The Fall of Arthur

Home > Fantasy > The Fall of Arthur > Page 3
The Fall of Arthur Page 3

by J. R. R. Tolkien


  to death they condemned her. But death waited.

  There Lancelot as lightning came

  amid riding thunder ruthless flaming

  in sudden assault sweeping heedless

  he friends of old felled and trampled, 80

  as trees by tempest torn uprooted.

  Gaheris and Gareth Gawain’s brethren

  by the fire fell they as fate willed it.

  From the fire he snatched her; far he bore her;

  fear fell on men, none would follow after; 85

  for Ban’s kindred in their battle closed him.

  Then rage left him, and his wrath sickened,

  his mood faltered. He mourned too late

  in ruth for the rending of the Round Table.

  His pride he repented, his prowess cursing 90

  that friends had felled, faith had broken.

  For the love longing of his lord Arthur

  he would heal yet honour with his heart’s anguish,

  and the queen restore, by the king’s mercy

  her estate restablish. Strange she deemed him 95

  by a sudden sickness from his self altered.

  From war she shrank not, might her will conquer,

  life both and love with delight keeping

  to wield as she wished while the world lasted;

  but little liked her lonely exile, 100

  or for love to lose her life’s splendour.

  In sorrow they parted. With searing words

  his wound she probed his will searching.

  Grief bewrayed her and greed thwarted;

  the shining sun was sudden shaded 105

  in storm of darkness. Strange he deemed her

  from her self altered. By the sea stood he

  as a graven stone grey and hopeless.

  In pain they parted. Pardon found she

  by her king’s mercy, and men’s counsel, 110

  lest worse befall, war unholy

  among Christian kings, while the crows feasted.

  In the courts of Camelot she was queen again

  great and glorious. Grace with Arthur

  he sought and found not. They his sword refused. 115

  On that knee no more, knight in fealty

  might he hilt handle, nor his head there lay,

  not Lancelot, love forsaking,

  pardon asking, with pride humbled.

  Loveforsaken, from the land banished, 120

  from the Round Table’s royal order

  and his siege glorious where he sat aforetime

  he went sadly. The salt water

  lay grey behind him.

  Grief knew Arthur

  in his heart’s secret, and his house him seemed 125

  in mirth minished, marred in gladness,

  his noblest knight in his need losing.

  Not alone to his land over loud waters

  went Lancelot. Lords of his kindred

  were many and mighty. At their masts floated 130

  the banners of Blamore and of Bors the strong,

  of Lionel, Lavain, and loyal Ector,

  Ban’s younger son. They to Benwick sailed

  Britain forsaking. In battle no more

  to Arthur’s aid their arms bore they, 135

  but in the towers of Ban tall and dauntless

  watchful dwelt they, war refusing,

  Lancelot their lord with love guarding

  in his days of darkness. Deep his anguish.

  He lord betrayed to love yielding, 140

  and love forsaking lord regained not,

  by leagues of sea from love sundered.

  From western havens word was rumoured

  of Arthur arming against his own kingdom,

  how a mighty navy manned with vengeance 145

  he swift assembled that the sudden fury

  of striding storm stayed and hindered.

  Of the Lord of Logres, and the leagued treason

  that his throne threatened, thought he darkly:

  now they need would know of knights faithful 150

  to uphold on high the holy crown,

  the west still to wield by the waves’ margin,

  walls defending against the world’s ruin;

  now they most would miss the mighty swords

  of Ban’s kindred and their banners gleaming; 155

  now Lancelot his lord’s battle

  should fill with fire as a flame shining.

  Then half he hoped, and half wished not,

  to receive summons, swift commandment,

  to king the allegiance loyal recalling 160

  of Lancelot to his lord Arthur.

  Of Guinever again grieving thought he:

  there was woe in Britain, war was kindled;

  were her faith renewed firm and steadfast,

  then she stood in danger. Dear he loved her. 165

  Though in wrath she left him, no ruth showing,

  no pity feeling, proud and scornful,

  dear he loved her. When danger threatened,

  if she sent him summons, swift and gladly

  against tide and tempest trumpet sounding, 170

  he would sail overseas, sword unsheathing

  in land forlorn at the last battle

  by his lady bidden, though his lord shunned him.

  But there came neither from king summons

  nor word from lady. Only wind journeyed 175

  over wide waters wild and heedless.

  Now Gawain’s glory, golden riding

  as the westering sun that the world kindles

  ere he red sinketh by the rim of ocean,

  before Arthur blazed, while the East darkened. 180

  Guinever hiding in the grey shadow

  watched and waited, while the world faltered;

  grimhearted grown as gladness waned

  danger weighed she in her dark counsel,

  her hope in havoc, in her heart thinking 185

  men’s fate to mould to her mind’s purpose.

  And Lancelot over leagues of sea

  looked and pondered alone musing

  doubtful-hearted. Dark had fallen.

  No horn he blew, no host gathered; 190

  he wavered and went not. Wind was roaring

  the towers trembled tempest-shaken.

  Dawn came dimly. On the dun beaches

  the foam glimmered faint and ghostly;

  the tide was turning, tempest waning. 195

  Light leapt upward from the long shadow,

  and walking on the water waves kindled,

  as glass glittering green and silver.

  In sombre sleep by the sill drooping

  lay Lancelot alone dreaming; 200

  his head was bowed by the high window.

  His eyes opened upon early day:

  the wind still walked in the wide heaven

  lofty faring, but on lowly earth

  peace had fallen. Pools reflected 205

  the slanting sun silver gleaming;

  washed with water the world shimmered;

  bird sang to bird blithe at morning.

  His heart arose, as were heavy burden

  lightly lifted. Alone standing 210

  with the flame of morn in his face burning

  the surge he felt of song forgotten

  in his heart moving as a harp-music.

  There Lancelot, low and softly

  to himself singing, the sun greeted, 215

  life from darkness lifted shining

  in the dome of heaven by death exalted.

  Ever times would change and tides alter,

  and o’er hills of morning hope come striding

  to awake the weary, while the world lasted. 220

  The hour he knew not, that never after

  it would return in time, tempest bringing,

  to war calling with the wind’s trumpet.

  The tides of chance had turned backward,

  their flood was passed flowing swiftly.
225

  Death was before him, and his day setting

  beyond the tides of time to return never

  among waking men, while the world lasted.

  *

  IV

  ____________

  How Arthur returned at morn and by Sir Gawain’s hand won the passage of the sea.

  Wolves were howling on the wood’s border;

  the windy trees wailed and trembled,

  and wandering leaves wild and homeless

  drifted dying in the deep hollows.

  Dark lay the road through dank valleys 5

  among mounting hills mist-encircled

  to the walls of Wales in the west frowning

  brownfaced and bare. To the black mountains

  horsemen hastened, on the houseless stones

  no track leaving. Tumbling waters 10

  from the fells falling, foaming in darkness,

  they heard as they passed to the hidden kingdom.

  Night fell behind. The noise of hooves

  was lost in silence in a land of shadow.

  *

  Dawn came dimly. On the dark faces 15

  of the old mountains eastward staring

  light was kindled. The land shimmered.

  Sun came shining. Silver morning

  bathed in water bright ascended

  the bare heaven blue and lofty. 20

  Beams fell slanting through the boughs of trees

  glancing and glimmering in the grey forest;

  rain drops running from rustling leaves

  like drops of glass dripped and glistened.

  No beast was stirring: the birds listened. 25

  As wary as wolves through the wood stalking

  to the marches rode there Mordred’s hunters,

  huge and hungry hounds beside them

  the fewte followed fiercely baying.

  The queen they hunted with cold hatred 30

  till their hope failed them amid houseless stones,

  halting hungry-eyed under the hills’ menace

  at the walls of Wales. War was behind them

  and woe in Britain. Winds were shifting,

  Mordred waiting.

  Their message found him 35

  by the seaward cliffs in the south-country

  sheer and shining. Upon shaven grass

  his tents were marshalled, as a town clustered

  with lanes and alleys loud with voices

  in the dales hidden and on downs rising 40

  above Romeril where running water

  to the shore had cloven a shallow pathway.

  From the East, from Angel and the isles of mist,

  there kings of Almain their craft mustered,

  under cliff crowding their carven prows 45

  and black banners in the breeze flying.

  Fair wind came foaming over flecked water,

  on gleaming shingle green and silver

  the waves were washing on walls of chalk.

  On a mound of grass Mordred stood there: 50

  ever gazed his eyes out and southward,

  lest Arthur’s ships unawares to shore

  the winds should waft. Watchmen he posted

  by the sea’s margin in the south-country,

  by night and day the narrow waters 55

  from the hills to heed. There on high raised he

  builded beacons that should blaze with fire,

  if Arthur came, to his aid calling

  his men to muster where he most needed.

  Thus he watched and waited and the wind studied. 60

  Ivor hailed him with eager voice

  by his tent standing tall and brooding;

  words unwelcome from the West brought he.

  ‘O King!’ he cried, ‘the Queen is lost!

  Her trail faded in the trackless stones; 65

  hound and hunter in the hills faltered.

  To the hidden kingdom and the holy vales

  where Leodegrance once long ago

  lived beleaguered, lord enchanted,

  she hath fled and is free. But few love her. 70

  Fear her no longer, the fay-woman!

  Fell fate take her! May her feet never

  return hither to trouble Mordred!

  From thy mind thrust her! With men deal thou,

  woman forsaking and to war turning! 75

  Thine hour is at hand.’ Then his eyes wavered

  and his tongue halted. Turning slowly

  with frown of thunder fiercely Mordred

  gazed on him glaring. ‘Begone!’ cried he.

  ‘The master’s hour master chooseth. 80

  Nought thou knowest. At need failing

  from vain errand dost venture home

  with tongue untamed to teach Mordred

  thy fool’s counsel? Flee mine anger

  unto foul fortune. The fiend take thee!’ 85

  Alone then long lowering paced he.

  In his bosom there burned under black shadow

  a smouldering fire whose smoke choked him;

  his mind wavered in a maze walking

  between fear and fury. At first his thought 90

  hunger-hunted from his hold wandered

  by lust allured to its long torment.

  But he guessed that Guinever had greeting sent

  by secret servant over sea speeding

  to Lancelot, love recalling 95

  and his aid asking in her evil day.

  Should Ban’s kindred to battle hasten

  and the fair lily on the field sable

  once more be seen marching proudly

  Arthur to strengthen, ill were boded 100

  to his plot and purpose. Thus he pondered long.

  For Lancelot, lord of Benwick,

  most he hated and yet most dreaded,

  and words of witchcraft well remembered

  that lords of Benwick the lily bearing 105

  in open battle should he ever challenge

  he would reap ruin. Thus wrath with cunning,

  doubt with daring in his dark counsel

  warred uncertain. The wind lessened.

  In cloudless sky clear and golden 110

  the sun at evening summer rekindled

  in a glow sinking. The sea glimmered

  under streaming stars in the steep heaven.

  Day followed day. Dawn came brightly

  with a breeze blowing blithe at morning 115

  cool and keenwingéd. A cry woke him.

  ‘A sail, a sail on the sea shining!’

  Watchmen were calling, wailing voices

  from ward to ward the wind carried,

  and grasping brands guards by the beacons 120

  wakeful waited. No word gave he.

  Eager went his eyes out and southward,

  and sails saw he on the sea climbing.

  Thus came Arthur at early morn

  at last returning to his lost kingdom. 125

  On his shrouds there shone sheen with silver

  a white lady in holy arms

  a babe bearing born of maiden.

  Sun shone through them. The sea sparkled.

  Men marked it well, Mordred knew it, 130

  Arthur’s ensign. Yet his eyes wandered;

  for the banner of Benwick breathless looked he,

  silver upon sable. But he saw it not.

  The fair flower-de-luce on its field withered

  drooping in darkness. Doom came nearer. 135

  The sun mounted and the sails whitened.

  Far over the sea faintly sounding

  trumpets heard they. Towering upward

  from Arthur’s side eager hastened

  a mighty ship in the morn gleaming 140

  high, white-timbered, with hull gilded;

  on its sail was sewn a sun rising,

  on its broidered banner in the breeze floated

  a fiery griffon golden flaming.

  Thus came Gawain his king guarding 145


  valiant-hearted the vaward leading:

  a hundred ships with hulls shining

  and shrouds swelling and shields swinging.

  Behind beheld they the host faring:

  deepweighed dromonds and drawn barges, 150

  galleys and galleons with gear of war,

  six hundred sail in the sun turning,

  fair sight and fell. Flags were streaming;

  ten thousand told targes hung there

  bright on the bulwarks, blazons of princes 155

  and knights of the North and the nine kingdoms

  of Britain the blessed. But Ban’s kindred,

  and Lancelot with his lilies came not.

  Then Mordred laughed loud and mirthless.

  Word he shouted. Wild were the trumpets. 160

  Beacons were blazing, banners were lifted,

  shaft rang on shield, and the shores echoed.

  War was awakened and woe in Britain.

  Thus came Arthur to his own kingdom

  in power and majesty proud returning 165

  to Romeril where running slowly

  by the shore now weeps a shuddering water.

  Sun shone on swords. Silver-pointed

  the spears sparkled as they sprang upward,

  white as wheatfield. Wheeling above them 170

  the crows were crying with cold voices.

  In the foaming sea flashed a thousand

  swift oars sweeping. Saxon chieftains

  at their stems standing sternly shouted;

  blades they brandished and broad axes, 175

  on their gods calling with grim voices.

  With dread faces dragon-prowed they spurred

  their sea-horses to sudden onset,

  swerving swifly and swinging inward.

  Beak met bulwark. Burst were timbers. 180

  There was clang of iron and crash of axes;

  sparked and splintered spears and helmets;

  the smiths of battle on smitten anvils

  there dinned and hammered deadly forging

  wrath and ruin. Red their hands were. 185

  About Prydwen pressed they, the proud and fair,

  the ship of Arthur with sheen of silver.

  Then Gawain sounded his glad trumpet.

  His great galleon golden shining

  as thunder riding thrust among them 190

  with wind behind her. In her wake followed

  lieges of Lothian, lords and captains.

  Oars were splintered. Iron clave timber,

  and ropes were riven. With rending crash

  masts dismantled as mountain-trees 195

  rushed down rattling in the roar of battle.

  Now grim Galuth Gawain brandished

  his sword renowned – smiths enchanted

  ere Rome was built with runes marked it

 

‹ Prev