The Death of King Arthur (41 page)

The two men met at the appointed time, and made their agreement. Wine was fetched, and they drank together. At that moment of assent, an adder came from the cover of a heath bush and stung one of Mordred's knights on the foot. The warrior unsheathed his sword to slay the snake, and was of course seen by Arthur's men. They feared the worst and, with drums and trumpets sounding, they fell upon the enemy. The two armies rushed at each other, their swords and lances raised. Arthur rode forth, whispering, ‘This day will not bring me good fortune.'

There never was, or will be, such a dreadful battle in any Christian land. There was nothing but blood and slaughter, savagery and sorrow. King Arthur led his troops into battle, swinging his sword from side to side, while Mordred fought him back with stroke and counterstroke. They exchanged bloody blows all that long day, until the knights were brought low on the cold earth. They fought until nightfall, when one hundred thousand warriors lay dead upon the field. Arthur was almost mad from grief, with all his men gone from his side. He looked about him, and could see only two knights of his allegiance. Yet these two – Sir Lucan and his brother, Sir Bedevere – were badly injured.

‘Have mercy on us, Jesus Our Saviour!' the king cried out. ‘What has happened to all of my noble knights? I should not have lived to see this doleful day. Now I have come near to my end! Yet I pray to God that I may yet see my son, Mordred, and slay him. He is the maker of all this mischief.' He looked over the field of battle and found him; Mordred was leaning on his sword among a heap of dead men. ‘Give me my spear,' Arthur said to Sir Lucan. ‘I have seen the traitor who has wrought all this woe.'

‘Let him be, sire,' Lucan replied. ‘Can you not see he is in despair? If you survive this day, then you will be sufficiently revenged. Do you not recall your dream? Do you not heed the words of Gawain concerning your fate? God has protected you so far. You have won the victory. The three of us are still alive, whereas Mordred is alone. He has lost all his men. So leave off now, sir king, and this dreadful day of destiny will pass.'

‘Whether I live or die, I will have my revenge upon him. What better time than now?'

‘Then God go with you,' Sir Bedevere told him.

Arthur took up his spear and ran towards Mordred, crying, ‘Traitor! Your death day has come!'

When Sir Mordred saw Arthur rushing upon him he took up his sword, ready to defend himself. Arthur caught his son in the body below the shield, and his spear went through the flesh; Mordred, knowing that he had received his death wound, forced himself along the length of the spear in terrible agony. Then with his sword he struck a great blow against the side of the king's head, breaking his helmet and cracking his skull open so that the brain could be seen. After that stroke, Mordred fell dead to the earth.

Arthur collapsed in a faint to the ground. Sir Lucan and Sir Bedevere supported him, and with great effort they carried him to a little chapel on the seashore where he might rest.

While they remained there, they heard the shouts and screams of people coming from the field of battle. ‘What noise is that?' Arthur asked. ‘Sir Lucan, can you return there and report to me?' So Lucan, grievously wounded though he was, made his way back to the site of the struggle. By the light of the moon he could see clearly enough that robbers and rioters were looting the bodies of the dead and the dying. They stripped the armour and the jewels from the corpses; they took the rings from their fingers, and the saddles from their horses; they finished off those who were wounded, and fell upon them. When Lucan understood that this had become a place of pillage, he went back to Arthur and informed him of what he had seen.

‘In my judgement,' he said, ‘it is best that we take you to some town close by. You will be safer there.'

‘I am of the same opinion. But look at me. I cannot stand upright. My head is . . .' Arthur seemed to waver. ‘Ah, Lancelot! I have missed you this day! Why was I ever against you? Now I am close to my death, as Gawain warned me in a dream.'

Sir Lucan and Sir Bedevere tried to lift up the king, but the effort was too great for Lucan. He fell in a swoon upon the ground, and his guts spilled from his body; then he died.

When the king saw that his follower had fallen, he set up a great lament. ‘Nothing but death and despair all around! He was so intent upon serving me that he did not save himself. He never complained, or cried out. Now Jesus have mercy on his soul.' Bedevere was bowed over in grief, weeping at the death of his brother. ‘We must leave aside our mourning,' the king told him quietly. ‘Weep no more, gentle knight. Tears will not help us. If I were going to live, I would cry for ever at the fate of Sir Lucan. But my time on earth passes quickly. I cannot stay. Therefore I beseech you to take my good sword, Excalibur. Here. Lift it up. I charge you to carry this sword to the lake that lies just beyond the edge of the forest. When you arrive at the lake, you must throw the sword into the water. Then come back and tell me what you saw and heard.'

‘My lord, I will obey your command and bring you word of what happens.' So Sir Bedevere departed. On his way to the lake, however, he looked more carefully at Excalibur; he noted how richly it was decorated with precious stones on the pommel and upper guard. ‘If I throw this costly sword into the water of the lake,' he said to himself, ‘it will be a great loss to the kingdom.' So he hid the sword under a bush and returned to Arthur. ‘I have fulfilled your order,' he said. ‘I have dispatched Excalibur into the lake.'

‘Then what did you see?' the king asked him.

‘Sir, I saw nothing but wind and water.'

‘You are lying to me. Go back to the forest and the lake. Take the sword and toss it into the water as I commanded you.'

Bedevere returned to the forest and retrieved the sword. Yet he still believed it to be a sin, and an indignity, to throw away such an expensive and noble weapon. So he hid it within a hollow tree, and once again lied to Arthur. ‘So what did you see?' the king asked him again.

‘I saw nothing, sire. Just the long lake beneath the sky.'

Arthur rose up from his bed of suffering. ‘You are a false traitor to me, Bedevere. You have betrayed me twice. Who would believe that so dearly loved and cherished a knight would covet my sword? Will you deceive me for the sake of some jewels? Now return as quickly as you can. Take up the sword and throw it into the lake. Your long delay has brought me closer to death. I feel the cold coming upon me. If you disobey me again, I will kill you with my own hands.'

Bedevere returned to the forest, took up the sword, and went with it to the water's edge. He wrapped the girdle around the sheath and hurled Excalibur into the lake as far as he might. Then a hand and arm rose from the water, took up the sword and brandished it; the hand waved the sword three times in the air, and then disappeared with it beneath the surface of the lake.

Sir Bedevere returned to the king, and told him what he had witnessed.

‘Help me now,' Arthur replied. ‘You must take me to the lake. My time has come.'

Bedevere lifted the king upon his back, and carried him to the side of the lake. As they stood there a dark barge crept over the waters towards them; Bedevere saw that this barge held many fair ladies, three sovereign queens among them, all of them wearing black hoods.

‘Now put me into the barge,' Arthur told him.

Very gently he lowered the king into the craft, and the ladies received him with great mourning. The king lay down and set his head softly in the lap of one queen. ‘Ah, my dear brother,' she whispered, ‘why have you waited so long to see me? The wound on your head is wide and cold.' It was Morgan le Fay, his sister.

Thereupon they rowed the barge away from the land. Bedevere watched them depart, and cried out in grief, ‘Ah, my lord Arthur, what shall become of me? I am alone now among all my enemies.'

‘Comfort yourself,' Arthur replied to him. ‘Trust in your own strength. Look not to me, for I can no longer help you. I must hurry to Avalon and be healed of my wound. If you never hear of me again, pray for my immortal soul.'

The ladies wept and wailed as they bore Arthur away on his last journey. Bedevere, standing alone on the shore, cried bitterly at this parting. He took himself into the forest, and roamed among its trees all night.

In the morning he saw, half-hidden in some rocks, a small chapel and hermitage. He walked into the chapel, where he saw a hermit kneeling on the ground and weeping beside a freshly dug grave. He knew him at once to be the Archbishop of Canterbury, whom Mordred in his pride and anger had banished so many months before. ‘Tell me, father,' he asked him, ‘what man is buried here? For whom do you pray?'

‘Fair son, I do not know. I can only imagine. Last night, at midnight, some ladies came here bearing a body. They begged me to bury him, offering me a hundred candles and a thousand gold coins.'

‘You have interred your king. My lord Arthur is buried here.' In his grief Bedevere fell down upon the floor. When he had recovered himself, he begged the hermit to let him stay as his companion. ‘I will never leave this place. I will kneel by the tomb in everlasting prayer.'

‘Welcome, sir. I know you already. I know you very well. You are Sir Bedevere the Bold, brother of the noble duke Sir Lucan.' Then Bedevere told the good priest the story of Arthur's death and departing. He put on the clothes of a poor hermit, and from that time forward began a life of prayer and penance.

I have learned no more of the death of Arthur. The hermit himself did not know for certain that the tomb contained his body. Nothing is written in the old books of England, except for the fact that the king was carried across the lake in the company of three queens. One was the sister of Arthur, known as Morgan le Fay; the second was the queen of North Wales; and the third was the queen of the Waste Lands. Some say that the Lady of the Lake, Dame Nineve, was also with them; but I have no sure proof of this. I have only the tale that Sir Bedevere has caused to be written. So I will leave him and the hermit, mourning by the sepulchre.

When Queen Guinevere learned that the king was dead, and that all his knights were killed, she rose up and with five ladies made her way to the abbey at Amesbury. She was professed, and took on the nun's habit of black and white; her life was spent in penance for her sins. And the people marvelled at her devotion.

Some men also say that Arthur is not dead, but by the will of Jesus Christ he will come to us again when we need him. I do not know. I will only say that here in this world he changed his life and that on his tomb at Glastonbury was written: HIC IACET ARTHURUS, REX QUONDAM REXQUE FUTURUS. That is to say: Here lies Arthur, the once and future king.

The Dolorous Death and Departing out of This World of Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere

Sir Lancelot had received the letter written by Gawain, and had learned of the treachery of Mordred. He was told, also, of Mordred's pursuit of Guinevere to the walls of the Tower. He summoned his knights, and angrily addressed them. ‘Now I know of the double treachery of Mordred. He has brought woe and wickedness into Arthur's land. This letter from Gawain – on whose soul God have mercy – tells me that the king is hard pressed on all sides. He has been betrayed by his own subjects. In this letter, too, Gawain begs me to visit his tomb. His sad words will never leave my heart. He was the noblest knight on earth. In an unhappy hour I was born, destined to slay Sir Gaheris, Sir Gareth and now Sir Gawain. Why cannot I kill Mordred, who deserves to die?'

‘Leave off your complaints,' Sir Bors told him. ‘Your first task is to avenge the death of Gawain. You must visit his tomb, as he asks you. Then you must march against Mordred and fight for Arthur's sake as well as for the honour of Queen Guinevere.'

‘Your advice is sound and strong, Sir Bors. Let us make haste.'

He marshalled his forces, and sailed with them over the sea to the shores of England. He had with him seven kings, and the sight of their armies was astounding. The people of Dover, however, cried out to him that he had come too late. They told him that both Arthur and Mordred were dead, having fought hand to hand, and that one hundred thousand warriors were slain on the field of battle. Sir Lancelot bowed his head. ‘This is the heaviest news that I have ever heard,' he said to them. ‘It touches my heart. Grant me this favour, good people. Take me to the tomb of Sir Gawain.'

So they brought him to Dover Castle, where the body of Gawain was buried. Lancelot kneeled in front of the sepulchre, weeping, and prayed for the soul of the noble knight. That night he proclaimed a great gift-giving. All those who came to the town would be granted fish and flesh, wine and ale, together with twelve pence. Dressed in a cloak of mourning, Lancelot himself distributed the pennies to the people. He wept, and urged them all to pray for the repose of Gawain.

On the next morning the priests and canons of the region assembled together for a solemn requiem. Lancelot paid one hundred pounds for perpetual masses to be performed in memory of the dead man; the seven kings each offered forty pounds, and a thousand knights each pledged one pound. So the soul of Gawain was secured.

Lancelot lay on the sepulchre for two nights, sighing and sorrowful. Then on the third day he summoned the leaders of his host. ‘My fair lords,' he said, ‘I thank you all for accompanying me here. As you know very well, we have arrived too late. I will regret this all my life, but who can rebel against death? It must be so. But I will do this. I will ride to my good lady, Queen Guinevere, and try to comfort her. I have heard that she is in great distress, and that she has fled somewhere to the west. I will follow her. I ask all of you to wait here for my return; if I do not come back within fifteen days, then board your ships and unfurl your sails. Return to your own lands.'