A Conversation at Canterbury With Sir Gawain

In order to understand my encounter with Sir Gawain it is important to know a little of his background history. Gawain as a new knight is carried away by his wrath towards a knight that has slain his two greyhounds. Gawain fails to show mercy and after vanquishing his foe goes to cut off his head. The knight’s fair damosel throws herself in between Gawain and her lover and Gawain’s sword stroke removes her head from her body. By his failure to show mercy and by the slaying of a fair lady Gawain has dishonored his knighthood. The knight who was his intended victim is sent to King Arthur with a slain greyhound strapped on his saddle before him, and after him. Gawain is then vanquished by four knights and another damosel pleads for his life. He is sent back to Arthur and Guinevere with the head of the damosel that he has slain hanging like a pendant around his neck and her body before him across his saddle.

Arthur and Guinevere affirm his disgrace and he is charged for the rest of his life with the protection and service of fair ladies. Many of his exploits are not praiseworthy and it is plain that his service to many of the fair ladies is in bed. That is where he makes a number of his conquests. Now that is apt preparation for the tale of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight! In that tale Gawain fends off his central temptation in the form of the Green Knight’s wife, only to disgrace himself by discovering and demonstrating his unknightly fear of death. In fending off an obvious temptation, a classic one given his track record, he falls prey to a deeper one by his attempt to magickally avoid death by wearing the green sash of the Green Knight’s wife. Once more he is sent back in disgrace. This dual level story of temptation is one of the underlying themes of the journey. It’s not always the obvious temptations that disgrace us.

I was sipping a Pike Place Grande when Sir Gawain wandered into the Starbucks by the Canterbury Cathedral Gate, ordered a triple-no-foam-two-equal-latté and a pumpkin empanada and sat down in the overstuffed chair beside me. He was in the mood for reminiscing. “Did you know,” he confided, “I have a picture of the Blessed Virgin on the inside of my shield so that I can behold her whenever I go into battle?” Sir Gawain is very religious and makes frequent use of the confessional. He would have you know that he is a Christian man and a penitent, and takes the Body and Blood of his Savior as often as he can. Why, he and his sworn brother Sir Uwain came to the Abbey that they might receive their creator together in the Holy Eucharist before Sir Uwain died of the wounds he had already received at the hand of Sir Gawain. “After all,” says Sir Gawain, “Forsooth we are all brothers around the table of the Lord” (Le Morte, Book XVI, Ch. II), “even though it shall ever be said that one sworn brother hath slain the other” (Ibid).

“It was with heaviness of heart,” says Gawain, “that I came to Nacien the hermit for to be confessed” (Ibid. XVI, Ch. III). Gawain is wroth that Nacien the hermit was less than gracious calling him a great murderer who could never achieve the Holy Grail, but only shame. “Not only that,” says Gawain, “Nacien was so uncharitable as to say, “It is a long time passed since ye were made knight, and never since thou servest thy maker, and now thou art so old a tree that in thee is neither life nor fruit; wherefore bethink thee that thou yield to our Lord the bare rind, since the fiend has the leaves and the fruit.” “Sir,” says Gawain, “If I had the leisure I would speak with you but my fellow here Sir Ector, is gone and waits for me yonder beneath the hill.” “Well,” says the hermit, “Thou were better to be counseled.” That was quite enough for Gawain, for who was the hermit to say such things when Gawain himself had made his confession?” (XVI, Ch. V).

“There is something puzzling me,” I say to Sir Gawain, “I know well that you died before King Arthur and that your skull lies in the chapel at Dover Castle. Why, I have beheld it in my mind’s eye and know that the fatal sword stroke of Sir Launcelot is clearly seen upon it.” Sir Gawain, sitting across from me, takes a sip of his latté and another bite of his pumpkin empanada before speaking. “Ah,” says he, “my tawdry ravaged soul has long since departed from my body and stood for judgment before my Lord and age or more ago.” He paused, “He was not well pleased and left me dwelling in the shadowland for a time or two; but now is a time of refrigerium, a holiday from the place of shadows. I see the same old conflict between Logres and Britain still rages on, and even the Archbishop is beset by severe temptations. Logres and Britain? Whose side am I on? Whatever side that seems to falter, for my joy is to prolong the fray, not to end it.” Then in a moment of uncharacteristic honesty, “That is not precisely true; there is great joy in vanquishing my foes, in lopping of their heads and seeing them roll between the feet of the knights of God; in seizing their horses and their armor, their castles and chapels and all their worldly chattel, for after all I love best to win.” Gawain sits staring at the remaining half of his pumpkin empanada, smiles widely, and stuffs it in, his cheeks bulging as he chews. Then crunching his cup into a ball he tosses it beneath the feet of two businessmen sipping their lattés at the next table, gets up abruptly, and slouches out the door with studied insouciance.