Le Morte Darthur: The Winchester Manuscript (Oxford World's Classics)

by Malory, Thomas

  ‘I know you better than ye ween: I came but late out of the waste forests where I found the red knight with the white shield.’

  ‘Ah, fair damosel,’ said he, ‘that knight would I fain meet with.’

  ‘Sir knight,’ said she, ‘and ye will assure me by the faith that ye owe unto knighthood that ye shall do my will what time I summon you, I shall bring you unto that knight.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I shall promise you to fulfil your desire.’

  ‘Well,’ said she, ‘now shall I tell you. I saw him in the waste forest chasing two knights unto the water which is called Mortaise, and they drove into that water for dread of death. And the two knights passed over, and the red knight passed after, and there his horse was drowned, and he through great strength escaped unto the land.’

  Thus she told him, and Sir Percival was passing glad thereof. Then she asked him if he had eaten any meat late.

  ‘Nay, madam, truly I ate no meat nigh these three days; but late here I spake with a good man that fed me with his good words and refreshed me greatly.’

  ‘Ah, sir knight, that same man’, said she, ‘is an enchanter and a multiplier of words. For and ye believe him ye shall be plainly shamed, and die in this rock for pure hunger and be eaten with wild beasts. And ye be a young man and a goodly knight, and I shall help you and ye will.’

  ‘What are ye,’ said Sir Percival, ‘that proffereth me thus so great kindness?’

  ‘I am,’ said she, ‘a gentlewoman that am disinherited, which was the richest woman of the world.’

  ‘Damosel,’ said Sir Percival, ‘who hath disinherited you? For I have great pity of you.’

  ‘Sir,’ said she, ‘I dwelled with the greatest man of the world, and he made me so fair and clear that there was none like me; and of that great beauty I had a little pride more than I ought to have had.* Also I said a word that pleased him not. And then he would not suffer me to be no longer in his company, and so he drove me from my heritage and disinherited me for ever; and he had never pity of me nor of none of my council, nor of my court. And sithen, sir knight, it hath befallen me to be so overthrown, and all mine, yet have I benome* him some of his men and made them to become my men; for they ask never nothing of me but I give them that and much more. Thus I and my servants were against him night and day. Therefore I know now no good knight nor no good man, but I get them on my side and I may. And for that I know that ye are a good knight, I beseech you to help me, and for ye be a fellow of the Round Table, wherefore ye ought not to fail no gentlewoman which is disinherited and she besought you of help.’

  [9]

  Then Sir Percival promised her all the help that he might, and then she thanked him. And at that time the weather was hot. Then she called unto her a gentlewoman and bade her bring forth a pavilion; and so she did, and pitched it upon the gravel.

  ‘Sir,’ said she, ‘now may ye rest you in this heat of this day.’

  Then he thanked her, and she put off his helm and his shield, and there he slept a great while. And so he awoke and asked her if she had any meat, and she said, ‘Yea, ye shall have enough.’

  And anon there was laid a table, and so much meat was set thereon that he had marvel, for there was all manner of meats that he could think on. Also he drank there the strongest wine that ever he drank, him thought, and therewith he was chafed* a little more than he ought to be. With that he beheld that gentlewoman, and him thought she was the fairest creature that ever he saw. And then Sir Percival proffered her love, and prayed her that she would be his. Then she refused him in a manner when he required her, for cause he should be the more ardent on her; and ever he ceased not to pray her of love.

  And when she saw him well enchafed, then she said, ‘Sir Percival, wit you well I shall not fulfil your will but if ye swear from henceforth ye shall be my true servant, and to do nothing but that I shall command you. Will ye assure me this as ye be a true knight?’

  ‘Yea,’ said he, ‘fair lady, by the faith of my body.’

  ‘Well,’ said she, ‘now shall ye do with me what ye will; and now wit ye well ye are the knight in the world that I have most desire to.’

  [10]

  And then two squires were commanded to make a bed in midst of the pavilion, and anon she was unclothed and laid therein. And then Sir Percival laid him down by her naked; and by adventure and grace he saw his sword lie on the earth naked, where in the pommel was a red cross and the sign of the crucifix therein, and bethought him on his knighthood and his promise made unto the good man beforehand; and then he made a sign of the cross in his forehead, and therewith the pavilion turned upside down, and then it changed unto a smoke and a black cloud. And then he dreaded sore and cried aloud, ‘Fair sweet Lord Jesu Christ, let me not be shamed, which was nigh lost had not Thy good grace been.’

  And then he looked unto her ship and saw her enter therein, which said, ‘Sir Percival, ye have betrayed me!’ And so she went with the wind roaring and yelling, that it seemed all the water burnt after her.

  Then Sir Percival made great sorrow and drew his sword unto him, and said, ‘Sithen my flesh will be my master, I shall punish it.’ And therewith he rove himself through the thigh that the blood started about him,* and said, ‘Ah, good Lord, take this in recompense of that I have misdone against Thee, Lord.’

  So then he clothed him and armed him, and called himself, ‘Wretch of all wretches, how nigh I was lost, and to have lost that I should never have gotten again, that was my virginity, for that may never be recovered after it is once lost.’ And then he stopped his bleeding wounds with a piece of his shirt.

  Thus as he made his moan he saw the same ship come from the orient that the good man was in the day before. And this noble knight was sore ashamed of himself, and therewith he fell in a swoon; and when he awoke he went unto him weakly, and there he saluted the good man.

  And then he asked Sir Percival, ‘How hast thou done sith I departed?’

  ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘here was a gentlewoman, and led me into deadly sin.’ And there he told him all together.

  ‘Knew ye not that maid?’ said the good man.

  ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘nay, but well I wot the fiend sent her hither to shame me.’

  ‘Ah, good knight,’ said he, ‘thou art a fool, for that gentlewoman was the master fiend of hell, which hath pousté* over all other devils. And that was the old lady that thou saw in thy vision riding on the serpent.’

  Then he told Sir Percival how Our Lord Jesu Christ beat him out of heaven for his sin, which was the most brightest angel of heaven, and therefore he lost his heritage. ‘And that was the champion that thou fought withal, which had overcome thee had not the grace of God been. Now, Sir Percival, beware, and take this for an example.’

  And then the good man vanished. Then Sir Percival took his arms and entered into the ship, and so he departed from thence.

  So leaveth this tale, and turneth unto Sir Lancelot.

  Of Sir Lancelot

  [XV.I]

  When the hermit had kept Sir Lancelot three days, then the hermit got him a horse, a helm, and a sword; and then he departed and rode until the hour of noon. And then he saw a little house, and when he came near he saw a little chapel. And there beside he saw an old man which was clothed all in white full richly; and then Sir Lancelot said, ‘Sir, God save you.’*

  ‘Sir,’ said the good man, ‘be ye not Sir Lancelot du Lake?’

  ‘Yea, sir,’ said he.

  ‘Sir, what seek you in this country?’

  ‘I go, sir, to seek the adventures of the Sangrail.’

  ‘Well,’ said he, ‘seek ye it ye may well, but though it were here ye shall have no power to see it, no more than a blind man that should see a bright sword. And that is long on* your sin, and else ye were more abler than any man living.’

  And then Sir Lancelot began to weep.

  Then said the good man, ‘Were ye confessed since ye entered into the quest of the Sangrail?’

  ‘Yea, sir,’ sai
d Sir Lancelot. ‘Father, what shall I do?’

  ‘Now,’ said the good man, ‘I require you take this hair* and put it next thy skin, and it shall avail thee greatly.’

  ‘Sir, then will I do it,’ said Sir Lancelot.

  ‘Also, sir, I charge thee that thou eat no flesh as long as ye be in the quest of the Sangrail, neither ye shall drink no wine, and that ye hear Mass daily and ye may come thereto.’

  So he took the hair and put it upon him, and so departed at evensong and so rode into a forest; and there he met with a gentlewoman riding upon a white palfrey, and then she asked him, ‘Sir knight, whither ride ye?’

  ‘Certes, damosel,’ said Sir Lancelot, ‘I wot not whither I ride but as fortune leadeth me.’

  ‘Ah, Sir Lancelot,’ said she, ‘I wot what adventure ye seek, for ye were beforetime nearer than ye be now, and yet shall ye see it more openly than ever ye did, and that shall ye understand in short time.’

  Then Sir Lancelot asked her where he might be harboured that night.

  ‘Ye shall none find this day nor night, but tomorrow ye shall find harbour good, and ease of that ye be in doubt of.’

  And then he commended her unto God, and so he rode till that he came to a cross, and took that for his host as for that night.

  [3]

  And so he put his horse to pasture, and did off his helm and his shield, and made his prayers unto the cross that he never fall in deadly sin again; and so he laid him down to sleep. And anon as he was asleep, it befell him there a vision, that there came a man before him all becompassed with stars, and that man had a crown of gold on his head; and that man led in his fellowship seven kings and two knights, and all these worshipped the cross, kneeling upon their knees, holding up their hands toward the heaven. And all they said, ‘Fair sweet Father of Heaven, come and visit us, and yield unto each of us as we have deserved.’

  Then looked Sir Lancelot up to the heaven, and him seemed the clouds did open, and an old man came down with a company of angels and alit among them, and gave unto each his blessing and called them his servants and his good and true knights. And when this old man had said thus he came to one of the knights and said, ‘I have lost all that I have set in thee, for thou hast ruled thee against me as a warrior and used wrong wars with vainglory for the pleasure of the world more than to please me, therefore thou shalt be confounded without thou yield me my treasure.’

  All this vision saw Sir Lancelot at the cross. And on the morn he took his horse and rode till midday; and there by adventure he met with the same knight that took his horse, helm, and his sword when he slept when the Sangrail appeared afore the cross. So when Sir Lancelot saw him he saluted him not fair, but cried on high, ‘Knight, keep thee, for thou didst me great unkindness.’

  And then they put before them their spears, and Sir Lancelot came so fiercely that he smote him and his horse down to the earth, that he had nigh broken his neck. Then Sir Lancelot took the knight’s horse that was his own beforehand, and descended from the horse he sat upon and mounted upon his horse, and tied the knight’s own horse to a tree, that he might find that horse when that he was arisen. Then Sir Lancelot rode till night; and by adventure he met a hermit, and each of them saluted other. And there he rested with that good man all night, and gave his horse such as he might get.

  Then said the good man unto Sir Lancelot, ‘Of whence be ye?’

  ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘I am of Arthur’s court, and my name is Sir Lancelot du Lake, that am in the quest of the Sangrail. And therefore, sir, I pray you counsel me of a vision that I saw this night.’ And so he told him all.

  [4]

  ‘Lo, Sir Lancelot,’ said the good man, ‘there might thou understand the high lineage that thou art come of, that thy vision betokeneth.’

  [The hermit describes Lancelot’s genealogy from the time of Joseph of Arimathea.]

  [5]

  And then Sir Lancelot and he went to supper, and so laid them to rest; and his hair pricked fast and grieved him sore, but he took it meekly and suffered the pain. And so on the morn he heard his Mass and took into a forest and held no highway. And as he looked before him he saw a fair plain, and beside that a fair castle, and before the castle were many pavilions of silk and of divers hue. And him seemed that he saw there five hundred knights riding on horseback, and there were two parties: they that were of the castle were all on black horses and their trappings black, and they that were without were all on white horses and trappings. So there began a great tournament, and each hurtled with other that it marvelled Sir Lancelot greatly. And at the last him thought they of the castle were put to the worse. Then thought Sir Lancelot for to help there the weaker party in increasing of his chivalry.

  And so Sir Lancelot thrust in among the party of the castle, and smote down a knight, horse and man, to the earth; and then he rushed here and there and did many marvellous deeds of arms. And then he drew out his sword and struck many knights to the earth, that all that saw him marvelled that ever one knight might do so great deeds of arms.

  But always the white knights held them nigh about Sir Lancelot for to tire him and wind him; and at the last Sir Lancelot was so weary of his great deeds that he might not lift up his arms for to give one stroke, that he weened never to have borne arms.* And then they all took and led him away into a forest, and there made him to alight to rest him. And then all the fellowship of the castle were overcome for the default of him.

  Then they said all unto Sir Lancelot, ‘Blessed be God that ye be now of our fellowship, for we shall hold you in our prison.’ And so they left him with few words.

  And then Sir Lancelot made great sorrow, ‘For never or now was I never at tournament nor at jousts but I had the best. And now I am shamed, and am sure that I am more sinfuller than ever I was.’

  Thus he rode sorrowing half a day, out of despair, till that he came into a deep valley. And when Sir Lancelot saw he might not ride up unto the mountain, he there alit under an apple tree, and there he left his helm and his shield and put his horse unto pasture; and then he laid him down to sleep. And then him thought there came an old man before him, which said, ‘Ah, Lancelot, of evil wicked faith and poor belief, wherefore is thy will turned so lightly toward deadly sin?’ And when he had said thus he vanished away, and Sir Lancelot wist not where he became.

  [6]

  Then he took his horse, and armed him; and as he rode by the highway he saw a chapel where was a recluse, which had a window that she might see up to the altar.* And all aloud she called Sir Lancelot, for that he seemed a knight errant. And then he came, and she asked him what he was, and of what place, and where about he went to seek. And then he told her all together word by word, and the truth how it befell him at the tournament; and after that he told her his vision that he had that night in his sleep.

  ‘Ah, Lancelot,’ said she, ‘as long as ye were knight of earthly knighthood ye were the most marvellous man of the world, and most adventurous. Now,’ said the lady, ‘sithen ye be set among the knights of heavenly adventures, if adventure fall contrary have ye no marvel, for that tournament yesterday was but a tokening of Our Lord. And not for that there was no enchantment, for they at the tournament were earthly knights. Of these earthly knights which were clothed all in black, the covering betokeneth the sins whereof they be not confessed. And they with the covering of white betokeneth virginity, and they that hath chosen chastity; and thus was the quest begun in them. Then thou beheld the sinners and the good men, and when thou sawest the sinners overcome, thou inclined to that party for bobaunce* and pride of the world, and all that must be left in that quest. For in this quest thou shalt have many fellows, and thy betters. But anon thou turned to the sinners; and that caused thy misadventure, that thou should know good from vainglory of the world—it is not worth a pear. And for great pride thou madest great sorrow that thou hadst not overcome all the white knights, therefore God was wroth with you, for in this quest God loveth no such deeds; and that made the vision to say to thee that thou
were of evil faith and of poor belief, the which will make thee to fall into the deep pit of hell if thou keep thee not better. Now have I warned thee of thy vainglory and of thy pride, that thou hast many times erred against thy Maker. Beware of everlasting pain, for of all earthly knights I have most pity of thee, for I know well thou hast not thy peer of any earthly sinful man.’

  And so she commanded Sir Lancelot to dinner. And after dinner he took his horse and commended her to God, and so rode into a deep valley; and there he saw a river that hight Mortaise,* and through the water he must needs pass, the which was hideous. And then in the name of God he took it with good heart. And when he came over he saw an armed knight, horse and man all black as a bear. Without any word he smote Sir Lancelot’s horse to the death; and so he passed on, and wist not where he was become. And then he took his helm and his shield, and thanked God of his adventure.

  Here leaveth the tale of Sir Lancelot, and speaketh of Sir Gawain.

  Of Sir Gawain and Sir Ector

  [XVI.I]

  When Sir Gawain was departed from his fellowship he rode long without any adventure, for he found not the tenth part of adventures as they were wont to have; for Sir Gawain rode from Whitsuntide till Michaelmas and found never adventure that pleased him. So on a day it befell that Gawain met with Sir Ector de Maris, and either made great joy of other; and so they told each other and complained them greatly that they could find no adventure.

  ‘Truly,’ said Sir Gawain, ‘I am nigh weary of this quest, and loath I am to follow further in strange countries.’

  ‘One thing marvelleth me much,’ said Sir Ector. ‘I have met with twenty knights that be fellows of mine, and all they complain as I do.’

  ‘I have marvel’, said Sir Gawain, ‘where that Sir Lancelot, your brother, is.’

  ‘Truly,’ said Sir Ector, ‘I cannot hear of him, nor of Sir Galahad, Sir Percival, and Sir Bors.’