William H. Babcock - Cian of the Chariots - Chapter XII: Arthur with Lancelot and Guinevere lyrics

CHAPTER XII. ARTHUR WITH LANCELOT AND GUINEVERE. I wanted warmth and color. – TENNYSON. ALL along the highway between London and that fair city whose ruins underlie the Silchester of later time, villages attested the westward shifting of life and traffic that followed the loss of Kent, Suss**, and the lower Thames. Of these a few were still Roman in part, though the largest had grown up on Celtic lines. It did not suit the gay court people to abide in any. They chose rather one of the wild spots which lay between, beloved by wandering folk and by citizens willing to take some risk with their outing. Here were you at once in both worlds; the merchant's caravan and the merry riding-party being proper to the glade, while yet the Saxon scout might prowl around its border in the dusk, or the great bear take complacently the measure of its shadow by the light of the moon. But there was clearly no present danger of human enemy nor of wild beast. Long before Arthur [Page 126] reached them, he could discern the fire-glow in many places among the trees, where each night-long blaze was dying down to embers. The tents grew from ghostliness into brightness as the morning expanded. Except the sentinels, few forms were yet astir. He recognized one discontentedly. Tall, richly attired, perfect in grace, with a cloven-pomegranate beauty of countenance, that was dreamful now, but marked by spoiled wilfulness, dark pride, and fitful intensity, Maelgwn of Gwynedd, whom we know better as Lancelot, stood watching the tent of the incomparable Guinevere. Was it herself that he awaited by appointment, or the mere sight and sound of her, issuing into the new day? Arthur felt the stir of such questions as he halted, and therewith the sun and the lady came forth from their hiding together. Guinevere was like the very heart of gladness in those golden rays. There was that about her which, like the sunshine, belonged impersonally to one and all, yet which every man might take unto himself, and deem an especial treasure evermore his own. It came only from her glowing beauty, her love of life and splendor, her ready responsiveness; or, if ever from any deeper fountain, there was yet no such strength of flow but that ambition very easily would turn it and hold it. Still there were few who could believe her otherwise than very loving; as the sun itself appears genial, and we call it [Page 127] so, although in truth it cares nothing whatever for human kind. Already her name everywhere meant the enthralling, the irresistible. On first pa**ing beyond the tent-flap, she had Maelgwn evidently in her mind, perhaps by reason of preliminary peering, for her smile turned naturally, as by instinct, that way. But in a moment Arthur had that welcome in his stead without change, as he came into her vision; nor could either of these men be sure that it was not thus first intended. Maelgwn received only her pa**ing graciousness and the word-signal, "He comes," abounding in loyal fervor, which proclaimed that it could not doubt his own sympathy. There was hot blackness in the face and heart of the Welsh prince for a moment. Yet, Guinevere aside, he was Arthur's very stanch partisan, and so had been ever since his first entry as a stripling on the life of arms. He felt, admiringly, in another nature the aspirations which were beyond his own. Sometimes it befell that an unreasoning pa**ion of remorse and penance took hold on him in their stead; but it never lasted long, and left him open, as before, to very pitiful sinning. These traits grew with years, but even in that earlier time he was far from a continuously happy man. His memory held many fond trifles which yet were no trifles at all to his love and pride; though Guin- [Page 128] evere, if driven to it, would have denied all semblance of claim growing from them. He was not wrong in holding himself more congenial to her personally than any other man, though he were twice an Emperor; yet no man could be so near her heart as the imperial power and dignities. A dim occasional sense of this awoke in him a helplessness and bewildered raging. Yet now he greeted the Emperor with all, deference and welcome, and, apart from his baffled hope in Guinevere, they bespoke him truly. "So early!" he cried." It must have taken swift riding or no rest. And all alone! Is that wise, my Emperor?" "Wisdom would not be worth much penned in a corner or baby-tended," answered Arthur. "There are enough of them behind. This is a good swift fellow," and he patted his steed. "As to rest, I had all that might be had – while awaiting." His eyes, at the last word, were fondly on Guinevere, who would not meet them, but flushed and checked herself uncertainly in answer. Maelgwn made obeisance and went rigidly away. Arthur blamed himself momentarily for a tone which fretted him, the tone of one tempted from thorough good-will by a sense of rivalry. But it could not last in that presence. Guinevere looked up, as in self compulsion, with [Page 129] delight in her eyes. "It is so long," she said, "yet so very kind of our Emperor to meet us thus by the way." They walked side by side toward the tent of her uncle Caradoc. Her voice went before, and brought him out to them. On his bluff countenance there was a shade of displeasure as he glanced at the receding form of Maelgwn. A small part of it was for her also. The insight which comes to the dullest by kinship and daily proximity made him unsure of her. Since his great renunciation, there had been seasons of regret, and he looked that his niece should bring the purple back to him, in a way, enhanced by Arthur's glory. It was worse than vexation to think of any coquetry with the Welsh prince. But he could not look deep enough, nor do justice to the cool, unchanging purpose of Guinevere. He would not have loved it, had he known. A very giant of a man was this Caradoc Vriechvras, careless in his strength, negligently ungraceful, and showing woodland build rather than royal; a man living more in the body than the mind, proud mainly of prowess, as some burly man-at-arms might be, over willing to dare, impulsively generous to resign. He gave Arthur a grasp that was hard to bear. "And which Saxon shall we fall on next?" cried he. "I thought it was Ossa Cyllalaur. But I hear [Page 130] strange tales of Eschwine's sauciness. I have men enough to break him up, if ordered." "He is no dry reed," answered Arthur, with a smile. "When the time comes he will give some trouble. For the present I have his pledge of peace toward the new Queen of London, where the chief danger lies." "The new queen; her name is" – Guinevere suggested, as one who seeks about in memory. Caradoc was about to supply it, marvelling at her quick forgetfulness, but Arthur spoke before him. "Aurelia, daughter of Constantine." He fretted inwardly that he could not make the syllables quite like those of any other. It was the more unreasonable, since the present beauty eclipsed her, to his mind and eye. Guinevere was watching him from covert with oblique demureness. "A very musical one," she said sweetly. "But have you only this Eschwine's promise? No hostage? Nothing in pledge?" "A man's pride is the best pledge," answered Arthur. "Eschwine's word is his God. He has never failed in it. He stakes his manhood on it." Guinevere listened, childlike, as to wisdom in matters beyond her, then answered with maidenly diffidence, – "Yet – I was thinking of that Gaulish trader, who came and went so many times between our city and [Page 131] the coast, and was always true to the least that he uttered, and would do errands for one beyond the narrow sea, bringing all back faithfully, and showed himself so very honest in little things" – Caradoc interrupted her, with an impatient sound. "In brief, I trusted him with a treasure caravan," he said. "The Saxons got it; and he does not trade our way, being rich and wise." There was a veiled keenness of satire in Guinevere's mild young eyes, unnoticed by either of the men. "Are not the Saxons wily?" she queried, in the same submissive way. "A woman knows little of such matters; but they tell me so. May not Eschwine have been upbuilding his fame as a promise-keeper, only to throw it away for a great prize? Or may not the temptation overcome him? London is very rich, and I hear that – Aurelia – is – exceedingly fair." For she was testing Arthur; not greatly caring for the danger which yet, by inner light, this woman, wilier than the Saxon, well knew. Caradoc heard her with dissatisfied opening of the eyes. But he caught the drift of her last words. It seemed to him that there would be a better time to consider matters militant. "It is true that women do not distinguish," he said. "Kings are not chapmen. Wider experience will show. But now I must prepare for departure," and [Page 132] he moved away with a sense of sagacity. There was a smile on his face as he left to her the trial for that "wider experience." Her scrutiny of Arthur was a**uring. He showed no great concernment of any kind, answering only, "It is so; a noble woman too, proud, strong, and trustful." In that she felt his regret, if not disquiet, for her own suspicious knowingness. That mattered little. She fastened liquid eyes on his, hurt and meekly protesting. "But the Queen of London has seen so much more," she said; "and no doubt is far wiser. I did wrong to obtrude my foolishness. But one feels – and one counsels from" – "Her kind heart," he responded, with quick self-blame, taking her hand impulsively. "Don't doubt that I feel that, Guinevere." Her eyes beamed into his with ineffable admiring devotion. "There is one," she said, "who is too high-souled, too generous, for doubting. May he never suffer for his greatness!" In part, that was the true voice of her own spirit that day; in part, mere audacity, affronting and trifling with what, as she had even then some glimmering, was in store for them all.