Idylls of the King - Alfred, Lord Tennyson (children's ebooks free online txt) 📗

he wrought among the thralls;
But in the weeks that followed, the good Queen,
Repentant of the word she made him swear,
And saddening in her childless castle, sent,
Between the in-crescent and de-crescent moon,
Arms for her son, and loosed him from his vow.

This, Gareth hearing from a squire of Lot
With whom he used to play at tourney once,
When both were children, and in lonely haunts
Would scratch a ragged oval on the sand,
And each at either dash from either end⁠—
Shame never made girl redder than Gareth joy.
He laughed; he sprang. “Out of the smoke, at once
I leap from Satan’s foot to Peter’s knee⁠—
These news be mine, none other’s⁠—nay, the King’s⁠—
Descend into the city:” whereon he sought
The King alone, and found, and told him all.

“I have staggered thy strong Gawain in a tilt
For pastime; yea, he said it: joust can I.
Make me thy knight⁠—in secret! let my name
Be hidden, and give me the first quest, I spring
Like flame from ashes.”

Here the King’s calm eye
Fell on, and checked, and made him flush, and bow
Lowly, to kiss his hand, who answered him,
“Son, the good mother let me know thee here,
And sent her wish that I would yield thee thine.
Make thee my knight? my knights are sworn to vows
Of utter hardihood, utter gentleness,
And, loving, utter faithfulness in love,
And uttermost obedience to the King.”

Then Gareth, lightly springing from his knees,
“My King, for hardihood I can promise thee.
For uttermost obedience make demand
Of whom ye gave me to, the Seneschal,
No mellow master of the meats and drinks!
And as for love, God wot, I love not yet,
But love I shall, God willing.”

And the King
“Make thee my knight in secret? yea, but he,
Our noblest brother, and our truest man,
And one with me in all, he needs must know.”

“Let Lancelot know, my King, let Lancelot know,
Thy noblest and thy truest!”

And the King⁠—
“But wherefore would ye men should wonder at you?
Nay, rather for the sake of me, their King,
And the deed’s sake my knighthood do the deed,
Than to be noised of.”

Merrily Gareth asked,
“Have I not earned my cake in baking of it?
Let be my name until I make my name!
My deeds will speak: it is but for a day.”
So with a kindly hand on Gareth’s arm
Smiled the great King, and half-unwillingly
Loving his lusty youthhood yielded to him.
Then, after summoning Lancelot privily,
“I have given him the first quest: he is not proven.
Look therefore when he calls for this in hall,
Thou get to horse and follow him far away.
Cover the lions on thy shield, and see
Far as thou mayest, he be nor ta’en nor slain.”

Then that same day there past into the hall
A damsel of high lineage, and a brow
May-blossom, and a cheek of apple-blossom,
Hawk-eyes; and lightly was her slender nose
Tip-tilted like the petal of a flower;
She into hall past with her page and cried,

“O King, for thou hast driven the foe without,
See to the foe within! bridge, ford, beset
By bandits, everyone that owns a tower
The Lord for half a league. Why sit ye there?
Rest would I not, Sir King, an I were king,
Till even the lonest hold were all as free
From cursed bloodshed, as thine altar-cloth
From that best blood it is a sin to spill.”

“Comfort thyself,” said Arthur. “I nor mine
Rest: so my knighthood keep the vows they swore,
The wastest moorland of our realm shall be
Safe, damsel, as the centre of this hall.
What is thy name? thy need?”

“My name?” she said⁠—
“Lynette my name; noble; my need, a knight
To combat for my sister, Lyonors,
A lady of high lineage, of great lands,
And comely, yea, and comelier than myself.
She lives in Castle Perilous: a river
Runs in three loops about her living-place;
And o’er it are three passings, and three knights
Defend the passings, brethren, and a fourth
And of that four the mightiest, holds her stayed
In her own castle, and so besieges her
To break her will, and make her wed with him:
And but delays his purport till thou send
To do the battle with him, thy chief man
Sir Lancelot whom he trusts to overthrow,
Then wed, with glory: but she will not wed
Save whom she loveth, or a holy life.
Now therefore have I come for Lancelot.”

Then Arthur mindful of Sir Gareth asked,
“Damsel, ye know this Order lives to crush
All wrongers of the Realm. But say, these four,
Who be they? What the fashion of the men?”

“They be of foolish fashion, O Sir King,
The fashion of that old knight-errantry
Who ride abroad, and do but what they will;
Courteous or bestial from the moment, such
As have nor law nor king; and three of these
Proud in their fantasy call themselves the Day,
Morning-Star, and Noon-Sun, and Evening-Star,
Being strong fools; and never a whit more wise
The fourth, who alway rideth armed in black,
A huge man-beast of boundless savagery.
He names himself the Night and oftener Death,
And wears a helmet mounted with a skull,
And bears a skeleton figured on his arms,
To show that who may slay or scape the three,
Slain by himself, shall enter endless night.
And all these four be fools, but mighty men,
And therefore am I come for Lancelot.”

Hereat Sir Gareth called from where he rose,
A head with kindling eyes above the throng,
“A boon, Sir King⁠—this quest!” then⁠—for he marked
Kay near him groaning like a wounded bull⁠—
“Yea, King, thou knowest thy kitchen-knave am I,
And mighty through thy meats and drinks am I,
And I can topple over a hundred such.
Thy promise, King,” and Arthur glancing at him,
Brought down a momentary brow. “Rough, sudden,
And pardonable, worthy to be knight⁠—
Go therefore,” and all hearers were amazed.

But on the damsel’s forehead shame, pride, wrath
Slew the May-white: she lifted either arm,
“Fie on thee, King! I asked for thy chief knight,
And thou hast given me but a kitchen-knave.”
Then ere a man in hall could stay her, turned,
Fled down the lane of access to the King,
Took horse, descended the slope street, and past
The weird white gate, and paused without, beside
The field of tourney, murmuring “kitchen-knave.”

Now two great entries opened from the hall,
At one end one, that gave upon a range
Of level pavement where the King would pace
At sunrise, gazing over plain and wood;
And down from this a lordly stairway sloped
Till lost in blowing trees