Wonders Will Never Cease Page 8

  ‘How is that? You hold that the history of Arthur is only a legend?’

  ‘The story of Arthur is the founding legend of our nation and one Englishmen take pride in, for it is a very good story, but it is only a story and what really happened must have been much duller, for I always find life to be duller than the stories I read in books.’

  ‘But it cannot be true that Arthur is a creature of our imaginations.’ Anthony is shocked. ‘For one thing the bones of Arthur and Guinevere have been disinterred and reburied by the monks at Glastonbury. I have prayed at their tomb. Then the round table is displayed at Winchester and I have seen that too with the places of the knights written on its circumference and we have armorial rolls showing the blazons of all Arthur’s knights. It is common knowledge that Guildford was once known as Camelot. Moreover, we have histories of Britain written by William of Malmesbury, a monk, and Geoffrey of Monmouth, a bishop – and there are others. Such holy men would not have invented the deeds of Arthur.’

  But Tiptoft is unimpressed by this supposed evidence, ‘Most of our history is invented and it is better that way. History is nothing but the lies we tell about our ancestors. If a German monk can make up three centuries, I do not see why our British clergy should not be up to faking half a century or so. For myself, I no longer read romances about Arthur and his knights, for I find them too fantastical. At the moment I am reading the Emperor Claudius’s Tyrrenika, his excessively lengthy history of the Etruscans, but I do not believe most of what he tells me about the Etruscan Kings and their wars. Much of that must be made up. Still I enjoy reading falsehoods about the past, so long as they seem plausible, which the stories about Arthur are not.’

  ‘But if Arthur and his fellowship of the Round Table never existed, then we have no exemplars to match ourselves against and the attempt to resurrect Camelot is a mere folly.’

  ‘Yes, Edward must never be allowed to suspect the truth, for folly has its uses. I marvel at the story of Arthur and am a little afraid, since I regard the conjuring up of people who never existed as a special kind of witchcraft. But I guess that you may know more about witchcraft than I do… You never heard me say that…’

  Then, to change the topic, Tiptoft asks about Anthony’s family and Anthony starts to explain that Elizabeth’s manors in Leicestershire have been seized by Lady Ferrers’s men.

  ‘I did not know that your wife had properties in Leicestershire.’

  ‘No, I mean my sister who is also Elizabeth.’

  Suddenly Tiptoft is in a fury, ‘By the five wounds of Christ! This is the curse of the English aristocracy. We lords and ladies are so brainless that we cannot think of any names for our children except Elizabeth, Anne, Katherine, Henry, Richard, Edward and John. And then again Henry, Elizabeth, John, Katherine, Richard, Edward and Anne. So we are in a constant muddle as to who is who. The lower orders have more sense and imagination, for they take names like Hodge, Poyns, Garth, Alfred, Marigold and Beverley. By God, I am heartily tired of my own name, John, and I believe that I shall have myself called Actaeon, Zoroaster, or perhaps Fabrice.’

  With that, John Tiptoft stomps out of the tent. Anthony guesses that the truth is that Tiptoft is angry with himself for having touched on witchcraft. At the last moment, before Tiptoft is about to ride off, he recovers himself enough to invite Anthony to visit him at Dunstanburgh. Perhaps they may enjoy a bout of swordplay.

  The castle of Dolorous Gard was first known by that name because it was a place of sinister enchantment. Here Lancelot fought two bands of ten knights under its walls and defeated them. Thus Lancelot captured the castle and there in its chapel he saw a great metal slab and, when he lifted it, he discovered a tomb with his own name carved upon it. So he knew for the first time who he was and he knew that when he died his body would lie in this castle. Next he found a chest concealed in a pillar and the chest was full of horrible voices, but when he opened this chest all the devils flew out in a great whirlwind and the enchantment of the Dolorous Gard was broken and the castle became Sir Lancelot’s possession.

  When Sir Lancelot entertained King Arthur and Queen Guinevere with good cheer in this castle, he renamed it Joyous Gard. Later Sir Lancelot brought Sir Tristram and La Beale Isoud to his castle and lodged them in it as if they were a King and a Queen, though theirs was a story that ended unhappily. Years later, after Sir Tristram and La Beale Isoud were dead, and when Queen Guinevere was convicted of adultery and brought forth in her smock to be burnt to death, then Sir Lancelot came to the place which was to be the place of her execution and, having fought with many knights and slain several, among whose number were Sir Gawain’s brothers Sir Gareth and Sir Gaheris, Sir Lancelot rescued the queen. Wit you well the queen was glad that she was escaped from death. And then she thanked God and Sir Lancelot: and so he rode his way with the queen, as the French book says, unto Joyous Gard, and there he kept her as a noble knight should do. Then King Arthur at the request of Sir Gawain concluded to make war against Sir Lancelot and laid siege to his castle called Joyous Gard, for Gawain would have vengeance for his brothers. But Sir Lancelot withdrew himself to his strong castle with all manner of victuals and as many noble men as he might suffice within the town and the castle.

  At length, when fifteen weeks of the siege had passed, a bishop that was sent from the pope made peace between the warring parties and, according to the terms that were made in Carlisle, Queen Guinevere surrendered herself to the King and Sir Lancelot consented to depart from the King’s lands and dwell in foreign parts. And when the noble Sir Lancelot took his horse to ride out of Carlisle, there was sobbing and weeping for the pure sorrow of his departing; and he took his way unto Joyous Gard. And thus departed Sir Lancelot from the court forever. And then, having set out from Joyous Gard and crossed over the waters, ever after in sad remembrance he called that castle once more the Dolorous Gard. After the last battle between King Arthur and Sir Mordred at which the two of them were slain, Sir Lancelot returned to England and spent a long time grieving for Arthur’s death, before Sir Lancelot fell sick and died. His body was carried to Dolorous Gard, which today is known as Bamburgh and you may see his tomb there.

  This was the story of Bamburgh which Anthony had from Sir Thomas Malory of Newbold Revel. Warwick has sent Anthony over to Bamburgh to report on the siege there which is under the command of the Bastard Ogle. Malory, who is one of Ogle’s deputies, has been deputed to deal with Anthony’s queries. Malory is a thickset man with a scarred face and close-cropped hair and he speaks in a slow growl. He keeps looking at Anthony in an odd way as if he suspects him of something.

  His replies to Anthony’s queries are brief, even perfunctory. He hates Bamburgh and says it should still bear the name Dolorous Gard. Then it turns out that he, like Tiptoft is an enthusiast for books. He says that books were a great solace to him when he was in prison and what he really wants to talk about are Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnell, Peredur, The White Book of Rhydderch, The Red Book of Hergest, Merlin, The Life of Joseph of Arimathea and Chaucer’s Book of the Lion and suchlike romances.

  Once the inspection of the trenches, bombards and tents is over, Malory promptly turns to the Matter of Britain. They walk along the beach a while and then, sitting beside a rock pool, Malory speaks of Arthur, Merlin, Nimue, Lancelot, Percival, the Dolorous Stroke, the Loathly Lady, the Perilous Seat, Stonehenge, the Island of Sarras, the beheading game and such like matters. It is as if Malory swims in a sea of stories.

  Anthony cannot refrain from boasting about his descent from a dragon and tells Malory the story of Melusine. Malory, in turn, tells the story of a local dragon, the Laidly Worm, which is the story of a girl who was turned by the curse of her stepmother into a dragon and threw her off a crag into the sea. Her breath grew strong and her hair grew long and twisted about her. This horrid creature would come out from the sea to raid and devour livestock. Eventually a knight appeared who was determined to slay her, but when he confront
ed the dragon, she offered to give him a magic belt if he would kiss her three times. Suppressing his fear and revulsion, he did so and the enchantment was broken, or rather the enchantment was transferred, for while the girl resumed her normal shape, the stepmother was transformed into a venomous toad that still hops along the beach by Bamburgh Castle.

  ‘What is the meaning of this strange tale?’ Anthony wants to know.

  Malory’s reply, which is slow in coming, is also strange, ‘I suppose that, like so many stories, it is a fable about the fear and danger in the relations between any man and a woman. Every kiss must be a conquest of repulsion.’

  Anthony shakes his head to clear it.

  ‘But there once were real dragons in this land?’

  ‘Assuredly there were still dragons in Arthur’s day. But perhaps they have all been killed. England’s forests and moors have always been battlegrounds in which beasts prey upon other beasts in a struggle for survival. It may be that the dragons were not strong enough or fast enough to survive, for men are more dangerous than dragons and I believe that the last dragons were slain by men – just as in a few years’ time some man will kill the last wolf in England. Nevertheless, I have heard that there are still dragons in Africa where they haunt rivers and devour men.’

  As they walk back to Bamburgh, Anthony relates Tiptoft’s belief that Arthur never existed.

  Malory laughs at this. For the moment he has forgotten whatever is troubling him. Then he says, ‘The Earl of Worcester would deny that Jesus ever existed, if it were not for his fear of the punishments of Hell. But how can that clever man prove the non-existence of Arthur? If Arthur never existed, what evidence can there possibly be for his never having existed? Can the Earl of Worcester point to the place where Arthur never was, name the people he never knew and produce the shoes he never wore? His doubting is a kind of madness. His sojourn abroad has led him to hate England and English things. I have heard that he also denies that Saint George ever existed, but yet he reveres hundreds of Italian saints and prates endlessly about their miracles. He is not a true Englishman. It has been well said of him that un Inglese italianato é diavolo incarnato.’

  Anthony guesses at the meaning of this last expression. By now they were back at the camp below the walls of the castle.

  ‘You should be on your way back to Alnwick,’ says Malory who seems suddenly impatient to see Anthony go.

  Malory waits until Anthony is mounted and ready to ride off before running out with a book. It is The Avowing of Arthur.

  ‘Take this,’ says Malory. ‘This book will change your life.’

  Anthony doubts it. There is too much sadness in the stories of Arthur and his court, too many treasons, too many deaths and too many castles that deserve the name Dolorous Gard. And besides Anthony is not fond of reading and, when he does read, it is very slowly.

  He has only ridden a little way before he is intercepted by a troop of horsemen. They salute him courteously and explain that they are under the Earl of Warwick’s orders to escort him to Tiptoft at Dunstanburgh.

  Tiptoft receives him in a pavilion that is more luxurious than any they have at Alnwick. The parakeet sits chained to its perch at the entrance. A Turkey carpet is on the ground and a baldachin overhangs the bed. The travelling library is kept in trunks at the far end of the pavilion where it is overseen by a Carraran marble sculpture of the crucified Christ. No sooner has Anthony entered the pavilion than Chernomor steps across the entrance and there stands guard. Tiptoft rapidly barks something at the dwarf in what Anthony guesses is Latin. His guess must be correct.

  ‘Chernomor speaks only Russian and a little Latin,’ says Tiptoft. ‘If you try to leave without my permission, he will rip your arms off.’

  While Anthony is struggling to understand what is going on, Tiptoft’s squire enters with The Avowing of Arthur which he has extracted from Anthony’s saddlebag. The squire presents it to Tiptoft, who negligently flicks through its pages until he finds what he wants. It is a letter that has been pasted into the middle of the book. Tiptoft rips it out and scans it. Even in his panic Anthony marvels how swiftly Tiptoft reads and without moving his lips!

  Tiptoft shows the document to Anthony and says, ‘It is as I expected. This letter, which seems to come from the Duke of Somerset, is addressed to you. In it he praises you for reconsidering where your loyalties lie and promises that you shall be well rewarded by the King – I mean Henry of Lancaster. Then he provides details on how you and those you can trust may safely cross over and join the garrison in Alnwick. Tomorrow night, when you give the signal, you will be met by a sally party and they will see you safely in through the castle’s postern gate. It is all just as the Earl of Warwick said it would be. He recommended that you be brought to me, since as President of the Court of Chivalry, I have the power and duty to dispense summary justice.’

  ‘But I know nothing of this!’ protests Anthony.

  Tiptoft does not seem to hear. Now he instructs his squire to light a candle and then he moves it so close to Anthony that his face can feel its heat. Tiptoft’s own face is just behind the candle so that its flame is reflected in his pupils, which in its light are like those of a lizard, and he gazes deep into Anthony’s eyes for a long time. At last he says, ‘It would be a shame to mar such a beautiful face and sad to see a handsome head severed from the shoulders to which it belongs.’

  Abruptly he whisks the candle away from Anthony and holds the letter up to the flame until it is entirely burnt.

  ‘I cannot believe that such a beautiful face can possibly harbour treasonable thoughts. I will have to tell Warwick that I have found no incriminating evidence on you.’ He shrugs. ‘He ought to be relieved that we have no traitors in our midst. The Avowing of Arthur is worth reading though.’

  Then he hands the torch back to his squire and continues, ‘I hear that you exercise with the sword every morning below the walls of Alnwick. Will you fence with me?’

  Straightaway Tiptoft has blunted swords fetched and they go out to cut and lunge at one another. Weeks of practising with the sword outside Alnwick have made Anthony confident. Moreover, being taller, he has the longer reach and indeed within a few strokes he comes close to disarming Tiptoft, but he, once he has taken the measure of his opponent, swiftly recovers and thereafter Anthony is unable to land a blow, as Tiptoft, all the time slowly stepping round to the left, uses his sword to create something which comes to resemble a sphere of invincibility. Anthony, who has met nothing like it before, is baffled.

  Once they are out of breath and sweating, they break off and return to the tent.

  ‘I am fairly beaten,’ says Anthony, ‘though it felt like sorcery.’

  ‘You are not far off the mark,’ replies Tiptoft. ‘I will tell you how it is done. First, you should know how much I hate it here. So much wildness in nature is very ugly. I wish that we could leave this northern region to the benighted followers of Henry of Lancaster, together with the Scots and similar wild beasts. Things are better ordered in Italy.’

  And now Tiptoft speaks at length about his studies in Padua and Ferrara, where he sought to polish up his Latin style. He also attended lectures by John Argyropoulos in Florence before going on to Rome where he made an oration in Latin whose eloquence, he is not ashamed to admit, moved the Pope to tears of joy. Tiptoft also oversaw and contributed a translation of Laus Calvitii (In Praise of Baldness) by Synesius the Cyrene. Wild animals are hairy, whereas bald animals are more intelligent. All the great philosophers of the ancient world were bald. The sphere is a perfect form since it echoes in microcosm the shape of the heavens. Prostitutes have long hair. Quod erat demonstrandum.

  Listening to all this, Anthony is annoyed, for what Tiptoft is talking about has no bearing on sword fighting, and besides Anthony’s own hair is quite long. But now Tiptoft, having touched on the divine properties of spheres and circles, moves on to talk of his study in Rome of the related topics of sword fighting and demon raising and, picking up his sword on
ce more, he leads Anthony out of the tent and down to the water’s edge, where the sand will help him to demonstrate what he is talking about.

  ‘The sword is a tool for investigating the way the world works.’

  Then Tiptoft takes careful steps backwards and forwards as he uses his blunted sword to draw what he describes as a ‘magic circle’ in the sand. Its circumference delineates the reach of his sword arm together with that of his hypothetical opponent. Fencing is like geometry and as such it can be demonstrated by mathematical principles. The swordsman who follows the teachings of the Italian school of humanist geometers will seek to move as a ball does, for it is impossible to strike a ball with a direct blow, as it defends itself with its motion. Within the larger circle Tiptoft uses his sword to draw a smaller one to mark out the distance between the antagonists’ leading feet. Every part of these circles are proportionate to the human body. Tiptoft goes on to draw chords (straight lines joining two points on a curve) which serve to mark out, not only the various thrusts and lunges that are available to the swordsman, but also the defensive side-steps and traverses. The lunges should be avoided save in cases of extremity for, though swift, they are perilous and the swordsman should strive to hold himself erect as if he were suspended by an invisible thread from the apex of the heavens. The chords of defence will form an eight-pointed star. The steps and traverses are always made to the left, assuming that one is a right-handed fighter. The swordsman uses this complex geometrical figure in order to rehearse and perfect his footwork and to gauge the distance that he must keep from his enemy’s weapon and, after much practice, he may be able to internalise these circles and chords, so that he carries them with him always in his head. This system is called ‘The Distress’ because of the damage it causes to the victim. However a single false step will mean death for the man who thought that he had mastered the magic circle.