Part 6

“Now, by my faith,” said Arthur then, “Two marvellous knights are they, whose ken Toward battle makes the twain as ten, And Balen most of all born men Passeth of prowess all I know Or ever found or sought to see: Would God he would abide with me, To face the times foretold of thee And all the latter woe.”

For there had Merlin shown the king The doom that songs unborn should sing, The gifts that time should rise and bring Of blithe and bitter days to spring As weeds and flowers against the sun. And on the king for fear’s sake fell Sickness, and sorrow deep as hell, Nor even might sleep bid fear farewell If grace to sleep were won.

Down in a meadow green and still He bade the folk that wrought his will Pitch his pavilion, where the chill Soft night would let not rest fulfil His heart wherein dark fears lay deep. And sharp against his hearing cast Came a sound as of horsehoofs fast Passing, that ere their sound were past Aroused him as from sleep.

And forth he looked along the grass And saw before his portal pass A knight that wailed aloud, “Alas That life should find this dolorous pass And find no shield from doom and dole!” And hearing all his moan, “Abide, Fair sir,” the king arose and cried, “And say what sorrow bids you ride So sorrowful of soul.”

“My hurt may no man heal, God wot, And help of man may speed me not,” The sad knight said, “nor change my lot.” And toward the castle of Melyot Whose towers arose a league away He passed forth sorrowing: and anon, Ere well the woful sight were gone, Came Balen down the meads that shone, Strong, bright, and brave as day.

And seeing the king there stand, the knight Drew rein before his face to alight In reverence made for love’s sake bright With joy that set his face alight As theirs who see, alive, above, The sovereign of their souls, whose name To them is even as love’s own flame To enkindle hope that heeds not fame And knows no lord but love.

And Arthur smiled on him, and said, “Right welcome be thou: by my head, I would not wish me better sped. For even but now there came and fled Before me like a cloud that flies A knight that made most heavy cheer, I know not wherefore; nor may fear Or pity give my heart to hear Or lighten on mine eyes.

“But even for fear’s and pity’s sake Fain were I thou shouldst overtake And fetch again this knight that spake No word of answering grace to make Reply to mine that hailed him: thou, By force or by goodwill, shalt bring His face before me.” “Yea, my king,” Quoth Balen, “and a greater thing Were less than is my vow.

“I would the task required and heard Were heavier than your sovereign word Hath laid on me:” and thence he spurred Elate at heart as youth, and stirred With hope as blithe as fires a boy: And many a mile he rode, and found Far in a forest’s glimmering bound The man he sought afar around And seeing took fire for joy.

And with him went a maiden, fair As flowers aflush with April air. And Balen bade him turn him there To tell the king what woes they were That bowed him down so sore: and he Made woeful answer: “This should do Great scathe to me, with nought for you Of help that hope might hearken to For boot that may not be.”

And Balen answered: “I were loth To fight as one perforce made wroth With one that owes by knighthood’s oath One love, one service, and one troth With me to him whose gracious hand Holds fast the helm of knighthood here Whereby man’s hope and heart may steer: I pray you let not sorrow or fear Against his bidding stand.”

The strange knight gazed on him, and spake: “Will you, for Arthur’s royal sake, Be warrant for me that I take No scathe from strife that man may make? Then will I go with you.” And he Made joyous answer: “Yea, for I Will be your warrant or will die.” And thence they rode with hearts as high As men’s that search the sea.

And as by noon’s large light the twain Before the tented hall drew rein, Suddenly fell the strange knight, slain By one that came and went again And none might see him; but his spear Clove through the body, swift as fire, The man whose doom, forefelt as dire, Had darkened all his life’s desire, As one that death held dear.

And dying he turned his face and said, “Lo now thy warrant that my head Should fall not, following forth where led A knight whose pledge hath left me dead. This darkling manslayer hath to name Garlon: take thou my goodlier steed, Seeing thine is less of strength and speed, And ride, if thou be knight indeed, Even thither whence we came.

“And as the maiden’s fair behest Shall bid you follow on my quest, Follow: and when God’s will sees best, Revenge my death, and let me rest As one that lived and died a knight, Unstained of shame alive or dead.” And Balen, wrung with sorrow, said, “That shall I do: my hand and head I pledge to do you right.”

And thence with sorrowing heart and cheer He rode, in grief that cast out fear Lest death in darkness yet were near, And bore the truncheon of the spear Wherewith the woful knight lay slain To her with whom he rode, and she Still bare it with her, fain to see What righteous doom of God’s might be The darkling manslayer’s bane.

And down a dim deep woodland way They rode between the boughs asway With flickering winds whose flash and play Made sunlight sunnier where the day Laughed, leapt, and fluttered like a bird Caught in a light loose leafy net That earth for amorous heaven had set To hold and see the sundawn yet And hear what morning heard.

There in the sweet soft shifting light Across their passage rode a knight Flushed hot from hunting as from fight, And seeing the sorrow-stricken sight Made question of them why they rode As mourners sick at heart and sad, When all alive about them bade Sweet earth for heaven’s sweet sake be glad As heaven for earth’s love glowed.

“Me lists not tell you,” Balen said. The strange knight’s face grew keen and red “Now, might my hand but keep my head, Even here should one of twain lie dead Were he no better armed than I.” And Balen spake with smiling speed, Where scorn and courtesy kept heed Of either: “That should little need: Not here shall either die.”

And all the cause he told him through As one that feared not though he knew All: and the strange knight spake anew, Saying: “I will part no more from you While life shall last me.” So they went Where he might arm himself to ride, And rode across wild ways and wide To where against a churchyard side A hermit’s harbour leant.

And there against them riding came Fleet as the lightning’s laugh and flame The invisible evil, even the same They sought and might not curse by name As hell’s foul child on earth set free, And smote the strange knight through, and fled, And left the mourners by the dead. “Alas, again,” Sir Balen said, “This wrong he hath done to me.”

And there they laid their dead to sleep Royally, lying where wild winds keep Keen watch and wail more soft and deep Than where men’s choirs bid music weep And song like incense heave and swell. And forth again they rode, and found Before them, dire in sight and sound, A castle girt about and bound With sorrow like a spell.

Above it seemed the sun at noon Sad as a wintry withering moon That shudders while the waste wind’s tune Craves ever none may guess what boon, But all may know the boon for dire. And evening on its darkness fell More dark than very death’s farewell, And night about it hung like hell, Whose fume the dawn made fire.

And Balen lighted down and passed Within the gateway, whence no blast Rang as the sheer portcullis, cast Suddenly down, fell, and made fast The gate behind him, whence he spied A sudden rage of men without And ravin of a murderous rout That girt the maiden hard about With death on either side.

And seeing that shame and peril, fear Bade wrath and grief awake and hear What shame should say in fame’s wide ear If she, by sorrow sealed more dear Than joy might make her, so should die: And up the tower’s curled stair he sprang As one that flies death’s deadliest fang, And leapt right out amid their gang As fire from heaven on high.

And they thereunder seeing the knight Unhurt among their press alight And bare his sword for chance of fight Stood from him, loth to strive or smite, And bade him hear their woful word, That not the maiden’s death they sought; But there through years too dire for thought Had lain their lady stricken, and nought Might heal her: and he heard.

For there a maiden clean and whole In virgin body and virgin soul, Whose name was writ on royal roll, That would but stain a silver bowl With offering of her stainless blood, Therewith might heal her: so they stayed For hope’s sad sake each blameless maid There journeying in that dolorous shade Whose bloom was bright in bud.

No hurt nor harm to her it were If she should yield a sister there Some tribute of her blood, and fare Forth with this joy at heart to bear, That all unhurt and unafraid This grace she had here by God’s grace wrought. And kindling all with kindly thought And love that saw save love’s self nought, Shone, smiled, and spake the maid.