{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_8447/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_8447","id":"gutenberg_8447","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8447","summary":null,"tags":["Arthurian romances","Category: Adventure","Category: British Literature","Category: Historical Novels","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Moriaen -- Romances"],"text":"Produced by David Starner, David Widger, and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nMORIEN\n\nA Metrical Romance Rendered Into English Prose From The Medi\u00e6val Dutch\n\nArthurian Romances No. IV.\n\n\nBy Jessie L. Weston,\n\nWith designs by Caroline Watts.\n\n\nAdditional Arthurian Romances:\n\nI. Sir Gawain And The Green Knight.\n\nA Middle-English Romance retold in Modern Prose, with Introduction and\nNotes, by JESSIE L. WESTON. With Designs by M. M. CRAWFORD. 1898. 2s.\nnet.\n\nII. Tristan And Iseult.\n\nRendered into English from the German of Gottfried of Strassburg by\nJESSIE L. WESTON. With Designs by CAROLINE WATTS. Two vols. 1899. 4s.\nnet.\n\nIII. Guingamor, Lanval, Tyolet, Le Bisclaveret.\n\nFour Lays rendered into English Prose from the French of Marie de France\nand others by JESSIE L. WESTON. With Designs by CAROLINE WATTS. 1900.\n2s. net. [Illustration: They deemed they had seen the Foul Fiend\nhimself]\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE\n\n\nThe metrical romance of which the following pages offer a prose\ntranslation is contained in the medi\u00e6val Dutch version of the\n_Lancelot_, where it occupies upwards of five thousand lines, forming\nthe conclusion of the first existing volume of that compilation. So far\nas our present knowledge extends, it is found nowhere else.\n\nNor do we know the date of the original poem, or the name of the author.\nThe Dutch MS. is of the commencement of the fourteenth century, and\nappears to represent a compilation similar to that with which Sir Thomas\nMalory has made us familiar, _i.e._, a condensed rendering of a number\nof Arthurian romances which in their original form were independent of\neach other. Thus, in the Dutch _Lancelot_ we have not only the latter\nportion of the _Lancelot_ proper, the _Queste_, and the _Morte Arthur_,\nthe ordinary component parts of the prose _Lancelot_ in its most fully\ndeveloped form, but also a portion of a _Perceval_ romance, having for\nits basis a version near akin to, if not identical with, the poem\nof Chr\u00e9tien de Troyes, and a group of episodic romances, some of\nconsiderable length, the majority of which have not yet been discovered\nelsewhere. [Footnote: _Cf_. my _Legend of Sir Lancelot du Lac_;\nGrimm Library, vol. xii., chapter ix., where a brief summary of the\ncontents of the Dutch _Lancelot_ is given.]\n\nUnfortunately, the first volume of this compilation, which was\noriginally in four parts, has been lost; consequently we are without any\nof the indications, so often to be found in the opening lines of similar\ncompositions, as to the personality of the compiler, or the material at\nhis disposal; but judging from those sections in which comparison is\npossible, the _Lancelot_, _Queste_, and _Morte Arthur_, the entire work\nis a translation, and a very faithful translation, of a French original.\nIt is quite clear that the Dutch compiler understood his text well, and\nthough possibly somewhat hampered by the necessity of turning prose into\nverse (this version, contrary to the otherwise invariable rule of the\nlater _Lancelot_ romances, being rhymed), he renders it with remarkable\nfidelity. The natural inference, and that drawn by M. Gaston Paris,\nwho, so far, appears to be the only scholar who has seriously occupied\nhimself with this interesting version, is that those episodic romances,\nof which we possess no other copy, are also derived from a French\nsource. Most probably, so far as these shorter romances are concerned,\nthe originals would be metrical, not prose versions, as in the case of\nthe _Lancelot_ sections.\n\nIt is true that with regard to the romance here translated, _Morien_,\nthe Dutch scholars responsible for the two editions in which it has\nappeared, MM. Jonckbloet and Te Winkel, the former the editor of the\nwhole compilation, the latter of this section only, are both inclined to\nregard the poem as an original Dutch composition; but M. Gaston Paris,\nin his summary of the romance (_Histoire Litteraire_, vol. xxx. p. 247)\nrejects this theory as based on inadequate grounds. It must be admitted\nthat an original Arthurian romance of the twelfth or thirteenth century,\nwhen at latest such a poem would be written, in a language other than\nFrench, is so far unknown to us; and although as a matter of fact the\ncentral _motif_ of the poem, the representation of a Moor as near akin\nto the Grail Winner, Sir Perceval, has not been preserved in any known\nFrench text, while it does exist in a famous German version, I for one\nfind no difficulty in believing that the tradition existed in French,\nand that the original version of our poem was a metrical romance in that\ntongue.\n\nSo far as the story of _Morien_ is concerned, the form is probably later\nthan the tradition it embodies. In its present shape it is certainly\nposterior to the appearance of the Galahad _Queste_, to which it\ncontains several direct references; such are the hermit's allusion to\nthe predicted circumstances of his death, which are related in full in\nthe _Queste_; the prophecy that Perceval shall \"aid\" in the winning\nof the Holy Grail, a quest of which in the earlier version he is sole\nachiever; and the explicit statements of the closing lines as to\nGalahad's arrival at Court, his filling the Siege Perilous, and\nachieving the Adventures of the Round Table. As the romance now stands\nit is an introduction to the _Queste_, with which volume iii. (volume\nii. of the extant version) of the Dutch _Lancelot_ opens.\n\nBut the opening lines of the present version show clearly that in\none important point, at least, the story has undergone a radical\nmodification. Was it the Dutch translator or his source who substituted\nAgloval, Perceval's brother, for the tradition which made Perceval\nhimself the father of the hero? M. Gaston Paris takes the former view;\nbut I am inclined to think that the alteration was already in the\nFrench source. The Grail of Sir Agloval's vision is the Grail of Castle\nCorbenic and the _Queste_; unless we are to consider this vision as the\naddition of the Dutch compiler (who, when we are in a position to test\nhis work does not interpolate such additions), we must, I think, admit\nthat the romance in the form in which it reached him was already at a\nstage in which Perceval could not, without violence to the then existing\nconception of his character, be considered as the father, or the\nbrother, of Morien. To reconstruct the original story it would be\nnecessary not merely to eliminate all mention of Agloval, as suggested\nby M. Gaston Paris, but the Grail references would also require\nmodification. As it stands, the poem is a curious mixture of conflicting\ntraditions.\n\nIn this connection it appears to me that the evidence of the _Parzival_\nis of primary importance; the circumstances attending the birth of\nFeirefis are exactly parallel with those of Morien--in both a Christian\nknight wins the love of a Moorish princess; in both he leaves her before\nthe birth of her son, in the one case with a direct, in the other with\na conditional, promise to return, which promise is in neither instance\nkept; in both the lad, when grown to manhood, sets out to seek his\nfather; in both he apparently makes a practice of fighting with every\none whom he meets; in the one version he is brother, in the other son or\nnephew, to Perceval. The points of difference are that whereas Morien is\nblack all over, save his teeth, Feirefis is parti-coloured, black and\nwhite--a curious conception, which seems to point to an earlier\nstage of thought; Morien is a Christian, Feirefis a heathen--the more\nprobable version.\n\nIt is easy to understand why the hero ceased to be considered Perceval's\nson--the opening lines of the poem describe the situation perfectly; but\nI do not think it has been sufficiently realised that precisely the same\ncauses which would operate to the suppression of this relationship would\nequally operate to the suppression of that of the _Parzival_. Perceval,\nthe virgin winner of the Grail, could not have a _liaison_ with a\nMoorish princess, but neither could Perceval's father, the direct\ndescendant of Joseph of Arimathea, and hereditary holder of the Grail.\nThe _Early History_ of that talisman, as related by Robert de Borron,\nonce generally accepted, the relationship of _brother_ was as impossible\nas that of _son_.\n\nIt seems clear that if a genuine tradition of a Moor as near kinsman to\nPerceval really existed--and I see no reason to doubt that it did--it\nmust have belonged to the Perceval story prior to the development of\nthe Grail tradition, _e.g._, to such a stage as that hinted at by the\nchess-board adventure of the \"Didot\" _Perceval_ and Gautier's poem, when\nthe hero was as ready to take advantage of his _bonnes fortunes_ as\nother heroes of popular folk tales.\n\nFurther, judging from these stories it would seem probable that the\nrequisite modification began with the earlier generation, _i.e._,\nPerceval himself still retaining traces of his secular and folk-tale\norigin, while his father and mother have already been brought under the\ninfluence of the ecclesiasticised Grail tradition. That this would be\nthe case appears only probable when we recall the vague and conflicting\ntraditions as to the hero's parentage; it was Perceval himself, and not\nhis father or his mother, who was the important factor in the tale;\nhence the change in his character was a matter of gradual evolution.\nThus I am of opinion that the Moor as Perceval's brother is likely to be\nan earlier conception than the Moor as Perceval's son. It is, I think,\nnoticeable that the romance containing this feature, the _Parzival_,\nalso, contrary to the _Early History_ versions, connects him with the\nGrail through his mother, instead of through his father.\n\nThe _Morien_ is for me a welcome piece of evidence in support of the\ntheory that sees in the poem of Wolfram von Eschenbach the survival of\na genuine variant of the _Perceval_ story, differing in important\nparticulars from that preserved by Chr\u00e9tien de Troyes, and based upon a\nFrench original, now, unfortunately, lost.\n\nFor this, if for no other reason, the poem would, it seems to me, be\nworth introducing to a wider circle of readers than that to which in its\npresent form it can appeal. The students of old Dutch are few in number,\nand the bewildering extent of the _Lancelot_ compilation, amounting as\nit does, even in its incomplete state, to upwards of 90,000 lines, is\nsufficient in itself to deter many from its examination. _Morien_ in its\noriginal form is, and can be, known to but few. But not only does it\nrepresent a tradition curious and interesting in itself, it has other\nclaims to attention; even in a translation it is by no means ill\nwritten; it is simple, direct, and the adventures are not drawn out\nto wearisome length by the introduction of unnecessary details. The\ncharacterisation too, is good; the hero is well realised, and Gawain,\nin particular, appears in a most favourable light, one far more in\naccordance with the earlier than with the later stage of Arthurian\ntradition; the contrast between his courteous self-restraint and the\nimpetuous ardour of the young savage is well conceived, and the manner\nin which he and Gareth contrive to check and manage the turbulent\nyouth without giving him cause for offence is very cleverly indicated.\nLancelot is a much more shadowy personage; if, as suggested above, the\noriginal story took shape at a period before he had attained to his\nfull popularity, and references to his valour were added later we can\nunderstand this. It is noticeable that the adventure assigned to him is\nmuch less original in character, and told with far less detail than that\nascribed to Gawain.\n\nThe romance as we have it presents, as remarked before, a curious\nmixture of earlier and later elements. None of the adventures it relates\nare preserved in any English text. Alike as a representative of a lost\ntradition, and for its own intrinsic merit it has seemed to me, though\nperhaps inferior in literary charm to the romances previously published\nin this series, to be yet not unworthy of inclusion among them.\n\nBOURNEMOUTH, _July_ 1901\n\n\n\n\nMORIEN\n\n_Herein doth the adventure tell of a knight who was named Morien. Some\nof the books give us to wit that he was Perceval's son, and some say\nthat he was son to Agloval, who was Perceval's brother, so that he was\nnephew unto that good knight. Now we find it written for a truth that\nPerceval and Galahad alike died virgin knights in the quest of the Holy\nGrail; and for that cause I say of Perceval that in sooth he was not\nMorien's father, but that rather was Morien his brother's son. And of a\nMoorish princess was he begotten at that time when Agloval sought far\nand wide for Lancelot, who was lost, as ye have read here afore._\n\n_I ween that he who made the tale of Lancelot and set it in rhyme\nforgot, and was heedless of, the fair adventure of Morien. I marvel much\nthat they who were skilled in verse and the making of rhymes did not\nbring the story to its rightful ending._ Now as at this time King Arthur\nabode in Britain, and held high court, that his fame might wax the\ngreater; and as the noble folk sat at the board and ate, there came\nriding a knight; for 'twas the custom in Arthur's days that while the\nking held court no door, small nor great, should be shut, but all men\nwere free to come and go as they willed.\n\nThus the knight came riding where the high folk sat, and would fain have\ndismounted, but so sorely was he wounded that he might not do so. In\nsooth he was in evil case, for he had more than ten wounds, and from the\nleast of them a man might scarce recover; he came in such guise that his\nweapons and his vesture and his steed, which was fair and tall, were\nall dyed red with his own blood. The knight was sad at heart and sorely\nwounded, yet he greeted, as best he might, all the lords then in the\nhall; but more he might not speak, for the pain of his wounds.\n\nThen my lord, Sir Gawain, who did full many a courtesy (for such was his\nwont all his life long), so soon as he saw the knight, sprang up with no\ndelay, and lifted him from the saddle and set him upon the ground, but\nhe might neither sit, nor walk, nor so much as stand upon his feet, but\nfell upon the earth.\n\nThen Sir Gawain bade them carry him softly on a couch to the side of the\nhall in the sight of the chief guests, that they might hear his tale.\nBut since he might scarce speak he made him to be disarmed, and stripped\nto the skin, and wrapped in warm coverings and gave him a sop\nsteeped in clear wine.\n\nThen Sir Gawain began to search his wounds, for in those days, so far\nas God suffered the sun to shine might no man find one so skilled in\nleech-craft, for that man whom he took in his care, were the life but\nleft in him, would neither lack healing nor die of any wound.\n\nThen spake the knight who lay there: \"Woe is me, for I may neither eat\nnor drink; my heart beginneth to sink, mine eyes fail me, methinks I am\nabout to die! Yet might I live, and would God grant to me that all ye\nwho sit here beside me might hear my words, I had fain spoken with the\nking, whom I sought as best I might, in that I would not be forsworn;\nneeds must I come hither!\"\n\nThen quoth Sir Gawain the good: \"Sir Knight, have ye no dread of death\nas at this time, for I shall help you to a respite.\" He drew forth from\nhis pouch a root that had this virtue, that it stayed the flow of blood\nand strengthened the feeble; he placed it in the knight's mouth, and\nbade him eat a little; therewith was his heart lightened, and he began\nto eat and to drink, and forgat somewhat of his pain.\n\nErst when the service was ended came King Arthur to the knight as he\nlay, and said: \"God give ye good-day, dear Sir Knight; tell me who hath\nwounded ye so sorely, and how came ye by your hurt? Did the knight who\nwrought such harm depart from ye unscathed?\"\n\nThen spake the knight to the king, who stood before him: \"That will I\ntell ye, for I am sworn and pledged thereto. 'Tis seven years past that\nI lost all my goods, and poverty pressed me so sorely that I knew not\nwhat I might do. Thus would I keep myself by robbery. My tithes had I\nsold, I had spent all my goods, and pledged all my heritage, so that of\nall that my father left when he departed from this world there remained\nto me nothing. Naught, not a straw, had I left. Yet had I given much in\nlargesse, for I had frequented many a tourney and Table Round where I\nhad scattered my goods; whosoever craved aught of me, whether for want\nor for reward, were he page, were he messenger, never did he depart\nempty-handed. Never did I fail any who besought aid of me. Thus I spent\nall my goods. Then must I fare through the land; and did I meet folk\n(though at first I shamed me) whomsoever I met, whether pilgrim or\nmerchant, did he bear goods or money with him, so did I deal with him\nthat I won it for myself. But little might escape me. I have done many\nan evil deed! Now is it three days past since, as I fared on my way, a\nknight met me, and I deemed his steed so good that I coveted it above\nall things, but when I laid hands upon the bridle and bade the knight\ndismount then was he ready with his sword and repaid me with such a blow\nthat I forgot who I was and all that had befallen me; so fierce was the\nstroke he dealt me! And though I betook me to arms they profited me not\na jot; his blows were so heavy, they weighed even as lead. He pierced\nthrough my harness, as ye may see in many places, smiting through flesh\nand bone. But from me did he receive no blow that might turn to his\nloss. Therefore must I yield myself to him, and swear by my troth, would\nI save my life, to come hither to ye as swiftly as I might, and delay no\nwhit, but yield me your prisoner. And this have I now done, and I yield\nmyself to your grace, Sir King, avowing my misdeeds that I have wrought\nin this world, whether in thought or deed.\"\n\nThen quoth the king: \"Wit ye well who he was, and how he was hight, who\nsent ye hither? Of what fashion was his steed, and what tokens did he\nbear?\"\n\nAnd the knight answered: \"Of that ye would ask me may I tell ye naught,\nsave only that the knight's steed and armour were red as blood, and he\nseemed to me of Wales by his speech, and by all I might discern of him.\nThereto is he of such might that I ween his equal may scarce be found in\nChristendom; that may I also say in truth, since such ill chance befell\nme that I met with him when my intent was evil, and not good.\"\n\nThen King Arthur cried aloud that all might hear him, that the knight\nwas surely none other than Sir Perceval. He tore his hair, and demeaned\nhimself as one sorely vexed, and spake: \"Though I be lord of riches yet\nmay I say that I am friendless! This may I say forsooth; since I lost\nPerceval, and the ill chance befell me that he had the will and the\ndesire to seek the Grail and the spear (which he may not find) many a\nwounded knight hath he sent as captive to my court, whom, for their\nmisdoing, he hath vanquished by his might. Ever shall he be thanked\ntherefor. Now have I no knight so valiant of mind that for my sake will\nseek Perceval and bring him to court. Yet I and my court and my country\nalike are shamed and dishonoured in that we have so long lacked his\npresence, and for this am I above measure sorrowful.\"\n\nThen spake Sir Kay the seneschal: \"God-wot I shall fetch Perceval,\nwhether he will or no, and bring hither to court him whom ye praise so\nhighly, and believe me well, were he wrought of iron, by the God who\nmade me I will bring him living or dead! Does this content ye, my lord\nking?\"\n\nThen stood Arthur and laughed aloud, and likewise did all the knights\nwho heard Sir Kay speak. And the king said: \"Sir Kay, let this talk be;\nye should of right be shamed when ye hear the Welshman's name! Have ye\naltogether forgot how ye boasted yourself aforetime, even as ye have now\ndone, and then how ye met Perceval, whom ye had scarce sought? There\nwere ye ill-counselled; ye thought to bring him without his will,\nbut the knight was not so feeble, he gave ye a blow that brake your\ncollar-bone and thrust ye from your steed, feet upward, with little\nhonour! Had he so willed he had slain ye. Idle boasting is great shame.\nAn I hear ye make further boast of seeking knights I shall owe ye small\nthanks. Little would he heed your compelling! In such quest must another\nride would I be comforted by the coming of this knight!\"\n\nQuoth Sir Gawain, \"Ye mind me of an old saying, Sir Kay, how if some men\ngrow old, and God should spare them even to an hundred years, then would\nthey be but the more foolish--such an one, methinks, are ye! Now believe\nye my tale; did ye once find Perceval, an ye thought to say to him other\nthan he chose to hear, by the Lord above us ye dare not do it for the\nking's crown, who is lord of this land, he would put ye to such great\nshame! Of long time, and full well, do I know his ways! When he is well\nentreated, and men do naught to vex him, then is he gentle as a lamb,\nbut an ye rouse him to wrath then is he the fiercest wight of God's\nmaking--in such wise is he fashioned. Gentle and courteous is he to all\nthe world, rich and poor, so long as men do him no wrong, but let his\ntemper be changed, and nowhere shall ye find his fellow!\"\n\nAfter this manner also spake Sir Lancelot, and all who were in the hall\ntook up the word of Sir Gawain, and praised Perceval. But there were\nmany in the court heavy at heart, and sore vexed with the king their\nlord for that he held them so cheap.\n\nQuoth the Father of Adventure, \"By the might of our Lord, and by His\nname, who ruleth in heaven, henceforth I will not rest in one place more\nthan one night or two, but will ride ever till I have found Perceval, or\nlearnt certain tidings of his doings; and I will bring him to court an\nhe be minded to ride with me--further will I not vaunt myself.\"\n\nThen spake Arthur, \"God wot, here have I both joy and sorrow. Fain am I\nto behold Perceval, an such fortune befall me, and ill may I spare thee.\nThus have I joy and sorrow. Yet, nephew, trow me well, I were loth to\nbid thee break thine oath; now, therefore, make ready as befits thee,\nand depart as swiftly as may be, and seek me Perceval.\"\n\nWith these words up sprang Sir Lancelot of the Lake, and stepped\nforward, and spake, and said he would adventure himself and take what\nfortune should send, and go seek Perceval hither and thither through all\nlands; \"And may I but find that proud knight, an it lieth in my power,\nhither will I bring him! Now will I make me ready, and ride hence\nwithout longer tarrying; methinks, from the king's word, an he have\nPerceval he shall be freed from care--so will I ride hence for his\nhonour.\"\n\nQuoth Arthur the king: \"Sir Lancelot, of this thing it behoves ye take\nbetter rede; lightly might it turn to my shame if all my knights rode\nforth, and I thereafter were beset with strife and warfare, as full oft\nhath chanced aforetime! So might it in sooth be mine undoing. It hath\nchanced afore this that I had lost crown and lands, save for my knights;\nby them have I been victorious!\"\n\nQuoth Sir Lancelot: \"By the Lord who made me, and who shall be\nDoom's-man at the last day, come what may thereof, since Sir Gawain\nrideth hence 'tis not I will bide behind! Rather will I try what may\nchance, and adventure all that God hath given me, for he sought me with\nall his power when I was in secret case, and brought me once more to\ncourt--for that do I owe him faith and fellowship.\"\n\nThen they all wept, wives and maidens, knights and squires, when they\nknew Sir Lancelot would ride thence.\n\nSir Gawain, who forgat not the wounded knight and his need of healing,\nwent to him as he lay, and bound up his wounds, and so tended him at\nthat time that he was healed ere long--needs must he be healed, even\nagainst his will, on whom Sir Gawain laid hands. All they of the court\nwere sad and sorry at their departing; that eve they ate but little, for\nthinking of the knights who should ride forth with the morning.\n\nBut now will we be silent on their lamentations, and tell henceforth of\nSir Gawain and Sir Lancelot, who rode both on their way.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe adventure doeth us to wit that in the morning, so soon as it was\nday, they rode forth together through many a waste land, over many a\nheath and high hill, adown many a valley to seek Sir Perceval, but\nlittle did it profit them, for of him might they learn naught. Thus were\nthey sorely vexed.\n\nOn the ninth day there came riding towards them a knight on a goodly\nsteed, and well armed withal. He was all black, even as I tell ye: his\nhead, his body, and his hands were all black, saving only his teeth. His\nshield and his armour were even those of a Moor, and black as a raven.\nHe rode his steed at full gallop, with many a forward bound. When he\nbeheld the knights, and drew nigh to them, and the one had greeted the\nother, he cried aloud to Sir Lancelot: \"Knight, now give me to wit of\none thing which I desire, or guard ye against my spear. The truth will I\nknow. I shall tell ye herewith my custom; what knight soever I may meet,\nwere he stronger than five men, and I knew it well, yet would I not hold\nmy hand for fear or favour, but he should answer me, or I should fight\nagainst him. Now, Sir Knight, give me answer, by your troth, so truly as\nye know, to that which I shall ask ye, and delay not, otherwise may ye\nwell rue it!\"\n\nQuoth Sir Lancelot: \"I were liefer dead than that a knight should force\nme to do that to which I had no mind--so were the shame equal. Hold to\nyour custom an ye will; I were more fain to fight than to let ye be, if\nbut to fell your pride. I ask naught but peace, yet will I chastise your\ndiscourtesy, or die in that will!\"\n\nThe Moor, who was wroth with Sir Lancelot, abode not still, but reined\nback his steed, and laid his spear in rest as one who was keen to fight.\nSir Gawain drew on one side, since the twain would fight, and thought in\nhimself, as was right and courteous, that it were folly, and the custom\nof no good knight, for twain to fall on one man, since life stood not at\nstake. 'Twere time enough for him to take hand therein, and stand by his\ncomrade, did he see him hard pressed. Therefore stood Sir Gawain still,\nas one who had no mind to fight, nor to break the laws of courtesy.\nNevertheless he deemed that this was a devil rather than a man whom they\nhad come upon! Had they not heard him call upon God no man had dared\nface him, deeming that he was the devil or one of his fellows out of\nhell, for that his steed was so great, and he was taller even than Sir\nLancelot, and black withal, as I said afore.\n\nThus came the two together, the Moor and Sir Lancelot; each had a great\nspear and brake it in two, as a reed, yet neither felled the other, but\neach abode upon his steed. Then each drew his sword from its sheath, and\nset to work therewith, and of a sooth, had not God Himself so willed it\nboth had died there; so mighty were their strokes that by right no man\nshould escape alive. Had it been midnight, and dark as night is wont to\nbe, yet had ye seen the grass and the flowers by the light of the sparks\nthat flew so thick from helmet and sword and fell upon the earth. The\nsmith that wrought their weapons I say he wrought them not amiss, he\nmerited a fairer reward than Arthur ever gave to any man for such\ndesert.\n\nThe knight and Sir Lancelot, neither would yield to the other till Sir\nGawain parted them by his prayer, and made them withdraw each from the\nother, for great pity he deemed it should either there be slain; yet so\nfell were the blows that they smote, and so great their wrath withal,\nthat he saw well did the strife endure but short while longer they had\nreceived such wounds as should be the death of one, or it might well be\nof both.\n\nWhen Sir Gawain had parted the twain, whom he saw to be weary enow, he\nspake to the Moor: \"'Tis an ill custom this to which ye are given; ye\nshall here renounce it. Had ye but asked in courteous wise that which ye\nhave a mind to know, this knight had hearkened, and had answered ye of\nright goodwill; he had not refused, that do I know well. Ye be both rash\nand foolish, and one of the twain, ye, or he, shall lose by it, and from\nthat do I dissent, an ye show me not better reason therefore.\"\n\nQuoth the Moor: \"How come ye to speak thus to me? Wot ye that I be\nafraid to fight against the twain of ye; or that I have held my hand\nthrough fear of death? Were the one of ye Sir Lancelot, and the other\nKing Arthur's sister's son (these twain are wont to be praised above all\nin Arthur's court as I have ofttimes heard, though never have I seen\nthem), yet would I not yield a foot to them!\"\n\nThen thought Sir Gawain with himself, \"We were foolish and unwise an we\nfailed to show courtesy to one who praises us so highly.\"\n\nBut Sir Lancelot had great lust either to win the fight or to play it to\na loss, and Sir Gawain, who was well ware of this, prayed him straitly,\nby the love he bare to him, and to King Arthur his lord, that for their\nhonour he should hold his peace awhile, and let him say his will: \"And\nthis I charge ye, by the faith ye owe to my lady, my uncle's wife.\"\n\nSir Lancelot spake: \"Of a sooth, an ye had not thus charged me I should\nhave avenged myself or here been slain, in that this knight forced the\nstrife upon me without cause, and loaded me with blows; but in that ye\nso conjure me, I am he that will harm no man for profit to myself save\nthat he first attack me. And since it seemeth good to ye I will e'en lay\nthe strife in respite. God grant me good counsel therein, since I do it\nnot for cowardice, but for love of ye and for your prayer.\"\n\nThus stood the three in the open, and Sir Gawain spake to the Moor: \"Ye\nbe foolish in that ye do such things--now, neither we nor ye are harmed,\nyet might ye lightly do that which should cost ye your life. Tell me\nwhat ye seek, and I will give ye good counsel withal. If I may I shall\ntell ye that which ye should courteously have asked of this knight, who\nnever yet was so hardly bestead by any man that he fell from his steed.\"\n\nQuoth the Moor: \"Ye say well. Now I pray ye by all who own the laws of\nknighthood, and by Sir Gawain afore all, since he is reckoned the best,\nhe and Sir Lancelot, wherever it may be, in whatever need, far and wide\nthroughout the world, of all men are these twain most praised (I myself\nknow naught save that which I have heard tell), know ye aught of Sir\nAgloval, brother to Sir Perceval of Wales? Of him have I asked many,\nthis long while past; I have ridden hither and thither this half year,\nand here and there have I sought him. For this have I dared many\na peril, and here will I lie dead save that ye twain tell me, in\nfriendship or in fight, if ye know aught of Sir Agloval. Now have we had\nenow of this talk; 'tis full time ye answer, or we take up our strife\nonce again, and see the which of us hath the sooner his full.\"\n\nSir Gawain hearkened, and smiled at the black knight's speech, and spake\nsoothfastly: \"Now tell me what ye will of Sir Agloval that ye thus seek\nhim, and thereafter will I tell ye that which I know.\"\n\nAnd the Moor answered straightway: \"So will I tell ye all. Sir Agloval\nis my father, 'twas he begat me. And more will I tell ye; it chanced\naforetime as ye may now learn, when he came into the land of the Moors;\nthere through his valiant deeds he won the heart of a maiden, she was my\nmother, by my troth. So far went the matter between them through their\nwords and through his courtesy, and because he was so fair to look upon,\nthat she gave him all his will--the which brought her small reward, and\ngreat sorrow. Each plighted their troth to the other ere she granted\nhim her favours. Therein was she ill-counselled, for he forsook her\nthereafter--'tis more than fourteen years past; and when he parted from\nher she bare me, though he knew it not. He told her his quest, whereof\nhe was sore troubled, and how it came about that he must needs leave\nher, and that will I now tell ye. My father was seeking a noble knight,\nwho was lost as at that time, and who was hight Sir Lancelot. Still more\nmay I tell ye; he told my mother that he and many of his fellows had\nsworn a great oath to seek Sir Lancelot, and their quest should endure\ntwo years or more an they found him not, or could learn no tidings of\nhim. Nor should they tarry in any land more than one night or two. This\nvexed my father sorely, that for this cause, and to keep his oath, he\nmust needs leave my mother. But ere he departed he sware to her that he\nwould return when he had achieved his quest; but he kept not his oath.\nThus have I sought him in many a court. All this did my lady mother tell\nme, and also of the troth-plight. Little good hath it done me that he be\nmy father, and that he sware to my mother, ere he departed, that for her\nhonour, and for her profit, he would return to her without fail. Doth he\nlive, God send him mocking (this I pray in all humility), but an he be\nalready dead, then may God forgive him his sins. I and my mother are\ndisinherited, since that he hath deserted us, of great goods and of\na fair heritage, that which fell to her from her father have we lost\naltogether. It hath been denied us by the law of the land. Thereto was I\ngreatly shamed, for they called me fatherless, and I could shew naught\nagainst it, nor tell them who it was that begat me, since my father had\nthus fled. So did I cause myself to be dubbed knight, and sware a great\noath (I were loth to break it) that never should I meet a knight but I\nwould fight him, or he should tell me if he perchance knew any tidings\nof my father, that I might learn somewhat concerning him. Did I meet\nmine own brother, I would not break mine oath, nor my vow; and till now\nhave I kept it well, nor broken it by my default. And here would I bid\nye twain, if ye would part from me in friendship, that ye tell me what\nye may know thereof, out and out, by your troth, and therewith end this\ntalk. Otherwise let us end this matter even as we began it, for there\nliveth no knight under the sun for whom I would break mine oath, were it\nfor my hurt, or for my profit.\"\n\nThen was there neither of the twain, Sir Gawain nor Sir Lancelot, but\nthe tears fell from their eyes when they heard the knight's tale. Such\npity had they for him, they waxed pale, and red, and discovered their\nfaces, when they heard his plaint.\n\nQuoth Sir Lancelot: \"By my good days, nevermore will I be wrathful, nor\nbear rancour against ye for any lack of courtesy; ye need no longer\nstand on guard against me, my heart is not evil towards ye, and we will\ncounsel ye well.\"\n\nThen was the black knight blithe, and drew near to Sir Lancelot, and\nbared his head, which was black as pitch; that was the fashion of his\nland--Moors are black as burnt brands. But in all that men would praise\nin a knight was he fair; after his kind. Though he were black, what was\nhe the worse? In him was naught unsightly; he was taller by half a foot\nthan any knight who stood beside him, and as yet was he scarce more than\na child! It pleased him so well when he heard them speak thus of Sir\nAgloval that he knelt him straightway on the earth; but Sir Gawain\nraised him up, and told him their tidings, how they were but as\nmessengers, and belonged to the court of King Arthur, which was of high\nrenown, and that they rode at that time seeking Sir Perceval and Sir\nAgloval, since the king desired them both. \"And his mind is to see and\nspeak with them; may we by any means persuade those noble knights we\nshall return straightway to the king's court, an it be so that they will\nride with us (further will we not vaunt ourselves, 'tis of our good\nwill, and their pleasure), thereby shall the king be the more honoured.\nThey belong to the Round Table, and have done so of long time; both are\nof the king's court, and knights of high renown. Now an ye will work\nwisely, and shun your own harm, ye will mount, and ride to King Arthur's\ncourt, and delay not. I hope in God that Sir Agloval shall come thither\nwithin short space, or that ye shall hear tidings of him; for there come\nfull oft tidings from afar. Go ye to court without tarrying, the king\nwill receive ye well. Tell him, and give him to wit who ye be, and\nwhence ye come, and the quest upon which ye ride; he will not let ye\ndepart ere we come and bring with us your father, an God prosper us.\nShould ye ride thus through the land, and fight with every knight whom\nye may meet, ye will need great good fortune to win every conflict\nwithout mischance or ill-hap! They who will be ever fighting, and ne'er\navoid a combat, an they hold such custom for long, though at whiles they\nescape, yet shall they find their master, who will perforce change their\nmood! Now Sir Knight do our bidding, for your own honour's sake, and\nride ye to court; grant us this grace, for ere ye have abode long time\nthere I hope that ye shall behold your father or receive tidings of him.\nBut till that time abide ye at the court, there shall ye be well at ease\nin many ways. Now promise us this; we shall seek your father, and may we\nfind him, and God give us honour in our quest, then will we return as\nswiftly as may be, and rejoice ye and the king!\"\n\nWhen the Moor heard these words he laughed with heart and mouth (his\nteeth were white as chalk, otherwise was he altogether black), and he\nspake, \"God our Father reward ye, noble knights, for the good will and\nthe honour ye have done me, and also for the great comfort wherewith ye\nhave lightened mine heart that long hath been all too heavy. An my steed\nfail me not I shall ride whither ye bid me to this king whom ye praise\nso highly.\"\n\nWith that he pledged to the knights hand and knighthood, and called\nGod to witness that he would do their bidding, faithfully, and without\ndispute, so long as he might live.\n\nThen quoth Sir Lancelot: \"Knight, an ye be in any need, when ye come\ninto Arthur's land,--I ween 'tis all unknown to ye,--speak but of\nus twain whom ye see here and men shall do ye naught but honour and\ncourtesy, where'er ye come, in any place. And when ye come to the king,\nere ye tell him aught beside, say that ye have seen and have spoken with\nus; and trow me, without fail, ye shall be well received!\" The Moor\nspake: \"'Tis well said--God reward ye for this courtesy; but were it\nyour will and pleasing to ye that I knew the names of ye two then\ni'sooth were I the blither withal!\"\n\nThen straightway Sir Gawain did him to wit who they were, and how they\nwere hight; and the Moor made no delay, but fell on his knees before\nthem. Sir Gawain raised him up, but the Moor laid his hands together and\nspake, \"God the Father of all, and Ruler of the World, grant that I may\namend my misdoing to your honour. Sir Lancelot, very dear lord, I own\nmyself right guilty, for I did evil, and naught else!\"\n\nSir Gawain spake: \"Take ye not to heart that which has here chanced, it\nshall be naught the worse for ye.\"\n\nSir Gawain and Sir Lancelot were both mounted upon their steeds. The\nMoor spake: \"'Tis labour lost. Such good knights as ye be, since ye at\nthis time fare to seek my father, by the power of our Lord I will not\nstay behind; 'twere shame an I did. I shall ride with ye twain!\"\n\nQuoth Sir Gawain: \"Then must ye lay aside all outrageousness, and ride\npeaceably on your way, and whatever knight shall meet ye, and greet ye\ncourteously, him shall ye greet and let pass on his way without strife\nor contention; and be his friend an he hath done ye no wrong--this do\nI counsel ye straitly. But he that is fierce and fell towards ye or\ntowards another, on him shall ye prove your prowess, and humble his\npride, if ye may. And honour all women, and keep them from shame, first\nand last, as best ye may. Be courteous and of gentle bearing to all ye\nmeet who be well-mannered toward ye, and he who hath no love for virtue\nagainst him spare neither sword, nor spear, nor shield!\"\n\nThe Moor spake: \"Since that ye will it so, I will at your bidding\nforbear, otherwise might I rue it! May God be gracious to me.\"\n\nSo rode they all three together till they came to a parting of the ways\nwhere stood a fair cross, and thereon letters red as blood. Sir Gawain\nwas learned in clerkly lore, he read the letters wherein was writ that\nhere was the border of Arthur's land, and let any man who came to the\ncross, and who bare the name of knight, bethink him well, since he\nmight not ride far without strife and conflict, and the finding of such\nadventures as might lightly turn to his harm, or even to his death--the\nland was of such customs.\n\nThis did Sir Gawain tell to the twain. Then they saw, by the parting of\nthe ways, a hermit's cell, fairly builded, and the knights bethought\nthem that they would turn them thither that they might hear and see, and\nknow what the words boded.\n\nThere saw they the hermit, who seemed to them a right good man; and they\ndismounted at his little window, and asked his tidings, if perchance a\nknight in red armour had passed that way? And the good man answered and\nsaid 'twas but the other day, afore noon, that he had seen two knights\nwho were wondrous like unto each other. \"Of a truth it seemed to me,\nby their features and by their gestures, that they should be brothers.\nTheir steeds seemed beyond measure weary. They came that self-same road\nthat cometh from that land that men here call Britain; they were both in\nseeming men of might, and the one had steed and armour that were even\nred as blood. They dismounted, both of them, at the foot of that cross\nye see there. There many a judgment is given. There did a knight lose\nhis life, he and his wife with him; well did they deserve that their\nmemory should be held in honour by the friends of our Lord, for they\nmade a right good ending! They had sought the shrine of a saint, with\nthem they had money and steeds, beside other goods, as befitted folk of\nhigh degree. Here did they fall in with a company of robbers, who slew\nthe good knight, and took his steed and his money, and all that he had.\nOf this was his wife so sorrowful that for grief and woe her heart\nbrake, and so did they die here, the twain of them, even at the cross\nroads, where ye see the fair cross, where now many a judgment is spoken.\n'Twas made through the knight's will. Hither come folk stripped and\nbare-foot, doing penance for their sins; and they who pass ahorse or\nafoot have here had many a prayer granted. The knights of whom ye ask\ndid there their orisons, as well became them, but I may not tell ye\nwhither they went at their departing; in sooth I know naught, for I said\nmy prayers here within and forgat them. But they were tall and strong,\nand the one wore red armour, and the other bare the badge of King\nArthur.\"\n\nThen were the knights sorely grieved, and kindled as a coal for sorrow,\nin that they might not know, by any craft, whitherward they rode. Then\nthey asked the manner of the land, and whither led the roads which they\nsaw before them.\n\nThen answered the good hermit, \"I will tell ye as best I may. The road\nby which ye came, that do ye know; and the road that runneth straight\ntherefrom that will ye shun, an ye heed my counsel. 'Tis a land of\nill-fame, where men follow evil customs; their best, 'tis but others'\nworst! He who will keep his horse, his weapons and his life will shun\nthat road. And the right-hand way goeth to a wild waste land, wherein no\nman dwelleth; an I bethink me well 'tis over a year and a day since\nI saw man or woman come from thence. An it so befall that ye fare\nthitherward ye shall find such a marvel that would ye dare the venture,\nand amend the wrong it shall cost ye life and limb, that do I tell ye\nhere. For there shall ye find the most fell beast ever man heard or read\nof; take ye good heed thereof, 'tis the Foul Fiend himself, that know I\nwell, that roameth in the guise of a beast. Against him may no weapon\nserve, there was never spear so sharp nor sword so well tempered, as I\nknow of a truth, that may harm that devil, but it will break or bend as\nhath full oft been proven in time past. Now hath the beast chosen his\ndwelling in a little forest, there will he abide all night, but the day\nhe prowleth by straight and winding ways. He devoureth man and beast\nalike, nor may I tell ye the marvels I have heard concerning him. He\nhath laid waste a broad land, and driven thereout all the country-folk,\nso that none remain. Now have I told ye the truth concerning these two\nroads, and what may befall ye therein; for the third, it leadeth hereby\nto the sea coast; I know not what I may say more.\"\n\nQuoth Sir Lancelot: \"By the Lord who made me, Sir Gawain, we must needs\ndepart from each other here and now, would we find these knights. And\nI will dare that which I deem the most perilous venture. Ye shall ride\nstraightway whichever road ye will, otherwise shall we lose the knights\nwho were lately here, they shall not have ridden far as yet. And if it\nbe that ye find them, then I charge and conjure ye, by my will and your\nvalour, that if ye may, ye shall bring them with ye and return hither to\nthis place. Do this, Sir Knight, for my prayer. And do the hermit to wit\nhow matters have gone with ye, that he may tell me the truth thereof if\nperadventure I too come hither, and the knight shall go with ye, and God\nkeep ye both since we be now come to this point. Do him honour as a good\nman and true, in whatsoever place ye may be, this I pray ye of your\nvalour.\"\n\nSir Gawain gave him answer: \"Dear comrade, I am fain to do your bidding,\nand may God keep us in life and limb, and in worldly honour. Now choose\nye first which road ye will take, for here will we abide no longer.\"\n\nThen said Sir Lancelot: \"I ween that 'tis the most pressing need to go\nfight against the beast whereof the good man telleth us; methinks 'twere\nwell that I ride thither.\"\n\nAnd the hermit answered: \"Alas, Sir Knight, ye be so fair that I deem\nbelow the throne one might scarce find your equal, and will ye brave a\nventure which no man may achieve! The folk hath fled out of the land,\nnone may withstand that beast, no shaft is so fell as the venom which\nhe shooteth on all who near him; and the man whom it reacheth, and upon\nwhom it shall light (I am he who lieth not), he dieth ere the third day\nbe past, had he never a wound upon him. This hath been the worse for\nmany. Then is the beast greater than a horse, and runneth more swiftly\nthan any horse may. Ye are wise an ye shun the fiend. This do I tell ye\nbeforehand. Had he not chosen his lair, and did he wander from the land,\nas well might be, by the Lord who made us he had laid the world waste!\nYe would do well to turn back.\"\n\nBut 'twas labour lost; not for all the riches that belonged to King\nArthur would he have taken back his word and his covenant, for any\nprayer that might be made him, nor have yielded aught through fear.\n\nThen would the knights take leave of each other that they might depart.\nThe Moor spake to the twain: \"For what do ye take me? Am I a lesser or a\nweaker man than either of ye that Sir Gawain must needs ride with me?\nI will not have it so. There is no knight so bold but I dare well\nwithstand him. I know well what is unfitting. Now say whither ye will\nbetake ye, and send me what road ye will; I will dare the venture, be it\nnever so perilous. By my knighthood, and by all who follow Christendom,\nI shall adventure alone, and take that which may chance.\"\n\nThen said Sir Gawain: \"It liketh me ill that ye sware such an oath, yet\nsince such is your will, take ye the road that leadeth to the sea (this\nseemeth to me the best), ride swiftly and spare not, but seek your\nfather. And do in all things after my counsel; if any man meet ye, when\nye have given him courteous greeting, ask him if he saw riding, or\notherwise met with, two knights, the one of whom ware red armour, and\nthe other bare King Arthur's badge. This shall ye first beseech of them.\nWhen ye come to the crossing, pray that men tell ye the truth, and\nask for the sea-coast withal, wherever ye come. And if so be that men\nunderstand ye not then return straightway to this place, and follow the\nroad which I shall take, swiftly, and with no delay. We might lightly\ndepart so far from each other that we met not again. But follow me soon,\nand not too late; and do according as I counsel ye, and I tell ye truly,\nno harm shall befall ye.\"\n\nThe Moor spake: \"God reward ye.\" Then took they leave each of the other,\nand departed asunder. Now will I tell ye how it fared with Sir Gawain.\n\nThe adventure telleth us forthwith that when prime was now already past\nSir Gawain came to a wide and deep river. 'Twas a great stream, and\ndeep, and the current ran swift and strong. Then Sir Gawain marked well,\nand took heed, how on the further side, in a land of which he knew\nnaught, there came a knight riding on a fair steed, and armed as if for\ncombat. Before him he drave captive a maiden. Sir Gawain beheld how\nhe smote her, many a time and oft, blow upon blow, with his fist that\nweighed heavily for the mailed gauntlet that he ware. Pain enough did he\nmake her bear for that she desired not to ride with him. He smote her\nmany a time and oft with his shield as he would revenge himself upon her\nin unseemly fashion. The maiden ware a robe of green silk, that was rent\nin many places, 'twas the cruel knight had wrought the mischief. She\nrode a sorry hack, bare backed, and her matchless hair, which was yellow\nas silk, hung even to the horse's croup--but in sooth she had lost well\nnigh the half thereof, which that fell knight had afore torn out. 'Twas\npast belief, the maiden's sorrow and shame; how she scarce might bear to\nbe smitten by the cruel knight; she wept and wrung her hands.\n\nThis Sir Gawain beheld, and he deemed 'twere shame an he avenged not her\nwrong. He looked before and behind and saw no bridge, great or small, by\nwhich he might cross over, nor saw he living soul of whom he might ask,\nthen did he delay no longer, but turned his bridle, and set his horse\ntoward the river bank; he struck his spurs sharply and sprang into the\nmidst of the stream. The good steed breasted the current, swimming as\nbest it might and brought its master to the further side. 'Twas great\nmarvel that they were not drowned, horse and man, for the river was\ndeep, and the stream ran swiftly.\n\nWhen Sir Gawain came to the other side of the river, which was both wide\nand deep, then saw he a great company of folk riding after the knight\nwho bare away the maiden by force, and thus misused her, but he wist not\nif it was to aid the knight that they thus followed him, or to wreak\nvengeance on him. He saw many men clad in hauberks, but they were as yet\na good mile distant. Sir Gawain rode swiftly after the maiden who went\nafore, whom the knight thus mishandled, to avenge her wrong; and as he\ndrew near so that she might see him, she smote her hands together more\nthan before, and cried to Gawain, \"Noble knight, for the honour of\nwomanhood, save me! This knight doeth me undeserved shame. Did there\ncome hither any friend of God who would help me in this my need, an he\nhad slain his own father it should be forgiven him!\"\n\nHer prayers and entreaties, her tears and lamentations, would have\nstirred any man to pity; she cried upon Sir Gawain as he came riding\ninto the plain, to come to her aid and fell the knight's pride. As Sir\nGawain heard her his heart was rent with sorrow and compassion and he\nspake to that evil knight: \"Sir Knight, 'tis folly and discourtesy that\nwhich ye do to this maiden; were ye wise ye would forbear; even had the\nmaiden wronged ye, ye should deal courteously; he hath small honour who\nthus smiteth a maiden.\"\n\nThen said the cruel knight: \"For ye, fool and meddler, whether ye be\nknight or no, will I not stay my hand, nay, rather for your shame, will\nI chastise her the more; and should ye but speak another word to her I\nshall thrust ye straightway from your steed with my spear!\"\n\nQuoth Sir Gawain: \"Then were I but afoot Sir Knight! Natheless I\ncounsel ye, an ye be wise, that ye spare the maiden. Ye will find me not\nso craven this day as to let ye harm her; I shall defend her and avenge\nher wrong if my life be risked upon it. But, Sir Knight, hearken to my\nprayer, for God and for your honour, and the sake of knighthood!\"\n\nBut that evil knight answered and said he would in no wise do this: \"An\nye get not hence, and fly, by heaven it shall be your doomsday! I have\nno need of your sermons.\"\n\nQuoth Sir Gawain: \"An ye be so bold, lay but your hand again upon her,\nand I shall take so stern a pledge as, wist ye, shall dismay your heart,\nan it cost me my life. Let the maiden go in peace, or be on your guard\nagainst my spear, for I defy ye!\"\n\nThe other was high and scornful that Sir Gawain so threatened him. He\nthought to quell his pride, and rode against him straightway, and Sir\nGawain, on his side, did even the same. They came together so keenly\nthat both spears brake, and the crash might be heard afar; they came\ntogether so swiftly that the knight was thrust from his saddle, and fell\nto the ground, and he fell so heavily that he felt the smart in every\nlimb, and lay in anguish from the fall--so stayed he prone upon the\nground.\n\nSir Gawain took the horse whereon the knight had ridden. He forgat not\nhis courtesy, but gave it into the hand of the maiden, and drew forth\nhis good sword. Therewith was the knight come to himself, and had taken\nhis sword, and stood up as best he might. Evil was his thought, and\nhe cried: \"Vassal, how were ye so bold as to do me this hurt and this\nshame? My father is lord of this land, and after him shall it be mine.\nThink not to escape, 'tis folly that which ye do. Even to day shall ye\nbe repaid by those who follow me, and chastised in such wise as ye would\nnot have for all the riches King Arthur holds or ne'er may hold! My men\nwill be here anon and ye shall not escape, for in this land hath no man\npower or might to withstand me.\"\n\nSir Gawain spake: \"That may I well believe, and therefore are ye so\ncruel and so outrageous. That one who is noble of birth, and rich\nwithal, should be false of heart, by my troth, 'tis great pity and\nbringeth many to shame. Now ye are not yet at such a pass but that I may\nteach ye moderation ere ye part from me. Methinks that to-day ye shall\nrue the evil ye have done. I counsel ye, an ye be wise, that ye make\nknown to me wherein this lady hath wronged ye. Hath she indeed deserved\nthat ye be thus cruel, then 'tis a matter 'twixt ye twain, I meddle no\nfurther. But hath the maiden not deserved this, then hold your hand,\nand make peace with me, otherwise is your life forfeit were ye never so\nhighly born. I take the maiden with me when I ride hence.\" The knight\nwould not hearken, and the maiden spake: \"Noble knight I will tell ye\nwherefore he doeth me this wrong. He would have me for his love, why\nshould I deny the truth? 'Tis many a day since he first spake to me, but\nI would not hearken to him, other sorrows vexed me; poverty grieveth me\nsore; thereto have I griefs that I may not lightly tell. My father was a\nknight, and a good man, and of high birth in this land. Dear Sir Knight,\nI will tell thee openly, though it be shame. My father hath lain sick,\nseven year long, and hath lost his goods, and now lieth in sore straits;\nhe may neither ride nor walk nor stand upon his feet, he suffereth much.\nNow have I nursed and tended and otherwise served my father--friends\nhath he few save myself, and I had fain stayed by him and kept him all\nmy life, doing for him all that within me lay. To-day came this knight\nwithin our hold, which is sore broken down and ruined, and hath done me\nsore wrong. He took me thence by force, ere I was well aware, nor stayed\nhis hand for God or man. Thus did he carry me away, and now he doeth\nme this shame. He hath left his folk behind that they may hinder my\nfriends, lest they follow him to his hurt. I fear lest they be here\nanon. And should they find ye here ye may scarce escape. Would ye save\nyour life, then, Sir Knight, make a swift end of this combat. I fear it\ndureth over long an ye will aid me, by our Lord's grace. So bethink ye,\nSir Knight, what ye may do.\"\n\nQuoth Sir Gawain: \"An ye be wise, Sir Knight, ye will now speak; here\nwill I tarry no longer. Will ye right this maiden of the wrong ye have\ndone her, or fight with me? The one or the other must ye do. An ye will,\nI will alight and meet ye afoot, or ye may mount your steed again, by\ncovenant that ye flee not, nor escape, but abide your fortune.\"\n\nThe knight made answer: \"Now do ye hold me over feeble, an ye think I\nshall thus yield. Ye will do well to dismount straightway, an ye have\nlust to fight.\" He covered himself with his shield, and drew forth his\nsword from the scabbard. Sir Gawain dismounted, whether he liked it well\nor ill, and let his horse that men call the Gringalet, stand beside him;\nnever a foot would that steed stir till its lord came, and once more\nlaid hand on it. Forthwith they betook them to fight, and dealt each\nother fierce thrusts, with mighty and strong strokes, so that one saw\ntheir blood stream out through the mails of their hauberk, and the\nsparks sprang out when the helmets were smitten till they seemed to glow\neven as doth hot iron when it be thrust into the furnace, and waxeth red\nfrom the fire; so fierce were the blows which each dealt to the other.\nThat which most sorely vexed Sir Gawain was that his sword scarce seemed\nworth a groat, the knight's armour was so good that Sir Gawain's weapon\nwas stayed upon it. Though one saw the blood well through, yet had the\nhauberk never a score. This Sir Gawain deemed a great marvel. He fetched\na mighty blow upward and smote the knight above the hauberk, in the\nneck, to the very middle of the throat. Therewith was the matter ended\nfor him; his head fell forward upon his breast, and he fell dead beneath\nthe blow.\n\nHis friends and kinsmen had beheld from afar and came therewith, sore\ndistressed and very wrath when they saw their lord thus lying dead upon\nthe field. Sir Gawain, the good and the valiant, was once more mounted\nupon Gringalet. There might he fear no foe; the steed was so strong and\nso great, and even as his lord had need would the horse watch and follow\nevery sign that he might give.\n\nThose who had come thither, and had, as it were, found Sir Gawain in the\nvery act of slaying, were of one mind that they should beset him, behind\nand afore, on horse and afoot, and if it might be take his life. And Sir\nGawain who saw that he was sore bestead, commended himself to the grace\nof God with a good heart and received his foes with drawn sword. With\neach blow that he smote he wounded one, or two, and wrought them much\nharm. None might withstand him, and he that wrought the most valiantly\nhe abode there dead, or went hence so sorely wounded that he might never\nmore find healing. Thus Gawain, the Father of Adventure, so daunted them\nwith the blows that he smote that many drew aside and turned from the\nstrife with deep wounds and wide. 'Twas a good cause for which Sir\nGawain fought, and for which he desired vengeance, and for that did it\nfall to his profit. He brought many of them in sore stress, some of\nlife, some of limb. With that there came riding a company of the\nmaiden's folk, who were fain to avenge her shame. So soon as she beheld\nthem, and they drew nigh, was she glad and blithe and drew aside from\nthe strife where Sir Gawain did right manfully. The maiden turned to her\nown folk, and betook her with that company again to her father. They\nwere right joyful that she was once more in their power, and they left\nSir Gawain on the field where he was sore bestead--they durst not take\npart with him against their overlord, so greatly did they fear his kin.\n\nBut Sir Gawain, who marked this not, went smiting blow after blow on\nall that came nigh him, and so blinded and drave them backward with his\nstrokes that he was left alone on the field. So weary and so weak were\nthey that they lay all along the road, discomfited, prone on the earth,\nas those who have sore need of rest. But few of them were whole, for Sir\nGawain had so wounded them that men may well tell the tale from now even\nunto Doomsday!\n\nThen thought Sir Gawain within himself, since he had so long wielded his\nweapons and no man durst withstand him further he might find no better\ncounsel than to fare on his way. He thanked God of true heart that he\nhad thus won honour on this evil folk, and that he had escaped with his\nlife, and free from mortal wound, he and his steed, and that God had\nthus protected them. Men say oft, and 'tis true, as was here well\nproven, that he who recks not of his ways, but doeth that which is\ndispleasing alike to God and to the world, he was born in an evil hour.\n\nNow when Sir Gawain had won the fight, and God had shown him favour by\ngranting him good knighthood and the discomfiting of his foes, the day\nwas well past nones, and Sir Gawain, the bold, had neither eaten nor\ndrunk, nor done aught save fight that day and receive great blows. He\nrode on his way sore perplexed and unknowing where he might seek for\nlodging. So long did he ride that he was ware how it drew towards\nevening, and therewith did he behold a castle. Never was a man more\noppressed with hunger and thirst and weariness; and he thought in his\nheart that he could do naught better than ride thither, and see if by\nhap he might find lodging for the night.\n\nHe found by the castle moat the lord of that burg and many of his\nfolk with him; when he had dismounted on the turf he greeted them\ncourteously, and the lord answered \"God reward ye.\"\n\nQuoth Sir Gawain, \"Were it your command, and your will and pleasure,\nright gladly would I abide here within this night! I know not otherwise\nhow I may win shelter. I have ridden all this day, and have seen naught\nsave wilderness and waste land, and there found I no man with whom I\nmight abide the night.\"\n\nAnd the host spake, \"So may good befall me in soul and body as I shall\ngive to you in friendship, even to the uttermost, all that belongeth\nunto this even; lodging will I give ye, and food, ham and venison. My\nlodging is ever free, and ne'er refused to any knight who would fain be\nmy guest. He hath safe conduct, good and sure, against all whom he may\nmeet in this land, were it against mine own son, whom I love above all\nwho own the laws of knighthood. My safe conduct is so well assured that\nwhosoe'er should wrong my guest it should cost him his life and all that\nhe had, had he not more than good fortune! This on my knighthood and by\nthe Blessed Maid, Our Lady!\"\n\nBut Sir Gawain, the Father of Adventure, who was wont to be received\nwith honour, wist not that the knight whom he had slain was son to the\nlord of the castle. Now first shall ye hear of marvellous adventures\nwhereof some be good and some evil.\n\nSir Gawain had come to that point that he deemed he was well assured of\nshelter for the night, nor was he on guard against his heavy mischance.\nThe host, who would do his guest all honour, took the knight by the\nhand, and led him through three portals into a fair hall where he was\nreceived with courteous words. They disarmed him straightway, and\nstabled his steed right well. The host bade them take in ward Sir\nGawain's armour and his sword; too far did they carry them! For that was\nhe vexed and wrathful, and he would not it had so chanced for all his\nhost's halls, were they of wroughten gold! For as they sat at table\nand ate and drank and had enow of all the earth might bear for the\nsustenance of man, and forgat thereby all sorrow, they heard sore\nwailing and lamentation, and the smiting together of hands, and knew not\nwhat it might mean. They heard folk who stood without the walls, at the\nmaster gate, who cried with loud voice, \"Alas, alas! Undo and let us in!\"\n\nThen Sir Gawain's mood was changed, and his heart forbade him that\nsorrow and mischief drew near. He changed colour and grew red. The\nlord gave command from within that they should ask what company stood\nwithout, and what tidings they bare. Then they sprang to the gate, and\nopened it, even as their lord bade.\n\nThen came they in, who stood without, bearing a bier, and making so\ngreat cry and lamentation that men heard it far and near through the\nopen doorways. So came they into the hall, a great company of folk, and\ncried with a loud voice to the lord of the castle, \"Alas, master, here\nlieth dead the best knight that one might find in the wide world, even\nyour dear son. There liveth not his like on earth, so strong, so bold,\nso skilled in valiant deeds!\"\n\nThen was all the burg aghast; and the host, the father of the knight who\nlay dead upon the bier, felt his heart die within him. Scarce might he\nfind words; and he cried, \"Who hath robbed him of life, mine own dear\nson, whom I loved above all the world? How came he by his death? I fear\nme 'twas by his own deed, for well I know that he was fierce of heart,\nand spared neither foe nor friend. I fear lest he have merited his\ndeath. Now do I conjure ye all here present, by God, our Righteous\nFather (so spake the lord of the castle) that ye speak, and make known\nto me the whole truth; fain would I hear how he came by his death, my\ndear son, who lieth here, and for whom my heart doth sorely grieve.\"\n\nThen said they all who brought the dead man thither, that forsooth 'twas\na stranger knight who did this by his great valour; \"Though we saw it\nnot with our eyes, yet may we well bear witness to the death of many of\nour folk; and others are so sorely wounded that they may never more be\nhealed. Man may scarce tell all the mischief wrought by that stranger\nknight who slew your son, the best knight on earth; nor may we tell who\nhe might be.\" But Sir Gawain, who was there within, and knew well that\nhe was guilty, saw that he might scarce escape either by will or by\nvalour, since he had laid aside his weapons and stood all unarmed in his\nrobes; thereof was he grieved at heart.\n\nAs they stood and spake thus, sudden they saw the blood of the knight\nwho lay there dead, and which afore was stanched, leap forth afresh, and\nrun crimson down the hall. With this were they ware of Sir Gawain, their\nlord's guest, and all they who were there present said, the one taking\nup the tale of the other, that forsooth he who had slain the knight was\nwithin that hall, as might be seen of men, for the blood had ceased to\nflow a little after midday, nor had any man seen the wounds bleed since.\nNow was it open and manifest to all that he was there who had done the\ndeed. Herein were they all of one mind who were there present, and they\ndrew together and looked upon Sir Gawain the Father of Adventure, with\nfierce and cruel eyes.\n\nSir Gawain saw many an unfriendly countenance turned towards him. They\nstraitly prayed their lord that he would make the knight known to them;\nhow he came thither; who he was, whence he came, and whither he went,\nand what might be his name?\n\nThen spake the host: \"He is my guest, and he hath my safe conduct, good\nand fast, the while he is within; and be ye sure of this, that if any\nwrong him by word or deed, he shall rue it in such wise that it shall\ncost him goods and life. Nor will I change for prayer of man or woman.\nMy surety that I will hold to every guest standeth so fast that no\nword I have spoken shall be broken with my knowledge or my will. Have\npatience and hold ye still, on peril of your lives and goods. I know so\ngood counsel withal that I may speedily be ware of him who hath wrought\nthis deed.\"\n\nThen he called together his folk to one side of the hall, and said that\nhis oath and his safe conduct might in no wise be broken, for his son\nwere thereby but ill-avenged, valiant knight though he was. He might\nwell rue it if he slew his guest, for thereof should he have great shame\nwherever men told the tale. \"I shall avenge him more discreetly, if I be\nwell-assured of the truth that my guest hath indeed wrought this murder\nand this great outrage.\"\n\nHe spake further to his folk: \"Now do ye all my bidding. Ye shall abide\nhere within this hall; no man shall follow me a foot, but do ye even as\nI command. I will lead my guest without, and ye shall close the door\nbehind us. Doth the dead man cease to bleed, then shall we all be\nwell-assured that he hath done the deed; and thereafter shall I take\ncounsel how I may avenge my son, fittingly, and without shame.\" Then all\nagreed to his counsel, and held their peace.\n\nThus came the host to where Sir Gawain stood, and spake: \"Sir Knight,\nbe not wroth that my folk entreat ye not better. We are in grief, as ye\nsee, and therefore are ye the worse served. Now shall ye come with me,\nand I shall amend what hath here been lacking. My folk and my household\nmake great lamentation, as ye see, and I with them. Now come with me,\nand tarry not; I will lead ye hence where ye may be at ease, and sleep\nsoftly till the daylight. Here would we make our moan.\"\n\nSir Gawain thought within himself he was sorely over-matched within\nthose (to be bare of weapons 'tis a heavy blow at need), and he knew\nwell that the folk looked on him with unfriendly eyes, and that none\nwere on his side, that might be seen from their mien; and therefore he\nthought within himself that there was no better counsel save to put\nhimself in his host's grace, and do that which he bade him. He had no\nweapon upon him, and there were within of his host's folk full five\nhundred men whom he saw to be armed. Thus he went his way with his host,\nwhether the adventure should turn to his harm or to his helping. The\nlord of the castle led him through the doorway, and his men locked it as\nthey went forth.\n\nThen quoth the lord of those within: \"Sir Knight and dear guest, I will\nthat ye be right well entreated here within this night.\" He led him to\na strong tower, wherein were fair beds. He bade them bear tapers before\nthem, and all that he knew or could in any wise deem needful for Sir\nGawain, his guest. The host, sorely mourning, bade them pour out clear\nwine, and make ready a fair couch whereon he might sleep even as he had\nthe will thereto. He left with him squires enow, and turned him again to\nthe castle.\n\nThen did they bear the dead man from where he lay, his wounds were\nstanched, and bled no whit. Then said all who saw it it booted not to\nseek another man, they were well assured 'twas their guest had slain\nhim. The word ran through the hall; and the host turned him again to\nwhere he had left his guest, as if he marked naught. He made no sign to\nhis folk, but locked the door of the tower so fast that none might come\ntherein to Sir Gawain to do him harm, nor overpower him, so safely was\nhe in his keeping. Also, I tell ye, he himself kept the keys of the\nstrong tower wherein he had locked his guest. He would bethink him what\n'twere best to do ere he let him be slain or maimed; thus did he hold\nhim within his fortress.\n\nWhat might Sir Gawain do? He must even abide his fate; he had come\nthither as guest, and now was he locked in a strong tower, within many\ndoors, and in a strange place withal. He was bare of arms, and had he\nrevealed himself and demanded his weapons they had scarce given them\nto him; rather had they slain him, and drawn blood-guiltiness upon\nthemselves had not God protected him.\n\nThus was Sir Gawain a captive, and knew not what he might do. 'Twixt\nconstraint and ill-fortune the night seemed to him over long; though he\nfeared him no whit yet he deemed his end was come. He knew well that the\nfolk were evil-disposed and bare malice and rancour towards him for the\nsake of the dead man who lay there, in that they had seen his wounds\nbleed afresh, and had thereby known his slayer. Thus was his heart\nsorely troubled.\n\nNow leave we speaking of Sir Gawain. The host was within the hall, with\nhis folk until daylight; with sorrow and lamentation did they pass the\nnight, bemoaning their bitter loss. For though the knight had well\ndeserved his death yet had he there many friends who lamented the loss\nthat they had thereby suffered. They were loth to own that he was evil\nand cruel of heart.\n\nSo soon as they saw the fair day light the host took counsel with his\nfolk that they might advise him well by what means, and in what way,\nthey might avenge themselves for their heavy loss. Said the host, their\nlord, did he let the guest, whom he held there captive, and who had\nsmitten his son to death, depart in safety, \"Men would say I were but\na coward, and durst not avenge myself, and would speak scorn of me;\nso many have seen how the matter fell out that it may not well remain\nhidden. Yet should I slay my guest then from henceforward would they cry\nshame upon me in every land where the tale be told.\"\n\nThus was he of two minds, and thought in his heart that to save himself\nfrom shame 'twere best to let his guest depart so soon as he arose,\narmed in all points as he came thither, and harm him in no wise, but\nbring him, unhurt by any man, without the borders of his land and his\nsafe conduct, and there bid him farewell and return hither; while that\nhis friends, who would fain see him avenged, waylaid Sir Gawain, and\nwrought their will upon him, and, if they would, slew him. Or if they\ntook him captive they might deal with him as they thought best, either\nby burning him in the fire, to cool their rage, or by breaking him upon\nthe wheel--as might seem best to them at the time. \"Thus shall I put the\nshame from me, that neither near nor afar, now or henceforward, men\nmake scorn of me. This seemeth to me the wisest rede in this matter,\nhowsoe'er it stand!\"\n\nThis did he tell to his folk, and it pleased them well, and they spake\nwith one mouth that he had found the best counsel. They made no further\nquestioning, but armed themselves, and rode forth, as they who would\nwaylay Sir Gawain, when his host had sent him on his way. Thus they went\nforth from thence a great company, and well armed. Very wrathful were\nthey, and they went right willingly. The host who would follow them\ncalled to him his seneschal, who was cruel and cunning, and bade him\ncarry his armour to their guest straightway, and deliver it to him as if\nhe should ride thence as soon as he had arisen, and delay no whit.\n\nStraightway the seneschal betook him to a fair chamber (hearken ye to an\nevil tale!) where he found Sir Gawain's weapons and his good armour. He\nstole from Sir Gawain his good sword, that which he placed in its sheath\nwas not worth twopence; he cut the straps of the harness well nigh in\ntwain in the midst, and made a great score in the stirrup leathers\nso cunningly that no man might see or know aught thereof beneath the\ncovering of the harness. And the saddle-girths did the traitor so handle\nthat Sir Gawain was sore grieved there-for ere he had ridden a mile; he\nwould not that it had so chanced for all King Arthur's kingdom--that\nshall ye hear anon.\n\nWhen the seneschal who had wrought this treason had brought Sir Gawain's\nweapons and his horse that had been well cared for that night--they\ndeemed it should be theirs ere long, 'twas a strong steed and well\nstanding, and since they thought to have their pleasure of it they\ngave it provender enow--the host bade them undo the door and hold Sir\nGawain's steed there without. The harness was in place, whereof I have\ntold ye that it was so traitorously handled; then came forth the knight,\nwho had arisen, and clad himself in fair robes, and descended the\nstairway. Little thought had he of the treason which in short while\nbefell him. The seneschal held in his hand the false sword, well hidden\nin its sheath, and the while Sir Gawain made him ready did he gird it at\nhis side--for that was the knight thereafter unblithe.\n\nThe while they thus made ready came the lord of the castle to Sir\nGawain, and said: \"Ye are early astir Sir Knight; how comes it that ye\nbe thus hurried at this time? Scarce have ye slept, and arisen, ere\nye would ride hence. Have ye heard Mass, and broken your fast ere ye\ndepart?\"\n\nQuoth Sir Gawain: \"Dear mine host, I grieve that ye yet sorrow; so may\nGod guard me and bring me to His grace when I die as I truly mourn for\nyour mischance. I will it were yet to do!\" Quoth Sir Gawain the bold:\n\"Though 'twere hard and painful to me yet would I for seven years long\nwear haircloth next my body, wherever I fared, for this that ye have\nreceived me so well. Nevertheless be ye sure of a truth--I may not deny\nit this day for any man, how strong soever he might be, nor through fear\nof any that may hear me, foe or friend--but I must needs say in sooth\nyour son had merited his death many a time and oft ere the day came that\nhe died! Now may God have mercy upon him! And God reward ye for the\ngreat good, and the honour, that ye do to me, all ye here, in that I\nhave been at your charges.\"\n\nThen was the host sore vexed, and he said: \"I will do ye no harm for\naught that hath chanced by ye; nevertheless, there be here many a man\nwho had fain fallen upon ye, but I tell ye I will not that aught befall\nye here; nor that my peace be broken, nor vengeance taken upon ye. I\nshall go with ye as ye ride hence, and ride with ye so far that ye be\nnot led astray by any who remain behind. I were loth that harm befell\nye.\"\n\nSir Gawain spake: \"For that may God, who ruleth over all, reward ye.\" He\ntook the bridle in his hand and rode forth, the host nigh to him; and at\nhis side went he who had betrayed him aforehand. Now cometh great sorrow\nupon Sir Gawain. He deemed that he had safe conduct, but he had lost\nfrom its sheath his sword, which had been stolen from him; and that\nwhich the seneschal had put in its place when he drew forth the good\nbrand was more brittle than glass. Thereto had he cunningly handled the\nharness, girths and stirrup-leather, whereof Sir Gawain knew naught, and\nthe lord of the castle had sent afore the strongest and most valiant\nof his folk, to waylay Sir Gawain, and to take his life, A man's heart\nmight well fail him for doubt, and great fear, did he come in such a\npass, and know no wile whereby he might escape.\n\nSir Gawain, who knew naught of these tricks and snares rode on his way,\ndiscoursing of many things with his host, until they drew nigh to the\nplace where his foes lay, ambushed in the thicket, who would fain slay\nhim. When he came nigh to the place the host took leave of the knight,\nand turned him again towards the castle. Sir Gawain sat upon his steed\nand deemed that he should ride thence without strife or combat. As he\nlaid his hand on the saddle-bow, and thrust his feet into the stirrups\nand thought to rise in the saddle, the girths brake asunder, the saddle\nturned over the left stirrup beneath the horse, and left him standing.\nThen Sir Gawain saw a great company of folk spring forth and come\ntowards him with all their might. Some came from the ditches where they\nhad lain hidden, some out of bushes, some out of thickets, and some came\nforth from the hollow ways. God confound traitors, since He may not mend\nthem!\n\nSir Gawain abode not still; he saw well that he was betrayed, and\nover-matched. He drew forth from its sheath the sword, which was little\nworth to him, and deemed he would defend himself, as he oft had done\naforetime, against those who would harm him. But ere he might smite\nthree blows that sword brake, as it were tin--this was an ill beginning\nwould a man defend his life. This Sir Gawain saw, and was dismayed, he\nwist well that he was betrayed. They who would harm him came upon him\nfrom every side, a great company and fierce, all thirsting for his life;\nthere was a great clash of swords; they thrust at him with their spears.\nHis sword protected him not a whit--he who gave it to him God give him\nwoe! It brake in twain at the hilt, and fell into the sand. Sir Gawain\nstood empty-handed, small chance had he of escape, and they who beset\nhim were chosen men, over-strong and over-fierce, as was there well\nproven. Like as a wild boar defends himself against the hounds that\npursue him, even so did Sir Gawain defend himself, but it helped him\nnaught. They harmed him most who stood afar, and thrust at him with\nspears to sate their rage. There was among them no sword so good but had\nSir Gawain held it, and smote with it three such blows as he was oft\nwont to deal with his own, it had broken, or bent, and profited them no\nwhit. But of those things which had stood him in good stead many a time\nbefore, when he was hard beset, his good steed, and his sword, the which\nwas a very haven, of these was he now robbed.\n\nThus was Sir Gawain overcome, and me thinks 'twas little marvel! There\nlives no man so strong or so valiant but he may some time be vanquished\nby force, or by fraud. Sir Gawain must needs yield him; he was felled to\nthe ground, yet were there some to whom it cost their life ere he was\ncaptive, and some it cost a limb, or twain, that might never more be\nhealed; and he himself was so sore mis-handled that all he ware, whether\nit were armour or other clothing, was rent in many a place, so that the\nflesh might be seen. There lived on earth no man so wise that he might\naid him in this stress, nor leech who might heal him; yet, an God will,\nhe shall be healed of his smart and of his shame.\n\nThey bound Sir Gawain's hands, and set him on a sorry hack, and to anger\nhim they led beside him Gringalet, his steed. This they did that he\nmight be the more sorrowful when he beheld his horse, which he had now\nlost, and his own life withal! For of this would they deprive him, and\nmake him to die a shameful death; burn him they would, or break him upon\nthe wheel, that they might wreak their vengeance upon him. There were\namong them knights and squires, the richest, and the most nobly born\nafter the lord of the land; and all had sworn an oath that they would\nlead Sir Gawain to the cross-roads, at the entering in of their land for\nthe greater shaming of King Arthur's Court. To this had they pledged\nthemselves, that they would there slay him without respite or delay; and\nwere it not that 'twere shame to themselves, and too great dishonour to\none who bare the name of knight, they had hung him by the neck, on the\nborder of the two lands, to shame King Arthur; so that all his folk\nwho were of the knightly order, and dwelt at his court, and sought for\nadventure, should shun their land when they heard the tidings of the\nvengeance wrought by them upon knights-errant who would prove their\nfate within those borders.\n\nThus it fell out that they brought Sir Gawain on the horse, sorely\nwounded and mishandled, within the nearness of half a mile, so that\nthe knight knew he was nigh to the cell of the Hermit of whom at that\nself-same cross-road he had asked tidings of King Arthur's knights, and\nof that bad and evil land where many were brought to shame. And they who\nhad brought him thither were of one mind that they should make a wheel,\nand break the knight upon it at the Cross by the parting of the ways\nwhereof I have told ye afore.\n\nNow shall I leave speaking of this matter till I come again thereto,\nand will forthwith tell ye how it fared with Morien when the three\nhad parted asunder, as I told ye afore (Sir Gawain, Morien, and Sir\nLancelot, he was the third), since they would fain make proof of that\nwhich the Hermit had told them. Now will I tell ye of Morien ere that\nI end the tale of Sir Gawain. Now doth the adventure tell that Morien,\nthat bold knight, rode the seaward way, and came safely to the passage\nof the ford nigh unto the open sea. And all the day he met no man of\nwhom he might ask concerning his father; 'twas labour wasted, for all\nwho saw him fled from him. Little good might his asking do him, since\nnone who might walk or ride would abide his coming. But he saw there the\nhoof-prints of horses, which lay before him and were but newly made; by\nthis he deemed that his father had passed that way but a short while\nbefore.\n\nThus he followed the hoof-tracks to the passage of the sea. That night\nhad he neither rest nor slumber, nor found he place where he might\nshelter, or where it seemed to him he might ask for food or lodging\nbeneath a roof.\n\nThe morning early, even as it dawned and men might see clearly and well\n(which comforted him much), he came safely ahorse to where one might\nmake the crossing, but he saw never a soul; no man dwelt thereabout, for\nthe robbers had laid waste the land, and driven away the folk so that\nnone remained. 'Twas all heath and sand, and no land beside; there grew\nneither barley nor wheat. He saw and heard no man, nor did folk come and\ngo there, but he saw ships at anchor, and shipmen therein, who were wont\nto take over those folk who would cross into Ireland.\n\nMorien came riding over the sea-sand, and cried with a loud voice\nshipward: \"Ye who be within tell me that which I ask lest it be to your\nown loss, as also I would fain know for my own profit and rejoicing.\nKnow ye if any within these few days past have carried a knight over the\nwater?\"\n\nBut all they who lay in the ships, when they beheld Morien who had\ndoffed his helm, were so afeard for him that they might neither hear nor\nunderstand question nor answer. They were altogether in fear of him,\nsince he was so tall, and black withal. Each man turned his boat\nseaward, and put off from the shore, for Morien was to look upon even as\nif he were come out of hell. They deemed they had seen the Foul Fiend\nhimself, who would fain de\u00e7eive them, so they departed as swiftly as\nthey might and would in no wise abide his coming. Then must Morien turn\nhim again, for none would hearken to his speech nor tell him that which\nhe fain would know; all were of one mind that 'twas the Devil, and none\nelse, who rode there upon the sand, so they fled with one consent from\nthe shore.\n\nMorien saw well that his labour was in vain, for would he make the\ncrossing there was no man would abide his coming or receive him into his\nboat. Thus must he needs turn him back, and great lamentation did he\nmake thereof. He saw the footprints where two horses had ridden afore\nhim, and ever he hoped that 'twas his father who rode there, and that\nhe had crossed the water, but he thought within himself: \"What doth it\nprofit a man to labour if he know it to be in vain? None will take me\nover the water since I am a Moor, and of other countenance than the\ndwellers in this land; this my journey is for naught. I may not do\nbetter than return to the Hermit, that good man, there where I parted\nfrom my comrades.\" He had neither eaten nor drunk since that he rode\nthence; his head was dazed with hunger and with grief. He looked behind\nand afore, and saw nowhere where food was in preparing, nor saw he man\nnor woman, nor creature that had life, upon the seashore.\n\nThen he rode swiftly upon the backward trail till he came once more\nto the parting of the ways; there found he carpenter-folk hewing and\nshaping timber, whereof they had made a great wheel. He saw a knight\nsitting upon the ground, in sore distress, naked and covered with blood;\nhe had been brought thither to be broken upon the wheel, so soon as it\nmight be made ready. Well might his heart misgive him!\n\nMorien who came thither saw the gleam of many a hauberk; there were\narmed folk enow! Others there were who were but in evil case, unarmed,\nand unclad, who were scarce whole. Their limbs were bandaged, some\nthe arm, some the leg, some the head, and stained with blood. And Sir\nGawain, who sat there sore mishandled, knew that well, and as Morien\ncame nigh, he cried, so that all might hear: \"Dear my comrade, ye be\nwelcome. God give me joy of your coming hither! I am Gawain, your\ncomrade; little did I foresee this mischance when we parted, you and I,\nat this cross-way! Have pity upon the sore stress in which ye see me.\nMay God who hath power over us all strengthen ye well; would that He\nmight here show forth His power!\"\n\nWhen Morien who was hard beset by them who stood there heard this, never\nmight one hear in book or song that any man smote such fierce blows as\nhe smote with the sword which he drew forth. Do what he might with\nthat sword it suffered neither dint nor scar; he smote straight to the\nmid-ward; nor was their harness so good that it might withstand him.\nThereto helped his great strength, that he fought so fiercely against\nthem who withstood him, and smote such ghastly wounds that nevermore\nmight they be healed, nor salved by the hand of any leech. He clave many\nto the teeth, through helm and coif, so that they fell to the ground.\nAnd ever as he cast his eyes around and they lighted upon Sir Gawain,\nwho was in such evil case, his courage waxed so great that were the\nDevil himself against him he had slain him even as a man; might he die,\nhe had there lost his life. Sir Gawain sat by the wayside in sorry\nplight, with his hands bound; but the good knight Morien so drave aback\nthe folk who had brought him thither that they had little thought for\nhim. He defended him so well with his mighty blows that none might come\nat him to harm him; he felled them by twos and by threes, some under\ntheir horses, some beside them. The space began to widen round Sir\nGawain and Morien; for all there deemed that he came forth from hell,\nand was hight Devil, in that he so quelled them and felled them\nunderfoot that many hereafter spake thereof. That men thrust and smote\nat him troubled him little, therein was he like to his father, the noble\nknight Sir Agloval; he held parley with no man, but smote ever, blow\nafter blow, on all who came nigh him. His blows were so mighty; did a\nspear fly towards him, to harm him, it troubled him no whit, but he\nsmote it in twain as it were a reed; naught might endure before him.\nHe ware a hauberk that bold overstrong hero, wherewith he was none\ntoo heavy laden, yet none might harm him with any weapon they brought\nthither. Then might ye see the blood run red upon the ground for the\ngood knight's sword spared neither horse nor man. There might ye see\nlying heads and hands, arms and legs; some hewn from the body, some\nsmitten in twain. They who might escape death fared little better, for\ngood fortune had departed from them--thus many chose their end. He who\ncame betimes to the conflict, and fled without waiting to see what might\nchance further, he was blithe! Thus were they put to rout, and either\nslain or driven from the field, or helpless of limb; some who came\nthither ahorse had lost their steeds, and must rue their journey. They\nmight no longer ride, but must go hence afoot.\n\nThen Morien dismounted, and took Sir Gawain in his arms, and said full\noft, \"Alas, my comrade, how were ye thus betrayed? I fear physician may\naid ye never more, ye have wounds so many and so sore.\"\n\nWith that he had unbound his hands; and Sir Gawain said: \"Of physician\nhave I no need.\" He thanked God and Morien a hundredfold, that he was\nthus delivered from peril, and comforted in his need; his heart was\nlight within him, and he said he should speedily mend might he but have\nrepose for two days, and neither walk nor ride; by the help of God, and\nby leechcraft and the aid of certain herbs the virtue of which he knew\nwell, so might he regain all his strength.\n\nNow had they left upon the field Gringalet and certain other steeds,\nthe masters whereof were slain or had fled afar. Gringalet was bare of\nharness, he had lost his saddle as ye heard afore, and therefore no man\nhad mounted him. He who had brought him thither had forgat him upon that\nfield, his journey had been dearly bought and he lay there dead in the\ngreen grass. And Sir Gawain when he was ware of that was fain to forget\nall his pain. He arose from where he sat, and went towards his steed,\nand as he looked upon him his heart rose high within him, and he deemed\nthat he was well-nigh healed. And even as he came Gringalet knew his\nlord, nor would flee from him, but came towards him, and for very\nfriendship seized him with his teeth.\n\nThen did they abide no longer, but betook them to the hermit who had\nbeen sore afeard for all that he heard and saw through the window of his\ncell. He knew the two knights well, when he heard their tale, and how\nthat they were even the same who had but lately passed his way, and he\nspake to the Father of Adventure: \"Even so did I foretell ye when ye\nwould ride toward that land, and I prayed ye to refrain. But that would\nye not do, and so have ye come to harm therein! They who are fain to\ndespise counsel ofttimes do so to their own mischief. But since it hath\nso befallen, think ye what may best profit ye, and abide overnight with\nme, here within; for an ye depart hence I know not where ye may find\nshelter. That evil beast whereof I spake when ye were here afore hath so\nlaid waste the land that no man dwelleth herein. If I still dwell here\n'tis that I have no need to flee nor to fear death ere my day come,\nwhen as it hath been foretold and declared I shall break the rule of my\norder. A long tale is ill to hear, I will weary ye not, but see that\nnaught be lacking to your ease. Ye shall stable your steeds, and abide\nthis night within my chapel. That which I have will I give ye, for the\nlove of God and the honour of knighthood.\" Then Sir Gawain and Morien\nhis comrade thanked him much, and went their way to the chapel, where\nthey abode throughout the day; each told to the other his adventures as\nthey had befallen, neither more nor less. The hermit tended the horses\nwell with all that was needful to them; he bade the lad who served him,\nas a good man doth his friend, bring forth all the store that he had\nwithin, and fetch water from the spring, and warm it to Sir Gawain's\nliking that he might therewith wash his limbs, and cleanse them from\nthe blood. He had upon him no mortal wound, so good was his hauberk,\notherwise had he lost his life from the blows he had received.\n\nWith that came the hermit into the chapel, and spake, and told them how\nhe had heard tidings from pilgrims who had come thither that the Red\nKnight and his companions had but late ridden the road that led toward\nthe sea coast, though he had marked it not; 'twas but yesterday he had\nbeen told thereof.\n\nThen spake the knight Morien and said by his troth he had even followed\nthe hoof prints of horses that were but newly made till he came to where\none must needs cross over the water; \"and then did I lose all sign of\ntheir further track; but howsoever I might pray, or call upon those who\nlay there in their ships, when they saw me they were terrified as hares,\nand would tell me nought, the fools, of that I asked them! One and all\nfled, and put them out to sea. Methinks they were afraid of me. But by\nthe faith that I owe to God and Our Lady, and the honour of knighthood,\nit shall avail them naught that they thus refuse me; I shall turn again\nfrom here, and otherwise take my way; may I but find on shore one of\nthose who were there, and who belongeth to the ships, in sooth he were\nborn in an evil hour! An he carry me not over the water I will thrust\nhim through with my spear, or deal him such a stroke with my sword, that\nhe shall fall dead upon the earth. My heart forbode me that he who went\nbefore me was my father! But in all my journey I met no living soul of\nwhom I might ask aught. Then I began to wax fearful, for hunger beset\nme, and therein I found neither man nor woman, nor aught but heather\nand waste land wherein I was a stranger. No man might I see or hear, no\nwheat or barley grew there; 'tis the truth I tell ye, thither cometh no\nman save that he desire to cross the wide water in the ships that there\nlie ready. Thus had I my pain for naught. But whatsoe'er befall me since\nthat I have heard from our host, that good man, that my father in sooth\nrode that way I shall follow hard after, if so be that I may but cross\nover, and will but await tomorrow's dawn. Since that I have heard he\nrideth not so far ahead I may well overtake him, an my steed, which is\nso swift, and strong, and good, foil me not!\"\n\n\"God speed ye!\" quoth Sir Gawain. Such was indeed his counsel, and he\nsore lamented his own evil plight. But ill had it chanced with him;\nwithin the castle had they stolen from him his good sword wherewith\nhe should defend himself. God give him shame who stole it! His\nsaddle-girth, his stirrup-leathers, were cut midway through; as he\nthought to sit upon his steed they brake clean in twain, and left him\nstanding upon his feet. This did Sir Gawain tell them there, even as\nye have heard aforetime. If his heart were heavy when he took count of\nthis, 'twas small marvel!\n\nThen did they wash Sir Gawain's limbs, and he himself searched his\nwounds. So good a leech might no man find since the day of Mother Eve as\nwas Sir Gawain; whatever wound he tended, 'twas healed even as ye looked\nupon it!\n\nThat night had they all the comfort that the hermit might prepare till\nthat they saw the fair day dawn and the sun begin to rise. Sir Gawain\nwas somewhat troubled, since he lacked alike arms and clothing: also his\nwounds, which were sore, pained him the more. Nor did there live any\nnear at hand whom he knew, and who might give them what was lacking.\nNeither bread, meat, nor wine had they; naught remained to the hermit,\nhe had given the knights all his store. Morien's heart was set upon\nfollowing his father, and Sir Gawain was of a mind to ride in quest of\nSir Lancelot, and learn how it had fared with him. He was loth to delay\nor abide there, for he would fain, so soon as he might ride, fare in\nsearch of his comrade. Yet must he tarry a day ere he might mount his\nsteed, such was his stress from the wounds he had received--sooth, it\nwas a marvel that he escaped! And now food had failed them, and that was\na sore lack. Even had they money or pledge to offer there dwelt none\nthat side of the border, as they too well knew, but their bitter foes,\nwho had fain wrought them woe. 'Twas seven miles and more hard riding,\nere they might find village or fort in King Arthur's land. Hereof was\nSir Gawain troubled. He might neither ride nor walk for his own aid.\nThus both were ill at ease and sore oppressed.\n\nMorien was loth to remain, yet he thought it shame to forsake his\ncomrade, Sir Gawain, and thus he abode with him in the chapel.\n\nThen as Morien stood by the window, it seemed to him that he saw a\nknight come riding in great haste, on a horse tall and swift; he was\nwell armed, and seemed a goodly knight withal. Morien spake to Sir\nGawain as he lay there. \"What may this be? Here cometh a knight, and I\nknow not whither he goeth!\"\n\nSir Gawain abode not still, but went as best he might to the window; he\nlooked upon the knight, and deemed by his armour and the tokens whereby\na man may be known of men, that 'twas his own brother, Sir Gari\u00ebt, the\nson alike of his father and of his mother. He came riding, as one sore\npressed, on that self-same road that led from Britain. The more Sir\nGawain looked upon him the more he deemed he knew him; and when he came\nnigh to the Hermitage he knew well the arms that he bare. Then was Sir\nGawain gladder at heart than I may tell ye, for Sir Gari\u00ebt his brother,\nthat strong and valiant knight, brought with him that of which they were\nsorely in need, bread and meat, and wine fresh and clear.\n\n'Twas sore need brought him hither, as ye shall now hear: They of\nBritain had lost King Arthur their lord, and were in sore danger of\nlosing all their land, therefore had they sent Sir Gari\u00ebt to seek Sir\nGawain, and Sir Lancelot, since they twain were without peer, the most\nvaliant knights of the court. Sir Perceval might well be accounted the\nthird, but 'twas not for long that he practised knighthood; nevertheless\nhe brought many into sore stress, even as ye have heard.\n\nWhen Sir Gari\u00ebt had come before the hermitage, Sir Gawain came forth\nwith haste from the chapel on to the road, as one who was blithe beyond\nmeasure when he beheld his brother; and he said, \"God give ye good day,\nthat ye come, brother, and that I see ye! Never was I so joyful of\naught, since that I was born.\"\n\nSir Gari\u00ebt alighted on the turf when he saw his brother; and as he came\nnigh to him he took him in his arms saying: \"Alas, brother, woe is me!\nHow hath this so chanced? Methinks ye have suffered harm, and been in\nsuch sore strife that 'tis a marvel an ye be healed, and escape with\nlife, ye seem to me in such evil case.\" Thus spake Sir Gari\u00ebt. And Sir\nGawain said, \"I have never a limb but feeleth the smart of wounds, yet\nam I whole of heart, and shall heal myself right well. But let that tale\nbe, and make known to me the errand upon which ye ride that ye be now\ncome hither. Fain would I know the truth.\"\n\nQuoth Sir Gari\u00ebt, \"That will I tell ye.\"\n\nThus went the twain into the chapel, where they found that good man,\nthe hermit, and Morien, who was black of face and of limb. Then was Sir\nGari\u00ebt somewhat in fear, when he saw him so great of limb and of such\ncountenance. This marked well his brother, Sir Gawain, and he gave him\nto wit of the knight, and of his name, who he was, and whence he came,\nere he asked him aught; for he saw well that he somewhat misdoubted him\nwhen he saw the good knight Morien of such countenance.\n\nSo sat they down together, and each bade the other welcome, and made\nmuch joy of their meeting. But Sir Gawain was more desirous than I may\ntell ye of knowing wherefore Sir Gari\u00ebt, his brother, came thither, till\nhe brought him to that point that he spake the truth concerning what had\nchanced to King Arthur, and told how the worst had befallen him. \"King\nArthur is taken captive! As he fared on a day to hunt in a great forest,\nas he was wont to do, there came upon him the greatest company of armed\nmen that I may tell ye of, in these few words, who were all the King of\nthe Saxons' men. They were in such force that they took King Arthur, who\nforesaw naught of this, and had but few folk with him, as he but went\na-hunting. Thereof are his people sore troubled, and the queen above\nall--she is well nigh distraught in that the king is captive. She knows\nnot whither the folk who took him in the forest have led him, or what\nmay since have befallen him. Thereof is many a heart sorrowful. The\nforest standeth by the sea shore, whence came the folk who took the king\nby force, and led him whither they would. They who rode with King Arthur\nwere unarmed, and defenceless; their strength was not worth a groat.\nThereto have we another woe; the Irish King hath come into the land, and\nmade war; one town hath he already won, and layeth siege to another. He\nhath made his boast that he will win all Arthur's land, hill and vale,\ncastle and town (this is his intent), and bring all under his hand ere\nhe quit our land. Of this is the queen sore afraid, and they who be with\nher, they look not to escape. Had ye, brother, been in the land, and\nPerceval, and Lancelot, then had we never come to such a pass, for there\nliveth no man so bold that he durst withstand ye three in any venture\nthat might chance. Now hath my lady the queen taken counsel, and sent\nmessengers far and near into every land to seek ye and Lancelot in this\nher sore need. And I be one of these messengers, and have ridden as\nswiftly as my steed might bear me from Arthur's Court hitherward, and\never have I sought tidings of ye, till at length men told me, and I knew\nthat ye twain had come over to this cross, to this parting of the ways.\nAnd beyond the border did men tell me that would I ride hither I must\nfare for long upon the road ere I found a soul, man or woman, who lived,\nand was of the faith of Christendom. Against this did I prepare myself,\nand brought with me food, meat and bread, lest I had need thereof, and\ncool clear wine in two flasks that hang here by my saddle, that I might\nlay my hand on them when I had need thereto.\"\n\nThen laughed Sir Gawain the bold when he heard him speak of food, and\nsaid that he had come thither in a good hour since they had no victuals,\nmuch or little, nor drink there within, nor knew they where they might\nfind any had he brought none with him. But God had thought upon them\nbetimes, and Mary, His Blessed Mother.\n\nThen quoth Sir Gari\u00ebt his brother, \"Let us eat and drink, and begin our\nmeal, as we have need to do--but where is Sir Lancelot, that I see\nhim not here? Sir Gawain, brother, tell me, for fain would I know the\ntruth?\"\n\nAnd Sir Gawain spake, \"He rode hence a while ago to seek Sir Perceval.\"\n\nSir Gari\u00ebt answered and said, \"That ye vex yourselves thus to seek him,\n'tis labour lost, for tidings have come to court that Perceval hath\nbecome hermit, and doeth penance for his sins. He hath learnt the truth;\ndid he seek till Doomsday that which he went forth to seek, the spear\nand the grail, he would find them not; that cometh altogether from his\nsin against his mother whereas he left her in the forest, and would\nno more remain with women--then did she die for sorrow. That sin hath\nhindered him, did he otherwise come upon them, of winning the spear and\nthe grail. He must be pure and clean from all stain, from all sin (so is\nit now declared for truth) who would have the spear at his will, and the\ngrail. For sorrow at this hath Perceval betaken himself to a hermitage,\nthereof have tidings come to court, even as he willed that it should be\nmade known. And concerning his brother Sir Agloval, of him did they tell\nthat he lay sick, with his uncle, sorely wounded; but the messenger did\nus to wit that he was like to be healed, that do I tell ye, Sir Gawain.\nNow let us eat, and go on our way to the queen with honour, that doth my\nlady require of ye and of Sir Lancelot, upon your faith to her. But I am\nsore vexed that he hath thus escaped me!\"\n\nWhen Morien, the son of Sir Agloval, had heard and understood this tale,\nhe asked forthwith if any there within could give him true tidings\nand make known to him the road to the hermitage whither his uncle had\nbetaken himself, and where his father lay wounded; since he would fain\nknow thereof.\n\nTheir host quoth straightway, \"He that had a boat at his will and a\nfavouring wind might be there ere even.\" He said that he knew the\nhermit; \"And 'twixt water and land 'tis a good fifteen mile thither,\nthat do I know for a truth, for oft-times have I heard men speak thereof\nsince I came hither. Now hearken to what I tell ye,\" (thus he spake to\nMorien) \"over the arm of the sea, there where ye cross, neither more\nnor less, on the further shore is there a forest, to all seeming the\ngreatest men may wot of, and the wildest--'tis long withal and wide. But\nas ye come thither, to one side, at the entering in of the forest, they\nwho would seek it may find the hermitage within but a short distance,\neven as it were the mountance of a mile. Of this be ye sure, with never\na doubt.\"\n\n\"So help me God,\" quoth Morien, \"an it fall out according to my will\nthere shall I be ere even. And may I but see my father, an good luck\nbefall me, I turn not from that goal, e'en if I find the man who gave me\nlife, but ere I depart he shall keep the vow that he sware to my mother\nwhen he aforetime parted from her, and left her sorrowing sore, even\nthat he would wed her, and make her his wife. Rather would I, ere even,\nbe flayed with a sharp knife than refrain from this. Were he twofold my\nfather he might well be in fear of death, should he fail to keep his\noath, and ride with me to the Moorish land.\" He began to make ready as\none who would straightway ride thence.\n\nThen spake Sir Gari\u00ebt, \"An God will, it shall fall out better than ye\nsay, 'twixt ye and your father; we will eat and drink, and I rede ye, an\nye be wise, ye shall bethink ye well ere ye do aught save good to your\nfather. I conjure ye by the faith that ye owe to our Lady, and by the\nhonour of knighthood, that ye do my bidding, and let your thoughts be\nof good, and not of evil, and hearken Sir Gawain's rede, thereof shall\nnever harm befall ye--he shall give ye the best counsel.\"\n\nAnd Morien answered that were he fain to do.\n\nHerewith they left speaking of this matter, and Sir Gari\u00ebt brought forth\na napkin, white and clean, and spread it before the knights, as is meet\nfor noble folk, and those worthy of honour. Then he brought forth more\nthan seven loaves, white as snow, that he had with him, and laid them\nupon the napkin before the knights. He brought forth ham and venison\nthat he had bidden make ready, there, where he had lain over night,\nsince that men told him he drew near to the wilderness whither had gone\nthe knights whom he sought, and who rode before him. Since he was upon\ntheir track he had risen long ere 'twas day, and now came thither with\nthe sun-rising. He brought forth also clear wine, two good bottles full.\nHe was not altogether dull in that he had so well bethought him, and\nbrought food with him lest peradventure he have need thereof. 'Twas\nright welcome to them who now partook of it; and through these good\nvictuals forgat they all their tribulation, as they ate and drank. They\nwere above measure joyful, those three knights, at that time, and with\nthem the hermit, for they would in no wise forget him, but he must eat\nand drink with them.\n\nWhen the meal was ended then Morien thought to ride on his way. But the\ngood knight Sir Gari\u00ebt said, \"Sir Knight ye will do better to abide than\nto depart in this haste, in short while shall ye have trouble an ye seek\nyour father. Follow ye our counsel; 'tis now high day, did ye come in\nsafety to the ships it would be o'er late ere ye came to the other\nside.\"\n\nQuoth Sir Gawain his brother, as one wise in counsel, \"Knight I will\ntell ye what ye shall do; from haste cometh seldom good that abideth to\nhonour. Therefore tarry over night with us, since ye may not achieve\nyour goal this day; and I will make ready my weapons as best I may; I\nmust needs be better healed ere I have strength to ride whither I would.\nTomorrow shall it fare better with me. Then will we ride, without delay,\nso soon as it be daylight. If God will I shall be more at ease in limbs\nand at heart, and I shall have less pain than I have as at this while. I\nhave no mind to abide here behind ye, nor to hinder ye and cause ye to\ndelay when ye would fain ride hence, as I know right well! Here have I\nfoes nigh at hand, who have wrought me harm, and were ready to do yet\nmore did they know me to be here, in this place.\"\n\nThen did Morien after his counsel, and abode there throughout the night,\nand told all the adventures that had befallen him. And Sir Gawain made\nready his harness and his weapons, and scoured and polished them, and\ntested them where they were mishandled. But that which grieved him the\nmost was his sorrow for his good sword which he had thus lost, for it\nwas a sword of choice.\n\nWhat boots it to make long my tale? The morrow as the day dawned, and\nshed beauty over hill and vale, they rode forth together, and Sir Gawain\nthe Father of Adventure with them. They would not spare themselves. Then\nsaid Sir Gawain he would fare in quest of Sir Lancelot who departed with\nhim from court when he left King Arthur, since he might not well, for\nhis honour, return without him. He wist not how it had gone with him;\nand would fain learn how his venture had fallen out and return in short\nspace, would God prosper him, and bring Sir Lancelot with him to the aid\nof the queen. On this was his mind set, nor would he do otherwise, for\nany man's prayer.\n\nWith this was Sir Gari\u00ebt but ill-pleased; he said Sir Gawain would do\nbetter to return, and take the place of his uncle, and care for the land\nand comfort the folk. But this he would not do, howsoe'er he prayed him,\nbut said he must first seek Sir Lancelot, and learn if harm had befallen\nhim. Sir Gari\u00ebt gave him his sword, which was good and bright; then took\nthey leave, each of the other, for Sir Gawain would not return ere he\nhad spoken with Sir Lancelot, saying that the good fellowship betwixt\nthem twain should not be broken by his default; but that he would bring\nhim again to the court of King Arthur, and keep his covenant.\n\nWhen they were thus made ready, armed and fittingly clad, they mounted\ntheir steeds as they who would ride on their way. They took leave of the\ngood man, their host, and departed thence.\n\nSir Gawain had chosen his road, and Sir Gari\u00ebt and Sir Morien bare him\ncompany for a space, as it were the mountance of a mile. Each spake his\nmind to the other. Sir Gawain said he would return with Sir Lancelot as\nswiftly as he might, and put to shame the folk who had led his uncle\ncaptive; and he quoth, \"Brother, tell this to my lady the queen, and\nbear her greeting in all good faith and loyalty. 'Tis not my will that\nye ride further, nor tarry longer with me, since 'twill profit ye\nnaught!\"\n\nThen Sir Gari\u00ebt and Sir Morien turned their bridle. They commended Sir\nGawain to the care of God and all His saints, and so did he them. Each\nsaw the other's tears spring from their eyes and run down even to their\nbeards when they parted asunder. I may not tell ye how oft and how\nwarmly Sir Gawain thanked Morien, that he had saved his life that day on\nthe field, where he had of a surety been slain had not God and that good\nknight come to his aid. Now will I here cease speaking of Sir Gawain and\ntell of Sir Morien. The adventure doeth us to wit that when Sir Morien\nand Sir Gari\u00ebt had parted from Sir Gawain, they rode once more to the\ncrossways, for they had made a compact that they should not part before\nthat they had found his father, Sir Agloval. Thus they rode both\ntogether, for Morien sware an oath that, would Sir Gari\u00ebt ride with him,\nhe would e'en pray his uncle and his father to come to the aid of the\nqueen, King Arthur's wife, and help her to win back her land. On this\ncovenant and on this behest would Sir Gari\u00ebt ride with him and bear\nMorien company.\n\nAs they came to the ships, Morien told him how it had fared with him\nbefore when he thought to make the crossing, and he said that he found\nno living soul among all that he saw there who would let him into his\nship, since he seemed to them so huge, and black withal.\n\n\"They counted themselves for lost, deeming that I were the devil, and\nwere sore afeard, and put out to sea. Now see, Sir Gari\u00ebt, what counsel\nye may find, and how we may so contrive that we cross the water; doubt\nye not that an they once behold me and know me they will straightway set\nsail again and put to sea. I fear me we may not cross over!\"\n\nQuoth Sir Gari\u00ebt: \"By what ye tell me, methinks 'twere better that I\nride on ahead, and hire me a ship. Ye shall follow on softly; and let me\nonce come therein, and have my steed aboard and the boatman in my power,\nhe shall not depart hence ere that ye be come thither. May my soul be\nlost if he do!\" Further spake the knight Sir Gari\u00ebt: \"Even should he be\nbeside himself when he first see ye, I shall not let him free ere he\nhave taken us to the further shore, or I shall have from him such\nforfeit 'twere better for him to be sunken and drowned in the depths of\nthe sea!\"\n\nThen answered Morien: \"Ye have found the best counsel that may be\ndevised. Now ride ye without delay, and hire us a boat, good and strong,\nthat may well carry us over the water. I shall abide behind, and wait\ntill ye have done your part. I will do even as ye shall counsel!\"\n\nThus they agreed together, and Sir Gari\u00ebt rode alone till he came to\nthe ships, where he found a boat that pleased him well. He offered the\nboatman money enow to take him to the further side with no delay. He\ngave him the gold in his hand, and he made him ready and hoisted sail\nand rigging. Of this did he swiftly repent. Even as the steed was aboard\nand all was ready for the crossing came Morien riding, blacker than any\nson of man whom Christian eyes had e'er beheld. And the boatman was fain\nto flee when he beheld him and he drew nigh to him, for he had seen him\naforetime. He deemed that he should surely die of fear, and scarce might\nmove a limb.\n\nThen Sir Gari\u00ebt asked him: \"Sir boatman, what aileth thee? By Heaven, it\navaileth thee naught; thou shall ferry us over swiftly. Now make us no\nado, or this shall be thy last day. By the Lord who made us, of what art\nthou afraid? This is not the devil! Hell hath he never seen! 'Tis but my\ncomrade; let him in. I counsel thee straitly!\"\n\nThen must the boatman obey, though he liked it but ill. He saw that\nbetter might not be: he might neither leap out of the boat nor otherwise\nescape. So soon as he had in his boat Morien, of whom he was sore\nafraid, in that he was so huge, and had shipped his steed, which was in\nseeming over-strong, he pushed the boat from shore and put out to sea.\nHe feared him greatly, even as one who deems that he is lost.\n\nWhen Morien had sat himself down he did off his helmet of steel. Then\nthe boatman deemed that he was a dead man, and prayed for mercy,\nbeholding his face, for he though he might scarce be a Christian. Sir\nGari\u00ebt asked of him tidings, if there had passed that way two knights,\nof whom the one bestrode a red horse and wore red armour, and the other\nbare the badge of King Arthur. If he might tell him aught of them he\nbesought him to do so; an he knew where they yet abode he would give him\ngreat thanks.\n\nThe boatman said: \"'Tis not long since that they were even in my boat;\nthe one knight ware red armour and had with him a red steed, and the\nother was wounded and bare King Arthur's badge; and I know full well,\"\nquoth the boatman, \"the knights who bear that badge, by that same token\nshall ye yourself be one of King Arthur's knights. They would both cross\nover, and I ferried them to the further side. 'Twas to them an unknown\nland; that did I hear well from their speech. Methought that they were\nill at ease, I wist not wherefore. I saw that the one wept so that the\ntears fell thick adown his face. And when I had brought them to the\nother side the knight, who was glad thereof, asked me if I knew where\nstood a hermitage wherein a hermit dwelt. That did I shew him--no more\nand no less.\"\n\nThus fared they, having heard the tale and speaking of the twain, till\nthat they touched the sand. Then did the boatman shew them the way they\nshould ride thence to where the hermitage stood, and declared to them\nthe road. Thus left they the boatman, who was much rejoiced to be safely\nquit of them. But the knights went on their way till they knew that they\ndrew near to the hermitage, and came even unto it. Then they dismounted,\nand made fast their steeds before the door, and cried with a loud voice\nto those within: \"Let us in! Open of your goodwill!\" A lad came to the\ndoor and asked them what they desired, and if aught ailed them that they\nrequired aid.\n\nThen Sir Gari\u00ebt spake, and said that an it were pleasing to them, they\nwould fain have speech with the hermit and with Sir Agloval. And the\nmessenger went his way to the twain, and told them how two knights stood\nwithout the gate. \"The one is a goodly man to look upon and well armed,\nand so, forsooth, is the other, but his armour and his limbs, so far as\nI might see, were blacker than soot or pitch. I wot not if ye know aught\nof them or of their errand. They said that they would fain speak with\nye, and they prayed me straitly, the twain of them, that I should come\nhither and tell ye this.\"\n\nSir Agloval, who deemed this passing strange, went, as best he might,\nto the gate, and his uncle the hermit followed him with no delay. Sir\nAgloval looked through the wicket, and was ware of Sir Gari\u00ebt, Sir\nGawain's brother, and bethought him how that he belonged to King\nArthur's court and was worthy of great honour, for though he were not so\nwell known throughout the land as was his brother Sir Gawain, yet was he\na strong knight and bold, and a doer of valiant deeds.\n\nWhen they beheld each other they gave fair and courteous greeting, the\none to the other, and Sir Gari\u00ebt spake. \"May He who can do all things\nshew favour and honour to ye Sir Knight, and to all who be with ye there\nwithin!\"\n\nSir Agloval looked upon Morien, and marked right well the fashion of\nhim, and marvelled within himself what manner of knight he might well be\nwho bare such guise. And Morien stood before him and asked him if he yet\nremembered how, seeking for Sir Lancelot, he came into the land of the\nMoors, and how he there loved a maiden, and plighted to her his troth,\nand how she granted to him her favours ere he departed from her upon his\nquest. He asked him if he yet thought thereupon, how, when he departed\nfrom the land he pledged his word to her that he would return, so soon\nas might be, to the country of the Moors, for her profit and for her\nhonour? Did he yet think upon this?\n\nSir Agloval made answer: \"Sir Knight, I make no denial, yet have I\nbut seldom been at rest. I rode in quest of Sir Lancelot awhile; and\nthereafter had I but little respite, since I brought my brother to\ncourt, where he was held in high honour, and so soon as he was made\nknight must I ride forth with him upon a journey which he would in no\nwise delay; for he was fain to avenge the harm done to our father many a\nyear agone--that must ye understand. My brother knew well that our foes\nhad taken to themselves the heritage that should have been ours, when\nthey drave my father forth. This would he avenge, and spare not, and\nherein had we much strife ere we might regain it; but now have we done\nso much that we have won back our heritage and slain all those who had\npossessed themselves of our land. That so many years have fled since I\nsware to the maiden that I would return to her, that came of necessity.\nNow have I failed to keep mine oath, and needs must that I bethink me\nwell, and seek counsel in the matter. I know not, and have no true\ntidings, whether that lady of whom ye speak be living or dead; naught do\nI know thereof!\"\n\nQuoth Morien: \"But I shall tell ye more thereof! She to whom ye gave\nyour troth yet liveth and is my mother, and ye, Sir Knight, are my\nfather! If ye will come with me, at her prayer and mine, then will ye do\nwell and courteously. Ye begat me upon her who should be your wife, had\nye kept your oath. Now bethink ye well, and say if ye will come or no.\nWhen ye parted from my mother she bare me though she knew it not. Thus,\nSir Knight, did the matter fall out.\"\n\nSir Agloval made answer: \"By Heaven Sir Knight, I believe ye, every\nwhit. That which the lady claimeth from me, in that I have thus betrayed\nher and foresworn mine oath, that will I make good, by the help of God.\nI will yet win her grace. Come ye to me here within to mine uncle and my\nbrother, they shall counsel us well when they hear our tale--so shall we\nbe more at ease.\"\n\nWith that he undid the wicket. 'Twould have done any heart good, who\nunderstood their speech, to see how Sir Agloval and Morien embraced and\nkissed each other. Any heart would have been the gladder who had\nseen and heard their gestures and their words, and in what love and\nfriendship they betook themselves within, where they were right well\nreceived. Sir Agloval forthwith made known to his uncle and to Sir\nPerceval the true tale of his doings, and how that his son had come\nhither.\n\nWhen Sir Perceval heard this, never did knight receive so glad a welcome\nas that which he gave unto his nephew; so likewise did the hermit. 'Twas\nbliss and fair speech there betwixt those knights, and in their honour\ndid they bring forth such food and drink as was there within, and\ndid all they might for their comfort. That even was there naught but\ngladness; each made great joy of the other, and erst as the knights were\nweary did they get them to sleep, as men are wont to do, till the day\nbrake, and the sun shone forth.\n\nThe knights lay longer abed than did the hermit, who had said and sung\nhis orisons and his Mass ere day had dawned, or that the knights had\narisen and done on their garments. Then spake Morien to his father, even\nas ye shall hear, and said he would ride thence, and was fain to know,\nwithout contention, if he would come with him to his mother, and do that\nwhich he promised when he departed from her, for the sake of God and of\nhis own honour, and for their profit. He told how they had been deprived\nof their rightful heritage which had fallen to his mother from her\nfather. \"'Twas altogether denied her by the law of the land; yet 'twas\nthe shame rather than the loss that grieved her, in that men called her\nson fatherless, and she might bring no proof of her word, nor shew them\nto their face the man who had begotten me!\"\n\nThen said Sir Agloval, his father: \"I will tell ye out and out how the\nthing stands with me, and tell ye all my counsel. Believe me well, I\nwill not lie to ye in one word.\" And Morien hearkened and answered that\nhe believed him fully.\n\nThus they abode that day with the hermit, and were better served, in all\nthat men might prepare for them, than I may well tell ye; and Morien\nprayed his father straitly that he would delay not, but would tell him\nwhat was in his thought and in his intent. Thus did he urge his father,\ntill Sir Agloval told him all his mind.\n\nHe said that he beheld a vision in a dream; it seemed to him that he\nrode throughout the day in a land where he saw naught but wilderness and\nwood, and trees, many and fair. By whiles he rode through hail and snow,\nby whiles through noontide heat, so that he was sore vexed. Whiles he\nsaw the sun shine bright, whiles it was as if the twilight fell. He saw\nall kinds of beasts run through the forest, and folk, young and old, go\nup and down the woods. All this did he see in his dream, but nowhere in\nall this land did he come to where he might find shelter. But as it drew\ntowards evening, and the light failed, did he think to see a tower, so\nstrongly builded that none by force might lightly win their way within;\nbut no doorway might he see, only, as it were, another tower that stood\nthere. Within this he beheld a stairway, that wound upward to a doorway\nat the end. The door seemed to him high as a church, and of wrought\nironwork. Were a man sick he might well be healed by the light that\nstreamed forth from within, for, as he saw and looked upon it, it seemed\nas it might well be Heaven. And every step of the stairway was of good\nred gold. And he thought within himself that since those steps were so\nfair he might well set foot thereon, and tell the tale of them, how many\nthey might be, that hereafter he might speak of the great marvel he had\nseen. But as he had counted sixty, and would set foot upon the next, lo!\nhe saw none of all those he had left below him, save that upon which he\nstood, and on which his foot was set, and above him he saw naught. And\nit seemed to him that the door was distant from the step as high as one\nmight shoot with a bow. Thus might he go neither forward nor backward.\nThen he beheld, and on the ground beneath were serpents and wild bears,\neven as if they would tear him; they gnashed their teeth as if they\nwould seize him, and gaped with their jaws as they would swallow him. It\nseemed to him as if they were even at his heels, and he saw the snakes\nand dragons all twist themselves upwards. \"And as I was thus fearful the\nstep brake beneath me, and I fell downwards.\" From his great discomfort\nand his fear of the dragons he awoke, and slept no more.\n\nThe dream vexed him sorely whenever he thought thereon; he was angry and\nwroth, and wist not what the portent of the vision might be. But his\nheart forbode him that pain and mischief, and sore labour withal, drew\nnigh to him. Then it fell out that he met with a learned clerk, to whom\nhe told the vision even as it had appeared to him; and when he had\nhearkened to his tale, and understood it well, he interpreted it in this\nwise: \"Concerning our lands, great and small, that we thereof should be\nin great stress and fear ere we might win to them again; for strong were\nthe castles and mighty the armies, therefore did the vision foretell\nill to my brother and myself each and singly. And further he spake\nconcerning my brother Perceval, and the Spear, and the Grail; for that\ngolden stairway betokened the Holy Grail, and that Perceval should aid\nin the winning thereof, and in that service should he die. Thus did he\nforetell me. And the door that stood above and the stairway itself both\nalike betokened the heavenly kingdom, as might well be known by the\nlight that shone within; and the steps that lay before it they betokened\nthe days of Perceval's life. 'This I tell ye of a truth, each betokeneth\na day, or a week, or it may be a month; but of this be ye sure, and\ndoubt not, so long shall he live, and then shall he yield up his life.\nAnd that the steps brake beneath ye, 'twas for your sins; ye had\nwell-nigh climbed them had not sin laid hold on ye. The bears, and the\ndragons, and the serpents that there lay in wait, know ye well that they\ngave sure and certain sign that the fiends deemed they had ye for their\nown in that hour, and would carry ye to Hell.'\" Thus did the wise master\nmake known to him his dream, and bade him thereof take warning and order\nhis ways with wisdom, and that speedily, and delay not, for here should\nhe abide no long time, but drew nigh to his end.\n\n\"Dear son,\" quoth Sir Agloval, \"then did my brother cease his quest for\nthe Spear and the Grail, and the adventure on which he was bound, and\ncame hither as swiftly as he might to mine uncle the hermit, and clothed\nhimself in this habit, through that which the clerk foretold me. Thus\nare we here together, and my brother would fain amend his life. Nor am\nI yet whole; for I was wounded wellnigh to death, and bruised and\nmishandled, so that I had no power left, and am yet scarce healed. Thus\nwould I abide here awhile with my brother and mine uncle, that my wounds\nmight be tended, and that with them I might save my soul. Now ye will\nthat I journey with ye to your mother in the Moorish land, and I were\nfain to ride thither were I but healed. Yet is there another matter. I\nwould gladly go with ye, that may ye know of a truth, for your honour,\nand to do away your shame, were it not that I thus brought about my\ndeath; nevertheless, I have trust in mine uncle, who is so wise, that he\nshall make my peace with God, and bring me to eternal bliss. Now, son,\nbethink ye of our profit, yours and mine, according to that which has\nbefallen me, and that ye have now heard even as I tell ye. Counsel me as\nit seemeth ye best; since that I be your father, according as matters\nwent afore 'twixt me and your mother, it behoves ye well so to do.\"\n\nThen quoth Morien: \"Were ye better healed I would ride gladly, but it\nbecometh me well to shun aught that might do ye harm or mischief. I can\ngive ye none other counsel than that ye abide here till ye be once more\nwhole. King Arthur is captive and his land is beset and in sore stress.\nHere is his nephew Sir Gari\u00ebt, who hath come hither with me, and now\nthat I have learnt the truth I shall ride with him to court, to do him\nhonour, and there abide till that ye be whole and healed; and I will\nreturn hither in the hour that I know ye be cured of your wounds and may\nkeep the oath that ye sware to my mother, that ye be praised of men and\nin favour with God. So shall my mother once more be possessed of the\nlands of which she hath been disinherited, and which she hath this long\ntime lacked. I shall depart and ye shall abide here, where may all good\nbefall ye! I will aid the queen, and God grant that I may win such fame\nas shall be for the bettering of her cause and mine own honour and\nprofit. I shall return, be ye sure of it, when the time is ripe, and\nshall ever think of ye as my father.\"\n\nThen all thanked Morien, deeming that as at that time no better counsel\nmight be found; and Sir Gari\u00ebt and Morien alike besought of Sir Perceval\nthat he would ride with them, to aid the queen and release King Arthur,\nand bring comfort to his land. This he sware to do would his uncle grant\nhim leave thereto. Then did they all, and Sir Agloval with them, so\nstraitly pray the uncle that he granted their request, and never might\nye see at any time folk so blithe as were these knights in that Sir\nPerceval would ride with them. Thus did they take their leave and wend\non their way. But now will I leave speaking of them and tell how it\nfared with Sir Lancelot, who would slay the evil beast. Now doth the\nadventure tell us that when Sir Lancelot departed from Sir Gawain at the\ncross-roads he delayed not, but rode that same hour till he came to the\nwaste land wherein the beast had wrought havoc. Now in that land there\ndwelt a maiden who had caused it to be made known far and wide that\nwhosoever might slay that beast him would she take for her husband.\nNever might man behold a fairer maiden, and the land was all in her own\npower. Now there dwelt also therein a traitor, a knight who loved the\nmaiden, but had little mind to risk his life for her; he kept close\nwatch upon that beast if so be that any man should slay it that he might\nplay the traitor, so should the slayer pay with his life for the deed,\nand he should spread abroad that he himself had, of a verity, slain the\nmonster.\n\nThus Sir Lancelot rode so far into the land that he came nigh to the\nplace where he had heard that the fearful beast had made its lair. There\ndid he see many a helm, and spear, and weapon of the knights it had\nslain, whose bones lay there stripped of flesh, which the monster had\ndevoured; he might well be afraid! So soon as Lancelot might know where\nthe beast was wont to lie, he made haste thitherward, and so soon as it\nwas ware of his coming it came flying in such guise as it had been the\nDevil, and set upon Sir Lancelot straightway. It feared neither sword\nnor spear, nor armour, nor might of man. And Lancelot smote at the\nmonster so that his spear brake in twain, yet had he not bruised it a\nwhit, or pierced its hide; then he drew forth his sword and smote with\ngreat force, but he harmed it not, and it seized Lancelot by the throat\nand scored him in such wise that the knight was wroth thereof, for it\ntare a great rent through the hauberk even to the flesh, and wounded him\nsore. Many a time did Sir Lancelot strike and smite at the beast, but\nnever a groat might he harm it; but the monster fell upon Sir Lancelot\nand scored him even to the feet, and dealt him many a wound, and\nbreathed out venom upon him; had it not been for a ring which Sir\nLancelot ware upon his finger he had fallen dead where he stood from the\npoison. Then the monster sprang towards him with gaping jaws, as it were\nfain to swallow him, and Lancelot watched his chance, and thrust his\nsword into its mouth, and clave the heart in sunder, and the beast gave\na cry so terrible that 'twas heard a good two mile off.\n\nThen the traitor who spied all from afar, when he heard the cry delayed\nnot, but rode swiftly towards the lair, for he knew well from the cry\nthat the monster was slain. When he came to the place he found Sir\nLancelot sitting, binding up his wounds, which were many and deep. The\nknight began to bemoan his plight, and went towards him saying that he\nwould bind his wounds for him. That cowardly and wicked knight, he came\neven to Sir Lancelot's side, and snatched stealthily at his sword, and\nsprang backward and smote at him, wounding him so that he fell as one\ndead.\n\nWhen the false traitor saw this he deemed that he was dead, and left him\nlying, and went there, where the monster lay, and smote off the right\nfoot, thinking to take it to the maiden of whom I have told ye, that he\nmight therewith win her to wife.\n\nBut in this while had Sir Gawain ridden so far that he had learned the\ntruth how that Sir Lancelot had found the beast, and at this time he had\nfollowed upon his tracks and came unto the lair even as the traitor had\nwounded Sir Lancelot, and cut off the foot, and was mounted upon Sir\nLancelot's steed, which that good knight, Sir Gawain, knew right well.\n\nSo soon as he saw the stranger upon the steed, and Lancelot, who lay\nthere wounded, he rode fast towards him, and drew out his good sword,\nand cried, \"Abide ye still, Sir Murderer, for this beast have ye slain\nmy comrade, that do I see right well.\" That false and cruel knight had\nfain ridden thence, but Sir Gawain was so nigh to him that he could not\navoid, and smote at him so fiercely that he must needs abide, and draw\nbridle, and pray for mercy.\n\nSir Gawain was of a mind to bring him to Sir Lancelot ere he made terms\nwith him. Thus they came together, and Lancelot, who was now recovered\nfrom the swoon in which he had lain, and was ware of Sir Gawain, cried\nto him concerning the traitor who had smitten him all unarmed, \"Dear\ncomrade, slay him. I shall die the easier, knowing that he be already\ndead.\" As he spake thus, Sir Gawain made no more ado but smote off the\ntraitor's head.\n\nThen did he forthwith go to bemoan his comrade, and quoth, \"Sir Knight,\nmay ye not be healed? Tell me now the truth; I will aid ye as I may.\"\nThen Sir Lancelot did him to wit how he had fared with the beast, and\nhow the traitor had thereafter wounded him. \"And this hath wrought me\nthe greater harm; yet might I but find a place wherein to rest methinks\nI might well be healed.\"\n\nThen was Sir Gawain glad at heart, and he bound up his wounds forthwith\nwith herbs of such virtue as should stay the bleeding; and he took Sir\nLancelot and set him upon his steed, and turned him again towards the\nhermit's cell as best he might, for 'twas in both their minds that might\nthey but come thither Sir Gawain should surely heal him. Thus did they\nride until they had found the hermitage, and scarce had they come\nthither when they were ware of Morien with Sir Gari\u00ebt and Sir Perceval,\nwho came thither as at that time.\n\nThen was there joy and gladness manifold. The Hermit made ready food for\nhis guests, and prepared a couch for Sir Lancelot as best he might. Each\ntold the other how matters had fallen out with them, and Morien gave\nthem to wit how it had fared with his father.\n\nThat night were they well entreated by the hermit, but the morrow so\nsoon as Sir Lancelot heard how it went with the queen, even should he\ngain the world thereby he had remained no longer, neither for wounds nor\nfor weariness, for, he said, he was surely healed, and was fain to be at\nstrife. Thus must they all ride forth, whether they would or no, with\nthe early morning, for they might not lose a day. Sir Gawain would tend\nSir Lancelot's wounds even as they rode on their way.\n\nThus they journeyed till they heard true tidings of their lady, the\nqueen; how that she was beset on all sides by the King of Ireland. He\nhad burnt and laid waste so much men scarce knew the tale thereof, and\nthe queen had he beset in a castle to which he himself laid siege. For\nhe had sworn a great oath, nor would he lightly break it, that might\nhe win the castle he should spare no man of all that were within, but\nshould put such shame upon them, and on the queen, that men should speak\nthereof for all time. Thus had the king sworn by his crown, and by all\nthat may bind a king, that he would do them bitter shame.\n\nWhen the knights of whom I tell ye came into Arthur's land they saw\nthere a castle, around which ran a swift water, broad and deep. He who\nbuilded that burg was well counselled. The castle was of grey hewn\nstone. King Arthur had never a stronghold in the losing of which he had\nlost so much, and this was not yet lost. But the folk that were within\nhad no more than a day's grace left to them, on the morrow must they\nfare forth, for would they defend it no quarter should be shown them,\nbut they should be seethed or roasted alive. This had the king sworn and\non the morrow would he come thither; he had laid waste the country and\ndestroyed the churches, and made many widows and orphans; all the land\nwas in terror for the harm thus wrought upon them. The knights who\ncame thither saw the folk as they fled with all their goods and their\nfoodstuff, they deemed theirs was a lost cause. They met many folk, men\nwomen and children who would flee the land; they drave their cattle\nbefore them and were laden with their goods; some were ahorse, some\nafoot, 'twas the best they might do to their thinking.\n\nThen Sir Gari\u00ebt gave courteous greeting to one whom he met, and asked\nwho were this folk, and wherefore they fled thus in haste? And the\ngoodman answered straight-way: \"They deem that all is lost; the King\ncometh hither to this castle that standeth here, and the people of the\nland know not what they may do, they must lose their goods and all they\npossess. Here hath a great misfortune chanced, the ordeal hath gone over\nus; King Arthur hath been taken captive and we know not where he may be,\nhe was waylaid and betrayed in a forest, whither he went to hunt, and we\nsaw him never more. The King of Ireland hath seized upon all this land,\nhe who would save his life must perforce yield to him, for he hath with\nhim a mighty army and our folk are defenceless. We lack leaders--Sir\nGawain and Sir Lancelot have both of them left the land, and thereof\nhath great shame come to us--we are without king, or leaders, or\ncounsel.\"\n\nQuoth Morien: \"This castle that standeth here, is there yet any man\nwithin?\"\n\nThe goodman said: \"I tell ye there are ten knights within (and they have\nnaught but death before them), and a great company of foot soldiers.\nNow must they reap that mischance which hath fallen upon the land. They\nmight well have held the castle for a year to come, so strong is it,\nand they have within weapons and victuals, and men enough for the\ndefence--it might scarce be taken by force so long as they had food,\nnor might any man lightly make his way therein. But methinks God hath\nforsaken us. The king hath sworn an oath that if need be he will besiege\nthe castle seven years, and all they who withstand him, and whom he\nshall find within at his coming thither, shall lose their lives; this\nhath he made known to them. And their wives and their children, though\ntheir lives be spared, shall be deprived of their goods and their\nheritage. Thus, since we may not hope for aid, we are forsaking the\ncastle and taking to flight.\"\n\nQuoth Sir Gawain: \"Good friend, God reward ye for your tidings.\"\n\nThen Sir Gawain bethought him that 'twere best they rode within the\ncastle which was a fair burg, and strong; and that they should there\ngreet the knights and strangers who might be within, bidding them trust\nin God that He would bring their matter to a good ending. The knights\nwere right well received, for all knew them well, and made great\nrejoicing over the coming of Sir Gawain and Sir Lancelot. Then did Sir\nGawain give them to wit of the good knight Sir Morien, what he had done\nfor them, and how he was one of the best knights the sun ever shone\nupon. Thus spake Sir Gawain.\n\nThen said Sir Morien: \"'Tis good that we abide here within, and brave\nthe venture for the sake of the king our lord. 'Twere a sin and a\ndisgrace to yield up the castle, we should better adventure our lives\nand see the matter to an end.\"\n\nSir Gawain and Sir Lancelot took up the word and said: \"He who faileth\nhis king 'tis right that men speak shame of him thereafter throughout\nthe world. Would ye have good fortune ye must await what cometh, and I\nhave good hope that heaven shall shortly send us help. Here may we well\nwin fame for ourselves and uphold the honour of our lord King Arthur.\nThough he be now a captive yet, an God will, he shall escape. My heart\nand my mind fore-tell me that will we but hold out here within it\nshall be to our honour!\"\n\nThus did Sir Gawain and Sir Lancelot admonish them, even as I tell ye,\nand when they had hearkened to their words those who were within,\nand had thought to depart, when they knew what was the mind of those\nknights, sware that never a knight nor squire, nor man-at-arms would\ngive himself up, or forsake that good castle. Morien's counsel seemed to\nthem good, and although he were not fair to look upon yet when he stood\nupon his feet it seemed to them that had he the chance he might put to\nthe rout a whole army! Each man there gave his surety to abide with them\nat that time, nor to surrender through fear of death, but to hearken to\nother counsel.\n\nWhen all had sworn the oath, and given surety, then did they shut fast\nthe portals upon all their food and all the aid they might win against\nthe king and his army who were nigh at hand.\n\nEre the day darkened came the king himself, in great wrath, and with him\nmany knights who belonged to his household, and many other folk, warlike\nto behold, and came even to the castle. Then the king demanded of those\nwho were within if they would yield up the burg, and thus save their\nlives. And they within answered that so long as life remained to them\nthey would not give up the castle, or betray their rightful lord. Then\nswore the king an oath that an they yielded them not up straight-way\nthey should in no wise escape the uttermost that he might do unto them.\nBut for that they cared little, and made them ready for the defence.\nThey thought to remain upon the battlements, and throw from the castle\nstones so great and so heavy that the king should be driven from the\nwalls out on to the open field where he had pitched his tents.\n\nWith that had the night fallen, and they who had come into the land set\nup tents and pavilions, and would lodge in the green-wood. When they of\nwithin saw that they took counsel together, and said did they leave them\nin peace that night the king would, doubtless, send for a greater force\nof knights and other folk, and assemble a mighty army, and it were\nbetter that they should now adventure themselves, and ride forth from\nthe castle ere they were yet more outnumbered. Hereof had they bethought\nthem ere yet they came to counsel.\n\nSir Lancelot spake thus: \"Flee we may not, nor dare we hope for aid, nor\nmay we surrender the castle; in this way shall we profit better.\" Thus\nwere they that night within the castle, neither with game nor with\nrevel, but they held together as true knights and good comrades. They\nate and drank of such victuals as they had, and never a man of them\nwavered as it drew nigh to the dawning; they were fain to do great\ndeeds; each looked to his armour as one who will fight for his life, and\ngave his steed a feed of corn.\n\nWhat boots it to make long my tale? With the dawning of the day were\nthey of within ready, each man well armed and mounted on a good steed.\nThey rode out betimes, and bade undo the gates. Thus did they ride forth\nin all their strength.\n\nThey who kept shield-watch without were ware of them, and led their\ncompany against them, but it harmed them naught. Morien's weapons were\nso strong; 'twas he led the vanguard, nor would he yield an inch when\nhe began the strife. Never might one behold mortal man who smote such\nstrokes. They fought their way through that camp. Sir Gawain, Sir\nPerceval, and Sir Lancelot smote many to death, and came even to the\nking's tents, and seized their weapons, shields, and spears, ere his\nfolk might come at their arms. They knew not what had befallen them. No\nquarter would the knights give. They who were with the king slept sound\nin their ranks, and were sore afeard when they awoke and beheld the\narmed men who beset them with stern intent; they had many a sore wound\nere they fled from the field.\n\nThey took the king by main force; there was no man at his side but was\nglad and blithe might he escape with his life. The king must yield\nhimself a prisoner, thereto did need compel him, otherwise had he been\nslain and all his folk with him.\n\nThey led the king within the castle, and shut him fast in a tower.\nNever had they so welcome a guest, nor one at whose coming they were so\nblithe. They on the field must escape as best they might. Little did\nthey reck of all they brought with them; he might win it who had a mind\nthereto. When the fight was ended King Arthur's men had taken captive\nmuch folk and the King of Ireland. Matters had gone well for them. They\nheld there within that which they deemed many would buy dearly, nor\ncount the gold therefor, nor might they well tell how they had lost it.\nBut 'twas their dread of Morien's mighty blows, and of Sir Lancelot, Sir\nGawain, and Sir Perceval, who, on the field, had brought many in sore\nterror and dread of death.\n\nSo brought they their guests within the walls, and shut fast their\ngates, and hung out their shields, as men who might well defend\nthemselves. Then when men beheld Sir Gawain's badge, and Sir Lancelot's\npennon beside it, tidings of the combat ran far and wide through the\nland. The king's folk who lay there were sore vexed thereat. So soon as\nthey who had besieged the queen heard what had chanced they drew off\ntheir forces; and all they who served the king, and who came with him\ninto the lands, were greatly shamed, and desired of Sir Gawain in what\nwise they might make peace.\n\nSir Gawain took counsel with his comrades, and this was their rede, that\nthey must bring King Arthur there before their eyes ere they might make\nterms for their lord, the king. \"Then shall we have such good counsel on\nall points that peace may thereby be made.\"\n\nWherefore should I make my tale over long? Little as they liked it they\nmust needs bring King Arthur thither, and thereby make terms for the\nking, their lord. When the tidings ran through the land that the King of\nIreland was captive, and that King Arthur was brought thither to treat\nwith him, then was there so great a gathering of Britons that they\nsurrounded Arthur, and took him from the men of Ireland, and brought him\nwith armed hand into the castle despite them all. Thus did it fall out\nwell for King Arthur, since he thus escaped, and held captive the king\nwho had erstwhile made him a prisoner.\n\nNow shall ye hear of the King of Ireland, who lay thus in the prison of\nthe knights. When he heard and beheld with his eyes that King Arthur was\nin very deed free, then did he betake himself to him straight-way, and\noffered him goods and gold that he might be set at liberty, and he sware\nthat he would be the king's man, and hold all his lands henceforward\nfrom him, and would depart from the kingdom with all his folk. Thus must\nthe king, being captive, stand at King Arthur's pleasure to pay him such\nransom as he might think good. Of him will I speak no more.\n\nNow was King Arthur so blithe thereof that he bid hold a great court,\nthat he might give largesse to all who desired. Thither came many, but\nnone were there of such renown, or who had wrought such valiant deeds,\nas Sir Perceval and Morien. The reward that Arthur gave them was\nexceeding great. Sir Gawain told the king all the matter of Morien and\nof his father, and the chance that had parted them. All this did he tell\nafore the folk, wherefore was Morien much gazed upon. Now will I leave\nthis tale and tell ye how Morien rode again to his father, whom he had\nleft sick with his uncle, as I gave ye to wit afore.\n\nThe adventure maketh known that when the strife was ended, and Arthur's\nland once more at peace, Morien bethought him that he would make his\nfather be wedded to the lady, his mother; and he prayed his uncle\nto journey with him if he would, and Sir Perceval was right willing\nthereto. Further, said Sir Gawain and Sir Lancelot, that they twain\nwould ride with them for honour and for good fellowship. For this did\nMorien thank them much. Thus they departed and went their way towards\nthe hermitage. They rode blithely in company, telling of many things\nthat had chanced here and elsewhere, until they came to the seashore,\nwhere they took ship and crossed over; and when they had passed the\nwater they came straightway to Perceval's uncle, who received them with\nright goodwill.\n\nBy this was Sir Agloval whole, who had been wounded, and Morien asked\nhim straightway if he were rightly healed, and would now keep the oath\nwhich he had aforetime sworn unto his mother. Sir Agloval answered that\nhe was whole and sound, and ready thereto. \"The troth that I swear to\nyour mother will I keep what time as it shall please ye. As God is my\nwitness I be altogether ready to do this.\"\n\nQuoth Sir Perceval, \"Then wherefore delay? Your son is so good a knight,\nand stout a warrior, that ye may well thank heaven that ye begat him.\nMake you ready straightway, and we will fare with ye. Sir Gawain and Sir\nLancelot be come hither in faith and good fellowship, and with us will\nthey journey to the Moorish land.\"\n\nThen was there no longer delaying, but they made them ready for the\njourney, and went their way with Sir Morien, who knew the road better\nthan any man of them all. They rode so long that they came thither; and\nwhen they of the land heard tell how that Morien had brought his father\nwith him they assembled themselves together, and some were for refusing\nthem entry into the kingdom, since they would fain keep the heritage for\nthemselves. But when Morien heard this he waxed so wrathful that he drew\nhis sword and rode among them where there was the greatest press,\nand slew there fifteen of the nobles who were fain to deny him his\ninheritance.\n\nWhen the others knew of this they came to him and besought his grace,\nand yielded to him all his heritage, and gave it into the hand of his\nmother, and became her men, to hold their lands henceforward from her.\nWhen this was done, and they had proclaimed her queen over all the\nkingdom of the Moors, then did they hold the bridal feast of Sir Agloval\nand the queen, and thus were they wedded to each other. There was bliss\nand great rejoicing fourteen days, even till nightfall did they hold\nhigh feast with open doors; never a portal was shut. There was feasting\nand great merriment; there were all well served with everything on earth\nthat they might desire. Many rich gifts were given, good steeds, raiment\nof fair colours, many shillings, many pounds, great plenty of all things\nby which men may the more blithely live. The minstrels and the heralds\nreceived great largesse, for there was gold enow; each had that which he\ndesired.\n\nThere would Sir Gawain and Sir Lancelot abide till that the feast was\nended; be ye sure that Sir Perceval and Sir Agloval the bridegroom\nprayed them thus to honour the bridal, and this they did, in right\ncourteous wise. No man of them all, were he poor or rich, but had enough\nand to spare.\n\nWhat more shall I say hereof? When the feast was ended, and all the\nnobles departed, and all had taken leave, then was it in the mind of Sir\nGawain, Sir Lancelot, and Sir Perceval to betake them straightway to\nKing Arthur's court, for 'twas nigh to Pentecost, and the king (thus\ndo I read the tale) would hold high court (greater was never held) on\nbehalf of Galahad, Sir Lancelot's son, for that this hero should then\ncome to court, and receive the honour of knighthood. And thereof did the\ntale wax great; how that he should achieve the quest of the Grail, and\nall the adventures, small and great, which appertained to the Round\nTable, for 'twas said that he should sit in the Perilous Seat, wherein\ndurst never man sit. To behold these marvels would many a man come to\ncourt, for the king had bidden all the great folk of the land thither,\nand many a knight of praise had obeyed his command.\n\nAnd for this cause would not Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain and Sir\nPerceval remain afar, but took their leave of Sir Agloval and of Morien\nand of his mother, and rode on their way till they came to King Arthur\nat Camelot, where he abode, as it pleased him well to do when he would\nfain be at peace. And when the king heard of the coming of these three\nknights, then was he right joyful at that time; and when he learnt\nconcerning Sir Agloval, how his wedding feast had been held, and of the\nvaliant deeds that Morien had done in his own land, then were king and\nqueen alike glad at heart.\n\nHere will I leave this tale and speak further concerning the Grail,\nand the winning thereof. That shall ye find set forth in the book that\nfolloweth hereafter; the other part, that which concerneth Lancelot,\nhere cometh to an end. Now do I pray God in words straitly, that He have\nmercy upon me when my life shall come to an end, and bring my soul to\nHis heavenly kingdom. May He grant this my prayer!\n\n\n\n\nAMEN. NOTES\n\n1. INTRODUCTION.--In the preface I have dwelt with some fulness on the\ninteresting questions connected with these opening lines; here it\nwill be sufficient to point out that in the earlier versions of the\n_Perceval_ story the hero is either the only, or the sole surviving, son\nof his parents. The introduction of a brother, as a definite character,\nbelongs to the later stages of Arthurian tradition. The brothers vary in\nnumber and name, but the most noted are Sir Agloval and Sir Lamorak, who\nappear to belong to distinct lines of development, Sir Agloval belonging\nmainly to the _Lancelot_, Sir Lamorak to the _Tristan_ tradition. So far\nI have not met with the latter in any version of the prose _Lancelot_,\nthough Dr. Sommer in his _Studies on the Sources of Malory_, refers to\nhim as mentioned in that romance; in the _Tristan_, on the contrary,\nhe is a leading figure. The _Morien_ story, as I have remarked in the\npreface, has obviously been modified by the influence of the later\n_Lancelot_ legend, hence, probably, the _r\u00f4le_ assigned to Agloval.\n\n2. PAGE 20.--_Gawain as physician_. The representation of Gawain as\nan expert in medical skill is an interesting feature which appears to\nbelong to early tradition. The references in the poem before us are the\nmost copious and explicit, but we also find the same accomplishment\nreferred to in the romance of _Lancelot et le cerf au pied blanc_ (D. L.\nvol. ii. 1. 22825) where Gawain instructs the physician as to the proper\ntreatment of Lancelot's wounds; and the _Parzival_ of Wolfram von\nEschenbach (Book X. 1. 104) also refers to this tradition. It is\nnoticeable that Chr\u00e9tien de Troyes in the parallel passage of his poem\nhas no such allusion, nor can I recall any passage in the works of that\npoet which indicates any knowledge, on his part, of this characteristic\nof Gawain. This is one of the points of variance between Chr\u00e9tien and\nWolfram which, slight in itself, offers when examined valuable evidence\nas to a difference of sources.\n\n3. PAGE 24.--_The boast of Sir Kay._ Arthur's reproof to Kay is a\nreference to the well-known adventure related both by Chr\u00e9tien and\nWolfram and found moreover in the _Peredur_. The hero, thrown into a\nlove-trance by the sight of blood-drops on the snow, gives no answer to\nthe challenge addressed to him successively by Segramore and Kay,\nand being rudely attacked by these knights overthrows them both. The\nallusion to this incident, which is not related in the prose _Lancelot_,\nshows clearly that while, on the whole, he is harmonising his romance\nwith the indications of the later traditions, the writer is yet quite\nconversant with the earlier forms.\n\n4. PAGE 26.--_The Father of Adventure._ \"Der Aventuren Fader.\" The\nMiddle English poem of _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_ (No. 1 of this\nSeries) speaks of the knight in somewhat similar terms as \"the fine\nfather of courtesy.\" Gawain was from the first the adventurous hero,\n_par excellence_ of the cycle, but I know no other instance in which\nthis characteristic is so quaintly and forcibly expressed.\n\n5. PAGE 28.--_In secret case_. The original words are \"in hemeliker\nstede.\" To which particular adventure of Lancelot this refers it is not\neasy to decide; on more than one occasion he disappears from court, and\nthe knights headed by Gawain, ride in quest of him. Perhaps this refers\nto his imprisonment by Morgain le Fay (_cf_. summary of _D.L._ in\n_Legend of Sir Lancelot du Lac_. Grimm's Library XII. pp. 236-7).\n\n6. PAGE 35.--_Sir Agloval, he is my father._ This should be compared\nwith the account of Gamuret's wooing and desertion of the Moorish queen,\nBelakane, in Book I. of the _Parzival_; also with the meeting of the\nunknown brothers in Book XV. of the same poem. It is perhaps worth\nnoticing as indicative of the source of the tradition that Wolfram\ndistinctly states that his Moor speaks in _French_.\n\n7. PAGE 67,--_The slain and the slayer_. The belief that the blood of\na corpse would flow afresh, did the murderer approach it, was very\nprevalent in the middle ages. In Chretien de Troyes' _Chevalier au lion_\n(ll. 1177 et seq.) we find a similar situation, complicated by the fact\nthat Yvain (the slayer) protected by a magic ring is invisible to the\nbystanders. The best known instance, however, is probably that of the\n_Nibelungenlied_ where Kriemhild's suspicions that Hagen is Siegfred's\nmurderer are in this manner verified.\n\n8. PAGE 91.--_I have no call to flee, nor to fear death_. This is\nevidently the hermit whom Lancelot in the _Queste_ finds dead under\ncircumstances agreeing with those here hinted at. The story will be\nfound in Malory Book XV.\n\n9. PAGE 102.--_That cometh altogether from his sin against his mother_.\nThe reason here alleged for Perceval's failure to find the Grail is that\ngiven by Chr\u00e9tien and Wolfram, and is another indication of the writer's\nfamiliarity with the early _Perceval_ story.\n\n10. PAGE 116.--_Sir Agloval's explanation, (a) The Lancelot quest_. The\nspecial quest here referred to is that undertaken in search of Lancelot\nwhen he fled from court in a frenzy, induced by Guinevere's jealousy of\nKing Pelles' daughter. During this quest Agloval visits his mother, sees\nPerceval, and brings him to court (_cf. Legend of Sir Lancelot_ pp.\n161-2).\n\n_(b) The lost heritage_. The fact that Perceval regains possession\nof the heritage of which he has, before his birth, been deprived is\nrecorded in certain of the _Perceval_ romances; the _Parzival_ of\nWolfram von Eschenbach, the prose _Perceval li Gallois_, and the English\n_Sir Percyvelle of Galles_, but it is not found in Chr\u00e9tien. It is\nclear, to a close observer, that the compiler of the Dutch _Lancelot_\nknew the early _Perceval_ tradition in a form closer to the version of\nthe German, than that of the French poet. Later on, in the _Queste_\nsection, he introduces a reference to this inheritance, where none\nexists in the French versions I have examined (_cf. Legend of Sir\nLancelot_ p. 174).\n\n11. PAGE 127.--_Lancelot's adventure with the beast._ This is a\ncondensed account of the well known story of _The Fahe Claimant_. Two\nversions of this story have already been given in this series, the\ndragon adventure in _Tristan_ (No. II) and that of the stag in _Tyolet_\n(No. III.); this is inferior to either, but appears to combine\ncharacteristics of both. I have discussed it fully in Chapter III. of\nthe _Lancelot_ studies, before referred to, and have there compared it\nwith the similar adventure also attributed to that knight in the Dutch\ncompilation.\n\n12. PAGE 128.--_Had it not been for a ring which Lancelot wore._ This is\nevidently the ring given him by the Lady of the Lake, and referred to\nin _The Charrette_ (ll. 2348 et seq). It had the power of detecting\nenchantments.\n\n13. PAGE 142.--_King Arthur--held captive the king, who had erst made\nhim a prisoner._ There seems to be a confusion here; from Gariet's\naccount it was the King of the Saxons who captured Arthur; here he\nhas disappeared and everything is attributed to the King of Ireland.\nProbably they were allies; but it is also possible that confusion may\nhave arisen from the fact that the King of Dublin was at one time, as in\nthe Tristan legend, a Viking, and the poet has not distinguished clearly\nbetween the nationalities of these sea-robbers. If so, it would seem to\nindicate an early date for this particular story.","title":"Morien: A Metrical Romance Rendered into English Prose from the Medi\u00e6val Dutch","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":31289}