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Title: King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table

Author: Sir Thomas Malory

Editor: Rupert Sargent Holland

Release date: June 18, 2011 [eBook #36462]
Most recently updated: January 7, 2021

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/36462

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KING ARTHUR
AND THE KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE ***

KING ARTHUR

and the Knights of the Round Table

EDITED BY RUPERT S. HOLLAND
GROSSET & DUNLAP

Publishers NEW YORK

Copyright, 1919, by
George W. Jacobs & Company

Printed in the United States of America

"This girdle, lords," said she, "is made for the most part of
mine own hair, which, while I was yet in the world, I loved full
well."

CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION

THE COMING OF ARTHUR AND THE FOUNDING OF THE ROUND
TABLE
I. Merlin Foretells the Birth of Arthur
II. The Crowning of Arthur and the Sword Excalibur
III. Arthur Drives the Saxons from His Realm
IV. The King's Many and Great Adventures
V. Sir Balin Fights with His Brother, Sir Balan
VI. The Marriage of Arthur and Guinevere and the Founding of the
Round Table
VII. The Adventure of Arthur and Sir Accolon of Gaul
VIII. Arthur is Crowned Emperor at Rome
IX. Sir Gawain and the Maid with the Narrow Sleeves

THE CHAMPIONS OF THE ROUND TABLE
X. The Adventures of Sir Lancelot
XI. The Adventures of Sir Beaumains or Sir Gareth
XII. The Adventures of Sir Tristram

SIR GALAHAD AND THE QUEST OF THE HOLY GRAIL
XIII. The Knights Go to Seek the Grail

THE PASSING OF ARTHUR
XIV. Sir Lancelot and the Fair Elaine
XV. The War Between Arthur and Lancelot and the Passing of Arthur

INTRODUCTION
King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table! What magic is in the
words! How they carry us straight to the days of chivalry, to the witchcraft
of Merlin, to the wonderful deeds of Lancelot and Perceval and Galahad, to
the Quest for the Holy Grail, to all that "glorious company, the flower of
men," as Tennyson has called the king and his companions! Down through
the ages the stories have come to us, one of the few great romances which,
like the tales of Homer, are as fresh and vivid to-day as when men first
recited them in court and camp and cottage. Other great kings and paladins
are lost in the dim shadows of long-past centuries, but Arthur still reigns in
Camelot and his knights still ride forth to seek the Grail.

"No little thing shall be

The gentle music of the bygone years,
Long past to us with all their hopes and fears."

So wrote the poet William Morris in The Earthly Paradise. And surely it is
no small debt of gratitude we owe the troubadours and chroniclers and
poets who through many centuries have sung of Arthur and his champions,
each adding to the song the gifts of his own imagination, so building from
simple folk-tales one of the most magnificent and moving stories in all
literature.
This debt perhaps we owe in greatest measure to three men; to Chrétien de
Troies, a Frenchman, who in the twelfth century put many of the old
Arthurian legends into verse; to Sir Thomas Malory, who first wrote out
most of the stories in English prose, and whose book, the Morte Darthur,
was printed by William Caxton, the first English printer, in 1485; and to
Alfred, Lord Tennyson, who in his series of poems entitled the Idylls of the
King retold the legends in new and beautiful guise in the nineteenth century.
The history of Arthur is so shrouded in the mists of early England that it is
difficult to tell exactly who and what he was. There probably was an actual

Arthur, who lived in the island of Britain in the sixth century, but probably
he was not a king nor even a prince. It seems most likely that he was a
chieftain who led his countrymen to victory against the invading English
about the year 500. So proud were his countrymen of his victories that they
began to invent imaginary stories of his prowess to add to the fame of their
hero, just as among all peoples legends soon spring up about the name of a
great leader. As each man told the feats of Arthur he contributed those
details that appealed most to his own fancy and each was apt to think of the
hero as a man of his own time, dressing and speaking and living as his own
kings and princes did, with the result that when we come to the twelfth
century we find Geoffrey of Monmouth, in his History of the Kings of
Britain, describing Arthur no longer as a half-barbarous Briton, wearing
rude armor, his arms and legs bare, but instead as a most Christian king, the
flower of mediæval chivalry, decked out in all the gorgeous trappings of a
knight of the Crusades.
As the story of Arthur grew it attracted to itself popular legends of all kinds.
Its roots were in Britain and the chief threads in its fabric remained British-
Celtic. The next most important threads were those that were added by the
Celtic chroniclers of Ireland. Then stories that were not Celtic at all were
woven into the legend, some from Germanic sources, which the Saxons or
the descendants of the Franks may have contributed, and others that came
from the Orient, which may have been brought back from the East by men
returning from the Crusades. And if it was the Celts who gave us the most
of the material for the stories of Arthur it was the French poets who first
wrote out the stories and gave them enduring form.
It was the Frenchman, Chrétien de Troies, who lived at the courts of
Champagne and of Flanders, who put the old legends into verse for the
pleasure of the noble lords and ladies that were his patrons. He composed
six Arthurian poems. The first, which was written about 1160 or earlier,
related the story of Tristram. The next was called Érec et Énide, and told
some of the adventures that were later used by Tennyson in his Geraint and
Enid. The third was Cligès, a poem that has little to do with the stories of
Arthur and his knights as we have them. Next came the Conte de la
Charrette, or Le Chevalier de la Charrette, which set forth the love of
Lancelot and Guinevere. Then followed Yvain, or Le Chevalier au Lion, and

finally came Perceval, or Le Conte du Graal, which gives the first account
of the Holy Grail.
None of these stories are to be found in the work of Geoffrey of Monmouth,
who had written earlier in Latin, nor in any of the so-called chronicles. It
was Chrétien who took the old folk-tales that men had been telling each
other for centuries and put them into sprightly verse for the entertainment of
his lords and ladies. He fashioned the stories according to the taste of his
own gay courts, and so Arthur and his Queen Guinevere, Lancelot, Perceval
and the other knights became far more like French people of the twelfth
century than like Britons of the sixth. And in introducing the Holy Grail,
that sacred and mystic cup that was supposed to hold drops of the blood of
Christ and to have been carried to England by Joseph of Arimathea,
Chrétien added to the Arthurian legends an old religious story that had had
nothing to do with Arthur originally.
From this point in its history that sturdy ancient English oak, the original
story of Arthur and his knights, an account mainly of warlike adventures,
sent forth four new branches that have now become part and parcel of the
parent legend. These four branches are the story of Merlin, the story of
Lancelot, the story of the Holy Grail, and the story of Tristram and Iseult.
Some of the writers who came after Chrétien took one of these stories,
some another, each enlarging his theme according to his own taste, until
each story was the center of a large number of new and romantic offshoots.
Practically all of them, however, were bound together by the thread that led
from the court of the great King Arthur at Camelot.
The story of Merlin, that man of magic, is the least important of the four
branches, though Merlin is still an intensely interesting figure in the story of
Arthur that we read to-day. The story of Lancelot was to prove very
important; starting as a romance that had very little connection with Arthur,
it became with Malory and Tennyson the real center of interest of the plot.
The story of the Holy Grail proved almost equally important. In the earliest
accounts of this Perceval was the knight chosen above all others to reach
the Grail Castle, but Perceval was too rough and worldly a knight to suit the
taste of the monks who wrote out the legends and so they created Galahad
to take his place as their own ideal of perfection. And into these adventures
are woven some of the tales of Sir Gawain, among them the delightful story

of Gawain and the Little Maid with the Narrow Sleeves. To the legend of
Perceval, Wolfram von Eschenbach, a Bavarian, added the story of the son
of Perceval, or Parzival, as he calls him, the story of Lohengrin, the famous
Swan-knight. Tristram and Iseult, the fourth of the branches, though less
connected with Arthur than either Lancelot or the Holy Grail, became
immensely popular with poets and remancers because of its great love story,
and is to be found told again and again in widely varying forms all through
the Middle Ages.
So we have seen that a British chieftain, winning a great battle in the year
500, became in time celebrated throughout Europe as the greatest king of
romance. So far it was mainly the French who had made him famous.
Layamon, an English priest, had written a poem in English concerning
Arthur shortly after 1200, and told of the founding of the Round Table, but
it was to be a considerable time yet before any English writer was to
attempt what the French had already done. Chaucer told none of the
Arthurian stories, though he placed the scene of his Wife of Bath's Tale at
King Arthur's court. An unknown English poet wrote Sir Gawaine and the
Green Knight somewhere between 1350 and 1375. It is not until we come to
the Morte Darthur of Sir Thomas Malory, finished in 1469 or 1470, that we
reach the next great step in the history of the legends since the time of
Chrétien de Troies. But in Malory's story Arthur steps forth resplendent, the
kingly figure that we have to-day.
Little is known concerning Sir Thomas Malory. He seems to have been a
knight and country gentleman of Warwickshire, a member of Parliament in
the reign of Henry VI, and later a soldier on the side of Lancaster in the
Wars of the Roses. As a result of the victory of the party of York he had to
retire from public life when Edward IV came to the throne, and lived
quietly at his Warwickshire estate. He was familiar with life at court and
with men-at-arms and he knew how popular the stories of King Arthur were
becoming in England. So, being a man of education, he set to work to make
a collection of the legends, using as his chief sources the French romances.
Malory showed considerable originality in carrying out his plan. He made
Arthur the central figure, taking the story of Merlin as an introduction to the
birth of Arthur, instead of as a separate legend, and ending his account soon
after the death of the king. He omitted a number of the older legends that

had little to do with Arthur, many of them good stories, such as that of Sir
Gawain and the Green Knight. He made the England of his Arthur
something like the England he knew, and his people became real and living
instead of fanciful figures out of a far-distant past. His descriptions are
vivid and lively and his style so engaging that his work of the fifteenth
century is much read to-day. Three characters stand out from all the rest,
Arthur, Lancelot, and Guinevere, and these three became in all stories and
poems subsequent to Malory's time the main figures of the legends.
Matthew Arnold attributed to Homer three great epic traits, swiftness,
simplicity, and nobility. It is these three characteristics that have made the
Morte Darthur so deservedly famous.
With the printing of Malory's book by the first English printer, William
Caxton, in 1485, we come to the end of the Middle Ages in literature.
Manuscripts written out laboriously by monks and clerks were now to give
way to the printed page. The age of Elizabeth was less than a century away,
one of the golden ages of the poets. Yet few of the Elizabethans touched on
the story of Arthur. The main exception was Edmund Spenser, who made
Prince Arthur the hero of his great poem The Faerie Queene, but Spenser's
Arthur and his knights and ladies have little in common with the figures in
the old romances.
The succeeding centuries, great as they were in English writers of genius,
paid little attention to Arthur. Milton and Dryden made little use of the
legends. Stories of ancient chivalry lost their vogue, novels were becoming
popular and the poets chose themes closer to their own times and point of
view. Not until the nineteenth century did Arthur come into his own again.
Then the Victorian poets turned to him for inspiration. William Morris
wrote The Defence of Guenevere, and a host of lesser poets tried their hands
on similar themes. Swinburne told the story of Tristram of Lyonesse and the
Tale of Balen, and James Russell Lowell composed his beautiful poem The
Vision of Sir Launfal. Matthew Arnold wrote Tristram and Iseult. In 1850
Richard Wagner, the great German composer, produced his opera
Lohengrin, and followed it with Tristan und Isolde and Parsifal. These tell
the old stories in somewhat new form, and follow the early French
romances rather than Malory.

But the true descendant of Chrétien de Troies and Malory was Alfred
Tennyson. The great work of this poet's life was his Idylls of the King, one
of the finest achievements of English literature. He owed his inspiration
chiefly to Malory. "The vision of Arthur as I have drawn him," Tennyson
said to his son, "had come upon me when, little more than a boy, I first
lighted upon Malory." He covered almost the entire field of the legends.
The Idylls of the King are The Coming of Arthur, Geraint and Enid, Merlin
and Vivien, Lancelot and Elaine, The Holy Grail, Pelleas and Ettarre, Balin
and Balan, The Last Tournament, Guinevere, and The Passing of Arthur.
Tennyson gives to the stories far more allegory, far more philosophy than
the early poets gave them. His age was interested in philosophy and so, as
was the case with each of the earlier poets, Tennyson handled the legends
after the fashion of his own times. In his pages we see the characters as
actual men and women, subtly drawn, concerned with right and wrong far
more than with mere knightly adventures. Arthur and Lancelot and
Guinevere hold the center of the stage, and it is the fate of these three that
provides the great moving motive of the poems.
To Tennyson we owe the most nearly perfect version of the story that dates
back to a dim and legendary England. What verse more beautiful than his to
tell of chivalry?

"Then, in the boyhood of the year,
Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere
Rode thro' the coverts of the deer,
With blissful treble ringing clear.
She seem'd a part of joyous Spring:
A gown of grass-green silk she wore,
Buckled with golden clasps before;
A light-green tuft of plumes she bore
Closed in a golden ring."

In beauty and dignity and human interest Tennyson gives us the great world
of Arthurian legend in its most perfect form.
Malory's Morte Darthur was not Tennyson's only source for the stories of
his Idylls. The adventures of Geraint he took from the Mabinogion, a

collection of mediæval Welsh tales translated with great charm and
accuracy by Lady Charlotte Guest, and published in 1838. Also, though to a
very limited extent, he drew some of his incidents from the history of
Geoffrey of Monmouth and the other early writers of chronicles.
The great panorama of stories that we group together under the title of King
Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, when they are told in prose, are
usually taken from Malory's book, the Morte Darthur, condensed in size,
for Malory was frequently verbose, and related in more modern English. In
this volume we have used as a basis the version prepared by Sir James
Knowles, which is an abridgment of Malory's work as it was printed by
Caxton, with a few additions from Geoffrey of Monmouth and other
sources. To this we have added the story of Sir Gawain and the Maid with
the Narrow Sleeves, which comes originally from the poem of Perceval by
Chrétien de Troies.
The stories seem naturally to group themselves into four divisions, The
Coming of Arthur and the Founding of the Round Table, The Adventures of
the Champions of the Round Table, Sir Galahad and the Quest of the Holy
Grail, and The Passing of Arthur. Into these come all the great characters of
the legends and all the surpassing adventures of the king and his knights.
The story of how a half-barbarous British Chieftain became the greatest
king of mediæval chivalry is a romance in itself. To him poets and
chroniclers of all lands added one valorous knight after another, one
amazing adventure on top of another, until the result was the greatest
collection of legends that have gathered about any king in history. The story
of the origin and growth of these world-famous legends is told in a most
delightful book, The Arthur of the English Poets, by Howard Maynadier,
and those who wish to get the historical background of King Arthur should
turn to its pages.
Those who love brave and knightly deeds, those who love the gorgeous
trappings of mediæval romance, come to the story of Arthur and his Round
Table, of Lancelot and Perceval and Galahad and Gawain, of Guinevere and
Elaine, and of the Quest for the Holy Grail, and there shall be found the
glories that you seek. The king and his knights ride out from Camelot. Here
shall you join them on their great adventures!

Rupert S. Holland.

KING ARTHUR AND THE KNIGHTS OF THE
ROUND TABLE

THE COMING OF ARTHUR AND THE
FOUNDING OF THE ROUND TABLE

I
MERLIN FORETELLS THE BIRTH OF ARTHUR

King Vortigern the usurper sat upon his throne in London, when, suddenly,
upon a certain day, ran in a breathless messenger, and cried aloud—
"Arise, Lord King, for the enemy is come; even Ambrosius and Uther, upon
whose throne thou sittest—and full twenty thousand with them—and they
have sworn by a great oath, Lord, to slay thee, ere this year be done; and
even now they march towards thee as the north wind of winter for bitterness
and haste."
At those words Vortigern's face grew white as ashes, and, rising in
confusion and disorder, he sent for all the best artificers and craftsmen and
mechanics, and commanded them vehemently to go and build him
straightway in the furthest west of his lands a great and strong castle, where
he might fly for refuge and escape the vengeance of his master's sons
—"and, moreover," cried he, "let the work be done within a hundred days
from now, or I will surely spare no life amongst you all."
Then all the host of craftsmen, fearing for their lives, found out a proper site
whereon to build the tower, and eagerly began to lay in the foundations. But
no sooner were the walls raised up above the ground than all their work was
overwhelmed and broken down by night invisibly, no man perceiving how,
or by whom, or what. And the same thing happening again, and yet again,
all the workmen, full of terror, sought out the king, and threw themselves
upon their faces before him, beseeching him to interfere and help them or to
deliver them from their dreadful work.
Filled with mixed rage and fear, the king called for the astrologers and
wizards, and took counsel with them what these things might be, and how
to overcome them. The wizards worked their spells and incantations, and in
the end declared that nothing but the blood of a youth born without mortal
father, smeared on the foundations of the castle, could avail to make it
stand. Messengers were therefore sent forthwith through all the land to find,

if it were possible, such a child. And, as some of them went down a certain
village street, they saw a band of lads fighting and quarreling, and heard
them shout at one—"Avaunt, thou imp!—avaunt! Son of no mortal man!
go, find thy father, and leave us in peace."
At that the messengers looked steadfastly on the lad, and asked who he was.
One said his name was Merlin; another, that his birth and parentage were
known by no man; a third, that the foul fiend alone was his father. Hearing
the things, the officers seized Merlin, and carried him before the king by
force.
But no sooner was he brought to him than he asked in a loud voice, for what
cause he was thus dragged there?
"My magicians," answered Vortigern, "told me to seek out a man that had
no human father, and to sprinkle my castle with his blood, that it may
stand."
"Order those magicians," said Merlin, "to come before me, and I will
convict them of a lie."
The king was astonished at his words, but commanded the magicians to
come and sit down before Merlin, who cried to them—
"Because ye know not what it is that hinders the foundation of the castle, ye
have advised my blood for a cement to it, as if that would avail; but tell me
now rather what there is below that ground, for something there is surely
underneath that will not suffer the tower to stand?"
The wizards at these words began to fear, and made no answer. Then said
Merlin to the king—
"I pray, Lord, that workmen may be ordered to dig deep down into the
ground till they shall come to a great pool of water."
This then was done, and the pool discovered far beneath the surface of the
ground.
Then, turning again to the magicians, Merlin said, "Tell me now, false
sycophants, what there is underneath that pool?"—but they were silent.
Then said he to the king, "Command this pool to be drained, and at the

bottom shall be found two dragons, great and huge, which now are sleeping,
but which at night awake and fight and tear each other. At their great
struggle all the ground shakes and trembles, and so casts down thy towers,
which, therefore, never yet could find secure foundations."
The king was amazed at these words, but commanded the pool to be
forthwith drained; and surely at the bottom of it did they presently discover
the two dragons, fast asleep, as Merlin had declared.
But Vortigern sat upon the brink of the pool till night to see what else would
happen.
Then those two dragons, one of which was white, the other red, rose up and
came near one another, and began a sore fight, and cast forth fire with their
breath. But the white dragon had the advantage, and chased the other to the
end of the lake. And he, for grief at his flight, turned back upon his foe, and
renewed the combat, and forced him to retire in turn. But in the end the red
dragon was worsted, and the white dragon disappeared no man knew where.
When their battle was done, the king desired Merlin to tell him what it
meant. Whereat he, bursting into tears, cried out this prophecy, which first
foretold the coming of King Arthur.
"Woe to the red dragon, which figureth the British nation, for his
banishment cometh quickly; his lurking-holes shall be seized by the white
dragon—the Saxon whom thou, O king, hast called to the land. The
mountains shall be leveled as the valleys, and the rivers of the valleys shall
run blood; cities shall be burned, and churches laid in ruins; till at length the
oppressed shall turn for a season and prevail against the strangers. For a
Boar of Cornwall shall arise and rend them, and trample their necks beneath
his feet. The island shall be subject to his power, and he shall take the
forests of Gaul. The house of Romulus shall dread him—all the world shall
fear him—and his end shall no man know; he shall be immortal in the
mouths of the people, and his works shall be food to those that tell them.
"But as for thee, O Vortigern, flee thou the sons of Constantine, for they
shall burn thee in thy tower. For thine own ruin wast thou traitor to their
father, and didst bring the Saxon heathens to the land. Aurelius and Uther
are even now upon thee to revenge their father's murder; and the brood of

the white dragon shall waste thy country, and shall lick thy blood. Find out
some refuge, if thou wilt! but who may escape the doom of God?"
The king heard all this, trembling greatly; and, convicted of his sins, said
nothing in reply. Only he hasted the builders of his tower by day and night,
and rested not till he had fled thereto.
In the meantime, Aurelius, the rightful king, was hailed with joy by the
Britons, who flocked to his standard, and prayed to be led against the
Saxons. But he, till he had first killed Vortigern, would begin no other war.
He marched therefore to Cambria, and came before the tower which the
usurper had built. Then, crying out to all his knights, "Avenge ye on him
who hath ruined Britain and slain my father and your king!" he rushed with
many thousands at the castle walls. But, being driven back again and yet
again, at length he thought of fire, and ordered blazing brands to be cast
into the building from all sides. These, finding soon a proper fuel, ceased
not to rage till, spreading to a mighty conflagration, they burned down the
tower, and Vortigern within it.
Then did Aurelius turn his strength against Hengist and the Saxons, and,
defeating them in many places, weakened their power for a long season, so
that the land had peace.
Anon the king, making journeys to and fro, restoring ruined churches and,
creating order, came to the monastery near Salisbury, where all those British
knights lay buried who had been slain there by the treachery of Hengist. For
when in former times Hengist had made a solemn truce with Vortigern, to
meet in peace and settle terms, whereby himself and all his Saxons should
depart from Britain, the Saxon soldiers carried every one of them beneath
his garment a long dagger, and, at a given signal, fell upon the Britons, and
slew them, to the number of nearly five hundred.
The sight of the place where the dead lay moved Aurelius to great sorrow,
and he cast about in his mind how to make a worthy tomb over so many
noble martyrs, who had died there for their country.
When he had in vain consulted many craftsmen and builders, he sent, by the
advice of the archbishop, for Merlin, and asked him what to do. "If you
would honor the burying-place of these men," said Merlin, "with an

everlasting monument, send for the Giants' Dance which is in Killaraus, a
mountain; in Ireland; for there is a structure of stone there which none of
this age could raise without a perfect knowledge of the arts. They are stones
of a vast size and wondrous nature, and if they can be placed here as they
are there, round this spot of ground, they will stand for ever."
At these words of Merlin, Aurelius burst into laughter, and said, "How is it
possible to remove such vast stones from so great a distance, as if Britain,
also, had no stones fit for the work?"
"I pray the king," said Merlin, "to forbear vain laughter; what I have said is
true, for those stones are mystical and have healing virtues. The giants of
old brought them from the furthest coast of Africa, and placed them in
Ireland while they lived in that country: and their design was to make baths
in them, for use in time of grievous illness. For if they washed the stones
and put the sick into the water, it certainly healed them, as also it did them
that were wounded in battle; and there is no stone among them but hath the
same virtue still."
When the Britons heard this, they resolved to send for the stones, and to
make war upon the people of Ireland if they offered to withhold them. So,
when they had chosen Uther the king's brother for their chief, they set sail,
to the number of 15,000 men, and came to Ireland. There Gillomanius, the
king, withstood them fiercely, and not till after a great battle could they
approach the Giants' Dance, the sight of which filled them with joy and
admiration. But when they sought to move the stones, the strength of all the
army was in vain, until Merlin, laughing at their failures, contrived
machines of wondrous cunning, which took them down with ease, and
placed them in the ships.
When they had brought the whole to Salisbury, Aurelius, with the crown
upon his head, kept for four days the feast of Pentecost with royal pomp;
and in the midst of all the clergy and the people, Merlin raised up the
stones, and set them round the sepulcher of the knights and barons, as they
stood in the mountains of Ireland.
Then was the monument called "Stonehenge," and stands, as all men know,
upon the plain of Salisbury to this very day.

Soon thereafter it befell that Aurelius was slain by poison at Winchester,
and was himself buried within the Giants' Dance.
At the same time came forth a comet of amazing size and brightness,
darting out a beam, at the end whereof was a cloud of fire shaped like a
dragon, from whose mouth went out two rays, one stretching over Gaul, the
other ending in seven lesser rays over the Irish sea.
At the appearance of this star a great dread fell upon the people, and Uther,
marching into Cambria against the son of Vortigern, himself was very
troubled to learn what it might mean. Then Merlin, being called before him,
cried with a loud voice: "O mighty loss! O stricken Britain! Alas! the great
prince is gone from us. Aurelius Ambrosius is dead, whose death will be
ours also, unless God help us. Haste, therefore, noble Uther, to destroy the
enemy; the victory shall be thine, and thou shalt be king of all Britain. For
the star with the fiery dragon signifies thyself; and the ray over Gaul
portends that thou shalt have a son, most mighty, whom all those kingdoms
shall obey which the ray covers."
Thus, for the second time, did Merlin foretell the coming of King Arthur.
And Uther, when he was made king, remembered Merlin's words, and
caused two dragons to be made in gold, in likeness of the dragon he had
seen in the star. One of these he gave to Winchester Cathedral, and had the
other carried into all his wars before him, whence he was ever after called
Uther Pendragon, or the dragon's head.
Now, when Uther Pendragon had passed through all the land, and settled it
—and even voyaged into all the countries of the Scots, and tamed the
fierceness of that rebel people—he came to London, and ministered justice
there. And it befell at a certain great banquet and high feast which the king
made at Easter-tide, there came, with many other earls and barons, Gorloïs,
Duke of Cornwall, and his wife Igerna, who was the most famous beauty in
all Britain. And soon thereafter, Gorloïs being slain in battle, Uther
determined to make Igerna his own wife. But in order to do this, and enable
him to come to her—for she was shut up in the high castle of Tintagil, on
the furthest coast of Cornwall—the king sent for Merlin, to take counsel
with him and to pray his help. This, therefore, Merlin promised him on one
condition—namely, that the king should give him up the first son born of

the marriage. For Merlin by his art foreknew that this firstborn should be
the long-wished prince, King Arthur.
When Uther, therefore, was at length happily wedded, Merlin came to the
castle on a certain day, and said, "Sir, thou must now provide thee for the
nourishing of thy child."
And the king, nothing doubting, said, "Be it as thou wilt."
"I know a lord of thine in this land," said Merlin, "who is a man both true
and faithful; let him have the nourishing of the child. His name is Sir Ector,
and he hath fair possessions both in England and in Wales. When, therefore,
the child is born, let him be delivered unto me, unchristened, at yonder
postern-gate, and I will bestow him in the care of this good knight."
So when the child was born, the king bid two knights and two ladies to take
it, bound in rich cloth of gold, and deliver it to a poor man whom they
should discover at the postern-gate. And the child being delivered thus to
Merlin, who himself took the guise of a poor man, was carried by him to a
holy priest and christened by the name of Arthur, and then was taken to Sir
Ector's house, and nourished at Sir Ector's wife's own breasts. And in the
same house he remained privily for many years, no man soever knowing
where he was, save Merlin and the king.
Anon it befell that the king was seized by a lingering distemper, and the
Saxon heathens, taking their occasion, came back from over sea, and
swarmed upon the land, wasting it with fire and sword. When Uther heard
thereof, he fell into a greater rage than his weakness could bear, and
commanded all his nobles to come before him, that he might upbraid them
for their cowardice. And when he had sharply and hotly rebuked them, he
swore that he himself, nigh unto death although he lay, would lead them
forth against the enemy. Then causing a horse-litter to be made, in which he
might be carried—for he was too faint and weak to ride—he went up with
all his army swiftly against the Saxons.
But they, when they heard that Uther was coming in a litter, disdained to
fight him, saying it would be shame for brave men to fight with one half
dead. So they retired into their city; and, as it were in scorn of danger, left
the gates wide open. But Uther straightway commanding his men to assault

the town, they did so without loss of time, and had already reached the
gates, when the Saxons, repenting too late of their haughty pride, rushed
forth to the defense. The battle raged till night, and was begun again next
day; but at last, their leaders, Octa and Eosa, being slain, the Saxons turned
their backs and fled, leaving the Britons a full triumph.
The king at this felt so great joy, that, whereas before he could scarce raise
himself without help, he now sat upright in his litter by himself, and said,
with a laughing and merry face, "They called me the half-dead king, and so
indeed I was; but victory to me half dead is better than defeat and the best
health. For to die with honor is far better than to live disgraced."
But the Saxons, although thus defeated, were ready still for war. Uther
would have pursued them; but his illness had by now so grown, that his
knights and barons kept him from the adventure. Whereat the enemy took
courage, and left nothing undone to destroy the land; until, descending to
the vilest treachery, they resolved to kill the king by poison.
To this end, as he lay sick at Verulum, they sent and poisoned stealthily a
spring of clear water, whence he was wont to drink daily; and so, on the
very next day, he was taken with the pains of death, as were also a hundred
others after him, before the villainy was discovered, and heaps of earth
thrown over the well.
The knights and barons, full of sorrow, now took counsel together, and
came to Merlin for his help to learn the king's will before he died, for he
was by this time speechless. "Sirs, there is no remedy," said Merlin, "and
God's will must be done; but be ye all to-morrow before him, for God will
make him speak before he die."
So on the morrow all the barons, with Merlin, stood round the bedside of
the king; and Merlin said aloud to Uther, "Lord, shall thy son Arthur be the
king of all this realm after thy days?"
Then Uther Pendragon turned him about, and said, in the hearing of them
all, "God's blessing and mine be upon him. I bid him pray for my soul, and
also that he claim my crown, or forfeit all my blessing;" and with those
words he died.

Then came together all the bishops and the clergy, and great multitudes of
people, and bewailed the king; and carrying his body to the convent of
Ambrius, they buried it close by his brother's grave, within the "Giants'
Dance."

II
THE CROWNING OF ARTHUR AND THE SWORD
EXCALIBUR

Now Arthur the prince had all this time been nourished in Sir Ector's house
as his own son, and was fair and tall and comely, being of the age of fifteen
years, great in strength, gentle in manner, and accomplished in all exercises
proper for the training of a knight.
But as yet he knew not of his father; for Merlin had so dealt, that none save
Uther and himself knew aught about him. Wherefore it befell that many of
the knights and barons who heard King Uther speak before his death, and
call his son Arthur his successor, were in great amazement; and some
doubted, and others were displeased.
Anon the chief lords and princes set forth each to his own land, and, raising
armed men and multitudes of followers, determined every one to gain the
crown for himself; for they said in their hearts, "If there be any such a son
at all as he of whom this wizard forced the king to speak, who are we that a
beardless boy should have rule over us?"
So the land stood long in great peril, for every lord and baron sought but his
own advantage; and the Saxons, growing ever more adventurous, wasted
and overran the towns and villages in every part.
Then Merlin went to Brice, the Archbishop of Canterbury, and advised him
to require all the earls and barons of the realm and all knights and
gentlemen-at-arms to come to him at London, before Christmas, under pain
of cursing, that they might learn the will of Heaven who should be king.
This, therefore, the archbishop did, and upon Christmas Eve were met
together in London all the greatest princes, lords, and barons; and long
before day they prayed in St. Paul's Church, and the archbishop besought
Heaven for a sign who should be lawful king of all the realm.

And as they prayed, there was seen in the churchyard, set straight before the
doorways of the church, a huge square stone having a naked sword stuck in
the midst of it. And on the sword was written in letters of gold, "Whoso
pulleth out the sword from this stone is born the rightful King of England."
At this all the people wondered greatly; and, when Mass was over, the
nobles, knights, and princes ran out eagerly from the church to see the stone
and sword; and a law was forthwith made that whoso should pull out the
sword should be acknowledged straightway King of Britain.
Then many knights and barons pulled at the sword with all their might, and
some of them tried many times, but none could stir or move it.
When all had tried in vain, the archbishop declared the man whom Heaven
had chosen was not yet there. "But God," said he, "will doubtless make him
known ere many days."
So ten knights were chosen, being men of high renown, to watch and keep
the sword; and there was proclamation made through all the land that
whosoever would, had leave and liberty to try and pull it from the stone.
But though great multitudes of people came, both gentle and simple, for
many days, no man could ever move the sword a hair's breadth from its
place.
Now, at the New Year's Eve a great tournament was to be held in London,
which the archbishop had devised to keep together lords and commons, lest
they should grow estranged in the troublous and unsettled times. To the
which tournament there came, with many other knights, Sir Ector, Arthur's
foster-father, who had great possessions near to London; and with him came
his son, Sir Key, but recently made knight, to take his part in the jousting,
and young Arthur also to witness all the sports and fighting.
But as they rode towards the jousts, Sir Key found suddenly he had no
sword, for he had left it at his father's house; and turning to young Arthur,
he prayed him to ride back and fetch it for him. "I will with a good will,"
said Arthur; and rode fast back after the sword.
But when he came to the house he found it locked and empty, for all were
gone forth to see the tournament. Whereat, being angry and impatient, he
said within himself, "I will ride to the churchyard and take with me the

sword that sticketh in the stone, for my brother shall not go without a sword
this day."
So he rode and came to the churchyard, and alighting from his horse he tied
him to the gate, and went to the pavilion, which was pitched near the stone,
wherein abode the ten knights who watched and kept it; but he found no
knights there, for all were gone to see the jousting.
Then he took the sword by its handle, and lightly and fiercely he pulled it
out of the stone, and took his horse and rode until he came to Sir Key and
delivered him the sword. But as soon as Sir Key saw it he knew well it was
the sword of the stone, and, riding swiftly to his father, he cried out, "Lo!
here, sir, is the sword of the stone, wherefore it is I who must be king of all
this land."
When Sir Ector saw the sword, he turned back straight with Arthur and Sir
Key and came to the churchyard, and there alighting, they went all three
into the church, and Sir Key was sworn to tell truly how he came by the
sword. Then he confessed it was his brother Arthur who had brought it to
him.
Whereat Sir Ector, turning to young Arthur, asked him—"How gottest thou
the sword?"
"Sir," said he, "I will tell you. When I went home to fetch my brother's
sword, I found nobody to deliver it to me, for all were abroad to the jousts.
Yet was I loth to leave my brother swordless, and, bethinking me of this
one, I came hither eagerly to fetch it for him, and pulled it out of the stone
without any pain."
Then said Sir Ector, much amazed and looking steadfastly on Arthur, "If
this indeed be thus, 'tis thou who shalt be king of all this land—and God
will have it so—for none but he who should be rightful Lord of Britain
might ever draw this sword forth from that stone. But let me now with mine
own eyes see thee put back the sword into its place and draw it forth again."
"That is no mastery," said Arthur; and straightway set it in the stone. And
then Sir Ector pulled at it himself, and after him Sir Key, with all his might,
but both of them in vain: then Arthur, reaching forth his hand and grasping
at the pommel, pulled it out easily, and at once.

Then fell Sir Ector down upon his knees upon the ground before young
Arthur, and Sir Key also with him, and straightway did him homage as their
sovereign lord.
But Arthur cried aloud, "Alas! mine own dear father and my brother, why
kneel ye thus to me?"
"Nay, my Lord Arthur," answered then Sir Ector, "we are of no blood-
kinship with thee, and little though I thought how high thy kin might be, yet
wast thou never more than foster-child of mine." And then he told him all
he knew about his infancy, and how a stranger had delivered him, with a
great sum of gold, into his hands to be brought up and nourished as his own
born child, and then had disappeared.
But when young Arthur heard of it, he fell upon Sir Ector's neck, and wept,
and made great lamentation, "For now," said he, "I have in one day lost my
father and my mother and my brother."
"Sir," said Sir Ector presently, "when thou shalt be made king be good and
gracious unto me and mine."
"If not," said Arthur, "I were no true man's son at all, for thou art he in all
the world to whom I owe the most; and my good lady and mother, thy wife,
hath ever kept and fostered me as though I were her own; so if it be God's
will that I be king hereafter as thou sayest, desire of me whatever thing thou
wilt and I will do it; and God forbid that I should fail thee in it."
"I will but pray," replied Sir Ector, "that thou wilt make my son Sir Key, thy
foster-brother, seneschal of all the lands."
"That shall he be," said Arthur; "and never shall another hold that office,
save thy son, while he and I do live."
Anon, they left the church and went to the archbishop to tell him that the
sword had been achieved. And when he saw the sword in Arthur's hand he
set a day and summoned all the princes, knights, and barons to meet again
at St. Paul's Church and see the will of Heaven signified. So when they
came together, the sword was put back in the stone, and all tried, from the
greatest to the least, to move it; but there before them all not one could take
it out save Arthur only.

But then befell a great confusion and dispute, for some cried out it was the
will of Heaven, and, "Long live King Arthur," but many more were full of
wrath and said, "What! would ye give the ancient scepter of this land unto a
boy born none know how?" And the contention growing greatly, till nothing
could be done to pacify their rage, the meeting was at length broken up by
the archbishop and adjourned till Candlemas, when all should meet again.
But when Candlemas was come, Arthur alone again pulled forth the sword,
though more than ever came to win it; and the barons, sorely vexed and
angry, put it in delay till Easter. But as he had sped before so he did at
Easter, and the barons yet once more contrived delays till Pentecost.
But now the archbishop, fully seeing God's will, called together, by Merlin's
counsel, a band of knights and gentlemen-at-arms, and set them about
Arthur to keep him safely till the Feast of Pentecost. And when at the feast
Arthur still again alone prevailed to move the sword, the people all with one
accord cried out, "Long live King Arthur! we will have no more delay, nor
any other king, for so it is God's will; and we will slay whoso resisteth Him
and Arthur;" and wherewithal they kneeled down all at once, and cried for
Arthur's grace and pardon that they had so long delayed him from his
crown. Then he full sweetly and majestically pardoned them; and taking in
his hand the sword, he offered it upon the high altar of the church.
Anon was he solemnly knighted with great pomp by the most famous
knight there present, and the crown was placed upon his head; and, having
taken oath to all the people, lords and commons, to be true king and deal in
justice only unto his life's end, he received homage and service from all the
barons who held lands and castles from the crown. Then he made Sir Key,
High Steward of England, and Sir Badewaine of Britain, Constable, and Sir
Ulfius, Chamberlain: and after this, with all his court and a great retinue of
knights and armed men, he journeyed into Wales, and was crowned again in
the old city of Caerleon-upon-Usk.
Meanwhile those knights and barons who had so long delayed him from the
crown, met together and went up to the coronation feast at Caerleon, as if to
do him homage; and there they ate and drank such things as were set before
them at the royal banquet, sitting with the others in the great hall.

But when after the banquet Arthur began, according to the ancient royal
custom, to bestow great boons and fiefs on whom he would, they all with
one accord rose up, and scornfully refused his gifts, crying that they would
take nothing from a beardless boy come of low or unknown birth, but
would instead give him good gifts of hard sword-strokes between neck and
shoulders.
Whereat arose a deadly tumult in the hall, and every man there made him
ready to fight. But Arthur leaped up as a flame of fire against them, and all
his knights and barons drawing their swords, rushed after him upon them
and began a full sore battle; and presently the king's party prevailed, and
drave the rebels from the hall and from the city, closing the gates behind
them; and King Arthur brake his sword upon them in his eagerness and
rage.
But amongst them were six kings of great renown and might, who more
than all raged against Arthur and determined to destroy him, namely, King
Lot, King Nanters, King Urien, King Carados, King Yder, and King
Anguisant. These six, therefore, joining their armies together, laid close
siege to the city of Caerleon, wherefrom King Arthur had so shamefully
driven them.
And after fifteen days Merlin came suddenly into their camp and asked
them what this treason meant. Then he declared to them that Arthur was no
base adventurer, but King Uther's son, whom they were bound to serve and
honor even though Heaven had not vouch-safed the wondrous miracle of
the sword. Some of the kings, when they heard Merlin speak thus, marveled
and believed him; but others, as King Lot, laughed him and his words to
scorn, and mocked him for a conjurer and wizard. But it was agreed with
Merlin that Arthur should come forth and speak with the kings.
So he went forth to them to the city gate, and with him the archbishop and
Merlin, and Sir Key, Sir Brastias, and a great company of others. And he
spared them not in his speech, but spoke to them as king and chieftain,
telling them plainly he would make them all bow to him if he lived, unless
they choose to do him homage there and then; and so they parted in great
wrath, and each side armed in haste.

"What will ye do?" said Merlin to the kings; "ye had best hold your hands,
for were ye ten times as many ye should not prevail."
"Shall we be afraid of a dream-reader?" quoth King Lot in scorn.
With that Merlin vanished away and came to King Arthur.
Then Arthur said to Merlin, "I have need now of a sword that shall chastise
these rebels terribly."
"Come then with me," said Merlin, "for hard by there is a sword that I can
gain for thee."
So they rode out that night till they came to a fair and broad lake, and in the
midst of it King Arthur saw an arm thrust up, clothed in white samite, and
holding a great sword in the hand.
"Lo! yonder is the sword I spoke of," said Merlin.
Then saw they a damsel floating on the lake in the moonlight. "What
damsel is that?" said the king.
"The lady of the lake," said Merlin; "for upon this lake there is a rock, and
on the rock a noble palace, where she abideth, and she will come towards
thee presently, when thou shalt ask her courteously for the sword."
Therewith the damsel came to King Arthur, and saluted him, and he saluted
her, and said, "Lady, what sword is that the arm holdeth above the water? I
would that it were mine, for I have no sword."
"Sir King," said the lady of the lake, "that sword is mine, and if thou wilt
give me in return a gift whenever I shall ask it of thee, thou shalt have it."
"By my faith," said he, "I will give thee any gift that thou shalt ask."
"Well," said the damsel, "go into yonder barge, and row thyself unto the
sword, and take it and the scabbard with thee, and I will ask my gift of thee
when I see my time."
So King Arthur and Merlin alighted, and tied their horses to two trees, and
went into the barge; and when they came to the sword that the hand held,
King Arthur took it by the handle and bore it with him, and the arm and

hand went down under the water; and so they came back to land, and rode
again to Caerleon.
On the morrow Merlin bade King Arthur to set fiercely on the enemy; and
in the meanwhile three hundred good knights went over to King Arthur
from the rebels' side. Then at the spring of day, when they had scarce left
their tents, he fell on them with might and main, and Sir Badewaine, Sir
Key, and Sir Brastias slew on the right and on the left marvelously; and ever
in the thickest of the fight King Arthur raged like a young lion, and laid on
with his sword, and did wondrous deeds of arms, to the joy and admiration
of the knights and barons who beheld him.
Then King Lot, King Carados, and the King of the Hundred Knights—who
also was with them—going round to the rear, set on King Arthur fiercely
from behind; but King Arthur, turning to his knights, fought ever in the
foremost press until his horse was slain beneath him. At that, King Lot rode
furiously at him, and smote him down; but rising straightway, and being set
again on horseback, he drew his sword Excalibur that he had gained by
Merlin from the lady of the lake, which, shining brightly as the light of
thirty torches, dazzled the eyes of his enemies. And therewith falling on
them afresh with all his knights, he drove them back and slew them in great
numbers, and Merlin by his arts scattered among them fire and pitchy
smoke, so that they broke and fled. Then all the common people of
Caerleon, seeing them give way, rose up with one accord, and rushed at
them with clubs and staves, and chased them far and wide, and slew many
great knights and lords, and the remainder of them fled and were seen no
more. Thus won King Arthur his first battle and put his enemies to shame.
But the six kings, though sorely routed, prepared for a new war, and joining
to themselves five others swore together that, whether for weal or woe, they
would keep steadfast alliance till they had destroyed King Arthur. Then,
with a host of 50,000 men-at-arms on horseback, and 10,000 foot, they
were soon ready, and sent forth their fore-riders, and drew from the northern
country towards King Arthur, to the castle of Bedgraine.
But he by Merlin's counsel had sent over sea to King Ban of Benwick and
King Bors of Gaul, praying them to come and help him in his wars, and
promising to help them in return against King Claudas, their foe. To which

those kings made answer that they would joyfully fulfil his wish, and
shortly after came to London with 300 knights, well arrayed for both peace
and war, leaving behind them a great army on the other side of the sea till
they had consulted with King Arthur and his ministers how they might best
dispose of it.
And Merlin being asked for his advice and help, agreed to go himself and
fetch it over sea to England, which in one night he did; and brought with
him 10,000 horsemen and led them northward privately to the forest of
Bedgraine, and there lodged them in a valley secretly.
Then, by the counsel of Merlin, when they knew which way the eleven
kings would ride and sleep, King Arthur with Kings Ban and Bors made
themselves ready with their army for the fight, having yet but 30,000 men,
counting the 10,000 who had come from Gaul.
"Now shall ye do my advice," said Merlin; "I would that King Ban and
King Bors, with all their fellowship of 10,000 men, were led to ambush in
this wood ere daylight, and stir not therefrom until the battle hath been long
waged. And thou, Lord Arthur, at the spring of day draw forth thine army
before the enemy, and dress the battle so that they may at once see all thy
host, for they will be the more rash and hardy when they see you have but
20,000 men."
To this the three knights and the barons heartily consented, and it was done
as Merlin had devised. So on the morrow when the hosts beheld each other,
the host of the north was greatly cheered to find so few led out against
them.
Then gave King Arthur the command to Sir Ulfius and Sir Brastias to take
3000 men-at-arms, and to open battle. They therefore setting fiercely on the
enemy slew them on the right hand and the left till it was wonderful to see
their slaughter.
When the eleven kings beheld so small a band doing such mighty deeds of
arms they were ashamed, and charged them fiercely in return. Then was Sir
Ulfius' horse slain under him; but he fought well and marvelously on foot
against Duke Eustace and King Clarience, who set upon him grievously, till
Sir Brastias, seeing his great peril, pricked towards them swiftly, and so

smote the duke through with his spear that horse and man fell down and
rolled over. Whereat King Clarience turned upon Sir Brastias, and rushing
furiously together they each unhorsed the other and fell both to the ground,
and there lay a long time stunned, their horses' knees being cut to the bone.
Then came Sir Key the seneschal with six companions, and did wondrous
well, till the eleven kings went out against them and overthrew Sir Griflet
and Sir Lucas the butler. And when Sir Key saw Sir Griflet unhorsed and on
foot, he rode against King Nanters hotly and smote him down, and led his
horse to Griflet and horsed him again; with the same spear did Sir Key
smite down King Lot and wounded him full sore.
But seeing that, the King of the Hundred Knights rushed at Sir Key and
overthrew him in return, and took his horse and gave it to King Lot. And
when Sir Griflet saw Sir Key's mischance, he set his spear in rest, and
riding at a mighty man-at-arms, he cast him down headlong and caught his
horse and led it straightway to Sir Key.
By now the battle was growing perilous and hard, and both sides fought
with rage and fury. And Sir Ulfius and Sir Brastias were both afoot and in
great danger of their death, and foully stained and trampled under horses'
feet. Then King Arthur, putting spurs to his horse, rushed forward like a lion
into the midst of all the mêlèe, and singling out King Cradlemont of North
Wales, smote him through the left side and overthrew him, and taking his
horse by the rein he brought it to Sir Ulfius in haste and said, "Take this
horse, mine old friend, for thou hast great need of one, and charge by side
of me." And even as he spoke he saw Sir Ector, Sir Key's father, smitten to
the earth by the King of the Hundred Knights, and his horse taken to King
Cradlemont.
But when King Arthur saw him ride upon Sir Ector's horse his wrath was
very great, and with his sword he smote King Cradlemont upon the helm,
and shore off the fourth part thereof and of the shield, and drave the sword
onward to the horse's neck and slew the horse, and hurled the king upon the
ground.
And now the battle waxed so great and furious that all the noise and sound
thereof rang out by water and by wood, so that Kings Ban and Bors, with all
their knights and men-at-arms in ambush, hearing the tumult and the cries,

trembled and shook for eagerness, and scarce could stay in secret, but made
them ready for the fray and dressed their shields and harness.
But when King Arthur saw the fury of the enemy, he raged like a mad lion,
and stirred and drove his horse now here, now there, to the right hand and to
the left and stayed not in his wrath till he had slain full twenty knights. He
wounded also King Lot so sorely in the shoulder that he left the field, and in
great pain and dolor cried out to the other kings, "Do ye as I devise, or we
shall be destroyed. I, with the King of the Hundred Knights, King
Anguisant, King Yder, and the Duke of Cambinet, will take fifteen thousand
men and make a circuit, meanwhile that ye do hold the battle with twelve
thousand. Then coming suddenly we will fall fiercely on them from behind
and put them to the rout, but else shall we never stand against them."
So Lot and four kings departed with their party to one side, and the six
other kings dressed their ranks against King Arthur and fought long and
stoutly.
But now Kings Ban and Bors, with all their army fresh and eager, broke
from their ambush and met face to face the five kings and their host as they
came round behind, and then began a frantic struggle with breaking of
spears and clashing of swords and slaying of men and horses. Anon King
Lot, espying in the midst King Bors, cried out in great dismay, "Our Lady
now defend us from our death and fearful wounds; our peril groweth great,
for yonder cometh one of the worshipfullest kings and best knights in all the
world."
"Who is he?" said the King of the Hundred Knights.
"It is King Bors of Gaul," replied King Lot, "and much I marvel how he
may have come with all his host into this land without our knowledge."
"Aha!" cried King Carados, "I will encounter with this king if ye will rescue
me when there is need."
"Ride on," said they.
So King Carados and all his host rode softly till they came within a bow-
shot of King Bors, and then both hosts, spurring their horses to their
greatest swiftness, rushed at each other. And King Bors encountered in the

onset with a knight, and struck him through with a spear, so that he fell
dead upon the earth; then drawing his sword, he did such mighty feats of
arms that all who saw him gazed with wonder. Anon King Ban came also
forth upon the field with all his knights, and added yet more fury, sound,
and slaughter, till at length both hosts of the eleven kings began to quake,
and drawing all together into one body, they prepared to meet the worst,
while a great multitude already fled.
Then said King Lot, "Lords, we must take yet other means, or worse loss
still awaits us. See ye not what people we have lost in waiting on the
footmen, and that it costs ten horsemen to save one of them? Therefore it is
my counsel to put away our footmen from us, for it is almost night, and
King Arthur will not stay to slaughter them. So they can save their lives in
this great wood hard by. Then let us gather into one band all the horsemen
that remain, and whoso breaketh rank or leaveth us, let him be straightway
slain by him that seeth him, for it is better that we slay a coward than
through a coward be all slain. How say ye?" said King Lot; "answer me, all
ye kings."
"It is well said," replied they all.
And swearing they would never fail each other, they mended and set right
their armor and their shields, and took new spears and set them steadfastly
against their thighs, waiting, and so stood still as a clump of trees stands on
the plain; and no assaults could shake them, they held so hard together;
which when King Arthur saw he marveled greatly, and was very wroth.
"Yet," cried he, "I may not blame them, by my faith, for they do as brave
men ought to do, and are the best fighting men and knights of most prowess
that I ever saw or heard tell of." And so said also Kings Ban and Bors, and
praised them greatly for their noble chivalry.
But now came forty noble knights out of King Arthur's host, and prayed that
he would suffer them to break the enemy. And when they were allowed,
they rode forth with their spears upon their thighs, and spurred their horses
to their hottest. Then the eleven kings, with a party of their knights, rushed
with set spears as fast and mightily to meet them; and when they were
encountered, all the crash and splinter of their spears and armor rang with a
mighty din, and so fierce and bloody was their onset that in all that day

there had been no such cruel press, and rage, and smiting. At that same
moment rode fiercely into the thickest of the struggle King Arthur and
Kings Ban and Bors, and slew downright on both hands right and left, until
their horses went in blood up to the fetlocks.
And while the slaughter and the noise and shouting were at their greatest,
suddenly there came down through the battle Merlin the Wizard, upon a
great black horse, and riding to King Arthur, he cried out, "Alas, my Lord!
will ye have never done? Of sixty thousand have ye left but fifteen thousand
men alive. Is it not time to stay this slaying? for God is ill pleased with ye
that ye have never ended, and yonder kings shall not be altogether
overthrown this time. But if ye fall upon them any more, the fortune of this
day will turn, and go to them. Withdraw, Lord, therefore, to thy lodging,
and there now take thy rest, for to-day thou hast won a great victory, and
overcome the noblest chivalry of all the world. And now for many years
those kings shall not disturb thee. Therefore, I tell thee, fear them no more,
for now they are sore beaten, and have nothing left them but their honor;
and why shouldest thou slay them to take that?"
Then said King Arthur, "Thou sayest well, and I will take thy counsel."
With that he cried out, "Ho!" for the battle to cease, and sent forth heralds
through the field to stay more fighting. And gathering all the spoil, he gave
it not amongst his own host, but to Kings Ban and Bors and all their knights
and men-at-arms, that he might treat them with the greater courtesy as
strangers.
Then Merlin took his leave of Arthur and the two other kings, and went to
see his master, Blaise, a holy hermit, dwelling in Northumberland, who had
nourished him through all his youth. And Blaise was passing glad to see
him, for there was a great love ever between them; and Merlin told him how
King Arthur had sped in the battle, and how it had ended; and told him the
names of every king and knight of worship who was there. So Blaise wrote
down the battle, word for word, as Merlin told him; and in the same way
ever after, all the battles of King Arthur's days Merlin caused Blaise, his
master, to record.

III
ARTHUR DRIVES THE SAXONS FROM HIS REALM

Anon, thereafter, came word to King Arthur that Ryence, King of North
Wales, was making war upon King Leodegrance of Camelgard; whereat he
was passing wroth, for he loved Leodegrance well, and hated Ryence. So he
departed with Kings Ban and Bors and twenty thousand men, and came to
Camelgard, and rescued Leodegrance, and slew ten thousand of Ryence's
men and put him to flight. Then Leodegrance made a great festival to the
three kings, and treated them with every manner of mirth and pleasure
which could be devised. And there had King Arthur the first sight of
Guinevere, daughter of Leodegrance, whom in the end he married, as shall
be told hereafter.
Then did Kings Ban and Bors take leave, and went to their own country,
where King Claudas worked great mischief. And King Arthur would have
gone with them, but they refused him, saying, "Nay, ye shall not at this
time, for ye have yet much to do in these lands of your own; and we with
the riches we have won here by your gifts shall hire many good knights,
and, by the grace of God, withstand the malice of King Claudas; and if we
have need we will send to ye for succor; and likewise ye, if ye have need,
send for us, and we will not tarry, by the faith of our bodies."
When the two kings had left, King Arthur rode to Caerleon, and thither
came to him his half-sister Belisent, wife to King Lot, sent as a messenger,
but in truth to espy his power; and with her came a noble retinue, and also
her four sons—Gowain, Gaheris, Agravaine, and Gareth. But when she saw
King Arthur and his nobleness, and all the splendor of his knights and
service, she forebore to spy upon him as a foe, and told him of her
husband's plots against him and his throne. And the king, not knowing that
she was his half-sister, made great court to her; and being full of admiration
for her beauty, loved her out of measure, and kept her a long season at
Caerleon. Wherefore her husband, King Lot, was more than ever King
Arthur's enemy, and hated him till death with a passing great hatred.

At that time King Arthur had a marvelous dream, which gave him great
disquietness of heart. He dreamed that the whole land was full of many
fiery griffins and serpents, which burnt and slew the people everywhere;
and then that he himself fought with them, and that they did him mighty
injuries, and wounded him nigh to death, but that at last he overcame and
slew them all. When he woke, he sat in great heaviness of spirit and
pensiveness, thinking what this dream might signify, but by-and-by, when
he could by no means satisfy himself what it might mean, to rid himself of
all his thoughts of it, he made ready with a great company to ride out
hunting.
As soon as he was in the forest, the king saw a great hart before him, and
spurred his horse, and rode long eagerly after it, and chased until his horse
lost breath and fell down dead from under him. Then, seeing the hart
escaped and his horse dead, he sat down by a fountain, and fell into deep
thought again. And as he sat there alone, he thought he heard the noise of
hounds, as it were some thirty couple in number, and looking up he saw
coming towards him the strangest beast that ever he had seen or heard tell
of, which ran towards the fountain and drank of the water. Its head was like
a serpent's, with a leopard's body and a lion's tail, and it was footed like a
stag; and the noise was in its belly, as it were the baying or questing of
thirty couple of hounds. While it drank there was no noise within it; but
presently, having finished, it departed with a greater sound than ever.
The king was amazed at all this; but being greatly wearied, he fell asleep,
and was before long waked up by a knight on foot, who said, "Knight, full
of thought and sleepy, tell me if thou sawest a strange beast pass this way?"
"Such a one I saw," said King Arthur to the knight, "but that is now two
miles distant at the least. What would you with that beast?"
"Sir," said the knight, "I have followed it for a long time, and have killed
my horse, and would to heaven I had another to pursue my quest withal."
At that moment came a yeoman with another horse for the king, which,
when the knight saw, he earnestly prayed to be given him. "For I have
followed this quest," said he, "twelve months, and either I shall achieve him
or bleed of the best blood of my body."

It was King Pellinore who at that time followed the questing beast, but
neither he nor King Arthur knew each other.
"Sir Knight," said King Arthur, "leave that quest and suffer me to have it,
and I will follow it other twelve months."
"Ah, fool," said the knight, "thy desire is utterly in vain, for it shall never be
achieved but by me, or by my next of kin."
Therewith he started to the king's horse, and mounted to the saddle, crying
out, "Gramercy, this horse is mine!"
"Well," said the king, "thou mayest take my horse by force, and I will not
say nay; but till we prove whether thou or I be best on horseback, I shall not
rest content."
"Seek me here," said the knight, "whenever thou wilt, and here by this
fountain thou shalt find me;" and so he passed forth on his way.
Then sat King Arthur in a deep fit of study, and bade his yeomen fetch him
yet another horse as quickly as they could. And when they left him all alone
came Merlin, disguised as a child of fourteen years of age, and saluted the
king, and asked him why he was so pensive and heavy.
"I may well be pensive and heavy," he replied, "for here even now I have
seen the strangest sight I ever saw."
"That know I well," said Merlin, "as well as thyself, and also all thy
thoughts; but thou art foolish to take thought, for it will not amend thee.
Also I know what thou art, and know thy father and thy mother."
"That is false," said King Arthur; "how shouldst thou know? thy years are
not enough."
"Yea," said Merlin, "but I know better than thou how thou wast born, and
better than any man living."
"I will not believe thee," said King Arthur, and was wroth with the child.
So Merlin departed, and came again in the likeness of an old man of
fourscore years of age; and the king was glad at his coming, for he seemed

wise and venerable. Then said the old man, "Why art thou so sad?"
"For divers reasons," said King Arthur; "for I have seen strange things to-
day, and but this moment there was here a child who told me things beyond
his years to know."
"Yea," said the old man, "but he told thee truth, and more he would have
told thee hadst thou suffered him. But I will tell thee wherefore thou art sad,
for thou hast done a thing of late for which God is displeased with thee, and
what it is thou knowest in thy heart, though no man else may know."
"What are thou," said King Arthur, starting up all pale, "that tellest me these
tidings?"
"I am Merlin," said he, "and I was he in the child's likeness, also."
"Ah," said King Arthur, "thou art a marvelous and right fearful man, and I
would ask and tell thee many things this day."
As they talked came one with the king's horses, and so, King Arthur
mounting one, and Merlin another, they rode together to Caerleon; and
Merlin prophesied to Arthur of his death, and also foretold his own end.
And now King Arthur, having utterly dispersed and overwhelmed those
kings who had so long delayed his coronation, turned all his mind to
overthrow the Saxon heathens who yet in many places spoiled the land.
Calling together, therefore, his knights and men-at-arms, he rode with all
his hosts to York, where Colgrin, the Saxon, lay with a great army; and
there he fought a mighty battle, long and bloody, and drove him into the
city, and besieged him. Then Baldulph, Colgrin's brother, came secretly
with six thousand men to assail King Arthur and to raise the siege. But King
Arthur was aware of him, and sent six hundred horsemen and three
thousand foot to meet and fall on him instead. This therefore they did,
encountering them at midnight, and utterly defeated them, till they fled
away for life. But Baldulph, full of grief, resolved to share his brother's
peril; wherefore he shaved his head and beard, and disguised himself as a
jester, and so passed through King Arthur's camp, singing and playing on a
harp, till by degrees he drew near to the city walls, where presently he made
himself known, and was drawn up by ropes into the town.

Anon, while Arthur closely watched the city, came news that full six
hundred ships had landed countless swarms of Saxons, under Cheldric, on
the eastern coast. At that he raised the siege, and marched straight to
London, and there increased his army, and took counsel with his barons
how to drive the Saxons from the land for evermore.
Then with his nephew, Hoel, King of the Armorican Britons, who came
with a great force to help him, King Arthur, with a mighty multitude of
barons, knights, and fighting men, went swiftly up to Lincoln, which the
Saxons lay besieging. And there he fought a passing fierce battle, and made
grievous slaughter, killing above six thousand men, till the main body of
them turned and fled. But he pursued them hotly into the wood of Celidon,
where, sheltering themselves among the trees from his arrows, they made a
stand, and for a long season bravely defended themselves. Anon, he ordered
all the trees in that part of the forest to be cut down, leaving no shelter or
ambush; and with their trunks and branches made a mighty barricade,
which shut them in and hindered their escape. After three days, brought
nigh to death by famine, they offered to give up their wealth of gold and
silver spoils, and to depart forthwith in their empty ships; moreover, to pay
tribute to King Arthur when they reached their home, and to leave him
hostages till all was paid.
This offer, therefore, he accepted, and suffered them to depart. But when
they had been a few hours at sea, they repented of their shameful flight, and
turned their ships back again, and landing at Totnes, ravaged all the land as
far as the Severn, and, burning and slaying on all sides, bent their steps
towards Bath.
When King Arthur heard of their treachery and their return, he burned with
anger till his eyes shone like two torches, and then he swore a mighty oath
to rest no more until he had utterly destroyed those enemies of God and
man, and had rooted them forever out of the land of Britain. Then marching
hotly with his armies on to Bath, he cried aloud to them, "Since these
detestable and impious heathens disdain to keep their faith with me, I, to
keep faith with God, to whom I swear to cherish and defend this realm, will
now this day avenge on them the blood of all that they have slain in
Britain!"

In like manner after him spoke the archbishop, standing upon a hill, and
crying that to-day they should fight both for their country and for Paradise,
"For whoso," he said, "shall in this holy war be slain, the angels shall
forthwith receive him; for death in this cause shall be penance and
absolution for all sins."
At these words every man in the whole army raged with hatred, and pressed
eagerly to rush upon those savages.
Anon King Arthur, dressed in armor shining with gold and jewels, and
wearing on his head a helmet with a golden dragon, took a shield painted
with the likeness of the blessed Mary. Then girding on Excalibur and taking
in his right hand his great lance Ron, he placed his men in order and led
them out against the enemy, who stood for battle on the slope of Badon
Hill, ranged in the form of a wedge, as their custom was. And they, resisting
all the onslaughts of King Arthur and his host, made that day a stout
defense, and at night lay down upon the hill.
But on the next day Arthur led his army once again to the attack, and with
wounds and slaughter such as no man had ever seen before, he drove the
heathen step by step before him, backwards and upwards, till he stood with
all his noblest knights upon the summit of the hill.
And then men saw him, "red as the rising sun from spur to plume," lift up
his sword, and, kneeling, kiss the cross of it; and after, rising to his feet, set
might and main with all his fellowship upon the foe, till, as a troop of lions
roaring for their prey, they drove them like a scattered herd along the plains,
and cut them down till they could cut no more for weariness.
That day King Arthur by himself alone slew with his sword Excalibur four
hundred and seventy heathens. Colgrin also, and his brother Baldulph, were
slain.
Then the king bade Cador, Duke of Cornwall, follow Cheldric, the chief
leader, and the remnant of his hosts, unto the uttermost. He, therefore, when
he had first seized their fleet, and filled it with chosen men, to beat them
back when they should fly to it at last, chased them and slew them without
mercy so long as he could overtake them. And though they crept with
trembling hearts for shelter to the coverts of the woods and dens of

mountains, yet even so they found no safety, for Cador slew them, even one
by one. Last of all he caught and slew Cheldric himself, and slaughtering a
great multitude took hostages for the surrender of the rest.
Meanwhile, King Arthur turned from Badon Hill, and freed his nephew
Hoel from the Scots and Picts, who besieged him in Alculd. And when he
had defeated them in three sore battles, he drove them before him to a lake,
which was one of the most wondrous lakes in all the world, for it was fed
by sixty rivers, and had sixty islands, and sixty rocks, and on every island
sixty eagles' nests. But King Arthur with a great fleet sailed round the rivers
and besieged them in the lake for fifteen days, so that many thousands died
of hunger.
Anon the King of Ireland came with an army to relieve them; but Arthur,
turning on him fiercely, routed him, and compelled him to retreat in terror
to his land. Then he pursued his purpose, which was no less than to destroy
the race of Picts and Scots, who, beyond memory, had been a ceaseless
torment to the Britons by their barbarous malice.
So bitterly, therefore, did he treat them, giving quarter to none, that at
length the bishops of that miserable country with the clergy met together,
and, bearing all the holy relics, came barefooted to the king to pray his
mercy for their people. As soon as they were led before him they fell down
upon their knees, and piteously besought him to spare the few survivors of
their countrymen, and grant them any corner of the land where they might
live in peace. When he thus heard them, and knew that he had now fully
punished them, he consented to their prayer, and withdrew his hosts from
any further slaughter.
Then turned he back to his own realm, and came to York for Christmas, and
there with high solemnity observed that holy tide; and being passing
grieved to see the ruin of the churches and houses, which the rage of the
pagans had destroyed, he rebuilt them, and restored the city to its ancient
happy state.
And on a certain day, as the king sat with his barons, there came into the
court a squire on horseback, carrying a knight before him wounded to the
death, and told the king that hard by in the forest was a knight who had
reared up a pavilion by the fountain, "and hath slain my master, a valiant

knight, whose name was Nirles; wherefore I beseech thee, Lord, my master
may be buried, and that some good knight may avenge his death."
At that stepped forth a squire named Griflet, who was very young, being of
the same age with King Arthur, and besought the king, for all the service he
had done, to give him knighthood.
"Thou art full young and tender of age," said King Arthur, "to take so high
an order upon thee."
"Sir," said Griflet, "I beseech thee make me a knight;" and Merlin also
advising the king to grant his request, "Well," said Arthur, "be it then so,"
and knighted him forthwith. Then said he to him, "Since I have granted thee
this favor, thou must in turn grant me a gift."
"Whatsoever thou wilt, my lord," replied Sir Griflet.
"Promise me," said King Arthur, "by the faith of thy body, that when thou
hast jousted with this knight at the fountain, thou wilt return to me
straightway, unless he slay thee."
"I promise," said Sir Griflet; and taking his horse in haste, he dressed his
shield, and took a spear in his hand and rode full gallop till he came to the
fountain, by the side of which he saw a rich pavilion, and a great horse
standing well saddled and bridled, and on a tree close by there hung a shield
of many colors and a long lance.
Then Sir Griflet smote upon the shield with the butt of his spear until he
cast it to the ground. At that a knight came out of the pavilion and said,
"Fair knight, why smote ye down my shield?"
"Because," said Griflet, "I would joust with thee."
"It were better not," replied the knight; "for thou art young and but lately
made a knight, and thy strength is small compared to mine."
"For all that," said Sir Griflet, "I will joust with ye."
"I am full loth," replied the knight; "but if I must I must."

Then did they wheel their horses far apart, and running them together, the
strange knight shivered Sir Griflet's spear to fragments, and smote him
through the shield and the left side, and broke his own spear into Sir
Griflet's body, so that the truncheon stuck there, and Sir Griflet and his
horse fell down. But when the strange knight saw him overthrown, he was
sore grieved, and hastily alighted, for he thought that he had slain him. Then
he unlaced his helm and gave him air, and tended him carefully till he come
out of his swoon, and leaving the truncheon of his spear in his body, he set
him upon horse, and commended him to God, and said he had a mighty
heart, and if he lived would prove a passing good knight. And so Sir Griflet
rode to the court, where, by aid of good physicians, he was healed in time
and his life saved.
At that same time there came before the king twelve old men, ambassadors
from Lucius Tiberius, Emperor of Rome, and demanded of Arthur tribute
unto Cæsar for his realm, or else, said they, the emperor would destroy both
him and his land. To whom King Arthur answered that he owed the emperor
no tribute, nor would send him any; but said he, "On a fair field I will pay
him his proper tribute—with a sharp spear and sword; and by my father's
soul that tribute shall he take from me, whether he will or not." So the
ambassadors departed passing wroth, and King Arthur was as wroth as they.
But on the morrow of Sir Griflet's hurt, the king commanded to take his
horse and armor secretly outside the city walls before sunrise of the next
morning, and, rising a long while before dawn, he mounted up and took his
shield and spear, and bade his chamberlain tarry till he came again; but he
forbore to take Excalibur, for he had given it for safety into charge of his
sister, Queen Morgan le Fay. And as the king rode at a soft pace he saw
suddenly three villains chasing Merlin and making to attack and slay him.
Clapping spurs to his horse, he rushed towards them, and cried out in a
terrible voice, "Flee, churls, or take your deaths;" but they, as soon as they
perceived a knight, fled away with the haste of hares.
"O Merlin," said the king; "here hadst thou been killed, despite thy many
crafts, had I not chanced to pass."
"Not so," said Merlin, "for when I would, I could have saved myself; but
thou art nearer to thy death than I, for without special help from heaven

thou ridest now towards thy grave."
And as they were thus talking, they came to the fountain and the rich
pavilion pitched beside it, and saw a knight sitting all armed on a chair in
the opening of the tent. "Sir knight," said King Arthur, "for what cause
abidest thou here? to joust with any knight that passeth by? If so, I caution
thee to quit that custom."
"That custom," said the knight, "have I followed and will follow, let
whosoever will say nay, and if any is aggrieved at it, let him who will
amend it."
"I will amend it," said King Arthur.
"And I will defend it," answered the knight.
Then the knight mounted his horse and made himself ready, and charging at
each other they met so hard that both their lances splintered into pieces.
Then King Arthur drew his sword, but the knight cried out, "Not so; but let
us run another tilt together with sharp spears."
"I would with a good will," said King Arthur; "but I have no more spears."
"I have enough of spears," replied the knight, and called a squire, who
brought two good new lances.
Then spurring their horses, they rushed together with all their might, and
broke each one his own spear short off in his hand. Then the king again put
his hand to his sword, but the knight once more cried out, "Nay, yet abide
awhile; ye are the best jouster that I ever met with; for the love of
knighthood, let us joust yet once again."
So once again they tilted with their fullest force, and this time King Arthur's
spear was shivered, but the knight's held whole, and drove so furiously
against the king that both his horse and he were hurled to the ground.
At that, King Arthur was enraged and drew his sword and said, "I will
attack thee now, Sir knight, on foot, for on horseback I have lost the honor."
"I will be on horseback," said the knight. But when he saw him come on
foot, he lighted from his horse, thinking it shame to have so great

advantage.
And then began they a strong battle, with many great strokes and grievous
blows, and so hewed with their swords that the fragments of their armor
flew about the fields, and both so bled that all the ground around was like a
marsh of blood. Thus they fought long and mightily, and anon, after brief
rest fell to again, and so hurtled together like two wild boars that they both
rolled to the ground. At last their swords clashed furiously together, and the
knight's sword shivered the king's in two.
Then said the knight, "Now art thou in my power, to save thee or to slay.
Yield therefore as defeated, and a recreant knight, or thou shalt surely die."
"As for death," replied King Arthur, "welcome be it when it cometh; but as
for yielding me to thee as a recreant because of this poor accident upon my
sword, I had far liefer die than be so shamed."
So saying, he sprang on the knight, and took him by the middle and threw
him down, and tore off his helm. But the knight, being a huge man, wrestled
and struggled in a frenzy with the king until he brought him under, and tore
off his helm in turn, and would have smitten off his head.
At that came Merlin and said, "Knight, hold thy hand, for if thou slayest
yonder knight, thou puttest all this realm to greater loss and damage than
ever realm was in; for he is a man of greater worship than thou dreamest
of."
"Who then is he?" cried the knight.
Then would he have slain him for dread of his wrath, but Merlin cast a spell
upon the knight, so that he fell suddenly to the earth in a deep sleep. Then
raising up the king, he took the knight's horse for himself and rode away.
"Alas," said King Arthur, "what hast thou done, Merlin? hast thou slain this
good knight by thy crafts? There never lived a better knight; I had rather
lose my kingdom for a year than have him dead."
"Be not afraid," said Merlin; "he is more whole and sound than thou art, and
is but in a sleep, wherefrom in three hours' time he will awake. I told thee
what a knight he was, and how near thou was to death. There liveth not a

better knight than he in all the world, and hereafter he shall do thee good
service. His name is King Pellinore, and he shall have two sons, who shall
be passing valiant men, and, save one another, shall have no equal in
prowess and in purity of life. The one shall be named Percival, and the other
Lamoracke of Wales."
So they rode on to Caerleon, and all the knights grieved greatly when they
heard of this adventure, that the king would jeopardize his person thus
alone. Yet could they not hide their joy at serving under such a noble chief,
who adventured his own life as much as did the poorest knight among them
all.

IV
THE KING'S MANY AND GREAT ADVENTURES

The land of Britain being now in peace, and many great and valiant knights
therein ready to take part in whatsoever battles or adventures might arise,
King Arthur resolved to follow all his enemies to their own coasts. Anon he
fitted out a great fleet, and sailing first to Ireland, in one battle he miserably
routed the people of the country. The King of Ireland also he took prisoner,
and forced all earls and barons to pay him homage.
Having conquered Ireland, he went next to Iceland and subdued it also, and
the winter being then arrived, returned to Britain.
In the next year he set forth to Norway, whence many times the heathen had
descended on the British coasts; for he was determined to give so terrible a
lesson to those savages as should be told through all their tribes both far and
near, and make his name fearful to them.
As soon as he was come, Riculf, the king, with all the power of that
country, met and gave him battle; but, after mighty slaughter, the Britons
had at length the advantage, and slew Riculf and a countless multitude
besides.
Having thus defeated them, they set the cities on fire, dispersed the country
people, and pursued the victory till they had reduced all Norway, as also
Dacia, under the dominion of King Arthur.
Now, therefore, having thus chastised those pagans who so long had
harassed Britain, and put his yoke upon them, he voyaged on to Gaul, being
steadfastly set upon defeating the Roman governor of that province, and so
beginning to make good the threats which he had sent the emperor by his
ambassadors.
So soon as he was landed on the shores of Gaul, there came to him a
countryman who told him of a fearful giant in the land of Brittany, who had

slain, murdered, and devoured many people, and had lived for seven years
upon young children only, "insomuch," said the man, "that all the children
of the country are destroyed; and but the other day he seized upon our
duchess, as she rode out with her men, and took her away to his lodging in a
cave of a mountain, and though five hundred people followed her, yet could
they give her no help or rescue, but left her shrieking and crying lamentably
in the giant's hands; and, Lord, she is thy cousin Hoel's wife, who is of thy
near kindred; wherefore, as thou art a rightful king, have pity on this lady;
and as thou art a valiant conqueror, avenge us and deliver us."
"Alas!" said King Arthur, "this is a great mischief that ye tell of. I had rather
than the best realm I have, that I had rescued that lady ere the giant laid his
hand on her; but tell me now, good fellow, canst thou bring me where this
giant haunteth?"
"Yea, Lord!" replied the man; "lo, yonder, where thou seest two great fires,
there shalt thou find him, and more treasure also than is in all Gaul
besides."
Then the king returned to his tent, and, calling Sir Key and Sir Bedwin,
desired them to get horses ready for himself and them, for that after
evensong he would ride a pilgrimage with them alone to St. Michael's
Mount. So in the evening they departed, and rode as fast as they could till
they came near the mount, and there alighted; and the king commanded the
two knights to await him at the hill foot, while he went up alone.
Then he ascended the mountain till he came to a great fire. And there he
found a sorrowful widow wringing her hands and weeping miserably,
sitting by a new-made grave. And saluting her, King Arthur prayed her
wherefore she made such heavy lamentations.
"Sir knight," she said, "speak softly, for yonder is a devil, who, if he hear
thy voice, will come and straightway slay thee. Alas! what dost thou here?
Fifty such men as thou were powerless to resist him. Here lieth dead my
lady, Duchess of Brittany, wife to Sir Hoel, who was the fairest lady in the
world, foully and shamefully slaughtered by that fiend! Beware that thou go
not too nigh, for he hath overcome and vanquished fifteen kings, and hath
made himself a coat of precious stones, embroidered with their beards; but

if thou art so hardy, and wilt speak with him, at yonder great fire he is at
supper."
"Well," said King Arthur, "I will accomplish mine errand, for all thy fearful
words;" and so went forth to the crest of the hill, and saw where the giant
sat at supper, gnawing on a limb of a man, and baking his huge frame by the
fire, while three damsels turned three spits, whereon were spitted, like larks,
twelve young children lately born.
When King Arthur saw all that, his heart bled for sorrow, and he trembled
for rage and indignation; then lifting up his voice he cried aloud—"God,
that wieldeth all the world, give thee short life and shameful death, and may
the devil have thy soul! Why hast thou slain those children and that fair
lady! Wherefore arise, and prepare thee to perish, thou glutton and fiend,
for this day thou shalt die by my hands."
Then the giant, mad with fury at these words, started up, and seizing a great
club, smote the king, and struck his crown from off his head. But King
Arthur smote him with his sword so mightily in return, that all his blood
gushed forth in streams.
At that the giant, howling in great anguish, threw away his club of iron, and
caught the king in both his arms and strove to crush his ribs together. But
King Arthur struggled and writhed, and twisted him about so that the giant
could not hold him tightly; and as they fiercely wrestled, they both fell, and
rolling over one another, tumbled—wrestling, and struggling, and fighting
frantically—from rock to rock, till they came to the sea.
And as they tore and strove and tumbled, the king ever and anon smote at
the giant with his dagger, till his arms stiffened in death around King
Arthur's body, and groaning horribly, he died. So presently the two knights
came and found the king locked fast in the giant's arms, and very faint and
weary, and loosed him from their hold.
Then the king bade Sir Key to "smite off the giant's head, and set it on the
truncheon of a spear, and bear it to Sir Hoel, and tell him that his enemy is
slain; and afterwards let it be fastened to the castle gate, that all the people
may behold it. And go ye two up on the mountain and fetch me my shield
and sword, and also the great club of iron ye will see there; and as for the

treasure, ye shall find there wealth beyond counting, but take as much as ye
will, for I have his kirtle and the club, I desire no more."
Then the knights fetched the club and kirtle, as the king had ordered, and
took the treasure to themselves, as much as they could carry, and returned to
the army. But when this deed was noised abroad, all the people came in
multitudes to thank the king, who told them "to give thanks to God, and to
divide the giant's spoils amongst them equally." And King Arthur desired
Sir Hoel to build a church upon the mount, and dedicate it to the Archangel
Michael.
On the morrow, all the host moved onwards into the country of Champagne,
and Flollo, the Roman tribune, retired before them into Paris. But while he
was preparing to collect more forces from the neighboring countries, King
Arthur came upon him unawares; and besieged him in the town.
And when a month had passed, Flollo—full of grief at the starvation of his
people, who died in hundreds day by day—sent to King Arthur, and desired
that they two might fight together; for he was a man of mighty stature and
courage, and thought himself sure of the victory. This challenge, King
Arthur, full weary of the siege, accepted with great joy, and sent back word
to Flollo that he would meet him whensoever he appointed.
And a truce being made on both sides, they met together the next day on the
island without the city, where all the people also were gathered to see the
issue. And as the king and Flollo rode up to the lists, each was so nobly
armed and horsed, and sat so mightily upon his saddle, that no man could
tell which way the battle would end.
When they had saluted one another, and presented themselves against each
other with their lances aloft, they put spurs to their horses and began a
fierce encounter. But King Arthur, carrying his spear more warily, struck it
on the upper part of Flollo's breast, and flung him from his saddle to the
earth. Then drawing his sword, he cried to him to rise, and rushed upon
him; but Flollo, starting up, met him with his spear couched, and pierced
the breast of King Arthur's horse, and overthrew both horse and man.
The Britons, when they saw their king upon the ground, could scarcely keep
themselves from breaking up the truce and falling on the Gauls. But as they

were about to burst the barriers, and rush upon the lists, King Arthur hastily
arose, and, guarding himself with his shield, ran with speed on Flollo. And
now they renewed the assault with great rage, being sorely bent upon each
other's death.
At length, Flollo, seizing his advantage, gave King Arthur a huge stroke
upon the helm, which nigh overthrew him, and drew forth his blood in
streams.
But when King Arthur saw his armor and shield all red with blood, he was
inflamed with fury, and lifting up Excalibur on high, with all his might, he
struck straight through the helmet into Flollo's head, and smote it into
halves; and Flollo falling backwards, and tearing up the ground with his
spurs, expired.
As soon as this news spread, the citizens all ran together, and, opening the
gates, surrendered the city to the conqueror.
And when he had overrun the whole province with his arms, and reduced it
everywhere to subjection, he returned again to Britain, and held his court at
Caerleon, with greater state than ever.
Anon he invited thereto all the kings, dukes, earls, and barons, who owed
him homage, that he might treat them royally, and reconcile them to each
other, and to his rule.
And never was there a city more fit and pleasant for such festivals. For on
one side it was washed by a noble river, so that the kings and princes from
the countries beyond sea might conveniently sail up to it; and on the other
side, the beauty of the groves and meadows, and the stateliness and
magnificence of the royal palaces, with lofty gilded roofs, made it even
rival the grandeur of Rome. It was famous also for two great and noble
churches, whereof one was built in honor of the martyr Julius, and adorned
with a choir of virgins who had devoted themselves wholly to the service of
God; and the other, founded in memory of St. Aaron, his companion,
maintained a convent of canons, and was the third metropolitan church of
Britain. Besides, there was a college of two hundred philosophers, learned
in astronomy, and all the other sciences and arts.

In this place, therefore, full of such delights, King Arthur held his court,
with many jousts and tournaments, and royal huntings, and rested for a
season after all his wars.
And on a certain day there came into the court a messenger from Ryence,
King of North Wales, bearing this message from his master: That King
Ryence had discomfited eleven kings, and had compelled each one of them
to cut off his beard; that he had trimmed a mantle with these beards, and
lacked but one more beard to finish it; and that he therefore now sent for
King Arthur's beard, which he required of him forthwith, or else he would
enter his lands and burn and slay, and never leave them till he had taken by
force not his beard only, but his head also.
When King Arthur heard these words he flushed all scarlet, and rising in
great anger said, "Well it is for thee that thou speakest another man's words
with thy lips, and not thine own. Thou hast said thy message, which is the
most insolent and villainous that ever man heard sent to any king: now hear
my reply. My beard is yet too young to trim that mantle of thy master's
with; yet, young although I be, I owe no homage either to him or any man
—nor will ever owe. But, young although I be, I will have thy master's
homage upon both his knees before this year be past, or else he shall lose
his head, by the faith of my body, for this message is the shamefullest I ever
heard speak of. I see well thy king hath never yet met with a worshipful
man; but tell him that King Arthur will have his head or his worship right
soon."
Then the messenger departed, and Arthur, looking round upon his knights,
demanded of them if any there knew this King Ryence. "Yea," answered Sir
Noran, "I know him well, and there be few better or stronger knights upon a
field than he; and he is passing proud and haughty in his heart; wherefore I
doubt not, Lord, he will make war on thee with mighty power."
"Well," said King Arthur, "I shall be ready for him, and that shall he find."
While the king thus spoke, there came into the hall a damsel having on a
mantle richly furred, which she let fall, and showed herself to be girded
with a noble sword. The king being surprised at this, said, "Damsel,
wherefore art thou girt with that sword, for it beseemeth thee not?" "Sir,"
said she, "I will tell thee. This sword wherewith I am thus girt gives me

great sorrow and encumbrance, for I may not be delivered from it till I find
a knight faithful and pure and true, strong of body and of valiant deeds,
without guile or treachery, who shall be able to draw it from its scabbard,
which no man else can do. And I have but just now come from the court of
King Ryence, for there they told me many great and good knights were to
be ever found; but he and all his knights have tried to draw it forth in vain
—for none of them can move it."
"This is a great marvel," said King Arthur; "I will myself try to draw forth
this sword, not thinking in my heart that I am the best knight, but rather to
begin and give example that all may try after me." Saying this, he took the
sword and pulled at it with all his might, but could not shake or move it.
"Thou needest not strive so hard, Lord," said the damsel, "for whoever may
be able to pull it forth shall do so very easily."
"Thou sayest well," replied the king, remembering how he had himself
drawn forth the sword from the stone before St. Paul's. "Now try ye, all my
barons; but beware ye be not stained with shame, or any treachery, or
guile." And turning away his face from them, King Arthur mused full
heavily on sins within his breast he knew of, and which his failure brought
to mind right sadly.
Then all the barons present tried each after other, but could none of them
succeed; whereat the damsel greatly wept, and said, "Alas, alas! I thought in
this court to have found the best knight, without shame or treachery or
treason."
Now by chance there was at that time a poor knight with King Arthur, who
had been prisoner at his court for half a year or more, charged with slaying
unawares a knight who was a cousin of the king's. He was named Balin le
Savage, and had been by the good offices of the barons delivered from
prison, for he was of good and valiant address and gentle blood. He being
secretly present at the court saw this advantage, and felt his heart rise high
within him, and longed to try the sword as did the others; but being poor
and poorly clad, he was ashamed to come forward in the press of knights
and nobles. But in his heart he felt assured that he could do better—if
Heaven willed—than any knight among them all.

So as the damsel left the king, he called to her and said, "Damsel, I pray
thee of thy courtesy, suffer me to try the sword as well as all these lords; for
though I be but poorly clad, I feel assurance in my heart."
The damsel looked at him, saw in him a likely and an honest man, but
because of his poor garments could not think him to be any knight of
worship, and said, "Sir, there is no need to put me to any more pain or
labor; why shouldst thou succeed where so many worthy ones have failed?"
"Ah, fair lady," answered Balin, "worthiness and brave deeds are not shown
by fair raiment but manhood and truth lie hid within the heart. There be
many worshipful knights unknown to all the people."
"By my faith, thou sayest truth," replied the damsel; "try therefore, if thou
wilt, what thou canst do."
So Balin took the sword by the girdle and hilt, and drew it lightly out, and
looking on its workmanship and brightness, it pleased him greatly.
But the king and all the barons marveled at Sir Balin's fortune, and many
knights were envious of him, for, "Truly," said the damsel, "this is a passing
good knight, and the best man I have ever found, and the most worshipfully
free from treason, treachery, or villainy, and many wonders shall he
achieve.
"Now, gentle and courteous knight," continued she, turning to Balin, "give
me the sword again."
"Nay," said Sir Balin, "save it be taken from me by force, I shall preserve
this sword for evermore."
"Thou art not wise," replied the damsel, "to keep it from me; for if thou wilt
do so, thou shall slay with it the best friend thou hast, and the sword shall
be thine own destruction also."
"I will take whatever adventure God may send," said Balin; "but the sword
will I keep, by the faith of my body."
"Thou will repent it shortly," said the damsel; "I would take the sword for
thy sake rather than for mine, for I am passing grieved and heavy for thy

sake, who wilt not believe the peril I foretell thee." With that she departed,
making great lamentation.
Then Balin sent for his horse and armor, and took his leave of King Arthur,
who urged him to stay at his court. "For," said he, "I believe that thou art
displeased that I showed thee unkindness; blame me not overmuch, for I
was misinformed against thee, and knew not truly what a knight of worship
thou art. Abide in this court with my good knights, and I will so advance
thee that thou shalt be well pleased."
"God thank thee, Lord," said Balin, "for no man can reward thy bounty and
thy nobleness; but at this time I must needs depart, praying thee ever to hold
me in thy favor."
"Truly," said King Arthur, "I am grieved for thy departure; but tarry not
long, and thou shalt be right welcome to me and all my knights when thou
returnest, and I will repair my neglect and all that I have done amiss against
thee."
"God thank thee, Lord," again said Balin, and made ready to depart.
But meanwhile came into the court a lady upon horseback, full richly
dressed, and saluted King Arthur, and asked him for the gift that he had
promised her when she gave him his sword Excalibur, "for," said she, "I am
the lady of the lake."
"Ask what thou wilt," said the king, "and thou shalt have it, if I have power
to give."
"I ask," said she, "the head of that knight who hath just achieved the sword,
or else the damsel's head who brought it, or else both; for the knight slew
my brother, and the lady caused my father's death."
"Truly," said King Arthur, "I cannot grant thee this desire; it were against
my nature and against my name; but ask whatever else thou wilt, and I will
do it."
"I will demand no other thing," said she.
And as she spake came Balin, on his way to leave the court, and saw her
where she stood, and knew her straightway for his mother's murderess,

whom he had sought in vain three years. And when they told him that she
had asked King Arthur for his head, he went up straight to her and said,
"May evil have thee! Thou desirest my head, therefore shalt thou lose
thine"; and with his sword he lightly smote her head off, in the presence of
the king and all the court.
"Alas, for shame!" cried out King Arthur, rising up in wrath; "why hast thou
done this, shaming both me and my court? I am beholden greatly to this
lady, and under my safe conduct came she here; thy deed is passing
shameful; never shall I forgive thy villainy."
"Lord," cried Sir Balin, "hear me; this lady was the falsest living, and by her
witchcraft hath destroyed many, and caused my mother also to be burnt to
death by her false arts and treachery."
"What cause soever thou mightest have had," said the king, "thou shouldst
have forborne her in my presence. Deceive not thyself, thou shalt repent
this sin, for such a shame was never brought upon my court; depart now
from my face with all the haste thou mayest."
Then Balin took up the head of the lady and carried it to his lodgings, and
rode forth with his squire from out the town. Then said he, "Now must we
part; take ye this head and bear it to my friends in Northumberland, and tell
them how I speed, and that our worst foe is dead; also tell them that I am
free from prison, and of the adventure of my sword."
"Alas!" said the squire, "ye are greatly to blame to have so displeased King
Arthur."
"As for that," said Sir Balin, "I go now to find King Ryence, and destroy
him or lose my life; for should I take him prisoner, and lead him to the
court, perchance King Arthur would forgive me, and become my good and
gracious lord."
"Where shall I meet thee again?" said the squire.
"In King Arthur's court," said Balin.

V
SIR BALIN FIGHTS WITH HIS BROTHER, SIR BALAN

Now there was a knight at the court more envious than the others of Sir
Balin, for he counted himself one of the best knights in Britain. His name
was Lancear; and going to the king, he begged leave to follow after Sir
Balin and avenge the insult he had put upon the court. "Do thy best," replied
the king, "for I am passing wroth with Balin."
In the meantime came Merlin, and was told of this adventure of the sword
and lady of the lake.
"Now hear me," said he, "when I tell ye that this lady who hath brought the
sword is the falsest damsel living."
"Say not so," they answered, "for she hath a brother a good knight, who
slew another knight this damsel loved; so she, to be revenged upon her
brother, went to the Lady Lile, of Avilion, and besought her help. Then
Lady Lile gave her the sword, and told her that no man should draw it forth
but one, a valiant knight and strong, who should avenge her on her brother.
This, therefore, was the reason why the damsel came here."
"I know it all as well as ye do," answered Merlin; "and would to God she
had never come hither, for never came she into any company but to do
harm; and that good knight who hath achieved the sword shall be himself
slain by it, which shall be great harm and loss, for a better knight there
liveth not; and he shall do unto my lord the king great honor and service."
Then Sir Lancear, having armed himself at all points, mounted, and rode
after Sir Balin, as fast as he could go, and overtaking him, he cried aloud,
"Abide, Sir knight! wait yet awhile, or I shall make thee do so."
Hearing him cry, Sir Balin fiercely turned his horse, and said, "Fair knight,
what wilt thou with me? wilt thou joust?"
"Yea," said Sir Lancear, "it is for that I have pursued thee."

"Peradventure," answered Balin, "thou hadst best have stayed at home, for
many a man who thinketh himself already victor, endeth by his own
downfall. Of what court art thou?"
"Of King Arthur's court," cried Lancear, "and I am come to revenge the
insult thou hast put on it this day."
"Well," said Sir Balin, "I see that I must fight thee, and I repent to be
obliged to grieve King Arthur or his knights; and thy quarrel seemeth full
foolish to me, for the damsel that is dead worked endless evils through the
land, or else I had been loth as any knight that liveth to have slain a lady."
"Make thee ready," shouted Lancear, "for one of us shall rest forever in this
field."
But at their first encounter Sir Lancear's spear flew into splinters from Sir
Balin's shield, and Sir Balin's lance pierced with such might through Sir
Lancear's shield, that it rove the hauberk also, and passed through the
knight's body and the horse's crupper. And Sir Balin turning fiercely round
again, drew out his sword, and knew not that he had already slain him; and
then he saw him lie a corpse upon the ground.
At that same moment came a damsel riding towards him as fast as her horse
could gallop, who, when she saw Sir Lancear dead, wept and sorrowed out
of measure, crying, "O, Sir Balin, two bodies hast thou slain, and one heart;
and two hearts in one body; and two souls also hast thou lost."
Therewith she took the sword from her dead lover's side—for she was Sir
Lancear's lady-love—and setting the pommel of it on the ground, ran
herself through the body with the blade.
When Sir Balin saw her dead he was sorely hurt and grieved in spirit, and
repented the death of Lancear, which had also caused so fair a lady's death.
And being unable to look on their bodies for sorrow, he turned aside into a
forest, where presently as he rode, he saw the arms of his brother, Sir Balan.
And when they were met they put off their helms, and embraced each other,
kissing, and weeping for joy and pity. Then Sir Balin told Sir Balan all his
late adventures, and that he was on his way to King Ryence, who at that
time was besieging Castle Terrabil. "I will be with thee," answered Sir
Balan, "and we will help each other, as brethren ought to do."

Anon by chance, as they were talking, came King Mark, of Cornwall, by
that way, and when he saw the two dead bodies of Sir Lancear and his lady
lying there, and heard the story of their death, he vowed to build a tomb to
them before he left that place. So pitching his pavilion there, he sought
through all the country round to find a monument, and found at last a rich
and fair one in a church, which he took and raised above the dead knight
and his damsel, writing on it—"Here lieth Lancear, son of the King of
Ireland, who, at his own request, was slain by Balin; and here beside him
also lieth his lady Colombe, who slew herself with her lover's sword for
grief and sorrow."
Then as Sir Balin and Sir Balan rode away, Merlin met with them, and said
to Balin, "Thou hast done thyself great harm not to have saved that lady's
life who slew herself; and because of it, thou shalt strike the most Dolorous
Stroke that ever man struck, save he that smote our Lord. For thou shalt
smite the truest and most worshipful of living knights, who shall not be
recovered from his wounds for many years, and through that stroke three
kingdoms shall be overwhelmed in poverty and misery."
"If I believed," said Balin, "what thou sayest, I would slay myself to make
thee a liar."
At that Merlin vanished suddenly away; but afterwards he met them in
disguise towards night, and told them he could lead them to King Ryence,
whom they sought. "For this night he is to ride with sixty lances only
through a wood hard by."
So Sir Balin and Sir Balan hid themselves within the wood, and at midnight
came out from their ambush among the leaves by the highway, and waited
for the king, whom presently they heard approaching with his company.
Then did they suddenly leap forth and smote at him and overthrew him and
laid him on the ground, and turning on his company wounded and slew
forty of them, and put the rest to flight. And returning to King Ryence they
would have slain him there, but he craved mercy, and yielded to their grace,
crying, "Knights full of prowess, slay me not; for by my life ye may win
something—but my death can avail ye nought."
"Ye say truth," said the two knights, and put him in a horse-litter, and went
swiftly through all the night, till at cock-crow they came to King Arthur's

palace. There they delivered him to the warders and porters, to be brought
before the king, with this message—"That he was sent to King Arthur by
the knight of the two swords" (for so was Balin known by name, since his
adventure with the damsel) "and by his brother." And so they rode away
again ere sunrise.
Within a month or two thereafter, King Arthur being somewhat sick, went
forth outside the town, and had his pavilion pitched in a meadow, and there
abode, and laid him down on a pallet to sleep, but could get no rest. And as
he lay he heard the sound of a great horse, and looking out of the tent door,
saw a knight ride by, making great lamentation.
"Abide, fair sir," said King Arthur, "and tell me wherefore thou makest this
sorrow."
"Ye may little amend it," said the knight, and so passed on.
Presently after Sir Balin, rode, by chance, past that meadow, and when he
saw the king he alighted and came to him on foot, and kneeled and saluted
him.
"By my head," said King Arthur, "ye be welcome, Sir Balin;" and then he
thanked him heartily for revenging him upon King Ryence, and for sending
him so speedily a prisoner to his castle, and told him how King Nero,
Ryence's brother, had attacked him afterwards to deliver Ryence from
prison; and how he had defeated him and slain him, and also King Lot, of
Orkney, who was joined with Nero, and whom King Pellinore had killed in
the battle. Then when they had thus talked, King Arthur told Sir Balin of the
sullen knight that had just passed his tent, and desired him to pursue him
and to bring him back.
So Sir Balin rode and overtook the knight in a forest with a damsel, and
said, "Sir knight, thou must come back with me unto my lord, King Arthur,
to tell him the cause of thy sorrow, which thou hast refused even now to
do."
"That will I not," replied the knight, "for it would harm me much, and do
him no advantage."

"Sir," said Sir Balin, "I pray thee make ready, for thou must needs go with
me—or else I must fight with thee and take thee by force."
"Wilt thou be warrant for safe conduct, if I go with thee?" inquired the
knight.
"Yea, surely," answered Balin, "I will die else."
So the knight made ready to go with Sir Balin, and left the damsel in the
wood.
But as they went, there came one invisible, and smote the knight through
the body with a spear. "Alas," cried Sir Herleus (for so was he named), "I
am slain under thy guard and conduct, by that traitor knight called Garlon,
who through magic and witchcraft rideth invisibly. Take, therefore, my
horse, which is better than thine, and ride to the damsel whom we left, and
follow the quest I had in hand, as she will lead thee—and revenge my death
when thou best mayest."
"That will I do," said Sir Balin, "by my knighthood, and so I swear to thee."
Then went Sir Balin to the damsel, and rode forth with her; she carrying
ever with her the truncheon of the spear wherewith Sir Herleus had been
slain. And as they went, a good knight, Perin de Mountbelgard, joined their
company, and vowed to take adventure with them wheresoever they might
go. But presently as they passed a hermitage fast by a churchyard, came the
knight Garlon, again invisible, and smote Sir Perin through the body with a
spear, and slew him as he had slain Sir Herleus. Whereat, Sir Balin greatly
raged, and swore to have Sir Garlon's life, whenever next he might
encounter and behold him in his bodily shape. Anon, he and the hermit
buried the good knight Sir Perin, and rode on with the damsel till they came
to a great castle, whereinto they were about to enter. But when Sir Balin had
passed through the gateway, the portcullis fell behind him suddenly, leaving
the damsel on the outer side, with men around her, drawing their swords as
if to slay her.
When he saw that, Sir Balin climbed with eager haste by wall and tower,
and leaped into the castle moat, and rushed towards the damsel and her
enemies, with his sword drawn, to fight and slay them. But they cried out,

"Put up thy sword, Sir knight, we will not fight thee in this quarrel, for we
do nothing but an ancient custom of this castle."
Then they told him that the lady of the castle was passing sick, and had lain
ill for many years, and might never more be cured, unless she had a silver
dish full of the blood of a pure maid and a king's daughter. Wherefore the
custom of the castle was, that never should a damsel pass that way but she
must give a dish full of her blood. Then Sir Balin suffered them to bleed the
damsel with her own consent, but her blood helped not the lady of the
castle. So on the morrow they departed, after right good cheer and rest.
Then they rode three or four days without adventure, and came at last to the
abode of a rich man, who sumptuously lodged and fed them. And while
they sat at supper Sir Balin heard a voice of some one groaning grievously.
"What noise is this?" said he.
"Forsooth," said the host, "I will tell you. I was lately at a tournament, and
there I fought a knight who is brother to King Pelles, and overthrew him
twice, for which he swore to be revenged on me through my best friend,
and so he wounded my son, who cannot be recovered till I have that
knight's blood, but he rideth through witchcraft always invisibly, and I
know not his name."
"Ah," said Sir Balin, "but I know him; his name is Garlon, and he hath slain
two knights, companions of mine own, in the same fashion, and I would
rather than all the riches in this realm that I might meet him face to face."
"Well," said his host, "let me now tell thee that King Pelles hath proclaimed
in all the country a great festival, to be held at Listeniss, in twenty days
from now, whereto no knight may come without a lady. At that great feast
we might perchance find out this Garlon, for many will be there; and if it
please thee we will set forth together."
So on the morrow they rode all three towards Listeniss, and traveled fifteen
days, and reached it on the day the feast began. Then they alighted and
stabled their horses, and went up to the castle, and Sir Balin's host was
denied entrance, having no lady with him. But Sir Balin was right heartily
received, and taken to a chamber, where they unarmed him, and dressed
him in rich robes, of any color that he chose, and told him he must lay aside

his sword. This, however, he refused, and said, "It is the custom of my
country for a knight to keep his sword ever with him; and if I may not keep
it here, I will forthwith depart." Then they gave him leave to wear his
sword. So he went to the great hall, and was set among knights of rank and
worship, and his lady before him.
Soon he found means to ask one who sat near him, "Is there not here a
knight whose name is Garlon?"
"Yonder he goeth," said his neighbor, "he with that black face; he is the
most marvelous knight alive, for he rideth invisibly, and destroyeth whom
he will."
"Ah, well," said Balin, drawing a long breath, "is that indeed the man? I
have aforetime heard of him."
Then he mused long within himself, and thought, "If I shall slay him here
and now, I shall not escape myself; but if I leave him, peradventure I shall
never meet with him again at such advantage; and if he live, how much
more harm and mischief will he do!"
But while he deeply thought, and cast his eyes from time to time upon Sir
Garlon, that false knight saw that he watched him, and thinking that he
could at such a time escape revenge, he came and smote Sir Balin on the
face with the back of his hand, and said, "Knight, why dost thou so watch
me? be ashamed, and eat thy meat, and do that which thou camest for."
"Thou sayest well," cried Sir Balin, rising fiercely; "now will I straightway
do that which I came to do, as thou shalt find." With that he whirled his
sword aloft and struck him downright on the head, and clove his skull
asunder to the shoulder.
"Give me the truncheon," cried out Sir Balin to his lady, "wherewith he
slew thy knight." And when she gave it him—for she had always carried it
about with her, wherever she had gone—he smote him through the body
with it, and said, "With that truncheon didst thou treacherously murder a
good knight, and now it sticketh in thy felon body."
Then he called to the father of the wounded son, who had come with him to
Listeniss, and said, "Now take as much blood as thou wilt, to heal thy son

withal."
But now arose a terrible confusion, and all the knights leaped from the table
to slay Balin, King Pelles himself the foremost, who cried out, "Knight,
thou hast slain my brother at my board; die, therefore, die, for thou shalt
never leave this castle."
"Slay me, thyself, then," shouted Balin.
"Yea," said the king, "that will I! for no other man shall touch thee, for the
love I bear my brother."
Then King Pelles caught in his hand a grim weapon and smote eagerly at
Balin, but Balin put his sword between his head and the king's stroke, and
saved himself but lost his sword, which fell down smashed and shivered
into pieces by the blow. So being weaponless he ran to the next room to
find a sword, and so from room to room, with King Pelles after him, he in
vain ever eagerly casting his eyes round every place to find some weapon.
At last he ran into a chamber wondrous richly decked, where was a bed all
dressed with cloth of gold, the richest that could be thought of, and one who
lay quite still within the bed; and by the bedside stood a table of pure gold,
borne on four silver pillars, and on the table stood a marvelous spear,
strangely wrought.
When Sir Balin saw the spear he seized it in his hand, and turned upon King
Pelles, and smote at him so fiercely and so sore that he dropped swooning
to the ground.
But at that Dolorous and awful Stroke the castle rocked and rove
throughout, and all the walls fell crashed and breaking to the earth, and
Balin himself fell also in their midst, struck as it were to stone, and
powerless to move a hand or foot. And so three days he lay amidst the ruins,
until Merlin came and raised him up and brought him a good horse, and
bade him ride out of that land as swiftly as he could.
"May I not take the damsel with me I brought hither?" said Sir Balin.
"Lo! where she lieth dead," said Merlin. "Ah, little knowest thou, Sir Balin,
what thou hast done; for in this castle and that chamber which thou didst

defile, was the blood of our Lord Christ! and also that most holy cup—the
Sangreal—wherefrom the wine was drunk at the last supper of our Lord.
Joseph of Arimathea brought it to this land, when first he came here to
convert and save it. And on that bed of gold it was himself who lay, and the
strange spear beside him was the spear wherewith the soldier Longus smote
our Lord, which evermore had dripped with blood. King Pelles is the
nearest kin to Joseph in direct descent, wherefore he held these holy things
in trust; but now have they all gone at thy dolorous stroke, no man knoweth
whither; and great is the damage to this land, which until now hath been the
happiest of all lands, for by that stroke thou hast slain thousands, and by the
loss and parting of the Sangreal, the safety of this realm is put in peril, and
its great happiness is gone for evermore."
Then Balin departed from Merlin, struck to his soul with grief and sorrow,
and said, "In this world shall we meet never more."
So he rode forth through the fair cities and the country, and found the
people lying dead on every side. And all the living cried out on him as he
passed, "O Balin, all this misery hast thou done! For the dolorous stroke
thou gavest King Pelles, three countries are destroyed, and doubt not but
revenge will fall on thee at last!"
When he had passed the boundary of those countries, he was somewhat
comforted, and rode eight days without adventure. Anon he came to a cross,
whereon was written in letters of gold, "It is not for a knight alone to ride
towards this castle." Looking up, he saw a hoary ancient man come towards
him, who said, "Sir Balin le Savage, thou passest thy bounds this way;
therefore turn back again, it will be best for thee;" and with these words he
vanished.
Then did he hear a horn blow as it were the death-note of some hunted
beast. "That blast," said Balin, "is blown for me, for I am the prey; though
yet I be not dead." But as he spoke he saw a hundred ladies with a great
troop of knights come forth to meet him with bright faces and great
welcome, who led him to the castle and made a great feast, with dancing
and minstrelsy and all manner of joy.
Then the chief lady of the castle said, "Knight with the two swords, thou
must encounter and fight with a knight hard by, who dwelleth on an island,

for no man may pass this way without encountering him."
"It is a grievous custom," answered Sir Balin.
"There is but one knight to defeat," replied the lady.
"Well," said Sir Balin, "be it as thou wilt. I am ready and quite willing, and
though my horse and my body be full weary, yet is my heart not weary, save
of life. And truly I were glad if I might meet my death."
"Sir," said one standing by, "methinketh your shield is not good; I will lend
you a bigger."
"I thank thee, sir," said Balin, and took the unknown shield and left his own,
and so rode forth, and put himself and horse into a boat and came to the
island.
As soon as he had landed, he saw come riding towards him, a knight
dressed all in red, upon a horse trapped in the same color. When the red
knight saw Sir Balin, and the two swords he wore, he thought it must have
been his brother (for the red knight was Sir Balan), but when he saw the
strange arms on his shield, he forgot the thought, and came against him
fiercely. At the first course they overthrew each other, and both lay
swooning on the ground; but Sir Balin was the most hurt and bruised, for he
was weary and spent with traveling. So Sir Balan rose up first to his feet
and drew his sword, and Sir Balin painfully rose against him and raised his
shield. Then Sir Balan smote him through the shield and brake his helmet;
and Sir Balin, in return, smote at him with his fated sword, and had
wellnigh slain his brother. And so they fought till their breaths failed.
Then Sir Balin, looking up, saw all the castle towers stand full of ladies. So
they went again to battle, and wounded each other full sore, and paused,
and breathed again, and then again began the fight; and this for many times
they did, till all the ground was red with blood. And by now, each had full
grievously wounded the other with seven great wounds, the least of which
might have destroyed the mightiest giant in the world. But still they rose
against each other, although their hauberks now were all unnailed, and they
smiting at each other's naked bodies with their sharp swords. At the last, Sir
Balan, the younger brother, withdrew a little space and laid him down.

Then said Sir Balin le Savage, "What knight art thou? for never before have
I found a knight to match me thus."
"My name," said he, all faintly, "is Balan, brother to the good knight Sir
Balin."
"Ah, God!" cried Balin, "that ever I should see this day!" and therewith fell
down backwards in a swoon.
Then Sir Balan crept with pain upon his feet and hands, and put his
brother's helmet off his head, but could not know him by his face, it was so
hewed and bloody. But presently, when Sir Balin came to, he said, "Oh!
Balan, mine own brother, thou hast slain me, and I thee! All the wide world
saw never greater grief!"
"Alas!" said Sir Balan, "that I ever saw this day; and through mishap alone I
knew thee not, for when I saw thy two swords, if it had not been for thy
strange shield, I should have known thee for my brother."
"Alas!" said Balin, "all this sorrow lieth at the door of one unhappy knight
within the castle, who made me change my shield. If I might live, I would
destroy that castle and its evil customs."
"It were well done," said Balan, "for since I first came hither I have never
been able to depart, for here they made me fight with one who kept this
island, whom I slew, and by enchantment I might never quit it more; nor
couldst thou, brother, hadst thou slain me, and escaped with thine own life."
Anon came the lady of the castle, and when she heard their talk, and saw
their evil case, she wrung her hands and wept bitterly. So Sir Balan prayed
the lady of her gentleness that, for his true service, she would bury them
both together in that place. This she granted, weeping full sore, and said it
should be done right solemnly and richly, and in the noblest manner
possible. Then did they send for a priest, and received the holy sacrament at
his hands. And Balin said, "Write over us upon our tomb, that here two
brethren slew each other; then shall never good knight or pilgrim pass this
way but he will pray for both our souls." And anon Sir Balan died, but Sir
Balin died not till the midnight after; and then they both were buried.

On the morrow of their death came Merlin, and took Sir Balin's sword and
fixed on it a new pommel, and set it in a mighty stone, which then, by
magic, he made float upon the water. And so, for many years, it floated to
and fro around the island, till it swam down the river to Camelot, where
young Sir Galahad achieved it, as shall be told hereafter.

VI
THE MARRIAGE OF ARTHUR AND GUINEVERE AND
THE FOUNDING OF THE ROUND TABLE

It befell upon a certain day, that King Arthur said to Merlin, "My lords and
knights do daily pray me now to take a wife; but I will have none without
thy counsel, for thou hast ever helped me since I came first to this crown."
"It is well," said Merlin, "that thou shouldst take a wife, for no man of
bounteous and noble nature should live without one; but is there any lady
whom thou lovest better than another?"
"Yea," said King Arthur, "I love Guinevere, the daughter of King
Leodegrance, of Camelgard, who also holdeth in his house the Round Table
that he had from my father Uther; and as I think, that damsel is the gentlest
and the fairest lady living."
"Sir," answered Merlin, "as for her beauty, she is one of the fairest that do
live; but if ye had not loved her as ye do, I would fain have had ye choose
some other who was both fair and good. But where a man's heart is set, he
will be loth to leave." This Merlin said, knowing the misery that should
hereafter happen from this marriage.
Then King Arthur sent word to King Leodegrance that he mightily desired
to wed his daughter, and how that he had loved her since he saw her first,
when with Kings Ban and Bors he rescued Leodegrance from King Ryence
of North Wales.
When King Leodegrance heard the message, he cried out, "These be the
best tidings I have heard in all my life—so great and worshipful a prince to
seek my daughter for his wife! I would fain give him half my lands with her
straightway, but that he needeth none—and better will it please him that I
send him the Round Table of King Uther, his father, with a hundred good
knights towards the furnishing of it with guests, for he will soon find means
to gather more, and make the table full."

Then King Leodegrance delivered his daughter Guinevere to the
messengers of King Arthur, and also the Round Table with the hundred
knights.
So they rode royally and freshly, sometimes by water and sometimes by
land, towards Camelot. And as they rode along in the spring weather, they
made full many sports and pastimes. And, in all those sports and games, a
young knight lately come to Arthur's, court, Sir Lancelot by name, was
passing strong, and won praise from all, being full of grace and hardihood;
and Guinevere also ever looked on him with joy. And always in the
eventide, when the tents were set beside some stream or forest, many
minstrels came and sang before the knights and ladies as they sat in the
tent-doors, and many knights would tell adventures; and still Sir Lancelot
was foremost, and told the knightliest tales, and sang the goodliest songs, of
all the company.
And when they came to Camelot, King Arthur made great joy, and all the
city with him; and riding forth with a great retinue he met Guinevere and
her company, and led her through the streets all filled with people, and in
the midst of all their shoutings and the ringing of church bells, to a palace
hard by his own.
Then, in all haste, the king commanded to prepare the marriage and the
coronation with the stateliest and most honorable pomp that could be made.
And when the day was come, the archbishops led the king to the cathedral,
whereto he walked, clad in his royal robes, and having four kings, bearing
four golden swords, before him; a choir of passing sweet music going also
with him.
In another part, was the queen dressed in her richest ornaments, and led by
archbishops and bishops to the Chapel of the Virgins, the four queens also
of the four kings last mentioned walked before her, bearing four white
doves, according to ancient custom; and after her there followed many
damsels, singing and making every sign of joy.
And when the two processions were come to the churches, so wondrous
was the music and the singing, that all the knights and barons who were
there pressed on each other, as in the crowd of battle, to hear and see the
most they might.

When the king was crowned, he called together all the knights that came
with the Round Table from Camelgard, and twenty-eight others, great and
valiant men, chosen by Merlin out of all the realm, towards making up the
full number of the table. Then the Archbishop of Canterbury blessed the
seats of all the knights, and when they rose again therefrom to pay their
homage to King Arthur, there was found upon the back of each knight's seat
his name, written in letters of gold. But upon one seat was found written,
"This is the Siege Perilous, wherein if any man shall sit save him whom
Heaven hath chosen, he shall be devoured by fire."
Anon came young Gawain, the king's nephew, praying to be made a knight,
whom the king knighted then and there. Soon after came a poor man,
leading with him a tall fair lad of eighteen years of age, riding on a lean
mare. And falling at the king's feet, the poor man said, "Lord, it was told
me, that at this time of thy marriage thou wouldst give to any man the gift
he asked for, so it were not unreasonable."
"That is the truth," replied King Arthur, "and I will make it good."
"Thou sayest graciously and nobly," said the poor man. "Lord, I ask nothing
else but that thou wilt make my son here a knight."
"It is a great thing that thou askest," said the king. "What is thy name?"
"Aries, the cowherd," answered he.
"Cometh this prayer from thee or from thy son?" inquired King Arthur.
"Nay, lord, not from myself," said he, "but from him only, for I have
thirteen other sons, and all of them will fall to any labor that I put them to.
But this one will do no such work for anything that I or my wife may do,
but is for ever shooting or fighting, and running to see knights and
joustings, and torments me both night and day that he be made a knight."
"What is thy name?" said the king to the young man.
"My name is Tor," said he.
Then the king, looking at him steadfastly, was well pleased with his face
and figure, and with his look of nobleness and strength.

"Fetch all thy other sons before me," said the king to Aries. But when he
brought them, none of them resembled Tor in size or shape or feature.
Then the king knighted Tor, saying, "Be thou to thy life's end a good knight
and a true, as I pray God thou mayest be; and if thou provest worthy, and of
prowess, one day thou shalt be counted in the Round Table." Then turning
to Merlin, Arthur said, "Prophesy now, O Merlin, shall Sir Tor become a
worthy knight, or not?"
"Yea, lord," said Merlin, "so he ought to be, for he is the son of that King
Pellinore whom thou hast met, and proved to be one of the best knights
living. He is no cowherd's son."
Presently after came in King Pellinore, and when he saw Sir Tor he knew
him for his son, and was more pleased than words can tell to find him
knighted by the king. And Pellinore did homage to King Arthur, and was
gladly and graciously accepted of the king; and then was led by Merlin to a
high seat at the Table Round, near to the Perilous Seat.
But Sir Gawain was full of anger at the honor done King Pellinore, and said
to his brother Gaheris, "He slew our father, King Lot, therefore will I slay
him."
"Do it not yet," said he; "wait till I also be a knight, then will I help ye in it:
it is best ye suffer him to go at this time, and not trouble this high feast with
blood-shed."
"As ye will, be it," said Sir Gawain.
Then rose the king and spake to all the Table Round, and charged them to
be ever true and noble knights, to do neither outrage nor murder, nor any
unjust violence, and always to flee treason; also by no means ever to be
cruel, but give mercy unto him that asked for mercy, upon pain of forfeiting
the liberty of his court forevermore. Moreover, at all times, on pain of
death, to give all succor unto ladies and young damsels; and lastly, never to
take part in any wrongful quarrel, for reward or payment. And to all this he
swore them knight by knight.
Then he ordained that, every year at Pentecost, they should all come before
him, wheresoever he might appoint a place, and give account of all their

doings and adventures of the past twelve-month. And so, with prayer and
blessing, and high words of cheer, he instituted the most noble order of the
Round Table, whereto the best and bravest knights in all the world sought
afterwards to find admission.
Then was the high feast made ready, and the king and queen sat side by
side, before the whole assembly; and great and royal was the banquet and
the pomp.
And as they sat, each man in his place, Merlin went round and said, "Sit
still awhile, for ye shall see a strange and marvelous adventure."
So as they sat, there suddenly came running through the hall, a white hart,
with a white hound next after him, and thirty couple of black running
hounds, making full cry; and the hart made circuit of the Table Round, and
past the other tables; and suddenly the white hound flew upon him and bit
him fiercely, and tore out a piece from his haunch. Whereat the hart sprang
suddenly with a great leap, and overthrew a knight sitting at the table, who
rose forthwith, and, taking up the hound, mounted, and rode fast away.
But no sooner had he left, than there came in a lady, mounted on a white
palfrey, who cried out to the king, "Lord, suffer me not to have this injury!
—the hound is mine which that knight taketh." And as she spake, a knight
rode in all armed, on a great horse, and suddenly took up the lady and rode
away with her by force, although she greatly cried and moaned.
Then the king desired Sir Gawain, Sir Tor, and King Pellinore to mount and
follow this adventure to the uttermost; and told Sir Gawain to bring back
the hart, Sir Tor the hound and knight, and King Pellinore the knight and the
lady.
So Sir Gawain rode forth at a swift pace, and with him Gaheris, his brother,
for a squire. And as they went, they saw two knights fighting on horseback,
and when they reached them they divided them and asked the reason of
their quarrel. "We fight for a foolish matter," one replied, "for we be
brethren; but there came by a white hart this way, chased by many hounds,
and thinking it was an adventure for the high feast of King Arthur, I would
have followed it to have gained worship; whereat my younger brother here

declared he was the better knight and would go after it instead, and so we
fight to prove which of us be the better knight."
"This is a foolish thing," said Sir Gawain. "Fight with all strangers, if ye
will, but not brother with brother. Take my advice, set on against me, and if
ye yield to me, as I shall do my best to make ye, ye shall go to King Arthur
and yield ye to his grace."
"Sir knight," replied the brothers, "we are weary, and will do thy wish
without encountering thee; but by whom shall we tell the king that we were
sent?"
"By the knight that followeth the quest of the white hart," said Sir Gawain.
"And now tell me your names, and let us part."
"Sorlous and Brian of the Forest," they replied; and so they went their way
to the king's court.
Then Sir Gawain, still following his quest by the distant baying of the
hounds, came to a great river, and saw the hart swimming over and near to
the further bank. And as he was about to plunge in and swim after, he saw a
knight upon the other side, who cried, "Come not over here, Sir knight,
after that hart, save thou wilt joust with me."
"I will not fail for that," said Sir Gawain; and swam his horse across the
stream.
Anon they got their spears, and ran against each other fiercely; and Sir
Gawain smote the stranger off his horse, and turning, bade him yield.
"Nay," replied he, "not so; for though ye have the better of me on
horseback, I pray thee, valiant knight, alight, and let us match together with
our swords on foot."
"What is thy name?" quoth Gawain.
"Allardin of the Isles," replied the stranger.
Then they fell on each other; but soon Sir Gawain struck him through the
helm, so deeply and so hard, that all his brains were scattered, and Sir

Allardin fell dead. "Ah," said Gaheris, "that was a mighty stroke for a
young knight!"
Then did they turn again to follow the white hart, and let slip three couple
of greyhounds after him; and at the last they chased him to a castle, and
there they overtook and slew him, in the chief courtyard.
At that there rushed a knight forth from a chamber, with a drawn sword in
his hand, and slew two of the hounds before their eyes, and chased the
others from the castle, crying, "Oh, my white hart! alas, that thou art dead!
for thee my sovereign lady gave to me, and evil have I kept thee; but if I
live, thy death shall be dear bought." Anon he went within and armed, and
came out fiercely, and met Sir Gawain face to face.
"Why have ye slain my hounds?" said Sir Gawain; "they did but after their
nature: and ye had better have taken vengeance on me than on the poor
dumb beasts."
"I will avenge me on thee, also," said the other, "ere thou depart this place."
Then did they fight with each other savagely and madly, till the blood ran
down to their feet. But at last Sir Gawain had the better, and felled the
knight of the castle to the ground. Then he cried out for mercy, and yielded
to Sir Gawain, and besought him as he was a knight and gentleman to save
his life. "Thou shalt die," said Sir Gawain, "for slaying my hounds."
"I will make thee all amends within my power," replied the knight.
But Sir Gawain would have no mercy, and unlaced his helm to strike his
head off; and so blind was he with rage, that he saw not where a lady ran
out from her chamber and fell down upon his enemy. And making a fierce
blow at him, he smote off by mischance the lady's head.
"Alas!" cried Gaheris, "foully and shamefully have ye done—the shame
shall never leave ye! Why give ye not your mercy unto them that ask it? a
knight without mercy is without worship also."
Then Sir Gawain was sore amazed at that fair lady's death, and knew not
what to do, and said to the fallen knight, "Arise, for I will give thee mercy."

"Nay, nay," said he, "I care not for thy mercy now, for thou hast slain my
lady and my love—that of all earthly things I loved the best."
"I repent me sorely of it," said Sir Gawain, "for I meant to have struck thee:
but now shalt thou go to King Arthur and tell him this adventure, and how
thou hast been overcome by the knight that followeth the quest of the white
hart."
"I care not whether I live or die, or where I go," replied the knight.
So Sir Gawain sent him to the court to Camelot, making him bear one dead
greyhound before and one behind him on his horse. "Tell me thy name
before we part," said he.
"My name is Athmore of the Marsh," he answered.
Then went Sir Gawain into the castle, and prepared to sleep there and began
to unarm; but Gaheris upbraided him, saying, "Will ye disarm in this
strange country? bethink ye, ye must needs have many enemies about."
No sooner had he spoken than there came out suddenly four knights, well
armed, and assailed them hard, saying to Sir Gawain, "Thou new-made
knight, how hast thou shamed thy knighthood! a knight without mercy is
dishonored! Slayer of fair ladies, shame to thee evermore! Doubt not thou
shalt thyself have need of mercy ere we leave thee."
Then were the brothers in great jeopardy, and feared for their lives, for they
were but two to four, and weary with traveling; and one of the four knights
shot Sir Gawain with a bolt, and hit him through the arm, so that he could
fight no more. But when there was nothing left for them but death, there
came four ladies forth and prayed the four knights' mercy for the strangers.
So they gave Sir Gawain and Gaheris their lives, and made them yield
themselves prisoners.
On the morrow, came one of the ladies to Sir Gawain, and talked with him,
saying, "Sir knight, what cheer?"
"Not good," said he.
"It is your own default, sir," said the lady, "for ye have done a passing foul
deed in slaying that fair damsel yesterday—and ever shall it be great shame

to you. But ye be not of King Arthur's kin."
"Yea, truly am I," said he; "my name is Gawain, son of King Lot of Orkney,
whom King Pellinore slew—and my mother, Belisent, is half-sister to the
king."
When the lady heard that, she went and presently got leave for him to quit
the castle; and they gave him the head of the white hart to take with him,
because it was in his quest; but made him also carry the dead lady with him
—her head hung round his neck and her body lay before him on his horse's
neck.
So in that fashion he rode back to Camelot; and when the king and queen
saw him, and heard tell of his adventures, they were heavily displeased,
and, by order of the queen, he was put upon his trial before a court of ladies
—who judged him to be evermore, for all his life, the knight of ladies'
quarrels, and to fight always on their side, and never against any, except he
fought for one lady and his adversary for another; also they charged him
never to refuse mercy to him that asked it, and swore him to it on the Holy
Gospels. Thus ended the adventure of the white hart.
Meanwhile, Sir Tor had made him ready, and followed the knight who rode
away with the hound. And as he went, there suddenly met him in the road a
dwarf, who struck his horse so viciously upon the head with a great staff,
that he leaped backwards a spear's length.
"Wherefore so smitest thou my horse, foul dwarf?" shouted Sir Tor.
"Because thou shalt not pass this way," replied the dwarf, "unless thou fight
for it with yonder knights in those pavilions," pointing to two tents, where
two great spears stood out, and two shields hung upon two trees hard by.
"I may not tarry, for I am on a quest I needs must follow," said Sir Tor.
"Thou shalt not pass," replied the dwarf, and therewith blew his horn. Then
rode out quickly at Sir Tor one armed on horseback, but Sir Tor was quick
as he, and riding at him bore him from his horse, and made him yield.
Directly after came another still more fiercely, but with a few great strokes
and buffets Sir Tor unhorsed him also, and sent them both to Camelot to

King Arthur. Then came the dwarf and begged Sir Tor to take him in his
service, "for," said he, "I will serve no more recreant knights."
"Take then a horse, and come with me," said Tor.
"Ride ye after the knight with the white hound?" said the dwarf; "I can soon
bring ye where he is."
So they rode through the forest till they came to two more tents. And Sir Tor
alighting, went into the first, and saw three damsels lie there, sleeping. Then
went he to the other, and found another lady also sleeping, and at her feet
the white hound he sought for, which instantly began to bay and bark so
loudly, that the lady woke. But Sir Tor had seized the hound and given it to
the dwarf's charge.
"What will ye do, Sir knight?" cried out the lady; "will ye take away my
hound from me by force?"
"Yea, lady," said Sir Tor; "for so I must, having the king's command; and I
have followed it from King Arthur's court, at Camelot, to this place."
"Well," said the lady, "ye will not go far before ye be ill handled, and will
repent ye of the quest."
"I shall cheerfully abide whatsoever adventure cometh, by the grace of
God," said Sir Tor; and so mounted his horse and began to ride back on his
way. But night coming on, he turned aside to a hermitage that was in the
forest, and there abode till the next day, making but sorrowful cheer of such
poor food as the hermit had to give him, and hearing a Mass devoutly
before he left on the morrow.
And in the early morning, as he rode forth with the dwarf towards Camelot,
he heard a knight call loudly after him, "Turn, turn! Abide, Sir knight, and
yield me up the hound thou tookest from my lady." At which he turned, and
saw a great and strong knight, armed full splendidly, riding down upon him
fiercely through a glade of the forest.
Now Sir Tor was very ill provided, for he had but an old courser, which was
as weak as himself, because of the hermit's scanty fare. He waited,
nevertheless, for the strange knight to come, and at the first onset with their

spears, each unhorsed the other, and then fell to with their swords like two
mad lions. Then did they smite through one another's shields and helmets
till the fragments flew on all sides, and their blood ran out in streams; but
yet they carved and rove through the thick armor of the hauberks, and gave
each other great and ghastly wounds. But in the end, Sir Tor, finding the
strange knight faint, doubled his strokes until he beat him to the earth. Then
did he bid him yield to his mercy.
"That will I not," replied Abellius, "while my life lasteth and my soul is in
my body, unless thou give me first the hound."
"I cannot," said Sir Tor, "and will not, for it was my quest to bring again
that hound and thee unto King Arthur, or otherwise to slay thee."
With that there came a damsel riding on a palfrey, as fast as she could drive,
and cried out to Sir Tor with a loud voice, "I pray thee, for King Arthur's
love, give me a gift."
"Ask," said Sir Tor, "and I will give thee."
"Gramercy," said the lady, "I ask the head of this false knight Abellius, the
most outrageous murderer that liveth."
"I repent me of the gift I promised," said Sir Tor. "Let him make thee
amends for all his trespasses against thee."
"He cannot make amends," replied the damsel, "for he hath slain my
brother, a far better knight than he, and scorned to give him mercy, though I
kneeled for half an hour before him in the mire, to beg it, and though it was
but by a chance they fought, and for no former injury or quarrel. I require
my gift of thee as a true knight, or else will I shame thee in King Arthur's
court; for this Abellius is the falsest knight alive, and a murderer of many."
When Abellius heard this, he trembled greatly, and was sore afraid, and
yielded to Sir Tor, and prayed his mercy.
"I cannot now, Sir knight," said he, "lest I be false to my promise. Ye would
not take my mercy when I offered it; and now it is too late."
Therewith he unlaced his helmet, and took it off; but Abellius, in dismal
fear, struggled to his feet, and fled, until Sir Tor overtook him, and smote

off his head entirely with one blow.
"Now, sir," said the damsel, "it is near night, I pray ye come and lodge at
my castle hard by."
"I will, with a good will," said he, for both his horse and he had fared but
poorly since they left Camelot.
So he went to the lady's castle and fared sumptuously, and saw her husband,
an old knight, who greatly thanked him for his service, and urged him
oftentimes to come again.
On the morrow he departed, and reached Camelot by noon, where the king
and queen rejoiced to see him, and the king made him Earl; and Merlin
prophesied that these adventures were but little to the things he should
achieve hereafter.
Now while Sir Gawain and Sir Tor had fulfilled their quests, King Pellinore
pursued the lady whom the knight had seized away from the wedding-feast.
And as he rode through the woods, he saw in a valley a fair young damsel
sitting by a well-side, and a wounded knight lying in her arms, and King
Pellinore saluted her as he passed by.
As soon as she perceived him she cried out, "Help, help me, knight, for our
Lord's sake!" But Pellinore was far too eager in his quest to stay or turn,
although she cried a hundred times to him for help; at which she prayed to
heaven he might have such sore need before he died as she had now. And
presently thereafter her knight died in her arms; and she, for grief and love,
slew herself with his sword.
But King Pellinore rode on till he met a poor man, and asked him had he
seen a knight pass by that way, leading by force a lady with him.
"Yea, surely," said the man, "and greatly did she moan and cry; but even
now another knight is fighting with him to deliver the lady; ride on and thou
shalt find them fighting still."
At that King Pellinore rode swiftly on, and came to where he saw the two
knights fighting, hard by where two pavilions stood. And when he looked in

one of them, he saw the lady that was his quest, and with her the two
squires of the two knights who fought.
"Fair lady," said he, "ye must come with me unto King Arthur's court."
"Sir knight," said the two squires, "yonder be two knights fighting for this
lady; go part them, and get their consent to take her, ere thou touch her."
"Ye say well," said King Pellinore, and rode between the combatants, and
asked them why they fought.
"Sir knight," said the one, "yon lady is my cousin, mine aunt's daughter,
whom I met borne away against her will, by this knight here, with whom I
therefore fight to free her."
"Sir knight," replied the other, whose name was Hantzlake of Wentland,
"this lady got I, by my arms and prowess, at King Arthur's court to-day."
"That is false," said King Pellinore; "ye stole the lady suddenly, and fled
away with her, before any knight could arm to stay thee. But it is my service
to take her back again. Neither of ye shall therefore have her; but if ye will
fight for her, fight with me now and here."
"Well," said the knights, "make ready, and we will assail thee with all our
might."
Then Sir Hantzlake ran King Pellinore's horse through with his sword, so
that they might be all alike on foot. But King Pellinore at that was passing
wroth, and ran upon Sir Hantzlake, with a cry, "Keep well thy head!" and
gave him such a stroke upon the helm as clove him to the chin, so that he
fell dead to the ground. When he saw that, the other knight refused to fight,
and kneeling down said, "Take my cousin the lady with thee, as thy quest is;
but as thou art a true knight, suffer her to come to neither shame nor harm."
So the next day King Pellinore departed for Camelot, and took the lady with
him; and as they rode in a valley full of rough stones, the damsel's horse
stumbled and threw her, so that her arms were sorely bruised and hurt. And
as they rested in the forest for the pain to lessen, night came on, and there
they were compelled to make their lodging. A little before midnight they
heard the trotting of a horse. "Be ye still," said King Pellinore, "for now we

may hear of some adventure," and therewith he armed her. Then he heard
two knights meet and salute each other, in the dark; one riding from
Camelot, the other from the north.
"What tidings at Camelot?" said one.
"By my head," said the other, "I have but just left there, and have espied
King Arthur's court, and such a fellowship is there as never may be broke or
overcome; for wellnigh all the chivalry of the world is there, and all full
loyal to the king, and now I ride back homewards to the north to tell our
chiefs, that they waste not their strength in wars against him."
"As for all that," replied the other knight, "I am but now from the north, and
bear with me a remedy, the deadliest poison that ever was heard tell of, and
to Camelot will I with it; for there we have a friend close to the king, and
greatly cherished of him, who hath received gifts from us to poison him, as
he hath promised soon to do."
"Beware," said the first knight, "of Merlin, for he knoweth all things, by the
devil's craft."
"I will not fear for that," replied the other, and so rode on his way.
Anon King Pellinore and the lady passed on again; and when they came to
the well at which the lady with the wounded knight had sat, they found both
knight and damsel utterly devoured by lions and wild beasts, all save the
lady's head.
When King Pellinore saw that, he wept bitterly, saying, "Alas! I might have
saved her life had I but tarried a few moments in my quest."
"Wherefore make so much sorrow now?" said the lady.
"I know not," answered he, "but my heart grieveth greatly for this poor
lady's death, so fair she was and young."
Then he required a hermit to bury the remains of the bodies, and bare the
lady's head with him to Camelot, to the court.
When he was arrived, he was sworn to tell the truth of his quest before the
King and Queen, and when he had entered the Queen somewhat upbraided

him, saying, "Ye were much to blame that ye saved not that lady's life."
"Madam," said he, "I shall repent it all my life."
"Ay, king," quoth Merlin, who suddenly came in, "and so ye ought to do,
for that lady was your daughter, not seen since infancy by thee. And she
was on her way to court, with a right good young knight, who would have
been her husband, but was slain by treachery of a felon knight, Lorraine le
Savage, as they came; and because thou wouldst not abide and help her, thy
best friend shall fail thee in thine hour of greatest need, for such is the
penance ordained thee for that deed."
Then did King Pellinore tell Merlin secretly of the treason he had heard in
the forest, and Merlin by his craft so ordered that the knight who bare the
poison was himself soon after slain by it, and so King Arthur's life was
saved.

VII
THE ADVENTURE OF ARTHUR AND SIR ACCOLON OF
GAUL

Being now happily married, King Arthur for a season took his pleasure,
with great tournaments, and jousts, and huntings. So once upon a time the
king and many of his knights rode hunting in a forest, and Arthur, King
Urience, and Sir Accolon of Gaul, followed after a great hart, and being all
three well mounted, they chased so fast that they outsped their company,
and left them many miles behind; but riding still as rapidly as they could go,
at length their horses fell dead under them. Then being all three on foot, and
seeing the stag not far before them, very weary and nigh spent—"What
shall we do," said King Arthur, "for we are hard bested?" "Let us go on
afoot," said King Urience, "till we can find some lodging." At that they saw
the stag lying upon the bank of a great lake, with a hound springing at his
throat, and many other hounds trooping towards him. So, running forward,
Arthur blew the death-note on his horn, and slew the hart. Then lifting up
his eyes he saw before him on the lake a barge, all draped down to the
water's edge, with silken folds and curtains, which swiftly came towards
him, and touched upon the sands; but when he went up close and looked in,
he saw no earthly creature. Then he cried out to his companions, "Sirs,
come ye hither, and let us see what there is in this ship." So they all three
went in, and found it everywhere throughout furnished, and hung with rich
draperies of silk and gold.
By this time eventide had come, when suddenly a hundred torches were set
up on all sides of the barge, and gave a dazzling light, and at the same time
came forth twelve fair damsels, and saluted King Arthur by his name,
kneeling on their knees, and telling him that he was welcome, and should
have their noblest cheer, for which the king thanked them courteously. Then
did they lead him and his fellows to a splendid chamber, where was a table
spread with all the richest furniture, and costliest wines and viands; and
there they served them with all kinds of wines and meats, till Arthur

wondered at the splendor of the feast, declaring he had never in his life
supped better, or more royally. After supper they led him to another
chamber, than which he had never beheld a richer, where he was left to rest.
King Urience, also, and Sir Accolon were each conducted into rooms of like
magnificence. And so they all three fell asleep, and being very weary slept
deeply all that night.
But when the morning broke, King Urience found himself in his own house
in Camelot, he knew not how; and Arthur awaking found himself in a dark
dungeon, and heard around him nothing but the groans of woeful knights,
prisoners like himself. Then said King Arthur, "Who are ye, thus groaning
and complaining?" And some one answered him, "Alas, we be all prisoners,
even twenty good knights, and some of us have lain here seven years—
some more—nor seen the light of day for all that time." "For what cause?"
said King Arthur. "Know ye not then yourself?" they answered—"we will
soon tell you. The lord of this strong castle is Sir Damas, and is the falsest
and most traitorous knight that liveth; and he hath a younger brother, a good
and noble knight, whose name is Outzlake. This traitor Damas, although
passing rich, will give his brother nothing of his wealth, and save what
Outzlake keepeth to himself by force, he hath no share of the inheritance.
He owneth, nevertheless, one fair rich manor, whereupon he liveth, loved of
all men far and near. But Damas is as altogether hated as his brother is
beloved, for he is merciless and cowardly: and now for many years there
hath been war between these brothers, and Sir Outzlake evermore defieth
Damas to come forth and fight with him, body to body, for the inheritance;
and if he be too cowardly, to find some champion knight that will fight for
him. And Damas hath agreed to find some champion, but never yet hath
found a knight to take his evil cause in hand, or wager battle for him. So
with a strong band of men-at-arms he lieth ever in ambush, and taketh
captive every passing knight who may unwarily go near and bringeth him
into this castle, and desireth him either to fight Sir Outzlake, or to lie for
evermore indurance. And thus hath he dealt with all of us, for we all
scorned to take up such a cause for such a false foul knight—but rather one
by one came here, where many a good knight hath died of hunger and
disease. But if one of us would fight, Sir Damas would deliver all the rest."
"God of his mercy send you deliverance," said King Arthur, and sat turning
in his mind how all these things should end, and how he might himself gain

freedom for so many noble hearts.
Anon there came a damsel to the king, saying, "Sir, if thou wilt fight for my
lord thou shalt be delivered out of prison, but else nevermore shalt thou
escape with thy life." "Nay," said King Arthur, "that is but a hard choice, yet
had I rather fight than die in prison, and if I may deliver not myself alone,
but all these others, I will do the battle." "Yea," said the damsel, "it shall be
even so." "Then," said King Arthur, "I am ready now, if but I had a horse
and armor." "Fear not," said she, "that shalt thou have presently, and shalt
lack nothing proper for the fight." "Have I not seen thee," said the king, "at
King Arthur's court? for it seemeth that thy face is known to me." "Nay,"
said the damsel, "I was never there; I am Sir Damas' daughter, and have
never been but a day's journey from this castle." But she spoke falsely, for
she was one of the damsels of Morgan le Fay, the great enchantress, who
was King Arthur's half-sister.
When Sir Damas knew that there had been at length a knight found who
would fight for him, he sent for Arthur, and finding him a man so tall and
strong, and straight of limb, he was passingly well pleased, and made a
covenant with him, that he should fight unto the uttermost for his cause, and
that all the other knights should be delivered. And when they were sworn to
each other on the Holy Gospels, all those imprisoned knights were
straightway led forth and delivered, but abode there one and all to see the
battle.
In the meanwhile there had happened to Sir Accolon of Gaul a strange
adventure; for when he awoke from his deep sleep upon the silken barge, he
found himself upon the edge of a deep well, and in instant peril of falling
thereinto. Whereat, leaping up in great affright, he crossed himself and cried
aloud, "May God preserve my lord King Arthur and King Urience, for those
damsels in the ship have betrayed us, and were doubtless devils and no
women; and if I may escape this misadventure, I will certainly destroy them
wheresoever I may find them." With that there came to him a dwarf with a
great mouth, and a flat nose, and saluted him, saying that he came from
Queen Morgan le Fay. "And she greeteth you well," said he, "and biddeth
you be strong of heart, for to-morrow you shall do battle with a strange
knight, and therefore she hath sent you here Excalibur, King Arthur's sword,
and the scabbard likewise. And she desireth you as you do love her to fight

this battle to the uttermost, and without any mercy, as you have promised
her you would fight when she should require it of you; and she will make a
rich queen forever of any damsel that shall bring her that knight's head with
whom you are to fight."
"Well," said Sir Accolon, "tell you my lady Queen Morgan, that I shall hold
to that I promised her, now that I have this sword—and," said he, "I suppose
it was to bring about this battle that she made all these enchantments by her
craft." "You have guessed rightly," said the dwarf, and therewithal he left
him.
Then came a knight and lady, and six squires, to Sir Accolon, and took him
to a manor house hard by, and gave him noble cheer; and the house
belonged to Sir Outzlake, the brother of Sir Damas, for so had Morgan le
Fay contrived with her enchantments. Now Sir Outzlake himself was at that
time sorely wounded and disabled, having been pierced through both his
thighs by a spear-thrust. When, therefore, Sir Damas sent down messengers
to his brother, bidding him make ready by to-morrow morning, and be in
the field to fight with a good knight, for that he had found a champion ready
to do battle at all points, Sir Outzlake was sorely annoyed and distressed,
for he knew he had small chance of victory, while yet he was disabled by
his wounds; notwithstanding, he determined to take the battle in hand,
although he was so weak that he must needs be lifted to his saddle. But
when Sir Accolon of Gaul heard this, he sent a message to Sir Outzlake
offering to take the battle in his stead, which cheered Sir Outzlake mightily,
who thanked Sir Accolon with all his heart, and joyfully accepted him.
So, on the morrow, King Arthur was armed and well horsed, and asked Sir
Damas, "When shall we go to the field?" "Sir," said Sir Damas, "you shall
first hear mass." And when mass was done, there came a squire on a great
horse, and asked Sir Damas if his knight were ready, "for our knight is
already in the field." Then King Arthur mounted on horseback, and there
around were all the knights, and barons, and people of the country; and
twelve of them were chosen to wait upon the two knights who were about
to fight. And as King Arthur sat on horseback, there came a damsel from
Morgan le Fay, and brought to him a sword, made like Excalibur, and a
scabbard also, and said to him, "Morgan le Fay sendeth you here your
sword for her great love's sake." And the king thanked her, and believed it

to be as she said; but she traitorously deceived him, for both sword and
scabbard were counterfeit, brittle, and false, and the true sword Excalibur
was in the hands of Sir Accolon. Then, at the sound of a trumpet, the
champions set themselves on opposite side of the field, and giving rein and
spur to their horses urged them to so great a speed that each smiting the
other in the middle of the shield, rolled his opponent to the ground, both
horse and man. Then starting up immediately, both drew their swords and
rushed swiftly together. And so they fell to eagerly, and gave each other
many great and mighty strokes.
And as they were thus fighting, the damsel Vivien, lady of the lake, who
loved King Arthur, came upon the ground, for she knew by her
enchantments how Morgan le Fay had craftily devised to have King Arthur
slain by his own sword that day, and therefore came to save his life. And
Arthur and Sir Accolon were now grown hot against each other, and spared
not strength nor fury in their fierce assaults; but the king's sword gave way
continually before Sir Accolon's, so that at every stroke he was sore
wounded, and his blood ran from him so fast that it was a marvel he could
stand. When King Arthur saw the ground so sore be-blooded, he bethought
him in dismay that there was magic treason worked upon him, and that his
own true sword was changed, for it seemed to him that the sword in Sir
Accolon's hand was Excalibur, for fearfully it drew his blood at every blow,
while what he held himself kept no sharp edge, nor fell with any force upon
his foe.
"Now, knight, look to thyself, and keep thee well from me," cried out Sir
Accolon. But King Arthur answered not, and gave him such a buffet on the
helm as made him stagger and nigh fall upon the ground. Then Sir Accolon
withdrew a little, and came on with Excalibur on high, and smote King
Arthur in return with such a mighty stroke as almost felled him; and both
being now in hottest wrath, they gave each other grievous and savage
blows. But Arthur all the time was losing so much blood that scarcely could
he keep upon his feet, yet so full was he of knighthood, that knightly he
endured the pain, and still sustained himself, though now he was so feeble
that he thought himself about to die. Sir Accolon, as yet, had lost no drop of
blood, and being very bold and confident in Excalibur, even grew more
vigorous and hasty in his assaults. But all men who beheld them said they
never saw a knight fight half so well as did King Arthur, and all the people

were so grieved for him that they besought Sir Damas and Sir Outzlake to
make up their quarrel and so stay the fight; but they would not.
So still the battle raged, till Arthur drew a little back for breath and a few
moments' rest; but Accolon came on after him, following fiercely and
crying loud, "It is no time for me to suffer thee to rest," and therewith set
upon him. Then Arthur, full of scorn and rage, lifted up his sword and
struck Sir Accolon upon the helm so mightily that he drove him to his
knees; but with the force of that great stroke his brittle, treacherous sword
broke short off at the hilt, and fell down in the grass among the blood,
leaving the pommel only in his hand. At that, King Arthur thought within
himself that all was over, and secretly prepared his mind for death, yet kept
himself so knightly sheltered by his shield that he lost no ground, and made
as though he yet had hope and cheer. Then said Sir Accolon, "Sir knight,
thou now art overcome and canst endure no longer, seeing thou art
weaponless, and hast lost already so much blood. Yet am I fully loth to slay
thee; yield, then, therefore, to me as recreant." "Nay," said King Arthur,
"that may I not, for I have promised to do battle to the uttermost by the faith
of my body while my life lasteth; and I had rather die with honor than live
with shame; and if it were possible for me to die an hundred times, I had
rather die as often than yield me to thee, for though I lack weapons, I shall
lack no worship, and it shall be to thy shame to slay me weaponless."
"Aha," shouted then Sir Accolon, "as for the shame, I will not spare; look to
thyself, sir knight, for thou art even now but a dead man." Therewith he
drove at him with pitiless force, and struck him nearly down; but Arthur
evermore waxing in valor as he waned in blood, pressed on Sir Accolon
with his shield, and hit at him so fiercely with the pommel in his hand, as
hurled him three strides backward.
This, therefore, so confused Sir Accolon, that rushing up, all dizzy, to
deliver once again a furious blow, even as he struck, Excalibur, by Vivien's
magic, fell from out his hands upon the earth. Beholding which, King
Arthur lightly sprang to it, and grasped it, and forthwith felt it was his own
good sword, and said to it, "Thou hast been from me all too long, and done
me too much damage." Then spying the scabbard hanging by Sir Accolon's
side, he sprang and pulled it from him, and cast it away as far as he could
throw it; for so long as he had worn it, Arthur knew his life would have
been kept secure. "Oh, knight!" then said the king, "thou hast this day

wrought me much damage by this sword, but now art thou come to thy
death, for I shall not warrant thee but that thou shalt suffer, ere we part,
somewhat of that thou hast made me suffer." And therewithal King Arthur
flew at him with all his might, and pulled him to the earth, and then struck
off his helm, and gave him on the head a fearful buffet, till the blood leaped
forth. "Now will I slay thee!" cried King Arthur; for his heart was hardened,
and his body all on fire with fever, till for a moment he forgot his knightly
mercy. "Slay me thou mayest," said Sir Accolon, "for thou art the best
knight I ever found, and I see well that God is with thee; and I, as thou hast,
have promised to fight this battle to the uttermost, and never to be recreant
while I live; therefore shall I never yield me with my mouth, and God must
do with my body what he will." And as Sir Accolon spoke, King Arthur
thought he knew his voice; and parting all his blood-stained hair from out
his eyes, and leaning down towards him, saw, indeed, it was his friend and
own true knight. Then said he—keeping his own visor down—"I pray thee
tell me of what country art thou, and what court?" "Sir knight," he
answered, "I am of King Arthur's court, and my name is Sir Accolon of
Gaul." Then said the king, "Oh, sir knight! I pray thee tell me who gave
thee this sword? and from whom thou hadst it?"
Then said Sir Accolon, "Woe worth this sword, for by it I have gotten my
death. This sword hath been in my keeping now for almost twelve months,
and yesterday Queen Morgan le Fay, wife of King Urience, sent it to me by
a dwarf, that therewith I might in some way slay her brother, King Arthur;
for thou must understand that King Arthur is the man she hateth most in all
the world, being full of envy and jealousy because he is of greater worship
and renown than any other of her blood. She loveth me also as much as she
doth hate him; and if she might contrive to slay King Arthur by her craft
and magic, then would she straightway kill her husband also, and make me
the king of all this land, and herself my queen, to reign with me; but now,"
said he, "all that is over, for this day I am come to my death."
"It would have been sore treason of thee to destroy thy lord," said Arthur.
"Thou sayest truly," answered he; "but now that I have told thee, and openly
confessed to thee all that foul treason whereof I now do bitterly repent, tell
me, I pray thee, whence art thou, and of what court?" "O, Sir Accolon!" said
King Arthur, "learn that I am myself King Arthur." When Sir Accolon heard
this he cried aloud, "Alas, my gracious lord! have mercy on me, for I knew

thee not." "Thou shalt have mercy," said he, "for thou knewest not my
person at this time; and though by thine own confession thou art a traitor,
yet do I blame thee less, because thou hast been blinded by the false crafts
of my sister Morgan le Fay, whom I have trusted more than all others of my
kin, and whom I now shall know well how to punish." Then did Sir Accolon
cry loudly, "O, lords, and all good people! this noble knight that I have
fought with is the noblest and most worshipful in all the world; for it is
King Arthur, our liege lord and sovereign king; and full sorely I repent that
I have ever lifted lance against him, though in ignorance I did it."
Then all the people fell down on their knees and prayed the pardon of the
king for suffering him to come to such a strait. But he replied, "Pardon ye
cannot have, for, truly, ye have nothing sinned; but here ye see what ill
adventure may ofttimes befall knights-errant, for to my own hurt, and his
danger also, I have fought with one of my own knights."
Then the king commanded Sir Damas to surrender to his brother the whole
manor, Sir Outzlake only yielding him a palfrey every year; "for," said he
scornfully, "it would become thee better to ride on than a courser;" and
ordered Damas, upon pain of death, never again to touch or to distress
knights-errant riding on their adventures; and also to make full
compensation and satisfaction to the twenty knights whom he had held in
prison. "And if any of them," said the king, "come to my court complaining
that he hath not had full satisfaction of thee for his injuries, by my head,
thou shalt die therefor."
Afterwards, King Arthur asked Sir Outzlake to come with him to his court,
where he should become a knight of his, and, if his deeds were noble, be
advanced to all he might desire.
So then he took his leave of all the people and mounted upon horseback,
and Sir Accolon went with him to an abbey hard by, where both their
wounds were dressed. But Sir Accolon died within four days after. And
when he was dead, the king sent his body to Queen Morgan, to Camelot,
saying that he sent her a present in return for the sword Excalibur which she
had sent him by the damsel.
So, on the morrow, there came a damsel from Queen Morgan to the king,
and brought with her the richest mantle that ever was seen, for it was set as

full of precious stones as they could stand against each other, and they were
the richest stones that ever the king saw. And the damsel said, "Your sister
sendeth you this mantle, and prayeth you to take her gift, and in whatsoever
thing she hath offended you, she will amend it at your pleasure." To this the
king replied not, although the mantle pleased him much. With that came in
the lady of the lake, and said, "Sir, put not on this mantle till thou hast seen
more; and in nowise let it be put upon thee, or any of thy knights, till ye
have made the bringer of it first put it on her." "It shall be done as thou dost
counsel," said the king. Then said he to the damsel that came from his
sister, "Damsel, I would see this mantle ye have brought me upon yourself."
"Sir," said she, "it will not beseem me to wear a knight's garment." "By my
head," said King Arthur, "thou shalt wear it ere it go on any other person's
back!" And so they put it on her by force, and forthwith the garment burst
into a flame and burned the damsel into cinders. When the king saw that, he
hated that false witch Morgan le Fay with all his heart, and evermore was
deadly quarrel between her and Arthur to their lives' end.

VIII
ARTHUR IS CROWNED EMPEROR AT ROME

And now again the second time there came ambassadors from Lucius
Tiberius, Emperor of Rome, demanding, under pain of war, tribute and
homage from King Arthur, and the restoration of all Gaul, which he had
conquered from the tribune Flollo.
When they had delivered their message, the king bade them withdraw while
he consulted with his knights and barons what reply to send. Then some of
the younger knights would have slain the ambassadors, saying that their
speech was a rebuke to all who heard the king insulted by it. But when King
Arthur heard that, he ordered none to touch them upon pain of death; and
sending officers, he had them taken to a noble lodging, and there
entertained with the best cheer. "And," said he, "let no dainty be spared, for
the Romans are great lords; and though their message please me not, yet
must I remember mine honor."
Then the lords and knights of the Round Table were called on to declare
their counsel—what should be done upon this matter; and Sir Cador of
Cornwall speaking first, said, "Sir, this message is the best news I have
heard for a long time, for we have been now idle and at rest for many days,
and I trust that thou wilt make sharp war upon the Romans, wherein, I
doubt not, we shall all gain honor."
"I believe well," said Arthur, "that thou art pleased, Sir Cador; but that is
scarce an answer to the Emperor of Rome, and his demand doth grieve me
sorely, for truly I will never pay him tribute; wherefore, lords, I pray ye
counsel me. Now, I have understood that Belinus and Brennius, knights of
Britain, held the Roman Empire in their hands for many days, and also
Constantine, the son of Helen, which is open evidence, not only that we
owe Rome no tribute, but that I, being descended from them, may, of right,
myself claim the empire."

Then said King Anguish of Scotland, "Sir, thou oughtest of right to be
above all other kings, for in all Christendom is there not thine equal; and I
counsel thee never to obey the Romans. For when they reigned here they
grievously distressed us, and put the land to great and heavy burdens; and
here, for my part, I swear to avenge me on them when I may, and will
furnish thee with twenty thousand men-at-arms, whom I will pay and keep,
and who shall wait on thee with me, when it shall please thee."
Then the King of Little Britain rose and promised King Arthur thirty
thousand men; and likewise many other kings, and dukes, and barons,
promised aid—as the lord of West Wales thirty thousand men, Sir Ewaine
and his cousin thirty thousand men, and so forth; Sir Lancelot also, and
every other knight of the Round Table, promised each man a great host.
So the king, passing joyful at their courage and good will, thanked them all
heartily, and sent for the ambassadors again, to hear his answer. "I will,"
said he, "that ye now go back straightway unto the Emperor your master,
and tell him that I give no heed to his words, for I have conquered all my
kingdoms by the will of God and by my own right arm, and I am strong
enough to keep them, without paying tribute to any earthly creature. But, on
the other hand, I claim both tribute and submission from himself, and also
claim the sovereignty of all his empire, whereto I am entitled by the right of
my own ancestors—sometime kings of this land. And say to him that I will
shortly come to Rome, and by God's grace will take possession of my
empire and subdue all rebels. Wherefore, lastly, I command him and all the
lords of Rome that they forthwith pay me their homage, under pain of my
chastisement and wrath."
Then he commanded his treasurers to give the ambassadors great gifts, and
defray all their charges, and appointed Sir Cador to convey them
worshipfully out of the land.
So when they returned to Rome and came before Lucius, he was sore angry
at their words, and said, "I thought this Arthur would have instantly obeyed
my orders and have served me as humbly as any other king; but because of
his fortune in Gaul, he hath grown insolent."
"Ah, lord," said one of the ambassadors, "refrain from such vain words, for
truly I and all with me were fearful at his royal majesty and angry

countenance. I fear me thou hast made a rod for thee more sharp than thou
hast counted on. He meaneth to be master of this empire; and is another
kind of man than thou supposest, and holdeth the most noble court of all the
world. We saw him on the new year's day, served at his table by nine kings,
and the noblest company of other princes, lords, and knights that ever was
in all the world; and in his person he is the most manly-seeming man that
liveth, and looketh like to conquer all the earth."
Then Lucius sent messengers to all the subject countries of Rome, and
brought together a mighty army, and assembled sixteen kings, and many
dukes, princes, lords, and admirals, and a wondrous great multitude of
people. Fifty giants also, born of fiends, were set around him for a body-
guard. With all that host he straightway went from Rome, and passed
beyond the mountains into Gaul, and burned the towns and ravaged all the
country of that province, in rage for its submission to King Arthur. Then he
moved on towards Little Britain.
Meanwhile, King Arthur having held a parliament at York, left the realm in
charge of Sir Badewine and Sir Constantine, and crossed the sea from
Sandwich to meet Lucius. And so soon as he was landed, he sent Sir
Gawain, Sir Bors, Sir Lionel, and Sir Bedivere to the Emperor,
commanding him "to move swiftly and in haste out of his land, and, if not,
to make himself ready for battle, and not continue ravaging the country and
slaying harmless people." Anon, those noble knights attired themselves and
set forth on horseback to where they saw, in a meadow, many silken tents of
divers colors, and the Emperor's pavilion in the midst, with a golden eagle
set above it.
Then Sir Gawain and Sir Bors rode forward, leaving the other two behind in
ambush, and gave King Arthur's message. To which the Emperor replied,
"Return, and tell your lord that I am come to conquer him and all his land."
At this, Sir Gawain burned with anger, and cried out, "I had rather than all
France that I might fight with thee alone!"
"And I also," said Sir Bors.
Then a knight named Ganius, a near cousin of the Emperor, laughed out
aloud, and said, "Lo! how these Britons boast and are full of pride, bragging

as though they bare up all the world!"
At these words, Sir Gawain could refrain no longer, but drew forth his
sword and with one blow shore off Ganius' head; then with Sir Bors, he
turned his horse and rode over waters and through woods, back to the
ambush, where Sir Lionel and Sir Bedivere were waiting. The Romans
followed fast behind them till the knights turned and stood, and then Sir
Bors smote the foremost of them through the body with a spear, and slew
him on the spot. Then came on Calibere, a huge Pavian, but Sir Bors
overthrew him also. And then the company of Sir Lionel and Sir Bedivere
brake forth from their ambush and fell on the Romans, and slew and hewed
them down, and forced them to return and flee, chasing them to their tents.
But as they neared the camp, a great host more rushed forth, and turned the
battle backwards, and in the turmoil, Sir Bors and Sir Berel fell into the
Romans' hands. When Sir Gawain saw that, he drew his good sword
Galotine, and swore to see King Arthur's face no more if those two knights
were not delivered; and then, with good Sir Idrus, made so sore an
onslaught that the Romans fled and left Sir Bors and Sir Berel to their
friends. So the Britons returned in triumph to King Arthur, having slain
more than ten thousand Romans, and lost no man of worship from amongst
themselves.
When the Emperor Lucius heard of that discomfiture he arose, with all his
army, to crush King Arthur, and met him in the vale of Soissons. Then
speaking to all his host, he said, "Sirs, I admonish you that this day ye fight
and acquit yourselves as men; and remembering how Rome is chief of all
the earth, and mistress of the universal world, suffer not these barbarous and
savage Britons to abide our onset." At that, the trumpets blew so loud, that
the ground trembled and shook.
Then did the rival hosts draw near each other with great shoutings; and
when they closed, no tongue can tell the fury of their smiting, and the sore
struggling, wounds, and slaughter. Then King Arthur, with his mightiest
knights, rode down into the thickest of the fight, and drew Excalibur, and
slew as lightning slays for swiftness and for force. And in the midmost
crowd he met a giant, Galapas by name, and struck off both his legs at the

knee-joints; then saying, "Now art thou a better size to deal with!" smote his
head off at a second blow: and the body killed six men in falling down.
Anon, King Arthur spied where Lucius fought and worked great deeds of
prowess with his own hands. Forthwith he rode at him, and each attacked
the other passing fiercely; till at the last, Lucius struck King Arthur with a
fearful wound across the face, and Arthur, in return, lifting up Excalibur on
high, drove it with all his force upon the Emperor's head, shivering his
helmet, crashing his head in halves, and splitting his body to the breast. And
when the Romans saw their Emperor dead, they fled in hosts of thousands;
and King Arthur and his knights, and all his army followed them, and slew
one hundred thousand men.
Then returning to the field, King Arthur rode to the place where Lucius lay
dead, and round him the kings of Egypt and Ethiopia, and seventeen other
kings, with sixty Roman senators, all noble men. All these he ordered to be
carefully embalmed with aromatic gums, and laid in leaden coffins, covered
with their shields and arms and banners. Then calling for three senators who
were taken prisoners, he said to them, "As the ransom of your lives, I will
that ye take these dead bodies and carry them to Rome, and there present
them for me, with these letters saying I will myself be shortly there. And I
suppose the Romans will beware how they again ask tribute of me; for tell
them, these dead bodies that I send them are for the tribute they have dared
to ask of me; and if they wish for more, when I come I will pay them the
rest."
So, with that charge, the three senators departed with the dead bodies, and
went to Rome; the body of the Emperor being carried in a chariot blazoned
with the arms of the empire, all alone, and the bodies of the kings two and
two in chariots following.
After the battle, King Arthur entered Lorraine, Brabant, and Flanders, and
thence, subduing all the countries as he went, passed into Germany, and so
beyond the mountains into Lombardy and Tuscany. At length he came
before a city which refused to obey him, wherefore he sat down before it to
besiege it. And after a long time thus spent, King Arthur called Sir Florence,
and told him they began to lack food for his hosts—"And not far from
hence," said he, "are great forests full of cattle belonging to my enemies. Go

then, and bring by force all that thou canst find; and take with thee Sir
Gawain, my nephew, and Sir Clegis, Sir Claremond, the Captain of Cardiff,
and a strong band."
Anon, those knights made ready, and rode over holts and hills, and through
forests and woods, till they came to a great meadow full of fair flowers and
grass, and there they rested themselves and their horses that night. And at
the dawn of the next day, Sir Gawain took his horse and rode away from his
fellows to seek some adventure. Soon he saw an armed knight walking his
horse by a wood's side, with his shield laced to his shoulder, and no
attendant with him save a page, bearing a mighty spear; and on his shield
were blazoned three gold griffins. When Sir Gawain spied him, he put his
spear in rest, and riding straight to him, asked who he was. "A Tuscan," said
he; "and thou mayest prove me when thou wilt, for thou shalt be my
prisoner ere we part."
Then said Sir Gawain, "Thou vauntest thee greatly, and speakest proud
words; yet I counsel thee, for all thy boastings, look to thyself the best thou
canst."
At that they took their spears and ran at each other with all the might they
had, and smote each other through their shields into their shoulders; and
then drawing swords smote with great strokes, till the fire sprang out of
their helms. Then was Sir Gawain enraged, and with his good sword
Galotine struck his enemy through shield and hauberk, and splintered into
piece all the precious stones of it, and made so huge a wound that men
might see both lungs and liver. At that the Tuscan, groaning loudly, rushed
on to Sir Gawain, and gave him a deep slanting stroke, and made a mighty
wound and cut a great vein asunder, so that he bled fast. Then he cried out,
"Bind thy wound quickly up, Sir knight, for thou be-bloodest all thy horse
and thy fair armor, and all the surgeons of the world shall never staunch thy
blood; for so shall it be to whomsoever is hurt with this good sword."
Then answered Sir Gawain, "It grieveth me but little, and thy boastful
words give me no fear, for thou shalt suffer greater grief and sorrow ere we
part; but tell me quickly who can staunch this blood."
"That can I do," said the strange knight, "and will, if thou wilt aid and
succor me to become christened, and to believe in God, which now I do

require of thee upon thy manhood."
"I am content," said Sir Gawain; "and may God help me to grant all thy
wishes. But tell me first, what soughtest thou thus here alone, and of what
land art thou?"
"Sir," said the knight, "my name is Prianius, and my father is a great prince,
who hath rebelled against Rome. He is descended from Alexander and
Hector, and of our lineage also were Joshua and Maccabæus. I am of right
the king of Alexandria, and Africa, and all the outer isles, yet I would
believe in the Lord thou worshipest, and for thy labor I will give thee
treasure enough. I was so proud in heart that I thought none my equal, but
now have I encountered with thee, who hast given me my fill of fighting;
wherefore, I pray thee, Sir knight, tell me of thyself."
"I am no knight," said Sir Gawain; "I have been brought up many years in
the wardrobe of the noble prince King Arthur, to mind his armor and array."
"Ah," said Prianius, "if his varlets be so keen and fierce, his knights must be
passing good! Now, for the love of heaven, whether thou be knight or
knave, tell me thy name."
"By heaven!" said Gawain, "now will I tell thee the truth. My name is Sir
Gawain, and I am a knight of the Round Table."
"Now am I better pleased," said Prianius, "than if thou hadst given me all
the province of Paris the rich. I had rather have been torn by wild horses
than that any varlet should have won such victory over me as thou hast
done. But now, Sir knight, I warn thee that close by is the Duke of Lorraine,
with sixty thousand good men of war; and we had both best flee at once, for
he will find us else, and we be sorely wounded and never likely to recover.
And let my page be careful that he blow no horn, for hard by are a hundred
knights, my servants; and if they seize thee, no ransom of gold or silver
would acquit thee."
Then Sir Gawain rode over a river to save himself, and Sir Prianius after
him, and so they both fled till they came to his companions who were in the
meadow, where they spent the night. When Sir Whishard saw Sir Gawain so
hurt, he ran to him weeping, and asked him who it was had wounded him;
and Sir Gawain told him how he had fought with that man—pointing to

Prianius—who had salves to heal them both. "But I can tell ye other
tidings," said he—"that soon we must encounter many enemies, for a great
army is close to us in our front."
Then Prianius and Sir Gawain alighted and let their horses graze while they
unarmed, and when they took this armor and their clothing off, the hot
blood ran down freshly from their wounds till it was piteous to see. But
Prianius took from his page a vial filled from the four rivers that flow out of
Paradise, and anointed both their wounds with a certain balm, and washed
them with that water, and within an hour afterwards they were both as
sound and whole as ever they had been. Then, at the sound of a trumpet, all
the knights were assembled to council; and after much talking, Prianius
said, "Cease your words, for I warn you in yonder wood ye shall find
knights out of number, who will put out cattle for a decoy to lead you on;
and ye are not seven hundred!"
"Nevertheless," said Sir Gawain, "let us at once encounter them, and see
what they can do; and may the best have the victory."
Then they saw suddenly an earl named Sir Ethelwold, and the Duke of
Duchmen come leaping out of ambush of the woods in front, with many a
thousand after them, and all rode straight down to the battle. And Sir
Gawain, full of ardor and courage, comforted his knights, saying, "They all
are ours." Then the seven hundred knights, in one close company, set spurs
to their horses and began to gallop, and fiercely met their enemies. And then
were men and horses slain and overthrown on every side, and in and out
amidst them all, the knights of the Round Table pressed and thrust, and
smote down to the earth all who withstood them, till at length the whole of
them turned back and fled.
"By heaven!" said Sir Gawain, "this gladdeneth well my heart, for now
behold them as they flee! they are full seventy thousand less in number than
they were an hour ago!"
Thus was the battle quickly ended, and a great host of high lords and
knights of Lombardy and Saracens left dead upon the field. Then Sir
Gawain and his company collected a great plenty of cattle, and of gold and
silver, and all kind of treasure, and returned to King Arthur, where he still
kept the siege.

"Now God be thanked," cried he; "but who is he that standeth yonder by
himself, and seemeth not a prisoner?"
"Sir," said Sir Gawain, "he is a good man with his weapons, and hath
matched me; but cometh hither to be made a Christian. Had it not been for
his warnings, we none of us should have been here this day. I pray thee,
therefore, let him be baptized, for there can be few nobler men, or better
knights."
So Prianius was christened, and made a duke and knight of the Round
Table.
Presently afterwards, they made a last attack upon the city, and entered by
the walls on every side; and as the men were rushing to the pillage, came
the Duchess forth, with many ladies and damsels, and kneeled before King
Arthur; and besought him to receive their submission. To whom the king
made answer, with a noble countenance, "Madam, be well assured that none
shall harm ye, or your ladies; neither shall any that belong to thee be hurt;
but the Duke must abide my judgment." Then he commanded to stay the
assault and took the keys from the Duke's eldest son, who brought them
kneeling. Anon the Duke was sent a prisoner to Dover for his life, and rents
and taxes were assigned for dowry of the Duchess and her children.
Then went he on with all his hosts, winning all towns and castles, and
wasting them that refused obedience, till he came to Viterbo. From thence
he sent to Rome, to ask the senators whether they would receive him for
their lord and governor. In answer, came out to him all the Senate who
remained alive, and the Cardinals, with a majestic retinue and procession;
and laying great treasures at his feet, they prayed him to come in at once to
Rome, and there be peaceably crowned as Emperor. "At this next
Christmas," said King Arthur, "will I be crowned, and hold my Round Table
in your city."
Anon he entered Rome, in mighty pomp and state; and after him came all
his hosts, and his knights, and princes, and great lords, arrayed in gold and
jewels, such as never were beheld before. And then was he crowned
Emperor by the Pope's hands, with all the highest solemnity that could be
made.

Then after his coronation, he abode in Rome for a season, settling his lands
and giving kingdoms to his knights and servants, to each one after his
deserving, and in such wise fashion that no man among them all
complained. Also he made many dukes and earls, and loaded all his men-at-
arms with riches and great treasures.
When all this was done, the lords and knights, and all the men of great
estate, came together before him, and said, "Noble Emperor! by the blessing
of Eternal God, thy mortal warfare is all finished, and thy conquests all
achieved; for now in all the world is none so great and mighty as to dare
make war with thee. Wherefore we beseech and heartily pray thee of thy
noble grace, to turn thee homeward, and give us also leave to see our wives
and homes again, for now we have been from them a long season, and all
thy journey is completed with great honor and worship."
"Ye say well," replied he, "and to tempt God is no wisdom; therefore make
ready in all haste, and turn we home to England."
So King Arthur returned with his knights and lords and armies, in great
triumph and joy, through all the countries he had conquered, and
commanded that no man, upon pain of death, should rob or do any violence
by the way. And crossing the sea, he came at length to Sandwich, where
Queen Guinevere received him, and made great joy at his arrival. And
through all the realm of Britain was there such rejoicing as no tongue can
tell.

IX
SIR GAWAIN AND THE MAID WITH THE NARROW
SLEEVES

Now it happened that as Sir Gawain was riding one day through the country
he encountered a troop of knights, followed by a squire, who led a Spanish
charger, and about whose neck was hung a shield. Gawain rode up to the
squire and said, "Tell me, what is yonder troop that hath ridden by?"
The squire answered, "Sir, Meliance of Lis, a brave and hardy knight."
"Is it to him you belong?" Sir Gawain asked.
"Nay, sir," said the squire, "my master is Teudaves, a knight as worthy as
this one."
"Teudaves I know," said Gawain. "Whither fareth he? Tell me the truth."
"He proceedeth to a tourney, sir, which this Meliance of Lis hath undertaken
against Thiébault of Tintagel. If you will take my advice you will throw
yourself into the castle, and take part against the outsiders."
"Was it not," cried Gawain, "in the house of this Thiébault that Meliance of
Lis was nurtured?"
"Aye, sir, so God save me!" said the squire. "His father loved Thiébault and
trusted him so much that on his death-bed he committed to his care his little
son, whom Thiébault cherished and protected, until the time came when the
youth petitioned his daughter to give him her love; but she replied that she
would never do that until he should be made a knight. The youth, being
ardent, forthwith had himself knighted, and then returned to the maiden.
'Nay,' answered the girl to his renewed suit, 'it shall never be, until in my
presence you shall have achieved such feats of arms that I will know my
love hath cost you somewhat; for those things which come suddenly are not
so sweet as those we earn. If you wish my love, take a tournament of my

father. I desire to be certain that my love would be well placed in case I
were to grant it.' What she suggested he performed, for love hath such
lordship over lovers that those who are under his power would never dare
refuse whatever it pleased him to enjoin. And you, sir, sluggish will you be
if you do not enter the castle, for they will need you greatly, if you might
help them."
To which Sir Gawain answered, "Brother, go thy way, it would be wise of
you, and let my affairs be." So the squire departed, and Gawain rode
towards Tintagel, for there was no other way by which he could pass.
Now Thiébault had summoned all his kith and kin, who had come, high and
low, old and young; but he could not get the permission of his council to
joust with his master, for the councillors feared lest he should utterly ruin
their castle. Therefore the gates had been walled up with stones and mortar,
leaving as the only approach one small postern, which had a gate made of
copper, as much as a cart could haul. Sir Gawain rode to the gate, behind
the troop that bore his harness, for there was no other road within seven
leagues. He found the postern shut and so he turned into a close below the
tower, that was fenced with a palisade. He dismounted under an oak and
hung up his shields. Thither came the folk from the castle, most of them
sorry that the tourney had been abandoned; in the fortress was an aged
nobleman, great in land and lineage, whose word no one disputed. A long
way off the troop had been pointed out to him, and before they rode into the
close he went to Thiébault, and said, "Sir, so God save me, I have seen two
companions of King Arthur, worthy men, who ride this way; I advise you to
tourney with good hope, for we have brave knights, and servants, and
archers, who will slay their horses, and I am certain they will joust before
this gate; if their pride shall bring them the gain will be ours, and theirs will
be the loss and the shame."
As a result of this counsel Thiébault allowed those who wished to take their
arms and sally forth. The knights were right glad, and their squires ran after
their horses, while the dames and the damsels climbed high places to see
the tourney. Below, in the meadow, they saw the arms of Sir Gawain, and at
first thought that there were two knights, because two shields hung from the
tree. They cried out that they were fortunate to see two such knights arm. So
some thought; but others exclaimed, "Fair Lord God, this knight hath arms

and steeds sufficient for two; if he hath no companion, what will he do with
two shields? Never was seen a knight who carried two shields at one and
the same time. It is very strange if one man means to bear two shields."
While the ladies talked and the knights went forth from the castle the elder
daughter of Thiébault mounted to the tower, she on account of whom the
tournament had been undertaken, and with her her younger sister, whose
sleeves were so quaint that she was called the Maid with the Narrow
Sleeves, for she wore them tight. Dames and damsels climbed the tower
with them, and the tourney was joined in front of the castle. None bore
himself so well as Meliance of Lis, by the testimony of his fair friend, who
said to those about her, "Ladies, never did I see a knight who delighted me
as doth Meliance of Lis. Is it not a pleasure to see such a knight? That man
must have a good seat and be skillful in the use of lance and shield who
beareth himself so excellently."
Thereupon her sister, who sat by her side, said that she saw a fairer knight.
The elder maiden was angry and rose to strike her sister. But the ladies
interfered, and held her back, so that she missed her blow, which greatly
incensed her.
In the tournament many lances were shivered, shields pierced, and knights
unhorsed; and it went hard with the knight who met Meliance of Lis, for
there was none he did not throw on the hard ground. If his lance broke, he
dealt great blows with his sword; and he bore himself better than any other
knight on either side, to the great joy of his fair friend, who could not resist
exclaiming, "Ladies, it is wonderful! Behold the best bachelor knight of
whom minstrel hath ever sung or whom eyes have ever seen, the fairest and
bravest of all those in the tourney!"
Then the little girl cried, "I see a handsomer one, and 'tis like, a better!"
The elder sister grew hot. "Ha, girl, you were malapert when you were so
unlucky as to blame one whom I praised! Take that, to teach you better
another time!" So saying, she slapped her sister, so hard that she left on the
little girl's cheek the print of her five fingers. But the ladies who sat near
scolded her and took her away.

After that they fell to talking of Sir Gawain. One of the damsels said, "The
knight beneath yonder tree, why doth he delay to take arms?" A second
damsel, who was ruder, exclaimed, "He hath sworn to keep the peace." And
a third added, "He is a merchant. Don't tell me that he desireth to joust; he
bringeth horses to market." "He is a money-changer," said a fourth. "The
goods he hath he meaneth to sell to poor bachelors. Trust me, he hath
money or raiment in those chests."
"You have wicked tongues!" cried the little girl. "And you lie! Do you think
a merchant would bear such huge lances? You tire me to death, talking such
nonsense! By the faith that I owe the Holy Spirit, he seemeth to me a knight
rather than a merchant or a money-changer. He is a knight, and he looketh
like one!"
The ladies all cried with one voice, "Fair sweet friend, if he looketh so, it
doth not follow that he is so. He putteth it on because he wisheth to cheat
the tariff. But in spite of all his cleverness he is a fool, for he will be taken
up and hung for a cheat."
Now Gawain heard all that the ladies said about him, and he was ashamed
and annoyed. But he thought, and thought rightly, that he lay under an
accusation of treason, and that it was his duty to keep his pledge or forever
disgrace himself and his line. It was for this reason that he took no part in
the tourney, lest, if he fought, he should be wounded or taken prisoner.
Meliance of Lis called for great lances, to strike harder blows. Until night
fell the tourney continued before the gate; the man who took any booty
carried it to some place where he thought it would be safe. Then the ladies
saw a squire, tall and strong, who held a piece of a lance and bore on his
neck a steel cap. One of the ladies, who was foolish, called to him, saying,
"Sir squire, so God help me, it is foolish of you to make prize of that tester,
those arms and croup-piece. If you do a squire's duty you deserve a squire's
wage. Below, in yonder meadow, is a man who hath riches he cannot
defend. Unwise is he who misseth his gain while he hath the power to take
it. He seemeth the most debonair of knights, and yet he would not stir if one
plucked his beard. If you are wise, take the armor and the treasure, none
will hinder you."

The squire went into the meadow and struck one of Gawain's horses,
crying, "Vassal, are you sick that all day long you gape here and have done
nothing, neither pierced shield nor shivered lance?"
Sir Gawain answered, "Pray, what is it to you why I tarry? You shall know,
but not now. Get you gone about your business."
The squire withdrew, for Gawain was not the type of man to whom he
would dare say anything unpleasant.
The tourney ended, after many knights had been killed and many horses
captured. The outsiders had had the best, and the people of the castle gained
by the intermission. At parting they all agreed that on the morrow with
songs they would meet again and continue the encounter. So for that night
they separated and those who had sallied forth returned to the castle,
followed by Sir Gawain. At the gate he met the nobleman who had advised
his lord to engage in the tourney. This man accosted him pleasantly, and
said, "Fair sir, in this castle your hostel is ready. If it pleaseth you, remain
here, for if you should go on it would be long before you arrived at a
lodging; therefore I urge you to stay."
"I will tarry, your mercy!" said Gawain. "I have heard worse words."
The man led the guest to his house, talking of this and that, and asked him
why on that day he had not borne arms. Sir Gawain explained how he had
been accused of treason and was bound to be on his guard against prison
and wounds until he could free himself from the reproach that was cast
upon him, for it would be to the dishonor of himself and his friends if he
should fail to appear at the time appointed.
The nobleman praised him, and said that if this was the reason he had done
right. With that he led Gawain to his house, where they dismounted. The
people of the castle blamed him, wondering how his lord would take it;
while the elder daughter of Thiébault did her best to make trouble for
Gawain, on account of her sister, with whom she was angry. "Sir," she said
to her father, "on this day you have suffered no loss, but made a gain,
greater than you think; you have only to go and take it. The man who hath
brought it will not dare to defend it, for he is wily. Lances and shields he
bringeth, with palfreys and chargers, and maketh himself resemble a knight

to cheat the customs, so that he may pass free when he cometh to sell his
wares. Render him his deserts. He is with Garin, the son of Bertan, who
hath taken him to lodge at his house. I just saw him pass."
Thiébault took his horse, for he himself wished to go there. The little girl,
who saw him leave, went out secretly by a back gate and straight down the
hill to the house of Garin, who had two fair daughters. When these saw their
little lady they should have been glad, and glad they were, each took her by
a hand and led her into the house, kissing her eyes and lips.
In the meantime Garin and his son Herman had left the house and were
going up to the castle to speak to their lord. Midway there they met
Thiébault and saluted him. He asked whither Garin was going and said he
had intended to pay him a visit. "By my faith," said the nobleman, "that will
not displease me, and at my house you shall see the fairest of knights."
"It is even he whom I seek," said Thiébault, "to arrest him. He is a merchant
who selleth horses and pretendeth to be a knight."
"Alas," said Garin, "'tis a churlish speech I hear you make! I am your man
and you are my master, but on the spot I renounce your homage, and in the
name of all my line now defy you, rather than suffer you to disgrace my
house."
"Indeed," answered Thiébault, "I have no wish to do any such thing. Neither
you nor your house shall ever receive aught but honor from me; not but
what I have been counseled so to proceed."
"Your great mercy!" exclaimed the nobleman. "It will be my honor if you
will visit my guest."
So side by side they went on until they reached the house. When Sir
Gawain saw them, he rose out of courtesy, and said, "Welcome!" The two
saluted him and took their seats beside him. Then the nobleman, who was
the lord of that country, asked why he had taken no part in the tourney, and
Gawain narrated how a knight had accused him of treason and how he was
on his way to defend himself in a royal court. "Doubtless," answered the
lord, "that is sufficient excuse. But where is the battle to be held?"
"Sir, before the king of Cavalon, whither I am journeying."

"And I," said the nobleman, "will guide you. Since you must needs pass
through a poor country, I will provide you with food and packbeasts to
carry it."
Gawain answered that he had no need to accept anything, for if it could be
bought he would have food and lodging wherever he went.
With these words Thiébault took leave. As he departed, from the opposite
direction he saw come his little daughter, who embraced Gawain's leg, and
said, "Fair sir, listen! I have come to complain of my sister, who hath beaten
me. So please you, do me justice!"
Gawain made no answer, for he did not know what she meant. He put his
hand on her head, while the girl pulled him, saying, "To you, fair sir, I
complain of my sister. I do not love her, since to-day she hath done me great
shame for your sake."
"Fair one, what have I to do with that? How can I do you justice against
your sister?"
Thiébault, who had taken leave, heard his child's entreaty, and said, "Girl,
who bade you come here and complain to this knight?"
Gawain asked, "Fair sweet sir, is this maid your daughter?"
"Aye; but never mind what she says. A girl is a silly creature."
"Certes," said Gawain, "I should be churlish if I did not do what she desires.
Tell me, my sweet child and fair, in what manner I can justify you against
your sister."
"If it pleaseth you, for love of me, bear arms in the tourney."
"Tell me, dear friend," said Gawain, "have you ever before made petition to
any knight?"
"No, sir."
"Never mind her," exclaimed her father. "Pay no heed to her folly."
Sir Gawain answered, "Sir, so aid me the Lord God, for so little a girl, she
hath spoken very well, and I will not refuse her. To-morrow, if she wisheth,

I will be her knight."
"Your mercy, fair sweet sir!" cried the child, who was overjoyed, and
bowed down to his feet.
Without more words they parted. Thiébault carried his daughter back on the
neck of his palfrey. As they rode up the hill be asked her what the quarrel
had been about, and she told him the story from beginning to end, saying,
"Sir, I was vexed with my sister, who declared that Meliance of Lis was the
best of all the knights; and I, who had seen this knight in the meadow, could
not help saying that I had seen a fairer, whereupon my sister called me a
silly girl and beat me. Fie on me, if I take it from her! I would cut off both
my braids close to my head, which would be a great loss, if to-morrow in
the tourney this knight would conquer Meliance of Lis, and put an end to
the fuss of madam, my sister! She talked so much that she tired all the
ladies; but a little rain will hush a great wind."
"Fair child," said her father, "I command and allow you, in courtesy, to send
him some love-token, a sleeve or a wimple."
The child, who was simple, answered, "With pleasure since you bid me. But
my sleeves are so small, I should not like to send them. Most likely he
would not care for them."
"Daughter, say no more," said Thiébault. "I will think about it. I am very
glad." So saying, he took her in his arms, and had great joy of embracing
and kissing her, until he came in front of his palace. But when his elder
daughter saw him approach, with the child before him, she was vexed, and
exclaimed, "Sir, whence cometh my sister, the Maid with the Narrow
Sleeves? She is full of her tricks; she hath been quick about it; where did
you find her?"
"And you," he answered, "what is it to you? Hush, for she is better than you
are. You pulled her hair and beat her, which grieveth me. You acted rudely;
you were discourteous."
When she heard her father's rebuke, the maid was greatly abashed.
Thiébault had brought from his chests a piece of red samite, and he bade his
people cut out and make a sleeve, wide and long. Then he called his

daughter and said, "Child, to-morrow rise betimes and visit the knight
before he leaveth his hostel. For love's sake you will give him this new
sleeve, which he will wear in the tourney when he goeth thither."
The girl answered that so soon as ever she saw the clear dawn she would
dress herself and go. With that her father went his way, while she, in great
glee, charged her companions that they should not let her oversleep but
should wake her when day broke, if they would have her love them. They
did as she wished, and when it dawned caused her to wake and dress. All
alone she went to the house where Sir Gawain lodged, but, early though it
was, the knights had risen and gone to the monastery to hear mass sung.
She waited until they had offered long orisons and listened to the service, as
much as was right. When they returned the child rose to greet Sir Gawain,
and cried, "Sir, on this day may God save and honor you! For love of me,
wear the sleeve which I carry in my hand."
"With pleasure," he answered; "friend, your mercy!"
After that the knights were not slow to take arms, and came pouring out of
the town, while the damsels again went up to the walls and the dames of the
castle saw the troops of brave and hardy knights approach.
They rode with loose rein, and in front was Meliance of Lis, who went so
fast that he left the rest in the rear, two rods and more. When his maiden
saw her friend she could not keep quiet, but cried, "Ladies, yonder comes
the man who hath the lordship of chivalry!"
As swiftly as his horse would carry him Sir Gawain charged Meliance of
Lis, who did not evade the blow, but met it boldly, and shivered his lance.
On his part Sir Gawain smote so hard that he grieved Meliance, whom he
flung on the field; the steed he grasped by the rein and gave to a varlet,
bidding him take it to the lady on whose account he had entered the tourney,
and say that his master had sent her the first spoil he had made that day. The
youth took the charger, saddled as it was, and led it towards the girl, who
was sitting at the window of the tower, whence she had watched the joust,
and when she saw the encounter she cried to her sister, "Sister, there lies
Meliance of Lis, whom you praised so highly! A wise man ought to give
praise where it is due. You see, I was right yesterday when I said I saw a
better knight."

Thus she teased her sister, who grew angry, and cried, "Child, hold your
tongue! If you say another word, I will slap you so that you will not have a
foot to stand on!" "Oh, sister," answered the little girl, "remember God! You
ought not to beat me because I told you the truth. I saw him tumble as well
as you; I think he will not be able to get up. Be as cross as you please, I
must say that there is not a lady here who did not see him fall flat on the
ground."
Her sister would have struck her, had she been able, but the ladies around
would not allow it.
With that came the squire, who held the rein in his right hand. He saw the
girl sitting at the window and presented the steed. She thanked him a
hundred times, and bade the steed be taken in charge. The squire returned to
tell his master, who seemed the lord of the tournament, for there was no
knight so gallant that he did not cast from the saddle, if he reached him with
the lance. On that day he captured four steeds. The first he sent to the little
girl, the second to the wife of the nobleman who had been so kind, and the
third and fourth to his own daughters.
The tourney was over and the knights entered the city. On both sides the
honor belonged to Sir Gawain. It was not yet noon when he returned from
the encounter; the city was full of knights, who ran after him, asking who
he was and of what land. At the gate of his hostel he was met by the damsel,
who did naught but grasp his stirrup, salute him, and cry, "A thousand
mercies, fair sweet sir!" He answered frankly, "Friend, before I am recreant
to your service, may I be aged and bald! I shall never be so remote, but a
message will bring me. If I know your need, I shall come at the first
summons, whatever business be mine!"
While they talked her father came and wished Sir Gawain to stay with him
for that night; but first he begged, that if his guest pleased, he would tell his
name. Sir Gawain answered, "Sir, I am called Gawain. My name was never
concealed, nor have I ever told it before it hath been asked."
When Thiébault knew that the knight was Sir Gawain his heart was full of
joy, and he exclaimed, "Sir, be pleased to lodge with me, and accept my
service. Hitherto I have done you little worship, and never did I set eyes on
a knight whom so much I longed to honor."

In spite of urging, Sir Gawain refused to stay. The little girl, who was good
and clever, clasped his foot and kissed it, commending him to God. Sir
Gawain asked why she had done that, and the girl replied that she had
kissed his foot in order that he should remember her wherever he went. He
answered, "Doubt it not, fair sweet friend! I shall never forget you, after I
have parted hence."
With that Sir Gawain took leave of his host and the others, who one and all
commended him to God. That night he slept in an abbey, and had all that
was necessary.

THE CHAMPIONS OF THE ROUND TABLE

X
THE ADVENTURES OF SIR LANCELOT

Then, at the following Pentecost, was held a feast of the Round Table at
Caerleon, with high splendor; and all the knights thereof resorted to the
court, and held many games and jousts. And therein Sir Lancelot increased
in fame and worship above all men, for he overthrew all comers, and never
was unhorsed or worsted, save by treason and enchantment.
When Queen Guinevere had seen his wondrous feats, she held him in great
favor, and smiled more on him than on any other knight. And ever since he
first had gone to bring her to King Arthur, had Lancelot thought on her as
fairest of all ladies, and done his best to win her grace. So the queen often
sent for him, and bade him tell of his birth and strange adventures: how he
was only son of great King Ban of Brittany, and how, one night, his father,
with his mother Helen and himself, fled from his burning castle; how his
father, groaning deeply, fell to the ground and died of grief and wounds, and
how his mother, running to her husband, left himself alone; how, as he thus
lay wailing, came the lady of the lake, and took him in her arms and went
with him into the midst of the waters, where, with his cousins Lionel and
Bors, he had been cherished all his childhood until he came to King Arthur's
court; and how this was the reason why men called him Lancelot du Lake.
Anon it was ordained by King Arthur, that in every year at Pentecost there
should be held a festival of all the knights of the Round Table at Caerleon,
or such other place as he should choose. And at those festivals should be
told publicly the most famous adventures of any knight during the past year.
So, when Sir Lancelot saw Queen Guinevere rejoiced to hear his
wanderings and adventures, he resolved to set forth yet again, and win more
worship still, that he might more increase her favor. Then he bade his
cousin Sir Lionel make ready, "for," said he, "we two will seek adventure."
So they mounted their horses—armed at all points—and rode into a vast
forest; and when they had passed through it, they came to a great plain, and

the weather being very hot about noontide, Sir Lancelot greatly longed to
sleep. Then Sir Lionel espied a great apple-tree standing by a hedge, and
said, "Brother, yonder is a fair shadow where we may rest ourselves and
horses."
"I am full glad of it," said Sir Lancelot, "for all these seven years I have not
been so sleepy."
So they alighted there, and tied their horses up to sundry trees; and Sir
Lionel waked and watched while Sir Lancelot fell asleep, and slept passing
fast.
In the meanwhile came three knights, riding as fast flying as ever they
could ride, and after them followed a single knight; but when Sir Lionel
looked at him, he thought he had never seen so great and strong a man, or
so well furnished and appareled. Anon he saw him overtake the last of those
who fled, and smite him to the ground; then came he to the second, and
smote him such a stroke that horse and man went to the earth; then rode he
to the third, likewise, and struck him off his horse more than a spear's
length. With that he lighted from his horse, and bound all three knights fast
with the reins of their own bridles.
When Sir Lionel saw this he thought the time was come to prove himself
against him, so quietly and cautiously, lest he should wake Sir Lancelot, he
took his horse and mounted and rode after him. Presently overtaking him,
he cried aloud to him to turn, which instantly he did, and smote Sir Lionel
so hard that horse and man went down forthwith. Then took he up Sir
Lionel, and threw him bound over his own horse's back; and so he served
the three other knights, and rode them away to his own castle. There they
were disarmed, stripped naked, and beaten with thorns, and afterwards
thrust into a deep prison, where many more knights, also, made great moans
and lamentations, saying, "Alas, alas! there is no man can help us but Sir
Lancelot, for no other knight can match this tyrant Turquine, our
conqueror."
But all this while, Sir Lancelot lay sleeping soundly under the apple-tree.
And, as it chanced, there passed that way four queens, of high estate, riding
upon four white mules, under four canopies of green silk borne on spears, to
keep them from the sun. As they rode thus, they heard a great horse grimly

neigh, and, turning them about, soon saw a sleeping knight that lay all
armed under an apple-tree; and when they saw his face, they knew it was
Sir Lancelot of the Lake.
Then they began to strive which of them should have the care of him. But
Queen Morgan le Fay, King Arthur's half sister, the great sorceress, was one
of them, and said, "We need not strive for him, I have enchanted him, so
that for six hours more he shall not wake. Let us take him to my castle, and,
when he wakes, himself shall choose which one of us he would rather
serve." So Sir Lancelot was laid upon his shield and borne on horseback
between two knights, to the castle, and there laid in a cold chamber, till the
spell should pass.
Anon, they sent him a fair damsel, bearing his supper, who asked him,
"What cheer?"
"I cannot tell, fair damsel," said he, "for I know not how I came into this
castle, if it were not by enchantment."
"Sir," said she, "be of good heart, and to-morrow at dawn of day, ye shall
know more."
And so she left him alone, and there he lay all night. In the morning early
came the four queens to him, passing richly dressed; and said, "Sir knight,
thou must understand that thou art our prisoner, and that we know thee well
for King Ban's son, Sir Lancelot du Lake. And though we know full well
there is one lady only in this world may have thy love, and she Queen
Guinevere—King Arthur's wife—yet now are we resolved to have thee to
serve one of us; choose, therefore, of us four which thou wilt serve. I am
Queen Morgan le Fay, Queen of the land of Gore, and here also is the
Queen of Northgales, and the Queen of Eastland, and the Queen of the Out
Isles. Choose, then, at once, for else shalt thou abide here, in this prison, till
thy death."
"It is a hard case," said Sir Lancelot, "that either I must die, or choose one
of you for my mistress! Yet had I rather die in this prison than serve any
living creature against my will. So take this for my answer. I will serve
none of ye, for ye be false enchantresses. And as for my lady, Queen

Guinevere, whom lightly ye have spoken of, were I at liberty I would prove
it upon you or upon yours she is the truest lady living to her lord the king."
"Well," said the queen, "is this your answer, that ye refuse us all?"
"Yea, on my life," said Lancelot, "refused ye be of me."
So they departed from him in great wrath, and left him sorrowfully grieving
in his dungeon.
At noon the damsel came to him and brought his dinner, and asked him as
before, "What cheer?"
"Truly, fair damsel," said Sir Lancelot, "in all my life never so ill."
"Sir," replied she, "I grieve to see ye so, but if ye do as I advise, I can help
ye out of this distress, and will do so if you promise me a boon."
"Fair damsel," said Sir Lancelot, "right willingly will I grant it thee, for
sorely do I dread these four witch-queens, who have destroyed and slain
many a good knight with their enchantments."
Then said the damsel, "Sir, wilt thou promise me to help my father on next
Tuesday, for he hath a tournament with the King of Northgales, and last
Tuesday lost the field through three knights of King Arthur's court, who
came against him. And if next Tuesday thou wilt aid him, to-morrow, before
daylight, by God's grace, I will deliver thee."
"Fair maiden," said Sir Lancelot, "tell me thy father's name and I will
answer thee."
"My father is King Bagdemagus," said she.
"I know him well," replied Sir Lancelot, "for a noble king and a good
knight; and by the faith of my body I will do him all the service I am able
on that day."
"Gramercy to thee, Sir knight," said the damsel. "To-morrow, when thou art
delivered from this place, ride ten miles hence unto an abbey of white
monks, and there abide until I bring my father to thee."
"So be it," said Sir Lancelot, "as I am a true knight."

So she departed, and on the morrow, early, came again, and let him out of
twelve gates, differently locked, and brought him to his armor; and when he
was all armed, she brought him his horse also, and lightly he saddled him,
and took a great spear in his hand, and mounted and rode forth, saying, as
he went, "Fair damsel, I shall not fail thee, by the grace of God."
And all that day he rode in a great forest, and could find no highway, and
spent the night in the wood; but the next morning found his road, and came
to the abbey of white monks. And there he saw King Bagdemagus and his
daughter waiting for him. So when they were together in a chamber, Sir
Lancelot told the king how he had been betrayed by an enchantment, and
how his brother Lionel was gone he knew not where, and how the damsel
had delivered him from the castle of Queen Morgan le Fay. "Wherefore
while I live," said he, "I shall do service to herself and all her kindred."
"Then am I sure of thy aid," said the king, "on Tuesday now next coming?"
"Yea, sir, I shall not fail thee," said Sir Lancelot; "but what knights were
they who last week defeated thee, and took part with the King of
Northgales?"
"Sir Mador de la Port, Sir Modred, and Sir Gahalatine," replied the king.
"Sir," said Sir Lancelot, "as I understand, the tournament shall take place
but three miles from this abbey; send then to me here, three knights of
thine, the best thou hast, and let them all have plain white shields, such as I
also will; then will we four come suddenly into the midst between both
parties, and fall upon thy enemies, and grieve them all we can, and none
will know us who we are."
So, on the Tuesday, Sir Lancelot and the three knights lodged themselves in
a small grove hard by the lists. Then came into the field the King of
Northgales, with one hundred and sixty helms, and the three knights of
King Arthur's court, who stood apart by themselves. And when King
Bagdemagus had arrived, with eighty helms, both companies set all their
spears in rest and came together with a mighty clash, wherein were slain
twelve knights of King Bagdemagus, and six of the King of Northgales; and
the party of King Bagdemagus was driven back.

With that, came Sir Lancelot, and thrust into the thickest of the press, and
smote down with one spear five knights, and brake the backs of four, and
cast down the King of Northgales, and brake his thigh by the fall. When the
three knights of Arthur's court saw this, they rode at Sir Lancelot, and each
after other attacked him; but he overthrew them all, and smote them nigh to
death. Then, taking a new spear, he bore down to the ground sixteen more
knights, and hurt them all so sorely, that they could carry arms no more that
day. And when his spear at length was broken, he took yet another, and
smote down twelve knights more, the most of whom he wounded mortally,
till in the end the party of the King of Northgales would joust no more, and
the victory was cried to King Bagdemagus.
Then Sir Lancelot rode forth with King Bagdemagus to his castle, and there
he feasted with great cheer and welcome, and received many royal gifts.
And on the morrow he took leave and went to find his brother Lionel.
Anon, by chance, he came to the same forest where the four queens had
found him sleeping, and there he met a damsel riding on a white palfrey.
When they had saluted each other, Sir Lancelot said, "Fair damsel, knowest
thou where any adventures may be had in this country?"
"Sir knight," said she, "there are adventures great enough close by if thou
darest prove them."
"Why should I not," said he, "since for that cause I came here?"
"Sir," said the damsel, "hard by this place there dwelleth a knight that
cannot be defeated by any man, so great and perilously strong he is. His
name is Sir Turquine, and in the prisons of his castle lie three score knights
and four, mostly from King Arthur's court, whom he hath taken with his
own hands. But promise me, ere thou undertakest their deliverance, to go
and help me afterwards, and free me and many other ladies that are
distressed by a false knight."
"Bring me but to this felon Turquine," quoth Sir Lancelot, "and I will
afterwards fulfill all your wishes."
So the damsel went before, and brought him to a ford, and a tree whereon a
great brass basin hung; and Sir Lancelot beat with his spear-end upon the
basin, long and hard, until he beat the bottom of it out, but he saw nothing.

Then he rode to and fro before the castle gates for wellnigh half an hour,
and anon saw a great knight riding from the distance, driving a horse before
him, across which hung an armed man bound. And when they came near,
Sir Lancelot knew the prisoner for a knight of the Round Table. By that
time, the great knight who drove the prisoner saw Sir Lancelot, and each of
them began to settle his spear, and to make ready.
"Fair sir," then said Sir Lancelot, "put off that wounded knight, I pray thee,
from his horse, and let him rest while thou and I shall prove our strength
upon each other; for, as I am told, thou doest, and hast done, great shame
and injury to knights of the Round Table. Wherefore, I warn thee now,
defend thyself."
"If thou mayest be of the Round Table," answered Turquine, "I defy thee,
and all thy fellows."
"That is saying overmuch," said Sir Lancelot.
Then, setting their lances in rest, they spurred their horses towards each
other, as fast as they could go, and smote so fearfully upon each other's
shields, that both their horses' backs brake under them. As soon as they
could clear their saddles, they took their shields before them, and drew their
swords, and came together eagerly, and fought with great and grievous
strokes; and soon they both had many grim and fearful wounds, and bled in
streams. Thus they fought two hours and more, thrusting and smiting at
each other, wherever they could hit.
Anon, they both were breathless, and stood leaning on their swords.
"Now, comrade," said Sir Turquine, "let us wait awhile, and answer me
what I shall ask thee."
"Say on," said Lancelot.
"Thou art," said Turquine, "the best man I ever met, and seemest like one
that I hate above all other knights that live; but if thou be not he, I will
make peace with thee, and for sake of thy great valor, will deliver all the
three score prisoners and four who lie within my dungeons, and thou and I
will be companions evermore. Tell me, then, thy name."

"Thou sayest well," replied Sir Lancelot; "but who is he thou hatest so
above all others?"
"His name," said Turquine, "is Sir Lancelot of the Lake; and he slew my
brother Sir Carados, at the dolorous tower; wherefore, if ever I shall meet
with him, one of us two shall slay the other; and thereto I have sworn by a
great oath. And to discover and destroy him I have slain a hundred knights,
and crippled utterly as many more, and many have died in my prisons; and
now, as I have told thee, I have many more therein, who all shall be
delivered, if thou tell me thy name, and it be not Sir Lancelot."
"Well," said Lancelot, "I am that knight, son of King Ban of Benwick, and
Knight of the Round Table; so now I defy thee to do thy best!"
"Aha!" said Turquine, with a shout, "is it then so at last! Thou art more
welcome to my sword than ever knight or lady was to feast, for never shall
we part till one of us be dead."
Then did they hurtle together like two wild bulls, slashing and lashing with
their shields and swords, and sometimes falling both on to the ground. For
two more hours they fought so, and at the last Sir Turquine grew very faint,
and gave a little back, and bare his shield full low for weariness. When Sir
Lancelot saw him thus, he leaped upon him fiercely as a lion, and took him
by the crest of his helmet, and dragged him to his knees; and then he tore
his helmet off and smote his neck asunder.
Then he arose, and went to the damsel who had brought him to Sir
Turquine, and said, "I am ready, fair lady, to go with thee upon thy service,
but I have no horse."
"Fair sir," said she, "take ye this horse of the wounded knight whom
Turquine but just now was carrying to his prisons, and send that knight on
to deliver all the prisoners."
So Sir Lancelot went to the knight and prayed him for the loan of his horse.
"Fair lord," said he, "ye are right welcome, for to-day ye have saved both
me and my horse; and I see that ye are the best knight in all the world, for in
my sight have ye slain the mightiest man and the best knight, except thyself,
I ever saw."

"Sir," said Sir Lancelot, "I thank thee well; and now go into yonder castle,
where thou shalt find many noble knights of the Round Table, for I have
seen their shields hung on the trees around. On yonder tree alone there are
Sir Key's, Sir Brandel's, Sir Marhaus', Sir Galind's, and Sir Aliduke's, and
many more; and also my two kinsmen's shields, Sir Ector de Maris' and Sir
Lionel's. And I pray you greet them all from me, Sir Lancelot of the Lake,
and tell them that I bid them help themselves to any treasures they can find
within the castle; and that I pray my brethren, Lionel and Ector, to go to
King Arthur's court and stay there till I come. And by the high feast at
Pentecost I must be there; but now I must ride forth with this damsel to
fulfill my promise."
So, as they went, the damsel told him, "Sir, we are now near the place
where the foul knight haunteth, who robbeth and distresseth all ladies and
gentlewomen traveling past this way, against whom I have sought thy aid."
Then they arranged that she should ride on foremost, and Sir Lancelot
should follow under cover of the trees by the roadside, and if he saw her
come to any mishap, he should ride forth and deal with him that troubled
her. And as the damsel rode on at a soft ambling pace, a knight and page
burst forth from the roadside and forced the damsel from her horse, till she
cried out for help.
Then came Sir Lancelot rushing through the wood as fast as he might fly,
and all the branches of the trees crackled and waved around him. "O thou
false knight and traitor to all knighthood!" shouted he, "who taught thee to
distress fair ladies thus?"
The foul knight answered nothing, but drew out his sword and rode at Sir
Lancelot, who threw his spear away and drew his own sword likewise, and
struck him such a mighty blow as clave his head down to the throat. "Now
hast thou the wages thou long hast earned!" said he; and so departed from
the damsel.
Then for two days he rode in a great forest, and had but scanty food and
lodging, and on the third day he rode over a long bridge, when suddenly
there started up a passing foul churl, and smote his horse across the nose, so
that he started and turned back, rearing with pain. "Why ridest thou over
here without my leave?" said he.

"Why should I not?" said Sir Lancelot; "there is no other way to ride."
"Thou shalt not pass by here," cried out the churl, and dashed at him with a
great club full of iron spikes, till Sir Lancelot was fain to draw his sword
and smite him dead upon the earth.
At the end of the bridge was a fair village, and all the people came and
cried, "Ah, sir! a worse deed for thyself thou never didst, for thou hast slain
the chief porter of the castle yonder!" But he let them talk as they pleased,
and rode straight forward to the castle.
There he alighted, and tied his horse to a ring in the wall; and going in, he
saw a wide green court, and thought it seemed a noble place to fight in. And
as he looked about, he saw many people watching him from doors and
windows, making signs of warning, and saying, "Fair knight, thou art
unhappy." In the next moment came upon him two great giants, well armed
save their heads, and with two horrible clubs in their hands. Then he put his
shield before him, and with it warded off one giant's stroke, and clove the
other with his sword from the head downward to the chest. When the first
giant saw that, he ran away mad with fear; but Sir Lancelot ran after him,
and smote him through the shoulder, and shore him down his back, so that
he fell dead.
Then he walked onward to the castle hall, and saw a band of sixty ladies
and young damsels coming forth, who knelt to him, and thanked him for
their freedom. "For, sir," said they, "the most of us have been prisoners here
these seven years; and have been kept at all manner of work to earn our
meat, though we be all great gentlewomen born. Blessed be the time that
thou wast born, for never did a knight a deed of greater worship than thou
hast this day, and thereto will we all bear witness in all times and places!
Tell us, therefore, noble knight, thy name and court, that we may tell them
to our friends!" And when they heard it, they all cried aloud, "Well may it
be so, for we knew that no knight save thou shouldst ever overcome those
giants; and many a long day have we sighed for thee; for the giants feared
no other name among all knights but thine."
Then he told them to take the treasures of the castle as a reward for their
grievances; and to return to their homes, and so rode away into many
strange and wild countries. And at last, after many days, by chance he came,

near the night time, to a fair mansion, wherein he found an old
gentlewoman, who gave him and his horse good cheer. And when bed time
was come, his host brought him to a chamber over a gate, and there he
unarmed, and went to bed and fell asleep.
But soon thereafter came one riding in great haste, and knocking
vehemently at the gate below, which when Sir Lancelot heard, he rose and
looked out of the window, and, by the moonlight, saw three knights come
riding fiercely after one man, and lashing on him all at once with their
swords, while the one knight nobly fought them all.
Then Sir Lancelot quickly armed himself, and getting through the window,
let himself down by a sheet into the midst of them, crying out, "Turn ye on
me, ye cowards, and leave fighting with that knight!" Then they all left Sir
Key, for the first knight was he, and began to fall upon Sir Lancelot
furiously. And when Sir Key would have come forward to assist him, Sir
Lancelot refused, and cried, "Leave me alone to deal with them." And
presently, with six great strokes, he felled them all.
Then they cried out, "Sir knight, we yield us unto thee, as to a man of
might!"
"I will not take your yielding!" said he; "yield ye to Sir Key, the seneschal,
or I will have your lives."
"Fair knight," said they, "excuse us in that thing, for we have chased Sir
Key thus far, and should have overcome him but for thee."
"Well," said Sir Lancelot, "do as ye will, for ye may live or die; but, if ye
live, ye shall be holden to Sir Key."
Then they yielded to him; and Sir Lancelot commanded them to go unto
King Arthur's court at the next Pentecost, and say, Sir Key had sent them
prisoners to Queen Guinevere. And this they sware to do upon their swords.
Then Sir Lancelot knocked at the gate with his sword-hilt till his hostess
came and let him in again, and Sir Key also. And when the light came, Sir
Key knew Sir Lancelot, and knelt and thanked him for his courtesy, and
gentleness, and kindness. "Sir," said he, "I have done no more than what I
ought to do, and ye are welcome; therefore let us now take rest."

So when Sir Key had supped, they went to sleep, and Sir Lancelot and he
slept in the same bed. On the morrow, Sir Lancelot rose early, and took Sir
Key's shield and armor and set forth. When Sir Key arose, he found Sir
Lancelot's armor by his bedside, and his own arms gone. "Now, by my
faith," thought he, "I know that he will grieve some knights of our king's
court; for those who meet him will be bold to joust with him, mistaking him
for me, while I, dressed in his shield and armor, shall surely ride in peace."
Then Sir Lancelot, dressed in Sir Key's apparel, rode long in a great forest,
and came at last to a low country, full of rivers and fair meadows, and saw a
bridge before him, whereon were three silk tents of divers colors, and to
each tent was hung a white shield, and by each shield stood a knight. So Sir
Lancelot went by without speaking a word. And when he had passed, the
three knights said it was the proud Sir Key, "who thinketh no knight equal
to himself, although the contrary is full often proved upon him."
"By my faith!" said one of them, named Gaunter, "I will ride after and
attack him for all his pride, and ye shall watch my speed."
Then, taking shield and spear, he mounted and rode after Sir Lancelot, and
cried, "Abide, proud knight, and turn, for thou shalt not pass free!"
So Sir Lancelot turned, and each one put his spear in rest and came with all
his might against the other. And Sir Gaunter's spear brake short, but Sir
Lancelot smote him down, both horse and man.
When the other knights saw this, they said, "Yonder is not Sir Key, but a
bigger man."
"I dare wager my head," said Sir Gilmere, "yonder knight hath slain Sir
Key, and taken his horse and harness."
"Be it so, or not," said Sir Reynold, the third brother; "let us now go to our
brother Gaunter's rescue; we shall have enough to do to match that knight,
for, by his stature, I believe it is Sir Lancelot or Sir Tristram."
Anon, they took their horses and galloped after Sir Lancelot; and Sir
Gilmere first assailed him, but was smitten down forthwith, and lay stunned
on the earth. Then said Sir Reynold, "Sir knight, thou art a strong man, and,
I believe, hast slain my two brothers, wherefore my heart is sore against

thee; yet, if I might with honor, I would avoid thee. Nevertheless, that
cannot be, so keep thyself." And so they hurtled together with all their
might, and each man shivered his spear to pieces; and then they drew their
swords and lashed out eagerly.
And as they fought, Sir Gaunter and Sir Gilmere presently arose and
mounted once again, and came down at full tilt upon Sir Lancelot. But,
when he saw them coming, he put forth all his strength, and struck Sir
Reynold off his horse. Then, with two other strokes, he served the others
likewise.
Anon, Sir Reynold crept along the ground, with his head all bloody, and
came towards Sir Lancelot. "It is enough," said Lancelot, "I was not far
from thee when thou wast made a knight, Sir Reynold, and know thee for a
good and valiant man, and was full loth to slay thee."
"Gramercy for thy gentleness!" said Sir Reynold. "I and my brethren will
straightway yield to thee when we know thy name, for well we know that
thou art not Sir Key."
"As for that," said Sir Lancelot, "be it as it may, but ye shall yield to Queen
Guinevere at the next Feast of Pentecost as prisoners, and say that Sir Key
sent ye."
Then they swore to him it should be done as he commanded. And so Sir
Lancelot passed on, and the three brethren helped each other's wounds as
best they might.
Then rode Sir Lancelot forward into a deep forest, and came upon four
knights of King Arthur's court, under an oak tree—Sir Sagramour, Sir Ector,
Sir Gawain, and Sir Ewaine. And when they spied him, they thought he was
Sir Key. "Now by my faith," said Sir Sagramour, "I will prove Sir Key's
might!" and taking his spear he rode towards Sir Lancelot.
But Sir Lancelot was aware of him, and, setting his spear in rest, smote him
so sorely, that horse and man fell to the earth.
"Lo!" cried Sir Ector, "I see by the buffet that knight hath given our fellow
he is stronger than Sir Key. Now will I try what I can do against him!" So
Sir Ector took his spear, and galloped at Sir Lancelot; and Sir Lancelot met

him as he came, and smote him through shield and shoulder, so that he fell,
but his own spear was not broken.
"By my faith," cried Sir Ewaine, "yonder is a strong knight, and must have
slain Sir Key, and taken his armor! By his strength, I see it will be hard to
match him." So saying he rode towards Sir Lancelot, who met him halfway
and struck him so fiercely, that at one blow he overthrew him also.
"Now," said Sir Gawain, "will I encounter him." So he took a good spear in
his hand, and guarded himself with his shield. And he and Sir Lancelot rode
against each other, with their horses at full speed, and furiously smote each
other on the middle of their shields; but Sir Gawain's spear broke short
asunder, and Sir Lancelot charged so mightily upon him, that his horse and
he both fell, and rolled upon the ground.
"Ah," said Sir Lancelot, smiling, as he rode away from the four knights,
"heaven give joy to him who made this spear, for never held I better in my
hand."
But the four knights said to each other, "Truly one spear hath felled us all."
"I dare lay my life," said Sir Gawain, "it is Sir Lancelot. I know him by his
riding."
So they all departed for the court.
And as Sir Lancelot rode still in the forest, he saw a black bloodhound,
running with its head towards the ground, as if it tracked a deer. And
following after it, he came to a great pool of blood. But the hound, ever and
anon looking behind, ran through a great marsh, and over a bridge, towards
an old manor house. So Sir Lancelot followed, and went into the hall, and
saw a dead knight lying there, whose wounds the hound licked. And a lady
stood behind him, weeping and wringing her hands, who cried, "O knight!
too great is the sorrow which thou hast brought me!"
"Why say ye so?" replied Sir Lancelot; "for I never harmed this knight, and
am full sorely grieved to see thy sorrow."
"Nay, sir," said the lady, "I see it is not thou hast slain my husband, for he
that truly did that deed is deeply wounded, and shall never more recover."

"What is thy husband's name?" said Sir Lancelot.
"His name," she answered, "was Sir Gilbert—one of the best knights in all
the world; but I know not his name who hath slain him."
"God send thee comfort," said Sir Lancelot, and departed again into the
forest.
And as he rode, he met with a damsel who knew him, who cried out, "Well
found, my lord! I pray ye of your knighthood help my brother, who is sore
wounded and ceases not to bleed, for he fought this day with Sir Gilbert,
and slew him, but was himself well nigh slain. And there is a sorceress, who
dwelleth in a castle hard by, and she this day hath told me that my brother's
wound shall never be made whole until I find a knight to go into the Chapel
Perilous, and bring from thence a sword and the bloody cloth in which the
wounded knight was wrapped."
"This is a marvelous thing!" said Sir Lancelot; "but what is your brother's
name?"
"His name, sir," she replied, "is Sir Meliot de Logres."
"He is a Fellow of the Round Table," said Sir Lancelot, "and truly will I do
my best to help him."
"Then, sir," said she, "follow this way, and it will bring ye to the Chapel
Perilous. I will abide here till God send ye hither again; for if ye speed not,
there is no living knight who may achieve that adventure."
So Sir Lancelot departed, and when he came to the Chapel Perilous he
alighted, and tied his horse to the gate. And as soon as he was within the
churchyard, he saw on the front of the chapel many shields of knights
whom he had known, turned upside down. Then saw he in the pathway
thirty mighty knights, taller than any men whom he had ever seen, all armed
in black armor, with their swords drawn; and they gnashed their teeth upon
him as he came. But he put his shield before him, and took his sword in
hand, ready to do battle with them. And when he would have cut his way
through them, they scattered on every side and let him pass. Then he went
into the chapel, and saw therein no light but of a dim lamp burning. Then he
was aware of a corpse in the midst of the chapel, covered with a silken

cloth, and so stooped down and cut off a piece of the cloth, whereat the
earth beneath him trembled. Then saw he a sword lying by the dead knight,
and taking it in his hand, he hied him from the chapel. As soon as he was in
the churchyard again, all the thirty knights cried out to him with fierce
voices, "Sir Lancelot! lay that sword from thee, or thou diest!"
"Whether I live or die," said he, "ye shall fight for it ere ye take it from me."
With that they let him pass.
And further on, beyond the chapel, he met a fair damsel, who said, "Sir
Lancelot, leave that sword behind thee, or thou diest."
"I will not leave it," said Sir Lancelot, "for any asking."
"Then, gentle knight," said the damsel, "I pray thee kiss me once."
"Nay," said Sir Lancelot, "that God forbid!"
"Alas!" cried she, "I have lost all my labor! but hadst thou kissed me, thy
life's days had been all done!"
"Heaven save me from thy subtle crafts!" said Sir Lancelot; and therewith
took his horse and galloped forth.
And when he was departed, the damsel sorrowed greatly, and died in fifteen
days. Her name was Ellawes, the sorceress.
Then came Sir Lancelot to Sir Meliot's sister, who, when she saw him,
clapped her hands and wept for joy, and took him to the castle hard by,
where Sir Meliot was. And when Sir Lancelot saw Sir Meliot, he knew him,
though he was pale as ashes for loss of blood. And Sir Meliot, when he saw
Sir Lancelot, kneeled to him and cried aloud, "O lord, Sir Lancelot! help
me!"
And thereupon, Sir Lancelot went to him and touched his wounds with the
sword, and wiped them with the piece of bloody cloth. And immediately he
was as whole as though he had been never wounded. Then was there great
joy between him and Sir Meliot; and his sister made Sir Lancelot good
cheer. So on the morrow, he took his leave, that he might go to King

Arthur's court, "for," said he, "it draweth nigh the Feast of Pentecost, and
there, by God's grace, shall ye then find me."
And riding through many strange countries, over marshes and valleys, he
came at length before a castle. As he passed by he heard two little bells
ringing, and looking up, he saw a falcon flying overhead, with bells tied to
her feet, and long strings dangling from them. And as the falcon flew past
an elm-tree, the strings caught in the boughs, so that she could fly no
further.
In the meanwhile, came a lady from the castle, and cried, "Oh, Sir Lancelot!
as thou art the flower of all knights in the world, help me to get my hawk,
for she hath slipped away from me, and if she be lost, my lord my husband
is so hasty, he will surely slay me!"
"What is thy lord's name?" said Sir Lancelot.
"His name," said she, "is Sir Phelot, a knight of the King of Northgales."
"Fair lady," said Sir Lancelot, "since you know my name, and require me,
on my knighthood, to help you, I will do what I can to get your hawk."
And thereupon alighting, he tied his horse to the same tree, and prayed the
lady to unarm him. So when he was unarmed, he climbed up and reached
the falcon, and threw it to the lady.
Then suddenly came down, out of the wood, her husband, Sir Phelot, all
armed, with a drawn sword in his hand, and said, "Oh, Sir Lancelot! now
have I found thee as I would have thee!" and stood at the trunk of the tree to
slay him.
"Ah, lady!" cried Sir Lancelot, "why have ye betrayed me?"
"She hath done as I commanded her," said Sir Phelot, "and thine hour is
come that thou must die."
"It were shame," said Lancelot, "for an armed to slay an unarmed man."
"Thou hast no other favor from me," said Sir Phelot.

"Alas!" cried Sir Lancelot, "that ever any knight should die weaponless!"
And looking overhead, he saw a great bough without leaves, and wrenched
it off the tree, and suddenly leaped down. Then Sir Phelot struck at him
eagerly, thinking to have slain him, but Sir Lancelot put aside the stroke
with the bough, and therewith smote him on the side of the head, till he fell
swooning to the ground. And tearing his sword from out his hands, he shore
his neck through from the body. Then did the lady shriek dismally, and
swooned as though she would die. But Sir Lancelot put on his armor, and
with haste took his horse and departed thence, thanking God he had escaped
that peril.
And as he rode through a valley, among many wild ways, he saw a knight,
with a drawn sword, chasing a lady to slay her. And seeing Sir Lancelot, she
cried and prayed to him to come and rescue her.
At that he went up, saying, "Fie on thee, knight! why wilt thou slay this
lady? Thou doest shame to thyself and all knights."
"What hast thou to do between me and my wife?" replied the knight. "I will
slay her in spite of thee."
"Thou shalt not harm her," said Lancelot, "till we have first fought
together."
"Sir," answered the knight, "thou doest ill, for this lady hath betrayed me."
"He speaketh falsely," said the lady, "for he is jealous of me without cause,
as I shall answer before Heaven; but as thou art named the most worshipful
knight in the world, I pray thee of thy true knighthood to save me, for he is
without mercy."
"Be of good cheer," said Sir Lancelot; "it shall not lie within his power to
harm thee."
"Sir," said the knight, "I will be ruled as ye will have me."
So Sir Lancelot rode between the knight and the lady. And when they had
ridden awhile, the knight cried out suddenly to Sir Lancelot to turn and see
what men they were who came riding after them; and while Sir Lancelot,

thinking not of treason, turned to look, the knight, with one great stroke,
smote off the lady's head.
Then was Sir Lancelot passing wroth, and cried, "Thou traitor! Thou hast
shamed me forever!" and, alighting from his horse, he drew his sword to
have slain him instantly; but the knight fell on the ground and clasped Sir
Lancelot's knees, and cried out for mercy. "Thou shameful knight,"
answered Lancelot, "thou mayest have no mercy, for thou showedst none,
therefore arise and fight with me."
"Nay," said the knight, "I will not rise till thou dost grant me mercy."
"Now will I deal fairly by thee," said Sir Lancelot; "I will unarm me to my
shirt, and have my sword only in my hand, and if thou canst slay me thou
shalt be quit forever."
"That will I never do," said the knight.
"Then," answered Sir Lancelot, "take this lady and the head, and bear it
with thee, and swear to me upon thy sword never to rest until thou comest
to Queen Guinevere."
"That will I do," said he.
"Now," said Sir Lancelot, "tell me thy name."
"It is Pedivere," answered the knight.
"In a shameful hour wert thou born," said Sir Lancelot.
So Sir Pedivere departed, bearing with him the dead lady and her head. And
when he came to Winchester, where the Queen was with King Arthur, he
told them all the truth; and afterwards did great and heavy penance many
years, and became an holy hermit.
So, two days before the Feast of Pentecost, Sir Lancelot returned to the
court, and King Arthur was full glad of his coming. And when Sir Gawain,
Sir Ewaine, Sir Sagramour, and Sir Ector, saw him in Sir Key's armor, they
knew well it was he who had smitten them all down with one spear. Anon,
came all the knights Sir Turquine had taken prisoners, and gave worship
and honor to Sir Lancelot. Then Sir Key told the King how Sir Lancelot had

rescued him when he was in near danger of his death; "and," said Sir Key,
"he made the knights yield, not to himself, but me. And by Heaven! because
Sir Lancelot took my armor and left me his, I rode in peace, and no man
would have aught to do with me." Then came the knights who fought with
Sir Lancelot at the long bridge and yielded themselves also to Sir Key, but
he said nay, he had not fought with them. "It is Sir Lancelot," said he, "that
overcame ye." Next came Sir Meliot de Logres, and told King Arthur how
Sir Lancelot had saved him from death.
And so all Sir Lancelot's deeds and great adventures were made known;
how the four sorceress-queens had him in prison; how he was delivered by
the daughter of King Bagdemagus, and what deeds of arms he did at the
tournament between the King of North Wales and King Bagdemagus. And
so, at that festival, Sir Lancelot had the greatest name of any knight in all
the world, and by high and low was he the most honored of all men.

XI
THE ADVENTURES OF SIR BEAUMAINS OR SIR
GARETH

Again King Arthur held the Feast of Pentecost, with all the Table Round,
and after his custom sat in the banquet hall, before beginning meat, waiting
for some adventure. Then came there to the king a squire and said, "Lord,
now may ye go to meat, for here a damsel cometh with some strange
adventure." So the king was glad, and sat down to meat.
Anon the damsel came in and saluted him, praying him for succor. "What
wilt thou?" said the king. "Lord," answered she, "my mistress is a lady of
great renown, but is at this time besieged by a tyrant, who will not suffer
her to go out of her castle; and because here in thy court the knights are
called the noblest in the world, I come to pray thee for thy succor." "Where
dwelleth your lady?" answered the king. "What is her name, and who is he
that hath besieged her?" "For her name," replied the damsel, "as yet I may
not tell it; but she is a lady of worship and great lands. The tyrant that
besiegeth her and wasteth her lands is called the Red Knight of the
Redlands." "I know him not," said Arthur. "But I know him, lord," said Sir
Gawain, "and he is one of the most perilous knights in all the world. Men
say he hath the strength of seven; and from him I myself once hardly
escaped with life." "Fair damsel," said the king, "there be here many
knights that would gladly do their uttermost to rescue your lady, but unless
ye tell me her name, and where she dwelleth, none of my knights shall go
with you by my leave."
Now, there was a stripling at the court called Beaumains, who served in the
king's kitchen, a fair youth and of great stature. Twelve months before this
time he had come to the king as he sat at meat, at Whitsuntide, and prayed
three gifts of him. And being asked what gifts, he answered, "As for the
first gift I will ask it now, but the other two gifts I will ask on this day
twelve months, wheresoever ye hold your high feast." Then said King
Arthur, "What is thy first request?" "This, lord," said he, "that thou wilt give

me meat and drink enough for twelve months from this time, and then will I
ask my other two gifts." And the king seeing that he was a goodly youth,
and deeming that he was come of honorable blood, had granted his desire,
and given him into the charge of Sir Key, the steward. But Sir Key scorned
and mocked the youth, calling Beaumains, because his hands were large
and fair, and putting him into the kitchen, where he had served for twelve
months as a scullion, and, in spite of all his churlish treatment, had
faithfully obeyed Sir Key. But Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain were angered
when they saw Sir Key so churlish to a youth that had so worshipful a
bearing, and ofttimes had they given him gold and clothing.
And now at this time came young Beaumains to the king, while the damsel
was there, and said, "Lord, now I thank thee well and heartily that I have
been twelve months kept in thy kitchen, and have had full sustenance. Now
will I ask my two remaining gifts." "Ask," said King Arthur, "on my good
faith." "These, lord," said he, "shall be my two gifts—the one, that thou wilt
grant me this adventure of the damsel, for to me of right it belongeth; and
the other, that thou wilt bid Sir Lancelot make me a knight, for of him only
will I have that honor; and I pray that he may ride after me and make me a
knight when I require him." "Be it as thou wilt," replied the king. But
thereupon the damsel was full wroth, and said, "Shall I have a kitchen page
for this adventure?" and so she took horse and departed.
Then came one to Beaumains, and told him that a dwarf with a horse and
armor were waiting for him. And all men marveled whence these things
came. But when he was on horseback and armed, scarce any one at the
court was a goodlier man than he. And coming into the hall, he took his
leave of the king and Sir Gawain, and prayed Sir Lancelot to follow him. So
he rode after the damsel, and many of the court went out to see him, so
richly arrayed and horsed; yet he had neither shield nor spear. Then Sir Key
cried, "I also will ride after the kitchen boy, and see whether he will obey
me now." And taking his horse, he rode after him, and said, "Know ye not
me, Beaumains?" "Yea," said he, "I know thee for an ungentle knight,
therefore beware of me." Then Sir Key put his spear in rest and ran at him,
but Beaumains rushed upon him with his sword in his hand, and therewith,
putting aside the spear, struck Sir Key so sorely in the side, that he fell
down, as if dead. Then he alighted, and took his shield and spear, and bade
his dwarf ride upon Sir Key's horse.

By this time, Sir Lancelot had come up, and Beaumains offering to tilt with
him, they both made ready. And their horses came together so fiercely that
both fell to the earth, full sorely bruised. Then they arose, and Beaumains,
putting up his shield before him, offered to fight Sir Lancelot, on foot. So
they rushed upon each other, striking, and thrusting, and parrying, for the
space of an hour. And Lancelot marveled at the strength of Beaumains, for
he fought more like a giant than a man, and his fighting was passing fierce
and terrible. So, at the last, he said, "Fight not so sorely, Beaumains; our
quarrel is not such that we may not now cease." "True," answered
Beaumains; "yet it doth me good to feel thy might, though I have not yet
proved my uttermost." "By my faith," said Lancelot, "I had as much as I
could do to save myself from you unshamed, therefore be in no doubt of
any earthly knight." "May I, then, stand as a proved knight?" said
Beaumains. "For that will I be thy warrant," answered Lancelot. "Then, I
pray thee," said he, "give me the order of knighthood." "First, then, must
thou tell me of thy name and kindred," said Sir Lancelot. "If thou wilt tell
them to no other, I will tell thee," answered he. "My name is Gareth of
Orkney, and I am own brother to Sir Gawain." "Ah!" said Sir Lancelot, "at
that am I full glad; for, truly, I deemed thee to be of gentle blood." So then
he knighted Beaumains, and, after that, they parted company, and Sir
Lancelot, returning to the court, took up Sir Key on his shield. And hardly
did Sir Key escape with his life, from the wound Beaumains had given him;
but all men blamed him for his ungentle treatment of so brave a knight.
Then Sir Beaumains rode forward, and soon overtook the damsel; but she
said to him, in scorn, "Return again, base kitchen page! What art thou, but a
washer-up of dishes!" "Damsel," said he, "say to me what thou wilt, I will
not leave thee; for I have undertaken to King Arthur to relieve thy
adventure, and I will finish it to the end, or die." "Thou finish my
adventure!" said she—"anon, thou shalt meet one, whose face thou wilt not
even dare to look at." "I shall attempt it," answered he. So, as they rode
thus, into a wood, there met them a man, fleeing, as for his life. "Whither
fleest thou?" said Sir Beaumains. "O lord!" he answered, "help me; for, in a
valley hard by, there are six thieves, who have taken my lord, and bound
him, and I fear will slay him." "Bring me thither," said Sir Beaumains. So
they rode to the place, and Sir Beaumains rushed after the thieves, and
smote one, at the first stroke, so that he died; and then, with two other

blows, slew a second and third. Then fled the other three, and Sir
Beaumains rode after them, and overtook and slew them all. Then he
returned and unbound the knight. And the knight thanked him, and prayed
him to ride to his castle, where he would reward him. "Sir," answered Sir
Beaumains, "I will have no reward of thee, for but this day was I made
knight by the most noble Sir Lancelot; and besides, I must go with this
damsel." Then the knight begged the damsel to rest that night at his castle.
So they all rode thither, and ever the damsel scoffed at Sir Beaumains as a
kitchen boy, and laughed at him before the knight their host, so that he set
his meat before him at a lower table, as though he were not of their
company.
And on the morrow, the damsel and Sir Beaumains took their leave of the
knight, and thanking him departed. Then they rode on their way till they
came to a great forest, through which flowed a river, and there was but one
passage over it, whereat stood two knights armed to hinder the way. "Wilt
thou match those two knights," said the damsel to Sir Beaumains, "or return
again?" "I would not return," said he, "though they were six." Therewith he
galloped into the water, and swam his horse into the middle of the stream.
And there, in the river, one of the knights met him, and they brake their
spears together, and then drew their swords, and smote fiercely at each
other. And at the last, Sir Beaumains struck the other mightily upon the
helm, so that he fell down stunned into the water, and was drowned. Then
Sir Beaumains spurred his horse on to the land, where instantly the other
knight fell on him. And they also brake their spears upon each other, and
then drew their swords, and fought savagely and long together. And after
many blows, Sir Beaumains clove through the knight's skull down to the
shoulders. Then rode Sir Beaumains to the damsel, but ever she still scoffed
at him, and said, "Alas! that a kitchen page should chance to slay two such
brave knights! Thou deemest now that thou hast done a mighty deed, but it
is not so; for the first knight's horse stumbled, and thus was he drowned—
not by thy strength; and as for the second knight, thou wentest by chance
behind him, and didst kill him shamefully." "Damsel," said Sir Beaumains,
"say what ye list, I care not so I may win your lady; and wouldst thou give
me but fair language, all my care were past; for whatsoever knights I meet,
I fear them not." "Thou shalt see knights that shall abate thy boast, base
kitchen knave," replied she; "yet say I this for thine advantage, for if thou

followest me thou wilt be surely slain, since I see all thou doest is but by
chance, and not by thy own prowess." "Well, damsel," said he, "say what ye
will, wherever ye go I will follow."
So they rode on until the eventide, and still the damsel evermore kept
chiding Sir Beaumains. Then came they to a black space of land, whereon
was a black hawthorn tree, and on the tree there hung a black banner, and
on the other side was a black shield and spear, and by them a great black
horse, covered with silk; and hard by sat a knight armed in black armor,
whose name was the Knight of the Blacklands. When the damsel saw him,
she cried out to Beaumains, "Flee down the valley, for thy horse is not
saddled!" "Wilt thou forever deem me coward?" answered he. With that
came the Black Knight to the damsel, and said, "Fair damsel, hast thou
brought this knight from Arthur's court to be thy champion?" "Not so, fair
knight," said she; "he is but a kitchen knave." "Then wherefore cometh he
in such array?" said he; "it is a shame that he should bear thee company." "I
cannot be delivered from him," answered she: "for in spite of me he rideth
with me; and would to Heaven you would put him from me, or now slay
him, for he hath slain two knights at the river passage yonder, and done
many marvelous deeds through pure mischance." "I marvel," said the Black
Knight, "that any man of worship will fight with him." "They know him
not," said the damsel, "and think, because he rideth with me, that he is well
born." "Truly, he hath a goodly person, and is likely to be a strong man,"
replied the knight; "but since he is no man of worship, he shall leave his
horse and armor with me, for it were a shame for me to do him more harm."
When Sir Beaumains heard him speak thus, he said, "Horse or armor gettest
thou none of me, Sir knight, save thou winnest them with thy hands;
therefore defend thyself, and let me see what thou canst do." "How sayest
thou?" answered the Black Knight. "Now quit this lady also, for it
beseemeth not a kitchen knave like thee to ride with such a lady." "I am of
higher lineage than thou," said Sir Beaumains, "and will straightway prove
it on thy body." Then furiously they drove their horses at each other, and
came together as it had been thunder. But the Black Knight's spear brake
short, and Sir Beaumains thrust him through the side, and his spear
breaking at the head, left its point sticking fast in the Black Knight's body.
Yet did the Black Knight draw his sword, and smite at Sir Beaumains with
many fierce and bitter blows; but after they had fought an hour and more,

he fell down from his horse in a swoon, and forthwith died. Then Sir
Beaumains lighted down and armed himself in the Black Knight's armor,
and rode on after the damsel. But notwithstanding all his valor, still she
scoffed at him, and said, "Away! for thou savorest ever of the kitchen. Alas!
that such a knave should by mishap destroy so good a knight; yet once
again I counsel thee to flee, for hard by is a knight who shall repay thee!"
"It may chance that I am beaten or slain," answered Sir Beaumains, "but I
warn thee, fair damsel, that I will not flee away, nor leave thy company, or
my quest, for all that ye can say."
Anon, as they rode, they saw a knight come swiftly towards them, dressed
all in green, who, calling to the damsel said, "Is that my brother, the Black
Knight, that ye have brought with you?" "Nay, and alas!" said she, "this
kitchen knave hath slain thy brother through mischance." "Alas!" said the
Green Knight, "that such a noble knight as he was should be slain by a
knave's hand. Traitor!" cried he to Sir Beaumains, "thou shalt die for this!
Sir Pereard was my brother, and a full noble knight." "I defy thee," said Sir
Beaumains, "for I slew him knightly and not shamefully." Then the Green
Knight rode to a thorn whereon hung a green horn, and, when he blew three
notes, there came three damsels forth, who quickly armed him, and brought
him a great horse and a green shield and spear. Then did they run at one
another with their fullest might, and break their spears asunder; and,
drawing their swords, they closed in fight, and sorely smote and wounded
each other with many grievous blows.
At last, Sir Beaumains' horse jostled against the Green Knight's horse, and
overthrew him. Then both alighted, and, hurtling together like mad lions,
fought a great while on foot. But the damsel cheered the Green Knight, and
said, "My lord, why wilt thou let a kitchen knave so long stand up against
thee?" Hearing these words, he was ashamed, and gave Sir Beaumains such
a mighty stroke as clave his shield asunder. When Sir Beaumains heard the
damsel's words, and felt that blow, he waxed passing wroth, and gave the
Green Knight such a buffet on the helm that he fell on his knees, and with
another blow Sir Beaumains threw him on the ground. Then the Green
Knight yielded, and prayed him to spare his life. "All thy prayers are vain,"
said he, "unless this damsel who came with me pray for thee." "That will I
never do, base kitchen knave," said she. "Then shall he die," said
Beaumains. "Alas! fair lady," said the Green Knight, "suffer me not to die

for a word! O, Sir knight," cried he to Beaumains, "give me my life, and I
will ever do thee homage; and thirty knights, who owe me service, shall
give allegiance to thee." "All availeth not," answered Sir Beaumains,
"unless the damsel ask me for thy life"; and thereupon he made as though
he would have slain him. Then cried the damsel, "Slay him not; for if thou
do thou shalt repent it." "Damsel," said Sir Beaumains, "at thy command, he
shall obtain his life. Arise, Sir knight of the green armor, I release thee!"
Then the Green Knight knelt at his feet, and did him homage with his
words. "Lodge with me this night," said he, "and to-morrow will I guide ye
through the forest." So, taking their horses, they rode to his castle, which
was hard by.
Yet still did the damsel rebuke and scoff at Sir Beaumains, and would not
suffer him to sit at her table. "I marvel," said the Green Knight to her, "that
ye thus chide so noble a knight, for truly I know none to match him; and be
sure, that whatsoever he appeareth now, he will prove, at the end, of noble
blood and royal lineage." But of all this would the damsel take no heed, and
ceased not to mock at Sir Beaumains. On the morrow, they arose and heard
mass; and when they had broken their fast, took their horses and rode on
their way, the Green Knight conveying them through the forest. Then, when
he had led them for a while, he said to Sir Beaumains, "My lord, my thirty
knights and I shall always be at thy command whensoever thou shalt send
for us." "It is well said," replied he; "and when I call upon you, you shall
yield yourself and all your knights unto King Arthur." "That will we gladly
do," said the Green Knight, and so departed.
And the damsel rode on before Sir Beaumains, and said to him, "Why dost
thou follow me, thou kitchen boy? I counsel thee to throw aside thy spear
and shield, and flee betimes, for wert thou as mighty as Sir Lancelot or Sir
Tristram, thou shouldest not pass a valley near this place, called the Pass
Perilous." "Damsel," answered he, "let him that feareth flee; as for me, it
were indeed a shameful thing to turn after so long a journey." As he spake,
they came upon a tower as white as snow, with mighty battlements, and
double moats round it, and over the tower-gate hung fifty shields of divers
colors. Before the tower walls, they saw a fair meadow, wherein were many
knights and squires in pavilions, for on the morrow there was a tournament
at that castle.

Then the lord of the castle, seeing a knight armed at all points, with a
damsel and a page, riding towards the tower, came forth to meet them; and
his horse and harness, with his shield and spear, were all of a red color.
When he came near Sir Beaumains, and saw his armor all of black, he
thought him his own brother, the Black Knight, and so cried aloud,
"Brother! what do ye here, within these borders?" "Nay!" said the damsel,
"it is not thy brother, but a kitchen knave of Arthur's court, who hath slain
thy brother, and overcome thy other brother also, the Green Knight." "Now
do I defy thee!" cried the Red Knight to Sir Beaumains, and put his spear in
rest and spurred his horse. Then both knights turned back a little space, and
ran together with all their might, till their horses fell to the earth. Then, with
their swords, they fought fiercely for the space of three hours. And at last,
Sir Beaumains overcame his foe, and smote him to the ground. Then the
Red Knight prayed his mercy, and said, "Slay me not, noble knight, and I
will yield to thee with sixty knights that do my bidding." "All avails not,"
answered Sir Beaumains, "save this damsel pray me to release thee." Then
did he lift his sword to slay him; but the damsel cried aloud, "Slay him not,
Beaumains, for he is a noble knight." Then Sir Beaumains bade him rise up
and thank the damsel, which straightway he did, and afterwards invited
them to his castle, and made them goodly cheer.
But notwithstanding all Sir Beaumains' mighty deeds, the damsel ceased
not to revile and chide him, at which the Red Knight marveled much; and
caused his sixty knights to watch Sir Beaumains, that no villainy might
happen to him. And on the morrow, they heard mass and broke their fast,
and the Red Knight came before Sir Beaumains, with his sixty knights, and
proffered him homage and fealty. "I thank thee," answered he; "and when I
call upon thee thou shalt come before my lord King Arthur at his court, and
yield yourselves to him." "That will we surely do," said the Red Knight. So
Sir Beaumains and the damsel departed.
And as she constantly reviled him and tormented him, he said to her,
"Damsel, ye are discourteous thus always to rebuke me, for I have done you
service; and for all your threats of knights that shall destroy me, all they
who come lie in the dust before me. Now, therefore, I pray you rebuke me
no more till you see me beaten or a recreant, and then bid me go from you."
"There shall soon meet thee a knight who shall repay thee all thy deeds,
thou boaster," answered she, "for, save King Arthur, he is the man of most

worship in the world." "It will be the greater honor to encounter him," said
Sir Beaumains.
Soon after, they saw before them a city passing fair, and between them and
the city was a meadow newly mown, wherein were many goodly tents.
"Seest thou yonder blue pavilion?" said the damsel to Sir Beaumains; "it is
Sir Perseant's, the lord of that great city, whose custom is, in all fair
weather, to lie in this meadow, and joust with his knights."
And as she spake, Sir Perseant, who had espied them coming, sent a
messenger to meet Sir Beaumains, and to ask him if he came in war or
peace. "Say to thy lord," he answered, "that I care not whether of the twain
it be." So when the messenger gave this reply, Sir Perseant came out to fight
with Sir Beaumains. And making ready, they rode their steeds against each
other; and when their spears were shivered asunder, they fought with their
swords. And for more than two hours did they hack and hew at each other,
till their shields and hauberks were all dented with many blows, and they
themselves were sorely wounded. And at the last, Sir Beaumains smote Sir
Perseant on the helm, so that he fell groveling on the earth. And when he
unlaced his helm to slay him, the damsel prayed for his life. "That will I
grant gladly," answered Sir Beaumains, "for it were pity such a noble knight
should die." "Gramercy!" said Sir Perseant, "for now I certainly know that it
was thou who slewest my brother, the Black Knight, Sir Pereard; and
overcame my brothers, the Green Knight, Sir Pertolope, and the Red
Knight, Sir Perimones; and since thou hast overcome me also, I will do thee
homage and fealty, and place at thy command one hundred knights to do
thy bidding."
But when the damsel saw Sir Perseant overthrown, she marveled greatly at
the might of Sir Beaumains, and said, "What manner of man may ye be, for
now am I sure that ye be come of noble blood? And truly, never did woman
revile knight as I have done thee, and yet ye have ever courteously borne
with me, which surely never had been were ye not of gentle blood and
lineage."
"Lady," replied Sir Beaumains, "a knight is little worth who may not bear
with a damsel; and so whatsoever ye said to me I took no heed, save only
that at times when your scorn angered me, it made me all the stronger

against those with whom I fought, and thus have ye furthered me in my
battles. But whether I be born of gentle blood or no, I have done you gentle
service, and peradventure will do better still, ere I depart from you."
"Alas!" said she, weeping at his courtesy, "forgive me, fair Sir Beaumains,
all that I have missaid and misdone against you." "With all my heart," said
he; "and since you now speak fairly to me, I am passing glad of heart, and
methinks I have the strength to overcome whatever knights I shall
henceforth encounter."
Then Sir Perseant prayed them to come to his pavilion, and set before them
wines and spices, and made them great cheer. So they rested that night; and
on the morrow, the damsel and Sir Beaumains rose, and heard mass. And
when they had broken their fast, they took their leave of Sir Perseant. "Fair
damsel," said he, "whither lead ye this knight?" "Sir," answered she, "to the
Castle Dangerous, where my sister is besieged by the Knight of the
Redlands." "I know him well," said Sir Perseant, "for the most perilous
knight alive—a man without mercy, and with the strength of seven men.
God save thee, Sir Beaumains, from him! and enable thee to overcome him,
for the Lady Lyones, whom he besiegeth, is as fair a lady as there liveth in
this world." "Thou sayest truth, sir," said the damsel; "for I am her sister;
and men call me Linet, or the Wild Maiden." "Now, I would have thee
know," said Sir Perseant to Sir Beaumains, "that the Knight of the Redlands
hath kept that siege more than two years, and prolongeth the time hoping
that Sir Lancelot, or Sir Tristram, or Sir Lamoracke, may come and battle
with him; for these three knights divide between them all knighthood; and
thou if thou mayest match the Knight of the Redlands, shalt well be called
the fourth knight of the world." "Sir," said Sir Beaumains, "I would fain
have that good fame; and truly, I am come of great and honorable lineage.
And so that you and this fair damsel will conceal it, I will tell ye my
descent." And when they swore to keep it secret, he told them, "My name is
Sir Gareth of Orkney, my father was King Lot, and my mother the Lady
Belisent, King Arthur's sister. Sir Gawain, Sir Agravain, and Sir Gaheris,
are my brethren, and I am the youngest of them all. But, as yet King Arthur
and the court know me not, who I am." When he had thus told them, they
both wondered greatly.

And the damsel Linet sent the dwarf forward to her sister, to tell her of their
coming. Then did Dame Lyones inquire what manner of man the knight was
who was coming to her rescue. And the dwarf told her of all Sir Beaumains'
deeds by the way: how he had overthrown Sir Key, and left him for dead;
how he had battled with Sir Lancelot, and was knighted of him; how he had
fought with, and slain, the thieves; how he had overcome the two knights
who kept the river passage; how he had fought with, and slain, the Black
Knight; and how he had overcome the Green Knight, the Red Knight, and
last of all, the Blue Knight, Sir Perseant. Then was Dame Lyones passing
glad, and sent the dwarf back to Sir Beaumains with great gifts, thanking
him for his courtesy, in taking such a labor on him for her sake, and praying
him to be of good heart and courage. And as the dwarf returned, he met the
Knight of the Redlands, who asked him whence he came. "I came here with
the sister of my lady of the castle," said the dwarf, "who hath been now to
King Arthur's court and brought a knight with her to take her battle on him."
"Then is her travail lost," replied the knight; "for, though she had brought
Sir Lancelot, Sir Tristram, Sir Lamoracke, or Sir Gawain, I count myself
their equal, and who besides shall be so called?" Then the dwarf told the
knight what deeds Sir Beaumains had done; but he answered, "I care not for
him, whosoever he be, for I shall shortly overcome him, and give him
shameful death, as to so many others I have done."
Then the damsel Linet and Sir Beaumains left Sir Perseant, and rode on
through a forest to a large plain, where they saw many pavilions, and hard
by, a castle passing fair.
But as they came near Sir Beaumains saw upon the branches of some trees
which grew there, the dead bodies of forty knights hanging, with rich armor
on them, their shields and swords about their necks, and golden spurs upon
their heels. "What meaneth this?" said he, amazed. "Lose not thy courage,
fair sir," replied the damsel, "at this shameful sight, for all these knights
came hither to rescue my sister; and when the Knight of the Redlands had
overcome them, he put them to this piteous death, without mercy; and in
such wise will he treat thee also unless thou bearest thee more valiantly than
they." "Truly he useth shameful customs," said Sir Beaumains; "and it is a
marvel that he hath endured so long."

So they rode onward to the castle walls, and found them double-moated,
and heard the sea waves dashing on one side the walls. Then said the
damsel, "See you that ivory horn hanging upon the sycamore-tree? The
Knight of the Redlands hath hung it there, that any knight may blow
thereon, and then will he himself come out and fight with him. But I pray
thee sound it not till high noontide, for now it is but daybreak, and till noon
his strength increases to the might of seven men." "Let that be as it may, fair
damsel," answered he, "for were he stronger knight than ever lived, I would
not fail him. Either will I defeat him at his mightiest, or die knightly in the
field." With that he spurred his horse unto the sycamore, and blew the ivory
horn so eagerly, that all the castle rang its echoes. Instantly, all the knights
who were in the pavilions ran forth, and those within the castle looked out
from the windows, or above the walls. And the Knight of the Redlands,
arming himself quickly in blood-red armor, with spear, and shield, and
horse's trappings of like color, rode forth into a little valley by the castle
walls, so that all in the castle, and at the siege, might see the battle.
"Be of good cheer," said the damsel Linet to Sir Beaumains, "for thy deadly
enemy now cometh; and at yonder window is my lady and sister, Dame
Lyones." "In good sooth," said Sir Beaumains, "she is the fairest lady I have
ever seen, and I would wish no better quarrel than to fight for her." With
that, he looked up to the window, and saw the Lady Lyones, who waved her
handkerchief to her sister and to him to cheer them. Then called the Knight
of the Redlands to Sir Beaumains, "Leave now thy gazing, Sir knight, and
turn to me, for I warn thee that lady is mine." "She loveth none of thy
fellowship," he answered; "but know this, that I love her, and will rescue
her from thee, or die." "Say ye so!" said the Red Knight. "Take ye no
warning from those knights that hang on yonder trees?" "For shame that
thou so boastest!" said Sir Beaumains. "Be sure that sight hath raised a
hatred for thee that will not lightly be put out, and given me not fear, but
rage." "Sir knight, defend thyself," said the Knight of the Redlands, "for we
will talk no longer."
Then did they put their spears in rest, and came together at the fullest speed
of their horses, and smote each other in the midst of their shields, so that
their horses' harness sundered by the shock, and they fell to the ground. And
both lay there so long time, stunned, that many deemed their necks were
broken. And all men said the strange knight was a strong man, and a noble

jouster, for none had ever yet so matched the Knight of the Redlands. Then,
in a while, they rose, and putting up their shields before them, drew their
swords, and fought with fury, running at each other like wild beasts—now
striking such buffets that both reeled backwards, now hewing at each other
till they shore the harness off in pieces, and left their bodies naked and
unarmed. And thus they fought till noon was past, when, for a time, they
rested to get breath, so sorely staggering and bleeding, that many who
beheld them wept for pity. Then they renewed the battle—sometimes
rushing so furiously together, that both fell to the ground, and anon
changing swords in their confusion. Thus they endured, and lashed, and
struggled, until eventide, and none who saw knew which was the likeliest to
win; for though the Knight of the Redlands was a wily and subtle warrior,
his subtlety made Sir Beaumains wilier and wiser too. So once again they
rested for a little space, and took their helms off to find breath.
But when Sir Beaumains' helm was off, he looked up to Dame Lyones,
where she leaned, gazing and weeping, from her window. And when he saw
the sweetness of her smiling, all his heart was light and joyful, and starting
up, he bade the Knight of the Redlands make ready. Then did they lace their
helms and fight together yet afresh, as though they had never fought before.
And at the last, the Knight of the Redlands with a sudden stroke smote Sir
Beaumains on the hand, so that his sword fell from it, and with a second
stroke upon the helm he drove him to the earth. Then cried aloud the damsel
Linet, "Alas! Sir Beaumains, see how my sister weepeth to behold thee
fallen!" And when Sir Beaumains heard her words, he sprang upon his feet
with strength, and leaping to his sword, he caught it; and with many heavy
blows pressed so sorely on the Knight of the Redlands, that in the end he
smote his sword from out his hand, and, with a mighty blow upon the head,
hurled him upon the ground.
Then Sir Beaumains unlaced his helm, and would have straightway slain
him, but the Knight of the Redlands yielded, and prayed for mercy. "I may
not spare thee," answered he, "because of the shameful death which thou
hast given to so many noble knights." "Yet hold thy hand, Sir knight," said
he, "and hear the cause. I loved once a fair damsel, whose brother was slain,
as she told me, by a knight of Arthur's court, either Sir Lancelot, or Sir
Gawain; and she prayed me, as I truly loved her, and by the faith of my
knighthood, to labor daily in deeds of arms, till I should meet with him; and

to put all knights of the Round Table whom I should overcome to a
villainous death. And this I swore to her." Then prayed the earls, and
knights, and barons, who stood round Sir Beaumains, to spare the Red
Knight's life. "Truly," replied he, "I am loth to slay him, notwithstanding he
hath done such shameful deeds. And inasmuch as what he did was done to
please his lady and to gain her love, I blame him less, and for your sakes I
will release him. But on this agreement only shall he hold his life—that
straightway he depart into the castle, and yield him to the lady there, and
make her such amends as she shall ask, for all the trespass he hath done
upon her lands; and afterwards, that he shall go unto King Arthur's court,
and ask the pardon of Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain for all the evil he hath
done against them." "All this, Sir knight, I swear to do," said the Knight of
the Redlands; and therewith he did him homage and fealty.
Then came the damsel Linet to Sir Beaumains and the Knight of the
Redlands, and disarmed them, and staunched their wounds. And when the
Knight of the Redlands had made amends for all his trespasses, he departed
for the court.
Then Sir Beaumains, being healed of his wounds, armed himself, and took
his horse and spear and rode straight to the castle of Dame Lyones, for
greatly he desired to see her. But when he came to the gate they closed it
fast, and pulled the drawbridge up. And as he marveled thereat, he saw the
Lady Lyones standing at a window, who said, "Go thy way as yet, Sir
Beaumains, for thou shalt not wholly have my love until thou be among the
worthiest knights of all the world. Go, therefore, and labor yet in arms for
twelve months more, and then return to me." "Alas! fair lady," said Sir
Beaumains, "I have scarce deserved this of thee, for sure I am that I have
bought thy love with all the best blood in my body." "Be not aggrieved, fair
knight," said she, "for none of thy service is forgot or lost. Twelve months
will soon be passed in noble deeds; and trust that to my death I shall love
thee and not another." With that she turned and left the window.
So Sir Beaumains rode away from the castle very sorrowful at heart, and
rode he knew not whither, and lay that night in a poor man's cottage. On the
morrow he went forward, and came at noon to a broad lake, and thereby he
alighted, being very sad and weary, and rested his head upon his shield, and
told his dwarf to keep watch while he slept.

Now, as soon as he had departed, the Lady Lyones repented, and greatly
longed to see him back, and asked her sister many times of what lineage he
was; but the damsel would not tell her, being bound by her oath to Sir
Beaumains, and said his dwarf best knew. So she called Sir Gringamors, her
brother, who dwelt with her, and prayed him to ride after Sir Beaumains till
he found him sleeping, and then to take his dwarf away and bring him back
to her. Anon Sir Gringamors departed, and rode till he came to Sir
Beaumains, and found him as he lay sleeping by the water-side. Then
stepping stealthily behind the dwarf he caught him in his arms and rode off
in haste. And though the dwarf cried loudly to his lord for help, and woke
Sir Beaumains, yet, though he rode full quickly after him, he could not
overtake Sir Gringamors.
When Dame Lyones saw her brother come back, she was passing glad of
heart, and forthwith asked the dwarf his master's lineage. "He is a king's
son," said the dwarf, "and his mother is King Arthur's sister. His name is Sir
Gareth of Orkney, and he is brother to the good knight, Sir Gawain. But I
pray you suffer me to go back to my lord, for truly he will never leave this
country till he have me again." But when the Lady Lyones knew her
deliverer was come of such a kingly stock, she longed more than ever to see
him again.
Now as Sir Beaumains rode in vain to rescue his dwarf, he came to a fair
green road and met a poor man of the country, and asked him had he seen a
knight on a black horse, riding with a dwarf of a sad countenance behind
him. "Yea," said the man, "I met with such a knight an hour agone, and his
name is Sir Gringamors. He liveth at a castle two miles from hence; but he
is a perilous knight, and I counsel ye not to follow him save ye bear him
goodwill." Then Sir Beaumains followed the path which the poor man
showed him, and came to the castle. And riding to the gate in great anger,
he drew his sword, and cried aloud, "Sir Gringamors, thou traitor! deliver
me my dwarf again, or by my knighthood it shall be ill for thee!" Then Sir
Gringamors looked out of a window and said, "Sir Gareth of Orkney, leave
thy boasting words, for thou wilt not get thy dwarf again." But the Lady
Lyones said to her brother, "Nay, brother, but I will that he have his dwarf,
for he hath done much for me, and delivered me from the Knight of the
Redlands, and well do I love him above all other knights." So Sir

Gringamors went down to Sir Gareth and cried him mercy, and prayed him
to alight and take good cheer.
Then he alighted, and his dwarf ran to him. And when he was in the hall
came the Lady Lyones dressed royally like a princess. And Sir Gareth was
right glad of heart when he saw her. Then she told him how she had made
her brother take away his dwarf and bring him back to her. And then she
promised him her love, and faithfully to cleave to him and none other all the
days of her life. And so they plighted their troth to each other. Then Sir
Gringamors prayed him to sojourn at the castle, which willing he did. "For,"
said he, "I have promised to quit the court for twelve months, though sure I
am that in the meanwhile I shall be sought and found by my lord King
Arthur and many others." So he sojourned long at the castle.
Anon the knights, Sir Perseant, Sir Perimones, and Sir Pertolope, whom Sir
Gareth had overthrown, went to King Arthur's court with all the knights
who did them service, and told the king they had been conquered by a
knight of his named Beaumains. And as they yet were talking, it was told
the king there came another great lord with five hundred knights, who,
entering in, did homage, and declared himself to be the Knight of the
Redlands. "But my true name," said he, "is Ironside, and I am hither sent by
one Sir Beaumains, who conquered me, and charged me to yield unto your
grace." "Thou art welcome," said King Arthur, "for thou hast been long a
foe to me and mine, and truly I am much beholden to the knight who sent
thee. And now, Sir Ironside, if thou wilt amend thy life and hold of me, I
will entreat thee as a friend, and make thee Knight of the Round Table; but
thou mayst no more be a murderer of noble knights." Then the Knight of the
Redlands knelt to the king, and told him of his promise to Sir Beaumains to
use never more such shameful customs; and how he had so done but at the
prayer of a lady whom he loved. Then knelt he to Sir Lancelot and Sir
Gawain, and prayed their pardon for the hatred he had borne them.
But the king and all the court marveled greatly who Sir Beaumains was.
"For," said the king, "he is a full noble knight." Then said Sir Lancelot,
"Truly he is come of honorable blood, else had I not given him the order of
knighthood; but he charged me that I should conceal his secret."

Now as they talked thus it was told King Arthur that his sister, the Queen of
Orkney, was come to the court with a great retinue of knights and ladies.
Then was there great rejoicing, and the king rose and saluted his sister. And
her sons, Sir Gawain, Sir Agravain, and Sir Gaheris knelt before her and
asked her blessing, for during fifteen years last past they had not seen her.
Anon she said, "Where is my youngest son, Sir Gareth? for I know that he
was here a twelve-month with you, and that ye made a kitchen knave of
him." Then the king and all the knights knew that Sir Beaumains and Sir
Gareth were the same. "Truly," said the king, "I knew him not." "Nor I,"
said Sir Gawain and both his brothers. Then said the king, "God be thanked,
fair sister, that he is proved as worshipful a knight as any now alive, and by
the grace of Heaven he shall be found forthwith if he be anywhere within
these seven realms." Then said Sir Gawain and his brethren, "Lord, if ye
will give us leave we will go seek him." But Sir Lancelot said, "It were
better that the king should send a messenger to Dame Lyones and pray her
to come hither with all speed, and she will counsel where ye shall find
him." "It is well said," replied the king; and sent a messenger quickly unto
Dame Lyones.
When she heard the message she promised she would come forthwith, and
told Sir Gareth what the messenger had said, and asked him what to do. "I
pray you," said he, "tell them not where I am, but when my lord King
Arthur asketh for me, advise him thus—that he proclaim a tournament
before this castle on Assumption Day, and that the knight who proveth best
shall win yourself and all your lands." So the Lady Lyones departed and
came to King Arthur's court, and there was right nobly welcomed. And
when they asked her where Sir Gareth was, she said she could not tell. "But,
lord," said she, "with thy goodwill I will proclaim a tournament before my
castle on the Feast of the Assumption, whereof the prize shall be myself and
all my lands. Then if it be proclaimed that you, lord, and your knights will
be there, I will find knights on my side to fight you and yours, and thus am I
sure ye will hear tidings of Sir Gareth." "Be it so done," replied the king.
So Sir Gareth sent messengers privily to Sir Perseant and Sir Ironside, and
charged them to be ready on the day appointed, with their companies of
knights to aid him and his party against the king. And when they were
arrived he said, "Now be ye well assured that we shall be matched with the

best knights of the world, and therefore must we gather all the good knights
we can find."
So proclamation was made throughout all England, Wales, Scotland,
Ireland, and Cornwall, and in the out isles and other countries, that at the
Feast of the Assumption of our Lady, next coming, all knights who came to
joust at Castle Perilous should make choice whether they would side with
the king or with the castle. Then came many good knights on the side of the
castle. Sir Epinogris, the son of the King of Northumberland, and Sir
Palomedes the Saracen, and Sir Grummore Grummorsum, a good knight of
Scotland, and Sir Brian des Iles, a noble knight, and Sir Carados of the
Tower Dolorous, and Sir Tristram, who as yet was not a knight of the
Round Table, and many others. But none among them knew Sir Gareth, for
he took no more upon him than any mean person.
And on King Arthur's side there came the King of Ireland and the King of
Scotland, the noble prince Sir Galahaut, Sir Gawain and his brothers Sir
Agravain and Sir Gaheris, Sir Ewaine, Sir Tor, Sir Perceval, and Sir
Lamoracke, Sir Lancelot also and his kindred, Sir Lionel, Sir Ector, Sir
Bors and Sir Bedivere, likewise Sir Key and the most part of the Table
Round. The two queens also, Queen Guinevere and the Queen of Orkney,
Sir Gareth's mother, came with the king. So there was a great array both
within and without the castle, with all manner of feasting and minstrelsy.
Now before the tournament began, Sir Gareth privily prayed Dame Lyones,
Sir Gringamors, Sir Ironside, and Sir Perseant, that they would in nowise
disclose his name, nor make more of him than of any common knight. Then
said Dame Lyones, "Dear lord, I pray thee take this ring, which hath the
power to change the wearer's clothing into any color he may will, and
guardeth him from any loss of blood. But give it me again, I pray thee,
when the tournament is done, for it greatly increaseth my beauty
whensoever I wear it." "Gramercy, mine own lady," said Sir Gareth, "I
wished for nothing better, for now I may be certainly disguised as long as I
will." Then Sir Gringamors gave Sir Gareth a bay courser that was a
passing good horse, with sure armor, and a noble sword, won by his father
from a heathen tyrant. And then every knight made him ready for the
tournament.

So on the day of the Assumption, when mass and matins were said, the
heralds blew their trumpets and sounded for the tourney. Anon came out the
knights of the castle and the knights of King Arthur, and matched
themselves together.
Then Sir Epinogris, son of the King of Northumberland, a knight of the
castle, encountered Sir Ewaine, and both broke off their spears short to their
hands. Then came Sir Palomedes from the castle, and met Sir Gawain, and
they so hardly smote each other, that both knights and horses fell to the
earth. Then Sir Tristram, from the castle, encountered with Sir Bedivere,
and smote him to the earth, horse and man. Then the Knight of the Redlands
and Sir Gareth met with Sir Bors and Sir Bleoberis; and the Knight of the
Redlands and Sir Bors smote together so hard that their spears burst, and
their horses fell groveling to the ground. And Sir Bleoberis brake his spear
upon Sir Gareth, but himself was hurled upon the ground. When Sir
Galihodin saw that, he bade Sir Gareth keep him, but Sir Gareth lightly
smote him to the earth. Then Sir Galihud got a spear to avenge his brother,
but was served in like manner. And Sir Dinadam, and his brother La-cote-
male-taile, and Sir Sagramour le Desirous, and Dodinas le Savage, he bore
down all with one spear.
When King Anguish of Ireland saw this, he marveled what that knight could
be who seemed at one time green and at another blue; for so at every course
he changed his color that none might know him. Then he ran towards him
and encountered him, and Sir Gareth smote the king from his horse, saddle
and all. And in like manner he served the King of Scotland, and King
Urience of Gore, and King Bagdemagus.
Then Sir Galahaut, the noble prince, cried out, "Knight of the many colors!
thou hast jousted well; now make thee ready to joust with me." When Sir
Gareth heard him, he took a great spear and met him swiftly. And the
prince's spear broke off, but Sir Gareth smote him on the left side of the
helm, so that he reeled here and there, and had fallen down had not his men
recovered him. "By my faith," said King Arthur, "that knight of the many
colors is a good knight. I pray thee, Sir Lancelot du Lake, encounter with
him." "Lord," said Sir Lancelot, "by thy leave I will forbear. I find it in my
heart to spare him at this time, for he hath done enough work for one day;
and when a good knight doth so well it is no knightly part to hinder him

from this honor. And peradventure his quarrel is here to-day, and he may be
the best beloved of the Lady Lyones of all that be here; for I see well he
paineth and forceth himself to do great deeds. Therefore, as for me, this day
he shall have the honor; for though I were able to put him from it, I would
not." "You speak well and truly," said the king.
Then after the tilting, they drew swords, and there began a great
tournament, and there Sir Lancelot did marvelous deeds of arms, for first he
fought with both Sir Tristram and Sir Carados, albeit they were the most
perilous in all the world. Then came Sir Gareth and put them asunder, but
would not smite a stroke against Sir Lancelot, for by him he had been
knighted. Anon Sir Gareth's helm had need of mending, and he rode aside to
see to it and to drink water, for he was sore athirst with all his mighty feats
of strength. And while he drank, his dwarf said to him, "Give me your ring,
lest ye lose it while ye drink." So Sir Gareth took it off. And when he had
finished drinking, he rode back eagerly to the field, and in his haste forgot
to take the ring again. Then all the people saw that he wore yellow armor.
And King Arthur told a herald, "Ride and espy the cognizance of that brave
knight, for I have asked many who he is, and none can tell me."
Then the herald rode near, and saw written round about his helmet in letters
of gold, "Sir Gareth of Orkney." And instantly the herald cried his name
aloud, and all men pressed to see him.
But when he saw he was discovered, he pushed with haste through all the
crowd, and cried to his dwarf, "Boy, thou hast beguiled me foully in
keeping my ring; give it me again, that I may be hidden." And as soon as he
had put it on, his armor changed again, and no man knew where he had
gone. Then he passed forth from the field; but Sir Gawain, his brother, rode
after him.
And when Sir Gareth had ridden far into the forest, he took off his ring, and
sent it back by the dwarf to the Lady Lyones, praying her to be true and
faithful to him while he was away.
Then rode Sir Gareth long through the forest, till night fell, and coming to a
castle he went up to the gate, and prayed the porter to let him in. But
churlishly he answered "that he should not lodge there." Then said Sir
Gareth, "Tell thy lord and lady that I am a knight of King Arthur's court,

and for his sake I pray their shelter." With that the porter went to the
duchess who owned the castle. "Let him in straightway," cried she; "for the
king's sake he shall not be harborless!" and went down to receive him.
When Sir Gareth saw her coming, he saluted her, and said, "Fair lady, I pray
you give me shelter for this night, and if there be here any champion or
giant with whom I must needs fight, spare me till to-morrow, when I and
my horse shall have rested, for we are full weary." "Sir knight," she said,
"thou speakest boldly; for the lord of this castle is a foe to King Arthur and
his court, and if thou wilt rest here to-night thou must agree, that
wheresoever thou mayest meet my lord, thou must yield to him as a
prisoner." "What is thy lord's name, lady?" said Sir Gareth. "The Duke de la
Rowse," said she. "I will promise thee," said he, "to yield to him, if he
promise to do me no harm; but if he refuse, I will release myself with my
sword and spear."
"It is well," said the duchess; and commanded the drawbridge to be let
down. So he rode into the hall and alighted. And when he had taken off his
armor, the duchess and her ladies made him passing good cheer. And after
supper his bed was made in the hall, and there he rested that night. On the
morrow he rose and heard mass, and having broken his fast, took his leave
and departed.
And as he rode past a certain mountain there met him a knight named Sir
Bendelaine, and cried unto him, "Thou shalt not pass unless thou joust with
me or be my prisoner!" "Then will we joust," replied Sir Gareth. So they let
their horses run at full speed, and Sir Gareth smote Sir Bendelaine through
his body so sorely that he scarcely reached his castle ere he fell dead. And
as Sir Gareth presently came by the castle, Sir Bendelaine's knights and
servants rode out to revenge their lord. And twenty of them fell on him at
once, although his spear was broken. But drawing his sword he put his
shield before him. And though they brake their spears upon him, one and
all, and sorely pressed on him, yet ever he defended himself like a noble
knight. Anon, finding they could not overcome him, they agreed to slay his
horse; and having killed it with their spears, they set upon Sir Gareth as he
fought on foot. But every one he struck he slew, and drave at them with
fearful blows, till he had slain them all but four, who fled. Then taking the
horse of one of those that lay there dead, he rode upon his way.

Anon he came to another castle and heard from within a sound as of many
women moaning and weeping. Then said he to a page who stood without,
"What noise is this I hear?" "Sir knight," said he, "there be within thirty
ladies, the widows of thirty knights who have been slain by the lord of this
castle. He is called the Brown Knight without pity, and is the most perilous
knight living, wherefore I warn thee to flee." "That will I never do," said Sir
Gareth, "for I fear him not." Then the page saw the Brown Knight coming
and said to Gareth, "Lo! my lord is near."
So both knights made them ready and galloped their horses towards each
other, and the Brown Knight brake his spear upon Sir Gareth's shield; but
Sir Gareth smote him through the body so that he fell dead. At that he rode
into the castle and told the ladies he had slain their foe. Then were they
right glad of heart and made him all the cheer they could, and thanked him
out of measure. But on the morrow as he went to mass he found the ladies
weeping in the chapel upon divers tombs that were there. And he knew that
in those tombs their husbands lay. Then he bade them be comforted, and
with noble and high words he desired and prayed them all to be at Arthur's
court on the next Feast of Pentecost.
So he departed and rode past a mountain where was a goodly knight
waiting, who said to him, "Abide, Sir knight, and joust with me!" "How are
ye named?" said Sir Gareth. "I am the Duke de la Rowse," answered he. "In
good sooth," then said Sir Gareth, "not long ago I lodged within your castle,
and there promised I would yield to you whenever we might meet." "Art
thou that proud knight," said the duke, "who was ready to fight with me?
Guard thyself therefore and make ready." So they ran together, and Sir
Gareth smote the duke from his horse. Then they alighted and drew their
swords, and fought full sorely for the space of an hour; and at the last Sir
Gareth smote the duke to the earth and would have slain him, but he
yielded. "Then must ye go," said Sir Gareth, "to my lord King Arthur at the
next Feast of Pentecost and say that I, Sir Gareth, sent ye." "As ye will be
it," said the duke; and gave him up his shield for pledge.
And as Sir Gareth rode alone he saw an armed knight coming towards him.
And putting the duke's shield before him he rode fast to tilt with him; and
so they ran together as it had been thunder, and brake their spears upon each
other. Then fought they fiercely with their swords, and lashed together with

such mighty strokes that blood ran to the ground on every side. And after
they had fought together for two hours and more, it chanced the damsel
Linet passed that way; and when she saw them, she cried out, "Sir Gawain
and Sir Gareth, leave your fighting, for ye are brethren!" At that they threw
away their shields and swords, and took each other in their arms, and wept a
great while ere they could speak. And each gave to the other the honor of
the battle, and there was many a kind word between them. Then said Sir
Gawain, "O my brother, for your sake have I had great sorrow and labor!
But truly I would honor you though ye were not my brother, for ye have
done great worship to King Arthur and his court, and sent more knights to
him than any of the Table Round, except Sir Lancelot."
Then the damsel Linet staunched their wounds, and their horses being
weary she rode her palfrey to King Arthur and told him of this strange
adventure. When she had told her tidings, the king himself mounted his
horse and bade all come with him to meet them. So a great company of
lords and ladies went forth to meet the brothers. And when King Arthur saw
them he would have spoken hearty words, but for gladness he could not.
And both Sir Gawain and Sir Gareth fell down at their uncle's knees and did
him homage, and there was passing great joy and gladness among them all.
Then said the king to the damsel Linet, "Why cometh not the Lady Lyones
to visit her knight, Sir Gareth, who hath had such travail for her love?" "She
knoweth not, my lord, that he is here," replied the damsel, "for truly she
desireth greatly to see him." "Go ye and bring her hither," said the king. So
the damsel rode to tell her sister where Sir Gareth was, and when she heard
it she rejoiced full heartily and came with all the speed she could. And when
Sir Gareth saw her, there was great joy and comfort between them.
Then the king asked Sir Gareth whether he would have that lady for his
wife? "My lord," replied Sir Gareth, "know well that I love her above all
ladies living." "Now, fair lady," said King Arthur, "what say ye?" "Most
noble king," she answered, "my lord, Sir Gareth, is my first love and shall
be my last, and if I may not have him for my husband I will have none."
Then said the king to them, "Be well assured that for my crown I would not
be the cause of parting your two hearts."

Then was high preparation made for the marriage, for the king desired it
should be at the Michaelmas next following, at Kinkenadon-by-the-Sea.
So Sir Gareth sent out messages to all the knights whom he had overcome
in battle that they should be there upon his marriage-day.
Therefore, at the next Michaelmas, came a goodly company to Kinkenadon-
by-the-Sea. And there did the Archbishop of Canterbury marry Sir Gareth
and the Lady Lyones with all solemnity. And all the knights whom Sir
Gareth had overcome were at the feast; and every manner of revels and
games was held with music and minstrelsy. And there was a great jousting
for three days. But because of his bride the king would not suffer Sir Gareth
to joust. Then did King Arthur give great lands and fair, with store of gold,
to Sir Gareth and his wife, that so they might live royally together to their
lives' end.

XII
THE ADVENTURES OF SIR TRISTRAM

Again King Arthur held high festival at Caerleon, at Pentecost, and gathered
round him all the fellowship of the Round Table, and so, according to his
custom, sat and waited till some adventure should arise, or some knight
return to court whose deeds and perils might be told.
Anon he saw Sir Lancelot and a crowd of knights coming through the doors
and leading in their midst the mighty knight, Sir Tristram. As soon as King
Arthur saw him, he rose up and went through half the hall, and held out
both his hands and cried, "Right welcome to thee, good Sir Tristram, as
welcome art thou as any knight that ever came before into this court. A long
time have I wished for thee amongst my fellowship." Then all the knights
and barons rose up with one accord and came around, and cried out,
"Welcome." Queen Guinevere came also, and many ladies with her, and all
with one voice said the same.
Then the king took Sir Tristram by the hand and led him to the Round Table
and said, "Welcome again for one of the best and gentlest knights in all the
world; a chief in war, a chief in peace, a chief in field and forest, a chief in
the ladies' chamber—right heartily welcome to this court, and mayest thou
long abide in it."
When he had so said he looked at every empty seat until he came to what
had been Sir Marhaus', and there he found written in gold letters, "This is
the seat of the noble knight, Sir Tristram." Whereat they made him, with
great cheer and gladness, a Fellow of the Round Table.
Now the story of Sir Tristram was as follows:—
There was a king of Lyonesse, named Meliodas, married to the sister of
King Mark of Cornwall, a right fair lady and a good. And so it happened
that King Meliodas hunting in the woods was taken by enchantment and
made prisoner in a castle. When his wife Elizabeth heard it she was nigh

mad with grief, and ran into the forest to seek out her lord. But after many
days of wandering and sorrow she found no trace of him, and laid her down
in a deep valley and prayed to meet her death. And so indeed she did, but
ere she died she gave birth in the midst of all her sorrow to child, a boy, and
called him with her latest breath Tristram; for she said, "His name shall
show how sadly he hath come into this world."
Therewith she gave up her ghost, and the gentlewoman who was with her
took the child and wrapped it from the cold as well as she was able, and lay
down with it in her arms beneath the shadow of a tree hard by, expecting
death to come to her in turn.
But shortly after came a company of lords and barons seeking for the
queen, and found the lady and the child and took them home. And on the
next day came King Meliodas, whom Merlin had delivered, and when he
heard of the queen's death his sorrow was greater than tongue can tell. And
anon he buried her solemnly and nobly, and called the child Tristram as she
had desired.
Then for seven years King Meliodas mourned and took no comfort, and all
that time young Tristram was well nourished; but in a while he wedded with
the daughter of Howell, King of Brittany, who, that her own children might
enjoy the kingdom, cast about in her mind how she might destroy Tristram.
So on a certain day she put poison in a silver cup, where Tristram and her
children were together playing, that when he was athirst he might drink of it
and die. But so it happened that her own son saw the cup, and, thinking it
must hold good drink, he climbed and took it, and drank deeply of it, and
suddenly thereafter burst and fell down dead.
When the queen heard that, her grief was very great, but her anger and envy
were fiercer than before, and soon again she put more poison in the cup.
And by chance one day her husband finding it when thirsty, took it up and
was about to drink therefrom, when, seeing him, she sprang up with a
mighty cry and dashed it from his hands.
At that King Meliodas, wondering greatly, called to mind the sudden death
of his young child, and taking her fiercely by the hand he cried:

"Traitress, tell me what drink is in this cup or I will slay thee in a moment;"
and therewith pulling out his sword he swore by a great oath to slay her if
she straightway told him not the truth.
"Ah, mercy, lord," said she, and fell down at his feet; "mercy, and I will tell
thee all."
And then she told him of her plot to murder Tristram, so that her own sons
might enjoy the kingdom.
"The law shall judge thee," said the king.
And so anon she was tried before the barons, and condemned to be burnt to
death.
But when the fire was made, and she brought out, came Tristram kneeling at
his father's feet and besought of him a favor.
"Whatsoever thou desirest I will give thee," said the king.
"Give me the life, then, of the queen, my step-mother," said he.
"Thou doest wrong to ask it," said Meliodas; "for she would have slain thee
with her poisons if she could, and chiefly for thy sake she ought to die."
"Sir," said he, "as for that, I beseech thee of thy mercy to forgive it her, and
for my part may God pardon her as I do; and so I pray thee grant me my
boon, and for God's sake hold thee to thy promise."
"If it must be so," said the king, "take thou her life, for to thee I give it, and
go and do with her as thou wilt."
Then went young Tristram to the fire and loosed the queen from all her
bonds and delivered her from death.
And after a great while by his good means the king again forgave and lived
in peace with her, though never more in the same lodgings.
Anon was Tristram sent abroad to France in care of one named Governale.
And there for seven years he learned the language of the land, and all
knightly exercises and gentle crafts, and especially was he foremost in
music and in hunting, and was a harper beyond all others. And when at

nineteen years of age he came back to his father, he was as lusty and strong
of body and as noble of heart as ever man was seen.
Now shortly after his return it befell that King Anguish of Ireland sent to
King Mark of Cornwall for the tribute due to Ireland, but which was now
seven years behindhand. To whom King Mark sent answer, if he would
have it he must send and fight for it, and they would find a champion to
fight against it.
So King Anguish called for Sir Marhaus, his wife's brother, a good knight
of the Round Table, who lived then at his court, and sent him with a
knightly retinue in six great ships to Cornwall. And, casting anchor by the
castle of Tintagil, he sent up daily to King Mark for the tribute or the
champion. But no knight there would venture to assail him, for his fame
was very high in all the realm for strength and hardihood.
Then made King Mark a proclamation throughout Cornwall, that if any
knight would fight Sir Marhaus he should stand at the king's right hand
forevermore, and have great honor and riches all the rest of his days. Anon
this news came to the land of Lyonesse, and when young Tristram heard it
he was angry and ashamed to think no knight of Cornwall durst assail the
Irish champion. "Alas," said he, "that I am not a knight, that I might match
this Marhaus! I pray you give me leave, sir, to depart to King Mark's court
and beg him of his grace to make me knight."
"Be ruled by thy own courage," said his father.
So Tristram rode away forthwith to Tintagil to King Mark, and went up
boldly to him and said, "Sir, give me the order of knighthood and I will
fight to the uttermost with Sir Marhaus of Ireland."
"What are ye, and whence come ye?" said the king, seeing he was but a
young man, though strong and well made both in body and limb.
"My name is Tristram," said he, "and I was born in the country of
Lyonesse."
"But know ye," said the king, "this Irish knight will fight with none who be
not come of royal blood and near of kin to kings or queens, as he himself is,
for his sister is the Queen of Ireland."

Then said Tristram, "Let him know that I am come both on my father's and
my mother's side of blood as good as his, for my father is King Meliodas
and my mother was that Queen Elizabeth, thy sister, who died in the forest
at my birth."
When King Mark heard that he welcomed him with all his heart, and
knighted him forthwith, and made him ready to go forth as soon as he
would choose, and armed him royally in armor covered with gold and
silver.
Then he sent Sir Marhaus word, "That a better man than he should fight
with him, Sir Tristram of Lyonesse, son of King Meliodas and of King
Mark's own sister." So the battle was ordained to be fought in an island near
Sir Marhaus' ships, and there Sir Tristram landed on the morrow, with
Governale alone attending him for squire, and him he sent back to the land
when he had made himself ready.
When Sir Marhaus and Sir Tristram were thus left alone, Sir Marhaus said,
"Young knight Sir Tristram, what doest thou here? I am full sorry for thy
rashness, for ofttimes have I been assailed in vain, and by the best knights
of the world. Be warned in time, return to them that sent thee."
"Fair knight, and well-proved knight," replied Sir Tristram, "be sure that I
shall never quit this quarrel till one of us be overcome. For this cause have I
been made knight, and thou shalt know before we part that though as yet
unproved, I am a king's son and firstborn of a queen. Moreover I have
promised to deliver Cornwall from this ancient burden, or to die. Also, thou
shouldst have known, Sir Marhaus, that thy valor and thy might are but the
better reasons why I should assail thee; for whether I win or lose I shall gain
honor to have met so great a knight as thou art."
Then they began the battle, and tilted at their hardest against each other, so
that both knights and horses fell to the earth. But Sir Marhaus' spear smote
Sir Tristram a great wound in the side. Then, springing up from their horses,
they lashed together with their swords like two wild boars. And when they
had stricken together a great while they left off strokes and lunged at one
another's breasts and visors; but seeing this availed not they hurtled together
again to bear each other down.

Thus fought they more than half the day, till both were sorely spent and
blood ran from them to the ground on every side. But by this time Sir
Tristram remained fresher than Sir Marhaus and better winded, and with a
mighty stroke he smote him such a buffet as cut through his helm into his
brain-pan, and there his sword stuck in so fast that thrice Sir Tristram pulled
ere he could get it from his head. Then fell Sir Marhaus down upon his
knees, and the edge of Sir Tristram's sword broke off into his brain-pan.
And suddenly when he seemed dead, Sir Marhaus rose and threw his sword
and shield away from him and ran and fled into his ship. And Tristram cried
out after him, "Aha! Sir knight of the Round Table, dost thou withdraw thee
from so young a knight? it is a shame to thee and all thy kin; I would rather
have been hewn into a hundred pieces than have fled from thee."
But Sir Marhaus answered nothing, and sorely groaning fled away.
"Farewell, Sir knight, farewell," laughed Tristram, whose own voice now
was hoarse and faint with loss of blood; "I have thy sword and shield in my
safe keeping, and will wear them in all places where I ride on my
adventures, and before King Arthur and the Table Round."
Then was Sir Marhaus taken back to Ireland by his company; and as soon
as he arrived his wounds were searched, and when they searched his head
they found therein a piece of Tristram's sword; but all the skill of surgeons
was in vain to move it out. So anon Sir Marhaus died.
But the queen, his sister, took the piece of sword-blade and put it safely by,
for she thought that some day it might help her to revenge her brother's
death.
Meanwhile, Sir Tristram, being sorely wounded, sat down softly on a little
mound and bled passing fast; and in that evil case was found anon by
Governale and King Mark's knights. Then they gently took him up and
brought him in a barge back to the land, and lifted him into a bed within the
castle, and had his wounds dressed carefully.
But for a great while he lay sick, and was likely to have died of the first
stroke Sir Marhaus had given him with the spear, for the point of it was
poisoned. And, though the wisest surgeons and leeches—both men and
women—came from every part, yet could he be by no means cured. At last

came a wise lady, and said plainly that Sir Tristram never should be healed,
until he went and stayed in that same country when the poison came. When
this was understood, the king sent Sir Tristram in a fair and goodly ship to
Ireland, and by fortune he arrived fast by a castle where the king and queen
were. And as the ship was being anchored, he sat upon his bed and harped a
merry lay, and made so sweet a music as was never equaled.
When the king heard that the sweet harper was a wounded knight, he sent
for him, and asked his name. "I am of the country of Lyonesse," he
answered, "and my name is Tramtrist;" for he dared not tell his true name
lest the vengeance of the queen should fall upon him for her brother's death.
"Well," said King Anguish, "thou art right welcome here, and shalt have all
the help this land can give thee; but be not anxious if I am at times cast
down and sad, for but lately in Cornwall the best knight in the world,
fighting for my cause, was slain; his name was Sir Marhaus, a knight of
King Arthur's Round Table." And then he told Sir Tristram all the story of
Sir Marhaus' battle, and Sir Tristram made pretense of great surprise and
sorrow, though he knew all far better than the king himself.
Then was he put in charge of the king's daughter, La Belle Isault, to be
healed of his wound, and she was as fair and noble a lady as men's eyes
might see. And so marvelously was she skilled in medicine, that in a few
days she fully cured him; and in return Sir Tramtrist taught her the harp; so,
before long, they two began to love each other greatly.
But at that time a heathen knight, Sir Palomedes, was in Ireland, and much
cherished by the king and queen. He also loved mightily La Belle Isault,
and never wearied of making her great gifts, and seeking for her favor, and
was ready even to be christened for her sake. Sir Tramtrist therefore hated
him out of measure, and Sir Palomedes was full of rage and envy against
Tramtrist.
And so it befell that King Anguish proclaimed a great tournament to be
held, the prize whereof should be a lady called the Lady of the Launds, of
near kindred to the king: and her the winner of the tournament should wed
in three days afterwards, and possess all her lands. When La Belle Isault
told Sir Tramtrist of this tournament, he said, "Fair lady! I am yet a feeble

knight, and but for thee had been a dead man now: what wouldest thou I
should do? Thou knowest well I may not joust."
"Ah, Tramtrist," said she, "why wilt thou not fight in this tournament? Sir
Palomedes will be there, and will do his mightiest; and therefore be thou
there, I pray thee, or else he will be winner of the prize."
"Madam," said Tramtrist, "I will go, and for thy sake will do my best; but
let me go unknown to all men; and do thou, I pray thee, keep my counsel,
and help me to a disguise."
So on the day of jousting came Sir Palomedes, with a black shield, and
overthrew many knights. And all the people wondered at his prowess; for
on the first day he put to the worse Sir Gawain, Sir Gaheris, Sir Agravaine,
Sir Key, and many more from far and near. And on the morrow he was
conqueror again, and overthrew the king with a hundred knights and the
King of Scotland. But presently Sir Tramtrist rode up to the lists, having
been let out at a privy postern of the castle, where none could see. La Belle
Isault had dressed him in white armor and given him a white horse and
shield, and so he came suddenly into the field as it had been a bright angel.
As soon as Sir Palomedes saw him he ran at him with a great spear in rest,
but Sir Tramtrist was ready, and at the first encounter hurled him to the
ground. Then there arose a great cry that the knight with the black shield
was overthrown. And Palomedes, sorely hurt and shamed, sought out a
secret way and would have left the field; but Tramtrist watched him, and
rode after him, and bade him stay, for he had not yet done with him. Then
did Sir Palomedes turn with fury, and lash at Sir Tramtrist with his sword;
but at the first stroke Sir Tramtrist smote him to the earth, and cried, "Do
now all my commands, or take thy death." Then he yielded to Sir Tristram's
mercy, and promised to forsake La Belle Isault, and for twelve months to
wear no arms or armor. And rising up, he cut his armor off him into shreds
with rage and madness, and turned and left the field: and Sir Tramtrist also
left the lists, and rode back to the castle through the postern gate.
Then was Sir Tramtrist long cherished by the King and Queen of Ireland,
and ever with La Belle Isault. But on a certain day, while he was bathing,
came the queen with La Belle Isault by chance into his chamber, and saw
his sword lie naked on the bed: anon she drew it from the scabbard and

looked at it a long while, and both thought it a passing fair sword; but
within a foot and a half of the end there was a great piece broken out, and
while the queen was looking at the gap, she suddenly remembered the piece
of sword-blade that was found in the brain-pan of her brother Sir Marhaus.
Therewith she turned and cried, "By my faith, this is the felon knight who
slew thy uncle!" And running to her chamber she sought in her casket for
the piece of iron from Sir Marhaus' head and brought it back, and fitted it in
Tristram's sword; and surely did it fit therein as closely as it had been but
yesterday broke out.
Then the queen caught the sword up fiercely in her hand, and ran into the
room where Sir Tristram was yet in his bath, and making straight for him,
had run him through the body, had not his squire, Sir Hebes, got her in his
arms, and pulled the sword away from her.
Then ran she to the king, and fell upon her knees before him, saying, "Lord
and husband, thou hast here in thy house that felon knight who slew my
brother Marhaus!"
"Who is it?" said the king.
"It is Sir Tramtrist!" said she, "whom Isault hath healed."
"Alas!" replied the king, "I am full grieved thereat, for he is a good knight
as ever I have seen in any field; but I charge thee leave thou him, and let me
deal with him."
Then the king went to Sir Tramtrist's chamber and found him all armed and
ready to mount his horse, and said to him, "Sir Tramtrist, it is not to prove
me against thee I come, for it were shameful of thy host to seek thy life.
Depart in peace, but tell me first thy name, and whether thou slewest my
brother, Sir Marhaus."
Then Sir Tristram told him all the truth, and how he had hid his name, to be
unknown in Ireland; and when he had ended, the king declared he held him
in no blame. "Howbeit, I cannot for mine honor's sake retain thee at this
court, for so I should displease my barons, and my wife, and all her kin."

"Sir," said Sir Tristram, "I thank thee for the goodness thou hast shown me
here, and for the great goodness my lady, thy daughter, hath shown me; and
it may chance to be more for thy advantage if I live than if I die; for
wheresoever I may be, I shall ever seek thy service, and shall be my lady
thy daughter's servant in all places, and her knight in right and wrong, and
shall never fail to do for her as much as knight can do."
Then Sir Tristram went to La Belle Isault, and took his leave of her. "O
gentle knight," said she, "full of grief am I at your departing, for never yet I
saw a man to love so well."
"Madam," said he, "I promise faithfully that all my life I shall be your
knight."
Then Sir Tristram gave her a ring, and she gave him another, and after that
he left her, weeping and lamenting, and went among the barons, and openly
took his leave of them all, saying, "Fair lords, it so befalleth that I now must
depart hence; therefore, if there be any here whom I have offended or who
is grieved with me, let him now say it, and before I go I will amend it to the
utmost of my power. And if there be but one who would speak shame of me
behind my back, let him say it now or never, and here is my body to prove
it on—body against body."
And all stood still and said no word, though some there were of the queen's
kindred who would have assailed him had they dared.
So Sir Tristram departed from Ireland and took the sea and came with a fair
wind to Tintagil. And when the news came to King Mark that Sir Tristram
was returned, healed of his wound, he was passing glad, and so were all his
barons. And when he had visited the king his uncle, he rode to his father,
King Meliodas, and there had all the heartiest welcome that could be made
him. And both the king and queen gave largely to him of their lands and
goods.
Anon he came again to King Mark's court, and there lived in great joy and
pleasure, till within a while the king grew jealous of his fame, and of the
love and favor shown him by all damsels. And as long as King Mark lived,
he never after loved Sir Tristram, though there was much fair speech
between them.

Then it befell upon a certain day that the good knight Sir Bleoberis de
Ganis, brother to Sir Blamor de Ganis, and nigh cousin to Sir Lancelot of
the Lake, came to King Mark's court and asked of him a favor. And though
the king marveled, seeing he was a man of great renown, and a knight of the
Round Table, he granted him all his asking. Then said Sir Bleoberis, "I will
have the fairest lady in your court, at my own choosing."
"I may not say thee nay," replied the king; "choose therefore, but take all
the issues of thy choice."
So when he had looked around, he chose the wife of Earl Segwarides, and
took her by the hand, and set her upon horseback behind his squire, and
rode forth on his way.
Presently thereafter came in the earl, and rode out straightway after him in
rage. But all the ladies cried out shame upon Sir Tristram that he had not
gone, and one rebuked him foully and called him coward knight, that he
would stand and see a lady forced away from his uncle's court. But Sir
Tristram answered her, "Fair lady, it is not my place to take part in this
quarrel while her lord and husband is here to do it. Had he not been at this
court, peradventure I had been her champion. And if it so befall that he
speed ill, then may it happen that I speak with that foul knight before he
pass out of this realm."
Anon ran in one of Sir Segwarides' squires, and told that his master was
sore wounded, and at the point of death. When Sir Tristram heard that, he
was soon armed and on his horse, and Governale, his servant, followed him
with shield and spear.
And as he rode, he met his cousin Sir Andret, who had been commanded by
King Mark to bring home to him two knights of King Arthur's court who
roamed the country thereabouts seeking adventures.
"What tidings?" said Sir Tristram.
"God help me, never worse," replied his cousin; "for those I went to bring
have beaten and defeated me, and set my message at naught."
"Fair cousin," said Sir Tristram, "ride ye on your way, perchance if I should
meet them ye may be revenged."

So Sir Andret rode into Cornwall, but Sir Tristram rode after the two
knights who had misused him, namely, Sir Sagramour le Desirous, and Sir
Dodinas le Savage. And before long he saw them but a little way before
him.
"Sir," said Governale, "by my advice thou wilt leave them alone, for they be
two well-proved knights of Arthur's court."
"Shall I not therefore rather meet them!" said Sir Tristram, and, riding
swiftly after them, he called to them to stop, and asked them whence they
came, and whither they were going, and what they were doing in those
marches.
Sir Sagramour looked haughtily at Sir Tristram, and made mocking of his
words, and said, "Fair knight, be ye a knight of Cornwall?"
"Wherefore askest thou that?" said Tristram.
"Truly, because it is full seldom seen," replied Sir Sagramour, "that Cornish
knights are valiant with their arms as with their tongues. It is but two hours
since there met us such a Cornish knight, who spoke great words with
might and prowess, but anon, with little mastery, he was laid on earth, as I
trow wilt thou be also."
"Fair lords," said Sir Tristram, "it may chance I be a better man than he; but,
be that as it may, he was my cousin, and for his sake I will assail ye both;
one Cornish knight against ye two."
When Sir Dodinas le Savage heard this speech, he caught at his spear and
said, "Sir knight, keep well thyself;" and then they parted and came together
as it had been thunder, and Sir Dodinas' spear split asunder; but Sir Tristram
smote him with so full a stroke as hurled him over his horse's crupper, and
nearly brake his neck. Sir Sagramour, seeing his fellow's fall, marveled who
this new knight be, and dressed his spear, and came against Sir Tristram as a
whirlwind; but Sir Tristram smote him a mighty buffet, and rolled him with
his horse down on the ground; and in the falling he brake his thigh.
Then, looking at them both as they lay groveling on the grass, Sir Tristram
said, "Fair knights, will ye joust any more? Are there no bigger knights in
King Arthur's court? Will ye soon again speak shame of Cornish knights?"

"Thou hast defeated us, in truth," replied Sir Sagramour, "and on the faith of
knighthood I require thee tell us thy right name?"
"Ye charge me by a great thing," said Sir Tristram, "and I will answer ye."
And when they heard his name the two knights were right glad that they
had met Sir Tristram, for his deeds were known through all the land, and
they prayed him to abide in their company.
"Nay," said he, "I must find a fellow-knight of yours, Sir Bleoberis de
Ganis, whom I seek."
"God speed you well," said the two knights; and Sir Tristram rode away.
Soon he saw before him in a valley Sir Bleoberis with Sir Segwarides' wife
riding behind his squire upon a palfrey. At that he cried out aloud, "Abide,
Sir knight of King Arthur's court, bring back again that lady or deliver her
to me."
"I will not," said Bleoberis, "for I dread no Cornish knight."
"Why," said Sir Tristram, "may not a Cornish knight do well as any other?
This day, but three miles back, two knights of thy own court met me, and
found one Cornish knight enough for both before we parted."
"What were their names?" said Sir Bleoberis.
"Sir Sagramour le Desirous and Sir Dodinas le Savage," said Sir Tristram.
"Ah," said Sir Bleoberis, amazed; "hast thou then met with them? By my
faith, they were two good knights and men of worship, and if thou hast beat
both thou must needs be a good knight; but for all that, thou shalt beat me
also ere thou hast this lady."
"Defend thee, then," cried out Sir Tristram, and came upon him swiftly with
his spear in rest. But Sir Bleoberis was as swift as he, and each bore down
the other, horse and all, on to the earth.
Then they sprang clear of their horses, and lashed together full eagerly and
mightily with their swords, tracing and traversing on the right hand and on
the left more than two hours, and sometimes rushing together with such

fury that they both lay groveling on the ground. At last Sir Bleoberis started
back and said, "Now, gentle knight, hold hard awhile, and let us speak
together."
"Say on," said Sir Tristram, "and I will answer thee."
"Sir," said Sir Bleoberis, "I would know thy name, and court, and country."
"I have no shame to tell them," said Sir Tristram. "I am King Meliodas' son,
and my mother was sister to King Mark, from whose court I now come. My
name is Sir Tristram de Lyonesse."
"Truly," said Sir Bleoberis, "I am right glad to hear it, for thou art he that
slew Sir Marhaus hand-to-hand, fighting for the Cornish tribute; and
overcame Sir Palomedes at the great Irish tournament, where also thou didst
overthrow Sir Gawain and his nine companions."
"I am that knight," said Sir Tristram, "and now I pray thee tell me thy
name."
"I am Sir Bleoberis de Ganis, cousin of Sir Lancelot of the Lake, one of the
best knights in all the world," he answered.
"Thou sayest truth," said Sir Tristram; "for Sir Lancelot, as all men know, is
peerless in courtesy and knighthood, and for the great love I bear to his
name I will not willingly fight more with thee his kinsman."
"In good faith, sir," said Sir Bleoberis, "I am as loth to fight thee more; but
since thou hast followed me to win this lady, I proffer thee kindness,
courtesy, and gentleness; this lady shall be free to go with which of us she
pleaseth best."
"I am content," said Sir Tristram, "for I doubt not she will come to me."
"That shalt thou shortly prove," said he, and called his squire, and set the
lady in the midst between them, who forthwith walked to Sir Bleoberis and
elected to abide with him. Which, when Sir Tristram saw, he was in
wondrous anger with her, and felt that he could scarce for shame return to
King Mark's court. But Sir Bleoberis said, "Hearken to me, good knight, Sir
Tristram, because King Mark gave me free choice of any gift, and because
this lady chose to go with me, I took her; but now I have fulfilled my quest

and my adventure, and for thy sake she shall be sent back to her husband at
the abbey where he lieth."
So Sir Tristram rode back to Tintagil, and Sir Bleoberis to the abbey where
Sir Segwarides lay wounded, and there delivered up his lady, and departed
as a noble knight.
After this adventure Sir Tristram abode still at his uncle's court, till in the
envy of his heart King Mark devised a plan to be rid of him. So on a certain
day he desired him to depart again for Ireland, and there demand La Belle
Isault on his behalf, to be his queen—forever had Sir Tristram praised her
beauty and her goodness, till King Mark desired to wed her for himself.
Moreover, he believed his nephew surely would be slain by the queen's
kindred if he once were found again in Ireland.
But Sir Tristram, scorning fear, made ready to depart, and took with him the
noblest knights that could be found, arrayed in the richest fashion.
And when they were come to Ireland, upon a certain day Sir Tristram gave
his uncle's message, and King Anguish consented thereto.
But when La Belle Isault was told the tidings she was very sorrowful and
loth—yet made she ready to set forth with Sir Tristram, and took with her
Dame Bragwaine, her chief gentlewoman. Then the queen gave Dame
Bragwaine, and Governale, Sir Tristram's servant, a little flask, and charged
them that La Belle Isault and King Mark should both drink of it on their
marriage day, and then should they surely love each other all their lives.
Anon, Sir Tristram and Isault, with a great company, took the sea and
departed. And so it chanced that one day sitting in their cabin they were
athirst, and saw a little flask of gold which seemed to hold good wine. So
Sir Tristram took it up, and said, "Fair lady, this looketh to be the best of
wines, and your maid, Dame Bragwaine, and my servant, Governale, have
kept it for themselves." Thereat they both laughed merrily, and drank each
after other from the flask, and never before had they tasted any wine which
seemed so good and sweet. But by the time they had finished drinking they
loved each other so well that their love nevermore might leave them for
weal or woe. And thus it came to pass that though Sir Tristram might never

wed La Belle Isault, he did the mightiest deeds of arms for her sake only all
his life.
Then they sailed onwards till they came to a castle called Pluere, where
they would have rested. But anon there ran forth a great company and took
them prisoners. And when they were in prison, Sir Tristram asked a knight
and lady whom they found therein wherefore they were so shamefully dealt
with; "for," said he, "it was never the custom of any place of honor that I
ever came unto to seize a knight and lady asking shelter and thrust them
into prison, and a full evil and discourteous custom is it."
"Sir," said the knight, "know ye not that this is called the Castle Pluere, or
the weeping castle, and that it is an ancient custom here that whatsoever
knight abideth in it must needs fight the lord of it, Sir Brewnor, and he that
is the weakest shall lose his head. And if the lady he hath with him be less
fair than the lord's wife, she shall lose her head; but if she be fairer, then
must the lady of the castle lose her head."
"Now Heaven help me," said Sir Tristram, "but this is a foul and shameful
custom. Yet have I one advantage, for my lady is the fairest that doth live in
all the world, so that I nothing fear for her; and as for me, I will full gladly
fight for my own head in a fair field."
Then said the knight, "Look ye be up betimes to-morrow, and make you
ready and your lady."
And on the morrow came Sir Brewnor to Sir Tristram, and put him and
Isault forth out of prison, and brought him a horse and armor, and bade him
make ready, for all the commons and estates of that lordship waited in the
field to see and judge the battle.
Then Sir Brewnor, holding his lady by the hand, all muffled, came forth,
and Sir Tristram went to meet him with La Belle Isault beside him, muffled
also. Then said Sir Brewnor, "Sir knight, if thy lady be fairer than mine,
with thy sword smite off my lady's head; but if my lady be fairer than thine,
with my sword I will smite off thy lady's head. And if I overcome thee thy
lady shall be mine, and thou shalt lose thy head."
"Sir knight," replied Sir Tristram, "this is a right foul and felon custom, and
rather than my lady shall lose her head will I lose my own."

"Nay," said Sir Brewnor, "but the ladies shall be now compared together
and judgment shall be had."
"I consent not," cried Sir Tristram, "for who is here that will give rightful
judgment? Yet doubt not that my lady is far fairer than thine own, and that
will I prove and make good." Therewith Sir Tristram lifted up the veil from
off La Belle Isault, and stood beside her with his naked sword drawn in his
hand.
Then Sir Brewnor unmuffled his lady and did in like manner. But when he
saw La Belle Isault he knew that none could be so fair, and all there present
gave their judgment so. Then said Sir Tristram, "Because thou and thy lady
have long used this evil custom, and have slain many good knights and
ladies, it were a just thing to destroy thee both."
"In good sooth," said Sir Brewnor, "thy lady is fairer than mine, and of all
women I never saw any so fair. Therefore, slay my lady if thou wilt, and I
doubt not but I shall slay thee and have thine."
"Thou shalt win her," said Sir Tristram, "as dearly as ever knight won lady;
and because of thy own judgment and of the evil custom that thy lady hath
consented to, I will slay her as thou sayest."
And therewithal Sir Tristram went to him and took his lady from him, and
smote off her head at a stroke.
"Now take thy horse," cried out Sir Brewnor, "for since I have lost my lady
I will win thine and have thy life."
So they took their horses and came together as fast as they could fly, and Sir
Tristram lightly smote Sir Brewnor from his horse. But he rose right
quickly, and when Sir Tristram came again he thrust his horse through both
the shoulders, so that it reeled and fell. But Sir Tristram was light and
nimble, and voided his horse, and rose up and dressed his shield before him,
though meanwhile, ere he could draw out his sword, Sir Brewnor gave him
three or four grievous strokes. Then they rushed furiously together like two
wild boars, and fought hurtling and hewing here and there for nigh two
hours, and wounded each other full sorely. Then at the last Sir Brewnor
rushed upon Sir Tristram and took him in his arms to throw him, for he
trusted greatly in his strength. But Sir Tristram was at that time called the

strongest and biggest knight of the world; for he was bigger than Sir
Lancelot, though Sir Lancelot was better breathed. So anon he thrust Sir
Brewnor groveling to the earth, and then unlaced his helm and struck off his
head. Then all they that belonged to the castle came and did him homage
and fealty, and prayed him to abide there for a season and put an end to that
foul custom.
But within a while he departed and came to Cornwall, and there King Mark
was forthwith wedded to La Belle Isault with great joy and splendor.
And Sir Tristram had high honor, and ever lodged at the king's court. But
for all he had done him such services King Mark hated him, and on a
certain day he set two knights to fall upon him as he rode in the forest. But
Sir Tristram lightly smote one's head off, and sorely wounded the other, and
made him bear his fellow's body to the king. At that the king dissembled
and hid from Sir Tristram that the knights were sent by him; yet more than
ever he hated him in secret, and sought to slay him.
So on a certain day, by the assent of Sir Andret, a false knight, and forty
other knights, Sir Tristram was taken prisoner in his sleep and carried to a
chapel on the rocks above the sea to be cast down. But as they were about
to cast him in, suddenly he brake his bonds asunder, and rushing at Sir
Andret, took his sword and smote him down therewith. Then, leaping down
the rocks where none could follow, he escaped them. But one shot after him
and wounded him full sorely with a poisoned arrow in the arm.
Anon, his servant Governale, with Sir Lambegus, sought him and found
him safe among the rocks, and told him that King Mark had banished him
and all his followers to avenge Sir Andret's death. So they took ship and
came to Brittany.
Now Sir Tristram, suffering great anguish from his wound, was told to seek
Isoude, the daughter of the King of Brittany, for she alone could cure such
wounds. Wherefore he went to King Howell's court, and said, "Lord, I am
come into this country to have help from thy daughter, for men tell me none
but she may help me." And Isoude gladly offering to do her best, within a
month he was made whole.

While he abode still at that court, an earl named Grip made war upon King
Howell, and besieged him; and Sir Kay Hedius, the king's son, went forth
against him, but was beaten in battle and sore wounded. Then the king
praying Sir Tristram for his help, he took with him such knights as he could
find, and on the morrow, in another battle, did such deeds of arms that all
the land spake of him. For there he slew the earl with his own hands, and
more than a hundred knights besides.
When he came back King Howell met him, and saluted him with every
honor and rejoicing that could be thought of, and took him in his arms, and
said, "Sir Tristram, all my kingdom will I resign to thee."
"Nay," answered he, "God forbid, for truly am I beholden to you forever for
your daughter's sake."
Then the king prayed him to take Isoude in marriage, with a great dower of
lands and castles. To this Sir Tristram presently consenting anon they were
wedded at the court.
But within a while Sir Tristram greatly longed to see Cornwall, and Sir Kay
Hedius desired to go with him. So they took ship; but as soon as they were
at sea the wind blew them upon the coast of North Wales, nigh to Castle
Perilous, hard by a forest wherein were many strange adventures ofttimes to
be met. Then said Sir Tristram to Sir Kay Hedius, "Let us prove some of
them ere we depart." So they took their horses and rode forth.
When they had ridden a mile or more, Sir Tristram spied a goodly knight
before him well armed, who sat by a clear fountain with a strong horse near
him, tied to an oak-tree. "Fair sir," said he, when they came near, "ye seem
to be a knight errant by your arms and harness, therefore make ready now to
joust with one of us, or both."
Thereat the knight spake not, but took his shield and buckled it round his
neck, and leaping on his horse caught a spear from his squire's hand.
Then said Sir Kay Hedius to Sir Tristram, "Let me assay him."
"Do thy best," said he.

So the two knights met, and Sir Kay Hedius fell sorely wounded in the
breast.
"Thou hast well jousted," cried Sir Tristram to the knight; "now make ready
for me!"
"I am ready," answered he, and encountered him, and smote him so heavily
that he fell down from his horse. Whereat, being ashamed, he put his shield
before him, and drew his sword, crying to the strange knight to do likewise.
Then they fought on foot for well nigh two hours, till they were both weary.
At last Sir Tristram said, "In all my life I never met a knight so strong and
well-breathed as ye be. It were a pity we should further hurt each other.
Hold thy hand, fair knight, and tell me thy name."
"That will I," answered he, "if thou wilt tell me thine."
"My name," said he, "is Sir Tristram of Lyonesse."
"And mine, Sir Lamoracke of Gaul."
Then both cried out together, "Well met;" and Sir Lamoracke said, "Sir for
your great renown, I will that ye have all the worship of this battle, and
therefore will I yield me unto you." And therewith he took his sword by the
point to yield him.
"Nay," said Sir Tristram, "ye shall not do so, for well I know ye do it of
courtesy, and not of dread." And therewith he offered his sword to Sir
Lamoracke, saying, "Sir, as an overcome knight, I yield me unto you as
unto the man of noblest powers I have ever met with."
"Hold," said Sir Lamoracke, "let us now swear together nevermore to fight
against each other."
Then did they swear as he said.
Then Sir Tristram returned to Sir Kay Hedius, and when he was whole of
his wounds, they departed together in a ship, and landed on the coast of
Cornwall. And when they came ashore, Sir Tristram eagerly sought news of
La Belle Isault. And one told him in mistake that she was dead. Whereat,

for sore and grievous sorrow, he fell down in a swoon, and so lay for three
days and nights.
When he awoke therefrom he was crazed, and ran into the forest and abode
there like a wild man many days; whereby he waxed lean and weak of body,
and would have died, but that a hermit laid some meat beside him as he
slept. Now in that forest was a giant named Tauleas, who, for fear of
Tristram, had hid himself within a castle, but when they told him he was
mad, came forth and went at large again. And on a certain day he saw a
knight of Cornwall, named Sir Dinaunt, pass by with a lady, and when he
had alighted by a well to rest, the giant leaped out from his ambush, and
took him by the throat to slay him. But Sir Tristram, as he wandered
through the forest, came upon them as they struggled; and when the knight
cried out for help, he rushed upon the giant, and taking up Sir Dinaunt's
sword, struck off therewith the giant's head, and straightway disappeared
among the trees.
Anon, Sir Dinaunt took the head of Tauleas, and bare it with him to the
court of King Mark, whither he was bound, and told of his adventures.
"Where had ye this adventure?" said King Mark.
"At a fair fountain in thy forest," answered he.
"I would fain see that wild man," said the king.
So within a day or two he commanded his knights to a great hunting in the
forest. And when the king came to the well, he saw a wild man lying there
asleep, having a sword beside him; but he knew not that it was Sir Tristram.
Then he blew his horn, and summoned all his knights to take him gently up
and bear him to the court.
And when they came thereto they bathed and washed him, and brought him
somewhat to his right mind. Now La Belle Isault knew not that Sir Tristram
was in Cornwall; but when she heard that a wild man had been found in the
forest, she came to see him. And so sorely was he changed, she knew him
not. "Yet," said she to Dame Bragwaine, "in good faith I seem to have
beheld him ofttimes before."
As she thus spoke a little hound, which Sir Tristram had given her when she
first came to Cornwall, and which was ever with her, saw Sir Tristram lying

there, and leapt upon him, licking his hands and face, and whined and
barked for joy.
"Alas," cried out La Belle Isault, "it is my own true knight, Sir Tristram."
And at her voice Sir Tristram's senses wholly came again, and wellnigh he
wept for joy to see his lady living.
But never would the hound depart from Tristram; and when King Mark and
other knights came up to see him, it sat upon his body and bayed at all who
came too near. Then one of the knights said, "Surely this is Sir Tristram; I
see it by the hound."
"Nay," said the king, "it cannot be," and asked Sir Tristram on his faith who
he was.
"My name," said he, "is Sir Tristram of Lyonesse, and now ye may do what
ye list with me."
Then the king said, "It repents me that ye are recovered," and sought to
make his barons slay him. But most of them would not assent thereto, and
counseled him instead to banish Tristram for ten years again from Cornwall,
for returning without orders from the king. So he was sworn to depart
forthwith.
And as he went towards the ship a knight of King Arthur, named Sir
Dinadan, who sought him, came and said, "Fair knight, ere that you pass
out of this country, I pray you joust with me!"
"With a good will," said he.
Then they ran together, and Sir Tristram lightly smote him from his horse.
Anon he prayed Sir Tristram's leave to bear him company, and when he had
consented they rode together to the ship.
Then was Sir Tristram full of bitterness of heart, and said to all the knights
who took him to the shore, "Greet well King Mark and all mine enemies
from me, and tell them I will come again when I may. Well am I now
rewarded for slaying Sir Marhaus, and delivering this kingdom from its
bondage, and for the perils wherewithal I brought La Belle Isault from
Ireland to the king, and rescued her at the Castle Pluere, and for the slaying

of the giant Tauleas, and all the other deeds that I have done for Cornwall
and King Mark." Thus angrily and passing bitterly he spake, and went his
way.
And after sailing awhile the ship stayed at a landing-place upon the coast of
Wales; and there Sir Tristram and Sir Dinadan alighted, and on the shore
they met two knights, Sir Ector and Sir Bors. And Sir Ector encountered
with Sir Dinadan and smote him to the ground; but Sir Bors would not
encounter with Sir Tristram, "For," said he, "no Cornish knights are men of
worship." Thereat Sir Tristram was full wroth, but presently there met them
two more knights, Sir Bleoberis and Sir Driant; and Sir Bleoberis proffered
to joust with Sir Tristram, who shortly smote him down.
"I had not thought," cried out Sir Bors, "that any Cornish knight could do so
valiantly."
Then Sir Tristram and Sir Dinadan departed, and rode into a forest, and as
they rode a damsel met them, who for Sir Lancelot's sake was seeking any
noble knights to rescue him. For Queen Morgan le Fay, who hated him, had
ordered thirty men-at-arms to lie in ambush for him as he passed, with the
intent to kill him. So the damsel prayed them to rescue him.
Then said Sir Tristram, "Bring me to that place, fair damsel."
But Sir Dinadan cried out, "It is not possible for us to meet with thirty
knights! I will take no part in such a hardihood, for to match one or two or
three knights is enough; but to match fifteen I will never assay."
"For shame," replied Sir Tristram, "do but your part."
"That will I not," said he; "wherefore, I pray ye, lend me your shield, for it
is of Cornwall, and because men of that country are deemed cowards, ye are
but little troubled as ye ride with knights to joust with."
"Nay," said Sir Tristram, "I will never give my shield up for her sake who
gave it me; but if thou wilt not stand by me to-day I will surely slay thee;
for I ask no more of thee than to fight one knight, and if thy heart will not
serve thee that much, thou shalt stand by and look on me and them."

"Would God that I had never met with ye!" cried Sir Dinadan; "but I
promise to look on and do all that I may to save myself."
Anon they came to where the thirty knights lay waiting, and Sir Tristram
rushed upon them, saying, "Here is one who fights for love of Lancelot!"
Then slew he two of them at the first onset with his spear, and ten more
swiftly after with his sword. At that Sir Dinadan took courage, and assailed
the others with him, till they turned and fled.
But Sir Tristram and Sir Dinadan rode on till nightfall, and meeting with a
shepherd, asked him if he knew of any lodging thereabouts.
"Truly, fair lords," said he, "there is good lodging in a castle hard by, but it
is a custom there that none shall lodge therein save ye first joust with two
knights, and as soon as ye be within, ye shall find your match."
"That is an evil lodging," said Sir Dinadan; "lodge where ye will, I will not
lodge there."
"Shame on thee!" said Sir Tristram; "art thou a knight at all?"
Then he required him on his knighthood to go with him, and they rode
together to the castle. As soon as they were near, two knights came out and
ran full speed against them; but both of them they overthrew, and went
within the castle, and had noble cheer. Now, when they were unarmed and
ready to take rest, there came to the castle-gate two knights, Sir Palomedes
and Sir Gaheris, and desired the custom of the castle.
"I would far rather rest than fight," said Sir Dinadan.
"That may not be," replied Sir Tristram, "for we must needs defend the
custom of the castle, seeing we have overcome its lords; therefore, make
ready."
"Alas that I ever came into your company," said Sir Dinadan.
So they made ready, and Sir Gaheris encountered Sir Tristram and fell
before him; but Sir Palomedes overthrew Sir Dinadan. Then would all fight
on foot save Sir Dinadan, for he was sorely bruised and frighted by his fall.
And when Sir Tristram prayed him to fight, "I will not," answered he, "for I
was wounded by those thirty knights with whom we fought this morning;

and as to you, ye are in truth like one gone mad, and who would cast
himself away! There be but two knights in the world so mad, and the other
is Sir Lancelot, with whom I once rode forth, who kept me evermore at
battling so that for a quarter of a year thereafter I lay in my bed. Heaven
defend me again from either of your fellowships!"
"Well," said Sir Tristram, "if it must be, I will fight them both."
Therewith he drew his sword and assailed Sir Palomedes and Sir Gaheris
together; but Sir Palomedes said, "Nay, but it is a shame for two to fight
with one." So he bade Sir Gaheris stand by, and he and Sir Tristram fought
long together; but in the end Sir Tristram drave him backward, whereat Sir
Gaheris and Sir Dinadan with one accord sundered them. Then Sir Tristram
prayed the two knights to lodge there; but Dinadan departed and rode away
into a priory hard by, and there he lodged that night.
And on the morrow came Sir Tristram to the priory to find him, and seeing
him so weary that he could not ride, he left him, and departed. At that same
priory was lodged Sir Pellinore, who asked Sir Dinadan Sir Tristram's
name, but could not learn it, for Sir Tristram had charged that he should
remain unknown. Then said Sir Pellinore, "Since ye will not tell it me, I will
ride after him and find it myself."
"Beware, Sir knight," said Sir Dinadan, "ye will repent it if ye follow him."
But Sir Pellinore straightway mounted and overtook him, and cried to him
to joust; whereat Sir Tristram forthwith turned and smote him down; and
wounded him full sorely in the shoulder.
On the day after, Sir Tristram met a herald, who told him of a tournament
proclaimed between King Carados of Scotland, and the King of North
Wales, to be held at the Maiden's Castle. Now King Carados sought Sir
Lancelot to fight there on his side, and the King of North Wales sought Sir
Tristram. And Sir Tristram purposed to be there. So as he rode, he met Sir
Key, the seneschal, and Sir Sagramour, and Sir Key proffered to joust with
him. But he refused, desiring to keep himself unwearied for the tourney.
Then Sir Key cried, "Sir knight of Cornwall, joust with me, or yield as
recreant." When Sir Tristram heard that, he fiercely turned and set his spear
in rest, and spurred his horse towards him. But when Sir Key saw him so

madly coming on, he in his turn refused, whereat Sir Tristram called him
coward, till for shame he was compelled to meet him. Then Sir Tristram
lightly smote him down, and rode away. But Sir Sagramour pursued him,
crying loudly to joust with him also. So Sir Tristram turned and quickly
overthrew him likewise, and departed.
Anon a damsel met him as he rode, and told him of a knight adventurous
who did great harm thereby, and prayed him for his help. But as he went
with her he met Sir Gawain, who knew the damsel for a maiden of Queen
Morgan le Fay. Knowing, therefore, that she needs must have evil plots
against Sir Tristram, Sir Gawain demanded of him courteously whither he
went.
"I know not whither," said he, "save as this damsel leadeth me."
"Sir," said Sir Gawain, "ye shall not ride with her, for she and her lady
never yet did good to any;" and, drawing his sword, he said to the damsel,
"Tell me now straightway for what cause thou leadest this knight, or else
shalt thou die; for I know of old thy lady's treason."
"Mercy, Sir Gawain," cried the damsel, "and I will tell thee all." Then she
told him that Queen Morgan had ordained thirty fair damsels to seek out Sir
Lancelot and Sir Tristram, and by their wiles persuade them to her castle,
where she had thirty knights in wait to slay them.
"Oh shame!" cried Sir Gawain, "that ever such foul treason should be
wrought by a queen, and a king's sister." Then said he to Sir Tristram, "Sir
knight, if ye will stand with me, we will together prove the malice of these
thirty knights."
"I will not fail you," answered he, "for but few days since I had to do with
thirty knights of that same queen, and trust we may win honor as lightly
now as then."
So they rode together, and when they came to the castle, Sir Gawain cried
aloud, "Queen Morgan le Fay, send out thy knights that we may fight with
them."
Then the queen urged her knights to issue forth, but they durst not, for they
well knew Sir Tristram, and feared him greatly.

So Sir Tristram and Sir Gawain went on their way, and as they rode they
saw a knight, named Sir Brewse-without-pity, chasing a lady, with intent to
slay her. Then Sir Gawain prayed Sir Tristram to hold still and let him assail
that knight. So he rode up between Sir Brewse and the lady, and cried,
"False knight, turn thee to me and leave that lady." Then Sir Brewse turned
and set his spear in rest, and rushed against Sir Gawain and overthrew him,
and rode his horse upon him as he lay, which when Sir Tristram saw, he
cried, "Forbear that villainy," and galloped at him. But when Sir Brewse
saw by the shield it was Sir Tristram, he turned and fled. And though Sir
Tristram followed swiftly after him, yet he was so well horsed that he
escaped.
Anon Sir Tristram and Sir Gawain came nigh the Maiden's Castle, and there
an old knight named Sir Pellonnes gave them lodging. And Sir Persides, the
son of Sir Pellonnes, a good knight, came out to welcome them. And, as
they stood talking at a bay window of the castle, they saw a goodly knight
ride by on a black horse, and carrying a black shield. "What knight is that?"
asked Tristram.
"One of the best knights in all the world," said Sir Persides.
"Is he Sir Lancelot?" said Sir Tristram.
"Nay," answered Sir Persides, "it is Sir Palomedes, who is yet
unchristened."
Within a while one came and told them that a knight with a black shield had
smitten down thirteen knights. "Let us go and see this jousting," said Sir
Tristram. So they armed themselves and went down. And when Sir
Palomedes saw Sir Persides, he sent a squire to him and proffered him to
joust. So they jousted, and Sir Persides was overthrown. Then Sir Tristram
made ready to joust, but ere he had his spear in rest, Sir Palomedes took
him at advantage, and struck him on the shield so that he fell. At that Sir
Tristram was wroth out of measure and sore ashamed, wherefore he sent a
squire and prayed Sir Palomedes to joust once again. But he would not,
saying, "Tell thy master to revenge himself to-morrow at the Maiden's
Castle, where he shall see me again."

So on the morrow Sir Tristram commanded his servant to give him a black
shield with no cognizance thereon, and he and Sir Persides rode into the
tournament and joined King Carados' side.
Then the knights of the King of North Wales came forth, and there was a
great fighting and breaking of spears, and overthrow of men and horses.
Now King Arthur sat above in a high gallery to see the tourney and give the
judgment, and Sir Lancelot sat beside him. Then came against Sir Tristram
and Sir Persides, two knights with them of North Wales, Sir Bleoberis and
Sir Gaheris; and Sir Persides was smitten down and nigh slain, for four
horsemen rode over him. But Sir Tristram rode against Sir Gaheris and
smote him from his horse, and when Sir Bleoberis next encountered him, he
overthrew him also. Anon they horsed themselves again, and with them
came Sir Dinadan, whom Sir Tristram forthwith smote so sorely, that he
reeled off his saddle. Then cried he, "Ah! Sir knight, I know ye better than
ye deem, and promise nevermore to come against ye." Then rode Sir
Bleoberis at him the second time, and had a buffet that felled him to the
earth. And soon thereafter the king commanded to cease for that day, and all
men marveled who Sir Tristram was, for the prize of the first day was given
him in the name of the Knight of the Black Shield.
Now Sir Palomedes was on the side of the King of North Wales, but knew
not Sir Tristram again. And, when he saw his marvelous deeds, he sent to
ask his name. "As to that," said Sir Tristram, "he shall not know at this time,
but tell him he shall know when I have broken two spears upon him, for I
am the knight he smote down yesterday, and whatever side he taketh, I will
take the other."
So when they told him that Sir Palomedes would be on King Carados' side
—for he was kindred to King Arthur—"Then will I be on the King of North
Wales' side," said he, "but else would I be on my lord King Arthur's."
Then on the morrow, when King Arthur was come, the heralds blew unto
the tourney. And King Carados jousted with the King of a Hundred Knights
and fell before him, and then came in King Arthur's knights and bare back
those of North Wales. But anon Sir Tristram came to aid them and bare back
the battle, and fought so mightily that none could stand against him, for he

smote down on the right and on the left, so that all the knights and common
people shouted his praise.
"Since I bare arms," said King Arthur, "never saw I a knight do more
marvelous deeds."
Then the King of the Hundred Knights and those of North Wales set upon
twenty knights who were of Sir Lancelot's kin, who fought all together,
none failing the others. When Sir Tristram beheld their nobleness and valor,
he marveled much. "Well may he be valiant and full of prowess," said he,
"who hath such noble knights for kindred." So, when he had looked on
them awhile, he thought it shame to see two hundred men assailing twenty,
and riding to the King of a Hundred Knights, he said, "I pray thee, Sir king,
leave your fighting with those twenty knights, for ye be too many and they
be too few. For ye shall gain no honor if ye win, and that I see verily ye will
not do unless ye slay them; but if ye will not stay, I will ride with them and
help them."
"Nay," said the king, "ye shall not do so; for full gladly I will do your
courtesy," and with that he withdrew his knights.
Then Sir Tristram rode his way into the forest, that no man might know
him. And King Arthur caused the heralds to blow that the tourney should
end that day, and he gave the King of North Wales the prize, because Sir
Tristram was on his side. And in all the field there was such a cry that the
sound thereof was heard two miles away—"The knight with the black
shield hath won the field."
"Alas!" said King Arthur, "where is that knight? it is shame to let him thus
escape us." Then he comforted his knights, and said, "Be not dismayed, my
friends, howbeit ye have lost the day; be of good cheer; to-morrow I myself
will be in the field, and fare with you." So they all rested that night.
And on the morrow the heralds blew unto the field. So the King of North
Wales and the King of a Hundred Knights encountered with King Carados
and the King of Ireland, and overthrew them. With that came King Arthur,
and did mighty deeds of arms, and overthrew the King of North Wales and
his fellows, and put twenty valiant knights to the worse. Anon came in Sir
Palomedes, and made great fight upon King Arthur's side. But Sir Tristram

rode furiously against him, and Sir Palomedes was thrown from his horse.
Then cried King Arthur, "Knight of the Black Shield, keep thyself." And as
he spake he came upon him, and smote him from his saddle to the ground,
and so passed on to other knights. Then Sir Palomedes having now another
horse rushed at Sir Tristram, as he was on foot, thinking to run over him.
But he was aware of him, and stepped aside, and grasped Sir Palomedes by
the arms, and pulled him off his horse. Then they rushed together with their
swords, and many stood still to gaze on them. And Sir Tristram smote Sir
Palomedes with three mighty strokes upon the helm, crying at each stroke,
"Take this for Sir Tristram's sake," and with that Sir Palomedes fell to the
earth.
Anon the King of North Wales brought Sir Tristram another horse, and Sir
Palomedes found one also. Then did they joust again with passing rage, for
both by now were like mad lions. But Sir Tristram avoided his spear, and
seized Sir Palomedes by the neck, and pulled him from his saddle, and bore
him onward ten spears' length, and so let him fall. Then King Arthur drew
forth his sword and smote the spear asunder, and gave Sir Tristram two or
three sore strokes ere he could get at his own sword. But when he had it in
his hand he mightily assailed the king. With that eleven knights of
Lancelot's kin went forth against him, but he smote them all down to the
earth, so that men marveled at his deeds.
And the cry was now so great that Sir Lancelot got a spear in his hand, and
came down to assay Sir Tristram, saying, "Knight with the black shield,
make ready." When Sir Tristram heard him he leveled his spear, and both
stooping their heads, they ran together mightily, as it had been thunder. And
Sir Tristram's spear brake short, but Sir Lancelot struck him with a deep
wound in the side and broke his spear, yet overthrew him not. Therewith Sir
Tristram, smarting at his wound, drew forth his sword, and rushing at Sir
Lancelot, gave him mighty strokes upon the helm, so that the sparks flew
from it, and Sir Lancelot stooped his head down to the saddle-bow. But then
Sir Tristram turned and left the field, for he felt his wound so grievous that
he deemed he should soon die. Then did Sir Lancelot hold the field against
all comers, and put the King of North Wales and his party to the worse. And
because he was the last knight in the field the prize was given him.

But he refused to take it, and when the cry was raised, "Sir Lancelot hath
won the day," he cried out, "Nay, but Sir Tristram is the victor, for he first
began and last endured, and so hath he done each day." And all men
honored Lancelot more for his knightly words than if he had taken the
prize.
This was the tournament ended, and King Arthur departed to Caerleon, for
the Whitsun feast was now nigh come, and all the knights adventurous went
their ways. And many sought Sir Tristram in the forest whither he had gone,
and at last Sir Lancelot found him, and brought him to King Arthur's court,
as hath been told already.

SIR GALAHAD AND THE QUEST OF THE
HOLY GRAIL

XIII
THE KNIGHTS GO TO SEEK THE GRAIL

After these things Merlin fell into a dotage of love for a damsel of the lady
of the lake, and would let her have no rest, but followed her in every place.
And ever she encouraged him, and made him welcome till she had learned
all his crafts that she desired to know.
Then upon a time she went with him beyond the sea to the land of
Benwicke, and as they went he showed her many wonders, till at length she
was afraid, and would fain have been delivered from him.
And as they were in the forest of Broceliande, they sat together under an
oak-tree, and the damsel prayed to see all that charm whereby men might be
shut up yet alive in rocks or trees. But he refused her a long time, fearing to
let her know, yet in the end, her prayers and kisses overcame him, and he
told her all. Then did she make him great cheer, but anon, as he lay down to
sleep, she softly rose, and walked about him waving her hands and
muttering the charm, and presently enclosed him fast within the tree
whereby he slept. And therefrom nevermore he could by any means come
out for all the crafts that he could do. And so she departed and left Merlin.
At the vigil of the next Feast of Pentecost, when all the Knights of the
Round Table were met together at Camelot, and had heard mass, and were
about to sit down to meat, there rode into the hall a fair lady on horseback,
who went straight up to King Arthur where he sat upon his throne, and
reverently saluted him.
"God be with thee, fair damsel," quoth the king; "what desirest thou of
me?"
"I pray thee tell me, lord," she answered, "where Sir Lancelot is."
"Yonder may ye see him," said King Arthur.

Then went she to Sir Lancelot and said, "Sir, I salute thee in King Pelles'
name, and require thee to come with me into the forest hereby."
Then asked he her with whom she dwelt, and what she wished of him.
"I dwell with King Pelles," said she, "whom Balin erst so sorely wounded
when he smote the dolorous stroke. It is he who hath sent me to call thee."
"I will go with thee gladly," said Sir Lancelot, and bade his squire
straightway saddle his horse and bring his armor.
Then came the queen to him and said, "Sir Lancelot, will ye leave me thus
at this high feast?"
"Madam," replied the damsel, "by dinner-time to-morrow he shall be with
you."
"If I thought not," said the queen, "he should not go with thee by my
goodwill."
Then Sir Lancelot and the lady rode forth till they came to the forest, and in
a valley thereof found an abbey of nuns, whereby a squire stood ready to
open the gates. When they had entered, and descended from their horses, a
joyful crowd pressed round Sir Lancelot and heartily saluted him, and led
him to the abbess's chamber, and unarmed him. Anon he saw his cousins
likewise there, Sir Bors and Sir Lionel, who also made great joy at seeing
him, and said, "By what adventure art thou here, for we thought to have
seen thee at Camelot to-morrow?"
"A damsel brought me here," said he, "but as yet I know not for what
service."
As they thus talked twelve nuns came in, who brought with them a youth so
passing fair and well made, that in all the world his match could not be
found. His name was Galahad, and though he knew him not, nor Lancelot
him, Sir Lancelot was his father.
"Sir," said the nuns, "we bring thee here this child whom we have nourished
from his youth, and pray thee to make him a knight, for from no worthier
hand can he receive that order."

Then Sir Lancelot, looking on the youth, saw that he was seemly and
demure as a dove, with every feature good and noble, and thought he never
had beheld a better fashioned man of his years. "Cometh this desire from
himself?" said he.
"Yea," answered Galahad and all the nuns.
"To-morrow, then, in reverence for the feast, he shall have his wish," said
Sir Lancelot.
And the next day at the hour of prime, he knighted him, and said, "God
make of thee as good a man as He hath made thee beautiful."
Then with Sir Lionel and Sir Bors he returned to the court, and found all
gone to the minster to hear service. When they came into the banquet-hall
each knight and baron found his name written in some seat in letters of
gold, as "here ought to sit Sir Lionel," "here ought to sit Sir Gawain,"—and
so forth. And in the Perilous Seat, at the high center of the table, a name
was also written, whereat they marveled greatly, for no living man had ever
yet dared sit upon that seat, save one, and him a flame leaped forth and
drew down under earth, so that he was no more seen.
Then came Sir Lancelot and read the letters in that seat, and said, "My
counsel is that this inscription be now covered up until the knight be come
who shall achieve this great adventure." So they made a veil of silk and put
it over the letters.
In the meanwhile came Sir Gawain to the court and told the king he had a
message to him from beyond the sea, from Merlin.
"For," said he, "as I rode through the forest of Broceliande but five days
since, I heard the voice of Merlin speaking to me from the midst of an oak-
tree, whereat, in great amazement, I besought him to come forth. But he,
with many groans, replied he never more might do so, for that none could
free him, save the damsel of the Lake, who had enclosed him there by his
own spells which he had taught her. 'But go,' said he, 'to King Arthur, and
tell him, that he now prepare his knights and all his Table Round to seek the
Sangreal, for the time is come when it shall be achieved.'"

When Sir Gawain had spoken thus, King Arthur sat pensive in spirit, and
mused deeply of the Holy Grail and what saintly knight should come who
might achieve it.
Anon he bade them hasten to set on the banquet. "Sir," said Sir Key, the
seneschal, "if we go now to meat ye will break the ancient custom of your
court, for never have ye dined at this high feast till ye have seen some
strange adventure."
"Thou sayest truly," said the king, "but my mind was full of wonders and
musings, till I bethought me not of mine old custom."
As they stood speaking thus, a squire ran in and cried, "Lord, I bring thee
marvelous tidings."
"What be they?" said King Arthur.
"Lord," said he, "hereby at the river is a marvelous great stone, which I
myself saw swim down hither-wards upon the water, and in it there is set a
sword, and ever the stone heaveth and swayeth on the water, but floateth
down no further with the stream."
"I will go and see it," said the king. So all the knights went with him, and
when they came to the river, there surely found they a mighty stone of red
marble floating on the water, as the squire had said, and therein stuck a fair
and rich sword, on the pommel whereof were precious stones wrought
skillfully with gold into these words: "No man shall take me hence but he
by whose side I should hang, and he shall be the best knight in the world."
When the king read this, he turned round to Sir Lancelot, and said, "Fair sir,
this sword ought surely to be thine, for thou art the best knight in all the
world."
But Lancelot answered soberly, "Certainly, sir, it is not for me; nor will I
have the hardihood to set my hand upon it. For he that toucheth it and
faileth to achieve it shall one day be wounded by it mortally. But I doubt
not, lord, this day will show the greatest marvels that we yet have seen, for
now the time is fully come, as Merlin hath forewarned us, when all the
prophecies about the Sangreal shall be fulfilled."

Then stepped Sir Gawain forward and pulled at the sword, but could not
move it, and after him Sir Percival, to keep him fellowship in any peril he
might suffer. But no other knight durst be so hardy as to try.
"Now may ye go to your dinner," said Sir Key, "for a marvelous adventure
ye have had."
So all returned from the river, and every knight sat down in his own place,
and the high feast and banquet then was sumptuously begun, and all the hall
was full of laughter and loud talk and jests, and running to and fro of
squires who served their knights, and noise of jollity and mirth.
Then suddenly befell a wondrous thing, for all the doors and windows of
the hall shut violently of themselves, and made thick darkness; and
presently there came a fair and gentle light from out the Perilous Seat, and
filled the palace with its beams. Then a dead silence fell on all the knights,
and each man anxiously beheld his neighbor.
But King Arthur rose and said, "Lords and fair knights, have ye no fear, but
rejoice; we have seen strange things to-day, but stranger yet remain. For
now I know we shall to-day see him who may sit in the Siege Perilous, and
shall achieve the Sangreal. For as ye all well know, that holy vessel,
wherefrom at the Supper of our Lord before His death He drank the wine
with His disciples, hath been held ever since the holiest treasure of the
world, and wheresoever it hath rested peace and prosperity have rested with
it on the land. But since the dolorous stroke which Balin gave King Pelles
none have seen it, for Heaven, wroth with that presumptuous blow, hath hid
it none know where. Yet somewhere in the world it still may be, and may be
it is left to us, and to this noble order of the Table Round, to find and bring
it home, and make of this our realm the happiest in the earth. Many great
quests and perilous adventures have ye all taken and achieved, but this high
quest he only shall attain who hath clean hands and a pure heart, and valor
and hardihood beyond all other men."
While the king spoke there came in softly an old man robed all in white,
leading with him a young knight clad in red from top to toe, but without
armor or shield, and having by his side an empty scabbard.

The old man went up to the king, and said, "Lord, here I bring thee this
young knight of royal lineage, and of the blood of Joseph of Arimathea, by
whom the marvels of thy court shall fully be accomplished."
The king was right glad at his words, and said, "Sir, ye be right heartily
welcome, and the young knight also."
Then the old man put on Sir Galahad (for it was he) a crimson robe trimmed
with fine ermine, and took him by the hand and led him to the Perilous Seat,
and lifting up the silken cloth which hung upon it, read these words written
in gold letters, "This is the seat of Sir Galahad, the good knight."
"Sir," said the old man, "this place is thine."
Then sat Sir Galahad down firmly and surely, and said to the old man, "Sir,
ye may now go your way, for ye have done well and truly all ye were
commanded, and commend me to my grandsire, King Pelles, and say that I
shall see him soon." So the old man departed with a retinue of twenty noble
squires.
But all the knights of the Round Table marveled at Sir Galahad, and at his
tender age, and at his sitting there so surely in the Perilous Seat.
Then the king led Sir Galahad forth from the palace, to show him the
adventure of the floating stone. "Here," said he, "is as great a marvel as I
ever saw, and right good knights have tried and failed to gain that sword."
"I marvel not thereat," said Galahad, "for this adventure is not theirs, but
mine; and for the certainty I had thereof, I brought no sword with me, as
thou mayst see here by this empty scabbard."
Anon he laid his hand upon the sword, and lightly drew it from the stone,
and put it in his sheath, and said, "This sword was that enchanted one which
erst belonged to the good knight, Sir Balin, wherewith he slew through
piteous mistake his brother Balan; who also slew him at the same time: all
which great woe befell him through the dolorous stroke he gave my
grandsire, King Pelles, the wound whereof is not yet whole, nor shall be till
I heal him."

As he stood speaking thus, they saw a lady riding swiftly down the river's
bank towards them, on a white palfrey, who, saluting the king and queen,
said, "Lord king, Nacien the hermit sendeth thee word that to thee shall
come to-day the greatest honor and worship that hath yet ever befallen a
king of Britain; for this day shall the Sangreal appear in thy house."
With that the damsel took her leave, and departed the same way she came.
"Now," said the king, "I know that from to-day the quest of the Sangreal
shall begin, and all ye of the Round Table will be scattered so that
nevermore shall I see ye again together as ye are now; let me then see a
joust and tournament amongst ye for the last time before ye go."
So they all took their harness and met together in the meadows by Camelot,
and the queen and all her ladies sat in a tower to see.
Then Sir Galahad, at the prayer of the king and queen, put on a coat of light
armor, and a helmet, but shield he would take none, and grasping a lance,
he drove into the middle of the press of knights, and began to break spears
marvelously, so that all men were full of wonder. And in so short a time he
had surmounted and exceeded the rest, save Sir Lancelot and Sir Percival,
that he took the chief worship of the field.
Then the king and all the court and fellowship of knights went back to the
palace, and so to evensong in the great minster, a royal and goodly
company, and after that sat down to supper in the hall, every knight in his
own seat, as they had been before.
Anon suddenly burst overhead the cracking and crying of great peals of
thunder, till the palace walls were shaken sorely, and they thought to see
them riven all to pieces.
And in the midst of the blast there entered in a sunbeam, clearer by seven
times than ever they saw day, and a marvelous great glory fell upon them
all. Then each knight, looking on his neighbor, found his face fairer than he
had ever seen, and so—all standing on their feet—they gazed as dumb men
on each other, not knowing what to say.
Then entered into the hall the Sangreal, borne aloft without hands through
the midst of the sunbeam, and covered with white samite, so that none

might see it. And all the hall was filled with perfume and incense, and every
knight was fed with the food he best loved. And when the holy vessel had
been thus borne through the hall, it suddenly departed, no man saw whither.
When they recovered breath to speak, King Arthur first rose up, and yielded
thanks to God and to our Lord.
Then Sir Gawain sprang up and said, "Now have we all been fed by miracle
with whatsoever food we thought of or desired; but with our eyes we have
not seen the blessed vessel whence it came, so carefully and preciously it
was concealed. Therefore, I make a vow, that from to-morrow I shall labor
twelve months and a day in quest of the Sangreal, and longer if need be; nor
will I come again into this court until mine eyes have seen it evidently."
When he had spoken thus, knight after knight rose up and vowed himself to
the same quest, till the most part of the Round Table had thus sworn.
But when King Arthur heard them all, he could not refrain his eyes from
tears, and said, "Sir Gawain, Sir Gawain, thou hast set me in great sorrow,
for I fear me my true fellowship shall never meet together here again; and
surely never Christian king had such a company of worthy knights around
his table at one time."
And when the queen and her ladies and gentlewomen heard the vows, they
had such grief and sorrow as no tongue could tell; and Queen Guinevere
cried out, "I marvel that my lord will suffer them to depart from him." And
many of the ladies who loved knights would have gone with them, but were
forbidden by the hermit Nacien, who sent this message to all who had
sworn themselves to the quest: "Take with ye no lady nor gentlewoman, for
into so high a service as ye go in, no thought but of our Lord and heaven
may enter."
On the morrow morning all the knights rose early, and when they were fully
armed, save shields and helms, they went in with the king and queen to
service in the minster. Then the king counted all who had taken the
adventure on themselves, and found them a hundred and fifty knights of the
Round Table; and so they all put on their helms, and rode away together in
the midst of cries and lamentations from the court, and from the ladies, and
from all the town.

But the queen went alone to her chamber, that no man might see her sorrow;
and Sir Lancelot followed her to say farewell.
When she saw him she cried out, "Oh, Sir Lancelot, thou hast betrayed me;
thou hast put me to death thus to depart and leave my lord the king."
"Ah, madam," said he, "be not displeased or angry, for I shall come again as
soon as I can with honor."
"Alas!" said she, "that ever I saw thee; but He that suffered death upon the
cross for all mankind be to thee safety and good conduct, and to all thy
company."
Then Sir Lancelot saluted her and the king, and went forth with the rest, and
came with them that night to Castle Vagon, where they abode, and on the
morrow they departed from each other on their separate ways, every knight
taking the way that pleased him best.
Now Sir Galahad went forth without a shield, and rode so four days without
adventure; and on the fourth day, after evensong, he came to an abbey of
white monks, where he was received in the house, and led into a chamber.
And there he was unarmed, and met two knights of the Round Table, King
Bagdemagus, and Sir Uwaine.
"Sirs," said Sir Galahad, "what adventure hath brought ye here?"
"Within this place, as we are told," they answered, "there is a shield no man
may bear around his neck without receiving sore mischance, or death within
three days."
"To-morrow," said King Bagdemagus, "I shall attempt the adventure; and if
I fail, do thou, Sir Galahad, take it up after me."
"I will willingly," said he; "for as ye see I have no shield as yet."
So on the morrow they arose and heard mass, and afterwards King
Bagdemagus asked where the shield was kept. Then a monk led him behind
the altar, where the shield hung, as white as any snow, and with a blood-red
cross in the midst of it.

"Sir," said the monk, "this shield should hang from no knight's neck unless
he be the worthiest in the world. I warn ye, therefore, knights; consider well
before ye dare to touch it."
"Well," said King Bagdemagus, "I know well that I am far from the best
knight in all the world, yet shall I make the trial"; and so he took the shield,
and bore it from the monastery.
"If it please thee," said he to Sir Galahad, "abide here till thou hearest how I
speed."
"I will abide thee," said he.
Then taking with him a squire who might return with any tidings to Sir
Galahad, the king rode forth; and before he had gone two miles, he saw in a
fair valley a hermitage, and a knight who came forth dressed in white
armor, horse and all, who rode fast against him. When they encountered,
Bagdemagus brake his spear upon the White Knight's shield, but was
himself struck through the shoulder with a sore wound, and hurled down
from his horse. Then the White Knight alighting, came and took the white
shield from the king, and said, "Thou hast done great folly, for this shield
ought never to be borne but by one who hath no living peer." And turning to
the squire, he said, "Bear thou this shield to the good knight, Sir Galahad,
and greet him well from me."
"In whose name shall I greet him?" said the squire.
"Take thou no heed of that," he answered; "it is not for thee or any earthly
man to know."
"Now tell me, fair sir, at the least," said the squire, "why may this shield be
never borne except its wearer come to injury or death?"
"Because it shall belong to no man save its rightful owner, Galahad,"
replied the knight.
Then the squire went to his master, and found him wounded nigh to death,
wherefore he fetched his horse, and bore him back with him to the abbey.
And there they laid him in a bed, and looked to his wounds; and when he

had lain many days grievously sick, he at the last barely escaped with his
life.
"Sir Galahad," said the squire, "the knight who overthrew King
Bagdemagus sent you greeting, and bade you bear this shield."
"Now blessed be God and fortune," said Sir Galahad, and hung the shield
about his neck, and armed him, and rode forth.
Anon he met the White Knight by the hermitage, and each saluted
courteously the other.
"Sir," said Sir Galahad, "this shield I bear hath surely a full marvelous
history."
"Thou sayest rightly," answered he. "That shield was made in the days of
Joseph of Arimathea, the gentle knight who took our Lord down from the
cross. He, when he left Jerusalem with his kindred, came to the country of
King Evelake, who warred continually with one Tollome; and when, by the
teaching of Joseph, King Evelake became a Christian, this shield was made
for him in our Lord's name; and through its aid King Tollome was defeated.
For when King Evelake met him next in battle, he hid it in a veil, and
suddenly uncovering it, he showed his enemies the figure of a bleeding man
nailed to a cross, at sight of which they were discomfited and fled. Presently
after that, a man whose hand was smitten off touched the cross upon the
shield, and had his hand restored to him; and many other miracles it
worked. But suddenly the cross that was upon it vanished away. Anon both
Joseph and King Evelake came to Britain, and by the preaching of Joseph
the people were made Christians. And when at length he lay upon his death-
bed, King Evelake begged of him some token ere he died. Then, calling for
his shield, he dipped his finger in his own blood, for he was bleeding fast,
and none could staunch the wound, and marked that cross upon it, saying,
'This cross shall ever show as bright as now, and the last of my lineage shall
wear this shield about his neck, and go forth to all the marvelous deeds he
will achieve.'"
When the White Knight had thus spoken he vanished suddenly away, and
Sir Galahad returned to the abbey.

As he alighted, came a monk, and prayed him to go see a tomb in the
churchyard, wherefrom came such a great and hideous noise, that none
could hear it but they went nigh mad, or lost all strength. "And, sir," said he,
"I deem it is a fiend."
"Lead me thither," said Sir Galahad.
When they were come near the place, "Now," said the monk, "go thou to the
tomb, and lift it up."
And Galahad, nothing afraid, quickly lifted up the stone, and forthwith
came out a foul smoke, and from the midst thereof leaped up the loathliest
figure that ever he had seen in the likeness of man; and Galahad blessed
himself, for he knew it was a fiend of hell. Then he heard a voice crying
out, "Oh, Galahad, I cannot tear thee as I would; I see so many angels round
thee, that I may not come at thee."
Then the fiend suddenly disappeared with a marvelous great cry; and Sir
Galahad, looking in the tomb, saw there a body all armed, with a sword
beside it. "Now, fair brother," said he to the monk, "let us remove this
cursed body, which is not fit to lie in a churchyard, for when it lived, a false
and perjured Christian man dwelt in it. Cast it away, and there shall come
no more hideous noises from the tomb."
"And now must I depart," he added, "for I have much in hand, and am upon
the holy quest of the Sangreal, with many more good knights."
So he took his leave, and rode many journeys backwards and forwards as
adventure would lead him; and at last one day he departed from a castle
without first hearing mass, which was it ever his custom to hear before he
left his lodging. Anon he found a ruined chapel on a mountain, and went in
and kneeled before the altar, and prayed for wholesome counsel what to do;
and as he prayed he heard a voice, which said, "Depart, adventurous knight,
unto the Maiden's Castle, and redress the violence and wrongs there done!"
Hearing these words he cheerfully arose, and mounted his horse, and rode
but half a mile, when he saw before him a strong castle, with deep ditches
round it, and a fair river running past. And seeing an old churl hard by, he
asked him what men called that castle.

"Fair sir," said he, "it is the Maiden's Castle."
"It is a cursed place," said Galahad, "and all its masters are but felons, full
of mischief and hardness and shame."
"For that good reason," said the old man, "thou wert well-advised to turn
thee back."
"For that same reason," quoth Sir Galahad, "will I the more certainly ride
on."
Then, looking at his armor carefully, to see that nothing failed him, he went
forward, and presently there met him seven damsels, who cried out, "Sir
knight, thou ridest in great peril, for thou hast two waters to pass over."
"Why should I not pass over them?" said he, and rode straight on.
Anon he met a squire, who said, "Sir knight, the masters of this castle defy
thee, and bid thee go no further, till thou showest them thy business here."
"Fair fellow," said Sir Galahad, "I am come here to destroy their wicked
customs."
"If that be thy purpose," answered he, "thou wilt have much to do."
"Go thou," said Galahad, "and hasten with my message."
In a few minutes after rode forth furiously from the gateways of the castle
seven knights, all brothers, and crying out, "Knight, keep thee," bore down
all at once upon Sir Galahad. But thrusting forth his spear, he smote the
foremost to the earth, so that his neck was almost broken, and warded with
his shield the spears of all the others, which every one brake off from it, and
shivered into pieces. Then he drew out his sword, and set upon them hard
and fiercely, and by his wondrous force drave them before him, and chased
them to the castle gate, and there he slew them.
At that came out to him an ancient man, in priest's vestments, saying,
"Behold, sir, here, the keys of this castle."
Then he unlocked the gates, and found within a multitude of people, who
cried out, "Sir knight, ye be welcome, for long have we waited thy

deliverance," and told him that the seven felons he had slain had long
enslaved the people round about, and killed all knights who passed that
way, because the maiden whom they had robbed of the castle had foretold
that by one knight they should themselves be overthrown.
"Where is the maiden?" asked Sir Galahad.
"She lingereth below in a dungeon," said they.
So Sir Galahad went down and released her, and restored her her
inheritance; and when he had summoned the barons of the country to do her
homage, he took his leave, and departed.
Presently thereafter, as he rode, he entered a great forest, and in a glade
thereof met two knights, disguised, who proffered him to joust. These were
Sir Lancelot, his father, and Sir Percival, but neither knew the other. So he
and Sir Lancelot encountered first, and Sir Galahad smote down his father.
Then drawing his sword, for his spear was broken, he fought with Sir
Percival, and struck so mightily that he clave Sir Percival's helm, and smote
him from his horse.
Now hard by where they fought there was a hermitage, where dwelt a pious
woman, a recluse, who, when she heard the sound, came forth, and seeing
Sir Galahad ride, she cried, "God be with thee, the best knight in the world;
had yonder knights known thee as well as I do, they would not have
encountered with thee."
When Sir Galahad heard that, fearing to be made known, he forthwith
smote his horse with his spurs, and departed at a great pace.
Sir Lancelot and Sir Percival heard her words also, and rode fast after him,
but within a while he was out of their sight. Then Sir Percival rode back to
ask his name of the recluse; but Sir Lancelot went forward on his quest, and
following any path his horse would take, he came by-and-by after nightfall
to a stone cross hard by an ancient chapel. When he had alighted and tied
his horse up to a tree, he went and looked in through the chapel door, which
was all ruinous and wasted, and there within he saw an altar, richly decked
with silk, whereon there stood a fair candlestick of silver, bearing six great
lights. And when Sir Lancelot saw the light, he tried to get within the
chapel, but could find no place. So, being passing weary and heavy, he

came again to his horse, and when he had unsaddled him, and set him free
to pasture, he unlaced his helm, and ungirded his sword, and laid him down
to sleep upon his shield before the cross.
And while he lay between waking and sleeping, he saw come by him two
white palfreys bearing a litter, wherein a sick knight lay, and the palfreys
stood still by the cross. Then Sir Lancelot heard the sick man say, "O sweet
Lord, when shall this sorrow leave me, and the holy vessel pass by me,
wherethrough I shall be blessed? for I have long endured."
With that Sir Lancelot saw the chapel open, and the candlestick with the six
tapers come before the cross, but he could see none who bare it. Then came
there also a table of silver, and thereon the holy vessel of the Sangreal. And
when the sick knight saw that, he sat up, and lifting both his hands, said,
"Fair Lord, sweet Lord, who art here within this holy vessel, have mercy on
me, that I may be whole"; and therewith he crept upon his hands and knees
so nigh, that he might touch the vessel; and when he had kissed it, he leaped
up, and stood and cried aloud, "Lord God, I thank Thee, for I am made
whole." Then the Holy Grail departed with the table and the silver
candlestick into the chapel, so that Sir Lancelot saw it no more, nor for his
sins' sake could he follow it. And the knight who was healed went on his
way.
Then Sir Lancelot awake, and marveled whether he had seen aught but a
dream. And as he marveled, he heard a voice saying, "Sir Lancelot, thou art
unworthy, go thou hence, and withdraw thee from this holy place." And
when he heard that, he was passing heavy, for he bethought him of his sins.
So he departed weeping, and cursed the day of his birth, for the words went
into his heart, and he knew wherefore he was thus driven forth. Then he
went to seek his arms and horse, but could not find them; and then he called
himself the wretchedest and most unhappy of all knights, and said, "My sin
hath brought me unto great dishonor: for when I sought earthly honors, I
achieved them ever; but now I take upon me holy things, my guilt doth
hinder me, and shameth me; therefore had I no power to stir or speak when
the holy blood appeared before me."
So thus he sorrowed till it was day, and he heard the birds sing; then was he
somewhat comforted, and departing from the cross on foot, he came into a

wild forest, and to a high mountain, and there he found a hermitage; and,
kneeling before the hermit down upon both his knees, he cried for mercy
for his wicked works, and prayed him to hear his confession. But when he
told his name, the hermit marveled to see him in so sore a case, and said,
"Sir, ye ought to thank God more than any knight living, for He hath given
thee more honor than any; yet for thy presumption, while in deadly sin to
come into the presence of His flesh and blood, He suffered thee neither to
see nor follow it. Wherefore, believe that all thy strength and manhood will
avail thee little, when God is against thee."
Then Sir Lancelot wept and said, "Now know I well ye tell me truth."
Then he confessed to him, and told him all his sins, and how he had for
fourteen years served but Queen Guinevere only, and forgotten God, and
done great deeds of arms for her, and not for Heaven, and had little or
nothing thanked God for the honor that he won. And then Sir Lancelot said,
"I pray you counsel me."
"I will counsel thee," said he: "never more enter into that queen's company
when ye can avoid it."
So Sir Lancelot promised him.
"Look that your heart and your mouth accord," said the good man, "and ye
shall have more honor and more nobleness than ever ye have had."
Then were his arms and horse restored to him, and so he took his leave, and
rode forth, repenting greatly.
Now Sir Percival had ridden back to the recluse, to learn who that knight
was whom she had called the best in the world. And when he had told her
that he was Sir Percival, she made passing great joy of him, for she was his
mother's sister, wherefore she opened her door to him, and made him good
cheer. And on the morrow she told him of her kindred to him, and they both
made great rejoicing. Then he asked her who that knight was, and she told
him, "He it is who on Whit Sunday last was clad in the red robe, and bare
the red arms; and he hath no peer, for he worketh all by miracle, and shall
be never overcome by any earthly hands."

"By my goodwill," said Sir Percival, "I will never after these tidings have to
do with Sir Galahad but in the way of kindness; and I would fain learn
where I may find him."
"Fair nephew," said she, "ye must ride to the Castle of Goth, where he hath
a cousin; by him ye may be lodged, and he will teach you the way to go; but
if he can tell you no tidings, ride straight to the Castle of Carbonek, where
the wounded king is lying, for there shall ye surely hear true tidings of
him."
So Sir Percival departed from his aunt, and rode till evensong time, when he
was ware of a monastery closed round with walls and deep ditches, where
he knocked at the gate, and anon was let in. And there he had good cheer
that night, and on the morrow heard mass. And beside the altar where the
priest stood, was a rich bed of silk and cloth of gold; and on the bed there
lay a man passing old, having a crown of gold upon his head, and all his
body was full of great wounds, and his eyes almost wholly blind; and ever
he held up his hands and said, "Sweet Lord, forget not me!"
Then Sir Percival asked one of the brethren who he was.
"Sir," said the good man, "ye have heard of Joseph of Arimathea, how he
was sent of Jesus Christ into this land to preach and teach the Christian
faith. Now, in the city of Sarras he converted a king named Evelake, and
this is he. He came with Joseph to this land, and ever desired greatly to see
the Sangreal; so on a time he came nigh thereto, and was struck almost
blind. Then he cried out for mercy, and said, 'Fair Lord, I pray thee let me
never die until a good knight of my blood achieve the Sangreal, and I may
see and kiss him.' When he had thus prayed, he heard a voice that said, 'Thy
prayers be heard and answered, for thou shalt not die till that knight kiss
thee; and when he cometh shall thine eyes be opened and thy wounds be
healed.' And now hath he lived here for three hundred winters in a holy life,
and men say a certain knight of King Arthur's court shall shortly heal him."
Thereat Sir Percival marveled greatly, for he well knew who that knight
should be; and so, taking his leave of the monk, departed.
Then he rode on till noon, and came into a valley where he met twenty
men-at-arms bearing a dead knight on a bier. And they cried to him,

"Whence comest thou?"
"From King Arthur's court," he answered.
Then they all cried together, "Slay him," and set upon him.
But he smote down the first man to the ground, and his horse upon him;
whereat seven of them all at once assailed him, and others slew his horse.
Thus he had been either taken or slain, but by good chance Sir Galahad was
passing by that way, who, seeing twenty men attacking one, cried, "Slay
him not," and rushed upon them; and, as fast as his horse could drive, he
encountered with the foremost man, and smote him down. Then, his spear
being broken, he drew forth his sword and struck out on the right hand and
on the left, at each blow smiting down a man, till the remainder fled, and he
pursued them.
Then Sir Percival, knowing that it was Sir Galahad, would fain have
overtaken him, but could not, for his horse was slain. Yet followed he on
foot as fast as he could go; and as he went there met him a yeoman riding
on a palfrey, and leading in his hand a great black steed. So Sir Percival
prayed him to lend him the steed, that he might overtake Sir Galahad. But
he replied, "That can I not do, fair sir, for the horse is my master's, and
should I lend it he would slay me." So he departed, and Sir Percival sat
down beneath a tree in heaviness of heart. And as he sat, anon a knight went
riding past on the black steed which the yeoman had led. And presently
after came the yeoman back in haste, and asked Sir Percival if he had seen a
knight riding his horse.
"Yea," said Sir Percival.
"Alas," said the yeoman, "he hath reft him from me by strength, and my
master will slay me."
Then he besought Sir Percival to take his hackney and follow, and get back
his steed. So he rode quickly, and overtook the knight, and cried, "Knight,
turn again." Whereat he turned and set his spear, and smote Sir Percival's
hackney in the breast, so that it fell dead, and then went on his way. Then
cried Sir Percival after him, "Turn now, false knight, and fight with me on
foot"; but he would not, and rode out of sight.

Then was Sir Percival passing wroth and heavy of heart, and lay down to
rest beneath a tree, and slept till midnight. When he awoke he saw a woman
standing by him, who said to him right fiercely, "Sir Percival, what doest
thou here?"
"I do neither good nor evil," said he.
"If thou wilt promise me," said she, "to do my will whenever I shall ask
thee, I will bring thee here a horse that will bear thee wheresoever thou
desirest."
At that he was full glad, and promised as she asked. Then anon she came
again, with a great black steed, strong and well appareled. So Sir Percival
mounted, and rode through the clear moonlight, and within less than an
hour had gone a four days' journey, till he came to a rough water that
roared; and his horse would have borne him into it, but Sir Percival would
not suffer him, yet could he scarce restrain him. And seeing the water so
furious, he made the sign of the cross upon his forehead, whereat the horse
suddenly shook him off, and with a terrible sound leaped into the water and
disappeared, the waves all burning up in flames around him. Then Sir
Percival knew it was a fiend which had brought him the horse; so he
commended himself to God, and prayed that he might escape temptations,
and continued in prayer till it was day.
Then he saw that he was on a wild mountain, nigh surrounded on all sides
by the sea, and filled with wild beasts; and going on into a valley, he saw a
serpent carrying a young lion by the neck. With that came another lion,
crying and roaring after the serpent, and anon overtook him, and began to
battle with him. And Sir Percival helped the lion, and drew his sword, and
gave the serpent such a stroke that it fell dead. Thereat the lion fawned upon
him like a dog, licking his hands, and crouching at his feet, and at night lay
down by him and slept at his side.
And at noon the next day Sir Percival saw a ship come sailing before a
strong wind upon the sea towards him, and he rose and went towards it.
And when it came to shore, he found it covered with white samite, and on
the deck there stood an old man dressed in priest's robes, who said, "God be
with you, fair sir; whence come ye?"

"I am a knight of King Arthur's court," said he, "and follow the quest of the
Sangreal; but here have I lost myself in this wilderness."
"Fear nothing," said the old man, "for I have come from a strange country
to comfort thee."
Then he told Sir Percival it was a fiend of hell upon which he had ridden to
the sea, and that the lion, whom he had delivered from the serpent, meant
the Church. And Sir Percival rejoiced at these tidings, and entered into the
ship, which presently sailed from the shore into the sea.
Now when Sir Bors rode forth from Camelot to seek the Sangreal, anon he
met a holy man riding on an ass, and courteously saluted him.
"Who are ye, son?" said the good man.
"I am a knight," said he, "in quest of the Sangreal, and would fain have thy
counsel, for he shall have much earthly honor who may bring it to a
favorable end."
"That is truth," said the good man, "for he shall be the best knight of the
world; yet know that none shall gain it save by sinless living."
So they rode to his hermitage together, and there he prayed Sir Bors to
abide that night, and anon they went into the chapel, and Sir Bors was
confessed. And they eat bread and drank water together.
"Now," said the hermit, "I pray thee eat no other food till thou sit at the
table where the Sangreal shall be." Thereto Sir Bors agreed.
"Also," said the hermit, "it were wise that ye should wear a sackcloth
garment next your skin, for penance"; and in this also did Sir Bors as he
was counseled. And afterwards he armed himself and took his leave.
Then rode he onwards all that day, and as he rode he saw a passing great
bird sit in an old dry tree, whereon no leaves were left; and many little birds
lay round the great one, nigh dead with hunger. Then did the big bird smite
himself with his own bill, and bled till he died amongst his little ones, and
they recovered life in drinking up his blood. When Sir Bors saw this he
knew it was a token, and rode on full of thought. And about eventide he
came to a tower, whereto he prayed admission, and he was received gladly

by the lady of the castle. But when a supper of many meats and dainties was
set before him, he remembered his vow, and bade a squire to bring him
water, and therein he dipped his bread, and ate.
Then said the lady, "Sir Bors, I fear ye like not my meat."
"Yea, truly," said he; "God thank thee, madam; but I may eat no other meat
this day."
After supper came a squire, and said, "Madam, bethink thee to provide a
champion for thee to-morrow for the tourney, or else shall thy sister have
thy castle."
At that the lady wept, and made great sorrow. But Sir Bors prayed her to be
comforted, and asked her why the tournament was held. Then she told him
how she and her sister were the daughters of King Anianse, who left them
all his lands between them; and how her sister was the wife of a strong
knight, named Sir Pridan le Noir, who had taken from herself all her lands,
save the one tower wherein she dwelt. "And now," said she, "this also will
they take, unless I find a champion by to-morrow."
Then said Sir Bors, "Be comforted; to-morrow I will fight for thee";
whereat she rejoiced not a little, and sent word to Sir Pridan that she was
provided and ready. And Sir Bors lay on the floor, and in no bed, nor ever
would do otherwise till he had achieved his quest.
On the morrow he arose and clothed himself, and went into the chapel,
where the lady met him, and they heard mass together. Anon he called for
his armor, and went with a goodly company of knights to the battle. And the
lady prayed him to refresh himself ere he should fight, but he refused to
break his fast until the tournament were done. So they all rode together to
the lists, and there they saw the lady's eldest sister, and her husband, Sir
Pridan le Noir. And a cry was made by the heralds that, whichever should
win, his lady should have all the other's lands.
Then the two knights departed asunder a little space, and came together
with such force, that both their spears were shivered, and their shields and
hauberks pierced through; and both fell to the ground sorely wounded, with
their horses under them. But swiftly they arose, and drew their swords, and
smote each other on the head with many great and heavy blows, till the

blood ran down their bodies; and Sir Pridan was a full good knight, so that
Sir Bors had more ado than he had thought for to overcome him.
But at last Sir Pridan grew a little faint; that instantly perceived Sir Bors,
and rushed upon him the more vehemently, and smote him fiercely, till he
rent off his helm, and then gave him great strokes upon his visage with the
flat of his sword, and bade him yield or be slain.
And then Sir Pridan cried him mercy, and said, "For God's sake slay me not,
and I will never war against thy lady more." So Sir Bors let him go, and his
wife fled away with all her knights.
Then all those who had held lands of the lady of the tower came and did
homage to her again, and swore fealty. And when the country was at peace
Sir Bors departed, and rode forth into a forest until it was midday, and there
befell him a marvelous adventure.
For at a place where two ways parted, there met him two knights, bearing
Sir Lionel, his brother, all naked, bound on a horse, and as they rode, they
beat him sorely with thorns, so that the blood trailed down in more than a
hundred places from his body; but for all this he uttered no word or groan,
so great he was of heart. As soon as Sir Bors knew his brother, he put his
spear in rest to run and rescue him; but in the same moment heard a
woman's voice cry close beside him in the wood, "St. Mary, succor thy
maid"; and, looking round, he saw a damsel whom a felon knight dragged
after him into the thickets; and she, perceiving him, cried piteously for help,
and adjured him to deliver her as he was a sworn knight. Then was Sir Bors
sore troubled, and knew not what to do, for he thought within himself, "If I
let my brother be, he will be murdered; but if I help not the maid, she is
shamed forever, and my vow compelleth me to set her free; wherefore must
I first help her, and trust my brother unto God."
So, riding to the knight who held the damsel, he cried out, "Sir knight, lay
your hand off that maid, or else ye be but dead."
At that the knight set down the maid, and dropped his shield, and drew forth
his sword against Sir Bors, who ran at him, and smote him through both
shield and shoulder, and threw him to the earth; and when he pulled his
spear forth, the knight swooned. Then the maid thanked Sir Bors heartily,

and he set her on the knight's horse, and brought her to her men-at-arms,
who presently came riding after her. And they made much joy, and besought
him to come to her father, a great lord, and he should be right welcome. But
"truly," said he, "I may not at this time, for I have a great adventure yet to
do"; and commending them to God, he departed in great haste to find his
brother.
So he rode, seeking him by the track of the horses a great while. Anon he
met a seeming holy man riding upon a strong black horse, and asked him,
had he seen pass by that way a knight led bound and beaten with thorns by
two others.
"Yea, truly, such an one I saw," said the man; "but he is dead, and lo! his
body is hard by in a bush."
Then he showed him a newly slain body lying in a thick bush, which
seemed indeed to be Sir Lionel. Then made Sir Bors such mourning and
sorrow that by-and-by he fell into a swoon upon the ground. And when he
came to himself again, he took the body in his arms and put it on his horse's
saddle, and bore it to a chapel hard by, and would have buried it. But when
he made the sign of the cross, he heard a full great noise and cry as though
all the fiends of hell had been about him, and suddenly the body and the
chapel and the old man vanished all away. Then he knew that it was the
devil who had thus beguiled him, and that his brother yet lived.
Then held he up his hands to heaven, and thanked God for his own escape
from hurt, and rode onwards; and anon, as he passed by an hermitage in a
forest, he saw his brother sitting armed by the door. And when he saw him
he was filled with joy, and lighted from his horse, and ran to him and said,
"Fair brother, when came ye hither?"
But Sir Lionel answered, with an angry face, "What vain words be these,
when for you I might have been slain? Did ye not see me bound and led
away to death, and left me in that peril to go succoring a gentlewoman, the
like whereof no brother ever yet hath done? Now, for thy false misdeed, I
do defy thee, and ensure thee speedy death."
Then Sir Bors prayed his brother to abate his anger, and said, "Fair brother,
remember the love that should be between us twain."

But Sir Lionel would not hear, and prepared to fight, and mounted his horse
and came before him, crying, "Sir Bors, keep thee from me, for I shall do to
thee as a felon and a traitor; therefore, start upon thy horse, for if thou wilt
not, I will run upon thee as thou standest."
But for all his words Sir Bors would not defend himself against his brother.
And anon the fiend stirred up Sir Lionel to such rage, that he rushed over
him and overthrew him with his horse's hoofs, so that he lay swooning on
the ground. Then would he have rent off his helm and slain him, but the
hermit of that place ran out, and prayed him to forbear, and shielded Sir
Bors with his body.
Then Sir Lionel cried out, "Now, God so help me, sir priest, but I shall slay
thee else thou depart, and him too after thee."
And when the good man utterly refused to leave Sir Bors, he smote him on
the head until he died, and then he took his brother by the helm and unlaced
it, to have stricken off his head, and so he would have done, but suddenly
was pulled off backwards by a knight of the Round Table, who, by the will
of Heaven, was passing by that place—Sir Colgrevance by name.
"Sir Lionel," he cried, "will ye slay your brother, one of the best knights of
all the world? That ought no man to suffer."
"Why," said Sir Lionel, "will ye hinder me and meddle in this strife?
beware, lest I shall slay both thee and him."
And when Sir Colgrevance refused to let them be, Sir Lionel defied him,
and gave him a great stroke through the helmet, whereat Sir Colgrevance
drew his sword, and smote again right manfully. And so long they fought
together that Sir Bors awoke from his swoon, and tried to rise and part
them, but had no strength to stand upon his feet.
Anon Sir Colgrevance saw him, and cried out to him for help, for now Sir
Lionel had nigh defeated him. When Sir Bors heard that, he struggled to his
feet, and put his helmet on, and took his sword. But before he could come
to him, Sir Lionel had smitten off Sir Colgrevance's helm, and thrown him
to the earth and slain him. Then turned he to his brother as a man possessed
by fiends, and gave him such a stroke as bent him nearly double.

But Sir Bors prayed him for God's sake to quit that battle, "For if it befell us
that we either slew the other we should die for care of that sin."
"Never will I spare thee if I master thee," cried out Sir Lionel.
Then Sir Bors drew his sword all weeping, and said, "Now, God have
mercy on me, though I defend my life against my brother"; with that he
lifted up his sword to strike, but suddenly he heard a mighty voice, "Put up
thy sword, Sir Bors, and flee, or thou shalt surely slay him." And then there
fell upon them both a fiery cloud, which flamed and burned their shields,
and they fell to the earth in sore dread.
Anon Sir Bors rose to his feet, and saw that Sir Lionel had taken no harm.
Then came the voice again, and said, "Sir Bors, go hence and leave thy
brother, and ride thou forward to the sea, for there Sir Percival abideth
thee."
Then he said to his brother, "Brother, forgive me all my trespass against
thee."
And Sir Lionel answered, "God forgive it thee, as I do."
Then he departed and rode to the sea, and on the strand he found a ship all
covered with white samite, and as soon as he had entered thereinto, it put
forth from the shore. And in the midst of the ship there stood an armed
knight, whom he knew to be Sir Percival. Then they rejoiced greatly over
each other, and said, "We lack nothing now but the good knight Sir
Galahad."
Now when Sir Galahad had rescued Sir Percival from the twenty knights he
rode into a vast forest. And after many days it befell that he came to a castle
whereat was a tournament. And the knights of the castle were put to the
worse; which when he saw, he set his spear in rest and ran to help them, and
smote down many of their adversaries. And as it chanced, Sir Gawain was
amongst the stranger knights, and when he saw the white shield with the red
cross, he knew it was Sir Galahad, and proffered to joust with him. So they
encountered, and having broken their spears, they drew their swords, and
Sir Galahad smote Sir Gawain so sorely on the helm that he clove it
through, and struck on slanting to the earth, carving the horse's shoulder in
twain, and Sir Gawain fell to the earth. Then Sir Galahad beat back all who

warred against the castle, yet would he not wait for thanks, but rode away
that no man might know him.
And he rested that night at a hermitage, and when he was asleep, he heard a
knocking at the door. So he rose, and found a damsel there, who said, "Sir
Galahad, I will that ye arm you, and mount upon your horse and follow me,
for I will show you within these three days the highest adventure that ever
any knight saw."
Anon Sir Galahad armed him, and took his horse, and commended himself
to God, and bade the gentlewoman go, and he would follow where she
liked.
So they rode onwards to the sea as fast as their horses might gallop, and at
night they came to a castle in a valley, inclosed by running water, and by
strong and high walls, whereinto they entered and had great cheer, for the
lady of the castle was the damsel's mistress.
And when he was unarmed, the damsel said to her lady, "Madam, shall we
abide here this night?"
"Nay," said she, "but only till he hath dined and slept a little."
So he ate and slept a while, till the maid called him, and armed him by
torchlight; and when he had saluted the lady of the castle, the damsel and
Sir Galahad rode on.
Anon they came to the seaside, and lo! the ship, wherein were Sir Percival
and Sir Bors, abode by the shore. Then they cried, "Welcome, Sir Galahad,
for we have awaited thee long."
Then they rejoiced to see each other, and told of all their adventures and
temptations. And the damsel went into the ship with them, and spake to Sir
Percival: "Sir Percival, know ye not who I am?"
And he replied, "Nay, certainly, I know thee not."
Then said she, "I am thy sister, the daughter of King Pellinore, and am sent
to help thee and these knights, thy fellows, to achieve the quest which ye all
follow."

So Sir Percival rejoiced to see his sister, and they departed from the shore.
And after a while they came upon a whirlpool, where their ship could not
live. Then saw they another greater ship hard by and went towards it, but
saw neither man nor woman therein. And on the end of it these words were
written, "Thou who shalt enter me, beware that thou be in steadfast belief,
for I am Faith; and if thou doubtest, I cannot help thee." Then were they all
adread, but, commending themselves to God, they entered in.
As soon as they were on board they saw a fair bed, whereon lay a crown of
silk, and at the foot was a fair and rich sword drawn from its scabbard half a
foot and more. The pommel was of precious stones of many colors, every
color having a different virtue, and the scales of the haft were of two ribs of
different beasts. The one was bone of a serpent from Calidone forest, named
the serpent of the fiend; and its virtue saveth all men who hold it from
weariness. The other was of a fish that haunteth the floods of Euphrates,
named Ertanax; and its virtue causeth whoever holdeth it to forget all other
things, whether of joy or pain, save the thing he seeth before him.
"In the name of God," said Sir Percival, "I shall assay to handle this sword";
and set his hand to it, but could not grasp it. "By my faith," said he, "now
have I failed."
Sir Bors set his hand to it, and failed also.
Then came Sir Galahad, and saw these letters written red as blood, "None
shall draw me forth save the hardiest of all men; but he that draweth me
shall never be shamed or wounded to death." "By my faith," said Sir
Galahad, "I would draw it forth, but dare not try."
"Ye may try safely," said the gentlewoman, Sir Percival's sister, "for be ye
well assured the drawing of this sword is forbid to all but you. For this was
the sword of David, King of Israel, and Solomon his son made for it this
marvelous pommel and this wondrous sheath, and laid it on this bed till
thou shouldest come and take it up; and though before thee some have
dared to raise it, yet have they all been maimed or wounded for their
daring."
"Where," said Sir Galahad, "shall we find a girdle for it?"

"Fair sir," said she, "dismay you not"; and therewith took from out a box a
girdle, nobly wrought with golden thread, set full of precious stones and
with a rich gold buckle. "This girdle, lords," said she, "is made for the most
part of mine own hair, which, while I was yet in the world, I loved full well;
but when I knew that this adventure was ordained me, I cut off and wove as
ye now see."
Then they all prayed Sir Galahad to take the sword, and so anon he gripped
it in his fingers; and the maiden girt it round his waist, saying, "Now reck I
not though I die, for I have made thee the worthiest knight of all the world."
"Fair damsel," said Sir Galahad, "ye have done so much that I shall be your
knight all the days of my life."
Then the ship sailed a great way on the sea, and brought them to land near
the Castle of Carteloise. When they were landed came a squire and asked
them, "Be ye of King Arthur's court?"
"We are," said they.
"In an evil hour are ye come," said he, and went back swiftly to the castle.
Within a while they heard a great horn blow, and saw a multitude of well-
armed knights come forth, who bade them yield or die. At that they ran
together, and Sir Percival smote one to the earth and mounted his horse, and
so likewise did Sir Bors and Sir Galahad, and soon had they routed all their
enemies and alighted on foot, and with their swords slew them downright,
and entered into the castle.
Then came there forth a priest, to whom Sir Galahad kneeled and said, "In
sooth, good father, I repent me of this slaughter; but we were first assailed,
or else it had not been."
"Repent ye not," said the good man, "for if ye lived as long as the world
lasted ye could do no better deed, for these were all the felon sons of a good
knight, Earl Hernox, whom they have thrown into a dungeon, and in his
name have slain priests and clerks, and beat down chapels far and near."
Then Sir Galahad prayed the priest to bring him to the earl; who, when he
saw Sir Galahad, cried out, "Long have I waited for thy coming, and now I

pray thee hold me in thine arms that I may die in peace."
And therewith, when Sir Galahad had taken him in his arms, his soul
departed from his body.
Then came a voice in the hearing of them all, "Depart now, Sir Galahad,
and go quickly to the maimed king, for he hath long abided to receive
health from thy hand."
So the three knights departed, and Sir Percival's sister with them, and came
to a vast forest, and saw before them a white hart, exceeding fair, led by
four lions; and marveling greatly at that sight, they followed.
Anon they came to a hermitage and a chapel, whereunto the hart entered,
and the lions with it. Then a priest offered mass, and presently they saw the
hart change into the figure of a man, most sweet and comely to behold; and
the four lions also changed and became a man, an eagle, a lion, and an ox.
And suddenly all those five figures vanished without sound. Then the
knights marveled greatly, and fell upon their knees, and when they rose they
prayed the priest to tell them what that sight might mean.
"What saw ye, sirs?" said he, "for I saw nothing." Then they told him.
"Ah, lords!" said he, "ye are full welcome; now know I well ye be the
knights who shall achieve the Sangreal, for unto them alone such mysteries
are revealed. The hart ye saw is One above all men, white and without
blemish, and the four lions with Him are the four evangelists."
When they heard that they heartily rejoiced, and thanking the priest,
departed.
Anon, as they passed by a certain castle, an armed knight suddenly came
after them, and cried out to the damsel, "By the holy cross, ye shall not go
till ye have yielded to the custom of the castle."
"Let her go," said Sir Percival, "for a maiden, wheresoever she cometh, is
free."
"Whatever maiden passeth here," replied the knight, "must give a dishful of
her blood from her right arm."

"It is a foul and shameful custom," cried Sir Galahad and both his fellows,
"and sooner will we die than let this maiden yield thereto."
"Then shall ye die," replied the knight, and as he spake there came out from
a gate hard by, ten or twelve more, and encountered with them, running
upon them vehemently with a great cry. But the three knights withstood
them, and set their hands to their swords, and beat them down and slew
them.
At that came forth a company of threescore knights, all armed. "Fair lords,"
said Sir Galahad, "have mercy on yourselves and keep from us."
"Nay, fair lords," they answered, "rather be advised by us, and yield ye to
our custom."
"It is an idle word," said Galahad, "in vain ye speak it."
"Well," said they, "will ye die?"
"We be not come thereto as yet," replied Sir Galahad.
Then did they fall upon each other, and Sir Galahad drew forth his sword,
and smote on the right hand and on the left, and slew so mightily that all
who saw him thought he was a monster and no earthly man. And both his
comrades helped him well, and so they held the field against that multitude
till it was night. Then came a good knight forward from the enemy and said,
"Fair knights, abide with us to-night and be right welcome; by the faith of
our bodies as we are true knights, to-morrow ye shall rise unharmed, and
meanwhile maybe ye will, of your own accord, accept the custom of the
castle when ye know it better."
So they entered and alighted and made great cheer. Anon, they asked them
whence that custom came. "The lady of this castle is a leper," said they,
"and can be no way cured save by the blood of a pure virgin and a king's
daughter; therefore to save her life are we her servants bound to stay every
maid that passeth by, and try if her blood may not cure our mistress."
Then said the damsel, "Take ye of my blood as much as ye will, if it may
avail your lady."

And though the three knights urged her not to put her life in that great peril,
she replied, "If I die to heal another's body, I shall get health to my soul,"
and would not be persuaded to refuse.
So on the morrow she was brought to the sick lady, and her arm was bared,
and a vein thereof was opened, and the dish filled with her blood. Then the
sick lady was anointed therewith, and anon she was whole of her malady.
With that Sir Percival's sister lifted up her hand and blessed her, saying,
"Madam, I am come to my death to make you whole; for God's love pray
for me"; and thus saying she fell down in a swoon.
Then Sir Galahad, Sir Percival, and Sir Bors started to lift her up and
staunch her blood, but she had lost too much to live. So when she came to
herself she said to Sir Percival, "Fair brother, I must die for the healing of
this lady, and now, I pray thee, bury me not here, but when I am dead put
me in a boat at the next haven and let me float at venture on the sea. And
when ye come to the city of Sarras, to achieve the Sangreal, shall ye find
me waiting by a tower, and there I pray thee bury me, for there shall Sir
Galahad and ye also be laid." Thus having said, she died.
Then Sir Percival wrote all the story of her life and put it in her right hand,
and so laid her in a barge and covered it with silk. And the wind arising
drove the barge from land, and all the knights stood watching it till it was
out of sight.
Anon they returned to the castle, and forthwith fell a sudden tempest of
thunder and lightning and rain, as if the earth were broken up: and half the
castle was thrown down. Then came a voice to the three knights which said,
"Depart ye now asunder till ye meet again where the maimed king is lying."
So they parted and rode divers ways.
Now after Sir Lancelot had left the hermit, he rode a long while till he knew
not whither to turn, and so he lay down to sleep, if haply he might dream
whither to go.
And in his sleep a vision came to him saying, "Lancelot, rise up and take
thine armor, and enter the first ship that thou shalt find."
When he awoke he obeyed the vision, and rode till he came to the sea-
shore, and found there a ship without sails or oars, and as soon as he was in

it he smelt the sweetest savor he had ever known, and seemed filled with all
things he could think of or desire. And looking round he saw a fair bed, and
thereon a gentlewoman lying dead, who was Sir Percival's sister. And as Sir
Lancelot looked on her he spied the writing in her right hand, and, taking it,
he read therein her story. And more than a month thereafter he abode in that
ship and was nourished by the grace of Heaven, as Israel was fed with
manna in the desert.
And on a certain night he went ashore to pass the time, for he was
somewhat weary, and, listening, he heard a horse come towards him, from
which a knight alighted and went up into the ship; who, when he saw Sir
Lancelot, said, "Fair sir, ye be right welcome to mine eyes, for I am thy son
Galahad, and long time I have sought for thee." With that he kneeled and
asked his blessing, and took off his helm and kissed him, and the great joy
there was between them no tongue can tell.
Then for half a year they dwelt together in the ship, and served God night
and day with all their powers, and went to many unknown islands, where
none but wild beasts haunted, and there found many strange and perilous
adventures.
And upon a time they came to the edge of a forest, before a cross of stone,
and saw a knight armed all in white, leading a white horse. Then the knight
saluted them, and said to Galahad, "Ye have been long time enough with
your father; now, therefore, leave him and ride this horse till ye achieve the
Holy Quest."
Then went Sir Galahad to his father and kissed him full courteously, and
said, "Fair father, I know not when I shall see thee again."
And as he took his horse a voice spake in their hearing, "Ye shall meet no
more in this life."
"Now, my son, Sir Galahad," said Sir Lancelot, "since we must so part and
see each other never more, I pray the High Father of Heaven to preserve
both you and me."
Then they bade farewell, and Sir Galahad entered the forest, and Sir
Lancelot returned to the ship, and the wind rose and drove him more than a

month through the sea, whereby he slept but little, yet ever prayed that he
might see the Sangreal.
So it befell upon a certain midnight, the moon shining clear, he came before
a fair and rich castle, whereof the postern gate was open towards the sea,
having no keeper save two lions in the entry.
Anon Sir Lancelot heard a voice: "Leave now thy ship and go within the
castle, and thou shalt see a part of thy desire."
Then he armed and went towards the gate, and coming to the lions he drew
out his sword, but suddenly a dwarf rushed out and smote him on the arm,
so that he dropt his sword, and heard again the voice, "Oh, man of evil
faith, and poor belief, wherefore trustest thou thine arms above thy Maker?"
Then he put up his sword and signed the cross upon his forehead, and so
passed by the lions without hurt.
And going in, he found a chamber with the door shut, which in vain he tried
to open. And listening thereat he heard a voice within, which sang so
sweetly that it seemed no earthly thing, "Joy and honor be to the Father of
Heaven!" Then he kneeled down at the door, for he knew well the Sangreal
was there within.
Anon the door was opened without hands, and forthwith came thereout so
great a splendor as if all the torches of the world had been alight together.
But when he would have entered in, a voice forbade him; wherefore he
drew back, and looked, standing upon the threshold of the door. And there
he saw a table of silver, and the holy vessel covered with red samite, and
many angels round it holding burning candles and a cross and all the
ornaments of the altar.
Then a priest stood up and offered mass, and when he took the vessel up, he
seemed to sink beneath that burden. At that Sir Lancelot cried, "O Father,
take it not for sin that I go in to help the priest, who hath much need
thereof." So saying, he went in, but when he came towards the table he felt
a breath of fire which issued out therefrom and smote him to the ground, so
that he had no power to rise.
Then felt he many hands about him, which took him up and laid him down
outside the chapel door. There lay he in a swoon all through that night, and

on the morrow certain people found him senseless, and bore him to an inner
chamber and laid him on a bed. And there he rested, living, but moving no
limbs, twenty-four days and nights.
On the twenty-fifth day he opened his eyes and saw those standing round,
and said, "Why have ye waked me? for I have seen marvels that no tongue
can tell, and more than any heart can think."
Then he asked where he was, and they told him, "In the Castle of
Carbonek."
"Tell your lord, King Pelles," said he, "that I am Sir Lancelot."
At that they marveled greatly, and told their lord it was Sir Lancelot who
had lain there so long.
Then was King Pelles wondrous glad and went to see him, and prayed him
to abide there for a season. But Sir Lancelot said, "I know well that I have
now seen as much as mine eyes may behold of the Sangreal; wherefore I
will return to my own country." So he took leave of King Pelles, and
departed towards Logris.
Now after Sir Galahad had parted from Sir Lancelot, he rode many days, till
he came to the monastery where the blind King Evelake lay, whom Sir
Percival had seen. And on the morrow, when he had heard mass, Sir
Galahad desired to see the king, who cried out, "Welcome, Sir Galahad,
servant of the Lord! long have I abided thy coming. Take me now in thine
arms, that I may die in peace."
At that Sir Galahad embraced him; and when he had so done the king's eyes
were opened, and he said, "Fair Lord Jesus, suffer me now to come to
Thee"; and anon his soul departed.
Then they buried him royally, as a king should be; and Sir Galahad went on
his way.
Within a while he came to a chapel in a forest, in the crypt whereof he saw
a tomb which always blazed and burnt. And asking the brethren what that
might mean, they told him, "Joseph of Arimathea's son did found this
monastery, and one who wronged him hath lain here these three hundred

and fifty years and burneth evermore, until that perfect knight who shall
achieve the Sangreal doth quench the fire."
Then said he, "I pray ye bring me to the tomb."
And when he touched the place immediately the fire was quenched, and a
voice came from the grave and cried, "Thanks be to God, who now hath
purged me of my sin, and draweth me from earthly pains into the joys of
paradise."
Then Sir Galahad took the body in his arms and bore it to the abbey, and on
the morrow put it in the earth before the high altar.
Anon he departed from thence and rode five days in a great forest; and after
that he met Sir Percival, and a little further on Sir Bors. When they had told
each other their adventures, they rode together to the Castle of Carbonek:
and there King Pelles gave them hearty welcome, for he knew they should
achieve the Holy Quest.
As soon as they were come into the castle, a voice cried in the midst of the
chamber, "Let them who ought not now to sit at the table of the Lord rise
and depart hence!" Then all, save those three knights, departed.
Anon they saw other knights come in with haste at the hall doors and take
their harness off, who said to Sir Galahad, "Sir, we have tried sore to be
with you at this table."
"Ye be welcome," said he, "but whence are ye?"
So three of them said they were from Gaul; and three from Ireland; and
three from Denmark.
Then came forth the likeness of a bishop, with a cross in his hand, and four
angels stood by him, and a table of silver was before them, whereon was set
the vessel of the Sangreal. Then came forth other angels also—two bearing
burning candles, and the third a towel, and the fourth a spear which bled
marvelously, the drops wherefrom fell into a box he held in his left hand.
Anon the bishop took the wafer up to consecrate it, and at the lifting up,
they saw the figure of a Child, whose visage was as bright as any fire,

which smote itself into the midst of the wafer and vanished, so that all saw
the flesh made bread.
Thereat the bishop went to Galahad and kissed him, and bade him go and
kiss his fellows; and said, "Now, servants of the Lord, prepare for food such
as none ever yet were fed with since the world began."
With that he vanished, and the knights were filled with a great dread and
prayed devoutly.
Then saw they come forth from the holy vessel the vision of a man bleeding
all openly, whom they knew well by the tokens of His passion for the Lord
Himself. At that they fell upon their faces and were dumb. Anon he brought
the Holy Grail to them and spake high words of comfort, and, when they
drank therefrom, the taste thereof was sweeter than any tongue could tell or
heart desire. Then a voice said to Galahad, "Son, with this blood which
drippeth from the spear anoint thou the maimed king and heal him. And
when thou hast this done, depart hence with thy brethren in a ship that ye
shall find, and go to the city of Sarras. And bear with thee the holy vessel,
for it shall no more be seen in the realm of Logris."
At that Sir Galahad walked to the bleeding spear, and therefrom anointing
his fingers went out straightway to the maimed King Pelles, and touched his
wound. Then suddenly he uprose from his bed as whole a man as ever he
was, and praised God passing thankfully with all his heart.
Then Sir Galahad, Sir Bors, and Sir Percival departed as they had been told;
and when they had ridden three days they came to the sea-shore, and found
the ship awaiting them. Therein they entered, and saw in the midst the silver
table and the vessel of the Sangreal, covered with red samite. Then were
they passing glad, and made great reverence thereto. And Sir Galahad
prayed that now he might leave the world and pass to God. And presently,
the while he prayed, a voice said to him, "Galahad, thy prayer is heard, and
when thou asketh the death of the body thou shalt have it, and find the life
of thy soul."
But while they prayed and slept the ship sailed on, and when they woke
they saw the city of Sarras before them, and the other ship wherein was Sir
Percival's sister. Then the three knights took up the holy table and the

Sangreal and went into the city; and there, in a chapel, they buried Sir
Percival's sister right solemnly.
Now at the gate of the town they saw an old cripple sitting, whom Sir
Galahad called to help them bear their weight.
"Truly," said the old man, "it is ten years since I have gone a step without
these crutches."
"Care ye not," said Sir Galahad, "rise now and show goodwill."
So he assayed to move, and found his limbs as strong as any man's might
be, and running to the table helped to carry it.
Anon there rose a rumor in the city that a cripple had been healed by certain
marvelous strange knights.
But the king, named Estouranse, who was a heathen tyrant, when he heard
thereof took Sir Galahad and his fellows, and put them in prison in a deep
hole. Therein they abode a great while, but ever the Sangreal was with them
and fed them with marvelous sweet food, so that they fainted not, but had
all joy and comfort they could wish.
At the year's end the king fell sick and felt that he should die. Then sent he
for the three knights, and when they came before him prayed their mercy
for his trespasses against them. So they forgave him gladly, and anon he
died.
Then the chief men of the city took counsel together who should be king in
his stead, and as they talked, a voice cried in their midst, "Choose ye the
youngest of the three knights King Estouranse cast into prison for your
king." At that they sought Sir Galahad and made him king with the assent of
all the city, and else they would have slain him.
But within a twelve-month came to him, upon a certain day, as he prayed
before the Sangreal, a man in likeness of a bishop, with a great company of
angels round about him, who offered mass, and afterwards called to Sir
Galahad, "Come forth, thou servant of the Lord, for the time hath come
thou hast desired so long."

Then Sir Galahad lifted up his hands and prayed, "Now, blessed Lord!
would I no longer live if it might please Thee."
Anon the bishop gave him the sacrament, and when he had received it with
unspeakable gladness, he said, "Who art thou, father?"
"I am Joseph of Arimathea," answered he, "whom our Lord hath sent to
bear thee fellowship."
When he heard that, Sir Galahad went to Sir Percival and Sir Bors and
kissed them and commended them to God, saying, "Salute for me Sir
Lancelot, my father, and bid them remember this unstable world."
Therewith he kneeled down and prayed, and suddenly his soul departed,
and a multitude of angels bare it up to heaven. Then came a hand from
heaven and took the vessel and the spear and bare them out of sight.
Since then was never man so hardy as to say that he had seen the Sangreal.
And after all these things, Sir Percival put off his armor and betook him to
an hermitage, and within a little while passed out of this world. And Sir
Bors, when he had buried him beside his sister, returned, weeping sore for
the loss of his two brethren, to King Arthur, at Camelot.

THE PASSING OF ARTHUR

XIV
SIR LANCELOT AND THE FAIR ELAINE

Now after the quest of the Sangreal was fulfilled and all the knights who
were left alive were come again to the Round Table, there was great joy in
the court. And passing glad were King Arthur and Queen Guinevere to see
Sir Lancelot and Sir Bors, for they had been long absent in that quest.
And so greatly was Sir Lancelot's fame now spread abroad that many ladies
and damsels daily resorted to him and besought him for their champion; and
all right quarrels did he gladly undertake for the pleasure of our Lord
Christ. And always as much as he might he withdrew him from the queen.
Wherefore Queen Guinevere, who counted him for her own knight, grew
wroth with him, and on a certain day she called him to her chamber, and
said thus: "Sir Lancelot, I daily see thy loyalty to me doth slack, for ever
thou art absent from this court, and takest other ladies' quarrels on thee
more than ever thou wert wont. Now do I understand thee, false knight, and
therefore shall I never trust thee more. Depart now from my sight, and come
no more within this court upon pain of thy head." With that she turned from
him and would hear no excuses.
So Sir Lancelot departed in heaviness of heart, and calling Sir Bors, Sir
Ector, and Sir Lionel, he told them how the queen had dealt with him.
"Fair sir," replied Sir Bors, "remember what honor ye have in this country,
and how ye are called the noblest knight in the world; wherefore go not, for
women are hasty, and do often what they sore repent of afterwards. Be ruled
by my advice. Take horse and ride to the hermitage beside Windsor, and
there abide till I send ye better tidings."
To that Sir Lancelot consented, and departed with a sorrowful countenance.
Now when the queen heard of his leaving she was inwardly sorry, but made
no show of grief, bearing a proud visage outwardly. And on a certain day

she made a costly banquet to all the knights of the Round Table, to show
she had as great joy in all others as in Sir Lancelot. And at the banquet were
Sir Gawain, and his brothers Sir Agravaine, Sir Gaheris, and Sir Gareth;
also Sir Modred, Sir Bors, Sir Blamor, Sir Bleoberis, Sir Ector, Sir Lionel,
Sir Palomedes, Sir Mador de la Port, and his cousin Sir Patrice—a knight of
Ireland, Sir Pinell le Savage, and many more.
Now Sir Pinell hated Sir Gawain because he had slain one of his kinsmen
by treason; and Sir Gawain had a great love for all kinds of fruit, which,
when Sir Pinell knew, he poisoned certain apples that were set upon the
table, with intent to slay him. And so it chanced as they ate and made merry,
Sir Patrice, who sat next to Sir Gawain, took one of the poisoned apples and
eat it, and when he had eaten he suddenly swelled up and fell down dead.
At that every knight leapt from the board ashamed and enraged nigh out of
their wits, for they knew not what to say, yet seeing that the queen had
made the banquet they all had suspicion of her.
"My lady the queen," said Sir Gawain, "I wit well this fruit was meant for
me, for all men know my love for it, and now had I been nearly slain;
wherefore, I fear me, ye will be ashamed."
"This shall not end so," cried Sir Mador de la Port; "now have I lost a noble
knight of my own blood, and for this despite and shame I will be revenged
to the uttermost."
Then he challenged Queen Guinevere concerning the death of his cousin,
but she stood still, sore abashed, and anon with her sorrow and dread, she
swooned.
At the noise and sudden cry came in King Arthur, and to him appealed Sir
Mador, and impeached the queen.
"Fair lords," said he, "full sorely am I troubled at this matter, for I must be
rightful judge, and therein it repenteth me I may not do battle for my wife,
for, as I deem, this deed was none of hers. But I suppose she will not lack a
champion, and some good knight surely will put his body in jeopardy to
save her."

But all who had been bidden to the banquet said they could not hold the
queen excused, or be her champions, for she had made the feast, and either
by herself or servants must it have come.
"Alas!" said the queen, "I made this dinner for a good intent, and no evil, so
God help me in my need."
"My lord the king," said Sir Mador, "I require you heartily as you be a
righteous king give me a day when I may have justice."
"Well," said the king, "I give ye this day fifteen days, when ye shall be
ready and armed in the meadow beside Westminster, and if there be a knight
to fight with you, God speed the right, and if not, then must my queen be
burnt."
When the king and queen were alone together he asked her how this case
befell.
"I wot not how or in what manner," answered she.
"Where is Sir Lancelot?" said King Arthur, "for he would not grudge to do
battle for thee."
"Sir," said she, "I cannot tell you, but all his kinsmen deem he is not in this
realm."
"These be sad tidings," said the king; "I counsel ye to find Sir Bors, and
pray him for Sir Lancelot's sake to do this battle for you."
So the queen departed and sent for Sir Bors to her chamber, and besought
his succor.
"Madam," said he, "what would you have me do? for I may not with my
honor take this matter on me, for I was at that same dinner, and all the other
knights would have me ever in suspicion. Now do ye miss Sir Lancelot, for
he would not have failed you in right nor yet in wrong, as ye have often
proved, but now ye have driven him from the country."
"Alas! fair knight," said the queen, "I put me wholly at your mercy, and all
that is done amiss I will amend as ye will counsel me."

And therewith she kneeled down upon both her knees before Sir Bors, and
besought him to have mercy on her.
Anon came in King Arthur also, and prayed him of his courtesy to help her,
saying, "I require you for the love of Lancelot."
"My lord," said he, "ye require the greatest thing of me that any man can
ask, for if I do this battle for the queen I shall anger all my fellows of the
Table Round; nevertheless, for my lord Sir Lancelot's sake, and for yours, I
will that day be the queen's champion, unless there chance to come a better
knight than I am to do battle for her." And this he promised on his faith.
Then were the king and queen passing glad, and thanked him heartily, and
so departed.
But Sir Bors rode in secret to the hermitage where Sir Lancelot was, and
told him all these tidings.
"It has chanced as I would have it," said Sir Lancelot; "yet make ye ready
for the battle, but tarry till ye see me come."
"Sir," said Sir Bors, "doubt not but ye shall have your will."
But many of the knights were greatly wroth with him when they heard he
was to be the queen's champion, for there were few in the court but deemed
her guilty.
Then said Sir Bors, "Wit ye will, fair lords, it were a shame to us all to
suffer so fair and noble a lady to be burnt for lack of a champion, for ever
hath she proved herself a lover of good knights; wherefore I doubt not she
is guiltless of this treason."
At that were some well pleased, but others rested passing wroth.
And when the day was come, the king and queen and all the knights went to
the meadow beside Westminster, where the battle should be fought. Then
the queen was put in ward, and a great fire was made round the iron stake,
where she must be burnt if Sir Mador won the day.
So when the heralds blew, Sir Mador rode forth, and took oath that Queen
Guinevere was guilty of Sir Patrice's death, and his oath he would prove

with his body against any who would say the contrary. Then came forth Sir
Bors, and said, "Queen Guinevere is in the right, and that will I prove with
my hands."
With that they both departed to their tents to make ready for the battle. But
Sir Bors tarried long, hoping Sir Lancelot would come, till Sir Mador cried
out to King Arthur, "Bid thy champion come forth, unless he dare not."
Then was Sir Bors ashamed, and took his horse and rode to the end of the
lists.
But ere he could meet Sir Mador he was aware of a knight upon a white
horse, armed at all points, and with a strange shield, who rode to him and
said, "I pray you withdraw from this quarrel, for it is mine, and I have
ridden far to fight in it."
Thereat Sir Bors rode to King Arthur, and told him that another knight was
come who would do battle for the queen.
"Who is he?" said King Arthur.
"I may not tell you," said Sir Bors; "but he made a covenant with me to be
here to-day, wherefore I am discharged."
Then the king called that knight, and asked him if he would fight for the
queen.
"Therefore came I hither, Sir king," answered he; "but let us tarry no longer,
for anon I have other matters to do. But wit ye well," said he to the Knights
of the Round Table, "it is shame to ye for such a courteous queen to suffer
this dishonor."
And all men marveled who this knight might be, for none knew him save
Sir Bors.
Then Sir Mador and the knight rode to either end of the lists, and couching
their spears, ran one against the other with all their might; and Sir Mador's
spear broke short, but the strange knight bore both him and his horse down
to the ground. Then lightly they leaped from their saddles and drew their
swords, and so came eagerly to the battle, and either gave the other many
sad strokes and sore and deep wounds.

Thus they fought nigh an hour, for Sir Mador was a full strong and valiant
knight. But at last the strange knight smote him to the earth, and gave him
such a buffet on the helm as wellnigh killed him. Then did Sir Mador yield,
and prayed his life.
"I will but grant it thee," said the strange knight, "if thou wilt release the
queen from this quarrel forever, and promise that no mention shall be made
upon Sir Patrice's tomb that ever she consented to that treason."
"All this shall be done," said Sir Mador.
Then the knights parters took up Sir Mador and led him to his tent, and the
other knight went straight to the stair foot of King Arthur's throne; and by
that time was the queen come to the king again, and kissed him lovingly.
Then both the king and she stooped down, and thanked the knight, and
prayed him to put off his helm and rest him, and to take a cup of wine. And
when he put his helmet off to drink, all people saw it was Sir Lancelot. But
when the queen beheld him she sank almost to the ground weeping for
sorrow and for joy, that he had done her such great goodness when she had
showed him such unkindness.
Then the knights of his blood gathered round him, and there was great joy
and mirth in the court. And Sir Mador and Sir Lancelot were soon healed of
their wounds; and not long after came the Lady of the Lake to the court, and
told all there by her enchantments how Sir Pinell, and not the queen, was
guilty of Sir Patrice's death. Whereat the queen was held excused of all
men, and Sir Pinell fled the country.
So Sir Patrice was buried in the church of Winchester, and it was written on
his tomb that Sir Pinell slew him with a poisoned apple, in error for Sir
Gawain. Then, through Sir Lancelot's favor, the queen was reconciled to Sir
Mador, and all was forgiven.
Now fifteen days before the Feast of the Assumption of our Lady, the king
proclaimed a tourney to be held that feast-day at Camelot, whereat himself
and the King of Scotland would joust with all who should come against
them. So thither went the King of North Wales, and King Anguish of
Ireland, and Sir Galahaut the noble prince, and many other nobles of divers
countries.

And King Arthur made ready to go, and would have had the queen go with
him, but she said that she was sick. Sir Lancelot, also, made excuses, saying
he was not yet whole of his wounds.
At that the king was passing heavy and grieved, and so departed alone
towards Camelot. And by the way he lodged in a town called Astolat, and
lay that night in the castle.
As soon as he had gone, Sir Lancelot said to the queen, "This night I will
rest, and to-morrow betimes will I take my way to Camelot; for at these
jousts I will be against the king and his fellowship."
"Ye may do as ye list," said Queen Guinevere; "but by my counsel ye will
not be against the king, for in his company are many hardy knights, as ye
well know."
"Madam," said Sir Lancelot, "I pray ye be not displeased with me, for I will
take the adventure that God may send me."
And on the morrow he went to the church and heard mass, and took his
leave of the queen, and so departed.
Then he rode long till he came to Astolat, and there lodged at the castle of
an old baron called Sir Bernard of Astolat, which was near the castle where
King Arthur lodged. And as Sir Lancelot entered the king espied him, and
knew him. Then said he to the knights, "I have just seen a knight who will
fight full well at the joust toward which we go."
"Who is it?" asked they.
"As yet ye shall not know," he answered smiling.
When Sir Lancelot was in his chamber unarming the old baron came to
him, saluting him, though as yet he knew not who he was.
Now Sir Bernard had a daughter passing beautiful, called the Fair Maid of
Astolat, and when she saw Sir Lancelot she loved him from that instant
with her whole heart, and could not stay from gazing on him.
On the morrow, Sir Lancelot asked the old baron to lend him a strange
shield. "For," said he, "I would be unknown."

"Sir," said his host, "ye shall have your desire, for here is the shield of my
eldest son, Sir Torre, who was hurt the day he was made knight, so that he
cannot ride; and his shield, therefore, is not known. And, if it please you,
my youngest son, Sir Lavaine, shall ride with you to the jousts, for he is of
his age full strong and mighty; and I deem ye be a noble knight, wherefore I
pray ye tell me your name."
"As to that," said Sir Lancelot, "ye must hold me excused at this time, but if
I speed well at the jousts, I will come again and tell you; but in anywise let
me have your son, Sir Lavaine, with me, and lend me his brother's shield."
Then, ere they departed, came Elaine, the baron's daughter, and said to Sir
Lancelot, "I pray thee, gentle knight, to wear my token at to-morrow's
tourney."
"If I should grant you that, fair damsel," said he, "ye might say that I did
more for you than ever I have done for lady or damsel."
Then he bethought him that if he granted her request he would be the more
disguised, for never before had he worn any lady's token. So anon he said,
"Fair damsel, I will wear thy token on my helmet if thou wilt show it me."
Thereat was she passing glad, and brought him a scarlet sleeve broidered
with pearls, which Sir Lancelot took, and put upon his helm. Then he
prayed her to keep his shield for him until he came again, and taking Sir
Torre's shield instead, rode forth with Sir Lavaine towards Camelot.
On the morrow the trumpets blew for the tourney, and there was a great
press of dukes and earls and barons and many noble knights; and King
Arthur sat in a gallery to behold who did the best. So the King of Scotland
and his knights, and King Anguish of Ireland rode forth on King Arthur's
side; and against them came the King of North Wales, the King of a
Hundred Knights, the King of Northumberland, and the noble prince Sir
Galahaut.
But Sir Lancelot and Sir Lavaine rode into a little wood behind the party
which was against King Arthur, to watch which side should prove the
weakest.

Then was there a strong fight between the two parties, for the King of a
Hundred Knights smote down the King of Scotland; and Sir Palomedes,
who was on King Arthur's side, overthrew Sir Galahaut. Then came fifteen
Knights of the Round Table and beat back the Kings of Northumberland
and North Wales with their knights.
"Now," said Sir Lancelot to Sir Lavaine, "if ye will help me, ye shall see
yonder fellowship go back as fast as they came."
"Sir," said Sir Lavaine, "I will do what I can."
Then they rode together into the thickest of the press, and there, with one
spear, Sir Lancelot smote down five Knights of the Round Table, one after
other, and Sir Lavaine overthrew two. And taking another spear, for his own
was broken, Sir Lancelot smote down four more knights, and Sir Lavaine a
fifth. Then, drawing his sword, Sir Lancelot fought fiercely on the right
hand and the left, and unhorsed Sir Safire, Sir Epinogris, and Sir Galleron.
At that the Knights of the Round Table withdrew themselves as well as they
were able.
"Now, mercy," said Sir Gawain, who sat by King Arthur; "what knight is
that who doth such marvelous deeds of arms? I should deem him by his
force to be Sir Lancelot, but that he wears a lady's token on his helm as
never Lancelot doth."
"Let him be," said King Arthur; "he will be better known, and do more ere
he depart."
Thus the party against King Arthur prospered at this time, and his knights
were sore ashamed. Then Sir Bors, Sir Ector, and Sir Lionel called together
the knights of their blood, nine in number, and agreed to join together in
one band against the two strange knights. So they encountered Sir Lancelot
all at once, and by main force smote his horse to the ground; and by
misfortune Sir Bors struck Sir Lancelot through the shield into the side, and
the spear broke off and left the head in the wound.
When Sir Lavaine saw that, he ran to the King of Scotland and struck him
off his horse, and brought it to Sir Lancelot, and helped him to mount. Then
Sir Lancelot bore Sir Bors and his horse to the ground, and in like manner

served Sir Ector and Sir Lionel; and turning upon three other knights he
smote them down also; while Sir Lavaine did many gallant deeds.
But feeling himself now sorely wounded Sir Lancelot drew his sword, and
proffered to fight with Sir Bors, who, by this time, was mounted anew. And
as they met, Sir Ector and Sir Lionel came also, and the swords of all three
drave fiercely against him. When he felt their buffets, and his wound that
was so grievous, he determined to do all his best while he could yet endure,
and smote Sir Bors a blow that bent his head down nearly to the ground and
razed his helmet off and pulled him from his horse.
Then rushing at Sir Ector and Sir Lionel, he smote them down, and might
have slain all three, but when he saw their faces his heart forbade him.
Leaving them, therefore, on the field, he hurled into the thickest of the
press, and did such feats of arms as never were beheld before.
And Sir Lavaine was with him through it all, and overthrew ten knights; but
Sir Lancelot smote down more than thirty, and most of them Knights of the
Round Table.
Then the king ordered the trumpets to blow for the end of the tourney, and
the prize to be given by the heralds to the knight with the white shield who
bore the red sleeve.
But ere Sir Lancelot was found by the heralds, came the King of the
Hundred Knights, the King of North Wales, the King of Northumberland,
and Sir Galahaut, and said to him, "Fair knight, God bless thee, for much
have ye done this day for us; wherefore we pray ye come with us and
receive the honor and the prize as ye have worshipfully deserved it."
"My fair lords," said Sir Lancelot, "wit ye well if I have deserved thanks, I
have sore bought them, for I am like never to escape with my life; therefore
pray ye let me depart, for I am sore hurt. I take no thought of honor, for I
had rather rest me than be lord of all the world." And therewith he groaned
piteously, and rode a great gallop away from them.
And Sir Lavaine rode after him, sad at heart, for the broken spear still stuck
fast in Sir Lancelot's side, and the blood streamed sorely from the wound.
Anon they came near a wood more than a mile from the lists, where he
knew he could be hidden.

Then said he to Sir Lavaine, "O gentle knight, help me to pull out this
spear-head from my side, for the pain thereof nigh killeth me."
"Dear lord," said he, "I fain would help ye; but I dread to draw it forth, lest
ye should die for loss of blood."
"I charge you as you love me," said Sir Lancelot, "draw it out."
So they dismounted, and with a mighty wrench Sir Lavaine drew the spear
forth from Sir Lancelot's side; whereat he gave a marvelous great shriek and
ghastly groan, and all his blood leaped forth in a full stream. Then he sank
swooning to the earth, with a visage pale as death.
"Alas!" cried Sir Lavaine, "what shall I do now?"
And then he turned his master's face towards the wind, and sat by him nigh
half an hour while he lay quiet as one dead. But at the last he lifted up his
eyes, and said, "I pray ye bear me on my horse again, and lead me to a
hermit who dwelleth within two miles hence, for he was formerly a knight
of Arthur's court, and now hath mighty skill in medicine and herbs."
So with great pain Sir Lavaine got him to his horse, and led him to the
hermitage within the wood, beside a stream. Then knocked he with his
spear upon the door, and prayed to enter. At that a child came out, to whom
he said, "Fair child, pray the good man thy master to come hither and let in
a knight who is sore wounded."
Anon came out the knight-hermit, whose name was Sir Baldwin, and asked,
"Who is this wounded knight?"
"I know not," said Sir Lavaine, "save that he is the noblest knight I ever met
with, and hath done this day such marvelous deeds of arms against King
Arthur that he hath won the prize of the tourney."
Then the hermit gazed long on Sir Lancelot, and hardly knew him, so pale
he was with bleeding, yet said he at the last, "Who art thou, lord?"
Sir Lancelot answered feebly, "I am a stranger knight adventurous, who
laboreth through many realms to win worship."

"Why hidest thou thy name, dear lord, from me?" cried Sir Baldwin; "for in
sooth I know thee now to be the noblest knight in all the world—my lord
Sir Lancelot du Lake, with whom I long had fellowship at the Round
Table."
"Since ye know me, fair sir," said he, "I pray ye, for Christ's sake, to help
me if ye may."
"Doubt not," replied he, "that ye shall live and fare right well."
Then he staunched his wound, and gave him strong medicines and cordials
till he was refreshed from his faintness and came to himself again.
Now after the jousting was done King Arthur held a feast, and asked to see
the knight with the red sleeve that he might take the prize. So they told him
how that knight had ridden from the field wounded nigh to death. "These be
the worst tidings I have heard for many years," cried out the king; "I would
not for my kingdom he were slain."
Then all men asked, "Know ye him, lord?"
"I may not tell ye at this time," said he; "but would to God we had good
tidings of him."
Then Sir Gawain prayed leave to go and seek that knight, which the king
gladly gave him. So forthwith he mounted and rode many leagues round
Camelot, but could hear no tidings.
Within two days thereafter King Arthur and his knights returned from
Camelot, and Sir Gawain chanced to lodge at Astolat, in the house of Sir
Bernard. And there came in the fair Elaine to him, and prayed him news of
the tournament, and who won the prize. "A knight with a white shield," said
he, "who bare a red sleeve in his helm, smote down all comers and won the
day."
At that the visage of Elaine changed suddenly from white to red, and
heartily she thanked our Lady.
Then said Sir Gawain, "Know ye that knight?" and urged her till she told
him that it was her sleeve he wore. So Sir Gawain knew it was for love that

she had given it; and when he heard she kept his proper shield he prayed to
see it.
As soon as it was brought he saw Sir Lancelot's arms thereon, and cried,
"Alas! now am I heavier of heart than ever yet."
"Wherefore?" said fair Elaine.
"Fair damsel," answered he, "know ye not that the knight ye love is of all
knights the noblest in the world, Sir Lancelot du Lake? With all my heart I
pray ye may have joy of each other, but hardly dare I think that ye shall see
him in this world again, for he is so sore wounded he may scarcely live, and
is gone out of sight where none can find him."
Then was Elaine nigh mad with grief and sorrow, and with piteous words
she prayed her father that she might go seek Sir Lancelot and her brother.
So in the end her father gave her leave, and she departed.
And on the morrow came Sir Gawain to the court, and told how he had
found Sir Lancelot's shield in Elaine's keeping, and how it was her sleeve
which he had worn; whereat all marveled, for Sir Lancelot had done for her
more than he had ever done for any woman.
But when Queen Guinevere heard it she was beside herself with wrath, and
sending privily for Sir Bors, who sorrowed sorely that through him Sir
Lancelot had been hurt—"Have ye now heard," said she, "how falsely Sir
Lancelot hath betrayed me?"
"I beseech thee, madam," said he, "speak not so, for else I may not hear
thee."
"Shall I not call him traitor," cried she, "who hath worn another lady's token
at the jousting?"
"Be sure he did it, madam, for no ill intent," replied Sir Bors, "but that he
might be better hidden, for never did he in that wise before."
"Now shame on him, and thee who wouldest help him," cried the queen.
"Madam, say what ye will," said he; "but I must haste to seek him, and God
send me soon good tidings of him."

So with that he departed to find Sir Lancelot.
Now Elaine had ridden with full haste from Astolat, and come to Camelot,
and there she sought throughout the country for any news of Lancelot. And
so it chanced that Sir Lavaine was riding near the hermitage to exercise his
horse, and when she saw him she ran up and cried aloud, "How doth my
lord Sir Lancelot fare?"
Then said Sir Lavaine, marveling greatly, "How know ye my lord's name,
fair sister?"
So she told him how Sir Gawain had lodged with Sir Bernard, and knew Sir
Lancelot's shield.
Then prayed she to see his lord forthwith, and when she came to the
hermitage and found him lying there sore sick and bleeding, she swooned
for sorrow. Anon, as she revived, Sir Lancelot kissed her, and said, "Fair
maid, I pray ye take comfort, for, by God's grace, I shall be shortly whole of
this wound, and if ye be come to tend me, I am heartily bounden to your
great kindness." Yet was he sore vexed to hear Sir Gawain had discovered
him, for he knew Queen Guinevere would be full wroth because of the red
sleeve.
So Elaine rested in the hermitage, and ever night and day she watched and
waited on Sir Lancelot, and would let none other tend him. And as she saw
him more, the more she set her love upon him, and could by no means
withdraw it. Then said Sir Lancelot to Sir Lavaine, "I pray thee set some to
watch for the good knight Sir Bors, for as he hurt me, so will he surely seek
for me."
Now Sir Bors by this time had come to Camelot, and was seeking for Sir
Lancelot everywhere, so Sir Lavaine soon found him, and brought him to
the hermitage.
And when he saw Sir Lancelot pale and feeble, he wept for pity and sorrow
that he had given him that grievous wound. "God send thee a right speedy
cure, dear lord," said he; "for I am of all men most unhappy to have
wounded thee, who art our leader, and the noblest knight in all the world."

"Fair cousin," said Sir Lancelot, "be comforted, for I have but gained what I
sought, and it was through pride that I was hurt, for had I warned ye of my
coming it had not been; wherefore let us speak of other things."
So they talked long together, and Sir Bors told him of the queen's anger.
Then he asked Sir Lancelot, "Was it from this maid who tendeth you so
lovingly ye had the token?"
"Yea," said Sir Lancelot; "and would I could persuade her to withdraw her
love from me."
"Why should ye do so?" said Sir Bors; "for she is passing fair and loving. I
would to heaven ye could love her."
"That may not be," replied he; "but it repenteth me in sooth to grieve her."
Then they talked of other matters, and of the great jousting at Allhallowtide
next coming, between King Arthur and the King of North Wales.
"Abide with me till then," said Sir Lancelot, "for by that time I trust to be
all whole again, and we will go together."
So Elaine daily and nightly tending him, within a month he felt so strong he
deemed himself full cured. Then on a day, when Sir Bors and Sir Lavaine
were from the hermitage, and the knight-hermit also was gone forth, Sir
Lancelot prayed Elaine to bring him some herbs from the forest.
When she was gone he rose and made haste to arm himself, and try if he
were whole enough to joust, and mounted on his horse, which was fresh
with lack of labor for so long a time. But when he set his spear in the rest
and tried his armor, the horse bounded and leapt beneath him, so that Sir
Lancelot strained to keep him back. And therewith his wound, which was
not wholly healed, burst forth again, and with a mighty groan he sank down
swooning on the ground.
At that came fair Elaine and wept and piteously moaned to see him lying so.
And when Sir Bors and Sir Lavaine came back, she called them traitors to
let him rise, or to know any rumor of the tournament. Anon the hermit
returned and was wroth to see Sir Lancelot risen, but within a while he
recovered him from his swoon and staunched the wound. Then Sir Lancelot

told him how he had risen of his own will to assay his strength for the
tournament. But the hermit bade him rest and let Sir Bors go alone, for else
would he sorely peril his life. And Elaine, with tears, prayed him in the
same wise, so that Sir Lancelot in the end consented.
So Sir Bors departed to the tournament, and there he did such feats of arms
that the prize was given between him and Sir Gawain, who did like
valiantly.
And when all was over he came back and told Sir Lancelot, and found him
so nigh well that he could rise and walk. And within a while thereafter he
departed from the hermitage and went with Sir Bors, Sir Lavaine, and fair
Elaine to Astolat, where Sir Bernard joyfully received them.
But after they had lodged there a few days Sir Lancelot and Sir Bors must
needs depart and return to King Arthur's court.
So when Elaine knew Sir Lancelot must go, she came to him and said,
"Have mercy on me, fair knight, and let me not die for your love."
Then said Sir Lancelot, very sad at heart, "Fair maid, what would ye that I
should do for you?"
"If I may not be your wife, dear lord," she answered, "I must die."
"Alas!" said he, "I pray heaven that may not be; for in sooth I may not be
your husband. But fain would I show ye what thankfulness I can for all your
love and kindness to me. And ever will I be your knight, fair maiden; and if
it chance that ye shall ever wed some noble knight, right heartily will I give
ye such a dower as half my lands will bring."
"Alas! what shall that aid me?" answered she; "for I must die," and
therewith she fell to the earth in a deep swoon.
Then was Sir Lancelot passing heavy of heart, and said to Sir Bernard and
Sir Lavaine, "What shall I do for her?"
"Alas!" said Sir Bernard, "I know well that she will die for your sake."
And Sir Lavaine said, "I marvel not that she so sorely mourneth your
departure, for truly I do as she doth, and since I once have seen you, lord, I

cannot leave you."
So anon, with a full sorrowful heart, Sir Lancelot took his leave, and Sir
Lavaine rode with him to the court. And King Arthur and the Knights of the
Round Table joyed greatly to see him whole of his wound, but Queen
Guinevere was sorely wroth, and neither spake with him nor greeted him.
Now when Sir Lancelot had departed, the Maid of Astolat could neither eat,
nor drink, nor sleep for sorrow; and having thus endured ten days, she felt
within herself that she must die.
Then sent she for a holy man, and was shriven and received the sacrament.
But when he told her she must leave her earthly thoughts, she answered,
"Am I not an earthly woman? What sin is it to love the noblest knight of all
the world? And, by my truth, I am not able to withstand the love whereof I
die; wherefore, I pray the High Father of Heaven to have mercy on my
soul."
Then she besought Sir Bernard to indite a letter as she should devise, and
said, "When I am dead put this within my hand, and dress me in my fairest
clothes, and lay me in a barge all covered with black samite, and steer it
down the river till it reach the court. Thus, father, I beseech thee let it be."
Then, full of grief, he promised her it should be so. And anon she died, and
all the household made a bitter lamentation over her.
Then did they as she had desired, and laid her body, richly dressed, upon a
bed within the barge, and a trusty servant steered it down the river towards
the court.
Now King Arthur and Queen Guinevere sat at a window of the palace, and
saw the barge come floating with the tide, and marveled what was laid
therein, and sent a messenger to see, who, soon returning, prayed them to
come forth.
When they came to the shore they marveled greatly, and the king asked of
the serving-man who steered the barge what this might mean. But he made
signs that he was dumb, and pointed to the letter in the damsel's hands. So
King Arthur took the letter from the hand of the corpse, and found thereon
written, "To the noble knight, Sir Lancelot du Lake."