Giles Watson's poetry and prose
The Anturs of Arther: Part 4
The story so far: At the close of the hunting season, King Arthur’s retinue descend from the fells and prepare to herd the barren does into the hollows in order to slaughter them with bows and arrows. Sir Gawaine leads King Arthur’s wife Gaynore down the track, when suddenly the woods are cast into darkness, and they are separated from their companions. Whilst Gawaine endeavours to explain away the phenomenon as a solar eclipse, a decayed, animated corpse appears before them. Gawaine observes that it is crawling with snakes and toads, and draws his sword to defend his queen. The ghost tells Gawaine that it is all that remains of Gaynore’s mother, and that it once was more beautiful even than its daughter, but is now a rotting corpse. It commands him to bring Gaynore into its presence, and when he obeys, it tells her that it is in Purgatory, and can only be redeemed by her prayers. Gaynore asks whether there is any hope for her mother’s soul, and after giving a prescription for its own salvation, the ghost turns on Gaynore, accusing her of pride, and insisting that she too will suffer its fate, if she does not change her ways. Moreover, it suggests that King Arthur himself is doomed to destruction because of his pride, employing that favourite mediaeval metaphor, the Wheel of Fortune. Gawaine realises that if Gaynore’s sin is enough to send her to Hell, the sins of Arthur’s knights are far worse. Now, the ghost predicts that although Arthur and his knights have been victorious in France, defeating Gian in battle, Arthur himself will fall at the battle of Camlann on the River Tamar. She says that Gawaine will be in Tuscany at the time, but will rush to Arthur’s aid when he hears the news, and will also be killed. The heraldic symbols on the usurping knight’s shield reveal him to be Mordred, currently still a boy in King Arthur’s court...
The Anturs of Arther: Part 4
"In France you have fought, and by force you have won
Vassals and villeins, to drudgery doomed,
Brittany and Burgoyne are both under your thumb –
Amid deafening clamour, all France has been claimed,
And Gian regrets it was ever begun:
There are no living left not wounded or maimed,
And yet the rich Romans will soon overrun,
Your fabled Round Table turned over and shamed.
The Tamar will stop you, and Arthur will fall.
Gawaine, you must choose
Tuscany or crows,
For Arthur shall lose
His throne to his thrall.
A knight shall come stealthily, seizing the crown,
And at Carlisle be crowned as a king;
He’ll pause not to parley, take the land for his own,
And slander and strife on Britain he’ll bring.
They’ll tell you in Tuscany, treason’s enthroned,
You’ll turn in your tracks to hear such a thing:
The Round Table’s glory will lose all renown,
And at Romsey the red blades shall ring.
He’ll die in distress, the doughtiest of all:
Get you well, Gawaine,
Boldest knight in Britain,
In a ditch you’ll be slain;
And fate’s blade shall fall.
Fate’s blade shall fall, and slice you like stubble,
On Cornwall’s coast – pay heed to my words –
And there, honest Arthur, overcome by the rabble,
Shall be sliced by swords, most woeful his wounds,
And routed and ruined, every knight of the Table:
They’ll all die that day, lives lost in the wind.
Surprise shall defeat them: a knight shielded in sable:
A St. Andrew’s cross with silver entwined.
I said, sable his shield! Sooth for to say:
In King Arthur’s hall
The child plays at ball
Who shall conquer you all
Cruelly that day!
Good day to you Gawaine, and Gaynore, be good!
My time has run out, though I had more to tell,
For I must walk my way, through yonder dark wood,
To whimper with woe and to broil in hell!
By him who righteously hung on the rood,
Remember my pain, and the place where I dwell.
Lift up my soul and seek succour from God,
Buy Matins and Masses, and pay for them well,
For Masses are medicines, purging all pride:
Now a Mass seems more sweet
Than the spices you eat –"
And with no more debate,
Away the ghost glides.
Anonymous northern Middle English romance (15th century), paraphrased by Giles Watson.
The picture shows a portion of the Middle English text of the Anturs (from Part 1 of my paraphrase), and the cadaver brass of Ralph Hamsterley at Oddington Church, Oxfordshire.
The Anturs of Arther: Part 4
The story so far: At the close of the hunting season, King Arthur’s retinue descend from the fells and prepare to herd the barren does into the hollows in order to slaughter them with bows and arrows. Sir Gawaine leads King Arthur’s wife Gaynore down the track, when suddenly the woods are cast into darkness, and they are separated from their companions. Whilst Gawaine endeavours to explain away the phenomenon as a solar eclipse, a decayed, animated corpse appears before them. Gawaine observes that it is crawling with snakes and toads, and draws his sword to defend his queen. The ghost tells Gawaine that it is all that remains of Gaynore’s mother, and that it once was more beautiful even than its daughter, but is now a rotting corpse. It commands him to bring Gaynore into its presence, and when he obeys, it tells her that it is in Purgatory, and can only be redeemed by her prayers. Gaynore asks whether there is any hope for her mother’s soul, and after giving a prescription for its own salvation, the ghost turns on Gaynore, accusing her of pride, and insisting that she too will suffer its fate, if she does not change her ways. Moreover, it suggests that King Arthur himself is doomed to destruction because of his pride, employing that favourite mediaeval metaphor, the Wheel of Fortune. Gawaine realises that if Gaynore’s sin is enough to send her to Hell, the sins of Arthur’s knights are far worse. Now, the ghost predicts that although Arthur and his knights have been victorious in France, defeating Gian in battle, Arthur himself will fall at the battle of Camlann on the River Tamar. She says that Gawaine will be in Tuscany at the time, but will rush to Arthur’s aid when he hears the news, and will also be killed. The heraldic symbols on the usurping knight’s shield reveal him to be Mordred, currently still a boy in King Arthur’s court...
The Anturs of Arther: Part 4
"In France you have fought, and by force you have won
Vassals and villeins, to drudgery doomed,
Brittany and Burgoyne are both under your thumb –
Amid deafening clamour, all France has been claimed,
And Gian regrets it was ever begun:
There are no living left not wounded or maimed,
And yet the rich Romans will soon overrun,
Your fabled Round Table turned over and shamed.
The Tamar will stop you, and Arthur will fall.
Gawaine, you must choose
Tuscany or crows,
For Arthur shall lose
His throne to his thrall.
A knight shall come stealthily, seizing the crown,
And at Carlisle be crowned as a king;
He’ll pause not to parley, take the land for his own,
And slander and strife on Britain he’ll bring.
They’ll tell you in Tuscany, treason’s enthroned,
You’ll turn in your tracks to hear such a thing:
The Round Table’s glory will lose all renown,
And at Romsey the red blades shall ring.
He’ll die in distress, the doughtiest of all:
Get you well, Gawaine,
Boldest knight in Britain,
In a ditch you’ll be slain;
And fate’s blade shall fall.
Fate’s blade shall fall, and slice you like stubble,
On Cornwall’s coast – pay heed to my words –
And there, honest Arthur, overcome by the rabble,
Shall be sliced by swords, most woeful his wounds,
And routed and ruined, every knight of the Table:
They’ll all die that day, lives lost in the wind.
Surprise shall defeat them: a knight shielded in sable:
A St. Andrew’s cross with silver entwined.
I said, sable his shield! Sooth for to say:
In King Arthur’s hall
The child plays at ball
Who shall conquer you all
Cruelly that day!
Good day to you Gawaine, and Gaynore, be good!
My time has run out, though I had more to tell,
For I must walk my way, through yonder dark wood,
To whimper with woe and to broil in hell!
By him who righteously hung on the rood,
Remember my pain, and the place where I dwell.
Lift up my soul and seek succour from God,
Buy Matins and Masses, and pay for them well,
For Masses are medicines, purging all pride:
Now a Mass seems more sweet
Than the spices you eat –"
And with no more debate,
Away the ghost glides.
Anonymous northern Middle English romance (15th century), paraphrased by Giles Watson.
The picture shows a portion of the Middle English text of the Anturs (from Part 1 of my paraphrase), and the cadaver brass of Ralph Hamsterley at Oddington Church, Oxfordshire.