Part 22

Of a sudden the knights were aware that there sat one beside the table who was marvellously old and white; and he was dressed in the habit of a bishop, and his face was very winning, and a great brightness flowed from it.

On the breast of his robe were words in the Latin tongue, which said, 'Lo, I am Joseph, the first bishop of Christendom, who did take our Lord's body down from the cruel rood.'

The three marvelled greatly, for that bishop had been dead more than four hundred years. Seeing their looks of perplexity, the bishop smiled sweetly upon them, and said:

'Marvel not, O knights, for though I am now a spirit, I know thy weakness, and have come to aid thee.'

Then the bishop took up the shining vessel from the table, and came to Galahad; and the knight kneeled down and took of the food that was within the holy dish. And after that the other two received it. Of marvellous savour was the food, and like none that they had ever eaten or thought of at any time before.

Then the bishop said to Galahad:

'Son, knowest thou what is this vessel I hold in my hands?'

'Nay, holy man, I know not,' replied Galahad.

'It is the holy vessel which men call the Sangreal, out of which our Lord ate the lamb at the feast before He was betrayed to that death upon the rood whereby He redeemed the world, if men would but choose His gentle law.'

'It is what we have most desired to see, holy father,' said Sir Galahad.

'And it is what, alas, no others in this realm shall ever see,' said the bishop; and his countenance, which before had been sweet and gentle, now saddened and was dark. 'For this night it shall depart from this land of Logris, so that it shall never more be seen here.

'Alas,' cried Galahad and Perceval, 'that is great sorrow to hear. O holy bishop and spirit, say not that it means that this land shall be rent in ruin and given up to heathendom again?'

'It must be so,' said the bishop sadly. 'Christ is not served in gentleness, nor is His law worshipped in this land, where men slay their brothers, rob their kindred, and make treaties with the pagans. And its knights are turned to evil livers, desiring mastery and proud power. Therefore hath Christ sent me to disinherit this land of this holy thing with which He hath honoured it since that time when I brought it here four hundred and fifty-five winters ago.'

Hearing these words of doom, Sir Galahad and Sir Perceval wept full piteously for the fate of their country. When they had mourned greatly, they asked if there was no hope of turning the land from its evil ways.

'There is none,' said the bishop sorrowfully. 'Have ye three not tried manfully these last two years since ye have sought that which ye now see? And all thy labours, thy battling, thy griefs, have they availed aught? No, it is the will of God that in due time this land and this people shall be put into the melting-pot. And when the season appointed shall come, sorrow and death, rebellion and treachery shall stalk through the land, and naught shall stand of its present kingdoms; the pagans shall blot out the holy memory of God and Christ, and shall turn the fanes of prayer into the lairs of wolves, and owls shall rest where hymns of praise have been sung. And no wars of goodly knights may hinder these things of dreadful doom. But I have this message for ye two, Galahad and Perceval; that inasmuch as ye have seen this which you craved to see, and have lived purely and unspotted from pride or evil, thy souls shall go with me when I shall depart. But you, my son,' he said, looking at Sir Bors, 'still find in your heart the love of kin, and a longing for battle, and so you shall remain, to fight for Christ while yet you are alive.'

Suddenly a fierce light came where they sat, so that Sir Bors kneeled as one blinded for a time. When it had passed, he looked and saw where Sir Galahad and Sir Perceval still kneeled, with their hands lifted as if in prayer. But there was naught to see of the holy vessel or the spear, nor was Joseph there.

Then, going to the two knights, he found that they were dead.

Sir Bors knew then that their souls had gone with Joseph and the holy vessel, and had been borne to the heaven for which their pure and humble hearts had yearned while yet they lived.

Then Sir Bors made great sorrow for his two fellows, and knew that never more would he be as joyful or as careless as he had been. With right heavy mood he craved of Earl Hernox to have a grave dug deep in the living rock whereon the castle was builded. This the earl gladly did, and very solemnly the two good knights were buried, and long did Sir Bors mourn over the grave.

In a little while thereafter Sir Bors armed himself, and departed, and after many adventures, rode southwards till he came to Camelot. And there he told the king and such knights as there were, how the two stainless knights had achieved the Holy Graal, and how their souls had been taken up with the sacred vessel.

All the court mourned for the two knights, and the king commanded a history to be written of what Sir Bors had told. It was so done, and the book richly adorned with many coloured letters, was kept in the great treasure-chest in the castle of Sarum.

Ever after Sir Bors was a silent man, for he could not forget the holy and terrible sight he had seen. Of the doom which was coming in due time upon the dear and fair land of Britain, as was prophesied by St. Joseph, he told no man, but kept the words fast locked in his heart.

XI

OF THE PLOTS OF SIR MORDRED; AND HOW SIR LANCELOT SAVED THE QUEEN

After the quest of the Sangreal was completed, and all the knights that were left alive had returned to the court of King Arthur, there was great joy among the people, and the king and Queen Gwenevere were passing glad of the remnant that had come home again.

Especially did the queen make much of Sir Lancelot and of Sir Bors his cousin, for they were the two most noble and courteous knights of the Round Table, and none thought of them but as men peerless and beyond compare.

Sir Mordred, who was the king's nephew, was jealous of the two knights, and went about privily among such knights as were his familiars, and spoke sneering words concerning Sir Lancelot and the queen and Sir Bors. Once Sir Mordred said such words in the hearing of his brother Sir Gawaine; but that knight so heavily and wrathfully took him to task, that Sir Mordred knew that Sir Gawaine envied not the two knights, and could never be brought to think other than friendly thoughts of them.

Therefore Sir Mordred hated the two knights more than ever. Of a slight frame was Mordred, but tall, with dark hair, sallow face, and deep-set grey eyes beside a thin long nose. Few loved him, for he was never cheery nor very friendly, and ever seemed to sneer with his thin lips and his cold wolfish eyes.

In a little while strange dark rumours began to go about the court, and it was whispered that so proud had Sir Lancelot become of his fame and prowess, that he harboured evil thoughts against the king, and that he aimed to make a kingdom for himself out of the countries that lay about his own lands of Joyous Gard in the northern marches.

Then fresh rumours went about, and these were the most evil of all. It was said that he sought to slay the king, and wished to make Gwenevere his own queen, and with her he would rule over all Britain.

First, men laughed and passed the rumours with a shrug and a gesture of scorn; but when they were repeated again and again, some began half to believe them. Many said that there must be some truth therein, for Sir Lancelot was ever wending his way to the north country, and fought there many battles and overcame many knights.

But others said this was because many ladies and damsels, who had lost lands and homes and been evilly oppressed by the warring barons in those parts, had heard of his great fame for knightly deeds and noble manners, and came beseeching him to be their champion against those who had robbed them.

Others said that it was but natural that when he was at the court he should speak much to the queen, for he had from the first vowed himself to be her knight, and many deeds of daring and prowess had he done for her.

Yet others there were who believed that what rumour said might be true; and others, who were good and noble knights, sorrowed to think that such evil thoughts should be spread about by some treacherous tongues.

When men came to ask who had set these evil tongues to wag, it was always found that a certain mean knight, named Sir Pinel, had first spoken wrong of Lancelot and Sir Bors and the queen. And men noticed that it was not long before the queen began to look coldly at Sir Pinel, and then they knew that his rumours had reached her ears.

'What profit doth Sir Pinel think to gain from those false tales of her?' said Sir Brastias one day, as he and Sir Gareth came from the hawking together. 'For none ever reckoned him as a knight of any merit, and all good men will now think less of him.'

'I fear me,' said Sir Gareth, 'that there is more beneath it all than we wot of. Sir Pinel is a bosom friend of Sir Mordred's. Often have I seen their heads together in places apart. And though he is my brother, Sir Mordred is one I cannot love.'

'What fear you, Gareth?' asked Sir Brastias.

'I fear naught that he may do,' said Gareth, 'but I think he hates Sir Lancelot and he hates Gawaine also, the chief of our party, because he hath roundly told Mordred that he is a traitor, and that he will not be drawn from his firm friendship with Sir Lancelot and his kinsmen. I think Sir Mordred would do much to cause some ill to Gawaine or Sir Lancelot, so long as his own evil body was not hurt.'

'Sad it is,' said Brastias full gloomily, 'to think a man of such great kin should harbour hatred and murder against the chief of his kin. And that such should be, methinks, betokens that evil is about to fall upon our famous brotherhood of the Round Table, and on this dear land of Britain.'

Now it befell that the poor queen had heard, through her maidens, of the rumours concerning herself and Sir Lancelot, and, taking counsel of no one, she bethought how she could prove to the remnant of the Round Table that she was free of any plots against the king or the fair kingdom of Britain.

She resolved that she would invite the knights to a privy dinner, and when they had eaten she would throw herself upon their knightly pity and honour, telling them how the evil rumours wronged and hurt her bitterly. And she doubted not that thus their manly sympathy and worship of her, their queen, would, by her words, cast out the evil effects of the slanderous tales.

Therefore, at that dinner, she had Sir Gawaine and his brethren, that is to say, Sir Gareth, Sir Agravaine, Sir Gaheris and Sir Mordred. Also there were the kin of Sir Lancelot, to wit, Sir Bors, Sir Blamore, Sir Bleobaris, Sir Ector de Maris, and Sir Lionel. But Sir Lancelot had gone into the Scottish marches, to do battle with a notable robber and oppressor there. There were other knights, making in all the number of twenty-four. And these were all the remnant of the one hundred and fifty that had gone forth in the Quest of the Sangreal.

Among the guests were Sir Pinel and his cousin, Sir Mador.

Now Sir Gawaine had a custom of eating apples which he used daily at dinner and at supper. He loved all manner of fruit, and in especial a certain brown or russet apple, which was called Afal Coch. Every one knew of this fondness of Sir Gawaine's, and whoever dined or feasted him took care to provide such apples for his pleasure.

The queen had known this, and among the fruit for the table she had ordered such apples to be placed.

Now Sir Mordred, as Sir Gareth had suspected, hated Sir Gawaine with a deep hatred, and therefore he had, by crafty dealing, taken all the russet apples from the dish except one, and into this he had thrust a deadly poison. He guessed that, as every one knew of Sir Gawaine's fondness for that sort of fruit, no one would take it, but would leave it for Sir Gawaine, who would eat it and die thereof.

When the feast was near an end, and men laughed and jested together, the dish of fruit was handed round, and Sir Pinel, the mean knight, noticed that there was but one of the apples which Sir Gawaine loved; and to spite that knight, whom he hated, he took that apple, ere the dish went to Sir Gawaine.

Sir Mordred saw him take it, yet would not cry out to warn his fellow-traitor, for this would have revealed himself. He saw Sir Pinel's teeth sink into the brown apple, and Sir Pinel's sneering look as he glanced across at Sir Gawaine, who was searching vainly in the dish for his favourite fruit.

Then Sir Mordred saw Sir Pinel's face go red, and then deadly white. And as the poison gripped him, Sir Pinel rose shrieking from the table, crying out that some enemy had poisoned him.

Then he sank writhing to the ground, shrieking and moaning, clutching at the ground and at the legs of the chairs. Suddenly, with a great groan, he lay still and was dead.

Every knight leaped from the table, ashamed, full of rage and fear, nigh out of their wits, but dumb. They looked at each other and then at the dead Sir Pinel, and all their eyes kept from the face of the queen, where she sat on the high seat, with two of her ladies beside her.

The reason they could not speak was that they knew the queen had heard of the evil tales which Sir Pinel had spread about her, and that she must have hated him bitterly. And she had made this feast, and had invited him thereto, and now he was dead at the board, by means of deadly poison placed in the food which she had set before him.

Then for very shame some began to leave the chamber; and others could not bear to look upon the queen, who sat with a face that went now pale, now red. She had seen what happened, and who it was had been slain, and she had read the suspicion in men's gestures.

Then the voice of Sir Mador rang out, and checked men from going from the room, and drew all eyes to where he stood, a tall and burly man, red and angry of face, and fierce of eyes.

'Look!' he cried, and held between his fingers and high above his head the apple which Sir Pinel had bitten, 'this is the thing whereof my kinsman, Sir Pinel, hath lost his life. The matter shall not end here, for I have lost a noble knight of my blood, and I will be revenged to the uttermost.'

Then, turning, he savagely looked at the queen, and with fierce rolling eyes he roared out:

'Thou art the murderess! Thou--the queen! Hear me, knights and chieftains. I charge the queen with the murder of my kinsman, Sir Pinel, and justice upon her will I have.'

Every one in the hall stood still as if they were of stone. None could gainsay him, none could utter a word on behalf of the queen, for all had suspicion that she had slain Sir Pinel for his slanders of her.

Then suddenly the queen rose, white and trembling.

'My lords and knights, I did not cause it!' she cried in a broken voice. 'I am innocent! I know not how it came!'

And therewith she fell down in a swoon.

Sir Mordred's pale face smiled with a bitter sneer. He knew not then whether what had happened would help his evil plots or no; but he resolved to say naught, and so went out with all the other silent knights, whilst the ladies of the queen took her up lamenting, and bore her to her chamber.

With the noise and the sorrow that was in the court, King Arthur came and craved to know what was the matter; but none of the silent knights would speak until he met Sir Gawaine, who replied, and said:

'Sir, the queen did invite us to a privy feast with her. And one of the knights did eat of the fruit on the table, and he is dead by poison. Therefore, I dread lest the queen will be shamed for this.'

King Arthur was passing heavy at the hearing of these words, and went unto the queen to comfort her.

On the next day, when the king sat in hall with his two court judges, as was his wont daily, to hear any causes or charges which might be brought before him, all men stood with gloomy faces, and there was no laughing and jesting talk, as was usual at this time.

Sir Mador came forward and charged the queen of murder, and required that justice should be done upon her.

The king heard him with a sad face and in silence. Then he said:

'Fair lords and noble knights, heavy is my grief for this, and rather would I give my life for my queen at this moment than that my tongue should frame so evil a charge against my dear wife and your noble queen. But I am here to see that law is done, as justly to the highest as to the lowest. I doubt not that God will soon clear her of this seeming evil.'

'I know not how that may be,' said Sir Mador angrily, 'for the evil deed is clear to any man's eyes.'

'I deem this deed was never done by my queen, nor by her desire,' said the king sternly, 'but by some traitor that would do her evil and wishes to see her die. But as I am her judge, I may not be her champion and fight against you for her fair fame. I doubt not, however, that some good knight will take this charge upon himself, and put his body in jeopardy for my queen. For if this be not done, dost thou know what is the penalty?'

'She must be burnt,' said Mador sullenly. 'But she hath done the deed and will merit the doom.'

'Cease, hasty man,' said King Arthur sternly; 'it goeth to my heart to hear ye pronounce the doom thou wouldst visit upon that fair lady. Fear not, Sir Mador, she shall find some good knight to do combat for her. Therefore do thou name thy day of battle.'

'But hark ye, lord,' said Sir Mador, 'there is none of the four-and-twenty knights that were bidden to this dinner that hath not suspicion of the queen for this deed. Therefore, no knight can take this charge upon him in her behalf. What say ye, my lords?'

He turned to the silent, moody men about the dais.

The knights looked troubled, and were dumb for some moments; but at the last Sir Gawaine said:

'We cannot excuse the queen, for she gave the feast. And either the poison came by her will or by her servants.'

But most of the knights were silent, and Sir Bors and his kindred were very sorrowful. King Arthur was heavy at the words of Sir Gawaine.

'Now, king,' cried Sir Mador triumphantly, 'I require ye, as ye be a righteous king, give me a day that I may have justice.'

'That will I do,' said the king, 'as I must do, that am a just king. I give you this day fifteen days, that ye be ready armed on horseback in the meadow beside the wall at London; and if it so fall out that there be a knight to encounter with you, then God speed the right; and if there be no knight to take arms for my queen, then must she suffer by fire.'

So sorrowful were the king's words that many knights had much ado to keep from weeping.

'And meanwhile,' said Sir Mador, 'I do require that ye keep the queen in close ward and prison, lest any try a rescue, and thus defeat the justice that is my due.'

Though it went to the king's heart to have to order this, he gave the queen into the keeping of Sir Kay, who kept her in her chamber, guarded by three knights, to the great grief of her women and all the court.

Then the queen sent for Sir Bors, and when he was come she threw herself on her knees full piteously before him, and wept sorely, and begged that he would save her from this dreadful death.

'For by my confession unto Heaven,' she cried, 'I know naught of this wicked deed how it was brought about. And will ye not take this combat upon ye for my sake? For I am sure if your kinsman, Sir Lancelot, was here, he would not suffer this evil suspicion to lie against me. For he hath ever been my most faithful knight, but now am I without friend in this great pass.'

'Madam,' replied Sir Bors, 'what can I do? For if I take this charge upon me for your sake, men will say I was your aider in this crime that they charge upon you. And I see not how I may fight for you except by endangering my own life without saving yours. But I tell ye, madam, what I will do. I will hasten with all speed to the north, trusting in God to get news of Sir Lancelot, so that I may tell him and bring him here within the time appointed.'

'Ah, good Sir Bors,' cried the queen, and clasped his hands. 'Do ye do that, for I know that Sir Lancelot will never believe me guilty of so great a crime. And I will pray hourly that ye find him and bring him to me in time, so that my poor body be not unjustly given to the dreadful flames.'

Forthwith Sir Bors armed himself, and with two squires set forth instantly; and sent his men in different ways, so that among the three they should not fail to hear where, in the northern marches, a knight so famous as Sir Lancelot might be found.