Than seyde the ermyte, ‘Sir, wote ye what he ys?’
‘Nay,’ seyde kynge Arthure and all the knyghtes, ‘we know nat who he ys yet that shall sytte there.’
‘Than wote I,’ seyde the ermyte. ‘For he that shall sytte there ys yet unborne and unbegotyn, and this same yere he shall be bygotyn that shall sytte in that Syege Perelous, and he shall wynne the Sankgreall.’ Whan this ermyte had made this mencion he departed frome the courte of kynge Arthure.
And so aftir this feste sir Launcelot rode on his adventure tyll on a tyme by adventure he paste over the Pounte de Corbyn. And there he saw the fayryste towre that ever he saw, and thereundir was a fayre lytyll towne full of people. And all the people, men and women, cryed at onys, ‘Wellcom, sir Launcelot, the floure of knyghthode! For by the we shall be holpyn oute of daungere!’
‘What meane ye,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘that ye cry thus uppon me?”A, fayre knyght,’ seyde they all, ‘here is wythin this towre a dolerous lady that hath bene there in paynes many wyntyrs and dayes, for ever she boyleth in scaldynge watir. And but late,’ seyde all the people, sir Gawayne was here, and he myght nat helpe her, and so he leffte her in payne stylle.’
‘Peradventure so may I,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘leve her in payne as well as sir Gawayne.’
‘Nay,’ seyde the people, ‘we know well that hit ys ye, sir Launcelot, that shall delyver her.’
‘Well,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘than telle me what I shall do.’
And so anone they brought sir Launcelot into the towre. And whan he cam to the chambir thereas this lady was, the doorys of iron unloked and unbolted, and so sir Launcelot wente into the chambir that was as hote as ony styew. And there sir Launcelot toke the fayryst lady by the honde that ever he sawe, and she was as naked as a nedyll. And by enchauntemente quene Morgan le Fay and the quene of Northe Galys had put her there in that paynes, bycause she was called the fayryst lady of that contrey; and there she had bene fyve yere, and never myght she be delyverde oute of her paynes unto the tyme the beste knyght of the worlde had takyn her by the honde.
Than the people brought her clothis, and whan sche was arayed sir Launcelot thought she was the fayryst lady that ever he saw but yf hit were quene Gwenyver. Than this lady seyde to sir Launcelot, ‘Sir, if hit please you, woll ye go wyth me hereby into a chapel, that we may gyff lovynge to God?’
Madame,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘commyth on wyth me, and I woll go with you.’
So whan they cam there they gaff thankynges to God, all the people bothe lerned and lewde, and seyde, ‘Sir knyght, syn ye have delyverde this lady ye muste delyver us also frome a serpente whyche ys here in a tombe.’
Than sir Launcelot toke hys shylde and seyde, ‘Sirrys, brynge me thydir, and what that I may do to the pleasure of God and of you I shall do.’
So whan sir Launcelot com thydir he saw wrytten uppon the tombe wyth lettyrs of golde that seyde thus:
“HERE SHALL COM A LYBARDE OF KYNGES BLOOD AND HE SHALL
SLE THIS SERPENTE. AND THIS LYBARDE SHALL ENGENDIR A LYON IN THIS FORAYNE CONTREY WHYCHE LYON SHALL PASSE ALL OTHER KNYGHTES.’
Soo whan sir Launcelot had lyffte up the tombe there came oute an orryble and a fyendely dragon spyttynge wylde fyre oute of hys mowthe. Than sir Launcelotte drew his swerde and faught wyth that dragon longe, and at the laste wyth grete payne sir Launcelot slew that dragon.
And therewythall com kynge Pelles, the good and noble kynge, and salewed sir Launcelot and he hym agayne.
‘Now, fayre knyght,’ seyde the kynge, ‘what is youre name? I requyre you of youre knyghthode telle ye me.’
‘Sir,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘wyt you well my name ys sir Launcelot [2] du Lake.’
‘And my name ys kynge Pelles, kynge of the forayne contré and cousyn nyghe unto Joseph of Aramathy.’
And than aythir of them made muche of othir, and so they wente into the castell to take there repaste. And anone there cam in a dove at a wyndow, and in her mowthe there semed a lytyll senser of golde, and therewythall there was suche a savour as all the spycery of the worlde had bene there. And furthwythall there was uppon the table all maner of meates and drynkes that they coude thynke uppon.
So there came in a damesell passynge fayre and yonge, and she bare a vessell of golde betwyxt her hondis; and thereto the kynge kneled devoutly and seyde his prayers, and so ded all that were there.
A, Jesu!’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘what may this meane?’
‘Sir,’ seyde the kynge, ‘this is the rychyst thynge that ony man hath lyvynge, and whan this thynge gothe abrode the Rounde Table shall be brokyn for a season. And wyte you well,’ seyde the kynge, ‘this is the Holy Sankgreall that ye have here seyne.’
So the kynge and sir Launcelot lad there lyff the moste party of that day togydir. And fayne wolde kynge Pelles have found the meane that sir Launcelot sholde have ley by his doughter, fayre Eleyne, and for this entente: the kynge knew well that sir Launcelot shulde gete a pusyll uppon his doughtir, whyche shulde be called sir Galahad, the good knyght by whom all the forayne cuntrey shulde be brought oute of daunger; and by hym the Holy Grayle sholde be encheved.
Than cam furth a lady that hyght dame Brusen, and she seyde unto the kynge, ‘Sir, wyte you well sir Launcelot lovyth no lady in the worlde but all only quene Gwenyver. And therefore worche ye be my counceyle, and I shall make hym to lye wyth youre doughter, and he shall nat wyte but that he lyeth by quene Gwenyver.’
‘A, fayre lady,’ sayde the kynge, ‘hope ye that ye may brynge this mater aboute?’
‘Sir,’ seyde she, ‘uppon payne of my lyff, latte me deale.’
For thys dame Brusen was one of the grettyst enchaunters that was that tyme in the worlde. And so anone by dame Brusens wytte she made one to com to sir Launcelot that he knew well, and this man brought a rynge frome quene Gwenyver lyke as hit had com frome her, and suche one as she was wonte for the moste parte to were. And whan sir Launcelot saw that tokyn, wyte you well he was never so fayne.
‘Where is my lady?’ seyde sir Launcelot.
‘In the castell of Case,’ seyde the messynger, ‘but fyve myle hens.’
Than thought sir Launcelot to be there the same nyght. And than this dame Brusen, by the commaundemente of kynge Pelles, she let sende Elayne to this castell wyth fyve and twenty knyghtes, unto the castell of Case.
Than sir Launcelot ayenst nyght rode unto the castell, and there anone he was receyved worshypfully wyth suche people, to his semynge, as were aboute quene Gwenyver secrete. So whan sir Launcelot was alyght he asked where the quene was. So dame Brusen seyde she was in her bed.
And than people were avoyded, and sir Launcelot was lad into her chambir. And than dame Brusen brought sir Launcelot a kuppe of wyne, and anone as he had drunken that wyne he was so asoted and madde that he myght make no delay, but wythoute ony let he wente to bedde. And so he wente that mayden Elayne had bene quene Gwenyver. And wyte you well that sir Launcelot was glad, and so was that lady Eleyne that she had gotyn sir Launcelot in her armys, for well she knew that that same nyght sholde be bygotyn sir Galahad uppon her, that sholde preve the beste knyght of the worlde.
And so they lay togydir untyll underne of the morne; and all the wyndowys and holys of that chambir were stopped, that no maner of day myght be seyne. And anone sir Launcelot remembryd hym and arose up and wente to the wyndow, and anone as he had un[3] shutte the wyndow the enchauntemente was paste. Than he knew hymselff that he had done amysse.
‘Alas!’ he seyde, ‘that I have l y ved so longe, for now am I shamed.’
And anone he gate his swerde in his honde and seyde, ‘Thou traytoures! What art thou that I have layne bye all this nyght? Thou shalt dye ryght here of myne hondys!’
Than this fayre lady Elayne skypped oute of her bedde all naked and seyde, ‘Fayre curteyse knyght sir Launcelot,’ knelynge byfore hym, ‘ye ar comyn of kynges bloode, and therefore I requyre you have mercy uppon me! And as thou arte renowned the moste noble knyght of the worlde, sle me nat, for
I have in my wombe bygetyn of the that shall be the moste nobelyste knyght of the worlde.’
‘A, false traytoures! Why haste thou betrayed me? Telle me anone,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘what thou arte.’
‘Sir,’ she seyde, ‘I am Elayne, the doughter of kynge Pelles.’
‘Well,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘I woll forgyff you.’
And therewyth he toke her up in his armys and kyssed her, for she was a fayre lady, and thereto lusty and yonge, and wyse as ony was that tyme lyvynge.
‘So God me helpe,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘I may nat wyte this to you; but her that made thys enchauntemente uppon me and betwene you and me, and I may fynde her, that same lady dame Brusen shall lose her hede for her wycchecrauftys, for there was never knyght disceyved as I am this nyght.’
And than she seyde, ‘My lorde, sir Launcelot, I beseche you, se me as sone as ye may, for I have obeyde me unto the prophesye that my fadir tolde me. And by hys commaundemente, to fullfyll this prophecie I have gyvyn the the grettyst ryches and the fayryst floure that ever I had, and that is my maydynhode that I shall never have agayne. And therefore, jantyll knyght, owghe me youre good wyll.’
And so sir Launcelot arayed hym and armed hym and toke hys leve myldely at that yonge lady Eleyne. And so he departed and rode to the castell of Corbyn where her fadir was.
And as faste as her tyme cam she was delyverde of a fayre chylde, and they crystynd hym Galahad. And wyte yow well that chylde was well kepte and well norysshed, and he was so named Galahad bycause sir Launcelot was so named at the fountayne stone and aftir that the Lady of the Lake confermed hym sir Launcelot du Lake.
Than aftir the lady was delyverde and churched, there cam a knyght unto her, hys name was sir Bromell la Pleche, the whyche was a grete lorde. And he had loved that lady Eleyne longe, and he evermore desyred to wedde her. And so by no meane she coude put hym off, tylle on a day she seyde to sir Bromell, ‘Wyte you well, sir knyght, I woll nat love you, for my love ys sette uppon the beste knyght of the worlde.’
‘Who ys that?’ seyde sir Bromell.
‘Sir,’ she seyde, ‘hit ys sir Launcelot du Lake that I love and none other, and therefore wowe ye me no lenger.’
‘Ye sey well,’ seyde sir Bromell, ‘and sytthyn ye have tolde me so muche ye shall have lytyll joy of sir Launcelot, for I shall sle hym wheresomever I mete hym!’
‘Sir,’ seyde this lady Elayne, ‘do to hym no treson, and God forbede that ye spare hym.’
“Well, my lady,’ seyde sir Bromell, and I shall promyse you this twelve-monthe and a day I shall kepe Le Pounte Corbyn for sir Launcelot sake, that he shall nothir com nother go unto you but I shall mete wyth hym.’
Than as hit fell by fortune and adventure, sir Bors de Ganys that [4] was nevew unto sir Launcelot com over that brydge, and there sir Bromell and sir Bors justed, and sir Bors smote sir Bromell suche a buffette that he bare hym over his horse croupe.
And than sir Bromell, as an hardy man, pulled oute his swerde and dressed hys shylde to do batayle wyth sir Bors. And anone sir Bors alyght and voyded his horse, and there they daysshed togydyrs many sad strokys. And longe thus they faught, and at the laste sir Bromell was leyde to the erthe, and there sir Bors began to unlace his helme to sle hym. Than sir Bromell cryed hym mercy and yeldyd hym.
‘Uppon this covenaunte thou shalt have thy lyff,’ seyde sir Bors, so thou go unto my lorde sir Launcelot uppon Whytsonday nexte commynge, and yelde the unto hym as a knyght recreaunte.’
‘Sir, I woll do hit,’ seyde sir Bromell.
And so he sware uppon the crosse of the swerde, and so he lete hym departe. And sir Bors rode unto kynge Pelles that was wythin Corbyne, and whan the kynge and Elayne, hys doughter, knew that sir Bors was nevew unto sir Launcelot they made hym grete chere. Than seyde dame Elayne, ‘We mervayle where sir Launcelot ys, for he cam never here but onys that ever I sawe.’
‘Madame, mervayle ye nat,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘for this halff yere he hath bene in preson wyth quene Morgan le Fay, kynge Arthurs systir.’
Alas,’ seyde dame Eleyne, ‘that me sore repentyth!’
And ever sir Bors behylde that chylde in her armys, and ever hym semed hit was passynge lyke sir Launcelot.
‘Truly,’ seyde dame Elayne, ‘wyte you well, this chylde he begate uppon me.’
Than sir Bors wept for joy, and there he prayde to God that hit myght preve as good a knyght as hys fadir was.
And so there cam in a whyght dowve, and she bare a lytyll sensar of golde in her mowthe, and there was all maner of metys and drynkis. And a mayden bare that Sankgreall, and she seyde there opynly, ‘Wyte you well, sir Bors, that this chylde, sir Galahad, shall sytte in the Syege Perelous and enchyve the Sankgreall, and he shall be muche bettir than ever was his fadir, sir Launcelot, that ys hys owne fadir.’
And than they kneled adowne and made there devocions, and there was suche a savoure as all the spycery in the worlde had bene there. And as the dowve had takyn her flyght the mayden vanysshed wyth the Sankgreall as she cam.
‘Sir,’ seyde sir Bors than unto kynge Pelles, ‘this castell may be named the Castell Adventures, for here be many stronge adventures.’
‘That is sothe,’ seyde the kynge, ‘for well may thys place be called the adventures place. For there com but feaw knyghtes here that goth away wyth ony worshyppe; be he never so stronge, here he may be preved. And but late ago sir Gawayne, the good knyght, gate lytyll worshyp here. For I lat you wyte,’ seyde kynge Pelles, ‘here shall no knyght wynne worshyp but yf he be of worshyp hymselff and of good lyvynge, and that lovyth God and dredyth God. And ellys he getyth no worshyp here, be he never so hardy a man.’
‘That is a wondir thynge,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘what ye meane in thys contrey, for ye have many straunge adventures. And therefore woll I lye in thys castell thys nyght.’
‘Sir, ye shall nat do so,’ seyde kynge Pelles, ‘be my counceyle, for hit ys harde and ye ascape wythoute a shame.’
‘Sir, I shall take the adventure that woll fall,’ seyde sir Bors.
‘Than I counceyle you,’ seyde the kynge, ‘to be clene confessed.’
‘As for that,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘I woll be shryvyn wyth a good wyll.
So sir Bors was confessed. And for all women sir Bors was a veri gyne sauff for one, that was the doughter of kynge Braundegorys, and on her he gate a chylde whyche hyght Elayne. And sauff for her sir Bors was a clene mayden.
And so sir Bors was lad unto bed in a fayre large chambir, and many durres were shutte aboute the chambir. Whan sir Bors had aspyde all the durrys he avoyded all the people, for he myght have nobody wyth hym. But in no wyse sir Bor wolde unarme hym, but so he leyde hym downe uppon the bed.
And ryght so he saw a lyght com, that he myght well se a speare grete and longe that cam streyte uppon hym poyntelynge, and sir Bors semed that the hede of the speare brente lyke a tapir. And anone, or sir Bors wyste, the speare smote hym in the shuldir an hande-brede in depnes, and that wounde grevid sir Bors passyng sore, and than he layde hym downe for payne.
And anone therewythall cam a knyght armed wyth hys shylde on hys shuldir and hys swerde in hys honde, and he bade sir Bors, ‘Aryse, sir knyght, and fyght wyth me!’
‘I am sore hurte, but yet I shall nat fayle the!’
And than sir Bors sterte up and dressed his shylde, and than they laysshed togydyrs myghtyly a grete whyle; and at the laste sir Bors bare hym bakwarde tyll that he cam to a chambir dore, and there that knyght yode into that chambir and rested hym a grete whyle. And whan he had reposed hym he cam oute fyersly agayne and began new batayle wyth sir Bors myghtyly and strongely. Than sir [5] Bors thought he sholde no more go into that chambir to reste hym, and so sir Bors dressed hym betwyxte the knyght and the chambir dore. And there sir Bors smote hym downe, and than that knyght yelded hym.
‘What ys youre name?’ seyde sir Bors.
‘Sir, my name ys sir Bedyvere of the Streyte Marchys.’
So sir Bors made hym to swere at Whytsonday nexte commynge
to com to the courte of kynge Arthure, ‘and yelde you there as presonere and as an overcom knyght by the hondys of sir Bors.’
So thus departed sir Bedyvere of the Strayte Marche. And than sir Bors layde hym downe to reste. And anone he harde muche noyse in that chambir, and than sir Bors aspyed that there cam in, he wyst nat whethir at durrys or at wyndowys, shotte of arowys and of quarellys so thÿk that he mervayled, and many felle uppon hym and hurte hym in the bare placys.
And than sir Bors was ware where cam in an hedyous lyon. So sir Bors dressed hym to that lyon, and anone the lyon beraufte hym hys shylde, and with hys swerde sir Bors smote of the lyons hede.
Ryght so furthwythall he sawe a dragon in the courte, passynge parelous and orryble, and there semyd to hym that there were lettyrs off golde wryttyn in hys forhede, and sir Bors thought that the lettyrs made a sygnyfycacion of ‘kynge Arthure.’ And ryght so there cam an orryble lybarde and an olde, and there they faught longe and ded grete batayle togydyrs. And at the laste the dragon spytte oute of hys mowthe as hit had bene an hondred dragons; and lyghtly all the smale dragons slew the olde dragon and tore hym all to pecys.
And anone furthwythall there cam an olde man into the halle, and he sette hym downe in a fayre chayre, and there semed to be two addirs aboute hys nek. And than the olde man had an harpe, and there he sange an olde lay of Joseph of Aramathy how he cam into this londe. And whan he had sungen this olde man bade sir Bors go frome thens, ‘for here shall ye have no me adventures; yet full worshypfully have ye encheved this, and bettir shall ye do hyreaftir.’
And than sir Bors semed that there cam the whyghtyst dowve that ever he saw, wyth a lytyll goldyn sensar in her mowthe. And anone therewythall the tempeste ceased and passed away that afore was mervaylous to hyre. So was all that courte full of good savoures.
Than sir Bors saw four fayre chyldren berynge four fayre tapirs, and an olde man in the myddys of this chyldyrn wyth a sensar in hys one hand and a speare in hys othir honde, and that speare was called the Speare of Vengeaunce.
6’Now,’ seyde that olde man to sir Bors, ‘go ye to youre cousyn sir Launcelot and telle hym this adventure had be moste convenyent for hym of all earthely knyghtes, but synne ys so foule in hym that he may nat enchyve none suche holy dedys; for had nat bene hys synne, he had paste all the knyghtes that ever were in hys dayes. And telle thou sir Launcelot, of all worldly adventures he passyth in manhode and proues all othir, but in this spyrytuall maters he shall have many hys bettyrs.’
Complete Works of Sir Thomas Malory Page 67