Lancelot and the Lord of the Distant Isles

by Patricia Terry

  The lady turned away, and the knight heard someone calling from high above, “Sir knight, what do you want?”

  “I want to come in.”

  “That will cost you dear.”

  “Whatever it costs, my friend, but hurry! It’s getting dark.”

  The man on watch blew a horn, and an armed knight rode out through the narrow gate, and said, “Sir knight, we’ll have more room to fight over there near the tower.”

  It was a quick encounter. The White Knight shattered the defender’s lance and sent his own through the other’s hauberk and deep into his chest. The man fell backwards off his horse, and was dead before he landed. The victor, however, had scarcely time to recover his lance when the horn sounded again and another opponent appeared. This one and three others barely survived the combat. The White Knight would have gone on fighting in the dark, had not the rest of his opponents withdrawn behind the portcullis. The young woman returned and took him to an inn in the town outside the castle walls. She let him go alone into his room. There he found three silver shields hanging on the wall, one traversed by a single red band, one with two bands on it, and one with three. This seemed to him strange and even troubling, but before he could give it any further thought, his guide came in, her face now unveiled. In the joy of recognition, he threw his arms around her, exclaiming, “Celise! You’ve come from my dear Lady! No messenger could be more welcome!”

  The Lady of the Lake had sent Celise to bring the shields and to carry a prophetic message: the next day her prince would be master of the castle. There he would learn his father’s name and his own. As for the silver shields, the first would give him twice his usual strength, the second would triple it, and the third would make him four times as strong. On no account was he to rely on the energy of youth, but must instead take up one of the shields as soon as he was tired.

  The next morning, the White Knight heard mass and prepared for battle. He was annoyed to discover that the five knights he had defeated the day before would count for nothing: he would have to fight ten more at the first wall, then ten at the second. The Lady’s emissary, however, promised not only that he would defeat them all, but that he would never be killed while he was wearing armor. “In that case,” he said, “I need not fear dying in shame.”

  At the castle a knight confided to him, “The truth is I wish you had taken the castle already, and put an end to my lord’s cruel ways. But still I have to honor the fealty I swore.”

  In the jousts that followed, the White Knight taunted his opponents to make them attack two or three at a time, so impatient was he to have done with them. But as soon as one of the defenders had had enough, he withdrew into the castle, sending another to take his place. The White Knight was offered no such respite. He was out of breath and bruised and bleeding; almost nothing was left of his shield. Then a squire brought him another with one red band across it, and he immediately felt twice as strong as before, agile, swift-moving, free of pain. He fought on through the day, becoming disheartened at how long it was taking to reach his goal. The squire brought him the two-banded shield, and with its help he killed or grievously wounded all his foes except for three, who made haste to declare themselves his prisoners. But beyond the first gate there waited ten more knights. Then Celise herself brought him the third shield and a beautiful new helmet, since his own had taken so many blows it offered no protection. The White Knight objected that she was helping him too much, but she said she wanted the second gate to be even more brilliantly won than the first.

  And so it was. He attacked with such ferocity that the defenders wanted only to flee as fast as they could, and the lord of the castle, Brandis, watching from the battlements, felt his confidence drain away. Should the White Knight defeat all his men, Brandis would be obliged to fight him too. He paled when the second gate was flung open and the courtyard filled with people rejoicing at his imminent loss. The crowd assured the White Knight that all he had left to do was defeat the Lord of Dolorous Guard, and the knight asked nothing better. But just as Brandis was expected to emerge, word came that the coward had instead fled in despair. The White Knight had won!

  Celise led the White Knight to a graveyard outside the walls. Tombstones displayed the names of many of King Arthur’s knights, for there they were destined to lie. Among the stones the young man saw a great slab on which was written in gold that only the conqueror of Dolorous Guard would have the strength to lift it and that he would find his name inscribed underneath. Neither men nor machines had succeeded in raising this tombstone, to the great frustration of Brandis, who had always wanted to put to death the one whose name was written there. The White Knight stood imagining the weight of the slab. Then he took one end in both hands and lifted it with ease. On the under surface he read:

  HERE WILL LIE

  LANCELOT OF THE LAKE,

  THE SON OF KING BAN OF BENOIC

  At that moment it seemed he had always known. He had always felt, deep within, that “my prince” was not just an expression of motherly tenderness and that his drive for knightly prowess was a sign of heroic forebears.

  He let the tombstone drop back into place before the young woman could see the inscription. Lancelot understood that, although he was a king’s son, he was so in name alone. He could take no pride in his birth until he had fulfilled the promise of his parentage: only then would he identify himself.

  The chambers to which the victorious White Knight was led were those that had been occupied by Brandis. They were a small part of the fortress but splendid with all the things that belonged in the court of a powerful, highborn man. Attendants disarmed their new lord and did everything they could for his pleasure and comfort. His wounds were carefully tended, and he was content to rest for a little while. This was his new home, the site that bound him to a father, the fortress that the Lady of the Lake had willed him to possess.

  One day, as the White Knight was inspecting the fortifications, an old servant approached him hesitantly. She had clearly been weeping and, when the knight asked her why, urging her to confide in him, she said, “You did the great deeds required of you – deeds no knight before you had ever accomplished – but if only you could have killed Brandis!” He ruled them still, she said. When they rejoiced at the White Knight’s victory, they had believed it would undo the magic spells that had made them live in the shadows, terrified and without hope. Now they realized that nothing had changed, yet no one wanted to further endanger the man who had fought so splendidly.

  “What must I do?” said the new lord of Dolorous Guard.

  “Evil has given Brandis terrible powers, but he is mortal. Knowing that you could defeat him in combat, he would not face you. You could search the world for him and never find him. But your courage is so great that perhaps you can destroy his creation, the cause of our misery. I am speaking of forces so great that the terror of them invades our sleep, and all our waking hours are filled with dread.”

  Lancelot did not hesitate. “Show me the way, good woman,” he said.

  The servant led him down from the parapet, then, torch in hand, into a dank passageway through the rock foundation of the castle. They arrived at a wide and heavy iron door, before which the woman hesitated. Lancelot moved ahead to push it open. No sooner had he advanced across the threshold than the door swung shut behind him, leaving the old servant on the other side.

  The knight was at the entrance to a vast underground room. The only light came from a small barred window quite far away, toward which the knight advanced, sword in hand. As he drew closer, there was a trembling in the ground beneath his feet, and, with the sound of huge stones splitting apart, the whole chamber began to whirl around. Clinging to the wall and crawling, he slowly made his way toward the faint glow. Suddenly, the bars fell away and the tall, narrow panel in which they had been set sprang open. Just inside the gallery now revealed, the White Knight saw two gigantic bronze figures wielding immense swords that crisscrossed in a dazzling blur across the narrow en
tryway. Without an instant’s hesitation, he hurled himself toward them, holding his shield over his head. They struck through it so hard that the links of his hauberk split, and blood streamed from his left shoulder. He fell onto his hands, but the bronze figures were now behind him, and he went on.

  Soon his way was barred by a huge well, more than seven feet across, whose water had the stench of rotting things. On the other side stood an immensely tall man whose eyes glowed like coals in his shadowy face, and from whose mouth shot bright-green flames. The giant raised an axe above his head. The knight moved back far enough to get a running start, leapt over the well and caught the blow of the axe on his shield. He would have fallen into the water, had he not seized his opponent by the throat, holding him so tightly that the giant lost his footing. The White Knight turned him toward the edge of the well and threw him in.

  A beautiful bronze statue of a woman now stood where the giant had been, holding two keys in her hands. An inscription on a column in the middle of the room read:

  THE LARGE KEY

  OPENS THIS PILLAR.

  THE SMALL KEY WILL UNLOCK

  THE PERILOUS CASKET.

  He inserted the large key. Inside the column was the casket, from which came the anguished cries of people in torment; the whole chamber resonated with the sound. The knight crossed himself and, as he put the small key into the lock, a whirlwind erupted with terrifying force and a noise so overwhelming that he fell unconscious. When he revived, he stood up painfully, took the keys and started back. Where the well had been was only the stone floor; the three bronze figures had disappeared.

  He made his way outside to where the people of the castle were all waiting. Their joy on seeing him was immeasurable. He went to place the keys on the altar of the chapel and then proceeded to the great hall.

  The seneschal, stepping forward from the crowd, said, “There are no words to thank you, my lord. You have brought all our misfortunes to an end. The fortress is truly yours, and you are our undisputed lord.”

  “Then the name of this fortress shall be changed,” the White Knight declared. “Henceforth it shall be known as Joyous Guard.”

  The next morning there was sunlight everywhere. Gardens and orchards in bloom surrounded the castle, whose inhabitants felt that they, too, had been reborn. The days that followed were one splendid celebration.

  It was not long, however, before the lord of Joyous Guard was called away, having learned that Sir Gawain and nine other knights had been trapped by foes and imprisoned. When the news of Dolorous Guard had reached Camelot, these knights set out to learn if the fortress had really been taken. On their way they met a nobleman who told them that the White Knight had been killed. Their grief was immense, for they knew that this must be the young man who had come to Arthur’s court with the Lady of the Lake. The nobleman, who was in truth none other than Brandis, bent on revenge, invited them to stay the night at a nearby castle. Once they were inside, a large group of armed men fell upon them. They had been prisoners ever since.

  The White Knight set out to rescue them. And he did. Alone he routed the castle’s well-armed force of more than a hundred men. By the time they realized that he was charging straight into them regardless of their number, he had killed so many that their companions simply fled. No one had seen so bold and forceful a warrior before. He had grown and changed since the Lady of the Lake had first sought to make him a knight, but, when the prisoners were released, Gawain knew to whom they owed their freedom. It was the very same youth, dressed all in white, whom he had once welcomed to King Arthur’s court. He fell to his knees before the White Knight, trying to thank him, but the knight would not allow it: “I have never forgotten your kindness to me, my lord.”

  “Will you come with me now and let the court rejoice to see you again?”

  “Not now, my lord. I must go and put things in order in my domain,” he answered. “Please give the king and queen my respectful greetings.” He bade them all farewell and rode away.

  Now that Gawain and his companions were at court once again, all Camelot was festive. Word had come of the White Knight’s victory in the cruel combat where so many brave knights had met their end. No one could talk of anything else. But the conqueror of Dolorous Guard had yet to appear. As they dined in the great hall one evening, a man of stately mien wearing chain-mail, although his head and hands were bare, came to stand before the king but did not bow. “King Arthur, I have been sent here by the most valiant man of his generation, Galehaut, son of the Giantess and Lord of the Distant Isles. He has vanquished thirty kings, but he intends to be crowned only after he has defeated one hundred fifty kings and has possession of England – the land of Logres, as you call it. When you hold it in fief from him, he will honor you as the greatest of his vassals.”

  “Sir,” said the king, “I have had no overlord except God, and I will not accept one now.”

  “Then you must lose your honor and your lands.”

  “God willing, I shall not.”

  “In that case, King Arthur, my lord formally challenges you, and will be in your domain within the month. Nor will he leave again before he has taken from you all that you possess, including your peerless queen.”

  “Lord knight,” replied the king, “I think that I need not be unduly worried. Let both sides do their best, and we shall see what happens.”

  As the knight was leaving, he turned back at the door, looked straight toward the king, and said, “I grieve for you!” Then he rode away with his company of knights.

  King Arthur asked his nephew, Gawain, if he had ever seen this Galehaut. He had not, and neither had several other knights who were there. But Galegantis of Wales, who had traveled widely, came forward and said, “My lord, I have indeed seen Galehaut, and he stands taller than any knight in the world. Everyone who has met him says that no one could be nobler, more gracious or more generous than he, nor has anyone of his age been so triumphant in war. He has the love of all his people. The very kings he has vanquished are now his staunchest allies. I am not saying, of course, that he is likely to defeat you. God forbid that that should happen! I would rather die instead. But Galehaut is indeed a great and formidable foe.”

  The king went out hunting the next day after mass, and nothing more was said about Galehaut. Not long afterward, however, a message came from a lady whose fief stood on the border of the kingdom. Her lands had been invaded by the son of the Giantess and all her castles lost except two. If the king did not come soon, these also would be taken. “I’ll go at once!” said the king. “How large is his army?”

  “Five thousand men.”

  “Tell your lady that I will leave here tonight or tomorrow morning.”

  His men advised him to wait until he could summon more knights, but he said, “I will never stand by idly when one of my vassals is attacked!” So with only seven hundred he set out, having sent messengers to all who owed him service. To reach their destination would take several days of hard riding.

  Galehaut heard that King Arthur was arriving with only a small army. His own, apart from the horsemen, had many foot soldiers, well armed and equipped with iron-tipped arrows. They had surrounded themselves with iron nets, and thus could not be attacked from the rear. Galehaut assembled his forces and said that, since King Arthur had so few men with him, there was little need to send a vast army to meet him. Malaguin, the King of the Hundred Knights, asked for the privilege of leading the first attack. But when he looked at Arthur’s forces from the top of a hill, it seemed to him that there were more than seven hundred. Preferring to err on the side of caution, he told Galehaut they had one thousand. “Then choose one thousand of your own, and go to meet him.”

  When it was apparent that Galehaut himself would not join the fighting, Arthur could not do so either. He sent Sir Gawain in his place, asking him to order his forces with great care, because Galehaut had the advantage in numbers. Gawain led his knights across a ford in the river near their camp, and sent his first bat
talion to engage the enemy. But these came on so fast that all one thousand were soon in the field. Realizing that great prowess had to compensate for weak numbers, King Arthur’s men fought well, and Gawain the best of all, so that the few managed to drive back the many. The King of the Hundred Knights sent a message to Galehaut, and three thousand reinforcements promptly arrived. Those fleeing the field turned back toward their opponents, who were dismayed to see the huge army approaching. “Now,” said Gawain to his knights, “we will see who truly cares for King Arthur’s honor!”

  But no matter how valiantly they fought, they were forced to retreat toward the river. Thanks to Gawain’s heroic efforts, many were able to cross the ford and find safety in the castle. Had it not been for him, no one would have escaped! He himself, although badly wounded, continued fighting until it was nearly dark, but then the blows and anguish of the day took their toll. Gawain fell off his horse in a faint and had to be carried to his quarters. A squire ran to inform the royal couple, who hastened to the bedside of the wounded man. They needed no doctor to describe what they could plainly see. The extent of Gawain’s injuries made the king tremble lest his nephew not survive; the queen grasped her husband’s hand in alarm. Neither could imagine the realm bereft of its greatest defender. Yet the fighting would resume the next day without him.

  BOOK THREE: THE RED KNIGHT

  NOT FAR FROM THE BATTLEFIELD was the town of Malehaut, ruled by a widowed chatelaine who took her responsibilities so to heart that her people were as one in their love and respect for her. She cared for the poor and rewarded the charitable; she tended the sick and offered hospitality to the stranger. It was at her castle that Lancelot found himself at the time of the clash between King Arthur’s meager forces and the larger numbers fighting for the Lord of the Distant Isles.

  Once assured of his untroubled hold on Joyous Guard, Lancelot had begun to feel that he had nothing further to do there. His men would turn back anyone so foolish as to challenge their new lord. Dolorous Guard no longer existed to offer passing knights an unprecedented adventure, and anyone who attempted to conquer Joyous Guard would find it more than adequately defended. From Brandis’s former seneschal to the youngest of the household knights, all his people were profoundly grateful to the White Knight and ready to demonstrate their devotion. The simple castle-dwellers themselves would not hesitate to give their lives for him.