Arthur Rex (38 page)

Then in fending off a puissant blow by Accolon, King Arthur’s blade did shatter into many fragments, and he understood that it was not Excalibur that he held, and furthermore he recognized that it was his own proper sword with which Sir Accolon assailed him, for he knew it by its preternatural glitter and also by the peculiar sound it made when swung.

“Die, traitor!” then cried Accolon, raising the magic sword to the extent of his arm and charging upon King Arthur.

And expecting to die King Arthur sat his horse quietly and awaited the stroke that would kill him, for he had no weapon and a king can not in decency flee from a knight.

But just as Sir Accolon was about to reach King Arthur a hole did open in the earth and his horse stepped into it, breaking its leg, and being pitched to the ground, Sir Accolon lost his grasp on Excalibur. And King Arthur dismounted and picked up the sword before Accolon could reach it.

Now the king held Excalibur’s point to the visor of Sir Accolon and he raised it, and he said to the frightened face within, “Sir knight, this is my weapon, and I would know where thou hast got it and how?”

And Sir Accolon replied, “Morgan la Fey, the fair queen of Gore, gave it me, for to defend with it the lives of her brother Arthur of Britain and Uriens her husband and king of this land.” And he told of the felons who impersonated those two kings. “Now,” said he, “it is indeed Excalibur which you hold, and it doth belong to King Arthur, and you say you are he. Yet an impostor would say as much, and how can I know what is the truth?”

“Were I not the real Arthur,” said the king, “would I not, having gained possession of the genuine Excalibur, now put thee to death?”

“I think that you would,” said Sir Accolon.

“Well, I shall not kill thee,” said King Arthur. “And thereby I establish mine identity.” And he permitted Accolon to rise. “Now I ask thee to consider this reasoning which is somewhat more complex, but not so much. If my sister took Excalibur from me when I was sleeping and gave it thee without my knowledge, then does it seem as though she would have done this for my benefit or for my damage?”

“Sire,” said Sir Accolon, “methinks some mistake hath been made, though in all good will. I can not explain it as yet, but I am sure the error hath been mine and mine only, for the fair and gracious Queen Morgan la Fey hath no fault.”

“That is a commendable sentiment,” said King Arthur, “for she is thy queen, and men commonly do well to have reverence for their superiors. Yet evil hath been known to have its servants in high places, for even amongst His dozen dearest Our Lord did find one traitor.”

Now Accolon was yet assotted with Morgan la Fey, and his wits were clouded with his love for her, and therefore he did not understand the burden of King Arthur’s speech, and he feared that it was he whom Arthur believed treasonous.

“Sire,” said he, “I hold treason in the greatest abomination, and I should willingly submit myself to the torture in proof of this.”

“Accolon,” said King Arthur, “I believe thee absolutely. Nor do we practice torture nowadays in Britain or in our vassalages. ’Tis an outmoded means, to seek the truth through pain, and justice is better served avoiding cruelty.”

But this was still another thing which Sir Accolon, not being of the Round Table, could not understand. “Great Arthur,” said he, “is not King Mark of Cornwall a vassal of your own? It is well known that he shall soon put to the torture none other than his queen Isold, on suspicion of adultery with Sir Tristram of Lyonesse.”

Now King Arthur was made full sore by these news, and for a congeries of reasons, foremost amongst them being his suspicion that Isold and Tristram were guilty of this crime, for so went the gossip, and it was impossible to forget a vile thing once one heard it, which was why he so detested scandalmongering: was any good served by men’s knowledge of such a sin? (For never was it hidden from God!) And then Arthur was reminded as well that Sir Tristram was a knight of the Table, and finally that Mark, who was self-elevated from duke to king, had never yet sent him a pledge of fealty.

And yet perhaps it was Mark’s use of trial by torture which offended King Arthur most, for this displayed a difference of principle of more profound significance than these other matters. And though he now rebuked Accolon, and said, “Sir, we can not suffer thee, a knight, to speak of kingly matters,” he privately believed that the time had come when he must march on Cornwall, for there was nothing which King Arthur saw as more heinous than torture, and he believed that by its use the one who imposed it became necessarily more evil than he to whom it was applied. (And never was a prisoner taken by the knights of the Round Table: all enemies were pardoned if they sued for mercy, else they were slain honestly.)

Therefore King Arthur returned with Sir Accolon to the castle of Gore. And when she knew that her brother was yet alive Morgan la Fey had more hatred of him than ever, but fortunately he soon returned to Camelot, for if he had not, this wicked woman would have made more attempts on his life.

Now when King Arthur had gone Morgan la Fey called Sir Accolon to her, saying she would know what had happened. And when he told her she made him great praise, saying, “Thou art as wise as thou art brave and handsome, sweet Accolon, for surely it would have been a great misfortune to have slain my dear brother King Arthur, and I love you for preserving him.”

And though Sir Accolon had told her that but for the hole in the ground into which his horse had stepped he should indeed have killed the king, he was so assotted with her beauty that he believed her artful corruption of the true state of affairs.

“Now,” said she, “I would that thou ride after Arthur and present him with this gift from me, the which I had intended to give him while he stayed at Gore, but he went away too soon.”

And to Accolon she gave a rich mantle of silk on which were sewn so many precious gems set so closely each on each that the cloth beneath them could not be seen. “And when thou dost return again to Gore, thy reward shall be even more priceless than this, for I love thee dearly.” And once again Morgan la Fey kissed Accolon in a warm manner which was not seemly between a queen and her knight, and Accolon forgot utterly to think about what King Arthur had asked him, namely why Morgan la Fey had had possession of Excalibur.

And furthermore this wicked queen now told him that King Uriens was very old and that he could not live much longer, and she intimated that when Uriens was dead she must needs find a new husband and that someone very like Sir Accolon would suit her perfectly. And then she said that because King Uriens would die soon anyway, it were no crime but merely an anticipation of the natural event, and really a kindness, if he were not suffered to linger in misery but rather swiftly despatched.

Now because of her persuasion, the which was honeyed to disguise its venom, the foolish Sir Accolon might well have been induced to murder King Uriens, did not that monarch return from his hunt at this very moment and in great joy, for his hounds had found a splendid stag and his archers had killed it. And seeing the king roar so joyfully, Sir Accolon decided he was not so ill at the moment that killing him would serve the good. (For Accolon though assotted was basically a decent knight.)

Therefore he took the mantle and he went towards Camelot, for to present it to King Arthur with the compliments of Morgan la Fey his loving sister.

Now Arthur had reached Camelot some hours earlier, and when he got there he had sent for Guinevere, for the matter of Tristram and Isold was weighing on his mind, and as yet he was not certain what he should do about it. And though he had at first believed that he must go to Cornwall with an army to compel Mark to swear fealty to him and hence perform according to Arthurian principles of merciful justice, he now considered that Mark’s neglect of his obligations as vassal might have been due to his having been distracted by the criminal congress between his queen and his nephew.

And Arthur wished to speak of this matter with Guinevere, for he knew Sir Tristram to be a man of worship without a previous reputation for lechery, the chief mark of which appetite was the need for a succession of women, whereas Tristram was devoted to this one: and therefore the problem was love and not mere lust, which was to say, a feminine and not a virile matter. And thus King Arthur had the rare need for the counsel of Guinevere.

But the varlet he had sent to fetch her could find her nowhere, not at her chambers nor in the garden.

“Well,” said King Arthur when the boy returned with these news, “then she doth ride abroad attended by the faithful Launcelot as is her wont on these clement afternoons.” And he sent the varlet without the walls to look for her.

Now this boy eventually came to the royal orchards the which had been cultivated under Sir Kay’s direction, and it was the time of year when the trees were heavy with pippins and peaches and pears, and distracted by hunger this varlet picked him a lovely peach (which was illegal to do, and would have earned him a thrashing had he been seen by Kay or his staff), and he sate him down under a tree for to eat this fruit.

And whilst he was doing this he heard some soft gasps coming from not far away and rising with his peach he went to a near-by tree, where first he came upon a lady’s clothing strewn on the earth and then that of a knight, and under the fruit-laden branches of this tree, which were so heavy that they came down as a screen on all sides, this page saw the heaving of the beast-with-two-backs, and this being a domesticated breed and not savage except to its own constituent parts, he observed its antics for a while, for he was but fourteen years old and he was curious to learn of the animal husbandry which lay in store for him as a man. But he could not see the twin faces of the creature, for they were obscured by the hair, the which was respectively gold and sable.

Then the varlet finished eating his peach, and thinking he might well be punished if detected at his observation, he dropped the stone and crept away. (And finding a secret place he polluted himself, the which he duly confessed on his next peccavi.)

Now it was not so much later that coming out from under the plum-tree, on their way to find their horses, which had been tethered at the edge of the orchard, Guinevere and Launcelot did pass where this fresh peach-stone lay, and Sir Launcelot saw it, and he knew it as evidence that they had been observed.

And he said, “Lady, we are undone.”

But though Guinevere did pale on seeing the wet red stone she never lost command of herself. “Well,” said she, “I do not think the testimony of a peach-poacher would soon bring me to the stake. ’Tis illegal to pick fruit here without the order of Sir Kay, and even those who do the picking at his sanction are not allowed to eat ought but bruised fruits, and then they are forbidden to discard the stones here.
Ergo,
who ate this peach did so without the law, and as himself a miscreant, will never accuse his betters who are observed at other foibles.”

And Sir Launcelot was once again amazed, and not only with Guinevere’s quick wit but also at her self-righteousness, the which he supposed instinctive with royalty.

And he asked gently, “Is what we do then even less harmful than stealing the king’s peaches?”

Now once her clothes were on her majestic body Guinevere was ever haughty with Sir Launcelot, nor was she altogether complaisant with them off, and because of this he felt at once less guilty of crime (for she was the queen and he but a knight) and more (for she was the consort of his king): which was to say he could neither defy her nor go without defying all that he believed in. And therefore indeed he was in love, and in the degree to which he was a lover he had become spiritually an eunuch.

“Yea,” proudly said Guinevere, “a peach from this orchard is the king’s property. He who takes it is a thief!”

“And hath Launcelot not stolen something?” asked the same.

“Nay!” cried Guinevere. “It is not a thing, and he did not take but rather was taken!”

And here her champion did stop and kneeling before her he said, “Majesty, accept the obeisance and abasement of your most miserable of lackeys.”

And all of this had happened many times before, but now Guinevere was peculiarly irked, and she extended her slipper, saying, “Wretch, kiss my foot.”

“Nay!” cried Sir Launcelot, now suddenly vexed himself (and with himself). “I shall not, for when doth the sword serve the scabbard?” Yet he did not rise.

“Dost refuse a royal command, Sir Froward?” asked the queen.

“Never,” said Sir Launcelot. “And I continue to kneel to the queen but not to a spiteful woman.”

“Well,” said Guinevere, “they can not be separated, and therefore thou shalt die for this impossibility of discrimination. Thy blade, sir!” And she held her delicate white hand towards him.

Now Sir Launcelot drew his sword and he gave it her by the handles, and he said, “Madam, then be pleased to strike off mine head.”

And the queen took his sword, the which was long and heavy, and she hardly could raise it, so massive it was. But a queen hath strengths which are more than physical, and Guinevere with the finest and whitest hands in the world (the which had lately done more gentle work) lifted the sword over Sir Launcelot’s head, and only God knows whether she would have brought it down upon him in the next moment.

But at just that time the page came back through that part of the orchard and seeing her he said, “Lady, the king doth require you.”

And Guinevere dropped the sword to the ground, saying, “Well, we are all subjects.”

Now Sir Launcelot picking up his sword returned it to his scabbard, and then he shamed himself by addressing the little varlet in this wise: “Boy,” said he, “the queen would show with my sword how she could knight a man were she the king. And so I knelt before her in the interests of this demonstration.”

“My lord,” said the page bowing.

But the queen with flashing eyes said, “Nay, varlet, Sir Launcelot doth jest! I was about to strike off his head for contumacy.”

And the page did understand nought of this, for his wits were confused so to be addressed by such high personages, he who otherwise received commands only, and he went to find their horses and to help them to mount. And when they rode back to the castle this varlet walked behind, and in his lowly situation he could never think that these were the two people whom he had seen swyving like goats any more than he could believe that angels did come together carnally.