KING ARTHUR was holding his court at Carlisle when Sir Tor again met his brother. Pa**ing eager was he to see him again, by reason of a certain thing he had heard of him there, from the new-made suffragan of Carlisle, sometime Prior elsewhere. That good hard man had aged and ripened well; and when a certain young clerk told him how Sir Tor awaited all-comers for tidings of his brother, kindly he sent for him, to impart that he knew; and seeing how true and tender was his brotherly affection, he was moved to advise with him fully, in so far as he was free of his office to put off reserve. He told more than he knew. This was his tale.
As in autumn past he was on his way to the call of his Archbishop, a churl with a great horse met him near nightfall, and prayed him to go with him, to bless six foot of earth for a Christian grave, and a Christian for to lie in it. So he left his tired mule to his clerk, and mounted and rode as fast as he could go; and fleet the churl ran. Off the road he took him, and far over moorland through the night, till they reached a poor hut; and there in great pain and fever he found Sir Aglovale, seeming near his end.
"Wellaway," said Tor, "if that hut I should know! by seven springs? and that fleet churl. Wo, wo, what blame is here?"
"I tell of no blame," said the suffragan.
Sir Aglovale's hurt, he said, he ransacked to good effect; but so perilous was it to do that first he confessed him and made him ready to die; and the churl came also to be shriven clean; and he made the blessed Bread, and as Christian brothers they received their Saviour and were greatly comforted. Then he ransacked.
"Ah, Jesu!" said Tor. "Tell me what was his hurt?"
He said he found him broken-ribbed and bruised, with his old wound laid open. And when he ransacked he discovered there at his rib the old splinter of a spear; and so he drew it out and eased him.
Said Tor, quaking, "I misdoubt sore how this was done. Ah, my brothers both! may God mend you this bout. Yea, Sir, be amazed and pitiful; sure am I that churl was my brother Flynn, near to me as Sir Aglovale; a kindly man and most staunch, but hasty withall, and pa**ing strong for his size."
"I tell of no blame," said the suffragan, again.
"God above!" cried Tor, "did my brother Sir Aglovale think to die in the dark! Did my brother Flynn think to bury him in the dark! And to leave me in the dark!"
"Now rest you in the dark, Sir Tor, and deem no more harm than what I am free to reveal."
What he had still to reveal was no little harm; his search discovered more than he could remove: a shred of iron, dislodged from the bone, remained deep-seated so near the heart that he dared not deal. He said certainly that Sir Aglovale was not rightly fit to bear arms, nor ever again would be. Then, as Sir Tor showed great distress, he spoke of noble knights, as Sir Brastias, who, at the decline of their day, left their place in the world to serve God in religious life. Sir Tor took small comfort of that prospect for his brother, and he carried away a heart lead-heavy.
Nigh upon the feast of Pentecost came Sir Aglovale and Sir Hermind, bringing young Mariet before King Arthur on request for the high order of knighthood.
Tor beheld his brother gaunt and languid, with his hand now and then at his side; yet scarce knew what to believe, for he wore harness complete, his gaze was untroubled, he took question and reproach with easy foil and composure, and his grave smile played.
That same day came to Carlisle Sir Urre of Hungary, seeking one to heal him. Seven wounds he had that should never be whole till searched by the best knight of the world, for so had enchantment been wrought. Before King Arthur was this tale told; and, good and gracious, straightway he promised that he himself and all of the Round Table there present should a**ay the healing. Then was Sir Urre laid in a meadow beside Eden river, and thither came the King and his knights. And first Arthur courteously and gently handled the seven wounds and failed; and after him six kings handled and failed; and after them came knights more than an hundred and handled and failed. Sir Urre's wounds bled more or less under each hand, and he endured much and got no ease.
Sir Aglovale stood with the rest, and saw this doing, in growing distress, his hand at his side. Sir Hermind and Sir Tor touched and failed; but he at his turn went and besought King Arthur to excuse him; very earnestly he prayed, saying he was in no case to heal, for himself he was not sound. He spoke in vain; Arthur would set none excused. All grey and trembling he took his place beside the wounded man, muttered his prayers, and with shaking hand touched. Seven times at his touch blood gushed, and Sir Urre winced and groaned.
"Well, well!" said Arthur.
He whom I love so much in his nineteenth book tells how an hundred and ten knights tried and failed; and then came in one more, even Launcelot, who desired very earnestly to be excused. And there may be read how, when he had kneeled and prayed, he searched the seven wounds in head and body and hand, and all healed fair under his touch; and how kings and knights praised God on their knees; and how Launcelot wept.
So a whole and lusty man Sir Urre rose up and went on his feet into Carlisle church, a long array of clerks and knights with him, to offer thanksgiving with the Te Deum.
There Launcelot lifted up his eyes and saw Sir Aglovale; with his head bowed down he kneeled and never moved, and did not join in that hymn with his lips.
"Patrem immensae majestatis. Unum venerandum verum et unicum Filium. Sanctum quoque Paraclitum Spiritum. Tu Rex glorise Christe."
With the chanting Launcelot heard in his heart a mocking word Sir Kay had pa**ed.
"Well, well," said Kay, "Sir Urre would have found the bare blade of Sir Aglovale less redoubtable than his bare hand."
"Judex crederis esse venturus."
Launcelot smote down his head.
"Te ergo quaesumus tuis famulis subire, quos pretioso Sanguine redemisti."
Sir Aglovale stood aside in the dark of the aisle and watched Sir Urre, as with King Arthur and Sir Launcelot he came swinging by full of vigour. Launcelot lifted his eyes as he came by, looked at him, faltered in his stride, faced forward again, and pa**ed. Aglovale, his hand against his side, stayed breathless, motionless, wondering on the looks of Launcelot.
In honour of Sir Urre justs were called for the morrow. On that day King Arthur bestowed on young Mariet the high order of knighthood; and gracious counsel he gave withall, for from the first his heart had inclined greatly to the young man, in whom he saw somewhat of the grace and spirit of his great kinsman Lamorak. So Sir Mariet went out to be proved; and Arthur let the day be for the stranger and the young names, withholding from the field his dangerous knights. Sir Tor and Sir Hermind at his request took no part; but Sir Aglovale armed and went out with Sir Mariet.
That was the last time that ever he laid spear in rest. He broke no spear at all that day; many courses he ran, and at every course went down shocked over his horse's tail; and in the mellay he fared worse, and lay trampled till Sir Mariet with much pain horsed him again, and brought him out of the press; and Sir Tor, white as a sheet, came down and persuaded him away.
Then Tor spoke, "Oh, brother, it is no use. How many times have you been overthrown this day?"
"Twenty-four times as I count," said Sir Aglovale. "I have done my best."
"Wo! Will you take no keep?" said Tor. "It is no use. Brother Sir Aglovale, I must speak. You will win worship no more; so forbear, for you stand to lose and lose. Bethink you of your noble strain, and forbear this madness, if not for your own sake, yet for theirs of your blood, that they tingle not for their blood in you. For the sake of Sir Lamorak dead, for the sake of Sir Mariet alive, bring not body and blood into slight and derision."
Aglovale rested and eyed his brother hard. "How now so pale, fair brother? Will your blood not tingle for me? Eh, ba*tard, but you are near and dear enough to cry me for your own sake."
Tor had no force nor sk** to endure his scrutiny. "An you love me," he cried, "only take some keep of your life of your life. Yea, for I know, I know you left me unkindly yet I do know."
"What?" said Aglovale.
Tor pointed. "What has Flynn done?" he sobbed.
Then followed some open speech. But as for all that Flynn had done Sir Aglovale left that tale to a lighter day; how he carried him to the lonely hut and ensured secrecy and tended him well; how he played the fox nightly and for sustenance prowled and robbed his brethren; how he played the devil and stole Sir Aglovale's shirt of hair, and wore it privily himself to keep him from it, and was afterwards caught out jigging over that prank; how he dreaded against his d**h, and, above all, against his dead body from a grave secret and unhallowed, and fetched ghostly comfort unbidden; how he played the man and dared Sir Aglovale to teach him against his will, and before they parted taught him instead that he was Flynn the Wrestler, thrice putting him down deftly and carefully; how afterwards, willing well to be taught, he was disappointed; whereupon he played the rogue and duped Sir Aglovale, so that he contented him at last.
But at this time there was no talk outside the heart of Tor's distress; and Aglovale was pa**ing weary.
"Stint this dole," he said. "These many years I have carried this danger under the fifth rib unknown; and howbeit Flynn has struck it loose, I yet hope to meet another d**h, straight and clean, from some noble knight, apart from the blunder of a churl."
Sir Tor spoke then of noble knights ending their days, as did Sir Brastias, in the way of devotion.
Said Aglovale, "I am no such noble knight as these."
Sir Mariet came in from the field, a sight to cheer; joy and pride aglow were blent with filial care and deference. Bravely and modestly he answered of his deeds: he had been well proved; he had won worship; twenty knights had he overthrown or pulled down, and but one, Sir Lavaine, had unhorsed him.
Sir Lavaine had won the diamond, the prize of the justs; and he had set it in the hand of Sir Urre's sister, fair Felelolie. Sir Mariet for his part had won more than he looked to win: King Arthur had openly approved him; had called him and questioned him; had bidden him for privy audience to his chamber.
When Sir Aglovale heard that he drew up with a drear smile and eyes wide.
Sir Mariet put off his harness and made ready. He was young and happy then, yet moisture came to his eyes as he looked upon Sir Aglovale; and he seeing that, for loving-kindness went with him on his way, went all the way with him. So they paced to the palace together, the worn-out knight and the knight just proved, and through the thronged hall, and up by a parclose stair to the gallery above nigh to the King's chamber. Then Sir Aglovale blessed him to God and stood, and Sir Mariet went on in to the King.
Aglovale looked after him with his drear smile. Almost he knew what King Arthur had to say.
The gallery was dark with a screen of arras. From the hall below mounted a surge of noise, voices tumbled together or eddied sharp. Beyond the stairhead was a window, and Sir Aglovale turned aside, and leaned out to rest and breathe. He looked upon a narrow close; two pa**ed below, Lavaine and Felelolie. They turned to each other and kissed together. So had he first seen the kiss of Gilleis and her true love long ago.
Presently from the Queen's parlour came down Sir Launcelot. From the further reach of the gallery he espied one seated at the window-sill, slumbering, he thought, and so lightly he trod as he came. Then seeing it was Sir Aglovale he stood still. He could look his full now at ease; with all his heart he looked.
This was a man younger than he, still in the middle prime of life, with the face of an old man deeply lined and worn; only close black hair kept truth to his years. The disfigurement he bore seemed but the fit and final stroke to the havoc that life had done.
He did not sleep. In the waft of stray fragments of speech came his name, and he lifted his head. To sharpened senses the strain of a voice carried distinct. For a byword and a jest, not with malice against him, but lightly and currently, his name was used in disparagement; and that mocking sentence of Sir Kay was quoted thereupon.
Aglovale sat upright, a man alone with himself, unconscious of the eyes of Launcelot. A dark tinge stole up to ears and hair and slowly faded; but his breath came even, his eyes were still and pensive, his hands lay open and quiet. For a moment he stayed motionless after that voice was lost; with crossing then he signed his body; wearily he leaned to repose.
Sir Launcelot went backward, loth then to encounter any but his own self. Through the partings of the arras he could look down upon the hall and its throng of noble knights. All those worshipped him as their best.
Down from the King's chamber came young Sir Mariet stiff and blind. He came to the stair, and stood to breathe and clear his eyes; then he saw Sir Aglovale at the window and turned aside to him. Launcelot moved further away lest he should overhear.
Sir Mariet stood and spoke; he kneeled down and spoke; he laid hold of Sir Aglovale's hand and bowed his head against his knees. He was weeping. Sir Aglovale sat very still and said little. He put down his hand upon the young man's head. Presently Sir Mariet got up from his knees and departed. Sir Aglovale rested, his chin upon his hands.
Came Sir Launcelot and paused. Aglovale stood up and his hand went to his side. Neither offered any form of salutation, but eye to eye in scrutiny long and deep waited silent. Like a windy sea encompa**ing swung the voice of the full hall.
Said Aglovale, "Speak, sir! Speak out on me what is in your heart."
Low was Launcelot's answer, yet it broke like thunder: "Hear then, Sir Aglovale, what is in my heart ripe for telling: I envy you. You above all men in the world I envy. Would to God I were such a man as you."
Lo! great Launcelot enters the hall. High acclaims and gladness greeted him, for as the Chevalier du Chariot he came among them with a year's adventure in hand.
Lo! an hour later Aglovale pa**es. Like a ghost he went through unchallenged, with dazed stare over the beaming court. Launcelot there beside the noble King and friend he so foully wronged, within his guilty heart sighed again, "Would to God I were such a man as he."