So far, so good. But in these stories, I had learned, there was always a fly in the ointment. This fly arrived with the peace that came upon Camelot: Launcelot was less frequently called away on grand quests, and therefore was free to see more of Guinevere without Arthur’s knowledge, which ends with Launcelot rescuing Guinevere from the stake at which Arthur has condemned her to burn. Lancelyn Green implied that this wasn’t a good idea: both Launcelot and Guinevere began to spend more and more of their time together—more and more often without King Arthur’s knowledge.
It was—infuriatingly—reminiscent of the hanky in Othello. What were they doing? I asked myself. I had a blurry vision of them working together at jigsaws, or playing Scrabble. If they had been friends for so long, with Arthur knowing and not caring (or perhaps pretending not to care), did it matter that, when he didn’t know, they continued to be friends?
There was another difficulty. Launcelot (Lancelyn Green tells us) meets a hermit and admits to his sinfulness in loving Guinevere, but then tells the hermit he still loves her. And there is another lady named Elaine who was in love with Launcelot but is now dead, partly because she confused Launcelot into thinking she was Guinevere. This is the hermit’s answer:
‘You must forswear all such thoughts. Elaine is dead long ago, and out of the evil of your marriage with her God has brought good: for Galahad, the Holy Knight of Logres, is her son and yours.’
Galahad’s existence had been prophesied for aeons. He was the best knight in the world ever; the sacred and magical Siege Perilous, the vacant seat at the Round Table, had awaited his coming; all sorts of things depended on him.
So, if Launcelot hadn’t done whatever it was he did with Elaine, which had then produced Galahad, Galahad wouldn’t have existed.
But then none of the good things would have happened either. Galahad had to happen.
So actually whatever Launcelot and Elaine had done was good as well as being sinful.
In fact, there was a sense in which Launcelot had to do it.
And the hermit who turned up at Camelot to fetch Launcelot had spoken of Galahad, and had clearly known about him because he had said this same year he shall see the light. And that very hermit had taken Launcelot off to rescue the maiden in the boiling water, and he had gone straight from there to Elaine. Obviously the hermit had deliberately deceived Launcelot so that Galahad might come to be.
It was another instance of monstrous injustice. It was like the business of Balyn going mad and not knowing what he was doing: it wasn’t fair. Launcelot had to be sinful in order to make good things happen, and then he was punished because he was sinful. And God took all the credit.
And because he had been sinful he was forbidden from getting hold of the Holy Grail.
It came to me suddenly that Launcelot had a lot in common with Leigh Matthews. Everyone said (well, my father did, anyway) that Leigh Matthews was the best footballer ever, just as Launcelot had once been the best knight ever. But then he’d gone and punched Neville Bruns and everything had gone wrong for him.
I wondered whether madness had overtaken Lethal Leigh at the moment when he punched Neville Bruns. I remembered a phrase that had been used a lot at the time: in the heat of the moment. A player was not responsible for what he did in the heat of the moment. I had a pretty shrewd notion that if I offered the heat of the moment as an excuse for some action of my own, I wouldn’t get far. But perhaps the heat of the moment meant a kind of madness. I’d heard people saying that they saw red, when they’d done something violent and angry. Perhaps Lethal Leigh had seen red? Perhaps that was like having madness overtaking you?
I wondered idly whether Leigh Matthews, had he lived long ago, would, like Launcelot, have gone on a quest for the Holy Grail.
And then it hit me. My father was right after all. Leigh Matthews was a hero. He was as much of a hero as Launcelot.
Leigh Matthews was already on a quest for the Holy Grail. Had my father not explained that the grand final cup was known as the Holy Grail? Was he not tracking Hawthorn’s passage up the league ladder in the expectation that they would play in—and win—the grand final, and thus come into possession of the Holy Grail?
It all fell into place for me. By hitting Neville Bruns in the heat of the moment Leigh Matthews had gone wrong; and, just as Launcelot had disqualified himself from the quest for the Holy Grail, Leigh Matthews had made it impossible for himself to captain the winning side in the grand final.
I thought of Leigh Matthews telling his coach he would resign: it was, I thought, like Launcelot’s cry when he had awoken to find Elaine next to him: Alas! I have lived for too long, for now I am dishonoured! Launcelot had then jumped into the rosebushes and run away and gone completely mad (as opposed to being mad in the heat of the moment). Leigh Matthews had done none of these things, but I thought perhaps his completely mad phase was yet to come. And then, later, the weeping lady had come to Launcelot and told him he was no longer the best knight in the world, and Launcelot had said I knew well that I was never the best. That must have been why Leigh Matthews had offered to resign—because he knew well he could no longer be the best; he knew he would never hold the Holy Grail.
I wondered whether I should inform my father that the principal dream of his life was doomed to failure. I felt I had some sort of a responsibility here, but as I imagined the probable course of this conversation I came to think that perhaps I might let it go.
Launcelot, I realised, like Leigh Matthews, wanted to be good, but for all his virtue and strength he constantly fell short. Because of his flaws, he engaged me in a way Arthur never had.
This realisation propelled me back to my casting, and I began once more to look speculatively at Fleshbane. It wasn’t ideal casting, but still I felt Launcelot could be accommodated within the Fleshbane persona, were it not for his emaciated face. The green limbs, the black armour—I could live with those and so, I thought, could Launcelot. In any case they could be covered up—with another of my father’s handkerchiefs, if necessary, or perhaps with some kind of silver foil arrangement. It was the death face, and those disturbing deep-set crimson eyes, that presented obstacles. I had already with infinite care covered Zarlok’s ordinary grey plastic sword with silver cooking foil so that it might more closely resemble Excalibur; and now I used the same sort of foil to give Fleshbane silver boots. I discovered also that pushing small balls of navy blue playdough into Fleshbane’s eye sockets went some way towards making him look more agreeable, or anyway less hideous.
I had some old shoeboxes on which I had pasted bits of bright wrapping paper; I’d also tried to create an effect of towers (with toilet rolls and twisted cones of paper) and crenellations (by cutting the cardboard with scissors, which had not been easy). I’d even painted a couple of backdrops (of a forest and of the Great Hall where the Round Table was) on butchers’ paper. The Round Table itself was a biscuit tin covered with gold paper: it wasn’t to scale, but then, nothing really was, including the characters themselves. I had by now become used to these discrepancies. Lancelyn Green said that Guinevere was dressed only in a smock when she was led to the stake. I’d looked up smock and discovered it wasn’t complicated, so I planned to have her in the white nightie I had created for the Rose doll out of my father’s handkerchief when she had played Juliet.
That week, Hawthorn’s ascent of the ladder was checked by Footscray, who beat the Hawks by five points on a muddy, slushy Western Oval. Allan Jeans had said after the match that there’d been only one kick the difference, which might have been technically the case but rang a bit hollow. The club’s recent run of victories had predisposed my father for more of the same, and he seemed to me unduly saddened by the unexpected loss. By now I was so certain that Leigh Matthews would never reach the Holy Grail that I nearly warned him of the impending disaster, but fortunately good sense prevailed and I let him grieve in peace.
While he grieved, I returned to the story of Launcelot and Guinevere. I whittled away at Lancelyn
Green. I wrote the play, including a scene where Launcelot rescues the Dolorous Lady.
Act One rolled along nicely.
ACT ONE, SCENE ONE
In the garden at Camelot. Rose/Guinevere is sitting with a maiden in a bower.
Crystal/Maiden: Your Majesty, I hear Sir Launcelot is coming back.
Rose/Guinevere: Is he in truth?
Crystal/Maiden: I believe so.
Enter Fleshbane/Launcelot on Slyder the Golden Stripe. Exit Crystal/Maiden.
Rose/Guinevere: Hello, dear Sir Launcelot. Welcome, the flower of knighthood.
Fleshbane/Launcelot: (dismounts) Hello, Your Majesty. How beautiful you look.
Rose/Guinevere: I have missed you such a lot, my lord.
Fleshbane/Launcelot: Me too. Yes, long have I longed for you. Tell me all that has happened.
Rose/Guinevere: Nothing much has happened. Lo, there is peace throughout the land.
Fleshbane/Launcelot: Well, that is good. It means we can spend lots of time together.
ACT ONE, SCENE TWO
In the hall of the Round Table. Enter Stinger/Hermit.
Stinger/Hermit: May God’s blessing fall upon this company.
Zarlok/Arthur: And also on you, good Hermit.
Stinger/Hermit: Tell me, good King Arthur, why is there an empty place at this table?
Zarlok/Arthur: That is the Siege Perilous, and only one knight shall ever sit there, and we don’t know who he is. But one day he will come.
Stinger/Hermit: Aha! He is not yet born. But this same year he shall see the light.
Zarlok/Arthur: Really?
Stinger/Hermit: Yes, but it is not that that I came hither to speak of. I need Sir Launcelot to come with me to save a lady in the Dolorous Tower.
Zarlok/Arthur: I am sure he’ll want to do that.
Fleshbane/Launcelot: I do.
Stinger/Hermit: Have you got what it takes, Sir Launcelot?
Fleshbane/Launcelot: I think so.
Stinger/Hermit: Let us go, then.
Fleshbane/Launcelot and Stinger/Hermit both mount Slyder.
Zarlok/Arthur: Goodbye, good Sir Launcelot. Best of luck!
Rose/Guinevere: Goodbye! Come back soon!
Fleshbane/Launcelot: Goodbye! Goodbye!
They ride away.
ACT ONE, SCENE THREE
At the Dolorous Tower.
Stinger/Hermit: Here we are, good knight.
Fleshbane/Launcelot: Where is the lady?
Stinger/Hermit: She is in a bath of boiling water, just through that door.
Fleshbane/Launcelot breaks down the door. Behind it is Crystal/Dolorous Lady, in a bath of boiling water. Fleshbane/Launcelot pulls her out of the bath.
Fleshbane/Launcelot: There you go!
Crystal/Dolorous Lady: Thank you very much. Are you Sir Launcelot of the Lake?
Fleshbane/Launcelot: Yes, I am.
Crystal/Dolorous Lady: Thank you, Sir Launcelot. You are indeed the flower of knighthood. It is good to be out of that awful boiling water.
They hug.
Stinger/Hermit: And now, Sir Launcelot, since you have saved this lady, you must deliver us also from a dragon which dwells nearby in an ancient tomb.
Fleshbane/Launcelot: Thither I shall go and so do.
Fleshbane/Launcelot mounts Slyder and rides to tomb. Calamitus/Dragon comes out breathing fire and hissing horribly. Fleshbane/Launcelot fights him and kills him.
Stinger/Hermit: Well done, good sir knight. And now we will go to the castle of King Pelles and you will meet Elaine.
They ride away.
So far, so good. You couldn’t of course have actual boiling water in the Dolorous Lady’s bath, any more than you could have actual fire pluming out from Calamitus’s nostrils. But I hardly noticed such things. Fleshbane’s face was still bothering me. The blue playdough went some way to beautifying him, but not far enough. Eventually I dusted his face with talcum powder. You could still see its greenness, but it was less arresting. And I found a red ribbon and tied it sash-like around his torso, to make him feel more of a hero.
We moved to Act Two, in which Elaine enchants Launcelot into thinking she is Guinevere.
The sceptic in me felt it was difficult to see how Launcelot could get so close to Elaine without realising she wasn’t Guinevere. The romantic part of me felt that this was all perfectly fine. I surged on anyway. Darling Guinevere! exclaimed Fleshbane/Launcelot: as he ran towards Crystal/Elaine. Hello, dear Launcelot, flower of all knighthood, she cried back. When they awoke in the morning I reverted briefly to Lancelyn Green’s dialogue, and then I decided to introduce a narrator in my own voice.
Fleshbane/Launcelot: Alas! I have lived too long, for now I am dishonoured!
Crystal/Elaine: Ah, noble Sir Launcelot! I did all these things only for love of you!
Narrator: Launcelot cried aloud in his agony of mind, and the world seemed to spin about him.
Fleshbane/Launcelot: Oh! Oh! Oh!
Narrator: Flinging open the window, he leapt out of it, clad only in his shirt, fell into a bed of roses, and sprang to his feet all scratched and bleeding from the thorns.
Fleshbane/Launcelot: Oh, ouch! Ouch! Ouch!
Narrator: He rushed away still crying aloud, until he was lost in the forest. And there he wandered, upon the desolate hills of Wales, his wits quite gone from him.
Launcelot had to be rescued from his witlessness. This was accomplished through the good offices of Sir Bors (played by Brutum), Elaine and the ubiquitous elderly Hermit. We moved on to Galahad (Ironstrike) coming to Camelot and claiming his sacred place at the Round Table biscuit tin. Crystal had to assume responsibility for the Holy Grail procession, and I thought she managed both dignity and panache as she carried Pippa’s eggcup through the castle.
Acts Five and Six were brief, probably because I had expended so much energy on the earlier acts. Launcelot, sadder and older but possibly not much wiser, came back to Camelot and had a quarrel with Guinevere. Then they made up again, but were discovered in Guinevere’s bedroom by Mordred:
Rose/Guinevere: I’m sorry to have been so silly.
Fleshbane/Launcelot: That’s all right, fair lady. I wasn’t good about it either.
Rose/Guinevere: It’s lovely to have you back, anyway. (Hugs him)
Hateshi/Mordred: (from outside the door) You traitor, Sir Launcelot, now are you caught!
Rose/Guinevere: Alas! Now are we both betrayed!
Fleshbane/Launcelot: Madam, is there any armour here? These cowards won’t take me easily.
Rose/Guinevere: (weeping) Alas! No, I don’t keep any armour in my bedroom, not even a helmet.
Fleshbane/Launcelot: (shouting) Fair lords, be quiet and I will open the door!
Hateshi/Mordred: You are a traitor!
Narrator: Then Launcelot wound his cloak about his arm, unbarred the door with his left hand and opened it a little way. Immediately a knight—his name was Sir Colgrevaunce—rushed forward, striking at Launcelot with all his might.
Brutum/Sir Colgrevaunce: Have at you, sir knight! Traitor, traitor!
Launcelot strikes him down.
Narrator: But Launcelot used his cloak to get away from the blow and hit Sir Colgrevaunce on his head so that he fell down and never moved again. Launcelot dragged him into the room and barred the door once more. Then with the queen’s help he stripped the armour from the dead man and put it on himself.
Rose/Guinevere: Ah, woe is me! Woe is me!
Ironstrike/Sir Agravain: (from outside the door) Traitor knight! Come out! Come out!
Fleshbane/Launcelot: Shut up, I’m coming!
Narrator: Then Launcelot flung the door wide open. Next moment he was among them, and the swords flashed like lightning: at the first stroke he slew Sir Agravain, and then he killed everybody else except for Sir Mordred, who ran away.
Fleshbane/Launcelot: I’m going now! But if you are in danger be sure that I will come and rescue you!
Narrator: Then Launcelot rode away, but M
ordred came, wounded, to Arthur where he sat in the Great Hall with Gawain.
Zarlok/Arthur: What has happened? Where is Sir Launcelot? Did you find him in the queen’s chamber?
Hateshi/Mordred: He was there! He truly was! But he has escaped! He went and killed everybody!
Zarlok/Arthur: Ah, he is indeed a marvellous knight! Alas that he should not be my friend anymore, for now I am sure that the fellowship of the Round Table is broken forever, because so many knights will be on Launcelot’s side.
Hateshi/Mordred: What about the Queen? She is guilty of high treason and she must die at the stake!
Arthur weeps.
Brutum/Sir Gawain: Think about it, Your Majesty. How do we know they are guilty?
Hateshi/Mordred: She is guilty! Guilty!
Zarlok/Arthur: The Queen is guilty and must die according to the law. Be ready in the morning to lead the queen to the fire.
I liked Arthur’s rueful and spontaneous exclamation—Ah, he is indeed a marvellous knight! It made him seem more human.
My adrenaline was racing. Heart thudding, I changed Guinevere into her smock and plunged into the final act.
Narrator: And so the next morning Guinevere was led to the stake, dressed only in her smock, and many followed her there in mourning garments. And Sir Gawain had said that he didn’t want to be involved in burning the queen, and so it was Sir Gawain’s brothers, Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth, who led her to the stake. They had no weapons and were wearing robes of mourning. But Sir Mordred was there fully armed and with him lots of knights who also were armed.
Hateshi/Mordred: The Queen is guilty of high treason. The queen must die.
Narrator: And Arthur was there weeping.
Zarlok/Arthur: Light the torch!
Narrator: And so the torch was lit.
Zarlok/Arthur: Put the torch to the stake!
Narrator: And so it was done. But then came Sir Launcelot, thundering down on his mighty steed with his followers.
Launcelot and Slyder come galloping down.
Narrator: And then Sir Launcelot cut his way to the stake, killing many knights as he came. And without knowing it, he killed both Gaheris and Gareth. And then he reached Guinevere.
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