Idylls of the King Part 5

Then cried the fallen, 'Take not my life: I yield.'

And Gareth, 'So this damsel ask it of me Good--I accord it easily as a grace.'

She reddening, 'Insolent scullion: I of thee?

I bound to thee for any favour asked!'

'Then he shall die.' And Gareth there unlaced His helmet as to slay him, but she shrieked, 'Be not so hardy, scullion, as to slay One n.o.bler than thyself.' 'Damsel, thy charge Is an abounding pleasure to me. Knight, Thy life is thine at her command. Arise And quickly pa.s.s to Arthur's hall, and say His kitchen-knave hath sent thee. See thou crave His pardon for thy breaking of his laws.

Myself, when I return, will plead for thee.

Thy s.h.i.+eld is mine--farewell; and, damsel, thou, Lead, and I follow.'

And fast away she fled.

Then when he came upon her, spake, 'Methought, Knave, when I watched thee striking on the bridge The savour of thy kitchen came upon me A little faintlier: but the wind hath changed: I scent it twenty-fold.' And then she sang, '"O morning star" (not that tall felon there Whom thou by sorcery or unhappiness Or some device, hast foully overthrown), "O morning star that smilest in the blue, O star, my morning dream hath proven true, Smile sweetly, thou! my love hath smiled on me."

'But thou begone, take counsel, and away, For hard by here is one that guards a ford-- The second brother in their fool's parable-- Will pay thee all thy wages, and to boot.

Care not for shame: thou art not knight but knave.'

To whom Sir Gareth answered, laughingly, 'Parables? Hear a parable of the knave.

When I was kitchen-knave among the rest Fierce was the hearth, and one of my co-mates Owned a rough dog, to whom he cast his coat, "Guard it," and there was none to meddle with it.

And such a coat art thou, and thee the King Gave me to guard, and such a dog am I, To worry, and not to flee--and--knight or knave-- The knave that doth thee service as full knight Is all as good, meseems, as any knight Toward thy sister's freeing.'

'Ay, Sir Knave!

Ay, knave, because thou strikest as a knight, Being but knave, I hate thee all the more.'

'Fair damsel, you should wors.h.i.+p me the more, That, being but knave, I throw thine enemies.'

'Ay, ay,' she said, 'but thou shalt meet thy match.'

So when they touched the second river-loop, Huge on a huge red horse, and all in mail Burnished to blinding, shone the Noonday Sun Beyond a raging shallow. As if the flower, That blows a globe of after arrowlets, Ten thousand-fold had grown, flashed the fierce s.h.i.+eld, All sun; and Gareth's eyes had flying blots Before them when he turned from watching him.

He from beyond the roaring shallow roared, 'What doest thou, brother, in my marches here?'

And she athwart the shallow shrilled again, 'Here is a kitchen-knave from Arthur's hall Hath overthrown thy brother, and hath his arms.'

'Ugh!' cried the Sun, and vizoring up a red And cipher face of rounded foolishness, Pushed horse across the foamings of the ford, Whom Gareth met midstream: no room was there For lance or tourney-skill: four strokes they struck With sword, and these were mighty; the new knight Had fear he might be shamed; but as the Sun Heaved up a ponderous arm to strike the fifth, The hoof of his horse slipt in the stream, the stream Descended, and the Sun was washed away.

Then Gareth laid his lance athwart the ford; So drew him home; but he that fought no more, As being all bone-battered on the rock, Yielded; and Gareth sent him to the King, 'Myself when I return will plead for thee.'

'Lead, and I follow.' Quietly she led.

'Hath not the good wind, damsel, changed again?'

'Nay, not a point: nor art thou victor here.

There lies a ridge of slate across the ford; His horse thereon stumbled--ay, for I saw it.

'"O Sun" (not this strong fool whom thou, Sir Knave, Hast overthrown through mere unhappiness), "O Sun, that wakenest all to bliss or pain, O moon, that layest all to sleep again, s.h.i.+ne sweetly: twice my love hath smiled on me."

What knowest thou of lovesong or of love?

Nay, nay, G.o.d wot, so thou wert n.o.bly born, Thou hast a pleasant presence. Yea, perchance,--

'"O dewy flowers that open to the sun, O dewy flowers that close when day is done, Blow sweetly: twice my love hath smiled on me."

'What knowest thou of flowers, except, belike, To garnish meats with? hath not our good King Who lent me thee, the flower of kitchendom, A foolish love for flowers? what stick ye round The pasty? wherewithal deck the boar's head?

Flowers? nay, the boar hath rosemaries and bay.

'"O birds, that warble to the morning sky, O birds that warble as the day goes by, Sing sweetly: twice my love hath smiled on me."

'What knowest thou of birds, lark, mavis, merle, Linnet? what dream ye when they utter forth May-music growing with the growing light, Their sweet sun-wors.h.i.+p? these be for the snare (So runs thy fancy) these be for the spit, Larding and basting. See thou have not now Larded thy last, except thou turn and fly.

There stands the third fool of their allegory.'

For there beyond a bridge of treble bow, All in a rose-red from the west, and all Naked it seemed, and glowing in the broad Deep-dimpled current underneath, the knight, That named himself the Star of Evening, stood.

And Gareth, 'Wherefore waits the madman there Naked in open days.h.i.+ne?' 'Nay,' she cried, 'Not naked, only wrapt in hardened skins That fit him like his own; and so ye cleave His armour off him, these will turn the blade.'

Then the third brother shouted o'er the bridge, 'O brother-star, why s.h.i.+ne ye here so low?

Thy ward is higher up: but have ye slain The damsel's champion?' and the damsel cried,

'No star of thine, but shot from Arthur's heaven With all disaster unto thine and thee!

For both thy younger brethren have gone down Before this youth; and so wilt thou, Sir Star; Art thou not old?'

'Old, damsel, old and hard, Old, with the might and breath of twenty boys.'

Said Gareth, 'Old, and over-bold in brag!

But that same strength which threw the Morning Star Can throw the Evening.'

Then that other blew A hard and deadly note upon the horn.

'Approach and arm me!' With slow steps from out An old storm-beaten, russet, many-stained Pavilion, forth a grizzled damsel came, And armed him in old arms, and brought a helm With but a drying evergreen for crest, And gave a s.h.i.+eld whereon the Star of Even Half-tarnished and half-bright, his emblem, shone.

But when it glittered o'er the saddle-bow, They madly hurled together on the bridge; And Gareth overthrew him, lighted, drew, There met him drawn, and overthrew him again, But up like fire he started: and as oft As Gareth brought him grovelling on his knees, So many a time he vaulted up again; Till Gareth panted hard, and his great heart, Foredooming all his trouble was in vain, Laboured within him, for he seemed as one That all in later, sadder age begins To war against ill uses of a life, But these from all his life arise, and cry, 'Thou hast made us lords, and canst not put us down!'

He half despairs; so Gareth seemed to strike Vainly, the damsel clamouring all the while, 'Well done, knave-knight, well-stricken, O good knight-knave-- O knave, as n.o.ble as any of all the knights-- Shame me not, shame me not. I have prophesied-- Strike, thou art worthy of the Table Round-- His arms are old, he trusts the hardened skin-- Strike--strike--the wind will never change again.'

And Gareth hearing ever stronglier smote, And hewed great pieces of his armour off him, But lashed in vain against the hardened skin, And could not wholly bring him under, more Than loud Southwesterns, rolling ridge on ridge, The buoy that rides at sea, and dips and springs For ever; till at length Sir Gareth's brand Clashed his, and brake it utterly to the hilt.

'I have thee now;' but forth that other sprang, And, all unknightlike, writhed his wiry arms Around him, till he felt, despite his mail, Strangled, but straining even his uttermost Cast, and so hurled him headlong o'er the bridge Down to the river, sink or swim, and cried, 'Lead, and I follow.'

But the damsel said, 'I lead no longer; ride thou at my side; Thou art the kingliest of all kitchen-knaves.

'"O trefoil, sparkling on the rainy plain, O rainbow with three colours after rain, s.h.i.+ne sweetly: thrice my love hath smiled on me."

'Sir,--and, good faith, I fain had added--Knight, But that I heard thee call thyself a knave,-- Shamed am I that I so rebuked, reviled, Missaid thee; n.o.ble I am; and thought the King Scorned me and mine; and now thy pardon, friend, For thou hast ever answered courteously, And wholly bold thou art, and meek withal As any of Arthur's best, but, being knave, Hast mazed my wit: I marvel what thou art.'

'Damsel,' he said, 'you be not all to blame, Saving that you mistrusted our good King Would handle scorn, or yield you, asking, one Not fit to cope your quest. You said your say; Mine answer was my deed. Good sooth! I hold He scarce is knight, yea but half-man, nor meet To fight for gentle damsel, he, who lets His heart be stirred with any foolish heat At any gentle damsel's waywardness.

Shamed? care not! thy foul sayings fought for me: And seeing now thy words are fair, methinks There rides no knight, not Lancelot, his great self, Hath force to quell me.'

Nigh upon that hour When the lone hern forgets his melancholy, Lets down his other leg, and stretching, dreams Of goodly supper in the distant pool, Then turned the n.o.ble damsel smiling at him, And told him of a cavern hard at hand, Where bread and baken meats and good red wine Of Southland, which the Lady Lyonors Had sent her coming champion, waited him.

Anon they past a narrow comb wherein Where slabs of rock with figures, knights on horse Sculptured, and deckt in slowly-waning hues.

'Sir Knave, my knight, a hermit once was here, Whose holy hand hath fas.h.i.+oned on the rock The war of Time against the soul of man.

And yon four fools have sucked their allegory From these damp walls, and taken but the form.

Know ye not these?' and Gareth lookt and read-- In letters like to those the vexillary Hath left crag-carven o'er the streaming Gelt-- 'PHOSPHORUS,' then 'MERIDIES'--'HESPERUS'-- 'NOX'--'MORS,' beneath five figures, armed men, Slab after slab, their faces forward all, And running down the Soul, a Shape that fled With broken wings, torn raiment and loose hair, For help and shelter to the hermit's cave.

'Follow the faces, and we find it. Look, Who comes behind?'

For one--delayed at first Through helping back the dislocated Kay To Camelot, then by what thereafter chanced, The damsel's headlong error through the wood-- Sir Lancelot, having swum the river-loops-- His blue s.h.i.+eld-lions covered--softly drew Behind the twain, and when he saw the star Gleam, on Sir Gareth's turning to him, cried, 'Stay, felon knight, I avenge me for my friend.'

And Gareth crying p.r.i.c.ked against the cry; But when they closed--in a moment--at one touch Of that skilled spear, the wonder of the world-- Went sliding down so easily, and fell, That when he found the gra.s.s within his hands He laughed; the laughter jarred upon Lynette: Harshly she asked him, 'Shamed and overthrown, And tumbled back into the kitchen-knave, Why laugh ye? that ye blew your boast in vain?'

'Nay, n.o.ble damsel, but that I, the son Of old King Lot and good Queen Bellicent, And victor of the bridges and the ford, And knight of Arthur, here lie thrown by whom I know not, all through mere unhappiness-- Device and sorcery and unhappiness-- Out, sword; we are thrown!' And Lancelot answered, 'Prince, O Gareth--through the mere unhappiness Of one who came to help thee, not to harm, Lancelot, and all as glad to find thee whole, As on the day when Arthur knighted him.'

Then Gareth, 'Thou--Lancelot!--thine the hand That threw me? An some chance to mar the boast Thy brethren of thee make--which could not chance-- Had sent thee down before a lesser spear, Shamed had I been, and sad--O Lancelot--thou!'

Whereat the maiden, petulant, 'Lancelot, Why came ye not, when called? and wherefore now Come ye, not called? I gloried in my knave, Who being still rebuked, would answer still Courteous as any knight--but now, if knight, The marvel dies, and leaves me fooled and tricked, And only wondering wherefore played upon: And doubtful whether I and mine be scorned.

Where should be truth if not in Arthur's hall, In Arthur's presence? Knight, knave, prince and fool, I hate thee and for ever.'

And Lancelot said, 'Blessed be thou, Sir Gareth! knight art thou To the King's best wish. O damsel, be you wise To call him shamed, who is but overthrown?

Thrown have I been, nor once, but many a time.

Victor from vanquished issues at the last, And overthrower from being overthrown.