Part 6

Then to the shore of one of those long loops Wherethrough the serpent river coiled, they came. 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, Save that the dome was purple, and above, Crimson, a slender banneret fluttering. And therebefore the lawless warrior paced Unarmed, and calling, “Damsel, is this he, The champion thou hast brought from Arthur’s hall? 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, And slay thee unarmed: 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 In gilt and rosy raiment came: their feet In dewy grasses glistened; and the hair All over glanced with dewdrop or with gem Like sparkles in the stone Avanturine. These armed him in blue arms, and gave a shield 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, The gay pavilion and the naked feet, His arms, the rosy raiment, and the star.

Then she that watched him, “Wherefore stare ye so? Thou shakest in thy fear: there yet is time: Flee down the valley before he get to horse. 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; But truly foul are better, for they send That strength of anger through 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! 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. 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 Shocked on the central bridge, and either spear Bent but not brake, and either knight at once, Hurled 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 lashed so fiercely with his brand 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 fallen, “Take not my life: I yield.” 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 asked!” “Then he shall die.” And Gareth there unlaced His helmet as to slay him, but she shrieked, “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 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.”

And fast away she fled. Then when he came upon her, spake, “Methought, Knave, when I watched thee striking on the bridge The savour of thy kitchen came upon me A little faintlier: but the wind hath changed: 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, 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— Will pay thee all thy wages, and to boot. Care not for shame: thou art not knight but knave.”

To whom Sir Gareth answered, laughingly, “Parables? Hear a parable of the knave. When I was kitchen-knave among the rest Fierce was the hearth, and one of my co-mates Owned a rough dog, to whom he cast his coat, ‘Guard it,’ and there was none to meddle with it. And such a coat art thou, and thee the King Gave me to guard, and such a dog am I, To worry, and not to flee—and—knight or knave— The knave that doth thee service as full knight Is all as good, meseems, as any knight Toward thy sister’s freeing.”

“Ay, Sir Knave! Ay, knave, because thou strikest as a knight, Being but knave, I hate thee all the more.”

“Fair damsel, you should worship me the more, That, being but knave, I throw thine enemies.”

“Ay, ay,” she said, “but thou shalt meet thy match.”

So when they touched the second river-loop, Huge on a huge red horse, and all in mail Burnished to blinding, shone the Noonday Sun Beyond a raging shallow. As if the flower, That blows a globe of after arrowlets, Ten thousand-fold had grown, flashed the fierce shield, All sun; and Gareth’s eyes had flying blots Before them when he turned from watching him. He from beyond the roaring shallow roared, “What doest thou, brother, in my marches here?” And she athwart the shallow shrilled again, “Here is a kitchen-knave from Arthur’s hall Hath overthrown thy brother, and hath his arms.” “Ugh!” cried the Sun, and vizoring up a red And cipher face of rounded foolishness, Pushed horse across the foamings of the ford, Whom Gareth met midstream: no room was there For lance or tourney-skill: four strokes they struck With sword, and these were mighty; the new knight Had fear he might be shamed; but as the Sun Heaved up a ponderous arm to strike the fifth, The hoof of his horse slipt in the stream, the stream Descended, and the Sun was washed away.

Then Gareth laid his lance athwart the ford; So drew him home; but he that fought no more, As being all bone-battered on the rock, Yielded; and Gareth sent him to the King, “Myself when I return will plead for thee.” “Lead, and I follow.” Quietly she led. “Hath not the good wind, damsel, changed again?” “Nay, not a point: nor art thou victor here. There lies a ridge of slate across the ford; His horse thereon stumbled—ay, for I saw it.

“‘O Sun’ (not this strong fool whom thou, Sir Knave, Hast overthrown through mere unhappiness), ‘O Sun, that wakenest all to bliss or pain, O moon, that layest all to sleep again, Shine sweetly: twice my love hath smiled on me.’

What knowest thou of lovesong or of love? Nay, nay, God wot, so thou wert nobly born, Thou hast a pleasant presence. Yea, perchance,—

“‘O dewy flowers that open to the sun, O dewy flowers that close when day is done, Blow sweetly: twice my love hath smiled on me.’

“What knowest thou of flowers, except, belike, To garnish meats with? hath not our good King Who lent me thee, the flower of kitchendom, A foolish love for flowers? what stick ye round The pasty? wherewithal deck the boar’s head? Flowers? nay, the boar hath rosemaries and bay.

“‘O birds, that warble to the morning sky, O birds that warble as the day goes by, Sing sweetly: twice my love hath smiled on me.’

“What knowest thou of birds, lark, mavis, merle, Linnet? what dream ye when they utter forth May-music growing with the growing light, Their sweet sun-worship? these be for the snare (So runs thy fancy) these be for the spit, Larding and basting. See thou have not now Larded thy last, except thou turn and fly. There stands the third fool of their allegory.”

For there beyond a bridge of treble bow, All in a rose-red from the west, and all Naked it seemed, and glowing in the broad Deep-dimpled current underneath, the knight, That named himself the Star of Evening, stood.

And Gareth, “Wherefore waits the madman there Naked in open dayshine?” “Nay,” she cried, “Not naked, only wrapt in hardened skins That fit him like his own; and so ye cleave His armour off him, these will turn the blade.”

Then the third brother shouted o’er the bridge, “O brother-star, why shine ye here so low? Thy ward is higher up: but have ye slain The damsel’s champion?” and the damsel cried,

“No star of thine, but shot from Arthur’s heaven With all disaster unto thine and thee! For both thy younger brethren have gone down Before this youth; and so wilt thou, Sir Star; Art thou not old?” “Old, damsel, old and hard, Old, with the might and breath of twenty boys.” Said Gareth, “Old, and over-bold in brag! But that same strength which threw the Morning Star Can throw the Evening.”

Then that other blew A hard and deadly note upon the horn. “Approach and arm me!” With slow steps from out An old storm-beaten, russet, many-stained Pavilion, forth a grizzled damsel came, And armed him in old arms, and brought a helm With but a drying evergreen for crest, And gave a shield whereon the Star of Even Half-tarnished and half-bright, his emblem, shone. But when it glittered o’er the saddle-bow, They madly hurled together on the bridge; And Gareth overthrew him, lighted, drew, There met him drawn, and overthrew him again, But up like fire he started: and as oft As Gareth brought him grovelling on his knees, So many a time he vaulted up again; Till Gareth panted hard, and his great heart, Foredooming all his trouble was in vain, Laboured within him, for he seemed as one That all in later, sadder age begins To war against ill uses of a life, But these from all his life arise, and cry, “Thou hast made us lords, and canst not put us down!” He half despairs; so Gareth seemed to strike Vainly, the damsel clamouring all the while, “Well done, knave-knight, well-stricken, O good knight-knave— O knave, as noble as any of all the knights— Shame me not, shame me not. I have prophesied— Strike, thou art worthy of the Table Round— His arms are old, he trusts the hardened skin— Strike—strike—the wind will never change again.” And Gareth hearing ever stronglier smote, And hewed great pieces of his armour off him, But lashed in vain against the hardened skin, And could not wholly bring him under, more Than loud Southwesterns, rolling ridge on ridge, The buoy that rides at sea, and dips and springs For ever; till at length Sir Gareth’s brand Clashed his, and brake it utterly to the hilt. “I have thee now;” but forth that other sprang, And, all unknightlike, writhed his wiry arms Around him, till he felt, despite his mail, Strangled, but straining even his uttermost Cast, and so hurled him headlong o’er the bridge Down to the river, sink or swim, and cried, “Lead, and I follow.”

But the damsel said, “I lead no longer; ride thou at my side; Thou art the kingliest of all kitchen-knaves.

“‘O trefoil, sparkling on the rainy plain, O rainbow with three colours after rain, Shine sweetly: thrice my love hath smiled on me.’