The Once and Future King (31 page)

From every port he had written to her. He had given letters to the innkeepers everywhere, and they had promised like anything to send them on. But she had never sent a syllable in reply.

It was because he was unworthy, decided the King. He was vague and not clever and always getting in a muddle. Why should the daughter of the Queen of Flanders write to a person like that, especially when he had gone and got into a magic boat and sailed away? It was like deserting her, and of course she was right to be angry. Meanwhile it would keep raining, and the water did trickle so, and now that brachet was sneezing. The armour would be rusty, and there was a sort of draught down the back of his neck where the helmet screwed on. It was dark and horrible. Some sticky stuff was dripping off the cliffs.

‘Excuse me, Sir Grummore, but is that you snuffling in my ear?’

‘No, no, my dear fellow. Go on, go on. I am only doin’ my bayin’ as well as I can.’

‘It is not the baying I refer to, Sir Grummore, but a kind of breathing noise of a husky nature.’

‘My dear chap, it’s no good askin’ me. All you can hear in here is a kind of creakin’, like a bellows.’

‘Yours truly thinks the rain is going to stop. Do you mind if we stop, too?’

‘Well, Palomides, if you must stop, you must. But if we don’t get this over quickly, I shall get my stitch again. What do you want to stop for?’

‘I wish it was not so dark.’

‘But you can’t stop just because it is dark.’

‘No. One appreciates that.’

‘Go on, then, old boy. Left! Right! That’s the ticket.’

‘I say, Grummore,’ said Sir Palomides later. ‘There it is again.’

‘What is?’

‘The puffing, Sir Grummore.’

‘Are you sure it is not me?’ inquired Sir Grummore.

‘Positive. It is a menacing or amorous puff, similar to the grampus. This paynim sincerely wishes that it were not so dark.’

‘Ah, well, we can’t have everythin’. Now march on, Palomides, there’s a good fellow, do.’

After a bit, Sir Grummore said sepulchrally:

‘Dear old boy, can’t you stop bumpin’ all the time?’

‘But I am not bumping, Sir Grummore.’

‘Well, what is, then?’

‘Yours faithfully can feel no bumps.’

‘Somethin’ keeps bumpin’ me behind.’

‘Is it your tail, perhaps?’

‘No. I have that wound round me.’

‘In any case it would be impossible to bump you from the back, because the forelegs are in front.’

‘There it is again!’

‘What?’

‘The bump! It was a definite assault. Palomides, we are bein’ attacked!’

‘No, no, Sir Grummore. You are imagining things.’

‘Palomides, we must turn round!’

‘What for, Sir Grummore?’

‘To see what is bumping me behind.’

‘Yours truly can see nothing, Sir Grummore. It is too dark.’

‘Put your hand out of your mouth, and see what you can feel.’

‘I can feel a sort of round thing.’

‘That is me, Sir Palomides. That is me, from the back.’

‘Sincere apologies, Sir Grummore.’

‘Not at all, my dear chap, not at all. What else can you feel?’

The kindly Saracen’s voice began to falter.

‘Something cold,’ he said, ‘and – slippery.’

‘Does it move, Palomides?’

‘It moves, and – it snuffles!’

‘Snuffles?’

‘Snuffles!’

At this moment the moon came out.

‘Merciful powers!’ cried Sir Palomides, in a high squealing voice, as he peered out of his mouth. ‘Run, Grummore, run! Left, right! Quick march! Double march! Faster, faster! Keep in step! Oh, my poor heels! Oh, my God! Oh, my hat!’

It was no good, decided the King. Probably they had got lost, or wandered off somewhere to amuse themselves. It was beastly wet, as it nearly always was in Lothian, and really he had done his best to fall in with their plans. Now they had wandered off – one might almost say inconsiderately – and left him with his wretched brachet to get rusty. It was too bad.

With a determined motion he marched away to bed, heaving the brachet along behind him.

Half—way up a fissure in one of the steepest cliffs, with most of its buttons burst, the counterfeit Beast was arguing with its stomach.

‘But my dear knight, how could yours truly foresee a calamity of this nature?’

‘You thought of it,’ replied the stomach furiously. ‘You made us dress up. It is your fault.’

At the foot of the cliff the Questing Beast herself, in a sentimental attitude, waited in the romantic moonlight for her better half. Behind her was a background of the silver sea. In various parts of the landscape several dozens of bent and distorted Old Ones were intently examining the situation from the concealment of rocks, sandhills, shell—mounds, igloos and so forth – still vainly trying to fathom the subtle secrets of the English.

In Bedegraine it was the night before the battle. A number of bishops were blessing the armies on both sides, hearing confessions and saying Mass. Arthur’s men were reverent about this, but King Lot’s men were not – for such was the custom in all armies that were going to be defeated. The bishops assured both sides that they were certain to win, because God was with them, but King Arthur’s men knew that they were outnumbered by three to one, so they thought it was best to get shriven. King Lot’s men, who also knew the odds, spent the night dancing, drinking, dicing and telling each other dirty stories. This is what the chronicles say, at any rate.

In the King of England’s tent, the last staff talk had been held, and Merlyn had stayed behind to have a chat. He was looking worried.

‘What are you worried about, Merlyn? Are we going to lose this battle, after all?’

‘No. You will win the battle all right. There is no harm in telling you so. You will do your best, and fight hard, and call in You—know—whom at the right moment. It will be in your nature to win the battle, so it doesn’t matter telling you. No. It is something else which I ought to have told you that is worrying me just now.’

‘What was it about?’

‘Gracious heavens! Why should I be worrying if I could remember what it was about?’

‘Was it about the maiden called Nimue?’

‘No. No. No. No. That’s quite a different business. It was something – it was something I can’t remember.’

After a bit, Merlyn took his beard out of his mouth and began counting on his fingers.

‘I have told you about Guenever, haven’t I?’

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘No matter. And I have warned you about her and Lancelot.’

‘That warning,’ said the King, ‘would be a base one anyway, whether it was true or false.’

‘Then I have said the bit about Excalibur, and how you must be careful of the sheath?’

‘Yes.’

‘I have told you about your father, so it can’t be him, and I have given the hint about the person.

‘What is confounding me,’ exclaimed the magician, pulling out his hair in tufts, ‘is that I can’t remember whether it is in the future or in the past.’

‘Never mind about it,’ said Arthur. ‘I don’t like knowing the future anyway. I had much rather you didn’t worry about it, because it only worries me.’

‘But it is something I must say. It is vital.’

‘Stop thinking about it,’ suggested the King. ‘and then perhaps it will come back. You ought to take a holiday. You have been bothering your head too much lately, what with all these warnings and arranging about the battle.’

‘I
will
take a holiday,’ exclaimed Merlyn. ‘As soon as the battle is over, I will go on a walking tour into North Humberland. I have a Master called Bleise who lives in North Humberland, and perhaps he will be able to tell me what it is I am trying to remember. Then we could have some wild fowl watching. He is a great man for wild fowl.’

‘Good,’ said Arthur. ‘You take a long holiday. Then, when you come back, we can think of something to prevent Nimue.’

The old man stopped fiddling with his fingers, and looked sharply at the King.

‘You are an innocent fellow, Arthur,’ he said. ‘And a good thing too, really.’

‘Why?’

‘Do you remember anything about the magic you had when you were small?’

‘No. Did I have some magic? I can remember that I was interested in birds and beasts. Indeed, that is why I still keep
my menagerie at the Tower. But I don’t remember about magic.’

‘People don’t remember,’ said Merlyn. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t remember about the parables I used to tell you, when I was trying to explain things?’

‘Of course I do. There was one about some Rabbi or other which you told me when I wanted to take Kay somewhere. I never could understand why the cow died.’

‘Well, I want to tell you another parable now.’

‘I shall love it.’

‘In the East, perhaps in the same place which that Rabbi Jachanan came from, there was a certain man who was walking in the market of Damascus when he came face to face with Death. He noticed an expression of surprise on the spectre’s horrid countenance, but they passed one another without speaking. The fellow was frightened, and went to a wise man to ask what should be done. The wise man told him that Death had probably come to Damascus to fetch him away next morning. The poor man was terrified at this, and asked however he could escape. The only way they could think of between them was that the victim should ride all night to Aleppo, thus eluding the skull and bloody bones.

‘So this man did ride to Aleppo – it was a terrible ride which had never been done in one night before – and when he was there he walked in the market—place, congratulating himself on having eluded Death.

‘Just then, Death came up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” he said, “but I have come for you.” “Why,” exclaimed the terrified man, “I thought I met you in Damascus yesterday!” “Exactly,” said Death. “That was why I looked surprised – for I had been told to meet you today, in Aleppo.”’

Arthur reflected on this gruesome chestnut for some time, then he said:

‘So it is no good trying to escape Nimue?’

‘Even if I wanted to,’ said Merlyn, ‘it would be no good. There is a thing about Time and Space which the philosopher Einstein is going to find out. Some people call it Destiny.’

‘But what I can’t get over is this toad—in—the—hole business.’

‘Ah, well,’ said Merlyn, ‘people will do a lot for love. And then the toad is not necessarily unhappy in its hole, not more than when you are asleep, for instance. I shall do some considering, until they let me out again.’

‘So they will let you out?’

‘I will tell you something else, King, which may be a surprise for you. It will not happen for hundreds of years, but both of us are to come back. Do you know what is going to be written on your tombstone?
Hic jacet Arthurus Rex quondam Rexque futurus.
Do you remember your Latin? It means, the once and future king.’

‘I am to come back as well as you?’

‘Some say from the vale of Avilion.’

The King thought about it in silence. It was full night outside, and there was stillness in the bright pavilion. The sentries, moving on the grass, could not be heard.

‘I wonder,’ he said at last, ‘whether they will remember about our Table?’

Merlyn did not answer. His head was bowed on the white beard and his hands clasped between his knees.

‘What sort of people will they be, Merlyn?’ cried the young man’s voice, unhappily.

The Queen of Lothian had taken to her chamber, cutting off communication with her guests, and Pellinore broke his fast alone. Afterwards he went for a walk along the beach, admiring the gulls who flew above him like white quill pens whose heads had been neatly dipped in ink. The old cormorants stood like crucifixes on the rocks, drying their wings. He was feeling sad as usual, but he was also feeling uncomfortable, because he was missing something. He did not know what it was. He was missing Palomides and Grummore, if he had been able to remember.

Presently he was attracted by shouting, and went to investigate.

‘Here, Pellinore! Hi! We are over here!’

‘Why, Grummore,’ he asked with interest, ‘whatever are you doing up that cliff?’

‘Look at the Beast, man, look at the Beast!’

‘Oh, hallo, you have got old Glatisant.’

‘My dear chap, for heaven’s sake do something. We have been here all night.’

‘But why are you dressed up like that, Grummore? You have got spots, or something. And what has Palomides got on his head?’

‘Don’t stand there arguin’, man.’

‘But you have a sort of tail, Grummore. I can see it hanging down behind.’

‘Of course I have a tail. Can’t you stop talkin’ and do somethin’? We have been in this damned crevice all night, and we are droppin’ with fatigue. Go on, Pellinore, kill that Beast of yours at once.’

‘Oh, I say, whatever should I want to kill her for?’

‘Good gracious heavens, haven’t you been tryin’ to kill her for the last eighteen years? Now, come along, Pellinore, be a good chap and do somethin’. If you don’t do somethin’ quick, we shall both tumble out.’

‘What I can’t understand,’ said the King plaintively, ‘is why you should be in this cliff at all. And why are you dressed up like that? You look as if you were dressed as a sort of Beast yourselves. And where did the Beast come from, anyway, what? I mean, the whole thing is so sudden.’

‘Pellinore, once and for all, will you kill that Beast?’

‘Why?’

‘Because it has chased us up this cliff.’

‘It is unusual for the Beast,’ remarked the King. ‘She does not generally take an interest in people like this.’

‘Palomides,’ said Sir Grummore hoarsely, ‘says he believes she has fallen in love with us.’

‘Fallen in love?’

‘Well, you see, we were dressed up as a Beast.’

‘Like likes Like,’ explained Sir Palomides faintly.

King Pellinore slowly began to laugh for the first time since he had arrived in Lothian.

‘Well!’ he said. ‘Bless my soul! Did you ever hear of anything to match it? Why does Palomides think she has fallen for him?’

‘The Beast,’ said Sir Grummore with dignity, ‘has been walkin’ round and round the cliff all night. She has been rubbin’ herself against it, and purrin’. And she sometimes curls her neck round the rocks, and gazes up at us in a sort of way.’

‘What sort of way, Grummore?’

‘My dear fellow, look at her now.’

The Questing Beast, who had not paid the least attention to the arrival of her master, was staring up at Sir Palomides with her soul in her eyes. Her chin was pressed to the foot of the cliffs in a passion of devotion, and occasionally she gave her tail a wag. She moved it laterally on the surface of pebbles, where its numerous heraldic tufts and foliations made a rustling noise, and sometimes she scratched the bluff with a small whimper. Then, feeling that she had been too forward, she would arch her graceful serpent neck and hide her head beneath her belly, peeping upwards from the corner of one eye.

‘Well, Grummore, what do you want me to do?’

‘We want to come down,’ said Grummore.

‘I can see that,’ said the King. ‘It seems a sensible idea. Mind you, I don’t understand exactly how the whole thing started, what, but I can see that, absolutely.’

‘Then kill it, Pellinore. Kill the wretched creature.’

‘Oh, really,’ said the King. ‘I don’t know about that! After all, what harm has she done? All the world loves a lover. I don’t see why the poor beastie should be killed, just because she has got the gentle passion. I mean to say, I am in love myself, amn’t I, what? It gives you a sort of fellow feeling.’

‘King Pellinore,’ said Sir Palomides definitely, ‘unless some steps are taken pretty dam’ quick, yours affectionately will be instantaneously martyred, RIP.’

‘But, my dear Palomides, I can’t possibly kill the old Beast, don’t you see, because my sword is blunt.’

‘Then stun her with it, Pellinore. Give her a good bang on the head with it, man, and perhaps she will get concussion.’

‘That is all very well for you, Grummore, old fellow. But suppose it doesn’t stun her? It might make her lose her temper, Grummore, and then where should I be? Personally I can’t see why you should want to have the creature assaulted at all. After all, she is in love with you, isn’t she, what?’

‘Whatever the reasons for the animal’s behaviour, the point is we are on this ledge.’

‘Then all you need to do is to come off it.’

‘My good man, how can we come down to be attacked?’

‘It will only be a loving sort of attack,’ the King pointed out reassuringly. ‘Sort of making advances. I don’t suppose she will do you any harm. All you would have to do would be to walk along in front of her until you reached the castle, what? As a matter of fact you could perhaps encourage her a bit. After all, everybody likes to have their affection returned.’

‘Are you suggesting,’ asked Sir Grummore coldly, ‘that we should flirt with this reptile of yours?’

‘It would certainly make it easier. I mean, the walk back.’

‘And how are we to do this, pray?’

‘Well, Palomides could twine his neck round hers occasionally, you know, and you could wag your tail. I suppose you could not lick her nose?’

‘Yours truly,’ said Sir Palomides feebly, finally and with aversion, ‘can neither twine nor lick. Also he is now about to fall. Adieu.’

With this the unfortunate paynim let go of the cliff with both hands and appeared to be sinking into the monster’s jaws – but that Sir Grummore caught him, and the remaining buttons held him in position.

‘There!’ said Sir Grummore. ‘Now look what you have done.’

‘But, my dear fellow…’

‘I am not your dear fellow. You are simply abandonin’ us to destruction.’

‘Oh, I say!’

‘Yes, you are. Heartlessly.’

The King scratched his head.

‘I suppose,’ he said doubtfully, ‘I could hold her by the tail, while you made a dash for it.’

‘Then do so. If you don’t do somethin’ immediately, Palomides will fall, and then we shall come in half.’

‘I still don’t see,’ said the King sadly, ‘why you had to dress up like this to begin with. It is all a mystery to me.

‘However,’ he added, taking the Beast by the tail, ‘come on, old girl. Heave—ho! We shall have to do the best we can in the circumstances. Now then, you two, run for your lives. Hurry up, Grummore, I don’t think the Beast is pleased, by the feel of her. Ah, you naughty thing, leave it! Run, Grummore! Naughty Beast! Pah! Nasty, nasty! Leave it! Quick, man, quick! Come away then! Don’t touch! Trust! She’ll be off in a minute! Come to heel, will you? Heel! Come behind! Oh, you horrid Beast! Faster, Grummore! Sit, sit! Lie down, Beast! How dare you? Look out, man, she’s coming! Oh, you would, would you? There! Now she’s bitten me!’

They won the drawbridge by a short head, and it was drawn up after them in the nick of time.

‘Phew!’ said Sir Grummore, unbuttoning the back end and standing up to mop his brow.

‘Hoots!’ cried various auld wives who were in the castle delivering eggs. Some of the castle circle could speak English after a fashion, including St Toirdealbhach and Mother Morlan.

‘Wee sleekit, cow’ring, timorous Beastie,’ said the drawbridge man. ‘Oh, what a panic’s in thy breastie!’

‘Aroint us!’ said the bystanders.

‘Bonnie Sir Palomides,’ said a number of Old Ones who had known of their plight on the cliff ledge all night – without saying anything about it, as was their custom, for fear of being caught out, ‘is going to lay him doon and dee.’

They turned round to examine the paynim, and found that it was as they said. Sir Palomides had collapsed on a stone
mounting block, without troubling to take his head off, and was breathing heavily. They took it off for him and threw a bucket of water in his face. Then they fanned him with their aprons.

‘Ah, the puir churl,’ they said compassionately. ‘The sassenagh! The sable savage! Will he no’ come back again? Gie him anither drappie there. Ah, the braw splash!’

Sir Palomides revived slowly, blowing bubbles out of his nose.

‘Where is yours truly?’ he asked.

‘Here we are, old boy. We got back safe. The Beast is outside.’

Through the portcullis there came a sorrowful howling to bear out Sir Grummore’s statement, as it had been thirty couple of hounds baying the moon. Sir Palomides shuddered.

‘We ought to look out, to see if King Pellinore is comin’.’

‘Yes, Sir Grummore. Allow one sec. for recuperation.’

‘The Beast may have done him a mischief.’

‘Poor fellow!’

‘How do you feel yourself?’

‘The indisposition is passing,’ said Sir Palomides bravely.

‘Not much time to waste. It may be eatin’ him at this moment.’

‘Lead on,’ said the paynim, heaving himself to his feet. ‘Forward to the battlements.’

So the whole party set off to climb the narrow stairs of the Pele Tower.

Below them, looking small and upside down from this height, the Questing Beast could be seen sitting in the ravine which bounded the castle on that side. She was sitting on a boulder in it, with her tail in the burn, and looking up at the drawbridge with her head on one side. Her tongue was hanging out. Nothing could be seen of Pellinore.

‘Evidently she is not eating him,’ said Sir Grummore.

‘Unless she has eaten him.’

‘I hardly think she would have had time to do that, old boy, not in the time.’

‘You would think she would have left some bones or something. Or at any rate the armour.’

‘Quite.’

‘What do you think we ought to do?’

‘It seems bafflin’.’

‘Do you think we ought to make a sortie?’

‘We could wait to see what happens, Palomides, don’t you think?’

‘No leaps,’ assented Sir Palomides, ‘without previous looks.’

After they had been watching for half an hour or so, the faction of the Old Ones grew bored with the lack of entertainment. They clattered off down the stairs, to throw stones at the Questing Beast off the top of the wall. The two knights stayed on the look—out.

‘This is a pretty state of affairs.’

‘Indeed it is.’

‘I mean, when you work it out.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Here is the Queen of Orkney angry about something on one side – I could not help noticing that she seemed a little queer about that unicorn – and Pellinore moping on the other. And you are supposed to be in love with La Beale Isoud, isn’t it? And now this Beast is after both of us.’

‘A confusing situation.’

‘Love,’ said Sir Grummore uneasily, ‘is a pretty strong passion, when you come to think of it.’

At this moment, as if to confirm Sir Grummore’s opinion, a pair of enlaced figures sauntered along the cliff road.

‘Good gracious,’ exclaimed Sir Grummore. ‘What are these?’

As they drew nearer, their identity became clear. One of them was King Pellinore, and he had his arm round the waist of a stout, middle—aged lady in a side—saddle skirt. She had a red, horsy face, and carried a hunting crop in her free hand. Her hair was in a bun.

‘It must be the Queen of Flanders’ daughter!’

‘I say, you two!’ cried King Pellinore, as soon as he had observed them. ‘I say, look here, what do you think, can you guess? Whoever would have thought it, what? What do you think I have found?’

‘Aha!’ cried the stout lady in a booming voice, archly tapping his cheek with her hunting crop. ‘But who did the findin’, eh?’

‘Yes, yes, I know! It was not me that found her at all; it was she that found me! What do you think of that?

‘And do you know what?’ went on the King, in high delight. ‘None of my letters could possibly be answered! I never put our address on them! We hadn’t got one! I always knew there was something wrong. So Piggy got on her horse, you know, and came huntin’ after me by moor and fell! The Questing Beast helped her a great deal – it has an excellent nose – and that magic barge of ours, can you imagine it, must have had an idea or two in its head, for it went back to fetch them when it saw that I was upset! How nice of it! They found it in a creek somewhere, and here they are!

‘But why are we standing about?’ shouted the King. He was so excited that nobody else had time to talk. ‘I mean to say, why are we shouting so? Is it polite, do you think? Ought you two to come down and let us in? What is wrong with this drawbridge anyway?’

‘It is the Beast, Pellinore, the Beast! She is in the ravine!’

‘What is wrong with the Beast?’

‘She is besiegin’ the castle.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said the King. ‘Now I remember. She bit me.

‘And what do you think?’ he went on, waving one hand in the air to show that it was bandaged. ‘Piggy tied it up for me like one o’clock. She tied it up with a bit of – well, you know.’

‘Petticoats,’ boomed the Queen of Flanders’ daughter.

‘Yes, yes, her petticoats!’

The King was convulsed with giggles.

‘That is all very well, Pellinore, that is all very well. But what are you goin’ to do about the Beast?’

His Majesty was intoxicated with gaiety. ‘Ho, the Beast!’ he cried. ‘Is that the trouble? I’ll soon settle her!

‘Now then!’ he exclaimed, marching to the edge of the ravine and waving his sword. ‘Now then! Off you go! Shoo! Shoo!’

The Questing Beast looked at him absently. She moved her tail in a vague gesture of recognition, then returned her attention
to the gatehouse. The occasional stones which were being thrown at her by the Old Ones she dexterously caught and swallowed, in the maddening way which chickens have when you are trying to drive them off.

‘Let down the drawbridge!’ commanded the King. ‘I will attend to her! Shoo, now, shoo!’