I TOO HAVE MY ALPHABET OF KNIGHTS,” SAYS SIR LANCELOT.
He looks to left and right at all the men gathered in the hall.
“Earl Armagnac, Sir Bors, Sir Blamore and Sir Bleoberis, Sir Clegis and Sir Clarrus, Sir Dinas, Earl Estrake, Earl Foix, Sir Galihodin and Sir Galahantine…From my heart, I thank you all for your loyalty, and for sailing with me to France.”
Many of the knights tap the tops of the long tables or slap their thighs as a sign of their support.
“You’ve heard how King Arthur and Sir Gawain set sail from Cardiff and landed here in Beaune with sixty thousand men,” Sir Lancelot says. “You’ve heard how the king has appointed Sir Mordred as Regent of England in his absence, and put Queen Guinevere in his care.”
“He will regret that,” says Sir Bors.
“Now today I’ve been told the king and Sir Gawain have set fire to seven of my manor houses, and burned them to the ground. What are we to do?”
“The longer we delay, the worse things will become,” Sir Bors replies at once.
“This is what I think,” Sir Lionel says. “All our towns have strong walls. Let’s have all our country people shelter inside them and wait until the king’s men grow hungry and impatient and start to blow on their fingertips. Then we’ll fall on them like wolves on a flock of sheep.”
“In the name of Christ,” says Sir Bors, “let’s get amongst them.”
“I’m loath to do that,” Sir Lancelot replies. “They are Christians, and I will not willingly shed Christian blood. War is always evil; it should always be the last resort. I’ll send a messenger to my king.”
War is always evil.…
Cardinal Capuano said, “War is violent, war is cruel, war is bloody, but it is natural. It is natural, and peace is unnatural.”
“What,” demands Sir Gawain, “do you propose to do?”
“I cannot think any man has ever been so restrained, so considerate, so honorable,” the king replies quietly.
“Have you come all this way to turn back now? Do that, and everyone on earth will say you’re weak. Weak or unwise.”
Arthur-in-the-stone nods. His eyes are wounds. “I will follow your advice,” he says. “I will not make peace with Sir Lancelot. You speak to the messenger; I cannot force my tongue to say the words.”
At once Sir Gawain strides over to the messenger.
“Tell Sir Lancelot it’s a waste of time to send offers to my uncle and he’s left it too late to make peace. And tell him I, Sir Gawain, will not rest now until I’ve slain him, or he has slain me.”
Sir Gawain is at the town gate, mounted on Kincaled, fully armed and holding a huge lance.
Sir Lancelot is standing high above him, on the wall, with many of his knights.
“Can you hear me, you traitor?” Sir Gawain shouts. “Why are you hiding like a rabbit in its burrow? For day after day, I’ve fought one of your men. I’ve wounded Sir Bors. I’ve wounded Sir Lionel. Are you afraid of me?”
All around him, Sir Lancelot hears voices.
“Sir Lancelot! Now!…He’s mad with fury.…Stop his mouth with mud.…Defend your honor.…”
“Come down, you traitor!” Sir Gawain shouts. “Pay with your blood for killing my brothers!”
Now King Arthur trots up alongside Sir Gawain.
“My king!” Sir Lancelot calls down. “My king! I could have fought you long since. For six months I’ve been patient. But now Sir Gawain is accusing me of treason. I’ve no wish to fight you, but he keeps goading me like a beast at bay.”
“Babble!” Sir Gawain shouts. “If you dare fight me, come down now.”
I can see Sir Lancelot and many of his men riding through the town gate. Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain say nothing. Side by side they lead the way to a common not far outside the walls, and trot to opposite ends of it.
They couch their lances. They raise their shields. They shout and spur their horses, and loosen their reins.
Their armor rattles; leather groans and creaks; the hooves of the horses pound the ground.
These two men the king loves more than any others. These men who once were dearest friends.
Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain both drive their lances into the middle of the other’s shield. They draw their swords. They land such heavy blows that the legs of their horses give way, and they collapse.
Each hour before noon, Sir Gawain grows as strong as a giant, and Sir Lancelot can do nothing but shield himself. Sir Gawain slices his shield into pieces; he cuts notches in Sir Lancelot’s sword until it’s as jagged as Bertie’s teeth, and dents his helmet and bruises his brains.…
But at noon Sir Gawain’s strength begins to ebb. He’s no more than himself again.
“Now!” gasps Sir Lancelot. “Now it’s my turn.”
At once Sir Lancelot gives Sir Gawain such a swipe on the side of his head that he reels sideways and falls over. Blood streams over his face. Sir Lancelot stands motionless.
“Kill me and have done with it!” pants Sir Gawain. “You traitor! If you spare me, I’ll fight you again.”
“You’re wounded,” Sir Lancelot replies. “I’ll never kill a man who cannot defend himself.”
Slowly he turns away from Sir Gawain and stumbles towards his horse.
Sir Gawain wipes the blood from his eyes. He tries to get to his feet.…
Sir Gawain is at the town gate again, mounted on Kincaled, fully armed and holding a huge lance.
“Can you hear me, you traitor?” he shouts. “I am Sir Gawain. Come out! Come and fight!”
“Jesus help me if ever I’m at your mercy as you were at mine,” Sir Lancelot calls down. “That would be the end of me.”
Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain ride towards one another in a roll of thunder.
Sir Gawain’s lance shatters into one hundred pieces, but Sir Lancelot hits the middle of the shield with such force that Kincaled rears up and throws Sir Gawain.
Sir Gawain jumps back to avoid Kincaled, and draws his sword eagerly.
“Dismount!” he yells. “My mare may have failed me, but this son of a king and queen will not fail you.”
Again, Sir Gawain grows as strong as a giant. Sir Lancelot weaves and crouches and ducks and leans sideways and backwards. He saves his wind; he saves his skin. And each time he fends off a stroke, Sir Gawain becomes a little more discouraged.
“It’s noon!” shouts Sir Lancelot. “You are strong, Sir Gawain. But you’ve done your best, and now I’ll do mine.”
Sir Lancelot’s sword pricks and caresses Sir Gawain’s armor. It whispers to it. It shaves and slices it. Sir Gawain does all he can to guard himself, but now Sir Lancelot whirls his sword and smacks Sir Gawain on the side of his head, right on the place where he was wounded before.
Sir Gawain’s knees buckle and look in opposite directions. He staggers and sinks to the ground, unconscious. When at last he opens his eyes again, and blinks the blood out of them, he sees Sir Lancelot standing right over him.
“You traitor!” Sir Gawain mumbles. “You haven’t killed me yet. Come on! Have done with it.”
“I’ll fight you when you’re able to stand on your feet, and your wound has healed,” Sir Lancelot replies, “but I’ll never strike a man who is already wounded. God save me from such shame. There are ways a knight may fight, and ways he must never fight.”
Slowly Sir Lancelot turns away and stumbles towards his horse.
“You traitor!” Sir Gawain calls after him. “As soon as I can, I’ll fight you again. I will never rest until one of us lies slain.”