Clemence Housman - The Life of Sir Aglovale de Galis - Chapter VIII lyrics

MY most dear Master in his books does now and again set down times and places somewhat at random; and so for the next record of Aglovale time is out of gear, and the interlock of many parts pa**es all sk** to readjust. Some of the story of Sir Percivale is lost; but what remains tells that he endured meekly some scorns, maybe on account of his pattern brother, maybe on account of his maiden life and his maiden sword; for as yet, though his fame budded fair, he had slain man never. According to my most dear Master, the madness of Launcelot befell about this time; and when he was lost, King Arthur, at the instance of Queen Guenever, desired Sir Aglovale and Sir Percivale, with Sir Gawaine and others, to take upon them to seek him throughout all England, Wales, and Scotland. Now shall be told how it came to pa** that Aglovale soon forfeited the King's grace, and came at last to despair and living d**h. Three and twenty knights went out of Camelot on the quest of Sir Launcelot, and shortly departed to all quarters of the realm of Logris. Gawaine went north with his kin, and the two brothers of Galis turned west to search their own land and the Marches. Now for the last time Aglovale and Percivale ride together. Of the woes awaiting them, the first they met at Cardiff. There in piteous case they found the Queen their mother, whose grief for the d**h of Lamorak had put her from reason. With fond words, used to them in childhood, she claimed her sons and chid their absence; she bewept herself, as but now newly widowed; she remembered recent woe with a great cry, "Lamorak is dead!" and refused comfort. "Ah, my dear sons, when your father was slain he left me four sons, of the which now be twain slain; and for the d**h of my noble son Sir Lamorak shall my heart never be glad." Now one and now the other she implored never to leave her more. Such equal eager love had not blessed her firstborn for long years. Also King Pellinore's likeness in him, begrudged to him for shame, now gratified the poor Queen, as when she was first a mother. By the d**h of Lamorak came so much favour to Aglovale. For dear grief he had no voice to speak, and it was Percivale who denied her prayer. "Ah, sweet mother, we may not. We be come of king's blood of both parties, and therefore it is our kind to haunt arms and noble deeds." She kneeled down before her sons at their going, and complained and clung with frantic grief. Round Percivale she locked her arms, babbling her dread of the treasons of the House of Lot; how but by treason had King Pellinore died, and Lamorak, who of knighthood had but few fellows. Then came the maiden Saint to release her brother, and so spoke her noble heart that she prevailed. Swooning, the Queen fell away, and her sons departed then, never to see her more. The second woe was not slow to follow. From Cardiff a devil possessed Brose brewing mischief of his love to his young brother Bennet. For Sir Aglovale, on review, again refused to favour the lad and shorten his probation that had but two months to run. The man's exasperation grew under the patience of his master, and he pushed far in insolent misconduct. "Let him be awhile, Percivale; he is sore. He loves well that little brother. I need not cure him; he will mend." Up the valley of the Usk they rode, crossed the river at eve and found lodging. The day was tuned by the harvest reaping, the night by thunder muttering from the Black Mountains. All next day the thunder boomed as they left the cornlands and made for the North Marches; and the heavens were black with coming tempest when they stayed for harbourage with a courteous gentleman. Now, Percivale had not entered with Aglovale, but was still without, when downhill came one riding at speed; and he wondered when he knew him for Bennet. Breathless and eager the boy came up to him, and delivered a message of greeting from the Queen; and then he ungirt his coat, and took from round his body chains of gold, sent by her to serve them for spending. "How now!" said Percivale. "Are you wounded?" "Sir," said Bennet, flushing, "I lay last night with a mixed company, and two rogues spied out what I bore, and in a wood awaited me and set upon me. Yet, sir, as you see, I sped well enough." Then, as Percivale commended him heartily, "Sir," he said, "if you deem I deserve, speak for me now to my lord Sir Aglovale, that he suffer me now to follow him, so to fit me to follow and serve you." "I will well," said Percivale, and took the boy up with him to a chamber where Sir Aglovale with Brose was about to unarm. But when Aglovale had heard Bennet's errand and request, suddenly he asked him at what time he set out from Cardiff. Said Bennet, hastily, "Yester noon a little after." "At what pace did you ride, then? I see your horse down there reeking." "Sir, I made what speed I might. Sir, as you know, I was hindered." Bennet fronted Sir Aglovale's gaze steadily, but it chanced that lightning showed how his nerves were strung. "Show your wound." Very readily the boy unbound his arm and presented a gash to view. Sir Aglovale took him by the hand and examined silently. Thunder was a relief on the hush. "At what time fell this mishap?" "About prime." Aglovale took from him the binding, and examined the bright bloodstains. Bennet would have withdrawn his hand, but it was gripped harder. When questioned closely concerning his defence he answered briskly, but as the dreaded Sir Aglovale scrutinized his countenance he began to cast looks aside to Brose and Sir Percivale. The cruel hawk face darkened as the frightened boy paled. "It is a lie," said Aglovale. Not a word could Bennet utter. Only thunder spoke. In ruthless temper Aglovale tightened his savage hold till the boy winced and panted. Brose saw the wrung fingers oozing red at the tips, and began to choke and to curse. "Brose, is this of your contrivance?" "No," said Bennet, "no." "I shall have much to teach you," said Aglovale, grimly, "as Brose can warn you, before ever I pa** you to serve on Sir Percivale." "Speak!" said Percivale, "if you be not the low cheat you look." Brose stood by his brother and lifted his voice in defiance. "Bennet," he cried, "is not the first you have known, O my lord, to devise on himself a wound for getting at a service he desired! I you have known that done before." "Ah, mercy!" gasped the boy, twisting. Sir Aglovale let him go, and turned upon Brose. "What you have to say, say quickly." "Low cheat," growled Brose. "Low cheat. Sir Percivale named Bennet low cheat." "Fair brother," said Aglovale, "question the boy you. Have out the truth." He went pacing to and fro while Percivale took confession from Bennet. Brose listened scowling, watching his goaded master, but he said nothing more. "Be content," then said Aglovale, "that you are yet in the Queen's service, not in mine. Get you back for payment on unfaithfulness and negligence in discharge of your errand. You should be in no case for riding had you such payment as I would grant you; for I let you know your portion of stripes should be doubled because you practised for your own ends. And I let you know you, Brose that he should be paid at your hands. Since you are so forward to advance the boy, I will teach you to cure him." Blood rushed up the face of Brose. "Sir," he said thickly, "an you let me know you can play the devil, I let you know I can too! Enforce me, and I let you know I can also enforce you, maugre your head, to cure your brother Sir Percivale of calling 'low cheat' on Bennet." At that, "I doubt you not!" said Aglovale, and therewith struck with all his weight and felled Brose. The blow was barbarous, iron-gloved, laying open the man's cheek. "Read my token! Since I must needs make of you an example before your brother, read my token!" Brose was mastered. He stood up broken to sullen shame. "Sir Percivale shall hear aught that you can plead for your young brother. Speak it out, Brose." "Sir, not now," faltered the boy; "rather do I go back on my asking as unreasonable." "Rather as you like not the wage of cheating and lying." "My lord, not so! I have stomach for all. What Brose can take, that can I, deserved or undeserved." "An that be honestly said, Bennet," said Aglovale, "I am content to hold to terms, with promise that at need you shall get your fill." "Then I, too," said Percivale, "do confirm my promise, albeit not gladly." "Bind up both your hurts, and quickly, for Bennet shall amend his negligence with all despatch." Neither ventured a word of appeal, though the quickening thunder uttered cause. Bennet learned two messages: one for the Queen to her comfort, and desiring her blessing on her sons; one for the seneschal to his own discomfort, desiring punishment. Then he went. Brose turned without a word and kneeled to unarm his master. Then entered that gentleman, their host, to speak in Bennet's behoof that he should stay, because of the pa**ing day, and the great near storm, and because, he said, the ways were not cleared of evil customs. "Ah, my lord," muttered Brose at Aglovale's knee, "he is but young." Aglovale would not relent; but he closed with an offer for a change of horse. So shortly Brose heard hoofs go below, and beheld the wan, unhappy face of Bennet upturned; and as he went about his master, anon far off saw the horse shying at the lightning, and anon higher against the gulf of the sky saw the boy pa** away, as great drops dashed the casement. About midnight the great fury of the storm abated; lightning turned to lambent sheets, thunder to distant growls, rain ceased. In the quiet pauses, Brose, from his pallet by the door, heard the deep breathing of Sir Aglovale asleep. Then he saw Sir Percivale rise up softly from his place, and come to stand beside his brother and contemplate his face by the play of the sheet lightning. So standing in his shirt, his youthful beauty so illumed, Brose likened him to a heavenly warder, even to the chief Saint Michael. He likened himself, and a little writhed. Then Percivale kneeled down beside Aglovale and prayed a great while, and went again and lay down. What this might betoken Brose dreaded to know; yet he had a deeming and becursed his tongue. Riding on their way when morn was at prime, they came to a ford of the Wye hard by a castle standing above a slope. There they pa**ed by a churchyard, where stood many round about a corpse lapped for burial, while men broke the sodden ground for a grave. Sir Aglovale stayed to question, and one came forward to answer. "Fair knight, here lies a squire shamefully slain this night." "How was he slain?" "Sir, the lord of this castle lodged this squire this night, and because he said he was servant to a good knight that is with King Arthur, whose name is Sir Aglovale, therefore the lord commanded to slay him, and for this cause is he slain." With a cry Brose danged down to the grave, caught away covering, and gave to sight the face of Bennet, and the wounds hacked over his body, and his dead eyes. The stranger women and men fell aweeping for pity of the man, agape and huddled, and moaning over the dead lad on his knees. "Jesu God!" whispered Percivale, with a sob, "help us quick and dead." Aglovale gazed stock still. "Gramercy," he said at last, "and ye shall see his d**h revenged lightly, for I am that same knight for whom this squire was slain." Straight he lighted down and Percivale also; they charged men with their horses, and together mounted the slope and came to the courtyard and gates of the castle. Said Aglovale to the porter, "Go to your lord, and tell him that I am Sir Aglovale for whom this squire was slain this night." Word ran throughout the castle, and presently, while they waited in the court, a fierce damsel looked out from a window above. "Soho, Sir Aglovale, otherwise Sir Sinister!" she called; and he, looking up, met shameful memories in a face he knew once. She spat upon him, and used other names, and terms that made Percivale's ears tingle. "Now," she said, "I give you to know that for my sake will my lord Sir Goodewin add dishonour to d**h, and will give a portion from that your carcase for my dog to eat. And in hell remember me. Lo, here is your d**h." Then Sir Goodewin came out, ready armed, all the knights of his household at his back. "Which of you," he said, "is Sir Aglovale?" "Here am I," said Aglovale. "For what cause have you slain this night my mother's squire?" "I slew him because of you, for you slew my brother Sir Gawdelin." "As for your brother, I avow it. I slew him, for he was a false knight, and a betrayer of ladies and of good knights." At that the damsel overhead lifted hateful laughter against him, and those below echoed it. "For the d**h of my squire," said Aglovale, "you shall die." "For the d**h of my brother," said Sir Goodewin, "you shall die." Without more words they went to strokes. And presently Percivale went to strokes also, for the damsel's naming and scorns, taken up by those below, drove him wild; and fiercely he defied all, and fought all that would stand. For the first time in his life he fought wickedly, without prayer, with savage will to slay, and joy over the slain. Three lay dead, and the rest fled wounded, while still Sir Aglovale and Sir Goodewin fought together. At her window the damsel danced and cursed, watching the fray, till Sir Goodewin fell past rising, and Aglovale unlaced his helm; then frantic she cried for grace. He died as a valiant man; with no vain prayer for mercy, but a curse on his slayer, he faced the stroke that took off his head. Then were all the windows silent. Aglovale stood and regarded his brother and the dead men. "Slain! Percivale, you have slain!" For answer Percivale came and embraced him, and said only, "Fair, dear brother!" over and over again, with a kind of pa**ion. Aglovale groaned, "Alas! alas!" for he knew so that for his sake Percivale had slain, and for cause unrighteous. By the half-turned sods sat Brose, still holding the dead lad, taking no heed of going and coming. Aglovale spoke hoarse, "Brose, now is your brother's d**h avenged." The man lifted an intolerable stare, bared his teeth, and cried, "On whom?" Aglovale was knocked out of words, and Percivale shed tears of pity and gall. "Alas! poor Bennet!" said he. "God rest his soul! He paid dear for an untrue word." Brose, in his anguish, fetched out a laugh against his master, so like the damsel's that Percivale's blood curdled and spun. "He paid for me!" said Aglovale. "Ah, God, for me!" "Provide my brother his grave," said Brose, "you who provided his d**h." "It is due. Charge me according to your grief." "Not here; not lonely! My lord Sir Aglovale, you have provided d**h and burial for better than he. It were meet to give him a little room on that same ground. I would have him wait Doomsday there." "So be it," said Aglovale, heavily. "Nor will I lie down nor break fast till this be done." Afterwards, when Brose came to open speech with Percivale, he vowed that, however he had said and done contrary, he had never departed from the great love and worship he bore his unhappy master. "I willed to cut him out of my heart, seeing how he was the cause of Bennet's d**h, and how he had used him harshly and I could not. God knows how sore I was rent. God knows if I gave worse hurt than I got. Look back, sir, now, on that dolorous road we paced to the burial of Bennet: all those two days my master bore with me, never lifting look or word of resentment, though I did not spare to add to his affliction, and surely the Devil lent me the wit for it. I did not spare! for Bennet's sake I would not; dead, he claimed me to be wholly his brother. Yet found I no deliverance from love and worship. Ah, my master! In all the world there is none like him, none!" Near by a certain forest crossway a little chapel had been builded since the days of Sir Turquine, where a good man served with orisons. There the body of Bennet had lodging and pious watching for the night. Forth went Aglovale to that purlieu of his old villainy, to stand out the night against his sins. There breathed he, sentinel till morn, the heavy scents of elder-blossom, while night birds flitted to and fro, and night beasts harried by moonlight. Ever, as he stared down fatal roads, before him in ghostly presence went along, wounded and bound, one who had trusted to him, whom he had deserted, and betrayed to miserable d**h. He never knew that two kept secret vigil with him. Percivale apart, down on his knees, down on his face, wept his prayers. Brose apart, sweated hot and cold, as the blood of brotherhood revolted against the master he so fiercely loved. By another night, those three unhappy souls were come with the body of Bennet to a certain Priory, where Aglovale answered at the gate as of old. There, while interment was made in good order, with many candles and requiem, Percivale in the midst sank down, overborne by heavy sleep; for he was young and unused to grief, and he for two nights had never slept. When he woke he was couched as aforetime, and the bed beside was all unpressed as then. Aglovale waited on the waking of Brose. "Take now relief," he said, "and quit me. Your brother's blood is so against me. If so be you will turn to serve my brother Sir Percivale, freely I commend you one to the other, and will myself depart." Brose, in his heart, was dismayed, but he answered ruthless. "That were no relief: Sir Percivale spoke foul on Bennet. He holds that he died by a braggart lie, nor excuses how he spoke of no bad intent, weening to have been forborne on your name." "Brose, I cannot bury your brother's faults." "You will not." At that time there was long silence. Then Aglovale said, "See you to it. Say what you need to Sir Percivale." Though the man's heart was wretched to see the fierce affliction he bestowed, he kept a relentless mask. "An I said enough, Sir Percivale would slay me as he has slain others for your worship." "God forbid!" groaned Aglovale. His brother's blood-guilt pressed fort and dure on his conscience. The wretched man went on. "Against the truth you have forged your worship on my face for him to read. Lord! for low cheating that was a bold stroke!" "Ah, Brose," cried Aglovale, and as the man avoided his eye, ashamed of that vile speech, he gripped his hand confidently. "Sure am I your heart is not so base as your tongue." Body and spirit, Brose struggled from the terrible hold and got free. His hand bore the imprint of Aglovale's unconscious strength. He showed it, a fellow to poor Bennet's, with a cruel taunt. "So me, too, you have something to teach, before ever you pa** me to serve on Sir Percivale!" His heart died within him to see how that blow went home. "You do beat me with thorns, Brose, all naked," breathed Aglovale. "Pay me what I deserve," cried Brose, choking, "and dismiss me!" But so soon as that utterance of remorse escaped him, he saw it obverse, and thanked the powers of hell. "Take your dues," cried Aglovale. "Bury your brother's faults under mine. Decry me to my brother Sir Percivale, and I will be your warrant that he shall not slay you." Brose locked his teeth against his heart, and turned his face to the wall, till a wicked interpretation came to his tongue. "Ho, forsooth! he muttered, facing about, "you will be warrant that he shall not slay me! Yea, doubtless, and will swear to it by your sword!" His bad conscience took home the thing from his mouth, and almost he believed it. The visage of Aglovale was distorted and hideous as he gnawed his trembling lips; for his strength was broken, with trouble and long fast from sleep and food. Then entered Percivale, and stood at gaze on his brother. The hilts of his sword Aglovale took with his two hands to hold upright. "Speak, Brose!" he cried. Then the forest night swam in upon him, so charged with the heavy scent of elder-blossom that he stifled and lost his senses. Over him the eyes of Percivale and Brose met once, but not one word was spoken till he came to himself. The sound of "My lord" and "Fair brother" told him then his hour was not yet come. Now, as these records do not hereafter follow Percivale in the Quest of the Grail, there may be no fitter place than this to set down a transcript from another book, where he unlocks his heart to his sister Saint. My most dear Master tells how the maiden came to Galahad, Percivale, and Bors; how she led them on the Quest and enlightened them with her strange, high wisdom; and how she girt Galahad with the sword of King David by a girdle of her own hair. In that place there is mention made of three spindles, white, green, and red, as grown from innocency, and seed-shedding, and blood-shedding. She said, "The white betokens Sir Galahad, and the green Sir Bors, and the red alas, brother! alas the red!" "Ah me!" said Percivale; "would to God I had not this part of the Tree of Knowledge! Ah, sister, it is a fearful thing to shed blood of life." He told her all then, and together they pondered over the symbol of sin. "Lo!" said Percivale, "those I had slain were not put to silence. I heard their breath speak out of the lips of others; I saw their looks mock out of the eyes of others; the life that was gone from their bodies was but draughted to enliven fresh matter. In every ray of light, in every gust that blew, the life of the dead moved to confound me. Ah, Saint, the things they had uttered were black and heavy; I could not bear them." "Yet, brother, had you never heard evil-speaking before, and opposed it?" "Often, so often that my ears were dulled. Soon as I was made knight, I myself, without offence, even in the fellowship of the Round Table, was shamefully bespoken and belied. Lightly I bore it then, seeing how Aglovale had ever borne the like unmoved. Till Brose opened against him, and he struck him down, whole-hearted did I love and worship, clear of doubt." "Ah, fair fool brother!" "He never fooled me by a word; nor did any but through silence, excepting Brose and Durnor. Brose lied to me more than once, as he has since confessed. Through him I came to think a shameful record, unfit for light, concerned Durnor. And Durnor never denied. Once he overheard, and in wrath laid hands on Brose, but he did not deny. Ah, sister, his wrong charity! After he had done with Brose, he caught me, and held me before him awhile, eyeing me hard with a fallen countenance. Maybe I shrank visibly, though what had come to me was but a weak, vague shadow of the truth. At that he was angry, and cursed and railed at me. Then he besought me not to measure out love too nicely. I said I would try. Then he charged me for kindness not to bring up a brother's misdeeds before Aglovale, because he was a hard man, who would make no excuse, who would speak no word for loss and misfortune and sudden and fierce temptation, who would not lay right stress on true penitence, who would mention no good deeds as against the ill. I said Aglovale was just. 'Be more than just,' said Durnor, 'for those who deserve love least do need it most.' His eyes were wet. "Ah, Durnor! would to God I had loved you more while you were man alive! Sister, night and night again he haunts my sleep, and makes his plea that was for Aglovale. With broken speech and full eyes he asks for a little more loving kindness, and I can reach him no answer. Oh, dear, stammering tongue, dear trustful eyes; oh, big, loyal heart, all gone to dust! "Aglovale was not kind to him. Aglovale, for whom he was so forspent, who for my sake misgave and wronged him for my sake, as I deem. "Sister Saint, I am all unfit for the Quest of the Holy Grail. Strange doubts trouble me that I know not good from evil. For lo! Durnor was an evil liver and gross, and I my fellows call stainless; yet have I not to offer so golden a deed as his generous untruth. Lo, Aglovale! Through long years he laboured for righteousness against a corrupted nature; and Durnor's reckless grace played free; yet Aglovale's hard virtue wavers in the balance. I doubt it is but vanity to keep from evil and do right, when a word unsaid, from mere ignorance, from mere blindness, may happen to load the heart with remorse. And I doubt I might be a better man had I been a more sinful." Saint made answer, "Be not downcast, Percivale. Surely the Devil, seeing that you win charity, does a**ail your faith."