Book: The Legends Of King Arthur And His Knights

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"Take thou no heed of that," he answered; "it is not for thee or any
earthly man to know."

"Now tell me, fair sir, at the least," said the squire, "why may this
shield be never borne except its wearer come to injury or death?"

"Because it shall belong to no man save its rightful owner, Galahad,"
replied the knight.

Then the squire went to his master, and found him wounded nigh to death,
wherefore he fetched his horse, and bore him back with him to the abbey.
And there they laid him in a bed, and looked to his wounds; and when he
had lain many days grievously sick, he at the last barely escaped with his
life.

"Sir Galahad," said the squire, "the knight who overthrew King Bagdemagus
sent you greeting, and bade you bear this shield."

"Now blessed be God and fortune," said Sir Galahad, and hung the shield
about his neck, and armed him, and rode forth.

Anon he met the White Knight by the hermitage, and each saluted
courteously the other.

"Sir," said Sir Galahad, "this shield I bear hath surely a full marvellous
history."

"Thou sayest rightly," answered he. "That shield was made in the days of
Joseph of Arimathea, the gentle knight who took our Lord down from the
cross. He, when he left Jerusalem with his kindred, came to the country of
King Evelake, who warred continually with one Tollome; and when, by the
teaching of Joseph, King Evelake became a Christian, this shield was made
for him in our Lord's name; and through its aid King Tollome was defeated.
For when King Evelake met him next in battle, he hid it in a veil, and
suddenly uncovering it, he showed his enemies the figure of a bleeding man
nailed to a cross, at sight of which they were discomfited and fled.
Presently after that, a man whose hand was smitten off touched the cross
upon the shield, and had his hand restored to him; and many other miracles
it worked. But suddenly the cross that was upon it vanished away. Anon
both Joseph and King Evelake came to Britain, and by the preaching of
Joseph the people were made Christians. And when at length he lay upon his
death-bed, King Evelake begged of him some token ere he died. Then,
calling for his shield, he dipped his finger in his own blood, for he was
bleeding fast, and none could staunch the wound, and marked that cross
upon it, saying, 'This cross shall ever show as bright as now, and the
last of my lineage shall wear this shield about his neck, and go forth to
all the marvellous deeds he will achieve.'"

When the White Knight had thus spoken he vanished suddenly away, and Sir
Galahad returned to the abbey.

As he alighted, came a monk, and prayed him to go see a tomb in the
churchyard, wherefrom came such a great and hideous noise, that none could
hear it but they went nigh mad, or lost all strength. "And sir," said he,
"I deem it is a fiend."

"Lead me thither," said Sir Galahad.

When they were come near the place, "Now," said the monk, "go thou to the
tomb, and lift it up."

And Galahad, nothing afraid, quickly lifted up the stone, and forthwith
came out a foul smoke, and from the midst thereof leaped up the loathliest
figure that ever he had seen in the likeness of man; and Galahad blessed
himself, for he knew it was a fiend of hell. Then he heard a voice crying
out, "Oh, Galahad, I cannot tear thee as I would; I see so many angels
round thee, that I may not come at thee."

[Illustration: Galahad ... quickly lifted up the stone, and forthwith came
out a foul smoke.]

Then the fiend suddenly disappeared with a marvellous great cry; and Sir
Galahad, looking in the tomb, saw there a body all armed, with a sword
beside it. "Now, fair brother," said he to the monk, "let us remove this
cursed body, which is not fit to lie in a churchyard, for when it lived, a
false and perjured Christian man dwelt in it. Cast it away, and there
shall come no more hideous noises from the tomb."

"And now must I depart," he added, "for I have much in hand, and am upon
the holy quest of the Sangreal, with many more good knights."

So he took his leave, and rode many journeys backwards and forwards as
adventure would lead him; and at last one day he departed from a castle
without first hearing mass, which was it ever his custom to hear before he
left his lodging. Anon he found a ruined chapel on a mountain, and went in
and kneeled before the altar, and prayed for wholesome counsel what to do;
and as he prayed he heard a voice, which said, "Depart, adventurous
knight, unto the Maiden's Castle, and redress the violence and wrongs
there done!"

Hearing these words he cheerfully arose, and mounted his horse, and rode
but half a mile, when he saw before him a strong castle, with deep ditches
round it, and a fair river running past. And seeing an old churl hard by,
he asked him what men called that castle.

"Fair sir," said he, "it is the Maiden's Castle."

"It is a cursed place," said Galahad, "and all its masters are but felons,
full of mischief and hardness and shame."

"For that good reason," said the old man, "thou wert well-advised to turn
thee back."

"For that same reason," quoth Sir Galahad, "will I the more certainly ride
on."

Then, looking at his armour carefully, to see that nothing failed him, he
went forward, and presently there met him seven damsels, who cried out,
"Sir knight, thou ridest in great peril, for thou hast two waters to pass
over."

"Why should I not pass over them?" said he, and rode straight on.

Anon he met a squire, who said, "Sir knight, the masters of this castle
defy thee, and bid thee go no further, till thou showest them thy business
here."

"Fair fellow," said Sir Galahad, "I am come here to destroy their wicked
customs."

"If that be thy purpose," answered he, "thou wilt have much to do."

"Go thou," said Galahad, "and hasten with my message."

In a few minutes after rode forth furiously from the gateways of the
castle seven knights, all brothers, and crying out, "Knight, keep thee,"
bore down all at once upon Sir Galahad. But thrusting forth his spear, he
smote the foremost to the earth, so that his neck was almost broken, and
warded with his shield the spears of all the others, which every one brake
off from it, and shivered into pieces. Then he drew out his sword, and set
upon them hard and fiercely, and by his wondrous force drave them before
him, and chased them to the castle gate, and there he slew them.

At that came out to him an ancient man, in priest's vestments, saying,
"Behold, sir, here, the keys of this castle."

Then he unlocked the gates, and found within a multitude of people, who
cried out, "Sir knight, ye be welcome, for long have we waited thy
deliverance," and told him that the seven felons he had slain had long
enslaved the people round about, and killed all knights who passed that
way, because the maiden whom they had robbed of the castle had foretold
that by one knight they should themselves be overthrown.

"Where is the maiden?" asked Sir Galahad.

"She lingereth below in a dungeon," said they.

So Sir Galahad went down and released her, and restored her her
inheritance; and when he had summoned the barons of the country to do her
homage, he took his leave, and departed.

Presently thereafter, as he rode, he entered a great forest, and in a
glade thereof met two knights, disguised, who proffered him to joust.
These were Sir Lancelot, his father, and Sir Percival, but neither knew
the other. So he and Sir Lancelot encountered first, and Sir Galahad smote
down his father. Then drawing his sword, for his spear was broken, he
fought with Sir Percival, and struck so mightily that he clave Sir
Percival's helm, and smote him from his horse.

Now hard by where they fought there was a hermitage, where dwelt a pious
woman, a recluse, who, when she heard the sound, came forth, and seeing
Sir Galahad ride, she cried, "God be with thee, the best knight in the
world; had yonder knights known thee as well as I do, they would not have
encountered with thee."

When Sir Galahad heard that, fearing to be made known, he forthwith smote
his horse with his spurs, and departed at a great pace.

Sir Lancelot and Sir Percival heard her words also, and rode fast after
him, but within awhile he was out of their sight. Then Sir Percival rode
back to ask his name of the recluse; but Sir Lancelot went forward on his
quest, and following any path his horse would take, he came by-and-by
after nightfall to a stone cross hard by an ancient chapel. When he had
alighted and tied his horse up to a tree, he went and looked in through
the chapel door, which was all ruinous and wasted, and there within he saw
an altar, richly decked with silk, whereon there stood a fair candlestick
of silver, bearing six great lights. And when Sir Lancelot saw the light,
he tried to get within the chapel, but could find no place. So, being
passing weary and heavy, he came again to his horse, and when he had
unsaddled him, and set him free to pasture, he unlaced his helm, and
ungirded his sword, and laid him down to sleep upon his shield before the
cross.

And while he lay between waking and sleeping, he saw come by him two white
palfreys bearing a litter, wherein a sick knight lay, and the palfreys
stood still by the cross. Then Sir Lancelot heard the sick man say, "O
sweet Lord, when shall this sorrow leave me, and the holy vessel pass by
me, wherethrough I shall be blessed? for I have long endured."

With that Sir Lancelot saw the chapel open, and the candlestick with the
six tapers come before the cross, but he could see none who bare it. Then
came there also a table of silver, and thereon the holy vessel of the
Sangreal. And when the sick knight saw that, he sat up, and lifting both
his hands, said, "Fair Lord, sweet Lord, who art here within this holy
vessel, have mercy on me, that I may be whole;" and therewith he crept
upon his hands and knees so nigh, that he might touch the vessel; and when
he had kissed it, he leaped up, and stood and cried aloud, "Lord God, I
thank Thee, for I am made whole." Then the Holy Grale departed with the
table and the silver candlestick into the chapel, so that Sir Lancelot saw
it no more, nor for his sins' sake could he follow it. And the knight who
was healed went on his way.

Then Sir Lancelot awake, and marvelled whether he had seen aught but a
dream. And as he marvelled, he heard a voice saying, "Sir Lancelot, thou
are unworthy, go thou hence, and withdraw thee from this holy place." And
when he heard that, he was passing heavy, for he bethought him of his
sins.

So he departed weeping, and cursed the day of his birth, for the words
went into his heart, and he knew wherefore he was thus driven forth. Then
he went to seek his arms and horse, but could not find them; and then he
called himself the wretchedest and most unhappy of all knights, and said,
"My sin hath brought me unto great dishonour: for when I sought earthly
honours, I achieved them ever; but now I take upon me holy things, my
guilt doth hinder me, and shameth me; therefore had I no power to stir or
speak when the holy blood appeared before me."

So thus he sorrowed till it was day, and he heard the birds sing; then was
he somewhat comforted, and departing from the cross on foot, he came into
a wild forest, and to a high mountain, and there he found a hermitage;
and, kneeling before the hermit down upon both his knees, he cried for
mercy for his wicked works, and prayed him to hear his confession. But
when he told his name, the hermit marvelled to see him in so sore a case,
and said, "Sir, ye ought to thank God more than any knight living, for He
hath given thee more honour than any; yet for thy presumption, while in
deadly sin to come into the presence of His flesh and blood, He suffered
thee neither to see nor follow it. Wherefore, believe that all thy
strength and manhood will avail thee little, when God is against thee."

Then Sir Lancelot wept and said, "Now know I well ye tell me truth."

Then he confessed to him, and told him all his sins, and how he had for
fourteen years served but Queen Guinevere only, and forgotten God, and
done great deeds of arms for her, and not for Heaven, and had little or
nothing thanked God for the honour that he won. And then Sir Lancelot
said, "I pray you counsel me."

"I will counsel thee," said he: "never more enter into that queen's
company when ye can avoid it."

So Sir Lancelot promised him.

"Look that your heart and your mouth accord," said the good man, "and ye
shall have more honour and more nobleness than ever ye have had."

Then were his arms and horse restored to him, and so he took his leave,
and rode forth, repenting greatly.

Now Sir Percival had ridden back to the recluse, to learn who that knight
was whom she had called the best in the world. And when he had told her
that he was Sir Percival, she made passing great joy of him, for she was
his mother's sister, wherefore she opened her door to him, and made him
good cheer. And on the morrow she told him of her kindred to him, and they
both made great rejoicing. Then he asked her who that knight was, and she
told him, "He it is who on Whit Sunday last was clad in the red robe, and
bare the red arms; and he hath no peer, for he worketh all by miracle, and
shall be never overcome by any earthly hands."

"By my goodwill," said Sir Percival, "I will never after these tidings
have to do with Sir Galahad but in the way of kindness; and I would fain
learn where I may find him."

"Fair nephew," said she, "ye must ride to the Castle of Goth, where he
hath a cousin; by him ye may be lodged, and he will teach you the way to
go; but if he can tell you no tidings, ride straight to the Castle of
Carbonek, where the wounded king is lying, for there shall ye surely hear
true tidings of him."

So Sir Percival departed from his aunt, and rode till evensong time, when
he was ware of a monastery closed round with walls and deep ditches, where
he knocked at the gate, and anon was let in. And there he had good cheer
that night, and on the morrow heard mass. And beside the altar where the
priest stood, was a rich bed of silk and cloth of gold; and on the bed
there lay a man passing old, having a crown of gold upon his head, and all
his body was full of great wounds, and his eyes almost wholly blind; and
ever he held up his hands and said, "Sweet Lord, forget not me!"

Then Sir Percival asked one of the brethren who he was.

"Sir," said the good man, "ye have heard of Joseph of Arimathea, how he
was sent of Jesus Christ into this land to preach and teach the Christian
faith. Now, in the city of Sarras he converted a king named Evelake, and
this is he. He came with Joseph to this land, and ever desired greatly to
see the Sangreal; so on a time he came nigh thereto, and was struck almost
blind. Then he cried out for mercy, and said, 'Fair Lord, I pray thee let
me never die until a good knight of my blood achieve the Sangreal, and I
may see and kiss him.' When he had thus prayed, he heard a voice that
said, 'Thy prayers be heard and answered, for thou shalt not die till that
knight kiss thee; and when he cometh shall thine eyes be opened and thy
wounds be healed.' And now hath he lived here for three hundred winters in
a holy life, and men say a certain knight of King Arthur's court shall
shortly heal him."

Thereat Sir Percival marvelled greatly, for he well knew who that knight
should be; and so, taking his leave of the monk, departed.

Then he rode on till noon, and came into a valley where he met twenty
men-at-arms bearing a dead knight on a bier. And they cried to him,
"Whence comest thou?"

"From King Arthur's court," he answered.

Then they all cried together, "Slay him," and set upon him.

But he smote down the first man to the ground, and his horse upon him;
whereat seven of them all at once assailed him, and others slew his horse.
Thus he had been either taken or slain, but by good chance Sir Galahad was
passing by that way, who, seeing twenty men attacking one, cried, "Slay
him not," and rushed upon them; and, as fast as his horse could drive, he
encountered with the foremost man, and smote him down. Then, his spear
being broken, he drew forth his sword and struck out on the right hand and
on the left, at each blow smiting down a man, till the remainder fled, and
he pursued them.

Then Sir Percival, knowing that it was Sir Galahad, would fain have
overtaken him, but could not, for his horse was slain. Yet followed he on
foot as fast as he could go; and as he went there met him a yeoman riding
on a palfrey, and leading in his hand a great black steed. So Sir Percival
prayed him to lend him the steed, that he might overtake Sir Galahad. But
he replied, "That can I not do, fair sir, for the horse is my master's,
and should I lend it he would slay me." So he departed, and Sir Percival
sat down beneath a tree in heaviness of heart. And as he sat, anon a
knight went riding past on the black steed which the yeoman had led. And
presently after came the yeoman back in haste, and asked Sir Percival if
he had seen a knight riding his horse.

"Yea," said Sir Percival.

"Alas," said the yeoman, "he hath reft him from me by strength, and my
master will slay me."

Then he besought Sir Percival to take his hackney and follow, and get back
his steed. So he rode quickly, and overtook the knight, and cried,
"Knight, turn again." Whereat he turned and set his spear, and smote Sir
Percival's hackney in the breast, so that it fell dead, and then went on
his way. Then cried Sir Percival after him, "Turn now, false knight, and
fight with me on foot;" but he would not, and rode out of sight.

Then was Sir Percival passing wroth and heavy of heart, and lay down to
rest beneath a tree, and slept till midnight. When he awoke he saw a woman
standing by him, who said to him right fiercely, "Sir Percival, what doest
thou here?"

"I do neither good nor evil," said he.

"If thou wilt promise me," said she, "to do my will whenever I shall ask
thee, I will bring thee here a horse that will bear thee wheresoever thou
desirest."

At that he was full glad, and promised as she asked. Then anon she came
again, with a great black steed, strong and well apparelled. So Sir
Percival mounted, and rode through the clear moonlight, and within less
than an hour had gone a four days' journey, till he came to a rough water
that roared; and his horse would have borne him into it, but Sir Percival
would not suffer him, yet could he scarce restrain him. And seeing the
water so furious, he made the sign of the cross upon his forehead, whereat
the horse suddenly shook him off, and with a terrible sound leaped into
the water and disappeared, the waves all burning up in flames around him.
Then Sir Percival knew it was a fiend which had brought him the horse; so
he commended himself to God, and prayed that he might escape temptations,
and continued in prayer till it was day.

Then he saw that he was on a wild mountain, nigh surrounded on all sides
by the sea, and filled with wild beasts; and going on into a valley, he
saw a serpent carrying a young lion by the neck. With that came another
lion, crying and roaring after the serpent, and anon overtook him, and
began to battle with him. And Sir Percival helped the lion, and drew his
sword, and gave the serpent such a stroke that it fell dead. Thereat the
lion fawned upon him like a dog, licking his hands, and crouching at his
feet, and at night lay down by him and slept at his side.

And at noon the next day Sir Percival saw a ship come sailing before a
strong wind upon the sea towards him, and he rose and went towards it. And
when it came to shore, he found it covered with white samite, and on the
deck there stood an old man dressed in priest's robes, who said, "God be
with you, fair sir; whence come ye?"

"I am a knight of King Arthur's court," said he, "and follow the quest of
the Sangreal; but here have I lost myself in this wilderness."

"Fear nothing," said the old man, "for I have come from a strange country
to comfort thee."

Then he told Sir Percival it was a fiend of hell upon which he had ridden
to the sea, and that the lion, whom he had delivered from the serpent,
meant the Church. And Sir Percival rejoiced at these tidings, and entered
into the ship, which presently sailed from the shore into the sea.

Now when Sir Bors rode forth from Camelot to seek the Sangreal, anon he
met a holy man riding on an ass, and courteously saluted him.

"Who are ye, son?" said the good man.

"I am a knight," said he, "in quest of the Sangreal, and would fain have
thy counsel, for he shall have much earthly honour who may bring it to a
favourable end."

"That is truth," said the good man, "for he shall be the best knight of
the world; yet know that none shall gain it save by sinless living."

So they rode to his hermitage together, and there he prayed Sir Bors to
abide that night, and anon they went into the chapel, and Sir Bors was
confessed. And they eat bread and drank water together.

"Now," said the hermit, "I pray thee eat no other food till thou sit at
the table where the Sangreal shall be." Thereto Sir Bors agreed.

"Also," said the hermit, "it were wise that ye should wear a sackcloth
garment next your skin, for penance;" and in this also did Sir Bors as he
was counselled. And afterwards he armed himself and took his leave.

Then rode he onwards all that day, and as he rode he saw a passing great
bird sit in an old dry tree, whereon no leaves were left; and many little
birds lay round the great one, nigh dead with hunger. Then did the big
bird smite himself with his own bill, and bled till he died amongst his
little ones, and they recovered life in drinking up his blood. When Sir
Bors saw this he knew it was a token, and rode on full of thought. And
about eventide he came to a tower, whereto he prayed admission, and he was
received gladly by the lady of the castle. But when a supper of many meats
and dainties was set before him, he remembered his vow, and bade a squire
to bring him water, and therein he dipped his bread, and ate.

Then said the lady, "Sir Bors, I fear ye like not my meat."

"Yea, truly," said he; "God thank thee, madam; but I may eat no other meat
this day."

After supper came a squire, and said, "Madam, bethink thee to provide a
champion for thee to-morrow for the tourney, or else shall thy sister have
thy castle."

At that the lady wept, and made great sorrow. But Sir Bors prayed her to
be comforted, and asked her why the tournament was held. Then she told him
how she and her sister were the daughters of King Anianse, who left them
all his lands between them; and how her sister was the wife of a strong
knight, named Sir Pridan le Noir, who had taken from herself all her
lands, save the one tower wherein she dwelt. "And now," said she, "this
also will they take, unless I find a champion by to-morrow."

Then said Sir Bors, "Be comforted; to-morrow I will fight for thee;"
whereat she rejoiced not a little, and sent word to Sir Pridan that she
was provided and ready. And Sir Bors lay on the floor, and in no bed, nor
ever would do otherwise till he had achieved his quest.

On the morrow he arose and clothed himself, and went into the chapel,
where the lady met him, and they heard mass together. Anon he called for
his armour, and went with a goodly company of knights to the battle. And
the lady prayed him to refresh himself ere he should fight, but he refused
to break his fast until the tournament were done. So they all rode
together to the lists, and there they saw the lady's eldest sister, and
her husband, Sir Pridan le Noir. And a cry was made by the heralds that,
whichever should win, his lady should have all the other's lands.

Then the two knights departed asunder a little space, and came together
with such force, that both their spears were shivered, and their shields
and hauberks pierced through; and both fell to the ground sorely wounded,
with their horses under them. But swiftly they arose, and drew their
swords, and smote each other on the head with many great and heavy blows,
till the blood ran down their bodies; and Sir Pridan was a full good
knight, so that Sir Bors had more ado than he had thought for to overcome
him.

But at last Sir Pridan grew a little faint; that instantly perceived Sir
Bors, and rushed upon him the more vehemently, and smote him fiercely,
till he rent off his helm, and then gave him great strokes upon his visage
with the flat of his sword, and bade him yield or be slain.

And then Sir Pridan cried him mercy, and said, "For God's sake slay me
not, and I will never war against thy lady more." So Sir Bors let him go,
and his wife fled away with all her knights.

Then all those who had held lands of the lady of the tower came and did
homage to her again, and swore fealty. And when the country was at peace
Sir Bors departed, and rode forth into a forest until it was midday, and
there befell him a marvellous adventure.

For at a place where two ways parted, there met him two knights, bearing
Sir Lionel, his brother, all naked, bound on a horse, and as they rode,
they beat him sorely with thorns, so that the blood trailed down in more
than a hundred places from his body; but for all this he uttered no word
or groan, so great he was of heart. As soon as Sir Bors knew his brother,
he put his spear in rest to run and rescue him; but in the same moment
heard a woman's voice cry close beside him in the wood, "St. Mary, succour
thy maid;" and, looking round, he saw a damsel whom a felon knight dragged
after him into the thickets; and she, perceiving him, cried piteously for
help, and adjured him to deliver her as he was a sworn knight. Then was
Sir Bors sore troubled, and knew not what to do, for he thought within
himself, "If I let my brother be, he will be murdered; but if I help not
the maid, she is shamed for ever, and my vow compelleth me to set her
free; wherefore must I first help her, and trust my brother unto God."

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