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Title: Stories of King Arthur and His Knights
       Retold from Malory's "Morte dArthur"


Author: U. Waldo Cutler



Release Date: July 12, 2007  [eBook #22053]

Language: English

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STORIES OF KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS

Retold from Malory's "Morte dArthur"

by

U. WALDO CUTLER







[Frontispiece: King Arthur]



  _The goodliest fellowship of famous knights_
  _Whereof this world holds record._
        TENNYSON



George G. Harrap & Co. Ltd.
London ---- Bombay ---- Sydney

First published January 1905
by GEORGE G. HARRAP & COMPANY
39-41 Parker Street, Kingsway, London, W.C.,

Reprinted: December 1905; July 1906; May 1907;
January 1909; September 1909; July 1910; July 1911;
October 1912; October 1913; March 1915; February
1917; August 1917; May 1918; October 1919;
June 1920; October 1921; October 1922;
June 1923; January 1925; April 1936;
September 1927; October 1928;
January 1930; January 1931;
April 1932




CONTENTS


INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER

       I. OF THE BIRTH OF KING ARTHUR
      II. UTHER'S SON, RIGHTWISE KING OF ALL ENGLAND
     III. HOW ARTHUR GAT HIS SWORD EXCALIBUR
      IV. BALIN AND BALAN
       V. THE NOBLE ORDER OF THE ROUND TABLE
      VI. THE LADIES' KNIGHT
     VII. WISE MERLIN'S FOOLISHNESS
    VIII. A STAG-HUNT AND WHAT CAME OF IT
      IX. THE TREACHERY OF MORGAN LE FAY
       X. SIR LAUNCELOT OF THE LAKE
      XI. A NIGHT-TIME ADVENTURE OF SIR LAUNCELOT
     XII. HOW SIR LAUNCELOT CAME INTO THE CHAPEL PERILOUS
    XIII. THE KNIGHT, THE LADY, AND THE FALCON
     XIV. HOW A KITCHEN-PAGE CAME TO HONOUR
      XV. HOW SIR GARETH FOUGHT FOR THE LADY OF CASTLE PERILOUS
     XVI. HOW SIR GARETH RETURNED TO THE COURT OF KING ARTHUR
    XVII. HOW YOUNG TRISTRAM SAVED THE LIFE OF THE QUEEN
          OF LYONESSE
   XVIII. SIR TRISTRAM'S FIRST BATTLE
     XIX. SIR TRISTRAM AND THE FAIR ISOUD
      XX. HOW SIR TRISTRAM DEMANDED THE FAIR ISOUD FOR KING MARK,
          AND HOW SIR TRISTRAM AND ISOUD DRANK THE LOVE POTION
     XXI. HOW SIR TRISTRAM DEPARTED FROM TINTAGIL, AND WAS LONG
          IN THE FOREST
    XXII. HOW KING MARK WAS SORRY FOR THE GOOD RENOWN
          OF SIR TRISTRAM
   XXIII. HOW SIR PERCIVALE OF GALIS SOUGHT AND FOUND
          SIR LAUNCELOT
    XXIV. OF THE COMING OF SIR GALAHAD
     XXV. HOW THE QUEST OF THE HOLY GRAIL WAS BEGUN
    XXVI. HOW GALAHAD GAT HIM A SHIELD
   XXVII. SIR GALAHAD AT THE CASTLE OF MAIDENS
  XXVIII. SIR LAUNCELOT'S REPENTANCE
    XXIX. SIR PERCIVALE'S TEMPTATION
     XXX. THE VICTORY OF SIR BORS OVER HIMSELF
    XXXI. HOW SIR LAUNCELOT FOUND THE HOLY GRAIL
   XXXII. THE END OF THE QUEST
  XXXIII. SIR LAUNCELOT AND THE FAIR MAID OF ASTOLAT
   XXXIV. OF THE GREAT TOURNAMENT ON CANDLEMAS DAY
    XXXV. QUEEN GUENEVER'S MAY-DAY RIDE AND WHAT CAME OF IT
   XXXVI. OF THE PLOT AGAINST SIR LAUNCELOT
  XXXVII. HOW SIR LAUNCELOT DEPARTED FROM THE KING AND
          FROM JOYOUS GARD
 XXXVIII. HOW KING ARTHUR AND SIR GAWAINE INVADED
          SIR LAUNCELOT'S REALM
   XXXIX. OF SIR MORDRED'S TREASON
      XL. OF ARTHUR'S LAST GREAT BATTLE IN THE WEST
     XLI. OF THE PASSING OF KING ARTHUR
    XLII. OF THE END OF THIS BOOK




ILLUSTRATIONS


KING ARTHUR  . . . . . . . . . . . . (W. B. Margetson)  _Frontispiece_

THE DEDICATION . . . . . . . . . . . (J. Pettie, R.A.)

MERLIN AND NIMUE . . . . . . . . . . (Burne-Jones)

SIR TRISTRAM AND THE FAIR ISOUD  . . (D. G. Rosetti)

SIR GALAHAD  . . . . . . . . . . . . (G. F. Watts)

SIR LAUNCELOT AT THE CROSS . . . . . (Stella Langdale)

ELAINE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (J. M. Strudwick)

THE PASSING OF ARTHUR  . . . . . . . (Stella Langdale)




"We have from the kind Creator a variety of mental powers, to which we
must not neglect giving their proper culture in our earliest years, and
which cannot be cultivated either by logic or metaphysics, Latin or
Greek.  We have an imagination, before which, since it should not seize
upon the very first conceptions that chance to present themselves, we
ought to place the fittest and most beautiful images, and thus accustom
and practise the mind to recognise and love the beautiful everywhere."

Quoted from Wieland by Goethe in his Autobiography




Introduction

Among the best liked stories of five or six hundred years ago were
those which told of chivalrous deeds--of joust and tourney and knightly
adventure.  To be sure, these stories were not set forth in printed
books, for there were no printed books as early as the times of the
first three King Edwards, and few people could have read them if there
had been any.  But children and grown people alike were eager to hear
these old-time tales read or recited by the minstrels, and the interest
in them has continued in some measure through all the changing years
and tastes.  We now, in the times of the seventh King Edward, still
find them far more worth our while than many modern stories.  For us
they have a special interest, because of home setting and Christian
basis, and they may well share in our attention with the legends of
Greece and Rome.

In these early romances of chivalry, Arthur and his knights of the
Round Table are by far the most popular heroes, and the finding of the
Holy Grail is the highest achievement of knightly valour.  The material
for the Arthur stories came from many countries and from many different
periods of history.  Much of it is wholly fanciful, but the writers
connected all the incidents directly or indirectly with the old Briton
king of the fifth century, who was the model of knighthood, "without
fear and without reproach."

Perhaps there was a real King Arthur, who led the Britons against the
Saxon invaders of their land, who was killed by his traitor nephew, and
who was buried at Glastonbury,--the valley of Avilion of the legends;
perhaps there was a slight historical nucleus around which all the
romantic material was crystallising through the centuries, but the
Arthur of romance came largely from the imagination of the early
writers.

And yet, though our "own ideal knight" may never have trod the soil of
Britain or Roman or Saxon England, his chivalrous character and the
knightly deeds of his followers are real to us, if we read them
rightly, for "the poet's ideal was the truest truth."  Though the
sacred vessel--the Holy Grail--of the Christ's last supper with His
disciples has not been borne about the earth in material form, to be
seen only by those of stainless life and character, it is eternally
true that the "pure in heart" are "blessed," "for they shall see God."
This is what the Quest of the Holy Grail means, and there is still many
a true Sir Galahad, who can say, as he did,

  "My strength is as the strength of ten,
  Because my heart is pure,"

and who attains the highest glory of knighthood, as before his clear
vision

   "down dark tides the glory glides,
  And starlike mingles with the stars."


We call these beautiful stories of long ago Stories of Chivalry, for,
in the Middle Ages, chivalry influenced all that people did and said
and thought.  It began in the times of Charlemagne, a hundred years
before our own King Alfred, and only very gradually it made its way
through all the social order.  Charlemagne was really a very great man,
and because he was so, he left Western Europe a far better place to
live in than he found it.  Into the social life of his time he brought
something like order and justice and peace, and so he greatly helped
the Christian Church to do its work of teaching the rough and warlike
Franks and Saxons and Normans the gentle ways of thrift and helpfulness.

Charlemagne's "heerban," or call to arms, required that certain of his
men should attend him on horseback, and this mounted service was the
beginning of what is known as chivalry.  The lesser nobles of each
feudal chief served their overlords on horseback, _a cheval_, in times
of war; they were called _knights_, which originally meant
servants,--German _knechte_; and the system of knighthood, its rules,
customs, and duties, was called chivalry,--French _chevalerie_.

Chivalry belongs chiefly to the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth
centuries,--to about the time between King Richard of the Lion Heart
and Prince Hal.  There is no trace of ideas peculiar to it in the
writings of the old Anglo-Saxons or in the _Nibelungen Lied_ of
Germany.  Geoffrey of Monmouth, who died, it is said, in the year 1154,
is about the earliest writer who mentions customs that belong
especially to chivalry.  The Crusades, of Geoffrey's century and of the
one following, gave much opportunity for its growth and practice; but
in the fifteenth century chivalrous fashions and fancies began to seem
absurd, and later, perhaps partly through the ridicule of that old-time
book "Don Quixote," chivalry was finally laughed quite out of existence.

The order of knighthood was given only after years of training and
discipline.  From his seventh year to his fourteenth the nobleman's son
was a _page_ at the court or in the castle of his patron, learning the
principles of religion, obedience, and gallantry.  At fourteen, as a
_squire_, the boy began a severer course of training, in order to
become skilled in horsemanship, and to gain strength and courage, as
well as the refinements and graces necessary in the company of knights
and ladies.

Finally, at twenty-one, his training was complete, and with elaborate
and solemn formality the _squire_ was made a _knight_.  Then, after a
strict oath to be loyal, courteous, and brave, the armour was buckled
on, and the proud young chevalier rode out into the world, strong for
good or ill in limb, strong in impenetrable armour, strong in a social
custom that lifted him above the common people about him.

When rightly exercised chivalry was a great blessing to the people of
its time.  It offered high ideals of pure-minded, warm-hearted,
courtly, courageous Christian manhood.  It did much to arouse thought,
to quicken sympathy, to purify morals, to make men truly brave and
loyal.  Of course this ideal of character was not in the days of
chivalry--ideals are not often now--very fully realised.  The
Mediaeval, like the Modern, abused his power of muscle, of sword, of
rank.  His liberty as a knight-errant sometimes descended into the
licence of a highwayman; his pride in the opportunity for helpfulness
grew to be the braggadocio of a bully; his freedom of personal choice
became the insolence of lawlessness; his pretended purity and justice
proved wanton selfishness.

Because of these abuses that crept into the system, it is well for the
world that gunpowder at last came, to break through the knight's coat
of mail, to teach the nobility respect for common men, roughly to end
this age of so much superficial politeness and savage bravery, and to
bring in a more democratic social order.

The books of any age are for us a record of how the people of that age
thought, how they lived, and what kind of men and women they tried to
be.  The old romances of chivalry give us clear pictures of the knights
and ladies of the Middle Ages, and we shall lose the delight and the
profit they may give us, if we think only of the defects of chivalry,
and close our eyes to the really worthy motives of those far-off times,
and so miss seeing what chivalry was able to do, while it lasted, to
make men and women better and happier.

Before reading the Arthur stories themselves it is well to know
something about the way they have been built up, as one writer after
another has taken the material left by predecessors, and has worked
into it fresh conceptions of things brave and true.  First there was
the old Latin chronicle of Nennius, the earliest trace of Arthurian
fact or fancy, with a single paragraph given to Arthur and his twelve
great battles.  This chronicle itself may have been based on yet
earlier Welsh stories, which had been passed on, perhaps for centuries,
by oral tradition from father to son, and gradually woven together into
some legendary history of Oldest England in the local language of
Brittany, across the English Channel.  This original book is referred
to by later writers, but was long ago lost.  Geoffrey of Monmouth says
it was the source of his material for his "Historia Britonum."
Geoffrey's history, in Latin prose, written some time about the middle
of the twelfth century, remains as the earliest definite record of the
legends connected with King Arthur.

Only a little later Geoffrey's Latin history was translated by Wace and
others into Norman French, and here the Arthur material first appeared
in verse form.  Then, still later in the twelfth century, Walter Map
worked the same stories over into French prose, and at the same time
put so much of his own knowledge and imagination with them, that we may
almost say that he was the maker of the Arthur romances.

Soon after the year twelve hundred,--a half century after Geoffrey of
Monmouth first set our English ancestors to thinking about the
legendary old hero of the times of the Anglo-Saxon conquest--Layamon,
parish priest of Ernly, in Worcestershire, gave to the English language
(as distinct from the earlier Anglo-Saxon) his poem "Brut."  This was a
translation and enlargement of Wace's old French poem having Arthur as
hero.  So these stories of King Arthur, of Welsh or Celtic origin, came
through the Latin, and then through French verse and prose, into our
own speech, and so began their career down the centuries of our more
modern history.

After giving ideas to generation after generation of romance writers of
many countries and in many languages, these same romantic stories were,
in the fifteenth century, skilfully brought together into one connected
prose narrative,--one of the choicest of the older English classics,
"Le Morte Darthur," by Sir Thomas Malory.  Those were troublous times
when Sir Thomas, perhaps after having himself fought and suffered in
the Wars of the Roses then in progress, found some quiet spot in
Warwickshire in which to put together in lasting form the fine old
stories that already in his day were classics.

Malory finished his book in 1470, and its permanence for all time was
assured fifteen years later, when Caxton, after the "symple connynge"
that God had sent him (to use the quaint forms of expression then
common), "under the favour and correctyon of al noble lordes and
gentylmen emprysed to emprynte a book of the noble hystoryes of the
sayd Kynge Arthur and of certeyn of his knyghtes after a copye unto him
delyuerd whyche copye Syr Thomas Malorye dyd take oute of certeyn
bookes of Frensche and reduced it in to Englysche."  This hard-headed
business man,--this fifteenth-century publisher,--was rather doubtful
about the Briton king of a thousand years before his day, and to those
urging upon him the venture of printing Malory's book he answered:
"Dyuers men holde oppynyon that there was no suche Arthur and that alle
suche bookes as been maad of hym ben fayned and fables by cause that
somme cronycles make of him no mencyon ne remember him noo thynge ne of
his knyghtes."

But the arguments of those in favour of the undertaking prevailed,
greatly to the advantage of the four centuries that have followed,
during which "Le Morte Darthur" has been a constant source of poetic
inspiration.  Generation after generation of readers and of writers
have drawn life from its chapters, and the new delight in Tennyson's
"Idylls of the King," almost of our own time, shows that the fountain
has not yet been drained dry.

Malory's "Morte Darthur" is a long book, and its really great interest
is partly hidden from us by forms of expression that belong only to the
time when it was first written.  Besides this, the ideas of what was
right and proper in conduct and speech--moral standards--were far lower
in Malory's day than they are now.

The purpose of this new little volume is to bring the old tales freshly
to the attention of young people of the present time.  It keeps, as far
as may be, the exact language and the spirit of the original, chooses
such stories as best represent the whole, and modifies these only in
order to remove what could possibly hide the thought, or be so crude in
taste and morals as to seem unworthy of the really high-minded author
of five hundred years ago.  It aims also so to condense the book that,
in this age of hurry, readers may not be repelled from the tales merely
because of their length.

Chivalry of just King Arthur's kind was given up long ago, but that for
which it stood--human fellowship in noble purpose--is far older than
the institution of knighthood or than even the traditions of the
energetic, brave, true, helpful King Arthur himself.  It links us with
all the past and all the future.  The knights of the twentieth century
do not set out in chain-armour to right the wrongs of the oppressed by
force of arms, but the best influences of chivalry have been preserved
for the quickening of a broader and a nobler world than was ever in the
dreams of knight-errant of old.  Modern heroes of the genuine type owe
more than they know to those of Arthur's court who swore:

  "To reverence the King, as if he were
  Their conscience, and their conscience as their King,
  To break the heathen and uphold the Christ,
  To ride abroad redressing human wrongs,
  To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it,
  To honour his own word as if his God's,
  To lead sweet lives in purest chastity,
  To love one maiden only, cleave to her,
  And worship her by years of noble deeds,
  Until they won her."


"Antiquity produced heroes, but not gentlemen," someone has said.  In
the days of Charlemagne and Alfred began the training which, continued
in the days of Chaucer and Sir Thomas Malory and many, many more, has
given to this our age that highest type of manhood, the Christian
gentleman.

U. W. C.




Stories of King Arthur


CHAPTER I

OF THE BIRTH OF KING ARTHUR

It befell in the days of Uther Pendragon, when he was king of all
England, that there was a mighty duke in Cornwall that held war against
him a long time.  And the duke was named the Duke of Tintagil.  Ten
miles away from his castle, called Terrabil, there was, in the castle
Tintagil, Igraine of Cornwall, that King Uther liked and loved well,
for she was a good and fair lady, and passing wise.  He made her great
cheer out of measure, and desired to have her love in return; but she
would not assent unto him, and for pure anger and for great love of
fair Igraine King Uther fell sick.

At that time there lived a powerful magician named Merlin, who could
appear in any place he chose, could change his looks as he liked, and
at will could do wonderful things to help or to harm knights and
ladies.  So to King Uther came Sir Ulfius, a noble knight, and said, "I
will seek Merlin, and he shall do you remedy so that your heart shall
be pleased."  So Ulfius departed, and by adventure met Merlin in
beggar's array, and made him promise to be not long behind in riding to
Uther's pavilion.

Soon Merlin stood by the king's side and said: "I know all your heart,
and promise ye shall have your desire, if ye will be sworn to fulfil my
wish."  This the king solemnly agreed to do, and then Merlin said:
"After ye shall win Igraine as wife, a child shall be born to you that
is to be given unto me to be brought up as I will; this shall be for
your honour and the child's avail."

That night King Uther met in battle the Duke of Tintagil, who had
protected Igraine in her castle, and overcame him.  Then Igraine
welcomed Uther as her true lover, for Merlin had given him the
appearance of one dear to her, and, the barons being all well accorded,
the two were married on a morning with great mirth and joy.

When the time came that Igraine should bear a son, Merlin came again
unto the King to claim his promise, and he said: "I know a lord of
yours in this land, a passing true man and a faithful, named Sir Ector,
and he shall have the nourishing of your child.  Let the young Prince
be delivered to me at yonder privy postern, when I come for him."

So the babe, Arthur Pendragon, bound in a cloth of gold, was taken by
two knights and two ladies to the postern gate of the castle and
delivered unto Merlin, disguised as a poor man, and by him was carried
forth to Sir Ector, whose wife nourished him as her own child.

Then within two years King Uther fell sick of a great malady.
Wherefore all the barons made great sorrow, and asked Merlin what
counsel were best, for few of them had ever seen or heard of the young
child, Arthur.  On the morn all by Merlin's counsel came before the
King, and Merlin said: "Sir, shall your son Arthur be king, after your
days, of this realm with all the appurtenance?"

Then Uther Pendragon turned him and said in hearing of them all, "I
give him God's blessing and mine, and bid him righteously and
honourably to claim the crown upon forfeiture of my blessing."

Therewith he died, and he was buried as befitted a king, and the Queen,
fair Igraine, and all the barons made great sorrow.




CHAPTER II

UTHER'S SON, RIGHTWISE KING OF ALL ENGLAND

Then stood the kingdom in great jeopardy a long while, for every lord
strengthened himself, and many a one thought to be king rather than be
ruled by a child that they had never known.  All this confusion Merlin
had foreseen, and he had taken the young prince away, to keep him safe
from the jealous barons until he should be old enough to rule wisely
for himself.  Even Sir Ector did not know that the boy growing up with
his own son Kay was the King's child, and heir to the realm.

When now young Arthur had grown into a tall youth, well trained in all
the exercises of honourable knighthood, Merlin went to the Archbishop
of Canterbury and counselled him to send to all the lords of the realm
and all the gentlemen of arms, that they should come to London at
Christmas time, since God of His great mercy would at that time show by
miracle who should be rightwise king of the realm.  The Archbishop did
as Merlin advised, and all the great knights made them clean of their
life so that their prayer might be the more acceptable unto God, and
when Christmas came they went unto London, each one thinking that
perchance his wish to be made king should be granted.  So in the
greatest church of the city (whether it was St Paul's or not the old
chronicle maketh no mention) all were at their prayers long ere day.

When matins were done and they came out of the church, there was seen
in the churchyard a great square stone, in the midst of which was an
anvil of steel, a foot high, with a fair sword naked at the point
sticking through it.  Written in gold about the sword were letters that
read thus: "Whoso pulleth out this sword from this stone and anvil is
rightwise king born of all England."

[Illustration: The Dedication.]

All the people marvelled at the stone and the inscription, and some
assayed--such as would be king--to draw out the sword.  But none might
stir it, and the Archbishop said: "He is not here that shall achieve
this sword, but doubt not God will make him known.  This now is my
counsel, that we cause to be chosen ten knights, men of good fame, to
guard this sword until the rightful possessor shall appear."

So it was ordained, and it was proclaimed that every man should assay
that would, to win the sword.  And upon New Year's Day the barons held
jousts and a tournament for all knights that would engage.  All this
was ordained for to keep the lords and the commons together, for the
Archbishop trusted that God would soon make him known that should win
the sword.  So upon New Year's Day the barons rode to the field, some
to joust and some to tourney; and it happened that Sir Ector rode also,
and with him Sir Kay, his son, that had just been made knight, and
young Arthur that was his foster-brother.

As they rode to the joust-ward Sir Kay suddenly missed his sword, which
he had left at his father's lodging, and he begged young Arthur to ride
and fetch it.  "I will gladly," said Arthur, and he hastened off home.
But the lady and all the household were out to see the jousting, and he
found nobody at home to deliver him the sword.  Then was Arthur
troubled, and said to himself, "I will ride to the churchyard and take
the sword that sticketh in the stone, for my brother Sir Kay shall not
be without a sword this day."

So when he came to the great stone Arthur alighted, and tied his horse
to the stile.  He then went straight to the tent of the guards, but
found no knights there, for they were at the jousting.  So he took the
sword by the handles, and lightly and fiercely pulled it out of the
anvil; then he mounted his horse and rode his way till he came to his
brother Sir Kay, and delivered him the sword.

As soon as Sir Kay saw the sword, he knew well it was that one of the
stone, and so he rode away to his father, Sir Ector, and said: "Sir, lo
here is the sword of the stone; wherefore I must be king of this land."

When Sir Ector beheld the sword, all three returned to the church and
entered it.  Anon Sir Ector made Sir Kay to swear upon a book how he
came by that sword.  And Sir Kay answered that Arthur had brought it to
him.  "And how gat ye the sword?" said he to Arthur; and when Sir Ector
heard how it had been pulled from the anvil, he said to Arthur: "Now I
understand ye must be king of this land."

"Wherefore I?" said Arthur, "and for what cause?"

"Sir," said Ector, "for God will have it so; for there should never man
have drawn out this sword but he that shall be rightwise king.  Now let
me see whether ye can put the sword there as it was, and pull it out
again."

"That is no mastery," said Arthur, and so he put it into the stone.
Therewith Sir Ector assayed to pull out the sword, and failed.  Then
Sir Kay pulled at it with all his might, but it would not yield.

"Now shall ye assay again," said Sir Ector to Arthur.

"I will well," said Arthur, and pulled it out easily a second time.

Now was Sir Ector sure that Arthur was of higher blood than had been
thought, and that the rightful king had been made known.  And he told
his foster-son all, how he was not his father, but had taken him to
nourish at Merlin's request.  Arthur was grieved indeed when he
understood that Sir Ector was not his father, and that the good lady
that had fostered and kept him as her own son was not his true mother,
and he said to Sir Ector, "If ever it be God's will that I be king, as
ye say, ye shall desire of me what I may do, and I shall not fail you."

Therewithal they went unto the Archbishop and told him how the sword
was achieved, and by whom.  And all the barons came thither, that
whoever would might assay to take the sword.  But there before them all
none might take it out but Arthur.  Now many lords became wroth, and
said it was great shame unto them all and to the realm to be governed
by a boy.  They contended so at that time that the matter was put off
till Candlemas, when all the barons should meet there again.  A
pavilion was set over the stone and the sword, and the ten knights were
ordained to watch there day and night, five being always on guard.

So at Candlemas many more great lords came thither to win the sword,
but none might prevail except Arthur.  The barons were sore aggrieved
at this, and again put it off in delay till the high feast of Easter.
And as Arthur sped afore, so did he at Easter; yet there were some of
the great lords that had indignation that Arthur should be their king,
and put it off in a delay till the feast of Pentecost.

At the feast of Pentecost all manner of men assayed to pull at the
sword, yet none might prevail but Arthur; and he pulled it out afore
all the lords and commons that were there.  Wherefore all the commons
cried at once, "We will have Arthur unto our king; we will put him no
more in delay, for we all see that it is God's will that he shall be
our king, and who that holdeth against it we will slay as traitor."
And they kneeled down all at once, both rich and poor, and begged mercy
of Arthur, because they had delayed so long.  And Arthur forgave them,
and took the sword between both his hands, and offered it upon the
altar where the Archbishop was, and so was he made knight of the best
man that was there.

And anon was the coronation made, and there Arthur swore unto his lords
and the commons to be a true king, to stand for justice all the days of
his life.  Then he made all the lords that were subject to the crown to
come in, and to do service as they ought to do.  And many great wrongs
that had been done since the death of King Uther were righted, and to
lords, knights, ladies, and gentlemen were given back the lands of
which they had been unjustly deprived.  When the king had thus
established justice in all the countries about London, he made Sir Kay
seneschal of England, and other officers he appointed also that should
aid in keeping back his enemies and holding his realm in peace and
orderliness.




CHAPTER III

HOW ARTHUR GAT HIS SWORD EXCALIBUR

On a day there came into the court of the young King a squire on
horseback, bringing a knight, his master, mortally wounded, and seeking
justice against the murderer.  Then came up Griflet, that was but a
squire, a young man of the age of King Arthur, and asked to be given
the order of knighthood, that he might ride out against the knight that
had done the evil deed, who dwelt by a well in the forest.

Arthur was loath to bring this passing brave youth into peril by giving
him so high an adventure; but at the desire of Griflet the King at the
last gave him the order of knighthood, and he rode away till he came to
the fountain.

There he saw the pavilion of the knight, and his horse all saddled and
bridled, and his shield of divers colours, and a great spear hanging on
a tree hard by.  Griflet struck the shield with the butt of his spear,
so that it fell clattering down to the ground.  With that the knight
came out of the pavilion and said, "Fair knight, why smote ye down my
shield?"

"For I will joust with you," said Griflet.

"It is better ye do not," said the knight, "for ye are but a young and
late-made knight, and your might is nothing to mine."

But Griflet would have it so, and the two ran together with such force
that Griflet's spear was all shattered, and horse and rider fell down
sore wounded.  When the knight saw the youth lying on the ground, he
was heavy of heart; and he unlaced his helm to give him air, and
finally setting him on his horse, sent him with cheering words back to
the court.  Here great dole was made for him because of his wounds, and
Arthur was passing wroth for the hurt of Sir Griflet.

The next morning ere day the King ordered his best horse, and in full
armour rode out alone to encounter the knight of the fountain.  It was
a strong battle they had.  Arthur's spear was all shattered, and his
horse fell to the ground.  Then they fought with swords with many great
strokes and much blood-shed on both sides.  Finally by a mighty blow
from his enemy,--a passing big man of might,--Arthur's sword was
smitten in two pieces, and he was called upon to yield himself as
overcome and recreant, or die.

"As for death," said King Arthur, "welcome be it when it cometh; but to
yield me unto thee as recreant, I had rather die than to be so shamed."

Therewithal came Merlin, and made known who Arthur was.  Then by
enchantment he caused the knight to fall into a deep sleep, and bore
Arthur away to a hermit to be cured of his wounds.

When, after three days of rest and healing, he was riding with Merlin
through the forest, King Arthur said, "I have no sword."

"No matter," said Merlin; "there is one near by that I can perhaps get
for you."

So they rode on till it chanced that they passed a fair and broad lake.
In the midst of the water Arthur became aware of an arm clothed in
white samite[1] holding aloft a beautiful sword.

"Lo! there is the sword of which I spake," said Merlin, "and yonder is
the Lady of the Lake ready to help you to it, if ye speak fair to her."

Anon came the damsel unto Arthur and saluted him, and he her again.
"Damsel," said Arthur, "what sword is it that the arm holdeth above the
water yonder?  I would it were mine, for I have no sword."

"Sir Arthur King," said the damsel, "that sword is mine, and if ye will
give me a gift when I ask it you, go ye into yonder barge and row
yourself to the sword, and take it and the scabbard with you."

So Sir Arthur and Merlin alighted and tied their horses to a tree, and
then they went into the magic boat.  Soon they were beside the sword
that the hand held up.  Arthur took it by the handle, the arm and the
hand went down beneath the water, and the two travellers rowed back to
the land and went forth.

As they rode along Arthur looked on the sword, which had the name
Excalibur, that is as much as to say Cut-steel, and he liked it passing
well, for the handle was all set with precious stones.

"Which like you better," said Merlin, "the sword or the scabbard?"

"The sword," replied Arthur.

"Ye are unwise," said Merlin; "the scabbard is worth ten of the sword,
for while ye have the scabbard upon you, ye shall lose no blood;
therefore keep well the scabbard always with you."

In this way Arthur came by Excalibur, and many an adventure he was to
have with it, and was to suffer great danger when by evil interference
it was, as we shall see, for a time stolen from him.  With it in hand
the hardest fight went well in the end, for the scabbard kept him from
weakness, and a mysterious power lay in the strong, true blade that
none could withstand, until the time came for King Arthur to give back
the sword to the Lady of the Lake and to die of the wounds of a traitor.

So King Arthur and Merlin rode on, and when they came back safe to
Carlion and the court the knights were passing glad.  Some wondered
that the king would risk himself abroad so alone, but all men of valour
said it was merry to be under such a chief that would put his person in
adventure as other poor knights did.



[1] Samite: silk stuff




CHAPTER IV

BALIN AND BALAN

On a day there came a messenger to King Arthur saying that King Ryons
of North Wales, a strong man in body, and passing proud, had
discomfited and overcome eleven kings, and each of these to do him
homage had cut his beard clean off as trimming for King Ryons' royal
mantle.  One place of the mantle still lacked trimming; wherefore he
sent for Arthur's beard, and if he did not receive it he would enter
England to burn and slay, and never would he leave till he had Arthur,
head and all.

"Well," said Arthur to the messenger, "thou hast said thy message, the
most insolent ever sent unto a king.  Thou seest my beard is full young
yet to make a trimming of it.  Tell thou thy king I owe him no homage,
but ere long he shall do me homage on both his knees."  So the
messenger departed.

Among those who, at Arthur's call, gathered at Camelot to withstand
King Ryons' invasion of the land was a knight that had been Arthur's
prisoner half a year and more for some wrong done to one of the court.
The name of this knight was Balin, a strong, courageous man, but poor
and so poorly clothed that he was thought to be of no honour.  But
worthiness and good deeds are not all only in arrayment.  Manhood and
honour is hid within man's person, and many an honourable knight is not
known unto all people through his clothing.  This Balin felt deeply the
insult of King Ryons, and anon armed himself to ride forth to meet with
him and mayhap to destroy him, in the hope that then King Arthur would
again be his good and gracious lord.

The meanwhile that this knight was making ready to depart on this
adventure, there came to Arthur's court the Lady of the Lake, and she
now asked of him the gift that he promised her when she gave him his
sword Excalibur.

"Ask what ye will," said the King, "and ye shall have it, if it lie in
my power to give."

Thereupon she demanded Balin's head, and would take none other thing.

"Truly," said King Arthur, "I may not grant this with my honour," and
Balin was allowed to make ready for the adventure with King Ryons.

But ere he had left the court he saw the Lady of the Lake.  He went
straight to her, and with his sword lightly smote off her head before
King Arthur, for he knew her as the untruest lady living, one that by
enchantment and sorcery had been the destroyer of many good knights.

"Alas! for shame," said Arthur.  "Why have ye done so?  Ye have shamed
me and all my court, for this was a lady that I was beholden to, and
hither she came under my safe conduct.  I shall never forgive you that
trespass.  What cause soever ye had, ye should have spared her in my
presence; therefore withdraw you out of my court in all haste that ye
may."

So Balin,--called Balin the Wild for his savage and reckless
nature,--departed with his squire, and King Arthur and all the court
made great mourning, and had shame at the death of the Lady of the
Lake.  Then the King buried her richly.

In sorrow over the evil he had wrought and the disfavour of his king,
Balin turned his horse towards a great forest, and there by the armour
he was ware of his brother Balan.  And when they were met, they put off
their helms and kissed together, and wept for joy.

Anon the knight Balin told his brother of the death of the Lady of the
Lake, and said: "Truly I am right heavy of heart that my lord Arthur is
displeased with me, for he is the most honourable knight that reigneth
on earth, and his love I will get or else I will put my life in
adventure with King Ryons, that lieth now at the castle Terrabil.
Thither will we ride together in all haste, to prove our honour and
prowess upon him."

"I will gladly do that," said Balan; "we will help each other as
brothers ought to do."

So they took their way to find King Ryons, and as they rode along
together they encountered him in a straight way with threescore
knights.  Anon Balin and Balan smote him down from his horse, and slew
on the right hand and the left hand more than forty of his men.  The
remnant fled, and King Ryons yielded him unto their grace as prisoner.
So they laid him on a horse-litter, for he was fiercely wounded, and
brought him to Camelot.  There they delivered him to the porters and
charged them with him; and then they two returned to further adventure.

And Balin rode towards the castle of King Pellam to revenge the wrongs
of knights and ladies on a treacherous knight named Garlon.  He had a
fifteen days' journey thither, and the day he came unto the castle
there began a great feast.  Balin was well received, and led to a
chamber, where he laid off his armour.  They also brought him robes to
his pleasure, and would have had him leave his sword behind him.

"Nay," said Balin, "that do I not, for it is the custom of my country
for a knight always to have his weapon with him, and that custom will I
keep, or else I will depart as I came."

Then they gave him leave to wear his sword, and so he went unto the
hall and was set among the knights of honour.

Soon he saw the false knight Garlon, and thought to himself: "If I slay
him here I shall not escape, and if I leave him now, peradventure I
shall never meet with him again at such a good time, and much harm will
he do if he live."

Then this Garlon espied that Balin watched him, and he came and smote
Balin on the face, and said: "Knight, why watchest thou me so?  Eat thy
meat, and do that thou camest for."

Then Balin said, "I will do that I came for," and rose up fiercely and
clove his head to the shoulders.

Anon all the knights arose from the table to set on Balin, and King
Pellam himself caught in his hand a grim weapon and smote eagerly at
Balin, but Balin put his sword betwixt his head and the stroke.  With
that his sword was broken in sunder, and he, now weaponless, ran into
the chamber to seek some weapon, and so, from chamber to chamber, but
no weapon could he find, and alway King Pellam came after him.

At last Balin entered into a chamber that was marvellously well
furnished and richly, wherein was a bed arrayed with cloth of gold, the
richest that might be thought, and thereby a table of clean gold, and
upon the table a marvellous spear, strangely wrought.  And when Balin
saw that spear he took it in his hand, and turned to King Pellam and
smote him passing hard with it so that he fell down in a swoon.
Therewith the castle roof and walls brake and fell to the earth, and
Balin also, so that he might not stir foot nor hand, for through that
dolorous stroke the most part of the castle that was fallen down lay
upon him and Pellam.

After three days Merlin came thither, and he took up Balin and gat him
a good horse, for his was dead, and bade him ride out of the country.
Merlin also told him that his stroke had turned to great dole, trouble,
and grief, for the marvellous spear was the same with which Longius,
the Roman soldier, smote our Lord Jesus Christ to the heart at the
crucifixion.

Then departed Balin from Merlin, never to meet him again, and rode
forth through the fair countries and cities about Pellam Castle, and
found people dead, slain on every side.  And all that were left alive
cried: "O Balin, thou hast caused great damage in these countries, for
by the dolorous stroke thou gavest unto King Pellam three countries are
destroyed, and doubt not but the vengeance will fall on thee at the
last."

When Balin was out of those countries he was passing glad, and after
many days he came by a cross, whereon were letters of gold written that
said, "It is not for any knight alone to ride towards this castle."
Then saw he an old hoary gentleman coming towards him that said, "Balin
the Wild, thou passest thy bounds to come this way; therefore turn
again and it will avail thee."  The old gentleman vanished away, and
then Balin heard a horn blow, as if for the death of a beast in the
chase.  "That blast," said he, "is blown for me, for I am the prize,
yet am I not dead."  Anon he saw a hundred ladies and many knights,
that welcomed him with fair semblance, and made him passing good cheer
seemingly, and led him into the castle, where there were dancing and
minstrelsy, and all manner of joy.

Then the chief lady of the castle said, "Knight, you must have ado with
a knight close by that keepeth an island, for there may no man pass
this way but he must joust, ere he go farther."

"That is an unhappy custom," said Balin, "that a knight may not pass
this way unless he joust, but since that is my duty, thereto am I
ready.  Travelling men are oft weary, and their horses also; but though
my horse be weary my heart is not weary."

"Sir," said the knight then to Balin, "me thinketh your shield is not
good; I will lend you a better."

So Balin took the shield that was unknown, and left his own, and rode
unto the island.  He put himself and his horse in a great boat, and
when he came on the other side he met with a damsel, and she said, "O
Knight Balin, why hast thou left thine own shield?  Alas! thou hast put
thyself in great danger, for by thine own shield thou shouldst have
been known.  It is a great pity, for of thy prowess and hardiness thou
hast no equal living."

"Me repenteth," said Balin, "that ever I came within this country, but
I may not turn now again for shame, and what adventure shall fall to
me, be it life or death, I will take the adventure that shall come to
me."

Then he looked on his armour, and understood he was well armed, for
which he was thankful, and so he mounted upon his horse.  Then before
him he saw come riding out of a castle a knight in red armour, and his
horse was all trapped in the same colour.  When this knight in red
beheld Balin, he thought he was like his brother; but because he knew
not his shield, he deemed it was not he.  And so they couched their
spears and came marvellously fast together, and they smote each other
in the shields; but their spears were so heavy and their course so
swift that horse and man were borne down, and both knights lay in a
swoon.  Balin was bruised sore with the fall of his horse, for he was
weary with travel, and Balan (for the knight in red was none other) was
the first that rose to his feet.  He drew his sword and went towards
Balin, who arose and went against him.  But Balan smote Balin first,
striking through his shield and cleaving his helm.  Then Balin smote
him in return with that unhappy sword that had already wrought so great
harm, and the blow well nigh felled his brother Balan.  So they fought
there together till their breaths failed.

Then Balin looked up to the castle, and saw the towers stand full of
ladies; so they went to battle again and wounded each other dolefully.
Then they breathed ofttimes, and yet again went unto battle, until all
the place there was blood-red from the great wounds that either had
smitten other, and their hauberks became unriveted so that naked they
were on every side.

At last Balan, the younger brother, withdrew a little and laid himself
down.  Then said Balin the Wild, "What knight art thou? for ere now I
found never a knight that matched me."

"My name is," said he, "Balan, brother to the good knight Balin."

"Alas!" said Balin, "that ever I should see this day."  Thereupon he
fell backward in a swoon.

Then Balan crept on all fours to his brother and put oft his helm, but
he might not know him, his visage was so disguised by blood and wounds.
But when Balin awoke, he said, "O Balan, my brother, thou hast slain me
and I thee, wherefore all the wide world shall speak of us both."

"Alas!" said Balan; "that ever I saw this day, that through mishap I
might not know thee!  Because thou hadst another shield I deemed thou
wert another knight."

"Alas!" said Balin, "all this was caused by an unhappy knight in the
castle, that made me leave mine own shield, to the destruction of us
both."

Then anon Balan died, and at midnight after, Balin; so both were buried
together, and the lady of the castle had Balan's name written on the
tomb and how he was there slain by his brother's hand, but she knew not
Balin's name.  In the morn came Merlin and wrote Balin's inscription
also in letters of gold: "Here lieth Balin the Wild, that smote the
dolorous stroke."

Soon after this was done Merlin came to King Arthur and told him of the
dolorous stroke that Balin gave King Pellam, and how Balin and Balan
fought together the most marvellous battle that ever was heard of, and
how they buried both in one tomb.  "Alas!" said King Arthur; "this is
the greatest pity that ever I heard tell of two knights, for in the
world I know not such two knights."

Thus endeth the tale of Balin and Balan, two brethren born in
Northumberland, good knights both.




CHAPTER V

THE NOBLE ORDER OF THE ROUND TABLE

Arthur was indeed king, but enemies long held out against his just
authority.  When he went into Wales to be crowned at the city of
Carlion, he let cry a great feast to be holden at Pentecost.  Unto this
feast came the six kings of that region with many of their knights, and
Arthur thought it was to do him honour.  But when he made joy of their
coming and sent them great presents, the kings would none receive, and
said they had no joy to receive gifts of a beardless boy that was come
of low birth.  They sent him word that they were come to give him gifts
with hard swords betwixt the neck and the shoulders, for it was great
shame to all of them to see such a boy have rule of so noble a realm as
this land was.

This answer was told King Arthur, who now betook himself to a strong
tower and five hundred good men with him.  Here the six kings laid
siege to him, but he was well victualled; and soon Merlin came and bade
him fear not, but speak boldly to his enemies, "for," said he, "ye
shall overcome them all, whether they will or nill."

So the King armed himself and all his knights and came out to do battle
with his enemies.  Then three hundred good men of the best that were
with the kings went straight over unto King Arthur, which comforted him
greatly.  So he set upon the hosts of the six kings, and he and his men
did marvellous deeds of arms.  Therewith he put them back, and then the
commons of Carlion arose with clubs and staves and slew many of the
enemy, and so they fled away.

Since the enemy were still passing strong, Merlin counselled King
Arthur to send letters well devised beyond the sea to the two brethren,
marvellous good men of their hands, named one King Ban of Benwick and
the other King Bors of Gaul, and to say to them that, if they would
come and help King Arthur in his wars, he in turn would be sworn unto
them to help them in their wars against King Claudas, a mighty man that
strove with them for a castle.

So there were made letters in the pleasantest wise, according to King
Arthur's desire, and Ulfius and Brastias, the messengers, rode forth
well horsed and well armed, and so passed the sea and came to the city
of Benwick.  Here they had good cheer as long as they tarried, and
received the answer that King Ban and King Bors would come unto King
Arthur in all the haste they might.

Now those six kings in Wales had by their means gotten unto them five
other kings, and all swore together that for weal or woe they would not
leave each other till they had destroyed Arthur.  So their whole host
drew towards Arthur, now strengthened by Ban and Bors with their
followers that had crossed from Gaul to his aid.  Then followed a great
battle, and they did on both sides great deeds of arms until at the
last Merlin counselled Arthur to fight no longer, since the eleven
kings had more on hand than they were ware of, and would soon depart
home; for a messenger would come and tell them that lawless people as
well as Saracens, forty thousand in number, had entered their lands and
were burning and slaying without mercy.  So the great battle was ended,
and the eleven kings went to their own country.

Now King Arthur, King Ban, and King Bors came with their following into
the country of Cameliard, and there aided King Leodegrance against an
enemy of that land.  King Leodegrance thanked them for their goodness,
and made them great cheer ere King Ban and King Bors departed back
towards Benwick.

In Cameliard Arthur had the first sight of Guenever, the King's
daughter, and ever afterwards he loved her.  So when peace was once
more in his land, King Arthur asked counsel of Merlin about seeking her
as his wife, for to him she was the most valiant and fairest lady
living or to be found.

"Sir," said Merlin, "as for her beauty, she is one of the fairest
alive, but if ye loved her not so well as ye do, I could choose better
for you.  Yet when a man's heart is set, he will be loath to change."

So Merlin was sent forth to King Leodegrance, and he told him of King
Arthur's desire.  King Leodegrance was glad that so worthy a king of
prowess and of nobleness would wed his daughter, and promised him as
wedding gift,--not lands, for he had enough and needed none,--but what
would please him much more, the Table Round, which Uther Pendragon had
given to the King of Cameliard,--a table made by Merlin at which an
hundred and fifty knights might be seated.

So Guenever, attended by Merlin and an hundred good knights (all King
Leodegrance could spare, so many had been slain in his wars) with the
Round Table rode with great pomp by water and by land to London.  There
King Arthur made great joy of their coming, for he had long loved
Guenever.  Also the gift pleased him more than right great riches.  And
the marriage and the coronation were ordained with all speed in the
most honourable wise that could be devised.

Merlin was sent to espy out in all the land fifty knights of most
prowess and honour, who should make up the full number for the Round
Table.  Only twenty-eight could he find worthy enough, and these Merlin
fetched to Arthur's court.  And Merlin made sieges (seats), an hundred
and fifty in all, for the knights, and he placed in every knight's
siege his name in letters of gold.

On that same day King Arthur founded the great order of the Round
Table, the fame of which was to last for all time.  An hundred and
twenty-eight were then sworn as Knights of the Table Round, and every
year at the high feast of Pentecost others were to be added as they
showed themselves worthy.  Only one siege was long empty, the Siege
Perilous, for no man should sit therein but one, and if any one of
unworthy life were so hardy as to sit therein, he should be destroyed.

With great ceremony each one took the vows of true knighthood, solemnly
promising to do no wicked deed, to be loyal to the King, to give mercy
to those asking it, always to be courteous and helpful to ladies, and
to fight in no wrongful quarrel for wordly gain, upon pain of death or
forfeiture of knighthood and King Arthur's favour.  Unto this were all
the knights of the Round Table sworn, both old and young.  To dishonour
knighthood was the greatest disgrace; to prove themselves worthy of
knightly honour by strong, brave, courteous, loyal bearing under great
difficulties was the highest end of living.

So King Arthur stablished all his knights, and to them that were not
rich he gave lands; and they rode abroad to right the wrongs of men,
and to give help to the oppressed.  With their aid he secured order and
justice throughout his realm, and then the weakest man might do his
work in peace, and prosper.




CHAPTER VI

THE LADIES' KNIGHT

The King was wedded unto Dame Guenever at Camelot with great solemnity.
Just as all were sitting at the high feast that followed the marriage,
there came running into the hall a white hart, followed by a whole pack
of hounds with a great cry, and the hart went about the Table Round.
At a fierce bite from one of the dogs the hart made a great leap, and
overthrew a knight that sat at the table, and so passed forth out of
the hall again, with all the dogs after him.  When they were gone the
King was glad, for they made such a noise, but Merlin said, "Ye may not
leave this adventure so lightly.  Let call Sir Gawaine, for he must
bring again the white hart."

"I will," said the King, "that all be done by your advice."  So Sir
Gawaine was called, and he took his charge and armed himself for the
adventure.  Sir Gawaine was one of King Arthur's nephews, and had just
been made a knight, for he had asked of the King the gift of knighthood
on the same day that he should wed fair Guenever.

So Sir Gawaine rode quickly forth, and Gaheris his brother rode with
him, instead of a squire, to do him service.  As they followed the hart
by the cry of the hounds, they came to a great river.  The hart swam
over, and they followed after, and so at length they chased him into a
castle, where in the chief courtyard the dogs slew the hart before Sir
Gawaine and young Gaheris came up.  Right so there came a knight out of
a room, with a sword drawn in his hand, and he slew two of the
greyhounds even in the sight of Sir Gawaine, and the remnant he chased
with his sword out of the castle.

When he came back he said, "O my white hart, me repenteth that thou art
dead, for my sovereign lady gave thee to me, and poorly have I kept
thee.  Thy death shall be dear bought, if I live."

Anon he came fiercely towards Sir Gawaine, and they struck mightily
together.  They clove their shields and broke their helms and hauberks
so that the blood ran down to their feet.  At the last Sir Gawaine
smote the knight so hard that he fell to the earth; and then he cried
for mercy and yielded himself, and besought Sir Gawaine as he was a
knight and gentleman to save his life.

"Thou shalt die," said Sir Gawaine, "for slaying of my hounds."

"I will make amends," said the knight, "unto my power."

Sir Gawaine would no mercy have, but unlaced his helm to strike off his
head, when at that instant came his lady out of a chamber.  She fell
upon her husband just as the blow descended, and so Sir Gawaine smote
off her head by misadventure, and the knight was saved.

"Alas!" said Gaheris, "that is foul and shamefully done; that shame
shall never depart from you.  Ye should give mercy unto them that ask
mercy, for a knight without mercy is without honour."

Sir Gawaine was so astonished at the death of the fair lady that he
knew not what he did, and he said unto the knight, "Arise, I will give
thee mercy; and go thou unto King Arthur, and tell him how thou art
overcome by the knight that went in the quest of the white hart."

"I care not for mercy now," said the knight, "for thou hast slain my
lady that I loved best of all earthly things it matters not whether I
live or die."

Then Sir Gawaine went into the castle and made ready to rest there all
night.

"What will ye do?" said Gaheris; "will ye unarm you in this country?
Ye may believe ye have many enemies here."

He had no sooner said that word than there came four knights well
armed, and anon they made Sir Gawaine and Gaheris yield themselves as
prisoners, in spite of the brave battle wherein Sir Gawaine was sore
wounded in the arm.

Early on the morrow there came to Sir Gawaine in the prison one of the
ladies of the castle, and said, "Sir Knight, what cheer?"

"Not good," said he.

"It is your own fault," said the lady, "for ye have done a passing foul
deed in the slaying of the lady, which will be great disgrace unto you.
Be ye not of King Arthur's kin?"

"Yes, truly," said Sir Gawaine.  "My name is Gawaine, and my mother is
King Arthur's sister."

"Ah, then are ye nephew unto King Arthur," said the lady, "and I shall
so speak for you that ye shall have conduct to King Arthur, for love of
him."

Then anon they delivered Sir Gawaine under this promise, that he should
bear the dead lady to the court, the severed head hanging about his
neck.  Right so he rode forth unto Camelot, and Merlin made him tell of
his adventure, and how he slew the lady, and how he would give no mercy
unto the knight, whereby the lady was slain.  Then the King and the
Queen were greatly displeased with Sir Gawaine, and by ordinance of the
Queen there was set a quest of ladies on Sir Gawaine, and they ordered
him for ever while he lived to be with all ladies, and to fight for
their quarrels; and that ever he should be courteous, and never refuse
mercy to him that asketh mercy.  Thus was Gawaine sworn upon the four
Evangelists that he should never be against lady nor gentlewoman,
except if he fought for a lady and his adversary fought for another.

Thus endeth the adventure of Sir Gawaine, that he did at the marriage
of King Arthur.




CHAPTER VII

WISE MERLIN'S FOOLISHNESS

Arthur was now established as king over all the land.  The great
council hall at Camelot, that is Winchester, had been built, some say
by Merlin's skill; and the most loyal and the bravest knights of the
world had been gathered at Arthur's court to do honour to him and his
fair Queen Guenever.

Merlin was Arthur's wisest helper and most powerful friend, as he had
before been the helper and friend of his father Uther, for whom he had
made the Round Table, signifying the roundness of the world.  We have
seen how he hid the young Arthur away from the jealousy of the wild
barons, and how, by his power over men and his knowledge of what would
be, he had saved the King's life and guided his wise rule.  The old
magician Bleise, that dwelt in Northumberland, was Merlin's master, and
he it was that wrote down all the battles of Arthur with his enemies
word by word as Merlin told him, and all the battles that were done in
Arthur's days, until Merlin was lost, as we shall see, through his own
foolishness.

On a time Merlin told King Arthur that he should not endure long, but
for all his crafts he should be put in the earth alive.  Also he told
many things that should befall, and how the king would miss him, so
that rather than all his lands he would wish to have him again.

"Ah," said King Arthur, "since ye know of this, provide against it, and
put away by your crafts that misadventure."

"Nay," said Merlin, "it cannot be done."  For Merlin, now grown an old
man in his dotage, had fallen under the spell of a damsel of the court
named Nimue.  With her he soon departed from the King, and evermore
went with her wheresoever she went.  Ofttimes he wished to break away
from her, but he was so held that he could not be out of her presence.
Ever she made him good cheer, till she had learned from him all she
desired of his secret craft, and had made him swear that he would never
do any enchantment upon her.

[Illustration: Merlin and Nimue]

They went together over the sea unto the land of Benwick, where Ban was
king, that had helped Arthur against his enemies.  Here Merlin saw
young Launcelot, King Ban's son, and he told the queen that this same
child should grow to be a man of great honour, so that all Christendom
should speak of his prowess.  So the queen was comforted of her great
sorrow that she made for the mortal war that King Claudas waged on her
lord and on her lands.

Then afterwards Nimue and Merlin departed into Cornwall, and by the way
he showed her many wonders, and wearied her with his desire for her
love.  She would fain have been delivered of him, for she was afraid of
him, almost believing him a devil's son, and yet she could not put him
away by any means.

And so on a time it happened that Merlin showed to her a wonderful
cavern in the cliff, closed by an enchanted stone.  By her subtle
working she soon made Merlin remove the stone and go into the cavern to
let her know of the marvels there.  Then she so wrought through the
magic he had taught her that the stone was placed back again, so that
he never came out for all the craft that he could do.  And then she
departed and left him there.

On a day a certain knight rode to see adventures, and happened to come
to the rock where Nimue had put Merlin, and there he heard him make
great lamentation.  The knight would gladly have helped him, and tried
to move the great stone; but it was so heavy that a hundred men might
not lift it up.  When Merlin knew that the knight sought his
deliverance, he bade him leave his labour, for all was in vain.  He
could never be helped but by her that put him there.

So Merlin's prophecy of his own end was fulfilled, and he passed from
the world of men.  Arthur truly missed his old friend and marvelled
what had become of him.  Afterwards, when the last great battle came,
he would have given everything to have Merlin with him again, but it
could not be.




CHAPTER VIII

A STAG-HUNT AND WHAT CAME OF IT

It befell that Arthur and many of his knights rode on hunting into a
deep forest, and King Arthur, King Uriens of Gore that was the husband
of Arthur's sister Morgan le Fay, and Sir Accolon of Gaul followed a
great hart so fast that within a while they were ten miles from their
fellowship.  At the last they chased so sore that they slew their
horses underneath them.  Then were they all three on foot, and ever
they saw the hart afore them passing weary and hard bestead[1].  "Let
us go on foot," said King Uriens, "till we meet with some lodging."

Then were they ware of the hart that lay on a great water bank, and a
dog biting on his throat, and more other hounds came after.  King
Arthur now blew the prize[2] and dight[3] the hart.

But the three knights were in sore straits, so far from home, and
without horses, and they began to look about the world.  Then Arthur
saw afore him in a great lake a little ship, all apparelled with silk
down to the water, coming right unto them, and it landed on the sands.
They went on board, all three, to see what was in the ship.  Soon it
was dark night, and there suddenly were about them an hundred torches
set upon all the sides of the ship boards, and it gave great light.

Therewithal there came out twelve fair damsels, and they set forth for
the knights a supper of all meats that they could think.  Then they
showed them richly beseen[4] chambers for the night, where the three
huntsmen slept marvellously.  But when they awoke next morning,
everything had been changed through the sorcery of Morgan le Fay, that
was secretly plotting against her brother, to destroy him.  King Uriens
awoke in his own bed in Camelot, and Arthur found himself in a dark
prison, with many woeful knights complaining about him, and they soon
told him for what cause they were there.

The lord of the castle where they were prisoners was the falsest knight
alive, a treacherous, cowardly man, named Sir Damas.  He had a younger
brother, Sir Ontzlake, a good knight of prowess, well beloved of all
people, from whom he was keeping back unjustly a full fair manor.
Great war had been betwixt these brothers.  Ontzlake was a far better
fighter than the cowardly Damas, and yet he could not bring the elder
to give over the younger brother's inheritance.  He offered to fight
for it, and wished Sir Damas to find a knight to fight in his stead, if
he himself dared not engage.  But Sir Damas was so hated that there was
never one would fight for him, though he had by force taken all the
knights of that whole region and brought them to his prison for to make
them willing to take up his cause.  Many had died there, and the twenty
that were yet alive were lean and spent with hunger, but no one of them
would stand against Sir Ontzlake.

Anon there came a damsel unto Arthur and asked him, "What cheer?"  "I
cannot say," said he.  "Sir," said she, "if ye will fight for my lord,
ye shall be delivered out of prison, and else ye escape never with
life."

"Now," said Arthur, "that is hard, yet had I liefer to fight with a
knight than to die in prison," and so it was agreed that he should do
the battle on this covenant, that he should be delivered and all the
prisoners.  With that all the twenty knights were brought out of the
dark prison into the hall, and set free, but they all abode to see the
battle.

Now turn we unto Accolon of Gaul, that was with King Arthur and King
Uriens on the stag-hunt and that fell asleep on the magic ship.  When
he awoke he found himself beside a deep well, within half a foot of its
edge, in great peril of death.

"Heaven save my lord King Arthur and King Uriens," said he, "for these
damsels in the ship have betrayed us.  They were devils and no women,
and if I may escape this misadventure, I shall destroy all false
damsels that use enchantments, wherever I may find them."

Right then there came a dwarf with a great mouth and a flat nose, and
saluted Sir Accolon and said he came from Queen Morgan le Fay.  "She
greeteth you well," said he, "and biddeth you be of strong heart, for
ye shall fight to-morn with a knight at the hour of prime, and
therefore she hath sent you here Excalibur, Arthur's sword, and the
scabbard, and she biddeth you as ye love her, that ye do the battle to
the uttermost without any mercy, like as ye promised her when ye spake
together in private."

Sir Accolon believed he fully understood the message, and he said he
should keep his promise now that he had the sword.  Just then a knight,
who was no other than Sir Ontzlake himself, with a lady and six
squires, came up on horseback, saluted Sir Accolon, and begged him to
come and rest himself at his manor.  So Accolon mounted upon a spare
horse and rode to the manor, where he had passing good cheer.

Meantime Sir Damas sent to his brother, Sir Ontzlake, and bade him make
ready to fight the next day with a good knight who had agreed to do
battle for the disputed heritage; and it happened through Morgan le
Fay's trickery that Accolon was lodged with Sir Ontzlake at the very
time when this message came.  Now Sir Ontzlake was sore troubled at the
message, for he had been wounded in both thighs by a spear a short time
before, and was suffering much.  Still, wounded as he was, he would
have taken the battle in hand, had not Sir Accolon offered to fight in
his stead, because Morgan le Fay had sent Excalibur and the sheath for
the battle with the knight on the morrow.  Then Sir Ontzlake was
passing glad, and sent word unto his brother, Sir Damas, that he had a
knight who would be ready in the field by to-morrow at the hour of
prime.

So it was arranged that Sir Arthur and Sir Accolon, unknown to one
another, were to fight over the quarrel of the two brothers.
Preparations were made accordingly, and all the knights and commons of
the country were there to see the encounter.  Just as Arthur was ready
upon horseback, there came a damsel from Morgan le Fay bringing unto
him a sword like unto Excalibur, and the scabbard, and said: "Morgan le
Fay sendeth you here your sword for great love."  He thanked her, not
knowing that the sword and scabbard were counterfeit, and brittle and
false.

They went eagerly to the battle, and gave many great strokes.  Sir
Accolon had all advantage on his side, for he had the real Excalibur,
Morgan le Fay having so ordained that King Arthur should have been
slain that day.  King Arthur's sword never bit like Sir Accolon's, and
almost every stroke Sir Accolon gave wounded sore, so that it was a
marvel that Arthur stood.  Almost from the first it seemed to him that
the sword in Accolon's hand must be Excalibur, but he was so full of
knighthood that knightly he endured the pain of the many wounds, and
held out as well as he might until his sword brake at the cross and
fell in the grass among the blood.

Now he expected to die, but he held up his shield, and lost no ground,
nor bated any cheer.  All men that beheld him said they never saw
knight fight so well as Arthur did, considering the blood that he bled,
and they were sorry for him.  But Accolon was so bold because of
Excalibur that he grew passing hardy, and called upon Arthur to yield
himself as recreant.

"Nay," said Sir Arthur, "I may not so, for I have promised to do the
battle to the uttermost by the faith of my body while my life lasteth,
and therefore I had rather die with honour than live with shame; and if
it were possible for me to die an hundred times, I had rather die so
oft than yield myself to thee; for, though I lack weapon I shall lack
no honour, and if thou slay me weaponless that shall be thy shame."

But Accolon cared not for shame, and would not spare.  He gave Arthur
such a stroke that he fell nigh to the earth; yet he pressed upon
Accolon with his shield, and with the pommel of his sword in his hand
gave such a blow that Accolon fell back a little.

Now it chanced that one of the damsels of the court, she that had put
Merlin under the stone, had come into the field for love of King
Arthur, for she knew how Morgan le Fay had determined that Arthur
should be slain; therefore she came to save his life.  She saw how full
of prowess Arthur was, and grieved that so good a knight should be
slain through false treason.  So when Accolon gave another blow, the
sword Excalibur fell out of his hand to the earth.  Arthur lightly
leaped to it and got it in his hand, and forthwith knew that it was his
own Excalibur.  Then he saw the scabbard hanging by Accolon's side, and
anon pulling it from him, he threw it off as far as he might throw it.
Therewith Sir Arthur rushed upon Accolon with all his might and pulled
him to the earth.  He then snatched off his helmet for the final blow,
and the fierce battle was at an end.

"Slay me ye may well," said Accolon, "if it please you, for ye are the
best knight that ever I found, and I see well that God is with you."

But now Sir Arthur thought he must have seen this knight, and asked,
"Of what country art thou, and of what court?"  And when Sir Accolon
told him his name, then he remembered him of his sister, Morgan le Fay,
and of the enchantment of the ship.  He made Accolon tell how he came
by the sword, and then Arthur knew all the plot of his sister and of
Accolon to have the King slain and herself made queen.

For the first time Arthur now let Accolon know against whom he had been
fighting.  The fallen knight cried aloud for mercy, when he learned
that he had nearly slain the King, and said to all the knights and men
that were then there gathered together, "O lords, this noble knight
that I have fought withal, which I sorely repent of, is the best man of
prowess, of manhood, and of honour in the world, for it is King Arthur
himself, the liege lord of us all, and with mishap and with
misadventure have I done this battle with the king and lord in whose
power I am."  Then all the people fell down on their knees, and called
upon King Arthur for mercy, which he forthwith granted.

The King was sorely hurt and Accolon's wounds were even worse.  Arthur
made haste to settle the quarrel of the brothers Sir Damas and Sir
Ontzlake by giving the latter his rights and charging Sir Damas upon
pain of death never to distress knights-errant that ride on their
adventures, and then was carried off to a near-by abbey, and Sir
Accolon with him, to have their wounds searched.

Within four days Sir Accolon died from loss of blood during the fight,
but King Arthur was well recovered.  When Accolon was dead the King let
send him on a horse-bier with six knights unto Camelot and said, "Bear
him to my sister Morgan le Fay, and say that I send him to her as a
present, and tell her that I have my sword Excalibur again and the
scabbard."

So they departed with the body.



[1] Hard bestead: in a bad plight.

[2] Prize: death note.

[3] Dight: dressed.

[4] Beseen: of good appearance.




CHAPTER IX

THE TREACHERY OF MORGAN LE FAY

The meanwhile Morgan le Fay thought that King Arthur was slain, and
that she might now be queen of the land, with Sir Accolon as King.
Then came tidings unto her that Accolon was dead and King Arthur had
his sword again.  When Queen Morgan wist all this she was so sorrowful
that near her heart brake, but because she would not it were known,
outward she kept her countenance, and made no semblance of sorrow.  But
well she wist, if she remained till her brother Arthur came thither,
there should no gold go for her life.  Then she went unto Queen
Guenever, and asked her leave to ride into the country.

"Ye may abide," said Queen Guenever, "till your brother the King come
home."

"I may not," said Morgan le Fay, "for I have such hasty tidings that I
may not tarry."

"Well," said Guenever, "ye may depart when ye will."

So early on the morn, ere it was day, she took her horse and rode all
that day and most part of the night, and on the morn by noon she came
to the abbey of nuns where lay King Arthur.  Knowing he was there, she
asked where he was at that time; and they answered how he had laid him
in his bed to sleep, for he had had but little rest these three nights.

Then she alighted off her horse, and thought for to steal away
Excalibur his sword.  So she went straight unto his chamber, and no man
durst disobey her commandment.  There she found Arthur asleep in his
bed, and Excalibur in his right hand naked.  When she saw that, she was
passing heavy that she might not come by the sword without awaking him,
and that she wist well would be her death.  Then she took the scabbard,
and went her way on horseback.

When the King a woke and missed his scabbard, he was wroth, and he
asked who had been there.  They said his sister Queen Morgan had been
there, and had put the scabbard under her mantle, and was gone.

"Alas," said Arthur, "falsely have ye watched me."

"Sir," said they all, "we durst not disobey your sister's commandment."

"Ah," said the King, "let fetch the best horse that may be found, and
bid Sir Ontzlake arm him in all haste, and take another good horse and
ride with me."

So anon the King and Ontzlake were well armed, and rode after this
lady; and so they came by a cross, and asked a cowherd if there came
any lady late riding that way.

"Sir," said the poor man, "right late came a lady riding with forty
horses, and to yonder forest she rode."

Then they spurred their horses and followed fast.  Within a while
Arthur had a sight of Morgan le Fay, and he chased as fast as he might.
When she espied him following her, she rode a greater pace through the
forest till she came to a plain.  She saw she might not escape,
wherefore she rode unto a lake thereby, and said, "Whatsoever becometh
of me, my brother shall not have this scabbard."  And then she let
throw the scabbard in the deepest of the water, where it sank anon, for
it was heavy of gold and precious stones.

Thereupon Queen Morgan rode into a valley where many great stones were,
and when she saw that she must be overtaken, she shaped herself, horse
and man, by enchantment, unto great marble stones.  Anon came Sir
Arthur and Sir Ontzlake, but they might not know the lady from her men,
nor one knight from another.

"Ah," said the King, "here may ye see the vengeance of God, and now I
am sorry that this misadventure is befallen."

And then he looked for the scabbard, but it could not be found, so he
returned to the abbey where he came from.  When Arthur was gone, Queen
Morgan turned all into the likeness as she and they were before, and
said, "Sirs, now may we go where we will."

So she departed into the country of Gore, and there was she richly
received, and made her castles and towns passing strong, for always she
feared much King Arthur.

When the King had well rested him at the abbey, he rode unto Camelot,
and found his Queen and his barons right glad of his coming.  And when
they heard of his strange adventures as is afore rehearsed, they all
had marvel of the falsehood of Morgan le Fay, and many knights wished
her burned because of her wicked enchantments.  "Well," said the King,
"I shall so be avenged on her, if I live, that all Christendom shall
speak of it."

On the morn there came a damsel from Morgan to the King, and she
brought with her the richest mantle that ever was seen in that court,
for it was set as full of precious stones as one might stand by
another, and there were the richest stones that ever the King saw.  And
the damsel said, "Your sister sendeth you this mantle, and desireth
that ye should take this gift of her, and in what thing she hath
offended you, she will amend it at your own pleasure."

When the King beheld this mantle it pleased him much, but he said
little.  With that came one of the Damsels of the Lake unto the King
and said, "Sir, I must speak with you in private."

"Say on," said the King, "what ye will."

"Sir," said the damsel, "put not on you this mantle till ye have seen
more, and in no wise let it come on you or any knight of yours, till ye
command the bringer thereof to put it upon her."

"Well," said King Arthur, "it shall be done as ye counsel me."  And
then he said unto the damsel that came from his sister, "Damsel, this
mantle that ye have brought me I will see upon you."

"Sir," said she, "it will not beseem me to wear a king's garment."

"By my head," said Arthur, "ye shall wear it ere it come on my back, or
any man's that here is."

And so the King made it to be put upon her, and forthwithal she fell
down dead, and nevermore spake word after, but burned to coals.

Then was the King wonderfully wroth, more than he was beforehand, and
said unto King Uriens, "My sister, your wife, is alway about to betray
me, and well I wot either ye or your son Sir Uwaine is of counsel with
her to have me destroyed; but as for you," said the King to King
Uriens, "I deem not greatly that ye be of her counsel, for she plotted
with Accolon to destroy you as well as me.  Therefore I hold you
excused; but as for your son, Sir Uwaine, I hold him suspected, and
therefore I charge you put him out of my court."

So Sir Uwaine was discharged.  And when Sir Gawaine wist that, he made
himself ready to go with his cousin.  So they two departed, and rode
into a great forest, and came to an abbey of monks, where they were
well lodged.  But when the King wist that Sir Gawaine was departed from
the court, there was made great sorrow among all the estates.

"Now," said Gaheris, Gawaine's brother, "we have lost two good knights
for the sake of one."




CHAPTER X

SIR LAUNCELOT OF THE LAKE

When King Arthur, after long wars, rested and held a royal feast with
his allies and noble knights of the Round Table, there came into his
hall, he sitting on his throne royal, twelve ambassadors from Rome, and
said to him: "The high and mighty emperor Lucius sendeth to the king of
Britain greeting, commanding thee to acknowledge him for thy lord and
to send the tribute due from this realm unto the empire according to
the statutes and decrees made by the noble and worthy Julius Caesar,
conqueror of this realm and first emperor of Rome.  And if thou refuse
his demand and commandment, know thou for certain that he shall make
strong war against thee, thy realms and lands, and shall chastise thee
and thy subjects, so that it shall be warning perpetual unto all kings
and princes not to deny their tribute unto the noble empire which
dominateth the universal world."

Some of the young knights hearing this message would have run on the
ambassadors to slay them, saying that it was a rebuke unto all the
knights there present to suffer them to say so to the King.  But King
Arthur commanded that none should do them any harm, and anon let call
all his lords and knights of the Round Table to council upon the
matter.  And all agreed to make sharp war on the Romans, and to aid
after their power.

So the messengers were allowed to depart, and they took ship at
Sandwich and passed forth by Flanders, Almaine, the mountains and all
Italy until they came unto Rome.  There they said to Lucius, "Certainly
he is a lord to be feared, for his estate is the royalest that ever we
saw, and in his person he is the most manly man that liveth, and is
likely to conquer all the world, for unto his courage it is too little;
wherefore we advise you to keep well your marches and straits[1] in the
mountains."

Then Lucius made ready a great host and marched into Gaul, and Arthur
met him there with his army.  The old chronicles tell of the great
battles that were fought and the brave deeds of knights and lords, how
Arthur himself with Excalibur cleft the head of Lucius, and at length
passed over the mountains into Lombardy and Tuscany, and so came into
Rome.  On a day appointed, as the romance telleth, he was crowned
emperor by the Pope's hand with all the royalty that could be made.

After he had established all his lands from Rome unto France, and had
given lands and realms unto his servants and knights, to each after his
desert in such wise that none complained, rich nor poor, all his lords
and all the great men of estate assembled before him and said: "Blessed
be God, your war is finished and your conquest achieved, insomuch that
we know none so great nor mighty that dare make war against you;
wherefore we beseech you to return homeward and give us licence to go
home to our wives, from whom we have been long, and to rest us, for
your journey is finished with honour."

So they all came over sea, and landed at Sandwich, where Queen Guenever
came and met the King.  And he was nobly received of all the commons in
every city and borough, and great gifts were presented to him at his
home-coming, to welcome him.

Of all the knights that, when Arthur came into England, had increased
in honour, Sir Launcelot of the Lake in especial excelled in deeds of
arms both for life and death.  His parents, King Ban of Benwick and his
fair queen, Elaine, had first named him Galahad, and, as has already
been said, Merlin, before he disappeared under the stone, had foretold
that within twenty years he should be known over the whole world as a
great and worthy knight.  It is no marvel, therefore, that Launcelot is
the first knight that the French book maketh mention of after King
Arthur came from Rome.  He passed with Arthur into England, where he
was received gladly and was made a knight of the Round Table.  Queen
Guenever had him in great favour above all other knights, and in return
he was loyal to her above all other ladies and damsels all his life,
and for love of her he did many deeds of arms, and saved her from the
fire through his noble chivalry.  Therefore jealous people spoke evil
of Sir Launcelot and the Queen, because they were of less prowess and
honour than he, and thereby great mischief arose in Arthur's court.
From this came Arthur's overthrow in the end, and the downfall of his
noble realm.

But for long years Launcelot was the glory of knighthood, and he vied
with King Arthur himself in deeds of prowess and of chivalrous courtesy
in the tournament and on adventure.



[1] Strait: narrow pass.




CHAPTER XI

A NIGHT-TIME ADVENTURE OF SIR LAUNCELOT

In fulfilment of his oath as a knight of the Round Table Sir Launcelot
rode into many strange and wild countries and through many waters and
valleys.  He slew Sir Turquine, who watched to destroy knights, and he
clove the head of another false traitor who attended to destroy and
distress ladies, damsels, and gentlewomen.  Other wrongs besides these
he righted, and bravely withstood many a struggle.

Now on a day it chanced that he passed a deep forest, where, as often
before, he found strait lodging.  But he was brave and strong, and
feared no hardship provided he did nothing contrary to his honour as a
worthy knight.  As he was riding over a long bridge there started upon
him suddenly a passing foul churl, who struck his horse upon the nose
and asked Sir Launcelot why he rode over that bridge without licence.

"Why should I not ride this way?" said Sir Launcelot; "it is the way I
choose to ride."

"Thou shall not choose," said the churl, and began to beat him with his
great club shod with iron.

Sir Launcelot drew his sword, and made short work of this rough porter.
Then he rode right on to the end of the bridge, through the fair
village, where all the people in vain gave him warning, and on straight
into the green courtyard of the castle, which was Tintagil, in Cornwall.

Anon there came upon him two great giants, with horrible clubs in their
hands.  With shield and sword he soon laid on the earth one of these
giants.  The other ran away for fear of the horrible strokes, and Sir
Launcelot entered the hall.  Here he set free three-score gentlewomen,
who for seven years had been prisoners of the two giants, working all
manner of silk works for their food.

"Show me such cheer as ye have," said Sir Launcelot, "and what treasure
there is in this castle I give you for a reward for your grievance."
Then soon he mounted his horse again, and rode away upon further
adventure.

One night he came to the courtyard of an old gentleman, who lodged him
with a good will, and there he had good cheer for himself and his
horse.  When time was his host brought him into a fair garret over the
gate to his bed.  There Sir Launcelot unarmed him, set his armour
beside him, and went to bed, and anon fell asleep.  Soon afterward
there came one on horseback, and knocked at the gate in great haste.
When Sir Launcelot heard this, he arose up and looked out at the
window, and saw by the moonlight three knights come after that one man;
all three lashed on him at once with swords, and that one knight turned
on them knightly again and defended himself.

"Truly," said Sir Launcelot, "yonder one knight shall I help, for it
were shame for me to see three knights on one, and if he be slain I am
partner in his death."

Therewith he took his armour and let himself down from the window by a
sheet to the four knights.

"Turn you knights unto me," cried Sir Launcelot aloud, "and leave your
fighting with that knight."

And then they all three left Sir Kay, for it was he who was so hard
bestead, and turned unto Sir Launcelot.  And there began great battle,
for they alighted, all three, and struck many great strokes at Sir
Launcelot, and assailed him on every side.  Sir Kay would have helped
him, but Sir Launcelot suffered him not, and anon within six strokes he
had struck all three to the earth.  Sir Launcelot made them yield
themselves to Sir Kay and promise to go next Whitsunday to the court as
prisoners of Queen Guenever.  So they were suffered to depart, and Sir
Launcelot knocked at the gate with the pommel of his sword.  The host
came, and they entered, Sir Kay and he.  "Sir," said the host, "I
thought you were in your bed."  "So I was," said Sir Launcelot, "but I
arose and leaped out at my window to help an old fellow of mine."

When they came nigh the light, Sir Kay knew well that it was Sir
Launcelot, and therewith he kneeled down and thanked him for all his
kindness that he had holpen him from death.

"Sir," said Sir Launcelot, "I have done nothing but that I ought to do,
and ye are welcome, and here shall ye repose you and take your rest."

So when Sir Kay was unarmed he asked for meat; there was meat fetched
him, and he ate strongly.  Then they went to their beds, and Sir
Launcelot and Sir Kay were lodged together in one bed.  On the morn Sir
Launcelot arose early, and left Sir Kay sleeping.  He put on Sir Kay's
armour and took his shield, and so went to the stable.  He here got Sir
Kay's horse, took leave of his host, and so departed.

Then soon afterward Sir Kay arose.  He missed Sir Launcelot, and then
he espied that his armour and his horse had been taken.  "Now by my
faith," said he, "I know well that he will grieve some of the court of
King Arthur, for my armour and horse will beguile all knights; they
will believe it is I, and will be bold to him.  And because I have his
armour and shield I am sure I shall ride in peace."  Then soon
afterward Sir Kay thanked his host and departed.

So Sir Launcelot rode into a deep forest, and there in a dell he saw
four knights standing under an oak, and they were of Arthur's court.
Anon as they espied Sir Launcelot they thought by his arms it was Sir
Kay.

"Now by my faith," said Sir Sagramour, one of the four knights, "I will
prove Sir Kay's might"; so he got his spear in his hand, and came
toward Sir Launcelot.  Therewith Sir Launcelot was ware, and knew him
well; and he smote Sir Sagramour so sore that horse and man fell both
to the earth.

"Lo, my fellows," said Sir Ector, another of the four, "yonder ye may
see what a buffet he hath; that knight is much bigger than ever was Sir
Kay.  Now shall ye see what I may do to him."

So Sir Ector got his spear in his hand and galloped toward Sir
Launcelot, and Sir Launcelot smote him through shield and shoulder so
that horse and man went to the earth, and ever his spear held.

"By my faith," said Sir Uwaine, "yonder is a strong knight, and I am
sure he hath slain Sir Kay; and I see by his great strength it will be
hard to match him."

Therewithal Sir Uwaine gat his spear in his hand and rode toward Sir
Launcelot.  Sir Launcelot knew him well, and so he met him on the
plain, and gave him such a buffet that he was stunned, and long he wist
not where he was.

"Now see I well," said Sir Gawaine, the last of the four knights, "I
must encounter with that knight."

Then he dressed his shield and gat a good spear in his hand, and then
they let run their horses with all their mights, and either knight
smote other in midst of the shield.  But Sir Gawaine's spear brake, and
Sir Launcelot charged so sore upon him that his horse reversed
up-so-down.

Much sorrow had Sir Gawaine to get clear of his horse, and so Sir
Launcelot passed on a pace, and smiled, and said, "God give him joy
that made this spear, for there came never a better in my hand."

Then the four knights went each one to other and comforted each other.
"What say ye to this deed?" said Sir Gawaine.  "He is a man of great
might, for that one spear hath felled us four.  I dare lay my head it
is Sir Launcelot; I know it by his riding."




CHAPTER XII

HOW SIR LAUNCELOT CAME INTO THE CHAPEL PERILOUS

On a day as Sir Launcelot rode a great while in a deep forest, he was
ware of an old manor beyond a bridge.  And he passed over the bridge,
that was old and feeble, and came into a great hall, where he saw lie a
dead knight, that was a seemly man.  And therewithal came out a lady
weeping and wringing her hands, and she said: "Oh, knight, too much
sorrow hast thou brought me."

"Why say ye so?" said Sir Launcelot; "I did never this knight any harm;
therefore, fair lady, be not displeased with me, for I am full sore
aggrieved at your grievance."

"Truly sir," she said, "I know it is not ye that have slain my husband,
for he that did that deed is sore wounded, and he is never likely to
recover; that I assure you."

"What was your husband's name?" asked Sir Launcelot.

"Sir," said she, "his name was Sir Gilbert, one of the best knights of
the world, and he that hath slain him, I know not his name."

"God send you better comfort," said Sir Launcelot, and so he departed
and went into the forest again, and there he met with a damsel who knew
him well, and said aloud, "Well are ye come, my lord; and now I require
thee on thy knighthood help my brother that is sore wounded, and never
ceaseth bleeding, for this day fought he with Sir Gilbert and slew him
in plain battle.  My brother was sore wounded, and a sorceress that
dwelleth in a castle hard by told me this day that my brother's wounds
should never be whole till I could find a knight that would go into the
Chapel Perilous where he should find a sword and a bloody cloth that
the wounded knight was wrapped in.  A piece of that cloth and the sword
should heal my brother's wounds, if his wounds were searched with the
sword and the cloth."

"This is a marvellous thing," said Sir Launcelot, "but what is your
brother's name?"

"Sir," said she, "his name is Sir Meliot."

"That me repenteth," said Sir Launcelot, "for he is a fellow of the
Table Round, and to help him I will do all in my power."

"Then, sir," said she, "follow this highway, and it will bring you into
the Chapel Perilous, and here I shall wait till God send you again;
except you I know no knight living that may achieve that adventure."

So Launcelot departed, and when he came unto the Chapel Perilous, he
alighted and tied his horse to the little gate of the churchyard.  And
soon he saw on the front of the chapel many fair rich shields turned
up-so-down, and many of these shields he had seen borne by knights that
he had known aforetime.  Then he saw standing there by him thirty great
knights, taller by a yard than any man that ever he had seen, all clad
in black armour, ready with their shields, and their swords drawn.
They all grinned and gnashed at Sir Launcelot, and when he saw their
countenances, he put his shield afore him, and took his sword in his
hand ready unto battle.  He started to go right past the giants, and
then they scattered on every side and gave him the way.  Therewith he
waxed all bold and entered into the chapel, where he saw no light but a
dim lamp burning, and soon became aware of a corpse covered with a
cloth of silk.  Sir Launcelot stooped down and cut off a piece of that
cloth, whereupon the earth under him seemed to quake a little, and at
this he feared.  Then he saw a fair sword lying by the dead knight.
This he gat into his hand and hied out of the chapel.

As soon as ever he was in the chapel yard all the giants spake to him
with a grimly voice, and said: "Knight, Sir Launcelot, lay that sword
from thee, or else thou shalt die."

"Whether I live or die," said Sir Launcelot, "no loud words will get it
again; therefore fight for it if ye will."

Then he immediately passed right through their midst, and beyond the
chapel yard there met him a fair damsel, who said, "Sir Launcelot,
leave that sword behind thee, or thou wilt die for it."

"I leave it not," said Sir Launcelot, "for any entreaties."

"It is well," said she.  "If thou didst leave that sword thou shouldst
never see Queen Guenever again.  Now, gentle knight, I request one
thing of thee.  Kiss me but once."

"Nay," said Sir Launcelot, "God forbid that I should do that."

"It is well, sir," said she; "if thou hadst kissed me thy life days had
been done.  But now, alas, I have lost all my labour, for I ordained
this chapel to win thee.  Once I had Sir Gawaine well nigh within my
power, but he fought with that knight that lieth there dead in yonder
chapel, Sir Gilbert, and smote off his left hand and so escaped.  Sir
Launcelot, I have loved thee these seven years, but now I know no woman
may have thy love but Queen Guenever."

"Ye say well," said Sir Launcelot.  "God preserve me from your subtile
crafts."

Thereupon he took his horse and so departed from her, and soon met the
damsel, Sir Meliot's sister.  Anon she led him to the castle where Sir
Meliot lay, pale as the earth from bleeding.  Sir Launcelot leaped unto
him and touched his wounds with Sir Gilbert's sword, and then wiped his
wounds with a part of the cloth that Sir Gilbert was wrapped in, and
anon he was as whole a man as ever he had been in all his life.  And
then there was great joy between them.  They made Sir Launcelot all the
cheer that they might, and on the morn he took his leave of Sir Meliot
and his sister, and rode away.




CHAPTER XIII

THE KNIGHT, THE LADY, AND THE FALCON

And Sir Launcelot by fortune came to a fair castle, and as he passed by
he was ware of a falcon that came flying over his head toward a high
elm.  As the bird flew into the tree to take her perch, the long lines
about her feet caught on a bough, and when she would take flight again
she hung fast by the legs.  Sir Launcelot saw how the fair falcon hung
there, and he was sorry for her.

Meanwhile came a lady out of the castle and cried aloud, "O Launcelot,
Launcelot, as thou art the flower of all knights, help me to get my
hawk.  I was holding my hawk and she slipped from me, and if my lord my
husband knows that she is lost he will slay me."

"What is your lord's name?" said Sir Launcelot.

"Sir," said the lady, "his name is Sir Phelot, a knight of Northgalis."

"Well, fair lady," said Launcelot, "since ye know my name, and request
me as a courteous knight to help you, I will do what I may to get your
hawk.  And yet truly I am an ill climber, and the tree is passing high,
with few boughs to cling to."

Thereupon Sir Launcelot alighted, and tied his horse to the elm.  Then
the lady helped him to unarm, and with might and force he climbed up to
the falcon.  He tied the lines to a great rotten branch, brake it off,
and threw it and the hawk down.  Anon the lady gat the hawk in her
hand, and thereupon came Sir Phelot suddenly out of the grove, all
armed and with his naked sword in his hand.  He called up to Sir
Launcelot and said, "O knight, now have I found thee as I would"; and
he stood at the foot of the tree to slay him.

"Ah lady," said Sir Launcelot, "why have ye betrayed me?"

"She hath done," said Sir Phelot, "but as I commanded her; there is no
help for it; thine hour is come, and thou must die."

"It were shame unto thee," said Sir Launcelot, "for thee, an armed
knight, to slay an unarmed man by treason."

"Thou gettest no other grace," said Sir Phelot; "therefore help thyself
if thou canst."

"Alas," said Sir Launcelot, "that ever knight should die weaponless."

Then he looked above and below him, and saw a big leafless bough.  This
he brake off; then he climbed down with it in his hand, and, observing
how his horse stood, he suddenly leaped down to the ground on the
farther side of the horse from the knight.

Then Sir Phelot lashed at him eagerly, thinking to slay him.  But Sir
Launcelot put away the stroke with the branch, and then with it gave
Sir Phelot such a blow on one side of the head that he fell down in a
swoon to the ground.  Then Sir Launcelot took his sword out of his hand
and struck his head from his body.

"Alas," cried the lady, "why hast thou slain my husband?"

"I am not the cause," said Sir Launcelot, "for with falsehood ye would
have slain me by treason, and now it is fallen on you both."

Thereupon Sir Launcelot gat all his armour as well as he might, and put
it on for fear of further attack, since the knight's castle was so
near.  As soon as he might he took his horse, and, thanking God that he
had escaped that adventure, he went on his adventures over many wild
ways, through marsh and valley and forest.

At Pentecost he returned home, and the King and all the court were
passing glad of his coming.  And ever now and now came all the knights
back, those that had encountered with Sir Launcelot, those that he had
set free from prison, and all those that knew of his great deeds of
arms.  And they all bare record of Sir Launcelot's prowess, so at that
time he had the greatest name of any knight of the world, and most he
was honoured of high and low.




CHAPTER XIV

HOW A KITCHEN-PAGE CAME TO HONOUR

Arthur was holding the high feast of Pentecost at a city and castle
called in those days Kink-Kenadon, upon the sands nigh Wales, and he
sat at meat with all the knights of the Round Table.  Then came into
the hall two men well beseen and richly, and upon their shoulders there
leaned the goodliest young man and the fairest that ever any of the
knights had seen.  He was higher than the other two by a foot and a
half, broad in the shoulders, well visaged, and the fairest and largest
handed that ever man saw; but he acted as though he might not walk nor
support himself unless he leaned upon their shoulders.  They went with
him right unto the high dais without saying of any words.

Then this much young man pulled himself away, and easily stretched up
straight, saying: "King Arthur, God you bless and all your fair
fellowship of the Round Table.  For this cause I am come hither, to
pray you to give me three gifts.  They shall not be so unreasonable but
that ye may honourably grant them me, and to you no great hurt nor
loss.  The first I will ask now, and the other two gifts I will ask
this day twelvemonth wheresoever ye hold your high feast."

"Now ask," said Arthur, "and ye shall have your asking."

"Now, sir, this is my petition for this feast, that you will give me
meat and drink sufficiently for this twelve-month, and at that day I
will ask mine other two gifts."

"This is but a simple asking," said the King; "ye shall have meat and
drink enough; I never refuse that to any, neither my friend nor my foe.
But what is your name I would know?"

"I cannot tell you," said he.

The King marvelled at this answer, but took him to Sir Kay, the
steward, and charged him that he should give the youth of all manner of
meats and drinks of the best, and also that he should have all manner
of finding as though he were a lord's son.

"That need not be," said Sir Kay, "to do such cost upon him; for I dare
undertake he is a villain born, and never will make a man, for had he
come of gentlemen he would have asked of you horse and armour; but such
as he is, so he asketh.  And since he hath no name, I shall give him
the name Beaumains, that is Fair-hands, and into the kitchen I shall
bring him, and there he shall have rich broth every day, so that he
shall be as fat by the twelvemonth's end as a pork hog."

So the two men departed, and left him to Sir Kay, who scorned him and
mocked him.  Thereat was Sir Gawaine wroth, and especially Sir
Launcelot bade Sir Kay leave off his mocking, "for," said he, "I dare
wager he shall prove a man of great honour."

"It may not be by any reason," said Sir Kay, "for as he is, so hath he
asked."

So Sir Kay ordered that a place be made for him, and Fair-hands went to
the hall door, and sat down among boys and lads, and there he ate
sadly.  After meat Sir Launcelot bade him come to his chamber, where he
should have meat and drink enough, and so did Sir Gawaine; but he
refused them all; he would do none other but as Sir Kay commanded him.
As touching Sir Gawaine, he had reason to proffer him lodging, meat,
and drink, for he was nearer kin to him than he knew.  But what Sir
Launcelot did was of his great gentleness and courtesy.

Thus Fair-hands was put into the kitchen, and lay nightly as the boys
of the kitchen did.  And so he endured all that twelvemonth, and never
displeased man nor child, but always he was meek and mild.  But ever
when there was any jousting of knights, that would he see if he could.
And where were any masteries done, thereat would he be, and there might
none cast bar nor stone to him by two yards.  Then would Sir Kay say,
"How like you my boy of the kitchen?"

So it passed on till the least of Whitsuntide, which at that time the
King held at Carlion in the most royal wise that might be, as he did
every year.  As he again sat at meat, there came a damsel into the hall
and saluted the King, and prayed him for succour.  "For whom?" said the
King; "what is the adventure?"

"Sir," she said, "I have a lady of great honour and renown, and she is
besieged by a tyrant so that she may not out of her castle.  And
because your knights are called the noblest of the world, I come to you
to pray you for succour."

"What is the name of your lady? and where dwelleth she? and who is he,
and what is his name, that hath besieged her?"

"Sir King," she said, "as for my lady's name, that shall not ye know
from me at this time, but I let you know she is a lady of great honour
and of great lands.  And as for the tyrant that besiegeth and
destroyeth her lands, he is called the Red Knight of the Red Lawns."

"I know him not," said the King.

"Sir," said Sir Gawaine, "I know him well, for he is one of the most
dangerous knights of the world.  Men say that he hath seven men's
strength, and from him I escaped once full hard with my life."

"Fair damsel," said the King, "there be knights here would do their
best to rescue your lady, but because ye will not tell her name, nor
where she dwelleth, therefore none of my knights that be here now shall
go with you by my will."

"Then must I speak further," said the damsel.

With these words Fair-hands came before the King, while the damsel was
there, and thus he said: "Sir King, God reward you, I have been these
twelve months in your kitchen, and have had my full sustenance, and now
I will ask my two gifts that be behind."

"Ask upon my peril," said the King.

"Sir, these shall be my two gifts.  First, that ye will grant me this
adventure of the damsel, and second, that ye shall bid Launcelot of the
Lake to make me knight, for of him I will be made knight, and else of
none.  I pray you let him ride after me, and make me knight when I
request him."

"All this shall be done," said the King.

"Fie on thee," said the damsel, "shall I have none but one that is your
kitchen-page?"  Then was she wroth, and took her horse and departed.

Thereupon there came one to Fair-hands, and told him that his horse and
armour was come for him, with all things that he needed in the richest
manner.  Thereat all the court had much marvel from whence came all
that gear.  When he was armed and came into the hall to take leave of
King Arthur and Sir Gawaine and Sir Launcelot, there were but few so
goodly knights as he was.  He prayed Sir Launcelot that he would hie
after him, and so departed and rode after the damsel.

Many people followed after Fair-hands to behold how well he was horsed
and trapped in cloth of gold, but he had neither shield nor spear.
Then Sir Kay said all openly in the hall, "I will ride after my boy of
the kitchen, to see whether he will know me for his better."

Sir Launcelot and Sir Gawaine counselled him to abide at home;
nevertheless he made ready and took his horse and his spear and rode
off.  Just as Fair-hands overtook the damsel, Sir Kay came up, and
said, "Fair-hands, what sir, know ye not me?"

Then he turned his horse, and knew it was Sir Kay, that had done him
all the despite, as we have heard afore.  "Yea," said Fair-hands, "I
know you for an ungentle knight of the court and therefore beware of
me."

Therewith Sir Kay put his spear in its rest, and ran straight upon him,
and Fair-hands came on just as fast with his sword in his hand.  And so
he put away his spear with his sword, and with a foin[1] thrust him
through the side, so that Sir Kay fell down as if he were dead.  Then
Fair-hands alighted down and took Sir Kay's shield and his spear, had
his dwarf mount upon Sir Kay's horse, and started upon his own horse
and rode his way.  All this Sir Launcelot saw, and so did the damsel.

By this time Sir Launcelot had come up, and Fair-hands offered to joust
with him.  So they rushed together like boars, and for upwards of an
hour they had a hard fight, wherein Sir Launcelot had so much ado with
Fair-hands that he feared himself to be shamed.  At length he said,
"Fair-hands, fight not so sore; your quarrel and mine is not so great
but we may leave off."

"That is truth," said Fair-hands, "but it doth me good to feel your
might, and yet, my lord, I showed not my uttermost."

"Well," said Sir Launcelot, "I promise you I had as much to do as I
might to save myself from you unashamed; therefore ye need have no fear
of any earthly knight."

"Hope ye then," said Fair-hands, "that I may anywhere stand as a proved
knight?"

"Yea," said Launcelot, "do as ye have done, and I shall be your
warrant."

"Then I pray you give me the order of knighthood," said Fair-hands.

"Then must ye tell me your name," said Launcelot, "and of what kin ye
be born."

"Sir, if ye will not make me known, I will," said Fair-hands.

"That I promise you by the faith of my body, until it be openly known,"
said Sir Launcelot.

"Then, sir," he said, "my name is Gareth; I am own brother unto Sir
Gawaine."

"Ah! sir," said Launcelot, "I am more glad of you than I was, for ever
me thought ye should be of great blood, and that ye came not to the
court either for meat or for drink."

Then Sir Launcelot gave him the order of knighthood, and Sir Gareth
went his way.

Sir Launcelot now came to Sir Kay and had him carried home upon his
shield.  He was with difficulty healed of his wounds, and all men
scorned him.  In especial Sir Gawaine and Sir Launcelot said it was not
for Sir Kay to rebuke the young man, for full little he knew of what
birth he was and for what cause he came to this court.



[1] Foin: reach forth.




CHAPTER XV

HOW SIR GARETH FOUGHT FOR THE LADY OF CASTLE PERILOUS

After the damsel rode Fair-hands, now well provided with shield and
spear, and known to Sir Launcelot, at least, as Sir Gareth and nephew
to King Arthur.  When he had overtaken the damsel, anon she said: "What
dost thou here?  Thou smellest all of the kitchen; thy clothes be foul
with the grease and tallow that thou gainedst in King Arthur's kitchen;
therefore turn again, foul kitchen-page.  I know thee well, for Sir Kay
named thee Fair-hands.  What art thou but a lubber and a turner of
spits, and a ladle washer?"

"Damsel," said Fair-hands, "say to me what ye will, I will not go from
you, for I have undertaken, in King Arthur's presence, to achieve your
adventure, and so shall I finish it, or I shall die therefore."

Thus as they rode along in the wood, there came a man flying all that
ever he might.  "Whither wilt thou?" said Fair-hands.

"O lord," he said, "help me, for yonder in a dell are six thieves that
have taken my lord and bound him, and I am afeard lest they will slay
him."

So Fair-hands rode with the man until they came to where the knight lay
bound, and the thieves hard by.  Fair-hands struck one unto the death,
and then another, and at the third stroke he slew the third thief; and
then the other three fled.  He rode after them and overtook them, and
then those three thieves turned again and assailed Fair-hands hard, but
at the last he slew them also, and returned and unbound the knight.
The knight thanked him, and prayed him to ride with him to his castle
there a little beside, and he should honourably reward him for his good
deeds.

"Sir," said Fair-hands, "I will no reward have except as God reward me.
And also I must follow this damsel."

When he came nigh her, she bade him ride from her, "for," said she,
"thou smellest all of the kitchen; thinkest thou that I have joy of
thee?  All this deed thou hast done is but mishapped thee, but thou
shalt see a sight that shall make thee turn again, and that lightly."

Then the same knight who was rescued from the thieves rode after that
damsel, and prayed her to lodge with him that night.  And because it
was near night the damsel rode with him to the castle, and there they
had great cheer.  At supper the knight set Sir Fair-hands afore the
damsel.

"Fie, fie," said she, "sir knight, ye are uncourteous to set a
kitchen-page afore me; him beseemeth better to stick a swine than to
sit afore a damsel of high parentage."

Then the knight was ashamed at her words, and took Fair-hands up and
set him at a sideboard, and seated himself afore him.  So all that
night they had good cheer and merry rest.

On the morn the damsel and Fair-hands thanked the knight and took their
leave, and rode on their way until they came to a great forest.
Therein was a great river with but one passage, and there were ready
two knights on the farther side, to prevent their crossing.  Fair-hands
would not have turned back had there been six more, and he rushed into
the water.  One of the two encountered with him in the midst of the
stream, and both spears were broken.  Then they drew their swords and
smote eagerly at one another.  At the last Sir Fair-hands smote the
other upon the helm so that he fell down stunned in the water, and
there was he drowned.  Then Sir Fair-hands spurred his horse upon the
land, where the other fell upon him, and they fought long together.  At
the last Sir Fair-hands clove his helm and his head, and so rode unto
the damsel and bade her ride forth on her way.

"Alas," she said, "that ever a kitchen-page should have that fortune to
destroy two such doughty knights.  Thou thinkest thou hast done
doughtily, but that is not so, for the first knight's horse stumbled,
and so he was drowned in the water; it was never by thy force or by thy
might.  And as for the second knight, by mishap thou camest behind him
and slewest him."

"Damsel," said Fair-hands, "ye may say what ye will, but whomsoever I
have ado with I trust to God to serve him ere he depart, and therefore
I reck not what ye say, provided I may win your lady."

"Fie, fie, foul kitchen-knave, thou shalt see knights that shall abate
thy boast.  I see all that ever thou doest is but by misadventure, and
not by prowess of thy hands."

"Fair damsel," said he, "give me goodly language, and then my care is
past.  Ye may say what ye will; what knights soever I shall meet, I
fear them not, and wheresoever ye go I will follow you."

So they rode on till even-song time, and ever she chid him and would
not cease.  And then they came to a black lawn, and there was a black
hawthorn, and thereon hung a black banner, and on the other side there
hung a black shield, and by it stood a black spear great and long, and
a great black horse covered with silk, and a black stone fast by,
whereon sat a knight all armed in black harness, and his name was the
Knight of the Black Lawns.

The damsel, when she saw this knight, bade Fair-hands flee down the
valley.  "Grammercy," said he, "always ye would have me a coward."

With that the Black Knight, when she came nigh him, spake and said,
"Damsel, have ye brought this knight of King Arthur to be your
champion?"

"Nay, fair knight," said she, "this is but a kitchen-knave, that was
fed in King Arthur's kitchen for alms.  I cannot be rid of him, for
with me he rideth against my will.  Would that ye should put him from
me, or else slay him, if ye may, for he is a troublesome knave, and
evilly he hath done this day."

"Thus much shall I grant you," said the Black Knight: "I shall put him
down upon one foot, and his horse and his harness he shall leave with
me, for it were shame to me to do him any more harm."

When Sir Fair-hands heard him say thus, he said, "Sir knight, thou art
full generous with my horse and my harness; I let thee know it cost
thee naught, and whether thou like it or not, this lawn will I pass,
and neither horse nor harness gettest thou of me, except as thou win
them with thy hands.  I am no kitchen-page, as the damsel saith I am; I
am a gentleman born, and of more high lineage than thou, and that will
I prove on thy body."

Then in great wrath they drew back with their horses, and rushed
together as it had been the thunder.  The Black Knight's spear brake,
and Fair-hands thrust him through both his sides, whereupon his own
spear brake also.  Nevertheless the Black Knight drew his sword and
smote many eager strokes of great might, and hurt Fair-hands full sore.
But at the last he fell down off his horse in a swoon, and there he
died.

When Fair-hands saw that the Black Knight had been so well horsed and
armed, he alighted down and armed himself in the dead man's armour,
took his horse, and rode after the damsel.  When she saw him come nigh,
she said, "Away, kitchen-knave, out of the wind, for the smell of thy
foul clothes offendeth me.  Alas that ever such a knave as thou art
should by mishap slay so good a knight as thou hast done.  All this is
my ill luck, but hard by is one that shall requite thee, and therefore
again I counsel thee, flee."

"It may be my lot," said Fair-hands, "to be beaten or slain, but I warn
you, fair damsel, I will not flee away or leave your company for all
that ye can say, for ever ye say that they will kill me or beat me, yet
it happeneth that I escape and they lie on the ground.  Therefore it
were as good for you to stop thus all day rebuking me, for away will I
not till I see the uttermost of this journey, or else I will be slain
or truly beaten; therefore ride on your way, for follow you I will,
whatsoever happen."

As they rode along together they saw a knight come driving by them all
in green, both his horse and his harness; and when he came nigh the
damsel he asked her, "Is that my brother the Black Knight that ye have
brought with you?"

"Nay, nay," said she, "this unlucky kitchen-knave hath slain your
brother through mischance."

"Alas," said the Green Knight, "that is great pity that so noble a
knight as he was should so unfortunately be slain, and by a knave's
hand, as ye say that he is.  Ah! traitor, thou shalt die for slaying my
brother; he was a full noble knight."

"I defy thee," said Fair-hands, "for I make known to thee I slew him
knightly and not shamefully."

Therewithal the Green Knight rode unto a horn that was green that hung
on a green thorn, and there he blew three deadly notes, whereupon came
two damsels and armed him lightly.  Then he took a great horse and a
green shield and a green spear, and the two knights ran together with
all their mights.  They brake their spears unto their hands, and then
drew their swords.  Now they gave many sad strokes, and either of them
wounded other full ill.

At the last Fair-hands' horse struck the Green Knight's horse upon the
side, and it fell to the earth.  Then the Green Knight left his horse
lightly, and prepared to fight on foot.  That saw Fair-hands, and
therewithal he alighted, and they rushed together like two mighty
champions a long while, and sore they bled both.

With that came the damsel and said, "My lord, the Green Knight, why for
shame stand ye so long fighting with the kitchen-knave?  Alas, it is
shame that ever ye were made knight, to see such a lad match such a
knight, as if the weed overgrew the corn."

Therewith the Green Knight was ashamed, and gave a great stroke of
might, and clave Fair-hands' shield through.  When the young knight saw
his shield cloven asunder he was a little ashamed of that stroke and of
her language, and then he gave the other such a buffet upon the helm
that he fell on his knees, and Fair-hands quickly pulled him upon the
ground grovelling.  Then the Green Knight cried for mercy, and yielded
himself unto Sir Fair-hands, and prayed him to slay him not.

"All is in vain," said Fair-hands, "for thou shalt die unless this
damsel that came with me pray me to save thy life."

Therewithal he unlaced his helm as if to slay him.  "Let be," said the
damsel, "thou foul kitchen-knave, slay him not, for if thou do, thou
shalt repent it."

"Damsel," said Fair-hands, "your charge is to me a pleasure, and at
your commandment his life shall be saved, and else not.  Sir Knight
with the green arms, I release thee quit at this damsel's request, for
I will not make her wroth; I will fulfil all that she chargeth me."

And then the Green Knight kneeled down and did him homage with his
sword, promising for ever to become his man together with thirty
knights that held of him.  Then said the damsel, "Me repenteth, Green
Knight, of your damage and of the death of your brother the Black
Knight; of your help I had great need, for I fear me sore to pass this
forest."

"Nay, fear ye not," said the Green Knight, "for ye shall lodge with me
this night, and to-morn I shall help you through this forest."

So they took their horses and rode to his manor, which was fast there
beside.  And ever the damsel rebuked Fair-hands, and would not suffer
him to sit at her table.  But the Green Knight took him and set him at
a side table, and did him honour, for he saw that he was come of noble
blood and had proved himself a full noble knight.  All that night he
commanded thirty men privily to watch Fair-hands for to keep him from
all treason.  And on the morn they arose, and after breaking their fast
they took their horses and rode on their way.

As the Green Knight conveyed them through the forest he said, "My lord
Fair-hands, I and these thirty knights shall be always at your summons,
both early and late at your call wherever ye will send us."

"It is well," said Fair-hands; "when I call upon you ye must go unto
King Arthur with all your knights."

So the Green Knight took his leave, and the damsel said unto
Fair-hands, "Why followest thou me, thou kitchen-boy; cast away thy
shield and thy spear and flee, for thou shalt not pass a pass here,
that is called the pass Perilous."

"Damsel," said Fair-hands, "who is afraid let him flee, for it were
shame to turn again since I have ridden so long with you."

"Well," said she, "ye shall soon, whether ye will or not."

In like manner on the next day Sir Fair-hands overcame a third brother,
the Red Knight, and in like manner the damsel would have Fair-hands
spare his life.  Albeit she spake unto him many contemptuous words,
whereof the Red Knight had great marvel, and all that night made
three-score men to watch Fair-hands that he should have no shame or
villainy.  The Red Knight yielded himself to Fair-hands with fifty
knights, and they all proffered him homage and fealty at all times to
do him service.

"I thank you," said Fair-hands; "this ye shall grant me when I call
upon you, to come afore my lord King Arthur and yield yourselves unto
him to be his knights."

"Sir," said the Red Knight, "I will be ready and my fellowship at your
summons."

So again upon the morn Sir Fair-hands and the damsel departed, and ever
she rode chiding him in the foulest manner.

"Damsel," said Fair-hands, "ye are uncourteous so to rebuke me as ye
do, for me seemeth I have done you good service, and ever ye threaten
me I shall be beaten with knights that we meet; but ever for all your
boasts they lie in the dust or in the mire, and therefore I pray you
rebuke me no more.  When ye see me beaten or yielded as recreant, then
may ye bid me go from you shamefully, but first I let you wit I will
not depart from you, for I were worse than a fool if I should depart
from you all the while that I win honour."

"Well," said she, "right soon there shall come a knight that shall pay
thee all thy wages, for he is the most man of honour of the world,
except King Arthur."

"The more he is of honour," said Fair-hands, "the more shall be my
honour to have ado with him.  Have no doubt, damsel, by the grace of
God I shall so deal with this knight that within two hours after noon I
shall overcome him, and then shall we come to the siege of your lady's
castle seven miles hence by daylight."

"Marvel have I," said the damsel, "what manner of man ye be, for it may
never be otherwise but that ye be come of noble blood, for so foul and
shamefully did never woman rule a knight as I have done you, and ever
courteously ye have suffered me, and that came never but of gentle
blood."

"Damsel," said Fair-hands, "a knight may little do that may not suffer
a damsel, for whatsoever ye said unto me I took no heed to your words,
for the more ye said the more ye angered me, and my wrath I wreaked
upon them that I had ado withal.  And therefore all the missaying that
ye missaid me furthered me in my battle, and caused me to think to show
and prove myself at the end what I was.  For peradventure, though I had
meat in King Arthur's kitchen, yet I might have had meat enough in
other places.  All that I did to prove and to assay my friends, and
whether I be a gentleman born or not, I let you wit, fair damsel, I
have done you gentleman's service, and peradventure better service yet
will I do ere I depart from you."

"Alas," she said, "good Fair-hands, forgive me all that I have missaid
or done against thee."

"With all my heart," said he, "I forgive it you, and damsel, since it
liketh you to say thus fair to me, wit ye well it gladdeth mine heart
greatly, and now me seemeth there is no knight living but I am able
enough for him."

With this Sir Persant of Inde, the fourth of the brethren that stood in
Fair-hands' way to the siege, espied them as they came upon the fair
meadow where his pavilion was.  Sir Persant was the most lordly knight
that ever thou lookedst on.  His pavilion and all manner of thing that
there is about, men and women, and horses' trappings, shields and
spears were all of dark blue colour.  Anon he and Fair-hands prepared
themselves and rode against one another that both their spears were
shattered to pieces, and their horses fell dead to the earth.  Then
they fought two hours and more on foot, until their armour was all hewn
to pieces, and in many places they were wounded.  At the last, though
loath to do it, Fair-hands smote Sir Persant above upon the helm so
that he fell grovelling to the earth, and the fierce battle was at an
end.  Like his three brethren before, Sir Persant yielded himself and
asked for mercy, and at the damsel's request Fair-hands gladly granted
his life, and received homage and fealty from him and a hundred
knights, to be always at his commandment.

On the morn as the damsel and Sir Fair-hands departed from Sir
Persant's pavilion, "Fair damsel," said Persant, "whitherward are ye
away leading this knight?"

"Sir," she said, "this knight is going to the siege that besiegeth my
sister in the Castle Perilous."

"Ah, ah," said Persant, "that is the Knight of the Red Lawns, the most
perilous knight that I know now living, a man that is without mercy,
and men say that he hath seven men's strength.  God save you, sir, from
that knight, for he doth great wrong to that lady, which is great pity,
for she is one of the fairest ladies of the world, and me seemeth that
this damsel is her sister.  Is not your name Linet?"

"Yea, sir," said she, "and my lady my sister's name is Dame Liones.
Now, my lord Sir Persant of Inde, I request you that ye make this
gentleman knight or ever he fight with the Red Knight."

"I w