Complete Works of Sir Thomas Malory

by Thomas Malory

  And therewithall he groned pyteuously and rode a grete walop awaywarde from them untyll he cam undir a woodys evyse. And whan he saw that he was frome the fylde nyghe a myle, that he was sure he myght nat be seyne, than he seyde with an hyghe voyce and with a grete grone, ‘A, jantill knyght, sir Lavayne! Helpe me that thys truncheoune were oute of my syde, for hit stykith so sore that hit nyghe sleyth me.’

  ‘A, myne owne lorde,’ seyde sir Lavayne, ‘I wolde fayne do that myght please you, but I drede me sore, and I pulle oute the truncheoune, that ye shall be in perelle of dethe.’

  ‘I charge you,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘as ye love me, draw hit oute!’ And therewithal! he descended frome hys horse, and ryght so ded sir Lavayne; and forthwithall he drew the truncheoune oute of hys syde and gaff a grete shryche and a gresly grone, that the blood braste oute, nyghe a pynte at onys, that at the laste he sanke downe uppon hys arse and so sowned downe, pale and dedly.

  ‘Alas,’ seyde sir Lavayne, ‘what shall I do?’

  And than he turned sir Launcelot into the wynde, and so he lay there nyghe halff an owre as he had bene dede. And so at the laste sir Launcelot caste up hys yghen and seyde, ‘A, sir Lavayne, helpe me that I were on my horse! For here ys faste by, within thys two myle, a jantill ermyte that somtyme was a full noble knyght and a grete lorde of possessyons. And for grete goodnes he hath takyn hym to wyllfull poverté and forsakyn myghty londys. And hys name ys sir Bawdwyn of Bretayne, and he ys a full noble surgeon and a good leche. Now lat se and helpe me up that I were there, for ever my harte gyvith me that I shall never dye of my cousyne jermaynes hondys.’

  And than with grete payne sir Lavayne holpe hym uppon hys horse, and than they rode a grete walop togydirs, and ever sir Launcelot bled, that hit ran downe to the erthe. And so by fortune they cam to an ermytayge whiche was undir a woode, and a grete ciyff on the othir syde, and a fayre watir rennynge undir hit. And than sir Lavayne bete on the gate with the but of hys speare and cryed faste, ‘Lat in, for Jesus sake!’

  And anone there cam a fayre chylde to hem and asked them what they wolde.

  ‘Fayre sonne,’ seyde sir Lavayne, ‘go and pray thy lorde the ermyte for Goddys sake to late in here a knyght that ys full sore wounded. And thys day, telle thy lorde, I saw hym do more dedys of armys than ever I herde sey that ony man ded.’

  So the chylde wente in lyghtly, and than he brought the ermyte whych was a passynge lycly man. Whan sir Lavayne saw hym he prayed hym for Goddys sake of succour.

  ‘What knyght ys he?’ seyde the ermyte. ‘Ys he of the house of kynge Arthure or nat?’

  ‘I wote nat,’ seyde sir Lavayne, ‘what he ys, nother what ys hys name, but well I wote I saw hym do mervaylously thys day as of dedys of armys.’

  ‘On whos party was he?’ seyde the ermyte.

  ‘Sir,’ seyde sir Lavayne, ‘he was thys day ayenste kynge Arthure, and there he wanne the pryce of all the knyghtis of the Rounde Table.’

  ‘I have seyne the day,’ seyde the ermyte, ‘I wolde have loved hym the worse bycause he was ayenste my lorde kynge Arthure, for sometyme I was one of the felyship. But now, I thanke God, I am othirwyse disposed. But where ys he? Lat me se hym.’

  Than sir Lavayne brought the ermyte to hym. And whan the [13] ermyte behylde hym as he sate leenyhge uppon hys sadyll-bowe, ever bledynge spiteuously, and ever the knyght ermyte thought that he sholde know hym; but he coude nat brynge hym to knowlech, bycause he was so pale for bledyng.

  ‘What knyght ar ye?’ seyde the ermyte, ‘and where were ye borne?’

  ‘My fayre lorde,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘I am a straunger, and a knyght aventures that laboureth thorowoute many realmys for to wynne worship.’

  Than the ermyte avysed hym bettir, and saw by a wounde on hys chyeke that he was sir Launcelot.

  ‘Alas,’ seyde the ermyte, ‘myne owne lorde! Why layne you youre name from me? Perdeus, I ought to know you of ryght, for ye ar the moste nobelyst knyght of the worlde. For well I know you for sir Launcelot.’

  ‘Sir,’ seyde he, ‘syth ye know me, helpe me, and ye may, for Goddys sake! For I wolde be oute of thys payne at onys, othir to deth, othir to lyff.’

  ‘Have ye no doute,’ seyde the ermyte, ‘for ye shall lyve and fare ryght well.’

  And so the ermyte called to hym two of hys servauntes, and so they bare hym into the ermytayge, and lyghtly unarmed hym, and leyde hym in hys bedde. And than anone the ermyte staunched hys bloode and made hym to drynke good wyne, that he was well refygowred and knew hymselff. For in thos dayes hit was nat the gyse as ys nowadayes; for there were none ermytis in the dayes but that they had bene men of worship and of prouesse, and the ermytes hylde grete householdis and refreysshed people that were in distresse.

  Now turne we unto kynge Arthure and leve we sir Launcelot in the ermytayge. So whan the kyngis were togydirs on both partyes, and the grete feste sholde be holdyn, kynge Arthure asked the kynge of North Galis and their felyshyp where was that knyght that bare the rede slyve.

  ‘Lat brynge hym before me, that he may have hys lawde and honoure and the pryce, as hit ys ryght.’

  Than spake sir Galahalte the Haute Prynce and the Kynge with the Hondred Knyghtes, and seyde, ‘We suppose that knyght ys myscheved so that he ys never lyke to se you nother none of us all. And that ys the grettyst pyté that ever we wyste of ony knyght.’

  ‘Alas,’ seyde kynge Arthure, ‘how may thys be? Ys he so sore hurte? But what ys hys name?’ seyde kynge Arthure.

  ‘Truly,’ seyde they all, ‘we know nat hys name, nother frome whens he cam, nother whother he wolde.’

  ‘Alas,’ seyde the kynge, ‘thys ys the warste tydyngis that cam to me thys seven yere! For I wolde nat for all the londys I welde to knowe and wyte hit were so that that noble knyght were slayne.”Sir, knowe ye ought of hym?’ seyde they all.

  ‘As for that,’ seyde kynge Arthure, ‘whethir I know hym other none, ye shall nat know for me what man he ys but Allmyghty Jesu sende me good tydyngis of hym.’

  And so seyde they all.

  ‘Be my hede,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘gyff hit so be that the good knyght be so sore hurte, hit ys gret damage and pité to all thys londe, for he ys one of the nobelyst knyghtes that ever I saw in a fylde handyll speare or swerde. And iff he may be founde I shall fynde hym, for I am sure he ys nat farre frome thys contrey.’

  ‘Sir, ye beare you well,’ seyde kynge Arthure, ‘and ye maye fynde hym, onles that he be in such a plyte that he may nat welde hymselff.’

  ‘Jesu defende!’ seyde sir Gawayne. ‘But wyte well I shall know what he ys and I may fynde hym.’

  Ryght so sir Gawayne toke a squyre with hym uppon hakeneyes and rode all aboute Camelot within six or seven myle, but so he com agayne and cowde here no worde of hym. Than within two dayes kynge Arthure and all the felyshyp returned unto London agayne. And so as they rode by the way hyt happened sir Gawayne at Astolot to lodge with sir Barnarde thereas was sir Launcelot lodged.

  And so as sir Gawayne was in hys chamber to repose hym, sir Barnarde, the olde barowne, cam in to hym, and hys doughtir Elayne, to chere hym and to aske hym what tydyngis, and who ded beste at the turnemente of Wynchester.

  ‘So God me helpe,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘there were two knyghtes that bare two whyght shyldys, but one of them bare a rede sieve uppon hys hede, and sertaynly he was the beste knyght that ever y saw juste in fylde. For I dare sey,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘that one knyght with the rede slyve smote downe fourty knyghtes of the Rounde Table, and his felow ded ryght well and worshipfully.”Now blyssed be God,’ seyde thys Fayre Maydyn of Astolate, ‘that that knyght sped so welle! For he ys the man in the worlde that I firste loved, and truly he shall be the laste that ever I shall love.’

  ‘Now, fayre maydyn,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘ys that good knyght youre love?’

  ‘Sertaynly, sir,’ she seyde, ‘he ys my love.’

  ‘Than know ye hys name?’ seyde sir Gawayne.

  ‘Nay truly, sir,’ seyde the damesell, ‘I know nat hys name
, nothir frome whens he com, but to sey that I love hym, I promyse God and you I love hym.’

  ‘How had ye knowlecch of hym firste?’ seyde sir Gawayne.

  [14] Than she tolde hym, as ye have harde before, and how hir fadir betoke hym her brother to do hym servyse, and how hir fadir lente hym her brothirs, sir Tyrryes, shylde: ‘and here with me he leffte hys owne shylde.’

  ‘For what cause ded he so?’ seyde sir Gawayne.

  ‘For thys cause,’ seyde the damesell, ‘for hys shylde was full well knowyn amonge many noble knyghtes.’

  ‘A, fayre damesell,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘please hit you to lette me have a syght of that shylde?’

  ‘Sir,’ she seyde, ‘hit ys in my chambir, coverde wyth a case, and if ye woll com with me ye shall se hit.’

  ‘Nat so,’ seyde sir Barnarde to hys doughter, ‘but sende ye for that shylde.’

  So whan the shylde was com sir Gawayne toke of the case, and whan he behylde that shylde, and knew hyt anone that hit was sir Launcelottis shylde and hys owne armys, ‘A, Jesu mercy!’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘now ys my herte more hevyar than ever hit was tofore.’

  ‘Why?’ seyde thys mayde Elayne.

  ‘For I have a grete cause,’ seyde sir Gawayne. ‘Ys that knyght that owyth thys shylde youre love?’

  ‘Yee truly,’ she sayde, ‘my love ys he. God wolde that I were hys love!’

  ‘So God me spede,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘fayre damesell, ye have ryght, for and he be youre love, ye love the moste honorabelyst knyght of the worlde and the man of moste worship.’

  ‘So methought ever,’ seyde the damesell, ‘for never ar that tyme no knyght that ever I saw loved I never none arste.’

  ‘God graunte,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘that aythir of you may rejoyse othir, but that ys in a grete aventure. But truly,’ seyde sir Gawayne unto the damesell, ‘ye may sey ye have a fayre grace, for why I have knowyn that noble knyght thys four-and-twenty yere, and never or that day I nor none othir knyght, I dare make good, saw never nother herde say that ever he bare tokyn or sygne of no lady, jantillwoman, nor maydyn at no justis nother turnemente. And therefore, fayre maydyn, ye ar much beholdyn to hym to gyff hym thanke. But I drede me,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘that ye shall never se hym in thys worlde, and that ys as grete pi té as ever was of ony erthely man.”Alas,’ seyde she, ‘how may thys be? Ys he slayne?’

  ‘I say nat so,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘but wete you well he ys grevouly wounded by all maner of sygnys, and by meanys of syght more lycklyer to be dede than to be on lyve. And wyte you well he ys the noble knyght sir Launcelot, for by thys shylde I know hym.’

  ‘Alas!’ seyde thys fayre maydyn of Astolat, ‘how may thys be? And what was hys hurte?’

  ‘Truly,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘the man in the worlde that loved beste hym hurte hym. And I dare sey,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘and that knyght that hurte hym knew the verry sertaynté that he had hurte sir Launcelot, hit were the moste sorow that ever cam to hys herte.”Now, fayre fadir,’ seyde than Elayne, ‘I requyre you gyff me leve to ryde and seke hym, othir ellis I wote well I shall go oute of my mynde. For I shall never stynte tyll that I fynde hym and my brothir, sir Lavayne.’

  ‘Do ye as hit lykith you,’ seyde hir fadir, ‘for sore me repentis of the hurte of that noble knyght.’

  Ryght so the mayde made hyr redy and departed before sir Gawayne makynge grete dole. Than on the morne sir Gawayne com to kynge Arthur and tolde hym all how he had founde sir Launcelottis shylde in the kepynge of the Fayre Mayden of Astolat.

  ‘All that knew I aforehande,’ seyde kynge Arthure, and that caused me I wolde nat suffir you to have ado at the grete justis; for I aspyed hym whan he cam untyll hys lodgyng, full late in the evenyng, into Astolat. But grete mervayle have I,’ seyde kynge Arthure, ‘that ever he wolde beare ony sygne of ony damesell, for ar now I never herde sey nor knew that ever he bare ony tokyn of none erthely woman.’

  ‘Be my hede, sir,’ seyde sir Gawayne, ‘the Fayre Maydyn of Astolat lovith hym mervaylously well. What hit meanyth I cannat sey. And she ys ryddyn aftir to seke hym.’

  So the kynge and all com to London, and there Gawayne all opynly disclosed hit to all the courte that hit was sir Launcelot that [15] justed beste. And whan sir Bors harde that, wyte you well he was an hevy man, and so were all hys kynnysmen. But whan the quyene wyst that hit was sir Launcelot that bare the rede slyve of the Fayre Maydyn of Astolat, she was nygh ought of her mynde for wratthe. And than she sente for sir Bors de Ganys in all haste that myght be. So whan sir Bors was com before the quyene she seyde, ‘A, sir Bors! Have ye nat herde sey how falsely sir Launcelot hath betrayed me?’

  ‘Alas, madame,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘I am aferde he hath betrayed hymselff and us all.’

  ‘No forse,’ seyde the quene, ‘though he be distroyed, for he ys a false traytoure knyght.’

  ‘Madame,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘I pray you sey ye no more so, for wyte you well I may nat here no such langayge of hym.’

  ‘Why so, sir Bors?’ seyde she. ‘Shold I nat calle hym traytoure whan he bare the rede slyve uppon hys hede at Wynchester at the grete justis?’

  ‘Madame,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘that slyeve-berynge repentes me, but I dare say he dud beare hit to none evyll entent; but for thys cause he bare the rede slyve that none of hys blood shold know hym. For or than we nother none of us all never knew that ever he bare tokyn or sygne of maydyn, lady, nothir jantillwoman.’

  ‘Fy on hym!’ seyde the quene. ‘Yet for all hys pry de and bobbaunce, there ye proved youreselff better man than he.’

  ‘Nay, madam, sey ye nevermore so, for he bete me and my felowys, and myght have slayne us and he had wolde.’

  ‘Fy on hym!’ seyde the quene. ‘For I harde sir Gawayne say before my lorde Arthure that hit were mervayle to telle the grete love that ys betwene the Fayre Maydyn of Astolat and hym.’

  ‘Madam,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘I may nat warne sir Gawayne to sey what hit pleasith hym, but I dare sey, as for my lorde sir Launcelot, that he lovith no lady, jantillwoman, nother mayden, but as he lovith all inlyke muche. And therefore, madam,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘ye may sey what ye wyll, but wyte you well I woll hast me to syke hym and fynde hym wheresumever he be, and God sende me good tydyngis of hym!’

  And so leve we them there, and speke we of sir Launcelot that lay in grete perell. And so as thys fayre madyn Elayne cam to Wynchester she sought there all aboute, and by fortune sir Lavayne, hir brothir, was ryddyn to sporte hym to enchaff hys horse. And anone as thys maydyn Elayne saw hym she knew hym, and than she cryed on-lowde tylle hym, and whan he herde her he com to her.

  And anone with that she asked hir brother, ‘How dothe my lorde, sir Launcelot?’

  ‘Who tolde you, syster, that my lordys name was sir Launcelot?’ Than she tolde hym how sir Gawayne by hys shylde knew hym. So they rode togydirs tyll that they cam to the ermytayge, and anone she alyght. So sir Lavayne brought her in to sir Launcelot, and whan she saw hym ly so syke and pale in hys bed she myght nat speke, but suddeynly she felle downe to the erthe in a sowghe. And there she lay a grete whyle. And whan she was releved she shryked and seyde, ‘My lord, sir Launcelot! Alas, whyghe lye ye in thys plyte?’

  And than she sowned agayne. And than sir Launcelot prayde sir Lavayne to take hir up, ‘and brynge hir hydir to me.’ And whan she cam to herselff sir Launcelot lyfte her and seyde, ‘Fayre maydyn, why fare ye thus? For ye put me to more payne. Wherefore make ye no such chere, for and ye be com to comforte me, ye be ryght wellcom; and of thys lytyll hurte that I have I shall be ryght hastely hole, by the grace of God. But I mervayle,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘who tolde you my name.’

  And so thys maydyn tolde hym all how sir Gawayne was lodged with hir fader, ‘and there by youre shylde he dyscoverde youre name.’

  ‘Alas!’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘that repentith me that my name ys knowyn, for I am sure hit woll turne untyll angir.’

  And than sir Launcelot compaste in hys mynde that sir Gawayne wolde telle quene Gwenyvere how he
bare the rede slyve and for whom, that he wyst well wolde turne unto grete angur.

  So thys maydyn Elayne never wente frome sir Launcelot, but wacched hym day and nyght, and dud such attendaunce to hym that the Freynshe booke seyth there was never woman dyd nevermore kyndlyer for man. Than sir Launcelot prayde sir Lavayne to make aspyes in Wynchester for sir Bors if he cam there, and tolde hym by what tokyns he sholde know hym: by a wounde in hys forehede.

  ‘For I am sure,’ seyde sir Launcelot, ‘that sir Bors woll seke me, for he ys the same good knyght that hurte me.’

  [16] Now turne we unto sir Bors de Ganys, that cam untyll Wynchestir to seke aftir hys cosyne sir Launcelot. And whan he cam to Wyachester sir Lavayne leyde wacche for sir Bors. And anone he had warnyng of hym, and so he founde hym, and anone he salewed hym and tolde hym frome whens he com.

  ‘Now, fayre knyght,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘ye be wellcom, and I requyre you that ye woll brynge me to my lorde sir Launcelot.’

  ‘Sir,’ seyde sir Lavayne, ‘take youre horse, and within thys owre ye shall se hym.’

  So they departed and com to the ermytayge. And whan sir Bors saw sir Launcelot lye in hys bedde, dede pale and discoloured, anone sir Bors loste hys countenaunce, and for kyndenes and pité he myght nat speke, but wepte tendirly a grete whyle. But whan he myght speke he seyde thus:

  ‘A, my lorde sir Launcelot, God you blysse and sende you hasty recoveryng! For full hevy am I of my mysfortune and of myne unhappynesse. For now I may calle myselff unhappy, and I drede me that God ys gretely displeasyd with me, that he wolde suffir me to have such a shame for to hurte you that ar all oure ledar and all oure worship; and therefore I calle myselff unhappy. Alas, that ever such a caytyff knyght as I am sholde have power by unhappines to hurte the moste noblyst knyght of the worlde! Where I so shamefully sette uppon you and overcharged you, and where ye myght have slayne me, ye saved me; and so ded nat I, for I and all oure bloode ded to you their utteraunce. I mervayle,’ seyde sir Bors, ‘that my herte or my bloode wolde serve me. Wherefore, my lorde sir Launcelot, I aske you mercy.’