And then he woke; and the glory became the first sunlight slanting into his eyes, and the birds were singing as he had never heard them sing in the Waste Forest before, as though they were singing for the first morning of the world. And then another sound came to his ears; the swift purl of running water; and as he raised himself on his arm and looked about him, he saw, clear through the green mist of buds that seemed breaking on the willow branches even while he looked, that the stream below him, that had been no more than a chain of stagnant puddles, was running swift and deep. And his great warhorse went brushing down through the willow branches to drink.
And he knew that he had dreamed true; and the Maimed King was whole again, and his land whole again with him; and the Grail was away to its own place, and Galahad and his companions with it.
The waiting was over; and when he had whistled up his horse and saddled it, he mounted and turned its head towards Camelot.
And now, for the last time, the story leaves Sir Lancelot, and tells of Sir Galahad and Sir Bors and Sir Percival.
14
The Grail
NOW FOR SIR Galahad and Sir Bors and Sir Percival, all had been just as Sir Lancelot had seen it in his dream. But they had seen and heard and known all that for him had been mercifully hidden in the brightness of the glory. And their souls were raised up and sat loose within them as a sword half-drawn from its sheath.
And obeying the voice, they armed themselves and went down to the seashore out beyond the mouth of the great river.
And there they found the proud ship which had given Galahad his sword. And looking down into her, they saw under the canopy the bed with the golden crown still lying at its head. But at the foot, where Galahad had left his old sword lying in place of the other, stood the silver table which they had last seen in the Grail chamber of the castle far behind them; and on the table, the Grail itself, under a veil of crimson samite.
‘Brothers,’ said Galahad, ‘this is the last of our journeys. May God go with us.’ And they stepped on board.
And at once the great wind that they knew so well woke in the far corners of the sky and came sweeping into the sail, and drove the ship out from land and sent her skimming over the waves.
For many days they journeyed so; and their bodies were never hungry while the Grail was with them. And at last, without their having glimpsed any land between, the wind fell from their sails, and the ship came drifting into the harbour of a great city; and they knew by its beauty and by the light that shone about it, that it must be Sarras, the Sacred City, which is, as it were, the threshold of the City of God.
And as they drew alongside the quay, they heard the voice again. ‘Now leave the ship, and take up the silver table with its burden, and carry it up into the city, not once setting it down until you come to the church which is the city’s crown. Then set down the Grail in its old lodging place.’
So they took up the silver table between them, and stepped ashore. And as they did so, a second vessel came gliding into the harbour, and looking towards it, they saw the white samite sails shining in the morning sun, and the body of the maiden Anchoret lying amid-ships where they had laid her so many months before.
‘Truly,’ said Galahad, ‘the maiden has kept her promise well.’
Then, with Bors and Percival in front and Galahad at the rear, they set to carrying the silver table with the Grail upon it, through steep streets between honeycomb golden houses up into the Sacred City. But with every step they took, the weight of the silver table and its burden grew greater and greater, until, by the time they drew towards the gate of the Sacred City they were near to exhaustion.
Now in the arched gateway sat a crippled beggar, all bent and twisted together, with his crutch and his begging bowl beside him. And seeing him there, Galahad called out to him, ‘Friend, come and take the fourth corner of this table and help us on our way.’
‘Alas,’ said the man, ‘gladly would I help you, but you see how it is with me. It is ten years since I walked unaided.’
‘You see how it is with us,’ returned Galahad, ‘that we are forespent under the weight of that which we bear. Do not be afraid. Get up, now, and try.’
And the beggar’s eyes were fixed on the Grail under its samite covering. And it seemed to all those watching that under the samite there began to be a glow that was not the sunlight, for the narrow street was deep in shade. And he made a little whimpering sound and got up, slowly and unsteadily, but as straight as ever he had been. And the strength rushed into him, and he came gladly and took the fourth corner of the silver table. And suddenly it seemed that there was no weight to it at all.
So they went through the gate and up into the Sacred City, with a great rejoicing crowd gathering to them, more and more at every step, as word went ringing round Sarras of what it was they carried, and of the healing of the beggar man. And when they came to the great church that was the living heart of the city, they set the Grail down before the high altar. Then they went back to the harbour again, where the second ship waited for them.
There, too, a crowd was gathered, looking on in awe and wonder; and Galahad and his two companions went on board and lifted the litter on which the maiden lay, and carried her up through the steep, thronged streets, to the church in the Sacred City where the priests were by now gathered, and set her down beside the Grail. And the light, shining in through the high windows of stained glass, splashed her white robes with the colours of rose and foxglove and iris and all the fairest flowers of summer.
And there before the altar she was buried, with such ceremonies as befitted a king’s daughter.
But when word of all this was brought to the King of the city, Escorant by name, he sent for them and demanded the meaning of what he heard. And they answered truthfully every question that he asked; and told him the whole story of the Grail Quest. But the eyes of his spirit were blind, and he believed no word of all they said, but called them vile impostors, and summoning his guards, had them thrown into prison.
‘And let you lie there and rot,’ said he, ‘until you bethink you of a better story.’
For a year, they remained in their prison, but as it had been with Joseph and his people when they were held captive in Britain, the Lord God sent the Holy Grail to comfort and keep them all the time of their captivity.
And at the end of a year, King Escorant lay sick, and knew that he was near to dying. And he thought of the three captives in his dungeons, and his heart was changed within him, so that he sent for Galahad and Percival and Bors. And when they stood before him in their prison filth, he begged their forgiveness for his evil treatment of them.
And they forgave him fully and freely, even Bors, who found forgiveness harder than the other two. And in that same hour, he died.
Now King Escorant left no son to follow him; and so when he had been laid in his splendid tomb, the people of Sarras began to wonder among themselves who they should have for their next king. And their choice turned toward Sir Galahad, remembering how he and his companions had come bringing back the Grail, and of his healing of the lame beggar at the Sacred City gate. And they said, ‘Surely we could choose no better king than this one.’
When their chief men came and told Galahad this, he said, ‘That was none of my doing, but the power of the Grail.’
And the chief men said, ‘Even though that be so, there is another reason. King Escorant had no blood-right to the crown; but you are of the line of Joseph of Arimathea, and you have brought back to this city the Grail which he brought here long ago. Therefore it is fitting to the end of this mighty and mysterious adventure that you should bear the golden weight of the crown, even if it be for a single day.’
So Galahad was crowned King of Sarras, though indeed he had no wish for it and the goldwork seemed as sharp as thorns upon his forehead.
On the morning after the crowning, Galahad rose in the first paling of the dawn, and put on his well-worn harness that he had carried through so many adventures. Only he
left aside his helm, and let his mail coif lie unlaced on his shoulders so that his head was bare. And he called Bors and Percival to him, and together they went up from the palace to the church in the midst of the Sacred City.
When they came into the tall-towered church, where the colour was newly waking in the eastern windows, they looked towards the high altar and the Grail in its usual place. And standing there, they saw one in the vestments of a bishop. It seemed to them that he was the same priest whom they had seen in the Grail chamber at Corbenic. And indeed it seemed that he knew them also; for as soon as they had crossed the threshold, he spoke to them in greeting. And to Sir Galahad, who was now King of Sarras, he said, ‘Galahad, come now, and see and share in this that you have so longed for.’
And Galahad drew near, the others moving a little behind him, and, kneeling, looked into the Cup which the priest had uncovered and held out to him.
Behind him, Bors and Percival saw nothing but the strangely wrought golden vessel. They had shared in the mystery at Corbenic, and this time it was not for them, only the awe and the joy and the reverence that they had always known at Mass. This was the last mystery that Galahad must go to alone, no matter how close they knelt behind him, as each man goes alone to his birth and his dying.
They saw his whole body begin to shake, as though a great wind were blowing through him. He looked up; and his face, with the first sunlight of the morning upon it, shone as though it were lit from within; and his eyes were full of all that the others could not see.
He held up his hands and cried out in a great glad voice, ‘Lord, I give thee thanks, that thou hast granted me my soul’s desire. Here is the wonder that passes every wonder, that heart cannot conceive nor tongue relate. Now grant me that I come to you!’
And he fell headlong, the clash of his armour on the marble pavement ringing through the empty spaces under the high arched roof. For he had seen into the heart of all things, where no man may look and continue living in his body.
Bors and Percival sprang to gather him in their arms, and he looked from one to the other in farewell. To Bors, he said, ‘When you come to Camelot again, greet Sir Lancelot, my lord father, for me, and take to him my love.’
And his head fell back against Percival’s shoulder.
And suddenly, to the two left behind, it seemed that the emptiness of the great church was full of the sweep of wings and the glory of unheard music; and Heaven itself opened, and a hand came down and took the Grail from before the altar, and returned whence it came.
And Heaven closed in their faces, leaving only the emptiness of the great church behind. Even the man in bishop’s robes was gone; and they were alone, and Galahad was dead.
And grief took them such as no grief they had ever known before.
The people of Sarras, too, mourned for Sir Galahad. They made him a grave where he had died, close beside the spot where the maiden Anchoret lay; and buried him with all the honours due to a king.
And when that was done, Sir Percival laid aside his old knightly dress, and put on the rough habit of a hermit, and with Bors’s help made himself a wattle cabin outside the city walls in which to spend the rest of his life in prayer and contemplation.
Sir Bors stayed with him in faithful friendship; but he never laid aside his sword nor changed his harness for a hermit’s garb, for he knew that when Percival had no more need of him, the lines of his own life would lead him back to Britain and King Arthur’s court. And he knew, to his sorrow, that the time would not be long. From the first moment of their first meeting, Percival had followed Galahad, and he would follow him still.
Percival lived just one year and three days after Sir Galahad, and then was laid beside his friend and his sister, in the church at the heart of the Sacred City of Sarras.
Then Sir Bors, being alone, put on his armour, and went down to the harbour and boarded a ship sailing westward. And after many days at sea, he came to his own shores at last, and took horse for Camelot.
When he arrived there was great rejoicing, for it was full two years since Sir Lancelot had returned, and he had been the last, until now, of the Grail knights to come home; so that the King and his court had long ago given up Sir Bors as lost to them, along with Sir Galahad and Sir Percival.
He found his brother Lional there, and Sir Gawain with a scar on his head, and Sir Ector of the Marsh, and other old friends. But many more were lacking; and when they sat down to eat that evening, half the places at the Round Table were empty, and among those missing were many of the best who used to sit there. And of those who were there, many had wounds and scars, and most were changed in some way from what they had been before. And he thought that the high adventure of the Grail had been a costly one. He knew that the end had been victory, but he was too weary to see how.
When the evening meal was over, he sought out Sir Lancelot his kinsman. He had noticed that the older knight ate no meat and drank no wine at supper; and he thought that at the neck of his fine silken tunic he had glimpsed the rough edge of a hair shirt, and the redness of chafed skin beneath. He took him aside, up to the rampart above the castle garden, where it was possible to speak and be sure that no one else was by to hear. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I bring you a message. Galahad got his soul’s desire, and died in my arms and Percival’s, for he had come into the heart of the mystery, where it is not possible for a mortal man to come, and yet remain mortal. And with his last breath he bade me greet you from him, and bring you his love.’
‘I wish I could have been with him,’ said Sir Lancelot, heavily.
‘So did he. So did we all. Often we spoke of you, and wished that you might be among us.’
‘There was a reason why that could not be,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘a reason – a holding back … For it was not all mine to give … Not for me alone, to renounce, you see …’
His voice had grown absent and inward-turning, as though he spoke to himself within himself, and not to Bors at all. And Bors saw his eyes following something that moved below; and looking in the same direction, saw through the soft thickening light of the summer evening that the Queen had come into the garden.
Next day, when Bors was rested, the King sent for his clerks, who had taken down from each returning knight the story of his adventures on the Quest. And they took down Sir Bors’s story, which was the only one that went beyond Sir Lancelot’s and told of the last adventuring of Sir Galahad and Sir Percival and himself, and of the taking up to Heaven of the Grail.
And then the record was complete, and the King sent it for safe-keeping to the monks of the abbey library of Salisbury; that in future years the story of the Quest for the Holy Grail might not be lost to men coming after.
THE ROAD TO CAMLANN
1
The Darkness Beyond the Door
WHEN THE DARKNESS crowds beyond the door, and the logs on the hearth burn clear red and fall in upon themselves, making caverns and ships and swords and dragons and strange faces in the heart of the fire, that is the time for story telling.
Come closer then, and listen.
The story of King Arthur is a long, long story, woven of many strands and many colours; and it falls naturally into three parts.
The first part tells how the father of Arthur, Utha Pendragon, with the help of the enchanter Merlin, won the fair Igraine to be his queen. And when their son Arthur was born, Merlin, knowing by his magic arts that Utha would die before he could count one grey hair in his beard, and that in the struggle for power among the nobles after his death his son would be trampled underfoot, took the babe on the very night he was born, and carried him away and gave him to a certain quiet knight called Sir Ector, to be brought up along with his own son Kay until the time came for him to claim his destiny. But he did not tell even Sir Ector who his fosterling was.
And as Merlin had foreseen, Utha died when his son was but two years old, and the chiefs and nobles of the realm fell to struggling together for power; and the invading Saxons, whom Utha had driven out
of Britain, seeing their chance, came storming in again.
And Merlin sorrowfully watched all this and waited, while in his foster-father’s castle Arthur grew from a child into a boy and from a boy into a young man. And when Arthur was turned fifteen, Merlin went to the Archbishop Dubricius in London, and told him certain things; and so the Archbishop called a great joust, and all the knights and nobles of the realm came flocking to take part. And when they were gathered, suddenly there appeared in their midst, in the garth of the great abbey, a stone with an anvil set upon it, and driven into the anvil and through it into the stone was a splendid sword. And about the stone was written in letters of gold:
‘Who so pulleth out this sword from this stone and anvil is the true-born King of all Britain.’
And when the knights and nobles had tried and failed to pull out the sword, Arthur, who was not yet even a knight, but had come to London as a squire to his foster-brother Sir Kay, drew out the sword as easily as from a well-oiled sheath.
Then Merlin told the long-kept secret of his birth, and it was known that he was indeed the son of Utha Pendragon and the rightful High King after him.
So Arthur was crowned by the Archbishop. And after, with Merlin always beside him, he gathered his war-host and in many great battles he drove back the Saxons and the Picts and the men from across the Irish Sea. And when eleven kings from the outlands and the mountain places along the fringes of Britain joined spears and rose against him, he quelled them also, and drove them back into their own mountains. And he made his capital at Camelot, and there he began to gather his court.