Myths and Legends from Around the World
Page 10
After Horus was born, Isis took him to be brought up in the swamps, safe from Seth until he was old enough to avenge his father. Beset by accidents and misfortunes as a child, bitten by savage beasts, stung by scorpions, and suffering pains in his abdomen, Horus only survived to manhood with the magical help of his mother.
Osiris, meanwhile, might have remained among the living, regained his throne and ruled Egypt once again, but he preferred not to. Instead he became god of the underworld, that realm where the Sun goes at night, far to the west, the place of the dead, where he judged men's souls by the weight of their sins. Only the good were accepted, the wicked went to hell. Nevertheless, he found time to appear to his son, Horus, to instruct him in the use of arms and help him to grow into a strong and courageous warrior.
In time, Horus was ready and, leading those who held the memory of Osiris dear, he went to war against his uncle Seth and his followers. Long and savage was the combat, Horus fighting skilfully with his favoured weapon, the lance. His men cut up Seth's body in battle and then it was their turn to take refuge in the bodies of wild animals such as crocodiles, antelopes and hippopotami.
At last a council of the gods was convened to bring the war to an end. Seth maintained that Horus was not the true son of Osiris but a bastard. However, with the help of his mother's fame for sorcery and proofs the other gods readily accepted, Horus was recognized as legitimate, as was his cause. He was at last fully restored to his inheritance and ruled Upper and Lower Egypt thereafter.
Good had triumphed over evil, light over darkness and Horus became the most honoured ancestor of the future Pharaohs. With his father and mother, he was worshipped throughout the land of Egypt for all its long existence as a great empire.
Sir Gawain and the Loathly Lady
The earliest reference to King Arthur is found in the Historia Brittonum of a ninth-century Welsh monk called Nennius. In this Arthur is referred to rather blandly as a ‘leader of troops’. By the time of Malory's Morte d'Arthur in 1485, he had become a legend and leader of a colourful band of knights noted for their great chivalry. Gawain is the most gallant and generous of them all, and this story should perhaps be more properly titled, ‘Virtue Rewarded’. Gawain is always represented as popular with the ladies in his many adventures, and his advanced views and respect for women are central to his character.
King Arthur rode along dejectedly, his spirits lower than the mud beneath his horse's hooves. The worst of it was that he knew he had only himself to blame. It had all started because he had so vocally yearned for some adventure to break the monotony of the long and otherwise welcome period of peace his reign had brought about.
Only a week before, on Christmas day, King Arthur had been celebrating with great pomp and ceremony. He had been seated in the grand hall at Camelot, beside him his lovely Queen, Guinevere, the cleverest and most beautiful queen a king could ask for. All about them were gathered the Knights of the Round Table. In his heart the king knew that never before or in the future would any leader assemble so noble a band of courageous warriors. Arthur's chest had swelled with pride as he looked upon this throng of feasting heroes.
On his right had been the invincible Sir Lancelot, sharing a jest with brave Sir Bors and Sir Banier. Beyond them sat the ever-loyal Sir Bedivere, next to surly Sir Kay, Arthur's foster-brother, the churlish steward of the king's household. Then there were King Arthur's nephews, the young and valiant Sir Gareth, the gentle and courteous Sir Gawain, and the gloomy Sir Mordred, always full of dark looks and seemingly a dark secret. As he plodded along alone days later, Arthur banished thoughts of Mordred from his mind. It would have depressed him even more to think of the boy.
All the other knights, he remembered, had been engaged in banter, drinking and feasting, as were their lovely ladies, while servants and pages scurried here and there waiting on them, carving meat and filling their golden goblets. In a gallery above minstrels played their harps and sang lays of heroes from long ago.
Arthur belonged in such company and was himself a mighty and noble knight. A melancholy mood had descended upon him at the feast, however, and he began to daydream about having some new adventure. For some time nothing even remotely adventurous had happened to any of them. Indeed, this Christmas was like all the others in recent years, as were so many other high holidays and feasts in general.
The fear had assailed him that in these times of peace and plenty he and his knights were growing soft. If a real threat appeared now they might not be equal to it. Maybe they all needed a shake up. Suddenly he had pounded his fist on the table, and bellowed:
“Are we all sluggards or cowards, that none of us goes forth adventuring? I swear every one of us will soon be better fitted to feasting in this hall than fighting in the field. I ask you, or rather I ask providence, has our fame so withered of late that no one even comes to ask for our help or support against evildoers?”
The assembly had fallen quiet, and everyone had looked a little shamefaced.
“I declare by the food before us and all the saints in heaven that I'll not rise from this table unless an adventure or quest of some sort is embarked upon, if I have to undertake the mission myself.”
“But sire,” Sir Lancelot had smiled, trying to reassure his agitated monarch. “It is Christmas and even a noble king and his gallant knights must pause for celebration and reflection.”
“Dear uncle, we are not cowards,” Sir Gawain had said. “There simply aren't many evildoers to deal with under your rule. It isn't your fault nor ours if we seem idle.”
“Without risk to the kingdom and its folk, I would that it were not so for myself,” the king had muttered.
Even as he had spoken the most distressed damsel imaginable had ridden into the hall, her long, fair but dishevelled hair flying and her elegant dress disordered. The hooves of the woman's excited palfrey clattered on the stone of the floor and its eyes rolled, the whites showing as it tossed its head. Dismounting from her steed with difficulty, even though a page had rushed forward to hold its head, she fell to her knees, sobbing at Arthur's feet.
“A boon,” she had wailed, her voice ringing out through the hall so that everyone heard her. “I beg a boon of you, oh brave King Arthur. Please, in Heaven's name, do not deny me.”
“What boon is this?” the king had been taken aback yet intrigued. The poor girl's apparent horror had been touching to see and it had moved him greatly. “Dry your tears, my dear, and tell me what we can do to help.”
“I crave your pity and plead for vengeance on a wicked knight, who has imprisoned my beloved.”
“When did he do this? What were the circumstances and where did it happen?”
“My betrothed is a gallant knight, and I dearly love him. All was bliss until yesterday, but out riding together, planning our marriage, we passed through the moorlands and into wooded country beside a pretty lake.”
“What lake?”
“Tarn Wathelan. Beside it stood a great castle with streamers flying and banners waving. It seemed a very solid and pleasant place, but it plainly stood on magic ground. To our woe we discovered that inside the enchanted circle cast by its shadow, an evil spell affects any knight who enters. As we stood staring in amazement at the strange place, my love and I observed a rude and horrible warrior, twice the size of any mortal man, emerge. He rushed at us in full armour, a wicked grimace on his fierce-looking face. Armed with a huge club, he arrogantly ordered my knight to ride away and leave me to his lustful attentions. My betrothed drew his sword and would have defended me, but the evil spell robbed him of every ounce of his strength. His sword fell from his weakened grasp and he could do nothing as the giant beat him to the ground with his club. The wicked knight then took hold of him and dragged him to a dungeon in the great keep. Returning before I could flee he badly used me, though all the while I prayed for mercy in the name of chivalry itself and of the Blessed Virgin, Mary Mother of God. When he allowed me to go free, in fury I told him I would come straight he
re to you, to your court, where I would beg for a champion to avenge me, perhaps even the king himself. At this the giant laughed aloud.”
“He laughed out loud?” King Arthur had cried. Oh, why had he not seen the trap from the start?
“Yes,” the damsel had nodded. “The giant said: ‘Tell your stupid king where I can be found and say that I do not fear him. Say also that I'll do just as I please with anyone who comes into my power. I have in my prison quite a few knights already, besides your beloved, some of them King Arthur's own men. So, tell him to come and fight with me if he wishes to get them back. If indeed he dares come at all.’ Then he laughed again, Sire, jeering loudly at you as he returned to his castle. After that I remember little but riding here as quickly as I could. Please help me, my king.”
“By my knighthood,” the king had shouted, “by the Holy Rood, I swear I will find this evil, boasting giant and beat him or perish in the attempt.”
If only it had been so simple, Arthur reflected now.
Naturally, the knights had all applauded their sovereign's vow, while Queen Guinevere looked with concern at her husband. The damsel stayed in Camelot that night, and after Mass the next morning Arthur had said farewell to Guinevere and the court, riding away alone on his quest.
The journey was a chilly one to Tarn Wathelan at that time of year, but the country was very beautiful, though wild and rugged. In due time Arthur saw the lake gleaming clear and cold below him, and there beside it stood the enchanted castle towering above the water, its banners flapping defiantly in the breeze.
Drawing Excalibur and putting his bugle to his lips the king blew a loud note to summon his enemy. Three times he blew without reply, and then in exasperation he shouted at the castle.
“Arrogant knight, it is I, King Arthur. I am here to punish your crimes or see you repent and seek forgiveness from on high. Come out to fight or to yield.”
Suddenly out came the giant, swinging his massive club. He rushed straight at King Arthur and in that moment the enchanted ground struck the king and rendered him defenceless. His arms became leaden and too heavy to hold up even without the burden of the mighty sword Excalibur and his shield. The giant bellowed with laughter as he saw Arthur's arms drop to his sides and the weapons fall on the ground.
“Now you yield or fight, King Arthur. You have no power to resist me.”
“Then strike, Sir Braggart. Kill me while your magic makes courage useless.”
“I can easily slay you, and my magic makes it possible, I do not deny it. With Excalibur you yourself are invisible, but you must wield her first and you cannot. I do not wish to kill you, though. If you do not yield, however, you will die slowly in my dungeon after many interesting games have been played with you and my other prisoners.”
“And if I yield?”
“I will hold you to ransom.”
“What ransom?”
“Terms I shall set and you must swear to accept.”
“What are these terms?” King Arthur demanded, furious at his helplessness.
“You will have to swear by the Holy Rood, and the Virgin, that you will come back on New Year's Day to bring me the true answer to a question I shall pose.”
“That's the ransom?” the king asked disbelievingly. “Alright, what is the question? What is the best torture known to man, I suppose?”
“I already know that. No, your question is this: ‘What is it that all women most desire?’ A good one, eh?”
“Is that all?” the king smiled, then repeated the question. “What is it that all women most desire?”
“Yes, that is it. If you do not bring me the correct answer your ransom will not be paid, and you will remain my prisoner. These are the only terms I offer, do you accept them?”
With no choice and no chance of fighting back as long as he stood on the enchanted ground, King Arthur swore he would return on New Year's Day with the answer. After his initial amusement at the question, it had quickly dawned on him how difficult it would be. As he rode away, he realized it might be well nigh impossible to find the answer in so short a time, indeed in a whole lifetime.
Too ashamed and humiliated to go back to Camelot, he decided he would not return home until somehow he had triumphed. Riding in every direction, ranging as wide over the land as time allowed, he interviewed every woman and girl he met, asking them the question; “What is it that all women most desire?” Alas they had all given him different replies and none was satisfactory. Riches, pomp, beautiful clothes, mirth, flattery, a handsome lover – these were some of the suggestions he received. In the end, King Arthur felt confused and regretted the whole enterprise. A fine lot of good he had done in his quest except to bring himself to this pretty pass, where his life, his freedom and the future of his kingdom were in jeopardy.
Naturally, he had written down every answer he and been given, hoping against hope that one of them might satisfy the giant knight of the Castle of Tarn Wathelan, though at heart King Arthur knew that none of them was the truth, the whole, frank truth. So now as he rode towards the giant's home on New Year's Day, he thought of how it had all begun and how much more lonely the journey was this time compared to when he had ventured forth on Christmas Day, so full of hope, courage and self-assurance.
Passing sadly through a lonely forest, dreading his coming encounter with the giant, Arthur heard a woman's voice greeting him.
“God bless you, Your Majesty. God bless and keep you.”
Turning quickly to see who was addressing him, Arthur could spy no one for a moment, then finally he perceived a woman warmly clothed in a bright red cloak. She was seated between a hollybush and an oak tree, and the berries of the former were hardly more vivid than her dress, while the brown leaves of the latter were pale beside the brown of her wrinkled cheeks. Upon first seeing her, King Arthur thought he had been bewitched. Surely this nightmare of a human face could not be possible otherwise. Her nose was long, hooked and covered in warts, while her chin was also long, curving upwards and hairy. She had one eye and this had a milky cast over it and was almost covered by her wrinkled and overhanging brow. Her mouth was a red, toothless gaping slit, and the whole head was framed by snaky locks of ragged grey hair.
The king's stomach involuntarily turned upon first sight of her. Indeed his shock was so great that he was lost for words and did not reply to her greeting.
“Now, Christ be with us,” the loathly lady said, striving for patience, angered by the insult of King Arthur's silence. “Who do you think you are to ignore me? So much for the courtesy of you and your knights of the Round Table, if you can't even be civil enough to return a lady's greeting.”
Arthur worked his mouth up and down but could still not find his tongue.
“Even so, my proud King, it just might be within my power to help you, hideous though I am, though I'll do nothing for anyone who cannot be bothered to display simple good manners towards me.”
“Please forgive me, lady,” King Arthur said at last, ashamed of his lack of courtesy. He was also gripped by the sudden thought that here might be a woman who could help him. “I am very distracted with troubles and my mind is clouded. I am heartily sorry for my lack of courtesy, and apologize for having missed your greeting.”
She nodded her ugly head and seemed to see that he was telling the truth.
“Did I understand you to say that perhaps you could help me?”
“I did.”
“Lady, if you would do this … Perhaps you have heard of my dilemma … if you can show me how to pay my ransom, I will give you anything you ask for that is in my power to give.”
“If you will swear by all you hold dear and sacred that you will grant me whatever boon I ask, then I will tell you the secret you wish to know.”
“You can truly tell me? You know what it is I wish to learn.”
“By secret means I know the question you seek to have answered. ‘What is it that all women most desire?’ Is that not it?”
“It is.”
“Please tell me,” the king all but pleaded.
“Only when you have sworn to keep faith with me.”
“Very well. Indeed, I will take the oath gladly,” the king said. “For one who would help me I would happily help also.” With that he duly lifted up his hand and swore. The lady nodded with satisfaction and told him the secret directly. Laughing out loud in relief, Arthur knew at once that this was undoubtedly the correct answer.
Convinced of the wisdom of the old crone's words Arthur rode on to the Castle of Tarn Wathelan, and blew his bugle to summon the giant. Because it was New Year's Day, his adversery was ready for him, and hurried out, club in hand, eager to take whatever advantage the enchantment offered, convinced that Arthur could not have found the answer to the question.
“I have collected these answers, Sir Knight,” said Arthur. “And having written them down I bring them to you. Here, I offer them to you as my ransom.”
The giant took the writings and read each one with a derisory snort and growing excitement.
“As I suspected, you have failed utterly,” the giant chuckled. “So you are my prisoner, for though these answers are numerous and not totally unwise, none is the true answer to my question. Therefore, your ransom is not paid. To keep your vow, your life and all you have is forfeit to me.”
“Ah, but Sir Knight,” said the king. “Wait but a moment and let me try once more before I yield. It is a small favour to ask when a man risks his life and kingdom for good and all.”