Complete Works of Sir Thomas Malory

by Thomas Malory

  Than cam there a knyght that was callyd sir Dynadan, and salewed them bothe. And whan he wyste that kynge Marke was a knyght of Cornwayle, he repreved hym for the love of kynge Marke a thousand-folde more than ded sir Lameroke. And so he profirde to juste with kynge Marke. And he was full lothe thereto, but sir Dynadan egged hym so that he justed wyth sir Lameroke. And sir Lameroke smote kynge Marke so sore that he bare hym on his speare ende over his horse tayle.

  And than kynge Marke arose, and gate his horse agayne, and folowed aftir sir Lameroke. But sir Dynadan wolde nat juste with sir Lameroke, but he tolde kynge Marke that sir Lameroke was sir Kay the Senescyall.

  That is nat so,’ seyde kynge Marke, ‘for he is muche bygger than sir Kay.’

  And so he folowed and overtoke hym and bade hym abyde.

  ‘What woll ye do?’ seyde sir Lameroke.

  ‘Sir,’ he seyde, I woll fyght wyth a swerde, for ye have shamed me with a speare.’

  And therewyth they daysshed togydyrs wyth swerdis. And sir Lamerok suffyrde hym and forbare hym, and kynge Marke was passyng besy and smote thycke strokys. Than sir Lameroke saw he wolde nat stynte, he waxed somwhat wrothe, and doubled his strokys, for he was of the nobelyste of the worlde. And he beete hym so on the helme that his hede henge nyghe on the sadyll-bowe. Whan sir Lameroke saw hym fare so, he sayde, ‘Knyght, what chere? Mesemyth ye have nyghe youre fylle of fyghtynge. Hit were pyté to do you ony more harme, for ye ar but a meane knyght. Therefore I gyff you leve to go where ye lyst.’’Gramercy,’ seyde kynge Marke, ‘for ye and I be no macchis.’ Than sir Dynadan mocked kynge Marke and seyde, ‘ Ye ar nat able to macche a good knyght!’

  ‘As for that,’ seyde kynge Marke, ‘at the fyrste tyme that I justed with this knyght, ye refused hym.’

  ‘Thynke ye that a shame?’ seyde sir Dynadan. ‘Nay, sir, hit is ever worshyp to a knyght to refuse that thynge that he may nat attayne. Therefore your worshyp had bene muche more to have refused hym as I ded, for I warne you playnly he is able to beate suche fyve as ye ar and I be: for ye knyghtis of Cornwayle ar no men of worshyp as other knyghtes ar, and bycause ye ar nat of worshyp, ye hate all men of worship, for never in your contrey was bredde suche a knyght as sir Trystram.’

  [8] Than they rode furth all togydyrs, kynge Marke, sir Lameroke and sir Dynadan, tylle that they com to a brygge, and at the ende thereof stood a fayre toure. Than saw they a knyght on horsebacke well armed, braundisshynge a speare, cryynge, and profyrde hymself to juste.

  ‘Now,’ seyde sir Dynadan unto kynge Marke, ‘yondir ar too bretherne, that one hyght Alyne and that other hyght Tryan, that woll juste with ony that passyth this passayge. Now profyr youreself,’ seyde sir Dynadan unto kynge Marke, ‘for ever ye be leyde to the erthe.’

  Than kynge Marke was ashamed, and therewith he feautyrde hys speare and hurteled to sir Tryan, and aythir brake their spearys all to pecis, and passed thorow anone. Than sir Tryan sente kyng Marke another speare to juste more, but in no wyse he wolde nat juste no more.

  Than they com to the castell, all thre knyghtes, and prayde the lorde of that castell of herborow.

  ‘Ye ar ryght wellcom,’ seyde the knyghtes of the castell, ‘for the love of the lorde of this towre,’ the whyche hyght sir Torre le Fyze Aryes, And than they com into a fayre courte well repayred, and so they had passynge good chere tyll the lyefftenaunte of that castell that hyght Berluse aspyed kynge Marke of Cornwayle. Than seyde sir Berluse, ‘Sir knyght, I know you well, better than ye wene, for ye ar kynge Marke that slew my fadir afore myne owne yghen, and me had ye slayn had I not ascapyd into a woode. But wyte you well, for the love of my lorde sir Torre, whyche is lorde of this castell, I woll nat at this tyme nother hurte nor harme you, nothir none of your felyship.

  But wyte you well, whan ye ar paste this loggynge I shall hurte you and I may, for ye slew my fader traytourly and cowardly. But fyrste, for my lorde sir Torre, and for the love of sir Lameroke the honorable knyght that here is lodgid, ye sholde have none evyll lodgynge. For hit is pyté that ever ye sholde be in the company of good knyghtes, for ye ar the moste vylaunce knyght of a kynge that is now lyvynge, for ye ar a dystroyer of good knyghtes, and all that ye do is but by treson.’

  Than was kynge Marke sore ashamyd and seyde but lytyll agayne. [10] But whan sir Lameroke and sir Dynadan wyste that he was kynge Marke they were sory of his felyshyp. So aftir supper they went to lodgynge.

  So on the morne they arose, and kynge Marke and sir Dynadan rode togydyrs. And three myle of there mette with hem three knyghtes, and sir Berluse was one, and other two of hys cosyns.

  Whan sir Berluse saw kynge Marke he cryed on hyghte:

  ‘Traytoure, kepe the from me, for wete thou well that I am sir Berluse!’

  ‘Sir knyght,’ seyde sir Dynadan, ‘I counceyle you as at this tyme medyll nat wyth hym, for he is rydynge to kynge Arthure. And bycause I promysed to conduyte hym to my lorde kynge Arthure, nedis muste I take a parte wyth hym; howbeit I love nat his condision, and fayne I wolde be from hym.’

  ‘Well, sir Dynadan,’ seyde sir Berluse, ‘me repentys that ye woll take party with hym, but now do youre beste!’

  Than he hurteled to kynge Marke and smote hym sore uppon the shylde, that he bare hym clene oute of his sadill to the erthe. That saw sir Dynadan, and he feautyrd hys speare and ran to one of his felowys and smote hym of hys sadyll. Than sir Dynadan turned his horse and smote the thirde knyght in the same wyse, that he went to the erthe, for this sir Dynadan was a good knyght on horsebacke.

  And so there began a grete batayle, for sir Berluse and hys felowys hylde them togydyrs strangely on foote. And so thorow the grete force of sir Dynadan kynge Marke had sir Berluse at the erthe, and his two felowys fled. And had nat sir Dynadan bene, kynge Marke wolde have slayne hym; and so sir Dynadan rescowed hym of his lyff, for this kynge Marke was but a murtherer. And than they toke their horsys and departed, and lefte sir Berluse there sore woundid.

  Than kynge Marke and sir Dynadan rode forth a four leagis Englyshe tyll that they com to a brydge where hoved a knyght on horsebacke, armyd redy to juste.

  ‘Lo,’ seyde sir Dynadan unto kynge Marke, yonder hovyth a knyght that woll juste, for there shall none passe this brydge but he muste juste with that knyght.’

  ‘Ye say well,’ seyde kynge Marke, ‘for this justys fallyth for you.’ But sir Dynadan knew the knyght for a noble knyght, and fayne he wolde have justyd, but he had levir that kynge Marke had justed with hym. But by no meane kynge Marke wolde nat juste. Than sir Dynadan myght nat refuse hym in no maner, and so ayther dressed their spearys and their shyldys and smote togydyrs, that thorow fyne force sir Dynadan was smyttyn to the erthe. And lyghtly he arose up and gate his horse and requyred that knyght to do batayle with swerdys. And he answerde and seyde, ‘Fayre knyght, as at this tyme I may nat have ado with you no more, for the custom of this passage is suche.’

  Than was sir Dynadan passynge wrothe that he myght nat be revenged of that knyght, and so he departed. And in no wyse wolde that knyght telle hys name, but ever sir Dynadan thought he sholde know hym by his shylde that he sholde be sir Torre. So as they rode [11] by the way kynge Marke than began to mocke sir Dynadan, and seyde, ‘I wente you knyghtes of the Rounde Table myght in no wyse fynde youre macchis.’

  ‘Ye sey well,’ seyde sir Dynadan. ‘As for you, on my lyff, I calle you none of the good knyghtes. But syth ye have such dispyte at me, I requere you to juste with me to preve my strengthe.’

  ‘Nat so,’ seyde kynge Marke, ‘for I woll nat have ado with you in no maner; but I requyre you of one thynge, that whan ye com to kynge Arthures courte, discover nat my name, for I am sore there behatyd.’

  ‘Hit is shame to you,’ seyde sir Dynadan, ‘that ye governe you so shamfully, for I se by you ye ar full of cowardyse, and ye ar also a murtherar, and that is the grettyst shame that ony knyght may have, for nevir had knyght murtherer worshyp, nother never shall have.

  For I sawe but late thorow my forse ye wolde have slayne sir Bersules, a better
knyght than ever ye were or ever shall be, and more of proues.’

  Thus they rode forth talkynge tyll they com to a fayre place where stoode a knyghte and prayde them to take their lodgynge with hym.

  So at the requeste of that knyght they reposyd them there and made them well at ease and had grete chere, for all araunte knyghtes to hym were welcom, and specially all the of kynge Arthurs courte.

  Than sir Dynadan demaunded his oste what was the knyghtes name that kepte the brydge.

  ‘For what cause aske you?’ seyde his oste.

  ‘For hit is nat longe ago,’ seyde sir Dynadan, ‘sytthen he gaff me a falle.’

  ‘A, fayre knyght,’ seyde his oste, ‘thereof have ye no mervayle, for he is a passynge good knyght, and his name is sir Torre, the sonne of Aryes le Vaysshere.’

  ‘A!’ seyde sir Dynadan, ‘was that sir Torre? Truly so ever me thought.’

  So ryght as they stood thus talkynge togydyrs they saw com rydynge by them over a playne six knyghtes of the courte of kynge Arthure well armyd at all poyntys; and by their shyldys sir Dynadan knew them well. The fyrste was the good knyght sir Uwayne, the sonne of kynge Uryen. The secunde was the noble knyght sir Brandyles. The thirde was Ozanna le Cure Hardy. The fourth was sir Uwayne les Adventurys. The fyfth was sir Agravayne, the sixth, sir Mordred, to brethirne to sir Gawayne.

  Whan sir Dynadan had aspyed thes six knyghtes he thought to hymself he wolde brynge kynge Marke by som wyle to juste with one of them. And than anone they toke their horsys and ran aftir these six knyghtes well-nye a three myle Englyshe. Than was kynge Marke ware where they sate all six aboute a welle and ete and dranke suche metys as they had, and their horsis walkynge and som tyed, and their shyldys hynge in dyverse placis aboute them.

  ‘Lo!’ seyde sir Dynadan, ‘yondir ar knyghtes arraunte that woll juste with us.’

  ‘God forbede,’ seyde kynge Marke, ‘for they be six, and we but two.’

  ‘As for that,’ seyde sir Dynadan, ‘lat us nat spare, for I woll assay the formyst.’

  And therewith he made hym redy. Whan kynge Marke sawe hym do so, as faste as sir Dynadan rode towardis them, kynge Marke rode frowarde them with all his mayneall mayne.

  So whan sir Dynadan saw that kynge Marke was gone, he sette the speare oute of the reaste and threwe hys shylde uppon his backe and cam rydynge to the felyshyp of the Rounde Table. And anone sir Uwayne knew sir Dynadan, and welcomed hym, and so ded all his [12] felyshyp. And than they asked hym of aventures, and whether that he sawe of sir Trystram othir sir Launcelot.

  ‘So God me helpe,’ seyde sir Dynadan, as for me, I sawe none of them sytthyn we departed fro Camelot.’

  ‘What knyght is that,’ seyde sir Braundyles, ‘that so sodeynly departed frome you and rode over yondir fylde?’

  ‘Sir, hit is a knyght of Cornwayle, and the moste orryble cowarde that ever bestrode horse.’

  ‘What is his name?’ seyde all thos knyghtes.

  ‘I wote nat,’ seyde sir Dynadan.

  So whan they had reposed them and spokyn togydyrs they toke there horsys and rode to a castell where dwelled an olde knyght that made all knyghtes arraunte good chere. So in the meanewhyle that they were talkynge, com into the castell sir Gryfflet le Fyz de Deu. And there was he wellcom, and they all askyd hym whethir he sye sir Launcelot other sir Trystram. He answerde and seyde, ‘I sawe hem nat sytthyn they departed frome Camelot.’

  So as sir Dynadan walked and behylde the castell, thereby in a chambir he aspyed kynge Marke, and than he rebuked hym and asked why he departed so.

  ‘Sir, for I durst nat abyde, for they were so many. But how ascaped ye?’ seyde kynge Marke.

  ‘Sir, they be better frendis than I went they had ben.’

  ‘Who is captayne of this felyshyp?’ seyde kynge Marke.

  For to feare hym sir Dynadan seyde hit was sir Launcelot.

  ‘A, Jesu!’ seyde kynge Marke, ‘myght ye knowe sir Launcelot by his shylde?’

  ‘Ye,’ seyde sir Dynadan, ‘for he beryth a shylde of sylver and blacke bendis.’

  All this he seyde to feare kynge Marke, for sir Launcelot was nat in the felyshyp.

  ‘Now I pray you,’ seyde kynge Marke, ‘that ye woll ryde in my felyshyp.’

  ‘That is me lothe to doo,’ said sir Dynadan, ‘bycause ye forsoke my felyshyp.’

  Ryght so sir Dynadan went from kyng Marke and went to his own felyshyp; and so they mownted uppon there horsys and rode on their wayes and talked of the Cornyshe knyght, for sir Dynadan tolde them that he was in the castell where they were lodged.

  ‘Hit is well seyde,’ seyde sir Gryfflet, ‘for here have I brought sir Dagonet, kynge Arthurs foole, that is the beste felow and the meryeste in the worlde.’

  ‘Woll ye than do well?’ seyde sir Dynadan. ‘I have tolde the Cornyshe knyght that here is sir Launcelot, and the Cornyshe knyght asked me what shylde he bare, and I tolde hym that he bare the same shylde that sir Mordred beryth.’

  ‘Woll ye do well?’ seyde sir Mordred. ‘I am hurte and may nat well beare my shylde nother harneys, and therefore put my harneys and my shylde uppon sir Dagonet and let hym sette uppon the Cornyshe knyght.’

  ‘That shall be done,’ seyde sir Dagonet, ‘be my fayth.’

  And so anone sir Dagonet was armed in sir Mordredis harneys and hys shylde, and he was sette on a grete horse and a speare in his honde.

  ‘Now,’ seyde sir Dagonet, ‘sette me to that knyght and I trowe I shall beare hym downe.’

  So all thes knyghtes rode to a woodis syde and abode tyll kynge Marke cam by the way. Than they put forth sir Dagonet, and he cam on all the whyle his horse myght renne uppon kynge Marke. And whan he cam nye to kynge Marke he cryed as he were woode, and sayde, ‘Kepe the, knyght of Cornwayle, for I woll sle the!’

  And anone as kynge Marke behylde his shylde, he seyde to hymself, ‘Yondyr is sir Launcelot. Alas, now am I destroyed!’

  And therewithall he made his horse to ren and fledde as faste as he myght thorow thycke and thorow thynne. And ever sir Dagonet folowed aftir kynge Marke, cryynge and ratynge hym as a woode man, thorow a grete foreste.

  Whan sir Uwayne and sir Brandules saw sir Dagonet so chace kynge Marke, they lawghed all as they were wylde, and than they toke their horsys and rode aftir to se how sir Dagonet spedde, for theym behoved for no good that sir Dagonet were shente, for kynge Arthure loved hym passynge well and made hym knyght hys owne hondys. And at every turnemente he began to make kynge Arthure to lawghe. Than the knyghtes rode here and there cryynge and chasynge aftir kynge Marke, that all the foreyste range of the noyse.

  So kynge Marke by fortune rode by a welle, in the way where stood a knyght arraunte on horsebacke, armed at all poyntys, with a grete spere in his honde. And whan he saw kyng Marke com fleynge he sayde to the knyght, ‘Returne agayne for shame and stonde with me, and I shall be thy waraunte.’

  ‘A, fayre knyght,’ seyde kynge Marke, ‘lette me passe, for yondir commyth aftir me the beste knyght of the worlde, wyth the blacke beanded shylde.’

  ‘Fy, for shame,’ seyde the knyght, ‘for he is none of the worthy knyghtes. But yf he were sir Launcelot othir sir Trystram I shall nat doute to mete the bettyr of them bothe.’

  Whan kyng Marke harde hym sey that worde, he returned his horse and abode by hym. And than that stronge knyght bare a speare to sir Dagonet and smote hym so sore that he bare hym over his horse tayle, that nyghe he had brokyn his necke. And anone aftir hym cam sir Braundules, and whan he sawe sir Dagonette have that falle he was passynge wrothe, and seyde, ‘Kepe the, knyght!’

  And so they hurled togydyrs wondir sore. But the knyghte smote sir Brandules so sore that he went to the erthe, horse and man. Sir Uwayne com aftir and sy all this.

  ‘Jesu!’ he seyde, ‘yondyr is a stronge knyght!’

  And than they feautred their spearys, and this knyght com so egirly that he smote downe sir Uwayne. Than cam sir Ozanna wyth the Hardy Harte, and he was smyttyn downe.

  ‘Now,’ seyde sir Gryfflet, ‘be my
counceyle lat us sende to yondir arraunte knyghte and wete whether he be of kynge Arthurs courte, for, as I deme, hit is sir Lameroke de Galys.’

  So they sente unto hym and prayde that stronge knyght ‘to telle us his name’, and whethir he were of kynge Arthurs courte other nat.

  ‘As for my name, telle the knyghtes I am a knyght arraunte as they ar, but my name they shall nat wete at this tyme. And lat them wete that I am no knyght of kynge Arthurs.’

  And so the squyer rode ayen and tolde as he seyde.

  ‘Be my hede,’ seyde sir Aggravayne, ‘he is one of the strongyst knyghtes that ever I saw, for he hathe overthrowyn three noble knyghtes, and nedis we muste encountyr with hym for shame.’

  So sir Aggravayne feautred his speare, and that othir was redy and smote hym downe over his horse tayle to the erthe. And in the same wyse he smote sir Uwayne les Avoutres, and also sir Gryfflot. Than had he served them all but sir Dynadan, for he was behynde, and sir Mordrede whyche sir Dagonet had his harneys.

  So whan this was done this stronge knyght rode on his way a soffte pace, and kynge Marke rode aftir hym praysynge hym mykyll. But he wolde answere no wordys but syghed wondirly sore, and hongynge downe his hede, takynge no hyde to his wordys. Thus they rode well-nyghe a three myle Englysh. And than this knyght callyd to hym a varlet and bade hym:

  ‘Ryde untyll yondir fayre maner, and commaunde me to the lady of that castell and place, and pray hir to sende me som refresshynge of good metys and drynkys. And yf she aske the what I am, telle her that I am the knyght that folowyth the Glatysaunte Beste.’ That is in Englysh to sey, the questynge beste, for the beste, wheresomever he yode, he quested in the bealy with suche a noyse as hit had bene a thirty couple of howndis.

  Than the varlet wente his way and cam to the maner and salewed the lady, and tolde her frome whens he come. And whan she undirstode that he cam fro the knyght that folowed the questynge beste, ‘A! swete Lord Jesu!’ she seyde, ‘whan shall I se that jantyll knyght, my dere sonne sir Palomydes! Alas! woll he nat abyde with me?’