William H. Babcock - Cian of the Chariots - Chapter XXVII: A Pa**age at Arms Between Lancelot and Vortimer lyrics

CHAPTER XXVII. A PASSAGE AT ARMS BETWEEN LANCELOT AND VORTIMER. I will not avenge myself on him who drives me. – ANEURIN. LANCELOT received Arthur's two messages together. For days he had been fevered and worried, anxious at heart to go where he should not be, alternately blessing and cursing the fate which kept him from temptation and Guinevere. The peace that he had made about him was irksome, even while new. At the call for action, he could have sprung from the ground and shouted, all the more since it was to punish treason in another. He sent out every way for all his men, and they came quickly. Yet not until Vortimer had gone into disorderly encampment before him; and, on the hills beyond, Caowl's pursuing tribesmen were visible. Almost as these came in sight, a fragment broke away from Vortimer's army, amid great contention, and drifted back toward them. Indeed, it seemed that but a small nucleus, if any, could be counted on by that recalcitrant chieftain. [Page 261] Nevertheless, the first deliverance of Vortimer was proud and swelling. An officer of rank bore it, demanding why so many who should be comrades were drawn up, more like enemies, across his way. Lancelot made polite obeisance. "This parade is by order of the Emperor," said he. "We are all going northward to fight Ossa Cyllalaur, myself in command. I am very glad of such redoubtable re-enforcements." The officer smiled understandingly. "We would rather go with you where the fighting now is – about London," said he, being, in peace, a lesser magnate of that city. Lancelot replied, "It will comfort you and your friends to know that late advices indicate no immediate danger there. Prince Cian has even won some successes. Assaults will not soon be repeated. I am persuaded that the surest way to raise the leaguer of London will be to rout first the Saxons now pouring down from the north. Otherwise they may follow, and be on our backs like wild cats, while we are busy with Eschwine and the rest of them in front. I am further persuaded that we have one paramount duty if we are to hold Britain together, and that is to obey Britain's head." Lancelot had spoken with such upright emphasis that the thought of inconsistency did not then occur to him. The officer bowed and withdrew, not smil- [Page 262] ing again, but with a suggestive face. Lancelot forthwith extended his lines to join Caowl, in effect enclosing the doubtful runaways, who had their choice between a very unpromising reach of uplands, barren and rugged, and a semicircular array of the spears of their own people. Moreover, they were melting momently about the edges, and their opponents grew in number accordingly. The report of their envoy made this all the greater. Vortimer was nearly alone in urging violence. The ma** about him showed in loud complaints or derisive sullenness that they felt they had been brought far on a fool's errand, and disgraced everyway for nothing. Vortimer's love of popularity could not long withstand it. Instinct and habit made him swerve with the tide. He was already half-way advanced in an eloquent address, having that turn in view, when Lancelot, with no more than half a dozen attendants, galloped up before the speaker. This Lancelot was at his lordliest, both in temper and apparel. He had plainly no inkling of Vortimer's change of purpose, which came too late. "This will not answer," he announced with deliberation. The orator towered a moment, darkling, then essayed to ignore and continue; but, seeing the wavering of his people, turned imperiously. "Know you," [Page 263] he demanded, "that these would tear you in pieces at a word from me? Back with you to your own!" The Welsh prince looked with a proud smile over the countenances around. "They do not seem quite like that," he observed. "I shall return, Vortimer of London, but you will go with me." As he spoke, his companions moved suddenly around the object of their inroad. Vortimer swelled and thrilled with the impulse to throw himself on this affronter. There was everything to make the hour bitter. Beside the potent contrast of success and failure, the comparison of person went against him. He was the greater, to some degree, in size, and his ruddy, broad, manlike beauty was plain to see; but about Lancelot there dwelt an air of something finer, subtler, and higher, less needing insistence, an inner a**urance of superiority which all around them shared. His celebrity in arms, also, very different from the merely local championship of Vortimer, had a glamour of its own. The London chieftain looked him over as he sat easily, a smile that was not loving on the dark, handsome face, and stern purpose behind it. It was not fear, – though who but Arthur or Cian could match Lancelot in weapon-sk**? – but Vortimer knew what surrounded him, and felt his strength bleeding all away. He swept an eye of reproach and involun- [Page 264] tary appeal around the circle. Those nearest were his own especial following in town or field, the core of the revolt from the beginning, even yet not lacking a certain stubbornness. "We await your orders," responded one gray centurion grimly, "and will not hold back for fine feathers, be certain." "We will not desert you in your trouble," added resolutely, though without much alacrity, the officer who had borne the message. These words had their weight with Lancelot. It was his part to save men for Arthur and the coming battle. Evidently this great-limbed Saxon-Briton was more beloved than he had fancied. "No one doubts the prowess of the champion of Andred, nor of his followers," he said, looking around upon them. "With such aid he might no doubt overcome me and these few. I should not grudge him the victory, nor mind the trial. But in striking me you strike Britain; and that is a poor thing for any son of hers to do. This once, you have been unwise, and unwisdom should submit manfully to its forfeit. Moreover, your enterprise is hopeless. Even if you could overcome my army, what welcome would Prince Cian, always faithful, give to mutineers before the walls?" "There are more to be thought of in London than Prince Cian and his a**umed ingratitude," broke in [Page 265] Vortimer, with his deepest voice and most swelling port of oratory. "After what I have seen of that in higher place, it would not, indeed, astound me. But since you and he and one higher have become – Britain – I will not contend with Britain, but will be well content to face this overgrown Arthur, my chief accuser." For even while Lancelot spoke the outcome had grown very plain and inevitable in the sight of Vortimer; and he desired at least the semblance of holding first place in act, speech, and will, as to his own procedure. But he felt below it the scorch of defeat, and saw the derisive curl of Lancelot's lip at his boasting. It drove him on to say more. Quoth he, – "Also there is more to tell him concerning unfaithfulness – a worse treason, Sir Lancelot, than that of breaking bounds to aid a beleaguered city. Nor should you twist and tangle your face-lines in that fashion; for truly it might be no more than kindness to bring the wrath of the Emperor on your head, if in so doing I might leave free to you" he paused – "a cast-off Guinevere." The writhing of countenance that he mocked at had been real; and Vortimer, following with bitter delight the pa**ion of shame and pain which caused it, grew more deadly hateful with every word. The two great men fronted each other, feeding their fury in eye flashes given and taken, until at that fatal [Page 266] name they clashed wildly together, blade on shield, and blow for blow; all thoughts of policy, of clemency, of submission were quite blown away; each made for the other's life, with little heed to his own. Forthwith all their followers near joined the combat, eddying round them as they fought. The odds were heavy against Lancelot's party, yet not so crushing as might seem, for these were picked of the pick of their kind, better swordsmen nowhere, and they knew the overwhelming aid that was coming; whereas only a very few of Vortimer's men were d**h-blind in his behalf, and they had nothing else to be their stay. Notwithstanding, every man of the former felt cut and thrust, not once only, through his mail; and their helms were ringing, and their forms reeling about the two infuriated champions, before relief came. Yet this was speedy. The sight of that straining tangle and vehemence of men and arms, the sound of that smithy-like hammering, were in eyes and ears not over pleased with the venture of their chief; and at once, with a great cry, the whole curve of men swept inward, closing the circle, and crushing into submission that human chaos. The uplifted voice of Lancelot alone saved from trampling even him, their leader. When the storm cleared they found him afoot, between his dead horse and Vortimer, both equally bloody and unlifelike. His [Page 267] own person showed gashes in trunk and limb, and his garments were no longer things of beauty; but he had regained his old jauntily defiant, gracefully complacent air. "The end would have come sooner," said he, "but that I let the clumsy fellow make me clumsier still with wrath at his nonsense, till I got my sk** of hand again, and laid open his crown. Look to him, some of you, and to the rest." But his eye had in it no great anxiety for Vortimer's revival; and as he glanced around him he was asking inwardly how many who had heard the first offence were beyond all telling, or certain to forget. Yet at least the combined forces were his own now, a goodly array to bring back northward; and that it might grow rather than lessen, he sent out after all scatterers, even before having his wounds dressed. While undergoing this he had news of Vortimer, which did not wholly please him. "Mending, is he?" quoth the dark and wilful prince. "It may not mend his comfort or his chances greatly. Bring him in." When Vortimer entered, Lancelot was smiling; but the contrast between the men and between their conditions made that smile satanic. Vortimer felt it so, scarce able as he was to hold himself erect for weakness, roughly bandaged on head and arm and thigh, blood-dabbled and mire-stained everywhere, tattered as any hedge-side beggar; while before him [Page 268] sat at ease this greater sinner, already seemingly restored in every way, the wine creaming to his hand, a picture of embodied luxury and insolent leisure. Lancelot nodded indifferently, and waved his attendants from the room. Then his eyes fastened on his huge prey. "Our little set-to had its inconveniences," he said. "But there were counterbalancing benefits. Of all who heard a lady's name handled indiscreetly, – a very throat-cutting thing, – only two or three are alive, beside you and me. I will answer for the others, and I think we are not likely to speak." There was an emphasis on the "we," which checked Vortimer's denial. The orator, for once, and very uneasily, hearkened only. Lancelot went on: "Such speech, but once again, may bring to you the blade that burns. You are going where declamation will not avail; but, even there, let that name pa** your lips, and I shall know, and you shall feel. If you say that you have seen too much, you shall see nothing more." Vortimer had listened helplessly, with growing vehemence of desire to offer some defiance, some reply. At the last he straightened himself, but wilted to the ground before a word was spoken, like some tall reed cut at the root, softening under the hot sun. At Lancelot's call, men came and bore him away. [Page 269] When first able to travel, he went westward, where a Welsh castle received him. For long he was not seen. Such report was sent to Arthur as made this unavoidable. Nor, in his life-and-d**h struggle with the Saxon, could he scan it over closely. But Vortimer was yet dear to many in London. Condoning his faults, they remembered his voice, his bearing, his championship. Lancelot hardly fared the better. A stir of shame awakened at the sudden weakness of a strong enemy, and at himself, who had not long before been unevenly generous, – a half-startled recognition of some new growth within, for he had never yet been cruel. At times, for a moment, he seemed to look down a distorted vista, futile in its flashes of good, hateful, more and more, in its perverse darkening of evil. In one burst of desperate thought, he dreamed of renouncing all for the cowl and cell. And again, the wish burst from him that the thrust of Vortimer had been more straight and strong. Even the hope of seeing Guinevere was poisoned for him, though he longed feverishly. Only in the thought of combat was there any respite. Therefore he took no heed to his wounds nor any counsel concerning them, but hurried on. All his men were now with him in heart and will, those foremost in revolt being over eager to atone, lest harm should come of it. [Page 270] Pa**ing the walls of Legiolum, for there was no time now to tarry, Lancelot had one fair sight of Guinevere, leaning forth sunlike in the sunset. She waved her scarf abroad for a token, and he tossed hand and helmet-plume, riding swiftly on.