Copyright, 1891, by J. B. Lippincott Company.

Copyright, 1904, by J. B. Lippincott Company.

Copyright, 1908, by J. B. Lippincott Company.

FURNESS ABBEY.

[Pg i]

CONTENTS OF VOLUME I.

[Pg iii]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

[Pg 9]

INTRODUCTORY.

Geoffrey of Monmouth, the famous chronicler
of legendary British history, tells us,—in reference
to the time when the Celtic kings of Britain
were struggling against the Saxon invaders,—that
“there appeared a star of wonderful magnitude
and brightness, darting its rays, at the end of
which was a globe of fire in the form of a dragon,
out of whose mouth issued two rays; one of which
seemed to stretch itself beyond the extent of Gaul,
the other towards the Irish Sea, and ended in two
lesser rays.” He proceeds to say, that Merlin, the
magician, being called on to explain this portent,
declared that the dragon represented Uther, the
brother of King Ambrose, who was destined himself
soon to become king; that the ray extending
towards Gaul indicated a great son, who should conquer
the Gallic Kingdoms; and that the ray with
two lesser rays indicated a daughter, whose son and
grandson should successively reign over Britain.
Uther, in consequence, when he came to the throne,
had two gold dragons made, one of which he placed
in the cathedral of Winchester, which it brightly
illuminated; the other he kept, and from it gained
the name of Pendragon. The powerful ray represented
his great son Arthur, destined to become the
flower of chivalry, and the favorite hero of mediæval
romance.

[Pg 10]This is history as Geoffrey of Monmouth understood
it, but hardly so in the modern sense, and
Arthur remains as mystical a figure as Achilles,
despite the efforts of various writers to bring him
within the circle of actual kings. After the Romans
left Britain, two centuries passed of whose history
hardly a coherent shred remains. This was the
age of Arthur, one of the last champions of Celtic
Britain against the inflowing tide of Anglo-Saxon
invasion. That there was an actual Arthur there
is some, but no very positive, reason to believe.
After all the evidence has been offered, we still
seem to have but a shadowy hero before us, “a king
of shreds and patches,” whose history is so pieced
out with conjecture that it is next to impossible to
separate its facts from its fancies.

The Arthur of the legends, of the Welsh and Breton
ballads, of the later Chansons de Geste, of
Malory and Tennyson, has quite stepped out of the
historic page and become a hero without time or
place in any real world, a king of the imagination,
the loftiest figure in that great outgrowth of chivalric
romance which formed the favorite fictitious
literature of Europe during three or four of the
mediæval centuries. Charlemagne, the leading
character in the earlier romances of chivalry, was,
in the twelfth century, replaced by Arthur, a milder
and more Christian-like hero, whose adventures,
with those of his Knights of the Round Table,
delighted the tenants of court and castle in that
marvel-loving and uncritical age. That the stories
told of him are all fiction cannot be declared. Many
of them may have been founded on fact. But, like[Pg 11]
the stones of a prehistoric wall, their facts are so
densely enveloped by the ivy of fiction that it is
impossible to delve them out.

The ballads and romances in which the King
Arthur of mediæval story figures as the hero, would
scarcely prove pleasant and profitable reading to
us now, however greatly they delighted our ancestors.
They are marked by a coarseness and crudity
which would be but little to our taste. Nor have
we anything of modern growth to replace them.
Milton entertained a purpose of making King
Arthur the hero of an epic poem, but fortunately
yielded it for the nobler task of “Paradise Lost.”
Spenser gives this hero a minor place in his “Fairie
Queen.” Dryden projected a King Arthur epic,
but failed to write it. Recently Bulwer has given
us a cumbersome “King Arthur,” which nobody
reads; and Tennyson has handled the subject brilliantly
in his “Idyls of the King,” splendid successes
as poems, yet too infiltrated with the spirit
of modernism to be acceptable as a reproduction
of the Arthur of romance. For a true rehabilitation
of this hero of the age of chivalry we must
go to the “Morte Darthur” of Sir Thomas Malory,
a writer of the fifteenth century, who lived when
men still wore armor, and so near to the actual
age of chivalry as to be in full sympathy with the
spirit of its fiction, and its pervading love of adventure
and belief in the magical.

Malory did a work of high value in editing the
confused mass of earlier fiction, lopping off its excrescences
and redundancies, reducing its coarseness
of speech, and producing from its many stories[Pg 12]
and episodes a coherent and continuous narrative,
in which the adventures of the Round Table Knights
are deftly interwoven with the record of the birth,
life, and death of the king, round whom as the
central figure all these knightly champions revolve.
Malory seems to have used as the basis of his work
perhaps one, perhaps several, old French prose
romances, and possibly also material derived from
Welsh and English ballads. Such material in his
day was doubtless abundant. Geoffrey had drawn
much of his legendary history from the ancient
Welsh ballads. The mass of romantic fiction which
he called history became highly popular, first in
Brittany, and then in France, the Trouveres making
Arthur, Lancelot, Tristram, Percival, and others of
the knightly circle the heroes of involved romances,
in which a multitude of new incidents were invented.
The Minnesingers of Germany took up the
same fruitful theme, producing a “Parzivale,” a
“Tristan and Isolt,” and other heroic romances.
From all this mass of material, Malory wrought his
“Morte Darthur,” as Homer wrought his “Iliad”
from the preceding warlike ballads, and the unknown
compiler of the “Nibelungenlied” wrought
his poem from similar ancient sources.

Malory was not solely an editor. He was in a
large sense a creator. It was coarse and crude
material with which he had to deal, but in his hands
its rude prose gained a degree of poetic fervor. The
legends which he preserves he has in many cases
transmuted from base into precious coin. There
is repulsive matter in the old romances, which he
freely cuts out. To their somewhat wooden heroes[Pg 13]
he gives life and character, so that in Lancelot,
Gawaine, Dinadan, Kay, and others we have to
deal with distinct personalities, not with the non-individualized
hard-hitters of the romances. And
to the whole story he gives an epic completeness
which it lacked before. In the early days of
Arthur’s reign Merlin warns him that fate has already
woven its net about him and that the sins of himself
and his queen will in the end bring his reign
to a violent termination, and break up that grand
fellowship of the Round Table which has made Britain
and its king illustrious. This epic character
of Malory’s work is pointed out in the article “Geoffrey
of Monmouth” in the “Encyclopædia Britannica,”
whose writer says that the Arthurian legends
“were converted into a magnificent prose poem by
Sir Thomas Malory in 1461. Malory’s Morte Darthur
is as truly the epic of the English mind as
the Iliad is the epic of the Greek mind.”

Yet the “Morte Darthur,” if epic in plan and
treatment, is by no means free from the defects of
primitive literature. It was written before the age
of criticism, and confusion reigns supreme in many
of its pages,—a confusion which a very little critical
supervision might have removed. As an instance,
we find that Galahad, two years after his
birth, is made a knight, being then fifteen years old.
In like manner the “seat perilous” at the Round
Table is magically reserved for Galahad, the author
evidently forgetting that he had already given it to
Percivale. King Mark’s murder of his brother
Baldwin is revenged by Baldwin’s grandson, thirty
or forty years afterward, though there is nothing[Pg 14]
to show that the characters had grown a year older
in the interval. Here a knight finds one antagonist
quite sufficient for one man; there he does not
hesitate to attack fifty at once; here a slight wound
disables him; there a dozen deep wounds are fully
healed by a night’s rest. Many similar instances
might be given, but these will suffice. The discrepancies
here indicated were perhaps due to the
employment of diverse legends, without care to
bring them into accordance, but they lay the work
open to adverse criticism.

This lack of critical accuracy may have been a
necessary accompaniment of the credulous frame
of mind that could render such a work possible. It
needed an artlessness of mental make-up, a full
capacity for acceptance of the marvellous, a simple-minded
faith in chivalry and its doings, which could
scarcely exist in common with the critical temperament.
In truth, the flavor of an age of credulity
and simplicity of thought everywhere permeates
this quaint old work, than which nothing more artless,
simple, and unique exists in literature, and
nothing with a higher value as a presentation of the
taste in fiction of our mediæval predecessors.

Yet the “Morte Darthur” is not easy or attractive
reading, to other than special students of literature.
Aside from its confusion of events and
arrangement, it tells the story of chivalry with a
monotonous lack of inflection that is apt to grow
wearisome, and in a largely obsolete style and dialect
with whose difficulties readers in general may not
care to grapple. Its pages present an endless succession
of single combats with spear and sword,[Pg 15]
whose details are repeated with wearisome iteration.
Knights fight furiously for hours together, till they
are carved with deep wounds, and the ground crimsoned
with gore. Sometimes they are so inconsiderate
as to die, sometimes so weak as to seek a
leech, but as often they mount and ride away in
philosophical disregard of their wounds, and come
up fresh for as fierce a fight the next day.

As for a background of scenery and architecture,
it scarcely exists. Deep interest in man and woman
seems to have shut out all scenic accessories from
the mind of the good old knight. It is always but
a step from the castle to the forest, into which the
knights-errant plunge, and where most of their
adventures take place; and the favorite resting-and
jousting-place is by the side of forest springs—or
wells, as in the text. We have mention abundant
of fair castles, fair valleys, fair meadows, and
the like, the adjective “fair” going far to serve
all needs of description. But in his human characters,
with their loves and hates, jousts and battles,
bewitchments and bewilderments, the author takes
deep interest, and follows the episodical stories
which are woven into the plot with a somewhat
too satisfying fulness. In evidence of the dramatic
character of many of these episodes we need but
refer to the “Idyls of the King,” whose various
romantic and tragic narratives are all derived from
this quaint “old master” of fictitious literature.

With all its faults of style and method, the
“Morte Darthur” is a very live book. It never
stops to moralize or philosophize, but keeps strictly
to its business of tale-telling, bringing up before[Pg 16]
the reader a group of real men and women, not a
series of lay-figures on a background of romance,
as in his originals.

Kay with his satirical tongue, Dinadan with his
love of fun, Tristram loving and noble, Lancelot
bold and chivalrous, Gawaine treacherous and implacable,
Arthur kingly but adventurous, Mark
cowardly and base-hearted, Guenever jealous but
queenly, Isolde tender and faithful, and a host of
other clearly individualized knights and ladies move
in rapid succession through the pages of the
romance, giving it, with its manners of a remote
age, a vital interest that appeals to modern tastes.

In attempting to adapt this old masterpiece to
the readers of our own day, we have no purpose
to seek to paraphrase or improve on Malory. To
remove the antique flavor would be to destroy the
spirit of the work. We shall leave it as we find
it, other than to reduce its obsolete phraseology
and crudities of style to modern English, abridge
the narrative where it is wearisomely extended,
omit repetitions and uninteresting incidents, reduce
its confusion of arrangement, attempt a more artistic
division into books and chapters, and by other
arts of editorial revision seek to make it easier reading,
while preserving as fully as possible those
unique characteristics which have long made it
delightful to lovers of old literature.

The task here undertaken is no light one, nor is
success in it assured. Malory has an individuality
of his own which gives a peculiar charm to his
work, and to retain this in a modernized version
is the purpose with which we set out and which[Pg 17]
we hope to accomplish. The world of to-day is full
of fiction, endless transcripts of modern life served
up in a great variety of palatable forms. Our
castle-living forefathers were not so abundantly
favored. They had no books,—and could not have
read them if they had,—but the wandering minstrel
took with them the place of the modern volume,
bearing from castle to court, and court to castle,
his budget of romances of magic and chivalry, and
delighting the hard-hitting knights and barons of
that day with stirring ballads and warlike tales
to which their souls rose in passionate response.

In the “Morte Darthur” is preserved to us the
pith of the best of those old romances, brought into
a continuous narrative by one who lived when chivalry
yet retained some of its vital hold on the minds
of men, and who, being a knight himself, could
enter with heartfelt sympathy into the deeds of the
knights of an earlier age. Certainly many of the
readers of modern fiction will find a pleasure in
turning aside awhile from the hot-pressed thought
of the nineteenth-century novel to this fresh and
breezy outcrop from the fiction of an earlier day;
with the double purpose of learning on what food
the minds of our ancestors were fed, and of gaining
a breath of wild perfume from the far-off field of
the romance of chivalry. That the story of Arthur
and his Knights can arouse in modern readers the
intense interest with which it was received by
mediæval auditors is not to be expected. We are
too far removed in time and manners from the age
of knight-errantry to enter deeply into sympathy
with its unfamiliar ways. Yet a milder interest[Pg 18]
may still be awakened in what gave our predecessors
such enthusiastic delight, and some at least may
turn with pleasure from the most philosophic of
modern novels to wander awhile through this primitive
domain of thought.

To such we offer this work, which we have simply
sought to make easy reading, with little further
liberty with Malory’s quaint prose than to put it
into a modern dress, and with the hope that no such
complete divorce exists between the world of the
present and that of the past as to render the exploits
of King Arthur and his Round Table Knights dull,
wearisome, and profitless reading, void of the human
interest which they once possessed in such large and
satisfying measure.

[Pg 19]

KING ARTHUR

AND THE

KNIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE.

BOOK I.

HOW ARTHUR WON THE THRONE.

CHAPTER I.

THE MAGIC SWORD.

Once upon a time, in that far-off and famous
era of chivalry and knight-errantry when wandering
knights sought adventures far and wide throughout
the land, and no damsel in distress failed to
enlist a valiant champion in her cause, there reigned
over England’s broad realm a noble monarch, King
Arthur by name, the flower of chivalry, and the
founder of the world-renowned order of Knights
of the Round Table. It is the story of this far-famed
monarch, and of the wonderful and valorous
deeds of his Knights, that we here propose to tell,
as preserved in the ancient legends of the land,
and set forth at length in the chronicles of the days
of chivalry.

Before the days of Arthur the King, there reigned
over all England Uther Pendragon, a monarch of[Pg 20]
might and renown. He died at length in years
and honor, and after his death anarchy long prevailed
in the land, for no son of his appeared to
claim the throne, and many of the lords who were
high in rank and strong in men sought to win it
by force of arms, while everywhere lawlessness and
wrong-doing made life a burden and wealth a deceit.

But by good fortune there still survived the
famous magician Merlin, the master of all mysteries,
who long had been the stay of Uther’s throne,
and in whose hands lay the destiny of the realm.
For after years of anarchy, and when men had
almost lost hope of right and justice, Merlin, foreseeing
that the time for a change was at hand, went
to the Archbishop of Canterbury, and bade him summon
to London by Christmas day all the lords
of the realm and the gentlemen of arms, for on that
day a miracle would be shown by which would be
decided who should be ruler of the kingless realm.

The summons was issued, and by Christmas-tide
many lords and knights, the flower of England’s
chivalry, had gathered in London, most of them
full of ambition and many of them buoyed up by
hope. In the greatest church of that city prayers
went up night and day, all who had been guilty
of wrong-doing seeking to clear their souls of sin;
for all believed that only through God’s grace could
any man come to dominion in the realm, and those
who aspired to the throne ardently sought to make
their peace with God.

On Christmas day, after the hour of matins and
the first mass, came the miracle which Merlin had
predicted; for there suddenly appeared before the[Pg 21]
high altar in the church-yard a great four-square
block of stone, of the texture of marble, upon which
stood an anvil of steel a foot in height; and through
the anvil and deep into the stone was thrust a
gleaming sword, upon which, in letters of gold,
ran these words, “Whoso pulleth this sword out of
this stone is of right born king of all England.”

Whether Merlin performed this strange thing
by magic, or it was a miracle of God’s will, the
chronicles say not, but all who saw it deeply marvelled,
and word of it was brought to the archbishop
in the church.

“Let no man stir,” he enjoined. “This is God’s
doing, and must be dealt with gravely and solemnly.
I command that all stay within the church and pray
unto God until the high mass be done. Till then
let no hand touch the sword.”

And so the service went on until its end; but
after it was done the audience hastened to behold
the miracle, and some of the higher lords, who
were ambitious for the throne, laid eager hold upon
the sword and sought with all their strength to
draw it. Yet all in vain they tugged; the mightiest
among them could not stir the deep-thrust blade.

“The man is not here,” said the archbishop,
“who shall draw that sword; but God, in His own
good season, will make him known. This, then, is
my counsel: let us set ten knights, men of fame
and honor, to guard the sword, and let every man
that has faith in his good fortune seek to draw it.
He who is the destined monarch of England will
in time appear.”

New Year’s day came, and no man yet had drawn[Pg 22]
the sword, though many had adventured. For
that day the barons had ordered that a stately tournament
should be held, in which all knights who
desired to break a lance for God and their ladies
might take part. This was greeted with high
acclaim, and after the services of the day had ended
the barons and knights together rode to the lists,
while multitudes of the citizens of London crowded
thither to witness the knightly sports. Among
those who rode were Sir Hector, a noble lord, who
held domains in England and Wales, and with him
his son Sir Kay, a new-made knight, and his
younger son Arthur, a youth still too young for
knighthood.

As they rode together to the lists, Kay discovered
that he had forgotten his sword, having left it
behind at his father’s lodging. He begged young
Arthur to ride back for it.

“Trust me to bring it,” replied Arthur, readily,
and turning his horse he rode briskly back to his
father’s lodging in the city. On reaching the house,
however, he found it fast locked, all its inmates
having gone to the tournament. The young man
stood a moment in anger and indecision.

“My brother Kay shall not be without a sword,”
he said. “I remember seeing in the church-yard
a handsome blade thrust into a stone, and seeming
to want an owner. I shall ride thither and get
that sword. It will serve Kay’s turn.”

He accordingly turned his horse and rode back
in all haste. On reaching the church-yard he found
no knights there, all those who had been placed on
guard having gone to the jousting, exchanging duty[Pg 23]
for sport. Dismounting and tying his horse, he
entered the tent which had been erected over the
stone. There stood the magic sword, its jewelled
hilt and half the shining blade revealed. Heedless
of the inscription on the polished steel, and ignorant
of its lofty promise,—for the miracle had been kept
secret by the knights,—young Arthur seized the
weapon strongly by the hilt and gave the magic
sword a vigorous pull. Then a wondrous thing
happened, which it was a pity there were none to
see; for the blade came easily out of stone and
steel, as though they were yielding clay, and lay
naked in his hand. Not knowing the might and
meaning of what he had done, and thinking of
naught but to keep his word, the young man
mounted his horse and rode to the field, where he
delivered the sword to his brother Sir Kay.

“I have brought your sword,” he said.

The young knight started with surprise on beholding
the blade, and gazed on it with wonder and
trepidation. It was not his, he knew, and he recognized
it at sight for the magic blade. But ambition
quickly banished the wonder from his heart, and he
rode hastily to his father, Sir Hector, exclaiming,—

“Behold! Here is the sword of the stone! I that
bear it am the destined king of England’s realm.”

Sir Hector looked at him in doubt, and beheld
the blade he bore with deep surprise.

“When and how did you obtain it?” he demanded.
“Back to the church! Come with us,
Arthur. Here is a mystery that must be explained.”

Reaching the church, he made Kay swear upon
the book how he came by that weapon, for greatly
he doubted.

[Pg 24]“I have not said I drew it,” Kay replied, sullenly.
“In truth, it was not achieved by me.
Arthur brought me the sword.”

“Arthur!” cried the lord. “Arthur brought
it! How got you it, boy?”

“I pulled it from the stone,” replied the youth.
“Kay sent me home for his sword, but the house
was empty and locked; and as I did not wish my
brother to be without a weapon, I rode hither and
pulled this blade out of the stone. Was there aught
strange in that? It came out easily enough.”

“Were there no knights about it?”

“None, sir.”

“Then the truth is plain. God’s will has been
revealed. You are the destined king of England.”

“I?” cried Arthur, in surprise. “Wherefore
I?”

“God has willed it so,” repeated the baron.
“But I must first learn for myself if you have truly
drawn the sword. Can you put it back again?”

“I can try,” said Arthur, and with an easy
thrust he sunk the blade deeply into the stone.

Then Sir Hector and Kay pulled at the hilt with
all their strength, but failed to move the weapon.

“Now you shall try,” they said to Arthur.

Thereupon the youth seized the hilt, and with
a light effort the magic sword came out naked in
his hand.

“You are our king!” cried Sir Hector, kneeling
on the earth, and Kay beside him.

“My dear father and brother,” cried Arthur in
surprise and distress, “why kneel you to me? Rise,
I pray; it pains me deeply to see you thus.”

STATUE OF KING ARTHUR AT INNSBRUCK.

[Pg 25]

“I am not your father nor of your kindred,”
rejoined the baron. “I must now reveal the secret
I long have kept. You were brought to me in
infancy, and I and my wife have fostered you as
our own. But you are no son of mine. Who you
truly are I cannot say; that only Merlin the magician
knows. But well I feel assured you are of
nobler blood than I can boast.”

These words filled Arthur with heartfelt pain.
He had long revered the worthy knight as his father,
and it grieved him deeply to learn that those whom
he had so warmly loved were not of kin to him.

“Sir,” said Hector, “will you be my good and
gracious lord when you are king?”

“You, my father, and your good lady, my
mother,—to whom else in all the world am I so
beholden?” rejoined Arthur, warmly. “God forbid
that I should fail you in whatever you may
desire, if by His will and grace I shall be made
king.”

“This only I ask of you,” said the baron: “that
you make Kay, my son and your foster-brother, the
seneschal of all your lands.”

“By the faith of my body, I promise,” said
Arthur. “No man but he shall have that office
while he and I live.”

These words said, Sir Hector went to the archbishop
and told him, much to his surprise, of the
marvel that had been performed. By the advice
of the prelate it was kept secret until Twelfth Day,
when the barons came again, and another effort was
made to draw the sword.

After all had tried and failed, Arthur was brought[Pg 26]
forward, and while many sneered at his youth and
asked why a boy had been brought thither, he seized
the hilt and lightly drew the blade from the stone.
Then all stood aghast in wonder, marvelling greatly
to see a youth perform the feat which the strongest
knights in the kingdom had attempted in vain;
but many beheld it with bitter anger and hostile
doubt.

“Who is this boy?” they cried. “What royal
blood can he claim? Shall we and the realm of
England be shamed by being governed by a base-born
churl? There is fraud or magic in this.”

So high ran the tide of adverse feeling that the
archbishop finally decided that another trial should
be had at Candlemas, ten knights meanwhile closely
guarding the stone. And when Candlemas day
arrived there came many more great lords, each
eager for the throne; but, as before, of all there
none but Arthur could draw the magic sword.

Again was there envy and hostility, and another
trial was loudly demanded, the time being fixed for
Easter. This ended as before, and at the demand
of the angry lords a final trial was arranged for
the feast of Pentecost. The archbishop now, at
Merlin’s suggestion, surrounded Arthur with a bodyguard
of tried warriors, some of whom had been
Uther Pendragon’s best and worthiest knights; for
it was feared that some of his enemies might seek
to do him harm. They were bidden to keep watch
over him day and night till the season of Pentecost,
for there were lords that would have slain him
had they dared.

At the feast of Pentecost lords and knights gathered[Pg 27]
again, but in vain they all essayed to draw the
magic sword. Only to the hand of Arthur would
it yield, and he pulled it lightly from the stone and
steel in the presence of all the lords and commons.
Then cried the commons in loud acclaim,—

“Arthur shall be our king! We will have none
to reign over us but him! Let there be no more
delay. God has willed that he shall be England’s
king, and he that holdeth out longer against the
will of God that man shall we slay.”

Then rich and poor alike kneeled before Arthur,
hailed him as king, and craved his pardon for their
long delay. He forgave them freely, and taking
the sword between his hands, laid it upon the altar
before the archbishop. This done, he was made a
knight by the worthiest warrior there, and thus
taken into that noble fellowship of chivalry which
he was destined by his valor and virtue to so richly
adorn.

Shortly afterward Arthur was crowned king,
with great pomp and ceremony, before a noble
assemblage of the lords and ladies of the realm, taking
solemn oath at the coronation to be true king to
lords and commons, and to deal justice to all while
he should live.

Justice, indeed, was greatly and urgently demanded,
for many wrongs had been done since the
death of King Uther, and numerous complaints
were laid before the throne. All these evils Arthur
redressed, forcing those who had wrongfully taken
the lands of others to return them, and demanding
that all should submit to the laws of the realm. In
compliance with his promise, Sir Kay was made
seneschal of England, while other knights were
appointed to the remaining high offices of the realm,
and all the needs of the kingdom duly provided for.
Thus the famous reign of King Arthur auspiciously
began, with God’s and man’s blessing upon its early
days.

[Pg 28]

CHAPTER II.

ARTHUR’S WARS AND THE MYSTERY OF HIS BIRTH.

After Arthur was crowned king he removed
into Wales, where he gave orders that a great feast
should be held on the coming day of Pentecost,
at the city of Carlion. On the day appointed for
the feast there appeared before Carlion the Kings
of Lothian and Orkney, Gore, Garloth, Carados,
and Scotland, each with a large following of knights.
Their coming greatly pleased King Arthur, who
believed that they desired to do honor to his reign,
and he sent presents of great value to them and to
their knights.

These they disdainfully refused, sending back a
hostile challenge by the messenger, and saying that
they had not come to receive gifts from a beardless
boy, of ignoble blood, but to present him gifts with
hard swords between neck and shoulder. It was a
shame, they said, to see such a boy at the head of
so noble a realm, and this wrong should be redressed
at their hands.

On receiving this defiant message, Arthur threw[Pg 29]
himself, with five hundred good men, into a strong
tower near Carlion, for he was ill prepared for
attack. There he was closely besieged by his foes,
but the castle was well victualled, and held out
stoutly against its assailants.

During the siege Merlin appeared suddenly
among the kings, and told them privately who
Arthur really was, assuring them that he was of
nobler blood than themselves, and was destined
long to remain king of England, and to reduce
Scotland, Ireland, and Wales to his sway. Some
of the hostile monarchs believed the magician’s
story, but others doubted it, King Lot of Orkney
laughing him to scorn, while some among them
called him a prating wizard.

But it was agreed that they should hold a conference
with Arthur, they promising if he came out
to them to place no hindrance to his safe return.
Merlin then sought the king and advised him to
accept the conference, telling him that he had nothing
to fear. Thereupon Arthur armed himself, and
taking with him the Archbishop of Canterbury and
several noble knights, went out boldly to meet his
foes.

The conference was an angry and bitter one, the
kings speaking strongly, and Arthur answering
them with stout words of defiance, in which he
told them plainly that if he lived he would make
them bow to his throne. In the end they parted in
wrath, the kings returning to their camp and Arthur
to the tower.

“What do you propose to do?” said Merlin to
the kings. “If you take a wise man’s advice you[Pg 30]
will withdraw, for I tell you that you shall not
prevail here, were you ten times as many.”

“We are not the men to be advised by a dream-reader,”
answered King Lot. “If you are the wise
man you say, you will take yourself away.” At
this reply Merlin magically vanished from among
them, and immediately appeared to King Arthur in
the tower, bidding him boldly to sally forth and
attack his enemies, and trust to fortune and valor
for success. Meanwhile three hundred of the best
knights of the kings had deserted their ranks and
come to join him, much to his comfort, for he had
been greatly outnumbered.

“Sir,” said Merlin, “fight not with the sword
that you had by miracle, till you see things go to
the worst; then draw it out and strike shrewdly
for your throne.”

These words said, Arthur sallied from the tower
at the head of all his knights, and fell fiercely on
the besiegers in their camp. All went down before
his bold assault, the hosts of the hostile kings
retreating in dismay. Great deeds were done that
day, Sir Kay and other knights slaying all before
them, while Arthur laid on nobly, and did such
marvellous feats of arms that all who saw him
wondered greatly, for until now he had been an
untried youth. While the combat thus went on in
Arthur’s favor in front, King Lot and others of the
kings made a detour and set fiercely upon his force
from the rear, causing momentary dismay in his
ranks. But Arthur wheeled alertly with his
knights, and smote vigorously to right and left,
keeping always in the foremost press, till his horse[Pg 31]
was slain beneath him, and he hurled to the ground.

King Lot took instant advantage of this, and with
a mighty blow prostrated the unhorsed king. But
his knights hastily surrounded him, drove back his
crowding foes, and set him on horseback again.
And now King Arthur drew the magic sword, and
as he waved it in the air there flashed from it a
gleaming lustre that blinded the eyes of his enemies.
Back they went before him, many of them falling
under his mighty blows, while his valiant knights
followed hotly in the track of the flaming sword,
and the enemy fled in panic fear.

Then the people of Carlion, seeing the enemy
in retreat, came out with clubs and staves, and
fell upon the defeated host, killing numbers of the
dismounted knights; while the hostile kings, with
such of their followers as remained alive, fled in
all haste from the disastrous field, leaving the victory
to Arthur and his knights.

Thus ended in victory the first battle of Arthur’s
famous reign. It was but the prelude to a greater
one, the mighty deeds of which the chroniclers tell
at great length, but of which we shall give but brief
record. It was predicted by Merlin, who told the
king that he should have to fight far more strongly
for his crown, that the defeated kings would get
others to join them, and would ere long proceed
against him with a mighty force.

“I warn you,” he said to the king and his council,
“that your enemies are very strong, for they
have entered into alliance with four other kings
and a mighty duke, and unless our king obtain
powerful allies he shall be overcome and slain.”

[Pg 32]“What then shall we do?” asked the barons.

“I shall tell you,” said Merlin. “There are two
brethren beyond the sea, both kings, and marvellously
valiant men. One of these is King Ban of
Benwick, and the other King Bors of Gaul. These
monarchs are at war with a mighty warrior, King
Claudas. My counsel then is, that our king ask
the aid of these monarchs in his wars, and engage
in return to help them in their war with their foe.”

“It is well counselled,” said the king and his
barons.

Accordingly two knights with letters were sent
across the seas, and after various adventures reached
the camp of Kings Ban and Bors. These valiant
monarchs gladly responded to Arthur’s request,
and, leaving their castles well guarded, came with
ten thousand of their best men to the aid of the
youthful king. Then were held great feasts, and a
noble tournament was given on All-hallowmas day,
at which Sir Kay carried off the honors of the lists
and received the prize of valor.

But sport had soon to give place to war, for the
hostile kings, now eleven in all, with a host of fifty
thousand mounted men and ten thousand footmen,
were marching upon King Arthur’s camp, then
at the Castle of Bedegraine, in Sherwood forest.

Two nights before the hosts met in battle, one of
the hostile leaders, known as the king with the
hundred knights, dreamed a wondrous dream. It
seemed to him that there came a mighty wind, which
blew down all their castles and towns, and that then
there came a great flood and carried all away. All
who heard this dream said that it was a token of[Pg 33]
great battle, but by its portent none were dismayed,
for they felt too secure in their strength to heed the
warning of a dream.

Soon the two armies drew together, and encamped
at no great distance asunder. Then, by advice of
Merlin, a midnight attack was made by Arthur and
his allies upon the host of the eleven kings, as they
lay sleeping in their tents. But their sentinels
were alert, the sound of the coming host reached
their wakeful ears, and loud the cry ran through
the camp:

“To arms! lords and knights, to arms! The
enemy is upon us! To arms! to arms!”

On like a wave of war came the force of Arthur,
Ban, and Bors. The tents were overthrown, and all
the valor of the eleven kings was needed to save
their army from defeat. So fiercely went the
assault that by day-dawn ten thousand of their men
lay dead upon the field, while Arthur’s loss was
but small.

By Merlin’s advice, while it was yet dark the
forces of Ban and Bors had been placed in ambush
in the forest. Then Arthur, with his own army of
twenty thousand men, set fiercely on the overwhelming
force of the foe, and deeds of mighty prowess
were done, men falling like leaves, and many knights
of tried valor staining the earth with their blood.

Fiercely went the combat, hand to hand and blade
to blade, till the field was strewn with the dead,
while none could tell how the battle would end.
But when Kings Ban and Bors broke from their
ambush, with ten thousand fresh men, the tide of
battle turned against the foe. Back they went, step[Pg 34]
by step, many of their men taking to flight, and
hundreds falling in death. King Bors did marvellous
deeds of arms. King Ban, whose horse was killed,
fought on foot like an enraged lion, standing among
dead men and horses, and felling all who came within
reach of his sword. As for King Arthur, his
armor was so covered with crimson stains that no
man knew him, and his horse went fetlock deep in
blood.

When night approached, the hostile force was
driven across a little stream, the eleven warrior
kings still valiantly facing the victorious foe.

Then came Merlin into the press of struggling
knights, mounted on a great black horse, and cried
to Arthur,—

“Wilt thou never have done? Of threescore
thousand men this day thou hast left alive but
fifteen thousand, and it is time to cry, Halt! I
bid you withdraw, for if you continue the battle
fortune will turn against you. As for these kings,
you will have no trouble with them for three years
to come, for more than forty thousand Saracens
have landed in their country, and are burning and
despoiling all before them.”

This advice was taken, and the defeated kings
were allowed to withdraw the remnant of their
forces without further harm, while King Arthur
richly rewarded his allies and their knights from
the treasure found in the hostile camp.

Thus was King Arthur seated firmly on his throne.
But who he was he knew not yet, for the mystery
that lay over his birth Merlin had never revealed.
After the battle Merlin went to his master Bleise,[Pg 35]
who dwelt in Northumberland, and told him the
events of the mighty contest. These Bleise wrote
down, word by word, as he did the after-events of
King Arthur’s reign, and the deeds of his valiant
knights. And so was made the chronicle of the
great achievements of arms, and the adventures
of errant knights, from which this history is drawn.

Of some things that Merlin further did we must
here speak. While Arthur dwelt in the castle of
Bedegraine, Merlin came to him so disguised that
the king knew him not. He was all befurred in
black sheepskins, with a great pair of boots and a
bow and arrows, and brought wild geese in his hand,
as though he had been a huntsman.

“Sir,” he said to the king, “will you give me a
gift?”

“Why should I do so, churl?” asked the king.

“You had better give me a gift from what you
have in hand than to lose great riches which are
now out of your reach; for here, where the battle
was fought, is great treasure hidden in the earth.”

“Who told you that, churl?”

“Merlin told me so.”

Then was the king abashed, for he now knew
that it was Merlin who spoke, and it troubled him
that he had not known his best friend.

Afterward, on a day when Arthur had been hunting
in the forest, and while he sat in deep thought
over a strange dream he had dreamed and some
sinful deeds he had done, there came to him a child
of fourteen years, and asked him why he was so
pensive.

“I may well be so,” replied Arthur, “for I have
much to make me think.”

[Pg 36]“I know that well,” said the seeming child,
“also who thou art and all thy thoughts. I can
tell thee who was thy father and how and when
thou wert born.”

“That is false,” rejoined the king. “How
should a boy of your years know my father?”

“He was Uther Pendragon, the king,” replied
the seeming boy, “and you are of royal blood.”

“How can you know that? I will not believe
you without better proof,” said Arthur.

At these words the child departed, but quickly
after there came to the king an old man of fourscore
years.

“Why are you so sad?” asked the old man.

“For many things,” replied Arthur. “Here
but now was a child who told me things which it
seems to me he could not know.”

“He told you the truth,” said the old man, “and
would have told you more if you had listened.
This I am bidden to tell you, that you have done
things which have displeased God, and that your
sister shall bear a son who will destroy you and all
the knights of your land. That is the meaning of
your dream in which griffons and serpents burnt
and slew all before them, and wounded you to the
death.”

“Who are you,” said Arthur, “that tell me these
things?”

“I am Merlin,” replied the old man. “And I
was the child who came to you.”

“You are a marvellous man,” replied Arthur.
“But how can you know that I shall die in battle?”

“How I know matters not, but this much more[Pg 37]
I am bidden to tell you: your death will be a noble
one; but I shall die a shameful death, and shall
be put in the earth alive for my follies. Such is the
voice of destiny.”

While they conversed thus, horses were brought
to the king, and he and Merlin mounted and rode
to Carlion. Here Arthur told Sir Hector what
he had heard, and asked if it were true.

“I believe it to be the truth,” answered the old
baron. “Merlin has told me that the child he
brought to my castle was the son of King Uther
Pendragon and of Queen Igraine, his wife.”

But Arthur was not yet convinced, and sent in
all haste for Queen Igraine, who dwelt in a castle
not far away, and came quickly with Morgan le Fay,
her daughter, a fair lady, and one who had been
taught all the arts of necromancy.

The king welcomed her with rich cheer, and made
a feast in her honor, without saying why he had
asked her to his court. But when the feast was
at its height, Sir Ulfius, the chamberlain, and a
knight of worth and honor, rose in the midst, and
boldly accused the queen of falsehood and treason.

“Beware what you say,” cried the king. “Those
are strong words, and this lady is my guest.”

“I am well advised of what I say,” replied Ulfius,
“and here is my glove to prove it upon any man
who shall deny it. I declare that Queen Igraine
is the cause of your great wars and of deep damage
to your throne. Had she told in the life of King
Uther of the birth of her son you would have been
spared your wars, for most of your barons know
not to-day of what blood you were born. Therefore[Pg 38]
I declare her false to God, to you, and to all
your realm, and if any man shall say me nay I
stand ready to prove it upon his body.”

“I am a woman, and I may not fight,” said Queen
Igraine to this. “But there are men here will take
my quarrel. Merlin will bear me witness that it
was King Uther’s wish, for reasons of state, that
the birth of my child should be concealed, and if
you seek a traitor you should accuse Uther Pendragon
and not me. At its birth the child was
wrapped in cloth of gold, by order of the king,
and taken from me, and from that day to this I
have not set eyes upon my son.”

“Then,” said Ulfius, “Merlin is more to blame
than you.”

“I bowed to the will of my husband,” replied
the queen. “After the death of my lord, the Duke
of Tintagil, King Uther married me, and I bore
him a son, but I know not what has become of my
child.”

Then Merlin took the king by the hand and
led him to Queen Igraine.

“This is your mother,” he said.

Therewith, Sir Hector bore witness how the child
has been brought by Merlin to the postern gate
of his castle, wrapped in cloth of gold, and how he
had reared him as his own son, knowing not who
he was, but full sure he was of high birth.

These words removed all doubt from Arthur’s
mind, and with warm affection he took his mother
in his arms, and kissed her lovingly, while tears
of joy flowed freely from the eyes of mother and
son, for never was gladder meeting than that which
there took place.

For eight days thereafter feasts and sports were
held at the castle, and great joy fell upon all men
to learn that the son of great Uther Pendragon had
come to the throne. And far and wide the story
spread through the land that he who had drawn
the magic sword was the rightful heir to England’s
crown.

[Pg 39]

CHAPTER III.

THE LADY OF THE LAKE.

On a day at the end of the feasts given by King
Arthur in honor of his mother, there came into
the court a squire, who bore before him on his horse
a knight that had been wounded unto death. He
told how a stranger knight in the forest had set
up a pavilion by a well, and forced all who passed
to joust with him. This stranger had slain his
master, and he begged that some champion would
revenge the slain knight.

Then rose Griflet, a youthful squire who had
done good service in the wars, and begged to be
knighted, that he might undertake this adventure.

“Thou art but young for such a task,” said
Arthur.

“I beseech you for the honor of it,” pleaded
Griflet. “I have done you knightly service.”

Thereupon he was knighted and armed, and rode
at day-dawn with a high heart into the forest.
But by night-fall back he came, with a spear-thrust[Pg 40]
through his body, and scarce able to sit his horse
for weakness. He had met the knight, and barely
escaped with his life.

This angered the king, and he determined to
undertake the adventure himself, and to seek to
punish the daring knight who had planted himself,
with hostile purpose, so near his court. By
his order his best armor and horse were set before
day at a point outside the city, and at day-dawn
he met there his squire and rode with him secretly
into the forest.

On the way thither he met three churls, who
were chasing Merlin and seeking to slay him. The
king rode to them and sternly bade them desist,
and on seeing a knight before them they fled in
craven fear.

“O Merlin,” cried Arthur, “for all your craft
you would have been slain, had I not come to
your aid.”

“Not so. I but played with these churls,” said
Merlin. “I could have saved myself easily enough.
You are far more near your end than I, for unless
God be your friend you ride to your death.”

As they conversed they came to the forest fountain,
and saw there a rich pavilion, while under a
cloth stood a fair horse, richly saddled and bridled,
and on a tree was a shield of varied colors and a
great spear. In a chair near by sat an armed
knight.

“How is it, sir knight,” asked the king, sternly,
“that you abide here and force every knight that
passes to joust with you? It is an ill custom, and
I bid you cease it.”

[Pg 41]“He who is grieved with my custom may amend
it if he will,” said the knight.

“I shall amend it,” said Arthur.

“I shall defend it,” replied the knight.

With these words they mounted, placed their
spears in rest, and put their horses to their speed.
Together they came in mid career with such violence
and equal fortune that both spears were
shivered to splinters, but both knights remained
in their saddles. Taking new spears, once more
they rode, and once again met in mid course with
the same fortune as before. Then Arthur set hand
to his sword.

“Nay,” said the knight. “You are the best
jouster of all the men I ever met. For the love
of the high order of knighthood let us break another
spear.”

“I agree,” said Arthur.

Two more spears were brought them, and again
they rode together with all the might and speed
of their horses. Arthur’s spear once more shivered
into splinters from point to handle. But the
knight struck him so fairly in the centre of his
shield that horse and man together fell to the earth.

Then Arthur drew his sword eagerly and cried:

“Sir knight, I have lost the honor of horseback,
and will fight you on foot.”

“I will meet you on horse,” replied the knight.

Angry at this, Arthur advanced towards him with
ready shield and sword. But the knight, feeling
that he was taking a noble adversary at unfair
advantage, dismounted, and advanced to meet
Arthur on foot.

[Pg 42]Then began a mighty battle, in which many great
sword-strokes were made, and much blood was lost
by both antagonists. After the affray had long continued
the two warriors by chance struck so evenly
together that their swords met in mid air, and the
weapon of the knight smote that of Arthur into
two pieces.

“You are in my power,” cried the knight.
“Yield you as overcome and recreant, or you shall
die.”

“As for death,” said Arthur, “it will be welcome
when it comes, but I had rather die than be
so shamed.”

Thus saying, he leaped upon his foeman, took
him by the middle with a vigorous grip, and threw
him to the earth. Then he tore off his helmet.
The knight, however, was much the larger and
stronger man, and in his turn brought Arthur under
him, deprived him of his helmet, and lifted his
sword to strike off his head.

At this perilous moment Merlin advanced.

“Knight, hold thy hand,” he cried. “You little
know in what peril you put this realm, or who
the warrior is beneath your sword.”

“Who is he?” asked the knight.

“He is King Arthur.”

Then would the knight have slain Arthur for
fear of his wrath, and raised his sword again to
do so, but at that moment Merlin threw him into
an enchanted sleep.

“What have you done, Merlin?” cried Arthur.
“God grant you have not slain this worthy knight
by your craft! I would yield a year of my dominion
to have him alive again.”

[Pg 43]“Do not fear,” said Merlin. “He is asleep only,
and will awake within three hours. And this I
shall tell you, there is not a stronger knight in
your kingdom than he, and hereafter he will do you
good service. His name is King Pellinore, and he
shall have two noble sons, whose names will be Percivale
and Lamorak of Wales. And this brave
knight shall, in the time to come, tell you the
name of that son of your sister who is fated to
be the destruction of all this land.”

This being said, the king and the magician departed,
leaving the knight to his magic slumbers.
Soon they reached the cell of a hermit who was
a noted leech, and who, with healing salves, in three
days cured the king’s wounds so that he was able
to ride again. As they now went forward, through
forest and over plain, Arthur said,—

“I have no sword. I shall be ill put to it should
I meet a champion.”

“Heed not that,” said Merlin. “That loss will
be soon repaired.”

And so they rode till they came to a lake, a broad
and fair sheet of water, that stretched far before
their eyes. As the king stood and looked upon it,
he saw in its midst, to his deep wonder, an arm
clothed in white samite lift itself above the water,
and in the hand appeared a glittering sword, that
gleamed brightly in the sun’s rays.

“Lo! yonder is the sword I spoke of,” said
Merlin.

Then another wonder met their eyes, for a woman
came walking towards them upon the surface of
the lake.

[Pg 44]“What damsel is that?” asked Arthur. “And
what means all this wondrous thing?”

“That is the Lady of the Lake,” said Merlin.
“Within that lake is a great rock, and therein is
a palace as fair as any on the earth, and most richly
adorned, wherein this lady dwells. When she comes
to you ask her in courtly phrase for the sword, for
it is hers to give.”

Soon came the damsel to them and saluted
Arthur, who courteously returned her salutation.

“Fair lady,” he said, “what sword is it that
yonder arm holds so strangely above the water?
I would it were mine, for I have lost my weapon.”

“King Arthur,” replied the damsel, “the sword
you see is mine. But it shall be yours if you will
promise me a gift when I shall ask it of you.”

“By my faith,” rejoined Arthur, “I will give
you whatever gift you may ask, if it be within reason
and justice.”

“Then,” said the damsel, “go into the barge
you see yonder and row yourself to the sword, and
take it and the scabbard. As for the gift, I shall
bide my time to ask it.”

Arthur and Merlin now alighted and entered
the boat they saw near by, rowing it to where the
arm in white samite held up the sword. Reaching
boldly out, Arthur grasped the weapon by the
handle, and at once the arm and hand disappeared
beneath the water, leaving the wondrous blade in
his hand, and the scabbard with it.

When they reached the land again the Lady of
the Lake was gone, and so they mounted and rode
away from that place of magic. Then Arthur
looked upon the sword and much he liked it,[Pg 45] for
the blade seemed to him of rare promise.

“Which like you the better, the sword or the
scabbard?” asked Merlin.

“The sword,” answered Arthur.

“There you lack wisdom,” said Merlin, “for
the scabbard is worth ten of the sword. While you
wear that scabbard you shall never lose blood, however
sorely you be wounded, so take good heed to
keep it always with you.”

So they rode unto Carlion, where Arthur’s
knights were glad enough to see him, for his absence
had greatly troubled them. And when they heard
of his adventures they marvelled that he would
risk his person so alone. But all men of worship
said that it was merry to be under a chieftain who
would take upon himself such adventures as poor
knights loved to meet.

During the absence of the king a messenger
had come to the court from King Ryons of North
Wales, who was also King of Ireland, and of many
islands, bearing a message of most insulting purport.
He said that King Ryons had discomfited
and overcome eleven kings, each of whom had been
forced to do him homage in the following manner:
each had sent him his beard, and the king had
trimmed his mantle with these kings’ beards. But
there lacked one place on the mantle, and he therefore
sent for King Arthur’s beard to complete the
fringe. If it were not sent him he would enter the
land and burn and slay, and never leave till he had
head and beard together.

“Well,” said Arthur, “you have said your message,
and the most villanous one it is that ever
living man sent unto a king; you may see, moreover,
that my beard as yet is somewhat too young
to serve as a trimming to his mantle. This, then,
you may tell your king. Neither I nor my lords
owe him any homage. But if he shall not before
many days do me homage on both his bended knees,
by the faith of my body he shall lose his head, in
requital for the shameful and discourteous message
that he has sent me. Bear you this answer to
your king.”

And so the messenger departed.

[Pg 46]

CHAPTER IV.

GUENEVER AND THE ROUND TABLE.

And now we have to tell the story of how King
Arthur got his fair wife Guenever, and how the
Round Table was brought to England’s realm.

After the defeat of the eleven kings, Arthur
had rescued King Leodegrance of Cameliard from
King Ryons, and put the latter with all his host
to flight. And at the court of Leodegrance he
saw his charming daughter Guenever, whom he
ever after loved.

So it fell upon a time that Arthur said to Merlin,—

“My barons give me no peace, but day by day
insist that I shall take a wife. But whether I
marry or not,[Pg 47] I shall take no step without your
counsel and advice.”

“Your barons counsel well,” said Merlin. “A
man of your bounty and nobleness should not be
without a wife. Is there any one woman that
you love beyond others?”

“Yes, by my faith there is,” said Arthur. “I
love Guenever, the daughter of King Leodegrance,
of Cameliard, he who has in his house the Round
Table, which you have told me he had of my father
King Uther. This damsel is the loveliest lady that
I know, or could ever hope to find.”

“Of her beauty and fairness no man can question,”
said Merlin. “If your heart were not set,
I could find you a damsel of beauty and goodness
that would please you as well. But where a man’s
heart is fixed there will he turn against the counsel
of wise and foolish alike.”

“You speak the truth,” said Arthur.

Covertly, however, Merlin warned the king that
Guenever would bring trouble to his court and
his heart, and counselled him to weigh well what
he thought to do. But Arthur’s love was warm,
and the wise man’s counsel, as he had said, fell
like water on a stone. Thereupon Merlin went to
Cameliard and told King Leodegrance of Arthur’s
wish.

“This is to me,” said Leodegrance, “the best
tidings that any man living could bring; that a
monarch of such prowess and nobleness should ask
to wed my daughter. Cheerfully will I give her,
and I would give lands in dowry with her, but of
that he has enough already. Yet I can send him[Pg 48]
a gift that will please him far more than lands
or treasure, no less a gift than the Table Round,
which Uther Pendragon gave me, and around which
may be seated a hundred and fifty knights. As
for myself, I have but a hundred knights worthy
to sit at the table, but these I will send to Arthur,
who must complete the tale himself.”

And so, with Guenever, and the Round Table,
and the hundred knights, Merlin set out for London,
where Arthur then was, and whither the noble
cavalcade rode in royal procession through the land.

When King Arthur heard of their coming his
heart was filled with joy, and he said to those around
him,—

“This fair lady is very welcome to me, for I
have loved her long. And these knights with the
Round Table please me more than if the greatest
riches had been sent, for I value worth and prowess
far above wealth and honors.”

He ordered the marriage and coronation to be
prepared for in royal pomp, but with no needless
delay.

“And, Merlin,” he said, “I pray you to go and
seek me out fifty knights of the highest honor and
valor, to complete the tale of my Round Table
Knights.”

Merlin went, and in a short time brought twenty-eight
knights whom he deemed worthy of that high
honor, but no more could he find.

Then the Archbishop of Canterbury was brought,
and he blessed the seats of the Round Table with
great worship and ceremony, and placed the twenty-eight
knights in their chairs. When this was done
Merlin said,—

Copyright by Frederick Hollyer, London, England.

KING ARTHUR’S FAIR LOVE.

[Pg 49]“Fair sirs, you must all rise and come to King
Arthur and do him homage. For henceforth you
are his chosen knights, and must so declare. And
know you well, that great shall be the future honor
and fame of all who worthily occupy these seats.”

At this request the knights arose, and did homage
to the king. And when they had risen from their
seats there appeared in each in letters of gold the
name of him who had sat therein. But two seats
were wanting from the full tale.

“What is the reason of this?” asked Arthur.
“Why are there two seats lacking?”

“Sir,” answered Merlin, “no man shall occupy
those places but the most worshipful of knights.
And in the Seat Perilous, which adjoins them, no
man shall sit but one, and if any one unworthy
of this honor shall be so hardy as to attempt it,
he shall be destroyed. He that shall sit there shall
have no fellow.”

Anon came young Gawaine, the son of King Lot,
a squire of handsome mien, who asked of the king
a gift.

“Ask, and I shall grant it,” answered the king.

“I ask that you make me knight on the day you
wed fair Guenever.”

“That shall I do willingly,” said Arthur, “and
with what worship I may, since you are my nephew,
my sister’s son.”

[Here it is proper to say that Arthur had three
sisters, the daughters of Queen Igraine and her first
husband, the Duke of Tintagil. One of these, Margawse,
had married King Lot, and had four sons,
all of whom became valiant knights; Elaine, the
second, had married King Neutres of Garlot;[Pg 50] the
third sister, Morgan le Fay, had been put to school,
where she became learned in the art of necromancy;
of the fourth the chronicles fail to speak.]

Hardly had Gawaine spoken when there came
riding into the court a poor man, who brought with
him a fair-faced youth, of eighteen years of age,
riding upon a lean mare.

“Sir, will you grant me a gift?” the old man
asked of the king. “I was told that you would
at the time of your marriage grant any gift that
was asked for in reason.”

“That is true,” said the king. “What would
you have?”

“Jesu save you, most gracious king. I ask nothing
more than that you make my son a knight.”

“It is a great thing you ask,” said the king.
“Who are you, and what claim has your son to this
high honor?”

“I am but a cowherd, great sir, and am the
father of thirteen sons. But this one is unlike
all the rest. He will do no labor, and cares for
nothing but warlike sports, and seeing knights and
battles. And day and night he craves for knighthood.”

“What is thy name?” the king asked the young
man.

“Sir, my name is Tor.”

The king looked at him closely. He was of handsome
face, and was very well made and strong of
limb and body.

“Where is the sword with which this youth shall
be made knight?” asked the king.

“It is here,” said Tor.[Pg 51]

“Then draw it from the scabbard, and require me
to make you a knight.”

At these words the youth sprang lightly and
gladly from his mare, drew the sword, and kneeled
before the king, asking him in earnest tones to
make him a Knight of the Round Table.

“A knight I will make you,” answered the king.
“But the Round Table is not for untried youth.”

Thereupon he smote him upon the neck with the
sword, and said,—

“Be you a good knight, and I pray God you may
be so. If you prove of prowess and worth I promise
you shall in good time have a seat at the Round
Table.”

“Now, Merlin,” said Arthur, “tell me whether
this Tor will be a good knight or not.”

“He should be so,” answered Merlin, “for he
comes of kingly blood. The cowherd here is no
more his father than I, but he is the son of the good
knight, King Pellinore, whose prowess you have
much reason to know.”

By good hap King Pellinore himself came next
morning to the court, and was glad to find what
honor had been done his son, whom he gladly
acknowledged as his.

Then Merlin took Pellinore by the hand and led
him to the seat next the Seat Perilous.

“This is your place at the Round Table,” he
said. “There is none here so worthy as yourself
to sit therein.”

At a later hour of that eventful day, in the city
of London, and at the Church of Saint Stephen,[Pg 52]
King Arthur was wedded unto Dame Guenever,
with the highest pomp and ceremony, and before
as noble an assemblage of knights and ladies as the
land held.

Afterwards a high feast was made, and as the
knights sat, each in his appointed place, at the
Round Table, Merlin came to them and bade them
sit still.

“For you shall see a strange and marvellous
happening,” he said.

Hardly had he spoken before there came running
a white hart into the hall, closely followed by a
white brachet,[1] while thirty couple of black hounds
in full cry came after, and chased the hart round
the feasting boards and then round the Round Table.

As they ran the brachet caught the hart by the
haunch, and bit out a piece, whereupon the wounded
animal made a great leap over a table, and through
a window, with such force as to overthrow a knight.
Through the window the hounds followed, in full
cry.

The fallen knight quickly rose, took up the
brachet in his arms, and left the hall. Seeking his
horse, he rode away, carrying the brachet with him.
But hardly had he gone when a lady came riding
into the hall on a white palfrey, and crying aloud
to King Arthur,—

“Sir, suffer not yonder knight to do me this
wrong. The brachet that he has taken away is
mine.”

[Pg 53]She had but ceased speaking when an armed
knight rode up on a great horse, and took her away
by force, though she bitterly cried and called for
aid.

“This affair must not be taken lightly,” said
Merlin to the king. “The honor of your court
requires that you shall redress all wrongs, and
here, at your marriage feast, have great wrongs
been done.”

“What do you advise?” asked the king. “I
shall be governed by your counsel.”

“Then,” answered Merlin, “call Sir Gawaine,
for he must bring again the white hart. Also
call Sir Tor, for to him must be assigned the adventure
of the knight and the brachet. As for the
lady and the knight, King Pellinore must bring
them, or slay the knight if he will not come.”

Thereupon they were all three called, and they
armed and rode forth on the errands assigned them.
Many and strange were the adventures of these
valiant knights, but we have matter of more moment
to tell, and so cannot relate their valorous deeds.
We can but say that Gawaine brought back the head
of the hart, and little honor with it, for by an evil
accident he killed a lady, and barely escaped with
life from her champions.

Sir Tor had better fortune, for he brought the
brachet alive, and won much honor from his deeds.

King Pellinore was also successful in his quest,
for he brought back the lady in safety, after having
fought with and slain her kidnapper. This lady’s
name was Nimue, and of her we shall have many
strange things to tell hereafter.

[Pg 54]Thus ended the three quests which followed the
marriage of King Arthur and Guenever the fair.
Afterwards the king established his knights, giving
lands to those who were poor, and enjoining all
against outrage, and in favor of mercy and gentleness.
He also bade them to succor all ladies in distress,
and never to engage in a wrongful quarrel,
or to strive for worldly goods.

Unto this were sworn all the Knights of the
Round Table, old and young. And it was ordained
that they should renew their oaths every year at the
high feast of Pentecost, that their obligations might
never be forgotten, and the honor and renown of
the glorious fellowship of the Round Table never
decline.

In this manner began, that illustrious career of
the Knights of the Round Table, which was destined
to shed the greatest glory on Arthur’s reign, and
to fill the whole world with its fame. Valorous
as were the knights who first composed that noble
order of chivalry, it was afterwards to include such
world-renowned warriors as Lancelot du Lake, Tristram
de Lyonesse, and others of little less prowess,
the story of whose noble exploits and thrilling
adventures was destined to be told by bards and sung
by minstrels till all time should ring with the tale,
and men of honor in far future days be stirred to
emulation of these worthy knights of old.

[Pg 55]

BOOK II.

THE DEEDS OF BALIN.

CHAPTER I.

HOW BALIN WON AND USED THE ENCHANTED SWORD.

It befell upon a time when King Arthur was
at London, that tidings came to him that King
Ryons of North Wales was carrying out his threat.
He had crossed the borders with an army, and was
burning and harrying his lands and slaying his
people without mercy. On learning this the king
sent word to his lords and knights to assemble with
all haste at Camelot, where a council would be held
and measures of defence and reprisal taken.

And it so fell out that while this assembly was
in session at Camelot, a damsel came into the court
who had been sent by the great lady Lile of Avelion.
When she came before King Arthur she let fall her
mantle, which was richly furred, and revealed a
noble sword, with which she was girt.

“Damsel,” said the king in wonder, “why wear
you that sword? It beseems you not.”

“Indeed, sir, it is a sore burden to me,” replied
the damsel, “but I must wear it till a knight of the
highest honor and virtue can be found to deliver
me of my charge. None other than such a one
may draw this sword from its sheath, for so it is[Pg 56]
ordained. I have been to King Ryons’s camp, where
I was told there were knights of high excellence,
and he and all his knights tried it, but in vain.
I have therefore come to your court with my burden,
and hope that the knight fit to draw it may here
be found.”

“This is surely a great marvel,” said Arthur.
“I shall try to draw the sword myself; not that
I claim to be the best knight, but as an example
to my barons.”

Then Arthur took the sword by the sheath and
the girdle, and pulled at it eagerly, but it failed
to yield.

“You need not pull so hard,” said the damsel.
“He who shall draw it will need little strength,
but much virtue.”

“Now try ye, all my barons,” said Arthur. “But
beware ye be not defiled with shame, treachery,
or guile.”

“That is well advised,” said, the damsel, “for
none shall draw it but a clean knight without
villany, and of gentle birth both by father and
mother.”

Then most of the Knights of the Round Table
who were there tried their fortunes, but none
succeeded in the magic task.

“Alas!” said the damsel, “I hoped to find in
this court the best knights upon earth.”

“By my faith,” said Arthur, “the world holds
no better knights; but it grieves me to find that
none here seem to have the grace or power to draw
this sword.”

It happened that at that time there was a poor[Pg 57]
knight of Northumberland birth in Arthur’s court,
Balin by name. He had been held prisoner there
more than half a year, for slaying a knight who was
cousin to the king, and had just been set free
through the good services of some of the barons,
who knew that he was not at fault in this deed.

When he learned what was being done his heart
bade him try his fortune, but he was so poor and
so shabbily dressed that he held back in shame.
Yet when the damsel took her leave of Arthur
and his barons, and was passing from the court,
Balin called to her and said,—

“Suffer me, I pray you, to try this venture.
Though I am poorly clad, and but ill considered, I
feel in my heart that in honor and grace I stand
as high as any of those knights.”

The damsel looked on him with some disdain,
and begged him not to put her to useless trouble,
for he seemed not the man to succeed where so
many of noble guise had failed.

“Fair damsel,” he replied, “you should well
know that worthiness and good qualities do not
dwell in attire, but that manhood and virtue lie
hidden within man’s person, not in his dress; and
therefore many a worshipful knight is not known
to all people.”

“You speak wisely,” said the damsel. “You
shall essay the task, and may fortune befriend
you.”

Then Balin took the sword by the girdle and
sheath, and drew it out with such ease that king
and barons alike were filled with wonder, and many
of the knights, in spite and jealousy, cried that[Pg 58]
Balin had done this not by might, but by witchcraft.

“He is a good knight,” cried the damsel, “the
best and worthiest among you all, even if fortune
has dealt with him shabbily. Now, gentle and
courteous knight, give me the sword again.”

“No,” said Balin, “I have fairly won this sword,
and well it pleases me. I shall keep it unless it
be taken from me by force.”

“You are not wise to keep it,” said the damsel.
“I warn you that if you do so you will slay with
the sword your best friend and the man you most
love in the world, and that it will be your destruction.”

“I shall take such adventure as God may ordain
me,” said Balin, “but by the faith of my body I
shall keep the sword.”

“You will quickly repent it,” said the damsel.
“It is more for your good than for mine that I
ask it back. I am sad to find that you will not believe
me, and will bring destruction on yourself.
The wilful man makes his own destiny.” With this
the damsel departed, in great sorrow.

Then Balin sent for his horse and his armor, and
made ready to depart, though Arthur begged him
to remain.

“I knew not your worth,” he said, “or you should
not have been so unkindly treated. I was misinformed
concerning you.”

“My heartfelt thanks are yours,” said Balin.
“But asking your good grace, I must needs depart.”

“Then tarry not long, fair knight; you shall
always be welcome to my court.”

[Pg 59]So Balin donned his armor and made ready to
depart. But while he still tarried there came to
the court a lady richly attired, and riding on a
handsome horse.

She saluted King Arthur, and presented herself
as the Lady of the Lake, from whom he had received
the sword, saying that she had now come to
demand the gift which he had promised her whenever
she should ask for it.

“A gift I promised you, indeed,” said Arthur,
“and you do well to ask it. But first I would
know the name of the sword you gave me.”

“The name of it,” said the lady, “is Excalibur,
which signifies cut-steel.”

“Then well is it named,” said the king. “Now
ask what gift you will. If it is in my power to
present you shall have it.”

“What I ask,” said the Lady of the Lake, “is
the head of the knight who has just won the sword,
or of the damsel who brought it; or both their
heads, if you will. He slew my brother, and she
caused my father’s death.”

“Truly,” said the king, in pain and wonder,
“you ask what I cannot in honor grant. Ask what
you will else and you shall not be denied, but even
a king cannot pay his debts with murder.”

“I shall ask nothing else,” said the lady. “Little
deemed I that King Arthur would be recreant to
his word.”

When Balin was told of the demand of the Lady
of the Lake, he went straight to her, where she
stood before the king, and said, “Evil you are in
heart and voice, and evil have ever been. Vile enchantress,[Pg 60]
you would have my head, and therefore,
shall lose yours.” And with a light stroke of his
sword he smote off her head before the king, so that
it fell bleeding at his feet.

“What shame is this?” cried Arthur, in hot
wrath. “Why have you dared treat thus a lady to
whom I was beholden, and who came here under
my safe-conduct?”

“Your displeasure grieves me,” said Balin.
“But you know not this lady, or you would not
blame me for her death, for she was of all women
the vilest that ever breathed. By enchantment and
sorcery she has slain many good knights, and I
have sought her during three years, to repay her
for the falsehood and treachery by which she caused
my mother to be burnt.”

“Whatever your grievance, you should not have
sought your revenge in my presence. You have
done me a foul disgrace, sir knight. Leave my
court in all haste while you may, and believe me
you shall be made to repent this insult to my
dignity.”

Then Balin took up the head of the lady, and
meeting his squire at his inn, they rode together
from the town.

“Now,” said the knight, “we must part. Take
this head and bear it to my friends in Northumberland,
and tell them that my mortal foe is dead.
Also tell them that I am out of prison, and by
what adventure I got this sword.”

“You were greatly to blame to displease King
Arthur,” said the squire.

“As for that,” said Balin, “I hope to win his[Pg 61]
grace again by the death or capture of King Ryons,
whom I go to meet. The woman sought my death,
and has had her just deserts.”

“Where shall I find you again?” asked the
squire.

“In King Arthur’s court.”

And so they parted. Meanwhile King Arthur
and all the court grieved deeply over the death of
the Lady of the Lake, and felt greatly shamed that
they had not hindered the sudden and bloody deed.
And the king ordered that she should have a rich
and stately funeral.

At this time there was in Arthur’s court a knight
named Lanceor, the son of the king of Ireland, a
proud and valiant warrior, who was angry at Balin
for winning the sword, and sought revenge on him.
He asked the king to give him leave to ride after
Balin and revenge the insult to his crown.

“Go and do your best,” said the king. “Balin
has done me a great despite, and richly deserves
punishment.”

Thereupon the knight of Ireland armed and
rode at all speed after Balin, whom he quickly
overtook on a mountain side. He called to him
in loud tones,—

“Stop, sir knight. You shall halt whether you
will or not, and the shield you bear shall prove
but light defence to you, for I am come to punish
you for your crime.”

Hearing this outcry, Balin turned fiercely, and
demanded,—

“What do you wish, sir knight? Are you here
to joust with me?”

[Pg 62]“It is for that I have followed you,” said the
Irish knight.

“It might have been better for you to stay at
home,” answered Balin. “Many a knight who
thinks to chastise his enemy finds ill fortune to
fall upon himself. From what court have you been
sent?”

“From the court of King Arthur, to revenge the
insult you put upon him in murdering his guest
before his face.”

“Then must I fight with you,” said Balin. “Yet
I warn you your quarrel is a weak one. The lady
that is dead richly deserved her fate, or I should
have been as loath as any knight living to kill a
woman.”

“Make ready,” said Lanceor. “Fight we must,
and one of us shall remain dead upon this field.
Our combat is to the utterance.”

Then they put their spears in rest, and rode
together at the full speed of their horses, meeting
with a shock in mid career. Lanceor struck Balin
a blow upon the shield that shivered the spear in
his hand. But Balin smote him with such force
that the spear-point went through shield and hauberk,
and pierced his body, so that he fell dead to
the earth.

As the victorious knight stood looking on the
corpse of his slain foe, there came from Camelot
a damsel, who rode up at full speed upon a fair
palfrey. When she saw that Lanceor was dead
she fell into a passion of sorrow, and cried out in
tones of deep lamentation,—

“Oh, Balin, thou hast slain two bodies and one[Pg 63]
heart! Yes, two hearts in one body, and two souls
thou hast murdered with thy fatal spear.”

Then she took the sword from her love, and as
she took it fell to the ground in a swoon. When
she arose again her sorrow was so great that Balin
was grieved to the heart, and he sought to take
the sword from her hands, but she held it so firmly
that he could not wrest it from her without hurting
her. Suddenly, before he could move to hinder,
she set the pommel of the sword to the ground and
threw her body upon the naked blade. Pierced
through the heart, she fell dead upon the body of
her slain love.

“Alas!” said Balin, “that this should have happened.
I deeply regret the death of this knight
for the love of this damsel; for such true love as
this I never saw before. Yet his death was forced
on me, and hers I could not hinder.”

Full of sorrow, he turned his horse, and as he
looked towards a great forest near by he saw a
knight riding towards him, whom he knew, by his
arms, to be his brother Balan.

When they were met they took off their helmets
and kissed each other, and wept for joy and pity.

“I little expected to meet you thus,” said Balan.
“A man in the Castle of Four Stones told me that
you were freed from prison, and therefore I came
hither in hope to find you at the court.”

Then Balin told his brother of all that had happened
at Camelot, and of the displeasure of the
king, and that he had determined to win Arthur’s
favor at the risk of his life.

“King Ryons lies not far away besieging the[Pg 64]
Castle Terrabil,” he said. “Thither will we ride,
to prove our worth and prowess upon him.”

“I shall be your comrade,” said Balan. “We
shall help each other as brethren should, and trust
to God for fortune.”

As they stood conversing there came a dwarf
riding in all haste from Camelot. When he saw
the dead bodies he tore his hair for sorrow.

“Which of you knights has done this foul deed?”
he demanded.

“Why do you ask?” queried Balin.

“Because I have the right to know.”

“It was I,” said Balin. “He pursued me hither,
and forced me to fight. One of us had to die. As
for the damsel, she died by her own hand, for which
no man can be sorrier than I. For her sake I
shall owe all women the better love and favor.”

“You have done yourself great damage,” said
the dwarf. “The kindred of this knight will follow
you through the world till they have revenged on
you his death.”

“That I do not greatly dread,” said Balin.
“But I am sorry to have displeased King Arthur
for the death of this knight; and sorrier still for
the fate of this lovelorn damsel.”

As they thus talked there chanced to pass a king
of Cornwall, named King Mark, who halted on
seeing the dead bodies, and demanded what had
been done. When the tale was told him he was
grieved that true love should have met so sad a
fate, and said, “I shall not leave here till I have
built them a tomb, for they have earned a rich
interment.”

Then he pitched his tents, and buried them nobly,
placing above them a rich and fair tomb which he
found in a church near by, and upon this tomb he
wrote their epitaph, as follows:

“Here lieth Lanceor, the son of Ireland’s king,
who was slain in fair combat by the hands of Balin;
and his lady Colombe, who for deep love and sorrow
slew herself with her true love’s sword. May lovers
henceforth make this their place of pilgrimage.”

[Pg 65]

CHAPTER II.

HOW ARTHUR TRIUMPHED OVER THE KINGS.

While the tomb was being erected over the dead
knight and his love, Merlin appeared at the scene.

“You have done yourself great harm,” he said
to Balin. “Why saved you not this lady?”

“By the faith of my body, I could not,” said
Balin, “she slew herself so suddenly.”

“This must I tell you,” said Merlin. “Because
of the death of this lady you shall strike a stroke
the most dolorous that ever man struck, except
the stroke of our Lord; for you shall hurt the
truest knight and the man of most worship that
now lives, and through that stroke three kingdoms
shall be in great poverty, misery, and wretchedness
for twelve years, and the knight you will hurt shall
not be whole of his wound for many years.”

“If I knew that it were true as you say,” answered[Pg 66]
Balin, “I would do such a rash deed as to
slay myself to make you a liar. But the future
must reveal itself. I trust no man’s predictions.”

Thereupon Merlin suddenly vanished away, leaving
them in deep marvel at his coming and going.
Soon after Balin and his brother took leave of King
Mark.

“First,” said the king, “tell me your name.”

“You see he bears two swords,” said Balan.
“You may call him the knight with the two
swords.”

And so King Mark rode towards Camelot, and
the brothers towards Terrabil. As they rode, Merlin
again met them, but now in disguise.

“Whither do you ride?” he asked.

“Why should we tell you that?” said the
knights.

“You need not, for I know already. And I
can tell you this. You will gain no advantage
over King Ryons without my counsel.”

“Ah! you are Merlin,” said Balin. “Then we
shall be glad of your counsel.”

“Come then with me. But look that you brace
yourself to knightly deeds, for you will have great
need to do so.”

“As for that,” said Balin, “we will do what we
can. No knight can do more.”

Then Merlin lodged them in a leafy wood beside
the highway, where they rested till it was near
midnight. He then awakened them and bade them
rise and make ready, for the king they sought was
near at hand. He had stolen away from his host
with threescore of his best knights to visit a lady.

[Pg 67]“How shall we know the king?” asked Balin.

“Hereby is a narrow way where you shall meet
him,” said Merlin.

They followed him to the place, where they lay
in ambush till the rattle of harness showed that
the party approached. Then, at Merlin’s suggestion,
the two knights rode from their covert and
assailed the king at the head of his followers, wounding
him sorely and hurling him to the ground.
They then, in the darkness, attacked the array of
knights with the fury of lions, slaying more than
forty of them, and putting the remnant to flight.

This done, they returned to King Ryons where
he lay helpless, and with a threat of death forced
him to yield himself to their grace.

“Valiant knights, slay me not,” he asked. “You
may profit by my life, but can win nothing by
my death.”

“There you speak truly,” said they, and lifting
him carefully they placed him on a horse-litter
for conveyance to Camelot.

Then Merlin vanished and came to King Arthur,
whom he told that his greatest enemy was vanquished
and taken.

“By whom?” asked the king.

“By two of the most valorous knights in your
realm. To-morrow you shall learn who they are.”

In good time Balin and his brother came with
the wounded king and delivered him to the porters
at the gates, charging them to bear him to King
Arthur. Then they turned again and departed
in the dawning of the day.

When King Ryons was brought to the court,
Arthur received him graciously.

[Pg 68]“Sir king,” he said, “you are heartily welcome.
By what adventure came you hither?”

“By a hard one,” said the captive, “as you well
may see.”

“Who won you?” asked Arthur.

“The knight with the two swords and his
brother,” said Ryons. “And knights of marvellous
prowess they are.”

“I know them not,” said Arthur, “but none the
less am I deeply beholden to them.”

“I shall tell you,” said Merlin. “One of these
knights was Balin, he that won the sword; the
other was Balan, his brother, and as good a knight.
And it is the most sorrowful thing that tongue
can say that neither of these brave knights shall
live long to win the fame of which they are so
worthy.”

“Alas!” said Arthur, “if that be so, it is indeed
a great pity. I am much beholden to Balin, for he
has highly redeemed the despite he did me. I have
not deserved such good service at his hands.”

“He shall do more for you, and that soon,” said
Merlin. “I must now depart, for I have duties
elsewhere; but before I go let me warn you to
prepare your forces for battle at once. To-morrow
before noon you will be set upon by a great host,
led by Nero, King Ryons’s brother. Therefore make
all haste for your defence.”

Merlin’s departure was for a purpose which he
told not to the king. He well knew that King
Lot of Orkney, Arthur’s bitterest foe, was marching
to join Nero with a powerful host, and foresaw
that if they fell together on King Arthur he and[Pg 69]
all his army would be destroyed. The shrewd magician
thereupon repaired to King Lot, and held
him with idle tales of prophecy till Nero and his
people were destroyed.

For between Nero and Arthur a vigorous battle
was fought, in which many knights won honor and
renown, while King Arthur with his own hand slew
twenty knights and maimed forty. But Balin and
his brother Balan, who came in during the fight,
did such mighty deeds of prowess that all who beheld
them said they fought like angels from heaven or
devils from hell, while Arthur beheld their prowess
with wonder and delight, and vowed that he owed
to them his victory.

The combat, which took place at the Castle Terrabil,
ended in the complete defeat of Nero, and
the destruction of nearly all his host. Word of
this disaster was brought to King Lot, where he
lay resting with his army.

“Alas!” he said, “why did I let myself be beguiled?
Had I been there no host under heaven
could have matched us. That false prattler, with
his prophecy, has mocked and befooled me. But
what shall now be done? Shall we treat with
Arthur, or is it wise to fight him with half an
army?”

“His men are weary with fighting and we are
fresh,” said a knight. “Now is the time to set
upon him.”

“So be it, then. And I hope that every knight
will bear himself in the fray as well as I, for it is
no laggard’s task we have now before us.”

Then with waving banners and serried spears[Pg 70]
they assailed Arthur’s weary host. But the Round
Table Knights, with the aid of the two valiant
brothers Balin and Balan, roused themselves vigorously
to the fray, and bore all before them, so that
only where King Lot himself fought did his host
hold its ground. But where he battled in the van
all his men seemed borne up by his valor, and not
a knight met him but was overthrown or forced
back by his prowess.

Then King Pellinore pushed through the press
of knights and horses, and struck a mighty stroke
at King Lot as he fought at the head of his host.
The sword failed in its aim, but struck the neck
of the king’s horse, so that the wounded animal
fell to the ground with its rider. Then Pellinore
struck so furious a stroke that his sword cut King
Lot’s helmet in twain, and cleft his head to the
brows, hurling him lifeless to the earth.

Seeing their king thus slain, all the host of Orkney
turned and fled, and great was the slaughter
in the pursuit. That day there fell in all twelve
kings, who fought with Lot and Nero, and all these
were buried in the church of Saint Stevens at
Camelot.

Copyright by Frederick Hollyer, London, England.

KING ARTHUR’S TOMB.

Of the tombs that were made for these kings that
of King Lot was most richly adorned, and King
Arthur had a tomb prepared for himself beside it.
For this he had made twelve images of brass and
copper, which were gilt with gold. These represented
the twelve kings, and each of them held a
taper of wax, that burned night and day. An image
of King Arthur was also made, in the form of
a statue that stood above the twelve kings with a[Pg 71]
drawn sword in its hand, while the faces of the
twelve images were those of men that had been
overcome. All these figures were made by Merlin
through his subtle craft.

“When I am dead,” he said to the king, “these
tapers shall burn no longer. Then the end will
be near, and the adventures of the Sangreal shall
be achieved.”

Much more he told the king of the strange events
that would come to pass in the future time; and
further he said,—

“Look well to the scabbard of Excalibur. You
shall lose no blood while you wear this scabbard,
even though you be covered with wounds.”

Thus admonished, Arthur, in loving trust, took
the scabbard to Morgan le Fay, his sister, and gave
it into her care to keep for him. Much did he peril
in doing so, for Morgan was false at heart, and
proved recreant to her trust, from love for a knight
named Accolan, whom she cherished in her soul
beyond her husband, while she had grown to hate
her brother. She made, by enchantment, another
scabbard like the one given her in trust, and gave
the scabbard of Excalibur to her love. By this
deed of treachery she hoped in her false soul to bring
King Arthur to his death. And well-nigh she
succeeded therein, as shall be told hereafter.

[Pg 72]

CHAPTER III.

HOW BALIN GAVE THE DOLOROUS STROKE.

A day or two after King Arthur had placed the
magical scabbard in the hands of his evil-thinking
sister, he grew unwell, and had his tent pitched in
a meadow near Camelot for the benefit of the fresh
air and the green verdure. Here he sought in vain
to sleep, lying long in uneasy wakefulness. As
he thus lay he heard a horse approaching, and looking
through the door of his tent, beheld a knight,
who lamented deeply as he came.

“Halt! fair sir,” cried Arthur. “Tell me the
cause of your sorrow.”

“You can little aid me,” said the knight, and
he rode onward without further answer.

Soon afterward Balin rode up, and on seeing King
Arthur sprang from his horse and saluted him.

“By my head, you are welcome,” said the king.
“A knight has just ridden past here moaning sadly,
but has declined to tell me the cause of his sorrow.
I desire of your courtesy to bring that knight to
me, either by force or good-will, for I wish greatly
to know why he so deeply grieves.”

“That is little to what I should be glad to do
for you,” said Balin. He rode on apace, and ere
long found the knight in a neighboring forest in
company with a damsel.

“Sir knight,” he said, “you must come with me
to King Arthur. He demands to see you and learn
the cause of your sorrow.”

[Pg 73]“That I shall not do,” said the knight. “It will
injure me greatly, and do no good to you or him.”

“Then you must make ready to fight,” said Balin.
“I have my order to bring you willingly or by
force, and I should be loath to have a fight with
you.”

“Will you be my warrant if I go with you?”
asked the knight. “For truly you lead me into
danger.”

“Yes. And I shall die rather than let you come
to harm, if it is in my power to avert it.”

This said, the knight turned and rode back with
Balin, accompanied by the damsel. But as they
reached King Arthur’s pavilion a strange thing
happened. A spear was thrust through the body
of the knight, inflicting a mortal wound. Yet
the hand and form of him who did this fatal deed
remained unseen.

“Alas!” said the knight, “it is as I feared.
Under your conduct and guard I have been slain
by a traitorous knight called Garlon, who through
enchantment rides invisible, and does such deeds
as this. My day is done. As you are a true knight,
I charge you to take my horse, which is better than
yours, and ride with this damsel on the quest which
for me is at an end. Follow as she will lead, and
revenge my death when best you may.”

“That shall I do,” said Balin. “Upon the honor
of knighthood I vow to follow your quest, and to
revenge you on this false foe, or die as you have
done.”

Then, leaving the king, Balin rode with the
damsel, who bore with her the truncheon of the[Pg 74]
spear with which the knight had been killed. After
they had gone, King Arthur had the knight buried
richly and honorably, and had written upon the
tomb his name, Herleus de Berbeus, and how he
came to his death through the treachery of the
invisible knight Garlon.

Meanwhile Balin and the damsel rode onward
until they found themselves in a forest. Here
they met a knight engaged in hunting, who asked
Balin why he showed such grief.

“That I do not care to tell,” said Balin.

“You should if I were armed as you are, for
your answer is too curt to be courteous.”

“My story is not worth fighting for,” answered
Balin. “I will tell you if you so greatly desire to
know.” He thereupon told him the fatal event
which had just occurred, and that he mourned
the untimely death of the knight who had been
so treacherously slain.

“This is a sad story,” said the knight. “As I
am a true cavalier I will go with you on your quest,
and leave you not while life lasts.”

Then he went with Balin to his inn, armed himself,
and rode forth with him. But as they passed
by a hermitage near a church-yard the invisible
knight Garlon came again, and smote Balin’s companion
through the body, as he had done to Herleus
before.

“Alas!” cried the knight. “I too am slain by
this invisible traitor, who does murder at will under
cover of enchantment.”

“It is not the first despite the wretch has done
me,” cried Balin. “Could I see him I would soon[Pg 75]
repay this outrage. I am bound by the honor of
a knight to a double revenge on this unworthy
caitiff.”

He and the hermit thereupon buried the slain
knight, Perin de Mountbeliard, under a rich stone
in a noble tomb, inscribing thereon the cause of
his death.

In the morning the knight and damsel proceeded
on their quest, and in good time found themselves
before a castle, which rose high and broad by the
roadside. Here Balin alighted, and he and the
damsel turned towards the castle, with purpose to
enter. But as Balin entered in advance the portcullis
was suddenly let fall behind him, cutting him
off from his companion. Immediately a number
of men assailed the damsel with drawn swords.

When Balin saw this treacherous proceeding his
soul burned within him. What to do at first he
knew not. Then he ran hastily into the gate tower,
and leaped, all armed, over the wall into the ditch.
Finding himself unhurt, he drew his sword and
rushed furiously upon the armed men who surrounded
his companion.

“Traitors and dogs!” he cried. “If you are
eager for fight, I will give you your fill.”

“We cannot fight you,” they answered. “We
do nothing but keep the old custom of the castle.”

“What is that?” asked Balin. “It is an ill
custom, methinks, that thus displays itself.”

“Our lady is sick, and has lain so for many
years. Nothing will cure her but a dish full of
blood from a maid and a king’s daughter. It is,
therefore, the custom that no damsel shall pass[Pg 76]
this way without leaving a silver dish full of blood.”

“That is for the damsel to say,” replied Balin.
“If she chooses to bleed for the good of your lady
she may, but her life shall not be taken while
mine lasts.”

The damsel thereupon yielded a dish full of her
blood, but it helped not the lady. She and Balin
rested in the castle for the night, where they had
good cheer. In the morning they proceeded again
on their quest.

Three or four days now passed without adventure.
At the end of that time the knight and
damsel found lodging in the house of a rich gentleman,
the owner of a fair estate. As they sat at
supper Balin was moved by the grievous complaints
of one who sat beside him, and asked his host the
cause of this lamentation.

“It is this,” said the host. “I was lately at a
tournament, where I twice overthrew a knight who
is brother to King Pellam. He threatened to
revenge his defeat on my best friend, and has done
so by wounding my son. The hurt is a grievous
one, and cannot be cured till I have some of that
knight’s blood; but how to find him I know not,
for his name is unknown to me, and he always rides
invisible.”

“Aha!” cried Balin, “has that treacherous dog
been at his murderous work again? I know his
name well. It is Garlon, and he has lately slain
two knightly companions of mine in the same base
manner. I should rather meet with that invisible
wretch than have all the gold in this kingdom.
Let me see him once and he or I dies.”

[Pg 77]“I shall tell you what to do, then,” said the
host. “King Pellam of Listeneise has announced a
great feast, to be given within twenty days, to
which no knight can come unless he brings with
him his wife or his love. That false knight, your
enemy and mine, will be there, and visible to
human eyes.”

“Then, as I am a true knight,” cried Balin,
“you shall have of his blood enough to twice heal
your son’s wound, if I die in the getting it.”

“We shall set forward to-morrow,” said the host,
“and I hope it may be as you say.”

In the morning they rode towards Listeneise,
which it took them fifteen days to reach, and where
the great feast began on the day of their arrival.
Leaving their horses in the stables, they sought
to enter the castle, but Balin’s companion was refused
admittance, as he had no lady with him.
Balin, however, having the damsel with him, was
at once received, and taken to a chamber where he
laid aside his armor and put on rich robes which
the attendants brought him. They wished him to
leave his sword, but to this he objected.

“It is the custom of my country,” he said, “for
a knight always to keep his weapon with him. This
custom shall I keep, or depart as I came.”

Hearing this, they objected no longer to his wearing
his sword, and he thereupon entered the feasting
chambers with his lady companion. Here he found
himself among many worshipful knights and fair
ladies.

Balin, after looking carefully round him, asked
a guest,—

[Pg 78]“Is there not a knight in this good company
named Garlon?”

“Yes. Yonder knight is he, the one with the
dark face. And let me tell you that there is no
more marvellous knight living. He has the power
of going invisible, and has destroyed many good
knights unseen.”

“I have heard of this,” said Balin. “A marvellous
gift, indeed. This, then, is Garlon? Thanks
for your information.”

Then Balin considered anxiously what had best
be done. “If I slay him here my own life will
pay the forfeit,” he said to himself. “But if I
let him escape me now it may be long before I
have such an opportunity, and in the meanwhile
he may do much harm.”

As he stood thus reflecting, with his eyes fixed
on Garlon’s face, the latter observed his close and
stern regard. In haughty anger he came to him
and smote him on the face with the back of his
hand.

“Sir knight,” he said, “take that for your impertinent
stare. Now eat your meat, and do what
you came here for. Hereafter learn to use your
eyes to better purpose.”

“You dog!” cried Balin, “this is not your first
insult to me. You bid me do what I came for.
It is this.” As he spoke he rose furiously from
his seat, drew his sword, and with one fierce blow
clove Garlon’s head to the shoulders.

“That is my errand here,” cried Balin to the
guests. “Now give me the truncheon,” he said
to the damsel, “with which he slew your knight.”

[Pg 79]She gave it to him, and Balin thrust it through
Garlon’s body, exclaiming,—

“With that truncheon you killed a good knight,
and with this blow I revenge him.”

Then he called his late host, who had by this
gained entrance to the feast, and said,—

“Here lies your foe. Take with you enough of
his blood to heal your son.”

All this had happened so quickly that none had
time to interfere, but the knights now sprang
hastily from their seats, and rushed from the hall
for their weapons, that they might revenge their
slain companion. Among them rose King Pellam,
crying furiously,—

“Why have you killed my brother! Villain and
murderer, you shall die for this!”

“Here I stand,” said Balin. “If you wish
revenge, seek it yourself. I stand in my defence.”

“It is well said,” cried the king. “Stand back,
all. For the love I bore my brother I will take
his revenge on myself. Let no one interfere. This
murderer is mine.”

Then King Pellam snatched up a mighty weapon
and struck fiercely at Balin, who threw up his own
sword in guard. He was in time to save his head,
but the treacherous blade went into pieces beneath
the stroke, leaving him unarmed before the furious
king.

Balin, finding himself thus in danger of death,
ran into a neighboring chamber in search of a
weapon, closely pursued by his enraged adversary.
Finding none there, he ran on from chamber to
chamber, seeking a weapon in vain, with King[Pg 80]
Pellam raging like a maddened lion behind him.

At length Balin entered a rich and marvellously
adorned chamber, within which was a bed covered
with cloth of gold of the noblest texture, and in
this bed a person lay. Near by was a table with
a top of solid gold and four curiously-shaped pillars
of silver for its legs, while upon it stood a mighty
spear, whose handle was strangely wrought, as
though it had been made for a mighty king.

But of all this marvel and magnificence Balin
saw only the spear, which he seized at once with
a strong grip, and turned with it to face his adversary.
King Pellam was close at hand, with sword
uplifted for a fatal stroke, but as he rushed in
blind rage forward Balin pierced his body with the
spear, hurling him insensible to the floor.

Little dreamed the fated warrior of all that thrust
portended. The spear he used was a magical
weapon, and prophecy had long declared that the
deadliest evil should come from its use. King
Pellam had no sooner fallen beneath that fatal
thrust than all the castle rocked and tottered as if
a mighty earthquake had passed beneath its walls,
and the air was filled with direful sounds. Then
down crushed the massive roof, and with a sound
like that of the trumpet-blast of disaster the strong
walls rent asunder, and rushed downward in a
torrent of ruin. One moment that stately pile
lifted its proud battlements in majesty toward the
skies; the next it lay prostrate as though it had
been stricken by the hand of God to the earth.

Men say who saw it that when fell that fatal
blow—thereafter to be known in history and legend
as the “dolorous stroke”—the castle shivered like
a forest struck by a strong wind, and then fell with
a mighty crash, burying hundreds beneath its walls.
Among these were Balin and King Pellam, who
lay there for three days without aid or relief, in
deep agony and peril of death.

[Pg 81]

CHAPTER IV.

THE FATE OF BALIN AND BALAN.

At the end of the three days came Merlin, who
rescued Balin from under the ruined walls.

“Your horse is dead,” he said, “but I have
brought you another, and the sword you won in
Arthur’s hall. My counsel is that you ride out of
this country with all speed; for little you know
the evil you have done.”

“The damsel I brought hither must go with
me,” said Balin.

“She shall never go farther,” answered Merlin.
“The damsel is dead, and with her many a good
knight and fair lady. That blow of yours was the
fatalest ever struck, as you may see in the ruin
of this castle, and as you will see further when
you ride abroad through this distracted country.”

“What have I done?” cried Balin. “How could
I know that such dread disaster dwelt within that
spear? Who was he that lay within the bed, and
what does this strange thing portend?”

[Pg 82]“You did but what destiny commanded,” said
Merlin. “It is fate, not you, that is at fault. Let
me tell you the meaning of this mighty and terrible
event, which destiny has thrown into your hands.
He who lay in that rich bed was Joseph of Arimathea,
who came years ago into this land, and
bore with him part of the blood of our Lord Jesus
Christ. And that spear was the same fatal weapon
with which Longius smote our Lord to the heart.
King Pellam was nigh akin to Joseph of Arimathea,
and great pity is it of his hurt, for that stroke has
filled the land with trouble, grief, and mourning.
As for King Pellam, he shall lie for many years
in sore pain from the wound you dealt him, and
shall never be whole again until Galahad, the high
prince, shall heal him when he comes this way in
the quest of the Sangreal.”

These words said, Balin mounted his horse, and
departed in deep grief for the harm he had wrought,
saying to Merlin as he left, “In this world we
shall never meet again, for I feel that destiny
has marked me for its victim.” But little knew he
the full effects of that fatal blow till he rode forth
through the land. Then as he went through the
once fair cities and fertile country he saw the people
lying dead on every side, and cities and lands in
ruin together. Few remained alive of all the inhabitants
of that populous realm, and as he passed
these cried out to him,—

“Oh, Balin, terrible is the harm that thou hast
done to this innocent land! Three countries lie
destroyed through the dolorous stroke thou gavest
unto King Pellam. Woe to thee for this dread[Pg 83]
deed! Thou hast escaped alive, yet doubt not but
the vengeance of heaven will fall on thee at last!”

Great was the grief and suffering with which
the good knight heard these words, and glad at heart
was he when at length he left behind him that land
of woe and ruin, to which his innocent hand had
wrought such deadly harm.

But as he rode onward the feeling came to him
that his end was at hand, though this grieved him
little, for he felt as one set apart to do heaven’s
work of destiny. And for eight days thereafter he
rode over many leagues of strange country without
adventure.

At length came a day when he saw before him,
by the roadside, a cross, on which in letters of gold
was written, “It is not wise for any knight alone
to ride towards this castle,” Then he saw a white-haired
old man approach, who said,—

“Balin le Savage, you pass your bounds to come
this way. Turn again, if you would leave this place
in safety.”

With these words he vanished, and as he did so
there rang on the air a bugle-blast like that blown
for the death of a beast of the chase.

“That blast is blown for me,” said Balin. “I
am the prize of the invisible powers. I am not
yet dead, but they claim me for their own.”

As he stood lost in deep thought there came
trooping from the castle, which he now saw in the
distance, a hundred fair ladies and many knights,
who welcomed him with great show of gladness,
and led him with them to the castle, where he found
dancing and minstrelsy, and all manner of sport[Pg 84]
and pleasure. As he stood observing all this the
chief lady of the castle said to him,—

“Knight of the two swords, there is a custom
of this castle which all who come here must keep.
Hereby is an island which is held by a knight, and
no man can pass this way unless he joust with him.”

“That is an unhappy custom,” said Balin.
“Why should every traveller be forced to fight?”

“You shall have to do with but one knight,”
said the lady.

“That troubles me little,” said Balin. “I and
my horse are both weary from our journey, but I
am not weary at heart, and, if fight I must, I am
ready to do it now. If death comes to me, it will
not come unwelcome.”

“Your shield does not seem to be a good one,”
said a knight. “Let me lend you a larger one.”

Balin took the proffered shield and left his own,
and rode to the island, where he and his horse were
taken over in a great boat. On reaching the island
shore he met a damsel, who said in sorrowful
accents,—

“O Knight Balin, why have you left your own
shield? Alas! you have put yourself in great
danger. Had you borne your own you would have
been known. It is a great pity that a knight of
your prowess and hardiness should fight unknown.”

“I repent that I ever came into this country,”
said Balin. “But now that I am here I shall not
turn again, and whatever comes to me, be it life or
death, I shall take it as my lot.”

Then he mounted and rode into the island, in
whose midst he saw a castle, from which rode a[Pg 85]
knight wearing red armor, and mounted on a horse
which bore trappings of the same color. The warriors
looked at each other, but neither knew the
other, though the two swords that Balin wore should
have revealed him, had not he borne a shield of
strange device.

Then, couching their spears, the hostile knights
rode together at the full speed of their war-horses,
meeting with such mighty force and equal fortune
that both horses went down, and both knights were
hurled to the earth, where they lay in a swoon.

Balin was sorely bruised and weary with travel,
and the red knight was the first to gain his feet.
But as he advanced with drawn sword, Balin sprang
up and met him with ready shield, returning his
blow with such force that he cut through his shield
and cleft his helmet.

And now began the mightiest battle that island
had ever beheld. As they fought, Balin looked at
the castle and saw that its towers were full of ladies
who were watching the deadly contest, and who
applauded each blow as though this combat was
meant for their sport. The valiant knights fought
till their breath failed, and then took rest and
fought again, until each was sorely wounded and
the spot upon which they stood was deeply stained
with blood.

They fought on until each of them had seven
great wounds, the least of which might have brought
death to the mightiest giant of the world. But
still the terrible sword-play continued, until their
coats of mail were so hewn that they stood unarmed,
and the blood poured piteously from their veins.[Pg 86]
At length the red knight withdrew a little and lay
down. Then said Balin,—

“Tell me what knight you are. For never did
I meet a man of your prowess before.”

“I am Balan,” was the answer, “brother to the
good knight Balin.”

“Alas!” cried Balin, “that ever I should see
this day!” and he fell to the earth in a swoon.

Then Balan dragged himself up on his hands
and feet, and took off his brother’s helmet, but the
face was so scarred and blood-stained that he did
not know it. But when Balin came to himself he
cried,—

“Oh, Balan, my brother, thou hast slain me, and
I thee! Fate has done deadly work this day.”

“Heaven aid me!” cried Balan. “I should
have known you by your two swords, but your shield
deceived me.”

“A knight in the castle caused me to leave my
own shield,” said Balin. “If I had life enough
left me I would destroy that castle for its evil
customs.”

“And I should aid you,” said Balan. “They
have held me here because I happened to slay a
knight that kept this island. And if you had slain
me and lived, you would have been held in the same
way as their champion.”

As they thus conversed there came to them the
lady of the castle, with four knights and six ladies
and as many yeomen. The lady wept as she heard
them moan that they as brothers had slain each
other, and she promised them that they should be
richly entombed on the spot in which the battle had
been fought.

[Pg 87]“Now will you send for a priest,” asked Balan,
“that we may receive the sacrament?”

“It shall be done,” said the lady.

And so she sent for a priest and gave them the
rites of the church.

“When we are buried in one tomb,” said Balin,
“and the inscription is placed over us telling how
two brothers here slew each other in ignorance
and valor, there will never good knight nor good
man see our tomb but they will pray for our souls,
and bemoan our fate.”

At this all the ladies wept for pity. Soon after
Balan died, but Balin lived till midnight. The
lady thereupon had them both richly buried, and
the tomb inscribed as they had asked, though she
knew not Balin’s name.

But in the morning came the magician Merlin,
who wrote Balin’s name upon the tomb in letters
of gold, as follows: “Here lieth Balin le Savage,
the knight with the two swords, and he that smote
the Dolorous Stroke.”

More than this did Merlin, through this magic
art. In that castle he placed a bed, and ordained
that whoever should lie therein would lose his wits.
And he took the sword which Balin had won from
the damsel, and removed its pommel, placing upon
it another pommel. Then he asked a knight beside
him to lift that sword, but he tried to do so in vain.

“No man shall have power to handle that sword,”
said Merlin, “but the best knight in the world;
and that shall be Sir Launcelot, or his son Sir
Galahad. And Launcelot with this sword shall slay
Sir Gawaine, the man he loves best in the world.”[Pg 88]
All this he wrote in the pommel of the sword.

Then Merlin built to the island a bridge of steel
and iron that was but half a foot broad, and
ordained that no man should cross that bridge unless
he were of virtuous life and free from treachery
or evil thoughts and deeds.

This done, Merlin by magical skill fixed Balin’s
sword in a block of marble as great as a millstone,
and set it afloat upon the stream in such a way
that the sword always stood upright above the
water. And for years this stone swam down the
stream, for no man could take it from the water
or draw the sword, until in time it came to the
city of Camelot (which is in English Winchester),
where the sword was drawn, and many strange
things followed thereupon, as shall be hereafter
related.

Soon after this was done, Merlin came to King
Arthur and told him the story of the dolorous
stroke which Balin had given to King Pellam, and
of the marvellous battle Balin and Balan had
fought, and how they were buried in one tomb.

“Alas!” cried Arthur, “I never heard a sadder
tale. And much is the loss to knighthood and chivalry,
for in the world I know not two such knights.”

Thus endeth the tale of Balin and Balan, two
brethren born in Northumberland, good knights.

[Pg 89]

CHAPTER V.

MERLIN’S FOLLY AND FATE.

And now we have again a tale of disaster to tell,
namely, how Merlin the wise fell into love’s dotage,
and through folly brought himself to a living death,
so that thenceforth he appeared no more upon the
earth, and his wise counsels were lost to Arthur
and his knights.

For the old magician, who had so long kept free
from love’s folly, became besotted with the damsel
named Nimue, she whom King Pellinore had
brought to the court on his quest at Arthur’s
marriage.

Merlin quite lost his wits and wisdom through
his mad passion for this young lady, to whom he
would give no rest, but followed her wherever she
went. The shrewd damsel, indeed, encouraged her
doting lover, for he was ready to teach her all the
secrets of his art, so that in time she learned from
him so much of his craft that she became skilled in
necromancy beyond all enchantresses of her time.

The wise magician knew well that his end was
at hand, and that the woman whom he loved would
prove his ruin, but his doting passion was such
that he had no strength of mind to resist. He came
thereupon unto King Arthur, and told him what
he foresaw, and which it was not in his power to
prevent; and warned him of many coming events,
that he might be prepared for them when Merlin
was with him no more.

MERLIN AND NIMUE.

[Pg 90]“I have charged you,” he said, “to keep in your
own hands the sword Excalibur and its scabbard,
yet well I know that both sword and scabbard
will be stolen from you by a woman whom you
foolishly trust, and that your lack of wisdom will
bring you near to your death. This also I may
say, you will miss me deeply. When I am gone
you would give all your lands to have me again.
For Merlin will find no equal in the land.”

“That I well know already,” said the king.
“But, since you foresee so fully what is coming
upon you, why not provide for it, and by your craft
overcome it?”

“No,” said Merlin, “that may not be. Strong
I am, but destiny is stronger. There is no magic
that can set aside the decrees of fate.”

Soon afterwards the damsel departed from the
court, but her doting old lover followed her wherever
she went. And as he sought to practise upon
her some of his subtle arts, she made him swear, if
he would have her respond to his love, never to perform
enchantment upon her again.

This Merlin swore. Then he and Nimue crossed
the sea to the land of Benwick, the realm of King
Ban, who had helped King Arthur so nobly in his
wars, and here he saw young Lancelot, the son
of King Ban and his wife Elaine, who was in the
time to come to win world-wide fame.

The queen lamented bitterly to Merlin the mortal
war which King Claudas made upon her lord and
his lands, and the ruin that she feared.

“Be not disturbed thereby,” said Merlin. “Your
son Lancelot shall revenge you upon King Claudas,[Pg 91]
so that all Christendom shall ring with the story
of his exploits. And this same youth shall become
the most famous knight in the world.”

“O Merlin!” said the queen, “shall I live to
see my son a man of such prowess?”

“Yes, my lady and queen, this you shall see, and
live many years to enjoy his fame.”

Soon afterwards Merlin and his lady-love returned
to England and came to Cornwall, the magician
showing her many wonders of his art as they
journeyed. But he pressed her so for her love that
she grew sorely weary of his importunate suit,
and would have given aught less than her life to
be rid of him, for she feared him as one possessed
of the arts of the foul fiend. But say or do what
she would, her doting lover clung to her all the
more devotedly, and wearied her the more with
his endless tale of love.

Then it came to pass that as they wandered
through Cornwall, and Merlin showed her all the
wonders of that land, they found themselves by a
rocky steep, under which he told her was a wonderful
cavern that had been wrought by enchantment
in the solid rock, its mouth being closed by a
mighty mass of stone.

Here, with all her art of love, and a subtle show
of affection, the faithless damsel so bewitched Merlin
that for joy he knew not what he did; and at
her earnest wish he removed by his craft the stone
that sealed the cavern’s mouth, and went under it
that he might show her all the marvels that lay
there concealed.

But hardly had he entered when, using the magic[Pg 92]
arts which she had learned from him, the faithless
woman caused the great stone to sink back with
a mighty sound into its place, shutting up the
enchanter so firmly in that underground cavern that
with all his craft he could never escape. For he
had taught her his strongest arts of magic, and do
what he would he could never move that stone.

This faithless act performed, the damsel departed
and left Merlin a prisoner in the rock. She alone
of all the world could set him free, and that she
would not do, but kept her secret, and thanked
heaven for her deliverance.

And so Merlin, through his doting folly, passed
out of the world of men into a living tomb.

Long days and months passed before his fate was
known, and then chance brought to his cavern
prison a valiant knight named Bagdemagus, who
had left Arthur’s court in anger because Sir Tor
was given a vacant seat at the Round Table which
he claimed as his due.

As he wandered through that part of Cornwall in
quest of adventures, he came one day past a great
rock from which dire lamentations seemed to issue.
Hearing those woeful sounds, Bagdemagus sought
to remove the stone that closed the cavern’s mouth,
but so firmly was it fixed by enchantment that a
hundred men could not have stirred it from its
place.

“Strive no longer,” came a voice from within.
“You labor in vain.”

“Who is it that speaks?” asked the knight.

“I am Merlin, the enchanter; brought here by
my doting folly. I loved not wisely but too well;[Pg 93]
and here you find me, locked in this cliff by my
strongest spells, which in love’s witlessness I taught
to a woman traitor. Go now, worthy sir, and leave
me to my fate.”

“Alas! that this should be! Tell me who did
this thing, and by what dismal chance, that I may
tell the king.”

Then Merlin related the story of his folly and
fate, in the end bidding the knight to leave him,
for only death could free him from that prison.

Hearing this, Bagdemagus departed, full of sorrow
and wonder, and after many days returned to
Arthur’s court, where he told the story of the magician’s
fate. Great was the marvel of all and the
grief of the king on learning this, and much he
besought Nimue to set Merlin free. But neither
threats nor entreaties could move her obdurate
heart, and at length she left the court in anger
and defiance, vowing that she would never set free
her old tormentor.

[Pg 94]

BOOK III.

THE TREASON OF MORGAN LE FAY.

CHAPTER I.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENCHANTED SHIP.

On a day not long after the event of Balin’s
death, it befell that Arthur and many of his knights
went out hunting in a great forest, where, as fortune
willed, King Arthur, Sir Accolan of Gaul,
and King Uriens, who had wedded Morgan le Fay,
followed far on the track of a great hart, which led
them astray till they were ten miles distant from
their late companions.

They were all well mounted, but so hot was the
chase, and so far did it lead them, that the horses
at length fell dead beneath the ardent huntsmen,
leaving them on foot in the remote depths of the
forest. But the hart was in no better condition,
for the hot chase had worn it out, and it dragged
wearily on before them, barely able to keep its feet.

“What shall we do?” said Arthur. “We are
far from human habitation, and the night comes
fast upon us.”

“Let us go forward on foot,” said Uriens. “We
shall surely soon meet with some place of shelter.”

THE GREAT FOREST.

Taking this advice, they advanced in the track
of the hart, and soon came up with it where it lay[Pg 95]
on the bank of a large stream, while a hound had
it by the throat, and others were coming up in full
bay.

Then Arthur blew the death-note of the chase,
and killed the hart. This done, he looked about
him, and to his surprise saw approaching on the
stream a small vessel, with flowing sails of silk.
As it came near it veered towards the shore, and
finally touched land on the sands before them.
Arthur walked to the bank and looked over the
sides upon the deck, but to his wonder not a living
person was to be seen.

“This is a marvellous thing,” said the king.
“Has the vessel been blown here by a wind of
magic? Let us enter and see what is in the ship.”

They did so, and found it richly adorned with
silken hangings and royally equipped. As they
stood on the deck looking about them in surprise,
night came upon them, but suddenly the darkness
was dispelled by a hundred torches, which flared
out around the sides of the ship, brilliantly illuminating
it. And immediately, from somewhere
in the depths of the ship, appeared twelve fair
damsels, who fell upon their knees before King
Arthur, saluting him by name, and welcoming him
to the best cheer that their means could provide.

“You are welcome, whoever you be,” said Arthur,
“and have our thanks for your kindly good will.”

“Follow us then, noble sir.”

Arthur and his companions followed their fair
guides into a cabin of the ship, where they were
glad to see a table richly provided with the most
delicate viands, and set with the rarest wines. The[Pg 96]
king marvelled greatly at this, for never in his
life had he fared better at supper than at this royal
feast.

The meal ended, Arthur was led into a richly-appointed
chamber, whose regal furniture and
appointments he had never seen surpassed. His
companions were conducted to chambers no less
richly appointed, and quickly the three weary
hunters fell asleep, for they were exhausted with
their day’s labor.

Perilous was the sleep that came upon them, for
they little dreamed that they had been lured into
an enchanted ship, and that strange adventures
awaited them all, and deadly danger threatened the
king.

For when the next day dawned, Uriens woke to
find himself at Camelot, in his own chamber, with
his wife. Much he marvelled at this, for he had
fallen asleep the evening before at two days’ journey
distant. As for Accolan, we shall tell later
what befell him. Arthur woke to find himself in
utter darkness, while the air was full of doleful
sounds. On feeling round him he soon discovered
that he was in a dismal dungeon, and on listening
he discovered that the sounds he heard were the
woeful complaints of prisoners.

“What place is this, and who are ye that bewail
so bitterly?” asked Arthur.

“We are twenty knights that have long been held
prisoners here, some for seven years and some for
less.”

“For what cause?” inquired Arthur.

“How came you here, that you know not the
cause?”

[Pg 97]“I came by foul enchantment,” said Arthur, and
told them his adventure, at which they wondered
greatly. “Now tell me,” he asked, “how came
you in this direful state?”

“We are victims of an evil-hearted villain,” they
answered. “The lord of this castle, Sir Damas
by name, is a coward and traitor, who keeps his
younger brother, Sir Ontzlake, a valiant and worthy
knight, out of his estate. Hostility has long ruled
between them, and Ontzlake proffers to fight Damas
for his livelihood, or to meet in arms any knight
who may take up his quarrel. Damas is too faint-hearted
to fight himself, and is so hated that no
knight will fight for him. This is why we are here.
Finding no knight of his own land to take up his
quarrel, he has lain in wait for knights-errant, and
taken prisoner every one that entered his country.
All of us preferred imprisonment to fighting for
such a scoundrel, and here we have long lain half
dead with hunger while eighteen good knights have
perished in this prison; yet not a man of us would
fight in so base a quarrel.”

“This is a woeful story, indeed,” said Arthur.
“I despise treason as much as the best of you, but
it seems to me I should rather take the choice of
combat than of years in this dungeon. God can
be trusted to aid the just cause. Moreover, I
came not here like you, and have but your words
for your story. Fight I will, then, rather than
perish.”

As they spoke a damsel came to King Arthur,
bearing a light.

“How fare you?” she asked.

[Pg 98]“None too well,” he replied.

“I am bidden to say this to you,” she remarked.
“If you will fight for my lord, you shall be delivered
from this prison. Otherwise you shall stay
here for life.”

“It is a hard alternative,” said Arthur; “I
should deem only a madman would hesitate. I
should rather fight with the best knight that ever
wore armor than spend a week in such a vile place.
To this, then, I agree. If your lord will deliver
all these prisoners, I will fight his battle.”

“Those are the terms he offers,” said the damsel.

“Then tell him I am ready. But he must provide
me with horse and armor, and vow on his
knightly honor to keep his word.”

“All this he will freely do.”

“It seems to me, damsel, that I have seen you
before. Have you not been at the court of King
Arthur?”

“Not so,” said the damsel. “I have never been
there, but am the daughter of the lord of this castle,
who has always kept me at home.”

In this, as the chronicles tell us, she spoke falsely,
for she was one of the damsels of Morgan le Fay,
and well she knew the king.

Damas was glad at heart to learn that a knight
had at last consented to fight for him, and the more
so when he saw Arthur and marked his strong limbs
and the high spirit in his face. But he and none
there save the damsel, knew who his prisoner was.

“It were a pity,” said all who saw him, “that
such a knight should die in prison. It is wise in
him to fight, whatever betide.”

[Pg 99]Then agreement was made that Arthur should
do battle to the uttermost for the lord of the castle,
who, on his part, agreed to set free the imprisoned
knights. To this covenant both parties took oath,
whereupon the twenty knights were brought from
their dark prison to the castle hall, and given their
freedom and the privilege of seeing the battle.

But now we must leave the story of Arthur and
Damas, and turn to that of Accolan of Gaul, the
third of the three knights who had gone to sleep in
the enchanted ship. This knight was, unknown
to Arthur, a lover of Morgan le Fay, being he for
whose sake she had counterfeited the magic scabbard
of the sword Excalibur.

She loved him, indeed, as ardently as she had
grown to hate her royal brother, and through this
love had laid a treacherous plot for Arthur’s death.

When Accolan awoke, to his surprise he found
himself no longer in the ship, but lying within
half a foot of the side of a deep well, in seeming
peril of his life, for he might at any moment have
fallen into the water. Out of this well there came
a pipe of silver, from which a crystal stream ran
into a high marble basin. When Accolan beheld
all this he crossed himself and said,—

“God save my lord King Arthur, and King
Uriens, for those damsels in the ship have betrayed
us all. They were not women, but devils, and if I
escape this misadventure I shall destroy all enchantresses
wherever I find them.”

As he spoke, there came to him a dwarf with a
great mouth and a flat nose, who saluted him, and
said that he came from Morgan le Fay.

[Pg 100]“She sends you her greetings, and bids you be
of strong heart, for to-morrow it shall be your task
to fight a knight of the greatest prowess. That
you may win in the combat she has sent you Arthur’s
sword Excalibur, with its magical scabbard. She
bids you do the battle to the uttermost without
mercy, and promises to make a queen of the damsel
whom you shall send to her with the head of the
knight you fight with.”

“I shall do her bidding,” said Accolan, “and cannot
fail to win, now that I have this sword, for which
I fervently thank her. When saw you my lady
queen?”

“I am just from her.”

“Recommend me to her, and tell her I shall do
all I have promised, or die for it. These crafts
and enchantments that have happened—are they of
her making?”

“That you may well believe. She has prepared
them to bring on this battle.”

“Who, then, is the knight with whom I shall
fight? It seems to me he should be a noble one, for
such preparation.”

“That my lady has not told me.”

As they spoke there came to them a knight and
a lady, with six squires, who asked Sir Accolan
why he lay there, and begged him to rise and come
with them to a neighboring manor, where he might
rest in better ease. As fortune willed it, this manor
was the dwelling of Sir Ontzlake, the brother of
the traitor Damas.

Accolan gladly accepted the invitation, but not
long had he been in the manor when word came[Pg 101]
from Damas, saying that he had found a knight
who was ready to do battle to the death for their
claims, and challenging Ontzlake to make ready
without delay for the field, or to send a knight to
take his side in the combat.

This challenge troubled Ontzlake sorely. Not
long before he had been sadly hurt in a joust, and
was still weak from his wound. Accolan, to whom
all this was made known, at once came, with the
generous impulse of a true knight, to his host, and
offered to do battle in his stead. In his heart, too,
he felt that this might be the combat of which
Morgan had warned him, and with the aid of
Arthur’s sword and scabbard he could not fail to
win.

Ontzlake thanked him deeply for his generous
offer, and without delay sent word to Damas that
he would be ready with a champion at the hour
appointed, and trust to God’s grace for the issue
of the combat.

When morning came, Arthur was arrayed in a
suit of chain mail and provided with a strong horse,
which he viewed with knightly ardor.

“When shall we to the field?” he asked Damas.

“As soon as you have heard Mass.”

Mass was scarcely ended when a squire rode up
from Ontzlake, to say that his knight was already
in the field, and to bid Damas bring his champion
to the lists, for he was prepared to do battle to the
utterance.

Then Arthur mounted his war-horse and rode
to the field, attended by all the knights and commons
of the country round; twelve good men of the
district having been chosen to wait upon the two
knights, and see that the battle was conducted fairly
and according to the rules of chivalry.

As they rode forward a damsel came to Arthur,
bringing him a sword like unto Excalibur, with a
scabbard that seemed in every point the same.

“Morgan le Fay sends you your sword, for the
great love she bears you,” said the messenger, “and
hopes it may do you worthy service in the fray.”

Arthur took it and thanked her, never dreaming
that he had been treated falsely. But the sword
that was sent him was but a brittle and worthless
blade, and the scabbard was a base counterfeit of
that magic one which he who wore could lose no
blood, and which he in brotherly trust had given
to the care of his faithless sister.

[Pg 102]

CHAPTER II.

THE COMBAT OF ARTHUR AND ACCOLAN.

The time for the battle having come, the two
knights took their places at the opposite sides of
the lists, neither knowing with whom he fought,
and both bent on doing battle to the death. Then
putting spurs to their steeds, they dashed across the
field with headlong speed, each striking the other in
the middle of the shield with his spear, and with
such force that horses and men alike were hurled
to the earth. In a moment both the combatants[Pg 103]
started up in warlike fury and drew their swords.

At this juncture there came among the spectators
the damsel Nimue, she who had put Merlin under
the stone. She knew, by the art that Merlin had
taught her, how Morgan le Fay had plotted that
Arthur should be slain that day, and she came to
save his life if it lay in her power, for she loved
the king as deeply as she hated Merlin.

Eagerly to battle went the two knights, hewing
at each other like giants with their swords. But
Arthur’s blade bit not like Accolan’s, which wounded
him at nearly every stroke, so that soon his blood
was flowing from a dozen wounds, while his opponent
remained unhurt.

Arthur was in deep dismay on beholding this.
That some treason had been practised on him he
felt sure, for his sword bit not steel as a good blade
should, while the sword in Accolan’s hand seemed
to have the trenchant edge of Excalibur.

“Sir knight,” said Accolan, “keep well your
guard if you care for life.”

“Thus will I,” answered Arthur, and he dealt
him a blow on the helm that nearly brought him
to the ground.

Accolan drew back from the staggering stroke,
and then with a furious onset rushed on Arthur,
and dealt him so fierce a blow that the king had
much ado to keep his feet. Thus stroke by stroke
went on the battle, each knight roused to fury, and
each fighting with his utmost skill and strength;
but Accolan lost scarcely a drop of blood, while
Arthur’s life-blood flowed so freely that only his
knightly soul and unyielding courage kept him on[Pg 104]
his feet. He grew so feeble that he felt as if death
was upon him, yet, though he staggered like a
drunken man, he faced Accolan with the unquenched
spirit of a noble knight.

All who saw the field marvelled that Arthur
could fight after such a loss of blood. So valiant
a knight none there had ever beheld, and many
prayed the two brothers to come into accord and
stop this deadly fray. But this Damas would not
do, and though Ontzlake trembled for his cause
he could not end the combat.

At this juncture Arthur withdrew a little to rest,
but Accolan called him fiercely to the fight, saying,
“I shall not suffer you to rest; neither of us must
rest except in death.”

With these words he advanced towards the king,
who, with the strength of rage, sprang upon him
and struck him so mighty a blow on the helm as
to make him totter on his feet and nearly fall.
But the blow had a serious ending, for Arthur’s
sword broke at the cross, the blade falling into
the blood-stained grass, and only the hilt and
pommel remaining in his hand.

When Arthur saw himself thus disarmed he felt
sure that his hour of death had come, yet he let not
his dread be seen, but held up his shield and lost
no ground, facing his mortal foe as boldly as though
he was trebly armed.

“Sir knight,” cried Accolan, “you are overcome,
and can no longer sustain the battle. You are
weaponless, and have lost so much blood that I am
loath to slay you. Therefore yield to me as
recreant, and force me not to kill a helpless foe.”

[Pg 105]“That I may not do,” said Arthur. “I have
promised, by the faith of my body, to fight this
battle to the uttermost; and I had rather die in
honor than live in shame. If I lack weapon, I lack
not spirit; and if you slay me weaponless, the shame
be on you.”

“That shame I can bear,” said Accolan. “What
I have sworn I will perform. Since you will not
yield, you are a dead man.”

This said, he struck Arthur a furious blow, that
almost felled him to the earth, bidding him at the
same time to crave for mercy if he would live.
Arthur’s only reply was to press upon him with
his shield, and deal him such a buffet with the
pommel of his sword as to send him staggering
three paces back.

And now the damsel Nimue, stirred by the
prowess of the king, and fearful of his death, determined
to aid him by all her power of enchantment.

Therefore, when Accolan recovered himself and
struck Arthur another stroke, she threw a spell
upon him and caused the sword to fall from his
hand to the earth. At once the king lightly leaped
to it and seized it, thrusting Accolan fiercely back.
As soon as his hand had touched the hilt he knew
it for his sword Excalibur.

“You have been too long from me,” he said,
“and no small damage you have done me. Treason
has been at work, and treason shall have its deserts.”

Then, seeing the scabbard hanging by Accolan’s
side, he sprang suddenly forward and wrenched
it from him, flinging it across the field as far as he
could throw it.

Copyright by Frederick Hollyer, London, England.

NIMUE.

[Pg 106]“Now, sir knight,” cried Arthur, “my turn has
come. You have nearly brought my life to an
end with this sword, and I warrant that you shall
be rewarded for the blood I have lost and the pain
I have endured this day.”

Therewith, furious as a wounded lion, Arthur
rushed upon his foe, hurled him with all his strength
to the earth, tore off his helm, and gave him such
a blow upon the head that blood burst out from his
ears, nose, and mouth.

“Now shall I slay you,” said Arthur.

“Do so if you will,” said Accolan. “You are the
best knight I ever met, and I see now that God is
with you. But I promised to do this battle to the
uttermost, and never to yield me recreant. Therefore
kill me if you will, for my voice shall never
ask for mercy.”

Then Arthur, looking closer, saw something
familiar in his face.

“Tell me who you are,” he cried; “of what
country and court.”

“Sir knight,” said Accolan, “I am of the court
of King Arthur, and my name is Accolan of Gaul.”

Arthur heard this with deep dismay. For there
came into his mind the enchantment of the ship,
and his heart sank with fear of the treason of his
sister.

“Tell me this also, sir knight,” he asked, “from
whom had you this sword?”

“Woe worth that sword,” cried Accolan; “I
have gotten my death by it.”

“That may well be,” answered Arthur, “and I
fancy have got no more than you deserve.”

[Pg 107]“Yesterday,” said the knight, “Morgan le Fay
sent me that sword by a dwarf, that with it I might
slay the knight with whom I should fight this day!
And she would also pledge me to slay King Arthur,
her brother, for she hates him above any man in
the world.”

“How know you that to be so?”

“I have loved her long, and know her purposes
well, nor shall I longer keep them secret. If by
craft she could slay Arthur, she would quickly
dispose of her husband, King Uriens. Then it was
her intent to make me king of this realm, and to
reign herself as its queen. But all this now is
at an end, for death is upon me.”

“It would have been great wrong in you to
destroy your lord,” said Arthur.

“That I never could have had the heart to do,”
said Accolan. “But I pray you to tell me your
name, and from what court you come?”

“I am from Camelot, and men know me as King
Arthur. I am he against whom you plotted such
deep treason.”

Then Accolan cried out in anguish,—

“My fair, sweet lord, have mercy on me, for I
knew you not.”

“You knew me not at this time, Accolan, but
you have confessed that you plotted treason against
me, and laid plans to compass my death. Yet I
blame you the less that Morgan le Fay has worked
on you with her false arts. I have honored and
loved her most of all my kin, and have trusted her
as I would my wife, and this is how she repays me.
By the faith of my body, if I live I shall be deeply
revenged upon her for this.”

[Pg 108]Then he called to the keepers of the field, and
said,—

“Here, fair sirs, are two knights who have fought
nearly to the death through ignorance of each
other. For had either of us known the other you
would have seen no battle to-day, and no stroke
given or returned.”

Then Accolan called out to those who had gathered
around,—

“Lords and knights, this noble warrior with
whom I have fought is the man of most valor, manhood,
and worship on English soil, for he is no
less than our liege lord, King Arthur. Had I but
dreamed it was he, I would have killed myself
rather than have drawn sword against him.”

At this surprising news the people fell upon their
knees before the king and begged mercy and pardon.

“Pardon you shall have,” said the king, “for
you were ignorant of my person. It is my fault if
harm came to me in disguise. And here you may
all see what adventures and dangers knights-errant
are exposed to; for, unknown to each other, I and
one of my own knights have fought for hours, to
the great damage of us both. We are both sorely
hurt, but before seeking rest it is my duty to settle
the dispute which gave rise to this combat. I have
been your champion, Sir Damas, and have won your
cause. But as the victor I claim the right to give
judgment, and as I know you for a villain and
coward, I adjudge unto your brother all the manor
in dispute, with the provision that he hold it of you,
and yearly give you in lieu of rent a palfrey to ride
upon, which will become such a base poltroon much[Pg 109]
better than a war-horse. And I charge you, upon
pain of death, to restore to these twenty knights
their armor and property, and never again to distress
a knight-errant. If complaint of such shall
be made to me, by my head, you shall die for it. Sir
Ontzlake, you are said to be a good and valiant
knight, and true and worthy in your deeds. I desire
you to come to my court as soon as possible, where
you shall be one of my knights, and, if your deeds
hereafter conform to the good report I have heard
of you, you soon shall equal your brother in estate.”

“I am at your command,” said Ontzlake, “and
thank you humbly for your goodness and bounty.
As for this battle, I would have fought it myself,
only that lately I was deeply wounded in a combat
with a wandering knight.”

“I would it had been so,” said Arthur, “for
treason was used against me in this combat, and
had I fought with you I should not have been so
badly hurt. My own sword was stolen and I was
given a false and brittle blade, which failed me in
my greatest need.”

“Great pity it is that a king so noble and a knight
so worthy should have been thus foully dealt with.”

“I shall reward the traitor in short time, by the
grace of God,” said Arthur. “Now tell me how
far I am from Camelot?”

“You are two days’ journey distant.”

“Then where can I obtain shelter and rest?”

“There is an abbey but three miles distant where
you will find skilled leeches and good nursing.”

Then King Arthur took his leave of the people,
and repaired with Accolan to the abbey, where he
and the knight were placed under medical care.
Arthur’s wounds, though deep and painful, proved
not serious, and he rapidly recovered, but Accolan
had lost so much blood that he died within four
days. Then Arthur had the corpse sent on a horse-bier,
attended by six knights, to Camelot, saying to
the messengers,—

“Bear this body to my sister, Morgan le Fay,
and say to her that I send it as a present. Tell
her, moreover, that, through her sisterly kindness,
I have again my sword Excalibur and the scabbard,
and shall visit her ere long.”

[Pg 110]

CHAPTER III.

HOW MORGAN CHEATED THE KING.

In the meantime Morgan le Fay was so sure of
the success of her murderous plot, to aid which
she had used all her power of necromancy, that she
felt it safe to complete her scheme. Seeing her
husband, King Uriens, lying asleep upon his couch,
she called a maiden, who was in her confidence,
and said,—

“Bring me my lord’s sword. Now shall my
work be ended.”

“Oh, madam,” cried the damsel, “would you
slay your lord! If you do so you can never escape.”

“Leave that to me, girl. Bring me the sword at
once; I am the best judge of what it is fit to do.”

[Pg 111]The damsel departed with a heavy heart, but
finding Sir Uwaine, King Uriens’ son, asleep in
another chamber, she waked him and said,—

“Rise at once and go to your mother. She has
vowed to kill the king, your father, and has sent
me in all haste for his sword.”

“To kill him!” cried Uwaine. “What treachery
is this?—But go, bring the sword as she bids.
Leave it to me to deal with her.”

The damsel did as she was bidden, and brought
the sword to the queen, giving it to her with hands
that quaked with fear. Morgan seized it with a
firm grasp, and went boldly to the bedside, where
she stood looking with cruel eyes on the sleeping
king. As she lifted the sword for the murderous
blow, Uwaine, who had silently entered, sprang
upon her and seized her hand in a crushing grip.

“You fiend, what would you do?” he fiercely
cried. “If you were not my mother I would smite
off your head with this sword. Men say that Merlin
was born of a devil; but well I believe that I
have an earthly fiend for mother. To kill my
father thus!—in his slumber!—what foul device
is this?”

His face and voice were so full of righteous fury
that the queen quaked to her heart with fear,
and she clasped her hands in terror upon her throat.

“Oh, Uwaine, my dear son, have mercy on me!
The foul fiend tempted me to this deed. Let me
live to repent of this base intent, which I pray
you to keep secret. I swear never again to attempt
so foul a deed.”

“Can I trust you? Truth and murder do not
go together.”

[Pg 112]“On my soul, I vow to keep my word!”

“Live, then; but beware you rouse me not again
by such a murderous thought.”

Hardly had the false-hearted queen escaped from
the indignation of her son when tidings came to her
which filled her with as deep a dread as when
Uwaine had threatened her with the sword, while
the grief it brought her was deeper than her fear.
For she learned that Accolan had been slain in the
battle, and that his dead body had been sent her.
Soon, indeed, came the funeral train, with the message
that Arthur had sent. Then sorrow and terror
together filled her heart till it threatened to
break, for she had loved Accolan with all her soul,
and his fate wounded her almost to death. But she
dared not let this grief be seen upon her countenance,
lest the secret of her love should be discovered;
and she was forced to wear a cheerful aspect
above a bleeding heart. And this she knew, besides,
that if she should remain in Camelot until Arthur’s
return, all the gold in the realm would not buy
her life.

She went, therefore, unto Queen Guenever and
asked leave to ride into the country.

“Why not remain to greet your brother on his
return? He sends word that he will soon be here.”

“I should much like to, Guenever, but hasty
tidings have come which require that I should
make no delay.”

“If that be so,” answered Guenever, “let me not
stay you. You may depart when you will.”

On the next morning, before daybreak, Morgan
took horse, and rode all that day and the greater[Pg 113]
part of the night. On the following day by noon
she came to the abbey where Arthur lay. Here
she asked the nuns where he was, and they answered
that he was sleeping in his chamber, for
he had had but little rest during the three nights
past.

“Then see that none of you waken him,” she
said. “I will go visit him in his chamber. I am
his sister, Morgan le Fay.”

Saying this, she sprang from her horse and
entered the abbey, going straight to Arthur’s chamber.
None dare hinder her, and she suffered no one
to accompany her. Reaching the chamber she
found her brother asleep in bed, with the sword
Excalibur clasped with a vigorous grip in his right
hand.

When she saw this her heart sank, for it was
to steal that sword she came, and she knew her
treacherous purpose was at an end. She could not
take the sword from his hand without wakening
him, and that might be the warrant for her instant
death. But the scabbard lay on a chair by the
bedside. This she took and left the chamber,
concealing it under her mantle as she went.
Mounting her horse again, she rode hastily away
with her train.

Not long afterwards Arthur woke, and at once
missed his scabbard. Calling his attendants in a
loud voice, he angrily asked who had been there,
and who had dared remove the missing scabbard.
They told him that it was his sister, Morgan le
Fay, and that she had put it under her mantle
and ridden away with it.

[Pg 114]“Then have you watched me falsely,” cried
Arthur, in hasty passion.

“What could we do?” they answered. “We
dared not disobey your sister’s command.”

“Fetch me at once the best horse that can be
found,” he ordered, “and bid Sir Ontzlake arm
himself in all haste, and come here well mounted
to ride with me.”

By the hour’s end these commands had been
obeyed, and Arthur and Ontzlake rode from the
abbey in company, well armed and on good horses,
though the king was yet feeble from his wounds.
After riding some distance they reached a wayside
cross, by which stood a cowherd, whom they asked
if any lady had lately ridden that way.

“Yes, your honors,” said the cowherd. “Not
long ago a lady passed here at easy speed, followed
by about forty horsemen. They rode into yonder
forest.”

Arthur and Ontzlake at this news put spurs to
their horses and followed fast on the track of the
fugitives. An hour of this swift pursuit brought
them in sight of Morgan’s party, and with a heart
hot with anger Arthur rode on at the utmost pace
of his horse.

The fugitives, seeing themselves thus hotly chased,
spurred on their own steeds, soon leaving the forest
and entering a neighboring plain, beside which was
a lake. When Morgan saw that she was in danger
of being overtaken she rode quickly to the lake-side,
her heart filled with spiteful hatred of her
brother.

“Whatsoever may happen to me,” she cried, “I[Pg 115]
vow that Arthur shall never again wear this scabbard.
I here consign it to the lake. From the
water it came; to the water it returns.”

And with a strong hand she flung it far out over
the deep waters, into which it sank like a stone, for
it was heavy with gold and precious stones.

Then she rode on, followed by her train, till they
entered a valley where there were many great stones,
and where they were for the moment out of sight
of their pursuers. Here Morgan le Fay brought
her deepest powers of enchantment to work, and in
a trice she and her horse were changed into marble,
while each of her followers became converted into a
statue of stone.

Hardly had this been done when Arthur and
Ontzlake entered the valley, where they beheld
with starting eyes the marvellous transformation.
For in place of the fugitives they saw only horses
and riders of solid stone, and so changed that the
king could not tell his sister from her men, nor
one knight from another.

“A marvel is here, indeed!” cried the king.
“The vengeance of God has fallen upon our foes,
and Morgan le Fay is justly punished for her treachery.
It grieves me, indeed, that so heavy a fate
has befallen her, yet her own deeds have brought
on her this mighty punishment.”

Then he sought on all sides for the scabbard,
but it could nowhere be found. Disappointed in
this, he at length turned and rode slowly back
with his companion to the abbey whence they had
come, their souls filled with wonder and awe.

Yet no sooner were they well gone than the[Pg 116]
enchantress brought another charm to work, and
at once she and all her people were turned again
from stone into flesh and blood.

“Now we can go where we will; and may joy
go with King Arthur,” she said, with a laugh of
triumph to her knights. “Did you note him?”

“Yes,” they replied. “And his countenance was
so warlike that had we not been stone we could
scarce have stood before him.”

“I believe you,” said Morgan. “He would have
made sad havoc among us but for my spells.”

They now rode onward, and soon afterwards met
a knight who bore before him on his horse another
knight, who was unarmed, blindfolded, and bound
hand and foot.

“What are you about to do with that knight?”
asked Morgan.

“To drown him in yonder fountain,” was the
reply. “He has caused my wife to prove false to
me, and only his death will avenge my honor.”

“Is this the truth?” she asked the bound knight.

“It is false,” he replied. “He is a villain to
whom I have done no wrong. He took me unawares
or I should not have been in such a state.”

“Who are you, and of what country?”

“My name is Manassen. I am of the court of
King Arthur, and cousin to Accolan of Gaul.”

“Then for the love I bore your cousin you shall
be delivered, and this villain be put in your plight.”

By her orders Manassen was loosed from his bonds
and the other knight bound. Manassen took from
him his armor and horse, and riding with him to
the fountain, flung him remorselessly in, where[Pg 117]
he met the fate which he had devised for his late
prisoner. Then Manassen rode back to Morgan,
and asked her if she had any word to send King
Arthur.

“Tell him,” she answered, “that I rescued you
not for love of him, but of Accolan; and that I
fear him not while I can turn myself and my
knights into stones. Let him know that you saw
us riding in good flesh and blood, and laughing
him to scorn. Tell him, moreover, that I can do
stranger things than that if the need should come.”

Bidding Manassen to return with this message,
she rode with her train into the country of Gore,
where she was well received, and in the might of
whose castles and towns she felt secure from Arthur’s
wrath, for much she feared his vengeance
should she fall into his hands.

Meantime the king rode back to Camelot, where
he was gladly received by his queen and his knights,
to whom he told in full the story of Morgan le
Fay’s treason. They were all angry at this, and
many knights declared that she should be burned.

“Stone will not burn,” said Arthur. “But God
has punished her.”

But as they thus conversed, Manassen came to
the court and told the king of his adventure, delivering
to him Morgan’s message.

“Then the witch has tricked me!” cried the
king, in a tone of vexation. “I might have known
it, had I been wise. A kind sister she is, indeed!
But my turn will come. Treachery and magic
may succeed for a time, but honor must win in the
end.”

[Pg 118]Yet despite the king’s awakened distrust, he
nearly fell a victim to his sister’s vile enchantments.
For on the succeeding morning there came a damsel
to the court from Morgan le Fay, bearing with her
the richest mantle that had ever been seen there.
It was set so full of precious stones that it might
almost have stood alone, and some of them were
gems worth a king’s ransom.

“Your sister sends you this mantle,” said the
bearer. “That she has done things to offend you
she knows and is sorry for; and she desires that
you shall take this gift from her as a tribute for
her evil thoughts. What else can be done to amend
her acts she will do, for she bitterly regrets her
deeds of wickedness.”

The mantle pleased the king greatly, though he
made but brief reply as he accepted it from the
hand of the messenger.

At that perilous moment there came to him the
damsel Nimue, who had so recently helped him in
his dire need.

“Sir, may I speak with you in private?” she
asked the king.

“What have you to say?” he replied, withdrawing
from the throng.

“It is this. Beware that you do not put on
this mantle, and that no knight of yours puts it
on, till you know more. The serpent does not so
soon lose its venom. There is death in the mantle’s
folds. At least do this: before you wear it, command
that she who brought it shall put it on.”

“Well said,” answered the king. “It shall be
done as you advise.”

[Pg 119]Then he returned to the messenger and said,—

“Damsel, I wish to see the mantle you have
brought me tried upon yourself.”

“A king’s garment on me, sir! That would not
be seemly.”

“Seemly or not, I command it. By my head,
you shall wear it before it come on my back, or
that of any man here.”

The damsel drew back, quivering with fear and
growing pale as death. But the king commanded
those about him to put it on her. Then was seen
a marvellous and fearful thing. For no sooner
had the enchanted robe been clasped around her
form than flames burst out from its every thread,
and in a minute she fell to the floor dead, while her
body was burnt to a coal.

The king’s anger burst out fiercely at this, and
his face flamed with the fire of rage. He turned
to King Uriens and his son, who stood among the
knights.

“My sister, your wife, is doing her utmost to
destroy me,” he said, in burning wrath. “Are you
and my nephew, your son, joined with her in this
work of treachery? Yet I suspect not you, King
Uriens, for Accolan confessed to me that she would
have slain you as well as me. But as for your son,
Uwaine, I hold him suspected, and banish him from
my court. I can have no traitors about me.”

When these words had been spoken, Gawaine
rose in anger, and said,—

“Whoever banishes my cousin banishes me.
When and where Uwaine goes I go also.”

And with a stride of anger he left the great
hall, followed by Uwaine. Then the two knights
armed themselves, and rode together from Camelot,
Gawaine vowing never to return till his cousin
had been fully and freely pardoned.

[Pg 120]

CHAPTER IV.

THE COUNTRY OF STRANGE ADVENTURES.

The two knights who had so hastily departed
from Arthur’s court were destined to see many and
strange adventures before they should return. And
as their wanderings and deeds were caused by the
treason of Morgan le Fay, it is meet that they
should here be told.

They spent their first night in an abbey not far
from Camelot, and on the next morning rode forward
until they came to a forest. Passing through
this, they at length found themselves in a valley
near a tower. Here they beheld two knights fully
armed and seated on their war-horses, while twelve
damsels were seen to pass to and fro beneath a tree.

When the wanderers came nearer they saw that
on that tree hung a white shield, and that as the
damsels passed by this they spat upon it and
befouled it with mire.

“Why do you do this despite to the shield?”
they asked, as they came up.

“Sir knights,” answered the damsels, “we have
good cause for what we do. He who has hung[Pg 121]
his shield here is a knight of great prowess, but
he is one who hates all ladies, and this is how we
repay him for his hatred.”

“I think little of such a knight,” said Gawaine.
“Yet it may be that he has good cause for his
hatred. He must love ladies elsewhere, if not here,
if he be so good a knight as you say. For it is
said that the despiser of ladies is never worthy in
arms. What is the name of this knight?”

“His name is Marhaus. He is the son of the
king of Ireland.”

“I know him well,” said Uwaine. “There is no
man of more valor living. I saw him once at a
tournament where no knight could stand before
him.”

“If this is his shield,” said Gawaine, “he will
soon be here in person, and it may not prove so
easy for these knights to face him on horseback
as for them to stand by and see his shield befouled.
It is not our quarrel, but we shall stay no longer
to see this dishonor.”

Before they had withdrawn far, however, they
saw the Irish knight riding towards his shield, and
halted to note what would follow. At sight of him
the damsels shrieked with terror, and ran so wildly
towards the turret that some of them fell by the
way. But one of the knights advanced his shield
and cried loudly,—

“Sir Marhaus, defend yourself!”

Then he and Marhaus rode fiercely together, the
knight breaking his spear without effect, while
Marhaus smote him in return so hard a blow that
he was hurled to the ground with a broken neck.[Pg 122]
Then the other knight rode against Marhaus, but
with the same ill success, for both horse and man
were smitten so furiously that they fell to the
earth dead.

Then the knight of Ireland rode to his shield,
and when he saw how foully it had been used he
cried,—

“This is a foul shame; but I have requited it
upon those dastards. For the love of her who gave
me this white shield I shall wear it, and hang mine
where it was.”

Thereupon he took the white shield, and left in
its place the one he had just used.

Then, seeing the two errant knights, he asked
them what they did there. They answered that
they were from Arthur’s court, and had ridden in
search of adventures.

“Then you can have one here,” said Marhaus.
“I shall be glad to joust with you.”

He rode away from them to the proper range,
without waiting for a reply.

“Let him go,” said Uwaine. “I fear he is more
than our match.”

“I care not if he is,” said Gawaine. “However
good a knight he be, he shall not challenge us
unanswered.”

“Then let me meet him first. I am the weaker,
and if he strikes me down you can revenge me.”

With these words Uwaine took his place and rode
against the Irish knight, but with such ill fortune
that he was hurled to the earth with a wounded
side. When Gawaine saw this he prepared for the
joust, and the two knights rode together with great[Pg 123]
force. But, as luck would have it, Gawaine’s spear
broke, while that of Marhaus held firm. In consequence,
both Gawaine and his horse went to the
ground.

In an instant the knight was on his feet, sword
in hand, and advancing towards his adversary.
Marhaus drew his sword and moved upon him
mounted.

“Meet me on foot,” cried Gawaine, “or I will
kill your horse.”

“Gramercy, you teach me courtesy,” said Marhaus,
“It is not fair for one knight to be on foot
and the other on horse.”

Then he sprang to the ground, set his spear
against a tree, and tied his horse. This done, he
drew his sword and advanced upon Gawaine.

The combat that succeeded was long and hotly
contested, beginning at nine in the morning and
lasting till the day was well advanced. Never had
that forest known so obstinate and fierce a fight.
And from nine of the clock till the hour of noon
Gawaine grew stronger and stronger, till his might
was thrice increased and Marhaus had much ado to
stand before him. But as the day waned from noon
onwards Gawaine grew feeble, while the strength
of Marhaus steadily increased, his form seeming
to grow larger with every hour. At length it came
that Gawaine could scarcely stand before him.

“Sir knight,” said Marhaus, “this I will say, that
I never met a better man than yourself, and we have
had a noble passage at arms. But as we have no
quarrel, and I can see you are growing feeble, it
were a pity to do you more harm. If you are willing,
I agree to end the fight.”

[Pg 124]“That should I have said, gentle knight,” answered
Gawaine. “I am much beholden to your
courtesy.”

Thereupon they took off their helmets and kissed
each other, and swore to love one another thenceforth
as brethren in arms. Marhaus prayed that the
two knights would lodge with him that night, and
they rode together towards his dwelling.

“I marvel,” said Gawaine, as they rode forward,
“that so good a knight as you should love no ladies.”

“I love not such as those minxes of the tower,
nor any of their sort,” said Marhaus. “They are
a false-hearted and vile-thinking crew. But to all
honorable women I owe the best of my knightly
service.”

They soon reached the dwelling, which was in a
little priory, and here Marhaus gave them the best
cheer at his disposal, the more so when he learned
that they were sons of King Arthur’s sisters. Here
they remained seven days, until their wounds had
fully healed. On the eighth day they took horse
again to continue their journey.

“We shall not part so lightly,” said Marhaus.
“I shall bring you through the forest, and mayhap
ride farther with you.”

For seven days more they rode onward without
adventure. Then they found themselves on the
borders of a still greater forest, in what was known
as the country and forest of Arroy and the land of
strange adventures.

“It is well named,” said Marhaus. “For it is
said that no knight ever rode into this country and
failed to find adventures many and marvellous.”

[Pg 125]They rode onward into the forest before them,
and in good time found themselves in a deep and
stony valley, traversed by a fair stream of water.

Following this upward, they soon came to a fair
fountain, the head of the stream, beside which
three damsels were seated.

Of these, the eldest was not less than threescore
years of age. She wore a garland of gold upon
her head, and her hair was white beneath it. The
second damsel was thirty years of age, and she
also wore a circlet of gold. The third was not over
fifteen years old, and her garland was of flowers.

The knights halted and looked at them in surprise,
asking them why they sat by that lonely
fountain.

“We are here to await knights-errant who come
in quest of adventures,” they said. “If you three
knights are in search of things strange and stirring,
each of you must choose one of us. When this is
done we shall lead you unto three highways, one
of which each of you must take, and his damsel with
him. This day twelvemonth you must meet here
again, and to all this you must pledge your troth,
if God give you your lives to return.”

“You speak well,” said Marhaus. “Adventures
we seek, and no true knight-errant hesitates before
the unknown and the dangerous. We shall do as
you say, each of us choose one of you, and then,
whatsoever fortune wills, let it come.”

“As for me,” said Uwaine, “since I am the
youngest and weakest of the three, I choose the
eldest damsel. I have more need of help than
either of you, and her age and knowledge may aid
me well.”

[Pg 126]“Then I shall take her of middle age,” said
Marhaus. “She fits me best.”

“I thank you both,” said Gawaine. “You have
left me the youngest and fairest, and the one most
to my liking.”

This said, each damsel took the reins of her
knight, and they led them to the parting of the
three ways. Here the knights took oath to meet
at the fountain that day twelvemonth if they were
living, kissed each other, and departed, each knight
taking his chosen lady on his steed behind him.
Of the three ways, Uwaine took that which lay
west, Marhaus that which lay south, and Gawaine
took the way that lay north.

Of the three we shall first follow Gawaine, who
rode forward until he came to a fair manor, where
dwelt an old knight.

“Are there any adventures to be found in this
country?” he asked him.

“I shall show you some marvellous ones to-morrow,”
said his host.

In the morning, Gawaine and the old knight rode
into the forest of adventures till they came to a
wide, open lawn, upon which stood a cross. Here
they halted and looked about them, and ere long
saw approaching a knight of seemly aspect, who
made the bitterest lamentations as he advanced.
When he saw Gawaine he saluted him, and hoped
that God would send him honor.

“As to that, gramercy,” said Gawaine. “I
pray God, in return, that he send you honor and
worship.”

“That will not come,” said the knight. “He
sendeth me but sorrow and shame.”

[Pg 127]As he spoke he passed on to the other side of
the lawn. Here Gawaine saw ten knights, standing
with shields and spears ready against this one
warrior. But he rode against them one by one,
thrusting some over their horses’ tails, and hurling
others to the ground, horse and man, until with one
spear he had unhorsed them all.

But when they were all ten on foot they went to
the dolorous knight, who stood stone still, pulled
him from his horse, and tied him beneath the
animal, without the least resistance on his part.
This done, they led him away, thus shamefully
bound.

“That is an ugly sight,” said Gawaine. “Why
does a knight of such prowess as this suffer himself
to be so vilely treated?”

“Sir,” said, the damsel to Gawaine, “why helped
you not that good knight?”

“He seems to want no help,” said Gawaine.
“He could have taken care of himself if he would.”

“You had no desire to help him,” retorted the
damsel, “or you would not have stood by and
seen so noble a warrior so foully served.”

As they talked a knight appeared on the other
side of the lawn, all armed but the head. And
opposite him came a dwarf on horseback similarly
armed. He had a great mouth and a short nose,
and was as ill favored as one would care to see.

“Where is the lady who should meet us here?”
asked the dwarf.

In response thereto a fair lady rode from the
wood, mounted on a handsome palfrey. On seeing[Pg 128]
her the knight and the dwarf began to strive in hot
words for her, each saying that she should be his
prize.

“Yonder is a knight at the cross,” said the dwarf,
at length. “Let us leave it to him, and abide by
his decision.”

“I agree to that,” said the knight.

Thereupon they rode to Gawaine and told him
the purpose of their strife.

“Do you put the matter into my hands?” he
asked.

“Yes,” they both replied.

“Then this is my decision. Let the lady stand
between you and make her own choice. The one
she chooses, he shall have her.”

This was done, and at once the lady turned from
the knight and went to the dwarf. Then the dwarf
took her and went singing away, while the knight
rode in grief and sorrow into the forest.

But the adventures of that day were not ended,
for soon afterwards two armed knights rode from
the forest, and one of them cried out loudly,—

“Sir Gawaine, knight of King Arthur, I am
here to joust with you. So make ready.”

“Since you know me, I shall not fail you,”
answered Gawaine.

Then the knights drew apart, and rode so furiously
together that both were unhorsed. Springing
up, they drew their swords and continued the battle
on foot.

Meanwhile, the second knight went to the damsel
and asked why she stayed with that knight, and
begged her to go with him.

[Pg 129]“That I will do,” she replied. “I like not the
way Gawaine acted just now, when one brave knight
was overturned by ten dastards. So let us go while
they fight.”

The combat continued long, and then, as the
knights seemed evenly matched, they ceased in
amity, the stranger knight inviting Gawaine to
spend the night at his lodge. As they rode thither
he asked his host,—

“Who is this valiant champion that overturns
ten knights, and then suffers them to bear him off
bound hand and foot? I never saw so shameful a
thing done.”

“The thing has happened ten times and more,”
said Sir Carados. “The knight is one of noble
prowess, named Sir Pelleas, and he loves a great
lady of this country named Ettard, who loves him
not in return. What you have seen came about in
this way. There was of late days a great tournament
in this country, at which Pelleas struck down every
knight who was opposed to him, unhorsing twenty
knights within three days. His valor and prowess
won him the prize, which was a good sword, and a
golden circlet to be given to the fairest lady at
the lists. This circlet of gold he gave to the lady
Ettard, whom he chose for the sovereign of his heart
and the lady he loved above all women. But she
was so proud and haughty that she returned him
scorn for his love, and though he has followed her
to her home she will not listen to his suit, or admit
him in honor to her presence. He is lodged here
near her, but can gain sight of her only in a shameful
way. Every week she sends knights to fight[Pg 130]
with him, and when he has overcome them he suffers
them to take him prisoner that he may feast his
eyes on the face of his loved lady. But she does
him great despite, for sometimes she has him
brought in tied to his horse’s tail, and sometimes
bound under the horse, or in any other shameful
manner she can think of. For all this he will not
leave, but makes himself a martyr to his love.”

“He is a noble knight, and I greatly pity him,”
said Gawaine. “I shall seek him to-morrow in
the forest, and do what I can to help him.”

In the morning he met Sir Pelleas, as he had
promised, and heard from him the story of his woe.

“If I loved her not so truly I should rather die
a hundred times than suffer such despite,” he said.
“But I trust that she will pity and love me at
last.”

“Let me aid you, so far as I can,” said Gawaine.
“I promise to do my utmost to gain you the love
of your lady.”

“Tell me who, and of what court, you are, my
good friend?” asked Pelleas.

“My name is Gawaine; I am nephew to King
Arthur, and King Lot of Orkney was my father.”

“My name is Pelleas,” answered the lovelorn
knight. “I was born in the Isles, and am lord
of many isles, but never till this unhappy time
have I loved a lady. I pray you help me faithfully,
for I get nothing from her but vile rebuke. She
will not even hold me as prisoner, that I might see
her daily, but robs me of my horse and armor, and
has me thrust despitefully from her gates. She
lives in a strong castle near by, and is lady of all[Pg 131]
this country. I fear you will not find it easy to
obtain entrance.”

“I shall use art instead of strength,” said
Gawaine. “Lend me your horse and armor, and
I will ride to her castle and tell her I have slain
you. She will let me in at that. Once admitted,
I shall do my best to win you her love.”

He plighted his honor to this, and therewith they
changed horses and armor.

Leaving the knight of the doleful visage, Gawaine
rode to Ettard’s castle, whom he found in
her pavilion outside the gate. On seeing him she
hastily fled to the castle, but he called her loudly,
declaring that he was not Pelleas, and that he had
slain the knight and won his horse and armor.

“Take off your helm,” she replied. “Let me see
your face.”

Gawaine did so, and when she saw that he spoke
the truth she bade him alight and led him into the
castle, questioning him who he was and how he had
slain her tormenting admirer.

“I am sorry for his death,” she said, “for he was
a worthy knight; but of all men I hated him most,
and could never rid myself of his importunities.
As for you, Sir Gawaine, since you have done me
this service, I shall be your lady, for I cannot but
love you.”

Then Gawaine was so entranced by the lady
Ettard’s blue eyes and fair face that he shamefully
forgot his word of honor, and warmly returned
her love. He remained with her and her knights
in the castle, so happy in her presence as to ignore
all the claims of duty and knightly faith.

[Pg 132]It was now the month of May, and the air had
grown warm and balmy. So it happened one evening
that they all left the castle to enjoy themselves
on the flowery meads outside. Believing Pelleas
to be dead, Ettard lost all dread of unwelcome
intrusion, and suggested that they should spend
the night in the open air, lulled to sleep by the soft
winds and the perfume of flowers.

But by fortune it chanced that Pelleas, hearing
no word from Gawaine, that night mounted his
horse and rode to the castle. It was a late hour,
and he was surprised to see pavilions erected outside
the gate, and couches spread in the open air.
As he came near he saw knights and ladies asleep
on these, while side by side lay Ettard and Gawaine,
locked in deep slumber.

Anger and pain so filled the knight’s heart at
this that he drew his sword to slay his faithless
friend, but on calmer thought he laid the naked
blade athwart the throats of knight and lady and
rode away. On reaching his tent, he told his attendants
what treachery he had endured, and that he
had resolved to take to his bed and lie there till he
should die.

“And when I am dead I charge you to take my
heart and bear it to the lady Ettard in a silver dish,
and tell her that her falseness has slain the faithfulest
of lovers.”

Meanwhile Gawaine and Ettard awoke, and their
dread was great on finding the sword across their
throats.

“It is Pelleas’s sword!” she cried. “You have
betrayed him and me both, for you lied to me in[Pg 133]
saying that you had killed him. Only that he has
proved himself a man of true honor, he would have
slain us both. Leave me, traitor! Never let me
see your false face again!”

Gawaine had no words in answer, but hastily
mounted his horse and rode into the forest, feeling
at heart that he had proved a traitor both to honor
and love.

When morning dawned it happened that Nimue,
the damsel of the lake, who by chance had come
into that country, met with a follower of Sir Pelleas,
who was grieving sorely for the ill fortune of
his master. She asked him the cause of his grief,
and he told her the woeful tale of the lovelorn
knight, and how he had taken to his bed, vowing
never again to rise.

“He shall not die of love, I warrant you that,”
she said. “Bring me to him. I promise you that
she who has treated him so vilely shall feel all the
pain she has made him endure.”

She was accordingly brought to the tent of Pelleas,
and a feeling of pity and love grew in her
heart as she looked on his noble and woe-worn face
while he lay asleep. Therefore she deepened his
slumber with a spell of enchantment, and charging
that no man should wake him before her return,
she rode through the forest to Ettard’s castle.

Within two hours she brought the lady Ettard
to the tent, where Pelleas still lay wrapped in deep
slumber.

“You should do penance for life to murder such
a knight as this,” she said. “You have treated a
true lover with shameful despite, and for love’s[Pg 134]
sake you shall pay the penalty of your misdeeds.”

Then she threw so deep a spell of enchantment
on the proud lady that her former scorn turned to
the deepest love, and her heart went out to Pelleas
as if it would break with sorrow and remorse.

“Alas!” she cried, “I hated him above all men.
What has befallen me that I love him now with
my whole soul?”

“It is God’s righteous judgment,” said Nimue.

As they spoke Pelleas awoke, and when he looked
upon Ettard his eyes filled with scorn and hatred.

“Away, traitress!” he cried. “Never again
come within my sight. You have taught me to hate
you as much as I ever loved.”

These scornful words wounded Ettard to the soul.
She turned away weeping bitterly, and left the
tent overwhelmed with anguish.

“Take your horse and leave this country, Sir
Pelleas,” said the damsel. “Love not again till you
can give your heart to a lady who is worthy of it.”

“I have found such a one now,” said the knight,
fixing his eyes with warm feeling upon her face.
“This lady Ettard has treated me despitefully and
turned all my love for her to hatred and scorn.
But the love I felt for her has gone out to you.”

“Thank me for your delivery,” said Nimue.
“It is too soon to talk of love. But this I may
say, that if you love me as you vow, you shall not
find me another Ettard.”

Soon after Pelleas arose and armed, and bidding
his men to follow with the pavilions and furniture,
rode into the forest with the damsel of the lake, for
whom the love in his heart grew each moment
warmer.

THE LOVE OF PELLEAS AND NIMUE.

[Pg 135]And thus this woeful story ends in true love’s
joy and retribution; for the false lady Ettard died
in lovelorn sorrow, but Pelleas and Nimue lived
together in true love during the remainder of their
days, she becoming his dear lady and wife.

Meanwhile Marhaus and Uwaine pursued their
course and had their adventures, but they were not
so many and strange as those of Gawaine, and therefore
we shall not tell them in full.

As for Uwaine, who rode away with the old damsel,
he gained great honor at a tournament near the
Welsh marches, winning the prize, which was a
gerfalcon, and a white steed with trappings of cloth
of gold. Many other adventures he had, and at last
came to the castle of a noble lady, who was called
the Lady of the Rock. Her lands had been taken
from her by two robber knights, named Sir Edward
and Sir Hue of the Red Castle. These Uwaine
fought together, and with such good fortune that he
killed Sir Edward and forced Sir Hue to surrender
the lady’s lands. Then he dwelt at the castle of the
Lady of the Rock for six months, till he was healed
of the many and deep wounds he had received in
his battle with the robber knights.

Meanwhile, Marhaus rode southward with the
damsel of thirty summers. Many adventures he
had, and he won a circlet of gold as the victor in
a tournament. At length he stopped at the castle
of a noble earl named Fergus, whose lands were
harried by a giant named Taulard. Him Marhaus
proffered to fight, as neither the earl nor any of
his men dared meet him.

Fierce and perilous was the battle that followed,
for the giant was of monstrous height and strength,[Pg 136]
and armed with iron clubs and great battle-axes.
But after a terrible contest, Marhaus, by a nimble
stroke, cut off Taulard’s right arm. Then the giant,
bellowing with pain and terror, fled, and rushed
into a stream of water beyond his pursuer’s reach.
But stones were brought to Marhaus by Fergus’s
men, and with these he battered the giant so sorely
that at length he fell over into the water, where
he was quickly drowned.

Afterwards the victorious champion went to the
giant’s castle, where he found in close captivity
twenty-four ladies and twelve knights. These he
delivered from prison. He found also a great store
of wealth, enough to make him rich for the remainder
of his life.

When the year ended the three knights met again
at the fountain, two of them with their damsels;
but Gawaine had lost his, and had come back much
shorn of honor. Soon after they met by chance
a messenger from King Arthur, who had long been
seeking the banished knights, with orders to bring
them back to the court.

So the three knights journeyed to Camelot, where
the king received them graciously, and listened with
admiration to the story of their adventures. And
there, at the feast of Pentecost, came Pelleas and
Nimue, true lovers plighted. Then were held high
feasts and tournaments, where many noble knights
splintered spears and much honor was lost and won.
And here Marhaus and Pelleas bore themselves with
such noble and mighty prowess, that all men vowed
the glory of the tournament was theirs, and King
Arthur, glad to reward such deeds of valor, made
them Knights of the Table Round.

[Pg 137]

BOOK IV.

LANCELOT OF THE LAKE.

CHAPTER I.

HOW TROUBLE CAME TO LIONEL AND HECTOR.

After the strange deeds and adventures that
have just been described, a season of war came
again to King Arthur and his realm, through which
he won great honor and renown. For Lucius, the
Emperor of Rome, sent ambassadors to Arthur,
demanding tribute; and when he proudly refused
this demand Lucius gathered a great army and
invaded the tributary domains of Arthur, in Gaul.

Long and fierce was the war that followed, for
Arthur crossed to Gaul with all the power of his
realm; fought and killed, single-handed, a huge
giant who dwelt on St. Michael’s Mount; defeated
the army of Rome, and killed the emperor in single
combat; and in the end was crowned emperor, in
the imperial city of Rome.

All this story the chronicles give at length, and
tell us also that in this war the noble Lancelot du
Lake, son of King Ban of Gaul, gained his first
measure of renown.

After the war had ended and the victorious host
returned to England, many adventures came to
Lancelot, some of which we must here tell. Great[Pg 138]
indeed was the valor and might of this worthiest
of knights, who in after years proved himself in
knightly prowess and chivalric honor the noblest
of men. In tournaments and deeds of arms, in
sportive war or battle for life or death, he passed
all other knights, and was never overcome but by
treason or enchantment.

After Arthur’s return from Rome sports and
feasts were given, and jousts and tournaments held,
in which the Knights of the Round Table took part,
many who had gained no great fame in the war now
proving themselves able and worthy warriors. But
above them all Lancelot displayed such skill and
prowess that he increased in honor and worship
beyond any knight of Arthur’s court.

And, as fortune and fate decreed, he loved Queen
Guenever above all other ladies, while she held him
in favor above all other knights,—a favor that was
destined thereafter to bring deep sorrow and trouble
to England’s realm. For her sake he did many
noble deeds of arms, and he was looked upon as her
especial champion by all the court.

After the return from Rome Lancelot rested long
at the court, taking part in all its feasts and gayeties.
But in time he grew weary of sport and play,
and of the idle ways and empty flatteries of courtiers,
and felt a strong desire to wander abroad in
search of strange adventures. So he bade his
nephew, Sir Lionel, to make ready, saying to him
that they two would leave the court and ride as
knights-errant through the land, to right wrongs
and punish crimes, to rescue the oppressed and
overthrow the proud and haughty, and knightly
to do and dare wherever they went.

[Pg 139]So on a day in spring, when the summer was coming
with its flowers to adorn the rich green of the
grassy meads, and the birds sang gayly in the trees,
the two knights armed themselves at all points and
rode abroad, passing soon through a deep forest
and into a verdant plain beyond.

Noon now came on, and the weather grew close
and sultry, so that Lancelot became drowsy. This
he told to Lionel, who pointed to a large apple-tree
by a hedge, and said,—

“Yonder is a cool shadow. There we may rest
ourselves and our horses till the noontide heat has
passed.”

“You speak to the point,” said Lancelot. “Not
for seven years have I been so sleepy as I am now?”

They thereupon alighted, and tied their horses
to neighboring trees, and Lancelot laid himself
down beneath the apple-boughs, with his helmet
under his head for a pillow. Soon he was in deep
slumber, though Lionel kept awake.

As they lay thus three knights came riding by
in panic fear, pushing their horses to the utmost
speed, while a single knight followed them in
furious pursuit. So well-made and strong-limbed
a man as this Lionel thought he had never seen
nor one in all respects so fully armed.

As he looked, the pursuing knight overtook one
of the fugitives, and with a thrust of his spear flung
him prostrate to the ground. Then he served the
other two in the same manner. This done, he
alighted and bound the three knights with their
own bridle-reins.

Copyright by Frederick Hollyer, London, England.

DREAM OF SIR LANCELOT.

When Lionel saw this, anger filled his soul, and[Pg 140]
he thought to win honor in a bout of arms with
this vigorous champion, so he quietly took his
horse, so as not to waken Lancelot, and rode towards
the victor, loudly bidding him turn and try his
fortune in a joust.

But the ambitious young knight soon found that
he had let youthful pride bring him into trouble,
for the strong warrior smote him so hard a blow
that horse and man went together to the earth.
Then the victor alighted and served Lionel as he
had done the others, binding him and flinging him
athwart his own horse.

He did the same with the three others, and rode
away with his prisoners, until he came to a castle
that lay beyond the plain. Here he forced them
to remove their armor, and beat their naked skin
with thorns till they were ready to swoon with the
pain. Then he had them thrust into a deep prison
where were many other knights, whose groans and
lamentations filled the air with doleful sounds.

Through all this Lancelot slept on, nor did he
waken from his slumber till another misadventure
had taken place. For Sir Hector de Maris, the
brother of Lionel, finding that Lancelot had left
the court to seek adventures, was angry that he
had not been asked to keep him company, and rode
hastily after him, hoping to overtake him.

After he had ridden long in the forest he met
a man dressed like a forester, and asked him if
any knightly adventures could be found near by.

“Sir knight,” answered the forester, “I know
this country well, and can promise you all, and
mayhap more, than you want. Within a mile of[Pg 141]
here is a strong manor; by that manor, on the
left hand, is a fair ford for horses to drink at;
over that ford there grows a spreading tree; and
on that tree hang many shields which good knights
once wielded. On the trunk of the tree you will
see a basin of brass and copper, and if you seek
an adventure you have but to strike that basin
thrice with the butt of your spear. If then you do
not soon hear tidings of interest, you will have the
best fortune of any knight who has passed through
this forest for many a long year.”

“Gramercy, for your tidings,” said Hector, and
rode rapidly on.

Soon he came to the manor and the tree, and
saw the shields of which the forester had told him,
and to his surprise and grief he noted among them
the shield of his brother Lionel, and many more
that he knew belonged to Round Table knights.
Then, with a heart full of thoughts of revenge, he
beat upon the basin roundly with his spear, until
its clang rung far and wide. This done, he turned
his horse and let him drink at the ford.

As he stood there he heard a loud voice behind
him, bidding him come out of the water and make
ready, and looking round he beheld a powerfully-built
knight on a strong horse.

Hector wheeled his horse sharply, and putting
his spear in rest rode furiously upon this knight,
striking him so fierce a blow that his horse turned
twice around.

“Well done,” said the stranger. “That was a
knightly blow. But beware, it is my turn now.”

As he spoke he spurred his horse at full speed[Pg 142]
upon Hector, and struck him so skilfully that the
spear-head passed under his right arm and bore
him clear of the saddle into the air. Then, carrying
the knight like a trussed hare on his spear,
the victor rode onward into his own open hall, and
flung his captive down in the middle of the floor.

“You have done more to me than any knight
has done for twelve years past,” said the victor,
whose name was Sir Turquine. “Therefore I will
grant you your life and the liberty of the castle,
but you must swear to be my prisoner until death.”

“That will I never promise,” said Hector. “I
will remain captive to no man if I can free myself.”

“Then I shall take care that you do not escape,”
said Turquine.

With these words he made Hector, on pain of
death, remove his armor, and then scourged him
with thorns as he had done the others, and flung
him into the prison where lay so many of his
fellows.

When Hector saw his brother Lionel among
these his heart was ready to break with sorrow.

“What has happened to Lancelot?” he demanded.
“You rode with him, and here you are
a prisoner. Alas! tell me not that any harm has
come to him.”

“Where he is and what he does I cannot tell,”
said Lionel. “I left him asleep under an apple-tree
and rode alone on this dolorous venture. Would
that I had wakened him first.”

“Alas!” cried the knights, “we may never be
delivered unless Lancelot comes to our aid. Of
all knights living we know none but him who is a
fair match for Turquine, our robber lord.”

[Pg 143]

CHAPTER II.

THE CONTEST OF THE FOUR QUEENS.

Noon had passed by, but the day was still warm,
and Lancelot lay yet in deep slumber, dreaming
nothing of what had happened while he slept. But
now there rode by the apple-tree under which he
lay a royal and brilliant cavalcade. For in it were
four queens of high estate, who were mounted on
white mules, and attired in regal robes, while beside
them rode four knights who bore on their spear-points
a cloth of green silk, so held as to shield the
queens from the heat of the sun.

As they rode by Lancelot’s place of slumber they
were startled by the loud neigh of a war-horse, and
looking about them they became aware of the sleeping
knight beneath the apple-tree. They drew near
and looked upon his face, and at once knew him
for Lancelot du Lake. Then they began pleasantly
to strive as to which of them should have the sleeping
knight for her lover.

“Let me settle this debate,” said Morgan le Fay,
who was one of the queens. “I shall by enchantment
make his sleep hold for six hours to come,
and shall have him borne to my castle. When he
is safely within my power I shall remove the enchantment,
and then he shall be made to choose
which of us he will have for his love. If he refuse
us all he shall pay the penalty.”

She did as she had said. Lancelot was laid sleeping
upon his shield and borne on horseback between[Pg 144]
two knights, and so brought to a castle named
Chariot, where he was laid, still slumbering, in a
chamber. At night-fall a fair damsel was sent to
him with his supper ready prepared. By that time
the enchantment was past, and Lancelot woke as the
damsel came into his chamber and asked him how he
fared.

“That I am not ready to say,” answered Lancelot;
“for I know not how I came into this castle
unless it were by enchantment.”

“As to that I cannot speak,” she replied. “I
can but bid you eat. If you be such a knight as
men say, I shall tell you more to-morrow morn.”

“Thanks, fair damsel,” said Lancelot. “It
pleases me to have your good will.”

Little comfort had the good knight of that night’s
sleep; but early in the morning there came to him
the four queens, each dressed in her richest attire,
adorned with rare jewels, and as beautiful as art and
skill could make them.

They bade him good morning and he returned
their greeting, looking upon them with eyes of
admiration, but not of love.

“You are our prisoner, sir knight,” said Morgan.
“We know you well. You are Lancelot of
the Lake, King Ban’s son. And well we understand
that you are named the worthiest knight
living, and that men say that no lady in the land
but Queen Guenever can have your love. But this
we would have you know, that you must choose
one of us four as your heart’s queen, for if you
refuse you shall never see Arthur’s queen again. I
am Morgan le Fay, queen of the land of Gore, and[Pg 145]
here is the Queen of Northgalis, the Queen of East-land,
and the Queen of the Out Islands. We bid
you to forget Guenever and choose of us the one
you will have for your love. If you choose not it
will be worse for you, for I shall hold you in prison
until death.”

“This is a hard chance,” said Lancelot, “that I
must die in prison or profess a love that I do not
feel. Let me tell you this, though I die twice in
your dungeon I will have none of you, for you
are false enchantresses and not true dames for
honest men to love. As for dame Guenever, were
I at liberty I would prove it on all the knights whom
you command that she is of all ladies the truest
to her lord.”

“Is this, then, your answer,” said Morgan, “that
you disdain our love?”

“On my life it is!” cried Lancelot. “Such love
as yours is not for honest knights; and my love
is not to be had for the bidding.”

“You may live to change your mind,” said Morgan.
“Prison life and prison fare may cure your
pride.”

With these words they departed, leaving Lancelot
in gloom of mind but steadfastness of heart.

At noon, the damsel who had brought him his
supper the night before came with his dinner, and
asked him again how he fared.

“Never so ill,” said Lancelot. “For never before
was I held under lock and key, and never was
worthy knight so shamefully entreated.”

“It grieves me deeply to see you in such distress,”
she said. “If you will be ruled by me,[Pg 146]
and make me a promise, you shall be set free from
this prison, though at the risk of my life.”

“I will grant your wish if it be in my power,”
said Lancelot. “These queenly sorceresses have
destroyed many a good knight, and I would give
much to be out of their hands.”

“They crave your love from what they have heard
of your honor and renown,” answered the damsel.
“They say your name is Lancelot du Lake, the
flower of knights, and your refusal of their love has
filled their souls with anger. But for my aid you
might die in their hands. The promise I ask is
this. On Tuesday morning next there is to be a
tournament between my father and the King of
Northgalis. My father was lately overpowered by
three of Arthur’s knights, and if you will be there
and help him in this coming fray I will engage to
deliver you from your bondage at dawn to-morrow.”

“Tell me your father’s name,” said Lancelot,
“and then you shall have my answer.”

“His name is King Bagdemagus.”

“I know him well,” said Lancelot. “He is a
noble king and a good knight. By the faith of my
body, I promise to give him what aid I can.”

“A hundred thanks, dear sir,” she said. “Be
ready to-morrow early. I shall be here to deliver
you, and take you to where you can find your horse
and armor. Within ten miles of this castle is an
abbey of white monks. There I beg you to stay and
thither I shall bring my father to you.”

“As I am a true knight you can trust me,” said
Lancelot.

With this the damsel departed. But at early[Pg 147]
dawn of the next day she came again, as she had
promised, and found Lancelot ready and eager for
flight. Then they crept through hall and passage,
with heedful tread and bated breath, until she had
opened twelve locked doors and reached the castle
yard.

The sun was just giving its rose tints to the east
when she brought him to the place where his horse
and armor were kept, and with hasty fingers helped
him to arm. Then, taking a great spear and mounting
his noble steed, Lancelot rode forth, saying
cheerily,—

“Fair damsel, by the grace of God I shall not
fail you.”

And still slumber lay deep upon the castle, and
not one of the queens nor a soul of those who dwelt
therein was wakened by the sound.

But not far had the escaping knight departed
from the castle before he entered a thick forest, in
whose depths he wandered lost all that day, finding
no high road, and no trace of the abbey of white
monks. Night at length came upon him, and now
he found himself in a valley where he saw a pavilion
of red sendal.

“Fortune aids me,” said Lancelot. “Whoever
owns that pavilion, it shall give me shelter for the
night.”

He thereupon alighted, tied his horse to a tree
near by, and entered the pavilion, in which was a
comfortable bed. Disarming, he laid himself therein,
and very soon was lost in heavy slumber.

Within an hour afterwards the knight who owned
the pavilion came thither, and laid himself upon the[Pg 148]
bed without noticing that it was already occupied.
His entrance wakened Lancelot, who, on feeling this
intrusion, sprang in quick alarm from the bed and
grasped his sword. The other knight, no less
alarmed, did the same, and sword in hand they
rushed out from the pavilion into the open air,
and fell into mortal combat by the side of a little
stream that there ran past.

The fight was quickly at an end, for after a few
passes the knight of the pavilion fell to the earth,
wounded nearly unto death.

“I yield me, sir knight,” he cried. “But I fear
I have fought my last.”

“Why came you into my bed?” demanded
Lancelot.

“The pavilion is my own,” said the knight. “It
is ill fortune that I should die for seeking my own
bed.”

“Then I am sorry to have hurt you,” said Lancelot.
“I have lately been beguiled by treason,
and was in dread of it. Come into the pavilion.
It may be that I can stanch your blood.”

They entered the pavilion, where Lancelot, with
skilful hands, dressed the knight’s wound and
stopped the bleeding. As he did so the knight’s
lady entered the pavilion, and fell into deep lamentation
and accusal of Lancelot, on seeing how sorely
her lord was hurt.

“Peace, my lady and love,” said the knight.
“This is a worthy and honorable gentleman. I
am in fault for my hurt, and he has saved my life
by his skill and care.”

“Will you tell me what knight you are?” asked
the lady.

[Pg 149]“Fair lady,” he replied, “my name is Lancelot
du Lake.”

“So your face and voice told me,” she replied,
“for I have seen you often, and know you better
than you deem. And I would ask of your courtesy,
for the harm you have done to my lord Beleus and
the grief you have given me, that you will cause
my lord to be made a Knight of the Round Table.
This I can say for him, that he is a man of warlike
prowess, and the lord of many islands.”

“Let him come to the court at the next high
feast,” said Lancelot; “and come you with him.
I shall do what I can for him, and if he prove as
good a knight as you say, I doubt not but King
Arthur will grant your request.”

While they still talked the night passed and the
day dawned. Then Lancelot armed himself, and
asking of them the way to the abbey, rode thither,
where he arrived within the space of two hours.

As Lancelot rode within the abbey yard, the
damsel to whom he owed his deliverance from the
prison of Morgan le Fay sprang from a couch and
ran to a window, roused by the loud clang of hoofs
upon the pavement.

Seeing who it was, she hurried gladly down, and
bade some of the men to take his horse to the stable,
and others to lead him to a chamber, whither she
sent him a robe to wear when he had laid off his
armor.

OLD ARCHES OF THE ABBEY WALL.

Then she entered the chamber and bade him
heartily welcome, saying that of all knights in the
world he was the one she most wished to see.
Ordering breakfast to be prepared for the hungry[Pg 150]
knight, she sent in haste for her father, who was
within twelve miles of the abbey. Before eventide
he came, and with him a fair following of knights.

As soon as King Bagdemagus reached the abbey,
he went straight to the room where were Lancelot
and his daughter in conversation, and took Lancelot
in his arms, bidding him warmly welcome.

In the talk that followed, Lancelot told the king
of his late adventures, the loss of his nephew Lionel,
his own betrayal, and his rescue by the maiden, his
daughter: “For which,” he said, “I owe my
best service to her and hers while I live.”

“Then can I trust in your help on Tuesday
next?” asked the king.

“That I have already promised your daughter,”
said Lancelot. “I shall not fail. But she tells
me that in your last bout you lost the field through
three of King Arthur’s knights, who aided the King
of Northgalis, and that it is against these knights
you need assistance. What knights were they?”

“They were Sir Mador de la Porte, Sir Mordred,
and Sir Gahalatine. Do what we could, neither I
nor my knights could make head against them.”

“I would not have them know me,” said Lancelot.
“My plan, therefore, is this. Send me here
three of your best knights, and see that they have
white shields, with no device, and that I also have
such a shield. Then shall we four, when the fight
is well on, come out of a wood into the midst of
the fray, and do what we can to defeat these champions.”

This plan was carried out as Lancelot had devised.
On the day fixed for the tournament he,[Pg 151]
with his three white-shielded companions, placed
himself in ambush in a leafy grove near where the
lists were raised. Around the field were rows of
benches where the spectators might sit, and richly-adorned
seats for the lords and ladies who were to
adjudge the combat and award the prize of skill
and valor.

Then into the lists rode the King of Northgalis,
with a following of fourscore knights, and attended
by the three knights of Arthur’s court, who stood
apart by themselves. Into the opposite side of the
lists rode King Bagdemagus, with as many knights
in his train.

When all were in place the signal for the onset
was given, and the knights put their spears in rest
and rode together with a great rush, and with such
fatal fortune that twelve of the party of Bagdemagus
and six of that of Northgalis were slain at
the first encounter, while the knights of King Bagdemagus
were driven back in disorder.

At this critical juncture Lancelot and his companions
broke from their concealment and rode
into the lists, forcing their horses into the thick
of the press. Then Lancelot did deeds of such
marvellous strength and skill that all men deeply
wondered who could be the valiant knight of the
white shield. For with one spear he smote down
five knights, with such force that four of them
broke their backs in the fall. Then turning on the
King of Northgalis, he hurled him from his horse
and broke his thigh.

The three knights of Arthur’s court, who had
not yet joined in the fray, saw this, and rode
forward.

[Pg 152]“A shrewd guest that,” said Mador. “Let me
have at him.”

But his fortune was not equal to his hopes, for
Lancelot bore down horse and man, so that Mador’s
shoulder was put out of joint by the fall.

“Now is my turn,” said Mordred.

He rode fiercely on Lancelot, who turned nimbly
and met him in full career, Mordred’s spear shivering
unto his hand when it struck the firm white
shield. But Lancelot gave him so shrewd a buffet
that the bow of his saddle broke, and he was flung
over his horse’s tail with such violence that his helmet
went more than a foot into the earth. Fortune
saved him from a broken neck, but he lay long
in a swoon.

Then Gahalatine and Lancelot rode together with
all their force, the spears of both breaking, but both
keeping their seats. They now drew their swords,
and struck each other many a keen blow. At length
Lancelot, with a burst of wrath, smote Gahalatine
so fierce a stroke on the helm that blood burst from
his nose, mouth, and ears, and his head drooped on
his breast. His horse ran in fright from the fray,
while he fell headlong from his saddle to the ground.

Lancelot now drew back and received from the
attendants a stout, strong spear, and with this rode
again into the fray. Before that spear broke he
had unhorsed sixteen knights, some of them being
borne from their saddles, while others were hurled
horse and man together to the earth. Then getting
another spear he unhorsed twelve more knights,
some of whom never throve afterwards. This
ended the tournament, for the knights of Northgalis
refused to fight any longer against a champion of
such mighty prowess, and the prize was awarded
to King Bagdemagus.

Lancelot now rode with King Bagdemagus from
the lists to his castle, where they had great feasting
and rejoicing, and where Lancelot was proffered
rich gifts for the noble service he had rendered.
But these he refused to accept.

On the following morning Lancelot took his leave,
saying that he must go in search of Lionel, who had
vanished from his side during his sleep. But
before going he commended all present to God’s
grace, and said to the king’s daughter,—

“If you have need any time of my service I pray
you let me know, and I shall not fail you, as I am
a true knight.”

And so Lancelot departed, having had strange
adventures and won much renown since he had
parted from his nephew Lionel.

[Pg 153]

CHAPTER III.

HOW LANCELOT AND TURQUINE FOUGHT.

Not far nor long had Lancelot ridden before he
found himself in familiar scenes, and in a short
time he beheld that same apple-tree under which
he had lain asleep.

“I shall take care never to sleep again beneath[Pg 154]
your shade,” he said, grimly. “The fruit you
bear is not wholesome for errant knights.”

He rode by it, but had not followed the highway
far when he met a damsel riding on a white palfrey,
who saluted him. He courteously returned her
salute, and said,—

“Fair damsel, know you of any adventures that
may be had in this land?”

“Sir knight,” she replied, “if you crave adventures
you will not need to go far to find one. But
it is one it might be safest for you not to undertake.”

“Why should I not?” said Lancelot. “I came
here seeking adventures, and am not the man to
turn back from a shadow.”

“You seem to be a good knight,” she replied,
regarding him closely. “If you dare face a powerful
fighter, I can bring you where is the best and
mightiest in this land. But first I would know
what knight you are.”

“As for my name, you are welcome to it,” he
replied. “Men call me Lancelot du Lake.”

“This, then, is the adventure. Near by there
dwells a knight who has never yet found his match,
and who is ever ready for a joust. His name is Sir
Turquine. As I am told, he has overcome and
has in prison in his castle sixty-four knights of
Arthur’s court, whom he has met and vanquished
in single combat. You shall fight with him if you
will. And if you overcome him, then I shall beg
for your aid against a false knight who daily distresses
me and other damsels. Have I your
promise?”

[Pg 155]“There is nothing I would rather do,” said Lancelot.
“Bring me now where I may meet this
Turquine. When I have ended with him I shall
be at your service.”

“Come this way,” she replied, and led him to
the ford and the tree where hung the basin.

Lancelot waited here until his horse had drunk,
and then he beat on the basin with the butt of his
spear with such force that its bottom fell out, but
no one answered his challenge. He knocked then
loudly at the manor gates, but they remained
closed. Finding no entrance, he rode for half an
hour along the manor walls, looking heedfully for
Sir Turquine, whom he fancied must be abroad.
At the end of that time he saw a knight who drove
a horse before him, and athwart that horse lay an
armed knight, bound.

As they drew near, Lancelot noticed something
familiar in the aspect of the bound knight, and
when they had come close he recognized him as
Gaheris, the brother of Gawaine, and a Knight of
the Round Table.

“That prisoner is a fellow of mine,” he said to
the damsel. “I shall begin, I promise you, by
God’s help, with rescuing him; and unless his
captor sit better than I in the saddle, I shall deliver
all his prisoners, among whom, I am sure, are some
of my near kindred.”

By this time Turquine was close at hand, and
on seeing an armed knight thus confront him he
drew up his horse and gripped his spear fiercely.

“Fair sir,” said Lancelot, “put down that
wounded knight and let him rest a while, while[Pg 156]
you and I find out who is the better man. I am
told you have done much wrong to Knights of
the Round Table, and I am here to revenge them.
Therefore, defend yourself.”

“If you be of the Round Table,” said Turquine,
“I defy you and all your fellowship.”

“That is easy to say,” retorted Lancelot. “Now
let me see what you are ready to do.”

Then, they put their spears in the rests, and rode
together with the force of two ships meeting in
mid-ocean, smiting each other so strongly in the
midst of their shields that the backs of both horses
broke beneath them. The knights, astonished at
this result, leaped hastily to the ground to avoid
being overthrown.

Then, drawing their swords and bearing their
shields in front, they came hotly together, striking
with such force that shield and armor alike gave
way beneath the mighty blows, and blood soon began
to flow freely from their wounds. Thus for
two hours and more the deadly contest continued,
the knights striking, parrying, advancing, and retiring
with all the skill of perfect swordsmen. At the
last they both paused through lack of breath, and
stood leaning upon their swords, and facing each
other grimly.

“Hold thy hand a while, fellow,” said Turquine,
“and tell me what I shall ask thee.”

“Say on,” rejoined Lancelot, briefly.

“Thou art the strongest and best-breathed man
that ever I met with, and art much like the knight
that I hate most of all men. If you are not he,
then for the esteem I have for you I will release all[Pg 157]
my prisoners, and we shall be fellows together while
we live. But first of all I would know your name.”

“You speak well,” said Lancelot. “But since
you promise me your friendship, tell me what knight
it is you hate so deeply?”

“His name,” said Turquine, “is Lancelot du
Lake. He slew my brother Carados at the dolorous
tower, and I have vowed that, if I should meet him,
one of us shall make an end of the other. Through
hate of him I have slain a hundred knights, and
maimed as many more, while of those I have thrown
in prison, many are dead, and threescore and four
yet live. If you will tell me your name, and it
be not Lancelot, all these shall be delivered.”

“It stands, then,” said Lancelot, “that if I be
one man I may have your peace and friendship,
and if I be another man there will be mortal war
between us. If you would know my name, it is
Lancelot du Lake, son of King Ban of Benwick,
and Knight of the Table Round. And now do
your best, for I defy you.”

“Ah, Lancelot!” said Turquine, “never was
knight so welcome to me. This is the meeting I
have long sought, and we shall never part till one
of us be dead.”

Then they rushed together like two wild bulls,
lashing at each other with shield and sword, and
striking such fiery blows that pieces of steel flew
from their armor of proof, and blood poured from
many new wounds.

Two hours longer the fight continued, Turquine
giving Lancelot many wounds and receiving stinging
blows in return, till at the end he drew back[Pg 158]
faint with loss of breath and of blood, and bore his
shield low through weakness. This Lancelot
quickly perceived, and leaped fiercely upon him,
seizing him by the beaver of his helmet and dragging
him down to his knees. Then he tore off his
helm, and swinging in the air his fatal blade, smote
off his head so that it leaped like a live thing upon
the ground, while the body fell prostrate in death.

“So much for Turquine,” said Lancelot. “He
will take prisoner no more Round Table knights.
But by my faith, there are not many such men as
he, and he and I might have faced the world. Now,
damsel, I am ready to go with you where you will,
but I have no horse.”

“Take that of this wounded knight; and let him
go into the manor and release the prisoners.”

“That is well advised,” said Lancelot, who thereupon
went to Gaheris and begged that he would
lend him his horse.

“Lend it!” cried Gaheris. “I will give it, and
would give ten if I had them, for I owe my life
and my horse both to you. You have slain in my
sight the mightiest man and the best knight that I
ever saw, except yourself. And, fair sir, I pray
you tell me your name?”

“My name is Lancelot du Lake. I owe you
rescue for King Arthur’s sake, and for that of
Gawaine, your brother and my comrade. Within
that manor you will find many Knights of the
Round Table, whose shields you may see on yonder
tree. I pray you greet them all from me, and say
I bid them take for their own such stuff as they
find there. I must ride on with this damsel to[Pg 159]
keep my promise, but I hope to be back at the court
by the feast of Pentecost. Bid Lionel and Hector
await me there.”

This said, he mounted and rode on, while Gaheris
went into the manor-house. Here he found a yeoman
porter, who accosted him surlily. Gaheris
flung the dogged fellow to the floor, and took from
him his keys. With these he opened the prison
doors and released the captives, who thanked him
warmly for their rescue, for they saw that he was
wounded, and deemed that he had vanquished
Turquine.

“It was not I,” said Gaheris, “that slew your
tyrant. You have Lancelot to thank for that. He
greets you all, and asks Lionel and Hector to wait
for him at the court.”

“That we shall not do,” said they. “While we
live we shall seek him.”

“So shall I,” said Kay, who was among the prisoners,
“as I am a true knight.”

Then the released knights sought their armor and
horses, and as they did so a forester rode into the
court, with four horses laden with fat venison.

“Here is for us,” said Kay. “We have not had
such a repast as this promises for many a long day.
That rogue Turquine owes us a dinner at least.”

Then the manor-kitchens were set in a blaze, and
the venison was roasted, baked, and sodden, the
half-starved knights enjoying such a hearty meal
as they had long been without. Some of them
afterwards stayed in the manor-house for the night,
though in more agreeable quarters than they had
of late occupied. But Lionel, Hector, and Kay rode[Pg 160]
in quest of Lancelot, resolved to find him if it
were possible, and to lose no time in the search.

As for the victorious knight, he had many strange
adventures, of which we can tell only those of most
interest. First of all, he performed the task which
the damsel required of him, for he met and killed
that false knight against whom she prayed for
redress.

“You have done this day a double service to mankind,”
said the damsel, gratefully. “As Turquine
destroyed knights, so did this villain, whose name
was Peris de Forest Savage, destroy and distress
ladies and gentlewomen, and he is well repaid for
his villany.”

“Do you want any more service of me?” asked
Lancelot.

“Not at this time. But may heaven preserve
you wherever you go, for you deserve the prayers
of all who are in distress. But one thing, it seems
to me, you lack: you are a wifeless knight. The
world says that you will love no maiden, but that
your heart is turned only to Queen Guenever, who
has ordained by enchantment that you shall love
none but her. This I hold to be a great pity, and
many in the land are sorry to see so noble a knight
so enchained.”

“I cannot stop people from thinking what they
will,” said Lancelot, “but as for marrying, I shall
not soon consent to be a stay-at-home knight.
And as for Guenever’s enchantment, it is only that
of beauty and womanly graciousness. What time
may bring me I know not, but as yet it has not
brought me a fancy for wedded life. I thank you[Pg 161]
for your good wishes, fair damsel, and courteously
bid you farewell.”

With these words Lancelot and she parted, she
seeking her home, and the knight riding in quest
of new adventures. For two days his journey continued,
through a country strange to him. On the
morning of the third day he found himself beside
a wide stream, which was crossed by a long bridge,
beyond which rose the battlemented towers of a
strong castle.

Lancelot rode upon the bridge, but before he had
reached its middle there started out a foul-faced
churl, who smote his horse a hard blow on the nose,
and asked him surlily why he dared cross that bridge
without license.

“Why should I not, if I wish?” asked the
knight. “Who has the right to hinder?”

“I have,” cried the churl. “You may choose
what you will, but you shall not ride here,” and he
struck at him furiously with a great iron-shod club.

At this affront Lancelot angrily drew his sword,
and with one stroke warded off the blow, and cut
the churl’s head in twain.

“So much for you, fool,” he said.

But when he reached the end of the bridge he
found there a village, whose people cried out to
him, “You have done a sorry deed for yourself, for
you have slain the chief porter of our castle.”

Lancelot rode on, heedless of their cries, and forcing
his great horse through the throng till he came
to the castle walls. The gates of these stood open,
and he rode in, where he saw a fair green court,
and beyond it the stately walls and towers. At the[Pg 162]
windows were the faces of many people, who cried
to him in dismay,—

“Fair knight, turn and fly. Death awaits you
here.”

“Fly! I have not learned how,” answered Lancelot,
as he sprang from his horse and tied him to
a ring in the wall. “This court seems a fair place
for knightly combat, and it fits better with my
mood to fight than fly.”

Hardly had he spoken when from the castle doors
came two strong giants, armed all but their heads,
and bearing as weapons great iron clubs. They
set upon Lancelot together, the foremost making
a stroke that would have slain him had it reached
him. But the knight warded it off with his shield,
and agilely returned the blow with his sword, with
so vigorous a stroke that he cleft the giant’s head
in twain.

When his fellow saw this, he turned and ran in
panic fear, but Lancelot furiously pursued him,
and struck him so fierce a blow that the sword clove
his great body asunder from shoulder to waist.

“Is it not better to fight than to fly?” cried
Lancelot to the glad faces which he now saw at the
windows, and, leaving the dead giants crimsoning
the green verdure, he strode into the castle hall,
where there came before him threescore ladies, who
fell on their knees and thanked God and him for
their deliverance.

“Blessed be the day thou wert born, sir knight,”
they said, “for many brave warriors have died in
seeking to do what thou hast achieved this day.
We are all of us gentlewomen born, and many of[Pg 163]
us have been prisoners here for seven years, working
in silk for these giants that we might earn our
food. We pray you to tell us your name, that
our friends may know who has delivered us, and
remember you in their prayers.”

“Fair ladies,” he said, “my name is Lancelot du
Lake.”

“You may well be he,” they replied. “For we
know no other knight that could have faced those
giants together, and slain them as you have done.”

“Say unto your friends,” said Lancelot, “that
I send them greeting, and that I shall expect good
cheer from them if ever I should come into their
manors. As for the treasure in this castle, I give
it to you in payment for your captivity. For the
castle itself, its lord, whom these giants have dispossessed,
may claim again his heritage.”

“The castle,” they replied, “is named Tintagil.
The duke who owned it was the husband of Queen
Igraine, King Arthur’s mother. But it has long
been held by these miscreant giants.”

“Then,” said Lancelot, “the castle belongs to
the king, and shall be returned to him. And now
farewell, and God be with you.”

So saying, he mounted his horse and rode away,
followed by the thanks and prayers of the rescued
ladies.

[Pg 164]

CHAPTER IV.

THE CHAPEL PERILOUS.

Lancelot rode onward day after day, passing
through many strange and wild countries, and over
many rivers, and finding but sorry cheer and ill
lodging as he went. At length fortune brought him
to a comfortable wayside mansion, where he was
well received, and after a good supper was lodged
in a chamber over the gateway.

But he had not been long asleep when he was
aroused by a furious knocking at the gate. Springing
from his bed, he looked from the window, and
there by the moonlight saw one knight defending
himself against three, who were pressing him
closely. The knight fought bravely, but was in
danger of being overpowered.

“Those are not fair odds,” said Lancelot. “I
must to the rescue, and the more so as I see that it
is my old friend, Sir Kay, who is being so roughly
handled.”

Then he hastily put on his armor, and by aid of
a sheet lowered himself from a window to the
ground.

“Turn this way,” he cried to the assailants,
“and leave that knight. Three to one is not
knightly odds.”

At these words they turned upon him, all three
striking at him together, and forcing him to defend
himself. Kay would have come to his aid, but he
cried out,—

[Pg 165]“I will have none of your help. Stand off and
leave me alone, or fight them yourself.”

At this Kay stood aside, and Lancelot attacked
the three miscreants so fiercely that within six
strokes he felled them all to the ground. They
now begged for mercy, yielding to him as a man
of matchless skill.

“I will not take your yielding,” he replied.
“Yield to Sir Kay, here, whom you foully over-matched.”

“You ask too much of us, fair sir. It is not
just that we should yield to him whom we would
have vanquished but for you.”

“Think well,” returned Lancelot. “You shall
yield or die. The choice is yours.”

“That is a choice with but one side. Yield we
must, if death is the alternative.”

“Then I bid you on Whitsunday next, to present
yourselves to Queen Guenever at King Arthur’s
court, and put yourselves in her grace and mercy,
saying that Sir Kay sent you there as prisoners.”

This they took oath to do, each knight swearing
upon his sword; whereupon Lancelot suffered them
to depart.

He now knocked at the gate with the pommel
of his sword, till his host came, who started with
surprise on seeing him there.

“I thought you were safe a-bed,” he said.

“So I was. But I sprang from the window to
help an old fellow of mine.”

When they came to the light, Kay recognized
Lancelot, and fell on his knees to thank him for
saving his life.

[Pg 166]“What I have done is nothing but what duty
and good fellowship demanded,” said Lancelot.
“Are you hungry?”

“Half starved,” answered Kay.

“Mayhap our good host can find you food.”

Meat was thereupon brought, of which Kay ate
heartily, after which he and Lancelot sought their
beds in the gate chamber.

But in the morning Lancelot rose while Kay was
still asleep, and took his guest’s armor and shield,
leaving his own. Then he proceeded to the stable,
mounted his horse, and rode away. Shortly afterwards
Kay awoke, and quickly perceived what his
comrade had done.

“Good,” he said, with a laugh. “Lancelot is
after some sport. I fancy that more than one
knight will get more than he bargains for if he
thinks he has me to deal with. As for me, with
Lancelot’s armor and shield, I shall be left to ride
in peace, for few, I fancy, will trouble me.”

Kay thereupon put on Lancelot’s armor, and,
thanking his host, rode away. Meanwhile Lancelot
had ridden on till he found himself in a low country
full of meadows and rivers. Here he passed a
bridge at whose end were three pavilions of silk
and sendal, and at the door of each a white shield
on the truncheon of a spear, while three squires
stood at the pavilion doors. Lancelot rode leisurely
by, without a word and hardly a look.

When he had passed, the knights looked after
him, saying to one another, “That is the proud
Kay. He deems no knight so good as he, though
it has often been proved otherwise.”

[Pg 167]“I shall ride after him,” said one. “We shall
see if his pride does not have a fall. Watch me,
comrades, if you would see some sport.”

He sped but poorly, as it proved, for within a
short time he was hurled grovelling to the earth.
Then the two others rode in succession against
the disguised knight, and both met with the same
sorry fate.

“You are not Kay, the seneschal,” they cried.
“He never struck such blows. Tell us your name
and we will yield.”

“You shall yield, whether you will or not,” he
replied. “Look that you be at court by Whitsunday,
and yield yourselves to Queen Guenever,
saying to her that Sir Kay sent you thither as
prisoners.”

This they swore to do, in dread of worse handling,
and Lancelot rode on, leaving them to help themselves
as best they might. Not far had he gone
when he entered a forest, and in an open glade of
this saw four knights resting under an oak. He
knew them at sight to be from Arthur’s court, two
of them being Gawaine and Uwaine; the other two
Hector de Maris, and Sagramour le Desirous.

They, as the three previous knights had done,
mistook Lancelot for Kay, and Sagramour rode
after him, vowing that he would try what skill the
seneschal had. He quickly found, for horse and
man together were hurled to the ground, while
Lancelot sat unmoved in his saddle.

“I would have sworn that Kay could not give
such a buffet as that,” said Hector. “Let us see
what I can do with him.”

[Pg 168]His luck was even worse, for he went to the earth
with a spear-hole in his shoulder, his shield and
armor being pierced.

“By my faith!” said Uwaine, “that knight is
a bigger and stronger man than Kay. He must have
slain the seneschal and taken his armor. He has
proved himself a hard man to match, but if Kay
has been slain it is our duty to revenge him.”

He thereupon rode against Lancelot, but with
as ill fortune as his fellows, for he was flung so
violently to the earth that he lay long out of his
senses.

“Whoever he be,” cried Gawaine, “he has overturned
my comrades, and I must encounter him.
Defend yourself, sir knight.”

Then the two knights rode fiercely together, each
striking the other in the midst of the shield. But
Gawaine’s spear broke, while that of Lancelot held
good, and struck so strong a blow that the horse was
overturned, Gawaine barely escaping being crushed
beneath him.

This done, Lancelot rode slowly on, smiling to
himself, and saying, “God give joy to the man
that made this spear, for a better no knight ever
handled.”

“What say you of this knight, who with one
spear has felled us all?” said Gawaine. “To my
thinking, it is Lancelot or the devil. He rides like
Lancelot.”

“We shall find out in good time,” said the others;
“but he has left us sore bodies and sick hearts, and
our poor horses are the worse for the trial.”

Lancelot rode on through the forest, thinking[Pg 169]
quietly to himself of the surprise he had given to
his late assailants, and of the sport it would thereafter
make in the court. But new and stranger
adventures awaited him, for he was now coming
into a land of enchantment, where more than mere
strength would be needed.

What he saw, after he had ridden long and far,
was a black brachet, which was coursing as if in
the track of a hurt deer; but he quickly perceived
that the dog was upon a trail of fresh blood. He
followed the brachet, which looked behind as it ran,
as if with desire to lead him on. In time he saw
before him an old manor, over whose bridge ran
the dog. When Lancelot had ridden over the
bridge, that shook beneath his hoofs as if it was
ready to fall, he came into a great hall, where lay
a dead knight whose wounds the dog was licking.
As he stood there a lady rushed weeping from
a chamber, and wrung her hands in grief as she
accused him of having slain her lord.

“Madam, it was not I,” said Lancelot. “I
never saw him till his dog led me here, and I am
sorry enough for your misfortune.”

“I should have known it could not be you,” she
said. “I was led by my grief to speak wildly. For
he that killed my husband is sorely wounded himself,
and I can promise him this, that he will never
recover. I have wrought him a charm that no
leech’s skill can overcome.”

“What was your husband’s name?” asked Lancelot.

“Sir Gilbert,” she replied. “As for him that
slew him, I know not his name.”

[Pg 170]“God send you better comfort,” said Lancelot.
“I am sorry for your misfortune.”

Then he rode again into the forest, and in a
short space met a damsel who knew him well, for
his visor was up and his face shown.

“You are well found, my lord Lancelot,” she
said. “I beg you of your knighthood to help my
brother, who lies near by sorely wounded, and never
stops bleeding. He fought to-day with Sir Gilbert
and slew him in fair battle, and now is dying
through foul enchantment. Not far from here
dwells a lady sorceress, who has wrought this harm,
and who told me to-day that my brother’s wounds
would never heal till I could find a knight who
would go into the Chapel Perilous, and bring thence
the sword of the slain knight and a piece of the
bloody cloth that he is wrapped in. My brother
will die unless his wounds are touched with that
sword and that cloth, for nothing else on earth will
stop their bleeding.”

“This is a marvellous tale,” said Lancelot.
“Who is your brother?”

“His name is Meliot de Logres.”

“Then he is one of my fellows of the Round
Table, and I will do all I can to help him. What
and where the Chapel Perilous is I know not, but
I do not fear its perils.”

“This highway will bring you to it, and at no
great distance,” she replied. “I shall here await
your return. I know no knight but you who can
achieve this task, and truly you will find it no light
one, for you have enchantment and sorcery to
encounter.”

[Pg 171]Little was Lancelot downcast by these words,
and he rode on to the Chapel Perilous with no dread
in his bold heart. Reaching the building indicated,
he alighted and tied his horse beside the gate. Then
he entered the church-yard, and there he saw on the
chapel front many shields hung upside down, some
of them being well known to him.

But his eyes were quickly drawn from these, for
suddenly there appeared before him thirty gigantic
knights, all clad in jet-black armor, and every man
of them a foot higher than common men. All
bore swords and shields, and as they stood there
they grinned and gnashed at him with baleful
faces.

Dread came into Lancelot’s heart on seeing this
frightful throng of black warriors, with their
demon-like countenances. But commending his
soul to God, he took his sword in hand and advanced
resolutely upon them. Then, to his surprise
and gladness, when they saw this bold advance
they scattered right and left before him, like dead
leaves before the wind, and gave him open passage
to the chapel, which he entered without further
opposition.

Here was no light but that of a dim lamp, and
on a bier in the centre of the aisle there lay a
corpse that was covered with a cloth of silk. On
coming up, Lancelot gazed upon the face and saw
that it was that of Sir Gilbert, whose dead body
he had seen but lately in the hall of the manor-house.

Then he bent over the corpse and cut away a
piece of the silk, and as he did so he felt the floor[Pg 172]
to sink and rock beneath him as if the earth had
quaked. This gave him a thrill of dread, and
seizing the sword that lay by the side of the corpse
he hastened out of the chapel.

When he reached the chapel-yard the black
knights thronged again in his pathway, and cried
to him with voices of thunder,—

“Knight, yield us that sword, or you shall die!”

“Whether I live or die, it will need more than
loud words to force me to yield it. You may
fight for it if you will. And I warn you, you will
need to fight hard.”

Then, as before, they scattered before his bold
advance, and left him free passage. Lancelot strode
resolutely on through the chapel-yard, but in the
highway beyond he met a fair damsel, who said to
him,—

“Sir Lancelot, you know not what risk you run.
Leave that sword, or you will die for it.”

“I got it not so easy that I should leave it for
a threat,” he replied.

“You are wise,” she answered. “I did but test
your judgment. If you had yielded the sword
you would never have looked on Queen Guenever
again.”

“Then I would have been a fool indeed to leave
it.”

“Now, gentle knight, I have but one request to
make of you ere you depart. That is, that you
kiss me.”

“Nay,” said Lancelot, “that God forbid. I
save my kisses till my love is given.”

“Then are you beyond my power,” she cried,[Pg 173]
with a groan of pain. “Had you kissed me your
life would have ended; but now I have lost my
labor, for it was for you and Gawaine that I prepared
this chapel with its enchantments. Gawaine
was once in my power, and at that time he fought
with Sir Gilbert and struck off his left hand. As
for you, I have loved you these seven years. But
I know that none but Guenever will ever have
your love, and so, as I could not have you alive,
I wished to have you dead. If you had yielded
to my wiles I should have embalmed and preserved
your body, and kissed it daily in spite of Guenever,
or any woman living. Now farewell, Lancelot; I
shall never look upon your face again.”

“I pray to Heaven you shall not. And may
God preserve me from your vile craft.”

Mounting his horse, Lancelot departed. Of the
lady, we are told by the chronicles that she died
within a fortnight of pure sorrow, and that she was
a sorceress of high renown.

Lancelot rode on till he met the sister of the
wounded knight, who clapped her hands and wept
for joy on seeing him safely returned. Then she
led him to a castle near by, where Sir Meliot lay.
Lancelot knew him at sight, though he was pale
as death from loss of blood.

On seeing Lancelot, he fell on his knees before
him, crying, in tones of hope,—

“Oh, my lord Lancelot, help me, for you alone
can!”

“I can and will,” rejoined the knight, and, as he
had been advised, he touched his wounds with
the sword and rubbed them with the bloody cloth
he had won.

No sooner was this done, than Meliot sprang to
his feet a whole and sound man, while his heart
throbbed with joy and gratefulness. And he and
his sister entertained their noble guest with the
best the castle afforded, doing all in their power
to show their gratitude.

[Pg 174]

CHAPTER V.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE FALCON.

After his departure from the castle of Sir Meliot,
Lancelot rode through many strange regions, over
marshes and highlands, through valleys and forests,
and at length found himself in front of a handsome
castle. This he passed, and as he did so thought
he heard two bells ring.

Then he saw a falcon fly over his head towards
a high elm, with long cords hanging from her feet,
and as she perched in the elm these became coiled
round a bough, so that when she tried to fly again
the lines held her and she hung downward by the
legs.

Then there came a lady running from the castle,
who cried, as she approached,—

“Oh, Lancelot, Lancelot, as thou art the flower
of knights, help me to get my hawk, lest my lord
destroy me! The hawk escaped me, and if my
husband finds it gone, he is so hasty that I fear he
will kill me.”

[Pg 175]“What is his name?” asked Lancelot.

“His name is Phelot. He is a knight of the
king of Northgalis.”

“Well, fair lady, since you know my name so
well, and ask me on my knighthood to help you,
I will try to get your hawk. But I am a poor
climber, and the tree is high, with few boughs to
help me.”

“I trust you may,” she replied, “for my life
depends on your success.”

Then Lancelot alighted and tied his horse to the
tree, and begged the lady to help him remove his
armor. When he was fully unarmed he climbed
with much difficulty into the tree, and at length
succeeded in reaching the hawk. He now tied the
lines to a rotten branch and threw it and the bird
down to the lady.

But as she picked it up with a show of joy, there
suddenly came from a grove an armed knight, who
rode rapidly up, with his drawn sword in his hand.

“Now, Lancelot du Lake,” he cried, “I have
you as I wanted you. Your day has come.”

And he stood by the trunk of the tree, ready to
slay him when he should descend.

“What treason is this?” demanded Lancelot.
“False woman, why have you led me into this?”

“She did as I bade her,” said Phelot. “I hate
you, Lancelot, and have laid this trap for you.
You have fought your last fight, my bold champion,
for you come out of that tree but to your
death.”

“That would be a shameful deed,” cried Lancelot,
“for you, an armed knight, to slay a defenceless
man through treachery.”

[Pg 176]“Help yourself the best you can,” said Phelot;
“you get no grace from me.”

“You will be shamed all your life by so base an
act,” cried Lancelot. “If you will do no more, at
least hang my sword upon a bough where I may
get it, and then you may do your best to slay me.”

“No, no,” said Phelot. “I know you too well
for that. You get no weapon if I can hinder you.”

Lancelot was now in the most desperate strait
he was likely ever to endure. He could not stay
forever in the tree, and if he should attempt to
descend there stood that armed villain awaiting
him with ready sword. What to do he knew not,
but his eyes glanced warily round, till he saw just
above him a big leafless branch, which he broke
off close to the body of the tree. Thus armed, he
climbed down to a lower bough, and looked down
to note the position of the knight and his own
horse.

A quick look told him that there was still a
chance for life, and with a nimble leap he sprang
to the ground on the other side of his horse from
the knight.

Phelot at once struck at him savagely with his
sword, thinking to kill him with the blow; but
Lancelot parried it with his heavy club, and in
return dealt his antagonist so fierce a blow on the
head as to hurl him from his horse to the ground.
Then wrenching the sword from his hand, he struck
off his villanous head.

“Alas!” cried the lady, “you have slain my
husband!”

“If I should slay you with him it would be but[Pg 177]
justice,” said Lancelot, “for you would have killed
me through falsehood and treachery, and you have
but your deserts.”

Then the lady swooned away as if she would
die, but Lancelot, seeing that the knight’s castle
was so nigh, hastened to resume his armor, for he
knew not what other treachery might await him.
Then, leaving the lady still in a swoon, he mounted
and rode away, thanking God that he had come so
well through that deadly peril.

As to Lancelot’s other adventures at that time,
they were of no great moment. The chronicles
tell that he saw a knight chasing a lady with intent
to kill her, and that he rescued her. Afterwards
the knight, who was her husband and mad with
jealousy, struck off her head in Lancelot’s presence.

Then when Lancelot would have slain him, he
grovelled in the dirt and begged for mercy so
piteously, that the knight at length granted him his
shameful life, but made him swear that he would
bear the dead body on his back to Queen Guenever,
and tell her of his deed.

This he accomplished, and was ordered by the
queen, as a fitting penance, to bear the body of
his wife to the Pope of Rome and there beg absolution,
and never to sleep at night but with the
dead body in the bed with him. All this the knight
did, and the body was buried in Rome by the Pope’s
command. Afterwards Pedivere, the knight, repented
so deeply of his vile deed that he became a
hermit, and was known as a man of holy life.

Two days before the feast of Pentecost, Lancelot
returned to Camelot from his long journey and his[Pg 178]
many adventures. And there was much laughter
in the court when the knights whom he had smitten
down saw him in Kay’s armor, and knew who their
antagonist had been.

“By my faith,” said Kay, “I never rode in such
peace as I have done in Lancelot’s armor, for I have
not found a man willing to fight with me, and have
ruled lord of the land.”

Then the various knights whom Lancelot had
bidden to seek the court came in, one by one, and
all were glad to learn that it was by no common man
that they had been overcome. Among them came
Sir Belleus, whom Lancelot had wounded at the
pavilion, and who at his request was made a Knight
of the Round Table, and Sir Meliot de Logres, whom
he had rescued from the enchantment of the Chapel
Perilous. Also the adventure of the four queens
was told, and how Lancelot had been delivered from
the power of the sorceresses, and had won the
tournament for King Bagdemagus.

And so at that time Lancelot had the greatest
name of any knight in the world, and was the most
honored, by high and low alike, of all living
champions.

[Pg 179]

BOOK V.

THE ADVENTURES OF BEAUMAINS.

CHAPTER I.

THE KNIGHTING OF KAY’S KITCHEN BOY.

King Arthur had, early in his reign, established
the custom that at the feast of Pentecost he would
never dine until he had seen or heard of some marvellous
event. Through that custom many strange
adventures were brought to his notice. It happened
on one day of Pentecost that the king held
his Round Table at a castle called Kinkenadon, on
the borders of Wales. On that day, a little before
noon, as Gawaine looked from a window, he saw
three men on horseback and a dwarf on foot
approaching the castle. When they came near the
men alighted, and, leaving their horses in care of
the dwarf, they walked towards the castle-gate.
One of these men was very tall, being a foot and a
half higher than his companions.

On seeing this, Gawaine went to the king and
said,—

“Sire, I deem you can now safely go to your
dinner, for I fancy we have an adventure at hand.”

KING ARTHUR’S ROUND TABLE, WINCHESTER CATHEDRAL.

The king thereupon went to the table with his
knights and the kings who were guests at his court.
They were but well seated when there came into the[Pg 180]
hall two men, richly attired, upon whose shoulders
leaned the fairest and handsomest young man that
any there had ever seen. In body he was large
and tall, with broad shoulders and sturdy limbs, yet
he moved as if he could not bear himself erect, but
needed support from his comrades’ shoulders.

When Arthur saw this youth he bade those around
him to make room, and the stranger with his companions
walked up to the high dais without
speaking.

Then he drew himself up straight and stood erect
before the king.

“King Arthur,” he said, “may God bless you
and your fellowship, and, above all, the fellowship
of the Round Table. I am come hither to beg of
you three gifts, promising that they shall not be
unreasonable, and that you can honorably grant
them without hurt or loss to yourself. The first
I shall ask now, and the other two this day twelvemonth.”

“Ask what you will,” said Arthur. “You shall
have your gift, if it be so easy to grant.”

“This is my first petition, that you furnish me
meat and drink sufficient for this year, and until
the time has come to ask for my other gifts.”

“My fair son,” said Arthur, “I counsel you to
ask more than this. If my judgment fail not, you
are of good birth and fit for noble deeds.”

“However that may be, I have asked all that I
now desire.”

“Well, well, you shall have meat and drink
enough. I have never denied that to friend or
foe. But what is your name?”

[Pg 181]“Great sir, that I cannot tell you.”

“There is a mystery here. A youth of so handsome
face and vigorous form as you must be of
noble parentage. But if you desire secrecy, I shall
not press you.”

Then Arthur bade Kay to take charge of the
youth and see that he had the best fare of the
castle, and to find out if he was a lord’s son, if
possible.

“A churl’s son, I should say,” answered Kay,
scornfully, “and not worth the cost of his meals.
Had he been of gentle birth he would have asked
for horse and armor; but he demands that which
fits his base-born nature. Since he has no name,
I shall give him one. Let him be called Beaumains,
or Fair Hands. I shall keep him in the kitchen,
where he can have fat broth every day, so that at
the years end he will be fat as a swollen hog.”

Then the two men departed and left the youth
with Kay, who continued to scorn and mock him.

Gawaine and Lancelot were angry at this, and
bade Kay to cease his mockery, saying that they
were sure the youth would prove of merit.

“Never will he,” said Kay. “He has asked as
his nature bade him.”

“Beware,” said Lancelot. “This is not the first
youth you have given a name in mockery, which
turned on yourself at last.”

“I do not fear that of this fellow. I wager that
he has been brought up in some abbey, and came
hither because good eating failed him there.”

Kay then bade him get a place and sit down to
his meal, and Beaumains sought a place at the
hall-door among boys and menials.

[Pg 182]Gawaine and Lancelot thereupon asked him to
come to their chambers, where he should be well
fed and lodged; but he refused, saying that he
would do only as Kay commanded, since the king
had so bidden.

It thus came about that Beaumains ate in the
kitchen among the menials, and slept in sorry
quarters. And during the whole year he was always
meek and mild, and gave no cause for displeasure
to man or child.

But whenever there was jousting of knights he
was always present to see, and seemed in this sport
to take great delight. And Gawaine and Lancelot,
who felt sure that the youth but bided his time,
gave him clothes and what money he needed. Also,
wherever there were sports of skill or strength he
was sure to be on hand, and in throwing the bar
or stone he surpassed all contestants by two yards.

“How like you my boy of the kitchen?” Kay
would say, on seeing these feats. “Fat broth is
good for the muscles.”

And so the year passed on till the festival of
Whitsuntide came again. The court was now at
Carlion, where royal feasts were held. But the
king, as was his custom, refused to eat until he
should hear of some strange adventure.

While he thus waited a damsel came into the
hall and saluted the king, and begged aid and succor
of him.

“For whom?” asked Arthur. “Of what do you
complain?”

“Sire,” she replied, “I serve a lady of great
worth and merit, who is besieged in her castle by[Pg 183]
a tyrant, and dares not leave her gates for fear of
him. I pray you send with me some knight to
succor her.”

“Who is your lady, and where does she dwell?
And what is the name of the man who besieges
her?”

“Her name I must not now tell. I shall only
say that she has wide lands and is a noble lady.
As for the tyrant that distresses her, he is called
the Red Knight of the Red Lawns.”

“I know him not,” said the king.

“I know him well,” said Gawaine. “Men say
he has seven men’s strength. I escaped him once
barely with life.”

“Fair damsel,” said the king, “there are knights
here who would do their utmost to rescue your lady.
But if you will not tell me her name nor where
she lives, none of them shall go with my consent.”

“Then I must seek further,” said the damsel,
“for that I am forbidden to tell.”

At this moment Beaumains came to the king, and
said,—

“Royal sir, I have been twelve months in your
kitchen, and have had all you promised me; now
I desire to ask for my other two gifts.”

“Ask, if you will. I shall keep to my word.”

“This, then, is what I request. First, that you
send me with the damsel, for this adventure belongs
to me.”

“You shall have it,” said the king.

“My third request is that you shall bid Lancelot
du Lake make me a knight, for he is the only man in
your court from whom I will take that honor.[Pg 184]
When I am gone let him ride after me, and dub me
knight when I require it of him.”

“I grant your wish,” said the king. “All shall
be done as you desire.”

“Fie on you all!” cried the damsel. “I came
here for a knight, and you offer me a kitchen scullion.
Is this King Arthur’s way of rescuing a
lady in distress? If so, I want none of it, and will
seek my knight elsewhere.”

She left the court, red with anger, mounted her
horse, and rode away.

She had hardly gone when a page of the court
came to Beaumains and told him that his dwarf
was without, with a noble horse and a rich suit of
armor, and all other necessaries of the best.

At this all the court marvelled, for they could
not imagine who had sent all this rich gear to a
kitchen menial. But when Beaumains was armed,
there were none in the court who presented a
more manly aspect than he. He took courteous
leave of the king, and of Gawaine and Lancelot,
praying the latter that he would soon ride after
him. This done, he mounted his horse and pursued
the damsel.

But those who observed him noticed that, while
he was well horsed and had trappings of cloth of
gold, he bore neither shield nor spear. Among
those who watched him was Kay, who said,—

“Yonder goes my kitchen drudge, as fine a knight
as the best of us, if a brave show were all that a
knight needed. I have a mind to ride after him,
to let him know that I am still his superior.”

“You had better let him alone,” said Gawaine.[Pg 185]
“You may find more than you bargain for.”

But Kay armed himself and rode after Beaumains,
whom he overtook just as he came up with
the damsel.

“Hold there, Beaumains,” he cried, in mockery.
“Do you not know me?”

“Yes,” answered the young man. “I know you
for an ungentle knight of the court, who has put
much despite upon me. It is my turn to repay you
for your insults; so, sirrah, defend yourself.”

Kay thereupon put his spear in rest and rode
upon Beaumains, who awaited him sword in hand.
When they came together, Beaumains, with a skilful
parry, turned aside the spear, and then with a
vigorous thrust wounded Kay in the side, so that he
fell from his horse like a dead man. This done,
he dismounted and took Kay’s shield and spear,
and bade his dwarf take his horse.

All this was observed by the damsel, and also
by Lancelot, who had followed closely upon the
track of the seneschal.

“Now, Sir Lancelot, I am ready to accept your
offer to knight me,” said Beaumains, “but, first, I
would prove myself worthy of the honor, and so
will joust with you, if you consent.”

“That I shall certainly not decline,” said Lancelot,
counting upon an easy victory.

But when the knight and the youth rode against
each other both were hurled from their horses to the
earth, and sorely bruised. But Beaumains was
entangled in his harness, and Lancelot helped him
from his horse.

Then Beaumains flung aside his shield and proffered[Pg 186]
to fight Lancelot on foot, to which the latter
consented. For an hour they fought, Beaumains
showing such strength that Lancelot marvelled at
it, and esteemed him more a giant than a knight.
He began, indeed, to fear that he might be vanquished
in the end, and at length cried out,—

“Beaumains, you fight too hard, considering that
there is no quarrel between us. I fancy you need
no further proof.”

“That is true enough, my lord,” said Beaumains.
“But it did me good to feel your might. As for
my own strength, I hardly know it yet.”

“It is as much as I want to deal with,” said
Lancelot. “I had to do my best to save my honor.”

“Then you think I may prove myself a worthy
knight?”

“I warrant you that, if you do as well as you
have done to-day.”

“I pray you, then, to invest me with the order
of knighthood.”

“That shall I willingly do. But you must first
tell me your name, and that of your father.”

“You will keep my secret?”

“I promise you that on my faith, until you are
ready to reveal it yourself.”

“Then, sir, my name is Gareth, and I am Gawaine’s
brother, though he knows it not. I was
but a child when he became a knight, but King
Lot was my father.”

“I am very glad to hear that,” said Lancelot.
“I knew you were of gentle blood, and came to
court for something else than meat and drink.”

Then Gareth kneeled before Lancelot, who made
him a knight, and bade him be a good and worthy
one, and to honor his birth by his deeds.

Lancelot then left him and returned to Kay, who
lay half dead in the road. He had him borne back
to the court, but his wound proved long in healing,
and he found himself the scorn of the court for his
discourteous treatment of the youth who had been
put in his care.

[Pg 187]

CHAPTER II.

THE BLACK, THE GREEN, AND THE RED KNIGHTS.

When Beaumains overtook the damsel, he received
from her but a sorry greeting.

“How dare you follow me?” she said. “You
smell too much of the kitchen for my liking.
Your clothes are foul with grease and tallow, and
I marvel much that King Arthur made a knight of
such a sorry rogue. As for yonder knight whom
you wounded, there is no credit in that, for it was
done by treachery and cowardice, not by skill and
valor. I know well why Kay named you Beaumains,
for you are but a lubber and turner of spits,
and a washer of soiled dishes.”

“Say what you will, damsel,” answered Beaumains,
“you shall not drive me away. King
Arthur chose me to achieve your adventure, and I
shall perform it or die.”

“Fie on you, kitchen knave! you would not dare,[Pg 188]
for all the broth you ever supped, to look the red
knight in the face.”

“Would I not? That is to be seen.”

As they thus angrily debated, there came to them
a man flying at full speed.

“Help me, sir knight!” he cried. “Six thieves
have taken my lord and bound him, and I fear
they will slay him if he be not rescued.”

“Lead me to him,” said Beaumains.

He followed the man to a neighboring glade,
where he saw a knight bound and prostrate, surrounded
by six sorry-looking villains. At sight
of this the heart of Beaumains leaped with anger.
With a ringing battle-cry he rushed upon the knaves,
and with three vigorous strokes laid three of them
dead upon the earth. The others fled, but he followed
at full speed, and quickly overtook them.
Then they turned and assailed him fiercely, but
after a short fight he slew them all. He then rode
back to the knight, whom his man had unbound.

The rescued knight thanked him warmly, and
begged him to ride with him to his castle, where
he would reward him for his great service. But
Beaumains answered that he was upon a quest which
could not be left, and as for reward he would leave
that to God.

Then he turned and rode back to the damsel,
who greeted him with the same contempt as before,
bidding him ride farther from her, as she could not
bear the smell of the kitchen.

“Do you fancy that I esteem you any the nobler
for having killed a few churls? You shall see a
sight yet, sir knave, that will make you turn your
back, and that quickly.”

[Pg 189]Not much farther had they ridden when they
were overtaken by the rescued knight, who begged
them, as it was near night, and his castle close at
hand, to spend the night there. The damsel agreed
to this, and they rode together to the castle, where
they were well entertained.

But at supper the knight set Beaumains before
the damsel.

“Fie, fie! sir knight,” she exclaimed. “This is
discourteous, to seat a kitchen page before a lady
of high birth. This fellow is more used to carve
swine than to sit at lords’ tables.”

To this Beaumains made no answer, but the
knight was ashamed, and withdrew with his guest
to a side table, leaving her to the honor of the high
table alone. When morning came they thanked
the knight for their entertainment, and rode
refreshed away.

Other adventures were ready for Beaumains
before they had ridden far, for they soon found
themselves at the side of a river that had but a
single ford, and on the opposite side stood two
knights, ready to dispute the passage with any who
should attempt it.

“What say you to this?” asked the damsel.
“Will you face yonder knights, or turn back?”

“I shall not turn; nor would I, if there were
six more of them. You shall see that I can deal
with knights as well as knaves.”

Then he rode into the water, in the midst of
which he met one of the knights, their spears breaking
as they came fiercely together. They then drew
their swords and began a fierce fight in the centre[Pg 190]
of the ford. But at last Beaumains dealt his opponent
a blow on the helm that stunned him, and
hurled him from his horse into the water, where
he was quickly drowned.

Beaumains now spurred forward to the land,
where the other knight rushed upon him as he
touched shore, breaking his spear, but not shaking
the young champion in his seat. Then they went
at it with sword and shield, and with the same
fortune as before, for Beaumains quickly cleaved
the helmet and brain of his opponent, and left him
dead on the ground.

He now turned and called proudly to the damsel,
bidding her to ride forward, as he had cleared the
ford for her passage.

“Alas!” she cried, “that a kitchen page should
have the fortune to kill two valiant knights. You
fancy you have done a doughty deed, but I deny
it. The first knight was drowned through his horse
stumbling, and the other one you struck a foul blow
from behind. Never brag of this, for I can attest
it was not honestly done.”

“You may say what you will,” rejoined Beaumains.
“Whoever seeks to hinder me shall make
way or kill me, for nothing less than death shall
stop me on my quest to aid your lady.”

“You can boast loudly before a woman. Wait
till you meet the knights I take you to, and you
will be taught another lesson.”

“Fair damsel, if you will but give me courteous
language, I shall ask no more. As for the knights
you speak of, let come what will come.”

“I say this for your own good; for if you continue[Pg 191]
to follow me you will be slain. What you
have done is by misadventure, not by prowess. If
you are wise, you will turn back with what little
honor you may claim.”

“Say what you choose, damsel, but wherever you
go there go I, and it will take more than insulting
words to turn me back.”

So they rode on till evening, she continuing to
chide and berate him, and bid him leave her, and
he answering meekly, but with no abatement of his
resolution.

Finally a strange sight came to them. For before
them they saw a black lawn, in whose midst
grew a black hawthorn. On one side of this hung
a black banner, and on the other a black shield,
while near by stood a black spear of great size, and
a massive black horse covered with silk. Near by
was a knight armed in black armor, who was known
as the Knight of the Black Lawn.

The damsel, on seeing this knight, bade Beaumains
flee down the valley, telling him that he
might still escape, for the knight’s horse was not
saddled.

“Gramercy,” said Beaumains, “will you always
take me for a coward? I fly not from one man,
though he be as black as ten ravens.”

The black knight, seeing them approach, thus
addressed the damsel,—

“So, my lady, you are here again! Have you
brought this knight from King Arthur’s court to
be your champion?”

“Hardly so, fair sir. This is but a kitchen
knave, who was fed in Arthur’s court through[Pg 192]
charity, and has followed me as a cur follows his
master.”

“Why comes he then in knightly guise? And
what do you in such foul company?”

“I cannot get rid of him, sir. He rides with me
in my despite. I bring him here that you may
rid me of the unhappy knave. Through mishap
and treachery he killed two knights at the river
ford, and did other deeds that might have been of
worth were they fairly done. Yet he is but a sorry
poltroon.”

“I am surprised,” said the black knight, “that
any man of worth will fight with him.”

“They knew him not,” she answered, “and fancy
him of some credit from his riding with me, and
from his brave show of armor.”

“That may be,” said the black knight. “Yet,
knave or not, he looks like a strong fellow. This
much I shall do to relieve you of him. I shall put
him on foot, and take from him his horse and armor.
It would be a shame to do him more harm.”

Beaumains had heard all this, biting his lips in
anger. He now scornfully replied,—

“Sir knight, you are liberal in disposing of my
horse and armor, but beware you do not pay a fair
price for them. Whether you like it or not, this
lawn I shall pass, and you will get no horse or armor
of mine till you win them in open fight. Let me
see if you can do it.”

“Say you so? You shall yield me this lady, or
pay dearly for it; for it does not beseem a kitchen
page to ride with a lady of high degree.”

“If you want her, you must win her,” said Beaumains,[Pg 193]
“and much comfort may you get from her
tongue. As for me, I am a gentleman born, and
of higher birth than you; and will prove this on
your body if you deny it.”

Then in hot anger they rode apart, and came
together with a sound of thunder. The spear of the
black knight broke, but Beaumains thrust him
through the side, the spear breaking in his body,
and leaving the truncheon in his flesh. Yet, despite
his wound, he drew his sword and struck with
strength and fury at his antagonist. But the fight
lasted not long, for the black knight, faint with loss
of blood, fell from his horse in a swoon, and quickly
died.

Then Beaumains, seeing that the horse and armor
were better than his own, dismounted and put on
the dead knight’s armor. Now, mounting the sable
horse, he rode after the damsel. On coming up she
greeted him as before.

“Away, knave, the smell of thy clothes displeases
me. And what a pity it is that such as you should
by mishap slay so good a knight! But you will be
quickly repaid, unless you fly, for there is a knight
hereby who is double your match.”

“I may be beaten or slain, fair damsel,” said
Beaumains; “but you cannot drive me off by foul
words, or by talking of knights who will beat or
kill me. Somehow I ride on and leave your knights
on the ground. You would do well to hold your
peace, for I shall follow you, whatever may happen,
unless I be truly beaten or slain.”

So they rode on, Beaumains in silence, but the
damsel still at times reviling, till they saw approaching[Pg 194]
them a knight who was all in green, both horse
and harness. As he came nigh, he asked the
damsel,—

“Is that my brother, the black knight, who rides
with you?”

“No,” she replied. “Your brother is dead.
This unhappy kitchen knave has slain him through
mishap.”

“Alas!” cried the green knight, “has so noble
a warrior as he been slain by a knave! Traitor,
you shall die for your deed!”

“I defy you,” said Beaumains. “I slew him
knightly and not shamefully, and am ready to
answer to you with sword and spear.”

Then the knight took a green horn from his
saddle-bow, and blew on it three warlike notes.
Immediately two damsels appeared, who aided him
in arming. This done, he mounted his steed, took
from their hands a green spear and green shield,
and stationed himself opposite Beaumains.

Setting spurs to their horses they rode furiously
together, both breaking their spears, but keeping
their seats. Then they attacked each other, sword
in hand, and cut and slashed with knightly vigor.
At length, in a sudden wheel, Beaumains’s horse
struck that of the green knight on the side and
overturned it, the knight having to leap quickly
to escape being overthrown.

When Beaumains saw this, he also sprang to the
earth and met his antagonist on foot. Here they
fought for a long time, till both had lost much
blood.

“You should be ashamed to stand so long fighting[Pg 195]
with a kitchen knave,” cried the damsel at last to the
green knight. “Who made you knight, that you
let such a lad match you, as the weed overgrows
the corn?”

Her words of scorn so angered the green knight
that he struck a wrathful blow at Beaumains,
which cut deeply into his shield. Beaumains,
roused by this and by the damsel’s language, struck
back with such might on the helm of his foe as to
hurl him to his knees. Then, seizing him, he flung
him to the ground, and towered above him with
upraised sword.

“I yield me!” cried the knight. “Slay me not,
I beg of you.”

“You shall die,” answered Beaumains, “unless
this damsel pray me to spare your life,” and he
unlaced his helm, as with intent to slay him.

“Pray you to save his life!” cried the damsel,
in scorn. “I shall never so demean myself to a
page of the kitchen.”

“Then he shall die.”

“Slay him, if you will. Ask me not to beg for
his life.”

“Alas!” said the green knight, “you would not
let me die when you can save my life with a word?
Fair sir, spare me, and I will forgive you my
brother’s death, and become your man, with thirty
knights who are at my command.”

“In the fiend’s name!” cried the damsel, “shall
such a knave have service of thee and thirty
knights?”

“All this avails nothing,” said Beaumains.
“You shall have your life only at this damsel’s[Pg 196]
request,” and he made a show as if he would slay
him.

“Let him be, knave,” said the damsel. “Slay
him not, or you shall repent it.”

“Damsel,” said Beaumains, “your request is to
me a command and a pleasure. His life shall be
spared, since you ask it. Sir knight of the green
array, I release you at the damsel’s request, for I
am bound by her wish, and will do all that she
commands.”

Then the green knight kneeled down and did
homage with his sword.

“I am sorry, sir knight, for your mishap, and
for your brother’s death,” said the damsel. “I had
great need of your help, for I dread the passage
of this forest.”

“You need not,” he replied. “To-night you
shall lodge at my castle, and to-morrow I will aid
you to pass the forest.”

So they rode to his manor, which was not far
distant. Here it happened as it had on the evening
before, for the damsel reviled Beaumains, and
would not listen to his sitting at the same table
with her.

“Why deal you such despite to this noble warrior?”
said the green knight. “You are wrong,
for he will do you good service, and whatever he
declares himself to be, I warrant in the end you
will find him to come of right noble blood.”

“You say far more of him than he deserves,”
she replied. “I know him too well.”

“And so do I, for he is the best champion I
ever found; and I have fought in my day with many
worthy knights.”

[Pg 197]That night, when they went to rest, the green
knight set a guard over Beaumains’s chamber, for
he feared some harm to him from the bitter scorn
and hatred of the damsel. In the morning he rode
with them through the forest, and at parting said,—

“My lord Beaumains, I and my knights shall
always be at your summons, early or late, or whatever
be the service you demand.”

“That is well said. When I require your service
it will be to yield yourself and your knights to King
Arthur.”

“If you bid us do so, we shall be ready at all
times.”

“Fie on you!” said the damsel. “It shames
me to see good knights obedient to a kitchen knave.”

After they had parted she turned to Beaumains,
and said, despitefully,—

“Why wilt thou follow me, lackey of the kitchen?
Cast away thy spear and shield and fly while you
may, for that is at hand which you will not easily
escape. Were you Lancelot himself, or any knight
of renown, you would not lightly venture on a pass
just in advance of us, called the pass perilous.”

“Damsel,” said Beaumains, “he who is afraid
let him flee. It would be a shame for me to turn
back, after having ridden so far with you.”

“You soon shall, whether it be to your liking
or not,” replied the damsel, scornfully.

What the damsel meant quickly appeared, for in
a little time they came in sight of a tower which
was white as snow in hue, and with every appliance
for defence. Over the gateway hung fifty shields
of varied colors, and in front spread a level meadow.[Pg 198]
On this meadow were scaffolds and pavilions, and
many knights were there, for there was to be a tournament
on the morrow.

The lord of the castle was at a window, and as
he looked upon the tournament field he saw
approaching a damsel, a dwarf, and a knight armed
at all points.

“A knight-errant, as I live!” said the lord.
“By my faith, I shall joust with him, and get myself
in train for the tournament.”

He hastily armed and rode from the gates.
What Beaumains saw was a knight all in red, his
horse, harness, shield, spear, and armor alike being
of this blood-like color. The red knight was, indeed,
brother to those whom Beaumains had lately
fought, and on seeing the black array of the youth,
he cried,—

“Brother, is it you? What do you in these
marshes?”

“No, no, it is not he,” said the damsel, “but a
kitchen knave who has been brought up on alms
in Arthur’s court.”

“Then how got he that armor?”

“He has slain your brother, the black knight,
and taken his horse and arms. He has also overcome
your brother, the green knight. I hope you
may revenge your brothers on him, for I see no
other way of getting rid of him.”

“I will try,” said the red knight, grimly. “Sir
knight, take your place for a joust.”

Beaumains, who had not yet spoken, rode to a
proper distance, and then the two knights rushed
together with such even force that both horses fell[Pg 199]
to the ground, the riders nimbly leaping from them.

Then with sword and shield they fought like
wild boars for the space of two hours, advancing,
retreating, feigning, striking, now here, now there,
till both were well weary of the fray. But the
damsel, who looked on, now cried loudly to the
red knight,—

“Alas, noble sir, will you let a kitchen knave
thus endure your might, after all the honor you
have won from worthy champions?”

Then the red knight flamed with wrath, and
attacked Beaumains with such fury that he wounded
him so that the blood flowed in a stream to the
ground. Yet the young knight held his own
bravely, giving stroke for stroke, and by a final
blow hurled his antagonist to the earth. He had
raised his sword to slay him, when the red knight
craved mercy, saying,—

“Noble, sir, you have me at advantage, but I
pray you not to slay me. I yield me with the
fifty knights at my command. And I forgive you
all you have done to my brothers.”

“That will not suffice,” said Beaumains. “You
must die, unless the damsel shall pray me to spare
your life.” And he raised his sword as if for the
fatal blow.

“Let him live, then, Beaumains. He is a noble
knight, and it is only by a chance blow that you
have overcome him.”

“It is enough that you ask it,” said Beaumains.
“Rise, sir knight, and thank this damsel for your
life.”

The red knight did so, and then prayed that[Pg 200]
they would enter his castle and spend the night
there. To this they consented, but as they sat at
supper the damsel continued to berate her champion,
in such language that their host marvelled
at the meekness of the knight.

In the morning the red knight came to Beaumains
with his followers, and proffered to him his
homage and fealty at all times.

“I thank you,” said Beaumains, “but all I ask
is, that when I demand it you shall go to Arthur’s
court, and yield yourself as his knight.”

“I and my fellowship will ever be ready at your
summons,” replied the red knight.

Then Beaumains and the damsel resumed their
journey, while she, as if in a fury of spite, berated
him more vilely than ever before.

“Fair lady,” he said, with all meekness, “you
are discourteous to revile me as you do. What
would you have of me? The knights that you
have threatened me with are all dead or my vassals.
When you see me beaten, then you may bid me
go in shame and I will obey, but till then I will not
leave you. I were worse than a fool to be driven
off by insulting words when I am daily winning
honor.”

“You shall soon meet a knight who will test
your boasted strength. So far you have fought
with boys. Now you have a man who would try
Arthur’s self.”

“Let him come,” said Beaumains. “The better
a man he is, the more honor shall I gain from a
joust with him.”

[Pg 201]

CHAPTER III.

THE RED KNIGHT OF THE RED LAWNS.

Beaumains rode forward with the damsel till
it was close upon the hour of noon, when he saw
that they were approaching a rich and fair city,
well walled, and with many noble buildings.

Between them and the city extended a new-mown
meadow, a mile and a half in width, on which were
placed many handsome pavilions.

“These pavilions belong to the lord who owns
that city,” said the damsel. “It is his custom, during
fair weather, to joust and tourney in this
meadow. He has around him five hundred knights
and gentlemen of arms, and they have knightly
games of all sorts.”

“I shall be glad to see that worthy lord,” said
Beaumains.

“That you shall, and very soon.”

She rode on till she came in sight of the lord’s
pavilion.

“Look yonder,” she said. “That rich pavilion,
of the color of India, is his. All about him, men
and women, and horse-trappings, shields, and spears,
are of the same rare color. His name is Sir Persant
of India, and you will find him the lordliest
knight you ever saw.”

“Be he never so stout a knight,” answered Beaumains,
“I shall abide in this field till I see him
behind his shield.”

“That is a fool’s talk,” she replied. “If you[Pg 202]
were a wise man, you would fly.”

“Why should I?” rejoined Beaumains. “If he
be as noble a knight as you say, he will meet me
alone; not with all his men. And if there come
but one at a time I shall not fail to face them while
life lasts.”

“That is a proud boast for a greasy kitchen
lout,” she answered.

“Let him come and do his worst,” said Beaumains.
“I would rather fight him five times over
than endure your insults. You are greatly to blame
to treat me so vilely.”

“Sir,” she replied, with a sudden change of tone,
“I marvel greatly who you are, and of what kindred
you come. This I will admit, that you have performed
as boldly as you have promised. But you
and your horse have had great labor, and I fear we
have been too long on the road. The place we seek
is but seven miles away, and we have passed all
points of peril except this. I dread, therefore, that
you may receive some hurt from this strong knight
that will unfit you for the task before you. For
Persant, strong as he is, is no match for the knight
who besieges my lady, and I would have you save
your strength for the work you have undertaken.”

“Be that as it may,” said Beaumains, “I have
come so near the knight that I cannot withdraw
without shame. I hope, with God’s aid, to become
his master within two hours, and then we can reach
your lady’s castle before the day ends.”

“Much I marvel,” cried the damsel, “what manner
of man you are. You must be of noble blood,
for no woman ever before treated a knight so shamefully[Pg 203]
as I have you, and you have ever borne it
courteously and meekly. Such patience could never
come but from gentle blood.”

“A knight who cannot bear a woman’s words
had better doff his armor,” answered Beaumains.
“Do not think that I heeded not your words.
But the anger they gave me was the worse for my
adversaries, and you only aided to make me prove
myself a man of worth and honor. If I had meat
in Arthur’s kitchen, what odds? I could have had
enough of it in many a place. I did it but to
prove who were worthy to be my friends, and that
I will in time make known. Whether I be a gentleman
born or not, I have done you a gentleman’s
service, and may do better before we part.”

“That you have, fair Beaumains,” she said. “I
ask your forgiveness for all I have said or done.”

“I forgive you with all my heart,” he replied.
“It pleases me so to be with you that I have found
joy even in your evil words. And now that you
are pleased to speak courteously to me, it seems to
me that I am stout at heart enough to meet any
knight living.”

As to the battle that followed between Beaumains
and Persant, it began and ended much like
those that we have related, Persant in the end being
overcome, and gaining his life at the lady’s request.
He yielded himself and a hundred knights to be at
Beaumains’s command, and invited the travellers
to his pavilion, where they were feasted nobly.

In the morning Beaumains and the damsel after
breakfasting, prepared to continue their journey.

“Whither do you lead this knight?” asked Persant
of the damsel.

[Pg 204]“Sir knight,” she replied, “he is going to the aid
of my sister, who is besieged in the Castle Dangerous.”

“Ah!” cried Persant, “then he will have to do
with the Knight of the Red Lawns, a man without
mercy, and with the strength of seven men. I fear
you take too perilous a task, fair sir. This villain
has done great wrong to the lady of the castle, Dame
Lioness. I think, fair damsel, you are her sister,
Linet?”

“That is my name,” replied the damsel.

“This I may say,” rejoined Persant: “the
Knight of the Red Lawns would have had the castle
long ago, but it is his purpose to draw to the rescue
Lancelot, Gawaine, Tristram, or Lamorak, whom
he is eager to match his might against.”

“My Lord Persant of India,” said Linet, “will
you not make this gentleman a knight before he
meets this dread warrior?”

“With all my heart,” answered Persant.

“I thank you for your good will,” said Beaumains,
“but I have been already knighted, and
that by the hand of Sir Lancelot.”

“You could have had the honor from no more
renowned knight,” answered Persant. “He, Tristram,
and Lamorak now bear the meed of highest
renown, and if you fairly match the red knight
you may claim to make a fourth in the world’s
best champions.”

“I shall ever do my best,” answered Beaumains.
“This I may tell you: I am of noble birth. If
you and the damsel will keep my secret I will tell
it you.”

[Pg 205]“We shall not breathe it except with your permission,”
they replied.

“Then I will acknowledge that my name is
Gareth of Orkney, that King Lot was my father,
and that I am a nephew of King Arthur, and
brother to Gawaine, Gaheris, and Agravaine. Yet
none of these know who I am, for they left my
father’s castle while I was but a child.”

While they were thus taking leave, Beaumains’s
dwarf had ridden ahead to the besieged castle,
where he saw the Lady Lioness, and told her of the
champion her sister was bringing, and what deeds
he had done.

“I am glad enough of these tidings,” said the
lady. “There is a hermitage of mine near by,
where I would have you go, and take thither two
silver flagons of wine, of two gallons each; also
bread, baked venison, and fowls. I give you also
a rich cup of gold for the knight’s use. Then go
to my sister, and bid her present my thanks to the
knight, and pray him to eat and drink, that he
may be strong for the great task he undertakes.
Tell him I thank him for his courtesy and goodness,
and that he whom he is to meet has none of
these qualities, but strong and bold as he is, cares
for nothing but murder.”

This message the dwarf brought back, and led
the knight and damsel to the hermitage, where they
rested and feasted on the rich food provided. They
spent the night there, and in the morning heard
mass and broke their fast. Then they mounted
and rode towards the besieged castle.

Their journey soon brought them to a plain,[Pg 206]
where they saw many tents and pavilions, and a
castle in the distance. And there was a great
noise and much smoke, as from a large encampment.
As they came nearer the castle Beaumains saw before
him a number of great trees, and from these
hung by the neck armed knights, with their shields
and swords, and gilt spurs on their heels. Of these
there were in all nearly forty.

“What means this sorrowful sight?” asked
Beaumains, with a look of deep concern.

“Do not be depressed by what you see,” said
Linet. “You must keep in spirit, or it will be
the worse for you and us all. These knights came
here to the rescue of my sister, and the red knight,
when he had overcome them, put them to this
shameful death, without mercy or pity. He will
serve you in the same way if he should vanquish
you.”

“Jesu defend me from such a shameful death
and disgrace!” cried Beaumains. “If I must die,
I hope to be slain in open battle.”

“It would be better, indeed. But trust not to
his courtesy, for thus he treats all.”

“It is a marvel that so vile a murderer has been
left to live so long. I shall do my best to end his
career of crime.”

Then they rode to the castle, and found it surrounded
with high and strong walls, with double
ditches, and lofty towers within. Near the walls
were lodged many lords of the besieging army,
and there was great sound of minstrelsy and merry-making.
On the opposite side of the castle was the
sea, and here vessels rode the waves and the cries
of mariners were heard.

[Pg 207]Near where they stood was a lofty sycamore-tree,
and on its trunk hung a mighty horn made
from an elephant’s tusk. This the Knight of the
Red Lawns had hung there, in order that any
errant knight, who wished to battle for the castle,
might summons him to the fray.

“But let me warn you,” said Linet, “not to
blow it till noon. For it is now nearly day, and
men say that his strength increases till the noontide
hour. To blow it now would double your
peril.”

“Do not advise me thus, fair damsel,” said
Beaumains. “I shall meet him at his highest
might, and win worshipfully or die knightly in the
field. It must be man to man and might to might.”

Therewith he spurred his horse to the sycamore,
and, taking the horn in hand, blew with it such a
blast that castle and camp rang with the sound.

At the mighty blast knights leaped from their
tents and pavilions, and those in the castle looked
from walls and windows, to see what manner of
man was this that blew so lustily. But the Red
Knight of the Red Lawns armed in all haste, for
he had already been told by the dwarf of the
approach of this champion. He was all blood-red
in hue, armor, shield, and spurs. An earl buckled
on his helm, and they then brought him a red
steed and a red spear, and he rode into a little
vale near the castle, so that all within and without
the castle might behold the battle.

“Look you be light and glad,” said Linet to the
knight, “for yonder is your deadly enemy, and at
yonder window is my sister, Dame Lioness.”

[Pg 208]“Where?” asked Beaumains.

“Yonder,” she said, pointing.

“I see her,” said Beaumains. “And from here
she seems the fairest lady I ever looked upon. I
ask no better quarrel than to fight for her, and
wish no better fate than to greet her as my lady,”
and his face grew glad as he looked up to the
window.

As he did so the Lady Lioness made a grateful
courtesy to him, bending to the earth and holding
up her hands. This courtesy was returned by Beaumains;
but now the Knight of the Red Lawns
rode forward.

“Leave your looking, sir knight,” he said. “Or
look this way, for I warn you that she is my lady,
and I have done many battles for her.”

“You waste your time, then, it seems to me, for
she wants none of your love. And to waste love
on those who want it not is but folly. If I thought
she would not thank me for it, I would think twice
before doing battle for her. But she plainly wants
not you, and I will tell you this: I love her, and
will rescue her or die.”

“Say you so? The knights who hang yonder
might give you warning.”

“You shame yourself and knighthood by such
an evil custom,” said Beaumains, hotly. “How
can any lady love such a man as you? That shameful
sight gives me more courage than fear, for I
am nerved now to revenge those knights as well as
to rescue yonder lady.”

“Make ready,” cried the red knight; “we have
talked enough.”

[Pg 209]Then Beaumains bade the damsel retire to a safe
distance. Taking their places, they put their spears
in rest, and came together like two thunderbolts,
each smiting the other so fiercely that the breast-plates,
horse-girths, and cruppers burst, and both
fell to the earth with the bridle-reins still in their
hands, and they lay awhile stunned by the fall.

So long they lay indeed that all who looked on
thought that both their necks were broken, and
said that the stranger knight must be of mighty
prowess, for never had the red knight been so
roughly handled before.

But ere long the knights regained their breath
and sprang to their feet. Then, drawing their
swords, they ran like fierce lions together, giving
each other such buffets on the helms that both
reeled backwards, while pieces were hewed out from
their armor and shields and fell into the field.

Thus they fought on till it was past noon, when
both stopped for breath, and stood panting and
bleeding till many who beheld them wept for pity.
When they had rested awhile they again went to
battle, now gnashing at each other with their swords
like tusked boars, and now running together like
furious rams, so that at times both fell to the
ground; and at times they were grappled so closely
that they changed swords in the wrestle.

This went on till evening was near at hand, and
so evenly they continued matched that none could
know which would win. Their armor was so hewn
away that the naked flesh showed in places, and
these places they did their utmost to defend. The
red knight was a wily fighter, and Beaumains suffered[Pg 210]
sorely before he learned his methods and met
him in his own way.

At length, by mutual assent, they granted each
other a short time for rest, and seated themselves
upon two hillocks, where each had his page to unlace
his helm and give him a breath of the cold air.

While Beaumains’s helm was off he looked at the
castle window, and there saw the Lady Lioness, who
looked at him in such wise that his heart grew light
with joy, and he bade the red knight to make ready,
for the battle must begin again.

Then they laced their helms and stepped together
and fought freshly. But Beaumains came near to
disaster, for the red knight, by a skilful sword
sweep, struck his sword from his hand, and then
gave him such a buffet on the helm as hurled him to
the earth.

The red knight ran forward to his fallen foe,
but Linet cried loudly,—

“Oh, Beaumains, where is thy valor gone?
Alas, my sister sobs and weeps to see you overthrown,
till my own heart is heavy for her grief.”

Hearing this, Beaumains sprang to his feet before
his foe could reach him, and with a leap recovered
his sword, which he gripped with a strong
hand. And thus he faced again his surprised
antagonist.

Then the young knight, nerved by love and desperation,
poured such fierce blows on his enemy that
he smote the sword from his hand and brought him
to the earth with a fiery blow on the helm.

Before the red knight could rise, Beaumains
threw himself upon him, and tore his helm from[Pg 211]
his head with intent to slay him. But the fallen
knight cried loudly,—

“O noble knight, I yield me to thy mercy.”

“Why should you have it, after the shameful
death you have given to so many knights?”

“I did all this through love,” answered the red
knight. “I loved a lady whose brother was slain
by Lancelot or Gawaine, as she said. She made
me swear on my knighthood to fight till I met
one of them, and put to a shameful death all I
overcame. And I vowed to fight King Arthur’s
knights above all, till I should meet him that had
slain her brother.”

Then there came up many earls, and barons, and
noble knights, who fell upon their knees and
prayed for mercy to the vanquished, saying,—

“Sir, it were fairer to take homage and fealty
of him, and let him hold his lands of you, than to
slay him. Nothing wrong that he has done will
be undone by his death, and we will all become
your men, and do you homage and fealty.”

“Fair lords,” said Beaumains, “I am loath to
slay this knight, though his deeds have been ill
and shameful. But as he acted through a lady’s
request I blame him the less, and will release him
on these conditions: He must go into the castle
and yield to the Lady Lioness, and make amends
to her for his trespass on her lands; then if she
forgives him I will. Afterwards he must go to
the court of King Arthur and obtain forgiveness
from Lancelot and Gawaine for the ill will he has
borne them.”

“All this I will do,” said the red knight, “and
give you pledges and sureties therefore.”

Then Beaumains granted him his life, and permitted
him to rise. Afterwards the damsel Linet
disarmed Beaumains and applied healing unguents
to his wounds, and performed the same service for
the red knight. For ten days thereafter Beaumains
dwelt with the red knight, who showed him all the
honor possible, and who afterwards went into the
castle and submitted himself to the Lady Lioness,
according to the terms of his compact.

[Pg 212]

CHAPTER IV.

HOW BEAUMAINS WON HIS BRIDE.

After the ten days of feasting and pleasure that
followed the events we have just related, the Red
Knight of the Red Lawns set out with his noblest
followers to Arthur’s court, to make submission
as he had covenanted. When he had gone, Beaumains
armed himself, took his horse and spear,
and rode to the castle of the Lady Lioness. But
when he came to the gate he found there many
armed men, who pulled up the drawbridge and let
fall the portcullis.

Marvelling deeply that he was denied admittance,
Beaumains looked up at the window, where he saw
the lady of the castle, who called out to him,—

“Go thy way, Sir Beaumains. You shall not yet
have my love till you have earned for yourself a[Pg 213]
name of world-wide honor. I bid you, therefore,
go strive for fame and glory this twelvemonth, and
when you return you shall hear new tidings.”

“Alas, fair lady,” said Beaumains, “is this all
I have deserved of you? I thought I had bought
your love at the price of some of the best blood in
my body.”

“Fair, courteous knight, be not so hasty,” answered
Lioness. “Your labor and your love shall
not be lost. A twelvemonth will soon pass away;
and trust me that I shall be true to you, and to
my death shall love no other than you.”

With this she turned from the window, and
Beaumains rode slowly away from the castle in
deep sorrow, and heeding not whither he went till
deep night came upon him. The next day he rode
in the same heedless fashion, and at night couched
in a wayside lodge, bidding the dwarf guard his
horse and watch all night.

But near day dawn came a knight in black armor,
who, seeing that Beaumains slept soundly, crept
slyly behind the dwarf, caught him up under his
arm, and rode away with him at full speed. But as
he rode, the dwarf called loudly to his master for
help, waking the sleeping knight, who sprang to
his feet and saw the robber and the dwarf vanishing
into the distance.

Then Beaumains armed himself in a fury, and
rode straight forward through marshes and dales,
so hot upon the chase that he heeded not the road,
and was more than once flung by his stumbling
horse into the mire. At length he met a country-man,
whom he asked for information.

BEAUMAINS, DAMSEL, AND DWARF.

[Pg 214]“Sir knight,” he answered, “I have seen the
rider with the dwarf. But I advise you to follow
him no farther. His name is Sir Gringamore; he
dwells but two miles from here, and he is one of
the most valiant knights of the country round.”

With little dread from this warning, Beaumains
rode on, with double fury as he came near the robber’s
castle. Soon he thundered through the gates,
which stood wide open, and sword in hand cried,
in a voice that rang through the castle,—

“Thou traitor, Sir Gringamore, yield me my
dwarf again, or by the faith that I owe to the
order of knighthood I will make you repent bitterly
your false deed.”

Meanwhile, within the castle matters of interest
were occurring. For Gringamore was brother to
the Lady Lioness, and had stolen the dwarf at her
request, that she might learn from him who Beaumains
really was. The dwarf, under threat of imprisonment
for life, thus answered,—

“I fear to tell his name and kindred. Yet if I
must I will say that he is a king’s son, that his
mother is sister to King Arthur, and that his name
is Sir Gareth of Orkney. Now, I pray you, let
me go to him again, for he will have me in spite
of you, and if he be angry, he will work you much
rack and ruin.”

“As for that,” said Gringamore, “it can wait.
Let us go to dinner.”

“He may well be a king’s son,” said Linet to her
sister, “for he is the most courteous and long-suffering
man I ever met. I tried him with such
reviling as never lady uttered before, but he bore[Pg 215]
it all with meek and gentle answers. Yet to armed
knights he was like a lion.”

As they thus talked, the challenge of Beaumains
rang loud from the castle court. Then Gringamore
called loudly to him from a window,—

“Cease your boasting, Gareth of Orkney, you
will not get your dwarf again.”

“Thou coward knight,” cried Beaumains.
“Bring him here, and do battle with me. Then
if you can win him, keep him.”

“So I will when I am ready. But you will not
get him by loud words.”

“Do not anger him, brother,” said Lioness. “I
have all I want from the dwarf, and he may have
him again. But do not let him know who I am.
Let him think me a strange lady.”

“Very well,” said Gringamore; “if that is your
wish, he can have the dwarf.” Then he went down
to the court and said,—

“Sir, I beg your pardon, and am ready to amend
all the harm I have done you. Pray alight, and
take such cheer as my poor castle affords.”

“Shall I have my dwarf?” said Gareth.

“Yes. Since he told me who you are, and of
your noble deeds, I am ready to return him.”

Then Gareth dismounted, and the dwarf came
and took his horse.

“Oh, my little fellow,” said Gareth, “I have
had many adventures for your sake.”

Gringamore then led him into the hall and presented
him to his wife. And while they stood there
conversing Dame Lioness came forth dressed like
a princess, and was presented to the knight.

[Pg 216]When Gareth saw her his feeling for the Lady
Lioness weakened in his heart, and it grew ready
to vanish as the day passed, and he conversed much
with this strange and lovely lady. There were all
manner of games, and sports of dancing and singing,
and the more he beheld her the more he loved
her, while through his heart ran ever the thought:
“Would that the lady of the Castle Dangerous
were half so lovely and charming as this beautiful
stranger.”

When supper came, Gareth could not eat, and
hardly knew where he was, so hot had his love
grown. All this was noted by Gringamore, who
after supper took his sister aside and said,—

“I can well see how matters stand between you
and this noble knight. And it seems to me you
cannot do better than to bestow your hand upon
him.”

“I should like to try him further,” she replied,
“though he has done me noble service, and my heart
is warmly turned to him.”

Gringamore then went to Gareth and said,—

“Sir, I welcome you gladly to my house, for I
can see that you dearly love my sister, and that she
loves you as well. With my will she is yours if
you wish her.”

“If she will accept me,” answered Gareth, “there
will be no happier man on earth.”

“Trust me for that,” said Gringamore.

“I fancied I loved the Lady Lioness,” said Gareth,
“and promised for her sake to return to this
country in a twelvemonth. But since I have seen
your sister I fear my love for her is gone.”

[Pg 217]“It was too sudden to be deep,” said Gringamore.
“She will be consoled, doubt not. Now
let me take you to my sister.”

Then he led Gareth to his sister and left them
together, where they told each other their love,
and Gareth kissed her many times, and their hearts
were filled with joy.

“But how is it with the Lady Lioness, to whom
you vowed your love?” she asked.

“Promised; not vowed,” he answered. “And
she was not ready to accept it, but gave me a twelvemonth’s
probation. Moreover, I saw but her face
at a window, and that was little to base love upon.”

“Did she look like me?”

“Somewhat, but not half so lovely.”

“Do you think you could have loved her so
well?”

“No, indeed; for I will vow by sword and spear
that there is no woman in the world so charming
as you.”

“I fear that the Lady Lioness loves you, and
that her heart will be broken.”

“How could she? She saw so little of me.”

“I know she loves you; she has told me so. I
bid you to forget me and make her happy.”

“That I can never do. You do not love me, or
you could not say this.”

“You are my heart’s desire. But I feel deeply
for the Lady Lioness, whose love I know. If you
cannot love her alone, you may love us both together.
I grant you this privilege.”

“I will not accept it,” said Gareth, looking
strangely at her smiling countenance. “I love
but you; my heart can hold no more.”

[Pg 218]“You blind fellow,” she answered, with a merry
laugh, “you looked not at the Lady Lioness closely,
or you would not so easily forget your troth plight.
Know, sirrah, that I am the lady of the Castle
Dangerous, that my name is Lioness, and that I am
she whom you have so lightly thrown aside for the
love of a strange lady.”

Then Gareth looked into her glowing countenance,
and saw there that she spoke the truth and that
he had been pleasantly beguiled. With a warm
impulse of love he caught her in his arms and
kissed her rosy lips, exclaiming,—

“I withdraw it all. I love you both; the lady
of the Castle Dangerous a little; but the lady of
the Castle Amorous as my heart’s mistress, to dwell
there while life remains.”

Then they conversed long and joyfully, and she
told him why she had made her brother steal the
dwarf, and why she had deceived him, so as to
win his love for herself alone. And they plighted
their troth, and vowed that their love for each
other should never cease.

Other strange things happened to Gareth in that
castle, through the spells of the damsel Linet, who
knew something of sorcery. But these we shall
not tell, but return to King Arthur’s court, in which
at the next feast of Pentecost a high festival was
held at Carlion.

Hither, during the feast, came all those whom
Gareth had overcome, and yielded themselves, saying
that they had been sent thither by a knight
named Beaumains. But most of all was Arthur
surprised by the deeds of his kitchen boy when[Pg 219]
the Red Knight of the Red Lawns rode up with
six hundred followers, and yielded himself as vassal
to Beaumains and to the king. Arthur then,
charging him strictly that he should do no more
deeds of murder, gave to Sir Ironside, which was
the knight’s name, the greatest honors of his court,
and also to the green and the red knights, and to
Sir Persant of Inde, who were all present with their
followers.

But while the court was at feast there came in
the queen of Orkney, with a great following of
knights and ladies, seeking her young son Gareth.
She was lovingly saluted by her sons Gawaine,
Gaheris, and Agravaine, who for fifteen years had
not seen her, but she loudly demanded Gareth of
her brother King Arthur.

“He was here among you a twelvemonth, and
you made a kitchen knave of him, which I hold
to be a shame to you all. What have you done
to the dear son who was my joy and bliss?”

These words filled all hearts with a strange sensation,
and most of all that of Gawaine, who
thought it marvellous that he should have made
so much of his brother and not known him. Then
Arthur told his sister of all that had happened,
and cheered her heart with a recital of her son’s
great deeds, and promised to have the whole realm
searched till he should be found.

“You shall not need,” said Lancelot. “My advice
is that you send a messenger to Dame Lioness,
and request her to come in all haste to court. Let
her give you counsel where to find him. I doubt
not she knows where he is.”

[Pg 220]This counsel seemed judicious to the king, and
he sent the messenger as requested, who came in
due time to the Castle Dangerous, and delivered
his letters to Lioness.

She brought these to her brother and Gareth,
and asked what she should do.

“My lady and love,” said Gareth, “if you go to
Arthur’s court I beg that you will not let them
know where I am. But give this advice to the
king, that he call a great tournament, to be held
at your castle at the feast of the Assumption, and
announce that whatever knight proves himself best
shall wed you and win your lands. Be sure that
I will be there to do my best in your service.”

This advice pleased the lady, whose warm faith
in the prowess of her lover told her that he would
win in the tournament. She therefore set out with
a noble escort and rode to King Arthur’s court,
where she was received with the highest honors.
The king closely questioned her about Sir Gareth,
desiring particularly to know what had become of
him. She answered that where he was she was not
at liberty to tell, and said further to the king,—

“Sir, there is a way to find him. It is my purpose
to call a tournament, which shall be held before
my castle at the feast of the Assumption. You,
my lord Arthur, must be there with your knights,
and my knights shall be against you. I doubt me
not that then you shall hear of Sir Gareth.”

“That is well advised,” said the king.

“It shall be announced,” she continued, “that
the knight who proves the best shall wed me and
be lord of my lands. If he be already wedded, his[Pg 221]
wife shall have a coronal of gold, set with precious
stones to the value of a thousand pounds, and a
white jerfalcon.”

“It is well,” said the king. “That will bring
Sir Gareth, if he be alive and able to come. If he
would win you, he must do his duty nobly.”

Soon after the Lady Lioness departed and returned
to her castle, where she told all that had
passed, and began preparations for the tournament,
which was to be held two months from that day.

Gareth sent for Sir Persant of Inde, and for Sir
Ironside, the Red Knight of the Red Lawns, bidding
them be ready with all their followers, to fight
on his side against King Arthur and his knights.
And the cry for the tournament was made in England,
Wales and Scotland, Ireland, and Cornwall,
and in all the out islands, and in Brittany and other
countries. Many good knights came from afar,
eager to win honor in the lists, the most of whom
held with the party of the castle against King
Arthur and his knights.

In due time King Arthur and his following appeared
at the Castle Dangerous, there being with
him Gawaine and the other brothers of Gareth,
Lancelot with his nephews and cousins, and all
the most valiant Knights of the Round Table, with
various kings who owed him knightly service, as
noble a band of warriors as had ever been seen in
the land.

Meanwhile Dame Lioness had hospitably entertained
the knights of her party, providing ample
lodging and food, though abundance was left to
be had for gold and silver by King Arthur and his
knights.

[Pg 222]But Gareth begged her and all who knew him
in no manner to make known his name, but to
deal with him as if he were the least of their company,
as he wished to fight in secret and bide his
own time to declare himself.

“Sir,” said Dame Lioness to him, “if such be
your desire, I will lend you a ring, whose virtue
is such that it will turn that which is green to
red, and that which is red to green; and also turn
blue to white, and white to blue, and so with all
colors. And he who wears it will lose no blood,
however desperately he fights. For the great love
I bear you I lend you this ring; but as you love
me heartily in return, let me have it again when
the tournament is done, for this ring increases my
beauty more than it is of itself.”

“My own dear lady,” cried Gareth, “now indeed
you prove your love for me. Gladly shall I wear
that ring, for I much desire not to be known.”

Then Sir Gringamore gave Gareth a powerful bay
courser, and a suit of the best of armor; and with
them a noble sword which his father had long before
won from a heathen tyrant. And so the lover made
ready for the tournament, of which his lady-love
was to be the prize.

Two days before the Assumption of our Lady,
King Arthur reached the castle, and for those two
days rich feasting was held, while royal minstrelsy
and merry-making of all kinds filled every soul
with joy. But when came the morning of the
Assumption all was restless bustle and warlike confusion.
At an early hour the heralds were commanded
to blow to the field, and soon from every[Pg 223]
side a throng of knights was to be seen riding gayly
to the lists, while a goodly host of spectators made
haste to take their seats, all eager to behold that
noble passage-at-arms.

Valorous and worthy were the deeds that followed,
for hosts of the best knights in the world
had gathered in the lists, and there was wondrous
breaking of spears and unhorsing of knights, while
many who boasted of their firm seat in the saddle
went headlong to the earth.

At length there rode into the lists Sir Gareth
and Sir Ironside from the castle, each of whom
smote to the ground the first knights that encountered
them, and before long time had passed Gareth
had with one spear unhorsed seven knights of
renown.

When King Agwisance of Ireland saw this new-comer
fare so nobly, he marvelled much who he
might be, for at one time he seemed green and at
another blue, his color appearing to change at every
course as he rode to and fro, so that no eye could
readily follow him.

“I must try this strange turn-color knight myself,”
said Sir Agwisance, and he spurred his horse
vigorously on Gareth.

But with a mighty stroke of his spear Gareth
thrust him from his horse, saddle and all. Then
King Carados of Scotland rode against him, and
was hurled to the earth, horse and man. King
Uriens of Gore, King Bagdemagus, and others who
tried their fortune, were served in the same manner.
Then Sir Galahalt, the high prince, cried loudly,—

“Knight of the many colors, well hast thou[Pg 224]
jousted; now make ready, that I may joust with
thee.”

Gareth heard him, and got a great spear, and
quickly the two knights encountered, the prince
breaking his spear. But Gareth smote him on the
left side of the helm so that he reeled in his saddle,
and would have fallen had not his men supported
him.

“Truly,” said King Arthur, “that knight with
the many colors is a lusty fighter. Lancelot, do
you try his mettle, before he beats all our best
men.”

“Sir,” said Lancelot, “I should hold it unjust
to meet him fresh after his hard labors. It is not
the part of a good knight to rob one of the honor
for which he has worked so nobly. It may be that
he is best beloved of the lady of all that are here,
for I can see that he enforces himself to do great
deeds. Therefore, for me, he shall have what
honor he has won; though it lay in my power to
put him from it, I would not.”

And now, in the lists, the breaking of spears was
followed by drawing of swords; and then there
began a sore tournament. There did Sir Lamorak
marvellous deeds of arms, and betwixt him and
Sir Ironside there was a strong battle, and one also
between Palamides and Bleoberis. Then came in
Lancelot, who rode against Sir Turquine and his
brother Carados, fighting them both together.

Seeing Lancelot thus hard pressed, Gareth pushed
his horse between him and his opponents, and
hurtled them asunder, but no stroke would he smite
Sir Lancelot, but rode briskly on, striking to right[Pg 225]
and left, so that his path was marked by the knights
he overturned.

Afterward Gareth rode out of the press of knights
to adjust his helm, which had become loosened.
Here his dwarf came briskly up with drink, and
said to him,—

“Let me hold your ring, that you lose it not while
you drink.”

Gareth gave it to him, and quaffed deeply of the
refreshing draught, for he was burning with thirst.
This done, his eagerness to return to the fray was
so great that he forgot the ring, which he left in
the keeping of the dwarf, while he replaced his helm,
mounted his horse, and rode briskly back to the lists.

When he reached the field again he was in yellow
armor, and there he rashed off helms and pulled
down knights till King Arthur marvelled more than
ever what knight this was, for though his color
changed no more, the king saw by his hair that he
was the same knight.

“Go and ride about that yellow knight,” said
the king to several heralds, “and see if you can
learn who he is. I have asked many knights of his
party to-day, and none of them know him.”

So a herald rode as near Gareth as he could, and
there he saw written about his helm in letters of
gold, “This helm is Sir Gareth’s of Orkney.”

Then the herald cried out as if he were mad, and
many others echoed his words, “The knight in
the yellow arms is Sir Gareth of Orkney, King
Lot’s son!”

When Gareth saw that he was discovered he[Pg 226]
doubled his strokes in his anger, and smote down
Sir Sagramore, and his brother Gawaine.

“Oh, brother!” cried Gawaine, “I did not deem
that you would strike me. Can you not find food
enough for your sword, without coming so near
home?”

On hearing this, Gareth was troubled in soul,
and with great force made his way out of the press,
meeting his dwarf outside.

“Faithless boy!” he cried; “you have beguiled
me foully to-day by keeping my ring. Give it to
me again; I am too well known without it.”

He took the ring, and at once he changed color
again, so that all lost sight of him but Gawaine,
who had kept his eyes fixed upon him. Leaving
the lists, Gareth now rode into the forest, followed
at a distance by his brother, who soon lost sight
of him in the woodland depths.

When Gareth saw that he had thus distanced
his pursuer, he turned to the dwarf and asked
his counsel as to what should now be done.

“Sir,” said the dwarf, “it seems best to me,
now that you are free from danger of spying, that
you send my lady, Dame Lioness, her ring. It is
too precious a thing to keep from her.”

“That is well advised,” said Gareth. “Take it
to her, and say that I recommend myself to her
good grace, and will come when I may; and pray
her to be true and faithful to me, as I will be to
her.”

“It shall be done as you command,” said the
dwarf, and, receiving the ring, he rode on his
errand.

[Pg 227]The Lady Lioness received him graciously, and
listened with beaming eyes to Gareth’s message.