ATTENZIONE!” YELLED ONE OF THE OARSMEN.
I ducked behind the gunwale. Just in time! A huge wave smacked into our boat, and almost upended us, and water sluiced around the deck.
If I hadn’t taken cover, the wave would have knocked me off my feet. As it was, I was completely soaked, and my seeing stone flashed and glittered like glass in sunlight.
I held it tight, and stared into it.
King Arthur is standing on the beach at Dover, under the white chalk cliffs. He’s up to his knees in water, and around him pairs of men are locking, arrows are whirring, pikes are jabbing, swords are swinging, soldiers are lurching, landing skiffs are bobbing, blood is staining, words are cursing and praying, ordering, threatening, begging…
“Pursue Mordred!” Arthur-in-the-stone shouts. “Catch him! Take him alive!”
Now one of Sir Mordred’s men runs straight at the king. The king stops his lance with his shield and drives the man backwards.
“Take him prisoner!” the king shouts.
“Arthur,” shouts Sir Kay, staggering through the water, “Sir Gawain is wounded. Come to him!”
At once the king hurries along the beach. He splashes through the shallows and places both hands on the stern of a skiff.
“Hold it firm!” he instructs the men standing around him, and he clambers into the skiff.
The king can see Sir Gawain is half-dead. He sits down on the stern bench and draws his nephew to him; he lays his head on his lap. Around them the wavelets suck.
“Gawain,” he says gently.
Slowly Sir Gawain opens his eyes.
“My sister’s son,” the king says. “The man in this world I love most. I’ve placed more trust in you and Lancelot than any other knights, and you and Lancelot have given me the greatest pride, the greatest joy. Now I have lost you both.”
“Uncle,” says Sir Gawain, in a weak voice. “My head wound has opened again, the one Sir Lancelot gave me. In my blood and bone, I feel I will die today.”
Softly the boat sways. The little waves keep lifting it.
“If Sir Lancelot were with us and not against us,” Sir Gawain says, “this would never have happened.”
The king cradles Sir Gawain in his arms.
“But I would not make peace with him,” Sir Gawain says. “I have brought about the conflict.” Now he struggles to sit up.
“Uncle,” he says, “have parchment and pen and ink brought to me here. I will write to Sir Lancelot before I die.”
To Sir Lancelot, knight of knights
Greetings!
The wound you inflicted on me at Beaune has opened again. I know in my blood and bone I will soon die.
I want the whole world to know that I, Sir Gawain, King Arthur’s sister’s son, son of King Lot of Orkney, knight of the Round Table, have brought about my own death. Not you but I am the cause of it.
Lancelot, pray for my soul. Kneel at my tomb. Come back to this kingdom.
In the name of our old friendship, come at once! Sail with your knights over the sea and rescue King Arthur. He’s in mortal danger. The traitor Sir Mordred has had himself crowned. He has tried to force Queen Guinevere to marry him, but she has taken refuge in the Tower of London.
Today King Arthur and I have fought Sir Mordred and his men at Dover. We’ve put them to flight. But my old head wound has opened again.
This sheet is speckled with my lifeblood
Now tears slip from Sir Gawain’s eyes but he makes not a sound. He leans a little sideways against the king, and the king holds him.
Time drifts.
Gently the boat sways and swings.