Arthurian Romances

by Chretien de Troyes

  They proceeded towards the Underwater Bridge and, upon reaching it, saw my lord Gawain, who had slipped and fallen into the deep water. He was bobbing up and down, in and out of sight. They approached and reached out to him with branches, poles, and hooks. Gawain had only his hauberk on his back, and on his head his helmet, which was worth ten of any others. He wore chain-mail greaves rusted with sweat, for he had been sorely tried and had endured and overcome many perils and challenges. His lance, his shield, and his horse were on the far bank. Those who dragged him from the water feared for his life, since he had swallowed a lot of water, and they heard no word from him until he had heaved it up. But when he had cleared his chest and throat and had regained his voice enough to make himself understood, he began to speak. His first question to those before him was whether they had any news of the queen. Those who answered him said that she never left the presence of King Bademagu, who served and honoured her well.

  ‘Has anyone come recently into this land to seek her?’ inquired my lord Gawain.

  ‘Yes,’ they replied, ‘Lancelot of the Lake, who crossed the Sword Bridge. He rescued her and freed her and all of us along with her. But a hunchbacked, sneering dwarf tricked us: with insidious cleverness he has kidnapped Lancelot, and we don’t know what he’s done with him.’

  ‘When was this?’ my lord Gawain asked.

  ‘Sir, today, quite near this spot, as we were coming with Lancelot to find you.’

  ‘And what has Lancelot done since coming into this land?’

  They began to tell him, giving every detail and not omitting a single word. And they told Gawain that the queen was awaiting him and had sworn that nothing would make her leave this land until she had seen him. My lord Gawain inquired of them: ‘When we leave this bridge, shall we go to seek Lancelot?’

  They all thought it best to go first to the queen: Bademagu would make provisions for seeking Lancelot. They believed that his son Meleagant, who hated Lancelot profoundly, had had him taken prisoner. If the king knew his whereabouts, he would have him freed no matter where he was; therefore they could delay their search. They all concurred with this suggestion, and so they rode on together until they neared the court, where they found King Bademagu and the queen. Together with them was the seneschal Kay, and also that traitor, overflowing with deceit, who had villainously caused all of those who were approaching to fear for Lancelot. These knights felt deceived and defeated, and could not hide their grief.

  The news of this misfortune was not pleasing to the queen, yet she tried to act as cordially as she could. For the sake of my lord Gawain she managed to appear cheerful. However, her sorrow was not so well hidden that a little did not appear. She had to express both joy and sorrow: her heart was empty because of Lancelot, yet towards my lord Gawain she felt great happiness. Everyone who heard of the disappearance of Lancelot was overcome with grief and sorrow. The king would have been cheered by the arrival of my lord Gawain and by the pleasure of his acquaintance had he not felt such grief and pain and been so overwhelmed by sorrow at the betrayal of Lancelot. The queen urged King Bademagu to have him sought throughout his realm, both high and low, without a moment’s delay. My lord Gawain, Kay, and everyone else without exception likewise urged him to do this.

  ‘Leave this to me,’ said the king, ‘and say no more about it, for I have already been persuaded. You need beg me no further to have this search begun.’

  Every knight bowed low before him. The king straight away sent wise and prudent men-at-arms as messengers throughout his land to ask news of Lancelot wherever they went. Though they sought everywhere for information, they were unable to learn the truth. When they found no trace of him, they returned to where the other knights were staying – Gawain, Kay, and all the others – who said that they would set off to seek him themselves, fully armed and with lances fewtered. They would send no one else in their stead.

  One day, after eating, they were all assembled in the hall donning their armour (they had by now reached the moment appointed for their departure) when a squire entered. He passed through them until he stood before the queen. She had lost the rosy tint in her cheeks: all her colour had faded because of her deep sorrow for Lancelot, of whom she had heard no news. The squire greeted her and the king, who was near her, and afterwards he greeted all the others, including Kay and my lord Gawain. In his hand he held a letter that he extended towards the king, who took it. To avoid any misunderstanding, the king had it read aloud so everyone could hear. The reader well knew how to communicate everything he found written on the parchment, and said: ‘Lancelot sends greetings to the king as his noble lord, and like one who is willingly and completely at his command he thanks him for the honour and service he has rendered him. And he wishes you to know that he is strong and in good health, that he is with King Arthur, and that he bids the queen to come there – this he orders – with my lord Gawain and Kay.’ The sort of seals on the letter led them all to believe that the message was true. They were happy and full of joy. The whole court resounded with gaiety, and their departure was set for the next day at dawn.

  When morning came, they apparelled themselves and made ready. They arose, mounted, and set forth. The king escorted them, amid great joy and exultation, a good bit of the way. When he had accompanied them beyond the frontiers of his land, he took leave first of the queen, then of the others as a group. On bidding him farewell, the queen very graciously thanked him for his many services. She embraced him and offered him her own service and that of her husband: she could make no finer promise. My lord Gawain likewise pledged to serve him as his lord and friend, as did Kay. Having promised this, they all set off at once on their way. King Bademagu commended the queen and the two knights to God; after these three he bade farewell to all the others, then returned home.

  The queen and the crowd accompanying her did not delay a single day, but rode on until the welcome news reached King Arthur of the imminent arrival of his queen. News of his nephew Gawain kindled great joy and happiness in his heart, for he thought that the queen, Kay, and all the common people were returning because of his daring. But the truth was quite different than they had assumed. The whole town emptied to greet them; everyone went forth to meet them and each one, knight and commoner alike, said: ‘Welcome to my lord Gawain, who has brought back the queen and many another captive lady, and who has returned many a prisoner to us!’

  ‘My lords, I am due no praise,’ Gawain said to them. ‘Your praise must stop at once, because none of this is of my doing. I am ashamed to be honoured so, for I did not get there soon enough and failed because of my delay. But Lancelot was there in time and to him befell greater honour than any knight has ever received.’

  ‘Where is he then, good sir, since we do not see him here with you?’

  ‘Where?’ replied my lord Gawain then. ‘Why, at the court of King Arthur: isn’t he here?’

  ‘No, he’s not, upon my word. He’s not anywhere in this land. We have heard no news of him since my lady was led away.’

  Then for the first time my lord Gawain realized that the message that had betrayed and deceived them was forged. They had been tricked by the message and were once again plunged into sadness. They arrived at court full of sorrow, and the king immediately asked what had happened. There were many who were able to give him an account of all that Lancelot had accomplished, how the queen and all the captives had been rescued by him, and how through deceit the dwarf had stolen him away from them. This news vexed the king, overwhelming him with grief and anguish. But his heart was so elated at the queen’s return that his grief soon gave way to joy; now that he had what he most desired, he gave little thought to the rest.

  It was while the queen was out of the country, I believe, that the ladies and the maidens who lacked the comfort of a husband came together and decided that they wished to be married soon. In the course of their discussions they decided to organize a splendid tournament, in which the Lady of Pomelegoi would be challenged by the Lady of W
urst.21 The women would refuse to speak to those who acquitted themselves poorly, but to those who did well they promised to grant their love. They announced the tourney and had it cried throughout all the nearby lands, as well as the distant ones. They had the date of the tournament heralded well in advance so that there might be more participants.

  The queen returned while preparations for the tournament were still being made. As soon as they learned of the queen’s return, most of the ladies and maidens hastened to court to urge the king to grant them a favour and do their bidding. Even before learning what they wanted, he promised to grant them anything they might desire. Then they told him that they wished him to permit the queen to come to observe their tournament. Unaccustomed to refusing anything, the king said that if the queen wished to attend, it would please him. Overjoyed at this, the ladies went before the queen and stated at once: ‘Our lady, do not refuse what the king has already granted us.’

  And she asked them: ‘What is it? Don’t hide it from me.’

  ‘If you are willing to come to our tournament,’ they replied, ‘he will not try to stop you or refuse you his permission.’

  So the queen promised to attend, since Arthur had given his permission. The ladies immediately sent word throughout the realm that the queen would be in attendance on the day set for the tournament. The news spread everywhere, far and wide; it spread so far that it reached the kingdom from which no man had been able to return (although now whoever wished could enter or leave and never be challenged). The news spread through this kingdom and was repeated so often that it reached a seneschal of the faithless Meleagant – may hellfires burn the traitor! This seneschal was guarding Lancelot, imprisoned at his castle by his enemy Meleagant, who hated him with a mortal hatred.

  Lancelot learned of the date and hour of the tourney, and immediately his eyes filled with tears and all joy left his heart. The lady of the manor saw how sad and disconsolate he was and questioned him privately: ‘Sir, for the love of God and your soul, tell me truthfully why you have changed so. You no longer eat or drink, nor do I see you happy or laughing. You can safely confide in me your thoughts and what is troubling you.’

  ‘Ah, my lady! If I’m sad, for God’s sake don’t be surprised. Indeed I am greatly troubled because I’m unable to be where everything that is good in this world will be: at that tourney where everyone, I am sure, is gathering. However, if it pleased you and God granted you the kindness to let me go there, you can be assured that I shall feel compelled to return afterwards to my imprisonment here.’

  ‘Indeed,’ she answered, ‘I would willingly do this if I did not feel that it would cost me my life. I am so afraid of the might of my lord, the despicable Meleagant, that I dare not do it, for he would utterly destroy my husband. It is no wonder that I dread him, for as you well know he is a most wicked man.’

  ‘My lady, if you are afraid that I will not return at once to your keeping after the tourney, I shall take an oath that I will never break and shall swear that nothing will ever keep me from returning to imprisonment here as soon as the tournament has ended.’

  ‘On my word,’ she said, ‘then I will do it on one condition.’

  ‘My lady, what is that?’

  ‘Sir,’ she answered, ‘that you will swear to return and will, moreover, assure me that I shall have your love.’

  ‘My lady, upon my return I will certainly give you all that I have.’

  ‘Then that leaves me nothing to hold on to!’ the lady responded with a laugh. ‘I have the feeling that you’ve assigned and given to another this love I’ve asked of you. However that may be, I’m not too proud to take whatever I can have. I’ll cling to what I can and will accept your oath that you will honour me by returning to imprisonment here.’

  In accordance with her wishes Lancelot swore by Holy Church that he would not fail to return. Immediately the lady gave him her husband’s red armour and his marvellously strong, brave, and handsome horse. Armed in his magnificent new armour, Lancelot mounted and rode forth until he reached Wurst. He selected this camp for the tournament and took his lodging just outside the town. Never had such a noble knight chosen such lodgings, for they were cramped and poor; but he did so because he did not wish to stay anywhere he might be recognized. Many fine and worthy knights had assembled within the castle walls, yet there were even more outside. Indeed, so many had come upon learning that the queen would attend that not one in five was able to find lodging within: for every one who would ordinarily have come, there were seven who attended only because of the queen. The many barons were housed for five leagues round about in tents, shelters, and pavilions. And so many noble ladies and maidens were present that it was a marvel to behold.

  Lancelot had placed his shield before the door of his lodging place and, in order to relax, had removed his armour and was stretched out on an uncomfortably narrow bed, with thin matting covered by a coarse hemp cloth. Completely disarmed, Lancelot was lying in this bed, propped up on his elbow. While he was lying in this hovel, a barefooted young fellow clad only in his shirt came running up. He was a herald-at-arms who had lost his cloak and shoes gambling in the tavern, and who was now barefoot and with nothing to protect him from the cool air. He noticed the shield before the door and began to examine it, but there was no way for him to recognize it or to know who bore it. Seeing the door open, he entered and found Lancelot lying on the bed. As soon as he saw him, he recognized him and crossed himself. But Lancelot warned him not to tell a soul about this; if he mentioned seeing him, the boy would rather have his eyes put out or neck broken than receive the punishment Lancelot would give him.

  ‘Sir,’ replied the herald, ‘I have always esteemed you highly and still do. As long as I live, no amount of money will ever make me do anything that might cause you to be unhappy with me.’

  He hurried out of the house and ran off shouting: ‘The one has come who will take their measure! The one has come who will take their measure!’

  The youth shouted this everywhere he went, and people hastened up from every side to ask him what this meant. He was not so rash as to tell them, but continued shouting as before. This is when the expression was coined: ‘The one has come who will take their measure.’ (The herald, from whom we learnt this, is our teacher for he was the first to say it.)

  Already the crowds had assembled on every side:22 the queen with all her ladies and the knights with their many men-at-arms. The most magnificent, the largest, and the most splendid viewing stands ever seen had been built there on the tournament field, since the queen and her ladies were to be in attendance. All the ladies followed the queen on to the platform, for they were eager to see who would do well or poorly in the combat. The knights arrived by tens, by twenties, by thirties – here eighty and there ninety, a hundred or more here, two hundred there. The crowd gathered before and around the stands was so great that the combat was begun.

  Knights clashed whether or not they were already fully armed. There seemed to be a forest of lances there, for those who had come for the pleasure of the tourney had brought so many that, looking in every direction, one saw only lances, banners, and standards. Those who were to joust moved down the lists, where they encountered a great many companions with the same intent. Others, meanwhile, made ready to perform other deeds of knighthood. The meadows, fields, and clearings were so packed with knights that it was impossible to guess how many there were. Lancelot did not participate in this first encounter; but when he did cross the meadow and the herald saw him coming on to the field, he could not refrain from shouting: ‘Behold the one who will take their measure! Behold the one who will take their measure!’

  ‘Who is he?’ they all asked. But the herald refused to answer.

  When Lancelot entered the fray, he alone proved a match for twenty of the best. He began to do so well that no one could take their eyes from him, wherever he went. A bold and valiant knight was fighting for Pomelegoi, and his steed was spirited and swifter than a wild stag. He was th
e son of the king of Ireland, and he fought nobly and well, but the unknown knight pleased the onlookers four times as much. They were all troubled by the same question: ‘Who is this knight who fights so well?’

  The queen summoned a clever, pretty girl to her and whispered: ‘Damsel, you must take a message, quickly and without wasting words. Hurry down from these stands and go at once to that knight bearing the red shield; tell him in secret that I bid him “do his worst”.’

  The girl swiftly and discreetly did as the queen asked. She hurried after the knight until she was near enough to tell him in a voice that no one could overhear: ‘Sir, my lady the queen bids me tell you to “do your worst”.’

  The moment he heard her, Lancelot said that he would gladly do so, as one who wishes only to please the queen. Then he set out against a knight as fast as his horse would carry him, but when he should have struck him, he missed. From this moment until dark he did the worst he could, because it was the queen’s pleasure. The other knight, attacking him in turn, did not miss, but struck Lancelot such a powerful blow that Lancelot wheeled and fled and did not turn his horse against any knight during the rest of that day. He would rather die than do anything unless he were sure that it would bring him shame, disgrace, and dishonour, and he pretended to be afraid of all those who approached him. The knights who had praised him before now laughed and joked at his expense. And the herald, who used to say, ‘This one will beat them all, one after another!’ was very dispirited and embarrassed at becoming the butt of the knights’ gibes.