And than sir Bors sawe four jantyllwomen com by hym, pourely beseyne: and he saw where that they entirde into a chambir where was grete lyght as hit were a somers lyght. And the women kneled downe before an auter of sylver wyth four pyloures, as hit had bene a bysshop whyche kneled afore the table of rsylverl And as sir Bors loked over hys hede he saw a swerde lyke sylver, naked, hovynge over hys hede, and clyernes thereof smote in hys yghen, that as at that tyme sir Bors was blynde.
And there he harde a voyce whyche seyde, ‘Go hens, thou sir Bors, for as yet thou arte nat worthy for to be in thys place!’ And then he yode bakwarde tylle hys bedde tylle on the morne.
And so on the morne kyng Pelles made grete joy of sir Bors, and than he departed and rode unto Camelot. And there he founde sir Launcelot and tolde hym of the adventures that he had sene wyth kynge Pelles at Corbyn.
And so the noyse sprange in kynge Arthurs courte that sir Launcelot had gotyn a chylde uppon Elayne, the doughter of kynge Pelles, wherefore quene Gwenyver was wrothe, and she gaff many rebukes to sir Launcelot and called hym false knyght. And than sir Launcelot tolde the quene all, and how he was made to lye by her, ‘in the lyknes of you, my lady the quene;’ and so the quene hylde sir Launcelot exkused.
And as the booke seythe, kynge Arthure had bene in Fraunce and hadde warred uppon the myghty kynge Claudas and had wonne muche of hys londys. And whan the kynge was com agayne he lete cry a grete feste, that all lordys and ladyes of all Ingelonde shulde be there but yf hit were suche as were rebellyous agaynste hym.
And whan dame Elayne, the doughter of kynge Pelles, harde of [7] thys feste she yode to her fadir and requyred hym that he wolde gyff her leve to ryde to that feste. The kynge answerde and seyde, ‘I woll that ye go thydir. But in ony wyse, as ye love me and woll have my blyssynge, loke that ye be well beseyne in the moste rychest wyse, and loke that ye spare nat for no coste. Aske and ye shall have all that nedyth unto you.’
Than by the advyce of dame Brusen, her mayden, all thynge was appareyled unto the purpose, that there was never no lady rychelyar beseyne. So she rode wyth twenty knyghtes and ten ladyes and jantyllwomen, to the numbir of an hondred horse. And whan she cam to Camelott kynge Arthure and quene Gwenyver seyde wyth all the knyghtes that dame Elayne was the fayrest and the beste beseyne lady that ever was seyne in that courte.
And anone as kynge Arthure wyste that she was com, he mette her and salewed her, and so ded the moste party of all the knyghtes of the Rounde Table, both sir Trystram, sir Bleoberys, and sir Gawayne, and many me that I woll nat reherse.
But whan sir Launcelot sye her he was so ashamed, and that bycause he drew hys swerde to her on the morne aftir that he had layne by her, that he wolde nat salewe her nother speke wyth her. And yet sir Launcelot thought that she was the fayrest woman that ever he sye in his lyeff dayes.
But whan dame Elayne saw sir Launcelot wolde nat speke unto her she was so hevy she wente her harte wolde have to-braste; for wyte you well, oute of mesure she loved hym. And than dame Elayne seyde unto her woman, dame Brusen, ‘The unkyndenes of sir Launcelot sleyth myne harte nere!’
‘A! peas, madame,’ seyde dame Brusen, ‘I shall undirtake that this nyght he shall lye wyth you, and ye woll holde you stylle.”That were me lever,’ seyde dame Elayne, ‘than all the golde that ys abovyn erthe.’
‘Lat me deale,’ seyde dame Brewsen.
So whan dame Eleyne was brought unto the quene, aythir made other goode chere as by countenaunce, but nothynge wyth there hartes. But all men and women spake of the beauté of dame Elayne.
And than hit was ordayned that dame Elayne shulde slepe in a chambir nygh by the quene, and all undir one rooff. And so hit was done as the kynge commaunded. Than the quene sente for sir Launcelot and bade hym com to her chambir that nyght, ‘other ellys,’ seyde the quene, ‘I am sure that ye woll go to youre ladyes bedde, dame Elayne, by whome ye gate Galahad.’
‘A, madame!’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘never say ye so, for that I ded was ayenste my wylle.’
‘Than,’ seyde the quene, ‘loke that ye com to me whan I sende for you.’
‘Madame,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘I shall nat fayle you, but I shall be redy at youre commaundement.’
So this bargayne was nat so sone done and made betwene them but dame Brusen knew hit by her crauftes and tolde hit unto her lady dame Elayne.
‘Alas!’ seyde she, ‘how shall I do?’
‘Lat me deale,’ seyde dame Brusen, ‘for I shall brynge hym by the honde evyn to youre bedde, and he shall wyne that I am quene Gwenyvers messyngere.’
‘Than well were me,’ seyde dame Elayne, ‘for all the worlde I love nat so muche as I do sir Launcelot.’
So whan tyme com that all folkys were to bedde, dame Brusen [8] cam to sir Launcelottes beddys syde and seyde, ‘Sir Launcelot du Lake, slepe ye? My lady quene Gwenyver lyeth and awaytyth uppon you.’
‘A, my fayre lady!’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘I am redy to go wyth you whother ye woll have me.’
So Launcelot threwe uppon hym a longe gowne, and so he toke his swerde in hys honde. And than dame Brusen toke hym by the fyngir and lad hym to her ladyes bedde, dame Elayne, and than she departed and leaffte them there in bedde togydyrs. And wyte you well this lady was glad, and so was sir Launcelot, for he wende that he had had another in hys armys.
Now leve we them kyssynge and clyppynge as was a kyndely thynge, and now speke we of quene Gwenyver that sente one of her women that she moste trusted unto sir Launcelotys bedde. And whan she cam there she founde the bedde colde, and he was nat therein; and so she cam to the quene and tolde her all.
‘Alas!’ seyde the quene, ‘where is that false knyght becom?’
So the quene was nyghe oute of her wytte, and than she wrythed and waltred as a madde woman, and myght nat slepe a four or a five owres.
Than sir Launcelot had a condicion that he used of custom to clatir in his slepe and to speke oftyn of hys lady, quene Gwenyver.
So sir Launcelot had awayked as longe as hit had pleased hym, and so by course of kynde he slepte and dame Elayne both. And in his slepe he talked and claterde as a jay of the love that had bene betwyxte quene Gwenyver and hym, and so as he talked so lowde the quene harde hym thereas she lay in her chambir. And whan she harde hym so clattir she was wrothe oute of mesure, and for anger and payne wist not what to do, and than she cowghed so lowde that sir Launcelot awaked. And anone he knew her hemynge, and than he knew welle that he lay by the quene Elayne, and therewyth he lepte oute of hys bedde as he had bene a wood man, in hys shurte, and anone the quene mette hym in the floure; and thus she seyde: A, thou false traytoure knyght! Loke thou never abyde in my courte, and lyghtly that thou voyde my chambir! And nat so hardy, thou false traytoure knyght, that evermore thou com in my syght!’ Alas!’ seyde sir Launcelot.
And therewyth he toke suche an hartely sorow at her wordys that he felle downe to the floure in a sowne. And therewythall quene Gwenyver departed.
And whan sir Launcelot awooke oute of hys swoghe, he lepte oute at a bay-wyndow into a gardyne, and there wyth thornys he was all to-cracched of his vysage and hys body, and so he ranne furth he knew nat whothir, and was as wylde woode as ever was man. And so he ran two yere, and never man had grace to know hym.
Now turne we unto quene Gwenyver and to the fayre lady Elayne, that whan dame Elayne harde the quene so rebuke sir Launcelot, and how also he sowned and how he lepte oute of the bay-wyndow, than she seyde unto quene Gwenyver, ‘Madame, ye ar gretly to blame for sir Launcelot, for now have ye loste hym, for I saw and harde by his countenaunce that he ys madde for ever. And therefore, alas! madame, ye have done grete synne and youreselff grete dyshonoure, for ye have a lorde royall of youre owne, and therefore hit were youre parte for to love hym; for there ys no quene in this worlde that hath suche another kynge as ye have. And yf ye were nat, I myght have getyn the love of my lorde sir Launcelot; and a grete cause I have to love hym, for he hadde my maydynhode and by hym I have borne a fayre sonne whose name ys sir Galahad.
And he shall be in hys tyme the beste knyght of the worlde.’
‘Well, dame Elayne,’ seyde the quene, ‘as sone as hit ys daylyght I charge you to avoyde my courte. And for the love ye owghe unto sir Launcelot discover not hys counceyle, for and ye do, hit woll be hys deth!’
‘As for that,’ seyde dame Elayne, ‘I dare undirtake he ys marred for ever, and that have you made. For nother ye nor I ar lyke to rejoyse hym, for he made the moste pyteuous gronys whan he lepte oute at yondir bay wyndow that ever I harde man make. Alas!’ seyde feyre Elayne, and ‘Alas!’ seyde the quene, ‘for now I wote well that we have loste hym for ever!’
So on the morne dame Elayne toke her leve to departe and wolde no lenger abyde. Than kynge Arthur brought her on her way wyth me than an hondred knyghtes thorowoute a foreyste. And by the way she tolde sir Bors de Ganys all how hit betydde that same nyght, and how sir Launcelot lepte oute at a wyndow araged oute of hys wytte.
‘Alas!’ than seyde sir Bors, ‘where ys my lorde sir Launcelot becom?’
‘Sir,’ seyde dame Eleyne, ‘I wote nere.’
‘Now, alas!’ seyde sir Bors, ‘betwyxt you bothe ye have destroyed a good knyght.’
‘As for me, sir,’ seyde dame Elayne, ‘I seyde nevir nother dede thynge that shulde in ony wyse dysplease hym. But wyth the rebuke, sir, that quene Gwenyver gaff hym I saw hym sowne to the erthe. And whan he awoke he toke hys swerd in hys honde, naked save hys shurte, and lepe oute at a wyndow wyth the greselyest grone that ever I harde man make.’
‘Now farewell,’ seyde sir Bors unto dame Elayne, and holde my lorde kynge Arthure wyth a tale as longe as ye can, for I woll turne agayne unto quene Gwenyver and gyff her an hete. And I requyre you, as ever ye woll have my servyse, make good wacche and aspye yf ever hit may happyn you to se my lorde sir Launcelot.’
‘Truly,’ seyde dame Elayne, ‘I shall do all that I may do, for I wolde as fayne know and wete where he is become as you or ony of hys kynne or quene Gwenyver, and cause grete ynough have I thereto as well as ony other. And wete ye well’, seyde feyre Elayne to sir Bors, ‘I wolde lose my lyff for hym rathir than he shulde be hurte.’
‘Madame,’ seyde dame Brusen, ‘lat sir Bors departe and hyghe hym as faste as he may to seke sir Launcelot, for I warne you, he ys clene oute of hys mynde, and yet he shall be welle holpyn and but by myracle.’
Than wepte dame Elayne, and so ded sir Bors de Ganys, and anone they departed. And sir Bors rode streyte unto quene Gwenyver, and whan she saw sir Bors she wepte as she were wood.
‘Now, fye on youre wepynge!’ seyde sir Bors de Ganys. ‘For ye wepe never but whan there ys no boote. Alas!’ seyde sir Bors, ‘that ever sir Launcelot or ony of hys blood ever saw you, for now have ye loste the beste knyght of oure blood, and he that was all oure leder and oure succoure. And I dare sey and make hit good that all kynges crystynde nother hethynde may nat fynde suche a knyght, for to speke of his noblenes and curtesy, wyth hys beauté and hys jantylnes. Alas!’ seyde sir Bors, ‘what shall we do that ben of hys bloode?’
‘Alas!’ seyde sir Ector de Marys, and ‘Alas!’ seyde sir Lyonell.
And whan the quene harde hem sey so she felle to the erthe in a dede sowne. And than sir Bors toke her up and dawed her, and whan she awaked she kneled afore the three knyghtes and hylde up bothe her hondys and besought them to seke hym: ‘And spare nat for no goodys but that he be founden, for I wote well that he ys oute of hys mynde.’
And sir Bors, sir Ector and sir Lyonell departed frome the quene, for they myght nat abyde no lenger for sorow. And than the, quene sente them tresoure inowe for there expence, and so they toke there horsys and there armour and departede. And than they rode frome contrey to contrey, in forestes and in wyldirnessys and in wastys, and ever they leyde waycche bothe at forestes and at all maner of men as they rode to harkyn and to spare afftir hym, as he that was a naked man in his shurte wyth a swerde in hys honde.
And thus they rode nyghe a quarter of a yere, longe and overtwarte, and never cowde hyre worde of hym, and wyte you well these three knyghtes were passynge sory. And so at the laste sir Bors and hys felowys mette wyth a knyght that hyght sir Melyon de Tartare.
‘Now, fayre knyght,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘whothir be ye away?’ For they knew aythir other aforetyme.
‘Sir,’ seyde sir Mellyon, ‘I am in the way to the court of kynge Arthure.’
‘Than we pray you,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘that ye woll telle my lorde Arthure and my lady quene Gwenyver and all the felyshyp of the Rounde Table that we can nat in no wyse here telle where sir Launcelot ys becom.’
Than sir Mellyon departed from them and seyde that he wolde telle the kynge and the quene and all the felyshyp of the Rounde Table as they had desyred hym. And whan sir Mellyon cam to the courte he tolde the kynge and the quene and all the felyship as they had desyred hym, how sir Bors had seyde of sir Launcelot.
Than sir Gawayne, sir Uwayne, sir Sagramoure le Desyrous, sir Agglovale, and sir Percyvale de Galys toke uppon them by the grete desyre of the kynge, and in especiall by the quene, to seke all Inglonde, Walys, and Scotlonde to fynde sir Launcelot. And wyth them rode eyghtene knyghtes me to beare them felyshyppe, and wyte you well they lakked no maner of spendynge; and so were they three and twenty knyghtes.
Now turne we unto sir Launcelot and speke we of hys care and woo, and what payne he there endured; for colde, hungir and thyrste he hadde plenté.
And thus as these noble knyghtes rode togydyrs they by assente departed; and than they rode by two and by three, and by four and by fyve, and ever they assygned where they sholde mete.
And so sir Agglovale and sir Percyvale rode togydir unto there modir whyche was a quene in the dayes. And whan she saw her two sunnes, for joy she wepte tendirly, and than she seyde, A, my dere sonnes! Whan youre fadir was slayne he leffte me four sonnes of the whyche now be two slayne. And for the dethe of my noble sonne sir Lamorak shall myne harte never be glad!’
And than she kneled downe uppon her knees tofore sir Agglovale and sir Percyvale and besought them to abyde at home wyth her.
‘A, my swete modir,’ seyde sir Percyvale, ‘we may nat, for we be comyn of kynges bloode of bothe partis. And therefore, modir, hit ys oure kynde to haunte armys and noble dedys.’
‘Alas! my swete sonnys,’ than she seyde, ‘for youre sakys I shall fyrste lose my lykynge and luste, and than wynde and wedir I may nat endure, what for the dethe of kynge Pellynor, youre fadir, that was shamefully slayne by the hondys of sir Gawayne and hys brothir, sir Gaherys! And they slew hym nat manly, but by treson. And alas! my dere sonnes, thys ys a pyteuous complaynte for me off youre fadyrs dethe, conciderynge also the dethe of sir Lamorak that of knyghthod had but feaw fealowys. And now, my dere sonnes, have this in youre mynde.’
And so there was but wepynge and sobbynge in the courte whan they sholde departe, and she felle in sownynge in the myddys of the courte.
[11] And whan she was awaked, aftir them she sente a squyar wyth spendynge inowghe. And so whan the squyar had overtake them they wolde nat suffir hym to ryde wyth them, but sente hym home agayne to comforte there modir, prayynge her mekely of her blyssynge.
And so he rode agayne, and so hit happened hym to be benyghtyd. And by mysfortune he cam to a castel where dwelled a barowne, and whan the squyar was com into the castell the lorde asked hym from whens he cam and whom he served.
‘My lorde,’ seyde the squyar, ‘I serve a good knyght that ys called sir Agglovale.’
The squyar sayde hit to good entente, wenynge unto hym to have be more forborne for sir Agglovales sake; and than he seyde he had served the quene, hys modir.
‘Well, my felow,’ seyde the lorde of the castell, ‘for sir Agglovalys sake thou shalt have evyll lodgying, for sir Agglovale slew my brother. And therefore thou shalt have thy dethe in party of paymente.’
And than that lorde commaunded hys men to have hym away and to sle hym. And so they ded, and than they pulled hym oute of the castell and there they slewe hym wythoute mercy. And ryght so on
the morne com sir Agglovale and sir Percyvale rydynge by a churcheyearde where men and women were busy and behylde the dede squyar, and so thought to bury hym.
‘What ys that there’, seyde sir Agglovale, ‘that ye beholde so faste?’
Anone a good woman sterte furth and seyde, ‘Fayre knyght, here lyeth a squyar slayne shamefully this nyght.”How was he slayne, fayre modir?’ sayde sir Agglovale.
‘My fayre lorde,’ seyde the woman, ‘the lorde of thys castell lodged this squyar thys nyght. And because he seyde he was servaunte unto a good knyght whyche is wyth kynge Arthure, whos name ys sir Agglovale, therefore the lorde commaunded to sle hym, and for thys cause ys he slayne.’
‘Gramercy,’ seyde sir Agglovale, ‘and ye shall se hys deth lyghtly revenged! For I am that same knyght for whom thys squyar was slayne.’
Than sir Agglovale called unto hym sir Percyvale and bade hym alyght lyghtly. And anone they betoke there men their horsys, and so they yode on foote into the castell. And as sone as they were wythin the castell gate sir Agglovale bade the porter go unto hys lorde and tell his lorde that ‘I am here, sir Agglovale, for whom my squyar was slayne thys nyght.’
And anone as this porter had tolde hys lorde, ‘He ys welcom!’ seyde sir Goodwyne. And anone he armed hym and cam into the courte and seyde, ‘Whyche of you ys sir Agglovale?’
‘Here I am, loo! But for what cause slewyst thou thys nyght my modyrs squyar?’
‘I slew hym,’ seyde sir Goodwyne, ‘bycause of the, for thou slewyste my brother sir Gawdelyne.’
‘As for thy brother,’ seyde sir Agglovale, ‘I avow I slew hym, for he was a false knyght and a betrayer of ladyes and of good knyghtes. And for the dethe of my squyar’, seyde sir Agglovale, ‘I defye the! ‘ And anone they laysshed togydyrs as egirly as hit had bene two lyons. And sir Percyvale he faught wyth all the remenaunte that wolde fyght, and wythin a whyle sir Percyvale had slayne all that wolde withstonde hym, for sir Percyvale deled so hys strokys that were so rude that there durste no man abyde hym.
Complete Works of Sir Thomas Malory Page 68