The Legends of King Arthur and His Knights
Summary
Play Sample
But at that Dolorous and awful Stroke the castle rocked and rove throughout, and all the walls fell crashed and breaking to the earth, and Balin himself fell also in their midst, struck as it were to stone, and powerless to move a hand or foot. And so three days he lay amidst the ruins, until Merlin came and raised him up and brought him a good horse, and bade him ride out of that land as swiftly as he could.
“May I not take the damsel with me I brought hither?” said Sir Balin.
“Lo! where she lieth dead,” said Merlin. “Ah, little knowest thou, Sir Balin, what thou hast done; for in this castle and that chamber which thou didst defile, was the blood of our Lord Christ! and also that most holy cup—the Sangreal—wherefrom the wine was drunk at the last supper of our Lord. Joseph of Arimathea brought it to this land, when first he came here to convert and save it. And on that bed of gold it was himself who lay, and tne strange spear beside him was the spear wherewith the soldier Longus smote our Lord, which evermore had dripped with blood. King Pelles is the nearest kin to Joseph in direct descent, wherefore he held these holy things in trust; but now have they all gone at thy dolorous stroke, no man knoweth whither; and great is the damage to this land, which until now hath been the happiest of all lands, for by that stroke thou hast slain thousands, and by the loss and parting of the Sangreal the safety of this realm is put in peril, and its great happiness is gone for evermore.”
Then Balin departed from Merlin, struck to his soul with grief and sorrow, and said, “In this world shall we meet never more.”
So he rode forth through the fair cities and the country, and found the people lying dead on every side. And all the living cried out on him as he passed, “O Balin, all this misery hast thou done! For the dolorous stroke thou gavest King Pelles, three countries are destroyed, and doubt not but revenge will fall on thee at last!”
When he had passed the boundary of those countries, he was somewhat comforted, and rode eight days without adventure. Anon he came to a cross, whereon was written in letters of gold, “It is not for a knight alone to ride towards this castle.” Looking up, he saw a hoary ancient man come towards him, who said, “Sir Balin le Savage, thou passest thy bounds this way; therefore turn back again, it will be best for thee;” and with these words he vanished.
Then did he hear a horn blow as it were the deathnote of some hunted beast. “That blast,” said Balin, “is blown for me, for I am the prey; though yet I be not dead.” But as he spoke he saw a hundred ladies with a great troop of knights come forth to meet him, with bright faces and great welcome, who led him to the castle and made a great feast, with dancing and minstrelsy and all manner of joy.
Then the chief lady of the castle said, “Knight with the two swords, thou must encounter and fight with a knight hard by, who dwelleth on an island, for no man may pass this way without encountering him.”
“It is a grievous custom,” answered Sir Balin.
“There is but one knight to defeat,” replied the lady.
“Well,” said Sir Balin, “be it as thou wilt. I am ready and quite willing, and though my horse and my body be full weary, yet is my heart not weary, save of life. And truly I were glad if I might meet my death.”
“Sir,” said one standing by, “methinketh your shield is not good; I will lend you a bigger.”
“I thank thee, sir,” said Balin, and took the unknown shield and left his own, and so rode forth, and put himself and horse into a boat and came to the island.
As soon as he had landed, he saw come riding towards him, a knight dressed all in red, upon a horse trapped in the same colour. When the red knight saw Sir Balin, and the two swords he wore, he thought it must have been his brother (for the red knight was Sir Balan), but when he saw the strange arms on his shield, he forgot the thought, and came against him fiercely. At the first course they overthrew each other, and both lay swooning on the ground; but Sir Balin was the most hurt and bruised, for he was weary and spent with travelling. So Sir Balan rose up first to his feet and drew his sword, and Sir Balin painfully rose against him and raised his shield.
Then Sir Balan smote him through the shield and brake his helmet; and Sir Balin, in return, smote at him with his fated sword, and had wellnigh slain his brother. So they fought till their breaths failed.
Then Sir Balin, looking up, saw all the castle towers stand full of ladies. So they went again to battle, and wounded each other full sore, and paused, and breathed again, and then again began the fight; and this for many times they did, till all the ground was red with blood. And by now, each had full grievously wounded the other with seven great wounds, the least of which might have destroyed the mightiest giant in the world. But still they rose against each other, although their hauberks now were all unnailed, and they smiting at each other’s naked bodies with their sharp swords. At the last, Sir Balan, the younger brother, withdrew a little space and laid him down.
Then said Sir Balin le Savage, “What knight art thou? for never before have I found a knight to match me thus.”
“My name,” said he, all faintly, “is Balan, brother to the good knight Sir Balin.”
“Ah, God!” cried Balin, “that ever I should see this day!” and therewith fell down backwards in a swoon.
Then Sir Balan crept with pain upon his feet and hands, and put his brother’s helmet off his head, but could not know him by his face, it was so hewed and bloody. But presently, when Sir Balin came to, he said, “Oh! Balan, mine own brother, thou hast slain me, and I thee! All the wide world saw never greater grief!”
“Alas!” said Sir Balan, “that I ever saw this day; and through mishap alone I knew thee not, for when I saw thy two swords, if it had not been for thy strange shield, I should have known thee for my brother.”
“Alas!” said Balin, “all this sorrow lieth at the door of one unhappy knight within the castle, who made me change my shield. If I might live, I would destroy that castle and its evil customs.”
“It were well done,” said Balan, “for since I first came hither I have never been able to depart, for here they made me fight with one who kept this island, whom I slew, and by enchantment I might never quit it more; nor couldst thou, brother, hadst thou slain me, and escaped with thine own life.”
Anon came the lady of the castle, and when she heard their talk, and saw their evil case, she wrung her hands and wept bitterly. So Sir Balan prayed the lady of her gentleness that, for his true service, she would bury them both together in that place. This she granted, weeping full sore, and said it should be done right solemnly and richly, and in the noblest manner possible. Then did they send for a priest, and received the holy sacrament at his hands. And Balin said, “Write over us upon our tomb, that here two brethren slew each other; then shall never good knight or pilgrim pass this way but he will pray for both our souls.” And anon Sir Balan died, but Sir Balin died not till the midnight after; and then they both were buried.
On the morrow of their death came Merlin, and took Sir Balin’s sword and fixed on it a new pommel, and set it in a mighty stone, which then, by magic, he made float upon the water. And so, for many years, it floated to and fro around the island, till it swam down the river to Camelot, where young Sir Galahad achieved it, as shall be told hereafter.
CHAPTER VI
The Marriage of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, and the Founding of the Round Table — The Adventure of the Hart and Hound
t befell upon a certain day, that King Arthur said to Merlin, “My lords and knights do daily pray me now to take a wife; but I will have none without thy counsel, for thou hast ever helped me since I came first to this crown.”
“It is well,” said Merlin, “that thou shouldst take a wife, for no man of bounteous and noble nature should live without one; but is there any lady whom thou lovest better than another?”
“Yea,” said King Arthur, “I love Guinevere, the daughter of King Leodegrance, of Camelgard, who also holdeth in his house the Round Table that he had from my father Uther; and as I think, that damsel is the gentlest and the fairest lady living.”
“Sir,” answered Merlin, “as for her beauty, she is one of the fairest that do live; but if ye had not loved her as ye do, I would fain have had ye choose some other who was both fair and good. But where a man’s heart is set, he will be loath to leave.” This Merlin said, knowing the misery that should hereafter happen from this marriage.
Then King Arthur sent word to King Leodegrance that he mightily desired to wed his daughter, and how that he had loved her since he saw her first, when with Kings Ban and Bors he rescued Leodegrance from King Ryence of North Wales.
When King Leodegrance heard the message, he cried out “These be the best tidings I have heard in all my life—so great and worshipful a prince to seek my daughter for his wife! I would fain give him half my lands with her straightway, but that he needeth none—and better will it please him that I send him the Round Table of King Uther, his father, with a hundred good knights towards the furnishing of it with guests, for he will soon find means to gather more, and make the table full.”
Then King Leodegrance delivered his daughter Guinevere to the messengers of King Arthur, and also the Round Table with the hundred knights.
So they rode royally and freshly, sometimes by water and sometimes by land, towards Camelot. And as they rode along in the spring weather, they made full many sports and pastimes. And, in all those sports and games, a young knight lately come to Arthur’s court, Sir Lancelot by name, was passing strong, and won praise from all, being full of grace and hardihood; and Guinevere also ever looked on him with joy. And always in the eventide, when the tents were set beside some stream or forest, many minstrels came and sang before the knights and ladies as they sat in the tent-doors, and many knights would tell adventures; and still Sir Lancelot was foremost, and told the knightliest tales, and sang the goodliest songs, of all the company.
And when they came to Camelot, King Arthur made great joy, and all the city with him; and riding forth with a great retinue he met Guinevere and her company, and led her through the streets all filled with people, and in the midst of all their shoutings and the ringing of church bells, to a palace hard by his own.
Then, in all haste, the king commanded to prepare the marriage and the coronation with the stateliest and most honourable pomp that could be made. And when the day was come, the archbishops led the king to the cathedral, whereto he walked, clad in his royal robes, and having four kings, bearing four golden swords, before him; a choir of passing sweet music going also with him.
In another part, was the queen dressed in her richest ornaments, and led by archbishops and bishops to the Chapel of the Virgins, the four queens also of the four kings last mentioned walked before her, bearing four white doves, according to ancient custom; and after her there followed many damsels, singing and making every sign of joy.
And when the two processions were come to the churches, so wondrous was the music and the singing, that all the knights and barons who were there pressed on each other, as in the crowd of battle, to hear and see the most they might.
When the king was crowned, he called together all the knights that came with the Round Table from Camelgard, and twenty-eight others, great and valiant men, chosen by Merlin out of all the realm, towards making up the full number of the table. Then the Archbishop of Canterbury blessed the seats of all the knights, and when they rose again therefrom to pay their homage to King Arthur there was found upon the back of each knight’s seat his name, written in letters of gold. But upon one seat was found written, “This is the Siege Perilous, wherein if any man shall sit save him whom Heaven hath chosen, he shall be devoured by fire.”
Anon came young Gawain, the king’s nephew, praying to be made a knight, whom the king knighted then and there. Soon after came a poor man, leading with him a tall fair lad of eighteen years of age, riding on a lean mare. And falling at the king’s feet, the poor man said, “Lord, it was told me, that at this time of thy marriage thou wouldst give to any man the gift he asked for, so it were not unreasonable.”
“That is the truth,” replied King Arthur, “and I will make it good.”
“Thou sayest graciously and nobly,” said the poor man. “Lord, I ask nothing else but that thou wilt make my son here a knight.”
“It is a great thing that thou askest,” said the king. “What is thy name?”
“Aries, the cowherd,” answered he.
“Cometh this prayer from thee or from thy son?” inquired King Arthur.
“Nay, lord, not from myself,” said he, “but from him only, for I have thirteen other sons, and all of them will fall to any labour that I put them to. But this one will do no such work for anything that I or my wife may do, but is for ever shooting or fighting, and running to see knights and joustings, and torments me both night and day that he be made a knight.”
“What is thy name?” said the king to the young man.
“My name is Tor,” said he.
Then the king, looking at him steadfastly, was well pleased with his face and figure, and with his look of nobleness and strength.
“Fetch all thy other sons before me,” said the king to Aries. But when he brought them, none of them resembled Tor in size or shape or feature.
Then the king knighted Tor, saying, “Be thou to thy life’s end a good knight and a true, as I pray God thou mayest be; and if thou provest worthy, and of prowess, one day thou shall be counted in the Round Table.” Then turning to Merlin, Arthur said, “Prophesy now, O Merlin, shall Sir Tor become a worthy knight, or not?”
“Yea, lord,” said Merlin, “so he ought to be, for he is the son of that King Pellinore whom thou hast met, and proved to be one of the best knights living. He is no cowherd’s son.”
Presently after came in King Pellinore, and when he saw Sir Tor he knew him for his son, and was more pleased than words can tell to find him knighted by the king. And Pellinore did homage to King Arthur, and was gladly and graciously accepted of the king; and then was led by Merlin to a high seat at the Table Round, near to the Perilous Seat.
But Sir Gawain was full of anger at the honour done King Pellinore, and said to his brother Gaheris, “He slew our father, King Lot, therefore will I slay him.”
“Do it not yet,” said he; “wait till I also be a knight, then will I help ye in it: it is best ye suffer him to go at this time, and not trouble this high feast with bloodshed.”
“As ye will, be it,” said Sir Gawain.
Then rose the king and spake to all the Table Round, and charged them to be ever true and noble knights, to do neither outrage nor murder, nor any unjust violence, and always to flee treason; also by no means ever to be cruel, but give mercy unto him that asked for mercy, upon pain of forfeiting the liberty of his court for evermore. Moreover, at all times, on pain of death, to give all succour unto ladies and young damsels; and lastly, never to take part in any wrongful quarrel, for reward or payment. And to all this he swore them knight by knight.
Then he ordained that, every year at Pentecost, they should all come before him, wheresoever he might appoint a place, and give account of all their doings and adventures of the past twelvemonth. And so, with prayer and blessing, and high words of cheer, he instituted the most noble order of the Round Table, whereto the best and bravest knights in all the world sought afterwards to find admission.
Then was the high feast made ready, and the king and queen sat side by side, before the whole assembly; and great and royal was the banquet and the pomp.
And as they sat, each man in his place, Merlin went round and said, “Sit still awhile, for ye shall see a strange and marvellous adventure.”
So as they sat, there suddenly came running through the hall, a white hart, with a white hound next after him, and thirty couple of black running hounds, making full cry; and the hart made circuit of the Table Round, and past the other tables; and suddenly the white hound flew upon him and bit him fiercely, and tore out a piece from his haunch. Whereat the hart sprang suddenly with a great leap, and overthrew a knight sitting at the table, who rose forthwith, and, taking up the hound, mounted, and rode fast away.
But no sooner had he left, than there came in a lady, mounted on a white palfrey, who cried out to the king, “Lord, suffer me not to have this injury! —the hound is mine which that knight taketh.” And as she spake, a knight rode in all armed, on a great horse, and suddenly took up the lady and rode away with her by force, although she greatly cried and moaned.
Then the king desired Sir Gawain, Sir Tor, and King Pellinore to mount and follow this adventure to the uttermost; and told Sir Gawain to bring back the hart, Sir Tor the hound and knight, and King Pellinore the knight and the lady.
So Sir Gawain rode forth at a swift pace, and with him Gaheris, his brother, for a squire. And as they went, they saw two knights fighting on horseback, and when they reached them they divided them and asked the reason of their quarrel. “We fight for a foolish matter,” one replied, “for we be brethren; but there came by a white hart this way, chased by many hounds, and thinking it was an adventure for the high feast of King Arthur, I would have followed it to have gained worship; whereat my younger brother here declared he was the better knight and would go after it instead, and so we fight to prove which of us be the better knight.”
“This is a foolish thing,” said Sir Gawain. “Fight with all strangers, if ye will, but not brother with brother. Take my advice, set on against me, and if ye yield to me, as I shall do my best to make ye, ye shall go to King Arthur and yield ye to his grace.”
“Sir knight,” replied the brothers, “we are weary, and will do thy wish without encountering thee; but by whom shall we tell the king that we were sent?”
“By the knight that followeth the quest of the white hart,” said Sir Gawain. “And now tell me your names, and let us part.”
“Sorlous and Brian of the Forest,” they replied; and so they went their way to the king’s court.
Then Sir Gawain, still following his quest by the distant baying of the hounds, came to a great river, and saw the hart swimming over and near to the further bank. And as he was about to plunge in and swim after, he saw a knight upon the other side, who cried, “Come not over here, Sir knight, after that hart, save thou wilt joust with me.”
“I will not fail for that,” said Sir Gawain; and swam his horse across the stream.
Anon they got their spears, and ran against each other fiercely; and Sir Gawain smote the stranger off his horse, and turning, bade him yield.
“Nay,” replied he, “not so; for though ye have the better of me on horseback, I pray thee, valiant knight, alight, and let us match together with our swords on foot.”
“What is thy name?” quoth Gawain.
“Allardin of the Isles,” replied the stranger.
Then they fell on each other; but soon Sir Gawain struck him through the helm, so deeply and so hard, that all his brains were scattered, and Sir Allardin fell dead. “Ah,” said Gaheris, “that was a mighty stroke for a young knight!”
Then did they turn again to follow the white hart, and let slip three couple of greyhounds after him; and at the last they chased him to a castle, and there they overtook and slew him, in the chief courtyard.
At that there rushed a knight forth from a chamber, with a drawn sword in his hand, and slew two of the hounds before their eyes, and chased the others from the castle, crying, “Oh, my white hart! alas, that thou art dead! for thee my sovereign lady gave to me, and evil have I kept thee; but if I live, thy death shall be dear bought.” Anon he went within and armed, and came out fiercely, and met Sir Gawain face to face.
“Why have ye slain my hounds?” said Sir Gawain; “they did but after their nature: and ye had better have taken vengeance on me than on the poor dumb beasts.”
“I will avenge me on thee, also,” said the other, “ere thou depart this place.”
Then did they fight with each other savagely and madly, till the blood ran down to their feet. But at last Sir Gawain had the better, and felled the knight of the castle to the ground. Then he cried out for mercy, and yielded to Sir Gawain, and besought him as he was a knight and gentleman to save his life. “Thou shalt die,” said Sir Gawain, “for slaying my hounds.”
“I will make thee all amends within my power,” replied the knight.
But Sir Gawain would have no mercy, and unlaced his helm to strike his head off; and so blind was he with rage, that he saw not where a lady ran out from her chamber and fell down upon his enemy. And making a fierce blow at him, he smote off by mischance the lady’s head.
“Alas!” cried Gaheris, “foully and shamefully have ye done—the shame shall never leave ye! Why give ye not your mercy unto them that ask it? a knight without mercy is without worship also.”
Then Sir Gawain was sore amazed at that fair lady’s death, and knew not what to do, and said to the fallen knight, “Arise, for I will give thee mercy.”
“Nay, nay,” said he, “I care not for thy mercy now, for thou hast slain my lady and my love—that of all earthly things I loved the best.”
“I repent me sorely of it,” said Sir Gawain, “for I meant to have struck thee: but now shalt thou go to King Arthur and tell him this adventure, and how thou hast been overcome by the knight that followeth the quest of the white hart.”
“I care not whether I live or die, or where I go,” replied the knight.
So Sir Gawain sent him to the court to Camelot, making him bear one dead greyhound before and one behind him on his horse. “Tell me thy name before we part,” said he.
“My name is Athmore of the Marsh,” he answered.
Then went Sir Gawain into the castle, and prepared to sleep there and began to unarm; but Gaheris upbraided him, saying, “Will ye disarm in this strange country? bethink ye, ye must needs have many enemies about.”
No sooner had he spoken than there came out suddenly four knights, well armed, and assailed them hard, saying to Sir Gawain, “Thou new-made knight, how hast thou shamed thy knighthood! a knight without mercy is dishonoured! Slayer of fair ladies, shame to thee evermore! Doubt not thou shalt thyself have need of mercy ere we leave thee.”
Then were the brothers in great jeopardy, and feared for their lives, for they were but two to four, and weary with travelling; and one of the four knights shot Sir Gawain with a bolt, and hit him through the arm, so that he could fight no more. But when there was nothing left for them but death, there came four ladies forth and prayed the four knights’ mercy for the strangers. So they gave Sir Gawain and Gaheris their lives, and made them yield themselves prisoners.
On the morrow, came one of the ladies to Sir Gawain, and talked with him, saying, “Sir knight, what cheer?”
“Not good,” said he.
“It is your own default, sir,” said the lady, “for ye have done a passing foul deed in slaying that fair damsel yesterday—and ever shall it be great shame to you. But ye be not of King Arthur’s kin.”
“Yea, truly am I,” said he; “my name is Gawain, son of King Lot of Orkney, whom King Pellinore slew—and my mother, Belisent, is half-sister to the king.”
When the lady heard that, she went and presently got leave for him to quit the castle; and they gave him the head of the white hart to take with him, because it was in his quest; but made him also carry the dead lady with him—her head hung round his neck and her body lay before him on his horse’s neck.
So in that fashion he rode back to Camelot; and when the king and queen saw him, and heard tell of his adventures, they were heavily displeased, and, by the order of the queen, he was put upon his trial before a court of ladies—who judged him to be evermore, for all his life, the knight of ladies’ quarrels, and to fight always on their side, and never against any, except he fought for one lady and his adversary for another; also they charged him never to refuse mercy to him that asked it, and swore him to it on the Holy Gospels. Thus ended the adventure of the white hart.
Meanwhile, Sir Tor had made him ready, and followed the knight who rode away with the hound. And as he went, there suddenly met him in the road a dwarf, who struck his horse so viciously upon the head with a great staff, that he leaped backwards a spear’s length.
“Wherefore so smitest thou my horse, foul dwarf?” shouted Sir Tor.
“Because thou shall not pass this way,” replied the dwarf, “unless thou fight for it with yonder knights in those pavilions,” pointing to two tents, where two great spears stood out, and two shields hung upon two trees hard by.
“I may not tarry, for I am on a quest I needs must follow,” said Sir Tor.
“Thou shalt not pass,” replied the dwarf, and therewith blew his horn. Then rode out quickly at Sir Tor one armed on horseback, but Sir Tor was quick as he, and riding at him bore him from his horse, and made him yield. Directly after came another still more fiercely, but with a few great strokes and buffets Sir Tor unhorsed him also, and sent them both to Camelot to King Arthur. Then came the dwarf and begged Sir Tor to take him in his service, “for,” said he, “I will serve no more recreant knights.”
“Take then a horse, and come with me,” said Tor.
“Ride ye after the knight with the white hound?” said the dwarf; “I can soon bring ye where he is.”
So they rode through the forest till they came to two more tents. And Sir Tor alighting, went into the first, and saw three damsels lie there, sleeping. Then went he to the other, and found another lady also sleeping, and at her feet the white hound he sought for, which instantly began to bay and bark so loudly, that the lady woke. But Sir Tor had seized the hound and given it to the dwarfs charge.
“What will ye do, Sir knight?” cried out the lady; “will ye take away my hound from me by force?”
“Yea, lady,” said Sir Tor; “for so I must, having the king’s command; and I have followed it from King Arthur’s court, at Camelot, to this place.”
“Well” said the lady, “ye will not go far before ye be ill handled, and will repent ye of the quest.”
“I shall cheerfully abide whatsoever adventure cometh, by the grace of God,” said Sir Tor; and so mounted his horse and began to ride back on his way. But night coming on, he turned aside to a hermitage that was in the forest, and there abode till the next day, making but sorrowful cheer of such poor food as the hermit had to give him, and hearing a Mass devoutly before he left on the morrow.
And in the early morning, as he rode forth with the dwarf towards Camelot, he heard a knight call loudly after him, “Turn, turn! Abide, Sir knight, and yield me up the hound thou tookest from my lady.” At which he turned, and saw a great and strong knight, armed full splendidly, riding down upon him fiercely through a glade of the forest.
Now Sir Tor was very ill provided, for he had but an old courser, which was as weak as himself, because of the hermit’s scanty fare. He waited, nevertheless, for the strange knight to come, and at the first onset with their spears, each unhorsed the other, and then fell to with their swords like two mad lions. Then did they smite through one another’s shields and helmets till the fragments flew on all sides, and their blood ran out in streams; but yet they carved and rove through the thick armour of the hauberks, and gave each other great and ghastly wounds. But in the end, Sir Tor, finding the strange knight faint, doubled his strokes until he beat him to the earth. Then did he bid him yield to his mercy.
“That will I not,” replied Abellius, “while my life lasteth and my soul is in my body, unless thou give me first the hound.”
“I cannot,” said Sir Tor, “and will not, for it was my quest to bring again that hound and thee unto King Arthur, or otherwise to slay thee.”
With that there came a damsel riding on a palfrey, as fast as she could drive, and cried out to Sir Tor with a loud voice, “I pray thee, for King Arthur’s love, give me a gift.”
“Ask,” said Sir Tor, “and I will give thee.”
“Grammercy,” said the lady, “I ask the head of this false knight Abellius, the most outrageous murderer that liveth.”
“I repent me of the gift I promised,” said Sir Tor. “Let him make thee amends for all his trespasses against thee.”
“He cannot make amends,” replied the damsel, “for he hath slain my brother, a far better knight than he, and scorned to give him mercy, though I kneeled for half an hour before him in the mire, to beg it, and though it was but by a chance they fought, and for no former injury or quarrel. I require my gift of thee as a true knight, or else will I shame thee in King Arthur’s court; for this Abellius is the falsest knight alive, and a murderer of many.”
When Abellius heard this, he trembled greatly, and was sore afraid, and yielded to Sir Tor, and prayed his mercy.
“I cannot now, Sir knight,” said he, “lest I be false to my promise. Ye would not take my mercy when I offered it; and now it is too late.”
Therewith he unlaced his helmet, and took it off; but Abellius, in dismal fear, struggled to his feet, and fled, until Sir Tor overtook him, and smote off his head entirely with one blow.
“Now, sir,” said the damsel, “it is near night, I pray ye come and lodge at my castle hard by.”
“I will, with a good will,” said he, for both his horse and he had fared but poorly since they left Camelot.
So he went to the lady’s castle and fared sumptuously, and saw her husband, an old knight, who greatly thanked him for his service, and urged him oftentimes to come again.
On the morrow he departed, and reached Camelot by noon, where the king and queen rejoiced to see him, and the king made him Earl; and Merlin prophesied that these adventures were but little to the things he should achieve hereafter.
Now while Sir Gawain and Sir Tor had fulfilled their quests, King Pellinore pursued the lady whom the knight had seized away from the wedding-feast. And as he rode through the woods, he saw in a valley a fair young damsel sitting by a well-side, and a wounded knight lying in her arms, and King Pellinore saluted her as he passed by.
As soon as she perceived him she cried out, “Help, help me, knight, for our Lord’s sake!” But Pellinore was far too eager in his quest to stay or turn, although she cried a hundred times to him for help; at which she prayed to heaven he might have such sore need before he died as she had now. And presently thereafter her knight died in her arms; and she, for grief and love slew herself with his sword.
But King Pellinore rode on till he met a poor man and asked him had he seen a knight pass by that way leading by force a lady with him.
“Yea, surely,” said the man, “and greatly did she moan and cry; but even now another knight is fighting with him to deliver the lady; ride on and thou shalt find them fighting still.”
At that King Pellinore rode swiftly on, and came to where he saw the two knights fighting, hard by where two pavilions stood. And when he looked in one of them he saw the lady that was his quest, and with her the two squires of the two knights who fought.
“Fair lady,” said he, “ye must come with me unto Arthur’s court.”
“Sir knight,” said the two squires, “yonder be two knights fighting for this lady; go part them, and get their consent to take her, ere thou touch her.”
“Ye say well,” said King Pellinore, and rode between the combatants, and asked them why they fought.
“Sir knight,” said the one, “yon lady is my cousin, mine aunt’s daughter, whom I met borne away against her will, by this knight here, with whom I therefore fight to free her.”
“Sir knight,” replied the other, whose name was Hantzlake of Wentland, “this lady got I, by my arms and prowess, at King Arthur’s court to-day.”
“That is false,” said King Pellinore; “ye stole the lady suddenly, and fled away with her, before any knight could arm to stay thee. But it is my service to take her back again. Neither of ye shall therefore have her; but if ye will fight for her, fight with me now and here.”
“Well,” said the knights, “make ready, and we will assail thee with all our might.”
Then Sir Hantzlake ran King Pellinore’s horse through with his sword, so that they might be all alike on foot. But King Pellinore at that was passing wroth, and ran upon Sir Hantzlake, with a cry, “Keep well thy head!” and gave him such a stroke upon the helm as clove him to the chin, so that he fell dead to the ground. When he saw that, the other knight refused to fight, and kneeling down said, “Take my cousin the lady with thee, as thy quest is; but as thou art a true knight, suffer her to come to neither shame nor harm.”
So the next day King Pellinore departed for Camelot, and took the lady with him; and as they rode in a valley full of rough stones, the damsel’s horse stumbled and threw her, so that her arms were sorely bruised and hurt. And as they rested in the forest for the pain to lessen, night came on, and there they were compelled to make their lodging. A little before midnight they heard the trotting of a horse. “Be ye still,” said King Pellinore, “for now we may hear of some adventure,” and therewith he armed him. Then he heard two knights meet and salute each other, in the dark; one riding from Camelot, the other from the north.
“What tidings at Camelot?” said one.
“By my head,” said the other, “I have but just left there, and have espied King Arthur’s court, and such a fellowship is there as never may be broke or overcome; for wellnigh all the chivalry of the world is there, and all full loyal to the king, and now I ride back homewards to the north to tell our chiefs, that they waste not their strength in wars against him.”
“As for all that,” replied the other knight, “I am but now from the north, and bear with me a remedy, the deadliest poison that ever was heard tell of, and to Camelot will I with it; for there we have a friend close to the king, and greatly cherished of him, who hath received gifts from us to poison him, as he hath promised soon to do.”
“Beware,” said the first knight, “of Merlin, for he knoweth all things, by the devil’s craft.”
“I will not fear for that,” replied the other, and so rode on his way.
Anon King Pellinore and the lady passed on again; and when they came to the well at which the lady with the wounded knight had sat, they found both knight and Damsel utterly devoured by lions and wild beasts, all save the lady’s head.
When King Pellinore saw that, he wept bitterly, saying, “Alas! I might have saved her life had I but tarried a few moments in my quest.”
“Wherefore make so much sorrow now?” said the lady.
“I know not,” answered he, “but my heart grieveth greatly for this poor lady’s death, so fair she was and young.”
Then he required a hermit to bury the remains of the bodies, and bare the lady’s head with him to Camelot, to the court.
When he was arrived, he was sworn to tell the truth of his quest before the King and Queen, and when he had entered the Queen somewhat upbraided him, saying, “Ye were much to blame that ye saved not that lady’s life.”
“Madam,” said he, “I shall repent it all my life.”
“Ay, king,” quoth Merlin, who suddenly came in, “and so ye ought to do, for that lady was your daughter, not seen since infancy by thee. And she was on her way to court, with a right good young knight, who would have been her husband, but was slain by treachery of a felon knight, Lorraine le Savage, as they came; and because thou wouldst not abide and help her, thy best friend shall fail thee in thine hour of greatest need, for such is the penance ordained thee for that deed.”
Then did King Pellinore tell Merlin secretly of the treason he had heard in the forest, and Merlin by his craft so ordered that the knight who bare the poison was himself soon after slain by it, and so King Arthur’s life was saved.
CHAPTER VII
King Arthur and Sir Accolon of Gaul
eing now happily married, King Arthur for a season took his pleasure, with great tournaments, and jousts, and huntings. So once upon a time the king and many of his knights rode hunting in a forest, and Arthur, King Urience, and Sir Accolon of Gaul, followed after a great hart, and being all three well mounted, they chased so fast that they outsped their company, and left them many miles behind; but riding still as rapidly as they could go, at length their horses fell dead under them. Then being all three on foot, and seeing the stag not far before them, very weary and nigh spent—“What shall we do,” said King Arthur, “for we are hard bested?” “Let us go on afoot,” said King Urience, “till we can find some lodging.” At that they saw the stag lying upon the bank of a great lake, with a hound springing at his throat, and many other hounds trooping towards him. So, running forward, Arthur blew the death-note on his horn, and slew the hart. Then lifting up his eyes he saw before him on the lake a barge, all draped down to the water’s edge, with silken folds and curtains, which swiftly came towards him, and touched upon the sands; but when he went up close and looked in, he saw no earthly creature. Then he cried out to his companions, “Sirs, come ye hither, and let us see what there is in this ship.” So they all three went in, and found it everywhere throughout furnished, and hung with rich draperies of silk and gold.
By this time eventide had come, when suddenly a hundred torches were set up on all sides of the barge, and gave a dazzling light, and at the same time came forth twelve fair damsels, and saluted King Arthur by his name, kneeling on their knees, and telling him that he was welcome, and should have their noblest cheer, for which the king thanked them courteously. Then did they lead him and his fellows to a splendid chamber, where was a table spread with all the richest furniture, and costliest wines and viands; and there they served them with all kinds of wines and meats, till Arthur wondered at the splendour of the feast, declaring he had never in his life supped better, or more royally. After supper they led him to another chamber, than which he had never beheld a richer, where he was left to rest. King Urience, also, and Sir Accolon were each conducted into rooms of like magnificence. And so they all three fell asleep, and being very weary slept deeply all that night.
But when the morning broke, King Urience found himself in his own house in Camelot, he knew not how; and Arthur awaking found himself in a dark dungeon, and heard around him nothing but the groans of woful knights, prisoners like himself. Then said King Arthur, “Who are ye, thus groaning and complaining?” And some one answered him, “Alas, we be all prisoners, even twenty good knights, and some of us have lain here seven years—some more—nor seen the light of day for all that time.” “For what cause?” said King Arthur. “Know ye not then yourself?” they answered—“we will soon tell you. The lord of this strong castle is Sir Damas, and is the falsest and most traitorous knight that liveth; and he hath a younger brother, a good and noble knight, whose name is Outzlake. This traitor Damas, although passing rich, will give his brother nothing of his wealth, and save what Outzlake keepeth to himself by force, he hath no share of the inheritance. He owneth, nevertheless, one fair rich manor, whereupon he liveth, loved of all men far and near. But Damas is as altogether hated as his brother is beloved, for he is merciless and cowardly: and now for many years there hath been war between these brothers, and Sir Outzlake evermore defieth Damas to come forth and fight with him, body to body, for the inheritance; and if he be too cowardly, to find some champion knight that will fight for him. And Damas hath agreed to find some champion, but never yet hath found a knight to take his evil cause in hand, or wager battle for him. So with a strong band of men-at-arms he lieth ever in ambush, and taketh captive every passing knight who may unwarily go near, and bringeth him into this castle, and desireth him either to fight Sir Outzlake, or to lie for evermore in durance. And thus hath he dealt with all of us, for we all scorned to take up such a cause for such a false foul knight—but rather one by one came here, where many a good knight hath died of hunger and disease. But if one of us would fight, Sir Damas would deliver all the rest.”
“God of his mercy send you deliverance,” said King Arthur, and sat turning in his mind how all these things should end, and how he might himself gain freedom for so many noble hearts.
Anon there came a damsel to the king, saying, “Sir if thou wilt fight for my lord thou shalt be delivered out of prison, but else nevermore shalt thou escape with thy life.” “Nay,” said King Arthur, “that is but a hard choice, yet had I rather fight than die in prison, and if I may deliver not myself alone, but all these others, I will do the battle.” “Yea,” said the damsel, “it shall be even so.” “Then,” said King Arthur, “I am ready now, if but I had a horse and armour.” “Fear not,” said she, “that shalt thou have presently, and shalt lack nothing proper for the fight.” “Have I not seen thee,” said the king, “at King Arthur’s court? for it seemeth that thy face is known to me.” “Nay,” said the damsel, “I was never there; I am Sir Damas’ daughter, and have never been but a day’s journey from this castle.” But she spoke falsely, for she was one of the damsels of Morgan le Fay, the great enchantress, who was King Arthur’s half-sister.
When Sir Damas knew that there had been at length a knight found who would fight for him, he sent for Arthur, and finding him a man so tall and strong, and straight of limb, he was passingly well pleased, and made a covenant with him, that he should fight unto the uttermost for his cause, and that all the other knights should be delivered. And when they were sworn to each other on the holy gospels, all those imprisoned knights were straightway led forth and delivered, but abode there one and all to see the battle.
In the meanwhile there had happened to Sir Accolon of Gaul a strange adventure; for when he awoke from his deep sleep upon the silken barge, he found himself upon the edge of a deep well, and in instant peril of falling thereinto. Whereat, leaping up in great affright, he crossed himself and cried aloud, “May God preserve my lord King Arthur and King Urience, for those damsels in the ship have betrayed us, and were doubtless devils and no women; and if I may escape this misadventure, I will certainly destroy them wheresoever I may find them.” With that there came to him a dwarf with a great mouth, and a flat nose, and saluted him, saying that he came from Queen Morgan le Fay. “And she greeteth you well,” said he, “and biddeth you be strong of heart, for to-morrow you shall do battle with a strange knight, and therefore she hath sent you here Excalibur, King Arthur’s sword, and the scabbard likewise. And she desireth you as you do love her to fight this battle to the uttermost, and without any mercy, as you have promised her you would fight when she should require it of you; and she will make a rich queen for ever of any damsel that shall bring her that knight’s head with whom you are to fight.”
“Well,” said Sir Accolon, “tell you my lady Queen Morgan, that I shall hold to that I promised her, now that I have this sword—and,” said he, “I suppose it was to bring about this battle that she made all these enchantments by her craft.” “You have guessed rightly,” said the dwarf, and therewithal he left him.
Then came a knight and lady, and six squires, to Sir Accolon, and took him to a manor house hard by, and gave him noble cheer; and the house belonged to Sir Outzlake, the brother of Sir Damas, for so had Morgan le Fay contrived with her enchantments. Now Sir Outzlake himself was at that time sorely wounded and disabled, having been pierced through both his thighs by a spear-thrust. When, therefore, Sir Damas sent down messengers to his brother, bidding him make ready by to-morrow morning, and be in the field to fight with a good knight, for that he had found a champion ready to do battle at all points, Sir Outzlake was sorely annoyed and distressed, for he knew he had small chance of victory, while yet he was disabled by his wounds; notwithstanding, he determined to take the battle in hand, although he was so weak that he must needs be lifted to his saddle. But when Sir Accolon of Gaul heard this, he sent a message to Sir Outzlake offering to take the battle in his stead, which cheered Sir Outzlake mightily, who thanked Sir Accolon with all his heart, and joyfully accepted him.
So, on the morrow, King Arthur was armed and well horsed, and asked Sir Damas, “When shall we go to the field?” “Sir,” said Sir Damas, “you shall first hear mass.” And when mass was done, there came a squire on a great horse, and asked Sir Damas if his knight were ready, “for our knight is already in the field.” Then King Arthur mounted on horseback, and there around were all the knights, and barons, and people of the country; and twelve of them were chosen to wait upon the two knights who were about to fight. And as King Arthur sat on horseback, there came a damsel from Morgan le Fay, and brought to him a sword, made like Excalibur, and a scabbard also, and said to him, “Morgan le Fay sendeth you here your sword for her great love’s sake.” And the king thanked her, and believed it to be as she said; but she traitorously deceived him, for both sword and scabbard were counterfeit, brittle, and false, and the true sword Excalibur was in the hands of Sir Accolon. Then, at the sound of a trumpet, the champions set themselves on opposite sides of the field, and giving rein and spur to their horses urged them to so great a speed that each smiting the other in the middle of the shield, rolled his opponent to the ground, both horse and man. Then starting up immediately, both drew their swords and rushed swiftly together. And so they fell to eagerly, and gave each other many great and mighty strokes.
And as they were thus fighting, the damsel Vivien, lady of the lake, who loved King Arthur, came upon the ground, for she knew by her enchantments how Morgan le Fay had craftily devised to have King Arthur slain by his own sword that day, and therefore came to save his life. And Arthur and Sir Accolon were now grown hot against each other, and spared not strength nor fury in their fierce assaults; but the king’s sword gave way continually before Sir Accolon’s, so that at every stroke he was sore wounded, and his blood ran from him so fast that it was a marvel he could stand. When King Arthur saw the ground so sore be-blooded, he bethought him in dismay that there was magic treason worked upon him, and that his own true sword was changed, for it seemed to him that the sword in Sir Accolon’s hand was Excalibur, for fearfully it drew his blood at every blow, while what he held himself kept no sharp edge, nor fell with any force upon his foe.
“Now, knight, look to thyself, and keep thee well from me,” cried out Sir Accolon. But King Arthur answered not, and gave him such a buffet on the helm as made him stagger and nigh fall upon the ground. Then Sir Accolon withdrew a little, and came on with Excalibur on high, and smote King Arthur in return with such a mighty stroke as almost felled him; and both being now in hottest wrath, they gave each other grievous and savage blows. But Arthur all the time was losing so much blood that scarcely could he keep upon his feet yet so full was he of knighthood, that knightly he endured the pain, and still sustained himself, though now he was so feeble that he thought himself about to die. Sir Accolon, as yet, had lost no drop of blood, and being very bold and confident in Excalibur, even grew more vigorous and hasty in his assaults. But all men who beheld them said they never saw a knight fight half so well as did King Arthur; and all the people were so grieved for him that they besought Sir Damas and Sir Outzlake to make up their quarrel and so stay the fight; but they would not.
So still the battle raged, till Arthur drew a little back for breath and a few moments’ rest; but Accolon came on after him, following fiercely and crying loud, “It is no time for me to suffer thee to rest,” and therewith set upon him. Then Arthur, full of scorn and rage, lifted up his sword and struck Sir Accolon upon the helm so mightily that he drove him to his knees; but with the force of that great stroke his brittle, treacherous sword broke short off at the hilt, and fell down in the grass among the blood, leaving the pommel only in his hand. At that, King Arthur thought within himself that all was over, and secretly prepared his mind for death, yet kept himself so knightly sheltered by his shield that he lost no ground, and made as though he yet had hope and cheer. Then said Sir Accolon, “Sir knight, thou now art overcome and canst endure no longer, seeing thou art weaponless, and hast lost already so much blood. Yet am I fully loth to slay thee; yield, then, therefore, to me as recreant.” “Nay,” said King Arthur, “that may I not, for I have promised to do battle to the uttermost by the faith of my body while my life lasteth; and I had rather die with honour than live with shame; and if it were possible for me to die an hundred times, I had rather die as often than yield me to thee, for though I lack weapons, I shall lack no worship, and it shall be to thy shame to slay me weaponless.” “Aha,” shouted then Sir Accolon, “as for the shame, I will not spare; look to thyself, sir knight, for thou art even now but a dead man.” Therewith he drove at him with pitiless force, and struck him nearly down; but Arthur evermore waxing in valour as he waned in blood, pressed on Sir Accolon with his shield, and hit at him so fiercely with the pommel in his hand, as hurled him three strides backwards.
This, therefore, so confused Sir Accolon, that rushing up, all dizzy, to deliver once again a furious blow, even as he struck, Excalibur, by Vivien’s magic, fell from out his hands upon the earth. Beholding which, King Arthur lightly sprang to it, and grasped it, and forthwith felt it was his own good sword, and said to it, “Thou hast been from me all too long, and done me too much damage.” Then spying the scabbard hanging by Sir Accolon’s side, he sprang and pulled it from him, and cast it away as far as he could throw it; for so long as he had worn it, Arthur new his life would have been kept secure. “Oh, knight!” then said the king, “thou hast this day wrought me much damage by this sword, but now art thou come to thy death, for I shall not warrant thee but that thou shalt suffer, ere we part, somewhat of that thou hast made me suffer.” And therewithal King Arthur flew at him with all his might, and pulled him to the earth, and then struck off his helm, and gave him on the head a fearful buffet, till the blood leaped forth. “Now will I slay thee!” cried King Arthur; for his heart was hardened, and his body all on fire with fever, till for a moment he forgot his knightly mercy. “Slay me thou mayest,” said Sir Accolon, “for thou art the best knight I ever found, and I see well that God is with thee; and I, as thou hast, have promised to fight this battle to the uttermost, and never to be recreant while I live; therefore shall I never yield me with my mouth, and God must do with my body what he will.” And as Sir Accolon spoke, King Arthur thought he knew his voice; and parting all his blood-stained hair from out his eyes, and leaning down towards him, saw, indeed, it was his friend and own true knight. Then said he—keeping his own visor down—“I pray thee tell me of what country art thou, and what court?” “Sir knight,” he answered, “I am of King Arthur’s court, and my name is Sir Accolon of Gaul.” Then said the king, “Oh, sir knight! I pray thee tell me who gave thee this sword? and from whom thou hadst it?”
Then said Sir Accolon, “Woe worth this sword, for by it I have gotten my death. This sword hath been in my keeping now for almost twelve months, and yesterday Queen Morgan le Fay, wife of King Urience, sent it to me by a dwarf, that therewith I might in some way slay her brother, King Arthur; for thou must understand that King Arthur is the man she hateth most in all the world, being full of envy and jealousy because he is of greater worship and renown than any other of her blood. She loveth me also as much as she doth hate him; and if she might contrive to slay King Arthur by her craft and magic, then would she straightway kill her husband also, and make me the king of all this land, and herself my queen, to reign with me; but now,” said he, “all that is over, for this day I am come to my death.”
“It would have been sore treason of thee to destroy thy lord,” said Arthur. “Thou sayest truly,” answered he; “but now that I have told thee, and openly confessed to thee all that foul treason whereof I now do bitterly repent, tell me, I pray thee, whence art thou, and of what court?” “O, Sir Accolon!” said King Arthur, “learn that I am myself King Arthur.” When Sir Accolon heard this he cried aloud, “Alas, my gracious lord! have mercy on me, for I knew thee not.” “Thou shalt have mercy,” said he, “for thou knewest not my person at this time; and though by thine own confession thou art a traitor, yet do I blame thee less, because thou hast been blinded by the false crafts of my sister Morgan le Fay, whom I have trusted more than all others of my kin, and whom I now shall know well how to punish.” Then did Sir Accolon cry loudly, “O, lords, and all good people! this noble knight that I have fought with is the noblest and most worshipful in all the world; for it is King Arthur, our liege lord and sovereign king; and full sorely I repent that I have ever lifted lance against him, though in ignorance I did it.”
Then all the people fell down on their knees and prayed the pardon of the king for suffering him to come to such a strait. But he replied, “Pardon ye cannot have, for, truly, ye have nothing sinned; but here ye see what ill adventure may ofttimes befall knights-errant, for to my own hurt, and his danger also, I have fought with one of my own knights.”
Then the king commanded Sir Damas to surrender to his brother the whole manor, Sir Outzlake only yielding him a palfrey every year; “for,” said he scornfully, “it would become thee better to ride on than a courser;” and ordered Damas, upon pain of death, never again to touch or to distress knights-errant riding on their adventures; and also to make full compensation and satisfaction to the twenty knights whom he had held in prison. “And if any of them,” said the king, “come to my court complaining that he hath not had full satisfaction of thee for his injuries, by my head, thou shalt die therefor.”
Afterwards, King Arthur asked Sir Outzlake to come with him to his court, where he should become a knight of his, and, if his deeds were noble, be advanced to all he might desire.
So then he took his leave of all the people and mounted upon horseback, and Sir Accolon went with him to an abbey hard by, where both their wounds were dressed. But Sir Accolon died within four days after. And when he was dead, the king sent his body to Queen Morgan, to Camelot, saying that he sent her a present in return for the sword Excalibur which she had sent him by the damsel.
So, on the morrow, there came a damsel from Queen Morgan to the king, and brought with her the richest mantle that ever was seen, for it was set as full of precious stones as they could stand against each other, and they were the richest stones that ever the king saw. And the damsel said, “Your sister sendeth you this mantle, and prayeth you to take her gift, and in whatsoever thing she hath offended you, she will amend it at your pleasure.” To this the king replied not, although the mantle pleased him much. With that came in the lady of the lake, and said, “Sir, put not on this mantle till thou hast seen more; and in nowise let it be put upon thee, or any of thy knights, till ye have made the bringer of it first put it on her.” “It shall be done as thou dost counsel,” said the king. Then said he to the damsel that came from his sister, “Damsel, I would see this mantle ye have brought me upon yourself.” “Sir,” said she, “it will not beseem me to wear a knight’s garment.” “By my head,” said King Arthur, “thou shall wear it ere it go on any other person’s back!” And so they put it on her by force, and forthwith the garment burst into a flame and burned the damsel into cinders. When the king saw that, he hated that false witch Morgan le Fay with all his heart, and evermore was deadly quarrel between her and Arthur to their lives’ end.
CHAPTER VIII
King Arthur conquers Rome, and is crowned Emperor
nd now again the second time there came ambassadors from Lucius Tiberius, Emperor of Rome, demanding, under pain of war, tribute and homage from King Arthur, and the restoration of all Gaul, which he had conquered from the tribune Flollo.
When they had delivered their message, the king bade them withdraw while he consulted with his knights and barons what reply to send. Then some of the younger knights would have slain the ambassadors, saying that their speech was a rebuke to all who heard the king insulted by it. But when King Arthur heard that, he ordered none to touch them upon pain of death; and sending officers, he had them taken to a noble lodging, and there entertained with the best cheer. “And,” said he, “let no dainty be spared, for the Romans are great lords; and though their message please me not, yet must I remember mine honour.”
Then the lords and knights of the Round Table were called on to declare their counsel—what should be done upon this matter; and Sir Cador of Cornwall speaking first, said, “Sir, this message is the best news I have heard for a long time, for we have been now idle and at rest for many days, and I trust that thou wilt make sharp war upon the Romans, wherein, I doubt not, we shall all gain honour.”
“I believe well,” said Arthur, “that thou art pleased, Sir Cador; but that is scarce an answer to the Emperor of Rome, and his demand doth grieve me sorely, for truly I will never pay him tribute; wherefore, lords, I pray ye counsel me. Now, I have understood that Belinus and Brennius, knights of Britain, held the Roman Empire in their hands for many days, and also Constantine, the son of Helen, which is open evidence, not only that we owe Rome no tribute, but that I, being descended from them, may, of right, myself claim the empire.”
Then said King Anguish of Scotland, “Sir, thou oughtest of right to be above all other kings, for in all Christendom is there not thine equal; and I counsel thee never to obey the Romans. For when they reigned here they grievously distressed us, and put the land to great and heavy burdens; and here, for my part, I swear to avenge me on them when I may, and will furnish thee with twenty thousand men-at-arms, whom I will pay and keep, and who shall wait on thee with me, when it shall please thee.”
Then the King of Little Britain rose and promised King Arthur thirty thousand men; and likewise many other kings, and dukes, and barons, promised aid—as the lord of West Wales thirty thousand men, Sir Ewaine and his cousin thirty thousand men, and so forth; Sir Lancelot also, and every other knight of the Round Table, promised each man a great host.
So the king, passing joyful at their courage and good will, thanked them all heartily, and sent for the ambassadors again, to hear his answer. “I will,” said he, “that ye now go back straightway unto the Emperor your master and tell him that I give no heed to his words, for I have conquered all my kingdoms by the will of God and by my own right arm, and I am strong enough to keep them, without paying tribute to any earthly creature. But, on the other hand, I claim both tribute and submission from himself, and also claim the sovereignty of all his empire, whereto I am entitled by the right of my own ancestors—sometime kings of this land. And say to him that I will shortly come to Rome, and by God’s grace will take possession of my empire and subdue all rebels. Wherefore, lastly, I command him and all the lords of Rome that they forthwith pay me their homage, under pain of my chastisement and wrath.”
Then he commanded his treasurers to give the ambassadors great gifts, and defray all their charges, and appointed Sir Cador to convey them worshipfully out of the land.
So when they returned to Rome and came before Lucius, he was sore angry at their words, and said, “I thought this Arthur would have instantly obeyed my orders and have served me as humbly as any other king; but because of his fortune in Gaul, he hath grown insolent.”
“Ah, lord,” said one of the ambassadors, “refrain from such vain words, for truly I and all with me were fearful at his royal majesty and angry countenance. I fear me thou hast made a rod for thee more sharp than thou hast counted on. He meaneth to be master of this empire; and is another kind of man than thou supposest, and holdeth the most noble court of all the world. We saw him on the new year’s day, served at his table by nine kings, and the noblest company of other princes, lords, and knights that ever was in all the world; and in his person he is the most manly-seeming man that liveth, and looketh like to conquer all the earth.”
Then Lucius sent messengers to all the subject countries of Rome, and brought together a mighty army, and assembled sixteen kings, and many dukes, princes, lords, and admirals, and a wondrous great multitude of people. Fifty giants also, born of fiends, were set around him for a body-guard. With all that host he straightway went from Rome, and passed beyond the mountains into Gaul, and burned the towns and ravaged all the country of that province, in rage for its submission to King Arthur. Then he moved on towards Little Britain.
Meanwhile, King Arthur having held a parliament at York, left the realm in charge of Sir Badewine and Sir Constantine, and crossed the sea from Sandwich to meet Lucius. And so soon as he was landed, he sent Sir Gawain, Sir Bors, Sir Lionel, and Sir Bedivere to the Emperor, commanding him “to move swiftly and in haste out of his land, and, if not, to make himself ready for battle, and not continue ravaging the country and slaying harmless people.” Anon, those noble knights attired themselves and set forth on horseback to where they saw, in a meadow, many silken tents of divers colours, and the Emperor’s pavilion in the midst, with a golden eagle set above it.
Then Sir Gawain and Sir Bors rode forward, leaving the other two behind in ambush, and gave King Arthur’s message. To which the Emperor replied, “Return, and tell your lord that I am come to conquer him and all his land.”
At this, Sir Gawain burned with anger, and cried out, “I had rather than all France that I might fight with thee alone!”
“And I also,” said Sir Bors.
Then a knight named Ganius, a near cousin of the Emperor, laughed out aloud, and said, “Lo! how these Britons boast and are full of pride, bragging as though they bare up all the world!”
At these words, Sir Gawain could refrain no longer, but drew forth his sword and with one blow shore oft Ganius’ head; then with Sir Bors, he turned his horse and rode over waters and through woods, back to the ambush, where Sir Lionel and Sir Bedivere were waiting. The Romans followed fast behind them till the knights turned and stood, and then Sir Bors smote the foremost of them through the body with a spear, and slew him on the spot. Then came on Calibere, a huge Pavian, but Sir Bors overthrew him also. And then the company of Sir Lionel and Sir Bedivere brake from their ambush and fell on the Romans, and slew and hewed them down, and forced them to return and flee, chasing them to their tents.
But as they neared the camp, a great host more rushed forth, and turned the battle backwards, and in the turmoil, Sir Bors and Sir Berel fell into the Romans’ hands. When Sir Gawain saw that, he drew his good sword Galotine, and swore to see King Arthur’s face no more if those two knights were not delivered; and then, with good Sir Idrus, made so sore an onslaught that the Romans fled and left Sir Bors and Sir Berel to their friends. So the Britons returned in triumph to King Arthur, having slain more than ten thousand Romans, and lost no man of worship from amongst themselves.
When the Emperor Lucius heard of that discomfiture he arose, with all his army, to crush King Arthur, and met him in the vale of Soissons. Then speaking to all his host, he said, “Sirs, I admonish you that this day ye fight and acquit yourselves as men; and remembering how Rome is chief of all the earth, and mistress of the universal world, suffer not these barbarous and savage Britons to abide our onset.” At that, the trumpets blew so loud, that the ground trembled and shook.
Then did the rival hosts draw near each other with great shoutings; and when they closed, no tongue can tell the fury of their smiting, and the sore struggling, wounds, and slaughter. Then King Arthur, with his mightiest knights, rode down into the thickest of the fight, and drew Excalibur, and slew as lightning slays for swiftness and for force. And in the midmost crowd he met a giant, Galapas by name, and struck off both his legs at the knee-joints; then saying, “Now art thou a better size to deal with!” smote his head off at a second blow: and the body killed six men in falling down.
Anon, King Arthur spied where Lucius fought and worked great deeds of prowess with his own hands. Forthwith he rode at him, and each attacked the other passing fiercely; till at the last, Lucius struck King Arthur with a fearful wound across the face, and Arthur, in return, lifting up Excalibur on high, drove it with all his force upon the Emperor’s head, shivering his helmet, crashing his head in halves, and splitting his body to the breast. And when the Romans saw their Emperor dead they fled in hosts of thousands; and King Arthur and his knights, and all his army followed them, and slew one hundred thousand men.
Then returning to the field, King Arthur rode to the place where Lucius lay dead, and round him the kings of Egypt and Ethiopia, and seventeen other kings, with sixty Roman senators, all noble men. All these he ordered to be carefully embalmed with aromatic gums, and laid in leaden coffins, covered with their shields and arms and banners. Then calling for three senators who were taken prisoners, he said to them, “As the ransom of your lives, I will that ye take these dead bodies and carry them to Rome, and there present them for me, with these letters saying I will myself be shortly there. And I suppose the Romans will beware how they again ask tribute of me; for tell them, these dead bodies that I send them are for the tribute they have dared to ask of me; and if they wish for more, when I come I will pay them the rest.”
So, with that charge, the three senators departed with the dead bodies, and went to Rome; the body of the Emperor being carried in a chariot blazoned with the arms of the empire, all alone, and the bodies of the kings two and two in chariots following.
After the battle, King Arthur entered Lorraine, Brabant, and Flanders, and thence, subduing all the countries as he went, passed into Germany, and so beyond the mountains into Lombardy and Tuscany. At length he came before a city which refused to obey him, wherefore he sat down before it to besiege it. And after a long time thus spent, King Arthur called Sir Florence, and told him they began to lack food for his hosts—“And not far from hence,” said he, “are great forests full of cattle belonging to my enemies. Go then, and bring by force all that thou canst find; and take with thee Sir Gawain, my nephew, and Sir Clegis, Sir Claremond the Captain of Cardiff, and a strong band.”
Anon, those knights made ready, and rode over holts and hills, and through forests and woods, till they came to a great meadow full of fair flowers and grass, and there they rested themselves and their horses that night. And at the dawn of the next day, Sir Gawain took his horse and rode away from his fellows to seek some adventure. Soon he saw an armed knight walking his horse by a wood’s side, with his shield laced to his shoulder, and no attendant with him save a page, bearing a mighty spear; and on his shield were blazoned three gold griffins. When Sir Gawain spied him, he put his spear in rest, and riding straight to him, asked who he was. “A Tuscan,” said he; “and they mayest prove me when thou wilt, for thou shalt be my prisoner ere we part.”
Then said Sir Gawain, “Thou vauntest thee greatly, and speakest proud words; yet I counsel thee, for all thy boastings, look to thyself the best thou canst.”
At that they took their spears and ran at each other with all the might they had, and smote each other through their shields into their shoulders; and then drawing swords smote with great strokes, till the fire sprang out of their helms. Then was Sir Gawain enraged, and with his good sword Galotine struck his enerny through shield and hauberk, and splintered into pieces all the precious stones of it, and made so huge a wound that men might see both lungs and liver. At that the Tuscan, groaning loudly, rushed on to Sir Gawain, and gave him a deep slanting stroke, and made a mighty wound and cut a great vein asunder, so that he bled fast. Then he cried out, “Bind thy wound quickly up, Sir knight, for thou be-bloodest all thy horse and thy fair armour, and all the surgeons of the world shall never staunch thy blood; for so shall it be to whomsoever is hurt with this good sword.”
Then answered Sir Gawain, “It grieveth me but little, and thy boastful words give me no fear, for thou shalt suffer greater grief and sorrow ere we part; but tell me quickly who can staunch this blood.”
“That can I do,” said the strange knight, “and will, if thou wilt aid and succour me to become christened, and to believe on God, which now I do require of thee upon thy manhood.”
“I am content,” said Sir Gawain; “and may God help me to grant all thy wishes. But tell mefirst, what soughtest thou thus here alone, and of what land art thou?”
“Sir,” said the knight, “my name is Prianius, and my father is a great prince, who hath rebelled against Rome. He is descended from Alexander and Hector, and of our lineage also were Joshua and Maccabaeus. I am of right the king of Alexandria, and Africa, and all the outer isles, yet I would believe in the Lord thou worshippest, and for thy labour I will give thee treasure enough. I was so proud in heart that I thought none my equal, but now have I encountered with thee, who hast given me my fill of fighting; wherefore, I pray thee, Sir knight, tell me of thyself.”
“I am no knight,” said Sir Gawain; “I have been brought up many years in the wardrobe of the noble prince King Arthur, to mind his armour and array.”
“Ah,” said Prianius, “if his varlets be so keen and fierce, his knights must be passing good! Now, for the love of heaven, whether thou be knight or knave, tell me thy name.”
“By heaven!” said Gawain, “now will I tell thee the truth. My name is Sir Gawain, and I am a knight of the Round Table.”
“Now am I better pleased,” said Prianius, “than if thou hadst given me all the province of Paris the rich. I had rather have been torn by wild horses than that any varlet should have won such victory over me as thou hast done. But now, Sir knight, I warn thee that close by is the Duke of Lorraine, with sixty thousand good men of war; and we had both best flee at once, for he will find us else, and we be sorely wounded and never likely to recover. And let my page be careful that he blow no horn, for hard by are a hundred knights, my servants; and if they seize thee, no ransom of gold or silver would acquit thee.”
Then Sir Gawain rode over a river to save himself, and Sir Prianius after him, and so they both fled till they came to his companions who were in the meadow, where they spent the night. When Sir Whishard saw Sir Gawain so hurt, he ran to him weeping, and asked him who it was had wounded him; and Sir Gawain told him how he had fought with that man—pointing to Prianius—who had salves to heal them both. “But I can tell ye other tidings,” said he—“that soon we must encounter many enemies, for a great army is close to us in our front.”
Then Prianius and Sir Gawain alighted and let their horses graze while they unarmed, and when they took their armour and their clothing off, the hot blood ran down freshly from their wounds till it was piteous to see. But Prianius took from his page a vial filled from the four rivers that flow out of Paradise, and anointed both their wounds with a certain balm, and washed them with that water, and within an hour afterwards they were both as sound and whole as ever they had been. Then, at the sound of a trumpet, all the knights were assembled to council; and after much talking, Prianius said, “Cease your words, for I warn you in yonder wood ye shall find knights out of number, who will put out cattle for a decoy to lead you on; and ye are not seven hundred!”
“Nevertheless,” said Sir Gawain, “let us at once encounter them, and see what they can do; and may the best have the victory.”
Then they saw suddenly an earl named Sir Ethelwold, and the Duke of Duchmen come leaping out of ambush of the woods in front, with many a thousand after them, and all rode straight down to the battle. And Sir Gawain, full of ardour and courage, comforted his knights, saying, “They all are ours.” Then the seven hundred knights, in one close company, set spurs to their horses and began to gallop, and fiercely met their enemies. And then were men and horses slain and overthrown on every side, and in and out amidst them all, the knights of the Round Table pressed and thrust, and smote down to the earth all who withstood them, till at length the whole of them turned back and fled.
“By heaven!” said Sir Gawain, “this gladdeneth well my heart, for now behold them as they flee! they are full seventy thousand less in number than they were an hour ago!”
Thus was the battle quickly ended, and a great host of high lords and knights of Lombardy and Saracens left dead upon the field. Then Sir Gawain and his company collected a great plenty of cattle, and of gold and silver, and all kind of treasure, and returned to King Arthur, where he still kept the siege.
“Now God be thanked,” cried he; “but who is he that standeth yonder by himself, and seemeth not a prisoner?”
“Sir,” said Sir Gawain, “he is a good man with his weapons, and hath matched me; but cometh hither to be made a Christian. Had it not been for his warnings, we none of us should have been here this day. I pray thee, therefore, let him be baptized, for there can be few nobler men, or better knights.”
So Prianius was christened, and made a duke and knight of the Round Table.
Presently afterwards, they made a last attack upon the city, and entered by the walls on every side; and as the men were rushing to the pillage, came the Duchess forth, with many ladies and damsels, and kneeled before King Arthur; and besought him to receive their submission. To whom the king made answer, with a noble countenance, “Madam, be well assured that none shall harm ye, or your ladies; neither shall any that belong to thee be hurt; but the Duke must abide my judgment.” Then he commanded to stay the assault and took the keys from the Duke’s eldest son, who brought them kneeling. Anon the Duke was sent a prisoner to Dover for his life, and rents and taxes were assigned for dowry of the Duchess and her children.
Then went he on with all his hosts, winning all towns and castles, and wasting them that refused obedience, till he came to Viterbo. From thence he sent to Rome, to ask the senators whether they would receive him for their lord and governor. In answer, came out to him all the Senate who remained alive, and the Cardinals, with a majestic retinue and procession; and laying great treasures at his feet, they prayed him to come in at once to Rome, and there be peaceably crowned as Emperor. “At this next Christmas,” said King Arthur, “will I be crowned, and hold my Round Table in your city.”
Anon he entered Rome, in mighty pomp and state; and after him came all his hosts, and his knights, and princes, and great lords, arrayed in gold and jewels, such as never were beheld before. And then was he crowned Emperor by the Pope’s hands, with all the highest solemnity that could be made.
Then after his coronation, he abode in Rome for a season, settling his lands and giving kingdoms to his knights and servants, to each one after his deserving, and in such wise fashion that no man among them all complained. Also he made many dukes and earls, and loaded all his men-at-arms with riches and great treasures.
When all this was done, the lords and knights, and all the men of great estate, came together before him, and said, “Noble Emperor! by the blessing of Eternal God, thy mortal warfare is all finished, and thy conquests all achieved; for now in all the world is none so great and mighty as to dare make war with thee. Wherefore we beseech and heartily pray thee of thy noble grace, to turn thee homeward, and to give us also leave to see our wives and homes again, for now we have been from them a long season, and all thy journey is completed with great honour and worship.”
“Ye say well,” replied he, “and to tempt God is no wisdom; therefore make ready in all haste, and turn we home to England.”
So King Arthur returned with his knights and lords and armies, in great triumph and joy, through all the countries he had conquered, and commanded that no man, upon pain of death, should rob or do any violence by the way. And crossing the sea, he came at length to Sandwich, where Queen Guinevere received him, and made great joy at his arrival. And through all the realm of Britain was there such rejoicing as no tongue can tell.
CHAPTER IX
The Adventures of Sir Lancelot du Lake
hen, at the following Pentecost, was held a feast of the Round Table at Caerleon, with high splendour; and all the knights thereof resorted to the court, and held many games and jousts. And therein Sir Lancelot increased in fame and worship above all men, for he overthrew all comers, and never was unhorsed or worsted, save by treason and enchantment.
When Queen Guinevere had seen his wondrous feats, she held him in great favour, and smiled more on him than on any other knight. And ever since he first had gone to bring her to King Arthur, had Lancelot thought on her as fairest of all ladies, and done his best to win her grace. So the queen often sent for him, and bade him tell of his birth and strange adventures: how he was only son of great King Ban of Brittany, and how, one night, his father, with his mother Helen and himself, fled from his burning castle; how his father, groaning deeply, fell to the ground and died of grief and wounds, and how his mother, running to her husband, left himself alone; how, as he thus lay wailing, came the lady of the lake, and took him in her arms and went with him into the midst of the waters, where, with his cousins Lionel and Bors he had been cherished all his childhood until he came to King Arthur’s court; and how this was the reason why men called him Lancelot du Lake.
Anon it was ordained by King Arthur, that in every year at Pentecost there should be held a festival of all the knights of the Round Table at Caerleon, or such other place as he should choose. And at those festivals should be told publicly the most famous adventures of any knight during the past year.
So, when Sir Lancelot saw Queen Guinevere rejoiced to hear his wanderings and adventures, he resolved to set forth yet again, and win more worship still, that he might more increase her favour. Then he bade his cousin Sir Lionel make ready, “for,” said he, “we two will seek adventure.” So they mounted their horses—armed at all points—and rode into a vast forest; and when they had passed through it, they came to a great plain, and the weather being very hot about noontide, Sir Lancelot greatly longed to sleep. Then Sir Lionel espied a great apple-tree standing by a hedge, and said, “Brother, yonder is a fair shadow where we may rest ourselves and horses.”
“I am full glad of it,” said Sir Lancelot, “for all these seven years I have not been so sleepy.”
So they alighted there, and tied their horses up to sundry trees; and Sir Lionel waked and watched while Sir Lancelot fell asleep, and slept passing fast.
In the meanwhile came three knights, riding as fast flying as ever they could ride, and after them followed a single knight; but when Sir Lionel looked at him, he thought he had never seen so great and strong a man, or so well furnished and apparelled. Anon he saw him overtake the last of those who fled, and smite him to the ground; then came he to the second, and smote him such a stroke that horse and man went to the earth; then rode he to the third, likewise, and struck him off his horse more than a spear’s length. With that he lighted from his horse, and bound all three knights fast with the reins of their own bridles.
When Sir Lionel saw this he thought the time was come to prove himself against him, so quietly and cautiously, lest he should wake Sir Lancelot, he took his horse and mounted and rode after him. Presently overtaking him, he cried aloud to him to turn, which instantly he did, and smote Sir Lionel so hard that horse and man went down forthwith. Then took he up Sir Lionel, and threw him bound over his own horse’s back; and so he served the three other knights, and rode them away to his own castle. There they were disarmed, stripped naked, and beaten with thorns, and afterwards thrust into a deep prison, where many more knights, also, made great moans and lamentations, saying, “Alas, alas! there is no man can help us but Sir Lancelot, for no other knight can match this tyrant Turquine, our conqueror.”
But all this while, Sir Lancelot lay sleeping soundly under the apple-tree. And, as it chanced, there passed that way four queens, of high estate, riding upon four white mules, under four canopies of green silk borne on spears, to keep them from the sun. As they rode thus, they heard a great horse grimly neigh, and, turning them about, soon saw a sleeping knight that lay all armed under an apple-tree; and when they saw his face, they knew it was Lancelot of the Lake.
Then they began to strive which of them should have the care of him. But Queen Morgan le Fay, King Arthur’s half sister, the great sorceress, was one of them, and said “We need not strive for him, I have enchanted him, so that for six hours more he shall not wake. Let us take him to my castle, and, when he wakes, himself shall choose which one of us he would rather serve.” So Sir Lancelot was laid upon his shield and borne on horseback between two knights, to the castle, and there laid in a cold chamber, till the spell should pass.
Anon, they sent him a fair damsel, bearing his supper, who asked him, “What cheer?”
“I cannot tell, fair damsel,” said he, “for I know not how I came into this castle, if it were not by enchantment.”
“Sir,” said she, “be of good heart, and to-morrow at the dawn of day, ye shall know more.”
And so she left him alone, and there he lay all night. In the morning early came the four queens to him, passing richly dressed; and said, “Sir knight, thou must understand that thou art our prisoner, and that we know thee well for King Ban’s son, Sir Lancelot du Lake. And though we know full well there is one lady only in this world may have thy love, and she Queen Guinevere—King Arthur’s wife—yet now are we resolved to have thee to serve one of us; choose, therefore, of us four which thou wilt serve. I am Queen Morgan le Fay, Queen of the land of Gore, and here also is the Queen of Northgales, and the Queen of Eastland, and the Queen of the Out Isles. Choose, then, at once, for else shall thou abide here, in this prison, till thy death.”
“It is a hard case,” said Sir Lancelot, “that either I must die, or choose one of you for my mistress! Yet had I rather die in this prison than serve any living creature against my will. So take this for my answer. I will serve none of ye, for ye be false enchantresses. And as for my lady, Queen Guinevere, whom lightly ye have spoken of, were I at liberty I would prove it upon you or upon yours she is the truest lady living to her lord the king.”
“Well,” said the queen, “is this your answer, that ye refuse us all?”
“Yea, on my life,” said Lancelot, “refused ye be of me.”
So they departed from him in great wrath, and left him sorrowfully grieving in his dungeon.
At noon the damsel came to him and brought his dinner, and asked him as before, “What cheer?”
“Truly, fair damsel,” said Sir Lancelot, “in all my life never so ill.”
“Sir,” replied she, “I grieve to see ye so, but if ye do as I advise, I can help ye out of this distress, and will do so if you promise me a boon.”
“Fair damsel,” said Sir Lancelot, “right willingly will I grant it thee, for sorely do I dread these four witch-queens, who have destroyed and slain many a good knight with their enchantments.”
Then said the damsel, “Sir, wilt thou promise me to help my father on next Tuesday, for he hath a tournament with the King of Northgales, and last Tuesday lost the field through three knights of King Arthur’s court, who came against him. And if next Tuesday thou wilt aid him, to-morrow, before daylight, by God’s grace, I will deliver thee.”
“Fair maiden,” said Sir Lancelot, “tell me thy father’s name and I will answer thee.”
“My father is King Bagdemagus,” said she.
“I know him well,” replied Sir Lancelot, “for a noble king and a good knight; and by the faith of my body I will do him all the service I am able on that day.”
“Grammercy to thee, Sir knight,” said the damsel.
“To-morrow, when thou art delivered from this place, ride ten miles hence unto an abbey of white monks, and there abide until I bring my father to thee.”
“So be it,” said Sir Lancelot, “as I am a true knight.”
So she departed, and on the morrow, early, came again, and let him out of twelve gates, differently locked, and brought him to his armour; and when he was all armed, she brought him his horse also, and lightly he saddled him, and took a great spear in his hand, and mounted and rode forth, saying, as he went, “Fair damsel, I shall not fail thee, by the grace of God.”
And all that day he rode in a great forest, and could find no highway, and spent the night in the wood; but the next morning found his road, and came to the abbey of white monks. And there he saw King Bagdemagus and his daughter waiting for him. So when they were together in a chamber, Sir Lancelot told the king how he had been betrayed by an enchantment, and how his brother Lionel was gone he knew not where, and how the damsel had delivered him from the castle of Queen Morgan le Fay. “Wherefore while I live,” said he, “I shall do service to herself and all her kindred.”
“Then am I sure of thy aid,” said the king, “on Tuesday now next coming?”
“Yea, sir, I shall not fail thee,” said Sir Lancelot; “but what knights were they who last week defeated thee, and took part with the King of Northgales?”
“Sir Mador de la Port, Sir Modred, and Sir Gahalatine,” replied the king.
“Sir,” said Sir Lancelot, “as I understand, the tournament shall take place but three miles from this abbey; send then to me here, three knights of thine, the best thou hast, and let them all have plain white shields, such as I also will; then will we four come suddenly into the midst between both parties, and fall upon thy enemies, and grieve them all we can, and none will know us who we are.”
So, on the Tuesday, Sir Lancelot and the three knights lodged themselves in a small grove hard by the lists. Then came into the field the King of Northgales, with one hundred and sixty helms, and the three knights of King Arthur’s court, who stood apart by themselves. And when King Bagdemagus had arrived, with eighty helms, both companies set all their spears in rest and came together with a mighty clash, wherein were slain twelve knights of King Bagdemagus, and six of the King of Northgales; and the party of King Bagdemagus was driven back.
With that, came Sir Lancelot, and thrust into the thickest of the press, and smote down with one spear five knights, and brake the backs of four, and cast down the King of Northgales, and brake his thigh by the fall. When the three knights of Arthur’s court saw this, they rode at Sir Lancelot, and each after other attacked him; but he overthrew them all, and smote them nigh to death. Then taking a new spear, he bore down to the ground sixteen more knights, and hurt them all so sorely, that they could carry arms no more that day. And when his spear at length was broken, he took yet another, and smote down twelve knights more, the most of whom he wounded mortally, till in the end the party of the King of Northgales would joust no more, and the victory was cried to King Bagdemagus.
Then Sir Lancelot rode forth with King Bagdemagus to his castle, and there he feasted with great cheer and welcome, and received many royal gifts. And on the morrow he took leave and went to find his brother Lionel.
Anon, by chance, he came to the same forest where the four queens had found him sleeping, and there he met a damsel riding on a white palfrey. When they had saluted each other, Sir Lancelot said, “Fair damsel, knowest thou where any adventures may be had in this country?”
“Sir knight,” said she, “there are adventures great enough close by if thou darest prove them.”
“Why should I not,” said he, “since for that cause I came here?”
“Sir,” said the damsel, “hard by this place there dwelleth a knight that cannot be defeated by any man, so great and perilously strong he is. His name is Sir Turquine, and in the prisons of his castle lie three score knights and four, mostly from King Arthur’s court, whom he hath taken with his own hands. But promise me, ere thou undertakest their deliverance, to go and help me afterwards, and free me and many other ladies that are distressed by a false knight.” “Bring me but to this felon Turquine,” quoth Sir Lancelot, “and I will afterwards fulfil all your wishes.”
So the damsel went before, and brought him to a ford, and a tree whereon a great brass basin hung; and Sir Lancelot beat with his spear-end upon the basin, long and hard, until he beat the bottom of it out, but he saw nothing. Then he rode to and fro before the castle gates for well-nigh half an hour, and anon saw a great knight riding from the distance, driving a horse before him, across which hung an armed man bound. And when they came near, Sir Lancelot knew the prisoner for a knight of the Round Table. By that time, the great knight who drove the prisoner saw Sir Lancelot, and each of them began to settle his spear, and to make ready.
“Fair sir,” then said Sir Lancelot, “put off that wounded knight, I pray thee, from his horse, and let him rest while thou and I shall prove our strength upon each other; for, as I am told, thou doest, and hast done, great shame and injury to knights of the Round Table. Wherefore, I warn thee now, defend thyself.”
“If thou mayest be of the Round Table,” answered Turquine, “I defy thee, and all thy fellows.”
“That is saying overmuch,” said Sir Lancelot.
Then, setting their lances in rest, they spurred their horses towards each other, as fast as they could go, and smote so fearfully upon each other’s shields, that both their horses’ backs brake under them. As soon as they could clear their saddles, they took their shields before them, and drew their swords, and came together eagerly, and fought with great and grievous strokes; and soon they both had many grim and fearful wounds, and bled in streams. Thus they fought two hours and more, thrusting and smiting at each other, wherever they could hit.
Anon, they both were breathless, and stood leaning on their swords.
“Now, comrade,” said Sir Turquine, “let us wait awhile, and answer me what I shall ask thee.”
“Say on,” said Lancelot.
“Thou art,” said Turquine, “the best man I ever met, and seemest like one that I hate above all other knights that live; but if thou be not he, I will make peace with thee, and for sake of thy great valour, will deliver all the three score prisoners and four who lie within my dungeons, and thou and I will be companions evermore. Tell me, then, thy name.”
“Thou sayest well,” replied Sir Lancelot; “but who is he thou hatest so above all others?”
“His name,” said Turquine, “is Sir Lancelot of the Lake; and he slew my brother Sir Carados, at the dolorous tower; wherefore, if ever I shall meet with him, one of us two shall slay the other; and thereto I have sworn by a great oath. And to discover and destroy him I have slain a hundred knights, and crippled utterly as many more, and many have died in my prisons; and now, as I have told thee, I have many more therein, who all shall be delivered, if thou tell me thy name, and it be not Sir Lancelot.”
“Well,” said Lancelot, “I am that knight, son of King Ban of Benwick, and Knight of the Round Table; so now I defy thee to do thy best!”
“Aha!” said Turquine, with a shout, “is it then so at last! Thou art more welcome to my sword than ever knight or lady was to feast, for never shall we part till one of us be dead.”
Then did they hurtle together like two wild bulls, slashing and lashing with their shields and swords, and sometimes falling both on to the ground. For two more hours they fought so, and at the last Sir Turquine grew very faint, and gave a little back, and bare his shield full low for weariness. When Sir Lancelot saw him thus, he leaped upon him fiercely as a lion, and took him by the crest of his helmet, and dragged him to his knees; and then he tore his helmet off and smote his neck asunder.
Then he arose, and went to the damsel who had brought him to Sir Turquine, and said, “I am ready, fair lady, to go with thee upon thy service, but I have no horse.”
“Fair sir,” said she, “take ye this horse of the wounded knight whom Turquine but just now was carrying to his prisons, and send that knight on to deliver all the prisoners.”
So Sir Lancelot went to the knight and prayed him for the loan of his horse.
“Fair lord,” said he, “ye are right welcome, for to-day ye have saved both me and my horse; and I see that ye are the best knight in all the world, for in my sight have ye slain the mightiest man and the best knight, except thyself, I ever saw.”
“Sir,” said Sir Lancelot, “I thank thee well; and now go into yonder castle, where thou shall find many noble knights of the Round Table, for I have seen their shields hung on the trees around. On yonder tree alone there are Sir Key’s, Sir Brandel’s, Sir Marhaus’, Sir Galind’s, and Sir Aliduke’s, and many more; and also my two kinsmen’s shields, Sir Ector de Maris’ and Sir Lionel’s. And I pray you greet them all from me, Sir Lancelot of the Lake, and tell them that I bid them help themselves to any treasures they can find within the castle; and that I pray my brethren, Lionel and Ector, to go to King Arthur’s court and stay there till I come. And by the high feast at Pentecost I must be there; but now I must ride forth with this damsel to fulfil my promise.”
So, as they went, the damsel told him, “Sir, we are now near the place where the foul knight haunteth, who robbeth and distresseth all ladies and gentlewomen travelling past this way, against whom I have sought thy aid.”
Then they arranged that she should ride on foremost, and Sir Lancelot should follow under cover of the trees by the roadside, and if he saw her come to any mishap, he should ride forth and deal with him that troubled her. And as the damsel rode on at a soft ambling pace, a knight and page burst forth from the roadside and forced the damsel from her horse, till she cried out for help.
Then came Sir Lancelot rushing through the wood as fast as he might fly, and all the branches of the trees crackled and waved around him. “O thou false knight and traitor to all knighthood!” shouted he, “who taught thee to distress fair ladies thus?”
The foul knight answered nothing, but drew out his sword and rode at Sir Lancelot, who threw his spear away and drew his own sword likewise, and struck him such a mighty blow as clave his head down to the throat. “Now hast thou the wages thou long hast earned!” said he; and so departed from the damsel.
Then for two days he rode in a great forest, and had but scanty food and lodging, and on the third day he rode over a long bridge, when suddenly there started up a passing foul churl, and smote his horse across the nose, so that he started and turned back, rearing with pain. “Why ridest thou over here without my leave?” said he.
“Why should I not?” said Sir Lancelot; “there is no other way to ride.”
“Thou shalt not pass by here,” cried out the churl, and dashed at him with a great club full of iron spikes, till Sir Lancelot was fain to draw his sword and smite him dead upon the earth.
At the end of the bridge was a fair village, and all the people came and cried, “Ah, sir! a worse deed for thyself thou never didst, for thou hast slain the chief porter of the castle yonder!” But he let them talk as they pleased, and rode straight forward to the castle.
There he alighted, and tied his horse to a ring in the wall; and going in, he saw a wide green court, and thought it seemed a noble place to fight in. And as he looked about, he saw many people watching him from doors and windows, making signs of warning, and saying, “Fair knight, thou art unhappy.” In the next moment came upon him two great giants, well armed save their heads, and with two horrible clubs in their hands. Then he put his shield before him, and with it warded off one giant’s stroke, and clove the other with his sword from the head downward to the chest. When the first giant saw that, he ran away mad with fear; but Sir Lancelot ran after him, and smote him through the shoulder, and shore him down his back, so that he fell dead.
Then he walked onward to the castle hall, and saw a band of sixty ladies and young damsels coming forth, who knelt to him, and thanked him for their freedom. “For, sir,” said they, “the most of us have been prisoners here these seven years; and have been kept at all manner of work to earn our meat, though we be all great gentlewomen born. Blessed be the time that thou wast born, for never did a knight a deed of greater worship than thou hast this day, and thereto will we all bear witness in all times and places! Tell us, therefore, noble knight, thy name and court, that we may tell them to our friends!” And when they heard it, they all cried aloud, “Well may it be so, for we knew that no knight save thou shouldst ever overcome those giants; and many a long day have we sighed for thee; for the giants feared no other name among all knights but thine.”
Then he told them to take the treasures of the castle as a reward for their grievances, and to return to their homes, and so rode away into many strange and wild countries. And at last, after many days, by chance he came, near the night time, to a fair mansion, wherein he found an old gentlewoman, who gave him and his horse good cheer. And when bed time was come, his host brought him to a chamber over a gate, and there he unarmed, and went to bed and fell asleep.
But soon thereafter came one riding in great haste, and knocking vehemently at the gate below, which when Sir Lancelot heard, he rose and looked out of the window, and, by the moonlight, saw three knights come riding fiercely after one man, and lashing on him all at once with their swords, while the one knight nobly fought all.
Then Sir Lancelot quickly armed himself, and getting through the window, let himself down by a sheet into the midst of them, crying out, “Turn ye on me, ye cowards, and leave fighting with that knight!” Then they all left Sir Key, for the first knight was he, and began to fall upon Sir Lancelot furiously. And when Sir Key would have come forward to assist him, Sir Lancelot refused, and cried, “Leave me alone to deal with them.” And presently, with six great strokes, he felled them all.
Then they cried out, “Sir knight, we yield us unto thee, as to a man of might!”
“I will not take your yielding!” said he; “yield ye to Sir Key, the seneschal, or I will have your lives.”
“Fair knight,” said they, “excuse us in that thing, for we have chased Sir Key thus far, and should have overcome him but for thee.”
“Well,” said Sir Lancelot, “do as ye will, for ye may live or die; but, if ye live, ye shall be holden to Sir Key.”
Then they yielded to him; and Sir Lancelot commanded them to go unto King Arthur’s court at the next Pentecost, and say, Sir Key had sent them prisoners to Queen Guinevere. And this they sware to do upon their swords.
Then Sir Lancelot knocked at the gate with his sword-hilt till his hostess came and let him in again, and Sir Key also. And when the light came, Sir Key knew Sir Lancelot, and knelt and thanked him for his courtesy, and gentleness, and kindness. “Sir,” said he, “I have done no more than what I ought to do, and ye are welcome; therefore let us now take rest.”
So when Sir Key had supped, they went to sleep, and Sir Lancelot and he slept in the same bed. On the morrow, Sir Lancelot rose early, and took Sir Key’s shield and armour and set forth. When Sir Key arose, he found Sir Lancelot’s armour by his bedside, and his own arms gone. “Now, by my faith,” thought he, “I know that he will grieve some knights of our king’s court; for those who meet him will be bold to joust with him, mistaking him for me, while I, dressed in his shield and armour, shall surely ride in peace.”
Then Sir Lancelot, dressed in Sir Key’s apparel, rode long in a great forest, and came at last to a low country, full of rivers and fair meadows, and saw a bridge before him, whereon were three silk tents of divers colours, and to each tent was hung a white shield, and by each shield stood a knight. So Sir Lancelot went by without speaking a word. And when he had passed, the three knights said it was the proud Sir Key, “who thinketh no knight equal to himself, although the contrary is full often proved upon him.”
“By my faith!” said one of them, named Gaunter, “I will ride after and attack him for all his pride, and ye shall watch my speed.”
Then, taking shield and spear, he mounted and rode after Sir Lancelot, and cried, “Abide, proud knight, and turn, for thou shalt not pass free!”
So Sir Lancelot turned, and each one put his spear in rest and came with all his might against the other. And Sir Gaunter’s spear brake short, but Sir Lancelot smote him down, both horse and man.
When the other knights saw this, they said, “Yonder is not Sir Key, but a bigger man.”
“I dare wager my head,” said Sir Gilmere, “yonder knight hath slain Sir Key, and taken his horse and harness.”
“Be it so, or not,” said Sir Reynold, the third brother; “let us now go to our brother Gaunter’s rescue; we shall have enough to do to match that knight, for, by his stature, I believe it is Sir Lancelot or Sir Tristram.”
Anon, they took their horses and galloped after Sir Lancelot; and Sir Gilmere first assailed him, but was smitten down forthwith, and lay stunned on the earth. Then said Sir Reynold, “Sir knight, thou art a strong man, and, I believe, hast slain my two brothers, wherefore my heart is sore against thee; yet, if I might with honour, I would avoid thee. Nevertheless, that cannot be, so keep thyself.” And so they hurtled together with all their might, and each man shivered his spear to pieces; and then they drew their swords and lashed out eagerly.
And as they fought, Sir Gaunter and Sir Gilmere presently arose and mounted once again, and came down at full tilt upon Sir Lancelot. But, when he saw them coming, he put forth all his strength, and struck Sir Reynold off his horse. Then, with two other strokes, he served the others likewise.
Anon, Sir Reynold crept along the ground, with his head all bloody, and came towards Sir Lancelot. “It is enough,” said Lancelot, “I was not far from thee when thou wast made a knight, Sir Reynold, and know thee for a good and valiant man, and was full loth to slay thee.”
“Grammercy for thy gentleness!” said Sir Reynold. “I and my brethren will straightway yield to thee when we know thy name, for well we know that thou art not Sir Key.”
“As for that,” said Sir Lancelot, “be it as it may, but ye shall yield to Queen Guinevere at the next feast of Pentecost as prisoners, and say that Sir Key sent ye.”
Then they swore to him it should be done as he commanded. And so Sir Lancelot passed on, and the three brethren helped each other’s wounds as best they might.
Then rode Sir Lancelot forward into a deep forest, and came upon four knights of King Arthur’s court, under an oak tree—Sir Sagramour, Sir Ector, Sir Gawain, and Sir Ewaine. And when they spied him, they thought he was Sir Key. “Now by my faith,” said Sir Sagramour, “I will prove Sir Key’s might!” and taking his spear he rode towards Sir Lancelot.
But Sir Lancelot was aware of him, and, setting his spear in rest, smote him so sorely, that horse and man fell to the earth.
“Lo!” cried Sir Ector, “I see by the buffet that knight hath given our fellow he is stronger than Sir Key. Now will I try what I can do against him!” So Sir Ector took his spear, and galloped at Sir Lancelot; and Sir Lancelot met him as he came, and smote him through shield and shoulder, so that he fell, but his own spear was not broken.
“By my faith,” cried Sir Ewaine, “yonder is a strong knight, and must have slain Sir Key, and taken his armour! By his strength, I see it will be hard to match him.” So saying he rode towards Sir Lancelot, who met him halfway and struck him so fiercely, that at one blow he overthrew him also.
“Now,” said Sir Gawain, “will I encounter him.” So he took a good spear in his hand, and guarded himself with his shield. And he and Sir Lancelot rode against each other, with their horses at full speed, and furiously smote each other on the middle of their shields; but Sir Gawain’s spear broke short asunder, and Sir Lancelot charged so mightily upon him, that his horse and he both fell, and rolled upon the ground.
“Ah,” said Sir Lancelot, smiling, as he rode away from the four knights, “heaven give joy to him who made this spear, for never held I better in my hand.”
But the four knights said to each other, “Truly one spear hath felled us all.”
“I dare lay my life,” said Sir Gawain, “it is Sir Lancelot. I know him by his riding.”
So they all departed for the court.
And as Sir Lancelot rode still in the forest, he saw a black bloodhound, running with its head towards the ground, as if it tracked a deer. And following after it, he came to a great pool of blood. But the hound, ever and anon looking behind, ran through a great marsh, and over a bridge, towards an old manor house. So Sir Lancelot followed, and went into the hall, and saw a dead knight lying there, whose wounds the hound licked. And a lady stood behind him, weeping and wringing her hands, who cried, “O knight! too great is the sorrow which thou hast brought me!”
“Why say ye so?” replied Sir Lancelot; “for I never harmed this knight, and am full sorely grieved to see thy sorrow.”
“Nay, sir,” said the lady, “I see it is not thou hast slain my husband, for he that truly did that deed is deeply wounded, and shall never more recover.”
“What is thy husband’s name?” said Sir Lancelot.
“His name,” she answered, “was Sir Gilbert—one of the best knights in all the world; but I know not his name who hath slain him.”
“God send thee comfort,” said Sir Lancelot, and departed again into the forest.
And as he rode, he met with a damsel who knew him, who cried out, “Well found, my lord! I pray ye of your knighthood help my brother, who is sore wounded and ceases not to bleed, for he fought this day with Sir Gilbert, and slew him, but was himself well nigh slain. And there is a sorceress, who dwelleth in a castle hard by, and she this day hath told me that my brother’s wound shall never be made whole until I find a knight to go into the Chapel Perilous, and bring from thence a sword and the bloody cloth in which the wounded knight was wrapped.”
“This is a marvellous thing!” said Sir Lancelot; “but what is your brother’s name?”
“His name, sir,” she replied, “is Sir Meliot de Logres.”
“He is a Fellow of the Round Table,” said Sir Lancelot, “and truly will I do my best to help him.”
“Then, sir,” said she, “follow this way, and it will bring ye to the Chapel Perilous. I will abide here till God send ye hither again; for if ye speed not, there is no living knight who may achieve that adventure.”
So Sir Lancelot departed, and when he came to the Chapel Perilous he alighted, and tied his horse to the gate. And as soon as he was within the churchyard, he saw on the front of the chapel many shields of knights whom he had known, turned upside down. Then saw he in the pathway thirty mighty knights, taller than any men whom he had ever seen, all armed in black armour, with their swords drawn; and they gnashed their teeth upon him as he came. But he put his shield before him, and took his sword in hand, ready to do battle with them. And when he would have cut his way through them, they scattered on every side and let him pass. Then he went into the chapel, and saw therein no light but of a dim lamp burning. Then he was aware of a corpse in the midst of the chapel, covered with a silken cloth, and so stooped down and cut off a piece of the cloth, whereat the earth beneath him trembled. Then saw he a sword lying by the dead knight, and taking it in his hand, he hied him from the chapel. As soon as he was in the churchyard again, all the thirty knights cried out to him with fierce voices, “Sir Lancelot! lay that sword from thee, or thou diest!”
“Whether I live or die,” said he, “ye shall fight for it ere ye take it from me.”
With that they let him pass.
And further on, beyond the chapel, he met a fair damsel, who said, “Sir Lancelot, leave that sword behind thee, or thou diest.”
“I will not leave it,” said Sir Lancelot, “for any asking.”
“Then, gentle knight,” said the damsel, “I pray thee kiss me once.”
“Nay,” said Sir Lancelot, “that God forbid!”
“Alas!” cried she, “I have lost all my labour! but hadst thou kissed me, thy life’s days had been all done!”
“Heaven save me from thy subtle crafts!” said Sir Lancelot; and therewith took his horse and galloped forth.
And when he was departed, the damsel sorrowed greatly, and died in fifteen days. Her name was Ellawes, the sorceress.
Then came Sir Lancelot to Sir Meliot’s sister, who, when she saw him, clapped her hands and wept for joy, and took him to the castle hard by, where Sir Meliot was. And when Sir Lancelot saw Sir Meliot, he knew him, though he was pale as ashes for loss of blood. And Sir Meliot, when he saw Sir Lancelot, kneeled to him and cried aloud, “O lord, Sir Lancelot! help me!”
And thereupon, Sir Lancelot went to him and touched his wounds with the sword, and wiped them with the piece of bloody cloth. And immediately he was as whole as though he had been never wounded. Then was there great joy between him and Sir Meliot; and his sister made Sir Lancelot good cheer. So on the morrow, he took his leave, that he might go to King Arthur’s court, “for,” said he, “it draweth nigh the feast of Pentecost, and there, by God’s grace, shall ye then find me.”
And riding through many strange countries, over marshes and valleys, he came at length before a castle. As he passed by he heard two little bells ringing, and looking up, he saw a falcon flying overhead, with bells tied to her feet, and long strings dangling from them. And as the falcon flew past an elm-tree, the strings caught in the boughs, so that she could fly no further.
In the meanwhile, came a lady from the castle and cried, “Oh, Sir Lancelot! as thou art the flower of all knights in the world, help me to get my hawk, for she hath slipped away from me, and if she be lost, my lord my husband is so hasty, he will surely slay me!”
“What is thy lord’s name?” said Sir Lancelot.
“His name,” said she, “is Sir Phelot, a knight of the King of Northgales.”
“Fair lady,” said Sir Lancelot, “since you know my name, and require me, on my knighthood, to help you, I will do what I can to get your hawk.”
And thereupon alighting, he tied his horse to the same tree, and prayed the lady to unarm him. So when he was unarmed, he climbed up and reached the falcon, and threw it to the lady.
Then suddenly came down, out of the wood, her husband, Sir Phelot, all armed, with a drawn sword in his hand, and said, “Oh, Sir Lancelot! now have I found thee as I would have thee!” and stood at the trunk of the tree to slay him.
“Ah, lady!” cried Sir Lancelot, “why have ye betrayed me?”
“She hath done as I commanded her,” said Sir Phelot, “and thine hour is come that thou must die.”
“It were shame,” said Lancelot, “for an armed to slay an unarmed man.”
“Thou hast no other favour from me,” said Sir Phelot.
“Alas!” cried Sir Lancelot, “that ever any knight should die weaponless!” And looking overhead, he saw a great bough without leaves, and wrenched it off the tree, and suddenly leaped down. Then Sir Phelot struck at him eagerly, thinking to have slain him, but Sir Lancelot put aside the stroke with the bough, and therewith smote him on the side of the head, till he fell swooning to the ground. And tearing his sword from out his hands, he shore his neck through from the body. Then did the lady shriek dismally, and swooned as though she would die. But Sir Lancelot put on his armour, and with haste took his horse and departed thence, thanking God he had escaped that peril.
And as he rode through a valley, among many wild ways, he saw a knight, with a drawn sword, chasing a lady to slay her. And seeing Sir Lancelot, she cried and prayed to him to come and rescue her.
At that he went up, saying, “Fie on thee, knight! why wilt thou slay this lady? Thou doest shame to thyself and all knights.”
“What hast thou to do between me and my wife?” replied the knight. “I will slay her in spite of thee.”
“Thou shall not harm her,” said Sir Lancelot, “till we have first fought together.”
“Sir,” answered the knight, “thou doest ill, for this lady hath betrayed me.”
“He speaketh falsely,” said the lady, “for he is jealous of me without cause, as I shall answer before Heaven; but as thou art named the most worshipful knight in the world, I pray thee of thy true knighthood to save me, for he is without mercy.”
“Be of good cheer,” said Sir Lancelot; “it shall not lie within his power to harm thee.”
“Sir,” said the knight, “I will be ruled as ye will have me.”
So Sir Lancelot rode between the knight and the lady. And when they had ridden awhile, the knight cried out suddenly to Sir Lancelot to turn and see what men they were who came riding after them; and while Sir Lancelot, thinking not of treason, turned to look, the knight, with one great stroke, smote off the lady’s head.
Then was Sir Lancelot passing wroth, and cried, “Thou traitor! Thou hast shamed me for ever!” and, alighting from his horse, he drew his sword to have slain him instantly; but the knight fell on the ground and clasped Sir Lancelot’s knees, and cried out for mercy. “Thou shameful knight,” answered Lancelot, “thou mayest have no mercy, for thou showedst none, therefore arise and fight with me.”
“Nay,” said the knight, “I will not rise till thou dost grant me mercy.”
“Now will I deal fairly by thee,” said Sir Lancelot; “I will unarm me to my shirt, and have my sword only in my hand, and if thou canst slay me thou shall be quit for ever.”
“That will I never do,” said the knight.
“Then,” answered Sir Lancelot, “take this lady and the head, and bear it with thee, and swear to me upon thy sword never to rest until thou comest to Queen Guinevere.”
“That will I do,” said he.
“Now,” said Sir Lancelot, “tell me thy name.”
“It is Pedivere,” answered the knight.
“In a shameful hour wert thou born,” said Sir Lancelot.
So Sir Pedivere departed, bearing with him the dead lady and her head. And when he came to Winchester, where the Queen was with King Arthur, he told them all the truth; and afterwards did great and heavy penance many years, and became an holy hermit.
So, two days before the Feast of Pentecost, Sir Lancelot returned to the court, and King Arthur was full glad of his coming. And when Sir Gawain, Sir Ewaine, Sir Sagramour, and Sir Ector, saw him in Sir Key’s armour, they knew well it was he who had smitten them all down with one spear. Anon, came all the knights Sir Turquine had taken prisoners, and gave worship and honour to Sir Lancelot. Then Sir Key told the King how Sir Lancelot had rescued him when he was in near danger of his death; “and,” said Sir Key, “he made the knights yield, not to himself, but me. And by Heaven! because Sir Lancelot took my armour and left me his, I rode in peace, and no man would have aught to do with me.” Then came the knights who fought with Sir Lancelot at the long bridge and yielded themselves also to Sir Key, but he said nay, he had not fought with them. “It is Sir Lancelot,” said he, “that overcame ye.” Next came Sir Meliot de Logres, and told King Arthur how Sir Lancelot had saved him from death.
And so all Sir Lancelot’s deeds and great adventures were made known; how the four sorceress-queens had him in prison; how he was delivered by the daughter of King Bagdemagus, and what deeds of arms he did at the tournament between the King of North Wales and King Bagdemagus. And so, at that festival, Sir Lancelot had the greatest name of any knight in all the world, and by high and low was he the most honoured of all men.
CHAPTER X
Adventures of Sir Beaumains or Sir Gareth
gain King Arthur held the Feast of Pentecost, with all the Table Round, and after his custom sat in the banquet hall, before beginning meat, waiting for some adventure. Then came there to the king a squire and said, “Lord, now may ye go to meat, for here a damsel cometh with some strange adventure.” So the king was glad, and sat down to meat.
Anon the damsel came in and saluted him, praying him for succour. “What wilt thou?” said the king. “Lord,” answered she, “my mistress is a lady of great renown, but is at this time besieged by a tyrant, who will not suffer her to go out of her castle; and because here in thy court the knights are called the noblest in the world, I come to pray thee for thy succour.” “Where dwelleth your lady?” answered the king. “What is her name, and who is he that hath besieged her?” “For her name,” replied the damsel, “as yet I may not tell it; but she is a lady of worship and great lands. The tyrant that besiegeth her and wasteth her lands is called the Red Knight of the Redlands.” “I know him not,” said Arthur. “But I know him, lord,” said Sir Gawain, “and he is one of the most perilous knights in all the world. Men say he hath the strength of seven; and from him I myself once hardly escaped with life.” “Fair damsel,” said the king, “there be here many knights that would gladly do their uttermost to rescue your lady, but unless ye tell me her name, and where she dwelleth, none of my knights shall go with you by my leave.”
Now, there was a stripling at the court called Beaumains, who served in the king’s kitchen, a fair youth and of great stature. Twelve months before this time he had come to the king as he sat at meat, at Whitsuntide, and prayed three gifts of him. And being asked what gifts, he answered, “As for the first gift I will ask it now, but the other two gifts I will ask on this day twelve months, wheresoever ye hold your high feast.” Then said King Arthur, “What is thy first request?” “This, lord,” said he, “that thou wilt give me meat and drink enough for twelve months from this time, and then will I ask my other two gifts.” And the king seeing that he was a goodly youth, and deeming that he was come of honourable blood, had granted his desire, and given him into the charge of Sir Key, the steward. But Sir Key scorned and mocked the youth, calling him Beaumains, because his hands were large and fair, and putting him into the kitchen, where he had served for twelve months as a scullion, and, in spite of all his churlish treatment, had faithfully obeyed Sir Key. But Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain were angered when they saw Sir Key so churlish to a youth that had so worshipful a bearing, and ofttimes had they given him gold and clothing.
And now at this time came young Beaumains to the king, while the damsel was there, and said, “Lord, now I thank thee well and heartily that I have been twelve months kept in thy kitchen, and have had full sustenance. Now will I ask my two remaining gifts.” “Ask,” said King Arthur, “on my good faith.” “These, lord,” said he, “shall be my two gifts—the one, that thou wilt grant me this adventure of the damsel, for to me of right it belongeth; and the other, that thou wilt bid Sir Lancelot make me a knight, for of him only will I have that honour; and I pray that he may ride after me and make me a knight when I require him.” “Be it as thou wilt,” replied the king. But thereupon the damsel was full wroth, and said, “Shall I have a kitchen page for this adventure?” and so she took horse and departed.
Then came one to Beaumains, and told him that a dwarf with a horse and armour were waiting for him. And all men marvelled whence these things came. But when he was on horseback and armed, scarce any one at the court was a goodlier man than he. And coming into the hall, he took his leave of the king and Sir Gawain, and prayed Sir Lancelot to follow him. So he rode after the damsel, and many of the court went out to see him, so richly arrayed and horsed; yet he had neither shield nor spear. Then Sir Key cried, “I also will ride after the kitchen boy, and see whether he will obey me now.” And taking his horse, he rode after him, and said, “Know ye not me, Beaumains?” “Yea,” said he, “I know thee for an ungentle knight, therefore beware of me.” Then Sir Key put his spear in rest and ran at him, but Beaumains rushed upon him with his sword in his hand, and therewith, putting aside the spear, struck Sir Key so sorely in the side, that he fell down, as if dead. Then he alighted, and took his shield and spear, and bade his dwarf ride upon Sir Key’s horse.
By this time, Sir Lancelot had come up, and Beaumains offering to tilt with him, they both made ready. And their horses came together so fiercely that both fell to the earth, full sorely bruised. Then they arose, and Beaumains, putting up his shield before him, offered to fight Sir Lancelot, on foot. So they rushed upon each other, striking, and thrusting, and parrying, for the space of an hour. And Lancelot marvelled at the strength of Beaumains, for he fought more like a giant than a man, and his fighting was passing fierce and terrible. So, at the last, he said, “Fight not so sorely, Beaumains; our quarrel is not such that we may not now cease.” “True,” answered Beaumains; “yet it doth me good to feel thy might, though I have not yet proved my uttermost.” “By my faith,” said Lancelot, “I had as much as I could do to save myself from you unshamed, therefore be in no doubt of any earthly knight.” “May I, then, stand as a proved knight?” said Beaumains. “For that will I be thy warrant,” answered Lancelot. “Then, I pray thee,” said he, “give me the order of knighthood.” “First, then, must thou tell me of thy name and kindred,” said Sir Lancelot. “If thou wilt tell them to no other, I will tell thee,” answered he. “My name is Gareth of Orkney, and I am own brother to Sir Gawain.” “Ah!” said Sir Lancelot, “at that am I full glad; for, truly, I deemed thee to be of gentle blood.” So then he knighted Beaumains, and, after that, they parted company, and Sir Lancelot, returning to the court, took up Sir Key on his shield. And hardly did Sir Key escape with his life, from the wound Beaumains had given him; but all men blamed him for his ungentle treatment of so brave a knight.
Then Sir Beaumains rode forward, and soon overtook the damsel; but she said to him, in scorn, “Return again, base kitchen page! What art thou, but a washer-up of dishes!” “Damsel,” said he, “say to me what thou wilt, I will not leave thee; for I have undertaken to King Arthur to relieve thy adventure, and I will finish it to the end, or die.” “Thou finish my adventure!” said she—“anon, thou shalt meet one, whose face thou wilt not even dare to look at.” “I shall attempt it,” answered he. So, as they rode thus, into a wood, there met them a man, fleeing, as for his life. “Whither fleest thou?” said Sir Beaumains. “O lord!” he answered, “help me; for, in a valley hard by, there are six thieves, who have taken my lord, and bound him, and I fear will slay him.” “Bring me thither,” said Sir Beaumains. So they rode to the place, and Sir Beaumains rushed after the thieves, and smote one, at the first stroke, so that he died; and then, with two other blows, slew a second and third. Then fled the other three, and Sir Beaumains rode after them, and overtook and slew them all. Then he returned and unbound the knight. And the knight thanked him, and prayed him to ride to his castle, where he would reward him. “Sir,” answered Sir Beaumains, “I will have no reward of thee, for but this day was I made knight by the most noble Sir Lancelot; and besides, I must go with this damsel.” Then the knight begged the damsel to rest that night at his castle. So they all rode thither, and ever the damsel scoffed at Sir Beaumains as a kitchen boy, and laughed at him before the knight their host, so that he set his meat before him at a lower table, as though he were not of their company.
And on the morrow, the damsel and Sir Beaumains took their leave of the knight, and thanking him departed. Then they rode on their way till they came to a great forest, through which flowed a river, and there was but one passage over it, whereat stood two knights armed to hinder the way. “Wilt thou match those two knights,” said the damsel to Sir Beaumains, “or return again?” “I would not return,” said he, “though they were six.” Therewith he galloped into the water, and swam his horse into the middle of the stream. And there, in the river, one of the knights met him, and they brake their spears together, and then drew their swords, and smote fiercely at each other. And at the last, Sir Beaumains struck the other mightily upon the helm, so that he fell down stunned into the water, and was drowned. Then Sir Beaumains spurred his horse on to the land, where instantly the other knight fell on him. And they also brake their spears upon each other, and then drew their swords, and fought savagely and long together. And after many blows, Sir Beaumains clove through the knight’s skull down to the shoulders. Then rode Sir Beaumains to the damsel, but ever she still scoffed at him, and said, “Alas! that a kitchen page should chance to slay two such brave knights! Thou deemest now that thou hast done a mighty deed, but it is not so; for the first knight’s horse stumbled, and thus was he drowned—not by thy strength; and as for the second knight, thou wentest by chance behind him, and didst kill him shamefully.” “Damsel,” said Sir Beaumains, “say what ye list, I care not so I may win your lady; and wouldst thou give me but fair language, all my care were past; for whatsoever knights I meet, I fear them not.” “Thou shalt see knights that shall abate thy boast, base kitchen knave,” replied she; “yet say I this for thine advantage, for if thou followest me thou wilt be surely slain, since I see all thou doest is but by chance, and not by thy own prowess.” “Well damsel,” said he, “say what ye will, wherever ye go I will follow.”
So they rode on until the eventide, and still the damsel evermore kept chiding Sir Beaumains. Then came they to a black space of land, whereon was a black hawthorn tree, and on the tree there hung a black banner, and on the other side was a black shield and spear, and by them a great black horse, covered with silk; and hard by sat a knight armed in black armour, whose name was the Knight of the Blacklands. When the damsel saw him, she cried out to Beaumains, “Flee down the valley, for thy horse is not saddled!” “Wilt thou for ever deem me coward?” answered he. With that came the Black Knight to the damsel, and said, “Fair damsel, hast thou brought this knight from Arthur’s court to be thy champion?” “Not so, fair knight,” said she; “he is but a kitchen knave.” “Then wherefore cometh he in such array?” said he; “it is a shame that he should bear thee company.” “I cannot be delivered from him,” answered she: “for in spite of me he rideth with me; and would to Heaven you would put him from me, or now slay him, for he hath slain two knights at the river passage yonder, and done many marvellous deeds through pure mischance.” “I marvel,” said the Black Knight, “that any man of worship will fight with him.” “They know him not,” said the damsel, “and think, because he rideth with me, that he is well born.” “Truly, he hath a goodly person, and is likely to be a strong man,” replied the knight; “but since he is no man of worship, he shall leave his horse and armour with me, for it were a shame for me to do him more harm.”
When Sir Beaumains heard him speak thus, he said, “Horse or armour gettest thou none of me, Sir knight, save thou winnest them with thy hands; therefore defend thyself, and let me see what thou canst do.” “How sayest thou?” answered the Black Knight. “Now quit this lady also, for it beseemeth not a kitchen knave like thee to ride with such a lady.” “I am of higher lineage than thou,” said Sir Beaumains, “and will straightway prove it on thy body.” Then furiously they drove their horses at each other, and came together as it had been thunder. But the Black Knight’s spear brake short, and Sir Beaumains thrust him through the side, and his spear breaking at the head, left its point sticking fast in the Black Knight’s body. Yet did the Black Knight draw his sword, and smite at Sir Beaumains with many fierce and bitter blows; but after they had fought an hour and more, he fell down from his horse in a swoon, and forthwith died. Then Sir Beaumains lighted down and armed himself in the Black Knight’s armour, and rode on after the damsel. But notwithstanding all his valour, still she scoffed at him, and said, “Away! for thou savourest ever of the kitchen. Alas! that such a knave should by mishap destroy so good a knight; yet once again I counsel thee to flee, for hard by is a knight who shall repay thee!” “It may chance that I am beaten or slain,” answered Sir Beaumains, “but I warn thee, fair damsel, that I will not flee away, nor leave thy company or my quest, for all that ye can say.”
Anon, as they rode, they saw a knight come swiftly towards them, dressed all in green, who, calling to the damsel said, “Is that my brother, the Black Knight, that ye have brought with you?” “Nay, and alas!” said she, “this kitchen knave hath slain thy brother through mischance.” “Alas!” said the Green Knight, “that such a noble knight as he was should be slain by a knave’s hand. Traitor!” cried he to Sir Beaumains, “thou shalt die for this! Sir Pereard was my brother, and a full noble knight.” “I defy thee,” said Sir Beaumains, “for I slew him knightly and not shamefully.” Then the Green Knight rode to a thorn whereon hung a green horn, and, when he blew three notes, there came three damsels forth, who quickly armed him, and brought him a great horse and a green shield and spear. Then did they run at one another with their fullest might, and break their spears asunder; and, drawing their swords, they closed in fight, and sorely smote and wounded each other with many grievous blows.
At last, Sir Beaumains’ horse jostled against the Green Knight’s horse, and overthrew him. Then both alighted, and, hurtling together like mad lions, fought a great while on foot. But the damsel cheered the Green Knight, and said, “My lord, why wilt thou let a kitchen knave so long stand up against thee?” Hearing these words, he was ashamed, and gave Sir Beaumains such a mighty stroke as clave his shield asunder. When Sir Beaumains heard the damsel’s words, and felt that blow, he waxed passing wroth, and gave the Green Knight such a buffet on the helm that he fell on his knees, and with another blow Sir Beaumains threw him on the ground. Then the Green Knight yielded, and prayed him to spare his life. “All thy prayers are vain,” said he, “unless this damsel who came with me pray for thee.” “That will I never do, base kitchen knave,” said she. “Then shall he die,” said Beaumains. “Alas! fair lady,” said the Green Knight, “suffer me not to die for a word! O, Sir knight,” cried he to Beaumains, “give me my life, and I will ever do thee homage; and thirty knights, who owe me service, shall give allegiance to thee.” “All availeth not,” answered Sir Beaumains, “unless the damsel ask me for thy life;” and thereupon he made as though he would have slain him. Then cried the damsel, “Slay him not; for if thou do thou shalt repent it.” “Damsel,” said Sir Beaumains, “at thy command, he shall obtain his life. Arise, Sir knight of the green armour, I release thee!” Then the Green Knight knelt at his feet, and did him homage with his words. “Lodge with me this night,” said he, “and to-morrow will I guide ye through the forest.” So, taking their horses, they rode to his castle, which was hard by.
Yet still did the damsel rebuke and scoff at Sir Beaumains, and would not suffer him to sit at her table. “I marvel,” said the Green Knight to her, “that ye thus chide so noble a knight, for truly I know none to match him; and be sure, that whatsoever he appeareth now, he will prove, at the end, of noble blood and royal lineage.” But of all this would the damsel take no heed, and ceased not to mock at Sir Beaumains. On the morrow, they arose and heard mass; and when they had broken their fast, took their horses and rode on their way, the Green Knight conveying them through the forest. Then, when he had led them for a while, he said to Sir Beaumains, “My lord, my thirty knights and I shall always be at thy command whensoever thou shalt send for us.” “It is well said,” replied he; “and when I call upon you, you shall yield yourself and all your knights unto King Arthur.” “That will we gladly do,” said the Green Knight, and so departed.
And the damsel rode on before Sir Beaumains, and said to him, “Why dost thou follow me, thou kitchen boy? I counsel thee to throw aside thy spear and shield, and flee betimes, for wert thou as mighty as Sir Lancelot or Sir Tristram, thou shouldest not pass a valley near this place, called the Pass Perilous.” “Damsel,” answered he, “let him that feareth flee; as for me, it were indeed a shameful thing to turn after so long a journey.” As he spake, they came upon a tower as white as snow, with mighty battlements, and double moats round it, and over the tower-gate hung fifty shields of divers colours. Before the tower walls, they saw a fair meadow, wherein were many knights and squires in pavilions, for on the morrow there was a tournament at that castle.
Then the lord of the castle, seeing a knight armed at all points, with a damsel and a page, riding towards the tower, came forth to meet them; and his horse and harness, with his shield and spear, were all of a red colour. When he came near Sir Beaumains, and saw his armour all of black, he thought him his own brother, the Black Knight, and so cried aloud, “Brother! what do ye here, within these borders?” “Nay!” said the damsel, “it is not thy brother, but a kitchen knave of Arthur’s court, who hath slain thy brother, and overcome thy other brother also, the Green Knight.” “Now do I defy thee!” cried the Red Knight to Sir Beaumains, and put his spear in rest and spurred his horse. Then both knights turned back a little space, and ran together with all their might, till their horses fell to the earth. Then, with their swords, they fought fiercely for the space of three hours. And at last, Sir Beaumains overcame his foe, and smote him to the ground. Then the Red Knight prayed his mercy, and said, “Slay me not, noble knight, and I will yield to thee with sixty knights that do my bidding.” “All avails not,” answered Sir Beaumains, “save this damsel pray me to release thee.” Then did he lift his sword to slay him; but the damsel cried aloud, “Slay him not, Beaumains, for he is a noble knight.” Then Sir Beaumains bade him rise up and thank the damsel, which straightway he did, and afterwards invited them to his castle, and made them goodly cheer.
But notwithstanding all Sir Beaumains’ mighty deeds, the damsel ceased not to revile and chide him, at which the Red Knight marvelled much; and caused his sixty knights to watch Sir Beaumains, that no villainy might happen to him. And on the morrow, they heard mass and broke their fast, and the Red Knight came before Sir Beaumains, with his sixty knights, and proffered him homage and fealty. “I thank thee,” answered he; “and when I call upon thee thou shalt come before my lord King Arthur at his court, and yield yourselves to him.” “That will we surely do,” said the Red Knight. So Sir Beaumains and the damsel departed.
And as she constantly reviled him and tormented him, he said to her, “Damsel, ye are discourteous thus always to rebuke me, for I have done you service; and for all your threats of knights that shall destroy me, all they who come lie in the dust before me. Now, therefore, I pray you rebuke me no more till you see me beaten or a recreant, and then bid me go from you.” “There shall soon meet thee a knight who shall repay thee all thy deeds, thou boaster,” answered she, “for, save King Arthur, he is the man of most worship in the world.” “It will be the greater honour to encounter him,” said Sir Beaumains.
Soon after, they saw before them a city passing fair, and between them and the city was a meadow newly mown, wherein were many goodly tents. “Seest thou yonder blue pavilion?” said the damsel to Sir Beaumains; “it is Sir Perseant’s, the lord of that great city, whose custom is, in all fair weather, to lie in this meadow, and joust with his knights.”
And as she spake, Sir Perseant, who had espied them coming, sent a messenger to meet Sir Beaumains, and to ask him if he came in war or peace. “Say to thy lord,” he answered, “that I care not whether of the twain it be.” So when the messenger gave this reply, Sir Perseant came out to fight with Sir Beaumains. And making ready, they rode their steeds against each other; and when their spears were shivered asunder, they fought with their swords. And for more than two hours did they hack and hew at each other, till their shields and hauberks were all dinted with many blows, and they themselves were sorely wounded. And at the last, Sir Beaumains smote Sir Perseant on the helm, so that he fell grovelling on the earth. And when he unlaced his helm to slay him, the damsel prayed for his life. “That will I grant gladly,” answered Sir Beaumains, “for it were pity such a noble knight should die.” “Grammercy!” said Sir Perseant, “for now I certainly know that it was thou who slewest my brother, the Black Knight, Sir Pereard; and overcame my brothers, the Green Knight, Sir Pertolope, and the Red Knight, Sir Perimones; and since thou hast overcome me also, I will do thee homage and fealty, and place at thy command one hundred knights to do thy bidding.”
But when the damsel saw Sir Perseant overthrown, she marvelled greatly at the might of Sir Beaumains, and said, “What manner of man may ye be, for now am I sure that ye be come of noble blood? And truly, never did woman revile knight as I have done thee, and yet ye have ever courteously borne with me, which surely never had been were ye not of gentle blood and lineage.”