The World of Camelot Page 9

  ‘Most noble king,’ replied the lady, ‘I would rather have Sir Gareth as husband than any prince or king ever christened. If I may not have him, I promise you I shall have none. He is my first love, and he shall be the last.’

  ‘In truth,’ Gareth then said to her, ‘if I do not have you as my wife, no lady nor gentlewoman shall ever rejoice me again.’

  Then provision was made for the marriage, at Michaelmas, by the sea sands of Kinkenadon in that beauteous country. Word went out throughout the land, and all the lords and ladies came gladly to that day. And, Lord, what joy and good cheer they had.

  Sir Lancelot du Lake

  Among the knights of the Round Table there were some who increased so much in arms and in worth that they passed all their fellows in prowess and noble deeds. In especial, this was the case with Sir Lancelot du Lake. In all tournaments and jousts, both for life and for death, at no time was he ever overcome, except by treason or enchantment. Therefore Queen Guenevere held him in great favour above all other knights, and it is certain he loved the queen also, above all other ladies of his life.

  After Sir Lancelot had resorted at the court of King Arthur for some long time, and had rested and disported himself with play and games of jousting and the like, he thought he would prove himself in strange adventures. He sent to Sir Lionel, saying, ‘Nephew, make ready, for we two will go and seek adventures.’

  So, armed at all points, they rode from a forest onto a deep plain. The sun was high, and about noon Sir Lancelot had a great desire to sleep. Nearby Lionel saw a wide-spreading apple tree, and said, ‘Brother, yonder is a fair shade. Let us rest there.’

  Then Sir Lancelot stretched under the apple tree, with his helm under his head, and slept while Sir Lionel watched.

  Soon after, three knights galloped by, fleeing for their lives, and behind them followed a fourth knight, as large and grim and boldly armed as any seen. The strong knight overtook the first, and smote him to the cold earth. Then he tumbled the second, man and horse, to the ground, and rounded on the third, striking a mighty blow of his spear on the horse’s arse. The big knight jumped to the ground and bound his three prisoners with the reins of their own bridles.

  ‘This is a heavy man, a worthy man,’ Lionel marvelled. ‘It is meet that I try him myself.’

  So Sir Lionel stole away privily, without waking Lancelot, and rode in haste after the big knight, calling loudly for him to turn. Then they fought. But the knight was too strong for Lionel, who was thrown up in the air and out of the saddle so that he landed in a lump without wind. The knight bound him also, and laid him across his own horse. He gathered the reins of all the horses, and went to his castle with the four unfortunate men lying like bundles of rags across their horses’ backs.

  When the knight came to the castle, he stripped his prisoners all naked and beat them with thorns, and threw them in a deep dungeon where many more knights were making a piteous noise.

  Now, when Sir Ector heard that his brother Lancelot was gone from Arthur’s court to seek adventures, he was angry with himself that he was left behind. He went after him, to search out whatever might happen. Soon he met a forester on the road and said to him, ‘Good fellow, what adventures are nigh at hand in this country?’

  ‘Within a mile,’ the man replied, ‘is a strong manor behind a deep dyke, with a ford on the left hand. Over the ford stands a wizened tree hung with many shields of fair knights. By a hole in the tree, there hangs a copper basin. Strike it thrice with the butt of your spear and you will soon hear strange tidings, enough to please the greatest lust for adventures.’

  When Sir Ector came to the tree he saw hanging there the shield of his kinsman Sir Lionel, and many more besides that belonged to his fellows of the Round Table. This grieved his heart and he promised in his mind to avenge his brother knights. As his horse drank peacefully at the ford, Ector beat on the basin like a madman. At once the large knight appeared, saying with a grim smile, ‘Come, sir, out of the water, and make ready to suffer on land’.

  Then Sir Ector set his spear, and the feet of his horse threshed the waters of the ford to foam, and Ector gave the knight such a great buffet that his horse turned about twice.

  ‘That was boldly done,’ cried the knight. ‘It was a knightly blow.’

  Thereupon he drove his horse at Sir Ector, barging him, seizing him under the arms and lifting him clean from the saddle. Then he carried Sir Ector to his own hall like a swaddling child, and dumped him in the middle of the floor, saying, ‘Know and fear me, for I am Sir Turquin, and you have done this day more unto me than any knight did these twelve years.’ Then he stripped Sir Ector and whipped him with thorns, and cast him into the deep dungeon where he could make sorrow with his fellows.

  ‘Alas, brother,’ said Ector to Lionel, ‘are you here too? But where is Sir Lancelot?’

  ‘I left him asleep under an apple tree. What is become of him I cannot tell. Alas, unless Sir Lancelot help us, we may never be delivered, for I know no other knight to match this Turquin.’

  While these things happened betwixt Turquin and his prisoners, Sir Lancelot awoke in the cool of the day, and rode away into thick woods where he could find no highway. At last, in a little clear vale, he saw a pavilion of red cloth with a bed inside that called him to sleep. He unarmed wearily, and fell asleep.

  In the dark, when the knight of the pavilion returned home, he saw a body within the bed that he took to be his paramour. He entered under the covers beside Sir Lancelot and began to kiss him right heartily. When Lancelot felt a rough beard kissing him, he leapt from one side of the bed, and the knight leapt from the other, and they both reached for their swords. Then they ran all unclothed from the pavilion, slashing at each other in the blackness, till by luck Lancelot cut the knight with a sore wound. At once the knight cried mercy, and told Sir Lancelot the cause of their mistake.

  ‘I repent that I hurt you,’ replied Lancelot, ‘but I dreaded some treason.’ He carried the knight back to the pavilion. As he staunched the wound, the knight’s lady came and made a great moan over her lord.

  ‘Peace, my lady and my love,’ said the knight, who was named Belleus. ‘This is a good man and a knight adventurous. He has wounded me by misfortune, and now he staunches my blood.’

  On the morn, Sir Lancelot commended the knight and his lady to God and went on his way in search of Sir Lionel. By many paths he came again to the apple tree where Lionel had left him. He saw there a maiden sitting on a white pony, as if waiting for him. She greeted him by name, and at his questioning told him all that had befallen Sir Lionel at the hands of Sir Turquin. ‘Now, good Lancelot,’ she urged him, ‘hurry to help him.’ So she brought him to the ford and the tree where the basin hung.

  Sir Lancelot let his horse drink while he beat on the basin so hard that the bottom fell out. But no man came. Then Lancelot rode to the manor, prowling the gates and the walls for nigh on half an hour before he saw a big knight coming, leading a horse with a bound man athwart its back. As they came nearer, Lancelot thought he should know the bound knight. Then he saw that it was Sir Gaheris, Gawain’s brother.

  So he cried aloud, ‘Bold knight, now put down that wounded man, and let us two prove our strengths. I am told that you have done despite and shame to many knights of the Round Table. So now defend yourself.’

  ‘Are you too of the Round Table?’ Turquin mocked him. ‘So much for you and all your fellowship. I despise you all.’

  ‘That is one word too many,’ said Lancelot.

  Without more prattle, they came together as fast as their horses might run. Their meeting was like the crashing of winter seas. For two hours or more they fought, but neither could find the bare or undefended place that means woe or death. At last, both breathless, they stood leaning on their swords.

  ‘Now fellow,’ gasped Sir Turquin, ‘hold your hand a while and tell me what I ask.’

  ‘Say on.’

  ‘You are the biggest man that ever I met, strong-armed and wel
l-breathed. Indeed, you are very like the one knight I hate above all others. If you are not that man, tell me your name and we shall make accord. I will deliver my prisoners, to the number of three score and four. Then you and I shall be fellows together, and never fail.’

  ‘Well,’ replied Lancelot, ‘what man is he whom you hate?’

  ‘Sir Lancelot is his name. He slew my brother Carados at the Dolorous Tower. If ever I meet him, I vow one of us shall find his end. In search of him I have slain a hundred good knights, and as many more I have maimed utterly, while still others have died in my prison. Now, say not that you are Sir Lancelot.’

  ‘I see well,’ said Lancelot, ‘if I were that man, there should be mortal war betwixt us. Then know, sir knight, that I am truly Lancelot du Lake, son of King Ban of Benwick, a very knight of the Round Table. Now do your best.’

  ‘Ah, Lancelot,’ cried Turquin, ‘you are now as dear to me as any man. Welcome to death!’

  Again they took up arms and bespeckled the ground with their best blood. At last Sir Turquin began to wax faint, and his shield dropped somewhat for weariness. Seeing this, Lancelot leapt within Turquin’s guard, got him by the beaver of his helmet and plucked him down on his knees. Then he tore off his helm and smote his neck in sunder.

  Sir Lancelot unbound Gaheris and went with him towards the manor of Turquin. At the gate, he looked on the old gnarled tree and saw the many sad shields hanging there.

  ‘What a sight is this,’ he said to Gaheris. ‘There is Kay’s shield, and many more belonging to knights of the Round Table. And there, alas, are those of my brothers Sir Ector and Sir Lionel. I pray you, good Gaheris, release them and greet them all from me. Bid them sack the manor of such stuff as they please and go to Arthur’s court to await me. For I must go on now to meet my adventures, as I have promised this maiden on the white pony.’

  Then Gaheris released all the knights and told them that their freedom was Lancelot’s doing, who killed Turquin with his own hands. Happily, the knights sought arms, armour and horses. When they were dressed and armed, they called to the forester to bring four mules laden with fat venison. That night they ate right well on venison roasted, baked and boiled, and after a full supper they lay at ease in feather beds.

  Meanwhile, Sir Lancelot took the highway again, saying gently to the maiden, ‘Will you need any more service of me?’

  ‘Nay, sir, not at this time,’ she replied. ‘But Jesu preserve you, for you are the most courteous and meekest knight that now lives. One thing only you seem to lack. You are without wife, and I hear say that you will take none, which is the greater pity. It is noised that you love Queen Guenevere, and that she has enchanted you to love no other. No maid nor lady rejoices you, wherefor many in this land, of high and low estate, make great sorrow.’

  ‘Fair maid,’ he said, ‘people may speak of me as they please. But to be a wedded man, I think not. For then I must couch with my wife, and leave arms and tourneys, battles and adventures. And as for taking my pleasure with paramours, that I refuse for dread of God. Lecherous knights will never be fortunate in war. Either they are undone by simple folk, or by mishap and their cursedness they slay better men than themselves. All things about a lecher are unhappy.’

  So she left him, and Sir Lancelot rode on for two days. On the third, as he was passing over a long bridge, a foul churl came suddenly and smote his horse on the nose, and rudely demanded why Lancelot crossed that bridge without a licence.

  ‘Why should I not choose this way?’ said Lancelot.

  ‘You may not choose,’ said the churl, lashing at him with a huge iron-bound club. Lancelot answered him back with a stroke of the sword that divided the churl from his hair to his paps. But the village folk at the end of the bridge all cried to Sir Lancelot, ‘A worse deed you never did. Beware, for you have slain the chief porter of our castle. He will be avenged.’

  Straightways Lancelot went to the castle and tied his horse to a ring on the wall of a pretty green court. It seemed a good place to fight in, so he prepared himself for battle. When he was ready, he called out to the many faces that peered from the windows, ‘Knight, whoever you are, come forth, for you are unhappy’.

  Very soon two giants came upon him, well armed all save their heads, with horrible clubs in their hands. Sir Lancelot ran at the first one, thrusting the point of his sword through the unguarded neck. The second, seeing what passed with his brother, fled like a madman, but Lancelot tripped him and slew him. Then he went into the hall of the castle and delivered up three score maids and ladies, gentlewomen all, who had laboured at the silk-works of the giants for seven years.

  Then Lancelot departed, commending them to God. As he rode along with ambling steps, without hurry or aim, except to see what adventures might come to him, suddenly his path was crossed by a black hound, sniffing as if on the track of a wounded deer. He followed the hound and saw on the earth a track of blood. With its nose in the dirt, the hound led Lancelot a long way, over an old, feeble bridge to an old house. Lancelot pushed the door of the house and entered a dim hall hung with many cobwebs. In the middle of the floor lay a dead knight. The hound whimpered and went to lick the wounds of the dead man.

  A lady came forth from the dimness into the hall, weeping and wringing her hands. She saw Sir Lancelot and said, ‘O sir, here is too much sorrow. My husband is slain, and he who did this deed is himself sore wounded and never likely to recover, for which I have no regret.’

  ‘Who was your husband?’ said Lancelot.

  ‘His name was Sir Gilbert the Bastard, one of the best of men. But I know not the name of he who slew him.’

  ‘Now God send you better comfort,’ said Sir Lancelot.

  Going from that gloomy place into the woods again, he met a maiden who knew him well. She greeted him. ‘Well found, my lord. On your oath of knighthood, give me your help. My brother is sore ill, and cannot stop bleeding from the wound he got from Sir Gilbert the Bastard when he fought and slew him in plain battle. A sorceress, who dwells here besides, this day told me that my brother would never be whole till I find a knight to go into the Chapel Perilous. There he will find a sword and a bloody cloth that the knight was lapped in. Only that sword and that piece of cloth will heal my brother’s wounds.’

  ‘This is a marvellous thing.’ said Lancelot. ‘But what is your brother’s name?’

  ‘He is Sir Meleot de Logris, your fellow of the Round Table. But hurry along this highway, and it will bring you to the Chapel Perilous. I shall abide here, till God speed you to me again.’

  In haste Sir Lancelot rode to the chapel and saw by the door many rich shields turned upside down. And about the door he saw thirty knights, taller by a yard than most men, blocking his way with evil grins. The look of them made Lancelot’s heart quake. But he drew his sword and raised his shield, ready to do battle with those men in black armour with black shields. Yet in a sudden moment they scattered on every side, and he went through boldly into the chapel. Inside there was nothing but ghostly light and a corpse covered with a silk cloth.

  Lancelot stooped and cut away a piece of that cloth, and as he did so the earth shook a little. In fear he snatched up the sword of the dead knight and ran from the chapel. In the yard beyond he heard the grim voices of the tall knights, saying, ‘Sir Lancelot, lay that sword aside, or you will die’.

  ‘Live or die,’ he shouted back, ‘I keep hold of it. Fight for it, if you want it.’

  He rushed through the knights, who stopped him not, to the gate of the chapel yard. There a maiden stood who said to him, ‘Sir Lancelot, leave that sword, or you will die for it.’

  ‘I will not leave it,’ he said, ‘under no entreaties.’

  ‘Well said,’ she replied, ‘for had you left the sword, you would never again see Queen Guenevere. Now gentle knight, I require you to kiss me but once.’

  ‘Nay, God forbid.’

  ‘Ah, sir, had you kissed me all the days of your life would be over. But now, alas, I have lost all my l
abour. I ordained this chapel for thy sake. I have loved you this seven years, though I knew you loved none but Queen Guenevere. Since I may not rejoice you and have your body alive, I had no other joy in this world but to have your body dead. I would have embalmed it and kept it all my days, and daily I would have embraced you and kissed you, in despite of Queen Guenevere.’

  ‘Jesu preserve me,’ said Lancelot with blanched face, ‘from your subtle crafts.’

  At once he took his horse and rode away with all speed, leaving her forlorn and in such sorrow that she died within a fortnight. And her name was Hellawes, the sorceress.

  With hard riding, Lancelot soon returned to the sister of Sir Meleot, who clapped her hands when she saw him and wept for joy. Together they went to the castle where Meleot lay, as pale as water for loss of blood. Then Sir Lancelot touched his wounds with Sir Gilbert’s sword and wiped away the blood with the piece of cloth, and presently Sir Meleot was as whole a man as he had ever been.

  When this task was done, Sir Lancelot took his leave. He still had strange countries to see and many fortunes to meet. He journeyed as the path took him, in valleys, plains and mountains, till in a certain place he heard two bells ringing. He saw a falcon tangled in the branches of a high elm, caught by the long leashes that streamed from its feet. As it threshed in the branches its little bells rang, and Lancelot felt sorry for the bird.

  While he was looking upwards, a lady called to him, ‘O Lancelot, flower of all knights, help me get my falcon. If I lose it, my husband Sir Phelot will slay me.’

  ‘Lady,’ he replied, ‘since you know my name, I will do what I may. Yet God knows I am an ill climber, and the tree is very high, with few boughs to help me.’ But he unarmed and put off his clothes down to his shirt and breeches, and with might and force climbed up to the falcon. He untangled the leashes and threw the bird down to the lady below.

  As soon as she had her falcon in her hand, her husband Sir Phelot stepped suddenly from a grove, with naked sword in his hand, and said, ‘You, knight Lancelot, now I have you as I want you’. And he stood at the bole of the tree, ready to kill him.