Idylls of the King Part 4

But Lancelot said, 'Kay, wherefore wilt thou go against the King, For that did never he whereon ye rail, But ever meekly served the King in thee?

Abide: take counsel; for this lad is great And l.u.s.ty, and knowing both of lance and sword.'

'Tut, tell not me,' said Kay, 'ye are overfine To mar stout knaves with foolish courtesies:'

Then mounted, on through silent faces rode Down the slope city, and out beyond the gate.

But by the field of tourney lingering yet Muttered the damsel, 'Wherefore did the King Scorn me? for, were Sir Lancelot lackt, at least He might have yielded to me one of those Who tilt for lady's love and glory here, Rather than--O sweet heaven! O fie upon him-- His kitchen-knave.'

To whom Sir Gareth drew (And there were none but few goodlier than he) Shining in arms, 'Damsel, the quest is mine.

Lead, and I follow.' She thereat, as one That smells a foul-fleshed agaric in the holt, And deems it carrion of some woodland thing, Or shrew, or weasel, nipt her slender nose With petulant thumb and finger, shrilling, 'Hence!

Avoid, thou smellest all of kitchen-grease.

And look who comes behind,' for there was Kay.

'Knowest thou not me? thy master? I am Kay.

We lack thee by the hearth.'

And Gareth to him, 'Master no more! too well I know thee, ay-- The most ungentle knight in Arthur's hall.'

'Have at thee then,' said Kay: they shocked, and Kay Fell shoulder-slipt, and Gareth cried again, 'Lead, and I follow,' and fast away she fled.

But after sod and shingle ceased to fly Behind her, and the heart of her good horse Was nigh to burst with violence of the beat, Perforce she stayed, and overtaken spoke.

'What doest thou, scullion, in my fellowship?

Deem'st thou that I accept thee aught the more Or love thee better, that by some device Full cowardly, or by mere unhappiness, Thou hast overthrown and slain thy master--thou!-- Dish-washer and broach-turner, loon!--to me Thou smellest all of kitchen as before.'

'Damsel,' Sir Gareth answered gently, 'say Whate'er ye will, but whatsoe'er ye say, I leave not till I finish this fair quest, Or die therefore.'

'Ay, wilt thou finish it?

Sweet lord, how like a n.o.ble knight he talks!

The listening rogue hath caught the manner of it.

But, knave, anon thou shalt be met with, knave, And then by such a one that thou for all The kitchen brewis that was ever supt Shalt not once dare to look him in the face.'

'I shall a.s.say,' said Gareth with a smile That maddened her, and away she flashed again Down the long avenues of a boundless wood, And Gareth following was again beknaved.

'Sir Kitchen-knave, I have missed the only way Where Arthur's men are set along the wood; The wood is nigh as full of thieves as leaves: If both be slain, I am rid of thee; but yet, Sir Scullion, canst thou use that spit of thine?

Fight, an thou canst: I have missed the only way.'

So till the dusk that followed evensong Rode on the two, reviler and reviled; Then after one long slope was mounted, saw, Bowl-shaped, through tops of many thousand pines A gloomy-gladed hollow slowly sink To westward--in the deeps whereof a mere, Round as the red eye of an Eagle-owl, Under the half-dead sunset glared; and shouts Ascended, and there brake a servingman Flying from out of the black wood, and crying, 'They have bound my lord to cast him in the mere.'

Then Gareth, 'Bound am I to right the wronged, But straitlier bound am I to bide with thee.'

And when the damsel spake contemptuously, 'Lead, and I follow,' Gareth cried again, 'Follow, I lead!' so down among the pines He plunged; and there, blackshadowed nigh the mere, And mid-thigh-deep in bulrushes and reed, Saw six tall men haling a seventh along, A stone about his neck to drown him in it.

Three with good blows he quieted, but three Fled through the pines; and Gareth loosed the stone From off his neck, then in the mere beside Tumbled it; oilily bubbled up the mere.

Last, Gareth loosed his bonds and on free feet Set him, a stalwart Baron, Arthur's friend.

'Well that ye came, or else these caitiff rogues Had wreaked themselves on me; good cause is theirs To hate me, for my wont hath ever been To catch my thief, and then like vermin here Drown him, and with a stone about his neck; And under this wan water many of them Lie rotting, but at night let go the stone, And rise, and flickering in a grimly light Dance on the mere. Good now, ye have saved a life Worth somewhat as the cleanser of this wood.

And fain would I reward thee worshipfully.

What guerdon will ye?'

Gareth sharply spake, 'None! for the deed's sake have I done the deed, In uttermost obedience to the King.

But wilt thou yield this damsel harbourage?'

Whereat the Baron saying, 'I well believe You be of Arthur's Table,' a light laugh Broke from Lynette, 'Ay, truly of a truth, And in a sort, being Arthur's kitchen-knave!-- But deem not I accept thee aught the more, Scullion, for running sharply with thy spit Down on a rout of craven foresters.

A thresher with his flail had scattered them.

Nay--for thou smellest of the kitchen still.

But an this lord will yield us harbourage, Well.'

So she spake. A league beyond the wood, All in a full-fair manor and a rich, His towers where that day a feast had been Held in high hall, and many a viand left, And many a costly cate, received the three.

And there they placed a peac.o.c.k in his pride Before the damsel, and the Baron set Gareth beside her, but at once she rose.

'Meseems, that here is much discourtesy, Setting this knave, Lord Baron, at my side.

Hear me--this morn I stood in Arthur's hall, And prayed the King would grant me Lancelot To fight the brotherhood of Day and Night-- The last a monster unsubduable Of any save of him for whom I called-- Suddenly bawls this frontless kitchen-knave, "The quest is mine; thy kitchen-knave am I, And mighty through thy meats and drinks am I."

Then Arthur all at once gone mad replies, "Go therefore," and so gives the quest to him-- Him--here--a villain fitter to stick swine Than ride abroad redressing women's wrong, Or sit beside a n.o.ble gentlewoman.'

Then half-ashamed and part-amazed, the lord Now looked at one and now at other, left The damsel by the peac.o.c.k in his pride, And, seating Gareth at another board, Sat down beside him, ate and then began.

'Friend, whether thou be kitchen-knave, or not, Or whether it be the maiden's fantasy, And whether she be mad, or else the King, Or both or neither, or thyself be mad, I ask not: but thou strikest a strong stroke, For strong thou art and goodly therewithal, And saver of my life; and therefore now, For here be mighty men to joust with, weigh Whether thou wilt not with thy damsel back To crave again Sir Lancelot of the King.

Thy pardon; I but speak for thine avail, The saver of my life.'

And Gareth said, 'Full pardon, but I follow up the quest, Despite of Day and Night and Death and h.e.l.l.'

So when, next morn, the lord whose life he saved Had, some brief s.p.a.ce, conveyed them on their way And left them with G.o.d-speed, Sir Gareth spake, 'Lead, and I follow.' Haughtily she replied.

'I fly no more: I allow thee for an hour.

Lion and stout have isled together, knave, In time of flood. Nay, furthermore, methinks Some ruth is mine for thee. Back wilt thou, fool?

For hard by here is one will overthrow And slay thee: then will I to court again, And shame the King for only yielding me My champion from the ashes of his hearth.'

To whom Sir Gareth answered courteously, 'Say thou thy say, and I will do my deed.

Allow me for mine hour, and thou wilt find My fortunes all as fair as hers who lay Among the ashes and wedded the King's son.'

Then to the sh.o.r.e of one of those long loops Wherethrough the serpent river coiled, they came.

Rough-thicketed were the banks and steep; the stream Full, narrow; this a bridge of single arc Took at a leap; and on the further side Arose a silk pavilion, gay with gold In streaks and rays, and all Lent-lily in hue, Save that the dome was purple, and above, Crimson, a slender banneret fluttering.

And therebefore the lawless warrior paced Unarmed, and calling, 'Damsel, is this he, The champion thou hast brought from Arthur's hall?

For whom we let thee pa.s.s.' 'Nay, nay,' she said, 'Sir Morning-Star. The King in utter scorn Of thee and thy much folly hath sent thee here His kitchen-knave: and look thou to thyself: See that he fall not on thee suddenly, And slay thee unarmed: he is not knight but knave.'

Then at his call, 'O daughters of the Dawn, And servants of the Morning-Star, approach, Arm me,' from out the silken curtain-folds Bare-footed and bare-headed three fair girls In gilt and rosy raiment came: their feet In dewy gra.s.ses glistened; and the hair All over glanced with dewdrop or with gem Like sparkles in the stone Avanturine.

These armed him in blue arms, and gave a shield Blue also, and thereon the morning star.

And Gareth silent gazed upon the knight, Who stood a moment, ere his horse was brought, Glorying; and in the stream beneath him, shone Immingled with Heaven's azure waveringly, The gay pavilion and the naked feet, His arms, the rosy raiment, and the star.

Then she that watched him, 'Wherefore stare ye so?

Thou shakest in thy fear: there yet is time: Flee down the valley before he get to horse.

Who will cry shame? Thou art not knight but knave.'

Said Gareth, 'Damsel, whether knave or knight, Far liefer had I fight a score of times Than hear thee so missay me and revile.

Fair words were best for him who fights for thee; But truly foul are better, for they send That strength of anger through mine arms, I know That I shall overthrow him.'

And he that bore The star, when mounted, cried from o'er the bridge, 'A kitchen-knave, and sent in scorn of me!

Such fight not I, but answer scorn with scorn.

For this were shame to do him further wrong Than set him on his feet, and take his horse And arms, and so return him to the King.

Come, therefore, leave thy lady lightly, knave.

Avoid: for it beseemeth not a knave To ride with such a lady.'

'Dog, thou liest.

I spring from loftier lineage than thine own.'

He spake; and all at fiery speed the two Shocked on the central bridge, and either spear Bent but not brake, and either knight at once, Hurled as a stone from out of a catapult Beyond his horse's crupper and the bridge, Fell, as if dead; but quickly rose and drew, And Gareth lashed so fiercely with his brand He drave his enemy backward down the bridge, The damsel crying, 'Well-stricken, kitchen-knave!'

Till Gareth's shield was cloven; but one stroke Laid him that clove it grovelling on the ground.