Arthurian Romances

by Chretien de Troyes

  ‘By my head,’ said the Haughty Knight, ‘now I am astounded at you for admitting these things! You deserve death since you’ve confessed in truth to it.’

  ‘My death is not so near as you think!’ said Perceval.

  Then without another word they charged one another and struck with such fury that both lances shattered and the two knights were knocked from their saddles to the ground. Yet they leapt immediately to their feet, drew their shining blades, and struck mighty blows. The battle was long and hard, but it seems to me a waste of effort to elaborate upon it, except to say that they fought one another until the Haughty Knight of the Heath admitted defeat and asked for mercy.

  Perceval, ever mindful of the words of the gentleman who urged him never to kill a knight who has begged for mercy, said: ‘Knight, upon my word, I’ll never show mercy for you until you show it for your sweetheart, for she never deserved the punishment you inflicted upon her: this I swear to you.’

  He who loved her more than his own eye said: ‘Good sir, I wish to make it up to her according to your counsel: whatever you command of me I’m ready to do. My heart is sad and darkened for the suffering I made her bear.’

  ‘Go quickly now,’ he said, ‘to your nearest manor house and have her bathed constantly until she’s healed and healthy. Then make ready and escort her, dressed in her finest attire, to King Arthur’s court; greet him in my name and cast yourself upon his mercy, equipped in your armour just as you are here. If he asks who sent you, tell him you were sent by the one he made a Red Knight on the advice and counsel of my lord Kay the seneschal. And you must acknowledge to the court the sufferings and hardships you forced your damsel to endure; announce it to all present so that everyone will hear, even the queen and her maidens – and there are many beautiful ones with her. But I prize one above all others who, because she favoured me with her laughter, was given such a slap by Kay that she was quite stunned. I order you to seek her out and tell her on my behalf that I’ll never under any circumstances attend any court held by King Arthur until I have avenged the insult in a way to make her joyful and happy.’

  The Haughty Knight said he would go there most willingly and tell her everything Perceval had ordered, delaying only long enough to let his sweetheart recover and be clothed in a suitable attire. And he kindly offered to take Perceval himself somewhere to recover, in order to heal and dress his injuries and wounds.

  ‘Go now, and may good fortune be with you,’ said Perceval. ‘Watch over her well; I shall seek shelter elsewhere.’

  No further words were spoken; both Perceval and the Haughty Knight set off without further ado. That evening the knight had his lady bathed and richly attired, and he gave her such tender care that her beauty was soon restored. Afterwards they rode together straight to Caerleon where King Arthur was holding court: it was a small gathering, for there were only three thousand worthy knights in attendance. In front of all of them the Haughty Knight, who was escorting his damsel, came forward to surrender himself to King Arthur and said when he stood before him: ‘Sire, I am your prisoner to do with as you please, and this is very right and proper, for so I was commanded by the youth who requested and received the red armour from you.’

  As soon as the king heard this, he knew precisely what he meant. ‘Remove your armour, good sir,’ he said, ‘may he who presented you to me have joy and good fortune, and may you feel welcome. For his sake you will be held dear and honoured in my dwelling.’

  ‘Sire, I have something else to say before I remove my armour. I would like to request that the queen and her maidens come forward to hear this news I have brought you, for I’ll not give my message until the maiden who was struck upon the cheek for having laughed a single time comes forward – she did no more wrong than this.’ Then he spoke no more, and the king, having heard that he must summon the queen into his presence, sent for her; and she came, accompanied by all her maidens, hand in hand and two by two.

  When the queen was seated beside her lord, King Arthur, the Haughty Knight of the Heath addressed her: ‘My lady, a knight who defeated me in single combat and whom I esteem highly sends you greetings. I don’t know what more to tell you about him, except that he sends you my beloved, this maiden here beside me.’

  ‘Friend, I am most grateful to him,’ said the queen. And he related to her all the wickedness and shame he had made his lady endure for so long, and the sufferings she had undergone, and why he had done this to her: he told her everything, hiding nothing.

  Afterwards they pointed out to him the maiden the seneschal Kay had struck, and he said to her: ‘He who sent me here commanded me, fair maiden, to greet you in his name and not to move one foot before telling you that he swears in the name of God never on any occasion to come to a court held by King Arthur until he has avenged you for the slap and insult you suffered on his account.’

  And as soon as the jester heard this, he leapt to his feet and exclaimed: ‘Kay, may God bless me! You’ll really pay for it now, and the time is fast approaching!’

  After the jester, the king spoke to Kay: ‘Ah, sir Kay! How courteous you were in mocking the young knight! Your mockery has driven him away and I never expect to see him again.’

  Then the king had his knight prisoner sit down before him; he freed him from his sentence and then had him disarm. My lord Gawain, who was seated at the king’s right hand, asked: ‘In God’s name, sire, who can it be who defeated such a great knight as this in single combat? In all the isles of the sea I’ve never seen or known or heard tell of any knight who could rival this knight here in chivalry and feats of arms.’

  ‘Dear nephew,’ said the king, ‘I don’t know him, though I have seen him before. When I saw him, I thought so little of him that I didn’t even inquire who he was. And he told me to make him a knight immediately. I saw that he was handsome and agreeable, so I said: “Gladly, brother. But dismount for a while until someone can bring you a suit of golden armour.” But he said he wouldn’t accept it and would never dismount until he had red armour. But he said another amazing thing: that he didn’t want any armour except that worn by the knight who had carried off my golden goblet. And Kay, who was surly then and still is and always will be and who never has anything pleasant to say, said to him: “Brother, the king makes you a gift of that armour, so you should go to claim it at once!” Not understanding the sarcasm, the young knight took it in earnest and pursued and killed the knight with a javelin he threw at him. I don’t know how the mêlée and combat started, except that the Red Knight from the forest of Quinqueroy struck the youth – I don’t know why – with his lance in a contemptuous manner, and the youth struck him right through the eye with his javelin, killed him, and took his armour. Since that day he has served me so well that I swear by Saint David, whom they worship and offer prayers to in Wales, that I’ll not sleep two consecutive nights in the same hall or chamber until I see him, if he’s alive, on land or sea. I’ll set off at once in search of him.’

  Once the king had made this oath, they were all persuaded that there was nothing to do but go. You should have seen all the bedclothes, coverlets and pillows being packed, trunks filled, packhorses loaded, the many carts and wagons piled high – for they did not skimp on the number of tents, pavilions, and shelters: a wise and learned clerk could not write down in a day all the equipment and provisions that were readied instantly. The king set off from Caerleon as if he were going off to war, followed by all his barons; not a single maiden stayed behind, as the queen brought them all for pomp and dignity.

  That evening they pitched camp in a meadow beside a forest. Before morning it snowed heavily, for the land was very cold. Perceval arose at dawn, as was his custom, to go off in search of chivalric adventures, and he came straight into the frozen, snow-covered meadow where the king’s retinue was camped. But before he reached the tents, a flock of geese that had been blinded by the snow flew over. He caught sight of them and heard them honking, for they had been scared by a falcon that had swooped down
upon them at full speed until it had found one that had become separated from the flock. It attacked and struck her so hard that she fell to the earth; but since it was very early the falcon flew off without seizing his prey. Perceval began to spur his steed to where he had observed the attack: the goose had been wounded in the neck and bled three drops of blood, which spread upon the white snow like natural colour. The goose was not hurt severely enough to keep it lying on the ground until Perceval reached there, and it had flown away before he came. When Perceval saw the disturbed snow where the goose had lain, with the blood still visible, he leaned upon his lance to gaze at this sight for the blood mingled with the snow resembled the blush of his lady’s face. He became lost in contemplation: the red tone of his lady’s cheeks in her white face were like the three drops of blood against the whiteness of the snow. As he gazed upon this sight, it pleased him so much that he felt as if he were seeing the fresh colour of his fair lady’s face. Perceval mused upon the drops throughout the hours of dawn and spent so much time there that when the squires came out of their tents and saw him, they thought he was sleeping. While King Arthur was still lying asleep in his tent the squires encountered in front of the king’s pavilion Sagremor who, because of his hot temper, was called Sagremor the Unruly.

  ‘Say there,’ he said, ‘don’t hide it from me: why have you come here in such a hurry?’

  ‘Sir,’ they replied, ‘outside this camp we came upon a knight sleeping upon his warhorse.’

  ‘Is he armed?’

  ‘In faith, yes.’

  ‘I’ll go to speak to him,’ he said, ‘and bring him to court.’

  Sagremor ran immediately to the king’s tent and awakened him. ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘there on the heath is a knight asleep on his horse.’

  The king ordered him to be off, and commanded him to bring back the knight without fail. Sagremor immediately ordered that his horse be brought forth and called for his armour. All was done as soon as he commanded, and he had himself well armed without delay. In full armour he left camp and rode on until he came to the knight. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘you must come to court.’

  But he did not move and acted as if he had not heard him.

  Sagremor spoke again, but still there was no reply; so he became angry and said: ‘By the Apostle Peter, you’ll come now whether you like it or not! I’m sorry I asked you politely, for I can tell that I wasted my words.’

  Then, as his horse started beneath him, Sagremor unfurled the pennon that was rolled around his lance; he took his position to one side and told the knight to stand ready, for he would strike him if he failed to defend himself. Perceval looked up and saw him charging at full speed; he ceased his musings and spurred against him. When the two of them met, Sagremor’s lance shattered while Perceval’s stayed straight and whole, striking Sagremor with such might that he was brought down in the middle of the field. His horse promptly fled towards the tents with its head in the air. Those who were now stirring within the tents saw the horse, and many among them were distressed; and Kay, who could never refrain from speaking ill, sardonically said to the king: ‘Fair sir, see how Sagremor is returning! He’s got the knight by the bridle and is bringing him back against his will!’

  ‘Kay,’ said the king, ‘it is not good for you to mock gentlemen in this manner. Go yourself, so we can see how you would do better than he.’

  ‘My lord,’ said Kay, ‘I’m very happy that you wish me to go, for I’ll certainly force him to return with me whether he likes it or not, and I’ll make him tell us his name.’

  Then he had himself carefully armed. When he was armed, he mounted and rode towards the knight, who was so intent upon the three drops he was contemplating that he was heedless of anything else. So Kay shouted to him from afar: ‘Vassal, vassal, come to the king! You’ll come, upon my word, or you’ll pay for it dearly!’

  When Perceval heard this threat, he turned his horse’s head and urged it to a full gallop with his steel spurs. Each was eager for victory, so they met with unrestrained force. Kay struck him, putting all his strength behind the blow, and his lance split like bark. Perceval did not flinch, but struck upon the boss of Kay’s shield; he threw him down hard upon a rock, dislocating his collar-bone and breaking the bone of his right arm between the shoulder-blade and elbow as if it had been a dry twig, just as the jester had often foretold would happen: the jester’s prophecy was perfectly true. Kay fainted from the pain and his fleeing horse trotted straight for the tents.

  The Britons saw the horse returning without the seneschal; squires rushed to their horses, and knights and ladies began to stir: when they found the seneschal in a faint they all thought he was dead. Then all the lords and ladies began to mourn for him most deeply. Perceval was once again leaning on his lance and contemplating the three drops. But the king was very distressed by the wounds his seneschal had received: he was sad and angry, until they told him not to worry because Kay would recover fully if someone could be found who knew how to relocate his collar-bone and set a broken arm. The king, who had a tender feeling for Kay and cherished him in his heart, sent him a most learned physician and three maidens trained by him, who set his collar-bone and bound his arm so the broken bones would knit together. Then they carried him to the king’s tent and consoled the sovereign, assuring him that Kay would recover fully and that he need not worry about a thing.

  My lord Gawain said to Arthur: ‘Sire, as God is my witness, you are well aware and have always proclaimed yourself that it is not right for a knight to interrupt another’s thoughts, whatever they might be, as these two knights have done. And whether they were wrong in this, I don’t know, but it is certain that they have come to grief. The knight was contemplating some loss he had suffered, or perhaps his lady has been carried off and he is sad and dispirited. But if it is your pleasure, I’ll go to watch how he behaves, and if I find at some point he’s abandoned his reverie, I’ll bid him to come to you here.’

  On hearing these words Kay grew angry and said: ‘Ha! My lord Gawain, so you’ll lead the knight here by the reins, whether he likes it or not! It’s all fine and good if he’ll let you, and you can get away without a fight. You’ve captured many a knight in just this way! When the knight’s worn out and has had enough of fighting, that’s when the brave fighter asks permission to go after him! Gawain, a hundred curses upon my neck if you’re not so sly that anyone can learn a lot from you! You know all kinds of flattering and polished words to use; you’ll trick the king with deceitful and arrogant talk: a curse upon anyone who’d believe you, for you don’t fool me! You could win this fight in a silken tunic: you won’t even have to draw your sword or break a lance. You’re so conceited that if your tongue is able to say: “Sir, may God bless you and give you good health and a long life,” he’ll do whatever you want. I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, for you can mollify him just like stroking a cat, and everyone will say: “See how bravely my lord Gawain is fighting!”’

  ‘Ah, Sir Kay,’ he replied, ‘you might have spoken more kindly. Are you trying to take out your wrath on me? Upon my word, my good friend, I will bring him back if I can; and I won’t have my arm broken and my collar-bone dislocated, for I don’t care for such wages.’

  ‘Go now, nephew,’ said the king, ‘for you’ve spoken most courteously. Bring him back if you can – but take all your arms with you, for I’ll not have you go forth unarmed.’

  Sir Gawain, who was renowned and esteemed for all his virtues, had himself armed at once, mounted upon a strong and experienced horse, and came directly to the knight who was leaning upon his lance: he was still not tired of his pleasing reverie, even though the sun had melted away two of the drops of blood that had lain upon the snow, and was even then melting away the third. Because of this the knight was not so lost in contemplation as before.

  My lord Gawain approached him at a gentle amble and, in a conciliatory tone, said: ‘Sir, I would have greeted you if I had known the wishes of your heart as well as I d
o mine, but at least I can tell you that I am a messenger of the king, who summons you and requests through me that you come to speak with him.’

  ‘There have already been two,’ said Perceval, ‘who tried to take my life and lead me away as if I were a prisoner; and I was so lost in contemplation over a most pleasing thought that anyone who tried to make me stop showed no concern for his own welfare, for before me in this place were three drops of fresh blood that made the white snow sparkle. Looking at them, I thought I could see the fresh colour of my sweet love’s face, and I never wanted to stop.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said my lord Gawain, ‘this was no vulgar thought, but a most sweet and courtly one, and whoever disturbed your heart was an arrogant fool. But now I am very eager to learn what you wish to do: if it is not displeasing to you, I would gladly take you to the king.’

  ‘Now tell me first, my good friend,’ said Perceval, ‘if the seneschal Kay is there.’

  ‘Upon my word, indeed he is, and let me tell you that it was he who just jousted with you and, though you are unaware of it, the joust cost him a broken right arm and dislocated collar-bone.’

  ‘Then,’ said Perceval, ‘I’ve honoured the maiden Kay slapped.’

  When my lord Gawain heard this he was startled and astonished, and said: ‘Sir, so help me God, it is you the king has come to seek. What is your name, my lord?’

  ‘Perceval, my lord; and what is yours?’

  ‘Sir, know truly that at my baptism I was named Gawain.’

  ‘Gawain?’

  ‘Indeed yes, good sir.’

  Perceval was overjoyed and said: ‘My lord, I have heard good things spoken about you in many places and I have been very eager for the two of us to become acquainted, if this is pleasing to you.’

  ‘Indeed,’ replied my lord Gawain, ‘I’m sure that this is no less pleasing to me than to you, but more so.’

  And Perceval answered: ‘I give you my word to accompany you wherever you wish, for that is right, and I am most honoured to now be your friend.’