Then Beaumains rode after the damsel, who stopped when she saw him coming. “What are you doing here?” said she. “Your clothes smell of the grease and tallow of the kitchen! Do you think to change my heart towards you because of yonder Knight whom you slew? No, truly! I know well who you are, you turner of spits! Go back to King Arthur’s kitchen, which is your proper place.” “Damsel,” replied Beaumains, “you may say to me what you will, but I shall not quit you whatever you may do, for I have vowed to King Arthur to relieve the lady in the castle, and I shall set her free or die fighting for her.” “Fie on you, Scullion,” answered she. “You will meet with one who will make you such a welcome that you would give all the broth you ever cooked never to have seen his face.” “I shall do my best to fight him,” said Beaumains, and held his peace.
Soon they entered the wood, and there came a man flying towards them, galloping with all his might. “Oh, help! help! lord,” cried he, “for my master lies in a thicket, bound by six thieves, and I greatly fear they will slay him.” “Show me the way,” said Sir Beaumains, and they rode together till they reached the place where the Knight lay bound. Then Sir Beaumains charged the six thieves, and struck one dead, and another, and another still, and the other three fled, not liking the battle. Sir Beaumains pursued them till they turned at bay, and fought hard for their lives; but in the end Sir Beaumains slew them, and returned to the Knight and unbound him. The Knight thanked Beaumains heartily for his deliverance, and prayed him to come to his castle, where he would reward him. “Sir,” said Beaumains, “I was this day made Knight by noble Sir Lancelot, and that is reward enough for anything I may do. Besides, I must follow this damsel.” But when he came near her she reviled him as before, and bade him ride far from her. “Do you think I set store by what you have done? You will soon see a sight that will make you tell a very different tale.” At this the Knight whom Beaumains had rescued rode up to the damsel, and begged that she would rest in his castle that night, as the sun was now setting. The damsel agreed, and the Knight ordered a great supper, and gave Sir Beaumains a seat above the seat of the damsel, who rose up in anger. “Fie! fie! Sir Knight,” cried she, “you are uncourteous to set a mere kitchen page before me; he is not fit to be in the company of highborn people.” Her words struck shame into the Knight, and he took Beaumains and set him at a side table, and seated himself before him.
In the early morning Sir Beaumains and the damsel bade farewell to the Knight, and rode through the forest till they came to a great river, where stood two Knights on the further side, guarding the passage. “Well, what do you say now?” asked the damsel. “Will you fight them or turn back?” “I would not turn if there were six more of them,” answered Sir Beaumains, and he rushed into the water and so did one of the Knights. They came together in the middle of the stream, and their spears broke in two with the force of the charge, and they drew their swords, hitting hard at each other. At length Sir Beaumains dealt the other Knight such a blow that he fell from his horse, and was drowned in the river. Then Beaumains put his horse at the bank, where the second Knight was waiting for him, and they fought long together, till Sir Beaumains clave his helmet in two. So he left him dead, and rode after the damsel.
“Alas!” she cried, “that even a kitchen page should have power to destroy two such Knights! You think you have done mighty things, but you are wrong! As to the first Knight, his horse stumbled, and he was drowned before you ever touched him. And the other you took from behind, and struck him when he was defenceless.” “Damsel!” answered Beaumains, “you may say what you will, I care not what it is, so I may deliver this lady.” “Fie, foul kitchen knave, you shall see Knights that will make you lower your crest.” “I pray you be more civil in your language,” answered Beaumains, “for it matters not to me what Knights they be, I will do battle with them.” “I am trying to turn you back for your own good,” answered she, “for if you follow me you are certainly a dead man, as well I know all you have won before has been by luck.” “Say what you will, damsel,” said he, “but where you go I will follow you,” and they rode together till eventide, and all the way she chid him and gave him no rest.
At length they reached an open space where there was a black lawn, and on the lawn a black hawthorn, whereon hung a black banner on one side, and a black shield and spear, big and long, on the other. Close by stood a black horse covered with silk, fastened to a black stone. A Knight, covered with black armour, sat on the horse, and when she saw him the damsel bade him ride away, as his horse was not saddled. But the Knight drew near and said to her, “Damsel, have you brought this Knight from King Arthur’s Court to be your champion?” “No, truly,” answered she, “this is but a kitchen boy, fed by King Arthur for charity.” “Then why is he clad in armour?” asked the Knight; “it is a shame that he should even bear you company.” “I cannot be rid of him,” said she, “he rides with me against my will. I would that you were able to deliver me from him! Either slay him or frighten him off, for by ill fortune he has this day slain the two Knights of the passage.” “I wonder much,” said the Black Knight, “that any man who is well born should consent to fight with him.” “They do not know him,” replied the damsel, “and they think he must be a famous Knight because he rides with me.” “That may be,” said the Black Knight, “but he is well made, and looks likely to be a strong man; still I promise you I will just throw him to the ground, and take away his horse and armour, for it would be a shame to me to do more.” When Sir Beaumains heard him talk thus he looked up and said, “Sir Knight, you are lightly disposing of my horse and armour, but I would have you know that I will pass this lawn against your will or not, and you will only get my horse and armour if you win them in fair fight. Therefore let me see what you can do.” “Say you so?” answered the Knight, “now give up the lady at once, for it ill becomes a kitchen page to ride with a lady of high degree.” “It is a lie,” said Beaumains, “I am a gentleman born, and my birth is better than yours, as I will prove upon your body.”
With that they drew back their horses so as to charge each other hotly, and for the space of an hour and a half they fought fiercely and well, but in the end a blow from Beaumains threw the Knight from his horse, and he swooned and died. Then Beaumains jumped down, and seeing that the Knight’s horse and armour were better than his own, he took them for himself and rode after the damsel. While they were thus riding together, and the damsel was chiding him as ever she did, they saw a Knight coming towards them dressed all in green. “Is that my brother the Black Knight who is with you?” asked he of the damsel. “No, indeed,” she replied, “this unhappy kitchen knave has slain your brother, to my great sorrow.” “Alas!” sighed the Green Knight, “that my brother should die so meanly at the hand of a kitchen knave. Traitor!” he added, turning to Beaumains, “thou shalt die for slaying my brother, for he was a noble Knight, and his name was Sir Percard.” “I defy you,” said Beaumains, “for I slew him as a good Knight should.”
Then the Green Knight seized a horn which hung from a thorn tree, and blew three notes upon it, and two damsels came and armed him, and fastened on him a green shield and a green spear. So the fight began and raged long, first on horseback and then on foot, till both were sore wounded. At last the damsel came and stood beside them, and said, “My lord the Green Knight, why for very shame do you stand so long fighting a kitchen knave? You ought never to have been made a Knight at all!” These scornful words stung the heart of the Green Knight, and he dealt a mighty stroke which cleft asunder the shield of Beaumains. And when Beaumains saw this, he struck a blow upon the Knight’s helmet which brought him to his knees, and Beaumains leapt on him, and dragged him to the ground. Then the Green Knight cried for mercy, and offered to yield himself prisoner unto Beaumains. “It is all in vain,” answered Beaumains, “unless the damsel prays me for your life,” and therewith he unlaced his helmet as though he would slay him. “Fie upon thee, false kitchen page!” said the damsel, “I will never pray to save his life, for I am sure he is in no danger.” “Suffer me not to die,” entreated the Knight, “when a word may save me! Fair Knight,” he went on, turning to Beaumains, “save my life, and I will forgive you the death of my brother, and will do you service for ever, and will bring thirty of my Knights to serve you likewise.” “It is a shame,” cried the damsel, “that such a kitchen knave should have you and thirty Knights besides.” “Sir Knight,” said Beaumains, “I care nothing for all this, but if I am to spare your life the damsel must ask for it,” and he stepped forward as if to slay him. “Let be, foul knave,” then said the damsel, “do not slay him. If you do, you will repent it.” “Damsel,” answered Beaumains, “it is a pleasure to me to obey you, and at your wish I will save his life. Sir Knight with the green arms, I release you at the request of this damsel, and I will fulfil all she charges me.”
Then the Green Knight kneeled down, and did him homage with his sword. “I am sorry,” said the damsel, “for the wounds you have received, and for your brother’s death, for I had great need of you both, and have much dread of passing the forest.” “Fear nothing,” answered the Green Knight, “for this evening you shall lodge in my house, and to-morrow I will show you the way through the forest.” And they went with the Green Knight. But the damsel did not mend her ways with Beaumains, and ever more reviled him, till the Green Knight rebuked her, saying Beaumains was the noblest Knight that held a spear, and that in the end she would find he had sprung from some great King. And the Green Knight summoned the thirty Knights who did him service, and bade them henceforth do service to Beaumains, and guard him from treachery, and when he had need of them they would be ready to obey his orders. So they bade each other farewell, and Beaumains and the damsel rode forth anew. In like manner did Sir Beaumains overcome the Red Knight, who was the third brother, and the Red Knight cried for mercy, and offered to bring sixty Knights to do him service, and Beaumains spared his life at the request of the damsel, and likewise it so happened to Sir Persant of Inde.
And this time the damsel prayed Beaumains to give up the fight, saying, “Sir, I wonder who you are and of what kindred you have come. Boldly you speak, and boldly you have done; therefore I pray you to depart and save yourself while you may, for both you and your horse have suffered great fatigues, and I fear we delay too long, for the besieged castle is but seven miles from this place, and all the perils are past save this one only. I dread sorely lest you should get some hurt; yet this Sir Persant of Inde is nothing in might to the Knight who has laid siege to my lady.” But Sir Beaumains would not listen to her words, and vowed that by two hours after noon he would have overthrown him, and that it would still be daylight when they reached the castle. “What sort of a man can you be?” answered the damsel, looking at him in wonder, “for never did a woman treat a Knight as ill and shamefully as I have done you, while you have always been gentle and courteous to me, and no one bears himself like that save he who is of noble blood.” “Damsel,” replied Beaumains, “your hard words only drove me to strike the harder, and though I ate in King Arthur’s kitchen, perhaps I might have had as much food as I wanted elsewhere. But all I have done was to make proof of my friends, and whether I am a gentleman or not, fair damsel, I have done you gentleman’s service, and may perchance do you greater service before we part from each other.” “Alas, fair Beaumains, forgive me all that I have said and done against you.” “With all my heart,” he answered, “and since you are pleased now to speak good words to me, know that I hear them gladly, and there is no Knight living but I feel strong enough to meet him.”
So Beaumains conquered Sir Persant of Inde, who brought a hundred Knights to be sworn into his service, and the next morning the damsel led him to the castle, where the Red Knight of the Red Lawn held fast the lady. “Heaven defend you,” cried Sir Persant, when they told him where they were going; “that is the most perilous Knight now living, for he has the strength of seven men. He has done great wrong to that lady, who is one of the fairest in all the world, and it seems to me that this damsel must be her sister. Is not her name Linet?” “Yes, Sir,” answered she, “and my lady my sister’s name is dame Lyonesse.” “The Red Knight has drawn out the siege for two years,” said Sir Persant, “though he might have forced an entrance many a time, but he hoped that Sir Lancelot du Lake or Sir Tristram or Sir Gawaine should come to do battle with him.” “My Lord Sir Persant of Inde,” said the damsel, “I bid you knight this gentleman before he fight with the Red Knight.” “That I will gladly,” replied Sir Persant, “if it please him to take the order of knighthood from so simple a man as I am.” “Sir,” answered Beaumains, “I thank you for your goodwill, but at the beginning of this quest I was made a Knight by Sir Lancelot. My name is Sir Gareth of Orkney and Sir Gawaine is my brother, though neither he nor King Arthur, whose sister is my mother, knows of it. I pray you to keep it close also.”
Now word was brought unto the besieged lady by the dwarf that her sister was coming to her with a Knight sent by King Arthur. And when the lady heard all that Beaumains had done, and how he had overthrown all who stood in his way, she bade her dwarf take baked venison, and fat capons, and two silver flagons of wine and a gold cup, and put them into the hands of a hermit that dwelt in a hermitage close by. The dwarf did so, and the lady then sent him to greet her sister and Sir Beaumains, and to beg them to eat and drink in the hermit’s cell, and rest themselves, which they did. When they drew near the besieged castle Sir Beaumains saw full forty Knights, with spurs on their heels and swords in their hands, hanging from the tall trees that stood upon the lawn. “Fair Sir,” said the damsel, “these Knights came hither to rescue my sister, dame Lyonesse; and if you cannot overthrow the Knight of the Red Lawn, you will hang there too.”
“Truly,” answered Beaumains, “it is a marvel that none of King Arthur’s Knights has dealt with the Knight of the Red Lawn ere this;” and they rode up to the castle, which had round it high walls and deep ditches, till they came to a great sycamore tree, where hung a horn. And whoso desired to do battle with the Red Knight must blow that horn loudly.
“Sir, I pray you,” said Linet, as Beaumains bent forward to seize it, “do not blow it till it is full noontide, for during three hours before that the Red Knight’s strength so increases that it is as the strength of seven men; but when noon is come, he has the might of one man only.”
“Ah! for shame, damsel, to say such words. I will fight him as he is, or not at all,” and Beaumains blew such a blast that it rang through the castle. And the Red Knight buckled on his armour, and came to where Beaumains stood. So the battle began, and a fierce one it was, and much ado had Beaumains to last out till noon, when the Red Knight’s strength began to wane; they rested, and came on again, and in the end the Red Knight yielded to Sir Beaumains, and the lords and barons in the castle did homage to the victor, and begged that the Red Knight’s life might be spared on condition they all took service with Beaumains. This was granted to them, and Linet bound up his wounds and put ointment on them, and so she did likewise to Sir Beaumains. But the Red Knight was sent to the Court of King Arthur, and told him all that Sir Beaumains had done. And King Arthur and his Knights marvelled.
Now Sir Beaumains had looked up at the windows of Castle Perilous before the fight, and had seen the face of the Lady Lyonesse, and had thought it the fairest in all the world. After he had subdued the Red Knight, he hasted into the castle, and the Lady Lyonesse welcomed him, and he told her he had bought her love with the best blood in his body. And she did not say him nay, but put him off for a time. Then the King sent letters to her to bid her, and likewise Sir Gareth, come to his Court, and by the counsel of Sir Gareth she prayed the King to let her call a tournament, and to proclaim that the Knight who bore himself best should, if he was unwedded, take her and all her lands. But if he had a wife already he should be given a white ger-falcon, and for his wife a crown of gold, set about with precious stones.
So the Lady Lyonesse did as Sir Gareth had counselled her, and answered King Arthur that where Sir Gareth was she could not tell, but that if the King would call a tourney he might be sure that Sir Gareth would come to it. “It is well thought of,” said Arthur, and the Lady Lyonesse departed unto Castle Perilous, and summoned all her Knights around her, and told them what she had done, and how they were to make ready to fight in the tournament. She began at once to set her castle in order, and to think what she should do with the great array of Knights that would ride hither from the furthest parts—from Scotland and Wales and Cornwall—and to lodge fitly the Kings, Dukes, Earls, and Barons that should come with Arthur. Queen Guenevere also she awaited, and the Queen of Orkney, Sir Gareth’s mother. But Sir Gareth entreated the Lady Lyonesse and those Knights that were in the castle with him not to let his name be known, and this they agreed to.
“Sir Gareth,” said dame Lyonesse, “I will lend you a ring, which I beseech you for the love you bear me to give me back when the tournament is done, for without it I have but little beauty. This ring is like no other ring, it will turn green red, and blue white, and the bearer shall lose no blood, however sore he may be wounded.”
“Truly, my own lady,” answered Sir Gareth, “this ring will serve me well, and by its help I shall not fear that any man shall know me.” And Sir Gringamore, brother to the Lady Lyonesse, gave him a bay horse, and strong armour, and a sharp sword that had once belonged to his father. On the morning of the fifteenth of August, when the Feast of the Assumption was kept, the King commanded his heralds to blow loudly their trumpets, so that every Knight might know that he must enter the lists. It was a noble sight to see them flocking clad in shining armour, each man with his device upon his shield. And the heralds marked who bare them best, and who were overthrown. All marvelled as to who the Knight could be whose armour sometimes seemed green, and sometimes white, but no man knew it was Sir Gareth. And whosoever Sir Gareth tilted with was straightway overthrown. “Of a truth,” cried King Arthur, “that Knight with the many colours is a good Knight,” and he called Sir Lancelot and bade him to challenge that Knight to combat. But Sir Lancelot said that though the Knight had come off victor in every fight, yet his limbs must be weary, for he had fought as a man fights under the eyes of his lady, “and for this day,” said Sir Lancelot, “he shall have the honour. Though it lay in my power to put it from him, I would not.”
Then they paused for a while to rest, and afterwards the tournament began again more fiercely than before, and Sir Lancelot was set upon by two Knights at once. When Sir Gareth saw that, he rode in between them, but no stroke would he deal Sir Lancelot, which Sir Lancelot noted, and guessed that it was the good Knight Sir Gareth. Sir Gareth went hither and thither, smiting any one that came in his way, and by fortune he met with his brother Sir Gawaine, and knocked off his helmet. Now it happened that while he was fighting a Knight dealt Sir Gareth a fierce blow on his helm, and he rode off the field to mend it. Then his dwarf who had been watching eagerly, cried out to Sir Gareth to leave the ring with him, lest he should lose it while he was drinking, which Sir Gareth did; and when he had drunk and mended his helm he forgot the ring, at which the dwarf was glad, for he knew his name could no longer be hid. And when Sir Gareth returned to the field, his armour shone yellow like gold, and King Arthur marvelled what Knight he was, for he saw by his hair that he was the same Knight who had worn the many colours. “Go,” he said to his heralds, “ride near him and see what manner of Knight he is, for none can tell me his name.” So a herald drew close to him, and saw that on his helm was written in golden letters “This helm belongs to Sir Gareth of Orkney”; and the herald cried out and made proclamation, and the Kings and Knights pressed to behold him. And when Sir Gareth saw he was discovered, he struck more fiercely than before, and smote down Sir Sagramore, and his brother Sir Gawaine. “O brother,” said Sir Gawaine, “I did not think you would have smitten me!” When Sir Gareth heard him say that he rode out of the press, and cried to his dwarf, “Boy, you have played me foul, for you have kept my ring. Give it to me now, that I may hide myself,” and he galloped swiftly into the forest, and no one knew where he had gone. “What shall I do next?” asked he of the dwarf. “Sir,” answered the dwarf, “send the Lady Lyonesse back her ring.” “Your counsel is good,” said Gareth; “take it to her, and commend me to her grace, and say I will come when I may, and bid her to be faithful to me, as I am to her.” After that Sir Gareth rode deeper into the forest.
Though Sir Gareth had left the tournament he found that there were as many fights awaiting him as if he had remained there. He overcame all his foes, and sent them and their followers to do homage to King Arthur, but he himself stayed behind. He was standing alone after they had gone, when he beheld an armed Knight coming towards him. Sir Gareth sprang on his horse, and without a word the two crashed together like thunder, and strove hard for two hours, till the ground was wet with blood. At that time the damsel Linet came riding by, and saw what was doing, and knew who were the fighters. And she cried “Sir Gawaine, Sir Gawaine, leave fighting with your brother Sir Gareth.” Then he threw down his shield and sword, and ran to Sir Gareth, and first took him in his arms and next kneeled down and asked mercy of him. “Why do you, who were but now so strong and mighty, so suddenly yield to me?” asked Sir Gareth, who had not perceived the damsel. “O Gareth, I am your brother, and have had much sorrow for your sake.” At this Sir Gareth unlaced his helm and knelt before Sir Gawaine, and they rose and embraced each other. “Ah, my fair brother,” said Sir Gawaine, “I ought rightly to do you homage, even if you were not my brother, for in this twelvemonth you have sent King Arthur more Knights than any six of the best men of the Round Table.” While he was speaking there came the Lady Linet, and healed the wounds of Sir Gareth and of Sir Gawaine. “What are you going to do now?” asked she. “It is time that King Arthur had tidings of you both, and your horses are not fit to bear you.”
“Ride, I pray you,” said Sir Gawaine, “to my uncle King Arthur, who is but two miles away, and tell him what adventure has befallen me.” So she mounted her mule, and when she had told her tale to King Arthur, he bade them saddle him a palfrey and invited all the Knights and ladies of his Court to ride with him. When they reached the place they saw Sir Gareth and Sir Gawaine sitting on the hill-side. The King jumped off his horse, and would have greeted them, but he swooned away for gladness, and they ran and comforted him, and also their mother.
The two Knights stayed in King Arthur’s Court for eight days, and rested themselves and grew strong. Then said the King to Linet, “I wonder that your sister, dame Lyonesse, does not come here to visit me, or more truly to visit my nephew, Sir Gareth, who has worked so hard to win her love.”
“My lord,” answered Linet, “you must, by your grace, hold her excused, for she does not know that Sir Gareth is here.”
“Go and fetch her, then,” said Arthur.
“That I will do quickly,” replied Linet, and by the next morning she had brought dame Lyonesse, and her brother Sir Gringamore, and forty Knights, but among the ladies dame Lyonesse was the fairest, save only Queen Guenevere. They were all welcomed of King Arthur, who turned to his nephew Sir Gareth and asked him whether he would have that lady to his wife.
“My lord,” replied Sir Gareth, “you know well that I love her above all the ladies in the world.”
“And what say you, fair lady?” asked the King.
“Most noble King,” said dame Lyonesse, “I would sooner have Sir Gareth as my husband than any King or Prince that may be christened, and if I may not have him I promise you I will have none. For he is my first love, and shall be my last. And if you will suffer him to have his will and choice, I dare say he will have me.”
“That is truth,” said Sir Gareth.
“What, nephew,” cried the King, “sits the wind in that door? Then you shall have all the help that is in my power,” and so said Gareth’s mother. And it was fixed that the marriage should be at Michaelmas, at Kin-Kenadon by the seashore, and thus it was proclaimed in all places of the realm. Then Sir Gareth sent his summons to all the Knights and ladies that he had won in battle that they should be present, and he gave a rich ring to the Lady Lyonesse, and she gave him one likewise. And before she departed she had from King Arthur a shining golden bee, as a token. After that Sir Gareth set her on her way towards her castle, and returned unto the King. But he would ever be in Sir Lancelot’s company, for there was no Knight that Sir Gareth loved so well as Sir Lancelot. The days drew fast to Michaelmas, and there came the Lady Lyonesse with her sister Linet and her brother Sir Gringamore to Kin-Kenadon by the sea, and there were they lodged by order of King Arthur. And upon Michaelmas Day the Bishop of Canterbury wedded Sir Gareth and the Lady Lyonesse with great ceremonies, and King Arthur commanded that Sir Gawaine should be joined to the damsel Linet, and Sir Agrawaine to the niece of dame Lyonesse, whose name was Laurel. Then the Knights whom Sir Gareth had won in battle came with their followings and did homage to him, and the Green Knight besought him that he might act as chamberlain at the feast, and the Red Knight that he might be his steward. As soon as the feast was ended, they had all manner of minstrelsy and games and a great tournament that lasted three days, but at the prayer of dame Lyonesse the King would not suffer that any man who was wedded should fight at that feast.
King Arthur had a sister called Morgan le Fay, who was skilled in magic of all sorts, and hated her brother because he had slain in battle a Knight whom she loved. The better to gain her own ends, and to revenge herself upon the King, she kept a smiling face, and let none guess the passion in her heart.
One day Morgan le Fay went to Queen Guenevere, and asked her leave to go into the country. The Queen wished her to wait till Arthur returned, but Morgan le Fay said she had had bad news and could not wait. Then the Queen let her depart without delay.
Early next morning at break of day Morgan le Fay mounted her horse and rode all day and all night, and at noon next day reached the Abbey of nuns where King Arthur had gone to rest, for he had fought a hard battle, and for three nights had slept but little. “Do not wake him,” said Morgan le Fay, who had come there knowing she would find him, “I will rouse him myself when I think he has had enough sleep,” for she thought to steal his sword Excalibur from him. The nuns dared not disobey her, so Morgan le Fay went straight into the room where King Arthur was lying fast asleep in his bed, and in his right hand was grasped his sword Excalibur. When she beheld that sight, her heart fell, for she dared not touch the sword, knowing well that if Arthur waked and saw her she was a dead woman. So she took the scabbard, and went away on horseback.
When the King awoke and missed his scabbard, he was angry, and asked who had been there; and the nuns told him that it was his sister Morgan le Fay, who had gone away with a scabbard under her mantle.—“Alas!” said Arthur, “you have watched me badly!”
“Sir,” said they, “we dared not disobey your sister.”
“Saddle the best horse that can be found,” commanded the King, “and bid Sir Ontzlake take another and come with me.” And they buckled on their armour and rode after Morgan le Fay.
They had not gone far before they met a cowherd, and they stopped to ask if he had seen any lady riding that way. “Yes,” said the cowherd, “a lady passed by here, with forty horses behind her, and went into the forest yonder.” Then they galloped hard till Arthur caught sight of Morgan le Fay, who looked back, and, seeing that it was Arthur who gave chase, pushed on faster than before. And when she saw she could not escape him, she rode into a lake that lay in the plain on the edge of the forest, and, crying out, “Whatever may befall me, my brother shall not have the scabbard,” she threw the scabbard far into the water, and it sank, for it was heavy with gold and jewels. After that she fled into a valley full of great stones, and turned herself and her men and her horses into blocks of marble. Scarcely had she done this when the King rode up, but seeing her nowhere thought some evil must have befallen her in vengeance of her misdeeds. He then sought high and low for the scabbard, but being unable to find it, he returned to the Abbey. When Arthur was gone, Morgan le Fay turned herself and her horses and her men back into their former shapes and said, “Now, Sirs, we may go where we will.” And she departed into the country of Gore, and made her towns and castles stronger than before, for she feared King Arthur greatly. Meanwhile King Arthur had rested himself at the Abbey, and afterwards he rode to Camelot, and was welcomed by his Queen and all his Knights. And when he told his adventures and how Morgan le Fay sought his death they longed to burn her for her treason.
The next morning there arrived a damsel at the Court with a message from Morgan le Fay, saying that she had sent the King her brother a rich mantle for a gift, covered with precious stones, and begged him to receive it and to forgive her in whatever she might have offended him. The King answered little, but the mantle pleased him, and he was about to throw it over his shoulders when the Lady of the Lake stepped forward, and begged that she might speak to him in private. “What is it?” asked the King. “Say on here, and fear nothing.” “Sir,” said the lady, “do not put on this mantle, or suffer your Knights to put it on, till the bringer of it has worn it in your presence.” “Your words are wise,” answered the King, “I will do as you counsel me. Damsel, I desire you to put on this mantle that you have brought me, so that I may see it.” “Sir,” said she, “it does not become me to wear a King’s garment.” “By my head,” cried Arthur, “you shall wear it before I put it on my back, or on the back of any of my Knights,” and he signed to them to put it on her, and she fell down dead, burnt to ashes by the enchanted mantle. Then the King was filled with anger, more bitter than before, that his sister should have dealt so wickedly by him.
Many of King Arthur’s Knights set out on journeys in search of adventure, and one of them, Sir Pellinore, brought a damsel of the lake to Arthur’s Court, and when Merlin saw her he fell in love with her, so that he desired to be always in her company. The damsel laughed in secret at Merlin, but made use of him to tell her all she would know, and the wizard had no strength to say her nay, though he knew what would come of it. For he told King Arthur that before long he should be put into the earth alive, for all his cunning. He likewise told the King many things that should befall him, and warned him always to keep the scabbard as well as the sword Excalibur, and foretold that both sword and scabbard should be stolen from him by a woman whom he most trusted. “You will miss my counsel sorely,” added Merlin, “and would give all your lands to have me back again.” “But since you know what will happen,” said the King, “you may surely guard against it.” “No,” answered Merlin, “that will not be.” So he departed from the King, and the maiden followed him whom some call Nimue and others Vivien, and wherever she went Merlin went also.
They journeyed together to many places, both at home and across the seas, and the damsel was wearied of him, and sought by every means to be rid of him, but he would not be shaken off. At last these two wandered back to Cornwall, and one day Merlin showed Vivien a rock under which he said great marvels were hidden. Then Vivien put forth all her powers, and told Merlin how she longed to see the wonders beneath the stone, and, in spite of all his wisdom, Merlin listened to her and crept under the rock to bring forth the strange things that lay there. And when he was under the stone she used the magic he had taught her, and the rock rolled over him, and buried him alive, as he had told King Arthur. But the damsel departed with joy, and thought no more of him, now that she knew all the magic he could teach her.
Now the King was minded to go on a pilgrimage, and he agreed with the Queen that he would set forth to seek the holy chapel at St. Augustine, which is in the White Forest, and may only be found by adventure. Much he wished to undertake the quest alone, but this the Queen would not suffer, and to do her pleasure he consented that a youth, tall and strong of limb, should ride with him as his squire. Chaus was the youth’s name, and he was son to Gwain li Aoutres. “Lie within to-night,” commanded the King, “and take heed that my horse be saddled at break of day, and my arms ready.” “At your pleasure, Sir,” answered the youth, whose heart rejoiced because he was going alone with the King.
As night came on, all the Knights quitted the hall, but Chaus the squire stayed where he was, and would not take off his clothes or his shoes, lest sleep should fall on him and he might not be ready when the King called him. So he sat himself down by the great fire, but in spite of his will sleep fell heavily on him, and he dreamed a strange dream.
In his dream it seemed that the King had ridden away to the quest, and had left his squire behind him, which filled the young man with fear. And in his dream he set the saddle and bridle on his horse, and fastened his spurs, and girt on his sword, and galloped out of the castle after the King. He rode on a long space, till he entered a thick forest, and there before him lay traces of the King’s horse, and he followed till the marks of the hoofs ceased suddenly at some open ground and he thought that the King had alighted there. On the right stood a chapel, and about it was a graveyard, and in the graveyard many coffins, and in his dream it seemed as if the King had entered the chapel, so the young man entered also. But no man did he behold save a Knight that lay dead upon a bier in the midst of the chapel, covered with a pall of rich silk, and four tapers in golden candlesticks were burning round him. The squire marvelled to see the body lying there so lonely, with no one near it, and likewise that the King was nowhere to be seen. Then he took out one of the tall tapers, and hid the candlestick under his cloak, and rode away until he should find the King.
On his journey through the forest he was stopped by a man black and ill-favoured, holding a large knife in his hand.
“Ho! you that stand there, have you seen King Arthur?” asked the squire.
“No, but I have met you, and I am glad thereof, for you have under your cloak one of the candlesticks of gold that was placed in honour of the Knight who lies dead in the chapel. Give it to me, and I will carry it back; and if you do not this of your own will, I will make you.”
“By my faith!” cried the squire, “I will never yield it to you! Rather, will I carry it off and make a present of it to King Arthur.”
“You will pay for it dearly,” answered the man, “if you yield it not up forthwith.”
To this the squire did not make answer, but dashed forward, thinking to pass him by; but the man thrust at him with his knife, and it entered his body up to the hilt. And when the squire dreamed this, he cried, “Help! help! for I am a dead man!”
As soon as the King and the Queen heard that cry they awoke from their sleep, and the Chamberlain said, “Sir, you must be moving, for it is day;” and the King rose and dressed himself, and put on his shoes. Then the cry came again: “Fetch me a priest, for I die!” and the King ran at great speed into the hall, while the Queen and the Chamberlain followed him with torches and candles. “What aileth you?” asked the King of his squire, and the squire told him of all that he had dreamed. “Ha,” said the king, “is it, then, a dream?” “Yes, Sir,” answered the squire, “but it is a right foul dream for me, for right foully it hath come true,” and he lifted his left arm, and said, “Sir, look you here! Lo, here is the knife that was struck in my side up to the haft.” After that, he drew forth the candlestick, and showed it to the King. “Sir, for this candlestick that I present to you was I wounded to the death!” The King took the candlestick in his hands and looked at it, and none so rich had he seen before, and he bade the Queen look also. “Sir,” said the squire again, “draw not forth the knife out of my body till I be shriven of the priest.” So the King commanded that a priest should be sent for, and when the squire had confessed his sins, the King drew the knife out of the body and the soul departed forthwith. Then the King grieved that the young man had come to his death in such strange wise, and ordered him a fair burial, and desired that the golden candlestick should be sent to the Church of Saint Paul in London, which at that time was newly built.
After this King Arthur would have none to go with him on his quest, and many strange adventures he achieved before he reached the chapel of St. Augustine, which was in the midst of the White Forest. There he alighted from his horse, and sought to enter, but though there was neither door nor bar he might not pass the threshold. But from without be heard wondrous voices singing, and saw a light shining brighter than any that he had seen before, and visions such as he scarcely dared to look upon. And he resolved greatly to amend his sins, and to bring peace and order into his kingdom. So he set forth, strengthened and comforted, and after divers more adventures returned to his Court.
It was on the eve of Pentecost that all the Knights of the Table Round met together at Camelot, and a great feast was made ready for them. And as they sat at supper they heard a loud noise, as of the crashing of thunder, and it seemed as if the roof would fall on them. Then, in the midst of the thunder, there entered a sunbeam, brighter by seven times than the brightest day, and its brightness was not of this world. The Knights held their peace, but every man looked at his neighbour, and his countenance shone fairer than ever it had done before. As they sat dumb, for their tongues felt as if they could speak nothing, there floated in the hall the Holy Graal, and over it a veil of white samite, so that none might see it nor who bare it. But sweet odours filled the place, and every Knight had set before him the food he loved best; and after that the Holy Vessel departed suddenly, they wist not where. When it had gone their tongues were loosened, and the King gave thanks for the wonders that they had been permitted to see. After that he had finished, Sir Gawaine stood up and vowed to depart the next morning in quest of the Holy Graal, and not to return until he had seen it. “But if after a year and a day I may not speed in my quest,” said he, “I shall come again, for I shall know that the sight of it is not for me.” And many of the Knights there sitting swore a like vow.
But King Arthur, when he heard this, was sore displeased. “Alas!” cried he unto Sir Gawaine, “you have undone me by your vow. For through you is broken up the fairest fellowship, and the truest of knighthood, that ever the world saw, and when they have once departed they shall meet no more at the Table Round, for many shall die in the quest. It grieves me sore, for I have loved them as well as my own life.” So he spoke, and paused, and tears came into his eyes. “Ah, Gawaine, Gawaine! you have set me in great sorrow.”
“Comfort yourself,” said Sir Lancelot, “for we shall win for ourselves great honour, much more if we die in this wise than in any other, since die we must.” But the King would not be comforted, and the Queen and all the Court were troubled also for the love which they bore these Knights. Now among the company sat a young Knight whose name was Galahad. He had already achieved fame by his deeds in the field and tourney, and the Queen marvelled at the likeness he bore to Sir Lancelot. She asked him whence he came, and of what country, and if he was son to Sir Lancelot. And King Arthur did him great honour, and he rested him in his own bed. And next morning the King and Queen went into the Minster, and the Knights followed them, dressed all in armour, save only their shields and their helmets. When the service was finished the King would know how many of the fellowship had sworn to undertake the quest of the Graal, and they were counted, and found to number a hundred and fifty. They bade farewell, and mounted their horses, and rode through the streets of Camelot, and there was weeping of both rich and poor, and the King could not speak for weeping. And at sunrise they all parted company with each other, and every Knight took the way he best liked.
Now Sir Galahad had as yet no shield, and he rode four days without meeting any adventure, till at last he came to a White Abbey, where he dismounted and asked if he might sleep there that night. The brethren received him with great reverence, and led him to a chamber, where he took off his armour, and then saw that he was in the presence of two Knights. “Sirs,” said Sir Galahad, “what adventure brought you hither?” “Sir,” replied they, “we heard that within this Abbey is a shield that no man may hang round his neck without being dead within three days, or some mischief befalling him. And if we fail in the adventure, you shall take it upon you.” “Sirs,” replied Sir Galahad, “I agree well thereto, for as yet I have no shield.”
So on the morn they arose and heard Mass, and then a monk led them behind an altar where hung a shield white as snow, with a red cross in the middle of it. “Sirs,” said the monk, “this shield can be hung round no Knight’s neck, unless he be the worthiest Knight in the world, and therefore I counsel you to be well advised.”
“Well,” answered one of the Knights, whose name was King Bagdemagus, “I know truly that I am not the best Knight in the world, but yet shall I try to bear it,” and he bore it out of the Abbey. Then he said to Sir Galahad, “I pray you abide here still, till you know how I shall speed,” and he rode away, taking with him a squire to send tidings back to Sir Galahad.
After King Bagdemagus had ridden two miles he entered a fair valley, and there met him a goodly Knight seated on a white horse and clad in white armour. And they came together with their spears, and Sir Bagdemagus was borne from his horse, for the shield covered him not at all. Therewith the strange Knight alighted and took the white shield from him, and gave it to the squire, saying, “Bear this shield to the good Knight Sir Galahad that thou hast left in the Abbey, and greet him well from me.”
“Sir,” said the squire, “what is your name?”
“Take thou no heed of my name,” answered the Knight, “for it is not for thee to know, nor for any earthly man.”
“Now, fair Sir,” said the squire, “tell me for what cause this shield may not be borne lest ill befalls him who bears it.”
“Since you have asked me,” answered the Knight, “know that no man shall bear this shield, save Sir Galahad only.”
Then the squire turned to Bagdemagus, and asked him whether he were wounded or not. “Yes, truly,” said he, “and I shall hardly escape from death;” and scarcely could he climb on to his horse’s back when the squire brought it near him. But the squire led him to a monastery that lay in the valley, and there he was treated of his wounds, and after long lying came back to life. After the squire had given the Knight into the care of the monks, he rode back to the Abbey, bearing with him the shield. “Sir Galahad,” said he, alighting before him, “the Knight that wounded Bagdemagus sends you greeting, and bids you bear this shield, which shall bring you many adventures.”
“Now blessed be God and fortune,” answered Sir Galahad, and called for his arms, and mounted his horse, hanging the shield about his neck. Then, followed by the squire, he set out. They rode straight to the hermitage, where they saw the White Knight who had sent the shield to Sir Galahad. The two Knights saluted each other courteously, and then the White Knight told Sir Galahad the story of the shield, and how it had been given into his charge. Afterwards they parted, and Sir Galahad and his squire returned unto the Abbey whence they came.
The monks made great joy at seeing Sir Galahad again, for they feared he was gone for ever; and as soon as he was alighted from his horse they brought him unto a tomb in the churchyard where there was night and day such a noise that any man who heard it would be driven nigh mad, or else lose his strength. “Sir,” they said, “we deem it a fiend.” Sir Galahad drew near, all armed save his helmet, and stood by the tomb. “Lift up the stone,” said a monk, and Galahad lifted it, and a voice cried, “Come thou not nigh me, Sir Galahad, for thou shalt make me go again where I have been so long.” But Galahad took no heed of him, and lifted the stone yet higher, and there rushed from the tomb a foul smoke, and in the midst of it leaped out the foulest figure that ever was seen in the likeness of a man. “Galahad,” said the figure, “I see about thee so many angels that my power dare not touch thee.” Then Galahad, stooping down, looked into the tomb, and he saw a body all armed lying there, with a sword by his side. “Fair brother,” said Galahad, “let us remove this body, for he is not worthy to be in this churchyard, being a false Christian man.”