The two that out of north had follow’d him:
665 This bare a maiden shield, a casque; that held
The horse, the spear; whereat Sir Gareth loosed
A cloak that dropt from collar-bone to heel,
A cloth of roughest web, and cast it down,
And from it like a fuel-smother’d fire,
670 That lookt half-dead, brake bright, and flash’d as those
Dull-coated things, that making slide apart
Their dusk wing-cases, all beneath there burns
A jewell’d harness, ere they pass and fly.
So Gareth ere he parted flash’d in arms.
675 Then as he donn’d the helm, and took the shield
And mounted horse and graspt a spear, of grain
Storm-strengthen’d on a windy site, and tipt
With trenchant steel, around him slowly prest
The people, while from out of kitchen came
680 The thralls in throng, and seeing who had work’d
Lustier than any, and whom they could but love,
Mounted in arms, threw up their caps and cried,
‘God bless the King, and all his fellowship!’
And on thro’ lanes of shouting Gareth rode
685 Down the slope street, and past without the gate.
So Gareth past with joy; but as the cur
Pluckt from the cur he fights with, ere his cause
Be cool’d by fighting, follows, being named,
His owner, but remembers all, and growls
690 Remembering, so Sir Kay beside the door
Mutter’d in scorn of Gareth whom he used
To harry and hustle.
‘Bound upon a quest
With horse and arms – the King hath past his time –
My scullion knave! Thralls to your work again,
695 For an your fire be low ye kindle mine!
Will there be dawn in West and eve in East?
Begone! – my knave! – belike and like enow
Some old head-blow not heeded in his youth
So shook his wits they wander in his prime –
700 Crazed! How the villain lifted up his voice,
Nor shamed to bawl himself a kitchen-knave.
Tut: he was tame and meek enow with me,
Till peacock’d up with Lancelot’s noticing.
Well – I will after my loud knave, and learn
705 Whether he know me for his master yet.
Out of the smoke he came, and so my lance
Hold, by God’s grace, he shall into the mire –
Thence, if the King awaken from his craze,
Into the smoke again.’
But Lancelot said,
710 ‘Kay, wherefore wilt thou go against the King,
For that did never he whereon ye rail,
But ever meekly served the King in thee?
Abide: take counsel; for this lad is great
And lusty, and knowing both of lance and sword.
715 ‘Tut, tell not me,’ said Kay, ‘ye are overfine
To mar stout knaves with foolish courtesies:’
Then mounted, on thro’ silent faces rode
Down the slope city, and out beyond the gate.
But by the field of tourney lingering yet
720 Mutter’d the damsel, ‘Wherefore did the King
Scorn me? for, were Sir Lancelot lackt, at least
He might have yielded to me one of those
Who tilt for lady’s love and glory here,
Rather than – O sweet heaven! O fie upon him –
His kitchen-knave.’
725 To whom Sir Gareth drew
(And there were none but few goodlier than he)
Shining in arms, ‘Damsel, the quest is mine.
Lead, and I follow.’ She thereat, as one
That smells a foul-flesh’d agaric in the holt,
730 And deems it carrion of some woodland thing,
Or shrew, or weasel, nipt her slender nose
With petulant thumb and finger, shrilling, ‘Hence!
Avoid, thou smellest all of kitchen-grease.
And look who comes behind,’ for there was Kay.
735 ’Knowest thou not me? thy master? I am Kay.
We lack thee by the hearth.’
And Gareth to him,
‘Master no more! too well I know thee, ay –
The most ungentle knight in Arthur’s hall.’
‘Have at thee then,’ said Kay: they shock’d, and Kay
740 Fell shoulder-slipt, and Gareth cried again,
‘Lead, and I follow,’ and fast away she fled.
But after sod and shingle ceased to fly
Behind her, and the heart of her good horse
Was nigh to burst with violence of the beat,
745 Perforce she stay’d, and overtaken spoke.
‘What doest thou, scullion, in my fellowship?
Deem’st thou that I accept thee aught the more
Or love thee better, that by some device
Full cowardly, or by mere unhappiness,
Thou hast overthrown and slain thy master–thou! –
Dish-washer and broach-turner, loon! – to me
750 Thou smellest all of kitchen as before.’
‘Damsel,’ Sir Gareth answer’d gently, ‘say
Whate’er ye will, but whatsoe’er ye say,
755 I leave not till I finish this fair quest,
Or die therefore.’
‘Ay, wilt thou finish it?
Sweet lord, how like a noble knight he talks!
The listening rogue hath caught the manner of it.
But, knave, anon thou shalt be met with, knave,
760 And then by such a one that thou for all
The kitchen brewis that was ever supt
Shalt not once dare to look him in the face.’
‘I shall assay,’ said Gareth with a smile
That madden’d her, and away she flash’d again
765 Down the long avenues of a boundless wood,
And Gareth following was again beknaved.
‘Sir Kitchen-knave, I have miss’d the only way
Where Arthur’s men are set along the wood;
The wood is nigh as full of thieves as leaves:
770 If both be slain, I am rid of thee; but yet,
Sir Scullion, canst thou use that spit of thine?
Fight, an thou canst: I have miss’d the only way.’
So till the dusk that follow’d evensong
Rode on the two, reviler and reviled;
775 Then after one long slope was mounted, saw,
Bowl-shaped, thro’ tops of many thousand pines
A gloomy-gladed hollow slowly sink
To westward – in the deeps whereof a mere,
Round as the red eye of an Eagle-owl,
780 Under the half-dead sunset glared; and shouts
Ascended, and there brake a servingman
Flying from out of the black wood, and crying,
‘They have bound my lord to cast him in the mere.’
Then Gareth, ‘Bound am I to right the wrong’d,
785 But straitlier bound am I to bide with thee.’
And when the damsel spake contemptuously,
‘Lead, and I follow,’ Gareth cried again,
‘Follow, I lead!’ so down among the pines
He plunged; and there, blackshadow’d nigh the mere,
790 And mid-thigh-deep in bulrushes and reed,
Saw six tall men haling a seventh along,
A stone about his neck to drown him in it.
Three with good blows he quieted, but three
Fled thro’ the pines; and Gareth loosed the stone
795 From off his neck, then in the mere beside
Tumbled it; oilily bubbled up the mere.
Last, Gareth loosed his bonds and on free feet
Set him, a stalwart Baron, Arthur’s friend.
‘Well that ye came,
or else these caitiff rogues
800 Had wreak’d themselves on me; good cause is theirs
To hate me, for my wont hath ever been
To catch my thief, and then like vermin here
Drown him, and with a stone about his neck;
And under this wan water many of them
805 Lie rotting, but at night let go the stone,
And rise, and flickering in a grimly light
Dance on the mere. Good now, ye have saved a life
Worth somewhat as the cleanser of this wood.
And fain would I reward thee worshipfully.
What guerdon will ye?’
810 Gareth sharply spake,
‘None! for the deed’s sake have I done the deed,
In uttermost obedience to the King.
But wilt thou yield this damsel harbourage?’
Whereat the Baron saying, ‘I well believe
815 You be of Arthur’s Table,’ a light laugh
Broke from Lynette, ‘Ay, truly of a truth,
And in a sort, being Arthur’s kitchen-knave! –
But deem not I accept thee aught the more,
Scullion, for running sharply with thy spit
820 Down on a rout of craven foresters.
A thresher with his flail had scatter’d them.
Nay – for thou smellest of the kitchen still.
But an this lord will yield us harbourage, Well.’
825 So she spake. A league beyond the wood,
All in a full-fair manor and a rich,
His towers where that day a feast had been
Held in high hall, and many a viand left,
And many a costly cate, received the three.
830 And there they placed a peacock in his pride
Before the damsel, and the Baron set
Gareth beside her, but at once she rose.
‘Meseems, that here is much discourtesy,
Setting this knave, Lord Baron, at my side.
Hear me – this morn I stood in Arthur’s hall,
835 And pray’d the King would grant me Lancelot
To fight the brotherhood of Day and Night–
The last a monster unsubduable
Of any save of him for whom I call’d –
Suddenly bawls this frontless kitchen-knave,
840 “The quest is mine; thy kitchen-knave am I,
And mighty thro’ thy meats and drinks am I.”
Then Arthur all at once gone mad replies,
“Go therefore,” and so gives the quest to him –
Him – here – a villain fitter to stick swine
845 Than ride abroad redressing women’s wrong,
Or sit beside a noble gentlewoman.’
Then half-ashamed and part-amazed, the lord
Now look’d at one and now at other, left
The damsel by the peacock in his pride,
850 And, seating Gareth at another board,
Sat down beside him, ate and then began.
‘Friend, whether thou be kitchen-knave, or not,
Or whether it be the maiden’s fantasy,
And whether she be mad, or else the King,
855 Or both or neither, or thyself be mad,
I ask not: but thou strikest a strong stroke,
For strong thou art and goodly therewithal,
And saver of my life; and therefore now,
For here be mighty men to joust with, weigh
860 Whether thou wilt not with thy damsel back
To crave again Sir Lancelot of the King.
Thy pardon; I but speak for thine avail,
The saver of my life.’
And Gareth said,
‘Full pardon, but I follow up the quest,
865 Despite of Day and Night and Death and Hell.’
So when, next morn, the lord whose life he saved
Had, some brief space, convey’d them on their way
And left them with God-speed, Sir Gareth spake,
‘Lead, and I follow.’ Haughtily she replied,
870 ‘I fly no more: I allow thee for an hour.
Lion and stoat have isled together, knave,
In time of flood. Nay, furthermore, methinks
Some ruth is mine for thee. Back wilt thou, fool?
For hard by here is one will overthrow
875 And slay thee: then will I to court again,
And shame the King for only yielding me
My champion from the ashes of his hearth.’
To whom Sir Gareth answer’d courteously,
‘Say thou thy say, and I will do my deed.
880 Allow me for mine hour, and thou wilt find
My fortunes all as fair as hers who lay
Among the ashes and wedded the King’s son.’
Then to the shore of one of those long loops
Wherethro’ the serpent river coil’d, they came.
885 Rough-thicketed were the banks and steep; the stream
Full, narrow; this a bridge of single arc
Took at a leap; and on the further side
Arose a silk pavilion, gay with gold
In streaks and rays, and all Lent-lily in hue,
890 Save that the dome was purple, and above,
Crimson, a slender banneret fluttering.
And therebefore the lawless warrior paced
Unarm’d, and calling, ‘Damsel, is this he,
The champion thou hast brought from Arthur’s hall?
895 For whom we let thee pass.‘Nay, nay,’ she said,
‘Sir Morning-Star. The King in utter scorn
Of thee and thy much folly hath sent thee here
His kitchen-knave: and look thou to thyself:
See that he fall not on thee suddenly,
900 And slay thee unarm’d: he is not knight but knave.’
Then at his call, ‘O daughters of the Dawn,
And servants of the Morning-Star, approach,
Arm me,’ from out the silken curtain-folds
Bare-footed and bare-headed three fair girls
905 In gilt and rosy raiment came: their feet
In dewy grasses glisten’d; and the hair
All over glanced with dewdrop or with gem
Like sparkles in the stone Avanturine.
These arm’d him in blue arms, and gave a shield
910 Blue also, and thereon the morning star.
And Gareth silent gazed upon the knight,
Who stood a moment, ere his horse was brought,
Glorying; and in the stream beneath him, shone
Immingled with Heaven’s azure waveringly,
915 The gay pavilion and the naked feet,
His arms, the rosy raiment, and the star.
Then she that watch’d him, ‘Wherefore stare ye so?
Thou shakest in thy fear: there yet is time:
Flee down the valley before he get to horse.
920 Who will cry shame? Thou art not knight but knave.’
Said Gareth, ‘Damsel, whether knave or knight,
Far liefer had I fight a score of times
Than hear thee so missay me and revile.
Fair words were best for him who fights for thee;
925 But truly foul are better, for they send
That strength of anger thro’ mine arms, I know
That I shall overthrow him.’
And he that bore
The star, when mounted, cried from o’er the bridge,
‘A kitchen-knave, and sent in scorn of me!
930 Such fight not I, but answer scorn with scorn.
For this were shame to do him further wrong
Than set him on his feet, and take his horse
And arms, and so return him to the King.
Come, therefore, leave thy lady lightly, knave.
935 Avoid: for it beseemeth not a knave
To ride with such a lady.’
‘Dog, thou liest.
I spring from loftier lineage than thine own.’
He spake; and all at fiery speed the two
Shock’d on the central bridge, and either spear
940 Bent but not brake, and either knight at once,
Hurl’d as a stone from out of a catapult
Beyond his horse’s crupper and the bridge,
Fell, as if dead; but quickly rose and drew,
And Gareth lash’d so fiercely with his brand
945 He drave his enemy backward down the bridge,
The damsel crying, ‘Well-stricken, kitchen-knave!’
Till Gareth’s shield was cloven; but one stroke
Laid him that clove it grovelling on the ground.
Then cried the fall’n, ‘Take not my life: I yield.’
950 And Gareth, ‘So this damsel ask it of me
Good – I accord it easily as a grace.’
She reddening, ‘Insolent scullion: I of thee?
I bound to thee for any favour ask’d!
‘Then shall he die.’ And Gareth there unlaced
955 His helmet as to slay him, but she shriek’d,
‘Be not so hardy, scullion, as to slay
One nobler than thyself.’Damsel, thy charge
Is an abounding pleasure to me. Knight,
Thy life is thine at her command. Arise
960 And quickly pass to Arthur’s hall, and say
His kitchen-knave hath sent thee. See thou crave
His pardon for thy breaking of his laws.
Myself, when I return, will plead for thee.
Thy shield is mine – farewell; and, damsel, thou,
Lead, and I follow.’
965 And fast away she fled.
Then when he came upon her, spake, ‘Methought,
Knave, when I watch’d thee striking on the bridge
The savour of thy kitchen came upon me
A little faintlier: but the wind hath changed:
970 I scent it twenty-fold.’ And then she sang,
‘ “O morning star” (not that tall felon there
Whom thou by sorcery or unhappiness
Or some device, hast foully overthrown),
‘“O morning star that smilest in the blue,
975 O star, my morning dream hath proven true,
Smile sweetly, thou! my love hath smiled on me.”
‘But thou begone, take counsel, and away,
For hard by here is one that guards a ford –
The second brother in their fool’s parable –
980 Will pay thee all thy wages, and to boot.
Care not for shame: thou art not knight but knave.’
To whom Sir Gareth answer’d, laughingly,
‘Parables? Hear a parable of the knave.
Idylls of the King Page 6