The Once and Future King (#1-4) by T. H. White
‘Fair Lords,’ he said, ‘leave your noise and your rashing. I shall set open this door, and then ye may do with me what it liketh you.’
‘Come off then,’ they cried confusedly. ‘Do it.’ ‘It availeth thee not to strive against us all.’ ‘Let us into the chamber.’ ‘We shall save thy life if you come to King Arthur.’
He put his shoulder against the leaping door and softly pushed the beam back, into the wall. Then, still holding the door shut with his shoulder – the people on the other side had desisted from their hewing, feeling that something was about to happen – he settled his right foot firmly on the ground, about two feet from the door jamb, and let the door swing open. It stopped with a jerk at his foot, leaving a narrow opening so that it was more ajar than open, and a single knight in full armour blundered through the gap with the obedience of a puppet on strings. Lancelot slammed the door behind him, shot the bar, took the figure’s sword by the pommel in his padded left hand, jerked him forward, tripped him up, bashed him on the head with the stool as he was falling, and was sitting on his chest in a trice – as limber as he had ever been. All was done with what seemed to be ease and leisure, as if it were the armed man who was powerless. The great turret of a fellow, who had entered in the height and breadth of armour, and who had stood for a second looking for his adversary through the slit of his helmet, this man had given an impression of docility – he seemed to have come in, and to have handed his sword to Lancelot, and to have thrown himself upon the ground. Now the iron hulk lay, as obediently as ever, while the bare—legged man pressed its own swordpoint through the ventail of the visor. It made a few protesting shudders as he pressed down with both hands on the pommel of the sword.
Lancelot stood up, rubbing his hands on the dressing—gown.
‘I am sorry I had to kill him.’
He opened the visor and looked. ‘Agravaine of Orkney!’
There was a terrific outcry from beyond the door, with hammering, hewing and cursing, as Lancelot turned to the Queen. ‘Help with the armour,’ he said briefly. She came at once, without repugnance, and they kneeled together beside the body, stripping it of the vital pieces.
‘Listen,’ he said as they worked. ‘This gives us a fair chance. If I can drive them off I shall turn back for you, and you will come to Joyous Gard.’
‘No, Lance. We have done enough harm. If you do fight your way out, you must keep away till it blows over. I shall stay here. If Arthur forgives me, and if it can be hushed up, then you can come back later. If he does not forgive me, you can come to the rescue. Where does this go?’
‘Give it to me.’
‘Here is the other one.’
‘You were far better to come,’ he urged, struggling into the habergeon like a footballer putting on his jersey.
‘No. If I come, everything is broken for ever. If I stay, we may be able to patch it up. You can always rescue me if necessary.’
‘I don’t like to leave you.’
‘If I am condemned, and you rescue me, I promise I will come to Joyous Gard.’
‘And if not?’
‘Wipe the helmet with your cloak,’ she said. ‘If not, then you can come back later, and everything will be as it was.’
‘Very well. There. I can do without the rest.’
He straightened himself, holding the bloody sword, and looked at the dead body which had killed its mother.
‘Gareth’s brother,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Perhaps he was drunk. God rest him – though it seems absurd to say it.’
The old lady turned him to face the candles.
‘It means Good—bye,’ she whispered, ‘for a little.’
‘It means Good—bye.’
‘Give me a kiss?’ she asked.
He kissed her hand, because he was armed and dirty with blood and covered with metal. They thought simultaneously of the thirteen men outside.
‘I should like you to take something of mine, Lance, and to leave me something of yours. Will you change rings?’
They changed them.
‘God be with my ring,’ she said, ‘as I am with it.’
Lancelot turned away and went to the door. They were calling out: ‘Come out of the Queen’s chamber!’ ‘Traitor to the King!’ ‘Open the door!’ They were making as much noise as possible, to aid the scandal. He stood facing the tumult, with legs apart, and answered them in the language of honour.
‘Leave your noise, Sir Mordred, and take my counsel. Go ye all from this chamber door, and make not such crying and such manner of slander as ye do. An ye will depart, and make no more noise, I shall tomorn appear before the King: and then it will be seen which of you all, outher else you all, will accuse me of treason. There I shall answer you as a knight should, that hither I came for no manner of malengin; and I will prove that there, and make it good upon you with my hands.’
‘Fie on thee, traitor,’ cried the voice of Mordred. ‘We will have thee maugre thy head, and slay thee if we list.’
Another voice shouted: ‘Let thee wit we have the choice of King Arthur, to save thee or to slay thee.’
Lancelot dropped the visor over his shadowed face and pushed the door—bar sideways with his point. The stout wood, crashing open, showed a lintel crammed with iron men and tossing torches.
‘Ah sirs,’ he said with a grimness, ‘is there none other grace with you? Then keep yourselves.’
Chapter VIII
The Gawaine clan was waiting in the Justice Room, a week later. The room looked different by daylight, because the windows were uncovered. It was no longer a box, no longer that faintly threatening or deceitful blandness of four walls, no longer the kind of arras trap which tempted Hamlet’s rapier to prick about for rats. The afternoon sunlight streamed in at the casements, illuminating the tapestry of Bathsheba, as she sat with her two round breasts in a tub on the battlements of a castle, which seemed to have been built from children’s bricks – picking out David, on the roof next door, with a crown and a beard and a harp – rippling from a hundred horses, parallel lances, helms and suits of armour, which thronged the battle scene in which Uriah was killed. Uriah himself was tumbling from his horse, like rather an inexperienced diver, under the influence of a stroke which one of the opposing knights had delivered in the region of his midriff. The sword was half—way through his body, so that the poor man was coming in two pieces, and a lot of realistic vermilion worms were gushing out of the wound in a grisly manner, which were intended to be his guts.
Gawaine sat gloomily on one of the side benches placed there for petitioners, with his arms folded and his head against the arras. Gaheris, perched on the long table, was fiddling with the braces of a leather hood for a hawk. He was trying to alter them so that they would shut more firmly, and, as the interlacement of such braces was complicated, he had got himself in a muddle. Gareth was standing beside him, itching to get the hood into his own hands, because he was certain that he could set the matter right. Mordred, with a white face and his arm in a sling, was leaning at the embrasure of one of the windows, looking out. He was still in pain.
‘It ought to go under the slit,’ said Gareth.
‘I know, I know. But I am trying to put this one through first.’
‘Let me try.’
‘Just a minute. It is coming.’
Mordred said from the window: ‘The executioner is ready to begin.’
‘Oh.’
‘It will be a cruel death,’ he said. ‘They are using seasoned wood, and there will be no smoke, and she will burn before she suffocates.’
‘So ye believe,’ observed Sir Gawaine morosely.
‘Poor old woman,’ said Mordred. ‘One can almost feel sorry for her.’
Gareth turned on him fiercely.
‘You should have thought of that before.’
‘Now the top one,’ said Gaheris.
‘I understand,’ continued Mordred, in what was almost a soliloquy, ‘that our liege lord himself must watch the execution from this windo
Gareth lost his temper completely.
‘Can’t you hold your tongue about it for a minute? Anyone would think that you enjoyed watching people being burned.’
Mordred replied contemptuously: ‘So will you, really. Only you think it is not good form to say so. They will burn her in her shift.’
‘For the sake of God, be silent.’
Gaheris said, in his slow way: ‘I don’t think you need to worry.’
In a flash Mordred was facing him.
‘What do you mean, he need not worry?’
‘Of course he needna worry,’ said Gawaine angrily. ‘Do ye think that Lancelot willna come to rescue her? He is no coward, at any rate.’
Mordred was thinking quickly. His still pose by the window had given place to nervous excitement.
‘If he tries to rescue her, there will be a fight. King Arthur will have to fight him.’
‘King Arthur will watch from here.’
‘But this is monstrous!’ he exploded. ‘Do you mean to say that Lancelot will be allowed to slip off with the Queen, under our noses?’
‘That is exactly what will happen.’
‘But nobody will be punished at all!’
‘Good heavens, man,’ cried Gareth. ‘Do you want to see the woman burn?’
‘Yes, I do. Yes, I do. Gawaine, are you going to sit there and let this happen after your own brother has been killed?’
‘I warnit Agravaine.’
‘You cowards! Gareth! Gaheris! Make him to do something. You can’t let this happen. He murdered Agravaine, your brother.’
‘So far as I can understand the story, Mordred, Agravaine went with thirteen other knights, fully armed, and tried to kill Lancelot when he had nothing but his dressing—gown. The upshot was that Agravaine himself was killed, together with all thirteen of the knights – except one, who ran away.’
‘I did not run away.’
‘Ye survivit, Mordred.’
‘Gawaine, I swear I didn’t run away. I fought him as well as I could. But he broke my arm, and then I could do no more. On my honour, Gawaine, I tried to fight.’
He was almost weeping.
‘I am not a coward.’
‘If you didn’t run away,’ asked Gaheris, ‘how came it that Lancelot let you go, after killing the others? It was in his interest to kill the lot of you, because then there would have been no witnesses.’
‘He broke my arm.’
‘Yes, but he didn’t kill you.’
‘I am telling the truth.’
‘But he didn’t kill you.’
What with the pain of his arm, and rage, the man began to cry like a child.
‘You traitors! It is always like this. Because I am not strong, you side against me. You stand for the muscular fools, and will not believe what I say. Agravaine is dead, and waked, and you are not going to punish anybody for it. Traitors, traitors! And it will all be as it was!’
He broke down as the King came in. Arthur, looking tired, walked slowly to the throne and set himself on it. He motioned to them, to resume their seats. Gawaine slumped back on the bench from which he had risen, while Gareth and Gaheris remained standing, observing the King with looks of pity, to the background of Mordred’s sobs.
Arthur stroked his forehead with his hand.
‘Why is he crying?’ he asked.
‘He was for explaining to us,’ said Gawaine, ‘how Lancelot killed thirteen knights, but resolvit on his second thoughts that he shouldna kill our Mordred. It was by cause there was a fondness between them seemingly.’
‘I think I can explain. You see, I asked Sir Lancelot not to kill my son, ten days ago.’
Mordred said bitterly: ‘Thank you for nothing.’
‘You don’t have to thank me, Mordred. Lancelot would be the right person to thank for that.’
‘I wish he had killed me.’
‘I am glad he did not. Try to be a little forgiving, my son, now that we are in this trouble. Remember that I am your father. I shall have no family left, except for you.’
‘I wish I had never been born.’
‘So do I, my poor boy. But you are born, so now we must do the best we can.’
Mordred went over to him with haste, with a sort of shamefaced dissimulation.
‘Father,’ he said, ‘do you know that Lancelot is bound to come and rescue her?’
‘I have been expecting it.’
‘And you have posted knights to stop him? You have arranged for a strong guard?’
‘The guard is as strong as it can be, Mordred. I have tried to be just.’
‘Father,’ he said eagerly, ‘send Gawaine and these two to strengthen them. He will come with great force.’
‘Well, Gawaine?’ asked the King.
‘Thank ye, uncle. I had liefer ye didna ask.’
‘I ought to ask you, Gawaine, out of justice to the guard which is already there. You see, it would be unfair to leave a weak guard, if I thought that Lancelot was coming, because that would be treachery to my own men. It would be sacrificing them.’
‘Whether ye ask me or no, saving your Majesty, I shallna go. I warned the twa of them at their outsetting that I wouldna have to do with it. I have nae wish to see Queen Guenever burn, and I maun say I hope she willna, nor will I help to burn her. There ye have it.’
‘It sounds like treason.’
‘It may be treason, but I have my fondness for the Queen.’
‘I also am fond of the Queen, Gawaine. It was I who married her. But where a matter of public justice arises, the feelings of common people have to be left out.’
‘I fear I canna leave my feelings.’
The King turned to the others.
‘Gareth? Gaheris? Will you oblige me by putting on your armour, and strengthening the guard?’
‘Uncle, please don’t ask us.’
‘It gives me no pleasure to ask you, Gareth.’
‘I know it doesn’t, but please don’t force us. Lancelot is my friend, so how could I fight against him?’
The King touched his hand.
‘Lancelot would have expected you to go, my dear, whoever it was against. He believes in justice too.’
‘Uncle, I can’t fight him. He knighted me. I will go if you wish, but I won’t go in armour. I am afraid that mine is treason too.’
‘I am ready to go in armour,’ said Mordred, ‘even if my arm is broken.’
Gawaine observed sarcastically: ‘It will be safe enough for you, my mannie. We ken the King has bidden Lancelot not hurt ye.’
‘Traitor!’
‘And Gaheris?’ asked the King.
‘I will go with Gareth, unarmed.’
‘Well, I suppose it is the best we can do. I hope I have tried to do what I ought.’
Gawaine got up from his bench and tramped over to the King with clumsy sympathy.
‘Ye have done more than e’er a body could expect,’ he said warmly, holding the veined hand in his paw, ‘and now we must look onward for the best. Let my brothers go, unarmed. He willna hurt them, gin he see their faces. I maun stay ben with you.’
‘Go then.’
‘Shall I tell the executioner to begin?’
‘Yes, if you must, Mordred. Give him my ring and get the warrant from Sir Bedivere.’
‘Thank you, father. Thank you. We shall be hardly a minute.’
The pale face, burning with enthusiasm and for the moment with a strangely genuine gratitude, hurried from the room. He followed his brothers, who had gone to join the guard, with blazing eyes and a nervous twitch of his mouth. The old King, left behind with Gawaine, sank his head upon his hands.
‘He might have done it with a little more decency. He might have tried to show that he was not so pleased.’
Gawaine put his hand on the stooping shoulder.
‘Never fear, uncle,’ he said. ‘It will come to right. Lancelot will rescue her in God’s good time, and nae harm done.’
‘I have tried to do my duty
‘Ye have striven to admiration.’
‘I sentenced her because it was the law to sentence her. I have done my best to see the sentence will be carried out.’
‘But it willna be, Lancelot will bring her safe.’
‘Gawaine, you are not to think that I am trying to get her rescued. I am the Justice of England, and it is our business now to burn her to the death, without remorse.’
‘Aye, uncle, and every man kens fine how you have tried. But that dinna alter the truth, that we both desire at heart she may come safe.’
‘Oh, Gawaine,’ he said. ‘I have been married to her all these years!’
The other turned his back and went to the window.
‘Dinna disturb yerself. The coil will come to right.’
‘What is right?’ cried the old man, looking after him with a face of misery. ‘What is wrong? If Lancelot does come to rescue her, he may kill those innocent fellows of the guard, which I have set to burn her. They have trusted me and I have put them there to keep him off, because it is justice. If he saves her, they will be killed. If they are not killed, she will be burned. But burned to death, Gawaine, in horrible, burning flames – and she is my much—loved Gwen.’
‘Dinna think about it, uncle. It willna happen.’
But the King was breaking down.
‘Why doesn’t he come at once, then? Why does he wait so long?’
Gawaine said steadily: ‘He has to wait until she is in the open, in the square, for otherwise it would mean to storm the castle.’
‘I tried to warn them, Gawaine. I tried to warn them a few days before they were caught. But it was difficult to say the things in plain English, without hurting people’s feelings. And I was a fool, too. I didn’t want to be conscious of it. I hoped that if only I was not quite conscious of everything, it would come straight in the end. Do you think it was my fault? Do you think I could have saved them, if I had done something else?’
‘Ye did the best ye could.’
‘When I was a young man I did something which was not just, and from it has sprung the misery of my life. Do you think you can stop the consequences of a bad action, by doing good ones afterwards? I don’t. I have been trying to stopper it down with good actions, ever since, but it goes on in widening circles. It will not be stoppered. Do you think this is a consequence too?’