The King Arthur Trilogy

by Rosemary Sutcliff

  But the victory had been sorely paid for, and the bodies of knights and men-at-arms lay dark like seawrack along the tide-line and up the cliff paths and clotted thick about the stranded ships. And the King, having given orders for the succouring of his wounded and the burying of his dead, knelt beside Sir Gawain in the small rough chamber high in Dover Castle where he had been carried by the men who had found him lying among the dead with the old wound in his head burst open again by a fresh blow.

  Gawain opened his eyes and looked at him by the light of the kelp fire burning on the hearth. ‘I am for death, this time,’ he said.

  And bending over the narrow cot, Arthur put his arms round him and raised him a little, and said, ‘Ah Gawain, Gawain, my most dear nephew, you and Lancelot I loved best of all my knights; and now I have lost you both, and all my earthly joy is gone.’

  ‘And it is all my doing,’ said Sir Gawain, stumbling over the words with a tongue that seemed made of wood. ‘For if Sir Lancelot had been with you as once he was, this grievous war would never have come about … And now you have need of Lancelot more than ever you had before, and it is through my hunger for revenge that you have lost him, when he had no ill-will towards either you or me … And I – I would be at peace with him now, but it is too late.’ And lying against the King’s shoulder, he closed his eyes so that it seemed as though he swooned or slept. But when the King would have laid him down, he opened them again and asked, ‘Is there pen and parchment to be found in this castle?’

  ‘Lie still, and never trouble for pen and parchment now,’ said the King.

  ‘It is the last thing that I shall do in the world,’ mumbled Sir Gawain. ‘But I must write to Sir Lancelot, who was once my friend …’

  And when pen and parchment and a taper were brought to him by one of the clerks who moved always with the war-host, he wrote with great difficulty, the King propping and steadying him the while.

  ‘Unto Sir Lancelot, flower of all noble knights that ever I saw or heard of, I, Gawain, send you greetings, and beg your forgiveness in the name of the old friendship that was between us. In the name of that same friendship, come with all speed and with every knight and fighting-man that you can muster, for the traitor Mordred has raised rebellion against our Lord the King, who is in sore need of your sword. Mordred has made the people to believe him slain, and sought to take the Queen for his wife, who has shut herself away from him in the royal castle in London. This day we landed at Dover and put the traitor to flight, but there must be much more fighting ere all be done. In this day’s battle I received a sore dunt upon my head, in the very place where you wounded me before Benwick Castle, and I write this to you in the hour of my death. Come swiftly, before Mordred can gather more rebel troops. Pray for my soul when you come beside my grave; but Arthur lives and has great need of you, and without your coming the Kingdom of Logres is lost. I write to you as with my heart’s blood. Farewell.’

  Towards the end of the letter the writing began to wander and stray across the page; and when the last word was written, the quill dropped from Sir Gawain’s hand, and his head fell back. ‘Pray you send this,’ he said.

  ‘I will send it,’ the King promised, and kissed him on his battered forehead. His eyes closed, and when the King laid him down this time he did not open them again.

  7

  The Last Battle

  MORDRED HAD FLED away westward, and as he went, he harried the lands of those who would not join him. But there were many, in the days that followed, who did join him; for fear because the thing had gone too far for them to expect mercy from Arthur now, or because they chose the usurper’s lawless rule, or simply because they had loved Lancelot, and for his sake would draw sword for any leader who was against Arthur, which was the saddest reason of all. Yet there were as many who took up their arms and came in to fight for their rightful king; and so when the High King also hurried westward in pursuit of his traitor son, there was little to choose for size and strength between the two war-hosts.

  They swept past London, along the great ridge that reared its back above the forest country; and the King longed to check and ride for the city for one last sight of Guenever the Queen. But it was not the time, and he contented himself as best he might by sending three messengers on fast horses to make enquiry and bring him back word that all was well with her, while he pushed on westward without slackening the pace and purpose of his march.

  Twice the war-hosts met in battle, and twice the High King thrust the usurper back. And so at last, far over into the western marsh-country, the two armies faced each other for the greatest battle of all, encamped upon opposite sides of a level plain bleak and open among the wet woods in their first spring-time green and the winding waterways of those parts. And when Arthur asked of an old woman who came in to sell eggs and cheese in the royal camp, ‘Old mother, is there a name to this place?’ she said, ‘Aye, this is the plain of Camlann.’

  That night, when all things had been made ready for the battle that must come next day, Arthur lay in his pavilion and could not sleep. Beyond the looped-back entrance where his squires lay, the open plain stretched away like a dark sea, with the hushing of the wind through the long grass and the furze scrub for the sounding of the waves, to where the enemy watch-fires marked its further shore. His mind seemed full of whirling memories, and the sea-sound sank and changed into the whisper of reeds round the margin of still water … Still water … Lake water lapping … And Merlin standing beside him on the day that he received Excalibur. Merlin’s voice in his ears again across all the years between, saying, ‘Over there is Camlann, the place of the Last Battle … But that is another story; and for another day as yet far off.’

  Now the day was here, waiting beyond the darkness of this one spring night. A night that was dark indeed. The doom that he had unwittingly loosed so long ago when all unknowing, he fathered Mordred upon his own half-sister, was upon him, and upon all that he had fought for. And tomorrow he and Mordred must be the death of each other. And what of Britain after that? Torn in two, and with the Sea Wolves and the men of the North waiting to come swarming in again?

  In the chill dark hour before dawn, he fell into a state between sleeping and waking. And in that state he dreamed a dream – if it was a dream.

  It seemed to him that Sir Gawain came in through the entrance to the tent, armed and looking just as he used to, though it was maybe strange that he came pacing in as though no tent squires lay across the threshold, and none of them seemed to see him come. And Arthur sat up and stretched his arms to him in joyful greeting. ‘Welcome! Gawain, my most dear nephew! Now thanks be to God that I see you hale and living, for I thought you dead and grave-laid in Dover town!’ And then he saw that behind Gawain thronged the bright-eyed misty shapes of women, foremost among them the Lady Ragnell, Gawain’s seven-years’ wife; and he was glad that Gawain had found his own lady again, for the years that he had shared with her had been his best as a knight and as a man. And Arthur asked, ‘But what of these ladies who come with you?’

  ‘Sir,’ said Gawain, ‘these be all of the ladies whom I fought for or served in some way when I was man alive. God has listened to their prayers and for their sakes has been merciful to me and granted that I come to you.’

  ‘It is for some urgent cause that you come,’ said the King.

  ‘It is to forewarn you of your death. For if you join battle with Sir Mordred this day, as you and he are both set to do, you must both die, and the greater part of your followings with you, and the Kingdom of Logres shall indeed go down into the dark. Therefore God, of His special grace, has sent me to bid you not to fight this day, but to find means to make a treaty with Sir Mordred, promising whatever he asks of you as the price of this delay. A truce that shall gain you one month of time; for within that month shall come Sir Lancelot and all his following, and together you shall overcome Sir Mordred and his war-host, and so shall the kingdom be saved from the dark.’

  And suddenly, with his last w
ord scarcely spoken, he was gone from the place where he had been and the bright-eyed shadows with him.

  And in a little, Arthur saw the green light of dawn growing pale beyond the tent flaps. Then he arose and summoned his squires to fetch Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere and two of his churchmen. And when they came and stood before him, he told them of the vision he had had, and the thing that Sir Gawain had told him. And he charged them to go to Sir Mordred under the green branch, and make truce with him that should last a month. ‘Offer him lands and goods,’ said the King, ‘as much as seem reasonable – anything that seems reasonable. Only do you win for me and for all our people this month’s delay.’

  So Sir Bedivere and Sir Lucan and the two churchmen went forth under the green branch, and came to the enemy camp. And there they spoke long with Sir Mordred among his grim war-host of fifty thousand men. And at last Mordred agreed to these terms: that he should have the lands of Kent and the old Kingdom of Cornwall from that day forward, and the whole of Britain after the King’s death.

  It was agreed between them that Arthur and Mordred should meet an hour from noon, midway between the two war-camps, and each accompanied by only fourteen knights and their squires, for the signing of the treaty.

  And Sir Bedivere and Sir Lucan returned to the royal camp and told Arthur what had been arranged; and when he heard them, a great relief arose in him, for he thought that maybe after all God was showing him a way to turn back the dark and to save Britain. But still, he did not trust his son, and he had the men of his war-host drawn up clear of the camp and facing the enemy, and when the horses were brought, and he mounted, his chosen fourteen knights around him, and he was ready to ride out to the meeting, he said to the captains, ‘If you see any sword drawn, wait for no orders, but come on fiercely, and slay all that you may, for there is a black shadow on my heart, and I do not trust Sir Mordred.’

  And on the other side of the plain, Mordred gave orders to his own war-host: ‘If you see any sword drawn, come on with all speed and slay all that stand against you, for I do not trust this treaty, and I know well that my father will seek to be revenged on me.’

  And so they rode forward, and met at the appointed place midway between the battle-hosts, and dismounted, leaving their horses in the care of their squires, to discuss and sign the treaty, which the clerks had made out twice over upon fine sheets of vellum. Then the treaty was agreed, and first Arthur and then Mordred signed it, using the King’s saddle for a writing slope; and when that was done, wine was brought and first Arthur and then Mordred drank together, both from the same cup. And it seemed that there must be peace between them, at least for this one month, and the doom and the darkness turned aside.

  But scarcely had they drunk and their copies of the treaty been fairly exchanged, when an adder, rousing in the warmth of the spring day, and disturbed by the trampling of men and horses too near her sleeping place, slithered out from among the dry grass roots, coil upon liquid coil, and bit one of Mordred’s knights through some loose lacing of the chain-mail at his heel.

  And when the knight felt the fiery smart, he looked down and saw the adder, and unthinkingly he drew his sword and slashed the small wicked thing in half.

  And when both war-hosts saw the stormy sunlight flash on the naked blade, they remembered their orders, and the harm was done. From both sides there rose a great shouting and a blowing of horns and trumpets, and the two war-hosts burst forward and rolled towards each other, dark as doom under their coloured standards and fluttering pennants, jinking with points of light like the flicker of summer lightning in the heart of a thundercloud, where the sour yellow sunshine struck on sword-blade and spear-point; and giving out a swelling storm roar of hooves and war cries and weapon-jar as they came.

  Then Arthur cried out in a terrible voice, ‘Alas! This most accursed day!’ And hurling himself into the saddle, drove spurs into his horse’s flanks, and swung him round with frantic haste to join the forefront of his own on-coming war-host. Sir Mordred did likewise in the same instant; and the battle closed around them both.

  The sorest and most savage battle that ever was fought in any land of Christendom.

  It was scarcely past noon when the fighting joined, but soon the clouds that gathered overhead made it seem like evening; and as the dark battle masses swept and swirled this way and that, lit by bladeflash and torn by the screams of smitten horses and the war-shouts and the death-cries of men, so the black cloud mass that arched above them seemed to boil as though at the heart of some mighty tempest, echoing the spear tempest upon Camlann Plain beneath. And many a terrible blow was given and many mighty champions fell; and old enemies fought each other in the reeling press, and friend fought friend and brother fought brother. And as the time went by the ranks of both war-hosts grew thinner, and more and more the feet of the living were clogged by the bodies of the dead; and one by one the banners and pennants that were tattered as the ragged sky went down into the mire; and all the mire of Camlann’s trampled plain oozed red.

  And all day long Mordred and the High King rode through the thick of the battle and came by no hurt, so that it seemed as though they held charmed lives; and ever in the reeling thick of the fighting they sought for each other, but might never come together all the black day long.

  And so day drew to the edge of night; and a great and terrible stillness settled over the plain; and Arthur, who had had three horses killed under him since noon, stood to draw breath and look about him. And all was red; the blade of his own sword crimsoned to the hilt, and the sodden mire into which the grass was trampled down; even the underbellies of the clouds that had been dark all day were stained red by the light of the setting sun. And nothing moved over all Camlann Plain but the ravens circling black-winged against that smouldering sky; and nothing sounded save the howl of a wolf far off, and near at hand the cry of a dying man.

  And Arthur saw that two men stood close behind him; and one was old Sir Lucan and the other Sir Bedivere, and both sore wounded. And of all the men who had followed him back from Benwick or gathered to his standard on the march from Dover, and of all those men, also, who had been his before they were drawn from their loyalty by Mordred’s treachery or by their love for Lancelot, these two, leaning wearily on their swords beside him, were all who remained alive.

  And the black bitterness of death rose in Arthur the King, and a mighty groan burst from him.

  ‘Grief of God! That I should see this day! Grief upon me for all my noble knights that lie here slain! Now indeed I know that the end is come. But before all things go down into the dark – where is Sir Mordred who has brought about this desolation?’

  Then as he looked about him, he became aware of one more figure still upon its feet; Sir Mordred in hacked and battered armour, standing at a little distance, alone in the midst of a sprawling tangle of dead men.

  And Arthur would not use Excalibur upon his own son; and so, to Sir Lucan who stood nearest to him, he said, ‘Give me a spear; for yonder stands the man who brought this day into being, and the thing is not yet ended between us two.’

  ‘Sir, let him be!’ said Sir Lucan. ‘He is accursed! And if you let this day of ill destiny go by, you shall be most fully avenged upon him at another time. My liege lord, pray you remember your last night’s dream, and what the spirit of Gawain told you. Even though by God’s grace and mercy you still live at the day’s end, yet leave off the fighting now; for there are three of us, while Sir Mordred stands alone, and therefore we have won the field; and once the doom day be passed, it will be passed indeed, and new days to come.’

  But, ‘Give me life or give me death,’ said Arthur, ‘the thing is not finished until I have slain my son who has brought destruction upon Logres and upon all Britain, and for whom so many good men lie slain.’

  ‘Then God speed you well,’ said Sir Bedivere.

  And Sir Lucan gave the King his spear, and he grasped it in both hands and made at a stumbling run for the solitary figure. The terrible red d
runkenness of battle was upon him, and he cried out as he ran, ‘Traitor! Now is your death-time upon you!’

  And hearing him, Sir Mordred lifted his head, and recognised death, and with drawn sword came to meet him. And so they ran, stumbling over the dead, and came together in the midst of that dreadful reddened field, under that dreadful bleeding sky. And the High King smote his son under the shield with a great thrust of his spear, that pierced him clean through the body. And when Sir Mordred felt his death wound within him, he gave a great yell, savage and despairing, and thrust himself forward upon the spear-shaft, as a boar carried forward by its own rush up the shaft of the hunter, until he was stayed by the hand-guard; and with all the last of his strength he swung up his sword two-handed, and dealt the High King his father such a blow on the side of the dragon-crested helmet that the blade sliced through helm and mail coif and deep into the skull beneath. And at the end of the blow Sir Mordred fell stark dead upon the spear, dragging it with him to the ground. And in the same instant Arthur the King dropped also, not dead but in a black swoon, upon the stained and trampled earth.

  Then Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere came and lifted him between them, and by slow stages, for their wounds were sore upon them, they bore him from the battlefield, and to a little ruined chapel not far off, and laid him there in the shelter and quiet that the place offered, upon a bed of piled fern that looked as though it had been made ready for him, before the altar.

  And there, when they laid him down, Sir Lucan gave a deep groan and crumpled to the earth at his feet; for the effort of getting his king to shelter had been too great for him, with the gaping wound that was in his belly.