Part 2

She spake and King Leodogran rejoiced, But musing, “Shall I answer yea or nay?” Doubted, and drowsed, nodded and slept, and saw, Dreaming, a slope of land that ever grew, Field after field, up to a height, the peak Haze-hidden, and thereon a phantom king, Now looming, and now lost; and on the slope The sword rose, the hind fell, the herd was driven, Fire glimpsed; and all the land from roof and rick, In drifts of smoke before a rolling wind, Streamed to the peak, and mingled with the haze And made it thicker; while the phantom king Sent out at times a voice; and here or there Stood one who pointed toward the voice, the rest Slew on and burnt, crying, “No king of ours, No son of Uther, and no king of ours;” Till with a wink his dream was changed, the haze Descended, and the solid earth became As nothing, but the King stood out in heaven, Crowned. And Leodogran awoke, and sent Ulfius, and Brastias and Bedivere, Back to the court of Arthur answering yea.

Then Arthur charged his warrior whom he loved And honoured most, Sir Lancelot, to ride forth And bring the Queen;—and watched him from the gates: And Lancelot past away among the flowers, (For then was latter April) and returned Among the flowers, in May, with Guinevere. To whom arrived, by Dubric the high saint, Chief of the church in Britain, and before The stateliest of her altar-shrines, the King That morn was married, while in stainless white, The fair beginners of a nobler time, And glorying in their vows and him, his knights Stood around him, and rejoicing in his joy. Far shone the fields of May through open door, The sacred altar blossomed white with May, The Sun of May descended on their King, They gazed on all earth’s beauty in their Queen, Rolled incense, and there past along the hymns A voice as of the waters, while the two Sware at the shrine of Christ a deathless love: And Arthur said, “Behold, thy doom is mine. Let chance what will, I love thee to the death!” To whom the Queen replied with drooping eyes, “King and my lord, I love thee to the death!” And holy Dubric spread his hands and spake, “Reign ye, and live and love, and make the world Other, and may thy Queen be one with thee, And all this Order of thy Table Round Fulfil the boundless purpose of their King!”

So Dubric said; but when they left the shrine Great Lords from Rome before the portal stood, In scornful stillness gazing as they past; Then while they paced a city all on fire With sun and cloth of gold, the trumpets blew, And Arthur’s knighthood sang before the King:—

“Blow, trumpet, for the world is white with May; Blow trumpet, the long night hath rolled away! Blow through the living world—‘Let the King reign.’

“Shall Rome or Heathen rule in Arthur’s realm? Flash brand and lance, fall battleaxe upon helm, Fall battleaxe, and flash brand! Let the King reign.

“Strike for the King and live! his knights have heard That God hath told the King a secret word. Fall battleaxe, and flash brand! Let the King reign.

“Blow trumpet! he will lift us from the dust. Blow trumpet! live the strength and die the lust! Clang battleaxe, and clash brand! Let the King reign.

“Strike for the King and die! and if thou diest, The King is King, and ever wills the highest. Clang battleaxe, and clash brand! Let the King reign.

“Blow, for our Sun is mighty in his May! Blow, for our Sun is mightier day by day! Clang battleaxe, and clash brand! Let the King reign.

“The King will follow Christ, and we the King In whom high God hath breathed a secret thing. Fall battleaxe, and flash brand! Let the King reign.”

So sang the knighthood, moving to their hall. There at the banquet those great Lords from Rome, The slowly-fading mistress of the world, Strode in, and claimed their tribute as of yore. But Arthur spake, “Behold, for these have sworn To wage my wars, and worship me their King; The old order changeth, yielding place to new; And we that fight for our fair father Christ, Seeing that ye be grown too weak and old To drive the heathen from your Roman wall, No tribute will we pay:” so those great lords Drew back in wrath, and Arthur strove with Rome.

And Arthur and his knighthood for a space Were all one will, and through that strength the King Drew in the petty princedoms under him, Fought, and in twelve great battles overcame The heathen hordes, and made a realm and reigned.

Gareth and Lynette

The last tall son of Lot and Bellicent, And tallest, Gareth, in a showerful spring Stared at the spate. A slender-shafted Pine Lost footing, fell, and so was whirled away. “How he went down,” said Gareth, “as a false knight Or evil king before my lance if lance Were mine to use—O senseless cataract, Bearing all down in thy precipitancy— And yet thou art but swollen with cold snows And mine is living blood: thou dost His will, The Maker’s, and not knowest, and I that know, Have strength and wit, in my good mother’s hall Linger with vacillating obedience, Prisoned, and kept and coaxed and whistled to— Since the good mother holds me still a child! Good mother is bad mother unto me! A worse were better; yet no worse would I. Heaven yield her for it, but in me put force To weary her ears with one continuous prayer, Until she let me fly discaged to sweep In ever-highering eagle-circles up To the great Sun of Glory, and thence swoop Down upon all things base, and dash them dead, A knight of Arthur, working out his will, To cleanse the world. Why, Gawain, when he came With Modred hither in the summertime, Asked me to tilt with him, the proven knight. Modred for want of worthier was the judge. Then I so shook him in the saddle, he said, ‘Thou hast half prevailed against me,’ said so—he— Though Modred biting his thin lips was mute, For he is alway sullen: what care I?”

And Gareth went, and hovering round her chair Asked, “Mother, though ye count me still the child, Sweet mother, do ye love the child?” She laughed, “Thou art but a wild-goose to question it.” “Then, mother, an ye love the child,” he said, “Being a goose and rather tame than wild, Hear the child’s story.” “Yea, my well-beloved, An ’twere but of the goose and golden eggs.”

And Gareth answered her with kindling eyes, “Nay, nay, good mother, but this egg of mine Was finer gold than any goose can lay; For this an Eagle, a royal Eagle, laid Almost beyond eye-reach, on such a palm As glitters gilded in thy Book of Hours. And there was ever haunting round the palm A lusty youth, but poor, who often saw The splendour sparkling from aloft, and thought ‘An I could climb and lay my hand upon it, Then were I wealthier than a leash of kings.’ But ever when he reached a hand to climb, One, that had loved him from his childhood, caught And stayed him, ‘Climb not lest thou break thy neck, I charge thee by my love,’ and so the boy, Sweet mother, neither clomb, nor brake his neck, But brake his very heart in pining for it, And past away.”

To whom the mother said, “True love, sweet son, had risked himself and climbed, And handed down the golden treasure to him.”

And Gareth answered her with kindling eyes, “Gold?” said I gold?—ay then, why he, or she, Or whosoe’er it was, or half the world Had ventured—had the thing I spake of been Mere gold—but this was all of that true steel, Whereof they forged the brand Excalibur, And lightnings played about it in the storm, And all the little fowl were flurried at it, And there were cries and clashings in the nest, That sent him from his senses: let me go.”

Then Bellicent bemoaned herself and said, “Hast thou no pity upon my loneliness? Lo, where thy father Lot beside the hearth Lies like a log, and all but smouldered out! For ever since when traitor to the King He fought against him in the Barons’ war, And Arthur gave him back his territory, His age hath slowly droopt, and now lies there A yet-warm corpse, and yet unburiable, No more; nor sees, nor hears, nor speaks, nor knows. And both thy brethren are in Arthur’s hall, Albeit neither loved with that full love I feel for thee, nor worthy such a love: Stay therefore thou; red berries charm the bird, And thee, mine innocent, the jousts, the wars, Who never knewest finger-ache, nor pang Of wrenched or broken limb—an often chance In those brain-stunning shocks, and tourney-falls, Frights to my heart; but stay: follow the deer By these tall firs and our fast-falling burns; So make thy manhood mightier day by day; Sweet is the chase: and I will seek thee out Some comfortable bride and fair, to grace Thy climbing life, and cherish my prone year, Till falling into Lot’s forgetfulness I know not thee, myself, nor anything. Stay, my best son! ye are yet more boy than man.”

Then Gareth, “An ye hold me yet for child, Hear yet once more the story of the child. For, mother, there was once a King, like ours. The prince his heir, when tall and marriageable, Asked for a bride; and thereupon the King Set two before him. One was fair, strong, armed— But to be won by force—and many men Desired her; one good lack, no man desired. And these were the conditions of the King: That save he won the first by force, he needs Must wed that other, whom no man desired, A red-faced bride who knew herself so vile, That evermore she longed to hide herself, Nor fronted man or woman, eye to eye— Yea—some she cleaved to, but they died of her. And one—they called her Fame; and one,—O Mother, How can ye keep me tethered to you—Shame. Man am I grown, a man’s work must I do. Follow the deer? follow the Christ, the King, Live pure, speak true, right wrong, follow the King— Else, wherefore born?”

To whom the mother said “Sweet son, for there be many who deem him not, Or will not deem him, wholly proven King— Albeit in mine own heart I knew him King, When I was frequent with him in my youth, And heard him Kingly speak, and doubted him No more than he, himself; but felt him mine, Of closest kin to me: yet—wilt thou leave Thine easeful biding here, and risk thine all, Life, limbs, for one that is not proven King? Stay, till the cloud that settles round his birth Hath lifted but a little. Stay, sweet son.”

And Gareth answered quickly, “Not an hour, So that ye yield me—I will walk through fire, Mother, to gain it—your full leave to go. Not proven, who swept the dust of ruined Rome From off the threshold of the realm, and crushed The Idolaters, and made the people free? Who should be King save him who makes us free?”

So when the Queen, who long had sought in vain To break him from the intent to which he grew, Found her son’s will unwaveringly one, She answered craftily, “Will ye walk through fire? Who walks through fire will hardly heed the smoke. Ay, go then, an ye must: only one proof, Before thou ask the King to make thee knight, Of thine obedience and thy love to me, Thy mother,—I demand.

And Gareth cried, “A hard one, or a hundred, so I go. Nay—quick! the proof to prove me to the quick!”

But slowly spake the mother looking at him, “Prince, thou shalt go disguised to Arthur’s hall, And hire thyself to serve for meats and drinks Among the scullions and the kitchen-knaves, And those that hand the dish across the bar. Nor shalt thou tell thy name to anyone. And thou shalt serve a twelvemonth and a day.”

For so the Queen believed that when her son Beheld his only way to glory lead Low down through villain kitchen-vassalage, Her own true Gareth was too princely-proud To pass thereby; so should he rest with her, Closed in her castle from the sound of arms.

Silent awhile was Gareth, then replied, “The thrall in person may be free in soul, And I shall see the jousts. Thy son am I, And since thou art my mother, must obey. I therefore yield me freely to thy will; For hence will I, disguised, and hire myself To serve with scullions and with kitchen-knaves; Nor tell my name to any—no, not the King.”

Gareth awhile lingered. The mother’s eye Full of the wistful fear that he would go, And turning toward him wheresoe’er he turned, Perplext his outward purpose, till an hour, When wakened by the wind which with full voice Swept bellowing through the darkness on to dawn, He rose, and out of slumber calling two That still had tended on him from his birth, Before the wakeful mother heard him, went.

The three were clad like tillers of the soil. Southward they set their faces. The birds made Melody on branch, and melody in mid air. The damp hill-slopes were quickened into green, And the live green had kindled into flowers, For it was past the time of Easterday.

So, when their feet were planted on the plain That broadened toward the base of Camelot, Far off they saw the silver-misty morn Rolling her smoke about the Royal mount, That rose between the forest and the field. At times the summit of the high city flashed; At times the spires and turrets half-way down Pricked through the mist; at times the great gate shone Only, that opened on the field below: Anon, the whole fair city had disappeared.

Then those who went with Gareth were amazed, One crying, “Let us go no further, lord. Here is a city of Enchanters, built By fairy Kings.” The second echoed him, “Lord, we have heard from our wise man at home To Northward, that this King is not the King, But only changeling out of Fairyland, Who drave the heathen hence by sorcery And Merlin’s glamour.” Then the first again, “Lord, there is no such city anywhere, But all a vision.”

Gareth answered them With laughter, swearing he had glamour enow In his own blood, his princedom, youth and hopes, To plunge old Merlin in the Arabian sea; So pushed them all unwilling toward the gate. And there was no gate like it under heaven. For barefoot on the keystone, which was lined And rippled like an ever-fleeting wave, The Lady of the Lake stood: all her dress Wept from her sides as water flowing away; But like the cross her great and goodly arms Stretched under the cornice and upheld: And drops of water fell from either hand; And down from one a sword was hung, from one A censer, either worn with wind and storm; And o’er her breast floated the sacred fish; And in the space to left of her, and right, Were Arthur’s wars in weird devices done, New things and old co-twisted, as if Time Were nothing, so inveterately, that men Were giddy gazing there; and over all High on the top were those three Queens, the friends Of Arthur, who should help him at his need.

Then those with Gareth for so long a space Stared at the figures, that at last it seemed The dragon-boughts and elvish emblemings Began to move, seethe, twine and curl: they called To Gareth, “Lord, the gateway is alive.”

And Gareth likewise on them fixt his eyes So long, that even to him they seemed to move. Out of the city a blast of music pealed. Back from the gate started the three, to whom From out thereunder came an ancient man, Long-bearded, saying, “Who be ye, my sons?”

Then Gareth, “We be tillers of the soil, Who leaving share in furrow come to see The glories of our King: but these, my men, (Your city moved so weirdly in the mist) Doubt if the King be King at all, or come From Fairyland; and whether this be built By magic, and by fairy Kings and Queens; Or whether there be any city at all, Or all a vision: and this music now Hath scared them both, but tell thou these the truth.”

Then that old Seer made answer playing on him And saying, “Son, I have seen the good ship sail Keel upward, and mast downward, in the heavens, And solid turrets topsy-turvy in air: And here is truth; but an it please thee not, Take thou the truth as thou hast told it me. For truly as thou sayest, a Fairy King And Fairy Queens have built the city, son; They came from out a sacred mountain-cleft Toward the sunrise, each with harp in hand, And built it to the music of their harps. And, as thou sayest, it is enchanted, son, For there is nothing in it as it seems Saving the King; though some there be that hold The King a shadow, and the city real: Yet take thou heed of him, for, so thou pass Beneath this archway, then wilt thou become A thrall to his enchantments, for the King Will bind thee by such vows, as is a shame A man should not be bound by, yet the which No man can keep; but, so thou dread to swear, Pass not beneath this gateway, but abide Without, among the cattle of the field. For an ye heard a music, like enow They are building still, seeing the city is built To music, therefore never built at all, And therefore built for ever.”

Gareth spake Angered, “Old master, reverence thine own beard That looks as white as utter truth, and seems Wellnigh as long as thou art statured tall! Why mockest thou the stranger that hath been To thee fair-spoken?”

But the Seer replied, “Know ye not then the Riddling of the Bards? ‘Confusion, and illusion, and relation, Elusion, and occasion, and evasion’? I mock thee not but as thou mockest me, And all that see thee, for thou art not who Thou seemest, but I know thee who thou art. And now thou goest up to mock the King, Who cannot brook the shadow of any lie.”

Unmockingly the mocker ending here Turned to the right, and past along the plain; Whom Gareth looking after said, “My men, Our one white lie sits like a little ghost Here on the threshold of our enterprise. Let love be blamed for it, not she, nor I: Well, we will make amends.”

With all good cheer He spake and laughed, then entered with his twain Camelot, a city of shadowy palaces And stately, rich in emblem and the work Of ancient kings who did their days in stone; Which Merlin’s hand, the Mage at Arthur’s court, Knowing all arts, had touched, and everywhere At Arthur’s ordinance, tipt with lessening peak And pinnacle, and had made it spire to heaven. And ever and anon a knight would pass Outward, or inward to the hall: his arms Clashed; and the sound was good to Gareth’s ear. And out of bower and casement shyly glanced Eyes of pure women, wholesome stars of love; And all about a healthful people stept As in the presence of a gracious king.

Then into hall Gareth ascending heard A voice, the voice of Arthur, and beheld Far over heads in that long-vaulted hall The splendour of the presence of the King Throned, and delivering doom—and looked no more— But felt his young heart hammering in his ears, And thought, “For this half-shadow of a lie The truthful King will doom me when I speak.” Yet pressing on, though all in fear to find Sir Gawain or Sir Modred, saw nor one Nor other, but in all the listening eyes Of those tall knights, that ranged about the throne, Clear honour shining like the dewy star Of dawn, and faith in their great King, with pure Affection, and the light of victory, And glory gained, and evermore to gain. Then came a widow crying to the King, “A boon, Sir King! Thy father, Uther, reft From my dead lord a field with violence: For howsoe’er at first he proffered gold, Yet, for the field was pleasant in our eyes, We yielded not; and then he reft us of it Perforce, and left us neither gold nor field.”

Said Arthur, “Whether would ye? gold or field?” To whom the woman weeping, “Nay, my lord, The field was pleasant in my husband’s eye.”

And Arthur, “Have thy pleasant field again, And thrice the gold for Uther’s use thereof, According to the years. No boon is here, But justice, so thy say be proven true. Accursed, who from the wrongs his father did Would shape himself a right!”

And while she past, Came yet another widow crying to him, “A boon, Sir King! Thine enemy, King, am I. With thine own hand thou slewest my dear lord, A knight of Uther in the Barons’ war, When Lot and many another rose and fought Against thee, saying thou wert basely born. I held with these, and loathe to ask thee aught. Yet lo! my husband’s brother had my son Thralled in his castle, and hath starved him dead; And standeth seized of that inheritance Which thou that slewest the sire hast left the son. So though I scarce can ask it thee for hate, Grant me some knight to do the battle for me, Kill the foul thief, and wreak me for my son.”

Then strode a good knight forward, crying to him, “A boon, Sir King! I am her kinsman, I. Give me to right her wrong, and slay the man.”

Then came Sir Kay, the seneschal, and cried, “A boon, Sir King! even that thou grant her none, This railer, that hath mocked thee in full hall— None; or the wholesome boon of gyve and gag.”

But Arthur, “We sit King, to help the wronged Through all our realm. The woman loves her lord. Peace to thee, woman, with thy loves and hates! The kings of old had doomed thee to the flames, Aurelius Emrys would have scourged thee dead, And Uther slit thy tongue: but get thee hence— Lest that rough humour of the kings of old Return upon me! Thou that art her kin, Go likewise; lay him low and slay him not, But bring him here, that I may judge the right, According to the justice of the King: Then, be he guilty, by that deathless King Who lived and died for men, the man shall die.”

Then came in hall the messenger of Mark, A name of evil savour in the land, The Cornish king. In either hand he bore What dazzled all, and shone far-off as shines A field of charlock in the sudden sun Between two showers, a cloth of palest gold, Which down he laid before the throne, and knelt, Delivering, that his lord, the vassal king, Was even upon his way to Camelot; For having heard that Arthur of his grace Had made his goodly cousin, Tristram, knight, And, for himself was of the greater state, Being a king, he trusted his liege-lord Would yield him this large honour all the more; So prayed him well to accept this cloth of gold, In token of true heart and fealty.