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Title: High History of the Holy Graal

Author: Unknown

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Release Date: December, 1996

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Produced by Douglas B. Killings.  HTML version by Al Haines.









Originally written in Old French, sometime in the early half of the
13th Century A.D., as a continuation of Chretien DeTroyes' unfinished
work "Perceval, or the Knight of the Grail".  Author unknown.

Translation by Sebastian Evans, 1898.





The High History of the Holy Graal





SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY:

ORIGINAL TEXT--

Potvin, Ch. (Ed.): "Perceval le Gallois ou le conte du Graal", Vol. I
(Soc. Bibl. Belges., Mons., 1866).

RECOMMENDED READING--

Anonymous (Trans. P.M. Matarasso): "The Quest for the Holy Graal"
(Penguin Classics, London, 1969).

DeTroyes, Chretien (Trans. William W. Kibler & Carleton W. Carroll):
"Arthurian Romances" (Penguin Classics, London, 1991). Contains the
unfinished work "Perceval".

Eschenbach, Wolfram von (Trans. A.T. Hatto): "Parzival" (Penguin
Classics, London, 1980).

Malory, Sir Thomas (Ed. Janet Cowen): "Le Morte D'Arthur", Vol. I & II
(Penguin Classics, London, 1969).

*****************************************************************

INTRODUCTION

This book is translated from the first volume of "Perceval le Gallois
ou le conte du Graal"; edited by M. Ch. Potvin for 'La Societe des
Bibliophiles Belges' in 1866, (1) from the MS. numbered 11,145 in the
library of the Dukes of Burgundy at Brussels.  This MS. I find thus
described in M. F. J. Marchal's catalogue of that priceless collection:
'"Le Roman de Saint Graal", beginning "Ores lestoires", in the French
language; date, first third of the sixteenth century; with ornamental
capitals.' (2)  Written three centuries later than the original
romance, and full as it is of faults of the scribe, this manuscript is
by far the most complete known copy of the "Book of the Graal" in
existence, being defective only in Branch XXI. Titles 8 and 9, the
substance of which is fortunately preserved elsewhere.  Large
fragments, however, amounting in all to nearly one-seventh of the
whole, of a copy in handwriting of the thirteenth century, are
preserved in six consecutive leaves and one detached leaf bound up with
a number of other works in a MS. numbered 113 in the City Library at
Berne.  The volume is in folio on vellum closely written in three
columns to the page, and the seven leaves follow the last poem
contained in it, entitled "Duremart le Gallois". The manuscript is well
known, having been lent to M. de Sainte Palaye for use in the Monuments
of French History issued by the Benedictines of the Congregation of St
Maur.  Selections from the poems it contains are given in Sinner's
"Extraits de Poesie du XIII. Siecle", (3) and it is described,
unfortunately without any reference to these particular leaves, by the
same learned librarian in the "Catalogus Codicum MSS. Bibl. Bernensis",
J.R. Sinner. (4)

M. Potvin has carefully collated for his edition all that is preserved
of the Romance in this manuscript, comprising all the beginning of the
work as far as Branch III. Title 8, about the middle, and from Branch
XIX. Title 23, near the beginning, to Branch XXX. Title 5, in the
middle.  Making allowance for variations of spelling and sundry minor
differences of reading, by no means always in favour of the earlier
scribe, the Berne fragments are identical with the corresponding
portions of the Brussels manuscript, and it is therefore safe to assume
that the latter is on the whole an accurate transcript of the entire
original Romance.

The only note of time in the book itself is contained in the
declaration at the end.  From this it appears that it was written by
order of the Seingnor of Cambrein for Messire Jehan the Seingnor of
Neele.  M. Potvin, without giving any reason for so doing, assumes that
this Lord of Cambrein is none other than the Bishop of Cambrai.  If
this assumption be correct, the person referred to was probably either
John of Berhune, who held the see from 1200 till July 27, 1219, or his
successor Godfrey of Fontaines (Conde), who held it till 1237.  To me,
however, it seems more likely that the personage intended was in
reality the 'Seingnor' of Cambrin, the chef-lieu of a canton of the
same name, on a small hill overlooking the peat-marshes of Bethune,
albeit I can find no other record of any such landed proprietor's
existence.

Be this as it may, the Messire Jehan, Seingnor of Neele, can hardly be
other than the John de Nesle who was present at the battle of Bouvines
in 1214, and who in 1225 sold the lordship of Bruges to Joan of
Flanders. (5)  These dates therefore may be regarded as defining that
of the original Romance within fairly narrow limits.

This conclusion is confirmed by other evidence.  An early Welsh
translation of the story was published with an English version and a
glossary by the Rev. Robert Williams in the first volume of his
"Selections from the Hengwrt MSS". (6)  The first volume of this work
is entitled "Y Seint Greal, being the adventures of King Arthur's
knights of the Round Table, in the quest of the Holy Grail, and on
other occasions.  Originally written about the year 1200".  The volume,
following the manuscript now in the library of W.W.E. Wynne, Esq., at
Peniarth, is divided into two parts.  The first, fol. 1-109 of the
manuscript, represents the thirteenth to the seventeenth book of Sir
Thomas Malory's "Morte d'Arthur".  Of the second, which represents the
Romance here translated, Mr Williams writes: "The second portion of the
Welsh Greal, folios 110-280, contains the adventures of Gwalchmei
Peredur and Lancelot, and of the knights of the Round Table; but these
are not found in the "Morte d'Arthur".  The Peniarth MS. is beautifully
written on vellum, and in perfect preservation, and its date is that of
Henry VI., the early part of the fifteenth century.  The orthography
and style of writing agrees literally with that of the "Mabinogion of
the Llyvr Coch Hergest", which is of that date.  This, of course, is a
transcript of an earlier copy; but there is no certainty when it was
first translated into Welsh, though Aneurin Owen in his "Catalogue of
the Hengwrt MSS." assigns it to the sixth year of Henry I.  It is
mentioned by Davydd ab Gwilym, who died in 1368."

Whatever may be the date of the Welsh version, the translator had no
great mastery of French, and is often at fault as to the meaning both
of words and sentences, and when in a difficulty is only too apt to cut
the knot by omitting the passage bodily.  The book itself, moreover, is
not entire.  On page 275, all between Branch IX. Title 16 and Branch
XI. Title 2, twenty-two chapters in all, is missing.  Again, on page
355, Titles 10-16 in Branch XXI. are left out, while the whole of the
last Branch, containing 28 Titles, is crumpled up into one little
chapter, from which it would seem that the Welshman had read the
French, but thought it waste of pains to translate it.  In all, not to
speak of other defects, there are fifty-six whole chapters in the
present book, of which there is not a word in the Welsh.

In one matter, however, Mr Williams' English translation has stood me
in good stead.  In Branch XXI., as I have said, the French manuscript
makes default of two Titles, but almost the whole of their substance is
supplied by the Welsh version.  By an unlucky accident, before the
hiatus in the French is fully filled up, the Welsh version itself
becomes defective, though the gap thus left open can hardly extend
beyond a very few words. Without this supplement, incomplete as it is,
it would have been impossible to give the full drift of one of the
Romancer's best stories, which is equally unintelligible in both the
French and Welsh texts in their present state.

As the Welsh version gives a number of names both of persons and places
widely differing from those in the French, it may be useful here to
note the principal changes made.  Perceval in the Welsh is called
Peredur, which is said to mean "steel suit".  The Welshman, however,
adds that the name in French is "Peneffresvo Galief", which, unless it
be a misreading or miswriting for Perceval le Galois, is to me wholly
unintelligible.  Perceval's father, Alain li Gros, is in the Welsh Earl
Evrawg, and his sister Dindrane, Danbrann.  King Arthur is Emperor
Arthur, his Queen Guenievre, Gwenhwyvar, and their son Lohot, Lohawt or
Llacheu.  Messire Gawain is Gwalchmei; Chaus, son of Ywain li Aoutres,
Gawns, son of Owein Vrych; Messire Kay or Kex is Kei the Long; Ahuret
the Bastard, Anores; Ygerne, wife of Uther Pendragon, Eigyr; Queen
Jandree, Landyr; and King Fisherman for the most part King Peleur.  Of
places, Cardoil is Caerlleon on Usk, Pannenoisance, Penvoisins;
Tintagel, Tindagoyl; and Avalon, Avallach.

By a double stroke of ill-luck, the complete and wholly independent
Romance here translated has thus been printed by its two former editors
as if it were only a part of some other story. M. Potvin describes it
as the "First Part, the Romance in Prose," of his "Perceval le
Gallois", and Mr Williams accepts it as the "Second Portion" of his "Y
Seint Greal".  This unhappy collocation has led not a few of M.
Potvin's readers to neglect his First Part, under the impression that
the story is retold in the other volumes containing the Romance in
verse; while not a few of Mr Williams' readers have neglected his
Second Portion under the impression that there could be nothing of any
special importance in an adjunct referred to by the Editor in so
perfunctory a manner.  In very truth, however, the Story of the Holy
Graal here told is not only the most coherent and poetic of all the
many versions of the Legend, but is also the first and most authentic.

This seems to be proved beyond doubt by a passage in the History of
Fulke Fitz-Warine, originally written apparently between the years 1256
and 1264.  The passage occurs at the end of the History, and is printed
in verse of which I give a literal prose translation:

     "Merlin saith that in Britain the Great a Wolf shall come
     from the White Launde.  Twelve sharp teeth shall he have,
     six below and six above.  He shall have so fierce a look
     that he shall chase the Leopard forth of the White Launde,
     so much force shall he have and great virtue.  We now know
     that Merlin said this for Fulke the son of Waryn, for each
     of you ought to understand of a surety how in the time of
     the King Arthur that was called the White Launde which is
     now named the White Town.  For in this country was the
     chapel of S. Austin that was fair, where Kahuz, the son of
     Ywein, dreamed that he carried off the candlestick and that
     he met a man who hurt him with a knife and wounded him in
     the side.  And he, on sleep, cried out so loud that King
     Arthur hath heard him and awakened from sleep.  And when
     Kahuz was awake, he put his hand to his side.  There hath he
     found the knife that had smitten him through.  SO TELLETH US
     THE GRAAL, THE BOOK OF THE HOLY VESSEL.  There the King
     Arthur recovered his bounty and his valour when he had lost
     all his chivalry and his virtue.  From this country issued
     forth the Wolf as saith Merlin the Wise, and the twelve
     sharp teeth have we known by his shield.  He bore a shield
     indented as the heralds have devised.  In the shield are
     twelve teeth of gules and argent.  By the Leopard may be
     known and well understood King John, for he bore in his
     shield the leopards of beaten gold." (7)

The story of Kahuz or Chaus here indicated by the historian is told at
length in the opening chapters of the present work and, so far as is
known, nowhere else.  The inference is therefore unavoidable that we
have here "The Graal, the Book of the Holy Vessel" to which the
biographer of Fulke refers.  The use, moreover, of the definite article
shows that the writer held this book to be conclusive authority on the
subject.  By the time he retold the story of Fulke, a whole library of
Romances about Perceval and the Holy Graal had been written, with some
of which it is hard to believe that any historian of the time was
unacquainted.  He nevertheless distinguishes this particular story as
"The Graal", a way of speaking he would scarce have adopted had he
known of any other "Graals" of equal or nearly equal authority.

Several years later, about 1280, the trouveur Sarrazin also cites "The
Graal" ("li Graaus") in the same manner, in superfluous verification of
the then-accepted truism that King Arthur was at one time Lord of Great
Britain.  This appeal to "The Graal" as the authority for a general
belief shows that it was at that time recognised as a well-spring of
authentic knowledge; while the fact that the trouveur was not
confounding "The Graal" with the later version of the story is further
shown by his going on presently to speak of "the Romance that Chrestien
telleth so fairly of Perceval the adventures of the Graal." (8)

Perhaps, however, the most striking testimony to the fact that this
work is none other than the original "Book of the Graal" is to be found
in the "Chronicle of Helinand", well known at the time the Romance was
written not only as a historian but as a troubadour at one time in high
favour at the court of Philip Augustus, and in later years as one of
the most ardent preachers of the Albigensian Crusade.  The passage, a
part of which has been often quoted, is inserted in the Chronicle under
the year 720, and runs in English thus:

     "At this time a certain marvellous vision was revealed by an
     angel to a certain hermit in Britain concerning S. Joseph,
     the decurion who deposed from the cross the Body of Our
     Lord, as well as concerning the paten or dish in the which
     Our Lord supped with His disciples, whereof the history was
     written out by the said hermit and is called "Of the Graal"
     (de Gradali).  Now, a platter, broad and somewhat deep, is
     called in French "gradalis" or "gradale", wherein costly
     meats with their sauce are wont to be set before rich folk
     by degrees ("gradatim") one morsel after another in divers
     orders, and in the vulgar speech it is called "graalz", for
     that it is grateful and acceptable to him that eateth
     therein, as well for that which containeth the victual, for
     that haply it is of silver or other precious material, as
     for the contents thereof, to wit, the manifold courses of
     costly meats.  I have not been able to find this history
     written in Latin, but it is in the possession of certain
     noblemen written in French only, nor, as they say, can it
     easily be found complete.  This, however, I have not
     hitherto been able to obtain from any person so as to read
     it with attention.  As soon as I can do so, I will translate
     into Latin such passages as are more useful and more likely
     to be true." (9)

A comparison of this passage with the Introduction to the present work
(10) leaves no doubt that Helinand here refers to this "Book of the
Graal", which cannot therefore be of a later date than that at which he
made this entry in his "Chronicle".  At the same time, the difficulty
he experienced in obtaining even the loan of the volume shows that the
work had at that time been only lately written, as in the course of a
few years, copies of a book so widely popular must have been
comparatively common.  The date, therefore, at which Helinand's
"Chronicle" was written determines approximately that of the "Book of
the Graal".

In its present state, the "Chronicle" comes to an end with a notice of
the capture of Constantinople by the French in 1204, and it has been
hastily assumed that Helinand's labours as a chronicler must have
closed in that year.  As a matter of fact they had not then even begun.
At that time Helinand was still a courtly troubadour, and had not yet
entered on the monastic career during which his "Chronicle" was
compiled.  He was certainly living as late as 1229, and preached a
sermon, which assuredly shows no signs of mental decrepitude, in that
year at a synod in Toulouse. (11)

Fortunately a passage in the "Speculum Historiale" of Vincent of
Beauvais, himself a younger contemporary and probably a personal
acquaintance of Helinand, throws considerable light on the real date of
Helinand's "Chronicle".  After recounting certain matters connected
with the early years of the thirteenth century, the last date mentioned
being 1209, Vincent proceeds:--

     "In those times, in the diocese of Beauvais, was Helinand
     monk of Froid-mont, a man religious and distinguished for
     his eloquence, who also composed those verses on Death in
     our vulgar tongue which are publicly read, so elegantly and
     so usefully that the subject is laid open clearer than the
     light.  He also diligently digested into a certain huge
     volume a Chronicle from the beginning of the world down to
     his own time.  But in truth this work was dissipated and
     dispersed in such sort that it is nowhere to be found
     entire.  For it is reported that the said Helinand lent
     certain sheets of the said work to one of his familiars, to
     wit, Guarin, Lord Bishop of Senlis of good memory, and thus,
     whether through forgetfulness or negligence or some other
     cause, lost them altogether.  From this work, however, as
     far as I have been able to find it, I have inserted many
     passages in this work of mine own also."

It will thus be seen that about 1209, Helinand became a monk at
Froid-mont, and it is exceedingly improbable that any portion of his
"Chronicle" was written before that date.  On the other hand, his
'familiar' Guarin only became Bishop of Senlis in 1214, and died in
1227, (12) so that it is certain Helinand wrote the last part of his
"Chronicle" not later than the last-mentioned year. The limits of time,
therefore, between which the "Chronicle" was written are clearly
circumscribed; and if it is impossible to define the exact year in
which this particular entry was made, it is not, I fancy, beyond the
legitimate bounds of critical conjecture.

On the first page of the Romance, Helinand read that an Angel had
appeared to a certain hermit in Britain and revealed to him the history
of the Holy Graal.  In transferring the record of this event to his
"Chronicle", he was compelled by the exigencies of his system, which
required the insertion of every event recorded under some particular
year, to assign a date to the occurrence.  A vague "five hundred years
ago" would be likely to suggest itself as an appropriate time at which
the occurrence might be supposed to have taken place; and if he were
writing in 1220, the revelation to the hermit would thus naturally be
relegated to the year 720, the year under which the entry actually
appears. This, of course, is pure guesswork, but the fact remains that
the "Chronicle" was written in or about 1220, and the "Book of the
Graal" not long before it.

The name of the author is nowhere recorded.  He may possibly be
referred to in the "Elucidation" prefixed to the rhymed version of
"Percival le Gallois" under the name of "Master Blihis", but this vague
and tantalising pseudonym affords no hint of his real identity. (13)
Whoever he may have been; I hope that I am not misled by a translator's
natural partiality for the author he translates in assigning him a
foremost rank among the masters of medieval prose romance.

With these testimonies to its age and genuineness, I commend the "Book
of the Graal" to all who love to read of King Arthur and his knights of
the Table Round.  They will find here printed in English for the first
time what I take to be in all good faith the original story of Sir
Perceval and the Holy Graal, whole and incorrupt as it left the hands
of its first author.

--Sebastian Evans,
  Coombe Lea, Bickley, Kent


ENDNOTES:

(1)  6 vols. 8vo.  Mons, 1866-1871.

(2)  Marchal "Cat.", 2 vols. Brussels, 1842.  Vol i.p. 223.

(3)  Lausanne, 1759.

(4)  3 vols. 8vo.  Berne, 1770, etc.  Vol. ii., Introduc. viii.
     and p. 389 et seq.

(5)  Rigord. "Chron." 196, p. 288.  Wm. le Breton, "Phil." xi.
     547.  See also Birch-Hirschfeld, "Die Gralsage", p. 143.

(6)  2 vols. 8vo.  London, Richards, 1876-1892.

(7)  "L'histoire de Foulkes Fitz-Warin". Ed. F. Michel, Paris,
     1840; p. 110.  Ed. T. Wright (Warton Club), London, 1855; p.
     179.  Ed. J. Stevenson ("Roll, Pub. Chron." of R.
     Coggeshall), London, 1875; p. 412.  The MS. containing the
     history (MS. Reg. 12. c. XII.) was first privately printed
     for the late Sir T. Duffus Hardy from a transcript by A.
     Berbrugger.

(8)  "Le Roman de Ham", in the Appendix to F. Michel's "Histoire
     des Ducs de Normandie".  Soc. de l'Hist. de France, 1840,
     pp. 225, 230.

(9)  Helinandi Op. Ed. Migne. "Patrol." Vol. ccxii. col. 814.
     The former part of the passage is quoted with due
     acknowledgment by Vincent of Beauvais, "Spec. Hist." B.
     xxiii. c. 147.  Vincent, however, spells the French word
     "grail", and, by turning Helinand's "nec" into "nune", makes
     him say that the French work can now easily be found
     complete.  Vincent finished his "Speculum Historialz in 1244"
     B. xxi. c. 105.

(10) Vol. i. p. 1, etc.

(11) Sermon xxvi., printed in Minge, u.s. col. 692.  It has been
     doubted whether this sermon, preached in the church of S.
     Jacques, was addressed to the Council held at Toulouse in
     1219, or to the one held in 1229, but a perusal of the
     sermon itself decides the question.  It is wholly irrelevant
     to the topics discussed at the former gathering, while it is
     one continued commentary on the business transacted at the
     latter.  See also Dom Brial, "Hist. Litt. de la France",
     xviii. 92.

(12) "De Mas Latrie. Tres. de Chron.", col. 1488.

(13) Cf. Potvin, "P. le G." ii. 1 and 7, with vol. i. p. 131 and
     vol. ii. p. 112 of the present work (See also the
     Proceedings of the "Hon. Soc. of Cymmrodorion", 1908-9. Ed.)



THE HIGH HISTORY OF THE HOLY GRAAL



BRANCH I.


INCIPIT.

Hear ye the history of the most holy vessel that is called Graal,
wherein the precious blood of the Saviour was received on the day that
He was put on rood and crucified in order that He might redeem His
people from the pains of hell.  Josephus set it in remembrance by
annunciation of the voice of an angel, for that the truth might be
known by his writing of good knights, and good worshipful men how they
were willing to suffer pain and to travail for the setting forward of
the Law of Jesus Christ, that He willed to make new by His death and by
His crucifixion.


TITLE I.

The High Book of the Graal beginneth in the name of the Father and of
the Son and of the Holy Ghost.  These three Persons are one substance,
which is God, and of God moveth the High Story of the Graal.  And all
they that hear it ought to understand it, and to forget all the
wickednesses that they have in their hearts. For right profitable shall
it be to all them that shall hear it of the heart.  For the sake of the
worshipful men and good knights of whose deeds shall remembrance be
made, doth Josephus recount this holy history, for the sake of the
lineage of the Good Knight that was after the crucifixion of Our Lord.
Good Knight was he without fail, for he was chaste and virgin of his
body and hardy of heart and puissant, and so were his conditions
without wickedness.  Not boastful was he of speech, and it seemed not
by his cheer that he had so great courage; Natheless, of one little
word that he delayed to speak came to pass so sore mischances in
Greater Britain, that all the islands and all the lands fell thereby
into much sorrow, albeit thereafter he put them back into gladness by
the authority of his good knighthood. Good knight was he of right, for
he was of the lineage of Joseph of Abarimacie.  And this Joseph was his
mother's uncle, that had been a soldier of Pilate's seven years, nor
asked he of him none other guerdon of his service but only to take down
the body of Our Saviour from hanging on the cross.  The boon him seemed
full great when it was granted him, and full little to Pilate seemed
the guerdon; for right well had Joseph served him, and had he asked to
have gold or land thereof, willingly would he have given it to him.
And for this did Pilate make him a gift of the Saviour's body, for he
supposed that Joseph should have dragged the same shamefully through
the city of Jerusalem when it had been taken down from the cross, and
should have left it without the city in some mean place.  But the Good
Soldier had no mind thereto, but rather honoured the body the most he
might, rather laid it along in the Holy Sepulchre and kept safe the
lance whereof He was smitten in the side and the most Holy Vessel
wherein they that believed on Him received with awe the blood that ran
down from His wounds when He was set upon the rood.  Of this lineage
was the Good Knight for whose sake is this High History treated.
Yglais was his mother's name: King Fisherman was his uncle, and the
King of the Lower Folk that was named Pelles, and the King that was
named of the Castle Mortal, in whom was there as much bad as there was
good in the other twain, and much good was there in them; and these
three were his uncles on the side of his mother Yglais, that was a
right good Lady and a loyal; and the Good Knight had one sister, that
hight Dindrane. He that was head of the lineage on his father's side
was named Nichodemus.  Gais li Gros of the Hermit's Cross was father of
Alain li Gros.  This Alain had eleven brethren, right good knights,
like as he was himself.  And none of them all lived in his knighthood
but twelve years, and they all died in arms for their great hardiment
in setting forward of the Law that was made new.  There were twelve
brethren.  Alain li Gros was the eldest; Gorgalians was next; Bruns
Brandnils was the third; Bertholez li Chauz the fourth; Brandalus of
Wales was the fifth; Elinant of Escavalon was the sixth; Calobrutus was
the seventh; Meralis of the Palace Meadow was the eighth; Fortunes of
the Red Launde was ninth; Melaarmaus of Abanie was the tenth; Galians
of the White Tower the eleventh; Alibans of the Waste City was the
twelfth. All these died in arms in the service of the Holy Prophet that
had renewed the Law by His death, and smote His enemies to the
uttermost of their power.  Of these two manner of folk, whose names and
records you have heard, Josephus the good clerk telleth us was come the
Good Knight of whom you shall well hear the name and the manner
presently.


II.

The authority of the scripture telleth us that after the crucifixion of
Our Lord, no earthly King set forward the Law of Jesus Christ so much
as did King Arthur of Britain, both by himself and by the good knights
that made repair to his court. Good King Arthur after the crucifixion
of Our Lord, was such as I tell you, and was a puissant King, and one
that well believed in God, and many were the good adventures that befel
at his court. And he had in his court the Table Round that was
garnished of the best knights in the world.  King Arthur after the
death of his father led the highest life and most gracious that ever
king led, in such sort that all the princes and all the barons took
ensample of him in well-doing.  For ten years was King Arthur in such
estate as I have told you, nor never was earthly king so praised as he,
until that a slothful will came upon him and he began to lose the
pleasure in doing largesse that he wont to have, nor was he minded to
hold court neither at Christmas-tide nor at Easter nor at Pentecost.
The knights of the Table Round when they saw his well-doing wax slack
departed thence and began to hold aloof from his court, insomuch as
that of three hundred and three-score knights and six that he wont to
have of his household, there were now not more than a five-and-twenty
at most, nor did no adventure befal any more at his court.  All the
other princes had slackened of their well-doing for that they saw King
Arthur maintain so feebly.  Queen Guenievre was so sorrowful thereof
that she knew not what counsel to take with herself, nor how she might
so deal as to amend matters so God amended them not.  From this time
beginneth the history.


III.

It was one Ascension Day that the King was at Cardoil.  He was risen
from meat and went through the hall from one end to the other, and
looked and saw the Queen that was seated at a window. The King went to
sit beside her, and looked at her in the face and saw that the tears
were falling from her eyes.

"Lady," saith the King, "What aileth you, and wherefore do you weep?"

"Sir," saith she, "And I weep, good right have I; and you yourself have
little right to make joy."

"Certes, Lady, I do not."

"Sir," saith she, "You are right.  I have seen on this high day, or on
other days that were not less high than this, when you have had such
throng of knights at your court that right uneath might any number
them.  Now every day are so few therein that much shame have I thereof,
nor no more do no adventures befal therein. Wherefore great fear have I
lest God hath put you into forgetfulness."

"Certes, Lady," saith the King, "No will have I to do largesse nor
aught that turneth to honour.  Rather is my desire changed into
feebleness of heart.  And by this know I well that I lose my knights
and the love of my friends."

"Sir," saith the Queen, "And were you to go to the chapel of S.
Augustine, that is in the White Forest, that may not be found save by
adventure only, methinketh that on your back-repair you would again
have your desire of well-doing, for never yet did none discounselled
ask counsel of God but he would give it for love of him so he asked it
of a good heart."

"Lady," saith the King, "And willingly will I go, forasmuch as that you
say have I heard well witnessed in many places where I have been."

"Sir," saith she, "The place is right perilous and the chapel right
adventurous.  But the most worshipful hermit that is in the Kingdom of
Wales hath his dwelling beside the chapel, nor liveth he now any longer
for nought save only the glory of God."

"Lady," saith the King, "It will behove me go thither all armed and
without knights."

"Sir," saith she, "You may well take with you one knight and a squire."

"Lady," saith the King, "That durst not I, for the place is perilous,
and the more folk one should take thither, the fewer adventures there
should he find."

"Sir," saith she, "One squire shall you take by my good will nor shall
nought betide you thereof save good only, please God!"

"Lady," saith the King, "At your pleasure be it, but much dread I that
nought shall come of it save evil only."

Thereupon the King riseth up from beside the Queen, and looketh before
him and seeth a youth tall and strong and comely and young, that was
hight Chaus, and he was the son of Ywain li Aoutres.

"Lady," saith he to the Queen, "This one will I take with me and you
think well."

"Sir," saith she, "It pleaseth me well, for I have heard much witness
to his valour."

The King calleth the squire, and he cometh and kneeleth down before
him.  The King maketh him rise and saith unto him, "Chaus," saith he,
"You shall lie within to-night, in this hall, and take heed that my
horse be saddled at break of day and mine arms ready.  For I would be
moving at the time I tell you, and yourself with me without more
company."

"Sir," saith the squire, "At your pleasure."

And the evening drew on, and the King and Queen go to bed.  When they
had eaten in hall, the knights went to their hostels.  The squire
remained in the hall, but he would not do off his clothes nor his
shoon, for the night seemed him to be too short, and for that he would
fain be ready in the morning at the King's commandment.  The squire was
lying down in such sort as I have told you, and in the first sleep that
he slept, seemed him the King had gone without him.  The squire was
sore scared thereat, and came to his hackney and set the saddle and
bridle upon him, and did on his spurs and girt on his sword, as it
seemed him in his sleep, and issued forth of the castle a great pace
after the King.  And when he had ridden a long space he entered into a
great forest and looked in the way before him and saw the slot of the
King's horse and followed the track a long space, until that he came to
a launde of the forest whereat he thought that the King had alighted.
The squire thought that the hoof-marks on the way had come to an end
and so thought that the King had alighted there or hard by there.  He
looketh to the right hand and seeth a chapel in the midst of the
launde, and he seeth about it a great graveyard wherein were many
coffins, as it seemed him.  He thought in his heart that he would go
towards the chapel, for he supposed that the King would have entered to
pray there.  He went thitherward and alighted.  When the squire was
alighted, he tied up his hackney and entered into the chapel.  None did
he see there in one part nor another, save a knight that lay dead in
the midst of the chapel upon a bier, and he was covered of a rich cloth
of silk, and had around him waxen tapers burning that were fixed in
four candlesticks of gold.  This squire marvelled much how this body
was left there so lonely, insomuch that none were about him save only
the images, and yet more marvelled he of the King that he found him
not, for he knew not in what part to seek him.  He taketh out one of
the tall tapers, and layeth hand on the golden candlestick, and setteth
it betwixt his hose and his thigh and issueth forth of the chapel, and
remounteth on his hackney and goeth his way back and passeth beyond the
grave-yard and issueth forth of the launde and entereth into the forest
and thinketh that he will not cease until he hath found the King.


IV.

So, as he entereth into a grassy lane in the wood, he seeth come before
him a man black and foul-favoured, and he was somewhat taller afoot
than was himself a-horseback.  And he held a great sharp knife in his
hand with two edges as it seemed him.  The squire cometh over against
him a great pace and saith unto him, "You, that come there, have you
met King Arthur in this forest?"

"In no wise," saith the messenger, "But you have I met, whereof am I
right glad at heart, for you have departed from the chapel as a thief
and a traitor.  For you are carrying off thence the candlestick of gold
that was in honour of the knight that lieth in the chapel dead.
Wherefore I will that you yield it up to me and so will I carry it
back, otherwise, and you do not this, you do I defy!"

"By my faith," saith the squire, "Never will I yield it you! rather
will I carry it off and make a present thereof to King Arthur."

"By my faith," saith the other, "Right dearly shall you pay for it, and
you yield it not up forthwith."

Howbeit, the squire smiteth with his spurs and thinketh to pass him by,
but the other hasteth him, and smiteth the squire in the left side with
the knife and thrusteth it into his body up to the haft.  The squire,
that lay in the hall at Cardoil, and had dreamed this, awoke and cried
in a loud voice: "Holy Mary!  The priest!  Help!  Help, for I am a dead
man!"

The King and the Queen heard the cry, and the chamberlain leapt up and
said to the King: "sir, you may well be moving, for it is day!"

The King made him be clad and shod.  And the squire crieth with such
strength as he hath: "Fetch me the priest, for I die!"

The King goeth thither as fast as he may, and the Queen and the
chamberlain carry great torches and candles.  The King asketh him what
aileth him, and he telleth him all in such wise as he had dreamed it.
"Ha," saith the King, "Is it then a dream?"

"Yea, sir," saith he, "But a right foul dream it is for me, for right
foully hath it come true!" He lifted his left arm. "Sir," saith he,
"Look you there!  Lo, here is the knife that was run into my side up to
the haft!"  After that, he setteth his hand to his hose where the
candlestick was.  He draweth it forth and showeth it to the King.
"Sir," saith he, "For this candlestick that I present to you, am I
wounded to the death!"

The King taketh the candlestick, and looketh thereat in wonderment for
none so rich had he never seen tofore.  The King showeth it to the
Queen.  "Sir," saith the squire, "Draw not forth the knife of my body
until that I be shriven."

The King sent for one of his own chaplains that made the squire confess
and do his houselling right well.  The King himself draweth forth the
knife of the body, and the soul departed forthwith.  The King made do
his service right richly and his shrouding and burial.  Ywain li
Aoutres that was father to the squire was right sorrowful of the death
of his son.  King Arthur, with the good will of Ywain his father, gave
the candlestick to S. Paul in London, for the church was newly founded,
and the King wished that this marvellous adventure should everywhere be
known, and that prayer should be made in the church for the soul of the
squire that was slain on account of the candlestick.


V.

King Arthur armed himself in the morning, as I told you and began to
tell, to go to the chapel of S. Augustine.  Said the Queen to him.
"Whom will you take with you?"

"Lady," saith he, "No company will I have thither, save God only, for
well may you understand by this adventure that hath befallen, that God
will not allow I should have none with me."

"Sir," saith she, "God be guard of your body, and grant you return
safely so as that you may have the will to do well, whereby shall your
praise be lifted up that is now sore cast down."

"Lady," saith he, "May God remember it."

His destrier was brought to the mounting-stage, and the King mounted
thereon all armed.  Messire Ywain li Aoutres lent him his shield and
spear.  When the King had hung the shield at his neck and held the
spear in his hand, sword-girt, on the tall destrier armed, well seemed
he in the make of his body and in his bearing to be a knight of great
pith and hardiment.  He planteth himself so stiffly in the stirrups
that he maketh the saddlebows creak again and the destrier stagger
under him that was right stout and swift, and he smiteth him of his
spurs, and the horse maketh answer with a great leap.  The Queen was at
the windows of the hall, and as many as five-and-twenty knights were
all come to the mounting-stage.  When the King departed, "Lords," saith
the Queen, "How seemeth you of the King?  Seemeth he not a goodly man?"

"Yea, certes, Lady, and sore loss is it to the world that he followeth
not out his good beginning, for no king nor prince is known better
learned of all courtesy nor of all largesse than he, so he would do
like as he was wont."  With that the knights hold their peace, and King
Arthur goeth away a great pace.  And he entereth into a great forest
adventurous, and rideth the day long until he cometh about evensong
into the thick of the forest.  And he espied a little house beside a
little chapel, and it well seemed him to be a hermitage.  King Arthur
rode thitherward and alighteth before this little house, and entereth
thereinto and draweth his horse after him, that had much pains to enter
in at the door, and laid his spear down on the ground and leant his
shield against the wall, and hath ungirded his sword and unlaced his
ventail.  He looked before him and saw barley and provender, and so led
his horse thither and smote off his bridle, and afterwards hath shut
the door of the little house and locked it. And it seemed him that
there was a strife in the chapel.  The ones were weeping so tenderly
and sweetly as it were angels, and the other spake so harshly as it
were fiends.  The King heard such voices in the chapel and marvelled
much what it might be. He findeth a door in the little house that
openeth on a little cloister whereby one goeth to the chapel.  The King
is gone thither and entereth into the little minster, and looketh
everywhere but seeth nought there, save the images and the crucifixes.
And he supposeth not that the strife of these voices cometh of them.
The voices ceased as soon as he was within.  He marvelleth how it came
that this house and hermitage were solitary, and what had become of the
hermit that dwelt therein. He drew nigh the altar of the chapel and
beheld in front thereof a coffin all discovered, and he saw the hermit
lying therein all clad in his vestments, and seeth the long beard down
to his girdle, and his hands crossed upon his breast.  There was a
cross above him, whereof the image came as far as his mouth, and he had
life in him yet, but he was nigh his end, being at the point of death.
The King was before the coffin a long space, and looked right fainly on
the hermit, for well it seemed him that he had been of a good life.
The night was fully come, but within was a brightness of light as if a
score of candles were lighted.  He had a mind to abide there until that
the good man should have passed away.  He would fain have sate him down
before the coffin, when a voice warned him right horribly to begone
thence, for that it was desired to make a judgment within there, that
might not be made so long as he were there.  The King departed, that
would willingly have remained there, and so returned back into the
little house, and sate him down on a seat whereon the hermit wont to
sir.  And he heareth the strife and the noise begin again within the
chapel, and the ones he heareth speaking high and the others low, and
he knoweth well by the voices, that the ones are angels and the others
devils.  And he heareth that the devils are distraining on the hermit's
soul, and that judgment will presently be given in their favour,
whereof make they great joy. King Arthur is grieved in his heart when
he heareth that the angels' voices are stilled.  The King is so heavy,
that no desire hath he neither to eat nor to drink.  And while he
sitteth thus, stooping his head toward the ground, full of vexation and
discontent, he heareth in the chapel the voice of a Lady that spake so
sweet and clear, that no man in this earthly world, were his grief and
heaviness never so sore, but and he had heard the sweet voice of her
pleading would again have been in joy.  She saith to the devils:
"Begone from hence, for no right have ye over the soul of this good
man, whatsoever he may have done aforetime, for in my Son's service and
mine own is he taken, and his penance hath he done in this hermitage of
the sins that he hath done."

"True, Lady," say the devils, "But longer had he served us than he hath
served you and your Son.  For forty years or more hath he been a
murderer and robber in this forest, whereas in this hermitage but five
years hath he been.  And now you Wish to thieve him from us."

"I do not.  No wish have I to take him from you by theft, for had he
been taken in your service in suchwise as he hath been taken in mine,
yours would he have been, all quit."

The devils go their way all discomfit and aggrieved; and the sweet
Mother of our Lord God taketh the soul of the hermit, that was departed
of his body, and so commendeth it to the angels and archangels that
they make present thereof to Her dear Son in Paradise.  And the angels
take it and begin to sing for joy "Te Deum laudamus".  And the Holy
Lady leadeth them and goeth her way along with them.  Josephus maketh
remembrance of this history and telleth us that this worthy man was
named Calixtus.


VI.

King Arthur was in the little house beside the chapel, and had heard
the voice of the sweet Mother of God and the angels.  Great joy had he,
and was right glad of the good man's soul that was borne thence into
Paradise.  The King had slept right little the night and was all armed.
He saw the day break clear and fair, and goeth his way toward the
chapel to cry God mercy, thinking to find the coffin discovered there
where the hermit lay; but so did he not!  Rather, was it covered of the
richest tomb-stone that any might ever see, and had on the top a red
cross, and seemed it that the chapel was all incensed.  When the King
had made his orison therein, he cometh back again and setteth on his
bridle and saddle and mounteth, and taketh his shield and spear and
departeth from the little house and entereth into the forest and rideth
a great pace, until he cometh at right hour of tierce to one of the
fairest laundes that ever a man might see.  And he seeth at the
entrance a spear set bar-wise, and looketh to the right or ever he
should enter therein, and seeth a damsel sitting under a great leafy
tree, and she held the reins of her mule in her hand.  The damsel was
of great beauty and full seemly clad. The King turneth thitherward and
so saluteth her and saith: "Damsel," saith he, "God give you joy and
good adventure."

"Sir," saith she, "So may He do to you!"

"Damsel," saith the King, "Is there no hold in this launde?"

"Sir," saith the damsel, "No hold is there save a most holy chapel and
a hermit that is beside S. Augustine's chapel."

"Is this then S. Augustine's chapel?" saith the King.

"Yea, Sir, I tell it you for true, but the launde and the forest about
is so perilous that no knight returneth thence but he be dead or
wounded; but the place of the chapel is of so great worthiness that
none goeth thither, be he never so discounselled, but he cometh back
counselled, so he may thence return on live. And Lord God be guard of
your body, for never yet saw I none aforetime that seemed more like to
be good knight, and sore pity would it be and you were not, and never
more shall I depart me hence and I shall have seen your end."

"Damsel," saith the King, "Please God, you shall see me repair back
thence."

"Certes," saith the damsel, "Thereof should I be!  right fain, for then
should I ask you tidings at leisure of him that I am seeking."

The King goeth to the bar whereby one entereth into the launde, and
looketh to the right into a combe of the forest and seeth the chapel of
S. Augustine and the right fair hermitage.  Thitherward goeth he and
alighteth, and it seemeth him that the hermit is apparelled to sing the
mass.  He reineth up his horse to the bough of a tree by the side of
the chapel and thinketh to enter thereinto, but, had it been to conquer
all the kingdoms of the world, thereinto might he not enter, albeit
there was none made him denial thereof, for the door was open and none
saw he that might forbid him.  Sore ashamed is the King thereof.
Howbeit, he beholdeth an image of Our Lord that was there within and
crieth Him of mercy right sweetly, and looketh toward the altar.  And
he looketh at the holy hermit that was robed to sing mass and said his
"Confiteor", and seeth at his right hand the fairest Child that ever he
had seen, and He was clad in an alb and had a golden crown on his head
loaded with precious stones that gave out a full great brightness of
light.  On the left hand side, was a Lady so fair that all the beauties
of the world might not compare them with her beauty.  When the holy
hermit had said his "Confiteor" and went to the altar, the Lady also
took her Son and went to sit on the right hand side towards the altar
upon a right rich chair and set her Son upon her knees and began to
kiss Him full sweetly and saith:  "Sir," saith she, "You are my Father
and my Son and my Lord, and guardian of me and of all the world."

King Arthur heareth the words and seeth the beauty of the Lady and of
the Child, and marvelleth much of this that She should call Him her
Father and her Son.  He looketh at a window behind the altar and seeth
a flame come through at the very instant that mass was begun, clearer
than any ray of sun nor moon nor star, and evermore it threw forth a
brightness of light such that and all the lights in the world had been
together it would not have been the like.  And it is come down upon the
altar.  King Arthur seeth it who marvelleth him much thereof.  But sore
it irketh him of this that he may not enter therewithin, and he
heareth, there where the holy hermit was singing the mass, right fair
responses, and they seem him to be the responses of angels.  And when
the Holy Gospel was read, King Arthur looked toward the altar and saw
that the Lady took her Child and offered Him into the hands of the holy
hermit, but of this King Arthur made much marvel, that the holy hermit
washed not his hands when he had received the offering.  Right sore did
King Arthur marvel him thereof, but little right would he have had to
marvel had he known the reason. And when the Child was offered him, he
set Him upon the altar and thereafter began his sacrament.  And King
Arthur set him on his knees before the chapel and began to pray to God
and to beat his breast.  And he looked toward the altar after the
preface, and it seemed him that the holy hermit held between his hands
a man bleeding from His side and in His palms and in His feet, and
crowned with thorns, and he seeth Him in His own figure.  And when he
had looked on Him so long and knoweth not what is become of Him, the
King hath pity of Him in his heart of this that he had seen, and the
tears of his heart come into his eyes.  And he looketh toward the altar
and thinketh to see the figure of the man, and seeth that it is changed
into the shape of the Child that he had seen tofore.


VII.

When the mass was sung, the voice of a holy angel said "Ite, missa
est".  The Son took the Mother by the hand, and they evanished forth of
the chapel with the greatest company and the fairest that might ever be
seen.  The flame that was come down through the window went away with
this company.  When the hermit had done his service and was divested of
the arms of God, he went to King Arthur that was still without the
chapel.  "Sir," saith he to the King, "Now may you well enter herein
and well might you have been joyous in your heart had you deserved so
much as that you might have come in at the beginning of the mass."

King Arthur entered into the chapel without any hindrance. "Sir," saith
the hermit to the King, "I know you well, as did I also King Uther
Pendragon your father.  On account of your sins and your deserts might
you not enter here while mass was being sung.  Nor will you to-morrow,
save you shall first have made amends of that you have misdone towards
God and towards the saint that is worshipped herewithin.  For you are
the richest King of the world and the most adventurous, wherefore ought
all the world to take ensample of you in well-doing and in largesse and
in honour; whereas you are now an ensample of evil-doing to all rich
worshipful men that be now in the world.  Wherefore shall right sore
mishap betide you and you set nor back your doing to the point whereat
you began.  For your court was the sovran of all courts and the most
adventurous, whereas now is it least of worth.  Well may he be sorry
that goeth from honour to shame, but never may he have reproach that
shall do him ill, that cometh from shame to honour, for the honour
wherein he is found rescueth him to God, but blame may never rescue the
man that hath renounced honour for shame, for the shame and wickedness
wherein he is found declare him guilty."


VIII.

"Sir," saith King Arthur, "To amend me have I come hither, and to be
better counselled than I have been.  Well do I see that the place is
most holy, and I beseech you that you pray God that He counsel me and I
will do my endeavour herein to amend me."

"God grant you may amend your life," saith the holy hermit, "in such
sort that you may help to do away the evil Law and to exalt the Law
that is made new by the crucifixion of the Holy Prophet. But a great
sorrow is befallen in the land of late through a young knight that was
harboured in the hostel of the rich King Fisherman, for that the most
Holy Graal appeared to him and the Lance whereof the point runneth of
blood, yet never asked he to whom was served thereof nor whence it
came, and for that he asked it not are all the lands commoved to war,
nor no knight meeteth other in the forest but he runneth upon him and
slayeth him and he may, and you yourself shall well perceive thereof or
ever you shall depart of this launde."

"Sir," saith King Arthur, "God defend me from the anguish of an evil
death and from wickedness, for hither have I come for none other thing
but to amend my life, and this will I do, so God bring me back in
safety."

"Truly," saith the hermit, "He that hath been bad for three years out
of forty, he hath not been wholly good."

"Sir," saith the King, "You speak truth."

The hermit departeth and so commendeth him to God.  The King cometh to
his horse and mounteth the speediest that ever he may, and setteth his
shield on his neck, and taketh his spear in his hand and turneth him
back a great pace.  Howbeit, he had not gone a bowshot's length when he
saw a knight coming disorderly against him, and he sate upon a great
black horse and he had a shield of the same and a spear.  And the spear
was somewhat thick near the point and burned with a great flame, foul
and hideous, and the flame came down as far as over the knight's fist.
He setteth his spear in rest and thinketh to smite the King, but the
King swerveth aside and the other passeth beyond.  "Sir knight,
wherefor hate you me?"

"Of right ought I not to love you," saith the knight.

"Wherefore?" saith the King.

"For this, that you have had my brother's candlestick that was foully
stolen from him!"

"Know you then who I am?" saith the King.

"Yea," saith the knight; "You are the King Arthur that aforetime were
good and now are evil.  Wherefore I defy you as my mortal enemy."

He draweth him back so that his onset may be the weightier.  The King
seeth that he may not depart without a stour.  He setteth his spear in
rest when he seeth the other come towards him with his own spear all
burning.  The King smiteth his horse with his spurs as hard as he may,
and meeteth the knight with his spear and the knight him.  And they
melled together so stoutly that the spears bent without breaking, and
both twain are shifted in their saddles and lose their stirrups.  They
hurtle so strongly either against other of their bodies and their
horses that their eyes sparkle as of stars in their heads and the blood
rayeth out of King Arthur by mouth and nose.  Either draweth away from
other and they take their breath.  The King looketh at the Black
Knight's spear that burneth, and marvelleth him right sore that it is
not snapped in flinders of the great buffet he had received thereof,
and him thinketh rather that it is a devil and a fiend. The Black
Knight is not minded to let King Arthur go so soon, but rather cometh
toward him a great career.  The King seeth him come toward him and so
covereth him of his shield for fear of the flame.  The King receiveth
him on the point of his spear and smiteth him with so sore a shock that
he maketh him bend backward over his horse croup.  The other, that was
of great might, leapeth back into the saddle-bows and smiteth the King
upon the boss of his shield so that the burning point pierceth the
shield and the sleeve of his habergeon and runneth the sharp iron into
his arm.  The King feeleth the wound and the heat, whereof is he filled
with great wrath, and the knight draweth back his spear to him, and
hath great joy at heart when he feeleth the King wounded.  The King was
rejoiced not a whit, and looked at the spear that was quenched thereof
and burned no longer.

"Sir," saith the knight, "I cry you mercy.  Never would my spear have
been quenched of its burning, save it were bathed in your blood."

"Now may never God help me," saith King Arthur, "whenever I shall have
mercy on you, and I may achieve!"

He pricketh towards him a great run, and smiteth him in the broad of
the breast and thrusted his spear half an ell into his body, and
beareth him to the ground, both him and his horse all in a heap, and
draweth his spear back to him and looketh at the knight that lay as
dead and leaveth him in the launde, and draweth him towards the issue
incontinent.  And so as the King went, he heard a great clashing of
knights coming right amidst the forest, so as it seemed there were a
good score or more of them, and he seeth them enter the launde from the
forest, armed and well horsed. And they come with great ado toward the
knight that lay dead in the midst of the launde.  King Arthur was about
to issue forth, when the damsel that he had left under the tree cometh
forward to meet him.

"Sir," saith she, "For God's sake, return back and fetch me the head of
the knight that lieth there dead."

The King looketh back, and seeth the great peril and the multitude of
knights that are there all armed. "Ha, damsel," saith he, "You are
minded to slay me."

"Certes, Sir, that I am not, but sore need will there be that I should
have it, nor never did knight refuse to do the thing I asked nor deny
me any boon I demanded of him.  Now God grant you be not the most
churlish."

"Ha, damsel, I am right sore wounded in the arm whereon I hold my
shield."

"Sir," saith she, "I know it well, nor never may you be heal thereof
save you bring me the head of the knight."

"Damsel," he saith, "I will essay it whatsoever may befal me thereof."


IX.

King Arthur looketh amidst the launde and seeth that they that have
come thither have cut the knight to pieces limb by limb, and that each
is carrying off a foot or a thigh or an arm or a hand and are
dispersing them through the forest.  And he seeth that the last knight
beareth on the point of his spear the head.  The King goeth after him a
great gallop and crieth out to him: "Ha, Sir knight, abide and speak to
me!"

"What is your pleasure?" saith the knight.

"Fair Sir," saith the King, "I beseech you of all loves that you deign
to give me the head of this knight that you are carrying on the point
of your lance."

"I will give it you," saith the knight, "on condition."

"What condition?" saith the King.

"That you tell me who slew the knight whose head I carry that you ask
of me."

"May I not otherwise have it?" saith the King.

"In no wise," saith he.

"Then will I tell you," saith the King.  "Know of a very truth that
King Arthur slew him."

"And where is he?" saith the knight.

"Seek him until you shall have found him," saith King Arthur, "For I
have told you the truth thereof.  Give me the head."

"Willingly," saith the knight.  He lowereth his spear and the King
taketh the head.  The knight had a horn at his neck.  He setteth it to
his mouth and soundeth a blast right loud.  The knights that were set
within the forest hear the horn and return back a great gallop, and
King Arthur goeth his way toward the oak-tree at the issue of the
launde where the damsel is awaiting him.  And the knights come
presently to him that had given the head to the King and ask him
wherefore he hath sounded the horn.

"For this," saith he, "That this knight that is going away yonder hath
told me that King Arthur slew the Black Knight, and I was minded you
should know it that we may follow him."

"We will not follow him," say the knights, "For it is King Arthur
himself that is carrying off the head, and no power have we to do evil
to him nor other sith that he hath passed the bar.  But you shall aby
it that let him go when he was so nigh you!"

They rush in upon him and slay him and cut him up, and each one
carrieth off his piece the same as they had done with the other. King
Arthur is issued forth of the bar, and cometh to the maiden that is
waiting for him and presenteth her the head.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "Gramercy."

"Damsel," saith he, "With a good will!"

"Sir," saith the damsel, "You may well alight, for nought have you to
fear on this side the bar."  With that, the King alighteth.

"Sir," saith she, "Do off your habergeon heedfully and I will bind up
the wound in your arm, for of none may you be made whole save of me
only."

The King doeth off his habergeon, and the damsel taketh of the blood of
the knight's head that still ran all warm, and therewith washeth King
Arthur his wound, and thereafter maketh him do on his habergeon again.

"Sir," saith she, "Never would you have been whole save by the blood of
this Black Knight.  And for this carried they off the body piecemeal
and the head, for that they well knew you were wounded; and of the head
shall I have right sore need, for thereby shall a castle be yielded up
to me that was reft from me by treason, so I may find the knight that I
go seek, through whom it ought to be yielded up to me."

"Damsel," saith the King, "And who is the knight?"

"Sir," saith she, "He was the son of Alain li Gros of the Valleys of
Camelot, and is named Perlesvax."

"Wherefore Perlesvax?" saith the King.

"Sir," saith she, "When he was born, his father was asked how he should
be named in right baptism, and he said that he would he should have the
name Perlesvax, for the Lord of the Moors had reft him of the greater
part of the Valleys of Camelot, and therefore he would that his son
should by this name be reminded thereof, and God should so multiply him
as that he should be knight.  The lad was right comely and right gentle
and began to go by the forests and launch his javelins, Welsh-fashion,
at hart and hind.  His father and his mother loved him much, and one
day they were come forth of their hold, whereunto the forest was close
anigh, to enjoy them.  Now, there was between the hold and the forest,
an exceeding small chapel that stood upon four columns of marble; and
it was roofed of timber and had a little altar within, and before the
altar a right fair coffin, and thereupon was the figure of a man
graven.  Sir," saith the damsel to the King, "The lad asked his father
and mother what man lay within the coffin.  The father answered: 'Fair
son,' saith he, 'Certes, I know not to tell you, for the tomb hath been
here or ever that my father's father was born, and never have I heard
tell of none that might know who it is therein, save only that the
letters that are on the coffin say that when the Best Knight in the
world shall come hither the coffin will open and the joinings all fall
asunder, and then will it be seen who it is that lieth therein.'"


X.

"Damsel," saith the King, "Have many knights passed thereby sithence
that the coffin was set there?"

"Yea, sir, so many that neither I nor none other may tell the number.
Yet natheless hath not the coffin removed itself for none.  When the
lad heareth his father and mother talking thus, he asketh what a knight
may be?  'Fair son,' saith his mother, 'Of right ought you well to know
by your lineage.'  She telleth the lad that he had eleven uncles on his
father's side that had all been slain in arms, and not one of them
lived knight but twelve years.  Sir," saith she to the King, "The lad
made answer that this was nor that he had asked, but how knights were
made? And the father answered that they were such as had more valour
than any other in the world.  After that he said, 'Fair son, they are
clad in habergeons of iron to protect their bodies, and helms laced
upon their heads, and shields and spears and swords girded wherewithal
to defend their bodies.'"


XI.

"Sir," saith the damsel to the King, "When that the father had thus
spoken to the lad, they returned together to the castle. When the
morrow morning came, the lad arose and heard the birds sing and
bethought him that he would go for disport into the forest for the day
sith that it was fair.  So he mounted on one of his father's horses of
the chase and carried his javelins Welshman-fashion and went into the
forest and found a stag and followed him a good four leagues Welsh,
until that he came into a launde and found two knights all armed that
were there doing battle, and the one had a red shield and the other a
white.  He left of tracking the stag to look on at the melly and saw
that the Red Knight was conquering the White.   He launched one of his
javelins at the Red Knight so hard that he pierced his habergeon and
made it pass through the heart.  The knight fell dead.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "The knight of the white shield made great joy
thereof, and the lad asked him, 'were knights so easy to slay?
Methought,' saith the lad, 'that none might never pierce nor damage a
knight's armour, otherwise would I not have run him through with my
javelin,' saith the lad.  Sir, the lad brought the destrier home to his
father and mother, and right grieved were they when they heard the
tidings of the knight he had slain.  And right were they, for thereof
did sore trouble come to them thereafter.  Sir, the squire departed
from the house of his father and mother and came to the court of King
Arthur. Right gladly did the King make him knight when he knew his
will, and afterward he departed from the land and went to seek
adventure in every kingdom.  Now is he the Best Knight that is in the
world.  So go I to seek him, and full great joy shall I have at heart
and I may find him.  Sir, and you should meet him by any adventure in
any of these forests, he beareth a red shield with a white hart.  And
so tell him that his father is dead, and that his mother will lose all
her land so he come not to succour her; and that the brother of the
knight of the Red shield that he slew in the forest with his javelin
warreth upon her with the Lord of the Moors."

"Damsel," saith the King, "And God grant me to meet him, right fain
shall I be thereof, and right well will I set forth your message."

"Sir," saith she, "Now that I have told you him that I seek, it is your
turn to tell me your name."

"Damsel," saith the King, "Willingly.  They that know me call me
Arthur."

"Arthur?  Have you indeed such name?"

"Yea, damsel," saith he.

"So help me God," saith she, "Now am I sorrier for you than tofore, for
you have the name of the worst King in the world, and I would that he
were here in such sort as you are now.  But never again will he move
from Cardoil, do what he may, such dread hath the Queen lest any should
take him from her, according as I have heard witness, for never saw I
neither the one nor the other.  I was moved to go to his court, but I
have met full a score knights one after other, of whom I asked
concerning him, and one told me the same tale as another, for each told
me that the court of King Arthur is the vilest in the world, and that
all the knights of the Table Round have renounced it for the badness
thereof."

"Damsel," saith the King, "Hereof may he well be sorry, but at the
beginning I have heard say he did right well."

"And who careth," saith the damsel, "for his good beginning when the
end is bad?  And much it misliketh me that so seemly knight and so
worshipful man as are you should have the name of so evil a king."

"Damsel," saith the King, "A man is not good by his name, but by his
heart."

"You say true," saith the damsel, "But for the King's name have I
despite of yours.  And whitherward are you going?"

"I shall go to Cardoil, where I shall find King Arthur when I shall
come thither."

"Go to, then, and bestir!" saith she.

"One bad man with another!  No better hope have I of you, sith that you
go thither!"

"Damsel, you may say your pleasure, for thither I go!  God be with you!"

"And may never God guide you," saith she, "and you go the court of King
Arthur!"


XII.

With that the King mounted again and departed, and left the damsel
under the tree and entered into the deep forest and rode with much ado
as fast as he might to come to Cardoil.  And he had ridden a good ten
leagues Welsh when he heard a Voice in the thick of the forest that
began to cry aloud: "King Arthur of Great Britain, right glad at heart
mayst thou be of this that God hath sent me hither unto thee.  And so
He biddeth thee that thou hold court at the earliest thou mayst, for
the world, that is now made worse of thee and of thy slackness in
well-doing, shall thereof be greatly amended!"

With that the Voice is silent, and the King was right joyous in his
heart of that he had heard.  The story speaketh no more here of other
adventure that befel King Arthur in his returning nor on his arriving.
Anyway, he hath ridden so long that he is come back to Cardoil.  The
Queen and the knights made great feast of him and great joy.  The King
was alighted on the mounting-stage and went up into the hall and made
him be disarmed.  And he showed the Queen the wound that he had on his
arm, that had been right great and painful, but it was healing full
fairly.  The King goeth into the chamber and the Queen with him, and
doeth the King be apparelled in a robe of cloth of silk all furred of
ermine, with coat, surcoat and mantle.

"Sir," saith the Queen, "Sore pain and travail have you had."

"Lady, in such wise behoveth worshipful man to suffer in order that he
may have honour, for hardly shall none without travail come to honour."
He recounteth to the Queen all the adventures that have befallen him
sithence that he was departed, and in what manner he was wounded in the
arm, and of the damsel that had so blamed him of his name.

"Sir," saith the queen, "Now may you well know how meet it is that a
man high and rich and puissant should have great shame of himself when
he becometh evil."

"Lady," saith the King, "So much did the damsel do me well to wot, but
greatly did a Voice recomfort me that I heard in the forest, for it
told me that God bade me hold court presently, and that I shall see
there the fairest adventure befal that ever I may see."

"Sir," saith she, "Right joyous ought you to be that your Saviour hath
had you in remembrance.  Now, therefore, fulfil His commandment."

"Certes, Lady, so will I do.  For never had none better desire of
well-doing than have I as at this time, nor of honour nor of largesse."

"Sir," saith she, "God be praised thereof."



BRANCH II.

Now beginneth here the second branch of the Holy Graal the name of the
Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.


TITLE I

King Arthur was at Cardoil with the Queen and right few knights. By
God's pleasure, the wish and the will had come back to him to win
honour and to do largesse as most he might.  He made seal his letters
and sent them throughout all his lands and all the islands, and gave
notice to the barons and knights that he would hold court at
Pannenoisance, that is situate the sea of Wales, at the feast of S.
John after Whitsuntide.  And he was minded to put it off until that
day, for that suntide was already too nigh, and they that should be
thereat might not all come by the earlier day.  The tidings went
through all lands, so that knights come in great plenty thereunto, for
well-doing had so waxed feeble in all the kingdoms, that every one had
avoided King Arthur as one that should do nought more for ever.
Wherefore all began now to marvel whence his new desire had come.  The
knights of the Table Round that were scattered through the lands and
the forests, by God's will learnt the tidings and right great joy had
they thereof, and came back to the court with great ado.  But neither
Messire Gawain nor Lancelot came thither on that day.  But all the
other came that were then on live.  S. John's day came, and the knights
were come from all parts, marvelling much that the King had not held
the court at Whitsuntide, but they knew not the occasion thereof.  The
day was fair and clear and the air fresh, and the hall was wide and
high and garnished of good knights in great plenty.  The cloths were
spread on the tables whereof were great plenty in the hall.  The King
and the Queen had washen and went to sit at the head of one table and
the other knights sate them down, whereof were full five score and five
as the story telleth.  Kay the Seneschal and Messire Ywain the son of
King Urien served that day at the tables at meat, and five-and-twenty
knights beside.  And Lucan the Butler served the golden cup before the
King.  The sun shone through the windows everywhere amidst the hall
that was strown of flowers and rushes and sweet herbs and gave out a
smell like as had it been sprinkled of balm. And straightway after the
first meat had been served, and while they were yet awaiting the
second, behold you three damsels where they enter into the hall!  She
that came first sate upon a mule white as driven snow and had a golden
bridle and a saddle with a bow of ivory banded with precious stones and
a saddle-cloth of a red samite dropped of gold.  The damsel that was
seated on the mule was right seemly of body but scarce so fair of face,
and she was robed in a rich cloth of silk and gold and had a right rich
hat that covered all her head.  And it was all loaded of costly stones
that flamed like fire.  And great need had she that her head were
covered, for she was all bald without hair, and carried on her neck her
right arm slung in a stole of cloth of gold.  And her arm lay on a
pillow, the richest that ever might be seen, and it was all charged of
little golden bells, and in this hand held she the head of a King
sealed in silver and crowned with gold. The other damsel that came
behind rode after the fashion of a squire, and carried a pack trussed
behind her with a brachet thereupon, and at her neck she bore a shield
banded argent and azure with a red cross, and the boss was of gold all
set with precious stones.  The third damsel came afoot with her kirtle
tucked up like a running footman; and she had in her hand a whip
wherewith she drove the two steeds.  Each of these twain was fairer
than the first, but the one afoot surpassed both the others in beauty.
The first cometh before the King, there where he sitteth at meat with
the Queen.

"Sir," saith she, "The Saviour of the world grant you honour and joy
and good adventure and my Lady the Queen and all them of this hall for
love of you!  Hold it not churlishness and I alight not, for there
where knights be may I not alight, nor ought I until such time as the
Graal be achieved."

"Damsel," saith the King, "Gladly would I have it so."

"Sir," saith she, "That know I well, and may it not mislike you to hear
the errand whereon I am come."

"It shall not mislike me," saith the King, "say your pleasure!"

"Sir," saith she, "The shield that this damsel beareth belonged to
Joseph, the good soldier knight that took down Our Lord of hanging on
the rood.  I make you a present thereof in such wise as I shall tell
you, to wit, that you keep the shield for a knight that shall come
hither for the same, and you shall make hang it on this column in the
midst of your hall, and guard it in such wise as that none may take it
and hang at his neck save he only.  And of this shield shall he achieve
the Graal, and another shield shall he leave here in the hall, red,
with a white hart; and the brachet that the damsel carrieth shall here
remain, and little joy will the brachet make until the knight shall
come."

"Damsel," saith the King, "The shield and the brachet will we keep full
safely, and right heartily we thank you that you have deigned to bring
them hither."

"Sir," saith the damsel, "I have not yet told you all that I have in
charge to deliver.  The best King that liveth on earth and the most
loyal and the most righteous, sendeth you greeting; of whom is sore
sorrow for that he hath fallen into a grievous languishment."

"Damsel," saith the King, "Sore pity is it and it be so as you say; and
I pray you tell me who is the King?"

"Sir," saith she, "It is rich King Fisherman, of whom is great grief."

"Damsel," saith the King, "You say true; and God grant him his heart's
desire!"

"Sir," saith she, "Know you wherefore he hath fallen into languishment?"

"Nay, I know not at all, but gladly would I learn."

"And I will tell you," saith she.  "This languishment is come upon him
through one that harboured in his hostel, to whom the most Holy Graal
appeared.  And, for that he would not ask unto whom one served thereof,
were all the lands commoved to war thereby, nor never thereafter might
knight meet other but he should fight with him in arms without none
other occasion.  You yourself may well perceive the same, for your
well-doing hath greatly slackened, whereof have you had much blame, and
all the other barons that by you have taken ensample, for you are the
mirror of the world alike in well-doing and in evil-doing.  Sir, I
myself have good right to plain me of the knight, and I will show you
wherefore."

She lifteth the rich hat from her head and showeth the King and Queen
and the knights in the hall her head all bald without hair.

"Sir," saith she, "My head was right seemly garnished of hair plaited
in rich tresses of gold at such time as the knight came to the hostel
of the rich King Fisherman, but I became bald for that he made not the
demand, nor never again shall I have my hair until such time as a
knight shall go thither that shall ask the question better than did he,
or the knight that shall achieve the Graal.  Sir, even yet have you not
seen the sore mischief that hath befallen thereof.  There is without
this hall a car that three white harts have drawn hither, and lightly
may you send to see how rich it is. I tell you that the traces are of
silk and the axletrees of gold, and the timber of the car is ebony.
The car is covered above with a black samite, and below is a cross of
gold the whole length, and under the coverlid of the car are the heads
of an hundred and fifty knights whereof some be sealed in gold, other
some in silver and the third in lead.  King Fisherman sendeth you word
that this loss I hath befallen of him that demanded not unto whom one
serveth of the Graal.  Sir, the damsel that beareth the shield holdeth
in her hand the head of a Queen that is sealed in lead and crowned with
copper, and I tell you that by the Queen whose head you here behold was
the King betrayed whose head I bear, and the three manner of knights
whose heads are within the car.  Sir, send without to see the
costliness and fashion of the car."

The King sent Kay the Seneschal to see.  He looked straitly thereat
within and without and thereafter returned to the King. "Sir," saith
he, "Never beheld I car so rich, and there be three harts withal that
draw the car, the tallest and fattest one might ever see.  But and you
will be guided by me, you will take the foremost, for he is scarce so
far, and so might you bid make right good collops thereof."

"Avoid there, Kay!" saith the King.  "Foul churlishness have you
spoken!  I would not such a deed were done for another such kingdom as
is this of Logres!"

"Sir," saith the damsel, "He that hath been wont to do churlishness
doth right grudgingly withdraw himself therefrom. Messire Kay may say
whatsoever him pleaseth, but well know I that you will pay no heed to
his talk.  Sir," saith the damsel, "Command that the shield be hung on
this column and that the brachet be put in the Queen's chamber with the
maidens.  We will go on our way, for here have we been long enough."

Messire Ywain laid hold on the shield and took it off the damsel's neck
by leave of the King, and hung it on the column in the midst of the
hall, and one of the Queen's maidens taketh the brachet and carrieth
him to the Queen's chamber.  And the damsel taketh her leave and
turneth again, and the King commendeth her to God.  When the King eaten
in hall, the Queen with the King and the knights go to lean at the
windows to look at the three damsels and the three white harts that
draw the car, and the more part said that the damsel afoot that went
after the two that were mounted should have the most misease.  The bald
damsel went before, and set not her hat on her head until such time as
behoved her enter into the forest; and the knights that were at the
windows might see them no longer.  Then set she her hat again upon her
head.  The King, the Queen, and the knights when they might see them no
more, came down from the windows, and certain of them said that never
until this time had they seen bald-headed damsel save this one only.


II.

Hereupon the story is silent of King Arthur, and turneth again to speak
of the three damsels and the car that was drawn by the three white
harts.  They are entered into the forest and ride on right busily.
When they had left the castle some seven leagues Welsh behind them,
they saw a knight coming toward them on the way they had to go.  The
knight sat on a tall horse, lean and bony.  His habergeon was all rusty
and his shield pierced in more than a dozen places, and the colour
thereon was so fretted away that none might make out the cognizance
thereof.  And a right thick spear bore he in his hand.  When he came
anigh the damsel, he saluted her right nobly.

"Fair welcome, damsel, to you and your company."

"Sir," saith she, "God grant you joy and good adventure!"

"Damsel," saith the knight, "Whence come you?"

"Sir, from a court high-plenary that King Arthur holdeth at
Pannenoisance.  Go you thither, sir knight," saith the damsel, "to see
the King and the Queen and the knights that are there?"

"Nay, not so!" saith he.  "Many a time have I seen them, but right glad
am I of King Arthur that he hath again taken up his well-doing, for
many a time hath he been accustomed thereof."

"Whitherward have you now emprised your way?" saith the damsel.

"To the land of King Fisherman, and God allow me."

"Sir," saith she, "Tell me your name and bide awhile beside me."

The knight draweth bridle and the damsels and the car come to a stay.
"Damsel," saith he, "Well behoveth me tell you my name. Messire Gawain
am I called, King Arthur's nephew."

"What?  are you Messire Gawain?  my heart well told me as much."

"Yea, damsel," saith he, "Gawain am I."

"God be praised thereof, for so good knight as are you may well go see
the rich King Fisherman.  Now am I fain to pray you of the valour that
is in you and the courtesy, that you return with me and convoy me
beyond a certain castle that is in this forest whereof is some small
peril."

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Willingly, at your pleasure."

He returneth with the damsel through the midst of the forest that was
tall and leafy and little haunted of folk.  The damsel relateth to him
the adventure of the heads that she carried and that were in the car,
like as she did at the court of King Arthur, and of the shield and the
brachet she had left there, but much it misliked Messire Gawain of the
damsel that was afoot behind them.  "Damsel,"  saith Messire Gawain,
"Wherefore doth not this damsel that goeth afoot mount upon the car?"

"Sir," saith she, "This shall she not, for behoveth her go not
otherwise than afoot.  But and you be so good knight as men say,
betimes will she have done her penance."

"How so?" saith Gawain.

"I will tell you," saith she.  "And it shall so be that God bring you
to the hostel of rich King Fisherman, and the most Holy Graal appear
before you and you demand unto whom is served thereof, then will she
have done her penance, and I, that am bald, shall receive again my
hair.  And so you also make not demand thereof, then will it behove us
suffer sore annoy until such time as the Good knight shall come and
shall have achieved the Graal.  For on account of him that first was
there and made not the demand, are all the lands in sorrow and warfare,
and the good King Fisherman is yet in languishment."

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "God grant me courage and will herein
that I may come to do this thing according to your wish, whereof may I
win worship both of God and of the world."


III.

Messire Gawain and the damsels go on their way a great pace through the
high forest, green and leafy, where the birds are singing, and enter
into the most hideous forest and most horrible that any might ever see,
and seemed it that no greenery never there had been, so bare and dry
were all the branches and all the trees black and burnt as it had been
by fire, and the ground all parched and black atop with no green, and
full of great cracks.

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Right loathly is this forest and right
hideous.  Goeth it on far like this?"

"Sir." saith she, "For nine leagues Welsh goeth it on the same, but we
shall pass not through the whole thereof."

Messire Gawain looketh from time to time on the damsel that cometh
arbor, and sore it irketh him that he may not amend her estate.  They
ride on until that they come to a great valley and Messire Gawain
looketh along the bottom and seeth appear a black castle that was
enclosed within a girdle of wall, foul and evilseeming.  The nigher he
draweth to the castle the more hideous it seemeth him, and he seeth
great halls appear that were right foully mis-shapen, and the forest
about it he seeth to be like as he had found it behind.  He seeth a
water come down from the head of a mountain, foul and horrible and
black, that went amidst the castle roaring so loud that it seemed to be
thunder. Messire Gawain seeth the entrance of the gateway foul and
horrible like as it had been hell, and within the castle heard he great
outcries and lamentations, and the most part heard he saying: "Ha, God!
What hath become of the Good Knight, and when will he come?"

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "What is this castle here that is so
foul and hideous, wherein is such dolour suffered and such weary
longing for the coming of the Good Knight?"

"Sir, this is the castle of the Black Hermit.  Wherefore am I fain to
pray you that you meddle not herein for nought that they within may do
to me, for otherwise it may well be that your death is at hand, for
against them will you have no might nor power."

They come anigh the castle as it were a couple of bow-shots, and
behold, through the gateway come knights armed on black horses and
their arms all black and their shields and spears, and there were a
hundred and fifty and two, right parlous to behold.  And they come a
great gallop toward the damsel, and toward the car, and take the
hundred and fifty-two heads, each one his own, and set them upon their
spears and so enter into the castle again with great joy.  Messire
Gawain seeth the insolence that the knights have wrought, and right
great shame hath he of himself that he hath not moved withal.

"Messire Gawain," saith the damsel, "Now may you know how little would
your force have availed you herein."

"Damsel, an evil castle is this where folk are robbed on such wise."

"Sir, never may this mischief be amended, nor this outrage be done
away, nor the evil-doer therein be stricken down, nor they that cry and
lament within the prison there be set free until such time as the Good
Knight shall come for whom are they yearning as you have heard but now."

"Damsel, right glad may the knight be that by his valour and his
hardiment shall destroy so many evil folk!"

"Sir, therefore is he the Best Knight in the world, and he is yet young
enough of age, but right sorrowful am I at heart that I know not true
tidings of him; for better will have I to see him than any man on live."

"Damsel, so also have I," saith Messire Gawain, "For then by your leave
would I turn me again."

"Not so, sir, but and you shall come beyond the castle, then will I
teach you the way whereby you ought to go."


IV.

With that they go toward the castle all together.  Just as they were
about to pass beyond the castle wall, behold you where a knight cometh
forth of a privy postern of the castle, and he was sitting upon a tall
horse, his spear in his fist, and at his neck had he a red shield
whereon was figured a golden eagle. "Sir knight," saith he to Messire
Gawain, "I pray you bide."

"What is your pleasure?"

"You must needs joust with me," saith he "and conquer this shield, or
otherwise I shall conquer you.  And full precious is the shield,
insomuch as that great pains ought you to take to have it and conquer
it, for it belonged to the best knight of his faith that was ever, and
the most puissant and the wisest."

"Who, then, was he?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Judas Machabee was he, and he it was that first wrought how by one
bird to take another."

"You say true," saith Messire Gawain; "A good knight was he."

"Therefore right joyful may you be," saith he, "and you may conquer the
same, for your own is the poorest and most battered that ever saw I
borne by knight.  For hardly may a man know the colour thereof."

"Thereby may you well see," saith the damsel to the knight, "that his
own shield hath not been idle, nor hath the horse whereon he sitteth
been stabled so well as yours."

"Damsel," saith the knight, "No need is here of long pleading. Needs
must he joust with me, for him do I defy."

Saith Messire Gawain, "I hear well that you say."

He draweth him back and taketh his career and the knight likewise, and
they come together as fast as their horses may carry them, spear in
rest.  The knight smiteth Messire Gawain on the shield whereof he had
no great defence, and passeth beyond, and in the by-pass the knight
to-brake his spear; and Messire Gawain smiteth him with his spear in
the midst of his breast and beareth him to the ground over the croup of
his horse, all pinned upon his spear, whereof he had a good full hand's
breadth in his breast.  He draweth his spear back to him, and when the
knight felt himself unpinned, he leaped to his feet and came straight
to his horse and would fain set his foot in the stirrup when the damsel
of the car crieth out: "Messire Gawain, hinder the knight! for and he
were mounted again, too sore travail would it be to conquer him!"

When the knight heard name Messire Gawain, he draweth him back: "How?"
saith he; "Is this then the good Gawain, King Arthur's nephew?"

"Yea," saith the damsel, "He it is without fail!"

"Sir," saith the knight to Messire Gawain, "Are you he?"

"Yea," saith he, "Gawain I am!"

"Sir, so please you," saith he, "I hold me conquered, and right sorry
am I that I knew you not or ever I had ado with you."

He taketh the shield from his neck and holdeth it to him.  "Sir," saith
he, "Take the shield that belonged to the best knight that was in his
time of his faith, for none know I of whom it shall be better employed
than of you.  And of this shield were vanquished all they that be in
prison in this castle."  Messire Gawain taketh the shield that was
right fair and rich.

"Sir," saith the knight, "Now give me yours, for you will not bear two
shields."

"You say true," saith Messire Gawain.

He taketh the guige from his neck and would have given him the shield,
when the damsel afoot: "Hold, sir knight, you that are named Messire
Gawain!  What would you do?  And he bear your shield into the castle
there, they of the castle will hold you recreant and conquered, and
will come forth thence and carry you into the castle by force, and
there will you be cast into his grievous prison; for no shield is borne
thereinto save of a vanquished knight only."

"Sir knight," saith Messire Gawain, "No good you wish me, according to
that this damsel saith."

"Sir," saith the knight, "I cry you mercy, and a second time I hold me
conquered, and right glad should I have been might I have borne your
shield within yonder, and right great worship should I have had
thereof, for never yet hath entered there the shield of knight so good.
And now ought I to be right well pleased of your coming, sith that you
have set me free of the sorest trouble that ever knight had."

"What is the trouble?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Sir," saith he, "I will tell you.  Heretofore many a time hath there
been a passing by of knights both of hardy and of coward, and it was my
business to contend and joust with them and do battle, and I made them
present of the shield as did I you.  The more part found I hardy and
well able to defend themselves, that wounded me in many places, but
never was knight so felled me to the ground nor dealt me so sore a
buffet as have you.  And sith that you are carrying away the shield and
I am conquered, never here-after shall knight that passeth before this
castle have no dread of me nor of no knight that is herein."

"By my head," saith Messire Gawain, "Now am I gladder of my conquest
than I was before."

"Sir," saith the knight, "By your leave will I go my way, for, and I
may hide not my shame in the castle, needs must I show it openly
abroad."

"God grant you do well!" saith Messire Gawain.

"Messire Gawain," saith the Damsel of the Car, "give me your shield
that the knight would fain have carried off."

"Willingly, damsel," saith he.  The damsel that went afoot taketh the
shield and setteth it in the car.  Howbeit, the knight that was
conquered mounted again upon his horse, and entered again into the
castle, and when he was come thereinto, arose a noise and great outcry
so loud that all the forest and all the valley began to resound
thereof.  "Messire Gawain," saith the Damsel of the Car, "the knight is
shamed and there cast in prison another time.  Now haste, Messire
Gawain!  for now may you go!"

With that they all set forward again upon their way together, and leave
the castle an English league behind.  "Damsel," saith Messire Gawain,
"When it shall please you, I shall have your leave to go."

"Sir," saith she, "God be guard of your body, and right great thanks of
your convoy."

"Lady," saith he, "My service is always ready at your command."

"Sir," saith the damsel, "Gramercy, and your own way see you there by
yonder great cross at the entrance of yonder forest. And beyond that,
will you find the fairest forest and most delightsome when you shall
have passed through this that sore is wearisome."

Messire Gawain turneth him to go, and the damsel afoot crieth out to
him: "Sir, not so heedful are you as I supposed."

Messire Gawain turneth his horse's head as he that was startled:
"Wherefore say you so, damsel?" saith he.

"For this," saith she, "That you have never asked of my Damsel
wherefore she carrieth her arm slung at her neck in this golden stole,
nor what may be the rich pillow whereon the arm lieth. And no greater
heed will you take at the court of the rich King Fisherman."

"Sweet, my friend," saith the Damsel of the Car, "blame not Messire
Gawain only, but King Arthur before him and all the knights that were
in the court.  For not one of them all that were there was so heedful
as to ask me.  Go your ways, Messire Gawain, for in vain would you now
demand it, for I will tell you not, nor shall you never know it save
only by the most coward knight in the world, that is mine own knight
and goeth to seek me and knoweth not where to find me."

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "I durst not press you further."

With that the Damsel departeth, and Messire Gawain setteth him forward
again on the way that she had taught him.



BRANCH III.

INCIPIT.

Here beginneth another branch of the Graal in the name of the Father,
and in the name of the Son, and in the name of the Holy Ghost.


TITLE I

Here is the story silent of the three damsels and the Car and saith
that Messire Gawain hath passed throughout the evil forest and is
entered into the forest passing fair, the broad, the high, the
plenteous of venison.  And he rideth a great pace, but sore abashed is
he of that the damsel had said to him, and misdoubteth him but he shall
have blame thereof in many places.  He rode hard the day long till that
it was evensong and the sun was about to set.  And he looketh before
him and seeth the house of a hermit and the chapel in the thick of the
forest; and a spring flowed forth in front of the chapel right clear
and fresh, and above it was a tree full broad and tall that threw a
shadow over the spring.  A damsel sate under the tree and held a mule
by the reins and at the saddle-bow had she the head of a knight
hanging. And Messire Gawain cometh thitherward and alighteth.

"Damsel," saith he, "God give you good adventure!"

"Sir," saith she, "And you always."

When she was risen up over against him, "Damsel," saith he, "For whom
are you a-waiting here?"

"Sir," saith she, "I am waiting for the hermit of this holy chapel,
that is gone into the forest, and I would fain ask him tidings of a
knight."

"Think you he will tell you them and he knoweth any?"

"Yea, sir, I think so, according to that I have been told."

Therewithal behold you the hermit that was coming, and saluteth the
damsel and Messire Gawain and openeth the door of the house and setteth
the two steeds within and striketh off the bridles and giveth them
green-meat first and barley after, and fain would he have taken off the
saddles when Messire Gawain leapeth before: "Sir," saith he, "Do not
so!  This business is not for you!"

"Hermit though I be," saith he, "yet well know I how to deal withal,
for at the court of King Uther Pendragon have I been squire and knight
two-score years, and a score or mort have I been in this hermitage."

And Messire Gawain looketh at him in wonderment. "Sir," saith he,
"Meseemeth you are not of more than forty years."

"That know I well of a truth," saith the hermit, and Messire Gawain
taketh off the saddles and bethinketh him more of the damsel's mule
than of his own horse.  And the hermit taketh Messire Gawain by the
hand and the damsel and leadeth them into the chapel.  And the place
was right fair.

"Sir," saith the hermit to Messire Gawain, "You will disarm you not,"
saith he, "for this forest is passing adventurous, and no worshipful
man behoveth be disgarnished."

He goeth for his spear and for his shield and setteth them within the
chapel.  He setteth before them such meat as he hath, and when they
have eaten giveth them to drink of the spring.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "Of a knight that I go seek am I come to ask
you tidings."

"Who is the knight?" saith the hermit.

"Sir, he is the Chaste Knight of most holy lineage.  He hath a heart of
gold, the look of a lion, the navel of a virgin maid, a heart of steel,
the body of an elephant, and without wickedness are all his conditions."

"Damsel," saith the hermit, "Nought will I tell you concerning him, for
I know not of a certainty where he is, save this, that he hath lain in
this chapel twice, not once only, within this twelvemonth."

"Sir," saith she, "Will you tell me no more of him, nor none other
witting?"

"In no wise," saith the hermit.

"And you, Messire Gawain?" saith she.

"Damsel," saith he, "As fainly would I see him as you, but none find I
that may tell me tidings of him."

"And the damsel of the Car, Sir, have you seen her?"

"Yea, lady," saith he, "It is but just now sithence that I left her."

"Carried she still her arm slung at her neck?"

"Yea," saith Messire Gawain, "in such wise she carried it."

"Of a long while," saith the damsel, "hath she borne it thus."

"Sir," saith the hermit, "how are you named?"

"Sir," saith he, "Gawain am I called, King Arthur's nephew."

"Thereof I love you the better," saith the hermit.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "You are of kindred to the worst King that is."

"Of what King speak you?" saith Messire Gawain.

"I speak," saith she, "of King Arthur, through whom is all the world
made worser, for he began doing well and now hath become evil.  For
hatred of him hate I a knight that found me nigh S. Augustine's Chapel,
and yet was he the comeliest knight that saw I ever.  He slew a knight
within the bar right hardily.  I asked him for the head of the knight
and he went back for the same and set himself in sore peril.  He
brought it me, and I made him great joy, but when he told me his name
was Arthur I had no fainness of the bounty he had done me, for that he
had the name of that evil King."


II.

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "You may say your pleasure.  I tell you
that King Arthur hath held the richest court that he hath held ever,
and these evil conditions whereof you blame him is he minded to put
away for evermore, and more will he do of good and more of largesse
than was ever known aforetime so long as he shall live; nor know I none
other knight that beareth his name."

"You are right," saith the damsel, "to come to his rescue, for that he
is your uncle, but your rescue will scarce avail him and he deliver not
himself."

"Sir," saith the hermit to Messire Gawain, "The damsel will say her
pleasure.  May God defend King Arthur, for his father made me knight.
Now am I priest, and in this hermitage ever sithence that I came hither
have I served King Fisherman by the will of Our Lord and His
commandment, and all they that serve him do well partake of his reward,
for the place of his most holy service is a refuge so sweet that unto
him that hath been there a year, it seemeth to have been but a month
for the holiness of the place and of himself, and for the sweetness of
his castle wherein have I oftentimes done service in the chapel where
the Holy Graal appeareth.  Therefore is it that I and all that serve
him are so youthful of seeming."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "By what way may a man go to his castle?"

"Sir," saith the hermit, "None may teach you the way, save the will of
God lead you therein.  And would you fain go thither?"

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "It is the most wish that I have."

"Sir," saith the hermit, "Now God give you grace and courage to ask the
question that the others to whom the Graal hath appeared would ask not,
whereof have many mischances sithence befallen much people."


III.

With that, they left of talking, and the hermit led Messire Gawain into
his house to rest, and the damsel abode still in the chapel.  On the
morrow when dawn appeared, Messire Gawain that had lain all armed,
arose and found his saddle ready and the damsel, and the bridles set
on, and cometh to the chapel and findeth the hermit that was apparelled
to sing mass, and seeth the damsel kneeling before an image of Our
Lady, and she prayed God and the sweet Lady that they would counsel her
that whereof she had need, and wept right tenderly so that the tears
ran down her face.  And when she had prayed of a long space she
ariseth, and Messire Gawain biddeth her God give her good day, and she
returneth his salute.

"Damsel," saith he, "Meseemeth you are not over joyous."

"Sir," saith she, "I have right, for now am I nigh unto my desolation,
sith that I may not find the Good Knight.  Now must I needs go to the
castle of the Black Hermit, and bear thither the head that hangeth at
my saddle-bow, for otherwise shall I not be able to pass through the
forest but my body should there be cast in prison or shamed, and this
shall be the quittance for my passing.  Then will I seek the Damsel of
the Car and so shall I go in safer through the forest."

With that the hermit had begun the mass and Messire Gawain and the
damsel heard it.  When mass was sung, Messire Gawain took leave of the
hermit and the damsel also.  And Messire Gawain goeth one way and the
damsel the other, and either biddeth other to God.


IV.

Hereupon the story is now silent of the damsel, and saith that Messire
Gawain goeth through the high forest and rideth a great pace, and
prayeth God right sweetly that He will set him in such way as that
thereby he may go to the land of the rich King Fisherman.  And he
rideth until the hour of noon, and cometh into the fulness of the
forest and seeth under a tree a squire alighted of a horse of the
chase.  Messire Gawain saluteth him, and the squire saith: "Sir, right
welcome may you be!"

"Fair sweet friend," saith Messire Gawain, "Whither go you?"

"Sir, I go to seek the lord of this forest."

"Whose is the forest?" saith Messire Gawain. "Sir, it belongeth to the
best knight in the world."

"Can you tell me tidings of him?"

"He ought to bear a shield banded azure and argent with a red cross
thereon and a boss of gold.  I say that he is good knight, but little
call have I to praise him, for he slew my father in this forest with a
javelin.  The Good Knight was squire what time he slew him, and fain
would I avenge my father upon him and I may find him, for he reft me of
the best knight that was in the realm of Logres when he slew my father.
Well did he bereave me of him what time he slew him with his javelin
without defiance, nor shall I never be at ease nor at rest until I
shall have avenged him."

"Fair sweet friend," saith Messire Gawain, "Sith that he is knight so
good take heed you increase not your wrong of your own act, and I would
fain that you had found him, so as that no evil had befallen him
thereof."


V.

"So would not I," saith the squire, "for never shall I see him in this
place but I shall run upon him as my mortal enemy!"

"Fair sweet friend," saith Messire Gawain, "you may say your pleasure,
but tell me is there no hold in this forest wherein I may harbour me
the night?"

"Sir," saith the squire, "No hold know I within twenty league of your
way in any quarter.  Wherefore no leisure have you to tarry, for it is
high noon already."

So Messire Gawain saluteth the squire and goeth a great pace as he that
knoweth neither highway nor byway save only as adventure may lead him.
And the forest pleaseth him well for that it is so fair and that he
seeth the deer pass by before him in great herds.  He rode on until it
drew toward evensong at a corner of the forest.  The evening was fair
and calm and the sun was about to set.  And a score league Welsh had he
ridden sithence that he parted from the squire, and sore he misdoubted
him that he should find no hold.  He found the fairest meadow-land in
the world, and looked before him when he had ridden a couple of
bow-shot lengths and saw a castle appear nigh the forest on a mountain.
And it was enclosed of high walls with battlements, and within were
fair halls whereof the windows showed in the outer walls, and in the
midst was an ancient tower that was compassed round of great waters and
broad meadow-lands.  Thitherward Messire Gawain draweth him and looketh
toward the gateway of the castle and seeth a squire issue forth a great
pace upon a hackney, and he came the way that Messire Gawain was
coming.  And when the squire seeth him, and hath drawn somewhat anigh,
he saluteth him right nobly.


VI.

"Sir, right welcome may you be!"

"Good adventure may you have!" saith Messire Gawain.  "Fair sweet
friend, what is this castle here, sir?"

"Sir, it is the castle of the Widow Lady."

"What is the name thereof;"

"Camelot; and it belonged to Alain li Gros, that was a right loyal
knight and worshipful man.  He is dead this long time, and my Lady hath
remained without succour and without counsel. Wherefore is the castle
warred upon of them that would fain reave her thereof by force.  The
Lord of the Moors and another knight are they that war upon her and
would fain reave her of this castle as they have reft her of seven
other already.  Greatly desireth she the return of her son, for no
counsel hath she save only of her one daughter and of five old knights
that help her to guard the castle.  Sir," saith he, "The door is made
fast and the bridge drawn up, for they guard the castle closely, but,
so please you, you will tell me your name and I will go before and make
the bridge be lowered and the gate unfastened, and will say that you
will lodge within to-night."

"Gramercy," saith Messire Gawain, "right well shall my name be known or
ever I depart from the castle."

The squire goeth his way a great pace, and Messire Gawain tided softly
at a walk for he had yet a long way to go.  And he found a chapel that
stood between the forest and the castle, and it was builded upon four
columns of marble and within was a right fair sepulchre.  The chapel
had no fence of any kind about it so that he seeth the coffin within
full clearly, and Messire Gawain bideth awhile to look thereon.  And
the squire entered into the castle and hath made the bridge be lowered
and the door opened. He alighteth and is come into the hall when was
the Widow Lady and her daughter.  Saith the Lady to the squire:
"Wherefore have you returned from doing my message?  Lady, for the
comeliest knight that I have seen ever, and fain would he harbour
within to-night, and he is garnished of all arms and rideth without
company."

"And what name hath he?" saith the Lady.

"Lady, he told me you should know it well or ever he depart from this
castle."

Therewithal the Lady gan weep for joy and her daughter also, and,
lifting her hands towards heaven, "Fair Lord God!" saith the Widow
Lady, "And this be indeed my son, never before have I had joy that
might be likened to this!  Now shall I not be disherited of mine
honour, neither shall I lose my castle whereof they would fain reave me
by wrong, for that no Lord nor champion have I!"


VII.

Thereupon the Widow Lady ariseth up and her daughter likewise, and they
go over the bridge of the castle and see Messire Gawain that was yet
looking on the coffin within the chapel.

"Now haste!" saith the Lady; "At the tomb shall we be well able to see
whether it be he!"

They go to the chapel right speedily, and Messire Gawain seeth them
coming and alighteth. "Lady," saith he, "Welcome may you be, you and
your company."

The Lady answereth never a word until that they are come to the tomb.
When she findeth it not open she falleth down in a swoon. And Messire
Gawain is sore afraid when he seeth it.  The Lady cometh back out of
her swoon and breaketh out into great lamentation.

"Sir," saith the damsel to Messire Gawain, "Welcome may you be! But now
sithence my mother supposed that you had been her son and made great
joy thereof, and now seeth she plainly that you are not he, whereof is
she sore sorrowful, for so soon as he shall return, this coffin
behoveth open, nor until that hour shall none know who it is that lieth
therein."

The Lady riseth up and taketh Messire Gawain by the hand. "Sir," saith
she, "What is your name?"

"Lady," saith he, "I am called Gawain, King Arthur's nephew."

"Sir," saith she, "You shall be he that is welcome both for the sake of
my son and for your own sake."

The Lady biddeth a squire lead his horse into the castle and carry his
shield and spear.  Then they enter into the castle and lead Messire
Gawain into the hall, and make disarm him.  After that, they fetch him
water to wash his hands and his face, for he was distained of the rust
of his habergeon.  The Lady maketh apparel him in a rich robe of silk
and gold, and furred of ermine.  The Widow Lady cometh forth of her
chamber and maketh Messire Gawain sit beside her.  "Sir," saith she,
"Can you tell me any tidings of my son that I have not seen of this
long time past, and of whom at this present am I sore in need?"


VIII.

"Lady," saith he, "No tidings of him know I to tell you, and right
heavy am I thereof, for he is the knight of the world that fainest I
would see and he be your son as I am told.  What name hath he?"

"Sir," saith she, "His name in right baptism is Perceval, and a right
comely squire was he when he departed hence.  Now as at this time is it
said that he is the comeliest knight on live and the most hardy and the
cleanest of all wickedness.  And sore need have I of his hardiment, for
what time that he departed hence he left me in the midst of a great
warfare on behalf of the Knight of the Red Shield that he slew.  Within
the se'nnight thereafter he went away, nor never once have I seen him
sithence, albeit a full seven year hath passed already.  And now the
brother of the knight that he slew and the Lord of the Moors are
warring upon me and are fain to reave me of my castle and God counsel
me not. For my brothers are too far away from me, and King Pelles of
the Lower Folk hath renounced his land for God's sake and entered into
a hermitage.  But the King of Castle Mortal hath in him as much of
wickedness and felony as these twain have in them of good, and enough
thereof have they.  But neither succour nor help may they give me, for
the King of Castle Mortal challengeth my Lord King Fisherman both of
the most Holy Graal and of the Lance whereof the point bleedeth every
day, albeit God forbid he should ever have them."


IX.

"Lady," saith Messire Gawain, "There was at the hostel of King
Fisherman a knight before whom the Holy Graal appeared three times, yet
never once would he ask whereof it served nor whom it honoured."

"Sir," saith the Widow Lady's daughter, "You say true, and the Best
Knight is he of the world.  This say I for love of my brother, and I
love all knights for the love of him, but by the foolish wit of the
knight hath mine uncle King Fisherman fallen into languishment."

"Sir," saith the Lady, "Behoveth all good knights go see the rich King
Fisherman.  Will you not therefore go?"

"Lady," saith Messire Gawain, "Yea, that will I, so speedily as I may,
for not elsewhither have I emprised my way."

"Sir," saith she, "Then are you going to see my son, wherefore tell my
son, and you see him, of mine evil plight and my misease, and King
Fisherman my brother.  But take heed, Messire Gawain, that you be
better mindful than was the knight."

"Lady," saith Messire Gawain, "I shall do as God shall teach me."

In the meanwhile as they were speaking thus together, behold you
therewithal the Widow Lady's five knights that were come in from the
forest and make bring harts and hinds and wild swine.  So they alighted
and made great joy of Messire Gawain when they knew who he was.


X.

When the meat was ready they sate to eat, and full plenteously were
they provided and right well were they served.  Thereupon, behold,
cometh the squire that had opened the door for Messire Gawain, and
kneeleth before the Widow Lady.

"And what tidings?" saith she.

"Lady, there is to be a right great assembly of tourney in the valleys
that aforetime were ours.  Already have they spread the Welsh booths,
and thither are come these two that are warring upon you and great
store other knights.  And they have ordained that he which shall do
best at the assembly shall undertake the garrison of this castle in
such sort as that he shall hold it for his own alone against all other."

The Widow Lady beginneth to weep: "Sir," saith she to Messire Gawain,
"Now may you understand that the castle is not mine own, sith that
these knights say it is theirs as you hear."

"Certes, Lady," saith he, "Herein do they great dishonour and a sin."


XI.

When the table was removed the damsel fell at Messire Gawain's feet,
weeping.  He raiseth her forthwith and saith to her, "Damsel, herein do
you ill."

"For God's sake, Sir, take pity on my Lady mother and me!"

"Certes, damsel, great pity have I of you."

"Sir, now shall it be seen in this strait whether you be good knight,
for good is the knighthood that doeth well for God's sake."

The Widow Lady and her daughter go into the chamber, and Messire
Gawain's bed was made in the midst of the hall.  So he went and lay
down as did also the five knights.  All the night was Messire Gawain in
much thought.  The morrow, when he was risen, he went to hear mass in a
chapel that was within and ate thereafter three sops in wine and then
armed him, and at the same time asked the five knights that were there
in the hall whether they would go see the assembly.

"Yea, Sir," say they, "and you be going thither."

"In faith, thither verily will I go!" saith Messire Gawain.

The knights are armed forthwith, and their horses brought and Messire
Gawain's, and he goeth to take leave of the Widow Lady and her
daughter.  But great joy make they of this that they have heard say
that he will go with their knights to the assembly.


XII.

Messire Gawain and the five knights mounted and issued forth of the
castle and rode a great gallop before a forest.  Messire Gawain looketh
before him about the foreclose of the forest, and seeth the fairest
purlieus that he had seen ever, and so broad they be that he may not
see nor know the fourth part thereof. They are garnished of tall
forests on one hand and on the other, and there are high rocks in the
midst with wild deer among.

"Sir," say the knights, "Lo, these be the Valleys of Camelot whereof my
Lady and her daughter have been bereft, and bereft also hath she been
of the richest castles that be in Wales to the number of seven."

"A wrong is it and a sin!" saith Messire Gawain.

So far have they ridden that they see the ensigns and the shields there
where the assembly is to be held, and they see already mounted the more
part of the knights all armed and running their horses down the
meadow-land.  And they see the tents stretched on the one hand and on
another.  And Messire Gawain bideth, and the five knights under a tree,
and see the knights assembling on one hand and on another.  One of the
five knights that were with him gave him witting of the Lord of the
Moors and the brother of the knight of the Red Shield that had to name
Chaos the Red.  So soon as the tournament was assembled, Messire Gawain
and the knights come to the assembly, and Messire Gawain goeth to a
Welsh knight and beareth him to the ground, both him and his horse, all
in a heap.  And the five come after at a great gallop and each
overthroweth his own, and greatly pride they themselves of Messire
Gawain.  Chaos the Red seeth Messire Gawain but knoweth him not.  He
goeth toward him a full career, and Messire Gawain receiveth him on the
point of his spear and hurtleth against him so sore that he all
to-brast his collarbone and maketh the spear fly from his fist.  And
Messire Gawain searcheth the fellowships of one part and the other, and
findeth not nor encountereth no knight before him in his way but he
putteth him off his horse or woundeth him, either by himself or by one
of the five knights, that make right great joy of that they see him do.
They show him the Lord of the Moors that was coming with a full great
fellowship of folk.  He goeth thitherward a great gallop.  They mell
together either upon other of their spears that they bent and all
to-brast in flinders, and hurtle together so stoutly both of their
horses and their bodies that the Lord of the Moors loseth his stirrups
and hath the hinder saddlebow to-frushed, and falleth down to the
ground over his horse croup in such sort that the peak of his helm
dinteth a full palm's breadth into the turf. And Messire Gawain taketh
the horse that was right rich and good, maugre all of his fellowship,
and giveth it to one of the five knights that maketh it be led to
Camelot of a squire.  Messire Gawain searcheth the ranks on the one
hand and on the other, and doeth such feats of arms as never no knight
might do the same again.  The five knights also showed great hardiment,
and did more of arms that day than ever had they done tofore, for not
one of them but had overthrown at least a single knight and won his
horse.  The Lord of the Moors was mounted again on another rich horse
and had great shame for that Messire Gawain had overthrown him.  He
espieth Messire Gawain and goeth toward him a great gallop and thinketh
to avenge his shame.  They come together either on other with a great
shock, and Messire Gawain smiteth him with the truncheon of his spear
that he had still left, in the midst of his breast, so that it was all
to-splintered.  The Lord of the Moors likewise again to-brast his spear
upon him. Messire Gawain draweth his sword and flingeth the truncheon
to the ground.  The Lord of the Moors doth likewise and commandeth his
folk not to mell betwixt them twain, for never yet had he found no
knight that he had not conquered.  They deal them great buffets on the
helms, either upon other, in such sort that the sparks fly thereout and
their swords are blunted.  The buffets of Messire Gawain are heavier
than the other's, for he dealeth them so mighty and horrible that the
blood rayeth out from the Lord of the Moors by the mouth and the nose
so that his habergeon is all bloody thereof and he may no more endure.
Thereupon he yieldeth him prisoner to Messire Gawain, that is right
glad thereof and his five knights likewise.  The Lord of the Moors
goeth to his tent to alight, and Messire Gawain with him and alighteth.
And Messire Gawain taketh the horse and saith to one of the knights,
"Keep this for me."

And all the knights are repaired to their tents, and with one accord
say they all that the knight of the Red Shield with the eagle of gold
thereon hath done better than we, and they ask the Lord of the Moors
whether he accordeth with them, and he saith "Aye."

"Sir," saith he to Messire Gawain, "You, then, are the warden of this
castle of Camelot."

"Gramercy, lord!" saith Messire Gawain.  He calleth the five knights
and saith unto them: "Lords, my will is that you be there on my behalf
and that you shall safeguard the same by consent of the knights that
are here present."

"Sir, right gladly do we agree thereto."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain to the Lord of the Moors, "I give you
moreover as my prisoner to the Widow Lady that harboured me last night."

"Sir," saith he, "This have you no right to do.  Assembly of tourney is
not war.  Hence have you no right to imprison my body in castle, for
well am I able to pay my ransom here.  But tell me, what is your name?"

"I am called Gawain."

"Ha, Messire Gawain, many a time have I heard tell of you albeit never
tofore have I seen you.  But sith that the castle of Camelot is in your
keeping, I promise you loyally that before a year and a day neither the
castle nor none of the Lady's land need fear nought from me nor from
any other so far forth as I may hinder him, and hereto do I pledge me
in the presence of all these knights that are here.  And, so you would
have of me gold or silver, thereof will I give you at your will."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Gramercy!  I consent freely to as much as
you have said."

Messire Gawain taketh leave and turneth him again toward the castle of
Camelot, and sendeth by a squire the horse of the Lord of the Moors to
the daughter of the Widow Lady, that made great joy thereof.  And the
five knights drive before them the horses they have taken booty.
Whereof great also was the joy.  No need to wonder whether Messire
Gawain were well harboured that night at the castle.  He recounted to
the Lady how the castle was in the keeping of these knights.  When it
came to morning-tide, Messire Gawain took leave and departed from the
castle, but not before he had heard mass, for such was his custom.  The
Widow Lady and her daughter commend him to God, and the castle
remaineth in better keeping than he had found it.



BRANCH IV.


INCIPIT.

Here beginneth another branch of the Graal in the name of the Father,
and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.


TITLE I.

And the story is silent here of the mother of the Good Knight, and
saith that Messire Gawain goeth so as God and adventure lead him toward
the land of the rich King Fisherman.  And he entereth into a great
forest, all armed, his shield at his neck and his spear in his hand.
And he prayeth Our Lord that He counsel him of this holy errand he hath
emprised so as that he may honourably achieve it.  He rode until that
he came at evensong to a hold that was in the midst of the forest.  And
it was compassed about of a great water, and had about it great clumps
of trees so as that scarce with much pains might he espy the hall, that
was right large.  The river that compassed it about was water royal,
for it lost not its right name nor its body as far as the sea. And
Messire Gawain bethought him that it was the hold of a worshipful man,
and draweth him thitherward to lodge.  And as he drew anigh the bridge
of the hold, he looketh and seeth a dwarf sitting on a high bench.  He
leapeth up: "Messire Gawain," saith he, "Welcome may you be!"

"Fair, sweet friend," saith Messire Gawain, "God give you good
adventure!  You know me, then?" saith he.

"Well do I know you," saith the dwarf, "For I saw you at the
tournament.  At a better moment could you not have come hither, for my
lord is not here.  But you will find my lady, the fairest and most
gentle and most courteous in the realm of Logres, and as yet is she not
of twenty years."

"Fair friend," saith Messire Gawain, "What name hath the lord of the
hold?"

"Sir, he is called of Little Gomeret.  I will go tell my lady that
Messire Gawain is come, the good knight, and bid her make great joy."

Howbeit, Messire Gawain marvelleth much that the dwarf should make him
such cheer, for many knaveries hath he found in many places within the
bodies of many dwarfs.  The dwarf is come into the chamber where the
lady was.

"Now, haste, Lady!" saith he, "Make great joy, for Messire Gawain is
come to harbour with you."

"Certes," saith she, "Of this am I right glad and right sorry; glad,
for that the good knight will lie here to-night, sorry, for that he is
the knight that my lord most hateth in the world. Wherefore he warneth
me against him for love of him, for oftentimes hath he told me that
never did Messire Gawain keep faith with dame nor damsel but he would
have his will of them."

"Lady," saith the dwarf, "It is not true albeit it is so said."


II.

Thereupon Messire Gawain entereth into the courtyard and alighteth, and
the lady cometh to meet him and saith to him: "May you be come to joy
and good adventure."

"Lady," saith he, "May you also have honour and good adventure."

The lady taketh him by the hand and leadeth him into the hall and
maketh him be seated on a cushion of straw.  And a squire leadeth his
horse to stable.  And the dwarf summoneth two other squires and doeth
Messire Gawain be disarmed, and helpeth them right busily, and maketh
fetch water to wash his hands and his face.

"Sir," saith the dwarf, "Your fists are still all swollen of the
buffets you gave and received at the tournament."

Messire Gawain answered him nought.  And the dwarf entereth into the
chamber and bringeth a scarlet robe furred of ermine and maketh it be
done on Messire Gawain.  And meat was made ready and the table set, and
the lady sate to eat.  Many a time looked he upon the lady by reason of
her great beauty, and, had he been minded to trust to his heart and his
eyes, he would have all to-changed his purpose; but so straitly was his
heart bound up, and so quenched the desires thereof, that nought would
he allow himself to think upon that might turn to wickedness, for the
sake of the high pilgrimage he had emprised.  Rather 'gan he withdraw
his eyes from looking at the lady, that was held to be of passing great
beauty.  After meat Messire Gawain's bed was made, and he apparelled
himself to lie down.  The lady bade him God give him good adventure,
and he made answer the like.  When the lady was in her chamber, the
dwarf said to Messire Gawain: "Sir, I will lie before you, so as to
keep you company until you be asleep."

"Gramercy," saith he, "And God allow me at some time to reward you of
the service."

The dwarf laid himself down on a mattress before Messire Gawain, and
when he saw that he slept, he ariseth as quickly as he may, and cometh
to a boat that was on the river that ran behind the hall, and entereth
thereinto and roweth up-stream of the river. And he cometh to a
fishery, where was a right fair hall on a little eyot enclosed by a
marshy arm of the river.  The jealous knight was come thither for
disport, and lay in the midst of the hall upon a couch.  The dwarf
cometh forth of his boat thereinto, and lighteth a great candle in his
fist and cometh before the couch.  "What ho, there!" saith the dwarf,
"Are you sleeping?"

And the other waketh up sore startled, and asketh what is the matter
and wherefore is he come?

"In God's name," saith he, "You sleep not so much at your ease as doth
Messire Gawain!"

"How know you that?" saith he.

"Well know I," saith the dwarf, "For I left him but now in your hall,
and methinketh he and your lady are abed together arm to arm."

"How?" saith he, "I forbade her she should ever harbour Messire Gawain."

"In faith," said the dwarf, "She hath made him greater cheer than ever
saw I her make to none other!  But haste you and come, for great fear
have I lest he carry her away!"

"By my head!" saith the knight; "I will go not, howsoever it be! But
she shall pay for it, even though she go!"

"Then of wrong will it be!" saith the dwarf, "as methinketh!"


III.

Messire Gawain lay in the hall that was ware of nought of this. He
seeth that day hath broken fair and clear, and ariseth up. The lady
cometh to the door of the hall and seeth not the dwarf, whereby well
she understandeth his treachery.  She saith to Messire Gawain, "Sir,
for God's sake have pity upon me, for the dwarf hath betrayed me!  And
you withdraw yourself forth of our forest and help not to rescue me
from the smart that my lord will make me suffer, great sin will you
have thereof.  For well know you, that of right ought I not to be held
guilty toward my lord nor toward any other, for aught that you have
done toward me or I toward you."

"You say true," saith Messire Gawain.  Thereupon is he armed, and
taketh leave of the lady and issueth forth of the fair hold and setteth
him in an ambush in the forest nigh thereby.  Straightway behold the
jealous knight where he cometh, he and his dwarf.  He entereth into the
hall.  The lady cometh to meet him.

"Sir," saith she, "Welcome may you be!"

"And you," saith he, "Shame and evil adventure may you have, as the
most disloyal dame on live, for that this night have you harboured in
my hostel and in my bed him that most have I warned you against!"

"Sir," saith she, "In your hostel did I harbour him, but never hath
your bed been shamed by me, nor never shall be!"

"You lie!" saith he, "like a false woman!"

He armeth himself all incontinent and maketh his horse be armed, then
maketh the lady go down and despoil her to her shirt, that crieth him
mercy right sweetly and weepeth.  He mounteth his horse and taketh his
shield and his spear, and maketh the lady be taken of the dwarf by her
tresses and maketh her be led before him into the forest.  And he
bideth above a pool where was a spring, and maketh her enter into the
water that flowed forth full cold, and gathereth saplings in the forest
for rods and beginneth to smite and beat her across upon her back and
her breast in such sort that the stream from the spring was all bloody
therewithal.  And she began to cry out right loud, until at last
Messire Gawain heareth her and draweth forth of the ambush wherein he
was, and cometh thitherward a great gallop.

"By my faith," saith the dwarf, "Look you here where Messire Gawain
cometh!"

"By my faith," saith the knight, "Now know I well that nought is there
here but treachery, and that the matter is well proven!"

By this time, Messire Gawain is come, and saith: "Avoid, Sir knight!
Wherefore slay you the best lady and most loyal that ever have I seen?
Never tofore have I found lady that hath done me so much honour, and
this ought you to be well pleased to know, for neither in her bearing,
nor in her speech, nor in herself found I nought save all goodness
only.  Wherefore I pray you of franchise and of love that you forbear
your wrath and that you set her forth of the water.  And so will I
swear on all the sacred hallows in this chapel that never did I beseech
her of evil nor wantonness nor never had I no desire thereof."

The knight was full of great wrath when he saw that Messire Gawain had
not gone his way thence, and an anguish of jealousy burneth him heart
and body and overburdeneth him of folly and outrage, and Messire Gawain
that is still before him moveth him to yet further transgression.
Natheless, for the fear that he hath of him he speaketh to him:
"Messire Gawain," saith he, "I will set her forth thence on one
condition, that you joust at me and I at you, and, so you conquer me,
quit shall she be of misdoing and of blame, but and if I shall conquer
you, she shall be held guilty herein.  Such shall be the judgment in
this matter."

"I ask no better," saith Messire Gawain.


IV.

Thereupon, the knight biddeth the dwarf make set the lady forth of the
pool of the spring and make her sit in a launde whereas they were to
joust.  The knight draweth him back the better to take his career, and
Messire Gawain cometh as fast as his horse may carry him toward Marin
the Jealous.  And when Marin seeth him coming, he avoideth his buffet
and lowereth his spear and cometh to his wife that was right sore
distraught, and wept as she that suffered blameless, and smote her
through, out the body and slew her, and then turneth him again so fast
as his horse might carry him toward his hold.  Messire Gawain seeth the
damsel dead and the dwarf that fleeth full speed after his lord.  He
overtaketh him and trampleth him under his horses feet so that he
bursteth his belly in the midst.  Then goeth he toward the hold, for he
thinketh to enter therein.  But he found the bridge shut up and the
gate barred.  And Marin crieth out upon him.

"This shame and misadventure hath befallen me along of you, but you
shall pay for it yet and I may live."

Messire Gawain hath no mind to argue with him, but rather draweth him
back and cometh again to where the lady lay dead, and setteth her on
the neck of his horse all bleeding, and then beareth her to a chapel
that was without the entrance of the hold.  Then he alighted and laid
her within the chapel as fairly as most he might, as he that was sore
grieved and wrathful thereof.  After that, he shut the door of the
chapel again as he that was afeared of the body for the wild beasts,
and bethought him that one should come thither to set her in her shroud
and bury her after that he was departed.


V.

Thereupon Messire Gawain departeth, sore an-angered, for it seemed him
that never had no thing tofore befallen him that weighed so heavy on
his heart.  And he rideth thoughtful and down-cast through the forest,
and seeth a knight coming along the way he came.  And in strange
fashion came he.  He bestrode his horse backwards in right outlandish
guise, face to tail, and he had his horse's reins right across his
breast and the base of his shield bore he topmost and the chief
bottommost, and his spear upside down and his habergeon and chausses of
iron trussed about his neck.  He seeth Messire Gawain coming beside the
forest, that hath great wonderment of him when he seeth him.
Natheless, when they draw nigh, he turneth him not to look at Messire
Gawain, but crieth to him aloud: "Gentle knight, you that come there,
for God's sake do me no hurt, for I am the Knight Coward."

"By God," saith Messire Gawain, "You look not like a man to whom any
ought to do hurt!"  And, but for the heaviness of his heart and the
sore wrath that he had, he would have laughed at his bearing with a
right good will.

"Sir Knight," saith Messire Gawain, "nought have you to be afeard of
from me!"

With that he draweth anigh and looketh on him in the face and the
Knight Coward on him.  "Sir," saith he, "Welcome may you be!"

"And you likewise!" saith Messire Gawain.  "And whose man are you, Sir
knight?"

"The Damsel's man of the Car."

"Thereof I love you the better," saith Messire Gawain.

"God be praised thereof," saith the Knight Coward, "For now shall I
have no fear of you."

"Nay, truly," saith Messire Gawain, "Thereof be well assured!"

The Knight Coward seeth Messire Gawain's shield and knoweth it. "Ha,
Sir," saith he, "Now know I well who you are.  Now will I alight and
ride the right way and set my arms to rights.  For you are Messire
Gawain, nor hath none the right to claim this shield but only you."

The knight alighteth and setteth his armour to rights, and prayeth
Messire Gawain abide until he be armed.  So he abideth right willingly,
and helpeth him withal.  Thereupon behold you a knight where he cometh
a great gallop athwart the forest like a tempest, and he had a shield
party black and white. "Abide, Messire Gawain!" saith he, "For on
behalf of Marin the Jealous do I defy you, that hath slain his wife on
your account."

"Sir knight," saith Messire Gawain, "Thereof am I right heavy of heart,
for death had she not deserved."

"That availeth nor," saith the Party Knight, "For I hold you to answer
for the death.  So I conquer you, the wrong is yours; but, and you
conquer me, my lord holdeth his blame and shame for known and will hold
you to forfeit and you allow me to escape hence on live."

"To this will I not agree," saith Messire Gawain, "For God well knoweth
that no blame have I herein."

"Ha, Messire Gawain," saith the Knight Coward, "Fight him not as having
affiance in me, for of me will you have neither succour nor help!"

"Heretofore," saith Messire Gawain, "have I achieved adventures without
you, and this also, and God help me, will I yet achieve."

They come together a full career and break their lances on their
shields, and Messire Gawain hurtleth against the horse and passeth
beyond and overthroweth him and his horse together.  Then draweth he
his sword and runneth upon him.  And the knight crieth out: "Hold,
Messire Gawain!  Are you minded to slay me?  I yield me conquered, for
no mind have I to die for another's folly, and so I cry you mercy
hereof."

Messire Gawain thinketh that he will do him no further harm, for that
of right behoveth him do his lord's bidding.  Messire Gawain holdeth
his hands, and he doth him homage on behalf of his lord for his hold
and all of his land and becometh his man.


VI.

Thereupon the knight departeth and Messire Gawain remaineth there.

"Sir," saith the Knight Coward to Messire Gawain, "I have no mind to be
so hardy as are you; for, so God help me, had he defied me in such-wise
as he defied you, should have fled away forthwith, or elsewise I should
hay fallen at his feet and cried him of mercy."

"You wish for nought but peace," saith Messire Gawain.

"By S. James," saith the Coward, "Therein are you quite right, for of
war cometh nought but evil; nor never have I had no hurt nor wound saw
some branch of a tree or the like gave it me, and I see your face all
seamed and scarred in many places.  So God help me, of such hardiesse
make I but small account, and every day I pray God that He defend me.
And so to God I commend you, for I am going after my Damsel of the Car."

"Not thus shall you go," saith Messire Gawain, "save you tell me first
wherefore your Damsel of the Car beareth her arm slung to her neck in
such-wise."

"Sir, this may I well tell you.  With this hand serve she of the most
Holy-Graal the knight that was in the hostel of King Fisherman that
would not ask whereof the Graal served; for that she held therein the
precious vessel whereinto the glorious blood fell drop by drop from the
point of the lance, so that none other thing is she minded to hold
therein until such time as she shall come back to the holy place where
it is.  Sir," saith the Knight Coward, "Now, so please you, may I well
go hence, and see, here is my spear that I give you, for nought is
there that I have to do therewithal."

Messire Gawain taketh it, for his own was broken short, and departeth
from the knight and commendeth him to God.  And he goeth his way a
great pace, and Messire Gawain also goeth amidst the forest, and full
weary is he and forspent with travail.  And he rode until the sun was
due to set.  And he meeteth a knight that was coming athwart the forest
and came toward Messire Gawain a great gallop like as he were smitten
through the body, and crieth over all the forest: "What is your name,
Sir knight?"

"My name is Gawain."

"Ha, Messire Gawain," saith the other, "In your service am I wounded
thus!"

"How in my service?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Sir, I was minded to bury the damsel that you bare into the chapel,
and Marin the Jealous ran upon me and wounded me in many places in such
manner as you see.  And I had already dug a grave with my sword to bury
the body when he seized it from me and abandoned it to the wild beasts.
Now go I hence yonder to the chapel of a hermit that is in this forest
to confess me, for well know I that I have not long to live for that
the wound lieth me so nigh my heart.  But I shall die the more easily
now that I have found you and shown you the hurt that hath been done me
for your sake."

"Certes," saith Messire Gawain, "this grieveth me."


VII.

Therewithal the knights depart asunder, and Messire Gawain rode on
until he found in the forest a castle right fair and rich, and met an
ancient knight that was issued forth of the castle for disport, and
held a bird on his fist.  He saluteth Messire Gawain and he him again,
and he asked him what castle is this that he seeth show so fair?  And
he telleth him it is the castle of the Proud Maiden that never deigned
ask a knight his name.

"And we, that are her men, durst not do it on her behalf.  But right
well will you be lodged in the castle, for right courteous is she
otherwise and the fairest that ever any may know.  Nor never hath she
had any lord, nor deigned to love no knight save she heard tell that he
was the best knight in the world.  And I will go to her with you of
courtesy."

"Gramercy, Sir," saith Messire Gawain.  They enter into the castle both
twain together, and alight at the mounting-stage before the hall.  The
knight taketh Messire Gawain by the hand and leadeth him up, and maketh
disarm him, and bringeth him a surcoat of scarlet purfled of vair and
maketh him do it on.  Then leadeth he the lady of the castle to Messire
Gawain, and he riseth up to meet her.

"Lady," saith he "Welcome may you be!"

"And you, Sir, be welcome!" saith she, "Will you see my chapel?"

"Damsel," saith he, "At your pleasure."

And she leadeth him and taketh Messire Gawain by the hand, and he
looketh at the chapel and it well seemeth him that never before had he
come into none so fair nor so rich, and he seeth four tombs within, the
fairest that he had seen ever.  And on the right hand side of the
chapel were three narrow openings in the wall that were wrought all
about with gold and precious stones, and beyond the three openings he
seeth great circlets of lighted candles that were before three coffers
of hallows that were there, and the smell thereof was sweeter than balm.

"Sir knight," saith the damsel, "See you these tombs?"

"Yea, damsel," saith Messire Gawain.

"These three are made for the three best knights in the world and the
fourth for me.  The one hath for name Messire Gawain and the second
Lancelot of the Lake.  Each of them do I love for love's sake, by my
faith!  And the third hath for name Perceval.  Him love I better than
the other two.  And within these three openings are the hallows set for
love of them.  And behold what I would do to them and their three heads
were therein; and so I might not do it to the three together, yet would
I do it to two, or even to one only."

She setteth her hand toward the openings and draweth forth a pin that
was fastened into the wall, and a cutting blade of steel droppeth down,
of steel sharper than any razor, and closeth up the three openings.

"Even thus will I cut off their heads when they shall set them into
those three openings thinking to adore the hallows that are beyond.
Afterward will I make take the bodies and set them in the three
coffins, and do them be honoured and enshrouded right richly, for joy
of them in their life may I never have.  And when the end of my life
shall be come as God will, even so will I make set me in the fourth
coffin, and so shall I have company of the three good knights."

Messire Gawain heard the word, whereof he marvelled right sore, and
would right fain that the night were overpassed.  They issue forth of
the chapel.  The damsel maketh Messire Gawain be greatly honoured that
night, and there was great company of knights within that served him
and helped guard the castle.  They show Messire Gawain much worship,
but they knew not that it was he, nor did none ask him, for such was
the custom of the castle.  But well she knew that he oftentimes passed
to and fro amidst the forest, and four of the knights that watched the
forest and the passers-by had she commanded that and if any of these
three knights should pass they should bring him to her without gainsay,
and she would increase the land of each for so doing.


VIII.

Messire Gawain was in the castle that night until the morrow, and went
to hear mass in the chapel or ever he removed thence. Afterward, when
he had heard mass and was armed, he took leave of the damsel and issued
forth of the castle as he that had no desire to abide there longer.
And he entereth into the forest and rideth a long league Welsh and
findeth two knights sitting by a narrow path in the forest.  And when
they see him coming they leap up on their horses all armed and come
against Messire Gawain, shields on sides and spears in fists.

"Bide, Sir knight!" say they, "And tell us your name without leasing!"

"Lords," saith he, "Right willingly!  never hath my name been
withholden when it hath been asked for.  I am called Gawain, King
Arthur's nephew."

"Nay, then, Sir, welcome may you be!  One other demand have we to make
of you.  Will you come with us to the lady in the world who most
desireth you, and will make much joy of you at Castle Orguelleux where
she is?"

"Lord," saith Messire Gawain, "No leisure have I at this time, for I
have emprised my way else-whither."

"Sir," say they, "Needs must you come thither without fail, for in such
wise hath she commanded us that we shall take you thither by force an
you come not of your own good-will."

"I have told you plainly that thither will I not go," saith Messire
Gawain.  With that, they leap forward and take him by the bridle,
thinking to lead him away by force.  And Messire Gawain hath shame
thereof, and draweth his sword and smiteth one of them in such wrath
that he cutteth off his arm.  And the other letteth the bridle go and
turneth him full speed; and his fellow with him that was maimed.  And
away go they toward Castle Orguelleux and the Proud Maiden of the
castle and show her the mischief that hath befallen them.

"Who hath mis-handled you thus?" saith she.

"Certes, lady, Messire Gawain."

"Where found you him?"

"Lady," say they, "In the forest, where he came toward us a full
gallop, and was minded to pass by the narrows of the way, when we bade
him abide and come to you.  But come he would not.  We offered him
force, and he smote my fellow's arm off."

She biddeth a horn be sounded incontinent, and the knights of the
castle arm, and she commandeth them follow Messire Gawain, and saith
that she will increase the land and the charge of him that shall bring
him to her.  They were a good fifteen knights armed. Just as they were
about to issue out of the castle, behold you forthwith two keepers of
the forest where they come, both twain of them smitten through the
body. The damsel and the knights ask who hath done this to them, and
they say it was Messire Gawain that did it, for that they would have
brought him to the castle.

"Is he far away?" saith the damsel.

"Yea," say they, "Four great leagues Welsh."

"Wherefore the greater folly would it be to follow him," saith one of
the sixteen knights, "For nought should we increase thereby save only
our own shame and hurt, and my Lady hath lost him through her own
default, for well know we that he it was that lay within, for that he
beareth a shield sinople with a golden eagle."

"Yea," saith the wounded knight, "Without fail."

"Is this then he?" saith the damsel.  "I know him well now that I have
lost him by my pride and by my outrage; nor never more will knight lie
in my hostel sith that he will be estranged for that I ask not his
name.  But it is too late!  Herein have I failed of this one for ever
and ever save God bring him back to me, and through this one shall I
lose the other two!"


IX.

Herewithal cometh to a stay the pursuit of Messire Gawain, that goeth
his way and prayeth God that He send him true counsel of that he hath
emprised, and that He allow him to come into some place where he may
hear true witting of the hostel of King Fisherman.  And while he was
thus thinking, he heareth a brachet questing, and he cometh toward him
a great pace.  When he is come anigh Messire Gawain he setteth his nose
to the ground and findeth a track of blood through a grassy way in the
forest, and when Messire Gawain was minded to leave the way where the
track of blood was, the brachet came over against him and quested.
Messire Gawain is minded not to abandon the track, wherefore he
followeth the brachet a great pace until he cometh to a marish in the
midst of the forest, and seeth there in the marish a house, ancient and
decayed.  He passeth with the brachet over the bridge, that was right
feeble, and there was a great water under it, and cometh to the hall,
that was wasted and old.  And the brachet leaveth of his questing.
Messire Gawain seeth in the midst of house a knight that was stricken
right through the breast unto the heart and there lay dead.  A damsel
was issuing forth of the chamber and bare the winding-sheet wherein to
enshroud him.

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Good adventure may you have!"

The damsel that was weeping right tenderly, saith to him: "Sir, I will
answer you not."

She cometh toward the dead knight, thinking that his wounds should have
begun to bleed afresh, but they did not.

"Sir," saith she to Messire Gawain, "Welcome may you be!"

"Damsel," saith he. "God grant you greater joy than you have!"

And the damsel saith to the brachet: "It was not this one I sent you
back to fetch, but him that slew this knight."

"Know you then, damsel, who hath slain him?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Yea," saith she, "well!  Lancelot of the Lake slew him in this forest,
on whom God grant me vengeance, and on all them of King Arthur's court,
for sore mischief and great hurt have they wrought us!  But, please
God, right well shall this knight yet be avenged, for a right fair son
hath he whose sister am I, and so hath he many good friends withal."

"Damsel, to God I commend you!" saith Messire Gawain.  With that, he
issueth forth of the Waste Manor and betaketh him back to the way he
had abandoned, and prayeth God grant he may find Lancelot of the Lake.



BRANCH V.

INCIPIT.

Here beginneth again another branch of the Graal in the name of the
Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.


TITLE I.

Messire Gawain goeth his way and evening draweth on; and on his right
hand was there a narrow pathway that seemed him to be haunted of folk.
Thitherward goeth he, for that he seeth the sun waxeth low, and findeth
in the thick of the forest a great chapel, and without was a right fair
manor.  Before the chapel was an orchard enclosed of a wooden fence
that was scarce so high as a tall man.  A hermit that seemed him a
right worshipful man was leaning against the fence, and looked into the
orchard and made great cheer from time to time.  He seeth Messire
Gawain, and cometh to meet him, and Messire Gawain alighteth.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "Welcome may you be."

"God grant you the joy of Paradise," saith Messire Gawain.  The hermit
maketh his horse be stabled of a squire, and then taketh him by the
hand and maketh him sit beside him to look on the orchard.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "Now may you see that whereof I was making
cheer."

Messire Gawain looketh therewithin and seeth two damsels and a squire
and a child that were guarding a lion.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "Here see my joy, which is this child. Saw you
ever so fair a child his age?"

"Never," saith Messire Gawain.  They go into the orchard to sit, for
the evening was fair and calm.  He maketh disarm him, and thereupon the
damsel bringeth him a surcoat of right rich silk furred of ermine.  And
Messire Gawain looketh at the child that rode upon the lion right
fainly.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "None durst guard him or be master over him
save this child only, and yet the lad is not more than six years of
age.  Sir, he is of right noble lineage, albeit he is the son of the
most cruel man and most felon that is.  Marin the Jealous is his
father, that slew his wife on account of Messire Gawain.  Never
sithence that his mother was dead would not the lad be with his father,
for well knoweth he that he slew her of wrong.  And I am his uncle, so
I make him be tended here of these damsels and these two squires, but
no one thing is there that he so much desireth to see as Messire
Gawain.  For after his father's death ought he of right to be Messire
Gawain's man. Sir, if any tidings you know of him, tell us them."

"By my faith, Sir," saith he, "Tidings true can I give you.  Lo, there
is his shield and his spear, and himself shall you have this night for
guest."

"Fair sir, are you he?" saith the hermit.

"So men call me," saith Messire Gawain, "And the lady saw I slain in
the forest, whereof was I sore an-angered."


II.

"Fair nephew," saith the hermit, "See here your desire.  Come to him
and make him cheer."

The lad alighteth of the lion and smiteth him with a whip and leadeth
him to the den and maketh the door so that he may not issue forth, and
cometh to Messire Gawain, and Messire Gawain receiveth him between his
arms. "Sir," saith the child, "Welcome may you be!"

"God give you growth of honour!" saith Messire Gawain.  He kisseth him
and maketh cheer with him right sweetly.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "He will be of right your man, wherefore ought
you to counsel him and help him, for through you came his mother by her
death, and right sore need will he have of your succour."  The child
kneeleth before him and holdeth up his joined hands.

"Look, Sir," saith the hermit, "Is he not right pitiful?  He offereth
you his homage."

And Messire Gawain setteth his hands within his own: "Certes," saith
Messire Gawain, "Both your honour and your homage receive I gladly, and
my succour and my counsel shall you have so often as you shall have
need thereof.  But fain would I know your name?"

"Sir, I am called Meliot of Logres."

"Sir," saith the hermit, "He saith true, for his mother was daughter of
a rich earl of the kingdom of Logres."


III.

Messire Gawain was well harboured the night and lay in a right fair
house and right rich.  In the morning, when Messire Gawain had heard
mass, the hermit asked him, "Whitherward go you?" and he said, "Toward
the land of King Fisherman, and God allow me."

"Messire Gawain," saith the hermit, "Now God grant you speed your
business better than did the other knight that was there before you,
through whom are all the lands fallen into sorrow, and the good King
Fisherman languisheth thereof."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "God grant me herein to do His pleasure."

Thereupon he taketh his leave and goeth his way, and the hermit
commendeth him to God.  And Messire Gawain rideth on his journeys until
he hath left far behind the forest of the hermitage, and findeth the
fairest land in the world and the fairest meadowlands that ever had he
seen, and it lasted a good couple of great leagues Welsh.  And he seeth
a high forest before him, and meeteth a squire that came from that
quarter, and seeth that he is sore downcast and right simple.

"Fair friend," saith Messire Gawain, "Whence come you?"

"Sir," saith he, "I come from yonder forest down below."

"Whose man are you?" saith Messire Gawain.

"I belong to the worshipful man that owneth the forest."

"You seem not over joyful," saith Messire Gawain.

"Sir, I have right to be otherwise," saith the squire, "For he that
loseth his good lord ought not to be joyful."

"And who is your lord?"

"The best in the world."

"Is he dead?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Nay, of a truth, for that would be right sore grief to the world, but
in joy hath he not been this long time past."

"And what name hath he?"

"They call him Parlui there where he is."

"And where then, is he, may I know?"

"In no wise, Sir, of me; but so much may I well tell you that he is in
this forest, but I ought not to learn you of the place more at large,
nor ought I to do any one thing that may be against my master's will."

Messire Gawain seeth that the squire is of passing comeliness and seeth
him forthwith bow his head toward the ground and the tears fall from
his eyes.  Thereupon he asketh what aileth him.

"Sir," saith he, "Never may I have joy until such time as I be entered
into a hermitage to save my soul.  For the greatest sin that any man
may do have I wrought; for I have slain my mother that was a Queen, for
this only that she told me I should not be King after my father's
death, for that she would make me monk or clerk, and that my other
brother, who is younger-born than I, should have the kingdom.  When my
father knew that I had slain my mother, he withdrew himself into this
forest, and made a hermitage and renounced his kingdom.  I have no will
to hold the land for the great disloyalty that I have wrought, and
therefore am I resolved that it is meeter I should set my body in
banishment than my father."

"And what is your name?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Sir, my name is Joseus, and I am of the lineage of Joseph of
Abarimacie.  King Pelles is my father, that is in this forest, and King
Fisherman mine uncle, and the King of Castle Mortal, and the Widow Lady
of Camelot my aunt, and the Good Knight Par-lui-fet is of this lineage
as near akin as I."


IV.

With that, the squire departeth and taketh leave of Messire Gawain, and
he commendeth him to God and hath great pity of him, and entereth into
the forest and goeth great pace, and findeth the stream of a spring
that ran with a great rushing, and nigh thereunto was a way that was
much haunted.  He abandoneth his high-way, and goeth all along the
stream from the spring that lasteth a long league plenary, until that
he espieth a right fair house and right fair chapel well enclosed
within a hedge of wood. He looketh from without the entrance under a
little tree and seeth there sitting one of the seemliest men that he
had ever seen of his age.  And he was clad as a hermit, his head white
and no hair on his face, and he held his hand to his chin, and made a
squire hold a destrier right fair and strong and tail, and a shield
with a sun thereon; and he was looking at a habergeon and chausses of
iron that he had made bring before him.  And when he seeth Messire
Gawain he dresseth him over against him and saith: "Fair sir," saith
he, "Ride gently and make no noise, for no need have we of worse than
that we have."

And Messire Gawain draweth rein, and the worshipful man saith to him:
"Sir, for God's sake take it not of discourtesy; for right fainly would
I have besought you to harbour had I not good cause to excuse me, but a
knight lieth within yonder sick, that is held for the best knight in
the world.  Wherefore fain would I he should have no knight come within
this close, for and if he should rise, as sick as he is, none might
prevent him nor hold him back, but presently he should arm him and
mount on his horse and joust at you or any other; and so he were here,
well might we be the worse thereof.  And therefore do I keep him so
close and quiet within yonder, for that I would not have him see you
nor none other, for and he were so soon to die, sore loss would it be
to the world."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "What name hath he?"

"Sir," saith he, "He hath made him of himself, and therefore do I call
him Par-lui-fer, of dearness and love."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "May it not be in any wise that I may see
him?"

"Sir," saith the hermit, "I have told you plainly that nowise may it
not be.  No strange man shall not see him within yonder until such time
as he be whole and of good cheer."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Will you in nowise do nought for me
whatsoever I may say?"

"Certes, sir, no one thing is there in the world that I would tell him,
save he spake first to me."

Hereof is Messire Gawain right sorrowful that he may not speak to the
knight.  "Sir," saith he to the hermit, "Of what age is the knight, and
of what lineage?"

"Of the lineage of Joseph of Abarimacie the Good Soldier."


V.

Thereupon behold you a damsel that cometh to the door of the chapel and
calleth very low to the hermit, and the hermit riseth up and taketh
leave of Messire Gawain, and shutteth the door of the chapel; and the
squire leadeth away the destrier and beareth the arms within door and
shutteth the postern door of the house. And Messire abideth without and
knoweth not of a truth whether it be the son of the Widow Lady, for
many good men there be of one lineage.  He departeth all abashed and
entereth again into the forest.  The history telleth not all the
journeys that he made. Rather, I tell you in brief words that he
wandered so far by lands and kingdoms that he found a right fair land
and a rich, and a castle seated in the midst thereof.  Thitherward
goeth he and draweth nigh the castle and seeth it compassed about of
high walls, and he seeth the entrance of the castle far without.  He
looketh and seeth a lion chained that lay in the midst of the entrance
to the gate, and the chain was fixed in the wall.  And on either side
of the gate he seeth two serjeants of beaten copper that were fixed to
the wall, and by engine shot forth quarrels from their cross-bows with
great force and great wrath. Messire Gawain durst not come anigh the
gate for that he seeth the lion and these folk.  He looketh above on
the top of the wall and seeth a sort of folk that seemed him to be of
holy life, and saw there priests clad in albs and knights bald and
ancient that were clad in ancient seeming garments.  And in each crenel
of the wall was a cross and a chapel.  Above the wall, hard by an issue
from a great hall that was in the castle, was another chapel, and above
the chapel was a tall cross, and on either side of this cross another
that was somewhat lower, and on the top of each cross was a golden
eagle.  The priests and the knights were upon the walls and knelt
toward this chapel, and looked up to heaven and made great joy, and
well it seemed him that they beheld God in Heaven with His Mother.
Messire Gawain looketh at them from afar, for he durst not come anigh
the castle for these that shoot their arrows so strongly that none
armour might defend him.  Way seeth he none to right nor left save he
go back again.  He knoweth not what to do. He looketh before him and
seeth a priest issue forth of the gateway.  "Fair sir," saith Messire
Gawain, "Welcome may you be!"

"Good adventure to you also," saith the good man, "What is your
pleasure?"

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "So please you, I would fain ask you to
tell me what castle is this?"

"It is," saith he, "the entrance to the land of the rich King
Fisherman, and within yonder are they beginning the service of the Most
Holy Graal."

"Allow me then," saith Messire Gawain, "that I may pass on further, for
toward the land of King Fisherman have I emprised my way."

"Sir," saith the priest, "I tell you of a truth that you may not enter
the castle nor come nigher unto the Holy Graal, save you bring the
sword wherewith S. John was beheaded."

"What?" saith Messire Gawain, "Shall I be evilly entreated and I bring
it not?"

"So much may you well believe me herein," saith the priest, "And I tell
you moreover that he who hath it is the fellest misbelieving King that
lives.  But so you bring the Sword, this entrance will be free to you,
and great joy will be made of you in all places wherein King Fisherman
hath power."

"Then must I needs go back again," saith Messire Gawain, "Whereof I
have right to be sore sorrowful."

"So ought you not to be," saith the priest, "For, so you bring the
sword and conquer it for us, then will it be well known that you are
worthy to behold the Holy Graal.  But take heed you remember him who
would not ask whereof it served."

Thereupon Messire Gawain departeth so sorrowful and full of thought
that he remembereth not to ask in what land he may find the sword nor
the name of the King that hath it.  But he will know tidings thereof
when God pleaseth.


VI.

The history telleth us and witnesseth that he rode so far that he came
to the side of a little hill, and the day was right fair and clear.  He
looketh in front of him before a chapel and seeth a tall burgess
sitting on a great destrier that was right rich and fair.  The burgess
espieth Messire Gawain and cometh over against him, and saluteth him
right courteously and Messire Gawain him.

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "God give you joy."

"Sir," saith the goodman, "Right sorrowful am I of this that you have a
horse so lean and spare of flesh.  Better would it become so worshipful
man as you seem to be that he were better horsed."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "I may not now amend it, whereof am I
sorry; another shall I have when it shall please God."

"Fair sir," saith the burgess, "Whither are you bound to go?"

"I go seek the sword wherewith the head of S. John Baptist was cut off."

"Ha, sir," saith the burgess, "You are running too sore a peril. A King
hath it that believeth not in God, and is sore fell and cruel.  He is
named Gurgalain, and many knights have passed hereby that went thither
for the sword, but never thence have they returned.  But, and you are
willing to pledge me your word that so God grant you to conquer the
sword, you will return hither and show it me on your return, I will
give you this destrier, which is right rich, for your own."

"Will you?" saith Messire Gawain, "Then are you right courteous, for
you know me not."

"Certes, sir," saith he, "So worshipful man seem you to be, that you
will hold well to this that you have covenanted with me."

"And to this do I pledge you my word," saith Messire Gawain, "that, so
God allow me to conquer it, I will show it to you on my return."


VII.

Thereupon the burgess alighteth and mounteth upon Messire Gawain's
horse, and Messire Gawain upon his, and taketh leave of the burgess and
goeth his way and entereth into a right great forest beyond the city,
and rideth until sundown and findeth neither castle nor city.  And he
findeth a meadow in the midst of the forest, right broad, and it ran on
beyond, like as there were the stream of a spring in the midst.  He
looketh toward the foot of the meadow close by the forest, and seeth a
right large tent, whereof the cords were of silk and the pegs of ivory
fixed in the ground, and the tops of the poles of gold and upon each
was a golden eagle.  The tent was white round about, and the hanging
above was of the richest silk, the same as red samite. Thitherward
goeth Messire Gawain and alighteth before the door of the tent, and
smiteth off the bridle of his horse, and letteth him feed on the grass,
and leaneth his spear and his shield without the tent, and looketh
narrowly within and seeth a right rich couch of silk and gold, and
below was a cloth unfolded as it were a feather-bed, and above a
coverlid of ermine and vair without any gold, and at the head of the
couch two pillows so rich that fairer none ever saw, and such sweet
smell gave they forth that it seemed the tent was sprinkled of balm.
And round about the couch were rich silken cloths spread on the ground.
And at the head of the couch on the one side and the other were two
seats of ivory, and upon them were two cushions stuffed with straw,
right rich, and at the foot of the couch, above the bed, two
candlesticks of gold wherein were two tall waxen tapers.  A table was
set in the midst of the tent, that was all of ivory banded of gold,
with rich precious stones, and upon the table was the napkin spread and
the basin of silver and the knife with an ivory handle and the rich set
of golden vessels.  Messire Gawain seeth the rich couch and setteth him
down thereon all armed in the midst, and marvelleth him wherefore the
tent is so richly apparelled and yet more that therein he seeth not a
soul. Howbeit, he was minded to disarm him.


VIII.

Thereupon, behold you, saluteth a dwarf that entereth the tent and
saluteth Messire Gawain.  Then he kneeleth before him and would fain
disarm him.  Then Messire Gawain remembereth him of the dwarf through
whom the lady was slain.

"Fair sweet friend, withdraw yourself further from me, for as at this
time I have no mind to disarm."

"Sir," saith the dwarf, "Without misgiving may you do so, for until
to-morrow have you no occasion to be on your guard, and never were you
more richly lodged than to-night you shall be, nor more honourably."

With that Messire Gawain began to disarm him, and the dwarf helpeth
him.  And when he was disarmed, he setteth his arms nigh the couch and
his spear and sword and shield lying within the tent, and the dwarf
taketh a basin of silver and a white napkin, and maketh Messire Gawain
wash his hands and his face. Afterward, he unfasteneth a right fair
coffer, and draweth forth a robe of cloth of gold furred of ermine and
maketh Messire Gawain be clad therewithal.

"Sir," saith the dwarf, "Be not troubled as touching your destrier, for
you will have him again when you rise in the morning.  I will lead him
close hereby to be better at ease, and then will I return to you."

And Messire Gawain giveth him leave.  Thereupon, behold you, two
squires that bear in the wine and set the meats upon the table and make
Messire Gawain sit to eat, and they have great torches lighted on a
tall cresset of gold and depart swiftly.  Whilst Messire Gawain was
eating, behold you, thereupon, two damsels that come into the tent and
salute him right courteously.  And he maketh answer, the fairest he may.

"Sir," say the damsels, "God grant you force and power tomorrow to
destroy the evil custom of this tent."

"Is there then any evil custom herein, damsel?" saith he.

"Yea, sir, a right foul custom, whereof much it grieveth me, but well
meseemeth that you are the knight to amend it by the help of God."


IX.

Therewith he riseth from the table, and one of the squires was
apparelled to take away the cloths.  And the two damsels take him by
the hand and lead him without the tent, and they set them down in the
midst of the meadow.  "Sir," saith the elder damsel, "What is your
name?"

"Damsel," saith he, "Gawain is my name."

"Thereof do we love you the better, for well we know that the evil
custom of the tent shall be done away on condition that you choose
to-night the one of us two that most shall please you."

"Damsel, gramercy," saith he.  Thereupon he riseth up, for he was
weary, and draweth him toward the couch, and the damsels help him and
wait upon his going to bed.  And when he was lien down, they seated
themselves before him and lighted the taper and leant over the couch
and prospered him much service.  Messire Gawain answered them naught
save "Gramercy," for he was minded to sleep and take his rest.

"By God," saith the one to the other, "And this were Messire Gawain,
King Arthur's nephew, he would speak to us after another sort, and more
of disport should we find in him than in this one. But this is a
counterfeit Gawain, and the honour we have done him hath been ill
bestowed.  Who careth?  To-morrow shall he pay his reckoning."


X.

Thereupon, lo you, the dwarf where he cometh.  "Fair friend," say they,
"Keep good watch over this knight that he flee not away, for he goeth
a-cadging from, hostel to hostel and maketh him be called Messire
Gawain, but Messire Gawain meseemeth is he not. For, and it were he,
and we had been minded to watch with him two nights, he would have
wished it to be three or four."

"Damsel," saith the dwarf, "He may not flee away save he go afoot, for
his horse is in my keeping."

And Messire Gawain heareth well enough that which the damsels say, but
he answereth them never a word.  Thereupon they depart, and say: God
give him an ill night, for an evil knight and a vanquished and
recreant, and command the dwarf that he move not on any occasion.
Messire Gawain slept right little the night, and so soon as he saw the
day, arose and found his arms ready and his horse that had been led all
ready saddled before the tent. He armed himself as swiftly as he might,
and the dwarf helpeth him and saith to him: "Sir, you have not done
service to our damsels as they would fain you should, wherefore they
make sore complaint of you."

"That grieveth me," saith Messire Gawain, "if that I have deserved it."

"It is great pity," saith the dwarf, "when knight so comely as be you
is so churlish as they say."

"They may say their pleasure," saith he, "for it is their right. I know
not to whom to render thanks for the good lodging that I have had save
to God, and if I shall see the lord of the tent or the lady I shall con
them much thanks thereof."


XI.

Thereupon, lo you, where two knights come in front of the tent on their
horses, all armed, and see Messire Gawain that was mounted and had his
shield on his neck and his spear in his fist, as he that thinketh to go
without doing aught further.  And the knights come before him: "Sir,"
say they, "Pay for your lodging!  Last night did we put ourselves to
misease on your account and left you the tent and all that is therein
at your pleasure, and now you are fain to go in this fashion."

"What pleaseth it you that I should do?" saith Messire Gawain.

"It is meet I should requite you of my victual and the honour of the
tent."

Thereupon, lo you, where the two damsels come that were of right great
beauty.  "Sir Knight," say they, "Now shall we see whether you be King
Arthur's nephew!"

"By my faith," saith the dwarf, "Methinketh this is not he that shall
do away the evil custom whereby we lose the coming hither of knights!
Albeit if he may do it, I will forego mine ill will toward him."

Messire Gawain thus heard himself mocked by day as well as by night and
had great shame thereof.  He seeth that he may not depart without a
fight.  One of the knights drew to backward and was alighted; the other
was upon his horse all armed, his shield on his neck and grasping his
spear in his fist.  And he cometh toward Messire Gawain full career and
Messire Gawain toward him, and smiteth him so wrathfully that he
pierceth his shield and pinneth his shield to his arm and his arm to
his rib and thrusteth his spear into his body, and hurtleth against him
so sore that he beareth him to the ground, him and his horse together
at the first blow.

"By my head!  Look at Messire Gawain the counterfeit!  Better doth he
to-day than he did last night!"

He draweth back his spear, and pulleth forth his sword and runneth upon
him, when the knight crieth him mercy and saith that he holdeth himself
vanquished.  Messire Gawain bethinketh him what he shall do and whether
the damsels are looking at him.

"Sir knight," saith the elder, "Need you not fear the other knight
until such time as this one be slain, nor will the evil custom be done
away so long as this one is on live.  For he is the lord of the other
and because of the shameful custom hath no knight come hither this
right long space."

"Hearken now," saith the knight, "the great disloyalty of her! Nought
in the world is there she loved so well in seeming as did she me, and
now hath she adjudged me my death!"

"Again I tell you plainly," saith she, "that never will it be done away
unless he slay you."

Thereupon Messire Gawain lifteth the skirt of his habergeon and
thrusteth his sword into his body.  Thereupon, lo you, the other
knight, right angry and sorrowful and full of wrath for his fellow that
he seeth dead, and cometh in great rage to Messire Gawain and Messire
Gawain to him, and so stoutly they mell together that they pierce the
shields and pierce the habergeons and break the flesh of the ribs with
the points of their spears, and the bodies of the knights and their
horses hurtle together so stiffly that saddle-bows are to-frushed and
stirrups loosened and girths to-brast and fewtres splintered and spears
snapped short, and the knights drop to the ground with such a shock
that the blood rayeth forth at mouth and nose.  In the fall that the
knight made, Messire Gawain brake his collar-bone in the hurtle.
Thereupon the dwarf crieth out: "Damsel, your counterfeit Gawain doth
it well!"

"Our Gawain shall he be," say they, "so none take him from us!"

Messire Gawain draweth from over the knight and cometh toward his
horse, and right fain would he have let the knight live had it not been
for the damsels.  For the knight crieth him mercy and Messire Gawain
had right great pity of him.  Howbeit the damsels cry to him; "And you
slay him not, the evil custom will not be overthrown."

"Sir," saith the younger damsel, "And you would slay him, smite him in
the sole of his foot with your sword, otherwise will he not die yet."

"Damsel," saith the knight, "Your love of me is turned to shame! Never
more ought knight to set affiance nor love on damsel.  But God keep the
other that they be not such as you!"

Messire Gawain marvelleth at this that the damsel saith to him, and
draweth him back, and hath great pity of the knight, and cometh to the
other side whither the horses were gone, and taketh the saddle of the
knight that was dead and setteth it on his own horse and draweth him
away.  And the wounded knight was remounted, for the dwarf had helped
him, and fleeth toward the forest a great gallop.  And the damsels cry
out, "Messire Gawain, your pity will be our death this day!  For the
Knight without Pity is gone for succour, and if he escape, we shall be
dead and you also!"


XII.

Thereupon Messire Gawain leapeth on his horse and taketh a spear that
was leaning against the tent and followeth the knight in such sort that
he smiteth him to the ground.  Afterward he saith to him: "No further
may you go!"

"That grieveth me," saith the knight, "For before night should I have
been avenged of you and of the damsels."

And Messire Gawain draweth his sword and thrusteth it into the sole of
his foot a full palm's breadth, and the knight stretcheth himself forth
and dieth.  And Messire Gawain returneth back, and the damsels make
great joy of him and tell him that never otherwise could the evil
custom have been done away.  For, and he had gone his way, all would
have been to begin over again, for he is of such kind seeing that he
was of the kindred of Achilles, and that all his ancestors might never
otherwise die.  And Messire Gawain alighteth, and the damsels would
have searched the wound in his side, and he telleth them that he taketh
no heed thereof.

"Sir," say they, "Again do we proffer you our service, for well we know
that you are a good knight.  Take for your lady-love which of us you
will."

"Gramercy, damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Your love do I refuse not
and to God do I commend you."

"How?" say the damsels, "Will you go your way thus?  Certes, meeter
were it to-day for you to sojourn in this tent and be at ease."

"It may not be," saith he, "for leisure have I none to abide here."

"Let him go!" saith the younger, "for the falsest knight is he of the
world."

"By my head," saith the elder, "it grieveth me that he goeth, for stay
would have pleased me well."

Therewithal Messire Gawain departeth and is remounted on his horse.
Then he entereth into the forest.



BRANCH VI.

INCIPIT.

Another branch that Josephus telleth us recounteth and witnesseth of
the Holy Graal, and here beginneth for us in the name of the Father,
and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.


TITLE I.

Messire Gawain rode until he came to a forest, and seeth a land right
fair and rich in a great enclosure of wall, and round the land and
country-side within, the wall stretched right far away. Thitherward he
cometh and seeth but one entrance thereinto, and he seeth the fairest
land that ever he beheld and the best garnished and the fairest
orchards.  The country was not more than four leagues Welsh in length,
and in the midst thereof was a tower on a high rock.  And on the top
was a crane that kept watch over it and cried when any strange man came
into the country. Messire Gawain rode amidst the land and the crane
cried out so loud that the King of Wales heard it, that was lord of the
land. Thereupon, behold you, two knights that come after Messire Gawain
and say to him: "Hold, Sir knight, and come speak with the king of this
country, for no strange knight passeth through his land but he seeth
him."

"Lords," saith Messire Gawain, "I knew not of the custom. Willingly
will I go."

They led him thither to the hall where the King was, and Messire Gawain
alighteth and setteth his shield and his spear leaning against a
mounting stage and goeth up into the hall.  The King maketh great joy
of him and asketh him whither he would go?

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Into a country where I was never."

"Well I know," saith the king, "where it is, for that you are passing
through my land.  You are going to the country of King Gurgalain to
conquer the sword wherewith S. John was beheaded."


II.

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "You say true.  God grant me that I may
have it!"

"That may not be so hastily," saith the King, "For you shall not go
forth of my land before a year."

"Ha, Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "For God's sake, mercy!"

"None other mercy is here," saith the King.  Straightway he maketh
Messire Gawain be disarmed and afterward maketh bring a robe wherewith
to apparel him, and showeth him much honour.  But ill is he at ease,
wherefore he saith to him: "Sir, wherefore are you fain to hold me here
within so long?"

"For this, that I know well you will have the sword and will not return
by me."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "I pledge you my word that, so God give me
to conquer it, I will return by you."

"And I will allow you to depart from me at your will.  For nought is
there that I so much desire to see."

He lay the night therewithin, and on the morrow departed thence and
issued forth of the land right glad and joyful.  And he goeth toward
the land of King Gurgalain.  And he entereth into a noisome forest at
the lower part and findeth at the right hour of noon a fountain that
was enclosed of marble, and it was overshadowed of the forest like as
it were with leaves down below, and it had rich pillars of marble all
round about with fillets of gold and set with precious stones.  Against
the master-pillar hung a vessel of gold by a silver chain, and in the
midst of the fountain was an image so deftly wrought as if it had been
alive.  When Messire appeared at the fountain, the image set itself in
the water and was hidden therewith.  Messire Gawain goeth down, and
would fain have taken hold on the vessel of gold when a voice crieth
out to him: "You are not the Good Knight unto whom is served thereof
and who thereby is made whole."

Messire Gawain draweth him back and seeth a clerk come to the fountain
that was young of age and clad in white garments, and he had a stole on
his arm and held a little square vessel of gold, and cometh to the
little vessel that was hanging on the marble pillar and looketh
therein, and then rinseth out the other little golden vessel that he
held, and then setteth the one that he held in the place of the other.
Therewithal, behold, three damsels that come of right great beauty, and
they had white garments and their heads were covered with white cloths,
and they carried, one, bread in a little golden vessel, and the other
wine in a little ivory vessel, and the third flesh in one of silver.
And they come to the vessel of gold that hung against the pillar and
set therein that which they have brought, and afterward they make the
sign of the cross over the pillar and come back again. But on their
going back, it seemed to Messire Gawain that only one was there.
Messire Gawain much marvelled him of this miracle.  He goeth after the
clerk that carried the other vessel of gold, and saith unto him: "Fair
Sir, speak to me."

"What is your pleasure?" saith the clerk.

"Whither carry you this golden vessel and that which is therein?"

"To the hermits," saith he, "that are in this forest, and to the Good
knight that lieth sick in the house of his uncle King Hermit."

"Is it far from hence?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Yea, Sir," saith the clerk, "to yourself.  But I shall be there sooner
than will you."

"By God," saith Messire Gawain, "I would fain I were there now, so that
I might see him and speak to him."

"That believe I well," saith the clerk, "But now is the place not here."

Messire Gawain taketh leave and goeth his way and rideth until he
findeth a hermitage and seeth the hermit therewithout.  He was old and
bald and of good life.

"Sir," saith he to Messire Gawain, "Whither go you?"

"To the land of King Gurgalain, Sir; is this the way?"

"Yea," saith the hermit, "But many knights have passed hereby that
hither have never returned."

"Is it far?" saith he.

"He and his land are hard by, but far away is the castle wherein is the
sword."

Messire Gawain lay the night therewithin.  On the morrow when he had
heard mass, he departed and rode until he cometh to the land of King
Gurgalain, and heareth the folk of the land making dole right sore.
And he meeteth a knight that cometh a great pace to a castle.


IV.

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Wherefore make the folk of this castle
such dole, and they of all this land and all this country? For I hear
them weep and beat their palms together on every side."

"Sir," saith he, "I will tell you.  King Gurgalain had one only son of
whom he hath been bereft by a Giant that hath done him many mischiefs
and wasted much of his land.  Now hath the King let everywhere be cried
that to him that shall bring back his son and slay the Giant he will
give the fairest sword of the world, the which sword he hath, and of
all his treasure so much as he may be fain to take.  As at this time,
he findeth no knight so hardy that he durst go; and much more blameth
he his own law than the law of the Christians, and he saith that if any
Christian should come into his land, he would receive him."

Right joyous is Messire Gawain of these tidings, and departeth from the
castle and rideth on until he cometh to the castle of King Gurgalain.
The tidings come to the King that there is a Christian come into his
castle.  The King maketh great joy thereof, and maketh him come before
him and asketh him of his name and of what land he is.

"Sir," saith he, "My name is Gawain and I am of the land of King
Arthur."

"You are," saith he, "of the land of the Good Knight.  But of mine own
land may I find none that durst give counsel in a matter I have on
hand.  But if you be of such valour that you be willing to undertake to
counsel me herein, right well will I reward you. A Giant hath carried
off my son whom I loved greatly, and so you be willing to set your body
in jeopardy for my son, I will give you the richest sword that was ever
forged, whereby the head of S. John was cut off.  Every day at right
noon is it bloody, for that at that hour the good man had his head cut
off."

The King made fetch him the sword, and in the first place showeth him
the scabbard that was loaded of precious stones and the mountings were
of silk with buttons of gold, and the hilt in likewise, and the pommel
of a most holy sacred stone that Enax, a high emperor of Rome, made be
set thereon.  Then the King draweth it forth of the scabbard, and the
sword came forth thereof all bloody, for it was the hour of noon.  And
he made hold it before Messire Gawain until the hour was past, and
thereafter the sword becometh as clear as an emerald and as green.  And
Messire looketh at it and coveteth it much more than ever he did
before, and he seeth that it is as long as another sword, albeit, when
it is sheathed in the scabbard, neither scabbard nor sword seemeth of
two spans length.


V.

"Sir Knight," saith the King, "This sword will I give you, and another
thing will I do whereof you shall have joy."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "And I will do your need, if God please
and His sweet Mother."

Thereupon he teacheth him the way whereby the Giant went, and the place
where he had his repair, and Messire Gawain goeth his way thitherward
and commendeth himself to God.  The country folk pray for him according
to their belief that he may back repair with life and health, for that
he goeth in great peril.  He hath ridden until that he cometh to a
great high mountain that lay round about a land that the Giant had all
laid waste, and the enclosure of the mountain went round about for a
good three leagues Welsh, and therewithin was the Giant, so great and
cruel and horrible that he feared no man in the world, and for a long
time had he not been sought out by any knight, for none durst won in
that quarter.  And the pass of the mountain whereby he went to his hold
was so strait that no horse might get through; wherefore behoveth
Messire Gawain leave his horse and his shield and spear and to pass
beyond the mountain by sheer force, for the way was like a cut between
sharp rocks.  He is come to level ground and looketh before him and
seeth a hold that the Giant had on the top of a rock, and espieth the
Giant and the lad where they were sitting on the level ground under a
tree.  Messire Gawain was armed and had his sword girt on, and goeth
his way thitherward. And the Giant seeth him coming and leapeth up and
taketh in hand a great axe that was at his side, and cometh toward
Messire Gawain all girded for the fight and thinketh to smite him a
two-handed stroke right amidst the head.  But Messire Gawain swerveth
aside and bestirreth him with his sword and dealeth him a blow such
that he cut off his arm, axe and all.  And the Giant returneth backward
when he feeleth himself wounded, and taketh the King's son by the neck
with his other hand and grippeth him so straitly that he strangleth and
slayeth him.  Then he cometh back to Messire Gawain and falleth upon
him and grippeth him sore strait by the flanks, and lifteth him three
foot high off the ground and thinketh to carry him to his hold that was
within the rock.  And as he goeth thither he falleth, Messire Gawain
and all, and he lieth undermost.  Howbeit, he thinketh to rise, but
cannot, for Messire Gawain sendeth him his sword right through his
heart and beyond.  Afterward, he cut off the head and cometh there
where the King's child lay dead, whereof is he right sorrowful.  And he
beareth him on his neck, and taketh the Giant's head in his hand and
returneth there where he had left his horse and shield and spear, and
mounteth and cometh back and bringeth the King's son before the King
and the head of the Giant hanging.


VI.

The King and all they of the castle come to meet him with right great
joy, but when they see the young man dead, their great joy is turned
into right great dole thereby.  And Messire Gawain alighteth before the
castle and presenteth to the King his son and the head of the Giant.

"Certes," said he, "might I have presented him to you on live, much
more joyful should I have been thereof."

"This believe I well," saith the King, "Howbeit, of so much as you have
done am I well pleased, and your guerdon shall you have."

And he looketh at his son and lamenteth him right sweetly, and all they
of the castle after him.  Thereafter he maketh light a great show of
torches in the midst of the city, and causeth a great fire to be made,
and his son be set thereon in a brazen vessel all full of water, and
maketh him be cooked and sodden over this fire, and maketh the Giant's
head be hanged at the gate.


VII.

When his son was well cooked, he maketh him be cut up as small as he
may, and biddeth send for all the high men of his land and giveth
thereof to each so long as there was any left.  After that he maketh
bring the sword and giveth it to Messire Gawain, and Messire Gawain
thanketh him much thereof.

"More yet will I do for you," saith the King.  He biddeth send for all
the men of his land to come to his hall and castle.

"Sir," saith he, "I am fain to baptize me."

"God be praised thereof," saith Messire Gawain.  The King biddeth send
for a hermit of the forest, and maketh himself be baptized, and he had
the name of Archis in right baptism; and of all them that were not
willing to believe in God, he commanded Messire Gawain that he should
cut off their heads.


VIII.

In such wise was this King baptized that was the lord of Albanie, by
the miracle of God and the knighthood of Messire Gawain, that departeth
from the castle with right great joy and rideth until he has come into
the land of the King of Wales and bethought him he would go fulfil his
pledge.  He alighted before the hall, and the King made right great
cheer when he saw him come.  And Messire Gawain hath told him: "I come
to redeem my pledge. Behold, here is the sword."

And the King taketh it in his hand and looketh thereon right fainly,
and afterward maketh great joy thereof and setteth it in his treasury
and saith: "Now have I done my desire."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Then have you betrayed me."

"By my head," saith the King, "That have I not, for I am of the lineage
of him that beheaded S. John, wherefore have I better right to it than
you."

"Sir," say the knights to the King, "Right loyal and courteous knight
is Messire Gawain, wherefore yield him that which he hath conquered,
for sore blame will you have of evil-treating him."

"I will yield it," saith the King "on such condition that the first
damsel that maketh request of him, what thing soever she may require
and whatsoever it be shall not be denied of him."

And Messire Gawain agreeth thereto, and of this agreement thereafter
did he suffer much shame and anguish and was blamed of many knights.
And the King yielded him the Sword.  He lay the night therewithin, and
on the morrow so soon as he might, he departed and rode until he came
without the city where the burgess gave him the horse in exchange for
his own.  And he remembered him of his covenant, and abideth a long
space and leaneth him on the hilt of his sword until the burgess
cometh. Therewithal made they great joy the one of the other, and
Messire showeth him the sword, and the burgess taketh it and smiteth
his horse with his spurs and goeth a great gallop toward the city. And
Messire Gawain goeth after a great pace and crieth out that he doth
great treachery.

"Come not after me into the city," saith the burgess, "for the folk
have a commune."

Howbeit, he followeth after into the city for that he might not
overtake him before, and therein he meeteth a great procession of
priests and clerks that bore crosses and censers.  And Messire Gawain
alighteth on account of the procession, and seeth the burgess that hath
gone into the church and the procession after.

"Lords," saith Messire Gawain, "Make yield me the sword whereof this
burgess that hath entered your church hath plundered me."

"Sir," say the priests, "Well know we that it is the sword wherewith S.
John was beheaded, wherefore the burgess hath brought it to us to set
with our hallows in yonder, and saith that it was given him."

"Ha, lords!" saith Messire Gawain, "Not so!  I have but shown it to him
to fulfil my pledge.  And he hath carried it off by treachery."

Afterward he telleth them as it had befallen him, and the priests make
the burgess give it up, and with great joy Messire Gawain departeth and
remounteth his horse and issueth forth of the city. He hath scarce gone
far before he meeteth a knight that came all armed, as fast as his
horse could carry him, spear in rest.

"Sir," saith he to Messire Gawain, "I have come to help you.  We were
told that you had been evil-entreated in the city, and I am of the
castle that succoureth all strange knights that pass hereby whensoever
they have need thereof."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Blessed be the castle!  I plain me not of
the trespass for that right hath been done me.  And how is the castle
named?"

"Sir, they call it the Castle of the Ball.  Will you return back
thither with me, since you are delivered, and lodge there the night
with Messire, that is a right worshipful man, and of good conditions?"

Therewith they go together to the castle, that was right fair and
well-seeming.  They enter in, and when they were within, the Lord, that
sate on a mounting-stage of marble, had two right fair daughters, and
he made them play before him with a ball of gold, and looked at them
right fainly.  He seeth Messire Gawain alight and cometh to meet him
and maketh him great cheer.  Afterward, he biddeth his two daughters
lead him into the hall.


IX.

When he was disarmed, the one brought him a right rich robe, and after
meat the two maidens sit beside him and make him right great cheer.
Thereupon behold you, a dwarf that issueth forth of a chamber, and he
holdeth a scourge.  And he cometh to the damsels and smiteth them over
their faces and their heads.

"Rise up," saith he, "ye fools, ill-taught!  Ye make cheer unto him
whom you ought to hate!  For this is Messire Gawain, King Arthur's
nephew, by whom was your uncle slain!"

Thereupon they rise, all ashamed, and go into the chamber, and Messire
Gawain remaineth there sore abashed.  But their father comforteth him
and saith: "Sir, be not troubled for aught that he saith, for the dwarf
is our master: he chastiseth and teacheth my daughters, and he is wroth
for that you have slain his brother, whom you slew the day that Marin
slew his wife on your account, whereof we are right sorrowful in this
castle."

"So also am I," saith Messire Gawain, "But no blame of her death have I
nor she, as God knoweth of very truth."


X.

Messire Gawain lay the night at the castle, and departed on the morrow,
and rode on his journeys until he cometh to the castle at the entrance
to the land of the rich King Fisherman, where he seeth that the lion is
not at the entrance nor were the serjeants of copper shooting.  And he
seeth in great procession the priests and them of the castle coming to
meet him, and he alighteth, and a squire was apparelled ready, that
took his armour and his horse, and he showeth the sword to them that
were come to meet him.  It was the hour of noon.  He draweth the sword,
and seeth it all bloody, and they bow down and worship it, and sing 'Te
Deum laudamus'.  With such joy was Messire Gawain received at the
castle, and he set the sword back in his scabbard, and kept it right
anigh him, and made it not known in all the places where he lodged that
it was such.  The priests and knights of the castle make right great
joy, and pray him right instantly that so God should lead him to the
castle of King Fisherman, and the Graal should appear before him, he
would not be so forgetful as the other knights.  And he made answer
that he would do that which God should teach him.


XI.

"Messire Gawain," saith the master of the priests, that was right
ancient: "Great need have you to take rest, for meseemeth you have had
much travail."

"Sir, many things have I seen whereof I am sore abashed, nor know I
what castle this may be."

"Sir," saith the priest, "This Castle is the Castle of Inquest, for
nought you shall ask whereof it shall not tell you the meaning, by the
witness of Joseph, the good clerk and good hermit through whom we have
it, and he knoweth it by annunciation of the Holy Ghost."

"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain, "I am much abashed of the three
damsels that were at the court of King Arthur.  Two of them carried,
the one the head of a king and the other of a queen, and they had in a
car an hundred and fifty heads of knights whereof some were sealed in
gold, other in silver, and the rest in lead."

"True," saith the priest, "For as by the queen was the king betrayed
and killed, and the knights whereof the heads were in the car, so saith
she truth as Joseph witnesseth to us, for he saith of remembrance that
by envy was Adam betrayed, and all the people that were after him and
the people that are yet to come shall have dole thereof for ever more.
And for that Adam was the first man is he called King, for he was our
earthly father, and his wife Queen.  And the heads of the knights
sealed in gold signify the new law, and the heads sealed in silver the
old, and the heads sealed in lead the false law of the Sarrazins.  Of
these three manner of folk is the world stablished."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "I marvel of the castle of the Black
Hermit, there where the heads were all taken from her, and the Damsel
told me that the Good Knight should cast them all forth when he should
come.  And the other folk that are therewithin are longing for him."

"Well know you," saith the priest, "that on account of the apple that
Eve gave Adam to eat, all went to hell alike, the good as well as the
evil, and to cast His people forth from hell did God become man, and
cast these souls forth from hell of His bounty and of His puissance.
And to this doth Joseph make us allusion by the castle or the Black
Hermit which signifieth hell, and the Good Knight that shall thence
cast forth them that are within. And I tell you that the Black Hermit
is Lucifer, that is Lord of hell in like manner as he fain would have
been Lord of Paradise."

"Sir," saith the priest, "By this significance is he fain to draw the
good hermits on behalt of the new law wherein the most part are not
well learned, wherefore he would fain make allusion by ensample."

"By God," saith Messire Gawain, "I marvel much of the Damsel that was
all bald, and said that never should she have her hair again until such
time as the Good Knight should have achieved the Holy Graal."

"Sir," saith the good man, "Each day full bald behoveth her to be, ever
since bald she became when the good King fell into languishment on
account of the knight whom he harboured that made not the demand.  The
bald damsel signifieth Joseu Josephus, that was bald before the
crucifixion of Our Lord, nor never had his hair again until such time
as He had redeemed His people by His blood and by His death.  The car
that she leadeth after her signifieth the wheel of fortune, for like as
the car goeth on the wheels, doth she lay the burden of the world on
the two damsels that follow her; and this you may see well, for the
fairest followeth afoot and the other was on a sorry hackney, and they
were poorly clad, whereas the third had costlier attire.  The shield
whereon was the red cross, that she left at the court of King Arthur,
signifieth the most holy shield of the rood that never none durst lift
save God alone."

Messire Gawain heareth these significances and much pleaseth him
thereof, and thinketh him that none durst set his hand to nor lift the
shield that hung in the King's hall, as he had heard tell in many
places; wherefore day by day were they waiting for the Good Knight that
should come for the shield.


XII.

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "By this that you tell me you do me to wit
that whereof I was abashed, but I have been right sorrowful of a lady
that a knight slew on my account albeit no blame had she therein, nor
had I."

"Sir," saith the priest, "Right great significance was there in her
death, for Josephus witnesseth us that the old law was destroyed by the
stroke of a sword without recover, and to destroy the old law did Our
Lord suffer Himself to be smitten in the side of a spear.  By this
stroke was the old law destroyed, and by His crucifixion.  The lady
signifieth the old law.  Would you ask more of me?" saith the priest.

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "I met a knight in the forest that rode
behind before and carried his arms upside down.  And he said that he
was the Knight Coward, and his habergeon carried he on his neck, and so
soon as he saw me he set his arms to rights and rode like any other
knight."

"The law was turned to the worse," saith the priest, "before Our Lord's
crucifixion, and so soon as He was crucified, was again restored to
right."

"Even yet have I not asked you of all," saith Messire Gawain, "For a
knight came and jousted with me party of black and white, and
challenged me of the death of the lady on behalf of her husband, and
told me and I should vanquish him that he and his men would be my men.
I did vanquish him and he did me homage."

"It is right," saith the priest, "On account of the old law that was
destroyed were all they that remained therein made subject, and shall
be for ever more.  Wish you to enquire of aught further?" saith the
priest.

"I marvel me right sore," saith Messire Gawain, "of a child that rode a
lion in a hermitage, and none durst come nigh the lion save the child
only, and he was not of more than six years, and the lion was right
fell.  The child was the son of the lady that was slain on my account."

"Right well have you spoken," saith the priest, "in reminding me
thereof.  The child signifieth the Saviour of the world that was born
under the old law and was circumcised, and the lion whereon he rode
signifieth the world and the people that are therein, and beasts and
birds that none may govern save by virtue of Him alone."

"God!" saith Messire Gawain, "How great joy have I at heart of that you
tell me!  Sir, I found a fountain in a forest, the fairest that was
ever seen, and an image had it within that hid itself when it saw me,
and a clerk brought a golden vessel and took another golden vessel that
hung at the column that was there, and set his own in place thereof.
Afterward, came three damsels and filled the vessel with that they had
brought thither, and straightway meseemed that but one was there."

"Sir," saith the priest, "I will tell you no more thereof than you have
heard, and therewithal ought you to hold yourself well apaid, for
behoveth not discover the secrets of the Saviour, and them also to whom
they are committed behoveth keep them covertly."


XIII.

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "I would fain ask you of a King. When I
had brought him his son back dead, he made him be cooked and thereafter
made him be eaten of all the folk of his land."

"Sir," saith the priest, "Already had he leant his heart upon Jesus
Christ, and would fain make sacrifice of his flesh and blood to Our
Lord, and for this did he make all those of his land eat thereof, and
would fain that their thoughts should be even such as his own.  And
therefore was all evil belief uprooted from his land, so that none
remained therein."

"Blessed be the hour," saith Messire Gawain, "that I came herewithin!"

"Mine be it!" saith the priest.

Messire Gawain lay therewithin the night, and right well lodged was he.
The morrow, when he had heard mass, he departed and went forth of the
castle when he had taken leave.  And he findeth the fairest land of the
world and the fairest meadow-grounds that were ever seen, and the
fairest rivers and forests garnished of wild deer and hermitages.  And
he rideth until he cometh one day as evening was about to draw on, to
the house of a hermit, and the house was so low that his horse might
not enter therein.  And his chapel was scarce taller, and the good man
had never issued therefrom of forty years past.  The Hermit putteth his
head out of the window when he seeth Messire Gawain and saith, "Sir,
welcome may you be," saith he.

"Sir, God give you joy, Will you give me lodging to-night?" saith
Messire Gawain.

"Sir, herewithin none harboureth save the Lord God alone, for earthly
man hath never entered herewithin but me this forty year, but see, here
in front is the castle wherein the good knights are lodged."

"What is the castle?"

"Sir, the good King Fisherman's, that is surrounded with great waters
and plenteous in all things good, so the lord were in joy. But behoveth
them harbour none there save good knights only."

"God grant," saith Messire Gawain, "that I may come therein."


XIV.

When he knoweth that he is nigh the castle, he alighteth and confesseth
him to the hermit, and avoweth all his sins and repenteth him thereof
right truly.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "Now forget not, so God be willing to allow
you, to ask that which the other knight forgat, and be not afeard for
ought you may see at the entrance of the castle, but ride on without
misgiving and adore the holy chapel you will see appear in the castle,
there where the flame of the Holy Spirit descendeth each day for the
most Holy Graal and the point of the lance that is served there."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "God teach me to do His will!"

He taketh leave, and goeth his way and rideth until the valley
appeareth wherein the castle is seated garnished of all things good,
and he seeth appear the most holy chapel.  He alighteth, and then
setteth him on his knees and boweth him down and adoreth right sweetly.
Thereafter he remounteth and rideth until he findeth a sepulchre right
rich, and it had a cover over, and it lay very nigh the castle, and it
seemed to be within a little burial-ground that was enclosed all round
about, nor were any other tombs therein.  A voice crieth to him as he
passeth the burial-ground: "Touch not the sepulchre, for you are not
the Good Knight through whom shall it be known who lieth therein."

Messire Gawain passeth beyond when he had heard the voice and draweth
nigh the entrance of the castle, and seeth that three bridges are
there, right great and right horrible to pass. And three great waters
run below, and him seemeth that the first bridge is a bowshot in length
and in breadth not more than a foot.  Strait seemeth the bridge and the
water deep and swift and wide.  He knoweth not what he may do, for it
seemeth him that none may pass it, neither afoot nor on horse.


XV.

Thereupon, lo you, a knight that issueth forth of the castle and cometh
as far as the head of the bridge, that was called the Bridge of the
Eel, and shouteth aloud: "Sir Knight, pass quickly before it shall be
already night, for they of the castle are awaiting us."

"Ha," saith Messire Gawain, "Fair sir, but teach me how I may pass
hereby."

"Certes, Sir Knight, no passage know I to this entrance other than
this, and if you desire to come to the castle, pass on without
misgiving."

Messire Gawain hath shame for that he hath stayed so long, and
forthinketh him of this that the Hermit told him, that of no mortal
thing need he be troubled at the entrance of the castle, and
therewithal that he is truly confessed of his sins, wherefore behoveth
him be the less adread of death.  He crosseth and blesseth himself and
commendeth himself to God as he that thinketh to die, and so smiteth
his horse with his spurs and findeth the bridge wide and large as soon
as he goeth forward, for by this passing were proven most of the
knights that were fain to enter therein.  Much marvelled he that he
found the bridge so wide that had seemed him so narrow.  And when he
had passed beyond, the bridge, that was a drawbridge, lifted itself by
engine behind him, for the water below ran too swiftly for other bridge
to be made.  The knight draweth himself back beyond the great bridge
and Messire Gawain cometh nigh to pass it, and this seemed him as long
as the other.  And he seeth the water below, that was not less swift
nor less deep, and, so far as he could judge, the bridge was of ice,
feeble and thin, and of a great height above the water, and he looked
at it with much marvelling, yet natheless not for that would he any the
more hold back from passing on toward the entrance.  He goeth forward
and commendeth himself to God, and cometh in the midst thereof and
seeth that the bridge was the fairest and richest and strongest he had
ever beheld, and the abutments thereof were all full of images.  When
he was beyond the bridge, it lifted itself up behind him as the other
had done, and he looketh before him and seeth not the knight, and is
come to the third bridge and nought was he adread for anything he might
see.  And it was not less rich than the other, and had columns of
marble all round about, and upon each a knop so rich that it seemed to
be of gold.  After that, he beholdeth the gate over against him, and
seeth Our Lord there figured even as He was set upon the rood, and His
Mother of the one side and S. John of the other, whereof the images
were all of gold, with rich precious stones that flashed like fire. And
on the right hand he seeth an angel, passing fair, that pointed with
his finger to the chapel where was the Holy Graal, and on his breast
had he a precious stone, and letters written above his head that told
how the lord of the castle was the like pure and clean of all
evil-seeming as was this stone.


XVI.

Thereafter at the entrance of the gate he seeth a lion right great and
horrible, and he was upright upon his feet.  So soon as he seeth
Messire Gawain, he croucheth to the ground, and Messire Gawain passeth
the entrance without gainsay and cometh to the castle, and alighteth
afoot, and setteth his shield and his spear against the wall of the
hall, and mounteth up a flight of marble steps and cometh into a hall
right fair and rich, and here and there in divers places was it painted
with golden images.  In the midst thereof he findeth a couch right fair
and rich and high, and at the foot of this couch was a chess-board
right fair and rich, with an orle of gold all full of precious stones,
and the pieces were of gold and silver and were not upon the board.
Meanwhile, as Messire Gawain was looking at the beauty of the
chess-board and the hall, behold you two knights that issue forth of a
chamber and come to him.

"Sir," say the knights, "Welcome may you be."

"God give you joy and good adventure," saith Messire Gawain.

They make him sit upon the couch and after that make him be disarmed.
They bring him, in two basins of gold, water to wash his face and
hands.  After that, come two damsels that bring him a rich robe of silk
and cloth of gold.  Then they make him do on the same.  Then say the
two damsels to him, "Take in good part whatsoever may be done to you
therewithin, for this is the hostel of good knights and loyal."

"Damsels," saith Messire Gawain, "So will I do. Gramercy of your
service."

He seeth well that albeit the night were dark, within was so great
brightness of light without candles that it was marvel. And it seemed
him the sun shone there.  Wherefore marvelled he right sore whence so
great light should come.


XVII.

When Messire Gawain was clad in the rich robe, right comely was he to
behold, and well seemed he to be a knight of great valour. "Sir," say
the knights, "May it please you come see the lord of this castle?"

"Right gladly will I see him," saith he, "For I would fain present him
with a rich sword."

They lead him into the chamber where lay King Fisherman, and it seemed
as it were all strown and sprinkled of balm, and it was all strown with
green herbs and reeds.  And King Fisherman lay on a bed hung on cords
whereof the stavs were of ivory; and therein was a mattress of straw
whereon he lay, and above a coverlid of sables whereof the cloth was
right rich.  And he had a cap of sables on his head covered with a red
samite of silk, and a golden cross, and under his head was a pillow all
smelling sweet of balm, and at the four corners of the pillow were four
stones that gave out a right great brightness of light; and over
against him was a pillar of copper whereon sate an eagle that held a
cross of gold wherein was a piece of the true cross whereon God was
set, as long as was the cross itself; the which the good man adored.
And in four tall candle sticks of gold were four tall wax tapers set as
often as was need.  Messire Gawain cometh before the King and saluteth
him.  And the King maketh him right great cheer, and biddeth him be
welcome.

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "I present you with the sword whereof John
was beheaded."

"Gramercy." saith the King: "Certes, I knew well that you would bring
it, for neither you nor other might have come in hither without the
sword, and if you had not been of great valour you would not have
conquered it."

He taketh the sword and setteth it to his mouth and so kisseth it right
sweetly and maketh right great joy thereof.  And a damsel cometh to sit
at the head of the bed, to whom he giveth the sword in keeping.  Two
others sit at his feet that look at him right sweetly.

"What is your name?" saith the King.

"Sir, my name is Gawain."

"Ha, Messire Gawain," saith he, "This brightness of light that shineth
there within cometh to us of God for love of you.  For every time that
a knight cometh hither to harbour within this castle it appeareth as
brightly as you see it now.  And greater cheer would I make you than I
do were I able to help myself, but I am fallen into languishment from
the hour that the knight of whom you have heard tell harboured
herewithin.  On account of one single word he delayed to speak, did
this languishment come upon me.  Wherefore I pray you for God's sake
that you remember to speak it, for right glad should you be and you may
restore me my health.  And see here is the daughter of my sister that
hath been plundered of her land and disinherited in such wise that
never can she have it again save through her brother only whom she
goeth to seek; and we have been told that he is the Best Knight of the
world, but we can learn no true tidings of him."

"Sir," saith the damsel to her uncle the King, "Thank Messire Gawain of
the honour he did to my lady-mother when he came to her hostel.  He
stablished our land again in peace, and conquered the keeping of the
castle for a year, and set my lady-mother's five knights there with us
to keep it.  The year hath now passed, wherefore will the war be now
renewed against us and God succour us not, and I find not my brother
whom we have lost so long."

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "I helped you so far as I might, and so
would I again and I were there.  And fainer am I to see your brother
than all the knights of the world.  But no true tidings may I hear of
him, save so much, that I was at a hermitage where was a King hermit
and he bade me make no noise for that the Best Knight of the world lay
sick therewithin, and he told me that name was Par-lui-fet.  I saw his
horse being led by a squire before the chapel, and his arms and shield
whereon was a sun figured."

"Sir," saith the damsel, "My brother's name is not Par-lui-fet, but
Perlesvax in right baptism, and it is said of them that have seen him
that never comelier knight was known."

"Certes," saith the King, "Never saw I comelier than he that came in
hither nor better like to be good knight, and I know of a truth that
such he is, for otherwise never might he have entered hereinto.  But
good reward of harbouring him had I not, for I may help neither myself
nor other.  For God's sake, Messire Gawain, hold me in remembrance this
night, for great affiance have I in your valour."

"Certes, Sir, please God, nought will I do within yonder, whereof I may
be blamed of right."


XVIII.

Thereupon Messire Gawain was led into the hall and findeth twelve
ancient knights, all bald, albeit they seemed not to be so old as they
were, for each was of a hundred year of age or more and yet none of
them seemed as though he were forty.  They have set Messire Gawain to
eat at a right rich table of ivory and seat themselves all round about
him.

"Sir," saith the Master of the Knights, "Remember you of that the good
King hath prayed of you and told you this night as you have heard."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "God remember it!"

With that bring they larded meats of venison and wild-boar's flesh and
other in great plenty, and on the table was rich array of vessels of
silver and great cups of gold with their covers, and the rich
candlesticks where the great candles were burning, albeit their
brightness was hidden of the great light that appeared within.


XIX.

Thereon, lo you, two damsels that issue forth of a chapel, whereof the
one holdeth in her hands the most Holy Graal, and the other the Lance
whereof the point bleedeth thereinto.  And the one goeth beside the
other in the midst of the hall where the knights and Messire Gawain sat
at meat, and so sweet a smell and so holy came to them therefrom that
they forgat to eat.  Messire Gawain looketh at the Graal, and it seemed
him that a chalice was therein, albeit none there was as at this time,
and he seeth the point of the lance whence the red blood ran thereinto,
and it seemeth him he seeth two angels that bear two candlesticks of
gold filled with candles.  And the damsels pass before Messire Gawain,
and go into another chapel.  And Messire Gawain is thoughtful, and so
great a joy cometh to him that nought remembereth he in his thinking
save of God only.  The knights are all daunted and sorrowful in their
hearts, and look at Messire Gawain.  Thereupon behold you the damsels
that issue forth of the chamber and come again before Messire Gawain,
and him seemeth that he seeth three there where before he had seen but
two, and seemeth him that in the midst of the Graal he seeth the figure
of a child.  The Master of the Knights beckoneth to Messire Gawain.
Messire Gawain looketh before him and seeth three drops of blood fall
upon the table.  He was all abashed to look at them and spake no word.


XX.

Therewith the damsels pass forth and the knights are all adread and
look one at the other.  Howbeit Messire Gawain may not withdraw his
eyes from the three drops of blood, and when he would fain kiss them
they vanish away, whereof he is right sorrowful, for he may not set his
hand nor aught that of him is to touch thereof.  Therewithal behold you
the two damsels that come again before the table and seemeth to Messire
Gawain that there are three, and he looketh up and it seemeth him to be
the Graal all in flesh, grid he seeth above, as him thinketh, a King
crowned, nailed upon a rood, and the spear was still fast in his side.
Messire Gawain seeth it and hath great pity thereof, and of nought doth
he remember him save of the pain that this King suffereth.  And the
Master of the Knights summoneth him again by word of mouth, and telleth
him that if he delayeth longer, never more will he recover it.  Messire
Gawain is silent, as he that heareth not the knight speak, and looketh
upward.  But the damsels go back into the chapel and carry back the
most Holy Graal and the Lance, and the knights make the tablecloths be
taken away and rise from meat and go into another hall and leave
Messire Gawain all alone.  And he looketh all around and seeth the
doors all shut and made fast, and looketh to the foot of the hall and
seeth two candlesticks with many candles burning round about the
chessboard, and he seeth that the pieces are set, whereof the one sort
are silver and the other gold.  Messire Gawain sitteth at the game, and
they of gold played against him and mated him twice.  At the third
time, when he thought to revenge himself and saw that he had the worse,
he swept the pieces off the board.  And the damsel issued forth of a
chamber and made a squire take the chess-board and the pieces and so
carry them away.  And Messire Gawain, that was way-worn of his
wanderings to come thither where he now hath come, slept upon the couch
until the morrow when it was day, and he heard a horn sound right
shrill.


XXI.

Thereupon he armeth him and would fain go to take leave of King
Fisherman, but he findeth the doors bolted so that he may not get
forth.  And right fair service seeth he done in a chapel, and right
sorrowful is he for that he may not hear the mass.  A damsel cometh
into the hall and saith to him: "Sir, now may you hear the service and
the joy that is made on account of the sword you presented to the good
King, and right glad at heart ought you to have been if you had been
within the chapel.  But you lost entering therein on account of a right
little word.  For the place of the chapel is so hallowed of the holy
relics that are therein that man nor priest may never enter therein
from the Saturday at noon until the Monday after mass."

And he heard the sweetest voices and the fairest services that were
ever done in chapel.  Messire Gawain answereth her not a word so is he
abashed.  Howbeit the damsel saith to him: "Sir, God be guardian of
your body, for methinketh that it was not of your own default that you
would not speak the word whereof this castle would have been in joy."

With that the damsel departeth and Messire Gawain heareth the horn
sound a second time and a voice warning him aloud: "He that is from
without, let him go hence!  for the bridges are lowered and the gate
open, and the lion is in his den.  And thereafter behoveth the bridge
be lifted again on account of the King of the Castle Mortal, that
warreth against this castle, and therefore of this thing shall he die."


XXII.

Thereupon Messire Gawain issueth forth of the hall and findeth his
horse all made ready at the mounting-stage, together with his arms.  He
goeth forth and findeth the bridges broad and long, and goeth his way a
great pace beside a great river that runneth in the midst of the
valley.  And he seeth in a great forest a mighty rain and tempest, and
so strong a thunderstorm ariseth in the forest that it seemeth like all
the trees should be uprooted.  So great is the rain and the tempest
that it compelleth him set his shield over his horse's head lest he be
drowned of the abundance of rain.  In this mis-ease rideth he down
beside the river that runneth in the forest until he seeth in a launde
across the river a knight and a damsel right gaily appointed riding at
pleasure, and the knight carrieth a bird on his fist, and the damsel
hath a garland of flowers on her head.  Two brachets follow the knight.
The sun shineth right fair on the meadow and the air is right clear and
fresh.  Messire Gawain marvelleth much of this, that it raineth so
heavily on his way, whereas, in the meadow where the knight and the
damsel are riding, the sun shineth clear and the weather is bright and
calm.  And he seeth them ride joyously.  He can ask them naught for
they are too far away.  Messire Gawain looketh about and seeth on the
other side the river a squire nearer to him than is the knight.

"Fair friend" saith Messire Gawain, "How is this that it raineth upon
me on this side the river, but on the other raineth it not at all?"

"Sir," saith the squire, "This have you deserved, for such is the
custom of the forest."

"Will this tempest that is over me last for ever?" saith Messire Gawain.

"At the first bridge you come to will it be stayed upon you," saith the
squire.


XXIII.

Therewith the squire departeth, and the tempest rageth incontinent
until he is come to the bridge; and he rideth beyond and cometh to the
meadow, and the storm is stayed so that he setteth his shield to rights
again upon his neck.  And he seeth before him a castle where was a
great company of folk that were making great cheer.  He rideth until he
cometh to the castle and seeth right great throng of folk, knights and
dames and damsels. Messire Gawain alighteth, but findeth in the castle
none that is willing to take his reins, so busied are they making
merry. Messire Gawain presenteth himself on the one side and the other,
but all of them avoid him, and he seeth that he maketh but an ill stay
therewithin for himself, wherefore he departeth from the castle and
meeteth a knight at the gate.

"Sir," saith he, "What castle is this?"

"And see you not," saith the knight, "that it is a castle of joy?"

"By my faith" saith Messire Gawain, "They of the castle be not
over-courteous, for all this time hath none come to take my reins."

"Not for this lose they their courtesy," saith the knight, "For this is
no more than you have deserved.  They take you to be as slothful of
deed as you are of word, and they saw that you were come through the
Forest Perilous whereby pass all the discomfited, as well appeareth by
your arms and your horse."

Therewith the knight departeth, and Messire Gawain hath ridden a great
space sorrowful and sore abashed, until he cometh to a land parched and
poor and barren of all comfort, and therein findeth he a poor castle,
whereinto he cometh and seeth it much wasted, but that within was there
a hall that seemed haunted of folk. And Messire Gawain cometh
thitherward and alighteth, and a knight cometh down the steps of the
hall right poorly clad.

"Sir," saith the knight to Messire Gawain, "Welcome may you be!"

After that, he taketh him by the hand and leadeth him upward to the
hall, that was all waste.  Therewithal issue two damsels from a
chamber, right poorly clad, that were of passing great beauty, and make
great cheer to Messire Gawain.  So, when he was fain to disarm, behold
you thereupon a knight that entereth into the hall, and he was smitten
with the broken end of a lance through his body.  He seeth Messire
Gawain, whom he knoweth.

"Now haste!" saith he, "and disarm you not!  Right joyful am I that I
have found you! I come from this forest wherein have I left Lancelot
fighting with four knights, whereof one is dead, and they think that it
is you, and they are of kindred to the knight that you slew at the tent
where you destroyed the evil custom.  I was fain to help Lancelot, when
one of the knights smote me as you may see."

Messire Gawain goeth down from the hall and mounteth all armed upon his
horse.


XXIV.

"Sir," saith the knight of the hall, "I would go help you to my power,
but I may not issue forth of the castle until such time as it be
replenished of the folk that are wont to come therein and until my land
be again given up to me through the valour of the Good Knight."

Messire Gawain departeth from the castle as fast as horse may carry
him, and entereth the forest and followeth the track of the blood along
the way the knight had come, and rideth so far in the forest as that he
heareth the noise of swords, and seeth in the midst of the launde
Lancelot and the three knights, and the fourth dead on the ground.  But
one of the knights had drawn him aback, for he might abide the combat
no longer, for the knight that brought the tidings to Messire Gawain
had sore wounded him. The two knights beset Lancelot full sore, and
right weary was he of the buffets that he had given and received.
Messire Gawain cometh to one of the knights and smiteth him right
through the body and maketh him and his horse roll over all of a heap.


XXV.

When Lancelot perceiveth Messire Gawain, much joy maketh he thereof.
In the meanwhile as the one held the other, the fourth knight fled full
speed through the midst of the forest, and he that the knight had
wounded fell dead.  They take their horses, and Messire Gawain telleth
Lancelot he hath the most poverty-stricken host that ever he hath seen,
and the fairest damsels known, but that right poorly are they clad.
"Shall we therefore take them of our booty?"

"I agree," saith Lancelot, "But sore grieveth me of the knight that
hath thus escaped us."

"Take no heed," saith Messire Gawain, "We shall do well enough herein."

Thereupon they return back toward the poor knight's hostel and alight
before the hall, and the Poor Knight cometh to meet them, and the two
damsels, and they deliver to them the three horses of the three knights
that were dead.  The knight hath great joy thereof, and telleth them
that now is he a rich man and that betimes will his sisters be better
clad than are they now, as well as himself.


XXVI.

Thereupon come they into the hall.  The knight maketh one of his own
squires stable the horses and the two damsels help disarm Lancelot and
Messire Gawain.

"Lords," saith the knight, "So God help me, nought have I to lend you
wherewith to clothe you, for robe have I none save mine own jerkin."

Lancelot hath great pity thereof and Messire Gawain, and the two
damsels take off their kirtles that were made like surcoats of cloth
that covered their poor shirts, and their jackets that, were all
to-torn and ragged and worn, and present them to the knights to clothe
them.  They were fain not to refuse, lest the damsels should think they
held them not in honour, and did on the two kirtles right poor as they
were.  The damsels had great joy thereof that so good knights should
deign wear garments so poor.

"Lords," saith the Poor Knight, "The knight that brought the tidings
hither, and was stricken through of a lance-shaft, is dead and lieth on
a bier in a chapel within the castle, and he confessed himself right
well to a hermit and bade salute you both, and was right fain you
should see him after that he were dead, and he prayed me instantly that
I would ask you to be to-morrow at his burial, for better knights than
be ye might not be thereat, so he told me."

"Certes," saith Lancelot, "A good knight was he, and much mischief is
it of his death; and sore grieveth me that I know not his name nor of
what country he was."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "He said that you should yet know it well."

The two good knights lay the night at the castle, and the Poor Knight
lodged them as well as he might.  When it cometh to morning, they go to
the chapel to hear mass and to be at the burial of the body.  After
that they take leave of the Poor Knight and the two damsels and depart
from the castle all armed.

"Messire Gawain," saith Lancelot, "They know not at court what hath
become of you, and they hold you for dead as they suppose."

"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain, "thitherward will I go, for I have
had sore travail, and there will I abide until some will shall come to
me to go seek adventure."

He recounteth to Lancelot how the Graal hath appeared to him at the
court of King Fisherman: "And even as it was there before me, I forgat
to ask how it served and of what?"

"Ha, Sir," saith Lancelot, "Have you then been there?"

"Yea," saith he, "And thereof am I right sorry and glad: glad for the
great holiness I have seen, sorry for that I asked not that whereof
King Fisherman prayed me right sweetly."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "Right sorely ill have you wrought, nor is there
not whereof I have so great desire as I have to go to his castle."

"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain, "Much shamed was I there, but this
doth somewhat recomfort me, that the Best Knight was there before me
that gat blame thereof in like manner as I."

Lancelot departeth from Messire Gawain, and they take leave either of
other.  They issue forth of a forest, and each taketh his own way
without saying a word.



BRANCH VII.

TITLE I.

Here the story is silent of Messire Gawain and beginneth to speak of
Lancelot, that entereth into a forest and rideth with right great ado
and meeteth a knight in the midst of the forest that was coming full
speed and was armed of all arms.

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "Whence come you?"

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "I come from the neighbourhood of King Arthur's
Court."

"Ha, Sir, can you tell me tidings of a knight that beareth a green
shield such as I bear?  If so, he is my brother."

"What name hath he?" saith Lancelot.

"Sir," saith he, "His name is Gladoens, and he is a good knight and a
hardy, and he hath a white horse right strong and swift."

"Be there other knights in your country that bear such arms as your
shield and his besides you and he?"

"Certes, Sir, none."

"And wherefore do you ask?" saith Lancelot.

"For this, that a certain man hath reft him of one of his castles for
that he was not there.  Howbeit, I know well that he will have it again
through his good knighthood."

"Is he so good knight?" saith Lancelot.

"Certes, Sir, yea!  He is the best of the Isles of the Moors."

"Sir, of your mercy, lower your coif."

He quickly thereon lowereth his coif, and Lancelot looketh at him in
the face.  "Certes, Sir Knight," saith he, "you very much resemble him."

"Ha, Sir," saith the knight, "Know you then any tidings of him?"

"Certes, Sir," saith he, "Yea!  and true tidings may I well say, for he
rode at my side five leagues Welsh, nor never saw I one man so like
another as are you to him."

"Good right hath he to resemble me," saith the knight, "for we are
twins, but he was born first and hath more sense and knighthood than I;
nor in all the Isles of the Moors is there damsel that hath so much
worth and beauty as she of whom he is loved of right true love, and
more she desireth to see him than aught else that liveth, for she hath
not seen him of more than a year, wherefore hath she gone seek her
prize, my brother, by all the forests of the world. Sir," saith the
knight, "Let me go seek my brother, and tell me where I may find him."

"Certes," saith Lancelot, "I will tell you though it grieve me sore."

"Wherefore?" saith the knight, "Hath he done you any mis-deed?"

"In no wise," saith Lancelot, "Rather hath he done so much for me that
I love you thereof and offer you my service."

"Sir," saith the knight, "I am going my way, but for God's sake tell me
where I shall find my brother."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "I will tell you.  This morning did I bid his
body farewell and help to bury him."

"Ha, Sir," saith the knight, "Do you tell me true?"

"Certes," saith Lancelot, "True it is that I tell you."

"Is he slain then, my brother?" saith the knight.

"Yea, and of succouring me," saith Lancelot.

"Ha, sir," saith the knight, "For God's sake tell me nought that is not
right."

"By God, Sir," saith he, "Sore grieved am I to tell it you, for never
loved I knight so much in so brief a time as I loved him. He helped to
save me from death, and therefore will I do for you according to that
he did for me."

"Sir," saith the knight, "If he be dead, a great grief is it to myself,
for I have lost my comfort and my life and my land without recovery."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "He helped me to save my life, and yours will I
help to save henceforth for ever and so be that I shall know of your
jeopardy."

The knight heareth that his brother is dead and well believeth
Lancelot, and beginneth to make dole thereof the greatest that was ever
heard.  And Lancelot saith to him, "Sir Knight, let be this dole, for
none recovery is there; but my body do I offer you and my knighthood in
any place you please, where I may save your honour."

"Sir," saith the knight, "With good will receive I your help and your
love, sith that you deign to offer me the same, and now have I sorer
need of them than ever. Sir," saith the knight, "Sith that my brother
is dead, I will return back and bear with my wrong, though well would
he have amended it had he been on live."

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "I will go with you, that so may I reward
you of that he hath done for me.  He delivered his body to the death
for me, and in like manner freely would I fain set mine own in jeopardy
for love of you and of him."


II.

"Sir," saith the knight, "Right good will do I owe you of this that you
say to me, so your deeds be but the same herein."

"Yea, so help me God," saith Lancelot, "The same shall they be, if God
lend me the power."

With that, they go on their way together, and the knight comforteth him
much of that which Lancelot hath said to him, but of the death of his
brother was he right sorrowful.  And they ride until they come to the
land of the Moors; then espy they a castle upon a rock, and below was a
broad meadow-land.

"Sir," saith the Knight of the Green Shield to Lancelot, "This castle
was my brother's and is now mine, and much it misliketh me that it hath
fallen to me on this wise.  And the knight that reft it of my brother
is of so great hardihood that he feareth no knight on live, and you
will presently see him issue forth of this castle so soon as he shall
perceive you."

Lancelot and the knight ride until they draw nigh the castle. And the
knight looketh in the way before him, and seeth a squire coming on a
hackney, that was carrying before him a wild boar dead.  The Knight of
the Green Shield asketh him whose man he is, and the squire maketh
answer: "I am man of the Lord of the Rock Gladoens, that cometh there
behind, and my lord cometh all armed, he and others, for the brother of
Gladoens hath defied him on behalf of his brother, but right little
recketh my lord of his defiance."


III.

Lancelot heareth how he that is coming is the enemy of him to whom had
he been alive, his love most was due.  The Knight of the Green Shield
pointed him out so soon as he saw him.

"Sir," saith he to Lancelot, "Behold him by whom I am disherited, and
yet worse would he do to me and he knew that my brother were dead."

Lancelot, without saving more, so soon as he had espied the Knight of
the Rock, smiteth his horse with his spurs and cometh toward him.  The
Lord of the Rock, that was proud and hardy, seeth Lancelot coming and
smiteth with his spurs the horse whereon he sitteth.  They come with so
swift an onset either upon other that they break their spears upon
their shields, and hurtle together so sore that the Knight of the Rock
Gladoens falleth over the croup of his horse.  Lancelot draweth his
sword and cometh above him, and he crieth him mercy and asketh him
wherefore he wisheth to slay him?  Lancelot saith for the sake of
Gladoens from whom he hath reft his land and his castle.  "And what is
that to you?" saith the knight.  "Behoveth his brother challenge me
thereof."

"As much it behoveth me as his brother," saith Lancelot.

"Wherefore you?"

"For this," saith Lancelot, "That as much as he did for me will I do to
you."

He cutteth off his head and giveth it incontinent to the Knight of the
Green Shield.

"Now tell me," saith Lancelot, "Sith that he is dead, is he purged of
that whereof you appeached him?"

"Sir," saith the knight, "I hold him rightly quit thereof, for, sith
that he is dead, all claim on behalf of his kindred is abated by his
death."

"And I pledge you my faith loyally," saith Lancelot, "as I am a knight,
that never shall you be in peril nor in jeopardy of aught wherein I may
help you, so I be in place and free, but my help shall you have for
evermore, for that your brother staked his life to help me."


IV.

Lancelot and the knight lay the night at the Rock Gladoens, and the
Knight of the Green Shield had his land at his pleasure, and all were
obedient to him.  And the upright and loyal were right glad, albeit
when they heard the tidings of Gladoens' death they were right
sorrowful thereof.  Lancelot departed from the castle on the morrow,
and the knight remained therein, sorrowful for his brother that he had
lost, and glad for the land that he had gotten again.  Lancelot goeth
back right amidst the forest and rideth the day long, and meeteth a
knight that was coming, groaning sore.  And he was stooping over the
fore saddle-bow for the pain that he had.  He meeteth Lancelot and
saith to him: "Sir, for God's sake, turn back, for you will find there
the most cruel pass in the world there where I have been wounded
through the body.  Wherefore I beseech you not go thither."

"What pass is it then?" saith Lancelot.

"Sir," saith he, "It is the pass of the Castle of Beards, and it hath
the name of this, that every knight that passeth thereby must either
leave his beard there or challenge the same, and in such sort have I
challenged my beard that meseemeth I shall die thereof."

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "I hold not this of cowardize, sith that
you were hardy to set your life in jeopardy to challenge your beard,
but now would you argue me of cowardize when you would have me turn
back.  Rather would I be smitten through the body with honour, so and I
had not my death thereof, than lose with shame a single hair of my
beard."

"Sir," saith the knight, "May God preserve you, for the castle is far
more cruel than you think, and God guide the knight that may destroy
the evil custom of the castle, for right shameful is the custom to
strange knights that pass thereby."


V.

Lancelot departeth from the knight and cometh toward the castle. Just
as he had passed over a great bridge, he looketh about and seeth two
knights come all armed to the entrance of the castle, and they made
hold their horses before them, and their shields and spears are before
them leaning against the wall.  Lancelot looketh at the gateway of the
castle and seeth the great door all covered with beards fastened
thereon, and heads of knights in great plenty hung thereby.  So, as he
was about to enter the gate, two knights issue therefrom over against
him.

"Sir," saith the one, "Abide and pay your toll!"

"Do knights, then, pay toll here?" saith Lancelot.

"Yea!" say the knights, "All they that have beards, and they that have
none are quit.  Sir, now pay us yours, for a right great beard it is,
and thereof have we sore need."

"For what?" saith Lancelot.

"I will tell you," saith the knight.  "There be hermits in this forest
that make hair-shirts thereof."

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "Never shall they have hair-shirt of
mine, so I may help it."

"That shall they," say the knights, "Of yours as of the other, or
dearly shall you pay therefor!"


VI.

Right wroth waxeth Sir Lancelot, and cometh to the knight, and smiteth
him with his spear amidst the breast with such a thrust that it passeth
half an ell beyond, and overthroweth him and his horse together.  The
other knight seeth his fellow wounded to the death, and cometh towards
him with a great sweep and breaketh his spear upon his shield.
Howbeit, Lancelot beareth him to the ground right over his horse-croup
and maketh him fall so heavily that he breaketh one of his legs.  The
tidings are come to the Lady of the Castle that a knight hath come to
the pass that hath slain one of her knights and wounded the other.  The
Lady is come thither, and bringeth two of her damsels with her.  She
seeth Lancelot that is fain to slay the knight that lieth wounded on
the ground.

"Sir," saith the Lady to Lancelot, "Withdraw yourself back and slay him
not, but alight and speak to me in safety."

"Lady," saith one of the maidens, "I know him well.  This is Lancelot
of the Lake, the most courteous knight that is in the court of King
Arthur."

He alighteth and cometh before the Lady.  "Lady," saith he, "what is
your pleasure?"

"I desire," saith she, "that you come to my hostel to harbour, and that
you make me amends of the shame you have done me."


VII.

"Lady," saith Lancelot, "Shame have I never done you nor shall do, but
the knights took in hand too shameful a business when they were minded
to take the beards of stranger knights by force."

"Sir," saith she, "I will forego mine ill-will on condition that you
harbour herewithin to-night."

"Lady," saith Lancelot, "I desire not your ill-will, wherefore will I
gladly do your pleasure."

He setteth him within the castle and maketh his horse be led in after
him, and the Lady hath the dead knight brought into the chapel and
buried.  The other she biddeth be disarmed and clothed and commandeth
that his wounds be searched.  Then maketh she Lancelot be disarmed and
clad right richly in a good robe, and telleth him that she knoweth well
who he is.

"Lady," saith Lancelot, "It is well for me."

Thereupon they sit to eat, and the first course is brought in by
knights in chains that had their noses cut off; the second by knights
in chains that had their eyes put out; wherefore they were led in by
squires.  The third course was brought in by knights that had but one
hand and were in chains.  After that, came other knights that had each
but one foot and brought in the fourth course.  At the fifth course
came knights right fair and tall, and each brought a naked sword in his
hand and presented their heads to the Lady.


VIII.

Lancelot beheld the martyrdom of these knights, and sore misliking had
he of the services of such folk.  They are risen from meat and the lady
goeth to her chamber and sitteth on a couch.

"Lancelot," saith the Lady, "you have seen the justice and the lordship
of my castle.  All these knights have been conquered at the passing of
my door."

"Lady," saith Lancelot, "foul mischance hath befallen them."

"The like mischance would have befallen you had you not been knight so
good.  And greatly have I desired to see you this long time past.  And
I will make you lord of this castle and myself."

"Lady," saith he, "the lordship of this castle hold I of yourself
without mesne, and to you have I neither wish nor right to refuse it.
Rather am I willing to be at your service."

"Then," saith she, "you will abide with me in this castle, for more do
I love you than any other knight that liveth."

"Lady," saith Lancelot, "Gramercy, but in no castle may I abide more
than one night until I have been thither whither behoveth me to go."

"Whither are you bound?" saith she.

"Lady," saith he, "to the Castle of Souls."

"Well know I the castle," saith she. "The King hath the name Fisherman,
and lieth in languishment on account of two knights that have been at
his castle and made not good demand.  Would you fain go thither?" saith
the Lady.

"Yea," saith Lancelot.

"Then pledge me your faith that you will return by me to speak to me,
so the Graal shall appear to you and you ask whereof it serveth."

"Yea, truly," saith Lancelot, "were you beyond sea!"

"Sir," saith one of the damsels, "So much may you well promise, for the
Graal appeareth not to no knight so wanton as be ye.  For you love the
Queen Guenievre, the wife of your lord, King Arthur, nor so long as
this love lieth at your heart may you never behold the Graal."


IX.

Lancelot heard the damsel and blushed of despite.

"Ha, Lancelot," saith the Lady, "Love you other than me?"

"Lady," saith he, "the damsel may say her pleasure."

Lancelot lay the night at the castle, and right wroth was he of the
damsel that calleth the love of him and the Queen disloyal. And the
morrow when he had heard mass, he took leave of the Lady of the Castle,
and she besought him over and over to keep his covenant, and he said
that so would he do without fail. Therewithal he issueth forth of the
castle and entereth into a tall and ancient forest, and rideth the day
long until he cometh to the outskirt of the forest, and seeth a tall
cross at the entrance of a burying-ground enclosed all round about with
a hedge of thorns.  And the way lay through the burying ground.
Lancelot entered therein and the night was come.  He seeth the
graveyard full of tombs and sepulchres.  He looketh behind and seeth a
chapel wherein were candles burning.  Thitherward goeth he, and passeth
beyond without saying aught more by the side of a dwarf that was
digging a grave in the ground.

"Lancelot," saith the dwarf, "you are right not to salute me, for you
are the man of all the world that most I hate; and God grant me
vengeance of your body.  So will He what time you are stricken down
here within!"

Lancelot heard the dwarf, but deigned not to answer him of nought.  He
is come to the chapel, and alighteth and maketh fast the bridle of his
horse to a tree, and leaneth his shield and spear without.  After that
he entereth into the chapel, and findeth a damsel laying out a knight
in his winding-sheen.  As soon as Lancelot was entered therewithin the
wounds of the knight were swollen up and began to bleed afresh.

"Ha, Sir Knight, now see I plainly that you slew him that I am wrapping
in his windingsheet!"


X.

Thereupon, behold you, two knights that are carrying other two knights
dead.  They alight and then set them in the chapel.  And the dwarf
crieth out to them: "Now shall it be seen how you avenge your friends
of the enemy that fell upon you!"

The knight that had fled from the forest when Messire Gawain came
thither where the three lay dead, was come therewithin and knew
Lancelot, whereupon saith he: "Our mortal enemy are you, for by you
were these three knights slain."

"Well had they deserved it," saith Lancelot, "and in this chapel am I
in no peril of you, wherefore as at this time will I depart not hence,
for I know not the ways of the forest."

He was in the chapel until the day broke, when he issued forth thereof,
and sore it weighed upon him that his horse was still fasting.  He
taketh his arms and is mounted. The dwarf crieth out aloud: "What
aileth you?" saith he to the two knights, "Will you let your mortal
enemy go thus?"

With that the two knights mount their horses and go to the two issues
of the grave-yard, thinking that Lancelot is fain to flee therefrom;
but no desire hath he thereof, wherefore he cometh to the knight that
was guarding the entrance whereby he had to issue out, and smiteth him
so stiffly that he thrusteth the point of his spear right through his
body.  The other knight that was guarding the other entrance, that had
fled out of the forest before, had no mind to avenge his fellow, and
fled incontinent so fast as he might.  And Lancelot taketh the horse of
the knight he had slain and driveth him before him, for he thinketh
that some knight may haply have need thereof.  He rideth on until he
cometh to a hermitage in the forest where he alighteth and hath his
horses stabled, and the Hermit giveth them of the best he hath. And
Lancelot heard mass, and afterward are a little and fell on sleep.
Thereafter, behold you, a knight that cometh to the Hermit and seeth
Lancelot that was about to mount.

"Sir," saith he, "Whither go you?"

"Sir Knight," saith Lancelot, "thither shall I go where God may please;
but you, whitherward are you bound to go?"

"Sir, I go to see one of my brethren and my two sisters, for I have
been told that he hath fallen on such mishap as that he is called the
Poor Knight, whereof am I sore sorrowful."

"Certes," saith Lancelot, "poor he is, the more the pity! Howbeit, will
you do him a message from me?"

"Sir," saith the knight, "Right willingly!"

"Will you present him with this horse on my behalf, and tell him how
Lancelot that harboured with him hath sent it?"

"Sir," saith the knight, "Right great thanks, and blessed may you be,
for he that doth a kindness to a worshipful man loseth it not."

"Salute the two damsels for me," saith Lancelot.

"Sir, right willingly!"

The knight delivereth the horse to his squire, and taketh leave of
Lancelot.


XI.

Thereupon, Lancelot departeth from the hermitage and rideth on until he
cometh forth of the forest, and findeth a waste land, a country broad
and long wherein wonned neither beast nor bird, for the land was so
poor and parched that no victual was to be found therein.  Lancelot
looketh before him and seeth a city appear far away.  Thither rideth he
full speed and seeth that the city is so great that it seemeth him to
encompass a whole country.  He seeth the walls that are falling all
around, and the gates ruined with age.  He entereth within and findeth
the city all void of folk, and seeth the great palaces fallen down and
waste, and the great grave-yards full of sepulchres, and the tall
churches all lying waste, and the markets and exchanges all empty.  He
rideth amidst the streets, and findeth a great palace that seemeth him
to be better and more ancient than all the others.  He bideth awhile
before it and heareth within how knights and ladies are making great
dole.  And they say to a knight: "Ha, God, sore grief and pity is this
of you, that you must needs die in such manner, and that your death may
not be respited!  Sore hatred ought we to bear toward him that hath
adjudged you such a death."

The knights and ladies swoon over him as he departeth.  Lancelot hath
heard all this and much marvelleth he thereof, but nought thereof may
he see.


XII.

Thereupon, lo you, the knight that cometh down into the midst of the
hall, clad in a short red jerkin; and he was girt with a rich girdle of
gold, and had a rich clasp at his neck wherein were many rich stones,
and on his head had he a great cap of gold, and he held great axe.  The
knight was of great comeliness and young of age.  Lancelot seeth him
coming, and looketh upon him right fainly when he seeth him appear.
And the knight saith to him, "Sir, alight!"

"Certes," saith Lancelot, "Willingly."

He alighteth and maketh his horse fast to a ring of silver that was on
the mounting-stage, and putteth his shield from his neck and his spear
from his hand.

"Sir," saith he to the knight, "What is your pleasure?"

"Sir, needs must you cut me off my head with this axe, for of this
weapon hath my death been adjudged, but and you will not, I will cut
off your own therewith."

"Hold, Sir," saith Lancelot, "What is this you tell me?"

"Sir," saith the knight, "you must needs do even as I say, sith that
you are come into this city."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "Right foolish were he that in such a jeopardy
should not do the best for himself, but blamed shall I be thereof and I
shall slay you when you have done me no wrong."

"Certes," saith the Knight, "In no otherwise may you go hence."

"Fair Sir," saith Lancelot, "So gentle are you and so well nurtured,
how cometh it that you take your death so graciously? You know well
that I shall kill you before you shall kill me, sith that so it is."

"This know I well for true," saith the Knight, "But you will promise me
before I die, that you will return into this city within a year from
this, and that you will set your head in the same jeopardy without
challenge, as I have set mine."

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "Needeth no argument that I shall choose
respite of death to dying here on the spot.  But I marvel me of this
that you are so fairly apparelled to receive your death."


XIII.

"Sir," saith the Knight, "He that would go before the Saviour of the
World ought of right to apparel him as fairly as he may.  I am by
confession purged of all wickedness and of all the misdeeds that ever I
have committed, and do repent me truly thereof, wherefore at this
moment am I fain to die."

Therewithal he holdeth forth the axe, and Lancelot taketh it and seeth
that it is right keen and well whetted.

"Sir," saith the Knight, "Hold up your hand toward the minster that you
see yonder."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "Willingly."

"Thus, then, will you swear to me upon the holy relics that are within
this minster, that on this day year at the hour that you shall have
slain me, or before, you yourself will come back here and place your
head in the very same peril as I shall have placed mine, without
default?"

"Thus," saith Lancelot, "do I swear and give you thereto my pledge."

With that, the Knight kneeleth and stretcheth his neck as much as he
may, and Lancelot taketh the axe in his hands, and then saith to him,
"Sir Knight, for God's sake, have mercy on yourself!"

"Let cut off my head!" saith the Knight, "For otherwise may I not have
mercy upon you!"

"In God's name," saith Lancelot, "fain would I deny you!"

With that, he swingeth the axe and cutteth off the head with such a
sweep that he maketh it fly seven foot high from the body.  The Knight
fell to the ground when his head was cut off, and Lancelot flung down
the axe, and thinketh that he will make but an ill stay there for
himself.  He cometh to his horse, and taketh his arms and mounteth and
looketh behind him, but seeth neither the body of the Knight nor the
head, neither knoweth he what hath become of them all, save only that
he heard much dole and a great cry far off in the city of knights and
ladies, saying that he shall be avenged, please God, at the term set,
or before. Lancelot hath heard and understood all that the knights say
and the ladies, and issueth forth of the city.



BRANCH VIII.

Of the most Holy Graal here beginneth another branch in such wise as
the authority witnesseth and Joseph that made recoverance thereof, in
the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.


TITLE I.

This high history and profitable witnesseth us that the son of the
Widow Lady sojourned still with his uncle King Pelles in the hermitage,
and through distress of the evil that he had had since he came forth of
the house of King Fisherman, was he confessed to his uncle and told him
of what lineage he was, and that his name was Perceval.  But the good
Hermit the good King had given him the name of Parluifet, for that he
was made of himself.  King Hermit was one day gone into the forest, and
the good knight Parluifet felt himself sounder of health and lustier
than he wont to be.  He heard the birds sing in the forest, and his
heart began to swell of knighthood, and he minded him of the adventures
he wont to find in the forest and of the damsels and knights that he
wont to meet, and never was he so fain of arms as was he at that time,
for that he had been sojourning so long within doors. He felt courage
in his heart and lustiness in his limbs and fainness in his thought.
Right soon armeth he himself and setteth the saddle on his horse and
mounteth forthwith.  He prayeth God give him adventure that he may meet
good knight, setteth himself forth of his uncle's hermitage and
entereth into the forest that was broad and shady.  He rideth until he
cometh into a launde that was right spacious, and seeth a leafy tree
that was at the head of the launde.  He alighteth in the shadow, and
thinketh to himself that two knights might joust on this bit of ground
fair and well, for the place was right broad.  And, even as he was
thinking on this wise, he heard a horse neigh full loud in the forest
three times, and right glad was he thereof and said: "Ha, God, of your
sweetness grant that there be a knight with that horse, so may I prove
whether there be any force or valour or knighthood in me.  For I know
not now what strength I may have, nor even whether my heart be sound
and my limbs whole. For on a knight that hath neither hardihood nor
valour in himself, may not another knight that hath more force in him
reasonably prove his mettle, for many a time have I heard say that one
is better than other.  And for this pray I to the Saviour and this be a
knight that cometh there, that he may have strength and hardihood and
mettle to defend his body against mine own, for great desire have I to
run upon him.  Grant now that he slay me not, nor I him!"


II.

Therewithal, he looketh before him, and seeth the knight issue from the
forest and enter into the launde.  The knight was armed and had at his
neck a white shield with a cross of gold.  He carried his lance low,
and sate upon a great destrier and rode at a swift pace.  As soon as
Perceval seeth him, he steadieth him in his stirrups and setteth spear
in rest and smiteth his horse with his spurs, right joyous, and goeth
toward the knight a great gallop.  Then he crieth: "Sir Knight, cover
you of your shield to guard you as I do of mine to defend my body, for
you do I defy on this side slaying, and our Lord God grant that I find
you so good knight as shall try what hardihood of heart I may have, for
I am not such as I have been aforetime, and better may one learn of a
good knight than of a bad."

With that he smiteth the knight upon his shield with such a sweep that
he maketh him lose one of his stirrups and pierceth his shield above
the boss, and passeth beyond full speed.  And the knight marvelleth
much, and maketh demand, saying, "Fair Sir, what misdeed have I done
you?"

Perceval is silent, and hath no great joy of this that he hath not
overthrown the knight, but not so easy was he to overthrow, for he was
one of the knights of the world that could most of defence of arms.  He
goeth toward Perceval as fast as his horse may carry him and Perceval
toward him.  They mell together upon their shields right stiffly, so
that they pierce and batter them with the points of their spears.  And
Perceval thrusteth his spear into the flesh two finger-breadths, and
the knight doth not amiss, for he passeth his spear right through his
arm so that the shafts of the lances were splintered.  They hurtle
together either against other at the passing so mightily, that the
flinders of iron from the mail of their habergeons stick into their
foreheads and faces, and the blood leapeth forth by mouth and nose so
that their habergeons were all bloody.  They drew their swords with a
right great sweep.  The knight of the white shield holdeth Perceval's
rein and saith: "Gladly would I know who you are and wherefore you hate
me, for you have wounded me right sore, and sturdy knight have I found
you and of great strength."

Perceval saith not a word to him and runneth again upon him sword
drawn, and the knight upon him, and right great buffets either giveth
other on the helm, so that their eyes all sparkle of stars and the
forest resoundeth of the clashing of their swords.  Right tough was the
battle and right horrible, for good knights were both twain.  But the
blood that ran down from their wounds at last slackened their sinews,
albeit the passing great wrath that the one had against the other, and
the passing great heat of their will, had so enchafed them they scarce
remembered the wounds that they had, and still dealt each other great
buffets without sparing.


III.

King Hermit cometh from labouring in the forest and findeth not his
nephew in the hermitage, whereof is he right sorrowful, and he mounteth
on a white mule that he had therewithin.  She was starred in the midst
of her forehead with a red cross.  Josephus the good clerk witnesseth
us that this same mule had belonged to Joseph of Abarimacie at the time
he was Pilate's soldier, and that he bequeathed her to King Pelles.
King Hermit departeth from the hermitage and prayeth God grant him to
find his nephew. He goeth through the forest and rideth until he
draweth nigh the launde where the two knights were.  He heareth the
strokes of the swords, and cometh towards them full speed and setteth
him between the twain to forbid them.

"Ha, sir," saith he to the Knight of the White Shield, "Right great ill
do you to combat against this knight that hath lain sick this long time
in this forest, and fight sorely have you wounded him."

"Sir," saith the-knight, "As much hath he done by me, and never would I
have run upon him now had he not challenged me, and he is not minded to
tell me who he is nor whence ariseth his hatred of me."

"Fair Sir," saith the Hermit, "And you, who are you?"

"Sir," saith the knight, "I will tell you. I am the son of King Ban of
Benoic."

"Ha, fair nephew," saith King Hermit to Perceval, "See here your
cousin, for King Ban of Benoic was your father's cousin-german. Make
him right great cheer!"

He maketh them take off their helmets and lower their ventails, and
then kiss one another, afterward he leadeth them to his hermitage.
They alight together.  He calleth his own squire that waited upon him,
and made them be disarmed right tenderly.  There was a damsel within
that was cousin-german to King Pelles and had tended Perceval within in
his sickness.  She washeth their wounds right sweetly and cleanseth
them of the blood.  And they see that Lancelot is sorer wounded than
Perceval.

"Damsel," saith the Hermit, "How seemeth you?"

"Sir," saith she, "Needs must this knight sojourn here, for his wound
is in a right perilous place."

"Hath he danger of death?"

"Sir," saith she, "In no wise of this wound, but behoveth him take good
heed thereto."

"God be praised!" saith he, "and of my nephew how seemeth you?"

"Sir, the wound that he hath will be soon healed.  He will have none
ill thereof."


IV.

The damsel, that was right cunning of leech-craft, tended the wounds of
the knights, and made them whole as best she might, and King Hermit
himself gave counsel therein.  But and Perceval had borne his shield
that was there within, of sinople with a white hart, Lancelot would
have known him well, nor would there have been any quarrel between
them, for he had heard tell of this shield at the court of King Arthur.
The authority of this story recordeth that the two knights are in
hermitage, and that Perceval is well-nigh whole; but Lancelot hath sore
pain of his wound and is still far from his healing.



BRANCH IX.

TITLE I.

Now the story is silent about the two knights for a little time, and
speaketh of the squire that Messire Gawain meeteth in the midst of the
forest, that told him he went seek the son of the Widow Lady that had
slain his father.  And the squire saith that he will go to avenge him,
wherefore cometh he to the court of King Arthur, for that he had heard
tell how all good knights repaired thither.  And he seeth the shield
hang on the column in the midst of the hall that the Damsel of the Car
had brought thither.  The squire knoweth it well, and kneeleth before
the King and saluteth him, and the King returneth his salute and asketh
who he is.

"Sir," saith he, "I am the son of the Knight of the Red Shield of the
Forest of Shadows, that was slain of the Knight that ought to bear the
shield that hangeth on this column, wherefore would I right gladly hear
tidings of him."

"As gladly would I," saith the King, "so that no evil came to him
thereof, for he is the knight of the world that I most desire."

"Sir," saith the Squire, "Well behoveth me to hate him for that he slew
my father.  He that ought to bear this shield was squire when he slew
him, wherefore am I the more sorrowful for that I thought to be avenged
upon him squire.  But this I may not do, wherefore I pray you for God's
sake that you will make me knight, for the like favour are you
accustomed to grant unto others."

"What is your name, fair friend?" saith the King.

"Sir," saith he, "I am called Clamados of the Shadows."

Messire Gawain that had repaired to court, was in the hall, and said to
the King: "If this squire be enemy of the Good Knight that ought to
bear this shield, behoveth you not set forward his mortal enemy but
rather set him back, for he is the Best Knight of the world and the
most chaste that liveth in the world and of the most holy lineage, and
therefore have you sojourned right long time in this castle to await
his coming.  I say not this for the hindering of the squire's
advancement, but that you may do nought whereof the Good Knight may
have cause of complaint against you."

"Messire Gawain," saith Queen Guenievre, "well know I that you love my
Lord's honour, but sore blame will he have if he make not this one
knight, for so much hath he never refused to do for any; nor yet will
the Good Knight have any misliking thereof, for greater shame should he
have, and greater despite of the hatred of a squire than of a knight;
for never yet was good knight that was not prudent and well-advised and
slow to take offence. Wherefore I tell you that he will assuredly
listen to reason, and I commend my Lord the rather that he make him
knight, for much blame would he have of gainsaying him."

"Lady," saith Messire Gawain, "So you are content, I am happy."

The King made him knight right richly, and when he was clad in the
robes, they of the court declare and witness that never this long time
past had they seen at the court knight of greater comeliness.  He
sojourned therein long time, and was much honoured of the King and all
the barons.  He was every day on the watch for the Good Knight that
should come for the shield, but the hour and the place were not as yet.


II.

When he saw that he did not come, he took leave of the King and the
Queen and all them of the court, and departed, thinking him that he
would go prove his knighthood in some place until he should have heard
tidings of his mortal enemy.  He rideth amidst the great forests
bearing a red shield like as did his father, and he was all armed as
for defending of his body.  And a long space of time he rideth, until
one day he cometh to the head of a forest, and he espied his way that
ran between two mountains and saw that he had to pass along the midst
of the valley that lay at a great depth.  He looketh before him and
seeth a tree far away from him, and underneath were three damsels
alighted, and one prayed God right heartily aloud that He would send
them betimes a knight that durst convoy them through this strait pass.


III.

Clamodos heareth the damsel and cometh thitherward.  When they espied
him, great joy have they thereof and rise up to meet him. "Sir," say
they, "Welcome may you be!"

"Damsels," saith he, "Good adventure may you have!  And whom await you
here?" saith he.

"We await," saith the Mistress of the damsels, "some knight that shall
clear this pass, for no knight durst pass hereby."

"What is the pass; then, damsel?" saith he.

"It is the one of a lion, and a lion, moreover, so fell and horrible
that never was none seen more cruel.  And there is a knight with the
lion between the two mountains that is right good knight and hardy and
comely.  Howbeit none durst pass without great company of folk.  But
the knight that hath repair with the lion is seldom there, for so he
were there we need fear no danger, for much courtesy is there in him
and valour."

And the knight looketh and seeth in the shadow of the forest three fair
stags harnessed to a car.

"Ha," saith he, "you are the Damsel of the Car, wherefore may you well
tell me tidings of the knight of whom I am in quest."

"Who is he?" saith the Damsel.

"It is he that should bear a shield banded argent and azure with a red
cross."

"Of him am I likewise in quest," saith the Damsel; "please God, we
shall hear tidings of him betimes."

"Damsel" saith the knight, "that would I.  And for that you are in
quest of him as am I likewise, I will convoy you beyond this pass."

The Damsel maketh her Car go on before, and the damsels go before the
knight; and so enter they into the field of the lion, and right fair
land found they therewithin.  Clamados looketh and seeth the hall
within an enclosure and seeth the lion that lay at the entrance of the
gateway.  As soon as he espieth Clamados and the damsels, he cometh
toward them full speed, mouth open and ears pricked up.

"Sir," saith the Damsel, "and you defend not your horse on foot, he is
dead at the first onset."


IV.

Clamados is alighted to his feet, by her counsel, and holdeth his spear
in his fist, and the lion rampeth toward him all in a fury. Clamados
receiveth him on the point of his spear, and smiteth him therewith so
stoutly that it passeth a fathom beyond his neck. He draweth back his
spear without breaking it, and thinketh to smite him again.  But the
lion cheateth him, and arising himself on his two hinder feet, setteth
his fore feet on his shoulders, then huggeth him toward him like as one
man doth another.  But the grip was sore grievous, for he rendeth his
habergeon in twain and so teareth away as much flesh as he can claw
hold on.


V.

When Clamados felt himself wounded, he redoubled his hardihood, and
grippeth the lion so straitly to him that he wringeth a huge roar out
of him, and then flingeth him to the ground beneath him. Then he
draweth his sword and thrusteth it to the heart right through the
breast.  The lion roareth so loud that all the mountains resound
thereof.  Clamados cutteth off his head and goeth to hang it at the
door of the hall.  Then he cometh back to his horse and mounteth the
best he may.  And the Damsel saith to him, "Sir, you are sore wounded."

"Damsel," said he, "please God, I shall take no hurt thereof."

Thereupon, behold you a squire that issueth forth of the hall and
cometh after him full speed.  "Hold, Sir Knight," saith he; "Foul wrong
have you wrought, for you have slain the lion of the most courteous
knight that may be known, and the fairest and most valiant of this
kingdom, and in his despite have you hung the head at his door!  Right
passing great outrage have you done hereby!"

"Fair sweet friend," saith Clamados, "it may well be that the lord is
right courteous, but the lion was rascal and would have slain me and
them that were passing by.  And your lord loved him so much he should
have chained him up, for better liketh me that I slew him than that he
should slay me."

"Sir," saith the squire, "there is no road this way, for it is a
forbidden land whereof certain would fain reave my lord, and it was
against the coming of his enemies that the lion was allowed forth
unchained."

"And what name hath your lord, fair friend?" saith Clamados.

"Sir, he is called Meliot of Logres, and he is gone in quest of Messire
Gawain, of whom he holdeth the land, for right dear is he to him."

"Messire Gawain," saith Clamados, "left I at the court of King Arthur,
but behoveth him depart thence or ever I return thither."

"By my head," saith the squire, "faith would I you might meet them both
twain, if only my lord knew that you had slain him his lion."

"Fair friend," saith Clamados, "and he be as courteous as you say, no
misliking will he have of me thereof, for I slew him in defending mine
own body, and God forbid I should meet any that would do me evil
therefor."


VI.

Thereupon the knight and the damsels depart and pass the narrow strait
in the lion's field, and ride on until they draw nigh a right rich
castle seated in a meadowland surrounded of great waters and high
forests, and the castle was always void of folk. And they were fain to
turn thitherward, but they met a squire that told them that in the
castle was not a soul, albeit and they would ride forward they would
find great plenty of folk.  So far forward have they ridden that they
are come to the head of a forest and see great foison of tents
stretched right in the midst of a launde, and they were compassed round
of a great white sheet that seemed from afar to be a long white wall
with crenels, and it was a good league Welsh in length.  They came to
the entrance of the tents and heard great joy within, and when they had
entered they saw dames and damsels, whereof was great plenty, and of
right passing great beauty were they.  Clamados alighteth, that was
right sore wounded.  The Damsel of the Car was received with right
great joy.  Two of the damsels come to Clamados, of whom make they
right great joy.  Afterward they lead him to a tent and made disarm
him.  Then they washed his wounds right sweetly and tenderly.  Then
they brought him a right rich robe and made him be apparelled therein,
and led him before the ladies of the tents, that made right great joy
of him.


VII.

"Lady," saith the Damsel of the Car, "This knight hath saved my life,
for he hath slain the lion on account of which many folk durst not come
to you, wherefore make great joy of him."

"Greater joy may I not make, than I do, nor the damsels that are
herein, for we await the coming of the Good Knight that is healed, from
day to day.  And now is there nought in the world I more desire to see."

"Lady," saith Clamados, "Who is this Good Knight?"

"The son of the Widow Lady of the Valleys of Camelot," saith she.

"Tell me, Lady, do you say that he will come hither presently?"

"So methinketh," saith she.

"Lady, I also shall have great joy thereof, and God grant he come
betimes!"

"Sir Knight," saith she, "What is your name?"

"Lady" saith he, "I am called Clamados, and I am son of the lord of the
Forest of Shadows."

She throweth her arms on his neck and kisseth and embraceth him right
sweetly, and saith: "Marvel not that I make you joy thereof, for you
are the son of my sister-in-law, nor have I any friend nor
blood-kindred so nigh as are you, and fain would I you should be lord
of all my land and of me, as is right and reason."

The damsels of the tents make right great joy of him when they know the
tidings that he is so nigh of kin to the Lady of the Tents.  And he
sojourned therewithin until that he was whole and heal, awaiting the
coming of the knight of whom he had heard the tidings.  And the damsels
marvel them much that he cometh not, for the damsel that had tended him
was therewithin and telleth them that he was healed of his arm, but
that Lancelot is not yet whole, wherefore he is still within the
hermitage.


VIII.

This high history witnesseth us and recordeth that Joseph, who maketh
remembrance thereof, was the first priest that sacrificed the body of
Our Lord, and forsomuch ought one to believe the words that come of
him.  You have heard tell how Perceval was of the lineage of Joseph of
Abarimacie, whom God so greatly loved for that he took down His body
hanging on the cross, which he would not should lie in the prison there
where Pilate had set it. For the highness of the lineage whereof the
Good Knight was descended ought one willingly to hear brought to mind
and recorded the words that are of him.  The story telleth us that he
was departed of the hermitage all sound and whole, albeit he hath left
Lancelot, for that his wound was not yet healed, but he hath promised
him that he will come back to him so soon as he may.  He rideth amidst
a forest, all armed, and cometh toward evensong to the issue of the
forest and seeth a castle before him right fair and well seated, and
goeth thitherward for lodging, for the sun was set.  He entereth into
the castle and alighteth.  The lord cometh to meet him that was a tall
knight and a red, and had a felon look, and his face scarred in many
places; and knight was there none therewithin save only himself and his
household.


IX.

When he seeth Perceval alighted, he runneth to bar the door, and
Perceval cometh over against him.  For all greeting, the knight
saluteth him thus: "Now shall you have," saith he, "such guerdon as you
have deserved.  Never again shall you depart hence, for my mortal enemy
are you, and right hardy are you thus to throw yourself upon me, for
you slew my brother the Lord of the Shadows, and Chaos the Red am I
that war upon your mother, and this castle have I reft of her.  In like
manner will I wring the life out of you or ever you depart hence!"

"Already," saith Perceval, "have I thrown myself on this your hostel to
lodge with you, wherefore to blame would you be to do me evil.  But
lodge me this night as behoveth one knight do for another, and on the
morrow at departing let each do the best he may."

"By my head!" saith Chaos the Red, "mortal enemy of mine will I never
harbour here save I harbour him dead."

He runneth to the hall above, and armeth himself as swiftly as he may,
and taketh his sword all naked in his hand and cometh back to the place
where Perceval was, right full of anguish of heart for this that he
said, that he would war upon his mother and had reft her of this
castle.  He flung his spear to the ground, and goeth toward him on foot
and dealeth him a huge buffet above the helmet upon the coif of his
habergeon, such that he cleaveth the mail and cutteth off two
fingers'-breadth of the flesh in such sort that he made him reel three
times round.


X.

When Chaos the Red felt himself wounded, he was sore grieved thereof,
and cometh toward Perceval and striketh him a great buffet above in the
midst of his helmet, so that he made the sparks fly and his neck stoop
and his eyes sparkle of stars.  And the blow slippeth down on to the
shield, so that it is cleft right down to the boss.  Perceval felt his
neck stiff and heavy, and feeleth that the knight is sturdy and of
great might.  He cometh back towards him, and thinketh to strike him
above in the midst of his head, but Chaos swerved aside from him;
howbeit Perceval reached him and caught his right arm and cutteth it
sheer from his side, sword and all, and sendeth it flying to the
ground, and Chaos runneth upon him, thinking to grapple him with his
left arm, but his force was waning; nathless right gladly would he have
avenged himself and he might.  Howbeit, Perceval setteth on him again
that loved him not in his heart, and smiteth him again above on the
head, and dealeth him such a buffet as maketh his brains be all
to-scattered abroad.  His household and servants were at the windows of
the hall.  When they see that their lord is nigh to the death, they cry
to Perceval: "Sir, you have slain the hardiest knight in the kingdom of
Logres, and him that was most redoubted of his enemies; but we can do
no otherwise; we know well that this castle is your mother's and ought
to be yours.  We challenge it not; wherefore may you do your will of
whatsoever there is in the castle; but allow us to go to our lord that
there lieth dead, and take away the body and set it in some seemly
place for the sake of his good knighthood, and for that it behoveth us
so to do."

"Readily do I grant it you," saith Perceval.

They bear the body to a chapel, then they disarm him and wind him in
his shroud.  After that they lead Perceval into the hall and disarm him
and say to him: "Sir, you may be well assured that there be none but us
twain herewithin and two damsels, and the doors are barred, and behold,
here are the keys which we deliver up to you."

"And I command you," saith Perceval, "that you go straightway to my
mother, and tell her that she shall see me betimes and I may get done,
and so salute her and tell her I am sound and whole. And what is the
name of this castle?"

"Sir, it hath for name the Key of Wales, for it is the gateway of the
land."


XI.

Perceval lay the night in the castle he had reconquered for his mother,
and the morrow, when he was armed, he departed.  These promised that
they would keep the castle loyally and would deliver it up to his
mother at her will.  He rode until he came to the tents where the
damsels were, and drew rein and listened. But there was not so great
joy as when the damsel that rode like a knight and led the Car came
thither with Clamados.  Great dole heard he that was made, and beating
of palms.  Wherefore he bethought him what folk they might be.
Natheless he was not minded to draw back without entering.  He alighted
in the midst of the tents and set down his shield and his spear, and
seeth the damsels wringing their hands and tearing their hair, and much
marvelleth he wherefore it may be.  A damsel cometh forward that had
set forth from the castle where he had slain the knight: "Sir, to your
shame and ill adventure may you have come hither!"

Perceval looketh at her and marvelleth much of that she saith, and she
crieth out: "Lady, behold here him that hath slain the best knight of
your lineage!  And you, Clamados, that are within there, he hath slain
your father and your uncle!  Now shall it be seen what you will do!"

The Damsel of the Car cometh thitherward and knoweth Perceval by the
shield that he bare of sinople with a white hart.

"Sir," saith she, "welcome may you be!  Let who will make dole, I will
make joy of your coming!"


XII.

Therewith the Damsel leadeth him into a tent and maketh him sit on a
right rich couch; afterward she maketh him be disarmed of her two
damsels and clad in a right rich robe.  Then she leadeth him to the
Queen of the Tents that was still making great dole.

"Lady," saith the Damsel of the Car, "Stint your sorrow, for behold,
here is the Good Knight on whose account were the tents here pitched,
and on whose account no less have you been making this great joy right
up to this very day!"

"Ha," saith she, "Is this then the son of the Widow Lady?"

"Yea, certes," saith the Damsel.

"Ha," saith the Lady, "He hath slain me the best knight of all my kin,
and the one that protected me from mine enemies."

"Lady," saith the Damsel, "this one will be better able to protect and
defend us, for the Best Knight is he of the world and the comeliest."

The Queen taketh him by the hand and maketh him sit beside her. "Sir,"
saith she, "Howsoever the adventure may have befallen, my heart biddeth
me make joy of your coming."

"Lady," saith he, "Gramercy!  Chaos would fain have slain me within his
castle, and I defended myself to my power."

The Queen looketh at him amidst his face, and is taken with a love of
him so passing strong and fervent that she goeth nigh to fall upon him.
"Sir," saith she, "and you will grant me your love, I will pardon you
of all the death of Chaos the Red."

"Lady," saith he, "your love am I right fain to deserve, and mine you
have."

"Sir," saith she, "How may I perceive that you love me?"

"Lady," saith he, "I will tell you.  There is no knight in the world
that shall desire to do you a wrong, but I will help you against him to
my power."

"Such love," saith she, "is the common love that knight ought to bear
to lady.  Would you do as much for another?"

"Lady," saith he, "It well may be, but more readily shall a man give
help in one place than in another."

The Queen would fain that Perceval should pledge himself to her further
than he did, and the more she looketh at him the better he pleaseth
her, and the more is she taken with him and the more desirous of his
love.  But Perceval never once thought of loving her or another in such
wise.  He was glad to look upon her, for that she was of passing great
beauty, but never spake he nought to her whereby she might perceive
that he loved her of inward love.  But in no wise might she refrain her
heart, nor withdraw her eyes, nor lose her desire.  The damsels looked
upon her with wonder that so soon had she forgotten her mourning.


XIII.

Thereupon, behold you Clamados, that had been told that this was the
knight that, as yet only squire, had slain his father and put Chaos his
uncle to death.  He cometh into the tent and seeth him sitting beside
the Queen, that looked at him right sweetly.

"Lady," saith he, "Great shame do you to yourself, in that you have
seated at your side your own mortal enemy and mine.  Never again
henceforth ought any to have affiance in your love nor in your help."

"Clamados," saith the Queen, "the knight hath thrown himself upon me
suddenly.  Wherefore ought I do him no evil, rather behoveth me lodge
him and keep his body in safety.  Nought, moreover, hath he done
whereof he might be adjudged of murder nor of treason."

"Lady," saith Clamados, "He slew my father in the Lonely Forest without
defiance, and treacherously cast a javelin at him and smote him through
the body, wherefore shall I never be at ease until I have avenged him.
Therefore do I appeal and pray you to do me my right, not as being of
your kindred, but as stranger. For right willing am I that kinship
shall avail me nought herein."

Perceval looketh at the knight and seeth that he is of right goodly
complexion of body and right comely of face.  "Fair Sir," saith he, "as
of treason I would that you hold me quit, for never toward your father
nor toward other have had I never a mind to do treason, and God defend
me from such shame, and grant me strength to clear myself of any blame
thereof."

Clamados cometh forward to proffer his gage.

"By my head," saith the Queen, "not this day shall gage be received
herein.  But to-morrow will come day, and counsel therewith, and then
shall fight be done to each."

Clamados is moved of right great wrath, but the Queen of the Tents
showeth Perceval the most honour she may, whereof is Clamados right
heavy, and saith that never ought any to put his trust in woman.  But
wrongly he blameth her therein, for she did it of the passing great
love she hath for Perceval, inasmuch as well she knoweth that he is the
Best Knight of the world and the comeliest.  But it only irketh her the
more that she may not find in him any sign of special liking toward
herself neither in deed nor word, whereof is she beyond measure
sorrowful.  The knights and damsels lay the night in the tents until
the morrow, and went to hear mass in a chapel that was in the midst of
the tents.


XIV.

When mass was sung, straightway behold you, a knight that cometh all
armed, bearing a white shield at his neck.  He alighteth in the midst
of the tents and cometh before the Queen all armed, and saith: "Lady, I
plain me of a knight that is there within that hath slain my lion, and
if you do me not right herein, I will harass you as much or more than I
will him, and will harm you in every wise I may.  Wherefore I pray and
require you, for the love of Messire Gawain, whose man I am, that you
do me right herein."

"What is the knight's name?" saith the Queen.

"Lady," saith he, "He is called Clamados of the Shadows, and methinketh
I see him yonder, for I knew him when he was squire."

"And what is your name?" saith the Queen.

"Lady, I am called Melior of Logres."

"Clamados," saith the Queen, "Hear you what this knight saith?"

"Yea, Lady," saith he; "But again I require that you do me right of the
knight that slew my father and my uncle."

"Lady," saith Melior, "I would fain go.  I know not toward whom the
knight proffereth his gage, but him do I appeal of felony for my lion
that he hath slain."  He taketh in his hand the skirt of his habergeon:
"Lady, behold here the gage I offer you."


XV.

"Clamados," saith the Queen, "Hear you then not that which this knight
saith?"

"Lady," saith he, "I hear him well.  Truth it is that I slew his lion,
but not until after he had fallen upon me, and made the wounds whereof
I have been healed herewithin.  But well you know that the knight who
came hither last night hath done me greater wrong than have I done this
other.  Wherefore would I pray you that I may take vengeance of him
first."

"You hear," saith she, "how this knight that hath come hither all armed
is fain to go back forthwith.  Quit you, therefore, of him first, and
then will we take thought of the other."

"Lady, gramercy!" saith Meliot, "and Messire Gawain will take it in
right good part, for this knight hath slain my lion that defended me
from all my enemies.  Nor is it true that the entrance to your tent was
deserted on account of my lion; and in despite of me hath he hung the
head at my gate."

"As of the lion," saith the Queen, "you have no quarrel against him and
he slew him in defending his body, but as of the despite he did you as
you say, when in nought had you done him any wrong, it shall not be
that right shalt be denied you in my court, and if you desire to
deliver battle, no blame shall you have thereof."


XVI.

Clamados maketh arm him and mounteth on his horse, and he seemeth right
hardy of his arms and valorous.  He cometh right in the midst of the
tent, where the ground was fair and level, and found Meilot of Logres
all armed upon his horse, and a right comely knight was he and a
deliver.  And the ladies and damsels were round about the
tilting-ground.

"Sir," saith the Queen to Perceval, "I will that you keep the field for
these knights."

"Lady," saith he, "At your pleasure."

Meliot moveth toward Clamados right swiftly and Clamados toward him,
and they melled together on their shields in such sort that they
pierced them and cleft the mail of their habergeons asunder with the
points of their spears, and the twain are both wounded so that the
blood rayeth forth of their bodies.  The knights draw asunder to take
their career, for their spears were broken short, and they come back
the one toward the other with a great rush, and smite each other on the
breast with their spears so stiffly that there is none but should have
been pierced within the flesh, for the habergeons might protect them
not.  They hurtle against each other so strongly that knights and
horses fall together to the ground all in a heap.  The Queen and the
damsels have great pity of the two knights, for they see that they are
both so passing sore wounded.  The two knights rise to their feet and
hold their swords naked and run the one on the other right wrathfully,
with such force as they had left.

"Sir," saith the Queen to Perceval, "Go part these two knights asunder
that one slay not the other, for they are sore wounded."

Perceval goeth to part them and cometh to Meliot of Logres. "Sir,"
saith he, "Withdraw yourself back; you have done enough."

Clamados felt that he was sore wounded in two places, and that the
wound he had in his breast was right great.  He draweth himself back.
The Queen is come thither. "Fair nephew," saith she, "Are you badly
wounded?"

"Yea, Lady," saith Clamados.

"Certes," saith the Queen, "this grieveth me, but never yet saw I
knight and he were desirous of fighting, but came at some time by
mischance.  A man may not always stand on all his rights."

She made him be carried on his shield into a tent, and made search his
wounds, and saw that of one had he no need to fear, but that the other
was right sore perilous.


XVII.

"Lady," saith Clamados, "Once more do I pray and require you that you
allow not the knight that slew my father to issue forth from hence,
save he deliver good hostage that he will come back when I shall be
healed."

"So will I do, sith that it is your pleasure."

The Queen cometh to the other knight that was wounded, for that he
declareth himself Messire Gawain's man, and maketh search his wounds,
and they say that he hath not been hurt so sore as is Clamados.  She
commandeth them to tend him and wait upon him right well-willingly,
"Sir," saith she to Perceval, "Behoveth you abide here until such time
as my nephew be heal, for you know well that whereof he plaineth
against you, nor would I that you should depart hence without clearing
you of the blame."

"Lady, no wish have I to depart without your leave, but rather shall I
be ready to clear myself of blame whensoever and wheresoever time and
place may be.  But herewithin may I make not so long sojourn.
Natheless to this will I pledge my word, that I will return thither
within a term of fifteen days from the time he shall be whole."

"Sir," saith the Damsel of the Car, "I will remain here in hostage for
you."

"But do you pray him," saith the Queen, "that he remain herewithin with
us."


XVIII.

"Lady," saith Perceval, "I may not, for I left Lancelot wounded right
sore in my uncle's hermitage."

"Sir," saith the Queen, "I would fain that remaining here might have
pleased you as well as it would me."

"Lady," saith he, "none ought it to displease to be with you, but every
man behoveth keep his word as well as he may, and none ought to lie to
so good a knight as he."

"You promise me, then," saith the Queen, "that you will return hither
the soonest you may, or at the least, within the term appointed after
you shall have learnt that Clamados is healed, to defend you of the
treason that he layeth upon you?"

"Lady," saith he, "and if he die shall I be quit?"

"Yea, truly, Sir, and so be that you have no will to come for love of
me.  For right well should I love your coming."

"Lady," saith he, "never shall be the day my services shall fail you,
so I be in place, and you in need thereof."

He taketh leave and departeth, armed.  The Damsel of the Car commendeth
him to God, and Perceval departeth full speed and rideth so far on his
journeys that he cometh to his uncle's hermitage and entereth in,
thinking to find Lancelot.  But his uncle telleth him that he hath
departed all sound and all heal of his wound, as of all other malady,
as him thinketh.



BRANCH X.

INCIPIT.

Another branch of the Graal again beginneth in the name of the Father,
and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.


TITLE I.

And the story is here silent of Perceval, and saith that Lancelot goeth
his way and rideth by a forest until he findeth a castle amidst his way
at the head of a launde, and seeth at the gateway of the castle an old
knight and two damsels sitting on a bridge. Thitherward goeth he, and
the knight and damsels rise up to meet him, and Lancelot alighteth.

"Sir," saith the Vavasour, "Welcome may you be."

The damsels make great joy of him and lead him into the castle. "Sir,"
saith the Vavasour, "Sore need had we of your coming."

He maketh him go up into the hall above and be disarmed of his arms.
"Sir," saith the Vavasour, "Now may you see great pity of these two
damsels that are my daughters.  A certain man would reave them of this
castle for that no aid nor succour have they save of me alone.  And
little enough can I do, for I am old and feeble, and my kin also are of
no avail, insomuch that hitherto have I been able to find no knight
that durst defend me from the knight that is fain to reave this castle
from me.  And you seem to be of so great valiance that you will defend
me well herein to-morrow, for the truce cometh to an end to-night."

"How?" saith Lancelot, "I have but scarce come in hither to lodge, and
you desire me so soon already to engage myself in battle?"

"Sir," saith the Vavasour, "Herein may it well be proven whether there
be within you as much valour as there seemeth from without to be.  For,
and you make good the claim of these two damsels that are my daughters
to the fiefs that are of right their own, you will win thereby the love
of God as well as praise of the world."

They fall at his feet weeping, and pray him of mercy that they may not
be disherited.  And he raiseth them forthwith, as one that hath great
pity thereof.

"Damsels," saith he, "I will aid you to my power.  But I would fain
that the term be not long."

"Sir," say they, "to-morrow is the day, and to-morrow, so we have no
knight to meet him that challengeth this castle, we shall have lost it.
And our father is an old knight, and hath no longer lustihood nor force
whereby he might defend it for us, and all of our lineage are fallen
and decayed.  This hatred hath fallen on us on account of Messire
Gawain, whom we harboured."

Lancelot lay there the night within the castle and was right well
lodged and worshipfully entreated.  And on the morrow he armed himself
when he had heard mass, and leant at the windows of the hall and seeth
the gate shut and barred, and heareth a horn sound without the gate
three times right loud.

"Sir," saith the Vavasour, "the knight is come, and thinketh that
within here is no defence."

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "but there is, please God!"

The knight bloweth another blast of his horn.

"Hearken, Sir," saith the Vavasour, "It is nigh noon, and he thinketh
him that none will issue hence to meet him."


II.

Lancelot cometh down below and findeth his horse saddled and is mounted
as soon.  The damsels are at his stirrup, and pray him for God's sake
remember to defend the honour that is theirs of the castle, for, save
only he so doth, they must flee like beggars into other lands.
Thereupon the Knight soundeth his horn again.  Lancelot, when he
heareth the blast, hath no mind to abide longer, and forthwith issueth
out of the castle all armed, lance in hand and shield at his neck.  He
seeth the knight at the head of the bridge, all armed under a tree.
Thitherward cometh Lancelot full speed.  The knight seeth him coming,
and crieth to him.

"Sir Knight," saith he, "What demand you?  Come you hither to do me
evil?"

"Yea," saith Lancelot, "for that evil are you fain to do to this
castle; wherefore on behalf of the Vavasour and his daughters do I defy
you."

He moveth against the knight and smiteth him on the shield with his
spear and the knight him.  But Lancelot pierceth his shield for him
with his sword, and smiteth him so stiffly that he pinneth his arm to
his side, and hurtleth against him so passing stoutly that he thrusteth
him to the ground, him and his horse, and runneth over him, sword drawn.

"Ha," saith the knight to Lancelot, "withdraw a little from over me,
and slay me not, and tell me your name, of your mercy."

"What have you to do with my name?" saith Lancelot.

"Sir," saith he, "Gladly would I know it, for a right good knight seem
you to be, and so have I well proven in the first encounter."

"Sir" saith he, "I am called Lancelot of the Lake.  And what is your
name?"

"Sir." saith he, "I am called Marin of the castle of Gomeret.  So am
I--father of Meliot of Logres.  I pray you, by that you most love in
the world, that you slay me not."

"So will I do," saith Lancelot, "and you renounce not your feud against
this castle."

"By my faith," saith the knight, "thus do I renounce it, and I pledge
myself that thenceforth for ever shall it have no disturbance of me."

"Your pledge," saith Lancelot, "will I not accept save you come in
thither."

"Sir," saith the knight, "You have sore wounded me in such sort that I
cannot mount but with right great pain."

Lancelot helpeth him until he was mounted again on his horse, and
leadeth him into the castle with him, and maketh him present his sword
to the Vavasour and his daughters, and yield up his shield and his
arms, and afterward swear upon hallows that never again will he make
war upon them.  Lancelot thereupon receiveth his pledge to forego all
claim to the castle and Marin turneth him back to Gomeret.  The
Vavasour and his daughters abide in great joy.


III.

The story saith that Lancelot went his way by strange lands and by
forests to seek adventure, and rode until he found a plain land lying
without a city that seemed to be of right great lordship.  As he was
riding by the plain land, he looketh toward the forest and seeth the
plain fair and wide and the land right level.  He rideth all the plain,
and looketh toward the city and seeth great plenty of folk issuing
forth thereof.  And with them was there much noise of bag-pipes and
flutes and viols and many instruments of music, and they came along the
way wherein was Lancelot riding.  When the foremost came up to him,
they halted and redoubled their joy.

"Sir," say they, "Welcome may you be!"

"Lords," saith Lancelot, "Whom come ye to meet with such joy?"

"Sir," say they, "they that come behind there will tell you clearly
that whereof we are in need."


IV.

Thereupon behold you the provosts and the lords of the city, and they
come over against Lancelot.

"Sir," say they, "All this joy is made along of you, and all these
instruments of music are moved to joy and sound of gladness for your
coming."

"But wherefore for me," saith Lancelot.

"That shall you know well betimes," say they.  "This city began to burn
and to melt in one of the houses from the very same hour that our king
was dead, nor might the fire be quenched, nor never will be quenched
until such time as we have a king that shall be lord of the city and of
the honour thereunto belonging, and on New Year's Day behoveth him to
be crowned in the midst of the fire, and then shall the fire be
quenched, for otherwise may it never be put out nor extinguished.
Wherefore have we come to meet you to give you the royalty, for we have
been told that you are a good knight."

"Lords," saith Lancelot, "Of such a kingdom have I no need, and God
defend me from it."

"Sir," they say, "You may not be defended thereof, for you come into
this land at hazard, and great grief would it be that so good land as
you see this is were burnt and melted away by the default of one single
man, and the lordship is right great, and this will be right great
worship to yourself, that on New Year's Day you should be crowned in
the fire and thus save this city and this great people, and thereof
shall you have great praise."


V.

Much marvelleth Lancelot of this that they say.  They come round about
him on all sides and lead him into the city.  The ladies and damsels
are mounted to the windows of the great houses and make great joy, and
say the one to another, "Look at the new king here that they are
leading in.  Now will he quench the fire on New Year's Day."

"Lord!" say the most part, "What great pity is it of so comely a knight
that he shall end on such-wise!"

"Be still!" say the others.  "Rather should there be great joy that so
fair city as is this should be saved by his death, for prayer will be
made throughout all the kingdom for his soul for ever!"

Therewith they lead him to the palace with right great joy and say that
they will crown him.  Lancelot found the palace all strown with rushes
and hung about with curtains of rich cloths of silk, and the lords of
the city all apparelled to do him homage. But he refuseth right
stoutly, and saith that their king nor their lord will he never be in
no such sort.  Thereupon behold you a dwarf that entereth into the
city, leading one of the fairest dames that be in any kingdom, and
asketh whereof this joy and this murmuring may be.  They tell him they
are fain to make the knight king, but that he is not minded to allow
them, and they tell him the whole manner of the fire.


VI.

The dwarf and the damsel are alighted, then they mount up to the
palace.  The dwarf calleth the provosts of the city and the greater
lords.

"Lords," saith he, "sith that this knight is not willing to be king, I
will be so willingly, and I will govern the city at your pleasure and
do whatsoever you have devised to do."

"In faith, sith that the knight refuseth this honour and you desire to
have it, willingly will we grant it you, and he may go his way and his
road, for herein do we declare him wholly quit."

Therewithal they set the crown on the dwarf's head, and Lancelot maketh
great joy thereof.  He taketh his leave, and they command him to God,
and so remounteth he on his horse and goeth his way through the midst
of the city all armed.  The dames and damsels say that he would not be
king for that he had no mind to die so soon.  When he came forth of the
city right well pleased was he. He entereth a great forest and rideth
on till daylight began to fall, and seeth before him a hermitage newly
stablished, for the house and the chapel were all builded new.  He
cometh thitherward and alighteth to lodge.  The hermit, that was young
without beard or other hair on his face, issued from his chapel.

"Sir," saith he to Lancelot, "you are he that is welcome."

"And you, sir, good adventure to you," saith Lancelot.  "Never have I
seen hermit so young as you."

"Sir, of this only do I repent me, that I came not hither ere now."


VII.

Therewith he maketh his horse be stabled, and leadeth him into his
hermitage, and so maketh disarm him and setteth him at ease as much as
he may.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "Can you tell me any tidings of a knight that
hath lain sick of a long time in the house of a hermit?"

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "it is no long time agone sithence I saw him in
the house of the good King Hermit, that hath tended me and healed me
right sweetly of the wounds that the knight gave me."

"And is the knight healed, then?" saith the hermit.

"Yea, Sir," saith Lancelot, "Whereof is right great joy.  And wherefore
do you ask me?"

"Well ought I to ask it," saith the hermit, "For my father is King
Pelles, and his mother is my father's own sister."

"Ha, Sir, then is the King Hermit your father?"

"Yea, Sir, certes."

"Thereof do I love you the better," saith Lancelot, "For never found I
any man that hath done me so much of love as hath he. And what, Sir, is
your name?"

"Sir," saith he, "My name is Joseus, and yours, what?"

"Sir," saith he, "I am called Lancelot of the Lake."

"Sir," saith the hermit, "Right close are we akin, I and you."

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "Hereof am I right glad at heart."

Lancelot looketh and seeth in the hermit's house shield and spear,
javelins and habergeon. "Sir," saith Lancelot, "What do you with these
arms?"

"Sir," saith he, "this forest is right lonely, and this hermitage is
far from any folk, and none are there here-within save me and my
squire.  So, when robbers come hither, we defend ourselves therewith."

"But hermits, methought, never assaulted nor wounded nor slew."

"Sir," saith the hermit, "God forbid I should wound any man or slay!"

"And how, then, do you defend yourselves?" saith Lancelot.

"Sir, I will tell you thereof.  When robbers come to us, we arm
ourselves accordingly.  If I may catch hold of any in my hands, he
cannot escape me.  Our squire is so well-grown and hardy that he
slayeth him forthwith or handleth him in such sort that he may never
help himself after."

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "Were you not hermit, you would be
valiant throughout."

"By my head," saith the squire. "You say true, for methinketh there is
none so strong nor so hardy as he in all the kingdom of Logres."

The lodged Lancelot the night the best he could.


VIII.

When as they were in their first sleep, come four robber-knights of the
forest that knew how a knight was lodged therewithin, and had coveted
his horse and his arms.  The hermit that was in his chapel saw them
first, and awoke his squire and made him bring his arms all secretly;
then he made his squire arm.  "Sir," saith the squire, "Shall I waken
the knight?"

"In nowise," saith the hermit, "until such time as we shall know
wherefore."

He maketh open the door of the chapel and taketh a great coil of rope,
and they issue forth, he and his squire, and they perceived the robbers
in the stable where Lancelot's horse was.  The hermit crieth out: the
squire cometh forward and thereupon beareth one to the ground with his
spear.  The hermit seizeth him and bindeth him to a tree so strait that
he may not move.  The other three think to defend them and to rescue
their fellow.  Lancelot leapeth up all startled when he heareth the
noise and armeth himself as quickly as he may, albeit not so quickly
but that or ever he come, the hermit hath taken the other three and
bound them with the fourth.  But of them were some that were wounded
right sore.

"Sir," saith the hermit to Lancelot, "It grieveth me that you have been
awakened."

"Rather," saith Lancelot, "have you done me great wrong for that you
ought to have awakened me sooner."

"Sir," saith the hermit, "We have assaults such as this often enough."

The four robbers cry mercy of Lancelot that he will pray the hermit to
have pity upon them.  And Lancelot saith God help not him that shall
have pity on thieves!  As soon as it was daylight, Lancelot and the
squire led them into the forest, their hands all tied behind their
backs, and have hanged them in a waste place far away from the
hermitage.  Lancelot cometh back again and taketh leave of Joseus the
young hermit, and saith it is great loss to the world that he is not
knight.

"Sir," saith the squire, "to me is it great joy, for many a man should
suffer thereby."

Lancelot is mounted, and Joseus commendeth him to God, praying him much
that he salute his father and cousin on his behalf, and Messire Gawain
likewise that he met in the forest what time he came all weeping to the
hermitage.


IX.

Lancelot hath set him forth again upon his way, and rideth by the high
forests and findeth holds and hermitages enough, but the story maketh
not remembrance of all the hostels wherein he harboured him.  So far
hath he ridden that he is come forth of the forest and findeth a right
fair meadow-land all loaded with flowers, and a river ran in the midst
there of that was right fair and broad, and there was forest upon the
one side and the other, and the meadow lands were wide and far betwixt
the river and the forest.  Lancelot looketh on the river before him and
seeth a man rowing a great boat, and seeth within the boat two knights,
white and bald, and a damsel, as it seemed him, that held in her lap
the head of a knight that lay upon a mattress of straw and was covered
with a coverlid of marten's fur, and another damsel sate at his feet.
There was a knight within in the midst of the boat that was fishing
with an angle, the rod whereof seemeth of gold, and right great fish he
took.  A little cock-boat followed the boat, wherein he set the fish he
took. Lancelot cometh anigh the bank the swiftest he may, and so
saluteth the knights and damsels, and they return his salute right
sweetly.

"Lords," saith Lancelot, "is there no castle nigh at hand nor no
harbour?"

"Yea, Sir," say they, "Beyond that mountain, right fair and rich, and
this river runneth thither all round about it."

"Lords, whose castle is it?"

"Sir," say they, "It is King Fisherman's, and the good knights lodge
there when he is in this country; but such knights have been harboured
there as that the lord of the land hath had good right to plain him
thereof."

The knights go rowing along the river, and Lancelot rideth until he
cometh to the foot of the mountain and findeth a hermitage beside a
spring, and bethinketh him, since it behoveth him to go to so high a
hostel and so rich, where the Holy Graal appeareth, he will confess him
to the good man.  He alighteth and confesseth to the good man, and
rehearseth all his sins, and saith that of all thereof doth he repent
him save only one, and the hermit asketh him what it is whereof he is
unwilling to repent.

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "it seemeth to me the fairest sin and the
sweetest that ever I committed."

"Fair Sir," saith the hermit, "Sin is sweet to do, but right bitter be
the wages thereof; neither is there any sin that is fair nor seemly,
albeit there be some sins more dreadfuller than other."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "this sin will I reveal to you of my lips, but
of my heart may I never repent me thereof.  I love my Lady, which is
the Queen, more than aught else that liveth, and albeit one of the best
Kings on live hath her to wife.  The affection seemeth me so good and
so high that I cannot let go thereof, for, so rooted is it in my heart
that thence may it nevermore depart, and the best knighthood that is in
me cometh to me only of her affection."

"Alas!" saith the hermit, "Sinner of mortal sin, what is this that you
have spoken?  Never may no knighthood come of such wantonness that
shall not cost you right dear!  A traitor are you toward our earthly
lord, and a murderer toward Our Saviour.  Of the seven deadly sins, you
are labouring under the one whereof the delights are the falsest of
any, wherefore dearly shall you aby thereof, save you repent you
forthwith."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "never the more do I desire to cast it from me."

"As much," saith the hermit, "is that as to say that you ought long
since to have cast it from you and renounced it.  For so long as you
maintain it, so long are you an enemy of the Saviour!"

"Ha, Sir," saith Lancelot, "She hath in her such beauty and worth and
wisdom and courtesy and nobleness that never ought she to be forgotten
of any that hath loved her!"


X.

"The more of beauty and worth she hath in her," saith the hermit, "so
much the more blame hath she of that she doeth, and you likewise.  For
of that which is of little worth is the loss not so great as of that
which is much worth.  And this is a Queen, blessed and anointed, that
was thus, therefore, in her beginning vowed to God; yet now is she
given over to the Devil of her love for you, and you of your love for
her.  Fair, sweet my friend," saith the hermit, "Let go this folly,
which is so cruel, that you have taken in hand, and be repentant of
these sins!  So every day will I pray to the Saviour for you, that so
truly as He pardoned His death to him that smote Him with a lance in
His side, so may He pardon you of this sin that you have maintained,
and that so you be repentant and truly confessed thereof, I may take
the penance due thereunto upon myself!"

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "I thank you much, but I am not minded to
renounce it, nor have I no wish to speak aught wherewith my heart
accordeth not.  I am willing enough to do penance as great as is
enjoined of this sin, but my lady the Queen will I serve so long as it
may be her pleasure, and I may have her good will.  So dearly do I love
her that I wish not even that any will should come to me to renounce
her love, and God is so sweet and so full of right merciful mildness,
as good men bear witness, that He will have pity upon us, for never no
treason have I done toward her, nor she toward me."

"Ha, fair sweet friend," saith the hermit, "Nought may you avail you of
whatsoever I may say, wherefore God grant her such will and you also,
that you may be able to do the will of Our Saviour. But so much am I
fain to tell you, that and if you shall lie in the hostel of King
Fisherman, yet never may you behold the Graal for the mortal sin that
lieth at your heart."

"May our Lord God," saith Lancelot, "counsel me therein at His pleasure
and at His will!"

"So may He do!" saith the hermit, "For of a truth you may know thereof
am I right fain."


XI.

Lancelot taketh leave of the hermit, and is mounted forthwith and
departeth from the hermitage.  And evening draweth on, and he seeth
that it is time to lodge him.  And he espieth before him the castle of
the rich King Fisherman.  He seeth the bridges, broad and long, but
they seem not to him the same as they had seemed to Messire Gawain.  He
beholdeth the rich entrance of the gateway there where Our Lord God was
figured as He was set upon the rood, and seeth two lions that guard the
entrance of the gate.  Lancelot thinketh that sith Messire Gawain had
passed through amidst the lions, he would do likewise.  He goeth toward
the gateway, and the lions that were unchained prick up their ears and
look at him.  Howbeit Lancelot goeth his way between them without
heeding them, and neither of them was fain to do him any hurt.  He
alighteth before the master-palace, and mounteth upward all armed.  Two
other knights come to meet him and receive him with right great joy,
then they make him be seated on a couch in the midst of the hall and be
disarmed of two servants.  Two damsels bring him a right rich robe and
make him be apparelled therewithal.  Lancelot beholdeth the richness of
the hall and seeth nought figured there save images of saints, men or
women, and he seeth the hall hung about with cloths of silk in many
places.  The knights lead him before King Fisherman in a chamber where
he lay right richly.  He findeth the King, that lieth on a bed so rich
and so fair apparelled as never was seen a better, and one damsel was
at his head and another at his feet.  Lancelot saluteth him right
nobly, and the King answereth him full fairly as one that is a right
worshipful man.  And such a brightness of light was there in the
chamber as that it seemed the sun were beaming on all sides, and albeit
the night was dark, no candles, so far as Lancelot might espy, were
lighted therewithin.

"Sir," saith King Fisherman, "Can you tell me tidings of my sister's
son, that was son of Alain li Gros of the Valleys of Camelot, whom they
call Perceval?"

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "I saw him not long time sithence in the house
of King Hermit, his uncle."

"Sir," saith the King, "They tell me he is a right good knight?"

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "He is the best knight of the world.  I myself
have felt the goodness of his knighthood and his valour, for right
sorely did he wound me or ever I knew him or he me."

"And what is your name?" saith the King.

"Sir, I am called Lancelot of the Lake, King Ban's son of Benoic."

"Ha," saith the King, "you are nigh of our lineage, you ought to be
good knight of right, and so are you as I have heard witness,
Lancelot," saith the King.  "Behold there the chapel where the most
Holy Graal taketh his rest, that appeared to two knights that have been
herewithin.  I know not what was the name of the first, but never saw I
any so gentle and quiet, nor had better likelihood to be good knight.
It was through him that I have fallen into languishment.  The second
was Messire Gawain."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "the first was Perceval your nephew."

"Ha!" saith King Fisherman, "take heed that you speak true!"

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "I ought to know him well!"

"Ha, God!" saith the King, "Wherefore then did I know him not? Through
him have I fallen into this languishment, and had I only known then
that it was he, should I now be all whole of my limbs and of my body,
and right instantly do I pray you, when you shall see him, that he come
to see me or ever I die, and that he be fain to succour and help his
mother, whose men have been slain, and whose land hath been reaved in
such sort that never may she have it again save by him alone.  And his
sister hath gone in quest of him throughout all kingdoms."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "This will I tell him gladly, if ever I may find
him in any place, but it is great adventure of finding him, for
oft-times will he change his cognizance in divers fashion and conceal
his name in many places."


XII.

King Fisherman is right joyous of the tidings he hath heard of his
nephew, wherefore he maketh Lancelot be honoured greatly. The knights
seat them in the hall at a table of ivory at meat, and the King
remaineth in his chamber.  When they had washen, the table was dight of
rich sets of vessels of gold and silver, and they were served of rich
meats of venison of hart and wild boar. But the story witnesseth that
the Graal appeared not at this feast.  It held not aloof for that
Lancelot was not one of the three knights of the world of the most
renown and mightiest valour, but for his great sin as touching the
Queen, whom he loved without repenting him thereof, for of nought did
he think so much as of her, nor never might he remove his heart
therefrom. When they had eaten they rose from the tables.  Two damsels
waited on Lancelot at his going to bed, and he lay on a right rich
couch, nor were they willing to depart until such time as he was
asleep.  He rose on the morrow as soon as he saw the day, and went to
hear mass.  Then he took leave of King Fisherman and the knights and
damsels, and issued forth of the castle between the two lions, and
prayeth God that He allow him to see the Queen again betimes, for this
is his most desire.  He rideth until he hath left the castle far behind
and entereth the forest, and is in right great desire to see Perceval,
but the tidings of him were right far away.  He looketh before him in
the forest and seeth come right amidst the launde a knight, and a
damsel clad in the richest robe of gold and silk that ever he had seen
tofore.


XIII.

The damsel came weeping by the side of the knight and prayed him
oftentimes that he would have mercy upon her.  The knight is still and
holdeth his peace, and saith never a word.

"Ha, Sir," saith the damsel to Lancelot, "Be pleased to beseech this
knight on my behalf."

"In what manner?" saith Lancelot.

"Sir," saith she, "I will tell you.  He hath shown me semblance of love
for more than a year, and had me in covenant that he would take me to
wife, and I apparelled myself in the richest garments that I had to
come to him.  But my father is of greater power and riches than is he,
and therefore was not willing to allow the marriage.  Wherefore come I
with him in this manner, for I love him better than ever another knight
beside.  Now will he do nought of that he had me in covenant to do, for
he loveth another, better, methinketh, than me.  And this hath he done,
as I surmise, to do shame to my friends and to me."

Lancelot seeth the damsel of right great beauty and weeping tenderly,
whereof hath he passing great pity.

"Hold, Sir!" saith Lancelot to the knight, "this shall you not do!  You
shall not do such shame to so fair a damsel as that you shall fail to
keep covenant with her.  For not a knight is there in the kingdom of
Logres nor in that of Wales but ought to be right well pleased to have
so fair a damsel to wife, and I pray and require that you do to the
damsel that whereof you held her in covenant.  This will be a right
worshipful deed, and I pray and beseech that you do it, and thereof
shall I be much beholden unto you."

"Sir," saith the knight, "I have no will thereunto, nor for no man will
I do it, for ill would it beseem me."

"By my head, then," saith Lancelot, "the basest knight are you that
ever have I seen, nor ought dame nor damsel ever hereafter put trust in
you, sith that you are minded to put such disgrace upon this lady."

"Sir," saith the knight, "a worthier lover have I than this, and one
that I more value; wherefore as touching this damsel will I do nought
more than I have said."

"And whither, then, mean you to take her?" saith Lancelot.

"I mean to take her to a hold of mine own that is in this forest, and
to give her in charge to a dwarf of mine that looketh after my house,
and I will marry her to some knight or some other man."

"Now never God help me," saith Lancelot, "but this is foul churlishness
you tell me, and, so you do not her will, it shall betide you ill of me
myself, and, had you been armed as I am, you should have felt my first
onset already."

"Ha," saith the damsel to Lancelot, "Be not so ready to do him any
hurt, for nought love I so well as I love his body, whatsoever he do
unto me.  But for God's sake pray him that he do me the honour he hath
promised me."

"Willingly," saith Lancelot.  "Sir Knight, will you do this whereof you
had the damsel in covenant?"

"Sir," saith the knight, "I have told you plainly that I will not."

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "you shall do it, or otherwise sentence
of death hath passed upon you, and this not so much for the sake of the
damsel only, but for the churlishness that hath taken possession of
you, that it be not a reproach to other knights.  For promise that
knight maketh to dame or damsel behoveth him to keep.  And you, as you
tell me, are knight, and no knight ought to do churlishly to his
knowledge, and this churlishness is so far greater than another, that
for no prayer that the damsel may make will I suffer that it shall be
done, but that if you do not that whereof you held her in covenant, I
shall slay you, for that I will not have this churlishness made a
reproach unto other knights."

He draweth his sword and would have come toward him, when the knight
cometh over against him and saith to him: "Slay me not. Tell me rather
what you would have me do?"

"I would," saith he, "that you take the damsel to wife without denial."

"Sir," saith he, "it pleaseth me better to take her than to die. Sir, I
will do your will."

"I thank you much therefor," saith Lancelot. "Damsel, is this your
pleasure also?"

"Yea, Sir, but, so please you, take not your departure from us until
such time as he shall have done that which you tell him."

"I will, well that so it be," saith Lancelot, "for love of you."

They ride together right through the forest, until they came to a
chapel at a hermitage, and the hermit wedded them and made much joy
thereof.  When it cometh to after-mass, Lancelot would fain depart, but
the damsel prayeth him right sweetly that he should come right to her
father's house to witness that the knight had wedded her.


XIV.

"Sir," saith she, "My father's hold is not far away."

"Lady," saith Lancelot, "Willingly will I go sith that you beseech me
thereof."

They ride so long right amidst the forest, that presently they come to
the castle of the Vavasour, that was sitting on the bridge of his
castle, right sorrowful and troubled because of his daughter.  Lancelot
is gone on before and alighteth.  The Vavasour riseth up to meet him,
and Lancelot recounteth unto him how his daughter hath been wedded, and
that he hath been at the wedding.  Thereof the Vavasour maketh right
great joy. Therewithal, behold you, the knight and the Vavasour's
daughter that are straightway alighted, and the Vavasour thanketh
Lancelot much of the honour he hath done his daughter.  Therewith he
departeth from the castle and rideth amidst the forest the day long,
and meeteth a damsel and a dwarf that came a great gallop.

"Sir," saith the damsel to Lancelot, "From whence come you?"

"Damsel," saith he, "I come from the Vavasour's castle that is in this
forest."

"Did you meet," saith she, "a knight and a damsel on your way?"

"Yea," saith Lancelot, "He hath wedded her."

"Say you true?" saith she.

"I tell you true," saith Lancelot, "But had I not been there, he would
not have wedded her."

"Shame and ill adventure may you have thereof, for you have reft me of
the thing in the world that most I loved.  And know you well of a truth
that joy of him shall she never have, and if the knight had been armed
as are you, never would he have done your will, but his own.  And this
is not the first harm you have done me; you and Messire Gawain between
you have slain my uncle and my two cousins-german in the forest, whom
behoved me bury in the chapel where you were, there where my dwarf that
you see here was making the graves in the burial-ground."

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "true it is that I was there, but I departed
from the grave-yard, honour safe."

"True," saith the dwarf, "For the knights that were there were craven,
and failed."

"Fair friend," saith Lancelot, "Rather would I they should be coward
toward me than hardy."

"Lancelot," saith the damsel, "Much outrage have you done, for you slew
the Knight of the Waste House, there whither the brachet led Messire
Gawain, but had he there been known, he would not have departed so
soon, for he was scarce better loved than you, and God grant you may
find a knight that may abate the outrages that are in your heart and in
his; for great rejoicing would there be thereof, for many a good knight
have you slain, and I myself will bring about trouble for you, so
quickly as I may."


XV.

Thereupon the dwarf smiteth the mule with his whip, and she departeth.
Lancelot would answer none of her reviling, wherefore he departed
forthwith, and rideth so long on his journeys that he is come back to
the house of the good King Hermit, that maketh right great joy of him.
And he telleth him that he hath been unto the house of King Fisherman,
his brother that lieth in languishment, and telleth him also how he
hath been honoured in his hostel, and of the salutations that he sent
him.  King Hermit is right joyous thereof, and asketh him of his
nephew, and he telleth him he hath seen him not since he departed
thence.  King Hermit asketh him whether he hath seen the Graal, and he
telleth him he hath seen it not at all.

"I know well," saith the King, "wherefore this was so.  And you had had
the like desire to see the Graal that you have to see the Queen, the
Graal would you have seen."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "The Queen do I desire to see for the sake of
her good intent, her wisdom, courtesy and worth, and so ought every
knight to do.  For in herself hath she all honourable conditions that a
lady may have."

"God grant you good issue therein," saith King Hermit, "and that you do
nought whereof He may visit you with His wrath at the Day of Judgment."

Lancelot lay the night in the hermitage, and on the morrow departed
thence and took leave when he had heard mass, and cometh back as
straight as he may to Pannenoisance on the sea of Wales, where were the
King and Queen with great plenty of knights and barons.



BRANCH XI.

TITLE I.

This High History witnesseth whereof this account cometh, and saith
that Perceval is in the kingdom of Logres, and came great pace toward
the land of the Queen of the Tents to release the Damsel of the Car,
that he had left in hostage on account of Clamados, that had put upon
him the treason whereof behoved him to defend himself.  But, or ever he
entered into the land of the Queen of the Tents, he met the Damsel of
the Car that was coming thence.  She made right great joy of him, and
told him that Clamados was dead of the wound that Meliot of Logres had
dealt him, and that Meliot of Logres was heal.

"Sir," saith she, "The tents and the awnings are taken down, and the
Queen hath withdrawn herself to the castle with her maidens, and by my
coming back from thence may you well know that you are altogether quit.
Wherefore I tell you that your sister goeth in quest of you, and that
never had your mother so sore need of help as now she hath, nor never
again shall your sister have joy at heart until such time as she shall
have found you.  She goeth seeking for you by all the kingdoms and
strange countries in sore mis-ease, nor may she find any to tell her
tidings of you."

Therewith Perceval departeth from the Damsel, without saying more, and
rideth until he cometh into the kingdom of Wales to a castle that is
seated above the sea upon a high rock, and it was called the Castle of
Tallages.  He seeth a knight issue from the castle and asketh whose
hold it is, and he telleth him that it belonged to the Queen of the
Maidens.  He entereth into the first baby of the castle, and alighteth
at the mounting-stage and setteth down his shield and his spear, and
looketh toward the steps whereby one goeth up to the higher hall, and
seeth upon them row upon row of knights and damsels.  He cometh
thitherward, but never a knight nor dame was there that gave him
greeting of any kind.  So he saluted them at large.  He went his way
right amidst them toward the door of the great hall, which he findeth
shut, and rattled the ring so loud that it made the whole hall resound
thereof.  A knight cometh to open it and he entereth in.

"Sir Knight, welcome may you be!"

"Good adventure may you have!" saith Perceval.

He lowereth his ventail and taketh off his helm.  The knight leadeth
him to the Queen's chamber, and she riseth to meet him, and maketh
great joy of him, and maketh him sit beside her all armed.


II.

With that, cometh a damsel and kneeleth before the Queen and saith:
"Lady, behold here the knight that was first at the Graal. I saw him in
the court of the Queen of the Tents, there where he was appeached of
treason and murder."

"Now haste," saith the Queen to the knight, "Let sound the ivory horn
upon the castle."

The knights and damsels that were sitting on the steps leapt up, and
make right great joy, and the other knights likewise.  They say that
now they know well that they have done their penance. Thereupon they
enter into the hall, and the Lady issueth from her chamber and taketh
Perceval by the hand and goeth to meet them.

"Behold here," saith she, "the knight through whom you have had the
pain and travail, and by whom you are now released therefrom!"

"Ha!" say the knights and dames, "welcome may he be!"

"By my head," saith the Queen, "so is he, for he is the knight of the
world that I had most desire to see."

She maketh disarm him, and bring the rich robe of cloth of silk to
apparel him. "Sir," saith the Queen, "Four knights and three damsels
have been under the steps at the entrance of the hall ever since such
time as you were at the hostel of King Fisherman, there where you
forgot to ask whereof the Graal might serve, nor never since have they
had none other house nor hold wherein to eat nor to drink nor to lie,
nor never since have they had no heart to make joy, nor would not now
and you had not come hither. Wherefore ought you not to marvel that
they make joy of your coming.  Howbeit, on the other hand, sore need
have we in this castle of your coming, for a knight warreth upon me
that is brother of King Fisherman, and his name is the King of Castle
Mortal."

"Lady," saith he, "He is my uncle, albeit I knew it not of a long time,
nor of the good King Fisherman either, and the good King Hermit is my
uncle also.  But I tell you of a very truth, the King of Castle Mortal
is the most fell and cruel that liveth, wherefore ought none to love
him for the felony that is in him, for he hath begun to war upon King
Fisherman my uncle, and challengeth him his castle, and would fain have
the Lance and the Graal."

"Sir," saith the Queen, "in like sort challengeth he my castle of me
for that I am in aid of King Fisherman, and every week cometh he to an
island that is in this sea, and oft-times cometh plundering before this
castle and hath slain many of my knights and damsels, whereof God grant
us vengeance upon him."

She taketh Perceval by the hand and leadeth him to the windows of the
hall that were nighest the sea.  "Sir," saith she, "Now may you see the
island, there, whereunto your uncle cometh in a galley, and in this
island sojourneth he until he hath seen where to aim his blow and laid
his plans.  And here below, see, are my gallies that defend us thereof."


III.

Perceval, as the history telleth, was much honoured at the castle of
the Queen of the Maidens, that was right passing fair.  The Queen loved
him of a passing great love, but well she knew that she should never
have her desire, nor any dame nor damsel that might set her intent
thereon, for chaste was he and in chastity was fain to die.  So long
was he at the castle as that he heard tell his uncle was arrived at the
island whither he wont to come. Perceval maketh arm him forthwith and
entereth into a galley below the hall, and maketh him be rowed toward
his uncle, that much marvelleth when he seeth him coming, for never
aforetime durst no knight issue out alone from this castle to meet him,
nor to come there where he was, body to body.  But had he known that it
was Perceval, he would not have marvelled.  Thereupon the galley taketh
the ground and Perceval is issued forth.  The Queen and the knights and
her maidens are come to the windows of the castle to behold the bearing
of the nephew and the uncle.  The Queen would have sent over some of
her knights with him, but Perceval would not.  The King of Castle
Mortal was tall and strong and hardy.  He seeth his nephew come all
armed, but knoweth him not.  But Perceval knew him well, and kept his
sword drawn and his shield on his arm, and sought out his uncle with
right passing wrathfulness, and dealeth him a heavy buffet above upon
his helm that he maketh him stoop withal.  Howbeit, the King spareth
him not, but smiteth him so passing stoutly that he had his helm all
dinted in thereby.  But Perceval attacketh him again, thinking to
strike him above on the head, but the King swerveth aside and the blow
falleth on the shield and cleaveth it right down as far as the boss.
The King of Castle Mortal draweth him backward and hath great shame
within himself for that Perceval should thus fettle him, for he
searcheth him with his sword in every part, and dealeth him great
buffets in such sort that, and his habergeon had not been so strong and
tough, he would have wounded him in many places.


IV.

The King himself giveth him blows so heavy that the Queen and all they
that were at the windows marvelled how Perceval might abide such
buffets.  The King took witting of the shield that Perceval bare, and
looketh on it of a long space.

"Knight," saith he, "who gave you this shield, and on behalf of whom do
you bear such an one?"

"I bear it on behalf of my father," saith he.

"Did your father, then, bear a red shield with a white hart?"

"Yea," saith Perceval, "Many a day."

"Was your father, then, King Alain of the Valleys of Camelot?"

"My father was he without fail.  No blame ought I to have of him, for a
good knight was he and a loyal."

"Are you the son of Yglais my sister, that was his wife?"

"Yea!" saith Perceval.

"Then are you my nephew," saith the King of Castle Mortal, "For she was
my sister."

"That misliketh me," saith Perceval, "For thereof have I neither
worship nor honour, for the most disloyal are you of all my kindred,
and I knew well when I came hither that it was you, and, for the great
disloyalty that is in you, you war upon the best King that liveth and
the most worshipful man, and upon the Lady of this castle for that she
aideth him in all that she may.  But, please God, henceforward she
shall have no need to guard her to the best of her power against so
evil a man as are you, nor shall her castle never be obedient to you,
nor the sacred hallows that the good King hath in his keeping.  For God
loveth not you so much as He doth him, and so long as you war upon him,
you do I defy and hold you as mine enemy."

The King wotteth well that his nephew holdeth him not over dear, and
that he is eager to do him a hurt, and that he holdeth his sword in his
fist and that he is well roofed-in of his helmet, and that he is raging
like a lion.  He misdoubteth him sore of his strength and his great
hardiment.  He hath well proven and essayed that he is the Best Knight
of the world.  He durst no longer abide his blows, but rather he
turneth him full speed toward his galley, and leapeth thereinto
forthwith.  He pusheth out from the shore incontinent, and Perceval
followeth him right to the beach, full heavy that he hath gotten him
away.  Then he crieth after him: "Evil King, tell me not that I am of
your kindred!  Never yet did knight of my mother's lineage flee from
other knight, save you alone!  Now have I conquered this island, and
never on no day hereafter be you so over-hardy as be seen therein
again!"

The King goeth his way as he that hath no mind to return, and Perceval
cometh back again in his galley to the Queen's castle, and all they of
the palace come forth to meet him with great joy. The Queen asketh him
how it is with him and whether he is wounded?

"Lady," saith he, "Not at all, thank God."

She maketh disarm him, and honoureth him at her pleasure, and
commandeth that all be obedient to him, and do his commandment so long
as he shall please to be there.  Now feel they safer in the castle for
that the king hath so meanly departed thence, and it well seemeth them
that never will he dare come back for dread of his nephew more than of
any other, whereof make they much joy in common.



BRANCH XII.

TITLE I.

Now is the story silent about Perceval, and saith that King Arthur is
at Pannenoisance in Wales with great plenty of knights. Lancelot and
Messire Gawain are repaired thither, whereof all the folk make great
joy.  The King asketh of Messire Gawain and Lancelot whether they have
seen Lohot his son in none of these islands nor in none of these
forests, and they answer him that they have seen him nowhere.

"I marvel much," saith the King, "what hath become of him, for no
tidings have I heard of him beyond these, that Kay the Seneschal slew
Logrin the giant, whose head he brought me, whereof I made great joy,
and right willingly did I make Kay's lands the broader thereof, and
well ought I to do him such favour, for he avenged me of him that did
my land more hurt than any other, wherefore I love him greatly."

But, and the King had only known how Kay had wrought against him, he
would not have so highly honoured his chivalry and his hardiment.  The
King sate one day at meat and Queen Guenievre at his side.  Thereupon
behold you, a damsel that alighteth before the palace, then mounteth
the steps of the hall and is come before the King and the Queen.

"Sir, I salute you as the sorest dismayed and most discounselled damsel
that ever you have seen!  Wherefore am I come to demand a boon of you
for the nobleness and valour of your heart."

"Damsel," saith the King, "God counsel you of His will and pleasure,
and I myself am full fain to partake therein."

The damsel looketh at the shield that hangeth in the midst of the hall.

"Sir," saith she, "I beseech you that you deign grant me the aid of the
knight that shall bear this shield from hence.  For sorer need have I
thereof than ever another of them that are discounselled."

"Damsel," saith the King, "Full well shall I be pleased, so the knight
be also fain to do as you say."

"Sir," saith she, "And he be so good knight as he is reported, never
will he refuse your prayer, nor would he mine, if only I were here at
such time as he shall come.  For, had I been able to find my brother
that I have been seeking this long time, then well should I have been
succoured long agone!  But I have sought him in many lands, nor never
could I learn where he is. Therefore to my sorrow, behoveth me to ride
all lonely by the strange islands and put my body in jeopardy of death,
whereof ought these knights to have great pity."


II.

"Damsel," saith the King, "For this reason do I refuse you nought of
that you wish, and right willingly will I put myself to trouble herein."

"Sir," saith she, "much thanks to God thereof!"

He maketh her be set at meat, and much honour be done her.  When the
cloths were drawn, the Queen leadeth her into her chamber with the
maidens, and maketh much joy of her.  The brachet that was brought
thither with the shield was lying on a couch of straw.  He would not
know the Queen nor her damsels nor the knights that were in the court,
but so soon as ever he heard the damsel he cometh to her and maketh
greater joy of her than ever was brachet seen to make before.  The
Queen and her damsels marvelled much thereof, as did the damsel herself
to whom the brachet made such joy, for never since that he was brought
into the hall had they seen him rejoice of any.  The Queen asked her
whether she knew him.

"Certes, Lady, no, for never, so far as I know, have I seen him before."

The brachet will not leave her, but will be always on her lap, nor can
she move anywhither but he followeth her.  The damsel is long time in
the court in this manner, albeit as she that had sore need of succour
she remained in the chapel every day after that the Queen was come
forth, and wept right tenderly before the image of the Saviour, and
prayed right sweetly that His Mother would counsel her, for that she
had been left in sore peril of losing her castle.  The Queen asked her
one day who her brother was.

"Lady," saith she, "one of the best knights of the world, whereof have
I heard witness.  But he departed from my father's and mother's hostel
a right young squire.  My father is since dead, and my Lady mother is
left without help and without counsel, wherefore hath a certain man
reaved her of her land and her castles and slain her men.  The very
castle wherein she hath her hold would he have seized long agone had it
not been for Messire Gawain that made it be safe-guarded against her
enemies for a year.  The term is now ended and my Lady mother is in
dread lest she shall lose her castle, for none other hold hath she.
Wherefore is it that she hath sent me to seek for my brother, for she
hath been told that he is a good knight, and for that I may not find
him am I come to this court to beseech of King Arthur succour of the
knight that shall bear away the shield, for I have heard tell that he
is the Best knight of the world; and, for the bounty that is in him
will he therefore have pity on me."

"Damsel," saith the Queen, "Would that you had found him, for great joy
would it be unto me that your mother were succoured, and God grant that
he that ought to bear the shield come quickly, and grant him courage
that he be fain to succour your mother."

"So shall he be, please God, for never was good knight that was without
pity."


III.

The Queen hath much pity of the damsel, for she was of right great
beauty, and well might it be seen by her cheer and her semblant that no
joy had she.  She had told the Queen her name and the name of her
father and mother, and the Queen told her that many a time had she
heard tell of Alain li Gros, and that he was said to be a worshipful
man and good knight.  The King lay one night beside the Queen, and was
awoke from his first sleep so that he might not go to sleep again.  He
rose and did on a great grey cape and issueth forth of the chamber and
cometh to the windows of the hall that opened toward the sea, calm and
untroubled, so that much pleasure had he of looking thereat and leaning
at the windows.  When he had been there of a long space, he looked out
to sea and saw coming afar off as it were the shining of a candle in
the midst of the sea.  Much he marvelled what it might be.  He looked
at it until he espied what seemed him to be a ship wherein was the
light, and he was minded not to move until such time as he should know
whether a ship it were or something other.  The longer he looketh at
it, the better perceiveth he that it is a ship, and that it was coming
with great rushing toward the castle as fast as it might.  The King
espieth it nigh at hand, but none seeth he within nor without save one
old man, ancient and bald, of right passing seemliness that held the
rudder of the ship.  The ship was covered of a right rich cloth in the
midst and the sail was lowered, for the sea was calm and quiet.  The
ship was arrived under the palace and was quite still.  When the ship
had taken ground, the King looketh thereat with much marvelling, and
knoweth not who is there within, for not a soul heareth he speak.  Him
thinketh that he will go see what is within the ship, and he issueth
forth of the hall, and cometh thither where the ship was arrived, but
he might not come anigh for the flowing of the sea.

"Sir," saith he that held the rudder, "Allow me a little!"

He launcheth forth of the ship a little boat, and the King entereth
thereinto, and so cometh into the great ship, and findeth a knight that
lay all armed upon a table of ivory, and had set his shield at his
head.  At the head of his bed had he two tall twisted links of wax in
two candlesticks of gold, and the like at his feet, and his hands were
crossed upon his breast. The King draweth nigh toward him and so
looketh at him, and seemed him that never had he seen so comely a
knight.


IV.

"Sir," saith the master of the ship, "For God's sake draw you back and
let the knight rest, for thereof hath he sore need."

"Sir," saith the King, "who is the knight?"

"Sir, this would he well tell you were he willing, but of me may you
know it not."

"Will he depart forthwith from hence?" saith the King.

"Sir," saith the master, "Not before he hath been in this hall, but he
hath had sore travail and therefore he taketh rest."

When the King heard say that he would come into his palace, thereof had
he great joy.  He cometh to the Queen's chamber and telleth her how the
ship is arrived.  The Queen riseth and two of her damsels with her, and
apparelleth her of a kirtle of cloth of silk, furred of ermine, and
cometh into the midst of the hall. Thereupon behold you, the knight
that cometh all armed and the master of the ship before him bearing the
twisted link of wax in the candlestick of gold in front of him, and the
knight held his sword all naked.

"Sir," saith the Queen, "Well may you be welcome!"

"Lady," saith he, "God grant you joy and good adventure."

"Sir," saith she, "Please God we have nought to fear of you?"

"Lady," saith he, "No fear ought you to have!"

The King seeth that he beareth the red shield with the white hart
whereof he had heard tell.  The brachet that was in the hall heareth
the knight.  He cometh racing toward him and leapeth about his legs and
maketh great joy of him.  And the knight playeth with him, then taketh
the shield that hung at the column, and hangeth the other there, and
cometh back thereafter toward the door of the hall.

"Lady," saith the King, "Pray the knight that he go not so hastily."

"Sir," saith the knight, "No leisure have I to abide, but at some time
shall you see me again."

The knights also say as much, and the King and Queen are right heavy of
his departure, but they durst not press him beyond his will.  He is
entered into the ship, and the brachet with him. The master draweth the
boat within, and so they depart and leave the castle behind.  King
Arthur abideth at Pannenoisance, and is right sorrowful of the knight,
that he hath gone his way so soon. The knights arose throughout the
castle when the day waxed light, and learnt the tidings of the knight
that had borne the shield thence, and were right grieved for that they
had not seen him. The damsel that had asked the boon cometh to the King.

"Sir," saith she, "Did you speak of my business to the knight?"

"Damsel," saith the King, "Never a whit!  to my sorrow, for he hath
departed sooner than I would!"

"Sir," saith she, "You have done a wrong and a sin, but, please God, so
good a King as are you shall not fail of his covenants to damsel so
forlorn as am I."

The King was right sorrowful for that he had remembered not the damsel.
She departeth from the court, and taketh leave of the King and Queen,
and saith that she herself will go seek the knight, and that, so she
may find him, she will hold the King quit of his covenant.  Messire
Gawain and Lancelot are returned to the court, and have heard the
tidings of the knight that hath carried away the shield, and are right
grieved that they have not seen him, and Messire Gawain more than
enough, for that he had lien in his mother's house.  Lancelot seeth the
shield that he had left on the column, and knoweth it well, and saith,
"Now know I well that Perceval hath been here, for this shield was he
wont to bear, and the like also his father bore."

"Ha," saith Messire Gawain, "What ill-chance have I that I may not see
the Good Knight!"

"Messire Gawain," saith Lancelot, "So nigh did I see him that methought
he would have killed me, for never before did I essay onset so stout
nor so cruel of force of arms, and I myself wounded him, and when he
knew me he made right great joy of me. And I was with him at the house
of King Hermit a long space until that I was healed."

"Lancelot," saith Messire Gawain, "I would that he had wounded me, so I
were not too sore harmed thereof, so that I might have been with him so
long time as were you."

"Lords," saith the King, "Behoveth you go on quest of him or I will go,
for I am bound to beseech his aid on behalf of a damsel that asked me
thereof, but she told me that, so she might find him first, I should be
quit of her request."

"Sir," saith the Queen, "You will do a right great service and you may
counsel her herein, for sore discounselled is she.  She hath told me
that she was daughter of Alain li Gros of the Valleys of Camelot, and
that her mother's name is Yglais, and her own Dindrane."

"Ha, Lady," saith Messire Gawain, "She is sister to the knight that
hath borne away the shield, for I lay at her mother's house wherein I
was right well lodged."

"By my head," saith the Queen, "it may well be, for so soon as she came
in hither, the brachet that would have acquaintance with none, made her
great joy, and when the knight came to seek the shield, the brachet,
that had remained in the hall, played gladly with him and went."

"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain, "I will go in quest of the knight,
for right great desire have I to see him."

"And I," saith Lancelot, "Never so glad have I been to see him
aforetime as I should be now."

"Howsoever it be," saith the King, "I pray you so speed my business
that the damsel shall not be able to plain her of me."


V.

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "We will tell him and we may find him, that his
sister is gone in quest of him, and that she hath been at your court."

The two knights depart from the court to enter on the quest of the Good
Knight, and leave the castle far behind them and ride in the midst of a
high forest until they find a cross in the midst of a launde, there
where all the roads of the forest join together.

"Lancelot," saith Messire Gawain, "Choose which road soever you will,
and so let each go by himself, so that we may the sooner hear tidings
of the Good Knight, and let us meet together again at this cross at the
end of a year and let either tell other how he hath sped, for please
God in one place or another we shall hear tidings of him."

Lancelot taketh the way to the right, and Messire Gawain to the left.
Therewithal they depart and commend them one another to God.



BRANCH XIII.

TITLE I.

Here the story is silent of Lancelot, and saith that Messire Gawain
goeth a great pace riding, and prayeth God that He will so counsel him
that he may find the knight.  He rideth until the day cometh to
decline, and he lay in the house of a hermit in the forest, that lodged
him well.

"Sir," saith the hermit to Messire Gawain, "Whom do you go seek?"

"Sir," saith he, "I am in quest of a knight that I would see right
gladly."

"Sir," saith the hermit, "In this neighbourhood will you find no
knight."

"Wherefore not?" saith Messire Gawain, "Be there no knights in this
country?"

"There was wont to be plenty," saith the hermit, "But now no longer are
there any, save one all alone in a castle and one all alone on the sea
that have chased away and slain all the others."

"And who is the one of the sea?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "I know not who he is, save only that the sea
is hard by here, where the ship runneth oftentimes wherein the knight
is, and he repaireth to an island that is under the castle of the Queen
of the Maidens, from whence he chased an uncle of his that warred upon
the castle, and the other knights that he had chased thence and slain
were helping his uncle, so that now the castle is made sure.  And the
knights that might flee from this forest and this kingdom durst not
repair thither for the knight, for they dread his hardiment and his
great might, sith that they know well they might not long endure
against him."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Is it so long a space sithence that he
hath haunted the sea?"

"Sir," saith the hermit, "It is scarce more than a twelvemonth."

"And how nigh is this to the sea?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "It is not more than two leagues Welsh. When I
have gone forth to my toil, many a time have I seen the ship run close
by me, and the knight, all armed, within, and meseemed he was of right
great comeliness, and had as passing proud a look as any lion.  But I
can well tell you never was knight so dreaded in this kingdom as is he.
The Queen of the Maidens would have lost her castle ere now but for
him.  Nor never sithence that he hath chased his uncle from the island,
hath he entered the Queen's castle even once, but from that time forth
hath rather rowed about the sea and searched all the islands and
stricken down all the proud in such sort that he is dreaded and warily
avoided throughout all the kingdoms.  The Queen of the Maidens is right
sorrowful for that he cometh not to her castle, for so dear she holdeth
him of very love, that and he should come and she might keep him so
that he should never issue forth again, she would sooner lock him up
with her there safe within."

"Know you." saith Messire Gawain, "what shield the knight beareth?"

"Sir," saith the hermit, "I know not now to blazon it, for nought know
I of arms.  Three score years and more have I been in this hermitage,
yet never saw I this kingdom before so dismayed as is it now."

Messire Gawain lay the night therewithin, and departed when he had
heard mass.  He draweth him as nigh the sea as he may, and rideth along
beside the shore and many a time draweth rein to look forth if he might
see the knight's ship.  But nowhere might he espy it.  He hath ridden
until he cometh to the castle of the Queen of the Maidens.  When she
knew that it was Messire Gawain, she made thereof great joy, and
pointed him out the island whither Perceval had repaired, and from
whence he had driven his uncle.

"Sir," saith she to Messire Gawain, "I plain me much of him, for never
hath he been fain to enter herewithin, save the one time that he did
battle with his uncle, but ever sithence hath he made repair to this
island and rowed about this sea."

"Lady," saith Messire Gawain, "and whereabout may he be now?"

"Sir, God help me," saith she, "I know not, for I have not seen him now
of a long space, and no earthly man may know his intent nor his desire,
nor whitherward he may turn."

Messire Gawain is right sorrowful for that he knoweth not where to seek
him albeit he hath so late tidings of him.  He lay at the castle and
was greatly honoured, and on the morrow he heard mass and took leave of
the Queen, and rideth all armed beside the seashore, for that the
hermit had told him, and the Queen herself, that he goeth oftener by
sea than by land.  He entereth into a forest that was nigh the sea, and
seeth a knight coming a great gallop as if one were chasing him to slay
him.

"Sir knight," saith Messire Gawain, "Whither away so fast?"

"Sir, I am fleeing from the knight that hath slain all the others."

"And who is the knight?" saith Messire Gawain.

"I know not who he is," saith the knight, "But and you go forward you
are sure to find him."

"Meseemeth," saith Messire Gawain, "that I have seen you aforetime."

"Sir," saith he, "So have you!  I am the Knight Coward that you met in
the forest there where you conquered the knight of the shield party
black and white, and I am man of the Damsel of the Car.  Wherefore I
pray you for God's sake that you do me no hurt, for the knight that I
found down yonder hath a look so fierce that I thought I was dead when
I saw it."

"Need you fear nought of me," saith Messire Gawain, "For I love your
damsel well."

"Sir," saith the knight, "I would that all the other knights would say
as much in respect of me, for no fear have I save for myself alone."


II.

Messire Gawain departeth from the knight, and goeth his way amidst the
forest that overshadowed the land as far as the seashore, and looketh
forth from the top of a sand-hill, and seeth a knight armed on a tall
destrier, and he had a shield of gold with a green cross.

"Ha, God," saith Messire Gawain, "Grant that this knight may be able to
tell me tidings of him I seek!"

Thitherward goeth he a great gallop, and saluteth him worshipfully and
he him again.

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Can you tell me tidings of a knight that
beareth a shield banded of argent and azure with a red cross?"

"Yea, Sir," saith the knight, "That can I well.  At the assembly of the
knights may you find him within forty days."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Where will the assembly be?"

"In the Red Launde, where will be many a good knight.  There shall you
find him without fail."

Thereof hath Messire Gawain right great joy, and so departeth from the
knight and the knight from him, and goeth back toward the sea a great
gallop.  But Messire Gawain saw not the ship whereinto he entered, for
that it was anchored underneath the cliff.  The knight entered
thereinto and put out to sea as he had wont to do.  Howbeit Messire
Gawain goeth his way toward the Red Launde where the assembly was to
be, and desireth much the day that it shall be.  He rideth until he
cometh one eventide nigh to a castle that was of right fair seeming.
He met a damsel that was following after a dead knight that two other
knights bare upon a horse-bier, and she rode a great pace right amidst
the forest.  And Messire Gawain cometh to meet her and saluteth her,
and she returned the salute as fairly as she might.

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Who lieth in this bier?"

"Sir, a knight that a certain man hath slain by great outrage."

"And whither shall you ride this day?"

"Sir, I would fain be in the Red Launde, and thither will I take this
knight, that was a right worshipful man for his age."

"And wherefore will you take him there?" saith Messire Gawain.

"For that he that shall do best at the assembly of knights shall avenge
this knight's death."


III.

The damsel goeth her way thereupon.  And Messire Gawain goeth to the
castle that he had seen, and found none within save only one solitary
knight, old and feeble, and a squire that waited upon him.  Howbeit,
Messire Gawain alighteth at the castle.  The Vavasour lodged him well
and willingly, and made his door be well shut fast and Messire Gawain
be disarmed, and that night he showed him honour as well as he might.
And when it came to the morrow and Messire Gawain was minded to depart
thence, the Vavasour saith to him, "Sir you may not depart thus, for
this door hath not been opened this long while save only yesterday,
when I made it be opened before you, to the intent that you should meet
on my behalf a certain knight that is fain to slay me, for that the
King of Castle Mortal hath had his hold herewithin, he that warreth on
the Queen of the Maidens. Wherefore I pray you that you help me to
defend it against the knight."

"What shield beareth he?" saith Messire Gawain.

"He beareth a golden shield with a green cross."

"And what sort of knight is he?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Sir," saith the Vavasour, "A good knight and a hardy and a sure."

"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain, "And you can tell me tidings of
another knight whereof I am in quest, I will protect you against this
one to the best I may, and if he will do nought for my prayer, I will
safeguard you of my force."

"What knight, then, do you seek?" saith the Vavasour.

"Sir, a knight that is called Perceval, and he hath carried away from
the court of King Arthur a shield banded argent and azure with a red
cross on a band of gold.  He will be at the assembly in the Red Launde.
These tidings had I of the knight you dread so much."


IV.

Thereupon, whilst Messire Gawain was thus speaking to the Vavasour,
behold you the Knight of the Golden Shield, that draweth rein in the
midst of a launde that was betwixt the castle and the forest.  The
Vavasour seeth him from the windows of the hall, and pointeth him out
to Messire Gawain.  Messire Gawain goeth and mounteth on his destrier,
his shield at his neck and his spear in his fist, all armed, and
issueth forth of the door when it had been unfastened, and cometh
toward the knight, that awaited him on his horse.  He seeth Messire
Gawain coming, but moveth not, and Messire Gawain marvelleth much that
the knight cometh not toward him, for him thinketh well that the
Vavasour had told him true.  But he had not, for never had the knight
come thither to do the Vavasour any hurt, but on account of the knights
that passed by that way that went to seek adventure, for right glad was
he to see them albeit he was not minded to make himself known unto any.
Messire Gawain looketh before him and behind him and seeth that the
door was made fast and the bridge drawn up so soon as he was departed
thence, whereof he marvelled much and saith to the knight, "Sir, is
your intent nought but good only?"

"By my head," saith he, "Nought at all, and readily will I tell it you."

Thereupon, behold you a damsel that cometh a great pace, and held a
whip wherewith she hurrieth her mule onward, and she draweth rein there
where the two knights were.

"Ha, God!" saith she, "shall I ever find one to wreak me vengeance of
the traitor Vavasour that dwelleth in this castle?"

"Is he then traitor?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Yea, Sir, the most traitor you saw ever!  He lodged my brother the day
before yesterday, and bore him on hand at night that a certain knight
was warring upon him for that the way whereby the knights pass is here
in front of this place, and lied to him so much as that my brother held
him in covenant that he would assault a certain knight that he should
point out to him, for love of him.  This knight came passing hereby,
that had no thought to do hurt neither to the Vavasour nor to my
brother. The knight was right strong and hardy, and was born at the
castle of Escavalon.  My brother issued forth of the castle filled with
fool-hardiness for the leasing of the Vavasour, and ran upon the knight
without a word.  The knight could do no less than avenge himself.  They
hurtled together so sore that their horses fell under them and their
spears passed either through other's heart. Thus were both twain killed
on this very piece of ground."


V.

"The Vavasour took the arms and the horses and put them in safe keeping
in his castle, and the bodies of the knights he left to the wild
beasts, that would have devoured them had I not chanced to come thither
with two knights that helped me bury them by yonder cross at the
entrance of the forest."

"By my head," saith Messire Gawain, "In like manner would he have
wrought me mischief had I been minded to trust him; for he bore me in
hand that this knight was warring upon him, and besought me that I
should safeguard him against him.  But our Lord God so helped me that I
intermeddled not therein, for lightly might I have wrought folly."

"By the name of God," saith the other, "Meseemeth it clear that the
Vavasour would fain that knights should kill each other."

"Sir," saith the damsel, "You say true; it is of his covetise of
harness and horses that he entreateth the knights on this-wise."

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Whither go you?"

"Sir," saith she, "After a knight that I have made be carried in a
litter for the dead."

"I saw him," saith he, "pass by here last night, full late last night."

The knight taketh leave of Messire Gawain, and Messire Gawain saith
that he holdeth himself a churl in that he hath not asked him of his
name.  But the knight said, "Fair Sir, I pray you of love that you ask
not my name until such time as I shall ask you of yours."


VI.

Messire Gawain would ask nought further of the knight, and the knight
entered into the Lonely Forest and Messire Gawain goeth on his way.  He
meeteth neither knight nor damsel to whom he telleth not whom he goeth
to seek, and they all say that he will be in the Red Launde.  He lodged
the night with a hermit.  At night, the hermit asked Messire Gawain
whence he came?

"Sir, from the land of the Queen of the Maidens."

"Have you seen Perceval, the Good Knight that took the shield in King
Arthur's court and left another there?"

"No, certes," saith Messire Gawain, "Whereof am I right sorrowful.  But
a knight with a shield of gold and a green cross thereon told me that
he would be at the Red Launde."

"Sir," saith the hermit, "you say true, for it was he himself to whom
you spake.  Tonight is the third night since he lay within yonder, and
see here the bracket he brought from King Arthur's court, which he hath
commanded me to convey to his uncle, King Hermit."

"Alas!" saith Messire Gawain, "What ill chance is mine if this be true!"

"Sir," saith the hermit, "I ought not to lie, neither to you nor other.
By the brachet may you well know that this is true."

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Of custom beareth he no such shield."

"I know well," saith the hermit, "what shield he ought to bear, and
what shield he will bear hereafter.  But this doth he that he may not
be known, and this shield took he in the hermitage of Joseus, the son
of King Hermit, there where Lancelot was lodged, where he hanged the
four thieves that would have broken into the hermitage by night.  And
within there hath remained the shield he brought from King Arthur's
court, with Joseus the son of my sister, and they are as brother and
sister between the twain, and you may know of very truth that albeit
Joseus be hermit, no knight is there in Great Britain of his heart and
hardiment."


VII.

"Certes," saith Messire Gawain, "It was sore mischance for me that I
should see him yesterday before the castle where the knights pass by,
and speak to him and ask him his name, but he besought me that I should
not ask him his name until such time as he should ask me mine; and with
that he departed from me and entered into the forest, and I came
hitherward.  Now am I so sorrowful that I know not what I may do for
the best, for King Arthur sendeth me in quest of him, and Lancelot hath
also gone to seek him in another part of the kingdom of Logres.  But
now hath too great mischance befallen me of this quest, for twice have
I seen him and found him and spoken to him, and now have I lost him
again."

"Sir," saith the hermit, "He is so close and wary a knight, that he is
fain never to waste a word, neither will he make false semblant to any
nor speak word that he would not should be heard, nor do shame of his
body to his knowledge, nor carnal sin, for virgin and chaste is he and
doth never outrage to any."

"I know well," saith Messire Gawain, "that all the valours and all the
cleannesses that ought to be in a knight are in him, and therefore am I
the more sorrowful that I am not of them that he knoweth, for a man is
worth the more that hath acquaintance with a good knight."


VIII.

Messire Gawain lay the night in the hermit's house, right sorrowful,
and in the morning departed when he had heard mass. Josephus the good
clerk witnesseth us in this high history that this hermit had to name
Josuias, and was a knight of great worship and valour, but he renounced
all for the love of God, and was fain to set his body in banishment for
Him.  And all these adventures that you hear in this high record came
to pass, Josephus telleth us, for the setting forward the law of the
Saviour.  All of them could he not record, but only these whereof he
best remembered him, and whereof he knew for certain all the adventures
by virtue of the Holy Spirit.  This high record saith that Messire
Gawain hath wandered so far that he is come into the Red Launde whereas
the assembly of knights should be held.  He looketh and seeth the tents
pitched and the knights coming from all quarters.  The most part were
already armed within and before their tents.  Messire Gawain looketh
everywhere, thinking to see the knight he seeketh, but seemeth him he
seeth him not, for no such shield seeth he as he beareth.  All abashed
is he thereof, for he hath seen all the tents and looked at all the
arms.  But the knight is not easy to recognise, for he hath changed his
arms, and nigh enough is he to Messire Gawain, albeit you may well
understand that he knoweth it not.  And the tournament assembleth from
all parts, and the divers fellowships come the one against other, and
the melly of either upon other as they come together waxeth sore and
marvellous.  And Messire Gawain searcheth the ranks to find the knight,
albeit when he meeteth knight in his way he cannot choose but do
whatsoever a knight may do of arms, and yet more would he have done but
for his fainness to seek out the knight.  The damsel is at the head of
the tournament, for that she would fain know the one that shall have
the mastery and the prize therein.

The knight that Messire Gawain seeketh is not at the head of the
fellowships, but in the thickest of the press, and such feats of arms
doth he that more may no knight do, and smiteth down the knights about
him, that flee from him even as the deer-hound fleeth from the lion.

"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain, "sith that they have lied to me
about the knight, I will seek him no more this day, but forget my
discontent as best I may until evening."

He seeth the knight, but knoweth him not, for he had a white shield and
cognisances of the same.  And Messire Gawain cometh to him as fast as
his horse may carry him, and the knight toward Messire Gawain.  So
passing stoutly they come together that they pierce their shields below
the boss.  Their spears were so tough that they break not, and they
draw them forth and come together again so strongly that the spears
wherewith they smote each other amidst the breast were bended so that
they unriveted the holdfasts of their shields, and they lost their
stirrups, and the reins fly from their fists, and they stagger against
the back saddlebows, and the horses stumbled so as that they all but
fell. They straighten them in saddle and stirrup, and catch hold upon
their reins, and then come together again, burning with wrath and fury
like lions, and either smiteth on other with their spears that may
endure no longer, for the shafts are all to-frushed as far as the fists
in such sort that they that look on marvel them much how it came to
pass that the points had not pierced their bodies.  But God would not
that the good knights should slay each other, rather would He that the
one should know the true worth of the other.  The habergeons
safeguarded not their bodies, but the might of God in whom they
believed, for in them had they all the valour that knight should have;
and never did Messire Gawain depart from hostel wherein he had lien,
but he first heard mass before he went if so he might, nor never found
he dame nor damsel discounselled whereof he had not pity, nor did he
ever churlishness to other knight, nor said nor thought it, and he
came, as you have heard, of the most holy lineage of Josephus and the
good King Fisherman.


IX.

The good knights were in the midst of the assembly, and right wrathful
was the one against the other, and they held their swords naked and
their shields on their arms and dealt each other huge buffets right in
the midst of the helms.  The most part of the knights come to them and
tell them that the assembly waiteth for them to come thereunto.  They
have much pains to part them asunder, and then the melly beginneth
again on all sides, and the evening cometh on that parteth them at
last.  And on this wise the assembly lasted for two days.  The damsel
that brought the knight on a bier in a coffin, dead, prayed the
assembly of all the knights to declare which one of all the knights had
done the best, for the knight that she made be carried might not be
buried until such time as he were avenged.  And they say that the
knight of the white shield and the other with the shield sinople and
the golden eagle had done better than all the other, but, for that the
knight of the white shield had joined in the melly before the other,
they therefore would give him the prize; but they judged that for the
time that Messire Gawain had joined therein he had not done worse than
the other knight.  The damsel seeketh the knight of the white shield
among the knights and throughout all the tents, but cannot find him,
for already hath he departed. She cometh to Messire Gawain and saith:
"Sir, sith that I find not the knight of the white shield, you are he
that behoveth avenge the knight that lieth dead in the litter."

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Do me not this shame, for it hath been
declared that the other knight hath better done herein than I."


X.

"Damsel, well you know that no honour should I have thereof, were I to
emprise to do that whereof you beseech me, for you have said that
behoveth none to avenge him, save only that hath borne him best at this
assembly, and that is he of the white shield, and, so God help me, this
have I well felt and proven."


XI.

The damsel well understandeth that Messire Gawain speaketh reason.

"Ha, Sir," saith she, "He hath already departed hence and gone into the
forest, and the most divers-seeming knight is he and the best that
liveth, and great pains shall I have or ever I find him again."

"The best?" saith Messire Gawain; "How know you that?"

"I know it well," saith she, "for that in the house of King Fisherman
did the Graal appear unto him for the goodness of his knighthood and
the goodness of his heart and for the chastity of his body.  But he
forgat to ask that one should serve thereof, whence hath sore harm
befallen the land.  He came to the court of King Arthur, where he took
a shield that none ought to bear save he alone.  Up to this time have I
well known his coming and going, but nought shall I know thereof
hereafter for that he hath changed the cognisance of his shield and
arms.  And now am I entered into sore pain and travail to seek him, for
I shall not have found him of a long space, and I came not to this
assembly save for him alone."

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "You have told me tidings such as no
gladness have I thereof, for I also am seeking him, but I know not how
I may ever recognise him, for he willeth not to tell me his name, and
too often changeth he his shield, and well I know that so I shall ever
come in place where he hath changed his cognisance, and he shall come
against me and I against him, I shall only know him by the buffets that
he knoweth how to deal, for never in arms have I made acquaintance with
so cruel a knight.  But again would I suffer sorer blows than I have
suffered yet, so only I might be where he is."

"Sir," saith the damsel, "What is your name?"

"Damsel," saith he, "I am called Gawain."

With that he commendeth the damsel to God, and goeth his way in one
direction and the damsel in another, and saith to herself that Perceval
is the most marvellous knight of the world, that so often he
discogniseth himself.  For when one seeth him one may recognise him
not.  Messire Gawain rideth amidst the forest, and prayeth the Saviour
lead him into such place as that he may find Perceval openly, in such
sort that he may have his acquaintance and his love that so greatly he
desireth.



BRANCH XIV.

TITLE I.

Herewithal the story is silent of Messire Gawain, and saith that
Lancelot seeketh Perceval in like manner as did Messire Gawain, and
rideth until that he cometh to the hermitage where he hanged the
thieves.  Joseus made right great joy of him.  He asked him whether he
knew any tidings of the son of the Widow Lady.

"I have seen him sithence that he came from King Arthur's court but
once only, and whither he is gone I know not."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "I would see him right fain.  King Arthur
sendeth for him by me."

"Sir," saith the hermit, "I know not when I may see him again, for when
once he departeth hence he is not easy to find."

Lancelot entereth the chapel with the hermit, and seeth the shield that
Perceval brought from King Arthur's court beside the altar.

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "I see his shield yonder.  Hide him not from me."

"I will not do so," saith the hermit.  "This shield, truly, is his, but
he took with him another from hence, of gold with a green cross."

"And know you no tidings of Messire Gawain?"

"I have not seen Messire Gawain sithence tofore I entered into this
hermitage.  But you have fallen into sore hatred on account of the four
robbers that were knights whom you hanged.  For their kinsmen are
searching for you in this forest and in other, and are thieves like as
were the others, and they have their hold in this forest, wherein they
bestow their robberies and plunder. Wherefore I pray you greatly be on
your guard against them."

"So will I," saith Lancelot, "please God."

He lay the night in the hermitage, and departeth on the morrow after
that he hath heard mass and prayeth God grant he may find Perceval or
Messire Gawain.  He goeth his way amidst the strange forests until that
he cometh to a strong castle that was builded right seemly.  He Looketh
before him and seeth a knight that was issued thereout, and was riding
a great pace on a strong destrier, and carded a bird on his fist toward
the forest.


II.

When he saw Lancelot coming he drew up. "Sir," saith he, "Be welcome."

"Good adventure to you," saith Lancelot.  "What castle is this?"

"Sir, it is the Castle of the Golden Circlet.  And I go to meet the
knights and dames that come to the castle, for this day is the day
ordained for the adoration of the Golden Circlet."

"What is the Golden Circlet?" saith Lancelot.

"Sir, it is the Crown of Thorns," saith the knight, "that the Saviour
of the world had on His head when He was set upon the Rood.  Wherefore
the Queen of this castle hath set it in gold and precious stones in
such sort that the knights and dames of this kingdom come to behold it
once in the year.  But it is said that the knight that was first at the
Graal shall conquer it, and therefore is no strange knight allowed to
enter.  But, so please you, I will lead you to mine own hold that is in
this forest."

"Right great thanks," saith Lancelot, "But as yet it is not time to
take lodging."

He taketh leave of the knight, and so departeth and looketh at the
castle, and saith that in right great worship should the knight be held
that by the valour of his chivalry shall conquer so noble a hallow as
is the Golden Circlet when it is kept safe in a place so strong.  He
goeth his way right amidst the forest, and looketh forth before him and
seeth coming the damsel that hath the knight carried in the litter for
the dead.

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "Be welcome."

"Sir, God give you good adventure!  Sir," saith the damsel, "Greatly
ought I to hate the knight that slew this knight, for that he hath
forced me thus to lead him in this wise by fell and forest.  So also
ought I to mislike me much of the knight that it standeth upon to
avenge him, whom I may not find."

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "Who slew this knight?"

"Sir," saith she, "The Lord of the Burning Dragon."

"And who ought of right to avenge him?"

"Sir," saith she, "The knight that was in the Red Launde at the
assembly, that jousted with Messire Gawain, and had the prize of the
tournament."

"Did he better than Messire Gawain?" saith Lancelot.

"Sir, so did they adjudge him; for that he was a longer time in the
assembly."

"A good knight was he, then," saith Lancelot, "sith that he did better
than Messire Gawain!"

"By my head," saith the damsel, "You say true, for he is the Best
Knight of the World."

"And what shield beareth he?" saith Lancelot.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "At the assembly he bore white arms, but
before that, he had arms of another semblance, and one shield that he
had was green, and one gold with a green cross."

"Damsel," saith he, "Did Messire Gawain know him?"

"Sir, not at all, whereof is he right sorrowful."

"Is he, then," saith he, "Perceval, the son of the Widow Lady?"

"By my head, you say true!"

"Ha, God!" saith Lancelot, "the more am I mazed how Messire Gawain knew
him not.  Damsel," saith he, "And know you whitherward they are gone?"

"Sir," saith she, "I know not whither, nor have I any tidings, neither
or the one nor the other."

He departeth from the damsel and rideth until the sun was set. He found
the rocks darkling and the forest right deep and perilous of seeming.
He rode on, troubled in thought, and weary and full of vexation.  Many
a time Looketh he to right and to left, and he may see any place where
he may lodge.  A dwarf espied him, but Lancelot saw him not.  The dwarf
goeth right along a by-way that is in the forest, and goeth to a little
hold of robber-knights that lay out of the way, where was a damsel that
kept watch over the hold.  The robbers had another hold where was the
damsel where the passing knights are deceived and entrapped.  The dwarf
cometh forthright to the damsel, and saith: "Now shall we see what you
will do, for see, here cometh the knight that hanged your uncle grid
your three cousins german."

"Now shall I have the best of him," saith she, "as for mine own share
in this matter, but take heed that you be garnished ready to boot."

"By my head," saith the dwarf, "that will I, for, please God, he shall
not escape us again, save he be dead."

The damsel was of passing great beauty and was clad right seemingly,
but right treacherous was she of heart, nor no marvel was it thereof,
for she came of the lineage of robbers and was nurtured on theft and
robbery, and she herself had helped to murder many a knight.  She is
come upon the way, so that Lancelot hath to pass her, without her
kerchief.  She meeteth Lancelot and saluteth him and maketh him right
great joy, of semblant.

"Sir," saith she, "Follow this path that goeth into the forest, and you
will find a hold that my forefathers stablished for harbouring of such
knights as might be passing through the forest.  The night is dark
already, and if you pass on further no hold will you find nearer than a
score leagues Welsh."

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "Gramercy heartily of this that it pleaseth
you to say, for right gladly will I harbour me here, for it is more
than time to take lodging, and with you more willingly than another."


III.

On this wise they go their way talking, as far as the hold. There was
none therewithin save only the dwarf, for the five robber knights were
in their hold at the lower end of the forest. The dwarf took Lancelot's
horse, and stabled him, then went up into the hall above, and gave
himself up wholly to serving him.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "Allow yourself to be disarmed, and have full
assurance of safety."

"Damsel," saith he, "Small trouble is it for me to wear mine arms, and
lightly may I abide it."

"Sir," saith she, "Please God, you shall nor lie armed within yonder.
Never yet did knight so that harboured therein."

But the more the damsel presseth him to disarm, the more it misliketh
him, for the place seemeth him right dark and foul-seeming, wherefore
will he not disarm nor disgarnish himself.

"Sir," saith she, "Meseemeth you are suspicious of something, but no
call have you to misdoubt of aught here within, for the place is quite
safe.  I know not whether you have enemies?"

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "Never yet knew I knight that was loved of
everybody, yet sometimes might none tell the reason thereof."


IV.

Lancelot, so saith the story, would not disarm him, wherefore he made
the table be set, and sate thereat beside the damsel at meat.  He made
his shield and his helmet and spear be brought into the hall.  He leant
back upon a rich couch that was therewithin, with his sword by his
side, all armed.  He was weary and the bed was soft, so he went to
sleep.  Howbeit, the dwarf mounteth on his horse that he had left still
saddled, and goeth his way to the other hold where the robbers were,
all five, that were Lancelot's mortal enemies.  The damsel remained all
alone with him that she hated of a right deadly hate.  She thought to
herself that gladly would she slay him, and that, so she might compass
it, she would be thereof held in greater worship of all the world, for
well she knew that he was a good knight, and that one so good she had
never slain.  She filched away the sword that was at his side, then
drew it from the scabbard, then looketh to see where she may lightliest
smite him to slay him.  She seeth that his head is so covered of armour
that nought appeareth thereof save only the face, and she bethinketh
her that one stroke nor two on the helmet would scarce hurt him
greatly, but that and she might lift the skirt of his habergeon without
awakening him she might well slay him, for so might she thrust the
sword right through his heart.  Meanwhile, as she was searching thus,
Lancelot, that was sleeping and took no heed thereof, saw, so it seemed
him, a little cur-dog come therewithin, and brought with him sundry
great mongrel ban-dogs that ran upon him on all sides, and the little
cur bit at him likewise among the others.  The ban-dogs held him so
fast that he might not get away from them.  He seeth that a greyhound
bitch had hold of his sword, and she had hands like a woman, and was
fain to slay him.  And it seemed him that he snatched the sword from
her and slew the greyhound bitch and the biggest and most masterful of
the ban-dogs and the little cur.  He was scared of the dream and
started up and awoke, and felt the scabbard of his sword by his side,
that the damsel had left there all empty, the which he perceived not,
and soon thereafter he fell on sleep again.  The dwarf that had stolen
his horse cometh to the robber knights, and crieth to them, "Up, Sirs,
and haste you to come and avenge you of your mortal enemy that sent the
best of your kindred out of the world with such shame!  See, here is
his horse that I bring you for a token!" He alighteth of the horse, and
giveth him up to them.  Right joyous are the robbers of the tidings he
telleth them.  The dwarf bringeth them all armed to the hold.


V.

Lancelot was awake, all scared of the dream he had dreamed.  He seeth
them enter within all armed, and the damsel crieth to them: "Now will
it appear," saith she, "what you will do!"

Lancelot hath leapt up, thinking to take his sword, but findeth the
scabbard all empty.  The damsel that held the sword was the first of
all to run upon him, and the five knights and the dwarf set upon him
from every side.  He perceived that it was his own sword the damsel
held, the one he prized above all other.  He taketh his lance that was
at his bed's head and cometh toward the master of the knights at a
great sweep, and smiteth him so fiercely that he thrusteth him right
through the body so that the lance passeth a fathom beyond, and beareth
him to the ground dead.  His spear broke as he drew it back.  He
runneth to the damsel that held the sword, and wresteth it forth of her
hands and holdeth it fast with his arm right against his flank and
grippeth it to him right strait; albeit she would fain snatch it again
from him by force, whereat Lancelot much marvelled.  He swingeth it
above him, and the four knights come back upon him. He thinketh to
smite one with the sword, when the damsel leapeth in between them,
thinking to hold Lancelot fast, and thereby the blow that should have
fallen on one of the knights caught the damsel right through the head
and slew her, whereof he was right sorrowful, howsoever she might have
wrought against him.


VI.

When the four knights saw the damsel dead, right grieved were they
thereof.  And the dwarf crieth out to them: "Lords, now shall it be
seen how you will avenge the sore mischief done you. So help me God,
great shame may you have and you cannot conquer a single knight."

They run upon him again on all sides, but maugre all their heads he
goeth thither where he thinketh to find his horse; but him findeth he
not.  Thereby well knoweth he that the dwarf hath made away with him,
wherefore he redoubled his hardiment and his wrath waxed more and more.
And the knights were not to be lightly apaid when they saw their lord
dead and the damsel that was their cousin.  Sore buffets they dealt him
of their swords the while he defended himself as best he might.  He
caught the dwarf that was edging them on to do him hurt, and clave him
as far as the shoulders, and wounded two of the knights right badly,
and he himself was hurt in two places; but he might not depart from the
house, nor was his horse there within, nor was there but a single
entrance into the hall.  The knights set themselves without the door
and guard the issue, and Lancelot was within with them that were dead.
He sate himself down at the top of the hall to rest him, for he was
sore spent with the blows he had given and received.  When he had
rested himself awhile, he riseth to his feet and seeth that they have
sate them down in the entrance to the hall.  He mounteth up to the
windows and flingeth them down them that were dead within through the
windows.  Just then the day appeared, fair and clear, and the birds
began to sing amidst the forest, whereof the hall was overshadowed.  He
maketh fast the door of the hall and barreth it and shutteth the
knights without; and they say one to the other and swear it, that they
will not depart thence until they have taken him or famished him to
death.  Little had Lancelot recked of their threats and he might have
had his horse at will, but he was not so sure of his stroke afoot as
a-horseback, as no knight never is.  Him thinketh he may well abide the
siege as long as God shall please, for the hall was well garnished of
meat in right great joints.  He is there within all alone, and the four
knights without that keep watch that he goeth not, but neither wish nor
will hath he to go forth afoot; but, and he had had his horse, the
great hardiment that he hath in him would have made that he should go
forth honourably, howsoever they without might have taken it and what
grievance soever they might have had thereof.



BRANCH XV.

TITLE I.

Here the story is silent of Lancelot, and talketh of Messire Gawain
that goeth to seek Perceval, and is right heavy for that twice hath he
found him when he knew him not.  He cometh back again to the cross
whereas he told Lancelot he would await him so he should come thither
before him.  He went and came to and fro by the forest more than eight
days to wait for him, but could hear no tidings.  He would not return
to King Arthur's court, for had he gone thither in such case, he would
have had blame thereof.  He goeth back upon the quest and saith that he
will never stint therein until he shall have found both Lancelot and
Perceval.  He cometh to the hermitage of Joseus, and alighted of his
horse and found the young hermit Joseus, that received him well and
made full great joy of him.  He harboured the night therewithin.
Messire Gawain asked him tidings of Perceval, and the hermit telleth
him he hath not seen him since before the assembly of the Red Launde.

"And can you tell me where I may find him?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Not I," saith the hermit, "I cannot tell you whereabout he is."

While they were talking on this wise, straightway behold you a knight
coming that hath arms of azure, and alighteth at the hermitage to lodge
there.  The hermit receiveth him right gladly. Messire Gawain asketh
him if he saw a knight with white arms ride amidst the forest.

"By my faith," saith the knight, "I have seen him this day and spoken
with him, and he asked me and I could tell him tidings of a knight that
beareth a shield of sinople with a golden eagle, and I told him, no.
Afterward, I enquired wherefore he asked it, and he made answer that he
had jousted at him in the Red Launde, nor never before had he found so
sturdy assault of any knight, wherefore he was right sorrowful for that
he was not acquainted with him, for the sake of his good knighthood."

"By my faith," saith Gawain, "The knight is more sorrowful than he, for
nought is there in the world he would gladlier see than him."

The knight espieth Messire Gawain's shield and saith, "Ha, Sir,
methinketh you are he."

"Certes," saith Messire Gawain, "you say true.  I am he against whom he
jousted, and right glad am I that so good a knight smote upon my
shield, and right sorrowful for that I knew him not; but tell me where
I may find him?"


II.

"Sir," saith Joseus the Hermit, "He will not have gone forth from this
forest, for this is the place wherein he wonneth most willingly, and
the shield that he brought from King Arthur's court is in this chapel."

So he showeth the shield to Messire Gawain that maketh great joy
thereof.

"Ha, Sir," saith the knight of the white arms, "Is your name Messire
Gawain?"

"Fair Sir," saith he, "Gawain am I called."

"Sir," saith the knight, "I have not ceased to seek you for a long
while past.  Meliot of Logres, that is your man, the son of the lady
that was slain on your account, sendeth you word that Nabigant of the
Rock hath slain his father on your account; wherefore he challengeth
the land that hath fallen to him; and hereof he prayeth you that you
will come to succour him as behoveth lord to do to his liege man."

"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain, "Behoveth me not fail him therein,
wherefore tell him I will succour him so soon as I may; but tell him I
have emprised a business that I cannot leave but with loss of honour
until such time as it be achieved."

They lay the night at the hermitage until after mass was sung on the
morrow.


III.

The knight departed and Messire Gawain remained.  So when he was
apparelled to mount, he looketh before him at the issue of the forest
toward the hermitage, and seeth coming a knight on a tall horse, full
speed and all armed, and he bore a shield like the one he saw Perceval
bearing the first time.

"Sir," saith he, "Know you this knight that cometh there!"

"Truly, Sir, well do I know him.  This is Perceval whom you seek, whom
you so much desire to see!"

"God be praised thereof!" saith Messire Gawain, "Inasmuch as he cometh
hither."

He goeth afoot to meet him, and Perceval alighteth so soon as he seeth
him.

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "Right welcome may you be!"

"Good joy may you have," saith Perceval.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "Make great joy of him!  this is Messire
Gawain, King Arthur's nephew."

"Thereof do I love him the better!" saith he. "Honour and joy ought all
they to do him that know him!"

He throweth his arms on his neck, and so maketh him great joy.

"Sir," saith he, "Can you tell me tidings of a knight that was in the
Red Launde at the assembly of knights?"

"What shield beareth he?" saith Messire Gawain.

"A red shield with a golden eagle," saith Perceval.  "And more by
token, never made I acquaintance with any so sturdy in battle as are he
and Lancelot."

"Fair sir, it pleaseth you to say so," saith Messire Gawain. "In the
Red Launde was I at the assembly, and such arms bore I as these you
blazon, and I jousted against a knight in white arms, of whom I know
this, that all of knighthood that may be lodged in the body of a man is
in him."

"Sir," saith Perceval to Messire Gawain, "You know not how to blame any
man."

So they hold one another by the hands, and go into the hermitage.

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "When you were in the court of King Arthur
for the shield that is within yonder, your sister was also there, and
prayed and besought the help of the knight that should bear away the
shield, as being the most discounselled damsel in the world.  The King
granted it her, and you bore away the shield.  She asked your aid of
the King as she that deemed not you were her brother, and said that if
the King failed of his covenant, he would do great sin, whereof would
he have much blame.  The King was fain to do all he might to seek you,
to make good that he had said, and sent us forth in quest of you, so
that the quest lieth between me and Lancelot.  He himself would have
come had we been unwilling to go.  Sir, I have found you three times
without knowing you, albeit great desire had I to see you. This is the
fourth time and I know you now, whereof I make myself right joyous; and
much am I beholden to you of the fair lodging your mother gave me at
Camelot; but right sore pity have I of her, for a right worshipful
woman is she, and a widow lady and ancient, and fallen into much war
without aid nor comfort, through the evil folk that harass her and
reave her of her castles.  She prayed me, weeping the while right
sweetly, that and if I should find you that are her son, I should tell
you of her plight, that your father is dead, and that she hath no
succour nor aid to look for save from you alone, and if you succour her
not shortly, she will lose her own one castle that she holdeth, and
must needs become a beggar, for of the fifteen castles she wont to have
in your father's time, she hath now only that of Camelot, nor of all
her knights hath she but five to guard the castle.  Wherefore I pray
you on her behalf and for your own honour, that you will grant her
herein of your counsel and your valour and your might, for of no
chivalry that you may do may you rise to greater worship.  And so sore
need hath she herein as you hear me tell, nor would I that she should
lose aught by default of message, for thereof should I have sin and she
harm, and you yourself also, that have the power to amend it and ought
of right so to do!"

"Well have you delivered yourself herein," saith Perceval, "And betimes
will I succour her and our Lord God will."

"You will do honour to yourself," saith Messire Gawain.  "Thereof will
you have praise with God and worship with the world."

"Well know I," saith Perceval, "that in me ought she to have aid and
counsel as of right, and that so I do not accordingly, I ought to have
reproach and be blamed as recreant before the world."


IV.

"In God's name," saith the hermit, "you speak according to the
scripture, for he that honoureth not his father and mother neither
believeth in God nor loveth Him."

"All this know I well," saith Perceval, "And well pleased am I to be
reminded thereof, and well know I also mine intent herein, albeit I
tell it to none.  But if any can tell me tidings of Lancelot, right
willingly shall I hear them, and take it kindly of the teller thereof."

"Sir," saith Joseus, "It is but just now since he lay here within, and
asked me tidings of Messire Gawain, and I told him such as I knew.
Another time before that, he lay here when the robbers assailed us that
he hanged in the forest, and so hated is he thereof of their kinsfolk
that and they may meet him, so they have the might, he is like to pay
for it right dear, and in this forest won they rather than in any
other.  I told him as much, but he made light thereof in semblant, even
as he will in deed also if their force be not too great."

"By my head," saith Perceval, "I will not depart forth of this forest
until I know tidings of him, if Messire Gawain will pledge himself
thereto."

And Messire saith he desireth nothing better, sith that he hath found
Perceval, for he may not be at ease until such time as he shall know
tidings of Lancelot, for he hath great misgiving sith that he hath
enemies in the forest.


V.

Perceval and Messire Gawain sojourned that day in the forest in the
hermitage, and the morrow Perceval took his shield that he brought from
King Arthur's court, and left that which he brought with him, and
Messire Gawain along with him that made himself right joyous of his
company.  They ride amidst the forest both twain, all armed, and at the
right hour of noon they meet a knight that was coming a great gallop as
though he were all scared.  Perceval asketh him whence he cometh, that
he seemeth so a-dread.

"Sir, I come from the forest of the robbers that won in this forest
wherethrough you have to pass.  They have chased me a full league Welsh
to slay me, but they would not follow me further for a knight that they
have beset in one of their holds, that hath done them right sore
mischief, for he hath hanged four of their knights and slain one, as
well as the fairest damsel that was in the kingdom.  But right well had
she deserved the death for that she harboured knights with fair
semblant and showed them much honour, and afterward brought about their
death and destruction, between herself and a dwarf that she hath, that
slew the knights."

"And know you who is the knight?" saith Perceval.

"Sir," saith the knight, "Not I, for no leisure had I to ask him, for
sorer need had I to flee than to stay.  But I tell you that on account
of the meat that failed him in the hold wherein they beset him, he
issued forth raging like a lion, nor would he have suffered himself be
shut up so long but for two wounds that he had upon his body; for he
cared not to issue forth of the house until such time as they were
healed, and also for that he had no horse.  And so soon as he felt
himself whole, he ventured himself against the four knights, that were
so a-dread of him that they durst not come a-nigh.  And moreover he
deigneth not to go a-foot, wherefore if they now come a-nigh, it may
not be but he shall have one at least out of their four horses, but
they hold them heedfully aloof."

"Sir," saith Perceval, "Gramercy of these tidings."

They were fain to depart from the knight, but said he: "Ha, Lords,
allow me so much as to see the destruction of this evil folk that have
wrought such mischief in this forest!  Sir" saith he to Messire Gawain,
"I am cousin to the Poor Knight of the Waste Forest that hath the two
poor damsels to sister, there where you and Lancelot jousted between
you, and when the knight that brought you tidings thereof died in the
night."

"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain, "These tidings know I well, for
you say true, and your company hold I right dear for the love of the
Poor Knight, for never yet saw I more courteous knight, nor more
courteous damsels, nor better nurtured, and our Lord God grant them as
much good as I would they should have."

Messire Gawain made the knight go before, for well knew he the robbers'
hold, but loath enough had he been to go thither, had the knights not
followed him behind.  Lancelot was issued forth of the hold sword in
hand, all armed, angry as a lion.  The four knights were upon their
horses all armed, but no mind had they come a-nigh him, for sore
dreaded they the huge buffets he dealt, and his hardiment.  One of them
came forward before the others, and it seemed him shame that they might
not vanquish one single knight.  He goeth to smite Lancelot a great
stroke of his sword above in the midst of his head, nor did Lancelot's
sword fail of its stroke, for before he could draw back, Lancelot dealt
him such a blow as smote oft all of his leg at the thigh, so that he
made him leave the saddlebows empty.  Lancelot leapt up on the
destrier, and now seemed him he was safer than before.  The three
robber-knights that yet remained whole ran upon him on all sides and
began to press him of their swords in right sore wrath. Thereupon
behold you, the knight cometh to the way that goeth to the hold and
saith to Messire Gawain and Perceval, "Now may you hear the dashing of
swords and the melly."

Therewithal the two good knights smite horse with spur and come thither
where the three robber-knights were assailing Lancelot. Each of the
twain smiteth his own so wrathfully that they thrust their spears right
through their bodies and bear them to the ground dead.  Howbeit the
third knight was fain to flee, but the knight that had come to show
Messire Gawain the way took heart and hardiment from the confidence of
the good knights, and smote him as he fled so sore that he pierced him
with his spear to the heart and toppled him to the ground dead.  And
the one whose leg Lancelot had lopped off was so trampled underfoot of
the knights that he had no life in him.


VI.

When Lancelot knew Perceval and Messire Gawain he made great joy of
them and they of him.

"Lancelot," saith Messire Gawain, "This knight that led us hither to
save your life is cousin to the Poor Knight of the Waste Castle, the
brother of the two poor damsels that lodged us so well.  We will send
him these horses, one for the knight that shall be the messenger, and
the two to the lord of the Waste Castle, and this hold that we have
taken shall be for the two damsels, and so shall we make them safe all
the days of their life.  This, methinketh, will be well."

"Certes," saith Perceval, "you speak of great courtesy."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "Messire Gawain hath said, and right willingly
will I grant him all his wish."

"Lords," saith the knight, "They have in this forest a hold wherein the
knights did bestow their plunder, for the sake whereof they murdered
the passers by.  If the goods remain there they will be lost, for
therein is so great store as might be of much worth to many folk that
are poverty-stricken for want thereof."

They go to the hold and find right great treasure in a cave
underground, and rich sets of vessels and rich ornaments of cloth and
armours for horses, that they had thrown the one over another into a
pit that was right broad.

"Certes," saith he, "Right well hath it been done to this evil folk
that is destroyed!"

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "in like manner would they have dealt with me
and killed me if they might; whereof no sorrow have I save of the
damsel that I slew, that was one of the fairest dames of the world.
But I slew her not knowingly, for I meant rather to strike the knight,
but she leapt between us, like the hardiest dame that saw I ever."

"Sirs," saith the knight, "Perceval and Lancelot, by the counsel of
Messire Gawain, granted the treasure to the two damsels, sisters to the
Poor Knight of the Waste Castle, whereupon let them send for Joseus the
Hermit and bid him guard the treasure until they shall come hither."

And Joseus said that he would do so, and is right glad that the robbers
of the forest are made away withal, that had so often made assault upon
him.  He guarded the treasure and the hold right safely in the forest;
but the dread and the renown of the good knights that had freed the
forest went far and wide.  The knight that led the three destriers was
right joyfully received at the Waste Castle; and when he told the
message wherewith he was charged by Messire Gawain, the Poor Knight and
two damsels made great joy thereof.  Perceval taketh leave of Messire
Gawain and Lancelot, and saith that never will he rest again until he
shall have found his sister and his widow mother.  They durst not
gainsay him, for they know well that he is right, and he prayeth them
right sweetly that they salute the King and Queen and all the good
knights of the court, for, please God, he will go see them at an early
day.  But first he was fain to fulfil the promise King Arthur made to
his sister, for he would not that the King should be blamed in any
place as concerning him, nor by his default; and he himself would have
the greater blame therein and he succoured her not, for the matter
touched him nearer than it did King Arthur.


VII.

With that the Good Knight departeth, and they commend him to God, and
he them in like sort.  Messire Gawain and Lancelot go their way back
toward the court of King Arthur, and Perceval goeth amidst strange
forests until he cometh to a forest far away, wherein, so it seemed
him, he had never been before.  And he passed through a land that
seemed him to have been laid waste, for it was all void of folk.  Wild
beast only seeth he there, that ran through the open country.  He
entered into a forest in this waste country, and found a hermitage in
the combe of a mountain.  He alighted without and heard that the hermit
was singing the service of the dead, and had begun the mass with a
requiem betwixt him and his clerk.  He looketh and seeth a pall spread
upon the ground before the altar as though it were over a corpse.  He
would not enter the chapel armed, wherefore he hearkened to the mass
from without right reverently, and showed great devotion as he that
loved God much and was a-dread.  When the mass was sung, and the hermit
was disarmed of the armour of Our Lord, he cometh to Perceval and
saluteth him and Perceval him again.

"Sir," saith Perceval, "For whom have you done such service? meseemed
that the corpse lay therewithin for whom the service was ordained."

"You say truth," saith the hermit. "I have done it for Lohot, King
Arthur's son, that lieth buried under this pall."

"Who, then, hath slain him?" saith Perceval.

"That will I tell you plainly," saith the hermit.


VIII.

"This wasted land about this forest wherethrough you have come is the
beginning of the kingdom of Logres.  There wont to be therein a Giant
so big and horrible and cruel that none durst won within half a league
round about, and he destroyed the land and wasted it in such sort as
you see. Lohot was departed from the land and the court of King Arthur
his father in quest of adventure, and by the will of God arrived at
this forest, and fought against Logrin, right cruel as he was, and
Logrin against him.  As it pleased God, Lohot vanquished him; but Lohot
had a marvellous custom: when he had slain a man, he slept upon him.  A
knight of King Arthur's court, that is called Kay the Seneschal, was
come peradventure into this forest of Logres.  He heard the Giant roar
when Lohot dealt him the mortal blow.  Thither came he as fist as he
might, and found the King's son sleeping upon Logrin.  He drew his
sword and therewith cut off Lohot's head, and took the head and the
body and set them in a coffin of stone.  After that he hacked his
shield to pieces with his sword, that he should not be recognised; then
came he to the Giant that lay dead, and so cut oft his head, that was
right huge and hideous, and hung it at his fore saddle-bow.  Then went
he to the court of King Arthur and presented it to him.  The King made
great joy thereof and all they of the court, and the King made broad
his lands right freely for that he believed Kay had spoken true.  I
went," saith the hermit, "on the morrow to the piece of land where the
Giant lay dead, as a damsel came within here to tell me with right
great joy.  I found the corpse of the Giant so big that I durst not
come a-nigh it.  The damsel led me to the coffin where the King's son
was lying.  She asked the head of me as her guerdon, and I granted it
to her willingly.  She set it forthwith in a coffer laden with precious
stones that was all garnished within of balsams.  After that, she
helped me carry the body into this chapel and enshroud and bury it.


IX.

"Afterwards the damsel departed, nor have I never heard talk of her
since, nor do I make remembrance hereof for that I would King Arthur
should know it, nor for aught that I say thereof that he should do evil
to the knight; for right sore sin should I have thereof, but deadly
treason and disloyalty hath he wrought."

"Sir," saith Perceval, "This is sore pity of the King's son, that he is
dead in such manner, for I have heard witness that he ever waxed more
and more in great chivalry, and, so the King knew thereof, Kay the
Seneschal, that is not well-loved of all folk, would lose the court for
ever more, or his life, so he might be taken, and this would be only
right and just."

Perceval lay the night in the hermitage, and departed on the morrow
when he had heard mass.  He rideth through the forest as he that right
gladly would hear tidings of his mother, nor never before hath he been
so desirous thereof as is he now.  He heard, at right hour of noon, a
damsel under a tree that made greater dole than ever heard he damsel
make before.  She held her mule by the reins and was alighted a-foot
and set herself on her knees toward the East.  She stretched her hands
up toward heaven and prayed right sweetly the Saviour of the World and
His sweet Mother that they would send her succour betimes, for that the
most discounselled damsel of the world was she, and never was alms
given to damsel to counsel her so well bestowed as it would be upon
her, for that needs must she go to the most perilous place that is in
the world, and that, save she might bring some one with her, never
would that she had to do be done.


X.

Perceval drew himself up when he heard the damsel bemoaning thus. He
was in the shadow of the forest so that she saw him not.  The damsel
cried out all weeping, "Ha, King Arthur, great sin did you in
forgetting to speak of my business to the knight that bare away the
shield from your court, by whom would my mother have been succoured,
that now must lose her castle presently save God grant counsel herein;
and so unhappy am I, that I have gone through all the lands of Great
Britain, yet may I hear no tidings of my brother, albeit they say that
he is the Best Knight of the world.  But what availeth us his
knighthood, when we have neither aid nor succour thereof?  So much the
greater shame ought he to have of himself, if he love his mother, as
she, that is the most gentle lady that liveth and the most loyal, hath
hope that, and he knew, he would come thither.  Either he is dead or he
is in lands so far away that none may hear tidings of him.  Ha, sweet
Lady, Mother of Our Saviour, aid us when we may have no aid of any
other!  for if my lady mother loseth her castle, needs must we be
forlorn wanderers in strange lands, for so have her brothers been long
time; he that had the most power and valour lieth in languishment, the
good King Fisherman that the King of Castle Mortal warreth on, albeit
he also is my uncle, my mother's brother, and would fain reave my
uncle, that is his brother, of his castle by his felony.  Of a man so
evil my lady mother looketh for neither aid nor succour.  And the good
King Pelles hath renounced his kingdom for the love of his Saviour, and
hath entered into a hermitage.  He likewise is brother of my mother,
and behoveth him make war upon none, for the most worshipful hermit is
he of the world.  And all they on my father's side have died in arms.
Eleven were there of them, and my father was the twelfth.  Had they
remained on live, well able would they have been to succour us, but the
knight that was first at the Graal hath undone us, for through him our
uncle fell in languishment, in whom should have been our surest
succour."


XI.

At this word Perceval rode forward, and the damsel heareth him. She
riseth up, and looketh backward and seeth the knight come, the shield
at his neck banded argent and azure, with a red cross. She clasped her
two hands toward heaven, and saith, "Ha, sweet Lady that didst bear the
Saviour of the World, you have not forgotten me, nor never may be
discounselled he nor she that calleth upon you with the heart.  Here
see I the knight come of whom we shall have aid and succour, and our
Lord God grant him will to do His pleasure, and lend him courage and
strength to protect us!"

She goeth to meet him, and holdeth his stirrup and would have kissed
his foot, but he avoideth it and crieth to her: "Ill do you herein,
damsel!"  And therewith she melteth in tears of weeping and prayeth him
right sweetly.

"Sir," saith she, "Of such pity as God had of His most sweet Mother on
that day He took His death, when He beheld Her at the foot of the
cross, have pity and mercy of my lady mother and of me.  For, and your
aid fail us, we know not to whom to fly for rescue, for I have been
told that you are the Best Knight of the world.  And for obtaining of
your help went I to King Arthur's court.  Wherefore succour us for
pity's sake and God's and for nought beside, for, so please you, it is
your duty so to do, albeit, had you been my brother that is also such a
knight as you, whom I cannot find, I might have called upon you of a
greater right.  Sir," saith she, "Do you remember you of the brachet
you had at the court waiting for you until such time as you should come
for the shield, and that went away with you, how he would never make
joy nor know any save me alone?  By this know I well that if you knew
the soreness of our need you would succour us.  But King Arthur, that
should have prayed you thereof, forgat it."

"Damsel," saith he, "so much hath he done that he hath not failed of
his covenant with you, for he sent for me by the two best knights of
his court, and, so I may speed, so much will I do herein as that God
and he shall be well pleased thereof."


XII.

The damsel had right great joy of the knight that he should grant her
his aid, but she knew not he was her brother, or otherwise she would
have doubled her joy.  Perceval knoweth well that she is his sister,
but he would not yet discover himself and manifest his pity outwardly.
He helpeth the damsel to mount again and they rode on together.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "Needs must I go to-night by myself to the
Grave-yard Perilous."

"Wherefore go you thither?" saith Perceval.

"Sir," saith she, "I have made vow thereof, and moreover a holy hermit
hath told me that the knight that warreth upon us may not be overcome
of no knight, save I bring him not some of the cloth wherewith the
altar in the chapel of the Grave-yard Perilous is covered.  The cloth
is of the most holiest, for our Lord God was covered therewith in the
Holy Sepulchre, on the third day when He came back from death to life.
Nor none may enter the holy grave-yard that bringeth another with him,
wherefore behoveth me go by myself, and may God save my life this
night, for the place is sore perilous, and so ought I greatly to hate
him that hath procured me this dolour and travail.  Sir," saith she,
"You will go your way toward the castle of Camelot: there is the Widow
Lady my mother, that awaiteth the return and the succour of the Good
Knight, and may you remember to succour and aid us when you shall see
how sore is our need of succour.


XIII.

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "So God allow me I will aid you to the utmost
of my power."

"Sir," saith she, "See, this is my way, that is but little frequented,
for I tell you that no knight durst tread therein without great peril
and great dread.  And our Lord God have your body in keeping, for mine
own this night shall be in sore jeopardy and hazard."

Perceval departeth from the damsel, his sister, and hath right great
pity for that she goeth in so perilous place all alone. Natheless would
he nor forbid her, for he knew well that she might not go thither with
him nor with other, sith that such was the custom of the grave-yard
that twain might not pass the entrance, wherefore needs must one remain
without.  Perceval was not willing that his sister should break her
vow, for never none of his lineage did at any time disloyalty nor base
deed knowingly, nor failed of nought that they had in covenant, save
only the King of Castle Mortal, from whom he had as much evil as he had
good of the others.


XIV.

The damsel goeth her way all alone and all forlorn toward the
grave-yard and the deep of the forest, all dark and shadowy.  She hath
ridden until the sun was set and the night draweth nigh. She looketh
before her and seeth a cross, high and wide and thick.  And on this
cross was the figure of Our Lord graven, whereof is she greatly
comforted.  She draweth nigh the cross, and so kisseth and adoreth it,
and prayeth the Saviour of the world that was nailed on Holy Rood that
He would bring her forth of the burial-ground with honour.  The cross
was at the entrance of the grave-yard, that was right spacious, for,
from such time as the land was first peopled of folk, and that knights
began to seek adventure by the forest, not a knight had died in the
forest, that was full great of breadth and length, but his body was
borne thither, nor might never knight there be buried that had not
received baptism and had repented him not of his sins at his death.


XV.

Thereinto entered the damsel all alone, and found great multitude of
tombs and coffins.  Nor none need wonder whether she had shuddering and
fear, for such place must needs be dreadful to a lonely damsel, there
where lay so many knights that had been slain in arms.  Josephus the
good clerk witnesseth us that within the grave-yard might no evil
spirit meddle, for that Saint Andrew the apostle had blessed it with
his hand.  But never might no hermit remain within for the evil things
that appeared each night all round about, that took the shapes of the
knights that were dead in the forest, wherof the bodies lay not in the
blessed burial-ground.


XVI.

The damsel beholdeth their sepulchres all round about the graveyard
whereinto she was come.  She seeth them surrounded of knights, all
black, and spears had they withal, and came one against another, and
made such uproar and alarm as it seemed all the forest resounded
thereof.  The most part held swords all red as of fire, and ran either
upon other, and gashed one another's hands and feet and nose and face.
And great was the clashing they made, but they could not come a-nigh
the grave-yard.  The damsel seeth them, and hath such affright thereof
that she nigh fell to the ground in a swoon.  The mule whereon she sate
draweth wide his nostrils and goeth in much fear.  The damsel signeth
her of the cross and commendeth her to the Saviour and to His sweet
Mother.  She looketh before her to the head of the grave-yard, and
seeth the chapel, small and ancient.  She smiteth her mule with her
whip, and cometh thitherward and alighteth.  She entered therewithin
and found a great brightness of light.  Within was an image of Our
Lady, to whom she prayeth right sweetly that She will preserve her
senses and her life and enable her to depart in safety from this
perilous place.  She seeth above the altar the most holy cloth for the
which she was come thither, that was right ancient, and a smell came
thereof so sweet and glorious that no sweetness of the world might
equal it.  The damsel cometh toward the altar thinking to take the
cloth, but it goeth up into the air as if the wind had lifted it, and
was so high that she might not reach it above an ancient crucifix that
was there within.

"Ha, God!" saith the damsel, "It is for my sin and my disloyalty that
this most holy cloth thus draweth itself away from me!"


XVII.

"Fair Father God, never did I evil to none, nor never did I shame nor
sinned deadly in myself, nor never wrought against your will, so far as
in me lay, but rather do I serve you and love and fear you and your
sweet Mother; and all the tribulation I receive, accept I in patience
for your love, for well I know that such is your pleasure, nor have I
no will to set myself against nought that pleaseth you.


XVIII.

"When it shall please you, you will release me and my mother of the
grief and tribulation wherein we are.  For well you know that they have
reaved her of her castles by wrong, and of her land, for that she is a
Widow Lady without help.  Lord, you who have all the world at your
mercy and do your commandment in all things, grant me betimes to hear
tidings of my brother and he be on live, for sore need have we of him.
And so lend force to the knight and power against all our enemies, that
for your love and for pity is fain to succour and aid my mother that is
sore discounselled.  Lord, well might it beseem you to remember of your
pity and the sweetness that is in you, and of compassion that she hath
been unrighteously disherited, and that no succour nor aid nor counsel
hath she, save of you alone.  You are her affiance and her succour, and
therefore ought you to remember that the good knight Joseph of
Abarimacie, that took down your Body when it hung upon the rood, was
her own uncle.  Better loved he to take down your Body than all the
gold and all the fee that Pilate might give him.  Lord, good right of
very truth had he so to do, for he took you in his arms beside the
rood, and laid your Body in the holy sepulchre, wherein were you
covered of the sovran cloth for the which have I come in hither.  Lord,
grant it be your pleasure that I may have it, for love of the knight by
whom it was set in this chapel; sith that I am of his lineage it ought
well to manifest itself in this sore need, so it come according to your
pleasure."

Forthwith the cloth came down above the altar, and she straightway
found taken away therefrom as much as it pleased Our Lord she should
have.  Josephus telleth us of a truth, that never did none enter into
the chapel that might touch the cloth save only this one damsel.  She
set her face to it and her mouth or ever the cloth removed.


XIX.

Thereafter, she took the piece that God would and set it near herself
full worshipfully, but still the stout went on of the evil spirits
round about the church-yard, and they dealt one another blows so sore
that all the forest resounded thereof, and it seemed that it was all
set on fire of the flame that issued from them.  Great fear would the
damsel have had of them, had she not comforted herself in God and in
His dear, sweet Mother, and the most holy cloth that was within there.
A Voice appeared upon the stroke of midnight from above the chapel, and
speaketh to the souls whereof the bodies lie within the grave-yard:
"How sore loss hath befallen you of late, and all other whose bodies
lie in other hallowed church-yards by the forests of this kingdom!  For
the good King Fisherman is dead that made every day our service be done
in the most holy chapel there where the most Holy Graal every day
appeared, and where the Mother of God abode from the Saturday until the
Monday that the service was finished.  And now hath the King of Castle
Mortal seized the castle in such sort that never sithence hath the Holy
Graal appeared, and all the other hallows are hidden, so that none
knoweth what hath become of the priests that served in the chapel, nor
the twelve ancient knights, nor the damsels that were therein.  And
you, damsel, that are within, have no affiance in the aid of strange
knight in this need, for succoured may you never be save of your
brother only!"


XX.

With that the Voice is still, and a wailing and a lamentation goeth up
from the bodies that lay in the church-yard, so dolorous that no man is
there in the world but should have pity thereof, and all the evil
spirits that were without departed groaning and making so mighty uproar
at their going away that it seemed the earth trembled.  The damsel
heard the tidings of her uncle that was dead, and fell on the ground in
a swoon, and when she raised herself, took on to lament and cried: "Ha,
God!  Now have we lost the most comfort and the best friend that we
had, and hereof am I again discomforted that I may not be succoured in
this my next need by the Good Knight of whom I thought to have succour
and aid, and that was so fain to render it.  Now shall I know not what
to ask of him, for he would grant it right willingly, and may God be as
pleased with him thereof as if he had done it."

The damsel was in sore misdoubting and dismay, for she knew not who the
knight was, and great misgiving had she of her uncle's death and right
sore sorrow.  She was in the chapel until it was day, and then
commended herself to God and departed and mounted on her mule and
issued forth of the church-yard full speed, all alone.


XXI.

The story saith that the damsel went her way toward her mother's castle
as straight as she might, but sore dismayed was she of the Voice that
had told her she might not be succoured save of her brother alone.  She
hath ridden so far of her journeys that she is come to the Valley of
Camelot, and seeth her mother's castle that was surrounded of great
rivers, and seeth Perceval, that was alighted under the shadow of a
tree at the top of the forest in order that he might behold his
mother's castle, whence he went forth squire what time he slew the
Knight of the Red Shield. When he had looked well at the castle and the
country round about, much pleasure had he thereof, and mounted again
forthwith. Thereupon, behold you, the damsel cometh.

"Sir," saith she, "In sore travail and jeopardy have I been sithence
that last I saw you, and tidings have I heard as bad as may be, and
right grievous for my mother and myself.  For King Fisherman mine uncle
is dead, and another of my uncles, the King of Castle Mortal, hath
seized his castle, albeit my lady mother ought rather to have it, or I,
or my brother."

"Is it true," saith Perceval, "that he is dead?"

"Yea, certes, Sir, I know it of a truth."

"So help me God!" saith he, "This misliketh me right sore.  I thought
not that he would die so soon, for I have not been to see him of a long
time."


XXII.

"Sir," saith she, "I am much discomforted as concerning you, for I have
likewise been told that no force nor aid of any knight may avail to
succour nor aid me from this day forward save my brother's help alone.
Wherefore, and it be so, we have lost all, for my lady mother hath
respite to be in her castle only until the fifteenth day from to-day,
and I know not where to seek my brother, and the day is so nigh as you
hear.  Now behoveth us do the best we may and abandon this castle
betimes, nor know I any refuge that we now may have save only King
Pelles in the hermitage.  I would fain that my lady mother were there,
for he would not fail us."

Perceval is silent, and hath great pity in his heart of this that the
damsel saith.  She followeth him weeping, and pointeth out to him the
Valleys of Camelot and the castles that were shut in by combes and
mountains, and the broad meadow-lands and the forest that girded them
about.

"Sir," saith she, "All this hath the Lord of the Moors reaved of my
lady mother, and nought coveteth he so much as to have this castle, and
have it he will, betimes."


XXIII.

When they had ridden until that they drew nigh the castle, the Lady was
at the windows of the hall and knew her daughter.

"Ha, God!" saith the Lady, "I see there my daughter coming, and a
knight with her.  Fair Father God, grant of your pleasure that it be my
son, for and it be not he, I have lost my castle and mine heirs are
disherited."

Perceval cometh nigh the castle in company with his sister, and knoweth
again the chapel that stood upon four columns of marble between the
forest and the castle, there where his father told him how much ought
he to love good knights, and that none earthly thing might be of
greater worth, and how none might know yet who lay in the coffin until
such time as the Best Knight of the world should come thither, but that
then should it be known.  Perceval would fain have passed by the
chapel, but the damsel saith to him: "Sir, no knight passeth hereby
save he go first to see the coffin within the chapel."

He alighteth and setteth the damsel to the ground, and layeth down his
spear and shield and cometh toward the tomb, that was right fair and
rich.  He set his hand above it.  So soon as he came nigh, the
sepulchre openeth on one side, so that one saw him that was within the
coffin.  The damsel falleth at his feet for joy.  The Lady had a custom
such that every time a knight stopped at the coffin she made the five
ancient knights that she had with her in the castle accompany her,
wherein they would never fail her, and bring her as far as the chapel.
So soon as she saw the coffin open and the joy her daughter made, she
knew that it was her son, and ran to him and embraced him and kissed
him and began to make the greatest joy that ever lady made.


XXIV.

"Now know I well," saith she, "that our Lord God hath not forgotten me.
Sith that I have my son again, the tribulations and the wrongs that
have been done me grieve me not any more. Sir," saith she to her son,
"Now is it well known and proven that you are the Best Knight of the
world!  For otherwise never would the coffin have opened, nor would any
have known who he is that you now see openly."

She maketh her chaplain take certain letters that were sealed with gold
in the coffin.  He looketh thereat and readeth, and then saith that
these letters witness of him that lieth in the coffin that he was one
of them that helped to un-nail Our Lord from the cross.  They looked
beside him and found the pincers all bloody wherewith the nails were
drawn, but they might not take them away, nor the body, nor the coffin,
according as Josephus telleth us, for as soon as Perceval was forth of
the chapel, the coffin closed again and joined together even as it was
before. The Widow Lady led her son with right great joy into her
castle, and recounted to him all the shame that had been done her, and
also how Messire Gawain had made safe the castle for a year by his good
knighthood.


XXV.

"Fair son," saith she, "Now is the term drawn nigh when I should have
lost my castle and you had not come.  But now know I well that it shall
be safe-guarded of you.  He that coveteth this castle is one of the
most outrageous knights on live.  And he hath reaved me of my land and
the Valleys of Camelot without reasonable occasion.  But, please God,
you shall well repair the harm he hath done you, for nought claim I any
longer of the land since you are come.  But so avenge your shame as to
increase your honour, for none ought to allow his right to be minished
of an evil man, and the mischiefs that have been done me for that I had
no aid, let them not wax cold in you, for a shame done to one valiant
and strong ought not to wax cold in him, but rankle and prick in him,
so ought he to have his enemies in remembrance without making semblant,
but so much as he shall show in his cheer and making semblant and his
menaces, so much ought he to make good in deed when he shall come in
place.  For one cannot do too much hurt to an enemy, save only one is
willing to let him be for God's sake.  But truth it is that the
scripture saith, that one ought not to do evil to one's enemies, but
pray God that He amend them.  I would fain that our enemies were such
that they might amend toward us, and that they would do as much good to
us without harming themselves as they have done evil, on condition that
mine anger and yours were foregone against them.  Mine own anger I
freely forbear against them so far forth as concerneth myself, for no
need have I to wish evil to none, and Solomon telleth how the sinner
that curseth other sinner curseth himself likewise.


XXVI.

"Fair son, this castle is yours, and this land round about whereof I
have been reft ought to be yours of right, for it falleth to you on
behalf of your father and me.  Wherefore send to the Lord of the Moors
that hath reft it from me, that he render it to you.  I make no further
claim, for I pass it on to you; for nought have I now to do with any
land save only so much as will be enough wherein to bury my body when I
die, nor shall I now live much longer since King Fisherman my brother
is dead, whereof right sorrowful am I at heart, and still more
sorrowful should I be were it not for your coming.  And, son, I tell
you plainly that you have great blame of his death, for you are the
knight through whom he fell first into languishment, for now at last I
know well that and if you had afterwards gone back and so made the
demand that you made not at the first, he would have come back to
health.  But our Lord God willed it so to be, wherefore well beseemeth
us to yield to His will and pleasure."


XXVII.

Perceval hath heard his mother, but right little hath he answered her,
albeit greatly is he pleased with whatsoever she hath said. His face is
to-flushed of hardiment, and courage hath taken hold on him.  His
mother looketh at him right fainly, and hath him disarmed and
apparelled in a right rich robe.  So comely a knight was he that in all
the world might not be found one of better seeming nor better shapen of
body.  The Lord of the Moors, that made full certain of having his
mother's castle, knew of Perceval's coming.  He was not at all dismayed
in semblant, nor would he stint to ride by fell nor forest, and every
day he weened in his pride that the castle should be his own at the
hour and the term he had set thereof.  One of the five knights of the
Widow Lady was one day gone into the Lonely Forest after hart and hind,
and had taken thereof at his will.  He was returning back to the castle
and the huntsmen with him, when the Lord of the Moors met him and told
him he had done great hardiment in shooting with the bow in the forest,
and the knight made answer that the forest was not his of right, but
the Lady's of Camelot and her son's that had repaired thither.


XXVIII.

The Lord of the Moors waxed wroth.  He held a sword in his hand and
thrust him therewith through the body and slew him.  The knight was
borne dead to the castle of Camelot before the Widow Lady and her son.

"Fair son," saith the Widow Lady, "More presents of such-like kind the
Lord of the Moors sendeth me than I would.  Never may he be satisfied
of harming my land and shedding the blood of the bodies of my knights.
Now may you well know how many a hurt he hath done me sithence that
your father hath been dead and you were no longer at the castle, sith
that this hath he done me even now that you are here.  You have the
name of Perceval on this account, that tofore you were born, he had
begun to reave your father of the Valleys of Camelot, for your father
was an old knight and all his brethren were dead, and therefore he gave
you this name in baptism, for that he would remind you of the mischief
done to him and to you, and that you might help to retrieve it and you
should have the power."

The Dame maketh shroud the knight, for whom she is full sorrowful, and
on the morrow hath mass sung and burieth him. Perceval made arm two of
the old knights with him, then issued forth of the castle and entered
the great dark forest.  He rode until he came before a castle, and met
five knights that issued forth all armed.  He asked whose men they
were.  They answer, the Lord's of the Moors, and that he goeth seek the
son of the Widow Lady that is in the forest.

"If we may deliver him up to our lord, good guerdon shal we have
thereof."

"By my faith," saith Perceval, "You have not far to seek.  I am here!"


XXIX.

Perceval smiteth his horse of his spurs and cometh to the first in such
sort that he passeth his spear right through his body and beareth him
to the ground dead.  The other two knights each smote his man so that
they wounded them in the body right sore.  The other two would fain
have fled, but Perceval preventeth them, and they gave themselves up
prisoners for fear of death.  He bringeth all four to the castle of
Camelot and presenteth them to his lady mother.

"Lady," saith he, "see here the quittance for your knight that was
slain, and the fifth also remaineth lying on the piece of ground shent
in like manner as was your own."

"Fair son," saith she, "I should have better loved peace after another
sort, and so it might be."

"Lady," saith he, "Thus is it now.  One ought to make war against the
warrior, and be at peace with the peaceable."

The knights are put in prison.  The tidings are come to the Lord of the
Moors that the son of the Widow Lady hath slain one of his knights and
carried off four to prison.  Thereof hath he right great wrath at
heart, and sweareth and standeth to it that never will he be at rest
until he shall have either taken or slain him, and that, so there were
any knight in his land that would deliver him up, he would give him one
of the best castles in his country. The more part are keen to take
Perceval.  Eight came for that intent before him all armed in the
forest of Camelot, and hunted and drove wild deer in the purlieus of
the forest so that they of the castle saw them.


XXX.

Perceval was in his mother's chapel, where he heard mass; and when the
mass was sung, his sister said: "Fair brother, see here the most holy
cloth that I brought from the chapel of the Grave-yard Perilous.  Kiss
it and touch it with your face, for a holy hermit told me that never
should our land be conquered back until such time as you should have
hereof."

Perceval kisseth it, then toucheth his eyes and face therewith.
Afterward he goeth to arm him, and the four knights with him; then he
issueth forth of the chamber and mounteth on his horse, then goeth out
of the gateway like a lion unchained.  He sitteth on a tall horse all
covered.  He cometh nigh the eight knights that were all armed, man and
horse, and asketh them what folk they be and what they seek, and they
say that they are enemies of the Widow Lady and her son.

"Then you do I defy!" saith Perceval.

He cometh to them a great run, and the four knights with him, and each
one overthroweth his own man so roughly that either he is wounded in
his body or maimed of arm or leg.  The rest held the melly to the
utmost they might endure.  Perceval made take them and bring to the
castle, and the other five that they had overthrown.  The Lord of the
Moors was come to shoot with a bow, and he heard the noise of the
knights, and cometh thitherward a great gallop all armed.

"Sir," saith one of the old knights to Perceval, "Look!  here is the
Lord of the Moors coming, that hath reft your mother of her land and
slain her men.  Of him will it be good to take vengeance.  See, how
boldly he cometh."

Perceval looketh on him as he that loveth him not, and cometh toward
him as hard as his horse may carry him, and smiteth him right through
the breast so strongly that he beareth to the ground him and his horse
together all in a heap.  He alighteth to the ground and draweth his
sword.

"How?" saith the Lord of the Moors, "Would you then slay me and put me
in worse plight than I am?"

"By my head," saith Perceval, "No, nor so swiftly, but I will slay you
enough, betimes!"

"So it seemeth you," saith the Lord of the Moors, "But it shall not be
yet!"

He leapeth up on his feet and runneth on Perceval, sword drawn, as one
that fain would harm him if he might.  But Perceval defendeth himself
as good knight should, and giveth such a buffet at the outset as
smiteth off his arm together with his sword. The knights that came
after fled back all discomfited when they saw their lord wounded.  And
Perceval made lift him on a horse and carry him to the castle and
presenteth him to his mother.

"Lady," saith he, "See here the Lord of the Moors!  Well might you
expect him eftsoons, sith that you were to have yielded him up your
castle the day after to-morrow!"


XXXI.

"Lady," saith the Lord of the Moors, "Your son hath wounded me and
taken my knights and myself likewise.  I will yield you up your castle
albeit I hold it mine as of right, on condition you cry me quit."

"And who shall repay her," saith Perceval, "for the shame that you have
done her, for her knights that you have slain, whereof never had you
pity?  Now, so help me God, if she have mercy or pity upon you, never
hereafter will I trouble to come to her aid how sore soever may be her
need.  Such pity and none other as you have had for her and my sister
will I have for you.  Our Lord God commanded in both the Old Law and
the New, that justice should be done upon man-slayers and traitors, and
justice will I do upon you that His commandment be not transgressed."

He hath a great vat made ready in the midst of the court, and maketh
the eleven knights be brought. H e maketh their heads be stricken off
into the vat and bleed therein as much blood as might come from them,
and then made the heads and the bodies be drawn forth so that nought
was there but blood in the vat.  After that, he made disarm the Lord of
the Moors and be brought before the vat wherein was great abundance of
blood.  He made bind his feet and his hands right strait, and after
that saith: "Never might you be satisfied of the blood of the knights
of my lady mother, now will I satisfy you of the blood of your own
knights!"

He maketh hang him by the feet in the vat, so that his head were in the
blood as far as the shoulders, and so maketh him be held there until
that he was drowned and quenched.  After that, he made carry his body
and the bodies of the other knights and their heads, and made them be
cast into an ancient charnel that was beside an old chapel in the
forest, and the vat together with the blood made he be cast into the
river, so that the water thereof was all bloody.  The tidings came to
the castles that the son of the Widow Lady had slain the Lord of the
Moors and the best of his knights.  Thereof were they in sore
misgiving, and the most part said that the like also would he do to
them save they held themselves at his commandment.  They brought him
the keys of all the castles that had been reft of his mother, and all
the knights that had before renounced their allegiance returned
thereunto and pledged themselves to be at his will for dread of death.
All the land was assured in safety, nor was there nought to trouble the
Lady's joy save only that King Fisherman her brother was dead, whereof
she was right sorrowful and sore afflicted.


XXXII.

One day the Widow Lady sate at meat, and there was great plenty of
knights in the hall.  Perceval sate him beside his sister. Thereupon,
behold you the Damsel of the Car that came with the other two damsels
before the Widow Lady and her son, and saluted them right nobly.

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "Good adventure may you have!"

"Sir," saith she, "You have speeded right well of your business here,
now go speed it elsewhere, for thereof is the need right sore.  King
Hermit, that is your mother's brother, sendeth you word that, and you
come not with haste into the land that was King Fisherman's your uncle,
the New Law that God hath stablished will be sore brought low.  For the
King of Castle Mortal, that hath seized the land and castle, hath made
be cried throughout all the country how all they that would fain
maintain the Old Law and abandon the New shall have protection of him
and counsel and aid, and they that will not shall be destroyed and
outlawed."

"Ha, fair son," saith the Widow Lady, "Now have you heard the great
disloyalty of the evil man that is my brother, whereof am I right
sorrowful, for that he is of my kindred."

"Lady," saith Perceval, "Your brother nor my uncle is he no longer,
sith that he denieth God!  Rather is he our mortal enemy that we ought
of right to hate more than any stranger!"


XXXIII.

"Fair son," saith the Widow Lady, "I pray and beseech you that the Law
of the Saviour be not set aside in forgetfulness and neglect there
where you may exalt it, for better Lord in no wise may you serve, nor
one that better knoweth how to bestow fair guerdon.  Fair son, none may
be good knight that serveth Him not and loveth Him.  Take heed that you
be swift in His service nor delay not for no intent, but be ever at His
commandment alike at eventide as in the morning, so shall you not bely
your lineage. And the Lord God grant you good intent therein and good
will to go on even as you have begun."

The Widow Lady, that much loved her son, riseth up from the tables, and
all the other knights, and seemeth it that she is Lady of her land in
such sort as that never was she better.  But full often doth she give
thanks to the Saviour of the World with her whole heart, and prayeth
Him of His pleasure grant her son length of life for the amendment both
of soul and body.  Perceval was with his mother of a long space, and
with his sister, and was much feared and honoured of all the knights of
the land, alike for his great wisdom and great pains-taking, as well as
for the valour of his knighthood.



BRANCH XVI.

TITLE I.

This High History saith that Messire Gawain and Lancelot were repaired
to the court of King Arthur from the quest they had achieved.  The King
made great joy thereof and the Queen.  King Arthur sate one day at meat
by the side of the Queen, and they had been served of the first meats.
Thereupon come two knights all armed, and each bore a dead knight
before him, and the knights were still armed as they had been when
their bodies were alive.

"Sir," say the knights, "This shame and this mischief is yours. In like
manner will you lose all your knights betimes and God love you not well
enough to give counsel herein forthwith of his mercy."

"Lords," saith the King, "How came these knights to be in so evil case?"

"Sir," say they, "It is of good right you ought to know.  The Knight of
the Fiery Dragon is entered into the head of your land, and is
destroying knights and castles and whatsoever he may lay hands on, in
such sort that none durst contend against him, for he is taller by a
foot than any knight ever you had, and of grisly cheer, and so is his
sword three times bigger than the sword of ever another knight, and his
spear is well as heavy as a man may carry.  Two knights might lightly
cover them of his shield, and it hath on the outer side the head of a
dragon that casteth forth fire and flame whensoever he will, so eager
and biting that none may long endure his encounter."


II.

"None other, how strong soever he be, may stand against him, and, even
as you see, hath he burnt and evil-entreated all other knights that
have withstood him."

"From what land hath come such manner of man?"

"Sir," say the knights, "He is come from the Giant's castle, and he
warreth upon you for the love of Logrin the Giant, whose head Messire
Kay brought you into your court, nor never, saith he, will he have joy
until such time as he shall have avenged him on your body or upon the
knight that you love best."

"Our Lord God," saith the King, "Will defend us from so evil a man."

He is risen from the table, all scared, and maketh carry the two dead
knights to be buried, and the others turn back again when they have
told their message.  The King calleth Messire Gawain and Lancelot and
asketh them what he shall do of this knight that is entered into his
land?

"By my head, I know not what to say, save you give counsel herein."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "We will go against him, so please you, I and
Messire Gawain between us."

"By my head," saith the King, "I would not let you go for a kingdom,
for such man as is this is no knight but a devil and a fiend that hath
issued from the borders of Hell.  I say not but that it were great
worship and prize to slay and conquer him, but he that should go
against him should set his own life in right sore jeopardy and run
great hazard of being in as bad plight as these two knights I have
seen."

The King was in such dismay that he knew not neither what to say nor to
do, and so was all the court likewise in such sort as no knight neither
one nor another was minded to go to battle with him, and so remained
the court in great dismay.



BRANCH XVII.

INCIPIT.

Here beginneth one of the master branches of the Graal in the name of
the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.


TITLE I.

Perceval had been with his mother as long as it pleased him.  He hath
departed with her good will and the good will of his sister, and
telleth them he will return into the land as speedily as he may.  He
entereth into the great Lonely Forest, and rideth so far on his
journeys that he cometh one day at the right hour of noon into a
passing fair launde, and seeth a forest.  He looketh amidst the launde
and seeth a red cross.  He looketh to the head of the launde and seeth
a right comely knight sitting in the shadow of the forest, and he was
clad in white garments and held a vessel of gold in his hand.  At the
other end of the launde he seeth a damsel likewise sitting, young and
gentle and of passing great beauty, and she was clad in a white samite
dropped of gold. Josephus telleth us by the divine scripture that out
of the forest issued a beast, white as driven snow, and it was bigger
than a fox and less than a hare.  The beast came into the launde all
scared, for she had twelve hounds in her belly, that quested within
like as it were hounds in a wood, and she fled adown the launde for
fear of the hounds, the questing whereof she had within her.  Perceval
rested on the shaft of his spear to look at the marvel of this beast,
whereof he had right great pity, so gentle was she of semblance, and of
so passing beauty, and by her eyes it might seem that they were two
emeralds.  She runneth to the knight, all affrighted, and when she hath
been there awhile and the hounds rend her again, she runneth to the
damsel, but neither there may she stay long time, for the hounds that
are within her cease not of their questing, whereof is she sore adread.


II.

She durst not venture herself in the forest.  She seeth Perceval and so
cometh toward him for protection.  She maketh as though she would lie
down on his horse's neck, and he holdeth forth his hands to receive her
there so as that she might not hurt herself, and evermore the hounds
quested.  Howbeit the knight crieth out to him, "Sir Knight, let the
beast go and hold her not, for this belongeth neither to you nor to
other, but let her dree her weird."

The beast seeth that no protection hath she.  She goeth to the cross,
and forthwith might the hounds no longer be in her, but issued forth
all as it were live hounds, but nought had they of her gentleness nor
her beauty.  She humbled herself much among them and crouched on the
ground and made semblant as though she would have cried them mercy, and
gat herself as nigh the cross as she might.  The hounds had compassed
her round about and ran in upon her upon all sides and tore her all to
pieces with their teeth, but no power had they to devour her flesh, nor
to remove it away from the cross.


III.

When the hounds had all to-mangled the beast, they fled away into the
wood as had they been raging mad.  The knight and the damsel came there
where the beast lay in pieces at the cross, and so taketh each his part
and setteth the same on their golden vessels, and took the blood that
lay upon the earth in like manner as the flesh, and kiss the place, and
adore the cross, and then betake them into the forest.  Perceval
alighteth and setteth him on his knees before the cross and so hisseth
and adoreth it, and the place where the beast was slain, in like manner
as he had seen the knight and damsel do; and there came to him a smell
so sweet of the cross and of the place, such as no sweetness may be
compared therewith.  He looketh and seeth coming from the forest two
priests all afoot; and the first shouteth to him: "Sir Knight, withdraw
yourself away from the cross, for no right have you to come nigh it.":
Perceval draweth him back, and the priest kneeleth before the cross and
adoreth it and boweth down and kisseth it more than a score times, and
manifesteth the most joy in the world.  And the other priest cometh
after, and bringeth a great rod, and setteth the first priest aside by
force, and beateth the cross with the rod in every part, and weepeth
right passing sore.


IV.

Perceval beholdeth him with right great wonderment, and saith unto him,
"Sir, herein seem you to be no priest!  wherefore do you so great
shame?"

"Sir," saith the priest, "It nought concerneth you of whatsoever we may
do, nor nought shall you know thereof for us!"

Had he not been a priest, Perceval would have been right wroth with
him, but he had no will to do him any hurt.  Therewithal he departeth
and mounteth his horse and entereth the forest again, all armed, but
scarce had he ridden away in such sort or ever he met the Knight
Coward, that cried out to him as far as he could see him, "Sir, for
God's sake, take heed to yourself!"

"What manner man are you?" saith Perceval.

"Sir," saith he, "My name is the Knight Coward, and I am man of the
Damsel of the Car.  Wherefore I pray you for God's sake and for your
own valour that you touch me not."

Perceval looketh on him and seeth him tall and comely and well-shapen
and adroit and all armed upon his horse, so he saith to him, "Sith that
you are so coward, wherefore are you armed thus?"

"Sir," saith he, "Against the evil intent of any knight of whom I am
adread, for such an one might haply meet me as would slay me forthwith."


V.

"Are you so coward as you say?" saith Perceval.

"Yea," saith he, "And much more."

"By my head," saith he, "I will make you hardy.  Come now along with
me, for sore pity is it that cowardize should harbour in so comely a
knight.  I am fain that your name be changed speedily, for such name
beseemeth no knight."

"Ha, Sir, for God's sake, mercy!  Now know I well that you desire to
slay me!  No will have I to change neither my courage nor my name!"

"By my head," saith Perceval, "Then will you die therefor, betimes!"

He maketh him go before him, will he or nill he; and the knight goeth
accordingly with right sore grudging.  They had scarce ridden away,
when he heard in the forest off the way, two damsels that bewailed them
right sore, and prayed our Lord God send them succour betimes.


VI.

Perceval cometh towards them, he and the knight he driveth before him
perforce, and seeth a tall knight all armed that leadeth the damsels
all dishevelled, and smiteth them from time to time with a great rod,
so that the blood ran down their faces.

"Ha, Sir Knight," saith Perceval, "What ask you of these two damsels
that you entreat so churlishly?"

"Sir," saith he, "They have disherited me of mine own hold in this
forest that Messire Gawain gave them."

"Sir," say they to Perceval, "This knight is a robber, and none other
but he now wonneth in this forest, for the other robber-knights were
slain by Messire Gawain and Lancelot and another knight that came with
them, and, for the sore suffering and poverty that Messire Gawain and
Lancelot saw in us aforetime, and in the house of my brother in whose
castle they lay, were they fain to give us this hold and the treasure
they conquered from the robber-knights, and for this doth he now lead
us away to slay and destroy us, and as much would he do for you and all
other knights, so only he had the power."

"Sir Knight," saith Perceval, "Let be these damsels, for well I know
that they say true, for that I was there when the hold was given them."

"Then you helped to slay my kindred," saith the knight, "And therefore
you do I defy!"

"Ha," saith the Knight Coward to Perceval, "Take no heed of that he
saith, and wax not wroth, but go your way!"

"Certes," saith Perceval, "This will I not do: Rather will I help to
challenge the honour of the damsels."


VII.

"Ha, Sir," saith the Knight Coward, "Never shall it be challenged of
me!"

Perceval draweth him back.  "Sir," saith he, "See here my champion that
I set in my place."

The robber knight moveth toward him, and smiteth him so sore on the
shield that he breaketh his spear, but he might not unseat the Coward
Knight, that sate still upright as aforehand in the saddle-bows.  He
looketh at the other knight that hath drawn his sword.  The Knight
Coward looketh on the one side and the other, and would fain have fled
and he durst.  But Perceval crieth to him: "Knight, do your endeavour
to save my honour and your own life and the honour of these two
damsels!"

And the robber-knight dealeth him a great buffet of his sword so as
that it went nigh to stun him altogether.  Howbeit the Coward Knight
moveth not.  Perceval looketh at him in wonderment and thinketh him
that he hath set too craven a knight in his place, and now at last
knoweth well that he spake truth.  The robber-knight smiteth him all
over his body and giveth him so many buffets that the knight seeth his
own blood.

"By my head," saith he, "You have wounded me, but you shall pay
therefor, for I supposed not that you were minded to slay me!"

He draweth his sword, that was sharp and strong, and smiteth his horse
right sore hard of his spurs, and catcheth the knight with his sword
right in the midst of his breast with a sweep so strong that he beareth
him to the ground beside his horse.  He alighteth over him, unlaceth
his ventail and smiteth down his coif, then striketh off his head and
presenteth it to Perceval.

"Sir," saith he, "Here give I you of my first joust."

"By my head," said Perceval, "Right dearly love I this present! Now
take heed that you never again fall back into the cowardize wherein you
have been.  For it is too sore shame to a knight!"

"Sir," saith he, "I will not, but never should I have believed that one
could become hardy so speedily, or otherwise long ago would I have
become so, and so should I have had worship and honour thereof, for
many a knight hath held me in contempt herein, that elsewise would have
honoured me."

Perceval answereth that right and reason it is that worshipful men
should be more honoured than the other.

"I commend these two damsels to your protection, and lead them to their
hold in safety, and be at their pleasure and their will, and so say
everywhere that you have for name the Knight Hardy, for more of
courtesy hath this name than the other."

"Sir," saith he, "You say true, and you have I to thank for the name."

The damsels give great thanks to Perceval, and take leave of him, and
so go their way with right good will toward the knight that goeth with
them on account of the knight he had slain, so that thereof called they
him the Knight Hardy.


VIII.

Perceval departeth from the place where the knight lieth dead, and
rideth until that he draweth nigh to Cardoil where King Arthur was, and
findeth the country round in sore terror and dismay.  Much he
marvelleth wherefore it may be, and demandeth of some of the meaner
sort wherefore they are in so sore affright.

"Doth the King, then, live no longer?"

"Sir," say the most part, "Yea, he is there within in this castle, but
never was he so destroyed nor so scared as he is at this present.  For
a knight warreth upon him against whom no knight in the world may
endure."

Perceval rideth on until he cometh before the master hall, and is
alighted on the mounting-stage.  Lancelot and Messire Gawain come to
meet him and make much joy of him, as do the King and Queen and all
they of the court; and they made disarm him and do upon him a right
rich robe.  They that had never seen him before looked upon him right
fainly for the worship and valour of his knighthood.  The court also
was rejoiced because of him, for sore troubled had it been.  So as the
King sate one day at meat, there came four knights into the hall, and
each one of them bore before him a dead knight.  And their feet and
arms had been stricken off, but their bodies were still all armed, and
the habergeons thereon were all black as though they had been blasted
of lightning.  They laid the knights in the midst of the hall.

"Sir," say they to the King, "Once more is made manifest this shame
that is done you that is not yet amended.  The Knight of the Dragon
destroyeth you your land and slayeth your men and cometh as nigh us as
he may, and saith that in your court shall never be found knight so
hardy as that he durst abide him or assault him."

Right sore shame hath the King of these tidings, and Messire Gawain and
Lancelot likewise.  Right sorrowful are they of heart for that the King
would not allow them to go thither.  The four knights turn back again
and leave the dead knights in the hall, but the King maketh them be
buried with the others.


IX.

A great murmuring ariseth amongst the knights in the hall, and the most
part say plainly that they never heard tell of none that slew knights
in such cruel sort, nor so many as did he; and that neither Messire
Gawain nor Lancelot ought to be blamed for that they went not thither,
for no knight in the world might conquer such a man and our Lord God
did not, for he casteth forth fire and flame from his shield whensoever
him listeth.  And while this murmur was going on between the knights
all round about the hall, behold you therewithal the Damsel that made
bear the knight in the horse-bier and cometh before the King.

"Sir," saith she, "I pray and beseech you that you do me right in your
court.  See, here is Messire Gawain that was at the assembly in the Red
Launde where were many knights, and among them was the son of the Widow
Lady, that I see sitting beside you.  He and Messire Gawain were they
that won the most prize of the assembly. This knight had white arms,
and they of the assembly said that he had better done than Messire
Gawain, for that he had been first in the assembly.  It had been
granted me, before the assembly began, that he that should do best
thereat, should avenge the knight.  Sir, I have sought for him until I
have now found him at your court.  Wherefore I pray and beseech you
that you bid him do so much herein as that he be not blamed, for
Messire Gawain well knoweth that I have spoken true.  But the knight
departed so soon from the assembly, that I knew not what had become of
him, and Messire Gawain was right heavy for that he had departed, for
he was in quest of him, but knew him not."


X.

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Truth it is that he it was that did
best at the assembly in the Red Launde, and moreover, please God, well
will he fulfil his covenant towards you."

"Messire Gawain," saith Perceval, "Meseemeth you did best above all
other."

"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain, "You speak of your courtesy, but
howsoever I or other may have done, you had the prize therein by the
judgment of the knights.  Of so much may I well call upon the damsel to
bear witness."

"Sir," saith she, "Gramercy!  He ought not to deny me that I require of
him.  For the knight that I have so long followed about and borne on a
bier was son of his uncle Elinant of Escavalon."


XI.

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "Take heed that you speak truth.  I know well
that Elinant of Escavalon was mine uncle on my father's side, but of
his son know I nought."

"Sir," saith she, "Of his deeds well deserved he to be known, for by
his great valour and hardiment came he by his death, and he had to name
Alein of Escavalon.  The Damsel of the Circlet of Gold loved him of
passing great love with all her might.  The comeliest knight that was
ever seen of his age was he, and had he lived longer would have been
one of the best knights known, and of the great love she had in him
made she his body be embalmed when the Knight of the Dragon had slain
him, he that is so cruel and maketh desolate all the lands and all the
islands.  The Damsel of the Circlet of Gold hath he defied in such sort
that already hath he slain great part of her knights, and she is held
fast in her castle, so that she durst not issue forth, insomuch that
all the knights that are there say, and the Lady of the castle also,
that he that shall avenge this knight shall have the Circlet of Gold,
that never before was she willing to part withal, and the fairest
guerdon will that be that any knight may have."


XII.

"Sir," saith she, "Well behoveth you therefore, to do your best
endeavour to avenge your uncle's son, and to win the Circlet of Gold,
for, and you slay the knight, you will have saved the land of King
Arthur that he threateneth to make desolate, and all the lands that
march with his own, for no King hateth he so much as King Arthur on
account of the head of the Giant whereof he made such joy at his court."

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "Where is the Knight of the Dragon?"

"Sir," saith she, "He is in the isles of the Elephants that wont to be
the fairest land and the richest in the world.  Now hath he made it all
desolate, they say, in such sort that none durst inhabit there, and the
island wherein he abideth is over against the castle of the Damsel of
the Golden Circlet, so that every day she seeth him carry knights off
bodily from the forest that he slayeth and smiteth limb from limb,
whereof hath she right sore grief at heart."


XIII.

Perceval heareth this that the damsel telleth him, and marvelleth much
thereat, and taketh thought within himself, sith that the adventure is
thus thrown upon him, that great blame will he have thereof and he
achieveth it not.  He taketh leave of the King and Queen, and so goeth
his way and departeth from the Court. Messire Gawain departeth and
Lancelot with him, and say they will bear him company to the piece of
ground, and they may go thither. Perceval holdeth their fellowship
right dear.  The King and Queen have great pity of Perceval, and say
all that never until now no knight went into jeopardy so sore, and that
sore loss to the world will it be if there he should die.  They send to
all the hermits and worshipful men in the forest of Cardoil and bid
them pray for Perceval that God defend him from this enemy with whom he
goeth forth to do battle.  Lancelot and Messire Gawain go with him by
the strange forests and by the islands, and found the forests all void
and desolate and wasted in place after place. The Damsel followeth them
together with the dead knight.  And so far have they wandered that they
come into the plain country before the forest.  So they looked before
them and saw a castle that was seated in the plain without the forest,
and they saw that it was set in a right fair meadow-land, and was
surrounded of great running waters and girdled of high walls, and had
within great halls with windows.  They draw nigh the castle and see
that it turneth all about faster than the wind may run, and it had at
the top the archers of crossbows of copper that draw their shafts so
strong that no armour in the world might avail against the stroke
thereof.  Together with them were men of copper that turned and sounded
their horns so passing loud that the ground all seemed to quake.  And
under the gateway were lions and bears chained, that roared with so
passing great might and fury that all the ground and the valley
resounded thereof.  The knights draw rein and look at this marvel.

"Lords," saith the damsel, "Now may you see the Castle of Great
Endeavour.  Messire Gawain and Lancelot, draw you back, and come not
nigher the archers, for otherwise ye be but dead men.  And you, sir,"
saith she to Perceval, "And you would enter into this castle, lend me
your spear and shield, and so will I bear them before for warranty, and
you come after me and make such countenance as good knight should, and
so shall you pass through into the castle.  But your fellows may well
draw back, for now is not the hour for them to pass.  None may pass
thither save only he that goeth to vanquish the knight and win the
Golden Circlet and the Graal, and do away the false law with its horns
of copper."


XIV.

Perceval is right sorrowful when he heareth the damsel say that Messire
Gawain and Lancelot may not pass in thither with him albeit they be the
best knights in the world.  He taketh leave of them full sorrowfully,
and they also depart sore grudgingly; but they pray him right sweetly,
so Lord God allow him escape alive from the place whither he goeth,
that he will meet them again at some time and place, and at ease, in
such sort as that they may see him without discognisance.  They wait
awhile to watch the Good Knight, that hath yielded his shield and spear
to the damsel.  She hath set his shield on the bier in front, then
pointeth out to them of the castle all openly the shield that belonged
to the Good Soldier; after that she maketh sign that it belongeth to
the knight that is there waiting behind her. Perceval was without
shield in the saddle-bows, and holdeth his sword drawn and planteth him
stiffly in the stirrups after such sort as maketh them creak again and
his horse's chine swerve awry.  After that, he looketh at Lancelot and
Messire Gawain.

"Lords," saith he, "To the Saviour of the World commend I you."

And they answer, "May He that endured pain of His body on the Holy True
Cross protect him in his body and his soul and his life."

With that he smiteth with his spurs and goeth his way to the castle as
fast as his horse may carry him,--toward the Turning Castle.  He
smiteth with his sword at the gate so passing strongly that he cut a
good three fingers into a shaft of marble. The lions and the beast that
were chained to guard the gate slink away into their dens, and the
castle stoppeth at once.  The archers cease to shoot.  There were three
bridges before the castle that uplifted themselves so soon as he was
beyond.


XV.

Lancelot and Messire Gawain departed thence when they had beholden the
marvel, but they were fain to go toward the castle when they saw it
stop turning.  But a knight cried out to them from the battlements,
"Lords, and you come forward, the archers will shoot and the castle
will turn, and the bridges be lowered again, wherefore you would be
deceived herein."

They draw back, and hear made within the greatest joy that ever was
heard, and they hear how the most part therewithin say that now is he
come of whom they shall be saved in twofold wise, saved as of life, and
saved as of soul, so God grant him to vanquish the knight that beareth
the spirit of the devil.  Lancelot and Messire Gawain turn them back
thoughtful and all heavy for that they may not pass into the castle,
for none other passage might they see than this.  So they ride on,
until that they draw nigh the Waste City where Lancelot slew the knight.

"Ha," saith he to Messire Gawain, "Now is the time at hand that
behoveth me to die in this Waste City, and God grant not counsel
herein."

He told Messire Gawain all the truth of that which had befallen him
therein.  So, even as he would have taken leave of him, behold you, the
Poor Knight of the Waste Castle!


XVI.

"Sir," saith he to Lancelot, "I have taken respite of you in the city
within there, of the knight that you slew, until forty days after that
the Graal shall be achieved, nor have I issued forth of the castle
wherein you harboured you until now, nor should I now have come forth
had I not seen you come for fulfilling of your pledge, nor never shall
I come forth again until such time as you shall return hither on the
day I have named to you.  And so, gramercy to you and Messire Gawain
for the horses you sent me, that were a right great help to us, and for
the treasure and the hold you have given to my sisters that were sore
poverty-stricken. But I may not do otherwise than abide in my present
poverty until such time as you shall be returned, on the day whereunto
I have taken respite for you, sore against the will of your enemies,
for the benefits you have done me.  Wherefore I pray yon forget me not,
for the saving of your loyalty."

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "That will I not, and gramercy for having
put off the day for love of me."

They depart from the knight and come back again toward Cardoil where
King Arthur was.



BRANCH XVIII.

TITLE I.

Here the story is silent of Lancelot and Messire Gawain, and saith that
Perceval is in the Turning Castle, whereof Joseus recounteth the truth,
to wit, that Virgil founded it in the air by his wisdom in such
fashion, when the philosophers went on the Quest of the Earthly
Paradise, and it was prophesied that the castle should not cease
turning until such time as the Knight should come thither that should
have a head of gold, the look of a lion, a heart of steel, the navel of
a virgin maiden, conditions without wickedness, the valour of a man and
faith and belief of God; and that this knight should bear the shield of
the Good Soldier that took down the Saviour of the World from hanging
on the rood.  It was prophesied, moreover, that all they of the castle
and all other castles whereof this one was the guardian should hold the
old law until such time as the Good Knight should come, by whom their
souls should be saved and their death respited.  For, so soon as he
should be come, they should run to be baptized, and should firmly
believe the new law.  Wherefore was the joy great in the castle for
that their death should now be respited, and that they should be
released of all terror of the knight that was their foe, whom they
dreaded even to the death, and of the sin of the false law whereof they
had heretofore been attaint.


II.

Right glad is Perceval when he seeth the people of the castle turn them
to the holy faith of the Saviour, and the damsel saith to him, "Sir,
right well have you speeded thus far on your way; nought is there now
to be done save to finish that which remaineth.  For never may they
that are within issue forth so long as the Knight of the Dragon is on
live.  Here may you not tarry, for the longer you tarry, the more lands
will be desolate and the more folk will he slay.  Perceval taketh leave
of them of the castle, that make much joy of him, but sore misgiving
have they of him on account of the knight with whom he goeth to do
battle, and they say that if he shall conquer him, never yet befell
knight so fair adventure.  They have heard mass before that he
departeth, and made rich offerings for him in honour of the Saviour and
His sweet Mother.  The damsel goeth before, for that she knew the place
where the evil knight had his repair. They ride until they come into
the Island of Elephants.  The Knight was alighted under an olive tree,
and had but now since slain four knights that were of the castle of the
Queen of the Golden Circlet.  She was at the windows of her castle and
saw her Knights dead, whereof made she great dole.

"Ha, God," saith she, "Shall I never see none that may avenge me of
this evildoer that slayeth my men and destroyeth my land on this wise?"

She looketh up and seeth Perceval come and the damsel.

"Sir Knight, and you have not force and help and valour in you more
than is in four knights, come not nigh this devil!  Howbeit, and you
feel that you may so do battle as to overcome and vanquish him, I will
give you the Golden Circlet that is within, and will hold with the New
Law that hath been of late established.  For I see well by your shield
that you are a Christian, and, so you may conquer him, then ought I at
last to be assured that your law availeth more than doth ours, and that
God was born of the Virgin."


III.

Right joyous is Perceval of this that he heareth her say.  He crosseth
and blesseth him, and commendeth him to God and His sweet Mother; and
is pricked of wrath and hardiment like a lion. He seeth the Knight of
the Dragon mounted, and looketh at him in wonderment, for that he was
so big that never had he seen any man so big of his body.  He seeth the
shield at his neck, that was right black and huge and hideous.  He
seeth the Dragon's head in the midst thereof, that casteth out fire and
flame in great plenty, so foul and hideous and horrible that all the
field stank thereof.  The damsel draweth her toward the castle and
leaveth the knight on the horsesaith.


IV.

"Sir," saith she to Perceval, "On this level plot was slain your
uncle's son whom here I leave, for I have brought him far enough. Now
avenge him as best you may, I render and give him over to you, for so
much have I done herein as that none have right to blame me."

With that she departeth.  The Knight of the Dragon removeth and seeth
Perceval coming all alone, wherefore hath he great scorn of him and
deigneth not to take his spear, but rather cometh at him with his drawn
sword, that was right long and red as a burning brand.  Perceval seeth
him coming and goeth against him, spear in rest, as hard as his horse
may carry him, thinking to smite him through the breast.  But the
Knight setteth his shield between, and the flame that issued from the
Dragon burnt the shaft thereof even to his hand.  And the Knight
smiteth him on the top of his helmet, but Perceval covereth him of his
shield, whereof had he great affiance that the sword of the foeman
knight might not harm it.  Josephus witnesseth us that Joseph of
Abarimacie had made be sealed in the boss of the shield some of the
blood of Our Lord and a piece of His garment.


V.

When the Knight seeth that he hath not hurt Perceval's shield, great
marvel hath he thereof, for never aforetime had he smitten knight but
he had dealt him his death-blow.  He turneth the head of the Dragon
towards Perceval's shield, but the flame that issued from the Dragon's
head turned back again as it had been blown of the wind, so that it
might not come nigh him.  The Knight is right wroth thereof, and
passeth beyond and cometh to the bier of the dead knight and turneth
his shield with the dragon's head against him.  He scorcheth and
burneth all to ashes the bodies of the knight and the horses.

Saith he to Perceval, "Are you quit as for this knight's burial?"

"Certes," saith Perceval, "You say true, and much misliketh me thereof,
but please God I shall amend it."


VI.

The damsel that had brought the knight was at the windows of the palace
beside the Queen.  She crieth out. "Perceval, fair sir," saith the
damsel, "Now is the shame the greater and the harm the greater, and you
amend them not."

Right sorrowful is Perceval of his cousin that is all burnt to a
cinder, and he seeth the Knight that beareth the devil with him, but
knoweth not how he may do vengeance upon him.  He cometh to him
sword-drawn, and dealeth him a great blow on the shield in such sort
that he cleaveth it right to the midst thereof where the dragon's head
was, and the flame leapeth forth so burning hot on his sword that it
waxed red-hot like as was the Knight's sword.

And the damsel crieth to him: "Now is your sword of the like power as
his; now shall it be seen what you will do!  I have been told of a
truth that the Knight may not be vanquished save by one only and at one
blow, but how this is I may not tell, whereof irketh me."

Perceval looketh and seeth that his sword is all in a flame of fire,
whereof much he marvelleth.  He smiteth the Knight so passing sore that
he maketh his head stoop down over the fore saddle-bow.  The Knight
righteth him again, sore wrath that he may not put him to the worse.
He smiteth him with his sword a blow so heavy that he cleaveth the
habergeon and his right shoulder so that he cutteth and burneth the
flesh to the bone. As he draweth back his blow, Perceval catcheth him
and striketh him with such passing strength that he smiteth off his
hand, sword and all.  The Knight gave a great roar, and the Queen was
right joyous thereof.  The Knight natheless made no semblant that he
was yet conquered, but turneth back toward Perceval at a right great
gallop and launched his flame against his shield, but it availeth him
nought, for he might not harm it.  Perceval seeth the dragon's head,
that was broad and long and horrible, and aimeth with his sword and
thrusteth it up to the hilt into his gullet as straight as ever he may,
and the head of the dragon hurleth forth a cry so huge that forest and
fell resound thereof as far as two leagues Welsh.


VII.

The dragon's head turneth it toward his lord in great wrath, and
scorcheth him and burneth him to dust, and thereafter departed up into
the sky like lightning.  The Queen cometh to Perceval, and all the
knights, and see that he is sore hurt in his right shoulder.  And the
damsel telleth him that never will he be healed thereof save he setteth
thereon of the dust of the knight that is dead.  And they lead him up
to the castle with right great joy.  Then they make him be disarmed,
and have his wound washed and tended and some of the knight's dust that
was dead set thereon that it might have healing.  She maketh send to
all the knights of her land: "Lords," saith she, "See here the knight
that hath saved my land for me and protected your lives.  You know well
how it hath been prophesied that the knight with head of gold should
come, and through him should you be saved.  And now, behold, hath he
come hither.  The prophecy may not be belied.  I will that you do his
commandment."

And they said that so would they do right willingly.  She bringeth him
there where the Circlet of Gold is, and she herself setteth it on his
head.  After that, she bringeth his sword and delivereth it unto him,
wherewith he had slain the giant devil, both the knight that bare the
devil, and the devil that the knight bare in his shield.


VIII.

"Sir," saith she, "May all they that will not go to be baptized, nor
accept your New Law, be slain of this your sword, and hereof I make you
the gift."

She herself made her be held up and baptized first, and all the other
after.  Josephus maketh record that in right baptism she had for name
Elysa, and a good life she led and right holy, and she died a virgin.
Her body still lieth in the kingdom of Ireland, where she is highly
honoured.  Perceval was within the castle until that he was heal.  The
tidings spread throughout the lands that the Knight of the Golden
Circlet had slain the Knight of the Dragon, and great everywhere was
the joy thereof.  It was known at the court of King Arthur, but much
marvelled they that it was said the Knight of the Golden Circlet had
slain him, for they knew not who was the Knight of the Golden Circlet.


IX.

When Perceval was whole, he departed from the castle of the Queen of
the Golden Circlet, all of whose land was at his commandment. The Queen
told him that she would keep the Golden Circlet until he should will
otherwise, and in such sort he left it there, for he would not carry it
with him, sith that he knew not whitherward he might turn.  The history
telleth us that he rode on until one day he came to the Castle of
Copper.  Within the castle were a number of folk that worshipped the
bull of copper and believed not in any other God.  The bull of copper
was in the midst of the castle upon four columns of copper, and
bellowed so loud at all hours of the day that it was heard for a league
all round about, and there was an evil spirit within that gave answers
concerning whatsoever any should ask of it.


X.

At the entrance to the gateway of the castle were two men made of
copper by art of nicromancy, and they held two great mallets of iron,
and they busied themselves striking the one after the other, and so
strongly they struck that nought mortal is there in the world that
might pass through amongst their blows but should be all to-crushed
thereby.  And on the other side was the castle so fast enclosed about
that nought might enter thereinto.


XI.

Perceval beholdeth the fortress of the castle, and the entrance that
was so perilous, whereof he marvelleth much.  He passeth a bridge that
was within the entry, and cometh nigh them that guard the gate.  A
Voice began to cry aloud above the gate that he might go forward
safely, and that he need have no care for the men of copper that
guarded the gate nor be affrighted of their blows, for no power had
they to harm such a knight as was he.  He comforteth himself much of
that the Voice saith to him.  He cometh anigh the serjeants of copper,
and they cease to strike at once, and hold their iron mallets quite
still.  And he entereth into the castle, where he findeth within great
plenty of folk that all were misbelievers and of feeble belief.  He
seeth the bull of copper in the midst of the castle right big and
horrible, that was surrounded on all sides by folk that all did worship
thereunto together round about.


XII.

The bull bellowed so passing loud that right uneath was it to hear
aught else within the castle besides.  Perceval was therewithin, but
none was there that spake unto him, for, so intent were they upon
adoring the bull that, and any had been minded to slay them what time
they were yet worshipping the same, they would have allowed him so to
do, and would have thought that they were saved thereby; and save this
had they none other believe in the world.  It was not of custom within
there to be armed, for the entrance of the fortress was so strong that
none might enter but by their will and commandment, save it were the
pleasure of our Lord God.  And the devil that had deceived them, and in
whom they believed, gave them such great abundance therewithin of
everything they could desire, that nought in the world was there
whereof they lacked.  When he perceived that they held no discourse
with him, he draweth himself on one side by a great hall, and so called
them around him.  The more part came thither, but some of them came
not.  The Voice warneth him that he make them all pass through the
entrance of the gateway there where the men with the iron mallets are,
for there may he well prove which of them are willing to believe in God
and which not. The Good Knight draweth his sword and surroundeth them
all and maketh them all go in common before him, would they or nould
they.  And they that would not go willingly and kindly might be sure
that they should receive their death.  He made them pass through the
entrance there where the serjeants of copper were striking great blows
with their iron mallets.  Of one thousand five hundred that there were,
scarce but thirteen were not all slain and brained of the iron mallets.
But the thirteen had firmly bound their belief in Our Lord, wherefore
the serjeants took no heed of them.


XIII.

The evil spirit that was in the bull of copper issued forth thereof as
it had been lightning from heaven, and the bull of copper melted all in
a heap so as that nought remained in that place thereof.  Then the
thirteen that remained sent for a hermit of the forest and so made
themselves be held up and baptized. After that, they took the bodies of
the misbelievers and made cast them into a water that is called the
River of Hell.  This water runneth into the sea, so say many that have
seen it, and there where it spendeth itself in the sea is it most foul
and most horrible, so that scarce may ship pass that is not wrecked.


XIV.

Josephus maketh record that the hermit that baptized the thirteen had
the name of Denis, and that the castle was named the Castle of the
Trial.  They lived within there until the New Law was assured and
believed in throughout all the kingdoms, and a right good life led they
and a holy.  Nor never might none enter with them thereinto but was
slain and crushed save he firmly believed in God.  When the thirteen
that were baptized in the castle issued forth thereof they scattered
themselves on every side among strange forests, and made hermitages and
buildings, and put their bodies to penance for the false law they had
maintained and to win the love of the Saviour of the World.


XV.

Perceval, as you may hear, was soldier of Our Lord, and well did God
show him how He loved his knighthood, for the Good Knight had much pain
and sore travail and pleased Him greatly.  He was come one day to the
house of King Hermit that much desired to see him, and made much joy of
him when he saw him, and rejoiced greatly of his courage.  Perceval
relateth to him all the greater adventures that have befallen him at
many times and in many places sithence that he departed from him, and
King Hermit much marvelleth him of many.

"Uncle," saith Perceval, "I marvel me much of an adventure that befell
me at the outlet of a forest; for I saw a little white beast that I
found in the launde of the forest, and twelve hounds had she in her
belly, that bayed aloud and quested within her. At last they issued
forth of her and slew her beside the cross that was at the outlet of
the forest, but they might not eat of her flesh.  A knight and a
damsel, whereof one was at one end of the launde and the other at the
other, came thither and took the flesh and the blood, and set them in
two vessels of gold.  And the hounds that were born of her fled away
into the forest."

"Fair nephew," saith the Hermit, "I know well that God loveth you sith
that such things appear to you, for His valour and yours and for the
chastity that is in your body.  The beast, that was kindly and gentle
and sweet, signifieth Our Lord Jesus Christ, and the twelve dogs that
yelped within her signify the people of the Old Law that God created
and made in His own likeness, and after that He had made and created
them He desired to prove how much they loved Him.  He sent them forty
years into the wilderness, where their garments never wasted, and sent
them manna from heaven that served them whatsoever they would to eat
and to drink, and they were without evil and without trouble and
without sickness, and such joy and pleasance had they as they would.
And they held one day their council, and the master of them said that
and God should wax wroth with them and withhold this manna, they would
have nought to eat, and that it might not last always albeit that God
sent it in so passing great plenty. Wherefore they purposed to set
aside great part thereof in store, so that if the Lord God should wax
wroth they might take of that which was stored and so save themselves
for a long space.  They agreed among themselves and did thereafter as
they had purposed and determined amongst them.


XVI.

"God, that seeth and knoweth all things, knew well their thought. He
withdrew from them the manna from heaven that had come to them in such
abundance, and which they had bestowed in caverns underground, thinking
to find there the manna they had set aside, but it was changed by the
will of God into efts and adders and worms and vermin, and when they
saw that they had done evil, they scattered themselves over strange
lands.  Fair, sweet nephew," saith the Hermit, "These twelve hounds
that bayed in the beast are the Jews that God had fed, and that were
born in the Law that He established, nor never would they believe on
Him, nor love Him, but rather crucified Him and tore His Body after the
shamefullest sort they might, but in no wise might they destroy His
flesh.  The knight and damsel that set the pieces of flesh in vessels
of gold signify the divinity of the Father, which would not that His
flesh should be minished.  The hounds fled to the forest and became
savage what time they had torn the beast to pieces, so in like manner
are the Jews that were and ever shall be savage, subject to them of the
New Law henceforth for ever."


XVII.

"Fair uncle," saith Perceval, "Good right and reason is it that they
should have shame and tribulation and evil reward sith that they slew
and crucified Him that had created and made them and deigned to be born
as a man in their Law.  But two priests came after, whereof the one
kissed the cross and worshipped it right heartily and made great joy
thereof, and the other did violence thereunto and bear it with a great
rod, and wept right sore and made the greatest dole in the world.  With
this last was I right sore wrath, and willingly would I have run upon
him had he not been a priest."

"Fair nephew," saith the Hermit, "He that beat it believed in God
equally as well as he that adored, for that the holy flesh of the
Saviour of the World was set thereon, that abhorred not the pains of
death.  One smiled and made great joy for that He redeemed His souls
from the pains of hell that would otherwise have been therein for
evermore; and for this made he yet greater joy, that he knew He was God
and Man everlastingly in His nature, for he that hath not this in
remembrance shall never believe aright. Fair nephew, the other priest
bear the cross and wept for the passing great anguish and torment and
dolour that our Lord God suffered thereon, for so sore was the anguish
as might have melted the rock, nor no tongue of man may tell the sorrow
He felt upon the cross.  And therefore did he bear it and revile it for
that He was crucified thereon, even as I might hate a spear or sword
wherewith you had been slain.  For nought else did he thus, and ever,
so often as he remembereth the pain that God suffered thereon, cometh
he to the cross in such manner as you saw.  Both twain are hermits and
dwell in the forest, and he is named Jonas that kissed and adored the
cross, and he that beat and reviled it is named Alexis."


XVIII.

Willingly heareth Perceval this that his uncle telleth and recordeth
him.  He relateth how he did battle with the devil-knight that bare in
his shield the head of a dragon that cast forth fire and flame, and how
the dragon burnt up his lord at the last.

"Fair nephew," saith the hermit, "Right glad am I of these tidings that
you tell me, for I have been borne on hand that the Knight of the
Golden Circlet had slain him."

"Sir," saith Perceval, "It may well be, but never at any time saw I
knight so big and horrible."

"Fair nephew," saith the Hermit, "None might overcome him save the Good
Knight only, for all true worshipful men behoveth do battle with the
Devil, nor never may he be worshipful man that fighteth not against
him.  And even as the devil withal that was figured on his shield slew
and burnt up his master, even so doth one devil torment and molest
other in the world to come; and greater evil might not the Knight of
the Devil do you than burn the body of your uncle's son that he had
killed, as I have heard tell.  Power had he over his body, but, please
God, not over his soul to burn it."

"Fair uncle," saith Perceval, "I went thither by a Turning Castle,
where were archers of copper that shot bolts, and bears and lions
chained at the entrance of the gateway.  So soon as I drew nigh and
smote thereon with my sword the castle stopped still."

"Fair nephew," said King Hermit, "Nought had the Devil outwardly
besides this castle.  It was the entrance to his fortress, nor would
they within ever have been converted save you had been there."

"Sir," saith he, "Right sorrowful am I of Messire Gawain and Lancelot,
for well I loved their fellowship, and great aid would they have been
in my need."

"Fair nephew, had they been chaste as are you, well might they have
entered on account of their good knighthood.  For were they not wanton,
the two best knights in the world are they.


XIX.

"Fair nephew, in the time of your knighthood have you much advanced the
Law of the Saviour, for you have destroyed the falsest believe in the
world, and this was of them that believed on the bull of copper and the
devil that was therein.  If this folk had remained, and had failed of
you, never would it have been destroyed until the end of the world.
Wherefore marvel not that you have travail in serving God, but endure
it willingly, for never had worshipful man honour without pains.  But
now behoveth you achieve another matter.  All they of the land of King
Fisherman your uncle have abandoned the New Law, and returned to that
which God hath forbidden.  But the most part do so rather perforce and
for fear of the King that hath seized the land, who is my brother and
your uncle, than on account of aught else.  Wherefore behoveth you set
counsel therein, for this thing may not be achieved by any earthly man
save by you only.  For the castle and land should be yours of right,
and sore mischief is it when one that cometh of lineage so high and so
holy is traitor to God, and disloyal to the world.


XX.

"Fair nephew," saith the good man, "The castle hath been much
strengthened, for there are now nine bridges newly made, and at each
bridge are there three knights tall and strong and hardy, whereof hath
he much defence, and your uncle is there within that keepeth the
castle.  But never sithence, none of the knights of King Fisherman nor
of his priests have there appeared, nor knoweth any what hath befallen
them.  The chapel wherein the most Holy Graal appeared is all emptied
of its sacred hallows; the hermits that are by the forest are fain of
your coming, for never see they there a knight pass by that believeth
in God.  And so you shall have achieved this enterprise, it is a thing
whereof shall God be well pleased."


XXI.

"Fair uncle," saith Perceval, "Thither will I go, sith that you commend
it to me, for no reason is it that he should have the castle that hath
entered thereinto.  Of better right ought my mother to have it, that
was the next-born to King Fisherman, of whose death am I right
sorrowful."

"Fair nephew, you are right!  for on your account fell he into
languishment, and, had you then gone again, so say many, then would he
have been whole, but how this might have been I know not of a
certainty.  But methinketh our Lord God willed his languishment and
death, for had it been His will, you would have made the demand, but He
willed otherwise, wherefore ought we to give thanks and praise Him
whatsoever He doth, for He hath foreseen of every man that which shall
come to him.  I have within here a white mule that is very old.  Fair
nephew, you will take her with you.  She will follow you right
willingly, and a banner shall you bear, for the power of God and His
virtue shall avail more than your own.  Seven-and-twenty knights guard
the nine bridges, all chosen and of approved great valour, and none
ought now to believe that a single knight may vanquish so many, save
the miracle of Our Lord and His virtue shall open a way for him.  So I
pray and beseech you that you have God always in remembrance and His
sweet Mother, and, so at any time you be put to the worse of your
knighthood, mount upon the mule and take the banner, and your enemies
shall forthwith lose their force, for nought confoundeth any enemy so
swiftly as doth the virtue and puissance of God.  It is a thing well
known that you are the Best Knight of the World, but set not affiance
in your strength nor in your knighthood as against so many knights, for
against them may you not endure."


XXII.

Perceval hearkeneth unto his uncle's discourse and his chastening, and
layeth fast hold on all that he saith, wherewith is he pleased full
well, for great affiance hath he in his words.

"Fair nephew," saith the Hermit, "Two lions are there at the entry of
the gateway, whereof the one is red and the other white. Put your trust
in the white, for he is on God's side, and look at him whensoever your
force shall fail you, and he will look at you likewise in such sort as
that straightway you shall know his intent, by the will and pleasure of
Our Saviour.  Wherefore do according as you shall see that he would,
for no intent will he have save good only, and to help you; nor may you
not otherwise succeed in winning past the nine bridges that are warded
of the twenty-seven knights.  And God grant you may win past in such
wise that you may save your body and set forward withal the Law of Our
Lord that your uncle hath hindered all that he might."


XXIII.

Perceval departeth from the hermitage, and carrieth away the banner,
according to his uncle's counsel, and the white mule followeth after.
He goeth his way toward the land that was the land of King Fisherman,
and findeth a hermit that was issued forth of his hermitage and was
going at a great pace through the forest.  He abideth so soon as he
beholdeth the cross on Perceval's shield.

"Sir," saith he, "I well perceive that you are a Christian, of whom not
a single one have I seen this long time past.  For the King of Castle
Mortal is driving us forth of this forest, for he hath renounced God
and His sweet Mother, so that we durst not remain in His defence."

"By my faith," saith Perceval, "But you shall!  for God shall lead you
forward, and I after.  Are there more hermits in this forest?" saith
Perceval.

"Yea, Sir, there be twelve here that are waiting for me at a cross
yonder before us, and we are minded to go to the kingdom of Logres and
put our bodies to penance for God's sake, and to abandon our cells and
chapels in this forest for dread of this felon King that hath seized
the land, for he willeth that none who believeth in God should here
abide."


XXIV.

Perceval is come with the hermit to the cross where the good men had
assembled them together, and findeth Joseus, the young man that was
King Pelles' son, of whom he maketh right great joy, and he maketh the
hermits turn back again with him, saying that he will defend them and
make them safe, by God's help, in the kingdom, and prayeth them right
sweetly that they make prayer for him to our Lord that He grant him to
win back that which of right is his own.  He is come forth of the
forest and the hermits with him.  He draweth nigh to the castle of King
Fisherman, and strong was the defence at the entrance thereof.  Some of
the knights well knew that Perceval would conquer him, for long since
had it been prophesied that he who bare such shield should win the
Graal of him that sold God for money.


XXV.

The knights saw Perceval coming and the company of hermits with him
right seemly to behold, and much marvel had they thereof. About a
couple of bowshots above the bridge was a chapel fashioned like the one
at Camelot, wherein was a sepulchre, and none knew who lay therein.
Perceval abideth thereby and his company.  He leaneth his shield and
spear against the chapel, and maketh fast his horse and mule by the
reins.  He beholdeth the sepulchre, that was right fair, and forthwith
the sepulchre openeth and the joinings fall apart and the stone lifteth
up in such wise that a man might see the knight that lay within, of
whom came forth a smell of so sweet savour that it seemed to the good
men that were looking on that it had been all embalmed. They found a
letter which testified that this knight was named Josephus.  So soon as
the hermits beheld the sepulchre open, they said to Perceval: "Sir, now
at last know we well that you are the Good Knight, the chaste, the
holy."

The knights that warded the bridge heard the tidings that the sepulchre
had opened at the coming of the knight, whereof were they in the
greater dismay, and well understood that it was he that was first at
the Graal.  The tidings came to the King that held the castle, and he
bade his knights not be dismayed for dread of a single knight, for that
he would have no force nor power against them, nor might it never
befall but that one only of his own knights should be enough to conquer
him.


XXVI.

Perceval was armed upon his horse.  The hermits make the sign of the
cross over him, and bless him and commend him to God.  And he holdeth
his spear in rest and cometh toward the three knights that guard the
first bridge.  They all set upon him at once and break their spears
upon his shield.  One of them he smiteth with such force that he maketh
him topple over into the river that runneth under the bridge, both him
and his horse.  Of him was he quit, for the river was wide and deep and
swift.  The others held out against him a much longer bout with sharp
sword-play, but he vanquished them and smote them to pieces, and flung
their bodies into the water.  They of the second bridge came forward,
that were right good knights, and many a tough bout had he of them and
many a felon onslaught.  Joseus that was his uncle's son was there, and
said to the other hermits that right fainly would he go help him, but
that he deemed it might be sin, and they bade him take no heed of that,
for that great work of mercy would it be to destroy the enemies of Our
Lord.  He doeth off his grey cape and fettleth him in his frock, and
taketh one of them that were doing battle with Perceval and trusseth
him on his neck and so flingeth him into the river all armed, and
Perceval slayeth the other twain and hurleth them into the river in
like manner as the other.


XXVII.

By the time he had won the two bridges he was full spent and weary,
wherefore he bethinketh him of the lion, the manner whereof his uncle
had told him.  Then looketh he toward the entrance of the gateway and
seeth the white lion, that stood upright on his two hinder feet, for
that he was fain to see him. Perceval looketh him full between the two
eyes, and understandeth that the lion is minded by the will of God to
do him to wit that the knights of the third bridge are so hardy and of
such strength that they may not be overcome of a single knight and our
Lord God of his holy bounty open not the way, but that he must fain
take the mule and carry the banner if he would conquer them.  Perceval
understandeth the white lion's intent, and giveth God thanks thereof
and draweth him back, and Joseus the young man likewise. As soon as
they look back, they see that the first bridge is already lifted up
behind them.


XXVIII.

Perceval cometh to where the white mule was, and she was starred on the
forehead with a red cross.  He mounteth thereupon, and taketh the
banner and holdeth his sword drawn.  So soon as the white lion seeth
him coming, he unchaineth himself and runneth incontinent to the bridge
that was lifted, right amidst the knights, and lowereth it forthwith.
The King of Castle Mortal was on the battlements of the greater
fortress of the castle, and crieth to the knights that warded the
bridge, "Lords," saith he, "You are the most chosen knights of my land
and the hardiest, but no hardiment is it to lift the bridges on account
of a single knight whom you durst not abide body to body, whereof
meseemeth it great cowardize and not hardiment.  But the lion is
hardier than you all, that of his hardiment hath lowered the bridge.
Wherefore now know I well that had I set him to ward the first bridge,
he would have warded it better than these that have allowed themselves
to be slain."


XXIX.

Thereupon, behold you Perceval come upon his white mule, sword drawn
all naked in his fist, and cometh toward them of the third bridge,
whereof he smiteth the first so sore that he overthroweth him into the
water.  Joseus the hermit cometh forward and would fain have seized the
other twain, but they cry mercy of Perceval, and say that they will be
at his will in all things, and so will believe on God and His sweet
Mother and abandon their evil lord. And they of the fourth bridge say
likewise.  On such condition he alloweth them to live by the counsel of
Joseus, and they cast away their arms and yield up the bridges at his
will.  Perceval thinketh within himself that God's virtue hath right
great power, but that knight who hath force and power ought well to
approve his prowess for God's sake.  For of all that he shall do or
suffer for Him, shall God be well pleased.  For, were all the world
against our Lord God, and He should grant to any single one that should
be His champion all His power and might, he would conquer them all in
one hour of the day.  But He willeth that a man should travail for Him,
even as He Himself suffered travail for His people.


XXX.

Perceval cometh again back and alighteth of the white mule and
delivereth the banner to Joseus, and then mounteth again on his
destrier and cometh back to them of the fifth bridge, and these defend
themselves right stoutly, for that hardy knights are they, and do
battle against Perceval full sturdily.  Joseus the hermit cometh
thither and assaulteth them with passing great lustihood, that had the
Lord God not saved him they would have overthrown and slain him.
Howbeit, he holdeth the banner and grappleth them when he may lay hold,
and grippeth them so straight that they may not help themselves.
Perceval slayeth them and crusheth them and maketh them topple over
into the water that ran swiftly beneath the bridge.  When they of the
sixth bridge saw that these were conquered, they cried mercy of
Perceval and yielded themselves to him and delivered up their swords to
him, and they of the seventh bridge likewise.  When the red lion saw
that the seventh bridge was Won, and that the knights of the two
bridges had yielded themselves up to Perceval, he leapt up with such
fury that he burst his chain as had he been wood mad.  He came to one
of the knights and bit him and slew him, whereof the white lion was
full wroth, and runneth upon the other lion and teareth him to pieces
with his claws and teeth.


XXXI.

Straightway thereafter he raiseth himself up on his two hinder feet and
looketh at Perceval, and Perceval at him.  Perceval understandeth well
the lion's intent, to wit, that they of the last bridge are worse to
conquer than the others, and that they may not be conquered at all save
by the will of God and by him that is the lion.  And the lion warned
him that he go not against them with the banner, holy though it were,
nor receive them into mercy what surety soever they might make, for
that they are traitors, but that he must fain mount upon the white
mule, for that she is a beast on God's side, and that Joseus should
bring the banner and all the hermits go before, that are worshipful men
and of good life, so as to dismay the traitor King, and so shall the
end and the conquest of the castle be brought nigh.  Of all this the
lion made signs to Perceval, for speak he could not. Great affiance
hath Perceval in the lion's warning.  He alighteth of his destrier and
remounteth on the mule, and Joseus holdeth the banner.  The company of
twelve hermits was there, right seemly and holy.  They draw nigh the
castle.  The knights on the last bridge see Perceval coming towards
them and Joseus the hermit holding the banner, by whom they had seen
their other fellows wrestled withal and put to the worse.


XXXII.

The virtue of Our Lord and the dignity of the banner and the goodness
of the white mule and the holiness of the good hermits that made their
orisons to Our Lord so struck the knights that they lost all power over
themselves, but treason might not go forth of their hearts, wherefore
right heavy were they of their kinsmen that they had seen slain before
them.  They bethought them that and if by mercy they might escape
thence, they would never end until they had slain Perceval.  They come
to meet him and so cry him mercy passing sweetly in semblance, and say
that they will do his will for ever and ever, so only he will let them
depart safe and sound.  Perceval looketh at the lion to know what he
shall do; he seeth that the lion thinketh them traitors and disloyal,
and that so they were destroyed and dead the King that was in the
castle would have lost his force; and that, so Perceval will run upon
them, the lion will help him slay them. Perceval telleth the knights
that never will he have mercy upon them, and forthwith runneth upon
them, sword drawn, and sorely it misliked him that they defended not
themselves, insomuch that he all but left to slay them for that no
defence found he in them. But the lion is so far from holding them in
the like disdain, that he runneth upon them and biteth and slayeth
them, and then casteth forth their limbs and bodies into the water.
Perceval alloweth that this is well and seemly, and pleaseth him much
of that he seeth the lion do, nor never before had he seen any beast
that he might love and prize so highly as this one.


XXXIII.

The King of Castle Mortal was on the battlements of the wall, and seeth
how his knights are dead, and how the lion helpeth to slay the last.
He setteth himself on the highest place of the walls, then lifteth the
skirt of his habergeon and holdeth his sword all naked, that was right
keen and well-tempered, and so smiteth himself right through the body,
and falleth all adown the walls into the water, that was swift and
deep, in such sort that Perceval saw him, and all the good hermits
likewise, that marvelled much of a King that should slay himself in
such manner; but they say according to the judgment of the scripture,
that by right of evil man should the end be evil.  On such wise was the
end of this King of whom I tell you.  Josephus relateth us how none
ought to marvel that of three brothers, even though they be sons of the
same father and mother, one brother should be evil; and the real
marvel, saith he, is when one evil corrupteth not the two that are
good, for that wickedness is so hard and keen and beguiling, and
goodness so kindly and simple and humble. Cain and Abel were
brothers-german, yet Cain slew his brother Abel, the one flesh betrayed
the other.  But great sorrow is it, saith Josephus, when the flesh that
ought to be one becometh twain, and the one flesh goeth about by
wickedness to deceive and destroy the other.  Josephus recordeth us by
this evil king that was so traitorous and false and yet was of the
lineage of the Good Soldier Joseph of Abarimacie.  This Joseph, as the
scripture witnesseth, was his uncle, and this evil king was
brother-german of King Fisherman, and brother of the good King Pelles
that had abandoned his land, in order that he might serve God, and
brother of the Widow Lady that was Perceval's mother, the most loyal
that was ever in Great Britain.  All these lineages were in the service
of Our Lord from the beginning of their lives unto the end, save only
this evil King that perished so evilly as you have heard.


XXXIV.

You have heard how the King that had seized the castle that had been
King Fisherman's slew himself in such wise, and how his knights were
discomfited.  Perceval entered into the castle and the worshipful
hermits together with him.  It seemed them when they were come within
into the master hall, that they heard chant in an inner chapel 'Gloria
in excelsis Deo', and right sweet praising of Our Lord.  They found the
hails right rich and seemly and fairly adorned within.  They found the
chapel open where the sacred hallows were wont to be.  The holy hermits
entered therein and made their orisons, and prayed the Saviour of the
World that He would swiftly restore to them the most Holy Graal and the
sacred hallows that wont to be therewithin whereby they might be
comforted.


XXXV.

The good men were there within with Perceval, that much loved their
company.  Josephus witnesseth us that the ancient knights that were of
the household of King Fisherman, and the priests and damsels, departed
so soon as the King that slew himself had seized the castle, for that
they would not be at his court, and the Lord God preserved them from
him and made them go into such a place as that they should be in
safety.  The Saviour of the World well knew that the Good Knight had
won the castle by his valour that should have been his own of right,
and sent back thither all them that had served King Fisherman.
Perceval made right great joy of them when he saw them, and they of
him.  They seemed well to be a folk that had come from some place where
God and His commandments were honoured, and so indeed had they.


XXXVI.

The High History witnesseth us that when the conquest of the castle was
over, the Saviour of the World was right joyous and well pleased
thereof.  The Graal presented itself again in the chapel, and the lance
whereof the point bleedeth, and the sword wherewith St John was
beheaded that Messire Gawain won, and the other holy relics whereof was
right great plenty.  For our Lord God loved the place much.  The
hermits went back to their hermitages in the forest and served Our Lord
as they had been wont.  Joseus remained with Perceval at the castle as
long as it pleased him, but the Good Knight searched out the land there
where the New Law had been abandoned and its maintenance neglected.  He
reft the lives of them that would not maintain it and believe.  The
country was supported by him and made safe, and the Law of Our Lord
exalted by his strength and valour.  The priests and knights that
repaired to the castle loved Perceval much, for, so far from his
goodness minishing in ought, they saw from day to day how his valour
and his faith in God increased and multiplied.  And he showed them the
sepulchre of his uncle King Fisherman in the chapel before the altar.
The coffin was rich and the tabernacle costly and loaded of precious
stones.  And the priests and knights bear witness that as soon as the
body was placed in the coffin and they were departed thence, they found
on their return that it was covered by the tabernacle all dight as
richly as it is now to be seen, nor might they know who had set it
there save only the commandment of Our Lord.  And they say that every
night was there a great brightness of light as of candles there, and
they knew not whence it should come save of God.  Perceval had won the
castle by the command of God.  The Graal was restored in the holy
chapel, and the other hallows as you have heard.  The evil believe was
done away from the kingdom, and all were assured again in the New Law
by the valour of the Good Knight.



BRANCH XIX.

TITLE I.

Now is the story silent of Perceval and cometh back to King Arthur, the
very matter thereof, like as testifieth the history, that in no place
is corrupted and the Latin lie not.  King Arthur was at Cardoil on one
day of Whitsuntide that was right fair and clear, and many knights were
in the hall.  The King sate at meat and all the knights about him.  The
King looketh at the windows of the hall to right and left, and seeth
that two sunbeams are shining within that fill the whole hall with
light.  Thereof he marvelleth much and sendeth without the hall to see
what it might be.  The messenger cometh back again and saith thereof
that two suns appear to be shining, the one in the East and the other
in the West.  He marvelleth much thereat, and prayeth Our Lord that he
may be permitted to know wherefore two suns should appear in such wise.
A Voice appeared at one of the windows that said to him: "King, marvel
not hereof that two suns should appear in the sky, for our Lord God
hath well the power, and know well that this is for joy of the conquest
that the Good Knight hath made that took away the shield from
herewithin.  He hath won the land that belonged to good King Fisherman
from the evil King of Castle Mortal, that did away thence the good
believe, and therefore was it that the Graal was hidden.  Now God so
willeth that you go thither, and that you choose out the best knights
of your court, for better pilgrimage may you never make, and what time
you shall return hither, your faith shall be doubled and the people of
Great Britain shall be better disposed and better taught to maintain
the service of the Saviour."


II.

Thereupon the Voice departed and well pleased was the King of that it
had said.  He sitteth at meat beside the Queen. Straightway behold you,
a damsel that cometh of such beauty as never was greater, and clad
right richly, and she beareth a coffer richer than ever you saw, for it
was all of fine gold and set with precious stones that sparkled like
fire.  The coffer is not large.  The damsel holdeth it between her
hands.  When she was alighted she cometh before the King and saluteth
him the fairest she may and the Queen likewise.  The King returneth her
salute.

"Sir," saith she, "I am come to your court for that it is the sovran of
all other, and so bring I you here this rich vessel that you see as a
gift; and it hath within the head of a knight, but none may open the
coffer save he alone that slew the knight. Wherefore I pray and beseech
you, as you are the best king that liveth, that you first set your hand
thereon, and in like manner afterwards make proof of your knights, and
so the crime and the blood-wite thereof be brought home to you or to
any knight that may be within yonder.  I pray you that the knight who
shall be able to open the coffer wherein the head of the knight lieth,
and who therefore is he that slew him, shall have grace of forty days
after that you shall be returned from the Graal."

"Damsel," saith the King, "How shall it be known who the knight was?"

"Sir," saith she, "Right eath, for the letters are sealed within that
tell his name and the name of him that slew him."

The King granteth the damsel her will in such wise as she had asked of
him.  He hath received the coffer, then maketh her be set at meat and
right richly honoured.


III.

When the King had eaten, the damsel cometh before him.

"Sir," saith she, "Make your knights be summoned and ready for that
which you have granted me, and you yourself first of all."

"Damsel," saith the King, "Right willingly."

He setteth his hand to the coffer, thinking to open it, but it was not
right that it should open for him.  As he set his hand thereon the
coffer sweated through just as had it been sprinkled all over and was
wet with water.  The King marvelled greatly, and so made Messire Gawain
set his hand to it and Lancelot and all those of the court, but he that
might open it was not among them. Messire Kay the Seneschal had served
at meat.  He heard say that the King and all the others had essayed and
proved the coffer but might not open it.  He is come thither, all
uncalled for.

"Now, then, Kay," saith the King, "I had forgotten you."

"By my head," saith Kay, "You ought not to forget me, for as good
knight am I and of as much worth as they that you have called before
me, and you ought not to have delayed to send for me.  You have
summoned all the others, and me not a whit, and yet am I as well able,
or ought to be, to open the coffer as are they; for against as many
knights have I defended me as they, and as many have I slain in
defending my body as have they."

"Kay," saith the King, "Shall you be so merry and you may open the
coffer, and if you have slain the knight whose head lieth therein?  By
my head, I that am King would fain that the coffer should not open for
me, for never was no knight so poor as that he should have neither
kinsman nor friend, for he is not loved of all the world that is hated
by one man."

"By my head," saith Kay, "I would that all the heads of all the knights
I have slain, save one only, were in the midst of this hall, and that
there were letters sealed with them to say that they were slain by me.
Then would you believe what you are not willing to believe for the
envious ones that think they are better worth than I, and yet have not
served you so well."


IV.

"Kay," saith the King, "Come forward, there is no need of this."

Messire Kay the Seneschal cometh to the dais before the King, whereon
was the coffer, and taketh it right boldly and setteth one of his hands
below it and the other above.  The coffer opened as soon as he clapped
hand thereon, and the head within could be seen all openly.  A passing
delicate-savoured smell and right sweet issued therefrom, so that not a
knight in the hall but smelt it.

"Sir," saith Kay to the King, "Now may you know that some prowess and
some hardiment have I done in your service, nor might none of your
knights that you prize so highly open the coffer this day, nor would
you have known this day who is therein for them!  But now you know it
by me, and therefore of so much ought you to be well pleased with me!"


V.

"Sir," saith the damsel that had brought the coffer, "Let the letters
be read that are within, so shall you know who the knight was and of
what lineage, and what was the occasion of his death."

The King sitteth beside the Queen, and biddeth call one of his own
chaplains.  Then maketh he all the knights in the hall be seated and
keep silence, and commandeth the chaplain that he should spell out the
letters of gold all openly according as he should find them written.
The chaplain looketh at them, and when he had scanned them down, began
to sigh.

"Sir," saith he to the King and Queen, "hearken unto me, and all the
other, your knights.


VI.

"These letters say that the knight whose head lieth in this vessel was
named Lohot and he was son of King Arthur and Queen Guenievre.  He had
slain on a day that is past, Logrin the Giant, by his hardiment.
Messire Kay the Seneschal was passing by there, and so found Lohot
sleeping upon Logrin, for such was his custom that he went to sleep
upon the man after that he had slain him.  Messire Kay smote off
Lohot's head, and so left the head and the body on the piece of ground.
He took the head of the Giant and so bore it to the court of King
Arthur.  He gave the King and Queen and all the barons of the court to
understand that he had slain him, but this did he not; rather, that he
did was to slay Lohot, according to the writing and the witness of
these letters."

When the Queen heareth these letters and this witting of her son that
came thus by his death, she falleth in a swoon on the coffer.  After
that she taketh the head between her two hands, and knew well that it
was he by a scar that he had on his face when he was a child.  The King
himself maketh dole thereof so sore that none may comfort him, for
before these tidings he had thought that his son was still on live and
that he was the Best Knight in the world, and when the news came to his
court that the Knight of the Golden Circlet had slain the Knight of the
Dragon, he supposed that it had been Lohot his son, for that none had
named Perceval nor Gawain nor Lancelot.  And all they of the court are
right sorrowful for the death of Lohot, and Messire Kay hath departed,
and if the damsel had nor respited the day until the fortieth after the
King's return, vengeance would have been taken of Kay or ever he might
have turned him thence.  For never did no man see greater dole made in
the King's court than they of the Table Round made for the youth.  King
Arthur and the Queen were so stricken of sorrow that none durst call
upon them to make cheer.  The damsel that brought thither the coffer
was well avenged of the shame that Messire Kay the Seneschal had done
her on a day that was past, for this thing would not have been known so
soon save it had been by her.


VII.

When the mourning for the King's son was abated, Lancelot and many
others said unto him, "Sir, you know well that God willeth you should
go to the castle that was King Fisherman's on pilgrimage to the most
Holy Graal, for it is not right to delay a thing that one hath in
covenant with God."

"Lords," saith the King, "right willingly will I go, and thereto am I
right well disposed."

The King apparelleth himself for the pilgrimage, and saith that Messire
Gawain and Lancelot shall go with him, without more knights, and taketh
a squire to wait upon his body, and the Queen herself would he have
taken thither but for the mourning she made for her son, whereof none
might give her any comfort.  But or ever the King departed he made the
head be brought into the Isle of Avalon, to a chapel of Our Lady that
was there, where was a worshipful holy hermit that was well loved of
Our Lord.  The King departed from Cardoil and took leave of the Queen
and all the knights.  Lancelot and Messire Gawain go along with him and
a squire that carrieth their arms.  Kay the Seneschal was departed from
the court for dread of the King and his knights.  He durst not abide in
the Greater Britain, and so betook himself into the Lesser.  Briant of
the Isles was of great power in those times, a knight of great strength
and hardiment, for all Great Britain had had many disputes between him
and King Arthur.  His land was full strong of castles and forests and
right fruitful, and many good knights had he in his land.  When he knew
that Kay the Seneschal had departed in such sort from the court, and
that he had crossed the sea, he sent for him and held him of his
household, and said that he would hold him harmless against the King
and against all men.  When he knew that the King had departed he began
to war upon the land and to slay his men and to challenge his castles.



BRANCH XX.

TITLE I.

The story saith that King Arthur goeth his way and Lancelot and Messire
Gawain with him, and they had ridden so far one day that night came on
in a forest and they might find no hold.  Messire Gawain marvelled him
much that they had ridden the day long without finding neither hold nor
hermitage.  Night was come and the sky was dark and the forest full of
gloom.  They knew not whitherward to turn to pass the night.

"Lords," saith the King, "Where may we be able to alight to-night?"

"Sir, we know not, for this forest is fight wearisome."

They make the squire climb up a tall tree and tell him to look as far
as he may to try whether he may espy any hold or house where they may
lodge.  The squire looketh on all sides, and then telleth them he seeth
a fire a long way off as if it were in a waste house, but that he seeth
nought there save the fire and the house.

"Take good heed," saith Lancelot, "in which quarter it is, so that you
may know well how to lead us thither."

He saith that right eath may he lead them.


II.

With that he cometh down and mounteth again on his hackney, and they go
forward a great pace and ride until they espy the fire and the hold.
They pass on over a bridge of wattles, and find the courtyard all
deserted and the house from within great and high and hideous.  But
there was a great fire within whereof the heat might be felt from afar.
They alight of their horses, and the squire draweth them on one side
amidst the hall, and the knights set them beside the fire all armed.
The squire seeth a chamber in the house and entereth thereinto to see
if he may find any meat for the horses, but he cometh forth again the
swiftest he may and crieth right sweetly on the Mother of the Saviour.
They ask him what aileth him, and he saith that he hath found the most
treacherous chamber ever he found yet, for he felt there, what with
heads and what with hands, more than two hundred men dead, and saith
that never yet felt he so sore afeared.  Lancelot went into the chamber
to see whether he spake true, and felt the men that lay dead, and
groped among them from head to head and felt that there was a great
heap of them there, and came back and sate at the fire all laughing.
The King asketh whether the squire had told truth.  Lancelot answereth
him yea, and that never yet had he found so many dead men together.

"Methinketh," saith Messire Gawain, "Sith that they are dead we have
nought to fear of them, but God protect us from the living."


III.

While they were talking thus, behold you a damsel that cometh into the
dwelling on foot and all alone, and she cometh lamenting right
grievously.

"Ha, God!" saith she, "How long a penance is this for me, and when will
it come to an end?"

She seeth the knights sitting in the midst of the house.  "Fair Lord
God," saith she, "Is he there within through whom I am to escape from
this great dolour?"

The knights hearken to her with great wonderment.  They look and see
her enter within the door, and her kirtle was all torn with thorns and
briars in the forest.  Her feet were all bleeding for that she was
unshod.  She had a face of exceeding great beauty. She carried the half
of a dead man, and cast it into the chamber with the others.  She knew
Lancelot again so soon as she saw him.

"Ha, God!" saith she, "I am quit of my penance!  Sir," saith she,
"Welcome may you be, you and your company!"

Lancelot looketh at her in wonderment.  "Damsel," saith he, "Are you a
thing on God's behalf?"

"Certes, Sir," saith she, "Yea!  nor be you adread of nought!  I am the
Damsel of the Castle of Beards, that was wont to deal with knights so
passing foully as you have seen.  You did away the toll that was levied
on the knights that passed by, and you lay in the castle that demanded
it of them that passed through the demesne thereof.  But you had me in
covenant that so the Holy Graal should appear unto you, you would come
back to me, for otherwise never should I have been willing to let you
go.  You returned not, for that you saw not the Graal.  For the shame
that I did to knights was this penance laid upon me in this forest and
this manor, to last until such time as you should come.  For the
cruelty I did them was sore grievous, for never was knight brought to
me but I made his nose be cut off or his eyes thrust out, and some were
there as you saw that had their feet or their hands stricken off.  Now
have I paid full dear thereof since, for needs must I carry into this
chamber all the knights that are slain in this forest, and within this
manor must I cast them according to the custom thereof, alone, without
company; and this knight that I carried in but now hath lain so long in
the forest that wild beasts have eaten half of his body.  Now am I quit
of this foul penance, thanks to God and to you, save only that I must
go back when it shall be daylight in like manner as I came here."

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "Right glad am I that we should have come to
lodge the night here within, for love of you, for I never saw I damsel
that might do so cruel penance."

"Sir," saith she, "You know not yet what it is, but you will know it
ere long this night, both you and your fellows, and the Lord God shield
you from death and from mischief!  Every night cometh a rout of knights
that are black and foul and hideous, albeit none knoweth whence they
come, and they do battle right sore the one against other, and the
stour endureth of a right long while; but one knight that came within
yonder by chance, the first night I came hither, in like manner as you
have come, made a circle round me with his sword, and I sate within it
as soon as I saw them coming, and so had I no dread of them, for I had
in remembrance the Saviour of the World and His passing sweet Mother.
And you will do the same, and you believe me herein, for these are
knights fiends."

Lancelot draweth his sword and maketh a great circle round the
house-place, and they were within.


V.

Thereupon, behold you the knights that come through the forest with
such a rushing as it seemed they would rend it all up by the roots.
Afterward, they enter into the manor and snatch great blazing
firebrands and fling them one at another.  They enter into the house
battling together, and are keen to fall upon the knights, but they may
not.  They hurl the firebrands at them from afar, but they are holding
their shields and their swords naked. Lancelot maketh semblant as
though he would leap towards them, and sore great cowardize it seemeth
him nor to go against them.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "Take heed that you go not forth of the
circle, for you will be in sore jeopardy of death, for well you see
what evil folk be these."

Lancelot was nor minded to hold himself back, but that he would go
toward them sword drawn, and they run upon him on all sides, but he
defendeth him stoutly and smiteth the burning firebrands so that he
maketh red-hot charcoal fly, and thrusteth his sword amidst their
faces.  King Arthur and Messire Gawain leap up to help Lancelot and
smite upon these evil folk and cut them limb from limb, and they bellow
like fiends so that the whole forest resoundeth thereof.  And when they
fell to the ground, they may no longer endure, but become fiends and
ashes, and their bodies and their horses become devils all black in the
shape of ravens that come forth of their bodies.  They marvel right
sore what this may be, and say that such hostel is right grievous.


VI.

When they had put them all to the worse, they sate them down again and
rested; but scarce were they seated or ever another rout of yet blacker
folk came about them, and they bare spears burning and flaming, and
many of them carried dead knights that they had slain in the forest,
and dropped them in the midst of the house, and then bid the damsel
carry and set them with the others.  Howbeit, she answereth that she is
quit of their commandment and service, nor no longer is forced to do
nought for them sith that she hath done her penance.  They thrust
forward their spears toward the King and the two knights, as though
they were come to avenge their companions; but they all three leapt up
together and attacked them right stoutly.  But this rout was greater
and of knights more hideous.  They began to press the King and his
knights hard, and they might not put them to the worse as they did the
others.  And while they were thus in the thickest of the conflict, they
heard the stroke of a bell sounding, and forthwith the knight fiends
departed and hurried away a great pace.

"Lords," saith the damsel, "Had this sound not been heard, scarce might
you have endured, for yet another huge rout of this folk was coming in
such sort as that none might have withstood them, and this sound have I
heard every night, whereby my life hath been saved."


VII.

Josephus telleth us that as at this time was there no bell neither in
Greater Britain nor in Lesser; but folk were called together by a horn,
and in many places there were sheets of steel, and in other places
clappers of wood.  King Arthur marvelled him much of this sound, so
clear and sweet was it, and it well seemed him that it came on God's
behalf, and right fain was he to see a bell and so he might.  They were
the night until the morrow in the house, as I tell you.  The damsel
took leave of them and so departed.  As they came forth of the hold,
they met three hermits that told them they were going to search for the
bodies that were in this manor so that they might bury them in a waste
chapel that was hard by, for such knights had lain there as that
henceforward the haunting of the evil folk would be stayed in such sort
as that they would have no more power to do hurt to any, wherefore they
would set therewithin a worshipful hermit that should build up the
place in holiness for the service of God.  The King was right joyful
thereof, and told them that it had been too perilous.  They parted from
the hermits and entered into a forest, nor was there never a day so
long as King Arthur was on pilgrimage, so saith the history, but he
heard the sound of one single bell every hour, whereof he was right
glad.  He bade Messire Gawain and Lancelot that they should everywhere
conceal his name, and that they should call him not Lord but Comrade.
They yielded him his will, and prayed to Our Lord that he would guide
and lead them to such a castle and such a hostel as that they might be
lodged honourably therein.  They rode on until evening drew nigh, and
they found a right fair hold in the forest, whereinto they entered and
alighted.  The damsel of the hold came to meet them and made them right
great cheer, then made them be disarmed, afterward bringeth them right
rich robes to wear.  She looketh at Lancelot and knoweth him again.


VIII.

"Sir," saith she, "You had once, on a day that is past, right great
pity of me, and saved me my honour, whereof am I in great unhappiness.
But better love I to suffer misease in honour, than to have plenty and
abundance in shame or reproach, for shame endureth, but sorrow is soon
overpassed."

Thereupon behold you the knight of the hold, whither he cometh from
shooting in the forest and maketh carry in full great plenty venison of
deer and wild boar.  He alighted to greet the knights, and began to
laugh when he saw Lancelot.

"By my head," saith he, "I know you well For you disappointed me of the
thing I best loved in the world, and made me marry this damsel that
never yet had joy of me, nor never shall have."

"Faith, Sir," saith Lancelot, "You will do your pleasure therein, for
she is yours.  Truth it is that I made you marry her, for you were fain
to do her a disgrace and a shame in such sort that her kinsfolk would
have had shame of her."

"By my head," saith the knight, "the damsel that I loved before loveth
you no better hereof, nay, rather, fain would she procure your vexation
and your hurt and your shame if she may, and great power hath she in
this forest."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "I have sithence spoken to her and she to me,
and so hath she told me her will and her wish."

Thereupon the knight bade the knights take water, and the lady taketh
the basins and presenteth water to the knights.

"Avoid, damsel," saith the King, "Take it away!  Never, please God,
shall it befall that we should accept such service from you."

"By my head," saith the knight, "But so must you needs do, for other
than she shall not serve you to-night in this matter, or otherwise
shall you not eat with me this night there within."


IX.

Lancelot understandeth that the knight is not overburdened of courtesy,
and he seeth the table garnished of good meat, and bethinketh him he
will not do well to lose such ease, for misease enough had they the
night before.  He maketh the King take water of the lady, and the same
service did she for all of them.  The knight biddeth them be seated.
The King would have made the lady sit beside him at the table, but the
knight said that there she should not sit.  She goeth to sit among the
squires as she was wont to do.  The knights are sorry enough thereof,
but they durst not gainsay the will of her lord.  When they had eaten,
the knight said to Lancelot, "Now may you see what she hath gained of
me by your making me take her perforce, nor never, so help me God, so
long as I live shall she be honoured otherwise by me, for so have I
promised her that I love far more."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "To my thinking you do ill herein and a sin, and
meseemeth you should have great blame thereof of them that know it, and
may your churlishness be your own, for nought thereof take I to myself."


X.

Lancelot telleth the King and Messire Gawain that were he not lodged in
his hostel, and had him outside of the hold, he would willingly have
set the blood of his body on it but he would have handled him in such
sort as that the lady should be maintained in greater honour, either by
force or by prayer, in like manner as he did when he made him marry
her.  They were right well lodged the night and lay in the hold until
the morrow, when they departed thence, and rode right busily on their
journeys until they came into a very different land, scarce inhabited
of any folk, and found a little castle in a combe.  They came
thitherward and saw that the enclosure of the castle was fallen down
into an abysm, so that none might approach it on that side, but it had
a right fair gateway and a door tall and wide whereby one entered.
They beheld a chapel that was right fair and rich, and below was a
great ancient hall.  They saw a priest appear in the midst of the
castle, bald and old, that had come forth of the chapel.  They are come
thither and alighted, and asked the priest what the castle was, and he
told them that it was the great Tintagel.

"And how is this ground all caved in about the castle?"

"Sir," saith the priest, "I will tell you.  Sir," saith he, "King Uther
Pendragon, that was father of King Arthur, held a great court and
summoned all his barons.  The King of this castle that then was here
was named Gorlois.  He went to the court and took his wife with him,
that was named Ygerne, and she was the fairest dame in any kingdom.
King Uther sought acquaintance of her for her great beauty, and
regarded her and honoured her more than all the others of his court.
King Gorlois departed thence and made the Queen come back to this
castle for the dread that he had of King Uther Pendragon.  King Uther
was very wroth with him, and commanded him to send back the Queen his
wife.  King Godois said that he would not.  Thereupon King Uther
Pendragon defied him, and then laid siege about this castle where the
Queen was.  King Gorlois was gone to seek for succour.  King Uther
Pendragon had Merlin with him of whom you have heard tell, that was so
crafty. He made him be changed into the semblance of King Gorlois, so
that he entered there within by Merlin's art and lay that night with
the Queen, and so begat King Arthur in a great hall that was next to
the enclosure there where this abysm is.  And for this sin hath the
ground sunken in on this wise."

He cometh with them toward the chapel that was right fair, and had a
right rich sepulchre therein.

"Lords, in this sepulchre was placed the body of Merlin, but never
mought it be set inside the chapel, wherefore perforce it remained
outside.  And know of a very truth that the body lieth not within the
sepulchre, for, so soon as it was set therein, it was taken out and
snatched away, either on God's behalf or the Enemy's, but which we know
not."


XI.

"Sir," saith King Arthur, "And what became of King Gorlois?"

"Sir." saith he, "The King slew him on the morrow of the night he lay
with his wife, and so forthwith espoused Queen Ygerne, and in such
manner as I tell you was King Arthur conceived in sin that is now the
best King in the world."

King Arthur hath heard this as concerning his birth that he knew not,
and is a little shamed thereof and confounded on account of Messire
Gawain and Lancelot.  He himself marvelleth much thereof, and much it
misliketh him that the priest hath said so much. They lay the night in
the hold, and so departed thence on the morrow when they had heard
mass.  Lancelot and Messire Gawain, that thought they knew the forest,
found the land so changed and different that they knew not whither they
were become, and such an one as should come into the land that had been
King Fisherman's, and he should come again another time within forty
days, should not find the castle within a year.


XII.

Josephus telleth us that the semblances of the islands changed
themselves by reason of the divers adventures that by the pleasure of
God befell therein, and that the quest of adventures would not have
pleased the knights so well and they had not found them so different.
For, when they had entered into a forest or an island where they had
found any adventure, and they came there another time, they found holds
and castles and adventures of another kind, so that their toils and
travails might not weary them, and also for that God would that the
land should be conformed to the New Law.  And they were the knights
that had more toil and travail in seeking adventures than all the
knights of the world before them, and in holding to that whereof they
had made covenant; nor of no court of no king in the world went forth
so many good knights as went forth from the court of King Arthur, and
but that God loved them so much, never might they have endured such
toil and travail as they did from day to day; for without fait, good
knights were they, and good knights not only to deal hard buffets, but
rather in that they were loyal and true, and had faith in the Saviour
of the World and His sweet Mother, and therefore dreaded shame and
loved honour.  King Arthur goeth on his way and Messire Gawain and
Lancelot with him, and they pass through many strange countries, and so
enter into a great forest.  Lancelot called to remembrance the knight
that he had slain in the Waste City whither behoved him to go, and knew
well that the day whereon he should come was drawing nigh.  He told
King Arthur as much, and then said, that and he should go not, he would
belie his covenant.  They rode until they came to a cross where the
ways forked.

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "Behoveth me go to acquit me of my pledge, and I
go in great adventure and peril of death, nor know I whether I may live
at all thereafter, for I slew the knight, albeit I was right sorry
thereof, but or ever I slew him, I had to swear that I would go set my
head in the like jeopardy as he had set his.  Now the day draweth nigh
that I must go thither, for I am unwilling to fail of my covenant,
whereof I should be blamed, and, so God grant me to escape therefrom, I
will follow you speedily."

The King embraceth him and kisseth him at parting and Messire Gawain
also, and they pray God preserve his body and his life, and that they
may see him again ere it be long.  Lancelot would willingly have sent
salute to the Queen had he durst, for she lay nearer his heart than
aught beside, but he would not that the King nor Messire Gawain should
misdeem of the love they might carry to their kinswoman.  The love is
so rooted in his heart that he may not leave it, into what peril soever
he may go; rather, he prayeth God every day as sweetly as he may, that
He save the Queen, and that he may deliver his body from this jeopardy.
He hath ridden until that he cometh at the hour of noon into the Waste
City, and findeth the city empty as it was the first time he was there.


XIII.

In the city wherein Lancelot had arrived were many waste houses and
rich palaces fallen down.  He had scarce entered within the city when
he heard a great cry and lamentation of dames and damsels, but he knew
not on which side it was, and they say: "Ha, God, how hath the knight
betrayed us that slew the knight, inasmuch as he returneth not!  This
day is the day come that he ought to redeem his pledge!  Never again
ought any to put trust in knight, for that he cometh not!  The others
that came hither before him have failed us, and so will he also for
dread of death; for he smote off the head of the comeliest knight that
was in this kingdom and the best, wherefore ought he also to have his
own smitten off, but good heed taketh he to save it if he may!"

Thus spake the damsels.  Lancelot much marvelled where they might be,
for nought could he espy of them, albeit he cometh before the palace,
there where he slew the knight.  He alighteth, then maketh fast his
horse's reins to a ring that was fixed in the mounting-stage of marble.
Scarce hath he done so, when a knight alighteth, tall and comely and
strong and deliver, and he was clad in a short close-fitted jerkin of
silk, and held the axe in his hand wherewith Lancelot had smitten off
the head of the other knight, and he came sharpening it on a whetstone
to cut the better.  Lancelot asketh him, "What will you do with this
axe?"

"By my head," saith the knight, "That shall you know in such sort as my
brother knew when you cut off his head, so I may speed of my business."

"How?" saith Lancelot, "Will you slay me then?"

"That shall you know," saith he, "or ever you depart hence.  Have you
not loyally promised hereof that you would set your head in the same
jeopardy as the knight set his, whom you slew without defence?  And no
otherwise may you depart therefrom.  Wherefore now come forward without
delay and kneel down and stretch your neck even as my brother did, and
so will I smite off your head, and, if you do nor this of your own good
will, you shall soon find one that shall make you do it perforce, were
you twenty knights as good as you are one.  But well I know that you
have not come hither for this, but only to fulfil your pledge, and that
you will raise no contention herein."

Lancelot thinketh to die, and is minded to abide by that he hath in
covenant without fail, wherefore he lieth down on the ground as it were
on a cross, and crieth mercy of God.  He mindeth him of the Queen, and
crieth God of mercy and saith, "Ha, Lady" saith he, "Never shall I see
you more!  but, might I have seen you yet once again before I die,
exceeding great comfort had it been to me, and my soul would have
departed from me more at ease.  But this, that never shall I see you
more, as now it seemeth me, troubleth me more than the death whereby
behoveth me to die, for die one must when one hath lived long enough.
But faithfully do I promise you that my love shall fail you not yet,
and never shall it be but that my soul shall love you in the other
world like as my body hath loved you in this, if thus the soul may
love!"

With that the tears fell from his eyes, nor, never sithence that he was
knight, saith the story, had he wept for nought that had befallen him
nor for heaviness of heart, but this time and one other.  He taketh
three blades of grass and so eateth thereof in token of the holy
communion, then signeth him of the cross and blesseth him, riseth up,
setteth himself on his knees and stretcheth forth his neck.  The knight
lifteth up the axe. Lancelot heareth the blow coming, boweth his head
and the axe misseth him.  He saith to him, "Sir Knight, so did not my
brother that you slew; rather, he held his head and neck quite still,
and so behoveth you to do!"

Two damsels appeared at the palace-windows of passing great beauty, and
they knew Lancelot well.  So, as the knight was aiming a second blow,
one of the damsels crieth to him, "And you would have my love for
evermore, throw down the axe and cry the knight quit!  Otherwise have
you lost me for ever!"

The knight forthwith flingeth down the axe and falleth at Lancelot's
feet and crieth mercy of him as of the most loyal knight in the world.

"But you?  Have mercy on me, you!  and slay me not!" saith Lancelot,
"For it is of you that I ought to pray mercy!"

"Sir," saith the knight, "Of a surety will I not do this!  Rather will
I help you to my power to save your life against all men, for all you
have slain my brother."

The damsels come down from the palace and are come to Lancelot.


XIV.

"Sir," say they to Lancelot, "Greatly ought we to love you, yea, better
than all knights in the world beside.  For we are the two damsels,
sisters, that you saw so poor at the Waste Castle where you lay in our
brother's house.  You and Messire Gawain and another knight gave us the
treasure and the hold of the robber-knights that you slew; for this
city which is waste and the Waste Castle of my brother would never
again be peopled of folk, nor should we never have had the land again,
save a knight had come hither as loyal as are you.  Full a score
knights have arrived here by chance in the same manner as you came, and
not one of them but hath slain a brother or a kinsman and cut off his
head as you did to the knight, and each one promised to return at the
day appointed; but all failed of their covenant, for not one of them
durst come to the day; and so you had failed us in like manner as the
others, we should have lost this city without recovery and the castles
that are its appanages."


XV.

So the knight and the damsels lead Lancelot into the palace and then
make him be disarmed.  They hear presently how the greatest joy in the
world is being made in many parts of the forest, that was nigh the city.

"Sir," say the damsels, "Now may you hear the joy that is made of your
coming.  These are the burgesses and dwellers in the city that already
know the tidings."

Lancelot leaneth at the windows of the hall, and seeth the city peopled
of the fairest folk in the world, and great thronging in the broad
streets and the great palace, and clerks and priests coming in long
procession praising God and blessing Him for that they may now return
to their church, and giving benison to the knight through whom they are
free to repair thither.  Lancelot was much honoured throughout the
city.  The two damsels are at great pains to wait upon him, and right
great worship had he of all them that were therewithin and them that
came thither, both clerks and priests.



BRANCH XXI.

TITLE I.

Therewithal the history is silent of Lancelot, and speaketh word of the
King and Messire Gawain, that are in sore misgiving as concerning him,
for right gladly would they have heard tidings of him.  They met a
knight that was coming all armed, and Messire Gawain asketh him whence
he came, and he said that he came from the land of the Queen of the
Golden Circlet, to whom a sore loss hath befallen; for the Son of the
Widow Lady had won the Circlet of Gold for that he had slain the Knight
of the Dragon, and she was to keep it safe for him and deliver it up to
him at his will.

"But now hath Nabigant of the Rock reft her thereof, and a right
outrageous knight is he and puissant; wherefore hath he commanded a
damsel that she bring it to an assembly of knights that is to be held
in the Meadow of the Tent of the two damsels, there where Messire
Gawain did away the evil custom.  The damsel that will bring the Golden
Circlet will give it to the knight that shall do best at the assembly.
Nabigant is keenly set upon having it, and maketh the more sure for
that once aforetime he hath had it by force of arms.  And I am going to
the knights that know not these tidings, in order that when they shall
hear them, they shall go to the assembly."

Therewithal the knight departeth.  The King and Messire Gawain have
ridden so far that they come to the tent where Messire Gawain destroyed
the evil custom by slaying the two knights.  He found the tent
garnished within and without in like manner as it was when he was
there, and Messire Gawain made the King be seated on a quilted mattress
of straw, right costly, and thereafter be disarmed of a squire, and he
himself disarmed him, and they washed their hands and faces for the
rust wherewith both of them were besmuttered.  And Messire Gawain found
the chests unlocked that were at the head of the couch, and made the
King be apparelled of white rich stuffs that he found, and a robe of
cloth of silk and gold, and he clad himself in the like manner, neither
was the chest not a whit disfurnished thereby, for the tent was all
garnished of rich adornments.  When they were thus dight, a man might
have sought far or ever he should find so comely knights.


II.

Thereupon, behold you the two Damsels of the Tent coming.

"Damsels," saith Messire Gawain, "Welcome may you be."

"Sir," say they, "Good adventure may you have both twain.  It seemeth
us that you take right boldly that which is ours, yet never for neither
of us would you do a thing whereof you were beseeched."

"Messire Gawain" saith the elder, "No knight is there in this kingdom
but would be right joyous and he supposed that I loved him, and I
prayed you of your love on a day that is past, for the valour of your
knighthood, yet never did you grant it me.  How durst you have affiance
in me of aught, and take the things that are mine own so boldly, when I
may not have affiance in you?"

"Damsel, for your courtesy and the good custom of the land; for you
told me when the evil customs were overthrown, that all the honours and
all the courtesies that are due to knights should ever be ready within
for all them that should come hither for harbour."

"Messire Gawain, you say true, but of right might one let the courtesy
tarry and pay back churlishness by churlishness."


III.

"The assembly of knights will begin to-morrow in this launde that is so
fair.  There will be knights in plenty, and the prize will be the
Circlet of Gold.  Now shall we see who will do best.  The assembly will
last three whole days, and of one thing at least you may well make
boast between you and your comrade, that you have the fairest hostel
and the most pleasant and the most quiet of any knights at the
assembly."

The younger damsel looketh at King Arthur.  "And you," saith she, "What
will you do?  Will you be as strange toward us as Messire Gawain is
friendly with others?"


IV.

"Damsel," saith the king, "Messire Gawain will do his pleasure and I
mine.  Strange shall I not be in respect of you, nor toward other
damsels; rather shall they be honoured on my part so long as I live,
and I myself will be at your commandment."

"Sir," saith she, "Gramercy greatly.  I pray you, therefore, that you
be my knight at the tournament."

"Damsel, this ought I not to refuse you, and right glad at heart shall
I be and I may do aught that shall please you; for all knights ought to
be at pains for the sake of dame or damsel."

"Sir," saith she, "what is your name?"


V.

"Damsel," saith he, "My name is Arthur, and I am of Tincardoil."

"Have you nought to do with King Arthur?"

"Damsel, already have I been many times at his court, and, if he loved
me not nor I him, I should not be in Messire Gawain's company.  In
truth, he is the King in the world that I love best."

The damsel looketh at King Arthur, but wotteth not a whir that it is
he, and full well is she pleased with the seeming and countenance of
him.  As for the King, lightly might he have trusted that he should
have her as his lady-love so long as he remained with her; but there is
much to say betwixt his semblant and his thought, for he showeth good
semblant toward the damsel, that hath over much affiance therein, but
his thought is on Queen Guenievre in what place soever he may be.  For
nought loveth he so well as her.


VI.

The damsels made stable the horses and purvey for the bodies of the
knights right richly at night, and they lay in two right rich beds in
the midst of the hall, and their arms were all set ready before.  The
damsels would not depart until such time as they were asleep.  The
harness of the knights that came to the assembly came on the morrow
from all parts.  They set up their booths and stretched their tents all
round about the launde of the forest.  King Arthur and Messire Gawain
were risen in the morning and saw the knights come from all parts.  The
elder damsel cometh to Messire Gawain and saith unto him, "Sir," saith
she, "I will that you bear to-day red arms that I will lend you, for
the love of me, and take heed that they be well employed, and I desire
that you should not be known by your arms; rather let it be said that
you are the Red Knight, and you shall allow it accordingly."

"Damsel, Gramercy greatly!" saith Messire Gawain,  "I will do my
endeavour in arms the best I may for love of you."

The younger damsel cometh to King Arthur; "Sir," saith she, "My sister
hath made her gift and I will make mine.  I have a suit of arms of
gold, the richest that knight may wear, that I will lend you, for
methinketh they will be better employed on you than on ever another
knight; so I pray you that you remember me at the assembly in like
manner as I shall ofttimes remember you."


VII.

"Damsel," saith the King, "Gramercy!  No knight is there that should
see you but ought to have you in remembrance in his heart for your
courtesy and your worth."

The knights were come about the tents.  The King and Messire Gawain
were armed and had made caparison their horses right richly.  The
damsel that should give the Golden Circlet was come. Nabigant of the
Rock had brought great fellowships of knights together with him, and
ordinance was made for the assembly.


VIII.

The younger damsel saith to King Arthur: "Well may you know that no
knight that is here this day hath better arms than are yours, wherefore
take heed that you show you to be good knight for love of me."

"Damsel," saith King Arthur, "God grant that I be so."

So they laid hold on their reins and mounted their horses, that made
great leaping and went away a great gallop.  Saith the younger damsel
to her sister: "What think you of my knight, doth he not please you?"

"Yea," saith the elder, "But sore misliketh me of Messire Gawain for
that he is not minded to do as I would have him.  But he shall yet aby
it dear."

King Arthur and Messire Gawain strike into the midst of the assembly
like as it were two lions unchained, and at their first coming they
smite down two knights to the ground under the feet of their horses.
Messire Gawain taketh the two horses and sendeth them by a squire to
the Damsels of the Tent, that made much joy thereof.  After that were
they not minded to take more booty as of horses or arms, but searched
the fellowships on one side and the other; nor was there no knight that
came against them but they pierced his shield or bore him to the
ground, insomuch as none was there that might endure their buffets.
Nabigant espieth Messire Gawain and cometh toward him, and Messire
Gawain toward him again, and they hurtle together either on other so
strongly that Messire Gawain beareth Nabigant to the ground, him and
his horse together all in a heap.  And King Arthur was not idle, for no
knight durst come against him but he overthrew him, so as that all
withdrew them back and avoided his buffets.  And many knights did well
that day at the assembly, but none might be the match of either of them
twain in deeds of arms, for, save it were Lancelot or Perceval, were no
knights on live that had in them so much hardiment and valour.  After
that it was evensong the knights drew them back to their tents, and
they say all that the Knight of the Golden Arms and the Knight of the
Red Arms had done better than they all at the assembly.  King Arthur
and Messire Gawain come back to the tent of the damsels, that make
disarm them and do upon them the rich robes and make great joy of them.
Thereupon, behold you, a dwarf that cometh: "Damsels, make great joy!
for all they of the assembly say with one accord that your knights have
done best this day."

King Arthur and Messire Gawain sate to eat, and right well were they
served of every kind of meats and of great cups of wine and sops in
wine.  King Arthur made the younger damsel sit beside him, and Messire
Gawain the elder in like manner, and when they had eaten they went to
lie down and fell on sleep, for right sore weary were they and
forespent of the many buffets they had given and received, and they
slept until the morrow.


IX.

When the day appeared they rose up.  Thereupon, behold you the younger
damsel where she cometh and saluteth King Arthur.  "And you, damsel!"
saith King Arthur, "God give you joy and good adventure!"

"Sir," saith she, "I will that you bear to-day these white arms that
you see here, and that you do no worse to-day than yesterday you did,
sith that better you may not do."

"Messire Gawain," saith the elder damsel, "Remember you of the King
there where his land was compassed about of a wall of stone, and you
harboured one night in his castle, what time you went to seek for the
sword wherewith John Baptist was beheaded, when he was fain to take
away the sword from you, whereof you had so sore misliking?  Natheless,
he yielded you up the sword upon covenant that you should do that which
a damsel should first ask you to do thereafter, and you promised him
loyally that so would you do?"

"Certes, damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Well do I remember the same."

"Now, therefore," saith the damsel, "would I fain prove whether you be
indeed so loyal as men say, and whether you will hold your covenant
that you made.  Wherefore I pray and beseech you that this day you
shall be he that doth worst of all the knights at the assembly, and
that you bear none other arms save your own only, so as that you shall
be known again of all them that are there present.  And, so you will
not do this, then will you have failed of your covenant, and myself
will go tell the King that you have broken the promise that you made to
him right loyally."

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Never yet brake I covenant with none,
so it were such as I might fulfil or another on my behalf."

King Arthur made arm him of the white arms that the younger damsel had
given him, and Messire Gawain of his own, but sore it irked him of this
that the damsel hath laid upon him to do, sith that needs must he lose
worship and he hold to his covenant, albeit not for nought that is in
the world will he fail of the promise he hath made.  So they come into
the assembly.


X.

King Arthur smiteth with his spurs like a good knight and overthroweth
two knights in his onset, and Messire Gawain rideth a bandon betwixt
two fellowships to be the better known.  The most part say, "See!
There is Messire Gawain, the good knight that is King Arthur's nephew."

Nabigant of the Rock cometh toward him as fast as his horse may carry
him, lance in rest.  Messire Gawain seeth him coming toward him right
furiously.  He casteth his shield down on the ground and betaketh him
to flight as swiftly as he may.  They that beheld him, some two score
or more, marvel thereof, and say, "Did ever one see the like
overpassing cowardize!"

Nabigant saith that he never yet followed a knight that was vanquished,
nor never will follow one of such conditions, for no great prize would
it be to take him and win his horse.  Other knights come to joust with
him, but Messire Gawain fleeth and avoideth them the best he may, and
maketh semblance that none is there he durst abide.  He draweth toward
King Arthur for safety. The King hath great shame of this that he seeth
him do, and right sore pains hath he of defending Messire Gawain, for
he holdeth as close to him as the pie doth to the bramble when the
falcon would take her.  In such shame and dishonour was Messire Gawain
as long as the assembly lasted, and the knights said that he had gotten
him off with much less than he deserved, for that never had they seen
so craven knight at assembly or tournament as was he, nor never
henceforth would they have dread of him as they had heretofore.  From
this day forward may many lightly avenge themselves upon him of their
kinsfolk and friends that he hath slain by the forest.   The assembly
brake up in the evening, whereof the King and Messire Gawain were right
well pleased.  The knights disarm them at their hostels and the King
and Messire Gawain at the damsels' tent.


XI.

With that, behold you the dwarf that cometh.

"By my head, damsels, your knights go from bad to worse!  Of him in the
white arms one may even let pass, but Messire Gawain is the most coward
ever saw I yet, and so he were to run upon me to-morrow and I were
armed like as is he, I should think me right well able to defend me
against him. 'Tis the devil took him to a place where is such plenty of
knights, for the more folk that are there the better may one judge of
his ill conditions.  And you, Sir," saith he to the King, "Wherefore do
you keep him company? You would have done best to-day had he not been
there.  He skulked as close by you, to be out of the buffets, as a hare
doth to the wood for the hounds.  No business hath good knight to hold
company with a coward.  I say not this for that I would make him out
worse that he is, for I remember the two knights he slew before this
tent."

The damsel heareth the dwarf talking and smileth thereat, for she
understandeth that blame enough hath Messire Gawain had at the
assembly.  The knights said at their hostels that they knew not to whom
to give the Circlet of Gold, sith that the Knight of the Golden Armour
and he of the Red Armour were not there; for they did the best the
first day of the assembly, and much they marvelled that they should not
come when it was continued on the morrow.

"Gawain," saith the King, "Sore blame have you had this day, and I
myself have been all shamed for your sake.  Never thought I that so
good a knight as you might ever have known how to counterfeit a bad
knight as you did.  You have done much for the love of the damsel, and
right well had she avenged herself of you and you had done her great
annoy.  Howbeit, and to-morrow your cowardize be such as it hath been
to-day, never will the day be when you shall not have blame thereof."


XII.

"By my faith." saith Messire Gawain, "Behoveth me do the damsel's
pleasure sith that we have fallen by ill-chance into her power."

They went to bed at night and took their rest as soon as they had
eaten, and on the morrow the damsel came to Messire Gawain.

"I will," saith she, "that you be clad in the same arms as was your
comrade on the first day, right rich, that I will lend you, and I will,
moreover, that you be knight so good as that never on any day were you
better.  But I command you, by the faith you pledged me the other day,
to obey this caution, that you make yourself known to none, and so any
man in the world shall ask your name, you shall say that you are the
knight of the Golden Arms."

"Damsel," saith Gawain, "Gramercy, I will do your pleasure."

The younger damsel cometh back to the King: "Sir," saith she, "I will
that you wear new arms: You shall bear them red, the same as Messire
Gawain bore the first day, and I pray you be such as you were the first
day, or better."


XIII.

"Damsel, I will do my best to amend myself and my doings, and right
well pleased am I of that it pleaseth you to say."

Their horses were caparisoned and the knights mounted, all armed. They
come together to the tournament with such an onset as that they pass
through the thickest of the press and overthrew knights and horses as
many as they encountered.  King Arthur espieth Nabigant that came right
gaily caparisoned, and smiteth him so passing strong a buffet in the
midst of his breast that he beareth him down from his horse, in such
sort that he breaketh his collar-bone, and presenteth the destrier, by
his squire, to the younger damsel, that maketh great joy thereof.  And
Messire Gawain searcheth the fellowships on all sides, and so well did
he search that scarce was one might endure his blows.  King Arthur is
not idle, but pierceth shields and beateth in helms, the while all look
on in wonderment at him and Messire Gawain.  The story saith that the
King would have done still better, but that he put not forth his full
strength in deeds of arms, for that Messire Gawain had done so ill the
day before, and now he would fain that he should have the prize.


XIV.

The damsel that held the Golden Circlet was in the midst of the
assembly of knights, and had set it in a right rich casket of ivory
with precious stones, right worshipfully.  When the damsel saw that the
assembly was at an end, she made all the knights stay, and prayed them
they should speak judgment true, concealing nought, who had best
deserved of arms, and ought therefore of right to have the Golden
Circle.  They said all, that of right judgment the Knight of the Golden
Arms and he of the Red Arms ought to have the prize above all the
others, but that of these two, he of the Golden Arms ought to have the
prize, for so well did he the first day as that no knight might do
better, and on the last day likewise, and that if he of the Red Arms
had put forth his full strength on the last day, he would have done
full as well or better.  The Circlet of Gold was brought to Messire
Gawain, but it was not known that it was he; and Messire Gawain would
fain that it had been given to my Lord King Arthur.  The knights
departed from the assembly.  The King and Messire Gawain came back to
the tent and brought the Golden Circlet, whereof the damsels made great
joy.  Thereupon, behold you!  the dwarf that cometh back.

"Damsels, better is it to lodge knights such as these than Messire
Gawain the coward, the craven that had so much shame at the assembly!
You yourselves would have been sore blamed had you lodged him.  This
knight hath won the Golden Circlet by force of arms, and Messire Gawain
nought but shame and reproach."

The damsel laugheth at this that the dwarf saith, and biddeth him on
his eyes and head, begone!


XV.

The King and Messire Gawain were disarmed.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "What will you do with the Golden Circlet?"

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "I will bear it to him that first won
it in sore peril of death, and delivered it to the Queen that ought to
have kept it safe, of whom it hath been reft by force."

The King and Messire Gawain lay the night in the tent.  The younger
damsel cometh to the King.

"Sir, many feats of arms have you done at the assembly, as I have been
told, for love of me, and I am ready to reward you."

"Damsel, right great thanks.  Your reward and your service love I much,
and your honour yet more, wherefore I would that you should have all
the honour that any damsel may have, for in damsel without honour ought
none to put his affiance.  Our Lord God grant you to preserve yours."

"Damsel," saith she to the other that sitteth before Messire Gawain,
"This Knight and Messire Gawain have taken counsel together.  There is
neither solace nor comfort in them.  Let us leave them to go to sleep,
and ill rest may they have, and Lord God defend us ever hereafter from
such guests."

"By my head," saith the eider damsel, "were it not for the Golden
Circlet that he is bound of right to deliver again to the Queen that
had it in charge, who is my Lady, they should not depart from this land
in such sort as they will.  But, and Messire Gawain still be nice as
concerneth damsels, at least I now know well that he is loyal in
anotherwise, so as that he will not fail of his word."


XVI.

With that the damsels departed, as did likewise the King and Messire
Gawain as soon as they saw the day.  Nabigant, that was wounded at the
tournament, was borne away on a litter.  Meliot of Logres was in quest
of Messire Gawain.  He met the knights and the harness that came from
the assembly, and asked of many if they could tell him tidings of King
Arthur's nephew, Messire Gawain, and the most part answer, "Yea, and
right bad tidings enough."

Then they ask him wherefore he demandeth.

"Lords," saith he, "His liege man am I, and he ought of right to defend
my land against all men, that Nabigant hath taken from me without right
nor reason, whom they are carrying from thence in a litter, wherefore I
am fain to beseech Messire Gawain that he help me to recover my land."

"In faith, Sir Knight," say they, "We know not of what avail he may be
to others that may not help himself.  Messire Gawain was at the
assembly, but we tell you for true, it was he that did worst thereat."

"Alas," saith Meliot of Logres, "Then have I lost my land, and he hath
become even such an one as you tell me."

"You would readily believe us," say they, "had you seen him at the
assembly!"

Meliot turneth him back, right sorrowful.


XVII.

King Arthur and Messire Gawain depart from the tent, and come a great
pace as though they fain would escape thence to come nigher the land
where they would be, and great desire had they of the coming of
Lancelot.  They rode until that they came one night to the Waste Manor
whither the brachet led Messire Gawain when he found the dead knight
that Lancelot had slain.  They lodged there the night, and found there
knights and damsels of whom they were known.  The Lady of the Waste
Manor sent for succour to her knights, saying that she held there King
Arthur that slew other knights, and that his nephew Messire Gawain was
also there within, but dearly would she have loved that Lancelot had
been with them that slew her brother.  Knights in plenty came to her to
do hurt to King Arthur and Messire Gawain, but she had at least so much
courtesy in her that she would not suffer any of them to do them ill
within her hold, albeit she kept seven of their number, full of great
hardiment, to guard the entrance of the bridge, so that King Arthur and
Messire Gawain might not depart thence save only amidst the points of
their spears.


XVIII.

This high history witnesseth us that Lancelot was departed from the
Waste City wherein he was much honoured, and rode until that he came to
a forest where he met Meliot of Logres, that was sore dismayed of the
tidings he had heard of Messire Gawain.  Lancelot asketh him whence he
cometh, and he saith from seeking Messire Gawain, of whom he had
tidings whereof he was right sorrowful.

"How," saith Lancelot, "Is he then otherwise than well?"

"Yea," saith he, "As I have heard tell: for he wont to be good knight
and hath now become evil.  He was at the assembly of knights whereof I
met the harness and the fellowships, and they told me that never yet
was such cowardize in any knight, but that a knight who was with him
did right well.  But howsoever he may have borne himself, right fain am
I to find him, for, maugre what any may say, I may scarce believe that
he is so bad after all."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "I will seek him for you, and you can come along
with me and it seemeth you good."

Meliot of Logres betaketh him back with Lancelot.  They ride until they
happen by chance upon the Waste Manor where the King and Messire Gawain
were lodged; and they were armed, and were minded to go forth from
thence.  But the seven knights guarded the issue, all armed.  The King
and Messire Gawain saw that no good would it do them to remain there
within, wherefore they passed over the bridge and came perforce to the
place where the seven knights were watching for them.  Thereupon, they
went toward them all armed and struck among them, and the knights
received them on the points of their lances.


XIX.

Thereupon, behold you!  Lancelot and the knight with him, whom they had
not been looking for.  Lancelot espied the King and Messire Gawain;
then the knights cried out and struck among them as a hawk striketh
amongst larks, and made them scatter on one side and the other.
Lancelot hath caught one at his coming, and smiteth him with his spear
through the body, and Meliot of Logres slayeth another.  King Arthur
knew Lancelot, and right glad was he to see him safe and sound, as was
Messire Gawain likewise. Lancelot and Meliot of Logres made clear the
passage for them. The knights departed, for longer durst they not
abide.  The damsel of the castle held a squire by the hand, that was
right passing comely.  She knew Lancelot, and when she saw him she
called him.


XX.

"Lancelot, you slew this squire's brother, and, please God, either he
or another shall take vengeance thereof."

Lancelot holdeth his peace when he heareth the dame speak, and
departeth from the Waste Hold.  Meliot of Logres knew Messire Gawain
and Messire Gawain him again, and great joy made they the one of the
other.

"Sir," saith Meliot, "I am come to lay plaint before you of Nabigant of
the Rock that challengeth me of the land whereof I am your man, and
saith that he will defend it against none but you only.  Sir, the day
is full nigh, and if you come not to the day, I shall have lost my
quarrel, and you held me thereof in covenant what time I became your
man."

"Right fainly will I go," saith Messire Gawain.

He goeth his way thither accordingly by leave of the King and Lancelot,
and saith that he will return to them the speediest he may.


XXI.

King Arthur and Lancelot go their way as fast as they may toward the
land that was King Fisherman's.  Messire Gawain rideth until he cometh
to the land of Nabigant of the Rock. Meliot doeth Nabigant to wit that
Messire Gawain was come, and that he was ready to uphold his right by
him that was his champion.  Nabigant was whole of the wound he gat at
the assembly, and held Messire Gawain of full small account for the
cowardize that he saw him do, and bid his knights not meddle betwixt
them two, for, and Messire Gawain had been four knights he thought to
vanquish them all.  He issueth forth of his castle all armed, and is
come there where Messire Gawain awaited him.  Messire Gawain seeth him
coming, and so draweth on one side, and Nabigant, that was stark
outrageous, setteth his spear in rest and cometh toward Messire Gawain
without another word, and smiteth him on the shield so that he maketh
his spear fly all in pieces.  And Messire Gawain catcheth him right in
the midst of his breast, and pierceth him with his spear through the
thick of his heart, and he falleth to the ground dead; and the knights
run upon Messire Gawain; but he lightly delivereth himself of them, and
Meliot of Logres likewise.  Messire Gawain entereth the castle by
force, doing battle against all the knights, and holdeth them in such a
pass as that he maketh them do homage to Meliot of Logres, and deliver
up to him the keys of the castle.  He maketh them come to an assembly
from the whole of the land they had reft away from him, and thereafter
departeth and followeth after King Arthur.  In the forest, he
overtaketh a damsel that was going on her way a great pace.


XXII.

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Lord God guide you, whither away so
fast?"

"Sir," saith she, "I am going to the greatest assembly of knights you
saw ever."

"What assembly?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Sir," saith she, "At the Palace Meadow, but the knight I am seeking is
he that won the Circlet of Gold at the Meadow of the Tent.  Fair Sir,
can you give me any tidings of him?" saith she.

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "What would you do herein?"

"Certes, Sir, I would right fain find him.  My Lady, that kept the
Circlet of Gold for the son of the Widow Lady, that won it aforetime,
hath sent me to seek him."

"For what intent, damsel?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Sir, my Lady sendeth for him and beseecheth him by me, for the sake of
the Saviour of the World, that if he had ever pity of dame or damsel,
he will take vengeance on Nabigant that hath slain her men and
destroyed her land, for she hath been told how he that won back the
Golden Circlet ought of right to take vengeance upon him."


XXIII.

"Damsel," saith Messire Gawain, "Be not any longer troubled hereof, for
I tell you that the knight that won the Golden Circlet by prize of arms
hath killed Nabigant already."

"Sir," saith she, "How know you this?"

"I know the knight well," saith he, "And I saw him slay him, and
behold, here is the Circlet of Gold that I have as a token hereof, for
that he beareth it to him that hath won the Graal, to the intent that
your Lady may be quit of her charge."

Messire Gawain showeth her the Golden Circlet in the casket of ivory,
that he kept very nigh himself.  Right joyful was the damsel that the
matter had thus fallen out, and goeth her way back again to tell her
Lady of her joy.  Messire Gawain goeth on his way toward the assembly,
for well knoweth he that, and King Arthur and Lancelot have heard the
tidings, there will they be. He goeth thitherward as fast as he may,
and as straight, and scarce hath he ridden away or ever he met a squire
that seemed right weary, and his hackney sore worn of the way.  Messire
Gawain asked him whence he came, and the squire said to him. "From the
land of King Arthur, where is great war toward, for that none knoweth
not what hath become of him.  Many folk go about saying that he is
dead, for never sithence that he departed from Cardoil, and Messire
Gawain and Lancelot with him, have no tidings been heard of him; and he
left the Queen at Cardoil to take his place, and also on account of her
son's death, and the most part say that he is dead.  Briant of the
Isles and my Lord Kay with him are burning his land, and carrying off
plunder before all the castles.  Of all the Knights of the Table Round
are there now no more than five and thirty, and of these are ten sore
wounded, and they are in Cardoil, and there protect the land the best
they may."


XXIV.

When Messire Gawain heareth these tidings, they touch his heart right
sore, so that he goeth the straightest he may toward the assembly, and
the squire with him that was sore fordone.  Messire Gawain found King
Arthur and Lancelot, and the knights were come from all the kingdom to
the piece of ground.  For a knight was come thither that had brought a
white destrier and borne thither a right rich crown of gold, and it was
known throughout all the lands that marched with this, that the knight
that should do best at the assembly should have the destrier and the
crown, for the Queen that ware it was dead, and it would behove him to
guard and defend the land whereof she had been Lady.  On account of
these tidings had come thither great plenty of folk and of folk.  King
Arthur and Messire Gawain and Lancelot set them of one side.  The story
saith that at this assembly King Arthur bare the red shield that the
damsel gave him; Messire Gawain had his own, such as he was wont to
bear, and Lancelot a green shield that he bare for the love of the
knight that was slain for helping him in the forest.  They struck into
the assembly like lions unchained, and cast down three knights at their
first onset.  They searched the fellowships on every side, smote down
knights and overthrew horses.


XXV.

King Arthur overtook no knight but he clave his shield to the boss: all
swerved aside and avoided his buffets.  And Messire Gawain and Lancelot
are not idle on the other hand, but each held well his place.  But the
more part had wonderment looking at the King, for he holdeth him at bay
like a lion when the staghounds would attack him.  The assembly lasted
throughout on such wise, and when it came to an end, the knights said
and adjudged that the Knight of the Red Shield had surpassed all other
in doing well.  The knight that had brought the crown came to the King,
but knew him not a whit: "Sir," saith he, "You have by your good deeds
of arms won this crown of gold and this destrier, whereof ought you to
make great joy, so only you have so much valour in you as that you may
defend the land of the best earthly Queen that is dead, and whether the
King be alive or dead none knoweth, wherefore great worship will it be
to yourself and you may have prowess to maintain the land, for right
broad is it and right rich and of high sovranty."


XXVI.

Saith King Arthur, "Whose was the land, and what was the name of the
Queen whose crown I see?"

"Sir, the King's name was Arthur, and the best king in the world was
he; but in his kingdom the more part say that he is dead. And this
crown was the crown of Queen Guenievre that is dead and buried, whereof
is sore sorrow.  The knights that may not leave Cardoil lest Briant of
the Isles should seize the city, they sent me to the kingdom of Logres
and charged me with the crown and destrier for that I have knowledge of
the isles and foreign lands; wherefore they prayed me I should go among
the assemblies of knights, that so I might hear tidings of my Lord King
Arthur and my Lord Gawain and Lancelot, and, so I might find them, that
I should tell them how the land hath fallen into this grievous sorrow."

King Arthur heareth tidings whereof he is full sorrowful.  He draweth
on one side, and the knights make the most grievous dole in the world.
Lancelot knoweth not what he may do, and saith between his teeth that
now hath his joy come to an end and his knighthood is of no avail, for
that he hath lost the high Queen, the valiant, that heart and comfort
gave him and encouragement to do well.  The tears ran down from his
comely eyes right amidst his face and through the ventail, and, had he
durst make other dole, yet greater would it have been.  Of the mourning
the King made is there nought to speak, for this sorrow resembleth none
other.  He holdeth the crown of gold, and looketh full oft at the
destrier for love of her, for he had given it her; and Messire Gawain
may not stint of making dole.


XXVII.

"Certes", saith he, "Now may I well say that the best Queen in the
world and of most understanding is dead, nor never hereafter shall be
none of equal worth."

"Sir," saith Lancelot to the King, "So it please you, and Messire
Gawain be willing, I will go back toward Cardoil, and help to defend
your land to the best I may, for sore is it discounselled, until such
time as you shall be come from the Graal."

"Certes," saith Messire Gawain to the King, "Lancelot hath spoken well,
so you grant him your consent."

"That do I with right good will," saith the Kind, "And I pray him right
heartily that he go thither and be guardian of my land and the
governance thereof, until such a time as God shall have brought me
back."

Lancelot taketh leave of the King and goeth his way back, all sorrowing
and full of discontent.



BRANCH XXII.

INCIPIT.

Of Lancelot the story is here silent, and so beginneth another branch
of the Graal in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy
Ghost.


TITLE I.

You may well understand that King Arthur is no whit joyful.  He maketh
the white destrier go after him, and hath the crown of gold full near
himself.  They ride until they come to the castle that belonged to King
Fisherman, and they found it as rich and fair as you have heard told
many a time.  Perceval, that was there within, made right great joy of
their coming, as did all the priests and ancient knights.  Perceval
leadeth King Arthur, when he was disarmed, into the chapel where the
Graal was, and Messire Gawain maketh present to Perceval of the Golden
Circlet, and telleth him that the Queen sendeth it to him, and relateth
also how Nabigant had seized it, and moreover, how Nabigant was dead.
The King offereth the crown that had been Queen Guenievre's.  When
Perceval knew that she was dead, he was right sorrowful thereof in his
heart, and wept and lamented her right sweetly.  He showeth them the
tomb of King Fisherman, and telleth them that none had set the
tabernacle there above the coffin, but only the commandment of Our
Lord, and he showeth them a rich pall that is upon the coffin, and
telleth them that every day they see a new one there not less rich than
is this one.  King Arthur looketh at the sepulchre and saith that never
tofore hath he seen none so costly.  A smell issueth therefrom full
delicate and sweet of savour.  The King sojourneth in the castle and is
highly honoured, and beholdeth the richesse and the lordship and the
great abundance that is everywhere in the castle, insomuch that therein
is nought wanting that is needful for the bodies of noble folk.
Perceval had made set the bodies of the dead knights in a charnel
beside an old chapel in the forest, and the body of his uncle that had
slain himself so evilly.  Behind the castle was a river, as the history
testifieth, whereby all good things came to the castle, and this river
was right fair and plenteous. Josephus witnesseth us that it came from
the Earthly Paradise and compassed the castle around and ran on through
the forest as far as the house of a worshipful hermit, and there lost
the course and had peace in the earth.  All along the valley thereof
was great plenty of everything continually, and nought was ever lacking
in the rich castle that Perceval had won.  The castle, so saith the
history, had three names.


II.

One of the names was Eden, the second, Castle of Joy, and the third,
Castle of Souls.  Now Josephus saith that none never passed away
therein but his soul went to Paradise.  King Arthur was one day at the
castle windows with Messire Gawain.  The King seeth coming before him
beyond the bridge a great procession of folk one before another; and he
that came before was all clad in white, and bare a full great cross,
and each of the others a little one, and the more part came singing
with sweet voices and bear candles burning, and there was one behind
that carried a bell with the clapper and all at his neck.


"Ha, God," saith King Arthur, "What folk be these?"

"Sir," saith Perceval, "I know them all save the last.  They be hermits
of this forest, that come to chant within yonder before the Holy Graal,
three days in the week."


III.

When the hermits came nigh the castle, the King went to meet them, and
the knights adore the crosses and bow their heads before the good men.
As soon as they were come into the holy chapel, they took the bell from
the last and smote thereon at the altar, and then set it on the ground,
and then began they the service, most holy and most glorious.  The
history witnesseth us that in the land of King Arthur at this time was
there not a single chalice.  The Graal appeared at the sacring of the
mass, in five several manners that none ought not to tell, for the
secret things of the sacrament ought none to tell openly but he unto
whom God hath given it.  King Arthur beheld all the changes, the last
whereof was the change into a chalice.  And the hermit that chanted the
mass found a brief under the corporal and declared the letters, to wit,
that our Lord God would that in such vessel should His body be
sacrificed, and that it should be set upon record.  The history saith
not that there were no chalices elsewhere, but that in all Great
Britain and in the whole kingdom was none.  King Arthur was right glad
of this that he had seen, and had in remembrance the name and the
fashion of the most holy chalice.  Then he asked the hermit that bare
the bell, whence this thing came?

"Sir," saith he to Messire Gawain, "I am the King for whom you slew the
giant, whereby you had the sword wherewith St John was beheaded, that I
see on this altar.  I made baptize me before you and all those of my
kingdom, and turn to the New Law, and thereafter I went to a hermitage
by the sea, far from folk, where I have been of a long space.  I rose
one night at matins and looked under my hermitage and saw that a ship
had taken haven there.  I went thither when the sea was retreated, and
found within the ship three priests and their clerks, that told me
their names and how they were called in baptism.  All three were named
Gregory, and they came from the Land of Promise, and told me that
Solomon had cast three bells, one for the Saviour of the World, and one
for His sweet Mother, and one for the honour of His saints, wherefore
they had brought this hither by His commandment into this kingdom for
that we had none here.  They told me that and I should bear it into
this castle, they would take all my sins upon themselves, by Our Lord's
pleasure, in such sort as that I should be quit thereof.  And I in like
manner have brought it hither by the commandment of God, who willeth
that this should be the pattern of all those that shall be fashioned in
the realm of this island where never aforetime have been none."

"By my faith," saith Messire Gawain to the hermit, "I know you right
well for a worshipful man, for you held your covenant truly with me."

King Arthur was right glad of this thing, as were all they that were
within.  It seemed him that the noise thereof was like the noise that
he had heard sound ever since he had moved from Cardoil.  The hermits
went their way each to his hermitage when they had done the service.


IV.

One day, as the King sate at meat in the hall with Perceval and Messire
Gawain and the ancient knights, behold you therewithal one of the three
Damsels of the Car that cometh, and she was smitten all through her
right arm.

"Sir," saith she to Perceval, "Have mercy on your mother and your
sister and on us.  Aristor of Moraine, that is cousin to the Lord of
the Moors that you slew, warreth upon your mother, and hath carried off
your sister by force into the castle of a vavasour of his, and saith
that he will take her to wife and will have all her land that your
mother ought to hold of right, maugre your head.  But never had knight
custom so cruel as he, for when he shall have espoused the damsel,
whomsoever she may be, yet will he never love her so well but that he
shall cut off her head with his own hand, and so thereafter go seek for
another to slay in like manner.  Natheless in one matter hath he good
custom, that never will he do shame to none until such time as he hath
espoused her.  Sir, I was with my Lady your sister when he maimed me in
this manner.  Wherefore your mother sendeth you word and prayeth you
that you succour her, for you held her in covenant that so you would do
and she should have need thereof and you should know it; for and you
consent to her injury and loss, the shame will be your own."

Perceval heard these tidings, and sore sorrowful was he thereof.

"By my head," saith the King to Perceval, "I and my nephew, so please
you, will go to help you."

"Sir," saith he, "Gramercy, but go and achieve your own affair also,
for sore need have you thereof; wherefore I pray and beseech you that
you be guardian of the castle of Camelot, if that my lady mother shall
come thither, for thereof make I you lord and champion, and albeit the
castle be far away from you, yet garnish it and guard it, for it is
builded in a place right fair."


V.

Lords, think not that it is this Camelot whereof these tellers of tales
do tell their tales, there, where King Arthur so often held his court.
This Camelot that was the Widow Lady's stood upon the uttermost
headland of the wildest isle of Wales by the sea to the West.  Nought
was there save the hold and the forest and the waters that were round
about it.  The other Camelot, of King Arthur's, was situate at the
entrance of the kingdom of Logres, and was peopled of folk and was
seated at the head of the King's land, for that he had in his
governance all the lands that on that side marched with his own.



BRANCH XXIII.

TITLE I.

Of Perceval the story is here silent, and saith that King Arthur and
Messire Gawain have taken leave of Perceval and all them of the castle.
The King leaveth him the good destrier that he won, with the golden
crown.  They have ridden, he and Messire Gawain together, until they
are come to a waste ancient castle that stood in a forest.  The castle
would have been right fair and rich had any folk wonned therein, but
none there were save one old priest and his clerk that lived within by
their own toil. The King and Messire Gawain lodged there the night, and
on the morrow went into a right rich chapel that was therein to hear
mass, and it was painted all around of right rich colours of gold and
azure and other colours.  The images were right fair that were there
painted, and the Figures of them for whom the images were made.  The
King and Messire Gawain looked at them gladly. When the mass was said,
the priest cometh to them and saith: "Lords," saith he, "These imagings
are right fair, and he that had them made is full loyal, and dearly
loved the lady and her son for whom he had them made.  Sir," saith the
priest, "It is a true history."

"Of whom is the history, fair Sir?" saith King Arthur.

"Of a worshipful vavasour that owned this hold, and of Messire Gawain,
King Arthur's nephew, and his mother. Sir," saith the priest, "Messire
Gawain was born there within and held up and baptized, as you may see
here imaged, and he was named Gawain for the sake of the lord of this
castle that had that name.  His mother, that had him by King Lot, would
not that it should be known.  She set him in a right fair coffer, and
prayed the good man of this castle that he would carry him away and
leave him where he might perish, but and if he would not do so, she
would make another do it.  This Gawain, that was loyal and would not
that the child should be put to death, made seal letters at the
pillow-bere of his cradle that he was of lineage royal on the one side
and the other, and set therein gold and silver so as that the child
might be nurtured in great plenty, and spread above the child a right
rich coverlid.  He carried him away to a far distant country, and so
came one early morning to a little homestead where dwelt a right
worshipful man.  He delivered the child to him and his wife, and bade
them they should keep him and nurture him well, and told them that it
might be much good should come to them thereof.  The vavasour turned
him back, and they took charge of the child and nurtured him until that
he were grown, and then took him to Rome to the Holy Father, and showed
him the sealed letters.  The Holy Father saw them and understood that
he was the son of a King.  He had pity upon him, and gave him to
understand that he was of his kindred.  After that, he was elected to
be Emperor of Rome.  But he would not be Emperor lest he should be
reproached of his birth that had before been concealed from him.  He
departed thence, and lived afterwards within yonder.  Now is it said
that he is one of the best knights in the world, insomuch that none
durst take possession of this castle for dread of him, nor of this
great forest that lieth round about it.  For, when the vavasour that
dwelt here was dead, he left to Messire Gawain, his foster-son, this
castle, and made me guardian thereof until such time as Messire Gawain
should return."


II.

The King looketh at Messire Gawain, and seeth him stoop his head toward
the ground for shame.

"Fair nephew, be not ashamed, for as well might you reproach me of the
same.  Of your birth hath there been great joy, and dearly ought one to
love the place and honour it, where so good a knight as are you was
born."

When the priest understood that it was Messire Gawain, he made great
cheer to him, and was all ashamed of that he had recorded as concerning
his birth.  But he saith to him: "Sir, small blame ought you to have
herein, for you were confirmed in the law that God hath established and
in loyalty of marriage of King Lot and your mother.  This thing King
Arthur well knoweth, and our Lord God be praised for that, you have
come hither!"



BRANCH XXIV.

TITLE I.

Here the story is silent of the kingdom, and of King Arthur and Messire
Gawain that remain in the castle to maintain and guard it until they
shall have garnished it of folk.  Here speaketh it word of the knight's
son of the Waste Manor, there whither the brachet led Messire Gawain
where he found the knight that Lancelot had slain.  He had one son
whose name was Meliant, and he had not forgotten his father's death;
rather, thereof did wrath rankle in his heart.  He heard tell that
Briant of the Isles had great force and great puissance, and that he
warred upon King Arthur's land, insomuch as that he had already slain
many of his knights.  Thitherward goeth he, and is come to where Briant
was in a castle of his own.  He telleth him how Lancelot had slain his
father in such sort, and prayeth him right courteously that he would
make him knight, for that right fain would he avenge his father, and
therefore would he help him in the war the best he might.  Briant made
much joy thereof, and made him knight in right costly sort, and he was
the comeliest knight and the most valiant of his age in Briant's court,
and greatly did he desire to meet with Lancelot.  They marvelled much
in the land and kingdom what had become of him.  The more part thought
that he was dead, albeit dead he was not, but rather sound and hale and
whole, had it not been for the death of Queen Guenievre, whereof the
sorrow so lay at his heart that he might not forget it.  He rode one
day amidst a forest, and overtook a knight and a damsel that made great
joy together, singing and making disport.

"By God," saith the damsel, "If this knight that cometh here will
remain, he shall have right good lodging.  It is already nigh eventide,
and never will he find hostel so good to-day."

"Damsel." saith Lancelot, "Of good hostel have I sore need, for I am
more than enough weary."

"So be all they," saith she, "that come from the land of the rich King
Fisherman, for none may suffer the pain and travail and he be not good
knight."


II.

"Ah, damsel," saith Lancelot, "Which is the way to the castle whereof
you speak?"

"Sir," saith the knight, "You will go by this cross that you see before
you, and we will go by that other way, to a certain hold. Haply we
shall find you at the castle or ever you depart thence."

Lancelot goeth his way and leaveth them.

"By my head," saith the damsel to the knight, "This that goeth there is
Lancelot.  He knoweth me not, albeit I know him well, and I hear that
he is sore troubled of his sorrow and mis-ease. Natheless, please God,
I will have vengeance of him or ever he departeth from the castle
whither he goeth to harbour.  He made marry perforce a knight that
loved me better than aught beside, and to a damsel that he loved not a
whit.  And so much might he still better perceive when he saw that she
ate not at his table, but was seated along with the squires, and that
none did aught for her at the castle.  But the knight will not abandon
her for his own honour, and for that I should be blamed thereof."

The evening draweth on and Lancelot goeth toward the castle, that was
right uneath to find and in an unfrequented part.  He espieth it at the
head of the forest, and seeth that it is large and strong, with strong
barbicans embattelled, and at the entrance of the gateway were fifteen
heads of knights hanging.  He found without a knight that came from the
forest, and asked him what castle it was, and he made answer that it
was called the Castle of the Griffon.

"And why are these heads hanging at this door?"

"Sir," saith he, "The daughter of the lord of the castle is the fairest
in the world and that is known in any kingdom, and needs must she be
offered to wife to all knights that harbour within. He that can draw a
sword that is fixed in a column in the midst of the hall, and fetch it
forth, he shall have her of right without forfeit."


III.

"All these have made assay whose heads you see hanging at the door, but
never might none of them remove the sword, and on this occasion were
they beheaded.  Now is it said that none may draw it forth, unless he
that draweth be better knight than another, and needs must he be one of
them that have been at the Graal. But, and you be minded to believe me,
fair Sir," saith the knight, "You will go elsewhither, for ill lodging
is it in a place where one must needs set body and life in adventure of
death, and none ought to be blamed for escaping from his own harm.
Sir, the castle is right fell, for it hath underground, at the issue of
a cavern that is there, a lion and a griffon that have devoured more
than half a hundred knights."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "It is evening, nor know I how I may go farther
this day, for I know not whither I go sith that I know not the places
nor the ways of the forest."

"Sir," saith the knight, "I speak only for your own good, and God grant
you depart hence, honour safe."

Lancelot findeth the door of the castle all open, and entereth in all
armed, and alighteth before the master-hall.  The King was leaning at
the windows, and biddeth stall his horse.


IV.

Lancelot is entered into the hall, and findeth knights and damsels at
the tables and playing at the chess, but none did he find to salute him
nor make him cheer of his coming save the lord only, for such was the
custom of the castle.  The lord bade him be disarmed.

"Sir," saith he, "Right well may you allow me wear my arms, for they be
the fairest garniture and the richest I have."

"Sir," saith the lord of the castle, "No knight eateth armed within
yonder, but he that cometh armed in hither disarmeth himself by my
leave.  He may take his arms again without gainsay, so neither I nor
other desire to do him a hurt."

With that two squires disarm him.  The lord of the Castle maketh bring
a right rich robe wherein to apparel him.  The tables were set and the
meats served.  The damsel issued forth of her chamber and was
accompanied of two knights as far as the hall.  She looketh at
Lancelot, and seeth that he is a right comely knight, and much liketh
her of his bearing and countenance, and she thinketh to herself that
sore pity would it be so comely knight should have his head smitten off.


V.

Lancelot saluted the damsel and made great cheer, and when they had
eaten in hall, forthwith behold you, the damsel where she cometh that
Lancelot overtook in the forest with the knight.

"Sir," saith she to the lord of the castle, "You have harboured this
night your deadly enemy that slew your brother at the Waste Manor."

"By my faith," saith the lord of the manor, "I think not so, for him
would I not have harboured, nor will I not believe it for true until
such time as I have proved it. Sir," saith he to Lancelot, "Make the
demand that the others make!"

"What is it?" saith Lancelot.

"See there my daughter!  Ask her of me, and if you be such as you ought
to be, I will give her to you."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "No knight is there in the world so good but
ought to plume him upon having her to wife, so always she were willing,
and, so I thought that you would be willing to give her to me, I would
willingly ask you."

Lancelot spake otherwise than as he thought, for the departing of the
Queen and the sorrow thereof lay so at his heart that never again might
he lean upon any love in the world, neither of dame nor damsel.  He
asked his daughter of the knight of the castle, and came before him to
save the custom so that he might not have blame thereof.  And he showed
him the sword that is in the column, all inlaid with gold.

"Go," saith he, "and fulfil the custom, as other knights have done."

"What is it?" saith Lancelot.

"They might not draw forth the sword from this column, and so failed of
my daughter and of their lives."

"Lord God," saith Lancelot, "Defend me from this custom!"

And he cometh toward the column as fast as he may, and seizeth the
sword with both hands.  So soon as he touched it, the sword draweth it
forth with such a wrench that the column quaked thereof.  The damsel
was right joyful thereat, albeit she misdoubted the fellness and
cruelty of her father, for never yet had she seen knight that pleased
her so much to love as he.

"Sir," saith the other damsel, "I tell you plainly, this is Lancelot,
the outrageous, that slew your brother.  Natheless, is it no lie that
he is one of the best knights of the world, albeit by the stoutness of
his knighthood and his valour many an outrage hath he done, and more
shall he yet do and he escape you, and, so you will believe me, you
will never allow him to depart thus; sith that and you kill him or slay
him you will save the life of many a knight."

The daughter of the lord of the castle is sore displeased of the damsel
for this that she saith, and looketh at Lancelot from time to time and
sigheth, but more durst she not do.  Much marvelleth she, sith that
Lancelot hath drawn the sword forth of the column, that he asketh her
not of her father as his own liege woman, but he was thinking of
another thing, and never was he so sorrowful of any lady as he was for
the Queen.  But whatsoever thought or desire he may have therein, he
telleth the lord of the castle that he holdeth him to his covenant made
at such time as the sword was still fixed in the column.

"I have a right not to hold thereto," saith the lord of the castle,
"Nor shall I break not my vow and I fail you herein; for no man is
bound to give his daughter to his mortal enemy.  Sith that you have
slain my brother, you are my mortal enemy, and were I to give her to
you, she ought not to wish it, and were she to grant you her love she
would be a fool and a madwoman."

Right sorrowful is the damsel or this that she heareth her father say.
She would fain that Lancelot and she were in the forest, right in the
depth thereof.  But Lancelot had no mind to be as she was thinking.
The lord of the castle made guard the gateway of the castle well, in
such sort that Lancelot might issue therefrom on no side.  Afterward he
bade his knights privily that they take heed on their lives that they
be all ready on the morrow and all garnished of their arms, for that it
was his purpose to smite off Lancelot's head and hang it above all the
others.


VI.

The daughter of the lord knew these tidings and was right sorrowful
thereof, for she thinketh never more to have joy at heart and he shall
be slain in such manner.  She sendeth him greeting by her own privy
messenger, as she that loveth him better than aught else living in the
world, and so biddeth and prayeth him be garnished of his arms, and
ready to protect his life, for that her father is fain to smite off his
head.

"Sir," saith the messenger, "Your force would avail you nought as
against my lord, for to-morrow there will be a dozen knights all armed
at the issue of the gate whereby you entered to-night, and he saith
that he purposeth to cut off your head there where he cut the heads off
the other knights.  Without the gate there will likewise be another
dozen knights all armed.  No knight is there in the world so good as
that he might issue forth of this castle through the midst of these
four and twenty knights, but my lady sendeth you word that there is a
cavern under this castle that goeth therefrom underground as far as the
forest, so that a knight may well pass thereby all armed, but there is
therein a lion, the fiercest and most horrible in the world, and two
serpents that are called griffons, that have the face of a man and the
beaks of birds and eyes of an owl and teeth of a dog and ears of an ass
and feet of a lion and tail of a serpent, and they have couched them
therewithin, but never saw no man beasts so fell and felonous.
Wherefore the damsel biddeth you go by that way, by everything that you
have ever loved, and that you fail her not, for she would fain speak
with you at the issue of the cavern in an orchard that is nigh a right
broad river not far from this castle, and will make your destrier be
brought after you underground."

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "And she had not conjured me in such
sort, and were it not for love of herself, I would have rather set
myself in hazard with the knights than with the wild beasts, for far
father would I have delivered myself from them, and so I might, than go
forth in such-wise."

"She sendeth you word," saith the messenger, "that so you do not thus,
no further trouble will she take concerning you.  She doth it of dread
lest she lose your love; and here behold a brachet that she sendeth you
by me that you will carry with you into the cavern.  So soon as you
shalt see the serpent griffons that have couched them therein, you
shall show them this and cast her down before them.  The griffons love
her as much as one beast may love another, and shall have such joy and
such desire to play with the brachet that they will leave you alone,
and have such good will toward you that they will not look at you after
to do you any hurt.  But no man is there in the world, no matter how
well soever he were armed, nor how puissant soever he were in himself,
might never pass them otherwise, but he should be devoured of them.
But no safeguard may you have as against the lion but of God only and
your own hardiment."

"Tell my damsel," saith Lancelot, "that all her commandment will I do,
but this cowardize resembleth none other, that I shall go fight with
beasts and leave to do battle with knights."

This was then repeated to the damsel, that marvelled her much thereat,
and said that he was the hardiest knight in the world.


VII.

Lancelot armed him toward daybreak, and had his sword girt, his shield
at his neck, and his spear in his hand.  So he entered into the cavern,
all shamefast, and the brachet followeth after, that he deigned not to
carry, and so cometh he to the place where the griffons were.  So soon
as they heard him coming they dress them on their feet, and then writhe
along as serpents, then cast forth such fire, and so bright a flame
amidst the rock, as that all the cavern is lighted up thereof, and they
see by the brightness of light of their jaws the brachet coming.  So
soon as they have espied her, they carry her in their claws and make
her the greatest cheer in the world.  Lancelot passeth beyond without
gainsay, and espieth, toward the issue of the cavern, the lion that was
come from the forest all famished.  He cometh thither right hardily,
sword drawn.  The lion cometh toward him, jaws yawning, and claws
bared, thinking to fix them in his habergeon, but Lancelot preventeth
him and smiteth him so stoutly that he cutteth off thigh and leg
together.  When the lion feeleth himself thus maimed, he seizeth him by
the teeth and the claws of his fore feet and rendeth away half the
skirt of his habergeon. Thereupon Lancelot waxeth wroth.  He casteth
his shield to the ground and approacheth the lion closer.  He seeth
that he openeth his jaws wide to avenge himself, and thrusteth his
sword the straightest he may into his gullet, and the lion giveth out a
roar and falleth dead.  The damsel, that had come into the cavern,
heareth that the lion is dead.


VIII.

Lancelot issued forth and so cometh into the orchard beside the forest,
and wiped his sword on the freshness of the green grass. Thereupon
behold you the damsel that cometh.

"Sir," saith she to Lancelot, "Are you wounded in any place?"

"Damsel, nowhere, thank God!"

Another damsel leadeth a horse into the orchard.  The damsel of the
castle looketh at Lancelot.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "Meseemeth that you are not over joyous."

"Damsel," saith he, "If I be not, I have good right, for I have lost
the thing in the world that most I loved."

"And you have won me," saith she, "so you remain not here, that am the
fairest damsel in this kingdom, and I have saved you your life for
this, that you grant me your love, for mine own would I fain give unto
you."

"Gramercy, damsel," saith Lancelot, "Your love and your good will fain
would I have; but neither you nor none other damsel ought not to have
affiance in me, and I might so soon set carelessly aside the love to
whom my heart owed its obedience, for the worthiness and the courtesy
that were lodged in her.  Nor never hereafter, so long as I live, shall
I love none other in like manner; wherefore all others commend I to
God, and to yourself, as for leave-taking to one at whose service I
fain would be; I say that if you shall have need of me, and so I be in
place and free, I will do all I may to protect your honour."


IX.

"Ha, God!" saith the damsel, "How am I betrayed, sith that I am parted
from the best knight in the world!  Lancelot, you have done that which
never yet no knight might do!  Now am I grieved that you should escape
on such wise, and that your life hath been saved in this manner by me.
Better should I love you mine own dead, than another's living.  Now
would I fain that you had had your head smitten off, and that it were
hanging with the others! So would I solace myself by beholding it!"

Lancelot took no account of that he heard, for the grief that lay at
his heart of the Queen.  He mounteth on his horse and issueth forth of
the orchard by a postern gate, and entereth into the forest, and
commendeth him to God.  The lord of the Castle of the Griffons
marvelleth much that Lancelot delayeth so long.  He thinketh that he
durst not come down, and saith to his knights, "Let us go up and cut
off his head, sith that he durst not come down."

He maketh search for him all through the hall and the chambers, but
findeth him not.

"He hath gone," saith he, "through the cavern, so have the griffons
devoured him."

So he sendeth the twain most hardy of his knights to see.  But the
brachet had returned after the damsel, whereof the griffons were wroth,
and they forthwith seized on the two knights that entered into their
cavern and slew them and devoured.


X.

When the lord of the castle knew it, he went into the chamber where his
daughter was, and found her weeping, and thinketh that it is for the
two knights that are dead.  News is brought him that the lion is dead
at the issue of the cavern, and thereby well knoweth he that Lancelot
is gone.  He biddeth his knights follow after him, but none was there
so hardy as that he durst follow.  The damsel was right fain they
should go after him, if only they might bring him back to the castle,
for so mortally was she taken of his love that she thought of none
other thing.  But Lancelot had her not in remembrance, but only
another, and rode on sadly right amidst the forest, and looked from
time to time at the rent the lion had made in his habergeon.  He rideth
until he is come toward evening to a great valley where was forest on
the one side and the other, and the valley stretched onward half a
score great leagues Welsh.  He looketh to the right, and on the top of
the mountain beside the valley he seeth a chapel newly builded that was
right fair and rich, and it was covered of lead, and had at the back
two quoins that seemed to be of gold.  By the side of this chapel were
three houses dight right richly, each standing by itself facing the
chapel.  There was a right fair grave-yard round about the chapel, that
was enclosed at the compass of the forest, and a spring came down, full
clear, from the heights of the forest before the chapel and ran into
the valley with a great rushing; and each of the houses had its own
orchard, and the orchard an enclosure.  Lancelot heareth vespers being
chanted in the chapel, and seeth the path that turned thitherward, but
the mountain is so rugged that he could not go along it on horseback.
So he alighteth and leadeth his horse after him by the reins until he
cometh nigh the chapel.


XI.

There were three hermits therewithin that had sung their vespers, and
came over against Lancelot.  They bowed their heads to him and he
saluted them, and then asked of them what place was this? And they told
him that the place there was Avalon.  They make stable his horse.  He
left his arms without the chapel and entereth therein, and saith that
never hath he seen none so fair nor so rich.  There were within three
other places, right fair and seemly dight of rich cloths of silk and
rich corners and fringes of gold.  He seeth the images and the
crucifixes all newly fashioned, and the chapel illumined of rich
colours; and moreover in the midst thereof were two coffins, one
against the other, and at the four corners four tall wax tapers
burning, that were right rich, in four right rich candlesticks.  The
coffins were covered with two pails, and there were clerks that chanted
psalms in turn on the one side and the other.

"Sir," saith Lancelot to one of the hermits, "For whom were these
coffins made?"

"For King Arthur and Queen Guenievre."

"King Arthur is not yet dead," saith Lancelot.

"No, in truth, please God!  but the body of the Queen lieth in the
coffin before us and in the other is the head of her son, until such
time as the King shall be ended, unto whom God grant long life!  But
the Queen bade at her death that his body should be set beside her own
when he shall end.  Hereof have we the letters and her seal in this
chapel, and this place made she be builded new on this wise or ever she
died."


XI.

When Lancelot heareth that it is the Queen that lieth in the coffin, he
is so straitened in his heart and in his speech that never a word may
he say.  But no semblant of grief durst he make other than such as
might not be perceived, and right great comfort to him was it that
there was an image of Our Lady at the head of the coffin.  He knelt
down the nighest he might to the coffin, as it had been to worship the
image, and set his race and his mouth to the stone of the coffin, and
sorroweth for her right sweetly.

"Ha, Lady," saith he, "But that I dread the blame of the people, never
again would I seek to depart from this place, but here would I save my
soul and pray for yours; so would it be much recomforting to me that I
should be so nigh, and should see the sepulchre wherein your body lieth
that had so great sweetness and bounty.  God grant me of your pleasure,
that at my death I may still be a-nigh, and that I may die in such
manner and in such place as that I may be shrouded and buried in this
holy chapel where this body lieth."

The night cometh on.  A clerk cometh to the hermits and saith, "Never
yet did no knight cry mercy of God so sweetly, nor of His sweet Mother,
as did this knight that is in the chapel."

And the hermits make answer that knights for the most part do well
believe in God.  They come to the chapel for him and bid him come
thence, for that meat is ready and he should come to eat, and after
that go to sleep and rest, for it is full time so to do.  He telleth
them that as for his eating this day it is stark nought, for a desire
and a will hath taken him to keep vigil in the chapel before one of the
images of Our Lady.  No wish had he once to depart thence before the
day, and he would fain that the night should last far longer than it
did.  The good men durst not force him against his will; they say,
rather, that the worshipful man is of good life who will keep watch in
such manner throughout the night without drink or meat, for all that he
seemeth to be right weary.


XIII.

Lancelot was in the chapel until the morrow before the tomb.  The
hermits apparelled them to do the service that they chanted each day,
mass for the soul of the Queen and her son.  Lancelot heareth them with
right good will.  When the masses were sung, he taketh leave of the
hermits and looketh at the coffin right tenderly.  He commendeth the
body that lieth therein to God and His sweet Mother; then findeth he
without the chapel his horse accoutred ready, and mounteth forthwith,
and departeth, and looketh at the place and the chapel so long as he
may see them. He hath ridden so far that he is come nigh Cardoil, and
findeth the land wasted and desolate, and the towns burnt, whereof is
he sore grieved.  He meeteth a knight that came from that part, and he
was wounded full sore.  Lancelot asketh him whence he cometh, and he
saith, "Sir, from towards Cardoil.  Kay the Seneschal, with two other
knights, is leading away Messire Ywain li Aoutres toward the castle of
the Hard Rock.  I thought to help to rescue him, but they have wounded
me in such sort as you see."

"Are they ever so far away?" saith Lancelot.

"Sir, they will pass just now at the head of this forest; and so you
are fain to go thither, I will return with you right willingly and help
you to the best I may."

Lancelot smiteth his horse with the spurs forthwith, and the knight
after him, and espieth Kay the Seneschal, that was bringing Messire
Ywain along at a great pace, and had set him upon a trotting hackney,
for so he thought that none would know him.  Lancelot overtaketh him
and crieth, "By my head, Kay the Seneschal, shame had you enough of
that you did to King Arthur when you slew his son, and as much more
ought you now to have of thus warring upon him again!"

He smiteth his horse of his spurs, lance in rest, and Kay the Seneschal
turneth toward him, and they mell together with their spears on their
shields, and pierce them in such sort that an ells-length of each shaft
passeth through beyond.


XIV.

The lances were strong so as that they brast not.  They draw them back
to themselves so stoutly and come together so fiercely that their
horses stagger and they lose the stirrups.  Lancelot catcheth Kay the
Seneschal at the passing beyond, in the midst of the breast, and
thrusteth his spear into him so far that the point remained in the
flesh, and Kay to-brast his own; and sore grieved was he when he felt
himself wounded.  The knight that was wounded overthrew one of the two
knights.  Kay is on the ground, and Lancelot taketh his horse and
setteth Messire Ywain li Aoutres thereupon, that was right sore wounded
so as that he scarce might bear it.  Kay the Seneschal maketh his
knight remount, and holdeth his sword grasped in his fist as though he
had been stark wood.  Lancelot seeth the two knights sore badly
wounded, and thinketh that and he stay longer they may remain on the
field.  He maketh them go before him, and Kay the Seneschal followeth
them behind, himself the third knight, that is right wroth of the wound
he feeleth and the blood that he seeth. Lancelot bringeth off his
knights like as the wild-boar goeth among the dogs, and Kay dealeth him
great buffets of his sword when he may catch him, and Lancelot him
again, and so they depart, fencing in such sort.


XV.

When Kay the Seneschal seeth that he may not harm him, he turneth him
back, full of great wrath, and his heart pricketh to avenge him thereof
and he may get at him, for he is the knight of the court that most he
hateth.  He is come back to the Castle of the Hard Rock.  Briant of the
Isles asketh him who hath wounded him in such sort, and he telleth him
that he was bringing thither Ywain li Aoutres when Lancelot rescued him.

"And the King," saith Briant, "Is he repaired thither?"

"I have heard no tidings of him at all," saith Kay, "For no leisure had
I to ask of any."

Briant and his knights take much thought as concerning Lancelot's
coming, for they are well persuaded that Lancelot hath come for that
the King is dead and Messire Gawain, whereof they make right great joy.
Kay the Seneschal maketh him be disarmed and his wound searched.  They
tell him he need not fear it shall be his death, but that he is right
sore wounded.


XVI.

Lancelot is entered into the castle of Cardoil, and his wounded knights
withal, and findeth the folk in sore dismay.  Great dole make they in
many places and much lamentation for King Arthur, and say that now
nevermore may they look for succeur to none, and he be dead and Messire
Gawain.  But they give Lancelot joy of that he hath rescued Messire
Ywain li Aoutres, and were so somewhat comforted and made great cheer.
The tidings thereof came to the knights that were in the castle, and
they all come forward to meet him save they that were wounded, and so
led him up to the castle, and Messire Ywain with him and the other
knight that was wounded.  All the knights of the castle were right
glad, and ask him tidings of King Arthur, and whether he were dead or
no.  And Lancelot telleth them that he was departed from him at the
Palace Meadow, where he won the white destrier and the crown of gold
there where the tidings were brought to him that Queen Guinievre was
dead.


XVII.

"Then you tell us of a truth that the King is on live, and Messire
Gawain?"

"Both, you may be certain!" saith Lancelot.

Thereupon were they gladder than before.  They told him of their own
mischance, how Briant of the Isles had put them to the worse, and how
Kay the Seneschal was with him to do them hurt.  For he it is that
taketh most pains to do them evil.

"By my head," saith Lancelot, "Kay the Seneschal ought of right to take
heed and with-hold him from doing you ill, but he departed from the
field with the point of my spear in him when I rescued Messire Ywain."


XVIII.

The knights are much comforted of the coming of Lancelot, but he is
much grieved that he findeth so many of them wounded.  Meliant of the
Waste Manor is at the castle of the Hard Rock, and good fellow is it
betwixt him and Kay the Seneschal.  He is right glad of the tidings he
hath heard, that Lancelot is come, and saith that he is the knight of
the world that most he hateth, and that he will avenge him of his
father and he may meet him.  There come before the castle of Cardoil
one day threescore knights armed, and they seize upon their booty
betwixt the castle and the forest.  Lancelot issueth forth all armed,
and seven of the best of the castle with him.  He cometh upon them
after that they have led away their plunder.  He overtaketh one knight
and smiteth him with his spear right through the body, and the other
knights make an onset upon the others and many to-brake their spears,
and much clashing was there of steel on armour; and there fell at the
assembly on one side and the other full a score knights, whereof some
were wounded right sore.  Meliant of the Waste Manor espied Lancelot,
and right great joy made he of seeing him, and smiteth him so stout a
buffet on the shield that he to-breaketh his spear.


XIX.

Lancelot smiteth him amidst the breast so grimly that he maketh him
bend backwards over the saddle behind, and so beareth him to the
ground, legs uppermost, over his horse's croup, and trampleth him under
his horse's feet.  Lancelot was minded to alight to the ground to take
him, but Briant of the Isles cometh and maketh him mount again
perforce.  The numbers grew on the one side and the other of knights
that came from Cardoil and from the Hard Rock. Right great was the
frushing of lances and the clashing of swords and the overthrow of
horses and knights.  Briant of the Isles and Lancelot come against each
other so stoutly that they pierce their shields and cleave their
habergeons, and they thrust with their spears so that the flesh is
broken under the ribs and the shafts are all-to-splintered.  They
hurtle against each other so grimly at the by-passing that their eyes
sparkle as it were of stars in their heads, and the horses stagger
under them.  They hold their swords drawn, and so return the one toward
the other like lions.  Such buffets deal they upon their helms that
they beat them in and make the fire leap out by the force of the
smiting of iron by steel. And Meliant cometh all armed toward Lancelot
to aid Briant of the Isles, but Lucan the Butler cometh to meet him,
and smiteth him with his spear so stoutly that he thrusteth it right
through his shield and twisteth his arm gainst his side.  He breaketh
his spear at the by-passing, and Meliant also breaketh his, but he was
wounded passing sore.


XX.

Thereupon he seizeth him by the bridle and thinketh to lead him away,
but the knights and the force of Briant rescue him.  The clashing of
arms lasted great space betwixt Briant of the Isles and Lancelot, and
each was mightily wrath for that each was wounded.  Either seized other
many times by the bridle, and each was right fain to lead the other to
his own hold, but the force of knights on the one side and the other
disparted them asunder. Thus the stour lasted until evening, until that
the night sundered them.  But Briant had nought to boast of at
departing, for Lancelot and his men carried off four of his by force
right sore wounded, besides them that remained dead on the field.
Briant of the Isles and Meliant betook them back all sorrowful for
their knights that are taken and dead.  Lancelot cometh back to
Cardoil, and they of the castle make him right great joy of the knights
that they bring taken, and say that the coming of the good knight
Lancelot should be great comfort to them until such time as King Arthur
should repair back and Messire Gawain.  The wounded knights that were
in the castle turned to healing of their wounds, whereof was Lancelot
right glad.  They were as many as five and thirty within the castle.
Of all the King's knights were there no more save Lancelot and the
wounded knight that he brought along with him.



BRANCH XXV.

TITLE I.

Here the story is silent of Lancelot and the knights that are at
Cardoil, and saith that King Arthur and Messire Gawain are in the
castle where the priest told Messire Gawain how he was born.  But they
cannot depart thence at their will, for Ahuret the Bastard that was
brother of Nabigant of the Rock, that Messire Gawain slew on account of
Meliot of Logres, knoweth well that they are therewithin, and hath
assembled his knights and holdeth them within so strait that they may
not depart without sore damage. For he hath on the outer side a full
great plenty of knights, and the King and Messire Gawain have with them
but only five of the forest and the country that are upon their side,
and they hold them so strait within that they may not issue out from
thence; yea, the brother of Nabigant sweareth that they shall not
depart thence until such time as he shall have taken Messire Gawain,
and taken vengeance on his fellow of his brother whom he slew.  The
King saith to Messire Gawain that he hath much shame of this that they
are so long shut up therewithin, and that he better loveth to die with
honour than to live with shame within the castle.  So they issued
forth, spears in rest, and Ahuret and his knights, whereof was there
great plenty, made much joy thereat.


II.

The King and Messire Gawain strike among them, and each overthroweth
his man; but Ahuret hath great shame of this that he seeth his knights
put to the worse by so few folk.  He setteth his spear in rest and
smiteth one of King Arthur's knights through the body and beareth him
down dead.  Then returneth he to Messire Gawain, and buffeteth him so
strongly that he pierceth his shield, but he maketh drop his own spear
and loseth his stirrups, and Messire Gawain waxeth wroth and smiteth
him so grimly and with such force that he maketh him bend back over the
hinder bow of his saddle.  But Ahuret was strong and of great might,
and leapeth back between the bows and cometh toward King Arthur that he
saw before him, but he knew him not.  He left Messire Gawain, and the
King smiteth him with such a sweep that he cutteth off his arm, spear
and all.  There was great force of knights, so that they ran upon them
on all sides; and never would they have departed thence sound and
whole, but that thereupon Meliot of Logres cometh thither with fifteen
knights, for that he had heard tidings of Messire Gawain, how he was
besieged in a castle there, where he and King Arthur between them were
in such plight that they had lost their five knights, so that they were
not but only two that defended themselves as best they might, as they
that had no thought but to remain there, for the odds of two knights
against thirty was too great.


III.

Thereupon, behold you, Meliot of Logres with fifteen knights, and they
come thither where the King and Messire Gawain are in such jeopardy,
and they strike so stoutly among them that they rescue King Arthur and
Messire Gawain from them that had taken them by the bridle, and so slay
full as many as ten of them, and put the others to flight, and lead
away their lord sore maimed. And Messire Gawain giveth Meliot much
thanks of the bounty he hath done, whereby he hath saved them their
lives; and he giveth him the castle, and is fain that he hold it of
him, for in no place might he have better employment, and that well
hath he deserved it of his service in such need.  Meliot thanketh him
much, and prayeth Messire Gawain instantly that and he shall have need
of succour he will come to aid him, in like manner as he would do by
him everywhere.  And Messire Gawain telleth him that as of this needeth
him not to make prayer, for that he is one of the knights of the world
that most he ought of right to love.  The King and Messire Gawain take
leave of Meliot, and so depart, and Meliot garnisheth the castle that
was right fair and rich and well-seated.



BRANCH XXVI.

TITLE I.

Of Meliot the story is here silent, and saith that King Arthur and
Messire Gawain have ridden so far that they are come into the Isle of
Avalon, there where the Queen lieth.  They lodge the night with the
hermits, that made them right great cheer.  But you may well say that
the King is no whit joyful when he seeth the coffin where the Queen
lieth and that wherein the head of his son lieth.  Thereof is his dole
renewed, and he saith that this holy place of this holy chapel ought he
of right to love better than all other places on earth.  They depart on
the morrow when they have heard mass.  The King goeth the quickest he
may toward Cardoil, and findeth the land wasted and desolate in many
places, whereof is he right sorrowful, and understandeth that Kay the
Seneschal warreth upon him with the others.  He marvelleth much how he
durst do it.  He is come to Cardoil.  When they of the castle know it
they come to meet him with right great cheer.  The tidings went
throughout all the land, and they of the country were right joyous
thereof, for the more part believed that he was dead.  They of the
castle of the Hard Rock knew it, but little rejoiced they thereat.  But
Kay the Seneschal was whole of his wound and bethought him that great
folly would he do to remain longer there to war upon the King, for well
knew he that and the King held him and did that which he had
proclaimed, his end were come.  He departeth from the castle, where he
had sojourned of a long while, and crossed again stealthily over-sea,
and came into Little Britain, and made fast a castle for fear of the
King, that is called Chinon, and was there long time, without the King
warring upon him, for enough adventures had he in other parts.


II.

To Cardoil was the King repaired and Messire Gawain.  You may well
understand that the land was much rejoiced thereof, and that all the
knights were greatly comforted, and knights came back to the court from
all parts.  They that had been wounded were whole again.  Briant of the
Isles stinted not of his pride nor of his outrage, but rather stirred
up the war the most he might, he and Meliant still more, and said that
never would he cease therefrom until death, nor never would he have
rest until such time as he should have vengeance of Lancelot.  The King
was one day at Cardoil at meat, and there was in the hall great throng
of knights, and Messire Gawain sate beside the King.  Lancelot sate at
the table, and Messire Ywain the son of King Urien, and Sagramors li
Desirous, and Ywain li Aoutres, and many more other knights round about
the table, but there were not so many as there wont to be.  Messire
Lucan the Butler served before the King of the golden cup.  The King
looked round about the table and remembered him of the Queen.  He was
bent upon thinking rather than on eating, and saw that his court was
much wasted and worsened of her death.  And what time the King was
musing in such sort, behold you a knight come into the hall all armed
before the King; and he leaneth on the staff of his spear.

"Sir," saith the knight, "Listen, so please you, to me, and all these
others, listen!  Madeglant of Oriande sendeth me here to you, and
commandeth that you yield up the Table Round to him, for sith that the
Queen is dead, you have no right thereof, for he is her next of kin and
he that hath the best right to have and to hold it; and, so you do not
this, you he defieth as the man that disinheriteth him, for he is your
enemy in two manner of ways, for the Table Round that you hold by
wrong, and for the New Law that you hold.  But he sendeth you word by
me, that so you will renounce your belief and take Queen Jandree his
sister, that he will cry you quit as of the Table Round and will be of
your aid everywhere.  But and if you do not this, have never affiance
in him.  And so sendeth he word to you by me!"


III.

Therewith the knight departeth, and the King remaineth all heavy in
thought, and when they had eaten, he rose from the tables and all the
knights.  He speaketh to Messire Gawain and Lancelot, and taketh
counsel with all the others.

"Sir," saith Messire Gawain, "You will defend yourself the best you
may, and we will help you to smite your enemies.  Great Britain is all
at your will.  You have not as yet lost any castle.  Nought hath been
broken down nor burnt but open ground and cottages and houses, whereof
is no great harm done to yourself, and the shame thereof may lightly be
amended.  King Madeglant is of great hardiment as of words, but in arms
will he not vanquish you so soon.  If that he warreth upon you toward
the West, send thither one of the best knights of your court that may
maintain the war and defend the land against him."


IV.

The King sojourned at Cardoil of a long space.  He believed in God and
His sweet Mother right well.  He brought thither from the castle where
the Graal was the pattern whereby chalices should be made, and
commanded make them throughout all the land so as that the Saviour of
the world should be served more worshipfully.  He commanded also that
bells be cast throughout his land after the fashion of the one he had
brought, and that each church should have one according to the means
thereof.  This much pleased the people of his kingdom, for thereby was
the land somewhat amended. The tidings came to him one day that Briant
and Meliant were riding through his land with great routs of folk, and
were minded to assiege Pannenoisance; and the King issued forth of
Cardoil with great throng of knights all armed, and rode until he
espied Briant and his people, and Briant him again.  They ranged their
battles on both sides, and came together with such might and so great a
shock as that it seemed the earth shook; and they melled together at
the assembly with their spears so passing grimly as that the frushing
thereof might be heard right far away.  Some fourteen fell in the
assembly that rose up again never more. Meliant of the Waste Manor
searcheth for Lancelot in the midst of the stour until he findeth him,
and runneth upon him right sturdily and pierceth his shield with his
spear.  Lancelot smiteth him such a sweep amidst the breast, that he
thrusteth his spear right through his shoulder, and pinneth him so
strongly that the shaft is all to-brast, and the end thereof remaineth
in his body.  And Meliant, all stricken through as he is, runneth upon
him and passeth his spear right through the shield and through the arm,
in such sort that he pinneth it to his side.  He passeth beyond and
breaketh his spear, and afterward returneth to Lancelot, sword in fist,
and dealeth him a buffet on the helm so grimly that he all to-battered
it in.  Lancelot waxeth right wroth thereof, and he grieveth the more
for that he feeleth him wounded.  He cometh toward Meliant, sword
drawn, and holding him well under cover of his shield and cover of his
helm, and smiteth Meliant so fiercely that he cleaveth his shoulder
down to the rib in such sort that the end of the spear wherewith he had
pierced him fell out therefrom.  Meliant felt himself wounded to the
death, and draweth him back all sorrowful, and other knights run upon
Lancelot and deliver assault.  Messire Ywain and Sagramors li Desirous
and Messire Gawain were on the other side in great jeopardy, for the
people of Briant of the Isles came from all parts, and waxed more and
more, and on all sides the greater number of knights had the upper hand
therein.  King Arthur and Briant of the Isles were in the midst of the
battle, and dealt each other right great buffets.  Briant's people come
thither and take King Arthur by the bridle, and the King defendeth
himself as a good knight, and maketh a ring about him amongst them that
attack him, the same as doth a wild boar amongst the dogs. Messire
Ywain is come thither and Lucan the Butler, and break through the press
by force.  Thereupon, behold you Sagramors li Desirous, that cometh as
fast as his horse may gallop under him, and smiteth Briant of the Isles
right before his people with such a rush that he beareth him to the
ground in a heap, both him and his horse. Briant to-brast his thigh
bone in the fall that he made. Sagramors holdeth sword drawn and would
fain have thrust it into his body, when the King crieth to him that he
slay him not.


V.

Briant's people were not able to succour their lord.  Nay, rather, they
drew back on all sides, for the stout had lasted of a long space.  So
they tended the dead and the wounded, of whom were enough on one side
and the other.  King Arthur made carry Briant of the Isles to Cardoil,
and bring along the other knights that his own knights had taken.
Right joyous were the folks at Cardoil when the King came back.  They
bore Meliant of the Waste Manor on his shield to the Hard Rock, but he
scarce lived after. The King made Briant of the Isles be healed, and
held him in prison of a long while, until Briant gave him surety of all
his lands and became his man.  The King made him Seneschal of all his
lands, and Briant served him right well.


VI.

Lancelot was whole of his wound, and all the knights of theirs. King
Arthur was safely stablished, and redoubted and dreaded of all lands
and of his own land like as he wont to be.  Briant hath forgotten all
that is past, and is obedient to the King's commands and more privy is
he of his counsel than ever another of the knights, insomuch that he
put the others somewhat back, whereof had they much misliking.  The
felony of Kay the Seneschal lay very nigh the King's heart, and he said
that and any would take vengeance upon him for the same, greatly would
he love him thereof, for so disloyally hath he wrought against him that
he durst not let the matter be slurred over; and a sore misfortune is
it for the world when a man of so poor estate hath slain so high a man
as his son for no misdeed, and that strangers ought by as good right as
they that knew him or himself take vengeance upon him thereof, so that
others might be adread of doing such disloyalty.


VII.

Briant was feared and redoubted throughout all Great Britain. King
Arthur had told them that they were all to be at his commandment.  And
one day while the King was at Cardoil, behold you a damsel that cometh
into the hail and saith unto him: "Sir, Queen Jandree hath sent me over
to you, and biddeth you do that whereof her brother sent you word by
his knight.  She is minded to be Lady and Queen of your land, and that
you take her to wife, for of high lineage is she and of great power,
wherefore she biddeth you by me that you renounce the New Law and that
you believe in the God in whom she believeth, and, so you do not this,
you may not have affiance in your land, for King Madeglant hath as now
made ready his host to enter into the chief of your land, and hath
sworn his oath that he will not end until he shall have passed all the
borders of the isles that march upon your land, and shall come upon
Great Britain with all his strength, and so seize the Table Round that
ought to be his own of right. And my Lady herself would come hither but
for one thing, to wit, that she hath in her such disdain of them that
believe in the New Law, that she deigneth not behold none of them, for,
so soon as she was stablished Queen, made she her eyes be covered for
that she would not look upon none that were of that believe.  But the
Gods wherein she believeth did so much for her, for that she loveth and
worshippeth them, that she may discover her eyes and her face, and yet
see not at all, whereof is she right glad, for that the eyes in her
head are beautiful and gentle.  But great affiance hath she in her
brother, that is mighty and puissant, for he hath her in covenant that
he will destroy all them that believe in the New Law, in all places
where he may get at them, and, when he shall have destroyed them in
Great Britain and the other islands, so that my Lady might not see none
therein, so well is she with the Gods wherein she believeth, that she
will have her sight again all whole nor until that hour is she fain to
see nought."


VIII.

"Damsel," saith the King, "I have heard well that which you tell me of
this that you have in charge to say; but tell your Lady on my behalf,
that the Law which the Saviour of the world hath established by His
death and by His crucifixion never will I renounce, for the love that I
have in Him.  But tell her that she believe in God and in His sweet
Mother, and that she believe in the New Law, for by the false believe
wherein she abideth is she blinded in such sort, nor never will she see
clear until she believe in God.  Tell her moreover, I send her word
that never more shall there be Queen in my land save she be of like
worth as was Queen Guenievre."

"Then I tell you plainly," saith she, "that you will have betimes such
tidings as that good for you they will not be."

The damsel departeth from Cardoil, and cometh back to where the Queen
was, and telleth her the message King Arthur sendeth her. "True," saith
she, "I love him better than all in the world, and yet refuseth he my
will and my commandment.  Now may he no longer endure!"

She sendeth to her brother King Madeglant, and telleth him that she
herself doth defy him and he take not vengeance on King Arthur and
bring him not into prison.



BRANCH XXVII.

TITLE I.

This history saith that the land of this King was full far away from
the land of King Arthur, and that needs must he pass two seas or ever
he should approach the first head of King Arthur's land.  He arrived in
Albanie with great force of men with a great navy.  When they of the
land knew it, they garnished them against him and defended their lands
the best they might; then they sent word to King Arthur that King
Madeglant was come in such manner into the land, with great plenty of
folk, and that he should come presently to succour them or send them a
knight so good as that he might protect them, and that in case he doth
not so, the land will be lost.  When King Arthur understood these
tidings, it was not well with him.  He asked his knights whom he might
send thither.  And they say, let him send Lancelot thither, for that he
is a worthy knight and a kingly, and much understandeth of war, and
hath in him as much loyalty as hath ever another that they know.  The
King maketh him come before him.


II.

"Lancelot," saith the King, "Such affiance have I in you and in your
knighthood, that it is my will to send you to the furthest corner of my
land, to protect it, with the approval of my knights, wherefore I pray
and require you that you do your power herein as many a time have you
done already in my service.  And I will give you in command forty
knights."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "Against your will am I not minded to be, but in
your court are there other knights full as good, or better than I, whom
you might well send thither.  But I would not that you should hold this
of cowardize in me, and right willingly will I do your pleasure, for
none ought I to serve more willingly than you."

The King giveth him much thanks of this that he saith.  Lancelot
departeth from the court, and taketh forty knights with him, and so
cometh into the land of Albanie where King Madeglant hath arrived.
When they of the land knew that Lancelot was come, great joy had they
thereof in their hearts, for ofttimes had they heard tell of him and of
his good knighthood.  They were all at his commandment, and received
him as their champion and protector.


III.

King Madeglant one day issued forth of his ships to do battle against
Lancelot and them of the land.  Lancelot received him right stoutly,
and slew many of his folk, and the more part fled and would fain have
drawn them to their ships, but Lancelot and his people went after and
cut a part of them to pieces.  King Madeglant, with as many of his men
as he might, betaketh himself to his own ship privily, and maketh put
to sea the soonest he may.  They that might not come to the ships
remained on dry land, and were so cut up and slain.  Madeglant went his
way discomfited.  Of ten ships full of men that he had brought he took
back with him but two.  The land was in peace and assured in safety.
Lancelot remained there of a long space.  They of the country loved him
much and gave themselves great joy of his valour and his great bounty,
insomuch that most of them say ofttimes that they would fain have such
a knight as was he for king, by the goodwill of King Arthur, for that
the land is too far away; but and if he would set there a knight or
other man that might protect the land, they would take it in right good
part, and he should hold the land of him, for they might not safeguard
it at their will without a champion, for that land without a lord may
but little avail.  They of the land loved Lancelot well, as I tell you.
King Arthur was at Cardoil, and so were his knights together with him.
He thought to be assured in his kingdom and to live peaceably; but what
time he sate at meat one day in Cardoil, behold you thereupon a knight
that cometh before the Table Round without saluting him.

"Sir," saith he, "Where is Lancelot?"

"Sir," saith the King to the knight, "He is not in this country."

"By my head," saith the knight, "that misliketh me.  Wheresoever he be,
he is your knight and of your household; wherefore King Claudas sendeth
you word that he is his mortal enemy, and you also, if so be that for
love of him you receive him from this day forward, for he hath slain
his sister's son, Meliant of the Waste Manor, and he slew the father of
Meliant likewise, but the father belongeth not to King Claudas.


IV.

Meliant was the son of his sister-german, wherefore much grieveth he of
his death."

"Sir knight," saith the King, "I know not how the covenant may be
between them as of this that you tell me, but well know I that King
Claudas holdeth many a castle that King Claudas ought not of right to
have, whereof he disherited his father, but meet is it that each should
conquer his own right.  But so much I tell you plainly, that never will
I fail mine own knight and he be such as durst defend himself of
murder, but and if he hath no will to do this, then well may I allow
that right be done upon him.  But, sith that he will not love his own
death, neither I nor other ought greatly to love him and he refuse to
redress his wrong. When Lancelot shall know these tidings, I know well
that such is his valour and his loyalty that he will readily answer in
reason, and will do all that he ought to do to clear himself of such a
charge."

"Sir," saith the knight, "You have heard well that I have told you.
Once more, I tell you plainly, King Claudas sendeth you word that so
you harbour his enemy henceforward and in such manner as you have done
heretofore, he will be less than pleased with you."


V.

With that the knight departeth, and the King remaineth at Cardoil.  He
sendeth for Briant of the Isles, his seneschal, and a great part of his
knights, and demandeth counsel of them what he may do.  Messire Ywain
saith that he killed Meliant in the King's service, as one that warred
upon his land, albeit the King had done him no wrong, and had so made
common cause with the King's enemies without demanding right in his
court.  Nor never had Meliant appealed Lancelot of murder nor of
treason, nor required him of the death of his father.  Rather, Lancelot
slew him in open war, as one that warred upon his lord by wrong.

"Sir," saith Messire Ywain to the King, "Howsoever Lancelot might have
wrought in respect of Meliant, your land ought not to be called to
account, for you were not in the kingdom, nor knew not that either had
done other any wrong, and therefore say I that King Claudas will do
great wrong and he bring plaint or levy war against you on this
account."

"Messire Ywain," saith Briant of the Isles, "matter of common knowledge
is it that Lancelot slew the lord of the Waste Manor and Meliant his
son after the contention that was betwixt King Arthur and me.  But,
after that he had slain the father, he ought of right to have taken
good heed that he did no wrong to the son, but rather ought he to have
sought peace and accord."


VI.

"Briant," saith Messire Gawain, "Lancelot is nor here; and, moreover,
he is now on the King's business.  Well know you that Meliant came to
you and that you made him knight, and that thereafter he warred upon
the King's land without reasonable occasion.  The King was far away
from the land as he that made pilgrimage to the Graal.  He was told
tidings that his land was being put to the worse, and he sent Lancelot
to protect it.  He accordingly maintained the war as best he might
until such time as the King was returned.  Meliant knew well that the
King was come back, and that never had he done wrong to none in his
court that wished to demand right therein.  He neither came thither nor
sent, either to do right or to demand right, whether he did so for
despite or whether it was for that he knew not how to do it. In the
meanwhile he warred upon the King, that had never done him a wrong nor
refused to do him a right.  Lancelot slew him in the King's war and
upon his land in defence thereof.  There was peace of the war, as was
agreed on between you and the King, but and if any should therefore
hold Lancelot to blame of the death of Meliant, meseemeth that therein
is he wrong.  For the others are not held to answer for them that they
slew; but and if you wish to say that Lancelot hath not slain him with
reason, howsoever he may have wrought aforetime in respect of his
father, I am ready to maintain his right by my body on behalf of his."


VII.

"Messire Gawain," saith Briant of the Isles, "You will not as at this
time find none that will take up your gage on account of this affair,
nor ought any to make enemies of his friends, nor ought you to counsel
me so to do.  King Madeglant warreth upon him and King Claudas maketh
war upon him also.  They will deliver attacks enough.  But I should
well allow, for the sake of saving his land and keeping his friends,
that the King should suffer Lancelot to remain at a distance from his
court for one year, until tidings should have come to King Claudas that
he had been bidden leave thereof, so as that King Arthur might have his
good will and his love."

Sagramors li Desirous leapeth forward.  "Briant of the Isles," saith
Sagramors, "Ill befall him that shall give such counsel to a lord or
his knight, and the knight have well served his lord, albeit he may
have slain in his wars a knight without murder and without treason,
that he should give him his leave!  Right ill will Lancelot hitherto
have bestowed his services, and the King on this account give him his
leave!  After that, let King Claudas come!  Let him lay waste and slay,
and right great worship shall King Arthur have thereof!  I say not this
for that Lancelot hath need be afeared of King Claudas body to body,
nor of the best knight in his land, but many things befall whereof one
taketh no heed; and so King Arthur give leave to Lancelot from his
court, it will be counted unto him for cowardize, and neither I nor you
nor other knight ought never more to have affiance in him."

"Lord," saith Briant of the Isles, "Better would it avail the King to
give Lancelot leave for one year, than it would to fight for him ten
years and have his land wasted and put to the worse."


VIII.

Thereupon, behold you!  Orguelleux of the Launde come, that had not
been at the court of a long time, and it had been told him whereof
these words were.

"Briant," saith Orguelleux of the Launde, "Evil fare the knight that
would fain grieve and harm with their lord them that have served him
well!  Sith that Lancelot is not here, say nought of him that ought not
to be said.  The court of King Arthur hath been as much renowned and
made honoured by Lancelot as by ever another knight that is in it, and,
but for him, never would his court have been so redoubted as it is.
For no knight is there so cruel to his foes nor so redoubted throughout
all Great Britain as is Lancelot, and, for that King Arthur loveth you,
make him not that he hate his knights, for such four or such six be
there in his castle as may depart therefrom without returning, the loss
whereof should scarce be made good by us.  Lancelot hath well served
the King aforetime, and the King well knoweth how much he is worth; and
if so be that King Claudas purposeth to war on King Arthur for
Lancelot's sake, according as I have heard, without any reason, and
King Arthur be not more craven than he wont to be, he may well abide
his warfare and his strife so treason harm him not.  For so many good
knights hath King Arthur yet, that none knoweth such knights nor such
King in the world beside."



BRANCH XXVIII.

TITLE I.

This story saith that Briant would have been wroth with a will against
Orguelleux of the Launde, had it not been for the King, and Orguelleux
against him, for Orguelleux heeded no danger when anger and ill-will
carried him away.  Therewithal the talk came to an end.  When the King
learnt the tidings that Madeglant was discomfited and that the land of
Albanie was in peace, he sent word to Lancelot to return back.  They of
the land were very sorrowful when he departed, for great affiance had
they in his chivalry.  So he came back thither where King Arthur was.
All they of the land made a great joy, for well loved was he of many,
nor were there none that hated him save of envy alone.  They told him
the tidings of King Claudas, and also in what manner Briant had spoken.
Lancelot took no notice outwardly, as he that well knew how to redress
all his grievances.  He was at the court of a long while, for that King
Claudas was about to send over thither some one of his knights.  Briant
of the Isles would fain that the King should have given him his leave,
for more he hated him than ever another knight in the court, sith he it
was that many a time had harmed him more than any other.  By Briant's
counsel, King Claudas sent his knight to King Arthur's court, wherein
did he not wisely, for that he thereby renewed a matter whereof
afterward came right great mischief, as this title witnesseth.


II.

Madeglant of Oriande heard say that Lancelot was repaired back, and
that the land of Albanie was all void save for the folk of the country.
He maketh ready his navy at once and cometh back to the land in great
force.  He burneth the land and layeth it waste on every side, and doth
far worse therein than he did aforetime. They of the land sent over to
King Arthur and told him of their evil plight, warning him that, and he
send them not succour betimes, they will leave the land and yield up
the castles, for that they might not hold them longer.  He took
counsel, the King with his knights, whom he might send thither, and
they said that Lancelot had already been there and that now another
knight should be sent thither.  The King sent thither Briant of the
Isles, and lent him forty knights.  Briant, that loved not the King in
his heart, came into the land, but only made pretence of helping him to
defend it.  One day fell out a battle betwixt Madeglant and Briant and
all their men.  Briant was discomfited, and had many of his knights
killed.  Madeglant and his people spread themselves over the land and
laid the towns in ruins and destroyed the castles, that were
disgarnished, and put to death all them that would not believe in their
gods, and cut off their heads.


III.

All they of the land and country longed with sorrow for Lancelot, and
said that had he remained there, the land would not have been thus
destroyed, nor might they never have protection of no knight but of him
alone.  Briant of the Isles returned back, as he that would the war
against King Arthur should increase on every side, for, what good
soever the King may do him, he loveth him not, nor never will so long
as he is on live.  But no semblant thereof durst he show, for, sith
that the best of his knights had been slain in the battle, so had he no
power on his side, as against Lancelot and the good knights of his
fellowship, whereof he would fain that there had been not one.


IV.

King Arthur was at Cardoil on one day of Whitsuntide.  Many were the
knights that were come to this court whereof I tell you.  The King was
seated at meat, and the day was fair and clear, and the air clean and
fresh.  Sagramors li Desirous and Lucan the Butler served before the
King.  And what time they had served of the first meats, therewithal
behold you, a quarrel, like as it had been shot from a cross-bow, and
striketh in the column of the hall before the King so passing strong
that there was not a knight in the hall but heard it when it struck
therein.  They all looked thereat in great wonderment.  The quarrel was
like as it were of gold, and it had about it a many costly precious
stones. The King saith that quarrel so costly cometh not from a poor
place.  Lancelot and Messire Gawain say that never have they seen one
so rich.  It struck so deep in the column that the iron point thereof
might not be seen, and a good part of the shaft was also hidden.
Thereupon, behold you, a damsel of surpassing great beauty that cometh,
sitting on a right costly mule, full well caparisoned.  She had a
gilded bridle and gilded saddle, and was clad in a right rich cloth of
silk.  A squire followed after her that drove her mule from behind.
She came before King Arthur as straight as she might, and saluted him
right worshipfully, and he made answer the best he might.

"Sir," saith she, "I am come to speak and demand a boon, nor will I
never alight until such time as you shall have granted it to me.  For
such is my custom, and for this am I come to your court, whereof I have
heard such tidings and such witness in many places where I have been,
that I know you will not deny me herein."


V.

"Damsel, tell me what boon you would have of me?"

"Sir," saith she, "I would fain pray and beseech you that you bid the
knight that may draw forth this quarrel from this column go thither
where there is sore need of him."

"Damsel," saith the King, "Tell me the need."

"Sir," saith she, "I will tell it you plainly when I shall see the
knight that shall have drawn it forth."

"Damsel," saith the King, "Alight!  Never, please God, shall you go
forth of my court denied of that you ask."

Lucan the Butler taketh her between his arms and setteth her to the
ground, and her mule is led away to be stabled.  When the damsel had
washen, she was set in a seat beside Messire Ywain, that showed her
much honour and served her with a good will.  He looked at her from
time to time, for she was fair and gentle and of good countenance.
When they had eaten at the tables, the damsel prayeth the King that he
will hasten them to do her business.

"Sir," saith she, "Many a good knight is there within yonder, and right
glad may he be that shall draw it forth, for I tell you a right good
knight is he, sith that none may achieve this business save he alone."

"Fair nephew," saith the King, "Now set your hand to this quarrel and
give it back to the damsel."

"Ha, sir," saith he, "Do me not shame!  By the faith that I owe you, I
will not set my hand forward herein this day, nor ought you to be wroth
hereof.  Behold, here have you Lancelot with you, and so many other
good knights, that little worship should I have herein were I to set
myself forward before them."

"Messire Ywain," saith the King, "Set your hand hereto!  It may be that
you think too humbly of yourself herein."

"Sir," saith Messire Ywain, "Nought is there in the world that I would
not do for you, but as for this matter I pray you hold me excused."

"Sagramors, and you, Orguelleux of the Launde, what will you do?" saith
the King.

"Sir," say they, "When Lancelot hath made assay, we will do your
pleasure, but before him, so please you, we will not go."


VI.

"Damsel," saith the King, "Pray Lancelot that he be fain to set his
hand, and then the rest shall go after him if needs be."

"Lancelot," saith the damsel, "By the thing that most you love, make
not mine errand bootless, but set your hand to the quarrel and then
will the others do that they ought of right to do.  For no leisure have
I to tarry here long time."

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "Ill do you, and a sin, to conjure me for
nought, for so many good knights be here within, that I should be held
for a fool and a braggart and I put myself forward before all other."

"By my head," saith the King, "Not so!  Rather will you be held as a
knight courteous and wise and good, as now you ought to be, and great
worship will it be to yourself and you may draw forth the quarrel, and
great courtesy will it be to aid the damsel. Wherefore I require you,
of the faith you owe me, that you set your hand thereto, sith that the
damsel prayeth you so to do, before the others."


VII.

Lancelot hath no mind to disobey the King's commandment; and he
remembered that the damsel had conjured him by the thing that most he
loved; nor was there nought in the world that he loved so much as the
Queen, albeit she were dead, nor never thought he of none other thing
save her alone.  Then standeth he straight upright, doth off his robe,
and cometh straight to the quarrel that is fixed in the column.  He
setteth his hand thereunto and draweth it forth with a right passing
strong wrench, so sturdily that he maketh the column tremble.  Then he
giveth it to the damsel.

"Sir," saith she to King Arthur, "Now is it my devoir to tell you
plainly of my errand; nor might none of the knights here within have
drawn forth the quarrel save only he; and you held me in covenant how
he that should draw it forth should do that which I shall require of
him, and that he might do it, nor will I pray nor require of him nought
that is not reason.  Needs must he go to the Chapel Perilous the
swiftest he may, and there will he find a knight that lieth shrouded in
the midst of the chapel.  He will take of the cloth wherein he is
shrouded and a sword that lieth at his side in the coffin, and will
take them to the Castle Perilous; and when he shall there have been, he
shall return to the castle where he slew the lion in the cavern wherein
are the two griffons, and the head of one of them shall he take and
bring to me at Castle Perilous, for a knight there lieth sick that may
not otherwise be healed."


VIII.

"Damsel." saith Lancelot, "I see that you reckon but little of my life,
so only that your wish be accomplished."

"Sir," saith she, "I know as well as you what the enterprise is, nor do
I no whit desire your death, for, and were you dead, never would the
knight be whole for whose sake you undertake it.  And you will see the
fairest damsel that is in any kingdom, and the one that most desireth
to see you.  And, so you tarry not, through her shall you lightly get
done that you have to do.  See now that you delay it not, but do that
is needful swiftly sith that it hath been laid upon you, for the longer
you tarry, the greater will be the hazard of mischance befalling you."

The damsel departeth from the court and taketh her leave and goeth her
way back as fast as she may, and saith to herself: "Lancelot, albeit
you have these pains and this travail for me, yet would I not your
death herein, but of right ought I to rejoice in your tribulation, for
into two of the most perilous places in the world are you going.
Greatly ought I to hate you, for you reft me of my friend and gave him
to another, and while I live may I never forget it."

The damsel goeth her way, and Lancelot departeth from the court and
taketh leave of the King and of all the others.  He issueth forth of
Cardoil, all armed, and entereth into the forest that is deep, and so
goeth forth a great pace, and prayeth God guide him into safety.



BRANCH XXIX.

TITLE I.

Therewithal the story is silent of Lancelot, and saith that Briant of
the Isles is repaired to Cardoil.  Of the forty knights that he took
with him, but fifteen doth he bring back again. Thereof is King Arthur
right sorrowful, and saith that he hath the fewer friends.  They of the
land of Albanie have sent to King Arthur and told him that and he would
not lose the land for evermore he must send them Lancelot, for never
saw they knight that better knew how to avenge him on his enemies and
to do them hurt than was he.  The King asketh Briant of the Isles how
it is that his knights are dead in such sort?

"Sir," saith Briant, "Madeglant hath great force of people, and what
force of men soever may run upon them, they make a castle of their navy
in such sort that none may endure against them, and never did no folk
know so much of war as do they.  The land lieth far away from you, and
more will it cost you to hold it than it is worth; and, if you will
believe my counsel, you will trouble yourself no more about it, and
they of the country would be well counselled and they did the same."

"Briant," saith the King, "This would be great blame to myself. No
worshipful man ought to be idle in guarding and holding that which is
his own.  The worshipful man ought not to hold of things so much for
their value as for their honour, and if I should leave the land
disgarnished of my aid and my counsel, they will take mine, and will
say that I have not heart to protect my land; and even now is it great
shame to myself that they have settled themselves there and would fain
draw away them of the land to their evil law.  And I would fain that
Lancelot had achieved that he hath undertaken, and I would have sent
him there, for none would protect the land better than he, and, were he
now there along with forty knights and with them of the country,
Madeglant would make but short stay there."

"Sir," saith Briant, "They of the country reckon nought of you nor any
other but Lancelot only, and they say that and you send him there they
will make him King."

"It may well be that they say so," saith the King, "But never would
Lancelot do aught that should be against my will."

"Sir," saith Briant, "Sith that you are not minded to believe me, I
will say no more in this matter, but in the end his knighthood will
harm you rather than help you and you take no better heed thereof than
up to this time you have done."



BRANCH XXX.

TITLE I.

Of Briant of the Isles the story is here silent, whom King the
believeth too much in many things, and saith that Lancelot goeth his
way right through the forest, full heavy in thought.  He had not ridden
far when he met a knight that was right sore wounded. He asked him
whence he came and who had wounded him in such manner.

"Sir," saith he, "I come from the Chapel Perilous, where I was not able
to defend me against an evil folk that appeared there; and they have
wounded me in such sort as you see, and but for a damsel that came
thereinto from the forest I should not have escaped on live.  But she
aided me on such condition that and I should see a knight they call
Lancelot, or Perceval, or Messire Gawain, I should tell which of them
soever I should first meet withal that he should go to her without
delay, for much she marvelleth her that none of them cometh into the
chapel, for none ought to enter there but good knights only.  But much
do I marvel, Sir, how the damsel durst enter there, for it is the most
marvellous place that is, and the damsel is of right great beauty;
natheless she cometh thither oftentimes alone into the chapel.  A
knight lieth in the chapel that hath been slain of late, that was a
fell and cruel knight and a hardy."

"What was his name?" saith Lancelot.

"He was named Ahuret the Bastard," saith the knight; "And he had but
one arm and one hand, and the other was smitten off at a castle that
Messire Gawain gave Meliot of Logres when he succoured him against this
knight that lieth in the coffin.  And Meliot of Logres hath slain the
knight that had assieged the castle, but the knight wounded him sore,
so that he may not be whole save he have the sword wherewith he wounded
him, that lieth in the coffin at his side, and some of the cloth
wherein he is enshrouded; and, so God grant me to meet one of the
knights, gladly will I convey unto him the damsel's message."

"Sir Knight," saith Lancelot, "One of them have you found.  My name is
Lancelot, and for that I see you are wounded and in evil plight, I tell
it you thus freely."

"Sir," saith the knight, "Now may God protect your body, for you go in
great peril of death.  But the damsel much desireth to see you, I know
not for what, and well may she aid you if she will."


II.

"Sir Knight, God hath brought us forth of many a peril, and so will He
also from this and it be His pleasure and His will."

With that, Lancelot departeth from the knight, and hath ridden so far
that he is come at evensong to the Chapel Perilous, that standeth in a
great valley of the forest, and hath a little churchyard about it that
is well enclosed on all sides, and hath an ancient cross without the
entrance.  The chapel and the graveyard are overshadowed of the forest,
that is right tall. Lancelot entereth therein all armed.  He signeth
him of the cross and blesseth him and commendeth him to God.  He seeth
in the grave-yard coffins in many places, and it seemeth him that he
seeth folk round about that talk together, the one with another. But he
might not hear that they said.  He might not see them openly, but very
tall they seemed him to be.  He is come toward the chapel and alighteth
of his horse, and seeth a shed outside the chapel, wherein was
provender for horses.  He goeth thither to set his own there, then
leaneth his shield against his spear at the entrance of the chapel, and
entereth in, where it was very dark, for no light was there save only
of a single lamp that shone full darkly.  He seeth the coffin that was
in the midst of the chapel wherein the knight lay.


III.

When he had made his orison before an image of Our Lady, he cometh to
the coffin and openeth it as fast as he may, and seeth the knight, tall
and foul of favour, that therein lay dead.  The cloth wherein he was
enshrouded was displayed all bloody.  He taketh the sword that lay at
his side and lifteth the windingsheet to rend it at the seam, then
taketh the knight by the head to lift him upward, and findeth him so
heavy and so ungain that scarce may he remove him.  He cutteth off the
half of the cloth wherein he is enshrouded, and the coffin beginneth to
make a crashing so passing loud that it seemed the chapel were falling.
When he hath the piece of the cloth and the sword he closeth the coffin
again, and forthwith cometh to the door of the chapel and seeth mount,
in the midst of the grave-yard as it seemed him, great knights and
horrible, and they are appareled as it were to combat, and him thinketh
that they are watching for him and espy him.


IV.

Thereupon, behold you, a damsel running, her kirtle girt high about
her, right through the grave-yard a great pace.

"Take heed you move not until such time as it is known who the knight
is!"  She is come to the chapel.  "Sir Knight, lay down the sword and
this that you have taken of the windingsheet of the dead knight!"

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "What hurt doth it you of this that I have?"

"This," saith she, "That you have taken it without my leave; for I have
him in charge, both him and the chapel.  And I would fain," saith she,
"know what is your name?"

"Damsel," saith he, "What would you gain of knowing my name?"

"I know not," saith she, "whether I shall have either loss or gain
thereof, but high time already is it that I should ask you it to my
sorrow, for many a time have I been deceived therein."

"Damsel," saith he, "I am called Lancelot of the Lake."

"You ought of right," saith she, "to have the sword and the cloth; but
come you with me to my castle, for oftentimes have I desired that you
and Perceval and Messire Gawain should see the three tombs that I have
made for your three selves."


V.

"Damsel," saith he, "No wish have I to see my sepulchre so early
betimes."

"By my head," saith she, "And you come not thither, you may not issue
from hence without tribulation; and they that you see there are earthly
fiends that guard this grave-yard and are at my commandment."

"Never, damsel, please God," saith Lancelot, "may your devils have
power to harm a Christian."

"Ha, Lancelot," saith she, "I beseech and pray you that you come with
me into my castle, and I will save your life as at this time from this
folk that are just now ready to fall upon you; and, so you are not
willing to do this, yield me back the sword that you have taken from
the coffin, and go your way at once."

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "Into your castle may I not go, nor desire I
to go, wherefore pray me no more thereof, for other business have I to
do; nor will I yield you back the sword, whatsoever may befall me, for
a certain knight may not otherwise be healed, and great pity it were
that he should die."

"Ha, Lancelot," saith she, "How hard and cruel do I find you towards
me!  And as good cause have I to be sorry that you have the sword as
have you to be glad.  For, and you had not had it upon you, never
should you have carried it off from hence at your will; rather should I
have had all my pleasure of you, and I would have made you be borne
into my castle, from whence never should you nave moved again for
nought you might do; and thus should I have been quit of the wardenship
of this chapel and of coming thereinto in such manner as now oftentimes
I needs must come.


VI.

"But now am I taken in a trap, for, so long as you have the sword, not
one of them that are there yonder can do you evil nor hinder you of
going."

Of this was Lancelot not sorry.  He taketh leave of the damsel, that
departeth grudgingly, garnisheth him again of his arms, then mounteth
again on his horse and goeth his way right through the grave-yard.  He
beholdeth this evil folk, that were so foul and huge and hideous, it
seemed as if they would devour everything. They made way for Lancelot,
and had no power to hurt him.  He is issued forth of the grave-yard and
goeth his way through the forest until daylight appeared about him,
fair and clear.  He found the hermit there where he had heard mass,
then ate a little, then departed and rode the day long until setting of
the sun, but could find no hold on the one side nor the other wherein
he might lodge, and so was benighted in the forest.


VII.

Lancelot knew not which way to turn, for he had not often been in the
forest, and knew not how the land lay nor the paths therein. He rode
until he found a little causeway, and there was a path at the side that
led to an orchard that was at a corner of the forest, where there was a
postern gate whereby one entered, and it was not made fast for the
night.  And the orchard was well enclosed with walls.  Lancelot entered
in and made fast the entrance, then took off his horse's bridle and let
him feed on the grass.  He might not espy the castle that was hard by
for the abundance of trees and the darkness of the night, and so knew
not whither he was arrived.  He laid his shield for a pillow and his
arms at his side and fell on sleep.  But, had he known where it was he
had come, little sleep would he have had, for he was close to the
cavern where he slew the lion and where the griffons were, that had
come in from the forest all gorged of victual, and were fallen on
sleep, and it was for them that the postern gate had been left
unbolted.  A damsel went down from a chamber by a trapdoor with a
brachet on her arm for fear of the griffons, and as she went toward the
postern-gate to lock it, she espied Lancelot, that lay asleep in the
midst of the orchard.  She ran back to her Lady the speediest she
might, and said unto her: "Up, Lady!" saith she, "Lancelot is sleeping
in the orchard!"

She leapt up incontinent and came to the orchard there where Lancelot
was sleeping, then sate her down beside him and began to look at him,
sighing the while, and draweth as near him as she may.

"Fair Lord God," saith she, "what shall I do?  and I wake him first he
will have no care to kiss me, and if I kiss him sleeping he will awake
forthwith; and better hap is it for me to take the most I may even in
such-wise than to fail of all, and, moreover, if so be I shall have
kissed him, I may hope that he will not hate me thereof, sith that I
may then boast that I have had at least so much of that which is his
own."

She set her mouth close to him and so kissed him the best and fairest
she might, three times, and Lancelot awakened forthwith. He leapt up
and made the cross upon him, then looked at the damsel, and said: "Ha,
God!  where, then, am I?"

"Fair sweet friend," saith she, "You are nigh her that hath all set her
heart upon you and will remove it never."

"I cry you mercy, damsel," saith Lancelot, "and I tell you, for nought
that may befall, one that loveth me, please God, never will I hate!
but that which one hath loved long time ought not so soon to fall away
from the remembrance of a love that is rooted in the heart, when she
hath been proven good and loyal, nor ought one so soon to depart
therefrom."


VIII.

"Sir," saith she, "This castle is at your commandment, and you will
remain therein, and well may you know my thought towards you.  Would
that your thought were the same towards me."

"Damsel," saith he, "I seek the healing of a knight that may not be
healed save I bring him the head of one of your serpents."

"Certes, Sir, so hath it been said.  But I bade the damsel say so only
for that I was fain you should come back hither to me."

"Damsel," saith he, "I have come back hither, and so may I turn back
again sith that of the serpent's head is there no need."

"Ha, Lancelot," saith she, "How good a knight are you, and how ill
default do you make in another way!  No knight, methinketh, is there in
the world that would have refused me save only you. This cometh of your
folly, and your outrage, and your baseness of heart!  The griffons have
not done my will in that they have not slain you or strangled you as
you slept, and, so I thought that they would have power to slay you, I
would make them come to slay you now.  But the devil hath put so much
knighthood into you that scarce any man may have protection against
you.  Better ought I to love you dead than alive.  By my head, I would
fain that your head were hanged with the others that hang at the
entrance of the gateway, and, had I thought you would have failed me in
such wise I would have brought my father hither to where you were
sleeping, and right gladly would he have slain you."


IX.

"None that knoweth the covenant between me and you ought to hold you
for a good knight; for you have cozened me of my right according to the
tenor and custom of the castle if that through perversity or
slothfulness you durst not take me when you have won me."

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "You may say your will.  You have done so
much for me sithence that I came hither that I ought not to be afeard
of you, for traitor is the man or woman that kisseth another to procure
his hurt."

"Lancelot, I took but that I might have, for well I see that none more
thereof may I have never again."

He goeth to put the bridle on his destrier, and then taketh leave of
the damsel, that parteth from him right sorrowfully; but Lancelot would
no longer tarry, for great throng of knights was there in the castle,
and he was not minded to put him in jeopardy for nought.  He issueth
forth of the orchard, and the damsel looketh after him as long as she
may see him.  After that, cometh she to her chamber, sad and vexed at
heart, nor knoweth she how she may bear herself, for the thing in the
world that most she loveth is far away, and no joy may she have thereof.


X.

Lancelot rideth right amidst the forest until it is day, and cometh at
the right hour of noon to the Castle Perilous, where Meliot of Logres
lay.  He entered into the castle.  The damsel that was at King Arthur's
court cometh to meet him.

"Lancelot," saith she, "Welcome may you be!"

"Damsel," saith he, "Good adventure may you have!"

He was alighted at the mountingstage of the hall.  She maketh him mount
up the steps and afterward be disarmed.

"Damsel," saith he, "Behold, here is some of the winding-sheet wherein
the knight was shrouded, and here is his sword; but you befooled me as
concerning the serpent's head."

"By my head," saith the damsel, "that did I for the sake of the damsel
of the Castle of Griffons that hateth you not a whit, for so prayed she
me to do.  Now hath she seen you, and so will she be more at ease, and
will have no cause to ask me thereof."


XI.

The damsel leadeth Lancelot to where Meliot of Logres lay. Lancelot
sitteth him down before him and asketh how it is with him?

"Meliot," saith the damsel, "This is Lancelot, that bringeth you your
healing."

"Ha, Sir, welcome may you be!"

"God grant you health speedily," said Lancelot.

"Ha, for God's sake," saith Meliot, "What doth Messire Gawain? Is he
hearty?"

"I left him quite hearty when I parted from him," saith Lancelot, "And
so he knew that you had been wounded in such sort, full sorry would he
be thereof and King Arthur likewise."

"Sir," saith he, "The knight that assieged them maimed me in this
fashion, but was himself maimed in such sort that he is dead thereof.
But the wounds that he dealt me are so cruel and so raging, that they
may not be healed save his sword toucheth them and if be not bound with
some of the winding-sheet wherein he was shrouded, that he had
displayed about him, all bloody."

"By my faith," saith the damsel, "Behold them here!"

"Ha, Sir," saith he, "Gramercy of this great goodness!  In every way
appeareth it that you are good knight, for, but for the goodness of
your knighthood, the coffin wherein the knight lieth had never opened
so lightly, nor would you never have had the sword nor the cloth, nor
never till now hath knight entered therein but either he were slain
there, or departed thence wounded right grievously."

They uncover his wounds, and Lancelot unbindeth them, and the damsel
toucheth him of the sword and the winding-sheet, and they are assuaged
for him.  And he saith that now at last he knoweth well he need not
fear to die thereof.  Lancelot is right joyful thereof in his heart,
for that he seeth he will be whole betimes; and sore pity had it been
of his death, for a good knight was he, and wise and loyal.


XI.

"Lancelot," saith the lady, "Long time have I hated you on account of
the knight that I loved, whom you reft away from me and married to
another and not to me, and ofttimes have I put myself to pains to
grieve you of some ill deed for that you did to me, for never was I so
sorrowful for aught that befell me.  He loved me of right great love,
and I him again, and never shall that love fail.  But now is it far
further away from me than it was before, and for this bounty that you
have done, never hereafter need you fear aught of my grievance."

"Damsel," saith Lancelot, "Gramercy heartily."

He was lodged in the castle the night richly and worshipfully, and
departed thence on the morrow when he had taken leave of the damsel and
Meliot, and goeth back a great pace toward the court of King Arthur,
that was sore dismayed, for Madeglant was conquering his islands and
great part of his land.  The more part of the lands that he conquered
had renounced the New Law for fear of death and held the false believe.
And Messire Gawain and many other knights were departed from King
Arthur's court for that the King trusted more in Briant of the Isles
than he did in them.


XIII.

For many times had King Arthur sent knights against Madeglant since
Lancelot was departed from the court, to the intent that they should
put to rebuke the enemies of his land, but never saw he one come back
from thence nought discomfited.  The King of Oriande made much boast
that he would fulfil for his sister all that she had bidden him, for he
thought that King Arthur would yield himself up betimes unto him and
yield all his land likewise.  The King greatly desired the return of
Lancelot, and said ofttimes that and he had been against his enemies as
nigh as the others he had sent they would not have durst so to fly
against him.  In the midst of the dismay wherein was King Arthur,
Lancelot returned to the court, whereof was the King right joyous.
Lancelot knew that Messire Gawain and Messire Ywain were not there, and
that they held them aloof from the court more willingly than they
allowed on account of Briant of the Isles, that King Arthur believed in
more than ever a one of the others. He was minded to depart in like
sort, but the King would not let him, but said to him rather,
"Lancelot, I pray and beseech you, as him that I love much, that you
set your pains and your counsel on defending my land, for great
affiance have I in you."

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "My aid and my force shall fail you never; take
heed that yours fail not me."

"Of right ought I not to fail you," saith the King, "Nor will I never,
for I should fail myself thereby."


XIV.

The history saith that he gave Lancelot forty knights in charge, and
that he is come into an island where King Madeglant was.  Or ever he
knew of his coming, Lancelot had cut off his retreat, for he cut his
cables and beat his anchors to pieces and broke up his ships.  After
that, he struck among the people of Madeglant, and slew as many of them
as he would, he and his knights.  The King thought to withdraw him
back, both him and his fellowship, into safety as he wont, but he found
himself right ill bested. Lancelot drove him toward the sea, whither he
fled, but only to find himself no less discomfit there, and slew him in
the midst of his folk, and all his other knights were slain and cast
into the sea.  This island was freed of him by Lancelot, and from
thence he went to the other islands that Madeglant had conquered and
set again under the false Law, and there did away the false Law from
them that had been set thereunder by fear of death, and stablished the
land in such sort as it had been tofore.  He roved so long from one
island to another that presently he came to Albanie where he had
succoured them at first.


XV.

When they of the land saw him come, they well knew that the King of
Oriande was dead and the islands made free, whereof made they great
joy.  The land was some deal emptied of the most puissant and the
strongest, for they were dead along with their lord. Lancelot had
brought with him some of the best knights and most puissant.  He was
come with a great navy into the land and began to destroy it.  They of
the land were misbelievers, for they believed in false idols and in
false images.  They saw that they might not defend the land, sith that
their lord was dead.  The more part let themselves be slain for that
they would not renounce the evil Law, and they that were minded to turn
to God were saved.  The kingdom was right rich and right great that
Lancelot conquered and attorned to the Law of Our Lord in such wise.
He made break all the false images of copper and fatten wherein they
had believed tofore, and whereof false answers came to them of the
voices of devils.  Thereafter he caused be made crucifixes and images
in the likeness of Our Lord, and in the likeness of His sweet Mother,
the better to confirm them of the kingdoms in the Law.


XVI.

The strongest and most valiant of the land assembled one day and said
that it was high time a land so rich should no longer be without a
King.  They all agreed and came to Lancelot and told him how they would
fain that he should be King of the realm he had conquered, for in no
land might he be better employed, and they would help him conquer other
realms enow.  Lancelot thanked them much, but told them that of this
land nor of none other would he be King save by the good will of King
Arthur only; for that all the conquest he had made was his, and by his
commandment had he come thither, and had given him his own knights in
charge that had helped him to reconquer the lands.


XVII.

King Claudas had heard tell how Lancelot had slain the King of Oriande
and that none of the islands might scarce be defended against him.  He
had no liking of him, neither of his good knighthood nor of his
conquest, for well remembered he of the land that he had conquered from
King Ban of Benoic that was Lancelot's father, and therefore was he
sorry of the good knighthood whereof Lancelot was everywhere held of
worth and renown, for that he was tenant of his father's land.  King
Claudas sent a privy message to Briant and bore him on hand that, and
he might do so much as that King Arthur should forbid Lancelot his
court, and that it were ill with him with the King, he would have much
liking thereof and would help him betimes to take vengeance on his
enemies, for, so Lancelot were forth of his court, and Messire Gawain,
the rest would scarce abide long time, and thus should they have all
their will of King Arthur's land. Briant sent word back to King Claudas
that Messire Gawain and Messire Ywain began to hold them aloof from the
court, and that as for most part of the other he need not trouble him a
whit, for he might so deal as that in short time Lancelot should be
well trounced, would they or nould they.


XVIII.

Tidings are come to King Arthur's court that the King of Oriande is
dead and his people destroyed, and that Lancelot hath conquered his
kingdom and slain the King, and reconquered all the lands wherein he
had set the false Law and the false believe by his force and by dread
of him.  And the more part say in the court that they of the realm of
Oriande nor those of the other islands will not let Lancelot repair to
court, and are doing their endeavour to make him King; and nought is
there in the world, and he command them, they will not do, and that
never was no folk so obedient to any as are they of all these lands to
him. Briant of the Isles cometh one day privily to King Arthur, and
saith: "Sir," saith he, "Much ought I to love you, for that you have
made me Seneschal of your land; whereby meseemeth you have great
affiance in me, and my bounden duty is it to turn aside that which is
evil from you and to set forward your good everywhere, and, did I not
so, no whit loyal should I be towards you.


XIX.

"Tidings are come to me of late that they of the kingdom of Oriande and
Albanie and of the other islands that are your appanages have all
leagued together, and have sworn and given surety that they will aid
one another against you, and they are going presently to make Lancelot
their King, and will come down upon your land as speedily as they may
wheresoever he may dare lead them, and they have sworn their oath that
they will conquer your kingdom just as you now hold it, and, so you be
not garnished against them betimes, you may have thereof sore trouble
to your own body as well as the loss whereof I tell you."

"By my head," saith the King, "I believe not that Lancelot durst think
this, nor that he would have the heart to do me evil."

"By my head," saith Briant, "Long time have I had misgivings both of
this and of him, but one ought not to tell one's lord all that one
knows, for that one cannot be sure either that it be not leasing or
that folk wish to meddle in his affairs out of envy. But nought is
there in the world that I will conceal from you henceforward for the
love that you bear me and for that you have affiance in me, and so may
you well have, for I have abandoned my land for you that marched with
your own, whereby you may sorely straiten your enemies, for well you
know that in your court is there no knight of greater puissance than am
I."


XX.

"By my head," saith the King, "I am fain to love you and hold you dear,
nor shall you never be removed from my love nor from my service for
nought that may be said of any, so manifestly have I seen your goodness
and your loyalty.  I will bid Lancelot by my letters and under my seal
that he come to speak with me, for sore need have I thereof, and when
he shall be here we will take account of this that you have told me,
for this will I not, that he nor none other that may be my knight shall
dare rise in arms against me, for such power ought lord of right to
have over his knight, and to be feared and dreaded of him, for elsewise
is he feeble, and lordship without power availeth nought."


XXI.

The King sent his letters by his messenger to Lancelot.  The messenger
sought him until he found him in the kingdom of Oriande, and delivered
him the letters and the seal of the King. So soon as he knew that which
the letters say, he took leave of them of the land, that were right
sorrowful.  He departed thence and came back to Cardoil, bringing with
him all the knights that he had in charge, and told the King that he
had reconquered for him all the islands, and that the King of Oriande
was dead and that his land was attorned to the Law of Our Lord.  The
King bade Briant of the Isles that he should make forty knights come
armed under their cloaks ready to take Lancelot prisoner as soon as he
should command them.  The tidings come to Lancelot, there where he was
in his hostel, that the King had made knights come all armed to the
palace.  Lancelot bethought him that some need had arisen and that he
would arm himself likewise, so he made him be armed and came to the
hall where the King was.

"Sir," saith Briant, "Lancelot thinketh him of something, for he hath
armed himself at his hostel, and is come hither in such manner and at
such time without your leave, and he may do something more yet.  You
ought well to ask him wherefore he wisheth to do you evil, and in what
manner you have deserved it."

He biddeth him be called before him.  "Lancelot," saith the King,
"Wherefore are you armed?"

"Sir, I was told that knights had come in hither armed, and I was
feared lest some mishap had befallen you, for I would not that any evil
should betide you."

"You come hither for another thing," saith the King, "according to that
I have been given to wit, and, had the hall been void of folk, you
hoped to have slain me."

The King commandeth him be taken forthwith without gainsay of any.  The
knights that were armed did off their cloaks and leapt toward him on
all sides, for they durst not disobey the King's commandment, and the
more part were men of Briant of the Isles.


XXII.

Lancelot seeth them coming towards him with their keen swords and
saith, "By my head, an evil guerdon do you return me of the services I
have done for you."

The knights come to him all together swords drawn, and run upon him all
at once.  He goeth defending himself, as far as the wall of the hall,
whereof he maketh a castle to his back, but before he cometh thither he
hath slain or wounded seven.  He began to defend himself right stoutly
on all sides, but they gave him great buffets of their swords, and no
fair play is it of thirty or forty blows to one.  Nor ought none
believe that one single knight might deliver himself from so many men,
seeing that they were eager to take him and do him a hurt.  Lancelot
defended him the best he might, but the numbers were against him, and,
anyway, or ever he let himself be taken he sold himself right dear, for
of the forty knights he harmed at least a score, and of them was none
that was not sore wounded and the most part killed; and he caught
Briant of the Isles, that was helping to take him, so sore that he made
his sword drink the blood of his body, in such sort that the wound was
right wide.  The knights laid hold on Lancelot on all sides, and the
King commanded that none should harm him, but that they should bring
him to his dungeon in the prison. Lancelot marvelled him much wherefore
the King should do this, nor might he understand wherefore this hatred
was come so lately. He is put in the prison so as the King hath
commanded.  All they of the court are sorry thereof, save Briant and
his knights, but well may he yet aby it dear, so God bring Lancelot out
or prison. Some say, "Now is the King's court lost, sith that Messire
Gawain and the other knights have thus forsaken it, and Lancelot is put
in prison for doing well, ill trust may the others have therein."

They pray God yet grant Briant of the Isles an evil guerdon, for well
know they that all this is of his procurement.  And of an evil guerdon
shall he not fail so God protect Lancelot and bring him forth of prison.



BRANCH XXXI.

TITLE I.

Thereupon the story is silent of Lancelot, and cometh back to Perceval
that had not heard these tidings, and if he had known them, right
sorrowful would he have been thereof.  He is departed from his uncle's
castle that he hath reconquered, and was sore grieved of the tidings
that the damsel that was wounded brought him of his sister that Aristor
had carried away by force to the house of a vavasour.  He was about to
take her to wife and cut off her head on the day of the New Year, for
such was his custom with all them that he took.  Perceval rideth one
day, all heavy in thought, and taketh his way as fast as he may toward
the hermitage of his uncle King Hermit.  He is come thither on an
eventide, and seeth three hermits issued forth of the hermitage. He
alighteth and goeth to meet them so soon as he seeth them.

"Sir," say the hermits, "Enter not in, for they are laying out a body
there."

"Who is it?" saith Perceval.

"Sir," say the hermits, "It is the good King Pelles that Aristor slew
suddenly after mass on account of one of his nephews, Perceval, whom he
loveth not, and a damsel is laying out the body there within."

When Perceval heard the news or his uncle that is dead, thereof was he
right grieved at heart, and on the morrow was he at his uncle's burial.
When mass was sung, Perceval would have departed, as he that had great
desire to take vengeance on him that had done him such shame.


II.

Thereupon behold you the damsel that is his.

"Sir," saith she, "Full long time have I been seeking you. Behold here
the head of a knight that I carry hanging at the bow of my saddle, in
this rich casket of ivory that you may see, and by none ought he to be
avenged but by you alone.  Discharge me thereof, fair Sir, of your
courtesy, for I have carried it too long a time, and this King Arthur
knoweth well and Messire Gawain, for each hath seen me at court along
with the head, but they could give me no tidings of you, and my castle
may I not have again until such time as he be avenged."

"Who, then, was the knight, damsel?" saith Perceval.

"Sir, he was son of your uncle Bruns Brandalis, and were he on live,
would have been one of the best knights in the world."

"And who slew him, damsel?" saith Perceval.

"Sir, the Knight of the Deep Forest that leadeth the lion, foully in
treason there where he thought him safe.  For had he been armed in like
manner as was the other, he would not have slain him."

"Damsel," said Perceval, "This grieveth me that he hath slain him, and
it grieveth me likewise of mine uncle King Hermit, whom I would avenge
more willingly than all the men in the world, for he was slain on my
account."


III.

"Most disloyal was this knight, and foully was he fain to avenge him
when he slew a holy man, a hermit that never wished him ill on account
of me and of none other.  Right glad shall I be and I may find the
knight, and so, methinketh, will he be of me, for me he hateth as much
as I do him, as I have been told, and Lord God grant, howsoever he may
take it, that I may find him betimes."

"Sir," saith the damsel, "So outrageous a knight is he that no knight
is there in the world so good but he thinketh himself of more worth
than he, and sith that he hateth you with a will, and he knew that you
were here, you and another, or you the third, he would come now at
once, were he in place and free."

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "God give him mischief of his coming, come
whensoever he may!"

"Sir," saith she, "The Deep Forest there, where the Red Knight leadeth
the lion, is towards the castle of Aristor, and, or ever you come by
adventure into the forest, you may well hear some tidings of him!"



BRANCH XXXII.

INCIPIT.

Here beginneth the last branch of the Graal in the name of the Father,
and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.


TITLE I.

The story saith that Perceval went his way through the forest. He saw
pass before him two squires, and each carried a wild deer trussed
behind him that had been taken by hounds.  Perceval cometh to them a
great pace and maketh them abide.

"Lords," saith he, "Whither will you carry this venison?"

"Sir," say the squires, "To the castle of Ariste, whereof Aristor is
lord."

"Is there great throng of knights at the castle?" saith Perceval.

"Sir," say the squires, "Not a single one is there, but within four
days will be a thousand there, for Messire is about to marry, whereof
is great preparation toward.  He is going to take the daughter of the
Widow Lady, whom he carried off by force before her castle of Camelot,
and hath set her in the house of one of his vavasours until such time
as he shall espouse her. But we are right sorrowful, for she is of most
noble lineage and of great beauty and of the most worth in the world.
So is it great dole that he shall have her, for he will cut her head
off on the day of the New Year, sith that such is his custom."

"And one might carry her off," saith Perceval, "would he not do well
therein?"

"Yea, Sir!" say the squires, "Our Lord God would be well pleased
thereof, for such cruelty is the greatest that ever any knight may
have.  Moreover, he is much blamed of a good hermit that he hath slain,
and every day desireth he to meet the brother of the damsel he is about
to take, that is one of the best knights in the world.  And he saith
that he would slay him more gladly than ever another knight on live."

"And where is your lord?" saith Perceval, "Can you give me witting?"

"Yea, Sir," say the squires, "We parted from him but now in this
forest, where he held melly with a knight that seemeth us to be right
worshipful and valiant, and saith that he hath for name the Knight
Hardy.  And for that he told Aristor that he was a knight of Perceval's
and of his fellowship, he ran upon him, and then commanded us to come
on, and said that he should vanquish him incontinent.  We could still
hear just now the blows of the swords yonder where we were in the
forest, and Aristor is of so cruel conditions that no knight may pass
through this forest, but he is minded to slay him."


II.

When Perceval heard these tidings, he departed from the squires, and so
soon as they were out of sight he goeth as great pace thither as they
had come thence.  He had ridden half a league Welsh when he heard the
buffets they were dealing one another on the helm with their swords,
and right well pleased was he for that the Knight Hardy held so long
time melly with Aristor in whom is there so much cruelty and felony.
But Perceval knew not to what mischief the Knight Hardy had been
wounded through the body of a spear, so that the blood rayed out on all
sides; and Aristor had not remained whole, for he was wounded in two
places. So soon as Perceval espied them, he smiteth his horse of his
spurs, lance in rest, and smiteth Aristor right through the breast with
such force that he maketh him lose his stirrups and lie down backwards
over the hinder bow of the saddle.  After that saith he: "I am come to
my sister's wedding, of right ought it not to be made without me."


III.

Aristor, that was full hardy, set himself again betwixt the bows of the
saddle in great wrath when he seeth Perceval, and cometh towards him
like as if he were wood mad, sword in hand, and dealeth him such a
buffet on the helm as that it is all dinted in thereby.  The Knight
Hardy draweth back when he seeth Perceval, for he is wounded to the
death through the body.  He had held the stout so long time that he
could abide no more.  But or ever he departed, he had wounded Aristor
in two places right grievously. Perceval felt the blow that was heavy,
and that his helmet was dinted in.  He cometh back to Aristor and
smiteth him so passing strongly that he thrusteth the spear right
through his body and overthroweth him and his horse all of a heap.
Then he alighteth over him and taketh off the coif of his habergeon and
unlaceth his ventail.

"What have you in mind to do?" said Aristor.

"I will cut off your head," said Perceval, "and present it to my sister
whom you have failed."

"Do not so!" saith Aristor, "But let me live, and I will forgo my
hatred."

"Your hatred might I well abide henceforward, meseemeth," saith
Perceval, "But one may not abide you any longer, for well have you
deserved this, and God willeth not to bear with you."

He smiteth off his head incontinent and hangeth it at his saddle-bow,
and cometh to the Knight Hardy, and asketh him how it is with him.

"Sir," saith he, "I am very nigh my death, but I comfort me much of
this that I see you tofore I die."

Perceval is remounted on his horse, then taketh his spear and leaveth
the body of the knight in the midst of the launde, and so departeth
forthwith and leadeth the Knight Hardy to a hermitage that was hard by
there, and lifteth him down of his horse as speedily as he may.  After
that, he disarmed him and made him confess to the hermit, and when he
was shriven of his sins and repentant, and his soul had departed, he
made him be enshrouded of the damsel that followed him, and bestowed
his arms and his horse on the hermit for his soul, and the horse of
Aristor likewise.


IV.

When mass had been sung for the knight that was dead, and the body
buried, Perceval departed.

"Sir," saith the damsel that followed him, "Even now have you much to
do.  Of this cruel knight and felonous you have avenged this country.
Now, God grant you find betimes the Red Knight that slew your uncle's
son.  I doubt not but that you will conquer him, but great misgiving
have I of the lion, for it is the cruellest beast that saw I ever, and
he so loveth his lord and his horse as never no beast loved another so
much, and he helpeth his lord right hardily to defend him."


V.

Perceval goeth toward the great Deep Forest without tarrying, and the
damsel after.  But, or ever he came thither, he met a knight that was
wounded right sore, both he and his horse.

"Ha, Sir," saith he to Perceval, "Enter not into this forest, whence I
have scarce escaped with much pains.  For therein is a knight that had
much trouble of rescuing me from his lion; and no less am I in dread to
pass on forward, for there is a knight that is called Aristor, that
without occasion runneth upon the knights that pass through the forest."

"Of him," saith the damsel, "need you have no fear, for you may see his
head hanging at the knight's saddle-bow."


VI.

"Certes," saith the knight, "Never yet was I so glad of any tidings I
have heard, and well know I that he that slew him is not lacking of
great hardiment."

The knight departeth from Perceval, but the lion had wounded his horse
so passing sore in the quarters that scarce could he go.

"Sir Knight," saith Perceval, "Go to the hermit in the Deep Forest, and
say I bade him give you the destrier I left with him, for well I see
that you have sore need thereof, and you may repay him in some other
manner, for rather would he have something else than the horse."

The knight goeth him much thanks of this that he saith.  He cometh to
the hermit the best he may, and telleth him according as he had been
charged, and the hermit biddeth him take which destrier he will for the
love of the knight that had slain the evil-doer, that did so many evil
deeds in this forest.

"And I will lend you them both twain if you will."

"Sir," saith the knight, "I ask but for one of them."

He taketh Aristor's horse, that seemed him the better, and straightway
mounteth thereon, and abandoneth his own, that might go no further.  He
taketh leave of the hermit, and telleth him he will right well repay
him, but better had it befallen him and he had not taken the horse, for
thereof was he slain without reason thereafter.  A knight that was of
the household of Aristor overtook him at the corner of the forest, and
knew his lord's horse and had heard tell that Aristor was dead,
wherefore he went into the forest to bury him.  He smote the knight
through the body with his spear and so slew him, then took the horse
and went away forthwith.  But, had Perceval known thereof, he would
have been little glad, for that he asked the knight to go for the
horse, but he did it only for the best, and for that he rode in great
misease.


VII.

Perceval goeth toward the Deep Forest, that is full broad and long and
evil seeming, and when he was entered in he had scarce ridden a space
when he espied the lion that lay in the midst of a launde under a tree
and was waiting for his master, that was gone afar into the forest, and
the lion well knew that just there was the way whereby knights had to
pass, and therefore had abided there.  The damsel draweth her back for
fear, and Perceval goeth toward the lion that had espied him already,
and came toward him, eyes on fire and jaws yawning wide.  Perceval
aimeth his spear and thinketh to smite him in his open mouth, but the
lion swerved aside and he caught him in the fore-leg and so dealt him a
great wound, but the lion seizeth the horse with his claws on the
croup, and rendeth the skin and the flesh above the tail.  The horse,
that feeleth himself wounded, catcheth him with his two hinder feet or
ever he could get away, so passing strongly that he breaketh the
master-teeth in his jaw.  The lion gave out a roar so loud that all the
forest resounded thereof.  The Red Knight heareth his lion roar, and so
cometh thither a great gallop, but, or ever he was come thither,
Perceval had slain the lion.  When the knight saw his lion dead, right
sorry was he thereof.

"By my head," saith he to Perceval, "When you slew my lion you did it
as a traitor!"

"And you," saith Perceval, "adjudged your own death when you slew my
uncle's son, whose head this damsel beareth."

Perceval cometh against him without more words, and the knight in like
manner with a great rushing, and breaketh his spear upon his shield.
Perceval smiteth him with such force that he thrusteth his spear right
through his body and beareth him to the ground dead beside his horse.
Perceval alighteth of his own when he hath slain the knight, and then
mounteth him on the Red Knight's horse for that his own might carry him
no longer.


VIII.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "My castle is in the midst of this forest,
that the Red Knight reft away from me long ago.  I pray you now come
with me thither that I may be assured thereof in such sort as that I
may have it again wholly."

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "This have I no right to deny you."

They ride amidst the forest so long as that they come to the castle
where the damsel ought to be.  It stood in the fairest place of all the
forest, and was enclosed of high Walls battlemented, and within were
fair-windowed halls.  The tidings were come to the castle that their
lord was dead.  Perceval and the damsel entered in.  He made the damsel
be assured of them that were therein, and made them yield up her castle
that they well knew was hers of right inheritance.  The damsel made the
head be buried that she had carried so long, and bade that every day
should mass be done within for the soul of him.  When Perceval had
sojourned therein as long as pleased him, he departed thence.  The
damsel thanked him much of the bounty he had done her as concerning the
castle that she had again by him, for never again should it be
reconquered of another, as well she knew.


IX.

Josephus telleth us in the scripture he recordeth for us, whereof this
history was drawn out of Latin into Romance, that none need be in doubt
that these adventures befell at that time in Great Britain and in all
the other kingdoms, and plenty enow more befell than I record, but
these were the most certain.  The history saith that Perceval is come
into a hold, there where his sister was in the house of a vavasour that
was a right worshipful man.  Each day the damsel made great dole of the
knight that was to take her, for the day was already drawing somewhat
nigh, and she knew not that he was dead.  Full often lamented she the
Widow Lady her mother, that in like sort made great dole for her
daughter.  The vavasour comforted the damsel right sweetly and longed
for her brother Perceval, but little thought he that he was so near
him.  And Perceval is come to the hold all armed, and alighteth at the
mounting-stage before the hall.  The vavasour cometh to meet him, and
marvelleth much who he is, for the more part believed that he was one
of Aristor's knights.

"Sir," saith the vavasour, "Welcome may you be!"

"Good adventure may you have, Sir!" saith Perceval.  He holdeth
Aristor's head in his hand by the hair, whereof the vavasour marvelled
much that he should carry a knight's head in such-wise. Perceval cometh
to the master-chamber of the hall, where his sister was, that bewailed
her right sore.


X.

"Damsel," saith he to his sister, "Weep not, for your wedding hath
failed.  You may know it well by this token!"

He throweth the head of Aristor before her on the ground, then saith
unto her: "Behold here the head of him that was to take you!"

The damsel heareth Perceval her brother that was armed, and thereby she
knoweth him again.  She leapeth up and maketh him the greatest joy that
ever damsel made to knight.  She knoweth not what to do.  So joyful is
she, that all have pity on her that see her of her weeping for the joy
that she maketh of her brother. The story saith that they sojourned
therewithin and that the vavasour showed them much honour.  The damsel
made cast the knight's head into a river that ran round about the hold.
The vavasour was right glad of his death for the great felony that he
had in him, and for that needs must the damsel die in less than a year
and she had espoused him.


XI.

When Perceval had been therein as long as it pleased him, he thanked
the vavasour much of the honour he had done him and his sister, and
departed, he and his sister along with him on the mule whereon she had
been brought thither.  Perceval rode so long on his journeys that he is
come to Camelot and findeth his mother in great dole for her daughter
that should be Queen, for she thought surely that never should she see
her more.  Full sorrowful was she moreover of her brother, the King
Hermit that had been killed in such-wise.  Perceval cometh to the
chamber where his mother was lying and might not stint of making dole.
He taketh his sister by the hand and cometh before her.  So soon as she
knoweth him she beginneth to weep for joy, and kisseth them one after
the other.

"Fair son," saith she, "Blessed be the hour that you were born for by
you all my great joy cometh back to me!  Now well may I depart, for I
have lived long enow."

"Lady," saith he, "Your life ought to be an offence to none, for to
none hath it ever done ill, but, please God, you shall not end in this
place, but rather you shall end in the castle that was your cousin's
german, King Fisherman, there where is the most Holy Graal and the
sacred hallows are."

"Fair son," saith she, "You say well, and there would I fain be."

"Lady," saith he, "God will provide counsel and means whereby you shall
be there; and my sister, and she be minded to marry, will we set in
good place, where she may live worshipfully."

"Certes, fair brother," saith she, "None shall I never marry, save God
alone."

"Fair son," saith the Widow Lady, "The Damsel of the Car goeth to seek
you, and I shall end not until such time as she hath round you."

"Lady," saith he, "In some place will she have tidings of me and I of
her."

"Fair son," saith the Lady, "The damsel is here within that the
felonous knight wounded through the arm, that carried of your sister,
but she is healed."

"Lady," saith he, "I am well avenged."

He telleth her all the adventures until the time when he reconquered
the castle that was his uncle's.  He sojourned long time with his
mother in the castle, and saw that the land was all assured and
peaceable.  He departed thence and took his leave, for he had not yet
achieved all that he had to do.  His mother remained long time, and his
sister, at Camelot, and led a good life and a holy.  The lady made make
a chapel right rich about the sepulchre that lay between the forest and
Camelot, and had it adorned of rich vestments, and stablished a
chaplain that should sing mass there every day.  Sithence then hath the
place been so builded up as that there is an abbey there and folk of
religion, and many bear witness that there it is still, right fair.
Perceval was departed from Camelot and entered into the great forest,
and so rode of a long while until he had left his mother's castle far
behind, and came toward evening to the hold of a knight that was at the
head of the forest.  He harboured him therein, and the knight showed
him much honour and made him be unarmed, and brought him a robe to do
on.  Perceval seeth that the knight is a right simple man, and that he
sigheth from time to time.


XII.

"Sir," saith he, "Meseemeth you are not over joyous."

"Certes, Sir," saith the knight, "I have no right to be, for a certain
man slew mine own brother towards the Deep Forest not long since, and
no right have I to be glad, for a worshipful man was he and a loyal."

"Fair Sir," saith Perceval, "Know you who slew him?"

"Fair Sir, it was one of Aristor's knights, for that he was sitting
upon a horse that had been Aristor's, and whereon another knight had
slain him, and a hermit had lent him to my brother for that the Red
Knight's lion had maimed his own."

Perceval was little glad of these tidings, for that he had sent him
that had been slain on account of the horse.

"Sir," saith Perceval, "Your brother had not deserved his death,
methinketh, for it was not he that slew the knight."

"No, Sir, I know it all of a truth, but another, that slew the Red
Knight of the Deep Forest."

Perceval was silent thereupon.  He lay the night at the hostel and was
harboured right well, and on the morrow departed when he had taken
leave.  He wandered until he came to a hermitage there where he heard
mass.  After the service, the hermit came unto him and said: "Sir,"
saith he, "In this forest are knights all armed that are keeping watch
for the knight that slew Aristor and the Red Knight and his lion as
well.  Wherefore they meet no knight in this forest but they are minded
to slay him for the knight that slew these twain."

"Sir," saith Perceval, "God keep me from meeting such folk as would do
me evil."


XIII.

With that he departed from the hermitage and took leave of the hermit,
and rideth until that he is come into the forest and espieth the knight
that sitteth on Aristor's horse for that he hath slain the other
knight.  A second knight was with him.  They abide when they see
Perceval.

"By my head," saith one of them, "This same shield bare he that slew
Aristor, as it was told us, and, like enough, it may be he."

They come toward him, full career.  Perceval seeth them coming, and
forgetteth not his spurs, but rather cometh against them the speediest
he may.  The two knights smote him upon the shield and brake their
spears.  Perceval overtaketh him that sitteth on Aristor's horse and
thrusteth an ell's length of his spear through his body and so
overthroweth him dead.


XIV.

After that, he cometh to the other knight, that fain would have fled,
and smiteth off the shoulder close to his side, and he fell dead by the
side of the other.  He taketh both twain of their destriers, and
knotteth the reins together and driveth them before him as far as the
house of the hermit, that had issued forth of his hermitage.  He
delivered unto him the horse of Aristor and the other of the knight
that he had sent thither.

"Sir," saith Perceval, "Well I know that and you shall see any knight
that hath need of it and shall ask you, you will lend him one of these
horses, for great courtesy is it to aid a worshipful man when one seeth
him in misfortune."

"Sir," saith the hermit, "But now since, were here three knights. So
soon as they knew that the two were dead whose horses you had delivered
unto me, they departed, fleeing the speediest they might.  I praised
them much of their going, and told them they did well not to die on
such occasion, for that the souls of knights that die under arms are
nigher to Hell than to Paradise."


XV.

Perceval, that never was without sore toil and travail so long as he
lived, departed from the hermitage and went with great diligence right
through the midst of the forest, and met a knight that came a great
gallop over against him.  He knew Perceval by the shield that he bare.

"Sir," saith he, "I come from the Castle of the Black Hermit, there
where you will find the Damsel of the Car as soon as you arrive,
wherefore she sendeth you word by me that you speed your way and go to
her to ask for the chess-board that was taken away from before Messire
Gawain, or otherwise never again will you enter into the castle you
have won.  Sir," saith he, "Haste, moreover, on account of a thing most
pitiful that I heard in this forest.  I heard how a knight was leading
a damsel against her will, beating her with a great scourge.  I passed
by the launde on the one side and he on the other, so that I espied him
through the underwood that was between us; but it seemed me that the
damsel was bemoaning her for the son of the Widow Lady that had given
her back her castle, and the knight said that for love of him he would
put her into the Serpent's pit.  An old knight and a priest went after
the knight to pray him have mercy on the damsel, but so cruel is he,
that so far from doing so, he rather waxed sore wroth for that they
prayed it of him, and made cheer and semblant as though he would have
slain them."

The knight departed from Perceval and taketh leave and Perceval goeth
along the way that the knight had come, thinking that he would go after
the damsel for he supposeth certainly that it is she to whom he gave
back her castle, and would fain know what knight it is that entreateth
her in such fashion.  He hath ridden until he is come into the deepest
of the forest and the thickest. He bideth awhile and listeneth and
heareth the voice of the damsel, that was in a great valley where the
Serpent's pit was, wherein the knight was minded to set her.  She cried
right loud for mercy, and wept, and the knight gave her great strokes
of the scourge to make her be still.  Perceval had no will to tarry
longer, but rather cometh thither as fast as he may.


XVI.

So soon as the damsel seeth Perceval, she knoweth him again.  She
claspeth her two hands together and saith, "Ha, Sir, for God's sake
have mercy!  Already have you given me back the castle whereof this
knight would reave me."

The horse whereon Perceval sat, the knight knew him.

"Sir," saith he, "This horse was the horse of Messire the Red Knight of
the Deep Forest!  Now at last know I that it was you that slew him!"

"It may well be," saith Perceval, "And if that I slew him, good right
had I to do so, for he had cut off the head of a son of mine uncle, the
which head this damsel carried of a long time."

"By my head," saith the knight, "Sith that you slew him, you are my
mortal enemy!"

So he draweth off in the midst of the launde and Perceval likewise, and
then they come together as fast as their horses may carry them, and
either giveth other great buffets in the midst of their breast with
their spears the most they may.  Perceval smiteth the knight so passing
hard that he overthroweth him to the ground right over the croup of his
horse, and in the fall that he made, he to-brake him the master-bone of
his leg so that he might not move.  And Perceval alighteth to the
ground and cometh where the knight lay.  And he crieth him mercy that
he slay him not.  And Perceval telleth him he need not fear death, nor
that he is minded to slay him in such plight as he is, but that like as
he was fain to make the damsel do he will make him do.  He maketh
alight the other old knight and the priest, then maketh the knight be
carried to the Pit of the Serpent and the worms, whereof was great
store.  The pit was dark and deep.  When that the knight was therein he
might not live long for the worms that were there.  The damsel thanked
Perceval much of this goodness and of the other that he had done her.
She departeth and returneth again to her castle, and was assured
therein on all sides, nor never thereafter had she dread of no knight,
for the cruel justice that Perceval had done on this one.


XVII.

The son of the Widow Lady of his good knighthood knoweth not how to
live without travail.  He well knoweth that when he hath been at the
Black Hermit's castle, he will in some measure have achieved his task.
But many another thing behoveth him to do tofore, and little toil he
thinketh it, whereof shall God be well pleased.  He hath ridden so far
one day and another, that he came into a land where he met knights
stout and strong there where God was neither believed in nor loved, but
where rather they adored false images and false Lord-Gods and devils
that made themselves manifest.  He met a knight at the entrance of a
forest.

"Ha, Sir!" saith he to Perceval, "Return you back!  No need is there
for you to go further, for the folk of this island are not
well-believers in God.  I may not pass through the land but by truce
only.  The Queen of this land was sister of the King of Oriande, that
Lancelot killed in the battle and all his folk, and seized his land,
wherein all the folk were misbelievers.  Now throughout all the land
they believe in the Saviour of the World. Thereof is she passing
sorrowful, and hateth all them that believe in the New Law, insomuch as
that she would not look upon any that believed, and prayed to her gods
that never might she see none until such time as the New Law should be
overthrown; and God, that hath power to do this, blinded her forthwith.
Now she supposeth that the false gods wherein she believeth have done
this, and saith that when the New Law shall fall, she will have her
sight again by the renewal of these gods, and by their virtue, nor,
until this hour, hath she no desire to see.  And I tell you this,"
saith the knight, "because I would not that you should go thither as
yet, for that I misdoubt of your being troubled thereby."

"Sir, Gramercy," saith Perceval, "But no knighthood is there so fair as
that which is undertaken to set forward the Law of God, and for Him
ought one to make better endeavour than for all other.  In like manner
as He put His body in pain and travail for us, so ought each to put his
own for Him."

He departeth from the knight, and was right joyous of this that he
heard him say that Lancelot had won a kingdom wherein he had done away
the false Law.  But and he knew the tidings that the King had put him
in prison, he would not have been glad at all, for Lancelot was of his
lineage and was therefore good knight, and for this he loved him right
well.


XVIII.

Perceval rideth until nightfall, and findeth a great castle fortified
with a great drawbridge, and there were tall ancient towers within.  He
espied at the door a squire that had the weight of a chain on his neck,
and at the other end the chain was fixed to a great bulk of iron.  The
chain was as long as the length of the bridge.  Then cometh he over
against Perceval when he seeth him coming.

"Sir," saith he, "Meseemeth you believe in God?"

"Fair friend, so do I, the best I may."

"Sir, for God's sake, enter not this castle!"

"Wherefore, fair friend?" saith Perceval.

"Sir," saith he, "I will tell you.  I am Christian, even as are you,
and I am thrall within there and guard this gate, as you see.  But it
is the most cruel castle that I know, and it is called the Raving
Castle.  There be three knights within there, full young and comely,
but so soon as they see a knight of the New Law, forthwith are they out
of their senses, and all raving mad, so that nought may endure between
them.  Moreover, there is within one of the fairest damsels that saw I
ever.  She guardeth the knights so soon as they begin to rave, and so
much they dread her that they durst not disobey her commandment in
aught that she willeth, for many folk would they evilly entreat were it
not for her.  And for that I am their thrall they put up with me, and I
have no fear of them, but many is the Christian knight that hath come
in hither that never hath issued hence."

"Fair sweet friend," saith Perceval, "I will enter in thither and I
may, for I should not know this day how to go elsewhither, and true it
is that greater power hath God than the devil."

He entereth into the castle and alighteth in the midst of the courtyard.


XIX.

The damsel was at the windows of the hall, that was of passing great
beauty.  She cometh down as soon as she may, and seeth Perceval come in
and the cross on his shield, and knoweth well thereby that he is
Christian.

"Ha, Sir, for God's sake," saith she, "Come not up above, for there be
three of the comeliest knights that ever were seen that are playing at
tables and at dice in a chamber, and they are brothers-german.  They
will all go out of their senses so soon as they shall see you!"


XX.

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "Please God, so shall they not, and such a
miracle is good to see, for it is only right that all they who will not
believe in God should be raving mad when they see the things that come
of Him."

Perceval goeth up into the hall, all armed, for all that the damsel
saith.  She followeth him as fast as she may.  The three knights espied
Perceval all armed and the cross on his shield, and forthwith leapt up
and were beside themselves.  They rolled their eyes and tore themselves
and roared like devils.  There were axes and swords in the hall that
they go to lay hold on, and they are fain to leap upon Perceval, but no
power have they to do so, for such was the will of God.  When they saw
that they might not come a-nigh him, they ran either on other and so
slew themselves between them, nor would they stint their fighting
together for the damsel.  Perceval beheld the miracle of these folks
that were thus killed, and the damsel that made right great dole
thereof.

"Ha, damsel," saith he, "Weep not, but repent you of this false belief,
for they that are unwilling to believe in God shall die like mad folks
and devils!"

Perceval made the squires that were there within bear the bodies out of
the hall, and made them be cast into a running water, and straightway
slew all the other, for that they were not minded to believe.  The
castle was all emptied of the misbelieving folk save only the damsel
and those that waited upon her, and the Christian thrall that guarded
the gate.  Perceval set him forth of the chain, then led him up into
the hall and made him disarm him.  He found sundry right rich robes.
The damsel, that was of right great beauty, looked at him and saw that
he was a full comely knight, and well pleased she was with him.  She
honoured him in right great sort, but she might not forget the three
knights that were her brothers, and made sore dole for them.


XXI.

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "Nought availeth it to make this dole, but
take comfort on some other manner."

Perceval looked at the hall from one end to the other and saw that it
was right rich, and the damsel, in whom was full great beauty, stinted
of making dole to look at Perceval.  She seeth that he is comely knight
and gentle and tall and well furnished of good conditions, wherefore he
pleaseth her much, and forthwith beginneth she to love him, and saith
to herself that, so he would leave his God for the god in whom she
believed, right glad would she be thereof, and would make him lord of
her castle, for it seemed her that better might she not bestow it, and
sith that her brothers are dead, there may be no bringing of them back,
and therefore better would it be to forget her dole.  But little knew
she Perceval's thought, for had she known that which he thinketh, she
would have imagined not this; for, and had she been Christian he might
not have been drawn to love her in such sort as she thinketh, sith that
Josephus telleth us that never did he lose his virginity for woman, but
rather died virgin and chaste and clean of his body.  In this mind was
she still, nor never might she refrain her heart from him.  Thinketh
she rather that, and he knew she was minded to love him, right joyous
would he be thereof, for that she is of so passing beauty.  Perceval
asketh the damsel what she hath in her thought?

"Sir," saith she, "Nought think I but only good and you will."

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "Never, please God, shall there be hindrance
of me but that you renounce this evil Law and believe in the good."

"Sir," saith she, "Do you renounce yours for love of me, and I will do
your commandment and your will."


XXII.

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "Nought availeth to tell me this.  Were you
man like as you are woman, your end would have come with the others.
But, please God, your tribulation shall tend itself to good."

"Sir," saith she, "So you are willing to promise me that you will love
me like as knight ought to love damsel, I am well inclined to believe
in your God."

"Damsel, I promise you as I am a Christian that so you are willing to
receive baptism, I will love you as he that firmly believeth in God
ought to love damsel."

"Sir," saith she, "I ask no more of you."

She biddeth send for a holy man, a hermit that was in the forest
appurtenant, and right gladly came he when he heard the tidings. They
held her up and baptized her, both her and her damsels with her.
Perceval held her at the font.  Josephus witnesseth us in this history
that she had for name Celestre.  And great joy made she of her baptism,
and her affections turned she unto good.  The hermit remained there
with her, and taught her to understand the firm believe, and did the
service of Our Lord.  The damsel was of right good life and right holy,
and ended thereafter in many good works.


XXIII.

Perceval departed from the castle, and gave thanks to Our Lord and
praise, that He hath allowed him to conquer a castle so cruel and to
attorn it to the Law.  He went his way a great pace, all armed, until
he came into a country wherein was great grief being made, and the more
part said that he was come that should destroy their Law, for that
already had he won their strongest castle. He is come towards an
ancient castle that was at the head of a forest.  He looketh and seeth
at the entrance of the gateway a full great throng of folk.  He seeth a
squire come forth thence, and asketh him unto whom belongeth the castle.

"Sir," saith he, "It is Queen Jandree's, that hath made her be brought
before her gate with the folk you see yonder, for she hath heard tell
how the knights of the Raving Castle are dead, and another knight that
hath conquered the castle hath made the damsel be baptized, wherefore
much she marvelleth how this may be.  She is in much dread of losing
her land, for her brother Madeglant of Oriande is dead, so that she may
no longer look to none for succour, and she hath been told how the
knight that conquered the Raving Castle is the Best Knight of the
World, and that none may endure against him.  For this doubtance and
fear of him she is minded to go to one of her own castles that is
somewhat stronger."

Perceval departeth from the squire and rideth until they that were at
the entrance of the gateway espied him.  They saw the Red Cross that he
bare on his shield, and said to the Queen, "Lady, a Christian knight is
coming into this castle."

"Take heed," saith she, "that it be not he that is about to overthrow
our Law!"

Perceval cometh thither and alighteth, and cometh before the Queen all
armed.  The Queen asketh what he seeketh.


XXIV.

"Lady," saith he, "Nought seek I save good only to yourself so you
hinder it not."

"You come," saith she, "from the Raving Castle, there where three
brothers are slain, whereof is great loss."

"Lady," saith he, "At that castle was I, and now fain would I that your
own were at the will of Jesus Christ, in like manner as is that."

"By my head," saith she, "And your Lord hath so great power as is said,
so will it be."

"Lady, His virtue and His puissance are far greater than they say."

"That would I fain know," saith she, "presently, and I am fain to pray
you that you depart not from me until that it hath been proven."

Perceval granteth it gladly.  She returned into her castle and Perceval
with her.  When he was alighted he went up into the hall.  They that
were within marvelled them much that she should thus give consent, for
never, sithence that she had been blind, might she allow no knight of
the New Law to be so nigh her, and made slay all them that came into
her power, nor might she never see clear so long as she had one of them
before her.  Now is her disposition altered in such sort as that she
would fain she might see clear him that hath come in, for she hath been
told that he is the comeliest knight of the world and well seemeth to
be as good as they witness of him.


XXV.

Perceval remained there gladly for that he saw the lady's cruelty was
somewhat slackened, and it seemed him that it would be great joy and
she were willing to turn to God, and they that are within there, for
well he knoweth that so she should hold to the New Law, all they of the
land would be of the same mind.  When Perceval had lain the night at
the castle, the Lady on the morrow sent for all the more powerful of
her land, and came forth of her chamber into the hall where Perceval
was, seeing as clear as ever she had seen aforetime.

"Lords," saith she, "Hearken ye all, for now will I tell you the truth
like as it hath befallen me.  I was lying in my bed last night, and
well know ye that I saw not a whit, and made my orisons to our gods
that they would restore me my sight.  It seemed me they made answer
that they had no power so to do, but that I should make be slain the
knight that was arrived here, and that and I did not, sore wroth would
they be with me.  And when I had heard their voices say that nought
might they avail me as for that I had prayed of them, I remembered me
of the Lord in whom they that hold the New Law believe.  And I prayed
Him right sweetly that, and so it were that He had such virtue and such
puissance as many said, He would make me see clear, so as that I might
believe in Him.  At that hour I fell on sleep, and meseemed that I saw
one of the fairest Ladies in the world, and she was delivered of a
Child therewithin, and He had about Him a great brightness of light
like it were the sun shone at right noonday."


XXVI.

"When the Child was born, so passing fair was He and so passing gentle
and of so sweet semblant that the looks of Him pleased me well; and
meseemed that at His deliverance there was a company of folk the
fairest that were seen ever, and they were like as it had been birds
and made full great joy.  And methought that an ancient man that was
with Her, told me that My Lady had lost no whit of her maidenhood for
the Child.  Well pleased was I the while this thing lasted me.  It
seemed me that I saw it like as I do you.  Thereafter, methought I saw
a Man bound to a stake, in whom was great sweetness and humility, and
an evil folk beat Him with scourges and rods right cruelly, so that the
blood ran down thereof.  They would have no mercy on Him.  Of this
might I not hold myself but that I wept for pity of Him.  Therewithal I
awoke and marvelled much whence it should come and what it might be.
But in anyway it pleased me much that I had seen it.  It seemed me
after this, that I saw the same Man that had been bound to the stake
set upon a cross, and nailed thereon right grievously and smitten in
the side with a spear, whereof had I such great pity that needs must I
weep of the sore pain that I saw Him suffer.  I saw the Lady at the
feet of the cross, and knew her again that I had seen delivered of the
Child, but none might set in writing the great dole that she made.  On
the other side of the cross was a man that seemed not joyful, but he
recomforted the Lady the fairest he might.  And another folk were there
that collected His blood in a most holy Vessel that one of them held
for it."


XXVII.

"Afterward, methought I saw Him taken down of hanging on the cross, and
set in a sepulchre of stone.  Thereof had I great pity for, so long as
meseemed I saw Him thus never might I withhold me from weeping.  And so
soon as the pity came into my heart, and the tears into my eyes, I had
my sight even as you see.  In such a Lord as this ought one to believe,
for He suffered death when He might lightly have avoided it had He so
willed, but He did it to save His people.  In this Lord I will that ye
all believe, and so renounce our false gods, for they be devils and
therefore may not aid us nor avail us.  And he that will not believe,
him will I make be slain or die a shameful death."

The Lady made her be held up and baptized, and all them that would not
do the same she made be destroyed and banished.  This history telleth
us that her name was Salubre.  She was good lady and well believed in
God, and so holy life led she thereafter that in a hermitage she died.
Perceval departed from the castle right joyous in his heart of the Lady
and her people that believed in the New Law.



BRANCH XXXIII.

TITLE I.

Afterward, this title telleth us that Meliot of Logres was departed
from Castle Perilous sound and whole, by virtue of the sword that
Lancelot had brought him, and of the cloth that he took in the Chapel
Perilous.  But sore sorrowful was he of the tidings he had heard that
Messire Gawain was in prison and he knew not where, but he had been
borne on hand that two knights that were kinsmen of them of the Raving
Castle that had slain one another, had shut him in prison on account of
Perceval that had won the castle.  Now, saith Meliot of Logres, never
shall he have ease again until he knoweth where Messire Gawain is.  He
rideth amidst a forest, and prayeth God grant him betimes to hear
witting of Messire Gawain.  The forest was strange and gloomy. He rode
until nightfall but might not find neither hold nor hermitage.  He
looketh right amidst the forest before him and seeth a damsel sitting
that bemoaneth herself full sore.  The moon was dark and the place
right foul of seeming and the forest gloomy of shadow.

"Ha, damsel, and what do you here at this hour?"

"Sir," saith she, "I may not amend it, the more is my sorrow. For the
place is more perilous than you think.  Look," saith she, "up above,
and you will see the occasion wherefore I am here."

Meliot looketh and seeth two knights all armed hanging up above the
damsel's head.  Thereof much marvelleth he.

"Ha, damsel," saith he, "Who slew these knights so foully?"

"Sir," saith she, "The Knight of the Galley that singeth in the sea."

"And wherefore hath he hanged them in such wise?"

"For this," saith she, "that they believed in God and His sweet Mother.
And so behoveth me to watch them here for forty days, that none take
them down of hanging, for and they were taken hence he would lose his
castle, he saith, and would cut off my head."

"By my head," saith Meliot, "Such watch is foul shame to damsel, and no
longer shall you remain here."

"Ha, Sir," saith the damsel, "Then shall I be a dead woman, for he is
of so great cruelty that none scarce might protect me against him."


II.

"Damsel," saith Meliot, "Foul shame would it be and I left here these
knights in such wise for the reproach of other knights."

Meliot made them graves with his sword, and so buried them the best he
might.

"Sir," saith the damsel, "And you take not thought to protect me, the
knight will slay me.  To-morrow, when he findeth not the knights, he
will search all the forest to look for me."

Meliot and the damsel together go their way through the forest until
they come to a chapel where was wont to be a hermit that the Knight of
the Galley had destroyed.  He helpeth down the damsel of his horse, and
afterward they entered into the chapel, where was a great brightness of
light, and a damsel was there that kept watch over a dead knight.
Meliot marvelleth him much.

"Damsel," said Meliot, "When was this knight killed?"

"Sir, yesterday the Knight of the Galley slew him on the seashore,
wherefore behoveth me thus keep watch, and in the morning will he come
hither or ever he go to the castle where Messire Gawain hath to-morrow
to fight with a lion, all unarmed, and my Lady, that is mistress both
of me and of this damsel you have brought hither, will likewise be
brought to-morrow to the place where the lion is to slay Messire
Gawain, and she in like sort will be afterward delivered to the lion
and she renounce not the New Law wherein the knight that came from
Raving Castle, whereof she is lady, hath made her believe; and we
ourselves shall be in like manner devoured along with her.  But this
damsel would still have taken respite of my death and she had still
kept guard over the knights that were so foully hanged above her.
Natheless, sith that you have taken them down from where they were
hanging, you have done a right good deed, whatsoever betide, for the
Lord of the Red Tower will give his castle to the knight for this."

Meliot is right joyous of the tidings that he hath heard of Messire
Gawain that he is still on live, for well knoweth he, sith that the
Knight of the Galley will come by the chapel there, that he will come
thither or ever Messire Gawain doth battle with the lion.

"Sir," saith the damsel of the chapel, "For God's sake, take this
damsel to a place of safety, for the knight will be so wood mad of
wrath and despite so soon as he cometh hither, that he will be fain to
smite off her head forthwith, and of yourself also have I great fear."


III.

"Damsel," saith Meliot, "The knight is but a man like as am I."

"Yea, Sir, but stronger is he and more cruel than seem you to be."

Meliot was in the chapel the night until the morrow, and heard the
knight coming like a tempest, and he brought with him the lady of the
castle and reviled her from time to time, and Meliot seeth him come,
and a dwarf that followeth after him a great pace.  He crieth out to
him: "Sir, behold there the disloyal knight through whom you have lost
your castle.  Now haste! Avenge yourself of him!  After that will we go
to the death of Messire Gawain?"

Meliot, so soon as he espieth him, mounteth and maketh his arms ready.

"Is it you," saith the Knight of the Galley, "that hath trespassed on
my demesne and taken down my knights?"

"By my head, yours were they not!  Rather were they the knights of God,
and foul outrage have you done herein when you slew them so shamefully."

He goeth toward the knight without more words, and smiteth him so
passing strong amidst the breast that he pierceth the habergeon and
thrusteth all the iron of his spear into his body and afterward draweth
it back to him with a great wrench.  And the knight smiteth him so hard
on his shield that he maketh an ell's length pass beyond, for right
wroth was he that he was wounded. The dwarf crieth to him, "Away, then!
The knight endureth against you that have slain so many of them!"

The Knight of the Galley waxeth wood wrath.  He taketh his career, and
cometh as fast as his horse may carry him, and smiteth Meliot so
strongly that he breaketh his spear in such sort that he maketh both
him and his horse stagger.  But Meliot catcheth him better, for he
thrusteth the spear right through his body and hurleth against him at
the by-passing with such stoutness and force that he maketh him fall
dead to the ground from his horse.  The dwarf thought to escape, but
Meliot smote off his head, whereof the damsels gave him great thanks,
for many a mischief had he wrought them.


IV.

Meliot buried the knight that he found in the chapel dead, then told
the damsels that he might abide no longer, but would go succour Messire
Gawain and he might.  The damsels were horsed to their will, for one
had the horse of the knight that was slain and the other the horse of
the dwarf.  The other damsel was come upon a mule, and they said that
they would go back, for the country was made all safe by the death of
the knight.  They thanked Meliot much, for they say truly that he hath
rescued them from death.  Meliot departeth from the damsels and goeth
right amidst the forest as he that would most fain hear tidings of
Messire Gawain.  When he had ridden of a long space, he met a knight
that was coming all armed at great pace.

"Sir Knight," saith he to Meliot, "Can you tell me tidings of the
Knight of the Galley?"

"What have you to do therein?" saith Meliot.

"Sir, the Lord of the Red Tower hath made bring Messire Gawain into a
launde of this forest, and there, all unarmed, must he do battle with a
lion.  So my lord is waiting for the Knight of the Galley, that is to
bring two damsels thither that the lion will devour when he shall have
slain Messire Gawain."

"Will the battle be presently?" saith Meliot.

"Yea, Sir," saith the knight, "Soon enough betimes, for Messire Gawain
hath already been led thither and there bound to a stake until such
time as the lion shall be come.  Then will he be unbound, but even then
two knights all armed will keep watch on him.  But tell me tidings of
the Knight of the Galley, and you have seen him?"

"Go forward," saith he, "and you will hear tidings of him."

Meliot departeth thereupon, a great gallop, and cometh nigh the launde
whereunto Messire Gawain had been brought.  He espied the two knights
that kept guard over him, and if that Messire Gawain were in fear,
little marvel was it, for he thought that his end had come.  Meliot
espied him bound to an iron staple with cords about the body on all
sides so that he might not move.  Meliot hath great pity thereof in his
heart, and saith to himself that he will die there sooner than Messire
Gawain shall die.  He clappeth spurs to his horse when he cometh nigh
the knights, and overtaketh one of them with such a rush that he
thrusteth his spear right through his body, and beareth him down dead.
The other was fain to go to the castle for succour when he saw his
fellow dead.  Meliot slew him forthwith.  He cometh to Messire Gawain,
and so unbindeth him and cutteth the cords wherewith he is bound.

"Sir," saith he, "I am Meliot of Logres, your knight."


V.

When Messire Gawain felt himself unbound, no need to ask whether he had
joy thereof.  The tidings were come to the Red Court that Queen Jandree
was christened and baptized, and that the Knight was come that had such
force and puissance in him that none might endure against him for the
God in whom he believed, and they knew likewise that the Knight of the
Galley was dead, and Messire Gawain unbound and the knights that
guarded him slain.  They say that there may they not abide, so they
depart from the castle and say that they will cross the sea to protect
their bodies, for that there they may have no safety.


VI.

When Meliot had delivered Messire Gawain he made him be armed with the
arms, such as they were, of one of the knights he had slain.  Messire
Gawain mounted on a horse such as pleased him, and right great joy had
he at heart.  They marvel much how it is that they of the castle have
not come after them, but they know not their thought nor how they are
scared.

"Meliot," saith Messire Gawain, "You have delivered me from death this
time and one other, nor never had I acquaintance with any knight that
hath done so much for me in so short a time as have you."

They departed the speediest they might and rode nigh enow to the
castle, but they heard none moving within nor any noise, nor saw they
none issue forth, and much marvelled they that none should come after
them.  They rode until they came to the head of the forest and caught
sight of the sea that was nigh enough before them, and saw that there
was a great clashing of arms at the brink of the sea.  A single knight
was doing battle with all them that would fain have entered into a
ship, and held stour so stiffly against them that he toppled the more
part into the sea. They went thither as fast as they might, and when
they drew nigh to the ship they knew that it was Perceval by his arms
and his shield.  Or ever they reached it, the ship was put off into the
midst of the sea, wherein he was launched of his own great hardiment,
and they went on fighting against him within the ship.

"Meliot," saith Messire Gawain, "See you, there is Perceval the Good
Knight, and now may we say of a truth that he is in sore peril of
death; for that ship, save God bethink Him thereof, shall arrive in
such manner and in such a place as that never more shall we have no
witting of him, and, so he perish for ever, no knight on live may have
power to set forward the Law of our Lord."


VII.

Messire Gawain seeth the ship going further away, and Perceval that
defendeth himself therein against them that set upon him. Right heavy
is he that he came not sooner, or ever the ship had put off from the
land.  He turneth back, he and Meliot together, and right sorrowful was
Messire Gawain of Perceval, for they knew not in what land he might
arrive, and, might he have followed, right gladly would he have gone
after him to aid him.  They have ridden until they meet a knight.
Messire Gawain asketh him whence he cometh, and he saith from King
Arthur's court.

"What tidings can you tell us thereof?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Sir, bad enough!" saith he.  "King Arthur hath neglected all his
knights for Briant of the Isles, and hath put one of his best knights
in prison."

"What is his name?" saith Messire Gawain.

"Sir, he is called Lancelot of the Lake.  He had reconquered all the
islands that had been reft of King Arthur, and slain King Madeglant,
and conquered the land of Oriande that he turned to the belief of the
Saviour of the World, and, so soon as he had conquered his enemies,
King Arthur sent for him forthwith and straightway put him in his
prison by the counsel of Briant of the Isles.  But King Arthur will
have a surfeit of friends betimes; for King Claudas hath assembled his
folk in great plenty to reconquer the kingdom of Oriande and come back
upon King Arthur by the counsel of Briant of the Isles that betrayeth
the King, for he hath made him his Seneschal and commander of all his
land."

"Sir Knight," saith Messire Gawain, "Needs must the King miscarry that
setteth aside the counsel of his good knights for the leasings of a
traitor."

Thereupon the knight departed from Messire Gawain.  Right heavy is he
of this that he hath said, that the King hath put Lancelot in prison.
Never tofore did he aught whereby he wrought so much to blame.



BRANCH XXXIV.

TITLE I.

Hereupon the story is silent of Messire Gawain and Meliot and speaketh
of King Claudas that hath assembled a great folk by the counsel of
Briant of the Isles to come into the land of King Arthur, for he
knoweth that it is disgarnished of the good knights that wont there to
be, and he knoweth all the secret plottings of the court and what power
King Arthur hath withal. He draweth toward his land the nighest he may,
and hath won back the kingdom of Oriande all at his will.  But they of
Albanie still hold against him and challenge the land the best they
may. Tidings thereof come to the court of King Arthur, and they of the
country sent him word that so he send them not succour betimes they
will yield up the land to King Claudas, and oftentimes they long after
Lancelot, and say that so they had a defender like him, the islands
would be all at peace.  The King sent Briant of the Isles thither many
times, that ever incontinent returned thence discomfit, but never sent
he thither him that should have power to protect the land against King
Claudas.  King Arthur was sore troubled, for no witting had he of
Messire Gawain nor Messire Ywain nor of others whereby his court had
use of right to be feared and dreaded and of high renown throughout all
other kingdoms.  The King was one day in the hall at Cardoil, right
heavy; and he was at one of the windows, and remembered him of the
Queen and of his good knights that he wont to see oftener at court,
whereof the more part were dead, and of the adventures that wont to
befall therein whereof they saw none no longer. Lucan the Butler seeth
him right heavy and draweth nigh unto him quietly.


II.

"Sir," saith he, "Meseemeth you are without joy."

"Lucan," said the King, "Joy hath been somewhat far from me sithence
that the Queen hath been dead, and Gawain and the other knights have
held aloof from my court so that they deign come hither no longer.
Moreover, King Claudas warreth upon me and conquereth my lands so that
no power have I to rescue me for default of my knights."

"Sir," saith Lucan, "Herein is there nought whereof you have right to
accuse any save yourself alone.  For you have done evil unto him that
hath served you, and good unto them that are traitors to you.  You have
one of the best knights in the world and the most loyal in your prison,
wherefore all the other hold them aloof from your court.  Lancelot had
served you well by his good will and by his good knighthood, nor never
had he done you any disservice whereof you might in justice have done
him such shame; nor never will your enemies withhold them from you nor
have dread of you save only through him and other your good knights.
And know of a truth that Lancelot and Messire Gawain are the best of
your court."

"Lucan," saith King Arthur, "So thought I ever again to have affiance
in him, I would make him be set forth of my prison, for well I know
that I have wrought discourteously toward him; and Lancelot is of a
great heart, wherefore would he not slacken of his despite for that
which hath been done unto him until such time as he should be avenged
thereof, for no king is there in the world, how puissant soever he be,
against whom he durst not well maintain his right."


III.

"Sir," saith Lucan, "Lancelot well knoweth that and you had taken no
counsel but your own, he would not have been thus entreated, and I dare
well say that never so long as he liveth will he misdo in aught towards
you, for he hath in him much valour and loyalty, as many a time have
you had good cause to know.  Wherefore, and you would fain have aid and
succour and hold your realm again, behoveth you set him forth of the
prison, or otherwise never will you succeed herein, and, if you do not
so, you will lose your land by treason."

The King held by the counsel of Lucan the Butler.  He made bring
Lancelot before him into the midst of the hall, that was somewhat made
ean of his being in prison, but he bore him as he wont, nor might none
look at him to whom he seemed not to be good knight. "Lancelot," saith
the King, "How is it with you?"

"Sir," saith he, "It hath been ill with me long time, but, please God,
it shall be better hereafter."

"Lancelot," saith the King, "I repent me of this that I have done to
you, and I have bethought me much of the good services I have found in
you, wherefore I will do you amends thereof at your will, in such sort
as that the love between us shall be whole as it was tofore."


IV.

"Sir," saith Lancelot, "Your amends love I much, and your love more
than of any other; but never, please God, will I misdo you for aught
that you may have done to me, for it is well known that I have not been
in prison for no treason I have done, nor for no folly, but only for
that it was your will.  Never will it be reproached me as of shame,
and, sith that you have done me nought whereof I may have blame nor
reproach, my devoir it is to withhold me from hating you; for you are
my lord, and if that you do me ill, without flattery of myself the ill
you do me is your own; but, please God, whatsoever you have done me,
never shall my aid fail you, rather, everywhere will I set my body in
adventure for your love, in like sort as I have done many a time."


V.

In the court of King Arthur was right great joy of the most part when
they heard that Lancelot was set forth of prison, but not a whit
rejoiced were Briant and his folk.  The King commanded that Lancelot
should be well cared for and made whole again, and that all should be
at his commandment.  The court was all overjoyed thereof, and they
said: now at last might the King make war in good assurance.  Lancelot
was foremost in the King's court and more redoubted than was ever
another of the knights.  Briant of the Isles came one day before the
King.

"Sir," saith he, "Behold, here is Lancelot that wounded me in your
service, wherefore I will that he know I am his enemy."

"Briant," saith Lancelot, "And if that you deserved it tofore, well may
you be sorry thereof, and sith that you wish to be mine enemy, your
friend will I not be.  For well may I deem of your love according as I
have found it in you."

"Sir," saith Briant to the King, "You are my lord, and I am one you are
bound to protect.  You know well that so rich am I in lands and so
puissant in friends that I may well despise mine enemy, nor will I not
remain at your court so long as Lancelot is therein.  Say not that I
depart thence with any shame as toward myself.  Rather thus go I hence
as one that will gladly avenge me, so I have place and freedom, and I
see plainly and know that you and your court love him far better than
you love me, wherefore behoveth me take thought thereof."

"Briant," saith the King, "Remain as yet, and I will make amends for
you to Lancelot, and I myself will make amends for him to you."


VI.

"Sir," saith Briant, "By the faith that I owe to you, none amends will
I have of him nor other until such time as I have drawn as much blood
of his body as did he of mine, and I will well that he know it."

With that Briant departeth from the court all wrathful, but if that
Lancelot had not feared to anger the King, Briant would not have ridden
a league English or ever he had followed and forced him to fight.
Briant goeth toward the Castle of the Hard Rock, and saith that better
would it have been for the King that Lancelot were still in prison, for
that such a plea will he move against him and he may bring it to bear,
as that he shall lose thereof the best parcel of his land.  He is gone
into the land of King Claudas, and saith that now at last hath he need
of his aid, for Lancelot is issued forth of the King's prison and is
better loved at court than all other, so that the King believeth in no
counsel save his only.  King Claudas sweareth unto him and maketh
pledge that never will he fail him, and Briant to him again.



BRANCH XXXV.

TITLE I.

Herewithal is the story silent of Briant and talketh of Perceval, that
the ship beareth away right swiftly; but so long hath he held battle
therein that every one hath he slain of them that were in the ship save
only the pilot that steereth her, for him hath he in covenant that he
will believe in God and renounce his evil Law.  Perceval is far from
land so that he seeth nought but sea only, and the ship speedeth
onward, and God guideth him, as one that believeth in Him and loveth
Him and serveth Him of a good heart.  The ship ran on by night and by
day as it pleased God, until that they saw a castle and an island of
the sea.  He asked his pilot if he knew what castle it was.

"Certes," saith he, "Not I, for so far have we run that I know not
neither the sea nor the stars."

They come nigh the castle, and saw four that sounded bells at the four
corners of the town, right sweetly, and they that sounded them were
clad in white garments.  They are come thither.


II.

So soon as the ship had taken haven under the castle, the sea
withdraweth itself back, so that the ship is left on dry land. None
were therein save Perceval, his horse, and the pilot.  They issued
forth of the ship and went by the side of the sea toward the castle,
and therein were the fairest halls and the fairest mansions that any
might see ever.  He Looketh underneath a tree that was tall and broad
and seeth the fairest fountain and the clearest that any may devise,
and it was all surrounded of rich pillars, and the gravel thereof
seemed to be gold and precious stones.  Above this fountain were two
men sitting, their beards and hair whiter than driven snow, albeit they
seemed young of visage.  So soon as they saw Perceval they dressed them
to meet him, and bowed down and worshipped the shield that he bare at
his neck, and kissed the cross and then the boss wherein were the
hallows.

"Sir," say they, "Marvel not of this that we do, for well knew we the
knight that bare this shield tofore you.  Many a time we saw him or
ever God were crucified."

Perceval marvelleth much of this that they say, for they talk of a time
that is long agone.


III.

"Lords, know ye then how he was named?"

Say they, "Joseph of Abarimacie, but no cross was there on the shield
before the death of Jesus Christ.  But he had it set thereon after the
crucifixion of Jesus Christ for the sake of the Saviour that he loved
so well."

Perceval took off the shield from his neck, and one of the worshipful
men setteth upon it as it were a posy of herbs that was blooming with
the fairest flowers in the world.  Perceval looketh beyond the fountain
and seeth in a right fair place a round vessel like as it were ivory,
and it was so large that there was a knight within, all armed.  He
looketh thereinto and seeth the knight, and speaketh unto him many
times, but never the more willeth the knight to answer him.  Perceval
looketh at him in wonderment, and cometh back to the good men and
asketh them who is this knight, and they tell him that he may know not
as yet.  They lead him to a great hall and bear his shield before him,
whereof they make right great joy, and show thereunto great worship.
He seeth the hall right rich, for hall so rich and so fair had he seen
never.  It was hung about with right rich cloths of silk, and in the
midst of the hall was imaged the Saviour of the World so as He is in
His majesty, with the apostles about Him, and within were great
galleries that were full of folk and seemed to be of great holiness,
and so were they, for had they not been good men they might not there
have remained.


IV.

"Sir," say the two Masters to Perceval, "This house that you see here
so rich, is the hall royal."

"By my faith," saith Perceval, "So ought it well to be, for never saw I
none so much of worth."

He Looketh all around, and seeth the richest tables of gold and ivory
that he saw ever.  One of the Masters clappeth his hands thrice, and
three and thirty men come into the hall all in a company.  They were
clad in white garments, and not one of them but had a red cross in the
midst of his breast, and they seemed to be all of an age.  As soon as
they enter into the hall they do worship to God Our Lord and set out
their cups.  Then went they to wash at a great laver of gold, and then
went to sit at the tables.  The Masters made Perceval sit at the most
master-table with themselves.  They were served thereat right
gloriously, and Perceval looked about him more gladlier than he ate.


V.

And while he was thus looking, he seeth a chain of gold come down above
him loaded with precious stones, and in the midst thereof was a crown
of gold.  The chain descended a great length and held on to nought save
to the will of Our Lord only.  As soon as the Masters saw it descending
they opened a great wide pit that was in the midst of the hall, so that
one could see the hole all openly.  As soon as the entrance of this pit
was discovered, there issued thence the greatest cry and most dolorous
that any heard ever, and when the worshipful men hear it, they
stretched out their hands towards Our Lord and all began to weep.
Perceval heareth this dolour, and marvelleth much what it may be.  He
seeth that the chain of gold descendeth thither and is there stayed
until they have well-nigh eaten, and then draweth itself again into the
air and so goeth again aloft.  But Perceval knoweth not what became
thereof, and the Master covereth the pit again, that was right grisly
to see, and pitiful to hear were the voices that issued therefrom.


VI.

The Good Men rose from the tables when they had eaten, and gave thanks
right sweetly to Our Lord; and then returned thither whence they had
come.

"Sir," saith the Master to Perceval, "The chain of gold that you have
seen is right precious and the crown of gold likewise.  But never may
you issue forth from hence save you promise to return so soon as you
shall see the ship and the sail crossed of a red cross; otherwise may
you not depart hence."

"Tell me," saith he, "of the chain of gold and the crown, what it may
be?"

"We will tell you not," saith one of the Masters, "Save you promise
that which I tell you."

"Certes, Sir," saith Perceval, "I promise you faithfully, that so soon
as I shall have done that I have to do for my lady my mother and one
other, that I will return hither, so I be on live and I see your ship
so marked as you say."

"Yea, be you faithful to the end herein, and you shall have the crown
of gold upon your head so soon as you return, and so shall you be
seated in the throne, and shall be king of an island that is near to
this, right plenteous of all things good, for nought is there in the
world that is there lacking that is needful for man's body.  King
Hermit was the king thereof that thus hath garnished it, and for that
he approved himself so well in this kingdom, and that they who are in
the island consented thereto, is he chosen to be king of a greater
realm.  Now they desire that another worshipful man be sent them for
king, that shall do for them as much good as did he, but take you good
heed, sith that you will be king therein, that the island be well
garnished; for, and you garnish it not well, you will be put into the
Poverty-stricken Island, the crying whereof you have but now since
heard, and the crown thereof will again be reft from you.  For they
that have been kings of the Plenteous Island and have not well approved
them, are among the folk that you saw in the Poverty-stricken Island,
lacking in all things good.  And so I tell you that King Hermit, whom
you will succeed, hath sent thither a great part of his folk.  There
are the heads sealed in silver, and the heads sealed in lead, and the
bodies whereunto these heads belonged; I tell you that you must make
come thither the head both of the King and of the Queen.  But of the
other I tell you that they are in the Poverty-stricken Island.  But we
know not whether they shall ever issue forth thence."


VII.

"Sir," saith Perceval, "Tell me of the knight that is all armed in the
ivory vessel, who he is, and what is the name of this castle?"

"You may not know," saith the Master, "until your return.  But tell me
tidings of the most Holy Graal, that you reconquered, is it still in
the holy chapel that was King Fisherman's?"

"Yea, Sir," saith Perceval, "And the sword wherewith S. John was
beheaded, and other hallows in great plenty."

"I saw the Graal," saith the Master, "or ever Joseph, that was uncle to
King Fisherman, collected therein the blood or Jesus Christ.  Know that
well am I acquainted with all your lineage, and of what folk you were
born.  For your good knighthood and for your good cleanness and for
your good valour came you in hither, for such was Our Lord's will, and
take heed that you be ready when place shall be, and time shall come,
and you shall see the ship apparelled."

"Sir," saith Perceval, "Most willingly shall I return, nor never would
I have sought to depart but for my lady my mother, and for my sister,
for never have I seen no place that so much hath pleased me."

He was right well harboured the night within, and in the morning, or
ever he departed, heard a holy mass in a holy chapel the fairest that
he had seen ever.  The Master cometh to him after the mass and bringeth
him a shield as white as snow.  Afterwards, he saith, "You will leave
me your shield within for token of your coming and will bear this."

"Sir," saith Perceval, "I will do your pleasure."

He hath taken leave, and so departeth from the rich mansion, and
findeth the ship all apparelled, and heareth sound the bells at his
forth-going the same as at his coming.  He entereth into the ship and
the sail is set.  He leaveth the land far behind, and the pilot
steereth the ship and Our Lord God guideth and leadeth him.  The ship
runneth a great speed, for far enough had she to run, but God made her
speed as He would, for He knew the passing great goodness and worth of
the knight that was within.


VIII.

God hath guided and led the ship by day and by night until that she
arrived at an island where was a castle right ancient, but it seemed
not to be over-rich, rather it showed as had it been of great lordship
in days of yore.  They cast anchor, and Perceval is come toward the
castle and entereth in all armed.  He seeth the castle large, and the
dwelling chambers fallen down and the house-place roofless, and he
seeth a lady sitting before the steps of an old hall.  She rose up as
soon as she saw him, but she was right poorly clad.  It seemed well by
her body and her cheer and her bearing that she was a gentlewoman, and
he seeth that two damsels come with her that are young of age and are
as poorly clad as is the lady.

"Sir," saith she to Perceval, "Welcome may you be.  No knight have I
seen enter this castle of a long time."

"Lady," saith Perceval, "God grant you joy and honour!"

"Sir," saith she, "Need have we thereof, for none scarce have I had
this long while past."

She leadeth him into a great ancient hall that was right poorly
garnished.

"Sir," saith she, "Here will you harbour you the night, and you would
take in good part that we may do and you knew the plight of this
castle."

She maketh him be unarmed of a servant that was there within, and the
damsels come before him and serve him right sweetly.  The lady bringeth
him a mantle to do on.

"Sir," saith she, "Within are no better garments wherewith to show you
honour than this."

Perceval looketh on the damsels and hath great pity of them, for so
well shapen were they of limb and body as that nature might not have
better fashioned them, and all the beauty that may be in woman's body
was in them, and all the sweetness and simpleness.


IX.

"Lady," saith Perceval, "Is this castle, then, not yours?"

"Sir," saith she, "So much is all that remaineth unto me of all my
land, and you see there my daughters of whom is it right sore pity, for
nought have they but what you see, albeit gentlewomen are they and of
high lineage, but their kinsfolk are too far away, and a knight that is
right cruel hath reft us of our land sithence that my lord was dead,
and holdeth a son of mine in his prison, whereof I am right sorrowful,
for he is one of the comeliest knights in the world.  He had not been
knight more than four years when he took him, and now may I aid neither
myself nor other, but I have heard tell that there is a knight in the
land of Wales that was the son of Alain li Gros of the Valleys of
Camelot, and he is the Best Knight in the World, and this Alain was
brother of Calobrutus, whose wife was I, and of whom I had my son and
these two daughters.  This know I well, that and the Good Knight that
is so near akin to them were by any adventure to come into this island,
I should have my son again, and my daughters that are disherited would
have their lands again freely, and so should I be brought out of sore
pain and poverty.  I am of another lineage that is full far away, for
King Ban of Benoic that is dead was mine uncle, but he hath a son that
is a right good knight as I have been told, so that and one of these
two should come nigh me in any of these islands right joyous should I
be thereof."


X.

Perceval heareth that the two damsels are his uncle's daughters, and
hath great pity thereof.

"Lady," saith he, "How is he named that is in prison?"

"Sir," saith she, "Galobruns, and he that holdeth him in prison is
named Gohaz of the Castle of the Whale."

"Is his castle near this, Lady?" saith he.

"Sir, there is but an arm of the sea to cross, and in all these islands
of the sea is there none that hath any puissance but he only, and so
assured is he that no dread hath he of any.  For none that is in this
land durst offend against him.  Sir, one thing hath he bid me do,
whereof I am sore grieved, that and I send him not one of my daughters,
he hath sworn his oath that he will reave me of my castle."

"Lady," saith Perceval, "An oath is not always kept.  To the two
damsels, please God, shall he do no shame, and right heavy am I of that
he hath done already, for they were daughters of mine uncle.  Alain li
Gros was my father and Galobrutus my uncle, and many another good man
that now is dead."


XI.

When the damsels heard this, they kneeled down before him, and began to
weep for joy and kiss his hands, and pray him for God's sake have mercy
on them and on their brother.  And he saith that he will not depart
from their land until he hath done all he may. He remaineth the night
in the castle and his mariner likewise. The lady made great joy of
Perceval, and did him all the honour she might.  When the morrow came
they showed him the land of the King that had reft them of their land,
but the lady could not tell him where her son was in prison.  He
departeth and cometh back to his ship when he hath taken leave of the
lady and the damsels, and right glad was he to know that the damsels
were so nigh to him of kin.  So he prayeth God grant him that he may be
able to give them back their land and bring them out of the poverty
wherein they are.  He roweth until that he is come under a rock,
wherein was a cave at top round and narrow and secure like as it were a
little house.  Perceval looketh on that side, and seeth a man sitting
within.  He maketh the ship draw nigh the rock, then looketh and seeth
the cutting of a way that went upwards through the rock.  He is come
forth of the ship and goeth up the little path until he cometh into the
little house.  He findeth within one of the comeliest knights in the
world.  He had a ring at his feet and a collar on his neck with a chain
whereof the other end was fixed by a staple into a great ledge of the
rock.  He rose up over against Perceval as soon as he saw him.

"Sir Knight," saith Perceval, "You are well made fast."

"Sir, that irketh me," saith the knight, "Better should I like myself
elsewhere than here."

"You would be right," saith Perceval, "For you are in right evil plight
in the midst of this sea.  Have you aught within to eat or to drink?"

"Sir," saith he, "The daughter of the Sick Knight that dwelleth in the
island hard by, sendeth me every day in a boat as much meat as I may
eat, for she hath great pity of me.  The King that hath imprisoned me
here hath reft her castles like as he hath those of my lady my mother."

"May none remove you hence?"

"Sir, in no wise, save he that set me here, for he keepeth with him the
key of the lock, and he told me when he departed hence that never more
should I issue forth."

"By my head," saith Perceval, "but you shall!  And you were the son of
Galobrutus, you were the son of mine uncle," saith Perceval, "and I of
yours, so that it would be a reproach to me for evermore and I left you
in this prison."


XII.

When Galobruns heareth that he is his uncle's son, great joy hath he
thereof.  He would have fallen at his feet, but Perceval would not, and
said to him, "Now be well assured, for I will seek your deliverance."

He cometh down from the rock, and so entereth the ship and roweth of a
long space.  He looketh before him and seeth a right rich island and a
right plenteous, and on the other side he seeth in a little islet a
knight that is mounted up in a tall tree that was right broad with many
boughs.  There was a damsel with him, that had climbed up also for
dread of a serpent, great and evil-favoured that had issued from a hole
in a mountain.  The damsel seeth Perceval's ship coming, and crieth out
to him.

"Ha, Sir," saith she, "Come to help this King that is up above, and me
that am a damsel!"

"Whereof are you afeard, damsel?" saith Perceval.

"Of a great serpent, Sir," saith she, "that hath made us climb up,
whereof ought I not to be sorry, for this King hath carried me off from
my father's house, and would have done me shame of my body and this
serpent had not run upon him."

"And what is the King's name, damsel?" saith Perceval.

"Sir, he is called Gohaz of the Castle of the Whale.  This great land
is his own that is so plenteous, and other lands enow that he hath reft
of my father and of other."

The King had great shame of this that the damsel told him, and made
answer never a word.  Perceval understandeth that it was he that held
his cousin in prison, and is issued from the ship forthwith, sword
drawn.  The serpent seeth him, and cometh toward him, jaws yawning, and
casteth forth fire and flame in great plenty.  Perceval thrusteth his
sword right through the gullet.

"Now may you come down," saith he to the King.

"Sir," saith he, "The key of a chain wherewith a certain knight is
bound hath fallen, and the serpent seized it."

Perceval rendeth open the throat and findeth the key forthwith, all
red-hot with the fire of the serpent.  The King cometh down, that hath
no dread of aught, but cometh, rather, as he ought, to thank Perceval
of the goodness he had done him, and Perceval seizeth him between his
arms and beareth him away to the ship.


XIII.

"Sir Knight," saith Gohaz, "Take heed what you do, for I am King of
this land."

"Therefore," saith Perceval, "I do it.  For, had it been another I
should do it not."

"Ha, Sir," saith the damsel, "Leave me not here to get forth as I may,
but help me until that I shall be in the house of my father, the Sick
Knight, that is sore grieved on my account."

Perceval understandeth that it is the damsel of whom Galobruns spake
such praise.  He goeth to bring her down from the tree, then bringeth
her into the ship, and so goeth back toward the rock where his cousin
was.

"Sir Knight," saith Gohaz, "Where will you put me?"

"I will put you," saith he, "as an enemy, there, where you have put the
son of mine uncle in prison; so shall I avenge me of you, and he also
at his will."

When the King heard this, he was glad thereof not a whit, and the
damsel was loath not a whit, whom he had thus disherited.  They row
until they come to the rock.  Perceval issueth forth of the ship, and
bringeth Gohaz up maugre his head.  Galobruns seeth him coming and
maketh great joy thereof, and Perceval saith to him: "Behold here your
mortal enemy!  Now do your will of him!"

He taketh the key and so looseth him of the irons wherein he was
imprisoned.


XIV.

"Galobruns," saith Perceval, "Now may you do your pleasure of your
enemy?"

"Sir," saith he, "Right gladly!"

He maketh fast the irons on his feet that he had upon his own, and
afterward setteth the collar on his neck.

"Now let him be here," saith he, "in such sort and in such prison as he
put me; for well I know that he will be succoured of none."

After that, he flingeth the key into the sea as far as he might, and so
seemed it to Galobruns that he well avenged himself in such wise, and
better than if he had killed him.  Perceval alloweth him everything
therein at his will.  They enter into the ship and leave Gohaz all
sorrowing on the rock, that never thereafter ate nor drank.  And
Perceval bringeth his cousin and the damsel, and they row until that
they come into their land, and Perceval maketh send for all the folk of
King Gohaz and maketh all the more powerful do sure homage to Galobruns
and his sisters in such sort that the land was all at their will.  He
sojourned there so long as it pleased him, and then departed and took
leave of the damsel and Galobruns, that thanked him much for the lands
that he had again through him.


XV.

Perceval hath rowed until that he is come nigh a castle that was
burning fiercely with a great flame, and seeth a hermitage upon the sea
hard by.  He seeth the hermit at the door of the chapel, and asketh him
what the castle is that hath caught fire thus.

"Sir," saith the hermit, "I will tell you.  Joseus, the son of King
Pelles, slew his mother there.  Never sithence hath the castle stinted
of burning, and I tell you that of this castle and one other will be
kindled the fire that shall burn up the world and put it to an end."

Perceval marvelleth much, and knew well that it was the castle of King
Hermit his uncle.  He departeth thence in great haste, and passeth
three kingdoms and saileth by the wastes and deserts on one side and
the other of the sea, for the ship ran somewhat a-nigh the land.  He
looketh and seeth on an island twelve hermits sitting on the seashore.
The sea was calm and untroubled, and he made cast the anchor so as to
keep the ship steady.  Then he saluteth the hermits, and they all bow
down to him in answer.  He asketh them where have they their repair,
and they tell him that they have not far away twelve chapels and twelve
houses that surround a grave-yard wherein lie twelve dead knights that
we keep watch over.  They were all brothers-german, and right
worshipful men, and none thereof lived more than twelve years knight
save one only, and none of them was there but won much land and broad
kingdoms from the misbelievers, and they all died in arms; and the name
of the eldest was Alain li Gros, and he came into this country from the
Valleys of Camelot to avenge his brother Alibans of the Waste City that
the Giant King had slain, and he took vengeance on him thereof, but he
died thereafter of a wound that the Giant had given him.

"Sir," saith one of the hermits, "I was at his death, but nought was
there he so longed after as a son of his, and he said that his name was
Perceval.  He was the last of the brothers that died."


XVI.

When Perceval heard this he had pity thereof, and issued forth of the
ship and came to land, and his mariner with him.  He prayed the hermits
that they would lead him to the graveyard where the knights lay, and
gladly did they so.  Perceval is come thither and seeth the coffins
right rich and fair, and the chapels full fairly dight, and every
coffin lay over against the altar in each chapel.

"Lords, which coffin is that of the Lord of Camelot?"

"This, the highest," say the hermits, "and the most rich, for that he
was eldest of all the brethren."

Perceval kneeleth down before it, then embraceth the coffin and prayeth
right sweetly for the soul of his father, and in like manner he went to
all the other coffins.  He harboured the night with the hermits, and
told them that Alain li Gros was his father and all the other his
uncles.  Right joyous were the hermits for that he was come thither,
and the morrow, or ever he departed, he heard mass in the chapel of his
father and in the others where he might.  He entered into the ship and
sped full swift, and so far hath the ship run that he draweth nigh the
islands of Great Britain.  He arriveth at the head of a forest under
the Red Tower whereof he had slain the lord, there where Meliot
delivered Messire Gawain.  He is issued forth of the ship and leadeth
forth his horse and is armed, and commendeth the pilot to God.  He
mounteth on his destrier, all armed, and goeth amidst the land that was
well-nigh void of people, for he himself had slain the greater part
thereof, albeit he knew it not.  He rideth so long, right amidst the
country, that he cometh toward evensong to a hold that was in a great
forest, and he bethought him that he would go into the hermitage, and
he cometh straight into the hold, and seeth a knight lying in the
entrance of the gate on a straw mattress, and a damsel sate at the
bed's head, of passing great beauty, and held his head on her lap.


XVII.

The knight reviled her from time to time, and said that he would make
cut of her head and he had not that he desired to have, for that he was
sick.  Perceval looked at the lady that held him and served him full
sweetly, and deemed her to be a good lady and a loyal.  The Sick Knight
called to Perceval.

"Sir," saith he, "Are you come in hither to harbour?"

"Sir," saith Perceval, "So please you, I will harbour here."

"Then blame me not," saith the knight, "of that you shall see me do
unto my wife."

"Sir," saith Perceval, "Sith that she is yours, you have a right to do
your pleasure, but in all things ought one to be heedful on one's way."

The knight made him be carried back into the dwelling, for that he had
been in the air as long as pleased him, and commanded his wife that she
do much honour to the knight that is come to lodge within.

"But take heed," saith he, "that you be not seen at the table, but eat,
as you are wont, at the squire's table, for, until such time as I have
the golden cup I desire, I will not forego my despite against you."


XVIII.

Perceval unarmed him.  The lady had brought him a surcoat of scarlet
for him to do on, and he asked her wherefore her lord reviled her and
rebuked her in such sort, and she told him all the story how Lancelot
had married her to him, and how her lord ever sithence had dishonoured
her.

"Sir," saith she, "Now hath he fallen into misease, sithence then, and
he hath a brother as sick as he is, and therefore hath Gohaz of the
Castle of the Whale reft him of his land, whereof is he right sorry,
and my lord hath never been heal since that he heard thereof.  And well
you know that such folk wax wroth of a little, and are overjoyed when
they have a little thing that pleaseth them, for they live always in
desire of somewhat.  My lord hath heard tell of a cup of gold that a
damsel beareth, that is right rich and of greater worth than aught he
hath seen this long time, and a knight goeth with the damsel that
beareth the cup, and saith that none may have it save he be the Best
Knight in the World.  My lord hath told me many times, sithence he
heard tidings thereof, that never shall the despite he hath toward me
be forgone, until that he shall have the cup.  But he is so angry
withal with his brother that hath lost his land, that I aby it right
dear, for I do all his will and yet may I have no fair treatment of
him.  Howbeit, for no ill that he may do, nor no churlishness that he
may say, will I be against him in nought that he hath set his mind on.
For I would have him, and I had him, blessed be Lancelot through whom
it was so.  As much as I loved him in health, so much love I him in his
sickness, and more yet, for I desire to deserve that God shall bring
him to a better mind."


XIX.

"Lady," saith Perceval, "Great praise ought you to have of this that
you say; but you may well tell him of a truth that the sick King his
brother hath all his land freely and his daughter, for I was at the
reconquering thereof, and know the knight well that gave it back unto
him.  But of the golden cup can I give you no witting."

"Sir," saith she, "The damsel is to bear it to an assembly of knights
that is to be held hard by this, under the White Tower. There hath she
to give it to the best knight, and him that shall do best at the
assembly, and the knight that followeth the damsel is bound to carry it
whither he that shall win it may command, and if he would fain it
should be given to another rather than to himself."

"Lady," saith Perceval, "Well meseemeth that he who shall win the cup
by prize of arms will be right courteous and he send it to you, and God
grant that he that hath it may do you such bounty as you desire."

"Sir," saith she, "Methinketh well, so Lancelot were there, either he
or Messire Gawain, that, and they won it, so they remembered them of
me, and knew how needful it were to me, they would promise me the cup."

"Lady," saith Perceval, "By one of these twain ought you well to have
it, for greater prize now long since have they won."

She goeth to her lord and saith to him: "Sir," saith she, "Now may you
be more joyous than is your wont, for that your brother hath his land
again all quit.  For the knight that is within was at the reconquering."

The Sick Knight heard her and had great joy thereof.

"Go!" saith he to his wife, "and do great honour to the knight, but
take heed you sit not otherwise than you are wont."

"Sir," saith she, "I will not."


XX.

The damsel maketh Perceval sit at meat.  When he had washen, he thought
that the lady should have come to sit beside him, but she would not
disobey her lord's commandment.  When Perceval was set at the table and
he had been served of the first meats, thereupon the lady went to sit
with the squires.  Perceval was much shamed that she should sit below,
but he was not minded to speak, for she had told him somewhat of her
lord's manner.  Howbeit, he lay the night in the hold, and, on the
morrow when he had taken leave, he departed, and bethought him in his
courage that the knight would do good chivalry and great aims that
should do this sick knight his desire as concerning the cup, in such
sort as that his wife should be freed of the annoy that she is in, for
that all knights that knew thereof ought to have pity of her. Perceval
goeth his way as he that hath great desire to accomplish that he hath
to do, and to see the token of his going again to the castle where the
chain of gold appeared to him, for never yet saw he dwelling that
pleased him so much.  He hath ridden so far that he is come into the
joyless forest of the Black Hermit, that is so loathly and horrible
that no leaves nor greenery are there by winter nor by summer, nor was
song of bird never heard therein, but all the land is gruesome and
burnt, and wide are the cracks therein.  He hath scarce gone thereinto
or ever he hath overtaken the Damsel of the Car, that made full great
joy of him.

"Sir," saith she, "Bald was I the first time I saw you; now may you see
that I have my hair."

"Certes, yea!" saith Perceval, "And, as methinketh, hair passing
beautiful."

"Sir," saith she, "I was wont to carry my arm at my neck in a scarf of
gold and silk, for that I thought the service I did you in the hostel
of King Fisherman your uncle had been ill bestowed; but now well I see
that it was not; wherefore now carry I the one arm in the same manner
as the other; and the damsel that wont to go a-foot now goeth
a-horseback; and blessed be you that have so approved you in goodness
by the good manner of your heart, and by your likeness to the first of
your lineage, whom you resemble in all good conditions. Sir," saith
she, "I durst not come nigh the castle, for there be archers there that
shoot so sore that none may endure their strokes, and hereof will they
stint not, they say, until such time as you be come thither.  But well
know I wherefore they will cease then, for they will come to shut you
up within to slay and to destroy.  Natheless all they that are within
will have no power, nor will they do you evil, save only the lord of
the castle; but he will do battle against you right gladly."


XXI.

Perceval goeth toward the castle of the Black Hermit, and the Damsel of
the Car after.  The archers draw and shoot stoutly. Perceval goeth
forward a great gallop, but they know him not on account of the white
shield.  They think rather that it is one of the other knights, and
they lodge many arrows in his shield.  He came nigh a drawbridge over a
moat right broad and foul and horrible, and the bridge was lowered so
soon as he came, and all the archers left of shooting.  Then knew they
well that it was Perceval who came.  The door was opened to receive
him, for they of the gate and they of the castle within thought to have
power to slay him.  But so soon as they saw him, they lost their will
thereof and were all amared and without strength, and said that they
would set this business on their lord that was strong enough and
puissant enough to slay one man.  Perceval entered all armed into a
great hall, and found it filled all around with a great throng of folk
that was right foul to look on.  He that was called the Black Hermit
was full tall and Seemed to be of noble lordship, and he was in the
midst of the hall, all armed.

"Sir," say his men, "And you have not defence of yourself, never no
counsel nor aid may you have of us!"


XXII.

"We are yours to guard, to protect, and oftentimes have we defended
you; now defend us in this sore need."

The Black Hermit sate upon a tall black horse, and was right richly
armed.  So soon as Perceval espieth him, he cometh with such a rush
against him that he maketh all the hall resound, and the Black Hermit
cometh in like sort.  They mell together with such force that the Black
Hermit breaketh his spear upon Perceval, but Perceval smiteth him so
passing stoutly on the left side upon the shield, that he beareth him
to the ground beside his horse, so that in the fall he made he
to-frushed two of the great ribs in the overturn.  And when they that
were therein saw him fall, they opened the trap-door of a great pit
that was in the midst of the hall.  So soon as they had opened it, the
foulest stench that any smelt ever issued thereout.  They take their
lord and cast him into this abysm and this filth.  After that, they
come to Perceval, and so yield the castle and put them at his mercy in
everything.  Thereupon, behold you, the Damsel of the Car that cometh.
They deliver up to her the heads sealed in gold, both the head of the
King and of the Queen, and she departeth forthwith, for well knoweth
she that Perceval will achieve that he hath to do without her.  She
departeth from the castle and goeth the speediest she may toward the
Valleys of Camelot.  And all they of the castle that had been the Black
Hermit's are obedient to Perceval to do his will, and they have him in
covenant that never more shall knights be harassed there in such sort
as they had been theretofore, but rather that they should receive
gladly any knights that should pass that way, like as in other places.
Perceval departed from the castle rejoicing for that he had drawn them
to the believe of Our Lord, and every day was His service done therein
in holy wise, like as it is done in other places.


XXIII.

Hereof ought the good knight to be loved that by the goodness of his
heart and the loyalty of his knighthood hath achieved all the emprises
he undertook, without reproach and without blame. Perceval hath ridden
until he hath overtaken the damsel that carried the rich cup of gold
and the knight that was along with her.  Perceval saluteth him, and the
knight maketh answer, may he be blessed of God and of His sweet Mother.

"Fair Sir," saith Perceval, "Is this damsel of your company?"

Saith the knight, "Rather am I of hers.  But we are going to an
assembly of knights that is to be under the White Tower to the intent
to prove which knight is most worth, and to him that shall have the
prize of the assembly shall be delivered this golden cup."

"By my head," saith Perceval, "That will be fair to see!"

He departeth from the knight and the damsel, and goeth his way a great
pace amidst the meadows under the White Tower, whither the knights were
coming from all parts, and many of them were already armed to issue
forth.  So soon as it was known that the damsel with the cup was come
thither, the fellowships assembled on all sides, and great was the
clashing of arms.  Perceval hurleth into the assembly in such sort that
many a knight he smiteth down and overthroweth at his coming, and he
giveth so many blows and so many receiveth that all they that behold
marvel much how he may abide.  The assembly lasted until evensong, and
when it came to an end the damsel came to the knights and prayed and
required that they would declare to her by right judgment of arms which
had done the best.  The more part said that he of the white shield had
surpassed them all in arms, and all agreed thereto. The damsel was
right glad, for well she knew that they spake truth.  She cometh to
Perceval; "Sir," saith she, "I present you this cup of gold for your
good chivalry, and therefore is it meet and right you should know
whence the cup cometh.  The elder Damsel of the Tent where the evil
custom was wont to be, sent it to Messire Gawain, and Messire Gawain
made much joy thereof.  And it came to pass on such wise that Brundans,
the son of the sister of Briant of the Isles, slew Meliot of Logres,
the most courteous knight and the most valiant that was in the realm of
Logres, and thereof was Messire Gawain so sorrowful that he knew not
how to contain himself.  For Meliot had twice rescued him from death,
and King Arthur once.  He was liegeman of Messire Gawain. Wherefore he
prayeth and beseecheth you on his behalf that you receive not the cup
save you undertake to avenge him.  For he was loved of all the court,
albeit he had haunted it but little. Brundans slew him in treason when
Meliot was unawares of him."

"Damsel," saith Perceval, "Were there no cup at all, yet natheless
should I be fain to do the will of Messire Gawain, for never might I
love the man that had deserved his hatred."  He taketh the cup in his
hand.  "Damsel," saith he, "I thank you much hereof, and God grant I
may reward you for the same."

"Sir," saith she, "Brundans is a right proud knight, and beareth a
shield party of vert and argent.  He is minded never to change his
cognisance, for that his father bore the same."

Perceval called the knight that was of the damsel's company.  "I
beseech you," saith he, "of guerdon and of service, that you bear this
cup for me to the hold of the Sick Knight, and tell his wife that the
Knight of the White Shield that was harboured there within hath sent it
her by you."

"Sir," saith the knight, "This will I do gladly to fulfil your will."

He taketh the cup to furnish out the conditions of the message, and so
departeth forthwith.


XXIV.

Perceval lay the night in the castle of the White Tower, and departed
thence on the morrow as he that would fain do somewhat whereof he might
deserve well of Messire Gawain.  Many a time had he heard tell of
Meliot of Logres and of his chivalry and of his great valour.  He was
entered into a forest, and had heard mass of a hermit, from whom he had
departed.  He came to the Castle Perilous that was hard by there where
Meliot lay sick, lay wounded, when Lancelot brought him the sword and
the cloth wherewith he touched his wounds.  He entered into the castle
and alighted.  The damsel of the castle, that made great dole, came to
meet Perceval. "Damsel," saith he, "Wherefore are you so sorrowful?"

"Sir," saith she, "For a knight that I tended and healed herewithin,
whom Brundans hath killed in treason, and God thereof grant us
vengeance yet, for so courteous knight saw I never."

While she was speaking in this manner, forthwith behold you a damsel
that cometh.

"Ha, Sir," saith she to Perceval, "Mount you again and come to aid us,
for none other knight find I in this land nor in this forest but only
you all alone!"

"What need have you of my aid?" saith Perceval.

"A knight is carrying off my lady by force, that was going to the court
of King Arthur."

"Who is your lady?" saith Perceval.

"Sir, she is the younger Damsel of the Tent where Messire Gawain
overthrew the evil customs.  For God's sake, hasten you, for he
revileth her sore for her love of the King and of Messire Gawain."

Perceval remounteth forthwith and issueth forth of the castle on the
spur.  The damsel bringeth him on as fast as the knight can go.  They
had not ridden far before they came a-nigh, and Perceval heard the
damsel crying aloud for mercy, and the knight said that mercy upon her
he would not have, and so smote her on the head and neck with the fiat
of his sword.


XXV.

Perceval espied the knight and saw that the cognisance of his shield
was such as that which had been set forth to him.

"Sir," saith he, "Too churlishly are you entreating this damsel! What
wrong hath she done you?"

"What is it to you of me and of her?"

"I say it" saith Perceval, "for that no knight ought to do churlishly
to damsel."

"He will not stint for you yet!" saith Brundans.  He raiseth his sword
and dealeth the damsel a buffet with the fiat so passing heavy that it
maketh her stoop withal so that the blood rayeth out at mouth and nose.

"By my head," saith Perceval, "On this buffet I defy thee, for the
death of Meliot and for the shame you have done this damsel."

"Neither you nor none other may brag that you have heart to attack me,
but you shall aby it right dear!"

"That shall you see presently," saith Perceval and so draweth back the
better to let drive at him, and moveth towards him as fast as his horse
may run, and smiteth him so passing sore that he pierceth his shield
and bursteth his habergeon and then thrusteth his spear into his body
with such force that he overthroweth him all in a heap, him and his
horse, in such sort that he breaketh both legs in the fall.

Then he alighteth over him, lowereth his coif, unlaceth the ventail,
and smiteth off his head.

"Damsel," saith he, "Take it, I present it to you.  And, sith that you
are going to King Arthur's court, I pray and beseech you that you carry
it thither and so salute him first for me, and tell Messire Gawain and
Lancelot that this is the last present I look ever to make them, for I
think never to see them more. Howbeit, wheresoever I may be, I shall be
their well-wisher, nor may I never withdraw me of my love, and I would
fain I might make them the same present of the heads of all their
enemies, but that I may do nought against God's will."

The damsel giveth him thanks for that he hath delivered her from the
hands of the knight, and saith that she shall praise him much thereof
to the King and Messire Gawain.  She goeth her way and carrieth off the
head, and Perceval biddeth her to God.  He returned back to Castle
Perilous, and the damsel made great joy thereof when she understood
that he had slain Brundans.  Perceval lay there that night, and
departed on the morrow after that he had heard mass.  When he came
forth of the castle he met the knight by whom he had sent the cup to
the Sick Knight's wife. Perceval asketh how it is with him.

"Sir," saith he, "I have carried out your message right well, for never
was a thing received with such good will.  The Sick Knight hath forgone
his grudge against his wife.  She eateth at his table, and the
household do her commandment."

"This liketh me right well," saith Perceval, "and I thank you of doing
this errand."

"Sir," saith the knight, "No thing is there I would not do for you, for
that you made my brother Knight Hardy there where you first saw him
Knight Coward."

"Sir," saith Perceval, "Good knight was your brother and a right good
end he made, but a little it forthinketh me that he might have still
been living had he abided in his cowardize."

"Sir," saith he, "Better is he dead, sith that he died with honour,
than that he should live with shame.  Yet glad was I not of his death,
for a hardy knight he was, and yet more would have been, had he lived
longer."


XXVI.

Perceval departeth from the knight and commendeth him to God.  He hath
wandered so far one day and another that he is returned to his own most
holy castle, and findeth therein his mother and his sister that the
Damsel of the Car had brought thither.  The Widow Lady had made bear
thither the body that lay in the coffin before the castle of Camelot in
the rich chapel that she had builded there.  His sister brought the
cerecloth that she took in the Waste Chapel, and presented there where
the Graal was.  Perceval made bring the coffin of the other knight that
was at the entrance of his castle within the chapel likewise, and place
it beside the coffin of his uncle, nor never thereafter might it be
removed.  Josephus telleth us that Perceval was in this castle long
time, nor never once moved therefrom in quest of no adventure; rather
was his courage so attorned to the Saviour of the World and His sweet
Mother, that he and his sister and the damsel that was therein led a
holy life and a religious.  Therein abode they even as it pleased God,
until that his mother passed away and his sister and all they that were
therein save he alone. The hermits that were nigh the castle buried
them and sang their masses, and came every day and took counsel of him
for the holiness they saw him do and the good life that he led there.
So one day whilst he was in the holy chapel where the hallows were,
forthwith, behold you, a Voice that cometh down therein: "Perceval,"
saith the Voice, "Not long shall you abide herein; wherefore it is
God's will that you dispart the hallows amongst the hermits of the
forest, there where these bodies shall be served and worshipped, and
the most Holy Graal shall appear herein no more, but within a brief
space shall you know well the place where it shall be."

When the Voice departed, all the coffins that were therein crashed so
passing loud that it seemed the master-hall had fallen.  He crosseth
and blesseth him and commendeth him to God. On a day the hermits came
to him.  He disparted the holy relics among them, and they builded
above them holy churches and houses of religion that are seen in the
lands and in the islands. Joseus the son of King Hermit, remained
therein with Perceval, for he well knew that he would be departing
thence betimes.


XXVII.

Perceval heard one day a bell sound loud and high without the manor
toward the sea.  He came to the windows of the hall and saw the ship
come with the white sail and the Red Cross thereon, and within were the
fairest folk that ever he might behold, and they were all robed in such
manner as though they should sing mass. When the ship was anchored
under the hall they went to pray in the most holy chapel.  They brought
the richest vessels of gold and silver that any might ever see, like as
it were coffins, and set therein one of the three bodies of knights
that had been brought into the chapel, and the body of King Fisherman,
and of the mother of Perceval.  But no savour in the world smelleth so
sweet.  Perceval took leave of Joseus and commended him to the Saviour
of the World, and took leave of the household, from whom he departed in
like manner.  The worshipful men that were in the ship signed them of
the cross and blessed them likewise.  The ship wherein Perceval was
drew far away, and a Voice that issued from the manor as she departed
commended them to God and to His sweet Mother.  Josephus recordeth us
that Perceval departed in such wise, nor never thereafter did no
earthly man know what became of him, nor doth the history speak of him
more.  But the history telleth us that Joseus abode in the castle that
had been King Fisherman's, and shut himself up therein so that none
might enter, and lived upon that the Lord God might send him.  He dwelt
there long time after that Perceval had departed, and ended therein.
After his end, the dwelling began to fall.  Natheless never was the
chapel wasted nor decayed, but was as whole thereafter as tofore and is
so still.  The place was far from folk, and the place seemed withal to
be somewhat different.  When it was fallen into decay, many folk of the
lands and islands that were nighest thereunto marvel them what may be
in this manor. They dare a many that they should go see what was
therein, and sundry folk went thither from all the lands, but none
durst never enter there again save two Welsh knights that had heard
tell of it.  Full comely knights they were, young and joyous hearted.
So either pledged him to other that they would go thither by way of gay
adventure; but therein remained they of a long space after, and when
again they came forth they led the life of hermits, and clad them in
hair shirts, and went by the forest and so ate nought save roots only,
and led a right hard life; yet ever they made as though they were glad,
and if that any should ask whereof they rejoiced in such wise, "Go,"
said they to them that asked, "thither where we have been, and you
shall know the wherefore."

In such sort made they answer to the folk.  These two knights died in
this holy life, nor were none other tidings never brought thence by
them.  They of that land called them saints.


XXVIII. Here endeth the story of the most Holy Graal.  Josephus, by
whom it is placed on record, giveth the benison of Our Lord to all that
hear and honour it.  The Latin from whence this history was drawn into
Romance was taken in the Isle of Avalon, in a holy house of religion
that standeth at the head of the Moors Adventurous, there where King
Arthur and Queen Guenievre lie, according to the witness of the good
men religious that are therein, that have the whole history thereof,
true from the beginning even to the end.  After this same history
beginneth the story how Briant of the Isles renounced King Arthur on
account of Lancelot whom he loved not, and how he assured King Claudas
that reft King Ban of Benoic of his land.  This story telleth how he
conquered him and by what means, and how Galobrus of the Red Launde
came to King Arthur's court to help Lancelot, for that he was of his
lineage.  This story is right long and right adventurous and weighty,
but the book will now forthwith be silent thereof until another time.



THE AUTHOR'S CONCLUSION

For the Lord of Neele made the Lord of Cambrein this book be written,
that never tofore was treated in Romance but one single time besides
this; and the book that was made tofore this is so ancient that only
with great pains may one make out the letter. And let Messire Johan de
Neele well understand that he ought to hold this story dear, nor ought
he tell nought thereof to ill-understanding folk, for a good thing that
is squandered upon bad folk is never remembered by them for good.



EXPLICIT THE ROMANCE OF PERCEVAL THE NEPHEW OF KING FISHERMAN.








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