King of the Middle March (20 page)

Y
ULETIDE IN ZARA HAS BEEN BLEAK, AND SO MUCH HAS
already gone wrong that people are afraid about what will happen in the new year.

But whatever happens begins in our hearts, doesn't it? I've made this song about Jesus before He was born.

Jesus listened in whispering wood:
“I am pale blossom, I am blood berry,
I am rough bark, I am sharp thorn.
This is the place where you will be born.”

Jesus went down to the skirl of the sea:
“I am long reach, I am fierce comber,
I am keen saltspray, I am spring tide.”
He pushed the cup of the sea aside

And heard the sky which breathed and blew:
“I am the firmament, I am shape-changer,
I cradle and carry and kiss and roar,
I am infinite roof and floor.”

All day He walked, He walked all night,
Then Jesus came to the heart at dawn.
“Here and now,” said the heart-in-waiting,
“This is the place where you must be born.”

K
ING ARTHUR IS SITTING AT ONE END OF THE GREAT
hall in Camelot, talking to his foster brother, Sir Kay.

“More than forty men are questing for the Grail,” he says. “But Sir Gawain has failed. Sir Lancelot has failed. How can anyone succeed?”

“I doubt anyone will,” Sir Kay replies.

“Sir Galahad?” says the king. “Sir Bors?”

Sir Kay raises his eyebrows, and smiles a twisted smile. “Not even Sir Perceval is perfect,” he says. “But what about you?”

Arthur-in-the-stone shakes his head. “Lady Fortune would prevent me,” he said. “And my own failings.”

Now a young woman wearing a wimple and riding a white mule—the woman who came to Camelot before—rides straight into the hall again.

“Dismount!” yells Sir Kay.

The young woman ignores him.

“I said dismount!” Sir Kay shouts rudely.

“Forgive me,” says the woman, “but I will not dismount until a knight comes to Corbenic and wins the Grail. The shield I left here is still hanging on that pillar. Is there not a single knight here fit to claim it?”

“Many of my knights have made the Grail their dream and
cause,” King Arthur replies. “More than forty of them are in the field now, riding through forests, crossing seas…”

“They'd do better to look into their own hearts,” the young woman says.

Now she raises her right hand, and sweeps off her wimple.

The king and Sir Kay lower their eyes.

She is still bald.

“Not a hair will grow on my head,” she says in a low voice. “Nothing will grow until a knight comes to Corbenic and asks the question.”

“What is your message?” asks the king.

“Sire,” says the young woman, “King Pellam, Guardian of the Grail, greets you, the greatest king on this middle-earth. He implores you to urge all your knights still here at Camelot to quest for the Grail. The world is a wasteland.”

“I will,” the king replies.

The young woman takes off the little pouch hanging round her neck.

“King Pellam has sent you this gift,” she says.

Arthur-in-the-stone unties the pouch. He draws out a readingpointer, quite long and slightly curved, like a bone hairpin. One end is tapered, the other flat and triangular.

“Ivory,” the young woman says. “Gold bands.”

“And this little triangle?” the king asks.

“A precious stone, made of ice and fire.”

“I have never seen anything more beautiful,” says the king.

“King Pellam lies in agony,” the young woman tells him. “But he
used to mark and follow words with this pointer when he read the scriptures.”

“As I will mark King Pellam's words, and act on them,” King Arthur says. “Thank him and assure him I will urge all my knights to quest for the Grail. Tell him I will use this pointer when I read the scripture.”

I
DIDN'T WANT TO GO. NOT AFTER WHAT HAPPENED THERE
. But I had no choice. Lord Stephen and Sir William and Serle and I all went to Milon's hall as soon as we'd finished supper, and Simona came with us.

Milon told us German envoys from the court of King Philip of Swabia arrived here last night. The first day of this new year. They met the Doge and Marquis Boniface and the French leaders this morning, and there was a second meeting this afternoon.

“First,” said Milon, “they tell us our duty.”

“We know our duty,” said Serle.

“They say we march for God, we march to right what is wrong, and now our duty is to help people who have been robbed.”

“Who has been robbed?” Lord Stephen asked suspiciously.

“We have,” said Serle. “We've been robbed of Jerusalem.”

Milon stuck out his jaw and pursed his mouth. “Me first!” he said. “Then you. The envoys come from King Philip and his wife's brother, Alexius Angelus. Crown Prince of Constantinople. His throne has been robbed. He is the true Emperor, not his uncle.” Milon turned to Serle. “You how old?” he asked.

“Me? Nineteen.”

“Very good. Alexius Angelus nineteen. He and King Philip say if the crusaders lay siege to Constantinople and help him, he help us.
He give us food when Venetians, Venetians…” Milon tossed his head and turned to Simona.

“The Venetians are providing all the crusaders with food for one year,” Simona explained. “Until Saint John's Eve. After that, Alexius Angelus will.”

“Si,”
said Milon. “Also he give us two hundred thousand silver marks. Two hundred thousand! And also he raise crusader army of ten thousand men.”

“Moonshine!” said Sir William. “Supplies, silver, men…they don't come as cheaply as words.”

“Let's hear the terms,” Lord Stephen said irritably.

“Lickspittle promises!” grumbled Sir William.

“And Alexius Angelus offer to send five hundred knights to the Kingdom of Jerusalem,” continued Milon, “and keep them there.”

“Blether!” exclaimed Sir William.

“And,” said Milon, spreading his arms, “Alexius Angelus say his empire—Byzantine Empire—will swear obedience to Rome.” Slowly he shook his head as if he could scarcely believe what he was saying.

“It does sound generous,” I said.

“Why doesn't this pretender offer us paradise?” Sir William demanded.

“What do you think, sir?” I asked Milon.

“Doge reminds crusaders we still owe Venice thirty-four thousand silver marks,” Milon replied.

“And with the money Alexius Angelus promises, we could pay our debt,” Lord Stephen said.

“Si,”
said Milon.

“I know what I think,” Sir William said. “If you Frenchmen and the Doge accept this offer, our crusade will be doomed. It will be a disaster.”

No one replied.

“People make mistakes and survive them,” Sir William said. “God knows, I've made mistakes. But this would be monstrous! We're pilgrims, aren't we? Soldiers of Christ.”

Sir William was speaking louder and louder, and I thought of Pagan and Milon's men and the Saracens, and suddenly felt afraid.

“No!” my father exclaimed. “We're just pawns. Pawns in the hands of leaders using our crusade for their own purposes.”

“The Abbot de Vaux say we must go straight to Jerusalem,” Milon said. “Count de Montfort say so.”

“Sir William de Gortanore agrees,” my father announced. “What about you, Serle? As if I can't guess!”

“I'm not sure,” said Serle.

“You never are,” Sir William retorted.

“I mean, it's not up to me.”

“It is,” said my father. “You, Arthur?”

“I don't know enough, sir. Is it true Alexius Angelus should be Emperor? Will we have to attack Constantinople? It's a Christian city. How long will all this take?”

“Quite right, Arthur,” Lord Stephen said. “Hasty choices are usually wrong ones.”

“I do know what I want, though,” I added. “I want to enter the Kingdom of Jerusalem.”

“This German offer may sound simple,” Lord Stephen said, “but the consequences will be enormous.”

“I'm surprised you two haven't died of a surfeit of your own words,” Sir William remarked.

“On the whole, though, Sir William,” Lord Stephen continued, “I think I incline to agree with you.”

On our way back to our tower-house, Sir William fell into step with me. At least he tried to. But his bones ache, and he quickly runs out of breath.

“I'm sixty-eight,” he said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Slow down, can't you! We're not sailing until Easter.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Easter…and then what? Constantinople! I tell you, Arthur, if things go on like this, I'll not see Gortanore again.” Sir William was panting. “Tom will have Gortanore and the manor in Champagne. I've told you that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That's where Lady Cécile lives.” Then, to my astonishment, my father slung his left arm round my shoulders, and whether it was in kinship or to slow me down, I'll never be sure. “And you know I've named you heir to Catmole.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“It's your right,” gasped Sir William. “For God's sake, what's the hurry? I've told you about it, have I?”

“One foot in England and one foot in Wales,” I replied.

“The river in loops,” Sir William said. “The shapely mound, yes, the manor-mound, and the greenness of the green in the watermeadows. I'd be glad to ride there again, boy.”

M
Y LORD BISHOP ROCHESTER,” SAYS SIR LANCELOT
. “Have you ridden far?”

The bishop looks his cloak up and down. Covered with spots of mud.

“From King Arthur's court at Carlisle,” he says. “I have here a letter from Rome. The Holy Father charges King Arthur to take Guinevere as his queen again, and make peace with you. He warns the king he will excommunicate everyone living in Britain if he fails to do so.”

“What does the king say?” Sir Lancelot asks.

“Here is his Great Seal—his assurance of safe conduct when you bring the queen back to court—and his letter undertaking to bury what's past.”

“I never wanted to separate the queen from the king, but simply to save her life,” Sir Lancelot says. “God be praised the Pope has intervened. I'll be a thousand times happier to ride Guinevere back to Carlisle than I was to take her away. But if anyone—”

The Bishop of Rochester waves his hand. “Fear nothing!” he says. “The Pope's word is divine law. It's not his intention, or mine, to see the queen shamed or you angered.”

“And will the king also make peace with me?” Sir Lancelot asks.

“That's what he longs for. He says there has been enough suffering already. But Sir Gawain will not hear of it. You slew Gareth, the
brother he loved best. He says he'll hound and harry you until one of you has killed the other.”

Sir Lancelot sighs. “Tell King Arthur,” he says, “that eight days hence I will bring Queen Guinevere to him.”

Queen Guinevere and Sir Lancelot ride their horses into the great courtyard at Carlisle, where Guinevere was tied to the stake and scorching flames lapped around her ankles.

One hundred knights and twenty-four ladies follow them, each holding an olive branch. They're all wearing green velvet and gold chains, and so are their horses, right down to their fetlocks. But the queen and Sir Lancelot are both dressed in cloth of gold.

Sir Lancelot and the queen dismount. He takes her right arm, and they walk up to the king.

Arthur-in-the-stone glares at them. He doesn't move. Not one muscle. He says nothing.

“My king,” Sir Lancelot says loudly, “as the Pope requires and as you command me, I've brought back your queen. Queen Guinevere is loyal. But you've listened to libelers and slanderers; you've believed jealous liars. It's they who are disloyal, not your queen. Not I.”

“You're a traitor!” Sir Gawain shouts.

“Where is Sir Mordred?” Sir Lancelot demands.

“Away!” replies Sir Gawain. “At Camelot.”

“The only survivor,” Sir Lancelot says. “If God were not on my side, how could I have fought fourteen armed knights?”

“Sir Lancelot,” says the king. “You have been my knight of knights. I've always praised you and honored you. I've given you no cause, no reason whatsoever, to do as you have done.”

Sir Lancelot turns to Sir Gawain. “The king well knows how I've served him,” he tells him, “and you should remember it too. You should remember our close friendship. If I had your good will, I would have his as well.”

“The king can do as he likes,” Sir Gawain says. “You and I will never make peace. You have killed three of my brothers, and my two sons.”

“I loved Gareth and he loved me,” Sir Lancelot says, shaking his head. “I knighted him: He was noble and courteous. But he was unarmed. Gaheris and Florence and Lovel were unarmed. I never meant to kill them.”

Sir Gawain says nothing.

The king says nothing.

“Even so,” Sir Lancelot tells the king and Sir Gawain, “I'll do penance. I'll walk barefoot from Sandwich to Carlisle, and each ten miles I'll found a friary or a convent where monks and nuns pray for Sir Gareth and Sir Gaheris and your sons. I will have them built, and fund them.”

Still King Arthur and Sir Gawain say nothing.

“Surely this will be a better memorial than conflict between us,” says Sir Lancelot.

The cheeks of many of the knights and ladies in the courtyard are glistening.

“I've heard you, and all your offers,” Sir Gawain replies, “and I've heard enough. The king will do as he wishes, but I'll never forgive you for killing Sir Gareth. If the king forgives you, I'll leave court. I'll no longer serve him.”

“Gawain…,” Sir Lancelot begins.

“No!” says Sir Gawain. “The time for words is past. You have safe conduct here, but you must leave England within fifteen days. You must go to your estates in France. You've betrayed the king; you've betrayed me. Fifteen days, and then I will come after you.”

“I wish I had never come to the court of King Arthur,” Sir Lancelot says, “if I'm now to be banished—in disgrace. But the Wheel of Fortune that raises us also hurls us down.” Sir Lancelot steps towards the king. “I have been your knight of knights,” he says. “Not least because of me our Round Table has been honored and feared throughout this middle-earth.”

“There'll be nowhere for you to hide,” Sir Gawain says.

“Hide?” retorts Sir Lancelot. “I'll be waiting for you in France.”

“Enough!” growls Sir Gawain. “Set the queen free! Leave this court!”

Sir Lancelot turns to face Queen Guinevere, and she turns to him. I can see her chestnut eyes. The little yellow flecks in them. The quills of her eyebrows. Proud and unblinking, she returns her knight's gaze.

“My lady,” Sir Lancelot says so that everyone can hear. “Now I must leave you and this fine fellowship forever.” He comes close to the queen and lowers his voice. “Pray for me. Speak well of me. And if any false tongues threaten you, send for me at once. I'll rescue you.”

Sir Lancelot kisses the queen.

Her eyes are brimming now. She clutches his right wrist. She mouths words for him alone.

Sir Lancelot lifts his voice again. “Is there anyone here who accuses the queen of being untrue to King Arthur? Let's see who dares speak.”

No one speaks.

Sir Lancelot takes Queen Guinevere's right arm and ushers her towards her king. He inclines his head; he turns away.

The king is weeping. Everyone in the courtyard is in tears. Everyone except Sir Gawain.