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Title: The Story of King Arthur and his Knights
Author: Pyle, Howard
Language: English
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King Arthur of Britain.
[Illustration]
[Illustration:
_The Story of_
KING ARTHVR
and his _Knights_
_Written and Illustrated
by_
HOWARD PYLE.
NEW YORK:
_CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS_
1903.
]
_Copyright, 1903,
By CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS._
Published, November, 1903
[Illustration]
Foreword.
_After several years of contemplation and of thought upon the matter
herein contained, it has at last come about, by the Grace of God, that I
have been able to write this work with such pleasure of spirit that, if
it gives to you but a part of the joy that it hath afforded me, I shall
be very well content with what I have done._
_For when, in pursuing this history, I have come to consider the high
nobility of spirit that moved these excellent men to act as they did, I
have felt that they have afforded such a perfect example of courage and
humility that anyone might do exceedingly well to follow after their
manner of behavior in such measure as he is able to do._
_For I believe that King Arthur was the most honorable, gentle Knight
who ever lived in all the world. And those who were his fellows of the
Round Table--taking him as their looking-glass of chivalry--made,
altogether, such a company of noble knights that it is hardly to be
supposed that their like will ever be seen again in this world.
Wherefore it is that I have had such extraordinary pleasure in beholding
how those famous knights behaved whenever circumstances called upon them
to perform their endeavor.
So in the year of grace one thousand nine hundred and two I began to
write this history of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table
and, if I am able so to do, I shall endeavor, with love of that task, to
finish the same at some other time in another book and to the
satisfaction of whosoever may care to read the story thereof._
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Contents
The Book of King Arthur
PART I
THE WINNING OF KINGHOOD
Chapter First
_How Sir Kay did Combat in a Great Tournament at London Town
and of How He Brake His Sword. Likewise, How Arthur Found a
New Sword For Him_ 9
Chapter Second
_How Arthur Twice Performed the Miracle of the Sword Before Sir
Ector and of How His Birthright Was Discovered Unto Him_ 21
Chapter Third
_How Several Kings and High Dukes Assayed to Draw the Sword
Out of the Anvil and How They Failed. Likewise How Arthur Made
the Assay and Succeeded Therein_ 29
PART II
THE WINNING OF A SWORD
Chapter First
_How There Came a Certain Wounded Knight Unto the Court of
King Arthur, How a Young Knight of the King’s Court Sought To
Avenge Him and Failed and How the King Thereupon Took That
Assay Upon Himself_ 41
Chapter Second
_How King Arthur Fought With the Sable Knight and How He
Was Sorely Wounded. Likewise How Merlin Brought Him Safe
Away From the Field of Battle_ 53
Chapter Third
_How King Arthur Found a Noble Sword In a Very Wonderful
Manner. And How He Again Fought With It and Won That Battle_ 65
PART III
THE WINNING OF A QUEEN
Chapter First
_How King Arthur Went to Tintagalon with Four of His Court,
and How He Disguised Himself for a Certain Purpose_ 79
Chapter Second
_How King Ryence Came to Cameliard and How King Arthur
Fought With the Duke of North Umber_ 91
Chapter Third
_How King Arthur Encountered Four Knights and of What
Befell Thereby_ 101
Chapter Fourth
_How the Four Knights Served the Lady Guinevere_ 113
Chapter Fifth
_How King Arthur Overcame the Enemies of King Leodegrance, and
How His Royalty Was Proclaimed_ 125
Chapter Sixth
_How King Arthur Was Wedded in Royal State and How the
Round Table Was Established_ 139
The Book of Three Worthies
PART I
THE STORY OF MERLIN
Chapter First
_How Queen Morgana le Fay Meditated Evil Against King Arthur
and How She Sent a Damsel to Beguile the Enchanter, Merlin_ 163
Chapter Second
_How Merlin Journeyed With Vivien Unto the Valley of Joyousness
and How He Builded for Her a Castle at That Place. Also, How
He Taught Her the Wisdom of Magic and of How She Compassed
His Downfall Thereby_ 173
Chapter Third
_How Queen Morgana le Fay Returned to Camelot and to the Court
With Intent to Do Ill to King Arthur. Also How King Arthur and
Others Went a-Hunting and of What Befell Thereby_ 181
Chapter Fourth
_What Befell Sir Accalon, and How King Arthur Fought an Affair-at-Arms
With Swords, and How He Came Nigh to Losing His Life Thereby_ 191
PART II
THE STORY OF SIR PELLIAS
Chapter First
_How Queen Guinevere Went a-Maying and of How Sir Pellias
Took Upon Him a Quest in Her Behalf_ 205
Chapter Second
_How Sir Pellias Overcame a Red Knight, Hight Sir Adresack,
and of How He Liberated XXII Captives From That Knight’s
Castle_ 215
Chapter Third
_How Sir Pellias Did Battle With Sir Engamore, Otherwise
the Knight of the Green Sleeves, and of What Befell the Lady
Ettard_ 227
Chapter Fourth
_How Queen Guinevere Quarrelled With Sir Gawaine, and How
Sir Gawaine Left the Court of King Arthur For a While_ 241
Chapter Fifth
_How Sir Gawaine Met Sir Pellias and How He Promised to
Aid Him With the Lady Ettard_ 255
Chapter Sixth
_How the Lady of the Lake Took Back Her Necklace From Sir
Pellias_ 267
PART III
THE STORY OF SIR GAWAINE
Chapter First
_How a White Hart Appeared Before King Arthur, and How
Sir Gawaine and Gaheris, His Brother, Went in Pursuit Thereof,
and of What Befell Them in That Quest_ 281
Chapter Second
_How King Arthur Became Lost in the Forest, and How He
Fell Into a Very Singular Adventure in a Castle Unto Which He
Came_ 295
Chapter Third
_How King Arthur Overcame the Knight-Enchanter, and How Sir
Gawaine Manifested the High Nobility of His Knighthood_ 305
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
_Uther-Pendragon_ _Frontispiece_
_Head Piece--Table of Contents_ vii
_Tail Piece--Table of Contents_ xii
_Head Piece--List of Illustrations_ xiii
_Tail Piece--List of Illustrations_ xvi
_Head Piece--Prologue_ 3
_Tail Piece--Prologue_ 7
_Sir Kay breaketh his sword at ye Tournament_ 8
_Head Piece--Part I_ 9
_Sir Kay showeth the mystic Sword unto Sir Ector_ 20
_How Arthur drew forth ye Sword_ 28
_In the Valley of Delight_ 40
_Head Piece--Part II_ 41
_The Battle with the Sable Knight_ 52
_Excalibur the Sword_ 64
_Tail Piece--Part II_ 76
_The Lady Guinevere_ 78
_Head Piece--Part III_ 79
_Two Knights do battle before Cameliard_ 90
_The White Champion meets two Knights at the Mill_ 100
_Four Knights serve the Gardener Lad_ 112
_The Gardener Lad takes off his Cap_ 124
_King Arthur meets the Lady Guinevere_ 138
_Tail Piece--Part III_ 146
_Ornamented Title--The Book of Three Worthies_ 149
_The Lady of ye Lake_ 150
_Head Piece--Foreword_ 151
_The Enchanter Merlin_ 154
_Head Piece--Prologue_ 155
_Tail Piece--Prologue_ 160
_The Enchantress Vivien_ 162
_Head Piece--The Story of Merlin_ 163
_Vivien bewitches Merlin_ 172
_Queen Morgana le Fay_ 180
_Queen Morgana loses Excalibur his sheath_ 190
_Tail Piece--The Story of Merlin_ 202
_Sir Pellias, the Gentle Knight_ 204
_Head Piece--The Story of Sir Pellias_ 205
_Sir Pellias encounters the Sorrowful Lady in Arroy_ 214
_Parcenet covers Sir Pellias with a cloak_ 226
_The Lady of the Lake sits by the Fountain in Arroy_ 240
_Sir Gawaine sups with ye Lady Ettard_ 254
_The Lady of the Lake finds Sir Pellias wounded_ 266
_Sir Gawaine the Son of Lot, King of Orkney_ 280
_Head Piece--The Story of Sir Gawaine_ 281
_King Arthur findeth ye old woman in ye hut_ 294
_Sir Gawaine finds the beautiful Lady_ 304
_Tail Piece--The Story of Sir Gawaine_ 312
[Illustration]
[Illustration: The BOOK of KING ARTHUR]
[Illustration: Uther-Pendragon.]
[Illustration] Prologue.
In ancient days there lived a very noble King, named Uther-Pendragon,
and he became Overlord of all of Britain. This King was very greatly
aided unto the achievement of the Pendragonship of the realm by the help
of two men, who rendered him great assistance in all that he did. The
one of these men was a certain very powerful enchanter and sometime
prophet known to men as Merlin the Wise; and he gave very good counsel
unto Uther-Pendragon. The other man was an excellent noble and renowned
knight, hight Ulfius (who was thought by many to be the greatest leader
in war of any man then alive); and he gave Uther-Pendragon aid and
advice in battle. So, with the help of Merlin and Sir Ulfius,
Uther-Pendragon was able to overcome all of his enemies and to become
King of the entire realm.
[Sidenote: _Uther-Pendragon taketh to wife the Lady Igraine._]
After Uther-Pendragon had ruled his kingdom for a number of years he
took to wife a certain beautiful and gentle lady, hight Igraine. This
noble dame was the widow of Gerlois, the Duke of Tintegal; by which
prince she had two daughters--one of whom was named Margaise and the
other Morgana le Fay. And Morgana le Fay was a famous sorceress. These
daughters the Queen brought with her to the Court of Uther-Pendragon
after she had married that puissant King, and there Margaise was wedded
to King Urien of Gore, and Morgana le Fay was wedded to King Lot of
Orkney.
[Sidenote: _Concerning the birth and perils of the young child._]
Now after awhile Uther-Pendragon and Queen Igraine had a son born of
bone. And whilst the child still lay wrapped in his swaddling clothes
and lying in a cradle of gold and ultramarine, Merlin came to
Uther-Pendragon with a spirit of prophecy strong upon him (for such was
often the case with him), and, speaking in that spirit of prophecy, he
said, “Lord, it is given unto me to foresee that thou shalt shortly fall
sick of a fever and that thou shalt maybe die of a violent sweat that
will follow thereon. Now, should such a dolorous thing befall us all,
this young child (who is, certes, the hope of all this realm) will be in
very great danger of his life; for many enemies will assuredly rise up
with design to seize upon him for the sake of his inheritance, and
either he will be slain or else he will be held in captivity from which
he shall hardly hope to escape. Wherefore, I do beseech thee, Lord, that
thou wilt permit Sir Ulfius and myself to presently convey the child
away unto some place of safe refuge, where he may be hidden in secret
until he groweth to manhood and is able to guard himself from such
dangers as may threaten him.”
When Merlin had made an end of speaking thus, Uther-Pendragon made reply
with a very steadfast countenance in this wise: “Merlin, so far as my
death is concerned--when my time cometh to die I believe God will give
me grace to meet my end with entire cheerfulness; for, certes, my lot is
in that wise no different from that of any other man who hath been born
of woman. But touching the matter of this young child, if thy prophecy
be true, then his danger is very great, and it would be well that he
should be conveyed hence to some place of safe harborage as thou dost
advise. Wherefore, I pray thee to perform thy will in this affair,
bearing in thy heart the consideration that the child is the most
precious inheritance which I shall leave unto this land.”
[Sidenote: _King Uther dieth according to the prophecy of Merlin._]
All this, as was said, Uther-Pendragon spake with great calmness and
equanimity of spirit. And Merlin did as he had advised, and he and Sir
Ulfius conveyed the child away by night, and no one but they wist
whither the babe had been taken. And shortly afterward Uther-Pendragon
was seized with the sickness as Merlin had foretold, and he died exactly
as Merlin had feared that he would die; wherefore it was very well that
the child had been taken to a place of safety.
And after Uther-Pendragon had departed from this life, it was likewise
as Merlin had feared, for all the realm fell into great disorder. For
each lesser king contended against his fellow for overlordship, and
wicked knights and barons harried the highways as they listed and there
levied toll with great cruelty upon helpless wayfarers. For some such
travellers they took prisoners and held for ransom, whiles others they
slew because they had no ransom to pay. So it was a very common sight to
see a dead man lying by the roadside, if you should venture to make a
journey upon some business or other. Thus it befell that, after awhile,
all that dolorous land groaned with the trouble that lay upon it.
[Sidenote: The Archbishop of Canterbury advises with Merlin.]
Thus there passed nearly eighteen years in such great affliction, and
then one day the Archbishop of Canterbury summoned Merlin to him and
bespake him in this wise: “Merlin, men say that thou art the wisest man
in all the world. Canst thou not find some means to heal the
distractions of this woeful realm? Bend thou thy wisdom to this matter
and choose thou a king who shall be a fit overlord for us, so that we
may enjoy happiness of life once more as we did in the days of
Uther-Pendragon.”
Then Merlin lifted up his countenance upon the Archbishop, and spake in
this wise: “My lord, the spirit of prophecy that lieth upon me sometimes
moveth me now to say that I do perceive that this country is soon to
have a king who shall be wiser and greater and more worthy of praise
than was even Uther-Pendragon. And he shall bring order and peace where
is now disorder and war. Moreover, I may tell you that this King shall
be of Uther-Pendragon’s own full blood-royal.”
To this the Archbishop said: “What thou tellest me, Merlin, is a
wonderfully strange thing. But in this spirit of prophecy canst thou not
foretell when this King is to come? And canst thou tell how we shall
know him when he appeareth amongst us? For many lesser kings there are
who would fain be overlord of this land, and many such there are who
deem themselves fit to rule over all the others. How then shall we know
the real King from those who may proclaim themselves to be the rightful
king?”
“My lord Archbishop,” quoth Merlin, “if I have thy leave for to exert my
magic I shall set an adventure which, if any man achieve it, all the
world shall straightway know that he is the rightful King and overlord
of this realm.” And to this the Archbishop said, “Merlin, I bid thee do
whatsoever may seem to thee to be right in this affair.” And Merlin
said, “I will do so.”
[Sidenote: Merlin prepares a test of Kinghood.]
So Merlin caused by magic that a huge marble stone, four square, should
suddenly appear in an open place before the cathedral door. And upon
this block of marble he caused it to be that there should stand an anvil
and into the anvil he caused it that there should be thrust a great
naked sword midway deep of the blade. And this sword was the most
wonderful that any man had ever seen, for the blade was of blue steel
and extraordinarily bright and glistering. And the hilt was of gold,
chased and carved with marvellous cunning, and inlaid with a great
number of precious stones, so that it shone with wonderful brightness in
the sunlight. And about the sword were written these words in letters of
gold:--
=Whoso Pulleth Out this Sword from the Anvil
That same is Rightwise King-Born of England.=
So a great many people came and gazed upon that sword and marvelled at
it exceedingly, for its like had never before been beheld upon the
earth.
Then, when Merlin had accomplished this miracle, he bade the Archbishop
to call together all the chief people of that land upon Christmastide;
and he bade the Archbishop to command that every man should make assay
to draw out the sword, for that he who should succeed in drawing it
forth out of the anvil should be rightwise King of Britain.
So the Archbishop did according as Merlin said; and this was the marvel
of the marble stone and the anvil, of which same anyone may easily read
for himself in that book written a very long while ago by Robert de
Boron, which is called Le Roman de Merlin.
* * * * *
Now when the mandate of the Lord Archbishop went forth, summoning all
the chief people of the land to the assay of that miracle (for, indeed,
it was a miracle to draw forth a sword-blade out of an anvil of solid
iron), all the realm became immediately cast into a great ferment, so
that each man asked his fellow, “Who shall draw forth that sword, and
who shall be our King?” Some thought it would be King Lot and others
thought it would be King Urien of Gore (these being the sons-in-law unto
Uther-Pendragon); some thought that it would be King Leodegrance of
Camiliard, and others that it would be King Ryence of North Wales; some
thought it would be this king and others that it would be that king; for
all the world was divided into different parties who thought according
to their liking.
Then, as Christmastide drew nigh, it presently appeared as though the
entire world was wending its way to London Town, for the highways and
the by-ways became filled with wayfarers--kings and lords and knights
and ladies and esquires and pages and men-at-arms--all betaking their
way whither the assay was to be made of that adventure of the sword and
the anvil. Every inn and castle was filled so full of travellers that it
was a marvel how so many folk could be contained within their compass,
and everywhere were tents and pavilions pitched along the wayside for
the accommodation of those who could not find shelter within doors.
But when the Archbishop beheld the multitudes that were assembling, he
said to Merlin, “Indeed, Merlin, it would be a very singular thing if
among all these great kings and noble, honorable lords we should not
find some one worthy of being the King of this realm.”
Unto which the Merlin smiled and said, “Marvel not, my lord, if among
all those who appear to be so extraordinarily worthy there shall not be
found one who is worthy; and marvel not if, among all those who are
unknown, there shall arise one who shall approve himself to be entirely
worthy.”
And the Archbishop pondered Merlin’s words, and so beginneth this story.
[Illustration]
PART I
The Winning of Kinghood
_Here beginneth the story of the sword, the anvil, and the marble stone,
and of how that sword was first achieved by an unknown youth, until then
of no renown, whether in arms or of estate._
_So hearken unto that which I have hereinafter written._
[Illustration: Sir Kay breaketh his sword, at yᵉ Tournament.]
[Illustration] Chapter First.
_How Sir Kay did Combat in a Great Tournament at London Town and of How
He Brake His Sword. Likewise, How Arthur Found a New Sword For Him._
[Sidenote: _Of Sir Ector, the trustworthy Knight._]
It happened that among those worthies who were summoned unto London Town
by the mandate of the Archbishop as above recounted, there was a certain
knight, very honorable and of high estate, by name Sir Ector of
Bonmaison--surnamed the Trustworthy Knight, because of the fidelity with
which he kept the counsel of those who confided in him, and because he
always performed unto all men, whether of high or low degree, that which
he promised to undertake, without defalcation as to the same. So this
noble and excellent knight was held in great regard by all those who
knew him; for not only was he thus honorable in conduct but he was,
besides, of very high estate, being possessed of seven castles in Wales
and in the adjoining country north thereof, and likewise of certain
fruitful tracts of land with villages appertaining thereunto, and also
of sundry forests of great extent, both in the north country and the
west. This very noble knight had two sons; the elder of these was Sir
Kay, a young knight of great valor and promise, and already well
renowned in the Courts of Chivalry because of several very honorable
deeds of worthy achievement in arms which he had performed; the other
was a young lad of eighteen years of age, by name Arthur, who at that
time was serving with good repute as Sir Kay’s esquire-at-arms.
Now when Sir Ector of Bonmaison received by messenger the mandate of the
Archbishop, he immediately summoned these two sons unto him and bade
them to prepare straightway for to go with him to London Town, and they
did so. And in the same manner he bade a great number of retainers and
esquires and pages for to make them ready, and they likewise did so.
Thus, with a very considerable array at arms and with great show of
circumstance, Sir Ector of Bonmaison betook his way unto London Town in
obedience to the commands of the Archbishop.
So, when he had come thither he took up his inn in a certain field where
many other noble knights and puissant lords had already established
themselves, and there he set up a very fair pavilion of green silk, and
erected his banner emblazoned with the device of his house; to wit, a
gryphon, black, upon a field of green.
And upon this field were a great multitude of other pavilions of many
different colors, and over above each pavilion was the pennant and the
banner of that puissant lord to whom the pavilion belonged. Wherefore,
because of the multitude of these pennants and banners the sky was at
places well-nigh hidden with the gaudy colors of the fluttering flags.
Among the great lords who had come thither in pursuance to the
Archbishop’s summons were many very famous kings and queens and noblemen
of high degree. For there was King Lot of Orkney, who had taken to wife
a step-daughter of Uther-Pendragon, and there was King Uriens of Gore,
who had taken to wife another step-daughter of that great king, and
there was King Ban, and King Bors, and King Ryance, and King Leodegrance
and many others of like degree, for there were no less than twelve kings
and seven dukes, so that, what with their court of lords and ladies and
esquires and pages in attendance, the town of London had hardly ever
seen the like before that day.
[Sidenote: _The Archbishop declares a tournament._]
Now the Archbishop of Canterbury, having in mind the extraordinary state
of the occasion that had brought so many kings and dukes and high lords
unto that adventure of the sword and the anvil, had commanded that there
should be a very stately and noble tournament proclaimed. Like wise he
commanded that this contest at arms should be held in a certain field
nigh to the great cathedral, three days before that assay should be made
of the sword and the anvil (which same was to be undertaken, as
aforesaid, upon Christmas day). To this tournament were bidden all
knights who were of sufficient birth, condition, and quality for to fit
them to take part therein. Accordingly, very many exalted knights made
application for admission, and that in such numbers that three heralds
were kept very busy looking into their pretensions unto the right of
battle. For these heralds examined the escutcheons and the rolls of
lineage of all applicants with great care and circumspection.
[Sidenote: _Sir Kay asks permission to attend the tournament._]
Now when Sir Kay received news of this tournament he went to where his
father was, and when he stood before his face he spake in this wise:
“Sire, being thy son and of such very high condition both as to birth
and estate as I have inherited from thee, I find that I have an
extraordinary desire to imperil my body in this tourney. Accordingly, if
so be I may approve my quality as to knighthood before this college of
heralds, it will maybe be to thy great honor and credit, and to the
honor and credit of our house if I should undertake this adventure.
Wherefore I do crave thy leave to do as I have a mind.”
Unto these Sir Ector made reply: “My son, thou hast my leave for to
enter this honorable contest, and I do hope that God will give thee a
great deal of strength, and likewise such grace of spirit that thou
mayst achieve honor to thyself and credit to us who are of thy blood.”
So Sir Kay departed with very great joy and immediately went to that
congress of heralds and submitted his pretensions unto them. And, after
they had duly examined into his claims to knighthood, they entered his
name as a knight-contestant according to his desire; and at this Sir Kay
was filled with great content and joy of heart.
So, when his name had been enrolled upon the list of combatants, Sir Kay
chose his young brother Arthur for to be his esquire-at-arms and to
carry his spear and pennant before him into the field of battle, and
Arthur was also made exceedingly glad because of the honor that had
befallen him and his brother.
Now, the day having arrived when this tourney was to be held, a very
huge concourse of people gathered together to witness that noble and
courtly assault at arms. For at that time London was, as aforesaid,
extraordinarily full of nobility and knighthood, wherefore it was
reckoned that not less than twenty thousand lords and ladies (besides
those twelve kings and their courts and seven dukes and their courts)
were assembled in the lists circumadjacent to the field of battle for to
witness the performance of those chosen knights. And those noble people
sat so close together, and so filled the seats and benches assigned to
them, that it appeared as though an entirely solid wall of human souls
surrounded that meadow where the battle was to be fought. And, indeed,
any knight might well be moved to do his uttermost upon such a great
occasion with the eyes of so many beautiful dames and noble lords gazing
upon his performances. Wherefore the hearts of all the knights attendant
were greatly expanded with emulation to overturn their enemies into the
dust.
In the centre of this wonderful court of lords and ladies there was
erected the stall and the throne of the lord Archbishop himself. Above
the throne was a canopy of purple cloth emblazoned with silver lilies,
and the throne itself was hung all about with purple cloth of velvet,
embroidered, alternately, with the figure of St. George in gold, and
with silver crosses of St. George surrounded by golden halos. Here the
lord Archbishop himself sat in great estate and pomp, being surrounded
by a very exalted court of clerks of high degree and also of knights of
honorable estate, so that all that centre of the field glistered with
the splendor of gold and silver embroidery, and was made beautiful by
various colors of rich apparel and bright with fine armor of excellent
workmanship. And, indeed, such was the stateliness of all these
circumstances that very few who were there had ever seen so noble a
preparation for battle as that which they then beheld.
Now, when all that great assembly were in their places and everything
had been prepared in due wise, an herald came and stood forth before the
enstalled throne of the Archbishop and blew a very strong, loud blast
upon a trumpet. At that signal the turnpikes of the lists were
immediately opened and two parties of knights-contestant entered
therein--the one party at the northern extremity of the meadow of battle
and the other party at the southern extremity thereof. Then immediately
all that lone field was a-glitter with the bright-shining splendor of
the sunlight upon polished armor and accoutrements. So these two parties
took up their station, each at such a place as had been assigned unto
them--the one to the north and the other to the south.
[Sidenote: _Sir Kay takes hand in the lists._]
Now the party with which Sir Kay had cast his lot was at the north of
the field, and that company was fourscore and thirteen in number; and
the other party stood at the south end of the field, and that company
was fourscore and sixteen in number. But though the party with whom Sir
Kay had attached himself numbered less by three than the other party,
yet was it the stronger by some degree because that there were a number
of knights of great strength and renown in that company. Indeed it may
be here mentioned that two of those knights afterward became companions
in very good credit of the round table--to wit: Sir Mador de la Porte,
and Sir Bedevere--which latter was the last who saw King Arthur alive
upon this earth.
So, when all was prepared according to the ordination of the tournament,
and when those knights-contestant had made themselves ready in all ways
that were necessary, and when they had dressed their spears and their
shields in such a manner as befitted knights about to enter serious
battle, the herald set his trumpet to his lips a second time and blew
upon it with might and main. Then, having sounded this blast, he waited
for a while and then he blew upon the trumpet again.
And, upon that blast, each of those parties of knights quitted its
station and rushed forth in great tumult against the other party, and
that with such noise and fury that the whole earth groaned beneath the
feet of the war-horses, and trembled and shook as with an earthquake.
So those two companies met, the one against the other, in the midst of
the field, and the roar of breaking lances was so terrible that those
who heard it were astonished and appalled at the sound. For several fair
dames swooned away with terror of the noise, and others shrieked aloud;
for not only was there that great uproar, but the air was altogether
filled with the splinters of ash wood that flew about.
In that famous assault threescore and ten very noble and honorable
knights were overthrown, many of them being trampled beneath the hoofs
of the horses; wherefore, when the two companies withdrew in retreat
each to his station the ground was beheld to be covered all over with
broken fragments of lances and with cantels of armor, and many knights
were seen to be wofully lying in the midst of all that wreck. And some
of these champions strove to arise and could not, while others lay
altogether quiet as though in death. To these ran divers esquires and
pages in great numbers, and lifted up the fallen men and bare them away
to places of safe harborage. And likewise attendants ran and gathered up
the cantels of armor and the broken spears, and bare them away to the
barriers, so that, by and by, the field was altogether cleared once
more.
Then all those who gazed down upon that meadow gave loud acclaim with
great joyousness of heart, for such a noble and glorious contest at arms
in friendly assay had hardly ever been beheld in all that realm before.
[Sidenote: _Sir Kay bears himself well in the encounter._]
Now turn we unto Sir Kay; for in this assault he had conducted himself
with such credit that no knight who was there had done better than he,
and maybe no one had done so well as he. For, though two opponents at
once had directed their spears against him, yet he had successfully
resisted their assault. And one of those two he smote so violently in
the midst of his defences that he had lifted that assailant entirely
over the crupper of the horse which he rode, and had flung him down to
the distance of half a spear’s length behind his steed, so that the
fallen knight had rolled thrice over in the dust ere he ceased to fall.
And when those of Sir Kay’s party who were nigh to him beheld what he
did, they gave him loud and vehement acclaim, and that in such measure
that Sir Kay was wonderfully well satisfied and pleased at heart.
And, indeed, it is to be said that at that time there was hardly any
knight in all the world who was so excellent in deeds of arms as Sir
Kay. And though there afterward came knights of much greater renown and
of more glorious achievement (as shall be hereinafter recorded in good
season), yet at that time Sir Kay was reckoned by many to be one of the
most wonderfully puissant knights (whether errant or in battle) in all
of that realm.
So was that course of the combat run to the great pleasure and
satisfaction of all who beheld it, and more especially of Sir Kay and
his friends. And after it had been completed the two parties in array
returned each to its assigned station once more.
And when they had come there, each knight delivered up his spear unto
his esquire. For the assault which was next to be made was to be
undertaken with swords, wherefore all lances and other weapons were to
be put away; such being the order of that courteous and gentle bout at
arms.
[Sidenote: _Of the contest with swords._]
Accordingly, when the herald again blew upon his trumpet, each knight
drew his weapon with such readiness for battle that there was a great
splendor of blades all flashing in the air at once. And when the herald
blew a second time each party pushed forward to the contest with great
nobleness of heart and eagerness of spirit, every knight being moved
with intent to engage his oppugnant with all the might and main that lay
in him.
Then immediately began so fierce a battle that if those knights had been
very enemies of long standing instead of friendly contestants, the blows
which they delivered the one upon the other could not have been more
vehement as to strength or more astonishing to gaze upon.
And in this affair likewise Sir Kay approved himself to be so
extraordinary a champion that his like was nowhere to be seen in all
that field; for he violently smote down five knights, the one after the
other, ere he was stayed in his advance.
Wherefore, beholding him to be doing work of such a sort, several of the
knights of the other party endeavored to come at him with intent to meet
him in his advance.
Amongst these was a certain knight, hight Sir Balamorgineas, who was so
huge of frame that he rode head and shoulders above any other knight.
And he was possessed of such extraordinary strength that it was believed
that he could successfully withstand the assault of three ordinary
knights at one time. Wherefore when this knight beheld the work that Sir
Kay did, he cried out to him, “Ho! ho! Sir Knight of the black gryphon,
turn thou hitherward and do a battle with me!”
[Sidenote: _Sir Kay contests with Sir Balamorgineas._]
Now when Sir Kay beheld Sir Balamorgineas to be minded to come against
him in that wise--very threateningly and minded to do him battle--he
turned him toward his enemy with great cheerfulness of spirit. For at
that time Sir Kay was very full of youthful fire and reckoned nothing of
assaulting any enemy who might demand battle of him.
(So it was at that time. But it after befell, when he became Seneschal,
and when other and mightier knights appeared at the court of the King,
that he would sometimes avoid an encounter with such a knight as Sir
Launcelot, or Sir Pellias, or Sir Marhaus, or Sir Gawaine, if he might
do so with credit to his honor.)
So, being very full of the spirit of youth, he turned him with great
lustiness of heart, altogether inflamed with the eagerness and fury of
battle. And he cried out in a great voice, “Very well, I will do battle
with thee, and I will cast thee down like thy fellows!” And therewith he
smote with wonderful fierceness at Sir Balamorgineas, and that with all
his might. And Sir Balamorgineas received the stroke upon his helmet and
was altogether bewildered by the fury thereof, for he had never felt its
like before that time. Wherefore his brains swam so light that it was
necessary for him to hold to the horn of his saddle to save himself from
falling.
[Sidenote: _Sir Kay breaketh his sword._]
But it was a great pity for Sir Kay that, with the fierceness of the
blow, his sword-blade snapped short at the haft, flying so high in the
air that it appeared to overtop the turrets of the cathedral in its
flight. Yet so it happened, and thus it befell that Sir Kay was left
without any weapon. Yet it was thought that, because of that stroke, he
had Sir Balamorgineas entirely at his mercy, and that if he could have
struck another blow with his sword he might easily have overcome him.
But as it was, Sir Balamorgineas presently so far recovered himself that
he perceived his enemy to be altogether at his mercy; wherefore, being
filled beyond measure with rage because of the blow he had received, he
pushed against Sir Kay with intent to smite him down in a violent
assault.
In this pass it would maybe have gone very ill with Sir Kay but that
three of his companions in arms, perceiving the extreme peril in which
he lay, thrust in betwixt him and Sir Balamorgineas with intent to take
upon themselves the assault of that knight and so to save Sir Kay from
overthrow. This they did with such success that Sir Kay was able to push
out from the press and to escape to the barriers without suffering any
further harm at the hands of his enemies.
[Sidenote: _Sir Kay bids Arthur get him a sword._]
Now when he reached the barrier, his esquire, young Arthur, came running
to him with a goblet of spiced wine. And Sir Kay opened the umbril of
his helmet for to drink, for he was athirst beyond measure. And, lo! his
face was all covered over with blood and sweat, and he was so a-drought
with battle that his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth and he could
not speak. But when he had drunk of the draught that Arthur gave him,
his tongue was loosened and he cried out to the young man in a loud and
violent voice: “Ho! ho! Brother, get me another sword for to do battle,
for I am assuredly winning for our house much glory this day!” And
Arthur said, “Where shall I get thee a sword?” And Kay said, “Make haste
unto our father’s pavilion and fetch me thence another sword, for this
which I have is broken.” And Arthur said, “I will do so with all speed,”
and thereupon he set hand to the barrier and leaped over it into the
alleyway beyond. And he ran down the alleyway with all the speed that he
was able with intent to fulfil that task which his brother had bidden
him to undertake; and with like speed he ran to that pavilion that his
father had set up in the meadows.
But when he came to the pavilion of Sir Ector he found no one there, for
all the attendants had betaken themselves unto the tournament. And
neither could he find any sword fit for his brother’s handling,
wherefore he was put to a great pass to know what to do in that matter.
[Sidenote: _Arthur draweth the sword from the anvil._]
In this extremity he bethought him of that sword that stood thrust into
the anvil before the cathedral, and it appeared to him that such a sword
as that would suit his brother’s purposes very well. Wherefore he said
to himself, “I will go thither and get that sword if I am able to do so,
for it will assuredly do very well for my brother for to finish his
battle withal.” Whereupon he ran with all speed to the cathedral. And
when he had come there he discovered that no one was there upon guard at
the block of marble, as had heretofore been the case, for all who had
been upon guard had betaken themselves unto the contest of arms that was
toward. And the anvil and the sword stood where he could reach them. So,
there being no one to stay young Arthur, he leaped up upon the block of
marble and laid his hands unto the hilt of the sword. And he bent his
body and drew upon the sword very strongly, and, lo! it came forth from
the anvil with wonderful smoothness and ease, and he held the sword in
his hand, and it was his.
And when he had got the sword in that way, he wrapped it in his cloak so
that no one might see it (for it shone with an exceeding brightness and
splendor) and he leaped down from the block of marble stone and hastened
with it unto the field of battle.
Now when Arthur had entered into that meadow once more, he found Sir Kay
awaiting his coming with great impatience of spirit. And when Sir Kay
saw him he cried out, very vehemently, “Hast thou got a sword?” And
Arthur said, “Yea, I have one here.” Thereupon he opened his cloak and
showed Sir Kay what sword it was he had brought.
Now when Sir Kay beheld the sword he immediately knew it, and he wist
not what to think or what to say, wherefore he stood for a while, like
one turned into a stone, looking upon that sword. Then in awhile he
said, in a very strange voice “Where got ye that sword?” And Arthur
looked upon his brother and he beheld that his countenance was greatly
disturbed, and that his face was altogether as white as wax. And he
said, “Brother, what ails thee that thou lookest so strangely. I will
tell the entire truth. I could find no sword in our father’s pavilion,
wherefore I bethought me of that sword that stood in the anvil upon the
marble cube before the cathedral. So I went thither and made assay for
to draw it forth, and it came forth with wonderful ease. So, when I had
drawn it out, I wrapped it in my cloak and brought it hither unto thee
as thou beholdest.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Kay keepeth the sword for his own._]
Then Sir Kay turned his thoughts inward and communed with himself in
this wise, “Lo! my brother Arthur is as yet hardly more than a child.
And he is, moreover, exceedingly innocent. Therefore he knoweth not what
he hath done in this nor what the doing thereof signifieth. Now, since
he hath achieved this weapon, why should I not myself lay claim to that
achievement, and so obtain the glory which it signifieth.” Whereupon he
presently aroused himself, and he said to Arthur, “Give the sword and
the cloak to me,” and Arthur did as his brother commanded. And when he
had done so Sir Kay said to him, “Tell no man of this but keep it privy
in thine own heart. Meantime go thou to our father where he sits at the
lists and bid come straightway unto the pavilion where we have taken up
our inn.”
And Arthur did as Sir Kay commanded him, greatly possessed with wonder
that his brother should be so disturbed in spirit as he had appeared to
be. For he wist not what he had done in drawing out that sword from the
anvil, nor did he know of what great things should arise from that
little thing, for so it is in this world that a man sometimes approves
himself to be worthy of such a great trust as that, and yet, in
lowliness of spirit, he is yet altogether unaware that he is worthy
thereof. And so it was with young Arthur at that time.
[Illustration: Sir Kay showeth the mystic Sword unto Sir Ector.]
[Illustration] Chapter Second.
_How Arthur Twice Performed the Miracle of the Sword Before Sir Ector
and of How His Birthright Was Discovered Unto Him._
So Arthur made haste to that part of the lists where Sir Ector sat with
the people of his household. And he stood before his father and said,
“Sire, my brother Kay hath sent me hitherward for to bid thee come
straightway unto the pavilion where we have taken up our inn. And,
truly, I think something very extraordinary hath befallen, for my
brother Kay hath such a countenance as I never saw him wear.”
Then Sir Ector marvelled very greatly what it was that should cause Sir
Kay to quit that battle and to summon him at such a time, wherefore he
arose from where he sat and went with Arthur. And they went to the
pavilion, and when he had come there, behold! Sir Kay was standing in
the midst of the pavilion. And Sir Ector saw that his face was as white
as ashes of wood and that his eyes shone with a wonderful brightness.
And Sir Ector said, “My son, what ails thee?” whereunto Sir Kay made
reply, “Sire, here is a very wonderful matter.” Therewith he took his
father by the hand and brought him to the table that stood in the
pavilion. And upon the table there lay a cloak and there was something
within the cloak. Then Sir Kay opened the cloak and, lo! there lay the
sword of the anvil, and the hilt thereof and the blade thereof glistered
with exceeding splendor.
[Sidenote: _Sir Ector beholdeth the sword._]
And Sir Ector immediately knew that sword and whence it came. Wherefore
he was filled with such astonishment that he wist not what to do. And
for a while his tongue refused to speak, and after a while he found
speech and cried out aloud in a great voice, “What is this that mine
eyes behold!”
To this Sir Kay made reply, “Sire. I have that sword which stood a while
since embedded in the anvil that stands upon the cube of marble stone
before the great cathedral. Wherefore I demand that thou tellest me what
this may foretend?”
Then Sir Ector said, “How came you by that sword?”
And for a while Sir Kay was silent, but after a while he said, “Sire, I
brake my sword in that battle which of late I fought, whereupon I found
me this sword in its stead.”
Then Sir Ector was altogether bemazed and knew not whether to believe
what his ears heard. And after awhile he said, “If so be that thou didst
draw forth this sword from the anvil, then it must also be that thou art
rightwise King of Britain, for so the saying of the sword proclaimeth.
But if thou didst indeed draw it forth from the anvil, then it will be
that thou shalt as easily be able for to thrust it back again into that
place from whence thou didst take it.”
At this a great trouble of spirit fell upon Sir Kay, and he cried out in
a very loud voice, “Who may do such a thing as that, and who could
perform so great a miracle as to thrust a sword into solid iron.”
Whereunto Sir Ector made reply, “Such a miracle is no greater than the
miracle that thou hast performed in drawing it out from its embedment.
For who ever heard that a man could draw forth a sword from a place and
yet would not thrust it back whence he drew it?”
Then Sir Kay wist not what to say to his father, and he greatly feared
that he should not be able to perform that miracle. But, nevertheless,
he took what comfort to himself he was able, saying, “If my young
brother Arthur was able to perform this miracle why should I not do a
miracle of a like sort, for, assuredly, I am not less worthy than he.
Wherefore if he drew the sword forth with such ease, it may be that I
with equal ease shall be able to thrust it back into its place again.”
Accordingly he took such comfort to himself in these thoughts as he was
able.
[Sidenote: _Sir Kay assays to put back the sword but faileth._]
So he wrapped the sword in the cloak again, and when he had done so he
and Sir Ector went forth from the pavilion and betook their way unto
where was the marble stone and the anvil before the cathedral. And
Arthur went with his father and his brother and they forebade him not.
And when they had come to that place where the sword had been, Sir Kay
mounted upon the cube of marble stone and beheld the face of the anvil.
And lo! the face of the anvil was altogether smooth and without a
scratch or scar of any sort. And Sir Kay said to himself, “What is this
my father would have me do! What man is there in life who could thrust a
sword-blade into a solid anvil of iron?” But, ne’theless, he could not
withdraw from that impossible undertaking, but was constrained to assay
that miracle, wherefore he set the point of the sword to the iron and
bore upon it with all his strength. But it was impossible for him to
accomplish that thing, and though he endeavored with all his might with
the sword against the face of the anvil, yet did he not pierce the iron
even to the breadth of a hair.
So, after he had thus assayed for a great while, he at last ceased what
he did and came down from where he stood. And he said to his father,
“Sire, no man in life may perform that miracle.”
Unto this Sir Ector made reply, “How is it possible then that thou
couldst have drawn out that sword as thou sayst and yet cannot put it
back again?”
Then young Arthur lifted up his voice and said, “My father, have I thy
leave to speak?” And Sir Ector said, “Speak, my son.” And Arthur said,
“I would that I might assay to handle that sword?” Whereunto Sir Ector
replied, “By what authority wouldst thou handle that sword?” And Arthur
said, “Because it was I who drew that sword forth from the anvil for my
brother. Wherefore, as thou sayest, to draw it forth is not more
difficult than to thrust it back again. So I believe that I shall be
able to set it back into the iron whence I drew it.”
Then Sir Ector gazed upon young Arthur in such a strange manner that
Arthur wist not why he looked at him in that wise. Wherefore he cried
out, “Sire, why dost thou gaze so strangely upon me? Has thou anger
against me?” Whereunto Sir Ector made reply, “In the sight of God, my
son, I have no anger against thee.” Then he said, “If thou hast a desire
to handle the sword, thou mayst assuredly make assay of that miracle.”
[Sidenote: _Arthur performeth the miracle of the sword and the anvil._]
So Arthur took the sword from his brother Kay and he leaped up upon the
marble stone. And he set the point of the sword upon the anvil and bare
very strongly upon it and lo! the sword penetrated very smoothly into
the centre of the anvil until it stood midway deep therein, and there it
stood fast. And after he had performed that miracle he drew the sword
forth again very swiftly and easily, and then thrust it back again once
more as he had done before.
But when Sir Ector beheld what Arthur did, he cried out in a voice of
exceeding loudness, “Lord! Lord! what is the miracle mine eyes behold!”
And when Arthur came down from the cube of marble stone, Sir Ector
kneeled down before him and set his hands together, palm to palm.
But when Arthur beheld what his father did, he cried out aloud like one
in a great measure of pain; and he said, “My father! my father! why dost
thou kneel down to me?”
To him Sir Ector made reply, “I am not thy father, and now it is made
manifest that thou art assuredly of very exalted race and that the blood
of kings flows in thy veins, else thou couldst not have handled that
sword as thou hast done.”
Then Arthur fell a-weeping beyond all measure and he cried out as with
great agony of spirit, “Father! father! what is this thou sayst? I
beseech thee to arise and not to kneel unto me.”
So Sir Ector arose from his knees and stood before the face of Arthur,
and he said, “Arthur, why dost thou weep?” And Arthur said, “Because I
am afeard.”
Now all this while Sir Kay had stood near by and he could neither move
nor speak, but stood like one entranced, and he said to himself, “What
is this? Is my brother a King?”
Then Sir Ector spake, saying, “Arthur, the time hath come for thee to
know thyself, for the true circumstances of thy life have, heretofore,
been altogether hidden from thee.
[Sidenote: _Sir Ector telleth Arthur the circumstances of his infancy._]
“Now I do confess everything to thee in this wise: that eighteen year
ago there came to me a certain man very wise and high in favor with
Uther-Pendragon and that man was the Enchanter Merlin. And Merlin showed
me the signet ring of Uther-Pendragon and he commanded me by virtue of
that ring that I should be at a certain assigned place at a particular
time which he nominated; and the place which he assigned was the postern
gate of Uther-Pendragon’s castle; and the time which he named was
midnight of that very day.
“And he bade me tell no man aught concerning those things which he
communicated to me, and so I kept his counsel as he desired me to do.
“So I went to that postern gate at midnight as Merlin had commanded, and
at that place there came unto me Merlin and another man, and the other
man was Sir Ulfius, who was the chief knight of Uther-Pendragon’s
household. And I tell thee that these two worthies stood nigher unto
Uther-Pendragon than any other men in all of the world.
“Now when those two came unto me, I perceived that Merlin bare in his
arms a certain thing wrapped in a scarlet mantle of fine texture. And he
opened the folds of the mantle and, lo! I beheld a child not long born
and wrapped in swaddling clothes. And I saw the child in the light of a
lanthorn which Sir Ulfius bare, and I perceived that he was very fair of
face and large of bone--and thou wert that child.
“Then Merlin commanded me in this wise: that I was to take that child
and that I should rear him as mine own; and he said that the child was
to be called by the name of Arthur; and he said that no one in all the
world was to know otherwise than that the child was mine own. And I
told Merlin that I would do as he would have me, whereupon I took the
child and bare it away with me. And I proclaimed that the child was mine
own, and all over the world believed my words, wherefore no one ever
knew otherwise than that thou wert mine own son. And that lady who was
my wife, when she died she took that secret with her unto Paradise, and
since then until now no one in all the world knew aught of this matter
but I and those two aforementioned worthies.
“Nor have I until now ever known aught of who was thy father; but now I
do suspect who he was and that thou hast in thy veins very high and
kingly blood. And I do have in mind that perhaps thy father was
Uther-Pendragon himself. For who but the son of Uther-Pendragon could
have drawn forth that sword from out of the anvil as thou hast done?”
Then, when Arthur heard that saying of his father’s, he cried out in a
very loud and vehement voice, “Woe! Woe! Woe!”--saying that word three
times. And Sir Ector said, “Arthur, why art thou woful?” And Arthur
said, “Because I have lost my father, for I would rather have my father
than be a King!”
[Sidenote:
_Merlin and Sir Ulfius appear to the three._]
Now as these things passed, there came unto that place two men, very
tall and of a wonderfully noble and haughty appearance. And when these
two men had come nigh to where they were, Arthur and Sir Ector and Sir
Kay preceived that one of them was the Enchanter Merlin and that the
other was Sir Ulfius--for those two men were very famous and well known
unto all the world. And when those two had come to where were the three,
Merlin spake, saying, “What cheer?” And Sir Ector made answer, “Here is
cheer of a very wonderful sort; for, behold, Merlin! this is that child
that thou didst bring unto me eighteen years ago, and, lo! thou seest he
hath grown unto manhood.”
Then Merlin said, “Sir Ector, I know very well who is this youth, for I
have kept diligent watch over him for all this time. And I know that in
him lieth the hope of Britain. Moreover, I tell thee that even to-day
within the surface of an enchanted looking-glass I have beheld all that
he hath done since the morning; and I know how he drew forth the sword
from the anvil, and how he thrust it back again; and I know how he drew
it forth and thrust it back a second time. And I know all that thou hast
been saying unto him this while; wherefore I also do now avouch that
thou hast told him the very truth. And, lo! the spirit of prophecy is
upon me and I do foresee into the future that thou, Arthur, shall become
the greatest and most famous King that ever lived in Britain; and I do
foresee that many knights of extraordinary excellence shall gather about
thee and that men shall tell of their marvellous deeds as long as this
land shall continue, and I do foresee that through these knights thy
reign shall be full of splendor and glory; and I do foresee that the
most marvellous adventure of the Holy Grail shall be achieved by three
of the knights of thy Court, and that to thy lasting renown, who shall
be the King under whose reign the holy cup shall be achieved. All these
things I foresee; and, lo! the time is now at hand when the glory of thy
House shall again be made manifest unto the world, and all the people of
this land shall rejoice in thee and thy kinghood. Wherefore, Sir Ector,
for these three days to come, I do charge it upon thee that thou do
guard this young man as the apple of thine eye, for in him doth lie the
hope and salvation of all this realm.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Ector craveth a boon of Arthur._]
Then Sir Ector lifted up his voice and cried unto Arthur, “A boon! a
boon!” And Arthur said, “Alas! how is this? Dost thou, my father, ask a
boon of me who may have all in the world that is mine to give? Ask what
thou wilt and it is thine!” Then Sir Ector said, “I do beseech this of
thee: that when thou art King thy brother Kay may be Seneschal of all
this realm.” And Arthur said, “It shall be as thou dost ask.” And he
said, “As for thee, it shall be still better with thee, for thou shalt
be my father unto the end!” Whereupon so saying, he took Sir Ector’s
head into his hands and he kissed Sir Ector upon the forehead and upon
the cheeks, and so sealed his plighted word.
But all this while Sir Kay had stood like unto one struck by thunder,
and he wist not whether to be uplifted unto the skies or to be cast down
into the depths, that his young brother should thus have been passed by
him and exalted unto that extraordinary altitude of fortune. Wherefore
he stood like to one bereft of life and motion.
And let it here be said that Arthur fulfilled all that he had thus
promised to his father--for, in after times, he made Sir Kay his
Seneschal, and Sir Ector was to him a father until the day of his death,
which same befell five years from that time.
* * * * *
Thus I have told you how the royalty of Arthur was first discovered. And
now, if you will listen, ye shall hear how it was confirmed before all
the world.
[Illustration: How Arthur drew forth yᵉ Sword.]
[Illustration] Chapter Third.
_How Several Kings and High Dukes Assayed to Draw the Sword Out of the
Anvil and How They Failed. Likewise How Arthur Made the Assay and
Succeeded Therein._
So when the morning of Christmas day had come, many thousands of folk of
all qualities, both gentle and simple, gathered together in front of the
cathedral for to behold the assay of that sword.
Now there had been a canopy of embroidered cloth of divers colors spread
above the sword and the anvil, and a platform had been built around
about the cube of marble stone. And nigh unto that place there had been
a throne for the Archbishop established; for the Archbishop was to
overlook that assay and to see that every circumstance was fulfilled
with due equity and circumspection.
So, when the morning was half gone by, the Archbishop himself came with
great pomp of estate and took his seat upon the high throne that had
been placed for him, and all his court of clerks and knights gathered
about him, so that he presented a very proud and excellent appearance of
courtliness.
Now unto that assay there had gathered nineteen kings and sixteen dukes,
and each of these was of such noble and exalted estate that he
entertained high hopes that he would that day be approved before the
world to be the right king and overlord of all Britain. Wherefore after
the Archbishop had established himself upon his throne, there came
several of these and made demand that he should straightway put that
matter to the test. So the Archbishop commanded his herald for to sound
a trumpet, and to bid all who had the right to make assay of the sword
to come unto that adventure, and the herald did according as the
Archbishop ordered.
[Sidenote: King Lot of Orkney maketh assay of the sword and faileth.]
And when the herald had sounded his trumpet there immediately appeared
the first of those kings to make trial of the sword, and he who came was
King Lot of Orkney and the Isles. With King Lot there came eleven the
eyes of all. And when King Lot had arrived at that place, he mounted the
platform. And first he saluted the Archbishop, and then he laid his
hands to the pommel of the sword in the sight of all. And he bent his
body and drew upon the sword with great strength, but he could not move
the blade in the anvil even so much as the breadth of a hair, for it
stood as fast as the iron in which it was planted. And after that first
assay he tried three times more, but still he was altogether unable to
move the blade in the iron. Then, after that he had thus four times made
assay, he ceased his endeavor and came down from that place. And he was
filled with great anger and indignation that he had not succeeded in his
endeavor.
[Sidenote: Sundry others make assay and fail.]
And after King Lot there came his brother-in-law, King Urien of Gore,
and he also made assay in the same wise as King Lot had done. But
neither did he succeed any better than that other king. And after King
Urien there came King Fion of Scotland, and after King Fion there came
King Mark of Cornwall, and after King Mark there came King Ryence of
North Wales, and after King Ryence there came King Leodegrance of
Cameliard, and after him came all those other kings and dukes before
numerated, and not one of all these was able to move the blade. And some
of these high and mighty lords were filled with anger and indignation
that they had not succeeded, and others were ashamed that they had
failed in that undertaking before the eyes of all those who looked upon
them. But whether they were angry or whether they were ashamed it in no
wise helped their case.
Now when all the kings and dukes had thus failed in that adventure, the
people who were there were very much astonished, and they said to one
another, “How is this? If all those kings and dukes of very exalted
estate have failed to achieve that adventure, who then may hope to
succeed? For here have been all those who were most worthy of that high
honor, and all have tried to draw that sword and all have failed. Who
then is there now to come after these who may hope to succeed?”
[Sidenote: The kings and dukes are discontented.]
And, likewise, those kings and dukes spoke together in the same manner.
And by and by there came six of the most worthy--to wit, King Lot, King
Urien, King Pellinore, King Ban, King Ryence, and Duke Clarence of
Northumberland--and these stood before the throne of the Archbishop and
spake to him in this wise: “Sir, here have all the kings and dukes of
this realm striven before you for to draw forth that sword, and lo! not
one of all those who have undertaken that thing hath succeeded in his
undertaking. What, then, may we understand but that the enchanter Merlin
hath here, and upon you, who are the head of the church in this realm?
For who in all the world may hope to draw forth a sword-blade out from a
bed of solid iron? Behold! it is beyond the power of any man. Is it not
then plain to be seen that Merlin hath made a mock of us all? Now,
therefore, lest all this great congregation should have been called here
in vain, we do beseech you of your wisdom that you presently choose the
one from among the kings here gathered, who may be best fitted to be
overlord of this realm. And when ye shall have chosen him, we will
promise to obey him in all things whatsoever he may ordain. Verily, such
a choice as that will be better worth while than to spend time in this
foolish task of striving to draw forth a sword out of an anvil which no
man in all the world may draw forth.”
Then was the Archbishop much troubled in spirit, for he said to himself,
“Can it be sooth that Merlin hath deceived me, and hath made a mock of
me and of all these kings and lordly folk? Surely this cannot be. For
Merlin is passing wise, and he would not make a mock of all the realm
for the sake of so sorry a jest as this would be. Certes he hath some
intent in this of which we know naught, being of less wisdom than
he--wherefore I will be patient for a while longer.” Accordingly, having
communed thus within himself, he spake aloud in this wise to those seven
high lords: “Messires,” he said, “I have yet faith that Merlin hath not
deceived us, wherefore I pray your patience for one little while longer.
For if, in the time a man may count five hundred twice over, no one
cometh forward to perform this task, then will I, at your behest,
proceed to choose one from amongst you and will proclaim him King and
Overlord of all.” For the Archbishop had faith that Merlin was about to
immediately declare a king before them all.
* * * * *
Now leave we these and turn we unto Arthur and his father and brother.
For Merlin had bidden those three to abide in their pavilion until such
time as he thought would be fit for them to come out thence. And that
time being now come, Merlin and Sir Ulfius went to the pavilion of Sir
Ector, and Merlin said, “Arthur, arise and come forth, for now the hour
is come for thee to assay before the whole world that miracle which thou
didst of late execute in privacy.” So Arthur did as Merlin bade him to
do, and he came forth from the pavilion with his father and his brother,
and, lo! he was like one who walked in a dream.
[Sidenote: _Merlin bringeth Arthur to the assay._]
So they five went down from thence toward the cathedral and unto that
place of assay. And when they had come to the congregation there
assembled, the people made way for them, greatly marvelling and saying
to one another, “Who are these with the Enchanter Merlin and Sir Ulfius,
and whence come they? For all the world knew Merlin and Sir Ulfius, and
they wist that here was something very extraordinary about to happen.
And Arthur was clad all in flame-colored raiment embroidered with
threads of silver, so that others of the people said, “Certes, that
youth is very fair for to look upon; now who may he be?”
But Merlin said no word to any man, but he brought Arthur through the
press unto that place where the Archbishop sat; and the press made way
for him so that he was not stayed in his going. And when the Archbishop
beheld Merlin come thus with those others, he arose and said, “Merlin,
who are these whom thou bringest unto us, and what is their business
here?” And Merlin said, “Lord, here is one come to make the assay of
yonder sword.” And the Archbishop said, “Which one is he?” and Merlin
said, “This is he,” and he laid his hand upon Arthur.
[Sidenote: _Merlin proclaimeth the royalty of Arthur._]
Then the Archbishop looked upon Arthur and he beheld that the youth was
very comely of face, wherefore his heart went out unto Arthur and he
loved him a very great deal. And the Archbishop said, “Merlin, by what
right doth this young man come hither?” And Merlin made reply, “Lord, he
cometh hither by the best right that there is in the world; for he who
standeth before thee clad in red is the true son of Uther-Pendragon and
of his lawful wife, Queen Igraine.”
Then the Archbishop cried out aloud in great amazement and those who
stood nigh and who heard what Merlin said were so astonished that they
wist not what to think. And the Archbishop said, “Merlin, what is this
that thou tellest me? For who, until now, in all the world hath ever
heard that Uther-Pendragon had a son?”
Unto this Merlin made reply: “No one hath ever known of such a thing
until now, only a very few. For it was in this wise: When this child was
born the spirit of prophecy lay upon me and I foresaw that
Uther-Pendragon would die before a very great while. Wherefore I feared
that the enemies of the King would lay violent hands upon the young
child for the sake of his inheritance. So, at the King’s behest, I and
another took the young child from his mother and gave him unto a third,
and that man received the kingly child and maintained him ever since as
his own son. And as to the truth of these things there are others here
who may attest the verity of them--for he who was with me when the
young child was taken from his mother was Sir Ulfius, and he to whom he
was entrusted was Sir Ector of Bonmaison--and those two witnesses, who
are without any reproach, will avouch to the verity of that which I have
asserted, for here they stand before thee to certify unto what I have
said.”
And Sir Ulfius and Sir Ector said, “All that Merlin hath spoken is true,
and thereunto we do pledge our most faithful and sacred word of honor.”
Then the Archbishop said, “Who is there may doubt the word of such
honorable witnesses?” And he looked upon Arthur and smiled upon him.
Then Arthur said, “Have I then thy leave, Lord, to handle yonder sword?”
And the Archbishop said, “Thou hast my leave, and may the grace of God
go with thee to do thy endeavor.”
[Sidenote: _Arthur draweth forth the sword._]
Thereupon Arthur went to the cube of marble stone and he laid his hands
upon the haft of the sword that was thrust into the anvil. And he bent
his body and drew very strongly and, lo! the sword came forth with great
ease and very smoothly. And when he had got the sword into his hands, he
swung it about his head so that it flashed like lightning. And after he
had swung it thus thrice about his head, he set the point thereof
against the face of the anvil and bore upon it very strongly, and,
behold! the sword slid very smoothly back again into that place where it
had aforetime stood; and when it was there, midway deep, it stood fast
where it was. And thus did Arthur successfully accomplish that
marvellous miracle of the sword in the eyes of all the world.
Now when the people who were congregated at that place beheld this
miracle performed before their faces, they lifted up their voices all
together, and shouted so vehemently and with so huge a tumult of outcry
that it was as though the whole earth rocked and trembled with the sound
of their shouting.
And whiles they so shouted Arthur took hold of the sword again and drew
it forth and swung it again, and again drave it back into the anvil. And
when he had done that he drew it forth a third time and did the same
thing as before. Thus it was that all those who were there beheld that
miracle performed three times over.
[Sidenote: _Several of the kings and dukes are angry._]
And all the kings and dukes who were there were filled with great
amazement, and they wist not what to think or to say when they beheld
one who was little more than a boy perform that undertaking in which the
best of them had failed. And some of them, seeing that miracle, were
willing to acknowledge Arthur because of it, but others would not
acknowledge him. These withdrew themselves and stood aloof; and as they
stood thus apart, they said among themselves: “What is this and who can
accredit such a thing that a beardless boy should be set before us all
and should be made King and overlord of this great realm for to govern
us. Nay! nay! we will have none of him for our King.” And others said,
“Is it not apparent that Merlin and Sir Ulfius are thus exalting this
unknown boy so that they may elevate themselves along with him?” Thus
these discontented kings spake among themselves, and of all of them the
most bitter were King Lot and King Urien, who were brothers by marriage
with Arthur.
Now when the Archbishop perceived the discontent of these kings and
dukes, he said to them, “How now, Messires! Are ye not satisfied?” And
they said, “We are not satisfied.” And the Archbishop said, “What would
ye have?” And they said, “We would have another sort of king for Britain
than a beardless boy of whom no one knoweth and of whose birthright
there are only three men to attest.” And the Archbishop said “What of
that? Hath he not performed the miracle that ye yourselves assayed and
failed to perform?”
But these high and mighty lords would not be satisfied, but with angry
and averted faces they went away from that place, filled with wrath and
indignation.
[Sidenote: _Certain kings and dukes accept Arthur._]
But others of these kings and dukes came and saluted Arthur and paid him
court, giving him joy of that which he had achieved; and the chiefest of
those who came thus unto him in friendliness was King Leodegrance of
Cameliard. And all the multitude acknowledged him and crowded around
that place shouting so that it sounded like to the noise of thunder.
Now all this while Sir Ector and Sir Kay had stood upon one side. And
they were greatly weighed down by sorrow; for it appeared to them that
Arthur had, of a sudden, been uplifted so far from their estate that
they might never hope to approach him more. For now he was of kingly
consequence and they but common knights. And, after awhile, Arthur
beheld them where they stood with downcast looks, whereupon he
straightway went to them and took first one and then the other by the
hand and kissed each upon the cheek. Thereupon they were again very glad
at being thus uplifted unto him.
And when Arthur departed from that place, great crowds of people
followed after him so that the streets were altogether filled with the
press of people. And the multitude continually gave him loud acclaim as
the chosen King of England, and those who were nearest to him sought to
touch the hem of his garments; wherefore the heart of Arthur was
exceedingly uplifted with great joy and gladness, so that his soul took
wing and flew like a bird into the sky.
* * * * *
Thus Arthur achieved the adventure of the sword that day and entered
into his birthright of royalty. Wherefore, may God grant His Grace unto
you all that ye too may likewise succeed in your undertakings. For any
man may be a king in that life in which he is placed if so be he may
draw forth the sword of success from out of the iron of circumstance.
Wherefore when your time of assay cometh, I do hope it may be with you
as it was with Arthur that day, and that ye too may achieve success with
entire satisfaction unto yourself and to your great glory and perfect
happiness. Amen.
[Illustration]
CONCLUSION
[Sidenote: _Arthur maketh sundry other assays of the sword and succeeds
at all times._]
Now after these things had happened there was much talk among men and
great confusion and tumult. For while some of the kings and nearly all
the multitude said, “Lo! here is a king come to us, as it were, from out
of Heaven for to bring peace unto our distracted land,” yet other kings
(and they were of greater number) said, “Who is this beardless boy who
cometh with a claim to be High King of Britain? Who ever heard of him
before? We will have none of him except upon further trial and upon
greater avouchment.” So, for the sake of peace, the Archbishop ordained
that another assay of the sword should be made at Candlemas; and here
again all those who endeavored to draw forth the sword failed thereat,
but Arthur drew it forth several times, very easily, in the sight of
all. And after that a third trial was made at Easter and after that a
fourth trial was made at Pentecost. And at all these trials Arthur
repeatedly drew out the sword from the anvil, and no one but he could
draw it forth.
[Sidenote: _Arthur is crowned King of Britain._]
And, after that fourth trial, sundry of the kings and many of the lesser
barons and knights and all of the commons cried out that these were
trials enough, and that Arthur had assuredly approved himself to be
rightwise King; wherefore they demanded that he should be made King
indeed so that he might rule over them. For it had come to pass that
whithersoever Arthur went great crowds followed after him hailing him as
the true son of Uther-Pendragon, and rightwise overlord of Britain.
Wherefore, the Archbishop (seeing how the people loved Arthur and how
greatly they desired him for their King) ordained that he should be
anointed and crowned unto royal estate; and so it was done at the great
Cathedral. And some say that that Cathedral was St. Paul’s and some say
that it was not.
[Sidenote: _Arthur overcometh his enemies._]
But when Arthur had thus been crowned, all those who were opposed unto
his Kingship withdrew themselves in great anger, and immediately set
about to prepare war against him. But the people were with Arthur and
joined with him, and so also did several Kings and many of the lesser
barons and knights. And, with the advice of Merlin, Arthur made friends
and allies of sundry other kings and they and he fought two great wars
with his enemies and won both of these wars. And in the second war was
fought a very famous battle nigh to the Forest of Bedegraine (wherefore
it was called the Battle of Bedegraine), and in that battle Arthur
overthrew his enemies so entirely that it was not possible for them ever
to hope to unite in war against him again.
[Sidenote: _Arthur bringeth his nephews to court._]
And of King Lot, his brother-in-law, King Arthur brought two of his sons
to Court for to dwell there and to serve as hostages of peace
thereafter. And these two were Gawaine and Geharris and they became,
after awhile, very famous and accomplished knights. And of King Urien,
his other brother-in-law, Arthur brought unto Court his one son, Ewaine,
for to hold as an hostage of peace; and he also became in time a very
famous and accomplished knight. And because of these hostages there was
peace thereafter betwixt those three kingly brothers for all time. And a
certain very famous king and knight hight King Pellinore (who was one of
his enemies) Arthur drove out of his possessions and away from the
habitations of men and into the forest. And King Ryence (who was another
of his enemies) he drave into the mountains of North Wales. And other
kings who were his enemies he subjugated to his will, so that all the
land was at such peace that it had not enjoyed the like since the days
of Uther-Pendragon.
And King Arthur made Sir Kay his Seneschal as he had promised to do; and
he made Sir Ulfius his Chamberlain; and Merlin he made his Counsellor;
and Sir Bodwain of Britain he made his Constable. And these men were all
of such a sort as greatly enhanced the glory and renown of his reign and
established him upon his throne with entire security.
Now when the reign of King Arthur became thus entirely established, and
when the renown of his greatness began to be known in the world, many
men of noble souls and of large spirit and of high knightly
prowess--knights who desired above all things to achieve glory at arms
in Courts of Chivalry--perceived that great credit and exaltation of
estate were likely to be won under such a king. So it fell out that,
from all parts, by little and little, there began to gather together
such a Court of noble, honorable knights about King Arthur as men never
beheld before that time, and shall haply never behold again.
For even to this day the history of these good knights is known to the
greater part of mankind. Yea; the names of many kings and emperors have
passed away and have been forgotten, but the names of Sir Galahad, and
of Sir Launcelot of the Lake, and of Sir Tristram of Lyonesse, and of
Sir Percival of Gales, and of Sir Gawaine, and of Sir Ewaine, and of Sir
Bors de Ganis, and of many others of that noble household of worthy
brotherhood, is still remembered by men. Wherefore, I think that it is
very likely that so long as words shall be written, the performances of
these worthies shall be remembered.
So in this history yet to be written, I have set it for my task to
inform him who reads this book of many of these adventures, telling him,
besides, such several circumstances as I do not believe are known unto
everybody. And by and by, when I shall tell of the establishment of the
Round Table, I shall set forth a tabulated list of a number of those
worthies who at this time assembled at the Court of Arthur as men chosen
to found that order of the Round Table, and who, for that reason, were
entitled “The Ancient and Honorable Companions of the Round Table.”
For though this entire history chiefly concerneth King Arthur, yet the
glory of these great honorable knights was his glory, and his glory was
their glory, wherefore one cannot tell of the glory of King Arthur
without also telling of the glory of those noble gentlemen aforesaid.
[Illustration]
PART II
The Winning of a Sword
_Here beginneth the story of certain adventures of Arthur after that he
had become King, wherein it is told how, with great knightly courage and
prowess, he fought a very fierce and bloodly battle with a certain Sable
Knight. Likewise, it is told how he achieved, in consequence of that
battle, a certain Sword so famous and glorious that its renown shall
last as long as our speech shall be spoken. For the like of that sword
was never seen in all the world before that time, and it hath never been
beheld since then; and its name was Excalibur.
So, if it please you to read this story, I believe it will afford you
excellent entertainment, and will, without doubt, greatly exalt your
spirit because of the remarkable courage which those two famous and
worthy knights displayed when they fought together that famous battle.
Likewise you shall find great cheer in reading therein of the wonderful
marvellousness of a certain land of Faerie into which King Arthur
wandered, and where he found a Lake of Enchantment and held converse
with a mild and beautiful lady of that land who directed him how to
obtain that renowned sword aforementioned.
For it hath given me such pleasure to write these things that my heart
would, at times, be diluted as with a pure joy, wherefore, I entertain
great hopes that you also may find much pleasure in them as I have
already done. So I pray you to listen unto what follows._
[Illustration: In the Valley of Delight]
[Illustration] Chapter First.
_How There Came a Certain Wounded Knight Unto the Court of King Arthur,
How a Young Knight of the King’s Court Sought To Avenge Him and Failed
and How the King Thereupon Took That Assay Upon Himself._
[Sidenote: _How King Arthur abided in the Forest of Usk._]
Now it fell upon a certain pleasant time in the Springtide season that
King Arthur and his Court were making a royal progression through that
part of Britain which lieth close to the Forests of the Usk. At that
time the weather was exceedingly warm, and so the King and Court made
pause within the forest under the trees in the cool and pleasant shade
that the place afforded, and there the King rested for a while upon a
couch of rushes spread with scarlet cloth.
And the knights then present at that Court were, Sir Gawaine, and Sir
Ewaine, and Sir Kay, and Sir Pellias, and Sir Bedevere, and Sir Caradoc,
and Sir Geraint, and Sir Bodwin of Britain and Sir Constantine of
Cornwall, and Sir Brandiles and Sir Mador de la Porte, and there was not
to be found anywhere in the world a company of such noble and exalted
knights as these.
Now as the King lay drowsing and as these worthies sat holding cheerful
converse together at that place, there came, of a sudden, a considerable
bustle and stir upon the outskirts of the Court, and presently there
appeared a very sad and woful sight. For there came thitherward a
knight, sore wounded, and upheld upon his horse by a golden-haired page,
clad in an apparel of white and azure. And, likewise, the knight’s
apparel and the trappings of his horse were of white and azure, and upon
his shield he bore the emblazonment of a single lily flower of silver
upon a ground of pure azure.
[Sidenote: _How the wounded knight cometh into the forest._]
But the knight was in a very woful plight. For his face was as pale as
wax and hung down upon his breast. And his eyes were glazed and saw
naught that passed around him, and his fair apparel of white and blue
was all red with the blood of life that ran from a great wound in his
side. And, as they came upon their way, the young page lamented in such
wise that it wrung the heart for to hear him.
Now, as these approached, King Arthur aroused cried out, “Alas! what
doleful spectacle is that which I behold? Now hasten, ye my lords, and
bring succor to yonder knight; and do thou, Sir Kay, go quickly and
bring that fair young page hither that we may presently hear from his
lips what mishap hath befallen his lord.”
So certain of those knights hastened at the King’s bidding and gave all
succor to the wounded knight, and conveyed him to King Arthur’s own
pavilion, which had been pitched at a little distance. And when he had
come there the King’s chirurgeon presently attended upon him--albeit his
wounds were of such a sort he might not hope to live for a very long
while.
Meantime, Sir Kay brought that fair young page before the King, where he
sat, and the King thought that he had hardly ever seen a more beautiful
countenance. And the King said, “I prithee tell me, Sir Page, who is thy
master, and how came he in such a sad and pitiable condition as that
which we have just now beheld.”
[Sidenote: The page telleth the story of the wounded knight.]
“That will I so, Lord,” said the youth. “Know that my master is entitled
Sir Myles of the White Fountain, and that he cometh from the country
north of where we are and at a considerable distance from this. In that
country he is the Lord of seven castles and several noble estates,
wherefore, as thou mayst see, he is of considerable consequence. A
fortnight ago (being doubtless moved thereunto by the lustiness of the
Springtime), he set forth with only me for his esquire, for he had a
mind to seek adventure in such manner as beseemed a good knight who
would be errant. And we had several adventures, and in all of them my
lord was entirely successful; for he overcame six knights at various
places and sent them all to his castle for to attest his valor unto his
lady.
“At last, this morning, coming to a certain place situated at a
considerable distance from this, we came upon a fair castle of the
forest, which stood in a valley surrounded by open spaces of level lawn,
bedight with many flowers of divers sorts. There we beheld three fair
damsels who tossed a golden ball from one to another, and the damsels
were clad all in flame-colored satin, and their hair was of the color of
gold. And as we drew nigh to them they stinted their play, and she who
was the chief of those damsel called out to my lord, demanding of him
whither he went and what was his errand.
“To her my lord made answer that he was errant and in search of
adventure, and upon this, the three damsels laughed, and she who had
first spoken said, ‘An thou art in search of adventure, Sir Knight,
happily I may be able to help thee to one that shall satisfy thee to thy
heart’s content.’
“Unto this my master made reply ‘I prithee, fair damsel, tell me what
that adventure may be so that I may presently assay it.’
“Thereupon this lady bade my master to take a certain path, and to
follow the same for the distance of a league or a little more, and that
he would then come to a bridge of stone that crossed a violent stream,
and she assured him that there he might find adventure enough for to
satisfy any man.
“So my master and I wended thitherward as that damoiselle had directed,
and, by and by, we came unto the bridge whereof she had spoken. And, lo!
beyond the bridge was a lonesome castle with a tall straight tower, and
before the castle was a wide and level lawn of well-trimmed grass. And
immediately beyond the bridge was an apple-tree hung over with a
multitude of shields. And midway upon the bridge was a single shield,
entirely of black; and beside it hung a hammer of brass; and beneath the
shield was written these words in letters of red:
=Whoso Smiteth This Shield
Doeth So At His Peril.=
“Now, my master, Sir Myles, when he read those words went straightway
to that shield and, seizing the hammer that hung beside it, he smote
upon it a blow so that it rang like thunder.
“Thereupon, as in answer, the portcullis of the castle was let fall, and
there immediately came forth a knight, clad all from head to foot in
sable armor. And his apparel and the trappings of his horse and all the
appointments thereof were likewise entirely of sable.
[Sidenote: The page telleth of the Sable Knight.]
“Now when that Sable Knight perceived my master he came riding swiftly
across the meadow and so to the other end of the bridge. And when he had
come there he drew rein and saluted my master and cried out, ‘Sir
Knight, I demand of thee why thou didst smite that shield. Now let me
tell thee, because of thy boldness, I shall take away from thee thine
own shield, and shall hang it upon yonder apple-tree, where thou
beholdest all those other shields to be hanging.’ Unto this my master
made reply. ‘That thou shalt not do unless thou mayst overcome me, as
knight to knight.’ And thereupon, immediately, he dressed his shield and
put himself into array for an assault at arms.
“So my master and this Sable Knight, having made themselves ready for
that encounter, presently drave together with might and main. And they
met in the middle of the course, where my master’s spear burst into
splinters. But the spear of the Sable Knight held and it pierced through
Sir Myles, his shield, and it penetrated his side, so that both he and
his horse were overthrown violently into the dust; he being wounded so
grievously that he could not arise again from the ground whereon he lay.
“Then the Sable Knight took my master’s shield and hung it up in the
branches of the apple-tree where the other shields were hanging, and,
thereupon, without paying further heed to my master, or inquiring as to
his hurt, he rode away into his castle again, whereof the portcullis was
immediately closed behind him.
“So, after that he had gone, I got my master to his horse with great
labor, and straightway took him thence, not knowing where I might find
harborage for him, until I came to this place. And that, my lord King,
is the true story of how my master came by that mortal hurt, which he
hath suffered.”
“Ha! By the glory of Paradise!” cried King Arthur, “I do consider it
great shame that in my Kingdom and so near to my Court strangers should
be so discourteously treated as Sir Myles hath been served. For it is
certainly a discourtesy for to leave a fallen knight upon the ground,
without tarrying to inquire as to his hurt how grievous it may be. And
still more discourteous is it for to take away the shield of a fallen
knight who hath done good battle.”
And so did all the knights of the King’s Court exclaim against the
discourtesy of that Sable Knight.
[Sidenote: _Griflet craveth a boon._]
Then there came forth a certain esquire attendant upon the King’s
person, by name Griflet, who was much beloved by his Royal Master, and
he kneeled before the King and cried out in a loud voice: “I crave a
boon of thee, my lord King! and do beseech thee that thou wilt grant it
unto me!”
Then King Arthur uplifted his countenance upon the youth as he knelt
before him and he said, “Ask, Griflet, and thy boon shall be granted
unto thee.”
Thereupon Griflet said, “It is this that I would ask--I crave that thou
wilt make me straightway knight, and that thou wilt let me go forth and
endeavor to punish this unkindly knight, by overthrowing him, and so
redeeming those shields which he hath hung upon that apple-tree.”
Then was King Arthur much troubled in his spirit, for Griflet was as yet
only an esquire and altogether untried in arms. So he said, “Behold,
thou art yet too young to have to do with so potent a knight as this
sable champion must be, who has thus overthrown so many knights without
himself suffering any mishap. I prithee, dear Griflet, consider and ask
some other boon.”
But young Griflet only cried the more, “A boon! A boon! and thou hast
granted it unto me.”
Thereupon King Arthur said, “Thou shalt have thy boon, though my heart
much misgiveth me that thou wilt suffer great ill and misfortune from
this adventure.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur makes Griflet a knight._]
So that night Griflet kept watch upon his armor in a chapel of the
forest, and, in the morning, having received the Sacrament, he was
created a knight by the hand of King Arthur--and it was not possible for
any knight to have greater honor than that. Then King Arthur fastened
the golden spurs to Sir Griflet’s heels with his own hand.
So Griflet was made a knight, and having mounted his charger, he rode
straightway upon his adventure, much rejoicing and singing for pure
pleasure.
And it was at this time that Sir Myles died of his hurt, for it is often
so that death and misfortune befall some, whiles others laugh and sing
for hope and joy, as though such grievous things as sorrow and death
could never happen in the world wherein they live.
Now that afternoon King Arthur sat waiting with great anxiety for word
of that young knight, but there was no word until toward evening, when
there came hurrying to him certain of his attendants, proclaiming that
Sir Griflet was returning, but without his shield, and in such guise
that it seemed as though a great misfortune had befallen him. And
straightway thereafter came Sir Griflet himself, sustained upon his
horse on the one hand by Sir Constantine and upon the other by Sir
Brandiles. And, lo! Sir Griflet’s head hung down upon his breast, and
his fair new armor was all broken and stained with blood and dust. And
so woful was he of appearance that King Arthur’s heart was contracted
with sorrow to behold that young knight in so pitiable a condition.
So, at King Arthur’s bidding, they conducted Sir Griflet to the Royal
Pavilion, and there they laid him down upon a soft couch. Then the
King’s chirurgeon searched his wounds and found that the head of a spear
and a part of the shaft thereof were still piercing Sir Griflet’s side,
so that he was in most woful and grievous pain.
And when King Arthur beheld in what a parlous state Sir Griflet lay he
cried out, “Alas! my dear young knight, what hath happened thee to bring
thee unto such a woful condition as this which I behold?”
[Sidenote: _Sir Griflet telleth how he was hurt._]
Then Sir Griflet, speaking in a very weak voice, told King Arthur how he
had fared. And he said that he had proceeded through the forest, until
he had discovered the three beautiful damsels whereof the page of Sir
Myles had spoken. And he said that these damsels had directed him as to
the manner in which he should pursue his adventure. And he said that he
had found the bridge whereon hung the shield and the brazen mall, and
that he had there beheld the apple-tree hung full of shields; and he
said that he smote the shield of the Sable Knight with the brazen mall,
and that the Sable Knight had thereupon come riding out against him. And
he said that this knight did not appear of a mind to fight with him;
instead, he cried out to him with a great deal of nobleness that he was
too young and too untried in arms to have to do with a seasoned knight;
wherefore he advised Sir Griflet to withdraw him from that adventure ere
it was too late. But, notwithstanding this advice, Sir Griflet would not
withdraw but declared that he would certainly have to do with that other
knight in sable. Now at the very first onset Sir Griflet’s spear had
burst into pieces, but the spear of the Sable Knight had held and had
pierced through Sir Griflet’s shield and into his side, causing him this
grievous wound whereof he suffered. And Sir Griflet said that the Sable
Knight had then, most courteously, uplifted him upon his horse again
(albeit he had kept Sir Griflet’s shield and had hung it upon the tree
with those others that hung there) and had then directed him upon his
way, so that he had made shift to ride thither, though with great pain
and dole.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur is very angry._]
Then was King Arthur very wode and greatly disturbed in his mind, for
indeed he loved Sir Griflet exceedingly well. Wherefore he declared that
he himself would now go forth for to punish that Sable Knight, and for
to humble him with his own hand. And, though the knights of his Court
strove to dissuade him from that adventure, yet he declared that he with
his own hand would accomplish that proud knight’s humiliation, and that
he would undertake the adventure, with God His Grace, upon the very next
day.
And so disturbed was he that he could scarce eat his food that evening
for vexation, nor would he go to his couch to sleep, but, having
inquired very narrowly of Sir Griflet where he might find that valley of
flowers and those three damsels, he spent the night in walking up and
down his pavilion, awaiting for the dawning of the day.
Now, as soon as the birds first began to chirp and the east to brighten
with the coming of the daylight, King Arthur summoned his two esquires,
and, having with their aid donned his armor and mounted a milk-white
war-horse, he presently took his departure upon that adventure which he
had determined upon.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur sets forth upon his adventure._]
And, indeed it is a very pleasant thing for to ride forth in the dawning
of a Springtime day. For then the little birds do sing their sweetest
song, all joining in one joyous medley, whereof one may scarce tell one
note from another, so multitudinous is that pretty roundelay; then do
the growing things of the earth smell the sweetest in the freshness of
the early daytime--the fair flowers, the shrubs, and the blossoms upon
the trees; then doth the dew bespangle all the sward as with an
incredible multitude of jewels of various colors; then is all the world
sweet and clean and new, as though it had been fresh created for him who
came to roam abroad so early in the morning.
So King Arthur’s heart expanded with great joy, and he chanted a quaint
song as he rode through the forest upon the quest of that knightly
adventure.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur cometh to the Valley of Delight._]
So, about noon-tide, he came to that part of the forest lands whereof he
had heard those several times before. For of a sudden, he discovered
before him a wide and gently sloping valley, a-down which ran a stream
as bright as silver. And, lo! the valley was strewn all over with an
infinite multitude of fair and fragrant flowers of divers sorts. And in
the midst of the valley there stood a comely castle, with tall red roofs
and many bright windows, so that it seemed to King Arthur that it was a
very fine castle indeed. And upon a smooth green lawn he perceived those
three damoiselles clad in flame-colored satin of whom the page of Sir
Myles and Sir Griflet had spoken. And they played at ball with a golden
ball, and the hair of each was of the hue of gold, and it seemed to King
Arthur, as he drew nigh, that they were the most beautiful damoiselles
that he had ever beheld in all of his life.
Now as King Arthur came unto them the three ceased tossing the ball, and
she who was the fairest of all damoiselles demanded of him whither he
went and upon what errand he was bound.
Then King Arthur made reply: “Ha! fair lady! whither should a belted
knight ride upon such a day as this, and upon what business, other than
the search of adventure such as beseemeth a knight of a proper strength
of heart and frame who would be errant?”
[Sidenote: _The damoiselles greet King Arthur._]
Then the three damoiselles smiled upon the King, for he was exceedingly
comely of face and they liked him very well. “Alas, Sir Knight!” said
she who had before spoken, “I prithee be in no such haste to undertake a
dangerous adventure, but rather tarry with us for a day or two or three,
for to feast and make merry with us. For surely good cheer doth greatly
enlarge the heart, and we would fain enjoy the company of so gallant a
knight as thou appearest to be. Yonder castle is ours and all this gay
valley is ours, and those who have visited it are pleased, because of
its joyousness, to call it the Valley of Delight. So tarry with us for a
little and be not in such haste to go forward.”
“Nay,” said King Arthur, “I may not tarry with ye, fair ladies, for I am
bent upon an adventure of which ye may wot right well, when I tell ye
that I seek that Sable Knight, who hath overcome so many other knights
and hath taken away their shields. So I do pray ye of your grace for to
tell me where I may find him.”
“Grace of Heaven!” cried she who spake for the others, “this is
certainly a sorry adventure which ye seek, Sir Knight! For already, in
these two days, have two knights assayed with that knight, and both have
fallen into great pain and disregard. Ne’theless, an thou wilt undertake
this peril, yet shalt thou not go until thou hast eaten and refreshed
thyself.” So saying, she lifted a little ivory whistle that hung from
her neck by a chain of gold, and blew upon it very shrilly.
In answer to this summons there came forth from the castle three fair
young pages, clad all in flame-colored raiment, bearing among them a
silver table covered with a white napkin. And after them came five
other pages of the same appearance, bearing flagons of white wine and
red, dried fruits and comfits and manchets of white fair bread.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur eats and drinks in the Valley of Delight._]
Then King Arthur descended from his war-horse with great gladness, for
he was both hungry and athirst, and, seating himself at the table with
the damsels beside him, he ate with great enjoyment, discoursing
pleasantly the while with those fair ladies, who listened to him with
great cheerfulness of spirit. Yet he told them not who he was, though
they greatly marvelled who might be the noble warrior who had come thus
into that place.
So, having satisfied his hunger and his thirst, King Arthur mounted his
steed again, and the three damsels conducted him across the valley a
little way--he riding upon his horse and they walking beside him. So, by
and by, he perceived where was a dark pathway that led into the farther
side of the forest land; and when he had come thither the lady who had
addressed him before said to him, “Yonder is the way that thou must take
an thou wouldst enter upon this adventure. So fare thee well, and may
good hap go with thee, for, certes, thou art the Knight most pleasant of
address who hath come hitherward for this long time.”
Thereupon King Arthur, having saluted those ladies right courteously,
rode away with very great joy of that pleasant adventure through which
he had thus passed.
* * * * *
Now when King Arthur had gone some ways he came, by and by, to a certain
place where charcoal burners plied their trade. For here were many
mounds of earth, all a-smoke with the smouldering logs within, whilst
all the air was filled with the smell of the dampened fires.
As the King approached this spot, he presently beheld that something was
toward that was sadly amiss. For, in the open clearing, he beheld three
sooty fellows with long knives in their hands, who pursued one old man,
whose beard was as white as snow. And he beheld that the reverend old
man, who was clad richly in black, and whose horse stood at a little
distance, was running hither and thither, as though to escape from those
wicked men, and he appeared to be very hard pressed and in great danger
of his life.
“Pardee!” quoth the young King to himself, “here, certes, is one in sore
need of succor.” Whereupon he cried out in a great voice, “Hold,
villains! What would you be at!” and therewith set spurs to his horse
and dropped his spear into rest and drove down upon them with a noise
like to thunder for loudness.
But when the three wicked fellows beheld the armed Knight thus
thundering down upon them, they straightway dropped their knives and,
with loud outcries of fear, ran away hither and thither until they had
escaped into the thickets of the forest, where one upon a horse might
not hope to pursue them.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur rescues Merlin from the three villains._]
Whereupon, having driven away those wicked fellows, King Arthur rode up
to him whom he had succored, thinking to offer him condolence. And
behold! when he had come nigh to him, he perceived that the old man was
the Enchanter Merlin. Yet whence he had so suddenly come, who had only a
little while before been at the King’s Court at Carleon, and what he did
in that place, the King could in no wise understand. Wherefore he
bespoke the Enchanter in this wise, “Ha! Merlin, it seemeth to me that I
have saved thy life. For, surely, thou hadst not escaped from the hands
of those wicked men had I not happened to come hitherward at this time.”
“Dost thou think so, Lord?” said Merlin. “Now let me tell thee that I
did maybe appear to be in danger, yet I might have saved myself very
easily had I been of a mind to do so. But, as thou sawst me in this
seeming peril, so may thou know that a real peril, far greater than
this, lieth before thee, and there will be no errant knight to succor
thee from it. Wherefore, I pray thee, Lord, for to take me with thee
upon this adventure that thou art set upon, for I do tell thee that thou
shalt certainly suffer great dole and pain therein.”
“Merlin,” said King Arthur, “even an I were to face my death, yet would
I not turn back from this adventure. But touching the advice thou givest
me, meseems it will be very well to take thee with me if such peril
lieth before me as thou sayest.”
And Merlin said, “Yea, it would be very well for thee to do so.”
So Merlin mounted upon his palfrey, and King Arthur and he betook their
way from that place in pursuit of that adventure which the King had
undertaken to perform.
[Illustration:]
[Illustration: The Battle with the Sable Knight.]
[Illustration] Chapter Second.
_How King Arthur Fought With the Sable Knight and How He Was Sorely
Wounded. Likewise How Merlin Brought Him Safe Away From the Field of
Battle._
So King Arthur and Merlin rode together through the forest for a
considerable while, until they perceived that they must be approaching
nigh to the place where dwelt the Sable Knight whom the King sought so
diligently. For the forest, which had till then been altogether a
wilderness, very deep and mossy, began to show an aspect more thin and
open, as though a dwelling-place of mankind was close at hand.
And, after a little, they beheld before them a violent stream of water,
that rushed through a dark and dismal glen. And, likewise, they
perceived that across this stream of water there was a bridge of stone,
and that upon the other side of the bridge there was a smooth and level
lawn of green grass, whereon Knights-contestants might joust very well.
And beyond this lawn they beheld a tall and forbidding castle, with
smooth walls and a straight tower; and this castle was built upon the
rocks so that it appeared to be altogether a part of the stone. So they
wist that this must be the castle whereof the page and Sir Griflet had
spoken.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur cometh to the castle of the Sable Knight._]
For, midway upon the bridge, they beheld that there hung a sable shield
and a brass mall exactly as the page and Sir Griflet had said; and that
upon the farther side of the stream was an apple-tree, amid the leaves
of which hung a very great many shields of various devices, exactly as
those two had reported: and they beheld that some of those shields were
clean and fair, and that some were foul and stained with blood, and that
some were smooth and unbroken, and that some were cleft as though by
battle of knight with knight. And all those shields were the shields of
different knights whom the Sable Knight, who dwelt within the castle,
had overthrown in combat with his own hand.
“Splendor of Paradise!” quoth King Arthur, “that must, indeed, be a
right valiant knight who, with his own single strength, hath overthrown
and cast down so many other knights. For, indeed, Merlin, there must be
an hundred shields hanging in yonder tree!”
Unto this Merlin made reply, “And thou, Lord, mayst be very happy an thy
shield, too, hangeth not there ere the sun goeth down this even-tide.”
“That,” said King Arthur, with a very steadfast countenance, “shall be
as God willeth. For, certes, I have a greater mind than ever for to try
my power against yonder knight. For, consider, what especial honor would
fall to me should I overcome so valiant a warrior as this same Sable
Champion appeareth to be, seeing that he hath been victorious over so
many other good knights.”
Thereupon, having so spoken his mind, King Arthur immediately pushed
forward his horse and so, coming upon the bridge, he clearly read that
challenge writ in letters of red beneath the shield:
=Whoso Smiteth This Shield
Doeth So At His Peril.=
[Sidenote: _King Arthur challenges the Sable Knight._]
Upon reading these words, the King seized the brazen mall, and smote
that shield so violent a blow that the sound thereof echoed back from
the smooth walls of the castle, and from the rocks whereon it stood, and
from the skirts of the forest around about, as though twelve other
shields had been struck in those several places.
And in answer to that sound, the portcullis of the castle was
immediately let fall, and there issued forth a knight, very huge of
frame, and clad all in sable armor. And, likewise, all of his apparel
and all the trappings of his horse were entirely of sable, so that he
presented a most grim and forbidding aspect. And this Sable Knight came
across that level meadow of smooth grass with a very stately and
honorable gait; for neither did he ride in haste, nor did he ride
slowly, but with great pride and haughtiness of mien, as became a
champion who, haply, had never yet been overcome in battle. So, reaching
the bridge-head, he drew rein and saluted King Arthur with great
dignity, and also right haughtily. “Ha! Sir Knight!” quoth he, “why
didst thou, having read those words yonder inscribed, smite upon my
shield? Now I do tell thee that, for thy discourtesy, I shall presently
take thy shield away from thee, and shall hang it up upon yonder
apple-tree where thou beholdest all those other shields to be hanging.
Wherefore, either deliver thou thy shield unto me without more ado or
else prepare for to defend it with thy person--in the which event thou
shalt certainly suffer great pain and discomfort to thy body.”
“Gramercy for the choice thou grantest me,” said King Arthur. “But as
for taking away my shield--I do believe that that shall be as Heaven
willeth, and not as thou willest. Know, thou unkind knight, that I have
come hither for no other purpose than to do battle with thee and so to
endeavor for to redeem with my person all those shields that hang yonder
upon that apple-tree. So make thou ready straightway that I may have to
do with thee, maybe to thy great disadvantage.”
“That will I so,” replied the Sable Knight. And thereupon he turned his
horse’s head and, riding back a certain distance across the level lawn,
he took stand in such place as appeared to him to be convenient. And so
did King Arthur ride forth also upon that lawn, and take his station as
seemed to him to be convenient.
Then each knight dressed his spear and his shield for the encounter,
and, having thus made ready for the assault, each shouted to his
war-horse and drave his spurs deep into its flank.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur contests with the Sable Knight._]
Then those two noble steeds rushed forth like lightning, coursing across
the ground with such violent speed that the earth trembled and shook
beneath them, an it were by cause of an earthquake. So those two knights
met fairly in the midst of the centre of the field, crashing together
like a thunderbolt. And so violently did they smite the one against the
other that the spears burst into splinters, even unto the guard and the
truncheon thereof, and the horses of the riders staggered back from the
onset, so that only because of the extraordinary address of the
knights-rider did they recover from falling before that shock of
meeting.
But, with great spirit, these two knights uplifted each his horse with
his own spirit, and so completed his course in safety.
And indeed King Arthur was very much amazed that he had not overthrown
his opponent, for, at that time, as aforesaid, he was considered to be
the very best knight and the one best approved in deeds of arms that
lived in all of Britain. Wherefore he marvelled at the power and the
address of that knight against whom he had driven, that he had not been
overthrown by the greatness of the blow that had been delivered against
his defences. So, when they met again in the midst of the field, King
Arthur gave that knight greeting, and bespoke him with great courtesy,
addressing him in this wise: “Sir Knight, I know not who thou art, but I
do pledge my knightly word that thou art the most potent knight that
ever I have met in all of my life. Now I do bid thee get down
straightway from thy horse, and let us two fight this battle with sword
and upon foot, for it were pity to let it end in this way.”
“Not so,” quoth the Sable Knight--“not so, nor until one of us twain be
overthrown will I so contest this battle upon foot.” And upon this he
shouted, “Ho! Ho!” in a very loud voice, and straightway thereupon the
gateway of the castle opened and there came running forth two tall
esquires clad all in black, pied with crimson. And each of these
esquires bare in his hand a great spear of ash-wood, new and
well-seasoned, and never yet strained in battle.
So King Arthur chose one of these spears and the Sable Knight took the
other, and thereupon each returned to that station wherefrom he had
before essayed the encounter.
Then once again each knight rushed his steed to the assault, and once
again did each smite so fairly in the midst of the defence of the other
that the spears were splintered, so that only the guard and the
truncheon thereof remained in the grasp of the knight who held it.
[Sidenote: _The knights break lances a second time._]
Then, as before, King Arthur would have fought the battle out with
swords and upon foot, but again the Sable Knight would not have it so,
but called aloud upon those within the castle, whereupon there
immediately came forth two other esquires with fresh, new spears of
ash-wood. So each knight again took him a spear, and having armed
himself therewith, chose each his station upon that fair, level lawn of
grass.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur is overthrown._]
And now, for the third time, having thus prepared themselves thereof
assault, those two excellent knights hurled themselves together in
furious assault. And now, as twice before, did King Arthur strike the
Sable Knight so fairly in the centre of his defence that the spear which
he held was burst into splinters. But this time, the spear of the Sable
Knight did not so break in that manner, but held; and so violent was the
blow that he delivered upon King Arthur’s shield that he pierced through
the centre of it. Then the girths of the King’s saddle burst apart by
that great, powerful blow, and both he and his steed were cast violently
backward. So King Arthur might have been overcast, had he not voided his
saddle with extraordinary skill and knightly address, wherefore, though
his horse was overthrown, he himself still held his footing and did not
fall into the dust. Ne’theless, so violent was the blow that he received
that, for a little space, he was altogether bereft of his senses so that
everything whirled around before his eyes.
But when his sight returned to him he was filled with an anger so
vehement that it appeared to him as though all the blood in his heart
rushed into his brains so that he saw naught but red, as of blood,
before his eyes. And when this also had passed he perceived the Sable
Knight that he sat his horse at no great distance. Then immediately King
Arthur ran to him and catching the bridle-rein of his horse, he cried
out aloud unto that Sable Knight with great violence: “Come down, thou
black knight! and fight me upon foot and with thy sword.”
“That will I not do,” said the Sable Knight, “for, lo! I have overthrown
thee. Wherefore deliver thou to me thy shield, that I may hang it upon
yonder apple-tree, and go thy way as others have done before thee.”
“That will I not!” cried King Arthur, with exceeding passion, “neither
will I yield myself nor go hence until either thou or I have altogether
conquered the other.” Thereupon he thrust the horse of the Sable Knight
backward by the bridle-rein so vehemently, that the other was
constrained to void his saddle to save himself from being overthrown
upon the ground.
[Sidenote: _The knights fight with swords upon foot._]
And now each knight was as entirely furious as the other, wherefore,
each drew his sword and dressed his shield, and thereupon rushed
together like two wild bulls in battle. They foined, they smote, they
traced, they parried, they struck again and again, and the sound of
their blows, crashing and clashing the one upon the other, filled the
entire surrounding space with an extraordinary uproar. Nor may any man
altogether conceive of the entire fury of that encounter, for, because
of the violence of the blows which the one delivered upon the other,
whole cantels of armor were hewn from their bodies and many deep and
grievous wounds were given and received, so that the armor of each was
altogether stained with red because of the blood that flowed down upon
it.
At last King Arthur, waxing, as it were, entirely mad, struck so fierce
a blow that no armor could have withstood that stroke had it fallen
fairly upon it. But it befell with that stroke that his sword broke at
the hilt and the blade thereof flew into three several pieces into the
air. Yet was the stroke so wonderfully fierce that the Sable Knight
groaned, and staggered, and ran about in a circle as though he had gone
blind and knew not whither to direct his steps.
But presently he recovered himself again, and perceiving King Arthur
standing near by, and not knowing that his enemy had now no sword for to
defend himself withal, he cast aside his shield and took his own sword
into both hands, and therewith smote so dolorous a stroke that he clave
through King Arthur’s shield and through his helmet and even to the bone
of his brain-pan.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur is sorely wounded._]
Then King Arthur thought that he had received his death-wound, for his
brains swam like water, his thighs trembled exceedingly, and he sank
down to his knees, whilst the blood and sweat, commingled together in
the darkness of his helmet, flowed down into his eyes in a lather and
blinded him. Thereupon, seeing him thus grievously hurt, the Sable
Knight called upon him with great vehemence for to yield himself and to
surrender his shield, because he was now too sorely wounded for to fight
any more.
But King Arthur would not yield himself, but catching the other by the
sword-belt, he lifted himself to his feet. Then, being in a manner
recovered from his amazement, he embraced the other with both arms, and
placing his knee behind the thigh of the Sable Knight, he cast him
backward down upon the ground so violently that the sound of the fall
was astounding to hear. And with that fall the Sable Knight was, awhile,
entirely bereft of consciousness. Then King Arthur straightway unlaced
the helm of the Sable Knight and so beheld his face, and he knew him in
spite of the blood that still ran down his own countenance in great
quantities, and he knew that knight was King Pellinore, aforenamed in
this history, who had twice warred against King Arthur. (It hath already
been said how King Arthur had driven that other king from the
habitations of men and into the forests, so that now he dwelt in this
poor gloomy castle whence he waged war against all the knights who came
unto that place.)
Now when King Arthur beheld whom it was against whom he had done battle,
he cried out aloud, “Ha! Pellinore, is it then thou? Now yield thee to
me, for thou art entirely at my mercy.” And upon this he drew his
misericordia and set the point thereof at King Pellinore’s throat.
But by now King Pellinore had greatly recovered from his fall, and
perceiving that the blood was flowing down in great measure from out his
enemy’s helmet, he wist that that other must have been very sorely
wounded by the blow which he had just now received. Wherefore he catched
King Arthur’s wrist in his hand and directed the point of the dagger
away from his own throat so that no great danger threatened therefrom.
And, indeed, what with his sore wound and with the loss of blood, King
Arthur was now fallen exceedingly sick and faint, so that it appeared to
him that he was nigh to death. Accordingly, it was with no very great
ado that King Pellinore suddenly heaved himself up from the ground and
so overthrew his enemy that King Arthur was now underneath his knees.
[Sidenote: _King Pellinore makes to kill King Arthur._]
And by this King Pellinore was exceedingly mad with the fury of the sore
battle he had fought. For he was so enraged that his eyes were all
beshot with blood like those of a wild boar, and a froth, like the
champings of a wild boar, stood in the beard about his lips. Wherefore
he wrenched the dagger out of his enemy’s hand, and immediately began to
unlace his helm, with intent to slay him where he lay. But at this
moment Merlin came in great haste, crying out, “Stay! stay! Sir
Pellinore; what would you be at? Stay your sacrilegious hand! For he who
lieth beneath you is none other than Arthur, King of all this realm!”
At this King Pellinore was astonished beyond measure. And for a little
he was silent, and then after awhile he cried out in a very loud voice,
“Say you so, old man? Then verily your words have doomed this man unto
death. For no one in all this world hath ever suffered such ill and such
wrongs as I have suffered at his hands. For, lo! he hath taken from me
power, and kingship, and honors, and estates, and hath left me only this
gloomy, dismal castle of the forest as an abiding-place. Wherefore,
seeing that he is thus in my power, he shall now presently die; if for
no other reason than because if I now let him go free, he will certainly
revenge himself when he shall have recovered from all the ill he hath
suffered at my hands.”
[Sidenote: _Merlin lays a spell upon King Pellinore._]
Then Merlin said, “Not so! He shall not die at thy hands, for I, myself,
shall save him.” Whereupon he uplifted his staff and smote King
Pellinore across the shoulders. Then immediately King Pellinore fell
down and lay upon the ground on his face like one who had suddenly gone
dead.
Upon this, King Arthur uplifted himself upon his elbow and beheld his
enemy lying there as though dead, and he cried out, “Ha! Merlin! what is
this that thou hast done? I am very sorry, for I do perceive that thou,
by thy arts of magic, hath slain one of the best knights in all the
world.”
“Not so, my lord King!” said Merlin; “for, in sooth, I tell thee that
thou art far nigher to thy death than he. For he is but in sleep and
will soon awaken; but thou art in such a case that it would take only a
very little for to cause thee to die.”
And indeed King Arthur was exceeding sick, even to the heart, with the
sore wound he had received, so that it was only with much ado that
Merlin could help him up upon his horse. Having done the which and
having hung the King’s shield upon the horn of his saddle, Merlin
straightway conveyed the wounded man thence across the bridge, and,
leading the horse by the bridle, so took him away into the forest.
Now I must tell you that there was in that part of the forest a certain
hermit so holy that the wild birds of the woodland would come and rest
upon his hand whiles he read his breviary; and so sanctified was he in
gentleness that the wild does would come even to the door of his
hermitage, and there stand whilst he milked them for his refreshment.
And this hermit dwelt in that part of the forest so remote from the
habitations of man that when he rang the bell for matins or for vespers,
there was hardly ever anyone to hear the sound thereof excepting the
wild creatures that dwelt thereabout. Yet, ne’theless, to this remote
and lonely place royal folk and others of high degree would sometimes
come, as though on a pilgrimage, because of the hermit’s exceeding
saintliness.
[Sidenote: _Merlin bringeth King Arthur to the cell of a lonely
hermit._]
So Merlin conveyed King Arthur unto this sanctuary, and, having reached
that place, he and the hermit lifted the wounded man down from his
saddle--the hermit giving many words of pity and sorrow--and together
they conveyed him into the holy man’s cell. There they laid him upon a
couch of moss and unlaced his armor and searched his wounds and bathed
them with pure water and dressed his hurts, for that hermit was a very
skilful leech. So for all that day and part of the next, King Arthur lay
upon the hermit’s pallet like one about to die; for he beheld all things
about him as though through thin water, and the breath hung upon his
lips and fluttered, and he could not even lift his head from the pallet
because of the weakness that lay upon him.
[Sidenote: _The Lady Guinevere consults with the priest._]
Now upon the afternoon of the second day there fell a great noise and
tumult in that part of the forest. For it happened that the Lady
Guinevere of Cameliard, together with her Court, both of ladies and of
knights, had come upon a pilgrimage to that holy man, the fame of whose
saintliness had reached even unto the place where she dwelt. For that
lady had a favorite page who was very sick of a fever, and she trusted
that the holy man might give her some charm or amulet by the virtue of
which he might haply be cured. Wherefore she had come to that place with
her entire Court so that all that part of the forest was made gay with
fine raiment and the silence thereof was made merry with the sound of
talk and laughter and the singing of songs and the chattering of many
voices and the neighing of horses. And the Lady Guinevere rode in the
midst of her damsels and her Court, and her beauty outshone the beauty
of her damsels as the splendor of the morning star outshines that of all
the lesser stars that surround it. For then and afterward she was held
by all the Courts of Chivalry to be the most beautiful lady in the
world.
Now when the Lady Guinevere had come to that place, she perceived the
milk-white war-horse of King Arthur where it stood cropping the green
grass of the open glade nigh to the hermitage. And likewise she
perceived Merlin, where he stood beside the door of the cell. So of him
she demanded whose was that noble war-horse that stood browsing upon the
grass at that lonely place, and who was it that lay within that cell.
And unto her Merlin made answer, “Lady, he who lieth within is a knight,
very sorely wounded, so that he is sick nigh unto death!”
“Pity of Heaven!” cried the Lady Guinevere. “What a sad thing is this
that thou tellest me! Now I do beseech thee to lead me presently unto
that knight that I may behold him. For I have in my Court a very skilful
leech, who is well used to the cure of hurts such as knights receive in
battle.”
[Sidenote: _The Lady Guinevere biddeth her leech for to heal King
Arthur._]
So Merlin brought the lady into the cell, and there she beheld King
Arthur where he lay stretched upon the pallet. And she wist not who he
was. Yet it appeared to her that in all her life she had not beheld so
noble appearing a knight as he who lay sorely wounded in that lonely
place. And King Arthur cast his looks upward to where she stood beside
his bed of pain, surrounded by her maidens, and in the great weakness
that lay upon him he wist not whether she whom he beheld was a mortal
lady or whether she was not rather some tall straight angel who had
descended from one of the Lordly Courts of Paradise for to visit him in
his pain and distresses. And the Lady Guinevere was filled with a great
pity at beholding King Arthur’s sorrowful estate. Wherefore she called
to her that skilful leech who was with her Court. And she bade him bring
a certain alabaster box of exceedingly precious balsam. And she
commanded him for to search that knight’s wounds and to anoint them with
the balsam, so that he might be healed of his hurts with all despatch.
So that wise and skilful leech did according to the Lady Guinevere’s
commands, and immediately King Arthur felt entire ease of all his aches
and great content of spirit. And when the Lady and her Court had
departed, he found himself much uplifted in heart, and three days
thereafter he was entirely healed and was as well and strong and lusty
as ever he had been in all of his life.
* * * * *
And this was the first time that King Arthur ever beheld that beautiful
lady, the Lady Guinevere of Cameliard, and from that time forth he
never forgot her, but she was almost always present in his thoughts.
Wherefore, when he was recovered he said thus to himself: “I will forget
that I am a king and I will cherish the thought of this lady and will
serve her faithfully as a good knight may serve his chosen dame.”
And so he did, as ye shall hear later in this book.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: Excalibur the Sword.]
[Illustration] Chapter Third.
_How King Arthur Found a Noble Sword In a Very Wonderful Manner. And How
He Again Fought With It and Won That Battle._
[Sidenote: _King Arthur desireth to renew his battle._]
Now, as soon as King Arthur had, by means of that extraordinary balsam,
been thus healed of those grievous wounds which he had received in his
battle with King Pellinore, he found himself to be moved by a most
vehement desire to meet his enemy again for to try issue of battle with
him once more, and so recover the credit which he had lost in that
combat. Now, upon the morning of the fourth day, being entirely cured,
and having broken his fast, he walked for refreshment beside the skirts
of the forest, listening the while to the cheerful sound of the
wood-birds singing their matins, all with might and main. And Merlin
walked beside him, and King Arthur spake his mind to Merlin concerning
his intent to engage once more in knightly contest with King Pellinore.
And he said, “Merlin, it doth vex me very sorely for to have come off so
ill in my late encounter with king Pellinore. Certes, he is the very
best knight in all the world whom I have ever yet encountered.
Ne’theless, it might have fared differently with me had I not broken my
sword, and so left myself altogether defenceless in that respect.
Howsoever that may be, I am of a mind for to assay this adventure once
more, and so will I do as immediately as may be.”
Thereunto Merlin made reply, “Thou art, assuredly, a very brave man to
have so much appetite for battle, seeing how nigh thou camest unto thy
death not even four days ago. Yet how mayst thou hope to undertake this
adventure without due preparation? For, lo! thou hast no sword, nor hast
thou a spear, nor hast thou even thy misericordia for to do battle
withal. How then mayst thou hope for to assay this adventure?”
And King Arthur said, “That I know not, nevertheless I will presently
seek for some weapon as soon as may be. For, even an I have no better
weapon than an oaken cudgel, yet would I assay this battle again with so
poor a tool as that.”
[Sidenote: _Merlin telleth King Arthur of Excalibur._]
“Ha! Lord,” said Merlin, “I do perceive that thou art altogether fixed
in thy purpose for to renew this quarrel. Wherefore, I will not seek to
stay thee therefrom, but will do all that in me lies for to aid thee in
thy desires. Now to this end I must tell thee that in one part of this
forest (which is, indeed, a very strange place) there is a certain
woodland sometimes called Arroy, and other times called the Forest of
Adventure. For no knight ever entereth therein but some adventure
befalleth him. And close to Arroy is a land of enchantment which has
several times been seen. And that is a very wonderful land, for there is
in it a wide and considerable lake, which is also of enchantment. And in
the centre of that lake there hath for some time been seen the
appearance as of a woman’s arm--exceedingly beautiful and clad in white
samite, and the hand of this arm holdeth a sword of such exceeding
excellence and beauty that no eye hath ever beheld its like. And the
name of this sword is Excalibur--it being so named by those who have
beheld it because of its marvellous brightness and beauty. For it hath
come to pass that several knights have already seen that sword and have
endeavored to obtain it for their own, but, heretofore, no one hath been
able to touch it, and many have lost their lives in that adventure. For
when any man draweth near unto it, either he sinks into the lake, or
else the arm disappeareth entirely, or else it is withdrawn beneath the
lake; wherefore no man hath ever been able to obtain the possession of
that sword. Now I am able to conduct thee unto that Lake of Enchantment,
and there thou mayst see Excalibur with thine own eyes. Then when thou
hast seen him thou mayst, haply, have the desire to obtain him; which,
an thou art able to do, thou wilt have a sword very fitted for to do
battle with.”
“Merlin,” quoth the King, “this is a very strange thing which thou
tellest me. Now I am desirous beyond measure for to attempt to obtain
this sword for mine own, wherefore I do beseech thee to lead me with all
despatch to this enchanted lake whereof thou tellest me.” And Merlin
said, “I will do so.”
So that morning King Arthur and Merlin took leave of that holy hermit
(the King having kneeled in the grass to receive his benediction), and
so, departing from that place, they entered the deeper forest once more,
betaking their way to that part which was known as Arroy.
[Sidenote: _Merlin and King Arthur follow a white doe._]
And after awhile they came to Arroy, and it was about noon-tide. And
when they had entered into those woodlands they came to a certain
collar about its neck. And King Arthur said, “Look, Merlin, yonder is a
wonderful sight.” And Merlin said, “Let us follow that doe.” And upon
this the doe turned and they followed it. And by and by in following it
they came to an opening in the trees where was a little lawn of sweet
soft grass. Here they beheld a bower and before the bower was a table
spread with a fair snow-white cloth, and set with refreshments of white
bread, wine, and meats of several sorts. And at the door of this bower
there stood a page, clad all in green, and his hair was as black as
ebony, and his eyes as black as jet and exceeding bright. And when this
page beheld King Arthur and Merlin, he gave them greeting, and welcomed
the King very pleasantly saying, “Ha! King Arthur, thou art welcome to
this place. Now I prithee dismount and refresh thyself before going
farther.”
Then was King Arthur a-doubt as to whether there might not be some
enchantment in this for to work him an ill, for he was astonished that
that page in the deep forest should know him so well. But Merlin bade
him have good cheer, and he said, “Indeed, Lord, thou mayst freely
partake of that refreshment which, I may tell thee, was prepared
especially for thee. Moreover in this thou mayst foretell a very happy
issue unto this adventure.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur is refreshed in a mysterious manner._]
So King Arthur sat down to the table with great comfort of heart (for he
was an hungered) and that page and another like unto him ministered unto
his needs, serving him all the food upon silver plates, and all the wine
in golden goblets as he was used to being served in his own court--only
that those things were much more cunningly wrought and fashioned, and
were more beautiful than the table furniture of the King’s court.
Then, after he had eaten his fill and had washed his hands from a silver
basin which the first page offered to him, and had wiped his hands upon
a fine linen napkin which the other page brought unto him, and after
Merlin had also refreshed himself, they went their way, greatly
rejoicing at this pleasant adventure, which, it seemed to the King,
could not but betoken a very good issue to his undertaking.
Now about the middle of the afternoon King Arthur and Merlin came, of a
sudden, out from the forest and upon a fair and level plain, bedight all
over with such a number of flowers that no man could conceive of their
quantity nor of the beauty thereof.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur cometh to a strange land._]
And this was a very wonderful land, for, lo! all the air appeared as it
here and there upon that plain were sundry trees all in blossom; and the
fragrance of the blossoms was so sweet that the King had never smelt any
fragrance like to it. And in the branches of those trees were a
multitude of birds of many colors, and the melody of their singing
ravished the heart of the hearer. And midway in the plain was a lake of
water as bright as silver, and all around the borders of the lake were
incredible numbers of lilies and of daffodils. Yet, although this place
was so exceedingly fair, there was, nevertheless, nowhere about it a
single sign of human life of any sort, but it appeared altogether as
lonely as the hollow sky upon a day of summer. So, because of all the
marvellous beauty of this place, and because of its strangeness and its
entire solitude, King Arthur perceived that he must have come into a
land of powerful enchantment where, happily, dwelt a fairy of very
exalted quality; wherefore his spirit was enwrapped in a manner of fear,
as he pushed his great milk-white war-horse through that long fair
grass, all bedight with flowers, and he wist not what strange things
were about to befall him.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur seeth Excalibur_]
[Sidenote: _King Arthur meeteth the Lady of the Lake._]
So when he had come unto the margin of the lake he beheld there the
miracle that Merlin had told him of aforetime. For, lo! in the midst of
the expanse of water there was the appearance of a fair and beautiful
arm, as of a woman, clad all in white samite. And the arm was encircled
with several bracelets of wrought gold; and the hand held a sword of
marvellous workmanship aloft in the air above the surface of the water;
and neither the arm nor the sword moved so much as a hair’s-breadth, but
were motionless like to a carven image upon the surface of the lake.
And, behold! the sun of that strange land shone down upon the hilt of
the sword, and it was of pure gold beset with jewels of several sorts,
so that the hilt of the sword and the bracelets that encircled the arm
glistered in the midst of the lake like to some singular star of
exceeding splendor. And King Arthur sat upon his war-horse and gazed
from a distance at the arm and the sword, and he greatly marvelled
thereat; yet he wist not how he might come at that sword, for the lake
was wonderfully wide and deep, wherefore he knew not how he might come
thereunto for to make it his own. And as he sat pondering this thing
within himself, he was suddenly aware of a strange lady, who approached
him through those tall flowers that bloomed along the margin of the
lake. And when he perceived her coming toward him he quickly dismounted
from his war-horse and he went forward for to meet her with the
bridle-rein over his arm. And when he and that her face was like wax
for clearness, and that her eyes were perfectly black, and that they
were as bright and glistening as though they were two jewels set in
ivory. And he perceived that her hair was like silk and as black as it
was possible to be, and so long that it reached unto the ground as she
walked. And the lady was clad all in green--only that a fine cord of
crimson and gold was interwoven into the plaits of her hair. And around
her neck there hung a very beautiful necklace of several strands of opal
stones and emeralds, set in cunningly wrought gold; and around her
wrists were bracelets of the like sort--of opal stones and emeralds set
into gold. So when King Arthur beheld her wonderful appearance, that it
was like to an ivory statue of exceeding beauty clad all in green, he
immediately kneeled before her in the midst of all those flowers as he
said, “Lady, I do certainly perceive that thou art no mortal damoiselle,
but that thou art Fay. Also that this place, because of its
extraordinary beauty, can be no other than some land of Faerie into
which I have entered.”
And the Lady replied, “King Arthur, thou sayest soothly, for I am indeed
Faerie. Moreover, I may tell thee that my name is Nymue, and that I am
the chiefest of those Ladies of the Lake of whom thou mayst have heard
people speak. Also thou art to know that what thou beholdest yonder as a
wide lake is, in truth, a plain like unto this, all bedight with
flowers. And likewise thou art to know that in the midst of that plain
there standeth a castle of white marble and of ultramarine illuminated
with gold. But, lest mortal eyes should behold our dwelling-place, my
sisters and I have caused it to be that this appearance as of a lake
should extend all over that castle so that it is entirely hidden from
sight. Nor may any mortal man cross that lake, saving in one
way--otherwise he shall certainly perish therein.”
“Lady,” said King Arthur, “that which thou tellest me causes me to
wonder a very great deal. And, indeed, I am afraid that in coming
hitherward I have been doing amiss for to intrude upon the solitude of
your dwelling-place.”
“Nay, not so, King Arthur,” said the Lady of the Lake, “for, in truth,
thou art very welcome hereunto. Moreover, I may tell thee that I have a
greater friendliness for thee and those noble knights of thy court than
thou canst easily wot of. But I do beseech thee of thy courtesy for to
tell me what it is that brings thee to our land?”
“Lady,” quoth the King, “I will tell thee the entire truth. I fought of
late a battle with a certain sable knight, in the which I was sorely
and grievously wounded, and wherein I burst my spear and snapped my
sword and lost even my misericordia, so that I had not a single thing
left me by way of a weapon. In this extremity Merlin, here, told me of
Excalibur, and of how he is continually upheld by an arm in the midst of
this magical lake. So I came hither and, behold, I find it even as he
hath said. Now, Lady, an it be possible, I would fain achieve that
excellent sword, that, by means of it I might fight my battle to its
entire end.”
“Ha! my lord King,” said the Lady of the Lake, “that sword is no easy
thing for to achieve, and, moreover, I may tell thee that several
knights have lost their lives by attempting that which thou hast a mind
to do. For, in sooth, no man may win yonder sword unless he be without
fear and without reproach.”
“Alas, Lady!” quoth King Arthur, “that is indeed a sad saying for me.
For, though I may not lack in knightly courage, yet, in truth, there be
many things wherewith I do reproach myself withal. Ne’theless, I would
fain attempt this thing, even an it be to my great endangerment.
Wherefore, I prithee tell me how I may best undertake this adventure.”
[Sidenote: _The Lady of the Lake summoneth a boat._]
“King Arthur,” said the Lady of the Lake, “I will do what I say to aid
thee in thy wishes in this matter.” Whereupon she lifted a single
emerald that hung by a small chain of gold at her girdle and, lo! the
emerald was cunningly carved into the form of a whistle. And she set the
whistle to her lips and blew upon it very shrilly. Then straightway
there appeared upon the water, a great way off, a certain thing that
shone very brightly. And this drew near with great speed, and as it came
nigh, behold! it was a boat all of carven brass. And the prow of the
boat was carved into the form of a head of a beautiful woman, and upon
either side were wings like the wings of a swan. And the boat moved upon
the water like a swan--very swiftly--so that long lines, like to silver
threads, stretched far away behind, across the face of the water, which
otherwise was like unto glass for smoothness. And when the brazen boat
had reached the bank it rested there and moved no more.
Then the Lady of the Lake bade King Arthur to enter the boat, and so he
entered it. And immediately he had done so, the boat moved away from the
bank as swiftly as it had come thither. And Merlin and the Lady of the
Lake stood upon the margin of the water, and gazed after King Arthur and
the brazen boat.
And King Arthur beheld that the boat floated swiftly across the lake to
where was the arm uplifting the sword, and that the arm and the sword
moved not but remained where they were.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur obtaineth Excalibur._]
Then King Arthur reached forth and took the sword in his hand, and
immediately the arm disappeared beneath the water, and King Arthur held
the sword and the scabbard thereof and the belt thereof in his hand and,
lo! they were his own.
Then verily his heart swelled with joy an it would burst within his
bosom, for Excalibur was an hundred times more beautiful than he had
thought possible. Wherefore his heart was nigh breaking for pure joy at
having obtained that magic sword.
Then the brazen boat bore him very quickly back to the land again and he
stepped ashore where stood the Lady of the Lake and Merlin. And when he
stood upon the shore, he gave the Lady great thanks beyond measure for
all that she had done for to aid him in his great undertaking; and she
gave him cheerful and pleasing words in reply.
Then King Arthur saluted the lady, as became him, and, having mounted
his war-horse, and Merlin having mounted his palfrey, they rode away
thence upon their business--the King’s heart still greatly expanded with
pure delight at having for his own that beautiful sword--the most
beautiful and the most famous sword in all the world.
* * * * *
That night King Arthur and Merlin abided with the holy hermit at the
forest sanctuary, and when the next morning had come (the King having
bathed himself in the ice-cold forest fountain, and being exceedingly
refreshed thereby) they took their departure, offering thanks to that
saintly man for the harborage he had given them.
Anon, about noon-tide, they reached the valley of the Sable Knight, and
there were all things appointed exactly as when King Arthur had been
there before: to wit, that gloomy castle, the lawn of smooth grass, the
apple-tree covered over with shields, and the bridge whereon hung that
single shield of sable.
“Now, Merlin,” quoth King Arthur, “I do this time most strictly forbid
thee for to interfere in this quarrel. Nor shalt thou, under pain of my
displeasure, exert any of thy arts of magic in my behalf. So hearken
thou to what I say, and heed it with all possible diligence.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur challenges King Pellinore to battle again._]
Thereupon, straightway, the King rode forth upon the bridge and, seizing
the brazen mall, he smote upon the sable shield with all his might and
main. Immediately the portcullis of the castle was let fall as afore
told, and, in the same manner as that other time, the Sable Knight rode
forth therefrom, already bedight and equipped for the encounter. So he
came to the bridge-head and there King Arthur spake to him in this wise:
“Sir Pellinore, we do now know one another entirely well, and each doth
judge that he hath cause of quarrel with the other: thou, that I, for
mine own reasons as seemed to me to be fit, have taken away from thee
thy kingly estate, and have driven thee into this forest solitude: I,
that thou has set thyself up here for to do injury and affront to
knights and lords and other people of this kingdom of mine. Wherefore,
seeing that I am here as an errant Knight, I do challenge thee for to
fight with me, man to man, until either thou or I have conquered the
other.”
Unto this speech King Pellinore bowed his head in obedience, and
thereupon he wheeled his horse, and, riding to some little distance,
took his place where he had afore stood. And King Arthur also rode to
some little distance, and took his station where he had afore stood. At
the same time there came forth from the castle one of those tall pages
clad all in sable, pied with crimson, and gave to King Arthur a good,
stout spear of ash-wood, well seasoned and untried in battle; and when
the two Knights were duly prepared, they shouted and drave their horses
together, the one smiting the other so fairly in the midst of his
defences that the spears shivered in the hand of each, bursting all into
small splinters as they had aforetime done.
Then each of these two knights immediately voided his horse with great
skill and address, and drew each his sword. And thereupon they fell to
at a combat, so furious and so violent, that two wild bulls upon the
mountains could not have engaged in a more desperate encounter.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur overcometh King Pellinore._]
But now, having Excalibur for to aid him in his battle, King Arthur soon
overcame his enemy. For he gave him several wounds and yet received none
himself, nor did he shed a single drop of blood in all that fight,
though his enemy’s armor was in a little while all stained with crimson.
And at last King Arthur delivered so vehement a stroke that King
Pellinore was entirely benumbed thereby, wherefore his sword and his
shield fell down from their defence, his thighs trembled beneath him and
he sank unto his knees upon the ground. Then he called upon King Arthur
to have mercy, saying, “Spare my life and I will yield myself unto
thee.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur demands two of the sons of King Pellinore for
hostages._]
And King Arthur said, “I will spare thee and I will do more than that.
For now that thou hast yielded thyself unto me, lo! I will restore unto
thee thy power and estate. For I bear no ill-will toward thee,
Pellinore, ne’theless, I can brook no rebels against my power in this
realm. For, as God judges me, I do declare that I hold singly in my
sight the good of the people of my kingdom. Wherefore, he who is against
me is also against them, and he who is against them is also against me.
But now a pledge of thy good faith toward me in the future, I shall
require it of thee that thou shalt send me as hostage of thy good-will,
thy two eldest sons, to wit: Sir Aglaval and Sir Lamorack. Thy young
son, Dornar, thou mayest keep with thee for thy comfort.”
So those two young knights above mentioned came to the Court of King
Arthur, and they became very famous knights, and by and by were made
fellows in great honor of the Round Table.
And King Arthur and King Pellinore went together into the castle of King
Pellinore, and there King Pellinore’s wounds were dressed and he was
made comfortable. That night King Arthur abode in the castle of King
Pellinore, and when the next morning had come, he and Merlin returned
unto the Court of the King, where it awaited him in the forest at that
place where he had established it.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: _How King Arthur rode through the forest with great joy and
delight._]
Now King Arthur took very great pleasure unto himself as he and Merlin
rode together in return through that forest; for it was the leafiest
time of all the year, what time the woodlands decked themselves in their
best apparel of clear, bright green. Each bosky dell and dingle was full
of the perfume of the thickets, and in every tangled depth the small
bird sang with all his might and main, and as though he would burst his
little throat with the melody of his singing. And the ground beneath the
horses’ feet was so soft with fragrant moss that the ear could not hear
any sound of hoof-beats upon the earth. And the bright yellow sunlight
came down through the leaves so that all the ground was scattered over
with a great multitude of trembling circles as of pure yellow gold. And,
anon, that sunlight would fall down upon the armed knight as he rode, so
that every little while his armor appeared to catch fire with a great
glory, shining like a sudden bright star amid the dark shadows of the
woodland.
So it was that King Arthur took great joy in that forest land, for he
was without ache or pain of any sort and his heart was very greatly
elated with the wonderfulness of the success of that adventure into
which he had entered. For in that adventure he had not only won a very
bitter enemy into a friend who should be of great usefulness and
satisfaction to him, but likewise, he had obtained for himself a sword,
the like of which the world had never before beheld. And whenever he
would think of that singularly splendid sword which now hung by his
side, and whenever he remembered that land of Faëry into which he had
wandered, and of that which had befallen him therein, his heart would
become so greatly elated with pure joyousness that he hardly knew how to
contain himself because of the great delight that filled his entire
bosom.
And, indeed, I know of no greater good that I could wish for you in all
of your life than to have you enjoy such happiness as cometh to one when
he hath done his best endeavor and hath succeeded with great entirety in
his undertaking. For then all the world appears to be filled as with a
bright shining light, and the body seemeth to become so elated that the
feet are uplifted from heaviness and touch the earth very lightly
because of the lightness of the spirit within. Wherefore, it is, that if
I could have it in my power to give you the very best that the world
hath to give, I would wish that you might win your battle as King Arthur
won his battle at that time, and that you might ride homeward in such
triumph and joyousness as filled him that day, and that the sunlight
might shine around you as it shone around him, and that the breezes
might blow and that all the little birds might sing with might and main
as they sang for him, and that your heart also might sing its song of
rejoicing in the pleasantness of the world in which you live.
[Sidenote: _Merlin tells King Arthur of the virtues of Excalibur, his
sheath._]
Now as they rode thus through the forest together, Merlin said to the
King: “Lord, which wouldst thou rather have, Excalibur, or the sheath
that holds him?” To which King Arthur replied, “Ten thousand times would
I rather have Excalibur than his sheath.” “In that thou art wrong, my
Lord,” said Merlin, “for let me tell thee, that though Excalibur is of
so great a temper that he may cut in twain either a feather or a bar of
iron, yet is his sheath of such a sort that he who wears it can suffer
no wound in battle, neither may he lose a single drop of blood. In
witness whereof, thou mayst remember that, in thy late battle with King
Pellinore, thou didst suffer no wound, neither didst thou lose any
blood.”
Then King Arthur directed a countenance of great displeasure upon his
companion and he said, “Now, Merlin, I do declare that thou hast taken
from me the entire glory of that battle which I have lately fought. For
what credit may there be to any knight who fights his enemy by means of
enchantment such as thou tellest me of? And, indeed, I am minded to take
this glorious sword back to that magic lake and to cast it therein where
it belongeth; for I believe that a knight should fight by means of his
own strength, and not by means of magic.”
“My Lord,” said Merlin, “assuredly thou art entirely right in what thou
holdest. But thou must bear in mind that thou art not as an ordinary
errant knight, but that thou art a King, and that thy life belongeth
not unto thee, but unto thy people. Accordingly thou hast no right to
imperil it, but shouldst do all that lieth in thy power for to preserve
it. Wherefore thou shouldst keep that sword so that it may safeguard thy
life.”
Then King Arthur meditated that saying for a long while in silence; and
when he spake it was in this wise: “Merlin, thou art right in what thou
sayest, and, for the sake of my people, I will keep both Excalibur for
to fight for them, and likewise his sheath for to preserve my life for
their sake. Ne’theless, I will never use him again saving in serious
battle.” And King Arthur held to that saying, so that thereafter he did
no battle in sport excepting with lance and a-horseback.
* * * * *
King Arthur kept Excalibur as the chiefest treasure of all his
possessions. For he said to himself, “Such a sword as this is fit for a
king above other kings and a lord above other lords. Now, as God hath
seen fit for to intrust that sword into my keeping in so marvellous a
manner as fell about, so must He mean that I am to be His servant for to
do unusual things. Wherefore I will treasure this noble weapon not more
for its excellent worth than because it shall be unto me as a sign of
those great things that God, in His mercy, hath evidently ordained for
me to perform for to do Him service.”
So King Arthur had made for Excalibur a strong chest or coffer, bound
around with many bands of wrought iron, studded all over with great
nails of iron, and locked with three great padlocks. In this strong-box
he kept Excalibur lying upon a cushion of crimson silk and wrapped in
swathings of fine linen, and very few people ever beheld the sword in
its glory excepting when it shone like a sudden flame in the uproar of
battle.
For when the time came for King Arthur to defend his realm or his
subjects from their enemies, then he would take out the sword, and
fasten it upon the side of his body; and when he did so he was like unto
a hero of God girt with a blade of shining lightning. Yea; at such times
Excalibur shone with so terrible a brightness that the very sight
thereof would shake the spirits of every wrong-doer with such great fear
that he would, in a manner, suffer the pangs of death ere ever the edge
of the blade had touched his flesh.
So King Arthur treasured Excalibur and the sword remained with him for
all of his life, wherefore the name of Arthur and of Excalibur are one.
So, I believe that that sword is the most famous of any that ever was
seen or heard tell of in all the Courts of Chivalry.
As for the sheath of the blade, King Arthur lost that through the
treachery of one who should, by rights, have been his dearest friend (as
you shall hear of anon), and in the end the loss of that miraculous
sheath brought it about that he suffered a very great deal of pain and
sorrow.
All that also you shall read of, God willing, in due season.
* * * * *
So endeth the story of the winning of Excalibur, and may God give unto
you in your life, that you may have His truth to aid you, like a shining
sword, for to overcome your enemies; and may He give you Faith (for
Faith containeth Truth as a scabbard containeth its sword), and may that
Faith heal all your wounds of sorrow as the sheath of Excalibur healed
all the wounds of him who wore that excellent weapon. For with Truth and
Faith girded upon you, you shall be as well able to fight all your
battles as did that noble hero of old, whom men called King Arthur.
[Illustration]
PART III
The Winning of a Queen
_So, having told you how King Arthur obtained that very excellent sword,
Excalibur, for a weapon of defence, I shall now presently recount sundry
other noble and knightly adventures whereby he won for himself a most
beautiful and gentle lady for his Queen._
_For, though all the world is very well acquainted with the renown of
that perfectly gracious dame, the Lady Guinevere, yet I do not think
that the whole story of those adventures by the which King Arthur won
her good favor hath ever yet been told._
_So as the matter hereinafter to be related contains not only the
narrative of that affair, but also the account of a certain enchanted
disguise which King Arthur assumed for his purposes, as well as sundry
adventures of very knightly daring which he undertook, I have great hope
that he who reads what I have written shall find it both an agreeable
and an entertaining history._
[Illustration: The Lady Guinevere]
[Illustration] Chapter First.
_How King Arthur Went to Tintagalon with Four of His Court, and How He
Disguised Himself for a Certain Purpose._
[Sidenote: _How King Arthur held a feast at Carleon upon Usk._]
Now, upon a certain day King Arthur proclaimed a high feast, which was
held at Carleon upon Usk. Many noble guests were bidden, and an
exceedingly splendid Court gathered at the King’s castle. For at that
feast there sat seven kings and five queens in royal state, and there
were high lords and beautiful ladies of degree, to the number of three
score and seven; and there were a multitude of those famous knights of
the King’s Court who were reckoned the most renowned in arms in all of
Christendom. And of all this great gathering of kings, lords, and
knights, not one man looked askance at his neighbor, but all were united
in good fellowship. Wherefore, when the young King looked about him and
beheld such peace and amity among all these noble lords where,
aforetime, had been discord and ill-regard: “Certes,” quoth he to
himself, “it is wonderful how this reign of mine hath knit men together
in kindness and good fellowship!” And because of such thoughts as
these, his spirit took wings like unto a bird and sang within him.
Now while the King sat thus at feast, lo! there came an herald-messenger
from the west-country. And the herald came and stood before the King,
and said: “Greeting to thee, King Arthur!”
Then the King said: “Speak, and tell me, what is thy message?”
[Sidenote: _A herald-messenger comes from the west-country._]
To which the herald made reply: “I come from King Leodegrance of
Cameliard, who is in sore trouble. For thus it is: His enemy and thine
enemy, King Ryence of North Wales (he who at one time in contempt of
thee commanded thee to send him thy beard for to trim his mantle), doth
make sundry demands of my master, King Leodegrance, which demands King
Leodegrance is altogether loath to fulfil. And King Ryence of North
Wales threateneth to bring war into Cameliard because King Leodegrance
doth not immediately fulfil those demands. Now King Leodegrance hath no
such array of knights and armed men as he one time had gathered about
him for to defend his kingdom against assault. For, since thou in thy
majesty hath brought peace to this realm and hath reduced the power of
all those kings under thee, those knights who once made the Court of
King Leodegrance so famous have gone elsewhither for to seek better
opportunities for their great valor and prowess at arms than his
peaceful Court may afford. Wherefore my master, King Leodegrance, doth
beseech aid of thee, who art his King and Overlord.”
To these things that the herald-messenger said, King Arthur, and all
that Court that feasted with him, listened in entire silence. And the
King’s countenance, which erstwhiles had been expanded with
cheerfulness, became overcast and dark with anger. “Ha!” he cried, “this
is, verily, no good news that thou hast brought hither to our feast. Now
I will give what aid I am able to thy master, King Leodegrance, in this
extremity, and that right speedily. But tell me, sir herald, what things
are they that King Ryence demandeth of thy master?”
“That I will tell you, Lord,” quoth the herald-messenger. “Firstly, King
Ryence maketh demand upon my master of a great part of those lands of
Cameliard that march upon the borders of North Wales. Secondly, he
maketh demand that the Lady Guinevere, the King’s daughter, be delivered
in marriage unto Duke Mordaunt of North Umber, who is of kin unto King
Ryence, and that Duke, though a mighty warrior, is so evil of
appearance, and so violent of temper, that I believe that there is not
his like for ugliness or for madness of humor in all of the world.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur is very angry at the message which the herald
bringeth._]
Now when King Arthur heard this that the messenger said he was
immediately seized with an extraordinary passion of anger. For his eyes
appeared, an it were, to shoot forth sparks of pure light, his face
flamed like fire, and he ground his teeth together like the stones of a
quern. Then he immediately rose from the chair where he sat and went
forth from that place, and all those who beheld his anger shuddered
thereat and turned their eyes away from his countenance.
Then King Arthur went into an inner room of the castle by himself, and
there he walked up and down for a great while, and in that time no one
of his household dared to come nigh to him. And the reason of the King’s
wrath was this: that ever since he had lain wounded and sick nigh unto
death in the forest, he bare in mind how the Lady Guinevere had suddenly
appeared before him like some tall, straight, shining angel who had
descended unto him out of Paradise--all full of pity, and exceedingly
beautiful. Wherefore, at thought of that wicked, mad Duke Mordaunt of
North Umber making demand unto marriage with her, he was seized with a
rage so violent that it shook his spirit like a mighty wind.
So, for a long while, he walked up and down in his wrath as aforesaid,
and no one durst come nigh unto him, but all stood afar off, watching
him from a distance.
Then, after a while, he gave command that Merlin, and Sir Ulfius, and
Sir Kay should come to him at that place where he was. And when they had
come thither he talked to them for a considerable time, bidding Merlin
for to make ready to go upon a journey with him, and bidding Sir Ulfius
and Sir Kay for to gather together a large army of chosen knights and
armed men, and to bring that army straightway into those parts
coadjacent to the royal castle of Tintagalon, which same standeth close
to the borders of North Wales and of Cameliard.
So Sir Ulfius and Sir Kay went about to do as King Arthur commanded, and
Merlin also went about to do as he commanded; and the next day King
Arthur and Merlin, together with certain famous knights of the King’s
Court who were the most approved at arms of all those about him--to wit,
Sir Gawaine, and Sir Ewaine (who were nephews unto the King), and Sir
Pellias and Sir Geraint, the son of Erbin--set forth for Tintagalon
across the forest-land of Usk.
[Sidenote: _How King Arthur came to Tintagalon._]
So they travelled for all that day and a part of the next, and that
without adventure or misadventure of any sort. So they came, at last, to
that large and noble castle, hight Tintagalon, which guards the country
bordering upon Cameliard and North Wales. Here King Arthur was received
with great rejoicing; for whithersoever the King went the people loved
him very dearly. Wherefore the folk of Tintagalon were very glad when he
came unto them.
* * * * *
Now the morning after King Arthur had come unto Tintagalon (the summer
night having been very warm), he and Merlin were glad to arise betimes
to go abroad for to enjoy the dewy freshness of the early daytime. So,
in the cool of the day, they walked together in the garden (which was a
very pleasant place), and beneath the shadow of a tall, straight tower.
And all around about were many trees with a good shade, where the little
birds sang sweetly in the cheerfulness of the summer weather.
And here King Arthur opened his mind very freely to Merlin, and he said:
“Merlin, I do believe that the Lady Guinevere is the fairest lady in all
of the world; wherefore my heart seems ever to be entirely filled with
love for her, and that to such a degree that I think of her continually
by day (whether I be eating, or drinking, or walking, or sitting still,
or going about my business), and likewise I dream of her many times at
night. And this has been the case with me, Merlin, ever since a month
ago, when I lay sick in that hermit’s cell in the forest, what time she
came and stood beside me like a shining angel out of Paradise. So I am
not willing that any other man than I should have her for his wife.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur openeth his heart to Merlin._]
“Now I know very well that thou art wonderfully cunning in those arts of
magic that may change a man in his appearance so that even those who
know him best may not recognize him. Wherefore I very greatly desire it
of thee that thou wilt so disguise me that I may go, unknown of any man,
into Cameliard, and that I may dwell there in such a way that I may see
the Lady Guinevere every day. For I tell thee very truly that I greatly
desire to behold her in such a wise that she may not be in any way
witting of my regard. Likewise I would fain see for myself how great may
be the perils that encompass King Leodegrance--the King being my right
good friend.”
“My Lord King,” said Merlin, “it shall be as thou desirest, and this
morning I will cause thee to be so disguised that no one in all the
world shall be able to know thee who thou art.”
So that morning, a little before the prime, Merlin came unto the King
where he was and gave him a little cap. And the cap was of such a sort
that when the King set it upon his head he assumed, upon the instant,
the appearance of a rude and rustic fellow from the country-side. Then
the King commanded that a jerkin of rough frieze should be brought to
him, and with this he covered his royal and knightly vestments, and with
it he hid that golden collar and its jewel, pendent, which he
continually wore about his neck. Then, setting the cup upon his head, he
assumed at once the guise of that peasant hind.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur quits Tintagalon in disguise._]
Whereupon, being thus entirely disguised, he quitted Tintagalon unknown
of any man, and took his way a-foot unto the town of Cameliard.
Now toward the slanting of the day he drew nigh to that place, and lo!
he beheld before him a large and considerable town of many comely houses
with red walls and shining windows. And the houses of the town sat all
upon a high, steep hill, the one overlooking the other, and the town
itself was encompassed around about by a great wall, high and strong.
And a great castle guarded the town, and the castle had very many towers
and roofs. And all round about the tower were many fair gardens and
lawns and meadows, and several orchards and groves of trees with thick
and pleasing shade. Now at that time of the day the sky behind the tower
was all, as it were, an entire flame of fire, so that the towers and the
battlements of the castle and the roofs and the chimneys thereof stood
altogether black against the brightness of the light. And, behold! great
flocks of pigeons encircled the towers of the castle in a continual
flight against that fiery sky. So, because King Arthur was a-weary with
walking for all that day, it appeared to him that he had hardly ever
beheld in all of his life so fair and pleasing a place as that excellent
castle with its gardens and lawns and groves of trees.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur comes to Cameliard._]
Thus came King Arthur unto the castle of Cameliard, in the guise of a
poor peasant from the country-side, and no man in all of the world knew
him who he was.
So, having reached the castle, he made inquiries for the head gardener
thereof; and when he had speech with the gardener he besought him that
he might be taken into service into that part of the garden that
appertained to the dwelling-place of the Lady Guinevere. Then the
gardener looked upon him and saw that he was tall and strong and well
framed, wherefore he liked him very well and took him into service even
as he desired.
And thus it was that King Arthur of Britain became a gardener’s boy at
Cameliard.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: _King Arthur dwelleth as gardner’s boy at the castle._]
Now the King was very glad to be in that garden; for in this pleasant
summer season the Lady Guinevere came every day to walk with her damsels
among the flowers, and King Arthur, all disguised as a peasant gardener
boy, beheld her very many times when she came thither.
So King Arthur abode at that place for above a week, and he took no care
that in all that time he enjoyed none of his kingly estate, but was only
gardener’s boy in the castle garden of Cameliard.
Now it happened upon a day when the weather was very warm, that one of
the damsels who was in attendance upon the Lady Guinevere, arose all in
the early morning whiles the air was still cool and refreshing. So,
leaving the Lady Guinevere still sleeping, this damsel, whose name was
Mellicene of the White Hand, went into the ante-room and, opening the
casement thereof, looked forth into that garden of roses which adjoined
the Lady Guinevere’s bower.
Now there was at that place a carven marble figure of a youth, holding
in his arms a marble ewer, and a fountain of water, as clear as crystal,
flowed out from the ewer into a basin of marble. And the figure, and the
fountain, and the marble basin into which the fountain flowed lay
beneath the shadow of a linden-tree. And all around was a thick growth
of roses, so that the place was entirely hidden, saving only from those
windows of the castle that were above.
[Sidenote: _The damsel beholds a knight at the fountain._]
So it befell that as the damsel looked down thitherward out of the
window, she beheld a very wonderful sight. For, lo! a strange knight
kneeled beside the fountain and bathed his face and his bosom in the
crystal water thereof. And the damsel saw that the sunlight fell down
through the leaves of the linden-tree and lay upon that strange knight.
And she perceived that his hair and his beard were of the color of red
gold--shining surpassingly in the brightness of the morning. And she
beheld that his brow and his throat and his bosom were white like
alabaster. And she beheld that around his neck and shoulders there hung
a golden collar of marvellous beauty, so that when the sunlight shone
upon it it flashed like pure lightning.
So, beholding this strange appearance--as it were a vision--the damsel
Mellicine stood for a long while, all entranced with wonder and with
pleasure, and wist not whether that which she saw was a dream or no
dream, nor whether he who sat there was a spirit, or whether he was a
man of flesh and blood.
Then, by and by, recovering somewhat from her astonishment, she withdrew
herself softly from the casement, and, turning about, ran fleetly down
the turret stairs, and so came out thence into that fair and blooming
garden at the foot of the tower. So she ran through the garden with all
speed and silence, and thus came down an alley-way and to the marble
fountain and the linden-trees and the rose-trees around about where she
had anon beheld that strange knight bathing himself in the crystal
waters.
[Sidenote: The damsel findeth only the gardener’s boy.]
But King Arthur had heard the coming of that damsel, and had speedily
set the cap upon his head again. So that when the damsel Mellicene came
thither, she found no one by the fountain but the gardener’s boy. Of him
she demanded: “Who art thou, fellow? And why sittest thou here by the
fountain?”
And unto her he replied: “I am the gardener’s lad who came a short time
ago to take service at this place.”
“Then tell me, fellow,” quoth she, “and tell me truly. Who was that
young knight who was here beside the fountain but now, and whither hath
he gone?” “Lady, whereunto,” he said, “there has been no one at this
fountain this day, but only I.”
“Nay, fellow,” she cried, “thou art deceiving me, for I do assure thee
that with mine own eyes I beheld but now, where a strange young knight
sat bathing himself in the waters of this fountain.” And the gardener’s
boy said, “Lady, that which I have told you is the very truth, for
indeed there hath no one been here this morn but only I. Wherefore, an
thou deemest thou hast seen anyone else, thou art certainly mistaken.”
At this the damsel set her look upon him, in great perplexity. Likewise,
she marvelled very greatly, for she could not altogether disbelieve him.
Nor yet could she entirely believe him either, because her eyes had
beheld that which she had beheld, and she wotted that she had not been
mistaken. Therefore she knew not what to think, and, because of her
perplexity, she felt a very great displeasure at that gardener’s boy.
“Truly, wherefore,” she said, “if thou art deceiving me, I shall
certainly cause thee to suffer a great deal of pain, for I shall have
thee whipped with cords.” Thereupon she turned and went away from that
place, much marvelling at that strange thing, and wondering what it all
signified.
That morning she told unto the Lady Guinevere all that she had seen, but
the Lady Guinevere only laughed at her and mocked her, telling her that
she had been asleep and dreaming, when she beheld that vision. And,
indeed, the damsel herself had begun to think this must be the case.
Nevertheless, she thereafter looked out every morning from her casement
window, albeit she beheld nothing for a great while, for King Arthur
came not soon to that place again.
So, by and by, there befell another certain morning when she looked out
of the casement and, lo! there sat that strange knight by the fountain
once more as he had aforetime sat. And he bathed his face and his bosom
in the water as he had aforetime done. And he appeared as comely and as
noble as he had appeared before; and his hair and his young beard shone
like gold as they had shone before in the sun. And this time she beheld
that his collar of gold lay upon the brink of the fountain beside him,
and it sparkled with great splendor in the sunlight the whiles he bathed
his bosom. Then, after that damsel had regarded him for a considerable
time, she ran with all speed to the chamber where the Lady Guinevere
still lay, and she cried in a loud voice, “Lady! lady! arouse thee and
come with me! For, lo! that same young knight whom I beheld before, is
even now bathing himself at the fountain under the linden-tree.”
Then the Lady Guinevere, greatly marvelling, aroused herself right
quickly, and, dighting herself with all speed, went with the damsel unto
that casement window which looked out into that part of the garden.
[Sidenote: The Lady Guinevere beholds the knight at the fountain.]
And there she herself beheld the young knight where he laved himself at
the fountain. And she saw that his hair and his beard shone like gold in
the sunlight; and she saw that his undervestment was of purple linen
threaded with gold; and she saw that beside him lay that cunningly
wrought collar of gold inset with many jewels of various colors, and the
collar shone with great splendor where it lay upon the marble verge of
the fountain.
Somewhiles she gazed, exceedingly astonished; then she commanded the
damsel Mellicene for to come with her, and therewith she turned and
descended the turret stairs, and went quickly out into the garden, as
her damsel had done aforetime. Then, as that damsel had done, she
straightway hastened with all speed down the alley-way toward the
fountain.
But, behold! when she had come there, she found no young knight, but
only the gardener boy, exactly as had happened with the damsel Mellicene
aforetime. For King Arthur had heard her coming, and had immediately put
that enchanted cap upon his head. Then the Lady Guinevere marvelled very
greatly to find there only the gardener’s boy, and she wist not what to
think of so strange a thing. Wherefore she demanded of him, even as
Mellicene had done, whither had gone the young knight whom she had
beheld anon there at the fountain. And unto her the gardener lad made
answer as aforetime: “Lady! there hath been no one at this place at any
time this morning, but only I.”
Now when King Arthur had donned his cap at the coming of the Lady, he
had, in his great haste, forgotten his golden collar, and this Guinevere
beheld where it lay shining very brightly, beside the margin of the
fountain. “How now!” quoth she. “Wouldst thou dare to make a mock of me?
Now tell me, thou fellow, do gardeners’ boys in the land whence thou
didst come wear golden collars about their necks like unto that collar
that lieth yonder beside the fountain? Now, an I had thee well whipped,
it would be thy rightful due. But take thou that bauble yonder and give
it unto him to whom it doth rightfully belong, and tell him from me that
it doth ill become a true belted knight for to hide himself away in the
privy gardens of a lady.” Then turned she with the damsel Mellicene, and
left she that place and went back again into her bower.
Yet, indeed for all that day, as she sat over her ’broidery, she did
never cease to marvel and to wonder how it was possible that that
strange young knight should so suddenly have vanished away and left only
the poor gardener’s boy in his stead. Nor, for a long time, might she
unriddle that strange thing.
Then, of a sudden, at that time when the heat of the day was sloping
toward the cooler part of the afternoon, she aroused herself because of
a thought that had come in an instant unto her. So she called the damsel
Mellicene to come to her, and she bade her to go and tell the gardener’s
lad for to fetch her straightway a basket of fresh roses for to adorn
her tower chamber.
[Sidenote: _The gardener’s boy weareth his cap before the Lady
Guinevere._]
So Mellicene went and did as she bade, and after considerable time the
gardener’s lad came bearing a great basket of roses. And, lo! he wore
his cap upon his head. And all the damsels in waiting upon the Lady
Guinevere, when they saw how he wore his cap in her presence, cried out
upon him, and Mellicene of the White Hand demanded of him: “What! How
now, Sir boor! Dost thou know so little of what is due unto a king’s
daughter that thou dost wear thy cap even in the presence of the Lady
Guinevere? Now I bid thee straightway to take thy cap off thy head.”
And to her King Arthur made answer: “Lady, I cannot take off my cap.”
Quoth the Lady Guinevere: “And why canst thou not take off thy cap, thou
surly fellow?”
“Lady,” said he, “I cannot take off my cap, because I have an ugly place
upon my head.”
“Then wear thy cap,” quoth the Lady Guinevere. “Only fetch thou the
roses unto me.”
[Sidenote: _The Lady Guinevere discovers the knight of the fountain._]
And so at her bidding, he brought the roses to her. But when he had come
nigh unto the lady, she, of a sudden, snatched at the cap and plucked it
off from his head. Then, lo! he was upon the instant transformed; for
instead of the gardener’s boy there stood before the Lady Guinevere and
her damsel the appearance of a noble young knight with hair and beard
like threads of gold. Then he let fall his basket of roses so that the
flowers were scattered all over the floor, and he stood and looked at
all who were there. And some of those damsels in attendance upon the
Lady Guinevere shrieked, and others stood still from pure amazement and
wist not how to believe what their eyes beheld. But not one of those
ladies knew that he whom she beheld was King Arthur. Nevertheless the
Lady Guinevere remembered that this was the knight whom she had found so
sorely wounded, lying in the hermit’s cell in the forest.
Then she laughed and flung him back his cap again. “Take thy cap,” quoth
she, “and go thy ways, thou gardener’s boy who hath an ugly place upon
his head.” Thus she said because she was minded to mock him.
But King Arthur did not reply to her, but straightway, with great
sobriety of aspect, set his cap upon his head again. So resuming his
humble guise once more, he turned and quitted that place, leaving those
roses scattered all over the floor even as they had fallen.
And after that time, whenever the Lady Guinevere would come upon the
gardener’s lad in the garden, she would say unto her damsel in such a
voice that he might hear her speech: “Lo! yonder is the gardener’s lad
who hath an ugly place upon his head so that he must always wear his cap
for to hide it.”
Thus she spake openly, mocking at him; but privily she bade her damsels
to say naught concerning these things, but to keep unto themselves all
those things which had befallen.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: Two Knights do battle before Cameliard]
[Illustration] Chapter Second.
_How King Ryence Came to Cameliard and How King Arthur Fought With the
Duke of North Umber._
[Sidenote: _King Ryence and Duke Mordaunt come to Cameliard._]
Now, upon a certain day at this time there came a messenger to the Court
of King Leodegrance, with news that King Ryence of North Wales and Duke
Mordaunt of North Umber were coming thither and that they brought with
them a very noble and considerable Court of knights and lords. At this
news King Leodegrance was much troubled in spirit, for he wist not what
such a visit might betoken; and yet he greatly feared that it boded ill
for him. So on that day when King Ryence and the Duke of North Umber
appeared before the castle, King Leodegrance went forth to greet them
and they three met together in the meadows that lie beneath the castle
walls of Cameliard.
There King Leodegrance bade those others welcome in such manner as was
fitting, desiring them that they should come into the castle with him so
that he might entertain them according to their degree.
[Sidenote: _The King and the Duke send challenge to King Leodegrance._]
But to this courtesy upon the part of King Leodegrance, King Ryence
deigned no pleasing reply. “Nay,” quoth he, “we go not with thee into
thy castle, King Leodegrance, until we learn whether thou art our friend
or our enemy. For just now we are, certes, no such good friends with
thee that we care to sit down at thy table and eat of thy salt. Nor may
we be aught but enemies of thine until thou hast first satisfied our
demands; to wit, that thou givest to me those lands which I demand of
thee and that thou givest unto my cousin, Duke Mordaunt of North Umber,
the Lady Guinevere to be his wife. In these matters thou hast it in thy
power to make us either thy friends or thine enemies. Wherefore we shall
abide here, outside of thy castle, for five days, in the which time thou
mayst frame thine answer, and so we may know whether we shall be friends
or enemies.”
“And in the meantime,” quoth Duke Mordaunt of North Umber, “I do hold
myself ready for to contest my right unto the hand of the Lady Guinevere
with any knight of thy Court who hath a mind to deny my just title
thereto; and if thou hast no knight in all thy Court who can
successfully assay a bout of arms with me, thou thyself canst hardly
hope to succeed in defending thyself against that great army of knights
whom King Ryence hath gathered together to bring against thee in case
thou denyest us that which we ask.”
Then was King Leodegrance exceedingly cast down in his spirits, for he
feared those proud lords and he wist not what to say in answer to them.
Wherefore he turned and walked back into his castle again, beset with
great anxiety and sorrow of spirit. And King Ryence, and Duke Mordaunt
and their Court of lords and knights pitched their pavilions in those
meadows over against the castle, so that the plain was entirely covered
with those pavilions. And there they took up their inn with great
rejoicing and with the sound of feasting and singing and merry-making,
for it was an exceeding noble Court King Ryence had gathered about him.
[Sidenote: _Duke Mordaunt rides before the castle._]
And when the next morning had come Duke Mordaunt of North Umber went
forth clad all in armor of proof. And he rode up and down the field
before the castle and gave great challenge to those within; daring any
knight to come forth for to meet him in knightly encounter. “Ho!” he
cried, “how now, ye Knights of Cameliard! Is there no one to come forth
to meet me? How then may ye hope to contend with the Knights of North
Wales, an ye fear to meet with one single Knight from North Umber?” So
he scoffed at them in his pride, and none dared to come forth from
Cameliard against him. For the Duke of North Umber was one of the most
famous knights of his day, and one of exceeding strength and success at
arms, and there was now, in these times of peace, no one of King
Leodegrance’s Court who was at all able to face a warrior of his
approved skill and valor. Wherefore, no one took up that challenge which
the Duke of North Umber gave to the Court of Cameliard. Meantime many
people gathered upon the walls of Cameliard and gazed down therefrom
upon that proud and haughty duke, all bedight in his splendid armor, and
all were grieved and ashamed that there was no one in that peaceful town
to go out against him. And all the lords and knights of King Ryence’s
Court came and stood in front of the King’s pavilion and laughed and
clapped their hands together, and cheered Duke Mordaunt, as he so rode
up and down before them. And the greater they were expanded with mirth,
the more abashed were the people of Cameliard. “Ho! Ho!” cried that
proud Duke. “How now! Will no one come forth to meet me? How then may ye
of Cameliard hope to face the King of North Wales and all his knightly
array of which I am but one man?” And the people of Cameliard, gathered
upon the walls, listened to him with shame and sorrow.
Now all this while King Arthur digged in the garden; but, nevertheless,
he was well aware of everything that passed and of how that the Duke of
North Umber rode up and down so proudly before the castle walls. So, of
a sudden, it came to him that he could not abide this any longer.
Wherefore he laid aside his spade and went out secretly by a postern
way, and so up into the town.
Now there was in Cameliard an exceedingly rich merchant, by name Ralph
of Cardiff, and the renown of his possessions and his high estate had
reached even unto King Arthur’s ears at Carleon. Accordingly it was unto
his house that King Arthur directed his steps.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur seeks armor to do battle._]
And while he was in a narrow way, not far from the merchant’s house, he
took off his magic cap of disguise and assumed somewhat of his noble
appearance once more, for he was now of a mind to show his knightliness
unto those who looked upon him. Accordingly, when he stood before the
rich merchant in his closet, and when the merchant looked up into his
face, he wist not what to think to behold so noble a lord clad all in
frieze. For though King Arthur was a stranger to the good man, so that
he knew not his countenance, yet that merchant wist that he was no
ordinary knight, but that he must assuredly be one of high degree and in
authority, even though he was clad in frieze.
Then King Arthur opened the breast of his jerkin and showed the merchant
the gold collar that hung around his neck. And also he showed beneath
the rough coat of frieze how that there was an undergarment of fine
purple silk embroidered with gold. And then he showed to the good man
his own signet ring, and when the merchant saw it, he knew it to be the
ring of the King of Britain. Wherefore, beholding these tokens of high
and lordly authority, the merchant arose and stood before the King and
doffed his cap.
“Sir Merchant,” quoth the King, “know that I am a stranger knight in
disguise in this place. Ne’theless, I may tell thee that I am a very
good friend to King Leodegrance and wish him exceeding well. Thou art
surely aware of how the Duke of North Umber rides continually up and
down before the King’s castle, and challenges anyone within to come
forth for to fight against him in behalf of the Lady Guinevere. Now I am
of a mind to assay that combat mine own self, and I hope a very great
deal that I shall succeed in upholding the honor of Cameliard and of
bringing shame upon its enemies.
“Sir Merchant, I know very well that thou hast several suits of noble
armor in thy treasury, for the fame of them hath reached unto mine ears
though I dwell a considerable distance from this place. Wherefore I
desire that thou shalt provide me in the best manner that thou art able
to do, so that I may straightway assay a bout of arms with that Duke of
North Umber. Moreover, I do pledge thee my knightly word that thou shalt
be fully recompensed for the best suit of armor that thou canst let me
have, and that in a very little while.”
“My Lord,” said Master Ralph, “I perceive that thou art no ordinary
errant knight, but rather someone of extraordinary estate; wherefore it
is a very great pleasure to fulfil all thy behests. But even an thou
wert other than thou art, I would be altogether willing to equip thee
with armor, seeing that thou hast a mind to ride forth against yonder
duke.”
Upon this he rang a little silver bell that stood nigh to him, and in
answer to its sound several attendants immediately appeared. Into their
hands he intrusted the person of the King, bidding them to do him
extraordinary honor. Accordingly, certain of those attendants prepared
for the King a bath of tepid water perfumed with ambergris, very
grateful to the person. And after he was bathed in this bath and was
wiped with soft linen towels, other attendants conducted him to a hall
all hung with tapestries and ’broideries, and at this place a noble
feast had been spread ready for his refreshment. Here that lordly
merchant himself ministered to the King’s wants, serving him with
various meats--very dainty, and of several sorts--and likewise with fine
white bread. And he poured him wine of various countries--some as red as
ruby, others as yellow as gold; and indeed the King had hardly ever
enjoyed a better feast than that which the merchant, Ralph of Cardiff,
had thus spread for him.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur is armed by Ralph of Cardiff._]
And after he had entirely refreshed himself with eating, there came six
pages richly clad in sarsanet of azure, and these, taking the King to an
apartment of great state, they there clad him in a suit of Spanish
armor, very cunningly wrought and all inlaid with gold. And the like of
that armor was hardly to be found in all of the land. The juppon and the
several trappings of the armor were all of satin and as white as milk.
And the shield was white, and altogether without emblazonment or device
of any sort. Then these attendants conducted the King into the
courtyard, and there stood a noble war-horse, as white as milk, and all
the trappings of the horse were of milk-white cloth without emblazonment
or adornment of any sort; and the bridle and the bridle rein were all
studded over with bosses of silver.
Then after the attendants had aided King Arthur to mount this steed,
the lordly merchant came forward and gave him many words of good cheer,
and so the king bade him adieu and rode away, all shining in white and
glittering in fine armor, wherefore he resembled the full moon in
harvest season.
And as he drave down the stony streets of the town, the people turned
and gazed after him, for he made a very noble appearance as he passed
along the narrow way between the houses of the town.
So King Arthur directed his way to the postern gate of the castle, and,
having reached that place, he dismounted and tied his horse. Then he
straightway entered the garden, and there, finding an attendant, he made
demand that he should have present speech with the Lady Guinevere. So
the attendant, all amazed at his lordly presence, went and delivered the
message, and by and by the Lady Guinevere came, much wondering, and
passed along a gallery with several of her damsels, until she had come
over above where King Arthur was. And when King Arthur looked up and saw
her above him, he loved her exceeding well. And he said to her: “Lady, I
have great will to do thee such honor as I am able. For I go forth now
to do combat with that Duke of North Umber who rides up and down before
this castle. Moreover, I hope and verily believe that I shall encompass
his downfall; accordingly, I do beseech of thee some token, such as a
lady may give unto a knight for to wear when that knight rides forth to
do her honor.”
[Sidenote: _The Lady Guinevere accepts King Arthur for her champion._]
Then the Lady Guinevere said: “Certes, Sir Knight, I would that I knew
who thou art. Yet, though I know not, nevertheless I am altogether
willing for to take thee for my champion as thou offerest. So, touching
that token thou speakest of, if thou wilt tell me what thing it is that
thou desirest, I will gladly give it to thee.”
“An that be so, Lady,” said King Arthur, “I would fain have that
necklace that thou wearest about thy throat. For, meseems that if I had
that tied about my arm, I would find my valor greatly increased
thereby.”
“Pardee, Sir Knight,” said the Lady, “what thou desirest of me thou
shalt assuredly have.” Thereupon speaking, she took from her long,
smooth neck the necklace of pearls which she wore, and dropped the same
down to King Arthur where he stood.
And King Arthur took the necklace and tied it about his arm, and he gave
great thanks for it. Then he saluted the Lady Guinevere with very
knightly grace, and she saluted him, and then, straightway, he went
forth from that place, greatly expanded with joy that the Lady Guinevere
had shown him such favor.
Now the report had gone about Cameliard that a knight was to go forth to
fight the Duke of North Umber. Wherefore great crowds gathered upon the
walls, and King Leodegrance and the Lady Guinevere and all the Court of
the King came to that part of the castle walls overlooking the meadow
where the Duke of North Umber defended. Wherefore, so great a concourse
was presently assembled, that any knight might be encouraged to do his
utmost before such a multitude as that which looked down upon the field.
Then of a sudden the portcullis of the castle was lifted, and the bridge
let fall, and the White Champion rode forth to that encounter which he
had undertaken. And, as he drave across that narrow bridge, the hoofs of
his war-horse smote the boards with a noise like to thunder, and when he
came out into the sunlight, lo! his armor flamed of a sudden like unto
lightning, and when the people saw him they shouted aloud.
Then when the Duke of North Umber beheld a knight all clad in white, he
rode straightway to him and spoke to him with words of knightly
greeting. “Messire,” he said, “I perceive that thou bearest no crest
upon thy helm, nor hast thou a device of any sort upon thy shield,
wherefore I know not who thou art. Ne’theless, I do believe that thou
art a knight of good quality and of approved courage, or else thou
wouldst not have thus come to this place.”
“Certes, Sir Knight,” said King Arthur, “I am of a quality equal to
thine own. And as for my courage, I do believe that it hath been
approved in as many encounters as even thine own hath been.”
“Sir Knight,” quoth the Duke of Umber, “thou speakest with a very large
spirit. Ne’theless, thou mayst make such prayers as thou art able, for I
shall now presently so cast thee down from thy seat, so that thou shalt
never rise again; for so have I served better men than ever thou mayst
hope to be.”
To this King Arthur made answer with great calmness of demeanor: “That
shall be according to the will of Heaven, Sir Knight, and not according
to thy will.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur overthrows Duke Mordaunt._]
So each knight saluted the other and rode to his assigned station, and
there each dressed his spear and his shield, and made him ready for the
encounter. Then a silence fell upon all so great that a man might hear
his own heart beat in the stillness. So, for a small space, each knight
sat like a statue made of iron. Then, of a sudden, each shouted to his
war-horse, and drave spurs into his flank, and launched forth from his
station. And so they met in the midst of the course with a noise like
unto a violent thunder-clap. And lo! the spear of the Duke of North
Umber burst into splinters unto the very truncheon thereof; but the
spear of King Arthur broke not, but held, so that the Duke was cast out
of his saddle like a windmill--whirling in the air and smiting the earth
so that the ground shuddered beneath him. And indeed he rolled full
three times over and over ere he ceased to fall.
Then all the people upon the wall shouted with might and main, so that
the noise thereof was altogether astonishing; for they had hardly hoped
that their champion should have proved so extraordinarily strong and
skilful.
Meanwhile, those of King Ryence’s Court ran immediately to the Duke of
Umber where he lay upon the earth, and they straightway unlaced his helm
for to give him air. And first they thought that he was dead, and then
they thought that he was like to die; for, behold! he lay without any
life or motion. Nor did he recover from that swoon wherein he lay for
the space of full two hours and more.
Now whilst the attendants were thus busied about Duke Mordaunt of North
Umber, King Arthur sat his horse, very quietly, observing all that they
did. Then, perceiving that his enemy was not dead, he turned him about
and rode away from that place.
Nor did he return unto Cameliard at that time, for he deemed that he had
not yet entirely done with these enemies to the peace of his realm,
wherefore he was minded not yet to return the horse and the armor to the
merchant, but to keep them for a while for another occasion.
So he bethought him of how, coming to Cameliard, he had passed through
an arm of the forest where certain wood-choppers were at work felling
the trees. Wherefore, remembering that place, he thought that he would
betake him thither and leave his horse and armor in the care of those
rude folk until he would need those things once more. So now he rode
away into the country-side, leaving behind him the town and the castle
and all the noise of shouting and rejoicing; nor did he once so much as
turn his head to look back toward that place where he had so violently
overthrown his enemy.
* * * * *
And now you shall presently hear of certain pleasant adventures of a
very joyous sort that befell him ere he had accomplished all his
purposes. For when a man is a king among men, as was King Arthur, then
is he of such a calm and equal temper that neither victory nor defeat
may cause him to become either unduly exalted in his own opinion or so
troubled in spirit as to be altogether cast down into despair. So if you
would become like to King Arthur, then you shall take all your triumphs
as he took this victory, for you will not be turned aside from your
final purposes by the great applause that many men may give you, but you
will first finish your work that you have set yourself to perform, ere
you give yourself ease to sit you down and to enjoy the fruits of your
victory.
Yea, he who is a true king of men, will not say to himself, “Lo! I am
worthy to be crowned with laurels;” but rather will he say to himself,
“What more is there that I may do to make the world the better because
of my endeavors?”
[Illustration]
[Illustration: The White Champion meets two Knights at the Mill.]
[Illustration] Chapter Third.
_How King Arthur Encountered Four Knights and of What Befell Thereby._
Now, the day was extraordinarily sweet and pleasant unto one so lusty of
frame and so lithe of heart as was good King Arthur. For the bright
clouds swam smoothly across the blue sky in prodigious volumes of vapor,
and the wind blew across the long grass of the meadow lands, and across
the fields of growing wheat, so that a multitude of waves travelled over
the hills and valleys like an it were across an entire sea of green. And
now all the earth would be darkened with wide shadows from those clouds,
and, anon, everything would burst out, of a sudden, into a wonderful
radiance of sunlight once more. And the little birds they sang all gayly
in the hedge-rows and the leafy thickets as though they would burst
their tiny throats with singing, and the cock crowed, strong and lusty,
from the farm croft, and all was so blithe and comely that the young
King, with the visor of his helmet uplifted to the refreshment of the
gentle breeze, would sometimes carol very joyously in his journeying. So
travelled King Arthur in all that gay and tender summer season, when the
earth was young and the time was of long-gone-by.
Now, you are to remember that when King Arthur had come from Carleon
unto the castle of Tintagalon, he had brought with him four young
knights for to bear him company. And those knights aforesaid were as
follows: There was Sir Gawaine, the son of King Lot and of Queen
Margaise, and there was Sir Ewaine, the son of King Uriens and of Queen
Morgana la Fay (and these two were nephews, half in blood, unto the
King), and there was Sir Pellias, and there was Sir Geraint, the son of
Erbin. These were the four noble young knights who had come with King
Arthur from Camelot unto Tintagalon.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur cometh upon a knight entertaining the ladies in
green._]
Now it befell, as King Arthur rode all gayly in the summer time as
aforesaid, that he came to a certain part of the road where he beheld
before him a tall and comely tower that stood upon a green hillock
immediately by the roadside. And lo! there stood upon the balcony of
that tower three fair demoiselles, clad all in green taffeta. And on the
high road in front of the castle there was a knight clad all in very
fine armor. And the knight sat upon a noble war-horse, and in his hands
he held a lute, and he played upon the lute and sang in a voice of
extraordinary sweetness. Whiles he sang those three ladies in green
taffeta listened to him with great cheerfulness of mien. And whenever
that knight would stint his singing, then those three ladies would clap
their hands together with great acclaim, and would bid him to sing to
them again; and so he would do with great readiness of spirit.
All this King Arthur beheld, and it appeared to him to be a very
pleasant sight, wherefore he rejoiced at it exceedingly.
And as he drew nigh, lo! he beheld that the knight who thus sat upon his
horse and played upon the lute and sang unto the accompaniment thereof,
was none other than Sir Geraint, the son of Erbin. For that knight wore
upon his crest the figure of a gryphon, and the device upon his shield
was two gryphons rampant facing one another upon a field azure, and King
Arthur knew that this was the crest and the device of Sir Geraint. And
when the King perceived who was the knight who sat there and sang, he
laughed unto himself and straightway closed his visor and made him ready
for such encounter as might, perchance, befall. So he drew nigh to where
the knight sang and the ladies listened.
Now when Sir Geraint perceived King Arthur approach, he ceased singing
and hung up his lute behind him across his shoulder. Then, casting
upward his look to those three fair ladies above him, quoth he:
“Mesdames, ye have been pleased to listen to that singing which I have
assayed altogether in your honor. Now, likewise, in your honor, I will
perform a deed of knightly prowess which I very much hope shall bring
great glory to you. For, if ye will be pleased to lend me that
encouragement which your very great beauty can so easily afford, ye
shall behold me, I doubt not, overthrow yonder knight completely, and
that to your great credit and renown.”
“Sir Knight,” said that lady who spoke for the others, “you are, truly,
a lord of noble bearing and exceedingly pleasing of address, wherefore
we do wish you great success in this undertaking; and we do believe that
you will succeed in that which you assay to do.”
Upon these Sir Geraint gave those three demoiselles great thanks for
their words, and thereupon he closed the visor of his helmet. So,
dressing his spear and shield, and saluting those three ladies with
great humility of demeanor, he went forth to meet King Arthur where he
now sat at a little distance, very quietly and soberly awaiting his
pleasure.
Now Sir Geraint knew not King Arthur because he wore no crest upon his
helm and no device upon his shield, wherefore as he saluted him he made
speech to him in this wise: “Ha! Messire, I know not who thou art,
seeing that thou bearest neither crest nor device. Ne’theless, I am
minded to do thee such honor as I may in running a tilt with thee upon
the behalf of those three demoiselles whom thou beholdest yonder upon
that balcony. For I do affirm, and am ready to maintain the same with my
knightly person, that those ladies are fairer than thy lady, whomsoever
she may be.”
“Sir Knight,” quoth King Arthur, “I will gladly run a course with thee
in honor of my lady; for, I may tell thee, she is a princess, and is
held by many to be the most beautiful dame in all of the world. But I
will only contend with thee upon one condition, and the condition is
this--that he who is overthrown shall yield himself as servant unto the
other for seven days, and in that time he shall do all that may be
required of him.”
“I will accept thy gage, Sir Unknown Knight,” quoth Sir Geraint, “and
when I have overthrown thee, I will yield thee unto those fair ladies
yonder for to be their servant for seven days. And I do tell thee that
there are a great many knights who would certainly regard that as being
both a pleasant and an honorable task.”
“And should I so chance as to overthrow thee,” said King Arthur, “I will
send thee for to serve my lady for that same period of time, and that
will be even a pleasanter and a more honorable task than that which thou
hast a mind for me to perform.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur overthrows Sir Geraint._]
So each knight saluted the other, and thereupon each took such a stand
as should cast the encounter immediately beneath where those three fair
demoiselles looked down from the balcony. Then each knight dressed his
spear and his shield, and, having made ready for the encounter, each sat
for a small space entirely prepared. Then each shouted to his war-horse,
and drave spur into its flank, and launched forth with wonderful speed
to the assault. So they met in the very midst of the course with a force
so vehement that the noise thereof was wonderfully appalling for to
hear. And each knight smote the other in the very centre of his
defences. And, lo! the spear of Sir Geraint burst into small pieces,
even to the truncheon thereof; but the spear of King Arthur held, and
Sir Geraint was cast so violently backward that both he and his horse
were overthrown into the dust with a tumult like to a monstrous roaring
of thunder.
And when Sir Geraint had recovered his footing, he was, for awhile, so
astonished that he wist not where he stood, for never had he been so
overthrown in all of his life before. Then, coming quickly unto himself
again, he straightway drew forth his sword and called upon King Arthur
with exceeding vehemence for to come down from out of his saddle, and to
fight him afoot.
“Nay, not so, Sir Knight,” said King Arthur, “I will not have to do with
thee in that way. Moreover, thou art not to forget that thou hast
promised to give thyself unto me as my servant for seven days, for,
assuredly, I have entirely overcome thee in this encounter, and now thou
art pledged unto me to be my servant.”
Then Sir Geraint knew not what to say, being altogether abashed with
shame and vexation at his overthrow. Ne’theless, he perceived that he
must uphold his knightly word unto that which he had pledged himself to
do; wherefore, he put up his sword again, though with exceeding
discontent. “Sir Knight,” said he, “I do acknowledge myself to have been
overcome in this encounter, wherefore I yield myself now unto thy
commands, according to my plighted word.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur sendeth Sir Geraint to the Lady Guinevere._]
“Then I do place my commands upon thee in this wise,” quoth King Arthur.
“My command is, that thou goest straightway unto the Lady Guinevere at
Cameliard, and that thou tellest her that thou hast been overthrown by
that knight to whom she gave her necklace as a token. Moreover, I do
desire that thou shalt obey her in everything that she may command thee
to do, and that for the space of seven days to come.”
“Sir Knight,” quoth Sir Geraint, “that which thou biddest me to do, I
will perform according to thy commands.”
Thereupon he mounted his horse and went his way. And King Arthur went
his way. And those three ladies who stood upon the balcony of the castle
were exceedingly glad that they had beheld so noble an assay-at-arms as
that which they had looked down upon.
Now, after King Arthur had travelled forward for the distance of two or
three leagues or more, he came to a certain place of moorlands, where
were many ditches of water, and where the heron and the marsh-hen sought
harborage in the sedge. And here, at sundry points, were several
windmills, with their sails all turning slowly in the sunlight before a
wind which blew across the level plains of ooze. And at this place there
was a long, straight causeway, with two long rows of pollard willows,
one upon either hand. Now, when he had come nigh the middle of this
causeway, King Arthur perceived two knights, who sat their horses in the
shade of a great windmill that stood upon one side of the roadway. And
a large shadow of the sails moved ever and anon across the roadway as
the wheel of the mill turned slowly afore the wind. And all about the
mill, and everywhere about, were great quantities of swallows that
darted hither and thither like bees about a hive in midsummer. And King
Arthur saw that those two knights, as they sat in the shadow of the
mill, were eating of a great loaf of rye bread, fresh baked and of
brittle crust; and they ate fair white cheese, which things the miller,
all white with dust, served to them. But when these two knights
perceived King Arthur, they immediately ceased eating that bread and
cheese, and straightway closed their helmets. As for the miller, when he
saw them thus prepare themselves, he went quickly back into the mill and
shut the door thereof, and then went and looked out of a window which
was over above where the knights were standing.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur cometh upon two knights at the windmill._]
But King Arthur made very merry unto himself when he perceived that
those two knights were Sir Gawaine and Sir Ewaine. For he knew that the
one was Sir Gawaine because that the crest of his helmet was a leopard
rampant, and because he bore upon his shield the device of a leopard
rampant upon a field gules; and he knew that the other was Sir Ewaine,
because he bore upon his crest an unicorn, and because the device upon
his shield was that of a lady holding a naked sword in her hand, which
same was upon a field or. Accordingly, whiles he was yet at some
distance, King Arthur closed his helmet so that those two young knights
might not know who he was.
So, when he had come anear to the two knights, Sir Gawaine rode forward
for a little distance for to meet him. “Sir Knight,” quoth he, “thou
must know that this is soothly parlous ground whereon thou hast
ventured; for there is no byway hence across the morass, and thou mayst
not go forward without trying a tilt with me.”
“Sir Knight,” said King Arthur, “and I am very willing to run a tilt
with thee. Ne’theless, I will only encounter thee upon one condition,
and that is this: that he who is overthrown shall serve the other
entirely for the space of seven full days.”
“I do accept thy gage, Sir Knight,” quoth Sir Gawaine. For he said unto
himself, “Of a surety, so exceedingly strong and skilful a knight as I
shall easily encompass the overthrow of this unknown knight.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur overthrows Sir Gawaine._]
So each knight immediately took his appointed station, and having
dressed his spear and his shield, and having fully prepared himself in
every manner, and having rested for a little space, each suddenly
shouted to his horse, and drave spur into the flanks thereof, and so
rushed to the encounter. And each knight smote the other in the midst
of his defence, and lo! the spear of Sir Gawaine burst into fragments.
But the spear of King Arthur held, so that Sir Gawaine was lifted
entirely out of his saddle and over the crupper of his horse. And indeed
he fell with wonderful violence into the dust. Nor could he immediately
rise from that fall, but lay all bedazed for a little while. And when he
did arise, he perceived that the white knight who had overthrown him sat
nigh to him upon his horse.
Then King Arthur spake and said: “Sir Knight, I have altogether
overthrown thee, and so thou must now serve me according to thy knightly
word.”
Then up spake Sir Ewaine, who sat nearby upon his horse. “Not so, Sir
Knight,” he said; “not so, nor until thou hast had to do with me. For I
do make demand of thee that thou shalt straightway joust with me. And if
I overthrow thee I will claim of thee that thou shalt release my cousin
from that servitude unto which he hath pledged himself. But if thou
overthrowst me, then will I serve thee even as he hath pledged himself
to serve thee.”
“Sir Knight,” said King Arthur, “I do accept thy gage with all readiness
of spirit!”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur overthrows Sir Ewaine._]
So each knight took his assigned place and dressed himself for the
encounter. Then they shouted, and drave together, rushing the one upon
the other like unto two rams upon the hillside. And the spear of Sir
Ewaine was also shivered into pieces. But King Arthur’s spear held, so
that the girths of Sir Ewaine’s saddle were burst apart, and both the
saddle and the knight were swept off the horse’s back with such violence
that a tower falling could not have made a greater noise than did Sir
Ewaine when he smote the dust of that causeway.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur sendeth the two knights to the Lady Guinevere._]
Then Sir Ewaine arose to his feet and gazed upon him, all filled with
entire amazement. To him came King Arthur, and bespake him thus: “Ha,
Sir Knight, meseems that thou hast been fairly overcome this day. And
so, according to your promises, both thou and yonder other knight must
fulfil all my commands for the space of full seven days to come. Now
this is the command that I set upon ye both: that ye shall straightway
go unto the Lady Guinevere at Cameliard and shall take her greeting from
her knight. And ye shall say to her that her knight unto whom she gave
her necklace, hath sent ye, who are King’s sons, for to do obedience
unto her. And all that she shall command ye to do in the space of these
seven days that are to come, that shall ye perform even unto the
smallest grain.”
“Sir Knight,” said Sir Gawaine, “so we will do according to thy
commands, having pledged ourselves thereunto. But when these seven days
are passed, I do make my vow that I shall seek thee out and shall carry
this combat unto its entire extremity. For it may happen to any knight
to be unhorsed as I have been, yet I do believe that I may have a better
success with thee an I battle with thee to the extremity of my
endeavor.”
“Sir Knight,” said King Arthur, “it shall be even as thou desirest. Yet
I do verily believe that when these seven days are passed thou wilt not
have such a great desire for to fight with me as thou now hast.”
Having so spoken, King Arthur saluted those two knights and they saluted
him. And then he turned his horse and went his way. And whenever he
bethought him of how those two good knights had fallen before his
assault, and when he thought of how astonished and abashed they had been
at their overthrow, he laughed aloud for pure mirth, and vowed unto
himself that he had never in all of his life engaged in so joyous an
adventure as this.
So when Sir Ewaine had mended the girths of his saddle then he and Sir
Gawaine mounted their horses and betook their way toward Cameliard much
cast down in spirits.
Then the miller came forth from the mill once more, greatly rejoiced at
having beheld such a wonderfully knightly encounter from so safe a place
as that from which he had beheld it.
And so King Arthur rode onward with great content of mind until the
slanting of the afternoon had come, and by that time he had come nigh to
that arm of the forest-land which he had in mind as the proper place
where he might leave his horse and his armor.
Now as he drew nigh to this part of the forest skirts, he perceived
before him at the roadside a gnarled and stunted oak-tree. And he
perceived that upon the oak-tree there hung a shield, and that
underneath the shield were written these words in fair large letters:
=“Whoso smiteth upon this shield
Doeth so at the peril of his body.”=
Then King Arthur was filled with a great spirit, and, uplifting his
spear, he smote upon that shield so that it rang like thunder.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur smites the shield of the White Knight._]
Then immediately King Arthur heard a voice issue out of the forest
crying, “Who hath dared to assail my shield!” And straightway there came
out thence a knight of large frame, riding upon a horse white, like that
which King Arthur himself rode. And the trappings of the horse and of
the knight were all white like unto the trappings of King Arthur and
his horse. And the knight bore upon his helmet as his crest a swan with
outspread wings, and upon his shield he bore the emblazonment of three
swans upon a field argent. And because of the crest and the emblazonment
of the shield, King Arthur knew that this knight was Sir Pellias, who
had come with him from Camelot to Tintagalon.
So when Sir Pellias had come nigh to where King Arthur waited for him,
he drew rein and bespake him with great sternness of voice: “Ho! Ho! Sir
Knight,” quoted he. “Why didst thou dare to smite upon my shield!
Verily, that blow shall bring thee great peril and dole. Now, prepare to
defend thyself straightway because of what thou hast done.”
“Stay! Stay! Sir Knight,” said King Arthur, “it shall be as thou wouldst
have it; and I will do combat with thee. Yet will I not assay this
adventure until thou hast agreed that the knight who is overcome in the
encounter shall serve the other in whatsoever manner that other may
desire, for the space of one se’night from this time.”
“Sir Knight,” said Sir Pellias, “I do accept that risk, wherefore I bid
thee now presently to prepare thyself for the encounter.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur overthrows Sir Pellias._]
Thereupon each knight took his station and dressed his spear and shield.
And when they had prepared themselves, they immediately launched
together with a violence like to two stones cast from a catapult. So
they met in the midst of the course, and again King Arthur was entirely
successful in that assault which he made. For the spear of Sir Pellias
burst to pieces, and the spear of King Arthur held; and Sir Pellias was
cast with passing violence out of his saddle for the distance of more
than half a spear’s length behind the crupper of his horse. Nor did he
altogether recover from that fall for a long time, so that King Arthur
had to wait beside him for a considerable while ere he was able to lift
himself up from the ground whereon he lay.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur sendeth Sir Pellias to the Lady Guinevere._]
“Ha! Sir Knight,” said King Arthur, “assuredly it hath not gone well
with thee this day, for thou hast been entirely overthrown and now thou
must straightway redeem thy pledge to serve me for seven days hereafter.
Wherefore, I now set it upon thee as my command, that thou shalt go
straightway unto Cameliard, and that thou shalt greet the Lady Guinevere
from me, telling her that her knight unto whom she gave her necklace
hath been successful in battle with thee. Likewise I set it upon thee
that thou shalt obey her for the space of seven days in whatsoever she
may command thee to do.”
“Sir Knight,” said Sir Pellias, “it shall even be as thou dost ordain.
Yet I would that I knew who thou art, for I do declare that I have never
yet in all my life been overthrown as thou hast overthrown me. And,
indeed, I think that there are very few men in the world who could serve
me as thou hast served me.”
“Sir Knight,” said King Arthur, “some time thou shalt know who I am.
But, as yet, I am bound to entire secrecy.”
Thereupon he saluted Sir Pellias and turned and entered the forest and
was gone.
And Sir Pellias mounted his horse and betook him to Cameliard, much cast
down and disturbed in spirit, yet much marvelling who that knight could
be who had served him as he had been served.
[Sidenote: _The Lady Guinevere is pleased with her champion._]
So that day there came to Cameliard, first Sir Geraint and then Sir
Gawaine and Sir Ewaine, and last of all there came Sir Pellias. And when
these four beheld one another they were all abashed so that one scarce
dared to look the other in the face. And when they came before the Lady
Guinevere and made their condition known to her, and told her how that
knight who wore her necklace had overthrown them all and had sent them
thither to serve her for a se’night, and when she reckoned how great and
famous were those four knights in deeds of chivalry, she was exceedingly
exalted that her knight should have approved himself so great in those
deeds of arms which he had undertaken to perform. But she greatly
marvelled who that champion could be, and debated those things in her
own mind. For it was a thing altogether unheard of that one knight, in
one day, and with a single spear, should have overthrown five such well
proved and famous knights as Duke Mordaunt of North Umber, Sir Geraint,
Sir Gawaine, Sir Ewaine, and Sir Pellias. So she gave herself great joy
that she had bestowed the gift of her necklace upon so worthy a knight,
and she was exceedingly uplifted with extraordinary pleasure at the
thought of the credit he had endowed her withal.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: _King Arthur resumes his disguise._]
Now after King Arthur had entered the forest, he came by and by to where
those wood-choppers, afore spoken of, plied their craft. And he abided
with them for that night; and when the next morning had come, he
intrusted them with his horse and armor, charging them to guard those
things with all care, and that they should be wonderfully rewarded
therefor. Then he took his departure from that place with intent to
return unto Cameliard. And he was clad in that jerkin of frieze which he
had worn ever since he had left Tintagalon.
And when he had reached the outskirts of the forest, he set his cap of
disguise upon his head and so resumed his mean appearance once more. So,
his knightliness being entirely hidden, he returned to Cameliard for to
be gardener’s boy as he had been before.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: Four Knights serve the Gardener Lad.]
[Illustration] Chapter Fourth.
_How the Four Knights Served the Lady Guinevere._
[Sidenote: _The gardener chideth his boy._]
Now, when King Arthur returned to Cameliard once more (which fell upon
the afternoon of a second day), he found the gardener waiting for him,
exceedingly filled with wrath. And the gardener had a long birchen rod
which he had fetched thither for to punish his boy withal, when that he
should have returned to the garden again. So when he saw King Arthur he
said: “Thou knave! wherefore didst thou quit thy work to go a-gadding?”
And King Arthur laughed and said: “Touch me not.” At this, the gardener
waxed so exceeding wroth, that he catched the King by the collar of his
jerkin with intent to beat him, saying: “Dost thou laugh at me, knave,
and make a mock at me? Now I will beat thee well for the offence thou
hast committed.”
Then, when King Arthur felt that man’s hand laid upon him, and when he
heard the words that the gardener spake in his wrath, his royal spirit
waxed very big within him and he cried out: “Ha, wretch! wouldst thou
dare to lay thy hands upon my sacred person?” So saying, he seized the
gardener by the wrists, and took the rod straight away from him, and
struck him with it across the shoulders. And when that poor knave felt
himself thus in the powerful grasp of the angry King, and when he felt
the rod upon his shoulders, he straightway lifted up a great outcry,
albeit the blow hurt him not a whit. “Now get thee gone!” quoth King
Arthur, “and trouble me no more; else will I serve thee in a way that
will not at all belike thee.” Herewith he loosed that poor man and let
him go; and the gardener was so bemazed with terror, that both the earth
and the sky swam before him. For King Arthur’s eyes had flashed upon him
like lightning, and those two hands had held his wrists with wonderful
power. Wherefore, when the King let him go he gat him away as quickly as
might be, all trembling and sweating with a great fear.
[Sidenote: _The gardener complaineth to the Lady Guinevere._]
So he went straight to the Lady Guinevere and complained to her of with
the memory of his terror, “my boy goeth away for a day or more, I know
not whither; and when I would whip him for quitting his work he taketh
the rod straight away from me and beateth me with it. Wherefore, now, I
prithee, deal with him as is fitting, and let several strong men drive
him away from this place with rods.”
Then the Lady Guinevere laughed. “Let be!” she said, “and meddle with
him no more; for, indeed, he appeareth to be a very saucy fellow. As for
thee! take thou no heed of his coming or his going, and haply I will
deal with him in such a way as shall be fitting.”
Whereupon the gardener went his way, greatly marvelling that the Lady
Guinevere should be so mild in dealing with that toward knave. And the
Lady Guinevere went her way, very merry. For she began to bethink her
that there was soothly some excellent reason why it should happen that
when the White Champion, who did such wonderful deeds, should come
thither, then that gardener’s boy should go; and that when that same
Champion should go, then the gardener’s boy should come thitherward
again. Wherefore she suspected many things, and was wonderfully merry
and cheerful of spirit.
[Sidenote: _The Lady Guinevere mocketh the gardener’s boy._]
Now, that day, in the afternoon, the Lady Guinevere chanced to walk in
the garden with her damsels, and with her walked those four noble
knights who had been sent thither by her White Champion, to wit, Sir
Gawaine, Sir Ewaine, Sir Geraint, and Sir Pellias. And the gardener’s
lad was digging in the gardens; and as they passed by where he was the
Lady Guinevere laughed aloud and cried out: “Look! Look! Messires and
Ladies! Yonder is a very saucy fellow for to be a gardener’s lad, for he
continually weareth his cap, even when he standeth in the presence of
lords and ladies.”
Then Sir Gawaine up and spake, saying: “Is it even so? Now will I
straightway go to yonder knave, and will take his hat off for him, and
that in a way so greatly to his misliking, that I do not believe that he
will ever offend by wearing it in our presence again.”
At this the Lady Guinevere laughed a very great deal. “Let be!” she
said, “let be! Sir Gawaine! it would ill beseem one so gentle as thou
art to have to do with yonder saucy fellow. Moreover, he doth assure us
all that he hath an ugly place upon his head, wherefore let him wear his
cap in God’s mercy.”
[Sidenote: _The Duke of North Umber issueth a second challenge._]
Thus the Lady Guinevere, though she suspected a very great deal, was yet
pleased to make a mock of him whom she suspected.
Now that day Duke Mordaunt of North Umber had entirely recovered from
those sore hurts that he had suffered from his overthrow at the hands of
the White Champion. Wherefore, the next morning having come, he appeared
again before the castle as he had appeared aforetime--clad all in
complete armor. So this time there rode before him two heralds, and when
the duke and the two heralds had come to that part of the meadows that
lay immediately before the castle of Cameliard, the heralds blew their
trumpets exceedingly loud. So at the sound of the trumpets many people
came and gathered upon the walls; and King Leodegrance came, and took
stand upon a lesser tower that looked down upon the plain where were the
Duke of North Umber and the two heralds. Then the Duke of North Umber
lifted up his eyes and beheld King Leodegrance where he stood over above
him upon the top of that tower, and he cried out in a loud voice: “What
ho! King Leodegrance! Thou shalt not think because I suffered a fall
from my horse through the mischance of an assault at arms, that thou art
therefore quit of me. Yet, ne’theless, I do now make this fair proffer
unto thee. To-morrow day I shall appear before this castle with six
knights-companion. Now if thou hast any seven knights who are able to
stand against me and my companions in an assault at arms--whether with
spears or swords, or ahorse or afoot--then shall I engage myself for to
give over all pretence whatsoever unto the hand of the Lady Guinevere.
But if thou canst not provide such champions to contend successfully
against me and my knights-companion, then shall I not only lay claim to
Lady Guinevere, but I shall likewise seize upon and shall hold for mine
own, three certain castles of thine that stand upon the borders of North
Umber. And, likewise, I shall seize upon and shall hold for mine own all
the lands and glebes appertaining unto those same castles. Moreover,
this challenge of mine shall hold only until to-morrow at set of sun;
after the which time it shall be null and void. Wherefore, King
Leodegrance, thou hadst best look to it straightway to provide thee with
such champions as may defend thee from these demands aforesaid.”
[Sidenote: _King Leodegrance is downcast._]
Hereupon those two heralds blew their trumpets once more, and Duke
Mordaunt of North Umber turned his horse about and went away from that
place. Then King Leodegrance also went his way, very sorrowful and
downcast in his spirits. For he said to himself: “Is it at all likely
that another champion shall come unto me like that wonderful White
Champion who came two days since, I know not whence, for to defend me
against mine enemies? And, touching that same White Champion; if I know
not whence he came, so also I know not whither he hath departed; how
then shall I know where to seek him to beseech his further aid in this
time of mine extremity?” Wherefore he went his way, very sorrowful, and
wist not what he was to do for to defend himself. So being thus
exceedingly troubled in his spirit, he went straight unto his own room,
and there shut himself therein; nor would he see any man nor speak unto
anyone, but gave himself over entirely unto sorrow and despair.
[Sidenote: _The Lady Guinevere beseecheth aid of the four knights._]
Now in this extremity the Lady Guinevere bethought her of those four
knights who had been pledged for to serve her for seven days. So she
went unto them where they were and she bespoke them in this wise:
“Messires, ye have been sent hither pledged for to serve me for seven
days. Now I do ordain it of thee that you will take this challenge of
Duke Mordaunt upon you at my behest, and I do much desire that you go
forth to-morrow-day for to meet this Duke of North Umber and his
knights-companion in battle. For ye are terribly powerful knights, and I
do believe you may easily defend us against our enemies.”
But Sir Gawaine said, “Not so, Lady; not so! For though we are pledged
unto thy service, yet are we not pledged unto the service of King
Leodegrance, thy father. Nor have we quarrel of any sort with this Duke
of North Umber, nor with his six knights-companion. For we are knights
of King Arthur, his Court, nor may we, except at his command, take any
foreign quarrel upon us in the service of another king.”
Then was the Lady Guinevere exceedingly angry, wherefore she said with
great heat: “Either thou art a wonderfully faithful lord unto thy King,
Sir Gawaine, or else thou fearest to meet this Duke of North Umber and
his knights-companion.”
And at this speech of the Lady Guinevere’s, Sir Gawaine was also
exceedingly wroth, wherefore he made reply: “An thou wert a knight and
not a lady, Dame Guinevere, thou wouldst think three or four times ere
thou wouldst find courage to speak those words unto me.” Whereupon he
arose and went out from that place with a countenance all inflamed with
wrath. And the Lady Guinevere went away also from that place and to her
bower, where she wept a very great deal, both from sorrow and from
anger.
[Sidenote: King Arthur sendeth the gardener upon a mission.]
Now all this while King Arthur had been very well aware of everything
that passed; wherefore he by and by arose and went out and found the
gardener. And he took the gardener strongly by the collar of his coat
and held him where he was. And he said to him: “Sirrah! I have a command
to set upon thee, and thou shalt perform that command to the thee.”
Herewith speaking, he thrust his hand into the bosom of his jerkin and
brought forth thence that necklace of pearls which the Lady Guinevere
had given him from about her neck. And he said further unto the
gardener: “Thou shalt take this necklace to the Lady Guinevere and thou
shalt say to her thus: that she is to send me forthwith bread and meat
and wine and comfits from her own table. And thou shalt say unto her
that I desire her to summon those four knights--to wit, Sir Gawaine, Sir
Ewaine, Sir Geraint, and Sir Pellias--and that she is to bid those four
for to come and serve me with those things for my refreshment. And thou
art to say unto her that she is to lay her commands upon those knights
that they are further to serve me according as I may command, and that
they are henceforth to be my servants and not her servants. And these
are the commands that I lay upon thee; that thou art to say these things
unto the Lady Guinevere.”
Now when the gardener heard those words he was so astonished that he
wist not what to think, for he deemed that the gardener’s lad had gone
altogether mad. Wherefore he lifted up his voice and cried aloud, “How
now! What is this thou sayest! Verily, should I do such a thing as this
thou bidst me to do, either it will cost me my life or else it will cost
thee thy life. For who would dare for to say such words unto the Lady
Guinevere?”
But King Arthur said: “Ne’theless, thou shalt surely do as I command
thee, sirrah. For if thou disobey in one single point, then I do assure
thee it will go exceedingly ill with thee. For I have it in my power for
to make thee suffer as thou hast never suffered before.”
And upon this the gardener said, “I will go.” For he said unto himself,
“If I do as this fellow biddeth me, then will the Lady Guinevere have
him punished in great measure, and so I shall be revenged upon him for
what he did unto me yesterday. Moreover, it irks me exceedingly that I
should have a lad for to work in the garden who behaves as this fellow
does. Wherefore,” he said, “I will go.” So he took that necklace of
pearls that King Arthur gave him, and he went forth and, after awhile,
he found the Lady Guinevere where she was. And when he had found her, he
bespoke her in this wise:
“Lady, my garden boy hath assuredly gone entirely mad. For, under the
threat of certain great harm he would do unto me an I performed not his
errand, he hath sent me to offer a very grievous affront unto thee. For
he hath sent me with this string of large beads for to give to thee; and
he bids me to tell thee that thou art to send to him bread and meat and
sweetmeats and wine, such as thou usest at thine own table; and he bids
me to tell thee that these things are to be served to him by the four
noble knights who came hither the day before yesterday. And he saith
that thou art to command those same knights that they are to obey him in
whatsoever he may command, for that they are henceforth to be his
servants and not thine. And, indeed, Lady, he would listen to naught
that I might say to him contrariwise, but he hath threatened me with
dire injury an I came not hither and delivered this message unto thee.”
Now when the Lady Guinevere heard what the gardener said, and when she
beheld the necklace which she had given unto that White Champion, and
when she wist that the White Champion and the gardener’s boy were indeed
one, she was uplifted with an exceeding joy; wherefore she knew not
whether to laugh or whether to weep for that pure joy. So she arose and
took the necklace of pearls, and she bade the gardener for to come with
her. Then she went forth until she found those four knights, and when
she had found them she spake unto them thus:
[Sidenote: _The Lady Guinevere commands the four knights to serve the
gardener’s boy._]
“My Lords, awhile sin when I commanded you for to take my quarrel with
Duke Mordaunt of North Umber upon you for my sake, ye would not do so.
And thou, my lord Gawaine, didst speak such angry words as are not
fitting that one who serveth should speak unto his mistress, far less
that a knight should speak unto the daughter of a king. Accordingly I
have it in my mind that ye shall perform a certain thing by way of a
penance, which, an ye refuse to do, I will know very well that ye do not
intend to fulfil that word which ye plighted to my knight when he
overthrew you all four in fair combat. Now my command is this: that ye
take certain food prepared for my table--meats and white bread and
sweetmeats and wine--and that ye take that food unto my gardener’s boy,
whose cap, Sir Gawaine, thou didst threaten so valorously for to take
away from him this very morning. And ye four are to serve the food unto
him as though he were a royal knight. And when ye have so served him, ye
are to obey him in whatsoever he may ordain. And this I put upon ye as a
penalty because ye took not my quarrel upon ye as true knights should,
for hereafter ye are to be servants unto that gardener’s boy and not
unto me. Wherefore ye are now to go unto the buttery of the castle, and
ye are to bid the sewer for to give you meats such as are served upon
mine own table. And the food ye are to serve upon silver plates, and the
wine ye are to serve in silver cups and goblets. And ye are to minister
unto that gardener’s boy as though he were a great lord of exceeding
fame and renown.”
Thus spake the Lady Guinevere, and when she had spoken, she turned and
left those four knights, and she took with her the gardener, who was so
astonished at that which he had heard, that he wist not whether he had
gone mad or whether the Lady Guinevere had gone mad. And the Lady
Guinevere bade the gardener to go to the gardener’s boy and to tell him
that all things should be fulfilled according to his commands. And so
the gardener did as he was told.
[Sidenote: _The four knights are angry._]
Now turn we to those four knights whom the Lady Guinevere had left. For
they were bemazed and abashed at the singular commands she had set upon
them. And when they recovered from their amazement, they were inflamed
with exceeding indignation that, for the time, they wist not whether
that which they saw with their eyes was the light of day, or whether it
was altogether darkness. Nor could one of them look at another in the
face, so overcome were they with shame at the affront that had been put
upon them. Then up and spake Sir Gawaine, and his voice so trembled with
his exceeding anger that he could scarce contain it for to speak his
words. “Messires,” quoth he, “do ye not see how that this lady hath
wantonly put a great affront upon us because we would not do that which
she this morning bade us to do, and because we would not take up her
quarrel against the Duke of North Umber? Now we will indeed serve this
gardener’s boy even as she hath ordained. For we will serve him with
meat and drink as she hath commanded; and we will render our service
unto him as she hath bidden us to do. But observe ye; we are no longer
her servants, but we are his servants; wherefore we may serve him as we
choose for to do. So, when we have fulfilled her commands and have
served him with meat and drink, and when we have obeyed all the behests
he layeth upon us; then do I make my vow that I, with mine own hand,
shall slay that gardener’s boy. And when I have slain him, I will put
his head into a bag, and I will send that bag unto the Lady Guinevere by
the meanest carrier whom I can find for that purpose. And so this proud
lady shall receive an affront as great as that affront which she hath
put upon us.” And they all said that that which Sir Gawaine had planned
should be exactly as he had said.
[Sidenote: _The four knights serve the gardener’s boy._]
So those four lords went unto the sewer of the castle, and they asked
for the best of that food which was to be served unto the Lady
Guinevere--meats and bread and sweetmeats and wine. Then they took them
silver plates and platters and they placed the food upon them; and they
took silver cups and silver goblets and they poured the wine into them;
and they went forth with these things. And when they had come back of
the castle nigh to the stables, they found the gardener’s boy, and they
bade him sit down and eat and to drink. And they waited upon him as
though he had been some great lord. And not one of those four knights
wist who he was, nor that he was the great King whose servant they,
soothly, were. For he wore his cap of disguise upon his head, wherefore
they deemed him to be only a poor peasant fellow.
Now when Sir Ewaine beheld that he still wore his cap before them, he
spake unto him with great indignation, saying: “Ha, villian! Wouldst
thou wear thy cap even in the presence of great princes and lords such
as we be?”
Unto this Sir Gawaine said, “Let be, it matters not.” And then he said
very bitterly unto the gardener’s boy: “Eat thou well, sirrah! For thou
shalt hardly eat another meal of food upon this earth.”
To this the gardener’s boy made reply: “Sir Knight, that, haply, shall
lie unto another will than thine for to determine. For maybe, I shall
eat many other meals than this. And, maybe, ye shall serve at them as ye
are serving me now.” And those four lords were astonished beyond measure
that he should bespeak them thus so calmly and without any appearance of
fear.
Then, after he had eaten, the gardener’s boy said unto those knights,
“Behold, Messires, I have had enough and am done; and now I have other
commands for you to fulfil. And my next command is that ye shall make
ready straightway to go abroad with me, and to that end ye shall clothe
yourselves with complete armor. And thou, Sir Gawaine, shalt go to the
head stable-keeper of this castle, and thou shalt demand of him that he
shall make ready the Lady Guinevere’s palfrey so that I may straightway
ride forth upon it. And when ye are all encased in your armor, and when
everything is duly appointed according to my command, ye shall bring
that palfrey unto the postern gate of the castle, and there I shall meet
ye for to ride forth with you.”
And Sir Gawaine said: “It shall be done in every way according as thou
dost command. But when we ride forth from this castle it shall be a
sorry journey for thee.”
And the gardener’s boy said: “I think not so, Sir Gawaine.”
Then those four went away and did according as the gardener’s boy
commanded. And when they had made themselves ready in full array of
armor, and when they had obtained the Lady Guinevere’s palfrey, they
went unto the postern gate and there the gardener’s boy met them. And
when he saw that they sat their horses and that they moved not at his
coming, he said: “Ha, Messires! would ye so entreat him whom ye have
been ordained to serve? Now I do bid ye, Sir Gawaine and Sir Ewaine, for
to come down and to hold my stirrup for me; and I bid ye, Sir Geraint
and Sir Pellias, for to come down and to hold my palfrey for me whiles I
mount.”
Then those four noble knights did as they were commanded. And Sir
Gawaine said: “Thou mayst command as thou dost list, and I do bid thee
to make the most of it whiles thou mayst do so; for thou shalt have but
a little while longer for to enjoy the great honor that hath fallen upon
thee. For that honor which hath fallen upon thee--lo! it shall presently
crush thee unto death.”
And the gardener’s boy said: “Not so; I believe I shall not die yet
whiles.” And again those four lords were greatly astonished at the
calmness of his demeanor.
And so they rode forth from that place; and the gardener’s boy would not
permit that they should ride either before him or beside him, but he
commanded them that they should ride behind him whiles they were still
servants unto him.
So they rode as he assigned them for a considerable way. Then after they
had gone forward a great distance, they drew nigh to a gloomy and dismal
woodland that lay entirely beyond the country coadjacent to Cameliard.
Then, when they had come nigh unto this woodland, Sir Gawaine rode a
little forward, and he said: “Sir Gardener’s Boy, seest thou yonder
woodland? Now when we come into it thou shalt immediately die, and that
by a sword that hath never yet been touched by any but noble or knightly
blood.”
And King Arthur turned him about in his saddle, and he said: “Ha! Sir
Gawaine! Wouldst thou ride forward thus when I bid thee to ride behind
me?”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur proclaimeth himself to the four knights._]
And as he spake he took the cap from off his head, and, lo! they all
beheld that it was King Arthur who rode with them.
Then a great silence of pure astonishment fell upon them all, and each
man sat as though he were turned into an image of stone. And it was King
Arthur who first spake. And he said: “Ha! how now, Sir Knights? Have ye
no words of greeting for to pay to me? Certes, ye have served me with a
very ill grace this day. Moreover, ye have threatened to slay me; and
now, when I speak to you, ye say naught in reply.”
Then those four knights immediately cried out aloud; and they leaped
down from off their horses, and they kneeled down into the dust of the
road. And when King Arthur beheld them kneeling there, he laughed with
great joyfulness of spirit, and he bade them for to mount their horses
again, for the time was passing by when there was much to do.
So they mounted their horses and rode away, and as they journeyed
forward the King told them all that had befallen him, so that they were
greatly amazed, and gave much acclaim unto the knightliness with which
he had borne himself in those excellent adventures through which he had
passed. And they rejoiced greatly that they had a king for to rule over
them who was possessed of such a high and knightly spirit.
So they rode to that arm of the forest where King Arthur had left his
horse and his armor.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: The Gardener Lad takes off his Cap.]
[Illustration] Chapter Fifth.
_How King Arthur Overcame the Enemies of King Leodegrance, and How His
Royalty Was Proclaimed._
[Sidenote: _The Duke of North Umber and his six companions appear before
the castle._]
Now, when the next day had come, the Duke of North Umber and six
knights-companion appeared upon the field in front of the castle of
Cameliard as he had duly declared that he and they would do. And those
seven champions appeared in very great estate; for in front of them
there rode seven heralds with trumpets and tabards, and behind them
there rode seven esquires, each esquire bearing the spear, the shield,
the crest, and the banneret of the knight who was his lord and master.
And the seven heralds blew their trumpets so exceedingly loud that the
sound thereof penetrated unto the utmost parts of Cameliard, so that the
people came running from everywhere. And while the heralds blew their
trumpets the seven esquires shouted, and waved the spears and the
bannerets. So those seven knights rode in such proud estate that those
who looked upon them had hardly ever beheld such a splendid presentment
of chivalry.
So they paraded up and down that field three times for its entire
length, and, meantime, a great crowd of people, called thither by the
blowing of the herald’s trumpets, stood upon the walls and gazed
therefrom at that noble spectacle. And all the Court of King Ryence
came, and stood upon the plain in front of the King’s pavilion, and they
shouted and cheered the Duke of North Umber and his six
knights-companion.
Meanwhile, King Leodegrance of Cameliard was so cast down with trouble
and shame that he did not choose to show his face, but hid himself away
from all his Court. Nor would he permit anyone for to come into his
presence at that time.
[Sidenote: _The Lady Guinevere cheereth her father._]
Nevertheless, the Lady Guinevere, with sundry of her damsels, went and
when the King denied her to come in to him, she spake to him through the
door, giving him words of good cheer, saying: “My lord King and father,
I prithee for to look up and to take good cheer unto thyself. For I do
assure thee that there is one who hath our cause in his hands, and that
one is, certes, a very glorious champion. And he shall assuredly come by
and by ere this day is done, and when he cometh, he shall certainly
overthrow our enemies.”
But King Leodegrance opened not the door, but he said: “My daughter,
that which thou sayest thou sayest for to comfort me. For there is no
other help for me in this time of trouble only God, His good strong help
and grace.” And she said: “Nay, I say that which is the truth; and the
help that God shall send unto thee he shall certainly send through a
worthy champion who at this moment hath our cause in his hand.”
So spake the Lady Guinevere, so that whilst King Leodegrance came not
forth, yet he was greatly comforted at that which she said to him.
[Sidenote: _Five knights-defender appear at the field._]
Thus passed all that morning and a part of the afternoon, and yet no one
appeared for to take up that challenge which the seven knights had
declared. But, whilst the sun was yet three or four hours high, there
suddenly appeared at a great distance a cloud of dust. And in that cloud
of dust there presently appeared five knights, riding at great speed,
thitherward. And when these had come nigh unto the walls, lo! the people
beheld that he who rode foremost of all was that same White Champion who
had aforetime overthrown the Duke of North Umber. Moreover, they
perceived that the four knights who rode with that White Champion were
very famous knights and of great prowess and glory of arms. For the one
was Sir Gawaine, and the other was Sir Ewaine, and the other was Sir
Geraint, and the other was Sir Pellias. For the people of the castle and
the town knew those four knights, because they had dwelt for two days at
Cameliard, and they were of such exceeding renown that folk crowded from
far and near for to look upon them whensoever they appeared for to walk
abroad.
So when the people upon the walls beheld who those knights were, and
when they perceived that White Champion who had aforetime brought them
such exceeding honor, they shouted aloud for the second time with a
voice mightier than that with which they had the first time shouted.
Now King Leodegrance heard the people shouting, whereupon hope awoke of
a sudden within him. So he straightway came forth with all speed for to
see what was ado, and there he beheld those five noble champions about
to enter into the field below the castle walls.
And the Lady Guinevere also heard the shouting and she came forth
likewise and, behold! there was that White Champion and those four other
knights. So when she beheld that White Knight and his four
companions-at-arms, her heart was like to break within her for pure joy
and gladness, wherefore she wept for the passion thereof, and laughed
the whiles she wept. And she waved her kerchief unto those five noble
lords and kissed her hand unto them, and the five knights saluted her as
they rode past her and into the field.
Now, when the Duke of North Umber was made aware that those five knights
had come against him and his knights-companion for to take up his
challenge, he straightway came forth from his pavilion and mounted his
horse. And his knights-companion came forth and mounted their horses,
and he and they went forth for to meet those who had come against them.
[Sidenote: _The Duke of North Umber refuseth the combat._]
And when the Duke of North Umber had come nigh enough, he perceived that
the chiefest of those five knights was the White Champion who had
aforetime overthrown him. Wherefore he said unto that White Champion:
“Sir Knight, I have once before condescended unto thee who art
altogether unknown to me or to anybody else that is here. For without
inquiring concerning thy quality, I ran a course with thee and, lo! by
the chance of arms thou didst overthrow me. Now this quarrel is more
serious than that, wherefore I and my companions-at-arms will not run a
course with thee and thy companions; nor will we fight with thee until I
first know what is the quality of him against whom I contend. Wherefore,
I bid thee presently declare thyself, who thou art and what is thy
condition.”
Then Sir Gawaine opened the umbril of his helmet, and he said: “Sir
Knight, behold my face, and know that I am Gawaine, the son of King Lot.
Wherefore thou mayst perceive that my condition and estate are even
better than thine own. Now I do declare unto thee that yonder White
Knight is of such a quality that he condescends unto thee when he doeth
combat with thee, and that thou dost not condescend unto him.”
“Ho, Sir Gawaine!” quoth the Duke of Umber. “What thou sayest is a very
strange thing, for, indeed, there are few in this world who are so
exalted that they may condescend unto me. Ne’theless, since thou dost
avouch for him, I may not gainsay that which thou sayest. Yet, there is
still another reason why we may not fight with ye. For, behold! we are
seven well-approved and famous knights, and ye are but five; so,
consider how unequal are our forces, and that you stand in great peril
in undertaking so dangerous an encounter.”
Then Sir Gawaine smiled right grimly upon that Duke of North Umber.
“Gramercy for thy compassion, and for the tenderness which thou showeth
concerning our safety, Sir Duke,” quoth he. “But ne’theless, thou mayst
leave that matter unto us with entire content of spirit upon thy part.
For I consider that the peril in which ye seven stand is fully equal to
our peril. Moreover, wert thou other than a belted knight, a simple man
might suppose that thou wert more careful of thine own safety in this
matter, than thou art of ours.”
Now at these words the countenance of the Duke of North Umber became
altogether covered with red, for he wist that he had, indeed, no great
desire for this battle, wherefore he was ashamed because of the words
which Sir Gawaine spake to him. So, each knight closed his helmet, and
all turned their horses, and the one party rode unto one end of the
field, and the other party rode to the other end of the field, and there
each took stand in the place assigned unto them.
And they arranged themselves thus: In the middle was King Arthur, and
upon either hand were two knights; and in the middle was the Duke of
North Umber, and upon either hand were three knights. So, when they had
thus arrayed themselves they dressed their spears and their shields, and
made them altogether ready for the onset. Then King Arthur and Duke
Mordaunt each shouted aloud, and the one party hurled upon the other
party with such violence that the ground shook and thundered beneath the
hoofs of the horses, and the clouds of dust rose up against the heavens.
And so they met in the middle of the field with an uproar of such
dreadful violence that one might have heard the crashing thereof for the
distance of more than a mile away.
And when the one party had passed the other, and the dust of the
encounter had arisen, lo! three of the seven had been overthrown, and
not one of the five had lost his seat.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur overturneth the Duke of North Umber._]
And one of those who had been overthrown was Duke Mordaunt of North
Umber. And, behold! he never more arose again from the ground whereon he
lay. For King Arthur had directed his spear into the very midst of his
defences, and the spear had held, wherefore the point thereof had
pierced the shield of the Duke of North Umber, and had pierced his body
armor, and so violent was the stroke, that the Duke of North Umber had
been lifted entirely out of his saddle, and had been cast a full spear’s
length behind the crupper of his horse. Thus died that wicked man, for
as King Arthur drave past him, the evil soul of him quitted his body
with a weak noise like to the squeaking of a bat, and the world was well
rid of him.
Now when King Arthur turned him about at the end of the course and
beheld that there were but four knights left upon their horses of all
those seven against whom he and his companions had driven, he uplifted
his spear, and drew rein upon his horse, and bespake his knights in this
wise: “Messires, I am aweary of all this coil and quarrelling, and do
not care to fight any more to-day, so go ye straightway and engage those
knights in battle. As for me, I will abide here, and witness your
adventure.”
“Lord,” said they, “we will do our endeavor as thou dost command.”
So those four good knights did as he commanded, and they went forth
straightway against those other four, much encouraged that their King
looked upon their endeavor. And King Arthur sat with the butt of his
spear resting upon his instep, and looked upon the field with great
content of spirit, and a steadfast countenance.
As for those four knights-companion that remained of the Duke of North
Umber’s party, they came not forth to this second encounter with so much
readiness of spirit as they had done aforetime. For they were now well
aware of how great was the excellent prowess of those other knights, and
they beheld that their enemies came forth to this second encounter very
fiercely, and with great valor and readiness of spirit. Wherefore their
hearts melted away within them with doubt and anxiety as to the outcome
of this second encounter.
Nevertheless, they prepared themselves with such resolve as might be,
and came forth as they were called upon to do.
Then Sir Gawaine drave straight up to the foremost knight, who was a
very well-known champion, hight Sir Dinador of Montcalm. And when he had
come sufficiently nigh to him, he lifted himself up in his stirrups and
he smote Sir Dinador so fierce a blow that he cleft the shield of that
knight asunder, and he cleft his helmet, and a part of the blade of his
sword brake away and remained therein.
[Sidenote: _The knights-challenger flee before the knights-defender._]
And when Sir Dinador felt that blow, his brains swam like water, and he
was fain to catch the horn of his saddle for to save himself from
falling therefrom. Then a great terror straightway fell upon him, so
that he drew rein violently to one side. So he fled away from that place
with the terror of death hanging above him like to a black cloud of
smoke. And when his companions beheld that stroke that Sir Gawaine
delivered, and when they beheld Sir Dinador flee away from before him,
they also drew rein to one side and fled away with all speed, pursued
with an entire terror of their enemies. And Sir Gawaine and Sir Ewaine
and Sir Geraint and Sir Pellias pursued them as they fled. And they
chased them straight through the Court of King Ryence, so that the
knights and nobles of that Court scattered hither and thither like chaff
at their coming. And they chased those fleeing knights in among the
pavilions of King Ryence’s Court, and no man stayed them; and when they
had chased those knights entirely away, they returned to that place
where King Arthur still held his station, steadfastly awaiting them.
Now when the people of Cameliard beheld the overthrow of their enemies,
and when they beheld how those enemies fled away from before the faces
of their champions, they shouted with might and main, and made great
acclaim. Nor did they stint their loud shouting when those four knights
returned from pursuing their enemies and came back unto the White
Champion again. And still more did they give acclaim when those five
knights rode across the drawbridge and into the gateway of the town and
into the town.
Thus ended the great bout-at-arms, which was one of the most famous in
all the history of chivalry of King Arthur’s Court.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur returneth his armor to the merchant._]
Now when King Arthur had thus accomplished his purposes, and when he had
come into the town again, he went unto that merchant of whom he had
obtained the armor that he wore, and he delivered that armor back to him
again. And he said, “Tomorrow-day, Sir Merchant, I shall send thee two
bags of gold for the rent of that armor which thou didst let me have.”
To this the merchant said: “Lord, it is not needed that thou shouldst
recompense me for that armor, for thou hast done great honor unto
Cameliard by thy prowess.”
But King Arthur said: “Have done, Sir Merchant, nor must thou forbid
what I say. Wherefore take thou that which I shall send unto thee.”
Thereupon he went his way, and, having set his cap of disguise upon his
head, he came back into the Lady Guinevere’s gardens again.
Now when the next morning had come the people of Cameliard looked forth
and, lo! King Ryence had departed entirely away from before the castle.
For that night he had struck his pavilions, and had withdrawn his Court,
and had gone away from that place where he and his people had sat down
for five days past. And with him he had taken the body of the Duke of
North Umber, conveying it away in a litter surrounded by many lighted
candles and uplifted by a peculiar pomp of ceremony. But when the people
of Cameliard beheld that he was gone, they were exceedingly rejoiced,
and made merry, and shouted and sang and laughed. For they wist not how
deeply enraged King Ryence was against them; for his enmity aforetime
toward King Leodegrance was but as a small flame when compared unto the
anger that now possessed him.
* * * * *
Now that morning Lady Guinevere walked into her garden, and with her
walked Sir Gawaine and Sir Ewaine, and lo! there she beheld the
gardener’s boy again.
Then she laughed aloud, and she said unto those two knights, “Messires
behold! Yonder is the gardener’s boy, who weareth his cap continually
because he hath an ugly place upon his head.”
Then those two knights, knowing who that gardener’s boy was, were
exceedingly abashed at her speech, and wist not what to say or whither
to look. And Sir Gawaine spake, aside unto Sir Ewaine, and quoth he:
“‘Fore Heaven, that lady knoweth not what manner of man is yonder
gardener’s boy; for, an she did, she would be more sparing of her
speech.”
And the Lady Guinevere heard Sir Gawaine that he spoke, but she did not
hear his words. So she turned unto Sir Gawaine, and she said: “Sir
Gawaine, haply it doth affront thee that that gardener’s boy should wear
his cap before us, and maybe thou wilt go and take it off from his head
as thou didst offer to do two or three days since.”
And Sir Gawaine said: “Peace, Lady! Thou knowest not what thou sayest.
Yonder gardener’s boy could more easily take my head from off my
shoulders than I could take his cap from off his head.”
At this the Lady Guinevere made open laughter; but in her heart she
secretly pondered that saying and greatly marvelled what Sir Gawaine
meant thereby.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: _King Ryence threatened King Leodegrance._]
Now about noon of that day there came an herald from King Ryence of
North Wales, and he appeared boldly before King Leodegrance where the
King sat in his hall with a number of his people about him. And the
herald said: “My lord King: my master, King Ryence of North Wales, is
greatly displeased with thee. For thou didst set certain knights upon
Duke Mordaunt of North Umber, and those knights have slain that
excellent nobleman, who was close kin unto King Ryence. Moreover, thou
hast made no reply to those demands that my master, King Ryence, hath
made touching the delivery unto him of certain lands and castles
bordering upon North Wales. Wherefore my master is affronted with thee
beyond measure. So my master, King Ryence, bids me to set forth to thee
two conditions, and the conditions are these: Firstly, that thou dost
immediately deliver into his hands that White Knight who slew the Duke
of North Umber; secondly, that thou makest immediate promise that those
lands in question shall be presently delivered unto King Ryence.”
Then King Leodegrance arose from where he sat and spake to that herald
with great dignity of demeanor. “Sir Herald,” quoth he, “the demands
that King Ryence maketh upon me pass all bounds for insolence. That
death which the Duke of North Umber suffered, he suffered because of his
own pride and folly. Nor would I deliver that White Knight into thy
master’s hands, even an I were able to do so. As for those lands that
thy master demandeth of me, thou mayst tell King Ryence that I will not
deliver unto him of those lands so much as a single blade of grass, or a
single grain of corn that groweth thereon.”
And the herald said: “If, so be, that is thine answer, King Leodegrance,
then am I bidden for to tell thee that my master, King Ryence of North
Wales, will presently come hither with an array of a great force of
arms, and will take from thee by force those things which thou wilt not
deliver unto him peacefully.” Whereupon, so saying, he departed thence
and went his way.
[Sidenote: _King Leodegrance converses with the Lady Guinevere._]
Now after the herald had departed, King Leodegrance went into his
closet, and when he had come there he sent, privily, for the Lady
Guinevere. So the Lady Guinevere came to him where he was. And King
Leodegrance said to her: “My daughter, it hath happened that a knight
clad all in white, and bearing no crest or device of any sort, hath
twice come to our rescue and hath overthrown our enemies. Now it is said
by everybody that that knight is thine own particular champion, and I
hear say that he wore thy necklace as a favor when he first went out
against the Duke of North Umber. Now I prithee, daughter, tell me who
that White Champion is, and where he may be found.”
Then the Lady Guinevere was overwhelmed with a confusion, wherefore she
looked away from her father’s countenance; and she said: “Verily, my
Lord, I know not who that knight may be.”
Then King Leodegrance spake very seriously to the Lady Guinevere, and he
took her by the hand and said: “My daughter, thou art now of an age when
thou must consider being mated unto a man who may duly cherish thee and
protect thee from thine enemies. For, lo! I grow apace in years, and may
not hope to defend thee always from those perils that encompass one of
our estate. Moreover, since King Arthur (who is a very great King
indeed) hath brought peace unto this realm, all that noble court of
chivalry which one time gathered about me has been scattered elsewhither
where greater adventures may be found than in my peaceful realm.
Wherefore (as all the world hath seen this week past) I have now not one
single knight whom I may depend upon to defend us in such times of peril
as these which now overshadow us. Now, my daughter, it doth appear to me
that thou couldst not hope to find anyone who could so well safeguard
thee as this White Knight; for he doth indeed appear to be a champion of
extraordinary prowess and strength. Wherefore it would be well if thou
didst feel thyself to incline unto him as he appeareth to incline unto
thee.”
Then the Lady Guinevere became all rosy red as with a fire even unto her
throat. And she laughed, albeit the tears overflowed her eyes and ran
down upon her cheeks. So she wept, yet laughed in weeping. And she said
unto King Leodegrance: “My Lord and father, an I give my liking unto any
one in the manner thou speaketh of, I will give it only unto the poor
gardener’s boy who digs in my garden.”
Then, at these words, the countenance of King Leodegrance became
contracted with violent anger, and he cried out: “Ha, Lady! Wouldst thou
make a mock and a jest of my words?”
Then the Lady Guinevere said: “Indeed, my Lord! I jest not and I mock
not. Moreover, I tell thee for verity that that same gardener’s boy
knoweth more concerning the White Champion than anybody else in all of
the world.” Then King Leodegrance said: “What is this that thou tellest
me?” And the Lady Guinevere said: “Send for that gardener’s boy and thou
shalt know.” And King Leodegrance said: “Verily, there is more in this
than I may at present understand.”
So he called to him the chief of his pages, hight Dorisand, and he said
to him: “Go, Dorisand, and bring hither the gardener’s boy from the Lady
Guinevere’s garden.”
So Dorisand, the page, went as King Leodegrance commanded, and in a
little while he returned, bringing with him that gardener’s boy. And
with them came Sir Gawaine, and Sir Ewaine, and Sir Pellias and Sir
Geraint. And those four lords stood over against the door, where they
entered; but the gardener’s boy came and stood beside the table where
King Leodegrance sat. And the King lifted up his eyes and looked upon
the gardener’s boy, and he said: “Ha! Wouldst thou wear thy cap in our
presence?”
Then the gardener’s boy said: “I cannot take off my cap.”
But the Lady Guinevere, who stood beside the chair of King Leodegrance,
spake and said: “I do beseech thee, Messire, for to take off thy cap
unto my father.”
Whereupon the gardener’s boy said: “At thy bidding I will take it off.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur discovereth himself to King Leodegrance._]
So he took the cap from off his head, and King Leodegrance beheld his
face and knew him. And when he saw who it was who stood before him, he
made a great outcry from pure amazement. And he said: “My Lord and my
King! What is this!” Thereupon he arose from where he sat, and he went
and kneeled down upon the ground before King Arthur. And he set the
palms of his hands together and he put his hands within the hands of
King Arthur, and King Arthur took the hands of King Leodegrance within
his own. And King Leodegrance said: “My Lord! My Lord! Is it then thou
who hast done all these wonderful things?”
Then King Arthur said: “Yea; such as those things were, I have done
them.” And he stooped and kissed King Leodegrance upon the cheek and
lifted him up unto his feet and gave him words of good cheer.
Now the Lady Guinevere, when she beheld those things that passed, was
astonished beyond measure. And lo! she understood of a sudden all these
things with amazing clearness. Wherefore a great fear fell upon her so
that she trembled exceedingly, and said unto herself: “What things have
I said unto this great King, and how have I made a mock of him and a
jest of him before all those who were about me!” And at the thought
thereof, she set her hand upon her side for to still the extreme
disturbance of her heart. So, whilst King Arthur and King Leodegrance
gave to one another words of royal greeting and of compliment, she
withdrew herself and went and stood over against the window nigh to the
corner of the wall.
Then, by and by, King Arthur lifted up his eyes and beheld her where she
stood afar off. So he went straightway unto her and he took her by the
hand, and he said: “Lady, what cheer?”
And she said: “Lord, I am afeard of thy greatness.” And he said: “Nay,
Lady. Rather it is I who am afeard of thee. For thy kind regard is
dearer unto me than anything else in all the world, else had I not
served for these twelve days as gardener’s boy in thy garden all for the
sake of thy good will.” And she said: “Thou hast my good will, Lord.”
And he said: “Have I thy good will in great measure?” And she said:
“Yea, thou hast it in great measure.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur is betrothed to the Lady Guinevere._]
Then he stooped his head and kissed her before all those who were there,
and thus their troth was plighted.
Then King Leodegrance was filled with such an exceeding joy that he wist
not how to contain himself therefore.
Now, after these things, there followed a war with King Ryence of North
Wales. For Sir Kay and Sir Ulfius had gathered together a great army as
King Arthur had bidden them to do, so that when King Ryence came against
Cameliard he was altogether routed, and his army dispersed, and he
himself chased, an outcast, into his mountains.
Then there was great rejoicing in Cameliard. For, after his victory,
King Arthur remained there for awhile with an exceedingly splendid Court
of noble lords and of beautiful ladies. And there was feasting and
jousting and many famous bouts at arms, the like of which those parts
had never before beheld. And King Arthur and the Lady Guinevere were
altogether happy together.
Now, one day, whiles King Arthur sat at feast with King
Leodegrance--they two being exceedingly expanded with cheerfulness--King
Leodegrance said unto King Arthur: “My Lord, what shall I offer thee for
a dowery with my daughter when thou takest her away from me for to be
thy Queen?”
Then King Arthur turned to Merlin, who stood nigh to him, and he said:
“Ha, Merlin! What shall I demand of my friend by way of that dowery?”
Unto him Merlin said: “My lord King, thy friend King Leodegrance hath
one thing, the which, should he bestow it upon thee, will singularly
increase the glory and renown of thy reign, so that the fame thereof
shall never be forgotten.”
And King Arthur said: “I bid thee, Merlin, tell me what is that thing.”
So Merlin said: “My lord King, I will tell thee a story:
[Sidenote: _Merlin telleth of the Round Table._]
“In the days of thy father, Uther-Pendragon, I caused to be made for him
a certain table in the shape of a ring, wherefore men called it the
ROUND TABLE. Now, at this table were seats for fifty men, and these
seats were designed for the fifty knights who were the most worthy
knights in all the world. These seats were of such a sort, that whenever
a worthy knight appeared, then his name appeared in letters of gold upon
that seat that appertained unto him; and when that knight died, then
would his name suddenly vanish from that seat which he had aforetime
occupied.
“Now, forty-and-nine of these seats, except one seat, were altogether
alike (saving only one that was set aside for the King himself, which
same was elevated above the other seats, and was cunningly carved and
inlaid with ivory and with gold), and the one seat was different from
all the others, and it was called the SEAT PERILOUS. For this seat was
unlike the others both in its structure and its significance; for it was
all cunningly inset with gold and silver of curious device, and it was
covered with a canopy of satin embroidered with gold and silver; and it
was altogether of a wonderful magnificence of appearance. And no name
ever appeared upon this seat, for only one knight in all of the world
could hope to sit therein with safety unto himself. For, if any other
dared to sit therein, either he would die a sudden and violent death
within three days’ time, or else a great misfortune would befall him.
Hence that seat was called the SEAT PERILOUS.
“Now, in the days of King Uther-Pendragon, there sat seven-and-thirty
knights at the ROUND TABLE. And when King Uther-Pendragon died, he gave
the ROUND TABLE unto his friend, King Leodegrance of Cameliard.
“And in the beginning of King Leodegrance’s reign, there sat
four-and-twenty knights at the ROUND TABLE.
“But times have changed since then, and the glory of King Leodegrance’s
reign hath paled before the glory of thy reign, so that his noble Court
of knights have altogether quitted him. Wherefore there remaineth now
not one name, saving only the name of King Leodegrance, upon all those
fifty seats that surround the ROUND TABLE. So now that ROUND TABLE lieth
beneath its pavilion altogether unused.
“Yet if King Leodegrance will give unto thee, my lord King, that ROUND
TABLE for a dower with the Lady Guinevere, then will it lend unto thy
reign its greatest glory. For in thy day every seat of that TABLE shall
be filled, even unto the SEAT PERILOUS, and the fame of the knights who
sit at it shall never be forgotten.”
“Ha!” quoth King Arthur. “That would indeed be a dower worthy for any
king to have with his queen.”
[Sidenote: _King Leodegrance bestows the Round Table upon King Arthur._]
“Then,” King Leodegrance said, “that dower shalt thou have with my
daughter; and if it bring thee great glory, then shall thy glory be my
glory, and thy renown shall be my renown. For if my glory shall wane,
and thy glory shall increase, behold! is not my child thy wife?”
And King Arthur said: “Thou sayest well and wisely.”
Thus King Arthur became the master of that famous ROUND TABLE. And the
ROUND TABLE was set up at Camelot (which some men now call Winchester).
And by and by there gathered about it such an array of knights as the
world had never beheld before that time, and which it shall never behold
again.
Such was the history of the beginning of the ROUND TABLE in King
Arthur’s reign.
[Illustration: King Arthur meets the Lady Guinevere.]
[Illustration] Chapter Sixth.
_How King Arthur Was Wedded in Royal State and How the Round Table Was
Established._
And now was come the early fall of the year; that pleasant season
when the meadow-land and the wold were still green with summer
that had only just passed; when the sky likewise was as of
summer-time--extraordinarily blue and full of large floating clouds;
when a bird might sing here and another there, a short song in memory of
spring-time, when all the air was tempered with warmth and yet the
leaves were everywhere turning brown and red and gold, so that when the
sun shone through them it was as though a cloth of gold, broidered with
brown and crimson and green, hung above the head. At this season of the
year it is exceedingly pleasant to be a-field among the nut-trees with
hawk and hound, or to travel abroad in the yellow world, whether it be
a-horse or a-foot.
Now this was the time of year in which had been set the marriage of King
Arthur and the Lady Guinevere at Camelot, and at that place was
extraordinary pomp and glory of circumstance. All the world was astir
and in a great ferment of joy, for everybody was exceedingly glad that
King Arthur was to have him a Queen.
[Sidenote: _How Camelot town was adorned._]
In preparation for that great occasion the town of Camelot was bedight
very magnificently, for the stony street along which the Lady Guinevere
must come to the royal castle of the King was strewn thick with
fresh-cut rushes smoothly laid. Moreover it was in many places spread
with carpets of excellent pattern such as might be fit to lay upon the
floor of some goodly hall. Likewise all the houses along the way were
hung with fine hangings of woven texture interwoven with threads of
azure and crimson, and everywhere were flags and banners afloat in the
warm and gentle breeze against the blue sky, wherefore that all the
world appeared to be alive with bright colors, so that when one looked
adown that street, it was as though one beheld a crooked path of
exceeding beauty and gayety stretched before him.
Thus came the wedding-day of the King--bright and clear and exceedingly
radiant.
King Arthur sat in his hall surrounded by his Court awaiting news that
the Lady Guinevere was coming thitherward. And it was about the middle
of the morning when there came a messenger in haste riding upon a
milk-white steed. And the raiment of that messenger and the trappings of
his horse were all of cloth of gold embroidered with scarlet and white,
and the tabard of the messenger was set with many jewels of various
sorts so that he glistened from afar as he rode, with a singular
splendor of appearance.
So this herald-messenger came straight into the castle where the King
abided waiting, and he said: “Arise, my lord King, for the Lady
Guinevere and her Court draweth nigh unto this place.”
Upon this the King immediately arose with great joy, and straightway he
went forth with his Court of Knights, riding in great state. And as he
went down that marvellously adorned street, all the people shouted aloud
as he passed by, wherefore he smiled and bent his head from side to
side; for that day he was passing happy and loved his people with
wonderful friendliness.
Thus he rode forward unto the town gate, and out therefrom, and so came
thence into the country beyond where the broad and well-beaten highway
ran winding down beside the shining river betwixt the willows and the
osiers.
[Sidenote: _Of the Court of the Lady Guinevere._]
And, behold! King Arthur and those with him perceived the Court of the
Princess where it appeared at a distance, wherefore they made great
rejoicing and hastened forward with all speed. And as they came nigh,
the sun falling upon the apparels of silk and cloth of gold, and upon
golden chains and the jewels that hung therefrom, all of that noble
company that surrounded the Lady Guinevere her litter flashed and
sparkled with surpassing radiance.
For seventeen of the noblest knights of the King’s Court, clad in
complete armor, and sent by him as an escort unto the lady, rode in
great splendor, surrounding the litter wherein the Princess lay. And the
framework of that litter was of richly gilded wood, and its curtains and
its cushions were of crimson silk embroidered with threads of gold. And
behind the litter there rode in gay and joyous array, all shining with
many colors, the Court of the Princess--her damsels in waiting,
gentlemen, ladies, pages, and attendants.
So those parties of the King and the Lady Guinevere drew nigh together
until they met and mingled the one with the other.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur greets the Lady Guinevere._]
Then straightway King Arthur dismounted from his noble horse and, all
clothed with royalty, he went afoot unto the Lady Guinevere’s litter,
whiles Sir Gawaine and Sir Ewaine held the bridle of his horse.
Thereupon one of her pages drew aside the silken curtains of the Lady
Guinevere’s litter, and King Leodegrance gave her his hand and she
straightway descended therefrom, all embalmed, as it were, in exceeding
beauty. So King Leodegrance led her to King Arthur, and King Arthur came
to her and placed one hand beneath her chin and the other upon her head
and inclined his countenance and kissed her upon her smooth cheek--all
warm and fragrant like velvet for softness, and without any blemish
whatsoever. And when he had thus kissed her upon the cheek, all those
who were there lifted up their voices in great acclaim, giving loud
voice of joy that those two noble souls had thus met together.
Thus did King Arthur give welcome unto the Lady Guinevere and unto King
Leodegrance her father upon the highway beneath the walls of the town of
Camelot, at the distance of half a league from that place. And no one
who was there ever forgot that meeting, for it was full of extraordinary
grace and noble courtliness.
Then King Arthur and his Court of Knights and nobles brought King
Leodegrance and the Lady Guinevere with great ceremony unto Camelot and
unto the royal castle, where apartments were assigned to all, so that
the entire place was alive with joyousness and beauty.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur and the Lady Guinevere are wedded._]
And when high noon had come, the entire Court went with great state and
ceremony unto the cathedral, and there, surrounded with wonderful
magnificence, those two noble souls were married by the Archbishop.
And all the bells rang right joyfully, and all the people who stood
without the cathedral shouted with loud acclaim, and lo! the King and
the Queen came forth all shining, like unto the sun for splendor and
like unto the moon for beauty.
[Sidenote: _Of the feast at the King’s castle._]
In the castle a great noontide feast was spread, and there sat thereat
four hundred, eighty and six lordly and noble folk--kings, knights, and
nobles--with queens and ladies in magnificent array. And near to the
King and the Queen there sat King Leodegrance and Merlin, and Sir
Ulfius, and Sir Ector the trustworthy, and Sir Gawaine, and Sir Ewaine,
and Sir Kay, and King Ban, and King Pellinore and many other famous and
exalted folk, so that no man had ever beheld such magnificent
courtliness as he beheld at that famous wedding-feast of King Arthur and
Queen Guinevere.
* * * * *
And that day was likewise very famous in the history of chivalry, for in
the afternoon the famous Round Table was established, and that Round
Table was at once the very flower and the chiefest glory of King
Arthur’s reign.
For about mid of the afternoon the King and Queen, preceded by Merlin
and followed by all that splendid Court of kings, lords, nobles and
knights in full array, made progression to that place where Merlin,
partly by magic and partly by skill, had caused to be builded a very
wonderful pavilion above the Round Table where it stood.
[Sidenote: _Of the pavilion of the Round Table._]
And when the King and the Queen and the Court had entered in thereat
they were amazed at the beauty of that pavilion, for they perceived, an
it were, a great space that appeared to be a marvellous land of Fay. For
the walls were all richly gilded and were painted with very wonderful
figures of saints and of angels, clad in ultramarine and crimson, and
all those saints and angels were depicted playing upon various musical
instruments that appeared to be made of gold. And overhead the roof of
the pavilion was made to represent the sky, being all of cerulean blue
sprinkled over with stars. And in the midst of that painted sky was an
image, an it were, of the sun in his glory. And under foot was a
pavement all of marble stone, set in squares of black and white, and
blue and red, and sundry other colors.
In the midst of the pavilion was a Round Table with seats thereat
exactly sufficient for fifty persons, and at each of the fifty places
was a chalice of gold filled with fragrant wine, and at each place was a
paten of gold bearing a manchet of fair white bread. And when the King
and his Court entered into the pavilion, lo! music began of a sudden for
to play with a wonderful sweetness.
Then Merlin came and took King Arthur by the hand and led him away from
Queen Guinevere. And he said unto the King, “Lo! this is the Round
Table.”
Then King Arthur said, “Merlin, that which I see is wonderful beyond the
telling.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur is seated at the Round Table._]
After that Merlin discovered unto the King the various marvels of the
Round Table, for first he pointed to a high seat, very wonderfully
wrought in precious woods and gilded so that it was exceedingly
beautiful, and he said, “Behold, lord King, yonder seat is hight the
‘Seat Royal,’ and that seat is thine for to sit in.” And as Merlin
spake, lo! there suddenly appeared sundry letters of gold upon the back
of that seat, and the letters of gold read the name,
=ARTHUR, KING.=
And Merlin said, “Lord, yonder seat may well be called the centre seat
of the Round Table, for, in sooth, thou art indeed the very centre of
all that is most worthy of true knightliness. Wherefore that seat shall
be called the centre seat of all the other seats.”
Then Merlin pointed to the seat that stood opposite to the Seat Royal,
and that seat also was of a very wonderful appearance as afore told in
this history. And Merlin said unto the King: “My lord King, that seat is
called the Seat Perilous, for no man but one in all this world shall sit
therein, and that man is not yet born upon the earth. And if any other
man shall dare to sit therein that man shall either suffer death or a
sudden and terrible misfortune for his temerity. Wherefore that seat is
called the Seat Perilous.”
“Merlin,” quoth the King, “all that thou tellest me passeth the bound of
understanding for marvellousness. Now I do beseech thee in all haste for
to find forthwith a sufficient number of knights to fill this Round
Table so that my glory shall be entirely complete.”
Then Merlin smiled upon the King, though not with cheerfulness, and
said, “Lord, why art thou in such haste? Know that when this Round Table
shall be entirely filled in all its seats, then shall thy glory be
entirely achieved and then forthwith shall thy day begin for to decline.
For when any man hath reached the crowning of his glory, then his work
is done and God breaketh him as a man might break a chalice from which
such perfect ichor hath been drunk that no baser wine may be allowed to
defile it. So when thy work is done and ended shall God shatter the
chalice of thy life.”
Then did the King look very steadfastly into Merlin’s face, and said,
“Old man, that which thou sayest is ever of great wonder, for thou
speakest words of wisdom. Ne’theless, seeing that I am in God His hands,
I do wish for my glory and for His good will to be accomplished even
though He shall then entirely break me when I have served His purposes.”
“Lord,” said Merlin, “thou speakest like a worthy king and with a very
large and noble heart. Ne’theless, I may not fill the Round Table for
thee at this time. For, though thou hast gathered about thee the very
noblest Court of Chivalry in all of Christendom, yet are there but two
and thirty knights here present who may be considered worthy to sit at
the Round Table.”
“Then, Merlin,” quoth King Arthur, “I do desire of thee that thou shalt
straightway choose me those two and thirty.”
“So will I do, lord King,” said Merlin.
[Sidenote: _Merlin chooseth the knights of the Round Table._]
Then Merlin cast his eyes around and lo! he saw where King Pellinore
stood at a little distance. Unto him went Merlin and took him by the
hand. “Behold, my lord King,” quoth he. “Here is the knight in all the
world next to thyself who at this time is most worthy for to sit at this
Round Table. For he is both exceedingly gentle of demeanor unto the poor
and needy and at the same time is so terribly strong and skilful that I
know not whether thou or he is the more to be feared in an encounter of
knight against knight.”
Then Merlin led King Pellinore forward and behold! upon the high seat
that stood upon the left hand of the Royal Seat there appeared of a
sudden the name,
=PELLINORE.=
And the name was emblazoned in letters of gold that shone with
extraordinary lustre. And when King Pellinore took his seat, great and
loud acclaim long continued was given him by all those who stood round
about.
Then after that Merlin had thus chosen King Arthur and King Pellinore he
chose out of the Court of King Arthur the following knights, two and
thirty in all, and these were the knights of great renown in chivalry
who did first establish the Round Table. Wherefore they were surnamed
“The Ancient and Honorable Companions of the Round Table.”
To begin, there was Sir Gawaine and Sir Ewaine, who were nephews unto
the King, and they sat nigh to him upon the right hand; there was Sir
Ulfius (who held his seat but four years and eight months unto the time
of his death, after which Sir Geheris--who was esquire unto his brother,
Sir Gawaine--held that seat); and there was Sir Kay the Seneschal, who
was foster brother unto the King; and there was Sir Baudwain of Britain
(who held his seat but three years and two months until his death, after
the which Sir Agravaine held that seat); and there was Sir Pellias and
Sir Geraint and Sir Constantine, son of Sir Caderes the Seneschal of
Cornwall (which same was king after King Arthur); and there was Sir
Caradoc and Sir Sagramore, surnamed the Desirous, and Sir Dinadan and
Sir Dodinas, surnamed the Savage, and Sir Bruin, surnamed the Black, and
Sir Meliot of Logres, and Sir Aglaval and Sir Durnure, and Sir Lamorac
(which three young knights were sons of King Pellinore), and there was
Sir Griflet and Sir Ladinas and Sir Brandiles and Sir Persavant of
Ironside, and Sir Dinas of Cornwall, and Sir Brian of Listinoise, and
Sir Palomides and Sir Degraine and Sir Epinogres, the son of the King
of North Umberland and brother unto the enchantress Vivien, and Sir
Lamiel of Cardiff, and Sir Lucan the Bottler and Sir Bedevere his
brother (which same bare King Arthur unto the ship of Fairies when he
lay so sorely wounded nigh unto death after the last battle which he
fought). These two and thirty knights were the Ancient Companions of the
Round Table, and unto them were added others until there were nine and
forty in all, and then was added Sir Galahad, and with him the Round
Table was made entirely complete.
Now as each of these knights was chosen by Merlin, lo! as he took that
knight by the hand, the name of that knight suddenly appeared in golden
letters, very bright and shining, upon the seat that appertained to him.
But when all had been chosen, behold! King Arthur saw that the seat upon
the right hand of the Seat Royal had not been filled, and that it bare
no name upon it. And he said unto Merlin: “Merlin, how is this, that the
seat upon my right hand hath not been filled, and beareth no name?”
And Merlin said: “Lord, there shall be a name thereon in a very little
while, and he who shall sit therein shall be the greatest knight in all
the world until that the knight cometh who shall occupy the Seat
Perilous. For he who cometh shall exceed all other men in beauty and in
strength and in knightly grace.”
And King Arthur said: “I would that he were with us now.” And Merlin
said: “He cometh anon.”
Thus was the Round Table established with great pomp and great ceremony
of estate. For first the Archbishop of Canterbury blessed each and every
seat, progressing from place to place surrounded by his Holy Court, the
choir whereof singing most musically in accord, whiles others swung
censers from which there ascended an exceedingly fragrant vapor of
frankincense, filling that entire pavilion with an odor of Heavenly
blessedness.
And when the Archbishop had thus blessed every one of those seats, the
chosen knight took each his stall at the Round Table, and his esquire
came and stood behind him, holding the banneret with his coat-of-arms
upon the spear-point above the knight’s head. And all those who stood
about that place, both knights and ladies, lifted up their voices in
loud acclaim.
[Sidenote: _Of the ceremony of installation of the Round Table._]
Then all the knights arose, and each knight held up before him the cross
of the hilt of his sword, and each knight spake word for word as King
Arthur spake. And this was the covenant of their Knighthood of the Round
Table: That they would be gentle unto the weak; that they would be
courageous unto the strong; that they would be terrible unto the wicked
and the evil-doer; that they would defend the helpless who should call
upon them for aid; that all women should be held unto them sacred; that
they would stand unto the defence of one another whensoever such defence
should be required; that they would be merciful unto all men; that they
would be gentle of deed, true in friendship, and faithful in love. This
was their covenant, and unto it each knight sware upon the cross of his
sword, and in witness thereof did kiss the hilt thereof. Thereupon all
who stood thereabouts once more gave loud acclaim.
Then all the knights of the Round Table seated themselves, and each
knight brake bread from the golden patten, and quaffed wine from the
golden chalice that stood before him, giving thanks unto God for that
which he ate and drank.
Thus was King Arthur wedded unto Queen Guinevere, and thus was the Round
Table established.
[Illustration]
[Illustration] _CONCLUSION_
_So endeth this Book of King Arthur which hath been told by me with such
joyousness of spirit that I find it to be a very great pleasure, in
closing this first volume of my work, to look forward to writing a
second volume, which now presently followeth._
_In that volume there shall be told the history of several very noble
worthies who were of the Court of the King, and it seems to me to be a
good thing to have to do with the history of such noble and honorable
knights and gentlemen. For, indeed, it might well please anyone to read
such an history, and to hear those worthies speak, and to behold in what
manner they behaved in times of trial and tribulation. For their example
will doubtless help us all to behave in a like manner in a like case._
[Illustration]
[Illustration: The BOOK of THREE WORTHIES]
[Illustration: The Lady of ye Lake]
[Illustration] Foreword.
_Here beginneth the Second Book of the History of King Arthur, called
The Book of Three Worthies, because it has to do with three very
excellent, honorable Lords of the Court of King Arthur._
_Of these three, the first is Merlin the Wise, the second is Sir
Pellias, surnamed the Gentle Knight, and the third is Sir Gawaine, the
son of King Lot of Orkney and the Isles._
_So now presently follows the story of the passing of Merlin the Wise;
in the which you shall see how the very wisdom that Merlin possessed in
such great measure was the cause of his own undoing. Wherefore I do hope
that you yourselves may take that story unto heart so that you shall see
that those gifts of mind or person which God assigns unto you may not
be so misused by you or others that they shall become the means of
compassing your own downfall._
_For it shall not excuse you in any wise that, as you journey forward in
your life, you shall find many men who, like Merlin, have been endowed
by the grace of God with very great gifts of talent which they might
very easily use to the great benefit of mankind, but which they so
misuse as to bring the greater ruin upon themselves and the greater harm
unto other men. For, if you shall prove so weak or so wicked as to
misuse your talents in that manner unto the harm of others and of
yourself, it shall not make your fault the less that others shall have
done greater evil than yourself._
_Wherefore, let this story of Merlin be a warning unto you, I pray you
all. For, though I do not believe that Merlin intended that his talents
of magic should do harm unto others, yet, because of his folly, they did
as great harm as though he himself had designed to do evil by means of
them. Yea; it is hard to tell whether the wickedness or the follies of
men do the greater harm in the world; therefore seek to guard yourself
well, not only against sin, but against folly and weakness likewise._
[Illustration: The Enchanter Merlin.]
[Illustration: Sorcery.] Prologue.
Upon a certain day King Arthur sat in the Royal Hall of Camelot with the
Queen and all of his Court and all of her Court. And there was great joy
and mirth at that place.
[Sidenote: _A messenger cometh to the King at Camelot._]
Whiles they sat there, there suddenly came an armed knight into the
Hall, and his armor was all covered with blood and dust, and he had a
great many wounds upon his body. Then all they who were at that place
were astonished and affrighted at the aspect of that knight, for his
appearance boded no good news to King Arthur. The knight-messenger came
to where the King was, and he was nearly fainting with weakness and with
the many wounds he had received, and he brought news unto those who were
there present that five kings, enemies to King Arthur, had suddenly come
into that land and that they were burning and harrying the country upon
every side.
And the knight-messenger said that these five kings were the King of
Denmark, the King of Ireland, the King of Soleyse, the King of the Vale,
and the King of Longtinaise. These had brought with them a great host
and were laying waste the land all around about, so that all the realm
was in sore travail and sorrow because of their devastations.
Upon this news, King Arthur smote his palms together with great
vehemence and cried out, “Alas! who would be a king! Will the time
never come when these wars and disturbances shall cease and we shall
have entire peace in this land!” Therewith he arose in great agitation
and went out from that place, and all who were there were in sore
trouble.
So King Arthur immediately sent messengers to two friendly kings who
were nearest to him--to wit, to King Pellinore and to King Uriens of
Gore--and he bade them to come to his aid without any loss of time.
Meantime he himself gathered together a large army with intent to go
forth to meet his enemies forthwith.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur asketh aid of King Uriens and of King
Pellinore._]
So he went forth and upon the third day he came with his army unto the
forest of Tintagalon and there he stayed with intent to rest for a
little until King Pellinore and King Uriens should have joined him.
But the five kings, his enemies, had news that King Arthur was at that
place, and thereupon they made a forced march through North Wales with
intent to strike him ere those other two kings could come to his aid. So
they came by night to where King Arthur was, and they fell upon him so
unexpectedly that there was great danger of his army being put to rout
before that assault.
But King Arthur drew his army together by his own courage and
large-heartedness, and so they defended themselves with a great spirit
until King Pellinore appeared with his army and joined in that battle.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur is victorious._]
So in the end King Arthur won a great victory over his enemies; for they
were put to rout and scattered in every direction. Likewise by means of
that war, and because of the submissions of these five kings, King
Arthur recovered all that realm that had once been his father’s, and
more besides.
[Sidenote: _Eight knights of the Round Table are slain in battle._]
Now in that war eight of the knights of the Round Table lost their
lives, and King Arthur mourned their loss with great dolor; for these
were the first knights of the Round Table who had lost their lives in
doing battle in his defence.
Whilst King Arthur was grieving very sorely for these eight knights,
Merlin came unto him, and said, “Be not downcast, lord, for lo! thou
hast many excellent knights still left about thee and thou canst
certainly not have a very great deal of trouble in filling those eight
places that have been thus made empty by death. Now if thou followest my
counsel, thou must choose some very worthy adviser from the
knights-companion of thy Round Table, and thou wilt consult with him in
this matter (for the counsel of two is better than the counsel of one),
and between ye ye may fill those places made vacant by war.”
This counsel appeared very good to King Arthur, so he did as Merlin
advised. For that morning he summoned King Pellinore to his privy
closet and laid the matter before him and they two communed together
thereupon. In that consultation King Pellinore advised King Arthur in
this wise: That there should be four old and worthy knights chosen to
fill four of those empty seats, and that there should be four young and
ardent knights chosen to fill the other four seats, and in that manner
all those eight seats should be filled.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur and King Pellinore choose eight old and worthy
knights for the Round Table._]
Now that advice appeared to King Arthur to be good, wherefore he said,
“Let it be that way.” So first they two chose the four old knights as
follows: There was King Uriens of Gore, and King Lac, and Sir Hervise de
Reuel, and Sir Galliar of Rouge. And from the younger knights of the
Court they chose Sir Marvaise of Leisle, and Sir Lionel, the son of King
Ban of Benwick, and Sir Cadar of Cornwall. So that there was one place
yet to be filled.
[Sidenote: _They choose three young knights for the Round Table._]
Now it was a very hard thing to determine who should fill that place,
for there were at that time two very honorable young knights at the
Court. One of these was Sir Baudemagus, a young knight, brother of Sir
Ewaine and son of King Uriens of Gore and Queen Morgana le Fay (which
lady was half-sister unto King Arthur as hath been aforetold). And the
other young knight was Sir Tor who, though late come to the Court, had
performed several very famous adventures. And Sir Tor was a son of King
Pellinore (though not of his Queen), and King Pellinore loved him a very
great deal.
Then King Pellinore said to King Arthur, “Lord, there are certainly but
two knights in all thy Court to choose from for to fill this eighth seat
at the Round Table: one of these is thy sister’s son, Sir Baudemagus,
and the other is my son, Sir Tor. Now I may not advise thee in this
matter, wherefore do thou, Lord, choose the one or the other of these
young knights to fill that place. But this I may say, that it will
please me very greatly if thy favor should fall upon Sir Baudemagus, for
then will all the world believe that I have been above reproach in my
dealings in this affair, whereas should Sir Tor be chosen all men would
say that I favored mine own son.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur chooseth Sir Tor for the Round Table._]
Then King Arthur meditated upon this matter for a long while and by and
by he spoke and said, “Sir, I have weighed this whole affair, and it is
my belief that Sir Tor is the better knight of those twain. For he hath
performed several very excellent adventures, whilst Sir Baudemagus,
though a worthy knight, hath not yet made manifest any very great
achievement in the fields of chivalry. So, in God’s name, let Sir Tor
be seated as companion of the Round Table.”
Then King Pellinore said, “So be it,” and thereupon they both arose and
went forth from that place.
And, lo! that very moment the names of those eight worthies so chosen
appeared each upon the back of the seat at the Round Table that
appertained unto him, and so the decision of those two knights was
confirmed in the sight of all the world in that manner.
[Sidenote: _Queen Morgana le Fay is affronted with King Arthur._]
Now when the word of all this reached the ears of Queen Morgana le Fay
she was greatly affronted that Sir Baudemagus, her son, should have been
passed by and that another should have been chosen in his stead.
Wherefore she cried out against King Arthur in the hearing of several
people, saying: “Ha! how is this! is blood and kinship of no account in
the eyes of this King that he passes by so worthy a knight as his own
nephew to choose one who is not of lawful birth in his stead? Now, my
husband’s house has suffered many grievous ills at the hands of King
Arthur, for, lo! he hath taken away our royal power and hath made us all
little better than captives in his own Court. This in itself is as great
an affront as though we were his bitter enemies instead of his nigh of
kin. But this that he hath now done to my son in thus passing him by is
a greater affront than that other.”
And Queen Morgana le Fay spake in this wise not only to King Uriens, who
was her husband, but to Sir Ewaine and to Sir Baudemagus, who were her
sons. But King Uriens of Gore rebuked her for her speech, for he had
grown to love King Arthur very much because of the high nobility of his
nature, and likewise Sir Ewaine rebuked her saying that he would listen
to no ill thing said of King Arthur, for that not only did he love King
Arthur better than anyone else in all the world, but that the King was
at once the looking-glass of all knighthood and likewise the very
fountain-head of honor.
So spake these two; but Sir Baudemagus hearkened to what his mother
Queen Morgana said, for he was very angry with King Arthur because the
King had passed him by. Wherefore he took his departure from the Court
without asking leave of King Arthur and went errant in quest of
adventure, and at this King Arthur was very sorry.
Now, as aforesaid, Queen Morgana le Fay spake her indignation to several
other people of the Court, so that word thereof came at last to the ears
of King Arthur and grieved him a very great deal. So when Queen Morgana
came to him one day and besought his leave for to quit the Court, he
spake to her with great sadness of spirit, saying, “My sister, I am
very sorry that you are not pleased with what I have done in this
matter, for God knows that I have endeavored to do to the best of my
power. And though I would rather a great deal that Sir Baudemagus were
fellow of the Round Table, yet it was my very honest belief that, for
several reasons, Sir Tor had the best right to a seat at that Table. Now
if I chose otherwise than according to my right judgment, what virtue
would the Round Table have, seeing that I should have shown favor unto a
man because of his kinship to me?”
Then Queen Morgana le Fay said with great heat, “Sir, all that you say
only adds to the affront that our house hath sustained at your hands.
For now you not only deny my son that seat, but you belittle him by
comparing him to his disadvantage with this low-born knight whom you
have chosen. Now, the only pleasure that I can have in talking to you is
to beseech you to let me go away from this place.”
Then King Arthur, speaking with great dignity, said, “Lady, it shall be
as you would have it, and you shall go whithersoever it pleases you. For
God forbid that I should stay you in your wishes. Moreover, I shall see
to it that you shall not depart from this place without such a Court for
company as may very well befit one who is the wife of one king and the
sister of another.”
[Sidenote: _Queen Morgana le Fay leaveth the Court of King Arthur._]
And so he did as he said he would do, for he sent Queen Morgana le Fay
away from his Court with great honor and in high estate of circumstance.
But the more patient King Arthur was with her and the more he showed her
favor, the more angry Queen Morgana le Fay was with him and the more she
hated him.
So she betook her way to an estuary of the sea and there she dismissed
those whom the King had sent with her and embarked with her own Court in
several ships, betaking her way to that enchanted isle, hight Avalon,
which was her home.
This island of Avalon was a very strange, wonderful land, such as was
not to be seen anywhere else in all the world. For it was like a
Paradise for beauty, being covered all over with divers gardens of
flowers, intermingled with plantations of fair trees, some bearing fruit
and others all a-bloom with blossoms. And besides these were many
terraces of lawns, and smooth slopes of grass lying all about the
borders of the island, and overlooking the sea from tall white walls of
pure marble. And in the midst of these gardens and orchards and
plantations and lawns and terraces, were a multitude of castles and
towers built up the one above the other--some as white as snow and
others very gay with many colors.
And the greatest marvel of that wonderful island was this: that in the
midst of all those castles and towers was a single tower built entirely
of loadstone. And in that lay the great mystery of that place.
For the island floated upon the surface of the water, and that tower of
loadstone possessed such a potency that Avalon would float from place to
place according to the will of Queen Morgana le Fay, so that sometimes
it would be here, and sometimes it would be there, as that royal lady
willed it to be.
Nor was there a very many people who had seen that island, for
somewhiles it would be all covered over with a mist of enchantment like
to silver, so that no eyes could behold it unless they were fay. But
sometimes it had been seen, as it were a vision of Paradise. What time
he who beheld it would hear gay voices sounding from its lawns and
plantations--very thin and clear because of the great distance (for no
one ever came nigh to Avalon unless by authority of Queen Morgana le
Fay), and he would hear music of so sweet a sort that it was likely that
his soul would grow all faint because of the music. Then Avalon would
suddenly disappear very marvellously, and he who had seen it would be
aware that it was not likely that he would ever see it again.
Such was the island of Avalon, and if you would read of it more
particularly you shall find much about it in a certain book written in
French and called “Ogier le Danois.”
Queen Morgana le Fay loved this island a very great deal, and it is said
by many that King Arthur is yet alive in that place, lying there very
peacefully and tranquilly whiles he awaits that certain time when he
shall return unto the world to make right all that is wrong therein. So
it is I have told you of it with these particulars at this place.
[Illustration]
PART I
The Story of Merlin
_Here followeth a particular account of the enchantment of Merlin by a
certain damsel, hight Vivien, and of all the circumstances thereunto
appertaining.
Likewise it is to be narrated how King Arthur was betrayed by his own
sister, and of how he would certainly have been slain only for the help
of that same enchantress Vivien who was the cause of Merlin’s undoing.
Also it shall be told how the sheath of Excalibur was lost at that
time._
[Illustration: The Enchantress Vivien]
[Illustration] Chapter First.
_How Queen Morgana le Fay Meditated Evil Against King Arthur and How She
Sent a Damsel to Beguile the Enchanter, Merlin._
Now Morgana le Fay was a very cunning enchantress, and was so much
mistress of magic that she could, by means of potent spells, work her
will upon all things, whether quick or dead. For Merlin himself had been
her master in times past, and had taught her his arts whilst she was
still a young damsel at the Court of Uther-Pendragon. So it was that,
next to Merlin, she was, at that time, the most potent enchanter in all
the world. Nevertheless she lacked Merlin’s foreknowledge of things to
happen and his gift of prophecy thereupon, for these things he could not
impart unto anyone, wherefore she had not learned them of him.
[Sidenote: _Queen Morgana contemplates evil against King Arthur._]
Now, after Queen Morgana le Fay had come to the Island of Avalon as
aforetold, she brooded a great deal over that affront which she deemed
King Arthur had placed upon her house; and the more she brooded upon it
the more big did it become in her mind. Wherefore, at last, it seemed to
her that she could have no pleasure in life unless she could punish King
Arthur for that which he had done. Yea; she would have been glad to see
him dead at her feet because of the anger that she felt against him.
But Queen Morgana was very well aware that she could never do the King,
her brother, an injury so long as Merlin was there to safeguard him, for
Merlin would certainly foresee any danger that might threaten the King,
and would counteract it, wherefore she was aware that if she would
destroy the King, she must first destroy Merlin.
Now, there was at the Court of Queen Morgana le Fay, a certain damsel of
such marvellous and bewitching beauty that her like was hardly to be
seen in all of the world. This damsel was fifteen years old and of royal
blood, being the daughter of the King of Northumberland; and her name
was Vivien. This damsel, Vivien, was both wise and cunning beyond all
measure for one so young. Moreover, she was without any heart, being
cold and cruel to all who were contrary-minded to her wishes. So,
because she was so cunning and wise, Queen Morgana liked her and taught
her many things of magic and sorcery which she knew. But,
notwithstanding all that Queen Morgana did for her, this maiden did not
feel any love for her mistress, being altogether devoid of heart.
[Sidenote: _Queen Morgana talketh with the Damsel Vivien._]
One day this damsel and Queen Morgana le Fay sat together in a garden of
that magic island of Avalon, and the garden was upon a very high terrace
and overlooked the sea. And the day was very fair and the sea so
wonderfully blue that it appeared to be as though the blue sky had
melted into water and the water into the sky. As Vivien and the Queen
sat in this beautiful place, the Queen said to the damsel, “Vivien, what
wouldst thou rather have than anything else in all the world?” To which
Vivien replied, “Lady, I would rather have such wisdom as thou hast,
than anything else.”
Then Queen Morgana laughed and said, “It is possible for thee to be as
wise as I am, and wiser too, if so be thou wilt do according to my
ordination. For I know a way in which thou mayst obtain wisdom.”
“How may I obtain that wisdom, Lady?” said Vivien.
Then Queen Morgana le Fay said, “Hearken and I will tell thee. Thou must
know that Merlin, whom thou hast several times seen at the Court of King
Arthur, is the master of all the wisdom that it is possible for anyone
to possess in this world. All that I know of magic Merlin hath taught
me, and he knoweth many things that he did not teach me, but which he
withheld from me. For Merlin taught me, when I was a young damsel at the
Court of my mother’s husband, because I was beautiful in his eyes. For
Merlin loveth beauty above all things else in the world, and so he
taught me many things of magic and was very patient with me.
“But Merlin hath a gift which belongeth to him and which he cannot
communicate to anyone else, for it is instinct with him. That gift is
the gift of foreseeing into the future and the power of prophesying
thereupon.
“Yet though he may foresee the fate of others, still he is blind to his
own fate. For so he confessed to me several times: that he could not
tell what was to happen in his own life when that happening concerned
himself alone.
“Now thou, Vivien, art far more beautiful than I was at thine age.
Wherefore I believe that thou wilt easily attract the regard of Merlin
unto thee. And if I give thee, besides, a certain charm which I possess,
I may cause it to be that Merlin may love thee so much that he will
impart to thee a great deal more of his wisdom than ever he taught me
when I was his disciple.
“But thou art to know, Vivien, that in winning this gift of knowledge
from Merlin thou wilt put thyself in great peril. For, by and by, when
the charm of thy beauty shall have waned with him, then he may easily
regret what he hath done in imparting his wisdom to thee; in the which
case there will be great danger that he may lay some spell upon thee to
deprive thee of thy powers; for it would be impossible that both thou
and he could live in the same world and each of ye know so much cunning
of magic.”
Now unto all this Vivien listened with a great deal of attention, and
when Queen Morgana had ended the damsel said, “Dear Lady, all that thou
tellest me is very wonderful, and I find myself possessed with a
vehement desire to attain such knowledge in magic as that. Wherefore, if
thou wilt help me in this matter so that I may beguile his wisdom from
Merlin, thou wilt make of me a debtor unto thee for as long as I may
live. And touching the matter of any danger that may fall to me in this
affair, I am altogether willing to assume that; for I have a great hope
that I may be able so to protect myself from Merlin that no harm shall
befall me. For when I have drawn all the knowledge that I am able to
obtain from him, then I will use that same knowledge to cast such a
spell upon him that he shall never be able to harm me or anyone else
again. In this I shall play my wit against his wisdom and my beauty
against his cunning, and I believe that I shall win at that game.”
Then Queen Morgana fell a-laughing beyond all measure, and when she had
stinted her laughter, she cried, “Hey, Vivien! certes thou art cunning
beyond anything that I ever heard tell of, and I believe that thou art
as wicked as thou art cunning. For whoever heard of a child of fifteen
years old who would speak such words as thou hast just now spoken; or
whoever could suppose that so young a girl could conceive the thought of
compassing the downfall of the wisest magician who hath ever lived.”
[Sidenote: _Queen Morgana giveth Vivien two enchanted rings._]
Then Queen Morgana le Fay set to her lips a small whistle of ivory and
gold and blew very shrilly upon it, and in reply there came running a
young page of her Court. Queen Morgana commanded him to bring to her a
certain casket of alabaster, cunningly carved and adorned with gold and
set with several precious stones. And Queen Morgana opened the box and
took from within it two rings of pure yellow gold, beautifully wrought
and set, the one ring with a clear white stone of extraordinary
brilliancy, and the other with a stone as red as blood. Then Queen
Morgana said, “Vivien, behold these two rings! They possess each a spell
of wonderful potency. For if thou wearest that ring with the white
stone, whoever weareth the ring with the red stone shall love thee with
such a passion of love that thou mayst do with him whatever thou hast a
will to do. So take these rings and go to King Arthur’s Court and use
them as thy cunning may devise.”
So Vivien took the two rings and gave Queen Morgana le Fay thanks beyond
all measure for them.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: _Vivien appears before King Arthur at the Feast of
Pentecost._]
Now King Arthur took much pleasure in holding a great feast each
Pentecost, at which time his Court was gathered about him with much
mirth and rejoicing. At such times it delighted him to have some
excellent entertainment for to amuse himself and his Court, wherefore it
befell that nearly always something happened that gave much
entertainment to the King. So came the Feast of Pentecost, and King
Arthur sat at the table with a great many noble and lordly folk and
several kings and queens. Now as they all sat at that feast, their
spirits greatly expanded with mirth and good cheer, there suddenly came
into the hall a very beautiful young damsel, and with her a dwarf,
wonderfully misshapen and of a very hideous countenance. And the maiden
was dressed all in flame-colored satin, very rich, and with beautiful
embroidery of gold and embroidery of silver. And her hair, which was red
like gold, was coiled into a net of gold. And her eyes were black as
coals and extraordinarily bright and glistening. And she had about her
throat a necklace of gold of three strands, so that with all that gold
and those bright garments she shone with wonderful splendor as she
entered the hall. Likewise, the dwarf who accompanied her was clad all
in flame-colored raiment, and he bore in his hands a cushion of
flame-colored silk with tassels of gold, and upon the cushion he bare a
ring of exceeding beauty set with a red stone.
So when King Arthur beheld this beautiful maiden he supposed nothing
else, than that there was some excellent entertainment, and at that he
rejoiced a very great deal.
But when he looked well at the damsel it appeared to him that he knew
her face, wherefore he said to her, “Damsel, who art thou?” “Sir,” she
said, “I am the daughter of the King of Northumberland, and my name is
Vivien,” and thereat King Arthur was satisfied.
Then King Arthur said to her, “Lady, what is that thou hast upon yonder
cushion, and why hast thou honored us by coming hitherward?” To the
which Vivien made reply, “Lord, I have here a very good entertainment
for to give you pleasure at this Feast of Pentecost. For here is a ring
of such a sort that only he who is the most wise and the most worthy of
all men here present may wear it.” And King Arthur said, “Let us see the
ring.”
So Vivien took the ring from the cushion which the dwarf held and she
came and brought it unto King Arthur, and the King took the ring into
his own hand. And he perceived that the ring was extraordinarily
beautiful, wherefore he said, “Maiden, have I thy leave to try this ring
upon my finger?” And Vivien said, “Yea, lord.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur trieth on the ring._]
So King Arthur made attempt to place the ring upon his finger; but, lo!
the ring shrank in size so that it would not pass beyond the first joint
thereof. Wherefore King Arthur said, “It would appear that I am not
worthy to wear this ring.”
[Sidenote: _Merlin secureth the ring._]
Then the damsel, Vivien, said, “Have I my lord’s leave to offer this
ring to others of his Court?” And King Arthur said, “Let the others try
the ring.” So Vivien took the ring to the various folk of the Court,
both lords and ladies, but not one of these could wear the ring. Then
last of all Vivien came to the place where Merlin sat, and she kneeled
upon the ground before him and offered the ring to him; and Merlin,
because this concerned himself, could not forecast into the future to
know that harm was intended to him. Nevertheless he looked sourly upon
the damsel and he said, “Child, what is this silly trick thou offerest
me?” “Sir,” quoth Vivien, “I beseech you for to try this ring upon your
finger.” Then Merlin regarded the damsel more closely, and he perceived
that she was very beautiful, wherefore his heart softened toward her a
great deal. So he spake more gently unto her and he said, “Wherefore
should I take the ring?” To the which she made reply, “Because I believe
that thou art the most wise and the most worthy of any man in all this
place, wherefore the ring should belong to thee.” Then Merlin smiled,
and took the ring and placed it upon his finger, and, lo! it fitted the
finger exactly. Thereupon Vivien cried out, “See! the ring hath fitted
his finger and he is the most wise and the most worthy.” And Merlin was
greatly pleased that the ring which the beautiful damsel had given him
had fitted his finger in that way.
Then, after a while, he would have withdrawn the ring again but, behold!
he could not, for the ring had grown to his finger as though it were a
part of the flesh and the bone thereof. At this Merlin became much
troubled in spirit and very anxious, for he did not understand what
might be meant by the magic of the ring. So he said, “Lady, whence came
this ring?” And Vivien said, “Sir, thou knowest all things; dost thou
then not know that this ring was sent hitherward from Morgana le Fay?”
Then again Merlin was greatly a-doubt, and he said, “I hope there may be
no evil in this ring.” And Vivien smiled upon him and said, “What evil
could there be in it?”
Now by this time the great magic that was in the ring began to work upon
Merlin’s spirit, wherefore he regarded Vivien very steadily, and
suddenly he took great pleasure in her beauty. Then the magic of the
ring gat entire hold upon him and, lo! a wonderful passion immediately
seized upon his heart and wrung it so that it was pierced as with a
violent agony.
And Vivien beheld what passed in Merlin’s mind, and she laughed and
turned away. And several others who were there also observed the very
strange manner in which Merlin regarded her, wherefore they said among
themselves, “Of a surety Merlin is bewitched by the beauty of that young
damoiselle.”
[Sidenote: _The ring worketh its charm upon Merlin the Wise._]
So, after that time the enchantment of the ring of Morgana le Fay so
wrought upon Merlin’s spirit that he could in no wise disentangle
himself from Vivien’s witchery; for from that day forth, whithersoever
she went, there he might be found not far away; and if she was in the
garden, he would be there; and if she was in the Hall, he also would be
there; and if she went a-hawking he would also be a-horse-back. And all
the Court observed these things and many made themselves merry and
jested upon it. But, Vivien hated Merlin with all her might, for she saw
that they all made merry at that folly of Merlin’s, and he wearied her
with his regard. But she dissembled this disregard before his face and
behaved to him in all ways as though she had a great friendship for him.
Now it happened upon a day that Vivien sat in the garden, and it was
wonderfully pleasant summer weather, and Merlin came into the garden and
beheld Vivien where she sat. But when Vivien perceived Merlin coming
she suddenly felt so great a disregard for him that she could not bear
for to be nigh him at that time, wherefore she arose in haste with
intent to escape from him. But Merlin hurried and overtook her and he
said to her, “Child, do you then hate me?” And Vivien said, “Sir, I do
not hate you.” But Merlin said, “In very truth I believe that you do
hate me.” And Vivien was silent.
Then in a little Merlin said, “I would that I knew what I might do for
you so that you would cease to hate me, for I find that I have a
wonderful love for you.” Upon this Vivien looked at Merlin very
strangely, and by and by she said, “Sir, if you would only impart your
wisdom and your cunning unto me, then I believe that I could love you a
very great deal. For, behold! I am but as a young child in knowledge and
thou art so old and so wise that I am afraid of thee. If thou wouldst
teach me thy wisdom so that I might be thine equal, then haply I might
grow to have such a regard for thee as thou wouldst have me feel.”
Upon this Merlin looked very steadily at Vivien and he said, “Damsel,
thou art, certes, no such foolish child as thou dost proclaim thyself to
be; for I see that thine eyes are very bright with a cunning beyond thy
years. Now I misdoubt that if I should teach thee the wisdom which thou
dost desire to possess, either it would be to thy undoing or else it
would be to my undoing.”
Then Vivien cried out with a very loud and piercing voice, “Merlin, if
thou dost love me, teach me thy wisdom and the cunning of thy magic and
then I will love thee beyond anyone else in all the world!”
But Merlin sighed very deeply, for his heart misgave him. Then by and by
he said, “Vivien, thou shalt have thy will and I will teach thee all
those things of wisdom and magic that thou desirest to know.”
Upon this Vivien was filled with such vehement agony of joy that she did
not dare to let Merlin look into her countenance lest he should read
what was therein written. Wherefore she cast down her eyes and turned
her face away from him. Then in a little while she said, “Master, when
wilt thou teach me that wisdom?”
To this Merlin made reply, “I shall not teach thee to-day nor to-morrow
nor at this place; for I can only teach thee those knowledges in such
solitude that there shall be nothing to disturb thy studies. But
to-morrow thou shalt tell King Arthur that thou must return unto thy
father’s kingdom. Then we will depart together accompanied by thy Court;
and when we have come to some secluded place, there I will build a
habitation by the means of my magic and we shall abide therein until I
have instructed thee in wisdom.”
Then Vivien made great joy, and she caught Merlin’s hand in hers and she
kissed his hand with great passion.
[Sidenote: _Merlin and Vivien depart from the Court of the King._]
So the next day Vivien besought King Arthur that he would give her leave
to return unto her father’s Court, and upon the third day she and Merlin
and a number of attendants who were in service upon the damsel, quitted
the Court of King Arthur and departed as though to go upon their way to
the Kingdom of Northumberland.
But after they had gone some little distance from the Court of the King,
they turned to the eastward and took their way toward a certain valley
of which Merlin was acquainted, and which was so fair and pleasant a
place that it was sometimes called the Valley of Delight, and sometimes
the Valley of Joyousness.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: Vivien bewitches Merlin.]
[Illustration] Chapter Second.
_How Merlin Journeyed With Vivien Unto the Valley of Joyousness and How
He Builded for Her a Castle at That Place. Also, How He Taught Her the
Wisdom of Magic and of How She Compassed His Downfall Thereby._
[Sidenote: _Merlin and Vivien come to an enchanted forest._]
So, Merlin and Vivien and those who were with them travelled for three
days to the eastward, until, toward the end of the third day, they
reached the confines of a very dark and dismal forest. And there they
beheld before them trees so thickly interwoven together that the eyes
could not see anything at all of the sky because of the thickness of the
foliage. And they beheld the branches and the roots of the trees that
they appeared like serpents all twisted together. Wherefore Vivien said,
“Sir, this is a very dismal woodland.” “Yea,” said Merlin, “so it
appeareth to be. Ne’theless there lieth within this forest that place
which is called by some the Valley of Joyousness, and by others the
Valley of Delight, because of the great beauty of that place. And there
are several pathways extending through this forest by the means of which
that valley may be reached by a man, whether a-horse or afoot.”
And after a while they found it was as Merlin said, for they came by and
by upon one of those pathways and entered it and penetrated into the
forest. And, lo! within that doleful woodland it was so dark that it
appeared as though night-time had fallen, although it was bright
daylight beyond the borders thereof, wherefore many of that party were
very much afraid. But Merlin ever gave them good cheer and so they went
forward upon their way. So, by and by, they came out at last from that
place and into the open again, whereat they were greatly rejoiced and
took much comfort.
[Sidenote: _Merlin and Vivien comes to the Valley of Joyousness._]
Now, by this time, the evening had come, very peaceful and tranquil,
wonderfully beautiful. And in the centre of the valley was a small lake
so smooth and clear, like to crystal, that it appeared like an oval
shield of pure silver laid down upon the ground. And all about the
margin of the lake were level meadows covered over with an incredible
multitude of flowers of divers colors and kinds, very beautiful to
behold.
When Vivien saw this place she cried unto Merlin, “Master, this is,
indeed, a very joyous valley, for I do not believe that the blessed
meadows of Paradise are more beautiful than this.” And Merlin said,
“Very well; let us go down into it.” So they went down and, as they
descended, the night fell apace and the round moon arose into the sky
and it was hard to tell whether that valley was the more beautiful in
the daytime or whether it was the more beautiful when the moon shone
down upon it in that wise.
So they all came at last unto the borders of the lake and they perceived
that there was neither house nor castle at that place.
Now upon this the followers of Merlin murmured amongst themselves,
saying, “This enchanter hath brought us hitherward, but how will he now
provide for us that we may find a resting-place that may shelter us from
the inclement changes of the weather. For the beauty of this spot cannot
alone shelter us from rain and storm.” And Merlin overheard their
murmurings and he said, “Peace! take ye no trouble upon that matter, for
I will very soon provide ye a good resting-place.” Then he said to them,
“Stand ye a little distance aside till I show ye what I shall do.” So
they withdrew a little, as he commanded them, and he and Vivien remained
where they were. And Vivien said, “Master, what wilt thou do?” And
Merlin said, “Wait a little and thou shalt see.”
Therewith he began a certain very powerful conjuration so that the earth
began for to tremble and to shake and an appearance as of a great red
dust arose into the air. And in this dust there began to appear sundry
shapes and forms, and these shapes and forms arose very high into the
air and by and by those who gazed thereon perceived that there was a
great structure apparent in the midst of the cloud of red dust.
[Sidenote: _Merlin buildeth a castle by the means of his magic._]
Then, after a while, all became quiet and the dust slowly disappeared
from the air, and, behold! there was the appearance of a marvellous
castle such as no one there had ever beheld before, even in a dream. For
the walls thereof were of ultramarine and vermilion and they were
embellished and adorned with figures of gold, wherefore that castle
showed in the moonlight like as it were a pure vision of great glory.
Now Vivien beheld all that Merlin had accomplished and she went unto him
and kneeled down upon the ground before him and took his hand and set it
to her lips. And while she kneeled thus, she said, “Master, this is
assuredly the most wonderful thing in the world. Wilt thou then teach me
such magic that I may be able to build a castle like this castle out of
the elements?” And Merlin said, “Yea; all this will I teach thee and
more besides; for I will teach thee not only how thou mayst create such
a structure as this out of invisible things, but will also teach thee
how thou mayst, with a single touch of thy wand, dissipate that castle
instantly into the air; even as a child, with a stroke of a straw, may
dissipate a beautiful shining bubble, which, upon an instant is, and
upon another instant is not. And I will teach thee more than that, for I
will teach thee how to change and transform a thing into the semblance
of a different thing; and I will teach thee spells and charms such as
thou didst never hear tell of before.”
Then Vivien cried out, “Master, thou art the most wonderful man in all
of the world!” And Merlin looked upon Vivien and her face was very
beautiful in the moonlight and he loved her a very great deal. Wherefore
he smiled upon her and said, “Vivien, dost thou still hate me?” And she
said, “Nay, master.”
But she spake not the truth, for in her heart she was evil and the heart
of Merlin was good, and that which is evil will always hate that which
is good. Wherefore, though Vivien lusted for the knowledge of
necromancy, and though she spake so lovingly with her lips, yet in her
spirit she both feared and hated Merlin because of his wisdom. For she
wist right well that, except for the enchantment of that ring which he
wore, Merlin would not love her any longer in that wise. Wherefore she
said in her heart, “If Merlin teaches me all of his wisdom, then the
world cannot contain both him and me.”
* * * * *
[Sidenote: _Merlin teacheth magic to Vivien._]
Now Merlin abided with Vivien in that place for a year and a little
more, and in that time he taught her all of magic that he was able to
impart. So at the end of that time he said unto her, “Vivien, I have now
taught thee so much that I believe there is no one in all of the world
who knoweth more than thou dost of these things of magic which thou hast
studied in this time. For not only hast thou such power of sorcery that
thou canst make the invisible elements take form at thy will, and not
only canst thou transform at thy will one thing into the appearance of
an altogether different thing, but thou hast such potent magic in thy
possession that thou mayst entangle any living soul into the meshes
thereof, unless that one hath some very good talisman to defend himself
from thy wiles. Nor have I myself very much more power than this that I
have given to thee.”
So said Merlin, and Vivien was filled with great joy. And she said in
her heart, “Now, Merlin, if I have the good fortune to entangle thee in
my spells, then shalt thou never behold the world again.”
[Sidenote: _Vivien setteth a feast for Merlin._]
Now, when the next day had come, Vivien caused a very noble feast to be
prepared for herself and Merlin. And by means of the knowledge which
Merlin had imparted to her she produced a certain very potent
sleeping-potion which was altogether without taste. This potion she
herself infused into a certain noble wine, and the wine she poured into
a golden chalice of extraordinary beauty.
So when that feast was ended, and whiles she and Merlin sat together,
Vivien said, “Master, I have a mind to do thee a great honor.” And
Merlin said, “What is it?” “Thou shalt see,” said Vivien. Therewith she
smote her hands together and there immediately came a young page unto
where they were, and he bare that chalice of wine in his hand and gave
it unto Vivien. Then Vivien took the chalice and she went to where
Merlin sat and kneeled down before him and said, “Sir, I beseech thee to
take this chalice and to drink the wine that is within it. For as that
wine is both very noble and very precious, so is thy wisdom both very
noble and very precious; and as the wine is contained within a chalice
of priceless cost, so is thy wisdom contained within a life that hath
been beyond all value to the world.” Therewith she set her lips to the
chalice and kissed the wine that was in it.
Then Merlin suspected no evil, but he took the chalice and quaffed of
the wine with great cheerfulness.
[Sidenote: _Merlin is overcome by the wine that Vivien giveth him._]
After that, in a little, the fumes of that potent draught began to arise
into the brains of Merlin and it was as though a cloud descended upon
his sight, and when this came upon him he was presently aware that he
was betrayed, wherefore he cried out thrice in a voice, very bitter and
full of agony, “Woe! Woe! Woe!” And then he cried out, “I am betrayed!”
And therewith he strove to arise from where he sat but he could not.
That while Vivien sat with her chin upon her hands and regarded him very
steadily, smiling strangely upon him. So presently Merlin ceased his
struggles and sank into a sleep so deep that it was almost as though he
had gone dead. And when that had happened Vivien arose and leaned over
him and set a very powerful spell upon him. And she stretched out her
forefinger and wove an enchantment all about him so that it was as
though he was entirely encompassed with a silver web of enchantment. And
when she had ended, Merlin could move neither hand nor foot nor even so
much as a finger-tip, but was altogether like some great insect that a
cunning and beautiful spider had enmeshed in a net-work of fine, strong
web.
[Sidenote: _Vivien bewitches Merlin._]
Now, when the next morning had come, Merlin awoke from his sleep and he
beheld that Vivien sat over against him regarding him very narrowly. And
they were in the same room in which he had fallen asleep. And when
Vivien perceived that Merlin was awake, she laughed and said, “Merlin,
how is it with thee?” And Merlin groaned with great passion, saying,
“Vivien, thou hast betrayed me.”
At this Vivien laughed again very shrilly and piercingly, and she said,
“Behold! Merlin, thou art altogether in my power; for thou art utterly
inwoven in those enchantments which thou, thyself, hast taught me. For
lo! thou canst not move a single hair without my will. And when I leave
thee, the world shall see thee no more and all thy wisdom shall be my
wisdom and all thy power shall be my power, and there shall be no other
in the whole world who shall possess the wisdom which I possess.”
Then Merlin groaned with such fervor that it was as though his heart
would burst asunder. And he said, “Vivien, thou hast brought me to such
shame that even were I released from this spell I could not endure that
any man should ever see my face again. For I grieve not for my undoings
so much as I grieve at the folly that hath turned mine own wisdom
against me to my destruction. So I forgive thee all things that thou
hast done to me to betray me; yet there is one thing alone which I crave
of thee.”
And Vivien said, “Does it concern thee?” And Merlin said, “No, it
concerns another.” Thereupon Vivien said, “What is it?”
[Sidenote: _Merlin maketh one request of Vivien._]
Then Merlin said, “It is this: Now I have received my gift of foresight
again, and I perceive that King Arthur is presently in great peril of
his life. So I beseech thee Vivien that thou wilt straightway go to
where he is in danger, and that thou wilt use thy powers of sorcery for
to save him. Thus, by fulfilling this one good deed, thou shalt haply
lessen the sin of this that thou hast done to betray me.”
Now at that time Vivien was not altogether bad as she afterward became,
for she still felt some small pity for Merlin and some small reverence
for King Arthur. Wherefore now she laughed and said, “Very well, I will
do thy desire in this matter. Whither shall I go to save that King?”
Then Merlin replied, “Go into the West country and unto the castle of a
certain knight hight Sir Domas de Noir, and when thou comest there then
thou shalt immediately see how thou mayst be of aid to the good King.”
Upon this Vivien said, “I will do this thing for thee, for it is the
last favor that anyone may ever render unto thee in this world.”
Therewith Vivien smote her hands together and summoned many of her
attendants. And when these had come in she presented Merlin before them,
and she said, “Behold how I have bewitched him. Go! See for yourselves!
Feel of his hands and his face and see if there be any life in him.” And
they went to Merlin and felt of him; his hands and arms and his face,
and even they plucked at his beard, and Merlin could not move in any
wise but only groan with great dolor. So they all laughed and made them
merry at his woful state.
[Sidenote: _Vivien places Merlin beneath the stone._]
Then Vivien caused it by means of her magic that there should be in that
place a great coffer of stone. And she commanded those who were there
that they should lift Merlin up and lay him therein and they did as she
commanded. Then she caused it that, by means of her magic, there should
be placed a huge slab of stone upon that coffer such as ten men could
hardly lift, and Merlin lay beneath that stone like one who was dead.
Then Vivien caused it to be that the magic castle should instantly
disappear and so it befell as she willed. Then she caused it that a mist
should arise at that place, and the mist was of such a sort that no one
could penetrate into it, or sever it asunder, nor could any human eye
see what was within. Then, when she had done all this, she went her way
with all of her Court from that valley, making great joy in that she had
triumphed over Merlin.
Nevertheless she did not forget her promise, but went to the castle of
Sir Domas de Noir, and after a while it shall all be told how it befell
at that place.
* * * * *
Such was the passing of Merlin, and God grant it that you may not so
misuse the wisdom He giveth you to have, that it may be turned against
you to your undoing. For there can be no greater bitterness in the world
than this: That a man shall be betrayed by one to whom he himself hath
given the power of betraying him.
And now turn we unto King Arthur to learn how it fell with him after
Merlin had thus been betrayed to his undoing.
[Illustration: Queen Morgana le Fay.]
[Illustration] Chapter Third.
_How Queen Morgana le Fay Returned to Camelot and to the Court With
Intent to Do Ill to King Arthur. Also How King Arthur and Others Went
a-Hunting and of What Befell Thereby._
Now, after Merlin had quitted the Court with Vivien in that manner
aforetold, Queen Morgana le Fay returned again to Camelot. There she
came unto King Arthur and kneeled before him, bowing her face, with an
appearance of great humility. And she said, “Brother, I have meditated
much upon these matters that have passed and I perceive that I have done
very ill to talk against thee as I have done, and to be so rebellious
against thy royalty. Wherefore I crave of thee to forgive me my evil
words and thoughts against thee.”
[Sidenote: _Queen Morgana le Fay and King Arthur are reconciled._]
Then King Arthur was very much moved and he came to Queen Morgana and
took her by the hand and lifted her up upon her feet and kissed her
brow, and her eyes, saying, “My sister, I have no ill-will against thee,
but nothing but love for thee in my heart.” And so, Queen Morgana le Fay
abode at the Court in the same manner as she had aforetime done, for
King Arthur believed that they were reconciled.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur showeth Excalibur to Queen Morgana._]
Now one day, Queen Morgana and the King fell into a friendly talk
concerning Excalibur, and Queen Morgana le Fay expressed a very great
desire to see that noble weapon more closely than she had yet done, and
King Arthur said he would sometime show it to her. So the next day he
said, “Sister, come with me and I will show thee Excalibur.” Therewith
he took Queen Morgana by the hand and led her into another apartment
where was a strong wooden coffer bound with bands of iron. Then the King
opened the coffer and therein Queen Morgana le Fay beheld Excalibur
where he lay in his sheath. Then King Arthur said to her, “Lady, take
this sword and examine it as you please.” Therewith Queen Morgana took
Excalibur into her hands and lifted him out of the coffer. And she drew
the sword out of the sheath and, lo! the blade flashed like lightning.
Then she said, “Sir, this is a very beautiful sword and I would that I
might take it hence and keep it for a little so that I might enjoy it in
full measure.”
Now King Arthur was of a mind to show the Queen great courtesy at this
time of their reconciliation, wherefore he said to her, “Take it, and be
thou its keeper for as long as thou wilt.” So Queen Morgana took
Excalibur and his sheath and bare them away with her to her inn, and she
hid the sword in the bed in which she slept.
Then Queen Morgana sent for sundry goldsmiths, eight in number, and for
certain armorsmiths, eight in number, and for certain cunning jewellers,
eight in number, and she said unto them, “Make me a sword in every
particular like this sword that I have here.” And thereupon she showed
then Excalibur in his sheath. So these goldsmiths and armorsmiths and
lapidaries labored with great diligence, and in a fortnight they had
made a sword so exactly like Excalibur that no eye could have told the
difference betwixt the one and the other. And Queen Morgana le Fay kept
both swords by her until her purposes should have been fulfilled.
* * * * *
It befell upon a certain day that King Arthur proclaimed a hunt, and he
and all of his Court were party thereunto.
[Sidenote: _Queen Morgana le Fay giveth a horse to King Arthur._]
Now the day before this hunt took place Queen Morgana le Fay came to
King Arthur and said, “Brother, I have here for thee a very beautiful
and noble horse which I intend to give thee as a gift of love.”
Therewith she called aloud and there came two grooms bringing a horse as
black as jet and all beset with trappings and harness of silver. And the
horse was of such extraordinary beauty that neither King Arthur nor
anybody who was with him had ever before seen its like for beauty. So a
wonderful delight possessed the King at sight of the horse and he said,
“Sister, this is the noblest gift I have had given to me for this long
time.” “Ha! brother,” quoth Queen Morgana, “doth that horse then belike
thee?” “Yea,” said King Arthur, “it belikes me more than any horse that
I ever beheld before.” “Then,” quoth Queen Morgana, “consider it as a
gift of reconciliation betwixt thee and me. And in sign of that
reconciliation I beg of thee that thou wilt ride that horse forth upon
the hunt to-morrow day.” And King Arthur said, “I will do so.”
So the next day he rode forth to the hunt upon that horse as he said
that he would do.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur rideth a-hunting._]
Now it happened some time after noon that the hounds started a hart of
extraordinary size, and the King and all of his Court followed the chase
with great eagerness. But the horse of King Arthur soon out-stripped all
the other horses saving only that of a certain very honorable and worthy
knight of the Court hight Sir Accalon of Gaul. So Sir Accalon and the
King rode at a great pace through the forest, and they were so eager
with the chase that they wist not whither they were riding. And at last
they overtook the hart and found that it was embushed in a certain very
thick and tangled part of the forest, and there King Arthur slew the
stag, and so the chase was ended.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur and Sir Accalon of Gaul are lost in the
forest._]
Now after this had come to pass, the King and Sir Accalon would have
retraced their way whither they had come, but in a little they perceived
that they were lost in the mazes of the woodland and wist not where they
were. For they had followed the chase so far that they were in an
altogether strange country. So they wandered hither and thither at great
length until eventide, at which time they were oppressed with hunger and
weariness. Then King Arthur said to Sir Accalon, “Messire, meseems we
shall have nowhere to rest ourselves to-night unless it be beneath a
tree in this forest.”
To this Sir Accalon made reply, “Lord, if thou wilt follow my counsel
thou wilt let our horses seek their own way through this wilderness, so,
haply, because of the instinct of such creatures, they shall bring us
unto some place of habitation.”
Now this advice appeared to be very good to King Arthur, wherefore he
did as Sir Accalon advised and let loose his bridle-rein and allowed his
horse to travel as it listed. So King Arthur’s horse went along a
certain path, and Sir Accalon followed after the King. And they went a
great pass in this wise, and the night was descending upon them in the
forest.
But, before it was entirely dark, they emerged out of that forest and
into an open place where they beheld before them a very wide estuary, as
it were an inlet of the sea. And before them was a beach of sand, very
smooth, and white, and they two went down to that beach and stood upon
the shore, and they wist not what to do, for there was no habitation in
sight in any direction.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur and Sir Accalon see a wonderful ship_.]
Now, whiles they stood there a-doubt, they suddenly perceived a ship at
a very great distance away. And this ship approached where they
perceived that it was of a very strange and wonderful appearance, for it
was painted in many divers colors, very gaudy and brilliant, and the
sails were all of cloth of silk, woven in divers colors and embroidered
with figures like to the figures of a tapestry; and King Arthur was very
greatly amazed at the appearance of that ship.
Now, as they stood so watching the ship, they perceived that it drew
nigher and nigher to that place where they were, and in a little it
beached itself upon the shore of sand not very far away from them.
Then King Arthur said to Sir Accalon, “Sir, let us go forward to the
shore where we may look into this ship, for never did I see its like
before in all of my life, wherefore I have a thought that maybe it is
fay.”
So they two went to where the ship was and they stood upon the shore and
looked down into it, and at first they thought that there was no one
upon board of the ship, for it appeared to be altogether deserted. But
as they stood there marvelling at the wonderfulness of that ship and at
the manner in which it had come thither, they beheld, of a sudden, that
certain curtains that hung before an apartment at the farther extremity
of the ship were parted asunder and there came forth from that place
twelve very beautiful damsels. Each of these was clad in a rich garment
of scarlet satin very bright and shining, and each wore around her head
a circlet of gold, and each had many bracelets of gold upon her arms.
These damsels came forward unto where the two knights were and they
said, “Welcome, King Arthur!” And they said, “Welcome, Sir Accalon!”
At this King Arthur was very much astonished that they should know him,
and he said, “Fair ladies, how is this? Ye appear to know me very well,
but I know ye not. Who are ye that know me and my companion and call us
by name?”
Unto this the chiefest of those damsels made reply, “Sir, we are part
fay and we know all about you; and we know how that ye have been
following a very long chase; and we know that ye are aweary, anhungered,
and athirst. Wherefore we beseech ye that ye come aboard of this ship
and rest and refresh yourselves with food and drink.”
Now, this appeared to King Arthur to be a very bel-adventure, wherefore
he said to Sir Accalon, “Messire, I have a great mind for to go aboard
this ship and to follow out this adventure.” And Sir Accalon said,
“Lord, if thou goest, I will go also.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur and Sir Accalon enter the ship of damoiselles._]
So those ladies let fall a gangplank from the ship and King Arthur and
Sir Accalon drave their horses up the gangplank and aboard the ship,
and sailed away as it had come--very swiftly--and it was now the early
night-time with the moon very round and full in the sky like to a disk
of pure shining silver.
Then those twelve damoiselles aided King Arthur and Sir Accalon to
dismount; and some took their horses away and others led them into a
fair chamber at the end of the ship. And in this chamber King Arthur
beheld that a table had been placed as though for their entertainment,
spread with a linen cloth and set with divers savory meats, and with
manchets of white bread and with several different sorts of excellent
wines. And at the sight King Arthur and Sir Accalon were very much
rejoiced, for they were very greatly anhungered.
So they immediately sat themselves down at that table and they ate and
drank with great heartiness, and whiles they did so some of those
damsels served them with food, and others held them in pleasant
discourse, and others made music upon lutes and citterns for their
entertainment. So they feasted and made very merry.
But, after a while, a very great drowsiness of sleep began to descend
upon King Arthur; albeit, he deemed that that drowsiness had come upon
him because of the weariness of the chase. So presently he said, “Fair
damsels, ye have refreshed us a very great deal and this hath been a
very pleasant adventure. But I would now that ye had a place for us to
sleep.”
Unto this the chiefest of the damsels replied, “Lord, this boat hath
been prepared for your refreshment, wherefore all things have been made
ready for you with entire fulness.”
Therewith some of those twelve damsels conducted King Arthur into a
sleeping-chamber that had been prepared for him, and others led Sir
Accalon into another chamber prepared for him. And King Arthur marvelled
at the beauty of his chamber, for he thought that he had never beheld a
more excellently bedight bed-chamber than that one into which he had now
entered. So King Arthur laid himself down with much comfort to his body,
and straightway he fell into a deep and gentle sleep, without dream or
disturbance of any sort.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: _King Arthur findeth himself in a dreadful prison._]
Now when King Arthur awoke from that sleep, he was astonished beyond all
measure so that he wist not whether he was still asleep and dreaming, or
whether he was awake. For, lo! he lay upon a pallet in a very dark and
dismal chamber all of stone. And he perceived that this chamber was a
dungeon, and all about him he heard the sound of many voices in woful
complaint. Then King Arthur said to himself, “Where is that ship in
which I was last night, and what hath become of those ladies with whom I
spake?”
Upon this he looked about him and, behold! he saw that he was indeed in
a dungeon and that there were many knights in very sad estate all about
him. Wherefore he perceived that they also were captives and that it was
they who had made that sound of woful lamentation which he had heard
when awaking.
Then King Arthur aroused himself from where he lay and he saw that all
those knights who were prisoners there were strangers unto him, and he
knew not them and they knew not him. And of these knights there were two
and twenty who were prisoners in that place.
Then King Arthur said, “Messires, who are you and where am I at these
present?” To the which the chiefest of those knights who were prisoners
made reply, “Sir, we are, like yourself, prisoners in a dungeon of this
castle, and the castle belongs to a certain knight, hight Sir Domas,
surnamed le Noir.”
Then King Arthur made great marvel at what had befallen him, wherefore
he said, “Messires, here is a very singular thing hath happened to me,
for last night I was asleep in a very wonderful ship that I believe was
fay, and with me was a knight-companion, and, lo! this morning I awake
alone in this dungeon, and know not how I came hither.”
“Sir,” said the knight who spake for the others, “thou wert last night
brought hither by two men clad in black, and thou wert laid down upon
yonder pallet without awaking, wherefore it is very plain to me that
thou art in the same case that we are in, and that thou art a prisoner
unto this Sir Domas le Noir.”
Then King Arthur said, “Tell me, who is this Sir Domas, for I declare
that I never before heard of him.” “I will tell you,” said the captive
knight, and therewith he did so as follows:
“I believe,” said he, “that this Sir Domas is the falsest knight that
liveth, for he is full of treason and leasing, and is altogether a
coward in his heart. Yet he is a man of very great estate and very
powerful in these parts.
[Sidenote: _The knight-prisoner telleth King Arthur concerning Sir
Domas._]
“Now there are two brothers, and Sir Domas is one and the other is hight
Sir Ontzlake, and Sir Domas is the elder and Sir Ontzlake is the
younger. When the father of these two knights died, he left the one an
equal patrimony with the other. But now it hath come about that Sir
Domas hath nearly all of those estates and that Sir Ontzlake hath only
one castle, which same he now holdeth by the force of arms and because
of his own courage. For, though Sir Domas is altogether a coward in his
heart, yet he hath cunning and guile beyond any man of whom I ever heard
tell; wherefore it hath so come about that of his father’s patrimony Sir
Domas hath everything and Sir Ontzlake hath nothing saving only that one
castle and the estate thereunto appertaining.
“Now it would appear to be very strange that Sir Domas is not satisfied
with all this, yet he is not satisfied, but he covets that one castle
and that small estate that is his brother’s, so that he can hardly have
any pleasure in life because of his covetousness. Yet he knoweth not how
to obtain that estate from his brother, for Sir Ontzlake is a very
excellent knight, and the only way that Sir Domas can lay hands upon
that estate is by having to do with his brother as man to man in a
contest at arms, and this he is afraid to attempt.
“So, for a long time, Sir Domas hath been in search of a knight who may
take up his case for him, and do battle against Sir Ontzlake in his
behalf. Wherefore all the knights whom he can arrest he bringeth to this
castle and giveth them their choice, either to take up his case against
his brother, or else to remain in this place as his prisoner without
ransom. So he hath arrested all of us, and hath made demand of each that
he should do battle in his behalf. But not one of us will take up the
case of such an evil-conditioned knight as Sir Domas, so we all remain
his prisoners.”
“Well,” quoth King Arthur, “this is a very wonderful case. But methinks
that if Sir Domas maketh his appeal to me, I will take up his case. For
I would rather do that than remain a prisoner here for all my life. But
if I should take upon me this battle and be successful therein, then I
will afterward have to do with Sir Domas himself in such a manner as I
do not believe would be very much to his liking.”
[Sidenote: _A damsel cometh to King Arthur._]
[Sidenote: _King Arthur consents to do battle for Sir Domas._]
Now a little while after this the door of that prison-house was opened
by the porter, and there entered a very fair young damsel. And this
damsel came to King Arthur and she said to him, “What cheer?” “I cannot
tell,” quoth King Arthur, “but meseems I am in a very sorry pass in this
place.” “Sir,” said the damsel, “I am grieved to see so noble-appearing
a knight in so dolorous a case. But if you will undertake to defend the
cause of the lord of this castle with your person against his enemy,
then you shall have leave to go whithersoever you please.” To this King
Arthur made reply, “Lady, this is a very hard case, that either I must
fight a battle I care not for, or else remain a prisoner here without
ransom for all of my days. But I would liever fight than live here all
my life, and so I will undertake that adventure as thou wouldst have me
do. But if I do battle for the lord of this castle, and if I should have
Grace of Heaven to win that battle, then it must be that all these, my
companions in imprisonment, shall also go forth with me into freedom.”
To this the damsel said, “Very well, be it so, for that shall content
the master of this castle.”
Then King Arthur looked more closely at the maiden, and he said,
“Damsel, meseems I should know thy face, for I think I have seen thee
somewhere before this.” “Nay, sir,” said she, “that can hardly be, for I
am the daughter of the lord of this castle.”
But in this she was false, for she was one of the damsels of Morgana le
Fay; and she was one of those who had beguiled King Arthur into the ship
the night before; and it was she who had brought him to that castle and
had delivered him into the hands of Sir Domas. And all these things she
had done upon command of Queen Morgana le Fay.
Then King Arthur said, “But if I do this battle, thou must carry a
message for me unto the Court of King Arthur, and that message must be
delivered unto Queen Morgana le Fay into her own hands. Then, when that
is done, I will do this battle for the cause of Sir Domas.” And the
damsel said, “It shall be done so.”
[Sidenote: _Queen Morgana sendeth a false sword to King Arthur._]
So King Arthur wrote a sealed letter to Queen Morgana le Fay that she
should send to him his sword Excalibur; and he sent that message to her.
And when Queen Morgana received that letter she laughed and said, “Very
well, he shall have a sword that shall please his eye as well as
Excalibur.” And therewith she sent him that other sword that she had had
made exactly like Excalibur.
So Sir Domas sent word unto his brother Sir Ontzlake, that he had now a
champion for to do battle in his behalf to recover all that portion of
their patrimony which Sir Ontzlake still withheld from him.
Now when Sir Ontzlake received this message he was thrown into great
trouble of spirit, for a little while before he had been very sorely
wounded in a tournament in the which a spear had been thrust through
both his thighs, so that he was then abed with that wound and without
power to arise therefrom. Wherefore he wist not what to do in this case,
for he could not do battle upon his own behalf, and he had no one to do
battle for him.
[Illustration: Queen Morgana loses Excalibur his sheath.]
[Illustration] Chapter Fourth.
_What Befell Sir Accalon, and How King Arthur Fought an Affair-at-Arms
With Swords, and How He Came Nigh to Losing His Life Thereby._
Here followeth the account of what happened unto Sir Accalon the morning
after he went aboard that magic ship with King Arthur as aforetold.
[Sidenote: _Sir Accalon findeth himself beside a fountain._]
Now when Sir Accalon awoke from that same sleep it was with him as it
had been with King Arthur; for, at first, he wist not whether he was
still asleep and dreaming or whether he was awake. For, lo! he found
himself to be lying beside a marble basin of clear water that gushed up
very high from a silver tube. And he perceived that not far from this
fountain was a large pavilion of parti-colored silk which stood upon the
borders of a fair meadow of grass.
So Sir Accalon was altogether astonished to find himself in this place
when he had fallen asleep on board that ship, wherefore he was afraid
that all this was the fruit of some very evil spell. So he crossed
himself and said, “God save King Arthur from any harm, for it seems to
me that those damsels upon that ship have wrought some magic upon us for
to separate us the one from the other.” So saying, he arose from where
he lay with intent to inquire further into that matter.
Now, as he made some noise in bestirring himself, there came forth from
that pavilion aforementioned a very hideous dwarf, who saluted him with
all civility and with high respect. Then Sir Accalon said to the dwarf,
“Sirrah, who are you?” Unto which the dwarf made answer, “Messire, I
belong unto the lady of yonder pavilion, and she hath sent me to bid you
welcome to this place, and to invite you in for to partake of a repast
with her.” “Ha!” quoth Sir Accalon, “and how was it I came hither?”
“Sir,” said the dwarf, “I do not know, but when we looked forth this
morning we saw you lying here by the fountain side.”
Then Sir Accalon made great marvel at that which had happened to him,
and by and by he said, “Who is thy lady?” To which the dwarf replied,
“She is hight the Lady Gomyne of the Fair Hair, and she will be
passingly glad of your company in her pavilion.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Accalon enters the pavilion of the Lady Gomyne._]
Upon this Sir Accalon arose, and, having laved himself at the fountain
and so refreshed himself, he went with the dwarf unto the pavilion of
that lady. And when he had come there he saw that in the centre of the
pavilion was a table of silver spread with a fair white cloth and
covered with very excellent food for a man to break his fast withal.
Now immediately Sir Accalon came into the pavilion, the curtains upon
the further side thereof were parted and there entered from a further
chamber a very beautiful lady and gave Sir Accalon welcome to that
place. And Sir Accalon said to her, “Lady, methinks thou art very civil
to invite me thus into thy pavilion.” “Nay, sir,” said the lady, “it
took no great effort to be civil unto a knight so worthy as thou.” Then
she said to Sir Accalon, “Sir, wilt thou sit here at the table with me
and break thy fast?”
At this Sir Accalon was very glad, for he was anhungered, and the beauty
of the lady pleased him a very great deal, wherefore it afforded him
great joy for to be in her company.
So they two sat at the table with a very cheerful and pleasant spirit
and the dwarf waited upon them.
Now after Sir Accalon and the Lady of the Pavilion had broken their
fasts she spake to him in this wise, “Sir knight, thou appearest to be a
very strong and worthy lord and one very well used to feats of arms and
to prowess in battle.”
To this Sir Accalon made reply, “Lady, it does not beseem me to bespeak
of my own worth, but this much I may freely say; I have engaged in
several affrays at arms in such measure as a knight with belt and spurs
may do, and I believe that both my friends and mine enemies have had
reason to say that I have at all times done my devoirs to the best of my
powers.”
Then the damoiselle said, “I believe you are a very brave and worthy
knight, and being such you might be of service to a good worthy knight
who is in sad need of such service as one knight may render unto
another.”
To this Sir Accalon said, “What is that service?” And the damoiselle
replied, “I will tell thee: There is, dwelling not far from this place,
a certain knight hight Sir Ontzlake, who hath an elder brother hight
Sir Domas. This Sir Domas hath served Sir Ontzlake very ill in many
ways, and hath deprived him of well nigh all of his patrimony, so that
only a little is left to Sir Ontzlake of all the great possessions that
were one time his father’s. But even such a small holding as that Sir
Domas begrudges Sir Ontzlake, so that Sir Ontzlake must needs hold what
he hath by such force of arms as he may himself maintain. Now Sir Domas
hath found himself a champion who is a man of a great deal of strength
and prowess, and through this champion Sir Domas challenges Sir
Ontzlake’s right to hold even that small part of those lands which were
one time his father’s; wherefore if Sir Ontzlake would retain what is
his he must presently do battle therefore.
“Now this is a very sad case for Sir Ontzlake, for a short time since he
was wounded by a spear at a tournament and was pierced through both of
his thighs, wherefore he is not now able to sit upon his horse and to
defend his rights against assault. Wherefore meseems that a knight could
have no better cause to show his prowess than in the defence of so sad a
case as this.”
So spake that lady, and to all she said Sir Accalon listened with great
attention, and when she had ended he said, “Lady, I would be indeed
right willing to defend Sir Ontzlake’s right, but, lo! I have no armor
nor have I any arms to do battle withal.”
Then that damoiselle smiled very kindly upon Sir Accalon and she said to
him, “Sir, Sir Ontzlake may easily fit thee with armor that shall be
altogether to thy liking. And as for arms, I have in this pavilion a
sword that hath but one other fellow in all the world.”
Upon this she arose and went back into that curtained recess from which
she had come, and thence she presently returned, bringing a certain
thing wrapped in a scarlet cloth. And she opened the cloth before Sir
Accalon’s eyes, and lo! that which she had there was King Arthur’s sword
Excalibur in his sheath. Then the damoiselle said, “This sword shall be
thine if thou wilt assume this quarrel upon behalf of Sir Ontzlake.”
[Sidenote: _The Lady Gomyne showeth Excalibur to Sir Accalon._]
[Sidenote: _Sir Accalon consents to do battle for Sir Ontzlake._]
Now when Sir Accalon beheld that sword he wist not what to think, and he
said to himself, “Certes, either this is Excalibur or else it is his
twin brother.” Therewith he drew the blade from out of its shield and it
shined with extraordinary splendor. Then Sir Accalon said, “I know not
what to think for pure wonder, for this sword is indeed the very image
of another sword I wot of.” When he so spake that damoiselle smiled upon
him again, and she said, “I have heard tell that there is in the world
another sword like to this.”
Then Sir Accalon said, “Lady, to win this sword for myself I would be
willing to fight in any battle whatsoever.” And the damoiselle replied,
“Then if thou wilt fight this battle for Sir Ontzlake thou art free to
keep that sword for thine own,” at the which Sir Accalon was rejoiced
beyond all measure of gladness.
So it came about that, by the wiles of Queen Morgana le Fay, King Arthur
was brought to fight a battle unknowingly with a knight very much
beloved by him, and that that knight had Excalibur to use against his
master. For all these things had come to pass through the cunning of
Morgana le Fay.
* * * * *
Now a fair field was prepared for that battle in such a place as was
convenient both to Sir Domas and to Sir Ontzlake, and thither they came
upon the day assigned, each with his knight-champion and his attendants,
Sir Ontzlake being brought thither in a litter because of the sore wound
in his thighs. Also a great many other folk came to behold the combat,
for the news thereof had gone forth to a great distance around about
that place. So, all being in readiness, the two knights that were to do
battle in that field were brought within the barriers of combat, each
fully armed and each mounted upon a very good horse.
Now King Arthur was clad all in armor of Sir Domas, and Sir Accalon was
clad in armor that belonged to Sir Ontzlake, and the head of each was
covered by his helmet so that neither of those two knew the other.
Then the herald came forth and announced that the battle was toward, and
each knight immediately put himself in readiness for the assault.
Thereupon, the word for assault being given, the two rushed forth, each
from his station, with such speed and fury that it was wonderful to
behold. And so they met in the midst of the course with a roar as of
thunder, and the spear of each knight was burst all into small pieces
unto the truncheon which he held in his hand. Upon this each knight
voided his horse with great skill and address, and allowed it to run at
will in that field. And each threw aside the truncheon of his spear and
drew his sword, and thereupon came, the one against the other, with the
utmost fury of battle.
[Sidenote: _Vivien cometh to the field of battle._]
It was at this time that Vivien came to that place upon the behest of
Merlin, and she brought with her such a Court and state of beauty that a
great many people took notice of her with great pleasure. So Vivien and
her Court took stand at the barriers whence they might behold all that
was toward. And Vivien regarded those two knights and she could not tell
which was King Arthur and which was his enemy, wherefore she said,
“Well, I will do as Merlin desired me to do, but I must wait and see
this battle for a while ere I shall be able to tell which is King
Arthur, for it would be a pity to cast my spells upon the wrong knight.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur is sorely wounded by Excalibur._]
So these two knights came together in battle afoot, and first they
foined and then they both struck at the same time and, lo! the sword of
King Arthur did not bite into the armor of Sir Accalon, but the sword of
Sir Accalon bit very deeply into the armor of King Arthur and wounded
him so sorely that the blood ran down in great quantities into his
armor. And after that they struck very often and very powerfully, and as
it was at first so it was afterward, for the sword of Sir Accalon ever
bit into the armor of King Arthur, and the sword of King Arthur bit not
at all into his enemy’s armor. So in a little while it came that King
Arthur’s armor was stained all over red with the blood that flowed out
from a great many wounds, and Sir Accalon bled not at all because of the
sheath of Excalibur which he wore at his side. And the blood of King
Arthur flowed down upon the ground so that all the grass around about
was ensanguined with it. So when King Arthur beheld how all the ground
was wet with his own blood, and how his enemy bled not at all, he began
to fear that he would die in that battle: wherefore he said to himself,
“How is this? Hath the virtue departed out of Excalibur and his sheath?
Were it not otherwise I would think that that sword which cutteth me so
sorely is Excalibur and that this sword is not Excalibur.”
Upon this a great despair of death came upon him, and he ran at Sir
Accalon and smote him so sore a blow upon the helm that Sir Accalon nigh
fell down upon the ground.
But at that blow the sword of King Arthur broke short off at the cross
of the handle and fell into the grass among the blood, and the pommel
thereof and the cross thereof was all that King Arthur held in his hand.
Now at that blow Sir Accalon waxed very mad, so he ran at King Arthur
with intent to strike him some dolorous blow. But when he saw that King
Arthur was without weapon, he paused in his assault and he said, “Sir
Knight, I see that thou art without weapon and that thou hast lost a
great deal of blood. Wherefore I demand thee to yield thyself unto me as
recreant.”
Then King Arthur was again very much a-dread that his death was near to
him; yet, because of his royalty, it was not possible for him to yield
to any knight. So he said, “Nay, Sir Knight, I may not yield myself unto
thee for I would liever die with honor than yield myself without honor.
For though I lack a weapon, there are peculiar reasons why I may not
lack worship. Wherefore thou mayst slay me as I am without weapon and
that will be thy shame and not my shame.”
“Well,” said Sir Accalon, “as for the shame I will not spare thee unless
thou dost yield to me.” And King Arthur said, “I will not yield me.”
Thereupon Sir Accalon said, “Then stand thou away from me so that I may
strike thee.” And, when King Arthur had done as Sir Accalon bade him,
Sir Accalon smote him such a woful blow that the King fell down upon his
knees. Then Sir Accalon raised Excalibur with intent to strike King
Arthur again, and with that all the people who were there cried out upon
him to spare so worshipful a knight. But Sir Accalon would not spare
him.
[Sidenote: _Vivien gets a spell upon Sir Accalon._]
Then Vivien said unto herself, “Certes, that must be King Arthur who is
so near to his death, and I do make my vow that it would be a great pity
for him to die after he hath fought so fiercely.” So when Sir Accalon
raised his sword that second time with intent to strike his enemy,
Vivien smote her hands with great force, and emitted at the same time a
spell of such potency that it appeared to Sir Accalon upon the instant
as though he had received some very powerful blow upon his arm. For with
that spell his arm was benumbed all from the finger-tips unto the hollow
of his armpit, and thereupon Excalibur fell out of Sir Accalon’s hands
and into the grass.
Then King Arthur beheld the sword and he perceived that it was Excalibur
and therewith he knew that he had been betrayed. Wherefore he cried out
thrice, in a very loud voice, “Treason! Treason! Treason!” and with that
he set his knee upon the blade and before Sir Accalon could stay him he
had seized it into his hands.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur overcometh Sir Accalon._]
Then it appeared to King Arthur that a great virtue had come into him
because of that sword. Wherefore he arose from his knees and ran at Sir
Accalon and smote him so sorely that the blade penetrated his armor to
the depth of half a palm’s breadth. And he smote him again and again and
Sir Accalon cried out in a loud voice, and fell down upon his hands and
knees. Then King Arthur ran to him and catched the sheath of Excalibur
and plucked it away from Sir Accalon and flung it away, and thereupon
the wounds of Sir Accalon burst out bleeding in great measure. Then King
Arthur catched the helmet of Sir Accalon and rushed it off his head with
intent to slay him.
Now because King Arthur was blinded with his own blood he did not know
Sir Accalon, wherefore he said, “Sir Knight, who art thou who hast
betrayed me?” And Sir Accalon said, “I have not betrayed thee. I am Sir
Accalon of Gaul and I am knight in good worship of King Arthur’s Court.”
But when King Arthur heard this he made great outcry and he said, “How
is this? Know you who I am?” And Sir Accalon said, “Nay, I know you
not.” Then King Arthur said, “I am King Arthur who am thy master.” And
upon this he took off his helmet and Sir Accalon knew him.
And when Sir Accalon beheld King Arthur he swooned away and lay like one
dead upon the ground, and King Arthur said, “Take him hence.”
Then when those who were there were aware who King Arthur was, they
burst over the barriers and ran toward him with great outcry of pity.
And King Arthur would have left this place but upon that he also swooned
away because of the great issue of blood that had come from him,
wherefore all those who were round about took great sorrow, thinking
that he was dying, wherefore they bewailed themselves without stint.
Then came Vivien out into that field and she said, “Let me have him, for
I believe that I shall be able to cure his hurts.” So she commanded that
two litters should be brought and she placed King Arthur in one of the
litters and she placed Sir Accalon in the other, and she bore them both
away to a priory of nuns that was at no great distance from that place.
[Sidenote: _Vivien healeth King Arthur._]
So when Vivien had come there she searched the wounds of King Arthur and
bathed them with a very precious balsam, so that they immediately began
to heal. As for Sir Accalon, she would not have to do with his wounds,
but let one of her attendants bathe him and dress his hurts.
Now when the next morning had come, King Arthur was so much recovered
that he was able to arise, though very weak and sick nigh unto death. So
he got up from his couch and he would not permit anyone to stay him, and
he wrapped a cloak about him and went to the place where Sir Accalon
lay. When he had come there he questioned Sir Accalon very narrowly and
Sir Accalon told him all that had happened to him after he had left that
ship, and how the strange damsel had given him a sword for to fight
with. So when King Arthur heard all that Sir Accalon had to tell him, he
said, “Messire, I think that thou art not to be blamed in this matter,
but I much do fear me that there is treachery here to compass my ruin.”
Then he went out from that place and he found Vivien and he said to her,
“Damsel, I beseech thee to dress the wounds of that knight with the same
balsam that thou didst use to dress my wounds.” “Lord,” said Vivien, “I
cannot do so, for I have no more of that balsam.” But what she said was
false, for she did have more of that balsam, but she did not choose to
use it upon Sir Accalon.
[Sidenote: _Sir Accalon dieth of his wounds._]
So that afternoon Sir Accalon died of his wounds which he had received
in his battle with King Arthur.
And that day King Arthur summoned Sir Domas and Sir Ontzlake into his
presence and they came and stood before him, so filled with the terror
of his majesty, that they had not the power to stand, but fell down upon
their knees unto him.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur dealeth with Sir Domas and Sir Ontzlake._]
Then King Arthur said, “I will pardon you, for ye knew not what ye did.
But thou, Sir Domas, I believe, art a very false and treasonable knight,
wherefore I shall deprive thee of all thy possessions but that one
single castle which thy brother had and that I shall give unto thee, but
all thy possessions I shall give unto Sir Ontzlake. And I shall further
ordain that thou shalt never hereafter have the right to ride upon any
horse but a palfrey, for thou art not worthy to ride upon a courser as a
true knight hath a right to do. And I command it of thee that thou shalt
presently liberate all those knights who were my companions in
captivity, and thou shalt recompense them for all the injury that thou
hast done to them according as it shall be decided by a Court of
Chivalry.”
Therewith he dismissed those two knights, and they were very glad that
he had dealt so mercifully with them.
[Illustration]
[Illustration] CONCLUSION
[Sidenote: _Queen Morgana cometh to King Arthur._]
Now shortly after that combat betwixt King Arthur and Sir Accalon the
news thereof was brought to Queen Morgana le Fay, and the next day
thereafter she heard that Sir Accalon was dead, and she wist not how it
could be that her designs could have so miscarried. Then she was a-doubt
as to how much King Arthur might know of her treachery, so she said to
herself, “I will go and see my brother, the King, and if he is aware of
my treason I will beseech him to pardon my transgression.” So, having
made diligent inquiry as to where it was that King Arthur lay, she
gathered together her Court of knights and esquires and went
thitherward.
So she came to that place upon the fifth day after the battle, and when
she had come there she asked of those who were in attendance what cheer
the King had. They answered her, “He is asleep and he must not be
disturbed.” To the which Queen Morgana le Fay replied, “No matter, I am
not to be forbidden, for I must presently see him and speak with him.”
So they did not dare to stay her because she was the King’s sister.
[Sidenote: _Queen Morgana steals the sheath of Excalibur._]
So Queen Morgana went into the chamber where the King lay and he did not
waken at her coming. Then Queen Morgana was filled full of hatred and a
great desire for revenge, wherefore she said to herself, “I will take
Excalibur and his shield and will carry them away with me to Avalon, and
my brother shall never see them again.” So she went very softly to where
King Arthur lay, and she looked upon him as he slept and perceived that
he had Excalibur beside him and that he held the handle of the sword in
his hand while he slept. Then Queen Morgana said, “Alas, for this, for
if I try to take Excalibur away from him, haply he will awake and he
will slay me for my treason.” Then she looked and perceived where the
sheath of Excalibur lay at the foot of the couch. So she took the
sheath of Excalibur very softly and she wrapped it up in her mantle and
she went out thence, and King Arthur did not awaken at her going.
So Queen Morgana came out from the King’s chamber and she said to those
in attendance, “Do not waken the King, for he sleepeth very soundly.”
Therewith she mounted her horse and went her way from that place.
Now, after a considerable while, King Arthur awoke and he looked for the
sheath of Excalibur, but he perceived that it was gone, wherefore he
said immediately, “Who hath been here?” They in attendance made answer,
“Queen Morgana le Fay had been here and she came in and saw you and went
her way without waking you.” Then King Arthur’s heart misgave him, and
he said, “I fear me that she hath dealt treacherously with me from the
beginning to the end of these adventures.”
Whereupon he arose and summoned all his knights and esquires and mounted
his horse for pursuit of Queen Morgana, although he was still passing
sick and faint from his sore wounds and loss of blood.
Now, as the King was about ready to depart, Vivien came to him where he
was, and she said, “Lord, take me with thee, for if thou dost not do so
thou wilt never recover Excalibur his sheath, nor wilt thou ever
overtake Queen Morgana le Fay.” And King Arthur said, “Come with me,
damsel, in God’s name.” So Vivien went with him in pursuit of Queen
Morgana.
Now, by and by, as she fled, Queen Morgana le Fay looked behind her and
therewith she perceived that Vivien was with the party of King Arthur,
wherefore her heart failed her and she said, “I fear me that I am now
altogether ruined, for I have aided that damsel to acquire such
knowledge of magic that I shall have no spells to save myself from her
counter-spell. But at any rate it shall be that King Arthur shall never
have the sheath of Excalibur again for to help him in his hour of need.”
[Sidenote: _Queen Morgana throweth the sheath of Excalibur into the
lake._]
Now at that time they were passing beside the margin of a lake of
considerable size. So Queen Morgana le Fay took the sheath of Excalibur
in both her hands and swung it by its belt above her head and she threw
it a great distance out into the water.
Then, lo! a very singular miracle occurred, for there suddenly appeared
a woman’s arm out of the water and it was clad in white. And it was
adorned with many bracelets. And the hand of the arm catched the sheath
of Excalibur and drew it underneath the water and no one ever beheld
that sheath again.
So the sheath of Excalibur was lost, and that was a grievous thing for
King Arthur in after time, as you may some time read.
[Sidenote: _Queen Morgana exercises her magic._]
Now after Queen Morgana le Fay had thus thrown the sheath of Excalibur
into the lake, she went on a little farther to where was a very lonely
place with a great many rocks and stones lying about upon the ground.
And when she had come to that place she exercised very potent spells of
magic that Merlin had taught her. So, by means of those spells, she
transformed herself and all of her Court and all of their horses into
large round stones of divers sizes.
Then in a little while came King Arthur to that place with his knights
and esquires, and he was exceedingly heavy of heart, for he had beheld
from a great distance how Queen Morgana le Fay had thrown the sheath of
Excalibur into that lake.
Now when the King and his Court had come to that spot the damsel Vivien
called out upon him to stop and she said to him, “Lord, dost thou behold
all those great round stones?” “Yea,” said the King, “I do see them.”
Then Vivien said, “Lo! those stones are Queen Morgana le Fay and the
Court who were with her. For this magic that she hath done to change
herself and them into stones was a certain thing that Merlin had taught
her. Now I myself know that magic, and I also know how to remove that
magic at my will. Wherefore, if thou wilt promise to immediately punish
that wicked woman for all her treason by depriving her of her life, then
will I bring her back unto her true shape again so that thou mayst have
her in thy power.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur chideth Vivien._]
Then King Arthur looked upon Vivien with great displeasure, and he said,
“Damsel, thou hast a cruel heart! Thou thyself hast suffered no injury
at the hands of Queen Morgana; wherefore, then, wouldst thou have me
slay her? Now, but for all thou hast done for me I would be very much
affronted with thee. As for her, I forgive her all of this, and I shall
forgive her again and again and yet again if she sin against me. For her
mother was my mother, and the blood which flows in her veins and in my
veins cometh from the same fountain-head, wherefore I will do no evil
thing against her. Let us return again whence we came.”
Then Vivien looked upon King Arthur very bitterly, and she laughed with
great scorn, and said, “Thou art both a fool and a dotard,” and
therewith she vanished from the sight of all.
And after that, because King Arthur had rebuked her for her wickedness
in the presence of others, she hated him even more than Morgana le Fay
had hated him.
Some time after that, King Arthur heard how Merlin had been beguiled by
Vivien, and he sorrowed with great bitterness that Merlin was lost unto
the world in that wise.
So endeth the story of the passing of Merlin.
[Illustration]
PART II
The Story of Sir Pellias
_Here followeth the story of Sir Pellias, surnamed by many the Gentle
Knight.
For Sir Pellias was of such a sort that it was said of him that all
women loved him without disadvantage to themselves, and that all men
loved him to their great good advantage.
Wherefore, when in the end he won for his beloved that beautiful Lady of
the Lake, who was one of the chiefest damoiselles of Faëry, and when he
went to dwell as lord paramount in that wonderful habitation which no
other mortal than he and Sir Launcelot of the Lake had ever beheld, then
were all men rejoiced at his great good fortune--albeit all the Court of
King Arthur grieved that he had departed so far away from them never to
return again.
So I believe that you will have pleasure in reading the history of the
things concerning Sir Pellias hereinafter written for your
edification._
[Illustration: Sir Pellias, the Gentle Knight.]
[Illustration] Chapter First.
_How Queen Guinevere Went a-Maying and of How Sir Pellias Took Upon Him
a Quest in Her Behalf._
[Sidenote: _Queen Guinevere goeth a-Maying._]
Now it befell upon a pleasant day in the spring-time, that Queen
Guinevere went a-Maying with a goodly company of Knights and Ladies of
her Court. And among those Knights were Sir Pellias, and Sir Geraint,
and Sir Dinadan, and Sir Aglaval, and Sir Agravaine, and Sir Constantine
of Cornwall, and sundry others, so that the like of that Court was
hardly to be found in all of the world, either then or before or since.
The day was exceedingly pleasant with the sunlight all yellow, like to
gold, and the breeze both soft and gentle. The small birds they sang
with very great joy, and all about there bloomed so many flowers of
divers sorts that the entire meadows were carpeted with their tender
green. So it seemed to Queen Guinevere that it was very good to be
abroad in the field and beneath the sky at such a season.
[Sidenote: _There cometh a damsel to the May party._]
Now as the Queen and her Court walked in great joy among the blossoms,
one of the damsels attendant upon the Lady Guinevere cried out of a
sudden, “Look! Look! Who is that cometh yonder?” Thereupon Queen
Guinevere lifted up her eyes, and she beheld that there came across the
meadows a damsel riding upon a milk-white palfrey, accompanied by three
pages clad in sky-blue raiment. That damsel was also clad entirely in
azure, and she wore a finely wrought chain of gold about her neck and a
fillet of gold about her brows, and her hair, which was as yellow as
gold, was wrapped all about with bands of blue ribbon embroidered with
gold. And one of the pages that followed the damsel bare a square frame
of no very great size, and that the frame was enveloped and covered with
a curtain of crimson satin.
Now when the Queen beheld that goodly company approaching, she bade one
of the knights attendant upon her for to go forth to meet the damsel.
And the knight who went forth in obedience to her command was Sir
Pellias.
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias talketh with the damsel._]
So when Sir Pellias met the damsel and her three pages, he spake to her
in this wise: “Fair damsel, I am commanded by yonder lady for to greet
you and to crave of you the favor of your name and purpose.”
“Sir Knight,” said the damsel, “I do perceive from your countenance and
address that you are some lord of very high estate and of great
nobility, wherefore I will gladly tell to you that my name is Parcenet,
and that I am a damsel belonging to the Court of a certain very high
dame who dwelleth at a considerable distance from here, and who is
called the Lady Ettard of Grantmesnle. Now I come hitherward desiring to
be admitted into the presence of Queen Guinevere. Accordingly, if you
can tell me whereabout I may find that noble lady, I shall assuredly be
very greatly beholden unto you.”
“Ha, Lady!” quoth Sir Pellias, “thou shalt not have very far to go to
find Queen Guinevere; for, behold! yonder she walketh, surrounded by her
Court of Lords and Ladies.” Then the damsel said, “I prithee bring me
unto her.”
So Sir Pellias led Parcenet unto the Queen, and Queen Guinevere received
her with great graciousness of demeanor, saying, “Damsel, what is it
that ye seek of us?”
[Sidenote: _The damsel telleth Queen Guinevere of the Lady Ettard._]
“Lady,” quoth the damsel, “I will tell you that very readily. The Lady
Ettard, my mistress, is considered by all in those parts where she
dwelleth to be the most beautiful lady in the world. Now, of late, there
hath come such a report of your exceeding beauty that the Lady Ettard
hath seen fit for to send me hitherward to see with mine own eyes if
that which is recorded of you is soothly true. And indeed, Lady, now
that I stand before you, I may not say but that you are the fairest dame
that ever mine eyes beheld unless it be the Lady Ettard aforesaid.”
Then Queen Guinevere laughed with very great mirth. And she said, “It
appears to me to be a very droll affair that thou shouldst have
travelled so great a distance for so small a matter.” Then she said,
“Tell me, damsel, what is that thy page beareth so carefully wrapped up
in that curtain of crimson satin?”
“Lady,” quoth the damsel, “it is a true and perfect likeness of the Lady
Ettard, who is my mistress.”
Then Queen Guinevere said, “Show it to me.”
[Sidenote: _The damsel showeth the Lady Ettard’s picture to the Queen
and her Court._]
Upon this the page who bore the picture dismounted from his palfrey and,
coming to Queen Guinevere, he kneeled down upon one knee and uncovered
the picture so that the Queen and her Court might look upon it.
Thereupon they all beheld that that picture was painted very cunningly
upon a panel of ivory framed with gold and inset with many jewels of
divers colors. And they saw that it was the picture of a lady of such
extraordinary beauty that all they who beheld it marvelled thereat.
“Hey, damsel!” quoth Queen Guinevere, “thy lady is, indeed, graced with
wonderful beauty. Now if she doth in sooth resemble that picture, then I
believe that her like to loveliness is not to be found anywhere in the
world.”
Upon this Sir Pellias spake out and said, “Not so, Lady; for I do
protest, and am willing to maintain my words with the peril of my body,
that thou thyself art much more beautiful than that picture.”
“Hey day, Sir Knight!” quoth the damsel Parcenet, “it is well that thou
dost maintain that saying so far away from Grantmesnle; for at that
place is a certain knight, hight Sir Engamore of Malverat, who is a very
strong knight indeed, and who maintaineth the contrary to thy saying in
favor of the Lady Ettard against all comers who dare to encounter him.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias assumes the adventure in honor of the Queen._]
Then Sir Pellias kneeled down before Queen Guinevere, and set his palms
together. “Lady,” he said, “I do pray thee of thy grace that thou wilt
so far honor me as to accept me for thy true knight in this matter. For
I would fain assay an adventure in thy behalf if I have thy permission
for to do so. Wherefore, if thou grantest me leave, I will straightway
go forth to meet this knight of whom the damsel speaketh, and I greatly
hope that when I find him I shall cause his overthrow to the increasing
of thy glory and honor.”
Then Queen Guinevere laughed again with pure merriment. “Sir,” quoth
she, “it pleases me beyond measure that thou shouldst take so small a
quarrel as this upon thee in my behalf. For if, so be, thou dost assume
so small a quarrel, then how much more wouldst thou take a serious
quarrel of mine upon thee? Wherefore I do accept thee very joyfully for
my champion in this affair. So go thou presently and arm thyself in such
a way as may be fitting for this adventure.”
“Lady,” said Sir Pellias, “if I have thy leave, I will enter into this
affair clad as I am. For I entertain hopes that I shall succeed in
winning armor and accoutrements upon the way, in the which case this
adventure will be still more to thy credit than it would otherwise be.”
At this the Queen was very much pleased, that her knight should
undertake so serious an adventure clad only in holiday attire; wherefore
she said, “Let it be as thou wouldst have it.” Thereupon she bade her
page, Florian, for to go fetch the best horse that he might obtain for
Sir Pellias; and Florian, running with all speed, presently returned
with a noble steed, so black of hue that I believe there was not a
single white hair upon him.
Then Sir Pellias gave adieu to Queen Guinevere, and her merry May-court,
and they gave him adieu and great acclaim, and thereupon he mounted his
horse and rode away with the damsel Parcenet and the three pages clad in
blue.
Now when these had gone some distance the damsel Parcenet said, “Sir, I
know not thy name or thy condition, or who thou art?”
Unto this Sir Pellias said, “Damsel, my name is Pellias and I am a
knight of King Arthur’s Round Table.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias and Parcenet discourse together._]
At that Parcenet was very much astonished, for Sir Pellias was held by
many to be the best knight-at-arms alive, saving only King Arthur and
King Pellinore. Wherefore she cried out, “Messire, it will assuredly be
a very great honor for Sir Engamore to have to do with so famous a
knight as thou.” Unto this Sir Pellias said, “Damsel, I think there are
several knights of King Arthur’s Round Table who are better knights than
I.” But Parcenet said, “I cannot believe that to be the case.”
Then after awhile Parcenet said to Sir Pellias, “Messire, how wilt thou
get thyself armor for to fight Sir Engamore?” “Maiden,” said Sir
Pellias, “I do not know at these present where I shall provide me armor;
but before the time cometh for me to have to do with Sir Engamore, I
have faith that I shall find armor fit for my purpose. For thou must
know that it is not always the defence that a man weareth upon his body
that bringeth him success, but more often it is the spirit that
uplifteth him unto his undertakings.”
Then Parcenet said, “Sir Pellias, I do not believe that it is often the
case that a lady hath so good a knight as thou for to do battle in her
behalf.” To which Sir Pellias said very cheerfully, “Damsel, when thy
time cometh I wish that thou mayst have a very much better knight to
serve thee than I.” “Sir,” quoth Parcenet, “such a thing as that is not
likely to befall me.” At the which Sir Pellias laughed with great
lightness of heart. Then Parcenet said, “Heigh ho! I would that I had a
good knight for to serve me.”
To this Sir Pellias made very sober reply, “Maiden, the first one that I
catch I will give unto thee for thy very own. Now wouldst thou have him
fair or dark, or short or tall? For if thou wouldst rather have him
short and fair I will let the tall, dark one go; but if thou wouldst
have him tall and dark, I will let go the other sort.”
Then Parcenet looked very steadily at Sir Pellias, and she said, “I
would have him about as tall as thou art, and with the same color of
hair and eyes, and with a straight nose like unto thine, and with a good
wit such as thou hast.”
“Alas!” said Sir Pellias, “I would that thou hadst told me this before
we had come so far from Camelot; for I could easily have got thee such a
knight at that place. For they have them there in such plenty that they
keep them in wicker cages, and sell them two for a farthing.” Whereat
Parcenet laughed very cheerfully, and said, “Then Camelot must be a very
wonderful place, Sir Pellias.”
So, with very merry discourse they journeyed upon their way with great
joy and good content, taking much pleasure in the spring-time and the
pleasant meadows whereon they travelled, being without care of any sort,
and heart-full of cheerfulness and good-will.
That night they abided at a very quaint, pleasant hostelry that stood at
the outskirts of the Forest of Usk, and the next morning they departed
betimes in the freshness of the early day, quitting that place and
entering into the forest shadows.
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias and Parcenet come to the Forest of Adventure._]
Now, after they had travelled a considerable distance in that forest,
the damsel Parcenet said to Sir Pellias, “Sir, do you know what part of
the woods this is?” “Nay,” said Sir Pellias. “Well,” said Parcenet,
“this part of the woodland is sometimes called Arroy, and is sometimes
called the Forest of Adventure. For I must tell you it is a very
wonderful place, full of magic of sundry sorts. For it is said that no
knight may enter into this forest but some adventure shall befall him.”
“Damsel,” said Sir Pellias, “that which thou tellest me is very good
news. For, maybe, if we should fall in with some adventure at this place
I may then be able to obtain armor suitable for my purpose.”
So they entered the Forest of Adventure forthwith, and then travelled
therein for a long way, marvelling greatly at the aspect of that place
into which they were come. For the Forest was very dark and silent and
wonderfully strange and altogether different from any other place that
they had ever seen. Wherefore it appeared to them that it would not be
at all singular if some extraordinary adventure should befall them.
[Sidenote: _They find an old woman beside the fountain._]
So after they had travelled in this wise for a considerable pass they
came of a sudden out of those thicker parts of the woodland to where was
an opening of considerable extent. And there they beheld before them a
violent stream of water that flowed very turbulently and with great
uproar of many noises. And they saw that by the side of the stream of
water there was a thorn-tree, and that underneath the thorn-tree was a
bank of green moss, and that upon the bank of moss there sat an aged
woman of a very woful appearance. For that old woman was extraordinarily
withered with age, and her eyes were all red as though with a continual
weeping of rheum, and many bristles grew upon her cheeks and her chin,
and her face was covered with such a multitude of wrinkles that there
was not any place that was free from wrinkles.
Now when that old woman beheld Sir Pellias and Parcenet and the three
pages approaching where she sat, she cried out in a loud voice, “Sir,
wilt thou not bear me over this water upon thy horse? For, lo! I am very
old and feeble and may not cross this river by myself.”
Then Parcenet rebuked the old woman, saying, “Peace, be still! Who art
thou to ask this noble knight for to do thee such a service as that?”
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias carries the old woman across the water._]
Then Sir Pellias was not pleased with Parcenet, wherefore he said,
“Damsel, thou dost not speak properly in this matter, for that which
beseemeth a true knight is to give succor unto anyone soever who needeth
his aid. For King Arthur is the perfect looking-glass of knighthood, and
he hath taught his knights to give succor unto all who ask succor of
them, without regarding their condition.” So saying Sir Pellias
dismounted from his horse and lifted the old woman up upon the saddle
thereof. Then he himself mounted once more and straightway rode into the
ford of the river and so came across the torrent with the old woman in
safety to the other side. And Parcenet followed him, marvelling very
greatly at his knightliness, and the three pages followed her.
[Sidenote: _Of the wonderful Lady of the Lake._]
Now when they had reached the other side of the water, Sir Pellias
dismounted with intent to aid the old woman to alight from the horse.
But she waited not for his aid, but immediately leaped down very lightly
from where she was. And, lo! Sir Pellias beheld that she whom he had
thought to be only an aged and withered beldame was, in truth, a very
strange, wonderful lady of extraordinary beauty. And, greatly
marvelling, he beheld that she was clad in apparel of such a sort as
neither he nor any who were there had ever beheld before. And because of
her appearance he was aware that she was not like any ordinary mortal,
but that she was doubtless of enchantment. For he perceived that her
face was of a wonderful clearness, like to ivory for whiteness, and that
her eyes were very black and extraordinarily bright, like unto two
jewels set into ivory; and he perceived that she was clad all in green
from head to foot and that her hair was long and perfectly black and
like to fine silk for softness and for glossiness; and he perceived that
she had about her neck a collar of opal stones and emeralds inset into
gold, and that about her wrists were bracelets of finely wrought gold
inset with opal stones and emeralds. Wherefore from all these
circumstances he knew that she must be fay.
(For thus was the Lady Nymue of the Lake; and so had she appeared unto
King Arthur, and so did she appear unto Sir Pellias and those who were
with him.)
So, beholding the wonderful magical quality of that lady, Sir Pellias
kneeled down before her and set his hands together, palm to palm. But
the Lady of the Lake said, “Sir, why dost thou kneel to me?” “Lady,”
quoth Sir Pellias, “because thou art so wonderfully strange and
beautiful.” “Messire,” said the Lady of the Lake, “thou hast done a very
good service to me and art, assuredly, a very excellent knight.
Wherefore, arise and kneel no longer!” So Sir Pellias arose from his
knees and stood before her, and he said, “Lady, who art thou?” To the
which she made reply, “I am one who holdeth an exceedingly kind regard
toward King Arthur and all his knights. My name is Nymue and I am the
chiefest of those Ladies of the Lake of whom thou mayst have heard tell.
I took upon me that form of a sorry old woman for to test thy
knightliness, and, lo! I have not found thee amiss in worthy service.”
Then Sir Pellias said, “Lady, thou hast assuredly done me great favor in
these.” Upon that the Lady of the Lake smiled upon Sir Pellias very
kindly, and she said, “Sir, I have a mind to do thee a greater favor
than that.”
[Sidenote: _The Lady of the Lake giveth Sir Pellias the collar of gold
and jewels._]
Therewith, so saying, she immediately took from about her neck that
collar of opal stones, of emeralds and gold, and hung it about the
shoulders of Sir Pellias, so that it hung down upon his breast with a
very wonderful glory of variegated colors.
“Keep this,” she said, “for it is of very potent magic.”
Upon that she vanished instantly from the sight of those who were there,
leaving them astonished and amazed beyond measure at what had befallen.
And Sir Pellias was like one who was in a dream, for he wist not whether
that which he had beheld was a vision, or whether he had seen it with
his waking eyes. Wherefore he mounted upon his horse in entire silence,
as though he knew not what he did. And likewise in entire silence he led
the way from that place. Nor did any of those others speak at that time;
only after they had gone a considerable distance Parcenet said, speaking
in a manner of fear, “Messire, that was a very wonderful thing that
befell us.” To which Sir Pellias said, “Yea, maiden.”
Now that necklace which the Lady of the Lake had hung about the neck of
Sir Pellias possessed such a virtue that whosoever wore it was beloved
of all those who looked upon him. For the collar was enchanted with that
peculiar virtue; but Sir Pellias was altogether unaware of that
circumstance, wherefore he only took joy to himself because of the
singular beauty of the jewel which the Lady of the Lake had given him.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: Sir Pellias encounters the Sorrowful Lady in Arroy.]
[Illustration] Chapter Second.
_How Sir Pellias Overcame a Red Knight, Hight Sir Adresack, and of How
He Liberated XXII Captives From That Knight’s Castle._
Now, after that wonderful happening, they journeyed continuously for a
great while. Nor did they pause at any place until they came, about an
hour after the prime of the day, to a certain part of the forest where
charcoal-burners were plying their trade. Here Sir Pellias commanded
that they should draw rein and rest for a while, and so they dismounted
for to rest and to refresh themselves, as he had ordained that they
should do.
[Sidenote: _There cometh a sorrowful lady and an esquire into the
forest._]
Now as they sat there refreshing themselves with meat and drink, there
came of a sudden from out of the forest a sound of great lamentation and
of loud outcry, and almost immediately there appeared from the thickets,
coming into that open place, a lady in woful array, riding upon a pied
palfrey. And behind her rode a young esquire, clad in colors of green
and white and seated upon a sorrel horse. And he also appeared to be
possessed of great sorrow, being in much disarray and very downcast of
countenance. And the lady’s face was all beswollen and inflamed with
weeping, and her hair hung down upon her shoulders with neither net nor
band for to stay it in place, and her raiment was greatly torn by the
brambles and much stained with forest travel. And the young esquire who
rode behind her came with a drooping head and a like woful disarray of
apparel, his cloak dragging behind him and made fast to his shoulder by
only a single point.
Now when Sir Pellias beheld the lady and the esquire in such sad estate,
he immediately arose from where he sat and went straightway to the lady
and took her horse by the bridle and stayed it where it was. And the
lady looked at him, yet saw him not, being altogether blinded by her
grief and distraction. Then Sir Pellias said to her, “Lady, what ails
thee that thou sorrowest so greatly?” Whereunto she made reply, “Sir, it
matters not, for thou canst not help me.” “How know ye that?” said Sir
Pellias, “I have a very good intention for to aid thee if it be possible
for me to do so.”
Then the lady looked more narrowly at Sir Pellias, and she perceived him
as though through a mist of sorrow. And she beheld that he was not clad
in armor, but only in a holiday attire of fine crimson cloth. Wherefore
she began sorrowing afresh, and that in great measure, for she deemed
that here was one who could give her no aid in her trouble. Wherefore
she said, “Sir, thy intentions are kind, but how canst thou look to give
me aid when thou hast neither arms nor defences for to help thee in
taking upon thee such a quarrel?” But Sir Pellias said, “Lady, I know
not how I may aid thee until that thou tellest me of thy sorrow. Yet I
have good hope that I may serve thee when I shall know what it is that
causes thee such disorder of mind.” Thereupon, still holding the horse
by the bridle, he brought the lady forward to that place where Parcenet
still sat beside the napkin spread with food with which they had been
refreshing themselves. And when he had come to that place, he, with all
gentleness, constrained the lady for to dismount from her horse. Then,
with equal gentleness, he compelled her to sit down upon the grass and
to partake of the food. And when she had done so, and had drunk some of
the wine, she found herself to be greatly refreshed and began to take to
herself more heart of grace. Thereupon, beholding her so far recovered,
Sir Pellias again demanded of her what was her trouble and besought her
that she would open her heart unto him.
So, being encouraged by his cheerful words, she told to Sir Pellias the
trouble that had brought her to that pass.
[Sidenote: _The sorrowful lady telleth her story._]
“Sir Knight,” she said, “the place where I dwell is a considerable
distance from this. Thence I came this morning with a very good knight,
hight Sir Brandemere, who is my husband. We have been married but for a
little over four weeks, so that our happiness until this morning was as
yet altogether fresh with us. Now this morning Sir Brandemere would take
me out a-hunting at the break of day, and so we went forth with a
brachet of which my knight was wonderfully fond. So, coming to a certain
place in the forest, there started up of a sudden from before us a doe,
which same the brachet immediately pursued with great vehemence of
outcry. Thereupon, I and my lord and this esquire followed thereafter
with very great spirit and enjoyment of the chase. Now, when we had
followed the doe and the hound for a great distance--the hound pursuing
the doe with a great passion of eagerness--we came to a certain place
where we beheld before us a violent stream of water which was crossed
by a long and narrow bridge. And we beheld that upon the other side of
the stream there stood a strong castle with seven towers, and that the
castle was built up upon the rocks in such a way that the rocks and the
castle appeared to be altogether like one rock.
“Now, as we approached the bridge aforesaid, lo! the portcullis of the
castle was lifted up and the drawbridge was let fall very suddenly and
with a great noise, and there immediately issued forth from out of the
castle a knight clad altogether in red. And all the trappings and the
furniture of his horse were likewise of red; and the spear which he bore
in his hand was of ash-wood painted red. And he came forth very
terribly, and rode forward so that he presently stood at the other end
of that narrow bridge. Thereupon he called out aloud to Sir Brandemere,
my husband, saying: ‘Whither wouldst thou go, Sir Knight?’ And unto him
Sir Brandemere made reply: ‘Sir, I would cross this bridge, for my
hound, which I love exceedingly, hath crossed here in pursuit of a doe.’
Then that Red Knight cried out in a loud voice, ‘Sir Knight, thou comest
not upon this bridge but at thy peril; for this bridge belongeth unto
me, and whosoever would cross it must first overthrow me or else he may
not cross.’
“Now, my husband, Sir Brandemere, was clad at that time only in a light
raiment such as one might wear for hunting or for hawking; only that he
wore upon his head a light bascinet enwrapped with a scarf which I had
given him. Ne’theless, he was so great of heart that he would not abide
any challenge such as that Red Knight had given unto him; wherefore,
bidding me and this esquire (whose name is Ponteferet) to remain upon
the farther side of the bridge, he drew his sword and rode forward to
the middle of the bridge with intent to force a way across if he was
able so to do. Whereupon, seeing that to be his intent, that Red Knight,
clad all in complete armor, cast aside his spear and drew his sword and
rode forward to meet my knight. So they met in the middle of the bridge,
and when they had thus met that Red Knight lifted himself in his stirrup
and smote my husband, Sir Brandemere, upon the crown of his bascinet
with his sword. And I beheld the blade of the Red Knight’s sword that it
cut through the bascinet of Sir Brandemere and deep into his brain-pan,
so that the blood ran down upon the knight’s face in great abundance.
Then Sir Brandemere straightway fell down from his horse and lay as
though he were gone dead.
“Having thus overthrown him, that Red Knight dismounted from his horse
and lifted up Sir Brandemere upon the horse whence he had fallen so
that he lay across the saddle. Then taking both horses by the bridles
the Red Knight led them straight back across the bridge and so into his
castle. And as soon as he had entered into the castle the portcullis
thereof was immediately closed behind him and the drawbridge was raised.
Nor did he pay any heed whatever either to me or to the esquire
Ponteferet, but he departed leaving us without any word of cheer; nor do
I now know whether my husband, Sir Brandemere, is living or dead, or
what hath befallen him.”
And as the lady spake these words, lo! the tears again fell down her
face in great abundance.
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias assumes an adventure upon relief of the
sorrowful lady._]
Then Sir Pellias was very much moved with compassion, wherefore he said,
“Lady, thy case is, indeed, one of exceeding sorrowfulness, and I am
greatly grieved for thee. And, indeed, I would fain aid thee to all the
extent that is in my power. So, if thou wilt lead me to where is this
bridge and that grimly castle of which thou speakest, I make thee my vow
that I will assay to the best of my endeavor to learn of the whereabouts
of thy good knight, and as to what hath befallen him.”
“Sir,” said the lady, “I am much beholden unto thee for thy good will.
Yet thou mayst not hope for success shouldst thou venture to undertake
so grave an adventure as that without either arms or armor for to defend
thyself. For consider how grievously that Red Knight hath served my
husband, Sir Brandemere, taking no consideration as to his lack of arms
or defence. Wherefore, it is not likely that he will serve thee any more
courteously.” And to the lady’s words Parcenet also lifted up a great
voice, bidding Sir Pellias not to be so unwise as to do this thing that
he was minded to do. And so did Ponteferet, the esquire, also call out
upon Sir Pellias, that he should not do this thing, but that he should
at least take arms to himself ere he entered upon this adventure.
But to all that they said Sir Pellias replied, “Stay me not in that
which I would do, for I do tell you all that I have several times
undertaken adventures even more perilous than this and yet I have
’scaped with no great harm to myself.” Nor would he listen to anything
that the lady and the damsel might say, but, arising from that place, he
aided the lady and the damsel to mount their palfreys. Then mounting his
own steed, and the esquire and the pages having mounted their steeds,
the whole party immediately departed from that place.
[Sidenote: _They come to the castle of the Red Knight._]
So they journeyed for a great distance through the forest, the esquire,
Ponteferet, directing them how to proceed in such a way as should bring
them by and by to the castle of the Red Knight. So, at last they came
to before them. And when they had reached to the top of that hill they
perceived beneath them a river, very turbulent and violent. Likewise
they saw that the river was spanned by a bridge, exceedingly straight
and narrow, and that upon the farther side of the bridge and of the
river there stood a very strong castle with seven tall towers. Moreover
the castle and the towers were built up upon the rocks, very lofty and
high, so that it was hard to tell where the rocks ceased and the walls
began, wherefore the towers and the walls appeared to be altogether one
rock of stone.
Then the esquire, Ponteferet, pointed with his finger, and said, “Sir
Knight, yonder is the castle of the Red Knight, and into it he bare Sir
Brandemere after he had been so grievously wounded.” Then Sir Pellias
said unto the lady, “Lady, I will presently inquire as to thy husband’s
welfare.”
Therewith he set spurs to his horse and rode down the hill toward the
bridge with great boldness. And when he had come nigher to the bridge,
lo! the portcullis of the castle was lifted and the drawbridge was let
fall with a great noise and tumult, and straightway there issued forth
from out of the castle a knight clad all in armor and accoutrements of
red, and this knight came forward with great speed toward the bridge’s
head. Then, when Sir Pellias saw him approaching so threateningly, he
said unto those who had followed him down the hill: “Stand fast where ye
are and I will go forth to bespeak this knight, and inquire into the
matter of that injury which he hath done unto Sir Brandemere.” Upon this
the esquire, Ponteferet, said unto him, “Stay, Sir Knight, thou wilt be
hurt.” But Sir Pellias said, “Not so, I shall not be hurt.”
So he went forth very boldly upon the bridge, and when the Red Knight
saw him approach, he said, “Ha! who art thou who darest to come thus
upon my bridge?”
Unto him Sir Pellias made reply, “It matters not who I am, but thou art
to know, thou discourteous knight, that I am come to inquire of thee
where thou hast disposed of that good knight Sir Brandemere, and to ask
of thee why thou didst entreat him so grievously a short time since.”
At this the Red Knight fell very full of wrath. “Ha! ha!” he cried
vehemently, “that thou shalt presently learn to thy great sorrow, for as
I have served him, so shall I quickly serve thee, so that in a little
while I shall bring thee unto him; then thou mayst ask him whatsoever
thou dost list. But seeing that thou art unarmed and without defence, I
would not do thee any bodily ill, wherefore I demand of thee that thou
shalt presently surrender thyself unto me, otherwise it will be very
greatly to thy pain and sorrow if thou compellest me to use force for to
constrain thy surrender.”
Then Sir Pellias said, “What! what! Wouldst thou thus assail a knight
who is altogether without arms or defence as I am?” And the Red Knight
said, “Assuredly shall I do so if thou dost not immediately yield
thyself unto me.”
“Then,” quoth Pellias, “thou art not fit for to be dealt with as
beseemeth a tried knight. Wherefore, should I encounter thee, thy
overthrow must be of such a sort as may shame any belted knight who
weareth golden spurs.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias overthroweth the Red Knight with a great
stone._]
Thereupon he cast about his eyes for a weapon to fit his purpose, and he
beheld how that a certain huge stone was loose upon the coping of the
bridge. Now this stone was of such a size that five men of usual
strength could hardly lift it. But Sir Pellias lifted it forth from its
place with great ease, and, raising it with both hands, he ran quickly
toward that Red Knight and flung the rock at him with much force. And
the stone smote the Red Knight upon the middle of the shield and drave
it back upon his breast, with great violence. And the force of the blow
drave the knight backward from his saddle, so that he fell down to the
earth from his horse with a terrible tumult and lay upon the bridgeway
like one who was altogether dead.
And when they within the castle who looked forth therefrom, saw that
blow, and when they beheld the overthrow of the Red Knight, they lifted
up their voices in great lamentation so that the outcry thereof was
terrible to hear.
But Sir Pellias ran with all speed to the fallen knight and set his knee
upon his breast. And he unlaced his helmet and lifted it. And he beheld
that the face of the knight was strong and comely and that he was not
altogether dead.
So when Sir Pellias saw that the Red Knight was not dead, and when he
perceived that he was about to recover his breath from the blow that he
had suffered, he drew that knight’s misericordia from its sheath and set
the point to his throat, so that when the Red Knight awoke from his
swoon he beheld death, in the countenance of Sir Pellias and in the
point of the dagger.
So when the Red Knight perceived how near death was to him he besought
Sir Pellias for mercy, saying, “Spare my life unto me!” Whereunto Sir
Pellias said, “Who art thou?” And the knight said, “I am hight Sir
Adresack, surnamed of the Seven Towers.” Then Sir Pellias said to him,
“What hast thou done unto Sir Brandemere and how doth it fare with that
good knight?” And the Red Knight replied, “He is not so seriously
wounded as you suppose.”
Now when Sir Brandemere’s lady heard this speech she was greatly exalted
with joy, so that she smote her hands together, making great cry of
thanksgiving.
But Sir Pellias said, “Now tell me, Sir Adresack, hast thou other
captives beside that knight, Sir Brandemere, at thy castle?” To which
Sir Adresack replied, “Sir Knight, I will tell thee truly; there are in
my castle one and twenty other captives besides him: to wit, eighteen
knights and esquires of degree and three ladies. For I have defended
this bridge for a long time and all who have undertaken to cross it,
those have I taken captive and held for ransom. Wherefore I have taken
great wealth and gained great estate thereby.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias layeth his injunctions upon the Red Knight._]
Then Sir Pellias said, “Thou art soothly a wicked and discourteous
knight so to serve travellers that come thy way, and I would do well for
to slay thee where thou liest. But since thou hast besought mercy of me
I will grant it unto thee, though I will do so only with great shame
unto thy knighthood. Moreover, if I spare to thee thy life there are
several things which thou must perform. First thou must go unto Queen
Guinevere at Camelot, and there must thou say unto her that the knight
who left her unarmed hath taken thine armor from thee and hath armed
himself therewith for to defend her honor. Secondly, thou must confess
thy faults unto King Arthur as thou hast confessed them unto me and thou
must beg his pardon for the same, craving that he, in his mercy, shall
spare thy life unto thee. These are the things that thou must perform.”
To this Sir Adresack said, “Very well, these things do I promise to
perform if thou wilt spare my life.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias assumes the armor of Sir Adresack._]
Then Sir Pellias permitted him to arise and he came and stood before Sir
Pellias. And Sir Pellias summoned the esquire, Ponteferet, unto him, and
he said, “Take thou this knight’s armor from off of his body and put it
upon my body as thou knowest how to do.” And Ponteferet did as Sir
Pellias bade him. For he unarmed Sir Adresack and he clothed Sir Pellias
in Sir Adresack’s armor, and Sir Adresack stood ashamed before them all.
Then Sir Pellias said unto him, “Now take me into thy castle that I may
there liberate those captives that thou so wickedly holdest as
prisoners.” And Sir Adresack said, “It shall be done as thou dost
command.”
Thereupon they all went together unto the castle and into the castle,
which was an exceedingly stately place. And there they beheld a great
many servants and attendants, and these came at the command of Sir
Adresack and bowed themselves down before Sir Pellias. Then Sir Pellias
bade Sir Adresack for to summon the keeper of the dungeon, and Sir
Adresack did so. And Sir Pellias commanded the keeper that he should
conduct them unto the dungeon, and the keeper bowed down before him in
obedience.
Now when they had come to that dungeon they beheld it to be a very lofty
place and exceedingly strong. And there they found Sir Brandemere and
those others of whom Sir Adresack had spoken.
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias liberates the captives._]
But when that sorrowful lady perceived Sir Brandemere, she ran unto him
with great voice of rejoicing and embraced him and wept over him. And he
embraced her and wept and altogether forgot his hurt in the joy of
beholding her again.
And in the several apartments of that part of the castle, there were in
all eighteen knights and esquires, and three ladies besides Sir
Brandemere. Moreover, amongst those knights were two from King Arthur’s
Court: to wit, Sir Brandiles and Sir Mador de la Porte. Whereupon these
beholding that it was Sir Pellias who had liberated them, came to him
and embraced him with great joy and kissed him upon either cheek.
And all those who were liberated made great rejoicing and gave Sir
Pellias such praise and acclaim that he was greatly contented therewith.
Then when Sir Pellias beheld all those captives who were in the dungeon
he was very wroth with Sir Adresack, wherefore he turned unto him and
said, “Begone, Sir Knight, for to do that penance which I imposed upon
thee to perform, for I am very greatly displeased with thee, and fear me
lest I should repent me of my mercy to thee.”
Thereupon Sir Adresack turned him away and he immediately departed from
that place. And he called to him his esquire and he took him and rode
away to Camelot for to do that penance which he had promised Sir Pellias
to do.
Then, after he was gone, Sir Pellias and those captives whom he had
liberated, went through the divers parts of the castle. And there they
found thirteen chests of gold and silver money and four caskets of
jewels--very fine and of great brilliancy--all of which treasure had
been paid in ransom by those captives who had aforetime been violently
held prisoners at that place.
And Sir Pellias ordained that all those chests and caskets should be
opened, and when those who were there looked therein, the hearts of all
were wonderfully exalted with joy at the sight of that great treasure.
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias divideth the treasures of Sir Adresack among the
captives._]
Then Sir Pellias commanded that all that treasure of gold and silver
should be divided into nineteen equal parts, and when it had been so
divided, he said, “Now let each of you who have been held captive in
this place, take for his own one part of that treasure as a recompense
for those sorrows which he hath endured.” Moreover, to each of the
ladies who had been held as captives in that place, he gave a casket of
jewels, saying unto her, “Take thou this casket of jewels as a
recompense for that sorrow which thou hast suffered. And unto Sir
Brandemere’s lady he gave a casket of the jewels for that which she had
endured.
But then those who were there beheld that Sir Pellias reserved no part
of that great treasure for himself, they all cried out upon him: “Sir
Knight! Sir Knight! How is this? Behold, thou hast set aside no part of
this treasure for thyself.”
Then Sir Pellias made answer: “You are right, I have not so. For it
needs not that I take any of this gold and silver, or any of these
jewels, for myself. For, behold! ye have suffered much at the hands of
Sir Adresack, wherefore ye should receive recompense therefore, but I
have suffered naught at his hands, wherefore I need no such recompense.”
Then were they all astonished at his generosity and gave him great
praise for his largeness of heart. And all those knights vowed unto him
fidelity unto death.
[Sidenote: _They abide at the castle of Sir Brandemere._]
Then, when all these things were accomplished, Sir Brandemere implored
all who were there that they would come with him unto his castle, so
that they might refresh themselves with a season of mirth and good
faring. And they all said that they would go with him, and they did go.
And at the castle of Sir Brandemere there was great rejoicing with
feasting and jousting for three days.
And all who were there loved Sir Pellias with an astonishing love
because of that collar of emeralds and opals and of gold. Yet no one
knew of the virtue of that collar, nor did Sir Pellias know of it.
So Sir Pellias abided at that place for three days. And when the fourth
day was come he arose betimes in the morning and bade saddle his horse,
and the palfrey of the damsel Parcenet, and the horses of their pages.
Then when all those who were there saw that he was minded to depart,
they besought him not to go, but Sir Pellias said, “Stay me not, for I
must go.”
Then came to him those two knights of Arthur’s Court, Sir Brandiles and
Sir Mador de la Porte, and they besought him that he would let them go
with him upon that adventure. And at first Sir Pellias forbade them but
they besought him the more, so that at last he was fain to say, “Ye
shall go with me.”
So he departed from that place with his company, and all those who
remained gave great sorrow that he had gone away.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: Parcenet covers Sir Pellias with a cloak.]
[Illustration] Chapter Third.
_How Sir Pellias Did Battle With Sir Engamore, Otherwise the Knight of
the Green Sleeves, and of What Befell the Lady Ettard._
Now, Sir Pellias and his party and the damsel Parcenet and her party
travelled onward until after awhile in the afternoon they came unto the
utmost boundaries of the forest, where the woodlands ceased altogether
and many fields and meadows, with farms and crofts and plantations of
trees all a-bloom with tender leaves and fragrant blossoms, lay spread
out beneath the sky.
And Sir Pellias said, “This is indeed a very beautiful land into which
we have come.” Whereat the damsel Parcenet was right well pleased, for
she said, “Sir, I am very glad that that which thou seest belikes thee;
for all this region belongeth unto the Lady Ettard, and it is my home.
Moreover, from the top of yonder hill one mayst behold the castle of
Grantmesnle which lieth in the valley beneath.” Then Sir Pellias said,
“Let us make haste! For I am wonderfully desirous of beholding that
place.”
[Sidenote: _They reach Grantmesnle._]
So they set spurs to their horses and rode up that hill at a hand
gallop. And when they had reached the top thereof, lo! beneath them lay
the Castle of Grantmesnle in such a wise that it was as though upon the
palm of a hand. And Sir Pellias beheld that it was an exceedingly fair
castle, built altogether without of a red stone, and containing many
buildings of red brick within the wall. And behind the walls there lay a
little town, and from where they stood they could behold the streets
thereof, and the people coming and going upon their businesses. So Sir
Pellias, beholding the excellence of that castle, said, “Certes, maiden,
yonder is a very fair estate.”
“Yea,” said Parcenet; “we who dwell there do hold it to be a very
excellent estate.”
Then Sir Pellias said to Parcenet: “Maiden, yonder glade of young trees
nigh unto the castle appeareth to be a very cheerful spot. Wherefore at
that place I and my companions in arms will take up our inn. There,
likewise, we will cause to be set up three pavilions for to shelter us
by day and by night. Meantime, I beseech of thee, that thou wilt go unto
the lady, thy mistress, and say unto her that a knight hath come unto
this place, who, albeit he knoweth her not, holdeth that the Lady
Guinevere of Camelot is the fairest lady in all of the world. And I
beseech thee to tell the lady that I am here to maintain that saying
against all comers at the peril of my body. Wherefore, if the lady have
any champion for to undertake battle in her behalf, him will I meet in
yonder field to-morrow at mid-day a little before I eat my mid-day meal.
For at that time I do propose for to enter into yonder field, and to
make parade therein until my friends bid me for to come in to my dinner;
and I shall take my stand in that place in honor of the Lady Guinevere
of Camelot.”
“Sir Pellias,” said the damsel, “I will even do as thou desirest of me.
And, though I may not wish that thou mayst be the victor in that
encounter, yet am I soothly sorry for to depart from thee. For thou art
both a very valiant and a very gentle knight, and I find that I have a
great friendship for thee.”
Then Sir Pellias laughed, and he said, “Parcenet, thou art minded to
give me praise that is far beyond my deserving.” And Parcenet said,
“Sir, not so, for thou dost deserve all that I may say to thy credit.”
Thereupon they twain took leave of one another with very good will and
much kindness of intention, and the maiden and the three pages went the
one way, and Sir Pellias and his two companions and the several
attendants they had brought with them went into the glade of young trees
as Sir Pellias had ordained.
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias and his knights-companion take up their inn in a
glade of trees._]
And there they set up three pavilions in the shade of the trees; the one
pavilion of fair white cloth, the second of green cloth, and the third
of scarlet cloth. And over each pavilion they had set a banner
emblazoned with the device of that knight unto whom the pavilion
appertained: above the white pavilion was the device of Sir Pellias: to
wit, three swans displayed upon a field argent; above the red pavilion,
which was the pavilion of Sir Brandiles, was a red banner emblazoned
with his device: to-wit, a mailed hand holding in its grasp a hammer;
above the green pavilion, which was that of Sir Mador de la Porte, was a
green banner bearing his device, which was that of a carrion crow
holding in one hand a white lily flower and in the other a sword.
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias issues challenge to Sir Engamore._]
So when the next day had come, and when mid-day was nigh at hand, Sir
Pellias went forth into that field before the castle as he had promised
taken from the body of Sir Adresack, so that in that armor he presented
a very terrible appearance. So he rode up and down before the castle
walls for a considerable while crying in a loud voice, “What ho! What
ho! Here stands a knight of King Arthur’s Court and of his Round Table
who doth affirm, and is ready to maintain the same with his body, that
the Lady Guinevere, King Arthur’s Queen of Camelot, is the most
beautiful lady in all of the world, barring none whomsoever. Wherefore,
if any knight maintaineth otherwise, let him straightway come forth for
to defend his opinion with his body.”
Now after Sir Pellias had thus appeared in that meadow there fell a
great commotion within the castle, and many people came upon the walls
thereof and gazed down upon Sir Pellias where he paraded that field. And
after a time had passed, the drawbridge of the castle was let fall, and
there issued forth a knight, very huge of frame and exceedingly haughty
of demeanor. This knight was clad altogether from head to foot in green
armor, and upon either arm he wore a green sleeve, whence he was
sometimes entitled the Knight of the Green Sleeves.
So that Green Knight rode forward toward Sir Pellias, and Sir Pellias
rode forward unto the Green Knight, and when they had come together they
gave salute with a great deal of civility and knightly courtesy. Then
the Green Knight said unto Sir Pellias, “Sir Knight, wilt thou allow
unto me the great favor for to know thy name?”
Whereunto Sir Pellias made reply, “That will I so. I am Sir Pellias, a
knight of King Arthur’s Court and of his Round Table.”
Then the Green Knight made reply, “Ha, Sir Pellias, it is a great honor
for me to have to do with so famous a knight, for who is there in Courts
of Chivalry who hath not heard of thee? Now, if I have the good fortune
for to overthrow thee, then will all thy honor become my honor. Now, in
return for thy courtesy for making proclamation of thy name, I give unto
thee my name and title, which is Sir Engamore of Malverat, further known
as the Knight of the Green Sleeves. And I may furthermore tell thee that
I am the champion unto the Lady Ettard of Grantmesnle, and that I have
defended her credit unto peerless beauty for eleven months, and that
against all comers, wherefore if I do successfully defend it for one
month longer, then do I become lord of her hand and of all this fair
estate. So I am prepared to do the uttermost in my power in her honor.”
Then Sir Pellias said, “Sir Knight, I give thee gramercy for thy words
of greeting, and I too will do my uttermost in this encounter.”
Thereupon each knight saluted each other with his lance, and each rode
to his appointed station.
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias overthrows Sir Engamore._]
Now a great concourse of people had come down to the lower walls of the
castle and of the town for to behold the contest of arms that was
toward, wherefore it would be hard to imagine a more worthy occasion
where knights might meet in a glorious contest of friendly jousting,
wherefore each knight prepared himself in all ways, and dressed him his
spear and his lance with great care and circumspection. So when all had
been prepared for that encounter, an herald, who had come forth from the
castle into the field, give the signal for assault. Thereupon in an
instant, each knight drave spurs into his horse and rushed the one
against the other, with such terrible speed that the ground shook and
trembled beneath the beating of their horses’ feet. So they met exactly
in the centre of the field of battle, the one knight smiting the other
in the midst of his defences with a violence that was very terrible to
behold. And the spear of Sir Engamore burst into as many as thirty
pieces, but the spear of Sir Pellias held so that the Green Knight was
hurtled so violently from out of his saddle that he smote the earth
above a spear’s length behind the crupper of his horse.
Now when those who had stood upon the walls beheld how entirely the
Green Knight was overthrown in the encounter, they lifted up their
voices in great outcry; for there was no other such knight as Sir
Engamore in all those parts. And more especially did the Lady Ettard
make great outcry; for Sir Engamore was very much beloved by her;
wherefore, seeing him so violently flung down upon the ground, she
deemed that perhaps he had been slain.
Then three esquires ran to Sir Engamore and lifted him up and unlaced
his helm for to give him air. And they beheld that he was not slain, but
only in a deep swoon. So by and by he opened his eyes, and at that Sir
Pellias was right glad, for it would have grieved him had he slain that
knight. Now when Sir Engamore came back unto his senses once more, he
demanded with great vehemence that he might continue that contest with
Sir Pellias afoot and with swords. But Sir Pellias would not have it so.
“Nay, Sir Engamore,” quoth he, “I will not fight thee so serious a
quarrel as that, for I have no such despite against thee.” And at that
denial Sir Engamore fell a weeping from pure vexation and shame of his
entire overthrow.
Then came Sir Brandiles and Sir Mador de la Porte and gave Sir Pellias
great acclaim for the excellent manner in which he had borne himself in
the encounter, and at the same time they offered consolation unto Sir
Engamore and comforted him for the misfortune that had befallen him.
But Sir Engamore would take but little comfort in their words.
Now whiles they thus stood all together, there issued out from the
castle the Lady Ettard and an exceedingly gay and comely Court of
esquires and ladies, and these came across the meadow toward where Sir
Pellias and the others stood.
Then when Sir Pellias beheld that lady approach, he drew his
misericordia and cut the thongs of his helmet, and took the helmet off
of his head, and thus he went forward, bareheaded, for to meet her.
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias greets the Lady Ettard in courteous wise._]
But when he had come nigh to her he beheld that she was many times more
beautiful than that image of her painted upon the ivory panel which he
had aforetime beheld, wherefore his heart went forth unto her with a
very great strength of liking. So therewith he kneeled down upon the
grass and set his hands together palm to palm, before her, and he said:
“Lady, I do very greatly crave thy forgiveness that I should thus have
done battle against thy credit. For, excepting that I did that endeavor
for my Queen, I would rather, in another case, have been thy champion
than that of any lady whom I have ever beheld.”
Now at that time Sir Pellias wore about his neck the collar of emeralds
and opal stones and gold which the Lady of the Lake had given to him.
Wherefore, when the Lady Ettard looked upon him, that necklace drew her
heart unto him with very great enchantment. Wherefore she smiled upon
Sir Pellias very cheerfully and gave him her hand and caused him to
arise from that place where he kneeled. And she said to him, “Sir
Knight, thou art a very famous warrior; for I suppose there is not
anybody who knoweth aught of chivalry but hath heard of the fame of Sir
Pellias, the Gentle Knight. Wherefore, though my champion Sir Engamore
of Malverat hath heretofore overthrown all comers, yet he need not feel
very much ashamed to have been overthrown by so terribly strong a
knight.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias and his knights-companion go to the castle of
Grantmesnle._]
Then Sir Pellias was very glad of the kind words which the Lady Ettard
spake unto him, and therewith he made her known unto Sir Brandiles and
Sir Mador de la Porte. Unto these knights also, the Lady Ettard spake
very graciously, being moved thereto by the extraordinary regard she
felt toward Sir Pellias. So she besought those knights that they would
come into the castle and refresh themselves, with good cheer, and with
that, the knights said that they would presently do so. Wherefore they
returned each knight unto his pavilion, and there each bedight himself
with fine raiment and with ornaments of gold and silver in such a
fashion that he was noble company for any Court. Then those three
knights betook themselves unto the castle of Grantmesnle, and when they
had come thither everybody was astonished at the nobility of their
aspect.
But Sir Engamore, who had by now recovered from his fall, was greatly
cast down, for he said unto himself, “Who am I in the presence of these
noble lords?” So he stood aside and was very downcast of heart and
oppressed in his spirits.
Then the Lady Ettard set a very fine feast and Sir Pellias and Sir
Brandiles and Sir Mador de la Porte were exceedingly glad thereof. And
upon her right hand she placed Sir Pellias, and upon her left hand she
placed Sir Engamore. And Sir Engamore was still more cast down, for,
until now, he had always sat upon the right hand of the Lady Ettard.
Now because Sir Pellias wore that wonderful collar which the Lady of the
Lake had given unto him, the Lady Ettard could not keep her regard from
him. So after they had refreshed themselves and had gone forth into the
castle pleasaunce for to walk in the warm sunshine, the lady would have
Sir Pellias continually beside her. And when it came time for those
foreign knights to quit the castle, she besought Sir Pellias that he
would stay a while longer. Now Sir Pellias was very glad to do that, for
he was pleased beyond measure with the graciousness and the beauty of
the Lady Ettard.
So by and by Sir Brandiles and Sir Mador de la Porte went back unto
their pavilions, and Sir Pellias remained in the castle of Grantmesnle
for a while longer.
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias and the Lady Ettard feast together._]
Now that night the Lady Ettard let to be made a supper for herself and
Sir Pellias, and at that supper she and Sir Pellias alone sat at the
table, and the damsel Parcenet waited in attendance upon the lady.
Whiles they ate, certain young pages and esquires played very sweetly
upon harps, and certain maidens who were attendant upon the Court of the
lady sang so sweetly that it expanded the heart of the listener to hear
them. And Sir Pellias was so enchanted with the sweetness of the music,
and with the beauty of the Lady Ettard, that he wist not whether he were
indeed upon the earth or in Paradise, wherefore, because of his great
pleasure, he said unto the Lady Ettard, “Lady, I would that I might do
somewhat for thee to show unto thee how high is the regard and the honor
in which I hold thee.”
Now as Sir Pellias sat beside her, the Lady Ettard had continually held
in observation that wonderful collar of gold and of emerald and of opal
stones which hung about his neck; and she coveted that collar
exceedingly. Wherefore, she now said unto Sir Pellias, “Sir Knight, thou
mayst indeed do me great favor if thou hast a mind for to do so.” “What
favor may I do thee, Lady?” said Sir Pellias. “Sir,” said the Lady
Ettard, “thou mayst give unto me that collar which hangeth about thy
neck.”
At this the countenance of Sir Pellias fell, and he said, “Lady, I may
not do that; for that collar came unto me in such an extraordinary
fashion that I may not part it from me.”
Then the Lady Ettard said, “Why mayst thou not part it from thee, Sir
Pellias?”
Thereupon Sir Pellias told her all of that extraordinary adventure with
the Lady of the Lake, and of how that fairy lady had given the collar
unto him.
At this the Lady Ettard was greatly astonished, and she said, “Sir
Pellias, that is a very wonderful story. Ne’theless, though thou mayst
not give that collar unto me, yet thou mayst let me wear it for a little
while. For indeed I am charmed by the beauty of that collar beyond all
manner of liking, wherefore I do beseech thee for to let me wear it for
a little.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias lets the Lady Ettard wear the collar._]
Then Sir Pellias could refuse her no longer, so he said, “Lady, thou
shalt have it to wear for a while.” Thereupon he took the collar from
off of his neck, and he hung it about the neck of the Lady Ettard.
Then, after a little time the virtue of that jewel departed from Sir
Pellias and entered into the Lady Ettard, and the Lady Ettard looked
upon Sir Pellias with altogether different eyes than those with which
she had before regarded him. Wherefore she said unto herself: “Hah! what
ailed me that I should have been so enchanted with that knight to the
discredit of my champion who hath served me so faithfully? Hath not this
knight done me grievous discredit? Hath he not come hitherward for no
other reason than for that purpose? Hath he not overthrown mine own true
knight in scorn of me? What then hath ailed me that I should have given
him such regard as I have bestowed upon him?” But though she thought all
this, yet she made no sign thereof unto Sir Pellias, but appeared to
laugh and talk very cheerfully. Nevertheless, she immediately began to
cast about in her mind for some means whereby she might be revenged upon
Sir Pellias; for she said unto herself, “Lo! is he not mine enemy and is
not mine enemy now in my power? Wherefore should I not take full measure
of revenge upon him for all that which he hath done unto us of
Grantmesnle?”
[Sidenote: _The Lady Ettard layeth plans against Sir Pellias._]
So by and by she made an excuse and arose and left Sir Pellias. And and
fetch me hither presently a powerful sleeping-draught.” Then Parcenet
said, “Lady, what would you do?” And the Lady Ettard said, “No matter.”
And Parcenet said, “Would you give unto that noble knight a
sleeping-draught?” And the lady said, “I would.” Then Parcenet said,
“Lady, that would surely be an ill thing to do unto one who sitteth in
peace at your table and eateth of your salt.” Whereunto the Lady Ettard
said, “Take thou no care as to that, girl, but go thou straightway and
do as I bid thee.”
Then Parcenet saw that it was not wise for her to disobey the lady.
Wherefore she went straightway and did as she was bidden. So she brought
the sleeping-draught to the lady in a chalice of pure wine, and the Lady
Ettard took the chalice and said to Sir Pellias, “Take thou this chalice
of wine, Sir Knight, and drink it unto me according to the measure of
that good will thou hast unto me.” Now Parcenet stood behind her lady’s
chair, and when Sir Pellias took the chalice she frowned and shook her
head at him. But Sir Pellias saw it not, for he was intoxicated with the
beauty of the Lady Ettard, and with the enchantment of the collar of
emeralds and opal stones and gold which she now wore. Wherefore he said
unto her, “Lady, if there were poison in that chalice, yet would I drink
of the wine that is in it at thy command.”
At that the Lady Ettard fell a-laughing beyond measure, and she said,
“Sir Knight, there is no poison in that cup.”
So Sir Pellias took the chalice and drank the wine, and he said, “Lady,
how is this? The wine is bitter.” To which the Lady Ettard made reply,
“Sir, that cannot be.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias sleepeth._]
Then in a little while Sir Pellias his head waxed exceedingly heavy as
if it were of lead, wherefore he bowed his head upon the table where he
sat. That while the Lady Ettard remained watching him very strangely,
and by and by she said, “Sir Knight, dost thou sleep?” To the which Sir
Pellias replied not, for the fumes of the sleeping-draught had ascended
into his brains and he slept.
Then the Lady Ettard arose laughing, and she smote her hands together
and summoned her attendants. And she said to them, “Take this knight
away, and convey him into an inner apartment, and when ye have brought
him thither, strip him of his gay clothes and of his ornaments so that
only his undergarments shall remain upon him. And when ye have done
that, lay him upon a pallet and convey him out of the castle and into
that meadow beneath the walls where he overthrew Sir Engamore, so that
when the morning shall arise he shall become a mock and a jest unto all
who shall behold him. Thus shall we humiliate him in that same field
wherein he overthrew Sir Engamore, and his humiliation shall be greater
than the humiliation of Sir Engamore hath been.”
Now when the damsel Parcenet heard this she was greatly afflicted, so
that she withdrew herself apart and wept for Sir Pellias. But the others
took Sir Pellias and did unto him as the Lady Ettard had commanded.
Now when the next morning had come, Sir Pellias awoke with the sun
shining into his face. And he wist not at all where he was, for his
brains were befogged by the sleeping-draught which he had taken. So he
said unto himself, “Am I dreaming, or am I awake? for certes, the last
that I remember was that I sat at supper with the Lady Ettard, yet here
I am now in an open field with the sun shining upon me.”
So he raised himself upon his elbow, and behold! he lay beneath the
castle walls nigh to the postern gate. And above him, upon the top of
the wall, was a great concourse of people, who, when they beheld that he
was awake, laughed at him and mocked at him. And the Lady Ettard also
gazed down at him from a window and he saw that she laughed at him and
made herself merry. And lo! he beheld that he lay there clad only in his
linen undervestment, and that he was in his bare feet as though he were
prepared to sleep at night. So he sat upon the cot, saying unto himself,
“Certainly this must be some shameful dream that oppresses me.” Nor was
he at all able to recover from his bewilderment.
[Sidenote: _The damsel Parcenet bringeth succor to Sir Pellias._]
Now, as he sat thus, the postern gate was opened of a sudden, and the
damsel Parcenet came out thence. And her face was all be-wet with tears,
and she bare in her hand a flame-colored mantle. Straightway she ran to
Sir Pellias, and said, “Thou good and gentle knight, take thou this and
wrap thyself in it.”
Upon this Sir Pellias wist that this was no dream, but a truth of great
shame; wherefore he was possessed with an extreme agony of shame, so
that he fell to trembling, whilst his teeth chattered as though with an
ague. Then he said to Parcenet, “Maiden, I thank thee.” And he could
find no more words to say. So he took the mantle and wrapped himself in
it.
Now when the people upon the walls beheld what Parcenet had done, they
hooted her and reviled her with many words of ill-regard. So the maiden
ran back again into the castle, but Sir Pellias arose and went his way
toward his pavilion wrapped in that mantle. And as he went he staggered
and tottered like a drunken man, for a great burden of shame lay upon
him almost more than he could carry.
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias taketh great grief because of his shame._]
So when Sir Pellias had reached his pavilion, he entered it and threw
himself on his face upon his couch and lay there without saying
anything. And by and by Sir Brandiles and Mador de la Porte heard of
that plight into which Sir Pellias had fallen, and thereupon they
hastened to where he lay and made much sorrow over him. Likewise, they
were exceedingly wroth at the shame that had been put upon him;
wherefore they said, “We will get us aid from Camelot, and we will burst
open yonder castle and we will fetch the Lady Ettard hither to crave thy
pardon for this affront. This we will do even if we have to drag her
hither by the hair of her head.”
But Sir Pellias lifted not his head, only he groaned and he said, “Let
be, Messires; for under no circumstance shall ye do that thing, she
being a woman. As it is, I would defend her honor even though I died in
that defence. For I know not whether I am bewitched or what it is that
ails me, but I love her with a very great passion and I cannot tear my
heart away from her.”
At this Sir Brandiles and Sir Mador de la Porte were greatly astonished,
wherefore they said the one to the other, “Certes, that lady hath laid
some powerful spell upon him.”
Then after a while Sir Pellias bade them go away and leave him, and they
did so, though not with any very good will.
So Sir Pellias lay there for all that day until the afternoon had come.
Then he aroused himself and bade his esquire for to bring him his armor.
Now when Sir Brandiles and Sir Mador de la Porte heard news of this they
went to where he was and said, “Sir, what have ye a mind to do?” To this
Sir Pellias said, “I am going to try to win me unto the Lady Ettard’s
presence.” Then they said, “What madness is this?” “I know not,” said
Sir Pellias, “but, meseems, that if I do not behold the Lady Ettard and
talk with her I shall surely die of longing to see her.” And they say,
“Certes, this is madness.” Whereunto he replied, “I know not whether it
is madness or whether I am caught in some enchantment.”
So the esquire fetched unto Sir Pellias his armor as he had commanded,
and he clad Sir Pellias in it so that he was altogether armed from head
to foot. Thereupon straightway Sir Pellias mounted his horse and rode
out toward the castle of Grantmesnle.
Now when the Lady Ettard beheld Sir Pellias again parading the meadow
below the castle, she called unto her six of her best knights, and she
said unto them, “Behold, Messires, yonder is that knight who brought so
much shame upon us yesterday. Now I bid ye for to go forth against him
and to punish him as he deserveth.”
So those six knights went and armed themselves, and when they had done
so they straightway rode forth against Sir Pellias.
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias overcometh six knights._]
Now, when Sir Pellias beheld these approach, his heart overflowed with
fury and he shouted in a great voice and drave forward against them. And
for a while they withstood him, but he was not to be withstood, but
fought with surpassing fury, wherefore they presently brake from before
him and fled. So he pursued them with great fury about that field and
smote four of them down from their horses. Then, when there were but two
of those knights remaining, Sir Pellias of a sudden ceased to fight, and
he cried out unto those two knights, “Messires, I surrender myself unto
ye.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias yields himself prisoner._]
Now at that those two knights were greatly astonished, for they were
entirely filled with the fear of his strength, and wist not why he
should yield to them. Nevertheless they came and laid hands upon him and
took him toward the castle. Upon this Sir Pellias said unto himself,
“Now they will bring me unto the Lady Ettard, and I shall have speech
with her.” For it was for this that he had suffered himself to be taken
by those two knights.
But it was not to be as Sir Pellias willed it. For when they had brought
him close under the castle, the Lady Ettard called unto them from a
window in the wall. And she said, “What do you with that knight?” They
say, “We bring him to you, Lady.” Upon this she cried out very
vehemently, “Bring him not to me, but take him and tie his hands behind
his back and tie his feet beneath his horse’s belly, and send him back
unto his companions.”
Then Sir Pellias lifted up his eyes unto that window and he cried out in
a great passion of despair, “Lady, it was unto thee I surrendered, and
not unto these unworthy knights.”
But the Lady Ettard cried out all the more vehemently, “Drive him hence,
for I do hate the sight of him.”
[Sidenote: _The Lady Ettard puts shame upon Sir Pellias._]
So those two knights did as the Lady Ettard said; they took Sir Pellias
and bound him hand and foot upon his horse. And when they had done so
they allowed his horse for to bear him back again unto his companions in
that wise.
Now when Sir Brandiles and Sir Mador de la Porte beheld how Sir Pellias
came unto them with his hands bound behind his back and his feet tied
beneath his horse’s belly, they were altogether filled with grief and
despair. So they loosed those cords from about his hands and feet, and
they cried out upon Sir Pellias, “Sir Knight, Sir Knight, art thou not
ashamed to permit such infamy as this?” And Sir Pellias shook and
trembled as though with an ague, and he cried out in great despair, “I
care not what happens unto me!” They said, “Not unto thyself, Sir
Knight; but what shame dost thou bring upon King Arthur and his Round
Table!” Upon this Sir Pellias cried aloud, with a great and terrible
voice, “I care not for them, either.”
All of this befell because of the powerful enchantment of the collar of
emeralds and opal stones and of gold which Sir Pellias had given unto
the Lady Ettard, and which she continually wore. For it was beyond the
power of any man to withstand the enchantment of that collar. So it was
that Sir Pellias was bewitched and brought to that great pass of shame.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: The Lady of the Lake sits by the Fountain in Arroy.]
[Illustration] Chapter Fourth.
_How Queen Guinevere Quarrelled With Sir Gawaine, and How Sir Gawaine
Left the Court of King Arthur For a While._
Now, in the same measure that Queen Guinevere felt high regard for Sir
Pellias, in that same degree she felt misliking for Sir Gawaine. For,
though Sir Gawaine was said of many to have a silver tongue, and whiles
he could upon occasion talk in such a manner as to beguile others unto
his will, yet he was of a proud temper and very stern and haughty.
Wherefore he would not always brook that the Lady Guinevere should
command him unto her will as she did other knights of that Court.
Moreover, she could not ever forget how Sir Gawaine did deny her that
time at Cameliard when she besought him and his companions for aid, in
her time of trouble, nor how discourteous his speech had been to her
upon that occasion. So there was no great liking between these two proud
souls, for Queen Guinevere held to her way and Sir Gawaine held to his
way under all circumstances.
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine and others sit beneath the Queen’s window._]
Now it happened upon an occasion that Sir Gawaine and Sir Griflet and
Sir Constantine of Cornwall sat talking with five ladies of the Queen’s
Court in a pleached garden that lay beneath the tower of the Lady
Guinevere, and they made very pleasant discourse together. For some
whiles they would talk and make them merry with jests and contes, and
other whiles one or another would take a lute that they had with them
and would play upon it and would sing.
Now while these lords and ladies sat thus enjoying pleasant discourse
and singing in that manner, Queen Guinevere sat at a window that
overlooked the garden, and which was not very high from the ground,
wherefore she could overhear all that they said. But these lords and
ladies were altogether unaware that the Queen could overhear them, so
that they talked and laughed very freely, and the Queen greatly enjoyed
their discourse and the music that they made.
That day was extraordinarily balmy, and it being well toward the sloping
of the afternoon, those lords and ladies were clad in very gay attire.
And of all who were there Sir Gawaine was the most gayly clad, for he
was dressed in sky-blue silk embroidered with threads of silver. And Sir
Gawaine was playing upon the lute and singing a ballad in an exceedingly
pleasing voice so that Queen Guinevere, as she sat at the window beside
the open casement, was very well content for to listen to him.
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine striketh the Queen’s hound._]
Now there was a certain greyhound of which Queen Guinevere was
wonderfully fond; so much so that she had adorned its neck with a collar
of gold inset with carbuncles. At that moment the hound came running
into that garden and his feet were wet and soiled with earth. So,
hearing Sir Gawaine singing and playing upon the lute, that hound ran
unto him and leaped upon him. At this Sir Gawaine was very wroth,
wherefore he clinched his hand and smote the hound upon the head with
the knuckles thereof, so that the hound lifted up his voice with great
outcry.
But when Queen Guinevere beheld that blow she was greatly offended,
wherefore she called out from her window, “Why dost thou smite my dog,
Messire?” And those lords and ladies who were below in the garden were
very much surprised and were greatly abashed to find that the Queen was
so nigh unto them as to overhear all that they had said and to behold
all that they did.
But Sir Gawaine spake up very boldly, saying, “Thy dog affronted me,
Lady, and whosoever affronteth me, him I strike.”
Then Queen Guinevere grew very angry with Sir Gawaine, wherefore she
said, “Thy speech is over-bold, Messire,” and Sir Gawaine said, “Not
over-bold, Lady; but only bold enough for to maintain my rights.”
[Sidenote: _Of the quarrel of the Queen and Sir Gawaine._]
At this speech the Lady Guinevere’s face flamed like fire and her eyes
shone very bright and she said, “I am sure that thou dost forget unto
whom thou speakest, Sir Knight,” at the which Sir Gawaine smiled very
bitterly and said, “And thou, Lady, dost not remember that I am the son
of a king so powerful that he needs no help from any other king for to
maintain his rights.”
At these words all those who were there fell as silent as though they
were turned into stones, for that speech was exceedingly bold and
haughty. Wherefore all looked upon the ground, for they durst not look
either upon Queen Guinevere nor upon Sir Gawaine. And the Lady
Guinevere, also, was silent for a long time, endeavoring to recover
herself from that speech, and when she spake, it was as though she was
half smothered by her anger. And she said, “Sir Knight, thou art proud
and arrogant beyond measure, for I did never hear of anyone who dared
to give reply unto his Queen as thou hast spoken unto me. But this is my
Court, and I may command in it as I choose; wherefore I do now bid thee
for to begone and to show thy face no more, either here nor in Hall nor
any of the places where I hold my Court. For thou art an offence unto
me, wherefore in none of these places shalt thou have leave to show thy
face until thou dost ask my pardon for the affront which thou hast put
upon me.” Then Sir Gawaine arose and bowed very low to the Queen
Guinevere and he said, “Lady, I go. Nor will I return thitherward until
thou art willing for to tell me that thou art sorry for the discourteous
way in which thou hast entreated me now and at other times before my
peers.”
So saying, Sir Gawaine took his leave from that place, nor did he turn
his head to look behind him. And Queen Guinevere went into her chamber
and wept in secret for anger and for shame. For indeed she was greatly
grieved at what had befallen; yet was she so proud that she would in no
wise have recalled the words that she had spoken, even had she been able
for to have done so.
Now when the news of that quarrel had gone about the castle it came unto
the ears of Sir Ewaine, wherefore Sir Ewaine went straightway unto Sir
Gawaine, and asked him what was ado, and Sir Gawaine, who was like one
distraught and in great despair, told him everything. Then Sir Ewaine
said: “Thou wert certainly wrong for to speak unto the Queen as thou
didst. Nevertheless, if thou art banished from this Court, I will go
with thee, for thou art my cousin-german and my companion, and my heart
cleaveth unto thee.” So Sir Ewaine went unto King Arthur, and he said,
“Lord, my cousin, Sir Gawaine, hath been banished from this Court by the
Queen. And though I may not say that he hath not deserved that
punishment, yet I would fain crave thy leave for to go along with him.”
At this King Arthur was very grieved, but he maintained a steadfast
countenance, and said, “Messire, I will not stay thee from going where
it pleases thee. As for thy kinsman, I daresay he gave the Queen such
great offence that she could not do otherwise than as she did.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine and Sir Ewaine quit the Court._]
So both Sir Ewaine and Sir Gawaine went unto their inns and commanded
their esquires for to arm them. Then they, with their esquires, went
forth from Camelot, betaking their way toward the forest lands.
There those two knights and their esquires travelled for all that day
until the gray of the eventide, what time the birds were singing their
last songs ere closing their eyes for the night. So, finding the evening
drawing on apace, those knights were afraid that they would not be able
to find kindly lodging ere the night should descend upon them, and they
talked together a great deal concerning that thing. But as they came to
the top of a certain hill, they beheld below them a valley, very fair
and well tilled, with many cottages and farm-crofts. And in the midst of
that valley was a goodly abbey very fair to look upon; wherefore Sir
Gawaine said unto Sir Ewaine: “If yonder abbey is an abbey of monks, I
believe we shall find excellent lodging there for to-night.”
[Sidenote: _They come to an abbey of monks._]
So they rode down into that valley and to the abbey, and they found a
porter at the wicket of whom they learned that it was indeed an abbey of
monks. Wherefore they were very glad and made great rejoicing.
But when the abbot of that abbey learned who they were and of what
quality and high estate, he was exceedingly pleased for to welcome them,
wherefore he brought them into that part of the abbey where he himself
dwelt. There he bade them welcome and had set before them a good supper,
whereat they were very much rejoiced. Now the abbot was merry of soul,
and took great pleasure in discourse with strangers, so he diligently
inquired of those two knights concerning the reason why they were
errant. But they told him naught concerning that quarrel at Court, but
only that they were in search of adventure. Upon this the abbot said,
“Ha, Messires, if ye are in search of adventures, ye may find one not
very far from this place.”
[Sidenote: _The abbot telleth the knights of a good adventure._]
So Sir Gawaine said, “What adventure is that?” And the abbot replied, “I
will tell ye; if ye will travel to the eastward from this place, ye will
come, after a while, to a spot where ye shall find a very fair castle of
gray stone. In front of that castle ye will find a good level meadow,
and in the midst of the meadow a sycamore-tree, and upon the
sycamore-tree a shield to which certain ladies offer affront in a very
singular manner. If ye forbid those ladies to affront that shield you
will discover a very good adventure.”
Then Sir Gawaine said, “That is a very strange matter. Now, to-morrow
morning we will go to that place and will endeavor to discover of what
sort that adventure may be.” And the abbot said, “Do so,” and laughed in
great measure.
So when the next morning had come, Sir Gawaine and Sir Ewaine gave adieu
unto the abbot, and took their leave of that place, riding away unto the
eastward, as the abbot had advised. And after they had ridden in that
direction for two or three hours or more they beheld before them the
borders of a forest all green and shady with foliage, and very cheerful
in the warmth of the early summer day. And, lo! immediately at the edge
of the woodland there stood a fair, strong castle of gray stone, with
windows of glass shining very bright against the sky.
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine and Sir Ewaine behold the damsels assailing the
shield._]
Then Sir Gawaine and Sir Ewaine beheld that everything was as the abbot
had said; for in front of the castle was a smooth, level meadow with a
sycamore-tree in the midst thereof. And as they drew near they perceived
that a sable shield hung in the branches of the tree, and in a little
they could see that it bore the device of three white goshawks
displayed. But that which was very extraordinary was that in front of
that shield there stood seven young damsels, exceedingly fair of face,
and that these seven damsels continually offered a great deal of insult
to that shield. For some of those damsels smote it ever and anon with
peeled rods of osier, and others flung lumps of clay upon it, so that
the shield was greatly defaced therewith. Now nigh to the shield was a
very noble-appearing knight clad all in black armor, and seated upon a
black war-horse, and it was very plain to be seen that the shield
belonged unto that knight, for otherwise he had no shield. Yet, though
that was very likely his shield, yet the knight offered no protest
either by word or by act to stay those damoiselles from offering affront
thereunto.
Then Sir Ewaine said unto Sir Gawaine, “Yonder is a very strange thing
that I behold; belike one of us is to encounter yonder knight.” And Sir
Gawaine said, “Maybe so.” Then Sir Ewaine said, “If it be so then I will
undertake the adventure.” “Not so,” said Sir Gawaine, “for I will
undertake it myself, I being the elder of us twain, and the better
seasoned in knighthood.” So Sir Ewaine said, “Very well. Let it be that
way, for thou art a very much more powerful knight than I, and it would
be a pity for one of us to fail in this undertaking.” Thereupon Sir
Gawaine said, “Let be, then, and I will undertake it.”
So he set spurs to his horse and he rode rapidly to where those damsels
offered affront in that way to the sable shield. And he set his spear in
rest and shouted in a loud voice, “Get ye away! Get ye away!” So when
those damsels beheld the armed knight riding at them in that wise they
fled away shrieking from before him.
Then the Sable Knight, who sat not a great distance away, rode forward
in a very stately manner unto Sir Gawaine, and he said, “Sir Knight, why
dost thou interfere with those ladies?” Whereunto Sir Gawaine replied,
“Because they offered insult unto what appeared to me to be a noble and
knightly shield.” At this the Sable Knight spake very haughtily, saying,
“Sir Knight, that shield belongeth unto me and I do assure thee that I
am very well able for to take care of it without the interference of
any other defender.” To which Sir Gawaine said, “It would appear not,
Sir Knight.”
Then the Sable Knight said, “Messire, an thou thinkest that thou art
better able to take care of that shield than I, I think that thou
wouldst do very well to make thy words good with thy body.” To this Sir
Gawaine said, “I will do my endeavor to show thee that I am better able
to guard that shield than thou art who ownest it.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine and the Black Knight engage in battle._]
Upon this the Sable Knight, without further ado, rode unto the
sycamore-tree, and took down from thence the shield that hung there. And
he dressed the shield upon his arm and took his spear in hand and made
him ready for defence. And Sir Gawaine likewise made him ready for
defence, and then each knight took such station upon the field as
appeared unto him to be fitting.
Now, when the people of that castle perceived that a combat of arms was
toward, they crowded in great numbers to the walls, so that there were
as many as twoscore ladies and esquires and folk of different degrees
looking down upon that field of battle from the walls.
So when those knights were altogether prepared, Sir Ewaine gave the
signal for encounter and each knight shouted aloud and drave spurs into
his charger and rushed forward to the assault with a noise like thunder
for loudness.
[Sidenote: _The Black Knight overthroweth Sir Gawaine._]
Now, Sir Gawaine thought that he should easily overcome his adversary in
this assault and that he would be able to cast him down from out of his
saddle without much pains, for there was hardly any knight in that realm
equal to Sir Gawaine for prowess. And, indeed, he had never yet been
unhorsed in combat excepting by King Arthur. So when those two rode to
the assault, the one against the other, Sir Gawaine thought of a surety
that his adversary would fall before him. But it was not so, for in that
attack Sir Gawaine’s spear was broken into many pieces, but the spear of
the Sable Knight held, so that Sir Gawaine was cast with great violence
out of the saddle, smiting the dust with a terrible noise of falling.
And so astonished was he at that fall that it appeared unto him not as
though he fell from his saddle, but as though the earth rose up and
smote him. Wherefore he lay for a while all stunned with the blow and
with the astonishment thereof.
But when he heard the shouts of the people upon the castle wall, he
immediately aroused himself from where he lay in the dust, and he was so
filled with rage and shame that he was like one altogether intoxicated.
Wherefore he drew his sword and rushed with great fury upon his enemy
with intent to hew him down by main strength. Then that other knight,
seeing him come thus at him, immediately voided his own saddle and drew
his sword and put himself in posture either for assault or for defence.
So they lashed together, tracing this way and that, and smiting with
such fury that the blows they gave were most terrible for to behold. But
when Sir Ewaine beheld how fierce was that assault, he set spurs unto
his horse and pushed him between the knights-contestant, crying out
aloud, “Sir Knights! Sir Knights! what is this? Here is no cause for
such desperate battle.” But Sir Gawaine cried out very furiously, “Let
be! let be! and stand aside! for this quarrel concerns thee not.” And
the Sable Knight said, “A-horse or afoot, I am ready to meet that knight
at any time.”
But Sir Ewaine said, “Not so; ye shall fight no more in this quarrel.
For shame, Gawaine! For shame to seek such desperate quarrel with a
knight that did but meet thee in a friendly fashion in a fair contest!”
Then Sir Gawaine was aware that Sir Ewaine was both just and right;
wherefore he put up his sword in silence, albeit he was like to weep for
vexation at the shame of his overthrow. And the Sable Knight put up his
sword also, and so peace was made betwixt those two.
Then the Sable Knight said, “I am glad that this quarrel is ended, for I
perceive, Messires, that ye are assuredly knights of great nobility and
gentleness of breeding; wherefore I would that we might henceforth be
friends and companions instead of enemies. Wherefore I do beseech ye for
to come with me a little ways from here where I have taken up my inn, so
that we may rest and refresh ourselves in my pavilion.”
Unto this Sir Ewaine said, “I give thee gramercy for thy courtesy, Sir
Knight; and we will go with thee with all the pleasure that it is
possible to feel.” And Sir Gawaine said, “I am content.” So these three
knights straightway left the field of battle.
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine and Sir Ewaine come to the pavilion of the Black
Knight._]
And when they had come to the edge of the forest Sir Gawaine and Sir
Ewaine perceived a very fine pavilion of green silk set up beneath the
tree. And about that pavilion were many attendants of divers sorts all
clad in colors of green and white. So Sir Gawaine perceived that the
knight who had overthrown him was certainly someone of very high estate,
wherefore he was very greatly comforted. Then the esquires of those
three knights came and removed the helmet, each esquire from his knight,
so that the knight might be made comfortable thereby. And when this was
done Sir Gawaine and Sir Ewaine perceived that the Sable Knight was very
comely of countenance, being ruddy of face and with hair like to copper
for redness. Then Sir Ewaine said unto the knight, “Sir Unknown Knight,
this knight, my companion, is Sir Gawaine, son of King Urien of Gore,
and I am Ewaine, the son of King Lot of Orkney. Now, I crave of thee
that wilt make thyself known unto us in like manner.”
“Ha,” said the other; “I am glad that ye are such very famous and royal
knights, for I am also of royal blood, being Sir Marhaus, the son of the
King of Ireland.”
Then Sir Gawaine was very glad to discover how exalted was the quality
of that knight who overthrew him and he said unto Sir Marhaus, “Messire,
I make my vow, that thou art one of the most terrible knights in the
world. For thou hast done unto me this day what only one knight in all
the world hath ever done, and that is King Arthur, who is my uncle and
my lord. Now thou must certainly come unto the Court of King Arthur, for
he will be wonderfully glad for to see thee, and maybe he will make thee
a Knight of his Round Table--and there is no honor in all of the world
that can be so great as that.” Thus he spoke unthinkingly; and then he
remembered. Wherefore he smote his fist against his forehead, crying
out, “Aha! aha! who am I for to bid thee to come unto the Court of King
Arthur, who only yesterday was disgraced and banished therefrom?”
Then Sir Marhaus was very sorry for Sir Gawaine, and he inquired
concerning the trouble that lay upon him, and Sir Ewaine told Sir
Marhaus all about that quarrel; at that Sir Marhaus was still more sorry
for Sir Gawaine, wherefore he said, “Messires, I like ye both
wonderfully well, and I would fain become your companion in the
adventures ye are to undertake. For now I need remain here no longer. Ye
must know that I was obliged to defend those ladies who assailed my
shield until I had overthrown seven knights in their behalf. And I must
tell ye that Sir Gawaine was the seventh knight I have overthrown.
Wherefore, since I have now overthrown him, I am now released from my
obligation and may go with ye.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Marhaus telleth his story._]
Then Sir Gawaine and Sir Ewaine were very much astonished that any
knight should lie beneath so strange an obligation as that--to defend
those who assailed his shield--and they besought Sir Marhaus to tell
them why he should have been obliged to fulfil such a pledge. So Sir
Marhaus said, “I will tell ye. The case was this: Some whiles ago I was
travelling in these parts with a hawk upon my wrist. At that time I was
clad very lightly in holiday attire, to wit: I wore a tunic of green
silk, and hosen one of green and one of white. And I had nothing upon me
by way of defence but a light buckler and a short sword. Now, coming
unto a certain stream of water, very deep and rapid, I perceived before
me a bridge of stone crossing that stream, but so narrow that only one
horseman might cross the bridge at a time. So I entered upon that bridge
and was part way across it, when I perceived a knight in armor coming
the other way. And behind the knight there sat upon a pillion a very
fair lady with golden hair and very proud of demeanor. Now, when that
knight perceived me upon the bridge, he cried aloud, ‘Get back! get
back! and suffer me to pass!’ But this I would not do, but said, ‘Not
so, Sir Knight, for, having advanced so far upon this bridge, I have
certes the right of way to complete my passage, and it is for you to
wait and to permit me to cross.’ But the knight would not do so, but
immediately put himself in posture of offence and straightway came
against me upon the bridge with intent either to slay me or to drive me
back unto the other extremity of the bridge. But this he was not able to
do, for I defended myself very well with my light weapons. And I so
pushed my horse against his horse that I drave him backward from off the
bridge and into the water, whereinto the horse and the knight and the
lady all of them fell with a terrible uproar.
“At this the lady shrieked in great measure and both she and the knight
were like to drown in the water, the knight being altogether clad in
armor, so that he could not uplift himself above the flood. Wherefore,
beholding their extremity, I leaped from off my horse and into the
water, and with great ado and with much danger unto myself, I was able
to bring them both unto the land.
“But that lady was very greatly offended with me, for her fair raiment
was altogether wet and spoiled by the water, wherefore she upbraided me
with great vehemence. So I kneeled down before her and besought her
pardon with all humility, but she still continued to upbraid me. Then I
offered unto her for to perform any penance that she might set upon me.
At this the lady appeared to be greatly mollified, for she said, ‘Very
well, I will set thee a penance,’ and when her knight had recovered she
said, ‘Come with us,’ and so I mounted my horse and followed them. So
after we had gone a considerable distance we came to this place and here
she commanded me as follows: ‘Sir Knight,’ quoth she, ‘this castle
belongeth unto me and unto this knight who is my lord. Now, this shall
be the penance for the affront thou hast given me: thou shalt take thy
shield and hang it up in yonder sycamore-tree and every day I will send
certain damsels of mine own out from the castle. And they shall offend
against that shield and thou shalt not only suffer whatever offence they
may offer, but thou shalt defend them against all comers until thou hast
overcome seven knights.’
“So I have done until this morning, when thou, Sir Gawaine, camest
hither. Thou art the seventh knight against whom I have contended, and
as I have overcome thee, my penance is now ended and I am free.”
Then Sir Gawaine and Sir Ewaine gave Sir Marhaus great joy that his
penance was completed, and they were very well satisfied each party with
the others. So Sir Gawaine and Sir Ewaine abided that night in the
pavilion of Sir Marhaus and the next morning they arose and, having
laved themselves in a forest stream, they departed from that place where
they were.
So they entered the forest land once more and made their way by certain
paths, they knew not whitherward; and they travelled all that morning
and until the afternoon was come.
[Sidenote: _The three knights enter the Forest of Adventure._]
Now, as they travelled thus Sir Marhaus said of a sudden, “Messires,
know ye where we are come to?” “Nay,” they said, “we know not.” Then Sir
Marhaus said, “This part of the forest is called Arroy and it is further
called ‘The Forest of Adventure.’ For it is very well known that when a
knight, or a party of knights enter this forest, they will assuredly
meet with an adventure of some sort, from which some come forth with
credit while others fail therein.” And Sir Ewaine said, “I am glad that
we have come hither. Now let us go forward into this forest.”
So those three knights and their esquires continued onward in that
woodland where was silence so deep that even the tread of their horses
upon the earth was scarcely to be heard. And there was no note of bird
and no sound of voice and hardly did any light penetrate into the gloom
of that woodland. Wherefore those knights said unto one another, “This
is soothly a very strange place and one, maybe, of enchantment.”
[Sidenote: _They behold a white fawn in the forest._]
[Sidenote: _They behold a beautiful lady in the forest._]
Now when they had come into the very midst of these dark woodlands, they
perceived of a sudden, in the pathway before them, a fawn as white as
milk. And round the neck of the fawn was a collar of pure gold. And the
fawn stood and looked at them, but when they had come nigh to it, it
turned and ran along a very narrow path. Then Sir Gawaine said, “Let us
follow that fawn and see where it goeth.” And the others said, “We are
content.” So they followed that narrow path until of a sudden they came
to where was a little open lawn very bright with sunlight. In the midst
of the lawn was a fountain of water, and there was no fawn to be seen,
but, lo! beside the fountain there sat a wonderfully beautiful lady,
clad all in garments of green. And the lady combed her hair with a
golden comb, and her hair was like to the wing of a raven for blackness.
And upon her arms she wore very wonderful bracelets of emeralds and of
opal stones inset into cunningly wrought gold. Moreover, the face of
the lady was like ivory for whiteness and her eyes were bright like
jewels set in ivory. Now, when this lady perceived the knights she arose
and laid aside her golden comb and bound up the locks of her hair with
ribbons of scarlet silk, and thereupon, she came to those knights and
gave them greeting.
Then those three knights gat them down straightway from off their
horses, and Sir Gawaine said, “Lady, I believe that thou art not of
mortal sort, but that thou art of faërie.” Unto this the lady said, “Sir
Gawaine, thou art right,” and Sir Gawaine marvelled that she should know
his name so well. Then he said to her, “Lady, who art thou?” and she
made answer, “My name is Nymue and I am the chiefest of those Ladies of
the Lake of whom thou mayst have heard. For it was I who gave unto King
Arthur his sword Excalibur; for I am very friendly unto King Arthur and
to all the noble Knights of his Court. So it is that I know ye all. And
I know that thou, Sir Marhaus, shall become one of the most famous
Knights of the Round Table.” And all they three marvelled at the lady’s
words. Then she said, “I prithee tell me what it is that ye seek in
these parts?” And they say, “We seek adventure.” “Well,” said she, “I
will bring you unto adventure, but it is Sir Gawaine who must undertake
it.” And Sir Gawaine said, “That is very glad news.” Then the lady said,
“Take me behind you upon your saddle, Sir Gawaine, and I will show unto
you that adventure.” So Sir Gawaine took the lady up behind him upon the
saddle, and lo! she brought with her a fragrance such as he had never
known before; for that fragrance was so subtle that it seemed to Sir
Gawaine that the forest gave forth that perfume which the Lady of the
Lake brought with her.
So the Lady of the Lake brought them by many devious ways out from that
part of the forest; and she brought them by sundry roads and paths until
they came out into an open country, very fruitful and pleasant to
behold; and she brought them up a very high hill, and from the top of
the hill they looked down upon a fruitful and level plain as upon a
table spread out before them. And they beheld that in the midst of the
plain was a noble castle built all of red stone and of red bricks; and
they beheld that there was a small town built also of red bricks.
[Sidenote: _The three knights behold a very singular assault-at-arms._]
Now as they sat their horses there on top of the hill they perceived of
a sudden a knight clad all in red armor who came forth from a glade of
trees. And they saw that the knight paraded the meadow that lay in front
of the castle, and they saw that he gave challenge to those within the
castle. Then they perceived that the drawbridge of the castle was
complete armor. And they beheld those ten knights assail the one knight
in red armor, and they beheld the one knight assail the ten. And they
beheld that for a while those ten withstood the one, but that he
assailed them so terribly that he smote down four of them very quickly.
Then they beheld that the rest brake and fled from before that one, and
that the Red Knight pursued the others about the meadow with great fury.
And they saw that he smote down one from out his saddle and another and
another until but two of those knights were left.
Then Sir Gawaine said, “That is certainly a very wonderful sight for to
see.” But the Lady of the Lake only smiled and said, “Wait a little.”
So they waited and they saw that when the Red Knight had smitten down
all of his enemies but those two, and that when he had put those two in
great peril of their lives, he of a sudden sheathed his sword and
surrendered himself unto them. And they saw that those two knights
brought the Red Knight to the castle, and that when they had brought him
there a lady upon the wall thereof bespake that Red Knight as with great
violence of language. And they beheld that those two knights took the
Red Knight and bound his hands behind his back, and that they bound his
feet beneath his horse’s belly, and that they drave him away from that
place.
All this they beheld from the top of that hill, and the Lady of the Lake
said unto Sir Gawaine, “There thou shalt find thy adventure, Sir
Gawaine.” And Sir Gawaine said, “I will go,” and the Lady of the Lake
said, “Do so.”
Thereupon, lo! she vanished from their sight and they were greatly
amazed.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: Sir Gawaine sups with yᵉ Lady Ettard.]
[Illustration] Chapter Fifth.
_How Sir Gawaine Met Sir Pellias and How He Promised to Aid Him With the
Lady Ettard._
Now, after that wonderful lady had disappeared from their sight in that
manner, those three knights stood for a little while altogether
astonished, for they wist not how to believe what their eyes had beheld.
Then, by and by, Sir Gawaine spake, saying, “Certes, that was a very
wonderful thing that happened to us, for in all my life I never knew so
strange a miracle to befall. Now, it is very plain that some excellent
adventure lieth in what we have seen, wherefore let us descend into
yonder valley, for there we shall doubtless discover what that signifies
which we have just now beheld. For I make my vow that I have hardly ever
seen so terribly powerful a knight as he who has just now fought yonder
battle, wherefore I can in no wise understand why, when he should so
nearly have obtained a victory over his enemies, he should have
surrendered himself to them as he did.”
And Sir Ewaine and Sir Marhaus agreed that it would be well to go down
and inquire what was the meaning of that which they had beheld.
So they three and their attendants rode down into the valley.
And they rode forward until they had come to a certain glade of trees
and there they beheld three goodly pavilions that stood there: the one
pavilion of white cloth, the second pavilion of green cloth, and the
third pavilion of scarlet cloth.
[Sidenote: _The three knights meet the two._]
Now, as the three knights-companion drew nigh to the pavilions, there
came forth two knights to meet them. And when Sir Gawaine and Sir Ewaine
saw the shields of the two, they immediately knew that they were Sir
Brandiles and Sir Mador de la Porte. And in the same manner Sir
Brandiles and Sir Mador de la Porte knew Sir Gawaine and Sir Ewaine, and
each party was very much astonished at thus meeting the other in so
strange a place. So when they came together they gave one another very
joyful greeting and clasped hands with strong love and good fellowship.
Then Sir Gawaine made Sir Marhaus acquainted with Sir Brandiles and Sir
Mador de la Porte and thereupon the five knights all went together into
those three pavilions, discoursing the while with great amity and
pleasure. And when they had come into the pavilion of Sir Brandiles they
found there spread a good refreshment of white bread and wine of
excellent savor.
Then after a while Sir Gawaine said to Sir Brandiles and Sir Mador de la
Porte, “Messires, we observed a little while ago a very singular thing;
for, as we stood together at the top of yonder hill and looked down into
this plain we beheld a single knight clad all in red armor who did
battle with ten knights. And that one knight in red armor combated the
ten with such fury that he drave them all from before him, though they
were so many and he but one. And truly I make my vow that I have hardly
ever seen a knight show such great prowess in arms as he. Yet, when he
had overcome all but two of those knights, and was in fair way to win a
clear victory, he suddenly yielded himself unto the two and suffered
them to take him and bind him and drive him with great indignity from
the field. Now, I pray ye, tell me what was the meaning of that which we
beheld, and who was that knight who fought so great a battle and yet
yielded himself so shamefully.”
At this Sir Brandiles and Sir Mador de la Porte made no answer, but
directed their looks another way, for they knew not what to say. But
when Sir Gawaine beheld that they were abashed he began more than ever
to wonder what that thing meant; wherefore he said, “What is this? Why
do ye not answer me? I bid ye tell me what is the meaning of your looks,
and who is that red knight!”
Then after a while Sir Mador de la Porte said, “I shall not tell you,
but you may come and see.”
Then Sir Gawaine began to think maybe there was something in this that
it would be better not to publish, and that, haply, he had best examine
further into the matter alone. So he said unto the other knights, “Bide
ye here a little, Messires, and I will go with Sir Mador de la Porte.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Mador de la Porte bringeth Sir Gawaine to Sir Pellias._]
So Sir Gawaine went with Sir Mador de la Porte, and Sir Mador led him
unto the white pavilion. And when they had come there Sir Mador drew
aside the curtains of the pavilion, and he said, “Enter!” and Sir
Gawaine entered.
Now, when he had come into the pavilion he perceived that a man sat upon
a couch of rushes covered with an azure cloth, and in a little he
perceived that man was Sir Pellias. But Sir Pellias saw not him
immediately, but sat with his head bowed, like one altogether
overwhelmed by a great despair.
But when Sir Gawaine beheld who it was that sat upon the couch, he was
greatly amazed and cried out, “Ha! is it thou, Sir Pellias? is it thou?”
But when Sir Pellias heard Sir Gawaine’s voice, and when he perceived
who it was that spake to him, he emitted an exceedingly bitter cry. And
sprang to his feet and ran as far away as the walls of the pavilion
would let him, and turned his face unto the walls thereof.
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine rebukes Sir Pellias._]
Then, after a while, Sir Gawaine spoke very sternly to Sir Pellias,
saying, “Messire, I am astonished and very greatly ashamed that a Knight
of King Arthur’s Royal Court and of his Round Table should behave in so
dishonorable a manner as I saw thee behave this day. For it is hardly to
be believed that a knight of such repute and nobility as thou would
suffer himself to be taken and bound by two obscure knights as thou
didst suffer thyself this day. How couldst thou bring thyself to submit
to such indignity and insult? Now, I do demand of thee that thou wilt
explain this matter unto me.”
But Sir Pellias was silent and would not make any reply. Then Sir
Gawaine cried out very fiercely, “Ha! wilt thou not answer me?” and Sir
Pellias shook his head.
Then Sir Gawaine said, still speaking very fiercely, “Messire! thou
shalt answer me one way or another! For either thou shalt tell me the
meaning of thy shameful conduct, or else thou shalt do extreme battle
with me. For I will not suffer it that thou shalt bring such shame upon
King Arthur and his Round Table without myself defending the honor and
the credit of him and of it. One while thou and I were dear friends, but
unless thou dost immediately exculpate thyself I shall hold thee in
contempt, and shall regard thee as an enemy.”
Upon this Sir Pellias spake like unto one that was nigh distracted, and
he said, “I will tell thee all.” Then he confessed everything unto Sir
Gawaine, telling all that had befallen since that time when he had left
the May Court of Queen Guinevere to enter upon this adventure, and Sir
Gawaine listened unto him with great amazement. And when Sir Pellias had
made an end of telling all that had befallen him, Sir Gawaine said,
“Certes, this is very wonderful. Indeed, I cannot understand how thou
camest to be so entangled in the charms of this lady unless she hath
bewitched thee with some great enchantment.”
Unto this Sir Pellias said, “Yea, I believe that I have been bewitched,
for I am altogether beside myself in this, and am entirely unable to
contain my passion.”
Then Sir Gawaine bethought him for a long while, considering that matter
very seriously; and by and by he said, “I have a plan, and it is this: I
will go unto the Lady Ettard myself, and will inquire diligently into
this affair. And if I find that anyone hath entangled thee in
enchantments, it will go hard with me but I will punish that one with
great dolor. For I shall not have it that another enchanter shall
beguile thee as one hath already beguiled Merlin the Wise.”
Then Sir Pellias said unto Sir Gawaine, “How wilt thou accomplish this
matter so as to gain into the presence of the Lady Ettard?”
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine advises with Sir Pellias._]
Thereupon Sir Gawaine replied, “That I will tell thee. We twain shall
exchange armor, and I will go unto the castle in thy armor. When I have
come there I shall say that I have overcome thee in an encounter, and
have taken thine armor away from thee. Then they will haply admit me
into the castle to hear my story, and I shall have speech with her.”
Then Sir Pellias said, “Very well; it shall be as thou dost ordain.”
So Sir Pellias summoned an esquire, and Sir Gawaine summoned his
esquire, and those two removed the armor from Sir Pellias, and clad Sir
Gawaine therein. After they had done that Sir Gawaine mounted upon the
horse of Sir Pellias, and rode openly into that field wherein Sir
Pellias had aforetime paraded.
Now, it happened that the Lady Ettard was at that time walking upon a
platform within the castle walls, from which place she looked down into
that meadow. So when she beheld a red knight parading in the meadow, she
thought it was Sir Pellias come thither again, and at that she was vexed
and affronted beyond all measure. Wherefore she said unto those nigh
her, “That knight vexes me so wofully that I fear me I shall fall ill of
vexation if he cometh here many more times. I would that I knew how to
rid myself of him; for already, and only an hour ago, I sent ten good
knights against him, and he overcame them all with great despatch and
with much dishonor unto them and unto me.”
So she beckoned to the Red Knight, and when he had come nigh to the
walls of the castle, she said to him, “Sir Knight, why dost thou come
hitherward to afflict me and to affront me thus? Canst thou not
understand that the more often thou comest to tease me in this manner,
the more do I hate thee?”
Then Sir Gawaine opened the umbril of his helmet and showed his face,
and the Lady Ettard saw that the Red Knight was not Sir Pellias. And Sir
Gawaine said, “Lady, I am not that one whom thou supposest me to be, but
another. For, behold! I have thine enemy’s armor upon my body, wherefore
thou mayst see that I have overcome him. For thou mayst suppose that it
is hardly to be thought that I could wear his armor unless I took it
from him by force of arms. Wherefore thou needst trouble thyself no more
about him.”
Then the Lady Ettard could not think otherwise than this knight (whom
she knew not) had indeed overthrown Sir Pellias in a bout of arms, and
had taken his armor away from him. And indeed she was exceedingly
astonished that such a thing could have happened; for it appeared to her
that Sir Pellias was one of the greatest knights in the world; wherefore
she marvelled who this knight could be who had overthrown him in battle.
So she gave command to sundry of those in attendance upon her that they
should go forth and bring that red knight into the castle and that they
should pay him great honor; for that he must assuredly be one of the
very greatest champions in the world.
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine entereth Grantmesnle._]
Thus Sir Gawaine came into the castle and was brought before the Lady
Ettard where she stood in a wonderfully large and noble hall. For that
hall was illuminated by seven tall windows of colored glass, and it was
hung around with tapestries and hangings, very rich and of a most
excellent quality, wherefore Sir Gawaine was greatly astonished at the
magnificence of all that he beheld in that place.
Now, Sir Gawaine had taken the helmet from off his head, and he bore it
under his arm and against his hip, and his head was bare so that all who
were there could see his face very plainly. Wherefore they all perceived
that he was exceedingly comely, that his eyes were as blue as steel, his
nose high and curved, and his hair and beard very dark and rich in
color. Moreover, his bearing was exceedingly steadfast and haughty, so
that those who beheld him were awed by the great knightliness of his
aspect.
Then the Lady Ettard came to Sir Gawaine and gave him her hand, and he
kneeled down and set it to his lips. And the lady bespoke him very
graciously, saying, “Sir Knight, it would give me a great deal of
pleasure if thou wouldst make us acquainted with thy name, and if thou
wouldst proclaim thy degree of estate unto us.”
Unto this Sir Gawaine made reply, “Lady, I cannot inform you of these
things at these present, being just now vowed unto secrecy upon those
points, wherefore I do crave your patience for a little.”
Then the Lady Ettard said, “Sir Knight, it is a great pity that we may
not know thy name and degree; ne’theless, though we are as yet in
ignorance as to thy quality, I yet hope that thou wilt give us the
pleasure of thy company awhile, and that thou wilt condescend to remain
within this poor place for two days or three, whiles we offer thee such
refreshment as we are able to do.”
[Sidenote: _The magical necklace enchanteth Sir Gawaine._]
Now here a very untoward thing befell. To wit, it was this: The Lady
Ettard had come to love that necklace of emeralds and of opal stones and
of gold that she had borrowed from Sir Pellias, and that to such a
degree that she never let it depart from her whether by day or by night.
Wherefore she wore it at that moment hanging about her neck and her
throat. So, as she talked to Sir Gawaine, he looked upon that necklace,
and the enchantment thereof began to take a very great hold upon him.
For he presently began to feel as though his heart was drawn with
exceeding ardency out of his bosom and unto the Lady Ettard; so much so
that, in a little while, he could not at all keep his regard withdrawn
from her. And the more that he looked upon the necklace and the lady the
more did the enchantment of the jewel take hold upon his spirits.
Accordingly, when the Lady Ettard spake so graciously unto him, he was
very glad to accept of her kindness; wherefore he said, gazing very
ardently at her the whiles, “Lady, thou art exceedingly gentle to extend
so great a courtesy unto me; wherefore I shall be glad beyond measure
for to stay with thee for a short while.”
At these words the Lady Ettard was very greatly pleased, for she said to
herself, “Certes, this knight (albeit I know not who he may be) must be
a champion of extraordinary prowess and of exalted achievement. Now, if
I can persuade him to remain in this castle as my champion, then shall I
doubtless gain very great credit thereby; for I shall have one for to
defend my rights who must assuredly be the greatest knight in all the
world.” Wherefore she set forth every charm and grace of demeanor to
please Sir Gawaine, and Sir Gawaine was altogether delighted by the
kindness of her manner.
Now, Sir Engamore was there present at that time, wherefore he was very
greatly troubled in spirit. For in the same degree that Sir Gawaine
received courtesy from the Lady Ettard, in that same degree Sir Engamore
was cast down into great sorrow and distress--so much so that it was a
pity for to see him. For Sir Engamore said to himself, “Aforetime, ere
these foreign knights came hitherward, the Lady Ettard was very kind to
me, and was willing to take me for her champion and lord. But first came
Sir Pellias and overthrew me, and now cometh this strange knight and
overthroweth him, wherefore, in the presence of such a great champion
as this, I am come to be as nothing in her sight.” So Sir Engamore
withdrew himself from that place and went unto his closet, where he sat
himself down alone in great sorrow.
Now the Lady Ettard had given command that a very noble and splendid
feast should be prepared for Sir Gawaine and for herself, and whilst it
was preparing she and Sir Gawaine walked together in the pleasaunce of
the castle. For there was a very pleasant shade in the place, and
flowers grew there in great abundance, and many birds sang very sweetly
in among the blossoms of the trees. And as Sir Gawaine and the lady
walked thus together, the attendants stood at a little distance and
regarded them. And they said to one another, “Assuredly it would be a
very good thing if the Lady Ettard would take this knight for her
champion, and if he should stay here in Grantmesnle forever.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine and the Lady Ettard feast together._]
So Sir Gawaine and the lady walked together, talking very cheerfully,
until sunset, and at that time the supper was prepared and they went in
and sat down to it. And as they supped, a number of pages, very fair of
face, played upon harps before them; and sundry damsels sang very
sweetly in accord to that music, so that the bosom of Sir Gawaine was
greatly expanded with joy. Wherefore he said to himself, “Why should I
ever leave this place? Lo! I have been banished from King Arthur’s
Court; why then should I not establish here a Court of mine own that
might, in time, prove to be like to his for glory?” And the Lady Ettard
was so beautiful in his eyes that this seemed to him to be a wonderfully
pleasant thought.
* * * * *
Now turn we unto Sir Pellias:
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias is a-doubt._]
For after Sir Gawaine had left him, the heart of Sir Pellias began to
misgive him that he had not been wise; and at last he said to himself,
“Suppose that Sir Gawaine should forget his duty to me when he meeteth
the Lady Ettard. For it seems that haply she possesses some potent charm
that might well draw the heart of Sir Gawaine unto her. Wherefore if Sir
Gawaine should come within the circle of such enchantment as that, he
may forget his duty unto me and may transgress against the honor of his
knighthood.”
And the more that Sir Pellias thought of this the more troubled he grew
in his mind. So at last, when evening had fallen, he called an esquire
unto him and he said, “Go, and fetch me hither the garb of a black
friar, for I would fain go unto the castle of Grantmesnle in disguise.”
So the esquire went as he commanded and brought him such a garb, and Sir
Pellias clad himself therein.
Now, by that time, the darkness had come entirely over the face of the
earth so that it would not have been possible for anyone to know Sir
Pellias, even if they had seen his face. So he went unto the castle, and
they who were there, thinking that he was a black friar, as he appeared
to be, admitted him into the castle by the postern gate.
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias cometh to the castle in disguise._]
So, as soon as Sir Pellias had come into the castle, he began to make
diligent inquiry concerning where he might find that knight who had come
thither in the afternoon, and those within the castle, still thinking
him to be a friar of black orders, said unto him, “What would ye with
that knight?” To the which Sir Pellias said, “I have a message for him.”
They of the castle said, “Ye cannot come at that knight just now, for he
is at supper with the Lady Ettard, and he holds her in pleasant
discourse.”
At this Sir Pellias began to wax very angry, for he greatly misliked the
thought that Sir Gawaine should then make merry with the Lady Ettard. So
he said, speaking very sternly, “I must presently have speech with that
knight, wherefore I bid ye to bring me unto him without delay.” Then
they of the castle said, “Wait and we will see if that knight is willing
to have you come to him.”
So one of the attendants went unto that place where Sir Gawaine sat at
supper with the Lady Ettard, and he said, “Sir Knight, there hath come
hither a black friar who demandeth to have present speech with thee, and
he will not be denied, but continually maketh that demand.”
At this Sir Gawaine was greatly troubled in his conscience, for he knew
that he was not dealing honorably by Sir Pellias, and he pondered
whether or not this black friar might be a messenger from his friend.
But yet he could not see how he might deny such a messenger speech with
him. So, after a while of thought, he said, “Fetch the black friar
hither and let him deliver his message to me.”
So Sir Pellias, in the garb of a black friar, was brought by the
attendants into the outer room of that place where Sir Gawaine sat at
supper with the lady. But for a little time Sir Pellias did not enter
the room, but stood behind the curtain of the ante-room and looked upon
them, for he desired to make sure as to whether or no Sir Gawaine was
true to him.
Now everything in that room where the knight and the lady sat was
bedight with extraordinary splendor, and it was illuminated by a light
of several score of waxen tapers that sent forth a most delightful
perfume as they burned. And as Sir Pellias stood behind the curtains, he
beheld Sir Gawaine and the Lady Ettard as they sat at the table
together, and he saw that they were filled with pleasure in the company
of one another. And he saw that Sir Gawaine and the lady quaffed wine
out of the same chalice and that the cup was of gold. And as he saw
those two making merry with one another, he was filled with great anger
and indignation, for he now perceived that Sir Gawaine had betrayed him.
So, by and by, he could contain himself no longer, wherefore he took
five steps into that room and stood before Sir Gawaine and the Lady
Ettard. And, when they looked upon him in great surprise, he cast back
the hood from his face and they knew him. Then the Lady Ettard shrieked
with great vehemence, crying out, “I have been betrayed!” and Sir
Gawaine sat altogether silent, for he had not a single word to say
either to the lady or to Sir Pellias.
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias places affront upon Sir Gawaine._]
Then Sir Pellias came close to the Lady Ettard with such a fell
countenance that she could not move for fear. And when he had come nigh
to her he catched that necklace of emeralds and opal stones and gold
with such violence that he brake the clasp thereof and so plucked it
from her neck. Then he said, “This is mine and thou hast no right to
it!” And therewith he thrust it into his bosom. Then he turned upon Sir
Gawaine where he sat, and he said, “Thou art false both unto thy
knighthood and unto thy friendship, for thou hast betrayed me utterly.”
Thereupon he raised his arm and smote Sir Gawaine upon the face with the
back of his hand so violently that the mark of his fingers was left in
red all across the cheek of Sir Gawaine.
Then Sir Gawaine fell as pale as ashes and he cried out, “Sir, I have in
sooth betrayed thee, but thou hast offered such affront to me that our
injury is equal.” To the which Sir Pellias made reply, “Not so; for the
injury I gave to thee is only upon thy cheek, but the injury thou gavest
to me is upon my heart. Ne’theless, I will answer unto thee for the
affront I have done thee. But thou also shalt answer unto me for the
offence thou hast done unto me, in that thou hast betrayed me.”
Then Sir Gawaine said, “I am willing to answer unto thee in full
measure.” And Sir Pellias said, “Thou shalt indeed do so.” Thereupon he
turned and left that place, nor did he so much as look again either at
Sir Gawaine or at the Lady Ettard.
But, now that the Lady Ettard no longer had the magic collar about her
neck, Sir Gawaine felt nothing of the great enchantment that had
aforetime drawn him so vehemently unto her. Accordingly, he now suffered
a misliking for her as great as that liking which had aforetime drawn
him unto her. Wherefore he said to himself, “How was it possible that
for this lady I could have so betrayed my knighthood and have done so
much harm unto my friend!” So he pushed back his chair very violently
and arose from that table with intent to leave her.
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine and the Lady Ettard speak bitterly together._]
But when the Lady Ettard saw his intent she spake to him with very great
anger, for she was very much affronted in that he had deceived her when
he said that he had overcome Sir Pellias. Wherefore she said with great
heat, “Thou mayst go, and I am very willing for to have thee do so, for
thou didst say false when thou didst tell me that thou hadst overcome
Sir Pellias. For now I perceive that he is both a stronger and a nobler
knight than thou. For he smote thee as though thou wert his servant, and
thou yet bearest the marks of his fingers upon thy cheek.”
At this Sir Gawaine was exceedingly wroth and entirely filled with the
shame of that which had befallen him, wherefore he said, “Lady, I think
thou hast bewitched me to bring me to such a pass of dishonor. As for
Sir Pellias, look forth into that meadow to-morrow and see if I do not
put a deeper mark upon him than ever he hath put upon me.” Thereupon he
left that place and went down into the court-yard and called upon the
attendants who were there for to fetch him his horse. So they did as he
commanded and he straightway rode forth into the night.
And he was very glad of the darkness of the night, for it appeared to
him that it was easier to bear his shame in the darkness, wherefore when
he had come to the glade of trees he would not enter the pavilion where
his friends were. And also, when Sir Ewaine and Sir Marhaus came out
unto him and bade him to come in, he would not do so but stayed without
in the darkness; for he said unto himself, “If I go in where is a light,
haply they will behold the mark of Sir Pellias his hand upon my face.”
So he stayed without in the darkness and bade them to go away and leave
him alone.
But when they had gone he called his esquire unto him and he said, “Take
this red armor off me and carry it into the pavilion of Sir Pellias, for
I hate it.” So the esquire did as Sir Gawaine commanded, and Sir Gawaine
walked up and down for the entire night, greatly troubled in spirit and
in heart.
[Illustration: The Lady of the Lake finds Sr. Pellias wounded.]
[Illustration] Chapter Sixth.
_How the Lady of the Lake Took Back Her Necklace From Sir Pellias._
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine issues challenge to Sir Pellias._]
Now, when the next morning had come, Sir Gawaine summoned his esquire
unto him and said, “Fetch hither my armor and case me in it.” And the
esquire did so. Then Sir Gawaine said, “Help me unto my horse,” and the
esquire did so. And the morning was still very early, with the grass all
lustrous and sparkling with dew, and the little birds singing with such
vehemence that it might have caused anyone great joy to be alive.
Wherefore, when Sir Gawaine was seated a-horseback and in armor, he
began to take more courage unto himself, and the dark vapors that had
whilom overshadowed him lifted themselves a little. So he bespoke his
esquire with stronger voice, saying, “Take this glove of mine and bear
it to Sir Pellias and tell him that Sir Gawaine parades in the meadow in
front of the castle and that he there challenges Sir Pellias for to meet
him a-horse or afoot, howsoever that knight may choose.”
At these that esquire was very much astonished, for Sir Gawaine and Sir
Pellias had always been such close friends that there was hardly their
like for friendship in all that land, wherefore their love for one
another had become a byword with all men. But he held his peace
concerning his thoughts and only said, “Wilt thou not eat food ere thou
goest to battle?” And Sir Gawaine said, “Nay, I will not eat until I
have fought. Wherefore do thou go and do as I have bid thee.”
So Sir Gawaine’s esquire went to Sir Pellias in his pavilion and he gave
unto that knight the glove of Sir Gawaine, and he delivered Sir
Gawaine’s message to him. And Sir Pellias said, “Tell thy master that I
will come forth to meet him as soon as I have broken my fast.”
Now, when the news of that challenge had come to the ears of Sir
Brandiles and Sir Mador de la Porte and Sir Ewaine and Sir Marhaus,
those knights were greatly disturbed thereat, and Sir Ewaine said to
the others, “Messires, let us go and make inquiries concerning this
business.” So the four knights went to the white pavilion where Sir
Pellias was breaking his fast.
And when they had come into the presence of Sir Pellias, Sir Ewaine said
to him, “What is this quarrel betwixt my kinsman and thee?” And Sir
Pellias made reply, “I will not tell thee, so, let be and meddle not
with it.”
Then Sir Ewaine said, “Wouldst thou do serious battle with thy friend?”
To which Sir Pellias said, “He is a friend to me no longer.”
Then Sir Brandiles cried out, “It is a great pity that a quarrel should
lie betwixt such friends as thou and Sir Gawaine. Wilt thou not let us
make peace betwixt you?” But Sir Pellias replied, “Ye cannot make peace,
for this quarrel cannot be stayed until it is ended.”
Then those knights saw that their words could be of no avail and they
went away and left Sir Pellias.
So when Sir Pellias had broken his fast he summoned an esquire named
Montenoir, and he bade him case him in that red armor that he had worn
for all this time, and Montenoir did so. Then, when Sir Pellias was clad
in that armor, he rode forth into the meadow before the castle where Sir
Gawaine paraded. And when he had come thither those four other knights
came to him again and besought him that he would let peace be made
betwixt him and Sir Gawaine, but Sir Pellias would not listen to them,
and so they went away again and left him, and he rode forth into the
field before the castle of Grantmesnle.
Now a great concourse of people had come down upon the castle walls for
to behold that assault-at-arms, for news thereof had gone all about that
place. And it had also come to be known that the knight that would do
combat with Sir Pellias was that very famous royal knight hight Sir
Gawaine, the son of King Lot of Orkney, and a nephew of King Arthur;
wherefore all the people were very desirous to behold so famous a knight
do battle.
Likewise the Lady Ettard came down to the walls and took her stand in a
lesser tower that overlooked the field of battle. And when she had taken
her stand at that place she beheld that Sir Pellias wore that necklace
of emeralds and opal stones and gold above his body armor, and her heart
went out to him because of it, wherefore she hoped that he might be the
victor in that encounter.
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias and Sir Gawaine do battle._]
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias overthroweth Sir Gawaine._]
Then each knight took his station in such place as seemed to him to be
fitting, and they dressed each his spear and his shield and made him
ready for the assault. Then, when they were in all ways prepared, Sir
Marhaus gave the signal for the assault. Thereupon each knight instantly
quitted that station which he held, dashing against the other with the
speed of lightning, and with such fury that the earth thundered and
shook beneath their horses’ hoofs. So they met fairly in the centre of
the course, each knight striking the other in the very midst of his
defences. And in that encounter the spear of Sir Gawaine burst even to
the hand-guard, but the spear of Sir Pellias held, so that Sir Gawaine
was cast out of his saddle with terrible violence, smiting the earth
with such force that he rolled thrice over in the dust and then lay
altogether motionless as though bereft of life.
At this, all those people upon the walls shouted with a great voice, for
it was an exceedingly noble assault-at-arms.
Then the four knights who stood watching that encounter made all haste
unto Sir Gawaine where he lay; and Sir Pellias also rode back and sat
his horse nigh at hand. Then Sir Ewaine and Sir Gawaine’s esquire
unlaced the helmet of Sir Gawaine with all speed, and, behold! his face
was the color of ashes and they could not see that he breathed.
Thereupon Sir Marhaus said, “I believe that thou hast slain this knight,
Sir Pellias,” and Sir Pellias said, “Dost thou think so?” “Yea,” quoth
Sir Marhaus, “and I deem it a great pity.” Unto which Sir Pellias made
reply, “He hath not suffered more than he deserved.”
At these words Sir Ewaine was filled with great indignation, wherefore
he cried out, “Sir Knight, I think that thou forgettest the quality of
this knight. For not only is he a fellow-companion of the Round Table,
to whom thou hast vowed entire brotherhood, but he is also the son of a
king and the nephew of King Arthur himself.”
But to this Sir Pellias maintained a very steadfast countenance and
replied, “I would not repent me of this were that knight a king in his
own right instead of the son of a king.”
Then Sir Ewaine lifted up his voice with great indignation, crying out
upon Sir Pellias, “Begone! or a great ill may befall thee.” “Well,” said
Sir Pellias, “I will go.”
Upon this he turned his horse and rode away from that place and entered
the woodland and so was gone from their sight.
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias departs into the forest._]
Then those others present lifted up Sir Gawaine and bare him away unto
the pavilion late of Sir Pellias, and there they laid him upon the couch
of Sir Pellias. But it was above an hour ere he recovered himself again;
and for a great part of that while those nigh unto him believed him to
have been dead.
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias is sore wounded._]
But not one of those knights wist what was the case; to wit, that Sir
Pellias had been so sorely wounded in the side in that encounter that it
was not to be hoped that he could live for more than that day. For,
though the spear of Sir Gawaine had burst, and though Sir Pellias had
overthrown him entirely, yet the head of Sir Gawaine’s spear had pierced
the armor of Sir Pellias, and had entered his side and had there broken
off, so that of the iron of the spear, the length of the breadth of a
palm had remained in the body of Sir Pellias a little above the midriff.
Wherefore, while Sir Pellias sat there talking so steadfastly unto those
four knights, he was yet whiles in a great passion of pain, and the
blood ran down into his armor in abundance. So, what with the loss of
the blood, and of the great agony which he suffered, the brain of Sir
Pellias swam as light as a feather all the time that he held talk with
those others. But he said not a word unto them concerning the grievous
wound he had received, but rode away very proudly into the forest.
But when he had come into the forest he could not forbear him any
longer, but fell to groaning very sorely, crying out, “Alas! alas! I
have certes got my death-wound in this battle!”
Now it chanced that morn that the damsel Parcenet had ridden forth to
fly a young gerfalcon, and a dwarf belonging to the Lady Ettard had
ridden with her for company. So, as the damsel and the dwarf rode
through a certain part of the forest skirt, not a very great distance
from Grantmesnle, where the thicker part of the woodland began and the
thinner part thereof ceased, the damsel heard a voice in the woodlands,
lamenting with very great dolor. So she stopped and harkened, and by and
by she heard that voice again making a great moan. Then Parcenet said to
the dwarf, “What is that I hear? Certes, it is the voice of someone in
lamentation. Now let us go and see who it is that maketh such woful
moan.” And the dwarf said, “It shall be as thou sayest.”
[Sidenote: _How Parcenet findeth Sir Pellias wounded in the forest._]
So the damsel and the dwarf went a little way farther and there they
beheld a knight sitting upon a black horse beneath an oak-tree. And that
knight was clad altogether in red armor, wherefore, Parcenet knew that
it must be Sir Pellias. And she saw that Sir Pellias leaned with the
butt of his spear upon the ground and so upheld himself upon his horse
from which he would otherwise have fallen because of his great weakness,
and all the while he made that great moan that Parcenet had heard. So,
seeing him in this sorry condition, Parcenet was overcome with great
pity, and she made haste to him crying out, “Alas! Sir Pellias, what
ails thee?”
Then Sir Pellias looked at her as though she were a great way removed
from him, and, because of the faintness of his soul, he beheld her, as
it were, through thin water. And he said, very faintly, “Maiden, I am
sore hurt.” Thereupon she said, “How art thou hurt, Sir Pellias?” And he
replied, “I have a grievous wound in my side, for a spear’s point
standeth therein nigh a palm’s breadth deep so that it reaches nearly to
my heart, wherefore, meseems that I shall not live for very long.”
Upon this the maiden cried out, “Alas! alas! what is this!” and she made
great lament and smote her hands together with sorrow that that noble
knight should have come to so grievous an extremity.
Then the dwarf that was with Parcenet, seeing how greatly she was
distracted by sorrow, said, “Damsel, I know of a certain place in this
forest (albeit it is a considerable distance from this) where there
dwelleth a certain very holy hermit who is an extraordinarily skilful
leech. Now, an we may bring this knight unto the chapel where that
hermit dwelleth, I believe that he may be greatly holpen unto health and
ease again.”
Upon this Parcenet said, “Gansaret”--for Gansaret was the dwarf’s
name--“Gansaret, let us take this knight unto that place as quickly as
we are able. For I tell thee sooth when I say that I have a very great
deal of love for him.” “Well,” said the dwarf, “I will show thee where
that chapel is.”
So the dwarf took the horse of Sir Pellias by the bridle-rein and led
the way through that forest, and Parcenet rode beside Sir Pellias and
upheld him upon his saddle. For some whiles Sir Pellias fainted with
sickness and with pain so that he would else have fallen had she not
upheld him. Thus they went forward very sorrowfully and at so slow a
pace that it was noontide ere they came to that certain very dense and
lonely part of the forest where the hermit abided.
And when they had come unto that place the dwarf said, “Yonder, damsel,
is the chapel whereof I spake.”
Then Parcenet lifted up her eyes and she beheld where was a little
woodland chapel built in among the leafy trees of the forest. And around
this chapel was a little open lawn bedight with flowers, and nigh to the
door of the hermitage was a fountain of water as clear as crystal. And
this was a very secret and lonely place and withal very silent and
peaceful, for in front of the chapel they beheld a wild doe and her fawn
browsing upon the tender grass and herbs without any fear of harm. And
when the dwarf and the maiden and the wounded knight drew nigh, the doe
and the fawn looked up with great wide eyes and spread their large ears
with wonder, yet fled not, fearing no harm, but by and by began their
browsing again. Likewise all about the chapel in the branches of the
trees were great quantities of birds, singing and chirping very
cheerfully. And those birds were waiting for their mid-day meal that the
hermit was used to cast unto them.
(Now this was that same forest sanctuary whereunto King Arthur had come
that time when he had been so sorely wounded by Sir Pellinore as hath
been aforetold in this history.)
As the maiden and the dwarf and the wounded knight drew nigh to this
chapel, a little bell began ringing very sweetly so that the sound
thereof echoed all through those quiet woodlands, for it was now the
hour of noon. And Sir Pellias heard that bell as it were a great way
off, and first he said, “Whither am I come?” and then he made shift to
cross himself. And Parcenet crossed herself and the dwarf kneeled down
and crossed himself. Then when the bell had ceased ringing, the dwarf
cried out in a loud voice, “What ho! what ho! here is one needing help!”
[Sidenote: _Parcenet and the dwarf bring Sir Pellias to the hermit of
the forest._]
Then the door of the sanctuary was opened and there came forth from that
place a very venerable man with a long white beard as it were of finely
carded wool. And, lo! as he came forth, all those birds that waited
there flew about him in great quantities, for they thought that he had
come forth for to feed them; wherefore the hermit was compelled to brush
those small fowls away with his hands as he came unto where the three
were stationed.
And when he had come unto them he demanded of them who they were and why
they had come thither with that wounded knight. So Parcenet told him how
it was with them, and of how they had found Sir Pellias so sorely
wounded in the forest that morning and had brought him hitherward.
Then, when the hermit had heard all of her story, he said, “It is well
and I will take him in.” So he took Sir Pellias into his cell, and when
they had helped lay him upon the couch, Parcenet and the dwarf went
their way homeward again.
After they had gone, the hermit examined the hurt of Sir Pellias, and
Sir Pellias lay in a deep swoon. And the swoon was so deep that the
hermit beheld that it was the death-swoon, and that the knight was nigh
to his end. So he said, “This knight must assuredly die in a very little
while, for I can do naught to save him.” Wherefore he immediately
quitted the side of Sir Pellias and set about in haste to prepare the
last sacrament such as might be administered unto a noble knight who was
dying.
[Sidenote: _The Lady of the Lake cometh to Sir Pellias._]
Now whiles the hermit was about this business the door opened of a and
bedight around the arms with armlets of emeralds and opal stones inset
into gold. And her hair, which was very soft, was entirely black and was
tied about with a cord of crimson ribbon. And the hermit beheld that her
face was like to ivory for whiteness and that her eyes were bright, like
unto jewels set into ivory, wherefore he knew that she was no ordinary
mortal.
And this lady went straight to Sir Pellias and leaned over him so that
her breath touched his forehead. And she said, “Alas! Sir Pellias, that
thou shouldst lie so.” “Lady,” said the hermit, “thou mayst well say
‘Alas,’ for this knight hath only a few minutes to live.” To this the
lady said, “Not so, thou holy man, for I tell thee that this knight
shall have a long while yet to live.” And when she had said this she
stooped and took from about his neck that necklace of emeralds and opal
stones and gold that encircled it and she hung it about her own neck.
Now when the hermit beheld what she did, he said, “Lady, what is this
that thou doest, and why dost thou take that ornament from a dying man?”
But the lady made reply very tranquilly, “I gave it unto him, wherefore
I do but take back again what is mine own. But now I prithee let me be
with this knight for a little while, for I have great hope that I may
bring back life unto him again.”
Then the hermit was a-doubt and he said, “Wilt thou endeavor to heal him
by magic?” And the lady said, “If I do, it will not be by magic that is
black.”
So the hermit was satisfied and went away, and left the lady alone with
Sir Pellias.
[Sidenote: _The Lady of the Lake healeth Sir Pellias._]
Now when the lady was thus alone with the wounded knight she immediately
set about doing sundry very strange things. For first she brought forth
a loadstone of great power and potency and this she set to the wound.
And, lo! the iron of the spear-head came forth from the wound; and as it
came Sir Pellias groaned with great passion. And when the spear-point
came forth there burst out a great issue of blood like to a fountain of
crimson. But the lady immediately pressed a fragrant napkin of fine
cambric linen to the wound and stanched the blood, and it bled no more,
for she held it within the veins by very potent spells of magic. So, the
blood being stanched in this wise, the lady brought forth from her bosom
a small crystal phial filled with an elixir of blue color and of a very
singular fragrance. And she poured some of this elixir between the cold
and leaden lips of the knight; and when the elixir touched his lips the
life began to enter into his body once more; for, in a little while, he
opened his eyes and gazed about him with a very strange look, and the
first thing that he beheld was that lady clad in green who stood beside
him, and she was so beautiful that he thought that haply he had died and
was in Paradise, wherefore he said, “Am I then dead?”
“Nay, thou art not dead,” said the lady, “yet hast thou been parlously
nigh to death.” “Where then am I?” said Sir Pellias. And she replied,
“Thou art in a deep part of the forest, and this is the cell of a
saint-like hermit of the forest.” At this Sir Pellias said, “Who is it
that hath brought me back to life?” Upon this the lady smiled and said,
“It was I.”
Now for a little while Sir Pellias lay very silent, then by and by he
spake and said, “Lady, I feel very strangely.” “Yea,” said the lady,
“that is because thou hast now a different life.” Then Sir Pellias said,
“How is it with me?” And the lady said, “It is thus: that to bring thee
back to life I gave thee to drink of a certain draught of an _elixir
vitæ_ so that thou art now only half as thou wert before; for if by the
one half thou art mortal, by the other half thou art fay.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias loveth the Lady of the Lake._]
Then Sir Pellias looked up and beheld that the lady had about her neck
the collar of emeralds and opal stones and gold which he had aforetime
worn. And, lo! his heart went out to her with exceeding ardor, and he
said, “Lady, thou sayest that I am half fay, and I do perceive that thou
art altogether fay. Now, I pray thee to let it be that henceforth I may
abide nigh unto where thou art.” And the lady said, “It shall be as thou
dost ask, for it was to that end I have suffered thee nearly to die, and
then have brought thee back unto life again.”
Then Sir Pellias said, “When may I go with thee?” And she said, “In a
little when thou hast had to drink.” “How may that be?” said Sir
Pellias, “seeing that I am but yet like unto a little child for
weakness.” To the which the lady made reply, “When thou hast drunk of
water thy strength shall return unto thee, and thou shalt be altogether
well and whole again.”
So the Lady of the Lake went out, and presently returned, bearing in her
hand an earthen crock filled with water from the fountain near at hand.
And when Sir Pellias had drunk that water he felt, of a sudden, his
strength come altogether back to him.
Yet he was not at all as he had been before, for now his body felt as
light as air, and his soul was dilated with a pure joy such as he had
never felt in his life before that time. Wherefore he immediately uprose
from his couch of pain, and he said, “Thou hast given life unto me
again, now do I give that life unto thee forever.”
Then the lady looked upon him and smiled with great loving-kindness. And
she said, “Sir Pellias, I have held thee in tender regard ever since I
beheld thee one day in thy young knighthood drink a draught of milk at a
cottager’s hut in this forest. For the day was warm and thou hadst set
aside thy helmet, and a young milkmaid, brown of face and with bare
feet, came and brought thee a bowl of milk, which same thou didst drink
of with great appetite. That was the first time that I beheld
thee--although thou didst not see me. Since that time I have had great
friendship for all thy fellowship of King Arthur’s Court and for King
Arthur himself, all for thy sake.”
Then Sir Pellias said, “Lady, wilt thou accept me for thy knight?” and
she said, “Aye.” Then Sir Pellias said, “May I salute thee?” And she
said, “Yea, if it pleasures thee.” So Sir Pellias kissed her upon the
lips, and so their troth was plighted.
* * * * *
Now return we unto Parcenet and the dwarf:
[Sidenote: _Parcenet bringeth news of Sir Pellias to Sir Mador de la
Porte._]
After those two had left that hermitage in the woodland, they betook
their way again toward Grantmesnle, and when they had come nigh out of
the forest at a place not far from the glade of trees wherein those
knights-companion had taken up their inn, they met one of those knights
clad in half-armor, and that knight was Sir Mador de la Porte. Then
Parcenet called upon him by name, saying, “Alas! Sir Mador, I have but
this short time quitted a hermit’s cell in the forest where I left Sir
Pellias sorely wounded to death, so I fear me he hath only a little
while to live.”
Then Sir Mador de la Porte cried out, “Ha! maiden, what is this thou
tellest me? That is a very hard thing to believe; for when Sir Pellias
quitted us this morn he gave no sign of wound or disease of any sort.”
But Parcenet replied, “Ne’theless, I myself beheld him lying in great
pain and dole, and, ere he swooned his death-swoon, he himself told me
that he had the iron of a spear in his side.”
Then Sir Mador de la Porte said, “Alas! alas! that is sorry news! Now,
damsel, by thy leave and grace, I will leave thee and hasten to my
companions to tell them this news.” And Parcenet said, “I prithee do
so.”
So Sir Mador de la Porte made haste to the pavilion where were his
companions, and he told them the news that he had heard.
Now at this time Sir Gawaine was altogether recovered from the violent
overthrow he had suffered that morning, wherefore when he heard the news
that Sir Mador de la Porte brought to him, he smote his hands together
and cried out aloud, “Woe is me! what have I done! For first I betrayed
my friend, and now I have slain him. Now I will go forth straightway to
find him and to crave his forgiveness ere he die.”
But Sir Ewaine said, “What is this that thou wouldst do? Thou art not
yet fit to undertake any journey.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine departeth to find Sir Pellias._]
Sir Gawaine said, “I care not, for I am determined to go and find my
friend.” Nor would he suffer any of his companions to accompany him; but
when he had summoned his esquire to bring him his horse, he mounted
thereon and rode away into the forest alone, betaking his way to the
westward, and lamenting with great sorrow as he journeyed forward.
Now when the afternoon had fallen very late, so that the sun was sloping
to its setting, and the light fell as red as fire through the forest
leaves, Sir Gawaine came to that hermit’s cell where it stood in the
silent and solitary part of the forest woodland. And he beheld that the
hermit was outside of his cell digging in a little garden of lentils. So
when the hermit saw the armed knight come into that lawn all in the red
light of the setting sun, he stopped digging and leaned upon his trowel.
Then Sir Gawaine drew nigh, and, as he sat upon his horse, he told the
holy man of the business whereon he had come.
To this the hermit said, “There came a lady hither several hours ago,
and she was clad all in green, and was of a very singular appearance, so
that it was easy to see that she was fay. And by means of certain charms
of magic that lady cured thy friend, and after she had healed him, the
two rode away into the forest together.”
Then Sir Gawaine was very much amazed, and he said, “This is a very
strange thing that thou tellest me, that a knight who is dying should be
brought back to life again in so short a time, and should so suddenly
ride forth from a bed of pain. Now, I prithee tell me whither they
went.” The hermit said, “They went to the westward.” Whereupon, when Sir
Gawaine heard this, he said, “I will follow them.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine follows a singular light._]
So he rode away and left the hermit gazing after him. And as he rode
forward upon his way, the twilight began to fall apace, so that the
woodlands after a while grew very dark and strange all around him. But
as the darkness descended a very singular miracle happened, for, lo!
there appeared before Sir Gawaine, a light of a pale blue color, and it
went before him and showed him the way, and he followed it, much
marvelling.
Now after he had followed the light for a very long time he came at
last, of a sudden, to where the woodland ceased, and where there was a
wide, open plain of very great extent. And this plain was all
illuminated by a singular radiance which was like that of a clear full
moonlight, albeit no moon was shining at that time. And in that pale and
silver light Sir Gawaine could see everything with wonderful
distinctness; wherefore he beheld that he was in a plain covered all
over with flowers of divers sorts, the odors whereof so filled the night
that it appeared to press upon the bosom with a great pleasure. And he
beheld that in front of him lay a great lake, very wide and still. And
all those things appeared so strange in that light that Sir Gawaine
wotted that he had come into a land of faëry. So he rode among tall
flowers toward that lake in a sort of fear, for he wist not what was to
befall him.
Now as he drew near the lake he perceived a knight and a lady
approaching him; and when they had come nigh he beheld that the knight
was Sir Pellias, and that his countenance was exceedingly strange. And
he beheld that the lady was she whom he had aforetime seen all clad in
green apparel when he had travelled in the Forest of Adventure with Sir
Ewaine and Sir Marhaus.
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine findeth Sir Pellias._]
Now when Sir Gawaine first beheld Sir Pellias he was filled with a great
fear, for he thought it was a spirit that he saw. But when he perceived
that Sir Pellias was alive, there came into his bosom a joy as great as
that fear had been; wherefore he made haste toward Sir Pellias. And when
he had come near to Sir Pellias, he leaped from off of his horse, crying
out, “Forgive! Forgive!” with great vehemence of passion. Then he would
have taken Sir Pellias into his arms, but Sir Pellias withdrew himself
from the contact of Sir Gawaine, though not with any violence of anger.
And Sir Pellias spake in a voice very thin and of a silvery clearness as
though it came from a considerable distance, and he said, “Touch me not,
for I am not as I was aforetime, being not all human, but part fay. But
concerning my forgiveness: I do forgive thee whatsoever injury I may
have suffered at thy hands. And more than this I give unto thee my love,
and I greatly hope for thy joy and happiness. But now I go away to leave
thee, dear friend, and haply I shall not behold thee again, wherefore I
do leave this with thee as my last behest; to wit, that thou dost go
back to King Arthur’s Court and make thy peace with the Queen. So thou
mayst bring them news of all that hath happened unto me.”
Then Sir Gawaine cried out in great sorrow, “Whither wouldst thou go?”
And Sir Pellias said, “I shall go to yonder wonderful city of gold and
azure which lieth in yonder valley of flowers.”
Then Sir Gawaine said, “I see no city but only a lake of water.”
Whereupon Sir Pellias replied, “Ne’theless, there is a city yonder and
thither I go, wherefore I do now bid thee farewell.”
Then Sir Gawaine looked into the face of Sir Pellias and beheld again
that strange light that it was of a very singular appearance, for, lo!
it was white like to ivory and his eyes shone like jewels set in ivory,
and a smile lay upon his lips and grew neither more nor less, but always
remained the same. (For those who were of that sort had always that
singular appearance and smiled in that manner--to wit, the Lady of the
Lake, and Sir Pellias, and Sir Launcelot of the Lake.)
[Sidenote: _Sir Pellias disappeareth into the lake._]
Then Sir Pellias and the Lady of the Lake turned and left Sir Gawaine
where he stood, and they went toward the lake, and they entered the
lake, and when the feet of the horse of Sir Pellias had touched the
water of the lake, lo! Sir Pellias was gone and Sir Gawaine beheld him
no more, although he stood there for a long time weeping with great
passion.
So endeth the story of Sir Pellias.
* * * * *
But Sir Gawaine returned unto the Court of King Arthur as he had
promised Sir Pellias to do, and he made his peace with Queen Guinevere
and, thereafter, though the Queen loved him not, yet there was a peace
betwixt them. And Sir Gawaine published these things to the Court of
King Arthur and all men marvelled at what he told.
And only twice thereafter was Sir Pellias ever seen of any of his
aforetime companions.
And Sir Marhaus was made a Companion of the Round Table and became one
of the foremost knights thereof.
And the Lady Ettard took Sir Engamore into favor again, and that summer
they were wedded and Sir Engamore became lord of Grantmesnle.
So endeth this story.
[Illustration]
PART III
The Story of Sir Gawaine
_Here followeth the story of Sir Gawaine and of how he discovered such
wonderful faithfulness unto King Arthur, who was his lord, that I do not
believe that the like of such faithfulness was ever seen before.
For indeed, though Sir Gawaine was at times very rough and harsh in his
manner, and though he was always so plain-spoken that his words hid the
gentle nature that lay within him, yet, under this pride of manner, was
much courtesy; and at times he was so urbane of manner and so soft of
speech that he was called by many the Knight of the Silver Tongue.
So here ye shall read how his faithfulness unto King Arthur brought him
such high reward that almost anyone in all the world might envy him his
great good fortune._
[Illustration: Sir Gawaine the Son of Lot, King of Orkney]
[Illustration] Chapter First.
_How a White Hart Appeared Before King Arthur, and How Sir Gawaine and
Gaheris, His Brother, Went in Pursuit Thereof, and of What Befell Them
in That Quest._
Upon a certain time King Arthur, together with Queen Guinevere and all
of his Court, were making progression through that part of his kingdom
which was not very near to Camelot. At this time the King journeyed in
very great state, and Queen Guinevere had her Court about her, so there
were many esquires and pages; wherefore, what with knights, lords, and
ladies in attendance, more than six score of people were with the King
and Queen.
Now it chanced that at this time the season of the year was very warm,
so that when the middle of the day had come the King commanded that a
number of pavilions should be spread for their accommodation, wherein
that they might rest there until the heat of the day had passed. So the
attendants spread three pavilions in a pleasant glade upon the outskirts
of the forest.
When this had been done, the King gave command that the tables, whereat
they were to eat their mid-day meal, should be spread beneath the shadow
of that glade of trees; for there was a gentle wind blowing and there
were many birds singing, so that it was very pleasant to sit in the open
air.
Accordingly the attendants of the Court did as the King commanded, and
the tables were set upon the grass beneath the shade, and the King and
Queen and all the lords and ladies of their Courts sat down to that
cheerful repast.
[Sidenote: _A white hart and a white hound appear before King Arthur at
feast._]
Now whiles they sat there feasting with great content of spirit, and
with much mirth and goodly talk among themselves, there came of a sudden
a great outcry from the woodland that was near by, and therewith there
burst forth from the cover of that leafy wilderness a very beautiful
white hart pursued by a white brachet of equal beauty. And there was not
a hair upon either of these animals that was not as white as milk, and
each wore about its neck a collar of gold very beautiful to behold.
The hound pursued the white hart with a very great outcry and bellowing,
and the hart fled in the utmost terror. In this wise they ran thrice
around the table where King Arthur and his Court sat at meat, and twice
in that chase the hound caught the hart and pinched it on its haunch,
and therewith the hart leaped away, and all they who sat there observed
that there was blood at two places upon its haunch where the hound had
pinched it. But each time the hart escaped from the hound, and the hound
followed after it with much outcry of yelling so that King Arthur and
Queen Guinevere and all their Court were annoyed at the noise and tumult
that those two creatures made. Then the hart fled away into the forest
again by another path, and the hound pursued it and both were gone, and
the baying of the hound sounded more and more distant as it ran away
into the woodland.
Now, ere the King and Queen and their Court had recovered from their
astonishment at these things, there suddenly appeared at that part of
the forest whence the hart and the hound had emerged, a knight and a
lady, and the knight was of very lordly presence and the lady was
exceedingly beautiful. The knight was clad in half-armor, and the lady
was clad in green as though for the chase; and the knight rode upon a
charger of dapple gray, and the lady upon a piebald palfrey. With them
were two esquires, also clad for the chase.
These, seeing the considerable company gathered there, paused as though
in surprise, and whilst they stood so, there suddenly appeared another
knight upon a black horse, clad in complete armor, and he seemed to be
very angry. For he ran upon the half-armed knight and smote him so sorry
a blow with his sword, that the first knight fell down from his horse
and lay upon the ground as though dead; whereat the lady who was with
him shrieked with great dolor.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur and his Court behold a knight carry off a lady
prisoner._]
Then the full-armed knight upon the black horse ran to the lady and
catched her, and he lifted her from her palfrey and laid her across the
horn of his saddle, and thereupon he rode back into the forest again.
The lady screamed with such vehemence of violent outcry, that it was a
great pity to hear her, but the knight paid no attention to her
shrieking, but bore her away by main force into the forest.
Then, after he and the lady had gone, the two esquires came and lifted
up the wounded knight upon his horse, and then they also went away into
the forest and were gone.
All this King Arthur and his Court beheld from a distance, and they were
so far away that they could not stay that knight upon the black horse
from doing what he did to carry away the lady into the forest; nor could
they bring succor to that other knight in half-armor whom they had
beheld struck down in that wise. So they were very greatly grieved at
what they had beheld and knew not what to think of it. Then King Arthur
said to his Court, “Messires, is there not some one of you who will
follow up this adventure and discover what is the significance of that
which we have seen, and compel that knight to tell why he behaved as he
did?”
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine and Gaheris undertake the adventure of these
things._]
Upon this Sir Gawaine said, “Lord, I shall be very glad indeed to take
upon me this adventure if I have thy leave to do so.” And King Arthur
said, “Thou hast my leave.” Then Sir Gawaine said, “Lord, I would that
thou would also let me take my younger brother, Gaheris, with me as mine
esquire in this undertaking, for he groweth apace unto manhood, and yet
he hath never beheld any considerable adventure at arms.” So King Arthur
said, “Thou hast my leave to take thy brother with thee.”
At this Gaheris was very glad, for he was of an adventurous spirit,
wherefore the thought of going with his brother upon this quest gave him
great pleasure.
So they two went to the pavilion of Sir Gawaine, and there Gaheris aided
Sir Gawaine as his esquire to don his armor. Then they rode forth upon
that quest which Sir Gawaine had undertaken.
Now they journeyed onward for a very considerable distance, following
that direction which they had seen the hart take when it had sped away
from before the hound, and when, from time to time, they would meet
some of the forest folk, they would inquire of them whither had fled
that white brachet and the white hart, and whither had fled the knight
and the lady, and so they followed that adventure apace.
[Sidenote: _They behold two knights fighting._]
By and by, after a long pass--it being far advanced in the
afternoon--they were suddenly aware of a great uproar of conflict, as of
a fierce battle in progress. So they followed this sound, and after a
while they came to an open meadow-land with very fair and level sward.
Here they beheld two knights fighting with great vehemence of passion,
and with a very deadly purpose. Then Sir Gawaine said, “What is this?
Let us go see.” So he and Gaheris rode forward to where those two
knights were engaged, and as they approached, the two knights paused in
their encounter, and rested upon their weapons. Then Sir Gawaine said,
“Ha! Messires, what is to do and why do ye fight with such passion, the
one against the other, in that wise?” Then one of the knights said to
Sir Gawaine, “Sir, this does not concern you;” and the other said,
“Meddle not with us, for this battle is of our own choosing.”
“Messires,” said Sir Gawaine, “I would be very sorry to interfere in
your quarrel, but I am in pursuit of a white hart and a white brachet
that came this way, and also of a knight who hath carried off a lady
upon the same pass. Now I would be greatly beholden to ye if you would
tell me if ye have seen aught of one or the other.”
[Sidenote: _One of the knights tells their story._]
Then that knight who had first spoken said, “Sir, this is a very strange
matter, for it was upon account of that very white hart and that
brachet, and of the knight and the lady that we two were just now
engaged in that battle as thou didst behold. For the case is this: We
two are two brothers, and we were riding together in great amity when
that hart and that hound came hitherward. Then my brother said he very
greatly hoped that the white hart would escape from the hound, and I
said that I hoped that the hound would overtake the hart and bring it to
earth. Then came that knight with that lady, his captive, and I said
that I would follow that knight and rescue the lady, and my brother said
that he would undertake that adventure.
“Upon these points we fell into dispute; for it appeared to me that I
felt great affection for that hound, and my brother felt as
extraordinary regard for the white hart, and that as I had first spoken
I should have the right to follow that adventure; but my brother felt
affection for the hart, and he considered that as he was the elder of us
twain, he had the best right to the adventure. So we quarrelled, and by
and by we fell to upon that fight in which thou did see us engaged.”
At this Sir Gawaine was very greatly astonished, and he said, “Messires,
I cannot understand how so great a quarrel should have arisen from so
small a dispute; and, certes, it is a great pity for two brothers to
quarrel as ye have done, and to give one another such sore cuts and
wounds as I perceive you have both received.”
“Messires,” said the second knight, “I think thou art right, and I now
find myself to be very much ashamed of that quarrel.” And the other
said, “I too am sorry for what I have done.”
Then Sir Gawaine said, “Sirs, I would be very glad indeed if you would
tell me your names.” And the one knight said, “I am called Sir Sorloise
of the Forest.” And the other said, “I am called Sir Brian of the
Forest.”
Then Sir Sorloise said, “Sir Knight, I would deem it a very great
courtesy if thou wouldst tell me who thou art.”
“I would be very glad to do that,” said Sir Gawaine, and therewith he
told them his name and condition. Now, when they heard who Sir Gawaine
was, those two knights were very greatly astonished and pleased; for no
one in all the courts of chivalry was more famous than Sir Gawaine, the
son of King Lot of Orkney. Wherefore those two brothers said, “It is
certainly a great joy to us to meet so famous a knight as thou art, Sir
Gawaine.”
Then Sir Gawaine said, “Sir Knights, that hart and that hound came only
a short while ago to where King Arthur and Queen Guinevere and their
Courts of lords and ladies were at feast, and there, likewise, all we
beheld that knight seize upon the lady and make her captive. Wherefore,
I and my brother have come forth upon command of King Arthur for to
discover what is the meaning of that which we beheld. Now I shall deem
it a very great courtesy upon your part if you will cease from this
adventure and will go in amity unto the Court of the King, and will tell
him of what ye beheld and of how you quarrelled and of how we met. For
otherwise I myself will have to engage ye both, and that would be a
great pity; for ye are weary with battle and I am fresh.”
Then these two knights said, “Sir, we will do as you desire, for we have
no wish to have to do with so powerful a knight as you.”
Thereupon those two knights departed and went to the Court of King
Arthur as Sir Gawaine ordained, and Sir Gawaine and his brother rode
forward upon their adventure.
[Sidenote:_Sir Gawaine and Gaheris meet a knight beside the river._]
Now, by and by they came nigh to a great river, and there they beheld
before them a single knight in full armor, who carried a spear in his
hand and a shield hanging to his saddle-bow. Thereupon Sir Gawaine
paused and waited until Sir Gawaine had overtaken him. And when Sir
Gawaine came up to that knight he said, “Sir Knight, hast thou seen a
white hart and a white hound pass by this way? And hast thou seen a
knight bearing off a captive lady?”
Unto this the knight said, “Yea, I beheld them both, and I am even now
following after them with intent to discover whither they are bound.”
Then Sir Gawaine said, “Sir Knight, I bid thee not to follow this
adventure farther, for I myself am set upon it. Wherefore I desire thee
for to give it over so that I may undertake it in thy stead.” “Sir,”
said the other knight, speaking with a very great deal of heat, “I know
not who thou art, nor do I care a very great deal. But touching the
pursuance of this adventure, I do tell thee that I myself intend to
follow it to the end and so will I do, let who will undertake to stay
me.”
Thereupon Sir Gawaine said, “Messire, thou shalt not go forward upon
this adventure unless thou hast first to do with me.” And the knight
said, “Sir, I am very willing for that.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine overthroweth the knight._]
So each knight took such stand upon that field as appeared to him to be
best, and each put himself into a posture of defence and dressed his
shield and his spear. Then, when they were thus prepared in all ways,
they immediately launched forth, the one against the other, rushing
together with great speed and with such an uproar that the ground
trembled and shook beneath them. So they met together in the midst of
the course and the spear of the strange knight burst all into small
pieces, but the spear of Sir Gawaine held; wherefore he hurled that
knight out of his saddle with such violence that he smote the ground
with a blow like an earthquake.
Then Sir Gawaine rode back to where his enemy was (for that knight was
unable to arise), and he removed the helmet from the head of the fallen
knight and beheld that he was very young and comely.
Now, when the fresh air smote upon the knight’s face, he presently awoke
from his swoon and came back unto his senses again, whereupon Sir
Gawaine said, “Dost thou yield unto me?” And the knight said, “I do so.”
Then Sir Gawaine said, “Who art thou?” And the knight said, “I am called
Sir Alardin of the Isles.” “Very well,” said Sir Gawaine; “then I lay my
command upon thee in this wise: that thou shalt go to the Court of King
Arthur and deliver thyself to him as a captive of my prowess. And thou
art to tell him all that thou knowest of the hart and the hound and the
knight and the lady. And thou shalt tell him all that hath befallen thee
in this assault.”
So the knight said that he would do that, and thereupon they parted, the
one party going the one way and the other party going the other way.
After that Sir Gawaine and his brother, Gaheris, rode a considerable
distance until they came, by and by, through a woodland into an open
plain, and it was now about the time of sunset. And they beheld in the
midst of the plain a very stately and noble castle with five towers and
of very great strength.
[Sidenote:_Sir Gawaine and Gaheris behold the dead brachet._]
And right here they saw a sight that filled them with great sorrow, for
they beheld the dead body of that white brachet lying beside the road
like any carrion. And they saw that the hound was pierced through with
three arrows, wherefore they wist that it had been slain very violently.
Now when Sir Gawaine beheld that beautiful hound lying dead in that
wise, he was filled with great sorrow. “What a pity it is,” he cried,
“that this noble hound should be slain in this wise; for I think that it
was the most beautiful hound that ever I saw in all my life. Here hath
assuredly been great treachery against it; for it hath been foully dealt
with because of that white hart which it pursued. Now, I make my vow
that if I can find that hart I will slay it with mine own hands, because
it was in that chase that this hound met its death.”
After that they rode forward toward that castle, and as they drew nigh,
lo! they beheld that white hart with the golden collar browsing upon the
meadows before the castle.
Now, as soon as the white hart beheld those two strangers, it fled with
great speed toward the castle, and it ran into the court-yard of the
castle. And when Sir Gawaine beheld the stag, he gave chase in pursuit
of it with great speed, and Gaheris followed after his brother.
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine slayeth the white hart._]
So Sir Gawaine pursued the white hart into the court-yard of the castle
and from thence it could not escape. Then Sir Gawaine leaped him down
from his horse and drew his sword and slew the hart with a single blow
of his weapon.
This he did in great haste, but when he had done that and it was too
late to mend it, he repented him of what he had done very sorely.
Now with all this tumult, there came out the lord and the lady of that
castle; and the lord was one of very haughty and noble aspect, and the
lady was extraordinarily graceful and very beautiful of appearance. And
Sir Gawaine looked upon the lady and he thought he had hardly ever seen
so beautiful a dame, wherefore he was more sorry than ever that, in his
haste, he had slain that white hart.
But when the lady of the castle beheld the white hart, that it lay dead
upon the stone pavement of the court-yard, she smote her hands together
and shrieked with such shrillness and strength, that it pierced the ears
to hear her. And she cried out, “Oh, my white hart, art thou then dead?”
And therewith she fell to weeping with great passion. Then Sir Gawaine
said, “Lady, I am very sorry for what I have done, and I would that I
could undo it.” Then the lord of that castle said to Sir Gawaine, “Sir,
didst thou slay that stag?” “Yea,” said Sir Gawaine. “Sir,” said the
lord of the castle, “thou hast done very ill in this matter, and if thou
wilt wait a little I will take full vengeance upon thee.” Unto which Sir
Gawaine said, “I will wait for thee as long as it shall please thee.”
[Sidenote: _The knight of the castle assaileth Sir Gawaine._]
Then the lord of the castle went into his chamber and clad himself in
his armor, and in a little while he came out very fiercely. “Sir,” said
Sir Gawaine, “what is thy quarrel with me?” And the lord of the castle
said, “Because thou hast slain the white hart that was so dear to my
lady.” To the which Sir Gawaine said, “I would not have slain the white
hart only that because of it the white brachet was so treacherously
slain.” Upon this the lord of the castle was more wroth than ever, and
he ran at Sir Gawaine and smote him unawares, so that he clave through
the epaulier of his armor and cut through the flesh and unto the bone of
the shoulder, so that Sir Gawaine was put to a great agony of pain at
the stroke. Then Sir Gawaine was filled with rage at the pain of the
wound, wherefore he smote the knight so woful a blow that he cut through
his helmet and into the bone beneath, and thereupon the knight fell down
upon his knees because of the fierceness of the blow, and he could not
rise up again. Then Sir Gawaine catched his helmet and rushed it off
from his head.
Upon this the knight said in a weak voice, “Sir Knight, I crave mercy of
you, and yield myself to you.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine maketh to slay the knight of the castle._]
But Sir Gawaine was very furious with anger because of that unexpected
blow which he had received and because of the great agony of the wound,
wherefore he would not have mercy, but lifted up his sword with intent
to slay that knight.
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine striketh the lady of the castle without
intent._]
Then the lady of the castle beheld what Sir Gawaine was intent to do,
and she brake away from her damsels and ran and flung herself upon the
knight so as to shield him with her own body. And in that moment Sir
Gawaine was striking and could not stay his blow; nevertheless, he was
able to turn his sword in his hand so that the edge thereof did not
smite the lady. But the flat of the sword struck her upon the neck a
very grievous blow, and the blade cut her a little, so that the blood
ran down her smooth white neck and over her kerchief; and with the
violence of the blow the lady fell down and lay upon the ground as
though she were dead.
Now when Sir Gawaine beheld that, he thought that he had slain that lady
in his haste, and he was all a-dread at what he had done, wherefore he
cried, “Woe is me! what have I done?”
“Alas!” said Gaheris, “that was a very shameful blow that thou didst
strike; and the shame of it is mine also because thou art my brother.
Now I wish I had not come with thee to this place.”
Then Sir Gawaine said to the lord of that castle, “Sir, I will spare thy
life, for I am very sorry for what I have done in my haste.”
But the knight of the castle was filled with great bitterness, because
he thought that his lady was dead, wherefore he cried out as in despair,
“I will not now have thy mercy, for thou art a knight without mercy and
without pity. And since thou hast slain my lady, who is dearer to me
than my life, thou mayst slay me also. For that is the only service
which thou canst now render me.”
But by now the damsels of the lady had come to her where she lay, and
the chiefest of these cried out to the lord of the castle, “Ha, sir, thy
lady is not dead, but only in a swoon from which she will presently
recover.”
Then when the lord of the castle heard that, he fell to weeping in great
measure from pure joy; for now that he knew his lady was alive he could
not contain himself for joy. Therewith Sir Gawaine came to him and
lifted him up from the ground where he was, and kissed him upon the
cheek. Then certain others came and bare the lady away into her chamber,
and there in a little while she recovered from that swoon and was but
little the worse for the blow she had received.
That night Sir Gawaine, and his brother, Gaheris, abided with the knight
and the lady, and when the knight learned who Sir Gawaine was, he felt
it great honor to have so famous a knight in that place. So they feasted
together that evening in great amity.
Now, after they had refreshed themselves, Sir Gawaine said, “I beseech
you, sir, to tell me what was the meaning of the white hart and the
white brachet which led me into this adventure.”
To this the lord of the castle (whose name was Sir Ablamor of the
Marise) said, “I will do so.” And therewith he spake as follows:
“You must know, sir, that I have a brother who hath always been very
dear to me, and when I took this, my lady, unto wife, he took her sister
as his wife.
[Sidenote:_The lord of the castle telleth the story of the white hart
and the white hound._]
“Now, my brother dwelt in a castle nigh to this, and we held commerce
brother’s lady were riding through this forest together discoursing very
pleasantly. What time there appeared a lady unto them, exceedingly
beautiful, and of very strange appearance, for I do not think that
either my lady or her sister ever beheld her like before.
“This strange lady brought unto those two ladies a white hart and a
white brachet, and the hart and the hound she held each by a silver
chain attached to a golden collar that encircled its neck. And the white
hart she gave unto my lady and the white brachet she gave unto my lady’s
sister. And then she went away leaving them very glad.
“But their gladness did not last for very long, for ever since that time
there hath been nothing else but discord between my brother and myself,
and between my lady and her sister, for the white hound hath ever sought
the white hart for to destroy it, wherefore I and my lady have
entertained very great offence against my brother and his lady because
they did not keep the white brachet at home. So it has come to pass that
a number of times we have sought to destroy the hound, so that my
brother and his lady have held equal offence against us.
“Now this day it chanced I was toward the outskirts of the forest to the
east of us, when I heard a great outcry in the woodland, and by and by
the white hart that belonged to my lady came fleeing through the
woodland, and the white brachet that belonged to my brother’s lady was
in pursuit of it; and my brother and his lady and two esquires followed
rapidly after the hart and the brachet.
“Then I was very greatly angered, for it seemed to me that they were
chasing that white hart out of despite of my lady and myself, wherefore
I followed after them with all speed.
“So I came upon them at the outskirts of the woodland, nigh to where
there were a number of pavilions pitched in the shade of a glade of
trees in the midst of the meadow, and there, in mine anger, I struck my
brother a great blow so that I smote him down from his horse. And I
catched his lady and I threw her across the horn of my saddle and I bore
her here away to this castle, and here I have held her out of revenge
because they pursued the white hart which belonged to my lady. For my
lady loved that hart as she loved nothing else in the world, excepting
myself.”
“Sir,” said Sir Gawaine, “this is a very strange matter. Now I beseech
thee to tell me of what appearance was that lady who gave the white hart
and the white hound unto those two ladies?” “Messire,” said the knight,
“she was clad all in crimson, and about her throat and arms were a great
many ornaments of gold beset with stones of divers colors, and her hair
was red like gold and was enmeshed in a net of gold, and her eyes were
very black and shone with exceeding brightness, and her lips were like
coral, so that she possessed a very strange appearance.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine heareth of Vivien._]
“Ha!” said Sir Gawaine, “from this description methinks that lady could
have been none other than the sorceress Vivien. For now she spendeth all
of her time in doing such mischief as this by means of her enchantment,
out of pure despite. And, indeed, I think it would be a very good thing
if she were put out of this world so that she could do no more such
mischief. But tell me, Messire, where now is that lady, thy wife’s
sister?” “Sir,” said the knight, “she is in this castle and is a
prisoner of honor.” “Well,” quoth Sir Gawaine, “since now both the hart
and the hound are dead, ye can assuredly bear no more enmity toward her
and your brother, wherefore I do beseech you that you will let her go
free, and will enter again into a condition of amity and good-will the
one with the other, in such a manner as hath afore obtained between
you.” And the lord of the castle said, “Sir, it shall be so.”
And so he set the lady free at that time, and thereafter there was amity
between them as Sir Gawaine had ordained.
And the next day Sir Gawaine and his brother, Gaheris, returned unto
this Court of the King and he told King Arthur and his Court all that
had befallen, hiding nothing from them.
[Sidenote: _Queen Guinevere is displeased with Sir Gawaine._]
Now, Queen Guinevere was very much displeased when she heard how Sir
Gawaine would show no mercy to that knight and how he had struck the
lady with his sword. Wherefore she said aside to one of those who stood
nigh to her, “It seems to me to be a very strange thing for a belted
knight to do, to refuse to give mercy unto a fallen enemy and to strike
a lady with his sword; for I should think that any sword that had drawn
blood from a lady in such wise would be dishonored for aye; and I cannot
think that anyone who would strike a lady in that wise would hold
himself guiltless unto his vow of knighthood.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine breaketh his sword._]
This Sir Gawaine overheard and he was exceedingly wroth thereat. But he
concealed his anger at that time. Only after he had gone away he said to
Gaheris, his brother, “I believe that lady hateth me with all her heart;
but some time I will show to her that I have in me more courtesy and am
more gentle than she believes me to be. As for my sword, since she
deemeth it to be dishonored by that blow, I will not use it any more.”
So he took the sword out of its sheath and brake it across his knee and
flung it away.
Now all this hath been told to set forth that which follows; for there
ye shall learn what great things of nobility Sir Gawaine could do when
it behooved him to do them. For, haply, ye who have read this story may
feel as Queen Guinevere did, that Sir Gawaine was not rightwise
courteous as a belted knight should have been in that adventure
aforetold.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: King Arthur findeth yᵉ old woman in yᵉ hut:]
[Illustration] Chapter Second.
_How King Arthur Became Lost in the Forest, and How He Fell Into a Very
Singular Adventure in a Castle Unto Which He Came._
Now, it befell upon a time some while after this, that King Arthur was
at Tintagalon upon certain affairs of state. And Queen Guinevere and her
Court and the King’s Court made progression from Camelot unto Carleon,
and there they abided until the King should be through his business at
Tintagalon and should join them at Carleon.
Now that time was the spring of the year, and all things were very jolly
and gay, wherefore King Arthur became possessed with a great desire for
adventure. So he called unto him a certain favorite esquire, hight
Boisenard, and he said to him, “Boisenard, this day is so pleasant that
I hardly know how I may contain myself because of the joy I take in it,
for it seems to be that my heart is nigh ready to burst with a great
pleasure of desiring. So I am of a mind to go a-gadding with only thee
for companion.”
To this Boisenard said, “Lord, I know of nothing that would give to me a
greater pleasure than that.”
So King Arthur said, “Very well, let us then go away from this place in
such a manner that no one will be aware of our departure. And so we will
go to Carleon and surprise the Queen by coming unexpectedly to that
place.”
So Boisenard brought armor, without device, and he clad the King in that
armor; and then they two rode forth together, and no one wist that they
had left the castle.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur sets forth with his esquire._]
And when they came forth into the fields, King Arthur whistled and sang
and jested and laughed and made himself merry; for he was as a war-horse
turned forth upon the grass that taketh glory in the sunshine and the
warm air and becometh like unto a colt again.
So by and by they came into the forest and rode that way with great
content of spirit; and they took this path and they took that path for
no reason but because the day was so gay and jolly. So, by and by, they
lost their way in the mazes of the woodland and knew not where they
were.
[Sidenote: _They are lost in the forest._]
Now when they found themselves to be lost in that wise they journeyed
with more circumspection, going first by this way and then by that, but
in no manner could they find their way out from their entanglement. And
so fell night-time and they knew not where they were; but all became
very dark and obscure, with the woodland full of strange and unusual
sounds around about them.
Then King Arthur said, “Boisenard, this is a very perplexing pass and I
do not know how we shall find lodging for this night.”
To this Boisenard said, “Lord, if I have thy permission to do so, I will
climb one of these trees and see if I can discover any sign of
habitation in this wilderness.” And King Arthur said, “Do so, I pray
thee.”
[Sidenote: _Boisenard beholdeth a light._]
So Boisenard climbed a very tall tree and from the top of the tree he
beheld a light a great distance away, and he said, “Lord, I see a light
in that direction.” And therewith he came down from the tree again.
So King Arthur and Boisenard went in the direction that Boisenard had
beheld the light, and by and by they came out of the forest and into an
open place where they beheld a very great castle with several tall
towers, very grim and forbidding of appearance. And it was from this
castle that the light had appeared that Boisenard had seen. So they two
rode up to the castle and Boisenard called aloud and smote upon the gate
of the castle. Then immediately there came a porter and demanded of them
what they would have. Unto him Boisenard said, “Sirrah, we would come in
to lodge for to-night, for we are a-weary.” So the porter said, “Who are
you?”--speaking very roughly and rudely to them, for he could not see of
what condition they were because of the darkness. Then Boisenard said,
“This is a knight of very good quality and I am his esquire, and we have
lost our way in the forest and now we come hither seeking shelter.”
“Sir,” said the porter, “if ye know what is good for you, ye will sleep
in the forest rather than come into this place, for this is no very good
retreat for errant knights to shelter themselves.”
Upon this King Arthur bespake the porter, for that which the porter said
aroused great curiosity within him. So he said, “Nay, we will not go
away from here and we demand to lodge here for this night.”
Then the porter said, “Very well; ye may come in.” And thereupon he
opened the gate and they rode into the court-yard of that castle.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur and his esquire enter the castle._]
Now at the noise of their coming, there appeared a great many lights
within the castle, and there came running forth divers attendants. Some
of these aided King Arthur and Boisenard to dismount, and others took
the horses, and others again brought basins of water for them to wash
withal. And after they had washed their faces and hands, other
attendants brought them into the castle.
Now as they came into the castle, they were aware of a great noise of
very many people talking and laughing together, with the sound of
singing and of harping. And so they came into the hall of the castle and
beheld that it was lighted with a great number of candles and tapers and
torches. Here they found a multitude of people gathered at a table
spread for a feast, and at the head of the table there sat a knight,
well advanced in years and with hair and beard white as milk. Yet he was
exceedingly strong and sturdy of frame, having shoulders of wonderful
broadness and a great girth of chest. This knight was of a very stern
and forbidding appearance, and was clad altogether in black, and he wore
around his neck a chain of gold, with a locket of gold hanging pendant
from it.
Now when this knight beheld King Arthur and Boisenard come into the
hall, he called aloud to them in a very great voice bidding them to come
and sit with him at the head of the table; and they did so, and those at
the head of the table made place for them, and thus they sat there
beside the knight.
Now King Arthur and Boisenard were exceedingly hungry, wherefore they
ate with great appetite and made joy of the entertainment which they
received, and meantime the knight held them in very pleasant discourse,
talking to them of such things as would give them the most
entertainment. So after a while the feast was ended and they ceased from
eating.
[Sidenote: _The knight of the castle challenges King Arthur to an
adventure._]
Then, of a sudden, the knight said to King Arthur, “Messire, thou art
young and lusty of spirit and I doubt not but thou hath a great heart
within thee. What say you now to a little sport betwixt us two?” Upon
this King Arthur regarded that knight very steadily and he believed that
his face was not so old as it looked; for his eyes were exceedingly
bright and shone like sparks of light; wherefore he was a-doubt and he
said, “Sir, what sport would you have?” Upon this the knight fell
a-laughing in great measure and he said, “This is a very strange sport
that I have in mind, for it is this: That thou and I shall prove the one
unto the other what courage each of us may have.” And King Arthur said,
“How shall we prove that?” Whereunto the knight made reply, “This is
what we shall do: Thou and I shall stand forth in the middle of this
hall, and thou shalt have leave to try to strike off my head; and if I
can receive that blow without dying therefrom, then I shall have leave
to strike thy head off in a like manner.”
Upon this speech King Arthur was greatly a-dread and he said, “That is
very strange sport for two men to engage upon.”
Now when King Arthur said this, all those who were in the hall burst out
laughing beyond all measure and as though they would never stint from
their mirth. Then, when they had become in a measure quiet again, the
knight of that castle said, “Sir, art thou afraid of that sport?” Upon
which King Arthur fell very angry and he said, “Nay, I am not afeared,
for no man hath ever yet had reason to say that I showed myself afeared
of anyone.” “Very well,” said the knight of the castle; “then let us try
that sport of which I spake.” And King Arthur said, “I am willing.”
Then Boisenard came to King Arthur where he was, and he said, “Lord, do
not thou enter into this thing, but rather let me undertake this venture
in thy stead, for I am assured that some great treachery is meditated
against thee.” But King Arthur said, “Nay; no man shall take my danger
upon himself, but I will assume mine own danger without calling upon any
man to take it.” So he said to the knight of the castle, “Sir, I am
ready for that sport of which thou didst speak, but who is to strike
that first blow and how shall we draw lots therefor?” “Messire,” said
the knight of the castle, “there shall be no lots drawn. For, as thou
art the guest of this place, so shall thou have first assay at that
sport.”
Therewith that knight arose and laid aside his black robe, and he was
clad beneath in a shirt of fine linen very cunningly worked. And he wore
hosen of crimson. Then he opened that linen undergarment at the throat
and he turned down the collar thereof so as to lay his neck bare to the
blow. Thereupon he said, “Now, Sir Knight, thou shalt have to strike
well if thou wouldst win at this sport.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur cuts off the head of the knight of the castle._]
But King Arthur showed no dread of that undertaking, for he arose and
drew Excalibur so that the blade of the sword flashed with exceeding
brightness. Then he measured his distance, and lifted the sword, and he
smote the knight of the castle with all his might upon the neck. And,
lo! the blade cut through the neck of the knight of the castle with
wonderful ease, so that the head flew from the body to a great distance
away.
But the trunk of the body of that knight did not fall, but instead of
that it stood, and it walked to where the head lay, and the hands of the
trunk picked up the head and they set the head back upon the body and,
lo! that knight was as sound and whole as ever he had been in all his
life.
Upon this all those of the castle shouted and made great mirth, and they
called upon King Arthur that it was now his turn to try that sport. So
the King prepared himself, laying aside his surcoat and opening his
undergarment at the throat, as the knight of the castle had done. And at
that Boisenard made great lamentation. Then the knight of the castle
said, “Sir, art thou afeared?” And King Arthur said, “No, I am not
afeared, for every man must come to his death some time, and it appears
that my time hath now come, and that I am to lay down my life in this
foolish fashion for no fault of mine own.”
Then the knight of the castle said, “Well, stand thou away a little
distance so that I may not strike thee too close, and so lose the virtue
of my blow.”
[Sidenote: _The knight torments King Arthur._]
So King Arthur stood forth in the midst of the hall, and the knight of
the castle swung his sword several times, but did not strike. Likewise,
he several times laid the blade of the sword upon King Arthur’s neck,
and it was very cold. Then King Arthur cried out in great passion, “Sir,
it is thy right to strike, but I beseech thee not to torment me in this
manner.” “Nay,” said the knight of the castle, “it is my right to strike
when it pleases me, and I will not strike any before that time. For if
it please me I will torment thee for a great while ere I slay thee.” So
he laid his sword several times more upon King Arthur’s neck, and King
Arthur said no more, but bore that torment with a very steadfast spirit.
Then the knight of the castle said, “Thou appearest to be a very
courageous and honorable knight, and I have a mind to make a covenant
with thee.” And King Arthur said, “What is that covenant?” “It is this,”
said the knight of the castle, “I will spare thee thy life for a year
and a day if thou wilt pledge me thy knightly word to return hither at
the end of that time.”
Then King Arthur said, “Very well; it shall be so.” And therewith he
pledged his knightly word to return at the end of that time, swearing to
that pledge upon the cross of the hilt of Excalibur.
[Sidenote: _The knight of the castle sets King Arthur a riddle._]
Then the knight of the castle said, “I will make another covenant with
quoth the knight of the castle, “I will give to thee a riddle, and if
thou wilt answer that riddle when thou returnest hither, and if thou
makest no mistake in that answer, then will I spare thy life and set
thee free.” And King Arthur said, “What is that riddle?” To which the
knight made reply, “The riddle is this: What is it that a woman desires
most of all in the world?”
“Sir,” said King Arthur, “I will seek to find the answer to that riddle,
and I give thee gramercy for sparing my life for so long a time as thou
hast done, and for giving me the chance to escape my death.” Upon this
the knight of the castle smiled very sourly, and he said, “I do not
offer this to thee because of mercy to thee, but because I find pleasure
in tormenting thee. For what delight canst thou have in living thy life
when thou knowest that thou must, for a surety, die at the end of one
short year? And what pleasure canst thou have in living even that year
when thou shalt be tormented with anxiety to discover the answer to my
riddle?”
Then King Arthur said, “I think thou art very cruel.” And the knight
said, “I am not denying that.”
So that night King Arthur and Boisenard lay at the castle, and the next
day they took their way thence. And King Arthur was very heavy and
troubled in spirit; ne’theless he charged Boisenard that he should say
nothing concerning that which had befallen, but that he should keep it
in secret. And Boisenard did as the King commanded, and said nothing
concerning that adventure.
Now in that year which followed, King Arthur settled his affairs. Also
he sought everywhere to find the answer to that riddle. Many there were
who gave him answers in plenty, for one said that a woman most desired
wealth, and another said she most desired beauty, and one said she
desired power to please, and another said that she most desired fine
raiment; and one said this, and another said that; but no answer
appeared to King Arthur to be good and fitting for his purpose.
So the year passed by, until only a fortnight remained; and then King
Arthur could not abide to stay where he was any longer, for it seemed to
him his time was very near to hand, and he was filled with a very bitter
anxiety of soul, wherefore he was very restless to be away.
So he called Boisenard to him, and he said, “Boisenard, help me to arm,
for I am going away.”
Then Boisenard fell a-weeping in very great measure, and he said, “Lord,
do not go.”
At this King Arthur looked very sternly at his esquire, and said,
“Boisenard, how is this? Wouldst thou tempt me to violate mine honor? It
is not very hard to die, but it would be very bitter to live my life in
dishonor; wherefore tempt me no more, but do my bidding and hold thy
peace. And if I do not return in a month from this time, then mayst thou
tell all that hath befallen. And thou mayst tell Sir Constantine of
Cornwall that he is to search the papers in my cabinet, and that there
he will find all that is to be done should death overtake me.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur set forth to return to the castle of the evil
knight._]
So Boisenard put a plain suit of armor upon King Arthur, though he could
hardly see what he was about for the tears that flowed down out of his
eyes in great abundance. And he laced upon the armor of the King a
surcoat without device, and he gave the King a shield without device.
Thereupon King Arthur rode away without considering whither his way took
him. And of everyone whom he met he inquired what that thing was that a
woman most desired, and no one could give him an answer that appeared to
him to be what it should be, wherefore he was in great doubt and torment
of spirit.
[Sidenote: _King Arthur cometh to the hut of an old woman._]
Now the day before King Arthur was to keep his covenant at that castle,
he was wandering through the adjacent forest in great travail of soul,
for he wist not what he should do to save his life. As he wandered so,
he came of a sudden upon a small hut built up under an overhanging
oak-tree so that it was very hard to tell where the oak-tree ended and
the hut began. And there were a great many large rocks all about covered
with moss, so that the King might very easily have passed by the hut
only that he beheld a smoke to arise therefrom as from a fire that
burned within. So he went to the hut and opened the door and entered. At
first he thought there was no one there, but when he looked again he
beheld an old woman sitting bent over a small fire that burned upon the
hearth. And King Arthur had never beheld such an ugly beldame as that
one who sat there bending over that fire, for her ears were very huge
and flapped, and her hair hung down over her head like to snakes, and
her face was covered all over with wrinkles so that there were not any
places at all where there was not a wrinkle; and her eyes were bleared
and covered over with a film, and the eyelids were red as with the
continual weeping of her eyes, and she had but one tooth in her mouth,
and her hands, which she spread out to the fire, were like claws of
bone.
Then King Arthur gave her greeting and she gave the King greeting, and
she said to him, “My lord King, whence come ye? and why do ye come to
this place?”
Then King Arthur was greatly astonished that that old woman should know
him, who he was, and he said, “Who are you that appeareth to know me?”
“No matter,” said she, “I am one who meaneth you well; so tell me what
is the trouble that brings you here at this time.” So the King confessed
all his trouble to that old woman, and he asked her if she knew the
answer to that riddle, “What is it that a woman most desires?” “Yea,”
said the old woman, “I know the answer to that riddle very well, but I
will not tell it to thee unless thou wilt promise me something in
return.”
At this King Arthur was filled with very great joy that the old woman
should know the answer to that riddle, and he was filled with doubt of
what she would demand of him, wherefore he said, “What is it thou must
have in return for that answer?”
Then the old woman said, “If I aid thee to guess thy riddle aright, thou
must promise that I shall become wife unto one of the knights of thy
Court, whom I may choose when thou returnest homeward again.”
“Ha!” said King Arthur, “how may I promise that upon the behalf of
anyone?” Upon this the old woman said, “Are not the knights of thy Court
of such nobility that they will do that to save thee from death?” “I
believe they are,” said King Arthur. And with that he meditated a long
while, saying unto himself, “What will my kingdom do if I die at this
time? I have no right to die.” So he said to the old woman, “Very well,
I will make that promise.”
[Sidenote: _The old woman telleth King Arthur to answer the riddle._]
Then she said unto the King, “This is the answer to that riddle: That
which a woman most desires is to have her will.” And the answer seemed
to King Arthur to be altogether right.
Then the old woman said, “My lord King, thou hast been played upon by
that knight who hath led thee into this trouble, for he is a great
conjurer and a magician of a very evil sort. He carrieth his life not
within his body, but in a crystal globe which he weareth in a locket
hanging about his neck; wherefore it was that when thou didst cut the
head from off his body, his life remained in that locket and he did not
die. But if thou hadst destroyed that locket, then he would immediately
have died.”
“I will mind me of that,” said King Arthur.
So King Arthur abided with that old woman for that night, and she
refreshed him with meat and drink and served him very well. And the next
morning he set forth unto that castle where he had made his covenant,
and his heart was more cheerful than it had been for a whole year.
[Illustration: Sir Gawaine finds the beautiful Lady]
[Illustration] Chapter Third.
_How King Arthur Overcame the Knight-Enchanter, and How Sir Gawaine
Manifested the High Nobility of His Knighthood._
[Sidenote: _King Arthur returneth to the castle of the evil knight._]
Now, when King Arthur came to the castle, the gateway thereof was
immediately opened to him and he entered. And when he had entered,
sundry attendants came and conducted him into the hall where he had
aforetime been. There he beheld the knight of that castle and a great
many people who had come to witness the conclusion of the adventure. And
when the knight beheld King Arthur he said to him, “Sir, hast thou come
to redeem thy pledge?” “Yea,” said King Arthur, “for so I made my vow to
thee.” Then the knight of the castle said, “Sir, hast thou guessed that
riddle?” And King Arthur said, “I believe that I have.” The knight of
the castle said, “Then let me hear thy answer thereto. But if thou
makest any mistake, or if thou dost not guess aright, then is thy life
forfeit.” “Very well,” said King Arthur, “let it be that way. Now this
is the answer to thy riddle: That which a woman most desires is to have
her will.”
Now when the lord of the castle heard King Arthur guess aright he wist
not what to say or where to look, and those who were there also
perceived that the King had guessed aright.
Then King Arthur came very close to that knight with great sternness of
demeanor, and he said, “Now, thou traitor knight! thou didst ask me to
enter into thy sport with thee a year ago, so at these present it is my
turn to ask thee to have sport with me. And this is the sport I will
have, that thou shalt give me that chain and locket that hang about thy
neck, and that I shall give thee the collar which hangeth about my
neck.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur slayeth the knight of the castle._]
At this, the face of that knight fell all pale, like to ashes, and he
emitted a sound similar to the sound made by a hare when the hound lays
hold upon it. Then King Arthur catched him very violently by the arm,
and he catched the locket and brake it away from about the knight’s
neck, and besought mercy of the King, and there was great uproar in
that place. Then King Arthur opened the locket and lo! there was a ball
as of crystal, very clear and shining. And King Arthur said, “I will
have no mercy,” and therewith he flung the ball violently down upon the
stone of the pavement so that it brake with a loud noise. Then, upon
that instant, the knight-conjurer gave a piercing bitter cry and fell
down upon the ground; and when they ran to raise him up, behold! he was
entirely dead.
Now when the people of that castle beheld their knight thus suddenly
dead, and when they beheld King Arthur how he stood in the fury of his
kingly majesty, they were greatly afeared so that they shrunk away from
the King where he stood. Then the King turned and went out from that
castle and no one stayed him, and he mounted his horse and rode away,
and no one gave him let or hindrance in his going.
Now when the King had left the castle in that wise, he went straight to
the hut where was the old beldame and he said to her, “Thou hast holpen
me a very great deal in mine hour of need, so now will I fulfil that
pledge which I made unto thee, for I will take thee unto my Court and
thou shalt choose one of my knights for thy husband. For I think there
is not one knight in all my Court but would be very glad to do anything
that lieth in his power to reward one who hath saved me as thou hast
done this day.”
[Sidenote: _King Arthur taketh the old woman away with him._]
Therewith he took that old woman and he lifted her up upon the crupper
of his horse; then he himself mounted upon his horse, and so they rode
away from that place. And the King comported himself to that aged
beldame in all ways with the utmost consideration as though she had been
a beautiful dame of the highest degree in the land. Likewise he showed
her such respect that had she been a lady of royal blood, he could not
have shown greater respect to her.
So in due time they reached the Court, which was then at Carleon. And
they came there nigh about mid-day.
Now about that time it chanced that the Queen and a number of the lords
of the Court, and a number of the ladies of the Court, were out in the
fields enjoying the pleasantness of the Maytime; for no one in all the
world, excepting the esquire, Boisenard, knew anything of the danger
that beset King Arthur; hence all were very glad of the pleasantness of
the season. Now as King Arthur drew nigh to that place, these lifted up
their eyes and beheld him come, and they were astonished beyond all
measure to see King Arthur come to them across that field with that old
beldame behind him upon the saddle, wherefore they stood still to wait
until King Arthur reached them.
But when King Arthur had come to them, he did not dismount from his
horse, but sat thereon and regarded them all very steadfastly; and Queen
Guinevere said, “Sir, what is this? Hast thou a mind to play some merry
jest this day that thou hast brought hither that old woman?”
“Lady,” said King Arthur, “excepting for this old woman it were like to
have been a very sorry jest for thee and for me; for had she not aided
me I would now have been a dead man and in a few days you would
doubtless all have been in great passion of sorrow.”
Then all they who were there marvelled very greatly at the King’s words.
And the Queen said, “Sir, what is it that hath befallen thee?”
Thereupon King Arthur told them all that had happened to him from the
very beginning when he and Boisenard had left the castle of Tintagalon.
And when he had ended his story, they were greatly amazed.
Now there were seventeen lords of the Court there present. So when King
Arthur had ended his story, he said unto these, “Messires, I have given
my pledge unto this aged woman that any one of you whom she may choose,
shall take her unto him as his wife, and shall treat her with all the
regard that it is possible for him to do; for this was the condition
that she laid upon me. Now tell me, did I do right in making unto her my
pledge that I would fulfil that which she desired?” And all of those who
were present said, “Yea, lord, thou didst right, for we would do all in
the world for to save thee from such peril as that from which thou hast
escaped.”
[Sidenote: _The old woman chooseth Sir Gawaine._]
Then King Arthur said to that old woman, “Lady, is there any of these
knights here whom you would choose for to be your husband?” Upon this,
the old woman pointed with her very long, bony finger unto Sir Gawaine,
saying, “Yea, I would marry that lord, for I see by the chain that is
around his neck and by the golden circlet upon his hair and by the
haughty nobility of his aspect, that he must be the son of a king.”
Then King Arthur said unto Sir Gawaine, “Sir, art thou willing to fulfil
my pledge unto this old woman?” And Sir Gawaine said, “Yea, lord,
whatsoever thou requirest of me, that will I do.” So Sir Gawaine came to
the old woman and took her hand into his and set it to his lips; and not
one of all those present so much as smiled. Then they all turned their
faces and returned unto the King’s castle; and they were very silent and
downcast, for this was sore trouble that had come upon that Court.
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine taketh the old woman to wife._]
Now after they had returned unto the Court, they assigned certain such
as a queen might wear, and they assigned unto her a Court such as was
fit for a queen; and it seemed to all the Court that, in the rich robes
which she wore, she was ten times more ugly than she was before. So when
eleven days had passed, Sir Gawaine was wedded to that old woman in the
chapel of the King’s Court with great ceremony and pomp of circumstance,
and all of those who were there were as sad and as sorrowful as though
Sir Gawaine had been called upon to suffer his death.
Afterward that they were married, Sir Gawaine and the old woman went to
Sir Gawaine’s house and there Sir Gawaine shut himself off from all the
world and suffered no one to come nigh him; for he was proud beyond all
measure, and in this great humiliation he suffered in such a wise that
words cannot tell how great was that humiliation. Wherefore he shut
himself away from the world that no one might behold his grief and his
shame.
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine is in great sorrow._]
And all the rest of that day he walked continually up and down his
chamber, for he was altogether in such despair that it came unto his
mind that it would be well if he took his own life; for it seemed to him
impossible for to suffer such shame as that which had come upon him. So
after a while it fell the dark of the early night and therewith a
certain strength came to Sir Gawaine and he said, “This is a shame for
me for to behave in this way; for since I have married that lady she is
my true wedded wife and I do not treat her with that regard unto which
she hath the right.” So he went out of that place and sought the
apartment of that old woman who was his wife, and by that time it was
altogether dark. But when Sir Gawaine had come into that place where she
was, that old woman upbraided him, crying out upon him, “So, Sir! You
have treated me but ill upon this our wedding-day, for you have stayed
all the afternoon away from me and now only come to me when it is dark
night.” And Sir Gawaine said, “Lady, I could not help it, for I was very
sore oppressed with many cares. But if I have disregarded thee this day,
I do beseech thy forgiveness therefore, and I will hold myself willing
to do all that is in my power to recompense thee for any neglect that I
have placed upon thee.” Then the lady said, “Sir, it is very dark in
this place; let us then have a light.” “It shall be as thou dost
desire,” said Sir Gawaine, “and I, myself, will go and fetch a light for
thee.”
So Sir Gawaine went forth from that place and he brought two waxen
tapers, one in either hand, and he bore them in candlesticks of gold;
for he was minded to show all respect unto that old woman. And when he
came into the room he perceived that she was at the farther end of the
apartment and he went toward her, and she arose and stood before him as
he approached.
[Sidenote: _Of the beautiful lady who appeareth to Sir Gawaine._]
But when the circle of light fell upon that old woman, and when Sir
Gawaine beheld her who stood before him, he cried out aloud in a very
great voice because of the great marvel and wonder of that which he saw.
For, instead of that old woman whom he had left, he beheld a lady of
extraordinary beauty and in the very flower of her youth. And he beheld
that her hair was long and glossy and very black, and that her eyes were
likewise black like to black jewels, and that her lips were like coral,
and her teeth were like pearls. So, for a while, Sir Gawaine could not
speak, and then he cried out, “Lady! lady! who art thou?”
Then that lady smiled upon Sir Gawaine with such loving-kindness that he
wist not what to think, other than that this was an angel who had
descended to that place out of paradise. Wherefore he stood before her
for a long time and could find no more words to say, and she continued
to smile upon him very kindly in that wise. Then by and by Sir Gawaine
said to her, “Lady, where is that dame who is my wife?” And the lady
said, “Sir Gawaine, I am she.” “It is not possible,” cried out Sir
Gawaine, “for she was old and extraordinarily ugly, but I believe that
thou art beautiful beyond any lady whom I have beheld.” And the lady
said, “Nevertheless, I am she and because thou hast taken me for thy
wife with thine own free will and with great courtesy, so is a part of
that enchantment that lay upon me removed from me. For I will now be
able to appear before thee in mine own true shape. For whiles I was a
little while ago so ugly and foul as thou didst behold me to be, now am
I to be as thou seest me, for one-half the day--and the other half
thereof I must be ugly as I was before.”
Then Sir Gawaine was filled beyond all words with great joy. And with
that joy there came an extreme passion of loving regard for that lady.
So he cried out aloud several times, “This is surely the most wonderful
thing that ever befell any man in all the world.” Therewith he fell down
upon his knees and took that lady’s hands into his own hands, and kissed
her hands with great fervor, and all the while she smiled upon him as
she had done at first.
Then again the lady said, “Come, sit thee down beside me and let us
consider what part of the day I shall be in the one guise, and what part
of the day I shall be in the other guise; for all day I may have the one
appearance, and all night I may have the other appearance.”
Then Sir Gawaine said, “I would have thee in this guise during the night
time, for then we are together at our own inn; and since thou art of
this sort that I now see thee, I do not at all reckon how the world may
regard thee.”
Upon this the lady spake with great animation, saying, “No, sir, I would
not have it in that wise, for every woman loveth the regard of the
world, and I would fain enjoy such beauty as is mine before the world,
and not endure the scorn and contempt of men and women.”
To this Sir Gawaine said, “Lady, I would have it the other way.”
And she said, “Nay, I would have it my way.”
[Sidenote: _Sir Gawaine giveth the lady her will._]
Then Sir Gawaine said, “So be it. For since I have taken thee for my
wife, so must I show thee respect in all matters; wherefore thou shalt
have thy will in this and in all other things.”
Then that lady fell a-laughing beyond all measure and she said, “Sir, I
did but put this as a last trial upon thee, for as I am now, so shall I
always be.”
Upon this Sir Gawaine was so filled with joy that he knew not how to
contain himself.
So they sat together for a long time, hand in hand. Then after a while
Sir Gawaine said, “Lady, who art thou?” Unto which she made reply, “I am
one of the Ladies of the Lake; but for thy sake I have become mortal
like to other women and have quit that very beautiful home where I one
time dwelt. I have kept thee in my heart for a considerable while, for I
was not very far distant at that time when thou didst bid adieu to Sir
Pellias beside the lake. There I beheld how thou didst weep and bewail
thyself when Sir Pellias left thee, wherefore my heart went out to thee
with great pity. So, after a while, I quitted that lake and became
mortal for thy sake. Now, when I found the trouble into which King
Arthur had fallen I took that occasion to have him fetch me unto thee so
that I might test the entire nobility of thy knighthood; and, lo! I have
found it all that I deemed it possible to be. For though I appeared to
thee so aged, so ugly, and so foul, yet hast thou treated me with such
kind regard that I do not believe that thou couldst have behaved with
more courtesy to me had I been the daughter of a king. Wherefore it doth
now afford me such pleasure for to possess thee for my knight and my
true lord, that I cannot very well tell thee how great is my joy
therein.”
[Sidenote:_Sir Gawaine lets make great rejoicing._]
Then Sir Gawaine said, “Lady, I do not think it can be so great as my
joy in possessing thee.” And thereupon he came to her and laid his hand
upon her shoulder and kissed her upon the lips.
Then, after that, he went forth and called with a great voice all
through that house, and the people of the house came running from
everywhere. And he commanded that the people should bring lights and
refreshments, and they brought the lights, and when they had brought
them and beheld that beautiful lady instead of the aged dame, they were
filled with great wonder and joy; wherefore they cried out aloud and
clapped their hands together and made much sound of rejoicing. And they
set a great feast for Sir Gawaine and his lady, and in place of the
sorrow and darkness that had been, there was joy and light, and music
and singing; wherefore those of the King’s Court, beholding this from a
distance, said, “It is very strange that Sir Gawaine should have taken
so much joy of having wedded that old beldame.”
But when the next morning had come, that lady clad herself in raiment of
yellow silk, and she hung about her many strands of precious stones of
several colors, and she set a golden crown upon her head. And Sir
Gawaine let call his horse, and he let call a snow-white palfrey for the
lady, and thereupon they rode out from that place and entered the Court
of the King. But when the King and the Queen and their several Courts
beheld that lady, they were filled with such great astonishment that
they wist not what to say for pure wonder. And when they heard all that
had happened, they gave great joy and loud acclaim so that all their
mourning was changed into rejoicing. And, indeed, there was not one
knight there of all that Court who would not have given half his life to
have been so fortunate in that matter as was Sir Gawaine, the son of
King Lot of Orkney.
* * * * *
Such is the story of Sir Gawaine, and from it I draw this significance:
as that poor ugly beldame appeared unto the eyes of Sir Gawaine, so doth
a man’s duty sometimes appear to him to be ugly and exceedingly
ill-favored unto his desires. But when he shall have wedded himself unto
that duty so that he hath made it one with him as a bridegroom maketh
himself one with his bride, then doth that duty become of a sudden very
beautiful unto him and unto others.
So may it be with ye that you shall take duty unto yourselves no matter
how much it may mislike ye to do so. For indeed a man shall hardly have
any real pleasure in his life unless his inclination becometh wedded
unto his duty and cleaveth unto it as a husband cleaveth unto his wife.
For when inclination is thus wedded unto duty, then doth the soul take
great joy unto itself as though a wedding had taken place betwixt a
bridegroom and a bride within its tabernacle.
Likewise, when you shall have become entirely wedded unto your duty,
then shall you become equally worthy with that good knight and gentleman
Sir Gawaine; for it needs not that a man shall wear armor for to be a
true knight, but only that he shall do his best endeavor with all
patience and humility as it hath been ordained for him to do. Wherefore,
when your time cometh unto you to display your knightness by assuming
your duty, I do pray that you also may approve yourself as worthy as Sir
Gawaine approved himself in this story which I have told you of as above
written.
[Illustration]
[Illustration] CONCLUSION
_So endeth this volume wherein hath been told, with every circumstance
of narration, the history of those Three Worthies who were of the Court
of King Arthur.
And now, if God will give me the grace to do so, I will some time, at no
very great time from this, write the further history of sundry other
knights and worthies of whom I have not yet spoken.
And among the first of these shall be Sir Launcelot, whom all the world
knoweth to have been the greatest knight in prowess of arms of any who
has lived, excepting Sir Galahad, who was his son. And I shall tell you
the story of Sir Ewaine and Sir Geraint, and of Sir Percival and of
sundry others.
But of this another time. For now, with great regret I bid you adieu and
bring this history unto a close.
So may God grant us to come together at another time with such happiness
and prosperity that you may have a free and untroubled heart to enjoy
the narrated history of those excellent men which I shall then set
before you. Amen._
[Illustration]
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