The Once and Future King

Chapter XLII

When the mounted archers rode back crestfallen, saying that they had been unable to shoot the boy, Sir Meliagrance knew what was going to happen. He was distracted with misery, not only because he knew that he had been acting unwisely and wickedly, but also because he was genuinely in love with the Queen. He still had a kick in him, however, and he saw that after having gone so far it was too late to retreat. Lancelot would be bound to come in answer to the message, and it was necessary to gain time. The castle was not ready for a siege – but, if it could be got ready, there would be a fair prospect of making terms with the besiegers, considering that the Queen would be inside. Sir Lancelot must be stopped at all costs, until the castle had been put in posture of defence. He guessed correctly that Lancelot would come riding helter-skelter to the Queen’s aid, as soon as he could get himself armed. The best way of stopping him would be with a second ambush, at a narrow glade in the wood which he would have to ride through – a glade so narrow that archers would certainly be able to kill his horse, if not to pierce his armour. Since the Troubled Times, all roads had been cleared of undergrowth for the distance of a bowshot on either side – but this glade, on account of peculiarities in the terrain, had been overlooked. And a well-shot arrow at fair range could penetrate the best armour, as Meliagrance knew.

So the ambush was sent out post-haste, and everything within the castle was at sixes and sevens. Herdsmen were driving beasts into the keep – and all the beasts strayed, or got muddled with each other, or would not go through gates. Pump boys were feverishly bringing water to the great tubs – it was one of those futile castles, which appear to have originated in Ireland, whose bailey was without a well. Maids were running about on the verge of hysterics – for Sir Meliagrance, like many people out of the wrong drawer, was determined to receive his captive Queen in a way which would be above criticism. They were making boudoirs for her, and taking the tapestries out of his bachelor bedroom to go in hers, and polishing the silver, and sending to the nearest neighbours for the loan of gold plate. Guenever herself, ushered into a small waiting-room while the state apartments were made ready for her reception, added to the confusion by insisting on bandages and hot water and stretchers for her wounded men. Sir Meliagrance, running up and down stairs with cries of ‘Yes, Ma’am, in ’arf a minute’ or ‘Marian, Marian, where the ’ell have you put the candles?’ or ‘Murdoch, take them sheep out of the solar this instant,’ found time to lean his forehead against the cold stone of an embrasure, to clutch his bewildered heart, to curse his folly, and further to disarrange his already disordered plots.

The Queen was the first to get her affairs in order. She only had the bandaging to arrange, and naturally her wants were the earliest to be attended. She was sitting with her waiting-women at one of the windows of the castle, a sort of calm-centre in the middle of the whirlwind, when one of the girls called out that something was coming down the road.

‘It is a cart,’ said the Queen. ‘It will be something to do with the provisions of the castle.’

‘There is a knight in the cart,’ said the girl, ‘a knight in armour. I suppose somebody is taking him away to be hanged.’

In those days it was considered disgraceful to ride in a cart.

Later, they saw that there was a horse trotting behind the cart – which was coming at a great gallop – with its reins dangling in the dust. Later still they were horrified to see that all the entrails of the horse were dangling in the dust also. It was stuck full of arrows like a porcupine, and trotted along with a strange look of unconcernedness. Perhaps it was numbed by shock. It was Lancelot’s horse, and Lancelot was in the cart, beating the cart-horse with his scabbard. He had fallen into the ambush as expected, had spent some time trying to get at his assailants – who had escaped the heavy dismounted iron man easily, by jumping over hedges and ditches – and then he had set out to walk the rest of the way, in spite of his armour. Meliagrance had counted on the impossibility of such a walk, for a man dressed in an equipment which may have weighed as much as himself – but he had not counted on the cart which Lancelot commandeered. A measure of the great man’s anxiety about the Queen on this occasion is that he is said to have swum his horse across the Thames at the beginning of the ride, from Westminster Bridge to Lambeth, in spite of the fact that, if anything had gone wrong, his armour would certainly have drowned him.

‘How dare you say it was a knight going to be hanged?’ exclaimed the Queen. ‘You are a hussy. How dare you compare Sir Lancelot to a felon?’

The wretched girl blushed and held her tongue, while Lancelot could be seen throwing his reins to the terrified carter, and storming up the drawbridge, shouting at the top of his voice.

Sir Meliagrance heard of the arrival just as Lancelot was bursting in at the Great Gate. A flustered porter, taken by surprise, tried to shut it in his face, but received a blow on the ear from the iron fist, which knocked him flat. The gate swung open, undefended. Lancelot was in one of his rare passions, possibly on account of the sufferings of his horse.

Meliagrance, who had been overseeing some men-at-arms while they broke up the wooden sheds on the Great Court as a precaution against Greek Fire, lost his nerve. He sprinted for the back stairs and was already kneeling at the Queen’s feet, while Lancelot was raging round the Porter’s lodge, demanding the Queen.

‘What is the matter now?’ asked Guenever, looking at the extraordinary, vulgar man who sprawled before her – a look, curiously enough, not without affection. After all, it is a compliment to be kidnapped for love, especially when all ends happily.

‘I yield, I yield!’ cried Sir Meliagrance. ‘Ow, I yield to you, dear Queen. Save me from that Sir Lancelot!’

Guenever was looking radiantly beautiful. It may have been the Maying, or the compliment which the cockney Knight had paid her, or some premonition such as comes to women before their joy. At any rate she was feeling happy, and she bore no grudge against her captor.

‘Very well,’ she said, cheerfully and wisely. ‘The less noise there is about this, the better for my reputation. I will try to calm Sir Lancelot.’

Sir Meliagrance positively whistled with relief, he sighed so hard.

‘That’s right,’ he said. ‘That’s the old cock sparrer – ahem! ahem! Beg pardon, I’m sure. Will it please your gracious Majesty to stye the night at Meliagrance Castle, when you ’ave been and calmed Sir Lancelot, for the sike of your wounded knights?’

‘I don’t know,’ said the Queen.

‘You could all go awai in the morning,’ urged Sir Meliagrance, ‘and we could sye no more abaht it. It would be more regular like. You could sye you was here on a visit.’

‘Very well,’ said the Queen, and she went down to Lancelot while Sir Meliagrance mopped his brow.

He was standing in the Inner Court, shouting for his enemy. When Guenever saw him, and he saw her, the old electric message went between their eyes before they spoke a word. It was as if Elaine and the whole Quest for the Grail had never been. So far as we can make it out, she had accepted her defeat. He must have seen in her eyes that she had given in to him, that she was prepared to leave him to be himself – to love his God, and to do whatever he pleased – so long as he was only Lancelot. She was serene and sane again. She had renounced her possessive madness and was joyful to see him living, whatever he did. They were young creatures – the same creatures whose eyes had met with the almost forgotten click of magnets in the smoky Hall of Camelot so long ago. And, in truly yielding, she had won the battle by mistake.

‘What is all the fuss about?’ asked the Queen.

They had a light, bantering tone. They were in love again.

‘You may well ask.’

Then he added in an angrier voice, and flushing: ‘He has shot my horse.’

‘Thank you for coming,’ said the Queen. Her voice was gentle. It was the first voice he remembered. ‘Thank you for coming so fast and so bravely. But he has given in, and we must forgive him.’

‘It was shameful to murder my poor horse.’

‘We have made it up.’

‘If I had known you were going to make it up,’ said Lancelot rather jealously, ‘I would not have nearly killed myself in coming.’

The Queen took his bare hand. The gauntlet was off.

‘Are you sorry,’ she asked, ‘because you have done so well?’

He was silent.

‘I don’t care about him,’ said the Queen, blushing. ‘I only thought it would be better not to have a scandal.’

‘I don’t want a scandal any more than you do.’

‘You must do as you please,’ said the Queen. ‘Fight him if you like. You are the one to choose.’

Lancelot looked at her.

‘Madam,’ he said, ‘so ye be pleased, I care not. As for my part, ye shall soon please.’

He always fell into the grandeur of the High Language, when he was moved.