On and on he went for many weeks after this, riding hither and thither in the forests which covered so much of Britain in those days: and many damsels he rescued from wicked men, many knights he fought with and overcame, even giants fell beneath his keen lance and the great sword wielded in his strong right hand.
Of all the adventures which he met with at that time we cannot speak here: but one of the strangest befell him not long before his return to Camelot before the Feast of Pentecost of the year after he had been made a knight.
He rode in a deep forest, more lonely and wild than any he had yet traversed, and suddenly in the shadowy undergrowth he saw a white brachet casting about as if following a trail; but the trail was plain upon the ground – great dark splashes of blood. Then Launcelot rode faster and faster, following the brachet, who kept looking behind her to see that he was still there: across a great marsh they went and came at length over a bridge to an old manor-house whose crumbling walls, half hidden by ivy, went down into a weed-grown moat.
Into the great hall ran the brachet, and there Launcelot saw a knight lying dead: and the brachet went and licked his wounds and howled dolorously. And then there came out a lady, weeping and wringing her hands, and said to Launcelot:
‘Ah, to what sorrow have you brought me!’
‘Lady,’ he answered, ‘I did never harm to this knight, for I but followed this brachet hither by the trail of blood. Therefore, be not displeased with me.’
‘Truly, sir,’ she answered, ‘I do not think it is you who has slain my husband. But he that did the deed lies sore wounded – of which wound he shall never be made whole, that I’ll make certain!’
Then she fell to weeping, and to cursing the knight who had slain her husband, Sir Gilbert, with many terrible words.
‘Now God send you better comfort,’ said Launcelot, and rode sadly away. He had not gone far, however, when he met a damsel who knew him by the device on his shield, and cried at once:
‘Well met, Sir Launcelot of the Lake, bravest of knights! I beg of your nobleness to help my brother who is wounded sorely with a wound that will not cease from bleeding. This day he fought with one Sir Gilbert and slew him in fair and open battle: but Sir Gilbert’s lady is a wicked sorceress, and she brought it about by her magic that his wound shall never heal … But I met the Lady Nimue wandering in the forest, and she told me that my brother’s wound would close only if I could find a knight brave enough to go into the Chapel Perilous and bring thence a sword and a piece of cloth from a wounded knight who lies there.’
‘This is a marvellous thing,’ said Sir Launcelot. ‘But tell me who your brother is.’
‘Sir,’ she answered, ‘he is Sir Melyot, a true knight of Logres.’
‘Then am I the more sorry,’ said Launcelot, ‘for he is my fellow of the Table Round, and to aid him I will certainly do all in my power.’
Then she said: ‘Sir, follow this path and it will bring you to the Chapel Perilous; and I shall remain here until you return … And if you do not return, then will there be no knight living who can achieve this adventure.’
Down the path went Launcelot, and came before long to a strange lonely chapel in a little clearing. Then he tied his horse to a tree and went into the churchyard on foot. And on the end of the chapel he saw hanging many fair shields turned upside down: and suddenly thirty great knights dressed in black armour stood beneath the shields, taller by a foot and more than any mortal man: and they gnashed their teeth and glared horribly at Sir Launcelot.
Then, though he was much afraid, he drew his sword, put his shield before him, and charged into the midst of them. But they scattered on either side of him without speaking a word or striking a blow; and he grew bolder, and entered into the chapel. The interior was lit only by one dim lamp which cast weird shadows beneath the low stone arches; and he was aware of a corpse stretched upon a stone slab and covered with a silk cloth.
Stooping down reverently, Sir Launcelot cut a piece of the cloth away: and as he did so, the floor moved as if an earthquake had shaken the chapel, and the lamp swung, creaking dismally on its chain, until the shadows seemed to writhe and clutch at him.
Sir Launcelot knelt awhile in fear; and then he saw a fair sword lying beside the dead knight and he took it quickly in his hand and came out into the churchyard once more. And then all the black knights spoke together in hollow tones, without moving their jaws:
‘Knight, Sir Launcelot! Lay by that sword, or else thou shalt die horribly!’
‘Whether I live or die,’ cried Launcelot, ‘I’ll not yield it up for mere words: therefore, fight for it if you dare!’
But not a hand was raised against him, and he passed safely down the churchway path and came to the lych-gate. There a strange damsel stood waiting for him:
‘Sir Launcelot!’ she cried, ‘leave that sword behind you, or you will die for it!’
‘I leave it not,’ he answered, ‘whatever may be threatened me.’
‘You speak wisely,’ said the damsel, ‘for if you left that sword, you would come never again to the Court of King Arthur.’
‘Then I would be a fool to give it up!’ he answered.
‘But, gentle Sir knight,’ said the damsel, ‘you must kiss me once ere you pass.’
‘Nay, not so,’ answered Sir Launcelot, ‘that were a sinful kiss.’
‘Alas!’ sobbed the damsel, ‘I have lost all my labour. Had you kissed me, you would have fallen to the earth a dead man. For I made this Chapel Perilous by magic, to entrap the three noblest knights of Logres – Sir Gawain, and you, and Sir Percivale who is not yet born. For I am Allewes the Sorceress, the companion of Morgana le Fay …’
‘Now Jesu preserve me from your subtle crafts!’ said Sir Launcelot, crossing himself. And when he looked up, Allewes the Sorceress had gone.
Then Launcelot untied his horse and rode back swiftly along the path until he found the damsel, Sir Melyot’s sister, and when she saw him she clapped her hands and wept for joy.
Swiftly they went to the nearby castle where Sir Melyot lay, and they found him as pale as death, with the life-blood still flowing from his wound. Launcelot knelt down beside him, touched the wound with the sword and bound it about with the silk – and straightway Sir Melyot was made whole.
After this Launcelot abode with Sir Melyot and his sister, and rested in their castle for many days. But one morning he said: ‘Now I must set out for the Court of King Arthur at Camelot, for the Feast of Pentecost draws near. There, by the grace of God, you may find me if you wish.’
Then he rode away swiftly into the forest, the spring sunlight flashing back from his burnished armour as it fell like golden rain between the fresh green leaves. But he did not come to Camelot without meeting with more adventures on the way.
Riding through pleasant country and open park-land as he drew nearer to Camelot, Launcelot chanced suddenly one day upon a lady who stood weeping beneath a great oak tree.
‘Ah, Launcelot, flower of knighthood!’ she cried. ‘Help me now! Yonder in the tree-top is my lord’s hawk caught by the golden lunes tied about its feet. As I held it, it slipped from me; and my lord is a man of savage temper and will surely slay me for losing the hawk.’
‘Well, fair lady,’ said Launcelot, ‘since you know my name and require me by my vows of knighthood to help you, I will do what I can. But the tree is passing high, and there are many dead boughs upon it.’
Therewith he loosed him of his armour, the lady helping him, and, clad only in shirt and breeches, he climbed into the tree and came at length to the hawk. Loosing it carefully, he tied the lunes to a rotten branch and threw it out from the tree, so that the hawk fluttered safely to the ground and was caught by the lady.
Then Launcelot began to climb down again: but before he reached the ground a great knight came striding out from a pavilion near by with a drawn sword in his hand.
‘Ah-ha, Sir Launcelot!’ he cried, ‘now have I found you just as I would – and now will I slay you!�
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‘Ah lady,’ said Launcelot, ‘why have you betrayed me?’
‘She did but as I told her,’ said the knight. ‘And this trap was laid for you by command of the Lady Allewes. Now come down and let me slay you!’
‘It were evil shame to you,’ said Launcelot, ‘thus armed to slay a man who has neither armour nor weapons.’
‘Such words will not save you,’ growled the knight.
‘At least give me my sword,’ said Launcelot, ‘that I may die with it in my hand.’
‘Nay, I know better than to do that!’ laughed the knight. ‘No weapon shall you have if I can keep you from it!’
Then Sir Launcelot feared greatly that his hour had come; but nevertheless he would not let himself be slain tamely, nor would he attempt to leap out of the tree and run away, as he might have done without his armour. Presently as he looked about him he saw a thick, stumpy dead branch: this he broke off, jumped down suddenly, dodged the knight for a moment, and then stood up to him bravely. The knight lashed eagerly at Launcelot with his sword, but he turned the blow with his wooden club, and then whirling it round caught him such a bang on the side of the head that he cracked his skull. Then, seizing his sword he cut his head off at a blow.
‘Alas!’ cried the lady, ‘why have you slain my husband?’
‘It is no fault of mine,’ said Launcelot grimly. ‘You would, between you, have slain me by treason – and now your wickedness has returned on your own heads.’
Then he put on his armour and rode away; and a little before nightfall he came to a castle where he found fair entertainment and a comfortable bed for the night. But before morning he was roused by a knocking at the gate, and looking out of the window he saw Sir Kay, who had been chased there by three knights.
‘Truly,’ said Launcelot to himself, ‘I will go down and help Sir Kay, for those three knights will kill him otherwise!’
Then he put on his armour, and let himself down through the window on the end of a sheet.
‘Turn!’ he cried to the three knights as he rushed upon them: and in seven strokes he had laid out all of them on the ground.
‘Sir knight!’ they cried, ‘we yield ourselves to you as to a matchless fighter!’
‘Yield to Sir Kay,’ said Launcelot, ‘or I will kill you as you lie!’ And when they had promised to do this, though grudgingly, for Kay was no fighter, he went on: ‘Go now swiftly to Camelot, and give yourselves to King Arthur at the Feast of Pentecost, telling him that Sir Kay sent you!’
When they had gone he brought Sir Kay into the castle, and led him up to his bedroom: then Kay recognized him by the light of his candle, and knelt to thank him for saving his life.
‘Nay,’ said Launcelot, ‘I did but my duty as a knight. Come now and rest, for you are wearied.’
So Kay ate and drank, and then fell sound asleep in Launcelot’s bed. And when he woke, late in the morning, Launcelot had gone – but so had Sir Kay’s armour!
‘Ah-ha!’ laughed Kay. ‘Now there will be trouble for some of King Arthur’s knights – for they will think it is I, and joust with him! But I myself will wear Launcelot’s armour, and ride in peace!’ For Sir Kay was not very popular among the Knights of the Round Table, and some of the younger ones took their revenge for the cruel things he was in the habit of saying about them by knocking him off his horse whenever they met him riding in quest of adventures – which Kay did not do more often than he could help!
This time he came back to Camelot without being challenged by a single knight: but Launcelot, wearing Kay’s armour, but carrying his own spear, had a very brisk day of it.
‘There goes the proud Sir Kay!’ cried one of three fresh knights who had pitched their pavilion not far from the castle where Launcelot had lodged. ‘He thinks that no knight is as good as he, however often we prove the contrary to him! But let us each joust with him in turn – he will not be so saucy at the feast tomorrow if we bruise him well to-day!’
Launcelot, however, knocked them off their horses one after the other like so many nine-pins, and as they sat upon the ground, staring at him in wonder, he commanded them to yield themselves to Queen Guinevere next day, and say that Sir Kay had sent them.
Then he rode on again, and before long met his brother Sir Hector, with three of the best Knights of the Round Table, Sir Segramour, and Sir Uwaine, and Sir Gawain himself.
‘Now, by my faith,’ said Sir Segramour, ‘I will prove Sir Kay’s might of which he speaks so often!’
So he set his spear in rest and came against Launcelot, who did likewise: but Sir Launcelot smote Sir Segramour so sorely that horse and man rolled both on the ground.
‘Look, friends!’ exclaimed Sir Hector. ‘There was a mighty stroke indeed! … Methinks that knight is much bigger than ever was Sir Kay … Now we shall see what I can do to him!’
So Sir Hector set his spear in rest, and he and Launcelot came together like a clap of thunder: and Launcelot knocked him over his horse’s tail and left him lying on the plain.
‘By my faith,’ said Sir Uwaine, ‘yonder is a passing strong knight, and I am sure that he has slain Sir Kay and rides now in his armour. It will be hard to match him, but let us see what I can do!’
Together they came, galloping as if they were mad, but Launcelot sent Sir Uwaine flying out of his saddle; and he hit the ground so hard that he lay stunned for a long while.
‘Now I see well,’ said Sir Gawain, ‘that I must encounter this knight!’ And he raised his shield, took a good spear in his hand, and charged at Sir Launcelot with all his might; and each knight smote the other in the midst of his shield. But Sir Gawain’s spear broke all to pieces, while Launcelot’s struck him so hard that his horse could not keep its feet, but rolled over and over on the ground.
And Launcelot rode on his way, smiling to himself and saying: ‘God give him joy that made this spear, for never came a better one into my hands.’
‘I think that must be Sir Launcelot of the Lake,’ said Gawain, rising slowly and helping the other knights to their feet. ‘Let us hasten to Camelot, for then we shall know!’
Next day at the Feast of Pentecost all Arthur’s knights were gathered together at the Round Table, and Sir Launcelot came in wearing Sir Kay’s armour, but, of course, with no helmet: then Gawain, Uwaine, Hector, and Segramour knew for certain who it was that had overthrown them with one spear, and there was much laughing and joking among them.
Then Sir Kay told the King how Sir Launcelot had rescued him from the three knights who would have slain him. ‘And he made the three knights yield to me instead of to him,’ said Sir Kay – and there they were, all three, to bear witness. ‘Then Sir Launcelot took my armour,’ Kay went on, ‘and left me his: and I rode home in peace, for no man dared joust with me!’
Then all those knights came in who had been held prisoner by Sir Turquyn, and told how Launcelot had saved them. And Sir Gaheris said: ‘I saw all that battle from the beginning to the end, and that Turquyn was the strongest knight that ever I saw.’
There came also Sir Melyot to tell how Launcelot had saved him; and King Bagdemagus for whom he had fought, and many more, each with some story of mighty deeds and great daring.
And King Arthur was happy to have such a knight in his court, and Queen Guinevere loved him as she heard tell of all his mighty deeds; nor did any blame Arthur now for knighting an untried squire – for Sir Launcelot had in that year of adventures won the greatest name of any knight in the world, and the most honoured of high and low. Nor was there ever such another knight in the realm of Logres as Sir Launcelot of the Lake.
3
Sir Gareth, or The Knight of the Kitchen
‘Now my lord Arthur, you may sit down to the feast!’ said Sir Gawain one Pentecost when all the Knights of the Round Table were gathered at Camelot, but could not sit down to dinner because no adventure had befallen, nor had anyone come with some strange tale or request for help. ‘Let the feast begin – for here comes a young man in simple array, l
eaning upon the shoulders of two stalwart serving men – and he is a head taller than either of them!’
‘Who think you it may be?’ asked King Arthur, as he took his seat beside Queen Guinevere.
‘I cannot tell,’ answered Gawain, ‘yet I love him even as I look, for a fairer man did I never see, nor one so likely to do honour to knighthood.’
A little while after this the stranger came into the hall: and when he reached King Arthur he drew himself up and cried:
‘May God bless you, most noble King Arthur, and this your fellowship of the Round Table also! I come hither to ask you to grant me three gifts: and they shall not be unreasonable, nor any that you might fear to grant. And the first I will ask you now, and the others a twelve-month hence.’
‘Now ask what you will, and you shall have it,’ said King Arthur, for he also liked this tall young man with his fair hair and honest look, and trusted him on sight.
‘I ask, sir, that I may have meat and drink at your court for this first year.’
‘Now I beg you to ask for something better than that!’ said King Arthur.
‘Sir, that is all I wish,’ answered the stranger.
‘Well, then,’ said the King, ‘you shall have meat and drink enough, for I never denied that to friend or foe. But tell me, I beg of you, what your name is.’
‘That, sir, I would rather not reveal until the right time.’
‘Then be it as you say,’ King Arthur agreed. ‘Yet I wonder greatly who you are, for you are one of the goodliest young men I have ever seen.’ And after that he gave him into the charge of Sir Kay and bade him give as good food and drink as if he had been entertaining a great duke or baron.
‘He’s neither of those,’ said Sir Kay contemptuously. ‘If he were even a knight’s son he would have asked for horse and armour, not food and drink. I’ll wager he’s only a vulgar peasant’s son, and not fit to mix with us knights. Well, I’ll give him a place in the kitchen, with as much food as he can eat – in a year’s time he’ll be as fat as a pork hog! And since he has no name, I’ll call him Beaumains – Fair Hands – for I have never seen any so big, or so white – or so idle and lazy.’
King Arthur and His Knights of the Round Table Page 10