II
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How the Frisian ship brought news, and Mordred gathered his host and went to Camelot seeking the queen.

Dark wind came driving   over deep water,  
from the South sweeping   surf upon the beaches,  
a roaring sea   rolling endless  
huge hoarcrested   hills of thunder.  
The world darkened.   Wan rode the moon 5
through stormy clouds   streaming northward.  
  
From France came flying   a fleet vessel  
dark and dragon-prowed,   dreadly carven,  
sable-shrouded,    on the sea leaping,  
by the waves hunted   as a wild creature        10
among hungry hounds.   The horns of the wind  
were its mort blowing.   Men were calling,  
to their gods crying   with grim voices,  
as it rode to wreck   with riven timbers  
in the mouths of the sea.   The moon glittered        15
in the glaring eyes   upon their grey faces  
death outstaring.   Doom o’ercame them.  
  
Mordred was waking.   His mind wandered  
in dark counsels   deep and secret.  
From a window looked he   in western tower:        20
drear and doubtful   day was breaking,  
grey light glimmered   behind gates of cloud.  
About the walls of stone   wind was flowing;  
sea sighed below,   surging, grinding.  
He heard nor heeded:   his heart returned        25
to its long thraldom   lust-tormented,  
to Guinever the golden   with gleaming limbs,  
as fair and fell   as fay-woman  
in the world walking   for the woe of men  
no tear shedding.   Towers might he conquer,        30
and thrones o’erthrow   yet the thought quench not.  
  
In her blissful bower   on bed of silver  
softly slept she   on silken pillows  
with long hair loosened,   lightly breathing,  
in fragrant dreams   fearless wandering,        35
of pity and repentance   no pain feeling,  
in the courts of Camelot   queen and peerless,  
queen unguarded.   Cold blew the wind.  
His bed was barren;   there black phantoms  
of desire unsated   and savage fury        40
in his brain had brooded   till bleak morning.  
  
A stair he mounted   steeply winding  
to walls embattled   well-wrought of stone.  
O’er the weeping world   waking coldly  
he leant and laughed,   lean and tearless.        45
Cocks were crowing.   Clamour rose at gate.  
Servants sought him   soft-foot running  
through hall and bower   hunting swiftly.  
His eager squire   Ivor hailed him  
by the dungeon-stair   at the door standing:        50
‘Lord! Come below!   Why alone walk ye?  
Tidings await you!   Time is spared us  
too short for shrift.   A ship is landed!’  
  
Mordred came then;   and men trembled  
at his dark visage   drenched with water;        55
wind-tossed his hair,   and his words grated:  
‘Do ye ransack with rabble   this royal castle,  
Because a ship from storm   to shore flieth?’  
Ivor him answered:   ‘On your errand hasting  
the Frisian captain   from France cometh        60
on wings of wind,   his word keeping,  
fate defying.   Fate hath conquered.  
His ship is broken   on the shore lying;  
at the door of death   he doomed lingers.  
All else are dead.’   At early day        65
the red rover   the rings of gold  
repayed to his patron,   ere he passed to hell;  
shrift he sought not,   nor shaven priest,  
his latest words   to his lord speaking:  
‘Cradoc the accurséd   to the king flying        70
through thy net slipping   news untimely  
east to Almain   ere the hour was ripe  
hath brought from Britain.   Bare is thy counsel;  
in Arthur’s ears   all is rumoured  
of thy deeds and purpose.   Dark his anger.        75
He hastens home, and his   host summons,  
from the Roman marches   riding as tempest.  
Nine thousand knights   draw near the sea;  
on northern waves   his navy lies,  
Whitesand with boats,   wherries and barges        80
shipwrights’ hammers,   shouting seamen,  
ringing armour,   riders hasting,  
is loud and thronging.   Look ye to it!  
Shining on bulwarks   shields are hanging  
blazoned in blood-red   foreboding war.        85
On the waves they wait   and the wind’s fury;  
lean hounds at leash   longships are tugging  
on heaving hawsers.   Haste now eastward!’  
  
Radbod the Red,   rover fearless,  
heathen-hearted    to hate faithful,        90
died as his doom was.   Dark was the morning.  
To sea they cast him,   of his soul recked not  
that walks in the waters,   wandering homeless.  
  
Wild rode the wind   through the West country.  
Banners were blowing,   black was the raven        95
they bore as blazon.   Blaring of trumpets,  
neighing of horses,   gnashing of armour,  
in the hoar hollows   of the hills echoed.  
Mordred was marching;   messengers speeding  
northward and eastward   the news bearing        100
through the land of Logres.   Lords and chieftains  
to his side he summoned   swift to hasten  
their tryst keeping,   true to Mordred,  
faithful in falsehood,   foes of Arthur,  
lovers of treason,   lightly purchased        105
followers of fortune,   and freebooters  
of Erin and Alban   and East-Sassoin,  
of Almain and Angel   and the isles of mist;  
the crows of the coast   and the cold marshes.  
  
He came to Camelot,   the queen seeking.        110
Fiercely heard she   his feet hasten  
with striding steps   the stair climbing.  
To her bower came he.   With burning eyes  
by the door he stood   darkly gazing.  
She sat silent   no sign giving        115
at the wide window.   Wan gleamed the day  
in her bright tresses   bleakly golden.  
Grey her eyes were   as a glittering sea;  
glass-clear and chill   they his glance challenged  
proud and pitiless.   But pale her cheek        120
for heart misgave her,   as one that hounds tameth  
to follow her feet   and fawn at hand,  
when wolf unawares   walks among them.  
  
Then spake Mordred   with his mouth smiling:  
‘Hail! Lady of Britain!   It is long sitting        125
alone lordless   in loveless days,  
a kingless queen   in courts that echo  
to no noise of knighthood.   Yet never shalt thou  
on earth hereafter   thine hours barren  
and life find loveless.   Nor less than queen        130
with dimmed glory   thy days revile  
though chances change – if thou choose aright.  
A king courts thee   his crown to share,  
his love offering   and loyal service.’  
  
Gravely Guinever   again answered:        135
‘Thou callest thee king,   and of crown speakest –  
in his lieu ‘twas lent thee   by thy liege-master,  
who liveth yet and reigneth,   though long absent.  
For thy love I thank thee   and loyal service,  
though due I deem it   from dear nephew        140
to Arthur’s queen.’   Then her eyes wavered,  
and he set her beside him,   seized her fiercely.  
Grim words he spake – Guinever trembled:  
‘Now never again   from northern wars  
shall Arthur enter   this island realm,        145
nor Lancelot du Lake   love remembering  
to thy tryst return!   Time is changing;  
the West waning,   a wind rising  
in the waxing East.   The world falters.  
New tides are running   in the narrrow waters.        150
False or faithful,   only fearless man  
shall ride the rapids   from ruin snatching  
power and glory.   I purpose so.  
Thou at my side shall lie,   slave or lady,  
as thou wilt or wilt not,   wife or captive.        155
This treasure take I,   ere towers crumble,  
and thrones are o’erturned,   thirst first will I slake.  
I will be king after   and crowned with gold.’  
  
Then the queen took counsel   in her cold bosom  
between fear and prudence;   feigning wonder,        160
softly after silence   she dissembling spake:  
‘My lord, unlooked-for   were thy love-speeches,  
and this eager suit   thou urgest now;  
new thoughts arise   needing counsel!  
Delay allow me   and a little respite        165
ere thou ask my answer!   Should Arthur come,  
my plight were perilous.   Could thou proof show me  
that thou wilt ride over ruin,   wresting kingship  
from troublous times,   troth were plighted  
with briefer counsel.’   Bitterly laughed he:        170
‘What proof of power   shall prisoner seek,  
captive of captor?   Be I king or earl,  
‘twixt bride and bond   brief be the choosing!  
Needs must tonight   that I know thy mind;  
longer I grant not.’   Then his leave took he.        175
Fierce and hasty   his feet echoed  
with striding steps   on the stone pavement.  
  
Night came slowly.   The naked moon  
slipped sudden forth   from swathing clouds  
torn by tempest,   in a tarn of stars        180
swam serenely.   Riding swiftly  
hosemen hastened.   Hooves were beating,  
steel-pointed spears   stung with silver.  
Long leagues behind   in a low valley  
the lights of Camelot   lessened and faded;        185
before lay forest   and the far marches,  
dark roads and dim.   Dread pursued them.  
Wolf had wakened   in the woods stalking,  
and the hind hardly   from hiding driven  
her foe had fled,   fear-bewildered,        190
cowed and hunted,   once queen of herds  
for whom harts majestic   in horned combat  
had fought fiercely.   So fled she now,  
Guinevere the fair   in grey mantled,  
cloaked in darkness,   from the courts stealing.        195
Few faithful men   her flight aided,  
folk that followed her   in former days,  
when from Leodegrance   to Logres rode  
bride to bridegroom   brave and golden  
in mighty Arthur’s   morning glory.        200
Now to lonely towers,   land deserted,  
where Leodegrance   once long ago  
at the Round Table   regal feasted,  
she hastened home   to harbour cold,  
hiding uncertain.   In her heart darkly        205
she thought of Lancelot,   should he learn afar  
of her woe and wandering   by wolf hunted.  
If the king were conquered,   and the crows feasted,  
would he come at her call,   queen and lady  
riding to rescue?   Then from ruin haply        210
were gladness wrested.   Guinevere the fair,  
not Mordred only,   should master chance  
and the tides of time   turn to her purpose.  

 

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