Therefore, at that dinner, she had Sir Gawaine and his brethren, that is to say, Sir Gareth, Sir Agravaine, Sir Gaheris and Sir Mordred. Also there were the kin of Sir Lancelot, to wit, Sir Bors, Sir Blamore, Sir Bleobaris, Sir Ector de Maris, and Sir Lionel. But Sir Lancelot had gone into the Scottish marches, to do battle with a notable robber and oppressor there. There were other knights, making in all the number of twenty-four. And these were all the remnant of the one hundred and fifty that had gone forth in the Quest of the Sangreal.

Among the guests were Sir Pinel and his cousin, Sir Mador.

Now Sir Gawaine had a custom of eating apples which he used daily at dinner and at supper. He loved all manner of fruit, and in especial a certain brown or russet apple, which was called Afal Coch. Every one knew of this fondness of Sir Gawaine's, and whoever dined or feasted him took care to provide such apples for his pleasure.

The queen had known this, and among the fruit for the table she had ordered such apples to be placed.

Now Sir Mordred, as Sir Gareth had suspected, hated Sir Gawaine with a deep hatred, and therefore he had, by crafty dealing, taken all the russet apples from the dish except one, and into this he had thrust a deadly poison. He guessed that, as every one knew of Sir Gawaine's fondness for that sort of fruit, no one would take it, but would leave it for Sir Gawaine, who would eat it and die thereof.

When the feast was near an end, and men laughed and jested together, the dish of fruit was handed round, and Sir Pinel, the mean knight, noticed that there was but one of the apples which Sir Gawaine loved; and to spite that knight, whom he hated, he took that apple, ere the dish went to Sir Gawaine.

Sir Mordred saw him take it, yet would not cry out to warn his fellow-traitor, for this would have revealed himself. He saw Sir Pinel's teeth sink into the brown apple, and Sir Pinel's sneering look as he glanced across at Sir Gawaine, who was searching vainly in the dish for his favourite fruit.

Then Sir Mordred saw Sir Pinel's face go red, and then deadly white.

And as the poison gripped him, Sir Pinel rose shrieking from the table, crying out that some enemy had poisoned him.

Then he sank writhing to the ground, shrieking and moaning, clutching at the ground and at the legs of the chairs. Suddenly, with a great groan, he lay still and was dead.

Every knight leaped from the table, ashamed, full of rage and fear, nigh out of their wits, but dumb. They looked at each other and then at the dead Sir Pinel, and all their eyes kept from the face of the queen, where she sat on the high seat, with two of her ladies beside her.

The reason they could not speak was that they knew the queen had heard of the evil tales which Sir Pinel had spread about her, and that she must have hated him bitterly. And she had made this feast, and had invited him thereto, and now he was dead at the board, by means of deadly poison placed in the food which she had set before him.

Then for very shame some began to leave the chamber; and others could not bear to look upon the queen, who sat with a face that went now pale, now red. She had seen what happened, and who it was had been slain, and she had read the suspicion in men's gestures.

Then the voice of Sir Mador rang out, and checked men from going from the room, and drew all eyes to where he stood, a tall and burly man, red and angry of face, and fierce of eyes.

'Look!' he cried, and held between his fingers and high above his head the apple which Sir Pinel had bitten, 'this is the thing whereof my kinsman, Sir Pinel, hath lost his life. The matter shall not end here, for I have lost a n.o.ble knight of my blood, and I will be revenged to the uttermost.'

Then, turning, he savagely looked at the queen, and with fierce rolling eyes he roared out:

'Thou art the murderess! Thou--the queen! Hear me, knights and chieftains. I charge the queen with the murder of my kinsman, Sir Pinel, and justice upon her will I have.'

Every one in the hall stood still as if they were of stone. None could gainsay him, none could utter a word on behalf of the queen, for all had suspicion that she had slain Sir Pinel for his slanders of her.

Then suddenly the queen rose, white and trembling.

'My lords and knights, I did not cause it!' she cried in a broken voice. 'I am innocent! I know not how it came!'

And therewith she fell down in a swoon.

Sir Mordred's pale face smiled with a bitter sneer. He knew not then whether what had happened would help his evil plots or no; but he resolved to say naught, and so went out with all the other silent knights, whilst the ladies of the queen took her up lamenting, and bore her to her chamber.

With the noise and the sorrow that was in the court, King Arthur came and craved to know what was the matter; but none of the silent knights would speak until he met Sir Gawaine, who replied, and said:

'Sir, the queen did invite us to a privy feast with her. And one of the knights did eat of the fruit on the table, and he is dead by poison.

Therefore, I dread lest the queen will be shamed for this.'

King Arthur was pa.s.sing heavy at the hearing of these words, and went unto the queen to comfort her.

On the next day, when the king sat in hall with his two court judges, as was his wont daily, to hear any causes or charges which might be brought before him, all men stood with gloomy faces, and there was no laughing and jesting talk, as was usual at this time.

Sir Mador came forward and charged the queen of murder, and required that justice should be done upon her.

The king heard him with a sad face and in silence. Then he said:

'Fair lords and n.o.ble knights, heavy is my grief for this, and rather would I give my life for my queen at this moment than that my tongue should frame so evil a charge against my dear wife and your n.o.ble queen. But I am here to see that law is done, as justly to the highest as to the lowest. I doubt not that G.o.d will soon clear her of this seeming evil.'

'I know not how that may be,' said Sir Mador angrily, 'for the evil deed is clear to any man's eyes.'

'I deem this deed was never done by my queen, nor by her desire,' said the king sternly, 'but by some traitor that would do her evil and wishes to see her die. But as I am her judge, I may not be her champion and fight against you for her fair fame. I doubt not, however, that some good knight will take this charge upon himself, and put his body in jeopardy for my queen. For if this be not done, dost thou know what is the penalty?'

'She must be burnt,' said Mador sullenly. 'But she hath done the deed and will merit the doom.'

'Cease, hasty man,' said King Arthur sternly; 'it goeth to my heart to hear ye p.r.o.nounce the doom thou wouldst visit upon that fair lady. Fear not, Sir Mador, she shall find some good knight to do combat for her.

Therefore do thou name thy day of battle.'

'But hark ye, lord,' said Sir Mador, 'there is none of the four-and-twenty knights that were bidden to this dinner that hath not suspicion of the queen for this deed. Therefore, no knight can take this charge upon him in her behalf. What say ye, my lords?'

He turned to the silent, moody men about the dais.

The knights looked troubled, and were dumb for some moments; but at the last Sir Gawaine said:

'We cannot excuse the queen, for she gave the feast. And either the poison came by her will or by her servants.'

But most of the knights were silent, and Sir Bors and his kindred were very sorrowful. King Arthur was heavy at the words of Sir Gawaine.

'Now, king,' cried Sir Mador triumphantly, 'I require ye, as ye be a righteous king, give me a day that I may have justice.'

'That will I do,' said the king, 'as I must do, that am a just king. I give you this day fifteen days, that ye be ready armed on horseback in the meadow beside the wall at London; and if it so fall out that there be a knight to encounter with you, then G.o.d speed the right; and if there be no knight to take arms for my queen, then must she suffer by fire.'

So sorrowful were the king's words that many knights had much ado to keep from weeping.

'And meanwhile,' said Sir Mador, 'I do require that ye keep the queen in close ward and prison, lest any try a rescue, and thus defeat the justice that is my due.'

Though it went to the king's heart to have to order this, he gave the queen into the keeping of Sir Kay, who kept her in her chamber, guarded by three knights, to the great grief of her women and all the court.

Then the queen sent for Sir Bors, and when he was come she threw herself on her knees full piteously before him, and wept sorely, and begged that he would save her from this dreadful death.

'For by my confession unto Heaven,' she cried, 'I know naught of this wicked deed how it was brought about. And will ye not take this combat upon ye for my sake? For I am sure if your kinsman, Sir Lancelot, was here, he would not suffer this evil suspicion to lie against me. For he hath ever been my most faithful knight, but now am I without friend in this great pa.s.s.'

'Madam,' replied Sir Bors, 'what can I do? For if I take this charge upon me for your sake, men will say I was your aider in this crime that they charge upon you. And I see not how I may fight for you except by endangering my own life without saving yours. But I tell ye, madam, what I will do. I will hasten with all speed to the north, trusting in G.o.d to get news of Sir Lancelot, so that I may tell him and bring him here within the time appointed.'

'Ah, good Sir Bors,' cried the queen, and clasped his hands. 'Do ye do that, for I know that Sir Lancelot will never believe me guilty of so great a crime. And I will pray hourly that ye find him and bring him to me in time, so that my poor body be not unjustly given to the dreadful flames.'

Forthwith Sir Bors armed himself, and with two squires set forth instantly; and sent his men in different ways, so that among the three they should not fail to hear where, in the northern marches, a knight so famous as Sir Lancelot might be found.

No rest did the good Sir Bors give to himself, but swiftly did he ride hither and thither questioning all knights whom he met, and inquiring of every hermitage and abbey and at every harbourage. Finally, when eleven days had pa.s.sed of the fifteen, he found Sir Lancelot lying wounded at a broken abbey, from which, in a fierce fight, he had but two days before thrust out a band of pagans, who would have murdered the nuns and robbed the church of its holy relics.