I would rather be unwed than unhappy.’

  The two giants

  So they took their leave of each other. Sir Lancelot rode for three days through a thick forest until he came to a long bridge that crossed a deep and swiftly running river. He was about to ride upon it when he was accosted by a churlish porter who struck his horse on the nose. ‘Who are you,’ the man asked him, ‘to ride across this bridge without a licence?’

  ‘Why should I not come this way? I cannot ride beside it. I cannot ride on water.’

  ‘You have no choice in the matter.’ The porter raised a great club of iron and was about to bring it down on Lancelot’s back when the knight raised his sword and, with one blow, cut the man in two.

  He rode on to the end of the bridge, and came to a village. The people gathered around him. ‘Fair knight, what have you done?’ they cried. ‘You have killed the chief porter of our castle.’ Sir Lancelot listened to them in silence, and then made his way to the castle itself.

  He rode into the courtyard, and tied his horse to a great iron ring set in the stone. He looked around, and saw that there were many people standing at the doors and the windows. They called out to him. ‘Sir knight, what are you doing here? This is not the place for you.’

  Then all at once two giants came out, wielding clubs of great size, and advanced upon him. Sir Lancelot put his shield before him and struck the club from the hands of one of them; he raised his sword and smashed the giant’s head. The second giant then ran in fear, but Lancelot followed him. He flung himself upon him and finished him with a thrust through the neck.

  He went back into the castle, and there came before him sixty ladies; they kneeled before him, and called out with one voice, ‘Welcome, gentle knight. You have rescued us from seven years’ imprisonment. We were forced to make silk tapestries to earn our food, even though we are all gentlewomen. So we rejoice at our deliverance and bless the day that you were born. Will you tell us your name?’

  ‘Good ladies, I am Lancelot du Lake.’

  ‘We have hoped and prayed for your coming,’ one of the women said to him. ‘No other knight has been able to conquer the giants. They were afraid only of you.’

  ‘I am glad of it. If I come this way again, I hope you will make me we
lcome. In recompense for your labour take all the treasure that the giants have amassed. And then restore the castle to its rightful owner. To whom does it belong?’

  ‘This place is called Tintagel. It was the property of Igraine who bore a son, Arthur, to Uther Pendragon. Do you know the story?’

  ‘Yes. I have heard it.’

  The wanderings of Lancelot

  Lancelot mounted his horse, and rode off. He journeyed through many strange countries, through waters and woods, along dark paths and evil ways. He crossed desolate heaths and marshes where the wild things dwell. Then at last by good fortune he found a castle in the keeping of an old lady; she welcomed him and lodged him with good will. After a delightful dinner she took him to a chamber, above the gatehouse, where he laid himself down to sleep.

  He was roused by the sound of someone knocking at the gate. He went over to the window and saw one knight pursued by three others; they were threatening him with their swords. Lancelot recognized the man under attack as Sir Kay, son of Ector. ‘It would be a great dishonour,’ Lancelot said, ‘to suffer one man to defend himself against three. I will not be a sharer in his death.’ So with the help of a twisted sheet he let himself down from the window. ‘Turn, knights, upon me!’ he shouted. ‘Leave your unequal fight.’

  So they turned to Lancelot, and the three of them alighted from their horses. Then they charged him with drawn swords. Sir Kay advanced to help him, but Lancelot waved him away. ‘I will not need your assistance,’ he said. ‘Leave me alone with them.’ With seven strokes he laid all three of them at his feet.

  ‘Sir knight,’ they said, ‘we surrender. Your sword is too strong for us.’

  ‘Surrender to this man,’ he told them. ‘Then I will spare your lives.’

  ‘Surely we may yield to you? We would have overcome Kay.’

  ‘There is some justice in what you say. So this is what you will do. On next Whit Sunday you will go to the court of King Arthur, and there you will surrender yourselves to Guinevere, the queen. Say that Sir Kay sent you there as prisoners.’

  The three knights swore on their swords that they would do so, and Sir Lancelot let them depart in peace.

  Then Lancelot knocked on the gate with the pommel of his sword, and his host came out. ‘I had thought,’ she said, ‘that you were asleep in your bed.’

  ‘So I was, but I was obliged to come to the rescue of an old comrade of mine.’ They had come into the torchlight, and Sir Kay at once saw that his saviour was Lancelot. He fell to his knees, and thanked him for his service. ‘It was the least I could do,’ Lancelot said. ‘Now rest yourself. Eat and sleep.’

  Lancelot left him the next morning. Before he departed, however, he took the trouble of taking Sir Kay’s armour and saddling Sir Kay’s horse. He left his own armour and horse behind. ‘I know why he has done this,’ Sir Kay said, when he discovered it. ‘He has left me his armour so that I might ride safely and in peace. He has taken mine to provoke more knights into battle with him.’

  Sir Lancelot, meanwhile, had been travelling for a long time through a great forest filled with the sound of birdsong. At last he came into a country of fair rivers and meadows. He saw before him a long bridge, with three tents of silk raised upon it. The first of the tents was covered in blue silk, the second in purple silk and the third in green silk. There was a white shield before each tent, together with a spear, and at the entrance to each of the three tents stood a knight in armour. Sir Lancelot rode past them, and said nothing. When he had galloped into the distance, one of them, Sir Gawter, spoke out. ‘That was Sir Kay,’ he said. ‘He considers himself the finest knight in the world. I will ride after him and test his pride. You will see how I fare.’

  So Sir Gawter mounted a great horse, took his spear in his hand, and pursued Sir Lancelot. ‘Slow down!’ he called out to him. ‘You shall not pass this way unscathed!’ So Lancelot turned, took his sword, and came after Sir Gawter; he knocked him and his horse to the ground with one blow.

  Another of the knights, Sir Gilmer, was astonished. ‘That was not Sir Kay. This man is far stronger. This man must have killed Sir Kay and taken his armour.’

  The third knight, Sir Raynolde, prepared to mount his horse. ‘Whether it is Kay or not,’ he told Gilmer, ‘let us ride out and rescue our brother. We will be hard pressed to match this knight, so be prepared to die.’

  Gilmer was the first to reach him, but Lancelot took his spear and thrust him from his horse. Raynolde reined in his horse. ‘Sir knight, you are a strong man. But my anger makes me stronger. I believe that you have killed two of my brothers. Prepare yourself for my revenge.’

  They fell upon each other. Their spears broke, and so they took out their swords and slashed furiously. Gawter and Gilmer had risen to their feet. They were weakened but they were not badly wounded. ‘Come, brother,’ Gawter said. ‘Let us go to the aid of Raynolde, who is fighting so well against this unknown knight.’ So they went for Lancelot, brandishing their swords. He made short work of all three of them. He cut down Raynolde before bringing Gawter and Gilmer to the ground once again.

  Raynolde, his head all bloody and bruised, advanced on Lancelot, but the noble knight put up his sword. ‘Let it be,’ he said. ‘I was not far from you when you were made a knight, Sir Raynolde, and I know you to be valiant. I do not wish to kill you.’

  ‘Thank God for your goodness,’ Raynolde replied. ‘If I may speak for my brothers, we are willing to submit. But tell us your name. You are not Sir Kay.’

  ‘That is a matter for another day. Go to the court on Whit Sunday and there surrender yourselves to Queen Guinevere. Say that Sir Kay sent you.’

  They swore that this should be done and, after Sir Lancelot had departed, they helped each other on to their horses. On their journey back they wondered aloud who this noble knight might be.

  The path to the Perilous Chapel

  Lancelot himself had ridden into a dark wood, where the boughs of all the trees were bent into strange shapes, when he came upon a black hunting dog sniffing the air; she was on the trail of a wounded deer, so it seemed to Lancelot, and he followed her. The dog looked back at him from time to time, as if she were leading him forward. In the course of this journey, Lancelot passed a track of blood. They crossed marshland and streams until they came to an ancient castle. The dog ran over the bridge that crossed the moat, waiting for Lancelot on the other side. The knight then followed her into a great hall, where he saw a knight lying dead upon the floor; the dog had begun licking the knight’s bloody wounds when a young lady came out, weeping.

  ‘Sir knight,’ she said to Lancelot, ‘you have brought me too much sorrow.’

  ‘Why do you say that? I did no harm to the dead man lying here. The dog brought me to this place. Do not be displeased with me. I grieve for you.’

  ‘I believe that you are speaking the truth. I was testing you. But it was not you who killed my husband. He who performed that deed will himself be badly wounded. And I shall make sure that he never recovers.’

  ‘What was your husband’s name?’

  ‘Sir Gilbert the Bastard. No better knight rode in the world.’

  ‘God send you comfort.’

  With these words he left her and went back into the dark wood. Within a short time he was hailed by a lady who seemed to know him. ‘You are well found,’ she called out to him. ‘On the vows of your knighthood I request you to help my brother, who lies helpless and bleeding close by. He fought Sir Gilbert the Bastard in plain battle, and was badly wounded. The dead man’s wife is a witch. She told me that my brother’s wounds would never be healed until I could find a knight that was willing to ride to the Perilous Chapel; in that sacred place he will find a sword and a cloth smeared in blood. A piece of that cloth, together with the sword, will restore my brother to health.’

  ‘This is a marvellous thing,’ Lancelot replied. ‘What is your brother’s name?’

  ‘Sir Meliot de Logris.’

  ‘I know him well. He is a knig
ht of the Round Table. Of course I will help him.’

  ‘Then follow this path. It will bring you to the Perilous Chapel. I will remain here until by God’s grace you return. If you cannot succeed in this quest, I know of no other knight that can save him.’

  So Lancelot rode off. When he came up to the Perilous Chapel he tied his horse to a little gate and entered the churchyard. It was a small chapel made of stone, and on the stones themselves were carved many curious signs and devices; some were in the shape of an ‘S’ and others had images of the Holy Cross. As he came towards the door of the chapel, itself wondrously carved, thirty giant warriors rose up from the ground of the churchyard; they wore black armour and carried black shields before them, as if they were the guardians of this sacred place. When Lancelot saw their faces he was a little afraid, so fierce and formidable they seemed, but he put his shield before him and walked forward. They made way for him, scattering to either side, and so emboldened he entered the chapel. It was suffused with the dim light of candles, and the air was sweet with incense. A corpse was lying before the altar, covered by a cloth of silk. There was a sword beside the bier. And the cloth was all bloody.

  Sir Lancelot stooped down and cut out a piece of that cloth; as he did so he felt the ground shaking beneath him. The chapel trembled. He picked up the sword and strode out. The knights in the churchyard now menaced him. ‘Knight,’ they said, ‘lay down that sword or you shall die!’

  ‘No words of yours will sway me,’ he replied. ‘Whether I live or die, you must fight me to win the sword.’ So they moved aside, and he went on his way.

  Beyond the churchyard he came across a fair lady. ‘Sir Lancelot,’ she said. ‘Abandon this sword, or you will die for it.’

  ‘I take no heed of threats, lady.’

  ‘You have answered well,’ she replied. ‘If you had laid down that sword, you would never have seen Guinevere again.’