Gareth and Lynette – Part 4

                       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 shield 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 noble 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,
Shine 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; noble 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 noble 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 fashioned 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?’

cavesc

                  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 shield-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 pricked 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 grass 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, noble 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.
With sword we have not striven; and thy good horse
And thou are weary; yet not less I felt
Thy manhood through that wearied lance of thine.
Well hast thou done; for all the stream is freed,
And thou hast wreaked his justice on his foes,
And when reviled, hast answered graciously,
And makest merry when overthrown.  Prince, Knight
Hail, Knight and Prince, and of our Table Round!’

   And then when turning to Lynette he told
The tale of Gareth, petulantly she said,
‘Ay well — ay well — for worse than being fooled
Of others, is to fool one’s self.  A cave,
Sir Lancelot, is hard by, with meats and drinks
And forage for the horse, and flint for fire.
But all about it flies a honeysuckle.
Seek, till we find.’  And when they sought and found,
Sir Gareth drank and ate, and all his life
Past into sleep; on whom the maiden gazed.
‘Sound sleep be thine! sound cause to sleep hast thou.
Wake lusty!  Seem I not as tender to him
As any mother?  Ay, but such a one
As all day long hath rated at her child,
And vext his day, but blesses him asleep — 
Good lord, how sweetly smells the honeysuckle
In the hushed night, as if the world were one
Of utter peace, and love, and gentleness!
O Lancelot, Lancelot’ — and she clapt her hands — 
‘Full merry am I to find my goodly knave
Is knight and noble.  See now, sworn have I,
Else yon black felon had not let me pass,
To bring thee back to do the battle with him.
Thus an thou goest, he will fight thee first;
Who doubts thee victor? so will my knight-knave
Miss the full flower of this accomplishment.’

   Said Lancelot, ‘Peradventure he, you name,
May know my shield.  Let Gareth, an he will,
Change his for mine, and take my charger, fresh,
Not to be spurred, loving the battle as well
As he that rides him.’  ‘Lancelot-like,’ she said,
‘Courteous in this, Lord Lancelot, as in all.’

   And Gareth, wakening, fiercely clutched the shield;
‘Ramp ye lance-splintering lions, on whom all spears
Are rotten sticks! ye seem agape to roar!
Yea, ramp and roar at leaving of your lord! — 
Care not, good beasts, so well I care for you.
O noble Lancelot, from my hold on these
Streams virtue — fire — through one that will not shame
Even the shadow of Lancelot under shield.
Hence:  let us go.’

                   Silent the silent field
They traversed.  Arthur’s harp though summer-wan,
In counter motion to the clouds, allured
The glance of Gareth dreaming on his liege.
A star shot:  ‘Lo,’ said Gareth, ‘the foe falls!’
An owl whoopt:  ‘Hark the victor pealing there!’
Suddenly she that rode upon his left
Clung to the shield that Lancelot lent him, crying,
‘Yield, yield him this again:  ’tis he must fight:
I curse the tongue that all through yesterday
Reviled thee, and hath wrought on Lancelot now
To lend thee horse and shield:  wonders ye have done;
Miracles ye cannot:  here is glory enow
In having flung the three:  I see thee maimed,
Mangled:  I swear thou canst not fling the fourth.’

   ‘And wherefore, damsel? tell me all ye know.
You cannot scare me; nor rough face, or voice,
Brute bulk of limb, or boundless savagery
Appal me from the quest.’

                         ‘Nay, Prince,’ she cried,
‘God wot, I never looked upon the face,
Seeing he never rides abroad by day;
But watched him have I like a phantom pass
Chilling the night:  nor have I heard the voice.
Always he made his mouthpiece of a page
Who came and went, and still reported him
As closing in himself the strength of ten,
And when his anger tare him, massacring
Man, woman, lad and girl — yea, the soft babe!
Some hold that he hath swallowed infant flesh,
Monster!  O Prince, I went for Lancelot first,
The quest is Lancelot’s:  give him back the shield.’

   Said Gareth laughing, ‘An he fight for this,
Belike he wins it as the better man:
Thus — and not else!’

                    But Lancelot on him urged
All the devisings of their chivalry
When one might meet a mightier than himself;
How best to manage horse, lance, sword and shield,
And so fill up the gap where force might fail
With skill and fineness.  Instant were his words.

   Then Gareth, ‘Here be rules.  I know but one — 
To dash against mine enemy and win.
Yet have I seen thee victor in the joust,
And seen thy way.’  ‘Heaven help thee,’ sighed Lynette.

   Then for a space, and under cloud that grew
To thunder-gloom palling all stars, they rode
In converse till she made her palfrey halt,
Lifted an arm, and softly whispered, ‘There.’
And all the three were silent seeing, pitched
Beside the Castle Perilous on flat field,
A huge pavilion like a mountain peak
Sunder the glooming crimson on the marge,
Black, with black banner, and a long black horn
Beside it hanging; which Sir Gareth graspt,
And so, before the two could hinder him,
Sent all his heart and breath through all the horn.
Echoed the walls; a light twinkled; anon
Came lights and lights, and once again he blew;
Whereon were hollow tramplings up and down
And muffled voices heard, and shadows past;
Till high above him, circled with her maids,
The Lady Lyonors at a window stood,
Beautiful among lights, and waving to him
White hands, and courtesy; but when the Prince
Three times had blown — after long hush — at last — 
The huge pavilion slowly yielded up,
Through those black foldings, that which housed therein.
High on a nightblack horse, in nightblack arms,
With white breast-bone, and barren ribs of Death,
And crowned with fleshless laughter — some ten steps — 
In the half-light — through the dim dawn — advanced
The monster, and then paused, and spake no word.

   But Gareth spake and all indignantly,
‘Fool, for thou hast, men say, the strength of ten,
Canst thou not trust the limbs thy God hath given,
But must, to make the terror of thee more,
Trick thyself out in ghastly imageries
Of that which Life hath done with, and the clod,
Less dull than thou, will hide with mantling flowers
As if for pity?’  But he spake no word;
Which set the horror higher:  a maiden swooned;
The Lady Lyonors wrung her hands and wept,
As doomed to be the bride of Night and Death;
Sir Gareth’s head prickled beneath his helm;
And even Sir Lancelot through his warm blood felt
Ice strike, and all that marked him were aghast.

   At once Sir Lancelot’s charger fiercely neighed,
And Death’s dark war-horse bounded forward with him.
Then those that did not blink the terror, saw
That Death was cast to ground, and slowly rose.
But with one stroke Sir Gareth split the skull.
Half fell to right and half to left and lay.
Then with a stronger buffet he clove the helm
As throughly as the skull; and out from this
Issued the bright face of a blooming boy
Fresh as a flower new-born, and crying, ‘Knight,
Slay me not:  my three brethren bad me do it,
To make a horror all about the house,
And stay the world from Lady Lyonors.
They never dreamed the passes would be past.’
Answered Sir Gareth graciously to one
Not many a moon his younger, ‘My fair child,
What madness made thee challenge the chief knight
Of Arthur’s hall?’  ‘Fair Sir, they bad me do it.
They hate the King, and Lancelot, the King’s friend,
They hoped to slay him somewhere on the stream,
They never dreamed the passes could be past.’

   Then sprang the happier day from underground;
And Lady Lyonors and her house, with dance
And revel and song, made merry over Death,
As being after all their foolish fears
And horrors only proven a blooming boy.
So large mirth lived and Gareth won the quest.

   And he that told the tale in older times
Says that Sir Gareth wedded Lyonors,
But he, that told it later, says Lynette.

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