The Once and Future King. T. H. White

cried Sir Grummore.

      With this they drew their swords and rushed together with such ferocity that each, after dealing the other a dent on the helm, sat down suddenly backwards.

      ‘Bah!’ cried King Pellinore.

      ‘Booh!’ cried Sir Grummore, also sitting down.

      ‘Mercy,’ exclaimed the Wart. ‘What a combat!’

      The knights had now lost their tempers and the battle was joined in earnest. It did not matter much, however, for they were so encased in metal that they could not do each other much damage. It took them so long to get up, and the dealing of a blow when you weighed the eighth part of a ton was such a cumbrous business, that every stage of the contest could be marked and pondered.

      In the first stage King Pellinore and Sir Grummore stood opposite each other for about half an hour, and walloped each other on the helm. There was only opportunity for one blow at a time, so they more or less took it in turns, King Pellinore striking while Sir Grummore was recovering, and vice versa. At first, if either of them dropped his sword or got it stuck in the ground, the other put in two or three extra blows while he was patiently fumbling for it or trying to tug it out. Later, they fell into the rhythm of the thing more perfectly, like the toy mechanical people who saw wood on Christmas trees. Eventually the exercise and the monotony restored their good humour and they began to get bored.

      The second stage was introduced as a change, by common consent. Sir Grummore stumped off to one end of the clearing, while King Pellinore plodded off to the other. Then they turned round and swayed backward and forward once or twice, in order to get their weight on their toes. When they leaned forward they had to run forward, to keep up with their weight, and if they leaned too far backward they fell down. So even walking was complicated. When they had got their weight properly distributed in front of them, so that they were just off their balance, each broke into a trot to keep up with himself. They hurtled together as it had been two boars.

      They met in the middle, breast to breast, with a noise of shipwreck and great bells tolling, and both, bouncing off, fell breathless on their backs. They lay thus for a few minutes, panting. Then they slowly began to heave themselves to their feet, and it was obvious that they had lost their tempers once again.

      King Pellinore had not only lost his temper but he seemed to have been a bit astonished by the impact. He got up facing the wrong way, and could not find Sir Grummore. There was some excuse for this, since he had only a slit to peep through – and that was three inches away from his eye owing to the padding of straw – but he looked muddled as well. Perhaps he had broken his spectacles. Sir Grummore was quick to seize advantage.

      ‘Take that!’ cried Sir Grummore, giving the unfortunate monarch a two-handed swipe on the nob as he was slowly turning his head from side to side, peering in the opposite direction.

      King Pellinore turned round morosely, but his opponent had been too quick for him. He had ambled round so that he was still behind the King, and now gave him another terrific blow in the same place.

      ‘Where are you?’ asked King Pellinore.

      ‘Here,’ cried Sir Grummore, giving him another.

      ‘The poor King turned himself round as nimbly as possible, but Sir Grummore had given him the slip again.

      ‘Tally-ho back!’ shouted Sir Grummore, with another wallop.

      ‘I think you’re a cad,’ said the King.

      ‘Wallop!’ replied Sir Grummore, doing it.

      What with the preliminary crash, the repeated blows on the back of his head, and the puzzling nature of his opponent, King Pellinore could now be seen to be visibly troubled in his brains. He swayed backward and forward under the hail of blows which were administered, and feebly wagged his arms.

      ‘Poor King,’ said the Wart. ‘I wish he would not hit him so.’

      As if in answer to his wish, Sir Grummore paused in his labours.

      ‘Do you want Pax?’ asked Sir Grummore.

      King Pellinore made no answer.

      Sir Grummore favoured him with another whack and said, ‘If you don’t say Pax, I shall cut your head off.’

      ‘I won’t,’ said the King.

      Whang! went the sword on top of his head.

      Whang! it went again.

      Whang! for the third time.

      ‘Pax,’ said King Pellinore, mumbling rather.

      Then, just as Sir Grummore was relaxing with the fruits of victory, he swung round upon him, shouted, ‘Non!’ at the top of his voice, and gave him a good push in the middle of the chest.

      Sir Grummore fell over backwards.

      ‘Well!’ exclaimed the Wart. ‘What a cheat! I would not have thought it of him.’

      King Pellinore hurriedly sat on his victim’s chest, thus increasing the weight upon him to a quarter of a ton and making it quite impossible for him to move, and began to undo Sir Grummore’s helm.

      ‘You said Pax!’

      ‘I said Pax Non under my breath.’

      ‘It’s a swindle.’

      ‘It’s not.’

      ‘You’re a cad.’

      ‘No, I’m not.’

      ‘Yes, you are.’

      ‘No, I’m not.’

      ‘Yes, you are.’

      ‘I said Pax Non.’

      ‘You said Pax.’

      ‘No, I didn’t.’

      ‘Yes, you did.’

      ‘No, I didn’t.’

      ‘Yes, you did.’

      By this time Sir Grummore’s helm was unlaced and they could see his bare head glaring at King Pellinore, quite purple in the face.

      ‘Yield thee, recreant,’ said the King.

      ‘Shan’t,’ said Sir Grummore.

      ‘You have got to yield, or I shall cut off your head.’

      ‘Cut it off then.’

      ‘Oh, come on,’ said the King. ‘You know you have to yield when your helm is off.’

      ‘Feign I,’ said Sir Grummore.

      ‘Well, I shall just cut your head off.’

      ‘I don’t care.’

      The King waved his sword menacingly in the air.

      ‘Go on,’ said Sir Grummore. ‘I dare you to.’

      The King lowered his sword and said, ‘Oh, I say, do yield, please.’

      ‘You yield,’ said Sir Grummore.

      ‘But I can’t yield. I am on top of you after all, am I not, what?’

      ‘Well, I have feigned yieldin’.’

      ‘Oh, come on, Grummore. I do think you are a cad not to yield. You know very well I can’t cut your head off.’

      ‘I would not yield to a cheat who started fightin’ after he said Pax.’

      ‘I am not a cheat.’

      ‘You are a cheat,’

      ‘No, I’m not.’

      ‘Yes, you are.’

      ‘No, I’m not.’

      ‘Yes, you are.’

      ‘Very well,’ said King Pellinore. ‘You can