The World of Camelot

by Michael Foss

  ‘Why should I?’ she answered. ‘Am I not an earthly woman? While I have breath I may complain, for I believe I do none offence though I love an earthly man. I take God to my record that I loved none other but Sir Lancelot du Lake. And I am a clean maiden for him and for all others. Sweet lord Jesu, have mercy upon my soul, for I loved this noble knight out of measure, and I cannot withstand this fervent love whereof I have my death.’

  Then she wrote a letter and prayed her father to put it in her hand when she was dead, and to place her in her richest clothes within a little barge, and thus to have her body rowed upon the Thames unto Westminster.

  Anon she died. So by fortune the king and queen were speaking by a window when they espied this black barge upon the river, and they knew not what it meant. The king took the queen by the hand and went to the riverbank. They looked within the barge and saw the fairest woman lying dead, covered in clothes of cloth of gold, and she lay as though she had smiled. The queen espied a letter in her right hand, and the king took it to his chamber and made a clerk to read it, and thus said the letter:

  Most noble knight, Sir Lancelot, now has death made us two at debate for your love. I was your lover, she whom men called the Fair Maiden of Astolat. Therefore I make my moan unto all ladies. Yet pray for my soul and bury me at least, and offer my Mass-penny. This is my last request.

  Sir Lancelot was sent for, and the letter read to him. And he and all the court wept for pity. Nor was he accounted blameless, for the queen rebuked him.

  ‘You might, sir,’ said she, ‘have showed her some bounty and gentleness that may have preserved her life.’

  But Sir Lancelot rehearsed for her all the causes of this love, and what he had offered to her. ‘For, madam,’ he added, ‘I wish not to be constrained for love. It must arise of the heart, and not by constraint!’

  ‘That is truth,’ said the king. ‘A knight’s love is free and never will be bounden, for where he is bounden he loses himself. But, my lord Lancelot, for your honour see that she be interred worshipfully.’

  Upon the morn Sir Lancelot buried her richly, and offered her Mass-penny. Then the queen repented her of her rebuke and prayed him mercy for her anger, that was without cause.

  ‘’Tis not the first time,’ Lancelot replied, ‘that you have been displeased with me without cause. Ever must I suffer you, but I take no account of the sorrow I endure thereby.’

  So passed on all that winter, with all manner of hunting and hawking, and jousts and tourneys made betwixt many great lords. Then there were fine feasts unto kings and dukes, and revel, game and play, and all manner of noblesse was used. And he that was courteous, true and faithful to his friend was at that time cherished.

  And so went the year from Candlemas until after Easter. Then the month of May was come, when every lusty heart begins to blossom and to bring forth fruit. For it gives unto all lovers courage, that lusty month of May. All herbs and trees renew both men and women, and all lovers call again to mind old gentleness and old service, and many kind deeds that were forgotten by negligence.

  Therefore, like as May month flowers and flourishes in many gardens, so let every man of honour flourish his heart in this world, first unto God and next unto the joy of those to whom he has promised his faith. Honour in arms may never be foiled, but first reserve the honour to God, and second the quarrel must come of your lady. And such love is called virtuous love.

  So it befell in the month of May, Queen Guenevere called unto her knights of the Round Table that early upon the morrow she would ride on Maying into the woods and fields beside Westminster. ‘Be well horsed,’ she commanded, ‘and be all clothed in green, some in silk and others in cloth. And I shall bring with me ten ladies, and every knight shall have a lady behind him, and a squire and two yeomen.’

  Then ten knights made them ready in the freshest manner and rode on Maying with the queen in woods and meadows as it pleased them, in great joy and delight.

  There was a knight called Meliagaunt, a son unto King Bagdemagus, and he had a castle within seven mile of Westminster. For many long years this knight had loved Queen Guenevere. Oft he plotted to steal away the queen, but forbore because of Sir Lancelot, for in no wise would he meddle if she were in his company. But at this time Sir Meliagaunt had espied the queen well. He saw that Sir Lancelot was not with her, and she had but ten knights all arrayed in green for Maying. So he got him twenty men of arms and a hundred archers for to take the queen and destroy her knights.

  As the queen went Maying with her knights, all were bedashed with herbs, mosses and flowers in the freshest manner. Right so came Sir Meliagaunt riding out of a wood with eight score men well harnessed.

  ‘Abide,’ Meliagaunt shouted to the queen and her knights, ‘abide, or guard your heads.’

  ‘Traitor knight,’ replied the queen, ‘what think you that you do? Will you shame yourself? Bethink you how you are a king’s son, and a knight of the Round Table. You shame all knighthood and yourself. But you shall never shame me, for I had rather cut my own throat in twain than that you should dishonour me.’

  ‘Let that language be,’ said Meliagaunt. ‘I have loved you many a year without advantage as I have now. Therefore I will take you as I find you.’

  At this the ten knights with the queen drew their swords and the two parties ran fiercely together. But the queen’s men were dressed for Maying, and greatly out-numbered. So when Queen Guenevere saw her knights dolefully wounded, and like to be slain at the last, for pity she cried to Sir Meliagaunt and offered to go wheresoever he might lead if he would but spare her knights.

  Thus by the queen’s command her knights left off the battle and put the wounded on horseback, some sitting, some slung athwart, so that it was pity to see them. And Meliagaunt gathered them one with another all close with the queen, for full sore he dreaded that word of this might come to Sir Lancelot.

  All this the queen espied. Privily she called unto her a child of her chamber that was swiftly horsed, and commanded him to go to seek Lancelot. ‘Spare not your horse,’ she said in low and urgent voice, ‘neither for water nor for land.’

  The boy sped away, setting spurs to the horse. And Sir Meliagaunt, seeing the child flee, sent armed men in chase to shoot at him, but all was in vain. When he saw this, Meliagaunt said to the queen, ‘Madam, you are about to betray me. But I shall ordain for Sir Lancelot so that he shall not come lightly to you.’

  Then in all haste he rode with her and her knights to his castle, and for Sir Lancelot he laid in ambush about the path thirty of the best archers.

  Meanwhile the child had sped to Westminster and delivered the queen’s message. He told Sir Lancelot what had passed, and how Sir Ironside and Sir Brandiles and Sir Persant of Inde had fought for the queen strongly, but Sir Pelleas in especial had done marvellous deeds.

  ‘Alas, that most noble lady,’ cried Lancelot, ‘that she should be so destroyed. I had rather than all France that I had been there, and well armed.’

  Sir Lancelot rushed unto his horse, and told the child to warn Sir Lavaine to hie after him. Then Lancelot plunged his horse over the Thames into Lambeth, and rode as fast as he might. Within a mile he found the mark of the battle, and followed the track through a wood. And there, in a strait way, thirty archers waylaid him in ambush.

  ‘By what command,’ Sir Lancelot demanded of them, ‘do you cause me, a knight of the Round Table, to leave my right of way?’

  ‘Turn aside,’ said they, ‘or else go on foot, for surely we shall slay your horse.’

  Then did Sir Lancelot try to force onwards, but they slew his horse with many arrows, for they durst not slay the noble knight himself. Lancelot leapt from the dying horse and went at them on foot, but he might not meddle with them for the many ditches and hedges betwixt him and them.

  ‘Alas for shame,’ he cried, ‘that a knight should be so betrayed. But it is an old saw, “A good man is never in danger but when he is in the danger of a coward.”’

  So Sir
Lancelot struggled on on foot, foul encumbered of his armour, his shield and his spear. He was full-sore annoyed, but loath to leave anything that belonged to him, for he must meet with arms the treason of Sir Meliagaunt. Then by fortune he met a cart coming to fetch wood.

  ‘Tell me, carter,’ he said, ‘what shall I give you to suffer me to leap into your cart, and you to bring me unto a castle within this two mile?’

  ‘This cart is not for you,’ replied the carter. ‘I am sent to fetch wood for my lord Sir Meliagaunt.’

  At this, Sir Lancelot leapt on him and gave him such a buffet that he fell stark dead. The second carter was all afeared and cried, ‘Fair lord, save my life. I shall bring you where you will.’

  ‘Then I charge you,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘drive me as fast as you might, even unto Sir Meliagaunt’s gate.’

  So the carter whipped up a great gallop and drove on towards the castle, where Queen Guenevere was waiting an hour or more in a bay window with her ladies. Soon they espied an armed knight standing in a cart.

  ‘See, madam,’ said a lady, ‘a goodly armed knight rides there in a cart. I suppose he rides unto hanging.’

  The queen looked on the man in the cart, and saw coming after it a horse shot with arrows that trod its guts and its paunch under its feet. And by the shield of the knight in the cart she knew him to be Sir Lancelot. ‘Alas, I see you have a trusty friend,’ she said in her breath, as if to Lancelot. ‘But, sir, you are hard beset when I see you ride thus in a cart.’

  At the gates of the castle, Sir Lancelot descended from the cart and cried so loud that all the castle rang of it, ‘Where are you, false traitor, Sir Meliagaunt? Come forth here with your fellowship. For here I am, Sir Lancelot du Lake, he that shall fight with you.’

  Therewith he flung the gate wide open upon the porter and smote him under the ear with his gauntlet and burst his neck in sunder.

  When Sir Meliagaunt heard Sir Lancelot, he was deathly afeared. He ran unto the queen and fell upon his knee and said, ‘Mercy, madam, now I put me wholly into your grace.’

  ‘What ails you now?’ she answered. ‘I see you fear revenge. But what would you that I did?’

  ‘No more,’ he said, ‘but that you would take all in your own hands, and rule my lord Lancelot. My body and all that I have, I shall put in your rule.’

  ‘You say well,’ replied Guenevere. ‘Better is peace than ever war, and the less noise of this the more is my honour.’

  So the queen and her ladies went down unto Sir Lancelot. He was angry beyond measure, and stood roaring for Meliagaunt in the inner court.

  ‘Sir Lancelot,’ she asked most softly, ‘why be you so moved?’

  ‘Ha, madam, you ask me that? Meseems you ought to be more angry than I, for you have the hurt and the dishonour.’

  ‘Truly,’ said she, ‘and heartily I thank you. But you must come in with me peaceably. The knight Meliagaunt repents him, and all thing is put in my hand.’

  ‘Well, madam,’ said Lancelot, ‘let this accord be, though Sir Meliagaunt has done full shamefully and cowardly to me. But madam, had I known you would accord with him so soon, I would not have made such haste.’

  ‘Why, sir, do you regret your good deed? Know well that I make peace not out of favour or love unto him, but to lay down every shameful noise.’

  ‘As to that,’ replied Lancelot, ‘I was never glad of shameful slander, and you know it right well. But there is no king, queen, nor knight living, except my lord King Arthur and you madam, but that I would make Sir Meliagaunt’s heart full cold before ever I departed from hence.’

  Right so the queen took Lancelot by the bare hand and led him to her chamber, where he viewed the ten good knights that were sore wounded. Then they had great joy of his coming, and he great dole of their hurts. After he had given them comfort, he went with Queen Guenevere and had good cheer with her. And he made her a promise that the same night he would come to a window leading on the garden. Though this window was barred with iron, there he promised to meet her when all folks were asleep.

  The knights that were hurt had soft salves laid to their wounds, but in no wise would the queen suffer them to be from her. She ordained that they be laid in the rooms next by her chamber, upon beds and pillows, that she herself might see to them.

  In the night Sir Lancelot called unto him Sir Lavaine, the good knight that had followed him from Westminster, and told him that he must go and speak with his lady, Queen Guenevere, and none should go with him. Then Sir Lancelot took his sword and privily went to a place where he had espied a ladder beforehand. He bore it through the garden and set it up to the window, and there anon the queen came softly to meet him. As they talked most fondly, he wished that he might come in to her chamber.

  ‘I would be as glad as you,’ she sighed, ‘that you might come in to me.’

  ‘Madam, with your heart would you that I were with you?’

  ‘Yea, truly,’ answered the queen.

  So he set his hands to the bars of iron and pulled at them with such might that he burst them clean out of the stone walls, though one of the bars cut the brawn of his hand through to the bone. Then lightly he leapt into the chamber of the queen.

  ‘Make no noise,’ whispered the queen, ‘for my wounded knights lie here fast by me.’

  Then Sir Lancelot went unto bed with the queen. He took no account of his hurt hand, but took his pleasance and his liking until it was the dawning of the day. When he saw the sun peep and knew that he might tarry no longer, he departed by the window and put it together after him as well as he might.

  Sir Lavaine awaited him in his own chamber, and Lancelot told him how his hand was hurt while Lavaine dressed it and staunched it. Then Sir Lancelot put a glove upon it, so that it should not be espied.

  That morn the queen lay long in her bed, till it was nine of the clock. At last, to discover where she was, Sir Meliagaunt went to her chamber and found her ladies there ready clothed.

  ‘Jesu mercy,’ said Meliagaunt, opening the curtain for to behold her, ‘what ails you, madam, that you sleep so long?’

  As she lay, he saw that all the sheet and pillow were gored with blood from Lancelot’s hand. Then Sir Meliagaunt deemed that she was false to the king, and that one of the wounded knights had lain by her in the night.

  ‘Ah, madam,’ said Meliagaunt, ‘now I have found you a false traitress unto my lord King Arthur. Not for nought did you lay these wounded knights within the bounds of your chamber, for I see a wounded knight has this night lain with you.’

  When the ten knights within heard these words they were in a rage, and spake all in one voice against Sir Meliagaunt. But when they saw the blood on the bed, they were ashamed and silent. And Meliagaunt was glad that he now had the queen at such an advantage, for he deemed in this way to hide his own treason. Then, with noise and rumour loud in the castle, Sir Lancelot came in, saying, ‘What array is this?’

  Therewith Sir Meliagaunt showed him the queen’s bed all blooded. ‘Truly,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘you did not knightly, to touch a queen’s bed while the curtain was drawn and she within. I dare say my lord Arthur himself would not have done it, unless it had pleased him to have lain with her. Therefore you have done dishonourably and most shamefully.’

  ‘Nay,’ answered Meliagaunt. ‘I will prove with my hands that she is a traitress unto my lord Arthur. And as to you, Sir Lancelot, beware what you do. Though you are never so good a knight, be not advised to do battle in a wrong quarrel, for God will have a stroke in every battle.’

  Then Sir Meliagaunt cast his glove that she was a traitress, and Sir Lancelot received that glove. So they were sealed with their signets and agreed to battle together in eight days, in the field beside Westminster.

  ‘But now,’ said Meliagaunt, ‘I pray you await me with no treason before the time that we must fight. Let us go to dinner, and while dinner is got ready will it please you to see all of this castle? It has a pleasant air.’

  They went together from
chamber to chamber, and Sir Lancelot dreaded no perils. A man of honour and prowess dreads perils least, since he thinks every man is as he is. So it befell that Sir Lancelot, as he went easily, trod on a trap. A board rolled, and there Lancelot fell down more than ten fathoms into a cave full of straw from which he could not go out. After a while he was missed, but it was deemed by all that he had departed suddenly, as he was wont to do. For Meliagaunt had secretly put aside Sir Lavaine’s horse, as if Lancelot had taken it, lacking his own that was killed with arrows.

  When Sir Lancelot was not found, Sir Lavaine ordained litters for the wounded knights and he and the queen carried them back to Westminster. Then King Arthur was told of Meliagaunt’s treason against the queen, and how he had accused her, and how Sir Lancelot had received the glove to do battle in the queen’s quarrel.

  ‘By my head,’ said the king, ‘I am afeared Sir Meliagaunt has taken upon him a great charge. But where is Sir Lancelot?’

  ‘Sir, we know not,’ they answered, ‘but we deem he is ridden to some adventures, as is ofttimes his wont.’

  ‘Let him be,’ said the king. ‘He will be found, except he be trapped with some treason.’

  Meanwhile, when Sir Lancelot was in the cave below the castle, every day a lady brought him meat and drink. And each time she came in she wooed Sir Lancelot to have lain with her. And ever the noble knight said her nay.

  So came that same day when the battle should be, and she said again to him, ‘Sir Lancelot, methinks you are too hardhearted. Give me but a kiss and I shall deliver you, and your armour, and the best horse in Sir Meliagaunt’s stable.’

  ‘As for a kiss,’ he replied, ‘I may do that and lose no honour.’ Then he kissed her and she brought him free from the cave, and she got him his armour, and the best horse in the stable, and the best saddle of war. He took his spear in his hand and his sword by his side, and commending the lady to God he went swiftly away.