Complete Works of Sir Thomas Malory

by Thomas Malory

  So whan all the contrey was well sette in pease, than sir Bors toke hys leve and departed, and she thanked hym gretly and wolde have gyffyn hym grete gyfftes, but he refused hit.

  Than he rode all that day tylle nyght, and so he cam to an hereberow to a lady which knew hym well inowghe and made of hym grete joy. So on the morne as sone as the day appered, sir Bors departed from thens, and so rode into a foreyste unto the owre of mydday.

  And there befelle hym a mervaylous aventure. So he mette at the departynge of the two wayes two knyghtes that lad sir Lyonell, hys brothir, all naked, bowndyn uppon a stronge hakeney, and his hondis bounden tofore hys breste; and everych of them helde in theyre hondis thornys wherewith they wente betynge hym so sore that the bloode trayled downe more than in an hondred placis of hys body, so that he was all bloodé tofore and behynde. But he seyde never a worde, as he whych was grete of hert, but suffird all that they ded to hym as thoughe he had felte none angwysh.

  And anone sir Bors dressed hym to rescow hym that was his brothir. And so he loked uppon the other syde of hym and sawe a knyght which brought a fayre jantillwoman, and wolde a sette her in the thycke of the foreyste for to have be the more surer oute of the way from hem that sought her. And she whych was nothynge assured cryde with an hyghe voice, ‘Seynte Mary, succour youre mayde!’

  And anone as she syghe sir Bors she demed hym a knyght of the Rounde Table. Than she conjoured hym, by the faythe that he ought unto Hym ‘in whose servyse thou arte entred, for kynge Arthures sake, which I suppose made the knyght, that thou helpe me and suffir me nat to be shamed of this knyght’.

  Whan sir Bors herde hir say thus, he had so much sorow that he wyst nat what to do: ‘For if I latte my brothir be in adventure he muste be slayne, and that wold I nat for all the erthe; and if I helpe nat the mayde she ys shamed, and shall lose hir virginité which she shall never gete agayne’.

  Than lyffte he up hys yghen and seyde wepynge, ‘Fayre swete Lorde Jesus Cryst, whos creture I am, kepe me sir Lyonell, my brothir, that thes knyghtes sle hym nat, and for pité of you and for mylde Maryes sake, I shall succour thys mayde.’

  [10] Than dressed he hym unto the knyght which had the jantillwoman, and than he cryed, ‘Sir knyght, let youre honde of youre maydyn, or ye be but dede!’ And than he sette downe the mayden, and was armed at all pycis sauff he lacked his speare. Than he dressed hys shylde and drew oute his swerde. And sir Bors smote hym so harde that hit wente thorow hys shylde and habirgeon on the lyffte sholdir, and thorow grete strengthe he bete hym downe to the erthe. And at the pullyng oute of sir Bors spere he there sowned. Than cam sir Bors to the mayde and seyde, ‘How semyth hit you? Of thys knyght be ye delyverde at thys tyme?’

  ‘Now, sir,’ seyde she, ‘I pray you lede me thereas this knyght had me.’

  ‘So shall I do gladly.’

  And toke the horse of the wounded knyght and sette the jantilwoman uppon hym, and so brought hir as she desired.

  ‘Sir knyght,’ seyde she, ‘ye have bettir spedde than ye wente, for and I had loste my maydynhode fyve hondred men sholde have dyed therefore.’

  ‘What knyght was he that had you in the foreyst?’

  ‘Be my fayth, he ys my cosyne. So wote I never with what engyne the fynde enchaffed hym, for yestirday he toke me fro my fadir prevayly, for I, nother none of my fadirs men, myssetrusted hym nat. And iff he had had my maydynhode he had dyed for the synne of hys body, and shamed and dishonoured for ever.’

  Thus as she stood talkyng with hym there cam twelve knyghtes sekyng aftir hir. And anone she tolde hem all how sir Bors had delyverde hir. Than they made grete joy and besought hym to com to her fadir, a grete lorde, and he sholde be ryght wellcom.

  ‘Truly,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘that may nat be at thys tyme, for I have a grete aventure to do in this contrey.’

  So he commaunde hem to God, and departed. Than sir Bors rode after sir Lyonell, hys brothir, by the trace of their horsis. Thus he rode sekyng a grete whyle, and anone he overtoke a man clothed in a religious wede, and rode on a stronge blacke horse, blacker than a byry, and seyde, ‘Sir knyght, what seke you?’

  ‘Sir,’ seyde he, ‘I seke my brother that I saw erewhyle betyn with two knyghtes.’

  ‘A, sir Bors, discomforte you nat, nor falle nat into no wanhope, for I shall tell you tydyngis such as they be, for truly he ys dede.’

  Than shewed he hym a new-slayne body lyyng in a buyssh, and hit semed hym well that hyt was the body of sir Lyonell, hys brothir. And than he made suche sorow that he felle to the erthe in a sowne, and so lay a grete whyle there. And whan he cam to hymselff he seyde, ‘Fayre brother, sytthe the company of you and me ar departed, shall I never have joy in my herte. And now He whych I have takyn unto my mayster, He be my helpe.’

  And whan he had seyde thus he toke the body lyghtly in hys armys and put hit upon the harson of hys sadyll, and than he seyde to the man, ‘Can ye shew me ony chapell nyghe where that I may bury thys body?’

  ‘Com one,’ seyde he, ‘here ys one faste bye.’

  And so longe they rode tylle they saw a fayre towre, and afore hit there semed an olde, fyeble chapell; and than they alyght bothe and put hym in the tombe of marble.

  ‘Now leve we hym here,’ seyde the good man, and go we to oure [11] herberow tylle to-morow we com hyre agayne to do hym servyse.’

  ‘Sir,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘be ye a pryest?’

  ‘Ye forsothe,’ seyde he.

  ‘Than I pray you telle me a dreme that befelle me the laste nyght.’

  ‘Say on,’ seyde he.

  So he begon so much to telle hym of the grete birde in the foreyste, and aftir tolde hym of hys birdys, one whyght and another blacke, and of the rottyn tre and of the whyght floures.

  ‘Sir, I shall telle you a parte now, and the othir dele to-morow.

  The whyght fowle betokenyth a jantillwoman fayre and ryche whych loved the paramours and hath loved the longe. And if that thou warne hir love she shall dy anone — if thou have no pité on her. That signifieth the grete birde which shall make the to warne hir. Now for no feare that thou haste, ne for no drede that thou hast of God, thou shalt nat warne hir; for thou woldist nat do hit for to be holdyn chaste, for to conquerre the lo os e of the vayneglory of the worlde; for that shall befalle the now, and thou warne hir, that sir Launcelot, the good knyght, thy cousyn, shall dye. And than shall men sey that thou arte a man-sleer, both of thy brothir sir Lyonell and of thy cousyn sir Launcelot, whych thou myght have rescowed easyly, but thou wentist to rescow a mayde which perteyned nothynge to the. Now loke thou whether hit had bene gretter harme of thy brothers dethe, other ellis to have suffirde her to have loste hir maydynhode.’ Than seyde he, ‘Now hast thou harde the tokyns of thy dreme?’

  ‘Ye,’ seyd sir Bors.

  ‘Than ys hit in thy defaughte if sir Launcelot, thy cousyn, dye.”Sir,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘that were me lothe, for there ys no thynge in the worlde but I had levir do than to se my lorde sir Launcelot dye in my defaught.’

  ‘Chose ye now the tone or that other.’

  Than he ladde hym into the hygh towre, and there he founde knyghtes and ladyes that seyde he was welcom. And so they unarmed hym, and whan he was in his dublette they brought hym a mantell furred with ermyne and put hit aboute hym. So they made such chere that he had forgotyn hys sorow.

  And anone cam oute of a chambir unto hym the fayryst lady that ever he saw, and more rycher beseyne than ever was quene Guenyver or ony other astate.

  ‘Lo,’ seyde they, ‘sir Bors, here ys the lady unto whom we owghe all oure servyse, and I trow she be the rychyst lady and the fayryste of the worlde, whych lovith you beste aboven all other knyghtes, for she woll have no knyght but you.’

  And whan he undirstood that langayge he was abaysshed. Notforthan she salewed hym and he her; and than they sate downe togydirs and spake of many thyngis, insomuch that she besought hym to be hir love, for she had loved hym aboven all erthly men and she sholde make hym rycher than evyr was man of hys ayge.

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nbsp; Whan sir Bors undirstood hir wordis he was ryght evyll at ease, but in no wyse he wolde breke his chastité, and so he wyst nat how to answere her.

  ‘Alas, sir Bors!’ seyde she, ‘woll ye nat do my wylle?’ [12]

  ‘Madam,’ seyde he, ‘there ys no lady in thys worlde whos wylle I wolde fullfylle as of thys thynge. She ought nat desire hit, for my brothir lyeth dede, which was slayne ryght late.’

  ‘A, sir Bors,’ seyde she, ‘I have loved you longe for the grete beauté I have sene in you and the grete hardynesse that I have herde of you, that nedys ye muste lye be me to-nyght, therefore I pray you graunte me.’

  ‘Truly,’ seyde he, ‘I shall do hit in no maner wyse.’

  Than anone she made hym such sorow as thoughe she wolde have dyed.

  ‘Well, sir Bors,’ seyd she, unto thys have ye brought me, nyghe to myne ende.’

  And therewith she toke hym by the hande and bade hym beholde her, ‘and ye shall se how I shall dye for youre love.’

  And he seyd than, ‘I shall hit never se.’

  Than she departed and wente up into an hyghe batilment and lad with her twelve jantilwomen, and whan they were above one of the jantillwomen cryed, ‘A, sir Bors, jantill knyght! Have mercy on us all, and suffir my lady to have hir wyll; and if ye do nat, we muste suffir dethe with oure lady for to falle downe of this hyghe towre. And if ye suffir us thus to dye for so litill a thynge all ladys and jantillwomen woll sey you dishonoure.’

  Than loked he upwarde and saw they semed all ladyes of grete astate and rychely and well beseyne. Than had he of hem grete pité; natforthat he was nat uncounceyled in hymselff that levir he had they all had loste their soules than he hys soule. And with that they felle all at onys unto the erthe, and whan he saw that, he was all abaysshed and had thereof grete mervayle. And with that he blyssed hys body and hys vysayge.

  And anone he harde a grete noyse and a grete cry as all the fyndys of helle had bene aboute hym. And therewith he sawe nother towre, lady, ne jantillwomen, nother no chapell where he brought hys brothir to. Than hylde he up both hys hondis to the hevyn and seyde, ‘Fayre swete Lorde Fadir and God in hevyn, I am grevously ascaped!’

  And than he toke hys armys and hys horse and set hym on hys way. And anone he herde a clocke smyte on hys ryght honde, and thydir he cam to an abbay which was closed with hyghe wallis, and there was he lette in. And anone they supposed that he was one of the knyghtes of the Rounde Table that was in the queste of the Sankgreall, so they led hym into a chambir and unarmed hym.

  ‘Sirs,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘if there be ony holy man in thys house, I pray you lette me speke with hym.’

  Than one of hem lad hym unto the abbotte which was in a chapell. And than sir Bors salewed hym and he hym agayne.

  ‘Sir,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘I am a knyght arraunte,’ and tolde hym the adventures whych he had sene.

  ‘Sir knyght,’ seyde the abbotte, ‘I wote nat what ye be, for I went that a knyght of youre ayge myght nat have be so stronge in the grace of oure Lorde Jesu Cryste. Natforthan ye shall go unto youre reste, for I woll nat counceyle thys day, hit ys to late. And to-morow I shall counceyle you as I can.’

  And that nyght was sir Bors served rychely. And on the morne erly he harde masse, and than the abbot cam to hym and bade hym good-morow, and sir Bors to hym agayne. And than he tolde hym he was felow of the queste of the Sangreall, and how he had charge of the holy man to ete brede and watir.

  ‘Than oure Lorde shewed Hym unto you in the lyknesse of a fowle, that suffirde grete anguysshe for us whan He was putte uppon the Crosse, and bledde Hys herte blood for mankynde; there was the tokyn and the lyknesse of the Sankgreall that appered afore you, for the blood that the grete fowle bledde reysyd the chykyns frome dethe to lyff. And by the bare tre betokenyth the worlde, whych ys naked and nedy, withoute fruyte, but if hit com of oure Lorde.

  ‘Also, the lady for whom ye fought for. And kyng Anyauss, whych was lorde thereto, betokenyth Jesu Cryste, which ys Kyng of the worlde. And that ye fought with the champion for the lady, thus hit betokenyth: whan ye toke the batayle for the lady, by her shall ye undirstonde the law of oure Lord Jesu Cryst and Holy Chirche, and by the othir lady ye shall undirstonde the olde lawe and the fynde which all day warryth ayenst Holy Chirch; therefore ye dud youre batayle with ryght, for ye be Jesu Crystes knyght, therefore ye oughte to be defenders of Holy Chirche. And by the blak birde myght ye understande Holy Chirche whych seyth, “I am blacke,” but he ys fayre. And by the whyght birde may men undirstonde the fynde, and I shall telle you how the swan ys whyght withoutefurth and blacke within: hit ys iprocresye, which ys withoute yalew or pale, and semyth withouteforth the servauntis of Jesu Cryste, but they be withinfurthe so horrible of fylth and synne, and begyle the worlde so evyll.

  ‘Also whan the fynde apperith to you in lyknesse of a man of religion and blamed the that thou lefft thy brothir for a lady, and he lede the where thou semed thy brothir was slayne — but he ys yette on lyve — and all was for to putte the in erroure, and to brynge the into wanhope and lechery, for he knew thou were tendirherted, and all was for thou sholdist nat fynde the aventure of the Sankgreall. And the thirde fowle betokenyth the stronge batayle ayenste the fayre ladyes whych were all devyls.

  ‘Also the dry tre and the whyght lylyes: the sere tre betokenyth thy brothir sir Lyonell, whych ys dry withoute vertu, and therefore men oughte to calle hym the rotyn tre, and the worme-etyn tre, for he ys a murtherer and doth contrary to the Order off Knyghthode. And the two whyght floures signifieth two maydyns; the one ys a knyght which ye wounded the other day, and the other is the jantillwoman whych ye rescowed. And why the other floure drew nye the tother, that was the knyght which wolde have defowled her and hymselff bothe. And, sir Bors, ye had bene a grete foole and in grete perell for to have sene the two flowris perish for to succoure the rottyn tre, for and they had synned togydir, they had be dampned; and for ye rescowed them bothe, men myght calle you a verry knyght and the servaunte of Jesu Cryste.’

  Than wente sir Bors frome thens and commaunded the abbotte to [14] God. And than he rode all that day, and herberowde with an olde lady. And on the morne he rode to a castell in a valey, and there he mette with a yoman goyng a grete pace toward a foreyste.

  ‘Sey me,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘canst thou telle me of ony adventure?’

  ‘Sir,’ seyde he, ‘here shall be undir thys castell a grete and a mervaylous turnemente.’

  ‘Of what folkys shall hit be?’ seyde sir Bors.

  ‘The erle of Playns shall be on the tone party, and the ladyes nevew off Hervyn on the todir party.’

  Than sir Bors thought to be there, to assay iff he myght mete with hys brothir sir Lyonell, or ony other of hys felyship whych were in the queste of the Sankgreall, than turned to an ermytayge that was in the entré of the foreysst. And whan he was com thydir he founde there sir Lyonell, his brother, which sate all armed at the entré of the chapell dore for to abyde there herberow tylle on the morne that the turnement sholde be.

  And whan sir Bors saw hym he had grete joy of hym, that no man cowde telle of gretter joy. And than he alyght of his horse and seyde, ‘Fayre swete brothir, whan cam ye hydir?’

  And as sir Lyonell saw hym he seyde, ‘A, sir Bors, ye may nat make none avaunte, but as for you I myght have bene slayne. Whan ye saw two knyghtes lede me away beatynge me, ye leffte me to succour a jantillwoman, and suffird me in perell of deth. For never arste ne ded no brothir to another so grete an untrouthe. And for that myssedede I ensure you now but dethe, for well have ye deserved hit. Therefor kepe you frome me frome hens forewarde! And that shall ye fynde as sone as I am armed.’

  Whan sir Bors undirstode his brothirs wratth he kneled downe tofore hym to the erthe, and cryed hym mercy, holdyng up both hys hondis, and prayde hym to forgyff hym hys evyll wylle.

  ‘Nay, nay,’ seyde sir Lyonell, ‘that shall never be and I may have the hygher hande, that I make myne avow to God. Thou shalt have dethe, for hit were pité ye leved any lenger.’

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bsp; Ryght so he wente in and toke hys harneyse, and lyght uppon his horse and cam tofore hym and seyde, ‘Sir Bors, kepe the fro me, for I shall do to the as I wolde do to a felon other a traytoure. For ye be the untrewyst knyght that ever cam oute of so worthy an house as was kyng Bors de Ganis, which was oure fadir. Therefore sterte uppon thy horse, and so shalt thou be moste at thyne avauntayge, but if thou wylt, I woll renne uppon the thereas thou arte on foote, and so the shame shall be myne and the harme youres, but of that shame recke I nought.’

  Whan sir Bors sye that he must fyght with his brothir othir ellis to dye, he wyst nat what to do; so hys herte counceyled hym nat thereto, inasmuch as sir Lyonell was hys elder brothir, wherefore he oughte to bere hym reverence. Yette kneled he adowne agayne tofore sir Lyonelles horse feete and seyde, ‘Fayre swete brothir, have mercy uppon me and sle me nat, and have in remembraunce the grete love which oughte to be betwene us two.’

  So whatsomever sir Bors seyde to sir Lyonell he rought nat, for the fynde had brought hym in suche a wylle that he sholde sle hym.

  So whan sir Lyonell saw he wolde none other do nor wolde nat ryse to gyff hym batayle he russhed over hym so that he smote sir Bors with his horse feete upwarde to the erthe, and hurte hym so sore that he sowned for distresse which he felte in hymselff to have dyed withoute confession. So whan sir Lyonell saw thys he alyght of hys horse to have smytten of hys hede, and so he toke hym by the helme and wolde have rente hit frome hys hede. Therewith cam the ermyte rennynge unto hym, which was a good man and of grete ayge, and well had herde all the wordis that were betwene them.

  He lepe betwene them, and so felle downe uppon sir Bors, and [15] seyde unto sir Lyonell, ‘A, jantyll knyght! have mercy uppon me and uppon thy brothir, for if thou sle hym thou shalt be dede of that synne, and that were grete sorow, for he ys one of the worthyest knyghtes of the worlde and of best condicions.’