Stories from Le Morte D'Arthur and the Mabinogion by Beatrice Clay
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Beatrice Clay >> Stories from Le Morte D\'Arthur and the Mabinogion
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Immediately there was heard a voice saying, "Flee, Bors, and touch
not thy brother"; and at the same time, a fiery cloud burned
between them, so that their shields glowed with the flame, and both
knights fell to the earth. But the voice came again, saying, "Bors,
leave thy brother and take thy way to the sea. There thou shalt
meet Sir Percivale." Then Sir Bors made ready to obey, and, turning
to Lionel, said: "Dear brother, I pray you forgive me for aught in
which I have wronged you." "I forgive you," said Lionel, for he was
too amazed and terrified to keep his anger.
So Sir Bors continued his journey, and at the last, coming to the
sea shore, he espied a ship, draped all with white samite, and
entering thereon, he saw Sir Percivale, and much they rejoiced them
in each other's company.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE ADVENTURES OF SIR LAUNCELOT
After Sir Launcelot had parted from his fellows at the Castle of
Vagon, he rode many days through the forest without adventure, till
he chanced upon a knight close by a little hermitage in the wood.
Immediately, as was the wont of errant knights, they prepared to
joust, and Launcelot, whom none before had overthrown, was borne
down, man and horse, by the stranger knight. Thereupon a nun, who
dwelt in the hermitage, cried: "God be with thee, best knight in
all this world," for she knew the victor for Sir Galahad. But
Galahad, not wishing to be known, rode swiftly away; and presently
Sir Launcelot got to horse again and rode slowly on his way, shamed
and doubting sorely in his heart whether this quest were meant for
him.
When night fell, he came to a great stone cross which stood at the
parting of the way and close by a little ruined chapel. So Sir
Launcelot, being minded to pass the night there, alighted, fastened
his horse to a tree and hung his shield on a bough. Then he drew
near to the little chapel, and wondered to see how, all ruinous
though it was, yet within was an altar hung with silk and a great
silver candlestick on it; but when he sought entrance, he could
find none and, much troubled in his mind, he returned to his horse
where he had left it, and unlacing his helm and ungirding his
sword, laid him down to rest.
Then it seemed to Sir Launcelot that, as he lay between sleeping
and waking, there passed him two white palfreys bearing a litter
wherein was a sick knight, who cried: "Sweet Lord, when shall I be
pardoned all my transgressions, and when shall the holy vessel come
to me, to cure me of my sickness?" And instantly it seemed that the
great candlestick came forth of itself from the chapel, floating
through the air before a table of silver on which was the Holy
Grail. Thereupon the sick knight raised himself, and on his bended
knees he approached so nigh that he kissed the holy vessel; and
immediately he cried: "I thank Thee, sweet Lord, that I am healed
of my sickness." And all the while Sir Launcelot, who saw this
wonder, felt himself held that he could not move. Then a squire
brought the stranger knight his weapons, in much joy that his lord
was cured. "Who think ye that this knight may be who remains
sleeping when the holy vessel is so near?" said the knight. "In
truth," said the squire, "he must be one that is held by the bond
of some great sin. I will take his helm and his sword, for here
have I brought you all your armour save only these two." So the
knight armed him from head to foot, and taking Sir Launcelot's
horse, rode away with his squire. On the instant, Sir Launcelot
awoke amazed, not knowing whether he had dreamed or not; but while
he wondered, there came a terrible voice, saying: "Launcelot, arise
and leave this holy place." In shame, Sir Launcelot turned to obey,
only to find horse and sword and shield alike vanished. Then,
indeed, he knew himself dishonoured. Weeping bitterly, he made the
best of his way on foot, until he came to a cell where a hermit was
saying prayer. Sir Launcelot knelt too, and, when all was ended,
called to the hermit, entreating him for counsel. "With good will,"
said the hermit. So Sir Launcelot made himself known and told the
hermit all, lamenting how his good fortune was turned to
wretchedness and his glory to shame; and truly, the hermit was
amazed that Sir Launcelot should be in such case. "Sir," said he,
"God has given you manhood and strength beyond all other knights;
the more are ye bounden to his service." "I have sinned," said Sir
Launcelot; "for in all these years of my knighthood, I have done
everything for the honour and glory of my lady and naught for my
Maker; and little thank have I given to God for all his benefits to
me." Then the holy man gave Sir Launcelot good counsel and made him
rest there that night; and the next day he gave him a horse, a
sword and a helmet, and bade him go forth and bear himself knightly
as the servant of God.
CHAPTER XXVIII
HOW SIR LAUNCELOT SAW THE HOLY GRAIL
For many days after he had left the hermitage, Sir Launcelot rode
through the forest, but there came to him no such adventures as had
befallen him on other quests to the increase of his fame. At last,
one night-tide, he came to the shores of a great water and there he
lay down to sleep; but as he slept, a voice called on him:
"Launcelot, arise, put on thine armour and go on thy way until thou
comest to a ship. Into that thou shalt enter." Immediately, Sir
Launcelot started from his sleep to obey and, riding along the
shore, came presently to a ship beached on the strand; no sooner
had he entered it, than the ship was launched--how, he might not
know. So the ship sailed before the wind for many a day. No mortal
was on it, save only Sir Launcelot, yet were all his needs
supplied. Then, at last, the ship ran ashore at the foot of a great
castle; and it was midnight. Sir Launcelot waited not for the dawn,
but, his sword gripped in his hand, sprang ashore, and then, right
before him, he saw a postern where the gate stood open indeed, but
two grisly lions kept the way. And when Sir Launcelot would have
rushed upon the great beasts with his sword, it was struck from his
hand, and a voice said: "Ah! Launcelot, ever is thy trust in thy
might rather than thy Maker!" Sore ashamed, Sir Launcelot took his
sword and thrust it back into the sheath, and going forward, he
passed unhurt through the gateway, the lions that kept it falling
back from his path. So without more adventure, Launcelot entered
into the castle; and there he saw how every door stood open, save
only one, and that was fast barred, nor, with all his force, might
he open it. Presently from the chamber within came the sound of a
sweet voice in a holy chant, and then in his heart Launcelot knew
that he was come to the Holy Grail. So, kneeling humbly, he prayed
that to him might be shown some vision of that he sought. Forthwith
the door flew open and from the chamber blazed a light such as he
had never known before; but when he made to enter, a voice cried:
"Launcelot, forbear," and sorrowfully he withdrew. Then where he
knelt, far even from the threshold of the wondrous room, he saw a
silver table and, on it, covered with red samite, the Holy Grail.
At sight of that which he had sought so long, his joy became so
great that, unmindful of the warning, he advanced into the room and
drew nigh even to the Table itself. Then on the instant there burst
between him and it a blaze of light, and he fell to the ground.
There he lay, nor might he move nor utter any sound; only he was
aware of hands busy about him which bore him away from the chamber.
For four-and-twenty days, Sir Launcelot lay as in a trance. At the
end of that time, he came to himself, and found those about him
that had tended him in his swoon. These, when they had given him
fresh raiment, brought him to the aged King--Pelles was his
name--that owned that castle. The King entertained him right
royally, for he knew of the fame of Sir Launcelot; and long he
talked with him of his quest and of the other knights who followed
it, for he was of a great age and knew much of men. At the end of
four days, he spoke to Sir Launcelot, bidding him return to
Arthur's court; "For," said he, "your quest is ended here, and all
that ye shall see of the Holy Grail, ye have seen." So Launcelot
rode on his way, grieving for the sin that hindered him from the
perfect vision of the Holy Grail, but thanking God for that which
he had seen. So in time he came to Camelot, and told to Arthur all
that had befallen him.
CHAPTER XXIX
THE END OF THE QUEST
After he had rescued Sir Percivale from the twenty knights who
beset him, Sir Galahad rode on his way till night-fall, when he
sought shelter at a little hermitage. Thither there came in the
night a damsel who desired to speak with Sir Galahad; so he arose
and went to her, "Galahad," said she, "arm you and mount your horse
and follow me, for I am come to guide you in your quest." So they
rode together until they had come to the sea-shore, and there the
damsel showed Galahad a great ship into which he must enter. Then
she bade him farewell, and he, going on to the ship, found there
already the good knights Sir Bors and Sir Percivale, who made much
joy of the meeting. They abode in that ship until they had come to
the castle of King Pelles, who welcomed them right gladly. Then, as
they all sat at supper that night, suddenly the hall was filled
with a great light, and the holy vessel appeared in their midst,
covered all in white samite. While they all rejoiced, there came a
voice saying: "My Knights whom I have chosen, ye have seen the
holy vessel dimly. Continue your journey to the city of Sarras and
there the perfect Vision shall be yours."
Now in the city of Sarras had dwelt long time Joseph of Arimathea,
teaching its people the true faith, before ever he came into the
land of Britain; but when Sir Galahad and his fellows came there
after long voyage, they found it ruled by a heathen king named
Estorause, who cast them into a deep dungeon. There they were kept
a year, but at the end of that time, the tyrant died. Then the
great men of the land gathered together to consider who should be
their king; and, while they were in council, came a voice bidding
them take as their king the youngest of the three knights whom
Estorause had thrown into prison. So in fear and wonder they
hastened to the prison, and releasing the three knights, made
Galahad king as the voice had bidden them.
Thus Sir Galahad became King of the famous city of Sarras, in far
Babylon. He had reigned a year when, one morning early, he and the
other two knights, his fellows, went into the chapel, and there
they saw, kneeling in prayer, an aged man, robed as a bishop, and
round him hovered many angels. The knights fell on their knees in
awe and reverence, whereupon he that seemed a bishop turned to them
and said: "I am Joseph of Arimathea, and I am come to show you the
perfect Vision of the Holy Grail." On the instant there appeared
before them, without veil or cover, the holy vessel, in a radiance
of light such as almost blinded them. Sir Bors and Sir Percivale,
when at length they were recovered from the brightness of that
glory, looked up to find that the holy Joseph and the wondrous
vessel had passed from their sight. Then they went to Sir Galahad
where he still knelt as in prayer, and behold, he was dead; for it
had been with him even as he had prayed; in the moment when he had
seen the vision, his soul had gone back to God.
So the two knights buried him in that far city, themselves mourning
and all the people with them. And immediately after, Sir Percivale
put off his arms and took the habit of a monk, living a devout and
holy life until, a year and two months later, he also died and was
buried near Sir Galahad. Then Sir Bors armed him, and bidding
farewell to the city, sailed away until, after many weeks, he came
again to the land of Britain. There he took horse, and stayed not
till he had come to Camelot. Great was the rejoicing of Arthur and
all his knights when Sir Bors was once more among them. When he had
told all the adventures which had befallen him and the good
knights, his companions, all who heard were filled with amaze. But
the King, he caused the wisest clerks in the land to write in great
hooks this Quest of the Holy Grail, that the fame of it should
endure unto all time.
BOOK IX
THE FAIR MAID OF ASTOLAT
CHAPTER XXX
THE FAIR MAID OF ASTOLAT
At last, the Quest of the Holy Grail was ended, and by ones and
twos the knights came back to Camelot, though many who had set out
so boldly were never seen again about the Round Table.
Great was the joy of King Arthur when Sir Launcelot and Sir Bors
returned, for, so long had they been away, that almost he had
feared that they had perished. In their honour there was high
festival for many days in London, where Arthur then had his court;
and the King made proclamation of a great tournament that he would
hold at Camelot, when he and the King of Northgalis would keep the
lists against all comers.
So, one fair morning of spring, King Arthur made ready to ride to
Camelot and all his knights with him, save Launcelot, who excused
himself, saying that an old wound hindered him from riding. But
when the King, sore vexed, had departed, the Queen rebuked Sir
Launcelot, and bade him go and prove his great prowess as of old.
"Madam," said Sir Launcelot, "in this, as in all else, I obey you;
at your bidding I go, but know that in this tournament I shall
adventure me in other wise than ever before."
The next day, at dawn, Sir Launcelot mounted his horse, and, riding
forth unattended, journeyed all that day till, as evening fell, he
reached the little town of Astolat, and there, at the castle,
sought lodgement for that night. The old Lord of Astolat was glad
at his coming, judging him at once to be a noble knight, though he
knew him not, for it was Sir Launcelot's will to remain unknown.
So they went to supper, Sir Launcelot and the old lord, his son,
Sir Lavaine, and his daughter Elaine, whom they of the place called
the Fair Maid of Astolat. As they sat at meat, the Baron asked Sir
Launcelot if he rode to the tournament. "Yea," answered Launcelot;
"and right glad should I be if, of your courtesy, ye would lend me
a shield without device." "Right willingly," said his host; "ye
shall have my son, Sir Tirre's shield. He was but lately made
knight and was hurt in his first encounter, so his shield is bare
enough. If ye will take with you my young son, Sir Lavaine, he will
be glad to ride in the company of so noble a knight and will do you
such service as he may." "I shall be glad indeed of his
fellowship," answered Sir Launcelot courteously.
Now it seemed to the fair Elaine that never had she beheld so noble
a knight as this stranger; and seeing that he was as gentle and
courteous as he was strong, she said to him: "Fair Knight, will ye
wear my favour at this tournament? For never have I found knight
yet to wear my crimson sleeve, and sure am I that none other could
ever win it such honour." "Maiden," said Sir Launcelot, "right
gladly would I serve you in aught; but it has never been my custom
to wear lady's favour." "Then shall it serve the better for
disguise," answered Elaine. Sir Launcelot pondered her words, and
at last he said: "Fair maiden, I will do for you what I have done
for none, and will wear your favour." So with great glee, she
brought it him, a crimson velvet sleeve embroidered with great
pearls, and fastened it in his helmet. Then Sir Launcelot begged
her to keep for him his own shield until after the tournament, when
he would come for it again and tell them his name.
The next morn, Sir Launcelot took his departure with Sir Lavaine
and, by evening, they were come to Camelot. Forthwith Sir Lavaine
led Sir Launcelot to the house of a worthy burgher, where he might
stay in privacy, undiscovered by those of his acquaintance. Then,
when at dawn the trumpets blew, they mounted their horses and rode
to a little wood hard by the lists, and there they abode some
while; for Sir Launcelot would take no part until he had seen which
side was the stronger. So they saw how King Arthur sat high on a
throne to overlook the combat, while the King of Northgalis and all
the fellowship of the Round Table held the lists against their
opponents led by King Anguish of Ireland and the King of Scots.
Then it soon appeared that the two Kings with all their company
could do but little against the Knights of the Round Table, and
were sore pressed to maintain their ground. Seeing this, Sir
Launcelot said to Sir Lavaine: "Sir Knight, will ye give me your
aid if I go to the rescue of the weaker side? For it seems to me
they may not much longer hold their own unaided." "Sir," answered
Lavaine, "I will gladly follow you and do what I may." So the two
laid their lances in rest and charged into the thickest of the
fight and, with one spear, Sir Launcelot bore four knights from the
saddle. Lavaine, too, did nobly, for he unhorsed the bold Sir
Bedivere and Sir Lucan the Butler. Then with their swords they
smote lustily on the left hand and on the right, and those whom
they had come to aid rallying to them, they drove the Knights of
the Round Table back a space. So the fight raged furiously,
Launcelot ever being in the thickest of the press and performing
such deeds of valour that all marvelled to see him, and would fain
know who was the Knight of the Crimson Sleeve. But the knights of
Arthur's court felt shame of their discomfiture, and, in especial,
those of Launcelot's kin were wroth that one should appear who
seemed mightier even than Launcelot's self. So they called to each
other and, making a rally, directed all their force against the
stranger knight who had so turned the fortunes of the day. With
lances in rest, Sir Lionel, Sir Bors, and Sir Ector, bore down
together upon Sir Launcelot, and Sir Bors' spear pierced Sir
Launcelot and brought him to the earth, leaving the spear head
broken off in his side. This Sir Lavaine saw, and immediately, with
all his might, he rode upon the King of Scots, unhorsed him and
took his horse to Sir Launcelot. Now Sir Launcelot felt as if he
had got his death-wound, but such was his spirit that he was
resolved to do some great deed while yet his strength remained. So,
with Lavaine's aid, he got upon the horse, took a spear and, laying
it in rest, bore down, one after the other, Sir Bors, Sir Lionel,
and Sir Ector. Next he flung him into the thickest of the fight,
and before the trumpets sounded the signal to cease, he had
unhorsed thirty good knights.
Then the Kings of Scotland and Ireland came to Sir Launcelot and
said: "Sir Knight, we thank you for the service done us this day.
And now, we pray you, come with us to receive the prize which is
rightly yours; for never have we seen such deeds as ye have done
this day." "My fair lords," answered Sir Launcelot, "for aught that
I have accomplished, I am like to pay dearly; I beseech you, suffer
me to depart." With these words, he rode away full gallop, followed
by Sir Lavaine; and when he had come to a little wood, he called
Lavaine to him, saying: "Gentle Knight, I entreat you, draw forth
this spear head, for it nigh slayeth me." "Oh! my dear lord," said
Lavaine, "I fear sore to draw it forth lest ye die." "If ye love
me, draw it out," answered Launcelot. So Lavaine did as he was
bidden, and, with a deathly groan, Sir Launcelot fell in a swoon to
the ground. When he was a little recovered, he begged Lavaine to
help him to his horse and lead him to a hermitage hard by where
dwelt a hermit who, in bygone days, had been known to Launcelot for
a good knight and true. So with pain and difficulty they journeyed
to the hermitage, Lavaine oft fearing that Sir Launcelot would die.
And when the hermit saw Sir Launcelot, all pale and besmeared with
blood, he scarce knew him for the bold Sir Launcelot du Lac; but he
bore him within and dressed his wound and bade him be of good
cheer, for he should recover. So there Sir Launcelot abode many
weeks and Sir Lavaine with him; for Lavaine would not leave him,
such love had he for the good knight he had taken for his lord.
Now when it was known that the victorious knight had departed from
the field sore wounded, Sir Gawain vowed to go in search of him. So
it chanced that, in his wanderings, he came to Astolat, and there
he had a hearty welcome of the Lord of Astolat, who asked him for
news of the tournament. Then Sir Gawain related how two stranger
knights, bearing white shields, had won great glory, and in
especial one, who wore in his helm a crimson sleeve, had surpassed
all others in knightly prowess. At these words, the fair Elaine
cried aloud with delight. "Maiden," said Gawain, "know ye this
knight?" "Not his name," she replied; "but full sure was I that he
was a noble knight when I prayed him to wear my favour." Then she
showed Gawain the shield which she had kept wrapped in rich
broideries, and immediately Sir Gawain knew it for Launcelot's.
"Alas!" cried he, "without doubt it was Launcelot himself that we
wounded to the death. Sir Bors will never recover the woe of it."
Then, on the morrow, Sir Gawain rode to London to tell the court
how the stranger knight and Launcelot were one; but the Fair Maid
of Astolat rose betimes, and having obtained leave of her father,
set out to search for Sir Launcelot and her brother Lavaine. After
many journeyings, she came, one day, upon Lavaine exercising his
horse in a field, and by him she was taken to Sir Launcelot. Then,
indeed, her heart was filled with grief when she saw the good
knight to whom she had given her crimson sleeve thus laid low; so
she abode in the hermitage, waiting upon Sir Launcelot and doing
all within her power to lessen his pain.
After many weeks, by the good care of the hermit and the fair
Elaine, Sir Launcelot was so far recovered that he might bear the
weight of his armour and mount his horse again. Then, one morn,
they left the hermitage and rode all three, the Fair Maid, Sir
Launcelot, and Sir Lavaine, to the castle of Astolat, where there
was much joy of their coming. After brief sojourn, Sir Launcelot
desired to ride to court, for he knew there would be much sorrow
among his kinsmen for his long absence. But when he would take his
departure, Elaine cried aloud: "Ah! my lord, suffer me to go with
you, for I may not bear to lose you." "Fair child," answered Sir
Launcelot gently, "that may not be. But in the days to come, when
ye shall love and wed some good knight, for your sake I will bestow
upon him broad lands and great riches; and at all times will I hold
me ready to serve you as a true knight may." Thus spoke Sir
Launcelot, but the fair Elaine answered never a word.
So Sir Launcelot rode to London where the whole court was glad of
his coming; but from the day of his departure, the Fair Maid
drooped and pined until, when ten days were passed, she felt that
her end was at hand. So she sent for her father and two brothers,
to whom she said gently: "Dear father and brethren, I must now
leave you." Bitterly they wept, but she comforted them all she
might, and presently desired of her father a boon. "Ye shall have
what ye will," said the old lord; for he hoped that she might yet
recover. Then first she required her brother, Sir Tirre, to write a
letter, word for word as she said it; and when it was written, she
turned to her father and said: "Kind father, I desire that, when I
am dead, I may be arrayed in my fairest raiment, and placed on a
bier; and let the bier be set within a barge, with one to steer it
until I be come to London. Then, perchance, Sir Launcelot will come
and look upon me with kindness." So she died, and all was done as
she desired; for they set her, looking as fair as a lily, in a
barge all hung with black, and an old dumb man went with her as
helmsman.
Slowly the barge floated down the river until it had come to
Westminster; and as it passed under the palace walls, it chanced
that King Arthur and Queen Guenevere looked forth from a window.
Marvelling much at the strange sight, together they went forth to
the quay, followed by many of the knights. Then the King espied the
letter clasped in the dead maiden's hand, and drew it forth gently
and broke the seal. And thus the letter ran: "Most noble Knight,
Sir Launcelot, I, that men called the Fair Maid of Astolat, am come
hither to crave burial at thy hands for the sake of the unrequited
love I gave thee. As thou art peerless knight, pray for my soul."
Then the King bade fetch Sir Launcelot, and when he was come, he
showed him the letter. And Sir Launcelot, gazing on the dead
maiden, was filled with sorrow. "My lord Arthur," he said, "for the
death of this dear child I shall grieve my life long. Gentle she
was and loving, and much was I beholden to her; but what she
desired I could not give." "Yet her request now thou wilt grant, I
know," said the King; "for ever thou art kind and courteous to
all." "It is my desire," answered Sir Launcelot.
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