Читать книгу Galahad - John Erskine - Страница 9

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Ill though she had been, Guinevere kept her beauty. Hers was the kind of loveliness that owed less to outer form and coloring, less to a tall, proud body, to a chiseled face, to a miraculous aureole of hair, than to some excitement of spirit within. Even in health, you felt, that woman would never be at peace—no more than any other flame. Her controlled dignity was an achievement.

She was seated in a corner of her garden, sheltered by the castle wall. Too feeble as yet for much walking, she could at least spend the summer day near roses and marigolds, with knights and ladies to talk to, or—when the talk failed—with the spread of country to look at, the meadows and the forest beyond. Lady Anglides, friend of her girlhood, stood beside her, Sir Ector observed a respectful distance, Sir Gawaine rested himself on the grass at her feet. Under a cherry tree Agravaine and Meliagrance were playing chess. Agravaine was winning. Meliagrance had placed himself where he could keep his eyes on Guinevere.

“Altogether,” said Gawaine, “the tournament may be considered a failure.”

“A failure?”

“You were not there, madam.”

“If I had the strength,” she said, “I’d laugh. Will you never be subtle?”

“I can’t say that,” interrupted Sir Ector.

“Are you talking about my subtlety?” said Gawaine.

“I’m talking about the jousts. The queen’s absence grieved us, but it was a wonderful tournament.”

“Was it? That first day, when Palomides killed Lancelot’s horse—I didn’t think much of that.”

Guinevere looked at him.

“Lancelot’s horse was killed?”

“It wasn’t his best horse,” said Ector.

“Well, the Saracen killed it, anyway.”

“Palomides killed it?”

“Yes, madam, the one who follows Iseult around—her honorary lover. He has it in for Lancelot. He was vicious from the start.”

“But Lancelot is far too strong for him,” said Guinevere.

“Exactly. It had just turned out so, but Palomides dropped his lance, drew his sword, shaved Lancelot’s spear as though it were an asparagus stem, and sliced the horse’s head nearly off.”

“Those eastern swords are sharp,” said Ector.

“I didn’t know that sort of thing was allowed in tournaments,” said Guinevere.

“It’s not. You may kill the man but not the horse. They explained the rules to Palomides. Meanwhile the horse died.”

“A small matter at that,” said Ector. “It was a great tournament. Lancelot never did better, the king of course did finely, and Tristram was there. God, what a man!”

“I’m interested in your report of the king’s performance,” said Gawaine. “You think he did well, except for being unhorsed?”

Agravaine and Meliagrance stopped playing and looked at the queen. She kept her manner, but it seemed a long moment before she spoke.

“Gawaine, are you annoyed at Sir Ector because he didn’t flatter me, or because he is more generous than you? Never mind, Sir Ector. If Arthur were here he would be the first to admit that most of you ride better than he.”

“I ought to be crushed by your rebuke, madam, but I’m not. Essentially we agree. Ector is generous. In fact, too generous. He knows as well as I do, the king fell off his horse.”

“Not in the tournament,” said Ector.

“Well, just before it. It’s the same thing. That Saracen again, madam. He’s angry with Arthur, too.”

“He isn’t,” said Ector.

“He is, I tell you. Agravaine had the news from a man who heard Palomides talking about it.”

“Gawaine,” said Guinevere, “I doubt if you would enjoy a more direct contact with facts.”

“Anyway,” said Ector, “the second day was more worth while. Tristram changed his armor and came in disguised, and one by one the men tried what they could do with the stranger, and found out. That was lively work.”

“Yes,” said Gawaine, “but then Palomides changed his armor, too, and went at him for life and death. How do you understand that? Then Lancelot came in, cool as you please—don’t you remember?—and Palomides stepped aside and let him take on Tristram. I thought they’d kill each other before they found out who they were.”

“Why, Lancelot admires Tristram,” said Guinevere. “He’d be sorry to lift his hand against him, even by mistake. I thought he liked Palomides, too.”

“He might have a grudge against him for unseating the king,” said Gawaine.

“But why should Palomides quarrel with both Lancelot and Arthur?” said Guinevere.

“The story Agravaine heard throws light on that.”

“Gawaine,” she said, “I see you want me to ask what the story was. Tell it, if you’d feel happier.”

“Oh, no, it’s not important—and as you say, it may not be true. Too bad there’s no way to find out.”

“But there is! When Arthur returns, I’ll ask him. He will tell me.”

“I had forgotten how easily you could get your contacts with truth, madam,” said Gawaine. “Why don’t you ask Lancelot about his relations with Iseult? That might explain why Palomides is jealous.”

Meliagrance left his chess game and moved over where he could hear better. Agravaine joined him. Guinevere seemed not to notice them.

“Gawaine,” she said, “I did not realize what a mischievous tongue you have. I never before thought you a coward. Ask that question of Lancelot, yourself, to his face. Ask him when we are all here together, to enjoy the interview!”

“At your command, madam, I shall ask him,” said Gawaine. “May I tell him it is at your command?”

Meliagrance started to laugh, but stopped when the queen looked up at him.

“I don’t know how we got on this subject,” said Ector. “It was a fine tournament. Gawaine makes a mystery out of an accident. The king met them on the way to the tournament—”

“Who was it he met?”

“Tristram, Iseult and Palomides, madam. Palomides, not knowing who it was, ran at the king. Arthur wouldn’t have fallen if he hadn’t been off his guard. The night after the tournament the king and Lancelot went to Tristram’s tent. I followed them. On the way Agravaine joined me. We found them in the friendliest sort of talk.”

Meliagrance cleared his throat. “Was Palomides there?”

“No—just Tristram and Iseult.”

“How friendly was the talk when you left?” said Meliagrance.

Ector hesitated a moment and turned toward Agravaine.

“I can’t judge,” said Agravaine. “I wasn’t paying attention. Iseult is so beautiful I couldn’t keep my mind on anything else.”

Meliagrance made a gesture with both hands, palm up, as though the case were proved.

“Neither could Arthur and Lancelot. Especially Lancelot. That’s the whole story.”

Guinevere’s lips tightened for a second, but then her tired face broke into a smile, as though she liked the remark.

“Iseult is evidently a person to look at,” she said. “As soon as I am strong again we must have her here for us all to see in spite of Palomides.”

“But will the king want them here?” persisted Meliagrance. “It won’t be a comfortable visit, after what has happened.”

“What has happened? I am ready to listen, if any of you will explain what you are hinting at.”

No one spoke. Guinevere looked so worn and feverish that the Lady Anglides leaned over her and said something in a low tone.

“Not now!” cried the queen. “I will stay till I get to the bottom of this. Never in Arthur’s court have I listened to such insinuations. Are they really talking about the king? Is it his wife they are entertaining?”

“For myself,” said Meliagrance, “I’m talking about Lancelot. The rumor is that he admires Iseult. There is nothing unnatural or scandalous in that. No one suggests that Iseult would take him instead of Tristram.”

“And I,” said Gawaine, getting up from the grass and dusting himself off—“I was talking about the king. I doubt if he and Tristram are good friends now. That night in the tent Tristram was discourteous to my brother here—said Agravaine was the murderer of Lamorak, or at least an accomplice. If Agravaine is a murderer, so am I, and so is the king for holding us innocent.”

“Why can’t you give a fair account of what happened?” cried Ector. “Tristram was Lamorak’s friend, and he says Lamorak was killed not in fair fight but in ambush, greatly outnumbered. He says the ambush was unknightly, and Lancelot agrees with him. So does the king, I’m sure. Did you really expect to get through this tournament without hearing an opinion of what you did a year ago? No doubt Tristram is worried for Iseult and himself; in a country where one ambush has been laid, how can he be sure what may happen?”

“I see you are right, Sir Ector,” said Guinevere. “It was certainly a remarkable tournament.”

“What are you men thinking of?” said Lady Anglides. “Did you come to inquire after the queen’s health? To cheer her up?”

“That’s what we came for,” said Ector, “but we’ve gone at it the wrong way. It’s poor taste, madam, to repeat this gossip. You’ll be glad to have us take our leave.”

“The only thing I don’t like,” said the queen, “is to hear you quarrel, or seem to quarrel. Whatever Arthur does is well done—you all know that—and Lancelot is—what he always is. Gawaine, you owe too much to both of them to be disloyal.”

“I’m not disloyal, madam. I’m one of the truest friends the king has. I have reported only the facts.”

“Do you call that being a true friend?” said Meliagrance. “Have you considered whether the facts will stand reporting?”

“Have you considered the queen—that’s what I’d like to know!” said Anglides. “Your talk would sicken a strong person, not to speak of an invalid.”

“I’m no longer an invalid, Anglides,” said Guinevere. “The conversation has brought back more energy than I thought I had.... Who was that you were speaking with, Sir Ector?”

“Madam, there’s a young stranger at the gate who is looking for Sir Lancelot. He has some message for him which he won’t leave with any one else. He insists on knowing when Lancelot will return, or where he can be found now.”

“We’d like the answer to those questions ourselves,” said Guinevere.

“Perhaps he comes from Iseult,” said Meliagrance. “Or from Tristram.”

Guinevere seemed not to hear him. “What is the young man’s name, Sir Ector?”

“He calls himself Sir Bromel. I’ll find out where he comes from.”

“It’s not necessary. I’ve a notion to find out for myself, if you men will permit me. Tell him to come in, Anglides. You needn’t stay.”