‘She will change her mind. Has she not been angry with you before? And then forgiven you?’
‘True enough. Well, I will take your advice. I will ride out to Sir Brastias. I will stay in the hermitage until I receive word from you that I can return. I beg this of you, brother. Help me, as far as you can, to regain the love of Guinevere.’
‘You may rely on me, brother, to do my best.’
So Lancelot left the court that day, and no one knew where he had gone – except, of course, his kinsmen. The queen herself showed no outward sign of sorrow. But, as the old books tell us, she suffered much grief in secret. In public, she was resolute. That is why she arranged a dinner in London for twenty-four knights of the Round Table. She wanted to prove that she loved and honoured them all equally with Sir Lancelot. So there was a great feast.
Sir Gawain loved fruit, and in particular he favoured apples and pears. Wherever he dined, he was given them. The queen knew this, and ordered that a basket of fruit be brought to him at table. But he had an enemy at court, by the name of Sir Pionell. Pionell had by secret means managed to poison some of the apples sent up to Gawain towards the end of the meal. But, as fortune would have it, another knight picked up one of the poisoned apples and proceeded to eat it. This knight, Sir Patrise by name, fell dead in the throes of agony.
The knights leaped up from the table, enraged at this desperate crime. Their eyes turned to the queen. It was she, after all, who had arranged this feast and who had sent up the apples to Sir Gawain. ‘Madam,’ Gawain said, ‘you know well enough that this dinner was intended for me and my fellows. Everyone knows, too, that I love fruit. Now I see that I was close to being killed. What do you have to say?’
Guinevere was so alarmed and abashed that she simply stood there and said nothing.
‘This cannot end here,’ said Sir Mador. ‘ I have lost one of my kin. Sir Patrise was my cousin.’
They were all silent, looking at the queen. She simply wept and sighed, still unable to speak. Then she fell into a swoon. King Arthur was informed, and came at once into the chamber where the meal was held.
Sir Mador saluted him. ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘I hereby appeal Queen Guinevere for treason.’ In those ancient days, many crimes were comprised under the name of treason, for which the punishment was death at the stake.
The king was dismayed. ‘Fair lords, I am distressed at the news of this fresh trouble. Yet I must be a rightful judge. I must not take sides. I cannot do battle for my wife, therefore, although I do not believe her to be guilty of this crime. I trust that some good knight will come forward on her behalf. I do not want to see her burned without cause. Therefore, Sir Mador, be not so hasty. I do not believe my queen to be without friends. Name some day of battle. We will see who will champion her cause.’
‘My gracious lord,’ Sir Mador replied, ‘you must excuse my words. But we are all bound by the rules of knighthood. You are a king, but you are also a knight. At the risk of incurring your displeasure I must tell you that not one of the knights here will defend her. They all suspect her.’ He turned to the company. ‘What do you say, my lords?’
They all agreed that there seemed to be no excuse for the queen. Either she, or one of her servants, must have poisoned the fruit. Guinevere had by now revived, and wept when they condemned her. ‘In the name of Jesus,’ she said, ‘I swear that I arranged this feast with no evil intent. I have done nothing wrong.’
‘My lord king,’ Mador said, ‘I require you, as a righteous ruler, to set the day when I may find justice.’
‘Be ready then, Sir Mador, in fifteen days’ time. Ride to the great meadow beside Winchester, fully armed for battle, and there wait for the knight who will confront you in the queen’s name. God will grant you justice. If no knight is ready to meet you, then my queen must be burned at the stake. There is no more to say.’
‘You have spoken well, sire.’
When the king and queen were alone together, he asked her what she knew of the poisoned apple. ‘Nothing at all. As God is my witness, my lord, I played no part in it.’
‘If only Lancelot were at court,’ Arthur said. ‘He would do battle on your behalf.’
‘I do not know where he has gone,’ Guinevere replied. ‘But his kinsmen say that he has ridden out of this realm.’
‘Then we have lost our most loyal knight. I advise you, therefore, to approach Sir Bors and ask him to be your champion in the place of Lancelot. He cannot refuse. I know well enough that the other knights who attended your dinner will not fight for you.’ Guinevere set up a lament for Lancelot. ‘Why has Lancelot left us?’ he asked her. She could not say. ‘It is a matter of regret,’ he said. ‘With Lancelot on our side, we would fear no harm. Hurry now, my queen, to Sir Bors. Beg him to help you.’
So Guinevere went to Sir Bors, and asked him to do battle for her. ‘What would you have me do, sovereign lady?’ he replied. ‘I was also at the dinner where Sir Patrise was killed. If I fight on your behalf, I will incur dishonour. My fellows may believe that I colluded with you in that crime. Do you see now how much you miss Sir Lancelot? He never failed you, and he rescued you from many dangers. You have driven him out of the kingdom, and reduced the honour of our court. How can you ask me now for a favour?’
‘Alas, good knight,’ she replied, ‘I know my fault. I beg your forgiveness. I will perform any penance you ask of me.’ She fell down on her knees. ‘Have mercy on me, Sir Bors. Otherwise I will die a shameful death.’
The king came into the chamber at this moment, and found his wife kneeling before the knight. Sir Bors gently lifted her up. ‘Alas, my queen,’ he said, ‘you do me grave dishonour.’
‘Ah, gentle knight,’ Arthur exclaimed, ‘have mercy on my queen! She has been defamed. I am certain of it. So I ask you on her behalf. Do battle for her. For the love you owe to Sir Lancelot, stay loyal to her.’
‘My lord,’ Sir Bors replied, ‘no greater request could be made of me. If I fight for the queen, I will forfeit the love and respect of the Round Table. Nevertheless, for the sake of Sir Lancelot and yourself, I will take up the challenge on that day.’ Then he paused. ‘Unless a greater knight than I decides to do battle for her.’
‘Will you promise me this on your faith?’
‘Yes, sir. I will not fail you. But if a better knight comes to the field, he will take my place.’
The king and queen were of course delighted. But Sir Bors was pleased for another reason. On the next day he rode out to the hermitage where Sir Lancelot was hiding, and told him what had occurred.
‘Jesus be praised,’ Lancelot replied. ‘This has turned out better than I expected. Make yourself ready for battle, Sir Bors. Then wait on the field until you see me approach. Try to arrange a delay. Sir Mador is an impatient man. The longer you postpone the combat, the more headstrong he will become.’
‘Let me deal with him,’ Bors replied. ‘All will fall out as you wish.’
Sir Bors returned to Camelot, where the whole court soon learned that he was ready to do battle for the queen. The other knights were displeased with him, as he had predicted, because they believed in her guilt. In all humility he approached them. ‘Fair lords,’ he said, ‘it would reflect on us all if Queen Guinevere was to suffer shame. Consider who she is. Consider the noble king to whom she is married.’
One of them replied for them all. ‘We all love and respect our king. Of course we do. But we do not love or honour the queen. She has long been known as a destroyer of knights.’
‘Oh? This is the first time I have ever heard her described in that way. She has always been known to maintain good knights. She has been generous and bounteous in her gifts to us. She has always been gracious. So I say it again. It would shame us all if she were to suffer a shameful death. I will not allow it. I tell you that she had no part in the death of Sir Patrise. She had no reason to destroy him, or the rest of us who came to her dinner. She invited us out of good will, not out of wickedness. I do not doubt that this will
soon be proved, and that the real murderer will be revealed.’ Some were reassured by his words; others remained hostile to the queen.
On the evening before the battle, Queen Guinevere summoned Sir Bors. ‘Are you still well disposed towards me?’ she asked him. ‘Will you still be my champion?’
‘Of course. As I said to you before, sovereign lady, I will do battle on your behalf. I will decline only if a better knight takes your part.’
The rescue of Guinevere
On the following morning the king and queen, together with the entire court, assembled on the great meadow outside Winchester. The queen was taken into the charge of a constable, and a great fire started around an iron stake; if Sir Mador was the victor, that was the place of her burning. It was the custom. No rank, not even that of royalty, could escape it.
Sir Mador and Sir Bors walked together up to the throne and presented themselves to the king.
‘I am here to accuse the queen of treason,’ Sir Mador told him. ‘I will prove it in combat against anyone who says the contrary.’
‘I am here to fight for the innocence of the queen,’ Sir Bors said. ‘I will prove it in battle.’
‘Then make yourself ready,’ Mador told him. ‘Let us put it to the proof.’
‘I know you to be a good and brave knight,’ Sir Bors replied. ‘I do not fear you. But I have made a promise to my sovereign lord that I will remove myself from battle if a better knight comes forward.’
‘Is that all you have to say, sir? No more words. Let the battle begin.’
‘Take your horse on to the field then. I will follow you shortly.’ So they both made their way back to their tents, and armed themselves. Sir Mador rode out first. ‘Tell your champion to come forth!’ he cried out to Arthur. ‘That is, if he dares to meet me.’
Sir Bors felt shame at this taunt, and so he rode towards the lists. But at that moment he saw a knight riding on a white horse from the wood beside the meadow. This knight galloped up to him, and called out so that everyone might hear. ‘Fair knight, do not be displeased. I am the better knight, and I have come a long way to fight this battle on behalf of the queen.’
Sir Bors went over to the king. ‘Did you hear him, sir?’
‘I did. Who is he?’
‘I have no knowledge of him,’ he replied. ‘But he claims this battle by right. I cannot refuse him.’
The king called over the unknown knight. ‘You will fight for the queen?’
‘That is why I have come, my lord. And I can wait no longer. It is a great dishonour to you and your court that so noble a lady as Queen Guinevere should be slandered and defamed. You must permit me to depart once the contest is over. I must fight many more battles elsewhere.’
Sir Mador addressed the king. ‘It is time to begin, sir. I wish to see what mettle this knight is made of.’
So they withdrew to the lists, couched their spears and rode against each other at great speed. The spear of Sir Mador was broken, but that of his opponent held; Mador was unhorsed and fell to the earth. He took up his shield, and drew his sword, challenging his opponent to join him in hand-to-hand battle. The knight dismounted, and showed his sword. They clashed at once, and for an hour they exchanged blow for blow. They fought, and bellowed, like wild boars. Sir Mador was a strong knight, proven in many battles. But he fell in the end, buffeted and beaten beyond endurance. He tried to rise, and struck at his challenger’s thigh with his sword. The blood flowed, but then the unknown knight gave him such a blow on his helmet that he tasted the dust. Sir Mador then begged for mercy. ‘I have been overcome,’ he said. ‘I realize that the queen is innocent.’
‘I will grant your life,’ the knight replied, ‘on condition that you freely release the queen for ever from the taint of treason.’
‘Willingly,’ Sir Mador said. ‘I withdraw all charges.’
The knights of the court took Sir Mador to his tent, while the king and queen embraced one another. Arthur and Guinevere went over to the unknown knight, and thanked him. ‘Take off your helmet, sir,’ the king told him. ‘Drink some wine.’ The knight complied and, when he removed his helmet, everyone saw that it was Lancelot standing before them. Arthur took Guinevere by the hand. ‘Sir Lancelot, I thank God that you came back to us. You have saved my queen’s life.’
‘My lord,’ Lancelot replied, ‘I am here by right and duty. Your battles are my battles. You, sir, were the one who gave me the Order of Knighthood. And you, my lady, have always honoured and favoured me. How could I do otherwise than fight on your behalf?’
‘I thank God again for you,’ the king said. ‘And I will reward you.’
Guinevere was now weeping for joy and for sorrow. She had treated him harshly but, in return, he had risked his life for her. He had paid unkindness with kindness. The other knights now came over to Lancelot and welcomed him with great warmth and affection. Sir Mador recovered from his wounds, and sat once more at the Round Table with Lancelot.
It so happened that the Lady of the Lake came to court soon afterwards. She was a great sorceress who had cast many spells for King Arthur. When she heard that the queen had been accused of killing Sir Patrise, she declared Guinevere to be innocent. By means of her magic she revealed that the killer was in fact Sir Pionell. He was the one who had poisoned the apple, with the intention of destroying Sir Gawain. Pionell fled the court at once, and retired to his own country. Guinevere rejoiced at the return of her good name.
Sir Patrise was then buried in Westminster Abbey, and upon his tomb was inscribed an account of the whole affair. Sir Mador eventually found favour with the queen once more. All was forgiven.
The Fair Maid of Astolat
In the middle of summer, on the feast day of the Assumption of Our Lady, Arthur proclaimed that there would be a tournament at Camelot where he and the King of Scotland would challenge all comers. As a result, many noble knights rode to the court. The king himself was ready to depart from London for Winchester, the English name of Camelot, and called for his wife to accompany him. She sent him word that she was sick, and could not ride with him.
Many in the court believed that she remained behind so that she could be with Lancelot. He had already refused the challenge, on the grounds that he was still recovering from his wounds after the battle with Sir Mador. The king himself was very angry, but he travelled on with his company of knights. On his way he lodged at Astolat, known in English as Guildford, in the castle of Sir Bernard.
After he had left, Guinevere called Lancelot to her chamber. ‘Sir,’ she said, ‘what are you doing here? Do you know what people are saying? They are convinced that we have planned this so that we can be together. You will bring shame upon me.’
‘Madam, I do not doubt you. You are wiser than me, and I will be ruled by your words. I will remain here tonight, but tomorrow I will make my way to Camelot. For the sport of it, I will fight in disguise against the king and all his fellowship.’
‘That is your decision,’ she replied, ‘but do not forget that the knights of the Round Table are fierce and resolute.’
‘What will be, will be.’
On the following morning he heard mass, and then took his leave of the queen. He rode hard and soon reached Guildford, where he also found lodgings at the castle. Arthur glimpsed Lancelot as he walked in the gardens there. ‘Ah,’ the king said, ‘I see a knight who will take part in the tournament.’
‘Who is that?’ one of his knights asked him.
‘You will soon see well enough.’ The king smiled at him. ‘Be prepared.’
When Sir Lancelot was alone in his chamber, his host, Sir Bernard, came to him. He did not know Lancelot by sight. After Bernard had welcomed him, Lancelot asked for a favour. ‘Fair sir,’ he said, ‘will you lend me a shield? I do not wish to carry my own. I hope to remain unknown.’
‘Willingly,’ Sir Bernard replied. ‘You seem to me to be one of the best knights in the field, and I will honour your friendship. I have two sons, and the eldest of them was just
dubbed a knight. His name is Sir Tirry and, on the day he was knighted, he suffered a wound that prevents him from taking part in the tournament. You can use his shield. It will not be recognized. My younger son is Sir Lavane. Will you allow him to ride with you to the joust? He is young and strong. He will prove to be a good knight. But tell me this, sir. What is your name?’
‘I cannot tell you at this time. But if God give me strength at the tournament, then I will let you know. In the meantime I am happy to take Sir Lavane with me. Thank you, also, for the loan of the shield.’
Sir Bernard’s daughter, Elaine, known at that time as the Fair Maid of Astolat, had been listening at the door. As soon as she saw Lancelot, she fell in love with him. She was so enamoured of him that she begged him to wear her token when he rode out to the tournament.
‘If I grant you that, young lady,’ he said, ‘I will be performing a greater service than I have ever given to any other woman.’ Then he remembered that he wished to ride unrecognized. If he wore this girl’s token, no one would suspect that he was Lancelot. So he smiled upon her. ‘Fair lady, I give in. I will wear your token on my helmet. What is it?’
‘It is a red scarf of mine,’ she said. ‘It is scarlet, and it is embroidered with rich pearls.’ She brought it to him, and spent the whole day in serving him. She could not be long out of his sight.
The wounding of Lancelot
On the following morning Arthur and all his knights left Astolat. Sir Lancelot and Sir Lavane were among them. Both of them carried white shields, and Lancelot wore the scarlet token. They made their way to Winchester, where Sir Lavane made sure that they were lodged in secret with a rich merchant of the town. Lancelot did not wish to be seen.
The day of the joust soon came. Sir Lancelot was foremost in the fight, but he was wounded so badly that it took all of his strength to continue. The spear of Sir Bors had gone through his shield and entered his side. He would not surrender, however, and soon overcame his opponents. ‘God have mercy on us,’ Gawain said to the king. ‘Who is that knight with the red scarf? I would say from his bearing that this is Lancelot. But he would never wear another woman’s token.’
The Death of King Arthur Page 24
