The Once and Future King

Chapter IV

Lancelot and Guenever looked over the sundown of chivalry, from the tower window. Their black profiles stood out in silhouette against the setting light. Lancelot’s, the old ugly man’s, was the outline of a gargoyle. It might have looked in hideous meditation from Notre Dame, his contemporary church. But, in its maturity, it was nobler than before. The lines of ugliness had sunk to rest as lines of strength. Like the bull-dog, which is one of the most betrayed of dogs, Lancelot had grown a face which people could trust.

The touching thing was that the two were singing. Their voices, no longer full in tone like those of people in the strength of youth, were still tenacious of the note. If they were thin, they were pure. They supported one another.

                 When that the month of May (sang Lancelot)

                 Comes and the day

                 In beames gives light,

                 I fear no more the fight.

                 When, sang Guenever,

                 When that the sonne,

                 His daily course y’ronne,

                 Is no more bright,

                 I fear namore the night.

                 But oh, they sang together,

                 But oh, both day and night,

                 My heart’s delight,

                 Must one day leave foredone

                 All might, all gone.

They stopped, with an unexpected grace-note on the portative, and Lancelot said: ‘Your voice is good. I’m afraid mine is getting rusty.’

‘You shouldn’t drink spirits.’

‘What an unfair thing to say! I have been nearly a teetotaller since the Grail.’

‘Well, I had rather you didn’t drink at all.’

‘Then I won’t drink, not even water. I will die of thirst at your feet, and Arthur will give me a splendid funeral, and never forgive you for making me.’

‘Yes, and I shall go into a Nunnery for my sins, and live happily ever after. What shall we sing now?’

Lancelot said: ‘Nothing. I don’t want to sing. Come and sit close to me, Jenny.’

‘Are you unhappy about something?’

‘No. I was never so happy in my life. And I dare say I shall never be so happy again.’

‘Why so happy?’

‘I don’t know. It is because the spring has come after all, and there is the bright summer in front of us. Your arms will go brown again, just a flush along the top here, and a rosy round elbow. I am not sure I don’t like the places where you bend best, like the insides of your elbows.’

Guenever retreated from these charming compliments.

‘I wonder what Arthur is doing?’

‘Arthur is visiting the Gawaines, and I am talking about your elbows.’

‘I see.’

‘Jenny, I was happy because you were ordering me about. That’s the explanation. You were nagging about not drinking too much. I like you to look after me, and to tell me what I ought to do.’

‘You seem to need it.’

‘I do need it,’ he said. And then, with a suddenness which surprised them both: ‘May I come tonight?’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Lance, please don’t ask. You know that Arthur is at home, and it is much too dangerous.’

‘Arthur won’t mind.’

‘If Arthur were to catch us,’ she said wisely, ‘he would have to kill us.’

He denied it.

‘Arthur knows all about us. Merlyn warned him in so many words, and Morgan le Fay sent him two broad hints, and then there was the trouble with Sir Meliagrance. But he doesn’t want to have things upset. He would never catch us unless he was made to.’

‘Lancelot,’ she said angrily, ‘I am not going to have you talking about Arthur as if he were a go-between.’

‘I am not talking about him like that. He was my first friend, and I love him.’

‘Then you are talking about me as if I were worse.’

‘And now you are behaving as if you were.’

‘Very well, if that is all you have to say, you had better go.’

‘So that you can make love to him, I suppose.’

‘Lancelot!’

‘Oh, Jenny!’ He jumped up, nimble as ever, and caught her. ‘Don’t be angry. I am sorry if I was unkind.’

‘Go away! Leave me alone.’

But he continued to hold her tightly, like someone restraining a wild animal from running away.

‘Don’t be angry. I am sorry. You know I didn’t mean it.’

‘You are a beast.’

‘No, I am not a beast, and nor are you. Jenny, I shall go on holding you until you stop being cross. I said it because I was miserable.’

Her muffled and restrained voice remarked plaintively: ‘You said you were happy just now.’

‘Well, I am not happy. I am very unhappy and miserable about the whole world.’

‘Do you suppose you are the only one?’

‘No, I don’t. And I am sorry for what I said. It will make me unhappy for having said it. There, please be a dear and don’t make me unhappy for longer?’

She relented. The years had smoothed their earlier tempers.

‘Then I won’t.’

But her smile and yielding only moved him afresh.

‘Come away with me, Jenny?’

‘Please don’t start it all over again.’

‘I can’t help starting,’ he said desperately. ‘I don’t know what to do. God, we have been going over this all our lives, but it seems to be worse in the spring. Why won’t you come with me to Joyous Gard and have the whole thing above board?’

‘Lance, let go of me and be sensible. There, sit down and we will have another song.’

‘But I don’t want to sing.’

‘And I don’t want to have all this.’

‘If you would come with me to Joyous Gard it would be finished, once for all. We could live together for our old age, anyway, and be happy, and not have to go on deceiving every day, and we should die in peace.’

‘You said that Arthur knew all about it,’ she said, ‘and that we were not deceiving him at all.’

‘Yes, but it is different. I love Arthur and I can’t stand it when I see him looking at me, and know that he knows. You see, Arthur loves us.’

‘But, Lance, if you love him so much, what is the good of running away with his wife?’

‘I want it to be in the open,’ he said stubbornly, ‘at least at the end.’

‘Well, I don’t want it to be.’

‘In fact,’ and now he was furious again, ‘what you really want is to have two husbands. Women always want everything.’

She declined the quarrel patiently.

‘I don’t want to have two husbands, and I am just as uncomfortable as you are: but what is the good of being in the open? As we are now it is horrible, but at least Arthur knows about it inside himself, and we still love each other and are safe. If I were to run away with you, the result would be that everything would be broken. Arthur would have to declare war on you and lay siege to Joyous Gard, and then one or other of you would be killed, if not both, and hundreds of other people would be killed, and nobody would be better off. Besides, I don’t want to leave Arthur. When I married him, I promised to stay with him, and he has always been kind to me, and I am fond of him. The least I can do is to go on giving him a home, and helping him, even if I do love you too. I can’t see the point of being in the open. Why should we make Arthur publicly miserable?’

Neither of them had noticed, in the deepening twilight, that the King himself had come in as she was speaking. Profiled against the window, they could see little of the room behind. But he had entered. He had stood for the fraction of a second collecting his wits, which had been far away considering the Orkneys or some other matter of state. He had stopped in the curtained doorway, his pale hand with the royal signet gleaming in the darkness as it held the tapestry aside – and then, without eavesdropping for a moment, he had let the tapestry fall and disappeared. He had gone to find a page to announce him.

‘The only decent thing,’ Lancelot was saying, twisting his hands together between his knees, ‘the only decent thing would be for me to go away, and not come back. But my brain didn’t stand it the other time, when I tried.’

‘My poor Lance, if only we had not stopped singing! Now you are going to get into a state again, and have one of your attacks. Why can’t we leave everything alone, and let your famous God look after it? It is no good trying to think, or do anything because it is right or wrong. I don’t know what is right or wrong. But can’t we trust ourselves, and do what does itself, and hope for the best?’

‘You are his wife and I am his friend.’

‘Well,’ she said, ‘who made us love each other?’

‘Jenny, I don’t know what to do.’

‘Then don’t do anything. Come here and give me a kind kiss, and God will look after us both.’

‘My sweetheart!’

This time the page clattered up the stairs with the usual noise, in the way of pages, bringing light with him at the same time. Arthur had ordered the candles.

The room glowed into colour round the lovers, who had released each other quickly. It began to show the splendours of its hangings as the boy put fire to the wicks. The flowery meads and bird-fruitful spinneys of the Arras teemed and rippled over the four walls. The door curtain lifted again, and the King was in the room.

He looked old, older than either of them. But it was the noble oldness of self-respect. Sometimes even nowadays you can meet a man of sixty or more who holds himself as straight as a rush, and whose hair is black. They were in that class. Lancelot, now that you could see him clearly, was an erect refinement of humanity – a fanatic for human responsibility. Guenever, and this might have been surprising to a person who had known her in her days of tempest, looked sweet and pretty. You could almost have protected her. But Arthur was the touching one of the three. He was so plainly dressed, so gentle and patient of his simple things. Often, when the Queen was entertaining distinguished company under the flambeaux of the Great Hall, Lancelot had found him sitting by himself in a small room, mending stockings. Now, in his homely blue gown – blue, since it was an expensive tincture in those days, was reserved for kings, or for saints and angels in pictures – he paused on the threshold of the gleaming room, and smiled.

‘Well, Lance. Well, Gwen.’

Guenever, still breathing quickly, returned his greeting. ‘Well, Arthur. You took us by surprise.’

‘I’m sorry. I have only just got back.’

‘How were the Gawaines?’ asked Lancelot, in the old tone which he had never succeeded in making natural.

‘They were having a fight when I arrived.’

‘How like them!’ they exclaimed. ‘What did you do? What were they fighting about?’ They made it sound as if it were a matter of life or death, getting the mood wrong because of their own.

The King looked steadily in front of him.

‘I didn’t ask.’

‘Some family affair,’ said the Queen, ‘no doubt.’

‘No doubt it was.’

‘I hope nobody got hurt?’

‘Nobody got hurt.’

‘Well then,’ she cried, noticing that her relief sounded absurd, ‘that was all right.’

‘Yes, that was all right.’

They saw that his eyes were twinkling. He was amused at their trouble, and the atmosphere was normal.

‘Now,’ said the King, ‘need we talk about the Gawaines any more? Do I never get a kiss from my wife?’

‘Dear.’

She drew his head towards her and kissed him on the forehead, thinking of him as a faithful old thing – her friendly bear.

Lancelot stood up. ‘Perhaps I ought to be off.’

‘Don’t go, Lance. It is nice to have you to ourselves for a little. Come: sit by the fire, and sing us a song. We shall be able to do without the fires soon.’

‘So we shall,’ said Guenever. ‘Fancy, it will soon be summer.’

‘Still, it is nice to sit by the fire – at home.’

‘It is nice for you in your home,’ said Lancelot peculiarly.

‘But what?’

‘I have no home.’

‘Never mind, Lance, you will. Wait until you are my age, and then start worrying about it.’

‘It is not,’ said the Queen, ‘as if every woman you met didn’t chase you for miles.’

‘With a hatchet,’ added Arthur.

‘Half of them actually propose.’

‘And then you complain about not having a home.’

Lancelot began to laugh, and the last strand of tension seemed to have broken.

‘Would you,’ he asked, ‘marry a woman who chased you with a hatchet?’

The King considered the matter gravely before he answered.

‘I couldn’t do that,’ he said in the end, ‘because I am married already.’

‘To Gwen,’ said Lancelot.

It was peculiar. They seemed to have started talking with meanings which were separate from the words they used. It was like ants talking with their antennae.

‘To Queen Guenever,’ said the King, in contradiction.

‘Or Jenny?’ suggested the Queen.

‘Yes,’ he agreed, but only after a long pause, ‘or Jenny.’

There was a deeper silence, until Lancelot rose for the second time.

‘Well, I must go.’

Arthur put one hand on his arm.

‘No, Lance, stay a minute. I want to tell Guenever something this evening, and I would like you to hear it too. We have been together such a long time. I want to make a clean breast about an old business to both of you, because you are one of the family.’

Lancelot sat down.

‘That’s right. Now give me a hand each, both of you, and I shall sit between you like this. There. My Queen and my Lance, and neither of you is to blame me for what I am going to tell.’

Lancelot said bitterly: ‘We are not in a position to blame people, King.’

‘No? Well, I don’t know what you mean by that; but I want to tell you the story of something which I did when I was young. It was before I was married to Gwen, and long before you were knighted. Will you mind if I do that?’

‘Of course we shan’t mind, if you want to.’

‘But we don’t believe you did anything wrong.’

‘It started before I was born, really, for my father fell in love with the Countess of Cornwall, and killed the Earl in order to get her. She was my mother. You know that part of the story.’

‘Yes.’

‘Perhaps you didn’t know that I was born at rather an awkward date. It was too soon after the marriage of my father and mother. That was why they hushed me up altogether, and sent me off in my swaddling bands to be brought up by Sir Ector. Merlyn was the person who took me.’

‘And then,’ said Lancelot cheerfully, ‘you were brought back to court when your father died, and pulled a magic sword out of a stone, which proved that you were the rightful King born of all England, and lived happily ever afterward, and that was the end of that. I don’t call it a bad story.’

‘Unfortunately that was not the end.’

‘How?’

‘Well, my dears, I was taken away from my mother the moment I was born, and she never knew where I was taken. Nor did I know who my mother was. The only people who knew the relationship between us were Uther Pendragon and Merlyn. Many years afterward, when I was already a king, I met my mother’s family, still without knowing who they were. Uther was dead, and Merlyn was always so muddled with his second sight that he had forgotten to tell me, and so we met as strangers. I thought that one of them was clever and handsome.’

‘The famous Cornwall sisters,’ mentioned the Queen coldly.

‘Yes, dear, the famous Cornwall sisters. There were three daughters by the former Earl, and of course, though I did not know it, they were my half-sisters. They were called Morgan le Fay, Elaine, and Morgause, and they were considered to be the most beautiful women in Britain.’

They waited for his quiet voice to resume, which it did without a falter.

‘I fell in love with Morgause,’ it added, ‘and we had a baby.’

If either of them felt surprise, resentment, commiseration or envy, they did not show it. The only surprising thing to them was that the secret had been kept so long. But they could tell from his voice that he was suffering and that he did not want to be interrupted until he had purged his heart in full.

They stared into the fire for the longest of their silences. Then Arthur shrugged his shoulders.

‘So, you see,’ he said, ‘I am Mordred’s father. Gawaine and the others are nephews, but he is my full son.’

Lancelot saw by the eyes that he might speak.

‘I don’t think your story is wicked, even at that. You didn’t know she was your half-sister. You hadn’t met Gwen. And probably, knowing her subsequent history, it was the fault of Morgause in any case. That woman was a devil.’

‘She was my sister – and the mother of my son.’

Guenever stroked his hand.

‘I am sorry.’

‘Besides,’ he said, ‘she was a very beautiful creature.’

‘Morgause …’ began Lancelot.

‘Morgause has paid for her share by having her head cut off, so we must leave her to rest in peace.’

‘Cut off,’ said Lancelot, ‘by her own child, because he found her sleeping with Sir Lamorak …’

‘Please, Lancelot.’

‘I am sorry.’

‘I still don’t think it was wicked of you, Arthur. After all, you didn’t know she was your sister.’

The King took a long breath, and began again more huskily.

‘I have not told you,’ he said, ‘the worst part of what I did.’

‘What was that?’

‘You see, I was young, I was nineteen. And Merlyn came, too late, to say what had happened. Everybody told me what a dreadful sin it was, and how nothing but sorrow would come of it, and also a lot of other things about what Mordred would be like if he was born. They frightened me with horrible prophecies, and I did something which has haunted me ever since. Our mother had hidden Morgause away as soon as it was known.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I let them make a proclamation that all the children born at a certain time were to be put in a big ship and floated out to sea. I wanted to destroy Mordred for his own sake, and I didn’t know where he would be born.’

‘Did they do it?’

‘Yes, the ship was floated off, and Mordred was on it, and it was wrecked on an island. Most of the poor babies were drowned, but God saved Mordred, and sent him back to shame me afterwards. Morgause sprang him on me one day, long after she had got him back. But she always pretended to other people that he was a proper son of Lot’s, like Gawaine and the rest. Naturally she didn’t want to talk about the business to outside people, and neither have the rest of his brothers.’

‘Well,’ said Guenever, ‘if nobody knows about it except the Orkneys and ourselves, and if Mordred is safe and sound …’

‘You mustn’t forget the other babies,’ he said miserably. ‘I dream about them.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us before?’

‘I was ashamed to.’

This time Lancelot exploded.

‘Arthur,’ he exclaimed, ‘you have nothing to be ashamed of. What you did was done to you, when you were too young to know better. If I could lay my hands on the brutes who frighten children with stories about sin, I would break their necks. What good does it do? Think of all that suffering, and for nothing! And the poor babies!’

‘All drowned.’

They sat again, looking into the flames, until Guenever turned to her husband.

‘Arthur,’ she asked, ‘why did you tell the story today?’

He waited, collecting the words.

‘It is because I am afraid that Mordred bears me a grudge, poor boy – and rightly too.’

‘Treason?’ inquired the commander-in-chief.

‘Well, not exactly treason, Lance; but I think he is dissatisfied.’

‘Cut the sniveller’s head off, and have done with him.’

‘No, I could never think of it! You forget that Mordred is my son. I am fond of him. I have done the boy a great deal of wrong, and my family has always somehow been hurting the Cornwalls, and I couldn’t add to the wickedness. Besides, I am his father. I can see myself in him.’

‘There does not seem to be a great resemblance.’

‘But there is. Mordred is ambitious and fond of honour, as I always was. It is only because he has a weak body that he has failed in our sports, and this has embittered him, as it probably would have embittered me if I had not been lucky. He is brave, too, in a queer way, and he is loyal to his people. You see, his mother set him against me, which was natural, and I stand for the bad things in his mind. He is almost sure to get me killed in the end.’

‘Are you seriously advancing this as a reason for not killing him now?’

The King suddenly looked surprised, or shocked. He had been sitting relaxed between them, because he was tired and unhappy, yet now he drew himself up and met his captain in the eye.

‘You must remember I am the King of England. When you are a king you can’t go executing people as the fancy takes you. A king is the head of his people, and he must stand as an example to them, and do as they wish.’

He forgave the startled expression in Lancelot’s face, and took his hand once more.

‘You will find,’ he explained, ‘that when the kings are bullies who believe in force, the people are bullies too. If I don’t stand for law, I won’t have law among my people. And naturally I want my people to have the new law, because then they are more prosperous, and I am more prosperous in consequence.’

They watched him, wondering what he meant to convey. He held the look, trying to speak with their eyes.

‘You see, Lance, I have to be absolutely just. I can’t afford to have any more things like those babies on my conscience. The only way I can keep clear of force is by justice. Far from being willing to execute his enemies, a real king must be willing to execute his friends.’

‘And his wife?’ asked Guenever.

‘And his wife,’ he said gravely.

Lancelot moved uncomfortably on the settle, remarking with an attempt at humour: ‘I hope you won’t be cutting off the Queen’s head very soon?’

The King still held his hand, still looked upon him.

‘If Guenever or you, Lancelot, were proved to be guilty of a wrong to my kingdom, I should have to cut off both your heads.’

‘Goodness me,’ she exclaimed. ‘I hope nobody is going to prove that!’

‘I hope so too.’

‘And Mordred?’ asked Lancelot, after a time.

‘Mordred is an unhappy young man, and I am afraid he might try any means of giving me an upset. If, for instance, he could see a way of getting at me through you, dear, or through Gwen, I am sure he would try it. Do you see what I mean?’

‘I see.’

‘So if there should ever come a moment when either of you might, well … might give him a sort of handle … you will be careful of me, won’t you? I am in your hands, dears.’

‘But it seems so senseless …’

‘You have been kind to him,’ said Lancelot, ‘since he came here. Why should he want to harm …’

The King folded his hands in his lap, seemed under his lowered lids to be looking on the flames.

‘You forget,’ he said gently, ‘that I never managed to give Gwen a son. When I am dead, Mordred may be the King of England.’

‘If he tries any treason,’ said Lancelot, clenching his fists, ‘I will kill him myself.’

Immediately the blue-veined hand was on his arm.

‘That is the one thing you must never do, Lance. Whatever Mordred does, and even if he makes an attempt on my life, you must promise to remember that he is a sort of heir apparent to the blood. I have been a wicked man …’

‘Arthur,’ exclaimed the Queen, ‘you are not to say so. It is so ridiculous that it makes me feel ashamed.’

‘You would not call me a wicked man?’ he asked in surprise.

‘Of course not.’

‘But I should have thought, after the story of these babies …’

‘Nobody,’ cried Lancelot fiercely, ‘would dream of such a thought.’

The King stood up in the firelight, looking puzzled and pleased. He considered it ridiculous to suppose that he was not wicked, but he was grateful for their love.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘in any case I don’t propose to be wicked any longer. It is a king’s business to prevent bloodshed if he can, not to provoke it.’

He looked at them once more, under his eyebrows.

‘So now, my dears,’ he ended cheerfully, ‘I shall run along to the Court of Pleas, and arrange some of our famous justice. You stay here with Gwen, Lance, and cheer her up after that wretched story – there’s a good fellow.’