Chivalry

El primer libro «para adultos» que recuerdo que me hayan regalado es una edición de tapa blanda de Los hechos del Rey Arturo y sus nobles caballeros, de John Steinbeck que aun conservo. Definitivamente no fue el primer libro que leí, ni siquiera de esa temática; probablemente haya sido mi amor por Ivanhoe, de Sir Walter Scott, y La dama de Escalot lo que haya hecho que mi tío decidiera regalarme justo ese libro.

(Mis aventuras caballerescas se vieron coronadas en 2006 cuando como en un cuento borgeano, en una librería perdida de Buenos Aires, conseguí increíblemente una copia de Le Chevalier de la Charrette de Chrétien de Troyes y morí feliz)

El libro en sí es fantástico dentro de su género y recuerdo haberlo disfrutado mucho, pero lo que realmente es una obra maestra son las últimas seis hojas que, al verse interrumpida la obra por la muerte de su autor, quedan como una especie de broma magistral en la que el libro llega a su punto máximo en la última oración.

El último párrafo es una cachetada que me cambió la vida.

When Lancelot entered, the queen stood up from the bench before the fire, saying, “I will retire, my lords.”

“No, stay,” said Arthur.

“Stay,” said Lancelot.

The king was stretched comfortably in the bed. His bare feet projecting from his long saffron robe caressed each other, the toes curled downward.

The queen was lovely in the firelight, all lean, down-flowing lines of green samite. She wore her little mouth-corner smile of concealed amusement, and her bold golden eyes were the same color as her hair, and odd it was that her lashes and slender brows were dark, an oddity contrived with kohl brought in a small enameled pot from an outland by a far-wandering knight.

“How are you holding up?” Arthur asked.

“Not well, my lord. It’s harder than the quest.”

“Did you really do all the things they said you did?”

Lancelot chuckled. “Truthfully, I don’t know. It sounds different when they tell about it. And most of them feel it necessary to add a little. When I remember leaping eight feet, they tell it at fifty, and frankly I don’t recall several of those giants at all.”

The queen made room for him on the fire bench, and he took his seat, back to the fire.

(...)

The queen observed, “I gather you rescued damsels by the dozen.” She put her fingers on his arm and a searing shock ran through his body, and his mouth opened in amazement at a hollow ache that pressed upward against his ribs and shortened his breath.

After a moment she said, “How many damsels did you rescue?”

His mouth was dry. “Of course there were a few, madame. There always are.”

“And all of them made love to you?”

“That they did not, madame. There you protect me.”

“I?”

“Yes. Since with my lord’s permission I swore to serve you all my life and gave my knightly courtly love to you, I am sheltered from damsels by your name.”

“And do you want to be sheltered?”

“Yes, my lady. I am a fighting man. I have neither time nor inclination for any other kind of love. I hope this pleases you, my lady. I sent many prisoners to ask your mercy.”

(...)

The queen stood up. “My lords, will you grant me permission to leave you now? I know you will wish to speak of great things foreign and perhaps tiresome to a lady’s ears.”

(...)

She swept from the room with proud and powerful steps, and the little breeze she made in the still air carried a strange scent to Lancelot, a perfume which sent a shivering excitement coursing through his body. It was an odor he did not, could not, know, for it was the smell of Guinevere distilled by her own skin. And as she passed through the door and descended the steps, he saw himself leap up and follow her, although he did not move. And when she was gone, the room was bleak, and the glory was gone from it, and Sir Lancelot was dog-weary, tired almost to weeping.

“What a queen she is,” said King Arthur softly. “And what a woman equally. Merlin was with me when I chose her. He tried to dissuade me with his usual doomful prophecies. That was one of the few times I differed with him. Well, my choice has proved him fallible. She has shown the world what a queen should be. All other women lose their sheen when she is present.”

Lancelot said, “Yes, my lord,” and for no reason he knew, except perhaps the intemperate dullness of the feast, he felt lost, and a cold knife of loneliness pressed against his heart.

The king was chuckling. “It is the device of ladies that their lords have great matters to discuss, when if the truth were told, we bore them. And I hope the truth is never told. Why, you look haggard, my friend. Are you feverish? Did you mean that about an old wound opening?”

“No. The wound was what you thought it was, my lord. But it is true that I can fight, travel, live on berries, fight again, go without sleeping, and come out fresh and fierce, but sitting still at Whitsun feast has wearied me to death.”

Arthur said, “I can see it. We’ll discuss the realm’s health another time. Go to your bed now. Have you your old quarters?”

“No—better ones. Sir Kay has cleared five knights from the lovely lordly rooms over the north gate. He did it in memory of an adventure which we, God help us, will have to listen to tomorrow. I accept your dismissal, my lord.”

And Lancelot knelt down and took the king’s beloved hand in both of his and kissed it. “Good night, my liege lord, my liege friend,” he said and then stumbled blindly from the room and felt his way down the curving stone steps past the arrow slits.

As he came to the level of the next landing, Guinevere issued silently from a darkened entrance. He could see her in the thin light from the arrow slit. She took his arm and led him to her dark chamber and closed the oaken door.

“A strange thing happened,” she said softly. “When I left you, I thought you followed me. I was so sure of it I did not even look around to verify it. You were there behind me. And when I came to my own door, I said good night to you, so certain I was that you were there.”

He could see her outline in the dark and smell the scent which was herself.

“My lady,” he said, “when you left the room, I saw myself follow you as though I were another person looking on.”

Their bodies locked together as though a trap had sprung. Their mouths met, and each devoured the other. Each frantic heartbeat at the walls of ribs trying to get to the other until their held breaths burst out and Lancelot, dizzied, found the door and blundered down the stairs. And he was weeping bitterly.