 The Age of Chivalry, Chapter 5, from Bullfinch's The Age of Chivalry. After the great victory of Mount Badden by which the Saxons were for a time effectually put down, Arthur turned his arms against the Scots and Picts, whom he routed at Lake Lomond and compelled to sue for mercy. Then he went to York to keep his Christmas, and employed himself in restoring the Christian churches which the Pagans had rifled and overthrown. The following summer he conquered Ireland, and then made a voyage with his fleet to Iceland, which he also subdued. The kings of Gothland and of the Orkneys came voluntarily and made their submission, promising to pay tribute. Then he returned to Britain, where, having established the kingdom, he dwelt 12 years in peace. During this time he invited over to him all persons whatsoever that were famous for valor in foreign nations and augmented the number of his domestics, and introduced such politeness into his court as people of the remotest countries thought worthy of their imitation, so that there was not a nobleman who thought himself of any consideration unless his clothes and arms were made in the same fashion as those of Arthur's knights. Finding himself so powerful at home, Arthur began to form designs for extending his power abroad. So having prepared his fleet, he first attempted Norway, that he might procure the crown of it for Lot, his sister's husband. Arthur landed in Norway, fought a great battle with the king of that country, defeated him, and pursued the victory till he had reduced the whole country under his dominion and established Lot upon the throne. Then Arthur made a voyage to Gaul and laid siege to the city of Paris. Gaul was at that time a Roman province, and governed by Flolo the Tribune. When the siege of Paris had continued a month and the people began to suffer from famine, Flolo challenged Arthur to single combat, proposing to decide the conquest of the province in that way. Arthur gladly accepted the challenge, and slew his adversary in the contest, upon which the citizens surrendered the city to him. After the victory, Arthur divided his army into two parts, one of which he committed to the conduct of Hoel, whom he ordered to march into Aquitaine, while he with the other part should endeavor to subdue the other provinces. At the end of nine years, in which time all the parts of Gaul were entirely reduced, Arthur returned to Paris, where he kept his court, and calling an assembly of the clergy and people established peace and the just administration of the laws in that kingdom. Then he bestowed Normandy upon Bedver, his butler, and the province of Andegavia upon Kay, his steward. This name in the French romances is spelled Q-U-E-U-X, which means head cook. This would seem to imply that it was a title and not a name. Yet the personage who bore it is never mentioned by any other. He is the chief, if not the only, comic character among the heroes of Arthur's court. He is the cinéchal, or steward, his duties also embracing those of chief of the cooks. In the romances, his general character is a compound of valor and buffoonery, always ready to fight, and generally getting the worst of the battle. He is also sarcastic and abusive in his remarks, by which he often gets into trouble, yet Arthur seems to have an attachment to him, and often takes his advice, which is generally wrong, into footnote. Then he bestowed Normandy upon Bedver, his butler, and the province of Andegavia upon Kay, his steward, and several other provinces upon his great men that attended him. And having settled the peace of the cities and countries, he returned back in the beginning of spring to Britain. Upon the approach of the Feast of Pentecost, Arthur, the better to demonstrate his joy after such triumphant successes, and for the more solemn observation of that festival, and reconciling the minds of the princes that were now subject to him, resolved during that season to hold a magnificent court, to place the crown upon his head, and to invite all the kings and dukes under his subjection to the solemnity. And he pitched upon Carillon, the city of legions, as the proper place for his purpose. For besides its great wealth above the other cities, its situation upon the River Usk, near the Severn Sea, was most pleasant and fit for so great a solemnity. For on one side it was washed by that noble river, so that the kings and princes from the countries beyond the seas might have the convenience of sailing up to it. On the other side the beauty of the meadows and groves, and magnificence of the royal palaces, with lofty gilded roofs that adorned it, made it even rival the grandeur of Rome. It was also famous for two churches, whereof one was adorned with a choir of virgins who devoted themselves wholly to the service of God, and the other maintained a convent of priests. Besides, there was a college of two hundred philosophers, who being learned in astronomy and the other art, were diligent in observing the courses of the stars, and gave Arthur true predictions of the events that would happen. In this place, therefore, which afforded such delights, were preparations made for the ensuing festival. Footnote. Several cities are allotted to King Arthur by the romance writers. The principal are Carillon, Camelot, and Carillon. Carillon derives its name from its having been the station of one of the legions during the dominion of the Romans. It is called by Latin writers, urbs legionum, the city of legions, the former word being rendered into Welsh by Caer, meaning city, and the latter contracted into leon. The river Usk retains its name in modern geography, and there is a town or city of Carillon upon it. The city of Cardiff is thought to be the scene of Arthur's court. Chester also bears in Welsh the name of Carillon, for Chester, derived from Castra, Latin for camp, is the designation of military headquarters. Camelot is thought to be Winchester. Charlotte is Gilford. Hamosport is Southampton. Carlisle is the city still retaining that name near the Scottish border, but this name is also sometimes applied to other places, which were, like itself, military stations in the footnote. Ambassadors were then sent to several kingdoms to invite to court the princes both of Gaul and of the adjacent islands. Accordingly, there came Augustel, king of Albania, now Scotland. Cadwalo, king of Venedotia, now North Wales. Satter, king of Demetia, now South Wales. Also the archbishops of the metropolitan seas, London and York. And Dubrisius, bishop of Carillon, the city of legions. This prelate, who was primate of Britain, was so imminent for his piety that he could cure any sick person by his prayers. There were also the counts of the principal cities and many other worthies of no less dignity. From the adjacent islands came Guillamurrios, king of Ireland. Gunfasius, king of the Orkneys. Malvasius, king of Iceland. Lott, king of Norway. Bedher, the butler, Duke of Normandy. Kay, the steward, Duke of Andegavea. Also the twelve peers of Gaul and Hoel, Duke of the Amorican Britons, with his nobility, who came with such a train of mules, horses and rich furniture as it is difficult to describe. Besides these, there remained no prints of any consideration on this side of Spain who came not upon this invitation. And no wonder, when Arthur's munificence, which was celebrated over the whole world, made him beloved by all people. When all were assembled upon the day of the solemnity, the archbishops were conducted to the palace in order to place the crown upon the king's head. Then, Gubrisius, in as much as the court was held in his diocese, made himself ready to celebrate the office. As soon as the king was invested with his royal habiliments, he was conducted in great pomp to the Metropolitan Church, having four kings, Viz of Albania, Cornwall, Demetia and Venidotia, bearing four golden swords before him. On another part was the queen, dressed out in her richest ornaments, conducted by the archbishops and bishops to the Church of Virgins. The four queens, also of the king's last mention, bearing before her four white doves, according to ancient custom. When the whole procession was ended, so transporting was the harmony of musical instruments and voices, whereof there was a vast variety in both churches that the knights who attended were in doubt which to prefer, and therefore crowded from one to the other by turns, and were far from being tired of the solemnity, though the whole day had been spent in it. At last, when divine service was over at both churches, the king and queen put off their crowns, and putting on their lighter ornaments went to the banquet. When they had all taken their seats according to precedence, they, a steward, in rich robes of ermine, with a thousand young noblemen all in like manner clothed in rich attire, served up the dishes. From another part, Bedherd, the butler, was followed by the same number of attendants, who waited with all kinds of cups and drinking vessels. And there was food and drink in abundance, and everything was of the best kind, and served in the best manner. For at that time Britain had arrived at such a pitch of grandeur that in riches, luxury, and politeness it far surpassed all other kingdoms. As soon as the banquets were over, they went into the fields without the city to divert themselves with various sports, such as shooting with bows and arrows, tossing the pipe, casting of heavy stones and rocks, playing at dice and the like, and all these inoffensively and without quarreling. In this manner were three days spent, and after that they separated, and the kings and noblemen departed to their several homes. After this Arthur reigned five years in peace. Then came ambassadors from Lucius Tiberius, procurator under Leo, emperor of Rome, demanding tribute. But Arthur refused to pay tribute, and prepared for war. As soon as the necessary dispositions were made, he committed the government of his kingdom to his nephew Maudred, and to Queen Guinevere, and marched with his army to Hamosport, where the wind stood fair for him. The army crossed over in safety, and landed at the mouth of the river Barba, and there they pitched their tents to wait the arrival of the kings of the islands. As soon as all the forces were arrived, Arthur marched forward to Agus Tordunum, and encamped on the banks of the river Alma. After repeated battles were fought, in all which the Britons under their valiant leaders, Joelle Duke of Armorica, and Guine, nephew to Arthur, had the advantage. At length Lucius Tiberius determined to retreat, and wait for the emperor Leo to join him with fresh troops. But Arthur, anticipating this event, took possession of a certain valley, and closed up the way of retreat to Lucius, compelling him to fight a decisive battle in which Arthur lost some of the bravest of his knights and most faithful followers. But on the other hand, Lucius Tiberius was slain, and his army totally defeated. The fugitives dispersed over the country, some to the byways and woods, some to cities and towns, and all other places where they could hope for safety. Arthur stayed in those parts till the next winter was over, and employed his time in restoring order and settling the government. Then he returned to England, and celebrated his victories with great splendor. Then the king established all his knights. And to them that were not rich, he gave lands, and charged them all never to do outrage nor murder, and always to flee treason, also by no means to be cruel, but to give mercy unto him that asked mercy upon pain of forfeiture of their worship and lordship, and always to do ladies, damoiselles, and gentlewomen's service upon pain of death, and that no man take battle in a wrongful quarrel, for no law, nor for any world's goods. Unto this were all the knights sworn of the roundtable, both old and young, and that every year they were sworn at the high feast of Pentecost. King Arthur slays the giant of St. Michael's Mount. While the army was encamped in Brittany, awaiting the arrival of the kings, there came a countryman to Arthur, and told him that a giant, whose cave was on a neighboring mountain called St. Michael's Mount, had for a long time been accustomed to carry off the children of the peasants to devour them. And now he hath taken the Duchess of Brittany, as she rode with her attendants, and hath carried her away in spite of all they could do. Now, fellow, said King Arthur, canst thou bring me there where this giant haunted? Ye sure, said the good man, lo, yonder, where thou seeest two great fires, there shalt thou find him, and more treasure than I suppose is in all France beside. The king called to him Sir Bedford and Sir Kay, and commanded them to make ready horse and harness for himself and them. For after evening he would ride on pilgrimage to St. Michael's Mount. So they three departed, and rode forth till they came to the foot of the Mount. And there the king commanded them to tarry, for he would himself go up into that Mount. So he ascended the hill till he came to a great fire, and there he found an aged woman sitting by a new-made grave making great sorrow. Then King Arthur saluted her, and demanded of her wherefore she made such lamentation, to whom she answered, Sir Knight, speak lo, for yonder is a devil, and if he hear thee speak, he will come and destroy thee, for ye cannot make resistance to him. He is so fierce and so strong, he hath murdered the Duchess, which here lieth, who was the fairest of all the world, wife to Sir Hoel, Duke of Brittany. Dane, said the king, I come from the noble conqueror, King Arthur, to treat with that tyrant. Fie on such treaties, said she. He sitteth not by the king, nor by no man else. Well, said Arthur, I will accomplish my message for all your fearful words. So he went forth by the crest of the hill, and saw where the giant sat at supper, gnawing on the limb of a man, and baking his broad limbs at the fire, and three fair damsels lying bound, whose lot it was to be devoured in their turn. When King Arthur beheld that, he had great compassion on them, so that his heart bled for sorrow. Then he hailed the giant, saying, He that all the world ruleth give thee short life, and shameful death, why hast thou murdered this Duchess? Therefore, come forth, for this day thou shalt die by my hand. Then the giant started up, and took a great club, and smote at the king, and smote off his coronal. And then the king struck him in the belly with his sword, and made a fearful wound. Then the giant threw away his club, and caught the king in his arms, so that he crushed his ribs. Then the three maidens kneeled down, and prayed for help, and comfort for Arthur. And Arthur weltered and wrenched, so that he was one while under, and another time above. And so weltering and wallowing, they rolled down the hill, and ever as they weltered, Arthur smote him with his dagger, and it fortune'd they came to the place where the two knights were. And when they saw the king fast in the giant's arms, they came and loosed him. Then the king commanded Sir Kay to smite off the giant's head, and to set it on the truncheon of a spear, and fix it on the Barbican, that all the people might see and behold it. This was done, and anon it was known through all the country, wherefore the people came and thanked the king. And he said, Give your thanks to God, and take ye the giant's spoil, and divide it among you. King Arthur caused a church to be build'd on that hill, in honor of St. Michael. King Arthur gets a sword from the Lady of the Lake. One day, King Arthur rode forth, and on a sudden he was aware of three churls chasing Merlin, to have slain him. Then the king rode unto them, and bade them, flee, churls. Then were they afraid when they saw a knight and fled. Oh Merlin, said Arthur, here hath thou been slain for all thy crafts had I not been by. Nay, said Merlin, not so, for I could save myself if I would, but thou art more near thy death than I am. So as they went, thus talking, King Arthur perceived where sat a knight on horseback, as if to guard the pass. Sir Knight, said Arthur, for what cause abidest thou here? Then the knight said, There may no knight ride this way unless he just with me, for such is the custom of the pass. I will amend that custom, said the king. Then they ran together, and they met so hard that their spears were shivered. Then they drew their swords, and fought a strong battle with many great strokes. But at length the sword of the knight smoked King Arthur's sword in two pieces. Then said the knight unto Arthur, Thou art in my power, whether to save thee or slay thee, and unless thou yield thee as overcome and recreant, thou shalt die. As for death, said King Arthur, Welcome be it when it cometh, but to yield me unto thee as recreant, I will not. Then he leapt upon the knight, and took him by the middle and threw him down. But the knight was a passing strong man, and the non he brought Arthur under him, and would have raised off his helm to slay him. Then said Merlin, Knight, hold thy hand, for this knight is a man of more worship than thou art aware of. Why, who is he? said the knight. It is King Arthur. Then would he have slain him for dread of his wrath, and lifted up his sword to slay him, and therewith Merlin cast an enchantment on the knight, so that he fell to the earth in a great sleep. Then Merlin took up King Arthur, and set him on his horse. Alas, said Arthur, what hast thou done, Merlin? Hast thou slain this good night by thy crafts? Care you not, said Merlin? He is holer than ye be. He is only asleep, and will wake in three hours. Then the king and he departed, and went till they came to a hermit that was a good man, and a great beach. So the hermit searched all his wounds and applied good saps, and the king was there three days, and then were his wounds well amended, that he might ride and go. So they departed, and as they rode Arthur said, I have no sword. No matter, said Merlin, hereby is a sword that shall be yours. So they rode till they came to a lake, which was of fair water and broad, and in the midst of the lake Arthur was aware of an arm clothed in white Samite that held a fair sword in the hand. Footnote, Samite, a sort of silk stuff, into footnote. Lo, said Merlin, yonder is that sword that I speak of. It belongeth to the lady of the lake. And if she will, thou mayest take it. But if she will not, it will not be in thy power to take it. So Sir Arthur and Merlin alighted from their horses and went into a boat, and when they came to the sword that the hand held, Sir Arthur took it by the handle, and took it to him, and the arm and the hand went under the water. Then they returned to the land and rode forth, and Sir Arthur looked on the sword and liked it right well. So they rode unto Carolon, whereof his knights were passing glad, and when they heard of his adventures they marveled that he would jeopard his person so alone. But all men of worship said it was a fine thing to be under such a chieftain as would put his person in adventure as other poor knights did. CHAPTER VI. Sir Gowan. Sir Gowan was nephew to King Arthur by his sister Morgana, married to Lot, King of Orkney, who was by Arthur made King of Norway. Sir Gowan was one of the most famous knights of the round table, and is characterized by the romancers as the sage and the courteous Gowan. To this Chaucer alludes in his squire's tale, where the strange knight salueth all the court, with so high reverence and observance, as well in speech as in countenance, that Gowan, with his old courtesy, though he were come again out of fairy, necked him not a menon with a word. Gowan's brothers were Agriven, Gahariot, and Gareth. Sir Gowan's Marriage. Once upon a time King Arthur held his court in Merry Carlyle, when a damsel came before him and craved a boon. It was for vengeance upon a Cate of Knight, who had made her lover captive and despoiled her of her lands. King Arthur commanded him to bring his sword Excalibur and to saddle his steed, and rode forth without delay to right the ladies wrong. Air long he reached the castle of the Grim Baron, and challenged him to the conflict. But the castle stood on magic ground, and the spell was such that no knight could tread thereon, but straight his courage fell and his strength decayed. King Arthur felt the charm, and before a blow was struck, his sturdy limbs lost their strength, and his head grew faint. He was feigned to yield himself prisoner to the churlish knight, who refused to release him except upon condition that he should return at the end of a year, and bring a true answer to the question, What thing is it which women most desire? Or in default thereof surrender himself and his lands. King Arthur accepted the terms, and gave his oath to return at the time appointed. During the year the king rode east, and he rode west, and inquired of all whom he met what thing it is which all women most desire. Some told him riches, some pomp and state, some mirth, some flattery, and some a gallant knight. But in the diversity of answers he could find no sure dependence. The year was well nigh spent, when one day, as he rode thoughtfully through a forest, he saw sitting beneath a tree a lady of such hideous aspect that he turned away his eyes, and when she greeted him in seemly sort made no answer. What wide art thou, the lady said, that will not speak to me? It may chance that I may resolve thy doubts, though I be not fair of aspect. If thou wilt do so, said King Arthur, choose what reward thou wilt, thou grim lady, and it shall be given thee. Swear me this upon thy faith, she said, and Arthur swore it. Then the lady told him the secret, and demanded her reward, which was that the king should find some fair and courtly knight to be her husband. King Arthur hastened to the grim baron's castle, and told him one by one all the answers which he had received from his various advisors, except the last, and not one was admitted as the true one. Now yield thee, Arthur, the giant said, for thou hast not paid thy ransom, and thou and thy lands are forfeited to me. Then King Arthur said, yet hold thy hand, thou proud baron, I pray thee hold thy hand, and give me leave to speak once more in rescue of my land. This morn as I came over more, I saw a lady set, between an oak and a green holly, all clad in red scarlet. She says all women would have their will. This is their chief desire. Now yield, as thou art a baron true, that I have paid my hire. It was my sister that told thee this, the churlish baron exclaimed, vengeance light on her, I will some time or other do her as ill a turn. King Arthur wrote homeward, but not light of heart, for he remembered the promise he was under to the lowly lady, to give her one of his young and gallant knights for a husband. He told his grief to Sir Gowen, his nephew, and he replied, Be not sad, my lord, for I will marry the lowly lady. King Arthur replied, Now nay, now nay, good Sir Gowen, my sister's son ye be, the lowly ladies all too grim, and all too foul for thee. But Gowen persisted, and the king at last, with sorrow of heart, consented that Gowen should be his ransom. So one day the king and his knights rode to the forest, met the lowly lady, and brought her to the court. Sir Gowen stood the scoffs and jeers of his companions as best he might, and the marriage was solemnised, but not with the usual festivities. Chaucer tells us, There was no joy ne'fest at all, there n'as but heaviness and mokol sorrow, for previlly he wed her on the morwa, and all day after hid him as an owlah, so will him with his wife look so foul. Footnote. Naz is not was, contracted, in modern phrase. There was not. Mokol sorrow is much sorrow, morwa is morrow. When night came, and they were alone together, Sir Gowen could not conceal his aversion, and the lady asked him why he sighed so heavily, and turned away his face. He candidly confessed it was on account of three things, her age, her ugliness, and her low degree. The lady, not at all offended, replied with excellent arguments to all his objections. She showed him that with age is discretion, with ugliness, security from rivals, and that all gentility depends, not upon the accident of birth, but upon the character of the individual. Sir Gowen made no reply, but turning his eyes on his bride, what was his amazement to perceive that she wore no longer the unseemly aspect that had so distressed him. She then told him that the form she had worn was not her true form, but a disguise imposed upon her by a wicked enchanter, and that she was condemned to wear it until two things should happen. One, that she should obtain some young and gallant night to be her husband. This, having been done, one half of the charm was removed. She was now at liberty to wear her true form for half the time, and she bad him choose whether he would have her fair by day and ugly by night, or the reverse. Sir Gowen would faint have her look her best by night, when he alone would see her, and show her repulsive visage, if at all, to others. But she reminded him how much more pleasant it would be to her to wear her best looks in the throng of nights and ladies by day. Sir Gowen yielded, and gave up his will to hers. This alone was wanting to dissolve the charm. The lovely lady, now, with joy assured him that she should change no more, but as she now was, so she would remain by night as well as by day. Sweet blushes stained her red-red cheek, her eyes were black as slow, the ripening cherry swelled her lip, and all her neck was snow. Sir Gowen kissed that lady fair, lying upon the sheet, and swore as he was a true knight that Spice was never so sweet. The disillusion of the charm which had held the lady also released her brother, the Grim Baron, for he too had been implicated in it. He ceased to be a churlish oppressor, and became a gallant and generous knight, as any at Arthur's court. CHAPTER VII. CARIDOCK BREAFRUS. OR CARIDOCK WITH THE SHRUNKEN ARM. CARIDOCK was the son of Issen, a beautiful niece of Arthur. He was ignorant who his father was, till it was discovered in the following manner. When the youth was of proper years to receive the honors of knighthood, King Arthur held a grand court for the purpose of knighting him. On this occasion a strange knight presented himself and challenged the knights of Arthur's court to exchange blow for blow with him. His proposal was this—to lay his neck on a block for any knight to strike, on condition that, if he survived the blow, the knight should submit and turn to the same experiment. Sir Kay, who was usually ready to accept all challenges, pronounced this wholly unreasonable, and declared that he would not accept it for all the wealth in the world. And when the knight offered his sword, with which the operation was to be performed, no person ventured to accept it, till Caridock, growing angry at the disgrace which was thus incurred by the round table, threw aside his mantle and took it. Do you do this as one of the best knights? said the stranger. No, he replied, but as one of the most foolish. The stranger lays his head upon the block, receives a blow which sends it rolling from his shoulders, walks after it, picks it up, replaces it with great success, and says he will return when the court shall be assembled next year and claim his turn. When the anniversary arrived, both parties were punctual to their engagement. Great entreaties were used by the king and queen, and the whole court, in behalf of Caridock, but the stranger was inflexible. The young knight laid his head upon the block, and more than once desired him to make an end of the business, and not keep him longer in so disagreeable a state of expectation. At last the stranger strikes him gently with the sight of his sword, bids him rise, and reveals to him the fact that he is his father, the enchanter, Eliaris, and that he gladly owns him for a son, having proved his courage and fidelity to his word. But the favour of enchanters is short-lived and uncertain. Eliaris fell under the influence of a wicked woman, who to satisfy her peak against Caridock persuaded the enchanter to fasten on his arm a serpent, which remained there sucking at his flesh and blood, no human skill sufficing either to remove the reptile, or to alleviate the torments which Caridock endured. Caridock was betrothed to Goomier, a sister to his bosom friend, Cador, and daughter to the king of Cornwall. As soon as they were informed of his deplorable condition, they set out for Nantes, where Caridock's castle was, that Goomier might attend upon him. When Caridock heard of their coming his first emotion was that of joy and love, but soon he began to fear that the sight of his emaciated form and of his sufferings would disgust Goomier, and this apprehension became so strong that he departed secretly from Nantes and hid himself in a hermitage. He was sought far and near by the knights of Arthur's court, and Cador made a vow never to desist from the quest till he should have found him. After long wandering, Cador discovered his friend in the hermitage, reduced almost to a skeleton and apparently near his death. All other means of relief having already been tried in vain, Cador at last prevailed on the enchanter Eliaris to disclose the only method which could avail for his rescue. A maiden must be found, his equal in birth and beauty, and loving him better than herself, so that she would expose herself to the same torment to deliver him. Two vessels were then to be provided, the one filled with sour wine and the other with milk. Caridock must enter the first so that the wine should reach his neck, and the maiden must get into the other, and exposing her bosom up to the edge of the vessel, invite the serpent to forsake the withered flesh of his victim for this fresh and inviting food. The vessels were to be placed three feet apart, and as the serpent crossed from one to the other, a knight was to cut him in two. If he failed in his blow, Caridock would indeed be delivered, but it would be only to see his fair champion suffering the same cruel and hopeless torment. The sequel might be easily foreseen. Goumié willingly exposed herself to the perilous adventure, and Cador, with a lucky blow, killed the serpent. The arm in which Caridock had suffered so long recovered its strength, but not its shape, in consequence of which he was called Caridock Briefbrush, Caridock of the Shrunken Arm. Caridock and Goumié are the hero and heroine of the ballad of the Boy in the Mantle, which follows. The Boy in the Mantle. In Carlisle dwelt King Arthur, a Prince of Passing Might, and there maintained his table round, beset with many a night. And there he kept his Christmas with mirth and princely cheer, when low a strange and cunning Boy before him did appear. A curtle and a mantle, this Boy had him upon, with brooches, rings and ouches, full daintily bedone. He had a sash of silk about his middle meat, and thus with seemly courtesy he did King Arthur greet. God speed thee, brave King Arthur, thus feasting in thy bower. And Guinevere thy goodly queen, that fair and peerless flower. Ye gallant lords and lordlings, I wish you all take heed, lest what ye deem a blooming rose should prove a cankered weed. Then straightway from his bosom a little wand he drew, and with it ec amantle of wondrous shape and hue. Now have thou here, King Arthur, have this here of me, and give it unto thy comely queen, all shape and as you see. No wife it shall become, that once hath been to blame. Then every night in Arthur's court sly glanced at his dame. And first came Lady Guinevere, the mantle she must try. This dame she was newfangled and of a roving eye. When she had taken the mantle, and all with it was clad, from top to toe it shivered down, as though with tears beshred. One while it was too long, another while too short, and wrinkled on her shoulders in most unseemly sort. Now green, now red it seemed, then all of Sablehew. Be shroomy, quoth King Arthur, I think thou beest not true. Down she threw the mantle no longer would she stay, but storming like a fury to her chamber flung away. She cursed the rascal weaver that had the mantle wrought, and doubly cursed the forward imp who thither had it brought. I had rather live in deserts beneath the Greenwood Tree, than here base king among my grooms the sport of them and thee. Sir Kay called forth his lady and bade her to come near, yet dame if thou be guilty I pray thee now for bear. This lady, pertly giggling, with forward step came on, and boldly to the little boy with fearless faces gone. When she had taken the mantle with purpose for to wear, it shrunk up to her shoulder and left her back all bare. Then every merry night that was in Arthur's court, jived and laughed and flouted to see that pleasant sport. Down she threw the mantle no longer bold or gay, but with a face all pale and wan to her chamber slunk away. Then forth came an old night a pattering over his creed, and proffered to the little boy five nobles to his mead. And all the time of Christmas plum poured shall be thine, if thou wilt let my lady fare within the mantle shine. A saint his lady seemed, with step demure and slow, and gravely to the mantle with mincing face doth go. When she the same had taken that was so fine and thin, it shriveled all about her and showed her dainty skin. Ah! little did her mincing, or his long prayers bested. She had no more hung on her than a tassel and a thread. Down she threw the mantle with terror and dismay, and with a face of scarlet to her chamber hide away. Sir Craddock called his lady, and bade her to come near. Come win this mantle, lady, and do me credit here. Come win this mantle, lady, for now it shall be thine, if thou hast never done a miss, since first I made thee mine. The lady, gently blushing, with modest grace came on, and now to try the wondrous charm courageously is gone. When she had tay in the mantle and put it on her back, about the hem it seemed to wrinkle and to crack. Lest still she cried, O mantle, and shame me not for not, I'll freely own whatever miss or blameful I have wrought. Once I kissed Sir Craddock beneath the greenwood tree, before I kissed Sir Craddock's mouth before he married me. When she had thus her shriven and her worst fault had told, the mantle soon became her right comely as it should. Most rich and fair of colour, like gold glittering shone, and much the knights in Arthur's court admired her every one. The ballad goes on to tell of two more trials of a similar kind, made by means of a boar's head and a drinking-horn, in both of which the result was equally favourable, with the first to Sir Craddock and his lady. It then concludes as follows. Thus boar's head, horn and mantle, were this fair couple's mead, and all such constant lovers, God send them well to speed. Percy's Reliques. This is 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 8. Lancelot of the Lake. King Ban of Brittany, the faithful ally of Arthur, was attacked by his enemy, Claudus, and after a long war, saw himself reduced to the possession of a single fortress, where he was besieged by his enemy. In this extremity he determined to solicit the assistance of Arthur, and escaped in a dark night with his wife Helen and his infant son, Lancelot, leaving his castle in the hands of his Seneshaw, who immediately surrendered the place to Claudus. The flames of his burning citadel reached the eyes of the unfortunate monarch during his flight, and he expired with grief. The wretched Helen, leaving her child on the brink of a lake, flew to receive the last size of her husband, and on returning perceived the little Lancelot in the arms of a nymph, who on the approach of the queen threw herself into the lake with the child. This nymph was Vivienne, mistress of the enchanter Merlin, better known by the name of The Lady of the Lake. Lancelot received his appellation from having been educated at the court of this enchanteress, whose palace was situated in the midst not of a real, but like the appearance which deceives the African traveller, of an imaginary lake, whose diluting resemblance served as a barrier to her residence. Here she dwelt not alone, but in the midst of a numerous retinue and a splendid court of knights and damsels. The queen, after her double loss, retired to a convent where she was joined by the widow of Bohort, for this good king had died of grief on hearing of the death of his brother Ban. His two sons Lionel and Bohort were rescued by a faithful knight and arrived in the shape of greyhounds at the palace of the lake, where having resumed their natural form, they were educated along with their cousin Lancelot. The fairy, when her pupil had attained the age of 18, conveyed him to the court of Arthur, for the purpose of demanding his admission to the honour of knighthood, and at the first appearance of the youthful candidate, the graces of his person, which were not inferior to his courage and skill in arms, made an instantaneous and indelible impression on the heart of Guinevere, while her charms inspired him with an equally ardent and constant passion. The mutual attachment of these lovers exerted, from that time forth, an influence over the whole history of Arthur. For the sake of Guinevere, Lancelot achieved the conquest of Northumberland, defeated Galahot, king of the marches, who afterward became his most faithful friend and ally, exposed himself in numberless encounters, and brought hosts of prisoners to the feet of his sovereign. Sir Lancelot. After King Arthur was come from Rome into England, all the knights of the table-round resorted unto him and made him many justs and tournaments. And in his special, Sir Lancelot of the lake, in all tournaments and justs and deeds of arms, both for life and death, passed all other knights and was never overcome, except it were by treason or enchantment, and he increased marvelously in worship, wherefore Queen Guinevere had him in great favor, above all other knights. And for certain he loved the Queen again above all other ladies, and for her he did many deeds of arms and saved her from peril through his noble chivalry. Thus Sir Lancelot rested him long with play and game, and then he thought to prove himself in strange adventures, so he bade his nephew Sir Lionel to make him ready, for we too will seek adventures. So they mounted on their horses armed at all sites, and rode into a forest, and so into a deep plain, and the weather was hot about noon, and Sir Lancelot had great desire to sleep. Then Sir Lionel aspired a great apple-tree that stood by a hedge, and he said, Brother, yonder is a fair shadow, there may we rest us and our horses. It is well said, replied Sir Lancelot. So they there lighted, and Sir Lancelot laid him down and his helm under his head, and soon was asleep passing fast. And Sir Lionel waked while he slept, and presently there came three knights, riding as fast as ever they might ride, and there followed them but one knight, and Sir Lionel thought he never saw so great a knight before. So within a while this great knight overtook one of those knights, and smote him so that he fell to the earth. Then he rode to the second knight, and smote him, and so he did to the third knight. Then he alighted down and bound all the three knights fast with their own bridles. When Sir Lionel saw him do thus he thought to assay him, and made him ready silently not to awake Sir Lancelot, and rode after the strong knight and bade him turn, and the others smote Sir Lionel so hard that horse and man fell to the earth. And then he alighted down and bound Sir Lionel and threw him across his own horse. And so he served them all four, and rode with them away to his own castle, and when he came there he put them in a deep prison in which were many more knights in great distress. Now while Sir Lancelot lay under the apple-tree sleeping, there came by him four queens of great estate, and that the heat should not grieve them, there rode four knights about them, and bare a cloth of green silk on four spears betwixt them and the sun. And the queens rode on four white mules. Thus as they rode they heard by them a great horse grimly nay. Then they were aware of a sleeping knight that lay all armed under an apple-tree, and as the queens looked on his face they knew it was Sir Lancelot. Then they began to strive for that knight, and each one said she would have him for her love. We will not strive, said Morgaine Le Fay, that was King Arthur's sister, for I will put an enchantment upon him that he shall not wake for six hours, and we will take him away to my castle, and then, when he is surely within my hold, I will take the enchantment from him, and then let him choose which of us he will have for his love. So the enchantment was cast upon Sir Lancelot, and then they laid him upon his shield and bare him so on horseback between two nights, and brought him unto the castle and laid him in a chamber. And at night they sent him his supper, and on the morning came early those four queens richly dite and bade him good morning, and he them again. Sir Knight, they said, Thou must understand Thou art our prisoner, and we know thee well that Thou art Sir Lancelot of the lake King Ban's son, and that Thou art the noblest knight living. And we know well that there can no lady have thy love but one, and that his queen Gwenevere, and now thou shalt lose her for ever, and she thee, and therefore it behooveeth thee now to choose one of us. I am the queen Morgaine Le Fay, and here is the queen of north Wales, and the queen of Eastland, and the queen of the Isles. Now choose one of us which Thou wilt have, for if Thou choose not, in this prison Thou shalt die. This is a hard case, said Sir Lancelot, that either I must die or else choose one of you. Yet had I livery to die in this prison with worship than to have one of you for my paramour, for ye be false enchantresses. Well, said the queens, is this your answer that ye will refuse us? Yea, on my life it is, said Sir Lancelot. Then they departed, making great sorrow. Then at noon came a damsel unto him with his dinner, and asked him, What cheer? Truly fair damsel, said Sir Lancelot, never so ill. Sir, said she, if you will be ruled by me, I will help you out of this distress. If ye will promise me to help my father on Tuesday next, who hath made a tournament betwixt him and the king of north Wales, for last Tuesday my father lost the field. Fair maiden, said Sir Lancelot, tell me what is your father's name, and then will I give you an answer. Sir Knight, she said, My father is King Bagdemagus. I know him well, said Sir Lancelot. For a noble king and a good knight, and by the faith of my body I will be ready to do your father a new service at that day. So she departed, and came on the next morning early, and found him ready, and brought him out of twelve locks, and brought him to his own horse. And lightly he saddled him, and so rode forth. And on the Tuesday next he came to a little wood where the tournaments should be, and there were scaffolds and holds that lords and ladies might look on and give the prize. Then came into the field the king of north Wales with eight score helms, and King Bagdemagus came with four score helms, and then they couched their spears, and came together with a great dash. And there were overthrown at the first encounter twelve of King Bagdemagus' party, and six of the King of North Wales' party, and King Bagdemagus' party had the worse. With that came Sir Lancelot of the lake, and thrust in with his spear in the thickest of the press, and he smoked down five knights ere he held his hand, and he smoked down the King of North Wales, and he break his thigh in that fall, and then the knights of the King of North Wales would just know more, and so the grie was given to King Bagdemagus. And so Lancelot rode forth with King Bagdemagus under his castle, and there he had passing good cheer, both with the King and with his daughter, and on the morn he took his leave, and told the King he would go and seek his brother Sir Lionel that went from him when he slept. So he departed, and by adventure he came to the same forest where he was taken sleeping, and in the highway he met a damsel riding on a white palfrey, and they saluted each other. Fair damsel, said Sir Lancelot, no ye in this country any adventures? Sir Knight, said the damsel, here are adventures near at hand if thou durst pursue them. Why should I not prove adventures, said Sir Lancelot, since for that cause came I hither. Sir, said she, hereby dwelleth a knight that will not be overmatched for any man I know, except thou overmatch him. His name is Sir Turqueen, and as I understand he is a deadly enemy of King Arthur, and he has in his prison good nights of Arthur's court three score and more, that he heth won with his own hands. Damsel, said Lancelot, I pray you bring me unto this night. So she told him, hereby, within this mile is his castle, and by it on the left hand is a ford for horses to drink of, and over that ford there groweth a fair tree, and on that tree hang many shields that good nights wielded a foretime, that are now prisoners. And on the tree hangeth a basin of copper and Latin, and if thou strike upon that basin thou shalt hear tidings. And Sir Lancelot departed, and rode as the damsel had shown him, and shortly he came to the ford, and the tree where hung the shields and the basin. And among the shields he saw Sir Lionel's and Sir Hector's shields, besides many others of nights that he knew. Then Sir Lancelot struck on the basin with the butt of his spear, and long he did so, but he saw no man, and at length he was aware of a great night that drove a horse before him. And across the horse there lay an armed night bounden, and as they came near Sir Lancelot thought he should know the captive night. And Sir Lancelot saw that it was Sir Gaharis, Sir Gawain's brother, a night of the table round. Now fair night, said Sir Lancelot, put that wounded night off the horse, and let him rest awhile, and let us to prove our strength. For as it is told me thou hast done great despite and shame unto nights of the round table, therefore now defend thee. If thou be of the table round, said Sir Gawain, I defy thee and all thy fellowship. That is over much said, said Sir Lancelot. Then they put their spears and the rests and came together with their horses as fast as they might run, and each smote the other in the middle of their shields, so that their horses fell under them, and the nights were both staggered, and as soon as they could clear their horses, they drew out their swords and came together eagerly, and each gave the other many strong strokes, for neither shield nor harness might withstand their strokes, so within a while both had grimly wounds and bled grievously. Then, at the last, they were breathless both, and stood leaning upon their swords. Now, fellow, said Sir Gawain, thou art the stoutest man that ever I met with, and best breathed, and so be it thou be not the night that I hate above all other nights, the night that slew my brother, Sir Caradose. I will gladly accord with thee, and for thy love I will deliver all the prisoners that I have. What night is he that thou hateest so above others? Truly, said Sir Turquine, his name is Sir Lancelot of the Lake. I am Sir Lancelot of the Lake, King Ban's son of Benwick, and very night of the table round, and now I defy thee, do thy best. Ah, said Sir Turquine, Lancelot, thou art to me the most welcome that ever was night, for we shall never part till the one of us be dead. And then they hurtled together like two wild bulls, rashing and lashing with their swords and shields, so that sometimes they fell as it were headlong. Thus they fought two hours and more, till the ground where they fought was all be purpled with blood. Then, at the last, Sir Turquine waxed or faint and gave somewhat a back, and bare his shield fullo for weariness. That spied Sir Lancelot, and lept then upon him fiercely as a lion, and took him by the beaver of his helmet, and drew him down on his knees, and he raised off his helm, and smote his neck in sunder. And Sir Geharus, when he saw Sir Turquine slain, said, Fair Lord, I pray you tell me your name, for this day I say ye are the best night in the world, for ye have slain this day in my sight the mightiest man, and the best night except you that ever I saw. Sir, my name is Sir Lancelot Duloc, that ought to help you of right for King Arthur's sake, and in his special for Sir Gawain's sake your own dear brother. Now I pray you that ye go into yonder castle, and set free all the prisoners ye find there, for I am sure ye shall find there many nights of the table round. And especially my brother Sir Lionel. I pray you greet them all from me, and tell them I bid them take their such stuff as they find, and tell my brother to go unto the court and abide me there, for by the feast of Pentecost I think to be there. But at this time I may not stop, for I have adventures on hand. So he departed, and Sir Geharus rode into the castle and took the keys from the porter, and hastily opened the prison door and let out all the prisoners. There was Sir Kay, Sir Brandellus, and Sir Galind, Sir Brian, and Sir Allidook, Sir Hector de Maurice, and Sir Lionel, and many more. And when they saw Sir Geharus they all thanked him, for they thought because he was wounded that he had slain Sir Turqueen. Not so, said Sir Geharus. It was Sir Lancelot that slew him right worshiply. I saw it with mine eyes. Sir Lancelot rode till at nightfall he came to a fair castle, and therein he found an old gentlewoman who lodged him with goodwill, and there he had good cheer for him and his horse, and when time was his host brought him to a fair chamber over the gate to his bed. Then Sir Lancelot unarmed him, and set his harness by him, and went to bed, and anon he fell asleep, and soon after there came one on horseback, and knocked at the gate in great haste. And when Sir Lancelot heard this he arose and looked out of the window, and saw by the moonlight three knights riding after that one man, and all three lashed on him with their swords, and that one knight turned on them nightly again and defended himself. «Truly, said Sir Lancelot, yonder one knight will I help, for it is shame to see three knights on one. Then he took his harness and went out at the window by a sheet down to the four knights, and he said aloud, turn you knights unto me, and leave your fighting with that knight. Then the knights left Sir Kay, for it was he they were upon, and turned unto Sir Lancelot, and struck many great strokes at Sir Lancelot, and assailed him on every side. Then Sir Kay addressed him to help Sir Lancelot, but he said, «Nay, sir, I will none of your help. Let me alone with them». So Sir Kay suffered him to do his will, and stood one side, and within six strokes Sir Lancelot had stricken them down. Then they all cried, «Sir Knight, we yield us unto you». «As to that, said Sir Lancelot, I will not take your yielding unto me. If so, be ye will yield unto Sir Kay the Sannishall. I will save your lives, but else not. Fair Knight, then they said, «We will do as thou commandest us. Then shall ye, said Sir Lancelot, on wit's Sunday next, go unto the court of King Arthur, and there shall ye yield unto Queen Guinevere, and say that Sir Kay sent you thither to be her prisoners. Sir, they said, it shall be done by the faith of our bodies. And then they swore every night upon his sword, and so Sir Lancelot suffered them to depart. On the morning Sir Lancelot rose early, and left Sir Kay sleeping, and Sir Lancelot took Sir Kay's armour and his shield, and armed him and went to the stable and took his horse, and so he departed. Then soon after arose Sir Kay and missed Sir Lancelot, and then he aspired that he had taken his armour and his horse. «Now, by my faith I know well, said Sir Kay, that he will grieve some of King Arthur's knights, for they will deem that it is I, and will be bold to meet him. But by cause of his armour I am sure I shall ride in peace.» Then Sir Kay thanked his host, and departed. Sir Lancelot rode in a deep forest, and there he saw four knights under an oak, and they were of Arthur's court. There was Sir Sagrimor, Ladaziros, and Hector de Marise, and Sir Gawain, and Sir Uwein. As they spied Sir Lancelot they judged by his arms it had been Sir Kay. «Now, by my faith, said Sir Sagrimor, I will prove Sir Kay's might.» And got his spear in his hand and came towards Sir Lancelot. Therewith Sir Lancelot couched his spear against him, and smoked Sir Sagrimor, so sore that horse and man fell both to the earth. Then said Sir Hector, now shall ye see what I may do with him. But he fared worse than Sir Sagrimor. For Sir Lancelot's spear went through his shoulder and bare him from his horse to the ground. «By my faith, said Sir Uwein, yonder is a strong knight, and I fear he hath slain Sir Kay and taken his armour.» And therewith Sir Uwein took his spear in hand, and rode towards Sir Lancelot, and Sir Lancelot met him on the plane and gave him such a buffet that he was staggered, and wist not where he was. «Now see I well, said Sir Uwein, that I must encounter with that knight.» Then he adjusted his shield, and took a good spear in his hand, and Sir Lancelot knew him well. Then they let run their horses with all their mites, and each knight smoked the other in the middle of his shield, but Sir Uwein's spear broke, and Sir Lancelot charged so sore upon him that his horse fell over backward. Then Sir Lancelot passed by smiling with himself, and he said, «Good luck be with him that made this spear, for never came a better into my hand.» Then the four knights went each to the other, and comforted one another. «What say ye to this adventure, said Sir Uwein, that one spear hath felled us all four?» «I dare lay my head, it is Sir Lancelot, said Sir Hector. I know it by his writing.» And Sir Lancelot rode through many strange countries, till by fortune he came to a fair castle. And as he passed beyond the castle he thought he heard two bells ring. And then he had perceived how a falcon came flying over his head, toward a high elm, and she had long loonies, footnote, loonies, the string with which the falcon is held. She held long loonies about her feet, and she flew unto the elm to take her perch, and the loonies got entangled in the bow, and when she would have taken her flight she hung by the legs fast, and Sir Lancelot saw how she hung, and beheld the fair falcon entangled, and he was sorry for her. Then came a lady out of the castle, and cried aloud, «O Lancelot! Lancelot! Has thou art the flower of all knights helped me to get my hawk? For if my hawk be lost, my lord will slay me. He is so hasty.» «What is your lord's name?» said Sir Lancelot. «His name is Sir Felott, a knight that belongedeth to the King of North Wales.» «Well, fair lady, since ye know my name, and require me of knighthood to help you, I will do what I may to get your hawk. And yet, in truth, I am an ill climber, and the tree is passing high, and few bows to help me.» And therewith Sir Lancelot alighted, and tied his horse to the tree, and prayed the lady to unarm him. And when he was unarmed, he put off his jerkin, and with might and force he clung up to the falcon, and tied the loonies to a rotten bow, and threw the hawk down with it. And the lady got the hawk in her hand. Then, suddenly, there came out of the castle her husband, all armed and with his naked sword in his hand, and said, «O knight Lancelot! Now have I got thee as I would.» and stood at the ball of the tree to slay him. «Ah, lady, said Sir Lancelot, why have ye betrayed me.» «She hath done, said Sir Felot.» «But as I commanded her, and therefore there is none other way, but thine hour is come, and thou must die.» «That would shame unto thee, said Sir Lancelot.» «Thou an armed knight to slay a naked man by treason.» «Thou get as none other grace, said Sir Felot, and therefore help thyself if thou canst.» «Alas, said Sir Lancelot, that ever a knight should die weaponless.» And therewith he turned his eyes upward and downward, and over his head he saw a big bow leafless, and he break it off from the trunk, and then he came lower and watched how his own horse stood, and suddenly he leapt on the further side of his horse from the night. Then Sir Felot lashed at him eagerly, meaning to have slain him, but Sir Lancelot put away the stroke with the big bow, and smote Sir Felot therewith on the side of the head, so that he fell down in a swoon to the ground. Then Sir Lancelot took his sword out of his hand, and struck his head from the body. Then said the lady, «Alas, why hast thou slain my husband.» «I am not the cause, said Sir Lancelot.» «Forwith falsehood ye would have slain me, and now it is fallen on yourselves.» Thereupon Sir Lancelot got all his armour, and put it upon him hastily. For fear of more resort, for the night's castle was so nigh, and as soon as he might he took his horse and departed, and thank God he had escaped that adventure. And two days before the feast of Pentecost, Sir Lancelot came home, and the king and all the court were passing glad of his coming. And when Sir Gawain, Sir Uwein, Sir Sagramor, and Sir Hector de Marisse saw Sir Lancelot in Sir Kay's armour, then they whisked well it was he that smote them down, all with one spear. Then there was laughing and merriment among them, and from time to time came all the nights that Sir Turquine had prisoners, and they all honoured and worshipped Sir Lancelot. Then Sir Gaharis said, I saw all the battle from the beginning to the end, and he told King Arthur all how it was. Then Sir Kay told the king how Sir Lancelot had rescued him, and how he made the nights yield to me and not to him. And there they were all three, and confirmed it all. And by my faith said Sir Kay, Because Sir Lancelot took my harness and left me his, I rode in peace, and no man would have to do with me. And so, at that time, Sir Lancelot had the greatest name of any night of the world, and most was he honoured of high and low. It befell in the month of May. Queen Guinevere called to her knights of the table round, and gave them warning that early upon the morrow, she would ride a maying into the woods and fields beside Westminster. And I warn ye that there be none of you, but he be well horsed, and that ye all be clothed in green, either silk or cloth, and I shall bring with me ten ladies, and every night shall have a lady behind him, and every night shall have a squire and two yeoman, and all well horsed. For thus it chanced one more, and when all the court green-suited, but with plumes that mocked the may, had been their want a maying. Queen Guinevere. So they made them ready, and these were the names of the knights. Sir Kaye, the Seneshall. Sir Agravane. Sir Brandilis. Sir Sagramore, le Désirous. Sir Dodinas, le Sauvage. Sir Ozana. Sir Ladinas. Sir Percent of Inde. Sir Ironside. And Sir Pelios. And these ten knights made them ready, in the freshest manner to ride with the queen. So upon the morn they took their horses with the queen, and rode a maying in woods and meadows as it pleased them, in great joy and delight. Now there was a knight named Mal-Eagans, son to King Bradamagas, who loved Queen Guinevere passing well, and so had he done long and many years. Now this knight, Sir Mal-Eagans, learned the queen's purpose, and that she had no men of arms with her, but the ten noble knights all raided in green for maying. So he prepared him twenty men of arms and a hundred archers to take captive the queen and her knights. In the merry month of May, in a mourn at break of day, with a troop of damsels playing, the queen forsooth went forth a maying. Old song. So when the queen had made, and all were bedecked with herbs, mosses, and flowers in the best manner and freshest, right then came out of a wood, Sir Mal-Eagans, with eight-score men well harnessed, and bade the queen and her knights yield them prisoners. Traitor-knights said Queen Guinevere, What wilt thou do? Wilt thou shame thyself? Bethink thee how thou art a king's son, and a knight of the table round. And how thou art about to dishonor all knighthood and thyself? Be it as it may, sit, Sir Mal-Eagans. Know you well, madam, I have loved you many a year, and never till now could I get you to such advantages I do now. And therefore I will take you as I find you. Then the ten knights of the round table drew their swords, and the other party run at them with their spears, and the ten knights manfully abode them and smote away their spears, then they lashed together with swords till several were smitten to the earth. So when the queens saw her knights thus dolefully oppressed, and needs must be slain at the last, then for pity and sorrow she cried, Sir Mal-Eagans, slay not my normal knights, and I will go with you upon this covenant, that they be led with me wheresoever thou leadest me. Madam, said Mal-Eagans, For your sake, they shall be led with you into my own castle, if that ye will be ruled and ride with me. Then Sir Mal-Eagans charged them all that none should depart from the queen, for he dreaded lest Sir Lancelot should have knowledge of what had been done. Then the queen, privily, called unto her a page of her chamber that was swiftly horsed, to whom she said, Go thou when thou seest thy time, and bear this ring unto Sir Lancelot, and pray him as he loveth me, that he will see me and rescue me, and spare not thy horse, said the queen. Neither for water nor for land, so the child aspired his time, and lightly he took his horse with the spurs, and departed as fast as he might. And when Sir Mal-Eagans saw him so flea, he understood, that it was by the queen's commandment for to warn Sir Lancelot, then they that were best horsed chased him and shot at him. But the child went from them all. Then Sir Mal-Eagans said to the queen, Madam, ye are about to betray me, but I shall arrange for Sir Lancelot that he shall not come lightly at you. Then he rode with her, and them all, to his castle, in all the haste that they might. And by the way Sir Mal-Eagans laid in ambush the best archers that he had to wait for Sir Lancelot. And the child came to Westminster, and found Sir Lancelot, and told his message and delivered him the queen's ring. Alas! said Sir Lancelot. Now I am shamed for ever, unless I may rescue that noble lady. Then eagerly he asked his armour, and put it on him, and mounted his horse, and rode as fast as he might, and men say he took the water at Westminster Ridge, and made his horse swim over Thames unto Lambeth. Then, within a while, he came to a wood where was a narrow way, and there the archers were laid in ambush, and they shot at him, and smote his horse so that he fell. Then Sir Lancelot left his horse and went on foot, but there lay so many ditches and hedges betwixt the archers and him, that he might not meddle with them. Alas! foreshames, said Sir Lancelot, that ever one night should betray another, but it is an old saw, a good man is never in danger, but when he is in danger of a coward. Then Sir Lancelot went awhile, and he was exceedingly cumpered by his armour, his shield, and his spear, and all that belonged to him. Then by chance there came by him a cart that came thither to fetch wood. Now at this time carts were little used except for carrying awful, and for conveying criminals to execution, but Sir Lancelot took no thought of anything but the necessity of haste for the purpose of rescuing the Queen. So he demanded of the Carter, that he should take him in and convey him as speedily as possible for a liberal reward. The Carter consented, and Sir Lancelot placed himself in the cart, and only lamented that with much jolting he made but little progress. Then it happened Sir Gawain passed by, and seeing an armed knight travelling in that unusual way, he drew near to see who it might be. Then Sir Lancelot told him how the Queen had been carried off, and how in hastening to her rescue his horse had been disabled, and he had been compelled to avail himself of the cart rather than give up his enterprise. Then Sir Gawain said, Surely it is unworthy of a knight to travel in such sort. But Sir Lancelot heeded him not. At nightfall they arrived at a castle, and the lady thereof came out at the head of her damsels to welcome Sir Gawain. But to admit his companion, whom she supposed to be a criminal, or at least a prisoner, it pleased her not. However to oblige Sir Gawain she consented. At supper Sir Lancelot came near being consigned to the kitchen, and was only admitted to the lady's table at the earnest solicitation of Sir Gawain. Neither would the damsels prepare a bet for him. He seized the first he found unoccupied, and was left undisturbed. Next morning he saw from the turrets of the castle a train accompanying a lady, whom he imagined to be the Queen. Sir Gawain thought it might be so, and became equally eager to depart. The lady of the castle supplied Sir Lancelot with a horse, and they traversed the plain at full speed. They learned from some travelers whom they met, that there were two roads which led to the castle of Sir Maligan's. Here therefore the friends separated. Sir Lancelot found his way beset with obstacles, which he encountered successfully, but not without much loss of time. As evening approached he was met by a young and sportive damsel, who gaily proposed to him a supper at her castle. The night, who was hungry and weary, accepted the offer, though with no very good grace. He followed the lady to her castle and ate voraciously of her supper, but was quite impenetrable to all her amorous advances. Suddenly the scene changed, and he was assailed by six furious ruffians, whom he dealt with so vigorously that most of them were speedily disabled. When again there was a change, and he found himself alone with his fair hostess, who informed him that she was none other than his guardian fairy, who had but subjected him to tests of his courage and fidelity. The next day the fairy brought him on his road, and before parting gave him a ring, which she told him would buy its changes of color, disclose to him all enchantments, and enable him to subdue them. Sir Lancelot pursued his journey without being much incommodated except by the taunts of travelers, who all seemed to have learned by some means his disgraceful drive in the cart. One more insolent than the rest had the audacity to interrupt him during dinner, and even to risk a battle in support of his pleasantry. Lancelot, after an easy victory, only doomed him to be carted in his turn. At night he was received at another castle, with great apparent hospitality, but found himself in the morning in a dungeon and loaded with chains. Consulting his ring and finding that this was an enchantment, he burst his chains, seized his armor in spite of the visionary monsters who attempted to defend it, broke open the gates of the tower, and continued his journey. At length his progress was checked by a wide and rapid torrent, which could only be passed on a narrow bridge, on which a false step would prove his destruction. Lancelot, leading his horse by the bridle, and making him swim by his side, passed over the bridge, and was attacked as soon as he reached the bank, by a lion and a leopard, both of which he slew, and then exhausted and bleeding, seated himself on the grass, and endeavored to bind up his wounds. When he was accosted by Bradamagus, the father of Maligans, whose castle was then in sight and at no great distance. This king, no less courteous than his son, was haughty and insolent. After complimenting Sir Lancelot on the valor and skill he had displayed in the perils of the bridge and the wild beasts, offered him his assistance, and informed him that the queen was safe in his castle, but could only be rescued by encountering Maligans. Lancelot demanded the battle for the next day, and accordingly it took place at the foot of the tower and under the eyes of the fair captive. Lancelot was enfeebled by his wounds and fought not with his usual spirit, and the contest for a time was doubtful. Til Guinevere exclaimed, Lancelot, my knight, truly have I been told that thou art no longer worthy of me. These words instantly revived the drooping knight. He resumed it once his usual superiority, and soon laid at his feet his haughty adversary. He was on the point of sacrificing him to his resentment when Guinevere, moved by the entreaties of Bradamagus, ordered him to withhold the blow, and he obeyed. The castle and its prisoners were now at his disposal. Lancelot hastened the apartment of the queen, threw himself at her feet, and was about to kiss her hand when she exclaimed, ah, Lancelot, why do I see thee again, yet feel thee to be no longer worthy of me, after having been disgracefully drawn about the country in a— she had not time to finish the phrase, for her lover suddenly started from her, and bitterly lamenting that he had incurred the displeasure of his sovereign lady, rushed out of the castle, threw his sword in his shield to the right and left, ran furiously into the woods, and disappeared. It seems that the story of the abominable cart which haunted Lancelot at every step had reached the ears of Sir Kaye, who had told it to the queen, as a proof that her night must have been dishonored. But Guinevere had full leisure to repent the haste with which she had given credit to the tale. Three days elapsed, during which Lancelot wandered without knowing where he went. Till at last he began to reflect that his mistress had doubtless been deceived by misrepresentation, and that it was his duty to set her right. He therefore returned, compelled Malegans to release his prisoners, and taking the road by which they expected the arrival of Sir Guine, had the satisfaction of meeting him the next day, after which the whole company proceeded gaily towards Camelot. End of Chapter 9 Recording by Anders Lankford Chapter 10 The Lady of Shelot King Arthur proclaimed a solemn tournament to be held at Winchester. The king, not less impatient than his knights for this festival, set off some days before to superintend the preparations, leaving the queen with her court at Camelot. Sir Lancelot, under pretense of indisposition, remained behind also. His intention was to attend the tournament, in disguise, and having communicated his project to Guinever, he mounted his horse, set off without any attendant, and, counterfeiting the feebleness of age, took the most unfrequented road to Winchester, and passed unnoticed as an old knight who was going to be a spectator of the sports. Even Arthur and Gawin, who happened to behold him from the windows of a castle under which he passed, were the dupes of his disguise, but an accident betrayed him. His horse happened to stumble, and the hero, forgetting for a moment his assumed character, recovered the animal with the strength and agility so peculiar to himself, that they instantly recognized the inimitable Lancelot. They suffered him, however, to proceed on his journey without interruption, convinced that his extraordinary feats of arms must discover him at the approaching festival. In the evening, Lancelot was magnificently entertained as a stranger knight at the neighboring castle of Chalot. The lord of this castle had a daughter of exquisite beauty, and two sons lately received into the order of knighthood, one of whom was at that time ill in bed, and thereby prevented from attending the tournament, for which both brothers had long made preparation. Lancelot offered to attend the other, if he were permitted to borrow the armor of the invalid, and the lord of Chalot, without knowing the name of his guest, being satisfied from his appearance that his son could not have a better assistant in arms, most thankfully accepted the offer. In the meantime the young lady, who had been much struck by the first appearance of the stranger knight, continued to survey him with increased attention, and before the conclusion of supper became so deeply enamored of him that after frequent changes of color and other symptoms which Sir Lancelot could not possibly mistake, she was obliged to retire to her chamber and seek relief in tears. Sir Lancelot hastened to convey to her, by means of her brother, the information that his heart was already disposed of, but that it would be his pride and pleasure to act as her knight at the approaching tournament. The lady, obliged to be satisfied with that courtesy, presented him her scarf to be worn at the tournament. Lancelot set off in the morning with the young knight, who, on their approaching Winchester, carried him to the castle of a lady, sister to the lord of Chalot, by whom they were hospitably entertained. The next day they put on their armor, which was perfectly plain and without any device, as was usual to youths during the first year of knighthood, their shields being only painted red, as some color was necessary to enable them to be recognized by their attendance. Lancelot wore on his crest the scarf of the maid of Chalot, and thus equipped, proceeded to the tournament, for the knights were divided into two companies, the one commanded by Sir Gallahot, the other by King Arthur. Having surveyed the combat for a short time from without the lists, and observed that Sir Gallahot's party began to give way, they joined the press and attacked the royal knights, the young man choosing such adversaries as were suited to his strength, while his companions selected the principal champions of the round table, and successively overthrew Gawyn, Bohort, and Lionel. The astonishment of the spectators was extreme, for it was thought that no one but Lancelot could possess such invincible force, yet the favor on his crest seemed to preclude the possibility of his being thus disguised, for Lancelot had never been known to wear the badge of any but his sovereign lady. At length Sir Hector, Lancelot's brother, engaged him, and after a dreadful combat wounded him dangerously in the head, but was himself completely stunned by a blow on the helmet, and fell to the ground, after which the conqueror rode off at full speed, attended by his companion. They returned to the castle of Shalot, for Lancelot was attended with the greatest care by the good Earl, by his two sons, and above all by his fair daughter, whose medical skill probably much hastened the period of his recovery. His health was almost completely restored, when Sir Hector, Sir Bohort, and Sir Lionel, who after their return of the court to Camelot, had undertaken the quest of their relation, discovered him walking on the walls of the castle. Their meeting was very joyful, they passed three days in the castle amidst constant festivities, and bantered each other on the events of the tournament. Lancelot, though he began by vowing vengeance against the altar of his wound, yet ended by declaring that he felt rewarded for the pain by the pride he took in witnessing his brother's extraordinary prowess. He then dismissed them with a message to the queen, promising to follow immediately, it being necessary that he should first take a formal leave of his kind hosts, as well as of the fair maid of Shalot. The young lady, after vainly attempting to detain him by her tears and solicitations, saw him depart without leaving her any ground for hope. It was early summer when the tournament took place, but some months had passed since Lancelot's departure, and winter was now near at hand. The health and strength of the lady of Shalot had gradually sunk, and she felt that she could not live apart from the object of her affections. She left the castle, and descending to the river's brink placed herself in a boat, which she loosed from its moorings, and suffered to bear her down the current toward Camelot. One morning, as Arthur and Sir Lionel looked from the window of the tower, the walls of which were washed by a river, they described a boat richly ornamented, and covered with an awning of cloth of gold, which appeared to be floating down the stream without any human guidance. It struck the shore while they watched it, and they hastened down to examine it. Beneath the awning they discovered the dead body of a beautiful woman, in whose features Sir Lionel easily recognized the lovely maid of Shalot. Pursuing their search, they discovered a purse richly embroidered with gold and jewels, and within the purse a letter, which Arthur opened, and found a dress to himself and all the knights of the round table, stating that, Launcelot of the lake, the most accomplished of knights and most beautiful of men, but at the same time the most cruel and inflexible, had by his rigor produced the death of the wretched maiden, whose love was no less invincible than his cruelty. The king immediately gave orders for the interment of the lady with all the honors suited to her rank, at the same time explaining to the knights the history of her affection for Launcelot, which moved the compassion and regret of all. Tennyson has chosen the story of the lady of Shalot for the subject of a poem. The catastrophe is told thus, under tower and balcony, by garden wall and gallery, a gleaming shape she floated by, a course between the houses high, silent and to Camelot. Out upon the wharfs they came, Knight and Burger, Lord and Dame, and round the prow they read her name, the Lady of Shalot, who is this in what is here, and in the lighted palace near died the sound of royal cheer, and they crossed themselves for fear, all the knights at Camelot. But Launcelot mused a little space, he said, she has a lovely face, God in his mercy lend her grace, the Lady of Shalot. CHAPTER XI It happened at this time that Queen Guinevere was thrown into great peril of her life. A certain squire who was in her immediate service, having some cause of animosity to Sir Gowen, determined to destroy him by poison, at a public entertainment. For this purpose he concealed the poison in an apple of fine appearance, which he placed on the top of several others, and put the dish before the queen, hoping that, as Sir Gowen was the knight of greatest dignity, she would present the apple to him. But it happened that a Scottish knight of high distinction, who arrived on that day, was seated next to the queen, and to him as a stranger she presented the apple, which he had no sooner eaten than was seized with the dreadful pain and fell senseless. The whole court was, of course, thrown into confusion. The knights rose from table, darting looks of indignation at the wretched queen, whose tears and protestations were unable to remove their suspicions. In spite of all that could be done the knight died, and nothing remained but to order a magnificent funeral and monument for him, which was done. Some time after Sir Mador, brother of the murdered knight, arrived at Arthur's court in quest of him. While hunting in the forest he by chance came to the spot where the monument was erected, read the inscription, and returned to court determined on immediate and signal vengeance. He rode into the hall, loudly accused the queen of treason, and insisted on her being given up for punishment, unless she should find, by a certain day, a knight hearty enough to risk his life in support of her innocence. Arthur, powerful as he was, did not dare to deny the appeal, but was compelled with a heavy heart to accept it, and Mador sternly took his departure, leaving the royal couple plunged in terror and anxiety. During all this time Lancelot was absent, and no one knew where he was. He fled in anger from his fair mistress, upon being reproached by her with his passion for the Lady of Chalot, which she had hastily inferred from his wearing her scarf at the tournament. He took up his abode with a hermit in the forest, and resolved to think no more of the cruel beauty whose conduct, he thought, must flow from a wish to get rid of him. Yet calm reflection had somewhat cooled his indignation, and he had begun to wish, though hardly able to hope, for a reconciliation, when the news of Sir Mador's challenge fortunately reached his ears. The intelligence revived his spirits, and he began to prepare with the utmost cheerfulness for a contest which, if successful, would ensure him at once the affection of his mistress and the gratitude of his sovereign. The sad fate of the Lady of Chalot had aired this completely acquitted Lancelot in the Queen's mind of all suspicion of his fidelity, and she lamented most grievously her foolish quarrel with him, which now, at her time of need, deprived her of her most efficient champion. As the day appointed by Sir Mador was fast approaching, it became necessary that she should procure a champion for her defense, and she successfully adjured Sir Hector, Sir Lionel, Sir Bohort and Sir Gowen to undertake the battle. She fell on her knees before them, called Heaven to witness her innocence of the crime alleged against her, but was sternly answered by all that they could not fight to maintain the innocence of one whose act and the fatal consequence of it they had seen with their own eyes. She retired, therefore, dejected and disconsolate, but the sight of the fatal pile on which, if guilty, she was doomed to be burned, exciting her to fresh effort, she again repaired to Sir Bohort, threw herself at his feet, and piteously calling on him for mercy, fell into a swoon. The brave knight was not proof against this. He raised her up, and hastily promised that he would undertake her cause, if no other or better champion should present himself. He then summoned his friends, and told them his resolution, and as a mortal combat with Sir Mador was a most fearful enterprise, they agreed to accompany him in the morning to the hermitage in the forest, where he proposed to receive absolution from the hermit, and to make his peace with heaven before he entered the lists. As they approached the hermitage, they aspired a knight riding in the forest, whom they at once recognized as Sir Lancelot. Overjoyed at the meeting, they quickly, in answer to his questions, confirmed the news of the Queen's imminent danger, and received his instructions to return to court, to comfort her as well as they could, but to say nothing of his intention of undertaking her defense, which he meant to do in the character of an unknown adventurer. On their return to the castle they found that mass was finished, and had scarcely time to speak to the Queen before they were summoned into the hall to dinner. A general gloom was spread over the countenances of all the guests. Arthur himself was unable to conceal his dejection, and the wretched Guinevere, motionless and bathed in tears, sat in trembling expectation of Sir Mador's appearance. Nor was it long ere he stalked into the hall, and with a voice of thunder, rendered more impressive by the general silence, demanded instant justice on the guilty party. Arthur replied with dignity that little of the day was yet spent, and that perhaps a champion might yet be found capable of satisfying his thirst for battle. Sir Bohort now rose from the table, and shortly returning in complete armor, resumed his place after receiving the embraces and thanks of the King, who now began to resume some degree of confidence. Sir Mador, growing impatient, again repeated his denunciation of vengeance, and insisted that the combat should no longer be postponed. In the height of the debate there came riding into the hall a night mounted on a black steed, and clad in black armor, with his visor drawn, and lands in hand. Sir, said the King, is it your will to alight and partake of our cheer? Nay, sir, he replied, I come to save a lady's life. The Queen hath ill bestowed her favours, and honoured many a night, that in her hour of need she should have none to take her part. Thou that darest accuse her of treachery, stand forth, for to-day shout thou need all thy might. Sir Mador, though surprised, was not appalled by the stern challenge and formidable appearance of his antagonist, but prepared for the encounter. At the first shock both run hoarse. They then drew their swords, and commenced a combat which lasted from noon till evening, when Sir Mador, whose strength began to fail, was fell to the ground by Lancelot, and compelled to sue for mercy. The victor, whose arm was already raised to terminate the life of his opponent, instantly dropped his sword, courteously lifted up the fainting Sir Mador, frankly confessing that he had never before encountered so formidable an enemy. The other, with similar courtesy, solemnly renounced all further projects of vengeance for his brother's death, and the two knights now became fast friends, embraced each other with the greatest cordiality. In the meantime Arthur, having recognised Sir Lancelot, whose helmet was now enlaced, rushed down into the lists, followed by all his knights, to welcome and thank his deliverer. Guinevere swooned with joy, and the place of combat suddenly exhibited a scene of the most tumultuous delight. The general satisfaction was still further increased, by the discovery of the real culprit. Having accidentally incurred some suspicion, he confessed his crime, and was publicly punished in the presence of Sir Mador. The court now returned to the castle, which, with the title of La Jollaise Garde, bestowed upon it in memory of the happy event, was conferred on Sir Lancelot by Arthur, as a memorial of his gratitude. CHAPTER XII. TRISTRUM AND DEZODE. Meliodas was king of Lionois, or Lioness, a country famous in the annals of romance, which adjoined the kingdom of Cornwall, but has now disappeared from the map, having been, it is said, overwhelmed by the ocean. Meliodas was married to Isabella, sister of Mark, king of Cornwall. A fairy fell in love with him, and drew him away by enchantment while he was engaged in hunting. His queen set out in quest of him, but was taken ill on her journey and died, leaving an infant son, whom, from the melancholy circumstances of his birth, she called Tristrum. Gouvernail, the queen's squire, who had accompanied her, took charge of the child and restored him to his father, who had at length burst the enchantments of the fairy and returned home. Meliodas, after seven years married again, and the new queen, being jealous of the influence of Tristrum with his father, laid plots for his life, which were discovered by Gouvernail, who in consequence fled with the boy to the court of the king of France, where Tristrum was kindly received, and grew up improving in every gallant and nightly accomplishment, adding to his skill and arms the arts of music and of chess. In particular he devoted himself to the chase, and to all within sports, so that he became distinguished above all other chevaliers of the court, for his knowledge of all that relates to hunting. No wonder that Belinda, the king's daughter, fell in love with him, but as he did not return her passion, she, in a sudden impulse of anger, excited her father against him, and he was banished the kingdom. The princess soon repented of her act and in despair destroyed herself, having first written a most tender letter to Tristrum, sending him at the same time a beautiful and sagacious dog of which she was very fond, desiring him to keep it as a memorial of her. Meliodas was now dead, and as his queen, Tristrum's stepmother held the throne. Gouvernau was afraid to carry his pupil to his native country, and took him to Cornwall to his uncle Mark, who gave him a kind reception. King Mark resided at the castle of Tintagel, already mentioned in the history of Uther and Daguerne. In this court Tristrum became distinguished in all the exercises incumbent on a night, nor was it long before he had an opportunity of practically employing his valor and skill. Morant, a celebrated champion, brother to the queen of Ireland, arrived at the court to demand tribute of King Mark. The knights of Cornwall are an ill-repute in romance for their cowardice, and they exhibited it on this occasion. King Mark could find no champion who dared to encounter the Irish knight, till his nephew Tristrum, who had not yet received the honors of knighthood, craved to be admitted to the order, offering at the same time to fight the battle of Cornwall against the Irish champion. King Mark assented with reluctance. Tristrum received the accolade which conferred knighthood upon him, and the place and time were assigned for the encounter. Without attempting to give the details of this famous combat, the first and one of the most glorious of Tristrum's exploits, we shall only say that the young knight, though severely wounded, cleft the head of Morant, leaving a portion of his sword in the wound. Morant, have dead with his wound in the disgrace of his defeat, hastened to hide himself in his ship, sailed away with all speed for Ireland, and died soon after arriving in his own country. The kingdom of Cornwall was thus delivered from its tribute. Tristrum, weakened by loss of blood, fell senseless. His friends flew to his assistance. They dressed his wounds which in general healed readily, but the lance of Morant was poisoned, and one wound which it made yielded to no remedies but grew worse day by day. The surgeons could do no more. Tristrum asked permission of his uncle to depart and seek for aid in the kingdom of Lloigria, England. With his consent he embarked, and after tossing for many days on the sea was driven by the winds to the coast of Ireland. He landed full of joy and gratitude that he had escaped the peril of the sea, took his rote, a musical instrument, and began to play. It was a summer evening, and the king of Ireland and his daughter, the beautiful is owed, were at a window which overlooked the sea. The strange Harper was sent for, and conveyed to the palace, where finding that he was in Ireland, whose champion he had lately slain, he concealed his name and called himself Tramtrus. The queen undertook his cure, and by a medicated bath gradually restored him to health. His skill in music and in games occasioned his being frequently called the court, and he became the instructor of the princesses owed in minstrelsy and poetry, who profited so well under his care that she soon had no equal in the kingdom, except her instructor. At this time a tournament was held, at which many knights of the round table and others were present. On the first day a Saracen prince named Palamedes obtained the advantage overall. They brought him to the court and gave him a feast at which Tristram, just recovering from his wound, was present. The fair is owed appeared on this occasion in all her charms. Palamedes could not behold them without emotion, and made no effort to conceal his love. Tristram perceived it, and the pain he felt from jealousy taught him how dear the fair is owed had already become to him. Next day the tournament was renewed. Tristram, still feeble from his wound rose during the night, took his arms and concealed them in a forest near the place of the contest, and after it had begun, mingled with the combatants. He overthrew all that encountered him, in particular Palamedes, whom he brought to the ground with the stroke of his lance, and then fought him hand to hand bearing off the prize of the tourney. But his exertions caused his wound to reopen. He bled fast and in this sad state yet in triumph, they bore him to the palace. The fair is owed devoted herself to his relief with an interest which grew more vivid day by day, and her skillful care soon restored him to health. It happened one day that a damsel of the court entering the closet where Tristram's arms were deposited, perceived that a part of the sword had been broken off. It occurred to her that the missing portion was like that which was left in the skull of Morant, the Irish champion. She imparted her thought to the queen, who compared the fragment taken from her brother's wound with the sword of Tristram, and was satisfied that it was part of the same, and that the weapon of Tristram was that which refved her brother's life. She laid her griefs and resentments before the king, who satisfied himself with his own eyes of the truth of her suspicions. Tristram was cited before the whole court, and reproached with having dared to present himself before them after having slain their kinsmen. He acknowledged that he had fought with Morant to settle the claim for tribute, and said that it was by force of winds and waves alone that he was thrown on their coast. The queen demanded vengeance for the death of her brother. The pharaoh's ode trembled and grew pale, but a murmur rose from all the assembly that the life of one so handsome and so brave should not be taken for such a cause, and generosity finally triumphed over resentment in the mind of the king. Tristram was dismissed in safety, but commanded to leave the kingdom without delay, and never to return thither under pain of death Tristram went back, with restored health to Cornwall. King Mark made his nephew give him a minute recital of his adventures. Tristram told him all minutely, but when he came to speak of the pharaoh's ode, he described her charms with a warmth and energy such as none but a lover could display. King Mark was fascinated with the description, and choosing a favourable time demanded a boon. Footnote. Good faith was the very cornerstone of chivalry. Whenever a knight's word was pledged, it mattered not how rashly, it was to be redeemed at any price. Hence the sacred obligation of the boon granted by a knight to his supplient. Instances without number occurred in romance, in which a knight, by rashly granting an indefinite boon, was obliged to do or suffer something extremely to his prejudice. But it is not in romance alone that we find such singular instances of adherence to an indefinite promise. The history of the times presents authentic transactions equally embarrassing and absurd. Scott. Note to Sir Tristram. Of his nephew who readily granted it, the king made him swear upon the holy relics that he would fulfil his commands. Then Mark directed him to go to Ireland, and obtained for him the pharaoh's ode to be queen of Cornwall. Tristram believed it was certain death for him to return to Ireland, and how could he act as ambassador for his uncle in such a cause? Yet, bound by his oath, he hesitated not for an instant. He only took the precaution to change his armour. He embarked for Ireland, but a tempest drove him to the coast of England, near Camelot, where King Arthur was holding his court attended by the knights of the Round Table, and many others, the most illustrious in the world. Tristram kept himself unknown. He took part in many jousts. He fought many combats in which he covered himself with glory. One day, he saw among those recently arrived the king of Ireland, father of the pharaoh's ode. This prince, accused of treason against his liege sovereign, Arthur, came to Camelot to free himself from the charge. Blanor, one of the most redoubtable warriors of the Round Table, was his accuser, and argues the king had neither youthful vigor nor strength to encounter him. He must therefore seek a champion to sustain his innocence. But the knights of the Round Table were not at liberty to fight against one another unless in a quarrel of their own. Argus heard of the great renown of the Unknown Knight. He also was witness of his exploits. He sought him and conjured him to adopt his defence. And on his oath declared that he was innocent of the crime of which he was accused. Tristram readily consented and made himself known to the king, who on his part promised to reward his exertions, if successful, with whatever gift he might ask. Tristram fought with Blanor and overthrew him, and held his life in his power. The fallen warrior called on him to use his right of conquest and strike the fatal blow. God forbid, said Tristram, that I should take the life of so brave a knight. He raised him up and restored him to his friends. The judges of the field decided that the King of Ireland was acquitted of the charge against him, and they led Tristram in triumph to his tent. King Argus, full of gratitude, conjured Tristram to accompany him to his kingdom. They departed together and arrived in Ireland, and the queen, forgetting her resentment for her brother's death, exhibited to the preserver of her husband's life nothing but gratitude and goodwill. How happy a moment for his ode! Who knew that her father had promised his deliverer, whatever boon he might ask? But the unhappy Tristram gazed on her with despair at the thought of the cruel oath which bound him. His magnanimous soul subdued the force of his love. He revealed the oath which he had taken, and with trembling voice demanded the fair ode for his uncle. Argus consented, and soon all was prepared for the departure of his ode. Brengwyn, her favourite maid of honour, was to accompany her. On the day of the departure the queen took aside this devoted attendant, and told her that she had observed that her daughter and Tristram were attached to one another, and that to avert the bad effects of this inclination she had procured from a powerful fairy a potent filter, love-drought, which she directed Brengwyn to administer to his ode and to King Mark on the evening of their marriage. Isode and Tristram embarked together. A favourable wind filled the sails and promised them a fortunate voyage. The lovers gazed upon one another and could not repress their sighs. Love seemed to light up all his fires on their lips, as in their hearts. The day was warm, they suffered from thirst. Isode first complained. Tristram described the bottle containing the love-drought, which Brengwyn had been so imprudent as to leave in sight. He took it, gave some of it to the charming Isode, and drank the remainder himself. The dog who then licked the cup. The ship arrived in Cornwall, and Isode was married to King Mark. The old monarch was delighted with his bride, and his gratitude to Tristram was unbounded. He loaded him with honours and made him Chamberlain of his palace, thus giving him access to the Queen at all times. In the midst of the festivities of the court which followed the royal marriage, an unknown minstrel one day presented himself, bearing a harp of peculiar construction. He excited the curiosity of King Mark by refusing to play upon it till he should grant him a boon. The King, having promised to grant his request, the minstrel, who was none other than the Saras and Knight, Sir Palamedes, the lover of the fair Isode, sung to the harp Olay in which he demanded Isode as the promised gift. King Mark could not by the laws of knighthood withhold the boon. The lady was mounted on her horse and led away by her triumphant lover. Tristram, it is needless to say, was absent at the time, and did not return until their departure. When he heard what had taken place, he seized his rote and hastened to the shore where Isode and her new master had already embarked. Tristram played upon his rote and the sound reached the ears of Isode, who became so deeply affected that Sir Palamedes was induced to return with her to land, that they might see the unknown musician. Tristram watched his opportunity, seized the lady's horse by the bridle, and plunged with her into the forest, tauntingly informing his rival that what he had got by the harp he had lost by the rote. Palamedes pursued and a combat was about to commence, the result of which must have been fatal to one or the other of these gallant knights, but Isode stepped between them, and addressing Palamedes said, You tell me that you love me. You will not then deny me the request I am about to make. Lady, he replied, I will perform your bidding. Leave then, said she, this contest, and repair to King Arthur's court, and salute Queen Guinevere from me. Tell her that there are in the world but two ladies, herself and I, and two lovers, hers and mine, and come down not in future in any place where I am. Palamedes burst into tears. Ah, lady, said he, I will obey you, but I beseech you that you will not forever steal your heart against me. Palamedes, she replied, May I never taste of joy again if I ever quit my first love. Palamedes then went his way. The lovers remained a week in concealment, after which Tristram restored Isode to her husband, advising him in future to reward minstrels in some other way. The King showed much gratitude to Tristram, but in the bottom of his heart he cherished bitter jealousy of him. One day Tristram and Isode were alone together in her private chamber. A bass and cowardly knight of the court, named Andrit, spied them through a keyhole. They sat at a table of chess, but were not attending to the game. Andrit brought the King, having first raised his suspicions, and placed him so as to watch their motions. The King saw enough to confirm his suspicions, and he burst into the apartment with his sword drawn, and had nearly slain Tristram before he was put on his guard. But Tristram avoided the blow, drew his sword, and drove before him the cowardly monarch, chasing him through all the apartments of the palace, giving him frequent blows with the flat of his sword, while he cried in vain to his knights to save him. They were not inclined or did not dare to interpose on his behalf. A proof of the great popularity of the tale of Sir Tristram is the fact that the Italian poets, Boyardo and Ariosto, have founded upon it the idea of the two enchanted fountains, which produced the opposite effects of love and hatred. Boyardo thus describes the fountain of hatred. Fair was that fountain, sculptured all of gold, with alabaster sculptured rich and rare, and in its base and clear thou mightst behold. The flowery marge reflected fresh and fair. Sage Merlin framed the font, so legends bear, when on fair is owed doted Tristram brave, that the good-earned knight arriving there might quaff a livian in the enchanted wave, and leave his luckless love and scape his timeless grave. But near the warrior's evil fate allowed, his steps that fountains charmed verge to gain. Though restless, roving on adventure proud, he traversed off the land and off the main.