{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_22053/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_22053","id":"gutenberg_22053","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22053","summary":null,"tags":["Arthur, King -- Juvenile literature","Arthurian Legends","Arthurian romances -- Adaptations","Category: Adventure","Category: British Literature","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Knights and knighthood -- Juvenile literature"],"text":"E-text prepared by Al Haines\n\n\n\nNote: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this\n      file which includes the original illustrations.\n      See 22053-h.htm or 22053-h.zip:\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/0/5/22053/22053-h/22053-h.htm)\n      or\n      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/0/5/22053/22053-h.zip)\n\n\n\n\n\nSTORIES OF KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS\n\nRetold from Malory's \"Morte dArthur\"\n\nby\n\nU. WALDO CUTLER\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n[Frontispiece: King Arthur]\n\n\n\n  _The goodliest fellowship of famous knights_\n  _Whereof this world holds record._\n        TENNYSON\n\n\n\nGeorge G. Harrap & Co. Ltd.\nLondon ---- Bombay ---- Sydney\n\nFirst published January 1905\nby GEORGE G. HARRAP & COMPANY\n39-41 Parker Street, Kingsway, London, W.C.,\n\nReprinted: December 1905; July 1906; May 1907;\nJanuary 1909; September 1909; July 1910; July 1911;\nOctober 1912; October 1913; March 1915; February\n1917; August 1917; May 1918; October 1919;\nJune 1920; October 1921; October 1922;\nJune 1923; January 1925; April 1936;\nSeptember 1927; October 1928;\nJanuary 1930; January 1931;\nApril 1932\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\nCHAPTER\n\n       I. OF THE BIRTH OF KING ARTHUR\n      II. UTHER'S SON, RIGHTWISE KING OF ALL ENGLAND\n     III. HOW ARTHUR GAT HIS SWORD EXCALIBUR\n      IV. BALIN AND BALAN\n       V. THE NOBLE ORDER OF THE ROUND TABLE\n      VI. THE LADIES' KNIGHT\n     VII. WISE MERLIN'S FOOLISHNESS\n    VIII. A STAG-HUNT AND WHAT CAME OF IT\n      IX. THE TREACHERY OF MORGAN LE FAY\n       X. SIR LAUNCELOT OF THE LAKE\n      XI. A NIGHT-TIME ADVENTURE OF SIR LAUNCELOT\n     XII. HOW SIR LAUNCELOT CAME INTO THE CHAPEL PERILOUS\n    XIII. THE KNIGHT, THE LADY, AND THE FALCON\n     XIV. HOW A KITCHEN-PAGE CAME TO HONOUR\n      XV. HOW SIR GARETH FOUGHT FOR THE LADY OF CASTLE PERILOUS\n     XVI. HOW SIR GARETH RETURNED TO THE COURT OF KING ARTHUR\n    XVII. HOW YOUNG TRISTRAM SAVED THE LIFE OF THE QUEEN\n          OF LYONESSE\n   XVIII. SIR TRISTRAM'S FIRST BATTLE\n     XIX. SIR TRISTRAM AND THE FAIR ISOUD\n      XX. HOW SIR TRISTRAM DEMANDED THE FAIR ISOUD FOR KING MARK,\n          AND HOW SIR TRISTRAM AND ISOUD DRANK THE LOVE POTION\n     XXI. HOW SIR TRISTRAM DEPARTED FROM TINTAGIL, AND WAS LONG\n          IN THE FOREST\n    XXII. HOW KING MARK WAS SORRY FOR THE GOOD RENOWN\n          OF SIR TRISTRAM\n   XXIII. HOW SIR PERCIVALE OF GALIS SOUGHT AND FOUND\n          SIR LAUNCELOT\n    XXIV. OF THE COMING OF SIR GALAHAD\n     XXV. HOW THE QUEST OF THE HOLY GRAIL WAS BEGUN\n    XXVI. HOW GALAHAD GAT HIM A SHIELD\n   XXVII. SIR GALAHAD AT THE CASTLE OF MAIDENS\n  XXVIII. SIR LAUNCELOT'S REPENTANCE\n    XXIX. SIR PERCIVALE'S TEMPTATION\n     XXX. THE VICTORY OF SIR BORS OVER HIMSELF\n    XXXI. HOW SIR LAUNCELOT FOUND THE HOLY GRAIL\n   XXXII. THE END OF THE QUEST\n  XXXIII. SIR LAUNCELOT AND THE FAIR MAID OF ASTOLAT\n   XXXIV. OF THE GREAT TOURNAMENT ON CANDLEMAS DAY\n    XXXV. QUEEN GUENEVER'S MAY-DAY RIDE AND WHAT CAME OF IT\n   XXXVI. OF THE PLOT AGAINST SIR LAUNCELOT\n  XXXVII. HOW SIR LAUNCELOT DEPARTED FROM THE KING AND\n          FROM JOYOUS GARD\n XXXVIII. HOW KING ARTHUR AND SIR GAWAINE INVADED\n          SIR LAUNCELOT'S REALM\n   XXXIX. OF SIR MORDRED'S TREASON\n      XL. OF ARTHUR'S LAST GREAT BATTLE IN THE WEST\n     XLI. OF THE PASSING OF KING ARTHUR\n    XLII. OF THE END OF THIS BOOK\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATIONS\n\n\nKING ARTHUR  . . . . . . . . . . . . (W. B. Margetson)  _Frontispiece_\n\nTHE DEDICATION . . . . . . . . . . . (J. Pettie, R.A.)\n\nMERLIN AND NIMUE . . . . . . . . . . (Burne-Jones)\n\nSIR TRISTRAM AND THE FAIR ISOUD  . . (D. G. Rosetti)\n\nSIR GALAHAD  . . . . . . . . . . . . (G. F. Watts)\n\nSIR LAUNCELOT AT THE CROSS . . . . . (Stella Langdale)\n\nELAINE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (J. M. Strudwick)\n\nTHE PASSING OF ARTHUR  . . . . . . . (Stella Langdale)\n\n\n\n\n\"We have from the kind Creator a variety of mental powers, to which we\nmust not neglect giving their proper culture in our earliest years, and\nwhich cannot be cultivated either by logic or metaphysics, Latin or\nGreek.  We have an imagination, before which, since it should not seize\nupon the very first conceptions that chance to present themselves, we\nought to place the fittest and most beautiful images, and thus accustom\nand practise the mind to recognise and love the beautiful everywhere.\"\n\nQuoted from Wieland by Goethe in his Autobiography\n\n\n\n\nIntroduction\n\nAmong the best liked stories of five or six hundred years ago were\nthose which told of chivalrous deeds--of joust and tourney and knightly\nadventure.  To be sure, these stories were not set forth in printed\nbooks, for there were no printed books as early as the times of the\nfirst three King Edwards, and few people could have read them if there\nhad been any.  But children and grown people alike were eager to hear\nthese old-time tales read or recited by the minstrels, and the interest\nin them has continued in some measure through all the changing years\nand tastes.  We now, in the times of the seventh King Edward, still\nfind them far more worth our while than many modern stories.  For us\nthey have a special interest, because of home setting and Christian\nbasis, and they may well share in our attention with the legends of\nGreece and Rome.\n\nIn these early romances of chivalry, Arthur and his knights of the\nRound Table are by far the most popular heroes, and the finding of the\nHoly Grail is the highest achievement of knightly valour.  The material\nfor the Arthur stories came from many countries and from many different\nperiods of history.  Much of it is wholly fanciful, but the writers\nconnected all the incidents directly or indirectly with the old Briton\nking of the fifth century, who was the model of knighthood, \"without\nfear and without reproach.\"\n\nPerhaps there was a real King Arthur, who led the Britons against the\nSaxon invaders of their land, who was killed by his traitor nephew, and\nwho was buried at Glastonbury,--the valley of Avilion of the legends;\nperhaps there was a slight historical nucleus around which all the\nromantic material was crystallising through the centuries, but the\nArthur of romance came largely from the imagination of the early\nwriters.\n\nAnd yet, though our \"own ideal knight\" may never have trod the soil of\nBritain or Roman or Saxon England, his chivalrous character and the\nknightly deeds of his followers are real to us, if we read them\nrightly, for \"the poet's ideal was the truest truth.\"  Though the\nsacred vessel--the Holy Grail--of the Christ's last supper with His\ndisciples has not been borne about the earth in material form, to be\nseen only by those of stainless life and character, it is eternally\ntrue that the \"pure in heart\" are \"blessed,\" \"for they shall see God.\"\nThis is what the Quest of the Holy Grail means, and there is still many\na true Sir Galahad, who can say, as he did,\n\n  \"My strength is as the strength of ten,\n  Because my heart is pure,\"\n\nand who attains the highest glory of knighthood, as before his clear\nvision\n\n   \"down dark tides the glory glides,\n  And starlike mingles with the stars.\"\n\n\nWe call these beautiful stories of long ago Stories of Chivalry, for,\nin the Middle Ages, chivalry influenced all that people did and said\nand thought.  It began in the times of Charlemagne, a hundred years\nbefore our own King Alfred, and only very gradually it made its way\nthrough all the social order.  Charlemagne was really a very great man,\nand because he was so, he left Western Europe a far better place to\nlive in than he found it.  Into the social life of his time he brought\nsomething like order and justice and peace, and so he greatly helped\nthe Christian Church to do its work of teaching the rough and warlike\nFranks and Saxons and Normans the gentle ways of thrift and helpfulness.\n\nCharlemagne's \"heerban,\" or call to arms, required that certain of his\nmen should attend him on horseback, and this mounted service was the\nbeginning of what is known as chivalry.  The lesser nobles of each\nfeudal chief served their overlords on horseback, _a cheval_, in times\nof war; they were called _knights_, which originally meant\nservants,--German _knechte_; and the system of knighthood, its rules,\ncustoms, and duties, was called chivalry,--French _chevalerie_.\n\nChivalry belongs chiefly to the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth\ncenturies,--to about the time between King Richard of the Lion Heart\nand Prince Hal.  There is no trace of ideas peculiar to it in the\nwritings of the old Anglo-Saxons or in the _Nibelungen Lied_ of\nGermany.  Geoffrey of Monmouth, who died, it is said, in the year 1154,\nis about the earliest writer who mentions customs that belong\nespecially to chivalry.  The Crusades, of Geoffrey's century and of the\none following, gave much opportunity for its growth and practice; but\nin the fifteenth century chivalrous fashions and fancies began to seem\nabsurd, and later, perhaps partly through the ridicule of that old-time\nbook \"Don Quixote,\" chivalry was finally laughed quite out of existence.\n\nThe order of knighthood was given only after years of training and\ndiscipline.  From his seventh year to his fourteenth the nobleman's son\nwas a _page_ at the court or in the castle of his patron, learning the\nprinciples of religion, obedience, and gallantry.  At fourteen, as a\n_squire_, the boy began a severer course of training, in order to\nbecome skilled in horsemanship, and to gain strength and courage, as\nwell as the refinements and graces necessary in the company of knights\nand ladies.\n\nFinally, at twenty-one, his training was complete, and with elaborate\nand solemn formality the _squire_ was made a _knight_.  Then, after a\nstrict oath to be loyal, courteous, and brave, the armour was buckled\non, and the proud young chevalier rode out into the world, strong for\ngood or ill in limb, strong in impenetrable armour, strong in a social\ncustom that lifted him above the common people about him.\n\nWhen rightly exercised chivalry was a great blessing to the people of\nits time.  It offered high ideals of pure-minded, warm-hearted,\ncourtly, courageous Christian manhood.  It did much to arouse thought,\nto quicken sympathy, to purify morals, to make men truly brave and\nloyal.  Of course this ideal of character was not in the days of\nchivalry--ideals are not often now--very fully realised.  The\nMediaeval, like the Modern, abused his power of muscle, of sword, of\nrank.  His liberty as a knight-errant sometimes descended into the\nlicence of a highwayman; his pride in the opportunity for helpfulness\ngrew to be the braggadocio of a bully; his freedom of personal choice\nbecame the insolence of lawlessness; his pretended purity and justice\nproved wanton selfishness.\n\nBecause of these abuses that crept into the system, it is well for the\nworld that gunpowder at last came, to break through the knight's coat\nof mail, to teach the nobility respect for common men, roughly to end\nthis age of so much superficial politeness and savage bravery, and to\nbring in a more democratic social order.\n\nThe books of any age are for us a record of how the people of that age\nthought, how they lived, and what kind of men and women they tried to\nbe.  The old romances of chivalry give us clear pictures of the knights\nand ladies of the Middle Ages, and we shall lose the delight and the\nprofit they may give us, if we think only of the defects of chivalry,\nand close our eyes to the really worthy motives of those far-off times,\nand so miss seeing what chivalry was able to do, while it lasted, to\nmake men and women better and happier.\n\nBefore reading the Arthur stories themselves it is well to know\nsomething about the way they have been built up, as one writer after\nanother has taken the material left by predecessors, and has worked\ninto it fresh conceptions of things brave and true.  First there was\nthe old Latin chronicle of Nennius, the earliest trace of Arthurian\nfact or fancy, with a single paragraph given to Arthur and his twelve\ngreat battles.  This chronicle itself may have been based on yet\nearlier Welsh stories, which had been passed on, perhaps for centuries,\nby oral tradition from father to son, and gradually woven together into\nsome legendary history of Oldest England in the local language of\nBrittany, across the English Channel.  This original book is referred\nto by later writers, but was long ago lost.  Geoffrey of Monmouth says\nit was the source of his material for his \"Historia Britonum.\"\nGeoffrey's history, in Latin prose, written some time about the middle\nof the twelfth century, remains as the earliest definite record of the\nlegends connected with King Arthur.\n\nOnly a little later Geoffrey's Latin history was translated by Wace and\nothers into Norman French, and here the Arthur material first appeared\nin verse form.  Then, still later in the twelfth century, Walter Map\nworked the same stories over into French prose, and at the same time\nput so much of his own knowledge and imagination with them, that we may\nalmost say that he was the maker of the Arthur romances.\n\nSoon after the year twelve hundred,--a half century after Geoffrey of\nMonmouth first set our English ancestors to thinking about the\nlegendary old hero of the times of the Anglo-Saxon conquest--Layamon,\nparish priest of Ernly, in Worcestershire, gave to the English language\n(as distinct from the earlier Anglo-Saxon) his poem \"Brut.\"  This was a\ntranslation and enlargement of Wace's old French poem having Arthur as\nhero.  So these stories of King Arthur, of Welsh or Celtic origin, came\nthrough the Latin, and then through French verse and prose, into our\nown speech, and so began their career down the centuries of our more\nmodern history.\n\nAfter giving ideas to generation after generation of romance writers of\nmany countries and in many languages, these same romantic stories were,\nin the fifteenth century, skilfully brought together into one connected\nprose narrative,--one of the choicest of the older English classics,\n\"Le Morte Darthur,\" by Sir Thomas Malory.  Those were troublous times\nwhen Sir Thomas, perhaps after having himself fought and suffered in\nthe Wars of the Roses then in progress, found some quiet spot in\nWarwickshire in which to put together in lasting form the fine old\nstories that already in his day were classics.\n\nMalory finished his book in 1470, and its permanence for all time was\nassured fifteen years later, when Caxton, after the \"symple connynge\"\nthat God had sent him (to use the quaint forms of expression then\ncommon), \"under the favour and correctyon of al noble lordes and\ngentylmen emprysed to emprynte a book of the noble hystoryes of the\nsayd Kynge Arthur and of certeyn of his knyghtes after a copye unto him\ndelyuerd whyche copye Syr Thomas Malorye dyd take oute of certeyn\nbookes of Frensche and reduced it in to Englysche.\"  This hard-headed\nbusiness man,--this fifteenth-century publisher,--was rather doubtful\nabout the Briton king of a thousand years before his day, and to those\nurging upon him the venture of printing Malory's book he answered:\n\"Dyuers men holde oppynyon that there was no suche Arthur and that alle\nsuche bookes as been maad of hym ben fayned and fables by cause that\nsomme cronycles make of him no mencyon ne remember him noo thynge ne of\nhis knyghtes.\"\n\nBut the arguments of those in favour of the undertaking prevailed,\ngreatly to the advantage of the four centuries that have followed,\nduring which \"Le Morte Darthur\" has been a constant source of poetic\ninspiration.  Generation after generation of readers and of writers\nhave drawn life from its chapters, and the new delight in Tennyson's\n\"Idylls of the King,\" almost of our own time, shows that the fountain\nhas not yet been drained dry.\n\nMalory's \"Morte Darthur\" is a long book, and its really great interest\nis partly hidden from us by forms of expression that belong only to the\ntime when it was first written.  Besides this, the ideas of what was\nright and proper in conduct and speech--moral standards--were far lower\nin Malory's day than they are now.\n\nThe purpose of this new little volume is to bring the old tales freshly\nto the attention of young people of the present time.  It keeps, as far\nas may be, the exact language and the spirit of the original, chooses\nsuch stories as best represent the whole, and modifies these only in\norder to remove what could possibly hide the thought, or be so crude in\ntaste and morals as to seem unworthy of the really high-minded author\nof five hundred years ago.  It aims also so to condense the book that,\nin this age of hurry, readers may not be repelled from the tales merely\nbecause of their length.\n\nChivalry of just King Arthur's kind was given up long ago, but that for\nwhich it stood--human fellowship in noble purpose--is far older than\nthe institution of knighthood or than even the traditions of the\nenergetic, brave, true, helpful King Arthur himself.  It links us with\nall the past and all the future.  The knights of the twentieth century\ndo not set out in chain-armour to right the wrongs of the oppressed by\nforce of arms, but the best influences of chivalry have been preserved\nfor the quickening of a broader and a nobler world than was ever in the\ndreams of knight-errant of old.  Modern heroes of the genuine type owe\nmore than they know to those of Arthur's court who swore:\n\n  \"To reverence the King, as if he were\n  Their conscience, and their conscience as their King,\n  To break the heathen and uphold the Christ,\n  To ride abroad redressing human wrongs,\n  To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it,\n  To honour his own word as if his God's,\n  To lead sweet lives in purest chastity,\n  To love one maiden only, cleave to her,\n  And worship her by years of noble deeds,\n  Until they won her.\"\n\n\n\"Antiquity produced heroes, but not gentlemen,\" someone has said.  In\nthe days of Charlemagne and Alfred began the training which, continued\nin the days of Chaucer and Sir Thomas Malory and many, many more, has\ngiven to this our age that highest type of manhood, the Christian\ngentleman.\n\nU. W. C.\n\n\n\n\nStories of King Arthur\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nOF THE BIRTH OF KING ARTHUR\n\nIt befell in the days of Uther Pendragon, when he was king of all\nEngland, that there was a mighty duke in Cornwall that held war against\nhim a long time.  And the duke was named the Duke of Tintagil.  Ten\nmiles away from his castle, called Terrabil, there was, in the castle\nTintagil, Igraine of Cornwall, that King Uther liked and loved well,\nfor she was a good and fair lady, and passing wise.  He made her great\ncheer out of measure, and desired to have her love in return; but she\nwould not assent unto him, and for pure anger and for great love of\nfair Igraine King Uther fell sick.\n\nAt that time there lived a powerful magician named Merlin, who could\nappear in any place he chose, could change his looks as he liked, and\nat will could do wonderful things to help or to harm knights and\nladies.  So to King Uther came Sir Ulfius, a noble knight, and said, \"I\nwill seek Merlin, and he shall do you remedy so that your heart shall\nbe pleased.\"  So Ulfius departed, and by adventure met Merlin in\nbeggar's array, and made him promise to be not long behind in riding to\nUther's pavilion.\n\nSoon Merlin stood by the king's side and said: \"I know all your heart,\nand promise ye shall have your desire, if ye will be sworn to fulfil my\nwish.\"  This the king solemnly agreed to do, and then Merlin said:\n\"After ye shall win Igraine as wife, a child shall be born to you that\nis to be given unto me to be brought up as I will; this shall be for\nyour honour and the child's avail.\"\n\nThat night King Uther met in battle the Duke of Tintagil, who had\nprotected Igraine in her castle, and overcame him.  Then Igraine\nwelcomed Uther as her true lover, for Merlin had given him the\nappearance of one dear to her, and, the barons being all well accorded,\nthe two were married on a morning with great mirth and joy.\n\nWhen the time came that Igraine should bear a son, Merlin came again\nunto the King to claim his promise, and he said: \"I know a lord of\nyours in this land, a passing true man and a faithful, named Sir Ector,\nand he shall have the nourishing of your child.  Let the young Prince\nbe delivered to me at yonder privy postern, when I come for him.\"\n\nSo the babe, Arthur Pendragon, bound in a cloth of gold, was taken by\ntwo knights and two ladies to the postern gate of the castle and\ndelivered unto Merlin, disguised as a poor man, and by him was carried\nforth to Sir Ector, whose wife nourished him as her own child.\n\nThen within two years King Uther fell sick of a great malady.\nWherefore all the barons made great sorrow, and asked Merlin what\ncounsel were best, for few of them had ever seen or heard of the young\nchild, Arthur.  On the morn all by Merlin's counsel came before the\nKing, and Merlin said: \"Sir, shall your son Arthur be king, after your\ndays, of this realm with all the appurtenance?\"\n\nThen Uther Pendragon turned him and said in hearing of them all, \"I\ngive him God's blessing and mine, and bid him righteously and\nhonourably to claim the crown upon forfeiture of my blessing.\"\n\nTherewith he died, and he was buried as befitted a king, and the Queen,\nfair Igraine, and all the barons made great sorrow.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nUTHER'S SON, RIGHTWISE KING OF ALL ENGLAND\n\nThen stood the kingdom in great jeopardy a long while, for every lord\nstrengthened himself, and many a one thought to be king rather than be\nruled by a child that they had never known.  All this confusion Merlin\nhad foreseen, and he had taken the young prince away, to keep him safe\nfrom the jealous barons until he should be old enough to rule wisely\nfor himself.  Even Sir Ector did not know that the boy growing up with\nhis own son Kay was the King's child, and heir to the realm.\n\nWhen now young Arthur had grown into a tall youth, well trained in all\nthe exercises of honourable knighthood, Merlin went to the Archbishop\nof Canterbury and counselled him to send to all the lords of the realm\nand all the gentlemen of arms, that they should come to London at\nChristmas time, since God of His great mercy would at that time show by\nmiracle who should be rightwise king of the realm.  The Archbishop did\nas Merlin advised, and all the great knights made them clean of their\nlife so that their prayer might be the more acceptable unto God, and\nwhen Christmas came they went unto London, each one thinking that\nperchance his wish to be made king should be granted.  So in the\ngreatest church of the city (whether it was St Paul's or not the old\nchronicle maketh no mention) all were at their prayers long ere day.\n\nWhen matins were done and they came out of the church, there was seen\nin the churchyard a great square stone, in the midst of which was an\nanvil of steel, a foot high, with a fair sword naked at the point\nsticking through it.  Written in gold about the sword were letters that\nread thus: \"Whoso pulleth out this sword from this stone and anvil is\nrightwise king born of all England.\"\n\n[Illustration: The Dedication.]\n\nAll the people marvelled at the stone and the inscription, and some\nassayed--such as would be king--to draw out the sword.  But none might\nstir it, and the Archbishop said: \"He is not here that shall achieve\nthis sword, but doubt not God will make him known.  This now is my\ncounsel, that we cause to be chosen ten knights, men of good fame, to\nguard this sword until the rightful possessor shall appear.\"\n\nSo it was ordained, and it was proclaimed that every man should assay\nthat would, to win the sword.  And upon New Year's Day the barons held\njousts and a tournament for all knights that would engage.  All this\nwas ordained for to keep the lords and the commons together, for the\nArchbishop trusted that God would soon make him known that should win\nthe sword.  So upon New Year's Day the barons rode to the field, some\nto joust and some to tourney; and it happened that Sir Ector rode also,\nand with him Sir Kay, his son, that had just been made knight, and\nyoung Arthur that was his foster-brother.\n\nAs they rode to the joust-ward Sir Kay suddenly missed his sword, which\nhe had left at his father's lodging, and he begged young Arthur to ride\nand fetch it.  \"I will gladly,\" said Arthur, and he hastened off home.\nBut the lady and all the household were out to see the jousting, and he\nfound nobody at home to deliver him the sword.  Then was Arthur\ntroubled, and said to himself, \"I will ride to the churchyard and take\nthe sword that sticketh in the stone, for my brother Sir Kay shall not\nbe without a sword this day.\"\n\nSo when he came to the great stone Arthur alighted, and tied his horse\nto the stile.  He then went straight to the tent of the guards, but\nfound no knights there, for they were at the jousting.  So he took the\nsword by the handles, and lightly and fiercely pulled it out of the\nanvil; then he mounted his horse and rode his way till he came to his\nbrother Sir Kay, and delivered him the sword.\n\nAs soon as Sir Kay saw the sword, he knew well it was that one of the\nstone, and so he rode away to his father, Sir Ector, and said: \"Sir, lo\nhere is the sword of the stone; wherefore I must be king of this land.\"\n\nWhen Sir Ector beheld the sword, all three returned to the church and\nentered it.  Anon Sir Ector made Sir Kay to swear upon a book how he\ncame by that sword.  And Sir Kay answered that Arthur had brought it to\nhim.  \"And how gat ye the sword?\" said he to Arthur; and when Sir Ector\nheard how it had been pulled from the anvil, he said to Arthur: \"Now I\nunderstand ye must be king of this land.\"\n\n\"Wherefore I?\" said Arthur, \"and for what cause?\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Ector, \"for God will have it so; for there should never man\nhave drawn out this sword but he that shall be rightwise king.  Now let\nme see whether ye can put the sword there as it was, and pull it out\nagain.\"\n\n\"That is no mastery,\" said Arthur, and so he put it into the stone.\nTherewith Sir Ector assayed to pull out the sword, and failed.  Then\nSir Kay pulled at it with all his might, but it would not yield.\n\n\"Now shall ye assay again,\" said Sir Ector to Arthur.\n\n\"I will well,\" said Arthur, and pulled it out easily a second time.\n\nNow was Sir Ector sure that Arthur was of higher blood than had been\nthought, and that the rightful king had been made known.  And he told\nhis foster-son all, how he was not his father, but had taken him to\nnourish at Merlin's request.  Arthur was grieved indeed when he\nunderstood that Sir Ector was not his father, and that the good lady\nthat had fostered and kept him as her own son was not his true mother,\nand he said to Sir Ector, \"If ever it be God's will that I be king, as\nye say, ye shall desire of me what I may do, and I shall not fail you.\"\n\nTherewithal they went unto the Archbishop and told him how the sword\nwas achieved, and by whom.  And all the barons came thither, that\nwhoever would might assay to take the sword.  But there before them all\nnone might take it out but Arthur.  Now many lords became wroth, and\nsaid it was great shame unto them all and to the realm to be governed\nby a boy.  They contended so at that time that the matter was put off\ntill Candlemas, when all the barons should meet there again.  A\npavilion was set over the stone and the sword, and the ten knights were\nordained to watch there day and night, five being always on guard.\n\nSo at Candlemas many more great lords came thither to win the sword,\nbut none might prevail except Arthur.  The barons were sore aggrieved\nat this, and again put it off in delay till the high feast of Easter.\nAnd as Arthur sped afore, so did he at Easter; yet there were some of\nthe great lords that had indignation that Arthur should be their king,\nand put it off in a delay till the feast of Pentecost.\n\nAt the feast of Pentecost all manner of men assayed to pull at the\nsword, yet none might prevail but Arthur; and he pulled it out afore\nall the lords and commons that were there.  Wherefore all the commons\ncried at once, \"We will have Arthur unto our king; we will put him no\nmore in delay, for we all see that it is God's will that he shall be\nour king, and who that holdeth against it we will slay as traitor.\"\nAnd they kneeled down all at once, both rich and poor, and begged mercy\nof Arthur, because they had delayed so long.  And Arthur forgave them,\nand took the sword between both his hands, and offered it upon the\naltar where the Archbishop was, and so was he made knight of the best\nman that was there.\n\nAnd anon was the coronation made, and there Arthur swore unto his lords\nand the commons to be a true king, to stand for justice all the days of\nhis life.  Then he made all the lords that were subject to the crown to\ncome in, and to do service as they ought to do.  And many great wrongs\nthat had been done since the death of King Uther were righted, and to\nlords, knights, ladies, and gentlemen were given back the lands of\nwhich they had been unjustly deprived.  When the king had thus\nestablished justice in all the countries about London, he made Sir Kay\nseneschal of England, and other officers he appointed also that should\naid in keeping back his enemies and holding his realm in peace and\norderliness.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nHOW ARTHUR GAT HIS SWORD EXCALIBUR\n\nOn a day there came into the court of the young King a squire on\nhorseback, bringing a knight, his master, mortally wounded, and seeking\njustice against the murderer.  Then came up Griflet, that was but a\nsquire, a young man of the age of King Arthur, and asked to be given\nthe order of knighthood, that he might ride out against the knight that\nhad done the evil deed, who dwelt by a well in the forest.\n\nArthur was loath to bring this passing brave youth into peril by giving\nhim so high an adventure; but at the desire of Griflet the King at the\nlast gave him the order of knighthood, and he rode away till he came to\nthe fountain.\n\nThere he saw the pavilion of the knight, and his horse all saddled and\nbridled, and his shield of divers colours, and a great spear hanging on\na tree hard by.  Griflet struck the shield with the butt of his spear,\nso that it fell clattering down to the ground.  With that the knight\ncame out of the pavilion and said, \"Fair knight, why smote ye down my\nshield?\"\n\n\"For I will joust with you,\" said Griflet.\n\n\"It is better ye do not,\" said the knight, \"for ye are but a young and\nlate-made knight, and your might is nothing to mine.\"\n\nBut Griflet would have it so, and the two ran together with such force\nthat Griflet's spear was all shattered, and horse and rider fell down\nsore wounded.  When the knight saw the youth lying on the ground, he\nwas heavy of heart; and he unlaced his helm to give him air, and\nfinally setting him on his horse, sent him with cheering words back to\nthe court.  Here great dole was made for him because of his wounds, and\nArthur was passing wroth for the hurt of Sir Griflet.\n\nThe next morning ere day the King ordered his best horse, and in full\narmour rode out alone to encounter the knight of the fountain.  It was\na strong battle they had.  Arthur's spear was all shattered, and his\nhorse fell to the ground.  Then they fought with swords with many great\nstrokes and much blood-shed on both sides.  Finally by a mighty blow\nfrom his enemy,--a passing big man of might,--Arthur's sword was\nsmitten in two pieces, and he was called upon to yield himself as\novercome and recreant, or die.\n\n\"As for death,\" said King Arthur, \"welcome be it when it cometh; but to\nyield me unto thee as recreant, I had rather die than to be so shamed.\"\n\nTherewithal came Merlin, and made known who Arthur was.  Then by\nenchantment he caused the knight to fall into a deep sleep, and bore\nArthur away to a hermit to be cured of his wounds.\n\nWhen, after three days of rest and healing, he was riding with Merlin\nthrough the forest, King Arthur said, \"I have no sword.\"\n\n\"No matter,\" said Merlin; \"there is one near by that I can perhaps get\nfor you.\"\n\nSo they rode on till it chanced that they passed a fair and broad lake.\nIn the midst of the water Arthur became aware of an arm clothed in\nwhite samite[1] holding aloft a beautiful sword.\n\n\"Lo! there is the sword of which I spake,\" said Merlin, \"and yonder is\nthe Lady of the Lake ready to help you to it, if ye speak fair to her.\"\n\nAnon came the damsel unto Arthur and saluted him, and he her again.\n\"Damsel,\" said Arthur, \"what sword is it that the arm holdeth above the\nwater yonder?  I would it were mine, for I have no sword.\"\n\n\"Sir Arthur King,\" said the damsel, \"that sword is mine, and if ye will\ngive me a gift when I ask it you, go ye into yonder barge and row\nyourself to the sword, and take it and the scabbard with you.\"\n\nSo Sir Arthur and Merlin alighted and tied their horses to a tree, and\nthen they went into the magic boat.  Soon they were beside the sword\nthat the hand held up.  Arthur took it by the handle, the arm and the\nhand went down beneath the water, and the two travellers rowed back to\nthe land and went forth.\n\nAs they rode along Arthur looked on the sword, which had the name\nExcalibur, that is as much as to say Cut-steel, and he liked it passing\nwell, for the handle was all set with precious stones.\n\n\"Which like you better,\" said Merlin, \"the sword or the scabbard?\"\n\n\"The sword,\" replied Arthur.\n\n\"Ye are unwise,\" said Merlin; \"the scabbard is worth ten of the sword,\nfor while ye have the scabbard upon you, ye shall lose no blood;\ntherefore keep well the scabbard always with you.\"\n\nIn this way Arthur came by Excalibur, and many an adventure he was to\nhave with it, and was to suffer great danger when by evil interference\nit was, as we shall see, for a time stolen from him.  With it in hand\nthe hardest fight went well in the end, for the scabbard kept him from\nweakness, and a mysterious power lay in the strong, true blade that\nnone could withstand, until the time came for King Arthur to give back\nthe sword to the Lady of the Lake and to die of the wounds of a traitor.\n\nSo King Arthur and Merlin rode on, and when they came back safe to\nCarlion and the court the knights were passing glad.  Some wondered\nthat the king would risk himself abroad so alone, but all men of valour\nsaid it was merry to be under such a chief that would put his person in\nadventure as other poor knights did.\n\n\n\n[1] Samite: silk stuff\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nBALIN AND BALAN\n\nOn a day there came a messenger to King Arthur saying that King Ryons\nof North Wales, a strong man in body, and passing proud, had\ndiscomfited and overcome eleven kings, and each of these to do him\nhomage had cut his beard clean off as trimming for King Ryons' royal\nmantle.  One place of the mantle still lacked trimming; wherefore he\nsent for Arthur's beard, and if he did not receive it he would enter\nEngland to burn and slay, and never would he leave till he had Arthur,\nhead and all.\n\n\"Well,\" said Arthur to the messenger, \"thou hast said thy message, the\nmost insolent ever sent unto a king.  Thou seest my beard is full young\nyet to make a trimming of it.  Tell thou thy king I owe him no homage,\nbut ere long he shall do me homage on both his knees.\"  So the\nmessenger departed.\n\nAmong those who, at Arthur's call, gathered at Camelot to withstand\nKing Ryons' invasion of the land was a knight that had been Arthur's\nprisoner half a year and more for some wrong done to one of the court.\nThe name of this knight was Balin, a strong, courageous man, but poor\nand so poorly clothed that he was thought to be of no honour.  But\nworthiness and good deeds are not all only in arrayment.  Manhood and\nhonour is hid within man's person, and many an honourable knight is not\nknown unto all people through his clothing.  This Balin felt deeply the\ninsult of King Ryons, and anon armed himself to ride forth to meet with\nhim and mayhap to destroy him, in the hope that then King Arthur would\nagain be his good and gracious lord.\n\nThe meanwhile that this knight was making ready to depart on this\nadventure, there came to Arthur's court the Lady of the Lake, and she\nnow asked of him the gift that he promised her when she gave him his\nsword Excalibur.\n\n\"Ask what ye will,\" said the King, \"and ye shall have it, if it lie in\nmy power to give.\"\n\nThereupon she demanded Balin's head, and would take none other thing.\n\n\"Truly,\" said King Arthur, \"I may not grant this with my honour,\" and\nBalin was allowed to make ready for the adventure with King Ryons.\n\nBut ere he had left the court he saw the Lady of the Lake.  He went\nstraight to her, and with his sword lightly smote off her head before\nKing Arthur, for he knew her as the untruest lady living, one that by\nenchantment and sorcery had been the destroyer of many good knights.\n\n\"Alas! for shame,\" said Arthur.  \"Why have ye done so?  Ye have shamed\nme and all my court, for this was a lady that I was beholden to, and\nhither she came under my safe conduct.  I shall never forgive you that\ntrespass.  What cause soever ye had, ye should have spared her in my\npresence; therefore withdraw you out of my court in all haste that ye\nmay.\"\n\nSo Balin,--called Balin the Wild for his savage and reckless\nnature,--departed with his squire, and King Arthur and all the court\nmade great mourning, and had shame at the death of the Lady of the\nLake.  Then the King buried her richly.\n\nIn sorrow over the evil he had wrought and the disfavour of his king,\nBalin turned his horse towards a great forest, and there by the armour\nhe was ware of his brother Balan.  And when they were met, they put off\ntheir helms and kissed together, and wept for joy.\n\nAnon the knight Balin told his brother of the death of the Lady of the\nLake, and said: \"Truly I am right heavy of heart that my lord Arthur is\ndispleased with me, for he is the most honourable knight that reigneth\non earth, and his love I will get or else I will put my life in\nadventure with King Ryons, that lieth now at the castle Terrabil.\nThither will we ride together in all haste, to prove our honour and\nprowess upon him.\"\n\n\"I will gladly do that,\" said Balan; \"we will help each other as\nbrothers ought to do.\"\n\nSo they took their way to find King Ryons, and as they rode along\ntogether they encountered him in a straight way with threescore\nknights.  Anon Balin and Balan smote him down from his horse, and slew\non the right hand and the left hand more than forty of his men.  The\nremnant fled, and King Ryons yielded him unto their grace as prisoner.\nSo they laid him on a horse-litter, for he was fiercely wounded, and\nbrought him to Camelot.  There they delivered him to the porters and\ncharged them with him; and then they two returned to further adventure.\n\nAnd Balin rode towards the castle of King Pellam to revenge the wrongs\nof knights and ladies on a treacherous knight named Garlon.  He had a\nfifteen days' journey thither, and the day he came unto the castle\nthere began a great feast.  Balin was well received, and led to a\nchamber, where he laid off his armour.  They also brought him robes to\nhis pleasure, and would have had him leave his sword behind him.\n\n\"Nay,\" said Balin, \"that do I not, for it is the custom of my country\nfor a knight always to have his weapon with him, and that custom will I\nkeep, or else I will depart as I came.\"\n\nThen they gave him leave to wear his sword, and so he went unto the\nhall and was set among the knights of honour.\n\nSoon he saw the false knight Garlon, and thought to himself: \"If I slay\nhim here I shall not escape, and if I leave him now, peradventure I\nshall never meet with him again at such a good time, and much harm will\nhe do if he live.\"\n\nThen this Garlon espied that Balin watched him, and he came and smote\nBalin on the face, and said: \"Knight, why watchest thou me so?  Eat thy\nmeat, and do that thou camest for.\"\n\nThen Balin said, \"I will do that I came for,\" and rose up fiercely and\nclove his head to the shoulders.\n\nAnon all the knights arose from the table to set on Balin, and King\nPellam himself caught in his hand a grim weapon and smote eagerly at\nBalin, but Balin put his sword betwixt his head and the stroke.  With\nthat his sword was broken in sunder, and he, now weaponless, ran into\nthe chamber to seek some weapon, and so, from chamber to chamber, but\nno weapon could he find, and alway King Pellam came after him.\n\nAt last Balin entered into a chamber that was marvellously well\nfurnished and richly, wherein was a bed arrayed with cloth of gold, the\nrichest that might be thought, and thereby a table of clean gold, and\nupon the table a marvellous spear, strangely wrought.  And when Balin\nsaw that spear he took it in his hand, and turned to King Pellam and\nsmote him passing hard with it so that he fell down in a swoon.\nTherewith the castle roof and walls brake and fell to the earth, and\nBalin also, so that he might not stir foot nor hand, for through that\ndolorous stroke the most part of the castle that was fallen down lay\nupon him and Pellam.\n\nAfter three days Merlin came thither, and he took up Balin and gat him\na good horse, for his was dead, and bade him ride out of the country.\nMerlin also told him that his stroke had turned to great dole, trouble,\nand grief, for the marvellous spear was the same with which Longius,\nthe Roman soldier, smote our Lord Jesus Christ to the heart at the\ncrucifixion.\n\nThen departed Balin from Merlin, never to meet him again, and rode\nforth through the fair countries and cities about Pellam Castle, and\nfound people dead, slain on every side.  And all that were left alive\ncried: \"O Balin, thou hast caused great damage in these countries, for\nby the dolorous stroke thou gavest unto King Pellam three countries are\ndestroyed, and doubt not but the vengeance will fall on thee at the\nlast.\"\n\nWhen Balin was out of those countries he was passing glad, and after\nmany days he came by a cross, whereon were letters of gold written that\nsaid, \"It is not for any knight alone to ride towards this castle.\"\nThen saw he an old hoary gentleman coming towards him that said, \"Balin\nthe Wild, thou passest thy bounds to come this way; therefore turn\nagain and it will avail thee.\"  The old gentleman vanished away, and\nthen Balin heard a horn blow, as if for the death of a beast in the\nchase.  \"That blast,\" said he, \"is blown for me, for I am the prize,\nyet am I not dead.\"  Anon he saw a hundred ladies and many knights,\nthat welcomed him with fair semblance, and made him passing good cheer\nseemingly, and led him into the castle, where there were dancing and\nminstrelsy, and all manner of joy.\n\nThen the chief lady of the castle said, \"Knight, you must have ado with\na knight close by that keepeth an island, for there may no man pass\nthis way but he must joust, ere he go farther.\"\n\n\"That is an unhappy custom,\" said Balin, \"that a knight may not pass\nthis way unless he joust, but since that is my duty, thereto am I\nready.  Travelling men are oft weary, and their horses also; but though\nmy horse be weary my heart is not weary.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the knight then to Balin, \"me thinketh your shield is not\ngood; I will lend you a better.\"\n\nSo Balin took the shield that was unknown, and left his own, and rode\nunto the island.  He put himself and his horse in a great boat, and\nwhen he came on the other side he met with a damsel, and she said, \"O\nKnight Balin, why hast thou left thine own shield?  Alas! thou hast put\nthyself in great danger, for by thine own shield thou shouldst have\nbeen known.  It is a great pity, for of thy prowess and hardiness thou\nhast no equal living.\"\n\n\"Me repenteth,\" said Balin, \"that ever I came within this country, but\nI may not turn now again for shame, and what adventure shall fall to\nme, be it life or death, I will take the adventure that shall come to\nme.\"\n\nThen he looked on his armour, and understood he was well armed, for\nwhich he was thankful, and so he mounted upon his horse.  Then before\nhim he saw come riding out of a castle a knight in red armour, and his\nhorse was all trapped in the same colour.  When this knight in red\nbeheld Balin, he thought he was like his brother; but because he knew\nnot his shield, he deemed it was not he.  And so they couched their\nspears and came marvellously fast together, and they smote each other\nin the shields; but their spears were so heavy and their course so\nswift that horse and man were borne down, and both knights lay in a\nswoon.  Balin was bruised sore with the fall of his horse, for he was\nweary with travel, and Balan (for the knight in red was none other) was\nthe first that rose to his feet.  He drew his sword and went towards\nBalin, who arose and went against him.  But Balan smote Balin first,\nstriking through his shield and cleaving his helm.  Then Balin smote\nhim in return with that unhappy sword that had already wrought so great\nharm, and the blow well nigh felled his brother Balan.  So they fought\nthere together till their breaths failed.\n\nThen Balin looked up to the castle, and saw the towers stand full of\nladies; so they went to battle again and wounded each other dolefully.\nThen they breathed ofttimes, and yet again went unto battle, until all\nthe place there was blood-red from the great wounds that either had\nsmitten other, and their hauberks became unriveted so that naked they\nwere on every side.\n\nAt last Balan, the younger brother, withdrew a little and laid himself\ndown.  Then said Balin the Wild, \"What knight art thou? for ere now I\nfound never a knight that matched me.\"\n\n\"My name is,\" said he, \"Balan, brother to the good knight Balin.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said Balin, \"that ever I should see this day.\"  Thereupon he\nfell backward in a swoon.\n\nThen Balan crept on all fours to his brother and put oft his helm, but\nhe might not know him, his visage was so disguised by blood and wounds.\nBut when Balin awoke, he said, \"O Balan, my brother, thou hast slain me\nand I thee, wherefore all the wide world shall speak of us both.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said Balan; \"that ever I saw this day, that through mishap I\nmight not know thee!  Because thou hadst another shield I deemed thou\nwert another knight.\"\n\n\"Alas!\" said Balin, \"all this was caused by an unhappy knight in the\ncastle, that made me leave mine own shield, to the destruction of us\nboth.\"\n\nThen anon Balan died, and at midnight after, Balin; so both were buried\ntogether, and the lady of the castle had Balan's name written on the\ntomb and how he was there slain by his brother's hand, but she knew not\nBalin's name.  In the morn came Merlin and wrote Balin's inscription\nalso in letters of gold: \"Here lieth Balin the Wild, that smote the\ndolorous stroke.\"\n\nSoon after this was done Merlin came to King Arthur and told him of the\ndolorous stroke that Balin gave King Pellam, and how Balin and Balan\nfought together the most marvellous battle that ever was heard of, and\nhow they buried both in one tomb.  \"Alas!\" said King Arthur; \"this is\nthe greatest pity that ever I heard tell of two knights, for in the\nworld I know not such two knights.\"\n\nThus endeth the tale of Balin and Balan, two brethren born in\nNorthumberland, good knights both.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE NOBLE ORDER OF THE ROUND TABLE\n\nArthur was indeed king, but enemies long held out against his just\nauthority.  When he went into Wales to be crowned at the city of\nCarlion, he let cry a great feast to be holden at Pentecost.  Unto this\nfeast came the six kings of that region with many of their knights, and\nArthur thought it was to do him honour.  But when he made joy of their\ncoming and sent them great presents, the kings would none receive, and\nsaid they had no joy to receive gifts of a beardless boy that was come\nof low birth.  They sent him word that they were come to give him gifts\nwith hard swords betwixt the neck and the shoulders, for it was great\nshame to all of them to see such a boy have rule of so noble a realm as\nthis land was.\n\nThis answer was told King Arthur, who now betook himself to a strong\ntower and five hundred good men with him.  Here the six kings laid\nsiege to him, but he was well victualled; and soon Merlin came and bade\nhim fear not, but speak boldly to his enemies, \"for,\" said he, \"ye\nshall overcome them all, whether they will or nill.\"\n\nSo the King armed himself and all his knights and came out to do battle\nwith his enemies.  Then three hundred good men of the best that were\nwith the kings went straight over unto King Arthur, which comforted him\ngreatly.  So he set upon the hosts of the six kings, and he and his men\ndid marvellous deeds of arms.  Therewith he put them back, and then the\ncommons of Carlion arose with clubs and staves and slew many of the\nenemy, and so they fled away.\n\nSince the enemy were still passing strong, Merlin counselled King\nArthur to send letters well devised beyond the sea to the two brethren,\nmarvellous good men of their hands, named one King Ban of Benwick and\nthe other King Bors of Gaul, and to say to them that, if they would\ncome and help King Arthur in his wars, he in turn would be sworn unto\nthem to help them in their wars against King Claudas, a mighty man that\nstrove with them for a castle.\n\nSo there were made letters in the pleasantest wise, according to King\nArthur's desire, and Ulfius and Brastias, the messengers, rode forth\nwell horsed and well armed, and so passed the sea and came to the city\nof Benwick.  Here they had good cheer as long as they tarried, and\nreceived the answer that King Ban and King Bors would come unto King\nArthur in all the haste they might.\n\nNow those six kings in Wales had by their means gotten unto them five\nother kings, and all swore together that for weal or woe they would not\nleave each other till they had destroyed Arthur.  So their whole host\ndrew towards Arthur, now strengthened by Ban and Bors with their\nfollowers that had crossed from Gaul to his aid.  Then followed a great\nbattle, and they did on both sides great deeds of arms until at the\nlast Merlin counselled Arthur to fight no longer, since the eleven\nkings had more on hand than they were ware of, and would soon depart\nhome; for a messenger would come and tell them that lawless people as\nwell as Saracens, forty thousand in number, had entered their lands and\nwere burning and slaying without mercy.  So the great battle was ended,\nand the eleven kings went to their own country.\n\nNow King Arthur, King Ban, and King Bors came with their following into\nthe country of Cameliard, and there aided King Leodegrance against an\nenemy of that land.  King Leodegrance thanked them for their goodness,\nand made them great cheer ere King Ban and King Bors departed back\ntowards Benwick.\n\nIn Cameliard Arthur had the first sight of Guenever, the King's\ndaughter, and ever afterwards he loved her.  So when peace was once\nmore in his land, King Arthur asked counsel of Merlin about seeking her\nas his wife, for to him she was the most valiant and fairest lady\nliving or to be found.\n\n\"Sir,\" said Merlin, \"as for her beauty, she is one of the fairest\nalive, but if ye loved her not so well as ye do, I could choose better\nfor you.  Yet when a man's heart is set, he will be loath to change.\"\n\nSo Merlin was sent forth to King Leodegrance, and he told him of King\nArthur's desire.  King Leodegrance was glad that so worthy a king of\nprowess and of nobleness would wed his daughter, and promised him as\nwedding gift,--not lands, for he had enough and needed none,--but what\nwould please him much more, the Table Round, which Uther Pendragon had\ngiven to the King of Cameliard,--a table made by Merlin at which an\nhundred and fifty knights might be seated.\n\nSo Guenever, attended by Merlin and an hundred good knights (all King\nLeodegrance could spare, so many had been slain in his wars) with the\nRound Table rode with great pomp by water and by land to London.  There\nKing Arthur made great joy of their coming, for he had long loved\nGuenever.  Also the gift pleased him more than right great riches.  And\nthe marriage and the coronation were ordained with all speed in the\nmost honourable wise that could be devised.\n\nMerlin was sent to espy out in all the land fifty knights of most\nprowess and honour, who should make up the full number for the Round\nTable.  Only twenty-eight could he find worthy enough, and these Merlin\nfetched to Arthur's court.  And Merlin made sieges (seats), an hundred\nand fifty in all, for the knights, and he placed in every knight's\nsiege his name in letters of gold.\n\nOn that same day King Arthur founded the great order of the Round\nTable, the fame of which was to last for all time.  An hundred and\ntwenty-eight were then sworn as Knights of the Table Round, and every\nyear at the high feast of Pentecost others were to be added as they\nshowed themselves worthy.  Only one siege was long empty, the Siege\nPerilous, for no man should sit therein but one, and if any one of\nunworthy life were so hardy as to sit therein, he should be destroyed.\n\nWith great ceremony each one took the vows of true knighthood, solemnly\npromising to do no wicked deed, to be loyal to the King, to give mercy\nto those asking it, always to be courteous and helpful to ladies, and\nto fight in no wrongful quarrel for wordly gain, upon pain of death or\nforfeiture of knighthood and King Arthur's favour.  Unto this were all\nthe knights of the Round Table sworn, both old and young.  To dishonour\nknighthood was the greatest disgrace; to prove themselves worthy of\nknightly honour by strong, brave, courteous, loyal bearing under great\ndifficulties was the highest end of living.\n\nSo King Arthur stablished all his knights, and to them that were not\nrich he gave lands; and they rode abroad to right the wrongs of men,\nand to give help to the oppressed.  With their aid he secured order and\njustice throughout his realm, and then the weakest man might do his\nwork in peace, and prosper.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nTHE LADIES' KNIGHT\n\nThe King was wedded unto Dame Guenever at Camelot with great solemnity.\nJust as all were sitting at the high feast that followed the marriage,\nthere came running into the hall a white hart, followed by a whole pack\nof hounds with a great cry, and the hart went about the Table Round.\nAt a fierce bite from one of the dogs the hart made a great leap, and\noverthrew a knight that sat at the table, and so passed forth out of\nthe hall again, with all the dogs after him.  When they were gone the\nKing was glad, for they made such a noise, but Merlin said, \"Ye may not\nleave this adventure so lightly.  Let call Sir Gawaine, for he must\nbring again the white hart.\"\n\n\"I will,\" said the King, \"that all be done by your advice.\"  So Sir\nGawaine was called, and he took his charge and armed himself for the\nadventure.  Sir Gawaine was one of King Arthur's nephews, and had just\nbeen made a knight, for he had asked of the King the gift of knighthood\non the same day that he should wed fair Guenever.\n\nSo Sir Gawaine rode quickly forth, and Gaheris his brother rode with\nhim, instead of a squire, to do him service.  As they followed the hart\nby the cry of the hounds, they came to a great river.  The hart swam\nover, and they followed after, and so at length they chased him into a\ncastle, where in the chief courtyard the dogs slew the hart before Sir\nGawaine and young Gaheris came up.  Right so there came a knight out of\na room, with a sword drawn in his hand, and he slew two of the\ngreyhounds even in the sight of Sir Gawaine, and the remnant he chased\nwith his sword out of the castle.\n\nWhen he came back he said, \"O my white hart, me repenteth that thou art\ndead, for my sovereign lady gave thee to me, and poorly have I kept\nthee.  Thy death shall be dear bought, if I live.\"\n\nAnon he came fiercely towards Sir Gawaine, and they struck mightily\ntogether.  They clove their shields and broke their helms and hauberks\nso that the blood ran down to their feet.  At the last Sir Gawaine\nsmote the knight so hard that he fell to the earth; and then he cried\nfor mercy and yielded himself, and besought Sir Gawaine as he was a\nknight and gentleman to save his life.\n\n\"Thou shalt die,\" said Sir Gawaine, \"for slaying of my hounds.\"\n\n\"I will make amends,\" said the knight, \"unto my power.\"\n\nSir Gawaine would no mercy have, but unlaced his helm to strike off his\nhead, when at that instant came his lady out of a chamber.  She fell\nupon her husband just as the blow descended, and so Sir Gawaine smote\noff her head by misadventure, and the knight was saved.\n\n\"Alas!\" said Gaheris, \"that is foul and shamefully done; that shame\nshall never depart from you.  Ye should give mercy unto them that ask\nmercy, for a knight without mercy is without honour.\"\n\nSir Gawaine was so astonished at the death of the fair lady that he\nknew not what he did, and he said unto the knight, \"Arise, I will give\nthee mercy; and go thou unto King Arthur, and tell him how thou art\novercome by the knight that went in the quest of the white hart.\"\n\n\"I care not for mercy now,\" said the knight, \"for thou hast slain my\nlady that I loved best of all earthly things it matters not whether I\nlive or die.\"\n\nThen Sir Gawaine went into the castle and made ready to rest there all\nnight.\n\n\"What will ye do?\" said Gaheris; \"will ye unarm you in this country?\nYe may believe ye have many enemies here.\"\n\nHe had no sooner said that word than there came four knights well\narmed, and anon they made Sir Gawaine and Gaheris yield themselves as\nprisoners, in spite of the brave battle wherein Sir Gawaine was sore\nwounded in the arm.\n\nEarly on the morrow there came to Sir Gawaine in the prison one of the\nladies of the castle, and said, \"Sir Knight, what cheer?\"\n\n\"Not good,\" said he.\n\n\"It is your own fault,\" said the lady, \"for ye have done a passing foul\ndeed in the slaying of the lady, which will be great disgrace unto you.\nBe ye not of King Arthur's kin?\"\n\n\"Yes, truly,\" said Sir Gawaine.  \"My name is Gawaine, and my mother is\nKing Arthur's sister.\"\n\n\"Ah, then are ye nephew unto King Arthur,\" said the lady, \"and I shall\nso speak for you that ye shall have conduct to King Arthur, for love of\nhim.\"\n\nThen anon they delivered Sir Gawaine under this promise, that he should\nbear the dead lady to the court, the severed head hanging about his\nneck.  Right so he rode forth unto Camelot, and Merlin made him tell of\nhis adventure, and how he slew the lady, and how he would give no mercy\nunto the knight, whereby the lady was slain.  Then the King and the\nQueen were greatly displeased with Sir Gawaine, and by ordinance of the\nQueen there was set a quest of ladies on Sir Gawaine, and they ordered\nhim for ever while he lived to be with all ladies, and to fight for\ntheir quarrels; and that ever he should be courteous, and never refuse\nmercy to him that asketh mercy.  Thus was Gawaine sworn upon the four\nEvangelists that he should never be against lady nor gentlewoman,\nexcept if he fought for a lady and his adversary fought for another.\n\nThus endeth the adventure of Sir Gawaine, that he did at the marriage\nof King Arthur.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nWISE MERLIN'S FOOLISHNESS\n\nArthur was now established as king over all the land.  The great\ncouncil hall at Camelot, that is Winchester, had been built, some say\nby Merlin's skill; and the most loyal and the bravest knights of the\nworld had been gathered at Arthur's court to do honour to him and his\nfair Queen Guenever.\n\nMerlin was Arthur's wisest helper and most powerful friend, as he had\nbefore been the helper and friend of his father Uther, for whom he had\nmade the Round Table, signifying the roundness of the world.  We have\nseen how he hid the young Arthur away from the jealousy of the wild\nbarons, and how, by his power over men and his knowledge of what would\nbe, he had saved the King's life and guided his wise rule.  The old\nmagician Bleise, that dwelt in Northumberland, was Merlin's master, and\nhe it was that wrote down all the battles of Arthur with his enemies\nword by word as Merlin told him, and all the battles that were done in\nArthur's days, until Merlin was lost, as we shall see, through his own\nfoolishness.\n\nOn a time Merlin told King Arthur that he should not endure long, but\nfor all his crafts he should be put in the earth alive.  Also he told\nmany things that should befall, and how the king would miss him, so\nthat rather than all his lands he would wish to have him again.\n\n\"Ah,\" said King Arthur, \"since ye know of this, provide against it, and\nput away by your crafts that misadventure.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Merlin, \"it cannot be done.\"  For Merlin, now grown an old\nman in his dotage, had fallen under the spell of a damsel of the court\nnamed Nimue.  With her he soon departed from the King, and evermore\nwent with her wheresoever she went.  Ofttimes he wished to break away\nfrom her, but he was so held that he could not be out of her presence.\nEver she made him good cheer, till she had learned from him all she\ndesired of his secret craft, and had made him swear that he would never\ndo any enchantment upon her.\n\n[Illustration: Merlin and Nimue]\n\nThey went together over the sea unto the land of Benwick, where Ban was\nking, that had helped Arthur against his enemies.  Here Merlin saw\nyoung Launcelot, King Ban's son, and he told the queen that this same\nchild should grow to be a man of great honour, so that all Christendom\nshould speak of his prowess.  So the queen was comforted of her great\nsorrow that she made for the mortal war that King Claudas waged on her\nlord and on her lands.\n\nThen afterwards Nimue and Merlin departed into Cornwall, and by the way\nhe showed her many wonders, and wearied her with his desire for her\nlove.  She would fain have been delivered of him, for she was afraid of\nhim, almost believing him a devil's son, and yet she could not put him\naway by any means.\n\nAnd so on a time it happened that Merlin showed to her a wonderful\ncavern in the cliff, closed by an enchanted stone.  By her subtle\nworking she soon made Merlin remove the stone and go into the cavern to\nlet her know of the marvels there.  Then she so wrought through the\nmagic he had taught her that the stone was placed back again, so that\nhe never came out for all the craft that he could do.  And then she\ndeparted and left him there.\n\nOn a day a certain knight rode to see adventures, and happened to come\nto the rock where Nimue had put Merlin, and there he heard him make\ngreat lamentation.  The knight would gladly have helped him, and tried\nto move the great stone; but it was so heavy that a hundred men might\nnot lift it up.  When Merlin knew that the knight sought his\ndeliverance, he bade him leave his labour, for all was in vain.  He\ncould never be helped but by her that put him there.\n\nSo Merlin's prophecy of his own end was fulfilled, and he passed from\nthe world of men.  Arthur truly missed his old friend and marvelled\nwhat had become of him.  Afterwards, when the last great battle came,\nhe would have given everything to have Merlin with him again, but it\ncould not be.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nA STAG-HUNT AND WHAT CAME OF IT\n\nIt befell that Arthur and many of his knights rode on hunting into a\ndeep forest, and King Arthur, King Uriens of Gore that was the husband\nof Arthur's sister Morgan le Fay, and Sir Accolon of Gaul followed a\ngreat hart so fast that within a while they were ten miles from their\nfellowship.  At the last they chased so sore that they slew their\nhorses underneath them.  Then were they all three on foot, and ever\nthey saw the hart afore them passing weary and hard bestead[1].  \"Let\nus go on foot,\" said King Uriens, \"till we meet with some lodging.\"\n\nThen were they ware of the hart that lay on a great water bank, and a\ndog biting on his throat, and more other hounds came after.  King\nArthur now blew the prize[2] and dight[3] the hart.\n\nBut the three knights were in sore straits, so far from home, and\nwithout horses, and they began to look about the world.  Then Arthur\nsaw afore him in a great lake a little ship, all apparelled with silk\ndown to the water, coming right unto them, and it landed on the sands.\nThey went on board, all three, to see what was in the ship.  Soon it\nwas dark night, and there suddenly were about them an hundred torches\nset upon all the sides of the ship boards, and it gave great light.\n\nTherewithal there came out twelve fair damsels, and they set forth for\nthe knights a supper of all meats that they could think.  Then they\nshowed them richly beseen[4] chambers for the night, where the three\nhuntsmen slept marvellously.  But when they awoke next morning,\neverything had been changed through the sorcery of Morgan le Fay, that\nwas secretly plotting against her brother, to destroy him.  King Uriens\nawoke in his own bed in Camelot, and Arthur found himself in a dark\nprison, with many woeful knights complaining about him, and they soon\ntold him for what cause they were there.\n\nThe lord of the castle where they were prisoners was the falsest knight\nalive, a treacherous, cowardly man, named Sir Damas.  He had a younger\nbrother, Sir Ontzlake, a good knight of prowess, well beloved of all\npeople, from whom he was keeping back unjustly a full fair manor.\nGreat war had been betwixt these brothers.  Ontzlake was a far better\nfighter than the cowardly Damas, and yet he could not bring the elder\nto give over the younger brother's inheritance.  He offered to fight\nfor it, and wished Sir Damas to find a knight to fight in his stead, if\nhe himself dared not engage.  But Sir Damas was so hated that there was\nnever one would fight for him, though he had by force taken all the\nknights of that whole region and brought them to his prison for to make\nthem willing to take up his cause.  Many had died there, and the twenty\nthat were yet alive were lean and spent with hunger, but no one of them\nwould stand against Sir Ontzlake.\n\nAnon there came a damsel unto Arthur and asked him, \"What cheer?\"  \"I\ncannot say,\" said he.  \"Sir,\" said she, \"if ye will fight for my lord,\nye shall be delivered out of prison, and else ye escape never with\nlife.\"\n\n\"Now,\" said Arthur, \"that is hard, yet had I liefer to fight with a\nknight than to die in prison,\" and so it was agreed that he should do\nthe battle on this covenant, that he should be delivered and all the\nprisoners.  With that all the twenty knights were brought out of the\ndark prison into the hall, and set free, but they all abode to see the\nbattle.\n\nNow turn we unto Accolon of Gaul, that was with King Arthur and King\nUriens on the stag-hunt and that fell asleep on the magic ship.  When\nhe awoke he found himself beside a deep well, within half a foot of its\nedge, in great peril of death.\n\n\"Heaven save my lord King Arthur and King Uriens,\" said he, \"for these\ndamsels in the ship have betrayed us.  They were devils and no women,\nand if I may escape this misadventure, I shall destroy all false\ndamsels that use enchantments, wherever I may find them.\"\n\nRight then there came a dwarf with a great mouth and a flat nose, and\nsaluted Sir Accolon and said he came from Queen Morgan le Fay.  \"She\ngreeteth you well,\" said he, \"and biddeth you be of strong heart, for\nye shall fight to-morn with a knight at the hour of prime, and\ntherefore she hath sent you here Excalibur, Arthur's sword, and the\nscabbard, and she biddeth you as ye love her, that ye do the battle to\nthe uttermost without any mercy, like as ye promised her when ye spake\ntogether in private.\"\n\nSir Accolon believed he fully understood the message, and he said he\nshould keep his promise now that he had the sword.  Just then a knight,\nwho was no other than Sir Ontzlake himself, with a lady and six\nsquires, came up on horseback, saluted Sir Accolon, and begged him to\ncome and rest himself at his manor.  So Accolon mounted upon a spare\nhorse and rode to the manor, where he had passing good cheer.\n\nMeantime Sir Damas sent to his brother, Sir Ontzlake, and bade him make\nready to fight the next day with a good knight who had agreed to do\nbattle for the disputed heritage; and it happened through Morgan le\nFay's trickery that Accolon was lodged with Sir Ontzlake at the very\ntime when this message came.  Now Sir Ontzlake was sore troubled at the\nmessage, for he had been wounded in both thighs by a spear a short time\nbefore, and was suffering much.  Still, wounded as he was, he would\nhave taken the battle in hand, had not Sir Accolon offered to fight in\nhis stead, because Morgan le Fay had sent Excalibur and the sheath for\nthe battle with the knight on the morrow.  Then Sir Ontzlake was\npassing glad, and sent word unto his brother, Sir Damas, that he had a\nknight who would be ready in the field by to-morrow at the hour of\nprime.\n\nSo it was arranged that Sir Arthur and Sir Accolon, unknown to one\nanother, were to fight over the quarrel of the two brothers.\nPreparations were made accordingly, and all the knights and commons of\nthe country were there to see the encounter.  Just as Arthur was ready\nupon horseback, there came a damsel from Morgan le Fay bringing unto\nhim a sword like unto Excalibur, and the scabbard, and said: \"Morgan le\nFay sendeth you here your sword for great love.\"  He thanked her, not\nknowing that the sword and scabbard were counterfeit, and brittle and\nfalse.\n\nThey went eagerly to the battle, and gave many great strokes.  Sir\nAccolon had all advantage on his side, for he had the real Excalibur,\nMorgan le Fay having so ordained that King Arthur should have been\nslain that day.  King Arthur's sword never bit like Sir Accolon's, and\nalmost every stroke Sir Accolon gave wounded sore, so that it was a\nmarvel that Arthur stood.  Almost from the first it seemed to him that\nthe sword in Accolon's hand must be Excalibur, but he was so full of\nknighthood that knightly he endured the pain of the many wounds, and\nheld out as well as he might until his sword brake at the cross and\nfell in the grass among the blood.\n\nNow he expected to die, but he held up his shield, and lost no ground,\nnor bated any cheer.  All men that beheld him said they never saw\nknight fight so well as Arthur did, considering the blood that he bled,\nand they were sorry for him.  But Accolon was so bold because of\nExcalibur that he grew passing hardy, and called upon Arthur to yield\nhimself as recreant.\n\n\"Nay,\" said Sir Arthur, \"I may not so, for I have promised to do the\nbattle to the uttermost by the faith of my body while my life lasteth,\nand therefore I had rather die with honour than live with shame; and if\nit were possible for me to die an hundred times, I had rather die so\noft than yield myself to thee; for, though I lack weapon I shall lack\nno honour, and if thou slay me weaponless that shall be thy shame.\"\n\nBut Accolon cared not for shame, and would not spare.  He gave Arthur\nsuch a stroke that he fell nigh to the earth; yet he pressed upon\nAccolon with his shield, and with the pommel of his sword in his hand\ngave such a blow that Accolon fell back a little.\n\nNow it chanced that one of the damsels of the court, she that had put\nMerlin under the stone, had come into the field for love of King\nArthur, for she knew how Morgan le Fay had determined that Arthur\nshould be slain; therefore she came to save his life.  She saw how full\nof prowess Arthur was, and grieved that so good a knight should be\nslain through false treason.  So when Accolon gave another blow, the\nsword Excalibur fell out of his hand to the earth.  Arthur lightly\nleaped to it and got it in his hand, and forthwith knew that it was his\nown Excalibur.  Then he saw the scabbard hanging by Accolon's side, and\nanon pulling it from him, he threw it off as far as he might throw it.\nTherewith Sir Arthur rushed upon Accolon with all his might and pulled\nhim to the earth.  He then snatched off his helmet for the final blow,\nand the fierce battle was at an end.\n\n\"Slay me ye may well,\" said Accolon, \"if it please you, for ye are the\nbest knight that ever I found, and I see well that God is with you.\"\n\nBut now Sir Arthur thought he must have seen this knight, and asked,\n\"Of what country art thou, and of what court?\"  And when Sir Accolon\ntold him his name, then he remembered him of his sister, Morgan le Fay,\nand of the enchantment of the ship.  He made Accolon tell how he came\nby the sword, and then Arthur knew all the plot of his sister and of\nAccolon to have the King slain and herself made queen.\n\nFor the first time Arthur now let Accolon know against whom he had been\nfighting.  The fallen knight cried aloud for mercy, when he learned\nthat he had nearly slain the King, and said to all the knights and men\nthat were then there gathered together, \"O lords, this noble knight\nthat I have fought withal, which I sorely repent of, is the best man of\nprowess, of manhood, and of honour in the world, for it is King Arthur\nhimself, the liege lord of us all, and with mishap and with\nmisadventure have I done this battle with the king and lord in whose\npower I am.\"  Then all the people fell down on their knees, and called\nupon King Arthur for mercy, which he forthwith granted.\n\nThe King was sorely hurt and Accolon's wounds were even worse.  Arthur\nmade haste to settle the quarrel of the brothers Sir Damas and Sir\nOntzlake by giving the latter his rights and charging Sir Damas upon\npain of death never to distress knights-errant that ride on their\nadventures, and then was carried off to a near-by abbey, and Sir\nAccolon with him, to have their wounds searched.\n\nWithin four days Sir Accolon died from loss of blood during the fight,\nbut King Arthur was well recovered.  When Accolon was dead the King let\nsend him on a horse-bier with six knights unto Camelot and said, \"Bear\nhim to my sister Morgan le Fay, and say that I send him to her as a\npresent, and tell her that I have my sword Excalibur again and the\nscabbard.\"\n\nSo they departed with the body.\n\n\n\n[1] Hard bestead: in a bad plight.\n\n[2] Prize: death note.\n\n[3] Dight: dressed.\n\n[4] Beseen: of good appearance.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE TREACHERY OF MORGAN LE FAY\n\nThe meanwhile Morgan le Fay thought that King Arthur was slain, and\nthat she might now be queen of the land, with Sir Accolon as King.\nThen came tidings unto her that Accolon was dead and King Arthur had\nhis sword again.  When Queen Morgan wist all this she was so sorrowful\nthat near her heart brake, but because she would not it were known,\noutward she kept her countenance, and made no semblance of sorrow.  But\nwell she wist, if she remained till her brother Arthur came thither,\nthere should no gold go for her life.  Then she went unto Queen\nGuenever, and asked her leave to ride into the country.\n\n\"Ye may abide,\" said Queen Guenever, \"till your brother the King come\nhome.\"\n\n\"I may not,\" said Morgan le Fay, \"for I have such hasty tidings that I\nmay not tarry.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Guenever, \"ye may depart when ye will.\"\n\nSo early on the morn, ere it was day, she took her horse and rode all\nthat day and most part of the night, and on the morn by noon she came\nto the abbey of nuns where lay King Arthur.  Knowing he was there, she\nasked where he was at that time; and they answered how he had laid him\nin his bed to sleep, for he had had but little rest these three nights.\n\nThen she alighted off her horse, and thought for to steal away\nExcalibur his sword.  So she went straight unto his chamber, and no man\ndurst disobey her commandment.  There she found Arthur asleep in his\nbed, and Excalibur in his right hand naked.  When she saw that, she was\npassing heavy that she might not come by the sword without awaking him,\nand that she wist well would be her death.  Then she took the scabbard,\nand went her way on horseback.\n\nWhen the King a woke and missed his scabbard, he was wroth, and he\nasked who had been there.  They said his sister Queen Morgan had been\nthere, and had put the scabbard under her mantle, and was gone.\n\n\"Alas,\" said Arthur, \"falsely have ye watched me.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said they all, \"we durst not disobey your sister's commandment.\"\n\n\"Ah,\" said the King, \"let fetch the best horse that may be found, and\nbid Sir Ontzlake arm him in all haste, and take another good horse and\nride with me.\"\n\nSo anon the King and Ontzlake were well armed, and rode after this\nlady; and so they came by a cross, and asked a cowherd if there came\nany lady late riding that way.\n\n\"Sir,\" said the poor man, \"right late came a lady riding with forty\nhorses, and to yonder forest she rode.\"\n\nThen they spurred their horses and followed fast.  Within a while\nArthur had a sight of Morgan le Fay, and he chased as fast as he might.\nWhen she espied him following her, she rode a greater pace through the\nforest till she came to a plain.  She saw she might not escape,\nwherefore she rode unto a lake thereby, and said, \"Whatsoever becometh\nof me, my brother shall not have this scabbard.\"  And then she let\nthrow the scabbard in the deepest of the water, where it sank anon, for\nit was heavy of gold and precious stones.\n\nThereupon Queen Morgan rode into a valley where many great stones were,\nand when she saw that she must be overtaken, she shaped herself, horse\nand man, by enchantment, unto great marble stones.  Anon came Sir\nArthur and Sir Ontzlake, but they might not know the lady from her men,\nnor one knight from another.\n\n\"Ah,\" said the King, \"here may ye see the vengeance of God, and now I\nam sorry that this misadventure is befallen.\"\n\nAnd then he looked for the scabbard, but it could not be found, so he\nreturned to the abbey where he came from.  When Arthur was gone, Queen\nMorgan turned all into the likeness as she and they were before, and\nsaid, \"Sirs, now may we go where we will.\"\n\nSo she departed into the country of Gore, and there was she richly\nreceived, and made her castles and towns passing strong, for always she\nfeared much King Arthur.\n\nWhen the King had well rested him at the abbey, he rode unto Camelot,\nand found his Queen and his barons right glad of his coming.  And when\nthey heard of his strange adventures as is afore rehearsed, they all\nhad marvel of the falsehood of Morgan le Fay, and many knights wished\nher burned because of her wicked enchantments.  \"Well,\" said the King,\n\"I shall so be avenged on her, if I live, that all Christendom shall\nspeak of it.\"\n\nOn the morn there came a damsel from Morgan to the King, and she\nbrought with her the richest mantle that ever was seen in that court,\nfor it was set as full of precious stones as one might stand by\nanother, and there were the richest stones that ever the King saw.  And\nthe damsel said, \"Your sister sendeth you this mantle, and desireth\nthat ye should take this gift of her, and in what thing she hath\noffended you, she will amend it at your own pleasure.\"\n\nWhen the King beheld this mantle it pleased him much, but he said\nlittle.  With that came one of the Damsels of the Lake unto the King\nand said, \"Sir, I must speak with you in private.\"\n\n\"Say on,\" said the King, \"what ye will.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the damsel, \"put not on you this mantle till ye have seen\nmore, and in no wise let it come on you or any knight of yours, till ye\ncommand the bringer thereof to put it upon her.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said King Arthur, \"it shall be done as ye counsel me.\"  And\nthen he said unto the damsel that came from his sister, \"Damsel, this\nmantle that ye have brought me I will see upon you.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said she, \"it will not beseem me to wear a king's garment.\"\n\n\"By my head,\" said Arthur, \"ye shall wear it ere it come on my back, or\nany man's that here is.\"\n\nAnd so the King made it to be put upon her, and forthwithal she fell\ndown dead, and nevermore spake word after, but burned to coals.\n\nThen was the King wonderfully wroth, more than he was beforehand, and\nsaid unto King Uriens, \"My sister, your wife, is alway about to betray\nme, and well I wot either ye or your son Sir Uwaine is of counsel with\nher to have me destroyed; but as for you,\" said the King to King\nUriens, \"I deem not greatly that ye be of her counsel, for she plotted\nwith Accolon to destroy you as well as me.  Therefore I hold you\nexcused; but as for your son, Sir Uwaine, I hold him suspected, and\ntherefore I charge you put him out of my court.\"\n\nSo Sir Uwaine was discharged.  And when Sir Gawaine wist that, he made\nhimself ready to go with his cousin.  So they two departed, and rode\ninto a great forest, and came to an abbey of monks, where they were\nwell lodged.  But when the King wist that Sir Gawaine was departed from\nthe court, there was made great sorrow among all the estates.\n\n\"Now,\" said Gaheris, Gawaine's brother, \"we have lost two good knights\nfor the sake of one.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nSIR LAUNCELOT OF THE LAKE\n\nWhen King Arthur, after long wars, rested and held a royal feast with\nhis allies and noble knights of the Round Table, there came into his\nhall, he sitting on his throne royal, twelve ambassadors from Rome, and\nsaid to him: \"The high and mighty emperor Lucius sendeth to the king of\nBritain greeting, commanding thee to acknowledge him for thy lord and\nto send the tribute due from this realm unto the empire according to\nthe statutes and decrees made by the noble and worthy Julius Caesar,\nconqueror of this realm and first emperor of Rome.  And if thou refuse\nhis demand and commandment, know thou for certain that he shall make\nstrong war against thee, thy realms and lands, and shall chastise thee\nand thy subjects, so that it shall be warning perpetual unto all kings\nand princes not to deny their tribute unto the noble empire which\ndominateth the universal world.\"\n\nSome of the young knights hearing this message would have run on the\nambassadors to slay them, saying that it was a rebuke unto all the\nknights there present to suffer them to say so to the King.  But King\nArthur commanded that none should do them any harm, and anon let call\nall his lords and knights of the Round Table to council upon the\nmatter.  And all agreed to make sharp war on the Romans, and to aid\nafter their power.\n\nSo the messengers were allowed to depart, and they took ship at\nSandwich and passed forth by Flanders, Almaine, the mountains and all\nItaly until they came unto Rome.  There they said to Lucius, \"Certainly\nhe is a lord to be feared, for his estate is the royalest that ever we\nsaw, and in his person he is the most manly man that liveth, and is\nlikely to conquer all the world, for unto his courage it is too little;\nwherefore we advise you to keep well your marches and straits[1] in the\nmountains.\"\n\nThen Lucius made ready a great host and marched into Gaul, and Arthur\nmet him there with his army.  The old chronicles tell of the great\nbattles that were fought and the brave deeds of knights and lords, how\nArthur himself with Excalibur cleft the head of Lucius, and at length\npassed over the mountains into Lombardy and Tuscany, and so came into\nRome.  On a day appointed, as the romance telleth, he was crowned\nemperor by the Pope's hand with all the royalty that could be made.\n\nAfter he had established all his lands from Rome unto France, and had\ngiven lands and realms unto his servants and knights, to each after his\ndesert in such wise that none complained, rich nor poor, all his lords\nand all the great men of estate assembled before him and said: \"Blessed\nbe God, your war is finished and your conquest achieved, insomuch that\nwe know none so great nor mighty that dare make war against you;\nwherefore we beseech you to return homeward and give us licence to go\nhome to our wives, from whom we have been long, and to rest us, for\nyour journey is finished with honour.\"\n\nSo they all came over sea, and landed at Sandwich, where Queen Guenever\ncame and met the King.  And he was nobly received of all the commons in\nevery city and borough, and great gifts were presented to him at his\nhome-coming, to welcome him.\n\nOf all the knights that, when Arthur came into England, had increased\nin honour, Sir Launcelot of the Lake in especial excelled in deeds of\narms both for life and death.  His parents, King Ban of Benwick and his\nfair queen, Elaine, had first named him Galahad, and, as has already\nbeen said, Merlin, before he disappeared under the stone, had foretold\nthat within twenty years he should be known over the whole world as a\ngreat and worthy knight.  It is no marvel, therefore, that Launcelot is\nthe first knight that the French book maketh mention of after King\nArthur came from Rome.  He passed with Arthur into England, where he\nwas received gladly and was made a knight of the Round Table.  Queen\nGuenever had him in great favour above all other knights, and in return\nhe was loyal to her above all other ladies and damsels all his life,\nand for love of her he did many deeds of arms, and saved her from the\nfire through his noble chivalry.  Therefore jealous people spoke evil\nof Sir Launcelot and the Queen, because they were of less prowess and\nhonour than he, and thereby great mischief arose in Arthur's court.\nFrom this came Arthur's overthrow in the end, and the downfall of his\nnoble realm.\n\nBut for long years Launcelot was the glory of knighthood, and he vied\nwith King Arthur himself in deeds of prowess and of chivalrous courtesy\nin the tournament and on adventure.\n\n\n\n[1] Strait: narrow pass.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nA NIGHT-TIME ADVENTURE OF SIR LAUNCELOT\n\nIn fulfilment of his oath as a knight of the Round Table Sir Launcelot\nrode into many strange and wild countries and through many waters and\nvalleys.  He slew Sir Turquine, who watched to destroy knights, and he\nclove the head of another false traitor who attended to destroy and\ndistress ladies, damsels, and gentlewomen.  Other wrongs besides these\nhe righted, and bravely withstood many a struggle.\n\nNow on a day it chanced that he passed a deep forest, where, as often\nbefore, he found strait lodging.  But he was brave and strong, and\nfeared no hardship provided he did nothing contrary to his honour as a\nworthy knight.  As he was riding over a long bridge there started upon\nhim suddenly a passing foul churl, who struck his horse upon the nose\nand asked Sir Launcelot why he rode over that bridge without licence.\n\n\"Why should I not ride this way?\" said Sir Launcelot; \"it is the way I\nchoose to ride.\"\n\n\"Thou shall not choose,\" said the churl, and began to beat him with his\ngreat club shod with iron.\n\nSir Launcelot drew his sword, and made short work of this rough porter.\nThen he rode right on to the end of the bridge, through the fair\nvillage, where all the people in vain gave him warning, and on straight\ninto the green courtyard of the castle, which was Tintagil, in Cornwall.\n\nAnon there came upon him two great giants, with horrible clubs in their\nhands.  With shield and sword he soon laid on the earth one of these\ngiants.  The other ran away for fear of the horrible strokes, and Sir\nLauncelot entered the hall.  Here he set free three-score gentlewomen,\nwho for seven years had been prisoners of the two giants, working all\nmanner of silk works for their food.\n\n\"Show me such cheer as ye have,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"and what treasure\nthere is in this castle I give you for a reward for your grievance.\"\nThen soon he mounted his horse again, and rode away upon further\nadventure.\n\nOne night he came to the courtyard of an old gentleman, who lodged him\nwith a good will, and there he had good cheer for himself and his\nhorse.  When time was his host brought him into a fair garret over the\ngate to his bed.  There Sir Launcelot unarmed him, set his armour\nbeside him, and went to bed, and anon fell asleep.  Soon afterward\nthere came one on horseback, and knocked at the gate in great haste.\nWhen Sir Launcelot heard this, he arose up and looked out at the\nwindow, and saw by the moonlight three knights come after that one man;\nall three lashed on him at once with swords, and that one knight turned\non them knightly again and defended himself.\n\n\"Truly,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"yonder one knight shall I help, for it\nwere shame for me to see three knights on one, and if he be slain I am\npartner in his death.\"\n\nTherewith he took his armour and let himself down from the window by a\nsheet to the four knights.\n\n\"Turn you knights unto me,\" cried Sir Launcelot aloud, \"and leave your\nfighting with that knight.\"\n\nAnd then they all three left Sir Kay, for it was he who was so hard\nbestead, and turned unto Sir Launcelot.  And there began great battle,\nfor they alighted, all three, and struck many great strokes at Sir\nLauncelot, and assailed him on every side.  Sir Kay would have helped\nhim, but Sir Launcelot suffered him not, and anon within six strokes he\nhad struck all three to the earth.  Sir Launcelot made them yield\nthemselves to Sir Kay and promise to go next Whitsunday to the court as\nprisoners of Queen Guenever.  So they were suffered to depart, and Sir\nLauncelot knocked at the gate with the pommel of his sword.  The host\ncame, and they entered, Sir Kay and he.  \"Sir,\" said the host, \"I\nthought you were in your bed.\"  \"So I was,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"but I\narose and leaped out at my window to help an old fellow of mine.\"\n\nWhen they came nigh the light, Sir Kay knew well that it was Sir\nLauncelot, and therewith he kneeled down and thanked him for all his\nkindness that he had holpen him from death.\n\n\"Sir,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"I have done nothing but that I ought to do,\nand ye are welcome, and here shall ye repose you and take your rest.\"\n\nSo when Sir Kay was unarmed he asked for meat; there was meat fetched\nhim, and he ate strongly.  Then they went to their beds, and Sir\nLauncelot and Sir Kay were lodged together in one bed.  On the morn Sir\nLauncelot arose early, and left Sir Kay sleeping.  He put on Sir Kay's\narmour and took his shield, and so went to the stable.  He here got Sir\nKay's horse, took leave of his host, and so departed.\n\nThen soon afterward Sir Kay arose.  He missed Sir Launcelot, and then\nhe espied that his armour and his horse had been taken.  \"Now by my\nfaith,\" said he, \"I know well that he will grieve some of the court of\nKing Arthur, for my armour and horse will beguile all knights; they\nwill believe it is I, and will be bold to him.  And because I have his\narmour and shield I am sure I shall ride in peace.\"  Then soon\nafterward Sir Kay thanked his host and departed.\n\nSo Sir Launcelot rode into a deep forest, and there in a dell he saw\nfour knights standing under an oak, and they were of Arthur's court.\nAnon as they espied Sir Launcelot they thought by his arms it was Sir\nKay.\n\n\"Now by my faith,\" said Sir Sagramour, one of the four knights, \"I will\nprove Sir Kay's might\"; so he got his spear in his hand, and came\ntoward Sir Launcelot.  Therewith Sir Launcelot was ware, and knew him\nwell; and he smote Sir Sagramour so sore that horse and man fell both\nto the earth.\n\n\"Lo, my fellows,\" said Sir Ector, another of the four, \"yonder ye may\nsee what a buffet he hath; that knight is much bigger than ever was Sir\nKay.  Now shall ye see what I may do to him.\"\n\nSo Sir Ector got his spear in his hand and galloped toward Sir\nLauncelot, and Sir Launcelot smote him through shield and shoulder so\nthat horse and man went to the earth, and ever his spear held.\n\n\"By my faith,\" said Sir Uwaine, \"yonder is a strong knight, and I am\nsure he hath slain Sir Kay; and I see by his great strength it will be\nhard to match him.\"\n\nTherewithal Sir Uwaine gat his spear in his hand and rode toward Sir\nLauncelot.  Sir Launcelot knew him well, and so he met him on the\nplain, and gave him such a buffet that he was stunned, and long he wist\nnot where he was.\n\n\"Now see I well,\" said Sir Gawaine, the last of the four knights, \"I\nmust encounter with that knight.\"\n\nThen he dressed his shield and gat a good spear in his hand, and then\nthey let run their horses with all their mights, and either knight\nsmote other in midst of the shield.  But Sir Gawaine's spear brake, and\nSir Launcelot charged so sore upon him that his horse reversed\nup-so-down.\n\nMuch sorrow had Sir Gawaine to get clear of his horse, and so Sir\nLauncelot passed on a pace, and smiled, and said, \"God give him joy\nthat made this spear, for there came never a better in my hand.\"\n\nThen the four knights went each one to other and comforted each other.\n\"What say ye to this deed?\" said Sir Gawaine.  \"He is a man of great\nmight, for that one spear hath felled us four.  I dare lay my head it\nis Sir Launcelot; I know it by his riding.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nHOW SIR LAUNCELOT CAME INTO THE CHAPEL PERILOUS\n\nOn a day as Sir Launcelot rode a great while in a deep forest, he was\nware of an old manor beyond a bridge.  And he passed over the bridge,\nthat was old and feeble, and came into a great hall, where he saw lie a\ndead knight, that was a seemly man.  And therewithal came out a lady\nweeping and wringing her hands, and she said: \"Oh, knight, too much\nsorrow hast thou brought me.\"\n\n\"Why say ye so?\" said Sir Launcelot; \"I did never this knight any harm;\ntherefore, fair lady, be not displeased with me, for I am full sore\naggrieved at your grievance.\"\n\n\"Truly sir,\" she said, \"I know it is not ye that have slain my husband,\nfor he that did that deed is sore wounded, and he is never likely to\nrecover; that I assure you.\"\n\n\"What was your husband's name?\" asked Sir Launcelot.\n\n\"Sir,\" said she, \"his name was Sir Gilbert, one of the best knights of\nthe world, and he that hath slain him, I know not his name.\"\n\n\"God send you better comfort,\" said Sir Launcelot, and so he departed\nand went into the forest again, and there he met with a damsel who knew\nhim well, and said aloud, \"Well are ye come, my lord; and now I require\nthee on thy knighthood help my brother that is sore wounded, and never\nceaseth bleeding, for this day fought he with Sir Gilbert and slew him\nin plain battle.  My brother was sore wounded, and a sorceress that\ndwelleth in a castle hard by told me this day that my brother's wounds\nshould never be whole till I could find a knight that would go into the\nChapel Perilous where he should find a sword and a bloody cloth that\nthe wounded knight was wrapped in.  A piece of that cloth and the sword\nshould heal my brother's wounds, if his wounds were searched with the\nsword and the cloth.\"\n\n\"This is a marvellous thing,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"but what is your\nbrother's name?\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said she, \"his name is Sir Meliot.\"\n\n\"That me repenteth,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"for he is a fellow of the\nTable Round, and to help him I will do all in my power.\"\n\n\"Then, sir,\" said she, \"follow this highway, and it will bring you into\nthe Chapel Perilous, and here I shall wait till God send you again;\nexcept you I know no knight living that may achieve that adventure.\"\n\nSo Launcelot departed, and when he came unto the Chapel Perilous, he\nalighted and tied his horse to the little gate of the churchyard.  And\nsoon he saw on the front of the chapel many fair rich shields turned\nup-so-down, and many of these shields he had seen borne by knights that\nhe had known aforetime.  Then he saw standing there by him thirty great\nknights, taller by a yard than any man that ever he had seen, all clad\nin black armour, ready with their shields, and their swords drawn.\nThey all grinned and gnashed at Sir Launcelot, and when he saw their\ncountenances, he put his shield afore him, and took his sword in his\nhand ready unto battle.  He started to go right past the giants, and\nthen they scattered on every side and gave him the way.  Therewith he\nwaxed all bold and entered into the chapel, where he saw no light but a\ndim lamp burning, and soon became aware of a corpse covered with a\ncloth of silk.  Sir Launcelot stooped down and cut off a piece of that\ncloth, whereupon the earth under him seemed to quake a little, and at\nthis he feared.  Then he saw a fair sword lying by the dead knight.\nThis he gat into his hand and hied out of the chapel.\n\nAs soon as ever he was in the chapel yard all the giants spake to him\nwith a grimly voice, and said: \"Knight, Sir Launcelot, lay that sword\nfrom thee, or else thou shalt die.\"\n\n\"Whether I live or die,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"no loud words will get it\nagain; therefore fight for it if ye will.\"\n\nThen he immediately passed right through their midst, and beyond the\nchapel yard there met him a fair damsel, who said, \"Sir Launcelot,\nleave that sword behind thee, or thou wilt die for it.\"\n\n\"I leave it not,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"for any entreaties.\"\n\n\"It is well,\" said she.  \"If thou didst leave that sword thou shouldst\nnever see Queen Guenever again.  Now, gentle knight, I request one\nthing of thee.  Kiss me but once.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"God forbid that I should do that.\"\n\n\"It is well, sir,\" said she; \"if thou hadst kissed me thy life days had\nbeen done.  But now, alas, I have lost all my labour, for I ordained\nthis chapel to win thee.  Once I had Sir Gawaine well nigh within my\npower, but he fought with that knight that lieth there dead in yonder\nchapel, Sir Gilbert, and smote off his left hand and so escaped.  Sir\nLauncelot, I have loved thee these seven years, but now I know no woman\nmay have thy love but Queen Guenever.\"\n\n\"Ye say well,\" said Sir Launcelot.  \"God preserve me from your subtile\ncrafts.\"\n\nThereupon he took his horse and so departed from her, and soon met the\ndamsel, Sir Meliot's sister.  Anon she led him to the castle where Sir\nMeliot lay, pale as the earth from bleeding.  Sir Launcelot leaped unto\nhim and touched his wounds with Sir Gilbert's sword, and then wiped his\nwounds with a part of the cloth that Sir Gilbert was wrapped in, and\nanon he was as whole a man as ever he had been in all his life.  And\nthen there was great joy between them.  They made Sir Launcelot all the\ncheer that they might, and on the morn he took his leave of Sir Meliot\nand his sister, and rode away.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nTHE KNIGHT, THE LADY, AND THE FALCON\n\nAnd Sir Launcelot by fortune came to a fair castle, and as he passed by\nhe was ware of a falcon that came flying over his head toward a high\nelm.  As the bird flew into the tree to take her perch, the long lines\nabout her feet caught on a bough, and when she would take flight again\nshe hung fast by the legs.  Sir Launcelot saw how the fair falcon hung\nthere, and he was sorry for her.\n\nMeanwhile came a lady out of the castle and cried aloud, \"O Launcelot,\nLauncelot, as thou art the flower of all knights, help me to get my\nhawk.  I was holding my hawk and she slipped from me, and if my lord my\nhusband knows that she is lost he will slay me.\"\n\n\"What is your lord's name?\" said Sir Launcelot.\n\n\"Sir,\" said the lady, \"his name is Sir Phelot, a knight of Northgalis.\"\n\n\"Well, fair lady,\" said Launcelot, \"since ye know my name, and request\nme as a courteous knight to help you, I will do what I may to get your\nhawk.  And yet truly I am an ill climber, and the tree is passing high,\nwith few boughs to cling to.\"\n\nThereupon Sir Launcelot alighted, and tied his horse to the elm.  Then\nthe lady helped him to unarm, and with might and force he climbed up to\nthe falcon.  He tied the lines to a great rotten branch, brake it off,\nand threw it and the hawk down.  Anon the lady gat the hawk in her\nhand, and thereupon came Sir Phelot suddenly out of the grove, all\narmed and with his naked sword in his hand.  He called up to Sir\nLauncelot and said, \"O knight, now have I found thee as I would\"; and\nhe stood at the foot of the tree to slay him.\n\n\"Ah lady,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"why have ye betrayed me?\"\n\n\"She hath done,\" said Sir Phelot, \"but as I commanded her; there is no\nhelp for it; thine hour is come, and thou must die.\"\n\n\"It were shame unto thee,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"for thee, an armed\nknight, to slay an unarmed man by treason.\"\n\n\"Thou gettest no other grace,\" said Sir Phelot; \"therefore help thyself\nif thou canst.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"that ever knight should die weaponless.\"\n\nThen he looked above and below him, and saw a big leafless bough.  This\nhe brake off; then he climbed down with it in his hand, and, observing\nhow his horse stood, he suddenly leaped down to the ground on the\nfarther side of the horse from the knight.\n\nThen Sir Phelot lashed at him eagerly, thinking to slay him.  But Sir\nLauncelot put away the stroke with the branch, and then with it gave\nSir Phelot such a blow on one side of the head that he fell down in a\nswoon to the ground.  Then Sir Launcelot took his sword out of his hand\nand struck his head from his body.\n\n\"Alas,\" cried the lady, \"why hast thou slain my husband?\"\n\n\"I am not the cause,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"for with falsehood ye would\nhave slain me by treason, and now it is fallen on you both.\"\n\nThereupon Sir Launcelot gat all his armour as well as he might, and put\nit on for fear of further attack, since the knight's castle was so\nnear.  As soon as he might he took his horse, and, thanking God that he\nhad escaped that adventure, he went on his adventures over many wild\nways, through marsh and valley and forest.\n\nAt Pentecost he returned home, and the King and all the court were\npassing glad of his coming.  And ever now and now came all the knights\nback, those that had encountered with Sir Launcelot, those that he had\nset free from prison, and all those that knew of his great deeds of\narms.  And they all bare record of Sir Launcelot's prowess, so at that\ntime he had the greatest name of any knight of the world, and most he\nwas honoured of high and low.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nHOW A KITCHEN-PAGE CAME TO HONOUR\n\nArthur was holding the high feast of Pentecost at a city and castle\ncalled in those days Kink-Kenadon, upon the sands nigh Wales, and he\nsat at meat with all the knights of the Round Table.  Then came into\nthe hall two men well beseen and richly, and upon their shoulders there\nleaned the goodliest young man and the fairest that ever any of the\nknights had seen.  He was higher than the other two by a foot and a\nhalf, broad in the shoulders, well visaged, and the fairest and largest\nhanded that ever man saw; but he acted as though he might not walk nor\nsupport himself unless he leaned upon their shoulders.  They went with\nhim right unto the high dais without saying of any words.\n\nThen this much young man pulled himself away, and easily stretched up\nstraight, saying: \"King Arthur, God you bless and all your fair\nfellowship of the Round Table.  For this cause I am come hither, to\npray you to give me three gifts.  They shall not be so unreasonable but\nthat ye may honourably grant them me, and to you no great hurt nor\nloss.  The first I will ask now, and the other two gifts I will ask\nthis day twelvemonth wheresoever ye hold your high feast.\"\n\n\"Now ask,\" said Arthur, \"and ye shall have your asking.\"\n\n\"Now, sir, this is my petition for this feast, that you will give me\nmeat and drink sufficiently for this twelve-month, and at that day I\nwill ask mine other two gifts.\"\n\n\"This is but a simple asking,\" said the King; \"ye shall have meat and\ndrink enough; I never refuse that to any, neither my friend nor my foe.\nBut what is your name I would know?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell you,\" said he.\n\nThe King marvelled at this answer, but took him to Sir Kay, the\nsteward, and charged him that he should give the youth of all manner of\nmeats and drinks of the best, and also that he should have all manner\nof finding as though he were a lord's son.\n\n\"That need not be,\" said Sir Kay, \"to do such cost upon him; for I dare\nundertake he is a villain born, and never will make a man, for had he\ncome of gentlemen he would have asked of you horse and armour; but such\nas he is, so he asketh.  And since he hath no name, I shall give him\nthe name Beaumains, that is Fair-hands, and into the kitchen I shall\nbring him, and there he shall have rich broth every day, so that he\nshall be as fat by the twelvemonth's end as a pork hog.\"\n\nSo the two men departed, and left him to Sir Kay, who scorned him and\nmocked him.  Thereat was Sir Gawaine wroth, and especially Sir\nLauncelot bade Sir Kay leave off his mocking, \"for,\" said he, \"I dare\nwager he shall prove a man of great honour.\"\n\n\"It may not be by any reason,\" said Sir Kay, \"for as he is, so hath he\nasked.\"\n\nSo Sir Kay ordered that a place be made for him, and Fair-hands went to\nthe hall door, and sat down among boys and lads, and there he ate\nsadly.  After meat Sir Launcelot bade him come to his chamber, where he\nshould have meat and drink enough, and so did Sir Gawaine; but he\nrefused them all; he would do none other but as Sir Kay commanded him.\nAs touching Sir Gawaine, he had reason to proffer him lodging, meat,\nand drink, for he was nearer kin to him than he knew.  But what Sir\nLauncelot did was of his great gentleness and courtesy.\n\nThus Fair-hands was put into the kitchen, and lay nightly as the boys\nof the kitchen did.  And so he endured all that twelvemonth, and never\ndispleased man nor child, but always he was meek and mild.  But ever\nwhen there was any jousting of knights, that would he see if he could.\nAnd where were any masteries done, thereat would he be, and there might\nnone cast bar nor stone to him by two yards.  Then would Sir Kay say,\n\"How like you my boy of the kitchen?\"\n\nSo it passed on till the least of Whitsuntide, which at that time the\nKing held at Carlion in the most royal wise that might be, as he did\nevery year.  As he again sat at meat, there came a damsel into the hall\nand saluted the King, and prayed him for succour.  \"For whom?\" said the\nKing; \"what is the adventure?\"\n\n\"Sir,\" she said, \"I have a lady of great honour and renown, and she is\nbesieged by a tyrant so that she may not out of her castle.  And\nbecause your knights are called the noblest of the world, I come to you\nto pray you for succour.\"\n\n\"What is the name of your lady? and where dwelleth she? and who is he,\nand what is his name, that hath besieged her?\"\n\n\"Sir King,\" she said, \"as for my lady's name, that shall not ye know\nfrom me at this time, but I let you know she is a lady of great honour\nand of great lands.  And as for the tyrant that besiegeth and\ndestroyeth her lands, he is called the Red Knight of the Red Lawns.\"\n\n\"I know him not,\" said the King.\n\n\"Sir,\" said Sir Gawaine, \"I know him well, for he is one of the most\ndangerous knights of the world.  Men say that he hath seven men's\nstrength, and from him I escaped once full hard with my life.\"\n\n\"Fair damsel,\" said the King, \"there be knights here would do their\nbest to rescue your lady, but because ye will not tell her name, nor\nwhere she dwelleth, therefore none of my knights that be here now shall\ngo with you by my will.\"\n\n\"Then must I speak further,\" said the damsel.\n\nWith these words Fair-hands came before the King, while the damsel was\nthere, and thus he said: \"Sir King, God reward you, I have been these\ntwelve months in your kitchen, and have had my full sustenance, and now\nI will ask my two gifts that be behind.\"\n\n\"Ask upon my peril,\" said the King.\n\n\"Sir, these shall be my two gifts.  First, that ye will grant me this\nadventure of the damsel, and second, that ye shall bid Launcelot of the\nLake to make me knight, for of him I will be made knight, and else of\nnone.  I pray you let him ride after me, and make me knight when I\nrequest him.\"\n\n\"All this shall be done,\" said the King.\n\n\"Fie on thee,\" said the damsel, \"shall I have none but one that is your\nkitchen-page?\"  Then was she wroth, and took her horse and departed.\n\nThereupon there came one to Fair-hands, and told him that his horse and\narmour was come for him, with all things that he needed in the richest\nmanner.  Thereat all the court had much marvel from whence came all\nthat gear.  When he was armed and came into the hall to take leave of\nKing Arthur and Sir Gawaine and Sir Launcelot, there were but few so\ngoodly knights as he was.  He prayed Sir Launcelot that he would hie\nafter him, and so departed and rode after the damsel.\n\nMany people followed after Fair-hands to behold how well he was horsed\nand trapped in cloth of gold, but he had neither shield nor spear.\nThen Sir Kay said all openly in the hall, \"I will ride after my boy of\nthe kitchen, to see whether he will know me for his better.\"\n\nSir Launcelot and Sir Gawaine counselled him to abide at home;\nnevertheless he made ready and took his horse and his spear and rode\noff.  Just as Fair-hands overtook the damsel, Sir Kay came up, and\nsaid, \"Fair-hands, what sir, know ye not me?\"\n\nThen he turned his horse, and knew it was Sir Kay, that had done him\nall the despite, as we have heard afore.  \"Yea,\" said Fair-hands, \"I\nknow you for an ungentle knight of the court and therefore beware of\nme.\"\n\nTherewith Sir Kay put his spear in its rest, and ran straight upon him,\nand Fair-hands came on just as fast with his sword in his hand.  And so\nhe put away his spear with his sword, and with a foin[1] thrust him\nthrough the side, so that Sir Kay fell down as if he were dead.  Then\nFair-hands alighted down and took Sir Kay's shield and his spear, had\nhis dwarf mount upon Sir Kay's horse, and started upon his own horse\nand rode his way.  All this Sir Launcelot saw, and so did the damsel.\n\nBy this time Sir Launcelot had come up, and Fair-hands offered to joust\nwith him.  So they rushed together like boars, and for upwards of an\nhour they had a hard fight, wherein Sir Launcelot had so much ado with\nFair-hands that he feared himself to be shamed.  At length he said,\n\"Fair-hands, fight not so sore; your quarrel and mine is not so great\nbut we may leave off.\"\n\n\"That is truth,\" said Fair-hands, \"but it doth me good to feel your\nmight, and yet, my lord, I showed not my uttermost.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"I promise you I had as much to do as I\nmight to save myself from you unashamed; therefore ye need have no fear\nof any earthly knight.\"\n\n\"Hope ye then,\" said Fair-hands, \"that I may anywhere stand as a proved\nknight?\"\n\n\"Yea,\" said Launcelot, \"do as ye have done, and I shall be your\nwarrant.\"\n\n\"Then I pray you give me the order of knighthood,\" said Fair-hands.\n\n\"Then must ye tell me your name,\" said Launcelot, \"and of what kin ye\nbe born.\"\n\n\"Sir, if ye will not make me known, I will,\" said Fair-hands.\n\n\"That I promise you by the faith of my body, until it be openly known,\"\nsaid Sir Launcelot.\n\n\"Then, sir,\" he said, \"my name is Gareth; I am own brother unto Sir\nGawaine.\"\n\n\"Ah! sir,\" said Launcelot, \"I am more glad of you than I was, for ever\nme thought ye should be of great blood, and that ye came not to the\ncourt either for meat or for drink.\"\n\nThen Sir Launcelot gave him the order of knighthood, and Sir Gareth\nwent his way.\n\nSir Launcelot now came to Sir Kay and had him carried home upon his\nshield.  He was with difficulty healed of his wounds, and all men\nscorned him.  In especial Sir Gawaine and Sir Launcelot said it was not\nfor Sir Kay to rebuke the young man, for full little he knew of what\nbirth he was and for what cause he came to this court.\n\n\n\n[1] Foin: reach forth.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nHOW SIR GARETH FOUGHT FOR THE LADY OF CASTLE PERILOUS\n\nAfter the damsel rode Fair-hands, now well provided with shield and\nspear, and known to Sir Launcelot, at least, as Sir Gareth and nephew\nto King Arthur.  When he had overtaken the damsel, anon she said: \"What\ndost thou here?  Thou smellest all of the kitchen; thy clothes be foul\nwith the grease and tallow that thou gainedst in King Arthur's kitchen;\ntherefore turn again, foul kitchen-page.  I know thee well, for Sir Kay\nnamed thee Fair-hands.  What art thou but a lubber and a turner of\nspits, and a ladle washer?\"\n\n\"Damsel,\" said Fair-hands, \"say to me what ye will, I will not go from\nyou, for I have undertaken, in King Arthur's presence, to achieve your\nadventure, and so shall I finish it, or I shall die therefore.\"\n\nThus as they rode along in the wood, there came a man flying all that\never he might.  \"Whither wilt thou?\" said Fair-hands.\n\n\"O lord,\" he said, \"help me, for yonder in a dell are six thieves that\nhave taken my lord and bound him, and I am afeard lest they will slay\nhim.\"\n\nSo Fair-hands rode with the man until they came to where the knight lay\nbound, and the thieves hard by.  Fair-hands struck one unto the death,\nand then another, and at the third stroke he slew the third thief; and\nthen the other three fled.  He rode after them and overtook them, and\nthen those three thieves turned again and assailed Fair-hands hard, but\nat the last he slew them also, and returned and unbound the knight.\nThe knight thanked him, and prayed him to ride with him to his castle\nthere a little beside, and he should honourably reward him for his good\ndeeds.\n\n\"Sir,\" said Fair-hands, \"I will no reward have except as God reward me.\nAnd also I must follow this damsel.\"\n\nWhen he came nigh her, she bade him ride from her, \"for,\" said she,\n\"thou smellest all of the kitchen; thinkest thou that I have joy of\nthee?  All this deed thou hast done is but mishapped thee, but thou\nshalt see a sight that shall make thee turn again, and that lightly.\"\n\nThen the same knight who was rescued from the thieves rode after that\ndamsel, and prayed her to lodge with him that night.  And because it\nwas near night the damsel rode with him to the castle, and there they\nhad great cheer.  At supper the knight set Sir Fair-hands afore the\ndamsel.\n\n\"Fie, fie,\" said she, \"sir knight, ye are uncourteous to set a\nkitchen-page afore me; him beseemeth better to stick a swine than to\nsit afore a damsel of high parentage.\"\n\nThen the knight was ashamed at her words, and took Fair-hands up and\nset him at a sideboard, and seated himself afore him.  So all that\nnight they had good cheer and merry rest.\n\nOn the morn the damsel and Fair-hands thanked the knight and took their\nleave, and rode on their way until they came to a great forest.\nTherein was a great river with but one passage, and there were ready\ntwo knights on the farther side, to prevent their crossing.  Fair-hands\nwould not have turned back had there been six more, and he rushed into\nthe water.  One of the two encountered with him in the midst of the\nstream, and both spears were broken.  Then they drew their swords and\nsmote eagerly at one another.  At the last Sir Fair-hands smote the\nother upon the helm so that he fell down stunned in the water, and\nthere was he drowned.  Then Sir Fair-hands spurred his horse upon the\nland, where the other fell upon him, and they fought long together.  At\nthe last Sir Fair-hands clove his helm and his head, and so rode unto\nthe damsel and bade her ride forth on her way.\n\n\"Alas,\" she said, \"that ever a kitchen-page should have that fortune to\ndestroy two such doughty knights.  Thou thinkest thou hast done\ndoughtily, but that is not so, for the first knight's horse stumbled,\nand so he was drowned in the water; it was never by thy force or by thy\nmight.  And as for the second knight, by mishap thou camest behind him\nand slewest him.\"\n\n\"Damsel,\" said Fair-hands, \"ye may say what ye will, but whomsoever I\nhave ado with I trust to God to serve him ere he depart, and therefore\nI reck not what ye say, provided I may win your lady.\"\n\n\"Fie, fie, foul kitchen-knave, thou shalt see knights that shall abate\nthy boast.  I see all that ever thou doest is but by misadventure, and\nnot by prowess of thy hands.\"\n\n\"Fair damsel,\" said he, \"give me goodly language, and then my care is\npast.  Ye may say what ye will; what knights soever I shall meet, I\nfear them not, and wheresoever ye go I will follow you.\"\n\nSo they rode on till even-song time, and ever she chid him and would\nnot cease.  And then they came to a black lawn, and there was a black\nhawthorn, and thereon hung a black banner, and on the other side there\nhung a black shield, and by it stood a black spear great and long, and\na great black horse covered with silk, and a black stone fast by,\nwhereon sat a knight all armed in black harness, and his name was the\nKnight of the Black Lawns.\n\nThe damsel, when she saw this knight, bade Fair-hands flee down the\nvalley.  \"Grammercy,\" said he, \"always ye would have me a coward.\"\n\nWith that the Black Knight, when she came nigh him, spake and said,\n\"Damsel, have ye brought this knight of King Arthur to be your\nchampion?\"\n\n\"Nay, fair knight,\" said she, \"this is but a kitchen-knave, that was\nfed in King Arthur's kitchen for alms.  I cannot be rid of him, for\nwith me he rideth against my will.  Would that ye should put him from\nme, or else slay him, if ye may, for he is a troublesome knave, and\nevilly he hath done this day.\"\n\n\"Thus much shall I grant you,\" said the Black Knight: \"I shall put him\ndown upon one foot, and his horse and his harness he shall leave with\nme, for it were shame to me to do him any more harm.\"\n\nWhen Sir Fair-hands heard him say thus, he said, \"Sir knight, thou art\nfull generous with my horse and my harness; I let thee know it cost\nthee naught, and whether thou like it or not, this lawn will I pass,\nand neither horse nor harness gettest thou of me, except as thou win\nthem with thy hands.  I am no kitchen-page, as the damsel saith I am; I\nam a gentleman born, and of more high lineage than thou, and that will\nI prove on thy body.\"\n\nThen in great wrath they drew back with their horses, and rushed\ntogether as it had been the thunder.  The Black Knight's spear brake,\nand Fair-hands thrust him through both his sides, whereupon his own\nspear brake also.  Nevertheless the Black Knight drew his sword and\nsmote many eager strokes of great might, and hurt Fair-hands full sore.\nBut at the last he fell down off his horse in a swoon, and there he\ndied.\n\nWhen Fair-hands saw that the Black Knight had been so well horsed and\narmed, he alighted down and armed himself in the dead man's armour,\ntook his horse, and rode after the damsel.  When she saw him come nigh,\nshe said, \"Away, kitchen-knave, out of the wind, for the smell of thy\nfoul clothes offendeth me.  Alas that ever such a knave as thou art\nshould by mishap slay so good a knight as thou hast done.  All this is\nmy ill luck, but hard by is one that shall requite thee, and therefore\nagain I counsel thee, flee.\"\n\n\"It may be my lot,\" said Fair-hands, \"to be beaten or slain, but I warn\nyou, fair damsel, I will not flee away or leave your company for all\nthat ye can say, for ever ye say that they will kill me or beat me, yet\nit happeneth that I escape and they lie on the ground.  Therefore it\nwere as good for you to stop thus all day rebuking me, for away will I\nnot till I see the uttermost of this journey, or else I will be slain\nor truly beaten; therefore ride on your way, for follow you I will,\nwhatsoever happen.\"\n\nAs they rode along together they saw a knight come driving by them all\nin green, both his horse and his harness; and when he came nigh the\ndamsel he asked her, \"Is that my brother the Black Knight that ye have\nbrought with you?\"\n\n\"Nay, nay,\" said she, \"this unlucky kitchen-knave hath slain your\nbrother through mischance.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" said the Green Knight, \"that is great pity that so noble a\nknight as he was should so unfortunately be slain, and by a knave's\nhand, as ye say that he is.  Ah! traitor, thou shalt die for slaying my\nbrother; he was a full noble knight.\"\n\n\"I defy thee,\" said Fair-hands, \"for I make known to thee I slew him\nknightly and not shamefully.\"\n\nTherewithal the Green Knight rode unto a horn that was green that hung\non a green thorn, and there he blew three deadly notes, whereupon came\ntwo damsels and armed him lightly.  Then he took a great horse and a\ngreen shield and a green spear, and the two knights ran together with\nall their mights.  They brake their spears unto their hands, and then\ndrew their swords.  Now they gave many sad strokes, and either of them\nwounded other full ill.\n\nAt the last Fair-hands' horse struck the Green Knight's horse upon the\nside, and it fell to the earth.  Then the Green Knight left his horse\nlightly, and prepared to fight on foot.  That saw Fair-hands, and\ntherewithal he alighted, and they rushed together like two mighty\nchampions a long while, and sore they bled both.\n\nWith that came the damsel and said, \"My lord, the Green Knight, why for\nshame stand ye so long fighting with the kitchen-knave?  Alas, it is\nshame that ever ye were made knight, to see such a lad match such a\nknight, as if the weed overgrew the corn.\"\n\nTherewith the Green Knight was ashamed, and gave a great stroke of\nmight, and clave Fair-hands' shield through.  When the young knight saw\nhis shield cloven asunder he was a little ashamed of that stroke and of\nher language, and then he gave the other such a buffet upon the helm\nthat he fell on his knees, and Fair-hands quickly pulled him upon the\nground grovelling.  Then the Green Knight cried for mercy, and yielded\nhimself unto Sir Fair-hands, and prayed him to slay him not.\n\n\"All is in vain,\" said Fair-hands, \"for thou shalt die unless this\ndamsel that came with me pray me to save thy life.\"\n\nTherewithal he unlaced his helm as if to slay him.  \"Let be,\" said the\ndamsel, \"thou foul kitchen-knave, slay him not, for if thou do, thou\nshalt repent it.\"\n\n\"Damsel,\" said Fair-hands, \"your charge is to me a pleasure, and at\nyour commandment his life shall be saved, and else not.  Sir Knight\nwith the green arms, I release thee quit at this damsel's request, for\nI will not make her wroth; I will fulfil all that she chargeth me.\"\n\nAnd then the Green Knight kneeled down and did him homage with his\nsword, promising for ever to become his man together with thirty\nknights that held of him.  Then said the damsel, \"Me repenteth, Green\nKnight, of your damage and of the death of your brother the Black\nKnight; of your help I had great need, for I fear me sore to pass this\nforest.\"\n\n\"Nay, fear ye not,\" said the Green Knight, \"for ye shall lodge with me\nthis night, and to-morn I shall help you through this forest.\"\n\nSo they took their horses and rode to his manor, which was fast there\nbeside.  And ever the damsel rebuked Fair-hands, and would not suffer\nhim to sit at her table.  But the Green Knight took him and set him at\na side table, and did him honour, for he saw that he was come of noble\nblood and had proved himself a full noble knight.  All that night he\ncommanded thirty men privily to watch Fair-hands for to keep him from\nall treason.  And on the morn they arose, and after breaking their fast\nthey took their horses and rode on their way.\n\nAs the Green Knight conveyed them through the forest he said, \"My lord\nFair-hands, I and these thirty knights shall be always at your summons,\nboth early and late at your call wherever ye will send us.\"\n\n\"It is well,\" said Fair-hands; \"when I call upon you ye must go unto\nKing Arthur with all your knights.\"\n\nSo the Green Knight took his leave, and the damsel said unto\nFair-hands, \"Why followest thou me, thou kitchen-boy; cast away thy\nshield and thy spear and flee, for thou shalt not pass a pass here,\nthat is called the pass Perilous.\"\n\n\"Damsel,\" said Fair-hands, \"who is afraid let him flee, for it were\nshame to turn again since I have ridden so long with you.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said she, \"ye shall soon, whether ye will or not.\"\n\nIn like manner on the next day Sir Fair-hands overcame a third brother,\nthe Red Knight, and in like manner the damsel would have Fair-hands\nspare his life.  Albeit she spake unto him many contemptuous words,\nwhereof the Red Knight had great marvel, and all that night made\nthree-score men to watch Fair-hands that he should have no shame or\nvillainy.  The Red Knight yielded himself to Fair-hands with fifty\nknights, and they all proffered him homage and fealty at all times to\ndo him service.\n\n\"I thank you,\" said Fair-hands; \"this ye shall grant me when I call\nupon you, to come afore my lord King Arthur and yield yourselves unto\nhim to be his knights.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the Red Knight, \"I will be ready and my fellowship at your\nsummons.\"\n\nSo again upon the morn Sir Fair-hands and the damsel departed, and ever\nshe rode chiding him in the foulest manner.\n\n\"Damsel,\" said Fair-hands, \"ye are uncourteous so to rebuke me as ye\ndo, for me seemeth I have done you good service, and ever ye threaten\nme I shall be beaten with knights that we meet; but ever for all your\nboasts they lie in the dust or in the mire, and therefore I pray you\nrebuke me no more.  When ye see me beaten or yielded as recreant, then\nmay ye bid me go from you shamefully, but first I let you wit I will\nnot depart from you, for I were worse than a fool if I should depart\nfrom you all the while that I win honour.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said she, \"right soon there shall come a knight that shall pay\nthee all thy wages, for he is the most man of honour of the world,\nexcept King Arthur.\"\n\n\"The more he is of honour,\" said Fair-hands, \"the more shall be my\nhonour to have ado with him.  Have no doubt, damsel, by the grace of\nGod I shall so deal with this knight that within two hours after noon I\nshall overcome him, and then shall we come to the siege of your lady's\ncastle seven miles hence by daylight.\"\n\n\"Marvel have I,\" said the damsel, \"what manner of man ye be, for it may\nnever be otherwise but that ye be come of noble blood, for so foul and\nshamefully did never woman rule a knight as I have done you, and ever\ncourteously ye have suffered me, and that came never but of gentle\nblood.\"\n\n\"Damsel,\" said Fair-hands, \"a knight may little do that may not suffer\na damsel, for whatsoever ye said unto me I took no heed to your words,\nfor the more ye said the more ye angered me, and my wrath I wreaked\nupon them that I had ado withal.  And therefore all the missaying that\nye missaid me furthered me in my battle, and caused me to think to show\nand prove myself at the end what I was.  For peradventure, though I had\nmeat in King Arthur's kitchen, yet I might have had meat enough in\nother places.  All that I did to prove and to assay my friends, and\nwhether I be a gentleman born or not, I let you wit, fair damsel, I\nhave done you gentleman's service, and peradventure better service yet\nwill I do ere I depart from you.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" she said, \"good Fair-hands, forgive me all that I have missaid\nor done against thee.\"\n\n\"With all my heart,\" said he, \"I forgive it you, and damsel, since it\nliketh you to say thus fair to me, wit ye well it gladdeth mine heart\ngreatly, and now me seemeth there is no knight living but I am able\nenough for him.\"\n\nWith this Sir Persant of Inde, the fourth of the brethren that stood in\nFair-hands' way to the siege, espied them as they came upon the fair\nmeadow where his pavilion was.  Sir Persant was the most lordly knight\nthat ever thou lookedst on.  His pavilion and all manner of thing that\nthere is about, men and women, and horses' trappings, shields and\nspears were all of dark blue colour.  Anon he and Fair-hands prepared\nthemselves and rode against one another that both their spears were\nshattered to pieces, and their horses fell dead to the earth.  Then\nthey fought two hours and more on foot, until their armour was all hewn\nto pieces, and in many places they were wounded.  At the last, though\nloath to do it, Fair-hands smote Sir Persant above upon the helm so\nthat he fell grovelling to the earth, and the fierce battle was at an\nend.  Like his three brethren before, Sir Persant yielded himself and\nasked for mercy, and at the damsel's request Fair-hands gladly granted\nhis life, and received homage and fealty from him and a hundred\nknights, to be always at his commandment.\n\nOn the morn as the damsel and Sir Fair-hands departed from Sir\nPersant's pavilion, \"Fair damsel,\" said Persant, \"whitherward are ye\naway leading this knight?\"\n\n\"Sir,\" she said, \"this knight is going to the siege that besiegeth my\nsister in the Castle Perilous.\"\n\n\"Ah, ah,\" said Persant, \"that is the Knight of the Red Lawns, the most\nperilous knight that I know now living, a man that is without mercy,\nand men say that he hath seven men's strength.  God save you, sir, from\nthat knight, for he doth great wrong to that lady, which is great pity,\nfor she is one of the fairest ladies of the world, and me seemeth that\nthis damsel is her sister.  Is not your name Linet?\"\n\n\"Yea, sir,\" said she, \"and my lady my sister's name is Dame Liones.\nNow, my lord Sir Persant of Inde, I request you that ye make this\ngentleman knight or ever he fight with the Red Knight.\"\n\n\"I will with all my heart,\" said Sir Persant, \"if it please him to take\nthe order of knighthood of so simple a man as I am.\"\n\nBut Fair-hands thanked him for his good will, and told him he was\nbetter sped, as the noble Sir Launcelot had already made him knight.\nThen, after Persant and the damsel had promised to keep it close, he\ntold them his real name was Gareth of Orkney, King Arthur's nephew, and\nthat Sir Gawaine and Sir Agravaine and Sir Gaheris were all his\nbrethren, he being the youngest of them all.  \"And yet,\" said he, \"wot\nnot King Arthur nor Sir Gawaine what I am.\"\n\nThe book saith that the lady that was besieged had word of her sister's\ncoming and a knight with her, and how he had passed all the perilous\npassages, had won all the four brethren, and had slain the Black\nKnight, and how he overthrew Sir Kay, and did great battle with Sir\nLauncelot, and was made knight by him.  She was glad of these tidings,\nand sent them wine and dainty foods and bade Sir Fair-hands be of good\nheart and good courage.\n\nThe next day Fair-hands and Linet took their horses again and rode\nthrough a fair forest and came to a spot where they saw across the\nplain many pavilions and a fair castle and much smoke.  And when they\ncame near the siege Sir Fair-hands espied upon great trees, as he rode,\nhow there hung goodly armed knights by the necks, nigh forty of them,\ntheir shields about their necks with their swords.  These were knights\nthat had come to the siege to rescue Dame Liones, and had been overcome\nand put to this shameful death by the Red Knight of the Red Lawns.\n\nThen they rode to the dykes, and saw how strong were the defences, and\nmany great lords nigh the walls, and the sea upon the one side of the\nwalls, where were many ships and mariners' noise, with \"hale\" and \"ho.\"\nFast by there was a sycamore tree, whereupon hung a horn, the greatest\nthat ever they saw, of an elephant's bone.  This the Knight of the Red\nLawns had hung up there that any errant knight might blow it, if he\nwished the Knight of the Red Lawns to come to him to do battle.  The\ndamsel Linet besought Fair-hands not to blow the horn till high noon,\nfor the Red Knight's might grew greater all through the morn, till, as\nmen said, he had seven men's strength.\n\n\"Ah, fie for shame, fair damsel,\" said Fair-hands, \"say ye never so\nmore to me, for, were he as good a knight as ever was, I shall never\nfail him in his most might, for either I will win honour honourably, or\ndie knightly in the field.\"\n\nTherewith he spurred his horse straight to the sycamore tree, and blew\nthe horn so eagerly that all the siege and all the castle rang thereof.\nAnd then there leaped out knights out of their tents, and they within\nthe castle looked over the walls and out at windows.  Then the Red\nKnight of the Red Lawns armed himself hastily, and two barons set his\nspurs upon his heels, and all was blood red,--his armour, spear, and\nshield.  And an earl buckled his helm upon his head, and then they\nbrought him a red steed, and so he rode into a little vale under the\ncastle, that all that were in the castle and at the siege might behold\nthe battle.\n\nSir Fair-hands looked up at a window of the castle, and there he saw\nthe Lady Liones, the fairest lady, it seemed to him, that ever he\nlooked upon.  She made courtesy down to him, and ever he looked up to\nthe window with glad countenance, and loved her from that time and\nvowed to rescue her or else to die.\n\n\"Leave, Sir Knight, thy looking,\" said the Red Knight, \"and behold me,\nI counsel thee, and make thee ready.\"\n\nThen they both put their spears in their rests, and came together with\nall the might that they had.  Either smote other in the midst of the\nshield with such force that the breastplates, horse-girths, and\ncruppers brake, and both fell to the earth stunned, and lay so long\nthat all they that were in the castle and in the siege thought their\nnecks had been broken.  But at length they put their shields afore\nthem, drew their swords, and ran together like two fierce lions.\nEither gave other such buffets upon the helm that they reeled backward;\nthen they recovered both, and hewed off great pieces of their harness\nand their shields.\n\nThus they fought till it was past noon, and never would stint, till at\nlast they lacked wind both, and stood panting and blowing a while.\nThen they went to battle again, and thus they endured till even-song\ntime, and none that beheld them might know whether was like to win.\nThen by assent of them both they granted either other to rest; and so\nthey sat down on two molehills, and unlaced their helms to take the\ncool wind.  Then Sir Fair-hands looked up at the window, and there he\nsaw the fair lady, Dame Liones.  She made him such countenance that his\nheart waxed light and jolly; and therewith he bade the Red Knight of\nthe Red Lawns make ready to do battle to the uttermost.\n\nSo they laced up their helms and fought freshly.  By a cross stroke the\nRed Knight of the Red Lawns smote Sir Fair-hands' sword from him, and\nthen gave him another buffet on the helm so that he fell grovelling to\nthe earth, and the Red Knight fell upon him to hold him down.  Then\nLinet cried to him aloud and said that the lady beheld and wept.  When\nSir Fair-hands heard her say so he started up with great might, gat\nupon his feet, and leaped to his sword.  He gripped it in his hand,\ndoubled his pace unto the Red Knight, and there they fought a new\nbattle together.\n\nNow Sir Fair-hands doubled his strokes and smote so thick that soon he\nhad the better of the Red Knight of the Red Lawns, and unlaced his helm\nto slay him, whereupon he yielded himself to Fair-hands' mercy.\n\nSir Fair-hands bethought him upon the knights that he had made to be\nhanged shamefully, and said, \"I may not with my honour save thy life.\"\n\nThen came there many earls and barons and noble knights, and prayed\nFair-hands to save his life and take him as prisoner.  Then he released\nhim upon this covenant that he go within to the castle and yield\nhimself there to the lady, and if she would forgive him he might have\nhis life with making amends to the lady of all the trespass he had done\nagainst her and her lands.\n\nThe Red Knight of the Red Lawns promised to do as Sir Fair-hands\ncommanded and so with all those earls and barons he made his homage and\nfealty to him.  Within a while he went unto the castle, where he made\npeace with the Lady Liones, and departed unto the court of King Arthur.\nThere he told openly how he was overcome and by whom, and also he told\nall the battles of Fair-hands from the beginning unto the ending.\n\n\"Mercy,\" said King Arthur and Sir Gawaine, \"we marvel much of what\nblood he is come, for he is a noble knight.\"  But Sir Launcelot had no\nmarvel, for he knew whence he came, yet because of his promise he would\nnot discover Fair-hands until he permitted it or else it were known\nopenly by some other.\n\nDame Liones soon learned through her brother Sir Gringamore that the\nknight who had wrought her deliverance was a king's son, Sir Gareth of\nOrkney, and nephew of King Arthur himself.  And she made him passing\ngood cheer, and he her again, and they had goodly language and lovely\ncountenance together.  And she promised the noble knight Sir Gareth\ncertainly to love him and none other the days of her life.  Then there\nwas not a gladder man than he, for ever since he saw her at the window\nof Castle Perilous he had so burned in love for her that he was nigh\npast himself in his reason.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nHOW SIR GARETH RETURNED TO THE COURT OF KING ARTHUR\n\nNow leave we Sir Gareth there with Sir Gringamore and his sisters,\nLiones and Linet, and turn we unto King Arthur that held the next feast\nof Pentecost at Carlion.  And there came the Green Knight with his\nfifty knights, and they yielded themselves all unto King Arthur.  And\nso there came the Red Knight, his brother, and yielded himself and\nthree-score knights with him.  Also there came the Blue Knight, brother\nto them, and his hundred knights, and yielded themselves.  These three\nbrethren told King Arthur how they were overcome by a knight that a\ndamsel had with her, and called him Fair-hands.  Also they told how the\nfourth brother, the Black Knight, was slain in an encounter with Sir\nFair-hands, and of the adventure with the two brethren that kept the\npassage of the water; and ever more King Arthur marvelled who the\nknight might be that was in his kitchen a twelvemonth and that Sir Kay\nin scorn named Fair-hands.\n\nRight as the King stood so talking with these three brethren there came\nSir Launcelot of the Lake and told him that there was come a goodly\nlord with six hundred knights.  The King went out, and there came to\nhim and saluted him in a goodly manner the Red Knight of the Red Lawns,\nand he said, \"I am sent to you by a knight that is called Fair-hands,\nfor he won me in plain battle, hand for hand.  No knight has ever had\nthe better of me before.  I and my knights yield ourselves to your\nwill, as he commanded, to do you such service as may be in our power.\"\n\nKing Arthur received him courteously, as he had before received the\nthree brethren, and he promised to do them honour for the love of Sir\nFair-hands.  Then the King and they went to meat, and were served in\nthe best manner.\n\nAnd as they sat at the table, there came in the Queen of Orkney, with\nladies and knights a great number.  And her sons, Sir Gawaine, Sir\nAgravaine, and Gaheris arose and went to her, and saluted her upon\ntheir knees and asked her blessing, for in fifteen years they had not\nseen her.\n\nThen she spake on high to her brother, King Arthur, \"Where have ye done\nmy young son, Sir Gareth?  He was here amongst you a twelvemonth, and\nye made a kitchen-knave of him, which is shame to you all.\"\n\n\"Oh dear mother,\" said Sir Gawaine, \"I knew him not.\"\n\n\"Nor I,\" said the King; \"but thanked be God, he is proved an honourable\nknight as any of his years now living, and I shall never be glad till I\nmay find him.  Sister, me seemeth ye might have done me to know of his\ncoming, and then, had I not done well to him, ye might have blamed me.\nFor when he came to this court, he came leaning upon two men's\nshoulders, as though he might not walk.  And then he asked of me three\ngifts,--one the same day, that was that I would give him meat for that\ntwelvemonth.  The other two gifts he asked that day a twelvemonth, and\nthose were that he might have the adventure of the damsel Linet, and\nthat Sir Launcelot should make him knight when he desired him.  I\ngranted him all his desire, and many in this court marvelled that he\ndesired his sustenance for a twelvemonth, and thereby deemed many of us\nthat he was not come of a noble house.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the Queen of Orkney unto King Arthur, her brother, \"I sent\nhim unto you right well armed and horsed, and gold and silver plenty to\nspend.\"\n\n\"It may be,\" said the King, \"but thereof saw we none, save that same\nday as he departed from us, knights told me that there came a dwarf\nhither suddenly, and brought him armour and a good horse, full well and\nrichly beseen, and thereat we had all marvel from whence that riches\ncame.  Then we deemed all that he was come of men of honour.\"\n\n\"Brother,\" said the queen, \"all that ye say I believe, for ever since\nhe was grown he was marvellously witted, and ever he was faithful and\ntrue to his promise.  But I marvel that Sir Kay did mock him and scorn\nhim, and give him the name Fair-hands.  Yet Sir Kay named him more\njustly than he knew, for I dare say, if he be alive, he is as\nfair-handed a man and as well disposed as any living.\"\n\n\"Sister,\" said Arthur, \"by the grace of God he shall be found if he be\nwithin these seven realms.  Meanwhile let us be merry, for he is proved\nto be a man of honour, and that is my joy.\"\n\nSo then goodly letters were made and a messenger sent forth to the Lady\nLiones, praying her to give best counsel where Sir Gareth might be\nfound.  She answered that she could not then tell where he was; but she\nlet proclaim a great tournament at her castle, and was sure that Sir\nGareth would be heard of there.  So King Arthur and all his knights of\nvalour and prowess came together at the Lady Liones' castle by the Isle\nof Avilion, and great deeds of arms were done there, but most of all\nSir Gareth gained honour, though no one knew that it was he until a\nherald rode near him and saw his name written about his helm.\n\nWit ye well the King made great joy when he found Sir Gareth again, and\never he wept as he had been a child.  With that came his mother, the\nQueen of Orkney, and when she saw Sir Gareth really face to face she\nsuddenly fell down in a swoon.  Then Sir Gareth comforted his mother in\nsuch a wise that she recovered, and made good cheer.  And the Lady\nLiones came, among all the ladies there named the fairest and peerless.\nAnd there the King asked his nephew Sir Gareth whether he would have\nthat lady to his wife.\n\n\"My lord,\" said he, \"wit ye well that I love her above all ladies.\"\n\n\"Now, fair lady,\" said King Arthur, \"what say ye?\"\n\n\"Most noble King,\" said Dame Liones, \"wit ye well that my Lord Gareth\nis to me more dear to have and to hold as my husband than any king or\nprince that is christened, and if ye will suffer him to have his will\nand free choice, I dare say he will have me.\"\n\n\"That is truth,\" said Sir Gareth, \"and if I have not you and hold not\nyou as my wife I wed no lady.\"\n\n\"What, nephew,\" said the King, \"is the wind in that door!  Wit ye well\nI would not for the stint of my crown be causer to withdraw your\nhearts.  Ye shall have my love and my lordship in the uttermost wise\nthat may lie in my power.\"\n\nThen was there made a provision for the day of marriage, and by the\nKing's advice it should be at Michaelmas following at Kink-Kenadon by\nthe seaside.  And when the day came the Bishop of Canterbury made the\nwedding betwixt Sir Gareth and the Lady Liones with great solemnity.\nAnd at the same time Gaheris was wedded to Linet.\n\nWhen this solemnisation was done there came in the Green Knight, the\nRed Knight, and all the others that had yielded themselves to Sir\nGareth, and did homage and fealty to hold their lands of him for ever,\nand desired to serve him at the feast.  And the kings and queens,\nprinces, earls, and barons, and many bold knights went unto meat, and\nwell may ye wit that there was all manner of meat plenteously, all\nmanner of revels, and games, with all manner of minstrelsy that was\nused in those days.  So they held the court forty days with great\nsolemnity.\n\nAnd this Sir Gareth was a noble knight, and a well ruled, and fair\nlanguaged.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nHOW YOUNG TRISTRAM SAVED THE LIFE OF THE QUEEN OF LYONESSE\n\nThere was a king called Meliodas, as likely a knight as any living, and\nhe was lord of the country of Lyonesse.  At that time King Arthur\nreigned supreme over England, Wales, Scotland, and many other realms,\nhowbeit there were many lords of countries that held their lands under\nKing Arthur.  So also was the King of France subject to him, and the\nKing of Brittany, and all the lordships as far as Rome.  The wife of\nthis King Meliodas was a full good and fair lady, called Elizabeth, the\nsister of King Mark of Cornwall.  Well she loved her lord, and he her\nagain, and there was much joy betwixt them.  There was a lady in that\ncountry who bore ill will towards this king and queen, and therefore\nupon a day, as he rode on hunting, for he was a great chaser, she by an\nenchantment made him chase a hart by himself alone till he came to an\nold castle, where anon she had him taken prisoner.\n\nWhen Queen Elizabeth missed her lord she was nigh out of her wit, and\nshe took a gentlewoman with her and ran into the forest to seek him.\nWhen she was far in the forest and might go no farther, she sank down\nexhausted.  For the default of help she took cold there, and she soon\nknew that she must die.  So she begged her gentlewoman to commend her\nto King Meliodas, and to say that she was full sorry to depart out of\nthis world from him, and that their little child, that was to have such\nsorrow even in his infancy, should be christened Tristram.\n\nTherewith this queen gave up the ghost and died.  The gentlewoman laid\nher under the shadow of a great tree, and right so there came the\nbarons, following after the queen.  When they saw that she was dead\nthey had her carried home, and much dole[1] was made for her.\n\nThe morn after his queen died King Meliodas was delivered out of\nprison, and the sorrow he made for her, when he was come home, no\ntongue might tell.  He had her richly interred, and afterwards, as she\nhad commanded afore her death, had his child christened Tristram, the\nsorrowful born child.  For seven years he remained without a wife, and\nall that time young Tristram was nourished well.\n\nThen, when he wedded King Howell's daughter of Brittany and had other\nchildren, the stepmother was wroth that Tristram should be heir to the\ncountry of Lyonesse rather than her own son.  Wherefore this jealous\nqueen resolved to become rid of her stepson, and she put poison into a\nsilver cup in the chamber where Tristram and her children were\ntogether, intending that when Tristram was thirsty he should drink it.\nBut it happened that the queen's own son espied the cup with poison,\nand, because the child was thirsty and supposed it was good drink, he\ntook of it freely.  Therewithal he died suddenly, and when the queen\nwist of the death of her son, wit ye well that she was heavy of heart.\nBut yet the king understood nothing of her treason.\n\nNotwithstanding all this the queen would not leave her jealousy, and\nsoon had more poison put in a cup.  By fortune King Meliodas, her\nhusband, found the cup where was the poison, and being much thirsty he\ntook to drink thereout.  Anon the queen espied him and ran unto him and\npulled the cup from him suddenly.  The king marvelled why she did so,\nand remembered how her son was suddenly slain with poison.  Then he\ntook her by the hand, and said: \"Thou false traitress, thou shalt tell\nme what manner of drink this is.\"  Therewith he pulled out his sword,\nand swore a great oath that he should slay her if she told him not the\ntruth.\n\nThen she told him all, and by the assent of the barons she was\ncondemned to be burned as a traitress, according to the law.  A great\nfire was made, and just as she was at the fire to take her execution\nyoung Tristram kneeled afore King Meliodas and besought of him a boon.\n\"I grant it,\" said the king, whereupon the youth demanded the life of\nthe queen, his stepmother.\n\n\"That is unrightfully asked,\" said King Melodias, \"for she would have\nslain thee, if she had had her will, and for thy sake most is my cause\nthat she should die.\"\n\nBut Tristram besought his father to forgive her, as he himself did, and\nrequired him to hold his promise.  Then said the king, \"Since ye will\nhave it so, I give her to you; go ye to the fire and take her, and do\nwith her what ye will.\"\n\nSo Sir Tristram went to the fire, and by the commandment of the king\ndelivered her from death.  But thereafter King Meliodas would never\nhave aught to do with her, though by the good means of young Tristram\nhe at length forgave her.  Ever after in her life she never hated her\nstepson more, but loved him and had great joy of him, because he saved\nher from the fire.  But the king would not suffer him to abide longer\nat his court.\n\n\n\n[1] Dole: sorrow; mourning.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nSIR TRISTRAM'S FIRST BATTLE\n\nKing Melodias sought out a gentleman that was well learned, and taught,\nand with him, named Gouvernail, he sent young Tristram away from\nLyonesse court into France, to learn the language and customs and deeds\nof arms.  There he learned to be a harper passing all others of his\ntime, and he also applied himself well to the gentlemanly art of\nhawking and hunting, for he that gentle is will draw unto him gentle\nqualities and follow the customs of noble gentlemen.  The old chronicle\nsaith he adopted good methods for the chase, and the terms he used we\nhave yet in hawking and hunting.  Therefore the book of forest sports\nis called the Book of Sir Tristram.\n\nWhen he well could speak the language and had learned all that he might\nin that country, he came home again, and remained in Cornwall until he\nwas big and strong, of the age of nineteen years, and his father, King\nMeliodas, had great joy of him.\n\nThen it befell that King Anguish of Ireland sent to King Mark of\nCornwall for the tribute long paid him, but now seven years behind.\nKing Mark and his barons gave unto the messenger of Ireland the answer\nthat they would no tribute pay, and bade him tell his king that if he\nwished tribute he should send a trusty knight of his land to fight for\nit against another that Cornwall should find to defend its right.  With\nthis the messenger departed into Ireland.\n\nWhen King Anguish understood the answer, he was wonderfully wroth, and\ncalled unto him Sir Marhaus, the good and proved knight, brother unto\nthe queen of Ireland, and a knight of the Round Table, and said to him:\n\"Fair brother, I pray you go into Cornwall for my sake, and do battle\nfor the tribute that of right we ought to have.\"\n\nSir Marhaus was not loath to do battle for his king and his land, and\nin all haste he was fitted with all things that to him needed, and so\nhe departed out of Ireland and arrived in Cornwall even fast by the\ncastle of Tintagil.\n\nWhen King Mark understood that the good and noble knight Sir Marhaus\nwas come to fight for Ireland, he made great sorrow, for he knew no\nknight that durst have ado with him.  Sir Marhaus remained on his ship,\nand every day he sent word unto King Mark that he should pay the\ntribute or else find a champion to fight for it with him.\n\nThen they of Cornwall let make cries in every place, that what knight\nwould fight to save the tribute should be rewarded so that he should\nfare the better the term of his life.  But no one came to do the\nbattle, and some counselled King Mark to send to the court of King\nArthur to seek Sir Launcelot of the Lake, that at that time was named\nfor the marvellousest knight of all the world.  Others said it were\nlabour in vain to do so, because Sir Marhaus was one of the knights of\nthe Round Table, and any one of them would be loath to have ado with\nother.  So the king and all his barons at the last agreed that it was\nno boot to seek any knight of the Round Table.\n\nMeanwhile came the language and the noise unto young Tristram how Sir\nMarhaus abode battle fast by Tintagil, and how King Mark could find no\nmanner of knight to fight for him.  Then Sir Tristram was wroth and\nsore ashamed that there durst no knight in Cornwall have ado with Sir\nMarhaus, and he went unto his father, King Meliodas, and said: \"Alas,\nthat I am not made knight; if I were, I would engage with him.  I pray\nyou give me leave to ride to King Mark to be made knight by him.\"\n\n\"I will well,\" said the father, \"that ye be ruled as your courage will\nrule you.\"\n\nSo Tristram went unto his uncle, who quickly gave him the order of\nknighthood, and anon sent a messenger unto Sir Marhaus with letters\nthat said he had found a young knight ready to take the battle to the\nuttermost.  Then in all haste King Mark had Sir Tristram horsed and\narmed in the best manner that might be had or gotten for gold or\nsilver, and he was put into a vessel, both his horse and he, and all\nthat to him belonged both for his body and for his horse, to be taken\nto an island nigh Sir Marhaus' ships, where it was agreed that they\nshould fight.  And when King Mark and his barons beheld young Sir\nTristram depart to fight for the right of Cornwall, there was neither\nman nor woman of honour but wept to see so young a knight jeopard\nhimself for their right.\n\nWhen Sir Tristram was arrived at the island, he commanded his servant\nGouvernail to bring his horse to the land and to dress his horse\nrightly, and then, when he was in the saddle well apparelled and his\nshield dressed upon his shoulder, he commanded Gouvernail to go to his\nvessel again and return to King Mark.  \"And upon thy life,\" said he,\n\"come thou not nigh this island till thou see me overcome or slain, or\nelse that I win yonder knight.\"  So either departed from other.\n\nWhen Sir Marhaus perceived this young knight seeking to encounter with\nhimself, one of the most renowned knights of the world, he said, \"Fair\nsir, since thou hopest to win honour of me, I let thee wit honour\nmayest thou none lose by me if thou mayest stand me three strokes, for\nI let thee wit for my noble deeds, proved and seen, King Arthur made me\nknight of the Table Round.\"\n\nThen they put spears in rest and ran together so fiercely that they\nsmote either other down, horse and all.  Anon they pulled out their\nswords and lashed together as men that were wild and courageous.  Thus\nthey fought more than half a day, and either was wounded passing sore,\nso that the blood ran down freshly from them upon the ground.  By then\nSir Tristram waxed more fresh than Sir Marhaus, and better winded, and\nbigger, and with a mighty stroke he smote Sir Marhaus upon the helm\nsuch a buffet, that it went through his helm and through the coif of\nsteel and through the brain-pan, and the sword stuck so fast in the\nhelm and in his brain-pan that Sir Tristram pulled thrice at his sword\nor ever he might pull it out from his head; and there Marhaus fell down\non his knees, the edge of Tristram's sword left in his brain-pan.\nSuddenly Sir Marhaus rose grovelling, and threw his sword and his\nshield from him, and so ran to his ships and fled his way, sore\ngroaning.\n\nAnon he and his fellowship departed into Ireland, and, as soon as he\ncame to the king his brother, he had his wounds searched, and in his\nhead was found a piece of Sir Tristram's sword.  No surgeons might cure\nthis wound, and so he died of Sir Tristram's sword.  That piece of the\nsword the queen his sister kept ever with her, for she thought to be\nrevenged, if she might.\n\nNow turn we again unto Sir Tristram, that was sore wounded by a\nspear-thrust of Sir Marhaus so that he might scarcely stir.  He sat\ndown softly upon a little hill, and bled fast.  Then anon came\nGouvernail, his man, with his vessel, and Sir Tristram was quickly\ntaken back into the castle of Tintagil.  He was cared for in the best\nmanner possible, but he lay there a month and more, and ever he was\nlike to die of the stroke from Sir Marhaus' spear, for, as the French\nbook saith, the spear's head was envenomed.  Then was King Mark passing\nheavy, and he sent after all manner of surgeons, but there was none\nthat would promise him life.\n\nAt last there came a right wise lady, and she said plainly that he\nshould never be whole unless he went into the same country that the\nvenom came from, and in that country he should be holpen, or else\nnever.  When King Mark understood that, he let provide for Sir Tristram\na fair vessel, well victualled, and therein was put Sir Tristram and\nGouvernail, with him.  Sir Tristram took his harp with him, and so they\nput to sea to sail into Ireland.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nSIR TRISTRAM AND THE FAIR ISOUD\n\nBy good fortune Sir Tristram with Gouvernail arrived in Ireland fast by\na castle where King Anguish and the queen were.  As he came to land he\nsat and harped in his bed a merry lay, such as none in Ireland ever\nheard afore that time.  And when the king and queen were told of this\nstranger that was such a harper, anon they sent for him and let search\nhis wounds, and then asked him his name.  Then he answered, \"I am of\nthe country of Lyonesse; my name is Tramtrist, and I was thus wounded\nin a battle, as I fought for a lady's right.\"\n\n\"Truly,\" said King Anguish, \"ye shall have all the help in this land\nthat ye may.  But I let you wit in Cornwall I had a great loss as ever\nking had, for there I lost the best knight of the world.  His name was\nMarhaus, a full noble knight of the Table Round.\"  Then he told Sir\nTristram wherefore Sir Marhaus was slain.  Sir Tristram made semblant\nas if he were sorry, and yet better knew he how it was than the king.\n\nThe king for great favour had Tramtrist put in his daughter's keeping,\nbecause she was a noble surgeon.  When she searched his wound she found\nthat therein was poison, and so she healed him within a while.\nTherefore Tramtrist cast great devotion to the Fair Isoud, for she was\nat that time the fairest maid of the world.  He taught her to harp, and\nshe soon began to have a great fancy unto him.  Then soon he showed\nhimself to be so brave and true a knight in the jousts that she had\ngreat suspicion that he was some man of honour proved, and she loved\nhim more than heretofore.\n\nThus was Sir Tramtrist long there well cherished by the king and the\nqueen and especially by Isoud the Fair.  Upon a day as Sir Tramtrist\nwas absent, the queen and Isoud roamed up and down in the chamber, and\nbeheld his sword there as it lay upon his bed.  And then by mishap the\nqueen drew out the sword and regarded it a long while.  Both thought it\na passing fair sword, but within a foot and a half of the point there\nwas a great piece thereof broken out of the edge.  When the queen\nespied that gap in the sword, she remembered her of a piece of a sword\nthat was found in the brain-pan of Sir Marhaus, her brother.  \"Alas,\"\nthen said she unto her daughter, the Fair Isoud, \"this is the traitor\nknight that slew thine uncle.\"\n\nWhen Isoud heard her say so she was sore abashed, for much she loved\nSir Tramtrist, and full well she knew the cruelness of her mother.\nAnon the queen went unto her own chamber and sought her coffer, and\nthere she took out the piece of the sword that was pulled out of Sir\nMarhaus' head.  Then she ran with that piece of iron to the sword that\nlay upon the bed, and when she put that piece unto the sword, it was as\nmeet as it could be when new broken.  The queen now gripped that sword\nin her hand fiercely, and with all her might ran straight to where she\nknew Tramtrist was, and there she would have thrust him through, had\nnot a knight pulled the sword from her.\n\nThen when she was letted of her evil will, she ran to King Anguish and\ntold him on her knees what traitor he had in his house.  The king was\nright heavy thereof, but charged the queen to leave him to deal with\nthe knight.  He went straight into the chamber unto Sir Tramtrist, that\nhe found by now all ready armed to mount upon his horse.  King Anguish\nsaw that it was of no avail to fight, and that it was no honour to slay\nSir Tramtrist while a guest within his court; so he gave him leave to\ndepart from Ireland in safety, if he would tell who he was, and whether\nhe slew Sir Marhaus.\n\n\"Sir,\" said Tristram, \"now I shall tell you all the truth: My father's\nname is Meliodas, king of Lyonesse, and my mother is called Elizabeth,\nthat was sister unto King Mark of Cornwall.  I was christened Tristram,\nbut, because I would not be known in this country, I turned my name,\nand had myself called Tramtrist.  For the tribute of Cornwall I fought\nfor mine uncle's sake, and for the right of Cornwall that ye had\npossessed many years.  And wit ye well I did the battle for the love of\nmine uncle, King Mark, for the love of the country of Cornwall, and to\nincrease mine honour.\"\n\n\"Truly,\" said the king, \"I may not say but ye did as a knight should;\nhowbeit I may not maintain you in this country with my honour.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Tristram, \"I thank you for your good lordship that I have\nhad with you here, and the great goodness my lady your daughter hath\nshown me.  It may so happen that ye shall win more by my life than by\nmy death, for in the parts of England it may be I may do you service at\nsome season so that ye shall be glad that ever ye showed me your good\nlordship.  I beseech your good grace that I may take my leave of your\ndaughter and of all the barons and knights.\"\n\nThis request the king granted, and Sir Tristram went unto the Fair\nIsoud and took leave of her.  And he told her all,--what he was, how he\nhad changed his name because he would not be known, and how a lady told\nhim that he should never be whole till he came into this country where\nthe poison was made.  She was full woe of his departing, and wept\nheartily.\n\n\"Madam,\" said Tristram, \"I promise you faithfully that I shall be all\nthe days of my life your knight.\"\n\n\"Grammercy,\" said the Fair Isoud, \"and I promise you against that I\nshall not be married this seven years but by your assent.\"\n\nThen Sir Tristram gave her a ring, and she gave him another, and\ntherewith he departed from her, leaving her making great dole and\nlamentation.  And he straight went unto the court among all the barons,\nand there he took his leave of most and least, and so departed and took\nthe sea, and with good wind he arrived up at Tintagil in Cornwall.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nHOW SIR TRISTRAM DEMANDED THE FAIR ISOUD\n  FOR KING MARK, AND HOW SIR TRISTRAM\n  AND ISOUD DRANK THE LOVE POTION\n\nWhen there came tidings that Sir Tristram was arrived and whole of his\nwounds, King Mark was passing glad, and so were all the barons.  And\nSir Tristram lived at the court of King Mark in great joy long time,\nuntil at the last there befell a jealousy and an unkindness between\nthem.  Then King Mark cast always in his heart how he might destroy Sir\nTristram.\n\nThe beauty and goodness of the Fair Isoud were so praised by Sir\nTristram that King Mark said he would wed her, and prayed Sir Tristram\nto take his way into Ireland for him, as his messenger, to bring her to\nCornwall.  All this was done to the intent to slay Sir Tristram.\nNotwithstanding, Sir Tristram would not refuse the message for any\ndanger or peril, and made ready to go in the goodliest wise that might\nbe devised.  He took with him the goodliest knights that he might find\nin the court, arrayed them after the guise that was then used, and so\ndeparted over sea with all his fellowship.\n\nAnon as he was in the broad sea a tempest took them and drove them back\ninto the coast of England.  They came to land fast by Camelot, and\nthere Sir Tristram set up his pavilion.  Now it fell that King Anguish\nof Ireland was accused of slaying by treason a cousin of Sir Launcelot\nof the Lake, and just at this time he was come to the court at the\nsummoning of King Arthur upon pain of forfeiture of his lands; yet ere\nhe arrived at Camelot he wist not wherefore he was sent after.  When he\nheard the accusation he understood full well there was no remedy but to\nanswer it knightly, for the custom was in those days, that if any man\nwere accused of any treason or murder, he should fight body for body or\nelse find another knight to fight for him.  Now King Anguish grew\npassing heavy when he heard his accusing, for the knights of King Ban's\nblood, as Sir Launcelot was, were as hard men to win in battle as any\nthen living.\n\nThe meanwhile Sir Tristram was told how King Anguish was come thither\nin great distress, and he sent Gouvernail to bring him to his pavilion.\nWhen Sir Tristram saw the king coming he ran unto him and would have\nholden his stirrup, but King Anguish leaped lightly from his horse, and\neither embraced other heartily.  Sir Tristram remembered his promise,\nmade when departing from Ireland, to do service to King Anguish if ever\nit lay in his power, and never had there been so great need of knight's\nhelp as now.  So when King Anguish told Sir Tristram all, Sir Tristram\ntook the battle for the sake of the good lordship showed him in\nIreland, and for the sake of the Fair Isoud, upon the condition that\nKing Anguish grant two things.  One was that he should swear that he\nwas in the right and had never consented to the death of the knight.\nThe second request was to be granted after the battle, if God should\nspeed him therein.\n\nKing Anguish quickly granted Sir Tristram whatsoever he asked, and anon\ndeparted unto King Arthur's judges, and told them he had found a\nchampion ready to do the battle for him.  So Sir Tristram fought for\nKing Anguish and overcame his adversary, a most noble knight.  Then\nKing Anguish and Sir Tristram joyfully took their leave, and sailed\ninto Ireland with great nobleness.\n\nWhen they were in Ireland the king let make it known throughout all the\nland, how and in what manner Sir Tristram had done for him.  Then the\nqueen and all that were there made the most of him that they might.\nBut the joy that the Fair Isoud made of Sir Tristram no tongue might\ntell, for of men earthly she loved him most.\n\nThen upon a day King Anguish would know from Sir Tristram why he asked\nnot his boon, for whatsoever had been promised he should have without\nfail.  \"Sir,\" said Tristram, \"now is it time, and this is what I\ndesire: that ye will give me the Fair Isoud, your daughter, not for\nmyself, but for mine uncle, King Mark, that shall have her to wife, for\nso have I promised him.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" said the king, \"I had rather than all the land that I have ye\nwould wed her yourself.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Sir Tristram, \"if I did, then were I ashamed for ever in\nthis world, and false of my promise.  Therefore I pray you hold your\npromise that ye gave me, for this is my desire, that ye will give me\nthe Fair Isoud to go with me into Cornwall, to be wedded to King Mark,\nmine uncle.\"\n\n[Illustration: Sir Tristram and the Fair Isoud]\n\n\"As for that,\" said King Anguish, \"ye shall have her with you, to do\nwith her what it please you; that is to say, if ye list to wed her\nyourself, that is to me lievest[1]; and if ye will give her unto King\nMark, that is in your choice.\"\n\nSo, to make a short conclusion, the Fair Isoud was made ready to go\nwith Sir Tristram, and Dame Bragwaine went with her for her chief\ngentlewoman, with many others.  The queen, Isoud's mother, gave to Dame\nBragwaine and unto Gouvernail a drink, and charged them that what day\nKing Mark should wed, that same day they should give him that drink,\n\"and then,\" said the queen, \"I undertake either shall love other the\ndays of their life.\"\n\nSo this drink was given unto Dame Bragwaine and unto Gouvernail, and\nthen anon Sir Tristram took the sea with the Fair Isoud.  When they\nwere in the cabin, it happened that they were thirsty, and they saw a\nlittle flask of gold stand by them, that seemed by the colour and the\ntaste to be noble wine.  Then Sir Tristram took the flask in his hand,\nand said: \"Madam Isoud, here is the best drink that ever ye drank, that\nDame Bragwaine your maid and Gouvernail my servant have kept for\nthemselves.\"\n\nThen they laughed and made good cheer, and either drank to other,\nthinking never drink was so sweet or so good.  But after they had drunk\nthat magic wine, they loved either other so truly that never their love\ndeparted either for weal or for woe.\n\nSo they sailed on till by fortune they came into Cornwall.  There all\nthe barons met them, and anon King Mark and the Fair Isoud were richly\nwedded with great splendour.  But ever, as the French book saith, Sir\nTristram and the Fair Isoud loved each other truly, and his life long\nhe was her loyal and honourable knight.\n\n\n\n[1] Lievest: dearest.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nHOW SIR TRISTRAM DEPARTED FROM TINTAGIL,\n  AND WAS LONG IN THE FOREST\n\nThere were great jousts and tourneying at that time in Cornwall, and\nSir Tristram was most praised of all the knights.  But some were\njealous because of his prowess, and especially Sir Andred, that was\ncousin unto Sir Tristram, ever lay in a watch to wait betwixt him and\nthe Fair Isoud, for to take them and slander them.  So upon a day Sir\nTristram talked with Isoud in a window, and that espied Sir Andred, and\ntold it to the king.\n\nThen King Mark took a sword in his hand and came to Sir Tristram, and\ncalled him false traitor, and would have stricken him.  But Sir\nTristram ran under his sword, and took it out of his hand.  And then\nthe king cried, \"Where are my knights and my men?  I charge you slay\nthis traitor.\"\n\nBut there was not one would move for his words.  When Sir Tristram saw\nthere was not one would be against him, he shook the sword to the king,\nand made as though he would strike him.  And then King Mark fled, for\nhe was a coward, and Sir Tristram followed him, and smote upon him five\nor six strokes with the flat of his sword on the neck so that he made\nhim fall upon the nose.  Sir Tristram then went his way and armed\nhimself, and took his horse and his man, and so he rode into the forest.\n\nKing Mark called his council unto him and asked advice of his barons\nwhat was best to do with Sir Tristram.  Their counsel was to send for\nhim, that they might be friends, for in a quarrel, if Sir Tristram were\nhard bestead, many men would hold with him against the king; and if so\npeerless a knight should depart from King Mark's court and go to King\nArthur's he would get himself such friends there that Cornwall would be\nin ill repute.\n\nSo the barons sent for Sir Tristram under a safe conduct, and he was\nwelcomed back by King Mark.  But his enemies ever plotted against him,\nand on a day Sir Andred and some of the barons set upon him secretly,\nseized him, and took him, bound hand and foot, unto a chapel which\nstood upon the sea rocks.  When Sir Tristram saw that Andred meant to\nkill him there, he said: \"Fair Lords, remember what I have done for the\ncountry Cornwall, and in what jeopardy I have been for the weal of you\nall, and see not me die thus to the shame of all knighthood.\"\n\nBut Andred held to his purpose, and when Sir Tristram saw him draw his\nsword to kill him, he looked upon both his hands that were fast bound\nunto two knights, and suddenly he pulled them both to him and so freed\nhis hands.  Then he leaped unto his cousin Andred and wrested his sword\nout of his hands.  Then he smote Sir Andred to the earth, and fought\nwith the others till he had killed ten knights.  So Sir Tristram gat\nthe chapel and kept it by force.\n\nThen the uproar became great, and the people gathered unto Sir Andred,\nmore than a hundred, whereupon Sir Tristram shut fast the chapel door,\nand brake the bars of a window, and so he leaped out and fell upon the\ncrags by the sea.  Here Sir Andred and his fellows might not get to him\nat that time, and so they departed.\n\nWhen Sir Tristram's men heard that he was escaped they were passing\nglad, and on the rocks they found him, and with towels they pulled him\nup.  Then Sir Tristram dreaded sore lest he were discovered unto the\nking, wherefore he sent Gouvernail for his horse and his spear, and so\nhe rode his way into the forest.  As he rode he was in great sorrow at\ndeparting in this wise; and there, as he made great dole, by fortune a\ndamsel met him, and she and her lady brought him meat and drink.  Also\nthey brought him a harp, for they knew him, and wist that for goodly\nharping he bore the prize in the world.\n\nSo they tried to give him comfort, but he ate little of the food, and\nat the last, came wholly out his mind for sorrow.  He would go about in\nthe wilderness breaking down the trees and boughs; and otherwhile, when\nhe found the harp that the lady sent him, then would he harp and play\nthereupon and weep together.  Sometimes when Sir Tristram was in the\nwood, then would the lady sit down and play upon the harp; then would\nhe come to that harp and hearken thereto, and sometimes he would harp\nhimself.\n\nThus it went on a quarter of a year, when at the last Sir Tristram ran\nhis way, and the lady wist not what had become of him.  He waxed lean\nand poor of flesh, and fell into the fellowship of herdmen and\nshepherds, and daily they would give him of their meat and drink.  And\nwhen he did any evil deed they would beat him with rods, and so they\nclipped him with shears and made him like a fool.\n\nAnd upon a day Sir Dagonet, King Arthur's fool, came into Cornwall,\nwith two squires with him, and as they rode through the forest they\ncame by a fair well where Sir Tristram was wont to be.  The weather was\nhot, and they alighted to drink of that well, and in the meanwhile\ntheir horses brake loose.  Just then Sir Tristram came unto them, and\nfirst he soused Sir Dagonet in that well, and then his squires, and\nthereat laughed the shepherds.  Forthwithal he ran after their horses,\nand brought them again one by one, and right so, wet as they were, he\nmade Sir Dagonet and his squires mount and ride their ways.\n\nThus Sir Tristram endured there a half-year, and would never come in\ntown or village.  Then Sir Andred, that was cousin unto Sir Tristram,\nlet a tale be brought unto King Mark's court that Sir Tristram was\ndead, and that ere he died he besought King Mark to make Sir Andred\nking of the country of Lyonesse, of the which Sir Tristram was lord.\nWhen Queen Isoud heard of these tidings she made such sorrow that she\nwas nigh out of her mind, and she lay long sick, at the point of death.\n\nMeanwhile a knight came unto King Mark and told him of a mad man in the\nforest at the fair fountain.  So he commanded his knights to take Sir\nTristram with fairness, and bring him to his castle, yet he knew not\nthat the mad man was Sir Tristram.  They did softly and fair, and cast\nmantles upon Sir Tristram, and so led him unto Tintagil.  There they\nbathed him, and gave him hot suppings, till they had brought him well\nto his remembrance.  But all this while there was no creature that knew\nSir Tristram, nor what man he was.\n\nNow it fell upon a day that the queen, the Fair Isoud, heard of this\nman that ran wild in the forest and how the king had brought him home\nto the court, and with Dame Bragwaine she went to see him in the\ngarden, where he was reposing in the sun.  When she looked upon Sir\nTristram she knew not that it was he, yet it seemed to her she had seen\nhim before.  But as soon as Sir Tristram saw her he knew her well\nenough, and he turned away his visage and wept.  The queen had always\nwith her a little dog that Sir Tristram gave her the first time that\never she came into Cornwall, and never would that dog depart from her\nunless Sir Tristram was nigh there with Isoud.  Anon as this little dog\ncaught a scent of Sir Tristram, she leaped upon him, licked his cheeks,\nwhined and smelled at his feet and over his whole body.  Then the Fair\nIsoud saw that it was her lord, Sir Tristram, and thereupon she fell\ndown in a swoon, and so lay a great while.\n\nWhen she might speak, she blessed God that Sir Tristram was still\nalive, yet she knew that her lord King Mark would discover him by the\nlittle dog that would never leave him.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nHOW KING MARK WAS SORRY FOR THE GOOD\n  RENOWN OF SIR TRISTRAM\n\nThe queen departed from Sir Tristram but the little dog would not from\nhim.  Therewithal came King Mark, and the dog set upon him and bayed at\nall the barons.  Thereupon Sir Andred saw by the dog that it was Sir\nTristram, and King Mark repented that he had brought the mad man in\nfrom the forest.  Then he let call his barons to judge Sir Tristram to\ndeath.  They would not assent thereto, but by the advice of them all he\nwas banished out of the country for ten years.\n\nSo Sir Tristram was made to depart out of the country of Cornwall, and\nthere were many barons brought him into his ship.  When he was ready to\nset sail he said: \"Greet well King Mark and all mine enemies, and say I\nwill come again when I may.  And well am I rewarded for the fighting\nwith Sir Marhaus, and delivering all this country from servage, and\nwell am I rewarded for the fetching of the Fair Isoud out of Ireland,\nand the danger I was in first and last.\"\n\nSo Sir Tristram departed over sea, and arrived in Wales.  As he rode\nthere through the Forest Perilous, a lady in great distress met him,\nthat said: \"O my lord, come with me, and that in all the haste ye may,\nfor ye shall see the most honourable knight of the world hard bestead,\nand he is none other than the noble King Arthur himself.\"\n\n\"God defend,\" said Sir Tristram, \"that ever he should be in such\ndistress.  I am ready to help him if I may.\"\n\nSo they rode at a great pace, till they saw a knight, that was King\nArthur, on foot fighting with two knights, and anon the one knight was\nsmitten down, and they unlaced his helm to slay him.  Therewithal came\nSir Tristram with all his might, and smote the two traitors so that\nthey fell dead.  Then he horsed King Arthur, and as they rode forth\ntogether, the King thanked heartily Sir Tristram and desired to wit his\nname.  He would not tell him, but said that he was a poor knight\nadventurous.  So he bare King Arthur fellowship, till he met with some\nof his knights.\n\nThen departed Sir Tristram, and rode straight toward Camelot.  Then was\nhe ware of a seemly knight riding against him with a covered shield.\nThey dressed their shields and spears, and came together with all the\nmights of their horses.  They met so fiercely that both horses and\nknights fell to the earth.  As fast as they were able they then gat\nfree from their horses, and put their shields before them; and they\nstrake together with bright swords, like men of might, and either\nwounded other wonderly sore, so that the blood ran out upon the grass.\n\nThus they two fought the space of four hours.  Never one would speak to\nother one word, and of their harness they hewed off many pieces.  Then\nat the last spake the one with the covered shield; \"Knight, thou\nfightest wonderly well as ever I saw knight; therefore if it please you\ntell me your name.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Sir Tristram, \"that is me loath to tell any man my name.\"\n\n\"Truly,\" said the other, \"if I was requested, I was never loath to tell\nmy name.  I am Sir Launcelot of the Lake.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" said Sir Tristram, \"what have I done, for ye are the man in the\nworld that I love best.\"\n\n\"Fair knight,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"tell me now your name.\"\n\n\"Truly,\" said he, \"my name is Sir Tristram of Lyonesse.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"what adventure is befallen me!\"\n\nTherewith Sir Launcelot kneeled adown, and yielded him up his sword.\nAnd therewithal Sir Tristram kneeled adown, and yielded him up his\nsword.  So either gave other the victory.  Thereupon they both\nforthwithal went to a stone, and sat down upon it, and took off their\nhelms to cool themselves.  Then after a while they took their helms and\nrode together to Camelot.\n\nThere soon they met King Arthur, and when he wist that it was Sir\nTristram, he ran unto him and took him by the hand and said, \"Sir\nTristram, ye be as welcome as any knight that ever came to this court.\"\nThen they went to the Table Round, where Queen Guenever came, and many\nladies with her, and all the ladies said at one voice, \"Welcome, Sir\nTristram.\"  \"Welcome,\" said the damsels; \"Welcome,\" said the knights;\n\"Welcome,\" said Arthur, \"for one of the best knights and the gentlest\nof the world, and the man of most honour.  For of all manner of hunting\nye bear the prize; and of all the terms of hunting and hawking ye are\nthe beginner; of all instruments of music ye are the best.  Therefore,\ngentle knight, ye are welcome to this court.  Now I pray you, grant me\na boon.\"\n\n\"It shall be at your commandment,\" said Tristram.\n\n\"Well,\" said Arthur, \"I will desire of you that ye will abide in my\ncourt.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Sir Tristram, \"thereto is me loath, for I have ado in many\ncountries.\"\n\n\"Not so,\" said Arthur; \"ye have promised it me, and ye may not say nay.\"\n\nSo Tristram agreed to remain with King Arthur, who then went unto the\nsieges about the Round Table, and looked in every siege that lacked a\nknight.  Then the King saw in the siege of Marhaus letters that said,\n\"This is the siege of the noble knight Sir Tristram.\"  And then Arthur\nmade Sir Tristram knight of the Table Round with great splendour and\ngreat feast, as might be thought.  For that Sir Marhaus, a worthy\nknight, was slain afore by the hands of Sir Tristram was well known at\nthat time in the court of Arthur; and that for evil deeds that he did\nunto the country of Cornwall Sir Tristram and he fought; and that they\nfought so long tracing and traversing till they fell bleeding to the\nearth, for they were so sore wounded that they might not stand; and\nthat Sir Tristram by fortune recovered, and Sir Marhaus died through\nthe stroke on the head.\n\nKing Mark had had great despite of the renown of Sir Tristram, and\ntherefore had chased him out of Cornwall.  When now he heard of the\ngreat prowess that Sir Tristram did in England he was sore grieved, and\nsent men to espy what deeds he did.  The Queen Isoud also on her part\nsent privily spies to know what deeds he had done, for great love was\nbetween them twain.  When the messengers came home, and told that Sir\nTristram passed all other knights at Arthur's court unless it were Sir\nLauncelot, King Mark was right heavy of the tidings, and as glad was\nthe Fair Isoud.  Then in great despite King Mark took with him two good\nknights and two squires, disguised himself, and took his way into\nEngland, to the intent to slay Sir Tristram.\n\nSo King Mark came into England, where he soon became known as the most\nhorrible coward that ever bestrode horse; and there was much laughing\nand jesting at the knight of Cornwall, and much he was despised.  Sir\nDagonet, King Arthur's fool, at one time chased him through thick and\nthin over the forests; and when on a day Sir Launcelot overtook him and\nbade him turn and fight, he made no defence, but tumbled down out off\nthe saddle to the earth as a sack, and there he lay still, and cried\nSir Launcelot mercy.\n\nSo King Mark was soon brought as recreant before King Arthur, who\nalready knew wherefore he was come into his country, and that he had\nnot done the service and homage he owed as King Arthur's under-lord.\nBut King Mark promised to make large amends for the wrongs he had done,\nfor he was a fair speaker, and false thereunder.  So on a day King\nArthur prayed of him one gift, and King Mark promised to give him\nwhatsoever he desired, if it were in his power.  Then King Arthur asked\nhim to be good lord unto Sir Tristram, and to take him back into\nCornwall, and to cherish him for Arthur's sake.  King Mark promised\nthis, and swore upon a book afore Arthur and all his knights.\nTherewith King Arthur forgave him all the evil will that ever he owed\nhim, and King Mark and Sir Tristram took either other by the hands hard\nknit together.  But for all this King Mark thought falsely, as it\nproved afterward.\n\nThen soon afterward King Mark took his leave to ride into Cornwall, and\nSir Tristram rode with him; wherefore the most part of the Round Table\nwere passing heavy, and some were wroth, knowing that King Mark was the\nmost coward and the villainest knight living.\n\nAfter a while letters came out of Cornwall that spake ill of Sir\nTristram and showed plainly that King Mark took Sir Tristram for his\nmortal enemy.  Sir Launcelot in especial made great sorrow for anger,\nwherefore Dinadan, a gentle, wise, and courteous knight, said to him:\n\"King Mark is so villainous that by fair speech shall never man get of\nhim.  But ye shall see what I shall do.  I will make a lay for him, and\nwhen it is made I shall make a harper sing it afore him.\"\n\nSo anon Dinadan went and made the lay, hoping thereby to humble the\ncrafty king; and he taught it an harper named Eliot, and when he knew\nit, he taught it to many harpers.  And so, by the will of Sir Launcelot\nand of Arthur, the harpers went straight into Wales and into Cornwall,\nto sing the lay that Sir Dinadan made of King Mark, which was the worst\nlay that ever harper sang with harp or with any other instrument.\n\nAt a great feast that King Mark made came in Eliot the harper, and\nbecause he was a curious harper, men heard him sing the lay that\nDinadan had made, the which spake the most villainy of King Mark's\ntreason that ever man heard.  When the harper had sung his song to the\nend, King Mark was wonderly wroth, for he deemed that the lay that was\nsung afore him was made by Sir Tristram's counsel, wherefore he thought\nto slay him and all his well willers in that country.\n\nSo King Mark grew ever more jealous of Sir Tristram because of his\nprowess as knight and his great love and loyal devotion to the queen,\nthe Fair Isoud; and by treason King Mark let take him and put him in\nprison, contrary to his promise that he made unto King Arthur.  When\nQueen Isoud understood that Sir Tristram was in prison, she made as\ngreat sorrow as ever made lady or gentlewoman.  Then Sir Tristram sent\na letter unto her, and prayed her to be his good lady; and if it\npleased her to make a vessel ready for her and him, he would go with\nher unto the realm of Logris, that is this land.\n\nWhen the Fair Isoud understood Sir Tristram's letter and his intent,\nshe sent him another, and bade him be of good comfort, for she would\nmake the vessel ready, and all things to purpose.  Then she had King\nMark taken and put in prison, until the time that she and Sir Tristram\nwere departed unto the realm of Logris.  And then Sir Tristram was\ndelivered out of prison, and anon in all haste they took their vessel,\nand came by water into England.\n\nWhen Sir Launcelot understood that Sir Tristram was there, he was full\nglad.  He espied whither he went, and after him he rode, and then\neither made of other great joy.  And so Sir Launcelot brought Sir\nTristram and the Fair Isoud unto Joyous Gard, that was Sir Launcelot's\nown castle that he had won with his own hands.  And he charged all his\npeople to honour them and love them as they would do himself.\n\nNear three years Sir Tristram kept the Fair Isoud with him in Joyous\nGard, and then by means of treaties he brought her again unto King Fox,\nwhich was the name Sir Launcelot gave unto Mark because of his wiles\nand treason.  But ever the malice of King Fox followed his brave\nnephew, and in the end he slew him as he sat harping afore his lady,\nthe Fair Isoud, with a trenchant glaive, thrust in behind to the heart.\n\nFor his death was much bewailing of every knight that ever was in\nArthur's days, for he was traitorously slain.  And the Fair Isoud died,\nswooning upon the cross of Sir Tristram, whereof was great pity.  And\nall that were with King Mark that were consenting to the death of Sir\nTristram were slain, as Sir Andred and many others.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nHOW SIR PERCIVALE OF GALIS SOUGHT AND\n  FOUND SIR LAUNCELOT\n\nWhile King Arthur and his knights were still sorrowful over Sir\nTristram's return to Cornwall, greatly fearing mischief to the good\nknight by some manner of falsehood or treason of King Mark, there came\nto the court a knight bringing a young squire with him.  It was Sir\nAglovale, King Pellinore's son, and the squire was his brother,\nPercivale, that he wished King Arthur to make knight.  The boy was the\nyoungest of five sons, and for love of the father and the brothers,\ngood knights all, the King made him a knight the next day in Camelot;\nyet the King and all the knights thought it would be long ere he proved\na man of prowess, and Sir Kay and Sir Mordred made sport of his rude\nmanner.\n\nAt the dinner, when every knight was set after his honour, the King\ncommanded Sir Percivale to be placed among mean knights.  But there was\na maiden in the Queen's court that was come of high blood, yet she was\ndumb, and never spake a word.  Right so she came straight into the\nhall, went unto Sir Percivale, took him by the hand, and said aloud,\nthat the King and all the knights might hear it, \"Arise, Sir Percivale,\nthe noble knight and God's knight, and go with me.\"\n\nSo he did, and she brought him to the right side of the Siege Perilous,\nand said, \"Fair knight, take here thy siege, for that siege\nappertaineth to thee, and to none other.\"  Right so she departed, and\nsoon afterward she died.  Then the King and all the court made great\njoy of Sir Percivale.\n\nThen Sir Percivale rode forth upon adventures, and came unto Cornwall\nto seek Sir Tristram.  And he delivered him from a prison where King\nMark had placed him, and then rode straight unto King Mark and told him\nhe had done himself great shame to treat so falsely Sir Tristram, the\nknight of most renown in all the world.  Then Sir Percivale departed,\nbut anon King Mark bethought him of more treason, notwithstanding his\npromise never by any manner of means to hurt Sir Tristram, and he let\ntake him and put him again in prison.  How he then escaped with Isoud\ninto England we have already read in the tale of Sir Tristram.\n\nNow it chanced that Sir Launcelot of the Lake had sore offended the\nQueen Guenever, and she rebuked him harshly, called him false traitor\nknight, and sent him from her court.  Therewith he took such an hearty\nsorrow at her words that he went clean out of his mind, and leaped out\nat a bay window into a garden, and there with thorns he was all\nscratched up in his visage.  So he ran forth he wist not whither, and\nfor a long while none of his kin wist what was become of him.\n\nSoon Queen Guenever was right sorry that she had been so angry with her\nfaithful knight, and on her knees besought Sir Bors and many others to\nseek Sir Launcelot throughout all England, Wales, and Scotland.  So\nthese noble knights by one assent rode forth by twos and threes; and\never they assigned where they should meet.\n\nSir Aglovale and Sir Percivale rode together unto their mother that was\na queen in those days.  And when she saw her two sons, for joy she wept\ntenderly and said, \"Ah my dear sons, when your father was slain he left\nme five sons, of the which now be three slain; my heart shall never be\nglad more.\"  Then she kneeled down tofore Aglovale and Percivale, and\nbesought them to abide at home with her.\n\n\"Ah, sweet mother,\" said Sir Percivale, \"we may not, for we be come of\nking's blood on both sides, and therefore, mother, it is our kind to\nfollow arms and noble deeds.\"\n\nThen there was but weeping and sobbing when they should depart, and\nafter they were gone, she sent a squire after them with spending\nenough.  When the squire had overtaken them, they would not suffer him\nto ride with them, but sent him home again to comfort their mother,\npraying her meekly for her blessing.\n\nSo this squire was benighted as he rode homeward, and by misfortune\nhappened to come into the castle of a baron whose brother (a false\nknight and betrayer of ladies and of good knights) Sir Aglovale had\nslain.  When this baron knew from the squire that he served a good\nknight called Sir Aglovale, he commanded his men to have him away\nwithout mercy.\n\nOn the morn came Sir Aglovale and Sir Percivale riding by a churchyard\nwhere men and women were busy in burying this same dead squire.  When\nthe brothers heard from a good man of the company how the baron had\nshamefully slain the squire that night, they alighted both, left their\nhorses with their men, and went on foot to the castle.  All so soon as\nthey were within the castle gate Sir Aglovale bade the porter \"Go thou\nunto thy lord and tell him that I am Sir Aglovale, for whom the squire\nwas slain this night.\"\n\nAnon the lord of the castle, whose name was Goodewin, came armed into\nthe court, and he and Sir Aglovale lashed together as eagerly as it had\nbeen two lions.  Sir Percivale fought with all the remnant that would\nfight, and within a while had slain all that would withstand him, for\nhe dealt so his strokes that there durst no man abide him.  Within a\nwhile Sir Aglovale had Sir Goodewin also at the earth, and so the two\nbrethren departed and took their horses.  Then they let carry the dead\nsquire unto a priory, and there they interred him.  When this was done\nthey rode their way into many countries, ever inquiring after Sir\nLauncelot, but never they could hear of him.\n\nAt last, at a castle that was called Cardican, Sir Percivale parted\nfrom Sir Aglovale, and with his squire rode alone.  In the afternoon he\ncame upon a bridge of stone, where he found a knight that was bound\nwith a chain fast about unto a pillar of stone.  This was Sir Persides,\na knight of the Table Round, who by adventure came this way and lodged\nin the castle at the bridge foot.  There by an evil custom of the\ncastle men set upon him suddenly or ever he might come to his weapon,\nand bound him, and chained him at the bridge.  There he knew he should\ndie unless some man of honour brake his bands.\n\n\"Be ye of good cheer,\" said Sir Percivale, \"and because ye are a knight\nof the Round Table as well as I, I trust to God to make you free.\"\n\nTherewith Sir Percivale drew out his sword, and struck at the chain\nwith such a might that he cut a-two the chain, and through Sir\nPersides' hauberk, and hurt him a little.\n\n\"Truly,\" said Sir Persides, \"that was a mighty stroke if ever I felt\none, for had it not been for the chain, ye had slain me.\"\n\nTherewithal Sir Persides saw a knight coming out of the castle, flying\nall that ever he might.  \"Beware, sir,\" said he; \"yonder cometh a man\nthat will have ado with you.\"\n\n\"Let him come,\" said Sir Percivale.\n\nSo he met with that knight in the midst of the bridge, and gave him\nsuch a buffet that he smote him quite from his horse and over a part of\nthe bridge so that, had there not been a little vessel under the\nbridge, that knight had been drowned.  Then Sir Percivale took the\nknight's horse, and made Sir Persides to mount upon him.  So they rode\nto the castle, and made the lady deliver Sir Persides' servants.\n\nHad he not had a great matter in hand, he would have remained to do\naway with the evil customs there.  But Sir Percivale might not long\nabide, for he rode to seek Sir Launcelot.\n\nSir Persides brought him unto his own castle, and there made him great\ncheer for that night.  Then on the morn, when Sir Percivale had heard\nmass and broken his fast, he said to Sir Persides: \"Ride unto King\nArthur, and tell the King how that ye met with me, and tell my brother\nSir Aglovale how I rescued you, and bid him seek not after me, for I am\nin the quest to seek Sir Launcelot of the Lake, and will not see him or\nthe court till Sir Launcelot is found.  Also tell Sir Kay and Sir\nMordred that I trust to God to be of as good worthiness as either of\nthem, and that I will never see that court till men speak more honour\nof me than ever men did of any of them both.\"\n\nSo Sir Persides departed from Sir Percivale, and rode unto King Arthur,\nand told there of Sir Percivale.  And King Arthur said he must needs\nprove a good knight, for his father and his brethren were noble knights.\n\nNow turn we to Sir Launcelot, and speak we of his care and woe and what\npain he endured from cold, hunger, and thirst.  As he wandered like a\nmad man here and there, he by fortune came to the castle of King\nPelles.  There he was healed of his madness, and when he was recovered\nhe was sore ashamed that he had thus been clean out of his wit.  And\nKing Pelles gave him his castle of Bliant, that stood in an island\nenclosed with a fair water, deep and large.  Sir Launcelot called it\nthe Joyous Isle, and here he dwelt a long while.  Because he was driven\nfrom King Arthur's court he desired not to be known, and he named\nhimself \"The knight that hath trespassed.\"\n\nNow it fell at that time that Sir Launcelot heard of a jousting hard by\nhis castle, and he sent word thither that there was one knight in the\nJoyous Isle, by name \"The knight that hath trespassed,\" that will joust\nagainst any knights that will come to him.  When this cry was made,\nunto Joyous Isle drew many knights, and wit you well there was not seen\nat Arthur's court one knight that did so much deeds of arms as were\ndone in that gay castle.\n\nAnd in the meanwhile came also Sir Percivale nigh to Joyous Isle, and\nwould have gone to that castle, but might not for the broad water.\nThen he saw on the other side a lady, and he called unto her and asked\nwho was in that castle.\n\n\"Fair knight,\" she said, \"here within this castle is the fairest knight\nand the mightiest man that is, I dare say, living, and he calleth\nhimself 'The knight that hath trespassed.'  He came into this country\nlike a mad man, with dogs and boys chasing him, and by miracle he was\nbrought into his wit again.  If ye list to come into the castle, ye\nmust ride unto the farther side of the isle, and there ye shall find a\nvessel that will bear you and your horse.\"\n\nThen Sir Percivale came unto the vessel, and passed the water.  When he\ncame to the castle gate, he bade the porter, \"Go thou to the good\nknight within the castle, and tell him here is come an errant knight to\njoust with him.\"\n\nSir Percivale now rode within the castle, and anon Sir Launcelot had\nwarning, he was soon ready.  And there Sir Percivale and Sir Launcelot\nencountered with such a might that both the horses and the knights fell\nto the earth.  Then they left their horses, swung out noble swords, and\nhewed away pieces of their shields, and dashed together like two boars,\nand either wounded other passing sore.\n\nAt the last Sir Percivale spake, when they had fought there more than\ntwo hours: \"Fair knight,\" saith he, \"I pray thee tell me thy name, for\nI met never with such a knight.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"my name is 'The knight that hath\ntrespassed.'  Now tell me your name, I pray you, gentle knight.\"\n\n\"Truly,\" said Sir Percivale, \"my name is Sir Percivale of Galis; King\nPellinore was my father and Sir Aglovale is my brother.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"what have I done to fight with you that\nart a knight of the Table Round, that sometime was your fellow.\"\n\nTherewithal Sir Launcelot kneeled down upon his knees, and threw away\nhis shield and his sword from him.  When Sir Percivale saw him do so,\nhe marvelled what he meant.  Then he begged him upon the high order of\nknighthood to tell his true name, and Sir Launcelot told him all.\n\n\"Alas,\" said Sir Percivale, \"what have I done!  I was sent by the Queen\nfor to seek you, and so I have sought you nigh these two years.  I pray\nyou forgive me mine offence that I have here done.\"\n\n\"It is soon forgiven,\" said Sir Launcelot.\n\nThen Sir Percivale told him how King Arthur and all his knights, and in\nespecial Queen Guenever, made great dole and sorrow that ever he\ndeparted from them, and that never knight was better welcome back to\nthe court than he would be.  So Sir Launcelot agreed to do after Sir\nPercivale's counsel, and ride with him to the King.\n\nSo then they took their horses and departed from the Joyous Isle, and\nwithin five days' journey they came to Camelot, that is called in\nEnglish Winchester.  And when Sir Launcelot was come among them, the\nKing and all the knights made great joy of him.  Then Sir Percivale of\nGalis began and told the whole adventures, and all the tales of Sir\nLauncelot.  And the Queen made great cheer, and there were great feasts\nmade, and many great lords and ladies, when they heard that Sir\nLauncelot was come to the court again, made great joy.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\nOF THE COMING OF SIR GALAHAD\n\nAt the vigil of Pentecost, when all the fellowship of the Round Table\nwere come unto Camelot, and the tables were set ready to the meat,\nright so entered into the hall a full fair gentlewoman before the King,\nand on behalf of King Pelles requested that Sir Launcelot should go\nwith her hereby into a forest.  Sir Launcelot bade his squire saddle\nhis horse and bring his arms, and right so he departed with the\ngentlewoman, and rode until that he came into a great valley, where\nthey saw an abbey of nuns.  There was a squire ready, and opened the\ngates; and so they entered and descended off their horses, and there\ncame a fair fellowship about Sir Launcelot and welcomed him, and were\npassing glad of his coming.\n\nIn the meanwhile there came twelve nuns which brought with them\nGalahad, the which was passing fair and well made, so that in the world\nmen might scarcely find his match.  \"Sir,\" said the ladies, \"we bring\nyou here this child, the which we have nourished, and we pray you to\nmake him a knight; for of a worthier man's hand may he not receive the\norder of knighthood.\"\n\nSir Launcelot beheld that young squire, and saw him seemly and demure\nas a dove, with all manner of good features, and he thought of his age\nnever to have seen so fair a man of form.  Then said Sir Launcelot,\n\"Cometh this desire of himself?\"\n\nHe and all they said, \"Yea.\"\n\n\"Then shall he,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"receive the high order of\nknighthood to-morrow.\"\n\nThat night Sir Launcelot had passing good cheer, and on the morn at the\nhour of prime, at Galahad's desire, he made him knight, and said, \"God\nmake you a good man, for beauty faileth you not as any that liveth.\"\n\nThen Sir Launcelot departed from them, and came again unto Camelot by\nthe hour of nine on Whitsunday morning.  By that time the King and the\nQueen and all the fellowship were gone to the minster to hear the\nservice.\n\nWhen they were come from service all were passing glad of Sir\nLauncelot's return.  And as they entered the hall each of the barons\nsought his name, written with gold letters, in the sieges of the Round\nTable.  Thus they went along from seat to seat, until that they came to\nthe Siege Perilous, where they found letters newly written of gold,\nthat said: \"Four hundred winters and fifty-four accomplished after the\npassion of our Lord Jesu Christ ought this siege to be filled.\"\n\nAll thought this a marvellous thing, and an adventurous.  And then Sir\nLauncelot accounted the term of the writing from the birth of our Lord\nunto that day, and said: \"It seemeth me this siege ought to be filled\nthis same day, for this is the feast of Pentecost after the four\nhundred and four and fifty years; and if it would please all parties, I\nwould none of these letters were seen this day, till he be come that\nought to achieve this adventure.\"\n\nThen they provided a cloth of silk for to cover these letters in the\nSiege Perilous, and the King bade haste unto dinner.\n\nIt was an old custom of Arthur's court that on this day they should not\nsit at their meat until they had seen some adventure.  As they stood\nwaiting therefor, in came a squire bringing the marvellous tidings that\nbeneath at the river there was a great stone, as it were of red marble,\nfloating above the water, wherein a sword stuck.  So the King and all\nthe knights went unto the river to see this marvel, and they found it\neven as the squire had said.  There in the stone was the fair rich\nsword, and in the pommel thereof were precious stones and subtile\nletters wrought with gold.  Then the barons read the letters, which\nsaid in this wise: \"Never shall man take me hence but only he by whose\nside I ought to hang, and he shall be the best knight of the world.\"\n\nWhen the King had seen these letters, he said unto Sir Launcelot, \"Fair\nsir, this sword ought to be yours, for I am sure ye be the best knight\nof the world.\"\n\nThen Sir Launcelot answered full soberly, conscious of a great sin:\n\"Certes, sir, it is not my sword; also, sir, wit ye well I have no\nhardiness to set my hand thereto, for it belongs not by my side.\"\n\n\"Now, fair nephew,\" said the King unto Sir Gawaine, \"assay ye to take\nthe sword for my love.\"\n\nTherewith Sir Gawaine took the sword by the handles, though unwillingly\nand only at the King's commandment, but he might not stir it.  Then the\nKing said unto Sir Percivale that he should assay.  So he set his hand\non the sword and drew it strongly, but he might not move it.  Then were\nthere more that durst be so hardy as to set their hands thereto, but\nall failed.\n\n\"Now may ye go to your dinner,\" said Sir Kay unto King Arthur, \"for a\nmarvellous adventure have ye seen.\"\n\nSo the King and all went in, and every knight knew his own place and\nset himself therein, and all sieges were filled save only the Siege\nPerilous.  Anon there befell a marvellous adventure, for all the doors\nand the windows of the place shut of themselves, yet then the hall was\nnot greatly darkened, and therewith they were amazed, both one and\nother.\n\nWhile they sat there in suspense as to what should happen, came in a\ngood old man, and an ancient, clothed all in white, and there was no\nknight knew from whence he came.  With him he brought a young knight in\nred arms, without sword or shield, save a scabbard hanging by his side.\nThen the old man said unto Arthur, \"Sir, I bring here a young knight\nthe which is of king's lineage and of the kindred of Joseph of\nArimathea, whereby the marvels of this court and of strange realms\nshall be fully accomplished.\"\n\nThe King was right glad of the good man's words, and bade him and the\nyoung knight welcome.  Then the old man made the young man unarm; and\nhe was in a coat of red silk, and bore a mantle upon his shoulder that\nwas furred with ermine.  Anon the old knight led him unto the Siege\nPerilous, where beside sat Sir Percivale and Sir Launcelot.  The good\nman lifted up the cloth, and found there letters that said thus: \"This\nis the siege of Galahad, the high prince.\"  He set him down surely in\nthat siege, saying, \"Wit ye well that place is yours,\" and then,\ndeparted and went his way.\n\nAll the knights of the Table Round marvelled greatly that Sir Galahad\ndurst sit there in that Siege Perilous, and was so tender of age; for\nnever before had anyone sat therein but he was mischieved.  And they\nforesaw that Sir Galahad would come to great honour, and outdo them all\nin knightly courtesy.\n\nThen the King bade him welcome to the court, and taking him by the\nhand, went down from the palace to show Galahad the adventures of the\nstone.  \"Sir\" said the King unto him, \"here is a great marvel as ever I\nsaw, and right good knights have assayed and failed.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Galahad, \"that is no marvel, for this adventure is not\ntheirs but mine, and for the surety of this sword I brought none with\nme; for here by my side hangeth the scabbard.\"\n\nAnon he laid his hand on the sword, and lightly drew it out of the\nstone and put it in the sheath, saying, \"Now it goeth better than it\ndid aforehand.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\nHOW THE QUEST OF THE HOLY GRAIL WAS BEGUN\n\nThe dish from which our Lord Jesu Christ ate the paschal lamb at His\nlast supper with His disciples men call the Holy Grail.  Therein also\nJoseph of Arimathea caught the last drops of sacred blood, and after\nthe passion of our Lord that gentle knight, the which took down the\nbody off the holy cross, at that time departed from Jerusalem with a\ngreat party of his kindred, bearing the Holy Grail with them.\n\nIt befell that they came first to a city that was called Sarras, and at\nthe last they crossed to Britain, and through them all the heathen\npeople of this land were turned to the Christian faith.\n\nEver as years went by the Holy Grail became more precious, and the\npossession of it ever more a sacred trust.  But after a long while it\nwas lost from the world through men's sinfulness, and only those of\npure heart and life might from time to time see it.\n\nMerlin, before he was put under the stone, had foreseen that by them\nwhich should be fellows of the Round Table the truth of the Holy Grail\nwould be well known, and in the good days of King Arthur the longing\ngrew to be worthy of the vision of this sign of the Lord's presence\namong men.  Moreover a holy hermit had said that, when the Siege\nPerilous was filled, the achieving of the Holy Grail should be near.\n\nAfter Galahad drew the sword out of the stone the King and all estates\nwent thoughtful home unto Camelot, and so to even-song in the great\nminster.  After that they went to supper, and every knight sat in his\nown place at the Round Table.  Then anon they heard cracking and crying\nof thunder that should, as it seemed to them, shake the place all to\npieces.  In the midst of this blast entered a sunbeam more clear by\nseven times than ever they saw day, and all they were alighted of the\ngrace of the Holy Ghost.\n\nThen began every knight to behold other, and either saw other by their\nseeming fairer than ever they looked afore.  There was no knight might\nspeak one word, and so they looked every man on his fellows, as if they\nwere dumb.  Then there entered into the hall the Holy Grail, covered\nwith white samite, but there was none might see it, or who bare it.\nAnd there was all the hall filled full with good odours, and every\nknight was nourished in his soul.  When the Holy Grail had been borne\nthrough the hall, then it departed suddenly, so that they wist not what\nbecame of it.\n\nThen had they all breath to speak, and the King yielded thankings unto\nGod for His good grace that He had sent them.  \"Now,\" said Sir Gawaine,\n\"we have been richly blessed this day, but one thing beguiled us,--we\nmight not see the Holy Grail, it was so preciously covered.  Wherefore\nI will make here avow, that to-morn, without longer abiding, I shall\nlabour in the quest of the Holy Grail a twelvemonth and a day, or more\nif need be, and shall not return unto the court till I have seen it\nmore openly than it hath been seen here; and if I may not speed, I\nshall return again at the end of the time as he that may not be against\nthe will of our Lord Jesu Christ.\"\n\nWhen they of the Table Round heard Sir Gawaine say so, the most part of\nthem arose, and made such avows as Sir Gawaine had made.  Anon as King\nArthur heard this he was greatly grieved, for he wist well that they\nmight not gainsay their avows, and he should be bereft of the fairest\nfellowship and the truest knighthood that ever were seen together in\nany realm of the world.  For, when they departed from hence, they\nshould never all meet again in this world, and many of his true\nfellowship of noble knights should die in the quest.\n\nWhen the Queen also and all the court wist these tidings, they had such\nsorrow and heaviness that there might no tongue tell it.  Many of the\nladies would have gone with the knights that they loved, had not an old\nman in religious clothing said on high that none in this quest should\nlead wife with him.  Moreover he warned the knights plainly that he\nthat was not clean of his sins should not see the mysteries of our Lord\nJesu Christ.  Then they went to rest themselves, and in honour of the\nhighness of Galahad he was led into King Arthur's chamber, and there\nrested in his own bed.\n\nAs soon as it was day the King arose, for he had no rest all that night\nfor sorrow.  Then the King and the Queen went unto the minster, and all\nthe knights, armed fully save their shields and their helms, followed\nthem to hear the service.\n\nThen after the service was done, the King would wit how many had taken\nthe quest of the Holy Grail, and found by tale there were an hundred\nand fifty, all knights of the Round Table.  Then they put on their\nhelms, and so mounted upon their horses, and rode through the streets\nof Camelot.  And there was weeping of rich and poor, and the King\nturned away, and might not speak for weeping.\n\nWithin a while they came to a city and a castle called Vagon.  The lord\nof that castle was a good old man and set open the gates, and made them\nall the good cheer that he might.  On the morrow they were all accorded\nthat they should ride every each from other.  Then they departed with\nweeping and mourning cheer, and every knight took the way that him best\nliked.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI\n\nHOW GALAHAD GAT HIM A SHIELD\n\nNow Sir Galahad was yet without shield, and so he rode four days\nwithout any adventure.  After even-song of the fourth day he came to a\nwhite abbey, and there he was received with great reverence, and led to\na chamber wherein he was ware of two knights of the Round Table, the\none King Bagdemagus and the other Sir Uwaine.  They went unto him and\nmade of him great solace; and they told him that within this place was\na shield that no man might bear about his neck without great harm to\nhimself, unless he were the worthiest knight of the world.\n\n[Illustration: Sir Galahad]\n\n\"Ah, sir,\" said King Bagdemagus to Galahad, \"I shall to-morrow assay\nthis strange adventure, and if I may not achieve it ye shall take it\nupon you, for I am sure ye shall not fail.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Galahad, \"I agree right well thereto, for I have no shield.\"\n\nSo on the morn they arose and heard mass.  Then King Bagdemagus asked\nwhere the adventurous shield was.  Anon a monk led him behind an altar,\nwhere the shield hung as white as any snow, but in the midst was a red\ncross.  The monk counselled him to be well advised before taking it,\nand King Bagdemagus answered:\n\n\"Well, I wot well that I am not the best knight of the world, but yet\nshall I assay to bear it.\"\n\nAnd so, bidding Sir Galahad to abide there still, till it was known how\nhe sped, King Bagdemagus bore the red cross shield out of the\nmonastery, took with him a squire, the which should bring tidings unto\nSir Galahad how he sped, and rode away.\n\nTwo miles off they came into a fair valley afore a hermitage, and there\nthey saw a goodly knight in white armour, horse and all.  He came as\nfast as his horse might run, with his spear in the rest, and King\nBagdemagus dressed his spear against him, and brake it upon the White\nKnight.  The other struck him so hard that he brake the mails, and\nthrust him through the right shoulder, for the shield covered him not\nat that time, and so he bare him from his horse.\n\nTherewith the White Knight alighted and took the white shield from King\nBagdemagus, saying, \"Knight, thou hast done thyself great folly, for\nthis shield ought not to be borne but by him that shall have no peer\nthat liveth.\"  Then he came to the squire, and said, \"Bear this shield\nunto the good knight Sir Galahad, that thou left in the abbey, and\ngreet him well from me.\"\n\nThe squire first went unto Bagdemagus, and asked him whether he were\nsore wounded or not.  \"Yea, forsooth,\" said he, \"I shall escape hard\nfrom death.\"  Then the squire fetched his horse, and brought him with\ngreat pain unto an abbey.  Then was he taken down safely, and unarmed,\nand laid in a bed.  There his wounds were looked to, and, as the book\ntelleth, he lay there long, and escaped hard with life.\n\n\"Sir,\" said the squire, when he came to Galahad, \"that knight that\nwounded Bagdemagus sendeth you greeting, and bade that ye should bear\nthis shield, wherethrough great adventures should befall.\"\n\n\"Now blessed be God,\" said Sir Galahad.  Then he asked his arms,\nmounted upon his horse, and, commending himself unto God, hung the\nwhite shield about his neck.  So he departed, and within a while came\nby the hermitage, where the White Knight awaited him.  Every each\nsaluted other courteously, and the knight told Sir Galahad the marvels\nof the shield.\n\n\"Sir,\" said he, \"at that same hour that Joseph of Arimathea came to\nSarras, there was a king in that city called Evelake, that had great\nwar against the Saracens, and there Joseph made this shield for him in\nthe name of Him that died upon the cross.  Then through his good belief\nhe had the better of his enemies; for when King Evelake was in the\nbattle, there was a cloth set afore the shield, and when he was in the\ngreatest peril he let put away the cloth, and then his enemies saw a\nfigure of a man on the cross, wherethrough they all were discomfited.\n\n\"Soon afterwards Joseph departed from Sarras, and King Evelake would go\nwith him whether he would or nould, and they came unto this land of\nBritain.  Not long after this, when Joseph lay on his death-bed, King\nEvelake begged of him some token that would lead him to think on the\nold knight for love of whom he had left his own country.  So Joseph\ntook this shield, and thereupon he made a cross with his own blood;\nthat should be Evelake's token.  Then he said that no man should bear\nthis shield until the time that Galahad come, the last of Joseph's\nlineage, that should do many marvellous deeds while bearing it about\nhis neck.  To-day is the time they then set when ye shall have King\nEvelake's shield.\"\n\nSo spake the White Knight, and then vanished away; and Sir Galahad rode\nwith the squire back to the abbey.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII\n\nSIR GALAHAD AT THE CASTLE OF MAIDENS\n\nThe men of the abbey made great joy of Sir Galahad, and he rested there\nthat night.  Upon the morn he gave the order of knighthood to the\nsquire who had brought him the red-cross shield, and asked him his\nname, and of what kindred he was come.\n\n\"Sir,\" said he, \"men call me Melias of Lile, and I am the son of the\nKing of Denmark.\"\n\n\"Now, fair sir,\" said Galahad, \"since ye are of noble birth, see that\nknighthood be well placed in you, for ye ought to be a mirror unto all\nchivalry.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Melias, \"ye say truly.  But, sir, since ye have made me a\nknight, ye must of right grant me my first desire that is reasonable.\"\n\n\"Ye say truly,\" said Galahad.\n\nThen Melias said, \"Suffer me to ride with you in this quest of the Holy\nGrail till some adventure part us.\"\n\n\"I grant you, sir,\" said Galahad.\n\nThen men brought Sir Melias his armour and his spear and his horse; and\nso Sir Galahad and he rode forth all that week ere they found any\nadventure.  And then upon a Monday, in the morning, as they had\ndeparted from an abbey, they came to a fork in the road, where stood\nwritten these words: \"Now ye knights errant, who go to seek knights\nadventurous, see here two ways; the right-hand road ye are warned\nagainst, for knight shall never ride out of that place again unless he\nbe a good man and a worthy knight; and if ye go to the left hand ye\nshall not there easily win prowess, for ye shall in this road be soon\nattacked.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Melias to Galahad, \"if ye are pleased to suffer me to take\nthe way on the left hand, tell me, for there I shall well prove my\nstrength.\"\n\n\"It were better,\" said Galahad, \"ye rode not that way, for I believe I\nshould better escape in that way than ye.\"\n\n\"Nay, my lord,\" said Melias, \"I pray you, let me have that adventure.\"\n\n\"Take it, in God's name,\" said Galahad.\n\nSo Melias rode far through an old forest, and after two days or more\ncame into a fair meadow.  Here in a fair lodge of boughs he espied a\nchair wherein was a subtilely-wrought crown of gold, and near by was a\ncloth spread upon the ground with many delicious meats upon it.  Sir\nMelias had no desire for the food, but the crown of gold pleased him\nmuch, so he stooped down and took it and rode his way with it.  And\nanon he saw a knight come riding after him, who called upon him to set\ndown the crown that was not his, and to defend himself.\n\nThe new-made knight was glad of this adventure, and the two let their\nhorses run as fast as they might, so that the other knight smote Sir\nMelias through his hauberk and through the left side, and he fell to\nthe earth nigh dead.  Then the knight took the crown and went his way,\nand Sir Melias lay still, and had no power to stir.  In the meanwhile\nby good fortune there came Sir Galahad and found him there in peril of\ndeath.\n\nThen he said, \"Ah, Melias, who hath wounded you?  It would have been\nbetter to ride the other way.\"\n\nAnd when Sir Melias heard him speak, \"Sir,\" he said, \"for God's love\nlet me not die in this forest, but bear me unto the abbey near at hand.\"\n\n\"It shall be done,\" said Galahad, \"but where is he that hath wounded\nyou?\"\n\nWith that Sir Galahad heard some one cry, \"Knight, keep thee from me!\"\n\n\"Ah, sir,\" said Melias, \"beware, for that is he that hath slain me.\"\n\nSir Galahad answered, \"Sir knight, come at your peril.\"\n\nSo they came together as fast as their horses might run; and Galahad\nsmote the other so that his spear went through the knight's shoulder\nand smote him down off his horse, and in the falling Galahad's spear\nbrake.  With that came out another knight from the leaves, and brake a\nspear upon Galahad before he might turn about.  Then Galahad drew out\nhis sword and smote this one so that he fled away, and Sir Galahad\npursued fast after him.  But soon he turned again unto Sir Melias, and\nthere he alighted and placed him softly on his horse before him, and\nSir Galahad climbed up behind, and held him in his arms, and so brought\nhim to the abbey and into his chamber.  Here he placed the wounded\nknight in the care of an old monk, that promised to heal him of his\nwounds.\n\n\"Now I will depart,\" said Galahad, \"for I have much on hand; many good\nknights be full busy about it, and this knight and I were in the same\nquest of the Holy Grail.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the good monk, \"for his sins he was thus wounded; and I\nmarvel,\" said he to Melias, \"how ye durst take upon you so rich a thing\nas the high order of knighthood without clean confession, and that was\nthe cause ye were bitterly wounded.  For the way on the right hand\nbetokeneth the high way of our Lord Jesu Christ, and the way of a true\ngood liver.  And the other way betokeneth the way of sinners and of\nmisbelievers.  Your pride and presumption in taking the quest of the\nblessed Holy Grail made you to be overthrown, for it may not be\nachieved but by virtuous living.  Pride is head of all deadly sins, and\nthat caused you to depart from Sir Galahad.  And when ye took the crown\nof gold your sin was covetousness and theft.  But this Galahad, the\nholy knight, the which fought with the two knights that signify the two\ndeadly sins which were wholly in you, was able to overthrow them, for\nhe is pure in his heart.\"\n\n\"My lord Galahad,\" said Sir Melias, \"as soon as I may ride I shall seek\nyou.\"\n\n\"God send you health,\" said Galahad, and so he took his horse and\ndeparted, and rode many journeys forward and backward, as adventure\nwould lead him.\n\nThen Sir Galahad came unto a mountain.  There he found an old chapel,\nwhere all was desolate, and he knelt before the altar and besought of\nGod wholesome counsel.  As he prayed, he heard a voice that said, \"Go\nthou now, thou adventurous knight, to the Castle of Maidens, and there\ndo thou away the wicked customs.\"\n\nWhen Sir Galahad heard this, he thanked God and took his horse, and he\nhad ridden but half a mile when he saw in a valley afore him a strong\ncastle with deep ditches, and there ran beside it a fair river, that\nwas called Severn.  Then he met with a man of great age.  Either\nsaluted other, and Galahad asked him the castle's name.  \"Fair sir,\"\nsaid he, \"it is the Castle of Maidens.\"\n\n\"That is a cursed castle,\" said Galahad, \"and all who have intercourse\ntherein are cursed, for all pity is lacking there, and all cruelty and\nmischief are therein.\"\n\n\"Therefore I counsel you, sir knight,\" said the other, \"that ye turn\nback.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Sir Galahad, \"ye may be sure I shall not turn back.\"\n\nThen Sir Galahad looked on his armour to see that nothing was lacking,\nand he put his shield afore him, and anon there met him seven fair\nmaidens, which said unto him, \"Sir knight, ye ride here in great folly,\nfor ye have the water to pass over.\"\n\n\"Why should I not pass the water?\" said Galahad.  So he rode away from\nthem, and met with a squire, who said.  \"Knight, those knights in the\ncastle defy you, and forbid you to go farther till they know what ye\nwould.\"\n\n\"Fair sir,\" said Galahad, \"I come to destroy the wicked customs of this\ncastle.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the squire, \"if ye will abide by that, ye shall have enough\nto do.\"\n\nThe squire entered into the castle, and anon there came out seven\nknights, all brethren.  And when they saw Galahad they cried, \"Knight,\ndefend thyself, for we assure thee nothing but death.\"\n\nThen Galahad put forth his spear, and smote the foremost to the earth.\nAnd therewith all the others smote him on his shield great strokes so\nthat their spears brake.  Then Sir Galahad drew out his sword, and set\nupon them so hard that it was marvel to see it, and so, through great\nforce, he made them to forsake the field.  Galahad chased them till\nthey entered into the castle, and then passed through the castle and\nout at another gate.\n\nNow there met Sir Galahad an old man, who said, \"Sir, have here the\nkeys of this castle.\"\n\nThen Sir Galahad opened the gates, and saw so many people in the\npassages that he might not number them, and all said, \"Sir, ye be\nwelcome, for long have we awaited here our deliverance.\"\n\nThen came to him a gentlewoman, and said, \"These knights are fled, but\nthey will come again this night, and here begin again their evil\npractices.\"\n\n\"What will ye that I shall do?\" said Galahad.\n\n\"Sir,\" said the gentlewoman, \"that ye send after all the knights hither\nthat hold their lands of this castle, and make them to swear to use the\ncustoms that were used heretofore of old time.\"\n\n\"I will well,\" said Galahad.\n\nShe brought him a horn of ivory, richly bound with gold, and said,\n\"Sir, blow this horn, which will be heard two miles about this castle.\"\n\nWhen Sir Galahad had blown the horn he set himself down upon a bed.\nThen a priest came and told him of the evil practices of the castle,\nand why it was called the Castle of Maidens.  \"It chanced in this\nwise,\" said he: \"More than seven years agone the seven brethren came,\nand lodged with the lord of this castle and of all the country round\nabout.  When they espied the duke's daughter, a full fair woman, they\nplotted falsely betwixt themselves and slew the duke and his eldest\nson.  Then they took the maiden and the treasure of the castle, and by\ngreat force they held all the knights of this castle against their will\nunder their power in great slavery, and robbed and pillaged the poor\ncommon people of all that they had.  Then it happened on a day the\nduke's daughter said, 'Ye have done unto me great wrong to slay my own\nfather and my brother, and thus to hold our lands.  But ye shall not\nhold this castle many years, for by one knight ye shall be overcome.'\nThus she had prophesied seven years agone.\n\n\"'Well,' said the seven knights, 'if that be so, there shall never lady\nnor knight pass by this castle but they shall abide here, whether they\nwill or not, or die for it, till that knight be come by whom we shall\nlose this castle.'  Therefore it is called the Maidens' Castle, for\nmany maidens have here been destroyed.\"\n\nBy the time the priest had finished, the knights of the country were\ncome at the call from the ivory horn.  Then Sir Galahad made them do\nhomage and fealty to the duke's daughter, and set the people in great\nease of heart.\n\nAnd the next morning one came to Galahad and told him how Gawaine,\nGareth, and Uwaine had slain the seven brethren.  \"I am glad to hear\nit,\" said Sir Galahad, and he took his armour, mounted his horse, and\ncommended the people of the Castle of Maidens unto God, and so rode\naway.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVIII\n\nSIR LAUNCELOT'S REPENTANCE\n\nWhen Sir Galahad was departed from the Castle of Maidens, he rode till\nhe came to a waste forest, and there he met with Sir Launcelot and Sir\nPercivale, but they knew him not, for he was new disguised.  Right so,\nSir Launcelot dressed his spear, and brake it upon Sir Galahad; and Sir\nGalahad smote him so again, that he smote down horse and man.  Then he\ndrew his sword, and dressed him unto Sir Percivale, and smote him so on\nthe helm that, had not the sword swerved, Sir Percivale had been slain,\nand with the stroke he fell out of his saddle.\n\nThis joust was done tofore the hermitage where a recluse dwelt, and,\nwhen she saw Sir Galahad ride, she said, \"God be with thee, best knight\nof the world.  Ah, verily, if yonder two knights had known thee as well\nas I do, they would not have encountered with thee.\"\n\nWhen Sir Galahad heard her say so, he was sore adread to be known.\nTherefore he smote his horse with his spurs, and rode at a great pace\naway from them.  Then perceived they both that he was Galahad, and up\nthey gat on their horses, and rode fast after him, but in a while he\nwas out of their sight.  Then they turned again with heavy cheer, and\nSir Percivale said, \"Let us ask some tidings at yonder recluse.\"\n\n\"Do as ye list,\" said Sir Launcelot.  So Sir Percivale turned back, but\nSir Launcelot rode on across and endlong in a wild forest, and held no\npath, but as wild adventure led him.  At last he came to a stone cross,\nwhich pointed two ways, and by the cross was a stone that was of\nmarble; but it was so dark that he might not wit what it was.\n\nSir Launcelot looked about him, and saw an old chapel.  There he\nexpected to find people, so he tied his horse, and took off his shield\nand hung it upon a tree.  Then he went to the chapel door, and found it\nwaste and broken.  Within he saw a fair altar full richly arrayed with\ncloth of clean silk, and there stood a fair clean candlestick of silver\nwhich bare six great candles.\n\nWhen Sir Launcelot saw this light, he had great will to enter into the\nchapel, but he could find no place where he might enter.  Then was he\npassing heavy and dismayed.  He returned to his horse, took off his\nsaddle and bridle, and let him pasture.  Then he unlaced his helm, and\nungirded his sword, and laid himself down to sleep upon his shield\ntofore the cross.\n\n[Illustration: Sir Launcelot at the Cross]\n\nSo he fell on sleep, and half waking and half sleeping he saw in a\nvision two fair white palfreys come toward him, bearing in a litter a\nsick knight.  When he was nigh the cross he abode still, and Sir\nLauncelot heard him say, \"Oh, sweet Lord, when shall this sorrow leave\nme? and when shall the holy vessel come by me, wherethrough I shall be\nblessed?  For I have endured thus long for little trespass.\"\n\nA full great while lamented the knight thus, and always Sir Launcelot\nheard it.  Then he saw the candlestick with the six tapers come before\nthe cross, yet he saw nobody that brought it.  Also there came a table\nof silver, and the sacred vessel of the Holy Grail upon it.\n\nTherewith the sick knight sat up, and, holding up both hands, he prayed\nthat he might be whole of his malady.  Then on his hands and knees he\nwent so nigh that he touched the holy vessel, and kissed it, and anon\nhe was whole.  Then he said, \"Lord God, I thank thee, for I am healed\nof this sickness.\"\n\nWhen the holy vessel had been there a great while, it went unto the\nchapel, with the candlestick and the light, so that Launcelot wist not\nwhat became of it, for he was overtaken with a feeling of his sin, so\nthat he had no power to arise and follow the holy vessel.\n\nThen the sick knight raised himself up, and kissed the cross.  Anon his\nsquire brought him his arms, and asked his lord how he did.  \"Verily,\"\nsaid he, \"I thank God, right well; through the holy vessel I am healed.\nBut I have great marvel of this sleeping knight, that had no power to\nawake when the Holy Grail was brought hither.\"\n\n\"I dare right well say,\" said the squire, \"that he dwelleth in some\ndeadly sin, whereof he has never repented.\"\n\n\"By my faith,\" said the knight, \"whatsoever he be, he is unhappy, for,\nas I deem, he is of the fellowship of the Round Table, the which is\nentered into the quest of the Holy Grail.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the squire, \"here I have brought you all your arms, save\nyour helm and your sword.  By my assent now may ye take this knight's\nhelm and his sword.\"\n\nSo he did, and when he was clean armed, he took Sir Launcelot's horse,\nfor he was better than his own, and so they departed from the cross.\nAnon Sir Launcelot awoke, and bethought him what he had seen there, and\nwhether it were a dream or not.  Right so heard he a voice that said:\n\"Sir Launcelot, more hard than is stone, more bitter than is wood, and\nmore naked and barer than is the fig tree, go thou from hence, and\nwithdraw thee from this holy place.\"\n\nWhen Sir Launcelot heard this he was passing heavy, and wist not what\nto do.  So he arose, sore weeping, and cursed the time when he was\nborn, for he thought never to have honour more.  Then he went to the\ncross, and found his helm, his sword, and his horse taken away.  Then\nhe called himself a very wretch, and the most unhappy of all knights.\nAnd he said: \"My sin and my wickedness have brought me unto great\ndishonour.  When I sought worldly adventures from worldly desires, I\never achieved them, and had the better in every place, and never was I\ndiscomfited in any quarrel, were it right or wrong.  But now when I\ntake upon me the adventures of holy things, I see and understand that\nmine old sin hindereth and shameth me, so that I had no power to stir\nor to speak when the Holy Grail appeared afore me.\"\n\nThus he sorrowed till it was day, and he heard the birds sing.  Then\nsomewhat he was comforted, but, when he missed his horse and his\nharness, he wist well God was displeased with him.  He departed from\nthe cross on foot into a forest, and came to a hermitage, and a hermit\ntherein.  There Launcelot kneeled down and cried on the Lord for mercy,\nand begged the hermit for charity to hear his confession.\n\n\"With a good will,\" said the good man; \"art thou of King Arthur's\ncourt, and of the fellowship of the Round Table?\"\n\n\"Yea, forsooth,\" was the answer, \"and my name is Sir Launcelot of the\nLake, that hath been right well said of; but now my good fortune is\nchanged, for I am the worst wretch of the world.\"\n\nThe hermit beheld him, and had marvel how he was humbled.\n\n\"Sir,\" said he, \"thou oughtest to thank God more than any knight\nliving, for He hath caused thee to have more worldly honour than any\nother knight that now liveth.  For thy presumption in taking upon thee,\nwhile in deadly sin, to be in His presence through the sacred vessel,\nthat was the cause that thou mightest not see it with worldly eyes, for\nHe will not appear where such sinners be, unless to their great hurt\nand shame.  There is no knight living now that ought to give God so\ngreat thanks as thou; for He hath given thee beauty, seemliness, and\ngreat strength, above all other knights.  Therefore thou art the more\nbeholden unto God than any other man to love Him and fear Him; for thy\nstrength and manhood will little avail thee if God be against thee.\"\n\nThen Sir Launcelot wept with heavy cheer, for he knew the hermit said\nsooth.\n\n\"Sir,\" said the good man, \"hide none old sin from me.\"\n\n\"Truly,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"that were me full loath to disclose, for\none thing that I have done I never disclosed these fourteen years, and\nfor that may I now blame my shamelessness and my misadventure.\"\n\nThen he told there that good man all his life, and how he had loved a\nqueen unmeasurably, and out of measure long.  \"And,\" said he, \"all my\ngreat deeds of arms that I have done, I did the most part for that\nqueen's sake.  For her sake would I battle, were it right or wrong; and\nnever did I battle wholly for God's sake, but for to win honour and to\nmake myself better beloved, and little or naught I thanked God for it.\nI pray you counsel me.\"\n\n\"I will counsel thee,\" said the hermit, \"if thou wilt assure me that\nthou wilt never come into that queen's companionship when thou canst\nprevent it.\"  This Sir Launcelot solemnly promised, whereupon the good\nman said, \"Look that thy heart and mouth accord, and I assure thee that\nthou shalt have more honour than ever thou hadst.  For it seemeth well\nGod loveth thee, and in all the world men shall not find one knight to\nwhom He hath given so much grace as He hath given thee; He hath given\nthee beauty with seemliness; He hath given thee wit, discretion to know\ngood from evil; He hath given thee prowess and hardiness; and He hath\ngiven thee to work so largely that thou hast had at all times the\nbetter wheresoever thou camest.  And now our Lord will suffer thee no\nlonger, but that thou shalt know Him, whether thou wilt or nilt.\n\n\"Why the voice called thee bitterer than wood was because, where\novermuch sin dwelleth, there may be but little sweetness; wherefore\nthou art likened to an old rotten tree.  Why thou art harder than stone\nis because thou wilt not leave thy sin for any goodness that God hath\nsent thee; therefore thou art more than any stone, and never wouldest\nthou be made soft, neither by water nor by fire,--that is, the heat of\nthe Holy Ghost may not enter in thee.\n\n\"Now shall I show thee why thou art more naked and barer than the fig\ntree.  It befell that our Lord on Palm Sunday preached in Jerusalem,\nand there He found in the people that all hardness was harboured in\nthem, and there He found in all the town not one that would harbour\nHim.  And then He went without the town, and found in the midst of the\nway a fig tree, the which was right fair and well garnished of leaves,\nbut fruit had it none.  Then our Lord cursed the tree that bare no\nfruit; that likeneth the fig tree unto Jerusalem, that had leaves and\nno fruit.  So thou, Sir Launcelot, when the Holy Grail was brought\nafore thee, He found in thee no fruit, nor good thought, nor good will,\nand thou wert befouled with sin.\"\n\n\"Verily,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"all that ye have said is true, and from\nhenceforward I undertake by the grace of God never to be so wicked as I\nhave been, but to follow knighthood and to do feats of arms.\"\n\nThen the good man enjoined Sir Launcelot to such penance as he might\ndo, and to sue knighthood, and so blessed him, and prayed him to abide\nthere all that day.  \"I will well,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"for I have\nneither helm, nor horse, nor sword.\"\n\n\"As for that,\" said the good man, \"I shall help you ere to-morn to a\nhorse and all that belongeth unto you.\"  And so Sir Launcelot repented\nhim greatly.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIX\n\nSIR PERCIVALE'S TEMPTATION\n\nWhen Sir Percivale departed from the recluse to seek Sir Galahad, he\nrode till the hour of noon, when he met in a valley about twenty men of\narms.  As they saw him they asked him whence he was, and he answered,\n\"Of the court of King Arthur.\"  Then they cried all at once, \"Slay\nhim.\"  Then Sir Percivale smote the first to the earth, and his horse\nupon him.  Thereupon seven of the knights smote upon his shield all at\nonce, and the remnant slew his horse, so that he fell to the earth.\n\nSo had they slain him or taken him, had not the good knight Sir\nGalahad, with the red arms, come there by adventure into those parts.\nAnd when he saw all those knights upon one knight, he cried, \"Save me\nthat knight's life.\"  Then he dressed him towards the twenty men of\narms as fast as his horse might drive, with his spear in the rest, and\nsmote the foremost horse and man to the earth.  And when his spear was\nbroken he set his hand to his sword, and smote on the right hand and on\nthe left hand, that it was marvel to see.  At every stroke he smote one\ndown, or put him to rebuke, so that they would fight no more, but fled\nto a thick forest, and Sir Galahad followed them.\n\nWhen Sir Percivale saw him chase them so, he made great sorrow that his\nhorse was away, for he wist well it was Sir Galahad.  Then he cried\naloud, \"Ah, fair knight, abide and suffer me to do thankings unto thee,\nfor much have ye done for me!\"\n\nBut ever Sir Galahad rode so fast, that at the last he passed out of\nhis sight, and Sir Percivale went after him on foot as fast as he\nmight.  Soon he met a yeoman riding upon a hackney, who led in his hand\na great black steed, blacker than any bear.\n\n\"Ah, fair friend,\" said Sir Percivale, \"as ever I may do for you and be\nyour true knight in the first place ye will require me, I beg ye will\nlend me that black steed, that I may overtake a knight, the which\nrideth afore me.\"\n\n\"Sir knight,\" said the yeoman, \"I pray you hold me excused of that, for\nthat I may not do; for wit ye well, the horse belongs to a man that, if\nI lent it you or any other man, would slay me.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" said Sir Percivale, \"I had never so great sorrow as I have for\nlosing of yonder knight.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the yeoman, \"I am right heavy for you, for a good horse\nwould beseem you well, but I dare not deliver you this horse unless ye\ntake it from me.\"\n\n\"That will I not do,\" said Sir Percivale.\n\nSo they departed, and Sir Percivale sat him down under a tree, and made\nsorrow out of measure.  Anon the yeoman came pricking after as fast as\never he might, and asked Sir Percivale, \"Saw ye, sir, any knight riding\non my black steed?  It hath been taken from me by force, wherefore my\nlord will slay me in what place he findeth me.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Sir Percivale, \"what wouldest thou that I did?  Thou seest\nwell that I am on foot, but had I a good horse I should bring him soon\nagain.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the yeoman, \"take my hackney and do the best ye can, and I\nshall follow you on foot, to wit how that ye shall speed.\"\n\nThen Sir Percivale mounted upon that hackney, and rode as fast as he\nmight.  At the last he saw the knight on the black steed, and cried out\nto him to turn again.  And he turned, and set his spear against Sir\nPercivale; and he smote the hackney in the midst of the breast, that he\nfell down dead to the earth.  There Sir Percivale had a great fall, and\nthe other rode his way.\n\nSir Percivale was very wroth, and cried, \"Abide, wicked knight, coward\nand false-hearted knight, turn again and fight with me on foot.\"\n\nHe answered not, but passed on his way.  When Sir Percivale saw he\nwould not turn, he cast away his helm and sword, and thought himself\nunhappy above all other knights.\n\nIn this sorrow he abode all that day till it was night.  Then he was\nfaint, and laid him down and slept till it was midnight.  Then he\nawaked, and saw afore him a woman which said unto him right fiercely,\n\"Sir Percivale, abide here, and I shall go fetch you a horse, which\nshall bear you whither you will.\"\n\nSo she came soon again, and brought a horse with her that was inky\nblack.  When Sir Percivale beheld that horse, he marvelled that it was\nso great and so well apparelled.  Courageously he leaped upon him, and\ntook no heed of himself.  As soon as ever he was mounted he thrust in\nthe spurs, and so rode away by the forest, and the moon shone clear.\n\nWithin an hour, and less, the black steed bare him four day's journey\nthence, till he came to a rough water the which roared, and his horse\nwould have borne him into it.  And when Sir Percivale came nigh the\nbrim, and saw the water so boisterous, he feared to overpass it.  Then\nhe made a sign of the cross in his forehead, whereupon the horse shook\noff Sir Percivale, and he fell into the water, crying and roaring,\nmaking great sorrow; and it seemed unto him that the water burned.\nThen Sir Percivale perceived the steed was a fiend, the which would\nhave brought him unto his perdition.  Then he commended himself unto\nGod, and prayed our Lord to keep him from all such temptations.\n\nSo he prayed all that night till it was day.  Then he saw that he was\nin a wild mountain the which was closed with the sea nigh all about, so\nthat he might see no land about him which might relieve him.  Then was\nSir Percivale ware in the sea, and saw a ship come sailing towards him;\nand he went unto the ship, and found it covered within and without with\nwhite samite.  At the board stood an old man clothed in a surplice in\nlikeness of a priest.\n\n\"Sir,\" said Sir Percivale, \"ye be welcome.\"\n\n\"God keep you,\" said the good man, \"of whence be ye?\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Sir Percivale, \"I am of King Arthur's court, and a knight\nof the Table Round, the which am in the quest of the Holy Grail.  Here\nI am in great duress, and never likely to escape out of this\nwilderness.\"\n\n\"Doubt not,\" said the good man, \"if ye be so true a knight as the order\nof chivalry requireth, and of heart as ye ought to be, ye need not fear\nthat any enemy shall slay you.\"\n\n\"What are ye?\" said Sir Percivale.\n\n\"Sir,\" said the old man, \"I am of a strange country, and hither I come\nto comfort you, and to warn you of your great battle that shall befall\nyou.\"\n\n\"With whom,\" said Sir Percivale, \"shall I fight?\"\n\n\"With the most champion of the world,\" said the old man, \"but, if ye\nquit you well, ye shall lose no limb, even though vanquished and\nseemingly shamed to the world's end.\"\n\nThen the good man leaped over the board, and the ship and all went\naway, Sir Percivale wist not whither.  He abode there till midday, when\nhe saw a ship come rowing in the sea as if all the winds of the world\nhad driven it.  It drove under the rock on which he sat; and when he\nhied thither he found the ship covered with silk blacker than any bier,\nand therein was a gentlewoman of great beauty, and she was clothed\nrichly that none might be better.\n\nWhen she saw Sir Percivale, she said, \"Who brought you in this\nwilderness where ye be never like to pass hence? for ye shall die here\nfor hunger and mischief.\"\n\n\"Damsel,\" said Sir Percivale, \"I serve the best man of the world, and\nin His service He will not suffer me to die, for who that knocketh\nshall enter, and who that asketh shall have, and from the man that\nseeketh Him, He hideth Him not.\"\n\n\"And I came out of the waste forest where I found the red knight with\nthe white shield,\" said the damsel.\n\n\"Ah, damsel,\" said he, \"with that knight would I meet passing fain.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said she, \"if ye will ensure me, by the faith that ye owe unto\nknighthood, that ye will do my will what time I summon you, I shall\nbring you unto that knight.\"\n\n\"Yea,\" said he, \"I shall promise you to fulfil your desire.  But what\nare ye that proffereth me thus great kindness?\"\n\n\"I am,\" said she, \"a gentlewoman that am disherited, which was sometime\nthe richest woman of the world.\"\n\n\"Damsel,\" said Sir Percivale, \"who hath disherited you? for I have\ngreat pity of you.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said she, \"I dwell with the greatest man of the world, and he\nmade me so fair and so clear that there was none like me, and of that\ngreat beauty I had a little pride, more than I ought to have had.  Also\nI said a word that pleased him not, and then he would not suffer me to\nbe any longer in his company.  He drove me from mine heritage, and so\ndisowned me, and he had never pity for me, and would none of my council\nnor of my court.  Since, sir knight, it hath befallen me so, I and mine\nhave taken from him many of his men, and have made them to become my\nmen, for they ask never anything of me, but I give it them, that and\nmuch more.  Therefore I and my servants war against him night and day.\nI know now no good knight and no good man but I get on my side, if I\nmay.  And since I know that ye are a good knight I beseech you to help\nme; and since ye are a fellow of the Round Table, ye ought not to fail\nany gentlewoman which is disherited, if she beseech you of help.\"\n\nThen Sir Percivale promised her all the help that he might.  She\nthanked him, and since the weather was at that time hot, she bade a\ngentlewoman bring a pavilion.  So she did, and pitched it there upon\nthe gravel.  He slept a great while there in the heat of the day; and\nwhen he awoke, there was set before him upon a table all manner of\nmeats that he could think of.  Also he drank there the strongest wine\nthat ever he drank, him thought, and therewith he was a little heated\nmore than he ought to be.  With that he beheld the gentlewoman, and him\nthought that she was the fairest creature that ever he saw.\n\nWhen she saw him well refreshed, then she said, \"Sir Percivale, wit ye\nwell, I shall not fulfil your will, but if ye swear from henceforth to\nbe my true servant, and do nothing but that I shall command you.  Will\nye ensure me this as ye be a true knight?\"\n\nSir Percivale was on the point of promising her all, when by adventure\nand grace he saw his sword lie upon the ground, all naked, in whose\npommel was a red cross.  Then he bethought him of his knighthood and\nthe warning spoken toforehand by the good man, and he made the sign of\nthe cross in his forehead.  Thereupon the pavilion turned up-so-down,\nand changed unto a smoke and a black cloud.\n\nSir Percivale was adread at this, and cried aloud, \"Fair sweet Father,\nJesu Christ, let me not be shamed, that was nigh lost, had not Thy good\ngrace been!\"\n\nThen he looked upon the ship, and saw the damsel enter therein, which\nsaid, \"Sir Percivale, ye have betrayed me.\"  So she went with the wind\nroaring and yelling, that it seemed that all the water burned after her.\n\nThen Sir Percivale made great sorrow, and drew his sword unto him\nsaying, \"Since my flesh will be my master, I shall punish it.\"\nTherewith he stabbed himself through the thigh so that the blood\nstarted, and he said, \"O good Lord, take this in recompensation of that\nI have done against Thee, my Lord.\"  Then he clothed him and armed him,\nand called himself a wretch, saying, \"How nigh was I lost, and to have\nlost that I should never have gotten again, my honour as a pure man and\nworthy knight, for that may never be recovered after it is once lost.\"\n\nAs he thus made his moan, he saw the same ship come from the Orient\nthat the good man was in the day before, and the noble knight was\nashamed with himself, and therewith he fell in a swoon.  When he awoke\nhe went unto this good man weakly, and saluted him.  Then he asked Sir\nPercivale, \"How hast thou done since I departed?\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said he, \"here was a gentlewoman that led me into deadly sin,\"\nand there he told him all his temptation.\n\n\"Knew ye not the maid?\" said the good man.\n\n\"Sir,\" said he, \"nay; but well I wot the fiend sent her hither to shame\nme.\"\n\n\"Oh, good knight,\" said he, \"that gentlewoman was the master fiend of\nhell, the champion that thou foughtest withal, the which would have\novercome thee, had it not been for the grace of God.  Now, beware, Sir\nPercivale, and take this for an ensample.\"\n\nThen the good man vanished away, and Sir Percivale took his arms, and\nentered into the ship and so departed from thence.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXX\n\nTHE VICTORY OF SIR BORS OVER HIMSELF\n\nWhen Sir Bors was departed from Vagon, he met with a religious man\nriding on an ass, and Sir Bors saluted him.  Anon the good man knew him\nto be one of the knights errant that was in the quest of the Holy Grail.\n\n\"What are ye?\" said the good man.\n\n\"Sir,\" said he, \"I am a knight that fain would be counselled in the\nquest of the Holy Grail, for he shall have much earthly honour that may\nbring it to an end.\"\n\n\"Verily,\" said the good man, \"that is sooth, for he shall be the best\nknight of the world, and the fairest of all the fellowship.  But wit ye\nwell, there shall none attain it but by cleanness of heart and of life.\"\n\nSo rode they together till they came to a hermitage, and there he\nprayed Bors to dwell all that night with him.  So he alighted and put\naway his armour, and prayed him that he might be confessed.  So they\nwent into the chapel, and there he was clean confessed; and they ate\nbread and drank water together.\n\n\"Now,\" said the good man, \"I pray thee that thou eat none other, till\nthat thou sit at the table where the Holy Grail shall be.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said he, \"I agree thereto; but how wit ye that I shall sit\nthere?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the good man, \"that know I, but there shall be few of your\nfellowship with you.\"\n\n\"All is welcome,\" said Sir Bors, \"that God sendeth me.\"\n\nAlso the good man in sign of chastisement put on him a scarlet coat,\ninstead of his shirt, and found him in so vigorous a life, and so\nstable, that he marvelled, and felt that he was never corrupt in\nfleshly lusts.  Then Sir Bors put on his armour, and took his leave,\nand so departed.\n\nAfter he had ridden a day or two on his road, he met about the hour of\nnoon at the parting of two ways two knights, that led Lionel, his\nbrother, bound upon a strong hackney and his hands bound tofore his\nbreast.  Each of the two held in his hands thorns, wherewith they went\nbeating him so sore that the blood trailed down more than in a hundred\nplaces of his body.  But he said never a word, as he which was great of\nheart; he suffered all that ever they did to him as though he had felt\nnone anguish.\n\nAnon Sir Bors dressed him to rescue him that was his brother.  Just\nthen he chanced to look upon his other side, and saw a knight which\nbrought a fair gentlewoman, and would have dragged her into the\nthickest part of the forest out of the way of them that sought to\nrescue her.\n\nAnon she espied where Sir Bors came riding.  She deemed him a knight of\nthe Round Table, wherefore she hoped to have some comfort; and she\nconjured him by the faith that he owed unto him in whose service he had\nentered, and the fidelity he owed unto the high order of knighthood,\nand for the noble King Arthur's sake, to help her in her sore distress.\n\nWhen Sir Bors heard her cry, he had so much sorrow he knew not what to\ndo.  \"For,\" said he, \"if I let my brother be in adventure he must be\nslain, and that would I not for all the earth.  And if I help not the\nmaid in her peril, I am shamed for ever.\"  Then he lifted up his eyes,\nand said weeping, \"Fair Lord Jesu Christ, whose liege man I am, keep\nLionel my brother, that these knights slay him not; and for Mary's\nsake, I shall succour this maid.\"\n\nThen dressed he him unto the knight the which had the gentlewoman, and\ncried, \"Sir knight, let your hand off that maiden, or ye be but a dead\nman.\"\n\nThe knight set down the maiden, and drew out his sword, but Bors smote\nhim so hard that he beat him down to the earth.  Then came twelve\nknights seeking the gentlewoman, and anon she told them all how Bors\nhad delivered her.  They made great joy, and besought him to come to\nher father, a noble lord; but Bors had a great adventure in hand, and\nmight not delay.  So he commended them unto God, and departed.\n\nThen Sir Bors rode after Lionel his brother by the trace of their\nhorses.  He sought a great while; and at the last he overtook a man\nclothed in religious clothing, that told him Lionel was dead, and\nshowed him a slain body, lying in a thicket, that well seemed to him\nthe body of Lionel.  Then he made such a sorrow that he fell to the\nearth all in a swoon, and lay a great while there.\n\nWhen he came to himself he said, \"Fair brother, since the company of\nyou and me is parted, shall I never have joy in my heart; and now He\nwhich I have taken as to my Master, He be my help.\"\n\nWhen he had said thus, he took the body lightly in his arms and put it\nupon the bow of his saddle, and so rode to an old feeble chapel fast\nby, and put him into a tomb of marble.\n\nThen went Sir Bors from thence, and rode all that day, and then turned\nto a hermitage, at the entry of a forest.  There he found Lionel his\nbrother, which sat all armed at the chapel door.  For he was yet on\nlife, and a fiend had deceived Bors with the body left in the chapel,\nfor to put him in error so that he might not find the blessed adventure\nof the Holy Grail.\n\nWhen Sir Bors saw his brother alive he had great joy of him, that it\nwas marvel to tell of his joy.  And then he alighted off his horse, and\nsaid, \"Fair sweet brother, when came ye thither?\"\n\nAnon as Sir Lionel saw him he said, \"Ah, Bors, ye may make no boast.\nFor all you I might have been slain.  When ye saw two knights leading\nme away, beating me, ye left me for to succour a gentlewoman, and\nsuffered me to remain in peril of death.  Never before did any brother\nto another so great an untruth.  And for that misdeed now I ensure you\nbut death, for well have ye deserved it.  Therefore guard yourself from\nhenceforward, and that shall ye find needful as soon as I am armed.\"\n\nWhen Sir Bors understood his brother's wrath, he kneeled down to the\nearth and cried him mercy, holding up both his hands, and prayed him to\nforgive him his evil will; but Lionel would show no pity, and made his\navow to God that he should have only death.  Right so he went in and\nput on his harness; then he mounted upon his horse and came tofore him,\nand said, \"Bors, keep thee from me, for I shall do to thee as I would\nto a felon or a traitor, for ye be the untruest knight that ever came\nout of so worthy a house as was that of our father, King Bors of Ganis.\"\n\nWhen Sir Bors saw that he must fight with his brother or else die, he\nwist not what to do.  Then his heart counselled him not to fight,\ninasmuch as Lionel was born before him, wherefore he ought to bear him\nreverence.  Again kneeled he down afore Lionel's horse's feet, and\nsaid, \"Fair sweet brother, have mercy upon me and slay me not, and have\nin remembrance the great love which ought to be between us twain.\"\n\nWhat Sir Bors said Lionel recked not, for the fiend had brought him in\nsuch a will that he was determined to slay him.  Then when Lionel saw\nhe would none other, and that he would not rise to give him battle, he\nrushed over him, so that his horse's feet smote Bors to the earth, and\nhurt him so sore that he swooned of distress.  When Lionel saw this, he\nalighted from his horse to smite off his head.  So he took him by the\nhelm, and would have rent it from his head, had not the hermit come\nrunning unto him, which was a good man and of great age.  Well had he\nheard all the words that were between them, and so fell down upon Sir\nBors.\n\nThen he said to Lionel, \"Ah, gentle knight, have mercy upon me and on\nthy brother, for if thou slay him thou shalt commit a deadly sin, and\nthat were sorrowful; for he is one of the worthiest knights of the\nworld, and of the best conditions.\"\n\n\"So God me help,\" said Lionel, \"sir priest, unless ye flee from him I\nshall slay you, and he shall never the sooner be quit.\"\n\n\"Verily,\" said the good man, \"I had rather ye slay me than him, for my\ndeath shall not be great harm, not half so much as his.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Lionel, \"I am agreed\"; and he set his hand to his sword,\nand smote the hermit so hard that his head went backward.\n\nFor all that, he restrained him not of his evil will, but took his\nbrother by the helm, and unlaced it to strike off his head.  And he\nwould have slain him without fail, but so it happened that Colgrevance,\na fellow of the Round Table, came at that time thither, as our Lord's\nwill was.  First he saw the good man slain, then he beheld how Lionel\nwould slay his brother, whom he knew and loved right well.  Anon he\nsprang down and took Lionel by the shoulders, and drew him strongly\nback from Bors, and said, \"Lionel, will ye slay your brother, one of\nthe worthiest knights of the world?  That should no good man suffer.\"\n\n\"Why,\" said Sir Lionel, \"will ye hinder me?  If ye interfere in this, I\nshall slay you, and him after.\"\n\nThen Lionel ran upon Bors, and would have smitten him through the head,\nbut Sir Colgrevance ran betwixt them, and said, \"If ye be so hardy as\nto do so more, we two shall meddle together.\"\n\nThen Lionel defied him, and gave a great stroke through the helm.  Now\nColgrevance drew his sword, for he was a passing good knight, and\ndefended himself right manfully.  So long endured the battle that Sir\nBors awoke from his swoon, and rose up all anguishly, and beheld Sir\nColgrevance, the good knight, fight with his brother for his quarrel.\nThen was he full sorry and heavy, and would have risen to part them.\nBut he had not so much might as to stand on foot, and must abide so\nlong till Colgrevance had the worse, for Sir Lionel was of great\nchivalry and right hardy.\n\nOnly death awaited Colgrevance, when he beheld Sir Bors assaying to\nrise, and he cried, \"Ah, Bors, come ye and cast me out of peril of\ndeath, wherein I have put me to succour you, which were right now nigh\nto death.\"\n\nWhen Bors heard that, he did so much as to rise and put on his helm,\nmaking a marvellous sorrow at the sight of the dead hermit hard by.\nWith that Lionel smote Colgrevance so sore that he bare him to the\nearth.\n\nWhen he had slain Colgrevance, he ran upon his brother as a fiendly\nman, and gave him such a stroke that he made him stoop; and he, full of\nhumility, prayed him for God's love to leave this battle.  But Lionel\nwould not, and then Bors drew his sword, all weeping, and said, \"Fair\nbrother, God knoweth mine intent.  Ah, brother, ye have done full evil\nthis day to slay such a holy priest, the which never trespassed.  Also\nye have slain a gentle knight, one of our fellows.  And well wot ye\nthat I am not afraid of you greatly, but I dread the wrath of God.\nThis is an unkindly war; therefore may God show miracle upon us both.\nNow God have mercy upon me, though I defend my life against my brother.\"\n\nWith that Bors lifted up his hands, and would have smitten Lionel, but\neven then he heard a voice that said, \"Flee, Bors, and touch him not.\"\n\nRight so came a cloud betwixt them in likeness of a fire, so that both\ntheir shields burned.  Then were they sore afraid, and fell both to the\nearth, and lay there a great while in a swoon.  When they came to\nthemselves, Bors saw that his brother had no harm, wherefore he gave\nthanks, for he feared God had taken vengeance upon him.  With that he\nheard a voice say, \"Bors, go hence and bear thy brother no longer\nfellowship, but take thy way anon right to the sea, for Sir Percivale\nabideth thee there.\"\n\nSo Sir Bors departed from Lionel, and rode the next way to the sea.  On\nthe strand he found a ship covered all with white samite.  He alighted\nfrom his horse and entered into the ship, and anon it departed into the\nsea, and went so fast that him seemed the ship went flying.  Then he\nsaw in the midst of the ship a knight lie, all armed save his helm, and\nhe knew that it was Sir Percivale.  And either made great joy of other,\nthat it was marvel to hear.\n\nThen Sir Bors told Sir Percivale how he came into the ship, and by\nwhose admonishment, and either told other of his temptations, as ye\nhave heard toforehand.  So went they downward in the sea, one while\nbackward, another while forward, and each comforted other, and oft were\nthey in their prayers.  Then said Sir Percivale, \"We lack nothing but\nGalahad, the good knight.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXI\n\nHOW SIR LAUNCELOT FOUND THE HOLY GRAIL\n\nWhen the hermit had kept Sir Launcelot three days, he gat him a horse,\na helm, and a sword.  So he departed, and took the adventure that God\nwould send him.  On a night, as he slept, there came a vision unto him,\nand a voice said, \"Launcelot, arise up, and take thine armour, and\nenter into the first ship that thou shalt find.\"\n\nWhen he heard these words, he started up and saw great clearness about\nhim.  Then he lifted up his hand in worship, and so took his arms, and\nmade him ready.  By adventure he came by a strand, and found a ship,\nthe which was without sail or oar.  And as soon as he was within the\nship, he felt the most sweetness that ever he felt, and he was filled\nwith a peace such as he had never known before.  In this joy he laid\nhimself down on the ship's board, and slept till day.\n\nSo Sir Launcelot was a month and more on the ship, and if ye would ask\nhow he lived, as God fed the people of Israel with manna in the desert,\nso was he fed.  On a night he went to play him by the waterside, for he\nwas somewhat weary of the ship.  And then he listened, and heard a\nhorse come, and one riding upon him.  When he came nigh he seemed a\nknight, and soon he saw that it was Galahad.  And there was great joy\nbetween them, for there is no tongue can tell the joy that they made\neither of other; and there was many a friendly word spoken between\nthem, the which need not here be rehearsed.  And there each told other\nof the adventures and marvels that were befallen to them in many\njourneys since they were departed from the court.\n\nSo dwelled Launcelot and Galahad within that ship half a year, and\nserved God daily and nightly with all their power.  And often they\narrived in isles far from folk, where there repaired none but wild\nbeasts.  There they found many strange adventures and perilous, which\nthey brought to an end.  But because the adventures were with wild\nbeasts, and not in the quest of the Holy Grail, therefore the tale\nmaketh here no mention thereof, for it would be too long to tell of all\nthose adventures that befell them.\n\nThereafter it befell that they arrived in the edge of a forest tofore a\ncross, and then saw they a knight, armed all in white and richly\nhorsed, leading in his right hand a white horse.  He came to the ship\nand saluted the two knights on the high Lord's behalf, and said,\n\"Galahad, sir, ye have been long enough with Launcelot.  Come out of\nthe ship, and start upon this horse, and go where the adventures shall\nlead thee in the quest of the Holy Grail.\"\n\nSo Galahad took sorrowful leave of Sir Launcelot, for they knew that\none should never see the other before the dreadful day of doom.\nGalahad took his horse and entered into the forest, and the wind arose\nand drove Launcelot more than a month throughout the sea, where he\nslept little, but prayed to God that he might see some tidings of the\nHoly Grail.\n\nAnd it befell on a night, at midnight, he arrived afore a castle, on\nthe back side, which was rich and fair.  There was a postern opened\ntowards the sea, and was open without any keeping, save two lions kept\nthe entry; and the moon shone clear.  Anon Sir Launcelot heard a voice\nthat said, \"Launcelot, go out of this ship, and enter into the castle,\nwhere thou shalt see a great part of thy desire.\"\n\nThen he ran for his arms, and so he went to the gate, and saw the\nlions.  He set his hand to his sword, and drew it, whereupon there came\na dwarf suddenly, and smote him on the arm so sore that the sword fell\nout of his hand.  Then heard he a voice say, \"Oh, man of evil faith and\npoor belief, wherefore trowest thou more on thy harness than in thy\nMaker?  He in whose service thou art set might more avail thee than\nthine armour.\"\n\nThen said Launcelot, \"Fair Father Jesu Christ, I thank thee of Thy\ngreat mercy, that Thou reprovest me of my misdeed.  Now see I well that\nye hold me for your servant.\"\n\nThen took he again his sword, and put it up in his sheath, and came to\nthe lions, and they made semblant[1] to do him harm.  Notwithstanding\nhe passed by them without hurt, and entered into the castle to the\nchief fortress, and there were all at rest.  Launcelot entered in so\narmed, for he found no gate nor door but it was open.  At last he found\na chamber whereof the door was shut, and he set his hand thereto to\nopen it, but he might not, though he enforced himself much to undo the\ndoor.\n\nThen he listened, and heard a voice which sang so sweetly that it\nseemed none earthly thing.  Launcelot kneeled down tofore the chamber,\nfor well wist he that there was the Holy Grail within that chamber.\nThen said he: \"Fair sweet Father Jesu Christ, if ever I did thing that\npleased Thee, for Thy pity have me not in despite for my sins done\naforetime, and show me something of that I seek!\"\n\nWith that he saw the chamber door open, and there came out a great\nclearness, so that the house was as bright as if all the torches of the\nworld had been there.  So came he to the chamber door, and would have\nentered, but anon a voice said to him, \"Flee, Launcelot, and enter not,\nfor thou oughtest not to do it; and if thou enter thou shalt repent it.\"\n\nHe withdrew himself back right heavy, and then looked he up in the\nmidst of the chamber, and saw a table of silver, and the holy vessel\ncovered with red samite, and many angels about it.  Right so came he to\nthe door at a great pace, entered into the chamber, and drew towards\nthe table of silver.\n\nWhen he came nigh he felt a breath that seemed intermingled with fire,\nwhich smote him so sore in the visage that he thought it burned his\nvisage.  Therewith he fell to the earth, and had no power to arise.\nThen felt he many hands about him, which took him up and bare him out\nof the chamber door, and left him there seeming dead to all people.\n\nUpon the morrow, when it was fair day, they within were arisen, and\nfound Launcelot lying afore the chamber door, and all they marvelled\nhow he came in.  They looked upon him, and felt his pulse, to wit\nwhether there were any life in him.  And so they found life in him, but\nhe might neither stand nor stir any limb that he had.  They took him\nup, and bare him into a chamber, and laid him in a rich bed, far from\nall folk, and so he lay still as a dead man four and twenty days, in\npunishment, he afterwards thought, for the twenty-four years that he\nhad been a sinner.\n\nAt the twenty-fifth day it befell that he opened his eyes, and the folk\nasked how it stood with him.  He answered that he was whole of body,\nand then he would know where he was.  They told him he was in the\ncastle of Carboneck, and that the quest of the Holy Grail had been\nachieved by him, and that he should never see the sacred vessel more\nnearly than he had seen it.\n\nSoon Sir Launcelot took his leave of all the fellowship that were there\nat the castle, and thanked them for the great labour.  So he took his\narmour and departed, and said that he would go back to the realm of\nLogris.\n\n\n\n[1] Made semblant: threatened.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXII\n\nTHE END OF THE QUEST\n\nNow, saith the story, Sir Galahad rode into a vast forest, wherein he\nrode many journeys, and he found many adventures, the which he brought\nto an end, whereof the story maketh here no mention.  And on a day it\nbefell him that he was benighted in a hermitage.  The good man there\nwas glad when he saw a knight-errant, and made him what cheer he might.\nThen when they were at rest, there came a gentlewoman knocking at the\ndoor, and called Galahad.  So the hermit came to the door to wit what\nshe would, and she said to him that she would speak with the knight\nthat was lodged there.  The good man awoke Galahad, and bade him arise\nand speak with a gentlewoman that seemed to have great need of him.\n\nThen Galahad went to her, and asked her what she would.  \"Galahad,\"\nsaid she, \"I will that ye arm you, and mount upon your horse and follow\nme, for I shall show you within these three days the highest adventure\nthat ever any knight saw.\"  Anon Galahad armed him, and took his horse,\nand bade the gentlewoman go, and he would follow as she liked.\n\nSo she rode as fast as her palfrey might bear her, till they came to\nthe seaside, and there they found the ship wherein were Bors and\nPercivale, the which cried on the ship's board, \"Sir Galahad, ye be\nwelcome; we have awaited you long.\"\n\nSo, leaving his horse behind, Galahad entered into the ship, where the\ntwo knights received him with great joy.  And the wind arose, and drove\nthem through the sea marvellously.\n\nNow saith the story that they rode a great while till they came to the\ncastle of Carboneck, where Sir Launcelot had been tofore.  They entered\nwithin the castle, and then there was great joy, for they wist well\nthat they had fulfilled the quest of the Holy Grail.\n\nAs they were alone in the hall, it seemed to them that there came a\nman, in likeness of a bishop, with four angels from heaven, and held\nmass about a table of silver, whereupon the Holy Grail was.  And in a\nvision they saw in the bread of the sacrament a figure in likeness of a\nchild, and the visage was as bright as any fire.\n\nThen said the bishop to them, \"Servants of Jesu Christ, ye shall be fed\nafore this table with sweet food, that never knights tasted.\"\n\nWhen he had said, he vanished away; and they sat them at the table in\ngreat reverence, and made their prayers.  Then looked they, and saw a\nman that had all the signs of the passion of Jesu Christ, and he said:\n\"My knights and my servants and my true children, which be come out of\ndeadly life into spiritual life, I will now no longer hide me from you,\nbut ye shall see now a part of my secrets and of my hid things; now\nhold and receive the high meat which ye have so much desired.\"\n\nThen took He Himself the holy vessel, and came to Galahad, who knelt\ndown and there he received the sacrament, and after him so received all\nhis fellows; and they thought it so sweet that it was marvellous to\ntell.\n\nThen said He to Galahad, \"Son, knowest thou what I hold betwixt my\nhands?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said he, \"unless ye will tell me.\"\n\n\"This is,\" said He, \"the holy dish wherein I ate the lamb at the Last\nSupper.  And now hast thou seen that thou most desiredst to see, but\nyet hast thou not seen it so openly as thou shalt see it in the city of\nSarras, in the spiritual place.  Therefore thou must go hence, and bear\nwith thee this holy vessel, for this night it shall depart from the\nrealm of Logris, that it shall never be seen more here.  And knowest\nthou wherefore?  Because they of this land be turned to evil living;\ntherefore I shall disinherit them of the honour which I have done them.\nTherefore go ye three unto the sea, where ye shall find your ship\nready.\"\n\nRight so departed Galahad, Percivale and Bors with him.  They rode\nthree days, and then they came to a rivage[1], where they found the\nship whereof the tale speaketh tofore.  When they came to the board,\nthey found in the midst the table of silver, which they had left in the\ncastle of Carboneck, and the Holy Grail, which was covered with red\nsamite.  Then were they glad to have such things in their fellowship.\n\nThey had remained some time in the ship, when they awoke of a morning\nto see the city of Sarras afore them.  Here they landed, and took out\nof the ship the table of silver, Percivale and Bors going tofore and\nGalahad behind.  Right so they went to the city, and at the gate of the\ncity they saw an old bent man.  Then Galahad called him, and bade him\nhelp to bear this heavy thing.\n\n\"Truly,\" said the old man, \"it is ten years since I might go without\ncrutches.\"\n\n\"Care thou not,\" said Galahad; \"arise up and show thy good will.\"\n\nSo he assayed, and found himself as whole as ever he was.  Then ran he\nto the table, and took one part opposite Galahad.\n\nAnon arose there great noise in the city, that a cripple was made whole\nby knights marvellous that entered into the city.  When the king of the\ncity, which was called Estorause, saw the fellowship, he asked them\nfrom whence they were, and what thing it was that they had brought upon\nthe table of silver.  And they told him the truth of the Holy Grail,\nand the power which God had set there.\n\nNow King Estorause was a tyrant, and was come of a line of pagans.  He\ntook the three knights and put them in a deep hole.  But as soon as\nthey were there our Lord sent them the Holy Grail, through whose grace\nthey were always satisfied while that they were in prison.\n\nAt the year's end it befell that this king lay sick, and felt that he\nshould die.  Then he sent for the three knights.  They came afore him,\nand he cried them mercy of that he had done to them, and they forgave\nit him goodly, and he died anon.\n\nWhen the king was dead, all the city was dismayed, and wist not who\nmight be their king.  Right so as they were in counsel, there came a\nvoice among them, and bade them choose the youngest knight of them\nthere to be their king, for he should well maintain them and all\ntheirs.  So they made Galahad king by all the assent of the whole city.\n\nWhen he was come to behold the land, he let make about the table of\nsilver a chest of gold and of precious stones that covered the holy\nvessel; and every day early the three fellows would come afore it and\nmake their prayers.\n\nNow at the year's end the three knights arose early and came to the\npalace, and saw before them the holy vessel, and a man kneeling, in\nlikeness of a bishop, that had about him a great fellowship of angels.\nAnd he called Galahad and said to him, \"Come forth, thou servant of\nJesu Christ, and thou shalt see that thou hast much desired to see.\"\n\nThen Galahad began to tremble right hard, when the deadly flesh began\nto behold the spiritual things.  Then he held up his hands towards\nheaven, and said, \"Lord, I thank Thee, for now I see what hath been my\ndesire many a day.  Now, blessed Lord, would I not longer live, if it\nmight please thee, Lord.\"\n\nTherewith the good man took the sacrament and proffered it to Galahad,\nand he received it right gladly and meekly.\n\n\"Now, wotest thou what I am?\" said the good man; \"I am Joseph of\nArimathea, which our Lord hath sent here to thee to bear thee\nfellowship.  And wotest thou wherefore He hath sent me more than any\nother?  For thou hast resembled me in two things, in that thou hast\nseen the marvels of the Holy Grail, and in that thou hast been a clean\nand virtuous knight, as I have been and am.\"\n\nWhen these words had been spoken, Galahad went to Percivale and to Bors\nand kissed them and commended them to God, and said, \"Salute me to my\nlord Sir Launcelot, and bid him remember of this unstable world.\"\n\nTherewith he kneeled down tofore the table and made his prayers, and\nthen suddenly his soul departed to Jesu Christ, and a great multitude\nof angels bare his soul up to heaven, and the two fellows might well\nbehold it.  Also they saw come from heaven a hand, but they saw not the\nbody; and it came right to the vessel, and took it, and bare it up to\nheaven.  Since then was there never man so hard as to say that he had\nseen the Holy Grail.\n\nWhen Percivale and Bors saw Galahad had died, they made as much sorrow\nas ever did two men; and if they had not been good men, they might\nlightly have fallen in despair.  And the people of the country and of\nthe city were right heavy.  And then he was buried.  And as soon as he\nwas buried, Sir Percivale betook himself to a hermitage out of the\ncity, where for a year and two months he lived a full holy life, and\nthen passed out of this world.\n\nWhen Bors saw that he was alone in so far countries, he departed from\nSarras and came to the sea.  There he entered into a ship, and so it\nbefell that in good adventure he came into the realm of Logris.  And he\nrode to Camelot, where King Arthur was, and then was there great joy\nmade of him in the court, for they believed all that he was dead,\nforasmuch as he had been so long out of the country.\n\nWhen they had eaten, the King made great clerks to come afore him, that\nthey should chronicle of the high adventures of the good knights.  When\nBors had told of the adventures of the Holy Grail, such as had befallen\nhim and his two fellows, that was Percivale and Galahad, then Launcelot\ntold the adventures of the Holy Grail that he had seen.  All this was\nmade in great books, and put in chests at Salisbury.\n\n\n\n[1] Rivage: bank; shore.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIII\n\nSIR LAUNCELOT AND THE FAIR MAID OF ASTOLAT\n\nAfter the quest of the Holy Grail was fulfilled, and all knights that\nwere left alive were come again unto the Table Round, then was there\ngreat joy in the court, and in especial King Arthur and Queen Guenever\nmade great joy of the remnant that were come home.  Passing glad were\nthe King and the Queen of Sir Launcelot and of Sir Bors, for they had\nbeen long away in the quest of the Holy Grail.\n\nThen, as the book saith, Sir Launcelot began to resort unto Queen\nGuenever again, and forgat the promise that he made in the quest.  For,\nhad he not been in his privy thoughts and in his mind so set inwardly\nto the Queen, as he was in seeming outward to God, there had no knight\npassed him in the quest of the Holy Grail.  But ever his thoughts were\nprivily on the Queen, more than toforehand, so that many in the court\nspake of it, and in especial Sir Agravaine, Sir Gawaine's brother, for\nhe was ever open mouthed.\n\nThus it passed forth till on a day the King let cry great jousts and a\ntournament that should be at Camelot, that is Winchester, and thither\ncame many knights.  So King Arthur made him ready to depart to these\njousts, and would have had the Queen with him, but she would not go,\npretending to be sick.  This grieved the King, for such a fellowship of\nknights had not been seen together since the Whitsuntide when Galahad\ndeparted from the court.  And many deemed the Queen would not be there\nbecause of Sir Launcelot of the Lake, who would not ride with the King,\nfor he said he was not whole of a wound.\n\nSo when the King was departed, the Queen called Sir Launcelot unto her,\nand told him he was greatly to blame, thus to hold himself behind his\nlord, and counselled him to take his way towards the tournament at\nWinchester.  So upon the morn he took his leave of the Queen, and\ndeparted.  He rode all that day, and at eventide he came to Astolat,\nthat is Gilford, and was lodged at the place of an old baron, named Sir\nBernard of Astolat.  The old knight welcomed him in the best manner,\nbut he knew not that he was Sir Launcelot.\n\n\"Fair sir,\" said Sir Launcelot to his host, \"I would pray you to lend\nme a shield that is not openly known, for mine be well known, and I\nwould go to the tournament in disguise.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said his host, \"ye shall have your desire, for me seemeth ye be\none of the likeliest knights of the world, and I shall show you\nfriendship.  Sir, wit ye well I have two sons which were but late made\nknights.  The eldest is called Sir Tirre, and he was hurt that same day\nthat he was made knight, so that he may not ride.  His shield ye shall\nhave, for that is not known, I dare say, except in this place.  And my\nyoungest son is named Sir Lavaine, and if it please you, he shall ride\nwith you unto the jousts, for he is of his age strong and brave.  Much\nmy heart leads me to believe that ye should be a noble knight;\ntherefore I pray you tell me your name.\"\n\n\"As for that,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"ye must hold me excused at his\ntime, but if God give me grace to speed well at the jousts, I shall\ncome again and tell you.  But I pray you in any wise let me have your\nson Sir Lavaine with me, and his brother's shield.\"\n\n\"This shall be done,\" said Sir Bernard.\n\nThis old baron had a daughter, Elaine le Blank, that was called at that\ntime the Fair Maid of Astolat.  Ever she beheld Sir Launcelot\nadmiringly, and, as the book saith, she cast such a love unto him that\nshe could never withdraw her love, so she besought him to wear at the\njousts a token of hers.  \"Fair damsel,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"if I grant\nyou that, ye may say I do more for your love than ever I did for lady\nor damsel.\"\n\n[Illustration: Elaine]\n\nThen he remembered that he would go to the jousts disguised; and\nbecause he had never afore that time borne any manner of token of any\ndamsel, he bethought him that he would bear one of her, so that none of\nhis blood thereby might know him.  And then he said, \"Fair maiden, I\nwill grant you to wear a token of yours upon my helmet; therefore, show\nme what it is.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" she said, \"it is a red sleeve of mine, of scarlet, well\nembroidered with great pearls.\"\n\nSo she brought it him, and Sir Launcelot received it, saying that he\nhad never done so much for any damsel.  Then he left his shield in the\nfair maiden's keeping, and prayed her to care for it until that he came\nagain.  So that night he had merry rest and great cheer, for ever the\ndamsel Elaine was about Sir Launcelot, all the while she might be\nsuffered.\n\nOn the morn Sir Launcelot and Sir Lavaine took their leave of Sir\nBernard, the old baron, and of his daughter, the Fair Maiden of\nAstolat, and then they rode so long till they came to Camelot.  There\nwas great press of kings, dukes, earls, and barons, and many noble\nknights; but there Sir Launcelot was lodged privily, by the means of\nSir Lavaine, with a rich burgess, so that no man in that town was ware\nwhat they were.\n\nAt the time appointed the jousts began, and Sir Launcelot made him\nready in his best manner, and put the red sleeve upon his head, and\nfastened it fast.  Then he with Sir Lavaine came in at the thickest of\nthe press, and did marvellous deeds of arms, so that all wondered what\nknight he might be.  Sir Gawaine said it might be Sir Launcelot by his\nriding and his buffets, but ever it seemed it should not be he, for he\nbore the red sleeve upon his head, and he never wist Sir Launcelot bear\ntoken of lady or gentleman at any jousts.\n\nAt the last by misfortune Sir Bors unhorsed Sir Launcelot, and smote\nhim through the shield into the side; and the spear brake, and the head\nwas left still in his side.  But Sir Lavaine by great force took the\nhorse from the King of Scots and brought it to his lord, Sir Launcelot,\nand in spite of them all he made him to mount upon that horse.  Then\nLauncelot gat a spear in his hand, and then he smote Sir Bors horse and\nman to the earth.  In the same wise served he other knights, and, as\nthe book saith, he might have slain them, but his heart might not serve\nhim thereto, and he left them there.\n\nThen afterwards he hurled in the thickest press of them all, and did\nthere the marvellousest deeds of arms that ever man saw or heard speak\nof; and ever Sir Lavaine, the good knight, was with him.  And there Sir\nLauncelot with his sword smote and pulled down, as the French book\nmaketh mention, more than thirty knights, and the most part were of the\nTable Round.  And Sir Lavaine also did full well that day.\n\nAt the last the King blew unto lodging, and the prize was given by\nheralds unto the knight with the white shield, that bare the red\nsleeve.  But Sir Launcelot was sore hurt, and cared not for honour; and\ngroaning piteously, he rode at a great gallop away-ward from all the\nknights, until he came under a wood's side.  When he saw that he was\nfrom the field nigh a mile, so that he was sure he might not be seen,\nhe besought Sir Lavaine as he loved him to draw the truncheon out of\nhis side.  This Sir Lavaine dreaded sore to do, lest Sir Launcelot\nshould be in peril of death from loss of blood, if the truncheon were\ndrawn out.  Yet he did as his lord would have him do, and Sir Launcelot\ngave a great shriek, and so swooned pale and deadly.\n\nThereupon Sir Lavaine took him to a hermitage fast by within two miles,\nwhere dwelt a gentle hermit, that sometime was a full noble knight and\na great lord of possessions.  For great goodness he had taken himself\nto wilful poverty, and forsaken many lands.  He was a full noble\nsurgeon, and anon he stanched Sir Launcelot's blood, and made him to\ndrink good wine, so that he was well refreshed, and came to himself.\n\nMeanwhile King Arthur let seek the knight that bare the red sleeve,\nthat he might have his laud and honour, and the prize, as was right.\nBut he could not be found, and the King and all the knights feared he\nwas sore hurt in the battle.  Then Sir Gawaine took a squire with him\nand drove all about Camelot within six or seven miles, but could hear\nno word of him.\n\nThen within two days King Arthur and all the fellowship returned unto\nLondon again, and so, as they rode by the way, it happened that Sir\nGawaine was lodged at Astolat with Sir Bernard.  There by the means of\nthe shield left in Elaine's care he learned that the knight who won\nsuch honour at the tournament was none other than Sir Launcelot\nhimself, and the Fair Maid of Astolat learned on how valiant a knight\nshe had fixed her love.\n\nWhen Elaine heard also that Sir Launcelot was grievously wounded and\nthat the knights knew not where he lay, she said to Sir Bernard, her\nfather: \"Now I request you give me leave to ride and to seek him, or\nelse I wot well I shall go out of my mind, for I shall never stop till\nthat I find him and my brother, Sir Lavaine.\"\n\n\"Do as it liketh you,\" said her father, \"for I am right sore grieved of\nthe hurt of that noble knight.\"\n\nRight so the maid made herself ready, and Sir Gawaine rode on to\nLondon, where he openly disclosed to all the court that it was Sir\nLauncelot that bore the red sleeve, and that jousted best.  And when\nSir Bors heard that, wit ye well he was a heavy man, and so were all\nhis kinsmen, for it was he who had given Sir Launcelot, that was his\nown cousin, the grievous wound in the tournament.  But when Queen\nGuenever wist that Sir Launcelot bare the red sleeve of the Fair Maid\nof Astolat, she was nigh out of her mind for wrath, and called him\nfalse traitor, because he had worn the token of any lady but herself.\n\nAs fair Elaine came to Winchester, she sought there all about, and by\nfortune Sir Lavaine had ridden out to refresh himself and to exercise\nhis horse.  Anon as Elaine saw him she knew him, and then she cried\naloud unto him.  When he heard her, anon he came hither, and then she\nasked her brother how Sir Launcelot did.\n\n\"Who told you, sister,\" said he, \"that my lord's name is Sir Launcelot?\"\n\nThen she told him how Sir Gawaine knew him by his shield, and so they\nrode together till they came to the hermitage.  Anon she alighted, and\nSir Lavaine brought her in to Sir Launcelot.  So this maiden, Elaine,\nnever went from Sir Launcelot, but watched him day and night, and did\nsuch attendance to him that the French book saith there was never woman\ndid kindlier for man than she.\n\nAfter a long while he was healed of his wounds, and so upon a morn they\ntook their horses, and Elaine le Blank with them, and departed from the\nhermit.  And when they came to Astolat, there they were well lodged,\nand had great cheer of Sir Bernard the old baron, and of Sir Tirre his\nson.\n\nWhen Sir Launcelot should depart from Astolat for to return to King\nArthur's court, fair Elaine seemed like to die for love of him and for\nsorrow at his going.  But Sir Launcelot loved only Queen Guenever, and\nthought never to be wedded man, and could only grieve at her great\nsorrow; and for her good will and great kindness he promised that,\nwhensoever she should set her heart upon some good knight that would\nwed her, he would give her a thousand pounds yearly, and always while\nhe lived be her own true knight.\n\nThen Sir Launcelot took his leave, and with Sir Lavaine he came unto\nWinchester.  And when Arthur wist that Sir Launcelot was come whole and\nsound, he made great joy of him, and so did all the knights of the\nRound Table except Sir Agravaine and Sir Mordred.\n\nNow speak we of the Fair Maiden of Astolat, that made such sorrow day\nand night that she never slept, ate, or drank, and ever she made her\nlament for Sir Launcelot.  When she had thus endured a ten days, and\nweakened so that she must needs pass out of this world, she prepared\nfor death, but ever she mourned for Sir Launcelot.\n\nThen her priest bade her leave such thoughts; but she said, \"Why should\nI leave such thoughts?  Am I not an earthly woman?  And all the while\nthe breath is in my body I may lament, for I do none offence, though I\nlove an earthly man, and I take God to my record I never loved any but\nSir Launcelot of the Lake, and as I am a pure maiden I never shall.\nAnd since it is the sufferance of God that I shall die for the love of\nso noble a knight, I beseech the High Father of Heaven to have mercy\nupon my soul; and sweet Lord Jesu, I take Thee to record, I was never\ngreat offender against Thy laws, but that I loved this noble knight Sir\nLauncelot out of measure, and of myself, good Lord, I might not\nwithstand the fervent love wherefore I have my death.\"\n\nThen she called her father Sir Bernard and her brother Sir Tirre, and\nheartily she prayed her father that her brother might write a letter\nlike as she did endite it, and so her father granted her.  And when the\nletter was written word by word as she devised, then she prayed her\nfather that after her death she might be put in a barge in all her\nrichest clothes, the letter fast in her right hand, and that the barge,\ncovered over and over with black samite, might be steered by one\nboatman only down the Thames to Westminster.\n\nSo she died, and all was done as she desired.  Now by fortune King\nArthur and Queen Guenever were speaking together at a window of the\npalace, and as they looked they espied this black barge, and had marvel\nwhat it meant.  And the King sent three knights thither to bring him\nready word what was there.  Then these three knights came to the barge,\nand found therein the fairest corpse lying in a rich bed, and a poor\nman sitting at the barge's end, and no word would he speak.  Then the\nKing took the Queen by the hand and went thither, and there they saw\nthe fair woman in all the rich clothing lying as though she smiled.\nAnd the Queen espied the letter in her right hand, and a clerk read it\nin the presence of many knights.\n\nThis was the intent of the letter: \"Most noble knight Sir Launcelot,\nnow hath death made us two at debate for your love.  I was your lover,\nthat men called the Fair Maiden of Astolat; therefore unto all ladies I\nmake my moan; yet pray for my soul, and bury me at the least, and offer\nmy mass-penny.  This is my last request.  And a clean maiden I died, I\ntake God to witness.  Pray for my soul, Sir Launcelot, as thou art\npeerless.\"\n\nWhen the letter was read, the King, the Queen, and all the knights wept\nfor pity at the doleful lament.  Then was Sir Launcelot sent for, and\nwhen he heard the letter word by word, he said: \"My lord Arthur, wit ye\nwell I am right heavy of the death of this fair damsel, but God knoweth\nI was never cause of her death by my willing.  I will not say but that\nshe was both fair and good, and much I was beholden unto her, but she\nloved me out of measure.\"\n\nThen said the King unto Sir Launcelot, \"It will be your honour that ye\noversee that she be interred honourably.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"that shall be done as I can best devise.\"\n\nSo upon the morn she was interred richly, and Sir Launcelot offered her\nmass-penny, and all the knights of the Table Round that were there at\nthat time offered with Sir Launcelot.\n\nAnd the Queen sent for Sir Launcelot, and prayed him of mercy, because\nshe had been wroth with him causeless, and he willingly forgave her.\n\nSo it passed on all that winter with all manner of hunting and hawking,\nand jousts and tourneys were many betwixt the great lords; and ever in\nall places Sir Lavaine gat great honour, so that he was nobly renowned\namong many knights of the Table Round.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIV\n\nOF THE GREAT TOURNAMENT ON CANDLEMAS DAY\n\nAt Christmas time many knights were together at the court, and every\nday there was a joust made.  Sir Lavaine jousted there all that\nChristmas passing well, and was praised best, for there were but few\nthat did so well.  Wherefore all knights thought that Sir Lavaine\nshould be made knight of the Round Table at the next feast of Pentecost.\n\nBut Sir Launcelot would joust only when a great tournament was held.\nSo after Christmas King Arthur had many knights called unto him, and\nthere they agreed together to make a party and a great tournament near\nWestminster on Candlemas Day.  Of this many knights were glad, and made\nthemselves ready to be at these jousts in the freshest manner.  The\nQueen Guenever sent for Sir Launcelot, and said: \"At these jousts that\nshall be ye shall bear upon your helmet the sleeve of gold that ye\nshall have of me, and I pray you, for my sake exert yourself there so\nthat men may speak of your honour.\"\n\n\"Madam,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"it shall be done.\"\n\nAnd when Sir Launcelot saw his time, he told Sir Bors that he would\ndepart, and have no others with him than Sir Lavaine, unto the good\nhermit that dwelt in the forest of Windsor,--his name was Sir\nBrastias,--and there he intended to take all the repose he might,\nbecause he wished to be fresh on the day of the jousts.\n\nSo Sir Launcelot with Sir Lavaine departed so quietly that no creature\nexcept the noble men of his own kin knew what had become of him.  And\nwhen he had come to the hermitage, you may be sure he had good cheer.\nDaily he would go to a spring hard by the hermitage, and there he would\nlie down and watch the spring bubble, and sometimes he slept there.\n\nAt that time a lady dwelt in the forest, who was a great huntress.\nEvery day she used to hunt, and no men ever went with her, but always\nwomen.  They were all shooters, and could well kill a deer both under\ncover and in the open.  They always carried bows and arrows, horns and\nwood-knives, and many good dogs they had.\n\nNow it happened that this lady, the huntress, was one day chasing a\ndeer, keeping the direction by the noise of the hounds.  The deer, hard\npressed, came down to the spring where Sir Launcelot was sleeping, and\nthere sank down exhausted, and lay there a great while.  At length the\ndogs came fast after, and beat about, for they had lost the very\nperfect track of the deer.  Just then there came that lady, the\nhuntress, who knew by the sounds of the dogs that the deer must be at\nthe spring.  So she came swiftly and found the deer.  She put a broad\narrow in her bow, and shot at it, but aimed too high, and so by\nmisfortune the arrow smote Sir Launcelot deep in the thick of the\nthigh.  When Sir Launcelot felt himself so hurt, he jumped up madly,\nand saw the lady that had smitten him.  And when he saw it was a woman,\nhe said thus; \"Lady or damsel, whatever thou be, in an evil time ye\nbare a bow; the devil made you a shooter.\"\n\n\"Now mercy, fair sir,\" said the lady; \"I am a gentlewoman that am wont\nto hunt here in this forest, and truly I saw you not; there was the\ndeer by the spring, and I believed I was doing well to shoot, but my\nhand swerved.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"ye have done mischief to me.\"\n\nAnd so the lady departed, and Sir Launcelot, as well as he might,\npulled out the arrow, but the head remained still in his thigh; and so\nhe went feebly to the hermitage, ever bleeding as he went.  And when\nSir Lavaine and the hermit spied that Sir Launcelot was hurt, wit ye\nwell they were passing sorry; but neither Sir Lavaine nor the hermit\nknew how he was hurt, or by whom.  Then with great pain the hermit gat\nthe arrow's head out of Sir Launcelot's thigh, but much of his blood\nwas shed, and the wound was passing sore.\n\n\"Ah, mercy,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"I call myself the most unhappy man\nthat liveth; for ever when I would most gladly have honour there\nbefalleth me some unhappy thing.  Now, so heaven help me, I shall be in\nthe field upon Candlemas Day at the jousts, whatsoever come of it.\"\n\nSo all that might heal Sir Launcelot was gotten, and, when the day\ncame, he and Sir Lavaine had themselves and their horses arrayed, and\nso departed and came nigh to the field.  Many proved good knights with\ntheir retainers were there ready to joust, and King Arthur himself came\ninto the field with two hundred knights, the most part noble knights of\nthe Table Round.  And there were old knights set in scaffolds, for to\njudge with the Queen who did best.\n\nThen they blew to the field, and the knights met in the battle,\nfuriously smiting down one and another in the rush of the tournament.\nKing Arthur himself ran into the lists with a hundred followers,\nsmiting to the earth four knights, one after the other, and even when\nhis spear was broken he did passing well.  And so knight after knight\ncame in,--Sir Gawaine, and Sir Gaheris, and Sir Agravaine, and Sir\nMordred, and many others; all pressed their opponents hard, some being\ndiscomfited and others gaining great honour by their mighty prowess.\n\nAll this doing Sir Launcelot saw, and then he came into the field with\nSir Lavaine, as if it had been thunder.  He encountered with Sir\nGawaine, and by force smote him and his horse to the earth, and then\none knight after another all with one spear.  And Sir Lavaine\nencountered with Sir Palamides, and either met other so hard and so\nfiercely that both their horses fell to the earth.  But they were\nhorsed again, and then Sir Launcelot met with Sir Palamides, and there\nSir Palamides had a fall.  And so Sir Launcelot, as fast as he could\nget spears, smote down thirty knights, and the most part of them were\nknights of the Table Round.  And then King Arthur was wroth when he saw\nSir Launcelot do such deeds, and with nine chosen knights made ready to\nset upon Sir Launcelot and Sir Lavaine.\n\nAll this espied Sir Gareth, and he said to Sir Bors, \"I will ride unto\nmy lord Sir Launcelot for to help him, fall of it what may, for he is\nthe same man that made me knight.\"\n\n\"Ye shall not so,\" said Sir Bors, \"by my counsel, unless ye be\ndisguised.\"\n\n\"Ye shall see me disguised,\" said Sir Gareth.\n\nSo he rode to a Welsh knight who lay to repose himself, for he was sore\nhurt afore by Sir Gawaine, and Sir Gareth prayed him of his knighthood\nto lend him his green shield for his.\n\n\"I will well,\" said the Welsh knight.\n\nSo Sir Gareth came driving to Sir Launcelot with all his might, and\nbore him fellowship for old love he had shown him.  And so the King and\nhis nine knights encountered with Sir Launcelot and Sir Lavaine and Sir\nGareth.  And Sir Gareth did such deeds of arms that all men wondered\nwhat knight he was with the green shield; for he smote down that day\nand pulled down more than thirty knights.  Also Sir Launcelot knew not\nSir Gareth, and marvelled, when he beheld him do such deeds, what\nknight he might be.\n\nSo this tournament and this joust lasted long, till it was near\nevening, for the knights of the Round Table ever came to the relief of\nKing Arthur, who was wroth out of measure that he and his knights could\nnot prevail that day over Sir Launcelot and the knights who were with\nhim.\n\nSo when they had long dealt one another great strokes and neither might\nprevail, King Arthur said to Sir Gawaine, \"Tell me now, nephew, what is\nyour best counsel?\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said Sir Gawaine, \"ye shall have my counsel.  Have sounded the\ncall unto lodging, for, trust me, truly it will be of no avail to\nstrive with Sir Launcelot of the Lake and my brother, Sir Gareth,--for\nhe it is with the green shield,--helped as they are by that good young\nknight, Sir Lavaine, unless we should fall ten or twelve upon one\nknight, and that would be no honour, but shame.\"\n\n\"Ye say truth,\" said the King, \"and it were shame to us, so many as we\nare, to set upon them any more.\"\n\nSo then they blew unto lodging, and King Arthur rode after Sir\nLauncelot and prayed him and other of the knights to supper.\n\nSo they went unto Arthur's lodging all together, and there was a great\nfeast and great revel, and the prize was given unto Sir Launcelot.\nThen Sir Launcelot told the King and the Queen how the lady huntress\nshot him in the forest of Windsor in the thigh with a broad arrow.\nAlso Arthur blamed Sir Gareth, because he left his fellowship and held\nwith Sir Launcelot.\n\n\"My lord,\" said Sir Gareth, \"he made me a knight, and when I saw him so\nhard bestead, me thought it was my honour to help him, for I saw him do\nso much, and I was ashamed to see so many noble knights against him\nalone.\"\n\n\"Truly,\" said King Arthur unto Sir Gareth, \"ye say well, and honourably\nhave ye done, and all the days of my life be sure I shall love you and\ntrust you the more for the great honour ye have done to yourself.  For\never it is an honourable knight's duty to help another honourable\nknight when he seeth him in a great danger, for ever an honourable man\nwill be loath to see an honourable man put to shame.  He that is of no\nhonour, and fareth with cowardice, will never show gentleness nor any\nmanner of goodness where he seeth a man in any danger, for never will a\ncoward show any mercy, and always a good man will do to another man as\nhe would be done to himself.\"\n\nSo then there were great feasts unto kings and dukes; and revel, game,\nand play, and all manner of nobleness was used; and he that was\ncourteous, true, and faithful to his friend was at that time cherished.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXV\n\nQUEEN GUENEVER'S MAY-DAY RIDE AND WHAT CAME OF IT\n\nThus it passed on from Candlemas until after Easter, and soon the month\nof May was come, when every manly heart begins to blossom and to bring\nforth fruit.  For as herbs and trees flourish in May, likewise every\nlusty heart springeth and flourisheth in lusty deeds, for more than any\nother month May giveth unto all men renewed courage, and calleth again\nto their mind old gentleness and old service, and many kind deeds that\nwere forgotten by negligence.  Therefore, as the month of May flowereth\nand flourisheth in many gardens, so let every man of honour bring forth\nfruit in his heart, first unto God, and next unto the joy of them to\nwhom he has promised his faith.\n\nSo it befell in the month of May that Queen Guenever called unto her\nten knights of the Table Round, and she bade them ride with her\na-Maying on the morrow into the woods and fields near Westminster.  And\n\"I bid you,\" said she, \"that ye all be well horsed, and that ye all be\nclothed in green, either silk or woollen, and I shall bring with me ten\nladies, and every knight shall have a lady behind him, and every knight\nshall have a squire and two yeomen.\"\n\nSo they made themselves ready in the freshest manner, and in the\nmorning rode with the Queen a-Maying in woods and meadows as it pleased\nthem in great joy and delight.  The Queen purposed to be again with\nKing Arthur at the furthest by ten of the clock.\n\nNow there was a knight called Meliagrance, who had at that time a\ncastle, the gift of King Arthur, within seven miles of Westminster.  He\nhad long lain in wait to steal away the Queen, but had feared to do the\nbase deed when Sir Launcelot was in her company.  It was her custom at\nthat time never to ride without a great fellowship of men of arms about\nher, for the most part young men eager for honour, and called the\nQueen's knights.  But this knight, Sir Meliagrance, had espied the\nQueen well and her purpose on this May morning, and had seen how Sir\nLauncelot was not with her, and how she had for this once no men of\narms with her but the ten noble knights all arrayed in green for\nMaying.  Then he provided him twenty men of arms and a hundred archers,\nto destroy the Queen's knights, for he thought that time was the best\nseason to take the Queen prisoner.\n\nSo while the Queen and all her knights were gathering herbs and mosses\nand flowers in the best manner and freshest, just then there came out\nof a wood Sir Meliagrance with eight-score men, well armed, and bade\nthe Queen and her knights to stand.\n\n\"Traitor knight,\" said Queen Guenever, \"what intendest thou to do?\nWilt thou shame thyself?  Bethink thee how thou art a king's son, and\nknight of the Table Round, and thou art about to dishonour the noble\nking that made thee knight; thou shamest all knighthood and thyself;\nbut me, I let thee wit, thou shalt never shame, for I had rather cut my\nthroat in twain than that thou shouldst dishonour me.\"\n\n\"As for all this language,\" said Sir Meliagrance, \"be it as it may,\nnever before could I get you at such advantage as I do now, and\ntherefore I will take you as I find you.\"\n\nAll the ten noble knights sought to dissuade him from dishonouring\nhimself and from forcing them to jeopard their lives, unarmed as they\nwere, in defending the Queen.  But Sir Meliagrance would not yield, and\nthe ten knights of the Table Round drew their swords and stood manly\nagainst the spears and swords of the others.  But Sir Meliagrance had\nthem at great advantage, and anon six of them were smitten to the earth\nwith grimly wounds.  The other four fought long, but at last they also\nwere sore wounded.\n\nWhen the Queen saw that her knights needs must be slain at the last,\nshe for pity and sorrow agreed to go with Sir Meliagrance to his castle\nupon this covenant, that he suffer not her knights to be more hurt, and\nthat they be led wheresoever she was taken.  \"For,\" said she, \"I will\nrather slay myself than go with thee, unless these my noble knights may\nbe in my presence.\"\n\nMeliagrance consented, and by the Queen's commandment they left battle.\nThe wounded knights were placed on horseback, some sitting, some across\nthe horses' backs in a pitiful manner, and all rode in haste to the\ncastle.  Then Sir Meliagrance charged the Queen and all her knights\nthat no one should depart from her, for full sore he dreaded Sir\nLauncelot, lest he should have any knowledging.\n\nBut the Queen privily called unto her a page who could ride swiftly,\ngave him her ring, and told him to bear it, when he saw a chance to\nslip away quietly, unto Sir Launcelot of the Lake, and pray him to\nrescue her.  \"And spare thou not thy horse,\" said she, \"neither for\nwater nor for land.\"\n\nSo the page espied his time, and lightly he touched his horse with the\nspurs, and departed as fast as he might.  Sir Meliagrance saw him so\nflee, and understood that it was to warn Sir Launcelot.  Then they that\nwere best horsed chased him and shot at him, but he escaped them all,\nand anon found Sir Launcelot.  And when he had told his message, and\ndelivered him the Queen's ring, \"Alas,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"now am I\nshamed forever, unless that I may rescue that noble lady from\ndishonour.\"\n\nThen he eagerly called for his armour, and ever the page told him how\nthe ten knights had fought marvellously, till at last the Queen made\nappointment to go with Sir Meliagrance for to save their lives.\n\n\"Alas,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"that most noble lady, that she should be\nso destroyed!  I would give all France to have been there well armed.\"\n\nSo when Sir Launcelot was armed and upon his horse, he sent the Queen's\npage to tell Sir Lavaine how suddenly he had departed, and for what\ncause, and to pray him to come anon to the castle where Sir Meliagrance\nabideth.\n\nSir Launcelot, it is said, took to the water at Westminster bridge and\nmade his horse swim over the Thames to Lambeth; and then he rode as\nfast as he might, until within a while he came to the place where the\nten knights had fought with Sir Meliagrance.  He then followed the path\nuntil he came to a straight way through the wood.  Here he was stopped\nby thirty archers that Sir Meliagrance had sent out to slay Sir\nLauncelot's horse, but in no wise to have ado with him bodily, \"for,\"\nhe had said, \"he is overhard to overcome.\"  These archers bade Sir\nLauncelot to turn again and follow no longer that track, and when Sir\nLauncelot gave right naught for them, then they shot his horse, and\nsmote him with many arrows.  Sir Launcelot now set out on foot, but\nthere were so many ditches and hedges betwixt the archers and him that\nhe could not meddle with any one of them.\n\nHe went on a while, but was much cumbered by his armour, his shield,\nand his spear.  Wit ye well he was sore annoyed at his slow progress,\nbut was loath to leave anything that belonged unto him, for he dreaded\nsore the treason of Sir Meliagrance.\n\nJust then by chance there came by a cart, that was sent thither to\nfetch wood.  \"Tell me, carter,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"what shall I give\nthee to take me in thy cart unto a castle within two miles of here?\"\n\n\"Thou shalt not set foot in my cart,\" said the man, \"for I am sent to\nfetch wood for my lord Sir Meliagrance.\"\n\nThen Sir Launcelot jumped upon him and gave the man such a blow that he\nfell to the earth stark dead.  Then the other carter, his fellow, was\nafraid of going the same way, and cried out, \"Fair lord, save my life\nand I will bring you where ye will.\"\n\nSir Launcelot leaped into the cart, and the carter drove at a great\ngallop, Sir Launcelot's horse following after with more than forty\narrows in him.\n\nMore than an hour and a half later, Queen Guenever was in a bay window\nof the castle with her ladies, and espied an armed knight approaching,\nstanding in a cart.\n\n\"See, madam,\" said a lady to her, \"there rideth in a cart a goodly\narmed knight; I suppose he rideth to hanging.\"\n\nThen the Queen espied by his shield that Sir Launcelot of the Lake\nhimself was there.  \"Alas,\" said the Queen; \"now I see that well is it\nwith him who hath a trusty friend.  Ah, most noble knight, I see well\nthou are hard bestead, when thou ridest in a cart.\"\n\nBy this time Sir Launcelot had come to the gates of that castle, and\nthere he descended from the cart, and cried so that all the castle\nrang: \"Where art thou, false traitor Sir Meliagrance, and knight of the\nTable Round?  Now come forth here, thou traitor knight, thou and thy\nfellowship with thee, for here I am, Sir Launcelot of the Lake, that\nshall fight with thee.\"\n\nWith these words he burst the gate wide open upon the porter, and smote\nhim under his ear with his gauntlet so that he staggered back like a\ndead man.  When Sir Meliagrance heard that Sir Launcelot was there, he\nran unto Queen Guenever and fell upon his knees, putting himself wholly\nat her mercy, and begging her to control the wrath of Sir Launcelot.\n\n\"Better is peace than ever war,\" said the Queen, \"and the less noise\nthe more is my honour.\"\n\nSo she and her ladies went down to Sir Launcelot, thanked him for all\nhis trouble in her behalf, told him of Meliagrance's repentance, and\nbade him come in peaceably with her.\n\n\"Madam,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"if ye are accorded with him, I am not\ninclined to be against peace, howbeit Sir Meliagrance hath done full\nshamefully to me, and cowardly.  Ah, madam, had I known ye would be so\nsoon accorded with him, I would not have made such haste unto you.\"\n\n\"What,\" said the Queen, \"do ye repent of your good deeds?  Wit ye well\nI never made peace with him for labour or love that I had unto him, but\nto suppress all shameful noise.\"\n\n\"Madam,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"ye understand full well I was never glad\nof shameful slander nor noise; and there is neither king, queen, nor\nknight alive except my lord King Arthur and you, madam, that should\nhinder me from making Sir Meliagrance's heart full cold or ever I\ndeparted from hence.\"\n\nThen the Queen and Sir Launcelot went in together, and she commanded\nhim to be unarmed.  Then he asked where the ten knights were that were\nwounded sore.  So she led Sir Launcelot to them, and they made great\njoy of his coming, and he made great dole of their hurts, and bewailed\nthem greatly.  And then Sir Launcelot told them how he had been obliged\nto put himself into a cart.  Thus they complained each to other, and\nfull gladly would they have been revenged, but they restrained\nthemselves because of the Queen.  So Sir Launcelot was called for many\na day thereafter the Chevalier of the Cart, and he did many deeds, and\ngreat adventures he had.  And so we leave this tale of the Knight of\nthe Cart, and turn to others.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVI\n\nOF THE PLOT AGAINST SIR LAUNCELOT\n\nIn this same month of May when every lusty heart flourisheth and\nbourgeoneth, there befell in King Arthur's realm a great anger and ill\nfortune that stinted not till the flower of chivalry of all the world\nwas destroyed.  And all was due to two evil knights, the which were\nnamed Sir Agravaine and Sir Mordred, that were nephews unto King Arthur\nand brethren unto Sir Gawaine.  For this Sir Agravaine and Sir Mordred\nhad ever a privy hate unto the Queen, Dame Guenever, and to Sir\nLauncelot, and daily and nightly they ever watched upon him.\n\nSo it mishapped that Sir Agravaine on a day said openly, so that many\nknights might hear, that the friendship between Sir Launcelot and the\nQueen was a disgrace to knighthood and a shame to so noble a king as\nArthur.  But Sir Gawaine would not hear any of these tales nor be of\nAgravaine's counsel; moreover he charged his brother to move no such\nmatters afore him, for he wist well what mischief would come, should\nwar arise betwixt Sir Launcelot and the King, and he remembered how\nofttimes Sir Launcelot had proved his goodness and loyalty by knightly\ndeeds.  Also Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth, two other brethren, would know\nnothing of Agravaine's base accusation.\n\nBut Sir Mordred, the fifth of the brethren, sons of the Queen of\nOrkney, the which had mocked the good Percivale when first he came to\nthe court, and who had ever been jealous and ready to think evil of\nanother, joined with Sir Agravaine.  Therewithal they three, Sir\nGawaine, Sir Gaheris, and Sir Gareth departed, making great dole over\nthe mischief that threatened the destruction of the realm and the\ndispersion of the noble fellowship of the Round Table.\n\nSo Sir Agravaine and Sir Mordred came before King Arthur, and told him\nthey might no longer suffer Sir Launcelot's deeds, for he was a traitor\nto his kingly person.  But the King would believe nothing unless he\nmight have proofs of it, for, as the French book saith, he was full\nloath to hear ill of a knight who had done so much for him and for the\nQueen so many times that, as was fully known, he loved him passingly\nwell.\n\nThen these two brethren made a plot for taking Sir Launcelot when in\nthe Queen's presence, and bringing him dead or quick to King Arthur.\nSo on the morn Sir Agravaine and Sir Mordred gat to them twelve knights\nand hid themselves in a chamber in the castle of Carlisle, where Queen\nGuenever was; thus they plotted to take Sir Launcelot by force, if she\nshould have speech with him.  Sir Launcelot was no coward, and cared\nnot what liars said about him, since he wist his own good will and\nloyalty.  So when the Queen sent for him to speak with her, he went as\ntrue knight to the castle, and fell into the trap that was set for him.\nIn the battle that followed he was hard bestead, but slew Sir Agravaine\nat the first buffet, and within a little while he laid the twelve\nchosen knights cold to the earth.  Also he wounded Sir Mordred, who,\nwhen he escaped from the noble Sir Launcelot, anon gat his horse and\nrode unto King Arthur, sore wounded and all bleeding.\n\nThen he told the King how it was, and how they were all slain save\nhimself only.  So the King believed Sir Mordred's evil accusation true,\nand he said: \"Alas, me sore repenteth that ever Sir Launcelot should be\nagainst me.  Now am I sure the noble fellowship of the Round Table is\nbroken for ever, for with him will many a noble knight hold.  And now\nit is fallen so that I may not keep my honour unless the Queen suffer\nthe death.\"\n\nSo then there was made great ordinance that the Queen must be judged to\nthe death, for the law was such in those days that whatsoever they\nwere, of what estate or degree, if they were found guilty of treason,\nthere should be none other remedy but death.  Right so it was ordained\nfor Queen Guenever, and she was commanded to the fire, there to be\nburned.\n\nKing Arthur prayed Sir Gawaine to make himself ready in his best\narmour, with his brethren Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth, to bring the\nQueen to the fire, there to have her judgment, and receive the death.\nBut Sir Gawaine ever believed Dame Guenever guiltless of the treason\ncharged against her, and he would never have it said that he had any\npart in her shameful end.  Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth also were loath\nto be there present, but they were young, and full unable to say him\nnay.  \"If we be there by your straight commandment,\" said they, \"ye\nshall plainly hold us excused though we go in peaceable wise, and bear\nnone harness of war upon us.\"\n\nSo the Queen was led forth without Carlisle, and she prepared herself\nfor death.  There was weeping and wailing and wringing of hands of many\nlords and ladies, and few in comparison there present would bear any\narmour for to keep order.\n\nAnon as the fire was to be lighted, there was spurring and plucking up\nof horses, and right so Sir Launcelot and his followers came hither,\nand whoever stood against them was slain.  And so in this rushing and\nhurling, as Sir Launcelot pressed here and there, it mishapped him to\nslay Gaheris and Gareth, the noble knights, for they were unarmed and\nunaware.  In truth Sir Launcelot saw them not, and so were they found\ndead among the thickest of the press.\n\nThen when Sir Launcelot had thus done, and had slain or put to flight\nall that would withstand him, he rode straight unto Dame Guenever, and\nmade her to be set behind him on his horse, and prayed her to be of\ngood cheer.  Wit ye well the Queen was glad that she was escaped from\nthe death, and then she thanked God and Sir Launcelot.\n\nAnd so he rode his way with the Queen, as the French book saith, unto\nJoyous Gard, his own castle, where Sir Tristram had taken the Fair\nIsoud after her flight from Cornwall.  There Sir Launcelot kept\nGuenever as a noble knight should do, and many great lords and some\nkings sent him many good knights, and many noble knights drew unto Sir\nLauncelot.\n\nWhen it was known openly that King Arthur and Sir Launcelot were at\ndebate, many were full heavy of heart, and the King himself swooned for\npure sorrow, as it was told him how and in what wise the Queen was\ntaken away from the fire, and as he heard of the death of his noble\nknights, in especial that of Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth.  And when he\nawoke of his swoon, he said: \"Alas that ever I bare crown upon my head,\nfor now have I lost the fairest fellowship of noble knights that ever\nChristian king held together.  Alas that ever this war began.  The\ndeath of these two brethren will cause the greatest mortal war that\never was, for I am sure, wist Sir Gawaine that Sir Gareth were slain, I\nshould never have rest of him till I had destroyed Sir Launcelot's kin\nand himself, or else he had destroyed me.  Ah, Agravaine, Agravaine,\nJesu forgive it thy soul, for the evil will thou and thy brother Sir\nMordred haddest unto Sir Launcelot hath caused all this sorrow.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVII\n\nHOW SIR LAUNCELOT DEPARTED FROM THE KING\n  AND FROM JOYOUS GARD\n\nThere came one unto Sir Gawaine, and told him how the Queen was led\naway by Sir Launcelot, and nigh a twenty-four knights slain.\n\n\"Full well wist I,\" said then Sir Gawaine, \"that Sir Launcelot would\nrescue her, or else he would die in that field.  To say the truth, had\nhe not rescued the Queen he would not have been a man of honour,\ninasmuch as she was to have been burned for his sake.  He hath done but\nknightly, and as I would have done myself, had I stood in like case.\nBut where are my brethren?  I marvel I hear not of them.\"\n\nThen the man told him that Sir Gareth and Sir Gaheris were slain, both\nby the hand of Launcelot.  \"That may I not believe,\" said Sir Gawaine,\n\"that he slew my brother Sir Gareth, for I dare say Gareth loved him\nbetter than me and all his brethren, and the King also.  Sir Launcelot\nmade him knight, and had he desired my brother Sir Gareth with him, he\nwould have been with him against the King and us all.  Therefore I may\nnever believe that Sir Launcelot slew my brother.\"\n\nWhen at the last he knew in truth that Sir Gareth and Sir Gaheris had\ndied by Sir Launcelot's hand, all his joy was gone.  He fell down in a\nswoon, and long he lay there as he had been dead.  When he arose of his\nswoon he ran to the King crying, and weeping, and said: \"O King Arthur,\nmy lord and mine uncle, wit ye well, from this day I shall never fail\nSir Launcelot, until the one of us have slain the other.  Therefore\ndress you to the war, for wit ye well I will be revenged upon him.\"\n\nUnto King Arthur now drew many knights, dukes, and earls, so that he\nhad a great host.  Then they made them ready to lay siege about Sir\nLauncelot, where he lay within Joyous Gard.  Thereof heard Sir\nLauncelot, and he gathered together his followers, for with him held\nmany good knights, some for his own sake, and some for the Queen's\nsake.  Thus they were on both sides well furnished and provided with\nall manner of things that belonged to the war.\n\nBut Sir Launcelot was full loath to do battle against the King, and so\nhe withdrew into his strong castle with all manner of victual and as\nmany noble men as might suffice, and for a long time would in no wise\nride out, neither would he allow any of his good knights to issue out,\nthough King Arthur with Sir Gawaine came and laid a siege all about\nJoyous Gard, both at the town and at the castle.\n\nThen it befell upon a day in harvest time, Sir Launcelot looked over\nthe walls, and spake on high unto King Arthur and Sir Gawaine: \"My\nlords both, wit ye well all is in vain that ye make at this siege; here\nwin ye no honour, for if I list to come out with my good knights, I\nshould full soon make an end of this war.  But God defend me, that ever\nI should encounter with the most noble King that made me knight.\"\n\n\"Fie upon thy fair language,\" said the King; \"come forth, if thou\ndarest.  Wit thou well, I am thy mortal foe, and ever shall be to my\ndeath day, for thou hast slain my good knights and full noble men of my\nblood, and like a traitor hast taken my Queen from me by force.\"\n\n\"My most noble lord and king,\" answered Sir Launcelot, \"ye may say what\nye will, for ye wot well with yourself I will not strive.  I wot well\nthat I have slain your good knights, and that me sore repenteth; but I\nwas forced to do battle with them in saving of my life, or else I must\nhave suffered them to slay me.  And as for my lady, Queen Guenever,\nexcept your highness and my lord Sir Gawaine, there is no knight under\nheaven that dare make it good upon me, that ever I was traitor unto\nyour person, and I will prove it upon any knight alive, except you and\nSir Gawaine, that my lady Queen Guenever is as true and loyal unto you\nas any living unto her lord.  Howbeit, it hath pleased her good grace\nto have me in charity, and to cherish me more than any other knight,\nand unto my power I in return have deserved her love; for ofttimes, my\nlord, it fortuned me to do battle for her, and ye thanked me when I\nsaved her life.  Now me thinketh ye reward me full ill for my good\nservice, and me seemeth I had lost a great part of my honour in my\nknighthood, had I suffered my lady your queen to be burned, inasmuch as\nshe was to be burned for my sake.  For, since I have done battle for\nyour queen in other quarrels than in mine own, me seemeth now I had\nmore right to do battle for her in right quarrel.  Therefore, my good\nand gracious lord, take your queen unto your good grace, for she is\nboth fair, true, and good.\"\n\n\"Fie on thy proud words,\" said Sir Gawaine; \"as for my lady the Queen,\nI will never say of her shame, but thou false and recreant knight, what\ncause hadst thou to slay my good brother Sir Gareth, that loved thee\nmore than all my kin?  Alas, thou madest him knight with thine own\nhands; why slewest thou him that loved thee so well?\"\n\n\"For to excuse myself,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"it helpeth me not, but by\nthe faith I owe to the high order of knighthood, I should with as good\nwill have slain my nephew Sir Bors of Ganis.  Alas, that ever I was so\nunhappy that I had not seen Sir Gareth and Sir Gaheris.\"\n\nBut Sir Gawaine was mischievously set, and it helped not Sir Launcelot\nto seek accordment.  King Arthur must needs unto battle because of his\nnephew's great anger, and on the morn he was ready in the field with\nthree great hosts.  Then Sir Launcelot's fellowship came out at three\ngates in a full good array, in order and rule as noble knights.  And\nalways Sir Launcelot charged all his knights in any wise to save King\nArthur and Sir Gawaine.\n\nThen began a great battle, and much people was slain.  Ever Sir\nLauncelot did what he might to save the people on King Arthur's side,\nand ever King Arthur was nigh about Sir Launcelot to slay him.  Sir\nLauncelot suffered him, and would not strike again; but at the last Sir\nBors encountered with King Arthur, and with a spear smote him down.  He\nalighted and drew his sword to slay him, and then he said to Sir\nLauncelot, \"Shall I make an end of this war?\"\n\n\"Not so hardy,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"upon pain of thy head, touch him\nno further, for I will never see that most noble king, that made me\nknight, either slain or shamed.\"\n\nTherewithal Sir Launcelot alighted oft his horse and took up the King,\nand horsed him again, and said thus: \"My lord Arthur, for God's love\nstint this strife, for ye get here no honour, if I will to do mine\nuttermost; always I forbear you, but neither you nor any of yours\nforbeareth me.  My lord, remember what I have done in many places, and\nnow I am evil rewarded.\"\n\nWhen King Arthur was again on horseback, he looked upon Sir Launcelot,\nand then the tears burst out of his eyes, thinking on the great\ncourtesy that was in Sir Launcelot, more than in any other man.\nTherewith the King might no longer behold him, and he rode his way,\nsaying, \"Alas that ever this war began.\"\n\nAnd then both sides withdrew to repose themselves, to bury the dead,\nand to lay soft salves on the wounded.  Thus they passed the night, but\non the morn they made ready again to do battle.  At the end of this day\nalso Sir Launcelot and his party stood better, but for pity he withheld\nhis knights, and suffered King Arthur's party to withdraw one side, and\nSir Launcelot again returned into his castle.\n\nSo the war went on day after day.  It was noised through all\nChristendom, and at the last it was noised afore the Pope.  He,\nconsidering the great goodness of King Arthur and of Sir Launcelot,\nthat were called the noblest knights of the world, called unto him a\nnoble clerk, that at that time was there present,--the French book\nsaith it was the Bishop of Rochester,--and gave him bulls unto King\nArthur of England, charging him upon pain of interdicting of all\nEngland, that he take his queen, Dame Guenever, unto him again, and\naccord with Sir Launcelot.\n\nSo when this bishop was come to Carlisle he showed the King the bulls,\nand by their means peace was made between King Arthur and Sir\nLauncelot.  With great pomp and ceremony Sir Launcelot rode with the\nQueen from Joyous Gard to Carlisle, and they knelt before King Arthur,\nthat was full gladly accorded with them both.  But Sir Gawaine would\nnever be at peace with the knight that had slain his brethren.\n\n\"The King may take his Queen again, if he will,\" said Sir Gawaine to\nSir Launcelot, \"and may be accorded with thee, but thou and I are past\npardon.  Thou shalt go from Carlisle safe, as thou camest, but in this\nland thou shalt not abide past fifteen days, such summons I give\nthee;--so the King and I were consented and accorded ere thou camest\nhither, and else, wit thou well, thou shouldest not have come here\nexcept without thy head.  If it were not for the Pope's commandment, I\nshould do battle with mine own body against thy body, and prove it upon\nthee that thou hast been both false unto mine uncle and to me, and that\nshall I prove upon thy body when thou art departed from hence,\nwheresoever I find thee.\"\n\nThen Sir Launcelot sighed, and therewith the tears fell on his cheeks,\nand he said: \"Alas, most noble Christian realm, that I have loved above\nall others, in thee have I gotten a great part of my honour, and now I\nshall depart in this wise.  Truly me repenteth that ever I came in this\nrealm that I should be thus shamefully banished, undeserved, and\ncauseless.  But fortune is so variant, and the wheel so movable, there\nis no constant abiding.  Wit ye well,  Sir Gawaine, I may live upon my\nlands as well as any knight that here is.  And if ye, most redoubted\nKing, will come upon my lands with Sir Gawaine, to war upon me, I must\nendure you as well as I may.  But as to you, Sir Gawaine, if that ye\ncome there, I pray you charge me not with treason or felony, for if ye\ndo, I must answer you.\"\n\nThen Sir Launcelot said unto Guenever, in hearing of the King and them\nall, \"Madam, now I must depart from you and this noble fellowship for\never; and since it is so, I beseech you to pray for me, and say me\nwell; and if ye be hard bestead by any false tongues lightly, my lady,\nlet send me word, and if any knight's hands may deliver you by battle,\nI shall deliver you.\"\n\nTherewithal Sir Launcelot kissed the Queen, and then he said all\nopenly: \"Now let see what he be in this place, that dare say the Queen\nis not true unto my lord Arthur; let see who will speak, if he dare.\"\n\nThen he brought her to the King, and so took his leave and departed.\nAnd there was neither king, duke nor earl, baron nor knight, lady nor\ngentlewoman, but all they wept as people out of their mind, except Sir\nGawaine; and when the noble Sir Launcelot took his horse, to ride out\nof Carlisle, there was sobbing and weeping for pure dole of his\ndeparting.  So he took his way unto Joyous Gard, that ever after he\ncalled Dolorous Gard, and thus left the court for ever.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXVIII\n\nHOW KING ARTHUR AND SIR GAWAINE INVADED\n  SIR LAUNCELOT'S REALM\n\nWhen Sir Launcelot came again to Joyous Gard from Carlisle, he called\nhis fellowship unto him, and asked them what they would do.  Then they\nanswered all wholly together with one voice, they would as he would do.\n\n\"My fair fellows,\" said he: \"I must depart out of this most noble\nrealm.  And now I am to depart, it grieveth me sore, for I shall depart\nwith no honour.  A banished man departed never out of any realm with\nhonour; and that is my heaviness, for ever I fear that after my days\nthey will chronicle upon me that I was banished out of this land.\"\n\nThen spake many noble knights: \"Sir, we will never fail.  Since it\nliked us to take a part with you in your distress and heaviness in this\nrealm, wit ye well it shall like us as well to go in other countries\nwith you, and there to take such part as ye do.\"\n\n\"My fair lords,\" said Sir Launcelot, \"I well understand you, and, as I\ncan, thank you.  And ye shall understand, such livelihood and lands as\nI am born unto I shall freely share among you, and I myself will have\nas little as any of you, for if I have sufficient for my personal\nneeds, I will ask none other rich array; and I trust to God to maintain\nyou on my lands as well as ever were maintained any knights.\"\n\nThen spake all the knights at once: \"He have shame that will leave you.\nWe all understand in this realm will be now no quiet, but ever strife\nand debate, now the fellowship of the Round Table is broken; for by the\nnoble fellowship of the Round Table was King Arthur upborne, and by\ntheir nobleness the King and all his realm was in quiet and in rest.\nAnd a great part,\" they said all, \"was because of your nobleness.\"\n\nSo, to make short tale, they packed up, and paid all that would ask\nthem, and wholly an hundred knights departed with Sir Launcelot at\nonce, and made avows they would never leave him for weal nor for woe.\nThey shipped at Cardiff, and sailed unto Benwick.  But to say the\nsooth, Sir Launcelot and his nephews were lords of all France, and of\nall the lands that belong unto France through Sir Launcelot's noble\nprowess.  When he had established all these countries, he shortly\ncalled a parliament, and appointed officers for his realm.  Thus Sir\nLauncelot rewarded his noble knights and many more, that me seemeth it\nwere too long to rehearse.\n\nNow leave we Sir Launcelot in his lands, and his noble knights with\nhim, and return we again unto King Arthur and to Sir Gawaine, that made\na great host ready, to the number of three-score thousand.  All things\nwere made ready for their shipping to pass over the sea, and so they\nshipped at Cardiff.  And there King Arthur made Sir Mordred chief ruler\nof all England, and also he put Queen Guenever under his governance.\n\nSo King Arthur passed over the sea, and landed upon Sir Launcelot's\nlands, and there burned and wasted, through the vengeance of Sir\nGawaine, all that they might overrun.\n\nWhen this word came to Sir Launcelot, that King Arthur and Sir Gawaine\nwere landed upon his lands, and made a full destruction and waste, then\nsaid Sir Lionel, that was ware and wise: \"My Lord, Sir Launcelot, I\nwill give you this counsel: Let us keep our strong walled towns until\nthey have hunger and cold, and blow upon their nails, and then let us\nfreshly set upon them, and shred them down as sheep in a field, that\naliens may take ensample for ever how they set foot upon our lands.\"\n\nThen said Sir Galihud unto Sir Launcelot, \"Sir, here be knights come of\nking's blood that will not long droop; therefore give us leave, like as\nwe be knights, to meet them in the field, and we shall slay them, that\nthey shall curse the time that ever they came into this country.\"\n\nThen spake all at once seven brethren of North Wales,--and they were\nseven noble knights, a man might seek in seven lands ere he might find\nsuch seven knights: \"Sir Launcelot, let us ride out with Sir Galihud,\nfor we be never wont to cower in castle, or in noble towns.\"\n\nBut then spake Sir Launcelot, that was master and governor of them all:\n\"My fair lords, wit ye well I am full loath to ride out with my\nknights, for shedding of Christian blood; and yet my lands I understand\nto be full bare to sustain any host a while, for the mighty wars that\nwhilom made King Claudas upon this country, upon my father King Ban and\non mine uncle King Bors.  Howbeit we will at this time keep our strong\nwalls, and I shall send a messenger unto my lord Arthur, a treaty for\nto take, for better is peace than always war.\"\n\nSo he sent forth a damsel, and a dwarf with her, requiring King Arthur\nto leave his warring upon his lands.  When she came to the pavilion of\nKing Arthur there met her a gentle knight, Sir Lucan the butler, and\nwhen he knew that she was a messenger from Sir Launcelot to the King he\nsaid: \"I pray God, damsel, ye may speed well.  My Lord Arthur would\nlove Launcelot, but Sir Gawaine will not suffer him.\"\n\nSo Lucan led the damsel unto the King, and when she had told her tale,\nall the lords were full glad to advise him to be accorded with Sir\nLauncelot, save only Sir Gawaine, who would not turn again, now that\nthey were past thus far upon the journey.\n\n\"Wit ye well, Sir Gawaine,\" said Arthur, \"I will do as ye will advise\nme; and yet me seemeth his fair proffers were not good to be refused.\"\n\nThen Sir Gawaine sent the damsel away with the answer that it was now\ntoo late for peace.  And so the war went on.  Sir Launcelot was never\nso loath to do battle, but he must needs defend himself; and when King\nArthur's host besieged Benwick round about, and fast began to set up\nladders, then Sir Launcelot beat them from the walls mightily.\n\nThen upon a day it befell that Sir Gawaine came before the gates fully\narmed on a noble horse, with a great spear in his hand, and cried with\na loud voice: \"Where art thou now, thou false traitor, Launcelot?  Why\nhidest thou thyself within holes and walls like a coward?  Look out\nnow, thou false traitor knight, and here I shall revenge upon thy body\nthe death of my three brethren.\"\n\nAll this language heard Sir Launcelot, and he wist well that he must\ndefend himself, or else be recreant.  So he armed himself at all\npoints, and mounted upon his horse, and gat a great spear in his hand,\nand rode out at the gate.  And both the hosts were assembled, of them\nwithout and of them within, and stood in array full manly.  And both\nparties were charged to hold them still, to see and behold the battle\nof these two noble knights.\n\nThen they laid their spears in their rests, and came together as\nthunder.  Sir Gawaine brake his spear upon Sir Launcelot in an hundred\npieces unto his hand, and Sir Launcelot smote him with a greater might,\nso that Sir Gawaine's horse's feet raised, and the horse and he fell to\nthe earth.  Then they dressed their shields and fought with swords on\nfoot, giving many sad strokes, so that all men on both parties had\nthereof passing great wonder.  But Sir Launcelot withheld his courage\nand his wind, and kept himself wonderly covert of his might.  Under his\nshield he traced and traversed here and there, to break Sir Gawaine's\nstrokes and his courage, and Sir Gawaine enforced himself with all his\nmight to destroy Sir Launcelot.\n\nAt the first ever Sir Gawaine's power increased, and right so his wind\nand his evil will.  For a time Sir Launcelot had great pain to defend\nhimself, but when three hours were passed, and Sir Launcelot felt that\nSir Gawaine was come to his full strength, then Sir Launcelot said, \"I\nfeel that ye have done your mighty deeds; now wit you well I must do my\ndeeds.\"\n\nSo he doubled his strokes, and soon smote such a buffet upon Sir\nGawaine's helm that he sank down upon his side in a swoon.  Anon as he\ndid awake, he waved at Sir Launcelot as he lay, and said, \"Traitor\nknight, wit thou well I am not yet slain; come thou near me, and\nperform this battle unto the uttermost.\"\n\n\"I will no more do than I have done,\" said Sir Launcelot.  \"When I see\nyou on foot I will do battle upon you all the while I see you stand on\nyour feet; but to smite a wounded man, that may not stand, God defend\nme from such a shame.\"\n\nThen he turned and went his way towards the city, and Sir Gawaine,\nevermore calling him traitor knight, said, \"Wit thou well, Sir\nLauncelot, when I am whole, I shall do battle with thee again; for I\nshall never leave thee till one of us be slain.\"\n\nThus this siege endured.  Sir Gawaine lay sick near a month, and when\nhe was well recovered, and ready within three days to do battle again\nwith Sir Launcelot, right so came tidings unto Arthur from England,\nthat made him and all his host to remove.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXXIX\n\nOF SIR MORDRED'S TREASON\n\nAs Sir Mordred was ruler of all England he did make letters as though\nthey came from beyond the sea, and the letters specified that King\nArthur was slain in battle with Sir Launcelot.  Wherefore Sir Mordred\nmade a Parliament, and called the lords together, and there he made\nthem to choose him king.  So was he crowned at Canterbury, and held a\nfeast there fifteen days.  Afterwards he drew unto Winchester, and\nthere he took the Queen, Guenever, and said plainly that he would wed\nher which was his uncle's wife.\n\nSo he made ready for the feast, and a day was prefixed when they should\nbe wedded.  Wherefore Queen Guenever was passing heavy, but she durst\nnot discover her heart, and spake fair, and agreed to Sir Mordred's\nwill.  Then she desired of him for to go to London, to buy all manner\nof things that longed unto the wedding, and because of her fair speech\nSir Mordred trusted her well enough, and gave her leave to go.  When\nshe came to London, she took the Tower of London, and suddenly, in all\nhaste possible, she stuffed it with all manner of victual, and well\ngarnished it with men, and so kept it.\n\nThen when Sir Mordred wist and understood how he was beguiled, he was\npassing wroth out of measure.  And, a short tale for to make, he went\nand laid a mighty siege about the Tower of London, and made many great\nassaults thereat, and threw many great engines unto them, and shot\ngreat guns.  But all might not prevail Sir Mordred, because Queen\nGuenever, for fair speech nor for foul, would never trust to come in\nhis hands again.\n\nThen came the Bishop of Canterbury, the which was a noble clerk and an\nholy man, and thus he said to Sir Mordred: \"Sir, what will ye do?  Will\nye first displease God, and then shame yourself and all knighthood?\nLeave this matter, or else I shall curse you with book and bell and\ncandle.\"\n\n\"Do thou thy worst,\" said Sir Mordred; \"wit thou well I shall defy\nthee.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" said the Bishop, \"and wit ye well I shall not fear me to do that\nI ought to do.  Also, when ye noise that my lord Arthur is slain, that\nis not so, and therefore ye will make a foul work in this land.\"\n\n\"Peace, thou false priest,\" said Sir Mordred, \"for, if thou chafe me\nany more, I shall make strike off thy head.\"\n\nSo the Bishop departed, and did the curse in the haughtiest wise that\nmight be done.  Then Sir Mordred sought the Bishop of Canterbury for to\nslay him, and he fled, and, taking part of his goods with him, went\nnigh unto Glastonbury, and there lived in poverty and in holy prayers\nas priest-hermit in a chapel, for well he understood that mischievous\nwar was at hand.\n\nThen came word to Sir Mordred that King Arthur had raised the siege\nfrom Sir Launcelot, and was coming homeward with a great host, to be\navenged upon Sir Mordred.  Wherefore Sir Mordred made write writs to\nall the barony of this land, and much people drew to him, for then was\nthe common voice among them, that with Arthur was none other life but\nwar and strife, and with Sir Mordred was great joy and bliss.  Thus was\nSir Arthur depraved and evil said of, and many there were that King\nArthur had made up of naught, and had given lands to, who might not\nthen say of him a good word.\n\nLo all ye Englishmen, see ye not what a mischief here was, for Arthur\nwas the most king and knight of the world, and most loved the\nfellowship of noble knights, and by him they were all upholden.  Now\nmight not these Englishmen hold us content with him.  Lo, thus was the\nold custom and usage of this land, and men say, that we of this land\nhave not yet lost nor forgotten that custom and usage.  Alas, this is a\ngreat fault of all Englishmen, for there may no thing please us.  And\nso fared the people at that time; they were better pleased with Sir\nMordred than they were with King Arthur, and much people drew unto Sir\nMordred, and said they would abide with him for better and for worse.\n\nSo Sir Mordred drew with a great host to Dover, for there he heard say\nthat Sir Arthur would arrive, and so he thought to beat his own uncle\nfrom his lands.  And the most part of all England held with Sir\nMordred, the people were so new-fangle.\n\nAs Sir Mordred was at Dover with his host, there came King Arthur with\na great navy of ships, galleys, and carracks.  And there was Sir\nMordred ready awaiting upon his landage, to keep his own uncle from\nlanding in the country that he was king over.  Then there was launching\nof great boats and small, full of noble men of arms, and there was much\nslaughter of gentle knights, and many a bold baron was laid full low on\nboth sides.  But King Arthur was so courageous that there might no\nmanner of knights prevent him from landing, and his knights fiercely\nfollowed him.\n\nSo they landed in spite of Sir Mordred and all his power, and they put\nhim aback, so that he fled and all his people.  When this battle was\ndone, King Arthur let bury his dead, and then was the noble knight Sir\nGawaine found in a great boat lying more than half dead.  When Sir\nArthur wist that Sir Gawaine was laid so low, he went unto him and made\nsorrow out of measure, for this sister's son was the man in the world\nthat he most loved.  Sir Gawaine felt that he must die, for he was\nsmitten upon the old wound that Sir Launcelot had given him afore the\ncity of Benwick.  He now knew that he was the cause of this unhappy\nwar, for had Sir Launcelot remained with the King, it would never have\nbeen, and now King Arthur would sore miss his brave knights of the\nRound Table.\n\nThen he prayed his uncle that he might have paper, pen, and ink, and\nwhen they were brought, he with his own hand wrote thus, as the French\nbook maketh mention: \"Unto Sir Launcelot, flower of all noble knights\nthat ever I heard of, or saw by my days, I, Sir Gawaine, King Lot's son\nof Orkney, sister's son unto the noble King Arthur, send thee greeting,\nand let thee have knowledge, that this tenth day of May, through the\nsame wound that thou gavest me I am come to my death.  And I will that\nall the world wit that I, Sir Gawaine, knight of the Table Round,\nsought my death; it came not through thy deserving, but it was mine own\nseeking.  Wherefore I beseech thee, Sir Launcelot, to return again unto\nthis realm, and see my tomb, and pray some prayer, more or less, for my\nsoul.  For all the love that ever was betwixt us, make no tarrying, but\ncome over the sea in all haste, that thou mayest with thy noble knights\nrescue that noble king that made thee knight, that is my lord Arthur,\nfor he is full straitly bestead with a false traitor, my half-brother,\nSir Mordred.  We all landed upon him and his host at Dover, and there\nput him to flight, and there it misfortuned me to be stricken in the\nsame wound the which I had of thy hand, Sir Launcelot.  Of a nobler man\nmight I not be slain.  This letter was written but two hours and an\nhalf afore my death, with mine own hand, and so subscribed with part of\nmy heart's blood.\"\n\nThen Sir Gawaine wept, and King Arthur wept, and then they swooned\nboth.  When they awaked both, the King made Sir Gawaine to receive the\nsacrament, and then Sir Gawaine prayed the King to send for Sir\nLauncelot, and to cherish him above all other knights.  And so at the\nhour of noon, Sir Gawaine yielded up the spirit, and the King let inter\nhim in a chapel within Dover Castle.\n\nThen was it told King Arthur that Sir Mordred had pitched a new field\nupon Barham Down.  Upon the morn the King rode thither to him, and\nthere was a great battle betwixt them, and much people were slain on\nboth parties.  But at the last Sir Arthur's party stood best, and Sir\nMordred and his party fled to Canterbury.  Upon this much people drew\nunto King Arthur, and he went with his host down by the seaside,\nwestward towards Salisbury, and there was a day assigned between him\nand Sir Mordred when they should meet in battle upon a down beside\nSalisbury, not far from the sea.\n\nIn the night before the battle King Arthur dreamed a wonderful dream,\nand it seemed to him verily that there came Sir Gawaine unto him, and\nsaid; \"God giveth me leave to come hither for to warn you that, if ye\nfight to-morn with Sir Mordred, as ye both have assigned, doubt ye not\nye must be slain, and the most part of your people on both parties.\nFor the great grace and goodness that Almighty Jesu hath unto you, and\nfor pity of you and many other good men that there shall be slain, God\nhath sent me to you, of His special grace, to give you warning, that in\nno wise ye do battle to-morn, but that ye take a treaty for a month;\nand proffer ye largely, so as to-morn to be put in delay, for within a\nmonth shall come Sir Launcelot, with all his noble knights, and rescue\nyou honourably, and slay Sir Mordred and all that ever will hold with\nhim.\"\n\nThen Sir Gawaine vanished, and anon the King commanded Sir Lucan and\nhis brother, Sir Bedivere, with two bishops with them, and charged them\nto take a treaty for a month with Sir Mordred in any wise they might.\nSo then they departed, and came to Sir Mordred, where he had a grim\nhost of an hundred thousand men.  There they entreated Sir Mordred long\ntime, and at the last he was agreed to have Cornwall and Kent by King\nArthur's days, and after the days of King Arthur all England.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XL\n\nOF ARTHUR'S LAST GREAT BATTLE IN THE WEST\n\nSir Lucan and Sir Bedivere were agreed with Sir Mordred that King\nArthur and he should meet betwixt both their hosts, for to conclude the\ntreaty they had made, and every each of them should bring fourteen\npersons.  And they came with this word unto King Arthur.  Then said he,\n\"I am glad that this is done.\"\n\nSo Arthur made ready to go into the field, and when he would depart, he\nwarned all his hosts that if they saw any sword drawn, they should come\non fiercely, and slay that traitor Sir Mordred, for he in no wise\ntrusted him.  In like manner Sir Mordred warned his host: \"If ye see\nany sword drawn, look that ye come on fiercely, and so slay all that\never before you stand, for in no wise will I trust for this treaty.  I\nknow well mine uncle will be avenged upon me.\"\n\nSo they met as their appointment was, and they were agreed and accorded\nthoroughly; and wine was fetched, and they drank.  Right so came an\nadder out of a little heath bush, and it stung a knight on the foot.\nWhen the knight felt himself stung, he looked down and saw the adder;\nthen he drew his sword to slay the adder, and thought of none other\nharm.  But when the hosts on both parties saw the sword drawn, then\nthey blew trumpets, and horns, and shouted grimly.  And so both hosts\ndressed them together.\n\nKing Arthur took his horse, and said, \"Alas this unhappy day,\" and so\nrode to his party; and Sir Mordred did likewise.  And never was there\nseen a dolefuller battle in any Christian land, for there was but\nrushing and riding, foining, and striking, and many a grim word was\nthere spoken either to other, and there was given many a deadly stroke.\nThus they fought all the long day, and never stinted, till the noble\nknights were laid to the cold ground.  And ever they fought still, till\nit was near night, and by that time were there an hundred thousand laid\ndead upon the down.\n\nThen the King looked about him, and was ware, that of all his host and\nof all his good knights were left no more alive but two knights, that\nwas Sir Lucan the butler, and his brother Sir Bedivere, and even they\nwere full sore wounded.\n\n\"Jesu, mercy,\" said the King, \"where are all my noble knights become?\nAlas that ever I should see this doleful day.  Now I am come to mine\nend.  But would to God that I wist where is that traitor Sir Mordred,\nthat hath caused all this mischief.\"\n\nThen was King Arthur ware where Sir Mordred leaned upon his sword among\na great heap of dead men.  \"Now give me my spear,\" said Arthur unto Sir\nLucan, \"for yonder I have espied the traitor that all this woe hath\nwrought.\"\n\n\"Sir, let him be,\" said Sir Lucan.  \"If ye pass this evil day, ye shall\nbe right well revenged upon him.  My lord remember ye of your night's\ndream, and what the spirit of Sir Gawaine told you last night.  God of\nHis great goodness hath preserved you hitherto.  Therefore, for God's\nsake, my lord, leave off with this.  For blessed be God, ye have won\nthe field, for here we be three alive, and with Sir Mordred is none.\nIf ye leave off now, this wicked day of destiny is past.\"\n\n\"Tide me death, betide me life,\" saith the King, \"now I see him yonder\nalone, he shall never escape mine hands, for at a better avail shall I\nnever have him.\"  Then he gat his spear in both his hands, and ran\ntowards Sir Mordred, crying, \"Traitor, now is thy death day come.\"\n\nWhen Sir Mordred heard Sir Arthur, he ran unto him with his sword drawn\nin his hand, and then King Arthur smote him under the shield with a\nfoin of his spear throughout the body.  When Sir Mordred felt that he\nhad his death's wound, he thrust himself, with the might that he had,\nup to the bur of King Arthur's spear.  And right so he smote his uncle\nArthur with his sword holden in both his hands, on the side of the head\nso that the sword pierced the helmet and the brain-pan, and therewithal\nSir Mordred fell stark dead to the earth.\n\nAnd the noble Arthur fell in a swoon to the earth, and there he swooned\nofttimes.  And Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere ofttimes heaved him up, and\nso weakly they led him betwixt them both to a little chapel not far\nfrom the seaside.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLI\n\nOF THE PASSING OF KING ARTHUR\n\nWhen the King was laid in the chapel he thought himself well eased.\nThen heard they people cry in the field, and Sir Lucan went out to wit\nwhat the noise betokened.  As he went he saw and heard in the moonlight\nhow the plunderers and robbers were come into the battlefield to\npillage and rob many a full noble knight of rings and jewels; and who\nthat were not dead all out, there they slew them for their harness and\ntheir riches.\n\nWhen Sir Lucan understood this work, he came to the King as soon as he\nmight, and told him all what he had heard and seen.  \"Therefore by my\nadvice,\" said Sir Lucan, \"it is best that we bring you to some town.\"\n\n\"I would it were so,\" said the King, \"but I may not stand, my head\nworks so.  Ah, Sir Launcelot, this day have I sore missed thee.  Alas,\nthat ever I was against thee, for now have I my death, whereof Sir\nGawaine me warned in my dream.\"\n\nThen Sir Lucan and Sir Bedivere took up the King, and in the lifting\nthe King swooned, and Sir Lucan, that was grievously wounded in many\nplaces, also fell in a swoon with the lift, and therewith the noble\nknight died.  When King Arthur came to himself again, he beheld Sir\nLucan dead and Sir Bedivere weeping for his brother, and he said: \"This\nis unto me a full heavy sight to see this noble duke so die for my\nsake, for he would have holpen me that had more need of help than I.\nYet, Sir Bedivere, weeping and mourning will not avail me; for wit thou\nwell, if I might live myself, the death of Sir Lucan would grieve me\nevermore.  But my time hieth fast.  Therefore, Sir Bedivere, take thou\nExcalibur, my good sword, and go with it to yonder waterside, and when\nthou comest there, I charge thee throw my sword in that water, and come\nagain, and tell me what thou there seest.\"\n\n\"My lord,\" said Bedivere, \"your commandment shall be done, and I will\nlightly bring you word again.\"\n\nSo Sir Bedivere departed, and by the way he beheld that noble sword,\nwhose pommel and haft were all of precious stones, and then he said to\nhimself, \"If I throw this rich sword in the water, thereof shall never\ncome good, but harm and loss.\"\n\nThen Sir Bedivere hid Excalibur under a tree, and as soon as he might\nhe came again unto the King, and said he had been at the water, and had\nthrown the sword into the water.\n\n\"What sawest thou there?\" said the King.\n\n\"Sir,\" he said, \"I saw nothing but waves and winds.\"\n\n\"That is untruly said of thee,\" said the King; \"therefore go thou\nlightly again, and do my command as thou art to me lief and dear; spare\nnot, but throw it.\"\n\nThen Sir Bedivere returned again, and took the sword in his hand; and\nthen him thought it sin and shame to throw away that noble sword.  And\nso again he hid the sword, and returned, and told the King that he had\nbeen at the water, and done his commandment.\n\n\"What sawest thou there?\" said the King.\n\n\"Sir,\" he said, \"I saw nothing but the waters lap and the waves toss.\"\n\n\"Ah, traitor, untrue,\" said King Arthur, \"now hast thou betrayed me\ntwice.  Who would have thought that thou that hast been to me so lief\nand dear, and that art named a noble knight, wouldest betray me for the\nriches of the sword.  But now go again lightly, for thy long tarrying\nputteth me in great jeopardy of my life, for I have taken cold.  And\nunless thou do now as I bid thee, if ever I may see thee, I shall slay\nthee with mine own hands, for thou wouldest for my rich sword see me\ndead.\"\n\nThen Sir Bedivere departed, and went to the sword, and lightly took it\nup, and went to the waterside.  There he bound the girdle about the\nhilts, and then he threw the sword as far into the water as he might.\nAnd there came an arm and an hand above the water, and met it, and\ncaught it, and so shook it thrice and brandished, and then vanished\naway the hand with the sword in the water.\n\nSo Sir Bedivere came again to the King, and told him what he saw.\n\"Alas,\" said the King, \"help me thence, for I fear me I have tarried\nover long.\"\n\nThen Sir Bedivere took the King upon his back, and so went with him to\nthat waterside.  And when they were at the waterside, even fast by the\nbank hove a little barge, with many fair ladies in it, and among them\nall was a queen, and all they had black hoods, and all they wept and\nshrieked when they saw King Arthur.\n\n[Illustration: The Passing of Arthur]\n\n\"Now put me into the barge,\" said the King; and so he did softly.  And\nthere received him three queens with great mourning, and so they set\nhim down, and in one of their laps King Arthur laid his head, and then\nthat queen said, \"Ah, dear brother, why have ye tarried so long from\nme?  Alas, this wound on your head hath caught over much cold.\"\n\nAnd so then they rowed from the land, and Sir Bedivere beheld all these\nladies go from him.  Then he cried, \"Ah, my lord Arthur, what shall\nbecome of me now ye go from me, and leave me here alone among mine\nenemies!\"\n\n\"Comfort thyself,\" said the King, \"and do as well as thou mayest, for\nin me is no trust for to trust in.  For I will into the vale of\nAvilion, to heal me of my grievous wound.  And if thou hear never more\nof me, pray for my soul.\"\n\nEver the queens and the ladies wept and shrieked, that it was pity to\nhear.  And as soon as Sir Bedivere had lost the sight of the barge he\nwept and wailed, and so took the forest, and he went all that night;\nand in the morning he was ware betwixt two ancient cliffs of a chapel\nand an hermitage, and he was glad.\n\nWhen he came into the chapel he saw a hermit praying by a tomb new\ngraven.  The hermit was the Bishop of Canterbury that Sir Mordred had\nbanished, and Sir Bedivere asked him what man was there interred.\n\n\"Fair son,\" said the hermit, \"I wot not verily, but this night, at\nmidnight, here came a number of ladies, and brought hither a dead\ncorpse, and prayed me to bury him; and here they offered an hundred\ntapers, and gave me an hundred besants.\"\n\nThen Sir Bedivere knew that King Arthur lay buried in that chapel, and\nhe prayed the hermit that he might abide with him still there.  So\nthere abode Sir Bedivere with the hermit, that was tofore Bishop of\nCanterbury, and there Sir Bedivere put on poor clothes, and served the\nhermit full lowly in fasting and in prayers.\n\nThus of Arthur I find never more written in books that be authorised,\nnor more of the certainty of his death heard I tell, but that he was\nthus led away in a ship wherein were three queens.  The hermit that\nsome time was Bishop of Canterbury bare witness that ladies brought a\nknight to his burial in the chapel, but the hermit knew not in certain\nthat it was verily the body of King Arthur;--for this tale Sir\nBedivere, knight of the Round Table, made to be written.\n\nSome men still say in many parts of England that King Arthur is not\ndead, but tarried by the will of our Lord Jesu in another place.  And\nmen say that he shall come again, and shall win the holy cross.  I will\nnot say it shall be so, but rather I will say, here in this world he\nchanged his life.  But many men say that there is written upon his tomb\nthese words: \"_Hic jacet Arthurus Rex quondam Rex que futurus_\": \"_Here\nlies Arthur, King that was and King that shall be._\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XLII\n\nOF THE END OF THIS BOOK\n\nWhen Queen Guenever understood that King Arthur was slain, and all the\nnoble knights, Sir Mordred and all the remnant, then she stole away,\nand five ladies with her, and so she went to Almesbury, and there she\nlet make herself a nun, and lived in fasting, prayers, and alms-deeds,\nthat all manner of people marvelled how virtuously she was changed.\nAnd there she was abbess and ruler, as reason would.\n\nWhen Sir Launcelot of the Lake heard in his country that Sir Mordred\nwas crowned king, and made war against his uncle, then he made all\nhaste with ships and galleys to go unto England.  So he passed over the\nsea till he came to Dover.  There the people told him how that King\nArthur was slain, and Sir Mordred, and an hundred thousand died on a\nday, and how Sir Mordred gave King Arthur there the first battle at his\nlanding, and how there was good Sir Gawaine slain.  And then certain\npeople of the town brought him unto the castle of Dover, and showed him\nthe tomb.  And he made a dole for Sir Gawaine, and all the priests and\nclerks that might be gotten in the country were there and sang mass of\nrequiem.\n\nTwo nights Sir Launcelot lay on Sir Gawaine's tomb in prayers and in\nweeping, and then on the third day he called his kings, dukes, earls,\nbarons, and knights, and said thus: \"My fair lords, I thank you all of\nyour coming into this country with me; but we come too late, and that\nshall repent me while I live, but against death may no man rebel.\nSince it is so, I will myself ride and seek my lady Queen Guenever,\nfor, as I hear say, she hath great pain and much disease.  Therefore ye\nall abide me here fifteen days, and then, if I come not again, take\nyour ships and your fellowship, and depart into your country.\"\n\nSo Sir Launcelot rode forth alone on his journey into the west country.\nThere he sought seven or eight days, and at the last came to the\nnunnery where was Queen Guenever.  Once only he had speech with her,\nand then took his horse and rode away to forsake the world, as she had\ndone.\n\nHe rode all that day and all that night in a forest, and at the last he\nwas ware of an hermitage and a chapel betwixt two cliffs.  Thither he\nrode, and there found Sir Bedivere with the Bishop of Canterbury, for\nhe was come to their hermitage.  And then he besought the Bishop that\nhe might remain there as a brother.  The Bishop would gladly have it\nso, and there he put hermit's clothes upon Sir Launcelot, and there Sir\nLauncelot served God day and night with prayers and fasting.\n\nThe great host abode in Dover fifteen days, as Sir Launcelot had bidden\nthem.  Then, since Sir Launcelot did not return, Sir Bors of Ganis made\nthem take ship and return home again to Benwick.  But Sir Bors himself\nand others of Sir Launcelot's kin took on them to ride all England\nacross and endlong, to seek Sir Launcelot.  So Sir Bors by fortune rode\nso long till he came to the same chapel where Sir Launcelot and Sir\nBedivere were, and he prayed the Bishop that he also might remain and\nbe of their fellowship.  So there was an habit put upon him, and there\nhe lived in prayers and fasting.  And within half a year there were\ncome seven other knights, and when they saw Sir Launcelot, they had no\nlist to depart, but took such an habit as he had.\n\nThus they remained in true devotion six years, and Sir Launcelot took\nthe habit of priesthood.  And there were none of those other knights\nbut read in books, and holp in the worship and did bodily all manner of\nservice.  And so their horses went where they would, for they took no\nregard of worldly riches.\n\nThus upon a night there came a vision to Sir Launcelot, and charged him\nto haste unto Almesbury, for Queen Guenever was dead, and he should\nfetch the corpse and bury her by her husband, the noble King Arthur.\nThen Sir Launcelot rose up ere day, took seven fellows with him, and on\nfoot they went from Glastonbury to Almesbury, the which is little more\nthan thirty miles.  They came thither within two days, for they were\nweak and feeble to go, and found that Queen Guenever had died but half\nan hour before.  The ladies said she had told them all, ere she passed,\nthat Sir Launcelot had been a priest near a twelvemonth, and that he\ncame thither as fast as he might, to take her corpse to Glastonbury for\nburial.\n\nSo Sir Launcelot and his seven fellows went back on foot beside the\ncorpse of Queen Guenever from Almesbury unto Glastonbury, and they\nburied her with solemn devotion in the chapel at the hermitage.  When\nshe was put in the earth Sir Launcelot swooned, for he remembered the\nnoblesse and kindness that was both with the King and with herself, and\nhow by his fault and his pride they were both laid full low.  Then Sir\nLauncelot sickened more and more, and within six weeks afterwards Sir\nBors and his fellows found him dead in his bed.  The Bishop did his\nmass of requiem, and he and all the nine knights went with the corpse\ntill they came to Joyous Gard, his own castle, and there they buried\nhim in the choir of the chapel, as he had wished, with great devotion.\nThereafter the knights went all with the Bishop of Canterbury back to\nhis hermitage.\n\nThen Sir Constantine of Cornwall was chosen King of England, a full\nnoble knight that honourably ruled this realm.  And this King\nConstantine sent for the Bishop of Canterbury, for he heard say where\nhe was, and so was he restored unto his bishopric, and left that\nhermitage.  Sir Bedivere was there ever still hermit to his life's end,\nbut the French book maketh mention that Sir Bors and three of the\nknights that were with him at the hermitage went into the Holy Land,\nand there did many battles upon the miscreant Turks, and there they\ndied upon a Good Friday, for God's sake.\n\n\nHere is the end of the book of King Arthur and his noble knights of the\nRound Table, that when they were whole together were ever an hundred\nand forty.  And here is the end of the Death of Arthur.  I pray you all\ngentlemen and gentlewomen that read this book of Arthur and his knights\nfrom the beginning to the ending, pray for me while I am alive that God\nsend me good deliverance, and when I am dead, I pray you all pray for\nmy soul; for this book was ended the ninth year of the reign of King\nEdward the Fourth by Sir Thomas Maleore, knight, as Jesu help him for\nhis great might, as he is the servant of Jesu both day and night.\n\n_Thus endeth thys noble and joyous book entytled Le Morte Darthur.\nNotwithstanding, it treateth of the byrth, lyf and actes of the sayd\nKynge Arthur, of his noble knyghtes of the Round Table, theyr\nmervayllous enquestes and adventures, the achyevying of the Holy Grail,\nand in the end the dolourous deth and departyng out of thys world of\nthem al.  Whiche book was reduced in to englysshe by Syr Thomas Malory\nknyght as afore is sayd, and by me enprynted and fynyshed in the abbey\nWestminster the last day of July, the yere of our Lord MCCCCLXXXV._\n\n_Caxton me fieri fecit._","title":"Stories of King Arthur and His Knights: Retold from Malory's \"Morte dArthur\"","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":69007}