“I will willingly,” said he; “for as ye see I have no shield as yet.”
So on the morrow they arose and heard mass, and afterwards King Bagdemagus asked where the shield was kept. Then a monk led him behind the altar, where the shield hung, as white as any snow, and with a blood-red cross in the midst of it.
“Sir,” said the monk, “this shield should hang from no knight’s neck unless he be the worthiest in the world. I warn ye, therefore, knights; consider well before ye dare to touch it.”
“Well,” said King Bagdemagus, “I know well that I am far from the best knight in all the world, yet shall I make the trial;” and so he took the shield, and bore it from the monastery.
“If it please thee,” said he to Sir Galahad, “abide here till thou hearest how I speed.”
“I will abide thee,” said he.
Then taking with him a squire who might return with any tidings to Sir Galahad, the king rode forth; and before he had gone two miles, he saw in a fair valley a hermitage, and a knight who came forth dressed in white armour, horse and all, who rode fast against him. When they encountered, Bagdemagus brake his spear upon the White Knight’s shield, but was himself struck through the shoulder with a sore wound, and hurled down from his horse. Then the White Knight alighting, came and took the white shield from the king, and said, “Thou hast done great folly, for this shield ought never to be borne but by one who hath no living peer.” And turning to the squire, he said, “Bear thou this shield to the good knight, Sir Galahad, and greet him well from me.”
“In whose name shall I greet him?” said the squire.