The wedge that drives into the crack. LUCAN I fear Mordred most. The rebel tribes gather to him in the West, while we waste ourselves before Joyous Gard. We should have caught him before he could join and head them. BEDIVERE The King’s force holds him at bay yonder. LUCAN Yet men begin to cry that with the King all is profitless fighting, but with Mordred feasting and plunder. BEDIVERE Would God we were fighting him, not Launcelot. GAWAINE _enters_. GAWAINE Where is the King? BEDIVERE He has passed into his tent. He rests. GAWAINE What, can remembrance sleep? The wrong that Launcelot has done is red before my eyes, day and night. Can he forget? BEDIVERE The King were a glad man, if he could forget. At the bottom of their hearts is a dear love one to the other. GAWAINE He shall not forget while I can sting remembrance. BEDIVERE Gawaine, if any man was your friend, it was Launcelot. GAWAINE The dearer friend, the dearer foe. It grows to madness in my brain, that ever I held that traitor in my heart. BEDIVERE However it be, right or wrong, we are sore grieved to be against him. LUCAN Sore and sorrowful, Gawaine. GAWAINE It is you that are against the King, then? BEDIVERE We? LUCAN Never. GAWAINE I say you are against him. It is you that blunt his justice, it is you that soften him with fond reluctances, like women looking backward. Who would be a man, and in the cause he has espoused not trample down such weakness? BEDIVERE Who would be a man and utterly forget the friendship of his friend? GAWAINE Forget! Forgotten! Never! And never forgiven! Had you but the flint in you that a just cause strikes her flame from, we should have overturned these proud towers long ago. But overturned they shall be. I’ll to the King, and rouse him. [_Exit._ BEDIVERE How like a frenzy is his hatred! LUCAN He is narrowed to one point, vengeance. Look, what’s yonder? BEDIVERE A damsel riding hither from Joyous Gard. LUCAN Upon a milk-white ass! Look, a gleam follows her from the stormy heaven. A happy omen! BEDIVERE She is in white; like a white dove; like peace. Go, Lucan, go to meet her. (LUCAN _advances. A distant trumpet sounds from_ LAUNCELOT’S _side_.) A trumpet sounds from Joyous Gard. Is it peace at last? _The_ DAMSEL _enters_. LUCAN God be with you, maiden. DAMSEL Peace to you, fair lord. LUCAN Come you from Joyous Gard? DAMSEL I am Sir Launcelot’s herald. I go before him. He comes to parley with King Arthur. LUCAN I will tell the King. [_Exit._ BEDIVERE Would that the issue might be gracious as the forerunner. What sends Sir Launcelot? Is it peace? (_Trumpet sounds from the_ KING’S _side_.) Hark! The King comes! _The_ KING’S _knights come on, arrayed as for battle. Trumpets answer from_ LAUNCELOT’S _side_. GAWAINE _enters, and then the_ KING. ARTHUR I hear the trumpet blow from Joyous Gard; Is a lily come against us? GAWAINE