 CHAPTER XIII. After this affair, Tristram was banished from the kingdom, and a zoo shut up in a tower which stood on the bank of a river. Tristram could not resolve to depart without some further communication with his beloved, so he concealed himself in the forest till at last he contrived to attract her attention, by means of twigs which he curiously peeled, and sent down the stream under her window. By this means many secret interviews were obtained. Tristram dwelt in the forest, sustaining himself by gain, which the dog Houdain ran down for him. For this faithful animal was unequaled in the chase, and knew so well his master's wish for concealment that in the pursuit of his game he never barked. At length, Tristram departed, but left Houdain with his zoo, as a remembranceer of him. Sir Tristram wandered through various countries, achieving the most perilous enterprises and covering himself with glory, yet unhappy at the separation from his beloved zoo. At length, King Mark's territory was invaded by a neighboring chieftain, and he was forced to summon his nephew to his aid. Tristram obeyed the call, put himself at the head of his uncle's vassals, and drove the enemy out of the country. Mark was full of gratitude, and Tristram restored to favor and to the society of his beloved zoo, seemed at the summit of happiness. But his sad reverse was at hand. Tristram had brought with him a friend named Faradun, son of the King of Brittany. This young knight saw Queen Azud, and could not resist her charms. Knowing the love of his friend for the Queen, and that the love was returned, Faradun concealed his own, until his health failed, and he feared he was drawing near his end. He then wrote to the beautiful Queen that he was dying for love of her. The gentle Azud, in a moment of pity for the friend of Tristram, returned him an answer so kind and compassionate that it restored him to life. A few days afterwards Tristram found this letter. The most terrible jealousy took possession of his soul. He would have slain Faradun, who with difficulty made his escape. Then Tristram mounted his horse and rode to the forest, where for ten days he took no rest nor food. At length he was found by a damsel lying almost dead by the brink of a fountain. She recognized him, and tried in vain to rouse his attention. At last recollecting his love for music, she went and got her harp and played thereon. Tristram was roused from his reverie. Tears flowed. He breathed more freely. He took the harp from the maiden, and sung this lay, with a voice broken with sobs. Sweet I sang in former days, kind love perfected my lays. Now my art alone displays the woe that on my being prays. Charming love, delicious power, worshipped from my earliest hour. Thou who life on all dust shower, love my life, thou dust of hour. In death's hour I beg of thee, isooed dearest enemy. Thou who earth's couldn't kinder be, when I'm gone forget not me. On my gravestone passers by, oft will read as though I lie. Never wit and love could buy, with Tristram yet she let him die. Tristram, having finished his lay, wrote it off and gave it to the damsel, conjuring her to present it to the queen. Meanwhile, Queen Azud was inconsolable at the absence of Tristram. She discovered that it was caused by the fatal letter which she had written to Faradun. Innocent, but in despair at the sad effects of her letter, she wrote another to Faradun, charging him never to see her again. The unhappy lover obeyed this cruel decree. He plunged into the forest, and died of grief and love in a hermit's cell. Azud passed her days in lamenting the absence and unknown fate of Tristram. One day her jealous husband, having entered her chamber unperceived, overheard her singing the following lay. My voice too piteous wail is bent, my harp too notes of languishment. I'll love delight some days be meant, for happier wits with heart's content. Ah, Tristram, far away from me, art thou from restless anguish free? Ah, could stout so one moment be, from her who so much love a thee? The king hearing these words burst forth in a rage, but Azud was too wretched to fear his violence. You have heard me, she said. I confess it all. I love Tristram, and always shall love him. Without doubt he is dead, and died for me. I no longer wish to live. The blow that shall finish my misery will be most welcome. The king was moved at the distress of the fair Azud, and perhaps the idea of Tristram's death tended to ally his wrath. He left the queen in charge of her women, commanding them to take a special care, at least her despair should lead her to do harm to herself. Tristram, meanwhile, distracted as he was, rendered a most important service to the shepherds by slaying a gigantic robber named Tallis, who was in the habit of plundering their flocks and writhing their cottages. The shepherds, in their gratitude to Tristram, bore him in triumph to King Mark to have him bestow on him a suitable reward. No wonder Mark failed to recognize in the half-clad wild man before him his nephew Tristram. But grateful for the service the unknown had rendered, he ordered him to be well taken care of, and gave him in charge to the queen and her women. Under such care Tristram rapidly recovered his serenity and his health, so that the romance her tells us he became handsomer than ever. King Mark's jealousy revived, with Tristram's health and good looks, and, in spite of his debt of gratitude so lately increased, he again banished him from the court. Sir Tristram left Cornwall and proceeded into the land of Logria, England, in quest of adventures. One day he entered a wide forest. The sound of a little bell showed him that some inhabitant was near. He followed the sound and found a hermit who informed him that he was in the forest of Arnantis, belonging to the fairy Vivian, the lady of the lake, who smitten with love for King Arthur had found means to entice him to this forest, whereby enchantments she held him a prisoner, having deprived him of all memory of who and what he was. The hermit informed him that all the knights of the round table were out in search of the king, and that he, Tristram, was now in the scene of the most grand and important adventures. This was enough to animate Tristram in the search. He had not wandered far before he encountered a knight of Arthur's court, who proved to be Sir Kay from Cineshall, who demanded of him once he came. Tristram answering from Cornwall, Sir Kay did not let slip the opportunity of a joke at the expense of the Cornish knight. Tristram chose to leave him in his air, and even confirmed him in it. For meeting some other knights, Tristram declined to just with them. They spent the night together at an abbey, where Tristram submitted patiently to all their jokes. The Cineshall gave the word to his companions that they should set out early next day and intercept the Cornish knight on his way, and enjoy the amusement of seeing his fight when they should insist on running a tilt with him. Tristram next morning found himself alone. He put on his armor and set out to continue his quest. He soon saw before him the Cineshall and the three knights, who barred the way and insisted on a just. Tristram excused himself a long time. At last he reluctantly took his stand. He encountered them one after the other and overthrew all four, man and horse, and then rode off, bidding them not to forget their friend the knight of Cornwall. Tristram had not ridden far when he met a damsel who cried out, Ah, my lord, hasten forward, and prevent a horrid treason. Tristram flew to her assistance, and soon reached a spot where he beheld a knight whom three others had borne to the ground and were unlacing his helmet in order to cut off his head. Tristram flew to the rescue, and slew with one stroke of his lance one of the assailants. The knight, recovering his feet, sacrificed another to his vengeance, and the third made his escape. The rescued knight then raised the visor of his helmet, and a long white beard fell down upon his breast. The majesty and venerable air of this knight made Tristram suspect that it was none other than Arthur himself, and the prince confirmed his conjecture. Tristram would have knelt before him, but Arthur received him in his arms and inquired his name and country. But Tristram declined to disclose them, on the plea that he was now on a quest requiring secrecy. At this moment the damsel who had brought Tristram to the rescue darted forward and, seizing the king's hand, drew from his finger a ring, the gift of the fairy, and by that act dissolved the enchantment. Arthur, having recovered his reason and his memory, offered to Tristram to attach him to his court, and to confer honors and dignities upon him. But Tristram declined all, and only consented to accompany him till he should see him safe in the hands of his knights. Soon after Hector de Marys wrote up and saluted the king, who on his part introduced him to Tristram as one of the bravest of his knights. Tristram took leave of the king and his faithful follower and continued his quest. We cannot follow Tristram through all the adventures which filled this epoch of his history. Suffice it to say he fulfilled on all occasions the duty of a true knight, rescuing the oppressed, redressing wrongs, abolishing evil customs, and suppressing injustice, thus by constant action endeavoring to lighten the pains of absence from her he loved. In the meantime, Izzoud, separated from her dear Tristram, passed her days in languor and regret. At length she could no longer resist the desire to hear some news of her lover. She wrote a letter and sent it by one of her damsels, niece of her faithful Branglain. One day Tristram, weary with his exertions, had dismounted and laid himself down by the side of a fountain and fallen asleep. The damsel of the queen Izzoud arrived at the same fountain and recognized past Zebriel, the horse of Tristram, and presently perceived his master asleep. He was thin and pale, showing evident marks of the pain he suffered in separation from his beloved. She awakened him and gave him the letter which she bore, and Tristram enjoyed the pleasure, so sweet to a lover, of hearing from and talking about the object of his affections. He prayed the damsel to postpone her return till after the magnificent tournament which Arthur had proclaimed should have taken place, and conducted her to the castle of Persides, a brave and loyal knight, who received her with great consideration. Tristram conducted the damsel of Queen Izzoud to the tournament, and had her placed in the balcony among the ladies of the queen. He glanced and saw the stately galleries. Among damsel, each through worship of their queen, white-robed in honor of the stainless child, and some with scattered jewels like a bank, of maiden snow mingled with sparks of fire, he looked but once and veiled his eyes again. The last tournament. He then joined the tourney. Nothing could exceed his strength and valor. Launcelot admired him, and by a secret presentiment declined to dispute the honor of the day with a night so gallant and so skillful. Arthur descended from the balcony to greet the conqueror, but the modest and devoted Tristram, content with having borne off the prize in the sight of the messenger of Izzoud, made his escape with her and disappeared. The next day the tourney reccomends. Tristram assumed different armor that he might not be known, but he was soon detected by the terrible blows that he gave. Arthur and Guinevere had no doubt that it was the same knight who had borne off the prize of the day before. Arthur's gallant spirit was roused. After Launcelot of the lake and Sir Guine, he was accounted the best knight of the round table. He went privately and armed himself, and came into the tourney in undistinguished armor. He ran adjust with Tristram, whom he shook in his seat, but Tristram, who did not know him, threw him out of the saddle. Arthur recovered himself, and content with having made proof of the stranger knight, they'd Launcelot finish the adventure and vindicate the honor of the round table. Sir Launcelot at the bidding of the monarch assailed Tristram, whose lance was already broken in former encounters. But the law of this sort of combat was that the knight after having broken his lance must fight with his sword, and must not refuse to meet with his shield the lance of his antagonist. Tristram met Launcelot's charge upon his shield, which that terrible lance could not fail to pierce. It inflicted a wound upon Tristram's side, and breaking left the iron in the wound. But Tristram, also with his sword, smote so vigorously on Launcelot's cask that he cleft it, and wounded his head. The wound was not deep, but the blood flowed into his eyes and blinded him for a moment, and Tristram, who thought himself mortally wounded, retired from the field. Launcelot declared to the king that he had never received such a blow in his life before. Tristram hastened to Governail, his squire, who drew forth the iron, bound up the wound, and gave him immediate ease. Tristram, after the tournament, kept retired in his tent, but Arthur, with the consent of all the knights of the round table, decreed him the honors of the second day. But it was no longer a secret that the victor of the two days was the same individual, and Governail, being questioned, confirmed the suspicions of Launcelot and Arthur that it was no other than Sir Tristram of Lyonus, the nephew of the king of Cornwall. King Arthur, who desired to reward his distinguished valour, and knew that his uncle Mark had ungratefully banished him, would have eagerly availed himself of the opportunity to attach Tristram to his court, all the knights of the round table declaring with acclamation that it would be impossible to find a more worthy companion. But Tristram had already departed in search of adventures, and the damsel of Queen Zood returned to her mistress. Chapter 14 From Bulfinch the Age of Chivalry This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Age of Chivalry by Thomas Bulfinch Chapter 14 Sir Tristram's Battle with Sir Launcelot Sir Tristram rode through a forest and saw ten men fighting, and one man did battle against nine. So he rode to the knights and cried to them, bidding them cease their battle, for they did themselves great shame, so many knights to fight against one. Then answered the master of the knights, his name was Sir Brose, son Spiti, who was at that time the most villainous knight living. Sir Knight, what have you to do to meddle with us? If you be wise, depart on your way as you came, for this knight shall not escape us. That were pity, said Sir Tristram, that so good a knight should be slain so cordially, therefore I warn you I will sucker him with all my poisons. Then Sir Tristram alighted off his horse, because they were on food, that they should not slay his horse, and he smote on the right hand, and on the left so vigorously, that well nigh at every stroke he struck down a knight. At last they fled, with Brose and Spiti, into the tower, and shot Sir Tristram without the gate. Then Sir Tristram returned back to the rescued knight, and found him sitting under a tree, sore wounded. Fair knight, said he, how is it with you? Sir Knight, said Sir Palamides, for he it was. I thank you of your great goodness, for you have rescued me from death. What is your name, said Sir Tristram? He said, my name is Sir Palamides. Say you so, said Sir Tristram. Now know that you are the man in the world that I most hate. Therefore make thee ready, for I will do battle with thee. What is your name, said Sir Palamides? My name is Sir Tristram, your mortal enemy. It may be so, said Sir Palamides, but you have done over much for me this day, that I should fight with you. Moreover, it will be no honour for you to have to do with me, for you are fresh, and I am wounded. Therefore, if you will needs have to do with me, assign me a day, and I shall meet you without fail. You say well, said Sir Tristram, now I assign you to meet me in the meadow by the river of Camelot, where Merlion set the monument. So they were agreed, and took their ways diverse. Sir Tristram passed through a great forest into a plain, till he came to a priory, and there he reposed him with the good man six days. Then departed Sir Tristram and rode straight into Camelot to the monument of Merlion, and there he looked about him for Sir Palamides, and he perceived a seemingly knight who came riding against him all in white with a covered shield. When he came nice Sir Tristram said aloud, Welcome Sir Knight, and well and truly have you kept your promise. Since I made ready their shields and spears, and came together with all the might of their horses, so fiercely that both the horses and the knights fell to the earth, and as soon as they might say quitted their horses and struck together with bright swords as men of might, and each wounded the other wonderfully sore, so that the blood ran out upon the grass. Thus they fought for the space of four hours, and never one would speak to the other one ward. Then at last spake the white knight and said, Sir, though quite as wonderful well as ever I saw Knight, therefore, if it please you, tell me your name. Why dost thou ask my name, said Sir Tristram? Art thou not Sir Palamides? No, fair Knight, said he, I am Sir Lancelot of the Lake. Alas, said Sir Tristram, what have I done? For you are the man of the world as I love best. Fair Knight, said Sir Lancelot, tell me your name. Truly, said he, my name is Sir Tristram de Leonis. Alas, Alas, Sir Lancelot, what adventure has befalling me? And therewith Sir Lancelot knew down and yielded him up his sword, and Sir Tristram knew down and yielded him up his sword, and so either gave others the degree. And then they both went to the stone, and set them down upon it, and took off their helms, and each kissed the other a hundred times. And then anon they rode toward Camelot, and on the way they met with Sir Gavain and Sir Gaharis, that had made promise to Arthur never to come again to the court, till they had brought Sir Tristram with them. Return again, said Sir Lancelot, for your quest is done, for I have met with Sir Tristram. Lo, here he is in his own person. Then was Sir Gavain glad, and said to Sir Tristram, you are welcome. With this came King Arthur, and when he wished there was Sir Tristram, he ran unto him, and took him by the hand, and said, Sir Tristram, you are as welcome as any night that ever came to the court. Then Sir Tristram told the King how he came with the other, for to have had to do with Sir Palamedes, and how he had rescued him from Sir Bruce since Petit, and the Nine Knights. Then King Arthur took Sir Tristram by the hand, and went to the table round, and Queen Quenever came, and many ladies with her, and all the ladies said with one voice, welcome Sir Tristram. Welcome, said the Knights, welcome, said Arthur, for one of the best of Knights, and the gentlest of the world, and the men of most worship, for of all manner of hunting so bears the prize, and of all measures of blowing so art the beginning, and of all the terms of hunting and hawking you are the inventor, and of all instruments of music you are the best skilled. Therefore, gentle knight, said Arthur, you are welcome to this court. And then King Arthur made Sir Tristram night of the table round, with great nobly and feasting as can be thought. Sir Tristram as a sportsman. Tristram is often alluded to by the Romansers as the great authority and model in all matters, relating to the Chase. In the fiery Queen, Tristram, in answer to the inquiries of Sir Calidor, informs him of his name and parentage and concludes, All which my days I have not ludely spent, nor spilled the blossom of my tender years, in idles, but as was convenient have trained being with many noble fairs, in gentle thieves, and such like seemly leers. Amongst which my most delight has always been to hunt the salvage Chase amongst my peers, of all the trangas in the forest green, of which none is to me unknown that yet was seen. Ne is their hawk, which mantles on the perch, whether high towing or accosting low, but I as a measure of her flight do search, and all her prey, and all her diet know, such be our joys which in these forests grow. End of Chapter 14 The Age of Chivalry Chapter 15 From both inch the age of chivalry. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Age of Chivalry by Thomas Bullfinch Chapter 15 The Round Table The famous enchanter Merlin had exerted all his skill in fabricating the round table of the seeds which surrounded it he had constructed thirteen in memory of the thirteen apostles. Twelve of these seeds only could be occupied, and they only by nights of the highest fame. The thirteenth represented the seed of the traitor Judas. It remained always empty. It was called the perilous seed, ever since a rash and haughty serocene night had dared to place himself in it, when the earth opened and swallowed him up. In our great hawk there stood a vacant chair, fashioned by Merlin ere he passed away, and carved in the strange figures, and in and out the figures like a serpent ran a scroll of letters in a tongue no man could read. And Merlin called it the Siege perilous, perilous for good and ill. For there he said no man could sit, but he should lose himself, the holy grail. A magic power wrote upon each seed the name of the night who was entitled to sit in it. No one could succeed to a vacant seat unless he surpassed in valour and glorious deeds the night who had occupied it before him. Without this qualification he would be violently repelled by a hidden force. Thus proof was made of all those who presented themselves to replace any companions of the order who had fallen. One of the principal seats set of Moround of Ireland had been vacant ten years, and his name still remained over it ever since, the time when that distinguished champion fell beneath the sword of Sir Tristram. Arthur now took Tristram by the hand and led him to that seat. Immediately the most melodious sounds were heard, an exquisite perfume filled the place. The name of Moround disappeared, and that of Tristram blazed forth in light. The rare modesty of Tristram had now to be subjected to a severe task. For the clerks charged with the duty of preserving the annals of the Round Table attended, and he was required by the law his order to declare what feats of arms he had accomplished to entitle him to take that seat. The ceremony being ended, Tristram received the congratulations of all his companions. Sir Lancelot and Genever took the occasion to speak to him of the fair Izzode, and to express their wish that some happy chance might bring her to the Kingdom of Loyagria. While Tristram was thus honoured and caressed at the court of King Arthur, the most gloomy and malignant jealousy harassed the soul of Mark. He could not look upon Izzode without remembering that she loved Tristram, and the good fortune of his nephew goaged him to thoughts of vengeance. He at last resolved to go disguised into the Kingdom of Loyagria, attack Tristram by steels, and put him to death. He took with him two knights, brought up in his court, who he thought were devoted to him, and not willing to leave Izzode behind, named two of her maidens to attend her, together with her faithful brainvane, and made them accompany him. Having arrived in the neighborhood of Camelot, Mark imparted his plan to his two knights, but they rejected it with horror. Nay, more, they declared that they would no longer remain in his service and left him, giving him reason to suppose that they should repair to the court to accuse him before Arthur. It was necessary for Mark to meet and rebute their accusation. So, leaving Izzode in Ann Abbey, he pursued his way alone to Camelot. Mark had not ridden far when he encountered a party of knights of Arthur's court, and would have avoided them, for he knew their habit of challenging to adjust every stranger knight whom they met. But it was too late. They had seen his armor and recognized him as a Cornish knight, and at once resolved to have some sport with him. It happened they had with them, the genet, King Arthur's fool, who, though deformed and weak of body, was not wanting in courage. The knights as Mark approached laid their plan that the genet should personate Sir Lancelot of the lake and challenge the Cornish knight. They kept him in armor belonging to one of their number who was ill, and sent him forward to the crosserhood to defy the strange knight. Mark, who saw that his antigenist was by no means formidable in appearance, was not disinclined to the combat. But when the dwarf rode towards him, calling out that he was Sir Lancelot of the lake, his fears prevailed. He put spurs to his horse and rode away at full speed, pursued by the shouts and laughter of the party. Meanwhile Isolde, remaining at the abbey with her faceful brainvane, found her only amusement, invoking occasionally in a forest adjoining the abbey. There on the brink of a fountain girdle with trees. She thought of her love and sometimes joined her voice and her harp in laze reviving the memory of its pains or pleasures. One day the kind of knight bruce the pitiless, heard her voice, concealed himself and drew near. She sang, sweet silence, shadowy bower and verdant lair, your court-metrable spirit to repose. Whilst I, such dear remembrance rises there, awaken every echo with my woes. Within these woods by nature's hand arrayed, a fountain springs and feeds the southern flowers. Ah, how my groans do all its murmurs aid. How my sad eyes do swell it with their showers. What does my night the while, to him is given a double need? In love and arms and prize, him's round table elevates to heaven. Tristram, ah me, he hears not his audus cries. Bruce the pitiless, who like most other caitiffs, had felt the weight of Tristram's arm and hated him accordingly. Adhering his name, breathed forth by the beautiful song stress, impaled by a double impulse, rushed forth from his concealment, and laid hands on his victim. Isolde fainted and Brengvain filled the air with her shrieks. Bruce carried Isolde to the place where he had led his horse, but the animal had got away from his brittle and was at some distance. He was obliged to lay down his fair burden and go in pursuit of his horse. Just then a night came up, drawn by the cries of Brengvain, and demanded the cause of her distress. She could not speak, but pointed to her mistress, lying insensible on the ground. Bruce had by this time returned, and the cries of Brengvain renewed at seeing him, sufficiently showed the stranger the cause of the distress. Tristram spurred his horse towards Bruce, who, not unprepared, ran to the encounter. Bruce was unhorsed and lay motionless pretending to be dead. But when the stranger knight left him to attend to the distressed damsels, he mounted his horse and made his escape. The knight, now approached Isolde, gently raised her head, threw aside the golden hair which covered her countenance, gazed her on for an instant, uttered a cry, and fell back insensible. Brengvain came, her cares soon restored her mistress to life, and they then turned their attention to the fallen warrior. They raised his visor and discovered the countenance of Sir Tristram. Isolde threw herself on the body of her lover and bedewed his face with her tears. Their warmth revived the night, and Tristram on awaking found himself in the arms of his dear Isolde. It was the law of their own table that each night after his admission should pass the next ten days in quest of adventures, during which time his companions might meet him in disguised armor and try their strength with him. Tristram had now been out seven days, and in that time had encountered many of the best knights of their own table, and acquitted himself with honour. During the remaining three days Isolde remained at the Abbey under his protection, and then set out with her maidens escorted by Sir Tristram to rejoin King Mark at the court of Camelot. This happy journey was one of the brightest epics in the lives of Tristram and Isolde. He celebrated it by a lay upon the harp in a peculiar measure. The watch of the French gives the name of Tréolette. With fair Isolde and with love, ah, how sweet the life I lead, how blessed forever is us to row, with fair Isolde and with love, as she wills I live and move, and cloudless days today succeed, with fair Isolde and with love, ah, how sweet the life is led. Journeying on from break of day, feel you not fatigued, my fair. Young green turf invites to play, journeying on from day to day. I'll lead us to that shade away, where it butters numbers there. Journeying on from break of day, feel you not fatigued, my fair. They arrived at Camelot, where Sin Launcelot received the most cordially. Isolde was introduced to King Arthur and Queen Gwenevere, who welcomed her as a sister. As King Mark was held in arrest under the accusation of the two Cornish knights, Queen Isolde could not rejoin her husband, and Sir Launcelot placed his castle of La Joie's guard at the disposal of his friends, who there took up their abode. King Mark, who found himself obliged to confess the truth of the charge against him, or to clear himself by combat with his accusers, preferred the former and King Arthur, as his crime had not been perpetrated, remitted the penalty, only in joining upon him under pain of his signal displeasure, to lay aside all thoughts of vengeance against his nephew. In the presence of the King and his court, all parties were formally reconciled. Mark and his Queen departed for their home, and Tristram remained at Arthur's court. End of chapter 15 The Age of Chevalry Chapter 16 From Bullfinch The Age of Chevalry This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Age of Chevalry by Thomas Bullfinch Chapter 16 Sir Palamedes While Sir Tristram and the fair Isolde abode, yet at La Joie's guard, Sir Tristram rode force one day without armour, having no weapon but his spear and his sword. And as he rode he came to a place where he saw two knights in battle, and one of them had gotten the better and the other lay overthrown. The knight who had the better was Sir Palamedes. When Sir Palamedes knew Sir Tristram, he cried out, Sir Tristram, now we be meet, and ere we depart we will redress our old wrongs. As for that, said Sir Tristram, there never yet was Christian man that might make his boast that I ever fled from him, and those that art a serocene shall never say that of me. And there was Sir Tristram made his horse to run, and with all his might came stride upon Sir Palamedes and broke his spear upon him. Then he drew his sword and struck at Sir Palamedes six great strokes upon his helm. Sir Palamedes saw that Sir Tristram had not his armor on, and he marveled at his rushness and his great folly, and said to himself, If I meet and slay him, I am shamed were so over a go. Then Sir Tristram cried out and said, Though covered night, why will though not do battle with me? Perhaps when no doubt I shall endure all thy malice. Ah, Sir Tristram, said Sir Palamedes, though knowest I may not fight with thee for shame, for though are here naked, and I am armed, now I require that thou answer me a question that I shall ask you. Tell me what it is, said Sir Tristram. I put the case, said Palamedes, that you were well armed, and I naked as ye be. What would you do to me now? Why, your true knighthood. Ah, said Sir Tristram, now I understand thee well, Sir Palamedes, and as God blessed me, what I shall say shall not be said for fear that I have of thee. But if it were so, so show this depart from me, for I would not have to do with thee. No more will I with thee, said Sir Palamedes, and therefore ride forth on thy way. As for that I may choose, said Sir Tristram, either to ride or to abide. But, Sir Palamedes, I marvel at one thing, that though art so good a knight, yet that though will not be christened. As for that, said Sir Palamedes, I may not yet be christened, for a woe which I made many years ago. Yet in my heart I believe in our saviour and his mild mother, Mary, but I have yet one battle to do, and when that is done I will be christened with a good will. By my head, said Sir Tristram, as for that one battle, though shall seek it no longer, for yonder is a knight whom you have smitten down. Now help me to be clothed in his armor, and I will soon fulfil thy woe. As ye will, said Sir Palamedes, so shall it be. So they rode both on to that knight, that sat on a bank, and Sir Tristram saluted him, and he for very saluted him again. Sir, said Sir Tristram, I pray you to lend me your whole armor, for I am unarmed, and I must do battle with this knight. Sir, said the Horde knight, you shall have it with a right good will. Then Sir Tristram unarmed Sir Galeron, for that was the name of the Horde knight, and he, as well as he could, helped to arm Sir Tristram. Then Sir Tristram mounted upon his own horse, and in his hand he took Sir Galeron's spear. There upon Sir Palamedes was ready, and so they came hurling together, and each smote the other in the midst of their shields. Sir Palamedes' spear broke, and Sir Tristram smote down the horse. Then Sir Palamedes leapt from his horse, and drew out his sword. That saw Sir Tristram, and there was he alighted and tied his horse to a tree. Then they came together as two wild beasts, lashing the one on the other, and so forth more than two hours. And often Sir Tristram smote such strokes at Sir Palamedes, that he made him to kneel, and Sir Palamedes broke away Sir Tristram's shield and bowed him. Then Sir Tristram was wroth out of measure, and he rushed to Sir Palamedes, and wounded him passing sore through the shoulder, and by fortune smote Sir Palamedes' sword out of his hand. And if Sir Palamedes had stooped for his sword, Sir Tristram had slain him. Then Sir Palamedes stood and beheld his sword with a full sorrowful heart. Now, said Sir Tristram, I have seen at a vantage, as though hast me to-day, but it shall never be said in court, or among good nights, that Sir Tristram did slay any night that was weaponless. Therefore take thou, thy sword, and let us fight this battle to the end. Then spoke Sir Palamedes to Sir Tristram. I have no wish to fight this battle any more. The offense that I have done unto you is not so great but that, if it please you, we may be friends. All that I have offended is for the love of the Queen, La Belle is owed, and I dare maintain that she is peerless among ladies, and for that offense you have given me many grievous and sad strokes, and some I have given you again. Therefore I require you, my Lord Sir Tristram, forgive me all that I have offended you, and this day have me unto the next church, and first I will be clean on fast, and after that see you that I be truly baptized, and then we will ride together unto the court of my Lord, King Arthur, so that we may be there at the Feast of Pentecost. Now take your horse, said Sir Tristram, and as you have said, so shall it be done. So they took their horses, and Sir Galeron rode with them. When they came to the Church of Carlesle, the bishop commanded to fill a great vessel with water, and when he had hallowed it, he then confessed Sir Palamedes clean, and christened him, and Sir Tristram and Sir Galeron were his godfathers. Then soon after they departed, and rode towards Camelot, where the noble King Arthur and Queen Quineville were keeping a court royale, and the King and all the court were glad that Sir Palamedes was christened. Then Sir Tristram returned again to the joyous guard, and Sir Palamedes went his way. Not long after these events, Sir Gavain returned from Brittany, and related to King Arthur the adventure which befell him in the forest of Brasilia, how Merlin had there spoken to him, and enjoined him to charge the King to go without delay upon the quest of the Holy Greel. While King Arthur deliberated Tristram determined to enter upon the quest, and the more readily, as it was well known to him, that this holy adventure would, if achieved, procure him the pardon of all his sins, he immediately departed for the Kingdom of Brittany, hoping there to obtain from Merlin Council to ensure success. End of Chapter 16 The Age of Chivalry Chapter 17 From Bullfinch the Age of Chivalry This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Age of Chivalry by Thomas Bullfinch Chapter 17 Sir Tristram On arriving in Brittany, Tristram found King Hoyle engaged in a war with a rebellious vessel and hard-pressed by his enemy. His best nights had fallen in a late battle, and he knew not where to turn for assistance. Tristram volunteered his aid, it was accepted, and the army of Hoyle led by Tristram, and inspired by his example, gained a complete victory. The King, penetrated by the most lively sentiments of gratitude, and having informed himself of Tristram's birth, offered him his daughter in marriage. The princess was beautiful and accomplished, and bore the same name with the Queen of Cornwall. But this one is designated by the Roman seers as Isolde of the White Heads, to distinguish her from the Isolde of the Fair. How can we describe the conflict that agitated the heart of Tristram? He adored the first Isolde, but his love for her was hopeless, and not unaccompanied by remorse. Moreover, the sacred quest on which he had now entered demanded of him perfect purity of life. It seemed as if a happy destiny had provided for him, in the charming princess Isolde of the White Heads, the best security for all his good resolutions. This last reflection determined him. They were married and passed some months in tranquil happiness at the Court of King Hoyle. The pleasure which Tristram felt in his wife's society increased day by day. An inward grace seemed to stir within him, from the moment when he took the oath to go on the quest of the Holy Grail. It seemed even to triumph over the power of the magic love potion. The war, which had been quelled for a time, now burst out anew. Tristram as usual was foremost in every danger. The enemy was worsted in successive conflicts, and at last shut himself up in his principal city. Tristram led on the attack of the city. As he mounted a ladder to scale the walls, he was struck on the head by a fragment of rock, which the besieged threw down upon him. It bore him to the ground, for he lay insensible. As soon as he recovered consciousness, he demanded to be carried to his wife. The princess, skilled in the art of surgery, would not suffer anyone but herself to touch her beloved husband. Her fair hands bound up his wounds. Tristram kissed some with gratitude, which began to grow into love. At first the devoted cares of his ode seemed to meet with great success. But after a while this flattering appearance is vanished, and in spite of all her care, the melody grew more serious day by day. In this perplexity an old squire of Tristrams reminded his master that the princess of Ireland, afterwards queen of Cornwall, had once cured him under circumstances quite as discouraging. He called his ode of the white hands to him, told her of his former cure, added that he believed the queen's ode could heal him, and that he felt sure that she would come to his relief if sent for. His ode of the white hands consented that Justnes, a trusty man and skilful navigator, should be sent to Cornwall. Tristram called him and giving him a ring. Take this, he said, to the queen of Cornwall. Tell her that Tristram, near to death, demands her aid. If you succeed in bringing her with you, place white sails to your vessel on your return, that we may know of your success, when the vessel first heaves in sight. But the queen's ode refuses, put on black sails. There will be the presage of my impending death. Justnes performed his mission successfully. King Mark happened to be absent from his capital, and the queen readily consented to return with the bark to Brittany. Justnes closed his vessel in the whitest of sails and sped his way back to Brittany. Meantime the wound of Tristram grew more desperate day by day. His strength quite prostrated, no longer permitted him to be carried to the seaside daily, as had been his custom from the first moment, when it was possible for the bark to be on the way homeward. He called a young damsel and gave her in charge to keep watch in the direction of Cornwall, and to come and tell him the color of the sails or the first vessel she should see approaching. When the ode of the white hands consented that the queen of Cornwall should be sent for, she had not known all the reasons which she had for fearing the influence which renewed intercourse with that princess might have on her own happiness. She had now learned more and felt the danger more keenly. She thought if she could only keep the knowledge of the queen's arrival from her husband, she might employ in his service any resources, which her skill could supply, and still avert the dangers which she apprehended. When the vessel was seen approaching was its white sails sparkling in the sun. The damsel, by command of her mistress, carried word to Tristram that the sails were black. Tristram penetrated with inexpressible grief, breathed a profound sigh, turned away his face and said, Alas, my beloved, we shall never see one another again. Then he commanded himself to God and breathed his last. The death of Tristram was the first intelligence which the queen of Cornwall heard on landing. She was conducted almost senseless into the chamber of Tristram and expired holding him in her arms. Tristram, before his death, had requested that his body should be sent to Cornwall and that his sword with the letter he had written should be delivered to King Mark. The remains of Tristram and his ode were embarked in a vessel along with the sword, which was presented to the king of Cornwall. He was melted with tenderness when he saw the weapon which slew more out of Ireland, which had so often saved his life and redeemed the owner of his kingdom. In the letter Tristram begged pardon of his uncle and related the story of the amorous draught. Mark ordered the lovers to be buried in his own chapel. From the tomb of Tristram there sprung a vine which went along the walls and descended into the grave of the queen. It was cut down three times, but each time sprung up again more vigorous than before. And this wonderful plant has ever since shaded the tombs of Tristram and his ode. Spencer introduces Sir Tristram in his fairy queen. In Book 6 Count to 2 Sir Calidor encounters in the forest a young hunter whom his ass describes. Him steadfastly he marked, and so to be, a goodly use of amiable grace. Yet by a slender slip that scarce did see, yet seventeen years, but tall and fair of face, that sure he deemed him born of noble race. All in Woodman's jacket he was glad, of Lincoln Green, the lad with silver lace, and on his head an hood with aglit spread, and by his side his hunter's horn he hanging head. Both skins he wore of costliest cordivane, picked up on gold and paled part per part, as then the guise was for each gentle swain. In his right hand he held a trembling dart, whose fellow he before had sent apart, and in his left he held a sharp pore spear, with which he wanted to lounge the salvage heart, of many a lion and of many a bear, that first and to his hand enchast it happened near. A Librivox Recording All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org Recording by Anders Langford The Age of Chivalry by Thomas Bullfinch Chapter 18 Percival The father and two elder brothers of Percival had fallen in battle or tournaments, and hence as the last hope of his family his mother retired with him into a solitary region, where he was brought up in total ignorance of arms and chivalry. He was allowed no weapon, but a little scut spare, which was the only thing of all her lord's fair gear, that his mother carried to the wood with her. In the use of this he became so skillful that he could kill with it, not only the animals of the chase for the table, but even birds on the wing. Percival At length, however, Percival was roused to a desire of military renown by seeing in the forest five knights who were in complete armor. He said to his mother, Mother, what are those yonder? They are angels, my son, said she. By my faith I will go and become an angel with them. And Percival went to the road and met them. Tell me, good lad, said one of them, sauced thou a knight past this way either today or yesterday? I know not, said he, what a knight is. Such an one as I am, said the knight. If thou wilt tell me what I ask thee, I will tell thee what thou askest me. Gladly will I do so, said Sir Owain, for that was the knight's name. What is this? demanded Percival, touching the saddle. It is a saddle, said Owain. Then he asked about all the accouterments which he saw upon the men and the horses and about the arms and what they were for and how they were used. And Sir Owain showed him all those things fully. And Percival, in return, gave him such information as he had. Then Percival returned to his mother and said to her, Mother, those were not angels, but honourable knights. Then his mother swooned away. And Percival went to the place where they kept the horses that carried firewood and provisions for the castle. And he took a bony, piebald horse which seemed to him the strongest of them, and he pressed a pack into the form of a saddle, and with twisted twigs he imitated the trappings which he had seen upon the horses. When he came again to his mother, the countess had recovered from her swoon. My son, said she, desirous thou to ride forth? Yes, with thy leave, said he. Go forward then, she said, to the court of Arthur, where there are the best and the noblest and the most bountiful of men. And tell him thou art Percival, the son of Palinore, and ask of him to bestow knighthood on thee, and whenever thou seeest a church repeat there thy patternoster. And if thou see meat and drink and thou hast need of them, thou mayest take them. If thou hear an outcry of one in distress, proceed toward it, especially if it be the cry of a woman, and render her what service thou cast. If thou see a fair jewel, win it, for thus shalt thou acquire fame, yet freely give it to another, for thus thou shalt obtain praise. If thou see a fair woman, pay court to her, for thus thou wilt obtain love. After this discourse Percival mounted the horse, and taking a number of sharp pointed sticks in his hand he rode forth, and he rode far in the woody wilderness without food or drink. At last he came to an opening in the wood where he saw a tent, and as he thought it might be a church he said his patternoster to it, and he went towards it, and the door of the tent was open, and Percival dismounted and entered the tent. In the tent he found a maiden sitting with a golden frontlet on her forehead, and a gold ring on her hand, and Percival said, Maiden, I salute you, for my mother told me whenever I met a lady I must respectfully salute her. Perceiving in one corner of the tent some food, two flasks full of wine and some boar's flesh roasted. He said, My mother told me whenever I saw meat and drink to take it, and he ate greedily, for he was very hungry. The maiden said, Sir, thou hadst best go quickly from here, for fear that my friends should come and evil should befall you. But Percival said, My mother told me whenever I saw a fair jewel to take it, and he took the gold ring from her finger and put it on his own, and he gave the maiden his own ring in exchange for hers. Then he mounted his horse and rode away. Perceval journeyed on till he arrived at Arthur's court, and it so happened that just at that time an uncourteous night had offered Queen Guinevere a gross insult. For when her page was serving the queen with a golden goblet, this night struck the arm of the page and dashed the wine in the queen's face and over her stomacher. Then he said, If any have boldness to avenge this insult to Guinevere, let him follow me to the meadow. So the night took his horse and rode to the meadow, carrying away the golden goblet, and all the household hung down their heads, and no one offered to follow the night to take vengeance upon him. For it seemed to them that no one would have ventured on so daring an outrage unless he possessed such powers through magic or charms that none could be able to punish him. Just then, behold, Perceval entered the hall upon the boney piebald horse with his uncouth trappings. In the center of the hall stood Kaye the Seneshall. Tell me, tall man, said Perceval, is that Arthur Yonder? What would is thou with Arthur? asked Kaye. My mother told me to go to Arthur and receive knighthood from him. By my faith, said he, thou art all too meanly equipped with horse and with arms. Then all the household began to cheer and laugh at him. But there was a certain damsel who had been a whole year at Arthur's court, and had never been known to smile, and the king's fool, footnote, a fool was a common appendage of the courts of those days when this romance was written. A fool was the ornament held in next estimation to a dwarf. He wore a white dress with a yellow bonnet and carried a bell or bauble in his hand. Though called a fool, his words were often weighed and remembered as if there were a sort of oracular meaning in them. The king's fool had said that this damsel would not smile, till she had seen him who would be the flower of chivalry. Now this damsel came up to Percival and told him, smiling, that if he lived he would be one of the bravest and best of knights. Truly, said Kaye, thou art ill-talked to remain a year at Arthur's court with choice of society, and smile on no one, and now before the face of Arthur and all his knights, to call such a man as this the flower of knighthood. And he gave her a box on the ear, that she fell senseless to the ground, then said Kaye to Percival, Go after the knight who went hence to the meadow, overthrow him and recover the golden goblet and possess thyself of his horse and arms, and thou shalt have knighthood. I will do so, tall man, said Percival. So he turned his horse's head toward the meadow, and when he came there the knight was writing up and down, proud of his strength and valor and noble mean. Tell me, said the knight, Didest thou see any one coming after me from the court? The tall man that was there, said Percival, told me to come and overthrow thee, and to take from thee the goblet and thy horse and armor for myself. Silence, said the knight, Go back to the court, and tell Arthur either to come himself or to send some other knight to fight with me, and unless he do so quickly I will not wait for him. By my faith, said Percival, choose thou whether it shall be willingly or unwillingly, for I will have the horse and the arms and the goblet. Upon this the knight ran at him furiously, and struck him a violent blow with the shaft of his spear, between the neck and the shoulder. Lad, said Percival, My mother's servants were not used to play with me in this wise, so thus will I play with thee. And he threw at him one of his sharp pointed sticks, and it struck him in the eye, and came out at the back of his head, so that he fell down lifeless. Verily, said Sirowane, the son of Urien, to K. the Seneshall, thou wast ill-advised to send that madman after the knight. For he must either be overthrown or flee, and either way it will be a disgrace to Arthur and his warriors. Therefore will I go to see what has befallen him. So Sirowane went to the meadow, and he found Percival trying in vain to get the dead knight's armor off, in order to clothe himself with it. Sirowane unfassened the armor and helped Percival to put it on, and taught him how to put his foot in the stirrup and use the spur. For Percival had never used stirrup nor spur, but rode without saddle, and urged on his horse with a stick. Then Owain would have had him returned to the court to receive the praise that was his due. But Percival said, I will not come to the court till I have encountered the tall man that is there, to revenge the injury he did to the maiden, but take thou the goblet to Queen Guinevere, and tell King Arthur that wherever I am I will be his vessel, and will do him what profit and service I can. And Sirowane went back to the court and related all these things to Arthur and Guinevere and to all the household. And Percival rode forward, and he came to a lake on the side of which was a fair castle, and on the border of the lake he saw a hoary-headed man sitting upon a velvet cushion, and his attendants were fishing in the lake. When the hoary-headed man beheld Percival approaching, he arose and went into the castle. Percival rode to the castle, and the door was open, and he entered the hall. And the hoary-headed man received Percival courteously and asked him to sit by him on the cushion. When it was time the tables were set and they went to meet, and when they had finished their meet the hoary-headed man asked Percival if he knew how to fight with the sword. I know not, said Percival, but were I to be taught doubtless I should. And the hoary-headed man said to him, I am thy uncle, thy mother's brother. I am called King Petcher. Thou shalt remain with me a space, in order to learn the manners and customs of different countries, and courtesy and noble bearing. And this do thou remember, if thou seest ought to cause thy wonder, ask not the meaning of it. If no one has the courtesy to inform thee, the reproach will not fall upon thee, but upon me, that am thy teacher. While Percival and his uncle discoursed together, Percival beheld two youths enter the hall, bearing a golden cup and a spear of mighty size, with blood dripping from its point to the ground, and when all the company saw this they began to weep and lament. But for all that the man did not break off his discourse with Percival, and as he did not tell him the meaning of what he saw, he forbore to ask him concerning it. Now the cup the Percival saw was the sangriaal, and the spear the sacred spear, and afterwards King Petcher removed with those sacred relics into a far country. One evening Percival entered a valley and came to a hermit's cell, and the hermit welcomed him gladly, and there he spent the night, and in the morning he arose, and when he went forth, behold, a shower of snow had fallen in the night, and a hawk had killed a wild fowl in front of the cell, and the noise of the horse had scared the hawk away, and a raven alighted on the bird. And Percival stood and compared the blackness of the raven and the whiteness of the snow and the redness of the blood to the hair of the lady that best he loved, which was blacker than jet, and to her skin, which was whiter than the snow, and to the two red spots upon her cheeks, which were redder than the blood upon the snow. Now Arthur and his household were in search of Percival, and by chance they came that way. No ye, said Arthur, who is the knight with the long spear that stands by the brook up yonder? Lord, said one of them, I will go and learn who he is. So the youth came to the place where Percival was, and asked him what he did thus, and who he was. But Percival was so intent upon his thought that he gave him no answer, then the youth thrust at Percival with his lance, and Percival turned upon him and struck him to the ground, and when the youth returned to the king and told how rudely he had been treated, Sir Kay said, I will go myself. And when he greeted Percival and got no answer, he spoke to him rudely and angrily, and Percival thrust at him with his lance and cast him down so that he broke his arm and his shoulder blade, and while he lay thus stunned, his horse returned back in a wild and prancing pace. Then said, Sir Gawain, sir named the golden tongueed because he was the most courteous knight in Arthur's court, it is not fitting that any should disturb an honorable knight from his thought unadvisedly, for either he is pondering some damage that he has sustained, or his thinking of the lady whom best he loves. If it seem well to thee, Lord, I will go and see if this knight has changed from his thought, and if he has, I will ask him courteously to come and visit thee. And Percival was resting on the shaft of his spear pondering the same thought, and Sir Gawain came to him and said, If I thought it would be as agreeable to thee as it would be to me, I would converse with thee. I have also a message from Arthur unto thee, to pray thee to come and visit him, and two men have been before on this errand. That is true, said Percival, and uncourteously they came, they attacked me, and I was annoyed there at. Then he told him the thought that occupied his mind, and Gawain said, This was not an un-gentle thought, and I should marvel if it were pleasant for thee to be drawn from it. Then said Percival, Tell me, is Sir Kay in Arthur's court? He is, said Gawain, and truly he is the knight who fought with thee last. Verily, said Percival, I am not sorry to have thus avenged the insult of the smiling maiden. Then Percival told in his name, and said, Who art thou? And he replied, I am Gawain. I am right glad to meet thee, said Percival, for I have everywhere heard of thy prowess and uprightness, and I solicit thy fellowship. Thou shalt have it by my faith, and grant me thine, said he. Gladly will I do so, answered Percival. So they went together to Arthur and saluted him. Behold, Lord, said Gawain, him whom thou hast sought so long. Welcome unto thee, chieftain, said Arthur. And hereupon there came the queen and her handmaidens, and Percival saluted them, and they were rejoiced to see him and bade him welcome. And Arthur did him great honour and respect, and they returned towards Care Leon. CHAPTER XIX. THE SONG GRAIL, OR HOLY GRAIL. THE SONG GRAIL was the cup from which our Saviour drank at his last supper. He was supposed to have given it to Joseph of Arimathea, who carried it to Europe, together with the spear with which the soldier pierced the Saviour's side. From generation to generation, one of the descendants of Joseph of Arimathea had been devoted to the guardianship of these precious relics, but on the sole condition of leading a life of purity in thought, word, and deed. For a long time the Sangreal was visible to all pilgrims, and its presence conferred blessings upon the land in which it was preserved. But at length one of those holy men to whom its guardianship had descended, so far forgot the obligation of his sacred office as to look with unhallowed eye upon a young female pilgrim whose robe was accidentally loosened as she knelt before him. The sacred lance instantly punished his frailty, spontaneously falling upon him and inflicting a deep wound. The marvellous wound could by no means be healed, and the guardian of the Sangreal was ever after called the Roy Pasteur, the sinner king. The Sangreal withdrew its visible presence from the crowds who came to worship, and an iron age succeeded to the happiness which its presence had diffused among the tribes of Britain. But then the times grew to such evil that the Holy Cup was caught away to heaven and disappeared, the Holy Grail. We have told in the history of Merlin how that great prophet and Enchanter sent a message to King Arthur by Sir Gowyn directing him to undertake the recovery of the Sangreal, informing him at the same time that the night who should accomplish that sacred quest was already born and of a suitable age to enter upon it. Sir Gowyn delivered his message, and the king was anxiously revolving in his mind how best to achieve the enterprise, when at the vigil of Pentecost all the fellowship of the round table being met together at Camelot, as they sat at meat, suddenly there was heard a clap of thunder, and then a bright light burst forth, and every night, as he looked on his fellow, saw him in seeming fairer than ever before. All the hall was filled with sweet odours, and every night had such meat and drink as he best loved. Then there entered into the hall the Holy Grail, covered with white Samite, so that none could see it, and it passed through the hall suddenly and disappeared. During this time no one spoke a word, but when they had recovered breath to speak King Arthur said, certainly we ought to greatly thank our Lord for what he hath showed us this day. Then Sir Gowyn rose up, and made avow that for twelve months and a day he would seek the Sun Grail, and not return till he had seen it, if so he might speed. When they of the round table heard Sir Gowyn say so, they arose, the most part of them, and vowed the same. When King Arthur heard this he was greatly displeased, for he knew very well that they might not gainsay their vows. Alas, said he to Sir Gowyn, you have nigh slain me with the vow and promise that you have made, for you have bereft me of the fairest fellowship that ever were seen together in any realm of the world, for when they shall depart hence, I am sure that all shall never meet more in this world. Sir Gallowhad. At that time there entered the hall of good old man, and with him he brought a young knight, and these words he said, Peace be with you, fair lords. Then the old man said unto King Arthur, Sir, I bring you here a young knight that is of King's lineage, and of Kindred of Joseph of Arimathea, being the son of Dame Elaine, the daughter of King Pellis, King of the foreign country. Now the name of the young knight was Sir Gallowhad, and he was the son of Sir Lancelot Dulac, but he had dwelt with his mother at the court of King Pellis, his grandfather, till now he was old enough to bear arms, and his mother had sent him in the charge of a holy hermit to King Arthur's court. Then Sir Lancelot beheld his son, and had great joy of him. And Sir Bohort told his fellows, upon my life this young knight shall come to great worship. The noise was great in all the court, so that it came to the Queen. And she said, I would faint see him, for he must needs be a noble knight, for so is his father. And the Queen and her ladies all said that he resembled much unto his father, and he was seemly and demure as a dove, with all manner of good features, that in the whole world men might not find his match. And King Arthur said, God make him a good man, for beauty faileth him not, as any that liveth. Then the hermit led the young knight to the siege Pellis, and he lifted up the cloth, and found their letters that said, This is the seat of Sir Galahad, the good knight, and he made him sit in that seat. And all the nights of the round table marveled greatly at Sir Galahad, seeing him sit securely in that seat, and said, This is he by whom the sun grail shall be achieved, for there never sat one before in that seat without being mischipped. On the next day the King said, Now, at this quest of the sun grail, shall all of ye of the round table depart, and never shall I see you again together. Therefore I will that ye all repair to the meadow of Camelot, for to dust and turnee yet once more before ye depart. But all the meaning of the King was to see Sir Galahad proved. So then were they all assembled in the meadow. Then Sir Galahad, by request of the King and Queen, put on his harness in his helm, but shield would he take none for any prayer of the King. And the Queen was in a tower with all her ladies to behold the tournament. Then Sir Galahad rode into the midst of the meadow, and there he began to break spears marvelously, so that all men had wonder of him, for he surmounted all nights that encountered with him, except two, Sir Lancelot and Sir Percival. So many nights that all the people cried, and almost burst the barriers in their heat, shouting, Sir Galahad and Sir Percival. Sir Galahad. Then the King at the Queen's request made him to alight, and presented him to the Queen, and she said, Never two men resembled one another more than he and Sir Lancelot, and therefore it is no marvel that he is like him in prowess. Then the King and Queen went to the minster, and the knights followed them. And after the service was done they put on their helms and departed, and there was great sorrow. They rode through the streets of Camelot, and there was weeping of the rich and poor, and the King turned away and might not speak for weeping. And so they departed, and every night took the way that him best liked. Sir Galahad rode forth without shield, and rode four days and found no adventure. And on the fourth day he came to a white abbey, and there he was received with great reverence, and led to a chamber. He met there two nights, King Bagdemagagus and Sir Uwen, and they made of him great solace. Sirs, said Sir Galahad, what adventure brought you hither? Sir, said they, it is told us that within this place is a shield, which no man may bear unless he be worthy, and if one unworthy should attempt to bear it, it shall surely do him a mischief. Then King Bagdemagus said, I fear not to bear it, and that she shall see to-morrow. So on the morrow they arose, and heard mass, then King Bagdemagus asked where the adventurous shield was. Anon a monk led him behind an altar, where the shield hung, as white as snow, but in the midst there was a red cross. Then King Bagdemagus took the shield, and bear it out of the minster, and he said to Sir Galahad, if it please you, abide here till you know how I shall speed. Then King Bagdemagus and his squire rode forth, and when they had ridden a mile or two, they saw a goodly knight come towards them, in white armor, horse and all, and he came as fast as his horse might run, with his spear and the rest, and King Bagdemagus directed his spear against him, and broke it upon the white knight. But the other struck him so hard that he broke the mails, and thrust him through the right shoulder, for the shield covered him not, and so he bear him from his horse. Then the white knight turned his horse and rode away. Then the squire went to King Bagdemagus and asked him whether he were sore-wounded or not. I am sore-wounded, said he, and full-hardly shall I escape death. Then the squire set him on his horse, and brought him to an abbey, and there he was taken down softly and unarmed, and laid in a bed, and his wound was looked to, for he lay there long, and hardly escaped with his life. And the squire brought the shield back to the abbey. The next day Sir Galahad took the shield, and within a while came to the hermitage, where he met the white knight, and each saluted the other courteously. Sir, said Sir Galahad, can you tell me the marvel of the shield? Sir, said the white knight, that shield belonged of old to the gentle knight, Joseph of Arimathea, and when he came to die he said, never shall man bear this shield about his neck, but he shall repent it, unto the time that Sir Galahad the good knight bear it, the last of my lineage, the which shall do many marvelous deeds. And then the white knight vanished away. Sir Galahad After Sir Galahad departed he rode many days, both toward and forward, and at last he came to the abbey where Sir Galahad took the white shield. And they told Sir Galahad of the marvelous adventure that Sir Galahad had done. Truly, said Sir Galahad, I am not happy that I took not the way that he went, for if I may meet with him I will not part from him lightly, that I may partake with him all the marvelous adventures which he shall achieve. Sir, said one of the monks, he will not be of your fellowship. Why, said Sir Galahad, Sir said he, because you be sinful and he is blissful. Then said the monk, Sir Galahad, thou must do penance for thy sins. Sir, what penance shall I do? Such as I will show, said the good man. Nay, said Sir Galahad, I will do no penance, for we knights adventurous often suffer great woe and pain. Well, said the good man, and he held his peace. And Sir Galahad departed. Now it happened, not long after this, that Sir Galahad and Sir Hector rode together, and they came to a castle where there was a great tournament. And Sir Galahad and Sir Hector joined themselves to the party that seemed the weaker, and they drove before them the other party. Then suddenly came into the list a night, bearing a white shield with a red cross, and by adventure he came by Sir Galahad, and he smote him so hard that he clave his helmet wound at his head, so that Sir Galahad fell to the earth. When Sir Hector saw that, he knew that the night with the white shield was Sir Galahad, and he thought it no wisdom to abide him, and also for natural love, that he was his uncle. Then Sir Galahad retired privily, so that none knew where he had gone. And Sir Hector raised up Sir Galahad and said, Sir, me seemeth your quest is done. It is done, said Sir Galahad, I shall seek no further. Then Galahad was born into the castle, and unarmed, and laid in a rich bed, and a leech found to search his wound. And Sir Galahad and Sir Hector abode together, for Sir Hector would not away till Sir Galahad were whole. CHAPTER XXXI. Sir Lancelot Sir Lancelot rode over Thwart and Enlong in a wide forest, and held no path but as wild adventurely him. My golden spurs now bring to me, and bring me to my richest mail, for to-morrow I go over land and sea in search of the holy, holy grail. Shall never a bed for me be spread, nor shall a pillow be under my head, till I begin my vow to keep, hereon the rushes will I sleep, and for chance there may come a vision true, ere day create the world anew. LOLS, HOLY GRAIL. And at last he came to a stone cross. Then Sir Lancelot looked round him and saw an old chapel. So he tied his horse to a tree, and put off his shield, and hung it upon a tree, and then he went into the chapel, and looked through a place where the wall was broken. And within he saw a fair altar, full, richly arrayed with cloth of silk, and there stood a fair candlestick, which bears six great candles, and the candlestick was of silver. When Sir Lancelot saw this light he had a great wish to enter the chapel, but he could find no place where he might enter. Then was he passing heavy and dismayed. And he returned and came again to his horse, and took off his saddle and his bridle, and let him pasture, and unlaced his helm, and ungurted his sword, and laid him down to sleep upon his shield before the cross. And as he lay, half waking and half sleeping, he saw come by him to Palfreys, both fair and white, which bear a litter, on which lay a sick night. And when he was nigh the cross he there abode still. And Sir Lancelot heard him say, Oh, sweet Lord, when shall this sorrow leave me, and when shall the holy vessel come by me whereby I shall be healed? And thus a great while complained the night, and Sir Lancelot heard it. Then Sir Lancelot saw the candlestick, with the lighted tapers come before the cross, but he could see nobody that brought it. Also there came a solver of silver, and the holy vessel of the song grail. And there with all the sick night sat him upright, and held up both his hands, and said, Fair sweet Lord, which is here within the holy vessel, take heed to me, that I may be whole of this great malady. And therewith upon his hands and upon his knees he went so nigh that he touched the holy vessel and kissed it. And anon he was whole. Then the holy vessel went into the chapel again, with the candlestick and the light, so that Sir Lancelot wished not what became of it. Then the sick night rose up and kissed the cross, and anon his squire brought him his arms, and asked his Lord how he did. I thank God right heartily, said he, for through the holy vessel I am healed. But I have great marvel of this sleeping night, who hath neither grace nor power to awake during the time that the holy vessel hath been here present. I dare it right well say, said the squire, that this same night is stained with some manner of deadly sin, whereof he was never confessed. So they departed. Then anon Sir Lancelot wait, and set himself upright, and bethought him of what he had seen, and whether it were dreams or not. And he was passing heavy, and wished not what to do. And he said, My sin and my wretchedness hath brought me into great dishonor, for when I sought worldly adventures and worldly desires I ever achieved them, and had the better in every place, and never was I disconfident in any quarrel, were it right or wrong. And now I take upon me the adventure of holy things, I see and understand that mine old sin hindroth me, so that I had no power to stir, nor to speak, when the holy blood appeared before me. So thus he sorrowed till it was day, and heard the fowls of the air sing. Then he was somewhat comforted. Then he departed from the cross into the forest, and there he found a hermitage, and a hermit therein, who was going to Mass. So when Mass was done Sir Lancelot called the hermit to him, and prayed him for charity to hear his confession. With a good will, said the good man. And then he told that good man all his life, and how he had loved a queen unmeasurably many years. And all my great deeds of arms that I have done I did the most part for the queen's sake, and for her sake would I do battle, were it right or wrong? And never did I battle all, only for God's sake, but for it to win worship, and to cause me to be better beloved, and little or not I thanked God for it. I pray you counsel me. I will counsel you, said the hermit, if you will ensure me that you will never come in that queen's fellowship as much as you may forbear. And then Sir Lancelot promised the hermit, by his faith, that he would no more come into her company. Look that your heart in your mouth accords, said the good man, and I shall ensure you that she shall have more worship than ever he had. Then the good man enjoined Sir Lancelot such penance as he might do, and he assailed Sir Lancelot, and made him abide with him all that day. And Sir Lancelot repented him greatly. Sir Percival Sir Percival departed and rode till the hour of noon, and he met in a valley about twenty men of arms. And when they saw Sir Percival, they asked him once he was, and he answered, of the court of King Arthur. Then they all cried at once, slay him. But Sir Percival smote the first to the earth, and his horse upon him. Then seven of the night smote upon his shield all at once, and the remnant slew his horse, so that he fell to the earth. So had they slain him or taken him, had not the good night Sir Galahad with the red cross come there by adventure. And when he saw all the nights upon one he cried out, save me that night's life. Then he rode toward the twenty men of arms, as fast as his horse might drive, with his spear in the rest, and smote the foremost horse and man to the earth. And when his spear was broken he set his hand to his sword, and smote on the right hand and the left, that it was marvel to see, and at every stroke he smote down one, or put him to rebuke, so that they would fight no more, but fled to a thick forest, and Sir Galahad followed them. And when Sir Percival saw him chase them so, he made great sorrow that his horse was slain. And he whisked well it was Sir Galahad. Then he cried aloud, ah, fair night, abide, and suffer me to do thanks unto thee, for right well ye have done for me. But Sir Galahad rode so fast that at last he passed out of his sight. When Sir Percival saw that he would not turn, he said, Now am I a very wretch, and most unhappy above all other nights. So in his sorrow he abode all that day till it was night, and then he was faint, and laid him down and slept till midnight. And then he awaked, and saw before him a woman who said unto him, Sir Percival, what dost thou hear? He answered, I do neither good nor great ill. If thou wilt promise me, she said, that thou wilt fulfill my will when I summon thee, I will lend thee my own horse, which shall bear thee whether thou wilt. Sir Percival was glad of her proffer, and ensured her to fulfill all her desire. Then abide me here, and I will go fetch you a horse. And so she soon came back again, and brought a horse with her that was inky black. When Percival beheld that horse he marveled, it was so great and so well apparelled. And he leapt upon him, and took no heat of himself. And he thrust him with his spurs, and within an hour and less he bear him four days' journey thence, until he came to a rough water, which roared, and his horse would have borne him into it. And when Sir Percival came nigh the brim, and saw the water so boisterous, he doubted to overpass it. And then he made the sign of the cross on his forehead. When the fiend felt him so charged, he shook off Sir Percival, and went into the water crying and roaring, and it seemed unto him that the water burned. Then Sir Percival perceived it was a fiend that would have brought him into his perdition. Then he commended himself unto God, and prayed our Lord to keep him from all such temptations, and so he prayed all that night till it was day. Then he saw that he was in a wild place, that was closed with all the sea nigh about. And Sir Percival looked forth over the sea, and saw a ship come sailing towards him, and it came and stood under the rock. And when Sir Percival saw this, he hide him thither, and found the ship covered with silk, and therein was a lady of great beauty, and clothed so richly that none might be better. And when she saw Sir Percival she saluted him, and Sir Percival returned her salutation. Then he asked her of her country and her lineage. And she said, I am a gentle woman that am disinherited, and was once the richest woman of the world. Damsel, said Sir Percival, who hath disinherited you, for I have great pity of you. Sir, said she, my enemy is a great and powerful Lord, and a foretime he made much of me, so that of his favour and of my beauty I had a little pride more than I ought to have had. Also I said a word that pleased him not. So he drove me from his company and from mine heritage. Therefore I know no good night nor good man, but I get him on my side if I may. And for that I know that thou art a good night I beseech thee to help me. Then Sir Percival promised her all the help that he might, and she thanked him. And at that time the weather was hot, and she called to her a gentle woman, and bade her bring forth a pavilion. And she did so and pitched it upon the gravel. Sir, said she, now may you rest you in this heat of the day. Then he thanked her, and she put off his helm and his shield, and there he slept a great while. Then he awoke and asked her if she had any meat, and she said, yea, and so there was set upon the table all manner of meats that he could think on. Also he drank there the strongest wine that ever he drank, and therewith he was a little chafed more than he ought to be. With that he beheld the lady, and he thought she was the fairest creature that he ever saw. And then Sir Percival proffered her love and prayed her that she would be his. Then she refused him in a manner for the cause he should be the more ardent on her, and ever he ceased not to pray her of love. And when she saw him well and chafed, then she said, Sir Percival, with you well I shall not give you my love, unless you swear from henceforth you will be my true servant, and do no thing but that I shall command you. Will you ensure me this as you be a true knight? Yea, said he, fair lady, by the faith of my body. And as he said this, by adventuring grace, he saw his sword lie on the ground naked, in whose pommel was a red cross, and the sign of the crucifix thereon. Then he made the sign of the cross on his forehead, and therewith the pavilion shriveled up, and changed into a smoke and a black cloud. And the damsel cried aloud, and hastened into the ship, and so she went with the wind roaring and yelling that it seemed all the water burned after her. Then Sir Percival made great sorrow, and called himself a wretch, saying, How nigh was I lost? Then he took his arms and departed thence. CHAPTER XXI. THE SONG GRAIL CONTINUED. Sir Bohort. When Sir Bohort departed from Camelot he met with a religious man, writing upon an ass, and Sir Bohort saluted him. What are you, said the good man? Sir, said Sir Bohort, I am a knight, that feign would be counseled in the quest of the sang grail. So rode they both together till they came to a hermitage, and there he prayed Sir Bohort to dwell that night with him. So he alighted and put away his armour, and prayed him that he might be confessed. And they went both into the chapel, and there he was clean confessed. And they ate bread and drank water together. Now, said the good man, I pray thee that thou eaten another till thou sit at the table where the sang grail shall be. Sir, said Sir Bohort, but how know ye that I shall sit there? Yea, said the good man, that I know well, but there shall be few of your fellows with you. Then, said Sir Bohort, I agree me there too, and the good man, when he had heard his confession, found him in so pure a life and so stable that he marbled thereof. On the morrow, as soon as the day appeared, Sir Bohort departed thence, and rode into a forest unto the hour of midday. And there befell him a marvellous adventure. For he met, at the parting of two ways, two knights that led Sir Lionel, his brother, all naked, bound upon a strong hackney, and his hands bound before his breast, and each of them held in his hand thorns wherewith they were beating him, so that he was all bloody before and behind. But he never said a word. But, as he was great of heart, he suffered all that they did to him, as though he had felt none anguish. Sir Bohort prepared to rescue his brother. But he looked on the other side of him, and saw a knight dragging along a fair gentlewoman who cried out, St. Mary, succour your maid. And when she saw Sir Bohort, she called to him and said, By the faith that ye owe to knighthood, help me. When Sir Bohort heard her say thus, he had such sorrow that he whisked not what to do. For if I let my brother he must be slain, and that would not I for all the earth, and if I help not the maid I am shamed forever. Then lift he up his eyes and said, weeping, Fair Lord, whose leech man I am, keep Sir Lyon on my brother, that none of these knights slay him, and for pity of you and our ladies' sake, I shall succour this maid. Then he cried out to the knight, Sir Knight, lay your hand off that maid, or else she be but dead. Then the knight sat down the maid, and took his shield, and drew out his sword. And Sir Bohort smote him so hard, that it went through his shield and halberge on, on the left shoulder, and he fell down to the earth. Then came Sir Bohort to the maid. Ye be delivered of this knight this time. Now, she said, I pray you lead me there where this knight took me. I shall gladly do it, said Sir Bohort. So he took the horse of the wounded knight, and set the gentlewoman upon it, and brought her there where she desired to be. And there he found twelve knights seeking after her, and when she told him how Sir Bohort had delivered her, they made great joy and besought him to come to her father, a great lord, and he should be right welcomed. Truly, said Sir Bohort, that may not be, for I have a great adventure to do. So he commended them to God and departed. Then Sir Bohort rode after Sir Lionel his brother, by the trace of their horses. Thus he rode, seeking a great while. Then he overtook a man clothed in religious clothing, who said, Sir Knight, what seek ye? Sir, said so, Bohort, I seek my brother, that I saw within a little space beaten of two knights. Ah, Sir Bohort, trouble not thyself to seek for him, for truly he is dead. Then he showed him a new slain body, lying in a thick bush, and it seemed to him that it was the body of Sir Lionel. And then he made such sorrow that he fell to the ground in a swoon, and lay there long. And when he came to himself again he said, Fair brother, since the fellowship of you and me is sundered, shall I never have joy again. And now he that I have taken for my master, he be my help. And when he had said thus he took up the body in his arms and put it upon the horse. And then he said to the man, Canst thou tell me the way to some chapel, where I may bury this body? Come on, said the man, here is one fast by. And so they rode till they saw a fair tower, and beside it a chapel. Then they alighted both and put the body into a tomb of marble. Then Sir Bohort commended the good man unto God, and departed. And he rode all that day, and harboured with an old lady. And on the morrow he rode into the castle in a valley, and there he met with a yeoman. Tell me, said Sir Bohort, knowest thou of any adventure? Sir, said he, here shall be under this castle a great and marvellous tournament. Then Sir Bohort thought to be there, if he might meet with any of the fellowship that were in quest of the Sangreil. So he turned to a hermitage that was on the border of the forest. And when he was come dither, he found there Sir Lionel his brother, who sat all armed at the entry of the chapel door. And when Sir Bohort saw him, he had great joy, and he alighted off his horse and said, Fair Brother, when came ye hither? As soon as Sir Lionel saw him he said, Ah, Sir Bohort, make ye no false show, for as for you I might have been slain, for ye left me in peril of death to go succor a gentlewoman, and for that misdeed I now assure you but death, for ye have right well deserved it. When Sir Bohort perceived his brother's wrath, he kneeled down to the earth and cried him mercy, holding up both his hands, and prayed to him to forgive him. Nay, said Sir Lionel, thou shalt have but death for it, if I have the upper hand. Therefore leap upon thy horse and keep thyself, and if thou do not, I will run upon thee there as thou standest on foot, and so the shame shall be mine and the harm thine, but of that I wreck not. When Sir Bohort saw that he must fight with his brother or else die, he wist not what to do. Then his heart counseled him not so to do. Inasmuch as Sir Lionel was his elder brother, wherefore he ought to bear him reverence. Yet kneeled he down before Sir Lionel's horse's feet and said, Fair Brother, have mercy upon me and slay me not. But Sir Lionel cared not, for the fiend had brought him in such a will that he should slay him. When he saw that Sir Bohort would not rise to give him battle, he rushed over him so that he smote him with his horse's feet to the earth, and hurt him sore that he swooned of distress. When Sir Lionel saw this he alighted from his horse for to have smitten off his head, and so he took him by the helm, and would have rented from his head. But it happened that Sir Cole Grevance, a knight of the round table, came at that time thither, as it was our Lord's will, and then he beheld how Sir Lionel would have slain his brother, and he knew Sir Bohort whom he loved right well. Then he leapt down from his horse and took Sir Lionel by the shoulders, and drew him strongly back from Sir Bohort, and said, Sir Lionel, will you slay your brother? Why, said Sir Lionel, will you slay me? If he interfere in this I will slay you, and him after. Then he ran upon Sir Bohort and would have smitten him. But Sir Cole Grevance ran between them and said, if he persists to do so any more, we too shall meddle together. Then Sir Lionel defied him and gave him a great stroke through the helm. Then he drew his sword, for he was a passing good knight, and defended himself right manfully. So long endured the battle that Sir Bohort rose up all anguishly, and beheld Sir Cole Grevance, the good knight, fighting with his brother for his quarrel. Then was he full sorry and heavy, and thought that if Sir Cole Grevance slew him, that was his brother, he should never have joy, and if his brother slew Sir Cole Grevance, the shame should ever be his. Then would he have risen for to have parted them, but he had not so much strength to stand on his feet. So he stayed so long that Sir Cole Grevance had the worst, for Sir Lionel was of great chivalry and right hearty. Then cried Sir Cole Grevance, ah, Sir Bohort, why come you not to bring me out of peril of death, wherein I have put me to sucker you? With that Sir Lionel smote off his helm and bore him to the earth, and when he had slain Sir Cole Grevance he ran upon his brother as a fiendly man, and gave him such a stroke that he made him stoop. And he that was full of humility prayed him, for God's sake leave this battle, for if it befell, fair brother, that I slew you, or ye me, we should have been dead of that sin. Pray you not me for mercy, said Sir Lionel. Then Sir Bohort, all weeping, drew his sword, and said, Now God have mercy upon me, though I defend my life against my brother. With that Sir Bohort lifted up his sword, and would have smitten his brother. Then he heard a voice that said, Flee, Sir Bohort, and touch him not. Right so alighted a cloud between them, in the likeness of a fire and a marvelous flame, so that they both fell to the earth, and lay there a great while in a swoon. And when they came to themselves, Sir Bohort saw that his brother had no harm, and he was right glad, for he dreads sore that God had taken vengeance upon him. Then Sir Lionel said to his brother, Brother, forgive me, for God's sake, all that I have trespassed against you. And Sir Bohort answered, God forgive it thee, and I do. With that Sir Bohort heard a voice say, Sir Bohort, take thy way anon, right to the sea, for Sir Percival abideth thee there. So Sir Bohort departed, and rode the nearest way to the sea. And at last he came to an abbey that was nigh the sea. That night he rested him there, and in his sleep there came a voice unto him, and bade him go to the seashore. He started up, and made a sign of the cross on his forehead, and armed himself, and made ready his horse, and mounted him, and at a broken wall he rode out, and came to the seashore. And there he found a ship, covered all with white Samite. And he entered into the ship, but it was anon so dark that he might see no man, and he laid him down and slept till it was day. Then he awaked, and saw in the middle of the ship a night all armed save his helm. And then he knew it was Sir Percival de Galas, and each made of other right great joy. Then said Sir Percival, we lack nothing now, but the good night Sir Galahad. Sir Lancelot resumed. It fell upon a night Sir Lancelot arrived before a castle, which was rich and fair. And there was a poster that was open toward the sea, and was open without any keeping, save two lions kept the entry, and the moon shined clear. Anon Sir Lancelot heard a voice that said, Lancelot, enter into the castle where thou shalt see a great part of thy desire. So he went unto the gate, and saw the two lions. Then he said hands to his sword, and drew it. Then there came suddenly, as it were, a stroke upon the arm, so sore that the sword fell out of his hand, and he heard a voice that said, O man of evil faith, wherefore believeest thou more in thy armor than in thy maker. Then said Sir Lancelot, Fair Lord, I thank thee of thy great mercy, that thou reprovest me of my misdeed. Now I see well that thou holdest me for thy servant. Then he made a cross on his forehead, and came to the lions, and they made semblance to do him harm. But he passed them without hurt, and entered into the castle, and he found no gate nor door but it was open. But at the last he found a chamber whereof the door was shut, and he set his hand there too, to have opened it, but he might not. Then he listened, and heard a voice which sung so sweetly that it seemed none earthly thing, and the voice said, Joy and honour be to the Father of Heaven. Then Sir Lancelot kneeled down before the chamber, for well he wist that there was a sangrail in that chamber. Then he said, Fair, sweet Lord, if I ever did anything that pleased thee, for thy pity show me something of that which I seek. And with that he saw the chamber door open, and there came out a great clearness, that the house was as bright as though all the torches of the world had been there. So he came to the chamber door, and would have entered, and a non a voice said unto him, Stay, Sir Lancelot, and enter not. And he withdrew him back, and was right heavy in his mind. Then he looked in the midst of the chamber, and saw a table of silver, and the holy vessel, covered with red samite, and many angels about it, whereof one held a candle, wax burning, and another held a cross, and the ornaments of the altar. O yet method I saw the holy grail, all piled in crimson samite, and around great angels awful shapes and wings and eyes. The holy grail. Then for very wonder and thankfulness Sir Lancelot forgot himself, and he stepped forward and entered the chamber. And suddenly a breath that seemed intermixed with fire smote him so sore in the visage, that therewith he felt the ground, and had no power to rise. Then he felt many hands about him, which took him up, and bare him out of the chamber, without any amending of his swoon, and left him there, seeming dead to all the people. So on the morrow, when it was fair daylight, and they within were arisen, they found Sir Lancelot lying before the chamber door. And they looked upon him and felt his pulse, to know if there were any life in him. And they found life in him, but he might neither stand nor stir any member that he had. So they took him and bare him into a chamber, and laid him upon a bed, far from all folk, and there he lay many days. Then the one said he was alive, and the other said nay. But, said an old man, he is as full of life as the mightiest of you all, and therefore I counsel you that he be well kept till God bring him back again. After twenty-four days he opened his eyes, and when he saw folk he made a great sorrow, and said, Why have you wakened me? For I was better at ease than I am now. What have you seen, said they about him? I have seen, said he, great marvels that no tongue can tell, and more than any heart can think. Then they said, Sir, the quest of the Sangreal is achieved right now in you, and never shall you see more of it than you have seen. I thank God, said Sir Lancelot, of his great mercy, for that I have seen for it suffice with me. Then he rose up and clothed himself, and when he was so arrayed they marveled all, for they knew it was Sir Lancelot the good night. And after four days he took his leave of the Lord of the Castle, and of all the fellowship that were there, and thanked them for their great labour and care of him. Then he departed and turned to Camelot, where he found King Arthur in Queen Guinevere, but many of the knights of the round table were slain and destroyed, more than half. Then all the court was passing glad of Sir Lancelot, and he told the King all his adventures that had befallen him since he departed. Sir Galahad Now, when Sir Galahad had rescued Percival from the twenty knights, he rode into a vast forest, wherein he abode many days. Then he took his way to the sea, and it befell him that he was benighted in a hermitage. And the good man was glad when he saw he was a knight errant. And when they were at rest there came a gentle woman knocking at the door, and the good man came to the door to wit what she would. Then she said, I would speak with the knight which is with you. Then Galahad went to her and asked her what she would. Sir Galahad said she, I will that she arm you and mount upon your horse and follow me, for I will show you the highest adventure that ever knight saw. Then Galahad armed himself and commended himself to God, and bad the dams will go before, and he would follow where she led. So she rode as fast as her palfrey might bear her, till she came to the sea, and there they found the ship where Sir Bohort and Sir Percival were, who cried from the ship, Sir Galahad, you are welcome, we have waited you long. And when he heard them he asked the damsel who were there. Sir, said she, leave your horse here, and I shall leave mine, and we will join ourselves to their company. So they entered into the ship, and the two knights received them both with great joy. For they knew the damsel, that she was Sir Percival's sister. Then the wind arose and drove them through the sea all that day and the next, till the ship arrived between two rocks, passing great and marvellous. But there they might not land, for there was a whirlpool, but there was another ship, and upon it they might go without danger. Go we thither, said the gentlewoman, and there we shall see adventures, for such is our Lord's will. Then Sir Galahad blessed him, and entered therein, and then next the gentlewoman, and then Sir Bohort and Sir Percival. And when they came on board they found there the table of silver, and the sangriail, which was covered with red samite. And they made great reverence thereto, and Sir Galahad prayed a long time to our Lord, that at what time he should ask to pass out of this world he should do so, and a voice said to him, Galahad, thou shalt have thy request, and when thou asketh the death of thy body thou shalt have it, and then shalt thou find the life of thy soul. And inon the wind drove them across the sea, till they came to the city of Saras. Then they took out of the ship the table of silver, and Sir Percival and Sir Bohort took it before, and Sir Galahad came behind, and right so they went to the city. And at the gate of the city they saw an old man, a cripple. And Sir Lawnfall said, I beheld in thee an image of him who died on the tree. Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns. Thou also hast had the world's buffets and scorns. And to thy life were not denied the wounds in thy hands and feet and side. Mild Mary's son acknowledged me. Behold, through him I give to thee. Lowell's holy grail. Then Galahad called him, and bade him health to bear this heavy thing. Truly said the old man, it is ten years since I could not go but with crutches. Care thou not, said Sir Galahad, but arise up and show thy good will. Then the old man rose up and assayed and found himself as whole as ever he was, and he ran to the table and took one part with Sir Galahad. When they came to the city it chanced that the king was just dead, and all the city was dismayed, and wist not who might be their king. Right so as they were in council there came a voice among them, and bade them choose the youngest night of those three to be their king. So they made Sir Galahad king, by all the assent of the city. And when he was made king he commanded to make a chest of gold and of precious stones to hold the holy vessel. And every day the three companions would come before it and make their prayers. Now at the year's end and the same day of the year that Sir Galahad received the crown he got up early, and with his fellows came to where the holy vessel was, and they saw one kneeling before it that had about him a great fellowship of angels. And he called Sir Galahad and said, Come thou servant of the Lord, and thou shalt see what thou hast much desire to see. And Sir Galahad's mortal flesh trembled right hard when he began to behold the spiritual things. Then said the good man, Now whatest thou who I am? Nay, said Sir Galahad, I am Joseph of Arimathea, whom our Lord hath sent here to thee, to bear thee fellowship. Then Sir Galahad held up his hands toward heaven and said, Now, blessed Lord, would I not longer live if it might please thee. And when he had said these words Sir Galahad went to Sir Percival and to Sir Bohort and kissed them and commended them to God. And then he kneeled down before the table, and made his prayers, and suddenly his soul departed, and a great multitude of angels bear his soul up to heaven, so as the two fellows could well behold it. Also they saw come from heaven a hand, but they saw not the body, and the hand came right to the vessel and buried up to heaven. Since then there never was anyone so hardy as to say that he had seen the Sangral on earth any more.