The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights

When they were alone he said, "Sir, treachery is the saddest crime of all. Even if it fails, the poison spreads. Before his death Sir Accolon confessed his guilt and swore that you were innocent--you, my friend and my brother. But innocence is no antidote. I know that you refused to plot against me, but how can I forget that you knew there was a plot. I can easily excuse you because I know that my sister tried to kill you as well as me. I will try to trust you--but can cracked trust be mended? I don't know. As for your son and my nephew, Sir Ewain--all I can remember is that he suckled at a poisoned breast. The hands that fashioned his youth sewed jewels on my death. What a sickening mold suspicion is. Ewain must leave the court. I haven't time to watch and to suspect even innocent acts."

  "I understand," Sir Uryens said. "If you can conceive a way to prove my loyalty--I am ready."

  "Send your son away," said Arthur.

  Ewain accepted his banishment and he said, "There is only one way to prove myself. I will ride on quest and let my actions speak for me. Words can be traitors but deeds have no advocate."

  His friend and cousin, Sir Gawain, was not so patient. "Who banishes you banishes me," he said. "I will go with you. This is injustice."

  And Arthur, watching the two young good knights preparing a long journey, said musingly, "When I had Merlin I suspected no one. He always knew and saved me from uncertainty. I wish I had Merlin back again." And then he remembered Merlin's prophecies concerning Guinevere and he was not so sure he wished to know. "With knowledge there is no hope," he said. "Without hope I would sit motionless, rusting like unused armor."

  In the morning before day the young knights heard Mass and confessed and were shriven so that their souls were as clean and shining as their swords, and they rode away from Camelot and eagerly entered a new world of wonders. They looked back at the old walls of Camelot high against the dawn on the impregnable hill, and at the four deep ditches that protected the walls. They were glad and proud and humble to be men in a world where men were valuable. They passed through valleys among surrounding heights and they saw the turf-crusted ramparts of hill forts that had crumbled before the world was born. On a great level meadow they saw rings of giant stones set up possibly by ancient peoples but more likely by present goblins, and since these things were outside the quest, they looked away and circled widely.

  Then, within sight of a forest, they drew near to a small conical hill crowned with dark pines, and their horses stopped and trembled with ears laid back and eyes showing white with fear. Sir Ewain and Sir Gawain recognized the signs and turned aside to avoid the barrow. It was not their business or their world. Their own was full enough of wonders.

  It was with relief that they entered a covering forest of great oaks and left the haunted ground behind. The tree trunks, thick as horses, rose darkly up and blotted out the sky with a cover of tumbling leaves, and only a dimpsy green light strained through. The hoofbeat was muffled on the mossy ground and no birds sang in the upper branches. Only the tap of shield cantle against breastplate, the gritty whisper of straining leather, and the clink of spur rowels marked their passage through the wood. The horses found their way, for, as everyone knows, horses with free rein will travel where others have been before. High overhead the oak leaves stirred and rustled under a wind which did not reach the ground. The dimness and the quiet entered the young knights and they did not speak, and they were glad when they topped a hill and saw below them a grassy meadow and, on its far forested edge, a dark stone tower with castellations and thin arrow slits, for here must be something they understood, even if it was filled with danger.

  Gawain and his cousin straightened in their saddles, moved their shields a little forward, and their right hands moved to their sword hilts. From the meadow came the sound of women's voices, shrill and vindictive. The knights tested their buckles, and gently lowered their visors before they moved on down toward the tower.

  On the meadow's edge they drew up, for they saw twelve ladies running back and forth near a small tree from which a white shield hung. And as each lady passed the shield she threw mud on it and screamed a curse and moved away to gather more mud. From the top of the tower nearby two armed knights looked down on the strange scene.

  The young cousins rode to the ladies and Sir Ewain asked sternly, "Why do you dirty and insult an undefended shield?"

  The ladies squealed with laughter and one said, "I will tell you, since you ask. The knight who owns the shield hates ladies. That is an insult to us and so we insult his shield in return. That's a fair exchange." And her companions shrieked with ugly laughter.

  Sir Gawain said, "It is not seemly in a knight to despise ladies, I agree, but if he does, perhaps he has some cause. Or he may love some other lady. Do you know his name?"

  "Certainly we know. He is Sir Marhalt and he is a son of the King of Ireland."

  "I know him well," Sir Ewain said. "He is as good a knight as any living and I have seen him prove it in a tournament where he won the prize above everyone."

  Sir Gawain said sternly, "I think you are to blame. It is not a lady's part to dishonor a man's shield. He will return to defend his shield and he will not love ladies more when he finds what you have done. It is not my quarrel, but I will not stand by and see a knight's shield dishonored--Come, cousin, let us ride on. I find I myself do not love such ladies as these."

  As they neared the edge of the forest, Sir Marhalt appeared on a huge charger and he galloped toward the ladies, who screamed with fright and ran falling and stumbling toward the safety of the tower.

  Sir Marhalt looked at his muddy shield and slung it on his shoulder, and at that moment one of the knights of the tower rode out crying, "Defend yourself."

  "With joy," said Marhalt, and he leaned fiercely over his couched spear, and under the shock of the meeting both horse and man went tumbling in a welter of harness and flying hooves. Before Sir Marhalt could turn, the other knight of the tower began his charge, but Marhalt, turning in his saddle, glanced the spear point off and struck down his opponent.

  Then Marhalt turned his shield and scraped the filth from its white surface, and he held up the shield toward the tower where the damsels lay shaking with fear. He shouted, "Part of the insult is avenged. A lady gave me this white shield. And I shall wear it as it is. Even dirty it is cleaner than you." Then he saw the cousins on the edge of the forest and he approached them guardedly and asked them their pleasure.

  Sir Gawain said, "We are from King Arthur's court and we ride for adventure. Have you anything to suggest?"

  "No," said Marhalt, "but if you call a small do with spears adventure, I would not refuse, if you would ask nicely." And he wheeled and took his battle position in the center of the meadow.

  "Let it go," said Ewain. "He is a good man. What is to be gained? We have no quarrel with him."

  Sir Gawain looked up at the sun. "It is not yet midday," he said. "Mine is morning strength, as you know, and it wanes with afternoon. It would be a shame not to fight him, but it must be soon or not at all."

  "Perhaps we could ride away," said Ewain.

  "Not after his challenge. We would be laughed at and scorned."

  "Very well then, cousin," said Ewain. "I am not as strong or as experienced as you are. Let me make the first run. If I go down I leave you to avenge me."

  "Very well," Gawain agreed, "but if you will suffer me to say so, yours is an unfortunate attitude to take into battle."

  Sir Ewain charged, and Marhalt unhorsed him and gashed his side. Sir Marhalt trotted back to his battle station, and he sat his horse, stern and motionless, waiting to meet his next opponent.

  Sir Gawain made sure his cousin was not badly hurt and then he looked at the sun and saw that there was time. Child of the morning he was, his strength and courage waxing with the sun, and waning with it. His heart pounded with joy. He laid his spear in rest and lifted his horse to trot, to canter, and to wild flying charges. Sir Marhalt met him in mid-course. Each spear struck true in center shield and bent under the
plunging might, while ashen staff fought ashen staff, and Gawain's spear flew to splinters and he and his horse were thrust to the ground.

  When Marhalt checked his mount and wheeled to return, he saw Sir Gawain standing by his fallen horse, shield dressed and sword dancing in his hand. He called out, "Sir Knight, dismount and fight on foot or I will kill your horse and you will have no honorable choice."

  Sir Marhalt drew rein. "I thank you for the lesson," he said. "You put teeth in the laws of courtesy." And he rode to a small tree and leaned his spear against it and slowly dismounted, tied his horse to a branch, and loosened the girth. Then he deliberately tested his shield strap, tightened his sword belt, drew his sword and inspected its edge, while Gawain impatiently waited and the sun crawled nearer to noon.

  Now Sir Marhalt moved ponderously near, his sword at parry and his shield held forward and lightly swaying. Gawain leaped toward him, striking, forcing, pushing frantically, trying to get in a killing blow while his strength increased. But Marhalt was long trained in war. He kept his helm down, covered with his hovering shield, feinted to draw the charge, and let it spend itself on his retreating weight. "Why do you hurry?" Marhalt asked. "We have the whole day to fight."

  The question maddened Gawain. He flickered past Marhalt's shield and drew blood from his side and too late felt the countering sword point enter his thigh. He danced about the defending knight and rained blows on the close-held shield and forward-tilted helm.

  "You are a strong man," Marhalt said softly. "You get stronger every moment. Save your strength and your breath for the long fight. Come--let us rest a moment."

  But Gawain saw his shadow creeping under him and he drove in again and his swinging sword shone like a wheel. He wounded Marhalt and got short quick counterwounds and his breath grew short as he tried to break through the defense of his practiced and deliberate foe. He dashed in like a shining ram, clawed at the covering shield, and saw his shadow disappear beneath him and fell back under the weight of the thrusting shield. Then Gawain felt his strength begin to ebb, and his lungs rattled with exhaustion. The joy of combat drained away and a little pain took its place. He backed away and circled warily.

  Marhalt had saved his strength for such a time. Now he moved forward slowly and without warning lashed out, cut into the cantle of Gawain's shield, and saw it fly sideways in his faltering grip. And now Marhalt moved in to blind Gawain with his shield and stab him in the belly, and he saw the young knight exposed and open to the blow. He hesitated, waiting for the shield to cover, and it did not. It hung to the side useless and weakly held.

  Sir Marhalt moved back cautiously in case it was a ruse, and when he was fifteen feet away and safe from a lunge, he rested his sword point on the ground and he said, "Young sir, a little time ago you were as good a knight as ever fought with me. But now you are fought out and your strength is gone. If I killed you now it would be murder and I am not a murderer. I can let you rest until you recover, and then you might kill me or I might kill you. You have no quarrel with me great enough for one or both of us to die or be shamed. It is only adventure. Will you be satisfied to make peace with neither of us claiming victory?"

  Sir Gawain shook with emotion. "Gentle knight, you are the noblest man I have ever met. I could not say that because I am weakened. But you, strong and fresh, can say it and that is knightly courtesy. I accept the peace, Sir Knight, and I thank you."

  Then, to prove his faith, Gawain laid down his sword and unlaced his helm and took it off. Then Marhalt did the same and they two embraced like brothers and swore that they would live like brothers. Now Ewain came near, holding his wounded side, and they helped him to disarm, and then Marhalt led them to his manor, which was not far distant, where his servants bathed their wounds and made them comfortable. And those three knights grew close in friendship and loyalty so that soon after as they sat at ease in the great hall, with the gnawed bones of their supper around them and wine cups in their hands, Sir Gawain said, "One thing troubles me, sir. You are a valiant man, as I know, and a courteous gentle knight, as you have proved to me. How does it happen that you hate ladies?"

  "I? Hate ladies?" Marhalt asked.

  "Those ladies who threw filth on your shield said you did."

  Then Marhalt laughed. "Have you not found," he said, "that if you do not like a certain damsel she will spread the word that you dislike all ladies? In this way she saves her vanity and proves you are not a man."

  "But those who dishonored your white shield?" asked Gawain.

  "They were right to say I hated them," said Marhalt. "But they should not have included all ladies. There is a kind of woman who deeply hates men and is jealous of real men. She it is who preys on weaknesses and tries to tear down men's strength by arts and tricks. Such ladies I dislike and such were those at the tower. But to all good ladies and gentlewomen I owe my service as a good knight should. Such ladies would not befoul a man's shield when he is absent or speak curses behind his back and then flee like frightened chickens when he returns. No--there are ladies living who can tell you differently about me."

  Then they spoke of knighthood and adventuring, and Sir Ewain said, "I must continue on as soon as I can. My name is clouded with the king through no fault of my own and I must prove my honor and my knighthood before all the world so that the king will hear of it."

  Gawain said, "I have no cloud except that I feel injustice has been put on my cousin and I will not leave his side in his quest for honor."

  Marhalt became gloomy. "I shall not like to see you go away," he said. "We make good companions. Will you not stay here with me?"

  "I may not, sir," said Ewain. "I have been banished and that is a shame that must be wiped out with brave deeds and honorable actions."

  "Well," said Sir Marhalt, "I may tell you that nearby begins a great and mysterious wood called the Forest of Arroy. No one has ever passed through it without finding wonders and dangers and more adventures than he can handle. Your talk has fired my blood. If you will permit, I will ride through the forest and share the excitement of your quest. I had forgotten how good questing can be."

  "We will be glad of your company, sir," said Gawain. "And even gladder of your strong arm." And they continued to speak of adventuring far into the night, and they spoke of battles and rescues of fair ladies, and they dreamed at last of fame well gained and honor in the world.

  Ewain said, "Sir, tell us about your lady who gave you the white shield so spitefully befouled."

  Sir Marhalt was silent and Sir Gawain said, "Cousin, your question is unmannerly. What a worthy knight does not tell of his own accord he does not wish to tell. Perhaps there was an oath, perhaps a jealous husband. You are young. You must learn."

  "It was an oath," said Marhalt hastily.

  "Forgive me, sir," said Ewain. "And thank you, cousin."

  In the morning the three companions prepared themselves for adventure--polished their armor, saw to the sharpness of their swords, and chose their spears with care that the grain of the ash was straight and balanced, for on these things life and victory depend. And when they mounted and rode toward the Forest of Arroy, which stood up darkly in the distance, Sir Gawain asked, "Sir, do you know the forest? What adventures may we hope to find?"

  "I do not know it," said Marhalt. "If I did, it would not be adventure. But knights who have passed by have told that it shelters wonders."

  It was a forest of oak and beech, laced with may and white thorn, tangled and guarded with briars. No opening showed on its dark frontier, so that they had to hack an entrance with their swords, but in a short time they came upon a path opened through the undergrowth by red deer and they followed the passage knowing it would lead to water and to pasturage, for deer must drink and graze. After a time they came to a valley of stones, square cut and tumbled about as though some ancient city had been pillaged and destroyed. Among the stones they saw a few hovels of piled stones like sheep cotes roofed with branches. A little stream of turbulent water gabbled do
wn from the farther hill, and after they had refreshed their horses and themselves they followed the watercourse up the slope to the source, where it bubbled from a spring that opened from the mossy mountainside. Above the spring on a ferny shelf three ladies sat under a cluster of birch trees. When the knights were close enough to see, they drew up and regarded the strange trio. One lady was past middle age, and with the lean memory of beauty, and she wore a heavy chaplet of gold on her white hair. Beside her sat one of thirty years, full-blown and handsome, a golden circlet on her auburn hair, and the third a lovely child of fifteen but lately come to be a woman and she had woven flowers in her golden hair, and all three wore the clothing of gentlewomen, embroidered in gold and silver thread, and their furred cloaks lay on the ground behind them.

  The knights approached slowly and removed their helmets in courtesy and saluted the seated three.

  Sir Marhalt spoke. "Ladies," he said, "we are errant knights ready for any adventure God may send. You are safe with us because we honor our knighthood, by which you are to understand we honor ladies."

  "You are welcome," said the oldest of the three.

  Sir Gawain said, "If you have made no contrary oath, tell us why you sit here as though waiting."

  And the second lady replied, "It is no mystery. We sit here waiting for knights errant such as you. It is our custom, just as questing is yours. If you agree we can lead you to adventures if you will follow our custom; each of you must choose one of us as his guide. When you have done so, we will conduct you to a place where three paths meet. There each of you will choose a path. Thus you have two unknown choices toward your fates, and only God can direct which course you take. Then each of us will ride with one of you toward whatever may be in store. But you must swear that twelve months hence, if you live, you will meet here again, and may God save your lives and send you luck."

  "Now that is well said," Sir Marhalt cried. "That is the way adventuring should be. But how shall we choose our ladies?"

  "As your hearts and minds direct," said the damsel, and she glanced at the young Sir Ewain and dropped her eyes and blushed.