Tales of King Arthur and the Round Table, Adapted from the Book of Romance

by Unknown

THE FAIR MAID OF ASTOLAT.

Soon after this it befell that the damsel of the lake, called by some Nimue and by others Vivien, wedded Sir Pelleas, and came to the Court of King Arthur. And when she heard the talk of the death of Sir Patrise and how the Queen had been accused of it, she found out by means of her magic that the tale was false, and told it openly that the Queen was innocent and that it was Sir Pinel who had poisoned the apple. Then he fled into his own country, where none might lay hands on him. So Sir Patrise was buried in the Church of Westminster, and on his tomb was written, “Here lieth Sir Patrise of Ireland, slain by Sir Pinel le Savage, that empoisoned apples to have slain Sir Gawaine, and by misfortune Sir Patrise ate one of those apples and then suddenly he burst.” Also there was put upon the tomb that Queen Guenevere was accused of the death of Sir Patrise by Sir Mador de la Porte, and how Sir Lancelot fought with him and overcame him in battle. All this was written on the tomb.

And daily Sir Mador prayed to have the Queen’s grace once more, and by means of Sir Lancelot he was forgiven. It was now the middle of the summer, and King Arthur proclaimed that in fifteen days a great tourney should be held at [Camelot], which is now called Winchester, and many Knights and Kings made ready to do themselves honour. But the Queen said she would stay behind, for she was sick, and did not care for the noise and hustle of a tourney. “It grieves me you should say that,” said the King, “for you will not have seen so noble a company gathered together this seven years past, save at the Whitsuntide when Galahad departed from the Court.”

“Truly,” answered the Queen, “the sight will be grand. Nevertheless you must hold me excused, for I cannot be there.”

Sir Lancelot likewise declared that his wounds were not healed and that he could not bear himself in a tourney as he was wont to do. At this the King was wroth, that he might not have either his Queen or his best Knight with him, and he departed towards Winchester and by the way lodged in a town now called Guildford, but then Astolat. And when the King had set forth, the Queen sent for Sir Lancelot, and told him he was to blame for having excused himself from going with the King, who set such store by his company; and Sir Lancelot said he would be ruled by her, and would ride forth next morning on his way to Winchester; “but I should have you know,” said he, “that at the tourney I shall be against the King and his Knights.”

“You must do as you please,” replied the Queen, “but if you will be ruled by my counsel, you will fight on his side.”

“Madam,” said Sir Lancelot, “I pray you not to be displeased with me. I will take the adventure as it comes,” and early next morning he rode away till at eventide he reached Astolat. He went through the town till he stopped before the house of an old Baron, Sir Bernard of Astolat, and as he dismounted from his horse, the King spied him from the gardens of the castle. “It is well,” he said, smiling to the Knights that were beside him, “I see one man who will play his part in the [jousts], and I will undertake that he will do marvels.”

“Who is that?” asked they all. “You must wait to know that,” replied the King, and went into the castle. Meantime Sir Lancelot had entered his lodging, and the old Baron bade him welcome, but he knew not it was Sir Lancelot. “Fair Sir,” said Sir Lancelot, “I pray you lend me, if you can, a shield with a device which no man knows, for mine they know well.”

“Sir,” answered Sir Bernard, “you shall have your wish, for you seem one of the goodliest Knights in the world. And, Sir, I have two sons, both but lately knighted, Sir Tirre who was wounded on the day of his Knighthood, and his shield you shall have. My youngest son, Sir Lavaine, shall ride with you, if you will have his company, to the jousts. For my heart is much drawn to you, and tell me, I beseech you, what name I shall call you by.”

“You must hold me excused as to that, just now,” said Sir Lancelot, “but if I speed well at the jousts, I will come again and tell you. But let me have Sir Lavaine with me, and lend me, as you have offered, his brother’s shield.” “This shall be done,” replied Sir Bernard.

Besides these two sons, Sir Bernard had a daughter whom every one called The Fair Maid of Astolat, though her real name was Elaine le Blanc. And when she looked on Sir Lancelot, her love went forth to him and she could never take it back, and in the end it killed her. As soon as her father told her that Sir Lancelot was going to the tourney she besought him to wear her [token] in the jousts, but he was not willing. “Fair damsel,” he said, “if I did that, I should have done more for your sake than ever I did for lady or damsel.” But then he remembered that he was to go disguised to the tourney, and because he had before never worn any manner of token of any damsel, he bethought him that, if he should take one of hers, none would know him. So he said to her, “Fair damsel, I will wear your token on my helmet, if you will show me what it is.”

“Sir,” she answered, “it is a red sleeve, embroidered in great pearls,” and she brought it to him. “Never have I done so much for any damsel,” said he, and gave his own shield into her keeping, till he came again. Sir Arthur had waited three days in Astolat for some Knights who were long on the road, and when they had arrived they all set forth, and were followed by Sir Lancelot and Sir Lavaine, both with white shields, and Sir Lancelot bore besides the red sleeve that was a token. Now Camelot was filled with a great number of Kings and Lords and Knights, but Sir Lavaine found means to lodge both himself and Sir Lancelot secretly with a rich [burgess], and no man knew who they were or whence they came. And there they stayed till the day of the tourney. At earliest dawn the trumpets blew, and King Arthur took his seat upon a high scaffold, so that he might see who had done best; but he would not suffer [Sir Gawaine] to go from his side, for Sir Gawaine never won the prize when Sir Lancelot was in the field, and as King Arthur knew, Sir Lancelot oftentimes disguised himself.

Then the Knights formed into two parties and Sir Lancelot made him ready, and Elaine fastened the red sleeve upon his helmet. Then he and Sir Lavaine rode into a little wood that lay behind the Knights who should fight against those of the Round Table. “Sir,” said Sir Lancelot, “yonder is a company of good Knights and they hold together as boars that are vexed with dogs.”

“That is truth,” said Sir Lavaine.

“Now,” said Sir Lancelot, “if you will help me a little, you shall see King Arthur’s side, which is winning, driven back as fast as they came.”

“Spare not, Sir,” answered Sir Lavaine, “for I shall do what I may.” So they rode into the thickest of the [press], and smote so hard both with spear and sword that the Knights of the Round Table fell back. “O mercy!” cried Sir Gawaine, “what Knight is that yonder who does such marvellous deeds?”

“I know well who it is,” said King Arthur, “but I will not tell you yet.”

“Sir,” answered Sir Gawaine, “I should say it was Sir Lancelot by the blows he deals and the manner that he rides, but it cannot be he, for this man has a red sleeve upon his helmet, and Sir Lancelot has never borne the token of any lady.”

“Let him be,” said Sir Arthur, “you will find out his name, and see him do greater deeds yet, before he departs.” And the Knights that were fighting against the King’s party took heart again, for before they feared they would be beaten. But when Sir Bors saw this, he called unto him the Knights that were of kin to Sir Lancelot, and they banded together to make a great charge, and threw Sir Lancelot’s horse to the ground, and by misfortune the spear of Sir Bors broke, and its head was left in Sir Lancelot’s side. When Sir Lavaine saw that, he unhorsed the King of Scots, and brought his horse to Sir Lancelot, and helped him to mount thereon and gave him a spear, with which Sir Lancelot smote Sir Bors to the earth and Sir Ector de Maris, the foster-father of King Arthur, and buffeted sorely the Knights that were with them. Afterward he hurled himself into the thick [mêlée] of them all, and did the most wonderful deeds that ever were heard of. And Sir Lavaine likewise did well that day, for he smote down full two Knights of the Round Table. “Mercy,” again cried Sir Gawaine to Arthur, “I marvel what Knight that is with the red sleeve.”

“That you shall know soon,” said King Arthur, and commanded that the trumpets should be blown, and declared that the prize belonged to the Knight with the white shield, who bare the red sleeve, for he had unhorsed more than thirty Knights. And the Kings and Lords who were of his party came round him and thanked him for the help he had given them, by which means the honours of the day had been theirs.

“Fair Lords,” said Sir Lancelot, “if I have deserved thanks, I have paid for them sorely, for I shall hardly escape with my life, therefore I pray you let me depart, for my hurt is grievous.” Then he groaned piteously, and galloped from them to a wood’s side, followed by Sir Lavaine. “Oh help me, Sir Lavaine,” said he, “to get this spear’s head out of my side, for it is killing me.” But Sir Lavaine feared to touch it, lest Sir Lancelot should bleed to death. “I charge you,” said Sir Lancelot, “if you love me, draw out the head,” so Sir Lavaine drew it out. And Sir Lancelot gave a great shriek, and a marvellous grisly groan, and his blood flowed out so fast that he fell into a swoon. “Oh what shall I do?” cried Sir Lavaine, and he loosed Sir Lancelot’s helm and coat of mail, and turned him so that the wind might blow on him, but for full half an hour he lay as if he had been dead. And at last Sir Lancelot opened his eyes, and said, “O Lavaine, help me on my horse, for two miles from this place there lives a hermit who once was a Knight of the Round Table, and he can heal my wounds.” Then Sir Lavaine, with much ado, helped him on his horse, and brought him bleeding to the hermit. The hermit looked at him as he rode up, leaning piteously on his saddle-bow, and he thought that he should know him, but could not tell who he was for the paleness of his face, till he saw by a wound on his cheek that it was Sir Lancelot.

“You cannot hide your name from me,” said the hermit, “for you are the noblest Knight in the world, and well I know you to be Sir Lancelot.”

“Since you know me, Sir,” said he, “help me for God’s sake, and for death or life put me out of this pain.”

“Fear nothing,” answered the hermit, “your pain will soon be gone,” and he called his servants to take the armour off the Knight, and laid him in bed. After that he dressed the wound, and gave him good wine to drink, and Sir Lancelot slept and awoke free of his pain. So we will leave him to be healed of his wound, under the care of the hermit, and go back to King Arthur.

Now, it was the custom in those days that after a tourney was finished, a great feast should be held at which both parties were assembled, so King Arthur sent to ask the King of [Northgalis], where was the Knight with the red sleeve, who had fought on his side. “Bring him before me,” he said, “that he may have the prize he has won, which is his right.” Then answered the King with the hundred Knights, “We fear the Knight must have been sore hurt, and that neither you nor we are ever like to see him again, which is grievous to think of.”

“Alas!” said King Arthur, “is he then so badly wounded? What is his name?”

“Truly,” said they all, “we know not his name, nor whence he came, nor whither he went.”

“As for me,” answered King Arthur, “these tidings are the worst that I have heard these seven years, for I would give all the lands I hold that no harm had befallen this Knight.”

“Do you know him?” asked they all.

“Whether I know him or not,” said King Arthur, “I shall not tell you, but may Heaven send me good news of him.” “Amen,” answered they.

“By my head,” said Sir Gawaine, “if this good Knight is really wounded unto death, it is a great evil for all this land, for he is one of the noblest that ever I saw for handling a sword or spear. And if he may be found, I shall find him, for I am sure he is not far from this town;” so he took his Squire with him, and they rode all round Camelot, six or seven miles on every side, but nothing could they hear of him. And he returned heavily to the Court of King Arthur.

Two days after the King and all his company set out for London, and by the way, it happened to Sir Gawaine to lodge with Sir Bernard at Astolat. And when he was in his chamber, Sir Bernard and his daughter Elaine came unto Sir Gawaine, to ask him tidings of the Court, and who did best in the tourney at Winchester.

“Truly,” said Sir Gawaine, “there were two Knights that bare white shields, but one of them had a red sleeve upon his helm, and he was one of the best Knights that ever I saw joust in the field, for I dare say he smote down forty Knights of the Table Round.”

“Now blessed be God,” said the Maid of Astolat, “that that Knight sped so well, for he is the man in the world that I loved first, and he will also be the last that ever I shall love.”

“Fair Maid,” asked Sir Gawaine, “is that Knight your love?”

“Certainly he is my love,” said she.

“Then you know his name?” asked Sir Gawaine.

“Nay, truly,” answered the damsel, “I know neither his name, nor whence he cometh, but I love him for all that.”

“How did you meet him first?” asked Sir Gawaine. At that she told him the whole story, and how her brother went with Sir Lancelot to do him service, and lent him the white shield of her brother Sir Tirre and left his own shield with her. “Why did he do that?” asked Sir Gawaine.

“For this cause,” said the damsel, “his shield was too well known among many noble Knights.”

“Ah, fair damsel,” said Sir Gawaine, “I beg of you to let me have a sight of that shield.”

“Sir,” answered she, “it is in my chamber covered with a case, and if you will come with me, you shall see it.”

“Not so,” said Sir Bernard, and sent his Squire for it. And when Sir Gawaine took off the case and beheld the shield, and saw the arms, he knew it to be Sir Lancelot’s. “Ah mercy,” cried he, “my heart is heavier than ever it was before!”

“Why?” asked Elaine.

“I have great cause,” answered Sir Gawaine. “Is that Knight who owns this shield your love?”

“Yes, truly,” said she; “I would I were his love.”

“You are right, fair damsel,” replied Gawaine, “for if you love him, you love the most honourable Knight in the world. I have known him for four and twenty years, and never did I or any other Knight see him wear a token of either lady or damsel at a tournament. Therefore, damsel, he has paid you great honour. But I fear that I may never behold him again upon earth, and that is grievous to think of.”

“Alas!” said she, “how may this be? Is he slain?”

“I did not say that,” replied Sir Gawaine, “but he is sorely wounded, and is more likely to be dead than alive. And, maiden, by this shield I know that he is Sir Lancelot.”

“How can this be?” said the Maid of Astolat, “and what was his hurt?”

“Truly,” answered Sir Gawaine, “it was the man that loved him best who hurt him so, and I am sure that if that man knew that it was Sir Lancelot whom he had wounded, he would think it was the darkest deed that ever he did.”

“Now, dear father,” said Elaine, “give me leave to ride and to seek him, for I shall go out of my mind unless I find him and my brother.”

“Do as you will,” answered her father, “for I am grieved to hear of the hurt of that noble Knight.” So the damsel made ready.

On the morn Sir Gawaine came to King Arthur and told him how he had found the shield in the keeping of the Maid of Astolat. “All that I knew beforehand,” said the King, “and that was why I would not suffer you to fight at the tourney, for I had espied him when he entered his lodging the night before. But this is the first time that ever I heard of his bearing the token of some lady, and much I marvel at it.”

“By my head,” answered Sir Gawaine, “the Fair Maiden of Astolat loves him wondrous well. What it all means, or what will be the end, I cannot say, but she has ridden after him to seek him.” So the King and his company came to London, and every one in the Court knew that it was Sir Lancelot who had jousted the best.

And when the tidings came to Sir Bors, his heart grew heavy, and also the hearts of his kinsmen. But when the Queen heard that Sir Lancelot bore the red sleeve of the Fair Maid of Astolat, she was nearly mad with wrath, and summoned Sir Bors before her in haste.

“Ah, Sir Bors,” she cried when he was come, “have the tidings reached you that Sir Lancelot has been a false Knight to me?”

“Madam,” answered Sir Bors, “I pray you say not so, for I cannot hear such language of him.”

“Why, is he not false and a traitor when, after swearing that for right or wrong he would be my Knight and mine only, he bore the red sleeve upon his helm at the great jousts at Camelot?”

“Madam,” said Sir Bors, “I grieve bitterly as to that sleeve-bearing, but I think he did it that none of his kin should know him. For no man before that had seen him bear the token of any lady, be she what she may.”

“Fie on him!” said the Queen, “I myself heard Sir Gawaine tell my lord Arthur of the great love that is between the Fair Maiden of Astolat and him.”

“Madam,” answered Sir Bors, “I cannot hinder Sir Gawaine from saying what he pleases, but as for Sir Lancelot, I am sure that he loves no one lady or maiden better than another. And therefore I will hasten to seek him wherever he be.”

Meanwhile fair Elaine came to Winchester to find Sir Lancelot, who lay in peril of his life in the hermit’s dwelling. And when she was riding hither and thither, not knowing where she should turn, she fell on her brother Sir Lavaine, who was exercising his horse. “How doth my lord Sir Lancelot?” asked she.

“Who told you, sister, that my lord’s name was Sir Lancelot?” answered Sir Lavaine.

“Sir Gawaine, who came to my father’s house to rest after the tourney, knew him by his shield,” said she, and they rode on till they reached the hermitage, and Sir Lavaine brought her to Sir Lancelot. And when she saw him so pale, and in such a plight, she fell to the earth in a swoon, but by-and-by she opened her eyes and said, “My lord Sir Lancelot, what has brought you to this?” and swooned again. When she came to herself and stood up, Sir Lancelot prayed her to be of good cheer, for if she had come to comfort him she was right welcome, and that his wound would soon heal. “But I marvel,” said he, “how you know my name.” Then the maiden told him how Sir Gawaine had been at Astolat and had seen his shield.

“Alas!” sighed Sir Lancelot, “it grieves me that my name is known, for trouble will come of it.” For he knew full well that Sir Gawaine would tell Queen Guenevere, and that she would be wroth. And Elaine stayed and tended him, and Sir Lancelot begged Sir Lavaine to ride to Winchester and ask if Sir Bors was there, and said that he should know him by token of a wound which Sir Bors had on his forehead. “For well I am sure,” said Sir Lancelot, “that Sir Bors will seek me, as he is the same good Knight that hurt me.”

Therefore as Sir Lancelot commanded, Sir Lavaine rode to Winchester and inquired if Sir Bors had been seen there, so that when he entered the town Sir Lavaine readily found him. Sir Bors was overjoyed to hear good tidings of Sir Lancelot, and they rode back together to the hermitage. At the sight of Sir Lancelot lying in his bed, pale and thin, Sir Bors’ heart gave way, and he wept long without speaking. “Oh, my lord Sir Lancelot,” he said at last, “God send you hasty recovery; great is my shame for having wounded you thus, you who are the noblest Knight in the world. I wonder that my arm would lift itself against you, and I ask your mercy.”

“Fair cousin,” answered Sir Lancelot, “such words please me not at all, for it is the fault of my pride which would overcome you all, that I lie here to-day. We will not speak of it any more, for what is done cannot be undone, but let us find a cure so that I may soon be whole.” Then Sir Bors leaned upon his bed, and told him how the Queen was filled with anger against him, because he wore the red sleeve at the jousts.

“I am sorrowful at what you tell me,” replied Sir Lancelot, “for all I did was to hinder my being known.”

“That I said to excuse you,” answered Sir Bors, “though it was all in vain. But is this damsel that is so busy about you the Fair Maid of Astolat?”

“She it is, and she will not go from me!”

“Why should she go from you?” asked Sir Bors. “She is a passing fair damsel, and of gentle breeding, and I would that you could love her, for it is easy to see by her bearing that she loves you entirely.”

“It grieves me to hear that,” said Sir Lancelot.

After this they talked of other things, till in a few days Sir Lancelot’s wounds were whole again. When Sir Lancelot felt his strength return, Sir Bors made him ready, and departed for the Court of King Arthur, and told them how he had left Sir Lancelot. And there was on All Hallows a great tournament, and Sir Bors won the prize for the unhorsing of twenty Knights, and Sir Gareth did great deeds also, but vanished suddenly from the field, and no man knew where he had gone. After the tourney was over, Sir Bors rode to the hermitage to see Sir Lancelot, whom he found walking on his feet, and on the next morning they bade farewell to the hermit, taking with them Elaine le Blanc. They went first to Astolat, where they were well lodged in the house of Sir Bernard, but when the morrow came, and Sir Lancelot would have departed from them, Elaine called to her father and to her brothers Sir Tirre and Sir Lavaine, and thus she said—

“My lord Sir Lancelot, fair Knight, leave me not, I pray you, but have mercy upon me, and suffer me not to die of love of thee.”

“What do you wish me to do?” asked Sir Lancelot.

“I would have you for my husband,” answered she.

“Fair damsel, I thank you,” said Sir Lancelot, “but truly I shall never have a wife. But in token and thanks of all your good will towards me, gladly will I give a thousand pounds yearly when you set your heart upon some other Knight.”

“Of such gifts I will have none,” answered Elaine, “and I would have you know, Sir Lancelot, that if you refuse to wed me, my good days are done.”

“Fair damsel,” said Sir Lancelot, “I cannot do the thing that you ask.”

At these words she fell down in a swoon, and her maids bore her to her chamber, where she made bitter sorrow. Sir Lancelot thought it would be well for him to depart before she came to her senses again, and he asked Sir Lavaine what he would do.

“What should I do?” asked Sir Lavaine, “but follow you, if you will have me.” Then Sir Bernard came and said to Sir Lancelot, “I see well that my daughter Elaine will die for your sake.”

“I cannot marry her,” answered Sir Lancelot, “and it grieves me sorely, for she is a good maiden, fair and gentle.”

“Father,” said Sir Lavaine, “she is as pure and good as Sir Lancelot has said, and she is like me, for since first I saw him I can never leave him.” And after that they bade the old man farewell and came unto Winchester, where the King and all the Knights of the Round Table made great joy of him, save only Sir Agrawaine and Sir Mordred. But the Queen was angry and would not speak to him, though he tried by all means to make her. Now when the Fair Maid of Astolat knew he was gone, she would neither eat nor sleep, but cried after Sir Lancelot all the day long. And when she had spent ten days in this manner, she grew so weak that they thought her soul must quit this world, and the priest came to her, and bade her dwell no more on earthly things. She would not listen to him, but cried ever after Sir Lancelot, and how she had loved none other, no, nor ever would, and that her love would be her death. Then she called her father Sir Bernard, and her brother Sir Tirre, and begged her brother to write her a letter as she should tell him, and her father that he would have her watched till she was dead. “And while my body is warm,” said she, “let this letter be put in my right hand, and my hand bound fast with the letter until I be cold, and let me be dressed in my richest clothes and be lain on a fair bed, and driven in a chariot to the Thames. There let me be put on a barge, and a dumb man with me, to steer the barge, which shall be covered over with black samite. Thus, father, I beseech you, let it be done.” And her father promised her faithfully that so it should be done to her when she was dead.

Next day she died, and her body was lain on the bed, and placed in a chariot, and driven to the Thames, where the man awaited her with the barge. When she was put on board, he steered the barge to Westminster and rowed a great while to and fro, before any espied it. At last King Arthur and Queen Guenevere withdrew into a window, to speak together, and espied the black barge, and wondered greatly what it meant. The King summoned Sir Kay, and bade him take [Sir Brandiles] and Sir Agrawaine, and find out who was lying there, and they ran down to the river side, and came and told the King. “That fair corpse will I see,” returned the King, and he took the Queen’s hand and led her thither. Then he ordered the barge to be made fast, and he entered it, and the Queen likewise, and certain Knights with them. And there he saw a fair woman on a rich bed, and her clothing was of cloth of gold, and she lay smiling. While they looked, all being silent, the Queen spied a letter in her right hand, and pointed it out to the King, who took it saying, “Now I am sure this letter will tell us what she was, and why she came hither.” So leaving the barge in charge of a trusty man, they went into the King’s chamber, followed by many Knights, for the King would have the letter read openly. He then broke the seal himself, and bade a clerk read it, and this was what it said—

“Most noble Knight Sir Lancelot, I was your lover, whom men called the Fair Maid of Astolat: therefore unto all ladies I make my moan; yet pray for my soul, and bury me. This is my last request. Pray for my soul, Sir Lancelot, as thou art peerless.”

This was all the letter, and the King and Queen and all the Knights wept when they heard it.

“Let Sir Lancelot be sent for,” presently said the King, and when Sir Lancelot came the letter was read to him also.

“My lord Arthur,” said he, after he had heard it all, “I am right grieved at the death of this damsel. God knows I was not, of my own will, guilty of her death, and that I will call on her brother, Sir Lavaine, to witness. She was both fair and good, and much was I beholden to her, but she loved me out of measure.”

“You might have been a little gentle with her,” answered the Queen, “and have found some way to save her life.”

“Madam,” said Sir Lancelot, “she would have nothing but my love, and that I could not give her, though I offered her a thousand pounds yearly if she should set her heart on any other Knight. For, Madam, I love not to be forced to love; love must arise of itself, and not by command.”

“That is truth,” replied the King, “love is free in himself, and never will be bounden; for where he is bounden he looseth himself. But, Sir Lancelot, be it your care to see that the damsel is buried as is fitting.”

PART IV.

LANCELOT AND GUENEVERE.

Now we come to the sorrowful tale of Lancelot and Guenevere, and of the death of King Arthur. Already it has been told that King Arthur had wedded Guenevere, the daughter of Leodegrance, King of Cornwall, a damsel who seemed made of all the flowers, so fair was she, and slender, and brilliant to look upon. And the Knights in her father’s Court bowed down before her, and smote their hardest in the jousts where Guenevere was present, but none dared ask her in marriage till Arthur came. Like the rest he saw and loved her, but, unlike them, he was a King, and might lift his eyes even unto Guenevere. The maiden herself scarcely saw or spoke to him, but did her father’s bidding in all things, and when he desired her to make everything ready to go clothed as beseemed a Princess to King Arthur’s Court, her heart beat with joy at the sight of rich stuffs and shining jewels. Then one day there rode up to the Castle a band of horsemen sent by the King to bring her to his Court, and at the head of them Sir Lancelot du Lake, friend of King Arthur, and winner of all the jousts and tournaments where Knights meet to gain honour. Day by day they rode together apart and he told her tales of gallant deeds done for love of beautiful ladies, and they passed under trees gay with the first green of spring, and over hyacinths covering the earth with sheets of blue, till at sunset they drew rein before the silken [pavilion], with the banner of Uther Pendragon floating on the top. And Guenevere’s heart went out to Lancelot before she knew. One evening she noted, far across the plain, towers and buildings shining in the sun, and an array of horsemen ride forth to meet her. One stopped before her dazzled eyes, and leaping from his horse bowed low. Arthur had come to welcome her, and do her honour, and to lead her home. But looking up at him, she thought him cold, and, timid and alone, her thoughts turned again to Lancelot. After that the days and years slipped by, and these two were ever nearest the King, and in every time of danger the King cried for Lancelot, and trusted his honour and the Queen’s to him. Sir Lancelot spoke truly when he told Elaine that he had never worn the badge of lady or maiden, but for all that every one looked on Sir Lancelot as the Queen’s Knight, who could do no worship to any other woman. The King likewise held Sir Lancelot bound to fight the Queen’s battles, and if he was absent on adventures of his own, messengers hastened to bring him back, as in the fight with Sir Mador. So things went on for many years, and the King never guessed that the Queen loved Lancelot best.

It befell one spring, in the month of May, that Queen Guenevere bethought herself that she would like to go a-maying in the woods and fields that lay round the City of Westminster on both sides of the river. To this intent she called her own especial Knights, and bade them be ready the next morning clothed all in green, whether of silk or cloth, “and,” said she, “I shall bring with me ten ladies, and every Knight shall have a lady behind him, and be followed by a Squire and two yeomen, and I will that you shall all be well horsed.” Thus it was done, and the ten Knights, arrayed in fresh green, the emblem of the spring, rode with the Queen and her ladies in the early dawn, and smelt the sweet of the year, and gathered flowers which they stuck in their girdles and [doublets]. The Queen was as happy and light of heart as the youngest maiden, but she had promised to be with the King at the hour of ten, and gave the signal for departure unwillingly. The Knights were mounting their horses, when suddenly out of a wood on the other side rode Sir Meliagraunce, who for many years had loved the Queen, and had sought an occasion to carry her off, but found none so fair as this. Out of the forest he rode, with two score men in armour, and a hundred archers behind him, and bade the Queen and her followers stay where they were, or they would fare badly. “Traitor,” cried the Queen, “what evil deed would you do? You are a King’s son and a Knight of the Round Table, yet you seek to shame the man who gave you knighthood. But I tell you that you may bring dishonour on yourself, but you will bring none on me, for rather would I cut my throat in twain.”

“As for your threats, Madam, I pay them no heed,” returned Sir Meliagraunce; “I have loved you many a year, and never could I get you at such an advantage as I do now, and therefore I will take you as I find you.” Then all the Knights spoke together saying, “Sir Meliagraunce, bethink yourself that in attacking men who are unarmed you put not only our lives in peril but your own honour. Rather than allow the Queen to be shamed we will each one fight to the death, and if we did aught else we should dishonour our knighthood for ever.”

“Fight as well as you can,” answered Sir Meliagraunce, “and keep the Queen if you may.” So the Knights of the Round Table drew their swords, and the men of Sir Meliagraunce ran at them with spears; but the Knights stood fast, and clove the spears in two before they touched them. Then both sides fought with swords, and Sir Kay and five other Knights were felled to the ground with wounds all over their bodies. The other four fought long, and slew forty of the men and archers of Sir Meliagraunce; but in the end they too were overcome. When the Queen saw that she cried out for pity and sorrow, “Sir Meliagraunce, spare my noble Knights and I will go with you quietly on this condition, that their lives be saved, and that wherever you may carry me they shall follow. For I give you warning that I would rather slay myself than go with you without my Knights, whose duty it is to guard me.”

“Madam,” replied Sir Meliagraunce, “for your sake they shall be led with you into my own castle, if you will consent to ride with me.” So the Queen prayed the four Knights to fight no more, and she and they would not part, and to this, though their hearts were heavy, they agreed.

The fight being ended the wounded Knights were placed on horseback, some sitting, some lying across the saddle, according as they were hurt, and Sir Meliagraunce forbade any one to leave the castle (which had been a gift to him from King Arthur), for sore he dreaded the vengeance of Sir Lancelot if this thing should reach his ears. But the Queen knew well what was passing in his mind, and she called a little page who served her in her chamber and desired him to take her ring and hasten with all speed to Sir Lancelot, “and pray him, if he loves me, to rescue me. Spare not your horse, neither for water nor for land.” And the boy bided his time, then mounted his horse, and rode away as fast as he might. Sir Meliagraunce spied him as he flew, and knew whither he went, and who had sent him; and he commanded his best archers to ride after him and shoot him ere he reached Sir Lancelot. But the boy escaped their arrows, and vanished from their sight. Then Sir Meliagraunce said to the Queen, “You seek to betray me, Madam; but Sir Lancelot shall not so lightly come at you.” And he bade his men follow him to the castle in haste, and left an ambush of thirty archers in the road, charging them that if a Knight mounted on a white horse came along that way they were to slay the horse but to leave the man alone, as he was hard to overcome. After Sir Meliagraunce had given these orders his company galloped fast to the castle; but the Queen would listen to nothing that he said, demanding always that her Knights and ladies should be lodged with her, and Sir Meliagraunce was forced to let her have her will.

The castle of Sir Meliagraunce was distant seven miles from Westminster, so it did not take long for the boy to find Sir Lancelot, and to give him the Queen’s ring and her message. “I am ashamed for ever,” said Sir Lancelot, “unless I can rescue that noble lady,” and while he put on his armour, he called to the boy to tell him the whole adventure. When he was armed and mounted, he begged the page to warn Sir Lavaine where he had gone, and for what cause. “And pray him, as he loves me, that he follow me to the castle of Sir Meliagraunce, for if I am a living man, he will find me there.”

Sir Lancelot put his horse into the water at Westminster, and he swam straight over to Lambeth, and soon after he landed he found traces of the fight. He rode along the track till he came to the wood, where the archers were lying waiting for him, and when they saw him, they bade him on peril of his life to go no further along that path.

“Why should I, who am a Knight of the Round Table, turn out of any path that pleases me?” asked Sir Lancelot.

“Either you will leave this path or your horse will be slain,” answered the archers.

“You may slay my horse if you will,” said Sir Lancelot, “but when my horse is slain I shall fight you on foot, and so would I do, if there were five hundred more of you.” With that they smote the horse with their arrows, but Sir Lancelot jumped off, and ran into the wood, and they could not catch him. He went on some way, but the ground was rough, and his armour was heavy, and sore he dreaded the treason of Sir Meliagraunce. His heart was near to fail him, when there passed by a cart with two carters that came to fetch wood. “Tell me, carter,” said Sir Lancelot, “what will you take to suffer me to go in your cart till we are within two miles of the castle of Sir Meliagraunce?”

“I cannot take you at all,” answered the carter, “for I am come to fetch wood for my lord Sir Meliagraunce.”

“It is with him that I would speak.”

“You shall not go with me,” said the carter, but hardly had he uttered the words when Sir Lancelot leapt up into the cart, and gave him such a buffet that he fell dead on the ground. At this sight the other carter cried that he would take the Knight where he would if he would only spare his life. “Then I charge you,” said Sir Lancelot, “that you bring me to the castle gate.” So the carter drove at a great gallop, and Sir Lancelot’s horse, who had espied his master, followed the cart, though more than fifty arrows were standing in his body. In an hour and a half they reached the castle gate, and were seen of Guenevere and her ladies, who were standing in a window. “Look, Madam,” cried one of her ladies, “in that cart yonder is a goodly armed Knight. I suppose he is going to his hanging.”

“Where?” asked the Queen, and as she spoke she espied that it was Sir Lancelot, and that his horse was following riderless. “Well is he that has a trusty friend,” said she, “for a noble Knight is hard pressed when he rides in a cart,” and she rebuked the lady who had declared he was going to his hanging. “It was foul talking, to liken the noblest Knight in the world to one going to a shameful death.” By this Sir Lancelot had come to the gate of the castle, and he got down and called till the castle rang with his voice. “Where is that false traitor Sir Meliagraunce, Knight of the Round Table? Come forth, you and your company, for I, Sir Lancelot du Lake, am here to do battle with you.” Then he burst the gate open wide, and smote the porter who tried to hold it against him. When Sir Meliagraunce heard Sir Lancelot’s voice, he ran into Queen Guenevere’s chamber and fell on his knees before her: “Mercy, Madam, mercy! I throw myself upon your grace.”

“What ails you now?” said she; “of a truth I might well expect some good Knight to avenge me, though my lord Arthur knew not of your work.”

“Madame, I will make such amends as you yourself may desire,” pleaded Sir Meliagraunce, “and I trust wholly to your grace.”

“What would you have me do?” asked the Queen.

“Rule in this castle as if it were your own, and give Sir Lancelot cheer till to-morrow, and then you shall all return to Westminster.”

“You say well,” answered the Queen. “Peace is ever better than war, and I take no pleasure in fighting.” So she went down with her ladies to Sir Lancelot, who still stood full of rage in the inner court, calling as before “Traitor Knight, come forth!”

“Sir Lancelot,” asked the Queen, “what is the cause of all this wrath?”

“Madam,” replied Sir Lancelot, “does such a question come from you? Methinks your wrath should be greater than mine, for all the hurt and the dishonour have fallen upon you. My own hurt is but little, but the shame is worse than any hurt.”

“You say truly,” replied the Queen, “but you must come in with me peaceably, as all is put into my hand, and the Knight repents bitterly of his adventure.”

“Madam,” said Sir Lancelot, “since you have made agreement with him, it is not my part to say nay, although Sir Meliagraunce has borne himself both shamefully and cowardly towards me. But had I known you would have pardoned him so soon, I should not have made such haste to come to you.”

“Why do you say that?” asked the Queen; “do you repent yourself of your good deeds? I only made peace with him to have done with all this noise of slanderous talk, and for the sake of my Knights.”

“Madam,” answered Sir Lancelot, “you understand full well that I was never glad of slander nor noise, but there is neither King, Queen, nor Knight alive, save yourself, Madam, and my lord Arthur, that should hinder me from giving Sir Meliagraunce a cold heart before I departed hence.”

“That I know well,” said the Queen, “but what would you have more? Everything shall be ordered as you will.”

“Madam,” replied Sir Lancelot, “as long as you are pleased, that is all I care for,” so the Queen led Sir Lancelot into her chamber, and commanded him to take off his armour, and then took him to where her ten Knights were lying sore wounded. And their souls leapt with joy when they saw him, and he told them how falsely Sir Meliagraunce had dealt with him, and had set archers to slay his horse, so that he was fain to place himself in a cart. Thus they complained each to the other, and would have avenged themselves on Sir Meliagraunce but for the peace made by the Queen. And in the evening came Sir Lavaine, riding in great haste, and Sir Lancelot was glad that he was come.

Now, Sir Lancelot was right when he feared to trust Sir Meliagraunce, for that Knight only sought to work ill both to him and to the Queen, for all his fair words. And first he began to speak evil of the Queen to Sir Lancelot, who dared him to prove his foul words, and it was settled between them that a combat should take place in eight days in the field near Westminster. “And now,” said Sir Meliagraunce, “since it is decided that we must fight together, I beseech you, as you are a noble Knight, do me no treason nor villainy in the mean time.”

“Any Knight will bear me witness,” answered Sir Lancelot, “that never have I broken faith with any man, nor borne fellowship with those that have done so.” “Then let us go to dinner,” said Sir Meliagraunce, “and afterwards you may all ride to Westminster. Meanwhile would it please you to see the inside of this castle?” “That I will gladly,” said Sir Lancelot, and they went from chamber to chamber, till they reached the floor of the castle, and as he went Sir Lancelot trod on a trap and the board rolled, and he fell down in a cave which was filled with straw, and Sir Meliagraunce departed and no man knew where Sir Lancelot might be. The Queen bethought herself that he was wont to disappear suddenly, and as Sir Meliagraunce had first removed Sir Lavaine’s horse from the place where it had been tethered, the Knights agreed with her. So time passed until dinner had been eaten, and then Sir Lavaine demanded litters for the wounded Knights, that they might be carried to Westminster with as little hurt as might be. And the Queen and her ladies followed. When they arrived the Knights told of their adventure, and how Sir Meliagraunce had accused the Queen of treason, and how he and Sir Lancelot were to fight for her good name in eight days.

“Sir Meliagraunce has taken a great deal upon him,” said the King, “but where is Sir Lancelot?”

“Sir,” answered they all, “we know not, but we think he has ridden to some adventure.” “Well, leave him alone,” said the King. “He will be here when the day comes, unless some treason has befallen him.”

All this while Sir Lancelot was lying in great pain within the cave, and he would have died for lack of food had not one of the ladies in the castle found out the place where he was held captive, and brought him meat and drink, and hoped that he might be brought to love her. But he would not. “Sir Lancelot,” said she, “you are not wise, for without my help you will never get out of this prison, and if you do not appear on the day of battle, your lady, Queen Guenevere, will be burnt in default.” “If I am not there,” replied Sir Lancelot, “the King and the Queen and all men of worship will know that I am either dead or in prison. And sure I am that there is some good Knight who loves me or is of my kin, that will take my quarrel in hand, therefore you cannot frighten me by such words as these. If there was not another woman in the world, I could give you no different answer.” “Then you will be shamed openly,” replied the lady, and left the dungeon. But on the day that the battle was to be fought she came again, and said, “Sir Lancelot, if you will only kiss me once, I will deliver you, and give you the best horse in Sir Meliagraunce’s stable.” “Yes, I will kiss you,” answered Sir Lancelot, “since I may do that honourably; but if I thought it were any shame to kiss you, I would not do it, whatever the cost.” So he kissed her, and she brought him his armour, and led him to a stable where twelve noble horses stood, and bade him choose the best. He chose a white courser, and bade the keepers put on the best saddle they had, and with his spear in his hand and his sword by his side, he rode away, thanking the lady for all she had done for him, which some day he would try to repay.

As the hours passed on and Sir Lancelot did not come, Sir Meliagraunce called ever on King Arthur to burn the Queen, or else bring forth Sir Lancelot, for he deemed full well that he had Sir Lancelot safe in his dungeon. The King and Queen were sore distressed that Sir Lancelot was missing, and knew not where to look for him, and what to do. Then stepped forth Sir Lavaine and said, “My lord Arthur, you know well that some ill-fortune has happened to Sir Lancelot, and if he is not dead, he is either sick or in prison. Therefore I beseech you, let me do battle instead of my lord and master for my lady the Queen.”

“I thank you heartily, gentle Knight,” answered Arthur, “for I am sure that Sir Meliagraunce accuses the Queen falsely, and there is not one of the ten Knights who would not fight for her were it not for his wounds. So do your best, for it is plain that some evil has been wrought on Sir Lancelot.” Sir Lavaine was filled with joy when the King gave him leave to do battle with Sir Meliagraunce, and rode swiftly to his place at the end of the lists. And just as the heralds were about to cry “[Lesses les aller]!” Sir Lancelot dashed into the middle on his white horse. “Hold and abide!” commanded the King, and Sir Lancelot rode up before him, and told before them all how Sir Meliagraunce had treated him. When the King and Queen and all the Lords heard Sir Lancelot’s tale, their hearts stirred within them with anger, and the Queen took her seat by the King, in great trust of her champion. Sir Lancelot and Sir Meliagraunce prepared themselves for battle, and took their spears, and came together as thunder, and Sir Lancelot bore Sir Meliagraunce right over his horse. Then Sir Lancelot jumped down, and they fought on foot, till in the end Sir Meliagraunce was smitten to the ground by a blow on his head from his enemy. “Most noble Knight, save my life,” cried he, “for I yield myself unto you, and put myself into the King’s hands and yours.” Sir Lancelot did not know what to answer, for he longed above anything in the world to have revenge upon him; so he looked at the Queen to see whether she would give him any sign of what she would have done. The Queen wagged her head in answer, and Sir Lancelot knew by that token that she would have him dead, and he understood, and bade Sir Meliagraunce get up, and continue the fight. “Nay,” said Sir Meliagraunce, “I will never rise till you accept my surrender.” “Listen,” answered Sir Lancelot. “I will leave my head and left side bare, and my left arm shall be bound behind me, and in this guise I will fight with you.” At this Sir Meliagraunce started to his feet, and cried, “My lord Arthur, take heed to this offer, for I will take it, therefore let him be bound and unarmed as he has said.” So the Knights disarmed Sir Lancelot, first his head and then his side, and his left hand was bound behind his back, in such a manner that he could not use his shield, and full many a Knight and lady marvelled that Sir Lancelot would risk himself so. And Sir Meliagraunce lifted his sword on high and would have smitten Sir Lancelot on his bare head, had he not leapt lightly to one side, and, before Sir Meliagraunce could right himself, Sir Lancelot had struck him so hard upon his helmet that his skull split in two, and there was nothing left to do but to carry his dead body from the field. And because the Knights of the Round Table begged to have him honourably buried, the King agreed thereto, and on his tomb mention was made of how he came by his death, and who slew him. After this Sir Lancelot was more cherished by the King and Queen than ever he was before.

Among the many Knights at Arthur’s Court who were the sons of Kings were Sir Mordred and Sir Agrawaine, who had three brothers, Sir Gawaine, Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth. And their mother was Queen of Orkney, sister to King Arthur. Now Sir Agrawaine and Sir Mordred had evil natures, and loved both to invent slanders and to repeat them. And at this time they were full of envy of the noble deeds Sir Lancelot had done, and how men called him the bravest Knight of the Table Round, and said that he was the friend of the King, and the sworn defender of the Queen. So they cast about how they might ruin him, and found the way by putting jealous thoughts into the mind of Arthur.

As was told in the tale of the marriage of Arthur, Queen Guenevere’s heart had gone out to Lancelot on the journey to the Court, and ever she loved to have him with her. This was known well to Sir Mordred, who watched eagerly for a chance to work her ill.

It came one day when Arthur proclaimed a hunt. Sir Mordred guessed that Sir Lancelot, who did not love hunting, would stay behind, and would spend the time holding talk with the Queen. Therefore he went to the King and began to speak evil of the Queen and Sir Lancelot. At first King Arthur would listen to nothing, but slowly his jealousy burned within him, and he let the ill words that accused the Queen of loving Sir Lancelot the best, sink into his mind, and told Sir Mordred and Sir Agrawaine that they might do their worst, and he would not meddle with them. But they let so many of their fellowship into the secret of their foul plot, that at last it came to the ears of Sir Bors, who begged Sir Lancelot not to go near the Queen that day, or harm would come of it. But Sir Lancelot answered that the Queen had sent for him, and that she was his liege lady, and never would he hold back when she summoned him to her presence. Therefore Sir Bors went heavily away. By ill fortune, Sir Lancelot only wore his sword under his great mantle, and scarcely had he passed inside the door when Sir Agrawaine and Sir Mordred, and twelve other Knights of the Table Round, all armed and ready for battle, cried loudly upon Sir Lancelot, that all the Court might hear.

“Madam,” said Sir Lancelot, “is there any armour within your chamber that I might cover my body withal, for if I was armed as they are I would soon crush them?”

“Alas!” replied the Queen, “I have neither sword nor spear nor armour, and how can you resist them? You will be slain and I shall be burnt. If you could only escape their hands, I know you would deliver me from danger.”

“It is grievous,” said Sir Lancelot, “that I who was never conquered in all my life should be slain for lack of armour.”

“Traitor Knight,” cried Sir Mordred again, “come out and fight us, for you are so sore beset that you cannot escape us.”

“Oh, mercy,” cried Sir Lancelot, “I may not suffer longer this shame and noise! For better were death at once than to endure this pain.” Then he took the Queen in his arms and kissed her, and said, “Most noble Christian Queen, I beseech you, as you have ever been my special good lady, and I at all times your true poor Knight, and as I never failed you in right or in wrong, since the first day that King Arthur made me Knight, that you will pray for my soul, if I be here slain. For I am well assured that Sir Bors, my nephew, and Sir Lavaine and many more, will rescue you from the fire, and therefore, mine own lady, comfort yourself whatever happens to me, and go with Sir Bors, my nephew, and you shall live like a Queen on my lands.”

“Nay, Lancelot,” said the Queen, “I will never live after your days, but if you are slain I will take my death as meekly as ever did any Christian Queen.”

“Well, Madam,” answered Lancelot, “since it is so, I shall sell my life as dear as I may, and a thousandfold I am more heavy for you than for myself.”

Therewith Sir Lancelot wrapped his mantle thickly round his arm, and stood beside the door, which the Knights without were trying to break in by aid of a stout wooden form.

“Fair Lords,” said Sir Lancelot, “leave this noise, and I will open the door, and you may do with me what you will.”

“Open it then,” answered they, “for well you know you cannot escape us, and we will save your life and bring you before King Arthur.” So Sir Lancelot opened the door and held it with his left hand, so that but one man could come in at once. Then came forward a strong Knight, Sir Colegrevance of Gore, who struck fiercely at Lancelot with his sword. But Sir Lancelot stepped on one side, that the blow fell harmless, and with his arm he gave Sir Colgrevance a buffet on the head so that he fell dead. And Sir Lancelot drew him into the chamber, and barred the door.

Hastily he unbuckled the dead Knight’s armour, and the Queen and her ladies put it on him, Sir Agrawaine and Sir Mordred ever calling to him the while, “Traitor Knight, come out of that chamber!” But Sir Lancelot cried to them all to go away and he would appear next morning before the King, and they should accuse him of what they would, and he would answer them, and prove his words in battle. “Fie on you, traitor,” said Sir Agrawaine, “we have you in our power, to save or to slay, for King Arthur will listen to our words, and will believe what we tell him.”

“As you like,” answered Sir Lancelot, “look to yourself,” and he flung open the chamber door, and strode in amongst them and killed Sir Agrawaine with his first blow, and in a few minutes the bodies of the other twelve Knights lay on the ground beside his, for no man ever withstood that buffet of Sir Lancelot’s. He wounded Sir Mordred also, so that he fled away with all his might. When the clamour of the battle was still, Sir Lancelot turned back to the Queen and said, “Alas, Madam, they will make King Arthur my foe, and yours also, but if you will come with me to my castle, I will save you from all dangers.”

“I will not go with you now,” answered the Queen, “but if you see to-morrow that they will burn me to death, then you may deliver me as you shall think best.”

“While I live I will deliver you,” said Sir Lancelot, and he left her and went back to his lodging. When Sir Bors, who was awaiting him, saw Sir Lancelot, he was gladder than he ever had been in his whole life before. “Mercy!” cried Sir Lancelot, “why you are all armed!”

“Sir,” answered Sir Bors, “after you had left us, I and your friends and your kinsmen were so troubled that we felt some great strife was at hand, and that perchance some trap had been laid for you. So we put on armour that we might help you whatever need you were in.” “Fair nephew,” said Lancelot, “but now I have been more hardly beset than ever I was in my life, and yet I escaped,” and he told them all that had happened. “I pray you, my fellows, that you will be of good courage and stand by me in my need, for war is come to us all.”

“Sir,” answered Sir Bors, “all is welcome that God sends us, and we have had much good with you and much fame, so now we will take the bad as we have taken the good.” And so said they all.

“I thank you for your comfort in my great distress,” replied Sir Lancelot, “and you, fair nephew, haste to the Knights who are in this place, and find who is with me and who is against me, for I would know my friends from my foes.”

“Sir,” said Sir Bors, “before seven of the clock in the morning you shall know.”

By seven o’clock, as Sir Bors had promised, many noble Knights stood before Sir Lancelot, and were sworn to his cause. “My lords,” said he, “you know well that since I came into this country I have given faithful service unto my lord King Arthur and unto my lady Queen Guenevere. Last evening my lady, the Queen, sent for me to speak to her, and certain Knights that were lying in wait for me cried ‘Treason,’ and much ado I had to escape their blows. But I slew twelve of them, and Sir Agrawaine, who is Sir Gawaine’s brother; and for this cause I am sure of mortal war, as these Knights were ordered by King Arthur to betray me, and therefore the Queen will be judged to the fire, and I may not suffer that she should be burnt for my sake.”

And Sir Bors answered Sir Lancelot that it was truly his part to rescue the Queen, as he had done so often before, and that if she was burned the shame would be his. Then they all took counsel together how the thing might best be done, and Sir Bors deemed it wise to carry her off to the Castle of Joyous Gard, and counselled that she should be kept there, a prisoner, till the King’s anger was past and he would be willing to welcome her back again. To this the other Knights agreed, and by the advice of Sir Lancelot they hid themselves in a wood close by the town till they saw what King Arthur would do. Meanwhile Sir Mordred, who had managed to escape the sword of Sir Lancelot, rode, wounded and bleeding, unto King Arthur, and told the King all that had passed, and how, of the fourteen Knights, he only was left alive. The King grieved sore at his tale, which Sir Mordred had made to sound as ill as was possible; for, in spite of all, Arthur loved Sir Lancelot. “It is a bitter blow,” he said, “that Sir Lancelot must be against me, and the fellowship of the Table Round is broken for ever, as many a noble Knight will go with him. And as I am the judge, the Queen will have to die, as she is the cause of the death of these thirteen Knights.”

“My lord Arthur,” said Sir Gawaine, “be not over-hasty; listen not to the foul tongue of Sir Mordred, who laid this trap for Sir Lancelot, that we all know to be the Queen’s own Knight, who has done battle for her when none else would. As for Sir Lancelot, he will prove the right on the body of any Knight living that shall accuse him of wrong—either him, or my lady Guenevere.”

“That I believe well,” said King Arthur, “for he trusts so much in his own might that he fears no man; and never more shall he fight for the Queen, for she must suffer death by the law. Put on, therefore, your best armour, and go with your brothers, Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth, and bring the Queen to the fire, there to have her judgment and suffer her death.”

“Nay, my lord, that I will never do,” cried Sir Gawaine; “my heart will never serve me to see her die, and I will never stand by and see so noble a lady brought to a shameful end.”

“Then,” said the King, “let your brothers Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth be there.”

“My lord,” replied Sir Gawaine, “I know well how loth they will be, but they are young and unable to say you nay.”

At this Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth spoke to King Arthur: “Sir, if you command us we will obey, but it will be sore against our will. And if we go we shall be dressed as men of peace, and wear no armour.”

“Make yourselves ready, then,” answered the King, “for I would delay no longer in giving judgment.”

“Alas!” cried Sir Gawaine, “that I should have lived to see this day;” and he turned and wept bitterly, and went into his chamber.

So the Queen was led outside the gates, and her rich dress was taken off, while her lords and ladies wrung their hands in grief, and few men wore armour, for in that day it was held that the presence of mail-clad Knights made death more shameful. Now among those present was one sent by Sir Lancelot, and when he saw the Queen’s dress unclasped, and the priest step forth to listen to her confession, he rode to warn Sir Lancelot that the hour had come. And suddenly there was heard a sound as of rushing horses, and Sir Lancelot dashed up to the fire, and all the Knights that stood around were slain, for few men wore armour. Sir Lancelot looked not where he struck, and Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth were found in the thickest of the throng. At last he reached the Queen, and, throwing a mantle over her, he caught her on to his saddle and rode away with her. Right thankful was the Queen at being snatched from the fire, and her heart was grateful to Sir Lancelot, who took her to his Castle of Joyous Gard, and many noble Knights and Kings had fellowship with them.

After King Arthur had given judgment for the Queen to die, he went back into his Palace of Westminster, where men came and told him how Sir Lancelot had delivered her, and of the death of his Knights, and in especial of Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth, and he swooned away from sorrow. “Alas!” he cried, when he recovered from his swoon, “alas! that a crown was ever on my head, for in these two days I have lost forty Knights and the fellowship of Sir Lancelot and his kinsmen, and never more will they be of my company. But I charge you that none tell Sir Gawaine of the death of his brothers, for I am sure that when he hears of Sir Gareth he will go out of his mind. Oh, why did Sir Lancelot slay them? for Sir Gareth loved Sir Lancelot more than any other man.”

“That is true,” answered some of the Knights, “but Sir Lancelot saw not whom he smote, and therefore were they slain.”

“The death of those two,” said Arthur, “will cause the greatest mortal war that ever was. I am sure that when Sir Gawaine knows Sir Gareth is slain he will never suffer me to rest till I have destroyed Sir Lancelot and all his kin, or till they have destroyed me. My heart was never so heavy as it is now, and far more grievous to me is the loss of my good Knights, than of my Queen; for Queens I might have in plenty, but no man had ever such a company of Knights, and it hurts me sore that Sir Lancelot and I should be at war. It is the ill will borne by Sir Agrawaine and Sir Mordred to Sir Lancelot that has caused all this sorrow.” Then one came to Sir Gawaine and told him that Sir Lancelot had borne off the Queen, and that twenty-four Knights had been slain in the combat. “I knew well he would deliver her,” said Sir Gawaine, “and in that, he has but acted as a Knight should and as I would have done myself. But where are my brethren? I marvel they have not been to seek me.”

“Truly,” said the man, “Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth are slain.”

“Heaven forbid any such thing,” returned Sir Gawaine. “I would not for all the world that that had happened, especially to my brother Sir Gareth.”

“He is slain,” said the man, “and it is grievous news.”

“Who slew him?” asked Sir Gawaine.

“Sir Lancelot slew them both,” answered the man.

“He cannot have slain Sir Gareth,” replied Sir Gawaine, “for my brother Gareth loved him better than me and all his brethren, and King Arthur too. And had Sir Lancelot desired my brother to go with him, he would have turned his back on us all. Therefore I can never believe that Sir Lancelot slew my brother.”

“Sir, it is in every one’s mouth,” said the man. At this Sir Gawaine fell back in a swoon and lay long as if he were dead. Then he ran to the King, crying, “O King Arthur, mine uncle, my good brother Sir Gareth is slain, and Sir Gaheris also,” and the King wept with him. At length Sir Gawaine said, “Sir, I will go and see my brother Sir Gareth.”

“You cannot do that,” returned the King, “for I have caused him to be buried with Sir Gaheris, as I knew well that the sight would cause you overmuch sorrow.”

“How came he, Sir Lancelot, to slay Sir Gareth?” asked Sir Gawaine; “mine own good lord, I pray you tell me, for neither Sir Gareth nor Sir Gaheris bore arms against him.”

“It is said,” answered the King, “that Sir Lancelot slew them in the thickest of the press and knew them not. Therefore let us think upon a plan to avenge their deaths.”

“My King, my lord and mine uncle,” said Sir Gawaine, “I swear to you by my knighthood that from this day I will never rest until Sir Lancelot or I be slain. And I will go to the world’s end till I find him.”

“You need not seek him so far,” answered the King, “for I am told that Sir Lancelot will await me and you in the Castle of Joyous Gard, and many people are flocking to him. But call your friends together, and I will call mine;” and the King ordered letters to be sent throughout all England summoning his Knights and vassals to the siege of Joyous Gard. The Castle of Joyous Gard was strong, and after fifteen weeks had passed no breach had been made in its walls. And one day, at the time of harvest, Sir Lancelot came forth on a truce, and the King and Sir Gawaine challenged him to do battle.

“Nay,” answered Sir Lancelot, “with yourself I will never strive, and I grieve sorely that I have slain your Knights. But I was forced to it, for the saving of my life and that of my lady the Queen. And except yourself, my lord, and Sir Gawaine, there is no man that shall call me traitor but he shall pay for it with his body. As to Queen Guenevere, ofttimes, my lord, you have consented in the heat of your passion that she should be burnt and destroyed, and it fell to me to do battle for her, and her enemies confessed their untruth, and acknowledged her innocent. And at such times, my lord Arthur, you loved me and thanked me when I saved your Queen from the fire, and promised ever to be my good lord, for I have fought for her many times in other quarrels than my own. Therefore, my gracious lord, take your Queen back into your grace again.”

To these words of Sir Lancelot’s King Arthur answered nothing, but in his heart he would fain have made peace with Sir Lancelot, but Sir Gawaine would not let him. He reproached Sir Lancelot bitterly for the deaths of his brothers and kinsmen, and called Sir Lancelot a [craven] and other ill names that he would not fight with King Arthur. So at the last Sir Lancelot’s patience and courtesy failed him, and he told them that the next morning he would give them battle.

The heart of Sir Gawaine leaped with joy when he heard these words of Sir Lancelot, and he summoned all his friends and his kinsfolk, and bade them watch well Sir Lancelot, and to slay him if a chance offered. But he knew not that Sir Lancelot had bidden the Knights of his following in no wise to touch King Arthur or Sir Gawaine. And when the dawn broke a great host marched out of the Castle of Joyous Gard, with Sir Lancelot at the head, and Sir Bors and [Sir Lionel] commanding on either side. All that day they fought, and sometimes one army seemed to be gaining, and sometimes the other. Many times King Arthur drew near Sir Lancelot, and would have slain him, and Sir Lancelot suffered him, and would not strike again. But the King was unhorsed by Sir Bors, and would have been slain but for Sir Lancelot, who stayed his hand. “My lord Arthur,” he said, “for God’s love, stop this strife. I cannot strike you, so you will gain no fame by it, though your friends never cease from trying to slay me. My lord, remember what I have done in many places, and how evil is now my reward.” Then when King Arthur was on his horse again he looked on Sir Lancelot, and tears burst from his eyes, thinking of the great courtesy that was in Sir Lancelot more than in any other man. He sighed to himself, saying softly, “Alas! that ever this war began,” and rode away, while the battle ended for that time and the dead were buried.

But Sir Gawaine would not suffer the King to make peace, and they fought on, now in one place, and now in another, till the Pope heard of the strife and sent a noble clerk, the Bishop of Rochester, to charge the King to make peace with Sir Lancelot, and to take back unto him his Queen, the Lady Guenevere. Now, the King, as has been said, would fain have followed the Pope’s counsel and have accorded with Sir Lancelot, but Sir Gawaine would not suffer him. However, as to the Queen Sir Gawaine said nothing; and King Arthur gave audience to the Bishop, and swore on his great seal that he would take back the Queen as the Pope desired, and that if Sir Lancelot brought her he should come safe and go safe. So the Bishop rode to Joyous Gard and showed Sir Lancelot what the Pope had written and King Arthur had answered, and told him of the perils which would befall him if he withheld the Queen. “It was never in my thought,” answered Sir Lancelot, “to withhold the Queen from King Arthur, but as she would have been dead for my sake it was my part to save her life, and to keep her from danger till better times came. And I thank God that the Pope has made peace, and I shall be a thousand times gladder to bring her back than I was to take her away. Therefore ride to the King, and say that in eight days I myself will bring the Lady Guenevere unto him.” So the Bishop departed, and came to the King at Carlisle, and told him what Sir Lancelot had answered, and tears burst from the King’s eyes once more.

A goodly host of a hundred Knights rode eight days later from the Castle of Joyous Gard; every Knight was clothed in green velvet, and held in his hand a branch of [olive], and bestrode a horse with trappings down to his heels. And behind the Queen were four and twenty gentlewomen clad in green likewise, while twelve esquires attended on Sir Lancelot. He and the Queen wore dresses of white and gold tissue, and their horses were clothed in housings of the same, set with precious stones and pearls; and no man had ever gazed on such a noble pair, as they rode from Joyous Gard to Carlisle. When they reached the castle, Sir Lancelot sprang from his horse and helped the Queen from hers, and led her to where King Arthur sat, with Sir Gawaine and many lords around him. He kneeled down, and the Queen kneeled with him, and many Knights wept as though it had been their own kin. But Arthur sat still and said nothing. At that Sir Lancelot rose, and the Queen likewise, and, looking straight at the King, he spoke—

“Most noble King, I have brought to you my lady the Queen, as right requires; and time hath been, my lord Arthur, that you have been greatly pleased with me when I did battle for my lady your Queen. And full well you know that she has been put to great wrong ere this, and it seems to me I had more cause to deliver her from this fire, seeing she would have been burnt for my sake.”

“Well, well, Sir Lancelot,” said the King, “I have given you no cause to do to me as you have done, for I have held you dearer than any of my Knights.” But Sir Gawaine would not suffer the King to listen to anything Sir Lancelot said, and told him roughly that while one of them lived peace could never be made, and desired on behalf of the King that in fifteen days he should be gone out of the country. And still King Arthur said nothing, but suffered Sir Gawaine to talk as he would; and Sir Lancelot took farewell of him and of the Queen, and rode, grieving sorely, out of the Court, and sailed to his lands beyond the sea.

Though the Queen was returned again, and Sir Lancelot was beyond the sea, the hate of Sir Gawaine towards him was in no way set at rest, but he raised a great host and persuaded the King to follow him. And after many sieges and long fighting it befell upon a day, that Sir Gawaine came before the gates of Sir Lancelot’s town, armed at all points, and sitting on a noble horse, with a great spear in his hand. And he cried with a great voice, “Where art thou now, thou false traitor, Sir Lancelot? Why hidest within holes and walls like a coward?”

At this language Sir Lancelot’s kin and his Knights drew round him, and they said, “Now must you defend yourself like a Knight or be shamed for ever. You have slept already too long and suffered overmuch.”

Then Sir Lancelot bade them saddle his strongest horse and fetch his arms, and he spoke aloud to King Arthur.

“My lord Arthur and noble King, I am right sad for your sake, for had I been vengeful then could I have met you in the field. But for half a year I have forborne to come near you, and now I can endure it no longer.”

Then Sir Gawaine said, “Sir Lancelot, if thou darest do battle, leave thy babbling and come forth, and let us ease our hearts.” Then Sir Lancelot and his noble Knights came out of the city, and their number was so great that Arthur marvelled, and sorrowed that he and Sir Lancelot should be estranged. Then Sir Gawaine and Sir Lancelot rode for each other, and at the word came together with a great shock, and smote each other in the middle of their shields. But the Knights were so strong, and their spears so big, that the horses could not endure their buffets, and fell to the earth. Then they fought together, and struck each other on their sides so that the blood burst forth in many places.

Now, Sir Gawaine, by a gift from a holy man, grew thrice as strong in the three hours before noon than at any other time, and this being the hour of the combat, Sir Gawaine won great honour. For his sake the King had all battles before him take place just before noon, and few knew of this advantage save King Arthur.

Thus Sir Lancelot fought with Sir Gawaine, and felt his might increase and wondered, dreading that he might be shamed. And he thought that this must be a fiend and no earthly man, so he covered himself with his shield, and kept his might and breath until the three hours were past and Sir Gawaine had no more than his own might. Then Sir Lancelot doubled his strokes, and gave him a buffet on the helmet, and Sir Gawaine fell down on his side. And Sir Lancelot returned to his city, and Sir Gawaine was carried to the King’s pavilion. While he lay wounded, news came from England that caused King Arthur to give up his war with Sir Lancelot, and return in haste to his own country.