LITMIR.BIZ

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— whereof along the front,

       Some blazoned, some but carven, and some blank,

       There ran a treble range of stony shields —

       Rose, and high-arching overbrowed the hearth.

       And under every shield a knight was named:

       For this was Arthur’s custom in his hall;

       When some good knight had done one noble deed,

       His arms were carven only; but if twain

       His arms were blazoned also; but if none,

       The shield was blank and bare without a sign

       Saving the name beneath; and Gareth saw

       The shield of Gawain blazoned rich and bright,

       And Modred’s blank as death; and Arthur cried

       To rend the cloth and cast it on the hearth.

      ‘More like are we to reave him of his crown

       Than make him knight because men call him king.

       The kings we found, ye know we stayed their hands

       From war among themselves, but left them kings;

       Of whom were any bounteous, merciful,

       Truth-speaking, brave, good livers, them we enrolled

       Among us, and they sit within our hall.

       But as Mark hath tarnished the great name of king,

       As Mark would sully the low state of churl:

       And, seeing he hath sent us cloth of gold,

       Return, and meet, and hold him from our eyes,

       Lest we should lap him up in cloth of lead,

       Silenced for ever — craven — a man of plots,

       Craft, poisonous counsels, wayside ambushings —

       No fault of thine: let Kay the seneschal

       Look to thy wants, and send thee satisfied —

       Accursed, who strikes nor lets the hand be seen!’

      And many another suppliant crying came

       With noise of ravage wrought by beast and man,

       And evermore a knight would ride away.

      Last, Gareth leaning both hands heavily

       Down on the shoulders of the twain, his men,

       Approached between them toward the King, and asked,

       ‘A boon, Sir King (his voice was all ashamed),

       For see ye not how weak and hungerworn

       I seem — leaning on these? grant me to serve

       For meat and drink among thy kitchen-knaves

       A twelvemonth and a day, nor seek my name.

       Hereafter I will fight.’

      To him the King,

       ‘A goodly youth and worth a goodlier boon!

       But so thou wilt no goodlier, then must Kay,

       The master of the meats and drinks, be thine.’

      He rose and past; then Kay, a man of mien

       Wan-sallow as the plant that feels itself

       Root-bitten by white lichen,

      ‘Lo ye now!

       This fellow hath broken from some Abbey, where,

       God wot, he had not beef and brewis enow,

       However that might chance! but an he work,

       Like any pigeon will I cram his crop,

       And sleeker shall he shine than any hog.’

      Then Lancelot standing near, ‘Sir Seneschal,

       Sleuth-hound thou knowest, and gray, and all the hounds;

       A horse thou knowest, a man thou dost not know:

       Broad brows and fair, a fluent hair and fine,

       High nose, a nostril large and fine, and hands

       Large, fair and fine! — Some young lad’s mystery —

       But, or from sheepcot or king’s hall, the boy

       Is noble-natured. Treat him with all grace,

       Lest he should come to shame thy judging of him.’

      Then Kay, ‘What murmurest thou of mystery?

       Think ye this fellow will poison the King’s dish?

       Nay, for he spake too fool-like: mystery!

       Tut, an the lad were noble, he had asked

       For horse and armour: fair and fine, forsooth!

       Sir Fine-face, Sir Fair-hands? but see thou to it

       That thine own fineness, Lancelot, some fine day

       Undo thee not — and leave my man to me.’

      So Gareth all for glory underwent

       The sooty yoke of kitchen-vassalage;

       Ate with young lads his portion by the door,

       And couched at night with grimy kitchen-knaves.

       And Lancelot ever spake him pleasantly,

       But Kay the seneschal, who loved him not,

       Would hustle and harry him, and labour him

       Beyond his comrade of the hearth, and set

       To turn the broach, draw water, or hew wood,

       Or grosser tasks; and Gareth bowed himself

       With all obedience to the King, and wrought

       All kind of service with a noble ease

       That graced the lowliest act in doing it.

       And when the thralls had talk among themselves,

       And one would praise the love that linkt the King

       And Lancelot — how the King had saved his life

       In battle twice, and Lancelot once the King’s —

       For Lancelot was the first in Tournament,

       But Arthur mightiest on the battle-field —

       Gareth was glad. Or if some other told,

       How once the wandering forester at dawn,

       Far over the blue tarns and hazy seas,

       On Caer-Eryri’s highest found the King,

       A naked babe, of whom the Prophet spake,

       ‘He passes to the Isle Avilion,

       He passes and is healed and cannot die’—

       Gareth was glad. But if their talk were foul,

       Then would he whistle rapid as any lark,

       Or carol some old roundelay, and so loud

       That first they mocked, but, after, reverenced him.

       Or Gareth telling some prodigious tale

       Of knights, who sliced a red life-bubbling way

       Through twenty folds of twisted dragon, held

       All in a gap-mouthed circle his good mates

       Lying or sitting round him, idle hands,

       Charmed; till Sir Kay, the seneschal, would come

       Blustering upon them, like a sudden wind

       Among dead leaves, and drive them all apart.

       Or when the thralls had sport among themselves,

       So there were any trial of mastery,

       He, by two yards in casting bar or stone

      

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