THE SCENE: King Arthur explains a vivid dream he had in which a beautiful and mysterious woman raised him up as her champion before turning on him and brutally breaking his back and tearing his muscles apart.
THE TEXT: Then down into the dell, descending from the clouds,
Came a Duchess, exquisitely dressed and adorned,
In a silk surcoat of astonishing colors,
With otter fur flowing as far as the hem,
And ladylike lappets a yard in length,
All trimmed and tapered with tassels of gold
And with such badges and brooches and buttons and coins.
Her back and her breast were emblazoned all over;
She wore a kell for her hair and a coronet to her head.
And never had such a notable complexion been known.
And in her white hands she whirled a wheel about,
Working it with such wonder that all else was overwhelmed.
Its circle was beset with red gold and royal stones,
And arrayed al around with rubies and rich gems.
The spokes were plated with pleats of silver,
Their span from the center being a spear length at least.
Then I graciously greeted that glittering lady.
She said, “Welcome, worthily, and it is well you are here.
A word to the wise – you should worship my will,
More than any hero who was here on earth,
For all your worth as a warrior has been won by me.
That you ascend to the seat I shall see to myself,
Choose you for the chair before all chieftains in the world.”
She lifted me lightly in her ladylike hands,
Sat me softly in the seat and presented me with the scepter,
Then with craft and care ran a comb through my hair
Until my crimpled locks came curling around my crown.
Then she dressed me in a strikingly adorned diadem
And offered me an orb, studded with rare stones
And enameled with azure, depicting the earth,
Surrounded on all sides by the great salt seas –
The symbol which insisted my sovereignty of the world.
Then she handed me a sword with a highly polished hilt.
“Wield this weapon of mine,” said the woman,
“Much blood has been spilt at the bite of its blade,
And as you slash and swish it will serve you unswaveringly.”
So that lady led me for the length of an hour,
With all the love and delight that a lord could desire.
But at the minute of midday her mood darkened;
She amazed me with words of malice and menace,
And when I begged for fairness her brows became enflamed.
“King, your cries are in vain, by Christ,
For all you love you shall lose, and you life as well.
You have loitered in privilege and pleasure too long.”
Then she whirled the wheel about, and under it I went,
So in a moment every muscle in my body was mangled
And my spine was split asunder by the seat.
Ever since this chapter I have shivered with a chill,
And awake I am wearied by the weight of the dream.
– The Alliterative Morte D’Arthur, 15th Century AD
